Stingray Summer

THE WIND had been whipping down out of the north for days, creating a strong lateral current across the beach. When my daughter and I waded out for body surfing, it tugged at our legs like a really excessively adverbed sentence, decisively powered by verbs maladroitly fashioned from nouns, each clause burdened with 23 K attachments of prepositional phrases screwed onto them like similes on a homily. Dragging us down the beach. Like frags on a slag heap. Heavy.


But today, as the tide went out and the crowd on the beach followed, the wind was light and the current mellow. Our only challenge, when throwing ourselves into the breakers, was to avoid the other frolicking swimmers.

"Three more good rides, Sissy," I said. "And then let's get out."
"Okay, Daddy," she said, knowing that I defined a good ride so narrowly that three might stretch to ten.
"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!" I said. "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I said. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" I said, "SOMETHING GOT ME!"
"What is it?" she asked.
"OHHHH! OHHHHHH! OHHHHHHH!" I said. "I think was a jellyfish."

I headed for shore, moaning as jets of hot venom pulsed in my foot. Some kids in the surf wanted to see what was hurting me so bad, and when I pulled my foot out of the water, there was a half-inch gash on the knuckle above my big toe. Didn't look like a jellyfish sting.


stingrays lie hidden in the sand on the bottom, waiting for unsuspecting humans


"Stingray," said the lifeguard, "sit up here." She jumped down from her platform and got her first aid kit while I climbed up and said how it was almost worth the pain to get to sit on the lifeguard chair.
"I'm the coolest guy on the beach."
"You're really brave," she said. "Grown men usually cry."

I felt really cool then. But not so much when, as she wrapped a bandage around my foot and ankle to hold a chemical hot compress on there, the venom started shooting up my leg to my groin, cold sweat burst out all over me, and I suddenly felt like I was about to puke. She helped me down and I lay groaning in the sand, and after a little water, I was back to being brave. And I didn't cry.


Maria, my lifeguard, was an angel of first aid. I think I fell in love with her for a few minutes there. Intense pain and abject helplessness can make a man susceptible to these lapses. But add the ministrations of a beautiful lifeguard in a swimsuit who takes complete control of the situation and praises my bravery . . .

Meanwhile, my daughter, the next hero here, was stuffing our beach clutter into our beach bag and calling Mom on the cell phone. The situation brought out the best in this girl who whines and complains about every request for help (trying to disprove the adage that "it's easier to get a kid to do it than to do it yourself"). Sissy hauled all our gear up the beach and acted with more self-possession that I could have hoped.

The third hero, my wife, Lee, didn't really believe that I was all that hurt until she saw me being led hobbling up the beach path, supported by Maria and Maria's mom, who had appeared from nowhere (ostensibly to have lunch with her daughter, but more likely to save her from middle-aged men who fall in love with her daughter after she saves their lives).

The pain got worse in the car, while Lee teased that I was a big faker and wasn't really hurt.
"I had just opened my book," she said.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!" I said.
"I have the worst luck," she said.
"OOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
"I never get any reading time, and now--"
"UUHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"You get to sit around soaking your foot and reading while I take care of you."
"STOP TALKING! I'M GETTING SICK AGAIN!"
"I have the worst luck!"

True to her prediction, I did get to sit around with my foot in scalding water (it does something to either the nerves or the venom, and lessens the pain) and read while she took care of me. We found a doctor nearby, who gave me antibiotics, narcotics, and a tetanus booster, and I got to sit in the car and read while Lee filled my prescription. Sissy continued her heroism by babysitting her brother, gratis, and I realized, despite my momentary infatuation with Maria, how much I love my family. Family is the people who have to take care of you when you're incapacitated. And for me, true love is the woman who tenderly nurses me while recycling a decade and a half of sarcastic inside jokes so they fit this exact occasion. "I have the worst luck. I still don't think you're really hurt. How did you really get that little cut?"

Epilogue: Lee's (and Sissy's) luck continued bad as I had to go for an x-ray the next day, causing them to miss their mother/daughter pedicure appointment.

Mine continued good as, upon my return to Colorado the day after that, I was diagnosed with a nasty infection and got to hang out in the ER with an IV antibiotic drip while nurses brought me warm blankets, ice water, and I read another whole novel!!


Postscript question: I have NEVER seen an episode of baywatch! but, still, who's your favorite? Jenna, above, or CJ: ??

Alexgirl's book!! BACK TALK

I have so much to say, after being off line and on vacation for a good long while.

But tales of the heavenly beach, all the books I read, and the stingray from hell will have to wait, because THE MOST IMPORTANT THING NOW IS

BACK TALK

by the hilarious and way too cool

ALEX RICHARDS!!

If it's not on the shelf, ask your bookstore to order it, ask your librarians to get it, grab Mommy's Visa and order it from Amazon, but get this book!



Goodbye small town hell . . . hello Big Apple!

Sixteen-year-old Gemma Winters couldn't be more ecstatic—and terrified—about scoring a summer internship at one of the hippest daytime TV talk shows, Back Talk with Kate Morgan. To top it off, she's staying in a palatial brownstone in Manhattan with celebutante Dana Cox (a virtual E! True Hollywood Story in the making) and world-weary millionheiress America Vanderbilt. Gemma's corn-fed naiveté melts away as she gets a taste of designer clothes, underage clubbing . . . and a cute Johnny Depp look-a-like.

The glamour fades by nine a.m. when Gemma becomes slave labor for harried producers. Not even her borrowed Manolo Blahniks can shield her from an office romance turned ugly and backstabbing fellow interns. When someone is unfairly fired and a show is at risk, Gemma goes out of her way to prove this small-town girl is more than just a "photocopy bitch."


Here's a link to Amazon:
BACK TALK


And here's an interview with Alex on Slayground, by that miraculous girl, Little Willow

Summer Reading: LOG THE HELL OFF!!

Livejournal, myspace, blogspot: they all SUCK!!!

Even as I write, indulging in this vampiric wastetime, I must briefly rail against!
Especially for an ADD person with a strong tendency towards hyper-focus, such as yours truly, it's hard not to get sucked in. So, I have begun unplugging my wireless at 5 pm. It's a start. While I love my internet friends, and I have fun reading interviews & book reviews by the likes of
Little Willow as well as the hilarious observations of Emma, I'm now reading like crazy.


I FINALLY finished I'm with the Band: Confessions of a Groupie, the touchingly innocent and simultaneously earthy (though never pornographic) memoir of Pamela Des Barres (who refused the advances of Mick Jagger because she was so in love with Jimmy Page!)


Then, it was Alias Grace by my favorite Canadian writer, Margaret Atwood. (The Boob Lady
is second, sorry!) She's amazing. I'm in awe of the combination of her research and imagination into pure seamlessness. And her mastery of voice in multiple points of view--including Grace herself, who is far from reliable--helps Atwood spin a tale in which I was far from certain what the truth was or exactly what the truth meant.

On to Stephen King and the finale of The Dark Tower. In the thrall of Mr. King and his gunslingers, I'm no good to anyone. I was was told yestereve, as I read myself into another world, oblivious to the familial chaos around me, "I think Daddy's checked out."

So much for the idea that I'd would be a better family member after unplugging the wireless. I was no good at all this morning either, on account of being up until after one last night reading until I had not the strength to make it into bed. Waking on the couch around five, I pulled myself out from dreams of Low Men, were-spiders, and portals to other times and worlds, and managed to make into bed with a sore neck.




Next, it's going to be one of my fellow FLUX authors Carrie Jones
or Brian Yansky, probably Carrie because now that I'm in Maine with King, I might as well stay there. Ayuh. :)

Escape! Isn't it best with a book? Forget about my former righteousness in getting offline--I just needed a better way to slip out of the real world. I do say so and thank ya!

The Real Goat Horn

This is the mountain that inspired the Goat Horn, which rises above Cassie's cabin.

Read my old pal Jeff's blog of his climb to the summit, and see his awesome pictures! Wow!

Then get outside and get some altitude!!!!!!!

A Half Birthday

Or maybe just a quarter-birthday. Certainly not an occasion for champagne or cake. In the life of a book, it's not much of an occasion.



Nonetheless, I feel like marking the "completion" of a reading draft of my next novel. The final pages are spitting out of the printer upstairs, and I am a little scared. For a year and a half, this story has been working, and I've only shared a couple of pages with my trusted Becky and my writing club. It's just a reading draft, but that means that I'm going to have to let my readers, um... look at it. And though I have loved working on this monstrosity that currently weighs in at 127,00 words, 355 pp. 1.5 space, I'm terrified that I haven't pulled it off.

I guess I'll have to trust the fact that I smile when I think of my characters and parts of their story, and trust my readers to help me figure out what I've got wrong.

Here goes nothing!

King Soopers Book Tour

So, while some of the cool people are at BEA, I decided to go on tour!

Check it out, from the bakery, to non-dairy, to produce--its the all vegan tour on West Uintah Street, View of Pikes Peak, USA--the anti-NYC!!!!!

Gothic Novels to put some chill in your summer:

Here's a link to a blog from the author of TANTALIZE with a killer list of gothic novels.