Movie Night

Maybe I'm overthinking this, but I am troubled by the trailer for War Horse.  I  know it's more a boy-and-his-horse movie than it is a war movie and therefore a "triumph of the human spirit" kind of a film, but it looks like grim scenes of the trenches are juxtaposed against moments of staggering beauty and a sort of magical realism/mythic undertone. (The ads describe it as an epic adventure.)

There's something about this trailer I find troublesome.
War should not be beautiful.  That's part of the package that's been sold to young men (and now women) for years, part of what Stephen Crane scathingly portrayed in The Red Badge of Courage. Journalist/screenwriter/combat veteran  William Broyles, Jr. wrote an essay for Esquire's November 1984 issue called "Why Men Love War" that covers the subject pretty well. But I once did an enormous reading project involving hundreds of memoirs written by Vietnam vets (and if you haven't read Michael Herr's Dispatches, do so) and almost every single one described combat as being ... like in the movies. It's disingenuous to pretend there's not a connection.
What do you think?

Trailer for One for the Money

The first book in Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, One for the Money, is one of the funniest books I've ever read.  I loved it. It's been in development as a movie for a looooong time.  And now the trailer is here.  I like Katherine Heigl. I like Daniel Sunjata (although my heart was set on Dwayne Johnson as Ranger). What do you think?

It's Banned Book Week--Buy Some Bling

Best banned book quote I've read lately comes courtesy of @Beatitudes on Twitter:  "Books cannot be killed by fire," Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Over on Etsy, an artisan using the handle Pi-Hole has created this banned book bracelet. It's $40 and you can get it here.

On the same site, at Cobweb Corner, you can also get a cool "I read banned books" bracelet for $32.

Carolyn Forsman, who specializes in "conversation piece" jewelry created two different "banned books" bracelets for the American Library Association's Office of Intellectual Freedom. Her bracelets cost $24 or two for $40. Be sure to check out her other goodies. Her bug bracelet is just the thing to wear on Halloween; or to pick up for your favorite Goth for Christmas.  (Yes, it's coming.)

Toxic Tidbit: Birds of a Feather

Here's another story from Toxic Reality, my upcoming story collection.  Birds of a Feather is my foray into the Lovecraftian world.

Birds of a Feather

Algernon didn’t really understand his wife’s fondness for birds. She had come into their marriage with a parrot that had belonged to her grandmama and it had lived in a cage in the drawing room where it had moulted and shed and screeched and squawked. Algernon had loathed the parrot. One day when his wife was out making calls, Algernon had poured a dose of Godfrey’s Cordial down its feathered throat and that had been the end of the feathered nuisance.

Eleanor had been quite upset but as the bird had no mark on him, she could only accept the explanation that it had died of natural causes. If she had noticed the marks on his hand where the bird had pecked him (pecked him quite hard in fact), she had not mentioned it.

Algernon had suggested that Eleanor have the infernal thing stuffed if she missed it so much but his suggestion had been met with a stony glare and a glacial silence. Algernon had often told Eleanor that sulking did not suit her. Unlike a beautiful woman whose allure was only enhanced by a pout, a sullen expression simply magnified an ugly woman’s unappealing looks.

Toxic Reality...The Cover

Here's the cover. Designed by Joy Sillesen of StonyHill Productions, published by Dark Valentine Press. The core image was a photo of an oil spill taken by photographer Valeriy Kirsanov.

I am angry with my friend

She's not so much my friend as a good friend of several of my friends, but we share an orbit and I care about her. Last week she dropped out of sight. She stopped answering her phone; she stopped answering emails; she stopped posting on Facebook.
She went dark. I wouldn't have thought anything about that because when I'm busy, I don't tweet or update or post either. But here's the thing. The last status update she left on Facebook before pulling the plug was a stark, two-word message:  Goodbye everybody.
A frantic Facebook-fueled search ensued with people sharing information--where they last saw her, where she might have gone, who she might be with. Her sisters were all contacted and it was clear they had no idea where their little sister was.
They posted pleas for their sister to call them. Their kids posted pleas for their aunt to get in touch. No response. Radio silence. And the clock was ticking. People drove up and down streets looking for her car. People contacted a coffee shop where she was known to hang out. There was talk of posters and flyers and news stories on patch.com. (My over-burdened  NoHoNoir editor was ready to step up with an article, even though he is insanely busy.)

Free Friday Fiction

A mermaid tale that originally appeared in the Anniversary issue of Dark Valentine Magazine.

                                 Siren Song

He was the third generation in his family to follow the sea and young to captain his own ship. The Rebekah Lee was a three-masted barque made of two kinds of oak and two kinds of pine, eighty-seven feet long, and twenty-six feet wide. She wasn’t a large ship as whale-ships went, but she was as sturdy and reliable as her namesake.

When he left New Bedford on the maiden voyage of the Rebekah Lee, Nathaniel Goode had every expectation that he would return in three years with a hold full of whale oil and riches enough to build Rebekah a fine house in the best neighborhood in the city where they had both been born.

Rebekah had told him all she wanted was for him to return home safely, but he’d seen her wistful looks at the mansions whale wealth had built, had seen her lingering glances at the rich clothes the captains’ ladies wore.

Nathanial sailed for South America, leaving behind a father who was proud of him and a woman who loved him and a land-lubber business partner who envied him.

He sailed with a crew of whale-men recruited up and down New England’s coast, plucking them from harbors and taverns and seaman’s halls.  He knew most of them, or their families, even the Portuguese who’d come down from the Azores, looking for a berth.  They were good men and well-seasoned, and Nathaniel was pleased to see how smoothly they worked together.