BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Being the marketing whore I am, I belong to several e-lists, forums, and even social networking sites (other than MySpank here). I would like to point out, however, that I am more along the line of a high-priced call-marketer, rather than the street corner quickie. Why? Because I try to show a little class.

I take great pains to avoid being one of those incredibly ridiculous, in your face authors who twists any and all subjects around to a mention of their latest book. For example, say you have a thread where someone says “I like oranges”…If for some odd reason I was to throw my two cents in there, it would be something along the lines of “Yeah, me too. Especially the navel oranges because I don’t like seeds.” Whereas, some of the cheaper, street corner author-whores might seize upon that opportunity to post something like, “Well, if you like oranges you should read my latest novel because in chapter 15, my protagonist, Buck Naked, eats an orange before going out to track down the bad guy, Chronic Halitosis.”

I know…It sounds utterly ridiculous, doesn’t it? Well, even though I have never seen a post specifically about an orange, I have seen some just as convoluted…Some, even worse. We call this Blatant Shameless Self-Promotion. (BSSP or BSP) While self-promotion is an absolute must for authors, being so completely insane about it is…well…just icky.

What in blue blazes does this have to do with pink toenails? Not a damn thing. I just wanted to make it clear that while I’ll readily admit to being a whore, I’m neither cheap nor easy. And, “I gots class.”

Okay…So now that we have established that, back to the topic at hand. Actually, the above really does have some small amount to do with this– that being the fact that I belong to so many different lists, forums, and social networking interfaces on the web. What it comes down to is that I see a whole mess of discussions on a whole mess of different topics. Some of them so-so, some of them interesting.

And there you have it. One of these topics on a forum recently caught my attention. In fact, it has appeared on several forums, and even as commentary/questions in my personal email. While I didn’t feel a need to toss my two cents in on it at the time (nothing had been mentioned about oranges in any of the threads or emails, so why would I?) events of the last day have led me to blog about this subject…

The topic in question was, “What do authors do in their free time?”

Some of the speculation was interesting. People commented about different authors they had met in person, stating that they seemed like down to earth folks who would fit right in with their personal circle of friends. Some wondered if it was a taboo to offer to buy lunch for an author or would you be seen as a stalker (for the record, we like free lunches…but not stalkers.) Others waxed prophetic about how much fun we must be having in our multi-million dollar homes with the indoor-outdoor pools, and high-caliber celebrities coming over for parties. I am sincerely hoping that those commentaries were tongue in cheek, because I have yet to be issued my mansion and yacht…

So, in addition to the “wonder if authors hang out with their friends who knew them before they were authors” kind of questions (yes, we do, BTW), there were the typical “what’s a day in the life of an author like?”

Well…I could ramble on for hours, boring you with the details of getting up in the morning, getting my wife off to work, my daughter off to school, doing dishes. cleaning up cat barf from a geriatric, diabetic feline, spreading notes out on the table and plotting a chapter. Then, typing for a couple of hours, deciding it isn’t right and cutting and pasting for a while, only to go back and write it all over again. Making a fresh pot of coffee while eating a sandwich over the sink…Answering the phone only to discover that it is a radio interview you forgot you were supposed to do but your mouth is full of braunschwieger and swiss on whole wheat with a bread and butter pickle slice…So you wash it down and get on with the interview only to discover that the interviewer has never read your books, or even a synopsis–just two lines of the press release. Therefore, she has concluded that you must be an FBI agent and you spend 11 minutes of the 15 minute interview fielding questions you can’t possibly answer about the inner workings of Quantico while trying to convince her that you do NOT work for the FBI…Finally, you get that done and say to yourself “now where was I?”. You manage to get back to what you were doing (writing…after all, that’s what we do) and if you are lucky you get your self-imposed quota written for the day just in time to get your happy ass into the kitchen and make dinner before evil wife person and the kid get home…And, you do ALL of this without ever once wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches. (My preferred mode of dress is much classier. Cargo shorts, a t-shirt, tube socks, and if I have to run out to the post office or something, my tan Crocs…See a previous blog for details on those…)

Not very glamorous, eh? Kind of like going to the office, working on a project only to discover the data you got from Fred is wrong, so you have to redo half of it…however, you get interrupted by the boss because he/she needs you to stop what you are doing and take care of something else, even though it is something you aren’t qualified for and would be better done by Sally in accounting. Only to wind up your day picking up a bucket of chicken on the way home because the spouse has to take the kid to soccer practice. But, when you arrive late you discover the dog couldn’t hold it so he crapped in your living room…

See the parallel’s there?

“But, Murv! What the holy hell does this have to do with pink toenails?” you demand.

That should be obvious from paragraph 10. I have a daughter, and she’s at “that age.” No, not the age where she brings boys home and I sit in the living room cleaning guns. That’s a few years off yet. She’s still a munchkin and she is at that stage where she wants to be a girly girl (which is fine) but she also wants everyone around her to be pretty too.

So…What did this author do with his free time yesterday? After doing the grocery shopping and other exciting crap like that, he let his 7 year old daughter paint his toenails pink (along with a good portion of his toes).

My wife claims there’s no nail polish remover to be had in the house. I’m pretty sure she’s lying. I can tell by the evil grin.

Till the next time…

Murv

No. I have not forgotten how to spell. Yes, I do perpetrate a typo now and again, but don’t we all?

The title of this blog, in point of fact, means something. (No, not like Roy Neary in Close Encounters running about screaming “this means something”…Nor the spoof, Closet Encounters and Roy Dreary…Betcha’ thought I wouldn’t know that one didn’t you? Uh-huh…)

So, anyway, today’s babbling is about vernacular, accents, and “how ta’ tawk rite.” Those of you who are familiar with the Rowan Gant series know that everyone’s favorite 6 foot 6 cop, Ben Storm, has a tendency to clip his speech, and pepper it with expletives. In order to get it across to the reader, some of his dialogue is intentionally misspelled, or words are truncated by omitting letters and adding that wondrous little thing called the apostrophe. This is NOT something I did because I thought it was cool. I did it because the real life cops upon which he was based in part, actually talk that way. The one and only way to make the dialogue read the way it should sound is to truncate and generate my own phonetic spellings.

Now, those of you who have been following the series right up to the cliffhanger ending of All Acts Of Pleasure also know that Rowan is no longer in Saint Louis. No, he hasn’t moved, but he did have a need to go to New Orleans, which is where a modest portion of The End Of Desire actually takes place. This is what brings us to “tawkin’ rite.”

There is a particular bent to the New Orleanian mode of speech that you won’t find anywhere else. Having been there on more than one occasion, I know this to be true. And, no, I am not talking about Justin Wilson. From what I’ve been told, his accent wasn’t really that thick. He was just a hell of a showman. Either way, folks in New Orleans actually do have a particular mode of speech that will not be found anywhere else.

In social anthropology texts that deal with regional dialect and linguistics, the New Orleanian accent is often described as Brooklyn meets the deep south. Additionally you have a blend of French, Jamaican, Italian, Irish, and just about everything else in between making up the dialect.

So, why am I running off at the mouth about this? Like I said, a modest portion of The End Of Desire occurs in New Orleans. Therefore, in order to set the scene and be true to the region, I have had to not only recall my times there and spend time emailing a dear friend who lives in NOLA (Thanks Velvet!), but I have literally had to learn NOLAspeak in order to write the dialogue for a few of the characters.

Let me tell you…It REALLY is almost like learning a second language.

At this stage of the game there are still some tweaks that may be necessary to the incidental dialogue, however, don’t be surprised if The End Of Desire comes equipped with a one page glossary appended right in the front.

(Actually, not really…But, it crossed my mind )

That’s it for now…Time for some sleep, a couple of nightmares, and then back to writing!

MR/Murv