Dear Agent,

I wrote a book. It’s called Shedding the Reptile: A Memoir.  You can tell from the title that it’s a memoir.  I wanted to make that clear.  That’s why I didn’t title it Shedding the Reptile: A Cookbook.  Incidentally, it has nothing to do with reptiles.  Rather the title is derived from our reptilian brain. Well, not really derived.  What I mean is that the title references the human reptilian brain, not that it is actually derived from a reptilian brain like some gross extract.  You probably already know that though, right, Agent?

Awesome.

Anyway, my book, right?  Pretty cool, huh?  I included between five and 30 sample pages, depending on who you are and whether my boss was lurking around the corner while I misappropriated company stationary.  As you can see from the onset, my book is going to kick your ass right in the balls.  It’s a true story about how I fucked and drank and did speed and stole and traveled and then fucked some more while drinking until I almost died (all the while trying to find love).  It’s a family book.  I sent my grandma a copy, and she hasn’t died yet, so I think it’s probably safe to give to the elderly.

It’s not a very happy book, obviously.  Think about the worst day you have ever had and then multiply that by some huge number.  That’s pretty much the feel of the book.  But there is some humor.  For instance, when I wrote about an abortion, I said….

Wait, you just go ahead and read that part, okay Agent?

In all seriousness, though, Agent.  I really, REALLY want this book to be published.  As nasty and disgusting as it is, it is redemptive.  It will be even more redemptive when you decide to represent me and I can give you the sequel which is far more light-hearted and addresses my clumsy child-like experiences in dealing with sobriety.

Then again, you can just give me the old standby, “This is not really something that I can put all my strengths into.  Good luck, though.”  If so, I am probably going to go on a murderous rampage followed by an outlandish suicide involving levers, pulleys and a pickaxe.  That’s not redemptive at all, is it Agent.

Anyway, Agent.  Take care. Enjoy my book, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Keeping it real,
David C. Garcia

My homie, Nate Ballentine, just read my book, Shedding the Reptile: A Memoir, and apparently liked it so much, he read it again.

Here are his thoughts:

I read it twice!  I couldn’t put it down.  The thing that I think you really did well was convey how gradual yet immense the downward slide was.  In reading it, I was aware of your deterioration, but the story-telling so aptly described your “I can deal with this later” attitude that by the time Chris picked you up and took you to the hospital, it hit me like a brick in the face how low you were…I honestly had to put the book down and recall earlier things you wrote about, working backwards, to fully grasp the situations you were in.  I like that I had to do that, since it made me entirely reflective on the events leading up to when you were able to really begin your recovery.  Not to put myself in your shoes too much, but I feel like that is what you had to do as well.

It also hit home because I knew you and saw you during the time you wrote about.  I just thought you loved having a good time.  I had no idea what you were going through.

Nate  

Something I realized when I read Nate’s comment that speaks to how much my personality has changed during the past couple of years: If I had written this when I was speed-addled and drunk…

Hahahahaha

There is no way I would have been able to stay focused for that long.  I would have set the computer on fire 20 pages into this fucker.  But, if for some reason I had written this and got a compliment from a reader like this, my reaction would have been somewhere along the lines of, “Of course you read it twice.  It fucking rules.  So do I.  In fact, motherfucker, how come you didn’t praise my shit more?  Dick.”

Yeah, I was that much of a self-absorbed/insane asshole.

In reading Nate’s comment now, though, I am really just humbled.  I was proud of what I wrote, but I don’t expect everyone to like it.  In fact, I am anticipating some disgust and even hatred for the subject matter.  Either way, David: humbled.

- David C. Garcia

It’s the name of the book. 

I will be sharing it with a select group of people while Jess Glass (who has been infinitely awesome in this whole process) and I try and do query letters.

- David C. Garcia

I was walking Sir Rowdimus Megatron today, and for the first time, it hit me: I have finished my book!  Then another thing hit me: My mother and my parents-in-law may read this book.  My kid may pick up the old man’s book someday.

I considered puking from the stress.

Okay, there really is a lot more content to this book than vulgarity.  Nevertheless, I wanted to see what my book might be rated if some sort of board on obscenity was reading it.  So I went ahead and did some word counts.

Seriously, I need to stress this: there is some socially redeeming content to this book.

Whatever.

I plan to have a much larger update on the book tomorrow, but for now, here are some key words and the frequency at which they occurred in my nearly 100,000-word book:

Fuck/Fucking: 493 times
Beer: 423 times
Alcohol: 141 times
Sex: 90 times
Love: 88 times
Hate/Hated/Hating: 78 times
Booze: 61 times
Bitch: 52 times
Codeine: 46 times
Happy: 43 times
Coke: 38 times
Reptilian: 37 times
Drugs: 35 times
Kill: 33 times
Reptile: 28 times
Cum: 28 times
Craving: 7 times
Cocaine: 7 times
Recover/Recovery/Recovered: 6 times
Abortion: 5 times

Check back tomorrow or sometime this week.

- David C. Garcia

These Stories Are True is back, vatos!

We took a few weeks hiatus as Brandon settled into his new job feeding old people and I finished my book.

But now, all the old people are fed, and the first draft of my book is finished.  So props to the old people and me.  Brandon can have some props, too.  I guess.

When we left off at TSAT, we had just completed PART 1 of “WE START A GANG.”  And, what better way to start off Black History Month than to bring you the second installment.

On Monday, “WE START A GANG: PART 2″ will explode all of the Intwerwebs via TSAT, and maybe we will finally get the literary praise we deserve.  Get ready, Sweden.  Daddy’s home.

But bigger than that, we have a new contributor to TSAT.  Les Johnson of www.thelongdownwardspiral.com has joined forces with Brandon and me and wrote with us last night for the second installment of the aforementioned essay.  The dude is an amazing writer, and we knew he would do a great job.  But he did a brilliant job.  It was a perfect fit.  Usually, Brandon and I can tell an essay will be good when we are one chuckle short of literally shitting our pants.  And I think last night, we may have actually crossed that chuckle threshold when we read Les’ contribution.  Flawless.

I have extended the offer to Les to become an actual co-author for TSAT and not just a contributor.  So, we will hopefully see a lot more work from him. 

Tune in on Monday for PART 2 of “WE START A GANG.”

- David C. Garcia

You may have noticed (or not) that the word count ticker on the sidebar of this site has not been updated.  That doesn’t mean anything.  I am just not updating it anymore.  In all honesty, the main reason I put the little book ticker on there was so that I would be motivated to keep writing.  That was in the beginning phases of writing THE BOOK, and I was still intimidated with the prospect of actually composing such a massive piece of writing.

As of right now, I have written over 75,000 words and am nearing the end.  By the time I complete THE BOOK and have it in final form for the first draft revision, it will probably be a little over 100,000 words.

I am excited.

After I finish my one-week time-off-from-everything-except-chillaxin session in February, Jess Glass and I will get ready to polish up the first draft.  I have no point of reference for editing a book, so I can’t even estimate how long it will take to get THE BOOK from first draft to second draft.

When all that shiznat is said and done, I will be giving copies of the first draft to a handful of people I trust to give me feedback.  It’s a lot of content, and I thought about just e-mailing copies of it to people, but I don’t want to do that for several reasons.  First, I hate the environment and would rather print up reams of paper.  Second, I don’t want to risk having the thing I have poured my heart and soul into forwarded to people.  Third, I like the idea of having my book read as a book.

That’s pretty much it.  I don’t plan to post any more updates on THE BOOK progress for some time.

So, if you want some entertainment, enjoy this little video snippet from my insanely left-wing friend, Ryan Little:

Oh, on a completely unrelated note (on which I will not elaborate but say has nothing to do with Sarah Palin), I am almost 100-percent convinced that a vast majority of Alaska’s population is functionally retarded or affected by fetal alcohol syndrome.

- David C. Garcia

The first week of February is going to be amazing.

Two reasons:

1. I get to find out the gender of my child.  That means I will be able to determine, with absolute certainty, whether my child will be a little boy named Voltron Garcia or a little girl named Robocop Garcia.  They are Christian names.

2. I will be on vacation from THE BOOK.  I have five days off back-to-back during the first Semana De Black History Month.  HEY-OOOO!  I have decided to bust my ass and finish the first draft of THE BOOK by the end of this month.  This is what I will probably look like by that point:

I’ll take a little vacation and catch up on TV and videogames.  I will then be meeting with my diligent editor, Jess Glass, and tear my book to pieces.  I have already decided on and spoken with most of the people will be reviewing my book when the second draft is done.  I chose them based on their willingness to be brutally honest.  And if they don’t like what I offer them to read, they are cordially invited to go fuck themselves.  Just kidding.  But not really.

- David C. Garcia

Hello, and Happy New Year!

Or something.

I haven’t had a good Christmas or New Years in a long time.  They haven’t been bad or anything, they have just been pretty uneventful.  This year was good.  I got all kinds of sweet loot, including a Flip Mino video camera.  My mother and brother came to visit.  Dad couldn’t make it because, well, he’s in Iraq killing bad people.  But seeing my mom and Chris was cool.

The problem, however, with the holiday is that it set back my entire schedule.  I was planning to complete a significant amount of writing for THE BOOK, but none of that happened.  I need to buckle down and get the first draft finished.  My goal was to have the whole book in the editing process by the end of this month, but now it looks like I am going to be working on the book into next month.

Father Time is really pissing me off.

Some other news:

- In four weeks, I will know what gender my baby is.  That is super exciting.

- I will be solo-essaying this week for TSAT.  Plan to have your pants ROFL’d off, putos.

- The newest installment of the Call of Duty series, “World At War” is awesome.

- I have decided to stop drinking so much soda.  As soon as I finish the soda I have, I will be an H2O man.

That’s all.  Happy 2009, vatos.

- David C. Garcia

I haven’t posted a book update in a while.  No real reason.  I just haven’t.  Suck it.

At the time of this post, I am currently 59,438 words deep.  50,000 words was an important milestone in my writing, mostly because it signified my break into novel range (anything 50K or above).

The way everything is looking, I may be done by the end of this month, the middle of January 2009 at the latest.

The book is long.  It is broken down into sections.  I am shooting for six, but there may end up being seven.  We’ll see.  I am currently in the depths of section four.  Here is what is difficult:

My entire book is grim - VERY, VERY grim.  It is a depravity chimichanga deep-fried in misery.  And as I get through section four, I am well aware that it is only going to get more horrid.  I made a comment last night on Twitter that I was taking a day off from the book because the last chapter I wrote ruined my soul.  So instead of writing the book tonight, I am writing my little book update.

I do need to mention:  I am very excited about this book.  The parts of it that I have written are, in my opinion, awesome.  I am surprised my editor and friend,  Jess Glass, is enjoying it.  I like to talk to her about it when she reads a new set of chapters.  Jess’ writing style is so much different than mine.  My writing voice is far more gritty and grounded in average conversational flow.  Jess, on the other hand seems to be a huge fan of classic structure and eloquence.  I don’t think like that.  I don’t write like that.  Also, the subject matter is not very appealing at times, and I occasionally anticipate Jess walking up to me and puking all over me after reading an installment.  Hasn’t happened yet.  Fingers crossed.

This book has also taught me a few things:

First and foremost, you have to be CONFIDENT.  No, scratch that.  You almost have to posses a certain kind of self-absorbtion and narcissism.  When I write what I write, I have my doubts.  I just push through them, though, and eventually I end up on the other side with a larger product that I actually really, really like.  When I write, I periodically question whether I like something, but ultimately I tell myself, “Damnit David.  Good fucking job.  This is really good.  Here.  Have some cool points.”  I think if I dwelled on all the brief moments of insecurity, I wouldn’t get anything done. I would never push through those parts I am questioning and end up with a greater product I like.  And at the end of a writing session, I generally re-read what I have written and find that I have enjoyed it.

The second thing I have realized is that in taking on something of this magnitude, you can have a good idea of what you want to write and what you think the product will be.  However, what you thought you would create is not what you end up creating.  When I started on this little adventure I sent Jess a copy of my outline.  That outline is now so far removed from what I have written that if one were to compare that outline with what I have actually poured out, one would be left wondering if the outline and the book were two different stories.  Nothing is constant.  Everything changes.  The further I get in this, the more I find that the writing is guiding me.  That sounds cheesy, but it is absolutely true.

And with all that said, I want to share a few sections from one of the most recent chapter.  Please keep in mind, these are parts of a FIRST DRAFT and will be changed/eliminated/moved/edited.  It gives nothing away with respect to the story, but it is a good indicator of the book’s tone.  I am now going to write something in all CAPS and BOLD

THESE SNIPPETS ARE NOT PRETTY.  THEY ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL  THEY ARE HORRIBLE AND VULGAR.  IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE, DO NOT READ.  THESE THREE SECTIONS, WHILE TAME IN COMPARISON TO OTHER PARTS OF THE BOOK, ARE NOT INTENDED TO BE READ WITH EMOTIONAL EASE.  BUT THEY DO OFFER A NICE SAMPLE OF THE FEEL OF MY BOOK:

Sample 1:

     THUD!

     Maybe I wasn’t as angry as I thought I was.

     THUD!

     ”Give me a few more tries, guys.”  I pleaded for a few more kicks on this motherfucker.

     THUD! *crack*

      I had been ridiculously reckless after returning from my week-long hiatus from reality, doing my best to try and squeeze whatever life I had left in me to the surface.  And it was working.  And I was heading for a joyride of booze, fucking, guns, drugs and more booze.

     THUD!  *crack*

    ”Here, man.  Let me give this fucker a try.”  [FRIEND] politely nudged me out of the way.  Our victim just wouldn’t go down.  It was breaking inside, but I didn’t have the anger I thought I did.

And another from the same chapter:

Sample 2:

      I embraced the wildness.  It was a different mental mayhem.  It was something I hadn’t experienced before.  It wasn’t the surge of power I felt after I crushed [RELEVANT CHARACTER'S] testicles into his abdomen, and it was not the utter Hell I briefly embraced in Shit City.  It wasn’t the sense of balance I got from [GIRL] or the promises of hope Dream [GIRL] offered me.  It was an amalgamation of all of those feelings.  I was empowered and full of misery at the same time.  My mind fluttered in between sheer ecstasy and terrible depression.  There was never a middle ground.  But when the lows came, I knew the highs would follow shortly thereafter.

      I felt unstoppable again.  Not because I felt god-like.  That was gone - a thing of the past.  I just felt like I had gone through all of the shit I needed to go through and morphed once again.

      I had also been tampering with my legitimately prescribed antidepressants.

 

And another from the same chapter:

Sample 3:

     After a month of fucking [GIRL], it became apparent to both of us that I didn’t want to commit.  I constantly reminded her that what she had done was bitchy.  Any normal person would surmise that [GIRL'S] decision to leave me for that asshole was just her following her heart - doing what was right for self.  I felt it was easier to let her know I felt she was a bitch.  It kept any possible feelings from really solidifying.

     Plus, [GIRL] still hung out with that piece of shit.  I am certain she was fucking him.  Even when I stuck my dick in her mouth, I knew those lips had been around that other fucker’s cock a few nights earlier.  I wasn’t upset at her, though.  I don’t think I was, at least.

     But I did hold a resentment against that other motherfucker.  How dare he soil the whorish mouth I fucked when I was drunk.

     One evening, I was out with [FRIEND] at [PUBLIC PLACE RELEVANT TO STORY].  I saw [GIRL'S] other sexual object there.  My blood boiled.  I knew where he lived.  I seethed, and I continued to seethe on the walk back home.  When [FRIEND] and I got back to my place, I got out my shotgun, loaded it.  I said I wasn’t going to do anything, but I wanted to pretend that I was going to shoot that fuck-wad who got mouth-fucked by my …MY [GIRL].  I loaded eight shells into the gun and started waving it around on the backyard deck.

      [FRIEND] insisted, “Put that shit away, man.  You are acting like an idiot.”

      ”Whatever.  I’m just living out a little fantasy.  You want to play like you’re him?”  I considered pointing the shotgun at [FRIEND].  I think he sensed this.

That’s it for now.  I am knee-deep in this book now, so there may be one or two more updates, but that’s all.

- David C. Garcia

An oldie but a goodie (like Betty White), I wrote this particular post a while back but took it down a few months ago when I started on my rather large writing endeavor: THE BOOK.

A couple days ago, I got a message from Les Johnson, author of The Long Downward Spiral, and he asked me if I wanted to give him a guest post for his blog.  As an aspiring megalomaniac, I promptly sprung 1,000 ego boners and agreed.

Some of you who have followed my blog may have already read the post in question.  Others may not have.  I usually get comments from people commenting on how amazingly hilarious I am and applauding me on what a great guy I am.  A lot of you who say this have not been here since the inception of this site and are certainly not be remotely familiar with a former (to go unnamed site) I used to write.

My life is not all farts and boner jokes, and I think this post will make this apparent.

Also, this is the very post that was the genesis for THE BOOK.  There you go.  If you all have been wondering about my book, it will be somewhere along the lines of this particular piece. 

So, go read that post, you wacky bitches.

INTERIOR DECORATING

And make sure to check out the rest of Les’ site.  I said this before, but it is worth repeating: His writing is good.  Really good.  I think he is actually working on a rather large literary creation of his own.  And since some of you won’t do it without force, I am going to be posting some of Les’ writing on this site as a guest post whenever he gets it to me.

- David C. Garcia