Monday Music: Because We Could All Stand To Dance A Little In The Produce Department

Cool News: Twelve Year-Old Breaks Skateboarding Record

Watch twelve year-old Tom Schaar do a 1080. I can't even stay on a skateboard, but Linc (the lead in DOUBLE VISION) would love this.

Happy weekend, all. Don't try this at home...

 

Apparently, I'm Not Alone In E-Reader Reluctantness

Confession time: I hate my e-reader. Shhhh, don't tell anyone, because it was a present.

And this isn't some publishing biz post about the whole print-versus-e-format fight, because I don't really think there's anything to fight about--but that's for another time. I just don't like reading on a tablet. Reasons:

1. The thing only tells me I'm so many percentages into my book. I want to know what page I'm on. How else am I going to brag?

2. I can't tell if it skipped a page. My youngest and I were reading her favorite Mallory series book, and it just jumped to a page that made no sense. We tried to fix it, flipped back-and-forth a couple times, but after a minute or two, my girl just handed the e-reader back with a sigh. "I like the books better, Mom."

3. No pretty cover for the books. I know, I'm shallow, but I'm going with it. Covers are cool. And illustrations are also lost on the easy-on-the-eyes e-reader screen, which is probably why parents prefer print over e-format for picturebooks.

4. Nowhere to stick my bookmarks. Also shallow, I'm aware.

5. There's no cool book smell.

Note that all of these reasons could stem from my inability to adapt to new things, particularly of an electronic nature. But I like my 'real' books.

Help me out, YA Sleutheri. Make me love my newfangled e-reader. What am I doing wrong?

For You Thriller Lovers: 2012 Thriller Award Nominees

Fresh from International Thriller Writers, the 2012 Thriller award Nominees. Still no YA or Children's category, alas...

Looking forward to hearing who won at Thrillerfest! Tough competition here, no?

Best Hard Cover Novel:

Joseph Finder - BURIED SECRETS (St. Martin’s Press)
Jonathan Hayes - A HARD DEATH (Harper)
Stephen King - 11/22/63 (Scribner)
Michael Koryta - THE RIDGE (Little, Brown and Co.)
Marcus Sakey - THE TWO DEATHS OF DANIEL HAYES (Dutton Adult)

Best Paperback Original:

Jeff Abbott - THE LAST MINUTE (Sphere/LittleBrown UK)
John Gilstrap - THREAT WARNING (Pinnacle)
Helen Grant - THE GLASS DEMON (Delacorte Press)
Steven James - THE QUEEN (Revell)
John Rector - ALREADY GONE (Thomas & Mercer)

Best First Novel:

James Barney - THE GENESIS KEY (Harper)
Melinda Leigh - SHE CAN RUN (Montlake Romance)
Paul McEuen - SPIRAL (The Dial Press)
H.T. Narea - THE FUND (Forge Books)
Leslie Tentler - MIDNIGHT CALLER (Mira)

Best Short Story:

James Scott Bell - “One More Lie” (Compendium Press)
Michael Lewin - “Anything to Win” (Strand Magazine)
Twist Phelan - “Happine$$” (MYSTERY WRITERS OF AMERICA PRESENTS THE RICH AND THE DEAD, Grand Central Publishing)
Tim L. Williams - “Half-Lives” (Dell Magazine)
Dave Zeltserman - “A Hostage Situation” (Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine)

2012 Thriller Awards Winners to be announced at ThrillerFest VI July 14, 2012, Grand Hyatt, NYC.

Edgar Nominee for Best Juvenile Review: Icefall by Matthew J. Kirby

Every year when I read the Edgar nominees for Best Juvenile, there's a book in there that... Well, a book that I fail, to tell you the truth. There are some books that I just don't seem to get. This year that book is Icefall.

The story is a Nordic middle-grade fantasy. We follow Solveig, her brother (the crown prince) and sister, who are awaiting their father's return from battle. They're stuck in a fortress, while under guard by berserkers. These warriors are pretty shady, and it becomes clear after some time that there's a traitor in the fortress--someone out to destroy the kingdom.

As I said: I failed Icefall as a reader. Between the cadence of the prose and the slow-moving plot, it felt like the kind of book an avid fantasy reader would appreciate (note: this book gets excellent reviews on Goodreads, so it really is me). My love is more with the whodunit and thrillers.

That said, once I got into the story, I loved the cinematic writing--I felt like I was right there. I hope you'll give this book a try, and tell me what I missed.

Verdict: best for a middle-grade fantasy reader; unique look at Nordic times for a curriculum tie-in

Mystery quotient: 3 out of 5; there was a mystery in the plot, but slow pace and historical setting drowned out the whodunit feel.

Why It Pays To Join Professional Writers Organizations

I was lucky enough to be part of a Skype conference call with author Lee Child a few weeks ago--I know, you're a little jealous. To tell you the truth, I didn't talk much. There were a few other debut authors who were asking these really smart questions, so I mostly listened.

The funny thing? I never thought that joining organizations like International Thriller Writers would do a whole lot, other than maybe make me look like I know what I'm doing. But ITW has this great debut authors program that gives you a boost by helping promote your book, find other newbies, and get advice.

From Lee Child. How cool is that?

Anthony J. Franze wrote up an article about what we learned; check it out here.

My Short Crime Fiction For The "At The Zoo" Flash Fiction Challenge

***This is my contribution to the Flash Fiction Challenge (setting: at the zoo), a short crime fiction bit to take me back to my roots for the day. No kid lit, but the main character Angela Stark is a supporting cast member in my upcoming MG debut. I wanted to give her a turn, and develop her story a little.

Find more stories at Patti Abbott's blog.***

Packing

Meet me @ the wolves. 9:30 a.m.

            Just a text, after all this time. Not even a phone call. Angela Stark wondered if he still looked the same, her big brother Rupert. It had been ten years. People change in ten years. They get fat, grow out their hair, get new jobs. Like she did—well, the job part anyway.

            Rupe was thinner, sitting there on the metal bench that faced the wolf habitat, but he looked pretty much the same otherwise. Just a little more wiry and worn. “Angie.” He nodded as a greeting. Tried a smile, but he winched in pain instead. “How are you?”

            How are you, Rupe? was what she wanted to ask, but there was no need. It was written all over his pale face: the sweat, the jitteriness, the darting eyes. He was hurt. Shot, probably.

            A little girl popped out from behind him. She was about seven, her long hair tangled and matted where she’d slept. Her pink coat was faded, probably a Goodwill buy after some other kid already sucked the goodness out of it. She squinted. “Are you my aunt Angie?”

            Well look at that. Rupe went and had a kid. Stark didn't like kids much. She slid away on the bench, putting some inches between herself and the disaster that was Rupe's family.

            He smiled and rubbed the girl’s head. “Ruby, why don’t you go watch the wolves while me and Aunt Angie talk, okay?”

            Ruby nodded. “Did you know that wolves aren’t that aggressive at all?” The girl didn’t wait for an answer, but moved to the glass and pressed her hands against it. Her giant purple backpack had a broken zipper, leaving a sweater sleeve dangling like a flat, dead arm.

            “I know, I should have told you,” Rupe said as he got up. “About Ruby.” He winched, and stepped closer.

She could smell the stale sweat, the fear. And there was dried blood on his wrist. He’d washed his hands, but forgot about the details. That was Rupe.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Ruby wasn’t there. Not like we used to be.” He sat down again, and this time, he didn’t hide his pain.

When they were little, Rupe was the one who got to go inside the bank with Dad. They would be ‘where the action was’ (those were Rupe’s favorite words). Stark (before she was Stark and still Little Angie) would sit in the car. Waiting. Listening, for sirens.

“I wouldn’t do that to Ruby.” Rupe’s voice crackled.

Ruby still stood at the glass, waiting for something to happen. There wasn’t a wolf in sight.

“Going to work?” Rupe pointed at Stark’s shoes. They were black, rubber-soled, the kind you could run in, but would still go with a suit. Agent shoes. “It’s okay,” he said. "I know they're waiting out there."

They both knew this could only end one way now.

“Daddy, look!” Ruby turned and smiled. “I think there’s a wolf coming.”

“That’s good, baby.” He wheezed. “She needs glasses. Ruby. I forgot them when we packed.”

The girl turned and smiled. “Did you know that—”

“Hush, Ruby!”

The smile on the girl’s face disappeared like a speeding bullet. She turned back to the glass, and leaned her hands and nose against it.

“Tammy didn’t make it.” Rupert exhaled the words, like they were the last air in his lungs. “It all went bad, Ange, like that time in Barstow. Remember, with Dad?”

She remembered. Five gunshots. Back when she was Little Angie, waiting for them to come outside, and when they did, seeing the dead body on the ground. The black soles on the security guard’s boots as he lay dead on the floor, before the doors closed.

“We made it out this time, but had to take out a guy. And Tammy got hit in the chest, didn’t make it fifteen minutes.” Rupe sank in his seat. His breathing was heavy. Hit in the shoulder, Stark guessed, possibly in the gut, too. “We drove all night. Ruby slept some in the car.”

Stark saw the wolf now. It walked down the wooded hill of its habitat with a slight swagger, an ease that came with knowing you owned the place. Probably smelled the girl. Or Rupe’s blood.

“Well I’ll be,” Rupe said. “There is a wolf.” He smiled and sat up. Groaned, and clutched his side.

The wolf got close to the girl now. It paced back and forth near the glass, teeth bearing. But the girl didn’t flinch. She kept her nose and hands pressed to the glass.

“Ruby loves animals. She’ll blabber your ear off with her gazillion animal facts.” Rupert reached under his coat. Stark expected him to check his bandage, but instead, he pulled out a piece. Her brother had been packing, and she hadn’t even noticed. This was why it was better to keep your distance. Family messed with your mind. Turned you into Little Angie again.

“You can take care of this, right?” he whispered.

Stark tucked the gun in her holster. It didn’t occur to her to bring a gun to the zoo, so she had room.

Rupe slid a folded piece of paper across the bench. There was a smeared bloody print on it. “The take’s location, for Ruby. Don’t let ‘em take it, okay? Keep quiet.”

The wolf lifted its head and started howling like a siren. Right next to Ruby.

It startled Stark. She jumped up, and took the girl by the hands, away from the glass. When she turned around, her brother was gone. She could just make out his slumped back as he disappeared in the crowd. His tired walk.

“He was calling his pack, Aunt Angie,” Ruby said with a smile. "The other wolves will come now." They sat down on the bench, but the girl’s backpack was too fat for her to lean back, so Stark took it off her. “Daddy says I need to hush up.” She waited for Stark to say something.

Stark listened for the sirens that she knew would come soon. But not yet. There was only the howl of the wolf, calling his pack.

“Daddy says you don’t like it when people talk.” The girl squinted. “I can be quiet.”

“No.” Stark held the broken backpack. “Tell me more about the wolves.”