Once you’ve read too many trashy best-sellers, you begin to look for something with substance, something that attempts to define the universe.

I think of myself as a bad writer with big ideas, but I'd rather be that than a big writer with bad ideas.

Most people I meet are stupid. Now, nobody likes to be labeled as stupid because they don’t want to know the truth about themselves, that they’re more useful dead than alive. The vast majority of those that meet me for the first time don’t believe that I’ve worked as a College Professor, or that I make a living as a writer. In fact, many have stopped talking to me because they believe I make a living doing something illegal, something criminal. It’s easier for them to believe that I’m just a criminal, than to accept that I’m one of the most famous bestselling writers in the entire planet. The ones that reach the next level, will ask me if I belong to any secret organization, if I speak to demons or if I channel the dead, or even if I steal information from the internet and other authors. Now, what they can’t see, is that the more they talk such things, the more they show me their real nature. They are very, really very, stupid. They can’t see an elephant in front of their nose; they can’t see an intelligent human being in front of their face; they are indeed very stupid and that’s a fact, not an assumption.

This book is written in a barren period of loss with an attempt to move forward towards substance.

I have a great book. It’s called Stantasyland. Except I don’t have the money to buy a million copies to put it on the bestsellers list.

finding in motion, what was once in place

Readers often tell me after they've read the books, they find it difficult to sum up the plot in a simple way. My response is, "It's a story about the love a father shares for his daughter. All the rest is just filler."- MJ Mancini, on his best-selling trilogy, "Revelation".

We all draw different lines. Sometimes they intersect. Sometimes they don’t. We agree on forms of evil, but judge degrees of it, saying only the worst of humanity is truly bad. And everything along the gray lines is subject to opinion. These are the lines I constantly live on, crossing through intersections that lead down paths I barely remember. And at certain times, for unknown reasons, the grim reality of consequence decides to rear its ugly head at me, and forces me to see what I’ve done. And I find myself staring at…THE DEVIL.

Novels by serious writers of genius often eventually become best-sellers, but most contemporary best-sellers are written by second-class writers whose psychological brew contains a touch of naïvety, a touch of sentimentality, the story-telling gift, and a mysterious sympathy with the day-dreams of ordinary people.

Seriously, when you see a new book fresh on the stand and in big letters it says “A Million Copies Sold,” did you ever wonder who bought them?

I’m contemplating if book sales and promotions can actually be rigged like so many other things in our everyday lives?