06/28/2006: "Grinder McGrind"

Hi All,

First off, a lot of you people clearly don't listen to me. In my last post I say please don't email me, and yet over a dozen of you did. Ahhhh, but that's okay, really, because I do appreciate it. I got emails from other writers, writers-in-waiting, booksellers, students, friends and strangers---all of whom either pretended they hadn't read my blog entry (you crafty sods!) or headed their emails with THIS IS NOT A CONDOLENCE... and then offered their condolences. Anyway, like I said, in the end I'm glad a lot of you didn't pay attention to me. It was great to get those emails, and I appreciated them quite a bit. Big thanks to Lauren B. Davis, a great writer who sent a very kind and helpful message. If you haven't checked out her latest book, THE RADIANT CITY, I humbly suggest you do so.

Some questions a lot of you have been asking, and the answers:

1) Will THE FIGHTER be coming out in Canada?

Indeed it will, in October. It will also be coming out in the UK; I heard from my editor there and she is happy with it and will be going forward with things. I don't know about my French publisher as yet, but when I know I will let everyone know as well.

2) Did you cry when you heard the news?

Actually, only one person asked this. You know in my last post, when I said I welcomed hate mail? Well one dude---I assume it's a dude---took me up on that offer. It's very short---poetic, one might even say---and I post it here for your edification, stripped of identity:

From:
Sent: Thursday, June 22, 2006 3:14 PM
To: craigiepops@hotmail.com
Subject: Did you cry?

Hey fag,

Did you cry when you heard the news? I bet you did you fag. I bet you lay under your covers and pulled the blanket over your head and cried. You suck. Your a hack. Drink bleach and die.

Your biggest fan

Of course, I replied. OF COURSE I did. It's my first piece of genuine hate mail, not including what I received for work published under my pseudonym.

From: craigiepops@hotmail.com
Sent: Friday, June 23, 2006 10:24 AM
To:
Subject: RE: Did you cry?

Dear Biggest Fan,

Needless to say, your email was nothing less than a breath of sweet mountain air, a sip of purest spring water to my parched lips. That you would take time away from your busy job---let me guess: salsa stirrer at Taco John's? Baseball cap hat size model? Bull semen extractor (the little used "oral extraction" technique?)---to grace my day with a little ray of sunshine...well, what can I say but, Thank you good sir.

[ED: the next paragraphs are the literal truth of what I did upon hearing the news of being dropped]

To answer your question: no, I did not cry. I suppose I was too shocked to do so, and in truth I haven't cried---I mean, REALLY cried---since my grandfather passed away. I'll tell you what happened, since you were so kind to ask: I was trying to fix my sunglasses when my editor called. I have really awful eyes, and my sunglasses are presciption; they'd been busted for a few weeks and I thought I'd lost the tiny screw to fasten things together but I looked into my glasses-case and saw the screw in there and thought, "Hey, great, I can fix these." I was getting ready to fix them when she called. I thought it was going to be about some of the edits or some promotional something so I was like, "So, what's up?" My editor is British, with a very cultured voice, and she said, "I'm afraid the news isn't good." And, Biggest Fan, right then I KNEW. I knew what had happened, knew it was Norton. I just did. But she confirmed it two seconds later. I said something like, "This has been a pretty rough year." She tried to buck me up a little and I said something like, "There's nothing you can say and nothing I can say." I hung up a minute later. I didn't know what to do. Totally numb. Weirdest feeling in the world.

And what had happened was, that tiny eyeglass screw had fallen off my desk onto the floor. So I got down on my hands and knees and looked around for it. And I'm not going to lie: I searched that floor for nearly half an hour, looking for that tiny screw in the carpet. It took so long, I guess, because clearly my mind wasn't on the task. But of the whole experience, that's what'll stick in my mind: me, down on all fours, crawling around on the carpet looking for a tiny screw.

So, no, Biggest Fan, I did not cry. But I appreciate your note all the same, and I do hope you will continue to follow my career.

Very best, Craig.

I never heard back from him. Jackass.

But---BUT!---this was not meant to be another maudlin post. Enough of maudlin-ness.

Things go on. Doors are opening. I've got to take advantage of them.

First of all, I got an email from Will Doig, a great guy and fiction editor at www.nerve.com. They're putting together a special issue, "Secrets and Lies," and I've got a few weeks to come up with either a piece about how secrets and lies have destroyed one of my own relationships, or write a story where secrets or lies destroy a fictional character's relationship (or his life...yeah, I like that better. It's punchier).

I don't have an idea for it right now. So, any of my ex-girlfriends out there reading this (yeah, I do have a few, smartasses), please feel free to get in touch and let me know how I ruined our relationship through my secrecy and/or lies---or by oogling your hot cougar aunt at a wedding, or my tendency to re-program all your radio station presets when I borrowed your car, or my flagrant disregard for your "If it's yellow, let it mellow / If it's brown, flush it down" toilet bowl policy. In fact, if anyone has an interesting story about how secrets or lies ruined their own relationship, email me. Maybe I can use it. I mean, it would be totally anonymous---if your name is Fred, I'll name the character Fredo; if it's Lucy, I'll name my character Juicy Lucy. I'm dead serious. If I use your idea and the story gets taken, I'll see you get a little taste of the moolah. A little $$$. A few ducats in your pocket. Think about it, people. Send me your secrets and lies (but don't make up lies---that would be dishonest).

Secondly, today I get an email from Ron Charles, the senior fiction editor at the Washington Post, asking do I want to write a book review for them. How Mr. Charles got my email addy is a total mystery---the wonders of the Internet!---but I'm glad he did, because I can use the money. Now I wrote back and said I'd never reviewed a book in my life, and moreover after my own experiences as a review-ee I wasn't going to be able to get the claws out...I haven't heard back yet, but I hope he's amenable to those terms.

I think in a previous post I said I would never review a book, but what can I say? This is Grinder Craig talking. Grinder Craig does what he needs to do to keep a roof over his head.

Grinder Craig---aka: Grinder McGrind, aka: Scrapper McGee, aka: Sooty Gus, the literary chimney sweep (Okay, I made that last one up. Okay, so they're all made up)---hasn't been around much the past year. That's because I signed a book contract, then another, then got a pretty decent fellowship at Iowa---aahhh, the salad days. But now, with my funding cut and the financial picture a bit grimmer...well, this is the bailiwick of Grinder Craig (I'll stop talking about myself in the second person shortly, promise). Grinder Craig always hauled in just enough to pay the rent. Part-time jobs, short story sales, selling all non-life-sustaining organs---that's how Grinder Craig ate.

It looks like 2006-7 will once again be the year of the Grinder.

So if anyone's reading this and needs something written for them, you can count on Grinder Craig.

Need a best man's speech? Are you the groom's best friend but also functionally illiterate? No problem---Grinder Craig will write that speech for you, tiger! Not a dry eye in the house or your money back (small print: writing fee is non-refundable)

Are you a creatively constipated highschool student? Is your English teacher hassling you to hand in that short story assignment when you'd much rather be eating moonpies and chasing dragonflies through a grassy meadow? Well, for a small (small print: big) fee, Grinder Craig will write that story for you. He'll even sprinkle Sweet Tarts dust over the pages, to give it that authentic "teenager's" look. It'll be our little secret, bucko!

Are your weekly Dungeons and Dragons games a drag? Do they make you feel like an elfin mage under a spell of Withering Malaise? Well, hire Grinder Craig as your Dungeonmaster---he guarantees 1D20 of pure EXCITEMENT! (small print: guarantee void in all states and provinces). He'll give you more orcs, ogres, dragons, flagons, gorgons, bags of plenty, horns of teleportation, water sprites, dyads, niads, golems, and, uhhh, GHOSTS than you can shake a wizard's staff at! And for all you adolescent boys---because, really, who ever saw a girl playing D&D, and if so then only the ones who read those Anne McCaffrey Dragon Rider books, plus they were probably only there because they had a crush on the brooding Dungeonmaster who sat at the head of the table in a purple crushed velvet robe he sewed out of his Mom's old curtains---for you young fellas, Grinder Craig will concoct a titillating array of risque adventures, teeming with lusty barmaids, busty Valkyries, and comely She-Orcs. Call Ginder Craig today to set up your D&D experience!

And don't just think of Grinder Craig for your writing needs.

Is the heel falling off your favorite pair of shoes? Bring them into Grinder Craig, an expert cobbler! (small print: Grinder Craig has never repaired a pair of shoes in his life) Good for the life of your shoes or your money back! (small print: fee will be refunded in Monopoly money. Monopoly money is non-refundable).

Feel a pain in your side and fear your appedix has burst? Don't call those fat-cat doctors! Grinder Craig will provide the pen-knife, you supply the laudanum---together we'll get that pesky organ outta there! (small print: Grinder Craig is a non-accredited medical practitioner. Allowing Grinder Craig within 10 yards of your vital organs may result in life-threatening injury)

Grind it, baby! GRIND it!

All best,
The Grinder.