the nostradamus shirt

Something really weird happened to me last night.

I took my kids out to dinner, for sushi.

I was wearing one of my giveaway in the path of falling objects shirts.

I dropped some bluefin tuna on it.

freaky.

acknowledgments

There are some parts of books that people automatically skip. Me, I go straight to the acknowledgments page in a book -- even before I buy it -- just to see what the author has to say.

Acknowledgments are more of a modern trend in writing, I think. You certainly never saw them in volumes of Melville or Poe... but it does make one imagine what they would have to say if they included one.

I didn't put any acknowledgments in Ghost Medicine, because, as a debut author, I actually believed that I wouldn't be allowed to. Yeah... there's a whole lot of stuff I just do not know about the writing biz. But I admit that I just don't care about the stuff I don't know about the business, anyway.

I've actually been yelled at by established authors for being so naive and unconcerned about certain aspects of "The Biz." But I'm not going to ever change... at least, I don't think I will... because I really don't care about anything else except the following:

1. I write stuff that I think is pretty good.

2. It gets published.

Yep. That's about it.

That said, in case you are a fan of such things, too, here are my acknowledgments from in the path of falling objects:

My older brother, Patrick, volunteered to serve in Vietnam when he was seventeen years old. And I still have the letter he’d written, saying to tell my younger brother, Steve, not to worry – that he promised he would not get killed. It’s a terrible thing when brothers make such requests and answer with such promises.

I rode through the Southwest with two of my best friends, Mike Bowen and Steve Tureaud; and I had to endure being in the back seat of Mike’s car the whole way home from Mexico, sitting alongside a life-size tin statue of Don Quixote that Mike picked up there (legally). The car was not a 1940 Lincoln Cabriolet, though.

Before he died, my father-in-law, Don Letney, bought a 1940 Lincoln Cabriolet. Now the car sits in a garage. I always planned to put that car in a book, so here it is, and now I suppose we’ll have to take it out and put that car on the road, where it belongs. It really is an amazing vehicle.

I do not believe in luck, but I am very fortunate to be represented by an incredible agent, Laura Rennert. She isn’t just a skillful agent, she’s about the smartest person I’ve ever run into when it comes to writing and telling stories. Thank you, Laura.

And thanks to all the “friends,” too. Like my good friend Lewis Buzbee said to me, there’s a reason why it’s called Feiwel and Friends. Thank you so much, Jean Feiwel, for being, like, the coolest person I have ever met. And thanks, Elizabeth Fithian, Allison Remcheck (officially, my first fan), Liz Noland, Rich Deas, Jessica Tedder, and everyone else who works in one of the most architecturally beautiful buildings on Manhattan.

Finally, I have a piece of paper, a sign, taped on the wall of my office that says, “What would Liz do?” My greatest thanks go to my editor, Liz Szabla. She may be the most amazing and talented editor that has ever loved working with stories, but, above that, she’s a friend. Thank you, Liz. You may remember that when you told me how much you loved this book, my answer to you was that if it was any good at all, it’s ‘cause you, Liz Szabla, taught me how to write. I do believe that.

weekend plans

I've written a good bit on the innate differences between boys and girls. My incessant state of wonder at all things female is probably why I could never... NEVER imagine writing a book with a female protagonist. I just don't get it.

This weekend, my cousin is getting married. The wedding is on Catalina (that's an island, inlanders). So, last night, my wife departed for a long weekend, along with her mother and a good friend.

Look: guys do not like weddings. What makes you think we do? Are you kidding me? Just... no. It's okay, though... my wife is very tolerant of my tastes, as I am of hers.

Anyway, so before she leaves yesterday, my twelve-year-old daughter looks at her and says, "Do you need me to fix your hair?"

And I'm sitting there on the couch, with a beer, watching this... thinking to myself, those are words I have never said to anyone in my life.

So my wife and daughter disappear into a bathroom for the hair-fixing session.

Meanwhile, I look over at my son, who's working on a composition on the computer. And I'm thinking, I wonder what he would do if I asked him if I wanted to fix his hair?

Because, now that I look at it, he does kind of look like a bum.

Ah... who cares? It's not like he's going to a wedding or anything.

When I was a kid, the way the "older generation" of males would suggest fixing your hair to younger dudes was usually by saying something like, "Why don't you cut your hair and get a job, you goddamned pot smoking hippie?"

So I try it. I say, "Hey son, why don't you cut your hair and get a job, you goddamned pot smoking hippie?"

He laughs and says, "That's funny, Dad."

I laugh.

That's how we fix hair.

My wife comes out. She looks happy. My daughter looks happy.

Her hair looks exactly the same.

That's the other thing. I think guys only notice a "hair fix" on a woman if they come back looking like freakin' Sinead O'Connor. Maybe not even then.

So, I have no plans for this weekend. I am not going to fix my son's hair. He's not going to fix mine. And we're okay with that.

out of the box

So, yesterday while we were sitting down for dinner, the UPS guy came and delivered a package with the first two copies of in the path of falling objects Born on 9-9-9.

It finally made it, and the release date is here.

Yesterday, I wrote about how great it is to receive a hand-written note from a reader. Well, inside the top copy of my book, I found a very touching note from my editor. Like yesterday's, I'm not going to share that one, either; and, like yesterday's, I'll be keeping that one forever.

Man... and I just cleaned my office out. Here we go again.

I just wanted to say one thing about this book today: it is beautiful.To say someone "outdid" themselves kind of presupposes you thought their abilities were limited. But Rich Deas, Feiwel and Friends' Creative Director, really designed a stunning front-to-back, total wraparound visual look and feel for this book.

And the title page he did... well, I just wish I had a big poster of that.

Wow, Rich.

Totally bitchin'.

The other artistic element is the book design -- how the pages came out, by Michelle McMillian. I know it's probably a manifestation of my ADD, but I can't help but fixate, sometimes, on how pages in books "look."

And these pages are perfect.

Thanks, art folks.

It's a good day.

nine nine nine

Just a really quick post today about why this is such a great week. Well, of course, tomorrow is the release day for in the path of falling objects. But yesterday, I got something in the mail that is the absolute best thing an author could ever possibly receive.

And it's not a contract, advance payment, or royalty check.

Yesterday, I got a hand-written, in pencil, on notebook paper, actual note from a 12-year-old boy who had read in the path of falling objects. His mother picked up a copy at ALA in Chicago... and I was, like, hmmm... are you sure a 12-year-old is okay reading this?

I mean, not that there is particularly objectionable language or material in it... but it is pretty intense. And I'll be honest, I really do want to look out for the kids out there, so if I just blindly put an age range on my book, I'd say 14 and up. But mom read it first, and obviously realizes that her young son is well on his way toward eventual world domination.

So I sent the kid the VERY FIRST in the path of falling objects tee shirt (I have plenty more for all these places I'll be going over the next couple months).

Anyway... seriously... getting a paper letter in the mail from a kid is the BEST THING EVER. I'd reprint what it says, but it contains a spoiler.

H.F. you rock. Thanks, dude.

the machinery of the universe

Random lines today:

When you bash a hammer into the machinery of the universe, all bets go off the table.

Yesterday, I got an email from two girls who told me A) That they are big fans of Ghost Medicine and B) That they thought it would be cool if I got it made into a movie.

Yeah, that would be cool.

I sent a copy of my book to my cousin in Italy. He's a dentist. It costs a fortune to mail books to Italy. Next time, I'll hand-deliver.

I plan on bringing a few copies of Ghost Medicine and in the path of falling objects with me in a couple weeks when I go over to Dublin and London, to be left at random places. If you're there, maybe you'll find one.

Oh... and I will be bringing my laptop, too. I plan on doing lots of work while I'm over there.

Next trip after that: Nashville, for the Southern Festival of Books.

labor day

Okay. Here's the deal. In three days -- three days -- my not-newest book, in the path of falling objects, is going to be released.

I say it's "not-newest" because any writer knows that from the time you finish writing a book until the day it appears on the shelf of a bookstore usually takes at least a year or two... or even longer if it's your debut work.

And it's "not-newest" because since I wrote in the path of falling objects, I've written two more novels, and am currently "working" on a third. I don't have any idea what this third (my "newest") one is going to be called yet -- a friend of mine asked me a question yesterday about my titles -- but Holy Labor Pains -- it's pretty freaking intense. Like, the beginning just scares the crud out of me because I really believe that things like this can happen -- and I have no idea in hell how it's going to end.

So... if you didn't notice, in honor of today's holiday I've stressed the concepts of "work" and "labor" so far in today's post; and I wanted to talk a little bit about those ideas and how they relate to writing.

To begin with, I don't consider writing to be like "work," and I don't think it's laborious, either. But I do spend a lot of time at it, and I also have a very disciplined work ethic toward my writing. So... if that's all it takes to call something "work," then... okay.

But when I think of all the crappy, horrible jobs I've had in my life, writing doesn't fall into the realm of what I'd call a "job," either. And I've definitely had some enjoyable jobs -- ones where I really enjoyed the work -- but the bottom line is they were still jobs.

I think when writing begins to feel too much like a job to me, I need to do something about my mental perspective. In fact, during the writing of one of my books, I actually forced myself to take a short vacation, leave my computer at home, and get away from it for a few days. Not because I was stuck, or suffering from writer's block, or even getting burned out -- I just wanted to see what getting away from the book would do to me.

I guess a job is something where you actually look forward to, and have to plan for, your days off. But writing isn't like that for me. There's really no need to save myself by asking "a boss" for days off, and I can do the "work" of writing no matter where I am, no matter the weather, or the hour in the day.

Unlike, for example, being an undersea welder.

Oh well... I need to get back to work.