Feb. Update

What’s up everyone, it’s G.N. Jones, back with another update. As you can see above we have a huge achievement to celebrate: we are in a store!

Come and visit and pick up a copy, or take a pic with the display rack. Author not included.

Hecatomb of the Vampire also broke 100 sales earlier this month, so I would once again like to thank everyone for their support. As a completely indie outfit, all I’ve got is word of mouth and you all so I’m grateful for everyone that read even a single word or liked a single post. Please continue to read, review, and recommend HOTV (funny abbreviation isn’t it?) so that when this sequel comes out everyone will be ready. And it’s coming soon.

We’re still in the midst of the editing process, but we are currently ahead of the projected schedule. You’ll have new art and bios coming soon, and maybe an excerpt or two. Of course, I can’t neglect the first one. For everyone who hasn’t read the first book, I’ll be reading excerpts. Hopefully that’ll give y’all some incentive! On to the next section.

I’m still pissed about this and it happened two weeks ago. I’m about to get my Tim and Nina Zagat on. Yes, BOTH the Zagats.

Quick story time. Earlier this month I was supposed to go to Manhattan for an event (not book related) but I ended up staying in Queens longer than I’d expected so I needed to eat something quick. The only place that was really open nearby was this pizza place called D’Angelo’s. Now, mind you, I’ve seen this place more times than I could count but never actually ate there. There’s a reason for that. I can’t point out a specific characteristic or red flag, but something let me know that it was a place to avoid. Maybe it was the 47.098 workers behind the counter (no creative vision, overcrowded, possible hive mind). Maybe it was the look of the pizza (see the photo). I’d ignored my better judgement, flippantly walking and ordering two margherita slices for myself and one for my lovely lady. For the purposes of this story, we’ll call her The Siberian Tiger. Ordering those slices was my Icarus moment. I would pay dearly for my hubris in the hours to come. Now, mind you, pizza is a very low bar to clear. The worst pizza is still a decent experience. This pizza must’ve been divine retribution for some misdeed I’d committed in the past. The sauce was REALLY sweet, the cheese tasted like rubber, there was too much sauce, which made the base (too crispy) fall apart like cardboard soaked by rainwater in a New York alleyway. The pizza was an assault on the senses. It hated me and I hated it. But the worst thing was, the pizza was $16. SIX-TEEN AMERICAN DOLLARS. GREEN, LEGAL TENDER, YOU ESS DOLLARS. I was so angry I could’ve fought everyone in that restaurant, but not at once, maybe like an arcade ladder type of deal. I could definitely beat The Siberian Tiger too because she can’t grapple. She’s more of a striker.

I got two slices and couldn’t even finish. I hate wasting food more than anything but that pizza couldn’t be called food by any metric. Afterwards it made my farts smell like the refrigeration system broke in a morgue. Suffice to say, D’Angelo’s is a hellish place I would not recommend it.

Wretched.

February has been a tremendous month so far otherwise. HOTV is in a store, we passed 100 copies, Jahari and my birthdays both passed earlier this month. February also plays a big part in the second book, so it’s poetic that this month has been so good for the real world.

We have comments in our mail bag by the way.

Cam Toker is a $&@! €£¥+# - a man older than sin.

Aw that’s not nice! Hasn’t he suffered enough? Is there ever enough suffering? I wonder if we’ll ever see him again. You’ll see me again. Till next time.