What is "Lost in Infinity" really about?

Before anyone reads it, the first question is always, “What is it about?” Afterward it becomes, “How much of it is true?”

What is it about?

That’s the harder of the two to answer without giving away too much. The novel is a psychological suspense thriller at heart, written in the form of a fictional autobiography. The book follows the narrator as he explores his lifelong struggle with insomnia and the meaning of human existence. The narrator’s crippling fear of infinity and the unknown boundaries of space and time fracture his grip on reality as the reader is pulled along down his path of self discovery, unlocking suppressed memories that may hold the key to his fears and answer the question of, “What is the meaning of life?”

Giving any more clues to what the book is about would ruin the experience.

If you appreciate the work of Chuck Palahniuk (“Survivor”, “Fight Club”), Kurt Vonnegut (“Slaughterhouse-Five”, “Timequake”) or Dean Koontz (“Odd Thomas”, “Life Expectancy”) you’ll likely enjoy this book.

How much of it is true?

I take back what I said earlier about this being the easier question to address. The simple answer is “enough”. The book takes the actual events and struggles of my life and puts meaning to them where none could be found. It takes the darkest of my fears and explores the possibilities that frighten me most. It puts into words the moments of my life that have defined, inspired, changed, stifled and plagued me throughout my tenure as a cast member in the play of life. That said, because of the nature of the novel, the main character needed to be a pretentious, overconfident headcase and kind of a dick. Oh, and maybe a little bit schizophrenic... The lines of truth more than blurry.

Enjoy the show.

GoodReads is giving away signed copies of LOST IN INFINITY

GoodReads is giving away (10) signed copies of “Lost in Infinity”. Sign up for your chance to win.

CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS

Check out my interview with Adie and Shaan

You can check it out on iTunes here:

Or listen via SoundCloud here:

Blech...

Bring me all the drugs.

Did I mention I need someone to bring me all the drugs?

Not ha-ha this is fun drugs but fuck my head and stomach and throat are in the seventh ring of hell drugs.

Over 500 people signed up for GoodReads “Lost in Infinity” giveaway of 10 books which is awesome.

Did I mention I’m sick?

Rest in Peace Dick Clark

Too soon for me to make fun of his passing.

Not too soon to feel horrible for laughing at some of you evil fuckers doing it though.

Apparently.

Good thing I don’t believe in hell, otherwise I’d have just secured a seat next to the furnace.

Today I shall return to "Harnessing the Spark"

The novel is at the halfway mark. I’ve been neglecting it for obvious reasons, but I think it’s high time I get back to it.

“high time” is a really strange phrase. I’m assuming it refers to high noon but I’m not curious enough to look it up so I’ll just contemplate its origins here.

There are many that would argue “high time” is 4:20pm. I am not one of those people. I have long since graduated high school.

Not that there is anything wrong with smoking the mary-jah-hu-ha. Other than it being illegal I guess, but that in itself is a debate I would gladly get behind. I would sell the magic dragon down by the sea for fun and profit without a second thought.

Speaking of the sea, why do fisherman always refer to the sea and never the ocean? There is a difference right? The open sea isn’t really the sea at all. The sea is the area between the land and ocean, the sea is partly surrounded by land by definition. The next time a sailor says he wants to get back to the sea, I shall call him a pussy. The ocean is where the true adventurer would take to. Then he’ll probably punch me in the face.

Getting punched in the face can be very therapeutic. How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?

I really need to read a few books that are on my list. “Out of Oz” is current, then “Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter” then something by Chuck P.

Where was I? Oh yeah, today I shall return to “Harnessing the Spark”

I REALLY need objective reviews...

Anyone interested in reading and offering an objective review of “Lost in Infinity”, let me know. 

Or if you have already read it and haven’t offered up a review, you should do that. Even if you fucking hated it, didn’t get it, don’t understand the hype or just wish it would go away.

You can post reviews on Tumblr and tag me, Amazon, Goodreads or Barnes and Noble.

EVERY Review is appreciated.

Thanks!

I think it's time to give up on the dream...

that I’ll ever be an incredibly wealthy and beautiful heiress.

Or a princess.

Or a Suicide Girl.

*deep breath*

*exhale*

I need to realize I have limitations.

S.G. Browne - Shooting Monkeys in a Barrel

I am going to go ahead and assume you all know how much I loved “Breathers” by S.G. Browne… He has a new collection of short stories out which I plan on reading as soon as I’m finished with Daryl Gregory’s “Devil’s Alphabet”. Check this out from S.G. Browne’s website and try not to put it on your list.

——————————

Shooting Monkeys in a Barrel

An original ebook collection of ten dark and humorous tales that includes: a family of luck poachers; extraterrestrial sex toys; a group of professional guinea pigs; a reality TV show starring the Seven Deadly Sins; and a zombie gigolo.

Just to name a few.

Several of the stories have appeared in other print collections or anthologies and others are brand-new tales that have never been published. Two of the stories included, “A Zombie’s Lament” and “Softland,” are the predecessors to my novels, Breathers and Lucky Bastard, while “The Sodom and Gomorrah Shore” incorporates several characters that appeared in my second novel, Fated. And after each tale you’ll find author notes as to how the story originated.

Here’s a brief description of the stories you’ll find inside this original ebook collection of Ten Twisted Tales:

“A Zombie’s Lament” – A newly reanimated corpse attends Undead Anonymous meetings with other zombies and comes to terms with the reality of his new existence.

“Softland” – A family of luck poachers living in central California attempts to turn around its fortunes from a deal gone bad.

“My Ego Is Bigger than Yours” – A new designer drug reinvents role-playing games by allowing its users to temporarily become dead celebrities and fictional characters.

“Dream Girls” – A futuristic tale of sexual obsession, extraterrestrial intelligence, the death of Marilyn Monroe, and the assassination of JFK.

“Shooting Monkeys in a Barrel” – A writer suffering from writer’s block becomes addicted to the words he purchases from a drug dealer.

“Captivity” – A lonely and terrified prisoner is held captive in a bizarre and mysterious place.

“The Sodom and Gomorrah Shore” – The Seven Deadly Sins star in the original reality television show, set back during the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Homer’s Reprise” – A modern day story of Odysseus that blends Greek mythology with Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster, and Herman Melville’sMoby-Dick.

“Dr. Lullaby” – A panhandler and professional guinea pig discovers that the pharmaceutical drugs he’s been testing have given him unusual side effects.

“Zombie Gigolo” – A day in the life of a living corpse who provides a unique service for lonely and desperate female zombies.

As if I don't have a bookcase full of unread books I've picked up along the way.....because I can never turn down a good pair of shoes or a good book.....

wickedpissahyall:

I indulged in a little retail therapy for myself this morning on Amazon.com……

I ordered………….Lost In Infinity by Travis Besecker and 50 Shades of Grey -Book 1 by E L James……

Guess what I will be doing instead of housework, cleaning, laundry and cooking once they arrive…..

And NO, I don’t want a Kindle….I am a book purist……I want to feel the pages between my fingers….It’s more than that…..I wrote about it…..I am a collector of words

——————-

I am way excited because the next time someone goes to Amazon to pick up “Lost in Infinity” it is going to show that Customers who purchased this book also bought “50 Shades of Grey” only because… well… because… yeah…

I hope you enjoy it. Tell me which book has better sex scenes.

only $1.99

http://amzn.to/lost-in-infinity

“Lost in Infinity” available for download to Kindle or any electronic device using the free Kindle App.

Yep, no excuse for you not to be reading it now.

The Hunger Games

*Spoiler Alert*

“I’m poor, I’m hungry, I volunteer! No one loves me. Why?” - Katniss

“I love you.” - Peeta

“I’m scared. Why?” - Katniss

“I’m drunk.” - Haymitch

“I’m annoying.” - Effie

“I’m on fire. Why?” - Katniss

“I love you.” - Peeta

“Everyone’s trying to kill me. Why?” - Katniss

“I’m not. I love you.” - Peeta

“We have to kill everyone. Why?” - Katniss

“Because I love you.” - Peeta

“Here, eat these berries.” - Katniss

“I love you.” - Peeta

“I won! I lied. I love Gale.” - Katniss

“Fuck you.” - Peeta

“Why?” - Katniss

—————-

The End

Infinity

I kept my fears private and away from scrutiny for years. About a 10 months ago, I started to open up and share. At first it didn’t help at all but eventually it started to calm the confusion and quiet the hysteria. I started to be able to go to sleep at night with less and less trouble. It wasn’t just the sharing that did it. It was the support of my anonymous internet friends and the tender guidance of my girl that kept me climbing each rung. In November I decided to put everything into words. I started with the history of my phobia and wove it into a fictional tale that gave me the opportunity to get everything off my chest but not at the same time. It helped. It helped a lot.

I still have nights where I can’t think of anything else. There are still nights where my head won’t cooperate with the rest of my body and I start chasing my tail in mental circles of backwards logic and unanswered questions.

Those nights are fewer this year than they have been in the past. They are still there, but not as often.

I’ve seen lulls like this before so I’m not overexcited, but I am optimistic none-the-less. I know it will never be resolved in my head but I think it’s something that I can manage. For the time being I am hopeful.

You guys should come find me on GoodReads...

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5784178.Travis_Besecker

It’s like I’m a legitimate author or something.

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp

I’ve posted this before on the other blog, but felt it necessary to post here as well…

I fell in love with Elphaba Thropp. I didn’t mean to or want to, it just happened.



About 10 years ago I was traveling for work and ran into a girl I had went to college with. She’s a fellow Designer and we’ve always been really close, especially in taste. We had lunch and ended up discussing movies (always ends up there with me) and music, and eventually books. I read a lot. I’ll read anything too. Everything from “Water for Elephants” to “World War Z” to H.P. Lovecraft to the Bible (I also watch Fox News… can’t argue if you don’t understand both sides of the argument right?). She had just finished “Wicked” by Gregory Maguire and was pretty adamant that I read it. In fact, she left lunch, bought a copy of the book and tracked me down to give it to me before I left town.



That was it, I was obligated to read it. I started the book on the plane, but it put me right to sleep. Slow as dirt and I just couldn’t get into the characters. Anyone who knows me, knows I’m cursed with the inability to quit. Anything. I can’t quit. Fucking anything. With that spelled out, I had to finish the book. After a week at home, I picked the book back up. I reluctantly finished it within the week.



After getting through it, for some reason, I got a little depressed. I kept going back to specific parts of the book in my head. Trying to remember exactly what happened and why. I found myself asking people who had read it if they remembered, but no one could answer my specific inquiries. I couldn’t let it rest, so I picked it back up and started reading it a second time.



This time I couldn’t put it down. Could not. Would not.



I finished it a second time over the weekend. Insomnia has it’s perks. This time, I read it thoroughly, paying attention to the characters, the nuances of the plot and the development of the story as it paralleled The Wizard of Oz.



And Elphaba.



Up until this point, I’d never been so invested in a single character in any book I’d ever read that I felt that if I read it again, maybe something would change. Maybe I missed something and there was a happy story there that I just wasn’t able to pull out. Within 6 months, I ended up reading the entire book four full times. Each and every time, I fell a little more in love with Elphaba.



I’m drawn to tragic, fucked up souls. Broken, downtrodden, in need of fixing kind of people. The emotionally destroyed or handicapped… this is my crowd. I’m also an emotional sponge of sorts, sucking up their sorrow and eating it as if it’s my own. It’s taxing… it’s exhausting, but it’s what I am and at this point in my life, it’s easier to run with it than it is to avoid it. Elphaba is the perfect metaphor for this attraction. A horribly disturbing childhood complete with a drug addicted adulteress mother who came from wealth only to end up in squalor. The father, blinded by religion and disgust for the daughter he feels is the manifestation of the punishment for all his sins as a man of faith. The siblings who she must both take care of and hide within their shadows. Oh, and she’s fucking green.



The story takes her from birth through death and all the train wreck that lies between. Love, life and the complete disregard for her own happiness. Despite all this, I fell in love.



Skip to 2011, and I’ve read the book at least 15 times. At any given moment, about six months pass, and I’m like a secret CIA assassin reaching for his copy of “Catcher in the Rye”. I’m a total fanboy. I’ve bought the book at least a dozen times for friends and relatives.



No one ever reads it on my recommendation.



My sister did get to see it in New York in the Musical form and she fell in love with it on the stage. She agreed to read the book if I went with her to see the play. I go to a reasonable amount of plays and musicals as well, so this wasn’t out of the question. Last year, my sister seized the opportunity and took my mother and I to see “Wicked”.



I was kind of excited. One of my favorite books in live form? Awesome right? Donna Vivino was playing Elphaba and from what I had read prior to the performance, she was stellar in her portrayal. Color me double pumped.



Finally, the day arrived. My excitement was at its peak… it was also short lived.



By the end of the first act, I was nauseous. It was NOT tragic. It was NOT heart breaking. It WAS fucking “Grease”. I felt betrayed. I found myself sitting through intermission trying to pull myself together. It’s just a musical. Get a grip.

By the beginning of the second act, I was full on crying. By the end of the performance, I felt like I was drawing a crowd. I’m a little bitch when it comes to stuff like this so fuck you for judging me. When I get involved in something, I give everything. I hold nothing back. If you’re one of those people who suppress your emotions because you’re afraid of what someone else might say or think, you’re doing life wrong. Seriously. What’s the point?

Back to my tears… I’m talking 5 year old girl watching her pet bunny get torn to shreds by the neighbor’s Rottweiler crylng. Donna Vivino was amazing. Her vocal performance was breathtaking. I tried to enjoy it, I really did. I promise.

But alas, I’d rather’ve been ass-raped with a bowling pin, lube-free, than sit through the entire musical. Seeing as I was with my sister who really wanted me to see it and enjoy it as she had, I stomached the monstrosity to the best of my ability.

I left the theater physically ill. Physically fucking ill.

Total truth, sitting through that musical is one of the worst moments of my life. If I could take it back, I would. For three hours I watched an entire audience blindly enjoy my beloved Elphaba turned into a comedic circus monkey, organ grinder in hand, tipping her fez for treats, coming of age and cracking quips about being green. Fuck you. Fuck every single one of you who enjoyed that horrible piece of shit.

FUCK. YOU.

If I’d have known what they were doing to my Elphaba, I would have stayed home. I’d have kept my love affair tragic, dark and full of despair with a heavy dose of heartbreak.

I’d also like to point out this was the last Musical I have ever attended. Will ever attend. AND, given the opportunity, I’d unleash ebola on the set of “Glee” out of pure principle.

EPILOGUE:

If you’ve seen the Musical “Wicked”, but never read the book “Wicked”, don’t. And don’t ever speak to me about it. Ever. Just don’t.

If you’ve read the book, but never seen the Musical, DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE

did you know?

The first 20 pages of “Lost in Infinity” are available to preview on Amazon

and the first 38 pages are available to read on GoodReads

an excerpt from "Lost in Infinity"

I haven’t posted an except in a while so here goes…

“Hurry up and finish your Cheerios, Mr. Wick is going to be ready soon.” My mother flitted about the kitchen like a moth fighting for purchase on a porch light. “You still need to brush your teeth!”

Today was my first day of Bible Camp. My mother’s church was offering the service for two weeks, in the heat of July, without air conditioning. Most governments would have considered this cruel and unusual punishment. I hopped down from the table and proceeded to get ready. My mother had laid out my clothes last night flat on my bedroom floor. She apparently wanted me to appear as though someone responsible had dressed me. Button up shirt and khaki pants. Did she not realize that I’d be melting by mid morning? I looked at the silk-screened Yoda t-shirt and striped shorts sitting on my chair with longing and dismay. Reluctantly, I chose my battle wisely and buttoned up the plaid dress shirt with a sigh.

I’d never attended church before that day. My mother went regularly, but I had always been permitted to stay home with my father instead. The last few weeks I’d been asking questions that my mother could not answer. Questions like, “How can there be a God and your religion be right if there are lots of religions? Is everyone else wrong?” and “How do you know there is a heaven? Just because someone tells you to jump off of a bridge, you don’t have to do it.” She wasn’t very happy with me. My father had found it funny. She did not. After a few weeks of badgering her without remorse, she took up the quandary with her pastor. He was the one who had suggested she spring for enrollment in the Bible Camp. He assured her that all of my questions could be answered by studying the good word of the Holy Bible.

Before this day I had been fascinated with Chaos Theory. I was convinced that each and every action undertaken by each and every person had repercussions felt across the span of human kind. A boy in Guatemala eats a corn taco and a bird in Phoenix flies directly into a window. There must be a greater connection between all living things than just the random collision of molecules resulting in an acceptable collage of life. Like ripples in a lake, each initial change in condition affects every wave that the initial wave touches, changing each wave each changed wave touches, and so on and so on. Chaotic systems cannot be determined or predicted but they can be manipulated. Making changes in your life that you would normally not make can change everything for everyone.

I began to make changes to my behavior on purpose just to change the course of human kind. I began second guessing every action for fear of how it would affect the rest of the world. From this obsession I began to concern myself with faith and religion. My mother’s beliefs contradicted the mathematical validity of quantum chaos. Faith in a greater good allowed her to believe that everything happened for a reason. By this measure, when I decided to throw away my peanut butter sandwich, even though I was still hungry, the decision was not my own. That decision was either already made as a part of my destiny or the outcome of such decision did not affect the greater good so it was rendered moot. My decision did not affect the rest of mankind, only my own hunger two hours later.

There were too many factors in life. Too many beliefs and structures of thought for any one person to be more correct than the next. More and more I realized that all religious beliefs were nothing more than an answer to whatever question plagued people. They became for most a crutch. I was expected to accept one and move on. The questions I had been asking would all be answered as soon as I accepted a larger notion and allowed it to trickle down as truth. I ask a lot of questions. It’s in my nature. Accepting something without proof is not.

A few hours later, I found myself in the basement of the church, huddled around a long table with a dozen other five to eight year olds. The ceiling was incredibly low in the basement room. I noticed that the teacher’s hair was charged with static and magnetically clinging to the low tiles as she walked up and down the length of our table, passing out stickers as we colored our pages with pictures of our family and the church.

“And who is in that picture with you?” she asked as she passed behind me. She was already moving on to the next student when I answered.

“That’s me with Jesus and Buddha.” She paused, hearing what I said, but not hearing at the same time. The day came to an end and I headed through the parking lot toward my mother’s LTD Station Wagon with a piece of paper clutched in my hand.

“What is that? Did you have fun?” my mother asked as I approached the car with my six-year-old neighbor in tow.

“This is my homework. I need help looking up all of these passages in the Bible when we get home.” I wasn’t happy about the homework.

“Did you get lots of homework too, Joshua?” my mother asked my neighbor as we got into the car.

“Nope, just Travis. He made Miss Embry mad. She said he asks too many questions.” Joshua was a little tattle telling pain in my ass.

“I did not. She just wasn’t smart enough to answer the few questions I did ask.”

“What kinds of questions did you ask?” My mother already sounded defensive.

“Normal stuff, like why are Christian’s right and Muslim’s wrong? Why do Adam and Eve have belly buttons in our coloring book if God created them? THEN, she was very upset that I colored Jesus brown. I don’t even want to talk about that.” My mother just looked at me in the rear view mirror, visibly distraught at my first day experience.

That night we spent what felt like a lifetime looking up each verse in the Bible suggested by Miss Embry. My mother attempted to explain what each one meant to me but it was painfully obvious that she was half confused herself. Eventually we both opted for a break and a “do you understand?” followed by, “Sure” and a sigh. Homework complete.

The next day, I presented my paper, signed by my mother, to Miss Embry. “Were you and your mom able to shed some light on those blasphemous questions?” she asked.

“Nope. There are no answers in this book.” I took my seat after I handed her the paper I’d filled out explaining what I’d read in each suggested verse.

She took the paper, looked it over briefly and chose to carry on class rather than address my continued quizzical comments. Instead of engaging me in a heated debate over every question I brought to the table, Miss Embry chose to ignore my raised hand. I held it higher. She continued to ignore. I added “Miss Embry! Miss Embry! Miss Embry!” to each raised hand. She continued to ignore.

The day concluded so far out of her control that she left twenty minutes before the end of class. The study was resumed by my mother’s pastor, who spent the final moments discussing with us the importance of good manners and knowing our place with Miss Embry. As parents arrived to pick up their little ones, I was held back. “I need to speak with your mother.” I was then sent out to the car to retrieve my mom. This couldn’t be good. Joshua and I, as per yesterday, jumped into the back of the car, except this time, to wait for my mother’s return.

Twenty minutes passed before my mom silently slid back into the front seat. We drove straight home, bypassing the Dairy Barn where lunch had been promised. Joshua and I protested, but my mother continued her homeward course unabashed by our whining.

When my mother and I walked into the house, I was asked to take a seat at the kitchen table. After a few minutes, my mother came in and the interrogation began.

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” she asked in a voice laden with accusation.

“No. What did I do?” I was dumbfounded.

“I was asked not to bring you back tomorrow.” She sat down across from me at the booth my family used as a kitchen table. I must have smiled because her voice climbed an octave in disgust, “That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

I stopped. I knew when it was best to just keep my mouth shut. No matter how I answered at this point, my mother was determined to make this my fault. There was no point in arguing. I may as well let her punch herself out.

“Answer me,” she continued. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I just hope you realize how this makes me look. I went to the pastor seeking help and you made me out to be the fool.”

Still I sat silent. “Just look innocent,” I thought to myself.

“Nothing? You have nothing to say?” She tapped her foot for a heartbeat. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Do you know what the pastor told me? He said that you were going out of your way to upset Miss Embry by asking her blasphemous questions and ridiculing her as being naïve and unintelligent because she was unable… nay, UNWILLING to give you an answer that you couldn’t argue about. I know you’re skeptical, Travis, and smart… but this was about good manners and being polite. One day you’ll learn when being right is not as important as being kind.” She huffed and walked out of the kitchen leaving me sitting alone at the tiny laminated table contemplating what I’d done.

I never returned to Bible Camp. I never returned to the church in any capacity in fact. Not until my uncle was married years later, did I even break the threshold of a building of worship. My mother has always blamed it on my need to ask questions rather than have faith. I’d like to blame it on Miss Embry for being a self-righteous jackass unwilling to mix it up with a kindergartener.

facebook

My bestest friend set up a facebook fan page for me!

You should check it out!

http://www.facebook.com/apocalypsecoming

Thanks Pixie!

confession… I don’t do the facebook thing. I’m not allowed. Don’t ask. You’re stuck with me here and on Twitter.

The best part about writing fiction...

…is being able to kill off a character just because you feel like it.

Mattel Makes Bald Barbie After Viral Campaign

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/mattel-makes-bald-barbie-viral-campaign-225424009.html

“Bald Barbie” is to be made by toymaker Mattel after an online campaign went viral and attracted more than 150,000 Facebook “likes”.

Mattel spokesman Alan Hilowitz confirmed that the doll would be put into production, complete with wigs, hats, scarves and additional accessories and classified as a “friend” of Barbie.

He said it would give “a traditional fashion play experience” and there would be the option to remove the wigs and head coverings.

The “bald and beautiful” campaign was started on Facebook in January by two mothers whose daughters lost their hair due to cancer treatment.

The concept was to reduce stigma for children undergoing treatment or for those afflicted by conditions such as alopecia and trichotillomania .

Campaign co-founder Jane Bingham said she never expected the campaign to gather the momentum that it did to help those with hair loss.

“We thought it would be popular with plenty of people, but we did not expect it to balloon the way it did across the world and throughout the media,” she told CBS News.

“It’s been great, we couldn’t have done it. They wouldn’t have heard us if it was just a couple of people writing to them.”

After meeting another mother in a similar situation in an online pregnancy chatroom, Rebecca Sypin, the pair came up with the idea to help young children.

Those behind the campaign said they had not tried to bully the company into action, but instead sought to highlight a condition many children suffer from.

“We are not demanding; we are not asking people to boycott,” Ms Sypin said when the idea was conceived.

“That wasn’t our goal at all. We’re just trying to raise awareness.”

Mattel said the dolls would not be sold in stores and would instead donated to hospitals and the US National Alopecia Areata Foundation.

The company said in a statement: “Through a thoughtful approach, we made the decision not to sell these dolls at retail stores, but rather get the dolls directly into the hands of children who can most benefit from the unique play experience.”