My new novel, Black Sheep, was released last week. You could buy it and make me happy.

The book has not received the print run it was promised, for various reasons, none of which have anything to do with me. It's not the best situation, but you have to work with what you've got, or at least I do. The reason I'm telling you this is because, if you read the book, and you dig it, the only promotional thing it's going to get is what comes out of your mouth. As of now, the basic truth is this: to buy the book, you need to know it exists.

It's a dystopian novel about race, which is a whole lot easier to explain than the last book. It's not related to the film about killer sheep, but if you want to buy it because of that, well, hey, any way you find your way there is good by me.

Twenty-Six Lies/One Truth has been released. Buy it from the publisher, and you might end up with an I Hate Ben Peek badge, if there's any left.

It's an autobiography.

No, really.

Here's what I wrote about it the other day:

"Twenty-Six Lies/One Truth is available now for purchase.

It is a difficult book to explain in a simple sentence, but allow me a moment to do so. This is the sell and yeah, saying that is a bit of a wank, but follow me here. It's not a simple book. It is, firstly, an autobiography: I wrote it and it is about my life. As the tagline of the book suggests, however, it is the life of a man who has been nowhere, done nothing, and met nobody. Basically, I don't have sex with anyone famous, because I'm lucky like that.

However, the book is also about the idea of truth, and about the responsibility of truth within the author. You can't trust authors. Thank about it: JT LeRoy was not a teenage, HIV positive, transgendered prostitute whoring in truckstops. He was a she, and she was Laura Albert, and she was a daytripper. Helen Demidenko was not Ukranian. In fact, she wasn't even Helen Demidenko. She was Helen Darville and she was quite Australian. George Orwell was never born with that name. He was born Eric Blair, but signed his letters both Orwell and Blair, depending on the person. It's not all the same, obviously, but the question that remains is just how much responsibility does the artist have to truth? And what is truth, anyway, in this world where non-fiction books are structured like fiction, and everything has a point of view threaded through it?

Even more, Twenty-Six Lies/One Truth contains a mini comic threaded through it, illustrated by Anna Brown. Amazon doesn't allow for the loading of images, but if you go here, you'll find a panel. It's cool, indy comic art out of Australia. What you also want to do, by the way, is to click on the cover here, so you can see the groovey typographical art that Andrew Macrae created. Make a big image and walk back and forth from your screen. See how it changes?

Words make an image. Words make a person.