Get Yours At Off Square Books

And now for a bit of shameless self-promotion!  My latest print book, THE MARKHAT FILES, has hit the shelves at Off Square Books in Oxford.  Here's a pick of the cover -- oh, and note that 2 copies of my other printed Markhat novel, HOLD THE DARK, are right beside it:

The Markhat Files

So, if you live in or near Oxford and you've been waiting for the book to hit the stands, they've hit! And remember, for each copy of THE MARKHAT FILES sold, an angel gets a puppy.  Or maybe it's a kitten.  Either way it's cute and fluffy and its got big trusting eyes and you feel a sudden irresistible compulsion to buy this book right now yes right now go go go...

So hit up Off Square Books and make a huge scene when you buy the book.  Really.  Run up to the shelf, grab the book with both hands, then scream "I have been looking for this book for ages AAAAAAAAGH here it is AAAAAGH MY LIFE IS COMPLETE!" before throwing wads of cash at the confused clerk and then charging out into traffic on the Square.  

Let's make this an event.

So, to recap -- THE MARKHAT FILES, Off Square Books, 662-236-2828, open 9:00 AM till 7:00 PM Monday through Thursday, 9:00 AM till 8:00 PM on Fridays and Saturdays, noon till five on Sundays, give me a call and I'll drive you myself if you'll buy a few books!

Snowmen in the Mist

If you live pretty much anywhere in the United States, here's your weather forecast, in a single image:

Sorry about that.  Those of you who have already endured seventeen feet of snow this winter are probably ready for a bit of sun -- but that isn't likely to emerge for some time now.

Here in Mississippi, all we're getting are winds and heavy rains, both howling down from a lead-grey sky.  I got a faceful of cold rain a while ago, driven by a gleeful gust that I suppose had been dying to slap someone since leaving Alberta.  I took the assault personally, and had words with the atmosphere. 

In non-weather news, I have decided to update my ancient version of Word at home before I'm too deep into the new novel.  Yes, I know, word is a product of Microsoft&Evil, Inc., but it's also the industry standard and unless one wants to pay for a WordPerfect to Word conversion and then re-write the whole thing because the conversion is flaky at best, one will use Word from the start and like it.

I want Word 2010.  Word 2007 is slightly cheaper, but not much, and I'll probably spring for the extra twenty bucks or so and get the latest and greatest.  I've looked at some of the new features in Word 2010, and it seems the biggest changes have been to add shadows and reflections to the various fonts.

Really.  Shadows and reflections.  Just what a weary-eyed editor wants to see -- squiggly Olde English characters, in light yellow, casting delicate shadows at their feet and dim reflections in the background.  Either one alone assures a quick sale.  Make a note of that, all you up and coming young writers...heh heh heh.

What I really get, though, is compatibility with everyone else.  My version is so old I have to use an actual pencil.  When I click HELP, a little old man eventually wanders up to the house and says "Eh?"  When I decide to save a file, I have to have a wax cylinder ready.

You get the picture.

I'm still working on the opening to Brown River Queen.  I'm taking it slow, having fun with it, letting the rest of the book plot itself out in my subconscious while I fiddle with the first paragraph.  You hear that, subconscious?  I want this thing plotted, paced, supplied with relevant subplots, and moving along a graceful story arc by the end of next week, or it's another marathon of old 'Love Boat' episodes for you, pal.

Oh, and if Microsoft is reading this, and I must assume that they are stroking a fat white cat and plotting world domination while reading this, you could generate some much-needed good karma by sending me a free copy of Word 2010 (the 64-bit edition, please).  

Chasing Chandler

"It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved, and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars."

Raymond Chandler, THE BIG SLEEP

Now that, gentle readers, is how you start a novel.

Anyone who reads that opening knows they're in for a ride.  I've read and re-read that opening passage a thousand times -- ten thousand times -- just trying to pick apart every last nuance of it.

Darn right I'll steal, but only from the best.

Every time I start a new book, I try my best to start it with an opening as powerful as Chandler's above.  I do this for two reasons -- one, because it hooks the reader and draws them in, as surely as flies to trout.  And two, because no editor alive could resist the siren song of Chandler's prose, and verily, this author needs a new pair of metaphorical shoes.

So now that I'm starting a new book, I've got another shot at matching Chandler's famous opening.

There's a lot of drudgery, tedium, and just plain hard work involved in writing.

But this is one of those moments that is pure magic.

Once upon a time...

Spooky Moon

A picture is said to be worth a thousand words.  I doubt this, since the only words that apply to many pictures are "Is that your thumb?" and "How long has your camera been broken?"

With that in mind, here is a picture.  I call it Spooky Moon, because A) it looked spooky when I took it, and B) it's the Moon.

Fig. 5a, re: the Moon

That's precisely the kind of Moon I always picture when I'm writing.  So, if you're reading something of mine and the Moon is mentioned, think big and ominous and, in the spirit of accuracy, also grainy and overexposed.

I do love a big fat harvest Moon, served up with a bit of chill in the air.  

But wait, you may ask.  With so much going on in the world, why are you posting old pics of dubious quality and ignoring the historic events unfolding in Egypt, for instance, and elsewhere?

You'd be right to ask that.  After all, my old blog was nearly all political.  

But this time around, the sad truth is that I just don't give a wet hang.  I'm not mad anymore.  I'm not appalled, or shocked, or outraged, or even mildly discombobulated.

I just don't care. 

So if Charles Manson is installed as Speaker of the House, or if a bag of Cheetos winds up on the UN Security Council, fine.  You won't hear me grousing about it.  Raise taxes to pay for public displays of ornamental taxidermy.  Establish a government commission to regulate gerunds.  Make it illegal to demonstrate left-handedness on a Tuesday.

Yawn.  

I've decided to defend myself with stout walls of military-grade apathy.  I shall erect a fortress of impenetrable uncarium.  My lack of concern to matters domestic and foreign will be not only visible from space, but also a navigation hazard due to its blazing, continuous intensity.

So, no more Dick Cheney jokes.  No more mixed references to American foreign policy and massive head injury.  Nevermore shall I cast scorn, corn, or Bjorn toward Washington or those that dwell within.

With that, I bid you all goodnight.  I hope a spooky Moon smiles down upon you.

Blast From the Past

The thing about the net is this -- it keeps everything.  Maybe it's an old photo of you in a schoolgirl outfit and a Richard Nixon mask with an aquarium full of ferrets balanced on your head (okay, maybe that's just me).  Maybe it's the complete record of an ill-advised flame war in which you were a combatant back in 1999.  Maybe it's that old high school yearbook picture someone on Facebook keeps reposting.

In my case, it's a short story I sold way back in 2004 to a webzine named Abyss&Apex.

The story is called The Powerful Bad Luck of DD Dupree.  You can still read it, for free, seven years after it was posted.  Abyss&Apex is still going strong.

This is one of the few stories I set in the so-called real world.  It's about two white kids befriending a mysterious black man in 1970s Mississippi.  Yeah, there are ghosts.  Everything I write has ghosts.  A therapist should probably address that, someday.

I just re-read DD Dupree again today, mainly to see if something I wrote seven years ago would make me first cringe in horror and then hide under the desk in shame.  Surprisingly, it doesn't.  My writing has changed in the last seven years, but that's a pretty good story.

If you've gone and read the story, you might be interested to know that the character Wade Lee was based on a real man, who was really missing both legs and an arm.  He lost them the same way the Wade Lee in the story lost his -- they were torn off by a corn picker.  And the real Wade Lee lived in a tiny shack exactly like the one in the story.

The Browny Woods are based on a real place, too.  The real location has no name, but I could take you to it, and I think you too would feel the same creepy sense of  being watched, of being asked for something, that I always felt there.

The grease truck man?  Also based on a real person.  I worked at a deli as a kid, and we emptied spent fryer grease into a huge barrel behind the store.  It vanished, twice a month, in the dead of night, whisked away to parts and fates unknown.

So if you're bored and you've got a few minutes to kill, here's a blast from the past, entitled The Powerful Bad Luck of DD Dupree.  Enjoy!

A Brief Blast of Summer

From the looks of things, we're all fairly sick of winter.

I am.  As much as I loathe the unrelenting heat and merciless humidity of a Mississippi summer, I'm ready to trade in cold rain and lingering snow for heat prostration and chiggers.

So, for anyone else ready to bid farewell to short dim days and long cold nights, here are a few reminders of what's in store for us, a few short months from now.

I call the image above 'The 4th of July.'  Mainly because I took it on the 4th, at the big fireworks show here in Oxford, right on the edge of campus.  I took this shot with a Pentax K1000 film camera, ASA 400 film, and I held the shutter open manually with a cable.  I got lucky and got the explosion, and got very lucky and caught the spectators too, in all their blurry glory.  Long live film, baby!

The next shot is from Cade's Cove in Tennessee.  Those are the Great Smokey Mountains in the background. That's grass in the foreground.  I guess.  If it's not on the salad bar, frankly I don't know much about it.

Finally, we have a glorious sunset, shot from my own backyard.  It was nice and warm that night.

Not a single snowflake anywhere in that sky!

Wait until about August.  I'll be blogging about how wretched the heat is, and posting pictures of last month's snow.  Such is human nature.

Lou Ann is with me now, just a few feet away.  She's on her back in the recliner, with all four feet stuck in the air.  Her tongue is hanging out of her mouth, and despite that somehow she's snoring.  

I think maybe she has the right idea about wintertime.

Just roll over and sleep right through it.

  

A Few Suggestions for Improvement

The Universe is crammed full of natural laws.  Electrons have to behave one way when they're being observed and another way when they're not.  Gravity is always busy.  You never see Magnetism loafing in the vacuum, playing pinochle with Weak Nuclear Forces while iron filings everywhere forget where to stand.

The Universe is an orderly place.  Writer Terry Pratchett summed it up beautifully, I think, when he described it as 'lots of rocks moving in big circles.'

Even so, I think there is plenty of room for a few additional natural laws.  Here are the ones I'd like to see implemented:

1) It should never EVER rain on people in wheelchairs.  Ever.  It's bad enough someone is in a wheelchair.  Raining on them is just rude.

2) People who text and drive should immediately be struck by powerful bolts of lightning.  Twice.

3) The smoking corpses left in the wake of Rule #2 above should be struck by lightning again, just to show everyone else that the Universe isn't screwing around this time.

4) When the lights go down in a theatre, the audience should, for the duration of the movie, lose the power of speech.  Seriously.  What motivates people to believe a roomful of strangers wants to hear their running commentary on a movie they neither made, starred in, nor even plan to watch?

5) We won't even discuss what happens to people who text during movies.  It's simply too gory and awful to contemplate.  Leopards are involved.  Leopards, and rabid bears.  Rabid bears with frickin' lasers.  And lightning.  Lots and lots of lightning.

That's it -- five simple natural laws.  None of them are nearly as complicated as quantum mechanics or even linear algebra.  They all revolve around lightning, and bears with lasers, all of which are more or less common items.  We're talking off-the-shelf components here, Universe.  Easy installation.  Low maintenance.  It's not like there's a big shortage of lightning, right?

But if I can only get one new law put into place, let's go with Number 1.

Now that wasn't so hard, was it?

Riverboats and Torsos

First of all, I have to design a riverboat.

And not just any riverboat.  The Brown River Queen, as she will be called, is to be an opulent gambling hall, complete with two casinos and numerous staterooms and three restaurants and even a stage for floor shows. 

So far, my real-world model is a craft named the J. M. White.  The White was enormous; she measured 320 feet long and 91 feet wide and her twin stacks rose 81 feet above the muddy Mississippi. 

She was a beautiful boat.  Chandeliers graced the main cabin.  She had 75 luxury cabins, and her pilot wheel was a whopping 12 feet in diameter.

And when she burned late one night in 1886, the flames consumed her entirely in less than 15 minutes.

My boat isn't going to burn.  The Queen will number, among her crew, several vampires, a couple of ogre bouncers, and half a dozen wand-wavers who mill around in the casinos spotting hexers and other magical cheats.  Oh, and there will be a murder, on the Queen's maiden voyage, no less...

But I can't kill anyone until I get the boat built in my head.  Which means drawings and maps of rooms and little scribbled notes about how long it would take Miscreant A to run from Stateroom 15 to Stateroom 27 if he was trying to carry a dismembered torso at the time.

And people wonder why writers always look distracted.  It's because we're imagining bags packed with dismembered torsos and trying to decide how much they'd weigh, and how fast we could run with them.

Yes, Brown River Queen is the working title of the new Markhat novel.   I'm taking everything that makes Rannit fun and throwing in a dash of old New Orleans, this time around.  There will be gumbo.  And perhaps even Voodoo.  Spun for compatibility with Markhat's rough and tumble world of magic, of course, but the basic flavors will all be there.

So it's back to my musty old reference books.  I need to immerse myself in all things riverboatish for a while, to get into the spirit of the thing.  It looks like that will be fun.

And by the way, an average adult human torso weighs about 105 pounds.  And no, you don't get to ask how I know...

127,419!

I'm in the very final stages of hammering the rough draft of The Bonnie Bell into shape for submission to the publisher.

The word count stands at 127,419 words.  I don't expect that to change significantly.

That makes The Bonnie Bell the longest piece I've ever written.

By contrast, Hold the Dark is around 60,000 words, and The Banshee's Walk is around 80,000.

Not too many years ago, I was having trouble churning out 4000 word short stories.  In fact, I'd probably have a rough time today, starting and ending something in less than five thousand of the little squiggly things.  Especially a fantasy short -- you've got to tell a good story and build a believable world, and a limit of five thousand words make doing both extremely difficult.

No, I prefer writing novels.  You've got more room, more time.  If you want to write in a minor character with a quirk just for some comic relief, that's fine -- you won't be looking later on to cut three hundred words just to make the piece fit inside some magazines hard-and-fast length limits.

The flip side to that freedom is of course the peril granted by the freedom itself.  The last thing you want to do is go off on so many tangents readers get lost in the action, and wind up glaring at the book in confusion (I'm looking at you, Gene Wolfe).

I think I've managed to walk that tightrope pretty well in Bonnie Bell.  Of course I won't know for sure until I get a yea or a nay from the kind folks at Samhain, but right now it feels good.

I'd love to talk specifics about the book itself, but of course I really shouldn't.  I will say this one ends in a manner unlike any of the others.  I hope that means readers will clamor for the next book, and not rise up in anger and storm my castle with torches and pitchforks, because A) the castle is a rental and B) my homeowner's policy specifically does NOT cover 'mobs, angry.'

I will give out a hint or two.  My favorite scene, I think, involves Markhat riding a war-horse right through the doors at Wherthmore.  And then there's the dinner scene at the fancy restaurant -- but alas, that's all you get.

So, very soon, The Bonnie Bell will be sent away for judgement, and the new book will begin.

But right now, I'm just looking at that word count and grinning like an idiot.

One hundred and twenty-seven thousand, four hundred and nineteen words.

With THE END stuck at the bottom.

Feels good.

The Wreck of the Toyota Corolla

It's been a rough few days.  Any story that starts out with the words 'And then there was the car wreck' probably isn't a cheery little tale.

In honor of our beloved Toyota, I offer up this tidbit of song -- weep as you sing it.




Sung to the tune of THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD:


The legend lives on from the Wendy's on down
of the red light they call the So Sue Me
The light, it is said, is right quick to turn red
When the students are texting and moody.


With a load of Subways -- not very much more
then the mighty Toyota weighed empty
That good car and true was a bone to be chewed
When the red light turned red, and turned early

The car was the pride, yes the Tuttle's main ride
Coming back with sandwiches laden
As Corollas will go it was faster than most
With insurance, full coverage, and paid in

The wind in the tires made a tattletale sound
And I waved at Larry in passing,
And every man knew, as the Tuttle did too,
T'was the students at him were laughing


The lunch hour came late and the hunger was great
When the deadly black Honda came speeding
The brakes, they were applied,
But t'were doomed to collide, when the fateful lunch hour came callin'

The policeman called in he had tow trucks comin' in
And the little Toyota was wounded
And later that same, the insurance man came
and said fellas, it's been good to cover ya

Does anyone know where the Blue Book value goes
When the impact turns your bumper to confetti
The bystanders all said I my face was really red
Came the wreck of the Toyota Corolla!