No longer a meme virgin

Okay, I’ve resisted doing the whole meme thing because honestly, there’s always something else I’d rather blather on about. But, since it’s a book meme, I couldn’t resist. (Thanks Carleen!)

Total number of books

Not as many as you’d think, but too many to count. I don’t tend to reread books, so for years I’d give away the books I loved the most. Books I didn’t enjoy? Those I’d trade in for MORE books. Plus, being an avid comics geek, I have thousands. Those count, right?

Last book read

Stan Lee: Conversations. When I’m in the thick of writing, I only read non-fiction, and this book of interviews from the 60s to present time, fit the bill nicely. Not a book I’d buy––I picked it up at the library.

Last book bought

Hmmm...I can’t remember the name. But it was by Sara Dessen and I bought it for my daughter, Haley. She’s a 13-year old that voraciously consumes YA books, much to my heart’s delight. Before that I bought her a book by British author, Kevin Brooks, and sent it to him to be signed. He even paid for the return postage.

Five meaningful books

To Kill a Mockingbird. So many Hollywood plots go like this: You killed my (insert wife, child, husband, friend, etc.) and now I must seek revenge, which I exact in the final five minutes. Roll credits. That’s it. Mockingbird was the first book that made me realize the power of a merciful heart.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Bear with me on this one. I haven’t read it since high school, so it may be totally craptastic in retrospect. But at the time, in Modern American Lit, it was like eating candy. (Compared to Ordinary People––proof that there were emo kids, even in the 70s).

Edgeworks 3: Harlan Ellison’s Hornbook. I learned to write by reading this collection of essays, written in the 70s for the LA Free Press. A reviewer called Harlan’s essays “pithy yet degenerate.” I’d add heartbreakingly gonzo.

Maus a Survivors Tale: My Father Bleeds History. When a graphic novel wins a Pulitzer, you know it's something special. Maus is written (and drawn) in a way that compells you to let your guard down. Then you're deftly hit with a sledgehammer.

The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. Sherman Alexie’s tapestry of short stories about life, on and around The Rez, are painfully lyrical.

Tag, you’re it.

Marlboro: come to where the cancer is

I don't just loathe tobacco companies. I despise them.

A friend of the family just found out she has lung cancer--the bad kind. I know, there's that whole yarn about personal responsibility. And yeah, cholesterol kills people too. But the last time I checked, my local pharmacist wasn't prescribing patches for Baconators.

It's an insidious addiction, pushed upon sectors of society most likely to succumb to it. Sadly, it's just part of our culture.

When a friend, and fellow writer, finally kicked the habit, he had the misfortune of moving to North Carolina––Tobacco Country, USA. He worked for a contractor of Philip Morris and one of the perks of the job was, you guessed it, free cigarettes. How a company can offer medical benefits and free cigarettes is beyond me.

Sorry. I don't normally rant. Just needed to vent. Here's a commercial from tobacco's golden age--when smoking was good for you--doctor recommended in fact.

Missing links

Don’t look now but I’m staring at my screen attempting to write. So in the meantime, here are some links I’ve been meaning to post:

The blog, 52 Novels, is featuring the top six blogs of writers you probably don’t know (or don’t know you know). Since you’re here, you already know about one of ‘em. But the other five are definitely worth checking out.

My agent, Kristin, did a follow-up on my query, posting the letter she sent to editors when we went on submission. You know when agents send those rejection letters saying “I just didn’t fall in love with it”? This is blushingly the opposite. I probably don’t mention it enough, but Kristin is a tremendous agent. I'm lucky to have such an incredibly enthusiastic and hard-working person representing me.

And lastly, my friend Jose Mojica posted an interview last week with yours truly. I met Jose last year at Orson Scott Card’s Literary Boot Camp—where he stayed up to all hours of the night working on a 9,000-word short story entitled Fat Town. (Which he promptly sold, after he caught up on his sleep—way to go Jose!)

Okay, back to writing.

I now return you to your previously scheduled procrastination.

Writers Anonymous

I’ve been going back to my writers group lately. We meet twice a month, downstairs at the Great Falls Public Library—in one of those meeting rooms reserved by the general public for various social functions.

So if you’re in town and happen to pop by, make sure you’ve got the right room. Otherwise you might wander into the local chapter of Gamblers Anonymous or Alcoholics Anonymous, instead of what I like to call my group—Writers Anonymous.

We’re an eclectic group. Our founder is an octogenarian named Ray, who never seems to miss a meeting, thanks to his granddaughter. Ray’s a bit of an un-tethered spacewalk—that is to say, he’s out there.  But, since he started the group in 1952 (not kidding), you gotta give the man his due. Like Coach Bobby Bowden with Florida State football––no matter how off course he may veer in his later years, he still built the darn place.

But, like a group of cloistered monks, we still need fresh faces to join the ranks of the faithful. So I whipped up some posters and hung them at bookstores, coffee shops--anywhere a potential writer might be lurking.

And if they don't work, maybe I’ll just bring a case of Bud Light and some poker chips––and invite our neighbors in the other rooms.