Friday, June 30, 2006
Susan's Book Talk: Plugging Another Author
I actually read this a few weeks ago, but have been raving about it to everyone I see. So I figured I'd rave about it to everyone I write for (that'd be you guys).
Ben Sherwood
I've read both of his novels now and let me tell you, there had better be more. In fact, I was so overwhelmed that I actually e-mailed his agent to tell her how fabulous The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud was.
For any of you who might pick her name out of the thanks page, she's no longer repping authors, which is a shame for any of us who write a little bit off the beaten path.
So there you go. A totally shameless (and perhaps shameFUL) plug for something I read lately.
Ben Sherwood
I've read both of his novels now and let me tell you, there had better be more. In fact, I was so overwhelmed that I actually e-mailed his agent to tell her how fabulous The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud was.
For any of you who might pick her name out of the thanks page, she's no longer repping authors, which is a shame for any of us who write a little bit off the beaten path.
So there you go. A totally shameless (and perhaps shameFUL) plug for something I read lately.
Labels: books, Susan's Book Talk
Saturday, June 24, 2006
A Saturday afternoon Trevorism
Headed to a party tonight where you think you might get picked on?
Keep this Trevorism in mind:
"I'd sooner stick my head in the john and flush it myself, thankyouverymuch."
Keep this Trevorism in mind:
"I'd sooner stick my head in the john and flush it myself, thankyouverymuch."
Labels: Trevor
Friday, June 23, 2006
A Trevorism:
A one-liner that Trevor professes to live by:
Thinking too much is bad for your health.
Thinking too much is bad for your health.
Labels: Trevor
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Another one I hate to cut
I love this scene and this exchange, but it's got to go, too.
For the back story, you'll just have to wait for Trevor's Song to get published and hit the shelves; it's every bit as much fun as this snippet.
It was laughter that woke Trevor, come morning. Rusty's laughter to be precise, coming through Mitchell's open bedroom door. He started to stretch, but the laugh turned into a giggle, a low moan, and at last back to a laugh. He froze. "Not again," he muttered. Did those two ever do anything but hump?
"M, I can't believe you did it," Rusty said, still laughing.
Clearly, they talked, too. Although if they were talking about humping, he'd rather they shut up and just do it. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Did what?" Mitchell asked, his voice thick, after-sex, and lazy.
"Pissed off the bar. And when Howard caught you… How'd you pull that off?"
"Remember the golden rule, babe: don't do anything you can't -- or won't -- be cool about."
"I know, but … how cool can you be when your dick's just hanging out like that? Mitchell, I've seen plenty of dicks and let me tell you, there's nothing more pathetic than when they're dangling outside your clothes like that."
"It's all part of the job, Ker. Be glad you see it when it's not so… What did you call it? Pathetic?"
"Yeah."
"Woman, my dick is not pathetic."
"If that was true, you'd have it immortalized in plaster."
For the back story, you'll just have to wait for Trevor's Song to get published and hit the shelves; it's every bit as much fun as this snippet.
It was laughter that woke Trevor, come morning. Rusty's laughter to be precise, coming through Mitchell's open bedroom door. He started to stretch, but the laugh turned into a giggle, a low moan, and at last back to a laugh. He froze. "Not again," he muttered. Did those two ever do anything but hump?
"M, I can't believe you did it," Rusty said, still laughing.
Clearly, they talked, too. Although if they were talking about humping, he'd rather they shut up and just do it. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Did what?" Mitchell asked, his voice thick, after-sex, and lazy.
"Pissed off the bar. And when Howard caught you… How'd you pull that off?"
"Remember the golden rule, babe: don't do anything you can't -- or won't -- be cool about."
"I know, but … how cool can you be when your dick's just hanging out like that? Mitchell, I've seen plenty of dicks and let me tell you, there's nothing more pathetic than when they're dangling outside your clothes like that."
"It's all part of the job, Ker. Be glad you see it when it's not so… What did you call it? Pathetic?"
"Yeah."
"Woman, my dick is not pathetic."
"If that was true, you'd have it immortalized in plaster."
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Kerri, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Another outtake
This scene is fun, but it's struck a lot of my road crew as being out of character. Trevor being noble where Kerri is concerned?
They have a very good point, so here it is for you now.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he could focus on was some guy standing below the bar, giving Rusty lewd looks. For some reason, the over-protective Mitchell wasn't clued in. And Rusty, of course, was returning those looks with an uncomprehending stare that any horny idiot would take as an invitation.
"Can you tell him to pass her my way when he's done?" the guy yelled up. He gave Rusty another ogle and winked at Trevor.
"She's Mitchell's." He held his own girl more tightly to his side; there was no way that dick was going to get ideas about her next. Not until he'd spent at least one really hot night with her.
"So? Keep a girl like that for yourself and I'll never buy another of your records again!"
Before he could think, Trevor had let go of his girl and launched himself at the dick. He landed square, forcing them both to the floor and scattering the crowd -- not entirely gracefully. A few innocents went down, a girl screamed in horror at the filth on the floor, and before he'd had a chance to throw a punch, someone was pulling the dick out from under him. That, of course, forced him to his feet.
"What the fuck?" he yelled, determined to get out of this one. "What the fuck just happened here? One second, I'm on the bar with my girl and the next I'm on top of you? Asshole, I oughta…" He trailed off as Eric pulled him another step back.
People started congratulating him on a great fight, and he strained to hear sirens wailing over the noise of the club. If they weren't on the way, he'd gotten away with one all right -- but for what? Rusty's honor?
That girl had none.
They have a very good point, so here it is for you now.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he could focus on was some guy standing below the bar, giving Rusty lewd looks. For some reason, the over-protective Mitchell wasn't clued in. And Rusty, of course, was returning those looks with an uncomprehending stare that any horny idiot would take as an invitation.
"Can you tell him to pass her my way when he's done?" the guy yelled up. He gave Rusty another ogle and winked at Trevor.
"She's Mitchell's." He held his own girl more tightly to his side; there was no way that dick was going to get ideas about her next. Not until he'd spent at least one really hot night with her.
"So? Keep a girl like that for yourself and I'll never buy another of your records again!"
Before he could think, Trevor had let go of his girl and launched himself at the dick. He landed square, forcing them both to the floor and scattering the crowd -- not entirely gracefully. A few innocents went down, a girl screamed in horror at the filth on the floor, and before he'd had a chance to throw a punch, someone was pulling the dick out from under him. That, of course, forced him to his feet.
"What the fuck?" he yelled, determined to get out of this one. "What the fuck just happened here? One second, I'm on the bar with my girl and the next I'm on top of you? Asshole, I oughta…" He trailed off as Eric pulled him another step back.
People started congratulating him on a great fight, and he strained to hear sirens wailing over the noise of the club. If they weren't on the way, he'd gotten away with one all right -- but for what? Rusty's honor?
That girl had none.
Labels: creative writing, fans, fiction, Kerri, outtake, Trevor
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Another true outtake
To push him even closer to puking, he'd promised the guys he'd stick to cigarettes until the obligatory after-show party. They said he played worse than ever when he took the stage stoned and while that was probably true, at least he had more fun through a nice buzz. To the others, sounding good was fun and besides, there were three of them and only one of him. Truthfully, Trevor didn't think it was as big a sacrifice as he was making it into.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, outtake, rock and roll, Trevor
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Fiction Outtake: Buying Chicken (Trevor's Song era)
It's been awhile since we had an outtake!
In the end, Trevor couldn't complain. He was riding shotgun as usual in Mitchell's truck and Rusty fit between them with just enough room for Trev to move aside to show his dislike of her -- but she was still close enough that Trev could smell her. Strawberries. Very faint, as if that, like her, was nothing more than a tease.
"Can someone please explain to me just why it is that we've got to stop and pick up food if we're on our way to dinner?" Trevor half-whined as Mitchell pulled the Bronco into the parking lot behind the grocery where the lovebirds had met.
"Ma needs us to pick up extra chicken," Mitchell said. "Sounds like the guest list grew by my sister and her dork husband." He grimaced as he parked and turned off the ignition. "Man, that's a way to ruin a night. Making the three of us be nice to him."
Trev glanced out the corner of his eye, half-expecting Rusty to tell Mitchell that it wouldn't be so bad. "Amy's at least fun to be with," she said.
"For you two," Mitchell grumped as he opened the door to the truck. "I'm the one who always gets the short end of whatever you guys cook up."
"Us?" Rusty asked, fluttering her eyes in an innocent act that Trev didn't buy but probably left Mitchell drooling.
"Are you two gonna do some sick sappy shit in front of the tomatoes?" Trev asked as he hopped out and looked to make sure Rusty had gotten out of Mitchell's side. He gave the door a satisfied slam, half wishing she'd stuck something in his way. A hand, a foot; didn't really matter. Just something so Mitchell would get all pissed and work him over good for being so fucking careless with the princess.
Like Rusty was some prize or something.
Like Trevor would have hurt her on purpose.
"We could get sappy," Mitchell said. He winked at Rusty as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "We could buy us some tomatoes, grill 'em up…"
She shook her head at him, all business now. "Your mother was quite specific that we not show up with anything but the chicken."
Mitchell waved her off. "Yeah, like washing the dishes before we split won't shut her up. Remember that, Ker. If you do the dishes, she forgives all."
Even Trevor had to agree with that. Mama V was as devoted to mothering as a woman could get, but there was nothing she despised more than cleaning up after dinner. It had probably been the only chore Trevor had done on a regular basis, plastering a smile on his face and telling himself repeatedly that if he did a good job, she'd forgive whatever he'd done that day to piss her off.
Inside the grocery, he beelined for the tomatoes as the other two trailed behind, probably absorbed in some lovers' babytalk that needed to be stopped. Two of the biggest and freshest tomatoes got stuffed up his charcoal grey t-shirt. "So this is what was really going on when you invaded my life, huh? Tomatoes are round like tits -- especially yours, Rusty. You thought M here was all about the fruit, but really, he was thinking how much it looked like your nice round boobies." He leaned toward her, leering.
Before she could do anything but look a bit shocked, Mitchell cuffed the back of his head, making him bobble one of the tomatoes. He breathed out hard as he settled it.
Rusty just laughed, the way you do when you're looking at something pathetic.
Trevor looked down and then gave her a death glare, wishing it really worked. One hand was still at tit-height, the other down by the waist of his jeans. He wasn't coming off as a clown, just a fool. A pathetic fool. No wonder she looked like that.
He put the tomatoes back, trusting that if Rusty wouldn't conveniently forget he'd done this, Mitchell would shut her up. M was good like that, always looking out for Trev's pride. As if it was too precious to be abused.
Trevor wished it was that simple. It was more that his pride had been the first to get beaten away but like a loyal, stupid puppy, it kept coming back. And back. And back.
Maybe it was a good thing it had, Trev thought as they tromped through the rest of the grocery, toward the meat case in back. If it hadn't been for pride -- okay, and fear for Eliza, too -- he never would have gotten the balls to get his hands on that gun. He'd probably be dead now instead of being the most constant viewer of the Mitchell and Rusty show.
"Hey," he said, "why don't we go out and hear some bands after dinner's over?"
"If anyone good's playing, sure," Mitchell said. "Ker?"
"You guys can go," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Remember I told you I wanted to swing by that opening tonight?"
"We can do both," Mitchell said.
Trevor wanted to smack him for sounding so fucking desperate.
"We need some chicken," Rusty told the guy behind the meat case. "How much again, M?"
"Whaddya need?" the guy asked.
"Umm… five double breasts," Mitchell said. "Wait. No. Make it four. Four singles, so I guess that's two doubles…"
"Breasts?" the meat guy asked.
Trevor leaned close. "No," he drawled. "Tits. We need chicken tits; that's what's on the menu tonight."
Rusty covered her face with her hands.
"Aww, come on, Rusty," he laughed. "Like that's not what you fancy artists call 'em."
"No, Trev, we don't. We call them chicken breasts. Save the tits for the women, okay?"
He gave her a wolfish grin. "You know that's the best part of you girls."
Mitchell leaned over and whispered to him, "Only because you haven't met a woman like Kerri."
Trevor fought the impulse to spit, puke, and shudder. "Who the fuck wants a woman like her? Oh, yeah. You, you big loser."
Mitchell rewarded him with another cuff to the back of his head, hard enough to make his ears ring.
"Just take the bird tits and let's get out of here," he said, licking his lips and savoring the hit Mitchell had given him. On days like these, when Mitchell handed it out just right, life was good.
In the end, Trevor couldn't complain. He was riding shotgun as usual in Mitchell's truck and Rusty fit between them with just enough room for Trev to move aside to show his dislike of her -- but she was still close enough that Trev could smell her. Strawberries. Very faint, as if that, like her, was nothing more than a tease.
"Can someone please explain to me just why it is that we've got to stop and pick up food if we're on our way to dinner?" Trevor half-whined as Mitchell pulled the Bronco into the parking lot behind the grocery where the lovebirds had met.
"Ma needs us to pick up extra chicken," Mitchell said. "Sounds like the guest list grew by my sister and her dork husband." He grimaced as he parked and turned off the ignition. "Man, that's a way to ruin a night. Making the three of us be nice to him."
Trev glanced out the corner of his eye, half-expecting Rusty to tell Mitchell that it wouldn't be so bad. "Amy's at least fun to be with," she said.
"For you two," Mitchell grumped as he opened the door to the truck. "I'm the one who always gets the short end of whatever you guys cook up."
"Us?" Rusty asked, fluttering her eyes in an innocent act that Trev didn't buy but probably left Mitchell drooling.
"Are you two gonna do some sick sappy shit in front of the tomatoes?" Trev asked as he hopped out and looked to make sure Rusty had gotten out of Mitchell's side. He gave the door a satisfied slam, half wishing she'd stuck something in his way. A hand, a foot; didn't really matter. Just something so Mitchell would get all pissed and work him over good for being so fucking careless with the princess.
Like Rusty was some prize or something.
Like Trevor would have hurt her on purpose.
"We could get sappy," Mitchell said. He winked at Rusty as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "We could buy us some tomatoes, grill 'em up…"
She shook her head at him, all business now. "Your mother was quite specific that we not show up with anything but the chicken."
Mitchell waved her off. "Yeah, like washing the dishes before we split won't shut her up. Remember that, Ker. If you do the dishes, she forgives all."
Even Trevor had to agree with that. Mama V was as devoted to mothering as a woman could get, but there was nothing she despised more than cleaning up after dinner. It had probably been the only chore Trevor had done on a regular basis, plastering a smile on his face and telling himself repeatedly that if he did a good job, she'd forgive whatever he'd done that day to piss her off.
Inside the grocery, he beelined for the tomatoes as the other two trailed behind, probably absorbed in some lovers' babytalk that needed to be stopped. Two of the biggest and freshest tomatoes got stuffed up his charcoal grey t-shirt. "So this is what was really going on when you invaded my life, huh? Tomatoes are round like tits -- especially yours, Rusty. You thought M here was all about the fruit, but really, he was thinking how much it looked like your nice round boobies." He leaned toward her, leering.
Before she could do anything but look a bit shocked, Mitchell cuffed the back of his head, making him bobble one of the tomatoes. He breathed out hard as he settled it.
Rusty just laughed, the way you do when you're looking at something pathetic.
Trevor looked down and then gave her a death glare, wishing it really worked. One hand was still at tit-height, the other down by the waist of his jeans. He wasn't coming off as a clown, just a fool. A pathetic fool. No wonder she looked like that.
He put the tomatoes back, trusting that if Rusty wouldn't conveniently forget he'd done this, Mitchell would shut her up. M was good like that, always looking out for Trev's pride. As if it was too precious to be abused.
Trevor wished it was that simple. It was more that his pride had been the first to get beaten away but like a loyal, stupid puppy, it kept coming back. And back. And back.
Maybe it was a good thing it had, Trev thought as they tromped through the rest of the grocery, toward the meat case in back. If it hadn't been for pride -- okay, and fear for Eliza, too -- he never would have gotten the balls to get his hands on that gun. He'd probably be dead now instead of being the most constant viewer of the Mitchell and Rusty show.
"Hey," he said, "why don't we go out and hear some bands after dinner's over?"
"If anyone good's playing, sure," Mitchell said. "Ker?"
"You guys can go," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Remember I told you I wanted to swing by that opening tonight?"
"We can do both," Mitchell said.
Trevor wanted to smack him for sounding so fucking desperate.
"We need some chicken," Rusty told the guy behind the meat case. "How much again, M?"
"Whaddya need?" the guy asked.
"Umm… five double breasts," Mitchell said. "Wait. No. Make it four. Four singles, so I guess that's two doubles…"
"Breasts?" the meat guy asked.
Trevor leaned close. "No," he drawled. "Tits. We need chicken tits; that's what's on the menu tonight."
Rusty covered her face with her hands.
"Aww, come on, Rusty," he laughed. "Like that's not what you fancy artists call 'em."
"No, Trev, we don't. We call them chicken breasts. Save the tits for the women, okay?"
He gave her a wolfish grin. "You know that's the best part of you girls."
Mitchell leaned over and whispered to him, "Only because you haven't met a woman like Kerri."
Trevor fought the impulse to spit, puke, and shudder. "Who the fuck wants a woman like her? Oh, yeah. You, you big loser."
Mitchell rewarded him with another cuff to the back of his head, hard enough to make his ears ring.
"Just take the bird tits and let's get out of here," he said, licking his lips and savoring the hit Mitchell had given him. On days like these, when Mitchell handed it out just right, life was good.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Kerri, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Trevor's Favorite Foods
This is the sort of thing that might appear in ShapeShifter's fan club magazine, if they had one.
Trevor's Favorite Foods (by Trevor himself)
1. Cigarettes. Gives everything you eat a nice, smoky flavor.
2. Grease. Keeps ya running smooth.
3. Meatball subs. 'cause there's so much potential in there...
4. Anything Eric hates. 'Cause Eric's a dork.
Trevor's Favorite Foods (by Trevor himself)
1. Cigarettes. Gives everything you eat a nice, smoky flavor.
2. Grease. Keeps ya running smooth.
3. Meatball subs. 'cause there's so much potential in there...
4. Anything Eric hates. 'Cause Eric's a dork.
Labels: food, Harry's Hoagies, Trevor
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Just a reminder...
I've been watching more and more new folk stop by and check me and my fictional friends out lately, so I thought this would be a good time to remind all of you, faithful groupies that you either are or are about to become, that most everything you read here is fiction. Mitchell, Kerri, Trevor, and company exist solely in my head. For better, worse, or a much-needed diagnosis.
Search the archives or the recent links. You'll find small character sketches, outtakes from novels-in-progress (or even the one I'm shopping to literary agents, Trevor's Song), and my own musings on what shapes the characters into the people that they are.
My hope is that you'll come to see them as living, breathing people (as I often do, much to the chagrin of my friends and family). That you'll use this site to whet your appetite for Trevor's Song, and that by becoming my groupie, you'll let these fictional folk touch your lives as they've touched mine.
Stay awhile. Enjoy.
Search the archives or the recent links. You'll find small character sketches, outtakes from novels-in-progress (or even the one I'm shopping to literary agents, Trevor's Song), and my own musings on what shapes the characters into the people that they are.
My hope is that you'll come to see them as living, breathing people (as I often do, much to the chagrin of my friends and family). That you'll use this site to whet your appetite for Trevor's Song, and that by becoming my groupie, you'll let these fictional folk touch your lives as they've touched mine.
Stay awhile. Enjoy.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Three Factoids About Mitchell Voss
If there were an actual ShapeShifter fan club magazine, this might be printed in it:
1. Mitchell would be perfectly happy to reside in a nudist colony
2. Mitchell loves being outdoors.
3. The last thing Mitchell does before leaving his bedroom every day around noon is to open the heavy curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows.
1. Mitchell would be perfectly happy to reside in a nudist colony
2. Mitchell loves being outdoors.
3. The last thing Mitchell does before leaving his bedroom every day around noon is to open the heavy curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Labels: Mitchell
