Becky Clark's Blog, page 19

Pill a Duck

My husband and I spent the night at a hotel on New Years Eve. We weren’t too far from home, but we didn’t want to get up at the crack of early to race home and feed Nala the WonderDog.

So I contacted our fantastic pet sitter, Robin at Prairie Home Pet Care. “No changes since you were here last,” I told her, “except Nala is taking an antibiotic with breakfast. FYI, she will politely take it from your hand, and just as politely remove it from her mouth, often without even being observed. So you’ll have to cram it down her throat.”

“Not a problem. I’ve had to pill a duck all week, so I’m sure I can handle Nala.”

Thus was born my new favorite catchphrase.

Pill a duck: something you must do, but it’s a little unpleasant and ridiculous.

What in your life is like pilling a duck?

Whoever Reads The Most Books Wins

My newest book is WHOEVER READS THE MOST BOOKS WINS, a journal for readers. I knew I wasn’t going to have a new novel out by the time I went to the Left Coast Crime mystery convention in February, but I wanted to have something to give away to some of the sweet readers who say complimentary things about my mysteries. And, you know, for bribes.

It’s slim, so you can fit it in your purse or backpack with no trouble. There’s room for 30 book entries, with some extra pages at the end to make notes of titles you want to read or other important bookish news. I priced it as low as Amazon would let me, at $6 because I know avid readers will go through these fast.

One mom told me she bought some for her competitive, albeit reluctant reader. She’s hoping that completing this journal will be the impetus he needs to keep turning pages. Wouldn’t that be great?

For myself, I am of a certain, ahem, age, so I wanted a place to jot down important ideas about the novels I read, and especially my book club books to jog my memory when it came time to discuss them. It’s disturbing how many times I try to remember things like, “What was that book … about that girl … who did that thing … over at that place …”

Embarrassing.

Here’s what the interior looks like …

I will be giving these away on a regular basis to the subscribers of my newsletter. If you see your name as a winner in an upcoming issue of my So Seldom It’s Shameful News, all you have to do is send me your mailing address and one will be winging its way to you. Just a little gift to say thanks for your interest in my books.

Okay, now back to reading!

 

 

Bouchercon, the Universe, and Me

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you’ve perhaps already heard some of my unbelievable story.

But I wanted to give you a bit of background, as well as document for myself this weird, weird coincidence. I have another wild story about being sued and landing on 20/20 which I also had to document because every time I told it, I thought, “That’s crazy! Must have been a dream.”

At any rate, in the last few months, I kind of lost my writing mojo. Sales on BANANA BAMBOOZLE and MARSHMALLOW MAYHEM had tanked and I couldn’t get any new reviews (C’mon! Three reviews? Not cool.), I was struggling with the writing of my new manuscript, but why bother because sales are bad, my marketing isn’t working, why bother to market, who has time to market because I’m trying to write this ridiculously bad book, I suck, what am I thinking, I should get a real job, or maybe just sit on the couch all day and drink.

You may have heard this conversation in your own head once or twice.

Around this time, I was lucky to get the fantastic opportunity to be on the ground floor of starting a new Sisters in Crime chapter here in Colorado. So I stepped away from the half-finished manuscript completely and did other things instead.

I dove into my new Programming duties for SinC-CO.

I shopped for my mother-of-the-bride dress. And watched some football.

I gave myself a pedicure and flossed my teeth.

I got my Lazy Squirrel Purses store on Etsy open for business. (And made my first sale! Squee!)

 

Then a month or so ago, I picked up that half-finished manuscript and read it. And it wasn’t completely horrible. My eyes didn’t even bleed. So I started working on it again, and actually began to have some fun.

But as any of you creative types know, once you stare into the abyss of crushing self-doubt like that, you always kind of see it out of the corner of your eye. One false step and you’re whooshed right back in.

Fast forward to yesterday. At about noon, I typed THE END on the first draft of the new manuscript. Yippee!

After a bit of celebratory facebooking and back patting, I went back to my to-do list, one item of which was to sign up for Bouchercon 2016. I got that all squared away, then called the hotel for reservations.

I was on the phone with the Marriott in New Orleans or wherever the reservation place was. Tessa, my lovely representative, was having all kinds of glitchy computer problems so I was on the phone for awhile. We had ample opportunity to chat. She asked what Bouchercon was and I told her it was for readers and writers of mysteries and thrillers and such.

She said, “I love mysteries. I have a lot of favorites. I read something by … what was her name … I’m pretty sure it was Clark, like you. Banana something.”

Heart stopping pause on my end. “Bamboozle?”

“Yes! I loved it. And there’s a Marshmallow one coming out soon. I can’t wait to read it.”

“Um, it’s already out. I wrote both of those.”

We both fan-squealed, although technically, I might have shrieked.

WHAT. ARE. THE. ODDS???

The moral of the story, Best Beloved, is that we don’t have any idea who we touch — or when, or how, or even why — with our writing. I don’t quite understand the machinations, but yesterday, the Universe decided to let me have a peek behind that curtain.

Tomorrow it might be your turn, so never, ever quit. And always, always stay at the Marriott.

“Me At The Zoo”

Today is the 10th anniversary of the very first YouTube video. I know, seems longer, right? Waaay longer. Here it is:

Coincidentally, it was also the birth of YouTube video parodies …

Thanks, Jawed Karim, for giving me so much useless and absolutely necessary nonsense.

I have lots of favorite videos, but this is one of my Top Five. I know it’s a guaranteed laugh when I need it.

What’s your favorite funny YouTube video?

 

Redeployment by Phil Klay

I saw Phil Klay interviewed about his book of short stories. Interesting, but no thank you.

More war? I’ve had so much war. What could he possibly have to say that I haven’t heard already? I had more than a few reservations about reading it.

But then I kept hearing about him and this book.

He’s a Dartmouth graduate. He’s a Marine Corps veteran. His book was short-listed for the Frank O’Connor Prize. He was named one of the National Book Foundation’s “5 Under 35.”

And then the book won the National Book Award for fiction.

So I read it. It’s utterly and quite literally breathtaking. I found myself not breathing for long passages.

I think every American should read it, no matter what you think you know about the war(s), no matter your opinion, no matter if you’d rather not. There’s a disconnect for Americans, I think, that’s different today than for wars past. In World War II, for example, most households had someone fighting, and 100% of the population had to contend with rationing and availability of goods. I’ve heard that less than 0.5% of Americans serve in the military today. How many people do you know personally who fought in Iraq or Afghanistan? How has your personal economy been disrupted? For me, I can’t think of anyone who fought or anything I’ve done differently. Americans were in it together, this time we’re not.

The stories in “Redeployment” are written from the POVs of every kind of person you can imagine deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan, in every kind of situation. Ben Fountain’s back cover blurb on my copy sums it up: “If you want to know the real cost of war for those who do the fighting, read Redeployment. These stories say it all, with an eloquence and rare humanity that will simultaneously break your heart and give you reasons to hope.”

This is the section I was going to quote, but here’s Phil Klay reading it …

Here’s something you might not know. Marines don’t have a medical unit of their own. They use Navy Corpsmen. My son was a Navy Corpsman. Every time Klay mentions corpsmen in a story, I think of him.

I think of how I didn’t know Navy Corpsmen followed Marines. I didn’t know how the Navy worked.

I didn’t know anything.

But now I know we were lucky. He stayed on the “blue side,” the Navy side, and he’s home now, a Navy veteran, going to school to continue his medical studies.

Lucky. So very lucky.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan

I’m a huge fan of John Green so I can’t imagine what took me so long to read this book. But I’m sure glad I did. And now I’m a David Levithan fan too. They have that rare talent to make you laugh and cry at the same time.

But mostly laugh.

“If I were to stand on a scale fully dressed, sopping wet, holding ten-pound dumbbells in each hand and balancing a stack of hardcover books on my head, I’d weigh about 180 pounds, which is approximately equal to the weight of Tiny Cooper’s left tricep. But in this moment, I could beat the holy living shit out of Tiny Cooper. And I would, I swear to God, except I’m too busy trying to disappear.”

“And you know how no one ever listens to [their parents’] advice, because even if it’s true it’s so annoying and condescending that it just makes you want to go, like, develop a meth addiction and have unprotected sex with eighty-seven thousand anonymous partners? Well, I listen to my parents. They know what’s good for me. I’ll listen to anyone, frankly. Almost everyone knows better than I do.”

“And then he hugs me. Imagine being hugged by a sofa. That’s what it feels like.”

“Tiny doesn’t just sing these words — he belts them. It’s like a parade coming out of his mouth. I have no doubt the words travel over Lake Michigan to most of Canada and on to the North Pole. The farmers of Saskatchewan are crying. Santa is turning to Mrs Claus and saying ‘what the fuck is that?’ I am completely mortified, but then Tiny opens his eyes and looks at me with such obvious caring that I have no idea what to do. No one’s tried to give me something like this in ages.”

“And, since they are theater people, they are all talking. All of them. Simultaneously. They do not need to be heard; they only need to be speaking.”

“How have I ended up dating this sprinkled donut of a person?”

Sigh. I heart John Green and David Levithan. They not only make me want to be a better writer, they also make me want to be a better person.

How ’bout you? Are you a fan of John Green and/or David Levithan? Which is your favorite book?

I Never Learn

I just don’t. I am incapable of The Learning.

I’m one of the few native Coloradans still in existence. We really should be in a museum. But such an honor comes with responsibility. Like shoveling snow from driveways and sidewalks.

Let me just say, we’re absolutely blessed here in Denver. When it snows, which it does periodically, the next day the sun comes out and dries up all the snow so the itsy bitsy spider can drive her car in town.

I think all the sunshine has permanently erased some aspect of my long-term memory, perhaps my short-term, too. [Note … I literally had to stop here and check my scribbles to remember the point of all this. Sigh.]

My point is this. No matter how many times I have shoveled snow in my life, I forget EVERY TIME how to do it without hurting my back.

I never learn.

We had about a foot of snow over the weekend, so hubs and I split duties, roughly half and half. Once on Sunday and then again yesterday. [I loved our 3-car driveway when we got it poured, lo, those many years ago. Not so much when it’s covered with snow.]

Yes, my back is killing me. Why? Because I never learn.

This morning I was repeatedly reminded of this travesty. I get up around 5am most days and am able to read (novels! for fun!) in the quiet early morning hours. It’s also when I drink my coffee.

I have a lovely antique table next to my purple armchair, where my writer’s clock and my Splat Stan coaster keep me and my cup company. But occasionally, I need to refill. Okay, fine, more than “occasionally.”

Every damn time I needed more coffee this morning, I twisted and reached for my cup the exact wrong way, sending me into paroxysms of pain equaled only by my shrieks of profanity.

Every. Damn. Time.

I never learn.

Birdsong — A Novel of Love and War by Sebastian Faulks

I read this for my book club and while I found it hard to read at times — mostly during the in-your-face WWI scenes from the trenches — it did have some excellent passages that grabbed me by the eyeballs and forced me to read them again.

“The pressure of Madame Azaire’s foot against his leg slowly increased until most of her calf rested against him. The simple frisson this touch had earlier given to his charged senses now seemed complicated; the sensation of desire seemed indistinguishable from an impulse toward death.”

Faulks is a master of description, which is probably why I had trouble with the gruesome war scenes.

“An aroma of cress and sorrel was just discernible when the swing doors pushed open to reveal the waiters in their black waistcoats and long white aprons carrying trays of coffee and cognac to the tables at the front and shouting back orders to the bar. At the end farthest from the kitchen was a tall cash desk at which a grey-haired woman was making careful entries in a ledger with a steel-nibbed pen.”

“… she seemed no more really than a pale version of what womanhood could achieve. Stephen viewed all women in this way. He felt sorry for men who were married to creatures who were so obviously inferior; even the men who were happy and proud of the imagined beauty of their wives had, in his eyes, made a desperate compromise. He even pitied the women themselves: their vanity, their looks, their lives were poor things in his eyes, so far short of what could exist.”

In the modern day section, the character had a one-night stand. She was neither happy nor guilt-ridden by it.

“She felt a little tenderness toward him. She wondered what function the episode had served in his life and in his mythology of himself.”

That passage made me close the book and stare into space. I wondered, too, about all the brief encounters — non-sexual, in my case — throughout my life that meant very little to me, but might have been much more important to the other person. And vice versa.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with my grown daughter. I’d remembered something  I’d done during her childhood that jumped to the top of the Things That Make Me A Bad Mother list. When I explained and offered my most sincere mea culpa, she laughed and said she didn’t even remember the incident.

My relief, of course, was immediate and overwhelming because I’d just whittled that list down to a more managable 999,999 things.

What about you?  Have you ever wondered what function an episode had served in someone’s life and mythology?

 

(4) Favorite Thing I Read Today — Without You, There Is No Us by Suki Kim

One of the Harry Potter movies was to be shown to all the kids near the end of term, until one of the fundamentalist missionaries took exception. The “compromise” was that only one class was allowed to watch it, so the author had to make a Sophie’s Choice between her classes. I had just read a review of the movie Jupiter Ascending, about how delightfully bad it was, which made me desperate to watch it. And I could.

There’s a parallel to be drawn here between the scared North Korean Party trying to control the minds of their citizens and these missionaries trying to do the exact same thing.

Favorite Thing I Read Today — Without You, There Is No Us by Suki Kim

One of the Harry Potter movies was to be shown to all the kids near the end of term, until one of the fundamentalist missionaries took exception. The “compromise” was that only one class was allowed to watch it, so the author had to make a Sophie’s Choice between her classes. I had just read a review of the movie Jupiter Ascending, about how delightfully bad it was, which made me desperate to watch it. And I could.

There’s a parallel to be drawn here between the scared North Korean Party trying to control the minds of their citizens and these missionaries trying to do the exact same thing.