Generally Horrible Questions: Katie Adams

The giant beer is a dead giveaway that this woman
is an editor....

I met Katie a few years ago, when Other Press became a distribution client for Random House (which means that the RH sales force handles the rep duties and our warehouse ships the books) and Katie attended sales conference.  I find the Other Press list of titles and staff invigorating--new voices, fresh perspectives, and a lot of energy make them a joy to represent.  Katie is one of those people who starts talking about the book she's working on and her enthusiasm is contagious; because of this infectious joy I'm willing to overlook that she roots for the Red Sox and has never made me brownies.  She doesn't know that she's supposed to make me brownies, mind you, but why should I have to state my needs so explicitly?  She reads this blog (She's our fan! Possibly the only one remaining!).  She knows I'm not right in the head.  Anyway, in the last year Katie left Other Press to accept a job with Liveright, a newly re-formed division of Norton, but in spite of her abandonment she was still good enough to answer our horrible questions.  She's our first editor....she might have been drunk when she agreed.

Generally Horrible Questions: Katie Adams

1. How’d you become an editor? Tell us your life story.
The long story is a boring one: lifelong reader, naturally bossy, etc. But the crucial lucky break came when I was a senior at Columbia. I was taking a graduate seminar on Dickens, and one of the grad students asked me about my plans after graduation. I murmured vague thoughts about publishing, and she said, “Oh, I used to be an editorial assistant at FSG, give them my name and get an internship there during your final semester.” At the time I’d never even heard of FSG (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, one of the absolute best houses in the business, as I quickly learned), but after a few days of typing out permissions forms for Robert Lowell poems and photocopying Michael Cunningham’s new novel, I was hooked. [For those keeping track, Katie has mentioned Columbia University, graduate seminars, Dickens, FSG, and Robert Lowell.  We love a woman who embraces her nerdiness so openly.]

What book do you point to with pride and think “I worked on that?”
Well, I’ve been so lucky – I’m proud of all the books I’ve had a hand in, whether as an editorial assistant, desk editor, or acquiring editor. But my first real pinch-me moment was probably when Claire Messud wrote a glowing full-page of Mrs. Woolf and the Servants, my first acquisition, in the New York Times. An intellectual endorsement from Messud (a genius) about a book on Virginia Woolf (possibly the greatest English writer since Shakespeare): “an absorbing and complex portrait of Woolf’s particular relation to domestics and domesticity.” Heaven. [Here's the problem--there's too much we like about this statement to mock it.  Virginia Woolf?  LOVE.  Claire Messud?  LOVE (and she has a new novel coming next spring!).  Katie's really short.  We're also starting a rumor that she has six toes on her left foot.  Spread the word.]

What are the best and worst moments in your editorial career?
The absolute worst (so far) was probably when I was an editorial assistant. I sent a deal memo, which contains all of the nitty gritty – and might I add, confidential – details about an author’s book deal, to the wrong person. I meant to send it to the foreign publisher with whom we’d done the deal, but instead I sent it to a fierce literary agent with the same first name, who must have thought she could do even better by the author, because she later picked him up as a client! That was a lay-face-down-on-the-office-floor moment. But really one of the hardest parts of the job is the books that get away, for whatever reason, and then it’s death by a thousand cuts as they come out to rave reviews. ["The books that get away"--is this code for Fifty Shades of Grey?]

Bests, I’ve had a few. Michael Crummey is one of my favorite authors, and when I found out that he hadn’t read Moby Dick (the horror – his latest book features a whale for God’s sake!) I immediately rushed him a copy. Not only did he love it, he wrote a beautiful essay  about reading it. I felt I’d given a little something back to him after his book had given me so much. But there are smaller moments as well. Just last week an author from my last job emailed to say that his daughter had been accepted to her first choice college. I love these personal tidbits I get as the relationship deepens, and I was so thrilled for this proud papa. [Zorro pooped in his litter box for the first time in four years last week!  Send me brownies!]

Any author gossip that you’re willing to reveal? Don’t worry—no one reads this blog.
Ha! If there’s one thing I know about authors, it’s that they find any and every mention of themselves online. [Exactly!  We need the hits from people other than the ones searching Google for free porn!  Tell tales!  Make stuff up.  We certainly do.  Gianna and E.L. James are the same person.]

As a Red Sox fan, describe in detail how much you hate the Yankees. Feel free to rationalize the designated hitter rule for us too; we’re National League fans.
The Yankees are the guy at the bar who hits on you so loudly and so publicly that you can’t tell if he’s actually serious. His ego is performance art. Depending on your answer, he’ll either perform the swaggering jerk that gets the girl, or he’ll perform the impervious couldn’t-care-less reject, but regardless it will be ALL ABOUT HIM. That’s the Yankees. [We were just going to say that they're assholes.]

As an impartial sports fan of New England descent, Astros or Cubs?
I used to empathize with the Cubs, but now I’m kinda mad at Theo Epstein [former Red Sox GM who is now the Cubs GM], plus the Astros no longer suffer under the curse of Roger Clemens, so…Astros. [And Liz's love for Katie lives on....]

What book(s) made you squeal with delight and led you into the dark world of publishing?

The true first would have to be Mickey Mouse’s Picnic, which my sainted mother read to me thousands upon thousands of times. Then it’s a straight line through Where the Red Fern Grows, Mrs. Mike, The Thorn Birds, Persuasion, To the Lighthouse, Bartleby the Scrivener, One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Hours, Olive Kitteridge. Or so I say today. [First, Mickey Mouse is the evil overlord that has oppressed the maligned Donald Duck for decades.  Liz is quite serious about this topic.  Curse you for your duck bigotry.  The other books on your list, though, make us happy.]

What are you working on now that has you excited?
Oh so much good stuff. There’s a work of history called For Adam’s Sake, slated for next spring, which reads like Downton Abbey set in 17th century Connecticut. There’s a beautiful, crushing memoir coming next April called My Foreign Cities, about a young couple who, due to illness, have to live their whole marriage in the ten years they know they’ll have together. And a truly fabulous novel called The Last Summer of the Camperdowns about a young girl, a long summer, and a big secret. [Spoiler: she has cooties?] It’s the perfect summer book: “That dear old house. If there is a heaven, I will spend eternity on the back porch, sipping ice tea and eating radish and mayonnaise sandwiches, listening to the birds chirp, watching the mulberries ripen, hearing the waves roll in, reading Sun Tzu when my father is looking; Trixie Belden when he isn’t.” I have the best job in the world. [And cooties.]

You’re married to an editor. Tell the truth: are you better?
It really depends on what you mean by better. I’m definitely more emotional/obsessive about work (and everything), which can drive my authors crazy or make them feel like centers of the universe. But my brilliant husband is utterly unflappable, a crucial piece of the job for which I’m still searching. Also, when we took a sample Wonderlic test (given to college athletes to determine intelligence before they turn pro) my husband scored higher. And he’s also taller. I appreciate this question because it gets at the goal of marriage, which is to determine a winner and a loser. [Exactly.  We're sure you're aware that the Liz and Gianna battle for supremacy rages on.]

Liz or Gianna?
Liz picked Galore as her favorite book of 2011. For that, Liz would also win against either or both of my parents. [Excellent.  And the answer, of course, is always Liz.]

Gilda?  She's a bitch.  How could one NOT choose Zorro?

Liz’s cat Zorro or Gianna’s dog Gilda?
Gilda! Cats are too judgmental. [...You're dead to me (liz).  Unless you send brownies.]

What are your biggest grammatical pet peeves? And what’s your position on the Oxford comma?
Your/you’re. Its/it’s. Two complete sentences joined by “and” but no punctuation. YES to the Oxford comma. Long may it reign. It’s one thing to cast aside these rules in an email, but in your manuscript…for heaven’s sake! [Most of our emails disregard all punctuation and are typed as abbreviations...like "TWSS" for "That's what she said.  Most of our email correspondence is a violation of multiple codes of conduct.  Or involves poop.]

Will you edit Liz and Gianna: A Joint Memoir? We guarantee nudity and violence.

Liveright published this book.
I think it's about a dump
or something.

Only if the book jacket can look like the movie posters for Face/Off. [Absolutely!  GIANNA IS JUST LIKE JOHN TRAVOLTA...or rather, just like his masseur.  She confessed that if Travolta offered her $400, she'd make him a regular client.  She's classy like that.  Also the Face/Off cover would be ideal since we look so much alike.]

Tell us about Liveright, the new line at Norton.
Liveright is the rebirth of one of the great names in publishing. Boni & Liveright (later just Liveright) had a remarkable heyday in the 1920s and 30s. Led by boozy, chorus-girl chasing, literary savant-whisperer Horace Liveright, they published a remarkable array of stars including T.S. Eliot, Anita Loos, Theodore Dreiser, Dorothy Parker, Hart Crane, early Hemingway, early Faulkner etc etc etc. W.W. Norton bought it decades ago and decided to re-launch it this year in order to bring back some of the Liveright classics (books like My Life by Isadora Duncan and The Theater of E.E. Cummings) and to recognize and further draw upon the talents of my amazing boss – a legend in his own right – Bob Weil. [With the Liz and Gianna memoir on the list, you'll be legendary yourself.  What is the record for fastest career-ender for an editor?  Judith Regan with the OJ Simpson book?  We can top that. Gianna's even a boozy, chorus girl.]

Thanks Katie!

(By the way--the best thing about harassing an editor?  All of her answers were spelled properly.  Gianna would never send in a blog post with such polish.)

Gianna's Trip: A Recap

Zorro looks great on a National  Rifle Association flag.

[I have to fly to Amarillo tomorrow, I haven't unpacked 90% of the boxes from my move, and I can't properly display my NRA flag because Zorro is sleeping on it.  What?  Doesn't everyone own an NRA flag? Anyway, Gianna is currently hoofing it back from her second New York trip in two weeks, so I thought it only fitting that I procrastinate by posting this piece about her first trip.  Also, I think it's worth stating that even though we frequently travel for work, on these work trips we rarely have a moment to play tourist.  Days are long, the food sucks, and some days you want to give the finger to the world.  I compensate by swallowing down my rage and taunting the cat.  Gianna copes in other ways...I think she might be on the crack rock.]

Gianna:

I know how much our little Lizzy likes to keep our readers (sorry, reader) abreast of how she spends her days. I always thought my days were far too boring to share, but after reading Liz’s last account where there was not just one, but two pictures of what appears to be a morbidly obese cat sitting on a nearly empty, but buckling bookshelf--I know the camera adds 150 pounds so maybe Zorro just looks chubby--I now think "Gee, people will read just about anything."  I mean, I have a cat…plus I am going to New York City! The Big Apple, the land of a thousand bad accents, and one collectively crappy mood. So excited, picture me as Babs in the boat scene of Yentl (Papa, watch me fly!).

It's not often that Gianna
makes a Babs reference.

I mean, look out Empire State! I am headed your way with my University of Texas Press catalog, and if there is one thing I know for sure about the city so nice they named it twice, it's that they love to read about anything other than New York, written by people not living in New York. They’re a lot like Texans I guess, modest and curious beyond their borders. [If everything's bigger in Texas, doesn't that mean that Zorro is average sized?]

No line at the taxi stand at JFK--a promising start. My cab driver can’t be bothered to help me with my suitcase (perhaps sensing that it is loaded down with catalogs, advance reading copies, and cash). Hey, no worries pal, I got it; this old feminist can change a tire, put up drywall, and lift a heavy suitcase. (I can’t actually change a tire. I also cannot put up drywall and am not completely sure what drywall is. But I did carry my own suitcase). [For the record, Gianna helped to rip a hole in my drywall the other night.  If I'd actually read this piece earlier I would have watched her more carefully.]

This *might* not actually be
Gianna's taxi driver.

Halfway to Manhattan my driver asks where I’m from and when I say Texas, he makes a sad sound and then says, “Oh…George Bush.” So I say as upbeat as I can, “And don’t forget Rick Perry!” He makes another sad sound. I ask where he's from and he informs me that he's from Angola. Then he says in a voice you would hear from a preschool teacher, “That’s in Africa.” I say, “Yes, West Africa, of course.” Now I immediately regret saying this because I’ve sort of insinuated that I might know more about the geography of not only Africa, but, God help me, my own country. The reality is I can probably name five countries in Africa, and, you know, if pressed, half the states in the US. I’m very much a USA Today reader…lots of pictures. So yeah, sure enough, the old son of a bitch says “Are you familiar with Africa?” I have no choice but to say “So do you like George Bush?”

As you can imagine the conversation fizzled after that. Good thing, though, because a sporting event on the radio was about to begin and the national anthem was playing. My African pal turned it up and began to hum along. I think it's one of my sweetest New York moments ever.

After rolling up to the incredibly plush, celebrity laden, Roger Smith Hotel (new bar on roof!) and my pal once again makes a point of not even pretending to get out of the cab to help with my suitcase (seriously, I got it!) I head up to my room, drop my bags, and hit the Duane Reade. A bag of pita chips: $164, nail file: $332, and a bottle of water: $1,287. [Anyone else curious what one could do with water, pita chips, and a nail file?] Then I hit the streets hardcore. In other words, I went back up to my room and worked until 9:00 pm preparing for the next two days of meetings.

When not complaining about travel,
Gianna pitches UT Press books

I’d fill you in on the next 48 hours but most of it is even less exciting than a cat on a shelf (it’s the Elf on a Shelf for the non believers!) so let me skip to my last day. After spending $5.00 on toast (I know talking about how expensive shit is in New York is about as lame as talking about the heat in Texas…but truth is…sometimes it's just so damn hot you have to say something), and finishing my final two meetings, I shot right to the airport. Good thing I got to the there early, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to board my flight, get to the end of the runway and then be told we had to return to the gate because an engine light wouldn’t go off. Let me tell you something, if I were to turn around every single time an engine light went on in my car, I would never get anywhere!

Good news, though, they know they won't be able to fix it within two hours so they have secured us a different plane which would take off in 45 minutes. I mean, just hearing that shit you knew it was a lie. Glass half empty. We did get a $10 gift voucher though (that’s four pieces of toast y’all!). Three hours later and the only thing keeping my spirits up is Liz’s nearly constant John Travolta / massage therapist updates. [I am a wealth of information on a variety of topics.] So a little more than three hours later I am on the plane headed home.

We had to listen to the flight safety twice, and each time I could have sworn it said that the flight attendants would come by and do a cavity search. Obviously I misheard because I never did get searched. In other words…American is no Southwest.

She's the Dolly to my Latifah.
Or the other way around.

More good news, and the cherry on top of my trip was the in-flight movie. Joyful Noise (written and directed by Todd Graff of Beautician and the Beast fame) starring Dolly Parton and Queen Latifah (the greatest onscreen couple since Peppermint Patty and Marcie); I simply could not get enough. I would say it was only slightly better than watching any episode of Glee (calm down Randy, calm down). [Feel free to comment; I'll happily forward all tacky comments on to Gianna.] Thank God Kris Kristofferson had the sense enough to die in the first five seconds of the movie. Oh…spoiler alert. I want to be clear that I watched every single frame and highly recommend it to anyone stuck on a plane or in prison, if it’s free.

Side note, the original itinerary home said the flight time was three hours and thirty minutes. The flight time for the make up flight was three hours fifty minutes. A last little F.U. from the city that never sleeps.

Touche New York….touche.

Happy St. George's Day!

What do you get on Shakespeare's birthday?  You get two blog posts in a single day!  It's like getting a round on the house, but without the soothing properties of alcohol that would make this blog, you know, quality reading.  Or quality anything.  Here's the deal--we've supported the idea of St. George's Day for years and couldn't pass up the opportunity to promote this tradition.  In Spain, on St. George's Day you're supposed to give a favorite book and a rose to a loved one.  That's beautiful.  So I suggested to Gianna that we write about the books we could/would/will exchange.  We're bookish soul mates, after all...except for Gianna's taste for "mommy porn" S&M.

Gianna:

Today is the day you give a book to someone you love. I wondered how I would narrow it down. I mean, I love so many people. I know...who am I kidding, no one comes close to the way I absolutely love Liz Sullivan. So much so that it leaves zero room for me to love anyone else. I’m not complaining, trust me (don’t leave me Liz!), it's just that it's an all-consuming, unconsummated love because of a certain cat named Zorro. I’m not jealous, really. It’s just that it’s an uneven relationship at best. Liz seems to dote on Zorro and Zorro seems to … well Liz recently got six stitches in her foot. I’m certainly not saying that Liz should give up on the relationship; really I’m not. She’s put a lot of years in, a lot of blood (literally), sweat (from picking him up – he’s huge) and tears (I mentioned the stitches right?), and you can’t just walk away from that.

Well, I have found the perfect book for their imperfect relationship ("dysfunctional relationship" is so ugly to say). What I am suggesting is learning how to have a relationship, how to “play” without anyone getting hurt. Liz Sullivan, I give you  Ira Alterman’s classic instruction manual.

Enjoy yourself. 

Liz:

All these years, Gianna has been trying to find me a mate, and all these years she's been looking at institutions of higher incarceration, at bus stops and stop signs (usually at the guys urinating)...she even once suggested I chase after the mentally ill man escorted by security out of an Astros game.  And really, I just love Gianna.  It's unrequited because she refuses to rub my feet.  Zorro, he rubs my feet.  Still, I wanted to find the perfect gift for Gianna that both expresses my feelings for her and the uncomfortable position in which I find myself.  Love Gianna, or love Zorro?  I must choose...and that's why I choose Sophie's Choice.

By the way, this is the book that Gianna suggested I pick for her:

What's wrong with Gianna?

A Day in the Life of a Sales Rep

Generally there's a perception that publishing sales reps sit around reading books all day and then occasionally visit a store and possibly hang out with an author (or else people think we're frantically hunting for a different career, but self-preservation isn't a common trait in the book business).  I (Liz) decided that I'd keep a record of my day today, a fairly typical day in many respects.  I think it's worth noting now that after I finish typing this blog piece, I'm returning to work. I have a meeting and flight tomorrow and I'm not yet prepared for either.  Here we go.

6:29 AM--Get up and check email. Look at the orders that came in yesterday.
6:35 AM--Tub time!  I love my bath. A long soak is necessary to A) keep up with my reading, and B) avoid killing anyone during the day.
7:45 AM--Ponder schedule and debate wardrobe.  End up in jeans and a t-shirt.  Again. I class it up a bit in case Gianna calls; she usually asks if I'm wearing a bra.  I don't like to lie.

Zorro likes to sleep in.

8:00 AM--Stare at Shelf Awareness, the daily industry e-newsletter.  Amazon is opening a new warehouse in South Carolina.  Same state that voted for Newt.  And seceded.  Something to contemplate.
8:05 AM--Check Twitter and Facebook. Retweet some stuff. Try to think of something witty and original.  It's not happening.
8:10 AM--Check the blog stats.  Wonder why people choose our blog to cure their insomnia. Decide they are probably all British. Hellooooo Brits!
8:12 AM--There are 305 messages in my inbox. Decide that's acceptable.  Read a few. Delete and file others.
8: 34 AM--Look at calendar again. One appointment in the afternoon. Must prepare for appointment and flight tomorrow. Must prepare for week-long trip next week. Contemplate returning to the tub for another soak.
8:37 AM--iTunes shuffle plays "You'll Never Walk Alone." I realize that my life is sad. Zorro, by the way, is still in bed.
8:38 AM--Begin working on creating suggested orders in Edelweiss, the electronic catalog system Random House is adopting.
9:28 AM--Realize I haven't eaten breakfast.  Lizzie needs her Diet Coke.
9:49 AM--Place the order I took at my appointment yesterday afternoon.
10:15 AM--Answer more emails.
10:30 AM--Book a presentation at a high school parents meeting in May.
10:55 AM--My progress on my Edelweiss orders is derailed by an account needing tracking on orders.
11:28 AM--Phone call from the boss.  Zorro is still in bed.
11:30 AM--Place another order.
11:49 AM--More email, and finally returning to my Edelweiss catalogs.

I'm just like the real Dr. Laura,
but without the racial slurs and
misogyny!

11:53 AM--Going cross-eyed, I ask my Talking Dr. Laura doll for advice. Talking Dr. Laura says "A good man will swim through shark-infested waters to bring you a lemonade." Why the hell would I want lemonade? If I were in shark-infested waters, I think I'd want, obviously, a bigger boat.
12:41 PM--Zorro emerges, eats, poops, waddles to his chair, goes to sleep.
1:14 PM--Lunch. Today it's peanut butter (no jelly) on toast, barbecue potato chips, Diet Coke. Zorro thinks that he wants peanut butter, claws me, then decides it's not chicken and goes back to sleep.
1:58 PM--Inbox is up to 349 items.  I'm losing the battle.
2:03 PM--"Creep" is on iTunes.  I'm so fucking special.
2:09 PM--And now "The Rainbow Connection" is playing on iTunes.  It's also time to prepare for my meeting at 2:30.
3:56 PM--Finished with phone appointment. I haven't even started preparing for my trip tomorrow. Zorro has requisitioned my lap.
4:52 PM--Finish my fourth suggested order of the day on Edelweiss.  379 messages in my inbox.
5:47 PM--Computer system I need isn't working.  I'm improvising...by inventing new profanities.  Email count: 397.

Zorro...since 1:14 PM

5:56 PM--Gianna sends me an idea for the blog.  We think it'll be funny.  It starts on Thursday.
6:31 PM--Dinner. Talking Dr. Laura says, "Be the kind of person YOU'D like to come home to everyday." Maybe this is why I'm single.
6:49 PM--Oooh! Law & Order: SVU marathon.  Back to work.
7:21 PM--Right. I was going to update the blog before the State of the Union. Talking Dr. Laura and I will be remarking upon the speech.  She says, "What magic do you think is going to transform your life without your participation?" I take this to mean that I should start playing the lottery again.
7:43 PM--Posting blog.  Back to work. The inventor of Excel should be shot.

Best of 2011 Countdown: #25

Gianna, who is going to make fun of me for my relationship with my cat:

Awkward Family Pet Photos
Mike Bender and Doug Chernack
Three Rivers Press

Touch my monkey...
seriously.

Each holiday season I like to have three or four copies of a really good but inexpensive humor book that I can give away as gifts to, you know, people that I forgot to get a gift for, or a grab bag, or for a crying child. Well there is nothing I don’t love about this book or the first edition, Awkward Family Photos. These pictures will make you cringe, scream, and very possibly barf in your mouth just a little bit (examples below).

Zorro's long lost brother.

I didn't know Gianna's
dad had a snake!

I suspect some of you will recognize a piece of yourself in these photos (you know who you are), and the next time you snap another photo of you and your dog, snake, bird, hedgehog, cat, bunny, or god help us all…your monkey, you will certainly think twice about the appropriateness of your pose (or if your cat is really a willing participant in the photo (looking at you Sullivan)).  [Zorro loves to have his picture taken.]

Zorro. (Not in the book.)

Liz:

Vaclav & Lena

Haley Tanner

The Dial Press

I love first novels; the good ones feel like a special discovery.  Vaclav & Lena caught me in just that way.  Vaclav and Lena and both Russian immigrant children, learning English and struggling through school.  After school, though, they are best friends, and Vaclav wants to be a great magician and Lena will be his lovely assistant.  Author Haley Tanner absolutely nails the voices of these characters--read the first few pages and you'll be hooked.  Anyway, Vaclav's mother, a terrific character, parents both children until a fateful day when Lena is sent away.  Spring forward to high school aged Vaclav and Lena, teenagers who've acclimated to American culture.  That special bond between them still exists, though.  

Haley Tanner

Book groups and fans of the superb The Night Circus.  Also, in Book Land booksellers are always keeping an eye out for books that will crossover between adult and young adult audiences.  Vaclav & Lena  lands squarely in that sweet spot.  Haley Tanner is a writer to watch.

Operation Chuck: Rant

Don't stop me now!  I'm a reading fool and I realized last night that I'd spent too much time immersed in Chuck Palahniuk books when I wasn't shocked by a rabid, time-traveling, possible god.  I was soaking in the tub (too much information?) and had the thought that I could drown there, and I'm pretty sure that thought was either Chuck-related too...or a cry for help.  In any case, the big Damned event at Lemuria in Jackson is this week!  The books arrived there today and the booksellers are planning their costumes for the party.  (I will be wearing...clothes.  I might wear clothes with buttons, though.  It depends on whether I do laundry tonight.)

Latest read in my quest to consume the Chuck Palahniuk oeuvre before Thursday: Rant.  Lots of people warned me about this book.  I think it's supposed to be shocking, but when it's your eighth Chuck book in 2 1/2 weeks, NOTHING is shocking.  I may be sitting here pulling the almonds off the tops of Almond Joy candy bars and calling the nut-free goodness Milky Mounds.  I think I've lost the capacity to feel my toes.

I hate snakes, so I went with another
biting creature. 

Rant is written as an oral history, a format I tend to like because it allows for multiple perspectives on a specific event or person.  The main character is Buster "Rant" Casey, and "rant" in this case is a synonym for barf.  Rant   is a larger-than-life figure akin to those Saturday Night Live "Bill Brasky" sketches (I think that was the name of that character).  He's the crazy kid who considered rattlesnake bites just a rite of passage.  He repeatedly developed rabies.  And he didn't see anything wrong with spreading rabies to his romantic conquests.

After making a name for himself in his hometown, Rant moves to the city.  There are day people and night people here, with curfews enforced.  There's a theme of population control running throughout Rant and the day vs. night tactics are meant to ease excessive growth and traffic.  Rant takes up with nighttimers including a girl named Echo Lawrence.  Echo drives a car in what amounts to a nightly demolition derby, and Rant is a lookout in her cars.  At some point Rant and company discover that time travel is possible and that instead of erasing yourself by interfering with your ancestors in the past a la Back to the Future, one could discover a way to live outside of time in a liminal zone by destroying the grandparents, parents, etc.  You're still alive, but because you have no past you're on a separate plain and basically a god.  (...This is probably a spoiler.  Sorry.)

Rant is a weird book.  I don't like snakes, so I didn't bother to sleep the day/night that I read it.  I feel strange.

Next: Snuff

The Finest Eating Joint in Texas, Part 2

...We entered the restaurant in all its magnificence. Even though we had a reservation, our table wasn't yet ready, so we perused the extremely classy gift shop. Want your own longhorns for your Cadillac? They're $400 at The Big Texan gift shop. Want a Frisbee that looks like a cow paddy? Check! The visiting warehouse people were impressively captivated by the Texas-sized array o' crap.

And in case you might believe that the crap was confined to the gift shop, let's talk about the interior of the restaurant. Here's what a patron encounters as soon as s/he enters the building: The stuffed bear, the slot machines, the random flag-type stuff shoved in already cluttered areas, the ad for Elvis Impersonator Night--classy. And lest you think that Smoky the Bear was the only taxidermied beast in The Big Texan, think again. I think that they might even stuff anyone who takes the 72 ounce steak challenge and then suffers a terminal coronary in the process, at which point they preserve the dead glutton, prop him against a wall, and proceed to neglect dusting him for about twenty years. The place was covered in carcasses and the carcasses were covered in dust. That elk on the wall? That's not chin hair. That's a dust-covered cobweb. And because Valerie reserved a table upstairs looking down on the main floor, we were eye level with the corpse of Bambi's mom for most of our time in the restaurant. Did I mention that Gianna is a vegetarian? I don't think that The Big Texan's decorating choices swayed her from that path.

As we sat down, nine of us from the publisher present, with the two people from our account running late but expected to join us shortly, we ordered a smattering of appetizers--fried jalepenos, fried mushrooms, and potato skins with brisket on them--and our cowboy-dressed waiter, Trevor, took our drink orders. Chris, the bottomless stomach, ordered a 36 ounce beer, and most of the members of our table likewise ordered beer in large steins. I don't know their thinking, but I wouldn't have been surprised to discover that they were hoping that alcohol would distract them from the roadkill all over the walls. Brenda (the children's book rep) and Gianna were sitting on the far end of the table from Valerie, Brenda's boss Alan, and me, and the folks from our operations/warehouse staff plus the two empty chairs for our guests were in between. I found out later that Brenda ordered a margarita, it being the official cocktail of Texas. I was worried about triggering a migraine, having not slept for about four days and feeling a little loopy already, so I ordered a Diet Coke. Now, I understand that some restaurants stupidly accept the Pepsi incentives for carrying their products over Coke products, but here's the thing: Diet Pepsi is NEVER a suitable alternative to Diet Coke. I know that some people are polite and will settle for Diet Pepsi, but no one ever prefers Diet Pepsi to Diet Coke. And I am not one of those polite people. I suggested to Trevor that he send one of the limos to pick up some Diet Cokes from a convenience store and I'd wait, but I think Trevor knew that with a party of eleven his gratuity was included in the bill and he didn't seem willing to go the extra mile (literally) to help a junky out. I settled for water, and I think the restaurant itself gasped in disbelief that a diner wasn't choosing a beer that came in a mug that was twice the size of my fish bowl (I once kept a beta named Elvis Fauntleroy IV, until I acquired Zorro the cat and Zorro liked to drink Elvis's water). I don't think I fit in with the Big Texan mystique.

...Next, the meal, or, "Sorry we're out of (blank)."

The Help

We're between publishing seasons right now, wrapping up the summer sell-in and having just completed a teleconference to review books coming out in the fall. In a couple of weeks Gianna and I will hit the roads once more to sell the fall books, and what an amazing list it is--E.L. Doctorow, John Irving, Kathy Griffin (LOVE HER!!), and a terrific novel from Dan Chaon on Gianna's side, and great books from Jonathan Lethem, Margaret Atwood, Richard Russo, John Grisham, and, ahem, DAN BROWN on my side of the company. But that's a couple of weeks away. Right now we're sorting through mountains of material so that we can pretend to know what we're talking about when we walk into bookstores. These are office days. Our offices are located in our homes, and that means that we "enjoy" the company of our office mates. Mine is Zorro, the 25 lb. feline taskmaster who keeps me alert...by screwing everything up.
Teleconferences tend to last for several days, and we're on the phone all day. It's exhausting and I'm a bit phone-phobic (which is a handicap considering my job), but the saving grace comes in the form of a headset. I cannot imagine sitting for four days on the phone without one. I may look like an idiot from Star Trek with the thing hooked over my left ear, but I'd beat myself unconscious with the phone if I didn't have it to free my hands and shoulder and neck from the strain of 6 hours per day with a receiver held to my head. The only problem with my headset, though, is that the office mate, Zorro, seems to possess a bizarre headset fetish. I keep it out of sight when I'm just normally working at my desk, but I have made the mistake, on occasion, of leaving it out overnight between two sales conference days. Zorro likes to play with my headset. He likes to hide it (which is fairly remarkable, considering how lazy he normally is, and such devious actions require, well, action). One morning I dialed in to the call, reached for my headset, then discovered it missing. I found it, with just a minute to spare before a full day of title reviews with publishers, in my kitchen sink. First, it's amazing that the cat can even jump up to the kitchen counter. Second, why would he drag a headset to the kitchen, and in particular the sink? It's weird. I also found it buried in his litter box once...and replaced it with a new one that day.

Most of the time Zorro sleeps in his chair in my office, where he is now. (He snores.) He likes to play in the boxes that arrive, and chew on the bubblewrap and plastic packing material, and he LOVES the UPS delivery guy, running to the door to greet him. Trying to keep books and files organized is nearly impossible because of his "help," which usually involves sitting on things I need, or jumping in a box and clawing me when I attempt to remove the contents from under his girth, or shoving advance readers off my shelves so that he has the room to nap. What's worse, I confess I'm a bit scared of my cat. Most of the time he's sweet, and I will say that his ample posterior makes a great bookrest when he's sitting on my lap, but the cat has a bit of a violent, psychotic streak. He clawed my eyeball once in the middle of the night, which is a freaky way to wake up. He also has a nervous tic, where if you scratch his back right above his tail, he neurotically MUST lick his front paws. It's crazy. My sister will send me emails at random points throughout the day that say simply "Make Fat Zorro lick his paws!" (She calls him "Fat Zorro" but his name is just Zorro. What I call her dog Max...it's politically incorrect and I won't repeat it here.)

Zorro also loves when I'm on the phone in the morning, when he's most likely to be conscious. Every Friday our division of reps has a conference call to go over business. It's how we function (as best we can) as a group when we live all over the country. Anyway, Zorro will hear my voice and waddle over, then jump into my lap...which is a bit like dropping a bag of rocks on your lap, held to your legs with 20 claws. I feel like I must gasp in pain quite a bit on the phone. He will sit on my lap purring, loudly, and rubbing his cheeks against the phone. Sometimes I'm saved when the UPS guy shows up, but most calls involve a point where I try to convince my companion that proper office conduct does not include sharpening his claws in my thigh.
Am I alone in my devotion and indulgence of an unhealthy office environment? Definitely not. My boss has a Jack Russell terrier, Bonnie, who yaps like the building's on fire during at least one call per week. Gianna has a herd of dogs, one of whom ate the leather cover off of her Sony Reader recently. I rarely had to worry about an officemate plopping down in my lap before I joined Random House (though it actually did happen a few times before, weirdly enough), and I certainly never had to worry about the IT department yelling at me for the amount of grey and white fur in my keyboard. And while my previous colleagues threatened violence, they never actually cut me. It's a tough life we lead, and I'm getting to the point where I'm ready to hit the road again. A four day road trip might be time enough apart to put the cat in his place.