Author: Head Wombat

Internet Famous!!!!!

Posted on by Head Wombat

Well, I’ve made the big-time: I’m on KoboBookHub.com’s front page.

Sure, it’s a listing for a free short-ish short story (the edifying “The History of the Mayan Ball League“). Sure it’s a few pages down from the fold. Sure, I *may* have submitted the listing myself. And sure, sure, I’ve still not had a *single download of the story on a Kobo device.*

But isn’t it *amazing*!

So if *you* are the person with that one Kobo reading machine out there, give it a whirl!

Editing

Posted on by Head Wombat

As an extra special treat, while I’m deep in the throes of editing the latest draft of Butterfly and not allowed out of the house except for pee breaks*, I thought I’d share a picture of a three decker in Worcester, which may or may not have something to do with the book.

 

A Vernon Hill Three Decker
A Vernon Hill Three Decker

And now back to the editing table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Imagine, if you will, we have an outhouse and that I live somewhere remote, mountainous, quiet, except for people complaining loudly that they have to walk outside to the outhouse to pee when everyone else they know has running water and electricity and television and all that good stuff. Or don’t imagine that, I’m not going to boss you around.

Coming Soon…

Posted on by Head Wombat

Coming soon, the story of what really happened in Portland, OR and Powell’s City of Books. First got a draft or two to finish, some court-ordered service to perform, and international intrigue to clear up.

Powell's City of Books
Powell’s City of Books

Hang tight, okay?

Silence

Posted on by Head Wombat

I’ve been a bit quiet lately because I was arrested and am currently tunneling my way out after attempting to sign a patron’s dog at Powell’s City of Books against their wishes (both the owner and the dog).

Will update you on my progress soon.

Thanks for caring.

A Present for All of You

Posted on by Head Wombat

The author will be signing books (not his own, though if they have copies of any of the Fenway Fictions he’ll likely sign those, too, in his mad fury of signing) at Powell’s City of Books on July 7th and/or 8th of 2013.

Just waiting to be signed
Just waiting to be signed

This has been a public service announcement and a Happy Fourth of July present for those people for whom the Fourth is a happy occasion.

And for those for whom it isn’t, well, now you have a reason to be happy.

Own a Piece of History

Posted on by Head Wombat

I’m inspired by the Red Sox’s ownership to sell just about any and everything associated with the club (those Fenway bricks? Fenway dirt?), and figured I’d join the race.

 

So if you’d like to buy your favorite author’s old desk, an amazing desk at which he churned out “The Long Dark Voyage,” “The Curious Case of Doctor Belly and Mister Itcher,” and “Just Add Water (And Extra Innings)” as well as 10-15 pages of God Coffee, I Miss You, a novel, this is your chance:

    http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sby/fuo/3907075863.html

So there you have it. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Carl Hiaasen in Conversation with Christopher Moore: A Review

Posted on by Head Wombat
The thing that surprised me, and the members of the first few rows, which became a Sea World-esque no-go zone, the most was the amount of blood.
Carl Hiaasen vs. Christopher Moore
Bad, bad monkey
I had no idea that Christopher Moore and Carl Hiaasen were mortal enemies and that Books Inc. had obviously thrown them together for the sheer spectacle of it all. The hordes of TMZ cameras out front should have clued me in that it was going to be that kind of an event. But the afternoon began harmlessly enough, the two authors striding out onto the stage from opposite wings of the stage, faces going only slightly sour as they saw the other man. Carl spotted Christopher first, as Christopher was busy waving to the audience, who were chanting his name and stomping their feet, for some reason. And the first hint that the conversation would not go quite as expected was when Carl sprinted across the stage and flung himself at Christopher, the force of which knocked the two men down, sent Mr. Moore’s microphone pack flying into the third row, raising an unsightly gash on an attendee’s forehead. While the two men tussled on the floor, rocking back and forth as one then the other gained the upper hand, raining body blows down on each other, the AV guy attempted to re-fit a microphone pack onto Christopher, which he did, though I’m fairly certain he received a cracked rib or two for his trouble.
While he was up there the AV guy also confiscated a pair of brass knuckles from Mr. Hiaasen, who wasn’t expecting Christopher Moore on stage with him, but simply carries brass knuckles around with him at all times “just in case.”
After the initial brawl the MC did a commendable job of getting the two settled in their respective chairs. The Books Inc. event organizer would later say that, hindsight being 20-20, they would have put more than a small side table and two bottles of water between the two, had they known it was going to escalate *that* quickly.
Through gritted teeth which you could hear thanks to the quick work of the AV guy, Christopher Moore asked Carl a few questions, mostly focused on his personal life and allegations of unspeakable acts with monkeys (hence the title of his new book, quipped Mr. Moore). He asked whether or not Carl knew of the fatwa issued against himself by the Floridian government.
It was this question that seemed to have set something off in Christopher Moore’s mind, and, instead of waiting for the answer, he leapt from his seat, a particularly painful maneuver, considering Chris had suffered a torn ACL in the earlier fight, and attempted to karate kick Carl Hiaasen. I say attempted because, at that moment, the MC threw two stainless steel kitchen knives onto the stage, one of which struck Mr. Hiaasen in the left temple, causing him to duck away in pain. The karate kick missed, whistling over the ducking head of Mr. Hiaasen, and the look on Mr. Moore’s face revealed that he had expected his opponent to be less spry than he was proving. Which is a shame, because while he was processing this new data about his fight he failed to appreciate the karate kick he had just performed, which would have felled a man much, much taller than himself.
Carl Hiaasen parlayed his duck into a very elegant tuck and roll across the floor, kneeing a bottle of water off the side table he was rolling past. The water was thrust into the air, tumbling over and over until it landed in Carl’s left hand as he finally righted himself and took a triumphant swig.
The event organizers took this natural pause in the conversation to tie the kitchen knives to the authors’ hands with duct tape, the handlers on Christopher Moore’s side having more trouble with their charge because he had decided that the best approach to this wily fighter he faced would be to attack aggressively.
The knives were attached and the two men attacked each other with the vigor of authors much younger than themselves (I’m thinking of the 12 year old authors in the death matches they televise on ESPN 4 and the creative violence they exhibit). The first few rows were evacuated after the Books Inc. staff noticed a few of them collecting the blood of the writers in vials, presumably to sell or splash on their books in lieu of signed copies. From the back of the room people were encouraged to throw glassware and spoons, for some reason, and I regret to admit that I engaged in throwing a spoon or two when the bartender explained that they simply had too many spoons and wanted to get rid of a few.
At the sound of the commotion the TMZ crew, who had been waiting outside patiently, tending to sick children and puppies while they loitered, rushed inside, sweeping out the remainder of the audience like an incoming wave, where we then went on with the rest of our business for the day.
I do not know which, if either, author survived the conversation, but would like to thank Books Inc. and the authors for a memorable event.*
* This did not happen.

My start: The Worcester County Young Writers’ Conference

Posted on by Head Wombat

So my actual start was probably winning a CVS Pharmacy writing contest sometime in the early 80s ($5! A veritable fortune!), but my second start to my writing career was the Worcester County Young Writers’ Conference, held at Saint John’s High School, and still held there, every year since 1989.

Samuel Pickering, who was the inspiration for Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poets Society, was the guest speaker, and they had published writers on-hand to discuss writing with us youngsters from all over the Worcester County area.

The Completed Works
The Completed Works

I saw something about the conference the other day in the Saint John’s Alumni magazine, and dug out my old binder from the 1992 one. I can’t tell you how fortunate I was to have gone.

Until that point the role models I had had were policemen — my family was peopled by a chief of police of Worcester, state troopers, Worcester policemen — the author of my life very unimaginative when it came to occupations. Or athletes from the Boston professional sports teams, which I followed with the obsession of a young boy obsessing about something. My plan, to that point, was to get drafted by the Red Sox or Bruins, despite the fact that my hockey skills are somewhat… lacking and my baseball skills weren’t exactly setting the world on fire. So I traded one set of delusions for another set*.

 

It’s an excellent environment for a young person to experience people preoccupied with the writing life, all the process, pitfalls, and sheer joy of reading and telling stories.

It’s a real gift for misguided young people who want to be encouraged to keep up their delusions.

 

 

 

 

 

* To be honest, I’m still waiting for the Red Sox to call, I’ve got a year or two left in my arm, if I start throwing a knuckleball. And if the Bruins need a forward for tonight’s Game 6 against the Chicago Blackhawks I have left a message on Peter Chiarelli’s voicemail to let him know I’m available. I just need airfare and a lift to the Garden.