COUNSELOR is here for pre-order. Details SOON... For now, my friends celebrate life through thrashing

After a decade +, finally, my novel-
-is coming to you from Silverthought Press.  

You can pre-order now, as some final details are ... finalized... after which I'll announce and explain everything, hoping I don't annoy everyone.
I'm so lucky, happy, and tired... 

I'm too excited to really say anything at the moment, so ... here's a video of some of my favorite people doing our favorite things in our favorite place.


PODCAST ! Interview ! GO ! LISTEN ! Please.........

Interview Victor Giannini
(Click just about anywhere to listen)

    "Victor has the soul of a writer, and his passion is to teach, create, and connect with others who have a similar vibe. In this interview, we discuss why we write, what we give up for our passions, and why it matters.  Victor talks about how he knew his ideas were ready, but his writing wasn’t, so he went back to school in order to hone his skills to tell the stories he wanted to tell and reach others with his message."             - Ally Bishop

I think I sound like a stoned robot.   I guess we all sound strange to ourselves.  
Much thanks, love, hugs, bugs, and slugs, to Ally Bishop for taking the time
to interview me, and provide an overall awesome podcast series.  Check it out (even the ones with me!)


An Excerpt from "Counselor" courtesy of Silverthought Press!

An Excerpt from Counselor
by Victor Giannini

Every villain thinks he’s the hero, and Timothy Dune, cursed by an ancient island-god to kill everyone he loves, is about to have a memorable night. Counselor by Victor Giannini will be released by Silverthought in limited hardcover, paperback, and digital editions in early 2015.
NOT the COVER ... but yes, it's real.
Check out my Author Page on Facebook while you wait (and bless your kind, kind, heart if you really are waiting.  BIG KISS!)


www.VictorsInvisible.com is finally born! A mewling infant, yes, but growing fast and strong! And MORE!

Hey! It's time for another:
"Wait ...What's up? UPDATE!"
So much is coming over the next 18 Weeks.
New Website ! New Short Stories ! New Novel ! New Interviews ! New Reviews ! And new shampoo, too !

But first, let me address the disgusting rumor circulating around my Facebook Page.
Yeah ... I'm turning 31 this month. 
Yeah ... I don't care either. Okay, moving on to the other end of aging, my "serious, respectable, purely writing focused" website, is already learning how to crawl !

What you see is one of nature's oldest natural wonders. The website in progress. Yes, the post-pubescent form of VictorsInvisible ( whatever does that name mean? ) is still 90% hidden behind the musky velvet midnight curtains, mutating, and thrashing through humid nights and bonesaw days behind the wizard's hazel curtains.

Which means that VictorsInvisible is going to be a far more elegant and professional thing, than the snarling wolf: www.doomage.com.

One site for arts, and farts, and crafts.
The other to spread my "four doctrines of fiction and truth", duly stolen from Roger Rosenblatt (and thankfully approved).




Fellow writer & friend, Dom Q, truly has a flair for firing off the flash fiction fanatic foaming within me, so the first sentence was our prompt:

Orion's Tooth 

     When the game began, he was sure he would win. After all, he had both the Ankh of Orion, AND the Thousand Year Jaguar Tooth necklace hanging on his pearl fresh skin. And a five in six chance to win ... and more math, but he couldn't study fractions when cash piled high and teeth gleamed and the metal wasn't cold, it was palm warm, and no one coughed through the smoke.  Metal scrapes on wood as paper slaps the table, and he can only give a wink, fingering the tooth hanging about his neck and rubbing the Ankh on his thigh.
   The first player was already passing the revolver before he noticed.  Some clicks. A spin. Some clicks.  A spin.  His turn. He picked it up. Felt the other men's sweat stuck to the grip. And so he smiled at the cash, smiled at the players,  smiled at his girlfriend's bitten lips, and pulled the trigger. 
    Two hours later, cigar smoke huddled beneath the lamp, insects mating in the false light, and a spring mattress is screaming downstairs, while a white haired Laotian man chews and spits, scrubbing the game off the wall. 
      Bits of bone and brain fell into the white plastic water bucket like clumps of old snot. 
    Something heavier, with hair trailing off .... no, it's string.  He fished it out, the water too brown, too thick.  The old man studies it while fluids creep down his arm.  Seems like a shark tooth. He puts it in his pocket and yells at a doorway cat.  
   The cat ran home, the old man dumped the bucket over the railing, walked downstairs, past the still screeching spring mattress and the pair of red  eyes pleading, but more eyes standing around her.  They closed the door and the old man kept left the building, past a man with an open shirt and hairy bare chest.
   He walked along the shore, under a beautiful star scratched sky.  Then smoked a cigarette while somebody pushed past, counting, counting, counting.  The waves crashed. A woman screamed behind him.  His back ached thinking about the shovel and didn't want to use it again.  The old man walked home.    
      Somebody else walked home rich. 

The End 

Note:  This version is edited from perviously published/viewed versions.  Please find the original on my FB Author Page.  Leave a comment about which one you liked better, if you liked either at all.  I would quite seriously cherish such a gesture.