David Thayer

The 22 nd Ultimo: A night after naked Druids seized control of the historic Not Quite Chelsea Hotel police officials admit bafflement at the discovery of two writers attempting to complete a novel in a single weekend. DCI Borchardt believes that performance enhancing drugs were involved in the back to back all nighters. “Just say no to steroids,” Borchardt warned. “I’ve suspected for some time that the Earl is juiced. How else can one explain his prodigious output?”

A spokeperson for the Earl had this to say: “The Earl produces four pages of prose each morning…except on the Solstice. After proofreading by Urquhart Depew, the pages are then hand delivered by naked Druids…to Waltraut Frothingmunster.” Mrs. Frothingmunster denied all involvement in both nudity and excessive prose production. “To say that I frown on these things would be an understatement,” she said. Police confiscated her Barry Bonds bobble head doll.

DCI Borchardt warned of a crackdown that would extend beyond the city limits of Wellington Leg into the fields and furrows. “We’ll not have this year’s Literary Faire tarnished by accusations of doping and unseemly behavior. The Earl should consider my warning as a shot across his bow.”

I read Ian Rankin’s Blood Hunt and don’t feel strongly enough about it to review it. It’s not a bad book and the sections in the Outer Hebrides were enjoyable. The ending is so abrupt that I wondered if a fire alarm had gone off forcing Mr. Rankin to abandon his word processor and gather his wordly possessions. Baseball fans are familiar with pitch counts where the pitcher is yanked off the mound by a coach examining a hand held device umpires use to keep track of balls and strikes. I like to amuse myself with ideas like that applied to writing; okay Rankin, take a shower pal, you’ve thrown 95,000 words down here and you’re done.

It’s horrible of me to cling to Inspector Rebus when Ian Rankin wants to branch out and retire Rebus before he burns out. I understand the desire to do something different. All of my spring training stories submitted to the Druidical & Literary have been spiked. Sure I can’t afford to go Florida or Arizona but if you’ve seen one ballgame, you can pretty much stay home and write about how Moose gave up ten runs in three ininngs but feels good because he used all of his pitches. How can you feel good when your pitches end up in the left field seats being pursued by middle-aged men wearing baseball jerseys and embarrassing the hell out of middle-aged men everywhere?

Maybe that explains the ending to Blood Hunt. Ian Rankin uses all of his pitches in this book and sometimes he’s dialed in and other times he can’t seem to get comfortable. I wonder if the standalone thriller is something he enjoys writing or feels he needs to. If Oliver Castinstone weren’t such a cheapskate I’d be on the next plane to Scotland to find out. Oh wait the Yankees B squad is playing the Tigers; let’s pretend we’re in Tampa.

Rachel Donadio uses the word pandemic in her article about chick lit, the genre too tough to die. Why should it die as the time lapse recovery of nation states like Poland produces young women with jobs, young women with freedom? World War Two may have ended in 1945 but in Poland it ended in 1989? This is a country among many stifled by totalitarian governments; gulags and secret police take a lot of the fun out of life. Poland has a rich cultural history and will probably produce all sorts of literature over the next ten years. In the interests of full disclosure I have cousins who are part Polish. Are they reading chick lit? Can’t the CDC intervene here and blanket those communities where chick lit is spreading? It could be a Dustin Hoffman vehicle with scientists saying things like: “Whoa, careful Dan, she’s wearing designer shoes.”

As the New York Times mulls this crisis, Left Coast Crime has ended in Bristol and the International Thriller Writers have shortlisted five novels for its award. This and Al Leiter’s retirement are the stuff of water cooler conversation in places where water coolers still exist. Al’s cutter has lost its bite over the years and at age 40 he’s done. For writers, life begins at 40. Let’s segue back on topic here because at the editorial meeting this morning Oliver Castinstone expressed dismay over the recent posts here at One More Bite of the Apple. “Just kill me all at once,” Oliver said.

So my reserved parking spot is up for grabs. This is why the new journalism feels so personal.

I ran into Bob Dugoni over the weekend. His thriller The Jury Master is out from Time Warner Books; this is his second book but first first from TWB, soon to be Hachette Livre. I met Jennifer Royce from TWB their senior sales rep for the Pacific Northwest. She is looking forward to the deal with Hachette closing over the next few weeks.

Bob will be in the Bay Area next week at Stacy’s, M is for Mystery in San Mateo and Book Passage in Corte Madera. If you’re a fan of legal thrillers, get on over to one of these venues and catch his reading.

Dear Earl: They say write what you know. What if you don’t know anything? Sincerely Gaspar Uprightandlocked.

Dear Gaspar, Run for the senate! Seriously, you’re underestimating yourself. When I sat down to write Voltaire’s Miasma  I knew nothing. When I led the cavalry charge at Parking LOt B, the overflow lot, I wondered why so many tiny parking spaces? Are there squadrons of tiny people driving these tiny cars people who never park? That’s intellectual curiosity. Try mental stimulation exercises: one more, two more, three more, breathe from here, Gaspar.

Dear Earl: I have a cute dog. The stationary I use for query letters is shaped like a dog biscuit. Will that get an agent’s attention? Sincerely, Scooter.

Scooter: Judging from your letter you may be a very young person or a high ranking government official. Either way I believe that a letter in the shape of a dog biscuit will accomplish little in attracting a literary agent. Perhaps a pot boiler inside the beltway roman a clef would be more suitable. Try this: She wanted to be Secretary of Commerce not a love goddess in Alexandria.  At some point  in the query explain how she got to Egypt. Here is a variation on the theme: She wanted to be a love goddess in Bethesda, not Secretary of Commerce. And no, I don’t think that a love scene featuring any of the Fed Governors tells a reader that your work is hip, sexy, and now. Unless of course you tie that scene to the direction of interest rates and the housing bubble. Try to avoid references to Philadelphia; always enclose a SASE.

Geraldo here. At great personal risk I’m in the camp of the Vicesima Claudia Legion for an interview with Gaius Septimus Troianus, commander of Roman forces in the Californias. The groundrules are simple: I pose my questions to a Praetor who translates. If they don’t like my question the Praetor hits me with a stick. I’m GR and the commander is SPQR.
GR: You’ve invaded California, scared a lot of people. Any regrets?

SPQR: We will besiege the barbarian stronghold called Los Angeles. Once we have crushed your defenses we will install the Earl as our puppet.

GR: What will the Earl’s job be? Head of studio?

SPQR: He will be Procurator and Urban Magistrate. We will command a publisher to offer him his book deal. Those who refuse will be dragged in chains to Rome.

GR: I know the CHP has been harassing your troops. Do you find it tough fighting with only swords and spears?

SPQR: We will restore the gastropod population in Monterey Bay.

GR: That’s so cool. You guys enjoy camping…what else?

SPQR: Fighting. Sacking enemy cities. Restoring harmony to places such as the Californias.

GR: Why the earl? I know you’re busy reading James Patterson…

SPQR: Salve!

GR: James Patterson is not our commander-in-chief. I know you think he is, but, well, never mind, I see the Praetor is waving that stick. Let’s back up…why the earl?

SPQR: He fought well at the battle of Costco. We respect that. Voltaire’s Miasma is the greatest book ever written.

GR: Here’s the big one, commander. Once the earl has his book contract, will you withdraw from Los Angeles?

SPQR: We will hold the high ground called Pasadena.

GR: Have you thought at all about the Rose Bowl next year?

SPQR: We have prepared a list of acceptable festivals. The Rose Bowl will be called The Earl’s Own Football Celebration and Reading. Go now and blog about this. Tell the people of the Californias that we are restoring harmony. And thank you for Britney Spears.

GR: Hey, you’re welcome.

Here is your playbill, a guide to the characters who appear on this blog. If this were a high tech operation organ music would be playing in the background. You would be standing in the lobby of the theater all dressed up. One part melodrama, one part post modernist ode to the great ones, this blog promises the Off-off Broadway feel of raw tension but always in a cheesy sort of way. That’s our pledge to you. The cast.

The Earl. “It takes infinite patience to be me.” His quest for literary greatness sets our story into motion. He was stuck in a chimney for twenty six days, but the Guinness people remain indifferent.

Urquhart Depew. Devilishly handsome, the true heir to the earl’s estate, reduced to embittered dogsbody after an ill-fated poker game. Often seen in the front yard leaning on a rake.

The Dowager Princess. With her claims to the throne of Bavaria tied up in court she blogs the NFL. She goes berserk when she sees Mitch Albom on Sportscenter. Has legal problems in Michigan.

DCI Borchardt. The Earl’s nemesis. Borchardt believes he is the inspiration for Ian Rankin. Under pressure to find the corpse of the Thuringian Dressmaker, Borchardt is Wellington Leg’s senior police official. Has bungled the Roman invasion. Criticized for his low clearance rate he has turned to writing crime novels under the name Waltraut Frothingmunster. Has quite the toga collection.

Prudentia Chalfont-Smythe. Widow of the inventor of the toaster ( the Smythe Oven). President and Managing Director of West Country Garden and Literary Society. Conducting a torrid affair with DCI Borchardt over the Ian Rankin misunderstanding. Works behind the scenes to torpedo the earl’s career.

The staff at the Druidical & Literay Wellington Leg’s daily newspaper. Forced by budget cuts into expense control the staff never leave the building. Forced to use their imaginations they invent stories for submission to Wilfredo Tagesblatt Creative Director. Senior writer Olivia Earthwindandfire is holed up inside Belvedere Castle in priotest of the new owner’s cavalier disregard for journalistic integrity. Reporter Geraldo Riviera was captured by Roman troops after they overran Costco; forced to translate the works of James Patterson he wonders if anyone believes he’s trapped behind enemy lines. Intern Heather DeMedici works without pay. She reviews fiction for the D&L. She believes Geraldo. Publisher Oliver Castinstone now controls a media empire that includes this blog.

Will the Earl ever realize his dream? What will happen when the hogs reach market weight? And what of the vengeful Mrs. Anderson-Cooper, Prosecutrix? Will she behead the Earl? Can Depew be trusted to enclose SASEs? Can Ueberagent Lydia Careerbreaker be persuaded to read his pages?

Tension. Strife. Turmoil. Book reviews. Incisive commentary. Fashion bulletins. This is One More Bite of the Apple. Real time. Presented in ascending order and date stamped for authenticity. And yes, we validate parking.

We do apologize for the confusion created by this blog. While it is a literary blog, it has a darker side, one not readily apparent. At times this blog is simply the ruminations of an unpublished author, David Thayer. Here is what we know about him: he writes novels and his agent tries to sell them. Let’s listen in for a moment….okay, it’s boring to listen to a writer work.

The Earl of Watership Down an imaginary character who lives in Wellington Leg. He is the author of Voltaire’s Miasma the only novel ever rejected by a vanity publisher. The Earl is determined to become a literary star; to that end, he has crashed writers conferences, been dragged across a train platform, frightened Ian Rankin at a literary tea, broken into the home of Lydia Careerbreaker, ueberagent, to enclose a SASE. His desperation has left him quite mad; he dispenses advice to writers in his column in the Druidical & Literary. Accused of murder in the Thuringian Dressmaker Case, the earl faces beheading by the Prosecutrix, Mrs. Anderson-Cooper QC. When not writing he is busy fending off the Vicesima Claudia Legion. The Romans control much of Goth and the hotly contested Costco near Henley Hornbrook. His friend and ally, the Dowager Princess, is wanted by the Detroit Police on bookmaking charges. I think you’re up to speed.

Thanks to Miss Snark for linking to Anna Genoese and her blog about publishing. Anna is an editor at TOR in NYC and a standup lady. I apologize for the absence of the squiggly lines or live links as the Dowager Princess ( hey she made bail) is fond of calling them. Go to Miss Snark and proceed from there, it is worthwhile.

Left Coast Crime is underway in Bristol England. Sarah Weinman is covering the event in person, so we should see reports on Confessions or on Galley Cat. Meanwhile North America can only wait to see what emerges from LCC or the DaVinci trial in London. While less meaningful in a general sense The Earl’s Beheading remains on the docket. Unless ReganBooks offers a tie-in deal, Mrs. Anderson-Cooper is not inclined to change venue to Malibu California. The WB network has expressed some interest, but only if the Earl marries Buffy in a Hollywood bungalow. The nuptials would precede his summary execution and the producers are hoping for one of those tender reality moments preferably at sunset. “It’s a culture clash,” noted Wilfredo Tagesblatt VP of Development. He’s placed over four hundred phone calls to ReganBooks despite the handicap of an outdated princess landline and no reserved parking. “My phone is pink,” Mr. Tagesblatt confessed. “Make something out of it.”  Urquhart Depew, speaking on behalf the Earl, reported heavy fighting in the Costco parking lot near Goth. “The Earl is leading a cavalry charge,” he said. “He has no marriage plans.” The principals in the beheading-marriage proposal are not on the same page. Geraldo Riviera reporting.

Bud Parr is a blogger par excellence and Booksquare is a media savvy fount of wit and wisdom. What do they have in common? On occasion they write to me. Bud made the remark in a recent email that I’ve almost persuaded him to read Sara Gran. Bud’s tastes run to the poetry and classic literature; his passion for Cervantes is well known. He wasn’t specific about which of Sara Gran’s novels he was leaning toward; I wasn’t trying to persuade anyone in my ramblings. I go crazy when I discover work I think is special. Luis Alberto Urrea, Elizabeth Crane, Kevin Wignall, Sara Gran and, of course, the fat boy, David Wells. Don’t read David: just smoke a cigarette on the pitcher’s mound instead.

As to Booksquare she is going to be a presenter at the Yosemite Writers Conference this August. How cool is that? Each attendee may have to scale El Capitan but don’t be deterred. I could do it with my eyes closed and there is a reason David Wells is my favorite athlete.

What would tip the scales in Bud’s case? Perhaps I’ll send him the official review of Dope from the Wellington Leg Intelligencer. That should do it. If only I could persuade Donald Trump to share his hair care secrets…let’s be orange for Spring!