David Lubar's Blog, page 8

Oddly enough, I'm feeling rapturous today

Awesome book reviewer Paul Goat Allen just posted a review on his Barnes and Noble blog, where he said, "There is no doubt about it – David Lubar is the Rod Serling of Middle Grade Fiction." I love Rod Serling's work. Not just The Twilight Zone. His teleplays are awesome. As was his courage. He, along with Charles Addams, Jean Shepherd, and the science fiction magazines of the 60s and 70s, are what formed my love of the short form and of twist endings. So I'll be grinning all day, and well into next week. Even though my PSP power adapter died.

Prepare to launch

Things to do before the Tuesday launch of Vampire Weenies:

1. Make a trailer.
2. Send copies to Steven King and Oprah.
3. Convince 20,000 people to buy it next week, so it makes the best-seller list.
4. Finish chapter 12 of Mafia 2.

I find myself in a Borges story

Weird -- when I proclaimed May to be SFAM (Short Fiction Appreciation Month), I had no idea that May actually is National Short Story Month. I only picked May because I have a story collection coming out on the 24th. But if this is a real, national thing, I could get some nice PR out of it. If I weren't so lazy. (Even too lazy to verify that the previous construction requires the subjunctive. Here's hoping I guessed right.)

Anyone out there work or blog for NPR?

How to get a free copy of my new book

Writers wrestle constantly with one quandry. We need to support independent book stores, because they are awesome, they hand sell our books, and they are a vital part of the community. But the chain stores also support books, and they sell large quantities. Happily, I have figured out a way you can not only support both, but also get my next book for free. Attack of the Vampire Weenies and Other Warped and Creepy Tales costs about $15 (rounded to the nearest $5 for the sake of those who feel pain in the presence of math). It sells at the chains for as little as $10. Given that, here's all you need to do to get a free book. (I suspect the puzzle-loving contingent is way ahead of me at this point.) First, buy three copies from one of the discounters. You'll save $5 per copy, or a total of $15. Now, take that $15 to your nearest and/or dearest independent book seller (easily found via the IndieBound web site) and buy a fourth copy of my book with the money you saved. There you go. Voila! A free book.

Okay, some of you are wondering whether it is excessive to buy four copies. Not at all. Here's what you do. But, first, since people are more likely to read a post that includes photos, here's a random image:


Okay -- back to the explanation. Here's what you do. Preserve one archivally and set it side as a valuable collector's item. Should we ever cross paths -- which is almost inevitable, given how much I travel -- I will happily sign that copy, thus increasing the value. Read the second copy. Give the third copy to your favorite school media center. Give the final copy to your local public library, because the governor took away all their funds. And there you have it -- you get a free book, enhance your stash of valuable collectibles, and enrich two libraries. It's a win, win, win, win, win situation. (I included myself as the fifth win.)

We all do more good than we know

This is from an email I received yesterday. (I asked the mother for permission to quote her, and changed the son's name.)

"I am writing on behalf of my 7 year old son, James. He is absolutely obsessed with your books. Just to give you a little back story, James is in special education and at the end of last year was extremely behind in reading. Now thanks to your books he is well beyond his grade level in reading. Reading is now his favorite activity over any other, including video games, which is huge for him. When he's not immersed in one of your books he spends his days writing versions of your stories and adding onto your books."

There's more. I feel amazed that something I do for pleasure makes good things happen. And it's not just my books. It's all our books. If you've published a book, you've changed a life. You've touched someone. For me, the most amazing part is that my books seem to appeal to reluctant readers. I don't write down. I hit my readers with philosophy and physics. I use whatever word is necessary, regardless of syllable count. I just assume they'll rise to as high a level as is offered to them. (A couple months ago, I was discussing paradoxes with a group of 5th graders during lunch, and they had no trouble following examples taken from Bertrand Russell. I love seeing that moment of recognition, when they grasp the reasoning.) As for the appeal of my books to young James, there's no mystery or paradox. I can sum it up in a four-letter word: plot. Stuff happens. Interesting stuff. Weird stuff. Astounding stuff. Creepy stuff. Funny stuff. Stuff that keeps James reading. Stuff that keeps me writing.

A taste of things to come

Here's an excerpt from the title story of my new book, Attack of the Vampire Weenies and Other Warped and Creepy Tales.


I ignored the doorbell. I knew who was out there. I knew what he wanted. It rang again.

"Get it, jerk!" my sister yelled from upstairs.

I'd rather chew on a light bulb than turn that door knob. But I didn't want Tammy angry with me. The last time she got really mad, she painted splash marks on the front of all of my pants with clear nail polish, so it looked like I'd had an accident. The time before that, she'd emailed all my friends baby pictures of me getting a bath in the sink.

Hoping I was wrong about who was out there, I turned the knob, then opened the door halfway and stared up at the vampire. He wore a black cape with a red lining. His hair was slicked back so it glistened in the moonlight. His cheeks were pale white. Dark circles made his eyes look like they had sunk into his skull. He started to step into the hallway.

"You have to be invited," I said. "That's the rule."

He shoved the door, knocking me back. "Get lost, squirt."

"It's the rule!" I shouted as he pushed past me. "A vampire can't enter a home unless he's invited. Everyone knows that."

He walked over to the stairs and called up, "Hey, Tammy! I'm here. Come on. The party's already started."

"I'll be right down," she said.

Dalton -- that's the name of my sister's boyfriend -- went into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

I followed him. "You can't sit there."

He glared at me. "What's your problem?"

"It's not my problem, it's yours." I pointed at the small cross that hung on the wall between the photo of Grandma and the painting of a cactus my parents had bought last year when we were on vacation in Arizona. "Vampire's can't stand the sight of a cross."

He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder. "Look, kid. I am a vampire. So don't tell me what I can and can't do. Just go read your comic books, or whatever it is that gives you all those ridiculous ideas."

"You're not a vampire," I said. "You're just a vampire wanna-be. Wait -- I know -- you're a vampire weenie. That's what you are."

"What did you say?" His eyes got dangerous. For an instant, he almost looked like someone who could drain the blood from my body. "Come on -- open that smart mouth again."

He got up from the couch. I took a step back.

Tammy drifted into the room. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."

Dalton seemed to forget I even existed. I guess he liked the way she looked.

I can't imagine how anyone -- except maybe an undertaker -- would feel that way. She was wearing a long, white dress and too much makeup. The circles around her eyes were larger than his. Her cheeks were white, but with a touch of red. That was wrong, too. Vampire skin is as white and lifeless as the belly of a dead fish.

He touched her cheek. "You sparkle."

She touched his. "So do you."

They headed out.

"For crying out loud -- vampires don't sparkle!" I shouted as the door closed. Okay, it was after the door closed. But I was angry, now, and felt like yelling. "You aren't vampires. You're just big kids playing dress up and acting moody. You don't know the rules, you stupid sparkly vampire wanna-be weenies!"

I could feel my own blood boiling. Tammy and her friends were all giggly and weird about vampires. They had vampire parties all the time, where they drank strawberry soda, cherry punch, and even tomato juice. They read books and watched movies where the vampire was always this unbelievably handsome guy. That was so totally wrong. They didn't know anything.

A vampire isn't some sort of handsome prince. And a vampire definitely isn't some gloomy teenager who flunked algebra twice and likes to pick on his girlfriend's little brother. A vampire isn't a girl who's read some stupid book seventeen times and thinks she can become one of the characters.

A vampire is a blood-sucking horror who sleeps in a coffin filled with his native soil, lives with bats, rats, and spiders, and carries nothing inside of himself but death and disease. A vampire shies away from crosses, and can't stand the odor of garlic. He needs permission to enter a house. Holy water burns his skin. He'll die if he's exposed to sunlight, or if you drive a wooden stake through his heart. But, even with a stake through his heart, he won't remain dead unless you chop off his head and stuff the neck with garlic.

Tammy and her friends would know this if they read the right books -- the old books. But they'd rather dress-up in silly costumes and drink fake blood than learn the truth.

My parents were out -- they go out all the time -- which meant I was alone in the house. That was fine with me. I went up to my room to play Soldiers and Snipers. I might know everything there is to know about vampires but, unlike Tammy, I had other interests, too. Like online multiplayer shooters.

I heard Tammy and Dalton when they came back late that evening.

"We should have the next party here," Tammy said.

"What about your parents?" Dalton asked.

"They'll be out of town next weekend," Tammy said.

I already knew about that. Dad was going to some sort of convention in Boston. Mom was tagging along, since seeing Boston was probably a lot more fun than staying home with her kids.

"What about your brother?" Dalton asked.

During the pause that followed his question, I felt a shiver ripple across my skin.

"We can lock him in the basement or something," Tammy said.

Great. They were going to have a party with all their stupid vampire friends, and I'd get to sit in the dark on the basement stairs, listening to footsteps on the ceiling, waiting for them to let me out.

I stormed downstairs. "No way you're locking me in the basement."

Tammy almost looked guilty, but Dalton grinned. "We'll do whatever we want. You have no power over us, mortal. Begone, or I will unleash my fury upon you."

"Vampires don't grin, either," I said. "And I do have power. I'll tell my parents."

"You do and you're dead," Dalton said.

"Then I'll die happy." I stood my ground. I knew they had to give in. They wanted their party more than I wanted to escape a beating. "Look, I don't care about your stupid party. I won't even come downstairs. I'll stay in my room. But there's no way you're locking me up."

Dalton looked at Tammy. Tammy looked back at him. They both shrugged.

"Just keep out of the way," she said.

"That's exactly what I'm planning to do."

But as I headed back upstairs, I realized I wanted to do one other thing, too. If all of Tammy's vampire weenie friends were coming to a vampire party, I was going to give them just what they were asking for.

The idea was so perfect, I froze on the steps when it hit me. Somehow, somewhere, I was going to find a real vampire, and get him to come. That would teach them a lesson.

Teetering seventy stories or so above the ground

I never share book-contract news until I have a signed contract in hand. But, yesterday, as I was fighting the urge to crow about my new deal, I realized it would be okay, this time, to speak before the contract came back because the news was already announced by Publisher's Weekly (thanks to the always-awesome efforts of the Tor PR department). So, yeah, I'm writing two more Weenie books. And I have a killer title for the next one. All I need, now, is a killer title story.

I'll admit that it is a bit daunting to contemplate writing sixty or seventy more stories. Actually, Ill probably be writing eighty or ninety, since not every story is a keeper. But there are people who come up with a new comic strip every day, or write a humor column several times a week. While I have a deadline for each manuscript, I don't have deadlines for any specific story. That makes things easier. I suppose the thing that makes it easiest of all is that I love writing short stories. They've always been my format of choice. I'm feeling incredibly fortunate that I can make a good portion of my living writing what I love.

Okay, that's enough love talk for one month. I'm not traveling this coming week, so maybe I can think up some fiendishly clever ways to promote Attack of the Vampire Weenies in this very space.

SFAM sfail

I'm really failing big time at promoting Short Fiction Appreciation Month (which is obviously nothing but a hollow ploy to promote the May 24th release of Attack of the Vampire Weenies. I did do a blog piece for Tor with some tips for writing Weenie stories. If you know any young writers, please pass this along. The page also contains a link to a contest to win your very own Zortz (aka the Weenie Thingee).



Several reviews have come out -- all positive. I even got a nice one from GARB (the Guild of Anonymous Review Bullies). They're know by another name, but to speak it is to risk helping them come even more fully back from near death.

By the way -- if you're an International Reading Association member, be sure to sign up for ENGAGE, their new social media center. I did a podcast for it at the IRA conference in Orlando. The recording includes a story from the new book. If you're a teacher, you can share it with your class. (I'm not sure when the podcast will be posted.)

They treat my book like sh*t.

I love this. Brent Hartinger's Project Sweet Life is one of the nominees for the Rhode Island Teen Book Award (yay, Brent). At the bottom of web page for that book, there is a list of Read-a-Likes. If you scroll down, you'll find Dung by David Lubar. That's probably the best typo I've seen for one of my book titles, though Sleeping Freshmen Never Die comes close. Actually, since the "g" and "k" are three keys apart, maybe it's more of a Freudian slip than a typo.

Funny comics, angry birds, and other random stuff

In the spirit of always being late, let me share yesterday's (or perhaps it was the day before that) book-release news. Eric Luper's latest book, Jeremy Bender vs. the Cupcake Cadets, just hit the shelves. I enjoyed Eric's previous book, Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto. The new one sounds like Ferris Bueller meets Bossom Buddies. (Side note for those who remember the latter show -- Bronson Pinchot narrates my story in the audio version of the Guys Write: Funny Business anthology.) I'm sure Eric's new book will be a great read.

Yesterday morning, I was in Landisville, PA (near Lancaster), speaking at the intermediate school. The kids were great. Then I drove 95 miles home, grabbed dinner, and went with my wife to the very first comedy show at the new Arts Quest Center in Bethlehem, to see Miq Kaplan. He was amazing. After the show, he was at a table, selling CDs. He was gracious enough to let me chatter at him for a while, telling him how much I enjoyed the performance while also telling him far too much about myself. Having been on the other side of the table fairly often, I did have some empathy for what it feels like to be engaged in conversation by enthusiastic fans. But I'm such a big fan of standup, and I was so impressed by his performance, that it was difficult trying not to stay too long and chat too much. I think I pulled myself away before his eyes glazed over.

I bought Angry Birds for the PSP a while ago. (The "while ago" is intended to be an ironic wink aimed toward anyone who belongs to the Playstation Network, since nobody has been buying anything there recently -- except, perhaps, the people who hacked all the data.) Anyhow -- I can see why the game is popular, and I intend to play through the whole thing, but I can also see that it isn't for serious players. The game is just too fuzzy. Trial and error isn't a bad thing in itself, but this feels more like trial and luck. There aren't crisp answers to most of the puzzles. When I finish a screen, I don't feel clever -- I feel lucky. The funny thing is that the game doesn't anger me. I know a lot of people find it frustrating. But I spent so many years debugging games, an exercise that often required me to replay some tiny segment or repeat a single action over and over for hours, that the whole exercise has a nostalgic feel to it.