Somali Pirates: Take Note

Was trolling around downtown Annapolis yesterday and saw this. I love it when strangers crack me up. It's hanging outside Mill's Wine & Spirits on the city dock, the liquor store I featured at the end of my story "Shot Back" over on Thrilling Detective a few months ago (there's a new killer issue of So & Smith's Thrilling Detective up now btw, so go check it out.) I didn't have my digital camera so props to the USNI for the image. Goddamn. Got to friggin' love the Navy SEALs.

Pulp Pusher Story: ANGEL

Tony Black was kind enough today to green-light another short story of mine for his darker than dark crime fiction powerhouse: Pulp Pusher. Hey, even Guatemalan dishwashers can be noir protagonists, people. Go here to read "ANGEL"

Bagley, Now

Gotta plug...the man. Patrick Shawn Bagley is up on Bookspot Central's ongoing series "Conversations with the Bookless". I had the honor of sharing some real estate in So & Smith's Thrilling Detective this year with Patrick, so listen up, fuck-os: this guy is the real deal superbad.
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If I still lived in Maine like I did briefly almost twenty years ago...oh... what havoc Patrick and I could get in....goddamn.

Food Crime

Do you consider a crime novel or thriller without at least one decent food scene lacking? Maybe it’s just the cook in me, but if there isn’t one well described tasty sidestep, a taco--even a great cup of mud described, I just feel cheated. There are measures to a person and one is what they eat. Please note-- I’m not carping about dainty cozies that cheerily exclaim “Recipes included!” as those books, for me at least, are like looking at really, really bad Christmas sweaters while sucking on a car battery.
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Re-read old Pelecanos--CLICK! a craving for pan-fried eggplant or halfsmokes at Ben’s Chili Bowl. Cruise threw a Kaminsky Lew Fonesca novel and I end up slashing across three lanes for a Dairy Queen. Last summer’s opening to Duane Swierczynski’s Severance Package? Potato salad will never be the same.
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Anthony Bourdain, celebrity chef gadfly and crime writer in his own right (Bone in the Throat, Gone Bamboo, The Bobby Gold Stories), once wrote “I am deeply suspicious of any cook who is less than enthusiastic about sex, music, movies, travel—and LIFE.” Hear, freakin', hear. Bet Tony would agree that good writers embrace all passions. Leave out food, dude, and I'll be leaving you on the shelf.

S'plains A Lot...: Get Kieran

For my upcoming birthday I received a subscription for Netflix. Not one to go to the movies anymore, this is a freakin' godsend. I've been getting way stupid about watching flicks I've long missed or jonesed for...violent crime sagas and westerns mostly.
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When I was a kid my Uncle Doc took me and my brothers to the movies all the time. With great cover stories for my parents like, "we're going to see the new Disney movie", Doc would take us to see some of the most impressionable badass on the market. Awesome stuff. "The Getaway", "The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3", "The 7Ups", etc. I think this might have a lot to do with my gravitational pull towards all things noir. Last night another nugget from the era-- "Get Carter". Michael Caine...stone-cold coolness. Gritty, love, just plain gritty.
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Do you have a favorite crime flick from the seventies?

I'm Certain Some Writer...

...is clacking out a novel about this. Maybe Jack Reacher is on the case or Marion Ford. But what positively kills me is with a US Naval budget in the billions, we've got Pepperland horseshit like this to worry about.

Low, But It's A Good Thing

So, this week I'm not the only one cradling soreness. I've heard from some others out there in the writing community, feeling all tender about the process. The right-cool lad Declan Burke had a post over at Crime Always Pays and talked about the struggle against mediocrity...others picked up from there. But before we shake it all off and embrace the weekend...I think this song articulates the sentiments nicely. Just substitute "music" with "writing" and you'll catch the drift. America's answer to Radiohead: Low

Toke

Air supply. Sometimes it’s all about the air supply when you loose faith writing. Air supply comes in many forms. Writer/crimedog friends. Strangers offering passing supportive or empathetic comments. But the biggest gulp of fresh oxygen comes in the form of an acceptance note. That just lifts you up and rips you right along.

Sailing around the Chesapeake where I live we always look for wind puffs; those rough patches of water scuffing the surface that boost your speed. The call goes out on deck, something like “Puff in five seconds, four, three, two, puff on.” Winches crank, lines are adjusted, and rail meat shifts. And you just go. Go, daddy... friggin’ GO.

Anyway, just got an acceptance yesterday and I will bury the lead and keep my mouth shut until it's official but I’m stoked. Puff on.

Minor, Minor, Minor

Thank God. All those nominations paid off. The uncrowned sultan of online crime fiction, Kyle Minor, has snagged not one, but freakin' TWO tags for storySouth's Million Writers Award Notable Stories of 2008--both of which were published on Neil Smith's trangressive noir powerhouse Plots With Guns. Way to go, Kyle. Smell the awesome.

Drop: Surf and Bardsley

Every once in a while, the marketing whores raise their collective snouts from the trough and demand you consider just how cool surfing is. I don't know why, maybe it's because surfing is still considered by landlocked meatheads as a "subculture" or a dreamy lifestyle sport. As someone who suffers in hostile 48 degree ocean water lineups on a regular basis, my response to that is...cracker, please. Anthropomorphic furry zealots --that's an undisputed subculture. Curling, a lifestyle sport. But when every other advertisement bombards you with surfing images and the mall of Peoria hawks drooping $80 Quiksilver boardshorts to pissed off teenagers, I'd say the sport is pretty much mainstream. Unfortunately.

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Which brings me to to the subject of crime novels and surf. The undisputed kings of the surf-noir genre would have to be Winslow (The Winter of Frankie Machine, The Death and Life of Bobby Z, Dawn Patrol) and Nunn (Tapping the Source, The Dogs of Winter, Tijuana Straits). Nunn may have lost some of his street polish due to his loose affiliation with the late HBO series John From Cincinnati that got wiped off the map for assorted misunderstandings (not the least of which were poor casting choices), but these hombres still rule the game. There have been others who totally get it (Jeff Shelby and Alan Weisbecker to name two) and whole host of others that don't (let's leave them out of it, I think it's obvious who these kooks are). So to say I was skeptical when I picked up John Shannon's latest PALOS VERDES BLUE is an understatement. But I'm here to testify, brothers and sisters. Wow. This book kicks so much surfing ass I am re-reading it in awe.

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I've been a fan of Shannon for a while, but his latest is a surf -noir masterpiece, wedging in all sorts of ugliness and desperation against the cold, fading heartbeats of America's empire of greed. The book moves with a swift, dark current and is, by far, the best surf-related crime novel I've ever read.

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As long as I'm shamelessly plugging others, click on over to 3 A.M. Magazine and read Greg Bardsley's latest nightmare: "Some Kind of Rugged Genius". I swear, I'm watching my Timex here, but if someone doesn't snatch up Greg and give him a book deal, I'll eat my hat. Try not to giggle so much as the hilarity and horror unfolds.

Why do this?

I don't know who said it, I think Carson McCullers, but a little talent is a terrible thing. Minor successes can set you up for humiliating pratfalls into the gloom.

That's how I feel about writing fiction today. I've been slogging through some old material and, man, I am suffering through the self-doubt blues.

Yeah, yeah...I know what you're thinking...every writer gets it, big deal, pull up a stool and suck it up, Kieran, you big wuss. But, man, I am just venting here so give me about five or six feet of wiggle room and turn a deaf ear, OK? Just pretend you're listening and let me vent. Or I will knock you on your ass and end you with the flat side of a shovel. Sorry. I didn't mean that. Really. I'd blame it on the medication if I were taking any. (SIGH). This sucks.

For me it's like a glaze sets in over my eyes. I mean, WHAT AM I THINKING? I can't do this.

One of the more embarrassing things is when you go back over material and errors you just never caught start mushrooming everywhere. And why? Because you've reread something a hundred times and the glaze set in. Because (let's face it) finding friendly proofreaders is a little like finding someone willing to inspect your masturbation technique. Nice form there, chief.

But maybe tomorrow will be a better day. I hope so.

BEAT ME

David Cranmer defines grassroot blogging passion in the crime 'zine scene. Every week he manages to weed through the dross and post short stories on Beattoapulp.com that feed the jonesing noir ache. How long can he keep this going is anyone's guess. There've been more than a few burnouts in efforts like his. But trolling by each week has become a necessary habit for me and many others. This week it's a doozy by Frank Bill-- a jagged, unapologetic freefall into the zero. Dare to enjoy here.

It's been productive week for me. Still sniffing around the edges of the bigger piece I've been working on, but I managed to sling out a couple of short stories in the meantime. More kaka against the walls of the monkey cage I'm afraid, but you have to keep trying to see if it sticks, no?

Friday's Forgotten Books: Larousse Gastronomique

As a former professionally-trained French chef, I distrust all cook books. In fact, I have said on more than one occasion in both food articles I’ve written and in cooking lectures I’ve given … that all cookbooks pretty much lie. Oh, do they lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie.... Larousse Gastronomique, however, is not a cookbook. It is an encyclopedia of culinary wonder, sure to intimidate and weed out the foodie weak, the dabblers, the spineless chef wannabes. Much like Auguste Escoffier’s Ma Cuisine ...do not attempt recipes within unless (A) you’ve spent some serious hours suffering under the cruel savagery of French chefs or (B) you’ve jacked into the Matrix mainframe and downloaded an honors program in classic French technique. Just hundreds of pages of viciously opinionated, ancient assemblage. Fun reading, really. Case in point…page 670, "Mou de Porc en Ragout" “...beat the lungs to expel all air from them and cut into small (40 to 50 gram) pieces…” Yeah, that’s right, sportsfans… pig lungs. My guess is you won’t be seeing the latest miss perky on the Food Network slamming a hammer on porky’s lights anytime soon.

Sweatin' Bullets

I'm not a fan of CSI or network television in general, but this development is sure to get the show's writers all a-giggle.

Killing Characters

I don't know about other writers out there, but when someone in real life pisses me off completely I try to work in their demise or abuse into a story. It's a small act of rebellion that makes me feel just a smidge better. Been pretty successful so far as when I do those stories typically get the green light. Today's case: my dentist. Just had root canal and I am positive his finesse came from his residency at Gitmo.

Jesus, that sucked.

File Under "S"

Publishers Weekly is touting the praises of two of my favorite noir juggernauts—Anthony Neil Smith and Jason Starr. Dr. Smith has been a thoughtful supporter of my efforts of late and writes with such searing darkness that your eyes blister. And Mr. Starr, what an affable, funny dude for such a twisted NY state-of-mind. Got to meet him at B’Con this past year after he held court with Brian Azzarello and others discussing comics and crime. For those who missed THAT session in the bowels of the hotel, your loss. The swag alone…

So. The next time your packing your Amazon bundle...stop and shop under the letter "S". You'll be stoked you did.

Take Heart, Small One

While I'll was laid low by the flu, etc. there was ample time for catching up on some reading--about a half dozen novels, great sheets of newspaper, and a sneaky stack of comic books feeding the inner nerd. I'm sure some blogger tagged this but I found this New York Times piece heartening. Despite the hatchetmen, the short story keeps on. Go little, fellah, go.

Blackout

Life interrupts. Sometimes even your best creative intentions can be slapped into cowering submission, one bad turn on the chin getting countered by another until the next thing you’re clutching the edge of the well begging for the cold lady luck to change. She’s a fickle bitch, the lady. Likes to scrape her manicured nails against your bones and she coos while she pinches your squirming neck. Take her to dinner and she’ll throw salt in your drink and take two busboys in the back for a thrill. On the writing front I was percolating for a while there, keeping things dedicated, getting the word count in, wrestling with this long piece I’ve been working on (dare I call it a novel?), toying with some new ideas, short stories. Then, wham. Stinging blows of distraction, illness, and wheelbarrows of bullshit. A total blackout for days. But, then levity, like a slit of sunshine breaking on the horizon. I got to thinking these blackouts happen, so friggin’ what? Move on. Breaks can leave you energized. How about you?

And now, your moment of coolness….

Marketing Savvy: Free Crimespree

Dude, I'm all about free. Shamus-award winner Sean Chercover is giving away free subscriptions to Crimespree Magazine, books and other swag if you send him a picture of YOU reading his second novel TRIGGER CITY at work. Sean is an exceptional writer and a hell of a nice guy. If you haven't bought his books and devoured them, you are missing out on the true remapping of the p.i. fiction landscape. Go. Go now for details.... http://www.chercover.com/

Hey, this is important crime and mystery fans. Get off you butt and go vote, the 2nd Annual Spinetingler Awards...need you! http://www.bookspotcentral.com/2009/03/2nd-annual-spinetingler-award-nominees/