Tuesday, March 16, 2021
Wednesday, March 3, 2021
Eleanor is not what she appears to be.
Hey book fans, readers, groupies, stalkers, slow assassins, hateful critics, loving angels and Cherubim or all striped. ELEANOR, and THE UNSEEN series is reborn.
The story of this best-selling award-winning series is a story of my career in many ways. I wrote it get attention for THE FINGER TRAP and the off-genre comic mysteries therein. I quickly fell deep in love with the book, the series and the concept. I sold the series along with THE FINGER TRAP, to Jolly Fish Press and had good times for all. Winning several awards, the League of Utah Writers Gold Quill for ELANOR as best young adult book of the year and a Silver Quill the next year for CELESTE. For a brief lovely period they reached the top of the Amazon Young Adult best-selling list.
When Jolly Fish was acquired by North Star Editions, THE UNSEEN, went with them, though Tony in. THE FINGER TRAP bailed since NSE didn't really want more in that series. Now after the years of that, THE UNSEEN has returned to me.
Wasting no time, the books remain in print, and now have these awesome new covers,
I really love the new covers, all original art specifically commissioned for the series. Each one emotionally tracks the progress the lonely, scared, and finally avenging Eleanor.
Available now at Amazon.
It was a gamble for Eleanor to rejoin humanity, but she was driven to it. She’d been too successful forgetting. The last vestiges of her family hung by a thread in her transformed brain and drove her to be reckless.
Ten years later, Eleanor hides in plain sight. She is an average girl getting average grades in a small Wyoming town: poor but happy, lonely but loved. Her mother, Tabitha, is there for her and that’s all she’s ever needed. But now her mother is sick and David has returned. The only friend she’d ever had, the only other person who knows her secret, is back. And Eleanor again becomes reckless.
Eleanor is a modest girl, unremarkable but extraordinary, young but old, malleable but fixed. She is scared and confused. She is a liar and a thief. Eleanor is not what she appears to be.
Wednesday, January 6, 2021
It’s time for my annual reading report card.
My goal for 2020 was to read 50 books. I read 55. I am so awesome.
This year saw certain themes arise in my reading. A new love of Ursula K. Le Guin is a late one as is a fascination with Indian holy books and Eastern philosophy. There are the usual classics I’m catching up on, a few books I read for work—books on craft, theory, and editing, including my own. All in all it was a fascinating year in pages. Almost made up for hellish year that just passed. Here’s the list:
The Professional Thief, Edwin Hardin Sutherland
An Appointment with God, Mark Kirkbride
Gates of Fire, Steven Pressfield
The Uninhabitable Earth, David Wallace-Wells
The Time Machine, H. G. Wells
Inspirational Poetry, William Blake
Naked Came the Florida Man, Tim Dorsey
An Appointment with God, Mark Kirkbride
High Magick, Damien Echols
The Successful Author Mindset, Joanna Penn
Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
Consider This, Chuck Palahniuk
The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafón
Revelation, Poppet Cycle Book 1, Donna J. Munro
Changing Wax, Jared Quan
LUW 85th Anniversary Anthology
The Lottery and Other Stories, Shirley Jackson
The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson
1619 Project, New York Times
Take Off Your Pants, Libbie Hawker
Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro.
Art & Fear, David Bales & Ted Orland
True History of the Kelly Gang, Peter Carey
The Waves, Virginia Woolf
Under the Black Flag, David Cordingly
Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett
Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert
Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre
Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert (again)
Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald
After Progress, John Michael Greer
The Virginian, Owen Wister
Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon
The Bhagavad Gita, translated by Eknath Easwaran
The Practice of Poetry, Robin Behn & Chase Twichell
The Mormon War, Brandon G. Kinney
Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie
Taking the Path of Zen, Robert Aitken
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. Laurence Sterne
The Invisible Man, H.G. Wells
Writing in the Dark, Tim Waggoner
Jaws, Peter Benchley
How to be Good, Nick Hornby
Hyperbole and a Half, Allie Brosh
Intimations: Six Essays, Zadie Smith
The Dispossessed, Ursula K. Le Guin
The Invention of Sound, Chuck Palahniuk
How to Write a Novel Using the Snowflake Method, Randy Ingermanson
Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
Solutions and Other Problems, by Allie Brosh
The Lathe of Heaven, Ursula K. Le Guin
South of the Border, West of the Sun, Haruki Murakami
Rape of Nanking, Iris Chang
The Dhammapada, Eknath Easwaran
Wednesday, December 16, 2020
I realized I haven’t communicated for a while. Publish or parish. I gotta write something. I gotta communicate. My fans are dying to hear from me. Fields of dying bodies, eclectic readers and tie-dye aficionados, buzzards readying their beaks. This is my fault. This blood will be on my hands. Isn’t that just how the year has been? Here I am, sitting around in my underwear on the couch shotgunning Coke Zeros with a ball point pen, scrunched atop a blanket of indeterminate color, and I’ve got to produce something. I gotta write.
This brings up the rather testy problem of figuring out what to write. If I could think of what to write don’t you think I’d be writing? I’m a writer, you know. Writing is what I do. I tell people I’m writing when I’m writing and sometimes when I’m thinking of writing and when I have to explain why I’m in my underwear at 5:00 p.m. and have to invent reasons why the blanket is that color.
But I’m a professional. I can do this. Here it is. I’ll write something. Here it comes. I’m inspired.
Recently, I celebrated Thanksgiving and there’s something about that holiday that encourages me to give thanks, or at least count a couple blessings. A countdown. That’s a kind of writing. I can do it in words. Write them down. Writing!
I have a lot of blessings. I can work from home in my underwear with Coke Zero in my chest hair. This isn’t a Covid thing. I was doing this before, so it’s a big blessing my lifestyle hasn’t been unduly altered. I can write, when I want to. Really. It’s happened. That’s a good thing. That’s important to me. Blessed. Like Brian Blessed - FLASH!
Locked away from my sane friends, barring the door to my insane ones, I’ve come to appreciate friends. And sanity. It’s nice to know you’re not alone when you’re alone. Zoom has been a lifesaver and I’ve learned that if you hold the computer just right, underwear is just fine.
I’ve come to understand what it is I actually need to survive. Food. Lots of food. More food than I used to need apparently. Food is important. Heat is nice. Blankets help when you don’t dress for the cooling temperatures. Liquids are good. Coke Zero is a liquid. So is bourbon. I checked. Wikipedia is very wise. Thanks internet knowledge core.
Hobbies are vital for survival in these days of American decline. All work and no play makes for a creepy lodge vacation. I have lots of hobbies and I’ve even found a few new ones as I keep myself within this house all day, and yard at night; pants optional. Among my new hobbies are:
Eating. (That’s an old one, but I’ve been taking it to new levels.)
The last one is really a time taker. Getting on the internet, watching numbers rise and open hospital beds dwindle I’ve tried to find an easy way to judge my fellow pandemic travelers. Mostly, because my friends are sane, the judging goes out to creepy family members, strangers, and people who make the news for getting kicked off airplanes. The metric is: how much are you willing to be inconvenienced to keep other people from dying? If the answer is, "I won’t wear a mask and I won’t believe in science," you score very low on my judgment chart and I send evil waves of malevolence your way hoping you’ll lose your car keys or discover the wonders of Giardia-infused intestinal squirts. I can be mean. Don’t cross me.
I’ve also come to judge people by fashion. Tube tops after Labor Day is a privilege not a right. Crocs. Just Crocs.
I wonder if I’m not being judged too. I’m pretty sure I am. Waves of disorder waft over the domicile like whispered inside jokes. Strange things have been happening. The most alarming is that someone has cursed my washing machine. It is shrinking all my clothes, particularly my pants. A sublime spell. There’s a wizard out to get me. I must atone.
It hasn’t been a complete waste, these many months hiding from disease which is out to get me. I have found a new job. It’s a work at home gig, something I never considered to be full-time employment, but has surely risen to that, particularly in the cold weather. I am a professional door opener for cats. Yep. It’s going on my CV. There are doormen at all the nice buildings in New York (I read about them), well now at Casa Worthen, there is me. I’m not as nicely dressed, or even actually dressed sometimes. I don’t wear a hat all the time, but sometimes I do. I wait by the back sliding door ready to oblige our two cats who test the limits of their control over me by a dozen passings each day. They look at me and smile in their cat ways. I think they’d tip if they had money, but I know better than to let my cats have money. I shiver to think of the mischief they could do on Etsy alone.
So I go on with the cats and couch and the drinks and the food and the blanket whose original color is a mystery lost to time. I get by. I think. I plan. I wait for the vaccine and a return to sanity. I count my blessings. I write.
Gotta go. Roy’s at the door.
Merry Christmas 2020
Wednesday, October 14, 2020
Tony and I have had a long relationship. It was Tony who convinced me to become an author, a full time writer, a schlunk who quit a day job to pursue a dream. THE FINGER TRAP was a watershed moment in my life, a moment where, for the first time, future clarity and direction shown bright and clear.
And Tony had stories to tell.
After his origin story, his "coming of age" if you will, he got to fall in love in THICKER THAN WATER—family and past and future all mixing together. Again a simulacrum of my own existence. I had two books that were wonderful.
And now Tony takes a cruise to Alaska, just like I did. It is hard to separate us two sometimes. At the time I think it was me, but when I recall that cruise now, I often see it through Tony’s eyes.
Even then, when I stepped foot on that ship I knew that Tony walked with me. Though I remember distinctly writing another book on that trip, remember even the chapters I wrote in stolen time in a vacant barroom as the family slept in, Tony was wandering the decks, imagining mayhem. He talked me into asking the crew to show me some places usually off limits to non-fictional characters.
When I got home, Tony mulled and pondered and planned in my subconscious. A plot was formed, a cunning confusion rife with Utah connections. You can take the detective out of the state, but you can’t take the state out of the detective. Where would Flaner mystery be with it scathing social commentary? I don’t know, but Tony would’t like it.
The story was born.
IN THE WAKE OF CAPTAIN LORD is Tony in full stride. His origin story is told, his growth story is there, here is Tony realized and familiar. His arc is true and in keeping with his life. Though not a series, but a serial, ie the books can be read in any order, it does repay those who’ve followed Tony from the start and hopefully encourages the latecomers to check out his earlier words. That was the plan anyway.
Now the plan is out of my hands. Tony sails alone tomorrow on the Success up the Inside Passage to Alaskan tourist towns with murder on the high seas. The world will judge.
It is a sadly sweet moment, exciting and weighty to release this. Each book is like that, but this time, with Tony here, I feel more confident that he can handle himself. He’s shown me he can and he’s eager to tell his tale. Like me, Tony loves an audience.
Wednesday, October 7, 2020
Case in point. When I wrote the THICKER THAN WATER, Tony Flaner’s fantastic Moab Adventure, I made jokes about marijuana. Before it came to print, Colorado had legalized it and I had some re-writes to do. Since it was a plot point I had to finesse it into new form, even projecting that Utah would get medical dispensaries, which they subsequently have.
Flip phones were a thing in the first draft of THE FINGER TRAP. I know that makes the book sound positively ancient, some antediluvian romp with big wheeled bicycles and hoop skirts, but the smart phone thing was just barely launching when the idea was burgeoning. Such is the speed of society.IN THE WAKE OF CAPTAIN LORD, launching next week (Squeeee!), I set the action on a cruise ship. Yeah, when I wrote it, causing was still a thing. This was like last year. People were on cruse ships nine months ago, It hasn’t been that long, but my god does it feel like it has been. The story is light and sarcastic in the Flaner mold and a fantastic book I’ve very proud of, a first rate mystery with twists and chuckles if not outright, “oh my god did he really just say/do/think/smell that” moments. I did hesitate bringing it out in 2020, but I’d already made the promise and I figured that cruising would make a come-back. Eventually.
Harder to decide was the virus. Yes, a virus plays a part in the book, at least in a background way. Norovirus, also known as the cruise ship disease was/is the threat most crews fear the most. This was before our beloved Covid. I thought of changing the threatening virus, but hell if that didn’t just put the story into dark territory with an ending, I, like the rest of the world can’t guess.
So I left it with Norovirus, ran the jokes, the shower, and kept to the mystery comedy, If the book were written today, doubtless it’d be different. I probably would’t put it on a cruise ship, .who knows.
Truth is, even in the best circumstances, there can be a considerably delay in writing a book and printing it. In speedy times, anachronisms are to be expected. Luckily, I think most readers haven’t caught up the speed of change any more than their authors have,.
My point is, go out and buy IN THE WAKE OF CAPTAIN LORD now and enjoy an excellent read,
Wednesday, September 30, 2020
I’ve been on three cruises in my life. Cruising here is means riding a big floating hotel in the ocean for a while as opposed to driving slowly up main street with a bucket of chicken looking for girls on Friday night.
Each cruise had its own flavor, some were demonstrably better than others. The best, hands down was our cruise to Alaska. It was so good in fact, that I took Tony Flaner along, at least in theory. I should have written the whole thing off as a research trip, but alas, Tony took too long to get his act together and fall onto the page.
Nevertheless, cruising. Yes, we’re about cruising today. It’s not for everyone. And lately, I’d say it not for anyone. Covid has turned it all into a real mess. Tony only had to contend with Norovirus, “cruise ship flu” when he went. Not that that was the real danger. There were badgers out there that menaced him more. Kinda.
So, although I’d recommend Alaska cruising up the Inside Passage most days, these aren’t most days, and I can’t now. But that’s okay, because you can go with Tony Flaner up the coast of Alaska and have more adventure and butter drenched desserts than you could dream of in your Overeaters Anonymous midnight meeting.
Remember, that when you read a book, your synapses react and reform as if the experiences you’re reading about actually are happening to you. So… yeah, I’m offering you an Alaskan cruise for the low low price of $5.99 for the ebook and $17.99 for the all inclusive paperback. Boarding begins on October 15, but reservations are being taken now at:
Be safe everyone and read on!