where the writers are
[Insert Catchy Title Here*]

*still drawing a blank

If I am to believe the myriad spambots pooping their little bot larvae into my email, then I'm in serious need of a bigger, harder... watch. Perhaps I underestimate their intelligence and the spammers actually know I pawned my Breitling Colt to pay the bills while writing the Handbook, years ago. On the other hand, it's just as likely these target marketing geniuses strap their wrist watches elsewhere than their wrists. I'm inclined to believe the latter, based on the quality of their pitches:

Vgaira for you!

And spellcheck for you!

14 Missing Girls Found in Basement of Iowa House

Well, if you fucknut spammers are pumping out as much Viagra as you'd have us believe, I'll bet there's a lot more than just fourteen of 'em hiding. You assholes.

Never Agree to be a Loser

And more brilliant insights from "The Abridged Tony Robbins."

Your device grows fast.

That's it baby, take my device. Take it all. You want it don't you? You want that device. Yeah.

Moulin Splooge

Sex aid? Film criticism? You decide.

Watches of Swiss Quality and European Design

Okay, where is Switzerland, again?

All girls are yours!

And they're waiting in a basement in Iowa!

Jerk Your Cum Crayon and Color Me White

Can't comment. Still laughing.

Player Killed by Pitch to the Head

Then you should be more careful where you point your crayon.

Surplus in inches is absolutely necessary!

Well, if something's necessary, then it's not a surplus, jackass.

Don't want to by shops unknown them at strange stores?

No, don't want shopping at Yoda's retarded brother.

Act Your Fantasies Out!

Great. I'm getting spammed by Renaissance Faire and Civil War geeks.

Summer! Shoot a girl on the beach!

Then hang her head on your trophy wall!

Upgrade the bazooka in your pants!

It's already a fucking bazooka.

Make your girlfriend worship you.

Okay, if you're significant other has a photograph of you surrounded by candles, you need a restraining order.

Insomnia keeps you awake all the time?

Yes. That's why it's called insomnia.

War in Middle East develops.

I miss the paper for one day and look what happens.

Weapon used to make love.

Well, you see son, when a mommy Glock 9mm and a daddy Glock 9mm love each other very much...

Stalin took this pill two times before food

Why, because he forgot he took it the first time? And which genius decided that Stalin would make a great celebrity spokesperson?

Okay, on with the serious stuff. Some really cool books and reading happening this summer. First, Vincent Louis Carrella continues to tour with Serpent Box, appearing at Stacey's Bookstore in downtown San Francisco on Tuesday, July 15th. Another buddy, LitQuake co-founder, bar man and all-around Renaissance Thug (I mean that in a good way) Alan Black just released his first book last month. If you missed his launch party and reading at the Edinburgh Castle, then you missed one of the best live readers I've seen, on par with James Ellroy and Irvine Welsh. If you ever get the chance to hear him read live, don't miss it. Otherwise, get yourself a Kick in the Balls as soon as you can. The book, I mean. That's the title. Kick in the Balls. So, get the book.

Velvet comrade Stephen Graham Jones's latest, Ledfeather, is due out from FC2 this August:

After burning up all the blacktop New Mexico had to offer with The Fast Red Road and rewriting the Great Plains into a place both more and less Indian than they already were with The Bird is Gone , Stephen Graham Jones has now brought the story up to Montana. And it's leaner than it's ever been. Not because it's about the Blackfeet, who have been schooled by the government on how to starve, but because this time the story is just about one Indian boy, standing in the middle of the road at night, trying so hard to change history. And these next moments, the headlights already throwing his shadow miles behind him, across all of America, these next moments are going to decide everything. Balanced on the knife edge of winter like the Blackfeet have always been, a single act can resonate for generations. This is Ledfeather. The story of Doby Saxon, standing in that road just outside Browning, his hands balled into fists, the reservation wheeling all around him like he's what the last hundred years have been hurtling towards.

And maybe he is.

What more do you need to know, really? Not to mention, the uber-prolific Jones has yet another title, The Long Trial of Nolan Dugatti, due out very soon, as well. If I know Stephen, he's probably written another novel (or roughly 80,000 words of film criticism and theory) in the time it took me to write this blog post. No, I'm not joking. Wait.... wait.... there, he just did it again.

Next comes Michael Hogan's latest, Burial of the Dead, also this August. My reaction to his debut novel, Man Out of Time, was something along the lines of, "Michael Hogan can motherfucking write." While Mike remains, to date, the only writer I've ever blurbed, his agent solicited a more family-oriented quote from me for use on the forthcoming dust jacket.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from one Giuseppe Manuel Brescia, the translator my Italian publisher, Mondadori, assigned to Dermaphoria. Giuseppe was clearly the man for the job, sharing my freaky obsession with language and wordplay (thus being twice as freaky for being bilingual). We spent a few weeks volleying via email, working out such inter-linguistic quandaries as the characters Jack and the Beanstalk (the fairy tale in Italian is something like "Jack and the Magic Beans"), the "Glass Stripper" versus "glass slipper" joke, and the meaning of "Simi Valley Speeding Ticket," among others. Along the way, Giuseppe was kind enough to translate The Fade, as it's the cornerstone of my current novel-in-progress. For the Italian-speaking (or merely curious): La Dissolvenza.

By all accounts,

Craig

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HA!

Holy crap, Craig, you wrote THAT and couldn't come up with a catchy title?! (Though it was catchy enough that I clicked on it, wasn't it?)

Oh, and sorry about the Breitling. I sympathize, I sold my car. *sniff* And I loved that car. I could even use it to tell time, though it was tricky to fit on my wrist...