all my stuff

Well, if nobody reads blogs on Saturdays, then Sundays are dead in the water.

The Andrew Smith How to Be a Writer Conference will continue tomorrow, with the conclusion of the Suicide Prevention Pit Bull story.

I recently changed computers. I only use Macs, and have only used them for probably 20 years now.

I also have their new operating system, Lion. I am not reviewing tech stuff here, but I did have to change a lot of stuff that I do and how I do it. Writing has been a challenge for the past few days because I've had to actually use two computers at once to get anything done.

Things are finally clicking into place now. Where else would they click, anyway?

I do all the art on my blog. I draw the pictures and do the comics, too, when I have them. Unfortunately, my old Adobe Photoshop CS won't work on my new quad-core Mac. Sad. Oh well, I'll find some other way of getting stuff done. I always do.

In any event, we had a great multi-nation chat yesterday about The Marbury Lens on Evil Editor's blog. I don't know what I was expecting, but what happened there far surpassed the best I could hope for. Evil Editor edits and digests the chat and posts it so people who were not there live-time can give it a read.

You might enjoy looking at it, especially if you're a fan of the book.

Here's the link to yesterday's chat discussion.

See you at the conference tomorrow.

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the vice president's balls

Well.

Nobody reads blogs on Saturdays, which is too bad.

I think there are a lot of hungover people in Los Angeles this morning. That's what happens at writers' conferences. But not here. Not at this conference, where you get all the good shit you need.

Anyway, I haven't forgotten that I need to conclude my Suicide Prevention Pit Bull story, which is a true story with a real crackerjack ending with twists, and I need to give some more Agent and Editor Tips and Tricks, and then there are the Breakout Sessions and even a Keynote Address.

Dang.

I think I'm going to need a bigger slot.

But since nobody is reading blogs because they are hungover and also just starting brand new WIPs inside their four-to-a-room doubles with strangers who fart, because they just learned last night through a private encounter with an influential agent who was peeing at the urinal next to them what is the new HOT trend in YA, I thought I'd mention a couple things about my book, The Marbury Lens, just because I hate to be all egotistical and shit and nobody's reading this, anyway, for the reasons listed above.

By the way, the next HOT trend in Middle Grade?

Just remember, you heard it here first bitch:

The next HOT trend in Middle Grade will be anti-bullying books about monthly testicular self exams. The target audience is frail boys who can't keep their hands off their balls. It should probably be an audio book.

Remember:

Anyway, I will be on Evil Editor's Blog this morning, at noon Eastern time, discussing with non-hungover people The Marbury Lens, at the invitation of the Evil Editor himself or herself. I don't even know who Evil Editor is, but he or she has a pretty cool blog. The link is at the bottom.

Also, I am quite honored that The Marbury Lens is a finalist (among four books) for the Southern California Independent Booksellers Association 2011 Book Award. This is really a tremendous award, and to have my book there in the final four is quite amazingly nice.

I will have to draw some pictures if I give a speech and shit.

Anyway, the awards dinner is going to be held on October 22 at the Hilton in Long Beach, which is a very very nice place. I once got beaten up and pantsed in a dumpster behind the Hilton in Long Beach, so I know. It also has really nice urinals.

I'll be signing copies of the just-will-have-been-released Stick there, too, so people in attendance who choose NOT to beat me up and pants me can get an autographed copy of a real crackerjack book.

Links:

Evil Editor's Blog is here.

The SCIBA 2011 Book Awards List is here.

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agent and editor tips and tricks (part two)

Let's see.

Where was I?

Oh yeah... a dog that had been genetically modified by crossbreeding among wasps and grizzly bears was chewing on my favorite left wrist.

By the way, these posts are for your benefit, for those of you not attending SCBWI-LA. Where are you ever going to hear this shit for free?

It doesn't have to be free. Apparently, some of you are not contributing to the slot:

You want to be invited back next year, don't you? Pay up.

Besides, you've already heard all that tired shit before: Breakout Session 1A: Now That I've Written A Book, What Do I Do Now?

Breakout Session 2A: I'm A Famous Singer. I Was Once A Child. So Now I'll Write A Children's Book And Get A Seven-Figure Advance!!! Squee!!! Writing Is Neat-O!!! Anyone Can Do It!!!

Hang in there. I'm still talking agent and editor advice. We'll do breakout sessions tomorrow or shit like that.

So, yeah... I was thinking about how much I wanted to live. I was also losing blood.

You know what else makes you want to live? Being alone in a room with a wasp.

If God got things right, He would have made wasps the size of grizzly bears and bears the size of wasps. Think how cute that would be.

Awwww.... I want one. If I saw a grizzly bear that was, like, two inches long, I'd catch it and put it in a mayonnaise jar or shit like that.

But a wasp? Fuck that.

I went to a private religious school. In the boys' restroom, they had this urinal that was an entire wall, like fifteen feet across, so boys could just stand there, like twelve of us at a time, and piss on the wall.

The urinal was made by a company in Michigan that was founded by a German immigrant. There is something innately American in that concept: starting your own urinal factory, making a giant urinal so boys could stand shoulder to shoulder and piss on everything in front of them.

Pissing like that is what made America great.

The urinal company went out of business. I put a urinal like that in my garage-conversion man cave, so when my friends come over if anyone needs to pee, we can all piss on something together.

My friends stopped coming over.

Anyway, at my school, they had these pictures, right at eye-level above the urinal, so we could see them while we were peeing. By the way, girls should really try to face a wall sometime when they pee. There's cool shit on walls.

Anyway, the picture looked like this:

That picture scared us about lots of things.

It also caused some boys to piss on their neighbor's leg.

In it, there was also a quiet hint that if you got caught doing something bad with your hands, they'd end up on the wall above some urinal like a fucking deer head or shit like that.

Tip One [you thought I forgot, didn't you?]: Sure, go ahead... follow an agent or an editor into a urinal. That kind of shit is what makes America great. By the way, you have a tremendous advantage at a writer's conference getting that valuable face-time if you are a guy and are targeting a male agent or editor. We never have to wait in lines. And we get to piss on walls together.

What could be better than that?

I hear James Patterson sold an entire MG series by pissing next to guys.

Which brings me back to this idea: [by the way, I'm not purposely trying to drag out the dog story. Everyone loves dog stories. And it does have a really cool twist at the end, but I might not get to it today. Still, this is worth your time. Trust me. Mine, I'm not so sure about. Did I mention the slot?]

I would WAYYYY rather be standing at a wall-length urinal beside a 6-foot grizzly bear than a 6-foot praying mantis.

Think about it.

Who ever thought making something that looked and operated like a praying mantis wouldn't be a cruel joke to play on everyone?

You know what good praying mantises do with their hands? If they're 6-feet tall, they rip your fucking head off with them.

Anyway, I'll have to tell you what happened with the dog, my favorite left hand, and the breakout sessions tomorrow.

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agent and editor tips and tricks (part one)

In regards to my Suicide Prevention Pit Bull, I received some messages from readers who mistakenly assumed the mechanism of effect is contingent upon the establishment of companionship.

No.

That is not how a Suicide Prevention Pit Bull works. When you're suicidal, companionship often is the thing that pushes you over the edge. Where's the prevention in that?

No.

A few weeks ago now, I experienced suicidal thoughts. I was sitting in a movie theater and watching a trailer for an upcoming Ben Stiller/Eddie Murphy film. Zany. I wanted to shoot myself in the eyes.

And I thought to myself, You know what would make you want to LIVE, LIVE, LIVE? If you were suddenly being mauled by a pit bull.

Think about it: Have you ever seen video footage of someone being bitten by a relentless pit bull? One thing that strikes me is how much they want to LIVE, LIVE, LIVE. No matter what. If you could somehow harness that love of life sentiment and keep it forever -- Poof! Problem solved.

That's how it works.

A few years ago, I was running along the lake on a very nice day. There was a crazy doctor (this is true) who had a house down there. He painted the house purple. He was crazy, but I won't get into that. He has since moved away.

Anyway, while I was running past, the crazy doctor let his ferocious dogs out. They were not pit bulls. They were crazy and red, had been crossbred with wasps and grizzly bears, and had teeth that looked like this:

Don't laugh.

This is a true story.

By the way, this is Session 2 of my How to Be a Writer Conference. And today's topic, indeed, is "Agent and Editor Tips and Tricks" or some shit like that. This will all make perfect sense eventually.

Don't forget to pay me:

Okay. So, the crazy doctor let his dogs out and they came after me, yapping and salivating. One of them flew at me with its teeth gnashing. It was going right for my balls. This is true. Instinct takes over at times like those. I put my arm out and the dog bit my wrist and began shaking its head.

And you know what I was thinking while the dog was chewing on my wrist?

It was this:

I WANT TO LIVE! I WANT TO LIVE! SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, I WANT TO LIVE!

Okay. This is a true story. And it does have a LOT to do with how to handle agents and editors.

Trust me.

I'll be back with more tomorrow.

Providing you pay me.

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the solution den

In honor of SCBWI LA this week, I am going to offer a special conference session on writing today. I may have another one about something else all SCBWI-ey tomorrow.

You can put your money in the slot:

Yeah, okay... so it kind of looks like the back of yesterday's "special" name tag.

Anyway, here's our conference: How to be a Writer

This is what I do. I set my coffee to brew every morning starting at exactly 4:12 a.m. [By the way, this is totally true.] That way, the coffee is all dark and hot by the time I actually pour my first cup, which is usually around 5:20 or so. Since it's summer, I've been getting up later than usual. I'm usually out of bed by 5.

You have to do push-ups and situps. This gets blood in your writer's brain. I turn on the computer and pour coffee. I do not get dressed. Getting dressed is stupid. Then I write and drink coffee. I don't care how much I write at first, but I'll usually get a good amount of words done in the morning.

Last night I had a dream about a Suicide Prevention Pit Bull named Alien. It was a brindle female. That is the truth. I am going to put her in the book I am currently writing. That is also the truth.

Everyone should have a Suicide Prevention Pit Bull, in my opinion. Once you work out the kinks with the mauling and shit like that, your problems seem suddenly insignificant.

Then, at 8:00 I go for a run. Yesterday I was slow and draggy. I ran about 7 miles. Today, I feel like running. I'll probably go about 10. I just need to finish this blogging shit.

I read a blog where the writer said that blogging was a waste of time. No shit. What a dumb fucking thing to say.

Where was I?

I prefer to run alone because I think up great shit when I run. No iPods or shit like that. There's never people out here where I run, too, which is especially nice.

You know what else I do when I need to think of cool shit (besides dream and run distance)?

I sit in my sauna.

This is it:

I built it myself.

I've actually written a lot of shit in there. You can think up really cool shit when you're naked and sweating. You should try that.

Have you put the money in the slot yet?

I hadn't used my sauna in over a year, but I fired it up yesterday. Afterwards, I was like, holy shit! I thought up some cool shit just now.

So, that's how you Be a Writer.

The thing is [and this is where people are going to get really pissed off at me... eh... what can I say?] that if you do what I do, you will NEVER be a writer. Never, never, never. You also will never be a writer if you do what anyone else who tells you how they be writers... um... be... does... I don't know, some shit like that.

Look at the time! I don't just waste my time for free, you know. I have shit to do. Dogs to dream about, miles to run, and sitting around naked and sweating to accomplish today.

I'm leaving.

Tomorrow, maybe I'll do a conference on agent tips and tricks.

Or the care and preening of Suicide Prevention Pit Bulls.

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on meeting famous people like sara zarr, greg neri, and a guy who walked on the moon

So, yesterday I got to meet and talk with somebody I've been wanting to meet and talk with for a very long time. It was the best conversation, the coolest thing ever. And I didn't spill anything on myself which was a definite plus.

I guess it was a couple years back now that I was invited out to be a speaker and do a book signing at the Southern Festival of Books in Nashville. I was scheduled to be on a two-person panel talking about writing for boys (I think... it was a long time ago).

Anyway, I was doing this panel with Greg Neri, an amazingly talented, award-winning author. [Side note: the kids I coach in writing absolutely love Greg's novel, Surf Mules.] I had never met Greg before, but we were staying at the same hotel (right in downtown Nashville), so we arranged to meet for dinner and talk about what we were going to talk about.

Well, it was a blast. I think this was on a Friday or a Saturday night. I can't remember. It was a long time ago. I tried to get Greg to drink alcoholic beverages with me, but he would have none of it. Also, Nashville is a place where everything closes and you can't get a drink after like 9 on a Friday or Saturday.

So, anyway, the next morning came around and I was supposed to show up and sign in to the festival at the Authors' Green Room. When I went to sign in, there were all kinds of super famous people hanging out in the Green Room.

The lady who was signing in the authors found my name on the list, but they did not have a nice pre-printed ID badge on a lanyard for me. So she had to make a "special" name badge for me. I think it was on an index card and she scotch-taped it to my shirt.

It looked like this:

They had very nice goodie bags for the authors there. In them, they put bottles of Jack Daniel's whiskey and Moon Pies, which together constitute the entire food pyramid for people in Nashville, I am told.

The nice part was that I tried (as I usually do at these things) to sit far away from everyone else in the Green Room. Famous people are scary. They get all creeped out when you stare at them and rock back and forth.

So, anyway, Sara Zarr came over and sat at THE SAME TABLE where I was sitting. And she was talking to someone else who was super famous. I think it was Sarah Dessen. I can't remember. It was a long time ago.

That was the first time I ever met Sara Zarr. That might have been the first time I ever met Sarah Dessen, too. I'm not sure. But I have spoken with Sarah Dessen about breastfeeding. That is the truth.

Anyway, I found out a lot of things. Sara Zarr is really nice and smart. She's also a hell of a writer. I found out that she lived in Utah. So I figured she'd be willing to trade her bottle of Jack Daniel's for my extra Moon Pie. Everyone in Utah is Mormon, right? And I was thinking a little jolt before my panel with Greg Neri would be just the thing to lube the old vocal cords, even though it was, like 9 in the morning.

Yeah, that's how writers roll.

Anyway, turns out I was wrong about the assumed advantage in Moon Pie exchanges at the authors' table.

So. Okay. Greg and I go to our assigned room to do our talk. It's even being broadcast on the radio. Unfortunately for us, we're speaking at exactly the same time as Sara Zarr, who is speaking next door, I think. I can't really remember. Also, at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME, Buzz Aldrin, a guy who actually walked on the moon, is talking.

Are you kidding me? He walked on the fucking moon. I have a fucking Moon Pie in my bag. Who would you rather see?

So, Greg and I had like six people in our room.

One of them just wanted a place to knit.

One of them thought that Greg or I walked on the fucking moon. They left when they found out that we were, indeed, not astronauts. Somebody raised their hand to ask a question. Their question was this:

"What room is Sara Zarr speaking in?"

And that's my story about how great it is to meet famous people you always wanted to meet.

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bugs do two things

I am writing a book about history.

Here's what I've found:

All roads seem to intersect across the pages on my desk.

Speaking of my desk -- to all the people I've promised bookplates, signed books, and other goodies, they are being mailed out today. That means Michigan, Alabama, and Virginia have some dark materials on the way.

Also on the subject of my desk, I bought a new computer a couple days ago, and there still isn't enough room available on my desk to set it up and swap all the data across from the one I am using to produce today's post.

I will work on it sometime this week.

And that was my day. You know what I mean.

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