Signed copy of Bad Way Out in exchange for information

bottle-coverI have some extra paperback copies of Bad Way Out sitting in my living room.  They aren’t doing me any good so I’m going to give them away.  If you want a signed copy, all I ask for in exchange is some information.  This book has a decidedly redneck vibe to it, so my idea is to reach out to country music radio stations, particularly ones with popular morning shows.  If you want a book, name the best country music radio station in your area.  If you’ve got a connection there, all the better.  I have four books to give away, so I’ll take the first four replies to this post.  Leave the name of the station/show in the comments below or on the Facebook fan page.

Don’t leave your email or physical address in the comments here or on Facebook.  I’ll give you an email address to send me that information later.  This offer is open to everyone I’m not related to.

UPDATE: August 1, 2013 – Three of the four signed copies have been claimed.  There’s one left for now.  I’ll do another giveaway at some other point, so if you miss this one, don’t fret.


Bad Way Out – free on Kindle today and signed paperback


Free for Kindle until 3:00 AM July 28

Today, July 27, Bad Way Out is free on Kindle until tomorrow, July 28, 3:00 am ET.  I also have a couple of the paperback copies of the book on my desk.  I’ve read the book several times so I don’t really need these extra copies.  I’m going to do a little giveaway, and I’m most likely going to tie it to the C. Hoyt Caldwell Facebook author page.  I’ll have more details either tomorrow or early next week. 

The Closeout Kings – a short story

This is only a short story in the sense that it’s short.  It’s actually the first chapter of a new full length novel I’m working on.  It’s the same genre as Bad Way Out.  Meaning it’s backwoods obscene and pretty much any group will have some sort of problem with it.  The book is tentatively titled Little Deputy and the Closeout Kings. 

These are the Closeout Kings. (Unedited.  Typos are likely)

“You know what I can’t figure?  I can’t figure why that gal with the big ass is famous.” Kenny Fable squeezed the bill of his crud-covered hat, and then shifted his gaze out the passenger side window of the truck for a brief second before returning his focus to his bill shaping efforts.

“Which gal with the big ass?” Step Crawford asked with his hand out the driver side window flicking ashes from his Porter 100 cigarette on the damp pavement below.

“The one, you know, kind of pretty, thick as she is, married that rapper fella, had that baby they named Sandwich or Peanut or some silly shit like that.”

Step hocked up a chunk of mucus and spit it out the window.  “Oh, that one.  She’s famous for having a big ass.”

Kenny nodded as if that made sense.  “What other big-assed gal is there?”


“You asked which one. Mean’s there must be a couple to choose from.”

Step shrugged.  “I don’t know.  There’s a few of them running around out there.  Don’t really give a shit.”

“Why do you reckon that is?” Kenny said still trying to get his cap just right.  His thick fingers clasped the stiff bill on either side and flexed slowly as he molded it into a piece of art.

“Why do I reckon what is?” Step asked rubbing his sharp, scratchy jaw line with his dirty, callused fingers.

“There’s so many of those plump-bottomed girls now?”

“There’s always been plump-bottomed girls.”

Kenny rolled his eyes.  “I know that, but didn’t none of them make a living off it before.  They did just about all they could to rid themselves of it, matter of fact.”

The door to Son Crow’s Tavern opened and Step stretched his skinny neck forward and squinted.  A short fat man stood under the glow of the light above the entrance and lit up a cigarette.  “That him?”

Kenny looked up from his hat and quickly said, “Nope. Too short.”

Step sucked on the filter of his cigarette.

“Well, what’s your theory?”Kenny asked as he settled back into toying with his hat.

“About what?”

“The gals, Step.  The ones with the big asses.  How come they’re so popular now?”

Step huffed out a stream of smoke and frowned.  “Christ, you ain’t gonna let up on this, are you?  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because that anal sex has become so popular. One’s got to do with the other most likely.”

Kenny snarled and shook his head.  “That’ don’t make sense.  Gal’s with small asses do butt sex, too.”

“Yeah,” Step said with a nod.  “But they probably get picked at the end of the night.  It’s the order of things.  Big-assed gals go first.  Then the skinny-assed ones are picked.”

“Picked where?”

“I don’t know, at a party or bar or any such social situation.”

Kenny gave the bill of his hat one last squeeze and then studied it.  “So you’re saying that fellas that like butt sex like big-assed women?”

“I am saying that, yes,” Step said before he took another drag from his cigarette.

Satisfied the bill was just right, Kenny stuck his hat on his head.  “But there ain’t no particular kind of woman a biblical-sex fella likes, so why are butt sex fellas so fixed on the big asses?”

Step swallowed his smoke.  “Why the fuck does it matter?”

“It’s just a curious thing, is all.”

Rolling his eyes, Step decided his partner wasn’t going to give up on the topic. “Think about it.  The back of woman ain’t got a whole lot going on. You saddle a man with a skinny gal with a bony ass, and he’s liable to go out of his mind trying to figure out what to do with his hands.   A big ass gives a fella something to occupy himself with and get his mind off the fact that he’s got his dick in a place that cranks out shit…”

Another man came out of the bar.

Kenny stuck his head out the window and looked him over.  “That’s him.”  He leaned back in the truck, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a 9MM revolver. After checking the chamber he exited the vehicle.  Before heading toward Son Crow’s, he stuck his head back in the truck.  “What about fella on fella?”

“What about it?”

“Does that whole big ass thing go on with them?”

Step stopped short of sticking the cigarette in his mouth as he considered Kenny’s question.  “Nah, fellas got more going on back-wise.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, a good number of them fella on fella-lovers got hair on their backs.  That sort of thing can keep you entertained.”

This made sense to Kenny.  “What about the fellas without hair?”

“Same thing with big ass versus skinny ass.  Hairless back fellas get picked last.”

Kenny smiled and shook his head. “We sure live in strange times when a big ass and hairy back get picked first at parties.”

Step looked at his watch.  “Get on with our business.  I’m set to meet up with Bones after her shift.”

Kenny cocked a grin and shouted out as he walked away, “Bones must have a hairy back because her ass ain’t big at all.” He picked up his pace as he moved through the darkness towards Son Crow’s.  The two men out front paid no attention to him as they talked and puffed away on their cigarettes.  He was just another drunkard in need of a tumbler or two of liquor as far they were concerned.

Step propped his forearms on the steering wheel and watched Kenny approach the two men.  The man with the perfectly arched bill on his cap called out to them, and they turned his way cautiously, but otherwise unthreatened by his presence.  The taller of the two men said something to Kenny.  He responded by aiming his revolver and shooting the man in the head.  The bullet entered through the right temple and blew the taller man’s ear to bloody pieces as it exited.

The shorter man stood stunned as his friend collapsed to the wet sidewalk.  Kenny turned the gun on him and attempted to pull the trigger, but it locked up.  The stocky man turned and ran into the middle of the street.  Kenny struggled with the gun a few seconds longer and then yelled out to Step, “Gun’s jammed!”

Step flicked his smoldering cigarette out the window before he started the truck and threw it into drive. The tires squealed as he raced toward the fleeing squat man.  For whatever reason, the fool never left the road.  Like an idiot, he followed the solid yellow lines in the middle of the cracked street.  It just took a few seconds before Step struck the man in the middle of his back with his bumper.  The front end of the truck lifted up slightly as it passed over the portly little man and dragged him down the street.

By the time the vehicle came to a stop at the only traffic light in town, Kenny caught up to it and pounded on the back side panel.  He grabbed the bed as he bent over to catch his breath.  “Sorry about that, Step.  Fucking gun’s a piece of shit.”

“Get in, goddamn it.  I gotta clean the truck now before I pick up Bones.”

Kenny opened the passenger door and climbed inside.  “Gotta be more mindful of who we steal guns from.  People just ain’t got no concept of responsible gun ownership these days.  Gives the NRA a bad name.”

Step shrugged.  “What’s done is done.  We’ll get paid just the same.”

“I suppose,” Kenny said removing his hat.  He groaned when he realized the arch in the bill hadn’t kept its shape.  His thick fingers got to work molding it into a form he could abide.

A quick note about the audioook version of Bad Way Out

I’ve selected a narrator for the audiobook version of Bad Way Out, and I couldn’t be more excited.  I’ll post his bio information when it gets closer to the release date.  For those of you who’ve read the book, you know that it’s a mixture of backwoods humor, sex, and violence.  It was tough finding someone that could pull all that off perfectly.  I am happy to say BWO’s narrator nailed it.  More to come!

I’ll post a sample soon.

Ignoring Brad Thor

Congratulations go out to thriller author Brad Thor.  He managed to monetize an empty gesture to buy George Zimmerman a gun while showing a complete disregard for the parents of Trayvon Martin.  Thor saw a wrong he wanted to right, and by God, he did something about it.  He fired up the old publicity machine, and took to Twitter to ask his fans if they wanted to see him give Zimmerman a gun on TV.   Why?  Because what’s the sense in doing something if you can’t do it on TV or engage your Twitter followers with an inflammatory idea?

The not so surprising result of Thor’s publicity stunt is that it is working.  His fans have reached out to him via Twitter with supportive tweets, and his detractors have suggested that a boycott of his books is in order.  Some have even suggested burning his books.  What does all this mean?  Brad Thor won.  He got the attention he was looking for by exploiting a tragedy.

Just so we’re clear here, this was a douchebag move by Thor.  Whether you think Trayvon Martin or George Zimmerman was at fault for what happened the night of their fateful confrontation, I think we can all agree that for an author to use an element from the tragic event to draw attention to himself and sell more books is not your normal run of the mill disgusting. It’s Silkwood scrub down disgusting.

What’s the proper response to Thor’s “look at me” marketing move?  Don’t look at him.  Ignore him.  I know it’s an ironic suggestion on my part.  I’ve just written a piece about the whole sordid affair, but hear me out.  Burning Brad Thor’s books is not the answer.  Neither is boycotting them.  Thor wants the controversy.  He wants to be in a position where his supporters will rally around him and push his books to the tops of bestseller lists everywhere.  That was the whole point of his initial tweets on the topic.  He saw all of it coming, and he knew it would generate a maelstrom.  A maelstrom is marketing-speak for fat cash.

If you don’t like what Thor did, take a deep breath and let it go.  The best tactic to make this all go away is to ignore it… Starting now!

Here’s a video where Thor actually makes the argument that Zimmerman needs a gun to be able to kill more people in self defense.  Ol’ GZ did not make the best choice last time he had a gun in his hand.


Why I’m alive and Trayvon Martin is dead

There’s a lot to be said about the Zimmerman trial, and most of it has been said over and over again.  I don’t want to make this post about the racial component involved in what happened between Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman. Despite arguments made by a lot of people that look like me and share my geographically influenced culture, I believe race played a significant role in what transpired that night.  But, that’s a post for a different time.

This post is about me and the misspent moments of my youth.  When I was a year or two older than Trayvon, I got in a fight.  Actually, this wasn’t just a fight.  This was a brawl that included a dozen or so people.  We were all young and drunk and stupid.  I was perhaps dumber than the others because I chose to exchange blows with a ‘fella’ a few years older than me, and he displayed some impressive martial arts skills.  In fact, he kicked me in the collarbone, and some 30 years later it still bothers me when the wind blows just right.

I didn’t know this mullet-haired, Chuck Norris wannabe.  He just squared up on me, and we went at it.  After he kicked and whacked me a few times, I went all-out redneck on him and threw him to the ground.  With him flat on his back, I sat on him, pinning his arms to the ground with my knees, and I proceeded to pound his face with my fists.  His head bounced off the gravel as I threw punch after punch.  I was in a rage.  I screamed out “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”  Eventually a friend pulled me away, but by then the rage had already subsided.  It struck me that the man I was beating, although he had initiated the actual melee, was now helpless.  My punches became progressively less forceful with each blow.

As I listened to the evidence and testimony coming out of the Zimmerman trial, I paid close attention to the physical confrontation between the teenager and the man.  They were describing the fight I had been involved in as a young man.  Right down to the, “I’m going to fucking kill you!” that allegedly came out of Trayvon  Martin’s mouth.  It was eerily similar.

Yet, the two fights had two very different outcomes.  I am alive, and Trayvon Martin is dead.  Why? Because while the two confrontations were strikingly similar, there was one major difference. The man I had pinned to the ground did not have a gun.  If he had had one, I can assure you it would have escalated things to a point of no return.  Either he would have shot me, or I would have never let that rage subside.  I would have continued to savagely and frantically beat him until he was completely nonresponsive.

In my opinion, the most culpable party in this shooting death of a teenager in Florida is the state of Florida.  The lawmakers that run the state decided that a private citizen has the right to carry a firearm and make a snap judgment on whether or not the lethal discharge of that firearm is warranted.  It’s an insane law and needs to be repealed.  I’m hoping the voters in Florida will eventually see the madness in the “Stand Your Ground” law, and vote some reasonable folks into office that will strike it down.

I write this fully aware that I write violent fiction that involves guns.  I’m not going to apologize for writing fictional violence.  To do so would be absurd because my characters rarely benefit from their violent behavior. Fiction isn’t the problem.  Guns and the current gun laws are the problem.

Jon Oliver says the above much better in the following video.

“I am beauteous.”

This was the headline of a recent spam email I received. If you’re going to bother sending spam via email, shouldn’t you at least take the time to construct a remotely believable message?  I’m more offended at their laziness than their attempt to scam me.  I feel like sicking grandparents with guns on them!

Oh! Happy Independence Day!