Every time I lose the Internet now, which, given local service, is fairly often, I assume one of the local tweakers has cut down the telephone line again. Aside from the inconvenience and desire to annihilate the aforementioned tweakers, I find my neighboring tweaker perversely entertaining. Not perverse in a sexual sense, at least on my end, but by secretly watching his bizarre actions, am I. . .well, sick? I wake up well before light and have coffee on the upstairs deck. The one-legged tweaker is always up as well. . .I imagine he hasn’t gone to bed yet. Three nights ago, he had his radio blaring and was taking an outdoor shower, doing a bit of Karaoke for the neighborhood. Loudly. His brother, who tends bar, gets home late, and would love to sleep at three in the morning, comes storming out of his door to vent on his tweaker sibling. The following morning, the tweaker, who has foregone his prosthetic leg and chosen his wheelchair, which he always rides backwards (seriously) and propels with a crutch. Since his yard is sand, he gets stuck constantly. The ensuing cussing wakes up his brother, and the usual argument ensues. This morning, the tweaker, again in his wheelchair and with a flashlight in one hand and a machete in the other is yelling at a cat to come down and take it like a man. The cat refuses, so the tweaker takes it out on the mesquite tree next to him. After ten minutes of whacking, he is surrounded by branches and can’t move his wheelchair. Pissed off when the kitty casually jumps down and scampers away, he starts ranting at the branches to get out of the way. Pissed off at being whacked to the ground, they refuse, stay right where they are. More yelling. As you might have guess, out comes the bemused brother. . .and, well, you can guess the rest. So, a bit of entertainment before I sit down to write. If you are familiar with my books, you probably think I am making this up. No, this is one of those cases where truth is weirder than fiction.

I meant to write a post over the weekend but a couple things set me off my routine. The first was waking up Saturday morning to find my latest revision of a future release called Kona Gold (which was 90% finished) had disappeared. So, several days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs vanished from Earth. Oh, I looked for the file in question. . .everywhere. When I ran out of ideas, I Googled the problem, then I YouTubed the problem, and after a couple more hours I still couldn’t find the file. I turned to my computer expert Randy and after six email exchanges with ideas and Recuva programs, etc., he couldn’t find it either. I swear to God, I started questioning my sanity. I can hear you murmuring, “Well, it’s about time, Mike,” and you have a good point. Anyway, I am now 60% revising the previous draft, so all is not lost.

So, once I reconciled myself to several more days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs, I chilled out. The day was hot and when the late afternoon shadows covered the route to a little nearby store, I took my sweet doggy Lola for a walk, thinking I’d grab a sunset beer to assure total tranquility. It would go good with the sunset doobie. Our first dog encounter was with Goldie, this little pitbull/something mix that wags its tail like crazy to people but is known to charge cars and other dogs. Goldie, who I like, came over for pets the other day, snuck behind my back at lightning speed and bit Lola for no reason except, well, turns out Goldie can be a dick. I mellowed him with pets and a stern rebuke, “No biting, Goldie!” He shrugged and cruised off. Next, the crazy black dog with four dew claws. . .something I can’t remember seeing before. Along with me, that made at least two mutants on the block. The black dog is named Berzerka, and as you might guess, is out of its mind. At least it’s friendly. Then comes the huge pitbull near the corner. Fortunately, though muscular, Whitey is old. . .sort of the Jack LaLanne of dogs. . .too ancient to get up to bite us! Good boy, Whitey!

So all was cool as we approached the corner and hung a left. Up ahead I saw a group of people petting a German Shepherd. I love German shepherds, even crazy Luna (a dog that barks at birds, the air, and sometimes, nothing at all). I suspect her full named was Lunatic. We’d recently adopted her from a guy who bragged, “She’s an outdoor dog, absolutely no hassle.” He didn’t mention she and everyone in the vicinity stayed awake all night. Well, there was that pesky air to bark at. No doubt he was an insomniac who is now sleeping much better. I solved that problem by letting Luna in at night. The German shepherd up ahead spotted playful Lola (who loves all other dogs and wags her tail like a maniac to make sure they know that). He immediately left the people petting him to come say hi. Shepherds are so friendly! He seemed excited by the prospect of meeting a new pal. For some reason, Lola seemed less than excited. The shepherd picked up speed and went into full sprint mode, so eager was he for affection. Lola sensed otherwise and darted behind my leg. That way, when the German shepherd lunged teeth-first, he buried those teeth in my knee. . .to be specific, on both sides of my knee. He had quite a set of jaws. Smart move, Lola!

After mauling me for awhile, he let go. But only because a passerby had picked up a rock and hurled it into his back. Startled by the rock, the shepherd ran into the street, right into traffic, where he narrowly escaped injury but caused a four-car fender bender. I stood there thirty feet away, eyes popped out, jaw on my chest, and bleeding like a stuck pig. I looked at my knee and almost puked. With all the blood gushing out, I couldn’t tell how bad the wounds were, but the man who threw the rock said, “You better get to the hospital!” I was thinking, “First the vet for poor Lola,” only she didn’t have a scratch on her. I limped on home, my leg covered with blood, scaring children back into their houses but attracting every dog in the neighborhood with my tasty blood reek. After fending them off, I put Lola in the pad, hopped in my truck for a ride to the Emergency Room. At the corner I saw two police cars, four crashed cars, and four furious drivers. But no German shepherd. The guy who threw the rock said, “Hey man, there you are, everyone’s looking for you.” “Why?” “You kidding, you caused a four-car accident. You fled the scene. You’re gonna have to talk to the police. . .” Whoosh. “Hey, where you going?”

Though I’d washed the wounds and put some hydrogen peroxide on my knee, by the time I reached the Emergency Room, blood was cascading down my leg again. The nurse who admitted me fainted. “Jeez, it’s not that bad, is it?” After rushing to the restroom to vomit, she humored me, “No, not if you don’t mind a stump.” This was not good news. . .stumps itch like crazy. She asked for some basic info, name, address, phone number. . . “Your name is Michael Gooed?” “No, Good, not Gooed, you know, like Bueno.” Her eyes lit up, then narrowed. “Ah, Señor Bueno. . .wait a moment, you’re Señor Bueno?” “Well. . .” “Wait here a moment, please,” she said and rushed out of the room. Five minutes later, a phalanx of police surrounded me. Their jefe, Capitano Herrara said, “Funny, you don’t look like a cartel leader.” “I get a lot of that,” I replied. “Also, you’ve made a huge mistake.” “Oh, I don’t think so, Señor Bueno,” he countered. “We’ve double-checked with the CIA. Dr. Strangelove has standing orders that you be apprehended for questioning.” Dad was always trying to find out what I was up to. . .and then put a stop to it. “Yeah, well, meanwhile I need a doctor.” “Yes, you do,” he said, gagging at the sight of me. “Urgently,” he added. “Which is why the CIA has already sent us one.” “No kidding?” No sooner had I said that, then I heard a voice that made my skin crawl. It hissed, “So, Señor Bueno, we meet again!” Oh my God, it was my old nemesis Dr. Joseph Mengele, Jr., Chief Torturer for the CIA’s Dirty Tricks Department, and one of Dad’s minions.

I was so screwed. “Well, let’s have a look at that leg. Holy Jesus,” blurted Dr. Mengele, Jr. That’s gonna have to go.” “Seriously, Doc? It’s that bad?” “No, but you know how I love to operate!” Oh, I did. . .who could forget those excruciating sessions with Dr. Kim Chee, evil-breathed CIA Dentist/Interrogator? I would have escape right then and there, except for the restraints and guns trained on me. When I awoke in the recovery room, sure enough I had a stump and it did itch like crazy. No doubt from the effort of regenerating. Again, I thanked Dr. Strangelove for tinkering with my DNA, removing any genes for common sense but tossing in some starfish to make up for it. He knew that would help me heal from all the accidents I’d be incurring through lack of common sense. Alone for the moment in the recovery room, I realized I needed to get the hell out of there before something weird happened and hopped through a window. . . Long story short, late afternoon walks can be exciting!

 

On another note, High In The Andes will be ready to release on October 20th, 2017 (long as it too doesn’t disappear). So I’m excited about that. If you’d like to get a Free Advanced Reader Copy you can join my Launch Team. All I ask is an Amazon review when my book is published. If that sounds cool, please click here to join the Señor Bueno Launch Team!

I’m getting excited! My next book, High In The Andes, the sequel to Breaking Good (the first novel in the Senor Bueño Adventure series) is through with editing. My eagle-eyed Launch Team is proofreading it now, making sure it’s ready to unleash on the unsuspecting public. To make the public less unsuspecting, I’m gonna start shouting about it all over the place. Well, at least here and on my Facebook page. Andes was a lot of fun to write (they all are), and if you’d like a hilarious verbal journey to South America, you’ve gotta check it out. To get a visual glimpse inside, click here to see Story Scenes From High In The Andes. They will take you from the Caribbean Coast, through the Andes, and down to the Amazon.

 

Whether or not you’ve read my earlier book, if you’d like to get an Advanced Reader Copy of High In The Andes for Free, you can by joining my Launch Team. All you need to do is read the book and leave an Amazon review as soon as it’s published. The secret for a new author is creating a buzz around a book release via plenty of reviews, so I value all members of my Launch Team and will offer them all my work for free! Sound good? If you think so, just click here (I wanna be on the Launch Team) and get ready for some outrageous stories.

 

Here’s a little something to whet your appetite:

This gorgeous backwater scene is about a kilometer’s worth of paddling off the Amazon. The water looks enticing, doesn’t it? Given it was hot and humid and we were swarmed by mosquitoes, Buddy and I thought so, too. Then again, it was the Amazon, a place where untold species wanted to eat us. “How’s the water?” we asked our laconic tour guide, Happy Jose. (This was a bit before the bushmaster killed him.) “Wet,” he informed us. “Yeah, but is it safe?” “Jump in and find out!” he challenged. We delayed when we heard some panicked squealing and saw a pack of capybaras (rodents the size of Rottweilers) crash out of the jungle and leap into the water. Moments later, a jaguar burst from the foliage, not thirty feet from us! Seeing his prey escaping, he jumped right in after them. When the capybaras reached the middle of the pristine pool and the piranhas struck, the jaguar wisely made a u-turn. As the capybaras disappeared and a red stain spread across the water, we were glad we waited.

 

I’m stoked to finally get High In The Andes, the sequel to Breaking Good to Editor Steve. If you check out the Books page you can get this gist of what High In The Andes will be about. This book, like all my stuff, originated with travel journals, and these stories, as unlikely as they seem, are based on actual events…more or less. By more or less, I mean more if you are in favor of the pursuit of personal liberties and much less so if your name is Jeff Sessions. In that case, Jeff, everything I write is total bullshit (even this) and I’ve never left my room.

 

It has taken a lot of work to convert my rambling travel journals into rambling memoirs and then again into readable (I hope you agree) novels and without the encouragement of friends who got a vicarious kick out of the near-death experiences described in my memoirs, I never would have become obsessed with writing. I’m not sure if I should thank them or what, as writing a novel is a lot of work. Fortunately, my work makes me smile, so I can’t complain. After all, I could have ended up a lawyer.

 

If you can want an idea of what’s coming, check out the sample chapter of High In The Andes on the Books page as well as a bunch of fun story scenes. Take a look, have some laughs, then grab the book when it’s released.

 

 

 

Ah, finally, my first blog post. Because I’m so good with technical stuff, it only took me a year or so of research and fumbling around like a lunatic to get my first two books published and this website sort of built. A humble beginning and a lot more to do, but I had to start somewhere.

If you haven’t already downloaded your free copy of Turning On from the home page, I have one question for you: What are you waiting for? I promised some serious laughs! Or don’t you enjoy laughing?

So, what goes in my first blog post? I’ve noticed most new authors like to tell their readers about their writing journey and I’m no different. As my bio mentions, I’ve practiced my writing since starting school. After filling in my share of coloring books, I realized something: I was no artist. When Mom forbade me to sing along with nursery songs I realized something else: I was no musician. So, I turned my artistic sights on writing.

Naturally, I’d start by writing the next great American novel. Unfortunately for readers everywhere, my first grade teacher/horrible literary agent Miss Crabby, had other ideas for me. As if filling up the blackboard with derogatory remarks (about myself) was gonna sell a lot of copies. Like many budding artists, I felt stifled by authority. I sensed a budding spirit of rebellion.

Jousting with angry teachers was one thing, but home life? I still cringe with nostalgia thinking about that repressive regime. Let me just say, with CIA spies for parents it was hard to get away with anything. Mom would say, “We have eyes in the back of our heads!” Then she’d lift a flap of hair off her mutant head and give me a wink to prove it. Dad was no picnic, either. Born with no sense of humor, dressed like Uncle Sam, he epitomized The Establishment. Obsessed with nuking Commies and grounding me, Dad did not appreciate it when I went off to college and started marching for peace. Nor was he on board with the whole sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll thing. Same when I ditched law school and moved to Hawaii to have fun and lead a life of adventure. “Fun?” He seemed stumped by the concept. “Well, whatever the hell that is, it’s highly over-rated, Mister.” “It’s me, Mike, your son.” He sighed with the reminder, murmured, “Unfortunately.” Then, “You need to get a haircut and a job. Straighten up and fly right.”

See what I was dealing with? Naturally I ignored him, but believe me, ignoring a mad scientist in charge of the CIA’s Secret Weapons Department had some serious side effects. Getting hit with a shrink ray, laser beam, or the Transmogrifier made a bad LSD trip seem groovy. One upshot of Dad’s vendetta were frequent trips to far off corners of the world during escape attempts. Traveling in the Third World, the perilous home of unspeakable veggie plates, uninhabitable hotel rooms, strange people, bizarre customs, deadly transportation, and even deadlier diseases, provided a plethora of story material. Much of which I plan to share with you over a series of novels.

Over time, my stories evolved from dubious memoirs jotted in travel journals, to crude first drafts, to finished books. When I think back to writing on Miss Crabby’s blackboard, well, like the Grateful Dead sang, it’s been a long, strange trip!

Baffled readers have asked, “Are these stories really true?” Like Socrates said, “What is truth?” Unless that was someone else. Like Einstein might say, “It’s all relative.” So, to readers with a copasetic attitude and free spirit, I say, “Sure, they’re true. Sort of.” To any authority figures, I say, “It’s all a bunch of bull. Don’t believe a word. Hey, put away those handcuffs. . .”

Be sure to go to the home page and grab Turning On and enjoy the wild ride. Also, check out the book page to view sample chapters, great images, and funny scene descriptions.