Tell us about yourself and how many books you have written.
I’m Brad Deep—the guy mainstream publishing wishes would just shut up and go away. While other writers knit cozy little stories wrapped in moral bubble wrap, I drag taboos into daylight, slap them around, and make them dance under a spotlight. I don’t write to comfort—I write to rattle cages.
I’ve written two books so far, but each one has been brewing for decades. Horny: Sex Without Scruples is the accumulation of over 25 years of notes, real interviews, and real experiences that eventually had to come out. It wasn’t just a book—it was catharsis. Like lancing a boil, society pretends doesn’t exist. Every sleazy truth, every absurd encounter, every story people whispered but never dared to publish—I finally put it all on the page.
Then there’s God Mob. My war with religion started back in seventh grade, when I realized the sermons didn’t line up with the reality outside the church walls. From then on, I started collecting notes, questions, hypocrisies—and over the years, the pile grew into a mountain. Eventually I had no choice but to write the damn book. It’s a hit job on blind faith, a roast of organized religion, and a middle finger to the billion-dollar holy empire that pretends it’s peddling salvation while running the oldest hustle in history.
And here’s the thing—these two topics, sex and religion, are so endlessly corrupt, hilarious, and overflowing with material that I could easily write a ten-book series on each. I’m just getting started. Think of Horny and God Mob as my Reservoir Dogs and Do the Right Thing—the first shots fired. The industry might not be ready, but I don’t write for the industry. I write because somebody has to say the stuff everyone else is too gutless to put in print.
What is the name of your latest book and what inspired it?
My latest book is Horny: Sex Without Scruples. And no, it’s not erotica—it’s a Molotov cocktail lobbed at our culture’s obsession with sex, shame, and hypocrisy.
The inspiration? A movie dream. I wanted to produce my own film, but dreams need cash, and cash doesn’t fall out of the sky. So I opened erotic massage parlors to fund it. What I got wasn’t just money—it was a ringside seat to the circus of human desire. Office bosses, preachers, boyfriends, husbands—they all walked through my doors, dropping their pants and their pretenses. It was unfiltered, unapologetic, and often pathetic. And I wrote it all down. For years. Decades, even. Twenty-five years of notes, interviews, and lived experience eventually piled so high that the only way forward was to set it all on fire in book form.
Horny is the fallout. A brutally honest, darkly funny memoir about sex, power, and the billion-dollar shame machine that tells us what’s “moral” while society’s private behavior proves otherwise. I drag dating myths, sugar-site scams, and marriage fairy tales into daylight, then roast them with a stand-up comic’s timing and a journalist’s eye for hypocrisy.
It’s raw, it’s confessional, it’s satire sharpened to a blade. And it’s not just about me—it’s about the whole circus we’re all pretending isn’t happening.
Do you have any unusual writing habits?
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.
When the magic shows up, it doesn’t knock politely—it kicks down the door. And when that floodgate opens, there’s no stopping it. That’s when I write. Not every day. Not on command. Not because some self-help guru said to. 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, or books have influenced you?
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.
What are you working on now?
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 is your best method or website when it comes to promoting your books?
Marketing is my least favorite part of being an author, but let’s not kid ourselves—it’s more important than the book itself. You can write trash and, if you’re a genius marketer, sell truckloads. And you can be a great writer with a great book, but if you don’t know how to spread the word, you’re basically screwed.
Promotion has to be grassroots. Forget all these Facebook book-promotion groups—they’re for the birds. It’s just authors promoting to other authors. And authors don’t give a damn about your book; they only care about theirs. When I first joined, I thought there were readers there. Nope. It was just writers screaming into the same padded room. That’s like putting ten patients in a psych ward together and telling them to cure themselves. Insanity.
And then half of those groups are crawling with marketing scammers. People who can barely string a sentence together in English, living God-knows-where, promising they can “promote” your book if you just wire them money up front. They prey on ego. Everyone knows writers have egos softer than a bread roll—you compliment their work, they’ll throw you a grand just to hear it again. That’s why vanity publishers are still raking it in, fleecing innocent writers who don’t know any better.
Me? I prefer sites like yours. Micro-bloggers. Platforms with actual readers—subscribers who want edgy content, not authors circle-jerking each other in Facebook groups. It’s rinse and repeat: get on BookSprout, NetGalley, Reedsy Discovery; stack up strong editorial reviews and regular reviews; spread the web; and feed the algorithms.
But here’s the thing: none of it matters if you don’t write a damn good book. A book that shocks. A book that leaves an impression. Today, people’s brains are fried—social media, cell phones, attention spans shorter than a cockroach on meth. If you want to build an author brand, you can’t sound like every other author. You have to make noise, leave a mark, force people to talk about you.
That’s why my books get picked up by bloggers—they’re unique, they stand out, they punch people in the face with something they can’t ignore. And that’s the first mission of any writer: write something that resonates. Something that demands to be talked about. Not cookie-cutter crap designed to “please the market.” That’s Hollywood’s job. And Hollywood’s been spoon-feeding us garbage for years.
Do you have any advice for new authors?
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!
What is the best advice you have ever heard?
The best advice I ever heard came from Francis Ford Coppola when he was talking about making his first movie. He said, “By hook or by crook, no matter what—you need to find a way to make your movie.” That line hit me like a freight train, because it applies to books too.
When I heard it, I knew what I had to do. That’s when I opened my massage parlors to finance my film. It wasn’t all smooth sailing—read Horny and you’ll know why—but it worked. I found the money, I shot my movie, and I didn’t have to rob a bank to do it.
Writers need that same mentality. If you want to succeed, you’ve got to knock down walls, scrape, claw, and hustle until the damn thing exists in the world. By any means necessary. Well…almost any means.
What are you reading now?
Who’s reading? I’m writing like a madman and you want me to read too? That’s your job—read what I write.
All kidding aside, at the moment I’m not reading anything because I’m in pre-launch hell for two books dropping on September 30th—Horny: Sex Without Scruples and God Mob—perfectly timed for International Blasphemy Day. Honestly, 24 hours in a day isn’t enough.
So the last thing I read wasn’t a book at all—it was the instruction manual for my new writing chair. And trust me, it was not a pleasant read. I gave it one star on Amazon. At least my books come with plot twists—this manual didn’t even have a climax
What’s next for you as a writer?
Right now, it’s about finishing Troglodyte and The Big Shellac so I can release both in 2026. That’s the short-term mission. Beyond that, I’m grinding on my brand, maybe even hunting down an agent—who knows?
But what I do know is this: whatever comes next, it’s going to involve a pen and a piece of paper. Because no app, no gadget, no overpriced “author tool” can replace the raw scratch of ink on a page when you’re brainstorming. That’s where the madness starts, and that’s where the magic happens.
What is your favorite book of all time?
I don’t really have a “favorite” book—just like I don’t have a favorite movie or a favorite song. I’ve got tons of books, films, shows, and tracks I adore. But if I had to single out one gutsy book that inspired me to write God Mob (besides my visceral hatred for the religious establishment), it would be God Is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens.
Now, my book is a satirical minestrone compared to Hitchens’ sharp academic scalpel, but the man was a force. I wish I had half his wit and debate skills. Watching him dismantle priests and pastors on stage—turning their pious bluster into rubble—was orgasmic. He didn’t just argue, he annihilated. He was a master debater in every sense. Too bad he left us so young, because the world could still use his firepower today.
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