I’m over at the #amwriting site today, with some Flash Fiction I wrote earlier in the week.

It’s Mitchell. It’s Daniel.

And it’s a hot dog.

I’ll leave you with a wink and see you over at Amwriting.

**If that link doesn’t work, let me know and check back later for one that does! I like this story and don’t want you to miss it.

Like me having chaos and insanity is anything new?

Come join me at Chaos and Insanity, the home blog of my Pink Snowbunnies in Hell co-contributor, Coral Moore. I’ve done an interview there and I suspect there are some tidbits of information about me that you just don’t know about yet…

I’m over at Thea Atkinson’s blog today, talking about how my background in the music business helps me create characters.

Stop in and see what’s up.

… and I’m spending the day over at the Independent Writers Association, with thoughts of what it takes to de-stress. Need a hint?

Nah. This is a no-spoilers blog.

Go see for yourself.

Again, I’m a day late with this, but here it is anyway: I’m over at Tilly Greene’s Hot Thoughts today, taking part in her Perfect Gift is a Book series.

Stop in and see what my Perfect Gift is. And why not pick up one of my own books when you pick up my Perfect Gift, as well?

Oh, and while you’re there, leave a comment to be entered into a prize drawing at the end for all sorts of Perfect Gifts. Tilly’s come up with some doozies!

Since RJ was visiting yesterday, I didn’t want to pre-empt him, so I’m telling you about this today.

While RJ was here, I was over at Suzan Harden’s Wild, Wicked, and Wacky blog. I’m talking about the shiny stuff that surrounds us during the Christmas season … and I’m drawing comparisons of it to another, special shiny in my life.

Stop in and say hi, whydon’tcha? Suzan’s cool. You’ll dig her.

Maybe I’ve been remiss in not adding my own two cents to the new collaboration between Lou Reed and my beloved Metallica.

That’s because I don’t like to be negative. Or to ride on bandwagons (usually. Some are worthwhile).

But here’s the thing: while I don’t like Lulu, in my eyes, it’s performance art. More power to Lou and Tallica for bringing performance art into realms it hasn’t previously gone. Or if it has, history’s erased it pretty quickly. Just the fact that this is Lou Reed and Metallica… yeah. Not fading into the archives so fast, you know? Even if it never meets with anything other than disdain and derision, it’s earned a spot in musical history.

Not helping the cause any is a recent interview Lou gave to The Telegraph. Really, really bad move here, Lou.

Saying you’re more literate than most people who interview you? That you made Lulu for literate people?

Dude. There aren’t many more literate than me. Or most of the people who read my blog. After all, literate means (according to Merriam-Webster online) Educated, cultured. A second entry says, “Versed in literature or creative writing.”

Nowhere in the definition does it talk about being a snob. Or a dick.

And I don’t care if you’re notoriously scary to interview, worse than my fictional Mitchell on his worst days (because, as many of you know, Mitchell’s merely putting on an act. Lou seems real.). Putting down the people who may get what you’ve tried to accomplish just isn’t very smart PR. Don’t alienate the people who’re going to spend money on you, Lou. Not in this economy.

Lou, every person who stops in here at West of Mars will probably shock you with their literacy levels. I doubt you made Lulu for a single one of us. Stop putting us down, stop looking down your nose at us because we don’t conform to your idea of what a literate person is.

And while you’re at it, get away from my Metallica boys. While I’m glad to see them stretching their musical chops and working with you, I don’t want to see what sort of ways in which you’re going to bring them down. Because after reading that article? I don’t see how anyone who spends any time around you can be anything BUT a downer.

Blech. I know people you can hang around. Better you than me, dude. I don’t have the time or energy for the lot of you.

Well, folks, on Wednesday, the announcement came out. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductees, class of 2012.

Ready?

Beastie Boys
Donovan
Guns N’ Roses
Laura Nyro
Red Hot Chili Peppers
The Small Faces/The Faces

WOW. I can’t argue against a single one of them. The Beastie Boys made it okay for White Jewish kids to rap, and they did it with a sense of mirth and joy. They broke at a time when rap was a ghetto thing, and there they were, looking absurd and gleeful. I doubt rap would have crossed over into the mainstream the way it did without them.

Donovan? He followed the Beatles across the pond but was a folkie. The first one to cross the drink — and not satisfied. His bio on the Hall of Fame website claims he single-handedly ignited the psychedelic movement. That alone makes him a worthy inductee.

Guns ‘n Roses… maybe their timing wasn’t the best, coming just as grunge broke, but they redefined Hair Metal, giving it a gritty (if a bit abusive and eccentric. Thanks, Axl!) edge that many, many bands remain influenced by even today. Maybe they’re not as relevant as they used to be; Hell, maybe Axl’s turned them into a sideshow, but you can’t deny what they did for Hair Metal. Or the long-form video. The videos that were spawned by Use Your Illusion (I and II) broke new ground. I miss those sorts of videos.

Hell, I miss videos.

Laura Nyro — she might be harder to justify, as I think you should only be inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame if you’ve changed music in one form or another. Nyro’s contribution was simply in amazing songs. Yes, that’s less sexy than what Axl and company did, but it happened. She influenced everyone from Streisand to the 5th Dimension to Peter, Paul and Mary. I suppose you can argue that she gave a voice to the folk music of the 1960s. Which means including her in the Hall of Fame isn’t hard to justify, at all.

Chili Peppers — I will go to my grave at the ripe old age of 842 remembering the story of the night the Red Hot Chili Peppers took the stage at Pittsburgh’s Electric Banana in nothing but tube socks… or tried to. Owner Johnny Zarra forced them, at gunpoint, to put more clothes on. I wasn’t there that night, but I’ve heard Johnny talk about it.

The Peppers have done more for rock music than engage in outrageous behavior. Just how they did it is rather difficult to define, but they sure did. Go back and listen to their old stuff (especially BloodSugarSexMagik) and you’ll get it.

Okay, you may not get their music, but you’ll get how they changed things.

The Small Faces/the Faces — Originally born at the time of The Who, The Rolling Stones, and the Beatles, I don’t know why the Small Faces (later reborn as The Faces) don’t get more attention. They “set the standard for Sixties soul-inflected pop and English psychedelic romanticism” (quote from their bio on the RRHOF site). It may not be your thing, but that’s okay. Rock and roll is big enough for all of us.

To the inductees, I say, “Well done!” and a huge, hearty “thank you.” Without these good (albeit a bit nuts) people leading the way, well… wow. That makes my brain hurt. The impact these people have had on the daily lives of every single person who turns on any sort of radio or iPod, or who even know who Lady Gaga is…

Rock and roll has been part of our culture since its inception in the 1950s. That’s a darn long time.

May it live on and on.

Yep, I’m out and about again, this time visiting with Dorothy Dreyer at We Do Write.

It’s an interview and you know what? I love giving interviews. Stop on in and see why.

Yep, I’ve been out and about of late — again. It’s becoming a constant thing, so come join me and meet some new bloggers and readers, whydon’tcha? It’s a big world. Come play in it.

Demo Tapes 3 has been featured over at i write indie books. There may not be anything you haven’t already seen about DT3, but stop in and check out the site anyway. Authors, drop a line and get your book featured! Readers, look for other great reads. (And buy a copy of DT3 for a Christmas present for a friend, whydon’tcha?)

And then you can read a guest blog post I did with the fabulous (and I’m not just saying that) Jason McIntyre over at The Farthest Reaches. Jason’s one of those fabulous writers I mention here from time to time, and he’s a cool dude.

Have I mentioned I love the name Jason? I’ll have to create a fictional Jason in tribute…

For my first Rocktober, I think it was a huge success. I got a lot of people talking about it, got a whole slew of reviews posted, and hopefully laid some groundwork for next year.

There were a couple moments that made all the work — and believe me, there was a LOT of work behind it! — worthwhile. Reviews of my books went up (and, as promised, those review writers have been asked if they’d like to be on the review team I’m working on building). Amazon put the print versions of ALL THREE Demo Tapes books on their 4-for-3 sale, where you pick four eligible books and get the most inexpensive one for free. That’s still going in, it looks like.

I know. It’d be a better deal if Trevor’s Song was in the mix. But… these things aren’t up to me, or it would be.

At any rate, to all who joined in to celebrate Rocktober, thank you. If all you did was hit a Retweet button, thank you. If you did more, put a post up, read a work of Rock Fiction… thank you.

Rock Fiction deserves to be its own genre.

Before I’m out of here and on to the next fun thing, let me tease you a bit… King Trevor, the follow-up to Trevor’s Song is currently scheduled for this year’s Susan’s Birthday Release. And I’d love to have Demo Tapes 4 out for you next Rocktober.

Keep on spreading the word…

Okay, so news of the passing of GWAR member Flattus Maximus broke six days ago. I haven’t mentioned it here yet because…

Well, I’m still reeling.

I probably never knew Cory Smoot. After all, my days hanging around GWAR happened back in the early 1990s (ouch. How’s THIS for dating myself?) and Cory had only been in the band since 2002. That’s a big time gap.

I’ve been fond of GWAR since I first heard of them. I mean, how can you NOT be a fan of a band where the members (heh) dress up in elaborate costumes that look like they were ripped off from Oakland Raiders football fans? Add in the blood, the pee, the … other male bodily fluids of questionable taste that would be spewed into the crowd, creating the world’s most slippery (heh) mosh pit and the only time tough guys would revel in wearing a pink t-shirt, and really. It didn’t matter what GWAR sounded like. They could have no clue what a guitar was and they’d still rule the Earth.

It was about attitude. Showmanship. Escape from reality.

And GWAR delivered.

I remember hanging out with Record Label Folk (back in the days when I aspired to be one. Along with a best-selling author. All at the same time). I can picture the dude at Metal Blade but darn if I can remember his name…

Even more important, I remember his story: Weeks after a GWAR show, he was wearing the leather jacket he’d worn that night. It was a rainy night. Rivulets of pink, remnants from the show, ran down him, alarming the people around him.

That is truly my favorite GWAR story. Even better than the night I hung at the converted roller rink and got to meet the men and women underneath the makeup and costumes. Even better than the fact that I may possibly own the only white GWAR t-shirt in existence.

Even better than the shows I was present for. And let me tell you, if you’ve never seen GWAR, check your sensibilities at the door, put your prude cap aside, and let yourself go. They are offensive, loud, in-your-face, wrong, shocking, horrifying… and so, so good.

So… we say goodbye and Godspeed to Cory Smoot, a guy who died before his time but at least got to live his dream.

May the rest of us be so lucky.

Yep, I’m keeping the promotion machine in high gear over here.

Come visit with me over at Working Writers, where I’ve done an interview that reveals some writing goals you all will be interested in.

And then stop in at Adopt An Indie Month, where I’ve written about my path to publication. Is Trevor Too Niche for New York?

Remember, if you’d like to host me for an interview or a guest blog post, I’d be honored and flattered.

Either way, be sure to stop in, see what I have to say, and meet some new folk. Who knows? You might meet a new best friend.

I hope I’ve made it clear that despite my best attempts, I am NOT a musician. I really am not. I wish I was, but … it’s not in the cards for me.

I’m usually at peace with this. But every now and then, a luxury item pops up and makes me wish things were different. Here’s one: it’s a line of guitar straps made for Kirk Hammett — you know: that Metallica dude — that look so lush and wonderful that I wish I had a reason to justify one. But… I don’t.

If you do, go for it. Me, I’ll stay over here and dream…

Been having fun with Rocktober?

I sure have been. I’ve been here, I’ve been there, I’ve been … well, not everywhere yet, but I’m sure trying!

Now come hang with me at Horror. Punk. Buddhism. I’m talking about everyone’s favorite rebel, Trevor Wolff.

Not enough? Need something more? How about some talk about what exactly Rocktober is. I dropped into The Top Shelf for that.

There’s more yet to come… I’ve been working the promo machine and loving every second of it. Loving you guys who share my whereabouts, as well. Vive la Trevolution!

Or maybe we don’t… I’ll let you go read for yourself and decide.

I have neglected to tell you guys about two interviews I’ve given that have been posted over the past couple of days.

First, Cynthia Meyers-Hanson hosted me for some talk about Demo Tapes 3. Stop in and see what I used as an excerpt…

Then, LM Stull asked me some questions about marketing. Oh, stop groaning. Marketing’s too much fun to be a necessary evil.

The Aftermath of my Falling Tree Branch story was, quite possibly, even more interesting than the original tale.

Here’s how it went:

At five after eight on Wednesday morning, I filed the claim with the insurance company. Have I mentioned how dearly I love my insurance company? They make it easy: I could use my own people to do the work, not someone picked off a list they’ve already approved. No need for multiple estimates, none of those games other companies make you play.

At 8:30, my neighbor (love her, too. Lots of love ahead. Makes ya wonder how I can have a Trevor-self) tailed me over to the mechanic. Having her there was a soothing presence, as I could see shards of glass coming loose and threatening to fall from the poor windshield. I asked the mechanic for someone to fix the windshield and a body shop. Turns out, the body shop is right across the street. I thought that meant across the street and down a storefront or two. Didn’t think much about it. I should have. Right across the street meant exactly that.

Back at home, I called the windshield people. The plan was to fix the windshield and drive the car until the body shop could take me.

No go.

Turns out, if there’s damage to the roof, they can’t replace a windshield. Makes sense to me. (especially since I’d been scared to close the moon roof, in case it damaged the windshield further.)

At 11:30, the woman assigned to my insurance claim called. I told her where the car was, in case the adjuster assigned to the case was free.

He was.

In fact, the guy from the body shop had to wander back across the street so the adjuster could work. Turns out, they BOTH came back later to finish up. And yes, the owner of the body shop IS the father of the cool twenty-some Eagle Scout who spent a week at Summer Camp with our Troop. Because, you know, it was his son’s Troop before it was mine.

Isn’t this a grand adventure so far? All these people, chipping in so fast and getting to work on my behalf. But wait. There’s more.

At the end of the day, I called the mechanic. The car was done; they were waiting on the person to fix the glass. I told them about the need to fix the roof first and said I’d call the body shop to see if I could leave the car there.

The body shop told me to call the mechanic back and ask the head mechanic to drive the car on over. What service! I didn’t even have to leave the house!

The adjuster called around 5:30 to say he was done and he’d fax everything to the right places in the morning. We are moving so fast, I don’t even have a rental car yet. Picked that up on Thursday morning, then stopped in at the body shop to get my bike shoes out of the car, among other things. (Left my membership card for the Hoity-Toity Health Club behind, though. Ahh, well. They’ll still let me in.)

John, the body shop owner, told me that yes, I did dodge a bullet. A big one. He’ll have me up and running in two weeks.

Two weeks! I can live with that! I think… the rental car (and if you’ve ever wondered, yes, Enterprise really does pick you up) has about as much get up and go as a tree sloth. After six years with a sports car, this is going to be quite the adjustment…

And so the adventure continues. Know what? This might be sort of sick and twisted of me, but… it’s sorta fun.

Nine and a half years ago, September 20 was my projected due date for my second child.

Nine years after that estimation was wrong, it became a day for celebrating life.

Yeah, that’s melodramatic, but let me explain.

I was driving me and the Girl Band up a road. Not just any road, but one I take almost daily. It’s one of my main arteries. And it’s a road I love, for its big trees and shady street. It’s like being in the woods. Even the Borough bears the word woods in its name.

I still love the road. What happened wasn’t the road’s fault. It was one of those things that happens when you’re in the woods.

Now, mind you, it was only 8PM when it all happened. It was just about dark. But even if it hadn’t been, I doubt I would have seen the tree branch until it made contact with my windshield.

Thank God the windshield held.

The tree branch? The cop, after he finished his report, walked me back to visit it. It wasn’t that little log I’d seen in my rear-view mirror and wanted to take home as a souvenir. It was over five feet long (an easy estimation for me to make, since I’m five feet long. Err, tall. Or is that short?), and it had shattered into about 30 pieces. One had hit my hood and my side-view mirror. One had bounced up and hit my roof … I measured it. It’s the width of my hand behind the moon roof.

So. One impact on the windshield, about a foot from the moon roof. And another impact maybe four inches behind it.
You know where this is going. You know it was a gorgeous almost-autumn night, that I’d been in the local park with The Girl Band, so my lungs were all full of the amazing air I can’t get enough of this time of year.

Which means, of course, my moon roof was open.

Open, as in retracted into the back panel of the roof. As in: no glass to protect us from any tree branches that decided a gorgeous almost-autumn night was the perfect time to break free and see what adventures it could find.

As in: we were damn lucky, me and the Girl Band.

Thankfully, the windshield held. I know I said that, but it didn’t just hold after the impact. Nope. It held long enough for me to pick up the Boy Band, to show off the damage to all the Boy Scouts — who, of course, thought it was the coolest thing ever and can I poke the impact spot and make the glass completely shatter? — and then to make it home again. Safe, if not totally sound.

I’m mourning the damage to my beloved sports sedan. But damn if it didn’t save our lives tonight (with a little help from fates or higher powers or whatever it is you believe in). This is the reason I drive that car. Okay, one of the reasons. It goes vroom. It’s nimble. It has an eight-way adjustable seat. And it was the Car and Driver car of the year… the model year before and after mine. Did I mention it’s barely given me a minute’s worth of trouble in all the years I’ve owned it? Did I mention how utterly I adore this car?

Now, for the irony. You see, I had made an appointment for early last week to take the car in for a routine tire rotation and oil change. I had made a note to tell my new mechanic (love him, too) that there seems to be an issue with my driver’s side rear brake light. But I’d changed that appointment, to make it easier for the friend who’s going to drive me to and from the mechanic (only because I’m too wimpy to ride my bike. It’s totally that close).

Yep. The car goes in tomorrow.

I’m sure the insurance company will send the glass guy out to give me a new windshield — it’s not going to hold for much longer. Thankfully (I’m using that word a lot tonight, no?), the mechanic is close, as I said. Bike-ride close. The insurance company, who I adore and have been with my entire driving life, will send an adjuster wherever I tell them to. They’ll make it easy.

So forgive me if I spend a few days hugging the kids, especially the Girl Band. We dodged one tonight. You’d better believe I’m giving thanks for that. The outcome of this little escapade could have been a lot, lot worse.

Thankfully…

This Boy Scout still loves the woods. Even if, every now and then, it bites.

Stop in over at the Amwriting blog today. I’m talking about the cool thing I discovered with my return to freelance editing.

And while I have you… anyone need an edit? I’ve got a gap in my schedule…

I’m trying really hard not to start this post off by saying, “If you follow Win a Book or if you follow me on my Facebook fan page…” but it’s hard.

That’s because the news broke on those two outlets before I could make the time to talk about it here. That’s just how life has been of late. I’m working on correcting that. I am.

Want proof? Go check out the news that broke over at Win a Book and/or the West of Mars Fans page on Facebook.

Don’t feel like clicking? Then I’ll come out and say it. I closed down Win a Book.

It was and it wasn’t an easy decision. The time involved was starting to seriously chafe, as were the e-mails I’d get asking what we did (hello? Check the FAQ page, maybe?) and other things that proved people weren’t really visiting before sending in their links. It made me feel cheap. It took away from the original intent of the site.

The intent went like this: I had some friends who were discovering that giving books away was a great way to build their audience. They were listing their gives at certain sites that posted links to all sorts of gives. I liked hearing about what books people were talking about, but I didn’t like wading through all the gives for diaper bags and board books and other goodies targeted to the Mommy Blogger set. I’m a writer, after all, and a book lover. I wanted books, not items from a stage of my life that’s passed.

That was the idea behind Win a Book. Simple, huh? Since no one else was posting links to book gives, I would. Hopefully I’d gather a team up and we’d be off and running together. We’d be a one-stop shop for gives — and interviews and guest blog posts penned by authors. After all, I have picked up someone’s book because I read an interview or guest blog they wrote. I’ve made friends that way, and I’ve found some auto-buy authors.

At first, it was great fun. I had awesome people helping. It was a party. It was MY party, and people told me they liked the style with which I hosted. I heard from authors about how their sales would spike after I’d do a post for them. I was doing what I’d wanted to do: be a difference. Because part of my mission was to help the authors who had 90 days only for their book to make or break itself. I was tired of hearing stories of authors who’d lost their book deals due to the dreaded bad sales label.

Of course, reality can never match the ideal dream, and while Win a Book took off, I also began to see a downside to it. Not merely the time involved — I called it my labor of love for a reason, after all — but I began to see a real divide. Books that were promoted by the publisher rarely included involvement from the author. And books promoted directly by the author were the exact opposite — you’d see a real Internet savvy among this set.

To be honest, they were my favorite group to work with. They were hungry. They knew how to connect with their readers.

The book bloggers were right up the awesome scale, too. Some became true friends, women I’ve leaned on and been inspired by. Women I look to for book recommendations. But they all, without fail, are on the front lines of publishing, helping get the word out about all different sorts of books. Good books, bad books, books that rhyme with fun. They’re doing it.

I didn’t work directly with publishers, although I’d sometimes get an e-mail from a publicist, asking if I’d host a give on Win a Book. I’d have to explain that no, the site didn’t do that, but I’d be glad to post links to other contests they were involved with. Again, a time drain, but again, a worthwhile one.

That brings us to my least favorite things, and the things that really rankled. It was posting links for gives of books by James Patterson and JK Rowling. You know: books that were already best-sellers. Remember, part of my motivation here was to help the little guy, not the multi-millionaire authors. I did — and still do — believe that if the publishers put more promotion money into the little guy, there would be more best-sellers. I’ve seen it work, seen the power of the very awesome book bloggers. These men and women have clout, folks. Don’t disregard them.

(and, like I said, many of them are some of the most upstanding people you’ll ever meet.)

So… the lessons here:
1. Sometimes, you can’t heal the world. Or the publishing business.
2. You can’t control what people send you, in terms of links to post. Their agenda ain’t the same as yours.
3. There are some of the most totally awesome people out there who love books.
4. And sometimes, moving on is sad, but the road ahead is darn bright and exciting.

For any of you who have migrated over here from Win a Book, welcome. For you who’ve been here a long time, I’m going to do my best to devote more time here, including fiction (it’s been almost 2 months!). I miss Win a Book, but… time to move on.

At least I don’t have to help promote best-selling authors anymore. Not if it means ignoring the little one, the one who’s tomorrow’s best-seller.

Like me.