Star Wars Bookery

No, I'm not about to do another one, and the one about which I'm talking, Shadow Games, was by Maya Bohnhoff and Michael Reaves. The title, which wasn't the working one–that was Holostar–was apparently decided upon by fans, and the book hit the racks a couple months ago.


There is a lot of stuff in it that a couple of my fans have asked about, the teras kasi martial art, Black Sun, the character of Dash Rendar, yadda, yadda. Did I have a hand in the book?


Well. A little bit yes, and mostly, no.


First, the book was entirely written by Bohnhoff and Reaves. I have, from time to time as a friend and collaborator, contributed the odd scene or chapter to some of Michael's books, but nary a graph did I put in for this one. They wrote it, not me.


On the other hand, five years or so ago, Reaves and I talked about doing another Star Wars novel together (we've done three) and I came up with the basic premise of a story set in the entertainment industry. A rock star who is beset with danger and, hires some bodyguards, and who turns out to be not quite as innocent as first thought. 


We batted the idea back and forth, changed the rock/holo star from a guy to a girl, cut, added, blended, and came up with characters and plots and settings and all, and pitched it to Del Rey. We thought it was unique for their universe. We could do a  backstage tour of Star Wars celebrity and have a fine romp, elements of mystery, like that. Madonna. Or these days, Lady Gaga ...


Del Rey was not enthusiastic. They wanted changes, they wanted us to include canon-characters, and a few other things that would have made it into a much different book. 


Reaves and I thought about it and decided we didn't want to do it that way.


So we thanked them, but decided we'd rather not. No harm, no foul, see you around.


Fast forward a couple of years. Del Rey dropped us a note: The idea had percolated and they had gotten more interested in it. What say?


Reaves and I talked. I didn't see that anything had changed, they still wanted us to do stuff I didn't want to do, so I told Reaves that. Well, he said, if I wasn't interested, would it be okay if he did it on his own? Or with Maya, with whom he had done other projects?


Sure, go ahead, with my blessing. Everybody who knows anything knows that the idea is not the big deal, the execution is. Have at it.


So he did.


(Meanwhile, I got a call from our SW's editor. Since I wasn't interested in doing a Star Wars novel, was I maybe interested in doing an Indiana Jones novel? Having never gotten to play in that area, but having done four SW's novels, I was interested in trying something new. So I did.)


Thus my input on Shadow Games was minimal. What I came up with, and later what Michael and I passed back and forth, is not exactly what he and Maya wound up doing, though the basic notion is the same. I haven't had a chance to read it yet, but is there a scene where somebody gets an offer they can't refuse? They wake up with Jar-Jar Binks' head in their bed? 


Or did that get cut ...?)

Gig II

So, second gig with the Closet Musicians: Background music at a quilt show in a local Methodist church. 


Only cost us two cans of food to get in. 


Rock and Roll!


I'm sure I saw Paul Allen in the crowd, waiting for a chance to demand that we sell him our guitars for his Rock Museum in Seattle ...


Played for an hour, took a break, did another forty-five minutes, and realized we didn't really have enough material, once we took out the songs that weren't entirely appropriate for church. Couldn't do "Little Egypt," or "Johnny Wadd is Dead," now, could we?


Had one of our regular's granddaughters sit in with us. She's five.


Screwed up a couple, got a few harmonies all right. Our best number, there was no applause. Probably stunned that we pulled one off ...


Um. Anyway, we all decamped to Buster's Barbecue afterward and ate spicy critter flesh and baked beans and all like that, and had a fine old time.


Look for us on Public Access Cable Channel 11 or 22. CDs will be available ...

Hmmm

A Writing Tip

Couple posts ago, I put up a piece about an old bodybuilder. In an effort to make the comments about his (purported) drug use to achieve his physique funny, I used some hyperbolic references. How well that worked is up for debate, but I thought they were focused where I wanted them to be. 


Let's take one of those and parse it, to show why I think it worked. Let us go back to the genesis of the idea: "He took enough drugs to grow from very small to very large!"


Nothing there. Too general. Doesn't convey much of anything. 


"He took enough drugs to turn a dwarf into a giant!" Better, but still too bland.


"He took enough drugs to turn a dwarf into an NBA center!" Getting closer, but still not there.


"He took enough drugs to turn a Munchkin into Shaquille O'Neal!" Almost, but not quite. I want to add in what kind of drugs. And I want to make the image wider, so I multiply the entities: 

I said,  (He took) "Enough Human Growth Hormone to make the entire Munchkin cast of The Wizard of Oz into Shaquille O'Neal."

If you know the tropes, the dwarf Munchkins from WoZ morphing into a plus-seven-foot-three-hundred-and-fifty pound NBA basketball player via HGH is pretty specific. 

You get a sharper image the more specific you are ... but only up to a point. If you over do it, if you go past the audience's knowledge, you lose them. If I said, "He took enough HGH to turn Charlie Becker into Shaquille O'Neal!" probably most people won't know that Becker played the Mayor Munchkin in the Wizard of Oz. 

Too far. 

So, the trick is to narrow your image down so it is sharp enough to resonate with readers at the most visceral level you can manage. If you have to explain it, you probably went too far.

  

Genetics

Apparently my family didn't pass along either the shopping or furniture-moving gene to the male side of the line. 


I buy things, but don't spend a lot of time dawdling about when I do it. This one? Or that one? That one. Ring it up.


Furniture at my mother's house? In all in the same places it was put fifty years ago when they moved in. Probably how it would be at my house, were it up to me. 


Of course, it isn't up to me, is it?


My wife inherited both genes. She loves to shop, and every so often, furniture must be moved. In the latter category, yesterday was the start off another episode of musical chairs. And tables. And bookcases, and the wardrobe armoire ...


It's cheaper than moving to another house, which is the first choice when this comes upon my wife. And after forty-five years, I've gotten used to it ...

Modern Magic

So, offhand, how old would you say this guy is? Now, you know it's a trick question because I asked it, but even so, you will almost certainly underguess it, if the poster of the picture on Facebook can be trusted: Go ahead, take a stab.


Ninety-one.


Are you kidding me? My first reaction was pure disbelief, and frankly, I'd want to see a notarized birth certificate and a passport before I bet money on it, but look at the picture of Sly Stallone, below, at my age, sixty-four. That's verifiable, so the guy above could easily be in his sixties or seventies, and that's incredible even so. 


So, you ask, how do you achieve this level of muscularity? First, you need the genetics. Then the diet and exercise. Probably some plastic surgery and maybe Botox. And finally, drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. Enough anabolic steroids to turn a castrati boys choir into a room full of Incredible Hulks. Enough Human Growth Hormone to make the entire Munchkin cast of The Wizard of Oz into Shaquille O'Neal. And probably an assortment of pain-killers and diuretics sufficient to stone the entire crowd at the Super Bowl stadium.


But still. If you are looking for an excuse to be out of shape, age alone isn't it ...

Heartshot

Years ago, my buddy Mike Byers, former military pilot; expert artist in glass and constructions various; guitarist, and writer; produced a magazine-killer story, "Heartshot."


Those of you unfamiliar with the MK term, this is a story you sell to a magazine that then goes belly-up before it can publish the piece. Naturally, you blame the story, as well you should, and piss on all you writers who killed my markets thus ...


Mike's story, about a unicorn hunter, and written, I recall, to offset the warm-fuzziness that was rampant–sorry had to do it–in the fantasy field at the time in regard to such creatures as unicorns and winged kitties and like that, went on to kill a couple more magazines before he retired it.(My worst killed two 'zines for sure, and maybe a third; I bow to no master.)


Well, it seems that somebody he knows who has the wherewithal to do it wants to make a short film of it. Might kill the moviemaker's business, too–and I'm sure Byers has warned him; still, that's way cool. 


And you gotta love the logo ... 

Knife Update

Somebody asked about the cylinder knife ...


Chuck was not happy with how the handle came out, so he ordered another chunk of wood. Then he got a new job, and that kind of thing eats up a lot of time. Don't worry, he'll get back to it when he can. Can't hurry quality.

Dead Ends

I am cleaning out my links here on ye olde blogge, and if you haven't posted anything on your blog in the last six months, I'll be deleting your link, come tomorrow. 


Not that I'm trying to get you to post, since most of you who play online have probably gone to Facebook or Google or you Tweet, but if you aren't putting stuff up on your blog, no point in me sending folks your way.

Art Moves

For a while, I've had Mike Byers's fused glass art panel over the fireplace insert. Lovely piece. But there is a lot of heat rising when we fire it up, and even though fused glass is certainly durable enough to withstand that, the mats aren't so rugged, so I've been looking for a new home.


Over my desk, on the top shelf as a backdrop for a limited-run Star Wars statuette of Vader, the Emperor, and Xizor seems to be the right spot ...


The knife in the f.g. is a gift from Bobbe E.; the little spaceship is a ballpoint pen set from my mother. If you click on the picture and expand it, you might be able to spot a tiny gold band near the top of the rocket. My baby ring ...

Who Knew?

Ever hear of black light miniature golf? I hadn't, until this weekend. I've been to kid's parties at bowling alleys wherein they dim the house lights and light black light bulbs and spray fake fog and all, but Putt-Putt? Hadn't seen that one.


Apparently my daughter's boys found it and loved it, so we went.


In the basement of a building downtown, eighteen holes, looks like the Haunted Mansion from Disneyland. Only light is black light, and it's dim. Glowing socks and shoe laces, anything white shines like a lamp.


A psychedelic poster from the sixties, it was. Not that I can remember the sixties, but there are still some of the old posters out there. The golf balls glow, different colors, so they are easy to track. Place was packed, we had to wait for our flight to take off ...


The colors, man, the colors ... !