>How did that work out for you? Was it a good use of your time?
Well, I wrote this novel, right, about the 2004 presidential election; where I posited that Bush declares a fake terrorist attack, and DHS uses it as a reason to start herding liberals into concentration camps, and only this rock band on tour somehow escapes it, and they end up going and blowing up Bush and Cheney.
Would I take it back? Fuck no. But pretty soon after I finished it I had hundreds of hits from DHS, DoD, bases in Iraq, etc., and white unmarked Crown Vics were driving by my bungalow in the middle of the night. After they broke in and stole our laptops and papers and the LAPD couldn't figure out why they didn't take my money or my shotgun, we lived at Motel 6 for a month and fled to Argentina. Tried to stay out of the US since then. Spent a year in Australia, a year or two in southeast asia, and then Europe. Started a Bitcoin casino in my free time. Gave myself to drinking, smoking, drugs, snails and foie gras.
I would never, ever take back my decision to drive a taxi in LA, or write that book. It was the most eye-opening experience of my life. When I went to San Fran after high school in '97, I had $1800 in savings and moved into the Hotel Nazareth, Jones & Geary, where the hookers next door and the crackheads on the street screaming kept me up all night. There was no phone. I walked to the Hilton every day in my fucking only suit, and used the payphones to call every single ad agency and design firm in the city. Went for an interview with Bear Magazine, which was terrifying (they offered me $33k, more than I make now, ironically) -- twelve giant hairy guys turning around to welcome you while you try to be interested in whether they're using Quark or Pagemaker. Took a job for $22k to spare my psychiatry bill, working for a bunch of douchebags doing web bubbgle 1.0 on Green Street.
Anyway, would I change in my time under the russian mob driving for bell cab? No way in hell. It was an exploration of the soul. I learned things about the human condition, the human soul, that can only be put into a novel, where no one believes them.
But pretty soon after I finished it I had hundreds of hits from DHS, DoD, bases in Iraq, etc., and white unmarked Crown Vics were driving by my bungalow in the middle of the night
I'm surprised that writing a fictional novel can get you that kind of treatment. Do you think that it was perceived as a plan to be carried out?
It was the most eye-opening experience of my life.
The book's still online. It's a farce. It was never meant to be taken seriously. No one in their right mind would consider it a legitimate threat. Although that didn't stop DHS from considering it one. I wrote it based on a few kids I knew in a band who didn't give a crap about politics, and what would happen to them if Bush got re-elected and declared a state of emergency while they were all high and on tour. I wrote it in a about three weeks.
It's called American Apocalypse. http://www.joshstrike.com/amap/
In some weird way I think it's kind of a precursor to Cory Doctro's novel Little Brother, which I love; he swears he never read mine; and AA was written a pretty critical 4-5 years earlier. But there are still some striking similarities.
Now...I'm basically a freelance coder like everyone else. Lived overseas for the last seven years. Write, play music, travel to countries where it's cheap; live in a suitcase; drink and smoke a lot. American Apocalypse was the last novel I wrote. There were five others. There wasn't much point. Better to just stfu and make web, like a friend of mine says.
Well, I wrote this novel, right, about the 2004 presidential election; where I posited that Bush declares a fake terrorist attack, and DHS uses it as a reason to start herding liberals into concentration camps, and only this rock band on tour somehow escapes it, and they end up going and blowing up Bush and Cheney.
Would I take it back? Fuck no. But pretty soon after I finished it I had hundreds of hits from DHS, DoD, bases in Iraq, etc., and white unmarked Crown Vics were driving by my bungalow in the middle of the night. After they broke in and stole our laptops and papers and the LAPD couldn't figure out why they didn't take my money or my shotgun, we lived at Motel 6 for a month and fled to Argentina. Tried to stay out of the US since then. Spent a year in Australia, a year or two in southeast asia, and then Europe. Started a Bitcoin casino in my free time. Gave myself to drinking, smoking, drugs, snails and foie gras.
I would never, ever take back my decision to drive a taxi in LA, or write that book. It was the most eye-opening experience of my life. When I went to San Fran after high school in '97, I had $1800 in savings and moved into the Hotel Nazareth, Jones & Geary, where the hookers next door and the crackheads on the street screaming kept me up all night. There was no phone. I walked to the Hilton every day in my fucking only suit, and used the payphones to call every single ad agency and design firm in the city. Went for an interview with Bear Magazine, which was terrifying (they offered me $33k, more than I make now, ironically) -- twelve giant hairy guys turning around to welcome you while you try to be interested in whether they're using Quark or Pagemaker. Took a job for $22k to spare my psychiatry bill, working for a bunch of douchebags doing web bubbgle 1.0 on Green Street.
Anyway, would I change in my time under the russian mob driving for bell cab? No way in hell. It was an exploration of the soul. I learned things about the human condition, the human soul, that can only be put into a novel, where no one believes them.