All posts by Lars Walker

My Life Without God, by William J. Murray

I picked up William J. Murray’s autobiography, My Life Without God, largely because I figured he’d be a kindred soul. Both of us were raised in dysfunctional families dominated by abusive mothers. I did find much to identify with, but all in all I don’t think I’d have traded places with him.

Bill Murray holds a permanent place in American history as the boy whose mother, Madalyn Murray (later O’Hair), sued the city of Baltimore on his behalf, to spare him the emotional suffering of being forced to pray in school. The case ended up in the Supreme Court, and a novel and paradigm-shifting precedent resulted.

She was, apparently, less concerned about his emotional suffering in other areas of life. Continue reading My Life Without God, by William J. Murray →

Thursday fight (real life edition)

This is a truly bizarre story:

INDIANAPOLIS – Police have charged an Indianapolis man in the death of his 77-year-old grandmother, who died after trying to break up a sword fight between him and her 69-year-old brother-in-law.

Not funny in the least. Just very, very strange.

Publication update

I copied a map out of a book and made some marks on it last night, then scanned it and sent it to the house artist. From those lowly elements he plans to construct a handsome original chart, for the benefit of those who remain unsure which hemisphere Greenland is located in. So that’s done, from my end.

I also got a chance to look at some prospective covers, a part of the project also still “in process.” I think I’m going to get a picture of a Viking ship on the cover, which is the main thing for me. In my opinion there is nothing on earth cooler than a Viking ship. Ninjas? Ha! We laugh at ninjas.

It looks as if this is going to be the most expensive book I’ve ever written. It appears that it will be what’s called a “trade paperback.” That’s one of those big paperbacks they sell you (the small, old-fashioned kind are called “mass market paperbacks”). The price looks to be about $25.00. I have a hard time imagining anyone paying twenty-five bucks for anything written by me, but Nordskog thinks that’s the way to go, and I assume they know their business. Sometimes people want a thing more when you ask more for it, so I’ll wait and see. Also, I know there are reasons, having to do with the bookselling business, why trade paperbacks are more cost effective for publishers.

Someday, hardcover!

Cartography before the horse

My big job tonight is to make a map. My publisher wants a map for the new book. I’m going to try to cobble something together in MS Publisher, showing what’s where, so that the cover artist can make one that looks decent for actual publication.

I’ve always thought that my Viking books ought to have maps, concerned as they are with places that most readers don’t know much about. But I never felt qualified to produce one myself, and could never afford to hire somebody to do it for me.

But my publisher, who is a “boat guy,” wants a map, and apparently he’ll spring for the cost. This means I must toil like a dwarf tonight to put together something vaguely helpful as a guide.

So that’s what I’m doing instead of writing a long blog post.

Why guns are good

Ever wonder why right-wingers are so obsessed with gun rights? Is it some kind of death wish, or sexual compensation or something, you ask?

This article by Robert Avrech over at Big Hollywood explains it all.

The Outside Man, by Richard North Patterson

What is it with Southern writers? I’m certain there must be a lot of inkslingers living in trailer parks south of Mason Dixon, banging out slop on second-hand PCs (as I myself did at one time), but again and again you come on these southern authors who display the same kind of technical brilliance combined with lyrical grace, like one antebellum mansion after another along a road in an exclusive neighborhood. Maybe the very experience of speaking with a drawl gives a person time to strategize word choice, while we northerners with our nasal, jackhammer diction just stutter our prose out like salt from a highway department ice control truck.

In any case, Richard North Patterson, whose novels I’ve never tried before, is a darn good wordsmith. The Outside Man is an older novel of his (1981), so I wouldn’t be surprised if the liberal ideas this book suggests have metastasized into something that would give me a stroke if I read a more recent example, but for now I’m highly inclined to try him again.

The Outside Man is narrated by the main character, Adam Shaw, a northerner and a lapsed Catholic who married a rich southern girl and moved to Birmingham, Alabama to join her father’s law firm. He and his father-in-law don’t get along, and he generally feels like an outsider in Birmingham society.

As the book begins he is running an errand for the firm, delivering a document to Lydia Cantwell, the wife of one of their most important clients. Finding the door unlocked, he goes inside and finds her strangled to death. Police suspicion immediately falls on Henry, her husband. Adam is determined to prove him innocent—not only because he’s a client, but because he’s one of the few local people Adam has found to be a true friend.

You’ll have already guessed the general tone of what follows. The veneer of southern aristocratic respectability is found to conceal volcanic passions, poisonous hatreds and hypocrisy. In fact it’s largely a question of discovering which passions, hatreds and hypocrisies are actually relevant, and which don’t apply to the case.

But it’s very well done. Recommended, with the usual cautions for language and adult subject matter.

Friday without a fight

Thought for the day: “His strength was as the strength of 8.273, because his heart was in compliance with minimum federal purity standards.”

This disjointed post may be all you get today. I have a phone meeting with my editor tonight, followed by a Viking meeting.

Today is the birthday of one of the greatest Norwegians of all time–Hans Nielsen Hauge. I note with some shock that I’m cited as an authority in the Wikipedia article on him.

This month’s Writer’s Digest features a joint interview with Jerry B. Jenkins and Stephen King. Note that I say “joint.” It’s an interview with both of them at once. Apparently they’re buddies. Who knew?

King says, “I got to know [Jerry] through the Left Behind series, which has a lot in common with The Stand–both are stories about the end of the world, with Christian overtones (mine has more four-letter words). While I’m not a big believer in the Biblical apocalypse and end-times, I was raised in a Christian home, went to church a lot, attended MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship–lots of Bible drills, which every writer could use, Christian or not), and so I knew the story…. Jerry writes sturdy prose and plots well. He’s also warm and compassionate. Understands families inside out. There’s a lot there to like.”

Maybe King will cut evangelicals a little slack in his future books.

Devil’s Garden, by Ace Atkins

As many of you may know, pioneering hardboiled detective writer Dashiell Hammet, creator of The Maltese Falcon and The Thin Man, paid his dues as a real-life detective, an operative for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

Ace Atkins, author of Devil’s Garden, discovered a fascinating fact about Hammet’s detective career—that he actually worked for the defense in one of the big court cases of the 1920s—the trial of movie comedian Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle for manslaughter.

(Even though not well known today, Arbuckle was a superstar in his time. He rivaled Chaplin and Keaton as the most popular silent comedian. That all ended when a young actress died during a party he hosted in San Francisco in 1921. Lurid rumors about her death spread [and were printed in newspapers], with the result that, though he was eventually acquitted, Arbuckle’s movie career died.)

This novel employs multiple viewpoints, but we see the action mainly through Hammet’s and Arbuckle’s eyes. Their vantage points are very different. Hammet is a poor man, suffering with tuberculosis and alcoholism, barely managing to support a wife and baby. Yet he has a future. Arbuckle lives like a king, eating at the best restaurants and riding around in a car with a built-in commode. But his good times are nearly done. Continue reading Devil’s Garden, by Ace Atkins →