David Thayer

Wellington Leg: With the Live Hog Pit closed this holiday weekend your reporter turns attention to what Legians are reading. Here is a sampling of crime fiction titles from across Wellington Leg, Henley Hornbrook, and Carthago Nova. Ed Note: everyone in Goth is at COSTCO.

RAVEN BLACK by Ann Cleeves. The author won the Duncan Lawrie Golden Dagger in 2006. The novel is set in the Shetland Islands where many of this blog’s readers reside.

TROPIC OF NIGHT by Michael Gruber. I know this came out in 2003 but this novel is my choice for the Rap Sheet’s overlooked book. First of the Jimmy Paz trilogy.

THE BIG BOOM by Domenic Stansbury. Another older book that placed second in my Rap Sheet sweepstakes. Feels dated and the title is awful, but this novel pins San Francisco to the wall and smacks you silly.

AN ACCIDENTAL AMERICAN by Alex Carr. This is a bestseller in Wellington Leg, an unusual thriller about an unusual woman caught in the aftermath of Lebanon’s civil war.

SAFE AND SOUND by JD Rhoades. Not yet released, but floated ashore in an arc. Very well written, set in the Carolinas where many of the readers of this blog vacation. Features bounty hunter Jack Keller.

Hopefully on Monday I’ll have a few more titles for those of you who do not reside in the Shetland Islands or vacation in the Carolinas.

Wellington Leg: Big Fat Guys Chewing Cigars: Investment banker Paulie Shorts came out of hiding early Wednesday after it turned out that D&L reporter Mandy Rice-Davies was an undercover agent for the SEC. Paulie is accused of brokering a deal wherein literary blogs would be converted to Cameron Diaz fan sites.

Paulie spoke to your reporter from the comfort of a damaged lawn chair. His fresh wash cloth had been dipped in Patchouli Oil frustrating efforts to sniff out his conspiracy. Paulie came to Wellington Leg after relocating from the overcrowded witness venue of Phoenix, Arizona.

Paulie, there is a serious discussion going on at Critical Mass. You see, journalists hate bloggers and bloggers hate spammers. What’s your take?

“What’s wrong with you people? Cameron Diaz is cool. Enough said.”

It’s all about traffic?

“I get a migraine behind this. I lost the lawn chair concession at Shea Stadium and now I’m a target? Who wouldn’t want to be comfortable during a Mets game?”

Your chairs were in the parking lot.

“What, you never heard of transistor radio?”

Paulie who is your favorite author?

“Cameron Diaz. You should clear the wax out of your ears.”

No category on this blog is more severe than Literary Critic. You’ll notice that most of the categories have a slightly nonsensical overtone whereas LC has the gravitas associated with severe tire damage or the double pump V for victory two fingers in the air gesture that signals imminent doom. That’s because, despite a lack of graphics, this blog is picturesque if you know how to lift your computer screen at a funny angle for optimal viewing. Try it now. Better, no?

Even I freak out when working in the Literary Critic category because it demands more of me when I’m already being demanded in other arenas sort of like a club boxer who dances at Radio City Music Hall and then dares anybody to say a thing about it.  Lately literary criticism has taken on a little Filmore East atmospheric with all the pushing and shoving and name calling. Yeah, the Filmore was cool in its day with Hells Angels dealing crank from Perez’ garage until you stop to consider that the place was named after Millard Filmore not exactly the crank dealing muscle head nodding between procelain stalls old enough to have signed the Declaration of Independence one might have hoped for under the circumstances.

Perhaps in times like these or times like those when Zombie Vendetta accoutrements were in short supply and if you had a safety pin you probably had a diaper to go with it since you cannot recycle the plastic dude. That is the plastic, dude. If you push away decades of resident dust you find etched in the marble a marvelous likeness of Millard himself, a historical footnote, and you can enjoy the Carlos Fuentes feeling of a trip through time.

Wellington Leg: The Earl of Watership Down has been named Writer in Residence at Mansfield-Big School, the snooty private college in leafy Henley Hornbrook. The Earl defeated several other candidates in tryouts held in Fedorko Stadium recently adorned with lights after years of darkness.

The Earl is an overhand writer one literary scout noted. He’ll sometimes drop his shoulder and write three quarter arm displaying an array of release points and arm angles. Thus a reader, lulled by many run on sentences, is suddenly decked by four seam prose that comes out of nowhere. “It’s terribly exciting” said Red “Low Down” Coffey of the Mansfield-Big staff. “We needed a little chin music.”

Students at Mansfield-Big spent the afternoon shagging adverbs. Many hope to imitate the earl’s brobdignagian efforts at self-promotion while others simply wish the curriculum’s “rowing to Australia” requirement be modified. Scientists in Wellington Leg are divided over the question ” does Australia exist” after last winter’s episode involving a rubber duck, the Southern Cross, and fair winds following.

Others resent the post modernist thrust of the earl’s “On Linoleum” series. “It’s so Warhol,” complained Greta of Longchamps. “And why Steely Dan in the elevators?”

The obscure literary reference is lost on many Red agreed. The earl was observed beneath a golf cart in straightaway center field for much of the day. “Busy hands are happy hands,” he said.

Wellington Leg: As further evidence that we are all trapped in an ongoing Cameron Diaz movie there is this news item from the usually well behaved North of England: a woman filled her boyfriend’s van with his belongings before sinking the van in a large body of water. The boyfriend appeared to be waffling on marriage vows. It is unclear to this reporter how this will impact marriage plans for this couple but the man in question now has additional information  in his quest to find a spouse. Of course he could have cited Lloyds of London Perils of the Seas as they include “sinking stranding burning collapse and overturn.”

The boyfriend may not have sensed the nautical threat to his wardrobe but it always behooves one to have plenty of insurance these days. “What if your van sinks with all your possessions inside?” asked Wellington Leg’s resident Lloyds broker Alf Shanahan. In Alf’s screenplay Cameron Diaz slaps him silly after he stays out all night playing poker with the boys.

Indeed most of the population of Wellington Leg must now abandon the sinking van plot device in their WIPS. “My sunken van only had electronics on board,” cried Gus of Goth, chagrined at the turn of events. “I wrote this before I read the article. Can’t I still use it?”

Frankly Gus the answer is no. Professor Moriarity explains: “The contents of the van are less important than the actual sinking of the vehicle.  I’m afraid it means deleting the scenes where she loads the van, drives the van to the shore and the inevitable denouement.”

It’s back to the drawing board admitted Waltraut Frothingmunster. “In my story they’re both long haul truckers. She sinks a load of semi-processed gold off the Florida Keys but cannot remember exactly where.”

“Maybe,” Professor Moriarity said after evaluating her scene. “I like the part about the Bermuda Rectangle,” he said.

The existential crisis continues! A story about a woman attempting to rob a bank from the rear of a hired limousine only serves to accerbate an already difficult climate that has greatly affected plot devices in crime fiction. I know what you’re thinking: this probably happened in Florida or New Jersey if not Belarus. Let’s deconstruct the scenario.

It was a hired limo. The driver didn’t know she was robbing a bank. The fact of the matter is her take amounted to nothing. She might’ve been better off using the ATM. Fantasy authors might linger on the machine: The ATM and the Limo begin a conversation about the woman in the back seat. Maybe they do a background check.

The Note: Ever since Woody Allen tried to rob a bank by presenting a note in TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN the flaws of this approach have been obvious. Should the note be typed or handwritten? Proof read for errors? By whom?

Writers of international intrigue are well aware that Diplomatic Notes are passed from country to country when the teacher isn’t looking. Thus the United States might drop a note to Scotland: what r u doing after school?

If you’re comfortable writing notes in a moving car, you might try a foreign language note to baffle the teller. That way if the heist heads south for any reason ( your limo driver gets impatient, starts blowing the horn) you may have plausible deniability. Achtung! is always good since the teller may have seen Hogan’s Heroes in syndication.

Hiring the limo requires a certain amount of tradecraft. If you use your real name to rent the car, the cops will have a handy short cut to your door. Try wearing a Prom Dress for several weeks prior to signing the rental agreement. It’s an alibi. If you’re a middle-aged man you may want to have an explanation prepared for those nosey detectives. Write it down and hand them a note from your doctor. “Antoine must wear a prom dress so he won’t go to the track and blow all his money.” Dr. Strangelove.

Wellington Leg: I think enough has been written about the Shakespearan legacy for us to grasp that most stories are either comedies or tragedies. The three act form allows for suspense followed by climax and resolution. You didn’t think Pee Wee Herman would be detained at the Alamo. Did you?

At times real life, while imitating art, leaves us hanging in the suspense pocket of what happens next. Marcus Sakey, author of The Blade Itself, has signed a four book deal with Dutton prior to the release of his second book from SMP.  So what, you ask. You’re living in a former Soviet Republic near the ruins of State Tractor Company 45.  For you global warming would be a lucky break.

In crime fiction circles this is a big deal. Why? Because publishing for profit is not a business. Sure it has elements of capitalism: money changes hands based on the premise that demand will exceed supply, that the success of Blade will replicate because of the author’s skill or his name or Dutton’s ability to promote the series. All of these things may be true. Soviet tractors were a marvel too.

I believe in the mud puddle theory. When confronted with a puddle you can go around it ( Vasco de Gama) or go through it. That second unpublished book is Marcus Sakey’s mud puddle, something of an elephant in the room. SMP is not going to promote a novel written by a guy who has already left the house. I’m assuming that the manuscript has been delivered and is in some stage of pre-production. SMP consists of people who have toiled on the first book, toiled on the second book and now are left like so many jilted lovers waving a wistful farewell.

My take is this: that second novel cannot be published by SMP. The balance of risk in this case spikes the wrong way for Marcus Sakey if the book is released and crushed by indifference. By the time his third novel is published by Dutton as their first title there may or may not be residual momentum remaining from the success of Blade.

Gilette makes its money selling the blades not the razors. Publishers make money on their backlist selling the umpteenth branded title to the proletarian masses trapped at airports. I wish Marcus well on his big adventure and hope it works out into a long career.

Stay away from Shakespeare at the Alamo. He didn’t die there.

Rimbaud’s Apothecary: The paving stones in front of Eddie’s Book Nook are warmer this year than in previous years according to scientists gathered here for an annual conference. Most of the rooms at the Wellington Leg Spa and Disco have been sold out for weeks pressuring the towne’s hospitality industry. Two fresh towels were stolen from the Louis Quatorze Room coveted for its courtyard view of the odd beheading and scene of Hamilcar Frist’s famous Faustian frolic with an already frazzled staff.

DCI Borchardt and the Flying Squad cordoned off the heated stones late yesterday on orders from the Tower. The police action spoiled a solid Monday performance on the Piltdown Exchange and a reading scheduled for four pm at Eddie’s. “If Wellington Leg is warmer, what are we supposed to do about it?” asked Marge, the afternoon cashier.

A documentary film is in order: Borchardt used a hand held camera to film the stones during the late afternoon. At one point a stray Pomeranian lifted his leg on the very stones in question. “The offender was pursued and captured,” Borchardt said. “He was found in possession of fresh towels and a quantity of prescription drugs.”

Saw horses remain in place outside Eddie’s. Residue of prehistoric plankton were carried off by CSI Caruso in fifty gallon drums. “Nobody puts plankton in my towne,” Caruso said. Geraldo reporting.

Wellington Leg: Quite a furor has erupted in the Leg over the audacity of some book reviewers to express a jaundiced view of current output ala Joe Queenan’s cris de couer over general crappiness. Thus the editorial staff here at One More Bite of the Apple, though imaginary, is nevertheless a house divided when contemplating the literary landscape where the great ones line the driveway with topiary precision. I think we can discard the notion that Donald Duck belongs in the pantheon since he rarely communicates with the sort of ease we expect from the literati although he remains a house favorite, a dark horse or at least a pale rider.

Our Resident Critic ( The RC) had this to say before turning his attention to the more mundane affairs:

THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy> the story is redeemed by the father’s love for the son. It’s in the opening paragraph.

“I don’t know if I’m a fan of traditional mysteries. They are beginning to weigh each other down with safe writing, boring and repetitious plots, politically correct homage to society’s favorite constructs.”

Where’s the edge? Where’s the risk taking, the punch, the push? Gone to Wentsville ( or is it Wentzville?). If you want to be published in the traditional sense your work must resemble the life of a group of readers easily quantified by their circumstances. These readers will love your work because, like a memo from the PTA, all’s well that ends well.

What a minute, that’s non-fiction.

Since I’ve been tagged by David Isaac at Tomorrowville, I must now reveal the secrets of my approach to writing, secrets so explosive that if they were on a matchbook cover you’d be compelled to sign up at my Famous Writers School ( How do they do it? All is revealed.) By the way if you’re thinking about screenwriting try this first: pop four dollars or three euros worth of popcorn. Let the popcorn fill your living space until you’re driven outdoors. Tell the neighbors you’re involved in scientific research, then ask to borrow some salt. Set up the scene this way:

Int. Daytime. Writer’s loft. Gary flees as popcorn fills his living space.

Ext. Daytime. Brightly lit alley: Gary realizes, perhaps for the first time, that he lives in Los Angeles.

Once the popcorn is ready I sit down at the keyboard. Cue procrastination theme. Hey, I really like Dominic Stansbury novel THE BIG BOOM. Looks like the bond market is holding steady. It’s tough to write when the bond market is wobbling or foreign currency futures begin to tank. Let’s track the yen for a few minutes…

Anyway I’m typing now. Always a good idea to throw your inner critic a bone by typing for a while. I think the dryer is vibrating, could be an earthquake. If it is an earthquake I think the popcorn will cushion any seismic consequences such as an I-beam on the keyboard.

It’s garbage day. You don’t want to miss that day but since your living space is full of popcorn and the pound is rising it might be wise to take extra precautions: let’s wear that batting helmet signed by Jose Canseco.

Okay, famous writing is happening now. It’s hard to see with the helmet on but focus is important, more important than the strange sounds coming from the refrigerator. It’s like the Matterhorn, man, crazy crashing noises, ice everywhere. And the yen is spiking. That’s enough writing for one day.