Synopsis

Don’t miss this hilariously dark satire by internationally bestselling author Zoje Stage (Baby Teeth)–written under the pseudonym Joe Zagets!

Writing novels wasn’t supposed to be a blood sport. After selling his first thriller novel for six figures, Mackenzie “Mack” Lane quit his job as a journalist to become a full-time author. But now, a few years later, his career is spiraling downward. With each book doing worse than the last, he fears his status as a Boring White Dude is partly to blame. With his bank accounts dwindling, Mack has to find a way to make more money: his ex-wife wants to send their son to a private high school, and his current wife wants to have a baby. Mack begs his agent and editor to sing the praises of his new novel and do everything in their power to encourage his publisher’s marketing team to make the book a bestseller. But as Pub Day for his fourth novel approaches―without the interviews and publicity he’d so hoped for―Mack knows his book is in trouble. And with it, his career and personal life.

Growing more desperate, Mack concocts a risky and more-or-less unethical idea for a publicity stunt. His agent, Wallis Wallace, reluctantly goes along with it―after all, if it works, she stands to gain 15% of his windfall. And if it doesn’t work, Mack is the one who will suffer the consequences of being ridiculed and cancelled. #AuthorLife is a satire about an author who gets the wrong sort of inspiration from his dying career―because publishing is a bloody hard business.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

“So I noticed you changed your social media bios to include ‘neurodivergent’?”

Mack stopped pacing. He’d been waiting for his agent’s call since getting her email asking to see if he’d be free for “a chat” in ten minutes. There’d been no clues in the email as to what Wallis wanted to “chat” about. Wallis had been his agent for going on six years, but she either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that in the absence of a specific update, a writer’s mind unleashed the monkeys, banging away at their typewriters, hysterically creating scenarios. Mack had conjured a panoply of possibilities, ranging from the glorious (“Netflix wants to option all of your available novels!”) to the tragic (“Sorry, Mallory Press has changed their minds about publishing your upcoming book.”).

They’d barely exchanged polite hellos before Wallis had launched her question. Mack shut his eyes, shaking his head, regretting that he’d picked #neurodivergent instead of his other options. Three weeks ago, he’d updated all his social media bios. Until now, no one had appeared to notice.

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” Wallis continued, “but since when are you neurodivergent?”

Mack resumed pacing the length of his home office, the only place in the world where the fantasy version of himself and the real one coexisted in peace. His wife, Gianna, deserved the credit for how dignified the room looked with its mid-century modern sofa, plush rug, and framed prints of his book covers—including the international editions. With her tasteful guidance, Mack had replaced his clunky old desk with a streamlined one that was more like a writing table (kept tidy, always), and swapped out the menagerie of bookcases for matching units as high as the ceiling. The only thing they hadn’t agreed on was the placement of his desk: Gia thought the room would be better balanced if it faced the sitting area, but Mack wanted to be able to look out the window. As a compromise, his work area was in the corner beside the window with the bookcases behind him, which made a nice backdrop for Zoom meetings and online events and balanced the furniture on
the opposing wall.

Now, nervous about the sideways direction of the conversation, he couldn’t decide if he should sit or keep moving. As a compromise in indecision—and feeling very much on the spot—he stood there in his socks in the middle of the rug.

“Well. I used to have issues with ADHD,” he said. “Like, in college if I didn’t take Adderall I couldn’t get anything done.”

“Okay…” Wallis’s disembodied voice gave the word cartoonish proportions, pedantic and excessively patient. “I think maybe—I don’t want to tell you what you experienced—but maybe you had a lot of late nights, put off studying until the last minute? Needed a little something, for extra energy?”

“I still have a hard time concentrating sometimes.” Don’t sound so whiny. He felt his spinal column morphing into a noodle.

“So does everyone who uses the internet,” Wallis countered.

In need of support, Mack hurtled toward his desk. Plopped into his X-Chair and rolled it toward the panoramic view of south Squirrel Hill—one of the best things the condo had to offer. A gooey sort of doubt wiggled inside him: the neurodivergent label had been a gamble, and now he felt foolish. It didn’t help that he’d always found his agent to be a little intimidating. Maybe it was her streak of white hair that reminded him of the Bride of Frankenstein; more likely it was Mack’s dependence on her to do right by his career.

Excerpt from #AUTHORLIFE by Joe Zagets, Text copyright © 2026 by Joe Zagets, Published by Bad Hand Books.

About the Author

Joe Zagets is the pseudonym of a bestselling author. He fell in love with the power of storytelling over teen summers spent at the American Ibsen Theater. He went on to write plays, poetry, and essays―while working an eclectic series of jobs at a video store, shoe store, a regional television station, and a public library. When not writing he can be found contemplating how we got here.