Each day my contact in-box is filled with questions and comments. Most often, nice ones. Great book! Will there be a sequel? I couldn't put it down. Lots of wonderfuls. Mixed in are writing questions. How do I get an agent? How do I get YOUR agent? What should I do to get published? All fine questions.
And then, trickling in at a rate of two a week, are the "favorite" questions. Likely spawned by a well-meaning teacher who assigned students the following: Read a book and write to the author. Ask them a question that's on your mind.
So, I will save many of you the trouble and answer the favorite questions right here. It will force you to work harder to think of a query, but at least my life will be simpler.
My Favorites:
Color: Green (This is the deep green, not a Lima bean green which is likely my least favorite color. Incidentally, I look rotten in green shirts, but not too bad in the Lima bean color. Go figure).
Movie: The Matrix, Gladiator, The Legend of Bagger Vance, The Sound of Music, Pride and Prejudice (Now, this last selection is the version with Keira Knightly, which while it may have something to do with my enjoyment of the movie, is not the underlying reason. This is my wife's favorite movie, one of the few we own. And after seeing a movie 546 times something happens and it becomes part of you. Plus, Jane Austen flat-out rocks).
Toothpaste: Don't laugh here, it's called Kiss the Face. You get it at vegan shops and in organic aisles. Very minty.
Book: Peace Like a River. Don't ask anything here. Just go buy it and thank me later.
Sport: Soccer. It's a beautiful game. Like chess, but nobody laughs at you when you say you're going to move your horsey.
Song: You are So Beautiful, played on a vinyl LP covered with scratches, preferably during a bright red sunset in late summer. My lovely wife is in this picture, but I'll stop here.
Food: A Reuben. A juicy, piled high with cheese and beef and sauerkraut reuben. Smothered in, no, lathered in that thousand island type sauce--oh my. It's been twelve years since I've had one, but as Eric Clapton sang, there'll be Reubens in Heaven.
Side to sleep on: My back, hands behind my head.
TV Show: Underdog. Don't know if it's still on, but I used to wake at seven to watch him take care of business with his super-energy pill tucked away in that really cool ring. Simon Bar-Sinister and Overcat had no chance. Plus I had a thing for Sweet Polly Purebread.
Phrase: Hotter than a woodpecker. My dad said this. I don't know why. I also don't know why I like it. I think because it means nothing. Are woodpeckers hot? I don't know. I just know Dad said they were and that was enough for me.
Thing to do when I'm not writing: Throw stuff. Snowballs. Baseballs. Footballs. Socks. Rocks. Apples. Table scraps. Anything. This too comes from Dad, who played a fair share of catch with me growing up. As a result, my aim is quite good. And it bugs me to see kids who can't throw. When I grew up, everyone, boys especially, knew how to throw. It was like losing your diapers for big-boy pants, just a normal right of passage. When I taught fifth grade, I realized we have raised a generation who can twiddle their texting thumbs like lightning, but who can't throw a baseball to save their lives. Some might call that progress. I think it's pretty sad.
Animal: The pig. They are smart and very easy to draw.
There you have it. My favorites. All this typing has given me the urge to throw. Sorry, animal rights activists, my office contains five stuffed porkers for this very purpose. Some may call this a cruel simulation. I call it writing therapy. So I leave you with my favorite writing tip: Have plenty of stuffed critters in your writing space to fire around the room. They don't seem to mind, it's good for the soul, and it's excellent throwing practice.
Besides that, it's much cheaper than whipping your Blackberry.
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