BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…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

…also known as, “Why don’t you…”

It seems that when I get questions from folks, that is usually the qualifying preamble.

“Why don’t you write Zombie books?”

“Why don’t you do book signings in Little Chicken Neck, Arkansas?”

“Why don’t you give Rowan a break?”

"Why don't you leave your wife and come shack up with me?"

Yeah… Sometimes some fairly weird stuff, and yes, I have actually been asked that “shack up with me” question, among various others I’m too polite to mention here. I’m flattered, but let’s get something straight – not gonna happen.

However, the “Why Doan-Choo” of late has actually come from colleagues in the field of book authorin’ as well as quite a few aspiring writers, and it has to do with Brainpan Leakage. Not actually grey matter running out your ears or anything, I mean Brainpan Leakage as in this blog. Their question, while taking many forms – simplistic to complex – always boils down to the following:

“Why don’t you write about writing in your blog?”

In answer to that I normally point toward the entry “I Can Haz Blog?” However, since that is way back in the archives and such, I figure I’ll post another, far more vitriolic missive about this subject.

So, here’s the answer – As a rule, writers who blog about writing tend to piss me off. (Just watch, one of the aforementioned offenders will see this and yell at me about ending that sentence with a preposition.)

Now, let me clarify this a bit. Not ALL writers who blog about writing piss me off, just a good portion of them. There are a few gems out there who actually give some thought to the process and are simply answering questions about how THEY go about writing a story. Those types of blogs are interesting. That type of advice is worthwhile.

However, the vast majority of “blogs about writing” – that I have read – tend more toward:

“Hi, I’m [insert name here]. I (pick one) –

1. Has jest have my first book publishified.
2. Reeded a book won tyme.
3. Write ingredient copy for Campbell’s soup labels.
4. Can burp the alphabet while drunk.
5. What’z uh buhk?

– and because this makes me an expert in the field I am going to tell you exactly how it is done. I am correct, you are incorrect, and if you don’t write exactly the way I tell you to in my blog, then you are a big moron who doesn’t deserve to live.”

Yeah… Okay… So I’ll admit to exaggerating things there, but I think you all realize I did so to make my point. The basic gist of the above is that there are far too many self-important, pseudo-pedantic blogs out there with folks stating opinion as fact, many of whom don’t actually have the necessary qualifications to do so. And this goes for plenty of subjects besides just writing…

However, as the subject of writing goes many folks make an assumption that having a book published automatically grants them expert credentials. Well I’ve had 9 books published, several of which have won awards and all of which have spent time on various best seller lists.  I also have a few short stories out there and contracts to write a few more books, and guess what? I am NOT qualified to tell you how to write.

The simple fact is that nobody is, plain and simple…

Unfortunately – and this goes back to my entry “I Can Haz Blog” as well – there are also too many “how to” sites telling new and aspiring authors that in order to create a web presence and get their names known they need to blog about writing and position themselves as experts.

As Felicity O’Brien would say, “Cac capaill!” (for the Gaelic challenged – Horseshit!)

However, since I keep getting the question I am going to cave for a moment and give folks what they want. So here you go. This is my blog about writing,  and my personal, foolproof, guaranteed 10 point process for authoring… And dare I say this is the definitive blog about writing… (at least as far as any you are ever going to get from me.)

And so, here they are in no particular order:

1. If you want to write, then write. Don’t talk about it, DO it.
2. The only thing you can be taught is the mechanics and you should have picked these up sometime around your first English Composition class. In fact, per a dear friend of mine who is an English teacher you should have picked them up by the 4th grade. Ability and talent come from within, not from a book, teacher, or unsolicited advice.
3. You can ask advice about nuances of writing, but that’s about it. Ability and talent do not come from solicited advice either. Don’t ask someone to teach you to be a writer. That movie with Sean Connery and the kid? Didn’t really happen. Get over it. But always remember, just like the Baz Luhrmann song says: Be careful whose advice you take. And to add my two cents, it’s just advice, not gospel.
4. You are going to forget shit from English Comp. We all do unless we teach it for a living, and even then I’ve personally caught teachers making mistakes. Your best bet is to keep a couple of grammar reference books handy, but you should use them just like the Pirates use their rules – as a set of guidelines. Don’t be afraid to paint outside the lines, just don’t spill any and make a mess.
5. Use a proofing sheet. It saves your editor headaches and if you save your editor headaches you save yourself heartaches. You are going to have a love/hate relationship with your editor, so do as much as you can to skew the scales toward the love. It’s better for both of you and you’ll save on antacids.
6. When and if you have some success at this game, don’t take yourself too seriously, or believe your own press.  If you do, you are in for a big surprise. Your shit stinks just like everyone else’s, and someone is bound to tell you so. The farther you have to fall, the worse your ego is going to get bruised on impact.
7. Read Strunk and White’s Elements of Style and The Chicago Manual of Style. Then use them to hold up an uneven table leg and never touch them again. Again, they are guidelines, but they are not the definitive word on how to write. Ask any linguist – our language and its usage are evolving on a daily basis.
8. Ignore anyone who tells you that to be a writer you must follow the rules set forth by Elmore Leonard. If they persist in following you around and spouting this nonsense, hit them over the head with a cast iron skillet and knock some sense into them. Even if it doesn’t knock sense into them they will probably be quiet for a good while afterward.
9. Observe life around you and soak it up like a sponge. When creating a character look inward and draw from personal experience. That is what will make the character believable and real.
10. Marry someone with a trust fund or a good job who doesn’t mind supporting your ass. Not all of us get to be a Laurell K. Hamilton, James Patterson,  John Grisham, et. al.

Here’s the thing – Writing, just like painting, is an art form. It is open to interpretation. That’s just how it is.

And, lest you think I have now crossed over to the dark side of the pseudo-pedantic, self-important “how to write” bloggers I so disdain, let me say just one more thing…

The above is my opinion and nothing more than my opinion on the subject of the authoring biz. It is how I write and how I view writing. It may or may not work for you, so feel free to take it or leave it.

Okay, enough with all this serious crap… I’ll try to make sure my next blog returns to the realm of bizarre humor. That’s way more fun…

Oh, and by the way. NO. I am NOT going to leave my wife and shack up with you.

More to come…

Murv