More On Caption Contest #1

What?

I know it's a new year, but good gravy, you can't think of anything?

Come on, you are not still hung over and I know that you're not going to take this lying down, are you? It's a caption contest, you get a little fame, you get a neat prize, and damn it, you get bragging rights.

Click away here, show me your best and make me proud.

My Best Reading of 2008

Let me preface this by saying that some of these books came in 2006-07, but I didn't get to them until this year. If there is one thing that did not dish out a heaping bowl of suck in 2008, that was the literature that came out. Now your results obviously, might vary, but that's probably because you don't read crime fiction.

Nevertheless, if you don't? I suggest-

If Chelsea can't make you laugh, you are brain-dead, and yes, it is as simple as that. She will offend you, guaranteed, but she will also make you laugh. The laughs will outweigh your outrage.

The same goes with David Sedaris. You might even cry with this book and it did bring a genuine tear to me eye. This is the most introspective of his books that I've read so far, but that doesn't mean that when the you laugh, you won't laugh hard. Neither of these books should be read in waiting rooms or in other social situations where your laughing out loud will embarrass you.

Now on to my favorite genre-

"It's Chinatown, Jake." Well this is not Chinatown, that is, it is not Jake Gittes's Chinatown, we're talking New York's Chinatown in 1976. While there is plenty of noir and a mystery to boot, those things are all secondary to the portrait of a Chinatown that none of us (outside of those that lived outside of there), has ever known. Ed Lin writes a good mystery, but he takes the long way getting there, and does such a job of showing you what every day life was in this hidden enclave, that you won't mind the distraction.

In "Say It With Bullets," our hero gets double-crossed and left for dead in post World War II China. The guy tries to live and let live when he comes back home to Philadelphia, and is promptly shot at by one of the guys that double-crossed him the first time.

"Say It With Bullets" has the protagonist searching for the antagonist across the Heartland of America, and the mystery is just which of his former friends is the one with itchy trigger-finger. Of course one of them is trying to bump him off before he discovers the truth. There is a great ending that is reminiscent of a certain Hitchcock film and for me to say more, would ruin it.

Many a writer can write romance and even more of them can write sex or p*rn, but only one author can truly write "steam." I'm talking about you pulling at your collar like Rodney Dangerfield, even when it is five below zero. I'm talking about the kind of book that will make a big 350 lbs. defensive tackle swoon, fan himself, and complain that he's got "the vapors" like some a tiny Southern belle, because that's what Meg Abbott writes-

S-t-e-a-m.

She also wrote a great crime novel, but day-um, skip the Viagra, 'cause this would kick start a dea...you get the the picture.

All of the great authors of old in one great tome. If you love pulp or wanted to know about it, this is the book for you.

P*rn isn't pretty (I asterisked this like anything else around here, because I get tired of morons searching for all kinds of things that aren't on my blog and while I love my pron, some of these searches would make Larry Flynt just vomit). If you write this book off because it deals with an ugly subject, then you are only depriving yourself.

Upton Sinclair didn't write about subjects that would've been considered "wholesome" in his day, but where would we be if nobody paid attention? You will also be missing out on one of the best and rawest neo-noir books that you've ever read.

"The Brass Verdict" is classic Connelly, which means to all of you Connelly-neophytes? Excellence. Part of the ending is little too convenient, but, hey.

The end of Easy Rawlins? Read it, and then, tell me.

For those who don't want to deal with violence or gore (uh, Baroness, uh Quin)? I give you "Snakeskin Shamisen." A great mystery in which the protagonist, Mas Arai, is a septuagenarian Japanese gardener that probably weighs all of 110 lbs, max.

Like Walter Mosley's Paris Minton, Mas probably couldn't beat anyone in his weight class in a fair fight, but don't doubt his mind or his heart. Unlike Mosley's Minton, he doesn't have Fearless Jones to defend him.

By virtue of his size and race, Mas is the fly on the wall that is underestimated or ignored all together and Miss Hirahara just gives you enough of the basics of the mystery to go on. The reader is as much in the dark as the protagonist is and it's a real treat to find everything out just as he does.

If you were to take the premise of "The Crime Writer" at face value, you might find it a tad soap opera-ish. I'm not going to give it to you here, you'll have to seek it out. I will tell you that Hurwitz out-Crais-ed Robert Crais this year and this book is in my top three reads of this year.

In my opinion, this is best effort of Max Allan Collins in the last three years. Don't be fooled by the cover or the premise of hitman with a heart, Collins manages to pull it off.

"B*tch" Is Up At Powder Burn Flash And It Already Has A Four Star Review!

First, my story "Bitch," is up at Powder Burn Flash.com.

Second, you have to don't listen to me about compliments concerning my own material, as I am not the partial bastard. Listen to Geoff Eighinger of Eastern Standard Crime-

Cormac Brown has the keen ability to put me in a literary trance, focusing on the story at hand before literally twisting me into oblivion at the end. This story was no different, narrated by a police officer named Heidi.

"In most situations, they send me in first and quite frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. They all just slow me down, anyway, so that's probably why they give me such a wide berth when the shit hits the fan."

Heidi is a conceited one, boasting about her ability to outshine her male counterparts in every way. After describing her recent capture of an armed robbery suspect, we find something out about Heidi that I should have suspected as a reader but never even considered.Bless you, Mr. Brown. Keep up the hilarious fiction sundaes with big cherry surprises on top.


He gave it four hats Ladies and Gentlemen. Here's the review, and more importantly, here's the story.

"Crooked" Magazine Is Here!

Geoff Eighinger of Eastern Standard Crime saw crime ezines falling by the wayside and he rushed in to fill the void, by creating Crooked Magzine. We're talking quality crime fiction by Sandra Seamans, Albert Tucher, Kaye George, Michael S. Chong, Eric Beetner, and Sandra Ruttan.

Not to mention an interview with Hard Case Crime publisher, Charles Ardai and a story by that surly hack, Cormac Brown, called "Retribution." It is the third story of the "Heist Man" series and if you don't read it, that Cormac bastard will fling tepid coffee at you.

And just to let the aspiring writers out there know, Geoff is also accepting submissions for the second issue. The story requirements:

• In the hard-boiled genre, noir or something along those lines
• A word count of 2,000 words or more
• The story cannot have been previously published anywhere else

If interested, please contact: geoffeighinger@yahoo.com.

Happy New Year And "The Pint Of No Return"

As we enter 2009, Paulie Decibels rings us in with a tale of love lost, and lost again. We're talking a story of Six Sentences that warns us to be extra careful when you go past "The Pint of No Return."

Happy New Year to everyone!

Best Of: "Warmer"

Okay, there are only two more "best ofs," left, then the series goes into hibernation until spring. 2008 was not a fun year in virtually any aspect, though the most fun I've had besides reading the fine fiction of others and getting published, is when Aldo, Gerald, and Patti put together a flash fiction challenge.

"Warmer" takes a hide and seek game that we all played as children, and takes it a step further. Also, note that I still wouldn't be able to pick the antagonist of this story in a crowd, even if you spotted me a video of that person.

Caption Contest #1

Here we go, this is simple enough...



...write a caption for this picture. What do you win? A mention of you or your blog, plus a large cup from my store and you the winner, get to chose which design (meaning from the Writeprocrast Cafepress Shop).

The rules are that you can only enter four times and what I mean by that, is that you can post only four comments. That doesn't mean that you can't have more than one caption in each comment, but I don't want to have to scroll way the hell down the page because someone posted more than four entries.

Fling your captions no later than 11:59 PM, January 9th, 2009. This contest is open to everyone that isn't family, and make me laugh, or make me think. Don't make me cry however, as that's the job of The Missus and she will put a hurt on you, which you won't forget in this lifetime or the next.

Oh, I've Got Your Noir

I said it before, and I'll say it again...of the five bouroughs in New York City, Akashic Books will not make a "Staten Island Noir." There's not to say that Call it a hunch or a gut feeling, but I know that I will be proven right on this one.

We straightened the house out before, during and after Christmas. I properly shelved my books this time, instead of the loose piles that I had in some wide-mesh cubicles and leaning towers of tomes that threatened to avalanche at any moment.

Not depicted but lurking somewhere in the apartment is "Havana Noir." Note the copy of "The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri" at the top of the picture that I have still yet to crack, in either Italian or English.

Eh, You Can't Win 'Em All

Dang, Meatloaf, two out of three ain't bad. L-i-n-g-o only got two hats at Eastern Standard Crime.

Hitchcock Versus Barbie?

Basically, what it came down to was years of resentment from all things avian over the that stupid Sing A Song Of Sixpence rhyme (eating them and running them over...literally at every turn, didn't help things along). The blackbirds tried to start an uprising through the poultry industry that was quietly, and swiftly crushed by Colonel Saunders, back in 1957.

Yet all the birds of the world would not stay silent and they waited to strike again, this time in 1963, in the Northern California town of Bodega Bay (a.k.a. "The Bay of Birds"). To commemorate their valiant, but inevitably futile battle, the birds of the world have issued a Barbie in memory of their fallen comrades.

Christmas, Bah, Bug, And Hum!

Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
Buon Natale!
Mele Kalika Maka!
Feliz Navidad!
Joyeux Noël!
Maligayang Pasko!
Geseënde Kersfees!
Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia!
God Jul!

"L-I-N-G-O" Is Up At Powder Burn Flash

Brush up on your "lingo" with the eponymous story now on Powder Burn Flash.

Please, Take A Moment

One of my editor friends has a loved one who is going through surgery. I don't know if he wants the rest of the world to know about the situation, so I won't mention his name. If you could please take a moment to say a prayer for his loved one, I'd appreciate it.

Best Of: "Mistletoe"

This will be the last "best of" for awhile, and I'm posting it early, to avoid any conflicts with your Christmas/Hanukkah shopping, as well as mine. "Mistletoe" was the spur of the moment coda, for the next to last screenplay that I wrote. I figured that if a script reader read the first five pages and the last five, that this little addendum would help it sell better...guess not.

At any rate, enjoy Mistletoe and recreate the end scene while you are at it.

A Twist Of Noir Has "The Post-Nuptial" Up

If you haven't had the chance, A Twist Of Noir has The Post-Nuptial posted for your perusal. It's a warm and wonderful tale about a family reunion just before the holidays. With plenty of puppies, kittens, bunnies, flowers, kisses, and tear-filled hugs. Because those are the kinds of stories that I tell...



...and if you believe that, please make your non-tax deductible checks out to, "The Cormac Brown, woo-hoo, he's going to Vegas-bailout package."

So what are we actually talking about? We're talking about a beautiful actress who is as eccentric as she is electric. Her soon to be former husband who stands a good chance of getting the majority of her money, and her new beau, whom it turns out, may be far more effective than any practicing divorce lawyer. Think, not "love, American-style," but, "love, James Cain-style."

Quoth Greg Hurwitz

"He leaned forward, jabbing a finger at the floor. 'Everything's a f*cking story. And you're letting this one languish. What you need is something to kick down the front door, come barreling into the plot, crashing into the story. Make you react. Make you act. But in the unlikely event that that isn't gonna happen, you need to uncover what happened. If you're not afraid to.' His gazed zeroed in on me; he'd sensed perhaps that he'd flicked vulnerability. 'A writer's job, perhaps more than any other, is not to be afraid of possibilites."

From "The Crime Writer" by Greg Hurwitz

Best Of: "The Sound It Made When It Broke"

No, it's not December 22nd (or the sunset of December 21st), but let us celebrate Hanukkah early with The Sound It Made When It Broke. Actually, this story has very little to do with Hanukkah and everything to do with me being meshugganah. Nevertheless, nosh a little while you read this, and take the goyim out for Chinese food and a movie, so that they get the full-on experience.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

Writing, who knew it was genetic? Megan Abbott's mom Patti gives her daughter a run for her money with the story The Instrument of Their Desire.

Quoth The Dahl

Two quotes from Roald Dahl, courtesy of his IMDB bio...

A writer of fiction lives in fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not.

A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom.

"Passive-Digressive"

She was passive-digressive.

When her ex-boyfriend said, "you're lending me your car," she replied, "remember when we drove to Oregon?" as she handed him her keys. Mind you, he wasn't asking and she didn't even blink or hesitate.

When her mother said, "we're having Thanksgiving at your place," despite the fact that we all knew that her apartment was too small, she replied, "I love stuffing; who doesn't?" I was only half as shocked that time, because I knew that changing the subject was her only form of protest.

To compensate for the many parasites and jerks in her life, I went out of my way not to agitate her or raise my voice...even on the rare occasion when I would've been well within my rights. So I was taken aback when she told me, "we're having corned beef for dinner tonight," knowing full well that I abhorred the stuff. There were leftovers the next day and I ate those also without complaint as well.

She had me over for dinner that next Friday night and I had to cancel out at the last minute, because of a work emergency. I tried to make it up to her the following morning with flowers and a CD, so she invited me in for breakfast...for fresh corned beef hash.

So I never called...or emailed...or called on her again...though I did send her a case of stuffing for her birthday.

Friday's Forgotten Books

Before you hit your library, used or new bookstore, it's always a good idea to pop on Patti Abbott's blog every week and view Friday's Forgotten Books. This week is no exception as Paulie Decibels added a Joe Keenan novel to this week's offerings.

R.I.P. Bettie Page

The Obituary from her Official Site and the AP report from the SF Chronicle.

Best Of: "Succuba"

Horror is hard for me to write. I find real life to far more scary and the trick with horror is to either come up with something that nobody has done before...or introduce a new perspective. I had to go with the latter and Succuba is the end result. If something in the basement sounds too good to be true...

A New Twist On Pop-Up Books

Are these ladies terrified at the possibility of having to read another one of my stories?

Eh, just the lass in the red. You can tell because she's actually considering strangling herself before reading yet even another word that I have written. As for the others? An artist named Liliac created three dimensional pop-up covers and collages out of existing book covers. I found this courtesy of The Rap Sheet.

I'm All Over The Place...Just Like The Splotchy Story Virus!

In a sense, I wasn't tagged by the same virus twice, but a variation by Bubs!

At any rate a refresher on the rules by Splotchy

Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.

So here's Splotchy's starter paragraph in green...

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me.

Then Bubs's follow up in blue...

Its owner, a fat shifty-looking hillbilly, slouched uncomfortably under the weight of his Bulgarian army surplus wool coat and cap. I could tell he wasn't cut out for this weather. He jerked around, almost spastic, when he felt the box tap against his feet. He gulped and stared at me bug-eyed, one obscene rivulet of sweat running down his temple, down along his jaw, finally disappearing somewhere between his second chin and the fake fur collar of his coat.

Right away, and for no good reason, he pissed me off.

Then here I go...

"What, are you scared?" I asked him. "It's just a box, cowboy up already, Jethro!"

I gently nudged the box towards him and he ran for the rear exit, pulling the stop cord as if the very act would stop the bus. As the vehicle finally came to a stop, he ran screaming down the street as if he were on fire. I figured that the box held a puppy or a kitten, though I was worried because it had yet to mew or yip. I carefully picked the box up and put it down in the hillbilly's vacated seat.

I opened it and a claw like that of a hawk yanked the top closed. The claw had jade-colored scales and a yellow fringe. I don't know what possessed me, but I braved another peek under the lid and two bright ruby-red eyes looked back at me...



I tag...uh, this one is open to whoever wants to do it.

P.S. Flannery might and Paulie Decibels just built on to Veronica's contribution for the original story virus.