Well at least the cat understands me...

Well, okay, technically it’s my wife’s cat but I sneak him treats (against doctor’s orders) on occasion because I’m just that kind of guy. No, not the kind that wants bad things to happen to my wife’s cat, but the kind of guy that doesn’t always play by the rules. And he (the cat that is) loves me for it. I’m the first up in the morning and he comes up to me and head butts me in the shin, damn near knocking me over (he’s a Maine Coon – kinda beefy) and he knows what’s in store. A little sliced turkey or roast beef or if I’m making tuna fish sandwiches, an orgasmic hunk of tuna. I can see it in his twinkling eyes. Nirvana time. I’m gonna get treats from the dorky guy that sits for hours at his computer as I watch him, thinking, what a dolt, why doesn’t he just take a nap in the sun?

Okay, the cat doesn’t get the whole writing gig. But he knows how to have fun. I’m usually the last to bed (being a writer means some odd hours) and I fear turning off the lights before retiring. Why? Because the darkness is his friend. He loves to hide behind the sofa and attack me as I walk down the hall to the bedroom. I’m half asleep and this furry missile comes out of the dark and hits me full on, staggering me. I curse softly at him (don’t want to wake my wife – the cat is bad enough) but I have to grin too. He’s a trickster. He’s loves to play. He even loves to play fetch like a puppy. He loves life. And I love him for it.

So there is a bond between the cat and me. I’m not a cat or dog guy per se – but I do like animals. And like I said, I do love this cat. He gets it. He gets that life should be fun. That no matter how many times you attack the dork as he trundles off to bed, it’s fun. Yep. Scaring the crap out of the half-asleep guy is fun. I can imagine him curling up at the foot of the bed thinking, I got him good tonight. And I get turkey in morning. Life is good.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t understand why I write instead of nap, but I think he gets me just as I get him. We are simpatico that way. We get life. Life should be fun. That treats are okay in moderation. That sneak attacks are fun – if no harm is done. That life is good. Yeah, at least the cat understands me.

Why Do We Have to Read This Crap Anyway?

Okay, confession time. I was a closet geek in high school. Well, okay, maybe I wasn’t so much in the closet as I might think. Sure, I played baseball all through high school and I even played football for one year before I realized that football is the modern equivalent of the gladiatorial games – and I wasn’t the lion. So I had my cool clique to hang out with. I wasn’t the kind of nerd that did extra credit trigonometry problems nor was I on the chess team or the kid with the clichéd pocket protector. But I was a kid that loved to read.

Hey, I was 16 – it wasn’t cool to “read” anything that wasn’t glossy and had half clothed to mostly unclothed women in it. But I did. And I liked it. And I don’t think anyone at my high school but Mr. Macmillan knew how much I like it. He could tell. He could see the signs. All of us in the literature cult know the signs. I bet some of you in the audience know the signs.

And although I haven’t reread many of those novels we read back in Advanced Literature, I do remember them. I remember the feeling they gave me. The feeling of power. Of understanding human nature just a little bit better – at a time in life when all of human nature and motivation was a snake ball to me. I still haven’t figured out why Lisa Ackerman hated me. But I’ve gotten over it...

Anyway, the books were my friends – closet friends – but good friends nonetheless. They got me through some weird times and I’m thankful for their service – then and now. Because just as they taught me lessons back then, they teach me lessons today. Like I said, I haven’t reread most of the classics, but they’ve stuck with me as I pull together stories and ideas and themes and plots and all the other building materials that make up a novel.

So 20 some odd years later I say, “Here’s to you good and noble friends! Thank you for being there – then and now!”

Magnum PI and other Fantasies of Youth

I was a teenager when the television show Magnum PI first aired. And like most adolescent boys I wanted to be just like him. To live rent free on an estate in Hawaii. Drive fast cars - that you didn't have to pay for. To hang out with your friends at an exclusive beach club and never have to pay your beer tab. Yeah, that's the life.

But it was a fantasy. A fantasy that seemed so far out of reach at 18 that when I got into my 20's, then 30's, now 40's I forgot how carefree and innocent it all seemed at the time. How, at 18, the world was full of possibilities and if you closed your eyes and thought deeply enough, you could put yourself on that estate or behind the wheel of that beautiful red Ferrari. How do I get that fantasy life back? Can I get that life back? Am I too old to dream the dreams of an 18-year-old?

As the great existential philosopher from Key West sings, "I'm growing older but not up." And it's a philosphy I'm adopting more and more lately. I'm trying to recapture those innocent days of youth while maintaining some dignity (I now only wear a coconut bra for special occasions) by tempering that spontaneity with the wisdom gleaned from my 40+ years on this planet. Life is for living right? And what good is living if you don't have any dreams? So, right now, as I type this, a very nice model of that red Ferrari sits on my desk reminding me that I should dare to dream. That the dreams of an 18-year-old boy can still be the dreams of a 40-year-old man - if I only shut my eyes and dream deeply enough.

Sleuthfest 2008

Just got back from a great weekend in South Florida. Sleuthfest 2008 is in the books and I'm so very glad I went. Not only because it was 10 degrees back home - and 80 degrees poolside - but because of the warmth and camaraderie of all the attendees and conference volunteers. It takes a small army to put one of these things on and it went flawlessly. I especially want to thank Joanne Sinchuk at Murder on the Beach for supporting a not so local boy - but a boy that wishes he was local. And to Christine Kling - a fellow novelist living the life I've always dreamed - thank you for such a wonderful discussion and the grog was fantastic.

It's these conferences that keep you going. Tiring as they are, they energize you too. You meet the folks that read your books and you meet the writers that write the books that you love. Not a bad way to spend a weekend.

Is that a gun in your pocket?

Wow. Right out of a spy novel eh? I just might have to use this one in a future book...

Police are searching for a man who tried to send a noteworthy package of books to Paris, according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. A UPS Store clerk "was preparing to ship the plastic-wrapped books on Jan. 31 when she noticed that one of the hardbacks rattled, according to police reports. The woman shook the book and spotted a gun part slipping through the pages."

A subsequent police search revealed that the books contained "a disassembled Beretta handgun, three loaded magazines and two boxes of 9mm ammunition hidden in hollowed copies of Richard Tarnas' Cosmos andPsyche, Isaac Asimov's Chronology of the World and a communications text."