My first collection of short stories, DeepFakes, is set to release on July 10, 2025!
These stories were written between 2021 and 2023. They are in the genre of dirty realism, or transgressive fiction. Think Richard Ford, Chuck Palahniuk, Dennis Johnson. I’ll share more about the process soon, but here’s the book description:
A razor-sharp collection of short stories
Corey McComb explores a treacherous terrain where reality blurs and certainty crumbles. Set against backdrops of Southern California coastal towns, Mexican strip clubs, and Wi-Fi-free zones, these tales expose the fabrications we create and the harsh truths we can’t escape.
McComb’s characters exist in a world where truth is malleable: A woman confronts evidence of her husband’s apparent infidelity. A mild-mannered grocery store manager becomes a serial killer of parrots to cope with his loveless marriage. A forgotten password stands between a man and millions in cryptocurrency. A trust fund drifter reunites with a childhood friend for the wrong reasons. And a pandemic threatens what little freedom remains in a young couple’s relationship. These are people on the edge, navigating dying marriages, stifling small towns, and modern systems designed to keep them in place.
Raw, darkly observant, and emotionally tender, Deepfakes examines how people survive when the mirage of certainty shatters. These stories capture the disappointment and unexpected beauty of ordinary lives, where the deepest truths often hide behind carefully constructed facades. McComb emerges as a bold new voice in contemporary fiction, delivering dirty realism at its most potent, told with unforgettable clarity and unexpected compassion.
I’ll send an email once the book goes live on Amazon. Here are a few shots of the interior.
Author’s Note
The old joke goes, “Quitting smoking is easy, I do it every day.” This is close to my experience with these stories. I began writing them, among others, in the spring of 2021. They were finished first drafts by Christmas, and abandoned in a drawer by the following Easter. Life moved on without them. There were leases to sign. Businesses to start.
I carried them in my mind the rest of that year, taking them out to polish and tinker with for weeks at a time. I’d declare to myself and others that I’d publish them, only to find new reasons to quit. Leases broken. Passports stamped.
The next year was spent traveling and growing a business, writing limited to letters and essays. The stories, by then, might as well have been written by someone else. I no longer felt in it, or a strong connection to the work. Too much time had passed. I opened the file where they lived, and on the first page, in large, bold font, wrote: DNR: Do Not Resuscitate.
By 2023, I found myself settling down in Santa Barbara, CA. There were mountains and beaches and strange characters with potions for forgetfulness, and it felt good and right to be anchored somewhere. Time seemed to stand still then, though life kept moving forward. Papers signed. Rings removed.
During this time, I felt a renewed connection to the characters I’d written years before. A vague sense of longing and rotting beneath the Pacific sun. I was not creatively fulfilled, but among the sirens and lotus plants, I found a point of exhale. Rather than chasing my dreams, it seemed reasonable to ask them if we could just meet up later. Any writing goals or aspirations were sent a holiday autoresponder: “I’m away from my desk, but feel free to follow up in the New Year.” It was beach days and dive bars for now. Fear and Lounging on The American Riviera.
New Year’s 2024 came, and I was struck with the feeling Kafka described as the “non-writing writer courting madness.” It’d been a year without any new ideas or writing anything other than thank you cards and apology texts. And still, the stories called out. Ghosts in the drawer with unfinished business. I removed the DNR order and hired an editor. And over that year, off and on again, we turned them into what you’ve read in this book.
While certain plot holes were paved and sections reshaped, the stories remain mostly in their original form. It feels silly to write that now. What the hell took so long?
Life keeps moving, whether you finish your stories or not. And since finishing this book, new ideas and inspiration have arrived. There are new projects now and new reasons to procrastinate. New leases to sign. Ultrasounds and bassinets.
The stories in this collection haven’t belonged to me for a long time. I’ve just been holding them hostage. Thank you for taking them into your home, so I can finally kick them out of mine.
-Corey McComb
Congratulations on the release of your second piece of work! I'm so drawn to the way you've framed this book—the writing is thoughtful and grounded, but also quietly powerful. Your exploration of perspective really resonates with me. The idea that we can live the same day, the same moment, even stand in the same room as someone else—and walk away with completely different truths—once baffled me. It’s something I’ve come to understand more deeply over time, and your work puts words to that inner-and-outer duality so well. Can’t wait to read the full piece. This