If you're Sean Platt, you just opened this email with curiosity or possibly irritation, wondering which upstart I've taken on to co-author books with in your place.

If you're not Sean Platt, however (which I'm guessing is most of you), you might just be curious.

After all, I DID just tell you about my forthcoming book Suicide Flats last week, which is tentatively coming out on November 12th. I didn't mention a co-author on that one, because there is none. I wrote the Gore Point trilogy with Sean, but this standalone spinoff in the same world (like Mine Zero and Moloch) is something I'm writing by myself.

I am, however, now sharing office space with this gentleman:

Truth be told, he doesn't help me very much. He mostly just lays in the corner and chews on things.

I'm sharing this story of my new dog because this is a part of the process that readers never see: the personal part. We authors talk a lot about process if we talk behind-the-scenes at all: where we get their ideas, how we shaped the worlds our characters live in ... maybe the real-life assholes we modeled our villains after. But that's just the "work" part. That's only the story of when we're sitting down with fingers on the keyboard, making words while all is going well (which, by the way, it doesn't always go).

But atop that stuff, there's a whole human life wrapped around the books you read. In my mind, that's one of the great joys of any art (books definitely included): knowing the person they came from. You can absolutely read books just for the joy of reading books, but it's equally true that "just words" can come from anyone. Ask ChatGPT or ClaudeAI. I think AI can be a great tool for creative people (though for me it's limited to graphics; I'd rather it stay the fuck out of my stories), but real art is also about where it comes from. That's my opinion anyway.

Here's a brief story to explain what I mean, before I tell you more about my dog. (You're waiting for that, aren't you?)

Lovely Creatures

It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of Austin musician Bob Schneider. My wife and I are actually going to see him perform tonight. I'm such a big Bob fan that I don't just listen to all of his albums; I also listen to his podcast ... because I want to know the stories behind the songs. I can hear melody and lyrics anywhere, but it's the "Bob backstory" that draws me back over and over.

I listen to the current podcasts as they come out, but that's only once a month. Between, I've been making my way through the archives: moving backward in time like a man with a DeLorean. And not long ago, I heard him tell a story about the album he likes best, called Lovely Creatures.

Bob's been divorced from his son's mother since his son Luke was young, so back in the day Bob only had him over some of the time. Whenever that happened -- for years and years -- Luke listened to Lovely Creatures every night as he fell asleep. He also slept with a copy of the CD, which had a picture of Bob (mingling with some sea creatures) on the cover.

The way he told the story was so quietly touching. It gave new context to the album for me. It was also, at the time, one of the few Bob albums I didn't own. I was driving while listening to the podcast, so I actually bought it on my phone at the next stoplight. That's how intrigued I was by the story behind the album. That's what made it my favorite album, too.

Okay. Back to my new dog

I don't just write. That's not my entire life. You know that logically, but do you think of it that way? I know I don't. I get that Stephen King has hobbies and a family, but somehow I only ever imagine him writing.

My books all exist within the backdrop of a human life, just like with any writer who cares about their art. You can get my stories just fine by reading the books, but because you're on this list, you probably want to know more than just the words in their pages, don't you?

You know that Fat Vampire was the first book I managed to finish after a decade of thumb-twiddling, unsuccessful effort following my only book before that, The Bialy Pimps. You know that Unicorn Western was born when enthusiastic Sean and enthusiastic Johnny picked up a story that grumbly Dave wanted nothing to do with. You know that I chased a genetics PhD before bailing to become a writer, and that's why there's so much science in my books (along with philosophy; the old-schoolers among you know I have a degree in that, too). You know I had a carefree early career followed by a period of conflicted frustration over the last few years. Pattern Black, for instance, turned out wonderfully, but it wasn't fun to write. You might even know that we wrote The Dream Engine in 30 days in front of a live audience starting with nothing at all, just to prove that stories can come from anywhere.

Every book I've written contains a slice of who I was when I wrote it. Every book is flavored by the world around me at the time -- a real world that helped birth it.

This summer, my family lost Abby, the best dog in the world. It was terrible. For a long time, nobody wanted to consider getting a new dog, despite how empty the house felt without her. We needed time. More time, as it turned out, than we expected.

I was particularly resistant. I have a huge sensitivity around dogs, which is why I won't watch movies where they die. (If you're the same, by the way, there's a site dedicated to people like us: DoesTheDogDie.com.) I'm the only person left who hasn't seen John Wick, despite hearing that they're awesome movies. How could I? I know the premise. (And don't suggest starting after the opening, by the way. I don't do partial movies, so I'm stuck on this one.)

Adding a new dog to the mix is voluntarily adding a new member to the family, and it's fraught with as much emotion as anything. I also can't go to animal shelters to get new dogs, which is how we tend to roll. I tend not to think of the dog we're taking, but instead can't stop thinking about all those we aren't.

Luckily, my family is better about it than I am. I tasked them with choosing, trusting them. So last Saturday morning, they went to the shelter to visit this guy.

Which guy, again? This guy:

7 months old. Australian Shepherd mix. He doesn't have a name yet because our philosophy is that dogs name themselves. We want to get a feel for his personality before settling on a name, which as I write this on Monday night (in advance of when you're reading it, only about 48 hours after he came home) is already a pretty ridiculous personality. He didn't remain shy for long.

You can't just toss a new dog into the flow of your household and family and expect to go on as normal. Things get disrupted a bit. The newcomer needs extra attention and some hand-holding to find their four feet. I had to sleep on downstairs the couch last night because he hates our stairs and will be sleeping on the first floor until he accepts them, warms up to a crate, or can be trusted alone downstairs without us. This morning -- my first writing morning after we got him -- my wife had an in-office day so I prepared myself to write through all sorts of dog-related interruptions while I watched him alone, closed in my office with me.

I didn't need to worry, just like it turned out I didn't need to worry about the emotional trials and tribulations of new-dogness that I'd been fearing. (Side note: My list software just corrected "new-dogness" to "new-zogness." OH YES, OF COURSE. ZOGNESS. PEOPLE WRITE THAT ALL THE TIME.) Our new no-name-yet family member was actually a perfect officemate. Other than asking to be let out a few times, he mostly did this:

I was shocked. I thought I'd get nothing done, but there he was, making my work infinitely do-able. I also started late because my wife let me sleep in after my night on the couch -- a nice gesture but one I didn't really think I could afford. It was 10:15am before I put down my first word, whereas I usually try to start by 8. I practically gave up on the day ... but thanks to my new buddy's willingness to be cool (despite having plenty of that trademark Aussie energy), I still managed to write over 3000 words. My pie-in-the-sky, if it'd been a normal day without a dog, would have been 4000.

So that's what's been going on with me: the real human being with a real life who's writing books for you to read. That's what's happening in the house of the guy who's publishing Suicide Flats in November, Winter Break in December, and City of Fire in January. (But again, don't expect that pace to continue!)

And hey, even if you don't care, at least I got to share some cool dog pics.

Take care out there in your own real human lives!
-Johnny