Cluck The Book

"A review?", or, " 'Inspirational Haiku' readership hits double-digits!"

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 18:12:57 +0000

I'm so proud of the resounding failure of "Inspirational haiku for a Recessed Economy" that I'd be sad to see it reviewed ... that is, unless it was reviewed by two complete strangers, unsolicited, who are seemingly as haiku-obsessed as myself.

I mean, I'm a multiple-award winning author for my skillfully crafted undead-chicken fiction ... and the type of mind that can do that is the same type of mind that secretly enjoys an amazon sales rank measured in millions.

It's the way that it seems so sarcastic, when it says "Amazon Sales Rank: #2,848,012 (see Bestsellers in Books!)" ... as in, "now that you've seen an example of a book that sells terribly, check out some that other people actually read!"

And now, with this review, someone is bound to buy a copy, plummeting the sales rank down into the two-millions, or even worse, into the self-respecting hundreds-of-thousands.

It's best summed up (big surprise) by a haiku:

I'm joking you know,

I want you to buy my book:

I might get to eat!

The review can be found over at Haiku by Two

State of Decay

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 16:57:40 +0000

Okay, I'm a bad brother. It's been ages since I've stopped by Zombie Zero, online home of my elder sibling. Then again, it was still 2008 when I last updated my own blog. Man, life runs away from you sometimes.

Anyway, I stopped by today and saw the cover art for James' upcoming book, to be published (soon, I think) by ROC under the title "State of Decay." I'm not exactly sure when it will hit stands, which is why I stopped by, but it's worth watching for: I read an early draft and it's fantastic. It has a taste that's a bit like Blade Runner, and a bit like brains. And probably chicken, since everything does. No zombie chickens (you can't have everything), but there are walking dead types called Revivors, and that should be good enough to support a new author. The sci-fi- genre needs new talent, so remember: if you don't buy my brother's book it makes you a communist. So there.

I'll post a review after I read the official published version.

PS - this is the first post that I was able to tag as both 'reading' and 'writing' ... neat.

Cluck Reviewed by "Time Cavern" Author Todd Fonseca

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 03:34:19 +0000

Todd Fonseca is an author, as well as the pioneer behind Tag My Book On Amazon, an online effort to expose the long tail of Amazon through the use of tags. I read the Time Cavern (review coming soon), and loved it, and sent Mr. Fonseca a copy of Cluck in the hopes that he'd post a review. Authors like to help each other out, so I expected something ... but I never expected this:

"Eric Knapp's Cluck: Murder Most Fowl is a masterpiece."

and:

"Reminiscent of the Rod Serling's Twilight Zone or even the best of what Tales from the Crypt had to offer"

and:

"... an incredibly creative piece of fiction

and finally:

"... this is one of the most creative, different, offbeat funny, and intriguing books I've read this year."

Read the full review here. What can I say other than I'm honored, Todd. I always feel good when I get a review like this, because it means that people are truly enjoying Cluck, and that's why I wrote it.

Fire for Art: Taking Shots to Promote "Cluck"

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 13:46:13 +0000

Okay, I would have done this anyway (I've competed in every ACSLNE event to date), but this year it was for "Cluck."

I'll fill in more detail later, once the official ACSLNE website goes live, but since we were covered by NHPR last night I think it's okay to give a bit more of a teaser (you can hear the NHPR story here, and see a video here). So, for now here are some pictures, starting with the founder of the ACSLNE, in a photo that sums up everything that the league stands for: Courage; Fire; Honor!

This was my combat suit, the Mega Robo Pyro Chicken. It was a crowd pleaser, and got me 15 minutes of fame on the front page of the Keene Sentinel. Neither the Sentinel nor NHPR mentioned the method to my madness, which was to promote "Cluck," but that's okay: 15 minutes is still 15 minutes.

This was my first of three opponents, and also the new 2008 ACSLNE champion, piloting under the team name "Wonder boy." Notice the size of that round? I constantly hear people say, "meh, I shoot bottle rockets at my friends all the time." Well, take another look, 'cuz that ain't a bottle rocket. The other thing I constantly hear people say is, "you're one crazy, stupid, suicidal son of a bitch," and well, okay, you've got me with that one.

More on the sport can be found at the ACSLNE official site (coming soon)!

Available Soon: Inspirational Haiku for a Recessed Economy

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 21:02:45 +0000

Inspirational Haiku for a Recessed Economy began during the last recession ... back then it was available through word of mouth only, and could be found in bits and pieces online. Now, with publishing and print options lowering the costs of broad distribution, this collection of motivational haiku will be made available through amazon.com ... and for just a few dollars (likely $5.99, although that's not set in stone yet). The goal is to have it cheap enough to be affordable, so that it can finally break free of the eye-straining confines of the e-reader, and grace the bathroom magazine racks of America.

The book will also be accompanied by a new series of posts, which will bring a new online inspirational haiku every week, for as long as we remain in recession. you know, for those who don't even have five bucks, and/or a toilet.

Crusty Doozer for President? A Random Political Observation

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 13:58:47 +0000

This is just an observation: I certainly don't think you should cast your vote based on the way a candidate looks. However, watching the debate last night, I was struck by the similarities between John McCain and Crusty Doozer from "Fraggle Rock." This isn't an attack, it's just an observation (I think you should vote for Obama for entirely different reasons). Anyway, it was McCain's particular gait that really reminded me of Doozerville, but I couldn't find a movie clip of Fraggle Rock anywhere to make a visual comparison. The jowls, however, are definitely Doozer bred. I probably wouldn't have referred to McCain as "beady eyed" prior to this, but they're so close it's scary ... and Crusty's eyes are actually beads, so I guess the description fits.

Are Doozers worthy and capable candidates for the oval office? Probably: they're hard working, decent little creatures. Plus, having a president whose made of felt would certainly be a change.

Anyway, if anyone has video of ol' Crusty Doozer hobbling around, send me a link: there's a debate spoof in the making here, and it's made from radishes.

Exeter Book Signing on Sep 20

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 13:07:36 +0000

Sorry for the delay in posts. Work on several projects has been occupying a lot of my time, including Quack (the Cluck sequel), and also an idea for a musical that I'm toying with. On the "Cluck" front, there will be a book signing at Water Street Books in Exeter, NH on September 20, 2008, from 11am until 1pm. Water Street is a great book store, and is also located next to Phillips Exeter Academy. I *almost* went to PEA, back in the day ... insert nostalgic musical track here ... anyway, stop by if you want a signed copy of Cluck, and a chance to meet me and/or my stunt double.

[update - the original post falsely claimed that the signing was on Sep 10. It is not, it's on the 20th. Sorry 'bout that]

Paddling away at Quack, Nary a peep about Cluck

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 21:27:51 +0000

It's been a while since I've had a chance to post any updates. In case you haven't noticed, the podiobook project stalled almost as soon as it started. This is definitely still going happen, folks, so don't throw away your iPods just yet. The problem is three-fold:

My microphone broke
I've been working on the next book, "Quack," which has been consuming a lot of my time
The workload at the day-job increased, with an acquisition (a good thing) and a promotion (a very good thing)

I can't honestly say this is a problem, because I'm having a lot of fun writing it. Nazis, mutants, spirits of all sorts .. and of course ducks. If there's interest, I may post rough drafts of chapters as they complete. Jus' lemme know.

Cluck Second to Stephen King's "The Stand" ...? The (beta) Readers Have Spoken!

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 19:40:29 +0000

"Cluck: Murder Most Fowl" is ranked #2, just under " The Stand" on Amazon UnSpun. How long will this last? Who knows, but I'm savoring my number two position under "The Stand" while it lasts. The Stand is one of the first horror novels that I ever read, and it has been re-read on occasion since. There's no need to go into an in-depth review, because everyone knows The Stand already, and even if you didn't like it (i.e., you're a mutant or a communist or both), you have to respect the importance of this novel. Cluck, which is also important to me (because I wrote it) is now second to The Stand in a reader-ranked list titled "Favorite Horror Novels."

Interestingly, Stephen King has a copy of my book (most likely in a tube of tin with a plastic liner, lid, and hands-free sanitary foot pedal). I managed to get it to him through a friend who is "once removed" from the successful Maine writer, and was well-warned that it was likely to be ignored. You never know, though ... maybe he'll read it, endorse it, and allow me to keep my position of honor for a while longer. It could happen. Regardless, this is making me very happy because even if it is some beta-system-statistical anomaly, my book is right there! I mean, The Stand? I am having a moment.

... (moment passing) ...

Okay, so now that the moment has passed and I've had a cup of coffee, I realize that this really is a statistical anomaly. UnSpun is a user-driven site run by Amazon.com, and it's still in beta. I'm not sure how the rankings are determined, but it's got nothing to do with sales. There's no scientific data to back that up other than: The Stand has sold zillions of copies, and Cluck has not.

Either it's an anomaly to be proud of, or I'll be getting larger royalty checks ... only time will tell. For now I'm going to continue to revel in my limited (beta) glory. At least until someone else posts a favorite horror novel that is ranked somewhere in between mine and Mr. King's. Or, you could go to Amazon UnSpun and vote for Cluck ... after all, it's Penultimate.

Mid- ... er, Third- life Crisis

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 16:50:17 +0000

I'm at a point in my life and my career where I'm looking for more. I think this may be what people refer to as a mid-life crisis, although I'm not old enough for that yet (I'm not, dammit!). The problem is that I'm torn in several directions: I want to step back from corporate enslavement and focus on my writing and other artistic pursuits; I also want to kick some more ass professionally, because I'm pretty darn good at my day job; there isn't enough time in a day to do both, and my loving wife certainly deserves a better life. It's a dilemma. The career path equates to more money, which leads to the comfort of knowing that bills will be paid, and that food will be on the table. It also leads to stress, more time apart, and all that comes with the Dilbertopia of modern corporate living.

I used to throw pottery, long ago. Mostly in art classes at school, because I didn't own a wheel or a kiln, but I loved the process of it. I used to paint, and was moderately good at it. I've been successful writing, but on a very small scale ... perhaps with some more commitment on my part, I could make enough of a living with words that I could let everything else go.

With an increasingly decreasing economy, it's hard to turn your back on a decent day job (and I should point out that I really like the company I work for, and the people I work with). But when that life takes away from your passions, and still only barely pays the massively-inflating bills, what does one do? Asking for more money is one option, although it is a slippery slope further into corporate lockdown.

Cluck Update

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 14:13:27 +0000

It's time again for another Cluck Update and call to arms!

To date, Cluck has won three awards:

Independent Publisher Book Award, horror
Indie Excellence Award
ForeWord book of the Year award, horror*

(*Cluck was a finalist in this award ... apparently you get to count 'finalists' and 'runner ups' as wins. The world is strange).

The book has also earned glowing independent reviews from the following legitimate review sources:

It's also received eight reviews on amazon, with an average rating of 5 stars. Now, here's my beef: of those eight reviews, only TWO of them are from friends and family. The problem is, that everyone assumes that the first ten reviews are from your friends and family, and they summarily ignore them. So ... I'm asking for reviews, please. I know a lot of people have read Cluck, loved it, written me about it, told their friends about it, and are helping to build a miniature fan base of zombie-chicken-lovers. Thank you, I really appreciate that. In fact, it's what convinced me to write a sequel (which I originally said I would never do). It is also because of you that I can prove Rachel Donadio of the NY Times Book Review wrong by selling more than a few hundred copies of my independently published book ... though just barely.

To put an even finer point on it: it is very hard to get "real" book reviews when you are independently published. If you think that the NY Times Book Review is the only "real" source (many do), then it is impossible. How do we, the indies, do it? We beg for reviews from our readers. On amazon. Please? You can't see me, but I'm on my knees.

Are you a fan? Please post a review. Are you friends and/or family? If so, please consider posting your obligatory 5-star reviews, because until you do people will ignore the real ones. Didn't like Cluck? Well, I suppose even you should post a review (despite your evident lack of perspective and/or taste). Haven't read Cluck yet? Well here's the link: Buy it. Love it. Review it. (please?)

This Car Brakes for Satan

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 15:55:28 +0000

It's not often that I have an experience with a company that is bad enough to warrant a public blogging. I'm simply not that guy. I don't return my steak if it's cooked wrong. I don't make a fuss. I don't squeak in order to get oil. I've only been angered enough to make a scene in public maybe one or two times in my whole life, and one of them was at National Tire and Battery last week. I've waited a week to post this because I was that mad.

The story goes like this:

8:15am

Me: Hello, NTB? My car needs new brakes, including rotors, and new boots also. Is there any chance that you can fit me in today? The car isn't really safe to drive like it is.

NTB: Sure, I'll put you in for an appointment. When can you get it here?

Me: I'll bring it right over.

I finish up a few things, arrange a ride back to work, and drop the car off before 10:00am. The day passes ... I hear nothing from them, but no news is good news, right?

3:00pm
Me: Hello? I'm calling to check the status of my car?

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been a small glitch. One of the bolts was giving us trouble, and we kind of foo-bar'd it when taking it off. But don't worry, we're going to fix it on our dime. But we need a part. It's on its way here now, and we'll have the car ready for you in one hour. Is that okay?

Me: Sure ... I work until 5:00 anyway. Just call if there are any more problems.

After work, a friend drops me off. It is pouring rain outside, so I say "thanks" and quickly dash into the store. I wait a few minutes before someone helps me.

5:20pm
Me: I'm here to pick up my car.

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been another small glitch. We got the wrong part. There's another one on its way now, and it will be here in ten minutes. Give us another hour and we'll have everything ready for you.

Me: (groan...) Okay, I guess I don't have a choice. But I really needed to be home on time today, and I still have an errand to run. I don't suppose someone could drive me over to Best Buy (which is just on the other side of a very large parking lot) so I can do that while you finish?

NTB: No, but here's a plastic garbage bag that you can put over your head.

If I had known what I was in store for at that point, I would have wrapped that bag around my head and ended it all. Foolishly, I wrapped the thing around my shoulders and--avoiding suffocation and protecting myself from 32% of the monsoon's wrath--and went dashing over to the big retail electronics chain, with its welcoming blue price-tag facade. I run my errand, which doesn't take nearly long enough. I go next door to a bookstore, and browse the shelves. I am still sopping wet, but starting to warm up. My clothes are getting itchy, and my laptop bag (which is waterproof ... thank god!) is starting to dig a canal of pain straight through the bones and tendons of my shoulder. 40 minutes into my hour, I call back.

6:00pm
Me: Hello? Just checking on my car. Should I buy a book and a coffee, or should I start slogging back there through the rain?

NTB: Ooh. Um. There's been a bit more of a glitch. It seems that your car is a 2001 model, but it was actually manufactured in 2000. So the new part didn't work either. It's going to be another hour. Sorry about that.

My bullshitometer is in the "cow pie" zone at this point, but I have absolutely no choice but to wait ... so I grab a coffee and sit down with a book. Two sips into my caffeine hit, my phone rings.

6:15pm
NTB: Hello, is this Eric? This is [name removed to protect the incompetent] from NTB. I've got bad news. We couldn't get the part we need, and the supply places are all closed. We're going to have to keep your car overnight.

Me: I suppose that it's not drivable ...

NTB: No, we took it apart before we realized we didn't have the parts to put it back together again.

Me: You realize how foolish that sounds. My Grampa taught me to measure twice and cut once when I was only three years old.

NTB: There are really no excuses. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Me: (trying not to be loud or angry because I am in the sanctity of a bookstore cafe) I'm really not very happy about this. In fact, I'm angry. You've had my car since 10am this morning, and it's routine work. Now I need to get home, and I live an hour away. I'm going to call my wife, who is Scottish, red-headed and aware of how much gas costs. She's going to kill me when I tell her to drive an hour here, and then an hour back home. I was supposed to be home on time today. You are very lucky that I am going to shield you from her wrath.

At this point, I call me wife. Predictably, she is pissed off. I'll spare you the words (which would probably help the page views of this post, as they were very colorful) she used, and skip to the last thing she said, which was "why are we even talking about this? Get them to pay for a rental car - that's a fairly normal service when a mechanic f's up your car." I agree, hang up , and then call my buddies over at NTB. But first, I toss my latte in the trash and head outside so I can talk loudly and angrily if needed.

6:30pm
Me: Hello? I can't get home. I'm stranded. Get me a rental car. (I am preparing to get mad)

NTB: No problem - we'll call enterprise right now, and then call you back.

Me: Don't worry about calling me back. The rain has let up, I'll just walk back there now. Just please get the car as soon as possible, because I am very late.

NTB: Sure thing, no problem. (subtext: would we lie to you? No, we're not that smart).

I walk back.

6:40pm
Me: I'm here ... how long until the rental shows up?

NTB: Um, well ... there's a problem. Enterprise is closed for the day.

Me: (now officially pissed) What? Did you call any other rental places? Hertz? National? Budget? It's almost 7:00 ... you've had my car for an entire day ... I'm mad ... I'm wet ... do what it takes to get me a car now!

They start going through the yellow pages, and find a rental car. They're a bout twenty minutes away, so I sit in the meager excuse for a waiting room until they get there. Luckily, "Malcom in the Middle" is on, which is always a good reminder that life could be worse. Fast forward to 7:30, when the rental car gets there: they give the nice rental-car-driver-guy an imprint of their credit card (a corporate Visa), and I say my fair-wells. They insist that they will make it right in the morning. I don't believe them.

At 8:00pm, we pull into the rental place. The Rental Guy says not to worry, because all he has to do is run the card, get me to sign a simple form, and I'll be on my way. Until ...

8:00pm
RG: Uh-oh. You're not going to believe this ...

Me: No ...

RG: Yup ... their card was declined. We can't give you the car without a card ...

Me: Well, let's call [name removed to protect the poor excuse for a pile of primordial poop] and get a different card. They're still open, I think.

RG: We can authorize yours and deal with it tomorrow, if you want ... we won't charge it unless they refuse to pay.

Me: Well, at this point I don't have much confidence that they will pay, or even that they can!

RG calls the guy, and the conversation goes like this: Your card was declined. No, I ran it twice. Well, I have an imprint of the card, so it's not like I typed it in wrong. Uh-huh ... yup ... I understand ... okay. RG hangs up and says that the NTB-lackey is calling his manager and will call back. He tells me that when that when he said the card was declined, the other guy responded, "I was afraid that might happen ..."

This is unbelievable. Even though I deliberately waited a week before posting this, I'm still getting angry thinking about it. They deliberately gave a bad card, just to get rid of me. When the dude finally calls back, its only to say that he couldn't reach his manager and that he would pay cash tomorrow for the car if I put it on my card tonight. I have no choice, I realize, but I'm not going down without a fight.

8:30pm
Me (to RG): Let me talk to him ... (RG hands me the phone)

Me (to NTB): Remember when I was in your office a while ago? remember how mad I was then? Well, now I am even more mad. I am royally pissed. I don;t want to hear any excuses, and I don't want to hear any lies. It's 8:30, and I'm wet, tired, and hungry. What I want you to do is this: think of a very clever way to make me happy, and do it by tomorrow morning when I come to get my car. Goodbye.

And I go home. And I eat. And I sleep. And presumably the NTB staff is thinking of things that will quell my anger, and eating and sleeping. The next day, I go to pick up my car, and this is what they've come up with: three free oil changes. Otherwise known as "diddley squat." Now, three oil changes is worth a bit, so that's not so bad .. supposing that I was willing to give them my car again. I'm not, though. Not ever. I point that out, but my negotiatory shot over their bow goes over the heads. I argue that the labor should be deducted, anything ... but it goes nowhere. In the end, I leave. I am dissatisfied and left with the nagging feeling that I must have done some cosmic injustice to deserve this.

"On Golden Pond" meets "Poop Ship Destroyer"

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 15:32:29 +0000

An alternate title to this post could be "Why not to leave for a weekend sailing trip on Friday the 13th" ... if you're the superstitious type.

The weekend began on Friday the 13th, as we raced out of the house to meet my in-laws at the dock in Falmouth, Maine. As co-owners of a nice 30-something-foot sailing vessel, they sail every other weekend out of Falmouth. My father in law has been sailing his whole life, and is an excellent sailor - a fact that was proven out of necessity on this particular trip. So many things went wrong on a small scale that it actually did become funny. Once the bruises heal completely, we'll all laugh at this, I'm certain of that.

The highlights of the trip include:

my beautiful wife's double-handful of fiberglass splinters, courtesy of a mooring flag
my single-handful of said splinters, as I tried to help her
undercooked eggs for breakfast on father's day
seventy-five instances of bumping my own head against the ceiling in the aft bunk
some rain
a flat tire

Other than those small mishaps (all of which were easily remedied) the weekend was perfect: nice weather all day Saturday, good conversation, good food, and excellent ice cream at the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory. Looking back, there was much more good to the weekend than bad. Honestly.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, here are the two biggies, omitted from the above list for dramatic purposes. You can read on at this point, or simply watch "On Golden Pond" while listening to the song "Poop Ship Destroyer" by Ween. This is what happened:

Coming into Booth Bay harbor, the sun is shining, and all is well. It is a beautiful day. I am sitting at the rear of the cockpit, watching the depth gauge (not really watching, just kind of zoned out and staring in its general direction). My wife is to my right, and my Mother-in-law is at the helm. My Father-in-law, the only one of us with any sailing experience, is standing at the front of the cockpit, facing backwards, reading from the nav charts to his wife. I want to preface the following by saying that no one was doing anything wrong in any way. In fact, as we were approaching the red buoy, which was to our right, Dad--in-law was reciting the "Red Right Returning" rule (which I love, as a fan of alliteration). Ever sailor knows that rule, even me, and I've only been a boat three times in my whole life. I'm hearing all of this, but not really paying attention. The sun is out, and its so nice, and the gauge reads 38 feet. ... 30 feet. ... 25 ... 18 ...

I snap out of it just in time to yell "ten feet!" as the gauge dives to '10', and then the following happened all at once:

My wife dives towards the engine shut-off
My Mom-in-law reaches for the throttle to stop the boat
There is a loud crash
Forward mobility stops abruptly: 4 knots to zero in under a second.

At this point, my father-in-law goes ass-over-tea-kettle backwards down into the hold. My wife successfully dives to her knees, although much faster than she intended, and shuts off the engine. Somehow I get a charlie horse on my right calf (still not sure how that happened). Seconds later, we're all converging to see if my Dad-in-law is still alive. It's quite a drop down there, with strategically placed things like counter-tops to break one's fall "skull-cracking" style. Like some super-hero, he comes bounding back up almost as fast as he went down, and ignoring pleas of "are you all right?" he takes charge and gets everyone moving to free the boat. The "respect-o-meter" went up a notch or two at that moment. His arm was clearly broken, his hand was cut and bruised, and who knows what else was broken, sprained, or otherwise hurt. He was in the dinghy faster than Flash Gordon, and I was hoisting out the anchor. He sped back to deep water, dropped the anchor, and we winched ourselves back off of the rock. This was an amazing reaction: fast and clear thinking amidst what could have been a disaster. As it turns out, the arm was not broken (though very bruised), and the boat did not sink. The speedometer stopped working, but was okay after a reboot. There was no sign of serious damage at all. My wife barked up her knees good, and my calf had that inexplicable bump, but all said and done, we we're very lucky. (note: for the sailors out there, there is a red buoy near Booth Bay that you should keep on your left while returning. The various vessels that came out to help us all claim to have run aground there at some point themselves, so I feel I should point it out).

We celebrated our survival, and helped to calm adrenaline-aggravated nerves, by eating a large dinner of steak tips, shrimp, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot soup. There was some rum, too, but not excessive amounts. We unwound, finished the feast with Chocloate-Lover's Ice Cream from the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory (which I recommend!), and then went to bed. Of course, with all that food and drink, there were many trips to the head before saying good-night, and a few trips in the wee-hours of the evening as well. The worst was behind us.

... In fact, the worst was literally behind us. It was in our dinghy, which was tied up to the port side, just under the overflow jets for the head unit. And the head unit was full. All night, as we did out feast-induced business, we were pumping poop into the dinghy.

I woke up blessed: as a writer, I am now able to honestly use the words "poop" and "dinghy" in the same sentence. Our sore-armed captain ended up being the foreman in a sewage removal exercise early on Sunday morning. That was Father's Day, by the way. Happy Poop-Dinghy Father's Day!

So, a weekend sail turned out okay - major death and disaster was avoided, and we were lucky enough to have a weekend that we will always look back upon with a grin and a giggle.

The Silver Vamp: Gabriele Caccini, The Vampire Gene

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:51:20 +0000

I just finished reading Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene) by Paigan Stone. This book won the silver Book of The Year Award from ForeWord Magazine ... beating out Cluck and Footfalls. While I'm sad that I didn't get the award (why isn't there an award for fourth place?) I'm pleased that the books that beat me are very well done. Well, so far I've only read two: the bronze and the silver, but I can assume by what I've read so far that the Gold winner must be pretty special.

On the surface, the story of Gabriele Caccini is a classic telling of the "Vampire Who Wants to be Loved." In place of the tired cliche of the vampire who wants to be human, however, we have a vampire who really is human: he's hardly a monster at all, obsessing more about love than blood. He starves himself to his own despair, allowing himself to feed only once a year in his quest to find the woman who can be both his victim and his lover.

The story is told in an interleaved style, folding back and forth between Gabriele's past and present. In the past, Gabriele becomes a vampire, a development which causes him to lose his first love. In the present, he continues his quest for the woman who can survive to become his eternal bride. His repeated failures, both in the past and present, shape a character ripe with despair. Both tales are wrought with love, lust, and tragedy. Without giving away the ending, there is also a convergence of the plot that leaves the book well situated for a sequel (a planned sequel is evident in the title, so you can look forward to it).

Now, vampire-romances are not my cup of proverbial tea, so I am no expert here, but I wasn't expecting to read a book about vampires where the vamps had such real weaknesses of character: self-confidence issues; not being able to fit in; unable to come to terms with their vampirism ... that kind of thing. I actually got irritated at the main character for not being bad-ass enough (I mean, come on man! You're four hundred years old ... grow a pair!). That may sound like a dig, but it is actually a compliment: any character that gets a rise out of me is a character written well enough that I'm thinking about them as a personality and not a plot mechanism.

There were plentiful doses of sex to feed the desires of those looking for a romance fix, though these scenes were more civilized that you expect from a romance novel (well, than I what I expect ... and I admittedly don't read them). Overall, the clear and colorful characters are what makes Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene) a book worth reading - and the silver medal that it earned.

Four-and-a-half Feathers from the Rooster King. Pros: strong character development, well structured plot. Cons: wussy vampire, too much romance, not enough horror.

Baby Got Paper Back: Why Women Read Naked

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 13:33:37 +0000

When I posted Women Think Men Who Read Zombie Chicken Books are Hot, my traffic jumped over 500% for a week. Now, I'm not stupid: I know that my readership naturally includes literate, sophisticated ladies and gentlemen ... but with a plot concerning zombie chickens, it also includes some weirdos and perverts. So, to capture my audience, I need to post something concerning boobies every so often. To that end, I went searching for more sexy stock photos of hot, lusty women who were also reading my book.*

What did I find? I found what everyone finds when they search for answers in a half-assed, non-scientific manner. I found the truth. The truth is: Women Read Naked. Maybe just topless, maybe sans-pantaloons, maybe just with breast-revealing unbuttoned blouses, but for a 30-something married guy, that's more or less the same as being naked.

They were everywhere: students reading books while wearing sweaters so tight that it would be impossible for them to turn the pages without getting paper-cuts on their nipples; Women lounging in bed, their perfect pendulous prizes barely hidden by the fluff of the featherbed, a book spread sensually before them; Wonky-eyed women clutching an open copy of Cluck to their bare chests in wonton embrace.

Now, I wasn't running a google image search with the parental controls turned off, using keywords like 'sexy nude women boobs breasts natural live xxx +book' (I tried but the results were too disturbing). I wasn't searching porn sites or sleazy image galleries. Rather, I was searching legitimate stock photo art sites, looking for images that I could legitimately purchase and use to lure browsers from those "other sites" to mine, in hopes that they'd take time out from their internet fetish-play fantasies and buy a book about zombie chickens.

Now I know what you're saying. You're saying, "did you ever stop to think that maybe the women reading books are all topless and hot because you're searching a stock-art site, which is populated with nothing except photos of models posing seductively, because those photos are designed for marketing folks like you, with the sole intention of luring people into buying decisions based solely on a libido response?" Well, that is a distinct possibility, so I won't even criticize your use of an amazingly long run-on sentence. However, I still prefer to draw my own conclusions, which is that women simply like to read in the buff. It's a much more concise explanation.

This leads to the next question, which is: Why?

It could be that thing about the media, and sex, and money, but I think it has more to do with free will. Isn't it nicer know that we're not complete slaves to the media? isn't it better to pretend that sex doesn't sell? For example, this woman here, to the left, is:

a) contemplating the finer qualities of zombie chicken fiction while sitting in a (presumably) public hallway, clearly lacking pants (i.e., free choice).

b) the sole product of manipulative advertising specialists (i.e., enslaved zombies).

I'm much happier with 'a'. She's not wearing pants because she doesn't want to wear pants while she's reading such a fantastic book. In fact, it's unclear at first whether she's even wearing panties, but if you zoom way in using photo-editing software, you can see that she is (not that I did that, that would be creepy). Judging by the angle of the book, she's not even reading it: rather, she's contemplating how much she wishes she knew more people who read zombie chicken books, so that they could engage in wild sex parties together. Again, this is free choice at work, and has nothing to do with my poor photo-editing skills. Honest. It's all about her. Further proof lies in the note, which clearly states, "To do: 1) read about zombie chickens, 2) go to a bar and pick up strangers who also also read zombie chicken books, 3) engage in wild, nude acts of giggling, tickling sex."** A marketing guy would never make something like that up, would they?

This almost-scientific approach to research led me to wonder if the clotheslessness of female readers was due to comfort, temperature, or (as implicated above) uncontrollable horniness. More painstaking research, wading through screen after screen of professional photos of attractive women (hey, it's a hard job but somebody has to do it), and I found the proof that I was determined to find: a fully clothed but obviously lusty redhead reading my book. Incontrovertable. I mean, really. Look at her:

Wow. If she's not about to take her clothes off, it's only because she doesn't really have to.

So, to answer the question using perfectly invalid scientific method, women read naked because that's the way they like it. End of story.

Need further proof? If you are a woman, buy a copy of my book, and read it. Feeling a bit constricted in that cotton? If you're a man, buy a copy of my book for your girlfriend and see if she takes her clothes off.*** If she does, ask her the same question. Remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

* I did attempt to find real live hot, lusty women who were reading my book, but after abject failure I opted for stock art and photoshop.

** Well, it was clear before I shrunk the text down to 3-point font in order to fit it on that ridiculously small note.

*** Of course, if you're a guy, you left this site after getting to the first picture and are already anxiously awaiting the arrival of the FedEx truck).