Friday's Forgotten Books-Non-Fiction

Babe Ruth reading.

Special Edition: Non-fiction Forgotten Books





Eric Peterson: Job Jumper, The Whiskey Rebel

I am going to assume that most of you never heard of or have seen this book, for the reason that it has had very little in the way of distribution. It was released by a punk rock record label and is one of only 3 books to their credit. It is interesting to note that as Generation X ages it seems like a lot of member of the generation are finding the doors shut at major and tradation publishers, and just as with music a lot of the generation has embraced the Do It Yourself ethos.

Job Jumper is the true (but surly embellished) story of the work life of The Whiskey Rebel, the guitarist in the band Rancid Vat and Alcoholics Unanimous. Detailing this history The Rebel spins his tales of the work world from his earliest days as a kid picking up odd jobs, to summer jobs in college, dropping out of college and working in an office, becoming a manager, chucking it all for a series of medium to low paying jobs that allowed him to keep a roof over his head, a fridge full of beer and playing music. He finally found himself falling into the depths of retail hell before escaping the work a day world to make a living selling on e-bay.

Along the way he has what can only be seen as adventures, some of them of the on the harrowing end, almost dying driving from one store inventory gig to another. Others that are of the soul crushing variety working in a office were you are not the right religion, ethnicity or social class you are not welcome. Through it all he talks about how the work world has changed in his life time, and how that has effected him as a worker. There is no stary eyed vision of the past, just an acknowledgment that it is not enough to do your job many times, but you have to get along with the work culture, and that you can do nothing wrong and still be driven from the work place for not conforming.

The Rebel though it all makes clear that he might be a punk rocker and functioning alcoholic, but he knows the value of work and is more than happy to do what the job requires -- if only others would leave him to do that job. The book is his first effort at writing a piece of this length, but years of writing for zines has sharpened his style to be witty, funny and to the point. There are not a lot of books that I have read more than once as an adult and the ones that I have read three time or more-- L.A. Confidential, The Adventures of Kaviler & Clay come to mind-- are rare, you can add Job Jumper to that list.

Copies are still aviable from Steel Cage Records.

Patti Abbott


This Boy's Life by Tobias Wolff and Duke of Deception by Geoffrey Wolff.

My forgotten non-fiction books are probably not all that forgotten, but as I went through my logs for the years I kept track of books, these two related books jumped out at me. Partly because of the unusual story they told, and partly because of an event where both brothers came and talked about the books. Both Wolffs appeared at the Community House in Birmingham, Michigan quite a few years ago and regaled the audience with tales of their childhood and the years since. The ways in which they were different due to their upbringing; the ways in which they were alike due to genetics.

The Wolff family broke up when the boys were young. The older brother, Geoffrey went to live with his Dad; the younger, Tobias, lived with his Mom. Mr. Wolff, Sr. was a con-man, a dandy of a conman in both meanings of the word. And Geoffrey led a life that was terrifying if exciting. His father was intent on living the life of an upper-class "Duke" at any cost and through any lie. Geoffrey himself inherited or learned some of his father's tricks and traits and would carry them into his adult life.

Tobias would suffer at the hands of the man his mother chose to hook up with. The problems of a single mother, lonely for companionship were never more clear. Both boys led horrific if sometimes exciting childhoods but went on to successful writing careers. I highly recommend both books, and the film made of THIS BOY'S LIFE is a dandy. You can't read one without the other. You need the full picture.

Kent Morgan-Forgotten Non-Fiction Book

Into The Badlands - John Williams - Paladin Books 1991

Welsh journalist John Williams was working in a record shop in London when a bookseller suggested he try Elmore Leonard's Stick. That led to him reading other American crime writers such as George V. Higgins, Ross Thomas and Charles Willeford. Williams writes in his introduction that reading Leonard made him want to visit Miami Beach, reading James Crumley made him want to go to Montana and reading Sara Paretsky travel to Chicago because the writers portrayed the places as alive.

In the summer of 1989, he spent a couple of months travelling around the USA interviewing authors on their home ground. In addition to Miami, Chicago and Missoula, Montana, Williams devotes a chapter to his visits to southern Louisiana, New Mexico, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Detroit, Boston and New York City. The end result is a travel book that Williams subtitled A Journey Through The American Dream. Happily for the reader, the time Williams spent talking with the writers did not translate to the somewhat dull "same old" question and answer interview we see so often in mystery publications.

Williams provides a look at where some of the writers felt they were at that point of their career. After a Sunday Mass in Opelousas. La., not long after the publication of his third Dave Robicheaux novel, James Lee Burke tells Williams that he thinks his next book, A Morning for Flamingoes, will be "a smasher." In Los Angeles, James Ellroy has a new book out titled The Big Nowhere and claims to have "found a new maturity." Did he you might ask. Wanting to meet a black crime writer, Williams interviews Gar Anthony Haywood, who is frustrated that his novels featuring a black PI are not carried by bookstore chains. In Chicago, Eugene Izzi talks about feeling so miserable through much of his life that he was always thinking about suicide, but that he had pulled out of it. In 1996, he died under mysterious circumstances, but his death was ruled suicide.

My favorite chapter is titled Missoula, Montana: Saturday Night at Charlie's Bar. Williams has more a than a few drinks with Crumley and publisher Dennis McMillan, who he describes as looking like one of The Flying Burrito Brothers circa Gilded Palace of Sin. He also meets one of my favourite "unknown" authors Robert Sims Reid, a Missoula police detective. After reading his paperback original titled Big Sky Blues on a flight to Chicago, Williams writes that he is inclined to agree with the quote on the back from Crumley that it's "perhaps the finest police novel I have read." Note: A perfect candidate for a future Forgotten Book.

In 2007, Serpent's Tail in London published Back to the Badlands. Part one: 1989 recycles five chapters from Into the Badlands: Miami, southern Louisiana, LA, Missoula and Detroit. Part two: 2005 covers time spent with George Pelecanos, Vicki Hendricks, Kem Nunn, Kinky Friedman and Daniel Woodrell. If you are wondering why he chose those particular five, one good reason might be that their books have been published by Serpent's Tail or other UK companies.

Bill Crider

James Reasoner

Scott Parker

Randy Johnson

George Kelley

Martin Edwards

Women of Mystery (Kathleen Ryan)

David Cranmer

Todd Mason

Ann Cleves (fiction)

Kerrie Smith

Chris Jones

Kieran Shea

Paul Bishop (fiction)

YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!!!!

Tom Waits reading.


I loved all of these stories including John Weagly's on PBF, on which I don't know how to comment. Some were sad, some scary, some funny, some weird. But all of them were great.

Thanks so much for taking part in #5. And I'm already thinking about the next one for September.

September=School. There was this really mean kid named Louis Moonblatt who tortured me in second grade, made me an insomniac. He deserves to be the villain in a dozen or so stories. Think about it between now and then.

Thanks again.

Flash Fiction Thursday

The challenge was to write a flash story using a wedding cake in the middle of the road as a motif. It didn't have to be the main thing though.

The links to writers with blogs are below. Some may come up later or not at all.

Then slip over to Powder Burn Flash where Mystery Dawg has a few more cakes on his road. Or will.

My story comes last. I may try it one more time. Flash is tough.

I'll be back this afternoon to read them all. Babysitting Day. Thanks to all who participated. I found it damned hard.


Sandra Seamans
Sandra Scoppettone
Keith Rawson
Dana King
Kieran Shea
Paul Brazill
Cormac Brown
Todd Mason
Gerald So
Eric Peterson
WellesFan
R2

The Wedding Cake in the Middle of the Road

It was a pussy name—The Wedding Cake—but that’s the name Ava stuck on it. Barker was still trying to lay her back then, still knocking himself out to make her—amendable. He had dreams of her long legs twining around him like the ivy on his oak trees.

“Oh, it looks just like a wedding cake,” Ava squealed when she saw it. “The chimneys on top look like a bride and groom. You have to name it that, honey: The Wedding Cake.”

Barker peered up from the road. It was a butt-ugly, round white building in the middle of nowhere. Exactly the thing he’d told the realtor to find. Might have been a silo before fate took a giant hacksaw to it. Someone later had thrown in a stove, a large freezer and booths; he’d have preferred a Laundromat but he flipped his coin. Heads told him to go ahead.

Ava bought a boatload of crap to decorate it. The salt and pepper shakers were ceramic brides and grooms; the sugar bowls, champagne flutes. Fuck me, he thought, watching Ava tie flouncey bows around the ice-cream chairs. No way my ass will fit there.

Well, he had to do something with the three-hundred grand. A year after the job, and it was still sitting in bank accounts waiting to be layered. And then the fuckin’ banks began going belly-up. So he yanked it and bought the café. Picked a lousy location, right at the crossroads of a couple of no-name country lanes, a place where no one would notice him or his money. A spot where any business was bound to fail from lack of traffic alone, never mind the recession. He’d told the realtor something vague about needing a write-off. She was too busy figuring what her commission would be to listen carefully.

Barker hired a cook, a waitress, a manager, a dishwasher. Planned to stay as far removed from the situation as possible. Especially after he’d banged Ava a few times and found out she wasn’t so hot. He’d never met a woman who liked it, would probably be suspicious of one who did.

But the name on the café stuck. His wife overheard a phone call and insisted on bringing the kids out one Sunday. The four of them sat on those damned ice-cream chairs that hurt his ass, the waitress hovering over them. “That vanilla might have a little freezer burn. How ‘bout I throw a little chocolate syrup on top?”

His wife frowned, pushed her dish away, and started gathering up their things.

“Boss, you sure you wanna open the place on Sundays? This here’s been our biggest crowd.” The cook stood in front of them now, his apron looking brand new.

“Just shut your trap unless you got another job lined up.” He wasn't used to being embarrassed in front of the kids.

The Barkers went home, none of them impressed with The Wedding Cake. Barker, least of all.

Perfect.

And then it happened. Money began to trickle into the State from somewhere—he didn’t follow politics. Most of it went into roads since nobody south of Alaska objected to hanging on to their tires and shocks. The country roads that met at The Wedding Cake became four-lane highways. Big trucks and vacationers headed for the Badlands and not wanting to pay tolls began winding their way past the door. Even the locals began to show up.

“Fuck me,” Barker thought when the parking lot was half-full. His manager had hired two more waitresses and a short-order cook. A blackboard with “Special of the Day” hung festively over the counter. The place was noisy, rowdy even.

No one but Barker knew how things were supposed to go. How he had meant to lose money, remain anonymous, stay out of sight. Was it lucky or unlucky to succeed in something like this? He flipped a coin as he considered it.

Inside he told the cook. “Changed my mind. Let’s shut the place on Sundays. Nobody should have to work on Sundays.” He was pacing the kitchen.

“We’ve booked wedding receptions every Sunday for the next two months, Mr. Barker.”

“Wedding receptions?” He stopped in his tracks.

“The first one’s for the daughter of the Mayor over in Souderton. He was out here looking around one day, real interested in how this place came together. Said if things went well, he’d pass the word along. A lot of business might be coming our way.”

Barker flipped his coin again, trying to decide what to do. The coin rolled out the door and under the counter. The big foot of man in uniform came down on it.

“Got yourself a nice little place out here, Mr. Barker,” the cop said, returning the coin. “We’re all gonna make sure The Wedding Cake is a big success. We've been needing a place like this for some time. A place of our own.”

THE HOUSE ON RIDGE ROAD
THE WALKING MAN

He started his carpentry in a field he’d purchased on Ridge Road. He worked from his skill using nothing more than a picture for a guide. The land was good. The parcel sat high and viewed the surround allowing for unobstructed vision of the countryside. The well he dug was deep, the water clear and cold when it hit the pump head.

He worked mostly alone. He found all of the architectural details pre-made in catalogs or had them custom made. His fiancé knew he was building their house but she was never allowed, after approving the land, to visit him as he worked. It was his gift of his love for her. He intended it to be opened on their wedding night.

As the wedding approached he worked with determination to finish the house. With each detail completed his love for her grew with the structure.

The day came, the ceremony and their duties done at the reception they left in time to get to their house in the softening light of a color filled setting sun.

The white paint reflected the rose hues from the sky. Even in the shadows cast through the filigree she could see the attention he’d paid to each detail. Every exterior line had been lovingly replicated.

She was stunned, by the structure the placement of it and the detail he'd put into it.

“Oh! It's beautiful. It is exactly like our wedding cake.”

“I did my best honey; care to take the tour of our home?”

Together they walked through the front door and made their way to the roof top deck where they stood holding each others hands as the sun went down behind the ridges.

“I love you” each heard the other say.

Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah

I thought I wanted a green burial but this place knocked me out.
So maybe I'll go with statuary and greenery.
What about you?

Summer Movies

Boys reading

First off, for those who haven't signaled their intention to post a story Thursday on Powder Burn Flash, please advise Mystery Dawg. I am posting links to anyone who said three weeks ago there were in, so if you got busy and don't have one, please advise. Thanks.

Friday is Non-fiction forgotten books. If anyone would like to post one on here, let me know. I didn't solicit one from anyone.

Charleston was wonderful but I sprained my heel and had to be wheeled through airports which was a surreal experience. It was choreographic-dozens of people being wheeled by silent attendants in green uniforms while flashing lights and strange music guided our journey. There's a story in that.

Now:

What movies signal summer to you? I'm not talking about movies that came out in summer--like Batman Begins or the recent Star Trek.

But movies *about* summer or mostly set in summer.
I'm going with Goodbye Columbus, JAWS and The Flamingo Kid.

Detroit as a science lab (From the MONKEY CAGE)

Betty Grable reading.

The seven-year itch, and thereafter

Been married for a few years? Is the bloom starting to fade from the rose? Well, here’s some bad news: If you’re a bettor, don’t bet that it’s going to get better. But there’s a silver lining.

In the new issue of Psychological Science, Irene Tsapelas, Arthur Aron, and Terri Orbach report on a study (gated) in which Detroit-area couples were surveyed in the seventh and sixteenth years of their marriage. Those who were more bored with their marriage in Year 7 were, unsurprisingly, also less satisfied with the marriage. Strikingly, when the researchers controlled for the level of marital satisfaction at Year 7, they still found that being bored in Year 7 strongly predicted being dissatisfied in Year 16. (The sample for the study was confined to couples who were still together at Year 16. Those who had divorced by Year 16 had been more bored at Year 7, but not significantly so.)

Further analysis revealed that the impact of boredom on marital satisfaction nine years later was mediated by the closeness of the couple’s relationship. Based on that finding, the authors reach a hopeful conclusion:

Not only conflicts, but also simple boredom, can shape relationships over the long term. …©ouples can reduce boredom with shared exciting activities …Thus, … increasing rewards may matter as much or more than reducing costs; or, in more contemporary terms, it may be important to focus not just on eliminating negatives, but also on enhancing positives.

In other words, don’t just sit around and stew about your individual or mutual loss of joy and sense of excitement. Break out of your rut and do something new and exciting together, seize on opportunities to do so as they arise, and don’t wait for them to arise by themselves. Maybe nine years later, you’ll not only still be together, but will be very glad that you are.

I recommend criminal activity as a breakout activity. The closeness provided by robbing banks or hi-jacking cars might carry you through lulls in the bedroom.

RE; FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE

Someone reading.

I'm in rainy Savannah/Charleston right now so be safe wherever you are.





Notify Mystery Dawg if you're going to post on his blog on June 4th. And send it along whenever you're done. No need to wait till the last minute if it's finished.

If you're posting on your own blog, send me your http if I don't already know it. Thanks much.

I have my flash written-it's not a thing of beauty but the word count is right and the wedding cake is there. See you soon.

THE STORY OF ANVIL

Damien Seaman reading







THE STORY OF ANVIL concerns the thirty-year attempt of a Canadian heavy-metal band to achieve the recognition the two lead members believe it deserves.

It's sad, funny, and yet joyous because these two heavy metal headbangers would probably take this life, one mostly of failure, over any other. even their families have not given up hope, despite playing at bars for crowds of a dozen head-scratching patrons.

It ends on an up note, a moment that is ephemeral at best. This brought me to the question-or questions. Who hasn't had the fame they deserved? Or who should have thrown in the towel long ago? This could be singers, actors, writer, politicians, athletes? It's an open field.

REVIEWING BOOKS

THE REAL MCCOYS reading scripts.

Should reviewers for newspapers, magazines and online zines and websites, decline requests to review books they know they will probably not like? In other words, should reviewers that prefer their crime hard-boiled agree to review a cozy? Should reviewers that hate noir take one on? Is it fair to writers to have an unreceptive audience for their work in these hard times?

MY TOWN MONDAY -Detroit's Techno Music Festival This Weekend

Techno music festival comes to Detroit (notice how often the plight of Detroit is referenced) Story from MLIVE.

Courtesy photo

Techno godfather and Detroiter Kevin Saunderson is celebrating his 20th year in music with "History Elevate."

If there's a common thread among acts at this year's Movement 2009 Detroit electronic music festival, it's that they want Detroiters to forget about economic uncertainties.

"We don't want no wall flowers," said Afrika Bambaataa during an interview. "We want people to get down and enjoy themselves. There's too much chaos in the world today. When you get to the festival just let it all go and party."

DJ Z-Trip agreed, saying Detroit has been hit so hard that residents could use a festival like this.

Movement 2009

• Where: Hart Plaza, Detroit

• When: Saturday-Monday

• Tickets: $30 for an individual day pass, $60 for a weekend pass, $150 for a VIP pass at the gate. Discounted passes can be purchased online at www.wantickets.com. Movement Weekend Passes can also be purchased (cash only) at various locations including: 323 East in Royal Oak; Spectacles in Detroit; and Record Time in Roseville. VIP tickets can also be purchased at 323 East in Royal Oak and Spectacles in Detroit.

• Details: For more information, visit www.livenation.com.

"They definitely could use some relief," said Z-Trip, born Zach Sciacca. "That town has such musical roots. I think that's their escape, to have their sanity and be able to release some of that tension. That's one of the big reasons why I decided to play the festival. Musically, I've always loved what Detroit represents and where it comes from -- from Motown to techno to even some rock stuff, all the Ted Nugents and the Bob Segers. It all represents such big musical talent. To go there and be able to play some stuff and encompass all of those things, it's kind of what I'm about when I play."

Movement has become the ultimate stage for the city that founded techno music to showcase its electronic music muscle. Last year's attendance nearly reached 80,000 over three days on Detroit's Hart Plaza during Memorial Day Weekend, with fans enjoying 36 hours of their favorite electronic music artists and DJs performing on five stages, according to publicist Betty Kang. It was named "Festival of the Year" by the readers of URB Magazine.

The Prodigy will play the official opening party for Movement 2009 at The Fillmore in Detroit on Friday. Chuck Flask, Paxahau resident DJ, and Evan Evolution will be performing in the State Bar. The doors open at 7 p.m.

Courtesy photo
Afrika Bambaataa has called for people to set aside their troubles and enjoy the festival.

"We really try to put together a lineup that electronic and dance music fans will enjoy," said Jason Huvaere, festival director. "We have a real mix of local, national and international artists performing this year. There is a lot of great talent from the Detroit area. About half of the artists are from Detroit."

Techno godfather and Detroiter Kevin Saunderson said it has become tradition to perform at the Movement festival. He is celebrating his 20th year in music with "History Elevate."

"This general community expects it, you expect it as an artist," Saunderson wrote in an e-mail interview. "It's special how it started and how it evolved. It's gone through many controversial times, but it has survived because of the efforts of our great Detroit artists to keep this thing afloat. It's a chance to play in front of my family, educate people who've never been to the festival or experienced Detroit techno."

Huvaere explained tens of thousands of people will be able to experience Detroit techno this year because the price of weekend passes was set at $30 for an individual day pass, $60 for a weekend pass, $150 for a VIP pass at the gate.

"We are very proud of the fact that even in this tough economy, we were able to keep the weekend passes to Movement moderately priced," Huvaere said. "It's the largest electronic music event in the country and the experience we are able to give music fans is far greater than the price of the ticket. There is no place else where someone can go to see 36 hours of music on four stages being performed by world-renowned musicians at this ticket price.

"The reason we are able to keep the ticket reasonably priced is because all the acts and the vendors work with (organizers) Paxahau to create a great event for Detroit without charging too music, allowing the prices to be lower, so a larger audience is attracted," added Huvaere, who did not want to speculate on attendance figures.

Z-Trip added that it's important to keep the ticket prices reasonable.

"Especially with the economy and, there of all places, you have to come with that kind of prices," he said. "If not, you're not going to get anybody. That place was one of the places that got hit the hardest."

This is probably the music I like least but I'm glad to see fans here. When asked to describe it, one of the organizers said it was about the future. But what that means, I don't know.

Visit Travis for more My Town Monday posts.

IS THIS TECHNO MUSIC?

Is This Fair?

Boy reading.

I happened to spin by an amazon site for a writer I've read and liked with a book coming out in two months . Although the book had no professional reviews posted yet, it had a bunch of negative reviews from people from something called Amazon Vine already posted. Is this fair? It's bad enough that people can trash a book once it's in the stores, but this far ahead?

Are these people getting ARCs of the book to do this? Maybe publishers are getting a little too generous with sending out ARCs with the demise of so much newspaper reviewing. But at least with a newspaper review, someone stands behind it. What do you think?

The Leonards at our local chain bookstore

We went to hear Elmore and Peter at our local bookstore. These two, and especially Elmore, know how to put on a good show. For one hour, Elmore, coaxed by his son, relayed how he began writing, anecdotes about the movies made from his work, his ten rules for writing, etc.

Never once did this man in his eighties show signs of having done this a million times and being bored with it. And not once did his very gracious son, show impatience with how little attention was directed toward him. The crowd, which would have been ten times the size, if the bookstore had thought to even place a poster in their front window, grew over the hour and I was relieved to see some of them were buying Peter's book too.

A good time was had by all. Especially me. Who have you seen do this sort of thing especially well?

The Summing Up, Friday, May 22, 2009

The Summing Up, May 22, 2009

Patti Abbott, THE CLUE: THE ARMCHAIR DETECTIVE, Lawrence Treat and George Hardie
Paul Bishop, LYNX, Julian Jay Savaria
Bill Crider, THE CHISHOLMS, Even Hunter
Martin Edwards, TRIAL AND ERROR, Anthony Berkley
Ray Foster, IN MY SOLITUDE, David Stuart Leslie
Cullen Gallagher, THE HOTEL MURDERS, Stewart Sterling
Ed Gorman, THE KIDNAPPER and THE WILL TO KILL, Robert Bloch
Jenn Jilks, RAISIN WINE, James Bartleman
Randy Johnson, LEGENDS IN BLUE STEEL, Spider Page
George Kelley, GUNNER CADE, by Cyril Judd (C.M. Kornbluth and Judith Merril)
Alan Orloff, THE UNORIGINAL SINNER AND THE ICE CREAM GOD, John Powers
Stephanie Padilla, RESOLUTION, Denise Mina
Scott Parker, HARD REVOLUTION, George Pelecanos
Eric Peterson, THE WORDSMITH, R.G. Taylor
J. Kingston Pierce, SNOWBOUND, Ladd Hamilton
James Reasoner, TABOO THRILLS, Orrie Hitt
Kerrie Smith, THE LITTLE WORLD OF DON CAMILLO, Giovannu Guarsechi
Michael Walters, PUTTING THE BOOT IN, Dan Kavanagh

HOTDOGGIN'

Here comes the author of the new book, HOTDOGGIN. Make room for it on your bookshelf next to last year's exciting YELLOW MEDICINE.

Take it away Neil Smith.

In the Last Episode, Greg Bardsley’s creepy Skull Patrol from the West Coast cruised into town and made it look like Halloween in the middle of May.

THREE WEEKS AGO…

He hoped she would show up. Things had gotten worse than he ever expected, but there was not a damned thing to do but play his part like a true Enforcer and hope this link to the outside world would keep him sane.

It was lucky she lived in Detroit, because that made it easier on Lafitte. He’d swore never to come back here again, but when the leader of the biker club who just saved your ass from starving said “Hey, we’ve got to make a Detroit run this weekend”, you mounted up and said, “How fast, sir?”

While the marathon dogfights raged, along with hogdogging--although Billy was disgusted enough by the latter, this weekend they were using basic farm pigs, not even boars, not even giving the pork a fighting chance--he slipped around the fringes waiting for Patti. They were supposed to have cleared out by two AM, the deal having been made and Steel God not up for the carnage, but he was tired. More tired than usual. He decided to let things go til morning.

She’d been a voice of reason before, telling him to ease up on the temper or take a chill pill before cracking skulls. Like the little voice that should be in his head instead of the bastard he was stuck with.

Then, as if in a dream, she stepped out of the fog, hands deep in her jacket pockets. He cringed at her expression, which told him he must look either bad or very different than last time. He turned off the motor but stay on the chopper, not sure how this would go.

She said, “What’s with all this cloak and dagger stuff?”

He shrugged. “Just felt like it. Kind of retro, don’t you think?”

“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes. “Like with my daughter, everything’s ‘1940’s this’ and ‘Mid Twentieth Century that’, as if anything past the Beatles is so unhip. Newsflash, kids. Obama won. The government isn’t listening to your cell phone calls anymore.”

“That’s pretty naïve.”

“Maybe, but it’s cozier.” Patti let out a big yawn. “Now get to it. Why am I out here at the break of day?”

Lafitte turned away from her, listened to the clanging and growling of the crowd. Then, “I’m not so sure I made the right choice this time.”

“You mean with your Halloween costume here? Is that even a real motorcycle? Jesus, Billy. Like you worried about your choices back in Minnesota.”

“I know, I know. That was then, that was Yellow Medicine County. Two people I cared about were killed over me. So you’d think I would’ve learned something.”

Patti tsk tsk-ed and shook her head. “Wow, you’re selfish even when talking about redemption, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Do you know how worried we all were about you? Leaving us hanging like that at the end of all that mess? I couldn’t believe it when you called. I thought you were dead.”

He let it drift in the air a moment before saying, “No you didn’t.”

She huffed, then grinned, embarrassed, maybe. “You didn’t seem the suicidal type, I have to say.”

Another roar from the crowd.

“How can you stand it around those people? They’re just killing poor dogs and pigs for fun over there.”

Lafitte said, “And money. That’s what it’s really about. Money. And pride. Guys take pride in their dogs.”

“By treating them like shit?”

“Sometimes…you know…I see it in their faces. It’s stupid, and it’s heartbreaking, I know, but, it’s hard to explain.”

“Must be.”

He wagged a finger at her. “I didn’t say I approved. I’m just saying it’s complicated. When a dog dies, I hate it. Fucking hate it. But the owner hates it more. But then you have to ask, yeah, why train it to fight if it just breaks your heart? Right? But when I ask, they give you some bullshit like, ‘Well, if war comes, you’d hate for your kid to go off and fight, but you’d be proud’ or some shit. Nothing’s as easy as we want it to be.”

“You’re full of it. That’s garbage.”

He didn’t take the bait. “Could be worse. Could be in Federal prison. How’s that supposed to make me a better man?”

Patti crossed her arms, pouted her lips like she was thinking about it for a minute. Then she said, “I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

“And what’s that?”

“If there really is a chance you can fix what you’ve broken.”

He nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

She reached over, laid her hand on his shoulder. “But as for these people…I would tell you to steer clear, but I know you won’t. So just roll with it. See what happens. And if you have the chance, make the best choice for yourself. Don’t leave us hanging again.”

“Well,” his lips went all sheepish. “Not so sure I can deliver on that.”

“At least stay safe.”

He didn’t respond. Neither of them looked at the other. The crowd had quieted, began to disperse, and engines of all sizes from hogs, crotch rockets, and muscle cars roared to life, a better wake-up than coffee.

Patti said, “What’s next for you?”

“Steel God said something about putting on a motorcycle rally. That sounds fun.”

“Have you ever been to a biker rally?”

“No, but that’s what’s so fun about it. It’s better when you don’t know what’ll happen next.”

With that, he kick-started the chopper, gave it a good loud rush, then rolled off into the fog, leaving Patti shivering, wondering if she’d ever see him again.

*

Award Winning author Patricia Abbott is a short story machine, publishing over fifty now online and in print, everything from literary fiction to some pretty grim noir. And the connecting factor behind each one, to me, is the atmosphere she creates. She makes me feel that I already know her characters. And I feel bad for them when they fuck up.

At Plots with Guns, we have one of her pieces, “Like a Hawk Rising”, that roped me in from the beginning. Something about this couple’s bickering made me want to keep reading:

“I can think of a shitload of things you could be doin’ instead of that.” Marsha’s voice was a buzzing in Bernie’s ear and unconsciously he fanned her away without taking the binoculars from his eyes.

“Like what?”

“You could fix the bathroom faucet. Or,” she paused, softening her voice, “you could come up with a plan to get us some cash. The balance in our check book is looking piss-poor.” He looked up in time to see her yank her hair back into a virtual ponytail and then release it, lowering her raised shoulders in a shrug.

He put down the binoculars. “Or maybe you could help us out.” His voice was even quieter than hers. Marsha didn’t flinch; the issue of her working had been laid to rest years ago.

“You oughta at least take up some kind of hobby till your knee heals—that’s all I’m saying.” They both looked down at his cast, one of those bumpy plaster ones from the middle of the last century. The doctor who’d fixed him up was from that time too.

Reminded me a bit of Ray Carver for some reason. But then the story twisted and wound its way around, full of surprises, making me smile over and over.

But then you read some of her other work, the smile disappears and you’re left with foreboding, like in the most classic noir. For example, in “The Instrument of Their Desire”, reading how Jim “rented out” his mentally-challenged older sister in 1931 in order to save the family home sets up the atmosphere for the rest of the story. How much worse can it get? How can these characters live with themselves?

And with my soft spot for creepy Southern religious stuff, Patti’s “Tongues” really got to me:

At Karin’s church, parishioners speak in tongues, give testimony and lay on hands. Karin likes to tell her personal salvation story. It happened in a Thunderbird on a country road as she was weighing the sin in letting her boyfriend unhook her bra.

Does everyone who speaks in tongues use the same language? Can they talk to each other? Were they born knowing “tongues” or did it come to them like a taste for artichokes came to my father months after he returned from Korea? I never find the right words to ask Karin this.

It’s spooky listening to her, knowing she’s pacing her cell-like room and talking gibberish for hours. The syllables seem to rush out of her mouth and bang up against the wallboard. If I put my palms on the wall, I can feel the vibrations.

So thanks, Patti, for all of this great work. I don’t know what to expect each time I read something by you, but I know that almost every time I’m going to feel the story close in around me like the fog I wrote about, and not let up until the story is over.

And where’s the one about the woman who took photos of the dead? I know I rejected it, but I still can’t stop thinking about it.

So, will Lafitte take Patti’s advice? You’ll have to pick up Hogdoggin’ to find out. June 1^st, HOGDOGGIN’ MONDAY. Let’s make some big noise in bookstores (virtual and brick both, but especially all the indie stores I’m visiting in the next two weeks) so that no one has a “case of the Mondays”. Yuck.

*

Tomorrow…is that a Raven? A killer ape? A Black Cat? No, but it is Edward “Philly Poe Guy” Petit bringing the 19^th Century to our modern day Rally.

On someone’s I-pod: Boomtown Rats, “Up All Night”

Friday's Forgotten Books, May 22, 2009

Nelson Mandella reading.

Next week: vacation--at least for me
June 5th-Forgotten Non-fiction book week.

A few may go up later--or never.


Alan Orloff's debut mystery, DIAMONDS FOR THE DEAD, is due out April 2010 from Midnight Ink. He blogs at A Million Blogging Monkeys (http://alanorloff.blogspot.com/) and InkSpot (http://midnightwriters.blogspot.com/). You can learn more about him (and his books) at: www.alanorloff.com.

THE UNORIGINAL SINNER AND THE ICE-CREAM GOD, John Powers

Can a book be "forgotten" if it was never really "remembered" in the first place?

Although most of the books I read are crime fiction, I enjoy a good book in just about any genre--science fiction, horror, mainstream, how-to-sneak-vegetables-into-your-kids'-meals. And every once in a while, I fall hard for a good coming-of-age novel. So I'll step out of my usual genre and talk about one of my favorite coming-of-agers, THE UNORIGINAL SINNER AND THE ICE-CREAM GOD, by John R. Powers.

I don't know where I found this book. Usually I'll pick a book based on a recommendation--from a friend, a relative, a guy on the bus, even a reviewer. Once in while, an intriguing cover will sway me. In this case, I suspect it was the unusual title. (Whenever I recommend this book to friends, I usually get a blank stare, followed by a "Huh?" when I repeat the title. Here, I'll just refer to it as SINNER.)

SINNER follows THE LAST CATHOLIC IN AMERICA and DO PATENT LEATHER SHOES REALLY REFLECT UP? in the Powers "trilogy." Both of those feature Eddie Ryan, boy Catholic, dealing with the obstacles a Catholic boy faces growing up in a colorful Chicago neighborhood. (You don't have to read the books in order. I devoured both after reading SINNER and enjoyed them, even though I'm not Catholic and I don't wear patent leather shoes).

SINNER tells the story of another Catholic Chicagoan, Tim Conroy, a student at commuter college Engrim University (a "paperback college: somewhat cheap, occasionally amusing, slightly educational, and totally disposable"). There he tries to make sense out of life, but winds up with more questions than answers--about friends, about God, about his purpose. Most of all, he struggles to make sense of his relationship with his girlfriend, Sarah.

In addition to a handful of quirky friends, Conroy keeps company with Caepan, a walking oracle who owns a gas station (natch). Caepan serves as Conroy's sounding board, dispensing often cryptic (and existential) advice to his young disciple. The way Powers adroitly describes his cast of characters leads you to believe you'd actually find friends like that in every neighborhood in America. He makes them human; moreover, he makes you care about them.

Bursting with humor, SINNER reads like a comedian's monologue, if the monologue had great characterization, spot-on description, and a plot--with an underlying tender spot. Powers heaps one wry observation upon another:

"In sixth grade, I read in a magazine that the chances of a kid eventually making it to the major leagues were one in ten thousand. At that age, I weighed less than the wind, had the complexion of a bedsheet, and possessed eyes that looked like they lived at the end of a tunnel. I wondered what the other 9,999 were going to do for a living."

To top it all off, I never anticipated the gnarly twist at the end of the book.

If you like 'em funny and if you like 'em poignant (and especially if you like 'em funny and poignant), give THE UNORIGINAL SINNER AND THE ICE-CREAM GOD a whirl. I think you'll be glad you did.

Ed Gorman is the author of the soon-to-be released, THE MIDNIGHT ROOM (Leisure)
THE KIDNAPPER and THE WILL TO KILL, Robert Bloch

"This is a thread that runs through all of my mystery/suspense fiction," Bloch has pointed out. "The terrible inability to understand the irrational behavior of certain human beings, what is it that impels that sometime senseless sadistic cruelty, and I tried to familiarize myself with it because I can recognize that, deep down within, there are certain of those aspects within myself which I probably manage to exorcise by way of the typewriter."
--Robert Bloch

Last night and this afternoon I read The Will To Kill by Robert Bloch. When you pair this one with his novel The Kidnapper you discover that in his own quiet way Bloch was writing horrorific noir fiction way back in the mid-Fifties, the same kind of fiction so much in vogue today. While I've seen both novels compared to Jim Thompson and Cornell Woolrich, Bloch told me once that he'd never read Thompson, though he readily acknowledged the Woolrich influence. But these two short books are unique in voice and storyline and are, in some respects, two sides of the same story--the man who fears he's a killer and the man who revels in being a killer. They're both claustrophobic as hell. You're completely inside the mind of the man narrating the stories. The Kidnapper should be easy to find. It was reprinted in the late eighties by Tor. Will is hard to come by but well worth the search.

Patti Abbott
The Clue: ARMCHAIR DETECTIVE: Can You Solve the Mysteries of the Tudor Close? (Lawrence Treat and George Hardie. (No cover allows downloading so imagine it)

I wonder where this little paperback came from. I found it cleaning out my attic. It's a graphic approach to the story-telling. Detectives/Suspects from the board game CLUE solve a number of mysteries. It dates from 1983. I'm guessing this was Megan's but my son also loved what were called mysteries at the time. Still does. Maybe Todd will enlighten us on its history.

Stephanie Padilla is Editor-New Mystery Reader
www.newmysteryreader.com

Resolution by Denise Mina

Maureen O’Donnell returns in Mina’s third outing featuring this most
appealing of characters.  Maureen has hit hard times having spent most of an
inheritance, and now finds herself selling smuggled cigarettes to pay
back-taxes.  When one of her fellow stallholders dies a suspicious death,
Maureen can’t help but become involved.  All the while she must also deal
with her father’s return, and the birth of a new baby girl into her family.
Fearing her father will repeat his sexually abusive behavior, Maureen
teeters on decisions that could forever changer her life.
With more than enough surprises and twists, this literary achievement will
delight the most hardened mystery fan.  But the true value comes from
Maureen herself.  She is perhaps one of the most finely rendered and
sympathetic characters in mystery fiction.  And although you might not
always agree with her methods, you will certainly appreciate her
motivations.  Having never been to Glasgow, I feel I know it well as seen
through Mina’s eyes.  Her Glasgow is a dark city, along with its
inhabitants, yet both exposing brilliant flashes of beauty that touches
deeply.  And though some readers who have not read the first two in this
trilogy may find themselves a little lost at times, don’t let this stop you.
Quite the opposite, let it motivate you to go out and get the first two and
read them as quickly as you can, you won’t be sorry.

George Kelley
Bill Crider
James Reasoner
Martin Edwards
Cullen Gallagher
Scott Parker
Kerrie Smith
Jenn Jilks
Michael Walters
J. Kingston Pierce
Randy Johnson
Eric Peterson
Paul Bishop
Michael Carlson
Todd Mason
Ray Foster

WALLENDER/PBS Masterpiece Mystery

Preston Sturges reading.

Two things are bothering me about this much ballyhooed series.

First off, the British, great actors thought the are, make little attempt to make this series seem Swedish. It's one thing to stick to their regular accents (as they always do even when playing Nazis). But couldn't they at least refrain from using British colloquialisms and dressing and looking like Brits. It takes me right out of the setting when they say "brilliant" or any number of other British phrases. They may think their culture is interchangeable with whatever one their production is set in, but it is not.

Second. I thought FIREWALL, the second in the series was fairly ludicrous. Midway through what seems like domestic murders, it turns into an international thriller. And the pace doesn't work well despite the high-speed driving. I think a plot like this needs to announce itself before 2/3 through. And we never quite learn how these three people are seduced, sufficiently enough to go along with what they do, by a man we never see until the last two scenes. How alienated do you have to be to fall for his plot.

What I do like is the angst-ridden police detective and the scenes with his daughter. And I do like the Swedish setting. I am glad they sprung for that. What do you think?

For The Older Ones Among Us

Again, thanks to Keith. And again, no embedding.

Sigur Ros

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EyI4p0yjDQ&feature=related

Now I'll stop wasting your time. Good night.

Arcade Fire: MY BODY IS A CAVE

Thanks to Keith Rawson for sending me this way.
This is for my western fans, who I assume know the ending to ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST. If not, you might want to pass this up.

It's fighting the embedding process, so you'll have to click.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pyp34v6Lmcc

Learning from Literary Flash

Sissy Spacek reading.

Last Thursday I went to a Wayne State University Press spring gala for their fiction and poetry books. I was especially interested in hearing Michael Zadoorian read from his volume of short stories (The Lost Tiki Palaces of Detroit), and in saying a few words and getting a book signed by poet, Keith Taylor (If the World Becomes So Bright).

Megan took a few classes with Keith Taylor at the University of Michigan and she's always claimed he taught her whatever she knows about writing. He got a kick out of Megan's mother tracking him down. First time, he'd met a student's parent, I think.

However the point I am coming to today is I've been reading TIKI PALACES, a much darker book than Zadoorian's recent novel, THE LEISURE SEEKER, which I loved and featured on here a few months back.

Two things jumped out at me. You can be darker in stories than novels. It is not so hard to read a 10 page story about a depressed, psychotic or solitary person. Try keeping that up for 300 pages.

The other suprise was a flash piece (I don't know if he'd called it that, but it's just two pages "East Side") about a man standing in front of a wig shop and imposing his image under various wigs in the window and the crowd that gathers and begins to do the same. No surprise ending here. No twist. We don't know anything else about the man. We don't know if wigs have any special meaning for him. We don't need to. The temptation for many writers would be to take himhome where his sick mother is in bed, making it a cancer story.

But that doesn't happen. It's a snapshot of a moment in time and it has all the tension a story needs. I don't think I can pull this off for the Cake idea but I'm going to try it this summer. Do you ever read flash fiction that is not crime-oriented? For all the raps a flash fiction piece takes, it can slam you right into a wall before you know it. And sometimes it is just the writing or insight that does it.

MP3

Don't remember who this is reading. Help me out.







Finally broke down and purchased an MP3. Before my husband fills it with Bach and Haydn, what should I download? I like Feist, Theolonius Monk, Dave Brubeck, Leonard Cohen, Tom Watts, Jo Stafford, Shelby Lynne, Lucinda Williams, Keren Allan, Niko Case, Johnny Cash, the Wainwrights. I'm pretty open to anything new.

What's out there? I don't know what I'm doing either.

Flash Fiction

Harvey Keitel reading.









Another post on flash since it's causing me some chagrin right now.
Last week, Sandra Seamans had some advice from various sources on her blog about writing flash fiction. One piece of advice that I usually adhere to is the twist ending. I wonder why this seems important to me in flash. Do I feel that the short length demands a greater payoff?
Does it need an ironic close? What do you think? Do your flash stories end with a kick in the teeth?

FLASH FICTION-FIRST TRY, FIRST FAILURE

Dolly reading.







Put a wedding cake in my sight and I become all girly. I wanted to illustrate just how hard flash fiction can be by putting up my first try. I have completely discarded this piece-especially the ending. Even my husband who usually likes what I write went, "Huh?"
And it may turn out that my wedding cake will merely be something caught in a blink of the eye. You can't trust me to get closer to wedding paraphernalia. Obviously.

Here it is: tell me where I went wrong.

THE WEDDING CAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD


The 459 skidded on a patch of black ice that day, and although she was somewhat preoccupied with a book, Lena glanced up in time to see a small cake sitting in the middle of the road. Its improbable location made her giggle—just loud enough to disturb the drowsing passengers. She tilted her head toward the road, but by now the cake was no more than a pale glimmer in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, you missed it,” she said. “Pity.” The heads around her bobbed in unison as the bus moved bumpily toward town.

Later, at her workspace: fifth row, fourth desk, she thought about it—who’d put a cake in the middle of a country road? And why no box to protect it? It’d be ruined it in no time. On the way home, the road was empty of things other than imploded tires, Big-Gulp cups, and discarded shoes. She remembered the spot perfectly though: a stretch of birch trees stood across from it, a well-tended farm lay just ahead.

Two days later, the cake was there again, and it had grown. It was now a two-layer cake with the same silky white frosting. A trail of pink roses circled it. It rested on a pale blue plate. A birthday cake perhaps? A surprise for a child on the way to school? Again, no one else seemed to see it. Was the cake meant for her alone?

The cake was three-layers next. A pale green vine etched the pastry. A layer of thick cream topped it. She didn’t really want to share it, but her finger darted out before she could stop it. A schoolboy looked up, followed her finger, and made a face. His finger circled his head. Daft. Maybe she was daft.

Pillars held the three layers up soon. The cake was quite tall now and she wondered how the bus driver managed to miss it. The blue plate had been replaced by a silver tray. It was raining but the cake seemed impervious to the damp. It merely glistened a bit more than usual. The woman next to her gave a start, and for a minute, Lena thought someone else had the eyesight or attention or imagination necessary to see it. But the woman sneezed instead. “Bless you,” Lena said.

A groom stood atop the cake the next day. Lena strained to see him. He was very handsome and wore the traditional attire but seemed lonely. He held out a hand as if waiting for a bride to join him. She rubbed her eyes but he was still there. Waiting.

On Saturday, Lena went shopping in town. The bridal shop was only a few doors from the shoe repair store so she stopped in. She tried hard to imagine what his bride might wear but there was nothing suitable. It was all too modern.

Her last stop was at the Thrift Store. She had a bundle of her mother’s clothes to donate. It was there she saw the dress—in a section at the very back of the store. The sign over the rack said, “This is just what you’ve been looking for.” And it was. The dress was in perfect condition because, of course, it had only been worn once. She tried in on; it fit perfectly. The price tag was missing and the clerk let it go for a song. “I hope your day is as special as your dress,” the woman told her. She didn’t correct her. She didn’t know what the dress was for. What the day was.

It seemed odd to wear her dress on the bus. She covered it with a coat despite the warmth. She rang the bell as they approached the birches and the well-kept farm. “Here?” the bus driver yelled. “You want me to let you off here?”

“If you don’t mind,” Lena said, walking down the aisle. Nobody noticed either her dress or the heels she wore on her feet. Not the gloves, not the flowers she’d tucked into her bag. Nor her. No one ever had.

“Sure you got the right spot,” the driver said again. “There’s nothing here but an old farm.”

“It’s the right place for me,” she told him, feeling surer of it all the time. As the bus drove off, she worried for a moment that the cake wouldn’t be there. But when the fumes cleared, she saw it. It had a canopy now, and small birds perched upon it. As she neared the cake, she saw the groom was still there. In his black tux with a red rose in his lapel.

“I’ve been waiting,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it and climbed up the layers very carefully, taking her place beside him. “The dress is perfect,” he said. “You are perfect.” She smiled. The two of them looked out into the growing dark.

SEX, THUGS, AND ROCK AND ROLL

Todd Robinson's second anthology (Sex, Thugs & Rock & Roll) comes out today and I am fortunate enough to have a story in it.

Give Todd and Thuglit some love if you have any jingle left in your pocket. He sure has worked hard at producing a fine zine and two rockin' anthologies.

With an intro penned by Sarah Weinman, followed by a love letter from Big Daddy Thug, the collection includes stories from the broken keyboards of Patricia Abbott, Jonas Knutsson, Jedidiah Ayres, Justin Porter, Albert Tucher, Joe R. Landsdale, Scott Wolven, D.T. Kelly, Marcus Sakey, Steven M. Messner, Hugh Lessig, Lyman Feero, Gary Carson, Matthew Baldwin and Jason Starr.

A Introduction to Evil

Mia reading.











Did this ever happen to you? Did you ever witness the actions of someone who was almost positively a criminal? Or even evil?

Sitting in Paneras. The fortyish man next to us, there with his mother, is all over the little girls at the table next to him. Their grandparents, as it turned out, are ordering food at the counter. He has slid his chair across the floor to be in touching distance. He is trying to attract their interest. Telling them how much he likes their dresses. His mother is unconcerned. She's sampling the freebies and telling a stranger about her arthritis. He is up and about now. Telling the returning grandparents how lovely the girls are. Moving too close to them. Sauntering up to other parents and their children.
I am repulsed. I know he is a pedophile. But what can I do? Can I report a man for being too interested in a four and six year old. Help me! Have you ever come this close to something like this? I can't even write about this incident. I need to bury it.

The Summing Up, Friday, May 15, 2009

People reading.











THE SUMMING UP, FRIDAY, MAY 15, 2009

Paul Bishop, Morgan's Assassin, John Whitlach
David Cranmer, The Way Some People Die, Ross McDonald
Bill Crider, The Child Killer, Edson & Hamill
Martin Edwards, Testkill, Tex Dexter
Ray Foster, Gun Feud, Frank Arnside
Cullen Gallagher, Pick-up, Charles Willeford
Ed Gorman, The Corkscrew, Dashiell Hammetet
Andy Henion, God is a Bullet, Boston Teran
George Kelley, Deep Secret and The Merlin Conspiracy, Diana Wynne Jones
Kathryn Magendie, The Book of Fred, Abby Bardi
Todd Mason, Blood Runs Cold, Robert Bloch
Eric Peterson, King Suckerman, George Pelecanos
Andi Shechter, I See By My Outfit, Peter S. Beagle
Kieran Shea, Beaituful Losers, Leonard Cohen
Kerrie Smith, From Doon to Death, Ruth Rendell
Michael Solender, One Nation Under Blog, David Wallace