West of Mars

First off, open this link in a new tab. I’m guest blogging over at Beth’s Book Review Blog. And yep, a lucky commenter will win a free digital download (that’s an e-book) from Smashwords.com.

If you’re an old-timer around here, you might recognize some of these places in my fictional city of Riverview, USA. I’ve had to create some new places of late for some bigger stuff I’ve been working on, so I thought I’d share.

1. Java Bird — this is Lyric’s favorite coffee shop. It’s in walking distance from her shop (which you should all know about by now!) and she’s hooked. Addicted.

2. Fit Riverview — the city’s best chain of exclusive, yuppie, snotty health clubs. A number of the Riverview Otters belong there. There are four around the city, and each one is host to the city’s best after-work basketball team.

3. Baked With Love — corny name, great croissants.

4. Riverview Central Municipal Library — created for our Thirteen friend Celtic Librarian. Wait until you hear the story behind this place… you’ll have to wait until it figures into a longer piece, sad to say. (for you. And me, who needs the time to create it!)

5. Arts Unlimited — the arts supply store near Lyric’s shop. Kerri often shops there; in fact, most of the students at the Riverview Art Academy shop there. Sergei, the owner, gives nice discounts to long-time shoppers.

6. The Old-Fashioned Dime Shop — Just what it’s name says it is. If you can’t find it here, it doesn’t exist. Or else it costs a fortune. Because of their proximity to Lyric’s shop (next door!), they do a hefty business in batteries.

7. The Rocket Theater — the former drag queen only club, it’s slowly being converted into a venue for live rock music. If you’ve been to The Fillmore in San Francisco, you get an idea of what the concert hall is like. Complete with chandeliers.

8. Vic’s Vinyl — a record store that Mitchell used to hang out in. Vic, the owner, is one cool chick: half her face has a tattoo of a butterfly on it. A black, purple, blue, and magenta butterfly that’s angry and evil. Vic is a punk through-and-through, but her store’s as diverse as the rest of Riverview. (I have yet to do anything with this place except create it, but won’t it be fun to play with?)

9. All Access — You know those clubs that are guaranteed to have the cops show up? The ones that smell so badly of every bodily fluid imaginable (and some you haven’t thought of), of smoke, of beer — yeah, All Access smells so bad, you can smell it outside. People die inside All Access. It only holds about 200 people — 250 on a good night — but playing a show there gets you all the bragging rights you could want.

10. Elite Threads — a designer men’s clothing store. Our ShapeShifter boys shop there. Sometimes. (They do NOT do Trevor’s leather pants) It’s a bit too business-oriented, a bit too yuppie. Eric often finds clothes to wear to his father’s church there. Since, you know. Dad doesn’t appreciate ShapeShifter t-shirts on a Sunday morning.

11. I can’t let the opportunity go by without mentioning one of my favorite places in Riverview: Big Buck’s Best Barbecue. His Bodacious Sauce is legendary.

12. Zuckerman’s Famous Pig — Yeah, I might get sued for that one, but c’mon. What ELSE would you call a kosher deli????

13. The Slaughterhouse. More on this one to come. Much, much more.

Whee! I was named one of the Editor’s Picks in the new EasyStreet Prompts Carnival of Writing and Art. They were kind enough to send me a lovely image, so I’ll have the Tour Manager get that up. In the meantime, though, check out what else made the cut. Think about submitting something yourself, why don’t you?

The piece I won the praise for was Robin Hood, featuring Lyric and the dude in green. If you missed it, be sure to check it out. I think it’s going to launch a new feature around here: Lyric’s Customers. But first, I need the time to write this new series.

Also, if you missed me last week at Savvy Verse and Wit, go see what I have to say about size mattering. And yeah, we’re not letting Trevor put his two cents in (because we all know what he’d say. Admit it.). And yep, you can enter to win a digital download of either Demo Tapes book.

And lastly, tomorrow (Wednesday), be sure to stop by Beth’s Book Review Blog. I’m guest posting about … something. Yep, this is way too close to the wire for my liking. You’ll like it. AND have another chance to win a digital copy of either Demo Tapes book!

And with that, I’m out of here. I, umm, have a guest post to write!

If you haven’t met Deadly Metal Hatchet yet, they’re the *other* band around here. Young and hungry, but also incredibly stupid, they’re musically inept but they have a great gimmick. Read on!

“No. I don’t like it. Every single freaking heavy metal band out there has pictures taken in front of a gothic gate like this one,” Scott said.

“Do we have to take pictures?” Fozzy asked.

Scott, Gecko, and Lido turned and glared at their guitarist.

Fozzy wandered off toward the gates. Scott followed, taking in the sight. Heavy dark brick, probably stained with some sort of smog or soot. Maybe it was moss; it didn’t matter. It wasn’t something you’d see at home.

Scott still couldn’t believe the record company had flown them out East just for a stupid photo shoot. They’d claimed the woods behind the gate was the Hatchet’s natural environment. That the sand and brush of the desert had nothing to do with the Hatchet.

Fozzy had tried to explain that the Hatchet was a city dweller, born on a wide asphalt street. No one at the label had cared. They wanted the Hatchet associated with all the usual gothic shit. Iron railings connecting the two tall columns of stone. Yawn.

“How many other bands have taken their group pictures right here?” Scott asked Fozzy, who lit a cigarette and stuffed his lighter into the front pocket of his jeans.

“The Hatchet could like it here,” Fozzy said after a minute. “Lots of hiding places. Lots of victims probably come through here.”

“Yeah,” Scott sniffed. “All our competition.”

“So where do you want to do this photo shoot?” Fozzy asked. He narrowed his eyes like he did when he was expecting something good but stayed ready to brace himself for something less than okay.

Scott turned in a circle, his face tilted up toward the sky as he thought. It was easier to give Fozzy something good than spend the next five hours waiting for him to draw the Hatchet. They had a schedule to keep. This stupid photo shoot. “In a ferris wheel,” he said at last. “A shot from a distance. That’ll go over easier with Mr. camera-shy.” He slid a look at Fozzy, waiting for a reaction. None came. Lido bit back a smile. Gecko lit a cigarette of his own and scuffed at a leaf on the ground. It was damp; it turned his work boot dark brown.

“The Hatchet can be… anywhere,” Scott said. “In a car of its own, digging the ride. Jammed into the electronics and ready to strike the poor suckers stuck at the top. Taking freaking tickets for all I care.”
Fozzy held his cigarette like it was a joint. “That could work.”

“Now we’ve got to get the label to go along with it.”

Fozzy smiled, that ugly, thin smile that was the only one Scott had ever seen. “Let the Hatchet handle that.”

This actually compiles three writing prompts. There’s the Easy Street Prompt from September 25, the Your Photo Story, and this week’s Sunday Scribblings.

Links to more Deadly Metal Hatchet (in order!):
Thursday Thirteen — The Hatchet
Anonymous
Chapeau
Thursday Thirteen — Bits about Deadly Metal Hatchet
Fozzy’s Skateboard
Somewhere
Late Invite?
Fozzy’s Accident

I’ve gotta give props to the guys at Metal Sucks. They sure get their hands on cool stuff, that I can then share with you guys.

So I do.

And I am.

This latest is … I don’t know. Musically, it sort of reminds me of Iron Maiden. I suppose if I were a proper metalhead, I’d snicker at the penchant of the band to dress in period clothes.

Or maybe dressing in period clothes is VERY metal and I’m cool enough to admit it.

Whatever. The simple fact is that this band — the Metal Shakespeare Company — has set the works of the much-lauded William Shakespeare to metal music.

The more complex fact (as opposed to the simple fact in the last paragraph) reads like this (lifted shamelessly from their website):

A Metal Shakespeare Company show is about 70% metal and 30% theater. In addition to guitar harmonies, there are duels. With swords. Audience participation has included public readings of the bard and public executions.

By all that’s holy, this is one band I’ve GOT to see. Let me know if you manage to beat me to them.

And while we’re on the subject of cool shit, let me add this cool coloring book to the mix. The Indie Rock Coloring Book, that is. Thanks to Lindsay for showing it to me, so I can show it to you. It’s the same price as the Demo Tapes, you’ll notice. So if you want to get me a present and you’ve already bought multiple copies of The Demo Tapes (truly the best present you can give me), grab one of these. Or two and keep one for yourself. Or three. I’ll swap you a copy of The Demo Tapes (autographed!) for one.

I have all sorts of other cool stuff to share with you, and I will. But first:

Visit with me over at Savvy Verse and Wit today. Size doesn’t matter to THIS girl. Good thing; I know what Trevor looks like inside those leathers of his. The rest of the band, too, come to think of it.

And what’s that??? A PICTURE?? Of SUSAN????

Well, I wish I could say it was someone I paid to sit at my desk. Look carefully for the cat; he’s, of course, there. Hard to see, but in the picture nonetheless. (Yes, look at the cat. Not at me.)

I’ll be giving away a free digital copy of The Demo Tapes. You can pick if you’d like Year 1 or Year 2.

And for those of you with a quiet Friday night (at least Friday night Eastern Time), come join me tonight on Book Chatter!

I’ve never done this, either. I’ve done radio before; I’m licensed by the FCC, in fact. (My license was granted December 24, 19xx. I always figured if I celebrated Christmas, that was an unbeatable present) But to call in and talk about my books?

New ground.

Come join me. I really hate talking to myself.

ominous

Ominous. Man, that’s a good word. It sounds good. It feels good, like it wants to roll around in your mouth and come out in a great big tube like you find at some playgrounds, the kind of tubes little kids like to crawl through on their hands and knees.

I like to watch the cool moms follow their kids. Like to watch ‘em coming and going.

Too bad ominous is one of those words Rusty likes. That right there means it’s a word I can’t use.

Maybe that’s okay. After all, ominous makes me think of bad shit. Life’s too short to spend thinking of bad shit. Or squirming. Or stopping as you walk between the bus and wherever-the-fuck-we’re-headed-now while Nature Boy Eric stops to sniff the air and tell all of us, like we’re too fucking dumb to know better, that a storm’s on the way.

The only storm this boy’s interested in is the sand storm that’ll kick up when Trevor here chases those cool moms through those tubes at the playground. And wins.

Happy Jewish New Year to all of us, even if you’re not Jewish. (You just might follow a religion based on Judaism, and that means that new year wishes ought to extend to you, at least in my book.)

I have a TON (almost literally) of books to gush about. I’ve been reading up a storm over here, and I need to do more than read. I need to talk about them and share the word.

I’m picking April Halprin Wayland’s New Year at the Pier to talk about first because it’s a book about a special tradition — one so special that I never knew about it until the Tour Manager spirited me out of the city and up here, to West of Mars.

I fell in love with the special Tashlich service from the get-go. During Tashlich, Jews symbolically cast their sins into a body of water. It’s usually done with bread, but our congregation usually uses corn. The Canada Geese love us.

Think about it. To take something physical and toss it into the water, to be (in theory) swept away, out to sea. And you’re left with this empty room that you’re presumably trying to fill with goodness…

I love it.

April’s book, New Year at the Pier, takes it a step further. Yes, this is a children’s book! It’s a picture book! And darn it, it’s a moving story of a little boy, Izzy, who feels the need to apologize to the people around him for the wrongs he’s committed throughout the year.

This is really what the holiday is about. If you’re not Jewish, maybe all you know of the Jewish High Holy Days is that Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year. Yom Kippur is some holy day when people fast. As a Jew, for a long time, that was about all I got out of the holidays. I’ll admit it.

However, I’ve since learned that it’s more than that. There’s a spirit that’s supposed to imbue us during these 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It’s about introspection, it’s about apologizing for what we’ve done wrong and forgiving others for hurting us.

Man, that last sentence… apologizing and forgiving. It’s hard work. In April’s book, Izzy manages to.

I only wish I could.

Daniel was trying to get away from Stan the Stud when Val ran over to him. She grabbed his forearm and kissed his cheek. “You’ll never believe what I just found out!”

Stan leaned in. “You’re pregnant?”

Val curled her upper lip and drew away from Stan, closer to Daniel.

“Maybe this isn’t something I want to say in front of jerks.”

“Ouch. Color me wounded,” Stan sneered.

Daniel turned away, not caring if he was rude to Stan. He’d be forgiven; after all, he had something Stan wanted. He had a drum set. And there was nothing more that Stan wanted than a band. Stan and His Studs. They’d wear black leather jackets and jeans and play good old-fashioned rock and roll — which to Stan meant songs like Johnny B. Goode.

It was a good song, but Daniel wanted to rock. His drums were a way to…

“Why aren’t you listening to me now?” Val asked, still holding his arm. She’d planted her other fist on her hip and if Val could look angry, she was there.

She was still pretty cute, though.

Daniel bent his knees to kiss her. “Sorry. What did you find out?”

“There’s these vocational classes I can take. They’ll teach me how to be a chef.”

“A chef? Val, I thought you wanted to …” Daniel paused. What was it she’d wanted to do last week? Zoo keeper? Model? He couldn’t keep up anymore, it changed so fast.

Him, he wanted to play drums.

“But think about it,” she was saying. “If I’m a chef, I can feed hungry people.”

He eyed her.

“I can maybe open a restaurant, one where all the people with too much money go. And I can charge a lot of money and use the extra to fund a food pantry or a soup kitchen, and then people like us. It’d be okay. I’d make it okay. I’d make it so it’s not so bad when we have to go there. But of course we won’t have to go there. We’ll be rich from it, only we’ll actually give back and try to help out and–”

“Val, not here,” Daniel said. He glanced around, hoping no one was listening. It probably wouldn’t be news to anyone, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be something worth talking about. The last thing he wanted was to give anyone a reason to talk about him.

She seemed to understand, taking a step back and looking down. “It’s… It’s not just you, Dans. It’s us, too. My family, I mean. There’s been times and … oh, never mind!” She stamped a foot, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and ran off down the hall.

Daniel watched her go. Actually, he thought a chef was the best idea she’d had so far. When his band got big, she could come work for them as their personal chef. And they’d be together forever.

He liked that last part the best.

In honor of the number seven…

1. It’s the minimum number of times Mitchell drops the f-bomb during a concert.

2. It’s the maximum number of times Mitchell calls the crowd pussies.

3. If you cloned the guys, you’d get seven. That’s because Trevor’s such an original, they truly broke the mode. He’s un-clone-able. So we’d have two of everyone else… and still too much of the one and only Trevor F. Wolff.

4. It’s the number of basses Trevor owns.

5. It’s the number of months Trevor spent rebuilding his Vincent (that’s a motorcycle, folks).

6. It’s the number of continents. However, no one’s played Antarctica, so it’s NOT the number of continents that ShapeShifter’s played.

7. Seven is a prime number. Believed by many to be lucky. We’ll leave this one as is.

8. It’s the number of drum sticks, on average, Daniel breaks during one week of recording.

9. It’s the minimum number of friends in the dressing room before it’s a true after-show party.

10. Seven pieces of ShapeShifter lore:
The Wall of Fame (bras)
Band going for ice cream after a show
Steal the guys’ undies!
The parties. Oh, the parties.
and the hangovers. Nothing’s more exquisite.
Who’ll do more than sign underneath your bra, ifyougetwhatImean.
Mitchell is unable to smile. (So says the lore.)

11. It’s the number of hits you get out of one of Eric’s hand-rolled beauties.

12. It’s the number of ShapeShifter albums on the Discography page.

13. It’s… it’s… it’s personal. And it’s good. Seven. Hot damn.

Day off yesterday.
Hambone went and got a tattoo.

Flaming road case.
Hard to describe.
It fits;
no one loads or unloads a truck like Ham.

Made me look around.
Most of the crew’s got tats.
Lots of tribals.
Cuffs circling ankles
wrists
upper arms.

Nothing meaningful.
At least,
not the way Ham’s is.

Me,
I don’t need a tat.
Not a physical one.
This life,
the road,
the shows,
the travel,
the food,
the people,
That’s my tattoo.
It’s inside me.
Living
breathing
beating

along with

my heart.