West of Mars

I know. If I spent as much time writing as I do coveting other peoples’ books, I’d have like twenty books out there on the shelves. And if I spent as much time reading, I would not complain about the different mountain peaks in here, comprised entirely of books waiting to be read.

But, alas, striving for balance means I’ve got to spread myself as thin as possible, for the biggest payoff I can possibly get.

Charming thought, no?

Join me in coveting these books. Maybe you’ll pick one or two up and then send it my way. You know, so the pile behind me (where I keep the rock books and the series I’m in the middle of) can continue to grow. I’ll tell you, it’s making my cleaning lady crazy. Me, too.

And, of course, if you review any of the books on my Rock Books page, I’d be glad to link to you (first two of you per book only, please!). If there’s more than two reviews and I’ve reviewed the book myself, I’ll add your links there. I like to spread the love.

The first book isn’t entirely a book. Maybe one day it will be. But for now it’s that thing called a comic book (I like to hold out for the compendiums, often called graphic novels), and Anthrax’s Scott Ian is the man behind it. (Any Anthrax lovers out there get the joke?)

This is from the post on Blabbermouth I found: “is writing a new miniseries for DC Comics starring Etrigan, The Demon, with his Lobo collaborator Sam Kieth on art duties.”

Niiiiiice.

Not the comic sort? Not everyone is. I get that. If you’ve ever gone to a show and taken pictures, the people behind Louder Than Hell: The Unflinching Oral History of Metal want you. Or, more specifically, they want your pictures. I’ll let you read about it yourself, but it seems to me this is going to be a cool book with a cool concept. I can’t wait to read it.

You’re surprised, I know. Believe it or not, there ARE books out there in the world I don’t want to read. Not many (which is why I have such a problem with the number of books here in the house), but some.

Then there’s this one, which I don’t think I’ve mentioned before, but I’m totally hot to get my hands on. Jon Glaser has put together … I don’t know what you’d call this. A compendium? It’s a collection of found documents (says the book description. I like compendium better. Sounds cooler) that give us a new insight into Rock and Roll. It’s called My Dead Dad was in ZZ Top: 100% Real, Never Before Seen Documents from the world of Rock and Roll.

I’ve read a couple of anthologies of collected stories set in the rock world by now. I think Shock Rock was the most effective, but now I’ve gotten word of one that should have crossed my radar sooner than now. It was published in 2005, after all!

It’s called The Best in Rock Fiction and was edited by June Skinner Sawyers. It seems to be available only in e-book format at the moment (really. This is what POD was invented for! Keep things in print! I’m not paying over $15 for an e-book!), and it’s not even full of original stories! It’s stories AND excerpts from such noted writers as Sherman Alexie, Madison Smartt Bell, T.C. Boyle, Don DeLillo, Roddy Doyle, Nick Hornby, Rick Moody, Tom Perrotta, Salman Rushdie, and Scott Spencer.

Really. Sort of anti-climactic. Very sad.

Next is an intriguing one. I’ve been slowly working my way through George RR Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series, but now comes word of a 2007 release (Hey, I’m getting more current!) from him called Armaggedon Rag. It’s a mystery featuring a concert promoter and a journalist who must uncover what’s going on with this promoter. Sounds right up my alley.

So. There ya go. More books I’m coveting. Got any comments about rock books? Any I’ve missed or need to know about? You know how to reach me…

I’m really rocking the fiction lately, no? If you’re here for Sample Sunday, this is a companion piece to all three of my books. Trevor and company run rampant through them, as well as this here blog. It’s building on last week’s post, which built on the post the week before that… As always, be sure to leave a comment so I know you were here.

Trevor knew something was up by the way Daniel and Mitchell approached. Arms crossed over chests, faces serious.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed. Because, really. They only looked like this when he’d done something they decided was wrong.

“You’re not going to like it,” Daniel said. Mitchell shifted his weight and glared at Trevor. Like it was all his fault.

Hell, it probably was.

“Give it to me,” Trevor sighed, leaning back and letting his eyes stay shut in a lingering blink.

Mitchell produced a fax, one of those pages printed on shiny paper with the ink that rubbed off everywhere. “Heard of this Hammerhead band?”

“No. Should I have?”

Mitchell shrugged and held the paper out. Trevor ignored it. “Just tell me.”

“They heard about that thing you did a couple years ago, with the pasties.”

“Huh?” Trevor squinted up at him. This wasn’t the kind of thing he’d been expecting. Not when there’d been an angry boyfriend beating down the dressing room door a few minutes ago. Fuck, he was tired of the losers who said they’d be honored if he’d do their girl, and then change their minds halfway through.

“Remember?” Daniel asked. He sat down beside Trevor on the couch. Eric hadn’t covered it for once; Trevor wasn’t sure what sort of cooties they were picking up from it. Didn’t much care, either. If he needed drugs to kick it, Amy would tell him where to get some.

“Yeah, whatever,” Trevor said. He couldn’t much care about something that had happened years ago. Not right then.

“Told you he wouldn’t remember,” Mitchell said. “Which sucks, Trev. This Howard dude, he’s trying to top you. He’s talking all over the place about it. How he had to show you how to do it right, how he’s better than you.”

Trevor yawned. “So?”

Mitchell pulled back. His glare turned into something more cautious. “So? That’s all you’ve got to say? You’re not going to rise to the occasion and put this guy in his place?”

“Mitchell, you dumb fuck,” Trevor drawled, “Think about it. We’re talking about doing our first headlining tour. This nobody’s trying to show me up, just so people talk about him. And while he’s flapping his lips, he’s giving us some pretty good, pretty free attention at the same time. C’mon. Be smart for fucking once.”

“Getting into a war with him will only make people talk about him,” Daniel said, bobbing his head. He twirled his fingers, even though there was no drumstick in them. “And focus on him, not us.”

“And it makes me look like a dork if I don’t answer the right way. Let him talk, M,” Trevor said as Mitchell started to sputter. “If someone asks, I’ll be ready. But in the meantime, mum’s the word.”

“How much weed were you just smoking?” Mitchell asked.

Trevor smiled blissfully. “Enough.” He sat forward. “But even if I wasn’t, why am I helping out a nobody?”

“You didn’t read this article,” Mitchell said, holding it out again. “Daniel and I think we need to invite them to tour with us once we’re headlining. It’d be fun.”

Trevor perked up. “Fun?”

“Fun,” Mitchell said and shook the fax paper so it rattled.

Trevor took it. He was always up for fun.

I’ve linked this up at Three Word Wednesday, since it was written to the prompt, and at the Weekend Writer’s Retreat. Check out both places for some great writing. Also, I’ll be Tweeting this as my Friday Flash and Sample Sunday post. More awesome people to visit!

I know. When we talk about my books, it’s usually Trevor we talk about. Heck, we’ve even called it the TREVolution, and not just because the Mitchell-lution sounds wrong.

BUT… my friend, fellow author Stacy Juba, invited ShapeShifter’s REAL main man to participate in her Sink or Swim competition. Now, we all know if this was real — or as real as fiction can get — Mitchell would growl at every last person on this reality TV show of Stacy’s and wind up the winner through sheer intimidation.

Mitchell needs YOUR help, though. Nope, nothing to buy (although I could really use the royalties, folks!). You don’t even have to enter to win the e-books. (Which is good ’cause I know you guys all have them already. If not, see what’s inside the parentheses above.)

Please. Leave a comment. The top three winners in Stacy’s game here will be determined by comments. That means Mitchell needs YOU and YOUR comments in order to win. It’s out of his hands. Go on. Here’s the link again, in fact.

Then stop in at Bitsy Bling Books and check out the lovely feature Charlie Courtland did about me and, especially, the books (because without the books, I am NOTHING. And pleased to have it that way.). This is even easier; just go look. Say hi so Charlie knows you were there, but … no obligations. Just make her stat counter dance, will ya?

I think that’s it for now… I’ve got some fiction coming up for you… stay tuned…

We’ll start with the question. I don’t remember how I even came across it now, but I’ve got a link open to a page at Amazon (and you guys know of my vast love for Amazon, even as I see good sales for the books on their Kindle).

It’s a book called Willie’s Bar & Grill: A Rock ‘n’ Roll Tour of America in the Age of Terror. It was written by Rob Hirst. It’s apparently about Midnight Oil on tour post-911. I’m finding even less about it at Powell’s. I found a copy at BookMooch, but the woman who owns it asks that I not mooch from her unless I also send books outside my country, as she’s in Australia. I agree that it’s fair; I *used* to send books outside the country, but was getting so many requests, I had to stop.

So… anyone know anything about this book??? Got a copy you’re willing to send my way?

Now. For the other book. It’s coming out May 3 and all you Gleeks will want it. Yup, it’s The Untold Story of Journey (the real title is, of course, Don’t Stop Believin’. How fitting.).

Neil Daniels is the author, and it sounds like this dude and I need to hook up. His website brags he’s been “chronicling the world of hard rock and heavy metal since 2007.”

Dude.

I WAS going to point you to his website, but it’s sadly out of date (and has way too much flash and not enough content). Maybe this is another question… I don’t know… Blabbermouth is talking about the book, but there’s no mention on the author’s own website…

Interestingly, I have mentioned Mr. Daniels before. Back in 2009, in fact.

Definitely things that make you go hmmm…..

If you know anything about either book, holler. You know I’m into it.

Oh, and if you’re wondering why I haven’t been coveting those two romances that people are talking about, there’s a reason for that. I’m waiting for them to turn up in my PO Box so I can read them and talk about them properly. *grin*

Oh, come now. I’ve blogged about being willing to read the history of MTV. Why are you blinking your eyes at the idea of me drooling over a book featuring Queen and Freddy Mercury?

Part of what I get jazzed about (ha) when it comes to music is its history. Like Freddy and Queen or hate him and the gang, you can’t deny the impact they had, collectively, on the face of rock and roll.

So. Here’s the book: Bohemian Rhapsodies: True And Authorized Tales By QUEEN Fans & Celebrities by Robyn Dunford

Whee! Authorized!

I’ve also gotten word, while I’m here coveting, of a two-book series that might be too technical for me, but what the heck. I’ll try pretty much anything. Classic Rock Revisited Presents Vol. 1: Rock Icons & Metal Gods and Classic Rock Revisited Presents Vol. 2: Fret Board Wizards.

Rock Icons and Metal Gods. Fret Board Wizards.

Maybe I let myself be scared off by the idea of Fret Board Wizards ’cause there’s NOTHING technical in the idea of Rock Icons and Metal Gods.

Think Mitchell made the list?

Me, either. Poor guy.

Know who I’m sure didn’t make that list, either? Neil Peart. He’s a drummer, and drummers rarely if ever get the attention they deserve. Even one like Neil Peart, who truly is an icon. He’s also amazing, about to release his fifth book. This one is called Far and Away: A Prize Every Time. You can preorder it at Powells.com, where I’m part of their affiliate program. If I ever make enough to buy you guys some books, expect them to be some of these books I’ve coveted!

Anyway, this latest is a travelogue of life on the road with Rush. And with his love of taking his motorcycles out… dude. I’ve read some of his blogs. Neil Peart can do more than beat the skins. WAY more.

That’s three to add to my ever-growing list. You know, I have a birthday coming up in April. Books make great gifts… (in my world, book royalties make better gifts, but I won’t argue with any of the books I’ve coveted on this here blog. Unless I’ve already gotten my paws on it.)

An idea inspired by a recent fictional piece wound up being a perfect fit for this week’s Three Word Wednesday prompt. Although Hammerhead appears in Trevor’s Song for a quick moment, I’ve been eager to do more with these raunchy, randy men for years now. I’m glad to have the chance.

Howard the Hammer, leading man of up and coming rock band Hammerhead, needed some positive attention for his band. Lately, all anyone had been talking about was their backstage antics.

They were great fun and worth talking about, but there was way more to Hammerhead than debauchery. There was, for instance, what happened on the stage. None of the backstage fun would ever happen if there wasn’t anything up front to get people’s attention.

Howard chuckled. Yep, that sounded like Hammerhead, all right. Backstage, up front. All they needed was a girl, and they’d be living large.

If management wasn’t all over him to clean up their image, he’d have done more with the front/back idea. Found a girl willing to model how much fun it was up front, and how good the backstage was. After all, that sort of thing was the essence of Hammerhead.

The band had hardly been named for the shark.

“Be practical,” Howard muttered to himself. “Focus on the music. Focus on the show. Stick to performing. That’s all we gotta do, right?”

No one answered. Not that Howard had expected anyone to; it was hard to get an answer from an empty room. The rest of the guys knew better than to walk in on him when he was thinking. He needed space and time to think. And no interruptions. They’d learned; they gave him everything he needed.

Howard was the gravy train. Without Howard, there’d be no Hammerhead. He’d earned some space to do his thinking in.

Still, doing a show without any theatrics seemed… wrong somehow. To make matters worse, Howard had read an article about a show ShapeShifter had done once, way back when they were getting started. Trevor had riled everyone up by sticking a pair of pasties on his t-shirt.

It was like a dare. The kind Howard couldn’t walk away from. Trevor had pulled that one night when no one had been around to see.

Hammerhead was going to stand up in front of five thousand people in a few hours. Five thousand people who would, to the last man, see rhinestone-encrusted pasties nestled in there with his chest hair. He wouldn’t even need to say anything. The people who knew the ShapeShifter story would get it. The Hammerhead fans would figure it was nothing out of the ordinary, just another thing Howard the Hammer was doing. Anyone else could lick ‘em off.

Howard pulled off his shirt and looked down at himself. Would these things he’d bought even fit over his pierced nipple?

He jumped at a knock at the door. It was his drummer, Stunning Stan. “Howard? It safe to come in yet? We’re standing out here like losers and, dude, I gotta take a piss like you would not believe.”

“Yeah, come on in,” Howard said with a sigh. It was a calculated risk. Management had been clear: if they didn’t get some positive attention soon, they’d be clearing out. Hammerhead would need a new manager. But playing it completely straight and narrow didn’t sit right with Howard. They were Hammerhead, for crying out loud.

“Help me out here,” he said when Stunning Stan came out of the john. Stan was the only one he’d ask for help; the other two would pull at the piercing, tell him he was being stupid, steal the pasties for themselves. Their chests were bare next to Howard’s — hell, a gorilla’s chest was bare next to Howard’s. The whole fun of this was the glitter peeking out between all this hair, teasing the girls who’d find their way backstage later on.

And even later, people would talk about this. They’d forget ShapeShifter had ever done it. It’d be Hammerhead legend.

New management might not be such a bad idea after all.

looking for other great fiction? Check out the #SundaySample prompt on Twitter — and on various book-related message boards — and the Weekend Writer’s Retreat, too! Add your links; don’t be shy.

Last week, I asked Maria Savva our famous one-question interview. Not to be left out, here’s her co-author, Jason McIntyre, telling us what song(s) make him think of Cutting the Fat.

Two songs come to mind when I think of my co-written novella, “Cutting The Fat” and both are reflective of the main bad-ass from the book, the man we all love to hate: Nestor Maronski.

As you might know, the fat bastard I love and hate at once, is a very powerful, very rich, very greasy and self-centred book reviewer for one of the largest papers in the country. He eats writing careers for dinner and then washes them down with a row of three cherry brandys. But he does it all with a prim and proper voice and in bold type so we can
all witness just how right he is. The thing about Nestor is that he believes he is always right and that his actions speak for themselves. We should all understand his motivations as we would understand the text of the bible and that he is, simply, doing the best thing for all of us.

“Reckoner” by Radiohead, plays in my mind as I think of him unknowingly getting ready to meet his maker and pay for the damage he’s done — to writers, to families like the Jamesons, to the whole of the world who have been scribbled on by his poison pen. Beautiful falsetto lyrics are sung against the jangling noise behind, maybe a rhythmic shaking of all the keys to all the rooms in the Massive Maronski McMansion on a hill. “You can’t take it with you,” Thom Yorke sings of Maronski’s fortune, of his folly, his false self-esteem. This is a man who will not understand until he stands before a tribunal of the afterlife to pay for his sins that he did anything wrong.

The other tune? “Like Eating Glass” by Bloc Party. Loud and raucous, this song has all the perfect sarcastic sentiments for Nestor as his band of wronged writers prepares to dispatch him:

“And I know that you’re busy too
I know that you care
You got your finger on the pulse
You got your eyes everywhere
And it hurts all the time when you don’t return my calls
And you haven’t got the time to remember how it was”

And, added to that, wouldn’t we all like to force those evil book reviewers to “eat glass”?

Remember to pick up Cutting the Fat from the Kindle store. Hopefully it’ll soon be available in other formats.

My friend Annetta Ribken has turned me on to a new one — the memoir from Crystal Zevon. Yeah, as in Warren Zevon. As in Werewolves of London.

You know.

Here. Go read her review at GoodReads. And then give her a hard time for not sending me the book so I can read it for myself. Because you guys know I need to!

(needless to say, a bunch of you guys are now laughing and wondering what sort of cave I’ve been living in, since this book will be FOUR years old this year. See how important you are? Keeping me in the loop, even if I’ve got to rely on chipper cliches like Better Late Than Never.)

Last month, I ran an interview Trevor and Eric did with another fictional character: Isabelle, the maid of the horribly-detested Nestor Maronski.

I understand if you feel left out of the loop.

Time to change that. Maria Savva and Jason McIntyre were the original, organic forces behind Cutting the Fat, the tale of Nestor Maronski. It’s a fun romp, and it’s hard to believe something this polished sprung up on a message board (and without my input! I’m ashamed of myself, especially because this is AWESOME.).

To help raise your awareness of Cutting the Fat, I asked Maria to stop in and answer the West of Mars’ famed one-question interview. You’re about to see why I like Maria so much:

West of Mars asked: What song makes you think of your book?

Maria said:

There are three songs that come to mind that remind me of Cutting The Fat:
Firstly, Misery Loves Company by Anthrax. That song came into my head when I wrote some of the book. Anthrax wrote the song about Stephen King’s ‘Misery’, and I wrote a bit in Cutting The Fat that referred to Misery — the part when Russell Flemming was trying to force Nestor Maronski to write a book for him.

The second song is ‘Holier Than Thou’ by Metallica, because it sums up Nestor’s character very well. He thinks he’s better than everyone else, but really it’s just his inherited wealth that makes him influential.

Finally, ‘Burn’ by Papa Roach makes me think of how the indie writers in the book feel about Nestor, how much they want to get revenge.

See? I TOLD you Maria kicks it. Although that Papa Roach video almost didn’t get linked to… that live Metallica is some good stuff.

Having read the book (and watched it evolve), I can vouch for these three songs. (Yes, Maria gets bonus points for being like Trevor and picking more than one song. Trevor likes threesomes.)

Now, go pick up the book from the Kindle store — and if you don’t have a Kindle, why not stop in at Bestseller Bound and ask for it to be on Smashwords, or in print, or…

It began innocently enough, as the most disturbing things tend to do. I caught a Tweet from a pretty prominent local blogger. Seems she was rattled by her daughter singing sexually explicit lyrics.

Her daughter just turned 5.

I Tweeted back, “That’s why we listen to Metallica in my house. It’s not terribly sexual.”

I gotta admit, I find the Load twins to be nothing but fertility symbols, packed with innuendo, but it’s quite possible I’m the only one who views those albums that way. Most people are too busy groaning over the worst period in Metallica’s musical history; I doubt they’re looking at the snakes and the keys buried deep in you to get hit over the head.

This local blogger chick’s response raised my normally too-low blood pressure to something that might have been dangerous. “I’ll take the innuendo over singing about death, kyhxbai,” she Tweeted.

My first response was, “Then why the fuck are you bitching about your daughter parroting it back to you?”

My second response was, “Didn’t you basically just tell me to fuck off and (yes) DIE?”

My third response was more measured. It’s the one I went with. “Listen more closely.”

She didn’t respond. I’m not surprised. Know why?

Although my all-time favorite band has put out a reported 125 songs over the years (including their covers and soundtrack work), only 17 (maybe 14? I can’t find the number online) don’t contain some form of the word death. Thus, it’s not hard to look at the band and make a blanket statement.

However, this is Metallica we’re talking about. Believe it or not, they’re pretty subtle — lyrically, at least. That’s because it’s James who writes the lyrics, not Lars. He ain’t very subtle, our favorite Danish drummer. Which is why we love him.

Shut up. We love Lars.

Anyway, yeah. On the surface, you see a band mention death or dying this many times and you’re all ready to lump them with some Satanic cult or something.

This is why learning a thing or two before you open your mouth is a good thing. Look, for instance, at many people’s favorite Metallica song, Enter Sandman. Know where the word die appears? In the bridge (that’s a musical term, folks). Which, in this song, includes the 18th century children’s prayer, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.

Yep. Not something I want my kids singing about, either. God forbid they get a prayer in with their music. (An aside: there is a branch of the Kabbalah that assigns a numeric value for each letter in a word. Add ‘em up and you’ve got a meaning. The Hebrew words for prayer and song mean the same thing. So, yeah. God forbid kids get a prayer in with their music.)

Want more religion? Try Creeping DEATH. It’s a song all about the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt. You know: Pharoah, the parting of the Red Sea, Moses, Charlton Heston…

Yep. Sexual innuendo is SO much better than Bible stories.

Okay, so that’s only two examples. Didn’t I say this band had 125 songs attached to their name? Maybe I’m blowing things out of proportion.

Or am I?

Sanitarium and One are both based on books (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Johnny Got His Gun, respectively). The Call of Ktulu is based on the famed HP Lovecraft story (No one said James was a stellar speller!).

The God that Failed (oh, no! More religion from our band that’s all about death! Save us from a fiery hell!) is about James’ Christian Scientist upbringing.

Even famed classic songs For Whom the Bell Tolls and Disposable Heroes are about way more than death and dying. They are wonderful anti-war songs. In fact, some say the overriding theme of the Master of Puppets album is anti-war. That doesn’t explain the song Master of Puppets, itself, though. That’s possibly the most famous anti-drug song of all time. Again, we can’t have our kids singing anti-drug songs. Nope. Might warp them for life.

Offhand, the only Metallica song I can think of that’s totally about death is Ride the Lightning, and even that’s more a meditation from the condemned prisoner. It’s a story. And you know what? That’s not even one of their more popular songs. Commercial radio won’t touch it (although satellite does. On certain stations.).

Okay, so I’m only talking about the old stuff. Know why? The newer music is way more introspective, more open to interpretations. James never explains a lot of what he’s thinking during his lyric-writing process, leading such Internet fan sites as the Insanity Palace of Metallica (IPOM) to have an entire section devoted to lyric theories.

Yet even songs like the much-maligned St. Anger (a song I personally find very sensuous in spots, albeit utterly lacking in sexual innuendo) can be pretty easily interpreted. It’s about anger. It’s about wearing it, owning it, being controlled by it.

Lotsa death there, huh?

Or from DEATH Magnetic: Unforgiven III (why am I making examples of the songs people make fun of?) is a meditation on a path to fame. I think. Broken, Beat, and Scarred is more clear-cut. It’s about overcoming adversity. The Day that Never Comes? Getting out of an abusive relationship.

Go on. Tell me how this is so much worse for our children than sexual innuendo. Tell me how power, how thinking things through, how finding your strength are concepts you don’t want your children singing about. Tell me how these songs are all about death.

I sure don’t see it. I see strength, I see energy, I see owning your power. I think back to sitting in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions and hearing James Hetfield say, “Dream big, and dare to fail.”

THAT is what Metallica is about, boys and girls.

It’s so much bigger than death.

But if that’s all you can focus on… well, you just keep cringing as your pre-tween gets her sex on in the back seat of your car. It’s not like you can’t change the radio station. It’s not like you can’t teach your kid that a song is about more than a commonly-repeated word.

Oh, wait. Maybe you really can’t.