No, this isn’t the editor in me raising her head, teeth bared in a snarl. It’s just that word came down earlier this month that there’s going to be ANOTHER definitive biography of Metallica.

Anyone mind if I yawn?

Maybe there’s hope for this one, as it’s purported to be penned (like my alliteration there?) by Paul Brannigan and Ian Winwood. According to the article at Blabbermouth, these two have been permitted “unparalleled” access. No word on ugly sweaters and not-so-camouflaged attempts to join the band.

They’re also promising never-before-told stories, but … c’mon. We’ve heard THAT before, too. And this is Metallica. Am I really supposed to drool at the thought of tales of hard drinking? Bed-hopping? Drugs? Fist fights?

I’m jaded. I’ll admit it. I’ll hold my drool until the reviews start rolling in. Unless I’m asked to write one of those reviews, at which point I’ll be drooling more over the opportunity than over the book itself.

Yawn.

Pardon me. I feel a nap coming on.

Hey, if books and rock can collide into their own genre of fiction (Rock Fiction, of course!), why can’t rock and art?

Matt Sorum is making it happen. Yeah, THAT Matt Sorum. The dude who joined Guns ‘n Roses and who drums for Velvet Revolver. He’s turned artist… sort of.

I have to admit, I don’t fully get it. Here. I’ll let you read a snippet from the article:

Described as “massive, abstract and unprecedented,” each piece in this collection by Sorum is a drum performance captured through rhythmic light with time manipulation effectively documenting an entire performance accurately.

Sounds more like performance art than something you’d hang on a wall, which is both really cool and a bit disappointing. At the same time, though, there’s talk of canvases and five done, but fifty are complete and … Yeah. I’m a bit confuzzed.

Go check it out for yourself, over at Matt’s art page.

And before you ask, yes, I’d put at least one of these puppies on my walls. Go buy my books so I can, eh?

This was another Three Word Wednesday post that just screamed at me. I listened.

“Cancel my labor,” Trinity said.

“Trin,” Springer said. “It don’t work that way. The baby got in. It’s got to come out.”

She closed her eyes and threw her head back. “I know, but… why can’t there be a magic wand or something?” As if in agreement, her belly heaved as the baby kicked. Trinity put her hand on the lump and caressed it.

Springer sighed. He didn’t know what to say. He was out of his element on this one, and he knew it. He needed to escape from Trinity and Grandma and their crazy babies-on-the-brain, but at the same time, he couldn’t stay away. Trinity and Grandma had started telling him that since Trinity was going to keep the baby, Springer was the closest thing around to a father. They hinted that he’d have to step it up.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Not because it wasn’t his baby; he hadn’t even gotten his hand on Trinity’s tits before she’d gotten herself knocked up.

It was that he was seventeen and still had a year to go before graduating high school. He worked part-time as a nighttime stockboy at the local Huge-Mart. Those weren’t particularly fatherly traits. Not if he wanted the kid to look up to him.

“And do it now,” Trinity was saying. She ran a finger under the elastic waistband of her maternity jeans. “I am sick of these ugly clothes. I want my own back.”

“Nine months up, nine months down,” Springer said, parroting Grandma.

Trinity made an exasperated noise and lumbered to her feet before tottering off.

Truth was, Springer couldn’t wait until she was her old self again, either. Before this had happened, he’d wanted to get to know Trinity better. She’d been so wild and free – before the baby. Now, she was tired and scared. She wasn’t the same girl.

Funny thing, though, was that Springer thought she might be hotter than ever like this. He liked that she looked to him for advice and guidance, even though he didn’t know anything and all he could do was keep on repeating what Grandma said.

She shuffled back into the room he was in, puffing a bit. “Really,” she gasped and held a hand behind her, canting her hips up toward the ceiling and almost doing a backbend as she tried to seat herself. She fell into the couch with a plop. “I’ve had enough. Magic wand time!”

“Trin, there’s no magic wand.”

Her breath caught. Springer peered at her; tears were filling up that spot at the top of her bottom lids, where tears gathered right before they spilled over. “You’ve been in class with me,” she said. “ You’ve seen what goes on. I don’t think I can do it.”

“It’s not like you have a choice anymore,” Springer said. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so angry; it wasn’t a place he went to often.

Trinity’s tears spilled over. Springer softened. “You’ll be fine,” he said, sliding to his knees in front of her. He put his hands on her knees. Like the rest of her, they’d grown soft, swollen with motherhood. That change, he wasn’t so keen on. He’d liked Trinity as she’d been before: angular, spiky. Maybe even a little bit hard.

She was shaking her head. “I can’t do it, Springer.”

“Yes, you can,” he said. “Women been doing this for years.” He was parroting Grandma down to her own language. As if anyone cared.

Trinity bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. A tear squeezed through.

Springer stood up so he could bend over and wrap her in a hug. A pang shot through him as she buried her head on his chest; he’d wanted so much more than this between them.

He sighed. Always second-best.

Be sure to check in at Three Word Wednesday (link’s above) and Friday Flash for some other reading fun.

This is the third time*, now, that I’ve had reason to talk about Joel McIver on this blog. It took me a long time to work up the nerve ’cause I really respect the guy’s work and his contacts, but now that the dam’s been broken and he and I have even e-mailed a time or two, I’m over myself.

Which means I’m fairly drooling over word that Glenn Hughes wasn’t McIver’s stopping point.

Nope, now comes word that he’s writing a book about someone I’ve actually interviewed. Hung out with, too, if memory serves (and if not, it was his brother Igor who came with us to record stores that day in New York, but I really do think it was Max).

Max?

Yes, you Sepultura and Soulfly and Cavalera Conspiracy fans. Max Cavalera.

McIver himself, in the interview, says it’s a big change for him, particularly to go from Deep Purple to Sepultura/Soulfly/Cavalera Conspiracy.

Regardless, I still fully expect it to be every bit as amazing as the rest of his body of work.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to work myself back into a state of awe and jealousy…

*You can read the first and second times I’ve mentioned Joel via these links. Have fun!

I don’t recall mentioning it here, so I won’t take the time to dig up links that probably don’t exist, but my book club read Sarah’s Key together.

I can hear you now, “Susan, that’s not Rock Fiction! What are you doing????”

Well, please remember that my book club focuses on Jewish lit. And when you view my reading in those terms, Sarah’s Key makes perfect sense. (Interestingly, I got together with one of the club members the other weekend to watch the movie version of this book — and found the movie might have been better. How often do we get to say THAT?)

Now, as I’m surfing for my reviewing gig, I came across the new book from de Rosnay — and, like my thoughts about Jacqueline Luckett’s new book, I’m seeing recurring motifs. This time, it’s the memory of a home. There’s more (an unloving mother, which is a small detail in Sarah’s Key, so small if you’ve read it, you may not understand what I’m talking about), but that’s the big one. The power of a home.

Just another interesting book fact, brought to you by my eagle eye. I’m hoping the book club will agree to read this because right now, my pleasure reading’s been reduced to… well, nothing. And I’m fine with that, oddly enough…

Like I usually do on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I opened a new Word file. (Yes, I write in Word. It works for me. Shush.) I typed in the three words from the weekly Three Word Wednesday prompt.

I stared at the otherwise blank page. Had no ideas. Went back to work on the book I’m editing for a way cool client. Took a break from the edit. Stared at the otherwise blank page.

By Thursday, not only had I made great progress on the edit, I’d also had an idea. It centered on a new character, one I hesitate to bring to the blog because I think he’ll be bigger than the blog (meaning: once I finish drafting a Touch of Scandal, I’ll get to work on this one). Yep, it’s another male character.

I started writing, anyway. Maybe this would be a good teaser, a good way to start writing about this guy and his odd little quirk.

And… it took off. Got away from me. In short, it is NOT a flash.

I’ll be saving it for later. Much later. Maybe it’ll reappear here as one of my famed outtakes. Maybe it’ll be part of the novel. I’m not sure. Right now, I’m not even sure what the conflict in this guy’s life is, but I know there is one. Something beyond his dual identity, on and off the stage. Something beyond his loneliness.

Interest piqued yet?

Yeah, mine is, too.

King Trevor, April 12. We’re counting down the days…

Come on over to Working Writers and Bloggers, where I’m talking about my writing process.

Or, rather…

Well, go read it yourself. Say hi to Cherie while you’re there!

Now, this is SO not news to me. Me, who’s been known to blast Metallica all morning prior to a doctor’s appointment and show up with a blood pressure so low, they wondered how I was upright.

But… it’s official. A study’s been done, after all, and has confirmed what I’ve known all along: “listening to songs with a certain number of beats per minute can trigger specific mental states, such as productivity and relaxation.”

AND, as any writer with a playlist can tell you, “music can help listeners accomplish tasks throughout the day. Listeners can put on one playlist to get revved up for a super-charged day at work, then use other playlists when they need to focus on a specific project, get the most out of their workout, or calm themselves before bed.”

So… Kudos to researched Galina Mindlin and co-authors Don DuRousseau and Joseph Cardillo. You guys are welcome over here at West of Mars anytime. Especially if you’re going to keep insisting that Metallica can cure the blues. I’ve been saying that since I first started listening to them… in 1986.

What took you guys so long to catch on? That’s my only question for you.

(Just so you know… I first found this posted at Brave Words, and followed their link through to DNAInfo.com Go see for yourself!)

I have so much to share with you guys, it’s mind-blowing. What a great time to be involved with music and that rare art form, Rock Fiction.

Today, it’s the news that,

ClassicRockRevisited.com Founder, CEO and editor Jeb Wright has cracked open the doors to his interview vault and blown the dust off of his favorite interviews of all time and put them in one collection.

They’re promising some never-before-seen interviews and some other stuff that sounds like it was grossly overlooked. Oddly, the book has two forwards, but hey, this is rock and roll and since when has rock and roll ever been conventional?

Ooh, I hope they send it to those people who are kind enough to pay me to write book reviews for them, and then I hope that my editor assigns it to me. Or that someone sees this post and sends it on, but really, I’ll read it faster if it’s from the paying people. I’ve got a lineup of really great-looking Rock Fiction that gets pushed to the side when the paying people pop up.

’cause, you know, they’re paying me.

Yeah, yeah. Bowing to the almighty dollar is NOT very rock and roll. In fact, it’s the direct opposite. But you’d miss me if my Internet was shut off!

No clue where this came from. Or why. Or even how. The Three Word Wednesday words this week were pretty dark — control, flesh, razor — but this… isn’t.

You have to have
control

to slip the blade between the skin and the
flesh.

Like this.
Slow.

Don’t breathe.

Much.

Or talk.

Don’t do that either.

But

Do

Wash the
peach guts
off the
Razor

before you use it

to open

that box

of t-shirts.

It was a couple of years ago now that I picked up Jacqueline E. Luckett’s Searching for Tina Turner. The main character’s seeming obsession with Tina Turner was my motivation, but this turned out to be not a true work of Rock Fiction. Still, I included it in my list because “it’s all about Tina, baby, and the lessons our main character, Lena, learns from the rock icon. These pages vibrate with Tina’s music — her lyrics, in particular.” (Read my whole review!)

So while doing research for a freelance gig, I came across a book written by Jacqueline E. Luckett, Passing Love. I squinted at it — I’m using the laptop in a dark room, with the Penguins playing on the big-screen TV behind the laptop screen. And I wonder why I get migraines? — and tried to place the author’s name. I clicked. It clicked.

What struck me most about this new book of Luckett’s is the number of similarities. No, not more Tina Turner. But divorce, Paris, lovers. There’s also a musician character.

I liked Searching for Tina Turner. It’s a book I still think about, as my own life unfolds. I’ll definitely be looking to get my hands on a copy of this one.

**A whiny note from Susan: Due to changes in Pennsylvania law, Powell’s had to fire me as an affiliate. Not that I was cleaning up with it, but it’s sort of sad. I liked supporting an independent bookstore in this current bookselling economy. I’m looking for a new affiliate, one that’s not part of a big chain or world domination. Stay tuned. When I find one, I’ll start including links. In the meantime, feel free to have Mary Ann or Kate at Penguin Bookshop order and ship books to you. Tell them I sent you.

What? You didn’t click the link in my last post about this art exhibit?

I’m not sure if I should chastise you or praise you for being so far-seeing.

Over at Metallica.com, a site I don’t spend nearly enough time hanging around anymore, pictures of THE ENTIRE ART EXHIBIT have been posted. At least, I think it’s the entire exhibit. Since I can’t go see it in person, I am working on faith here.

Still not sure what I’m talking about? Here’s the recap: bunches of artists, including some musicians and some musicians’ wives, and some people I’ve never heard of but would sure like to… well, all these people got together and made art inspired by Metallica songs. It reminds me of a short story anthology I came across awhile back, where each story was inspired by a song. Only, this is visual, not words.

I’d like to repeat my new wish: to edit a short story anthology based on Metallica songs.

I wonder if I have the time to make it happen… I know how I could… Hmm…

I don’t care who you are or what music you like, there’s at least one Ramones song that gets your toes tapping. (Go ahead and name your fave in the comments. I don’t have a prize for the best choice, other than some fun.)

I’ve read Lobotomy, Dee Dee Ramone’s autobiography. It holds a place of honor on my bookshelves, all silvery goodness between some of my favorite Rock Fiction volumes. Now comes a new autobiography to join it.

Johnny Ramone’s written an autobiography. It’s called COMMANDO, and I really hope that’s not to publicly settle the boxers or briefs discussion. Doing so takes some serious brass balls, doesn’t it? Like, WOW.

Which means, undie issue aside, I covet this book. As if that’s any surprise to any of you.

It comes out in April, but if you only buy one book in April, make it mine. King Trevor. April 12. Just a reminder. (Johnny will wait for you to have book-buying funds in May. So will I, for that matter, but … c’mon. Trevor may be worth the wait, but you’ve also waited way too long as it is.)

It’s been a long time since I’ve visited with Trinity, Springer’s sort-of girlfriend. This week’s Three Word Wednesday prompt demanded I revisit her, since I’d left her in a pretty bad position the last time we saw her…

Lust hit with a jolt, surged through the body. It didn’t matter what he looked like, or who he was. Not usually. What mattered was how she felt at the moment, how available he was, and if he’d let her be the one who put the rubber on.

No wonder she’d gotten herself into this mess, she figured. Knocked up, living with Springer’s grandmother, trying to figure out if she should keep it or what. She had another week before abortion wouldn’t be an option.

“Detach yourself from it,” Springer’s grandmother said, patting her on the hand. The lady was smart and kind, if a bit demanding. Springer said at her age, she’d earned it.

Trinity hoped she wouldn’t be around long enough to find out what that meant. She didn’t want to grow attached to these people. They deserved better than her.

“If this was your friend, not you,” Springer’s grandmother said, “what would you tell her to do?”

Trinity shrugged, a slow raising of her shoulders that Springer’s grandmother was supposed to know wasn’t a brush-off. It was supposed to let her know that truly, she had no idea what she’d say. Abortions were big. They were loaded.

Trinity wasn’t sure she could live with that sort of pressure. She thought she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what the baby would have been like. Was it a boy or a girl? What would it grow up to be like?

“I think you know,” Springer’s grandmother said.

“No abortion,” Trinity said, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. “I should. I know I should.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Grandma, I don’t know if I can live with this. No matter what I do, it’s the wrong thing.” She raised her face to the ceiling, felt the tears on her cheeks. “I wish this had never happened.”

Grandma patted her knee. “I know, Trinity.” Her hand stayed there for a second too long, and Trinity knew. She tilted her head so she could look Grandma in the eye.

Grandma had known the same pulls. The lust, the searing need to be filled and completed. The blessed release when you came.

And what happened when the rubber slipped. Or broke. Or did whatever it had done.

“What did you do?” she whispered.

“I didn’t let it defeat me,” Grandma whispered back.

I’ve also cross-posted this as my #FridayFlash. If you’d like the backstory, here are the links you need:
Springer and Trinity meet
Trinity gets in trouble
Springer tries to help
Be sure you leave comments if you stop in; I love comments! It’s how I know you visited.

My friend Darcia Helle has organized a group of us writers. An awesome group, if I say so, myself.

What’s she’s organized us into is one heck of an awesome collective, every last one of whom has pitched in a copy or two of their books.

Yep, group book give.

You’ll win, what? Ten? More? books if you’re the lucky soul. Maybe more. Maybe, but not likely, less.

Best of all? They’re all PRINT, and I’m told they’ll all be autographed, as well (unless some of us sponge-brains forget).

You’ve got all month, but you only need a minute or two. Go. Enter. Spread the word. It’s the same thing as spreading the love.

Well, hell. If I’m not proof that moms read, you definitely need to stop in at Mommy’s Reading Too. Lots of proof there!

Join me, as blog owner Jennifer was kind enough to read the first three books in the Trevolution and share her thoughts about them. AND she interviewed me, as well.

Can’t beat THAT combination.

Can you tell I’ve been having fun with blog post headlines? Hope you’re having fun with them with me.

Anyway, the Three Way Tie I’m referring to is author Larissa Hinton’s blog, where I’ve dropped in with a guest post today. Stop in and say hi — Larissa is cool. I can’t wait to get to know her better.

Yep, it’s another Twitter connection! See the value of talking to people via Twitter, not just shouting into crowded rooms? I’ve been meeting awesome, fascinating people. I hope you have been, too. (Feel free to tell me about them!)

One of them is author Jennifer Farwell, who is the author of Rock Star’s Girl.

Hello, what’s this? Rock Fiction???

But, of course!

In my need to be all over the best (and worst — and everything in between) Rock Fiction that exists, I invited Jennifer by for the famed One Question Interview.

Jennifer, what song makes you think of Rock Star’s Girl?

Seether’s cover of “Careless Whisper” always makes me think of ROCK STAR’S GIRL. I won’t give too much away, but when you read the book and then take a look at the lyrics, this song is relevant to both the Cory-Emily and Jesse-Emily dynamics. I can picture either Cory or Jesse as the person in the song, giving the listener their thoughts and perspective. And, as some kind readers have pointed out, Emily is no fool.

I chose Seether’s cover for a reason, though, well beyond lyrics. With the gritty guitars and vocals, it evokes the very mood of a few scenes that deal with the relationships of the main characters. Relationships are complicated. In the situation Emily, Cory, and Jesse are in, amid fame and Hollywood gossip, even more so. It’s all there in the arrangement of this song. The uncertainty, regret, and longing — all the good stuff. It was my go-to song to instantly bring me into the story when I’d sit down to write or edit.

(OMG. Is that THE LAMEST official video for such an amazing song, or WHAT?)

Anyway, here’s the blurb for Rock Star’s Girl:

Emily Watts just wants a weekend break from the workaholic hours she’s taken on to keep her business — a popular fashion-snark web site — up and running. What she gets is overnight celebrity and a career-killing media scandal.

While taking time out to attend a concert in support of friend Jesse Cinder, a struggling musician, Emily meets Cory Sampson, the lead singer of a chart-topping rock band. When she agrees to a date with Cory, making entertainment headlines is the last thing she expects. Even so, it’s a minor surprise by comparison to her discovery that in the music world, media notoriety trumps all. Tabloid allegations erupt when Cory and fame-hungry Jesse use Emily for personal gain, and her tarnished image spells disaster — personally and professionally. To save the web site and writing career she’s made her life and dream, Emily must go from being a pawn in the Hollywood headline game to becoming the media mastermind.

Need some buy links? They’re all Amazon, so if you’re like me and not a Kindle user, speak up! Speak out!

Amazon (Kindle edition)
Amazon (paperback)

Maybe you’ve heard about this already. Maybe not.

Either way, it’s still effing cool and right about now, I’m wishing I was a visual artist and not merely a writer. (Merely! Ha!)

A bunch of artists have gotten together and created art that, to them, represents Metallica songs. You’ve got to see some of the art that’s been made (scroll down). It’s wild. It’s cool. It’s out there.

You may even realize that some of these artists don’t usually make visual art. Some clownish types do.

At any rate, it’s cool. I wish I could see it in person. Heck, I wish I was visual enough to have been a contributor. But… I’m not. I’m just your basic writer (basic!) and Rock Fiction expert…

Maybe they’ll call on me to edit a short story anthology based on Metallica songs… Now, THAT would be cool.

You guys know I love the promo trail. Yesterday, I stopped in at Kati Lear’s blog, Jagged Edge, for an interview. I think there’s stuff in there I haven’t talked much about, if at all.

Stop in and let me know if you agree.