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TFL ProblemThere are times when sticking your neck out can make a difference. Then there are times when all you get is your head handed to you in a burlap sack.

Last week, a Facebook friend began to post vitriol against ISIS (or ISIL, or the Islamic State…choose your moniker) and against President Obama. He started slow–a comment here, a flame there–but his rhetoric took an uptick when he posted a collection of presidential quotes that included old favorites such as Roosevelt’s “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” and Reagan’s Cold War strategy, “We win, they lose,” and ended with Obama’s recent faux pas: “We don’t have a strategy, yet.”

The gist of his posts: ISIS is super-bad, and Obama is doing nothing.

If that was all it was, I probably would have left it alone. I knew that Obama wasn’t doing “nothing,” and I agree that ISIS is super-bad and must be dealt with. But that wasn’t all it was. Continue Reading »

Self-Flagellation

Self-Promotion: the crude and unappealing practice of marketing one’s own work; in British slang, often called “flogging.”

I’ve only met one writer who actually enjoys flogging his books. He travels up and down the coast, reading excerpts, glad-handing, meeting people, building an impressive network. For every other writer I’ve met, mention the word “promotion” and watch them wince.

We hate promoting our books. HateitHateitHateit. Some writers hate it so much, they don’t do it at all.

But according to ND Author Services (aka NDAS, run by bestselling authors Barb and J.C. Hendee, who–believe me–know what they’re talking about), there’s some good news. As with everything else in the publishing industry, self-promotion–the very nature of it–is changing.

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Redefining Mystery

We’ve had some tough times, lately, so when I looked at my TBR pile (composed primarily of history, science, and literature), I sighed. I just didn’t have the verve to crack one of those. I needed something fun, something fresh, something…easier. So, when a friend recommended Emily Arsenault’s The Broken Teaglass as a fun, engaging read, I jumped at the chance.

I’m glad I did.

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Don’t Gild the Lily

It seems to me that Hollywood–and entertainment in general–can’t come up with anything new.

Sequels. Prequels. Spin-offs. Reboots.

The so-called “summer blockbusters” are nothing more than tasteless CGI pastries injected with a gooey filling made of bantering superheroes, giant robots, zombie fighters, and sparkly vampires, all which we viewers scarf down while speeding past fiery explosions on our way to a happy ending. Every actor and action, from the abdominal beauty of the Spartan 300 to the hypnotically-slo-mo destruction of iconic American landmarks, is retouched and enhanced into a stylized pabulum for our plebeian appetites. There is no grit. There is no ambiguity. All is good and bad, beautiful and evil, plucky survivors and defeated foes.

Then, along comes Max.

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Two, Please

Stack of BooksEmbedded within this paragraph is an “error.”  Can you find it?  Is it glaringly obvious?  I’m guessing that it isn’t.  In fact, I’d bet that until I point it out to you, you won’t realize it’s there.  Want a hint?  It’s not grammatical.  It’s not punctuation, either.  It’s . . . Wait for it.  Wait for it. . .

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Reverse Havdalah

Gossamer WheelThe Monkey-Boy Day Job has been a tooth-grinder this week, and it’s made me think of the Jewish ritual of havdalah. Continue Reading »

Thanks, THanx

Ribbon vibrator. Platen roller. Type bar. Paper finger. Guide pointer.

Know what I’m talking about?

Smith-Corona. Remington. Underwood. Royal.

With me now?

I’m talking about typewriters. Manual typewriters. Old-fashioned, heavy, noisy, mechanical machines driven by the power of your fingers. Yes, those lovely old clackety-clack behemoths that used to be ubiquitous but now only exist as props in crime novels and on the “collectible” sections of eBay.

If you’re old (like me), you either love them or hate them. Otherwise, you may never have even seen one of these miracles of low-tech machinery, much less experienced the aching hands that come from a long session of literally “pounding the keyboard.”

I happen to love these old machines. As it turns out, so does Tom Hanks.

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