The Bradbury Institute

I've mentioned posting a free web serial before - well, today's the day it starts.

A bit of background from the Stories page:


The Bradbury Institute is a small private organization dedicated to the study of magic and the occult. Its members are scholars, magicians, psychics, plus a few individuals of … unique origin. In addition to academic research members are often involved in the search for rare magical artifacts, as well as a larger secret mission.

Stories will include dangerous grimoires, fantastical creatures, heroes and villains, and whatever else the author can come up with. Also adult language, occasional violence, and quite probably sex - so consider yourself warned.


And here's a brief blurb about the first story, The Key of Darkness:

The Key of Darkness is an ancient grimoire designed for summoning and subjugating a powerful entity from deep within the lowest levels of Hell. The sorcerer who utilizes the Key will have unimaginable evil at their fingertips, to do with as their darkest desires dictate.

The Key was meant to be entrusted for safe-keeping at the Bradbury Institute but it has been stolen by an impulsive young thief. Now the race is on to retrieve the grimoire before he sells it to the highest bidder.



A new chapter will be posted every Wednesday. The Key of Darkness begins today so go on over to The Bradbury Institute and check it out. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I hope readers enjoy it too!

#sixsunday three

This week's Six Sunday is once again from the paranormal serial I'm writing for fun. Eve is delivering a mysterious box to a mysterious place called the Bradbury Institute. (It's all very mysterious.) The limo is stopped by a thief, who binds Eve's wrists with his tie and her ankles with her own scarf. He's a naughty boy, this thief.

“Why Miss Kane, tied up and saying please.” He gave the word a breathy emphasis, like it might have in a very different circumstance. “I like that.” His fingertips teased her ankle, sending little bolts of pleasure to parts of her body she did not want reacting to this man. 

Eve kicked his hand away. “Well I don’t like you.” 

I'm going to start posting this story online as a free web serial at The Bradbury Institute starting Wednesday.

Check out the Six Sentence Sunday list to find more juicy tidbits from dozens of writers.

Digital Potter

Cross-posted from Write Club.

JK Rowling has announced a new online initiative called Pottermore which will apparently be interactive and you can get sorted into a house and I don't know what else. I'm sure it'll have some fun stuff but what got my attention was this: she's finally releasing the Harry Potter books as ebooks. As in, she owns the digital rights and they will only be available through her site, so she is essentially self-publishing her backlist in digital formats.

This is not new. An increasing number of authors who have the rights to their backlist are either taking those books to digital publishers who accept works that have been previously published, or they are self-publishing. Which, if you've got the money to self-publish, makes sense. Why not give those books a longer, and digital, shelf life? I think Rowling's decision will make it even more commonplace by virtue of bringing so much attention to the possibility.

Here's something else that caught my eye, from an article on Wired.com:

In a further bold move, Rowling has opted to keep the e-books DRM-free, meaning that they are not locked into one device or platform. She is instead opting for digital watermarking that links the identify of the purchaser to the copy of the e-book. This doesn’t prevent copyright theft but does ensure that any copies will be traceable to a particular user. This is similar to how iTunes is DRM-free, but embeds user account information within each file purchased.

So now that this is possible, I see no reason whatsoever for any publisher to continue using DRM. No reason. But then there's also no reason for the big legacy publishers to continue to offer such low royalty rates on digital editions. And can we get rid of agency pricing while we're at it?

And while I'm asking for things that won't happen, can I get a unicorn too?

Rowling is going to get criticized, and probably already has, for trying to squeeze more money out of the golden goose of Harry Potter. I think the books should be available in digital format, legally and not pirated, and I see no reason why she should hand over control to someone else if she doesn't want to. Control, and a percentage. Self-publishing is a sticky subject with me, but this does highlight some of the issues that legacy publishers don't seem eager to address. Once again I feel quite happy to be with a digital publisher.

I already have the Potter books in paperback so I won't be buying the ebooks, but I am really happy they will be available for a new generation - a generation that will likely grow up more comfortable with ereaders than paper books.

Six pounds of pure cuteness

I've got a new interview up at the blog of author Rebecca Rose - here's the link. We discuss how I'm a maniac pantser and why my husband is a keeper. Go check it out, it's really good.

*

I think I'll start posting my serial The Bradbury Institute soon. Like, real soon. I just need to pick a posting day. Right now I'm leaning toward Wednesday. So probably next week. I'm not finished with this first story yet, but I think I'll be impulsive and go ahead and start posting it anyway. ;)

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There's a little area in the office I call the nest. It's a blanket on the floor with a couple of throw pillows and one big pillow against a row of big hardback coffee table books. It's mostly for Jack, who likes to sleep and sometimes play there. Or eat his treats and leave lots of crumbs. One of the smaller pillows got thrown on top of stuff and today Jack jumped up there, curled into a little ball, and went to sleep. Thus giving me an excuse to post cute doggie pictures.

Jack on top of his nest.

Six pounds of pure cuteness.

Blogger backup

Another day, another nightmarish hacker story. This time its one out of Australia - 4800 Aussie sites evaporate after hack. That word, evaporate ... *cringe*. This problem seems to be getting worse all the time lately. For most of us all we can really do is change our passwords periodically, and don't use the same username/password combo all over the internet. Especially don't use the same passwords on your banking and other business as you do on the free social network sites that are prone to spammers and other forms of internet idiocy.

Not that a mere change of password would have helped any of those people who just lost their websites in this Australian attack. If you have a blog or website, learn how to back it up. With Blogger it's easy. Go to Settings, under the Basic tab which is the first tab under that heading. At the very top it says Blog Tools. Click on Export Blog and save the file to your hard drive. It's a good idea to do this every so often. I don't think it will save your template information, but it will definitely save your posts. That way if - heaven forbid - Google and Blogger are ever hit by one of these massive attacks and blogs are wiped out you can restore your posts (which honestly I don't think would happen, it is Google for pete's sake. But still.) Or maybe your account is compromised somehow, or maybe you accidentally blow it up while you're working on it. I think it's just a good idea to have that backup. When you put a lot of work into a blog you don't want to lose it.

I don't know if Wordpress has anything similar but I would imagine they do. Check your dashboard for anything that looks like a way to save a backup, or the help section. Same thing with websites. If you have a website I would suggest saving your backup whenever you make changes to it. As for a blog, I'm going to try to remember to do it once a month. Depending on how often you post, you might want to do it more or less often. And if you're part of a group blog you might want to ask the administrator if they regularly save a backup.

Be careful out there, peeps. It's getting scary.

A question for my readers

Would you be interested in a free online serial?

I've mentioned before that I have a story I work on for fun, something that would work really well in serialized format. So far it's up to forty pages, just under twenty thousand words broken into twelve chapters. The chapters vary in length from 1200 to about 2000 words. That's a little long for a blog post but I'd probably only be posting once a week. I think I would give it it's own blog home instead of posting it here, but I'm not sure.

A few years ago I started reading an online serial that got me interested in the whole format and the freedom it gives you. Not to mention the writing was awesome. It was called The Agency and it was by Dianne Sylvan, who's now publishing a terrific urban fantasy series, the first of which is called Queen of Shadows. Here is the home page for The Agency if you want to go back through and read these terrific stories. You will fall in love with Jason and Rowan, but I have to warn  you - there haven't been any updates since the book deal. It ends with a completed story arc but the larger plot is unfinished. Even so, it's amazing and I highly recommend both the serial and Queen of Shadows.

My current serial love is Tonia Brown's Railroad!. It is a steampunk paranormal western about a train, the Sleipnir, that lays its own tracks, and the adventures of the crew. There's great characters (I love Rodger Dodger), great gadgets (the train itself is cool, and there's a modified Colt .45 that will make your jaw drop), and paranormal elements that look like they're going to be truly scary in future installments (the pack, gah!). There's a new post every Monday and though she recently finished the first volume it's not too late to catch up and read those earlier installments.

You can find a lot of online serials. The Agency and Railroad happen to be my two favorites. Now I want to do my own. Here's the rough blurb I came up with for the first story:

The Key of Darkness is an ancient grimoire designed for summoning and subjugating a powerful entity from deep within the lowest levels of Hell. The sorcerer who utilizes the Key will have unimaginable evil at their fingertips, to do with as their darkest desires dictate. 

The Key was meant to be entrusted for safe-keeping at the Bradbury Institute, a repository of knowledge on magic and the occult, but it has been stolen by an impulsive young thief. Now the race is on to retrieve the grimoire before he sells it to the highest bidder. 

I posted a brief snippet of it for Six Sentence Sunday yesterday, which you can read here.

While I am writing this for my own amusement - I just named the Big Bad's two henchmen Crantz and Stern, as in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Hamlet, tee hee - I would love to share this too. So what do you think? Is anyone interested in a free weekly paranormal serial from me?

#sixsunday

I have a story that I play around with when the main work in progress isn't cooperating, which has been the case a lot lately. It's strictly for fun, a way to keep writing without putting any pressure on myself. As I have gotten further into this story I've started to think about maybe posting it online.

Here's the setup: Eve Kane worked as the personal assistant to a wealthy elderly woman who has just passed away. Eve's last job: deliver a locked box to a mysterious place called the Bradbury Institute. She's in the limo being driven there when her curiosity gets the best of her and she decides to use her gift of psychometry to find out what's in the box.

And here's my six:

She placed both hands flat on the top of the box. Almost asking it to share itself with her, biting her lip in concentration. Something seemed to push at her from inside the box. For the briefest of moments the image of a book splashed with blood flared behind her closed eyes. Heat lashed first at her palms, then her thighs where the box was perched on her lap. Swallowing a shriek, Eve pushed the box to the floorboard.

If you're not coming here from Six Sentence Sunday be sure and check it out.

Love for the Big Man

Dancing in the Dark made for an innocuous introduction to Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band for a child. It made me buy the Born in the USA album which I listened to over and over. I remember being surprised by the album. Dancing in the Dark was a light radio-friendly pop tune; Born in the USA was an angry heartbroken protest song. The rest of the album filled every part of the spectrum in between the two extremes. It was probably the most challenging music, lyrically speaking, that I had gravitated to by that time. Even so, it barely prepared me for what I would discover in my next E Street album - Live 1975-85. A three-cassette set (which I wore out and eventually had to replace with CDs) of live recordings of some of the band's greatest songs up to that point. It also had a large booklet full of concert pictures and lyrics. English teachers would sell off pieces of their soul to have students put as much effort into studying poetry as I did poring over those lyrics. It was an education in and of itself. America has always been a myth of its own making, so has rock and roll. Bruce Springsteen made a place for himself at the intersection of those two loud raucous mythologies, and by his side stood the Big Man, Clarence Clemons.

The friendship between Bruce and Clarence, probably the most beloved sideman in rock, has been the stuff of musical legend for years. You can see the camaraderie in this performance of Growin' Up from 1978. It's one of countless examples of their easy give and take on stage, as well as how truly essential Big Man was to the dynamic of the band and the music. No session player could touch that tone or hope to take his place in the line up. Clarence was the heart and soul of the E Street Band.



The legendary saxophonist suffered a stroke barely a week ago but there had been hopeful sounding news of his condition. Learning of his passing Saturday night on Twitter (seriously, is there any other place for breaking news anymore?) I was surprised at the depth of my sadness. In Badlands Bruce wrote "it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive." Every note Clemons played was an emphatic AMEN to that optimistic sentiment, an affirmation of joy. The band's own mythology is the basis for one of the songs I always enjoyed from Live 1975-85: Tenth Avenue Freeze Out. "Well the change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band," followed by a blast of sax - that never gets old.

Springsteen once said words to the effect that his music has always been about the distance between the American dream and the American reality (I can't find the exact quote right now, sorry.) You can hear that gulf plainly in the Big Man's Jungleland solo - words couldn't say it any better. Even now, after years of endless war, the gutting of our economy, and culture war distractions designed to keep people from realizing they're living in the darkness on the edge of town, it's hard not to reach for that bare hint of optimism you can almost feel in the yearning notes of that solo.



Sometimes the dream becomes reality. Not often enough, but when it does it should be celebrated. Preferably with a hearty laugh and a loud blast of saxophone. Clarence Clemons spent his life making music that brought people joy. He will be missed.

Books and movies

Cross-posted from Write Club.

This might not be a popular thing to say but sometimes the movie is better than the book. Not usually, but sometimes. I think it generally happens when a story is just not quite engaging enough to be a book, but it works out okay when you take that top layer and shape it into a movie.

I've read a few popular books that were not really great reading experiences but were more enjoyable as movies. The Hunt For Red October comes to mind. The book is all action, which is good because there's not a lot of depth of character going on. And there's nothing wrong with that because that's what some readers prefer. It certainly made for a compelling movie, what with Sean Connery playing a Russian who just happened to have a Scottish accent. And Alec Baldwin and Tim Curry. Tim Curry! He's always a hoot. Reading the book just wasn't as entertaining (to me at least) as watching the movie. Seems like there were some John Grisham books/movies that I felt this way about too.

In recent months I tried very, very hard to read (and like) an extremely popular novel, one of those that everybody talks about - The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I really, and I mean really wanted to like this book. But after two hundred pages I gave up. I just did not enjoy it and I couldn't connect with any of the characters. If I can't connect with characters, I don't care what happens to them. Whereas I used to be better about forcing myself to finish a book I've started even if I didn't like it, I don't do that anymore. Now I set that book aside and find something else to read. So I didn't finish the first book of the Millennium trilogy and therefore have no desire to read the others. But I do want to see the movie.

First I should say, I know there are very highly regarded Swedish films of these books, and I do plan to give them a try. I have to be in the right mood to be willing to "read" a movie so its not something I'm going to sit down and watch just whenever. Let The Right One In was certainly an amazing movie so I'm betting the original Swedish version of Girl With the Dragon Tattoo lives up to its reputation.

The American version coming out later this year is directed by David Fincher, who turned Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club into a movie almost as good as the source novel. I had heard about this but had no thought of wanting to see it until the first publicity for it came out. I saw the poster first and it is quite striking.

I saw some discussion of this poster, mostly of the "clutch the pearls and swoon to the fainting couch" variety. I see nothing wrong with it but then I'm not scared of breasts, what with having a pair myself. I also don't think being topless makes Salander seem weak - she looks fierce! She looks like she would be more than capable of either protecting Blomkvist or wiping the floor with him, whichever she thought he needed.

Then there's the trailer:



"The feel bad movie of Christmas" has got to be one of the best tag lines ever. And okay yes, there's Daniel Craig. That's always a plus. I couldn't work my way through the book but hopefully I'll enjoy this movie version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Is there a book that you didn't especially care for that was turned into a movie you wound up enjoying?

The Music of Mojo Queen guest post and giveaway

I've got a new guest post up at Bookin' It Reviews about the music that helped me write Mojo Queen. And there's a giveaway too, with a chance for a commenter to win a copy of the book. Here's the link: The Music of Mojo Queen.

And here's links to the songs I mention in the post, if you're unfamiliar with them and are curious.

Mojo Queen by Ike and Tina Turner
Bad Moon Rising by Rasputina
Night Life by Willie Nelson
Strong as Death, Sweet as Love by Al Green

I enjoyed writing this post, what with music being one of my favorite things to blather on about. Much thanks to blogger Talina Perkins for hosting it!

Random Tuesday post for which I have no title

I'm sick. I think it's just allergies, but it's bad enough I've coughed so much and so hard I swear I pulled a muscle or broke a rib or something. It's terrible. It's draining all my energy to the point where all I feel like doing is searching Tumblr for pictures of Alex O'loughlin. It's a crying shame, people. The next thing you know all I'll feel like writing is Hawaii Five-O slash-fic. (Mom, if you read this don't ask me what slash-fic is. It's not a conversation we need to have and you would really not approve.) (But the rest of you - if you've seen H5O you know what I'm talking about. That show is so totally slashy.)

I might as well write fanfic because the manuscript I'm supposed to be writing has got me depressed. Someone critiqued what I've got so far and I got even more depressed. The part of the story I'm having trouble with is the part they didn't like, so, you know. I still don't know what to do. I think I'm going to have to let it sit until I either figure out a way to fix this problem, or I just say to hell with it and write the story as I envision it. I keep worrying about how plots and character behavior and everything else will be received - by my editor, by the few people that might read the book. Is this part too serious, and what about this other part? Is Roxie straying too far from the accepted urban fantasy heroine mold? Is Blake too much of a jerk? How do I keep Daniel from taking over everything? By wanting to challenge myself, push the envelope of my abilities as a writer, am I being too ambitious? Maybe I should just keep it simple, and not get invested in the story. The thing is, I don't know how to not get invested. This book is the first time I feel like I'm not writing just for myself and it's making me choke.

Which could explain all this damn coughing. Ha.

So Mojo 2 - which might be called Red House, or maybe High Water Everywhere, I can't decide - is in a holding pattern. Again. I don't expect that to last long because I really want to finish it. The fight between me and this book is turning into a grudge match.

I do have something else I've been writing, but I already decided it's not for submission so of course it's going great. It's something I planned to post in serialized form. It's far enough along I could start posting now but I think I'll wait until I get this first part finished. One of the characters in it surprised me today and I have no idea where that's going. But I have a feeling it will be delightful.

Here's some AlexO, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course:

Six Sentence Sunday

Six Sentence Sunday is a really cool thing where writers pull six sentences from a work and post them on Sunday. You can be published or unpublished, write in any genre, and select your six sentences from any of your books including a work in progress. You can find out more about it here at Six Sunday.com if you're like me and never participated before. For my first Sunday post I chose six sentences from my current work in progress:

Magic flared in the room, showing up in arcs of red and blue in my auric vision. I drew it into me like a breath, feeling it sizzle in my veins. A reckless euphoria overtook me. The spell I had in mind might not be strong enough. Blake had a stubborn nature and plenty of power of his own. He might be able to resist.

A peek into the trunk

Cross-posted from Write Club.


Do you ever go rifling through old stories you've consigned to the trunk? Maybe for ideas, things to steal and reshape, or maybe just to see what crappy thing you wrote years ago so you feel better about what you write now. Y'all, this is why I don't delete stuff anymore, no matter how awful. So Wednesday night I did just that, opened up my Trunk folder and poked around to see if anything could be cannibalized for either of the projects I'm working on now. I had a pretty good idea I might find some stuff for Project B in old trunked Story X, and after I poked around that document for a while I opened another. This is from an abandoned novel I fought with off and on for too many years and never finished, and further evidence of my never ending obsession with Robert Johnson in particular and music in general.

**
16 August 1938
Star of the West Plantation
Greenwood, MS



“I’m not the devil,” Jim answered. “I just work for him.”

RL’s thin body shook and spasmed as he coughed up another stream of blood, the bright red glowing against the soiled sheets. Jim wiped blood from RL’s chin with a stained handkerchief. The once-white cloth was discolored with paisleys of dried and fresh blood, in worse condition than the sheets. Jim had been there almost an hour but it felt longer. He got Robert settled again, as settled as the man could get alternating between muscle spasms, rigid limbs, convulsions. His breathing was labored and fear was the only thing left in his face.

“I don’t wanna die like this,” Robert said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not going to die. I’m going to find a doctor - “

Robert cut him off with a shake of his head. “No doctor gonna come out here, even if you could find one. He won’t let no one help me.”

“What do you mean, he – “

"He want me, he gonna have me”

“Who’re you talking about?”

Robert turned his head to face Jim, raised his arm to reach out for him. Jim took RL’s hand in his own, feeling the strength gone from the preternaturally long fingers. He looked at their joined hands, two black hands, blinked and saw flashes of his true skin color; for a second he even thought he could feel the difference in his hair, stiff black curl melting into soft straight blond. Looking into Robert’s eyes, he knew Robert could see him for what he really looked like. That scared him more than the convulsions, even more than the blood. No one had ever been able to see past the veil of one of his glamour spells before.

“I don’t want to go to hell,” Robert said.

“You’re not going to hell. That’s crazy talk.”

“It’s what he told me.”

“Who?” Pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Robert’s frail body shook hard again, his back arching as he cried out. Jim held his hand - he didn’t know what else he could do. He knew even if he could find a doctor who would venture out to a shack like this in the middle of the night, they wouldn’t get back in time.

“Man who was here before. He told me I was going to hell. Told me the devil was gonna come take my soul.” Talking so much took a lot out of Robert - he seemed faded, like a washed out old photograph.

“What did he look like?” Jim asked as he reached to the floor for a canteen of water he’d brought. He gently lifted Robert’s upper body enough that the sick man could drink comfortably, held the canteen to his lips. Robert sipped like he had no thirst. He lay back down, Jim pulling the old tattered blanket up to his shoulders. “What did he look like, Bob?”

“He was wearin’ overalls first, when he looked like an old black man. Then he... he had on a suit. A black suit, and a red necktie. And he was...” All of this came out slowly, painfully. Robert paused and Jim couldn’t tell if it was just to catch his breath, or was he doubting what he’d seen, afraid to tell it. Finally Robert continued. “He was like you, black and then white. Sometimes both. He said a lot of things, an’ he tole me I was goin’ to hell for the things I done.”

Jim wanted to tell him he was delirious from poison and fever, that he would get better, that they’d leave Greenwood and go to Memphis or Chicago or maybe even Texas, someplace where he could get recorded again. But none of that would have been true, and at this moment Jim didn’t have it in him to tell more lies. So he told the truth - the truth as he saw it.

“You’re not going to hell, Robert,” he spoke quietly, leaning close so RL could hear him. “The man who was here before, he’s a very bad man, and he likes to hurt people. He’s had a lot of fun with you, but it’s almost over now. The pain will stop soon, and you’ll be all right.”

Robert started to speak again but the words dissolved in a coughing fit, more blood coming up. Jim wiped away the blood again, raised the canteen again. “Just relax,” he whispered. “Just relax.”

“I’m dying,” Robert said through labored breath. Not asking.

“Yes.”

Robert reached for his hand again. “Will you stay until it’s over?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” Jim said, running his free hand through his hair. His real hair.

The time passed slowly for Jim. Boarded up windows kept the night air out and the stifling heat heavy with smells of sickness in. A single hurricane lamp on the rickety table by the bed let off a faint glow - the lack of light was one thing Jim was glad for. The smell of blood and coming death, the rattle and moan of Robert’s rapidly failing body as it gave up its last bit of strength, his muscles and lungs losing the fight. As bad as it was now, Jim knew it had to have been much worse for Robert earlier - he’d been writhing on the floor, howling in pain and possibly even fury, when Jim finally found him. Jim wanted to leave, wanted badly to leave. Fought with himself to force himself to stay. Would have even prayed for Robert’s death just so he could get out of this horrible room, if he were the praying type. But he wasn’t, and he stayed, and was surprised to feel more relief for the end of Robert’s suffering when he finally took his last breath than relief for himself. He pulled the sheet over the body and headed for the door, not wanting to linger, feeling the glamour spell fall back into place as he crossed the room. He stopped at the door, glanced at the Gibson Kalamazoo leaning in a corner. Hustled over for it, then quickly left with the guitar slung over his shoulder, almost running into the blue-black delta night.

**

Yes, I know what you're thinking - this is all kinds of cringe-worthy. Although maybe not quite as cringe-worthy as the Young Adult novel that I did finish and promptly banish to the trunk, but still. Oy. Even so, I like having this. I like seeing proof that I have gotten better at writing. When I am filled with self-doubt and worry that I'll never write anything worthwhile again, I can look back and know that I made forward progress in the past and I can do so again. That's a good thing to know.

The semi-competent psychic

Here's the link to my latest Mojo Queen related guest post about the inspiration for the story over at Lindsay Below's blog. You can also find out Roxie's original name, which you might find surprising.

I've got another guest post to write when I'm finished with this post, this one about the music that helped me write Mojo Queen. So I'm listening to the playlist I put together for the book and right now it's up to the Otis Redding song These Arms of Mine. That post will be hosted by Bookin' It Reviews on June 16 and I'll be giving away a copy of Mojo Queen to a commenter.

*

Since I get my breaking news from Twitter, not having cable, I saw the links that went out yesterday about a mass grave found in East Texas. It sounded truly horrifying and I almost didn't want to know any more details. Then it came out that local law enforcement were waiting for a search warrant and had not found any bodies yet, but were acting on an anonymous tip. And then it came out that there was nothing amiss at the location in question and the tip came from a someone claiming to be a psychic. (You can read more about it here, which I am linking to Gawker because right now I am too lazy to go hunting up links on MSNBC or the Houston Chronicle. Plus Gawker is funny.)

The best part, for me, is that apparently the cops checked a location, found nothing, and the psychic called back and said they went to the wrong place. So they went out again looking for evidence of a serial killer or who knows what, and again came up empty. At this point that strange murky part of my brain that comes up with stories has decided this NEEDS to be a half-serious, half-comedic urban fantasy. The psychic (who was apparently female but in my fictional version is male) truly is psychic, but maybe not a very good one. Lack of focus, you know. Or maybe it's a recently acquired ability and they don't know what they're doing yet. But they want to do the right thing, ergo frantic 911 calls to report mass graves, body dumps, what have you. But they always send the cops to the wrong place. Trust me, if done well this could bring the funny. Of course the psychic eventually winds up working with a cop to help fight crime, in his off hours from working at a comic shop or something similar. I'm thinking this needs to be a tv show. I'm thinking it needs to star Alan Tudyk (Wash from Firefly) as the psychic. Geeky well-meaning psychic who's not very good at being a psychic would be a great role for him. I would watch the heck out of that show. The cop needs to be female, because we like a little romance, now don't we (the tone would be very Castle-esque.)

Somebody make this happen, because if Supernatural is going to do away with my favorite character I'll be needing something else to watch.

Bullet the Blue Sky

A boy in science class, wearing a t-shirt that said "I can see those fighter planes" - that was my introduction to U2. It took another year for me to really fall in love with the band. The first U2 album I owned was Rattle and Hum, their 1988 concert album. I've always loved live albums and I think it's because I've been to so few concerts, due to either living too far away from venues or not having the money or time to travel or it just not working out. I certainly wasn't going to any great concerts as a kid, so Rattle and Hum was one of two epic live albums I owned that I just about wore out (I guess I should say cassettes.) At that time U2 was still an education for me, serious meaningful stuff that demanded thoughtfulness and careful attention*. This was adult music, in a much different fashion than anything from Prince or Madonna. Unlike Purple Rain, nobody was advising my mom to take Rattle and Hum away from me. To their everlasting credit, my parents never took an album or a book away from me no matter how silly someone got about what I was being exposed to. Looking back on some of the sensibilities I was beginning to soak up from what I considered truly adult music, I wonder if they grew to regret that decision.

My take-away from a song like Bullet the Blue Sky was the very simple yet somehow radical notion that we Americans are in fact not the center of the universe. Wacky thought, I know, but it was at odds with the environment in which I was raised. Well, part of the environment. I had one foot in that insular conservative military world, and one foot out in the rest of the world. Music was one of the things that helped me cross the bridge. The other was going to school with civilian kids, like the boy who wore that tee-shirt, and then moving to Germany. The idea of American exceptionalism is a strange one to me in large part because of the two and a half years we lived in Frankfurt. Okay, they did things a little different over there - so what? They seemed to be doing just fine, and still are (that whole mayonnaise on french fries thing notwithstanding). I'm trying to be light-hearted here because I feel like I accidentally stepped in a mine field, but I'm not going to delete anything.

Let my try putting it this way: you will not find any non-citizen of the United States who loves America more than Bono. Seriously. U2 have always loved America, loved the idea of America. Loved it so much that when they saw things that flew in the face of what they believed to be truly great and worthy ideals, they did not shy away from saying "Hey America, what the hell are you doing?!" That is basically what Bullet the Blue Sky is - you can see it in the lyrics. Written about American foreign policy in the 1980s toward Central America, sadly the song is still relevant today, just about a different part of the world. It is no small thing to speak up to a person or institution or in this case an entire country and say: "You are better than this, so please act like it." And it is a very large thing to look such flaws in the face and still feel love. Blind devotion is easy and costs nothing, except for maybe integrity. Dissent - now, that is expensive, as high-priced as honesty. Admitting there is bad as well as good to this country, and acknowledging that the bad needs to be set right, should not be a hard thing, but it is for a lot of people. It was a strange lesson for someone raised in a very patriotic home to take in and it took four Irishmen and a guy from New Jersey** to teach me.

Musically the song is a freaking powerhouse. Bono takes his usual swagger to the next level with some intense aggression. Adam and Larry are relentless, showing they are one of the tightest rhythm sections in rock. And Edge - damn. The clear ringing tone of his guitar cleaves the air with its fury, leaving no doubt this low-key unassuming musician is one BAMF.




* As opposed to the more intuitive, chaotic experiences of U2's middle period albums Achtung Baby, Zooropa, and Pop.


** Sooner or later there will be much, MUCH discussion of Asbury Park, New Jersey's favorite son.

Mojo Queen central casting

Cross-posted from Write Club.

I'm sick and plan to spend the weekend curled up with my Kindle reading some of the books I bought today. I had a few ideas for a post but frankly they all required more work than I can handle right now. ;) So! How about something fun...

No matter how unlikely it is to happen, there's probably not a writer alive who doesn't fantasize at least once about their book being optioned for a movie. For me all this involves is casting the movie. I don't really care about Oscars but an MTV Movie Award for Best Kiss or Best Fight would be cool. I mean, if we're going to be shallow here, let's be shallow all the way. Anyway, back to casting.

It took a while for me to figure who I would cast in Mojo Queen. For main character Roxie Mathis, I eventually settled on Rachel Weisz. She is English and I have no idea if she could do a decent Southern accent, though she could certainly do no worse than the hot mess of fake accents you hear on True Blood. I definitely think she could bring to life Roxie's mixture of vulnerability and boldness that keeps me so interested in writing the character. I couldn't find a picture of Weisz in glasses but I really like this pic to represent Roxie. She looks like she's saying, cross the line, I dare you. (Saying that to Blake, no doubt.)

Daniel Rambin, Roxie's vampire ancestor and best friend, was easier to cast. He's charming, he's a little goofy, he can flip out to crazy-dangerous at the worst of times, he looks like a young Robert Redford. Who else but Brad Pitt?

And I'm not even that much of a Brad Pitt fan, but I think he'd make a great Daniel. I can see him playing the character with great relish in a scene where Daniel busts out with some old country song, something crazy like Harper Valley PTA. That would at least have to make the cut as a DVD extra.

Blake Harvill was the really tough one to cast. He started out as a bad guy, then became Roxie's love interest. He's a sorcerer, shady and dangerous and kind of flaky. Once he became the love interest he was tall and had dark hair and a sexy arrogant smirk. Sometimes I considered David Boreanaz as Blake, because, well, David Boreanaz is just freaking awesome. I mean, my love for Spike is eternal, but Angel had his moments. Boy did Angel have his moments. And Boreanaz is the only reason I can still sit through an episode of Bones.

But then I stumbled across a picture of Zachary Quinto that immediately made me say "That's Blake!"

Dark chocolate eyes, stubble, and Roxie likes it when he bites his lip. (I don't know, she just does.) I think they both could play Blake's darkness and his occasional flakiness. Boreanaz might have the edge when it came time for Blake to tempt Roxie with his seductive side.

So what do you think of my casting choices? Who would you cast as the leads in a movie of your own book? Share in the comments, or even better write your own post about it (don't forget pictures!) and leave the link in the comments. I'd love to read similar posts.

Jack's plan for health care

My husband has noticed our dog has a genius idea for solving the health care problem in America. Right now Jack has a bad spot on his back from scratching like crazy, to the point of bleeding. From googling I found out that's called a hot spot and some Facebook friends gave me some tips beyond just the Neosporin I was using. So far I've alternated the Neosporin with liquid vitamin E and the spot looks a lot better today. When Jack sees me pick up the medicine he wags his tail and comes to sit in front of me on the kitchen floor. He kind of ducks his head because he doesn't really want to be doctored on, but he deals with it, even turning around so the wounded area is right in front of me. Of course he tries to lick off any medicine so I have to hold his head out of the way. When I'm done he jumps up, little tail wagging furiously, and waits impatiently for his milkbone payment.

That's right - he gets doctored, and then he gets paid. Instead of paying the doctor. Really, I think this could revolutionize health care. I know I'd much rather get a cookie from a doctor, rather than paying them hundreds or even thousands of dollars.

Jack in the hotel in St. Louis, playing with the toy dinosaur we got him at the Science Center.