heylookawriterfellow

September 17, 2024

Ahoy! Avast! A New Book!

Thursday, September 19, is Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Woo!

I plan to celebrate by NOT talking like a pirate.

Also woo!

I don’t mean to be disrespectful toward our hook-handed and peg-leggy pals. I am a huge fan of pirates and their unique vernacular. In 2023, I wrote Pirate & Penguin, a picture book written entirely in pirate speak. If that doesn’t show my respect for those grizzled old salts, nothing does.

The reason I won’t be speaking like a pirate this year is because my pirate speak ain’t so great. My vocal cords are namby-pamby and wholly unfit to bellow “YO-HO-HO!” and “ARRR!” for any length of time before my voice cracks like a mid-puberty 12-year-old.

So I cannot recommend my pirate voice. I can, however, proudly recommend my pirate books.

That’s right! I said books! Plural! As in more than one!

I loved writing Pirate & Penguin so much that, seconds after selling the first book, I accosted my editor and proposed a sequel.

This bewildered her a little bit

“Um,” she began, “we don’t really buy sequels to books that haven’t been published yet. Because, you know, we want to make sure the first book sells before we buy a second one.”

That made perfect sense. But I allayed my editor’s concerns with a persuasive counterargument.

“Pleeeeease?” I argued. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!”

Somehow my whining worked. And thank goodness for that, for Pirate & Penguin 2 Few Crew is on sale now!

WOO!

It got a great review from Kirkus!

WOO!

And you should consider buying it!

Whadaya say?

Wait. I know how to persuade you to purchase a copy:

Pleeeeease? Oh, pleeeeeeeeeese! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!

I’m glad we had this talk.

September 9, 2024September 9, 2024

Higher (and much further away) Education

As I mentioned last week, 2024 has been a crazy year filled with big distractions—the most debilitating of which was my ankle getting carved up like a Christmas ham. Another distraction, no less huge, was that my boy headed off to college.

I know, right? That wee little fella, best known as my Semi-Annual Blog Raffle Winner Picker Outer, somehow grew up and graduated high school without me noticing.

All right, I did notice. How could I not? There is just so much to do when a kid is college bound. The applications, the scholarships, the campus visits and the jillion other things that take up way more time than you could possibly imagine.

And then there’s all the things you gotta buy. Expensive things. Like a $195 online textbook.

Yes.

A $195 textbook.

That’s online.

Call me old fashioned, but if I’m gonna spend $195 dollars on a book, I want the creation of said book to be a big rigmarole. It should involve the murder of trees and the noisy operation of an offset printing machine. A $195 book should be big, heavy, hard to find, and exist in three dimensions.

Not gonna lie. I feel a little violated here.

We bought other stuff, too. Clothes, for example, because Alex thoughtlessly decided to grow again. And he didn’t just grow, he grew taller than me, which is disrespectful.

And we bought luggage to hold those big clothes.

And we bought a fridge and a footlocker and all the other whatsits and provisions that everyone says you can’t head off to college without.

Then I had to buy a big thing to strap to the roof of my car to carry all those things.

Okay, I’ll just come out and say it. I consider Alex’s desire to further his education both selfish and cruel to his old father, who finds him much too fun and interesting to leave home.

He’s my good boy.

And I think I have a little dust in my eyes.

My eyes have been getting pretty dusty these days.

Allergies, I’m sure.

September 2, 2024September 3, 2024

Oh, Hi! It’s Been a Rough Year.

Is it September already?

Where have I been?

Well, let’s just say 2024 has been a year of distractions. More distractions, apparently, than I’m capable of handling. Today, lemme tell you about The Big Distraction That Has Affected Everything.

For most of this year I’ve been recovering from ankle replacement surgery. Or, rather, I’ve been recovering from ankle replacement surgery and the surgery that came before the ankle replacement surgery. The first surgery was necessary because my ankle was so messed up, doctors had to fix the ankle before they could throw it away and put in a new one in. I didn’t even know this kind of pre-surgery surgery was a thing. But it is! And it sucks!

I have a reputation for being accident prone, but I didn’t need the new ankle because of a self-inflicted injury. My ankle was always messed up. I’ve had a few surgeries before this one (the first was way back 1985) so this is not my first rodeo.

That said, the 2024 procedures have been especially crummy.

Surgery number one required a recovery time of 11 weeks, during which I was on crutches. I don’t find moving around on crutches to be difficult, but if you are an introvert, like me, I don’t recommend ever leaving the house. Those aluminum sticks serve as a Stranger Conversational Beacon. And it’s awful.

“Hey, what happened to you?” strangers would ask.

I must have answered that question four jillion times.

And then there were the folks who just yelled jokes at me.

“That’ll teach ya ta upset your wife!”

“Whatever you did, don’t do it no more!”

“Ain’t tapdancin’ any time soon, eh?”

Ha-HAAA! Hilaaaaarious!

These jokes were exclusively uttered by old men. I don’t know why old men need to pipe up with these one-liners so often, but, by God, they are always ready for action.

Many years ago, when Ellen and I were on our honeymoon, she slammed her head against the low ceiling of a tour van. It was quite a wallop. It was obviously painful. There were tears in Ellen’s eyes. But none of those context clues stopped the old guy in front of us from cheerfully announcing, “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!”

“Shut your mouth or I’ll murder you,” I replied.

So, once upon a time, I threatened an old man’s life. I also write for children. I am a man of many layers.

But I digress.

The second operation was The Big One. Judging by the resulting scars, I’m guessing that the surgeon opened me up with a fireman’s axe. The aftermath was so gross, my son, Alex, insisted—then demanded—that I not show the post-op photos on my blog.

My boy has good instincts about such matters, so please enjoy this photo of my foot pixilated within an inch of its life.

Long story short, I’ve been hobbling around since March, first on crutches, then on one crutch, and, now, a cane. Thank goodness Ellen and Alex have been so willing and eager to help me throughout my long, painful, and persistent gimpy period.

I’m in PT and am getting better, but it’s been a long road that has sapped me of my motivation to do much of anything, including promote my upcoming picture book. But that’s a post for another day. 🙂