Don’t blame me for this rambling mess of a post. Today is my Monday, folks. (Thanks for that, Thanksgiving. Love ya.)
A mild-mannered bellman finds himself swept up into a disaster of epic proportions when a freak meteorological disaster drops thousands of imbeciles, nitwits and fools over the city of Niagara Falls on the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend.
Don’t miss The Hook in his made-for-television-but-sure-to-never-be-aired-debut….
(Makes Sharknado look like an infomercial!)
Yes, this is really how my mind works. What can I say? Yesterday’s shenanigans – over 800 check-outs in a three-hour period - not only marked the true end of the ridiculously crazy season, they marked the beginning of a new period in my writing career. Inspired by a dozen calls of a truly insane nature – seriously, the only thing that would have put the day over the top would have been a visit by the duo of Lindsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes – I have decided to turn over a new literary leaf and start really cutting loose in my messages to the outside world.
(A three-hour period? Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if something like that actually existed, ladies? Your lives would certainly be easier.)
So to sum up, my next book, whenever it actually comes together, will be an entirely different animal from its predecessor. It should take twelve months or so; Sarah’s creation, The Misadventures of Misery, has to take precedence. In the end, it may only debut on the Kindle – I can’t expect VampireLover to shell out our hard-earned cash a second time, especially considering how much of a disaster the first book to carry my name was – but the next volume of The Bellman Chronicles will not only knock your socks off, it’ll set them aflame with laughter.
That’s all for now, guys ‘n gals. By the way, I’m still on hiatus (okay, semi-hiatus), but every once in a while the creative urge becomes too powerful to ignore. I arrived home a few days ago to find my father-in-law, Jack, fascinated/repulsed by the televised train wreck that is Sharknado and so this post began to form…
So if you’re reading this, wifey, blame Ian Ziering and Tara Reid. I’m just the victim here.