Great Psychobilly Blog Road Trip of 2008: Day 6, Part 1

I took a bus all the way from Ann Arbor to Detroit to meet up with the Hummer-sine but get there just in time to see it speed away , leaving me in the dust. Part of me wants to stand in the road and scream bitter curses at them. Another part wants to lob grenades at them.

Part of me needs to pee.

But I’m not letting them get away that easy so I run like hell and almost catch up to them. All I have to do is jump just a little…

Last stop: Patrick Shawn Bagley’s Maine Crime Writer Blog

Heading back to Michigan, I notice Ray Banks (still outside on the running board) kicking viciously at something that’s attached itself to our rear bumper. I pull off and get out to find it’s not a something but a someone, hanging on for dear life by his fingernails. Bryon Quertermous lifts his scraped face as Ray continues to kick at his bloodied, pulpy knuckles, and says, “I brought some beef jerky.” Apparently, he chased after us in Detroit and has been holding on Terminator-style ever since. Well, welcome to the Hummer-sine.

Bryon’s the head cheese over at Demolition, one of the hot gathering places on the web for noir fiction. Before tackling that, he’d already started hitting the word processor hard, pounding out a variety of short stories that found homes all across the crime fiction zines–but not at Plots with Guns. Not at first. Don’t ask me to explain. But look at Bryon’s year: getting a reprint in the Thuglit anthology Hardcore Hardboiled, and a spot of honor in The Year’s Finest Crime and Mystery Stories. That’s serious street cred. And then, finally, his story “The Hemingway Stripper” arrived in the PWG submission stack, and it got to me. What a strong, weird, and beautiful piece of work with an ending image that’s unforgettable, and you’ll get to read it later this month when we post the next issue. There’s this heartbreaking revelation from our protagonist: “The thing with fire began innocently enough with fireflies. Elske was six and her dad spent one glorious summer day with her chasing fireflies. A few years later he tried to recreate the magic. Drunk from a full night of drinking during her birthday party and shot down by all of her friends’ moms, he came into her room and played with her and touched her and gently put a small, lit, birthday candle inside her so she could be a fun firefly.” Makes you want to cry, doesn’t it?

Now the man wants to write novels. He’s done it once with Lunchbox Hero, but the next one’s eluded him so far. It’ll come, though. It’ll come. In the meantime, he’s blogging about this whole bloody writing gig, also chronicling his new life as a husband and soon-to-be father (congrats on that. Enjoy those sleepless nights ahead).

I remember those days. Short stories? Easy. Had that figured out. A novel? Shit, that was like going from “making out” to doggystyle without some porn to help you figure out what to do. But like so many other things, I learned by doing. My first novel attempt was a disaster. I had most of it written longhand in a notebook. I tore that notebook to shreds in a fit of frustration once. Then came another book, a better attempt–half crime novel, half “coming of age” story. Not bad, but no one wanted it. After that, Psychosomatic. I’d learned some rhythm along the way, and it was coming more smoothly. Also, the seeds for Psy were in several short stories I published first, then built the rest around them. Then Drummer, published in 2006. Learning the paces, the highs, the lows, check. Then a sex-crazed P.I. novel that was an amazing failure (I love the book, but we just couldn’t find anyone brave enough to take it. Almost, but not quite…). And now, Yellow Medicine. That’s where you come in. Psychobilly Monday, May 12. You know what to do.

They get Bryon’s cuts cleaned up and his skint knees bandaged, and he’s got a Schlitz in each hand, legs bouncy. “So where to, huh? Where’s the party?” The party is here, sir. It’s a mobile party. And we’ve got plenty of other stops. Next up is author William Boyle, currently residing at The Narrow Margin, and quite possibly (as the title of his recent PWG story attests) “Far From God“.

Driving time: As long as we get there before happy hour.

Tune for the leg: “Waddlin’ Around” by The King Khan & BBQ Show

Get Your Kicks and Such

I want to drive across the country. It’s one of my big dream trips and I know it’s something my dad wants to do too. Becky I’m sure would be up for it as well once she’s not carrying my demon spawn inside her. For a while I thought the way I wanted to do it was to go from MI down to Arizona where my aunt and uncle live and then up to Las Vegas and then on to Los Angeles. The MapQuest directions take a very boring, direct route across the country through a whole lot of boring states.

But lately I’ve been itching to do the Route 66 path from Chicago to LA. The Nevada and California parts of it are the most appealing to me from what I’ve been able to learn so far. All of this was fueled once again this morning when there was a story on NPR about three guys who are driving to every one of the 48 continental US states in five days. That doesn’t sound like any fun to me.

I’m getting older and more and more responsibility is coming into my life, but I still hold out faith this is something I can do one day. Maybe I’ll end up doing it with my wife and kids at some point, but that doesn’t sound too appealing from I sit now.

I’m also writing on a new book, something fun and new and different and featuring a writer. Yay.

Write What (or who) You Know

I did a few house things over the weekend that made me feel all masculine. I finished sanding down the drywall in the master bedroom and only took a few minor chunks out of the wall. Then I painted over what I sanded and put a first coat of paint on all of the closet doors (and only forgot to paint the inside of one set). After that, we went to Home Depot to pick out carpet. We selected a nice cushy carpet on the beige side for the bedrooms and a nice, tough, animal resistant Berber for the family room. Everything else will be wood floors. Yay for wood. Everything is coming together suspiciously well and we should be able to move in within the next three weeks. That’s perfect timing to cut my commute by ¾ as gas prices rise faster than an overcooked pizza.

I also completed a new short story that I’m very happy with. I wrote one draft and sent it around to a few people and then based on suggestions added a few new scenes and took a final pass then submitted it. Now we wait. And now I’m back to where I was a little while ago, eager to work on a novel, with no idea what to write. I was at Borders Saturday looking to see if the Ed Gorman anthology I’m in has hit the shelves yet (it’s not scheduled to release until May 15 but I’m very impatient) and I was looking at all of the new releases trying to get a feel for where my effort should go. And it hit me: I was writing the kind of book I like to read, but not necessarily the one that only I could write.

Up until now, all of the novels I’ve written have featured PIs or some variation thereof. Not a total surprise considering I love PI novels. But as I look to my short stories, the three PI stories I’ve written are among my weakest. Coincidence? And what was really striking to me in all of my Meta goodness is that none of my books have ever featured a writer as the main character. I LOVE books about writers and writing. I’ve read really weak books and seen horrid movies just because they feature writers. I’ve picked up some literary novels I may have never read otherwise just because they had a writer as a main character. And yet I’ve never written one myself.

So maybe it’s time. I’ve got an idea, based on one of my more popular short stories, and I guess we’ll see what happens with it.

Bitter Soap

I’m not bitter, I swear. A little jealous maybe. But what’s new?

The StorySouth Million Writers Award notable stories were announced today and I’m not on the list. This is the second year I’ve submitted stories I thought were worthy and the second year I’ve been passed over. Sure I’m happy for crime friends like Daniel Hatadi, Neil Smith and Scott Wolven among others, but not as happy as I’d be if I was among them. That hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm for the short story I’m working on currently though. I always get a sense of joy and accomplishment with short stories that I never get with novels.

Becky and I feuded last night over laundry. Despite what people might think about men and laundry, I actually enjoy doing laundry. Well, I enjoy doing MY laundry. Women’s clothes frighten me. They take so much more work and thought in the laundry than men’s clothes. It doesn’t help that our washer and dryer are ancient and require more care and planning than a shuttle launch and are in the dankest, nastiest part of the basement.

So I usually get ambitious and start laundry, but it ends up sitting in the washer or the dryer for a while and doesn’t ever quite make it upstairs. This annoys her and she wanted to just do the laundry herself. But a pregnant woman shouldn’t be going up and down stairs carrying heavy baskets so I did it anyway. Well, I got it started. She still brought it up when it was done because I forgot.

I can’t wait for our new house. We’ll have a brand new washer and dryer on the first floor right next to our bedroom. I’ll be better about laundry I’m sure. Really.

Weekend Update

I had a decent weekend. Slept in on Sunday and felt rested for the first time in a long time. Saturday was a birthday party for my dad who is very, very old (60) and very, very cool. Friday night Becky and I went to see the new Harold and Kumar movie with her 21-year-old sister and her boyfriend. That was fun and I liked the second movie better than the first. Sunday I spent some time sanding down the walls in our new house where there are all sorts of weird lumps and splotches on the dry wall. At night Becky and I went to see FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL. Great movie and Kristen Bell is hot.

Becky is always an interesting case to me when we go to see movies. You know me, my emotions are all over the place. I LOVE movies or I DESPISE movies and I’m eager to tell people why either way. Becky never likes anything. She’ll laugh through the whole movie and when I ask her if she liked it she’ll say “not really” or something like that. I know I shouldn’t tie my enjoyment of a movie to hers but it still bugs me sometimes. On the other hand, when there is a movie she really likes, like JUNO, it seems more special.

And I don’t care who thinks I’m a dork, I can’t WAIT to see WALL-E the new Pixar movie.

I also made some minor headway with a short story I’m working on. I have this wonderful ambitious idea and until recently no freaking clue how to pull it off. Now I have a clue…sort of.

Mini Me and Such

Today is Take Your Little Monster to Work Day and I’ve been thinking about my kid on the way. I know it may sound selfish, but I want him to be a writer. It’s probably mean to wish this sort of staggering insanity on anyone, but I look at Stephen King and the Kellermans and think that’s sooo cool. Even when Duane or Greg posts about the stories their kids write I get a little excited thinking I might be able to experience that one day.

But I’ll probably end up with a baseball player or wrestler or something and that would be cool too I guess…

The kid already has more clothes than most people I know including his first Detroit Lions jersey (I REALLY hope they don’t trade Roy Williams making at least 2 jerseys in our house useless) and his first U of M outfit. His room at the new house is coming along nicely and will soon have carpet and dinosaur decorations. Raaaaarrrrr. I also think we narrowed the name down to Matthew. You’ve got your Scudder PI reference and your Biblical reference. What more could you ask for?

Nice weekend, hun

I had a great weekend. It was refreshing, inspiring, and encouraging. I’d love to just give a point-by-point rundown of everything that happened but I suspect that would get boring pretty quickly so here are the basics:

Love Baltimore. If I wasn’t married I’d probably drop everything and move there at the first opportunity.

Got to see Laura read at the Pratt Free Library. She was good, but in general I hate it when authors read a lot from their work. The panel picked up and was very entertaining when they started answering questions from the moderator and the audience.

Ate at Hooters and Hard Rock Café. Inner Harbor not as cheesy and touristy as I would have imagined.

Got to hang with Dave White. He like Becky. Becky likes him. But not in that way. Yay.

Got a little bit of writing done.

Camden Yards is cool but I have no business wearing baseball hats anymore. Dave got a seat in a different section but we were able to sit together easily enough. It didn’t rain until the seventh inning Yay.

Laura Lippman and her family are the coolest people ever.

A cautious revival

The last few days have been pretty good writing-wise. I’ve written a few new paragraphs as I’ve restructered what I thought was salvagable and felt good about what I had. And then last night I wrote the first new chapter in many months and upon rereading it this morning I don’t hate it. That’s about all I can ask for these days. And more importantly, I have a clear idea of where I need to go with this book. Yay me.

I’ll get a nice creative boost this weekend as well. Becky and I will be dropping in for a quick trip to Baltimore to see Laura Lippman at the CityLit Festival. I wanted Becky to have a chance to meet Laura and believe it or not, it’s cheaper to fly to Baltimore from Detroit than to Chicago or Minneapolis (the closest to Michigan Laura got this year). We’ll also be hooking up with Dave White for some fun and the town and an Oriole’s baseball game on Sunday.

Dave has an interesting nickname around our house: Master Dave. When Becky and I were addressing all of our wedding invitations we were watching some Beavis and Butthead episodes on DVD. One of the episodes was the one with David Spade as a manners expert who keeps referring to Beavis and Master Beavis. Well, the next invitation up after hearing that was Dave’s so we addressed it to Master Dave White. Since then, every time I mention Dave Becky calls him Master Dave.

It’s kind of fuzzy

I can’t focus on anything these days to save my life. Not that I was ever particularly adept at maintaining balance and focus in my life. But when I had a small life with little responsibility it was easy to compensate. These days my life includes so many people and so many activities and my brain is exhausted. I don’t as well as I should. I don’t exercise as well as I should. And I don’t shower my wife with affection and attention like I should. I think this also might be one of the root problems I’m having with my writing lately. And then there are the neglected friends, the neglegcted family, and the pile of unaddressed wedding thank you notes that still need to go out.

So what to do about it all? Normally I find writing lists and keeping notes helps, but then I lose the lists and notes. Part of me feels like that guy in MEMENTO who needs to keep pictures and sticky notes on everything. If I could narrow it down to one major reason I think I would pick a lack of energy as the source of my troubles. It would be so much easier if I was all peppy and zip full of energy all day but that ain’t ever going to happen. And it’s going to all go to hell once the baby comes along, so I need to get it under control now.

Exercise and diet seem obvious choices to help this, but its’ not as easy to fix as you might think. Every minute I’m out jogging or walking with the dog is time I’m not at home with my wife, or writing. And cooking takes time and energy, and then on the weekends we’re working at the house or running around town and good nutrition suffers.

So I’m opening this up for suggestions. How do I get my head screwed on straight these days?

With an S like the poet

I’ll have pictures up later, but Becky and I found out the sex of the baby yesterday. It has 11 fingers, if you know what I mean. That either means we’re having a boy or one of those babies that will be on DATELINE ten years from now.

But now the real adventure begins. I want to name the baby Spenser. I always have, even when I didn’t really think about having kids. But Becky isn’t really sold on it. She thinks it’s better than Holden, which was my other choice, but that’s like saying gassing is a better way to die than firing squad. So how do I get her to go for it?

Help here.