Christopher Moore's Blog

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.“

It’s that time again, when all your questions are answered by a real professional, Author guy who has no practical life experience and instead sits in a office all day making little black marks appear on a screen…

Katarina Navane Writes with several questions.

1. how much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?

Answer: Of course it depends on the size of the wood chuck, but I think given and average size woodchuck, he or she should be able to chuck about a thirty cubic feet of wood per hour.

2. Should i (try to) read Don Quixote?

Answer: Yes. You should definitely try to read Don Quixote, but if you find you can’t make it through, grab one of the Norton Anthologies of World Literature from a used bookstore (or used online book store) and read the condensed version there. It’s a cultural literacy issue, KN. You need to know about storming the windmills, the word Quixotic (and picaresque), Sancho Panza — it goes on. You will encounter references to Don Quixote throughout your life, having read the book will give meaning to the references and allow you to use such allusions and references with authority, to the complete embarrassment and ownage of lesser beings. That said, it’s a fucking huge book, so the condensed version as well as some analysis may serve you just as well.

One side note: In Bloodsucking Fiends Tommy names his Volvo Rosenante, which is the name of Don Quixote’s horse, which translates to “Hack”. A lot of layers of literary allusion to go through to get to that little bit of irony (since Tommy wants to be a great writer — hack — get it?). Not that it takes anything away from the story if you didn’t know that, but still, it kind of reinforces the point that you should read D.Q. (No not Dairy Queen, you git. Don’t make me come over there.)

3. Should a wood chuck try to read Don Quixote?

Answer: No. Rodents and epic novels do not mix.

4. What are you afraid of? And don’t say something rational like “Time” I want to know the irrational ones, like “cucumbers”

Answer: Well, I was fine, but now that you mention it, cucumbers are kind of scary in the wrong context. I’m also very superstitious about the thirteenth of the month and Friday the 13th in particular. Used to be that I wouldn’t fly on the 13th, but it got where I couldn’t indulge that particular superstition and go on book tour, so I let it go. It comes not from some arbitrary fear, but from the fact that I totaled two cars on two Friday the 13ths. No kidding.

5. what is your favorite hiccup remedy? I’ve had the hiccups (on and off) for five days now. They’ll go away, and then come back an hour or so later. giant hiccups that make my stomach hurt, too. It sucks.

Answer: Gotta go with holding the breath. And you have to keep trying it. It works as well as anything else, which seems to be not at all.

Fan Girl Writes: Hey Author Guy,

What does the “YKK” displayed in zippers stand for?

Answer: It stands for the YKK fastener company.

This is from their web site: YKK was founded in Japan as a zipper manufacturing company in 1934 by Tadao (pronounced in English as Tah-dah-o) Yoshida. In the early years, Mr. Yoshida’s company carried his name; it was called Yoshida Kogyo Kabushikikaisha–or “YKK” for short. (That long Japanese name translates roughly into English as “Yoshida Company Limited.”) Over the years, the letters “YKK” were stamped onto the zippers’ pull tabs, and thus YKK became known as the Company’s trademark. Today, the name of the brand is also the name of the company: YKK Corporation.

MooreFanInKY writes: Dear AG,

Do you read any comic books? Also would you ever want to adapt any of your novels to comic books?

Answer: I don’t read comic books, although I did when I was a little kid. I liked Sgt. Rock and Jeb Stuart and the Haunted Tank, as well as Spiderman. I sort of switched over to Mad magazine about fifth grade and never went back to comics except to visit. I’d love to see my stuff done in graphic novel form, however.

Jaandlu writers:

Hey Chris, Why does Catfish play through a Marshall? A Fender Prinston or Twin seems more classic blues man to me. But I assume you have a very good reason for using the Marshall. Maybe a hero of yours played through one? And what model Marshall? Finally do I have OCD because that bugs me? Alot. I’ll get over it but I think it’s going to take alot of therapy. I seriously need to hear the back story on Catfishs’ Amp.

Answer: Two words: Jimi Hendrix. I was thinking loud, not authentic. You’re right, a Fender Twin would be more authentic to a Blues man. Give me credit for keeping the National Steel Guitar. My editor kept wanting me to cut it to steel guitar because she thought I was advertising for National. I had to explain a couple of times why those two things aren’t the same.

Stackyroo42 writes in with several questions:

Why do girls always drop their friends when they get a boyfriend?

Answer: Because they are useless tramps with no self-worth outside their value to a man. Or, if not, that’s how they’re behaving, which is sort of the same thing, isn’t it.

How much should I be feeding my 9 month old Golden Retriever/Newfoundland cross per day?

Answer: Four cups of puppy chow or one medium Dominos sausage pizza.

Who coined the phrase “The birds and the bees” and why?

Answer: Cole Porter, in the song, Let’s Fall in Love. “Birds do it. Bees do it. Even monkey’s in the trees, do it. Let’s do it. Let’s fling some poo.”

How should I go about getting rid of snails in my garden?

Answer: I like using a shotgun, but that’s just me. But only a .410. A twelve gauge is overkill and unsporting for snails.

Do you like Led Zeppelin?

Answer: I like the song Boogie with Stu. Other than that, I find them kind of irritating.

Jilly axes:

Which one of us would you say has to be the most annoying person on the board, outside of Kitty and myself, of course? Who is the hottest (remember this is a trick question), who is the smartest and who is the most congenial?

Answer: Think Insane

Plastique Jesus writes: American Idol. Why? Hick hop (oohhh…believe me, it’s coming). Why? Steve Martin as Pink Panther. Why? Why do we swallow all of this bad art? I’m beginning to sympathize with Osama, and hate our “freedom”.

Answer: I’ve never watched American Idol or any of the other “we pluck you from the crowd and make you a celebrity” shows. Put it this way, if there was no demand, there would be no supply. Just like George Bush, the War in Iraq, and Hope and Faith: If the American public wasn’t buying crap, no one would be selling.

Hick hop? Of course. Jeff Foxworthy is now touted as the most successful comedian of all time. He’s sold more comedy albums than anyone – by giving Rednecks a set of parameters to define themselves — and let’s not forget that Carlin and Cosby have been doing it for forty years. (Don’t get me wrong, I think Foxworthy is a talented and funny guy, but damn – the most successful comedian of all time?!)

Nascar, Toby Keith, and again, George Bush: the majority of the American Public LIKES the idea of being unsophisticated, nationalistic, violent, and just plain stupid. They pride themselves on the ability to be able to pair-up and breed, as if it were some sacred rite even when it can be performed in a pick-up truck, a petri dish, or by rodents. Of course they would co-opt the artifices of hip-hop, and how convenient that much of the content is already, ignorant, violent, and misogynist — now all they need to do is add Jesus and the Flag and we got ourselves a party. “Back up that badonkadonk for Jayzus, biatch.”

Steve Martin as Clousseau? The guy does great physical comedy, and he’s the only big name comedian that does. Martin Short would probably be brilliant, but I don’t see him carrying a movie of that ambition. (That’s not me talking, that’s the way they think in Hollywood.) Roberto Bennini tried it, but he was hurt by the fact that his outrageously accented English is actually outrageously accented English.

Goudron writes:

So what’s the homeless scene really like in Hawaii?

Answer: Well, on my island, it’s very poor Filipino people living in corrugated metal shacks, cooking on open fires, and living off odd jobs and fruit they find in the jungle — or, it’s white Rasta people camping at the beach until they are told to move on, then sleeping in their cars until they can find another place to pitch a tent. Honolulu is a city, however, and it’s different there.

There are a lot of working homeless who live on the beach until they can put the money together for a deposit on an apartment or find some roommates. There’s a huge ebb and flow of young people coming and going from the islands all the time, trying to figure a way to just surf and live the good life. Many of them will spend some of their time here living outdoors. The truth of it is, though, it sucks to be poor anywhere. It just might not suck as much that it’s not cold.

Dan writes:

Dear Mr. Author Guy, What mode of transportation do you prefer? Planes, trains, automobile, bike, foot, etc.

Answer: Sort of depends on how far I’m going. Planes if I have some leg room and a long way to go. Trains if I’m just going a few hundred miles and I want to get some work done. Car if I’m around home. And on foot, bus, or street car if I’m in a city. (I don’t like the subway. I’ve never gotten used to it.)

Question: Also, is there any moment too late to say you’re sorry, or a moment in time that too late to reconnect? (I’ve done a fair amount of screwing up in my life – whoopsie)?

Answer: It’s never too late to say your sorry if you don’t mind your apology not being accepted, and if you don’t’ expect absolution. Thus, it can very well be too late to reconnect. You apologize because you have wronged people and they need to hear it, but more often you apologize because you need to perform and act of contrition. No growth can occur without it. You doom yourself to remain the same dumbass that you’ve always been. Resistance to apology is something that fathers seem to pass on to sons, as if apologizing is some sort of failure, as if admitting that you whave been wrong is a sign of weakness. This is a curse on our sons, not a blessing. It results in hard-headed, narrow-minded, self-centered, dishonest, frustrated, unhappy men who carry on with nothing to value in themselves except a stubborn consistency and a bullying nature.

Finally, what is your preferred drink? Answer: I like coffee.

Here’s the toad on my deck eating the cat’s food.

“Hey, do something, you’ve got thumbs!”

Emergency Dance Party Used to break an akward moment, or just in times of boredom. One simply yells emergency dance party and counts down from five and starts beat boxing. Everyone there starts dancing for a period of about ten-thirty seconds.

So then i whipped it out… cough…um, emergency dance party! Five, four, three, two, one!

The visual of someone doing this completely cracked me up, so I had to share with you guys. If you don’t already, you should subscribe to Urban Dictionary’s Word of the Day. I’ve already used some of their selections in the new book. Like toast whore (one who has an obsessive love of toast), skank bank (a bar where men go because the women there are such sluts), Galactic Toss Monkey (professional novelist) and I’m still looking to plug in the phrase: sweet zombie Jesus on a pogo stick. It’ll happen.

Hey kids, I don’t normally use the blog for this kind of announcement, but this is something we all can use and I wanted it where it would get the most eyes.

Google toolbar will add a spell checker to your browser for free. I’ve used Google tool bar for a long time, and it basically just puts a little Google window up in the upper left of your browser so you can search no matter what you have open, but now it has this new Spell Check feature, as well as dictionary and thesaurus functions.

You can download it here:

http://toolbar.google.com/?promo=mor-tb-en

It takes about a minute to install. I will miss making jokes about “labotomies” and such, but since I’m one of the worst spellers on the board, I suppose it’s a fair trade off.

Another fascinating exchange with the guy who is too exhausted to come up with ideas for the blog. You’re questions answered…

Lib axes:

Dear AG, What is the strangest thing that has happened to you while you were on a book tour?

Dear Lib: Showing up at a book store in Chicago to sign stock and having them card me before bringing the books out to have me sign them. The fact that they had asked me to be there, and that my media escort had called ahead to tell them I was coming, and that they had a hundred or so books with my picture on it notwithstanding, it was really strange. (I left without signing the books. We’d gone way out of our way to get there and were going to be late for a signing because of it and I was pissed.)

I’ve had a lot of funny stuff happen, like a whole group of women showing up with oven mitts taped on their hands(after a scene in Lust Lizard), or people having me sign really strange stuff (jeans, shirts, oven mitts, Prozac prescription bottles, copies of Faulkner novels, various body parts, a pastrami on rye sandwich — stuff like that.)

Bellasong writes: hi just curious as to what do you do when you’re in a funk and nothing seems to get you out of it, not even your favorite ice cream, not the Yankees winning or even Dave Chappell repeats?

ANS: For me, cheesy horror movies in mass quantity until I fall asleep helps, but as reluctant as I am to admit it, sometimes going to the water will do it. Being in and around the ocean gives you perspective, and reminds you just how insignificant you are. Why that makes me feel better, I have no idea, but it does. That said, I almost always resist the idea that it will work, and instead I brood a lot. (If I’d been born twenty years later I’d definitely have been a Goth or emo kid. )

Mr. Kismet axes:

If a man from, say, 1870 time-traveled to our present, what do you think would kill him first? a) the pollution in our air and water? b) the additives and preservatives in our food? c) the massive assault of information and mass media? d) Other.

Esteemed Kismet: I’d have to go with other, and I’d guess that it would be microbial. The reason is, that while this guy would have immunity to a lot of stuff that would kill us ( just by virtue of the less that exemplar sanitation of his time), he wouldn’t have immunity to many of the bugs that our systems take for granted. Who knows, he might have a bite of yogurt and keel over from active culture. The other things you mentioned, it would seem to me, wouldn’t necessarily kill him, but they’d definitely stress the bejeezus out of him, and that usually compromises the immune system. That’s if he’s a white guy. If he’s a Black or Hispanic he’d probably be killed in Iraq by a car bomb.

dredygrrl writes:

So, my friend has this theory that when you get a song stuck in your head from out of nowhere, chances are someone earlier was in that spot singing that song with either such passion and exuberance or such disgust that they left the energy of that moment wherever it happened. You happened to be walking along and you walk into that spot where the person singing was earlier and the energy transferred into you. She also believes when people dream their souls intermingle and that’s where people get that weird deja vu feeling from someone they’ve never met before, because they’ve already met in the dreamworld. Think there’s any validity to either or these?

The Author Guy responds: These are the kind of theories that are generated when people sit around getting baked, and aren’t really concerned with applying their thoughts to reality, but more on sailing away on an amusing notion. I am not one to sink anyone’s ship to the promised land, so sail on. Interesting notions, unprovable, and irrelevant, but fun. One could write some fun stories based on those theories, particularly the latter one.

That said, there’s a good chance that your friend is a complete loon.

Conrad7784 writes:

Author Guy, What is the deal with nougat? It is different in every candy bar it’s in? Where does nougat come from? What does it have to do with the three musketeers? This has puzzled me for years. thanks

Answer: Because the mysterious woman with whom I live is a first class pastry chef in her spare time, I actually know what nougat is. Technically, it’s sugar, butter, egg whites, and nuts. It came from Italy originally. (And the Three Musketeers are French, so what’s up with that?) You’re right, though, it differs from candy bar to candy bar, and what one calls nougat, another calls caramel. (Carmel is just sugar and butter — you can add some cream if you want, and you can get a pretty nougatty texture to it. ) It’s sort of amazing that it can be such simple ingredients and still come out with so many textures, but at least it’s not totally disgusting, like finding out that Oreo cream filling is basically lard and confectioners sugar. For my money, the beige stuff in a Snickers is the real deal in nougat. That’s why there are always people eating Snickers in my books.

If I was forced on live on one food group I think I would choose the pizza/nougat group.

SGT Steve Writes:

So AG – What’s the best book-to-movie transition you’ve seen, and what was it that made it work so well?

Dear Sgt: To Kill a Mockingbird. I love the book and I love the movie, and I can’t separate the images of one from images of the other. It was masterfully adapted, directed, and played. I’m sure I saw the movie before I read the book, so that may have set it in my mind.

I actually liked Bladerunner and The Firm better in movie form than in book form, and back in the day, I liked Where Eagles Dare and The Guns of Navarone better in movie form as well.

Space 93 writes:

Dear AG:

Who is the most annoying person on television, fictional or non-? Must be on television within a Week of your answer.

Dear Space: Non-fictional: Sean Hannity Fictional: Britney Spears

Also: Finally, what DVD do you think should be in every DVD collection on Earth?

And the AG responds: Ideally, the ten hour HBO mini-series Lamb, or as we like to call it, Christopher Moore’s, Lamb. But since that’s sort of a long shot …

Amelie’

Just because it’s so pretty to look at and seems universal in it’s ability to make people smile.

Until next time. Adieu.

Got my hair cut today.

The woman said, “I don’t want to use the clippers because it might make it too short. I’ll used the shears to take off your wootas.

I said, “What’s a woota?”

She said,” You know, when your hair goes, wooota thisaway, and wooota thataway.”

Later she said, “Now I need to clip your ta-nangs.”

Charlee said, “What’s a ta-nang?”

The lady said, “Dat’s a woota what go da udder way.”

I added “wootas” and “tanangs” to Urbandictionary.com. 🙂

Answers, answers, answers…

Kathi Sircy writes: It happens to be “raining cats and dogs” here at the moment. Why is it that this is how we express it? Why not “it’s raining macaroni and cheese” or something else?

Dear Kathy: Because it does rain macaroni and cheese in the Italian alps (no, it does, I knew someone who went there once, that’s why raincoats are yellow, so they don’t show the cheese stains, I swear to fucking God, that’s the truth), so it is actually a description of a weather event, not a metaphor.

The expression “raining cats and dogs” comes from the middle ages, from a time when people would sling their slop buckets and piss pots out the window into the street. Often, a pedestrian walking along in the morning would be in danger of being hit by the jetsam from the apartment dwellers above, and it became custom to carry an umbrella even in the best of weather. When the “chunks” of the effluvia thumped on their umbrella an English gentleman might be heard commenting: “I say, the precipitation seems a bit particular in nature this morning, it must be raining cats and dogs.” To which another passer-by, hit by one of the many dead whores who had died during the night and was flung out the window, might say, “Maybe on that side of the street it is, but it’s hailing fucking rhinoceroses over here.

Fangirl writes: I live in New Jersey and it is rather expensive to live here but I hear that is is even more expensive to live in Hawaii. Is this true?

Dear Fangirl:

Okay, I know why it’s expensive to live in Hawaii, and I know why people pay so much to live here. What’s the story with New Jersey? Is it just the high cost of mob protection? (You realize that the New Jersey state youth anthem, Born to Run, is about leaving the state, right?)

DanSRose writes.

1- Why is Nascar considered a sport and why is it so popular?

Because the audience can relate to it. While most of us will never throw a ninty-five mile an hour fastball, or return a punt for a hundred yard touchdown, there’s a good bet that even with a bag full of cheetos in our lap and a beverage the size of a wastebasket in the cup holder, we can still make a left turn. Remember that stock car racing evolved from moonshine runners who would drive their hooch all over the South in fast, “stock”-looking cars, that were highly modified so they could outrun the local police. So basically, you have a sport that was invented by, and for, criminally drunk people. That’s the appeal.

2- What is your view on using medications for mental illnesses versus traditional “lie on the couch and talk about about mother” therapy?

“Mental illness” encompasses a wide spectrum of conditions. Some, like schizophrenia are never going to respond to therapy, while depression can sometimes be overcome by talk therapy or a simple change of circumstances. For conditions of that sort, medication can help someone become receptive to therapy. While I’ve been “clinically depressed” myself in the past, and I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to take the drugs if I recognized the need, I think that depression is often a symptom of changes that one actually needs to make, and just taking the drugs may mask something that could be overcome with some analysis and determination. (I didn’t see a doctor of any kind when I went through my “dark period”, but I did end up using A.A. as a kind of therapy, and I also threw myself into my work, which at the time, wasn’t as isolating as my work is as a writer, so I was out there interacting with people all day, every day. )

I think the worst part of drug therapy is that most therapeutic psychotropic drugs can’t really be used recreationally. I mean, take a whole handful of Prozac – no buzz. You might not want to have sex for a year or so, but you feel okay about it. Therefore no matter how many of your friends are on anti-depressants, the only way it benefits you is to save you from those late-night suicide calls where their like, “I can’t go on,” and you’re thinking, “Shit, there is nothing in the fridge.” But you go, “No, that wasn’t a yawn. That was a gasp. Did you already take the painkillers? All of them. What were they? Percoset? Sweet. So there’s none left at all, right?”

That said, I think it’s good therapy to lie on the couch and talk about someone else’s mother. Like:

Doc, you’re momma so ugly that they push her face into dough to make gorilla cookies. But not only that, your momma so nasty that when I called her for phone sex I got an ear infection. In addition, your momma’s glasses so thick, when she look at a map she see people waving back.

Well, I, for one, feel better. Keep the drugs.

An unidentified guest axes:

1. Do vegetarians eat animal crackers? I say yes.

Me too. And they should bite their heads off first and snarl. It will be good for them.

2. Is it proper etiquette to have songs by Air Supply and by Slipknot in the iTunes/iPod playlist, or is this just socially unacceptible?

I think that anything that kind of fucks with people but doesn’t really hurt them, should be considered proper etiquette.

Lauren writes: Once upon a time, I learned never to order New England Clam Chowder outside of New England. You’re pretty well-traveled – can you think of any other “regional dishes” that should never, ever be ordered outside of their region? Or, conversely, is there any place that does a dish better than its origin.

That’s sort a specific question. I know that there are at least a dozen cities in the US who claim to have the best bar-be-que, and I’ve eaten bar-be-que at most of them and you know what? It always tastes like meat cooked over fire. Don’t get me wrong, I like meat cooked over fire, but if you’re really trying, and you fuck that up, you need to get out of the business. News flash: Everyone has good bar-b-que. Also, the beans and coleslaw are the same. (Watch, a dozen people will write and go, Nu-uh, Kansas City, Nu-uh, Austin, Nu-uh Santa Maria. Pinto beans and cabbage are pinto beans and cabbage.

Okay, one thing I have noticed is you probably should eat what they catch, farm, or make in the area that you’re in. Don’t try to carry your own food quirks with you. (Remember John Kerry being accused of being an out-of-touch elitist because he ordered a green tea in Ohio?) I went to Montana with a film director once, scouting locations for a Coyote Blue movie that never got made, and he kept trying to eat like he did in Los Angeles. Every time he’d order something grilled, they would fry it on the grill. And he’d be disappointed. (Not mad. He’s Canadian so he ate it, he was just politely unhappy about it.) Every time he ordered a green salad he was disappointed because it was iceberg lettuce with a carrot grated over it (not arugala pups and romaine fetuses like back home). All the while I’m eating burgers and fries, steak and baked potato, and loving life.(Because they make beef in Montana, and Idaho, where the potato was invented, is right next to Montana.) The only time he was truly happy with a meal was when he ordered buffalo in South Dakota. Those fucking Indians know how to cook a buffalo.

By the same token, when I was in Yap I had dinner with some people who had fresh ahi tuna that had been caught a couple of hours before, and cooked about six ways. They were served a tray the size of a garbage can lid piled high with fresh tuna, while I, being a huge dumbass, and having been in the islands too long, was missing food from home, so I declined the fresh fish and ordered pizza. Until that time, I thought pizza was the one dish that couldn’t be made bad. It was like the incorruptible monk of foods. Even bad pizza was pretty good. I was wrong. The Yapese can mess up some pizza. They probably know thirty ways to cook manta ray, but stay away from things made of wheat, cheese, and tomatoes, none of which are farmed anywhere near Yap. (I’m talking a Frisbee with a slice of velveeta slung over it and a stick of pepperoni dragged across the top on a string.) My point is, you don’t have to go to the best deep dish pizza place in Chicago to get good deep dish pizza, you will get in at any pizza place in Chicago. But if you want good deep dish pizza in New York, you’d better know where to go, because New York pizza is completely different animal, and the standards are different. Sorta like New England Clam chowder, I guess.

None of that means that you should order Iowa wine when in Iowa, or only eat Florida possum when in Florida, it’s just that if an area is known for something, there may be a reason why, and if it’s not, well, there’s a reason for that, too.

Sometimes you don’t want authentic, either. You don’t really want Chinese food, you want Americanized Chinese food. (Remember, in China, everything is a food animal. Everything.) And a New Englander probably shouldn’t eat lobster or clam chowder in Kansas.

A Guest Writes:

Dear Author Guy: What’s with your new avatar. I can see it’s a dog, but….?

Dear guest:

Although this will probably change before most people read it, currently my avatar is a giant doggy head that is floating through space with the Earth in his mouth. I spent over four minutes Photoshopping it. It is wrought with much allegory and subtext, and if I have to tell you what it means then you just don’t get it, man. You just don’t get it. Jeeze.

Heeeeeeeeee’s back, with answers to most of your damn questions.

Lib writes:

Is there a reason that I don’t tan? If so, what???

Dear Lib: It is hard to say, since I only met you once, but from that experience, I think the main reason is that as a child you ate more than a healthy amount of paste. As swell as that may have seemed at the time, it overloaded your developing immune system with “pasty white” cells. The only known cure is to eat equal amounts of dirt along with the paste in order to counteract the pasty whites. It’s not known if this will work retroactively, but if you decide to try it, please send video so I can post it on the Blog. It’s for science, after all.

Unc axes: So why is Paris Hilton famous? Why does anyone anywhere care about this skank?

Dear Unc: I’m as disturbed as you are about that, but consider this, if the answer is “because she’s rich and had sex on the internet anyway” then you have to address this, much more frightening question: Why is Donald Trump famous and who cares about his nasty ass anyway?

odie 718 writes: My question is about Practical Demonkeeping. Just curious if there is any reason you picked Clarion, PA as the hometown of Travis?

Dear odie: I used to go camping in that area of Pennsylvania with a friend who had family in the area. It was a great little college town and I always had fun there, but it is sort of remote and I imagined that in the 1900s when Travis is growing up there, it was very much “the boonies” as far as farm towns go.

HRH Gracie asks:

I totally get that Fluke required a ton of research, but do you really spend 6 months of research time on most of your books? I mean no disrespect, but could you give me an example of something you researched for say Stupidest Angel? Ok, well, now I am remembering the DEA stuff, I guess that would require some work, how do you go about that? Oh yeah, the sword stuff and the bong stuff. ok. never mind. I guess that is a big part of your talent. You make it seem so effortless.

Dear HRH:

When someone asks about research, or how long it takes to write a book, it’s a general question, and every book is specific. When I say it takes me six months to research a book, that doesn’t’ mean I go into the library, shut the door, and come out six months later. It means that I’m reading books, thinking stuff up, seeing what works and what doesn’t in a story. Books like Lamb and Fluke required a lot of reading, and the latter a lot of on-site research.

Stupidest Angel, on the other hand, I wrote specifically because I wouldn’t have a do any research on it. I wrote the book in about five months. Start to finish. That’s fast for me. I did end up looking up some stuff on antique Japanese swords, but that’s about it.

Each one is different and requires different commitments. I couldn’t’ go to Crow reservation in the winter for Coyote Blue, so I was over a year in the research phase. I took showers and went to movies and stuff during that time too, I wasn’t researching every second.

For Fluke, the researchers are only in Hawaii from December to March, it didn’t really matter if I started reading in August, I wasn’t going to get into the field with them until January. The Marine Mammal Science convention happens once every two years, in the fall. I wanted to attend that to get cutting edge science. Obviously, I had to wait until they held that.

In short, it’s not a term paper. Very often you don’t know what you’re going to need, so you read a lot more material than is necessary. Usually that’s the case. Other times you don’t find out until the book is finished that you missed some things. And just getting it down on paper isn’t enough. My stuff has to be funny, so often when I’m dealing with things like 1st century Judaism, or evolutionary biology, the funny stuff doesn’t come immediately to mind — it takes time for it to bounce around in my head until it hits something funny.

Stupidest Angel, as well as Practical Demonkeeping and The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove were all set in a town that very-much resembled the town in Northern California where I lived for 20 years. I chose this setting on purpose, because it specifically didn’t require me to travel for research. For Practical Demonkeeping it was because I simple couldn’t afford to go anywhere, for the latter two, it was because I was under deadline and didn’t have the time to go somewhere to research. If I had set Stupidest Angel in Chicago, or Boston, for instance, I’d have had to spend a lot of time in those towns to get the characters and the setting right. That, I guess, is the part that you don’t see. When I set Bloodsucking Fiends in San Francisco, I spent a month up there, just walking the streets, riding the busses, watching people, eavesdropping on people. A trip like that requires a fair amount of planning, and again, you want to do it when the weather will allow you to be out and about. Virtually every character in Stupidest Angel, or any of the Pine Cove books, is a representative of an archetype, or an actual person I met or knew of. I had a friend who flew helicopters freelance for the DEA, I knew sheriffs, artists, blues players, bartenders – I even know a retired scream queen, although she’s not the complete bedbug that Molly is. I’m not sure if I get to count that as research, but I certainly picked the setting because it seemed that the research was already done.

Lamb took me nearly three years to research and write, and I was stuck for months right after the section where Biff and Josh leave Galilee for the East because I had no idea what was going to happen, and I didn’t know a goddamn thing about Taoist alchemy, which I had to learn to do Balthazar’s character.

So the answer to your question, in short, is: on average, it takes me a year to write a book and six months to research it.