While I’m waiting for Killer Cows to be released, I’m currently shopping around my next young adult novel, Shaken(though I'm thinking of changing the title). It’s about how a 9.7 earthquake (and subsequent tsunami) affects the lives of three troubled teens on one fateful night in a fictional coastal town.
Unlike the relatively upbeat and whimsical Killer Cows, this novel is a dark, violent homage to the disaster movies I loved as a kid (and still do), but this time through the eyes of these teenagers. While I love disaster movies and novels, their depictions of young people have always been pretty shallow. Either the characters are smarmy brats, helpless waifs, comic relief or so sickeningly sweet that they’d kill a diabetic.
Shaken tells its story almost exclusively through the eyes of these three teen characters. They don’t have snappy one-liners, don’t have any insights about their situation beyond their years, and definitely don’t provide funny or “awe, how cute” moments. I tried to make them as realistic as possible, meaning they aren’t always selflessly heroic, and often make the same errors in judgment real kids do (or real adults for that matter). Much of the book is about the personal changes these characters undergo in an extreme crisis.
At the same time, I wanted the novel to be loaded with the same action, destruction and violence as the FX-laden movies I love. Some of you may have noticed I have been comparing Shaken to movies, not other books. There’s a reason for that. Yes, I think there are some important themes of personal discovery present, but mostly, the book is intended to be fast and furious, best appreciated if read in one sitting (which a good reader could probably do in a couple of hours). In my queries to agents and publishers, I’ve called it Die Hard for kids.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Is This One of Those 'Circle of Life' Things?
“You wanted the best, you got the best...”
The first words uttered at the very first concert I went to as a kid, when I paid nine bucks to see Kiss at the Memorial Coliseum in Portland, Oregon. And for me, it WAS the best. Gene Simmons spitting fire and blood; Ace Frehley’s guitar literally smoking during his solo; Peter Criss’ drum kit rising 20 feet over the stage; Paul Stanley demolishing his guitar during the encore.
Kiss was never my favorite band, but I always liked them, even during the late 70s and early 80s, when it was no longer fashionable to admit so. Yeah, there were ‘cooler’ bands, such as Iron Maiden, Rush, Van Halen and Judas Priest (at least in my circle of heavy metal friends). But live? As far as I’m concerned, no one ever touched Kiss.
Bombs. Fire. Explosions. Kiss was, and still is, the only band in which you were blown away by the show even if you didn’t know a single song they played.
Music has always been a big part of my life, especially heavy metal. It’s the first music that pissed off my parents, and is now the music that drives my wife and kids out of the room. I listen to a lot of new stuff - nu metal, death metal, etc - but I also listen to the bands I’ve loved for decades, and try to convince my oldest daughter why that music is still great. She hates a lot of it, except for The Beatles (but who doesn’t love them?) and a select few songs by Iron Maiden and Slayer she’s mastered on Guitar Hero.
But you know what’s cool? A lot of the bands I loved in my youth are still around, still touring and still making records. Not just new records, but records which sound like they always did, regardless of what American Idol jerkweeds determine to be popular. It did my heart a lot of good to see that Kiss’ first album in ten years, Sonic Boom, is just as dumb and juvenile as the Kiss records I bought in the 70s (I don’t think anyone wants to hear a band like Kiss suddenly shift to singing emo crap about how misunderstood they are). It also did my heart good to find out that same record, for one week anyway, was the biggest selling album in the country.
And I think I know why. Kiss is sort of the hard rock equivalent of a James Bond movie or a McDonalds Value Meal: There may not be any surprises, but you know exactly what you’re gonna get.
So when it was announced that Kiss was coming to my hometown for a show, I didn’t need to ponder whether or not the huge ticket price was worth it. I bought tickets for me, my wife (who hates heavy metal) and oldest daughter (her first real concert, not counting Hanna Montana a few years ago).
This is a big deal to me, mainly because it sort of brings me full circle, in a music sense. Despite the fact these tickets were fifty bucks each (as opposed to the nine dollars of allowance money in costed me in the 70s), it’s cool that my oldest daughter’s first real concert is going to be the same as mine, with bombs, explosions and in-your-face metal anthems. In fact, when I actually asked her if she wanted to go, and when she heard the name Kiss, she replied with a hearty and enthusiastic “Yes!” She knew what Kiss was about.
I can’t wait for the show, not just because I like the band, or that one of my daughters will get a taste of my childhood, but also because even though both me and Kiss are getting up there in years, some things are always cool, even if they aren’t always fashionable. I’ll take one Kiss over a thousand U2s or Springsteens any day of the week.
The first words uttered at the very first concert I went to as a kid, when I paid nine bucks to see Kiss at the Memorial Coliseum in Portland, Oregon. And for me, it WAS the best. Gene Simmons spitting fire and blood; Ace Frehley’s guitar literally smoking during his solo; Peter Criss’ drum kit rising 20 feet over the stage; Paul Stanley demolishing his guitar during the encore.
Kiss was never my favorite band, but I always liked them, even during the late 70s and early 80s, when it was no longer fashionable to admit so. Yeah, there were ‘cooler’ bands, such as Iron Maiden, Rush, Van Halen and Judas Priest (at least in my circle of heavy metal friends). But live? As far as I’m concerned, no one ever touched Kiss.
Bombs. Fire. Explosions. Kiss was, and still is, the only band in which you were blown away by the show even if you didn’t know a single song they played.
Music has always been a big part of my life, especially heavy metal. It’s the first music that pissed off my parents, and is now the music that drives my wife and kids out of the room. I listen to a lot of new stuff - nu metal, death metal, etc - but I also listen to the bands I’ve loved for decades, and try to convince my oldest daughter why that music is still great. She hates a lot of it, except for The Beatles (but who doesn’t love them?) and a select few songs by Iron Maiden and Slayer she’s mastered on Guitar Hero.
But you know what’s cool? A lot of the bands I loved in my youth are still around, still touring and still making records. Not just new records, but records which sound like they always did, regardless of what American Idol jerkweeds determine to be popular. It did my heart a lot of good to see that Kiss’ first album in ten years, Sonic Boom, is just as dumb and juvenile as the Kiss records I bought in the 70s (I don’t think anyone wants to hear a band like Kiss suddenly shift to singing emo crap about how misunderstood they are). It also did my heart good to find out that same record, for one week anyway, was the biggest selling album in the country.
And I think I know why. Kiss is sort of the hard rock equivalent of a James Bond movie or a McDonalds Value Meal: There may not be any surprises, but you know exactly what you’re gonna get.
So when it was announced that Kiss was coming to my hometown for a show, I didn’t need to ponder whether or not the huge ticket price was worth it. I bought tickets for me, my wife (who hates heavy metal) and oldest daughter (her first real concert, not counting Hanna Montana a few years ago).
This is a big deal to me, mainly because it sort of brings me full circle, in a music sense. Despite the fact these tickets were fifty bucks each (as opposed to the nine dollars of allowance money in costed me in the 70s), it’s cool that my oldest daughter’s first real concert is going to be the same as mine, with bombs, explosions and in-your-face metal anthems. In fact, when I actually asked her if she wanted to go, and when she heard the name Kiss, she replied with a hearty and enthusiastic “Yes!” She knew what Kiss was about.
I can’t wait for the show, not just because I like the band, or that one of my daughters will get a taste of my childhood, but also because even though both me and Kiss are getting up there in years, some things are always cool, even if they aren’t always fashionable. I’ll take one Kiss over a thousand U2s or Springsteens any day of the week.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Waiting
Waiting.
Waiting sucks. This must be what it’s like to be a dog. Always waiting for a treat, for walkies, a scratch behind the ears, to go potty.
Of course, we all spend a lot of our lives waiting, too...in line at the grocery store, at the DMV, for tax refunds to show up in the mail, at traffic lights. And for me, being the only male in a house of wives and daughters, sometimes I have to wait to go potty, too.
But none of those compare to waiting for your first book to come out. As a writer, I never thought I’d say this, but its actually worse than waiting to hear back to hear from an agent or publisher to see if they are interested at all.
I’ve already gone through the final edits and revisions of Killer Cows with my publisher, and am now waiting for the galleys (how it’ll look when finally released) as well as the cover art. After that, I’ll have to wait even longer...almost a year.
At work, colleagues and students keep asking me when the book’s coming out, and when I tell them, they get this look on their face like, "Hey, why are you taking so long?" as if it were up to me. Hey, if it were up to me, I’d have already quit my day job so I could write full time (which is what some of my friends think I’m about to do). While I’m flattered they think I’m going to suddenly be rich, I’m not Stephanie Meyer (at least, not yet). I’m not expecting people to line up outside of Barnes & Noble at midnight to be the first to snatch up a copy of a book called Killer Cows.
At this point, all I want is to hold a copy of it in my hands. Maybe autograph one to myself. But I can’t right now. I have to wait...just like my dog.
No, I didn’t think my publisher was going to magically say abracadabra and blink my book into existence, but during my initial contact with her after she offered a contract, when she said Killer Cows was scheduled for release in the latter part of 2010, part of me was shocked. This wasn’t at all like the short stories I’d published, when the time from acceptance to print was just a couple of months. Barring any other obstacles, the time from acceptance to print for my book will be roughly a year and a half.
A lot can happen in that amount of time. The world could end. The local mega bookstore, where I always dreamt of seeing my books on the shelves, could go out of business. I could drop dead of a heart attack.
So I wait, just like my dog. It helps that I still have another completed novel to try and sell. I’d like to think that, with a bonafide publication to crow about to agents or publishers, that job might be easier. But even if not, it’s a nice diversion, and helps me forget how long I still have to wait before Killer Cows is released.
But maybe this is a good kind of wait, like when I was a kid on Christmas Eve, unable to sleep because I knew Santa was coming. Just like Christmas, it is pretty cool that what I’m waiting for is inevitably going to happen.
At any rate, as I write this, my dog is staring up at me right now, eyes huge, ball in mouth. He knows playtime is inevitable. I can relate, so even though my own personal wait is still long, I think I’ll end his.
Waiting sucks. This must be what it’s like to be a dog. Always waiting for a treat, for walkies, a scratch behind the ears, to go potty.
Of course, we all spend a lot of our lives waiting, too...in line at the grocery store, at the DMV, for tax refunds to show up in the mail, at traffic lights. And for me, being the only male in a house of wives and daughters, sometimes I have to wait to go potty, too.
But none of those compare to waiting for your first book to come out. As a writer, I never thought I’d say this, but its actually worse than waiting to hear back to hear from an agent or publisher to see if they are interested at all.
I’ve already gone through the final edits and revisions of Killer Cows with my publisher, and am now waiting for the galleys (how it’ll look when finally released) as well as the cover art. After that, I’ll have to wait even longer...almost a year.
At work, colleagues and students keep asking me when the book’s coming out, and when I tell them, they get this look on their face like, "Hey, why are you taking so long?" as if it were up to me. Hey, if it were up to me, I’d have already quit my day job so I could write full time (which is what some of my friends think I’m about to do). While I’m flattered they think I’m going to suddenly be rich, I’m not Stephanie Meyer (at least, not yet). I’m not expecting people to line up outside of Barnes & Noble at midnight to be the first to snatch up a copy of a book called Killer Cows.
At this point, all I want is to hold a copy of it in my hands. Maybe autograph one to myself. But I can’t right now. I have to wait...just like my dog.
No, I didn’t think my publisher was going to magically say abracadabra and blink my book into existence, but during my initial contact with her after she offered a contract, when she said Killer Cows was scheduled for release in the latter part of 2010, part of me was shocked. This wasn’t at all like the short stories I’d published, when the time from acceptance to print was just a couple of months. Barring any other obstacles, the time from acceptance to print for my book will be roughly a year and a half.
A lot can happen in that amount of time. The world could end. The local mega bookstore, where I always dreamt of seeing my books on the shelves, could go out of business. I could drop dead of a heart attack.
So I wait, just like my dog. It helps that I still have another completed novel to try and sell. I’d like to think that, with a bonafide publication to crow about to agents or publishers, that job might be easier. But even if not, it’s a nice diversion, and helps me forget how long I still have to wait before Killer Cows is released.
But maybe this is a good kind of wait, like when I was a kid on Christmas Eve, unable to sleep because I knew Santa was coming. Just like Christmas, it is pretty cool that what I’m waiting for is inevitably going to happen.
At any rate, as I write this, my dog is staring up at me right now, eyes huge, ball in mouth. He knows playtime is inevitable. I can relate, so even though my own personal wait is still long, I think I’ll end his.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Toys Gone Wrong
I’m sure many of you are familiar Mattel-owned American Girl series of pricy dolls, each of whom have their own biography which reflects the historical era in which they ‘lived.’ I always thought that was a cool idea, especially since the dolls provided historical insight from a girl’s perspective. A bit heavy-handed of a message for a toy maybe, but better than watching my daughters play with those hookers-in-training known as Bratz.
Then, while watching a news feature covering the release of the latest American Girl doll, all I could do was roll my eyes and say, "You’ve got to be kidding."
Gwen Thompson, the newest edition to the American Girl line, is homeless. Her back story includes being abandoned by her father, forced to live in a car and being picked on by her peers. A spokeswomen for the company came on TV to state the purpose of the doll was to increase awareness of, and sympathy for, homeless children.
That’s all fine and good, but couldn’t you do that with a TV show or school-sponsored program? Have we become so overly sensitive that the very toys we give our children must remind them of how bad other people’s lives are?
I’m not insensitive to the issue of homelessness, but come on...
It’s a toy. Toys are supposed to be fun. You don’t see a line of ‘God-I-hope-it-starts-this-morning’ Hot Wheels. You don’t see Little Tikes kitchen playsets complete with ants crawling on the counters and government-issued cheese in the fridge. To the best of my knowledge, there are no video games in which the object is to pay all your bills and still have enough money left for groceries.
What kid is gonna want this doll? What kid is gonna rip open a package on Christmas day, see her homeless Gwen Thompson doll, wrap her arms around her parents and say "thank you for making me aware of the issue of homelessness in this country"?
In a way, the very idea marginalizes the whole homeless issue, being that there is an American company trying to make a profit by appealing to one’s sensitivity, while ironically charging nearly a hundred bucks for this doll.
Then again, I’m reminded of some of the toys I had when I was a kid, and now lament the time I wasted playing with them. Such as my toy lawnmower which blew bubbles when I pushed it around the yard. Then one day, mowing the lawn became one of my chores, only this time, no bubbles. I wasted all those fleeting childhood moments pretending to mow the lawn when I could have pretended to engage in an activity that wouldn’t be something I’d need to do on a regular basis in real life.
Then, while watching a news feature covering the release of the latest American Girl doll, all I could do was roll my eyes and say, "You’ve got to be kidding."
Gwen Thompson, the newest edition to the American Girl line, is homeless. Her back story includes being abandoned by her father, forced to live in a car and being picked on by her peers. A spokeswomen for the company came on TV to state the purpose of the doll was to increase awareness of, and sympathy for, homeless children.
That’s all fine and good, but couldn’t you do that with a TV show or school-sponsored program? Have we become so overly sensitive that the very toys we give our children must remind them of how bad other people’s lives are?
I’m not insensitive to the issue of homelessness, but come on...
It’s a toy. Toys are supposed to be fun. You don’t see a line of ‘God-I-hope-it-starts-this-morning’ Hot Wheels. You don’t see Little Tikes kitchen playsets complete with ants crawling on the counters and government-issued cheese in the fridge. To the best of my knowledge, there are no video games in which the object is to pay all your bills and still have enough money left for groceries.
What kid is gonna want this doll? What kid is gonna rip open a package on Christmas day, see her homeless Gwen Thompson doll, wrap her arms around her parents and say "thank you for making me aware of the issue of homelessness in this country"?
In a way, the very idea marginalizes the whole homeless issue, being that there is an American company trying to make a profit by appealing to one’s sensitivity, while ironically charging nearly a hundred bucks for this doll.
Then again, I’m reminded of some of the toys I had when I was a kid, and now lament the time I wasted playing with them. Such as my toy lawnmower which blew bubbles when I pushed it around the yard. Then one day, mowing the lawn became one of my chores, only this time, no bubbles. I wasted all those fleeting childhood moments pretending to mow the lawn when I could have pretended to engage in an activity that wouldn’t be something I’d need to do on a regular basis in real life.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Virus!
For the first time - I suppose I’ve been lucky - my computer crashed last weekend. It couldn’t have happened at the worst possible time; I’m corresponding back and forth with my publisher, and trying to earn my master’s degree online at the same time.
While writing my final paper for a class, I was treated to a friendly little piece of malware called Windows Police Pro, which informed me my computer was infected with viruses. I was inundated with dozens and dozens of pop-ups, urging me to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW by submitting my credit card number and purchasing their so-called anti-virus program.
Turns on that Windows Police Pro IS the virus. Thank god for Google, which allowed me to find out just how malicious this program is, which attaches itself to websites and downloads itself in order to infect your computer.
You know, as a teacher, I work hard for a living, and often bring my work home with me. And it makes me sick that someone with more computer smarts could come up with a program that would make the average person think their computer has been violated in order to bilk fast bucks. I think ‘violated’ is the right term, especially since I’ve always been careful when working online. In fact, I think I was raped. I had to take my computer tower to someone and spend 300 bucks to rid it of this virus. I also had to spend an additional fifty bucks to back up my written documents (i.e. novel projects), simply because some still-living-with-his-parents jerkweed out there doesn’t want to hold down a real job. And just because either me or a member of my family visited a website.
To whomever devised Windows Police Pro (or anyone who conjured something similar), you are no different than a scumbag rapist, with little or no regard for the people you hurt. And if any of you are reading this, yes, I know you are probably laughing. I only hope karma comes back to bite you in the ass.
On the plus side to all of this, the experience showed me just how soulless some people are, and just how dependant I am on my computer. It’s where I do all my writing, where I pay my bills, where I get my news, where I enter my grades. Knowing some jackass can mess with that - strictly because he can - has been an eye-opener. For that, loser hackers, I must grudgingly thank you. Having my computer out of commission of a week allowed me to spend more time playing with my kids, my dog and my wife (nudge-nudge!). You, on the other hand, are likely sitting in your mom’s basement, or wallowing in your apartment by yourself without any chance of female companionship, praying some idiot is willing to give you their credit card number. And what are you going to do with that info? I’ll bet I know...though it’s something I wouldn’t dare share with people who actually care about you.
While writing my final paper for a class, I was treated to a friendly little piece of malware called Windows Police Pro, which informed me my computer was infected with viruses. I was inundated with dozens and dozens of pop-ups, urging me to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW by submitting my credit card number and purchasing their so-called anti-virus program.
Turns on that Windows Police Pro IS the virus. Thank god for Google, which allowed me to find out just how malicious this program is, which attaches itself to websites and downloads itself in order to infect your computer.
You know, as a teacher, I work hard for a living, and often bring my work home with me. And it makes me sick that someone with more computer smarts could come up with a program that would make the average person think their computer has been violated in order to bilk fast bucks. I think ‘violated’ is the right term, especially since I’ve always been careful when working online. In fact, I think I was raped. I had to take my computer tower to someone and spend 300 bucks to rid it of this virus. I also had to spend an additional fifty bucks to back up my written documents (i.e. novel projects), simply because some still-living-with-his-parents jerkweed out there doesn’t want to hold down a real job. And just because either me or a member of my family visited a website.
To whomever devised Windows Police Pro (or anyone who conjured something similar), you are no different than a scumbag rapist, with little or no regard for the people you hurt. And if any of you are reading this, yes, I know you are probably laughing. I only hope karma comes back to bite you in the ass.
On the plus side to all of this, the experience showed me just how soulless some people are, and just how dependant I am on my computer. It’s where I do all my writing, where I pay my bills, where I get my news, where I enter my grades. Knowing some jackass can mess with that - strictly because he can - has been an eye-opener. For that, loser hackers, I must grudgingly thank you. Having my computer out of commission of a week allowed me to spend more time playing with my kids, my dog and my wife (nudge-nudge!). You, on the other hand, are likely sitting in your mom’s basement, or wallowing in your apartment by yourself without any chance of female companionship, praying some idiot is willing to give you their credit card number. And what are you going to do with that info? I’ll bet I know...though it’s something I wouldn’t dare share with people who actually care about you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)