West of Mars

So, awhile back, I listed my Best Women-Penned of 2009. This week’s Booking Through Thursday asked what our best books of 2009 were, and since I wasn’t able to make the vague ideas for this week’s Thursday Thirteen gel, here’s a list of 13 of the best books I read in 2009.

**Note. Some links will take you to reviews, others to buy links via Powells.com. Any books you buy with my Powell’s affiliate will earn me money … which will go to buying books to share with you guys. I’m not keeping any profits I make through the Powell’s affiliate, only from the royalties I earn on The Demo Tapes (buy link for THAT below).

1. I started off the year with my first Greg Iles book, 24 Hours. I need to find more of Mr. Isles’ books. This was a great thriller.

2. Then I stepped back in time — with my very next read! — and discovered Michael Simon. I started with his first book, Dirty Sally. Loved the noir going on. My book club? Not so much. I’ll keep reading the series without them.

3. I read a bunch of rock and roll fiction. Rock Bottom by Michael Shilling, The Rock Star’s Homecoming by Linda Gould, Bahama Burnout by Don Bruns, Dark Side of the Morgue by Raymond Benson. Some were great, some weren’t. Later in the year, I got to A&R by Bill Flanagan and Do The Devil’s Work by Rick Florino, as well as Erica Kennedy’s Bling and Cecil Castellucci’s Beige and Dylan Schaffer’s Misdemeanor Man. (Reviews of these last three will appear at Rocks ‘n Reads sooner or later.)

4. Sometimes, I feel like I was one of the last people to be introduced to Lloyd Jones. His Mr. Pip is still making the rounds of my book club, and it’s a book I repeatedly refer to.

5. I really like fantasy and George RR Martin is truly one of the masters of the genre. I read A Clash of Kings this year — it took forever, as it was the book on my nightstand — and found that even though the cast is huge and I’d read the first book in the series years ago, I was brought up to speed seamlessly.

6. I got around to reading a lot of popular books: Audrey Niffeneger’s The Time-Traveler’s Wife, Christopher Paolini’s Eragon, Ann Brashare’s The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Sara Gruen’s Water for Elephants, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See. One I loved, three I liked, one didn’t impress.

7. I’ve spent LOTS of time raving about Hank Phillippi Ryan. Why haven’t you joined me yet?

8. Another rock book and another rave: Tommyland, written by the majorly colorful (on many levels) Tommy Lee. I think you guys know I dig these books written by rockers. (See my raves about Tommy’s bandmate Nikki Sixx and his Heroin Diaries.)

9. The brilliantly written Shadow Man introduced me to Cody McFadyen. I’ve heard a lot about McFadyen from a number of you guys. I finally picked this book up and … wow. Okay, I had a FEW quibbles, but overall, this is a great debut. I can’t wait to read the second in the series; it’s sitting here, waiting for me.

10. Although I already raved about it in the women-penned list I linked to above, Song of the Seals by Christy Yorke deserves a second mention. The atmosphere alone made this an incredible read and as we’re passing it around my book club, we’re all talking about how it steered away from cliche.

11. After hearing one of my son’s classmates’ moms tell me she didn’t like the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series (written by Jeff Kinney), I picked up the first and read it. I like the mom, but it was a reminder of why I don’t fit in with many (most?) of the moms in this area. I can’t even pretend to share her concerns.

12. Series: Gini Hartzmark, Charlaine Harris (Sookie), Janet Evanovich (Stephanie Plum), Steven Brust, Kathy Reichs, Colleen Gleason (another West of Mars favorite), Rachel Caine, MaryJanice Davidson, Marcia Muller, Linda Fairstein, Alexander McCall Smith.

13. And, of course, there are my own books. If you haven’t joined the Trevolution yet, why not? Drop me a line; I can hook you up with autographed copies.

I know. I don’t often do Mailbox Monday posts. Or an In My Mailbox post. That’s because I’ve significantly slowed down what arrives in my mailbox. I’m trying to move things OUT, not in.

However, just this morning, my trusty PO Box was stuffed to the gills. Okay, maybe one or two more could have been squished in, but four’s a pretty darn good haul!

I got…

Never Mind the Pollacks, written by Neal Pollack. It’s a Rock and Roll Novel, and will be reviewed shortly at Rocks ‘n Reads. ‘Cause, you know, I write rock and roll fiction. I gotta know the genre inside and out. This was a PaperbackSwap.com find.

Another PaperbackSwap.com find was Steven Brust’s Taltos, the next adventure for my bud Vladimir. I totally love this series. I don’t get why more people aren’t reading it. Maybe it’s Vlad’s voice. Dry, acerbic — and yet smart. That doesn’t mean Vlad doesn’t do dumb things, though — and that’s the fun of this series.

A RABCK (that’s a Random Act of BookCrossing Kindness) also showed up. Bangkok Tattoo, written by John Burdett, has been on my wishlist since July of 2005. Only 1930 books left on my wishlist to find…

I saved the best for last. It’s autographed. It’s a great story.

You see, I was keeping an eye on my Twitter stream one day before Christmas and my bud, author TJ Bennett was tweeting about buying Christmas presents. So… I pulled a Trevor. “Oh, but why are you stressing?” I asked (or something to this effect). “All you need to get ME for Christmas is your latest book.”

So guess what showed up today? TJ Bennett’s The Promise.

Damn. Trevor’s good.

***
Disclaimer shit: the buy links take you to Powells.com. If you should be motivated to use them, I’ll save up my take of the sale and use it to buy something I’ll turn around and give to you. If you’d like to help me financially, you’re better off to buy my books. Links are up on the left-hand side here, so click on through and get busy!

If you missed the lead-in to this, clickie here. You won’t be sorry. Then come back and read on; it’ll make more sense.

Mitchell was the only one not into it.

Daniel was all about his new sticks. Signature models, in fact, although Mitchell didn’t really get how a piece of wood could be something special. Oh, he’d played drums often enough to know that sticks felt different and could be different weights.

But a signature style? It seemed extreme, even if the whole reason was marketing shit. Dans and the band got money to put his name on the sticks. People bought the sticks, wanting to sound like Daniel. Everyone won.

Slightly less stupid was Eric’s new amp. Actually, it was a lot less stupid. The guy had needed something new for awhile now. The whole band was tired of his whining and his clueless attempts at making changes. Even Chuck, his tech, had started refusing to help. “Call the rep,” Chuck would grunt and walk away as Eric stood there, mouth flapping, probably secretly wishing he was Mitchell and had the balls to fire the guy for not helping.

Mitchell didn’t know who had called the rep. Eric sure hadn’t. Chuck wouldn’t without being told by Eric to do it. It wasn’t his business, so Mitchell hadn’t done it, either to be nice or in a desperate move to shut the guy up already.

The best gift, though, had to be Mitchell’s new guitar. If Eric’s amp was suspcious, the guitar was even more so. The only person who’d known he wanted it was Trevor. The only person.

Mitchell didn’t believe in Santa. Not anymore. Not after Amy and Beth had ruined it for him when he’d been nine.

That meant there was no way Santa had been behind all this. No fucking way in Hell.

Of course the alternative was even more mystifying. There was no way Trevor would have done this. The guy refused to be organized, refused to think beyond the here and now, refused to plan. Pulling this together, here in Portland where they’d gotten stuck by a freak snow, and making it appear…

Trevor was watching them play with their new musical presents. “Pretty good of the Old Fat Man to find us here, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded like he was satisfied.

Mitchell eyed him. There was no fucking way Trevor was satisfied. Not with a lump of coal as a present. Something smelled.

“I knew Christmas was the season of miracles,” Eric sighed, brushing at imaginary dirt on the top of his new amp.

“Yep,” Trevor said, picking up his coal and tossing it in the air.

“You got coal,” Mitchell said.

“I’ve never known anyone who got coal before,” Eric said, giving his amp one last lingering pat and coming over to look at Trevor’s gift. “I didn’t think that really happened. Everyone’s got some goodness in them.”

“This has nothing to do with being good or bad,” Trevor said.

Mitchell caught the sly smile and braced himself.

“Then what’s it for?” Daniel asked. He cocked his head, his eyebrows drawn in toward his nose. “And what sort of present is it, anyway? We all got the cool stuff and you got…”

“It’s a good present,” Trevor said. “It’s what I wanted.”

“It’s coal,” Mitchell said.

“Yep,” Trevor said and grinned. He held it up so they could all see it. “Gotta keep the fire lit.”

With a grandiose gesture none of them could misinterpret, Trevor pushed the lump of coal down the front of his pants.

What can I say? I was in a mood last night

’twas the night before Christmas
And all through the land
Not a creature was stirring
Especially
The band.

The socks, they did stink
From being worn all week.
But no one minded;
They were too plied with drink.

Too plastered to care,
Dare, or share
The miracle of Christmas
That was thickening the air.

Good thing, perhaps
For in this place where they crashed,
The chimney had been smashed.

Santa could not come here.
(Santa was relieved)
If he did, he’d tremble in fear

At the snores
And the proof of the girls
The boys called scores.
Because when it comes to our band,
When it rains girls, it pours.

Yet on the band dreamed
Of guitars, drums, and fans;
Their world-conquering plans
And other goals that seemed
Some days
To be made out of sand.

But Santa, the mighty
The clever, the brave,
Found a way down the chimney,
Through the smashed passages so tiny.
Christmas, he did save.

A guitar for Mitchell,
An amp for Eric,
Drumsticks for Daniel
And for Trevor…

A lump of coal.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

ETA: Want to know what the coal’s about? Read on.

“I dare you,” Trevor said, abandoning the sing-song he’d just been using. That song had never failed him before, but then, this was nothing compared to the sort of thing he usually dared Mitchell to do.

Trevor didn’t think Mitchell was aware he lifted one hand to his left ear and played with the earrings there. Yep, Trevor had dared Mitchell into letting him pierce the big idiot’s ear. And smoke pot in the bathroom at school. Fuck, he’d dared Mitchell into starting to smoke in the first fucking place.

And then there was the band he’d dared Mitchell to start, the girls he’d dared Mitchell into fucking…

Really. The big idiot couldn’t do shit without being dared. Ever.

It wasn’t like this one was such a big deal. One day. No guitar.

Crashing that private party at Moon Shadows had been a bigger deal than this was. Shit, they should have been arrested for that one. Underage, walking into a private party full of naked dancers and picking up one beer per hand… It had been a fuck of an entrance. Maybe that’s what had saved them ’cause Mitchell’s precious Voss family connections wouldn’t have.

“No,” Mitchell said. “Dare me all you want. I’m not taking a day off from the guitar. Gus told me not to.”

“Oh. Gus. Like he’s your god or something.”

“He knows what he’s talking about.”

“He’s some washed up shitty musician who managed to play sessions back in the sixties, when anyone with a fucking work ethic would get hired.”

“He’s been around the greats, Trev. He knows. If he says I shouldn’t take a day off unless I can’t help it, I’m not going to.”

“I’ll give you…” Trevor had to stop and think. He usually didn’t have to bribe people; they did shit for him just because he was Trevor and no one could deny the mighty Trevor Wolff.

“No,” Mitchell said again.

“Is that your favorite word or something?” Trevor asked, wrinkling up his nose and cocking his head. It was a risky move; he’d done it in school once and gotten patted on the head by the teacher he pulled it on.

Mitchell didn’t pat dogs on the head, let alone people.

“Yes,” Mitchell said.

Trevor shook his head and turned away. This sucked. Mitchell never said no. Ever. The guy wasn’t capable of it.

Until you brought the guitar into it. Trevor wanted to kick the thing, but knew that Mitchell would drop kick him if he did. And then the big idiot and his guitar would never be parted, like some of that stupid, sappy shit they’d tried to make him read in school.

The big idiot followed him outside for a smoke, but every time Trevor opened his mouth to try from another angle, the guy said, “No” before Trevor could get sound out. It was all too obvious that Trevor had lost this round.

But he’d find a way to win the war. He fucking would.

Yep, another Sunday Scribbling. You’ve met Gus before, too. Sort of. His legend is beginning to grow.

Thirteen (totally fictional) kids whose lives were changed by Music in the Schools programs

If you’re new to West of Mars, you’ve missed out on three previous years of benefits thrown by our favorite fictional band, ShapeShifter. On the Monday during Hanukkah, the band rallies the troops, raises lots of bucks, and gives it all to a charity that helps schools fund music programs. Sometimes, these charities are fictional. Sometimes, they’re real.

So to make it all the more real to you, me, and the guy across the street, I present 13 entirely fictional kids whose lives were changed by Music in the Schools programs.

1. Meet Yahir. An immigrant from Mexico, he couldn’t speak the language when he arrived in America. Yahir picked up a saxophone, spent a year taking lessons, and found that during band, no one made fun of his broken English or his accent.

2. And then there’s Angel. A real beauty with blonde hair and blue eyes, Angel came to her parents when she was left at a church and it was her mom who opened the door and found her on the proverbial doorstep. Angel picked up the cello, grew her hair long, and learned to rock like Apocalyptica.

3. Steven picked up the drums, loved the exhilaration of marching band so much that halftime of high school football games wasn’t enough. He found a spot in the Drum Corps International Blue Devils and spent a few summers traveling and performing.

4. Gage realized the tuba was the only instrument as big as he was. But it’s also way more important to a band than he ever thought he could be. He learned otherwise.

5. Sheelagh watched her grades go up and school get easier the more into band she became.

6. Lily put down the violin she’d learned via the Suzuki method when she was three. She picked up the flute instead and while she realized her parents’ ambitions for her to play in a major symphony, she found a way to do it on her own terms.

7. Nate realized he had no musical ability whatsoever and that Guitar Hero was going to be his shot at the spotlight. That’s when the acting bug bit.

8. Meryem learned that music was a lot more than the stuff her dad made her listen to when she was in his car. No matter how good Old Blue Eyes sounds to Dads, he’s not always a hit with kids.

9. Allison learned about respect and power. She learned you get more of both when you don’t jump into bed with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who promises respect and power.

10. Sanjit learned the value of teamwork. Of being part of a section of instruments and how horrible they sound when even one person (okay, it was him) decides the music in front of him is only a suggestion.

11. Caitlyn learned that reading music is a lot like learning to read Russian. It’s a new alphabet, sure, but it’s not unconquerable with some hard work. Best of all, Caitlyn’s grandmother immigrated from Russia and is thrilled her granddaughter can speak the mother tongue.

12. Devon learned how much trouble you can get into when you’re part of the drumline. And how delicious it is to get into trouble. Sometimes.

13. Susan learned she can’t read music worth a damn, but has a good ear for what’ll be a hit on the radio. So she went into radio. For awhile. And now she sits at home and writes books about musicians and the people in their lives. And dreams of when these Musical Hanukkah Benefits will come the rest of the way to life and earn some actual bucks that she can donate in the name of West of Mars.

Oops. This last one ain’t fiction. But it’s not entirely reality yet, either.

Happy Hanukkah to all of you. Friday’s the last night. Have a jelly donut and go make some music.

Mitzvah

That’s a Hebrew word, according to soul-boy Eric. What’s a son of a Presbyterian minister doing knowing all sorts of Hebrew shit beats the hell out of me, but whatthefuckever.

A Mitzvah, Soul-Boy says, is a good deed. He says that’s what we did last night at All Access.

Now, Trevor’s not so sure about that. Aren’t good deeds supposed to be this grandiose shit, like helping old ladies across the road, and carrying groceries for preggos so they can drag their toddling brats by the arm and keep ‘em from diving under a car and making the rest of us happy?

There’s nothing grandiose about squishing onto the All Access stage and playin’ a set. That’s what we do. Call us Wolf Whistle, call us fucking ShapeShifter, it doesn’t fucking matter. We’re a band. We make music. There ain’t nothin’ special about that.

The only thing special about what we did last night was that we didn’t pay for shit. Didn’t pay for our crew. Didn’t pay for the stage. Didn’t fucking get paid, either.

Eric says not all Mitzvot are big gestures. That sometimes, the ones that mean the most are actually the littlest ones. Sometimes, he says, they can be something as simple as smiling at someone who’s having a shitty day.

I asked if that was Hebrew for give me a fucking break and Mitchell belted me a good one.

But c’mon. If you’re going to do something, why not do it right and do it big? That’s why I was against this whole stupid-assed cancelling the benefit in the first fucking place. Let the whiners whine. We’re ShapeShifter for fuck’s sake. We’ll rise above.

The band had gathered at the practice space as Mitchell had asked. For once, they’d beat him there, which pretty much told them he had a big announcement. He’d never shown up late with anything but a doozy. Mitchell usually didn’t do late.

“So what’s going on?” Eric asked when Mitchell walked through the door, grinning.

“Wolf Whistle’s going to play All Access tomorrow night.”

As Eric laughed with delight and Daniel hooted, Trevor threw his head back and howled.

The band’s official Wolff whistle.

“Everyone’s on board. Grey’s so glad to have us back, he’s got everyone donating their time again. Whatever profit we make, it’ll all go to the charity.”

“It won’t be much,” Daniel said. Eric frowned and nodded. “No jam session ticket sales, no t-shirt sales…”

“Every bit helps,” Eric said. “And maybe it’s more important that we’re making a stand with Wolf Whistle.”

Mitchell bobbed his head. He could always count on the lead guitarist to get where he was coming from, even as Trevor was lifting a lip to sneer at Eric.

Wolf Whistle was the only band in Riverview history who could book a last-minute show and still manage to pack the place. Then again, Wolf Whistle was nothing but a code name for ShapeShifter when they wanted to fuck around. Everyone knew it. Hell, the line was probably already forming.

“What’s door?” Daniel asked.

Mitchell shrugged. “Not even close to what we’ve been charging for tickets the past few years. Like you said, no one gets to pony up to jam with us. We don’t have t-shirts. This isn’t going to bring in big bucks.”

“Then why are we doing it?” Trevor asked.

“Because I’m pissed we’re not doing the usual,” Mitchell said. “We’ve been doing good here and I’m pissed everyone’s come along and ruined it. So we’ll play and let everyone hear about it after the fact and feel like heels.”

“Nothing like a little bit of guilt to make people realize what jerks they’ve been,” Trevor sneered.

“I don’t really mind losing the jam session,” Eric said quietly.

Mitchell nodded. While popular with the fans, the jam sessions were tough. People were everywhere, there wasn’t anytime beforehand to make sure everyone knew what was going on… really, it was all about letting fans pay for a chance at five sloppy minutes onstage with ShapeShifter. But it brought in big money that went directly to the charity, so the band put up with it. It was for kids, after all. For making music.

It all came back to music.

Mitchell frowned and rubbed his chin. He’d have to get with Daniel and probably Eric later on. There had to be a way to turn all the whining into something positive. These people who’d thrown a fit last year hadn’t been upset about not being given a chance to join the benefit. They were pissed at missing some easy promotion.

They’d managed to ruin this year’s fun, for an awful lot of people. Not to mention the schools who depended on the money they donated — last year, it had been a solid five digit donation they’d made. That had bought a lot of trombones. Or paid part of a teacher’s salary, saving him or her from being laid off.

He was more pissed than he was willing to let on. All those pretentious assholes, trying to ruin it for the kids. Who were they to limit a kid and try to stop music from being made? What if that was tomorrow’s star they were trying to limit?

No more, Mitchell resolved. Wolf Whistle would let at least a few of them rise above.

A brave move from the band, perhaps. Yet it’s definitely one that keeps alive the traditional themes of Hanukkah: hope and miracles. Check in at Sunday Scribblings for more acts of bravery. And pick up the Demo Tapes, why don’t you. My dreams of making enough money from my books to be able to donate to charities such as the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation still need your support before they can become a reality.

Now, for three years previous to this one, Chelle here been faithfully tellin’ y’all about what’s going on in Riverview. You know: A city that’s not even ours. But Chelle’s done this, year after year, because those favorite boys of hers in ShapeShifter have been throwin’ themselves a benefit concert. They’ve worked their special ShapeShifter magic and gotten everyone involved to throw in their stuff for free. From the concert hall to the crew to the people who print the tickets, somehow, those cuties have been able to give every single penny to them Music in our Schools charities.

Chelle had even started pricing airfare to get her fat rear up to Riverview. Not that Chelle LaFleur’s ever been on an airplane and probably needs three of them narrow seats just for her fat self.

It won’t be happenin’ this year.

With Hanukkah set to start tonight, Chelle hunted down her favorite ShapeShifter, that deep-voiced Mitchell Voss. You know as well as anyone else that Mitchell’ll give up the goods for Chelle.

“Well, here’s the thing,” he said and sighed. “It got too big, too fast. Last year, with the change to the bigger theater, instead of everyone going, oh, now they can raise more money and let more fans in, it turned into I’m a rock star, too. Why can’t I come? All these stupid accusations went flying around and the next thing I knew, we were the bad guys for trying to make sure that kids can have a school band. We’re talking about those kids who’d think they were cool ’cause they’d play saxophone and it wouldn’t matter they had these faces all full of zits. Nope, they’d be cool ’cause of that sax. Or the trumpet.”

“The oboe is not cool,” bass player Trevor Wolff said into Chelle’s ear. “There has never been a cool oboe player. Not in the history of oboe players. I don’t even know why people play the oboe.”

We won’t repeat what Chelle’s cutie Mitchell said to Trevor. It ain’t fit for print and besides, I wouldn’t do that to you faithful readers of mine. You got delicate ears. Maybe not your mouths so much. I hear you at shows. I do.

Besides, you might not think so high of Mitchell if you’d heard what he’d said to Trevor. And now that he’s cancelled the Musical Hanukkah Celebration this year, that public image is takin’ a hit.

He left me with this, though: “We’re gonna take the year off, regroup, let some of the momentum die out, and then we’ll be back in 2010. The Monday of Hanukkah, we’ll be rocking out with our fans again.”

I’m-a gonna hold him to that. You should, too.

You heard it first and you heard it here: No Musical Hanukkah this year, but it’ll be back next. Go and donate on your own anyway, just in case there is a sexy oboe player out there. Chelle bets Trevor will love her.

Okay, so maybe I overdid it today at Boot Camp. I’m sore. My perennially sore parts are sore.

1. Victims of the Deadly Metal Hatchet are generally too dead to be sore.

2. Mitchell fell off the stage once. (It’s referenced in this outtake, in fact) He was sore afterward.

3. Daniel’s a drummer. His shoulders and arms often get sore. (As referenced in these outtakes, in fact).

4. Eric and Mitchell both get sore fingers. What do you expect from a couple of guys who play guitar most of the time?

5. Trevor gets sore… Nah. That’s too easy. You guys know Trevor. He loves his girls!

6. Okay, here’s a better one. The first couple of days on a new headlining tour, the entire band can be sore the next morning. Until they get into the swing of things, you know.

7. After Trevor pierced his ear, Mitchell was mighty sore.

8. And then there were all the fights that Daniel and Mitchell wound up having to fight when Trevor pissed off some girl’s boyfriend. Yeah, they were mighty sore after that.

9. If Eric didn’t pitch his tent in the right spot, he’d wake up sore from sleeping on a rock.

10. To return to Deadly Metal Hatchet for a moment, Fozzy was plenty sore after the accident. For months, in fact.

11. Soul Bedorff was generally too drunk to be sore. Ever.

12. More DMH: Lido’s got a VERY sore heart. You’ll hear about that one day.

13. And last, Chelle LaFleur’s VERY sore at her friend Mitchell. Seems there’s a holiday startin’ on Friday night and there ain’t gonna be a certain benefit concert this year… more on that later, though.