Hurricane Irene: The Bust.... I mean Storm of 2011

Friday 8/26, 11:57 am:

At this point, Hurricane Irene is a bust.

Reporting live from New Jersey, this intrepid investigator has seen little sign of the storm. Right now there are a few clouds in the sky, no wind, and no rain. People are proceeding their days normally, traveling to work, and not panicking in the streets. All batteries in Northern New Jersey have been bought up by customers, except for those strange 9 Volts that no one seems to need anymore. Customers at the local Shop Rite gave this reporter confused and annoyed looks when asked to respond to the question, "Hey, did you hear about the Hurricane?" and/or "Why is this place so crowded today? I just need my perishable goods."

The lights in this apartment have been flickering, but that's because I keep flipping the switch up and down.

Meanwhile, the snark level is surprisingly low. A quick check of Twitter turns up few jokes about the storm, while Facebook has been overtaken by pictures of babies lying on their backs and people wishing Happy Birthday to people they don't really know.

Continue to check the Writing Block for more updates on this developing story.

Friday, August 26, 10:25 pm:

Irene is still a bust. There's a stiff breeze, but no clouds. The most tragic part of the day wasn't the crowd a Shop Rite, but the fact that the Franklin Steakhouse was out of Harpoon IPA.

Chris Christie has taken on the Jersey Shore telling people to forget their gym trip, forget their tan and forget their laundry and just get the hell out.

The Giants/Jets game has been postpone until Monday when no one will still care.

I'm looking at houses tomorrow. Then watching Doctor Who. And eating a hurricornicopia of food. Should be fun.

Saturday, August 27th, 9:43 am

The skies are overcast. I'm watching the news. Judging by their warnings, here's what I've decided to do before and after the storm:

-Get a box out of my car.

-Eat a bagel sandwich.

-Drink some coffee.

-Grow a beard and really long out of control Braveheart hair.

-Hoard barrels of oil and water for trading after the hurricane.

-Develop my own language to be able to talk in front of the ravagers.

-Sharpen wooden branches.

-Watch Doctor Who.

-Panic. That's what the news wants. Panic.

-Eat mini-hot dogs tonight.

Keep watching this spot!

WITNESS TO DEATH

If you don't check Do Some Damage:

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John Brighton is an ordinary young schoolteacher still hung up on his ex, Michelle. Suspecting her new boyfriend is cheating on her, John decides to follow Frank's Lexus and find out the truth once and for all. Turns out John's in for a major surprise. Frank isn't heading for some sack time with another girl. Instead he drags John into the middle of a shootout on the banks of the Hudson River, and before John knows what's happening, he's knee-deep in bodies.

Before the corpses can even cool, Frank disappears and John finds himself wanted for five murders. With no way to prove his innocence, John goes on the run—not only from the police, but a vicious assassin as well. And when Michelle is kidnapped, John’s worst-case scenario comes true. Though his head tells him to stay in hiding, his heart says otherwise. He has to save the woman he loves or die trying.

As John begins to uncover the truth surrounding the events that have turned his life upside down, he learns it isn’t just Michelle he must rescue. Thousands of other innocent lives are in jeopardy too.

A heart-pounding, heart-stopping, heart-breaking thriller from two-time Shamus Award nominated author, Dave White. For fans of Harlan Coben, Thomas Perry and Jeff Abbott.

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In Memoriam: David Thompson

I originally posted this on Do Some Damage, but wanted it up here as well.


David Thompson was one of the few people who could get me to fly.

Three years ago, when my debut was released, he asked me to sign at Murder by the Book. I couldn't go, but he made sure he asked again when my second came out--sending about fifteen different dates I could show up. The message was clear, "Get your butt down here, we want to sell your book."

I had no choice, I agreed, despite my fear of flying. I actually got on a plane to Houston to be at that bookstore.

That's how David treated writers. He wanted them to come to his store and push their books. It didn't matter if you were Michael Connelly, Dennis Lehane, Laura Lippman, or any old midlist writer, he and his wife, McKenna, treated everyone like a superstar.

To them, every writer was special.

And they made sure their signings were legendary. They were fun question and answer sessions that went on for an hour or more, letting you learn as much about a writer as possible, and often immortalized on YouTube by Bill Crider.

David didn't stop there. He created Busted Flush Press, a small publisher who put out great novels and anthologies. He and Duane Swierczynski placed my first original story in a print anthology with DAMN NEAR DEAD.

He energy and enthusiasm toward books was contagious. He spent his time on Twitter pushing his favorite novels or most recent reads. He always let people know what books the store had imported from the UK. Murder by the Book is my go to independent store. They would ship to NJ without hesitation.

When I heard about his passing today, I went numb. I had just been talking about him in class that morning, telling my students my most embarrassing story--traveling to the signing. I nearly had a nervous breakdown on a plane and still made sure I signed there. Not many people can get me on an airplane.

And, I suspect that's how it was with David and all other authors. They would do anything to talk to him, do anything to sign at his store. His love of books was infectious. He was one of a kind.

I'm going to miss him.

Dear Writers

I'm more than halfway through my current manuscript, and I'm coming across something I've never come across before. I'm seeing what major revisions to make to tighten up the piece before I even finish it. There are some characters I want to combine, a few to cut, and some moments to cut, and add.

Usually, when writing, I just plug forward, use the characters I have and try to come to an ending. Then I worry about revision.

But this time it's gnawing at me. I've tried to ignore it and wait until I'm done to make the changes. After all, I'm working without an outline. What if the characters I'm thinking of combining really separate themselves and both become important to the plot?

What if the characters I was going to do away with completely does the same thing?

But, instead, I find myself ignoring these characters, not giving them the depth they need.

And I'm constantly wondering if I should go back and revise before I continue. Will it help me get to the ending I want to get to? Or will it just muck everything up?

What do you think?

Random Thoughts from a Honeymoon Cruise

That's right, I'm married!

In fact, if you've been wondering where I've been for the past 4 (whoa... four??) months, it's been planning a wedding and writing.

Now that I'm back from the honeymoon, I'm hoping to start blogging with some more regularity. That said, the wife and I took a cruise to Bermuda, and here is basically what I'd be posting to Twitter, if my phone had worked:

-No, seriously, do not flush foreign objects down the toilet.

-Playing the theme from TITANIC during dinner is probably the worst choice this cruiseline could make.

-We had the best sommelier. He remembered our drink order from night to night and had a catch phrase. "And enjoy. CHEERS!"

-Being on a cruise is like starring in all the non-explosion parts of a James Bond movie.

-There's a dance called the Cuban Shuffle?

-Apparently every book that's not downloaded to a Kindle, iPad, or Nook has a title that starts with THE GIRL WHO...

-Just talked a woman into buying my book on her Kindle... right now. ABC. (More on this at Do Some Damage, later this week.)

-Wait. It's called the Cupid Shuffle? And it sucks.

-Dear band, you do not have to teach the crowd how to participate to "Sweet Caroline."

-You know you're drunk on a boat in rough waters when you're the only one walking straight.

-Bacon!

-Pizza!

-Frog legs, delicious, Quail, meh, and escargot, DELICIOUS.

-BACON!

-PIZZA!!

-I wish we were not the most recently married couple at this party. The champagne sucks!

-Another character with a catch phrase. The entertainment director asked everyone HOWZIT!

-MINI DONUTS!

-Good thing everyone in Bermuda honks their horn at other drivers. I keep forgetting they drive on the left.

-Why are there no sidewalks in Bermuda?

-Mmmmmmm, Dockyard Beer. The only brewpub in Bermuda and I found it.

-Interestingly, rough seas do not affect the rotation of a roulette wheel or roulette ball.

-ENOUGH WITH THE CUPID SHUFFLE!

-Water: cold. Sun: hot. Sand: pink.

-Duty free scotch and cuban cigars... niceeeeeeeee.

-Fingers crossed that customs does not look for my Cuban Cigars.

-BACON! PIZZA!

Teacher Week: College

College. Does anyone even remember college?

I do. I remember the classes.

I remember learning how to read all over again. I learned to love THE GREAT GATSBY and how to look at the characters in their own way.

Professors taught me how to write and how to research.

Professors taught me how to revise.

And I remember two specific professors: One who read the very first draft of "God Bless the Child" and encouraged me to revise it. And revise again. And at the end of the semester wrote on the paper: "You should look up some mystery magazines. This is good enough to get published."

And I remember another of my creative writing professors, an adjunct honestly, who took time out of her schedule to help me write my thesis... my very first attempt at a Jackson Donne novel. When it was finished, she gave me an A. I wondered aloud if I would ever be able to publish it.

She said without a doubt, "Yes."

I didn't publish that one, but from elementary school all the way through college there were teachers there to inspire me and push me along. There were those who guided me specifically and those who said things that stuck with me for years.

Without teachers, I wouldn't be where I am now.

Teacher Week: High School Teachers

High School. The years where you're supposed to continue a higher level of thinking. You have to navigate the halls, the hate, and the fun and still come up strong.

My high school years were great. My band teacher taught me discipline, organization, and the ability to perform without an over abundance of nerves. He got us all motivated and dedicated to one cause. Nearly all of us bought in. And by all, I mean over 180 kids at one time.

I learned how to write poetry, to create a picture with words and give it feeling. I learned the art of a story arc, how characters had to be believable and have the right motivations. I learned that some people are going to like what you write and some people aren't.

I learned to type. The right way.

I learned how to look deeply into story. How Shakespeare wasn't as complicated as some made it out to be. And how Hawthorne was. I learned how to write essays that looked deep into the souls of characters and how to find a different meaning than was there.

I learned about World War I and II and how the seeds were sewn for those conflicts many years earlier. How one event builds on another and another.

And I learned Hamlet. I got to be Hamlet when we read aloud in class. And how my teacher pulled me aside one day and said, "Not many people get to play Hamlet, but you'll always be able to say you did."