BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

This is a typo. This is a typo on drugs… Any questions?

Today’s missive is just a quick Public Service Announcement. Granted, it is as much for my own sanity as it is for serving the public… Actually, it might not serve the public that much… Maybe not at all… But, I’m pretty sure it will make me feel better, so I’m going to do it anyway… (and, as it turns out, it’s nowhere near as quick as I thought it was going to be…)

So, anywho… Long about once each year I receive an email from someone who is itching to tell about “it.” I mean literally, they want to tell me about the word “it.” In particular, the possessive form “its” and the contraction for “it is,” that being “it’s.” You see, these folks are under the impression I don’t know the difference.

To be fair, I can see where they may believe this to be true. I’ll explain that in just a minute. But, moving right along…

Sometimes these folks are exceptionally rude and pedantic about “it.” They have even been known to call me names and write very uppity, nasty, holier-than-thou missives, talking down to me from their crumbling pedestals – I say crumbling because it never fails that the folks who elect to be nasty about “it” send letters and email that are riddled with other typos and horrendous grammatical errors. To their credit, however, they do get “it” correct. But, credit or no, I think these people should seek counseling for anger management and learn to interact with others sans the attitude.

Now, on the other hand, some folks are very nice about it. While the belabored point is still very annoying to me, I can appreciate folks who are nice and to them I raise a glass. Hell, I actually take the time to answer their letters and emails about “it.”

The nasty folks, not so much…

At any rate, time has rolled around again for me to receive an email about “it.” This time the young lady was very nice about it and we exchanged a few notes, played with pencils on the group W bench, and generally had a good time. So, no problem there…

Still, in the interest of trying to make this whole thing go away – which I never, ever will I’m sure – not that I won’t keep trying – we have today’s blog entry.

Around a decade ago, my first novel landed on bookstore shelves. Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation. Not my best work… I mean, hell, it’s a first novel. Even so, it’s pretty damn good – in my opinion, anyway. Good enough that it is in its umpteenth printing at this point. But, I’m not here to brag on Harm None. I’m here to apologize for an error that in and of itself is a comedy of errors. A sad, tragic, and painful comedy, but a comedy nonetheless. Both the publisher and I have apologized for this screw-up countless times. However, I suspect I will continue to do so for the rest of my life when I receive my annual complaint email.

You see, it’s like this – As is often done, a manuscript will see a rough layout and be bound with basic cover art, all for the purpose of rushing it out to reviewers. These ARC’s (Advance Reader Copies) are usually either imprinted with the above acronym, the words themselves, or “stickered” as such. This way the reviewer knows that the book is likely to have typos, formatting anomalies, and even grammatical errors which haven’t been fixed yet. The reason this is done is that most all review publications and reviewers are so swamped that it is necessary to provide them with a review copy 4 to 6 months in advance of the book release. Often times the editing process is only just entering its stride at this point, and is far from over.

And so, this brings us to the sad, sad comedy of errors that has plagued me these last 10 years…

When I wrote Harm None I was using an ANCIENT DOS based word processing program, with a very buggy, “freeware”, auto-correcting third-party spelling and grammar checker. Unfortunately, you get what you pay for and while the programmer who wrote this bit of freeware was good with code, s/he wasn’t so stellar with grammar. And so, all of my “its” became “it’s”.

I neglected to double check things after running the checker. My bad.

No biggie though. Editors fix these things, and in fact, the “it’s” that needed to be “its” were corrected. But alas, the tragic comedy still wanted its day in the sun.

Through an unfortunate mix-up, the uncorrected ARC files were mounted when the first print run was scheduled for Harm None. The presses whirred, paper flew, ink splattered, and before anyone caught it, close to 2000 copies of the novel were printed using the wrong signature and cover files.

No worries… The presses were stopped, the proper files mounted, and the process began all over again.

Of course, the not so funny comedy wasn’t through yet.

Through mis-communication, overly efficient workers, and not so divine providence IMHO, books printed from the improper files – which had been set aside to be destroyed – were instead bound, trimmed, stacked, packed, and then shipped.

Shipped to distributors, stores, and the four winds.

The dark and tragic comedy laughed as it watched bookstores, distributors, and even me sell the flawed books to unsuspecting readers, all the while unaware of the ugly practical joke fate was playing upon us.

Then, we found out. Unlike the comedy itself, we did not laugh. In fact, I cried, as did my publisher, publicist, and even some of my friends.

So, there you have it. Something on the order of 1800+ horribly flawed copies of Harm None have been in circulation for 10 years now, and it seems that many of them have found their way into libraries. And, as will happen, I get my annual email/letter from someone who wishes to lecture me – or, more rarely, simply point out in a polite manner – the difference between “its” and “it’s.”

For the record, I know the difference. And, also for the record, you have my most profuse apologies for this horrible error that has been perpetrated upon you, me, and the rest of the reading public. If I could make those 1800 flawed copies go away, I would. But, I cannot. My Kung-Fu just isn’t that strong…

So, in closing, here is an easy way for you to know if you or your library is in possession of one of these flawed copies of Harm None:

If the cover on your copy of Harm None looks like the picture above, with a delineated grey panel down the center, and a grey box on the back, you are holding either an original ARC or an ARC that should never have been. If this is the case, please don’t email me with a lecture on grammar, spelling, “its vs. it’s”, or any other complaint about formatting or even coffee stains for that matter.

If the cover looks like this one, then you are in possession of a proper and/or later printing. This is not to say you won’t find a latent typo. One or two squeak by now and again, no matter how good the editor. But, look at the copyright page to check the date of the reprint, because reported typos are always fixed in subsequent printings.

On a next to final note – The cover art for Harm None might be changing. I have recently been informed that the Mass Market Paperback editions of the first three Rowan Gant Investigations novels – the only books in the series to have been released as Mass Market originals – are to be discontinued when the current stock runs out.

However, do not fear – the books will remain in print.

They are simply being re-formatted to a 6X9 Trade Paperback size to match the rest of the RGI novels. In making this format switch, it is entirely possible fresh cover art will be employed.

Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing what they do, as I am constantly amazed by the cover art they come up with for all of their titles, not just mine.

Now, for the final note – regarding the flawed copies themselves. I have heard – though I have only the words of some eyewitnesses – that at least one of these flawed copies sold at a charity auction for nearly $200 due to its “rareness.”

Personally, I won’t consider it truly rare until I stop receiving the complaint emails, but hey, if $200 was raised for charity then I am willing to say this tragic comedy had itself a happy ending.

Of course, that note probably isn’t as final as I’d like, because I suspect I’ll be writing about this again just one short year from now, just like I have for the past decade…

More to come…

Murv

…how to walk in high heels. Trust me, she knows… But, I suppose I should back that up with an explanation.

Now, I have to begin with the fact that we are not talking about E K here. This is not to say that she doesn’t have the aforementioned talent, because she does, in spades. However, in this particular instance I am waxing poetic (as you will see) about another young lady.

As you all well know, I travel a fair bit for book tours and the like – that much is a given. And, during my travels I see things. Sometimes they are frightening, sometimes they are strange, sometimes they are interesting, and sometimes I have no clue what the hell I am witnessing.

And then, there’s Leg Girl.

The Legend Of Leg Girl began several years ago on a weekend trip to Nashville, Tennessee to do a book signing and seminar. My dear friend and fellow author, Tish Owen, also owns a bookstore called Goddess And The Moon. I’ve done several signings there, and I always have a blast hanging out with her, her clientele, her husband Patrick who is my cigar smoking and booze drinking buddy, and all of my other friends there in “music city”.

Well, as the true story goes, one Saturday night after spending the day presenting a workshop on writing, and then signing a mess of books in one of the meeting rooms at the shopping mall across from where Goddess and the Moon was then located – it has since moved – we were going back to the store for a bit of a soiree. Wine, beer, booze, cheese, crackers, munchies, etc. You know the drill. Folks were going to come by, visit, have books signed, get a photo op or two, and all that jazz. Typical book store event sort of stuff. A great chance to just chill out and relax.

Unfortunately, the day had been so hectic for poor Tish and her staff that she had not yet had the opportunity to go pick up the aforementioned noshing items and beverages. Since I had nothing to do between finishing the seminar and the start of the soiree, I volunteered to ride along with Tish and help with the toting, lifting and other such stuff at the grocery store. And so, off we went…

No more had we pulled into the parking lot and begun our search for a space than out in front of us steps “Leg Girl”… All of mid twenties, great hair, hourglass figure, and most prominently on display a set of legs that a Rockette would sell her soul to have. And, I do mean prominently on display, for you see, this entire package was wrapped in nothing more than a sheer blouse, blazer, flared miniskirt – and I do mean MINIskirt – and patent leather stiletto heeled pumps. This was despite the fact that we were at the end of November and the temperature was in the mid forties or thereabouts.

And no, she was NOT a figment of my hormone driven imagination. Tish saw her too. In fact, Tish saw her so well that she was infuriated…

Allow me to explain. You see, Leg Girl literally stepped right out in front of us and began to slowly saunter up the middle of the aisle in the parking lot. Not to the left, not to the right. She was smack dab in the middle of the lane and Tish was unable to get around her. And saunter Leg Girl did. Slowly, deliberately, and swaying with a rhythm that would bring any red-blooded heterosexual male to his knees.

Well, suffice it to say, I had no room on the floorboards in order to get on my knees, not that I didn’t try. Still, even though I was unable to assume the appropriate position of Goddess Worship, I was mesmerized. Tish, however, was most assuredly not. Somehow, and I don’t know how, through my hypnotic stupor I was able to recognize this fact and managed to persuade Tish not to run over Leg Girl – trust me, that took some doing because that was exactly what Tish was intending to do.

Ever since that day, Leg Girl has been a running joke between Tish and me. Every time she books me for a gig at the store, or at PUF, she asks if there is anything special I need, and I always reply, “I need Leg Girl to be my handler for the weekend.” (“Handler” as in liaison / gopher / assistant… Let’s keep it clean here folks…)

Fortunately for me, though always promised by Tish – followed by a healthy chuckle, of course – Leg Girl has never materialized for said duties. Not that I would complain, however E K probably wouldn’t be particularly excited by it. In fact, I’m not really sure which one of us she would kill first…

But anyway, the Legend Of Leg Girl kind of… well… ummm… the legend has legs so to speak – no pun intended. Really. Seriously… But, pun or no, the events of that evening actually inspired a lyrical parody, written by yours truly.

Maybe someday, if we happen to have someone on site who knows all the chords to the original song, I’ll get drunk enough to perform this ditty at PUF…

Leg Girl

(To the tune of Two Hangmen by Mason Proffit)

As I rolled into Nashville with my friend her name is Tish

I saw what I’ll relate to you and it was quite a pretty dish

It seems there was this woman, who had this pair of gams

They went all the way up to her neck, and that’s
where it began

The woman’s name was Leg Girl, the best that I could see

She like to show her legs off, and that’s okay with me

I guess she saw me coming, and donned that mini skirt

And stockings and stiletto heels just so she could
flirt

She walked across the parking lot, right down the center aisle

She swayed and sauntered like a dream, it really made me smile

She stopped a moment in our way and then she tossed her hair

The wind picked up and her miniskirt billowed with
much flair

The driver’s name was Tish Owen, she said this bitch is slow

I’m gonna run her over now if she doesn’t start to go

I said to Tish please don’t do that, I really like this sight

She went to all this trouble so just let her make my night.

The wind continued blowing and gave Leg Girl a goose

She moved a little faster now, but still shook her caboose

Tish was laughing hard at me, as I began to drool

Leg Girl was such an awesome treat that made me
act the fool

Tish finally found a parking space and pulled in with a squeal

Leg Girl was going into the store on teetering high heels

We followed along behind her, and then she disappeared

But I saw her again as we checked out, with a case
or two of beeeeeeeeeeeeeer…

(Chorus)

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

(Repeat Whole Bunches Of Times)

One more time!

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

More to come…

Murv