Boychik Lit

That's 'snuff, Chuck!

2008-06-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure whether I'd classify Chuck Palahnuik's novels (Fight Club, Snuff) as boychik lit. From my point of view, the boychik protagonist is geekier and more pitiable than his brawlers. But that's for you to decide, not me.

But now Carolyn Kellogg reports in her book blog in the L.A. Times that Chuck is giving away inflatable dolls at his book signings.

Did one of you guys let him in here when we weren't looking? What's up with this doll mania? First Jerry (Boston Legal), then Lars, and now this?

The niche is getting downright tight, if you ask me!

Dollgate!

2008-05-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

Your friend, Gerald Jones , has sent you a link to this story: "Don't Ballplayers Deserve a Little Privacy?"

The Dollgate controversy is being overblown, says Kevin Hench. In fact, he says it's time to give the locker room back to the players.

Dollgate Story

(Thanks for using FOXSports.com)

Further commentary on this breaking story can be found in the thread emanating from a post by my colleague Al Martinez A Brief History of Nudity.

For the newbie in this area, we recommend the following primer on the topic of overblown partners:

Any Piggies Going to the Fair?

2008-04-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

This weekend (April 26 and 27) is that enormous annual tent show, the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which takes place on the UCLA campus in Brentwood.

I will be working the IWOSC (Independent Writers of Southern California) booth 428D -Dickson Plaza Midi (near Royce Hall) from 10 am to 2 pm on both days. Drop by and let's talk about Rubber Babes (the forthcoming sequel to My Inflatable Friend), boychik lit, and a group of 500-plus writers committed to preventing the further dumbing down of America.

Book Review: The Hephaestus Plague

2008-04-08T14:02:00.000-07:00

My Boychik Lit blog is supposed to be primarily about male-centered comic fiction. However, my own reading tastes are much more eclectic. And besides, I'm hard at work finishing the manuscript of Rubber Babes, and it's not a good idea for a writer to be doing his recreational reading in the same genre.

Then, too, the friends and acquaintances I've made in the community of authors hail from every corner of the literary map. Since I'm often eager to interest them in my work by exchanging reviews, I end up reading all kinds of stuff.

Having cleared my throat (as judicious editors tell you never to do at the top of an article), I can now boldly assert that I intend to comment on The Hephaestus Plague from the boychik's perspective. This will be an unusual direction from which to survey a sci-fi novel. I want to look at this book's sexual politics (as I did recently in my review of Mistress of the Revolution) and its take on the human comedy.

Written in 1974 by my friend and colleague Thomas Page and just reissued by alternative press Trashface, The Hephaestus Plague is an incredibly ingenious, complex, and technically rich sci-fi thriller. That's because Tom has always been fascinated by entymology--he's a bug freak. If it crawls or slithers or hisses or stings or bites, he wants to study it. So, right off, it's a guy thing. The stereotypical female won't be in the same room with a spider, much less be delighted if one scampered over her body. Tom, on the other hand, has been seen at book signings posing with a friendly tarantula on his arm.

The "bug science" in this book is impressive. And that's an understatement. Tom gets inside the head of researcher James Parmiter, who becomes so engrossed with finding the causes of a hellish invasion of fire-starting bugs that he fills his house with the critters, unplugs the phone, and locks the doors. Then he proceeds to foster-parent them like so many wayward children--to the point of communicating with this alien species in a way no human has ever achieved.

But let's get back to the sex. This story is not just a guy thing--it's an all-guy thing. There are no significant female characters in this book. In the jargon of the movie business, there are a few "walk-ons." The two notable ones are a farm wife and a suburban housewife. Both live in their kitchens and make things for their dominant males to eat. And, of course, they complain bitterly about the bugs, demanding that their protective men get out there and do something. Were this book written today, in the post-feminist era, Parmiter's lab assistant Metbaum would have probably been female (assuming Parmiter himself weren't transformed into a buggy babe). This choice not only would have contributed to gender balance but also would have added an element of sexual tension not unheard-of in the postmodern workplace. A sweaty Metbaum with a swollen chest in a wet tee shirt would certainly change the story dynamics. But Parmiter is such a geek and so intensely focused on the biology under his microscope that he wouldn't notice.

The more significant implication of the book as written is that science, investigation, risk-taking, and intellectual curiosity are essentially male traits. Mind you, I'm not saying that--the book is.
And although female human characters don't figure strongly into the plot of The Hephaestus Plague, the female role in biology is central to its theme. In fact, a female insect (fondly named Madilene by Parmiter) is a star of the second half of the book. She gives birth to an egg case containing a second-generation hybrid strain of bugs that are--and I'm not exaggerating here--capable of replacing humans as the rulers of the planet. (The allusion to Mary Magdalene is apt. Much of the story is set in the rural South, and its fundamentalist Christian overtones figure strongly in the apocalyptic tone of the story. When Parmiter wonders whether God will give up on humans, Metbaum quips that one of the super-intelligent bugs might just be the "next Jesus.")

From the standpoint of evolutionary science and human ethics, the traditional female role of caring for and nurturing the young is pivotal to the plot. Simply put, the bugs seem to be better at it than humans are. Set at the end of the Vietnam era, The Hephaestus Plague is even more lacking in human child actors than in women. The one young boy in the story is mentally retarded. Parmiter is haunted by the historical fact that both Rome and Sparta practiced infanticide in the late stages of their civilizations. As for the bugs, caring for their egg cases is a paramount concern. Ironically, but in keeping with the male-centeredness of the story, it's a male bug that ultimately takes responsibility for the care of Madilene's eggs, and he pays for the decision with his life.

Enough of sex. What about comedy? Well, there is none. Except to say that a scorched-earth sci-fi apocalypse is bound to be campy in the way of the best-worst 1950s B-movies. (It will come as no surprise that one such popcorn flick, BUG, was adapted from this book.)

No, I take that back. God is probably having a good laugh. It's all about adaptation and survival. It's incredibly arrogant for humans to imagine that they are the masters of the Earth. Tom Page reminds us that Nature is always experimenting with what comes next. But we might not be included in those plans. Death is essential and inevitable.

And, you guys will be pleased to learn, so is sex!

I Blame Ernest Hemingway

2008-04-07T10:23:00.000-07:00

Every male writer with an ounce of testosterone owes a big debt to Papa. For example, without his example, how would James Jones, Norman Mailer, Hunter S. Thompson, or John Milius have known to pose for their publicity photos wearing safari jackets? Why, I bet they'd have showed up in some kind of wussy Tom Wolfe ice-cream suit! With a pocket handkerchief! Full article on Ezinearticles.com.

Book Review: "Mistress of the Revolution"

2008-04-01T10:41:00.000-07:00

Mistress of the Revolution is not the first female-centered novel I've reviewed on my Boychik Lit blog. My intention in picking up this book was to have fun dissecting a steamy chick-lit novel, a basis for comparison and contrast with male-centered fiction. The historical setting amid the turmoil of the French Revolution also promised political intrigue with gobs of gore. Now that I've read and reflected on this first novel from Catherine Delors, I regret to admit that I won't have the fun of teasing or ridiculing her effort. It is, sadly for the purposes of a fratirist with a warped sense of humor, nothing to laugh about.

Mistress of the Revolution is a masterful (mistressful?), serious literary work about the widely ignored--and unlearned--lessons of history. As the very best historical novels do, it reflects and highlights the political and social dramas of the present day. At its core, it's a story of class struggle and sexual politics.

So, let's talk about the sex, shall we? (Warning: spoilers follow!)

Main character and first-person narrator Gabrielle de Montserrat is a gorgeous young aristocrat who lacks a respectable dowry. She is high-born but from a family that has seen its wealth dissipate. If she wishes to realize the great expectations of her rank, she must therefore find some rich aristocrat to marry her. Her other socially acceptable choices are to live as a spinster with her family (if they will have her) or to become a nun. Her plight is the recurring dilemma of sexual politics: If she wants the good life, she must be willing to market her body and her charms. In this central element of its plot, the book is not much different in theme from the works of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, nor of chick-lit stories like Bridget Jones's Diary. The main character's all-important goal--which she must achieve or everything else in her life will suffer--is to become half of a power couple.

Throughout the book, which covers Gabrielle's story from ages fifteen to forty-six, she is dominated by men in a series of fundamentally monogamous relationships. And here's where Mistress of the Revolution departs from its traditional sisters: Not one of those men, including her primary love interest, is what you'd call sympathetic in the modern sense. All of them (and there's quite a collection) are cruel, vindictive batterers. They differ mainly in the degrees to which they bestow the occasional kindness or largesse on Gabrielle.

Before her arrogant older brother (and father substitute) can make a marriage bargain for her, teenage Gabrielle falls for a tall, dark commoner, Pierre-André Coffinhal. He's a promising young man trained as a physician, who will later study the law and become a judge in the revolutionary tribunal. In a contemporary story, her quest could end there. He's just the kind of young tyro our society applauds--the ambitious, self-made man. But back then, before the Revolution presumed to abolish social rank, his low birth makes the match unthinkable. Gabrielle ultimately agrees to follow her brother's direction and marry the corpulent, disgusting Baron de Peyre to spare Coffinhal from her brother's death threat.

As to sex, a contemporary diagnosis of Gabrielle's psyche doesn't require a medical degree--she's a rape victim. She is numb to pleasure, and will pretty much remain so throughout the book--except for some notably rare experiences. In this, she does not seem disappointed. Rather, as with her overall physical treatment at the hands of her male controllers, most of the time she seems to feel she gets no more nor less than she deserves.

Not long after fathering their daughter, Aimée, the Baron very conveniently dies. At that point in a modern story, Gabrielle would immediately seek out Pierre-André. In this story, she is too ashamed of her betrayal of him to even make the effort. Instead, through assiduous social climbing and good connections, Gabrielle becomes the high-class kept woman of the Count de Villers, who introduces her to the court at Versailles. Her reputation soars after her beauty and wit stir the jealousy of the Queen, the infamous Marie-Anoinette.

In the years she's involved with Villers, the Revolution erupts in Paris. (It is longer, bloodier, and more viciously irrational than I remembered from my meagre studies.) Although Villers in many ways is the most tender lover that Gabrielle will ever have, in his financial and emotional dealings with her he is an arrogant bully.

Rather late in the story, as the Patriots take over the city, the aristos, including Villers, are hunted down, subjected to mock trials, and slaughtered. Having passed up opportunities to emigrate, Gabrielle must disguise herself as a commoner and work as a seamstress to avoid the gallows. Coffinhal, now a judge and a close ally of the charismatic leader Robespierre, is working overtime sentencing scores of aristos to cruel and bloody deaths daily.

It's at this point--when Gabrielle's circumstances are the meannest and she's in and out of jail--that she and Coffinhal reconcile. Through his protection, she survives, although just barely.

Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this story is Coffinhal's unashamed brutality toward Gabrielle. Although well educated and exhibiting a sensitive nature at times, he's given to fits of righteous anger and physical violence--often directed at her. In this, the book bears no similarity at all to the bodice-ripper romance. When Gabrielle's relationship with Coffinhal is not a dream come true, it's a wicked nightmare.

And she puts up with it. Indeed, as she does throughout the book, she dismisses the abuse as expected, understandable, even deserved.

It's obvious from the book's meticulous detailing that it is incredibly well researched and authentic. But, according to Delors, the Gabrielle character is entirely fictional. The thing that I find fascinating is the author's boldness at not offering up the expected romantic arc, giving us a chilling portrait of female sensibility as it calculates what it must do to survive. There is not a single male star in Hollywood, now or ever, who would risk the ire of his fan base to behave on the screen as Coffinhal does at his worst toward this woman. I'm not enough of a scholar of history to know for sure, but I'm guessing that Gabrielle's resolution to her plight and the meanness of her existence, even at the height of society, are true to that time and place.

It does make me wonder, though, how much if anything has changed. Love, money, property--these are as intertwined and interdependent in today's world as ever.

Also remarkable, from a writer's technical viewpoint, is the impeccable prose style of this book. Delors is a native French speaker, and English is her second language. The book is written from Gabrielle's point of view in 1815, while exiled in England. Like Delors, Gabrielle writes in her adopted English. In the historical note in the book's endpapers, the author admits, "I strove to write this novel in the British English Gabrielle would have used in 1815." I find that it reads a lot like Balzac in translation, and I'm reminded of his A Harlot High and Low (Splendeurs et misères des courtisanes), written in the 1830s, and treating, as Delors' book does so well, the dynamics of sexual politics trapped in the web of human history.

Book Review: "Lucky Man" by Ben Tanzer

2008-03-19T13:14:00.000-07:00

To the extent that Lucky Man is a first-person narrative about young men coming of age, you could say it's fratire. But this is damned serious stuff, making the book much more ambitious, I think, than some of the other puke-on-my-own-shoes books in that genre.

More ambitious still--there's not one narrator here but four, each taking turns commenting on experiences they share, in interleaved chapters. Sammy, Jake, Louie, and Gabe are confreres passing from high school to college while they get stoned in every way imaginable and have encounters and even a few relationships with women. Note that they're not so much chasing girls as hitting on them (and getting hit on) like bumper cars.

In fact, that's the dynamic of their lives--drifting, smashing, and moving on. The author may have ambition, but these guys rarely make a meal more complicated than a bowl of cereal. None of them finds much direction or purpose at all (one tries religion, briefly). Perhaps they would get motivated if they could only channel their anger, which mostly stems from life's random punishments. But they turn most of their angst in on themselves as they get wasted daily, punctuated by an occasional fistfight arising from little or no provocation.

First-person narration is a bold choice because the main character can't report on events that affect him but he can't see, or might not even hear about. This challenge is partially overcome in this book by Tanzer's telling the story from multiple points of view. Then, it's a challenge to give each of the voices a distinctive character. While these boys each has his quirks, their attitudes, outlooks, and prospects are much more alike than they are different. Maybe it's a generational thing--they've all given up, bowing to the great god of Pointlessness.

This is, as the reader will guess soon enough, a last-man-standing story. In the end, the question is, "What's it all mean?" Tanzer gives no clue, but I do give him a great deal of credit for at least raising the question.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

2008-03-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy Independent Writers of Southern California (IWOSC).

The first person who posts a comment below with the obvious answer will receive a complimentary copy of My Inflatable Friend.

Local (French) author makes good!

2008-03-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

Meilleures felicitations to Catherine Delors, author of Mistress of the Revolution, for her premiere book signing at Dutton's Brentwood Bookstore, here in the Wild West. Madame Delors is a Parisian who survived a successful geographic transplant, swapping her noble Gallic heart for a model newly minted in the City of Angels.

Watch this space for a review of this steamy historical novel, and when this one gets sold to Hollywood--remember you read it here first!

"Rubber Babes" Sneak Preview

2008-03-11T19:26:00.000-07:00

The renowned fratirist and author of My Inflatable Friend reads from the second whimsical book in the series of Rollo Hemphill's misadventures.

The event was at Barnes & Noble last Sunday on the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade. Also reading that day were IWOSC colleagues Regina Apigo, Bob Birchard, Dr. Diane DeLaVega, Ron Vazzano, Telly Davidson, David Groves, Stephen R. Wolcott, Flo Selfman, Dale Henderson, Gail Wichert, Christine Candland, and Marvin Wolf.

Why Talk to a Shrink? (in movies/TV)

2008-03-11T09:11:00.000-07:00

Tony Soprano spills his guts. Fortunately, it's just talk (this time). Talking to a shrink has been a narrative device in books and movies ever since there have been shrinks. In traditional movie dialogue, you have the main character talk to his best friend to find out what he's thinking, planning, cares about. But in this postmodern age, people are more alienated, less free with their feelings. And in the action stories, the characters are all so dumb they can't form a compound sentence.

So dialogue with the shrink is a way to reveal inner thoughts, motivations that the character can't or won't share with others but the audience needs to know. Another technique used for this purpose is voice-over narration. Writing coaches used to warn novices away from it, because they would use it to explain mundane plot points instead of using engaging dialogue (e.g., argument) with other characters. But again with so much alienation and isolation, today's main character often *has no friends* and that's the core of the story. So the rule for VO now is you can use it if the character is expressing emotions and innermost thoughts that can't be said to someone else.

You don't have this problem in a novel. The omniscient narrator can get into anyone's head. That's one of the reasons why first-person narratives are so challenging.

Rollo Bugs the Hellraiser

2008-03-06T16:04:00.000-08:00

I'll be reading from the *sequel* to My Inflatable Friend on Sunday, March 9, at 2 pm at Barnes & Noble on the Santa Monica Promenade. And speaking of book events...

Authors complain that their publishers and agents won't return their calls. So the recent experience of my friend Tom Page is a delight to behold. UK publisher Trashface was so obsessed with reissuing Tom's fantastique thriller The Hephaestus Plague that they literally tracked him down. Apparently unable to locate him via conventional means, the dauntless publisher ran a genealogy on him, which not only succeeded in finding the target but also links his bloodlines to King Edward III!

I caught up with Tom last Saturday at Dark Delicacies Bookstore in Burbank, where he was signing copies of the book, a creepy tale of fire-spewing bugs that threaten all we hold dear. (The story was made into the cult-movie Bug, produced by William Castle and directed by Jeannot Szwarc.)

Gerald (hatted) visits Tom Page at Dark Delicacies

Hanging out with Tom that day was another cult phenom, Peter Atkins, one of the geniuses behind the Hellraiser movies, based on the books of Clive Barker. (Peter pleads not to be confused with the Oxford professor of the same name, although that guy's popular books on the physical sciences are selling well, and a confusion about where to send royalty checks might help temporary cashflow!)

Tom Page (the Bug guy, left) and Peter Atkins (Morningstar, Wishmaster) take a break from defacing brand new books with their scrawls.

Gerald Everett Jones is the author of My Inflatable Friend: The Confessions of Rollo Hemphill. He blogs on comic fiction at Boychik Lit.

Book Review: Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies

2008-03-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

I will say at the outset that, if you are serious about screenwriting, Save the Cat! Goes to the Movies (STC! 2) is a must-have book. Mind you, it's not the only one, but if you were an economist you wouldn't have just one book on math, right? In fact, I think that this second book in the STC! series is actually more of a must-buy than the first one--because of its unique approach. The original Save the Cat! is basic screenwriting theory. Chief among these is Lajos Egri's The Art of Dramatic Writing, written decades ago, a rediscovery of the dramatic principles of Aristotle's Poetics. You might say that Egri was the founder of modern-day structuralism (although his book was about playwriting and many movies before him were highly structured). Among the latter-day authorities are Syd Field and Vicki King, whom Blake Synder acknowledges as his early mentors. Others include Robert McKee, Lew Hunter, Richard Walter, John Truby, and Linda Seger. And there are many, many, many more.

But STC! 2 stands out among this group because it comes at the subject from a unique direction. Rather than stating theory and then citing examples, this second how-to book of Snyder's rationalizes examples of successful genre movies to make some generalizations about what works in terms of capturing and holding an audience. The book is mostly examples rather than rules, not the other way around. Many readers will find this format more approachable, user-friendly, and easier to apply than the theory books.

The key concepts he derives, which are the same as in STC! 1 are genre, structure, and beats. Be cautioned that he redefines genre. Synder's take on genre is more like "theme," "predicament," or even "story engine." It's the dilemma that drives the story, but it is, in structural terms, a situation and not a story. For example, "a fish out of water" is a situation--"a fish out of water grows legs and survives" is a story. As to structure, he pretty much follows accepted practice, but he goes a step further by reducing the essential, compelling structure to just 15 beats, or plot points. That's powerful stuff.

So you won't find the traditional genres "action-adventure" or "romantic comedy" here. Synder swaps those for genre-predicaments like "Monster in the House" and "Dude with a Problem." He identifies ten of them as the engines of all hits. He then decomposes the plots of several blockbusters in each genre to show how that engine operates. His insights are fascinating because, without the distinction of genre as he defines it, you might assume that "Three Days of the Condor" and "Sleeping with the Enemy" are fundamentally different. By traditional definitions, one is a spy thriller and the other is a woman-jeopardy thriller. But in the gospel according to Blake, those two movies are twins. Knowing why will not only make you a better screenwriter but will also give you a better appreciation of the high art of crafting the blockbusters that almost never win the snob awards.

Taking Synder's distinction one step further, it should be possible to do a "Monster in the House" story in any of the traditional genres--action-adventure, horror, or even romantic comedy! Getting this basic idea will help you understand why "King Kong" owes so much to "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" (not one of Snyder's examples, but one I'm sure he'd acknowledge).

Do get this book if you are writing spec scripts. But if you are writing indies, proceed with caution--with any book of rules. Certainly the gurus will preach that the rules of structure can strengthen any story and that, at the very least, you should master the rules before you break them. True enough.

But you don't want to get so locked into a box of rules that you can't think outside of it. The goal in indies, in my humble opinion, should not be to make blockbusters on the cheap but to take risks and evolve the cinematic form in ways the studios won't.

I should disclose that I've met Blake Snyder, and he is as charming in person as he is engaging on the page. More important, he assured me that no cats were harmed in the making of his books!

Making Your Own Opportunities in Writing

2008-02-21T11:30:00.000-08:00

I will be moderating a panel discussion on this topic, hosted by the Independent Writers of Southern California (IWOSC) on Monday, February 25 in Culver City, CA. Here are the details:

DATE: Monday, February 25

TIME: 7:30 p.m. SHARP to 9 p.m. (networking follows the program)

LOCATION: Veterans Memorial Building, 4117 Overland Avenue (corner Culver Boulevard - parking entrance on Culver), Culver City. Parking free.

COST: IWOSC members -- Free; non-members -- $15.

RESERVATIONS REQUIRED: Deadline (if space is still available) is noon, Monday, Feb.25. Call (877) 799-7483 or e-mail info@iwosc.org. NOTE: If you reserve and can not attend, please e-mail the IWOSC office at info@iwosc.org. and let us know.

PROGRAM: Writing is a business. Yet, if you can keep your mind open to creative possibilities, you can make the business work for you. Keeping flexible to various options can be the key to discovering alternative ways to enjoy success.

This eclectic panel has used a combination of talent, tenacity and tricks to earn their writing success. They'll share how they did it, how they figured it out, where they found it, and what’s next. New and stimulating ideas are out there, waiting to be tapped. Unchain yourself from your computer and take a few hours to discover what may be holding you back from getting to the next level in your writing career.

The Panelists: Gina Nahai, Colleen Dunn Bates, Blake Snyder, Tom Sawyer, and Maggie Anton.

Moderator: Gerald Everett Jones, author of My Inflatable Friend: The Confessions of Rollo Hemphill and How to Lie with Charts.

A Valentine Blast from the Past

2008-02-14T08:39:00.001-08:00

The Boychik Lit blog had barely gotten started last year at this time, and here's one of the early posts, which holds some sage advice for today!

Have a joyous day (and night), but let's all be safe. Please don't fire your weapon into the air.

Helpful Hint: Today millions of men will be subjected to the time-honored Mind Reading Test. Remember that it's strictly Pass / Fail, and you get only one guess. So take the advice I got from old Uncle Bob -- if it doesn't sparkle or smell, YOU GUESSED WRONG!

Here's hoping your Valentine is a live one!

the boychik

Steve Jobs Disappoints Me

2008-02-12T16:25:00.001-08:00

I had assumed that Apple was just holding back from entering the e-book market. Its competitor Sony, after all, has been taking the cautious road by marketing its Reader device in a grass-roots campaign that seems to be aimed at librarians and academics. Then along comes Amazon with Kindle, which perhaps rightly emphasizes convenience and instant gratification via wireless distribution.

And of course I'm pleased that My Inflatable Friend is available not only in softcover, but also in Kindle e-format.

But if Steve Jobs is to be believed, he just doesn't want to play the game. At all. There will be no iPod for books (unless you credit the little-publicized ability of the iPhone to display PDFs). Here's what he said recently in the NY Times.

Perhaps he should pop over to Goodreads, where librarians and other book junkies flock to await the End of Print As We Know It!

Boychik on the Radio - Two Podcasts!

2008-01-30T11:34:00.000-08:00

John Seeley (guy with the grin) hosts the "Write On!" show on BigMediaUSA. In Episode 10 Segment 2, taped on January 24, he and Gerald discuss My Inflatable Friend as an example of the boychik lit genre. (Click Segment 2 and you have your choice whether to listen streaming MP3 right now or right click to download to your player.)

Gig number two on January 30 was on the Michael Dresser Show (the intense dude below). You'll find his interview with Gerald, co-hosted with Gary Young, by clicking here. This is the last few minutes of a one-hour segment, and the boychik stuff starts at 35:50 (about two-thirds of the way along the streaming progress bar). What does a boychik have to do with a painted bird?

Who Are Those Guys?

2008-01-29T10:25:00.000-08:00

Here I am with co-host Helen Jupiter after our blogging seminar, sponsored by the Independent Writers of Southern California (IWOSC) .

Notice she also did a nice job on my hair!

Cheers, Gerald "the boychik"

Moochas Smoochas...

2008-01-20T08:23:00.000-08:00

... to everyone who helped make yesterday's IWOSC blogging seminar such a stimulating event. (I'm still buzzing--what is that?)

Big smack to my co-host Helen Jupiter, who blogs, among other places, at Metroblogging Los Angeles, Jewcy, The Jew & the Carrot, Gridskipper, and occasionally has time to drop by her own personal blog. Helen, you're a pro and a delight!

And then there's the rabble in the pit. A talented and good-looking lot. Now officially added to Rollo's fan base are Judy B. David (freelance copywriter and functional literate), Debra Eckerling (writer calling herself the "Coast Bunny"), LouAnn Savage (who told us about Toksee--heads up!), Congressional candidate Steve Blount (46th District, California), caregiver/counselor Michele A. Nuzzo (MidLife Menu), Matt Emmer, and podcaster professionelle Tracy Pattin (Tracilu Productions). Also familiar faces Robin Quinn, Les Boston, John Seeley, Roberta Edgar, Les Boston, Michael Dwyer, and local celebrity and political rabblerouser Georja Umano.

If I left you out, you are posting as Anonymous!

This event was organized by IWOSC Director of Professional Development (and playwright) Gary Young and moderated by the organization's President (and Hollywood publicist) Flo Selfman.

Hey, let's do this again! (Download handouts from the Hot Links menu above. Slideshow highlights running in the right sidebar.)

Book Review: "Sleep Before Evening" by Magdalena Ball

2007-12-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

Maggie Ball is a guest poster on this site, and I hope she noticed the hazing that our colleague Craig Alan Williamson got on these pages for his “college comedy.” Welcome to the boys’ club, Maggie. But we were expecting you to bring the fun and games. Instead, we get grief, from a woman who is both a looker and a thinker.

Chick lit, it’s not, convenient as that would have been for the sake of contrast to the boychik variety. No, what we have here is a full-on rush of ambitious literary fiction. That it largely succeeds as such is no consolation to horny but bookish males hoping for a bit of fluff or a few chuckles while killing time in the airport departure lounge.

Her central character, seventeen-year-old Marianne Cotton, doesn’t have a problem—she has onion-like layers of them—each drawing its quota of weeping as it is rudely stripped off to reveal more of the same beneath. And she seemed like such a nice, bright girl from the burbs, most likely to succeed, even if she’s headed for the success-starved achievements of the liberal arts.

It all starts when Marianne’s godlike grandfather, who is her chess master and father-substitute, croaks. No clean death, this. He suffers a devastating stroke (as she watches) and lingers on painlessly (for him) until his tormented daughter (Marianne’s mother Lily) decides to pull the plug. Except she doesn’t bother to ask Marianne. That’s major life crisis number one (unless you count the time her natural father took a hike when she was three).

To this point, Marianne has been an A-student out on politely competitive Long Island, bound for NYU with a scholarship and earnest plans to major in music. (Grandpa was fond of quoting Wittgenstein to her, so we guess she will also minor in philosophy with no strain.)

Propelled by her grief over the loss of the only sane man in her life, Marianne goes into socioeconomic free-fall. It seems all she has to do is set foot on the Long Island Railroad and inevitably she’s spiraling down into the rock music and drug culture of lower Manhattan. A creepy-sexy harmonica player named Miles is her undoing, and he does a helluva job, deflowering her and getting her hooked on horse, not necessarily in that order (or maybe simultaneously—she doesn’t seem to notice or care).

Life as a junkie and a wannabe groupie isn’t glamorous or fun, although at times Marianne seems to think it’s all she deserves. She delights in high-life sex with Miles, although unfortunately for voyeuristic male readers, we have to take her word for it—there’s no graphic content here.

What follows for much of the book is a whipsawing of agony and ecstasy as Marianne struggles to scrape up enough cash to cop and occasionally also eat. Bukowski comes to mind—no glamorous existence there, either. (Some practitioners of fratire don’t seem to grasp this, fascinated as they seem to be with the puke on their own shoes. Ah, well.)

Oh, it’s an artful whipsawing, in that the narrative respects the rhythms of the reader’s expectations. Just when we think Marianne will get smart and win back some self respect, she gets knocked down, someone dies, she gets a bad dose, she catches her boyfriend in flagrante with the band hag, and so on. (Fiction isn’t life. In its contrived worlds, as in the movies, people rise, suffer, and die on cue, even to a beat. It has to be that way—art is artifice, after all.)

Just when Marianne has been beaten to a bloody pulp, she winds up in rehab, and there begins the arduous climb back toward reconciliation with her mother and the middle class. Late in the book as she starts to spill it in psychotherapy, we begin to appreciate (as she does) what precipitated her fall. Up until now, she’s blamed the inept other men in her life—her father and her mother’s subsequent string of loser lovers, along with the infamous Miles and an all-male cast of criminals, dope dealers, and sleazy employers.

But here comes the epiphany: All along she’s been disappointed by the lack of love and attention from her mother, a self-absorbed painter with a manic-depressive lifestyle. Marianne’s image of herself has been reflected through her mother’s neuroses, and they both have to get through, and past, that core issue.

So, relax, guys. You may be crass, sleazy, opportunistic, and inept. But you’re not at fault.

This time, you'll have to let the women work it out.

Guest Post: Maggie Ball's Rollo

2007-12-23T17:12:00.000-08:00

Rollo gets both barrels full in the face on The Compulsive Reader site.

Magdalena Ball is a frequent guest of the boychik and the author of Sleep Before Evening.

Kindle the Yule Log and Ignite Rollo's e-Life!

2007-12-11T09:21:00.000-08:00

I notice that Amazon.com has released a Kindle version of My Inflatable Friend, something that I did not expect but am thrilled to see. It's lonely on the bleeding edge, but hey. I have often said (and written in various blog posts) that an iPod for books is long overdue. And I don't mean as a replacement for the sweet smell of paper and ink, either. But it's sure to be a real boon to students or travelers who hate lugging backpacks full of textbooks or guidebooks. So that's ease of storage, for starters, something iPod users now take for granted.

Not to mention that e-books are also much cheaper and easier to obtain than traditional books. Many is the time I've departed for a business trip and searched in vain at the airport bookstore (or not had the time to browse) for something to read. With that Kindle wi-fi link (Whispernet, they call it), I stand to be instantly gratified (at least, to the extent that any reading material can satisfy my longings).

However, I don't own a Kindle yet (are you listening, Santa?). So I'm really curious how my product looks, displayed on theirs.

So I will offer a NOT INCONSIDERABLE PRIZE of Rollo Hemphill memorabilia -- personalized and shipped to you promptly at my expense -- to the first person who e-mails me at mailto:inflatable@lapuerta.tv that you've downloaded Rollo's adventure onto your new Kindle.

Come now -- you don't want him to unwrap his new Kindle only to find Merriam Webster inside!

Kindle Version ASIN:B000NY14KI My Inflatable Friend: The Confessions of Rollo Hemphill

Book Review: "Topaz Woman" by Christine Candland

2007-12-06T10:41:00.000-08:00

I'm naturally curious about genre fiction of all kinds, especially if it involves power struggles between the sexes. From the title and the blurb, I expected Topaz Woman to be an updated Romancing the Stone. It is that (the jeweled centerpiece, let's say), but its plot is actually a string of genre pieces, each rendered with Christine Candland's unique wit and style.

We begin in a fearsome jungle -- Hollywood -- where we get an insider's view of studio grinders. We fear for main character Cassie, an English major just off the bus. But in Candland's steely take, the young woman is neither star-struck nor naive. She knows what she wants and she's willing to work relentlessly and patiently. But independent of mind as she is, Cassie can't help but fall for the guy with True Grit, godlike director Jeff McConnell, who literally rides a tall horse, keeps his hurts to himself, and glares meaningfully as a substitute for dialogue. But it's not to be, or not right away.

We segue from Day of the Locust to The Devil Wears Prada as Cassie must cope with the female studio exec from Hell. Then, with both the career and the love plots suddenly in suspense, we find ourselves in the real jungle of Brazil researching a romance about some rare stones. Another handy, helpful guy (named Bill Cody with unexplained irony) figures in this subplot, but not too much, just long enough to convince us that independent-minded Cassie is never outside the gravitational pull of a male, even if she doesn't always let herself be drawn in. Then back to Hollywood and the rest is her-story.

This book clarified something for me about chick lit and about the legacy of Jane Austen. Today's circumstances and social structure are undeniably different -- but the ultimate goal remains chillingly the same: The clever, resourceful female -- who is portrayed as (and may well be) smarter and more cunning than her male counterparts -- still regards herself as lost in polite society unless she's the better half of a power couple! Brava to Candland for her commentary on sexual politics, and here's expecting Cassie's next exploit could take her into uncharted waters...

Guest Post: Craig Alan Williamson reviews "My Inflatable Friend"

2007-11-30T10:53:00.000-08:00

Rollo Hemphill is an ex-con slacker whose only pleasures in life are joy-riding unaffordable cars and dream-riding unobtainable women. Hotel beautician, Felicia, is the prime object of Rollo’s affections, but how is a lowly hotel parking valet supposed to garner her smouldering attention? Jealousy always seems to do the trick in these situations, so step forth the bronzed, brash, boobylicious beauty that is soap queen Monica LaMonica. Of course, Ms. LaMonica would not give Rollo the time of day, but can Rollo seal the deal with her life-sized synthetic body double?

The premise of this novel is full of potential and in the main it has been very well executed. Although the back story takes a little too long to establish itself, the concept of the novel as a written confession is implemented well. Another clever invention is the way that Jones intersperses Rollo’s confessions with occasional chapters from his parole officer – this provides another perspective on the story and really helps to keep the plot intrigue ticking away nicely. The pace quickens when the inflatable doll capers commence in earnest, and the story builds to a worthy climax with a string of unexpected turns.

Jones has succeeded in taking one simple, yet original, idea and expanding it into a creditable novel. While the laughs may be spread a little too thinly for ‘My Inflatable Friend’ to be classed as an out-and-out comedy, it certainly packs enough mystery, intrigue and anticipation to keep any reader thoroughly entertained.

Craig Alan Williamson is the author of college comedy novel ‘A Foreign Education’. Download an exclusive preview at www.CraigAlanWilliamson.com

Guest Post: Lad Lit vs. Chick Lit

2007-10-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

Can debauchery ever be as marketable as romance?

Chick Lit
– a well established genre of writing, usually written by women for women and dealing with issues such as fashion, shopping and men. The female lead character, always good looking but she rarely knows it, stumbles from one no-good guy to another, before falling madly in love with Mr Perfect. Mr Perfect proves stubborn at first, but then comes to his senses, sweeps the girl off her feet and takes her for a romantic weekend in Paris aboard his private jet where he proposes mid-orgasm while conceiving their first set of triplets.

Lad Lit
aka Boychik Lit, Guy Lit, Dick Lit, or Fratire
– a new breed of novel, usually written by men for men and dealing with issues such as drinking, vomiting, and sex. The male lead, never good looking and he always knows it, stalks one unobtainable girl after another, before falling madly in love with a keg of beer and numbing his pain on a nightly basis. Just when all hope seems lost, he finally finds a girl who will drop her knickers in his presence and wipe the crusting vomit from his face in the morning. His life is complete.

With the definitions out of the way, we can now get down to the nitty-gritty. Let us first consider the market appeal of each of these species of book. More women read novels than men, due no doubt to their inherent capacity to multi-task. Women are freely able to read books whilst simultaneously performing activities such as bossing men around, telling men they have small penises, chatting about loser-men to their girlfriends, and boasting about how much better they are at multi-tasking than men. Being aimed at women, Chick Lit therefore clearly has the advantage in market appeal. This is particularly true as men are too busy playing video games and browsing ever more depraved pornography to even consider picking up a Lad Lit novel.

Maybe, then, we should consider the potential for multi-million dollar movie spin-offs. While gross-out comedies clearly have their place in the market, their box office pull is dwarfed by that of the chick flick. It’s not too difficult to drill down and analyse the reasons for this, which all revolve around the fact that men need sex more than women. You see, men are so desperate for a good dose of sweet lovin’ that they will happily endure another vomit-inducing Anne Hathaway movie on a Friday night. They will even put up with a tortuous 4 hour Legally Blonde DVD marathon if there is the merest sniff of some panty action to be found at the end of the night. Women, on the other hand, would much rather go without sausage for eternity than watch a Will Ferrell film or yet another sequel to American Pie.

So should Lad Lit authors resign themselves to the fact that there just isn’t the market out there to sustain a living from their smut-filled pages? Yes, we should. But in the absence of that kind of common sense, we should instead focus on making our work more chick-friendly. Love, romance and premenstrual should no longer be regarded as dirty words, and women should no longer be treated as slabs of meat to be rated, ridiculed and drooled over. Well, at least not on even and odd numbered pages. This is a new world order, where proud owners of titties and todgers are all welcome to enjoy the delights of the modern Lad Lit novel.

Craig Alan Williamson is the author of the chick-friendly Lad Lit college comedy novel ‘A Foreign Education’. He welcomes all sexes to sample the opening chapter of his book at www.CraigAlanWilliamson.com or buy the paperback from Amazon using the links below.