Man Martin's Blog, page 222
June 15, 2011
The Pink Alligator Tour Rolls On
I'd love everybody in the Woodstock area to come see me tomorrow night, June 16th, 6:30 PM at FoxTale Books in Woodstock.
I had a sensational time last night in beautiful Athens, Georgia doing a reading at Little Kings with Avid Books, thanks to Janet and Jim for inviting me.
I also need to say a special word about Doug Crandell. It has often puzzled me why writers, as a group, aren't better people than they sometimes are. After all, we deal in the human condition, we should be - shouldn't we? - more compassionate, more giving, more understanding, than the general run of humanity. Too often, though, writers are bitter, petty, and competitive. Doug Crandell, though. Doug Crandell is a saint. I really don't know when I've met an absolutely sweeter or nicer guy. I invited him to join me in Athens, hoping he'd promote his own book, The Peculiar Boars of Malloy, which everyone should own at least three copies of, but instead he insisted, after a two-hour schlepp from Douglasville, mind you, on only talking about me, refusing to take even a sliver of the spotlight. Doug is the sort of person I aspire to be. He's what we all should aspire to be.
Enough with the mush. Go out and buy The Peculiar Boars of Malloy. Buy it from avid.com; they have autographed copies.
Here's some video highlights from last night:
I had a sensational time last night in beautiful Athens, Georgia doing a reading at Little Kings with Avid Books, thanks to Janet and Jim for inviting me.
I also need to say a special word about Doug Crandell. It has often puzzled me why writers, as a group, aren't better people than they sometimes are. After all, we deal in the human condition, we should be - shouldn't we? - more compassionate, more giving, more understanding, than the general run of humanity. Too often, though, writers are bitter, petty, and competitive. Doug Crandell, though. Doug Crandell is a saint. I really don't know when I've met an absolutely sweeter or nicer guy. I invited him to join me in Athens, hoping he'd promote his own book, The Peculiar Boars of Malloy, which everyone should own at least three copies of, but instead he insisted, after a two-hour schlepp from Douglasville, mind you, on only talking about me, refusing to take even a sliver of the spotlight. Doug is the sort of person I aspire to be. He's what we all should aspire to be.
Enough with the mush. Go out and buy The Peculiar Boars of Malloy. Buy it from avid.com; they have autographed copies.
Here's some video highlights from last night:
June 14, 2011
Great Book Launch at Eagle Eye
For those of you who missed it, here's some video highlights from my book launch, June 11. Thanks to Doug and Charles and all the wonderful folks at Eagle Eye in Decatur, and thanks to a wonderful audience!
Want to win a free copy of Paradise Dogs - Guess the Marx Brothers movie represented by the cartoon on June 13th's post!
Want to win a free copy of Paradise Dogs - Guess the Marx Brothers movie represented by the cartoon on June 13th's post!
June 13, 2011
STOOPID Contest #2
WE HAVE A WIENER! From among the correct answers, Grace Veach of Lakeland, Florida, wins the grand prize: an autographed copy of Paradise Dogs and some assorted goodies. Grace says there are three types of people in the world: those who can count and those who can't.
Last Week's Answer Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window
NEW PUZZLE
Can you identify the Marx Brothers movie represented by this picture? Send your answer along with your name and address to manmartin@manmartin.net One lucky winner from the correct answers will be chosen to get a free autographed copy of Paradise Dogs delivered in person to your home, hovel, or mansion by a PAID REPRESENTATIVE OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT!
"Here comes your vichyssoise."
June 12, 2011
Thoughts on Andy Irwin's Lip Service
The other day a very strange and very talented friend, Andy Irwin, came to my book launch, and whilst I was blathering on and being all big-headed, he pressed into Nancy's hands a copy of his CD, Lip Service.What a weird and wonderful gem it is!
The next line will turn some people off, but you need to keep reading. It's a CD that features a lot of whistling. Whistling is by far an under-rated art form, and it has such overtones of hokeyness, that even the accordian does not outrank it for kitschy connotation. But really great whistling is an art, as it only took listening to the opening track, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," to convince me. Andy is accompanied by the Kandinsky trio - Benedict Goodfriend, violinist, Alan Weinstein, cellist,and Elizabeth Bachelder on the piano. The most familiar instrument to compare a whistler to is the flute, and there are very flute-like jazz riffs during the piece. But whistling is ultimately mouth and teeth (I suppose. I can't whistle.) And there's something very human about it. Another parallel is scat singing. Andy pulls tricks with whistling that remind me a lot of Ella Fitzgerald's vocal gymnastics, and - I cannot explain how this is so - Andy's whistling sounds like Andy's voice. Of course, it is his voice, but it sounds like him. There were parts I was listening to, and I'd think, "That sounds exactly like Andy!"
Andy does my favorite kind of music - serious musicianship coupled with leavening wit. The second track is Old Joe Clark, a great bluegrass standard, performed as Indian music. Not since The Squirrel Nut Zippers transformed Camp Town Races into an Eastern European Gypsy tune have I heard such an unlikely and strangely apt rendition. Also not to be missed are Andy's multi-tracked rendition of Low Rider and Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.
I won't mention each song individually because the review would outlast your patience, but this is a CD well worth owning.
June 11, 2011
Out to Launch
Today I'm doing my official book launch for Paradise Dogs at Eagle Eye Books in Decatur. They'll be grilling up hotdogs, I'll give away some trinkets. A good time will be had by all. Meanwhile I'm reposting something I put on "A Good Blog is Hard to Find" that seems germaine. Watch this space - Monday I'll announce the wiener of last week's STOOPID Contest and pose a new puzzle, equally silly.
How Lucky She is to Have Me
I often think of the brightness we writers shed upon the world. On our readers, of course, and on literature in general, but in particular, what a ray of sunshine we must be to our families, what a constant source of joy and delight! We little notice the light we bring into the world, of course, the sun can hardly be aware of its own glory, but day by day we share some small part of our luster with our nearest and dearest. How my wife must wake up every day grateful that I am hers!
Not that she doesn't contribute in her own small way to our life together: true, she earns a living, monitors our investments, mentors our daughters, makes sure the dog's heartworm medicine is up to date, the oil is changed in the cars, that we've paid our ad valorum taxes, the pantry is stocked, the bills are paid, the house is clean, the plants are watered, and dinner is ready.
But these light duties, plus maybe a dozen or so others that slip my mind, must float by as in a pleasant dream in the knowledge that Genius is at work in the very next room – or at least browsing the internet and getting ready to work at any second – and that when I sit down to eat the tasty meal she has prepared, the man dribbling gravy onto his new shirt and getting rice grains all stuck down in the couch cushions and the carpet, is no ordinary man, but a WRITER, and that he will be with her all the rest of her life. You wonder how she can contain her glee at the prospect of all those decades of shared meals before her.
The books and papers I leave scattered around the house – every room, even the bathroom, has its little pile – are constant reminders that while she has been negotiating to get the drywall repaired and balancing the checkbook, I've been hard at work making stuff up. Anyone can see that I am full of inspiration; just the other day Nancy remarked how full of it I was. She knows how I suffer for my art. Writing is Pain, she told me the other day, or at least I think it's what she meant to say. It came out more like, "Writers are a pain." I shared with her the gist of this blog, and asked her if being married to a writer wasn't like sharing the house with a magnificent, beautifully plumaged bird. "Yes," she agreed. "Exactly. Like living with a five-foot ten inch bird. A flightless one." Odd, how unlovely my wife's figures of speech sometimes are; I had in mind a gorgeous peacock, but she spoke as if describing some large, incontinent ostrich. I do not blame her, of course, she is not a Writer, as I am. I was on the brink of asking if she ever felt especially privileged to share a life with me, but I thought better of it. At the time she was busy scrubbing some gravy and rice I seemed to have trod into the carpet.
And the most wonderful and glorious thing of all, is we Writers never think to ask for thanks for all we do. All unknowing, we are beautiful wonderful things. We ask for one thing only: the opportunity to Work.
Which is exactly what I'm going to do after three more games of solitaire.
How Lucky She is to Have Me
I often think of the brightness we writers shed upon the world. On our readers, of course, and on literature in general, but in particular, what a ray of sunshine we must be to our families, what a constant source of joy and delight! We little notice the light we bring into the world, of course, the sun can hardly be aware of its own glory, but day by day we share some small part of our luster with our nearest and dearest. How my wife must wake up every day grateful that I am hers!
Not that she doesn't contribute in her own small way to our life together: true, she earns a living, monitors our investments, mentors our daughters, makes sure the dog's heartworm medicine is up to date, the oil is changed in the cars, that we've paid our ad valorum taxes, the pantry is stocked, the bills are paid, the house is clean, the plants are watered, and dinner is ready.
But these light duties, plus maybe a dozen or so others that slip my mind, must float by as in a pleasant dream in the knowledge that Genius is at work in the very next room – or at least browsing the internet and getting ready to work at any second – and that when I sit down to eat the tasty meal she has prepared, the man dribbling gravy onto his new shirt and getting rice grains all stuck down in the couch cushions and the carpet, is no ordinary man, but a WRITER, and that he will be with her all the rest of her life. You wonder how she can contain her glee at the prospect of all those decades of shared meals before her.
The books and papers I leave scattered around the house – every room, even the bathroom, has its little pile – are constant reminders that while she has been negotiating to get the drywall repaired and balancing the checkbook, I've been hard at work making stuff up. Anyone can see that I am full of inspiration; just the other day Nancy remarked how full of it I was. She knows how I suffer for my art. Writing is Pain, she told me the other day, or at least I think it's what she meant to say. It came out more like, "Writers are a pain." I shared with her the gist of this blog, and asked her if being married to a writer wasn't like sharing the house with a magnificent, beautifully plumaged bird. "Yes," she agreed. "Exactly. Like living with a five-foot ten inch bird. A flightless one." Odd, how unlovely my wife's figures of speech sometimes are; I had in mind a gorgeous peacock, but she spoke as if describing some large, incontinent ostrich. I do not blame her, of course, she is not a Writer, as I am. I was on the brink of asking if she ever felt especially privileged to share a life with me, but I thought better of it. At the time she was busy scrubbing some gravy and rice I seemed to have trod into the carpet.
And the most wonderful and glorious thing of all, is we Writers never think to ask for thanks for all we do. All unknowing, we are beautiful wonderful things. We ask for one thing only: the opportunity to Work.
Which is exactly what I'm going to do after three more games of solitaire.
June 10, 2011
Things I Believed Were True That Turned Out Not to Be
I know many things. Some things I know, however, turn out not to be true.
I blame this, probably unfairly, on my mother. She was given to dispensing fascinating information, which upon examination, is not consistent with the facts. Now, she also said a lot of fascinating things that were completely true, so you never knew where you stood. The innocent me absorbed all of this - true and untrue alike - with perfect acceptance. Every once in a while an untrue factoid will detonate itself, however, like a German missile long forgotten outside a London suburb.
Driving to and from Baltimore with Jamie Iredell I shared many fascinating tid-bits of information, which Jamie recieved with amazement and delight. Upon investigation, some of these proved spurious.
Here is a sampling of the nonsense I (quite seriously) told Jamie was fact:
LBJ was the first Southern President after the Civil War. I was CONVINCED this was true - it made so much sense that it should be true. It, however, is false. Woodrow Wilson, just for one example, was a Virginian.
Kangaroo is an aboriginal word meaning something to the effect of "what are you talking about?" This, at least, is based on a genuine if mistaken myth. Kangaroo is derived from an aboriginal word for a specific breed of kangaroo.
The Panda Bear is not a true bear at all, but an animal more closely related to the American racoon. Honestly, I don't know what the hell I was thinking of with that one, but I was perfectly sincere in insisting to Jamie that a Panda is a relative of a racoon. It isn't. It's a type of bear.
Anyway, I've been corrected - multiple times - and I suppose this will teach me some humility. Until the next weird piece of misinformation decides to detonate itself.
I blame this, probably unfairly, on my mother. She was given to dispensing fascinating information, which upon examination, is not consistent with the facts. Now, she also said a lot of fascinating things that were completely true, so you never knew where you stood. The innocent me absorbed all of this - true and untrue alike - with perfect acceptance. Every once in a while an untrue factoid will detonate itself, however, like a German missile long forgotten outside a London suburb.
Driving to and from Baltimore with Jamie Iredell I shared many fascinating tid-bits of information, which Jamie recieved with amazement and delight. Upon investigation, some of these proved spurious.
Here is a sampling of the nonsense I (quite seriously) told Jamie was fact:
LBJ was the first Southern President after the Civil War. I was CONVINCED this was true - it made so much sense that it should be true. It, however, is false. Woodrow Wilson, just for one example, was a Virginian.
Kangaroo is an aboriginal word meaning something to the effect of "what are you talking about?" This, at least, is based on a genuine if mistaken myth. Kangaroo is derived from an aboriginal word for a specific breed of kangaroo.
The Panda Bear is not a true bear at all, but an animal more closely related to the American racoon. Honestly, I don't know what the hell I was thinking of with that one, but I was perfectly sincere in insisting to Jamie that a Panda is a relative of a racoon. It isn't. It's a type of bear.
Anyway, I've been corrected - multiple times - and I suppose this will teach me some humility. Until the next weird piece of misinformation decides to detonate itself.
June 9, 2011
Pink Alligator Tour: Video Blog Number One
This is the first of my video blogs for the Pink Alligator Tour. Today's blog features Over the Moon Books in Crozet, Virginia
June 8, 2011
Paradise Dogs is an Okra Pick
I just got word today that
Paradise Dogs
has been selected as a Summer Okra Pick by the Southern Independent Booksellers Association.
The other Okra Picks for this season are The Art of Saying Goodbye by Ellyn Bache, The Fine Art of Insincerity by Angela Hunt, A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano, Groove Interrupted: Loss, Renewal, and the Music of New Orleans by Keith Spera, Hourglass by Myra McEntire, The Iron House by John Hart, The Orchard by Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Reservoir by John Milliken Thompson, Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones, A Small Hotel by Robert Olen Butler, Where Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley, and You Believers by Jane Bradley
For more information on the Okra Picks program, visit SIBA's website at www.sibaweb.com/okra.
Visit the Okra Picks Patch at www.authorsroundthesouth.com. Lady Banks will introduce the Okra Picks to over 5000 consumer subscribers in the June issue. Okra Pick titles will be highlighted on the Southern Indie Bestseller list and SIBA will post marketing and promotional materials as part of an "Okra Picks toolkit" for booksellers at www.sibaweb.com.
I'm writing this from a coffee shop near Crozet (crah-zay) Virginia where James Iredell (Book of Freaks) and I are on a whirlwind tour.
:-)
The other Okra Picks for this season are The Art of Saying Goodbye by Ellyn Bache, The Fine Art of Insincerity by Angela Hunt, A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano, Groove Interrupted: Loss, Renewal, and the Music of New Orleans by Keith Spera, Hourglass by Myra McEntire, The Iron House by John Hart, The Orchard by Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Reservoir by John Milliken Thompson, Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones, A Small Hotel by Robert Olen Butler, Where Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley, and You Believers by Jane Bradley
For more information on the Okra Picks program, visit SIBA's website at www.sibaweb.com/okra.
Visit the Okra Picks Patch at www.authorsroundthesouth.com. Lady Banks will introduce the Okra Picks to over 5000 consumer subscribers in the June issue. Okra Pick titles will be highlighted on the Southern Indie Bestseller list and SIBA will post marketing and promotional materials as part of an "Okra Picks toolkit" for booksellers at www.sibaweb.com.
I'm writing this from a coffee shop near Crozet (crah-zay) Virginia where James Iredell (Book of Freaks) and I are on a whirlwind tour.
:-)
June 6, 2011
STOOPID Contest #1
Can you identify the famous movie represented by this picture? Send your answer along with your name and address to manmartin@manmartin.net One lucky winner from the correct answers will be chosen to get a free autographed copy of Paradise Dogs ("So right and so damn funny," Sonny Brewer) delivered in person to your home, hovel, or mansion by a PAID REPRESENTATIVE OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT!
Check next week for a new contest!OH, and visit Manmartin.net to see when Man is coming to a city near you!*
*Depending on what you mean by "city" and "near"
T Minus One
Tomorrow my second novel, Paradise Dogs, is in bookstores.
Yow.
I couldn't sleep last night and lay on the couch in the sunroom. This morning I'll be sending out emails to everyone I know - brace for impact, folks - and packing my bags for a roadtrip to Crozet and Charlottesvile, Virginia, then on to Baltimore with my buddy and fellow-author, James Iredell. When I retunrn to Atlanta, I've got a couple of signings in the greater metro area, then it's south into Florida and Alabama. I'll be hitting all the hot spots, Gainesville, Tampa, Pensacola. It's a whirlwind.
Check this space tomorrow for the RETURN OF THE STOOPID CONTEST - your chance to win a free copy of Paradise Dogs.
Yow.
I couldn't sleep last night and lay on the couch in the sunroom. This morning I'll be sending out emails to everyone I know - brace for impact, folks - and packing my bags for a roadtrip to Crozet and Charlottesvile, Virginia, then on to Baltimore with my buddy and fellow-author, James Iredell. When I retunrn to Atlanta, I've got a couple of signings in the greater metro area, then it's south into Florida and Alabama. I'll be hitting all the hot spots, Gainesville, Tampa, Pensacola. It's a whirlwind.
Check this space tomorrow for the RETURN OF THE STOOPID CONTEST - your chance to win a free copy of Paradise Dogs.
