Christopher Moore's Blog

Hey kids. I’m in San Francisco researching the next book, the sequel to Bloodsucking Fiends. Here’s a few pics.

Into the Golden Gate

Hey kids!

As you probably know, The Stupidest Angel is nominated for the best fantasy/horror novel of the year. Please, please, please stop by the following web site and vote. You’ll have to go through about four catagory screens to get to Angel, but I’d sure appreciate it.

http://www.quillsliteracy.org/nominatingvoting.html

And remember, as they say in Chicago, Vote early and often.

Your homework today kids is to cast the following parts for a movie of the Stupidest Angel. Post your answers in the Blog Comments Please. (All or any suggestions are welcome if you don’t want to do the whole cast.)

Theo Crowe

Molly Michon

Gabe Fenton

Valerie Riordan

Dale Pearson

Lena Marquez

Mavis Sand

Tucker Case

Raziel

Here we go. Everything you need to know for anything, in yet another installment of AXE the AUTHORGUY!!!!

Hillary writes:

Hey AG:

A duel to the death. You can have two of the following items with you and nothing else. Which would you choose and why:

a cardboard tube a sponge a spork a skunk an old shoe a slinky or this guy from Willow: ANS: I considered this for a long time, then decided on a spork. I even put it in the new book. The exchange goes thus: “What are you going to do with that spork?” “Well, if we run into any bad guys, I’m going to spork the fuck out of them.”

Jaandlu askes:

AG, Pie or cobbler? Why?

ANS: Pie. Because I like the crust. I grew up with Bisquick cobbler, and while it is certainly a respectable way to defy the laws of physics and pack two pounds of carbs into a one pound package, it always felt like the crust was trying to be a biscuit. Like if it were not constrained by special fruit energy fields, it would mutate into something with ham gravy on it. Pie crust is good though.

Y askes:

Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what’s on the other side?

ANS: I can only think of two, and that line is from one of them. Maybe you need to get a radio or something. J

JennyO Axes: Hey, AG, what do you do once you finish a book? Do you just collapse for a week, have a party, what?

Well, now I’m going on five days since I finished the new one, and the immediate change in my routine was that I went kayaking one day, I went to Home Depot one day and bought concrete, and I’m feeling very guilty about having done nothing today, despite the fact that it’s a gorgeous day here. Generally I come out of a book with a huge to-do list that I have to catch up on. This week I’ve done the twelve hour fast thing for three nights so I could go get my cholesterol tested in the morning, and for one reason or another, it hasn’t worked out. (Once I forgot my papers when I went to the doctor and twice I had a peanut butter toast at midnight and blew the whole thing off.) I know, I should have my doctor check to see if I have a pulse when I get there, just to see if someone this boring gets one. _________________

Freaky Mojo writes:

Hey AG,

Your main female characters always are *very strong women*.

Is this because your main exposure is to these types of women (growing up and/or in current life)?

You prefer strong – self-sufficient women (it appeals to you)?

Or its easier to construct self-sufficient (if not testosterone loaded) strong women from a guy’s perspective than to delve to the bottom-most depths of femininity (which is even a scary place for most women)?

Also, you consistently give them an achillies heel that directly relates to their romantic interest. I like this a lot because it is SO true to reality. Did you do this to prove the point that strong women can be consistently turned to moosh by their love/sexual interests? Or is it because your leading men are often a little goofy, somewhat off-center and need to have a means in which to get the girl? (BTW it is true – we love goofballs)

ANS:

I write women characters who I would like to meet. Generally they’re self-determined and outspoken, but also truly women. They also tend to be smart asses, which is simply fun, and very sexy, I think. The goal in creating characters of that sort is simple – I figure if I like spending time with these quirky, outspoken, self-determined women, so will the reader. Mind you, this goes for female villains as well. You may not want to hang out with them, but they should be fun to watch and listen to.

Like all my characters, my women characters tend to be composites of people I’ve met, or people I’ve read about. If I write a romantic Achilles heal into my gals, it’s because I’ve seen that so many times among real women. (What was the book? Smart Women, Stupid Choices?) Plus, I think that women tend to relate to that part of the characters.

As for what’s easier to construct – that really speaks to the type of book I write. I think it takes a more ponderous, nuance-prone writer to portray the in workings of anyone’s mind, including the female mind. And I can’t claim to understand what it is to be a woman, a mother, a daughter, a wife – any role defined by a woman’s biology and character. I think that it would require a writer who applies the bulk of his or her imagination to the subtleties of personality. I tend to apply my imagination to finding funny stuff, and revealing what character I can through that.

It really comes down to what one likes to write and what one is good at. I tend to be good at writing funny material, so I create characters that can be foils for that skill. I did a reading recently with Sue Miller, who writes very dark books about women and their inner and outer personal conflicts (forgive me if that’s an oversimplification.) I was very impressed with Sue’s ability to put that material on the page and make it viable and entertaining, but I couldn’t spend ten minutes in that headspace. Which is not to say I want my characters to be simple, but that I have more of the action happening externally, as what’s driving the story, rather than the conflict within the character’s heads.

It may also be a Mars/Venus thing. My females tend to be proactive toward their problems, which not only helps move the story, but is the way that guys (like me) look at things.

For example: Woman says. “I feel bad about yesterday.” Nother woman says: “Awe,you poor thing. Tell me about it in mind-numbing detail.” Guy says: “That was yesterday. Now it’s today. Cheer the fuck up. See, all better.”

I think we can see two different ways of addressing a problem. That may be what happens in fiction as well.

Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it. -Truman Capote

I still have no idea what that quote means, but I love it. I finished A Dirty Job tonight about about 7:30.

For those of you playing the home game, it’s 115,000 words, 417 pages, 27 Chapters long. That makes it my second longest book after Lamb, but then, I may cut it quite a bit on editing. We’ll see.

I wrote five thousand words today, which is normally about ten days work for me. So, I’m a little tired. I know tomorrow I have to start going through it, finding broken stuff and fixing it, but right now I feel as if I just finished my ninth book.

So, now, even if I get hit by a bus, you guys will have a new AG book to read in April. As usual, I have no sense of whether it’s any good or even if it works. All I know is that it has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Carry on.

You guys. I’m on the home stretch of the new book, so I know the Blog entries have been few and far between, but I’ll pick up soon.

In the mean time, I’ve noticed that a fair amount of my e-mail has been eaten by my spam filter. While most of this is actually spam, some of the reader mail is being caught too. I really, really try to answer all my mail, so if you didn’t get an answer to a note you wrote me, that’s probably what happened.

I really don’t have time to go through the spam file every day, especially when under a deadline like this (and what’s the point of a spam filter if you’re looking at the crap every day anyway), but someone hipped me to the fact that if you send a note without something in the subject line, it has a much better chance of getting caught. So, just a hint –if you’re sending an e-mail, not just to me, but to a friend or colleague, put something in the subject line, and try to avoid phrases like 20% off or free Vicodin in your subject.

Sorry if I’ve missed your letters. Try again.

Carry on.

Well, my children, it’s been some time since I’ve answered your questions. I may have missed some, and some are just too silly for me to mess with, but here’s the latest batch.

And as an update, I am seventeen days from having to turn the new book in to New York, and I have miles to go before I sleep. So, here we go…

Xanthia writes:

This question has been gnawing on my skull for a while and I was hoping you would answer it. Is the demon Catch an allegory for alcoholism and addiction in general?

For example: when he feeds he increases in size (and strength I suppose) just like booze, do it just once and it’s out of control. And the fact that it always stays with you except that nobody can see it.

ANS: No, I think if Catch is an allegory for anything it is rage. He has his roots in my frustration as a kid being pulled over all the time by cops and having my car searched for no reason. I started to wish I had a big monster that was hiding under the seat, so I could say, “Don’t look under the seat, there’s a big monster under there.”

Addiction is obviously a theme that I explore in my first and other books, but Catch is all about rage and power.

Lescaster writes:

If first novels are autobiographical who were you in your first book?

ANS: Robert, the alcoholic who gets dumped by his wife.

Also from Lescaster:

What kind of car do you drive? Motorcycle?

ANS: I drive a Nissan Pick-up. Not tricked out or anything, it just makes sense for the island. I’ve never had good luck with motorcycles, having laid down the first two or three I ever rode, so I’ve stayed away from them. Also, my father was a highway patrolman, and hearing stories nightly around the dinner table about the parts of motorcyclists he had to help scrape off of guardrails and other vehicles sort of soured me on the whole idea.

Kimcookie writes:

Hey author guy, I tried to use “lamb” for a term paper. it was for my “bible as literature” class, and I really wanted to use “lamb”–my teacher thought it was so cool, too–but comparing the “dumbfucks” sermon to the original is harder than you’d think. did do a book report on “island” in high school, though. so, Q: did you ever write any really weird or bogus school things that you actually pulled off?

ANS: Yes. When I was in my first semester at Brooks Institute of Photography, we were supposed to do a photo essay of “life on a city block”. They assigned us a block of Santa Barbara and gave us a week to shoot it. I ended up with a block that included a strip of highway 101 where a lot of hitchhikers congregated. Long story short, my photos were really weak, but I tied them all together with this essay that used all sorts of terms from cultural anthropology, and made it seem that I was illustrating anthro concepts instead of actually taking crap pictures. It saved my grade. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to bluff my way past the next level of the course.

Also from Kimcookie:

hey author guy, My nosy friends can’t decide which brain-crush makes me the biggest nerd: Jeff corwin, the animal planet guy (not that crocodile douche); the author guy; or my Shakespeare professor. Of course, that’s not even counting Conan O’Brien or Jon Stewart, or Gabe Fenton. so secondary question: is nerd attraction an evolutionary step toward bigger brains, or lower sun and Mountain Dew tolerance?

ANS: Well, from a purely evolutionary standpoint, nerd attraction assures that your offspring will have the mental tools to excel in a modern society. Obviously, the strongest among us is no longer guaranteed success, but the smarter has an awfully good chance. I actually write about this in the new book, but you’ll have to wait for the full thesis. For now, I’d say that what makes you the biggest nerd is your use of the phrase, “not that crocodile douche”, but don’t let that bother you. Girl nerds have their own weapons of mass attraction.

KatarinaNavane axes:

Is The Goo the basis for the Atlantis myth?

ANS: Yes, Plato swiped it from me. That olive-oil smelling bastard!

Burning Stickman asks several questions:

1) I am new to the group, and I smoke while I write. This has proven a problem when I am faced with the fact that I can only post on this site while naked. Not to say that I won’t forbear the ashy crotch, but after the second stack of books caught on fire, and the subsequent trips to the emergency room, I have used a chair. Is this permissible? I will still observe the nudity rule of course.

ANS: Okay, that’s not a question. You have issues with fire control, not nudity. Try putting one of the books on your lap as a shield.

2) Would cats also refer to their owners as ‘food guy’?

ANS: They would if they acknowledged their existence at all. I think my cats view me as, “the guy who is keeping our food from us” any time I am actually not feeding them. I’m fairly convinced that they would murder me in my sleep if they could figure out a modus operandi.

3) Doesn’t Xander get the shit end of the stick most of the time?

ANS: Wrong web page.

Cathy asks:

So, how did the conference go?

ANS: Cathy refers to the Jackson Hole Writer’s Conference. It went well, I think. I wasn’t happy with the keynote I gave, simply because I felt that it was rough. I hadn’t given a speech at a writers conference in about ten years, and I didn’t really have any rhythm to the material. I did a reading at the Jackson Public Library which went very well, I thought – and I usually completely suck at readings. I shared the ticket with Sue Miller, whose books are very serious and explore some very uncomfortable subjects, but that was the most satisfying part of it all – because we were both able to coexist and the audience seemed to enjoy both our work.

I’m not sure how the conference went for the students. I didn’t spend a lot of time with them, and in my off time from speaking and such, I was actually trying to work on the new book.

Blowing up innocent people is wrong.

No exceptions.

So, you guys probably know that I’m going to be teaching at the Jackson Hole Writer’s Conference next week. Tim Sandlin, whose work I very much admire, e-mailed me early in the year and asked me if I wanted to come to Jackson Hole and sit on a panel with him and Nick Hornby on writing funny novels. Absolutely, I said.

Normally I don’t do any speaking gigs when I’m this close to deadline, and especially one that requires fifteen hours of travel each way, but I thought, Sandlin, Hornby, and Moore — I like the sound of that. I like the company.

So, couple of months ago Nick Hornby pulls out and Bill Fitzhugh steps in like a trooper to take his place. I’m thinking, damn, I really wanted to be on that other panel. You see, I’ve been on a panel with Fitzhugh. I consider Fitzhugh a friend, and a damn fine writer, but, you know, been there, done that, and I have a deadline.

Allow me to digress: About five years ago, when Avon was launching it’s pop culture line of books called, Spike, they flew me, Bill, and Neil Gaiman to New York to talk to the sales force and generally be edgy author guys. Well, early on, I e-mailed Bill and said, “Hey, this Gaiman guy is English and good-looking and stuff, and I think that when we get to New York, we should kick his ass.”

Bill, ever the practical guy, wrote back, “Do you know if he’s big?”

I answered, “Fuck him, he’s English, how tough can he be?”

Anyway, as it turned out, Neil was a very nice fellow and we all got along famously, and we had many dinners paid for by our publisher, and Bill and I had beverages at the Algonquin Hotel because we really thought that we, as authors, should. (I got to be Dorothy Parker and Bill got to be E.B. White — pearls before swine, as they say.) And the worst that happened is that when we were filming this TV spot, I kept joking that Neil should sell a full set of Neverware on the Home Shopping Channel, which is a joke I thought so hilarious that I was forced to repeat it many times, as if everyone else were native Chinese speakers and wouldn’t understand my massive wit unless I battered them repeatedly with it.

“No, it’s like Faberware, only, you know, with “Never” in front of it, like in the book. See how I did that? No, let me ‘splain how funny that is.”

Anyway, so Bill is a great guy, but, you know, I was disappointed about the Hornby cancellation. ( Now Horby AND Fitzhugh, well, that would be a party, since those guys are both pop music fanatics. They could just do an improptu Beatles Lyrics Poetry Slam, yo. But alas, I digress, once again.)

So, Ken, the web guy, was going to a signing in Boulder the other night for Hornby’s new book, and he e-mailed me and asked me if I wanted him to get me a signed copy. So I’m all, sure, I’ll pay you, but mention to Nick that I was disappointed that I won’t get to teach with him, or something like that.

So I get the book today, and the inscription is:

Chris: Sorry, you’ll learn more with me not there. Nick Hornby

And you can see where Ken made him pencil in “and teach” later on. So essentially, the guy has no idea who I am.

So that’s okay. I’m okay with that. I was going to talk in Jackson about how you have to go to the page with a sense of humility — and I’m feeling, oh, humiliated, so I’ll see how that works into the lecture.

But then, I open my e-mail a few minutes after reading the inscription, and I get this. (And this is the whole thing, nothing added or deleted.)

“I have written a 25 page outline for a new sci-fi thriller and was wondering if you would be interested in writing the book.”

That from a guy named Frank. (Last name withheld to keep two of us from being humiliated.)

Yeah baby. Takin’ that humility to the page in the morning, I am. Oh yes, I will tap into my Buddha nature and listen to the sound of the universe, which is apparently saying, “Sit the fuck down, butt nugget.”

So you want to be a famous author, huh?

Thank you, drive thru please.

Jeff from England writes with several questions:

1. How long is a piece of string? Ans: Yes

2. What’s that got to do with the price of eggs? Ans: the chicken

3. How come no one has invented windows that automatically close when it rains so that your bed sheets don’t get soaked? (not that I’m speaking from personal experience or anything ) Ans: Because they don’t care. They just don’t care. The bastards!

4. Why does everything suck? ANS:Everything doesn’t. Just 90% of everything. The ten percent that doesn’t is for contrast.

5. Have you ever seen the BBC tv series of THGTTG and if so, what did you think? ANS:Yes. I liked it. Especially the Vogons.

6. Ever seen The Life Aquatic? Ever get it?

ANS:Yes. No. _________________

DanaMichelle axes:

How do you get a twelve year old boy into a military boarding school without having to fork over fifty grand?

Ans: I don’t know anything about military school, but there’s an opening at Neverland Ranch and he can wear a Captain Eeo uniform and blow Bubbles, so it will be kind of military.

Think Insane writes:

Will we ever see Detective Rivera return to the written page?

ANS: I wrote an Inspector Rivera scene today. He has a pretty good part in A Dirty Job (the new one) and also in You Suck: A Love Story, the BS Fiends sequel that I’ll write next.

KatarinaNavane writes:

One more question–I get to go to Hawaii this summer (Kauai (sp?)) for two weeks in august and was inquiring…well in general. What do I have to look forward to? What can you tell me that a guidebook can’t (or won’t)?

ANS:August is the time to be in the water on the North Shore. It’s calm and clear and probably won’t kill you. Go snorkeling at Tunnels Beach. Take a catamaran trip to the Napali Coast. You’ll be forever grateful that you did. It’s amazingly beautiful both in and out of the water. Get The Ultimate Kauai Guide. It’s a blue book, about $14.00, and has every beach, restaurant, and activity on the island. The guy is a little cautious about how dangerous the beaches are, but he has to be, he doesn’t know when you are going to be in the water. In August, it’s small surf, clear water — good for diving and boating activities. Still, be careful. We kill a handful of Mid-westerners every year who get off the plane, run to the water, and drown or get dashed to death on the rocks. There are no velvet ropes to keep you from getting into trouble. If there’s no one in the water, there just might be a reason. Be very respectful of any area where surf meets rocks. That’s where we usually lose people.

Catch42 writes:

Hey Author Guy, How’s the new book coming along? Can you share any little tidbits with us, your devoted fans? I hope it’s not all “TOP SECRET”! I know that it’s supposed to be about DEATH, but other than that…nada. [In my best Dr. Evil voice…’ target=’_blank’> “So can ya throw us a friggin’ bone, here?” I’m frothing at the mouth with anticipation!

Ans: Here’s a scene, not that funny, but I think you guys who know my books might like it:

That evening Charlie was watching the store, wondering why he had lied to his employees, when he saw a flash of red passing by the front window. A second later, a strikingly pale redhead came through the door. She was wearing a short, black cocktail dress and black come-fuck-me pumps. She strode up the aisle like she was auditioning for a music video . Her hair cascaded in long curls around her shoulders and down her back like a great auburn veil. Her eyes were emerald green, and when she saw him looking, she smiled, and stopped, some ten feet away. Charlie felt an almost painful jolt that seemed to emanate somewhere in the area of his groin, and he after a second he recognized it as an autonomic lust response. He hadn’t felt anything like that since Rachel had passed, and he felt vaguely ashamed. She was examining him, looking him over like you would examine a used car. He was sure he must be blushing. “Hi,” Charlie said. “Can I help you.” The redhead smiled again, just a little, and reached into a small black bag that he hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying before. “I found this,” she said, holding up a silver cigarette case. Something you didn’t see very often any more. It was glowing, pulsating like the objects in the back room. “I was in the neighborhood and something made me think that this belonged here.” She moved to the counter opposite Charlie and set the cigarette case down in front of him. Charlie could barely move. He stared at her, not even conscious that to avoid her eyes he was staring at her cleavage, and she appeared to be looking around his head and shoulders as if following the path of insects that were buzzing him. “Touch me,” she said. “Huh?” He looked up, saw she was serious. She held out her hand, her nails were manicured and painted the same deep red as her lipstick. He took her hand. As soon as she touched him she pulled away. “You’re warm.” “Thanks.” In that moment he realized that she wasn’t. Her fingers had been ice cold. “Then you’re not one of us?” The tried to think of what “us” might be? Irish? Low blood pressure? Nymphomaniac? Why did he even think that. “Us? What do you mean, us?” She backed away a step. “No. You don’t just take the weak and the sick, do you? You take anyone.” “Take? What do you mean, take?” “You don’t even know, do you?” “Know what?” Charlie was getting very nervous. As a Beta male it was difficult enough to function under the attention of a beautiful woman, but she was just being spooky. “Wait. Can you see this thing glowing?” He held the cigarette case. “No glow. It just felt like it belonged here” She said. “What’s your name?” “Charlie Asher. This is Asher’s.” “Well Charlie, you seem like a nice guy, and I don’t know exactly what you are, and it doesn’t seem like you know. You don’t do you?” “I’ve been going through some changes,” Charlie said, wondering why he felt compelled to share this at all. The redhead nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “Okay. I know what it’s like to, uh, to find yourself thrown into a situation where forces beyond your control are changing you into someone, something you don’t have an owners manual for. I understand what it is to not know. But someone, somewhere, does know. Someone can tell you what’s going on. “What are you talking about?” But he knew what she was talking about. What he didn’t know was how she could possibly know. “You make people die, don’t you Charlie?” She said it like she had worked up the courage to tell him that he had some spinach in his teeth. More of a service to him, than an accusation. “How do you –?” How did she— “Because it’s what I do. Not like you, but it’s what I do. Find them, Charlie. Backtrack and find whoever was there when your world changed.” Charlie looked at her, then at the cigarette case, then at the redhead again, who was no longer smiling, but was stepping backward toward the door. Trying to touch normal, he focused on the cigarette case and said, “I suppose I can do an appraisal—“ He heard the bell over the door ring and when he looked up she was gone. He didn’t see her moving by the windows on either side of the door, she was just gone. He ran to the front of the store and out the door onto the sidewalk. The Mason St. cable car was just topping the hill up by California street and he could hear the bell, there was a thin fog coming up from the bay that threw colorful halos around the neon signs of the other businesses, but there was no striking redhead on the street. He went to the corner and looked down Vallejo, but again no redhead, just the Emperor, sitting against the building with his dogs. “Good evening, Charlie.” “Your Majesty, did you see a redhead go by here just now?” “Oh yes. Spoke to her. I’m not sure you have a chance there, Charlie, I believe she’s spoken for. And she did warn me to stay away from you.” “Why? Did she say why?” “She said that you were Death.” “I am?” Charlie said. “Am I?” His breath caught in his throat as the day played back in his head. “What if I am?” “You know, son,” the Emperor said, “I am not an expert in dealing with the fairer sex, but you might want to save that bit of information until the third date or so, after they’ve gotten to know you a little.“