Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 73

All the Latest

Publishing news stirs at the doorstep of Casa Lizzi, and tidings loom and rumble in the distance. It is time, in other words, for an update on upcoming releases from yours truly.

I’ve mentioned before a story I placed in a crime fiction anthology. Well, August 15 is the official publishing date for Mama Tried: Crime Fiction Inspired by Outlaw Country Music. I’m looking forward to this one. Get some Waylon Jennings playing on Pandora and dive into the mess of people behaving poorly toward one another. I think beer ought to be involved somehow during the reading process. I’m leaning toward drinking it, but we’ll see.

I’ve never been a single genre reader. Crime fiction has made up a significant portion of my reading. Elmore Leonard contributed heavily to that portion. In fact his work inspired me to write Thick As Thieves, a fantasy/crime novel. I’m please to reveal those looming tidings in the distance: yesterday I received a contract for publication of Thick As Thieves. It should be available sometime in the first half of 2017.

Good news. Of course that means handing the manuscript over to an editor. Sigh. I realize it’s essential. I suppose it is like going to the dentist. I maintain a regular oral hygiene routine. My teeth are clean and healthy. I could skip twice-yearly exams without catastrophic consequences. But those checkups, x-rays, and cleanings provide unquestioned improvements. Detail work, those tiny metal hooks scraping away accumulations of tartar. Unpleasant, yes, but ultimately worthwhile. Same with editing. Yes, the manuscript is fine as it is, but it can be improved. Another set of eyes attuned to the details, scraping away accumulations of adverbs, x-raying for plot holes. Worth the time and effort. At least I hope you’ll think so.

Happy reading.

Top Five Novels I’d Like to See Filmed

For every film made based on a novel there are a hundred books optioned but not green-lit. For every book optioned but not filmed there a hundred thousand not optioned. Many of the latter two categories read as pretty cinematic to me. So here is a list of novels I’d like to see turned into films. Or a series of films. Or a television mini-series. Or a television ongoing series. Whatever. This doesn’t include books I know to be optioned or have heard rumors to that effect.

 

The High Crusade by Poul Anderson. Knights and Aliens! I want to see armored horses trotting aboard an alien spaceship. Crusade is a slim novel. Not much need to cut material. In fact the film could expand on some the conquest only glossed over in the book.


Perdido Street Station by China Miéville. True I usually find myself rooting for Miéville’s antagonists. But the man can write visually evocative imagery. I’d love to see New Crobuzon on the big screen. See if the special effects crew could pull off an ambulatory cactus without making it appear risible. This is dense material, much would have to be trimmed. I’d like to see the results, though.

 

The Harold Shea stories by L. Sprague de Camp and Fletcher Pratt. A terrific scaffold upon which to hang one or more action comedies. The jokes might need some updating for a modern audience. Or the producers could cater to a niche audience of fogies like me. I’d be fine with that. Maybe a television show, campy and tongue-in-cheek like Hercules and Xena.
The Garrett Files by Glen Cook. This one could have legs. Detective shows have a successful track record on television. Why not one with elves, dwarves, and ogres? Yes, the books are derivative, blending bits of Nero Wolfe, Travis McGee, and Philip Marlowe. But if you’re going to borrow, borrow from the best. And we know those characters translate to screen well. So why not Garrett?
Janissaries by Jerry Pournelle, because if a movie is what’s required to get the last novel completed, then Action!

What is your list?

 

Oregon Brewers Festival 2016

Once again beer takes over the web log. This week saw the 29th annual Oregon Brewers Festival sprawl across the Portland waterfront. And as usual, I showed up to do my part helping empty the kegs. Biking there worked up a thirst. Biking home ensured sobriety. Sigh. Always trade offs. Anyway, here are my tasting notes and some pictures.

Bayern Brewing. Citra Charged Dump Truck. Maibock. 6%. Maibock smooth with a refreshing citrus bite and hint of hops. Aftertaste a trifle muddy. Good beer overall.

Boulder Beer Co. Pulp fusion Blood Orange IPA. 6.5%. A pulpy mess. Bitter with no hoppy backbone. No character other than the touch of orange zest.

Double Mtn. Brewery and Taproom. Randall Knife. IPA. 7%. Tremendous floral nose. Needs more gluten. I wondered where the bready balance had gone. Bastards stole the gluten!

Drake’s Brewing Co. Foraging Racoon IPA. 7%. Complex bitterness — in a good way. Different hops vie for the tastebuds’ attention. Not a session beer, but one to appreciate. Probably a good beer to accompany a meal.

Breakside Brewery. Pomegranate Gose. 4.6%. The whiff of fruit beer, like a cornered animal warning off a predator with a squirt of chemicals. Initially the gose saltiness holds off the fruity cloying-ness of the pomegranate. But not long enough. Esteemed Breakside — even Homer nods.

Burnside Brewing Co. Cedar IPA. 7.4%. Zero nose. Nada. Solid IPA taste, mildly citric, nice hit of the cedar. HIgh marks except for the lack of smell. The nose needs love too.

Flying Fish Brewing Co. Love Fish. Belgian-style Dubbel. 7.1%. I think the addition of cherries actually detracts from what would otherwise be a pretty solid beer. I’d prefer the brewer played up the raisin notes and boost the ABV.

Payette Brewing Co. 8 Second Rye’d. Imperial Rye Pale Ale. 8%. So close. Tastes…incomplete, hollow. Needs more body. The flavor is almost spot-on for the style, but the mouth-feel is watery.

Natian Brewery. 50 Shades of (Earl) Grey. IPA. 8.1%. Get a hint of tea at first sniff. Not sure why this isn’t classified as a double or imperial IPA. This is a big, robust beer. Not as floral or citric as I might prefer, but the tea infusion works. Good.

 

Yes, I Am Going to Canterbury Faire. Why Do You Ask?

Saturday was a day of fun travel for the family. I drove My Beautiful Wife and the Heir Apparent south to Silverton to wander through Canterbury Faire. After we continued on to Silver Falls for sightseeing and hiking. Following that we made our way back to Portland to a food court for enormous sandwiches and a pint.

Life is either governed by notions of karmic justice or it is ruled solely by the blind hand of chance. Either way, to counter-balance the fun of Saturday, I awoke in the middle of the night to discover that a virus had declared war on my bowels. For that reason, the remainder of this web log post will consist of visual material. Sorry. Now, if you will excuse me…

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Malazan is Falling

I have a hypothesis. For some authors there comes a time when success becomes a liability.

My recent reading consisted, in part, of slogging through Ian Esslemont’s “Dancer’s Lament” and Steven Erikson’s “Fall of Light.” These two books are a couple data points of observable phenomena supporting my hypothesis.

“Dancer’s Lament” suggests Esslemont has taken a step back as a writer. Additionally I suspect the book was rushed to publication. It is clear from various hiccups that the manuscript required at least one more proof-reading. The blame for that may fall more on the publisher than the author. But the writing itself displayed certain weaknesses of execution, with characters reaching conclusions unsupported by the evidence presented and at odds with their own reasoning, Esslemont forcing the issue rather than taking another stab at the scene. It stinks of “it’s good enough.” I know that smell all too well. I try to fight it in my own writing, and I know from Esslemont’s previous outings that he’s better than that.

“Fall of Light” hints at an author allowed to indulge himself. To excess. “Fall of Light” is nearly 850 pages of bloat, Erikson wallowing in his penchant for orotund phrasing, his sentences replete with tautology. He’s striving for something Shakespearean. There’s a certain nobility in the effort, I suppose. But page after endless page of maundering navel gazing, portentous and pretentious philosophizing, grows tedious. And of course it doesn’t help that I tend to disagree with his mouthpieces’ pronouncements more often than I agree. Erikson excels at humor. Sadly the humor is infrequent and the plotlines involving the most amusing characters are left for resolution in the next volume.

It tells you something of my appreciation for Erikson’s output that I fully intend to wade into the next book. Esslemont’s as well. I am aboard the Malazan train for the long haul, occasional dull stretches through monotonous countryside notwithstanding.

Usual caveat: I’ve got no business criticizing my betters, minor (with a capital M, and maybe a few more letters) scribbler that I am. But these are my thoughts, and this is my web log. Make of it what you will.

It’s Criminal

I suppose the appropriate thing for me today would be to write about last week’s Westercon. I’m used to doing the inappropriate, might be best you get accustomed to it as well. Today’s web log post will instead consist of a bit of upcoming news.

Country music holds a tradition of crime ballads, stories of men on the run, stories of alcohol and mistakes. Certain singers even attracted the label “Outlaw Country,” though the term might also come from the musicians bucking the established Nashville sound, pursuing instead a sound outside the norms. Either way, we got some excellent, evocative music from the movement. I grew up with it, and I still dig it.

You know who else likes it, even loves it? James R. Tuck. He loves it so much, in fact, that he put together an anthology of crime stories based on Outlaw Country songs. I bet he loves beer as well, because his consumption of a six-pack or so would go a long way to explain why he let me join in on the fun.

In a bit over a month from today’s web log post, Down and Out Books will release Mama Tried: Crime Fiction Inspired by Outlaw Country Music. My story, Copperhead Road, appears somewhere in the book. Here’s a suggestion for mid-August: Get yourself a copy, dust off your LPs, throw some Waylon and Willie on the turntable, crack a bottle of bourbon, and read.

Brak the Barbarian

John Jakes, you magnificent bastard. Brak the Barbarian served up a feast, complete with tankard of ale and haunch of beef, dripping with its own juices.

Brak the Barbarian? The blatant Conan ripoff? Indeed. A glorious homage, hitting all the right notes on a Khurdisani zitar. Turgid prose? Check. Archaic, quasi-medieval/middle-eastern settings? Check. Much as Conan can cross a border and jump from the classical era to the golden age of piracy, Brak can perform similar feats, though the conceit is more central asian and middle-eastern than european. Impractical attire? Check. Though in fairness this is a misconception concerning Conan, fostered, I believe by Marvel Comics keeping the poor Cimmerian in a fur diaper for untold issues. Brak, at least, is allowed a greater degree of style, sporting a lion-skin loincloth, complete with tail dangling from the back. Evil wizards delivering lengthy monologues? Check. Sketchily drawn characters and ethnic stereotypes? Check. Lovecraftian demons? Check. It’s all there and it’s all sublimely absurd.

But Jakes knows what he’s doing. He’s obviously enjoyed the writing as much as I enjoyed the reading. He’s in on the joke, but it’s not mocking, it’s not disrespectful. He gets the source material and he doesn’t look down upon it.

His barbarian — a blonde from the north with a long braid, not a dark haired northman with a square cut mane, so you can tell at a glance he’s not Conan — is pragmatic, superstitious, disdainful of civilization, and seems to possess a certain rude code of honor. Look, as a reader you know what you’re getting here. And it’s exactly what this reader wanted. It’s second tier sword and sorcery, but so what? It hit the spot. Brak the Barbarian will sit proudly on the shelf next to Kothar the Barbarian, and — should I ever acquire any — above Thongor the Barbarian. Perhaps a couple shelves above.

Hail Brak! Long may his broadsword shine.

Monterrey Supplemental: Beer. And Miscellaneous Updates

When we gringos think of Mexican beer, we think of thumbing a wedge of lime into a bottle of watery lager, preferably while sitting by the beach or floating in the swimming pool. But this particular gringo is always sniffing out the local craft brew scene. It took some doing in Monterrey, but I did track down some microbrewed product. Given the enormous size of Monterrey, I’d hoped to find more little breweries, but I was able to sample the goods of six different craft brewers. I even — finally — found a grocery store that carried a reasonable offering. (Locals tip: the best selection of beer in Monterrey is at the Walmart in Gomez Marine.)

Funny enough, the tiny pub and bottle shop where I sampled the beers described below was about a block from my hotel. Sadly, I didn’t discover it until I’d been in town for three days. So it goes, right? Anyway, here are the notes I took in Cueva Carvajal. (An aside: many of the beer names are Spanish double entendres. Lost on me, but amusing to those fluent in the colloquial idioms.)

La Cervesaria Albur. Mano Pachona IPA. 9% ABV. Thin  for an IPA. A giant of a beer for Mexico. More than twice the ABV of the typical cerveza. At 100 IBUs it brings the bitter. But within acceptable limits.

Malafacha. Brown. 5.2% ABV. Entirely too bitter for a brown. No caramel notes. Good color though.

Pata de Perro. Brown. 4.6% ABV. Malty. Reminiscent — oddly — of either a Belgian or a Vienna style. (I’d need examples of both to compare and narrow it down.) Tasty. But more copper than brown.

Propaganda. Hipster. 4.6% ABV. Super clarified for a wheat beer. No nose whatsoever. Nondescript. I’m not hip enough for Joe, I guess.

Cabula. La Cruz, Ambar Ale. 9.3% ABV. No. Like an amateur homebrew from Germany. Like the old Top Gear — ambitious, but rubbish.

Albur. La Chalupa Golden Ale. 4.7% ABV. Nearly translucent. The Taco Bell version is better. ‘Nuff said.

Bracino. English Pale Ale. 4.3%. More similar to a bitter than a pale ale. Decent.

Cabula. Eufemia, Irish Wheat Red Ale. 4.6%. Cloudy. A topnotch homebrew entry.

Cabula. Ojo de Vidrio, Honey Porter. 5.8%. Really a stout rather than a porter. Reminiscent of Obsidian Stout.

Finisima. 6.5% Belgian style trippel, I believe. A bit dry for the style, less candy than expected. But quaffable. A nice surprise.

Under Strange Suns update. It appears some people are partial to this little book of mine. USS won the silver in the INDIEFAB 2015 science fiction book of the year category. Silver, a nice, unpretentious metal, not all gauche and flash like gold.

House update. Windows are in. Garage door installed. Siding underway. Progress!

I took advantage of the visit to check out the local brewpub. Family friendly, plenty to occupy the Heir Apparent. The beer is good. And the science and science fiction theme has a quirky appeal. Perhaps I’ll have a chance to take tasting notes next visit.

 

Cheers.

Sweltering in Monterrey

View from my brother-in-law’s house.

Two blocks from the hotel on a Sunday morning and Monterrey is nearly unrecognizable. Kilometers of a major thoroughfare — the sort with a shady, tree-lined median and jogging path bisecting it — is closed. Bikers, joggers, walkers, dogs, and children pedaling four-wheelers crowd the street and the median. Not a single driver is plotting to commit vehicular homicide against me.

It’s rare I can step out onto a street in Monterrey without feeling my life threatened by every driver behind the wheel. Kind of nice, really.

But even at mid-morning the heat is sapping, merciless, and promising to grow worse. So, back inside to write today’s web log post.

I like writing in hotels. There is a sense of seriousness in the act of enclosing oneself in a room, curtains closed, and getting down to it, instead of being out, exploring what lies beyond the walls of the hotel. The implied sacrifice of unknown experience and fun suggests one is truly working and not merely playing at writing.

Not that I’m here in Monterrey for fun. When one considers vacation options in Mexico, Monterrey does not spring immediately to mind. I’m here for a wedding, and the reception on the terrace at Hotel Chipinque. My Beautiful Wife is taking advantage of the opportunity to visit clients and give a seminar. So I’m also here to assist MBW, looking after the Heir Apparent while MBW works.

View from Chipinque

I have gotten a bit of work done on Boss, writing a bit on the airplane, and writing a chapter over the last couple of days. Again, on the subject of writing in hotels, I’m for it.

So far we’ve visited family, spent some time in the hotel swimming pool until the sun drives us out, and eaten very well. Today being Father’s Day, I anticipate a memorable meal.

At the moment, however, it is enough to savor air conditioning. Sweet, sweet throat-desiccating hotel air conditioning.

Lesser Problems

In the grand scheme of the things, the sweeping panorama of mankind’s struggles, it isn’t much of a problem. “Minuscule” gives it too much credit. But this is my web log and I’ll complain if I want to.

Seems to happen to me every time. I reserve a couple of books at the library, even putting the hold on different days or even weeks. But inevitably both books arrive for pick up AT THE SAME TIME. Grrr. Usually new releases as well, meaning I’m allowed less time to read them. C’mon library. I’m not single anymore. I’ve got a wife and kid. I can’t just come home from work, plop down on the couch and read until 2AM. (If I did, I imagine I’d find myself single again pretty damn quick.)

There is a glimmer of hope that I might get through these books in time. We’re off to Mexico for a week, leaving in a few days. So I might be able to power through at least one book during the trip. Of course, I’d also hoped to get more writing done on Boss, try to bring the word count close to where I’d hoped to be at this point in the year. But no. Messrs. Erikson and Esslemont and their doorstopper novels have conspired to thwart me. (Well, Esslemont’s contribution to the grand conspiracy, Dancer’s Lament, only weighs in at a relatively svelte 350 pages or so. But Erikson, as usual, with Fall of Light pushes near the four digit page count. Edit, man. Edit.)

I’m sure you are all weeping in sympathy for my plight, your devoted web logger forced to read entertaining novels while vacationing in Mexico. Thank you. Your commiseration is duly noted.