winter

When we woke up, the sun was shining through the blinds. We haven't seen it in a week and tonight's storm is supposed to be the worst yet.

We're tired of it. The horses are angry. The snow level rose the other night, transforming the paddock into a wide river of mud flowing down toward the lake.

I knew we would have a winter like this. I could tell by the color of the trees in November. Something like 8 more weeks to go, too. It will be a good spring for the fruit trees.

About a week ago, my incredible agent sold the audio rights to Ghost Medicine to Random House/Listening Library. They already have me on the Random House website, offering Ghost Medicine for pre-order, to be released September 9. The best part about it is that it's an unabridged audio version. I am very happy with that, because I know that sometimes audio books have to be shortened, and Ghost Medicine is fairly long. But I just can't possibly see what you could cut out of it and still tell the story. So, thanks, Random House.

Now... about that bio they have on me. Oh well, it's not like this is the first time I've had an identity crisis, and I'd just as soon not put anything about myself on the book, other than my name as the author. 'Cause it's not about me, anyway.

Give me a reply if you'd like me to post the link to Random House/Listening Library's Ghost Medicine page, otherwise, I'm okay with how things are.

It's starting to get cloudy. I think I'll go out and see the sun before it's gone.

nicer now

ssshhhhhhhh...

Someone's looking.

Nicer now.

Have you ever had a run-in with an out-of-control cop? I have. More than once. I seem to attract them. It happens to the main character in Ghost Medicine, too. The thing is, I can't even remember the last time I got a traffic ticket. I think it was about 20 years ago, but I'm not really sure. But, jeez! I sure seem to rub cops the wrong way sometimes.

The scary thing is that they're allowed to carry guns and big flashlights (I don't even own a flashlight, remember?), and seem so well-versed in making hauntingly nonspecific threats to individuals they disagree with. Some of them even subtly threaten noninvolved family members, too. The State must offer some type of training these days at the law enforcement academies on "Hauntingly Nonspecific Threat Delivery." It's kind of like a verbal taser, I guess.

"You do not want to make an adversary of me."

Honestly... who talks like that??? I swear, this is an exact quote. If I just saw this written down in some Cop Thriller story I would laugh... but I heard it with my own ears. It's as funny to me as hearing someone actually use the word "perhaps" in conversation. But I digress in italicization too long...

"I will mess up your life. Your kids will NOT be happy with it."

Hey... it works.

"I will comply with your irrational and out-of-control decrees, officer, as I do not at this time wish my ten-year-old daughter to be fatherless."

Cost effective compliance mechanism. And not the product of sweatshop labor. Contains no lead.

I notice that all the manufacturers of taser guns I could find are over there in the land of the high-lead-content-sweatshop. It's not like I'm a taser freak or anything. I just woke up this morning and the first thing that popped into my head was: I wonder who works in a taser gun factory?

This is what happens to me when I get more than 10 hours of sleep. That's probably more sleep than some cops get in a week.

I will continue on this thought, and why I decided to just sleep -- and nothing else -- for the last twelve hours.

rutting season for trampolines

My kids have a trampoline. Or, I should say, had one.

I was in San Francisco with the wife and kids for a few days doing some research for an upcoming book, and, while we were away, a particularly fierce storm hit our little town up in the mountains. From what I was told, before the snows came we had wind gusts of about 70 mph. Well, the gales lifted the kids' trampoline and it flew hundreds of feet through the air and landed squarely down on top of a neighbor's new Mitsubishi Eclipse (a car I am not particularly attracted to, which, nevertheless, emits some kind of rage-inducing pheromones that lure avian trampolines).

What did neighbor-man do? Well, first, he tried to obtain my cell phone number from the lady who had been coming around to feed the horses. But she is one tough horse-sitter and refused to have that information extracted. And, apparently, neighbor-dude had seen the same admonitory Jeff Corwin documentary concerning the dangers of disengaging a copulating trampoline as I had (I think I was drinking whiskey at the time), so he left it on top of the ugly little car until I flew back home. Three days later. He said he wanted to leave it there because he didn't think I'd believe it actually happened.

Belief. That's a funny concept. I believe my insurance company will take care of this. But, then again, I believe in Santa Claus and I believe that in a few months a litter of tiny little convertible-topped hybrids will come gushing from that Mitsubishi's catalytic converter with their little sad headlights turned skyward, asking, "Mommy... where's Daddy?"

My wife and I went out in the snow that night and removed the spent and satisfied trampoline from that tramping trollop of a car.

advice to writers 2008

1.Shooting yourself in the fucking head is a quicker and easier way for you to get lots and lots of attention, if that's what you're after. Personally, I have a deep fear of attention... so I am keeping a gun handy.

2.Read the posts on WritersNet. There is some good advice on that site, and plenty of people post samples of their writing there, which is bound to make you feel really good about yourself... especially because the worst of them just never seem to give up and shoot themselves in the head. (Smith NEVER posts samples of his work on the web... well, except for those couple lines on Ghost Medicine ... and blogs don't count as writing.) Lots of playground-like genital comparison goes on at that site, too (yawn), which is why I've only answered questions a handful of times there. Also, Flogging the Quill is a great site to get a decent idea of what grabs -- and irks -- an editor. Better writing samples there, too.

3.Get a coach. I have three of them: my agent, my editor, and my great friend Kel. I picked my agent (she was #1 on my list) from Jeff Herman's guidebook. I picked her based on her reputation, her background in literature, the agency she is associated with, and the genres she likes to rep. Since I knew she would be right for me, I valued her advice and suggestions. She worked with me for a LONG time in cleaning and tightening up my manuscript, which showed me that she believed in me, and, together, we put out a piece of property that caught the eye of several editors. My editor is hands-down one of the coolest and most talented people I know. Even a nose piercing or Maori facial tattoo couldn't make her cooler. And, next to her, everything I'd ever heard about editors is WRONG. She never cut anything out of my book... she kept asking me to add things I had cut from earlier drafts. She never told me to change anything... she just asked if I thought her ideas worked. And of course I did... she's brilliant... even though her ideas were little more than word substitutions. Oh, and she hates the word "flinch," which I used several times in my original manuscript. I don't think it's in the final version at all... I'll have to do a word scan and see. And, finally, my best friend Kel has been involved in writing ever since we were in high school together and worked on the newspaper, a Stalinist propaganda vehicle to promote uniformity and loyalty among the student masses.

When I decided to send one of my novels out into the world to get published, it was Kel who supported and advised me, and who frequently told me when my shit was shitty, and writers need someone like that at all times.

Happy 2008 (the year of Ghost Medicine).

let's be honest

OK. So I'm not really the whiskey-soaked sourpuss I make myself out to be on the blogs. But that's as honest as I'll get.

My mother-in-law gave me a tee shirt that says, "Careful, or you'll end up in my novel." And my uncle gave me a bottle of whiskey (seriously).

I have to say that nobody I know ended up in any of my novels. Most of the people I know are far too boring for that.

Except for Rose. Rose is a character in Ghost Medicine modeled after a woman who used to own horse property next to us. And pretty much everything that Rose says and does in Ghost Medicine actually happened... but that was a very long time ago, and "Rose" has passed away.

And I did use one funny quote that Josh, a friend of mine who lives in China, once said to me in conversation... but, other than that, nothing. It's all damned lies. And I'm really hoping that Josh remembers saying it to me and finds the quote.

I take all the pictures I post on the blogs here. One of my favorites is the picture on the December 23 post. And I like the Flatiron Building photo, too. I took that one in New York when I was visiting my publisher (their offices are at the top of the building).

i guess 'tis

OK... so I'm wondering if there are actually any new male authors out there. Seems like there's nothing but women writers everywhere; ones that hide behind gender-neutral initials. So, if you're a man and a new author, chime in. I'd like to hear from you. We can talk about sports and pain, or the hotness factor of certain women writers.

I read other writers' blogs. Of course, I can only find blogs from women writers. Maybe blogging is kind of metro, I don't know. One of them I recently read offered holiday recipes. So I thought I'd put a holiday recipe on here, too.

Here we go... I call this one "A Bottle of Whiskey"

A Bottle of Whiskey
1 medium to large bottle of whiskey

There.

You're done.

No fucking candy thermometer needed.

And while I'm on the subject of testosterone and the holiday season, let's talk about resolutions. Here are some resolutions I am considering pledging myself to in 2008:

1) Start cussing more frequently. Especially in front of children or members of the clergy.

2) Start chewing tobacco. Also, the same audience requirements as #1 would do nicely.

3) Stop bathing entirely. No more grooming of any kind. That would be cool. I already haven't shaved in over two weeks and I'm beginning to look like Rutherford B. Hayes.

But I'm just "toying" with those possibilities. My number one rule when adopting a resolution is make it enjoyable, attainable, and as personally inexpensive as possible. Hard to let yourself down that way.

the great blackout

So I drive home at night with my son. My wife and daughter are at dance class. The power is out and every home around the lake is totally dark except for the people I hate who have generators. Even their outdoor Christmas lights are on, mocking my anti-disaster-preparedness-deficit-disorder with their winking oppressed-Chinese-child-labor brilliance.

Pitch blackness, and I have a yearning to play poker on line.

And everything we have runs on juice and there's no dinner either.

I sit in the darkness at my computer and imagine there must be some terrorist attack (probably from Iran... see? you were right all along like you always are George... I can call him by his first name since I am rapidly climbing towards conservatism and honorary Texanism).

My son breaks out a flashlight; the only one in the house and it's about as powerful as the argument for Saddam's WMD program.

He says, "Why don't you light a fire, Dad?"

It's how we heat the house anyway.

I get the fire started and he decides to read. Just like Abe Lincoln, that boy (God! Here I go singing the praises of another Republican). He's reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I explain that Harper Lee only wrote one book, and after that she decided never to write again. I tell him that if you win a Pulitzer and have an Oscar-winning movie made from your one book, you may as well hang up the skates anyway, and he says, "But you better not do that, Dad."

I tell him I can't. I've already written three and two of them have sold.

He breaks out the flashlight and shines it on the pages as he reclines on the couch by the fire.

Some Republican.

Hey! Tomorrow is KELLY'S BIRTHDAY!!

Happy Birthday Kelly!!!! She's my oldest friend (I mean that in a good, self-esteem-preserving way, old gal), and I love her forever.

Obviously, the power came back after a couple hours so I could post this. But we'll still find a way to believe you, Mr. Bush.