About Brad Deep:
Brad Deep doesn’t write to please—he writes to provoke. His style is a bar fight with words: savage satire, razor-sharp commentary, and laughter so wrong you feel guilty… until you’re glad someone finally said it.
A world traveler and unapologetic troublemaker, Brad drags taboos into daylight and skewers modern hypocrisy with brutal honesty. When he’s not writing, he’s fueling up on raw vegetables, cycling, working out, and doing enough five-finger solos to qualify as a cardio program.
He believes in borderless living, except when it comes to idiots—those walls can’t be high enough.
What inspires you to write?
Writing isn’t something I “do.” Writing is living. I don’t sit at a desk every morning with a latte and force myself to bang out 1,000 words like some productivity cultist. That’s not writing—that’s factory work. I don’t do factory work.
I live everything I write. I carry a notebook like a weapon and my phone like a tape recorder from hell, because ideas strike when you least expect them. Driving. Daydreaming. Overhearing a half-drunk couple fighting in a diner. Listening to some blowhard on the radio and wanting to call in, but instead, I steal the gem and stash it for later. I never force it. I let it happen.
The result? I’ve got mountains of notes, titles, rants, one-liners, and fragments stacked higher than the Vatican’s hush-money files. A shitload of material on a gazillion topics. I’m not just a writer—I’m an idea machine. A title machine. My brain never stops because I never chain it to a chair.
I write when the ideas come hunting me down, and they always do, because I’ve created the perfect environment for them—a cozy place in my mind that never expects anything. That’s the secret. That’s the real law of attraction for writers.
What authors do you read when you aren’t writing?
I’m a huge reader of nonfiction because nonfiction is about real life—the blood, sweat, filth, and contradictions that no imagination can outdo. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy fiction and I write it too, but when it comes to influence, I veer toward the writers who wrestle with reality head-on.
Christopher Hitchens tops the list. His mastery of the English language is like watching a surgeon carve with a scalpel while drunk—precise, merciless, and somehow entertaining. The first book I read of his was The Trial of Henry Kissinger and I never looked back. Once you hear Hitchens dismantle the myths we’re spoon-fed, you can’t go back to swallowing the official story.
On the complete opposite end, there’s Eckhart Tolle. Totally different lane, but his work grounds me. I’m hyperactive by nature—I don’t shut up, I bounce off walls, and my brain runs like a pinball machine on cocaine. When I need to regain consciousness, Tolle drags me back to earth, hands me a glass of water, and reminds me to breathe.
Two very different voices—Hitchens with his fire, Tolle with his stillness—but between them, I’ve got both ends of the spectrum covered: rage and reflection. And my writing lives somewhere in that collision.
Tell us about your writing process.
I never work on just one project at a time. My writing life is the Wild West—guns blazing, ideas ricocheting off saloon walls, and me ducking from one shootout to the next. If one morning I wake up wired to dive into The Big Shellac, I’ll sink into that world for hours, maybe days. It’s a narrative nonfiction about Ellis Dane, a narcissistic film producer who doesn’t want to change the world—he wants to bend it over, strip it for parts, and snort the profits off a stripper’s back. Money, women, chaos—he wanted it all, and he didn’t care who bled for it. It’s savage, it’s cinematic, and the wildest part? Every twisted word of it is true.
Then, out of nowhere, I’ll bounce over to Troglodyte: Why Everyone Should Spend 6 Months in Jail During Their Lifetime. This gem was born from exclusive, secret interviews I had with an ex-con I met by pure fluke while working out at the gym. He cracked open the steel doors of a medium-security prison and dragged me inside. Forget Hollywood prison breaks—this was the unfiltered reality. Predators, hustlers, guards who act like inmates, and inmates who could out-preach a priest while serving double-murder sentences. It’s not a prison memoir—it’s a survival manual for the human spirit, delivered with brutal honesty and savage humor.
That’s how I work. I don’t chain myself to one book, because my brain doesn’t run on rails—it runs like a pinball machine wired to a car battery. Hyperactive, ADHD, bouncing from one obsession to the next. That’s why, in between the big books, I crank out micro-books—30 to 40-page blasts on whatever topic won’t shut up in my head. Some I’m an expert on, some I’m just pissed off about, but either way, they’ve gotta get out.
I’ll never live long enough to write everything I want to write—but I’ll die trying, and I’ll leave behind enough ink to drown the polite crowd in their own pearl-clutching. Hence the reason the micro-book idea came to me. They let me tackle topics I can’t just let slip by, and they’re perfect for promos on the platforms I call the digital brothels—you know, the ones that charge starving writers to give away or sell their hard-earned work for 99 cents while they get rich as the pimps of the publishing world. I won’t mention names, because I’ll be promoting my micro-books there, but you know exactly who I’m talking about.
My full-length books? I will never throw them to the wolves on those pimp sites, because I’ll never diminish the value of my 300-page blood, sweat, and tears. But 40–50-page micro-books? Those I don’t mind tossing out for 99 cents, just long enough to spread my name, rile some feathers, and maybe make a few readers a little smarter. If they stumble across Fat, Wrinkled, Ugly and Wise: How to Enjoy Your Life After Fifty, maybe they’ll stress less about getting older. If their life is circling the drain, maybe Skombombulated: A Handy Guide on How to Get Your Life Back on Track Quickly can slap them awake.
So yeah, I’ll use the digital brothels for my micro-books—because I don’t mind being sodomized for 30 minutes by the pimps to move some quick titles. But I’ll never bend over for hours just to give away my real books to feed the syndicates. Let’s be honest: in this game, the writers are the whores, the digital platforms are the pimps, and the mob boss? Everyone knows who that is. The proof is right in the rules—you’re forced to drop your work to 99 cents, and if you want your book featured, it has to sit in the mob boss’s stable. You can’t even steer readers to your own website—you’ve got to play their game on their turf. That’s why I’ll never devalue my full-length books in their system. Micro-books? Fine. But my real work? That stays out of the brothel.
What advice would you give other writers?
First piece of advice: write something visceral. Something that makes your own veins buzz. Don’t sit there trying to please an imaginary audience, because if you don’t believe in it, no one else will. If it’s good, people will buy it. You know that cliché “build it and they will come”? Well, it’s true…most of the time.
But here’s the catch: you need patience. Real, ugly, grinding patience. Building an author brand takes time—especially today, when people’s brains are fried by TikTok loops and their attention spans are shorter than a mosquito’s orgasm. And patience is the one thing most writers don’t have. Hell, I don’t have it either. We live in a culture of instant gratification, and writing is the opposite of that.
You also need passion. You need to believe in what you write. And you need to stop being afraid of your opinions. Especially if you write nonfiction. You will never be unanimous, and that’s not a bad thing. Being polarizing means you’re saying something worth reacting to. My book God Mob has been on NetGalley for just a few days and it’s already being picked up by pastors and Christians who will almost certainly roast me alive in their reviews. Do I care? Not really. I’ll spin it. If someone writes, “This book is blasphemous garbage that mocks my faith,” I’ll plaster that line on the back cover like it’s a damn Pulitzer. Why? Because controversy sells. The people who agree with me will cheer louder, and the people on the fence will be curious enough to read it just to see what the fuss is about.
At the same time, my first review on BookSprout came from a top Goodreads reviewer with 660 reviews under her belt, and she gave God Mob five stars: “Deep has a unique style, a cheeky charm, a pocketful of one-liners, and a sense of humor so black it should be a TV show…this is a no-holds-barred blast at the belief systems we call religion, packed with mischief, anger, and intelligence in equal measure. Honestly, I’m still laughing at some of his quips. This author has anger in his bones, mischief in his soul, and an intelligence in his pen that surpasses anything I’ve read in years.” That single review shot my brand-new Goodreads profile from zero to eight people adding my book to their “want to read” shelf overnight. That’s the snowball effect. That’s what happens when you write something that leaves a mark.
So here’s the bottom line: write good shit. Write what you believe in. Don’t be afraid to piss people off. Don’t write to be liked—write to be remembered. This ride isn’t easy. It’s brutal. If you think Jesus had it tough with forty days in the desert, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Being an author is a long march through rejection, doubt, and the temptation to quit. But when someone finally tells you your book marked them for life? There is no better high. That’s why we do it. That’s why we keep going. And a little money never hurt nobody!
How did you decide how to publish your books?
Easy—I looked at the publishing industry, saw the velvet ropes, the gatekeepers, and the polite rejection letters, and said, "F*ck that noise." Traditional publishing is like begging to get into a country club run by accountants in tweed jackets. They pat you on the head, tell you your voice is “too risky,” then turn around and greenlight another cookie-cutter memoir by some reality-TV reject.
So I went rogue. Independent. Why? Because I don’t ask permission to say what I think — I just say it, bleed it, print it, and toss it into the world. I’d rather own my words raw and unfiltered than have some editor with a weak stomach neuter my work into oatmeal.
Self-publishing is the last outlaw frontier. You build it, you brand it, you throw it into the fire and see who screams. For me, there was no “decision”—there was only survival. If I wanted Horny and God Mob to exist, I had to bypass the pearl-clutchers and publish like a hitman dumping a body in broad daylight.
And guess what? It feels damn good.
What do you think about the future of book publishing?
It’s already here, and it’s a madhouse. The old publishing houses are dinosaurs choking on their own dusty manuscripts while indie authors are running around with flamethrowers and TikTok accounts. The gatekeepers can’t keep up because the gates are on fire. Readers don’t give a damn about imprints anymore—they want voices that actually bleed.
The future of publishing is brutal, democratic, and lawless. Anyone with a brain, a spine, and Wi-Fi can launch their words into the world, and the audience decides who lives or dies. No more begging suits in New York for approval—the crowd is the jury now.
Publishing’s future? Imagine a punk rock concert in a library. Loud, chaotic, half the crowd drunk, and someone’s setting the rulebook on fire. That’s where we’re headed—and it's a good thing I brought the matches.
What genres do you write?: Dark Satire, Gritty memoir-style, Cultural criticism, narrative non-fiction, true crime
What formats are your books in?: Both eBook and Print, Audiobook
Website(s)
Brad Deep Home Page Link
Link To Brad Deep Page On Amazon
Your Social Media Links
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All information in this post is presented “as is” supplied by the author. We don’t edit to allow you the reader to hear the author in their own voice.
