No one in publishing will talk about the writer blacklist. I’m shocked to my writer testicles. – Tim Barrus

I have never taken a writing course. What is a writing course. Do they need the income from side gigs.

Are you kidding me. I grow a lot of my own food. And sometimes I dive. In the heat, Mister Dumpster is not your friend. Some years I only made ten dollars. The IRS said: Keep it. I have lived in ditches. In the rain. In a pickup. County campgrounds. Reservation campgrounds. Rest areas in the shadows. Tent cities. Junk Yard Night Watch. I have written novels on picnic tables. I have written a lot of porn. Because none of those people, they’re still real people, talked down to me.

They were never arrogant. Mainstream Agents Dine On Arrogant Cake. Poverty is not rock and roll. Not writing is not an option. I drive a dirt bike. Last winter a tree jumped in front of me. I do not have insurance. I set it myself. I live in a cabin. Publishing has not changed. Amazon has, in my opinion, this is an opinion, strangled most of us. Bankrupted cool bookstores. And manipulates the market with a fluid, randomly chosen list that edges a lot of great books into the wind. Your loss. There is no stability to this kind of life. It is not a life, it’s a ghosted fetish for ideas and they are not words on a wall. The Marquis wrote on his skin. Agents read on Thursdays at midnight for five minutes and it hurts them to read anything. Grunts do it. Publishing is as crooked as a barrel of fishhooks. They love you one day. They despise you the next. Don’t do this if you have a choice.