the last of november

I can't say I'm sorry to tear this page out of the calendar.

And burn it.

So... here we are, stuck in the limbo between Black Friday and Cyber Monday. And, since nobody has claimed this day, I would like to officially proclaim the Sunday between BF and CM from this day forward shall be known as Shop Like Gandhi Sunday.

I mean... are these count-your-money-before-it's-spent days really necessary? Have people really become so commercially brainwashed that they've devolved into Pavlovian ATMs?

Don't answer that... I know the answer already.

Ugh.

So long, November 2008. Glad to be getting rid of you. In the future, try to be a little more June-like, okay?

coyote holiday

I used to have one more chicken than I do this morning.

A coyote must have got one of the dumb black ones the other night. I don't like the black chickens, anyway, but the least the predator could have done was to take one of the roosters. I hate roosters.

Oh well. Coyotes have to eat, too. I hope it had a nice feast on the chicken.

We let our chickens go free-range. They have a house (there are two separate flocks), but they can come and go as they please. Or as predators please, I guess. We don't normally have much of a problem with predation because of our other animals -- horses, dogs, and goats, which, I think, most predators are probably afraid of. Well... not the goats, I guess.

I think I would give just about anything to have some chupacabra-esque predator swoop down and take my goats away. I mean... how long do goats live, anyway? We bought them maybe ten years ago to clear brush on our property. The brush has been cleared, but the goats are still here.

And to say they've outlived their usefulness would be behind the times by about ten years, I guess. When I was building my barn, one of the goats came and ate a bungee cord that was hanging out of my pocket. Well, he didn't swallow the whole thing... only about half of it. The other half, and the hook, were hanging from his mouth as he was attempting to get it all down.

This is why I don't find any quality of the goat to be endearing. I would tell you what I did next, but people would likely complain. Suffice it to say, I got my bungee cord back, and the goat is still alive.

I've even tried to encourage them to wander off into the hills and seek their freedom, but they keep coming back. Goats hate getting wet, and they know there's an open barn here, and plenty of bungee cords to eat.

big big black day

Well. A couple things: I do not shop on Black Friday. Ever. I don't like crowded places, and I avoid malls as much as possible.

The in the path of falling objects website is all up and running, and I must say it looks very slick. It's simple, and there are a number of small excerpts from the novel that, I think, would arouse the interest of just about any prospective reader. You should pop over there and check it out.

Before you know it, the galleys will be out and we'll be counting down to yet another pub day.

The other thing is that I wanted to share a bit of an email from a friend of mine who asked a question about writing. She began with a quote:

"Writing a book is its own reward, but reading a book is a commitment of time and money that ought to pay clear dividends. If you are not educated and entertained, you deserve to be returned to your original age and net worth." ~Daniel Gilbert, Stumbling on Happiness.

I was thinking about this from the author's perspective. Do you think about this when you're writing? Like, do you write what YOU want to write, or do you write what you think your readers will want to read? Is writing a book a purely self-gratifying task, or do you do it to satisfy readers?

I like getting emails like this... and, thanks for the blog topic. I'm going to paraphrase my answer here (because I used some blunt vernacular when I responded to my friend), but, generally, my answer was this:

I have almost never read a book that I didn't like, or that I didn't get something out of. That said, though, I have stopped reading books that were simply horribly-written, with characters that were flat, never seemed to grow, and completely predictable, because I knew they would not get any better. But I could never imagine finishing an entire book and then feeling like I was cheated out of part of my life. I mean... come on!

And, yes, I write what I think readers will want to read... at least, what I would want to read. I also like to think I am not writing for a market niche (like... I don't know... vampire/zombie/dead-but-they-don't-know-it teens), but I believe that if the work is comparatively unique and well-written, that's the big prize -- and the book will find readership.

So, I think then, that I do write to satisfy readers more than anything else. I don't think writing is self-gratifying. It's miserable... really. But when I come home and see I've gotten an email from somebody on the other side of the country that I've never met and they tell me my book is the best book they've ever read, well... that's all kinds of awesome.

thanksgiving alone

Okay. I am spending Thanksgiving Day alone.

I am not trying to play the sympathy card, though. On the contrary... I really like being alone. I sent the kids off to their grandmother's house. Her mom just passed away last week, so she needs a little ghost medicine, I think... and what better way to dispense it than with kids?

And I'm not especially moved by holidays, anyway. I think that's a guy thing, too. I'm not a sourpuss or anything. I just look at every day with equal amounts of enthusiasm, joy, and dread.

But today is an incredible day. The storm has passed, the trees look incredible, and the air smells so amazing (in a very non-turkey-and-gravy way). So I slept late, fed the horses, ran five miles in the hills (awesome), and now I'm going to go sit in my sauna and read.

Now that's a great day, I think.

A couple of years ago, I had to spend my birthday alone. During the middle of the night (I think it was around 2 a.m. the morning of my birthday) the police drove through our little town announcing an evacuation. There was a terrible wildfire and it was cresting the ridge on the hills behind our house, where firefighters had lined up to make what they said was a "last stand." There are no homes behind mine, just open space.

Well, I sent my wife and kids away, but I decided to stay because I wanted to be able to at least let our horses go if the fire got down onto our property, because I figured they'd be safe if they ran down to the lake (sound familiar? Well... it would if you'd read Ghost Medicine).

Anyway, the horses were fine and the fire never crested the ridge. But all that day (my birthday), it was so eerie, because it was like the world had been destroyed and I was the only survivor. Nobody was around at all. All the other homes were dark and abandoned, and it was so quiet. And my wife and kids were prevented from coming back home for the entire day.

So that was an interesting birthday, to say the least.

coming up

It's pouring rain. I'm sitting inside. I got the fire going, and in a minute I'm going to sit by it and read.

I've got a couple things coming up after Thanksgiving. First, I'll be visiting Newbury Park High School in Newbury Park, California, on Tuesday, where I'll be speaking for about 500 kids. The last time I did one of these, it went really well, so I am looking forward to it.

Thanks to Michele Kantor, the Community Relations Manager for Barnes and Noble in Thousand Oaks, who has arranged to sell copies of Ghost Medicine to the students and donate a portion of the proceeds back to the school, and Lucia Lemieux, the school's librarian-teacher, for inviting me out and setting up the event.

Then, on Saturday, December 6, I will be at the Santa Clarita Valley Literacy and Arts Festival at William S. Hart Park in Santa Clarita, where I will be reading and answering questions at 11:00, and then signing copies of my book, which are also being made available by Barnes and Noble in Valencia. I'm also looking forward to meeting fellow Feiwel & Friends author Greg Taylor at the event.

Oh... and there's a new website listed in my links. It's the official in the path of falling objects website.

Yeah... there's nothing on it, really. But it's going to be, of course, ultra-cool.

Happy Thanksgiving.

back in the day

I realized something today about the way I write. Well, it wasn't like I didn't already know it; I just never put it into words until someone asked.

I was asked recently if I always knew how my books would end before I wrote them. I'd have to say that when I'm writing a book, I have at least two major -- and different -- endings in mind. But what invariably happens is that as I am working through the script, characters begin making choices that grow increasingly complex as their personalities develop. Sometimes these choices surprise me and end up presenting the possibility for unforeseen conclusions to the story.

So... the bottom line is, no, I really don't know how one of my books is going to end before I write it. I just let nature kind of take its course.

I will, however, make a plot outline... nothing more than a numbered list with usually no more than one or two words at each entry... just to keep my mind focused on what I want to happen. But this is usually only done about five steps in advance. You can kind of see this mechanism in in the path of falling objects, because I actually use chapter titles in this book... and they are all (with only a couple exceptions) just one-word titles.

So, I got an email from an old friend from back in high school. He has become, of all things, an English teacher. I really do believe that the fundamentals of writing and love for literature I learned in high school really brought me to where I am today.

I want to share an excerpt of his email with you... and my comments are in red:

Just thought I'd share what I remembered about you (and myself) when I'd learned of your success in publishing--a telling memory, it turns out.

Remember 10th grade English with Mr. H(I am omitting the name of the teacher because I am afraid of English teachers)? Maybe you recall the day Mr. H had the class read two different poems.

After several minutes, he asked who liked the first poem better. Almost everybody raised their hands. H pinched his lip, as he always did when something sort of stumped him.

Then he asked who liked the second one better.

Only you and I (and maybe one girl--flower child Tina R? Couldn't have been Tina... I think the only time she ever raised her hand was to hoist a clenched fist and proclaim something about power... or something) put our hands up.

The first poem was a trite rhyming something by an anonymous poet H dubbed "John Noman" (to this day, I'm quite sure a line of the poem was, "When the going gets tough, the tough get going.") The poem that we liked, though, was nothing less than Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle into that good night..."

Small wonder that I went on to become an English major (and teacher) and you became a writer.

Nice story. And I totally remember that day. And I will never forget that poem, either.

But that's what good teachers do.

simon says

Okay... so I've played it out as long as possible.

I mean, I did get the I need to see you so I can yell at you email from the new Assistant Principal, Ms. I'm-a-little-too-bubbly-and-take-my-job-a-little-too-seriously-so-I-have-no-time-for-losers-like-you-Smith-who-never-tire-of-mocking-the-leviathanic-powers-conferred-on-people-such-as-me today.

But, as luck would have it, I guess Grandma Betty was smiling down on me and facilitated the use of the "family funeral" excuse, and then a sick kid staying at home today, and so, before you know it... it's practically Thanksgiving. I was hoping she'd forget about my transgressions, but no chance of that.

So, tomorrow, I have to go and see her. I hate being scolded, especially by someone who, at best, is only marginally qualified to do her job. But some parts of it are fun. For example, I wonder what she means when she says she is looking to close any and all communication gaps?

I mean, honestly... who the hell talks like that? To people?

To me, that means, I want to yell at you and assert my superiority, face-to-face. I mean, am I wrong about that? After all, I don't feel a "gap," man, (that's seventies hippietalk if you ask me).

So, here's the deal. Really. I will state my case with absolute objectivity. We had a "disaster drill" at school, and Ms. (see above) insisted that the kids be made to sit down out in a field for the duration of the drill, which was about 45 minutes long. I told the kids in my care that they didn't need to sit down because the field was wet... and fieldy. It was icky, in fact. So I let them stand up.

Seriously.

That's it.

Now it's like she's having the woodshop geeks assemble a Smith-sized crucifix or something. Give me a freekin break.

So, I can hear it now. She's going to say, "When I say 'sit,' you sit."

This is why I've always had a fondness for people like Mao and Stalin. I mean, they give so much inspiration when otherwise none would be available.

Ack... no one in the world cares about who's champ at Simon Says.