Literary Agent: You with the face,

Can you get me some money so I can quit my job and finish this fucking novel? This is the “greatest novel in the fucking world.” That was in quotations so you can’t question it - I read it somewhere on the internet so it’s fucking true.

IF not, you can also pre-order a copy at

I feel like the world is running around at this indefinable, maddening speed and I’m unable to catch up. I feel like I’m running behind Olympians, and the only thing that I’ve been handed is an imperative to win the race or be relegated to a pot of ash without a legacy. And there are a million of these fucking nameless losers buried in the ground with maggots at their bones. Neither outcome seems desirable - I’m still young, they say.

But I feel… faded.

Much the same as the main character of my novel, Brooklyn Parker. Although, he’s much more the confident man than I am - he has a knowledge in his own abilities and a drive that I haven’t been able to tap into for a good few years. He’s the perfect Army Ranger.

I feel like Brooklyn is the person who/whom/that I would have become if my unit had actually been deployed to Afghanistan in 2012. He’s got perfect teeth. Mine are falling out. A perfect body. I’ve grown several waste sizes in the past few years. He lost his virginity in high school - I’m still a virgin.

I feel like the more that I find out about these fucking characters, the more I find facets of my own self reflected in them. And I've learned to hate those parts of them - because I feel flawed. The more I hate them. And perhaps I don't hate people - perhaps I just say that because I feel unworthy of their friendships. I don't fucking know.

The main link between Brooklyn and I is our military service. I just got done with six years in the Army National Guard as a combat engineer (I blew stuff up). He’s the perfect Army Ranger.

In the story, Brooklyn is deployed to Afghanistan. He gets a notification informing him that his sister has committed suicide back home. The novel opens upon him standing at the Mukilteo ferry dock, waiting for the ferry to take him back to a place he hasn’t seen in over a decade - The South End. That’s the name of the book, by the way.

But when a County Sheriff’s Deputy informs him of mysterious circumstances surrounding his sister’s death, he starts down a rabbit-hole of espionage, crime, gangsterism, secret societies, and murder.

Did Sarah Parker really commit suicide? What’s a Yanquapin? What mysterious forces and shadowy government agencies are descending upon The South End?

That’s a rhetorical question meant to get you all excited n’ shit. Did it get you excited? I still feel like shit, so it’s OK if it didn’t. I’d rather talk in the face than write out a fucking letter. I’m terrible at these.