Hammer McCracken hails from the sun-soaked coasts of West Florida, where he lives with his wife, two spirited children and a philosophical duck. Together they spend an unreasonable amount of time thinking about how things don’t work.
His writing reflects a life that resists tidy explanation: part science, part absurdity, and entirely unconcerned with convention or authority.
"Be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it." - Hammer's quote of the day
The Agents of Destiny are sent back in time on their most daring missing yet, to fix the fabric of time itself. Only there is no rip in the fabric of time, they were just banished from the future for screwing things up too many times. Now they have to get jobs etc... What a pain. And on top of it all they're not even in their own universe but some retarded evil mirror universe. Read More
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Stranded on Earth and caught in the chaotic aftermath of their own reckless antics, the Agents of Destiny find themselves trapped in Old Port, a once sleepy, now utterly wrecked town that's become a vortex of strange occurrences. But when Destiny's sanity begins to unravel, their mission becomes clear: repair the damage they've done by traveling across the ages, stitching the fabric of reality back together before the blobs eat everything.
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The most badass metal band of the '90s was denied the world tour they deserved by greedy record execs. Now they're determinded to do their own world tour no matter the cost, just don't tell Bufgoo's mom.
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In a crumbling, crime-ridden New York City of the 1970s, rogue plumber John Nesbit navigates a labyrinth of corruption, violence, and bizarre conspiracies. Faced with enigmatic Lizard Men, pursued by crooked cops, and tormented by glimpses of a past he can't unravel, John dives into the city's shadowy depths in search of answers. With a mismatched crew of misfits from the NYPD (the other NYPD) at his side, he'll uncover secrets that could shatter the fragile order of the streets or bury him beneath the rubble. In this gritty, offbeat thriller, survival means getting your hands dirty… and sometimes wielding a lead pipe.
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On a remote volcanic island at the edge of the world, nothing is supposed to exist, let alone a secret facility, a rogue experiment, and a war no one fully understands.
When a battered team of soldiers is blown off course and stranded on the island, they expect rescue. Instead, they find themselves caught between a brilliant billionaire with her own agenda, a group of scientists pushing the limits of human evolution, and a mission that has gone catastrophically off-script. Inside the mountain, something is changing people. Outside, something is hunting them.
Ready for Purchase SoonSir Rontho Solves the Weather (2026)
Clergy Chronicles Book 2 (2027)
The Perpendicular College of Logic (2027)
The Stench of Space (2012)
Bucketful of Time (film - 2014)
The Vapors of Uranus (2016)
Refridgerator of the Gods (2017)
Catacombs of Callisto (2020)
Bo and the Chicken (2021)
Cthulhu Dick (2022)
"A man with one watch knows what time it is. A man with two isn't so sure."
I’ve only ever submitted a resume once in my life to a PI firm in Vegas. I landed the job because I knew how to load and clean a muzzleloading rifle, a skill that turned out to be surprisingly useful in detective work. Every other job I’ve held was either self-appointed or the result of being shanghaied by overzealous employers who believed labor laws were more of a suggestion than a rule.
This is all true. Not a word of it is a lie, except where I had to change names, dates, or population figures to protect my family’s safety or my own questionable reputation.
I hail from the sun-scorched plains of far West Texas, so far west that our family ranch flirted with the foreign nation of New Mexico. Back then, we hunted buffalo with muzzleloaders. My grandfather, however, insisted that was “cheating” and preferred a bow and arrow. This was also during the dark ages of human ignorance, when we didn’t realize animals were alive, felt pain, or, heaven forbid, had jobs. Boy, were we clueless.
Job titles I have in my life:Private eye craps dealer punk rock concert promoter underwater cameraman late night infomercial swamp salesman film maker php code hacker farmer janitor
For a time, our family lived in a pair of teepees and grew popcorn on twenty windswept acres. My grandfather discovered fossils proving humans (not aliens) had occupied the area as far back as 13,000 years. Naturally, no one believed him except the Smithsonian. Eventually, we abandoned our nomadic popcorn empire and moved into town to take advantage of the booming theater business that had developed an inexplicable demand for our crop.
As a teenager, I dabbled in theater (not in school, how dull) but in local venues and bars where my father staged his Western melodramas about Billy the Kid, our infamous local hero and self-made outlaw. While reloading six-shooter blanks backstage, I began writing my first stories on yellow legal pads.
Transferring stories from legal pads to print was its own adventure. I learned to type on a 3,000-pound linotype machine at my great-grandfather’s print shop, where I worked as a janitor after school. For those who’ve never seen one, the linotype is part typewriter, part medieval contraption. It melts lead and casts individual letters into molds as you type, turning storytelling into a hazardous blend of molten metal and mechanical chaos. Did I mention the keyboard wasn’t even QWERTY? It used the infamous EOTIN SHRDLU layout. Look it up; it’s the kind of thing that keeps typists up at night.
My small size as a boy earned me the dubious honor of being a spelunker for 1920s-era theater renovations, crawling through underground tunnels and dragging live electrical cables behind me. Summers were spent blowing up outhouses as a pyrotechnician at an outdoor amphitheater near Tucumcari, New Mexico, a town that looks nothing like it does in Better Call Saul. The real Tucumcari is desolate, beautiful, and home to about a dozen people, all of whom share a single phone.
The late 1990s saw me shanghaied once again, this time on a family trip to Spanish Florida. I wound up in French Polynesia with a video camera, a box of granola bars, and a cryptic note instructing me to document black pearl farming. After months of tramp steamers, coral atolls, and narrowly avoiding an arranged marriage, I returned with the footage and a few scars from blacktip reef shark encounters.
In the early 2000s, I dabbled as a serial entrepreneur, launching websites that sold everything from college humor trinkets to mobile PBX systems. By the 2010s, I’d transitioned to real estate videography, where I bought, filmed, and sold swamp lots on satellite TV. I even co-owned a small produce delivery service because, why not?
These days, I’m writing more books, more damned books, as I like to call them. And if you’ve made it this far, you’ve probably read one.
"Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it."