^{Don't Smell the Floss
by Matty Byloos
Write Bloody Publishing
May 1, 2009
Paperback, 185 pgs.}

Upon learning I’d be reviewing his book, Matty Byloos found me on Facebook. Our online introduction, sudden and brief, sparked a mild panic attack the likes of which I haven’t encountered since flying the unfriendly skies in a rickety twin-engine. Turbulence is a bitch, but it’s no match for the kindness of strangers, one of whom lent me his hand to pulverize mid-flight as our plane convulsed over the Rockies.

Strangers are good for near-death experiences.

And yet.

For all I knew this Matty Byloos character was a complete maniac and, upon accepting his “friendship,” I’d willingly granted him unlimited access to my photos, my random quiz results and fondness for the phrase, “That’s what she said.”

Why did I let my guard down?

Well, it helps to understand where Byloos is coming from.  A proficient multi-tasker whose talents include not only writing but painting, music and search engine optimization (yes, he has a day job and, he says, far from leeching his creative energy, it frees his mind of that incessant worry—“How will I make rent?”), the Los Angeles-based author released his work through Write Bloody, a micro-publishing company whose clients retain publishing rights, edit their own material and are charged with marketing/promoting individual titles. Like 99.9 percent of all indie-rock bands, Write Bloody’s scribes find their audience on the road—and the Internet. To succeed, you must put yourself out there, no matter how awkward the initial reaching out.

If Byloos had his druthers, everyone—not just Write Bloody authors or DIY musicians—would hurl themselves into uncomfortable situations. Byloos wants the reader to take risks. He wants us to pause, see things differently and face head-on that which makes us cringe, gag, run away—and of course the best way to approach this challenge is to bypass our comfort zones and break with traditional social norms, as his characters do to varying extremes.

Separated into two sections, Don’t Smell the Floss kicks off a series of 14 stories with a bittersweet tale of Apotemnophilia, or “amputation love.” As we learn, the condition is rooted in paranoid delusion. In fact, the character works to identify the root of his obsession by sifting through childhood milestones—a minor birth defect corrected in his teens but perhaps responsible for subsequent attempts at permanent self-injury. After much prevaricating, the character receives a letter from his stump explaining that, while it understands his decision to break things off, it is disappointed nonetheless.