Seven Stones

A while back (I'm never good at recalling timelines), I ran into a writer named C.E.L. Welsh - when I say ran into, i mean, on twitter. Another writer (whose name I forget) said something like - hey, you guys should get to know each other. And a twitter-matchmaking was made. Tangentially - do people ever meet in twitter and get married? They must.

Chris (C.E.L. on twitter) and I are both married to our lovelies, so it wasn't that sort of match. But we did swap stories and novels. We write in different genres - his more of the fantasy, dystopian-future, kicking ass and taking names style, and mine, well that cross-genre literary-slipstream crime fiction thing. Come to think of if it, my characters have been known to kick some ass and take a few names. So maybe we are not that dissimilar.

The first book of Chris's I read was actually a historical fiction on Harry Houdini. I've always loved magic, and had a fascination with Houdini growing up. Reading his book, i was impressed at Chris's storytelling, and I told him so. Skip ahead to him reading both Correction Line and Fall in One Day, and me reading Clutch - well, long story short, we liked each other's work. So when he asked me to be a part of project he was putting together, the only hesitation was would I have the time. I guess the other hesitation was could I write in this style, and in the dystopian "wrecked earth" world he'd created. I was willing to give it a shot, and if it didn't work, I hoped he would be straight with me - tell me to go back to my Carveresque short stories, and leave the fantasy worlds to him.

As it turns out, I had a helluva lot of fun writing it. I racked my brain for a premise and story title as the deadline approached. Finally, the night before, I was in bed with my laptop, and just wrote down the first thing that came to mind. "Teddy's Treasure." Well, that's kind of a dumb name (actual thought at the time) - but then I went into, what is the treasure? Who is this Teddy guy, and is that a name he liked being called (No). Moments later, Theodore Limpdo was born, and the story emerged.

Mr. Welsh (throwing him some respect) has put together a killer team, and has launched this as a Kickstarter project. If this sounds like something you'd like to see happen, throw a couple of bucks towards it. If you've never backed something on Kickstarter, hey, you could make this your first - and it doesn't take much.

You can read more about the project and sign up as a backer here:

Seven Stones Anthology, Graphic Novel, Omnibus

Leon and Me

Tales of the Hat: Redbone, Walking Sticks and Castratos.

This hat has seen a lot - Mexico and New Mexico, Jamaica, a lot of Canada and chunks of the U.S., and a whole lotta festivals. This has been my mandatory folk fest hat for a number of years (can't really recall how many.) It's pretty weathered, stained, and doesn't hold its shape as well as it used to - but hey, neither does its owner.

So if you followed me on twitter, you know that I was roaming around the Winnipeg Folk Fest, soaking in sun, music, and the occasional cold beverage (though, some followers might have wondered what the hell was up with the guy that usually talks books and food... well, and the odd golf tournament.) I am usually a volunteer, but this year I was offered a chance to be a part of my friend's media team. He extended the offering by asking who I'd like to interview. The first musician that came to mind, even though I figured the chance was remote, was Leon Redbone. I knew him as an elusive character (and wonderful musician), and thought it'd be amazing to get a chance to talk with him - but truthfully, I didn't really think it would happen.

My friend, Paul, was in conversation with his manager back in New York and was told that Leon got a bit cranky on the road. Hearing this, I thought, well, we gave it a shot. Add to that, a representative from the festival (or another media person - not sure), informed us that Leon would not be giving onsite interviews. Paul, an experienced interviewer, media person, and general good guy, continued to pursue. He kept telling me this would happen. Somewhere along the way, we learned that the manager Paul had been talking to was in fact Leon's wife. This was good. Someone suggested maybe we should just interview her on the phone.

Meanwhile, I roamed the festival, continually bumping into people I knew (WFF is like that). I helped out on camera for a couple of interviews, tried my best to be the silent but steady camera operator. Late Sat. night I got a message from Paul saying the interview would happen, and what time could I get out there? I have to admit, earlier I was a bit relieved when it looked like it wouldn't happen. I have close enough to no experience as an interviewer to say that I have none. The butterflies were going pretty good. Then, when the possibility re-emerged - I was elated and yet even more nervous at the same time.

After a morning wedding of a friend - a lovely event - I had my wife drive me to the Festival Shuttle Bus (I changed from snappy wedding wear to folk fest regular, as she drove - donning the above hat as the last element). Still, time was really tight. I knew Leon was done his set at 4:45, and the bus would get me there, traffic willing at 4:30. Add a 10 minute, run/walk, and I should make it.

Turns out, I was there in plenty of time. Paul was involved in another interview, and Leon's set went a bit long. He was signing CD's in the music tent. As Paul wrapped his interview, I went over my questions - still kinda thinking, this won't happen, will it? Paul went to the music tent to talk to the person in charge of the signing, and he said he would return with Leon. I went into a sort of Waiting for Godot mode (sitting by the media tent, behind it, and at times in it.)

Nervous. Yes, definitely. There was a part of me that felt at any moment, someone would come up and tell me that Leon was too tired, and would be headed home.

I first saw him on Saturday Night Live, I think it was 1975. He came on and played Harvest Moon, and maybe, Diddy-wa-diddy. I was 12, and I went, "whoa, what is this?" This goateed, sunglass and fedora wearing old, but not really old, guy was about the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Sure, at the time I was listening to rock and roll, and Top 40, but this was just so very very different. Jump ahead years later in my 20's, when I finally picked up a guitar (after years with piano and trombone). And there was only one reason that I wanted to play - I'd learned of the bluesmen. Robert Johnson, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Bukka White, and of course, Blind Blake. I slowly picked up the country blues, and a bit of ragtime. Learning some Mississippi John Hurt tunes, and a bit of Blind Lemon, I thought back to that guy I'd seen on Saturday Night Live.

These memories were bumping around in my head, when suddenly Paul returned. I was behind the tent now, in a little area of shade we'd set up. Along with him walked Leon Redbone.

I guess it's happening.

Oh man.

Paul introduced me as the guy would be interviewing him, and he replied,

"I didn't do it, I wasn't there, it wasn't me."

It took me a second, but I got the inference (a good sign of nerves, that I'd missed the joke.)

As we got settled to begin, I noticed his skinny curved cane, more of a walking stick actually. I asked him about it, where it got it, what it was made of (bamboo) - without any formal beginning, the interview had started. A CBC producer friend told me once that'd I'd make a good interviewer because of my natural curiosity. The walking stick certainly was not in my set of questions, but inadvertently, it started us off talking about antique shops, and how they've changed, and old things, the past, and why Minneapolis is such a crazy place to drive through (for one thing, Leon said, it was like someone had painted a giant canopy of lights overtop of it).

I suddenly realized we were in the middle of an interview - so I found my way back into my questions. But as the conversation progressed, I discovered that the much more interesting and natural questions emerged not from my black notebook, but from my fascination with a man who loved music, and held the past with great integrity.

I felt things drawing to a close (or I thought I did), so I asked Paul to take a still of us. But then I said something, and Leon began another story about the Italian castrato Domenico Mustafa (how did we get talking about castratos? I have no idea). After the story was over, I thanked him for his music (and I am sure some other fawning things). I got up and began to gesture to an area beside the tent. Mr. Redbone suggested it would be better to have a bit of greenery behind us, and then pointed to a treed area - where he gave a poetic description of the light falling on the tree trunk.

Then it was over.

And I wandered away from the media tent, to get some air, release the excited tension I'd been holding, and basically find someone, anyone, to tell them who I'd just interviewed.

Many thanks to Paul and showbizmonkeys.com for making this happen. I'll be sure to post a link when the interview is up.

That vibe - bathed in California light

Thinking a lot about detectives these days - yep, working on a new novel. After dancing around it for a long time, I've decided to write what I love. Now, I do love a beautifully written short story (Saunders, Carver, and Munro), and a profound complex novel (DeLillo, Marquez), but there are times when I just need to crack a cold one, clean my 45, and dip into some seedy office where they work for 50 bucks a day plus expenses. Or whatever the going rate is. As a kid, and a teen, watching the various TV detectives, I always wondered about the expenses - what exactly did that cover? Meals? Copious amounts of cocktails and cigarettes? Car rentals, which were always bashed to hell. And could you make any money being a P.I.? Rockford lived in a trailer after all.

I digress.

I've decided to take a shot at writing something that would fall into that P.I. vein. I say the vein, because knowing my style, I'll probably drift out of it. So I am channeling a lot of my favorites, from movies, TV and novels. I came to the novels a bit late (though, as a kid, I loved anything by Donald Westlake). In TV and movies, for sure I loved the coolness of Rockford (and really James Garner in anything), along with Burt Reynolds, not much of  a P.I., except maybe in Shamus, but he had the right vibe in his good ole boy gator movies (we called them swamp movies). There were others, cheesy Monday night movies at my small town theatre - again, I remember the mood more than the plots and even actors. I have a hard time describing the cool-factor here, sort of a laid back, it don't matter to me attitude - and sure, I can catch the bad guy and solve the case if you need me to... right after this whiskey sour.

Throughout this, the guy who keeps popping into my head is Elliot Gould, for all his film work in the 70's, but mostly one movie: Altman's The Long Goodbye. Now, I know Altman pissed off a lot of Philip Marlowe fans when he made that movie - but for me, it hits the vibe square on. Maybe, I'm not a purist, and I admit to an unhealthy obsession with all things Altman for a number of years, but man, Gould as Marlowe was it. Of course, he had the amazing Sterling Hayden to play off of. But when I recall the movie (and I need to watch it again), it's the sound, the colours, the bathed in California light, and laid back quality that comes back.

More in another post on the novels (and the influences there) - but for now, watch the trailer, maybe it will explain more than I can articulate. I think you'll have it by the soundtrack. And if you haven't watched this movie... well, you need to. Did I mention the music?

Why I write 2.0 (The Profit Version)

I was posting something at a writer's site where I hang out - and thought I would share it here at the blog. A writer, maybe young, I am not sure, asked about the profitability of being a writer. As usual, lots of writers chimed in that there is no profit in being a writer. I don't fault these writers at all - I share their sentiment about the monetary side of writing.

So I wrote this in response:

(edited to protect the names)

I always find it kinda sad when I see these posts (and don't get me wrong ____, I don't mind you asking at all), just that the responses are usually like others - there is no profit.

And I have been known to post the very same. It seems like writing for profit these days, even minimal, is such a long long long shot. We talk about back in the day when the big pubs paid decent cash, and there were just more of them. Truth is, there were fewer writers trying to do it.

So the paying markets have shrunk - and the amount of writers trying to publish has... well, I don't even have a number that can represent that (kajupled?) Add that to a time when self-publishing is easier than it has ever been, and what do you get? More writers.

I've read a lot of self-published writing - trying to gauge the market - and I have to say, there is a lot out there that is not ready for press. That doesn't even mean quality of writing - simple typo's and grammatical errors abound, along with the Swiftian adverbs, and clichés you could cut with a knife.

This is seeming tangential, but maybe I will find my way back. I have tried all of the above, collected rejections from the bigs, pubbed in the smalls, actually scored a great agent, and had my novel read by the big 6 (unsold). I have self-published (just put out a collection last week), and made an embarrassingly small amount of money. But boy did I give away a lot of books.

I am using your question as a jumping off point, but here is the thing. This whole journey has led me to really question why I write... I mean really question it. Work hours and hours and days, weeks, etc. on something that will maybe make you enough to buy a case a beer (non-import)? Seems kinda nutty. But I realized after all the frustration, I write because I have to. There is nothing I would rather do - and nothing fills me creatively, intellectually, or spiritually as much as the craft of a well-told story.

I am back looking for agents again, collecting pennies for my self-published efforts, and subbing the odd story to the big, small,and tiny magazines. But above all, I am writing. And now with a different purpose. Which is much more profitable than any of my other efforts. It helps make me human.

Sorry for the pontification - your question and subsequent responses just grabbed me. There is, as I always tell my artistic kids (actor/comedian/theatre major... oy), the grand "you never know." And so I still write for that too.

Best of luck with all your writing.

End note - in posting this, I feel I am being more forthright about my self-publishing than in the past. True, I have been disappointed by my sales in that area. So why release another collection? (As I did just last week.) The explanation is somewhat hard to articulate, but I do know this release is different than my other ones. I am very proud of these stories, and I wanted to feel as if they were truly finished - even the ones previously published. I loved writing them, I liked re-writing and ordering them into a theme, and loved putting them into a book form. Basically, it was about the artistic buzz. Would I love lots of people to read them? Of course. But I've been down that road. For me writing has a new purpose - or maybe one that was always there, and only has just now re-emerged.