Still no Zombies

My new book is out and getting some great feedback. Right now, I really want to just get it out there more. I want to get this book in as many hands as possible. I just don’t know how to do it. I’m not a marketing guru and I certainly not a salesman. Hell, I’m an awkward glance away from being a recluse, three inches of beard away from being a hermit. So how should I go about getting this book out there?

I’ve decided a teaser is in order. The segment below is from chapter 1 It is where I introduce Angel, perhaps my favorite character I’ve ever written about.

 

So Dustin, after Israel fell and the virus spread (we call it a virus, everyone does, but the general public has no clue what it is. I am a part of the clueless general public.) said to me, “We need to start preparing to protect ourselves. We need to be ready for it when it hits state side.”

I agreed whole heartedly and got up to get another Grande Skinny Caramel Macchiato with soy. When I returned, Dustin was gone. Angle was sitting where he had been. Angle is a sweet girl, but not a girl I or anybody had ever been sweet on, if you know what I mean. She is a Chinese American. Her face is Chinese (these are her words, her joke, not mine. I wouldn’t say this if it wasn’t how she described herself.), but her body was all American. Angle wasn’t round; she was a rhombus cube, like an eight-sided D&D dice. She often described herself as the square peg. Her real name was Angela, but she got the nickname Angle back when we were in college. I was pursuing a history degree, Dustin was pursuing media communications, and Angle was pursuing teaching and became a geometry teacher at a nearby high school. Now Angle has two meanings. Go figure. Irony was so much better before the zombies. Now nobody takes time to appreciate the ironic.

“Nobody takes time to appreciate the ironic anymore,” I said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Angle can’t curse at the school, so for the first hour after arriving at the coffee shop, she is a vulgarian to make Eddie Murphy blush.

“I just told the barista that my name was Bob Upperton.”

Angle looked at me like I was dachshund pissing on her pillow. “What the fuck does that mean? Are you fucking retarded? That’s not even irony, you brainless cow fucker.” None of this was said with any malice or with any desire to offend. That’s just Angle’s way after school. She really is a sweet person.

“So how was your day?”

“Like being stuck in a colostomy bag with Gilbert Godfrey.”

 

That should give you a feel for the kind of story it is. Thank you for reading.

Robert Holt

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