West of Mars

I honestly can’t say what inspired me to think of Trevor’s favorite foods, but here you go… In no order, until the last one, which truly is Trevor’s #1.

13. bacon (see Trev wax vaguely poetic about bacon here)

12. Pickles, the sour kind that make your mouth pucker. Best when given to Mitchell right before he takes the stage. Or maybe in the middle of the set, but you’d better be ready to run really fast afterward.

11. M&Ms. Fun to pop in your mouth. Gives an idea of what it might be like to be a stereotypic rock star who pops drugs like they’re candy.

10. Pot roast. Whenever Mitchell’s mom says she’s making this for dinner, Trevor shows up. He even showers first.

9. cookies. Sonya sends the guys care packages from time to time, but every now and then, a store-bought cookie hits the spot.

8. Bananas. This is Trevor we’re talking about, after all. Same thing with uncut cucumbers and zucchini. Hey, no one ever said the boy WAS original. Just that he IS an original.

7. Which explains why he’ll occasionally suck a lemon. Trevor likes the lemony fresh smell (so much better than the fake smell in all those cleaners promoters like to use in their dressing rooms) and besides, the rest of the guys shudder when he does it. He’s been known to chase it with a spoonful of sugar and a big drink of water. Dissected Lemonade, he calls it.

6. Corn on the cob. Unless some idiot promoter has hired a caterer who’s turned it into mush. Corn on the cob should be firm. You should be able to sink your teeth into it, slobber all over it, lick the salt and butter off your hands, and wind up with a naked cob at the end.

The sexual innuendo you’re seeing in all that is entirely your own. This is about food, people. Not rock stars and their sex and drugs. (Well, except for the M&Ms)

5. Pancakes. A favored breakfast of the entire band. Trevor used to thoroughly douse them in store-bought syrup until Eric one day made him try the real stuff. For once, Eric was right.

4. Pizza’s always good, but free pizza? Even better. (Beware if you use this link; it’ll put you smack in the middle of Green Hair Week. You may feel lost. If so, read the entire sequence.)

3. Ice Cream — before the band gets too big (and even a little bit after), before the fans find out (and even sometimes after), Trevor likes to talk the tour bus driver into stopping at an ice cream store for a cone before they hit the road. He waxes poetic about it here. One day, I’ll write the scene where he and Mitchell dress up in trench coats and convince Kerri to be their Bond girl…

2. Root beer. Way better than the stuff the rest of the band drinks. AND it doesn’t make Trevor turn into Hank.

And the granddaddy of Trevor’s diet:
1. Meatball subs from Harry’s Hoagies. ‘Nuff said.

Now, you all just follow along with old Chelle here and no one’s gonna get hurt. Hear me on this?

‘Cause, in case you’re livin’ under a rock or some such, followin’s the big trend these days. Follow me here, there, everywhere. You be a good person and you follow along. You’re even better a person if you got lots of followers.

Follow, follow, follow.

Where are the freaky-cool trend-setters? What happened to the people who’re worthy of being followed because there’s something there that pulled you to them? Why do we gotta follow someone simply ’cause it’s cool to do so? Is this now a world where we’re all valuable just ’cause we get people followin’ us? Where we’re better people ’cause we got lots of followers?

Mr. Rogers would be so proud of us.

You gotta stop and think, boys and girls, about what all this followin’ means. Does it mean steppin’ away from your precious computer for a few hours and goin’ to see that band who’s in town special, just to play for all their local followers, the people declarin’ eternal love and devotion in a sentence or less? Does it mean downloadin’ that new song, buyin’ that new t-shirt, and braggin’ about your love for those music-makers on your chest?

It sure used to.

And because of that, bands, they did well. They made a buck or two, could afford their practice spaces and gas for tourin’ and maybe if they’d made it to a major record label, there’d be videos and other goodies like that.

But now, an indie band plays their music for free over a website or two that ain’t even theirs; it belongs to some big corporation that takes all the money while the band gets squat. Fans follow what the dudes and chicks who make the music gotta say, but they ain’t ponying up for tickets so fast. Not unless that band we be talkin’ about is a big band. Been around for years band. One-a them bands that’ll do okay just ’cause of who they are. Heck, even Deadly Metal Hatchet t-shirts are still sellin’ like hotcakes. Chelle knows. She bought two last week, all by her lonesome.

It’s the new guys, bands like Temple of the Book (read more about them here), who need yourself, in person, in front of their stage. Buy their EP. Wear their shirts. Talk about ‘em to your followers. Spread the gospel; I know the readers of this here Trumpet newspaper are smart enough to know what to do.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: If you gonna follow, do it right. Do it so it makes a difference. ‘Cause if we don’t change, all we gonna get to hear is Golden Oldies. And it scares Chelle to think of ShapeShifter as a Golden Oldie. Not in this lifetime.

A Sunday Scribblings for you, more directly related to the prompt than usual for me.

I know, I know. As an author, I ought to be THE BIGGEST advocate of buying books new, as soon as they’re released. I get the whole economics of how the industry has changed, just in the eight years since I created ShapeShifter. I get it.

But as a reader, just like almost every other reader out there, my finances are limited. I can spend $27 and change for a new hardback every so often, or I can support my local libraries and see how many of the 1800+ books on my wishlist (you think I’m kidding about that number???) I can find for a buck or two apiece.

More books = more book talks from me. In theory, anyway; a girl’s gotta sit and READ those puppies!

Instead, let me gush about them some more. For now, anyway.

Even though it made the barest of dents in my wishlist, I came away from the sale yesterday with ten nice new friends. I’m proud of restraining myself to ONLY what was on my wishlist; it wasn’t easy. And since 1800+ books is, let’s face it, a lot, I’m sure there were books I overlooked, too.

Still, ten’s a nice, round number. Ten books make me happy.

Here’s what they are. The buy links will take you to Powells.com, since I’m all about buying from the independents.

George D. Shuman — 18 Seconds
Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child — The Wheel of Darkness
Christina Dodd — Scent of Darkness
Jonathan Kellerman — Gone
Harlan Coben — Hold Tight
Lorna Landvik — The View from Mount Joy
Lisa Unger — Sliver of Truth
Jonathan Kellerman (again) — Compulsion
Peter Blauner — Slipping into Darkness

And…

The prize.

The book that, if I’d had to choose ONE book, I’d have chosen…

Dalia Sofer — The Septembers of Shiraz

One of these days, I’ll write more about why it is I’m such a big advocate of buying used and online book trading. One of these days… *sigh*

Happy Reading, everyone! And check out the other Only the Good stuff out there, too.

Last week, Janet and Megan took the suggestion of blogger Chanda and asked if we’d like to make a Thirteen about weddings.

My thirteen was already done, so I decided to hold off on the prompt until this week. I figured it’d be a good one to ask the ShapeShifter boys about, since it’s been awhile since we last heard from them and I know you’ve missed them as much as I have.

So…

Thirteen things about Weddings, ShapeShifter Style

1. Trevor’s opposed to weddings and anything related to them. After all, weddings are the gateway to monogamy — according to him.

2. Daniel, on the other hand, dreams of marrying Val. Properly — in a church, even though he’s never set foot in one. And her in a long white gown with a train and veil that trail halfway up the aisle. The problem is, Val doesn’t share this dream. Never has.

3. Eric creates a third factor in this equation. The son of a Presbyterian minister, he grew up believing in marriage, life-long marriage. He’s watched his parents weather some tough spots and is committed to finding the woman who can do the same with him.

4. Add in Mitchell, who never thought one way or another about marriage. Yeah, both his older sisters were married by the time he met Kerri. Yeah, his parents have a great marriage. But for him? He’d thought it would never happen, so why dwell on it?

5. Back to Trevor, who also thinks marriage is a way to hold yourself down. When there’s someone else to consider, life isn’t as much fun.

6. Look at Daniel, Trevor will say. He missed how many nights with the rest of the band, hanging at Roach’s, because Val was *insert whine here* tired and wanted to go home?

7. And then there’s the arrangement Daniel and Val have. Since Val doesn’t like being on tour with the band, she gives Daniel some freedom. So long as he doesn’t get their names, or see them again.

8. Eric takes a different approach to the women he meets on the road: they become friends, for as long as the relationship can be sustained.

9. Trevor can’t stand this, of course. Girls aren’t to be friends with. They’re to love and leave.

10. Val’s opposition to marrying Daniel means that Mitchell is the first band member to get married. He does that during Trevor’s Song.

11. Needless to say, Trevor’s not happy about this. About the marriage. About the choice of women. About losing his best friend and partner in crime.

12. Eric and Daniel think it’s great that Mitchell found Kerri. Eric’s dad performed the ceremony, which was held in Daniel and Val’s back yard. The reception was a lot of fun, too.

13. Don’t even bring up the idea of kids around Trevor. Just … don’t… go … there.

New guy came on last night.
Must be someone’s boy toy
Or something.

Ironed t-shirts.
Not a pair of work gloves in sight.
Over-eager.
Desperate to be one of the gang.

And like all newbies,
Doesn’t get the language,
The code
The speak.

The road’s its own beast
You gotta learn it from the ground up
This kid,
He’s got a long way to go
Just to get started.

Everyone laughs,
Snickers
Sneers

Don’t know why I do it,
There ain’t glory in it for me,
Just a lot of ribbing for being a softie.
But

I take the new kid under my wing.
Hand over a spare pair of gloves;
I’ve got three more.

Start with a shadow.
Hand him a broom.
Point.
Use the right language.

He may not make it
But it’s not him people are watching.

It’s me.

Ahh, it’s nice when both the Sunday Scribblings and the Monday Poetry Train overlap. I’d like to do some commentary about this over at my Red Room page, but don’t know if I’ll get the time. We shall see… and of course, if I make the time, you’ll hear about it.

… and that was fast! Go read it…

I didn’t think I had much for Only the Good Friday this week. I haven’t read anything worth raving about, we just got back from vacation…

Sometimes, you’ve got to look beyond the obvious. Or look into the corners of your life, into the things we take for granted.

Like the fact that I had a fantastic writing day yesterday, and a great editing session. That’s writing one book and editing another, for those of you keeping track at home. And nope, the one being edited was NOT the Demo Tapes: Year 2. That means I’m working on more than I’m talking about.

If you’re my Facebook friend, you probably saw my status today: royalties came in on Demo Tapes: Year 1. That’s good. That’s very good. Recent stats claim that most self-published books sell under 200 copies. I haven’t hit that benchmark yet (YET), but I’m determined to blow the roof off it. Remember, the more copies of The Demo Tapes that I sell, the sooner you guys will see Trevor’s Song. How’s THAT for incentive?

Yep, it’s a good Friday over here. I’m feeling very strong and optimistic.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, Mitchell’s up to no good in the book I’m writing, and I’ve got an outtake in progress in which Trevor’s in fine form. Not to mention what I’m cooking up for next week’s Thursday Thirteen…

Miss me?

We got home on Monday but between settling back in and the abrupt resumption of real life, I’ve been quiet. Time to change that.

Thirteen Things I did on my Spring Vacation

1. Bumped over the Rocky Mountains in a puddle jumper.

2. Stayed at a four-star resort. You should, too. Amazing food. Better staff.

3. Hauled along a stuffed doberman, the class pet. Took lots of absurd pictures with said doberman that had other vacationers laughing along with us.

4. Visited Arches National Park. There are 17 hikes listed, according to difficulty level, at the Visitor Center. We conquered about 13 of them, including the hardest one in the park.

5. That hardest hike is into the Fiery Furnace area of the park. Yes, it’s as narrow and nerve-testing as the pictures make it look. Yet it was also great fun and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

6. The highlight, however, happened after we drove our rented Chevy Trailblazer down a very washboarded, unpaved road to the head of the trail. We were headed out to Tower Arch.

7. We sat and had snacks underneath the arch. You can still see where the arch’s discoverer, Alex Higgenbotham (I think that was his name), wrote his name on the wall (but don’t touch!)

8. Tower Arch is masculine and tough. There’s no doubt about it. If you want grace and beauty, try Delicate Arch or Landscape Arch.

9. I loved Double Arch. In fact, the whole windows area is pretty cool.

10. Did you know that the soil is alive? Out in Arches (and in neighboring Canyonlands), it is. Called Biological Soil (this year; it’s had other names in years past, but it’s the same stuff), it’s very cool. And, in places, very hard to see. Don’t step off the marked paths.

11. And did we see others going off-trail! This is how and why I became a conservationist. I don’t understand how people can come to the National Parks and be dazzled by their surroundings, yet show so little respect for something so important. Hello? Don’t you want your grandchildren to be able to see this, too?

12. On our final day in Utah, we drove over to Canyonlands National Park. If you’ve never been there, let me tell you, it’s so big, so vast, so amazing … the Tour Manager and I joked that it’s not real. It’s just a great big painting. I’d love to return and do some serious hiking in there. I’m talking multi-day treks.

13. Our last stop before heading home was Grand Junction, CO. I think I could live there — or so I said until I heard the weather forecast. Snow. In mid-April. Regardless, Grand Junction looked like a great little town. We found a great Mom-and-Pop Mexican restaurant that was open on Easter Sunday, too.

There ya go, boys and girls. Six days distilled into thirteen things. I can’t say I was as easy on my camera… just like my Yellowstone trip last year, 500+ pictures made the editing cut. Not all will go into the album I’m going to make, but most will.

More from Trevor and the rest of the gang in the days ahead.

This was going to be a letter, but as it evolved, it’s really a blog post. So… here it is.

I feel a real need to say a big, loud, public thanks to everyone at the Metallica Club and the various groups (band, management, label, and so forth) as well as the organizers of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction ceremony who made it possible for me and the Tour Manager to attend last weekend’s affair. Without the chance to buy tickets through the MetClub, I’d have probably never seen a dream come true: To attend a RRHOF induction ceremony.

It probably sounds odd that a writer dreams of the sort of boring (in theory), stuffy (in theory) industry event as was staged last weekend. But before this writer chose fiction over all else, I spent a long time positioning myself to work in the music business. I turned down not one but three job offers from one record label, alone. There were other labels, too, who showed interest in having me come work for them, but in the end, I couldn’t deny it. Writing fiction is what I’m meant to do.

Choosing one life over another doesn’t always mean the end of the dreams that fueled me through long nights on stage crew, through delicate discussions with record label reps over why I couldn’t play their bands on my radio show, or through interviews with musicians that didn’t go quite the way I’d envisioned (The Great Kat was an experience I will possibly never get over). Certainly one glance at my fiction will show that I never truly left the music world. I can’t go; I belong here, even if it is on the sidelines. Hardly a candidate to watch most of my music-related dreams come true.

Yet I continue to find a way. My desire to learn promotions from the inside was realized when I stepped up to throw together a fan convention. Oh, I may not have had to deal with guarantees and gate receipts and all that, but I did it nonetheless. In typical Susan fashion — some would call it Metallica fashion — I found a way to make it happen on my own terms. I jumped in, both feet first, and came out at the other end standing upright. Maybe a little battered, a little bruised, but definitely wiser and richer for the experience.

Same for last weekend, although the risks were fewer. So were the obstacles.

If anything, it was easy. Entered raffle for tickets. Purchased tickets. Lined up place to stay, at an exclusive bed-and-breakfast that only cost me a copy of my book. Two babysitters vied for the honors of putting up with my children. We drove 105 miles. Jumped the public transit. And voila. Dreams came true.

Being there became bigger than simply watching my favorite (real-life) band be honored. From the moment the TV broadcast began, I was reminded of my true love for music, not simply for the one band who’d enabled my presence at the ceremony. Earlier in the day, as my family had toured the Museum, I’d tried to give my kids a feel for the bigger picture. How bands like Little Anthony and the Imperials may have been allowed to get up on stage and perform, but they weren’t allowed to be served dinner by the same people who were paying them for their gig. How rare a woman like Wanda Jackson had been, rocking out alongside the boys. We owe these pioneers much, the least of which is for the songs and melodies they produce. They changed the world.

Once upon a time, I’d dreamed of being one of those people who work behind the scenes. I wanted to be one of the people who make the musical magic happen for the thousands and millions of a band’s fans. I wanted to be able to stand at the side of the stage and look past the band I was working for. I wanted to look out at the audience and know that I was, in part, responsible for their being there. My first novel was about a woman who does exactly this. It’s safely under my bed now, but anyone familiar with my fiction knows that it was the start of something great.

I chose a different route from my musical ambitions, a route where I am both entirely behind the scenes and, simultaneously, the star of the show. But it’s where I can meld my two loves into one. Best of all, I can share it with anyone who picks up my book or who stops by my blog. Choosing fiction over my music career didn’t mean an end to those old dreams. There was no box to shove those ambitions and fantasies inside of, no lid to close, nothing to keep them from laying, dormant, until the time was right and they could come true.

Yeah, it took my membership in a certain band’s fan club to make it happen. That’s why I owe a huge thanks to the people associated with Metallica and with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. There’s an old saying that the means don’t justify the ends. This time, they most certainly did.

Now, onward to conquer my next dream. I have so many, it’s hard to choose which will come true next. And that’s the beauty of it. I didn’t choose this; it fell in my lap. It’s reminded me of my love for all music, not just the heavy stuff I usually prefer. It gave me more than I expected, and for me, that’s how it’s best.

Yep, I’m packing up the Tour Manager, the kids, and Trevor and heading out West for a few days. Time to clear my head, reconnect with my beloved mountains of the western US, and … well, maybe I’ll celebrate the Big 4-0 or something equally as stupid. (I will, however, be ignoring Passover, like the Heathen I apparently am.)

I’ve got one post ready to auto-post, but won’t be here much to moderate or return visits. I’ll catch ya when I return. Hopefully by then, it’ll have stopped snowing in West of Mars-ville.

Those of you travelling for Passover seders or Easter festivities, do so safely. Have super holidays and I’ll see you once I’ve come face to face with the Mighty Colorado.

This week’s Sunday Scribblings prompt was “celebrate”.

This one is so obvious that I, The Tour Manager, am stepping in. Susan being wiped out from
the celebration in question has something to do with it too . . .

Life’s full of things to celebrate. Heck, it’s good to make up excuses and rationalizations to hold a celebration. They’re uplifting, affirmating, and a whole list of other positive things.

But, once in a while, there are celebrations that are unique and extra meaningful to you for one reason or another. This weekend was one for us, especially the rock-and-roll author slash former metal DJ. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I can’t put the pictures here because of copyright reasons, but here’s about 6,000 words worth of a truly special celebration.

‘tallica’s RRHOF Induction

And believe me, the other people whose work and careers were also celebrated leading up to the guys in those pictures were every bit as special and spectacular.