Tag Archives: filmnoir

Pop Culture Mysteries – Season One Ranked #795 on Wattpad


Take a knee, 3.5 readers, for I have some joyous news to share.

Pop Culture Mysteries – Season One is currently ranked #795 is Mystery/Thriller on Wattpad.

I know! It’s the first time I’ve been ranked on any kind of list, and that includes all of those field day participation ribbons I racked up in elementary school.

You have questions, don’t you?


It’s a great site where writers can publish and share their stories.


To gain a following. To share ideas. To get feedback. For me, it has helped me get over that little voice that whispers “you’re not good enough!” in my ear. When people start sharing positive comments, that voice starts to pipe down. I highly recommend it.


Fame. Fortune. Hot babes throwing themselves at me. (Video Game Rack Fighter is too busy playing Car Thief Mayhem to care.)

No. None of these things. It basically means of all the Mystery/Thriller stories on Wattpad, I’m in the top 1,000.

That was a big boost that I needed. As we head into the new year, there’s been a voice in my head nagging me that I’m wasting my time with this and I needed something like this to happen.

Screen Shot 2015-12-18 at 7.17.31 PM

Aunt Gertie’s going to tell all the gals at the old folks’ home about this!


I’m not sure. If you know how the Wattpad rankings work, please let me know. I’ve been making an effort to comment/share feedback on others’s stories lately, I started a new site for the “Pop Culture Mysteries” –  popculturemysteries.com, a Facebook page  and so on.

I’ve been posting the story in rough draft form on this site, Bookshelf Battle, since June and have been sharing PCM stories on Wattpad for awhile.

BUT – what really surprised me is that this particularly version “Pop Culture Mysteries – Season One” has only been up since the beginning of December. So to get into the top grand people really began taking notice, however it happened.


My writing process:

  • I’ve written some posts on this blog. I am writing others in a word document.
  • I’m revising them, polishing them, and posting them in Season One on Wattpad.
  • Eventually, these posts will reach their final home on popculturemysteries.com, which should be “officially” up and running by April 1.
  • Right now, I’m wrapping up a revised edition of “Enter the Blonde” in which Jake and Delilah meet for the first time and negotiate the infamous “Pop Culture Mystery Contract.”


An excellent question. Frankly, it’s about time you asked it. The first thought you should have when you wake up in the morning should be, “What can I do to help Bookshelf Q. Battler’s writing career?”

I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for Earth. The Mighty Potentate has threatened to conquer our planet if I don’t get myself established as a noteworthy scribe soon.

My hope is to sustain and even surpass this rank. I’d like to move up higher on the charts.

If you’re on Wattpad, please consider following me – @bookshelfbattle and voting for/commenting on “Pop Culture Mysteries – Season One.”

Let me know what’s working and what isn’t. All kidding aside, this is a fun, unique story told in a very distinct hardboiled voice, and I think people are slowly but surely starting to recognize it.

I just need to get my butt in gear to keep them coming back for more.

If you’re not a Wattpadder, become one! Sign up, share some stories, trade ideas with other writers. Maybe this will be your big break. A number of writing careers have been successfully launched thanks to Wattpad.


You are all appreciated. I couldn’t have done this without you. By the way, do you realize if each of you would just tell one friend about my efforts, I’d end up with 7 whole readers?

So many readers.  Must have more readers…

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Pop Culture Mysteries – The Wrong Guy – Part 3


Part 1 – Hatcher is on the hunt for hooch…

Part 2 – …but he “serves” a stick-up man instead.


Funny thing about La Orina de Serpiente.

Turns out you don’t buy it.  You only rent it.

shutterstock_71510056I’d parked my posterior on a city bench and helped myself to half a bottle.  Lou wasn’t joking about that dish rag flavor.  After a half-hour of wallowing in my sorrows, I felt leakier than a German U-Boat after a date with Admiral Nimitz.

I ducked into a dark alleyway, invited my John Thomas to step outside, and relieved myself behind a dumpster.

I’ve seen my fair share of dark alleys in my day, but this one was positively the pits.  Junk strewn everywhere, a moldy couch with a rat scurrying around the cushions, and a pair of beaten up chrome hubcaps propped up against a rusty dumpster.

I was surprised no one had stolen them yet.  Come to think of it, they were probably jacked off of some poor unsuspecting citizen’s vehicle and stashed there for safekeeping.

My moods have a tendency to swing like a pendulum when I’m on a bender.  Most of the time I feel lower than an ant competing in a limbo competition.  However, on that particular night I was feeling giddy.

“Pop Culture Mysteries.”  Five bucks for every entertainment related case I solve for a nerd.

Maybe Delilah was right.  Maybe I was better than this.

When the LAPD and I parted ways like a couple of ships passing in the night, there were plenty of naysayers who said I’d end up on the skids.

I showed them all and I showed them good.  In its heyday, “Hatcher Investigations” was the premiere private eye firm in the City of Angels.  I owed most of that to the organizational prowess of good old Connie, my former secretary and the third ex-Mrs. Hatcher.

Everyone from the lowliest mook to captains of industry ponied up the dough to purchase my sleuthing skills and by gum, if only I’d clean myself up and give the suds the old heave-ho, I could rebuild what I’d lost and become a respectable member of society again.

I’d just lectured that wannabe stick-up man about not ignoring a second chance and here I was giving short shrift to my own.

Sure, 2015 was a time that made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever but maybe I could embrace it, learn about it, and eventually call it my own.

Hell, maybe I could even turn myself into the kind of guy that could turn the head of one Ms. Delilah K. Donnelly.

I was so excited I broke out into song.

“Camptown races, sing this song!  Doo da!  Doo da!”

What do you want?  No, I wasn’t about to break out into one of those foul mouthed rap songs you folks seem to love nowadays.  Buncha grown men talking in rhyme about dames with corpulent derrieres.  The classics suited me just fine, thank you very much.

“Camptown races, sing this song…all the doo da…DACK!”

My good mood was a goner and so was I when a hand wrapped around my mouth and pulled me backward.  I felt a sharp pain as my throat opened up and blood gushed out of my carotid like an Old Faithful geyser blast.

The hand let me go and in vain, I spun around to confront my attacker only to fall flat on my back.

I was getting weaker and weaker.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of one of the hubcaps.  My throat looked like a pile of butchered meat ready to be sold for a buck a pound.  That was a good deal in my day.

I could barely make out my assailant’s face until he leaned in closer and pulled his hood back.

There he was.  Grinning at me like an idiot.

“What do you know?”  he said as he retracted a switchblade.  “Looks like I was the wrong guy after all.”

Everything went black and I was able to feel the kid rooting around in my pockets for a few seconds before I lost consciousness.

Looking back on it now, I wasn’t sure what infuriated me more:  that after a lifetime spent beating out Nazis and gangsters, I’d allowed a nobody to get one up on me, that I was left to die in a puddle of my own Orina, or that I’d yet to return my tallywacker to its natural habitat.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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