Twas the night before Christmas

Well, technically speaking, it’s 12:15 AM (just peeked at the clock) but I haven’t slept and am in full “Santa Mode.” Where are these elves that people speak of? If you see them, send them my way, as I have to don a headlamp and set up volleyball net in the front yard. In the wind, no less. Wish me luck.

Santa-wise, we’ve gone a little crazy in the realm of music in that we bought the music-playing children all new toys—a synthesizer, a double-neck guitar, and a digital drum kit (Lucas is tired of everyone yelling at him when he’s practicing). Plus we splurged on a PA system and a pair of microphones, for the complete garage band.

Speaking of music, here’s my favorite Christmas carol—The First Noel, arranged ala Pachelbel’s Canon.

Bookwise, it’s been a splendid year. Hotel has spent its second year on the NYT bestseller list, and will soon be available in 32 languages. Whodathunkit? 

As far as the new book it looks like 2013 is the soonest. The aforementioned Whispers of a Thunder God has been shelved in favor of the new book, with the working title, Summer’s Willow Frost. I’m hoping to have the new new book off to my editor come March/April.

And I have more book events in the works: Villanova, Savannah, Battle Creek, Maine, Delaware, and more to come.

Okay, enough of a respite. It’s back to wrapping, assembling, stuffing of stockings, and making sure the turkey isn’t frozen as solid as a curling stone.

Cheers, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah—much love and peace to all.

Who are your heroes?

I stumbled upon a truism today that I can’t get out of my mind. It’s that you can learn a lot about someone by knowing who their heroes are.

The more I thought about it, the more these names kept popping up. Sure, I’m a fan of Shakespeare, and Stan Lee & Jack Kirby, or Amy Winehouse and Erykah Badu, or just my older brother, Kirk, or my grandfather.

There are everyday heroes, in life, sports, or pop culture. But as a writer, for me, there’s these three. I guess they’re my literary heroes:

Harlan Ellison

To avoid the stress of my job and the struggles of my unhappy first marriage, I’d escape to a local bookstore that stayed open until midnight. While some guys drown their sorrows at the corner pub, I’d hit the bookstore and drank hot chocolate with mint, reading Harlan Ellison until they kicked me out. I’d discovered his seminal short fiction years earlier, but in my late 20s, I stumbled upon what I would argue is his best work, his non-fiction, his collections of essays (rantings, ramblings, spleen self-extractions—choose your own descriptor) that ran in the LA Free Press.

His voice, his rage, his humor, his…utter vulnerability, was unlike anything I’d ever read. These stories were unprocessed. Unvarnished. And as a young man I had struggled with my own inability to keep quiet—to fit in. Because of this, I found fellowship in Harlan’s writing.

Sure, when I finally spent time with Harlan, I told him it was his writing that made me want to become a writer, but truth-be-told, it was his honesty that made me take the blinders off my own life.

Sherman Alexie

The one comment that follows a lot of my book gigs is, “You were so funny!” 

I guess this is a surprise to many people because my writing (admittedly) is rather melancholic and also because most authors are expected to be as dry as a stale slice of unbuttered wheat toast—like an uninflected NPR announcer, droning on and on and on and on and on. Sadly, many are like that.

And I had the same reaction the first time I heard Sherman Alexie give a talk. He was so irreverent, and charming, and hysterically funny, it gave a whole new layer of authenticity to his writing—because I’m a firm believer that humor comes from emotional pain. Suddenly I saw the non-fiction roots of his made-up tales.

I’m funny. But Sherman is hilarious.

Pat Conroy

Conroy once said, “The greatest gift a writer can ever be given is an unhappy childhood.” If you’ve ever read The Great Santini, or My Losing Season, or The Prince of Tides, you’ll know that Pat was indeed a gifted child.

In my own case, I lost both of my parents in my early 30s—that alone was painful. But long before they passed, whether by sins of commission, or omission, they managed to leave cracks in my foundation that I still struggle with to this day. That Pat turned so many perceived weaknesses into strengths is a wonder to behold.

Okay, that’s me. Who are your heroes?

Wednesday Writers Hangout: Agent Edition

On Google+ yet? It's their latest foray into the social networking mosh-pit, currently occupied by Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, et al. And so far, I'm still intrigued. For one, it's strictly 18+, which means fewer posts like, "Beliebers will rool 4ever <3."

But beyond that, their Hangout feature is what makes it truly unique. Hangouts are like Skype video chats, expanded to accommodate 10 people. So a few of us authorly-types have been hosting Writers Hangouts (mine are on Wednesdays, noon PST).

This week we were joined by my über-agent, Kristin Nelson, who spent time answering questions about genres, queries, and the mystery of ghostwriters who pen books for the likes of Snooki. It's a tough job, but some poor writer had to get all up in that.

Taking the off-ramp to Storyland

Back to the literary salt-mines I go, happily, mind you. Book #2, the oft-mentioned Whispers of a Thunder God, has now been back-burnered in favor of Book #3. The working title is Summer's Willow Frost, but thats not set in stone by any means. Neither is my deadline, but once my mild OCD kicks in, the world around me becomes a giant speed-blur and I have to remind myself to sleep, eat, etc.

In the meantime, here's a recent piece regarding Hotel and high school students.