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The Bath Salts Journals, Volume One
The Bath Salts Journals, Volume One drops readers into a zombie apocalypse through dated entries rather than panoramic spectacle, and that choice gives the book its pulse. Alexis, a Toronto mother of triplets, notices early signs that the so-called “bath salts” attacks are really the beginning of the undead, then drags her skeptical family and a fiercely funny friend, Xuân, into a survival plan that leads north to a fenced compound in Nunavut. What begins as domestic paranoia hardens into a trek through wreckage, then into a rough new life built from hydroponics, fishing, grief, and vigilance. The book’s premise is familiar; its texture is not. It keeps returning the apocalypse to the scale of diapers, canned food, improvised childcare, and whether there will be enough light, warmth, and patience to get through one more day.
What I enjoyed most was the doubleness of the narration. Alexis writes with earnest resolve and maternal terror, while Xuân’s entries slash across the page with profanity, gallows humor, and a kind of anti-sentimental clarity. That contrast keeps the novel from going slack. Alexis can verge on idealized competence, but the book is sharper when it lets exhaustion, pettiness, boredom, and small comforts sit beside the horror. I believed this world most when the characters were arguing over what to pack, improvising meals, hauling children through danger, or trying to preserve scraps of normal life with movies, karaoke, and make-do celebrations. The apocalypse here is not sleek; it’s cramped, messy, and often absurd, which makes it feel oddly convincing.
I also appreciated that the novel is less interested in zombie mythology than in endurance and social reassembly. Even after the gore and flight, the story keeps asking what survival is for. The answer is not heroics alone, but routine, community, and the stubborn decision to remain human. The prose is sometimes blunt, and the emotional beats land a little squarely, yet the journal format forgives some of that by making immediacy more important than polish. I came away feeling that the book’s real engine is not fear but tenacity. It has an unvarnished, handmade quality that suits the material: less a polished studio production than a barricade built overnight that somehow holds.
I’d hand The Bath Salts Journals to readers who enjoy zombie horror, survival fiction, post-apocalyptic fiction, diary novels, and character-driven speculative fiction, especially those who want domestic detail and dark comedy mixed into the bloodshed. It reminded me less of World War Z’s global architecture than of The Walking Dead filtered through a colder, more intimate, more homespun lens, with a streak of irreverence that feels closer to Mira Grant at her loosest. This is a good fit for readers who like their end-of-the-world stories scrappy, human, and a little feral. The end of the world is still, maddeningly, a matter of keeping the house together.
Pages: 216 | ISBN : 978-1945502521
I Was Just Sitting There Eating A Salad…
I Was Just Sitting There Eating a Salad… is a loose, comic tapestry rather than a traditional story collection with hard walls between pieces. The book keeps circling back to Green City and its recurring cast, especially Edward Loomis, the salad-eating private detective whose disastrous encounters become a running joke, while other stories widen the town into something stranger and more affectionate. One minute, the book is leaning into broad farce with names like Randolph and Imogene Scary and a whole town rattled by an “alien” misunderstanding, and the next it opens into more ambitious comic sci-fi through Jerald Cross, Sarah Smart, Greg Lieberman, and the wormhole device that turns a small West Virginia town into the center of increasingly absurd adventures. What finally holds it together is the sense that Green City is its own comic universe, one where gossip, coincidence, pulp plotting, and homemade science all somehow belong in the same weather.
The opening salad story is such a good example of the collection’s method because it commits completely to repetition, timing, and escalation until Edward’s laugh becomes practically mythic. I also found myself genuinely charmed by the way the stories start cross-pollinating. “Wormhole” could have felt like it came from a different book, but instead, it deepens the world, giving the collection a stronger spine than I expected. The courtroom frame, the teenage inventiveness, and the uneasy moral turn after the Nevada chase give that story real momentum, and later pieces gain extra pleasure because they’re no longer isolated gags. By the time the book gets to ghosts, pranks, and military suspicion, it’s working with a whole local mythology, and I admired how casually it builds that mythology without ever sounding solemn about it.
Author Victor Coltey’s prose has a talky, easy-going looseness that can be funny, especially when a narrator is half deadpan and half delighted by his own nonsense, but it can keep pushing after the laugh has landed. Some of the character descriptions and comic premises are intentionally outrageous, though for me they worked. There were stretches where I felt the book’s affection for eccentricity and caricature was warm and knowing. The author’s note helped confirm what the stories themselves suggest, which is that the book is openly trying to mix humor, sci-fi, and what Coltey calls “a little idiocy,” and I think that self-awareness is important because it frames the collection less as polished satire than as a homemade comic world built out of tall tales, genre love, and an authentic voice.
This book is rough-edged, but also lively, distinctive, and cohesive. Its best stories have the pleasure of hearing a practiced raconteur keep a straight face while the town around him slips further into absurdity, and its larger appeal is the way it treats small-town life as a stage big enough for wormholes, ghosts, Sasquatch, and very bad lunches. I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy offbeat regional humor, linked story collections, and comic speculative fiction that feels homemade rather than slick. It’s the kind of book for someone who likes their fiction odd, chatty, and full of personality.
Pages: 203 | ASIN : B0GG7TV3TG
Cowboys, Wizards, & Liars
Cowboys, Wizards, & Liars is a genre-blending fantasy western that follows Noah Farmer, a young wizard and new private investigator, as he goes looking for a missing woman named Gloria and gets pulled through a magical rupture into a version of the Arizona Territory shaped by myth, outlaw energy, and time-bending consequences. What starts as a search mission opens into something bigger: a lost-gold legend, a second story unfolding inside an enchanted paperback, a growing mystery around identity and fate, and a long ride through a past that feels both dusty and unstable. By the end, the book becomes a story about how greed warps people, how stories rewrite the world, and how Noah slowly learns that solving a case is not the same thing as understanding it.
The story has that friendly, front-porch voice that makes you want to keep going, and Noah is a big reason why. He’s funny without trying too hard, unsure of himself in a believable way, and just self-aware enough to keep the story grounded. I also liked how author VJ Garske lets the western and fantasy elements sit side by side without making a big show of it. Horses, ghosts, guns, spells, prospectors, con men, and enchanted books all share the same trail dust. That mix could have felt gimmicky, but here it mostly feels natural. The book has a steady charm to it as well. It’s not slick, not overly dark, just confident in its own odd little weather.
I also appreciate the author’s choices around structure. The story inside the story could have been a mess, but instead it gives the novel an extra pulse. It creates this feeling that the ground is shifting under Noah even when he thinks he has his footing. At the same time, the book is strongest when it slows down and lets character do the work. Noah’s bond with animals, his awkwardness with people, and his reactions to figures like Jack and Fisher gave the novel its real heart for me. I liked how ambitious the book is with its many moving parts. The plot keeps introducing fresh turns and new layers, which gives the story a lively, restless energy. I found myself wishing a scene would linger a little longer, not because it lost me, but because I was enjoying the world and wanted to stay in it. I was engaged the whole way through. The whole thing has the pull of a campfire story told by someone who knows exactly when to grin and when to lower their voice.
I’d recommend this most to readers who enjoy fantasy westerns, light historical fantasy, and adventure stories that care as much about voice and companionship as they do about magic and mystery. It feels like a good pick for someone who wants genre fiction with personality, humor, and a strong sense of place rather than grimness or heavy lore. I think readers who like their fantasy a little scrappy, a little heartfelt, and a little strange will have a good time here. And if you’re the kind of reader who hears a title like Cowboys, Wizards, & Liars and immediately thinks, well, that sounds like fun, this book is very much for you.
Pages: 279 | ASIN : B0GKQSPS7J
Disability Representation in Fiction
A Life in Too Many Margins follows a man looking back on his life from childhood to now, exploring how forced gender roles, neurodivergent masking, disability, and medical trauma have shaped him into the person he is today. Why was this an important book for you to write?
I found myself feeling sad quite often about the lack of disability representation in fiction, especially contemporary literary fiction by queer and neurodivergent folks and/or other intersectional groups. It’s gotten better in recent years as we’ve moved away from disabled characters being villains or “inspiration pornography,” but my dream world would have an entire section in every bookstore!
This story explores many kinds of labels. Which ones felt hardest to untangle?
The one I try hardest to help readers understand is the medical trauma. It’s hard to explain to anyone who isn’t trans or a woman the extent to which doctors will gaslight us when we don’t have the more obvious symptoms. The hardest emotionally was being neurodivergent. I am in my 40s and still working on unmasking behaviours.
Humor plays a central role in the book. How do you balance humor with emotional weight?
This didn’t really feel like a job or anything I had to balance, honestly. My humor is what’s gotten me through my worst times; I used it as a coping mechanism, then a grounding technique, and now it’s just a part of how I present myself and my stories.
Did writing this book feel like an act of advocacy?
Absolutely. I wanted to write about what it feels like to grow up learning how to adapt constantly, often without realizing you’re doing it. Also, because enough people told me I had to write a book, I eventually gave in. It’s almost completely a memoir, so it’s rooted in my lived experience, but it’s shaped intentionally with the occasional note of fiction. I wasn’t interested in documenting everything that happened so much as capturing how it felt. It took time to have the language and distance to write it clearly, but I always meant to share it to help others going through similar situations.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website | BlueSky | Instagram | Amazon
A Life in Too Many Margins is the story of a man looking backward while time keeps nudging him forward. From childhood misunderstandings to medical disasters, David is collecting the fragments of a life shaped by truths he didn’t discover until far too late: that he’s neurodivergent, that his body will never play by the rules. That gender was never the box people insisted it had to be.
If you’ve ever felt like the world wasn’t built with you in mind, or if you just enjoy a dark laugh in the middle of disaster, David’s story will remind you that sometimes real life only happens… in the margins.
Internal Contradictions
Escape from Meanderville Gardens follows a sharp eight-year-old who wakes up late for school and ends up in a strange, gated garden shaped like a giant brain, where she must solve puzzles to find her way out. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The idea of a young, sharp eight-year-old girl navigating a surreal garden shaped like a giant brain was a great way to explore curiosity and problem-solving. The setup was inspired by a mix of childhood memories, my love of gardens, and a fascination with how our minds work. I’ve always loved stories that turn everyday challenges into extraordinary adventures. Combining that with a mysterious environment allowed me to create a space where logic, imagination, and a child’s perspective intersect. It’s a metaphor for growing up, learning, and finding your own way, one puzzle at a time.
Ryder feels very real—dramatic, clever, and messy. How did you develop her voice?
Ryder’s complexity is something I really wanted to capture. Her voice grew out of a mix of deep empathy for her struggles and a desire to reflect how messy and unpredictable people like her father and the many characters she encounters in the gardens can be, especially when emotions run high. I tried imagining her internal contradictions and letting that shape the way she speaks and reacts, which I think helps her feel both clever and vulnerable.
The maze mirrors different brain functions. How did you weave science into the story without making it feel like a lesson?
I wanted the science in the maze to feel like a natural part of the story’s world, not an overt explanation. I focused on showing how different parts of the maze reflected various brain functions through experiences and emotions the characters face. This way, readers can sense the underlying science intuitively, rather than being taught directly.
Would you ever expand this into a series exploring other “mind worlds”?
Exploring other “mind worlds” could open up such rich, imaginative possibilities and deepen the themes already touched on. While there’s nothing set in stone yet, the thought of expanding this concept into a series is something I may consider exploring further down the line.
Author Links: GoodReads | X (Twitter) | Website | Amazon
You-Gin One-Gin: Sort of a Novel
You-Gin One-Gin: Sort of a Novel is a strange, clever, and self-aware book that lives somewhere between literary metafiction, campus novel, and sports novel. It starts as a stage adaptation of Eugene Onegin for a small Midwestern university, with Pushkin himself striding around the stage and arguing with his own characters. Around that, an editorial foreword and the later sections, “Pushkin” and “Nabokov,” spin out a campus story involving a near assassination, an alleged alien abduction at a lingerie league football game, and a ghostly Vladimir Nabokov who may or may not be narrating part of what we are reading. All of it sits inside a fake university press package that treats the whole thing as if it were a serious publication from Liberal State University Press, complete with squabbles over authorship and attribution.
Reading it, I felt like I was watching someone juggle too many glass balls and somehow not drop a single one. The play in Part 1 is funny and nimble, and the dialogue has that quick, teasing rhythm that makes you want to hear it spoken on stage, not just read it. I liked how Robinson lets Pushkin walk in and out of his own story, constantly poking at the thin wall between author and character, past and present. Sometimes it felt like sitting in the back row of a rehearsal where the playwright keeps changing lines on the fly, then turning to you to justify the change. That intimacy works. It made the classic material feel playful and modern.
Parts 2 and 3 shift tone, and I had mostly positive feelings as the book leaned into campus satire and metafiction. The attempted murder, the football game hysteria, the rumors about an alien abduction, the ghost narrator who may be Nabokov or may just be another mask for Robinson himself: all of that is fun, and often genuinely sharp about academic ego, gossip, and the way stories get told and retold until no one remembers what actually happened. Sometimes the book layered one clever reference on top of another. But even when I felt a bit lost, I never felt bored. The voice stays wry and curious, like that colleague who can spend an hour in your doorway unpacking one wild departmental rumor, and you do not quite want them to stop.
If you are in the mood for literary metafiction that plays with a classic text, makes fun of academia, and is happy to chase a joke or an idea as far as it will go, then You-Gin One-Gin: Sort of a Novel is worth your time. Readers who enjoy experimental fiction, campus and sports stories with a twist, or who already have a soft spot for Eugene Onegin and Nabokov will probably get the most out of it.
Pages: 380 | ASIN : B0GFPWGFTX
The Funniest Joke in the Universe
Santa Andreas’ The Funniest Joke in the Universe follows Nardwuar, a kid who blows out his fifth-birthday candles and secretly wishes to know the single funniest joke that exists, then spends years trying to live up to that wish. His search drags him from a very normal childhood into very abnormal territory: alien parking lots run by bitter “perfect human” robots, a ramshackle space camper called The Absurdipity, a quantum banana that doubles as a lifeline, and a mountain retreat on planet Hoodoogooroo where a Joke Guru and, later, a cosmic voice called The Great Whatever poke holes in everything he thinks he knows about comedy, art, and himself. Along the way, the book weaves in the origin fable of Anana the Banana and her friend Miki the Monkey, two misfits who discover that imagination is both a curse and a gift, and it all builds to the wonderfully absurd idea that the funniest joke in the universe might be a joke so good it does not even need a punchline.
As a reader, I had a goofy grin on my face for most of the ride. The writing swings from cheap fart jokes to sneaky philosophy in the space of a paragraph, and that contrast worked for me. Scenes like the birthday wish, the hellish hot-dog dream that births the sausage joke, and the long bureaucratic slog with Surly the Perfect Human robot clerk feel ridiculous on the surface, yet underneath they echo things readers recognize from real life, like humiliation, boredom, and the feeling that grown-up rules are made to crush your curiosity.
I loved the voice most of all. It is conversational, self-mocking, full of running gags and made-up words, the kind of narration that sounds like a funny friend telling a story at lunch and constantly interrupting himself with side comments. The illustrations match that energy, bold images of sausages, bananas, aliens, and a very tired campervan, and they keep the book feeling playful even when the ideas go a bit cosmic.
The book leans into riffing, so some bits feel like extended stand-up routines rather than steps forward in the story, and I feel that some younger readers might lose the thread in the longer tangents. The constant joking also means that a few emotional beats never sink in as deeply as they could. On the other hand, the finale with The Great Whatever pulled everything back together for me. The conversation about a joke that is “too good to laugh at” and the idea that something is funny because we decide to treat it like a joke, just like art is art because an artist says so, gave the book a surprising weight, and I closed the last pages feeling weirdly moved, not just amused.
I would recommend The Funniest Joke in the Universe to readers who like oddball stories from roughly upper-middle-grade through adult who enjoy silly humor spiked with big questions, people who like Douglas-Adams-style cosmic nonsense, kids who live on wordplay and doodles, and grownups who still remember what it felt like to chase laughs in order to feel seen. If you are open to a wild, illustrated romp that turns a quest for the ultimate joke into a reflection on imagination, belonging, and why we want people to laugh with us in the first place, this book is worth the trip.
Pages: 360 | ASIN : B0G3KMP56X
Book of Me
Book of Me felt like sitting across from Kevin in a diner while he talked me through his life, one wild episode at a time. This nonfiction autobiography-memoir traces his journey from a rough-and-tumble childhood over a butcher shop in Queens to the cookie-cutter dream of Levittown, through hippie days and garage bands, brushes with rock legends, marriages and divorce, a Christian conversion, big wins in real estate, brutal losses, bipolar disorder, cancer, and a late-life run at politics and entrepreneurship. The book is broken into short, titled episodes that move mostly in order, each one another story about how this ordinary guy kept stumbling into extraordinary situations, learning to laugh, get back up, and lean hard on his faith.
The writing keeps the feel of spoken storytelling, which makes sense since Kevin originally told these stories on camera. You can hear him in the run-on excitement of a good memory and the quick punch of a painful one. The style is loose and conversational, sometimes a little meandering, but it feels honest rather than messy, like listening to a friend who has a lot of life to cover and is trying not to leave out the good parts. As a memoir, it reads less like a polished literary project and more like a long, vivid conversation, helped along by the pencil sketches and the playful chapter titles that keep you turning pages to see what ridiculous thing happens next. At times, I wanted a bit more trimming or reflection between the anecdotes, but the energy and humor kept pulling me back in.
I also appreciated the choices he makes about what to show and how vulnerable he is willing to be. Kevin leans hard on self-deprecating humor, especially when he is talking about getting into trouble as a kid, crashing on the ice, or starting one more half-baked business, and that humor softens you up before he walks you into heavier territory. When he writes about his Christian conversion, his mental breakdown and bipolar diagnosis, or facing cancer, the tone shifts in a way that feels earned. He does not pretend to have it all together. Instead, he keeps circling back to this idea that life is about the journey, about falling, learning, and getting back up with God, family, and a few loyal friends at your side. In a genre that can sometimes feel like a highlight reel, it was refreshing to see him include so many moments where he did not look good, or did not win, or just barely survived.
By the end, I felt like I had been on a long road trip with someone who talks a lot, laughs loudly, prays openly, and is deeply aware that he has been both reckless and blessed. This is an autobiography for readers who enjoy true, larger-than-life stories more than careful literary craft, who like faith-driven narratives, and who do not mind a little chaos mixed in with their inspiration.
Pages: 494 | ASIN : B0FJWKDKZR
