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It’s been a crazy week, but I haven’t forgotten all you vintage shoe freaks out there. These glamorous gold ankle-strap peep-toe platforms from the 1940s are labeled “Kimel California” and “Stephani Last” with a handwritten notation on the inside of the ankle strap that includes the size (5M) and some other numbers whose meaning is not obvious. Film studio or production info? No idea, but I can picture these beauties on Ginger Rogers or Betty Grable.
A question for the interwebs. Obviously no one reading this post is offended by swearing, or else you wouldn’t be here, but I’ve noticed something on Twitter and Facebook that I find somewhat perplexing. Writers who use naughty language in their novels but still disguise four letter words in their social networking posts. Like f*ck or sh*t. What the fuck is that shit?
I mean, what’s the point of visually “bleeping” your tweets if you swear in your books? Maybe you don’t want to offend your more delicate followers, but honestly, is there any benefit whatsoever in being followed by people who would be offended by your books? Or is it because your mom follows you? My mom follows me (hi mom!) but she’s a linguist who’s always been fascinated by insults and swearing so that doesn’t really count.
Just fucking curious…
News travels fast on the interwebs, but if you haven’t read about Dorchester’s decision to stop producing mass market paperbacks, you can do so here or here.
Hard Case Honcho Charles Ardai had this to say about it on Bill Crider’s blog:
“This does affect all of Dorchester’s lines; fortunately, I own Hard Case Crime and can take it elsewhere. It does mean that there will be a delay in the publication of the next two titles (currently planned for this October and next March), but they will come out, and not as ebooks, as book books. Not that I’m against ebooks — I’m no luddite. But Hard Case Crime is not an ebook line. The whole point of Hard Case Crime, in some sense, is that it’s not an ebook line. In any event: It will take a bit of time for the smoke to clear, but when it does I will let everyone know when and where they can expect to see our new titles.”
Yes, that title due out next March is my new Angel Dare novel Choke Hold. But don’t panic, Faustketeers. I have faith in Ardai’s ability to make this book happen one way or another. That tenacious commitment to his authors and his vision for the Hard Case line is what brought me back to his stable even though I could have gotten more money elsewhere. It’s why I have the Hard Case logo tattooed on my wrist. Because I don’t trust easy, but I trust Ardai. And you should too.
We are living in interesting times, kids. Everything is up for grabs. It seems like content delivery mechanisms and the ways in which people evaluate and select entertainment options have changed more in the past ten years than in the previous hundred. My only choice is to stay flexible and roll with the punches. It’s not gonna be easy, but it’s a little easier knowing somebody like Ardai’s got my back.
Holy Toledo, is it vintage shoe porn time again already?
Here’s a pair of unique 50s lucite peep-toe slingbacks with a black spiderweb pattern on clear plastic. Some yellowing on the plastic upper but otherwise minty delicious. I love the lucite shoes from this time period almost as much as my fav 50s footwear, the spring-o-laters. One of my holy grail finds would be a pair of lucite spring-o-laters, but I’ve never seen a pair in any size and have no idea if anyone even made them.
Something amazing to consider. Only two more vintage shoe porn posts before Bouchercon. Damn, I’d better get back to work…
I’ve been on a kick of fighting my way down the TBR pile lately, trying to reduce its height. At least until it’s less than my own. In heels, anyway. Come on, a gal’s gotta have goals, right? Anyway, I’m digging deep and reading books I’ve been meaning to get to for way too long. One of the books on that stack was Stephen Jay Schwartz’ BOULEVARD .
Did I mention I love ugly sex? In fiction of course. In real life I’d obviously prefer all the sex I have to be toe-curling, headboard-thumping full-tilt awesome in every way. But in fiction, that kind of action bores me silly.
That’s not to say a hot sex scene can’t be engaging and intriguing, as long as it’s believable, deeply personal, and actually tells you something about the characters involved. Vicki Hendricks’ books feature great examples of hot sex done right. But far too often, authors seem to default to a kind of generic template where every move is perfect and everyone involved is athletic, acrobatic and otherwise flawless. In chick-lit, it’s all molten, romantic and dreamy. In dick-lit it’s all porno fireworks and rock video hair whipping. No one ever fumbles, or fails to connect, or feels dirty after it’s over.
This is not a problem in BOULEVARD. The sex in that book is raw, painfully honest and unrelentingly ugly. And I’m loving it.
Another book that features fantastic, beautifully rendered ugly sex is Cathi Unsworth’s THE NOT KNOWING. That sex scene reads like a car-crash, and like a car crash, you find you just can’t look away.
So, Faustketeers, what are some of your favorite ugly sex scenes in fiction?
In the years since Money Shot was released, there have been a lot of really passionate reactions about the character of Lalo Malloy. I’ve got a few things I’d like to say about him, but I’ll be addressing an issue in the plot that you may not want to know if you still haven’t read the book.
And if you’re reading this blog but you still haven’t read Money Shot, what the hell are you waiting for? Go buy it now while I talk to the rest of the class.
SPOILERS
Malloy’s betrayal caused a some pretty strong emotions for a lot of readers. Which, I’ll admit, was my intention. But I was genuinely surprised by readers who felt that his actions were “out of nowhere” and “not believable for his character.” So let me set the record straight here once and for all.
Malloy was after the money from day one. Maybe I’m a cynical bitch, but to me the notion that Malloy’s willing to dance through bullets to help someone he barely knows just because he’s a swell guy is “not believable for his character.” He constantly brings up the briefcase and how important it is that they find the dough. The only reason he’s involved with Angel at all is because he wants that money.
It isn’t until the night that they become intimate that he has a moment of weakness, feels like a heel about what he’s planning to do, and asks her to run off with him. When she makes it clear that isn’t gonna happen, he goes back to plan A and bails with the cash.
I thought his motivation and intention was crystal clear, but clearly a lot of readers missed it.
I’m fascinated by the way readers take what writers give them and build their own conclusions. They form their own pictures of the characters and fill in their own subtext. I know I do it when I read. I think everyone does, and that’s part of what makes reading so enjoyable. But it’s really odd when the conclusion reached by some readers is so different than my intentions. Then again, I remember someone complaining to me that Orbik’s cover painting was all wrong because Angel is blonde. (She does bleach her hair after cutting it short, but she’s a natural brunette.)
I guess it’s not so different than sex. No matter how close two lovers are, they are each inside their own heads having their own unique experience.
My Birthday Month may be over, but the vintage shoe porn never ends here in the Haus of Faust. For your coveting pleasure, a pair of lovingly worn QualiCraft heels from the 1950s, black leather and red suede with clear plastic inserts.
Choosing this month’s feature playmate, I realized that I have more black and red vintage shoes than any other color combo (not counting solid black, of course.)
My short birthday vacation up the coast was plagued by all sorts of crazy bad luck, but I’m just gonna pretend it was perfect. All problems aside, it was still pretty amazing. Photos here.
I’m not the type to blog daily about my pets. Everyone who reads this blog knows my dog Butch, because he’s a ham who loves all the attention, but not that many people know his girlfriend Emma.
That’s her on the left. Cute, huh? You’d never know this photo was taken on a Necro-porn set.
Emma was a rescue, my little ‘Nam vet. She had a rough life before she came to me, neglected, emaciated and barely able to stand. She had this look in her eyes like she was witnessing a murder only she could see. I used to joke that she looked just like Shelley Duvall in The Shining, watching the axe come through the bathroom door.
She got more confident during the seven years she lived with me, but she was always skittish. She was never very affectionate with people, but she loved Butch and followed him everywhere.
A few months ago she was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. I kept her comfortable for as long as I could, but over the weekend her seizures worsened and she stopped eating. This morning, I finally had to call a hit on her, like a mobster.
I’m a wreck right now. I’ve been through this before, but it never gets easier. I wish I believed in some kind of fairy tale happily ever after, but I don’t. All I can do is take comfort in the fact that she had the best life I could give her and didn’t suffer in the end.
I don’t know how my birthday month has turned into the season of death. I promise my next blog post will be funny and frivolous.
I went back and forth with myself over whether or not to publicly remark on the anniversary of my friend Edith’s death. To post about it seemed morbid or maybe too self-centered, too much about me and oh my woe and sadness! But not to post about it, or to just post about various other silly, irrelevant crap seemed disrespectful and callous.
So I’ll just keep it simple and, at the suggestion of a mutual friend, raise a virtual toast. Here’s to Edith Speed, a devilish, complicated and unforgettable woman who remains, even after her death, larger than life.
RIP Edith Speed – June 7th 2009