During a freak late-summer snowstorm, under a pile of greasy newspapers at the back of a dilapidated tobacco shack, Raz Cue entered the world to absolutely no fanfare. He was the seventh son born to a merchant-marine-turned-sharecropper father and a slightly intoxicated, pill-popping she-wolf. Cue discovered his writer’s voice at an early age when he took pen to paper and left the note “Leave me alone!” pinned to his crib. Cue quickly regretted the request… right around suppertime. He then resolved to only use his gift of prose for good – and breastfeeding requests. Weaned off she-wolf teat by the age of twenty-one, Cue replaced wholesome mother’s milk with Red Bull, vodka, and strippers. The new lifestyle led to his writing several almost-published poems and scores of highly regarded short stories. In reality, those short stories were merely unfinished long stories, but his cohorts were too high to notice. In search of truth, Cue relocated to Southern California, where he began crafting complex storylines for adult films. That same year, Cue won a coveted AAVN award in the category “Most Believable Plot Not Involving a Plumber.” With complex stories in short demand, Cue was forced to supplement his meager income by selling herbal remedies to major movie studio executives, A-list actors, and – unfortunately – an undercover cop.
After brief incarceration and much soul-searching, Raz Cue began writing in earnest. He wrote to his probation officer and the judge who showed leniency; he wrote letters to editors about alien technology buried under the Antarctic ice, and he wrote pleas for expositions of secret Grand Canyon gold mines. He also wrote a novel, Radio Snack. An editor suggested the work was a perfect example of “how not to write a novel.” Deaf in one ear and oblivious to negativity, Cue set about penning his next opus. As 2010 came to an end, hard work, determination, and insomnia paid off when Stoneweed Press released Cue’s new novel, Bud’s Love Bus. The following spring, Stoneweed’s publicity department sent him on the road to work the weed circuit in search of stoners who read, then charm those unicorns into spending twenty bucks on a book – not a dub. Instead of promoting the novel as his publisher wished, Cue spent 24/7 toking, then set forth on a quest to discover which is the most delicious type of pie. Despite many sidetracks and setbacks, by 2015, Cue had sold nearly thirty books and narrowed it down to a tie between pecan, cherry, and fresh strawberry.