The rights to one of my short works, the novelette, The Reincarnation of Lou Gehrig, previous published by Annie Acorn Publishing, have recently reverted to yours truly. Instead of re-issuing it as a stand-alone work, I’ve decided to combine it with two novellas I’ve written. One of the novellas is a work I’ve had sitting on the shelf for more than a year, entitled The Mystery of Ambrose Pouter; the other is brand new, Down The Cape. Both of them, like Reincarnation, are nostalgic, semi-autobiographical stories based on events that actually happened to me or kids I knew ‘way back in the ’50s and ’60s. To be truthful, Down The Cape reaches even further back, in part, but I have everything in it on good authority. Of course, I tweak these tales a little so that they make sense and come to a point, but less than you’d think.
I’m going to call this proposed collection either A Baker’s Dozen, with some kind of zingy sub-title, or The Reincarnation of Lou Gehrig and Other Stories. Catchy, huh?
Whichever, I’m going to use the same cover I did for Reincarnation. After all, a penny saved is a penny earned. I’ll pay myself the extra money and pad the thing with a few shorter stories I’m writing. Maybe the one I’m working on right now, Tempest In A Teapot, about an author who must face a revolt by his own characters.
Eh, on second thought, no, it won’t fit. But some other things will. The collection will be out by summer.
In the meantime, I’ve prepared another video, in which I read a ninth excerpt from Mr. Lake: The A-1. I hope you like it.
I’ve posted a new YouTube video, my first in several months. It’s me, reading another excerpt, the eighth, from my Arthurian coming-of-age fantasy-dramedy, Mr. Lake. In this excerpt, their “frenemy,” Larry Tucci, tries to recruit our hero, Joe Marino, and his faithful if reluctant companion and best friend, Billy Harwell, into an endeavor that smells of skullduggery. Larry tries to convince the boys that Mr. Lake himself has asked Larry to break into Lake’s house and steal some ill-defined personal items, which Larry calls Lake’s “things.” Lake, according to Larry, fears that a local gang of toughs, the River Rats, wants the “things” and is keeping Lake under observation. He allegedly fears to go home himself.
Joe doesn’t buy Larry’s story. Billy shows unusual spunk in daring to question Larry, which leads to a degree of vein bulging and eye bugging.
I sometimes think I should have subtitled Mr. Lake, maybe “An Arthurian Fantasy Set in 1960s Suburbia.” But no, it struck me as too long and more of advertising copy than title. Alas, in the words of Pontius Pilate, “What I have written, I have written.”
Mr. Lake is available in Kindle eBook and paperback formats on its Amazon bookpage. Please hop over there and try out the “Look Inside” feature for a sample. I think you’ll like it.
Mr. Lake, my latest novel, is now live on Amazon. As of this writing, it’s only available as a Kindle eBook, but the paperback should be available within the week, so check back soon.
What’s Mr. Lake about? It’s an Arthurian fantasy (that is, “Arthurian” in the sense of Knights of the Round Table), set in the imagination of a grade school boy living in the 1960s. He bears something of a resemblance to myself, but that could be only in my imagination. There’s a sword, some sorcery, a witch, a wannabe motorcycle gang, a brick, a buttinski school principal, voodoo, a modicum of violence, a boy and his dog, a best friend, and a special guest appearance by a vintage Volkswagen, but I don’t think it’s a spoiler to admit that King Arthur himself does not appear.
Writing Mr. Lake made me come to grips with a few things, including mortality and change. Listen to me talk about them here.
I’ve got to get back to writing. I’ve got a couple of new stories I want to work on, one of which I’ll post here within a day or two. Also, I’ll be heading into a deep edit of the completed first draft of my latest Snarkey & Putts paranormal lawyers adventure, The Case of the Unchained Immigrant, but more on that later.
My Snarkey & Putts werewolf tale, The Case of the Canine’s Curse, has been available on Amazon for a while now. It’s the most intricately plotted of all my S&P stories so far, taking my paranormal attorneys to a whole new level of wicked, nail-biting fun. I’ve finally gotten around to doing some video readings. The characters bring out the ham in me, so much so that one of my Twitter pals remarked that I gave “a pretty heated performance.”
I’ve been neglecting this blog. I know… I know… I’ll try to be more consistent. I really will try, but you’ll just have to live with me as I am.
Anyway, I’ve posted two new free stories since I last blogged: Friendship, a tale about my Dad, his friends and food, and Raiders of the Lost Docs, based on a real incident in my life as a litigator. For some reason, I can’t insert links today. While I’m figuring out the problem, you can use the scroll-down menus to find the stories.
My big news this week is that Snarkey & Putts, Paranormal Attorneys-at-Law II: The Case of the Ghastly Ghostwriter is now live and available for purchase as an Amazon Kindle ebook. Only 99 cents for a limited time. Follow Jack Snarkey and Andrew Putts as they counsel a club of amateur cozy mystery writers on how to deal with copyright infringement from beyond the grave. Buy the book now here, read it and, if you’re feeling specially generous, review it.
I’ve been posting a series of S&P2 excerpts on my YouTube Channel. Here’s the latest one I recorded and posted earlier today.
Not exactly a flattering image, is it? Sometimes, reading my own stuff out loud, I get carried away.
Other news: I’ll be posting a new vignette under Family Stories shortly. It’s derived from my Work In Progress, Mr. Lake, and it’s tells the story about how I acquired my first dog.
Just to round out this post, here’s another video excerpt, this time the seventh in my S&P1: The Case of the Undead Arbitrator series. It’s very short. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.
This post will be short, I mean, succinct. I was overlong with yesterday’s post, so I’ll get right to the point. Here’s a video of me reading the sixth excerpt from the Snarkey & Putts origin story, The Case of the Undead Arbitrator.
You can purchase the Undead Arbitrator Kindle ebook here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N7GLDZB/ . I’ll have a paperback edition available within the next couple of weeks, so if paperback’s your preference, keep watching.
At the moment, I’m taking a break from writing my Snarkey & Putts: Paranormal Attorneys-at-Law series. I’ll be publishing the ebook edition of the second story (the first full-length novel in the series), The Case of the Ghastly Ghostwriter, later this week on Amazon. A paperback edition will follow once I figure out how I messed up the ISBN.
The third story, another full-length novel, The Case of the Canine’s Curse, is written and out to beta readers. I’m happy with the way it turned out and, IMHO, it’s the best of the three. As good as it is, you really should read the other two first. Each story is independent, but characters and plot elements carry over, so they are best appreciated when read in order.
A fourth Snarkey & Putts story is in my head, but I’m going to let it percolate there for a while. As I’ve remarked in a previous post, I currently plan it as an omage to one of my favorite old TV series.
In the meantime, as a mentor of mine once said, “To rest, it is sufficient to do something different.” The different thing I’m doing at the moment is writing a novel entitled, Mr. Lake. Other than saying that it’s a fantasy woven out of impressions and experiences of my childhood, I’m not going to tell you anything about Mr. Lake or the story. But I want to share an excerpt of something I’ve written today.
I’m certain this happens to all of us authors, but I’m always amazed when it happens to me. Sometimes, I’ll be writing and some wholly unanticipated bit of business will flow from my fingers onto the page. I didn’t plan it, it doesn’t fit into my preconceptions, but it does, unexpectedly, develop the character and, with some nipping here and tucking there, advance the plot.
This experience is not the same as what happens when you go off on a tangent and write something you like, but end up editing it out because it misdirects the reader or slows the story down or isn’t true to the characters. Tangents result from a momentary conceit, a lack of discipline or, as we say at law, a frolic. What I’m talking about is a passage that fits better than what you had intended to write. I believe it’s the result of a writer’s tapping into his subconscious, the place where I suspect all stories come from.
There’s no sense in dragging this out. Without further ado, here’s today’s excerpt from Chapter 8 of Mr. Lake, in which our grade-school narrator, Joe, expostulates on topics ranging from comic books to Naziism, never wandering far from his bete noire and classmate, Larry:
My favorite comic book is “The Flash.” I think Flash has got it all over Superman. Not that I don’t like Superman, but he’s got a power for everything. Flash has only got one power: super-speed. You’d think that’d be boring, but Flash uses it in a million different ways.
For example, if Superman wants to go through a wall, he goes through it. Flash has got to figure out how to go through it. Sometimes, he vibrates all his molecules so fast that he vibrates right around the molecules in the wall and sort of slides right through them. Sometimes, he shakes his arms back and forth, compresses all the air molecules into a pile-driver and punches his way through the wall. Other times, he gets going so fast, he breaks the time barrier and runs back to before they built the wall; then he goes through it ’cause it’s not even there yet.
I figure it’s because Flash, in his secret identity, is a scientist. He’s always thinking. Superman is a newspaper reporter. They ask a lot of questions, but don’t think as much.
I mention this because, one night, a few weeks later, I was lying on my bed after supper, reading an issue of The Flash. At the end of the story, Flash captured Super-gorilla Grodd by holding him up in the air in an “impenetrable tornado” he made by whirling one arm around like a propeller at super-speed. It made me think of Larry because he’s big and about as ugly as a gorilla and he’s sort of up in the air, too. By that, I mean he gets himself belted around by the River Rats to the point where he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
If Larry were less like Grodd and more like Flash, he could get out of this mess with the Brick and the Rats. But Larry’s no scientist. He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking. If he did, he’d be better off.
But, why should I care? I don’t even like the guy. I don’t even know why I was thinking about him, other than he looked like a gorilla.
That’s what I was thinking when Moe came in and sat on his bed across from me.
I held out my Flash book. “Here, Moe. I’m done. You want it?”
“I don’t want to read that junk. And don’t call me ‘Moe.’”
This was a sore spot. Moe got stuck with Mom’s father’s name, Maurizio; “Moe” for short. In an Italian family, when you get stuck with something, we call it “Tradition.” I was the first-born brother, so I got Dad’s father’s name, Joseph; “Joe” for short. For that reason and more others than I can count, I am a great believer in Tradition. “What do you mean, ‘Don’t call you, ‘Moe’? What am I supposed to call you?”
“Call me, ‘Maury.’”
“‘Maury’?!” I sat up and swung around to face him. “Why would I call you ‘Maury’? Then we won’t be ‘Joe and Moe’ anymore. What’s wrong with ‘Moe’?”
“‘Moe’ makes people think I’m Jewish.”
“Hanging around with Steve Todriss makes people think you’re Jewish.”
Moe thought about it for a few seconds. Then he came to a decision and shook his head. “No, I can’t stop hanging around with Steve.”
“First off, he’s my friend and, second off, he’s got the only basketball hoop in the neighborhood. I’ve got to practice.”
I didn’t want to bust his bubble. He was still just a kid. He didn’t realize yet that no Marino was going to grow tall enough to be a basketball player. “There’s a basketball hoop in the schoolyard,” I suggested.
“In the schoolyard? You want me to walk all the way down there?”
“I don’t care if you walk all the way to China, so long as you’re ‘Moe.’ I threw myself back on my pillow and picked up the latest Green Lantern comic from the nightstand. “I’m not calling you ‘Maury.’ Your name’s ‘Moe’ and ‘Moe’ it stays.” I opened the Green Lantern in front of my face, just so he’d know the question was closed.
A few minutes went by with neither of us talking.
I heard Moe turn toward me. “Why do you bother reading comic books? You’re supposed to be smart.”
“I am smart.” I clued him in. “You can be smart and read comic books. That’s where I learn words like ‘impenetrable.’”
“You should read about history.”
I wasn’t giving up my comic books, so I told him, “You can read about history in comic books. I learned all about Julius Caesar in a Classics Illustrated.”
I heard him turn on his back. From behind my Green Lantern, I pictured him staring up at the ceiling. He asked me, “You know about Hitler?”
“I read up on him. I know about all those Nazi Krauts.”
“Did he really kill all those Jews?”
I turned a page. “Millions of them.”
“He killed people like Steve?”
“Millions of them,” I repeated.
“That’s scary. What was he? Some kind of monster?”
“He was worse,” I said, and this was where knowing some history came in. “You know the scariest thing about him? I’ll tell you.” I shut the Green Lantern and turned on my side to look Moe in the face. “Hitler had a German Shepherd dog. He named her ‘Blondi.’ That’s the scariest thing about him.”
Moe didn’t get it. “What’s so scary about that?”
“It’s the scariest thing of all. Imagine it. He gets a cute, little puppy. He’s gives it a name. He picks it up out of its box. He sits it on his lap. He pats it. He feeds it. He plays with it. He loves it the way you and me love Ginger. If that’s not scary, I don’t know what is.”
I think I saw a shiver go through Moe right about there. He turned over, away from me, rolled off the bed on the far side and walked out of the room. I didn’t hear a peep out of him for the rest of the night. I went back to reading my Green Lantern.
But I couldn’t focus on it. I kept thinking about Hitler, despite everything he did, always staying a little bit human, right up to the end. He had Blondi with him in the Bunker. He shot her himself so the Russians wouldn’t get her. I couldn’t help thinking, “What would make me shoot Ginger?”
It was the only toehold sympathy could get on the dirty Kraut Nazi but, like it or not, it was there. No matter how much you wanted to shut him up and file him away in a box labelled “Monster,” once you knew that one thing about his dog, for that one reason, you could see a human being peeking out of that box at you, and it wouldn’t go away.
In an oddball way, Larry was something like that with his broken hand. That hand – those bones broken into a million pieces – made a difference in how people thought about Larry. Sure, he was a loser and a bully like Hitler. But then, seeing his hand in a cast, seeing the pain in his face – even if he did ham it up a little – you started to think what it’d feel like to have all your bones cracked and smashed one-by-one with a hammer. You started to feel sorry for Larry, if for nothing but common humanity. You couldn’t help it. You put yourself in his place.
Even I felt sorry for him, and I knew it was his own stupid fault for hanging out with the Rats. But, with me, feeling sorry was as far as it went. With other people, it went further. They started thinking Larry had guts for putting up with his broken hand, like he had a choice, like he was some kind of hero. Before you know it, they’re signing his cast, carrying his books, helping him put on his sling. Even Miss Bazarian, she put up a sign-up sheet for “Larry’s Assistant,” like it was some sort of honor, like being “Window Boy” or “Cookie Girl.”
That’s it for now. Let me know what you think at email@example.com.
Although I’ve been on Twitter (@JoeEliseon) and Facebook and Google+ for several years and joined Instagram (I think) a couple of months ago, I’m not much of a social media type. Twitter is the only one I’m comfortable with.
FB leaves me cold. (I apologize to everyone who sent me birthday greetings last month – I only look at FB every six weeks or so and I missed them.) I hate the way FB constantly scrolls up when you move your cursor. I hate the multiple columns. They give your screen a crowded look. Moreover, I find the display non-intuitive. I can’t figure out where my groups are, or if I’m in a group.
G+ is simply a mystery to me. They reorganized it some time ago. I had gotten up to speed on it, then they changed everything around.
None of these “tools” are very good at enabling you to organize your own space, the way you would your own desk or workbench.
But that’s the least of it.
I don’t even want to talk about it. Here’s the fifth video in my Snarkey & Putts: Paranormal Attorneys-at-Law, The Case of the Undead Arbitrator series. Hope you enjoy it.