I’m down today with … well, let’s just simplify things and say I threw my back out. So go visit! Make friends! Hang out and keep me company.

Here’s how to play:

1. Leave a comment here, on this post. Say hello to me, tell me what you’re reading, what song you’re jamming to. You pick it. Leave your link (I can’t get Comment Luv to work regularly) to your blog.

2. Go visit the blog link in the comment above you. Tell them “I’m from West of Mars” and hopefully something nice about their post.

3. When three people have left a comment since your last one, you may play again. If no one’s commented for two hours, you may play again. This is the ONLY time you may visit someone other than the person above you.

4. If you’re new here, your comment will go into moderation. I’m going to try to keep on top of that, but do check back to make sure no one missed you. If you were skipped, leave another comment — even if you break the three-person rule.

5. Be nice. Have fun. Make new friends — that’s what this is all about. And, of course, I operate on the Commutative Principle of Friendships, whereby any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Which means anyone and everyone is welcome to play.

6. Game ends Sunday night.

It’s a blog swap of sorts today, as I’ve written a guest blog post for my friend Harris Channing.

She’s here, answering the famed one-question interview: What song makes you think of your book?

Her pick? Devil Went Down to Georgia

As for why:

Stella has returned to Silverton Georgia to bury her dead aunt…who happens to be a witch. While she’s cleaning the old bat’s house house to sell it, she realizes that with the death of the nasty piece, the devil must have come to Georgia to claim her soul….WHooo Ohhhh Ohhhhh!

Okay. Look at some of these words and phrases Harris uses: “the old bat’s house” and “the death of the nasty piece…”

Are we in for some fun with this read, or what?

Here are your buy links. As always, I suggest picking the book up at Smashwords. Not only do I get the affiliate money (whee!) but Harris gets a bigger royalty. You can get it in ALL formats. And c’mon. It’s 99 cents. How can you go wrong? And what do you mean, you want it in print? That’s between you and Harris.

The Demon is in the Details at Smashwords

The Demon is in the Details at B&N’s Nook store

The Demon is in the Details at Amazon

Wait! I almost forgot! The blurb!

Returning to Silverton, Georgia, thirteen years after a brutal attack, Stella is determined to bury her past alongside her evil Aunt Lou. As if that’s not hard enough, she must face not only what happened all those years ago, but the new evil that is brewing in the small town.

In an answer to her prayers, immortal protector, Zane Weathers appears at her door. He offers her more than just his protection. He offers his glorious face, strong hands and able body.

Together they must not only overcome obstacles from their pasts, but a hellish horror that could very well take over the world.

A couple of years ago, I used to hang around this site. It was devoted to blog party games (and here you didn’t think your blog knew how to party…), and one of the most popular games was the weekend visiting game, we’ll call it.

I’ve decided that, with my blogroll hopelessly out of date and traffic down, this would be a good time to try to revive it.

Here’s how to play:

1. Leave a comment here, on this post. Say hello to me, tell me what you’re reading, what song you’re jamming to. You pick it. Leave your link (I can’t get Comment Luv to work regularly) to your blog.

2. Go visit the blog link in the comment above you. Tell them “I’m from West of Mars” and hopefully something nice about their post.

3. When three people have left a comment since your last one, you may play again. If no one’s commented for two hours, you may play again. This is the ONLY time you may visit someone other than the person above you.

4. If you’re new here, your comment will go into moderation. I’m going to try to keep on top of that, but do check back to make sure no one missed you. If you were skipped, leave another comment — even if you break the three-person rule.

5. Be nice. Have fun. Make new friends — that’s what this is all about. And, of course, I operate on the Commutative Principle of Friendships, whereby any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Which means anyone and everyone is welcome to play.

6. Game ends Sunday night.

Okay, I’ve got to start talking about Dara Horn’s All Other Nights now, while it’s still fresh in my mind.

My book club read it last week, and if you know my book club, you know this means the book we’ve read probably has a Jewish theme to it.

Dara Horn, having won the Edward Lewis Wallant Award, the Reform Judaism Prize for Jewish Fiction and the National Jewish Book Awards’ First Time Author Award, is clearly the sort of author my book club salivates over.

Now, saying that, we read her first novel, In the Image. We didn’t love it. We were initially leery of this book, but then one of the women in book club spoke up and said she’d listened to the audio version and loved it.

That was all the rest of us needed.

We weren’t disappointed. All Other Nights is way more than the story of a soldier in the Civil War who’s sent on spy missions. It’s more than a work of historical fiction, and it’s more than a strong entry in the canon called Jewish Literature.

It’s a story, at its heart, about love. About the power of love, about how sometimes familial love isn’t enough to compensate for personal destruction, about how sometimes, love for another person trumps all else — even that stupid familial love.

But you know what? If you don’t think about these themes, you might miss them. That’s another way of saying they were subtly, masterfully done.

Go read it. Let me know what you think.

Look. Here’s a buy link via Powell’s.

I have, from time to time, mentioned Sue Lange. She’s one of the forces behind the Book View Cafe, an “author cooperative bringing fiction for free and for sale to the web” as they put it.

They do a lot of science fiction, fantasy, and speculative fiction. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be part. There are some real powerhouse names involved there.

Sue’s not merely the Book View Cafe woman. She’s a music lover with a sense of humor.

That’s why I want you guys to check out this page she posted at Amazon. I am in awe of her ability, her humor, and her inspiration. Like, dude, I SO wish I’d thought to do this…

Be prepared to laugh. And bring your air guitar.

If you follow me on Facebook (and, at this point in time, you really should), you’d have seen my link to Edittorrent.

I had seen editor Theresa Stevens making a plea on Twitter for submissions for her setting series. So I wrote her a scene with Mitchell in it.

After MUCH tweaking — some based on the comment trail, some not — I give you the full scene.

“The things I do for Kerri,” Mitchell muttered as he reached for the door. He winced as it flung open; weighing nothing, it had slipped out of his fingers. He could hear Ma’s disapproving voice, telling him to be more careful. It was glass, which did break.

With a lunge, he grabbed the door — after it finished banging into the metal chair rail running the distance around the full-length store windows.

He glanced around the sidewalk, but thanks to his security dudes, he had the general vicinity to himself. Good thing; the band hardly needed rumors that The Great Mitchell Voss was beating up unsuspecting storefronts.

Turning around to carefully close the door behind him, he tried to look through it, as if seeing where he’d just come from would teach him something profound. Weird how he could only see himself in a clear glass door.

So far, this trip was turning into a total mind fuck. And then he turned around to look at the interior of the store.

He’d expected it to be more like The Cocoa Bean at home: sterile rows of glass grocery-store cases, the ones with half-dome fronts. Instead of seafood, the Cocoa Bean cases were loaded with truffles and bon-bons and bark and all that shit girls craved.

And the peanut butter cups. The ones Kerri went so bonkers for, the ones he’d been on a quest for in practically every city he’d been in since she’d discovered the handmade ones at the Cocoa Bean.

If this place had peanut butter cups, they weren’t going to be easy to find. There weren’t any of those cases he’d anticipated seeing. Nope. The place was full of tables. Round ones that’d seat two in a restaurant. Each had been covered by a colored tablecloth so bright, he wanted his sunglasses, and each had been stacked with various forms of chocolate. Every table had a theme and a flower pot set on a pedestal — every bit as gaudy as the damn tablecloths — holding a hard-to-read, hand-lettered sign. In colors that complimented the tablecloths.

He groaned. Deciphering what was what would take all day. He only had an hour, and that included time to get back to wherever it was they were playing that night.

“Can I help you?” A woman practically bounced from a hidden spot in the store. Her dyed black hair made a great contrast with everything else in the place; it was the only soothing thing he’d seen yet. Not even the brown of the chocolate managed to produce that effect.

Mitchell bit back a smile. He’d have never noticed something like that before he’d found his artist wife. “I need peanut butter cups,” he said.

The woman, dressed in a bright green blouse and white pants that positively glowed, beamed, revealing teeth so blinding, Mitchell’s hand reached for his sunglasses all on their own. He sighed in relief.

If the woman was phased, she didn’t show it. “Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, or white? Organic? Shade grown? Fair harvested? Free range?”

“Free range?” he repeated, wanting to ask how fucking stupid she thought he was. He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to answer. “I know. It’s a joke. Where are the dark and milk? And do you have samples? She’s particular.”

“Oh, for a particular lady?” The woman actually batted her eyelashes at him.

“Yes.” He thought about turning to go, about leaving. After all, this wild goose chase was something Kerri didn’t even know he was going on. She thought he’d headed out early to give an interview, a last-minute addition to an afternoon of making nice to the press before a concert promoter-baked dinner.

“Well, then, only the best for your lady,” the woman said, leaning close.

Mitchell forced a simpering smile. He’d seen this sort of flirtation too many times — and that was just in getting from the hotel room to the car that’d been waiting for him. “Yes,” he said. “Only the best for my wife.”

The woman pretended to draw back, as if his words had stung. But she moved a little bit faster, producing peanut butter cups from who-knew-where and slicing them in half for him to taste and standing silently as he took a bite of each, all the wind out of her sails.

Either it was inevitable or a total shock, but the cups were good. Damn good. The peanut butter was perfect — peanutty, smooth, melt-on-your-tongue. The milk chocolate was a bit too milky for him, but the dark was bitter yet round. They were so good, he felt bad about standing there like a rude-assed rock star with his sunglasses on.

He didn’t take them off.

He bought a dozen of the dark chocolate cups and was more careful with the glass door as he left. “The things I do for Kerri,” he muttered to Tony, who’d been pressed into action, keeping a few girls from storming the store.

The guard kept the fan girls at bay as Mitchell slid into the car and headed off to meet his wife, peanut butter cups in hand. He couldn’t wait to tell her about the store; she’d love the place. Probably even want to come back and see it for herself.

Just so she left him behind.

It’d be a bonus if she left the chocolate, too.

He smiled as the driver headed for the arena. Yeah. Like he’d done this only for Kerri.

If you’re visiting as part of Sample Sunday, welcome and please leave a comment. I’ll return your visit. Mitchell is a character featured in both Demo Tapes anthologies, as well as in Trevor’s Song. This moment in time parallels Trevor’s Song but doesn’t intersect or spoil the novel. Go here for all the buy links you could possibly need.

Now, you guys know me. You know I’m a HUGE Metallica fan. You know I consider the band to have written the soundtrack to my life. Hetfield’s lyrics continue to be my own personal pacifier… not that I suck on them or anything. That’s sorta gross and I never really liked the taste of paper, anyway. And even I am not stupid or desperate or anything enough to suck on my monitor.

Then again, try singing some Metallica lyrics. That’s a form of pacifier, right there. Man, those words feel good in my mouth.

Know what else feels good?

An article I found a month ago, from the Marin Journal. It seems my hero frontman bought this HUGE ranch a bunch of years ago. He donated “330 acres of the ranch at higher elevations to the Marin County Open Space District” and then there’s another donation: “440 acres of his adjacent 500-acre property called Rocking H 1 Ranch in a conservation easement he donated to the Open Space District.”

So… am I reading this right? My heavy metal hero has donated SEVEN HUNDRED SEVENTY ACRES to conservation???

Hot damn.

But wait. The man’s not done yet.

(do you believe this??? Hot damn.)

He now wants “to cluster 27 homes on acre lots” — and these aren’t mere shacks, either. Nope. “Aside from several larger lots, homes would be similar in size to those in the Westgate development, and would range from 3,100 to 4,900 square feet. The 1,800-square-foot moderate-income units, clustered in several buildings, would be built in an area near ranch housing and barns along Lucas Valley Road.”

WHEN CAN I MOVE???

I’ve long yearned to live out there, close to some family, away from others, but where bike riding is an everyday part of the culture (I adore my car but would gladly dump it for my Trek Pilot. Or my Specialized Hard Rock. Wish I could do that here, in fact.). I love the light in the Bay Area. Yes, the quality of the sunlight. I love that there’s no snow on the mountainous roads. I love that nights are cool and days are warm. I love that usually, you don’t need to have air conditioning and you can leave your windows open all the time. I love the vibe, the music, the artsy bohemian types, the history — Haight Ashbury, The Fillmore. I love that my amazingly talented high-tech husband could have his pick of high-tech jobs. I love Book Passage and brunch at the Dip Sea. I love, I love, I love…

(okay, I don’t love the weird taxes, the sky-high cost of gasoline, and some of the other nuts and bolts of living out there. I DO see bad and the good. I really do.)

Want something else to love? Check this, from the developer: “described the project as a “win-win for the community,” saying the bulk of the land would remain as open space, cutting valley development potential. Hetfield wants “to set the standard” for fossil-free development, Warner said, adding the rocker “takes the righteous approach.” ”

Read the whole thing for yourself.

Hot damn. I pick some good heroes.

Yep, it’s that time of year again.

Last year, I did pretty well. The end of the week was pre-empted by my leaving for the famed Writer’s Retreat at Confluence, PA. You guys may remember… we were flooded INTO a very lovely bed and breakfast, from which we watched the water rise. And then retreat again. What a way to watch a flood… it was phenomenal.

Last year, also, I only had two books out. I made both the Demo Tapes books free last year; I’m sure that made a difference in sales.

This year, they will be free again, if you’re looking to pick them up and add them to your e-book library.

However, Trevor’s Song, that novel of mine… I’m only discounting it 50%, to $1.50. I’ve got bills to pay, folks, and a website to support. I think spending $1.50 for up to three books is MORE than fair…

The only potential downer is that you’ll have to buy through Smashwords. If you don’t have an account there, what are you waiting for? There’s a TON of free stuff (most of which I can’t vouch for). I’ll be adding links to my friends as they report in with their links… be sure to check them out first. They are, after all, my friends. Which means that, due to the Commutative Property of Friends, any friend of mine is a friend of yours, too.

Susan’s Friends you should check out:
Thea Atkinson
KM Humphreys
Bitsy Bling Books
Sharon Cathcart
Darcia Helle
Libby Fischer Hillmann

Tania Tirraoro — Sweet Seduction
Allen Schatz — Game 7: Dead Ball

Al Boudreau decided to lower his price at Amazon, for you Kindle folk.

Stacy Juba decided to do it on her own terms:

Stacy Juba is offering a 99 cent special for her mystery/romantic suspense novel Twenty-Five Years Ago Today on Smashwords, where you can download the book into the format of your choice.Visit the book’s Smashwords page at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/17652 and then type in this coupon code at checkout: BU97L.

Jason McIntyre is following my lead. Shed is free. On the Gathering Storm is half off. Two books for a buck fifty. NEW books, not used. Can’t beat that!

**You’ll notice that links to profile pages, not to the books themselves do not have the super-special affiliate code attached. The links to individual books, however, do. This means I may or may not make any money if you guys buy. Of course, I’d prefer to make a few cents…

Need a quick birthday present for a friend? Time to get a copy of one of my books for your shelves? Head over to Lulu, where they’re running another quickie sale.

Through March 7 (that’s next Monday), you can get 20% off your order (do read the fine print!) with code GIANT305.

Enter that at checkout and you’re good to go.

As always, if you’ve got a book with Lulu, leave your link in the comments. Readers, check ’em out. At 20% off, why NOT try someone new to you?

Check out my friends:
Maria Savva’s Lulu page

A couple of months ago, at the behest of one of my friends, I went on a review blitz. The reviews are slowly starting to roll in, and I’ve got to say a few things about them.

First, I’m still amazed at how many copies of my books I keep giving away to potential reviewers. With the ability Smashwords gives me to hand out coupon codes for free downloads, as long as I can find reviewers who are willing to read digitally, it costs me nothing. Part of the idea is to generate a review, of course. The other part is to hook folk on Trevor and stimulate them to buy the other two books I’ve got out so far — and to encourage others to buy, also.

It’s a great theory. Problem is, I think I’ve gotten one review for every ten coupons I’ve handed out. Maybe that’s an exaggeration; to be honest, I don’t keep track of the coupons I hand out. I CAN tell you that in February (2011), sixteen books were downloaded from Smashwords. All but two were freebies. Some were offered as part of Operation e-Book Drop, some were contest prizes, and some were copies given to reviewers.

Now, a lot of the reviewers I’ve contacted make no bones about the fact that if they can’t write a positive (or even lukewarm) review, they won’t. They’ll read the book, and then move on to the next. Maybe they won’t even finish the book. I don’t know. I also have no problems with that policy; no one likes being known as the person who smeared a book that was everyone else’s favorite.

Ready? Here comes the but involved in this statement.

No, I’m not asking for negative reviews, folks! Not even close. Or even a “Thanks but this isn’t for me” note. I can live with silence.

What I want to say is that for me, reviews hold more than an evaluation of whether or not my book is good. I know it is (despite all that radio silence from all those review copies I’ve never heard about again).

The best reviews, to me, might be lukewarm. They might be full of criticism about what’s wrong, not working, or a total turn-off. Doesn’t sound like that would be classified as a BEST review, but for me, it is. Maybe it’s the years I spent in creative writing workshops in college and graduate school, but for me, this sort of constructive criticism is a charge. It revs up my creative juices — and certainly twists the knife in that sort spot called my competitive side.

The best reviews help me see where I’ve gone wrong. What I can do better. What I’m doing right and need to trust.

Now, this doesn’t mean you should smear my books in an attempt to get out of me the potential that you see. Nor does it mean you should cross that delicate line between being professional in your review and making personal attacks on me.

What it means is that for me, every time I send off a copy for a review, I’m hoping to gain some insight that’ll sell books — but mostly that’ll help me write better books.

Even if you’re sitting here thinking you’re not a professional reviewer and you have no business writing book reviews, I’m encouraging you to give it a stab. Go on. Write down your thoughts about my books. Post them at Amazon, GoodReads, Smashwords, or on your blog. If I can, I’ll link back to it — which means I’ll read it.

And I’ll think about what you say. The hows and whys of your perspective. I’ll carry that into my current projects (yep, more than one. And you ask why I’m spread too thin?) and hopefully it’ll seep into my subconscious the way all those lessons in college and grad school did.

Go on. Charge my creative engines. I dare you.

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.