Possibly the Most Disturbing Thing I've Ever Seen

This crew is unimpressed.

Nobody's Angel

If memory serves, the first time I ever rode in a taxi cab was in Chicago in the late 90s. At least that I can remember, or at least in a situation where I was in a strange place that I didn't know where I was or where I was going. In all my years living in the Seattle area prior to that, I don't think I ever rode in a cab. Since then I've been to Chicago several times, usually behind the wheel of a rental car, and I've gotten to know the city fairly well -- at least in a broad, general sense. Which made one of the more recent offerings from Hard Case Crime, a novel called Nobody's Angel, that much more fun to read. When the author would describe some of the routes, or neighborhoods, I actually knew what he was talking about. That gave it a familiarity to me that is sometimes lacking in other novel settings. This is the short little 4/5 star review I gave the book on my Goodreads page:

The latest from Hard Case Crime is a trip around Chicago via the culture of cab drivers. What I enjoyed most -- beyond the stories I've read of Clark selling this originally self-published novel from his cab before HCC picked it up -- is that it isn't some bloody tale of vigilantism. The story comes to Eddie, our first-person narrator, almost in spite of himself, and that story is well told. It's dark, atmospheric, and feels authentic in a way that only someone who really knows the world being written can portray it. I enjoyed the book very much.

My whole reason for bringing all this up, besides simply pointing out an excellent book that everyone should read, is that the author, Chicago cab driver Jack Clark, was recently interviewed about the book on NPR's Fresh Air program. It's a great little discussion that you should check out. I downloaded the mp3 of the interview and gave it a listen; it's a little over fifteen minutes long.

I think this is such a great story; a guy writes a book, shops it around, then self-publishes it and sells it out of his cab. Then it gets picked up by a publisher and is now getting some accolades. I really did enjoy the novel, and the circumstances around how Jack got it out to the public are inspiring. I hope the next time I go to Chicago and find myself in need of a cab, Jack somehow is the guy to give me a lift!

Literally One of My Favorite Local News Stories of the Year

This is the headline over at local political blog 4&20 blackbirds:

School Board Member Nancy Pickhardt Resigns, Blames Missoulian Reporter

You must realize any story that's got an elected official leaving a "You can go fuck yourselves!" voice mail on the home telephone of a citizen is going to be right in my wheelhouse, don't you? Go check the story out for yourself!

Ah, school board members. Delusions of grandeur a little bit now and then? This stuff just kills me.

An Evening with an Established Writer Adapting to Change

Last night Julia and I went to my favorite local independent bookstore to attend a reading by one of my favorite writers, Rick Bass. Reflecting after the reading, I realized I've read more of his work than just about any other author; certainly among contemporary writers anyway. I've read a number of his essays in magazines I buy, and I've read several of his nonfiction books. Beyond a couple short stories, though, I am not familiar with his fiction, so this reading would be something different.

Rick was promoting, and reading from, his new (and 3rd) novel, Nashville Chrome. Here is the synopsis from the Amazon listing for the book:

Late in 1959, the Brown siblings--Maxine, Bonnie, and Jim Ed--were enjoying unprecedented international success, rivaled only by their longtime friend Elvis Presley. They had a bona fide megahit on their hands, which topped both the country and pop charts and gave rise to the polished sound of the multibillion dollar country music industry we know today. Mesmerized by the Browns' haunting harmonies, the Beatles even tried to learn their secret. Their unique harmony, however, was only achievable through shared blood, and the trio's perfect pitch was honed by a childhood spent listening for the elusive pulse and tone of an impeccably tempered blade at their parent's Arkansas sawmill.

But the Browns' celebrity couldn't survive the world changing around them, and the bonds of family began to fray along with the fame. Heartbreakingly, the novel jumps between the Browns' promising past and the present, which finds Maxine--once supremely confident and ravenous in her pursuit of applause--ailing and alone. As her world increasingly narrows, her hunger for just one more chance to secure her legacy only grows, as does her need for human connection.

Lyrical and nuanced, Nashville Chrome hits all the right grace notes with its vivid evocation of an era in American music, while at its heart it is a wrenching meditation on the complexities of fame and of one family--forgotten yet utterly unforgettable when reclaimed by Bass--who experienced them firsthand.

I definitely recommend checking out that Amazon link, if only to read the short essay Rick wrote about how the book came to be, all as the result of him trying to track down a means to contact Keith Urban on behalf of his daughters:

The Browns were the first group to have a number one hit on both the country and the pop charts (and later on the folk charts--pioneers in the phenomenon of crossover hits) and were the number one selling group in England in 1957.

By the 1960s, however, they had practically vanished, and today, hardly anyone has heard of them or knows who they are--who they were. The novel quickly became an examination about the costs and nature of fame in America. I was particularly struck by how one sister, Bonnie, accepted the return of anonymity with grace and even what seemed to me like relief, while Maxine, the older sister, burned--and still burns, dreaming of fame's return. And I was fascinated, too, by the way the greatness of the era--Johnny Cash, Elvis, the Beatles, Chet Atkins, etc.--was drawn to the Browns, as if to a source or wellspring. What such springs exist today, and will they dry up, and if so, why?

Fires, floods, bars, and the heartbreak of betrayals--all the stuff of country music, then and now, was braided throughout the Browns' lives, occurring often and with great drama. It's a miracle they survived. In so many ways they were pioneers who blazed a way for the easy road, the silk road of wealth that would attend to talent in subsequent generations. Yet the burden of fame would become no easier--the Browns struggled with it then as entertainers of today still do.

Although I didn't get the story I initially went after (though I haven't given up; what kind of lesson would that be for the girls?), at least there was something that came out of the Keith Urban wild goose chase. A novel doesn’t just come along every day.

What surprised me is that Julia, who is something of an expert in this kind of music, hadn't heard of The Browns. That alone, and Rick's reading, made it clear that this book will likely be a big hit in our house. I also realized, based on his hints, that I'd like to get Mr. Bass a little tuned up so I could hear all the juicy stories that aren't in the book.

At one point during the Q&A portion of the reading, Rick mentioned the "troubled publishing industry." Getting back to that, I asked him how the current environment, with writers encouraged (if not forced) into self-promotional enterprises that don't have a lot to do with getting words on the page -- personal websites, blogs, Twitter, Facebook, etc. -- had affected his career/life as a writer.

Without really answering my question directly, Rick responded that publishing isn't the only industry going through hard times. He rattled off a number of industries struggling, and made the point that one either adapts to change or falls by the wayside. In his personal life and career, he said he has gone from what was basically an upper middle class lifestyle to whatever it is you call the class just below what has typically been labeled middle class. Then he shrugged and smiled, if a bit wry. He said he has had to seek out writing work of a nature he doesn't really like at all, whether it is reviews or articles and essays on topics he really doesn't care about, to maintain his income. However, he concluded by saying he still gets to spend most of his time doing the writing that he most loves, and that as a writer he still doesn't have to have "a real job" and for that he is grateful.

I thought that was a telling, and honest, answer from a guy who is essentially a perfect example of a "mid list" writer. The guy has written several books, mostly nonfiction, with a couple other novels and story collections. He's been nominated for, and won, various awards. He continues to make his living, but not as well as he was a few years ago. Sounds like just about everyone I know, writers or not.

It also made me feel kind of guilty. Some months ago I decided to stop writing for the local weekly paper, the Independent. I was pretty much only doing music reviews to the tune of 200 words with payment totaling roughly the cost of a CD. My decision was based mainly on the time involved, that the money wasn't really worth the effort of trying to find things to say about music I usually didn't care much for. The other feature-writing opportunities were nice, where I could write longer pieces that would pay closer to a c-note, or even 3-digits for the one cover story I did. Those opportunities were fewer and farther between given the Indy's freelance budget had been reduced, but it was still nice to sit on an invoice for a while until I'd written four or five reviews, then get a check for enough to take the family out for dinner or something.

I stopped because I wanted to devote more time to my fiction writing. Nothing wrong with that, in theory. In reality, though, as a writer who wants to generate a little income to ultimately (and hopefully) make at least part of my living over the next few years from my work, it was a mistake. I can write a 5000 or 6000 word short story, and, if I am lucky, it might land in a paying market that will probably get me $15 - $20. Yeah, there are better paying markets out there, sure, but I'm not likely to land in one any time soon. Hell, the one short article I landed in Vintage Guitar magazine paid more than a year's worth of stories will (especially considering everything I've done so far with my fiction, both already published or soon to be, pays nothing at all).

I'm not complaining. It is just a hard realization of a "career mistake" made that can hopefully be rectified with a little more effort. Sure, it would be nice to devote all my writing time to my fiction, but that is probably short-sighted, at least for the purpose of my goals. And I have some fiction opportunities on the near horizon that may generate income as well. The proper thing as an artist is to say, "it ain't about money," and really it isn't. But for art sometimes one must make a few sacrifices here and there, at least if one wants it to put a little food on the table.

Two Paragraphs that Prove the Awesomeness of Daniel Woodrell

The first two chapters of Chapter 6, from Daniel Woodrell's Tomato Red:

Venus Holler was the most low-life part of town, so I already knew where it was. I stalled until late afternoon before I let myself drive down there. I felt instantly at home.

What I came to know: Venus Holler as a name was one of those cruel country jokes that sticks. It was a holler of small, square homes that leaned sideways a bit like a bunch of drunks who can't quite hear each other. The holler naturally lay across the tracks from the decent citizens of West Table, but so barely across the tracks that trains made these joints quiver. If a train passed at breakfast time, all the eggs ended up scrambled. There was an awful chunky road through the holler, a road that had been paved out of pity once back in the bygones but had busted up over the years and lain unrepaired and become forever rugged. The houses have their roofs pulled down low over the front stoops, like hats worn at a sulky angle over hungry stubbled faces. Back in the heydays this was where the whores all had to live, the whores who serviced all the cattlemen and pig farmers who shipped their stock from West Table and went on toots during their visits, as well as the local lovelorn. The name got to be Venus Holler, I'm told, precisely because a goddess is the very last dame you'd ever expect to find there -- but if you ever did, for three bucks you could fuck her too.

I've been griping about my inability to see the movie version of Woodrell's Winter's Bone because our local theaters are LAME. Tomato Red was originally published in 1998, but was recently reissued by Busted Flush Press. I highly recommend it, and I haven't even finished reading it yet (which I hope to rectify either tonight or tomorrow). BFP is also reissuing Woodrell's 2001 novel, The Death of Sweet Mister, in March of next year. I can't wait for that! I've loved everything I've read that has come out of BFP; David knows his stuff, make no mistake about it!

My Life as a Book, 2010

So after a week of being kind of grouchy and lame (which explains the lack of posts), I am bouncing back with this little exercise in time wasting that was actually pretty fun to do. It came to my attention via blogger/book reviewer Elizabeth A. White's Musings of an All Purpose Monkey blog. She says:

Ok, you can blame this one on PopCultureNerd from Twitter. She has come up with a very clever meme in which you describe yourself by completing a set of sentences using only the titles of books you’ve read in 2010.

So here's my list:

In high school I was: The Wheelman (Duane Swierczynski)

People might be surprised I'm: Nobody's Angel (Jack Clark)

I will never be: Queenpin (Megan Abbott)

My fantasy job is to: Hunt Beyond the Frozen Fire (Christa Faust)

At the end of a long day I need: Food Rules (Michael Pollan)

I hate it when I: Go to Helena Handbasket (Donna Moore)

Wish I had: The Art of Manliness (Brett and Kate McKay)

My family reunions are: A Bad Day for Pretty (Sophie Littlefield)

At a party you’d find me with: Savages (Don Winslow)

I’ve never been to: The Lost City of Z (David Grann)

A happy day includes: The Open Road (Pico Iyer)

Motto I live by: Be Ready When the Shit Goes Down (Forrest Griffin and Erich Krauss)

On my bucket list: True Grit (Charles Portis)

In my next life, I want to be: A Fistful of Legends (Various)


You can check out Elizabeth's list HERE, and the one who started it all, Popculturenerd's list, HERE.

Camera Challenged at the Roller Derby

Last Friday was the first bout of Missoula's new roller derby squad, The Hellgate Rollergirls, and Julia and I made sure to be in attendance. We had gone to bouts in Tucson, and I have to say this sport is about the best live sporting event I've ever attended. It's high octane and the DIY energy is unmatched. I had my camera along and took pictures, though I didn't expect to get many worth a damn, as the light wasn't that great and my little point-and-shoot just isn't up to this type of thing.

The night didn't get started so well. The Big Dipper Ice Cream truck was out front, and we definitely indulged. Julia was working through her cone with her usual professional efficiency, but I was struggling to get more in my mouth than in my beard and mustache (I was well overdue a trim, you see). Plus it was melting all over me. I finally had had enough and tossed it. Julia was near distraught. She said, "I can't believe what I just saw. Some day I am going to make you watch me throw away half a pizza just so you know what it feels like." I told her that I've seen the stuff she puts on pizza to ruin it, so I already knew the feeling.

Luckily that little interlude was a mere speed bump on the way to a fun evening. We made our way inside the big warehouse the Rollergirls are using and scored seats right on the edge of the track. Which was luckily, because people started arriving shortly after that in droves; turnout was fantastic.

This dude played the national anthem on his trombone. It was awesome.

The bout was between two teams made up of Hellgate Rollergirls, the Angels vs. the Devils. The warehouse was really hot. So were the derby girls.

My camera was as challenged as I knew it would be, so I would just aim for a spot and press the button, hoping to get an image that didn't suck. The action was fast and furious!

I was pulling for the Devils, but the Angels pretty much handed them their asses.

I was thinking how battered and sore these athletes would all be the next day after battling for two 30 minute periods. The Missoulian printed an article on the event, and a few bruises were displayed.

All in all it was a great event. Everyone seemed to be having a blast! I hope the Rollergirls keep up the momentum and have tons of success. I can't wait for the next bout!