Bullshit

Friday Randomness

Author: July 31, 2009

Okay, I’ve pondered this and contemplated and I am now ready to state that I think the publisher’s decision to change the color of the cover for the trade paper The Eternal Prison from skin-burning orange to rot-inducing green was the right one. I look at the three books side by side and I think the orange would have been too much on that end of the spectrum:

The green pops when you have all three on a shelf. Which I assume you all have.

DON’T FORGET: I’ll be tweeting an Avery Cates Short Story over at twitter.com/somers_story starting on 8/5. I’ll tweet each section at noon every day. Sign up to follow me there and enjoy/be irritated by fiction at 140 characters a pop!

Someday maybe I’ll start writing Avery Cates short stories that are 140 characters in total. That would. . .be interesting.

THE ETERNAL PRISON is now being shipped from Amazon, so it’s going to start appearing everywhere soon. Sales are brisk, so get yours now. We’re cooking up some web fun to go along with the “official” release date of 8-12-09, although we might move that up by a week since the book’s shipping, eh? Keep an eye on www.eternalprison.com until then.

CAT UPDATE: The cats are better, thanks, though no more happy about their medications. Our cats weigh 17, 17, 19, and 9 pounds. Carrying Guenther down the stairs is like carrying a bear cub. Jeff needs power bars and rest. And perhaps an exercise regimen, eh?

I’m trying to think of promotion ideas for TEP as well. Do you think people would want to fly me to their cities at their expense to have “Beer Summits” with them? Hmmmn? And then they could buy 50 copies of the book and I’d sign them in an increasingly drunk and incoherent way. Which, you will note, does not guarantee that the first signatures won’t be incoherent too.

Think about it. I could be passed out in your bathroom!

Have a great weekend.

i know the mechanics of death better than anybody

Bullshit

You’re Doing it Wrong

Author: July 29, 2009

This week The Somers Compound is rife with sick cats. Not terribly sick; intestinal parasites causing, um, some unfortunate events. This resulted in Your Humble Author hauling ~75 pounds of cat to and from the vet this week, and now I spend all my time trying to get 4 cats to eat pills twice a day. Have you ever tried to pill a cat? I might as well be building a time-machine with nothing but a Schwinn bicycle and some paper towels. It’s exhausting.

As a result, this post may ramble a bit. Or maybe the rambling is old age: Yet another birthday next week, after all, one more inevitable step towards the day my doctor tells me I can’t drink anymore or my liver will explode.

Or, maybe my doctor will tell me I’m a prime candidate for a Google iLiver, because, folks, we’re living in the future, and don’t ever doubt it. All the trappings of a Sci-Fi future are here or getting there, with the possible exception of those fucking flying cars we’ve all been waiting for. Although if you told me Dick Cheney was zooming around Colorado in a flying car, I’d believe you. DAMN YOU CHENEY.

Ahem, anyway, the rest of it’s coming: Dick Tracy two-way wristwatches? Pretty much done. The wired-up house that talks to you? Years away, tops. Cure for Cancer? Dunno, but again, if you told me that Dick Cheney. . .well, you get the idea. I picture Cheney in an underground bunker dressed like Blofeld from the Bond movies, playing with his water engine.

Of course, some of this stuff is already here and has simply taken on a form we weren’t expecting. Cyberspace, for example, did not arrive as a semi-physical place we could enter and fool around in like little godlings, or at least it hasn’t yet. But there is a cyber-space of sorts: Social Networks and the Internet. Sure, we’re not riding Tron cycles around and hacking world governments with our bare hands or at least digital simulacrums thereof, but we are, increasingly, living a lot of our lives online in these virtual communities. This isn’t news to anyone. Whereas when I was a kid in college we sat around our dorms all night drinking terrible beer and trying to top each other in misery, today you can do that without ever leaving Mom’s house.

Of course, like everything else, I am doing it wrong.

Social Networks are supposed to bring people together in a convenient way, right? The idea being that you can stay in touch with friends and family who are far away and, presumably, far too busy to stay in touch with you physically. What I actually use it for is passive entertainment, snarky comments on people’s activities, and an excuse to never actually contact anyone, since I can just leave a 10-word insult on their profile and run away, giggling.

You’re also supposed to use things like Facebook for self-promotion, natch. Plenty of readers have friended me on Facebook and I’m happy to have them – all you have to do is tell me you like my books, and I’ll friend you immediately and then ask you for a loan. But I don’t do that right either, because I never post anything there or have any useful materials up there for folks.

I am forever doing it wrong. This is not new. Folks who know me well are just shaking their heads in resignation. Even twitter, which is 140 characters of simplicity, I’ve managed to do wrong: All I post are insane monologues that, read out of context and split up, must look like the deranged mutterings of an inmate.

And now I must stop as a cat is sitting on my keyboard, looking stern.

Bullshit

Das Katze-Haus

Author: July 23, 2009

I’ve made a mini-resolution to update this blog more often. I was doing better for a while, and then fell back into my old lazy ways, but I know the world is a better place if y’all are informed about my various and sundry doings.

Part of the time suck is the dovetailing of the writing of Cates #4 (The Terminal State) and the publication of The Eternal Prison (watch that space; things will be happening there soon), which means I’m writing chapters while trying to think of ways to convince an uncaring world that I am cool enough to pay attention to – which is difficult when you’re sort of genetically not cool, you know? The worst part of promotion is the sense that you’re dancing around with a sandwich board and a cowbell and no one is paying any attention. I mean, can’t y’all just buy my books without being convinced? Jeesh. Work with me here.

On top of that, I have four cats. Four. They march into my office all day, smelling of varying levels of food and litterbox, sit on my keyboard, wrestle with each other while making loud screaming noises, and generally distract me to no end. You think the Internet is distracting? Try four cats.

I might comment on the cats more. Folks seem to like that. I could be the Junior Scalzi of the Cat People demographic!

And on top of that, I am finally getting the latest issue of my zine, The Inner Swine out the door. It’s the June issue, which gives you an idea of the delay. The zine is always a delaying factor in my work life, as it’s ~20,000 words four times a year (or, soon, ~40,000 words twice a year) which means I’m more or less writing a book-length project every year in addition to everything else. I do it for love, but, as with the cats, even things you love you sometimes want desperately to kick halfway across the room*.

On a less whiny closing note, I’ve just discovered that there will be a German translation of The Electric Church and, presumably, the subsequent Cates books. Cheers! The translator contacted me with some questions about the German characters in the book and other language points – which I always welcome – and was kind enough to assure me that the German dialogue I included in the book was perfectly understandable, if not perfect.

I enjoy chatting with translators. It’s fascinating to hear what they find challenging, and the decisions they make to translate your jokes/references/allusions into another culture, not just another language.

That’s it for this meandering post. Have a great weekend all, and pre-order The Eternal Prison, please. Papa needs liquor monies.

*No cats were actually kicked. Who do you think I am?

Bullshit, Writing

Bad Books I Love

Author: June 16, 2009

As with almost everyone, I suspect, I have a lot of affection for things I experienced as a kid – things I probably wouldn’t have much patience for nowadays. This is either a terrible loss of innocence or an exciting maturation, who knows? It might also be the fact that, believe it or not, I drank more when I was a teenager than I do now.

Let’s have a moment to wonder at the fact that I am still alive.

A lot of my reading as a kid was fantasy and sci-fi paperbacks; There was a period in the 1980s when I bought just about every Del Rey paperback with a DK Sweet cover available, usually without much investigation into the story or quality beforehand. Ah, to be 13 again and reading the latest Lyndon fucking Hardy opus. Let’s also hope that 20 years from now folks aren’t expressing similar sentiments about Jeff Fucking Somers, shall we? It’s amazing how many books I have on my shelves that were trilogies or longer, sold by the truckload in 1985 and now almost completely forgotten.

Let’s contemplate the horror of Xanth books. I read, oh, the first dozen or so when I was a youngster. The first five remain, I think, really well-crafted fantasy stories that stand up pretty well – it has a great central conceit, and the stories are told seriously, with the humor an organic part of the tale. As time progressed, though, Xanth turned into a cottage industry for the author, Piers Anthony, and every year a new Xanth book comes out, each more fey and pun-riddled than the last. These days the books seem to exist mainly so he can solicit puns from his readers and turn them into characters and plot points.

And who am I to argue with success? Anthony often includes a lengthy Author’s Note at the end of his books; when I was a kid just starting to write I loved these notes because he went on at length about his process and the business of writing. He made it very clear in those notes that writing is his job, that it was how he provided for his family, and you got the distinct impression that he would write Xanth books until his fingers fell off as long as they sold well. This concept of writing as a profession – instead of as the hobby of the elite – has eroded over the years because making a living from writing has gotten harder and harder (The always interesting Nick Mamatas has a few posts about the realities of writing economics over at his LiveJournal that make this very, grimly clear). But it is a profession; we’re writing for money, after all. So who can blame Anthony if he wants to churn out Xanth novels by the truckload. Just because I’ve stopped reading them doesn’t mean anything – he clearly still sells well enough to get book deals every year.

Back in The Day, of course, genre writing was still in the basement. When I went to school clutching Lord Foul’s Bane (winner of Worst Title for Great Book prize, 1977) in my hands, I was instantly marked as a nerd and ruthlessly mocked. Today, of course, what with Harry Potter and Twilight and Lost on TV and Iron Man and . . . well, you get the picture. These days SF/F has become the new Western. It’s a staple. Talk about a Singularity: We’ve hit the point where not liking SF/F is weirder than liking it. What a time to be alive, as Frostillicus might say.

Bullshit, Deep Thoughts & Pronouncements, Writing

The Movie Question

Author: June 6, 2009

Over at SF Signal, they asked their readers which books they’d like to see made into movies, and someone voted for The Electric Church. Which is great to read, of course. Naturally, I’ve thought about this possibility, and it’s always fun to cast the movie of your book. Of course, when you’re imagining casting and budgeting the movie of your book there’s a tendency to assume a) unlimited, blockbuster-level money and b) you’re going to have some control over the proceedings. The first is unlikely, though, of course, possible. The second will never happen. I’ll be lucky if they remember to include a “based on the novel by” credit, much less invite me to be a part of the process. Which makes sense, because when they decide that the Monks should turn out to really be demons from hell complete with wings and glowing red eyes, they don’t want me throwing furniture and setting hotel rooms on fire.

As I’ve said before, if and when a movie gets made of one of my books, chances are it’ll be an international SyFy kind of project, starring the action stars of 1983 (if we’re lucky) and funded by the Canadian government, so it’s best not to get too hopeful and creative, but it’s also fun to think about who might star in such films. So what do do you think? Assuming unlimited budget, who would you cast in the major character roles of TEC?

To be honest, I haven’t thought on this too much, though I do have an opinion here and there. But I’m interested in what everyone else thinks, as it’s a fascinating glimpse into how my characters are perceived by readers. Have at it!

Bullshit

Writing Advice

Author: May 15, 2009

Being a writer who has earned something less than a poverty wage in return for his exciting novelin’ (and yes, I declare “Noveling” to be a new word; TRY AND STOP ME). I sometimes get asked for advice.

Sometimes the advice is practical: “Jeff, how can I feign sobriety during important things like job interviews, wedding ceremonies, and trials?” The answer: monosyllables. Makes you look mysterious and wise.

Sometimes the advice sought is businesslike: “Jeff, how did you get your agent, who is clearly smarter and funnier than you, and has much more interesting clients?” The answer: Trickery. For the first two years of our business relationship, my agent thought my name was John Updike.

Sometimes, however, the advice is for the ethereal artistic side of things, as in, “Jeff, how do create your plots?” or “Jeff, how do you write your dialog?” or “Jeff, how can I get you to stop writing altogether? Tell you what, write a number on this slip of paper and tomorrow that amount will be in your bank accounts, no strings attached, as long as you promise to not write any more.”

So, here’s the best writing advice I can offer:

1. Don’t ask other writers. In fact, I recommend not even associating with other writers at all. We’re arrogant and vainglorious, and if you give us an opening we will pry that sucker open like a swarm of invading termites and we’ll talk your ear off for hours about our “craft”. This is because most of the people in our lives, our intimate friends and relatives, don’t care much that we write, and finding someone who does is like finding a forgotten bottle of whiskey sunk in the toilet tank; we lose track of time. Plus, we will steal your ideas. And probably your wallet. True story.

Since you’re still reading, I assume you’re ignoring #1 and sticking around to see if I’m going to actually dispense any advice. Although since you’re ignoring my advice I wonder why.

2. All righty then: Forget all the pithy little things folks have told you: write what you know, avoid passive voice, you can’t write a novel entirely from the dead dog’s point of view using a complex code involving repetitions of the word “bark”. Screw it: Write a book you’d want to read. Shocking, I know, but a lot of the nuts and bolts of writing can be gleaned just by reading good books. Read a lot, write a lot, and write stuff you’d pay good money for.

3. The best cure for writer’s block that I know of is to write something else for a while. I know someone who has been working on the same novel for 27 years. One book. Nothing else. I suggest the best way to get anything done is to have several projects at once, keep the juices flowing in different directions. A blog is a nice way to drool words if you’re not ready with a second or third novel to work on. Short stories are excellent ways to get ideas on paper and work on scenes that otherwise might wander aimlessly. You know what else works for writer’s block? Liquor. Seriously. Look into it.

So, have a nice weekend, folks. For those of you who write, get crackin’ and good luck. For those of you who don’t, and just want me to get the damn books out already, I’m a goin”, I’m a goin’…

Bullshit, Writing

Ah, Sweet Booze

Author: May 5, 2009

I keep a PO Box for my zine correspondence, and yesterday I found an airplane-sized bottle of vodka in it, sent by an angelic benefactor:

I suggested a few years ago in my zine that if people wanted to buy me a drink but couldn’t travel to New Jersey/New York, you could mail me a tiny bottle of booze, and more people than I would have originally imagined have taken me up on the offer. Thank god!

Bullshit

Random Friday Post

Author: May 1, 2009

I have nothing coherent to say this morning, partly due to having drinks with the very interesting and talented Sean Ferrell at the World’s Greatest Bar last night. Sean and I share an agent and have been trading random pantsless jokes for months, so we decided it was time to put all that brain power into one place and pour whiskey over it. The experiment went well; I had some nice Glenmorangie Port Wood 12 year and we had a great conversation that ran the gamut from the movie memory hole to day jobs to the modern affliction that is modern pants requirements. Also, Sean outlined a story idea for a novel that I am going to steal, it was so good. Avast!

What was fun about meeting Sean, as well, is that at no time did either of us give any serious thought to dinner. Myself, I like to have cocktails after the working hours (9-5), and often when I indulge in cocktails (which for me means whiskey, neat) I slowly lose the desire for food until I wake up the next day starving. It’s hard to fnid folks who either share this sort of approach to serious classy boozing or who can at least tolerate it; usually people are tossing cheeseburgers at me, interrupting the flow of booze to me, which is unforgivable. In the immortal words of Mel Brooks as channeled through Gene Wilder: Food just makes me sick.

It’s a glum, rainy day in Hoboken today, which is good writing weather. Of course, any day is good writing weather. I think I’ve decided to put a personal embargo on any essays concerning Twitter and the Kindle-slash-eBooks; I’m personally getting tired of everyone weighing in on whether Twitter is destroying conversation and privacy as we know it or just a toy for overly self-liking kids, and I’m definitely tired of the debate about whether the Kindle will destroy print books and whether that’s bad or not. I do have my opinions, but I doubt either technology will change/destroy the world, as nothing – not even the goddamn hydrogen bomb – has managed to do that so far. I’m no fan of the Kindle (because it strips you of your rights as a reader) and I’m still trying to decide if Twitter is fun and useful or just weird and pervy, but I don’t fear either technology and so I think I’ll just let them marinate for a while.

I’m sure someone will alert the media.

I’m also pondering Lost, which I’ve watched faithfully almost since the very beginning. I’m not as excited as other folks are about this season, and I have 2 theories: One is the inevitable letdown whenever the curtain is pulled back. The only revelations in a story that really sock you in the head are the ones you don’t expect. When Tyler Durden turns out to be the evil second personality of the Narrator in Fight Club, that hit me in the head (let’s table discussions of my intelligence and perception for later, thanks). But with Lost, I’ve been waiting for these revelations – and guessing at them – for years now, man. It’s like any monster movie: The Monster always seems cooler and more badass when all you get are shadowy glimpses and people screaming. When they real that latex-and-CGI hokum, you’re invariably less afraid of it. With Lost, half the power was in the mystery, and as those mysteries get revealed they simply become spokes in the plot wheel, and thus a bit of a letdown.

My other theory is that Sci Fi is leaking into the mainstream at such a rate that you have a lot of folks who have never read/watched a time-travel story in their lives suddenly hooked on this show and it. is. blowing. their. minds. Don’t get me wrong: Lost is a great show. But I’ve read so many time-travel stories that the idea of looping back on your own life doesn’t, by itself, amaze me, so maybe I’m wanting more from Lost than some folks who started watching because it was a creepy and well-done survival story at first.

Anyway, I started this post at 10:30AM and now it’s 2:11PM, and I did absolutely nothing in-between. Talk about Time Travel. I’m apparently fast-forwarding through my entire life.

Bullshit

The Science of Seeming Smart

Author: April 28, 2009

I Have Seen the Future and It Is Largely Bullshit

I’d never claim to be anything like a technology guru; as a matter of fact here’s a typical conversation I have with my friend Jeof all the time:

ME: What time is it?

JEOF: With my new IPHONE TOUCH, I can have the time read to me by Clive Owen any time I want. (Waves hands in magical gestures over iPhone)

CLIVE OWEN: It’s 3:15, mate.

JEOF: My IPHONE TOUCH also makes cookies whenever I want.

ME: (Looking down at his own ancient Nokia phone). My phone lets me play Tetris.

So whenever I stumble up to the podium to say anything about technological issues, keep this in mind. Still, I’ve been Twittering for a few weeks now and thus I imagine myself to be an expert, the same way I read one book on Chess in 2001 and played a free Chess game on my computer 5,982 times until I finally beat it, using the same opening each time (Queen’s Gambit), and decided I was a Chess Grand Master. So what I’ve noticed about Twitter – and, dare I say it, social networking software in general – is this: The name of the game is making yourself seem smarter, cooler, and more informed than you actually are.

Social Networking Stuff like Twitter or Facebook is sold on the idea that people want to be more in touch with each other, and since we live in a world where you’re in front of a screen of some sort (PC, phone, PDA) most of our day, the best way to do this is via Teh intarwebs, which Jebus sent to save us all. This may be true; just because I’m a dislikable bastard who doesn’t actually want to be more connected to people, since people frighten and confuse me, doesn’t mean the rest of you aren’t tickled to have an always-on connection to your (possibly imaginary) digital friends. But once people are one the social networks, they seem to spend most of their time trying to convince you that they’re smart, funny, and knowledgeable, when we all know they aren’t.

Twitter is the worst: Everyone on Twitter wants me to think they’re an expert on something. Writing, real-estate, Search-Engine Optimization, or – in a funky twist of the space/time continuum – Twitter itself. You can’t call yourself KINGOFREALESTATE without me thinking you want me to believe you know a thing or two about real estate, homie.

Homie? I should stop writing these posts drunk.

The time-delay aspect of these sites allows everyone to massage their public image in a way a live, face-to-face interaction doesn’t allow. Even Twitter, which thrives on immediate, apparently lag-free interactions (when the fucking site is actually working) allows everyone a small window for quick googling to pull up facts, quotes, or links that would have to hide behind a vague statement if you were, say, in a bar. Even someone like me can seem erudite and informed, when obviously I spend my days drinking at inappropriate hours, playing guitar badly, and giggling.

That time-lag is important. It’s short enough to appear instantaneous to our wetwork brains, but long enough for quick, broadband research. If it was perceived to be any longer, the illusion would be broken. If it were any shorter, no one would be able to type star wars quote bad feeling fast enough.

This is what technology is being applied to, kids: Making us look good. More and more, I figure this is what technology will be exclusively applied to. Eventually I’m sure we’ll all have earbuds which will supply information to us on the fly, solely so we can impress first dates, which would be pretty cool. Although I would probably use mine solely to have my own quotes piped into my ear, which surprises no one.

Bullshit, Deep Thoughts & Pronouncements

The Benefits of the Authorly Life

Author: April 22, 2009

Met up with reader[1] and sometime blog-commenter Damaso yesterday at Rudy’s Bar and Grill in New York City yesterday, after conquering my general fear of everyone who is not already known to me. Aside from a very interesting conversation about a variety of topics, and some of Rudy’s delicious Rudy Red beer, Damaso gifted me with this:

That’s right, moonshine from Hungary. When Damaso emailed me some weeks ago saying that he’d read my pleas for more, more more! liquor on this web site and in my zine and in just about everything I write, and he would bring me back some excellent homemade liquor he’d encountered in his travels, I didn’t believe him. When he emailed and suggested we have a drink so he could pass it over to me, I thought he was probably there to kidnap me and force me to be his own personal ghost-writer (shut up, that happens ALL THE TIME).

In reality, Damaso’s a cool guy and we had a great time drinking and chatting – though I drew the line at risking my life on the free hot dogs that Rudy’s offers. Damaso took a chance, and I hope he is still with us today. And also, he wasn’t lying about the homemade hooch. Sometimes, being a world-famous writer is worth the constant kidnapping attempts.

[1] I hate the term “fan”, which just sounds wrong to me, so I use the awkward term reader instead.

BAM!, Bullshit