Got the opportunity to speak with Kyler on Salt Lake Dirt about my book, zine culture, and our love of cemeteries. You can listen here or anywhere else you like to get your podcasts.
Brooklyn Vol. 1 recommended Ornery Cuss for the month of June.
I made another appearance on Lets’s Take a Moment to discuss Myke Skye’s zine Joteria. You can watch it here.
And for my local yokels, you can now pick up a copy of Ornery Cuss at Sheep Cult Comics!
Last night’s book release was a success and just down right fun. None of it would have happened without Dmitry Samarov, Nathan Hoks, and Westley Heine. Big thanks to Tangible Books for hosting and to everyone that came out.
There’s a recording of the event here.
Moving forward, you can still buy copies of Ornery Cuss directly from me on this website. Or you can get a copy out in the wild streets of Chicago at Dusty Groove, Tangible Books, or Pilsen Community Books. Plus anywhere else in the world via bookshop.org or the Bezos Borg.
After decades of talking about it and handfuls of false starts and stops, I’ve completed my first book. On June 1st of 2026, Weirdo Du Jour Press releases my debut novel, Ornery Cuss. Not to be confused with the zine printed in 2023, this is the complete and unabridged version chocked full of the working class dark humor you love. A grubby coming-of-age tale about a sharp-edged loner who runs away from a stifling rural community and into the arms of Chicago’s raw chaos. No shortcuts taken nor lessons learned any way but the hard way.
You can pre-order a copy here. By doing so, 100% of the price you pay goes directly to me as the author. I will sign and write whatever personal inscription you wish on every copy you purchase.
Of course, I didn’t do this all alone. I wouldn’t have gone through with any of this, were it not for the support and guidance of Dmitry Samarov. His talent and experience helped refine these pages through edit and design. Most importantly, his encouragement helped will Ornery Cuss into existence. It’s a gift to have someone so thoughtful in my corner. Yesterday we had a conversation on Hu U No about the book, writing, zines, and the like. You can listen to it here.
A short story of mine from an upcoming book was published in Lit Angels #40 Bring Me His Head
Dmitry’s sketches from last night’s Tuesday Funk reading. I had a lovely time and met a lot of really cool folks.
Maudlin House published a new story of mine called “Runaway” from an upcoming book. Take a look.
I frequented the Hollywood Grill a great deal in my early days of Chicago living. It was the closest 24-hour anything to my first apartment, offering respite after weekend house shows and late night exploration of abandoned churches. My dopey pals and I would make the long walk over on humid nights to chug coffee, shoot the little cups of creamer, and lick sugar off our hands. Ridiculous but clean wholesome fun compared to the other things I was doing before moving to the city. Always the caffeinated stop before a night of stealing street signs or crawling up under the bascule bridge on Ashland and Clybourn. Other adventures at this diner involved almost getting beat up by a 77 named Uno, and when I started drinking heavily there were a few times I’d use my plate of hash browns as a pillow. For some reason the management never thought ill enough to toss me out, I’m sure they’d seen much worse.
Last night, I had somewhere to be after work. The day had been challenging enough that I needed somewhere to sit down and collect myself before facing the next swarm of people. Hollywood was the closest location that promised solitude, carbs, and caffeine so I walked up the block and fell into an empty booth. It had been years since I set foot in the place and it was still a chincy timewarp of faux Hollywood memorabilia. Maybe a few new paintings of the 3 Stooges mingling with Marilyn, James and Groucho…but for the most part, 25 years had passed and Hollywood Grill hadn’t even blinked.
Business was slow enough on a late Sunday afternoon that at least 3 staff members checked on me before my designated server could give me a menu. And when he did he slumped down in the booth across from me and let out and exhausted, “gorl!”
He had a black ponytail and some Anton LaVey looking facial hair, crooked teeth that were actually becoming, and an upside down dangling cross earring. On his neck was a faded kiss print tattoo that I kept staring at because the shape of the lips didn’t look right. He was young, looked like a hard 28 or so but what do I know about age? Nobody looks like themselves, anymore. He interrupted me while taking my order to follow a train of thought, “Wait, how old did you say you were? You look so young.”
I wasn’t sure if his conversations with customers were all blending together or he was carrying on some dialog in his head with me. I had never mentioned my age, I was just trying to order some food. I don’t know why people ask this stuff and answered him with the same question I always give when someone has got to bring age up.
“How old do I look?”
It’s awkward enough to get subjects changed real quick–most of the time.
“I wouldn’t place youuuu…a day over 42.” He responded.
“Good guess.” There was a brief pause as we looked at each other. Social scripts say I was supposed to fill in the blank with an actual response but instead I put my order in. “Can I get a plate of cheese fries with a side of bacon? And a bloody mary?” I never realized Hollywood Grill served booze.
My server was attentive, maybe too much so. Checking in on me every 5 to 6 minutes, when I just wanted some peace to write at the booth and inhale my dinner, starving coyote style. Each time he’d slump across from me in the booth, and call me “friend” or “gorl”.
I had overheard him talking to a table of ladies and tell one of them, “you’re too pretty to be sad…”
Get those tips, sug. I thought to myself.
Then he’d return to me and sigh, “Gorl, this day is going to kill me.”
Suddenly I found myself offering moral boosts to my server, “It’ll get better, hon.”
He’d take his glasses off, toss them on the table dramatically and ask, “you promise?”
He offered me the tea among the staff and I took the bait. Sometimes folks just need to be heard. He told me the overnight waitress in her 70s complained to the owners about the quality of his side work and fuck that old bitch anyway, she had a swastika tattoo on her back and why are you serving in your 70s? What’s the retirement plan, Marge? I was greatly amused by all this sassiness and he kept refilling my bloodymary as he dished the dirt.
It was getting to be about that time when my server slipped me a ten dollar bill and asked if I’d be his bestie forever and run down to the liquor store and get him something. I asked what he likes, fully knowing in my mind he was going to say Fireball.
“Fireball”.
Right on the money.
I paid my check, realizing half my order had been comped and he whispered, “don’t tip me”.
Well there you have it, I officially had a side mission. So I did as I was asked, walking down two blocks and buying a 4 pack of Fireball shooters. I wrapped them and the change up in it’s black plastic bag and walked back to the diner. Debating how I was going to hand these off to the server in the most discreet way. Don’t want to get your new bestie fired. Maybe I could claim I had left my card inside or use the restroom? Just as I approached Hollywood Grill, there he was in the back smoking a cigarette.
“Oh my god you are an angel!” He exclaimed while tucking the package inside his apron. “Come back and see me again, or look me up on Instagram!”
He hugged me and told me he loved me a few times. Funny how free and easy people can be with that phrase. I waved goodbye and walked down the road to the second part of my night, realizing we never even exchanged names.
Tomorrow!
And pretty soon!
The wiley and elusive Ratticus emerges from a 15 year hiatus to orate some dark & dismal hilarity!
Reading for The Golden Hour on Thursday March 19th at Haibayô Café.
Also performing at the Tuesday Funk reading series on April 7th at Hopleaf Bar.
A short story of mine will appear in For The Sad Kids, an anthology zine by the Scottland based Coin-Operated Press.
And lastly, I was cited on Wikipedia for an article in the Clint Howard horror movie Ice Cream Man. Awesome.
In the liminal week between holidays, I’ve been digging through old texts from the last 15 years. Reassessing writing projects that were abandoned for various reasons, trying to decide if there’s any salvage worth revisiting. Reading through these endless word documents, I’ve learned that I’ve spent a good long while pretending to be someone I’m not. By the time Covid happened, I had strayed too far and ever since it’s been an uphill hike along trails of breadcrumbs. Retrieving pieces of self through small joys, inevitable losses, and all the work I should have done on myself long ago.
I didn’t have much hope for the future when this year started, and you know why. I still don’t. But rather than be swallowed by fear and despair, I’ve done my best to learn how to be present in 2025. Relinquish the reins of control and be kinder to myself. Some unexpected delights seemingly resulted from this practice. I’ve been very blessed to reconnect with some special folks that I’d long ago thought were gone from my life. I’ve also met a lot of lovely new people that I hope will stick around for awhile.
2025 has been a year of fated matinees, road trips, hand poked tattoos, wheat paste graffiti, gouache paints, so many mix tapes, blacking out the teeth on John Denver records with sharpie, discovering what it means when puzzle pieces fit together naturally, becoming an oasis after years spent wandering the desert, and endless support & encouragement that sometimes… I still question if I’m truly deserving of. I feel like myself again and managed to have something that might even resemble fun.
There’s several projects and a lot of hustling on the horizon. I’ll put in the work and see where it gets me. The state of the world is… you know. It’ll get worse before it gets better but as I like to say at the bar, “I’d like to get a little more fucked up before I go.”