The End is Nigh! But Not That Nigh.

May 21st came and went and all I lost was a cup of coffee and a pair of sunglasses. Which means Harold Camping was wrong. Again.

I have to wonder: Do the Harold Campings of the world REALLY believe their predictions, or do they quietly snicker as they calculate a new Use-By date for humanity?

WHITE HORSE takes place before, during, and after an apocalypse, so it should be no surprise to anyone that I'm fascinated by all things end-of-worldish, be it at the hand of deities or the natural result of too much hairspray used to prop up an entire generation of mall bangs. I love those shows--you know the ones--where experts give it to us straight: A black hole is coming right for us! We're going to die from a rare strain of turtle flu! The Venusians are coming, and they want to know if we human punks feel lucky!

I feel pretty lucky, but that didn't stop me watching people for signs of levitation and transparency on May 21, even though I don't believe in the Rapture. I'm more inclined to believe we're all going to die—or un-die—at the hands of zombies. I'm counting on my dog to bark and let me know they're coming—which she probably won't unless they're wearing duck costumes.

Is Yellowstone going to blow? Probably. Eventually. One day a meteor might slap us out of the sky. Maybe The End will piggyback the cure for cancer.

Will Harold Camping get the next one right? Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

I don't lose sleep over it, but the speculating fuels my creative fires. That same speculating has given birth to some of my favorite books: Stephen King's THE STAND; Susan Beth Pfeffer's LIFE AS WE KNEW IT; WORLD WAR Z by Max Brooks. Daniel Wilson's ROBOPOCALYPSE is sitting here, eager to be devoured. I've read along as a hundred versions of our world screeched or limped to a halt. Basically all anyone has to do to get me to buy a book is say, “You know this book? In it, the world ENDS.”

Sometimes I can't help but wonder: What if the experts, the authors, the Harold Campings are right? What if this time's the--

Review: Cole Alpaugh's THE BEAR IN A MUDDY TUTU

The lovely and talented Regan Leigh is running a competition for her recently-published writing partner, Cole Alpaugh. So head on over to her blog and check out the goodies--but not until you're done reading this review, of course! (There's an amazon gift card AND chocolate-covered bacon involved. Yum!)

Cole Alpaugh's novel, THE BEAR IN A MUDDY TUTU, underscores and tosses a few exclamation points at the old adage about not judging books by their covers. The bear will lie and tell you this is a book for children, but dare to crack the spine and you'll find a work of literary fiction, most definitely for grown-ups.

If pushed to single out the protagonist of TUTU, I'd probably point to the first character we meet, Buddy Wayne Hooduk. He's damaged goods right out of the box, his psyche used as a door mat for his mother to wipe her feet on. Pushed to breaking point, Buddy Wayne escapes his controlling mother and snatches up a how-to guide on becoming a cult leader. That's when his life begins in earnest.

Just as we've settled into Buddy Wayne's shoes, the scenery changes. Others step into focus and tell their heart-wrenching tales. The journalist with a kidnapped child, a girl searching for her dead father, a career alcoholic haunted by his dreams. Each of them, like Buddy Wayne, is their own kind of broken.

But I won't deny it: my heart, for the duration of this story, belonged to Gracie, the bear in the novel's title. Sweet, wistful Gracie, who tries so hard to do the right things and keep her humans happy. Cole pulls us into Gracie's head and shows us the quiet, resigned horror of an animal in bondage. And my heart ached....

I won't dig any deeper here; the discovery of story is so personal, each of us bringing our own baggage to join us in our reading spots. This book is about things lost and other things found. Which is the way life really is.

Ignore the dancing bear.
Do not make eye contact.
Flip to that first page.
I dare you...
There's a story inside, both charming and heartbreaking.

You can buy THE BEAR IN THE MUDDY TUTU right here.

Now go see Regan, because she's got chocolate-covered bacon (and other awesome things!) to give away.

Back in the (reading) saddle again

Just as I predicted, my reading malaise is now over. It's been a year of change thus far, and once life was done turning me upside down and shaking me by the heels (in good ways), I was able to sink, once more, into the magic conjured by another mind.

The book to break the (brief, but simultaneously oh-so long) drought was Mark Hodder's THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF SPRING HEELED JACK. Now I'm knee-deep in THE LIES OF LOCKE LAMORA by Scott Lynch. After that, I'll be cracking open the box of books labeled To Be Read; it's filled with treasures that caught my eye only to be cast aside when the apathy struck.

To those of you who offered reading suggestions, both in comments and via email, thank you. I'm always looking for new books to love.

Reading Interrupted

Winter was made for reading. But not this one. At least not for me.

See, I'm trapped in the throes of a reading malaise.

Nothing's grabbing me. Not old favorites. Not the glossy new covers of books designed to seduce readers like me. I even scan and pan magazine articles, newspapers, blog posts, my attention dwindling to a thin thread that soon snaps inches below the byline.

It's not them--it's me.

I have a plan for times like these. It's never failed before. To B&N I go, membership card in hand, and dig for treasure on the shelves. Quirky non fiction. Unread classics. New-to-me authors. Any cover flap that promises something new and distinctly other.

But not this time. The malaise has got me good.

I know why: because I'm waiting on something wonderful. So I know the damp edges of this listlessness will dissipate shortly. And there's a pile of amazing books waiting on me when it does.

Books are perpetually patient. They'll wait forever to be read. But I'll be coming for them...soon.

John Lennon: Liar or Fool?

"I enjoyed it like hell, but for art, I never learned a damn thing."

When I read those words from John Lennon, regarding art school, I couldn't figure out if he was a fool or a liar. I'm still not sure.

It's unthinkable to me that anyone creative could fail to learn something from an experience--be it positive or negative. We're the sum total of every moment that's gone before, including times that seem like they're made of air.

So for such a man to say he's learned nothing, I can't help but think: What a waste, or what a liar.

Resolutions

I'm not big on ceremony, on waiting for events to line up before I commit to a certain course of action. I've never resolved to start a diet or exercise program on January 1st. When I want or need change in my life, I tend to start it now when it needs doing (albeit sometimes after a respectable procrastination period).

But...argh...I love making lists. So here are my career-related resolutions/goals for 2011:

1. Work smarter.

2. Be more patient.

3. Learn something new every day (which I do already).

4. I've been a very fortunate woman this year, so I'd like to give back more to other writers. Others have helped me and it seems right to perpetuate that. Good writer karma.

5. Write a handful of shorts set in my post-apocalyptic world.

6. Write the best books that I can.


On a personal level:

7. Be more patient (can you tell I struggle with this? :D )

8. Reply to my email more promptly (or when I get around to it).

9. I resolve to not get lost more than once per week. Or, when I do, use the phrase "There's more than one way to get to XYZ".

10. Maintain my current weight/health and improve my overall fitness level.

11. Enjoy life--because it's really pretty sweet.

Happy New Year, folks!

Christmas

I was outside Walgreen's when I saw a man dressed in last decade's jeans and this season's sneakers.

"Got any change for the bus?" he said as I approached. His teeth sparkled gold and yellow.

I artfully dodged him the way one dodges gum on the sidewalk.

"Merry Christmas, bitch," he added.

For whatever reason, this year people seem snarkier than usual. Maybe it's Texas; the weather this winter has been typical--for spring. Maybe it's because the holiday season started so early and we're all weary to the bones of Rudolph and Frosty and the Little Drummer Boy. Or maybe we're just tired of being told that if we love people we have to buy big rather than thoughtful.

It's the most stressful time of the year.

So now that Christmas Day is here--and almost over--I hope you're all feeling the holiday stress dissipate. Merry Christmas, folks.