John Reinhard Dizon

I began my so-called career at the age of six, writing dialogue for my stick-figure cartoons. I actually began reading at the age of three, a God-given talent that my parents attested to. Upon entering first grade I refined the technique of expressing words in print, and from there it progressed. By sixth grade I wrote my first novella, a James Bond ripoff called Enemy Ace. It was about a WWII German pilot, Fritz Hammer, recruited by the CIA to thwart a negriphile named Blackman. Umm…yeah. Well, guess what? Fritz Hammer appeared in Tiara a half century later, and the plot morphed into The Standard shortly thereafter. Hmm.

I continued writing through high school, spending one summer writing a 1,000-page epic about the USA turning fascist and starting WWIII. I pulled it in a tad and wrote a second spy novel featuring Fritz Hammer. I lent both of them to two of my teachers and never got them back. At this stage of my life, I am certain that none of us will ever profit from those long-lost treasures.

It really kicked in during my twenties while I was masterminding my punk band, the Spoiler. I wrote a ten-novel series on Richard Mc Cain, a Special Forces superhero in Vietnam. They were action-packed, well-researched classics that never saw the light of day in the pre-Internet days. Mc Cain became the hero of Bloody Sunday, an apocalyptic Northern Ireland saga. Again, an awesome piece of work that never went anywhere. Mc Cain became the protagonist of my Christian novel Abaddon (Destroyer), so it wasn’t all in vain. I also wrote a half-dozen sci-fi space novels, great action tales that never got published.

When I relocated to Texas, I went through another writing phase which sowed some major fields. I wrote Hezbollah, which got published a quarter-century later, as did The Bat and Both Sides Now. There was also Tiara, which was an offshoot of a sci-fi novel I wrote back in NYC. I was really gearing up to make something happen, but that didn’t progress until I moved to Missouri.

I ended up going to bed with Publish America, a vanity press rip-off that ended up with some of my best work. They got Tiara, then Wolfsangel, followed by Cyclops and Penny Flame. It took four years before I realized they weren’t paying me a dime and never would. I decided I had to make a last-ditch effort to make something of my so-called career, and 2013 was the year.

I devoted myself full-time to getting published and put thirty novels on the market. Some were self-published, and many others went to indie lit publishers. I’ve had over two hundred reviews of my work posted on Amazon. Over eighty percent are five-star reviews. I haven’t made any decent money yet, but my readers have made it worthwhile.

What keeps me going? The great, incomparable stories, the awesome characters, and the satisfaction of knowing you are writing things that people will appreciate long after you’re gone. I can pick up one of my novels after years of not having read it, and become absorbed by it all over again. I wonder why they never reached the heights that so many farce novels find in Hollywood. I’m not gonna worry about it. My readers know and I know. ‘Nuff said.

All I can say is: pick up a JRD novel and see what you think. If you really think it sucks, just write me an e-mail and tell me why. Odds are I’ll send you your money back. Or if you’re in Kansas City, I’ll buy you a beer.

Oh, yeah, and I give all the credit and glory to my Lord Jesus Christ. He put the spirit and the vision inside me. If He didn’t like what I was doing, He would’ve taken it away a half century ago.

And I’m glad He hasn’t.