tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195170142024-03-13T14:32:06.889-04:00One Never KnowsRick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.comBlogger324125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-85195794490426008452019-02-26T12:18:00.003-05:002019-02-26T12:18:59.814-05:00Going Green<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are two less gas consuming automobiles on the roads now, by some link or chain down to me. I was involved in two catastrophic car accidents in less than three days' time. A bit of brain hemorrhaging, a broken nose, probably a finger, concussion, air bag burns (those things really get you) and I'm sidelined for a while. This on top of the pneumonia that's already had me on the bench for an extended period.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This isn't the most fun stuff to talk about so for now at least I'll leave off the details. All I can say is things really could have been a lot worse, death or dismemberment and all, but right now I really, really, just need to not get hit in the head for a while. Actually, last summer's rescue puppy, the black greyhound my son named Pepper--whom I once mistakenly thought was going to be on the small side--could also do me a solid and stop licking the sides of my nose with her giraffe tongue, too. That would be nice.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-71931150010207655312018-08-06T11:17:00.000-04:002018-08-06T11:17:07.476-04:00Lost My Buddy<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Snowball's last day on the planet was last Thursday. I haven't been able to do anything since. Today I'm determined to mine the muck and pull something through that needs doing. The poor guy had snarfed an antibiotic for a tick-borne disease up into one of his nasal passages, burning it shut. About thirteen grand later and several trips to Manhattan for surgery, he had four tubes in there that helped him breathe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed like no sooner did he get his feet back under him then this gorgeous, white-blond Golden Retriever came down with cancer in his lymph nodes, and it quickly spread to his liver. Repeated chemotherapy and steriods did nothing other than give him temporary bursts. We tried, we threw another ten grand at it, but he never went into remission, he just kept growing steadily worse. Then finally last week we made the call.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was six years old.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My seventh out of nine dogs, so far, and he was a special one. There was an intelligence in his eyes that's been matched with another dog I've had, maybe two. An emotional intelligence, where you know you both know what you're thinking. A real dog owner/lover knows what that means.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hears to you, Snowy. Our hearts are heavy and we miss you, pal. You were a great friend. Those walks in Central Park were special.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-80469606144077464722018-07-29T15:07:00.002-04:002018-07-29T15:07:27.837-04:00Book Review: DOWN TO NO GOOD by Earl Javorsky<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Earl Javorsky's third novel, and second in his "Charlie Miner series, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Down to No Good,</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> is hopefully the sign of great things to come. The book itself is written in a hard-bitten style though the story revolves around a very real--and a very fake--spiritualism. When writers try to bring hard-boiled prose to other genres, Javorsky's done what they're trying to achieve. The plot could kick into full steam sooner and allow itself to grow more complex, but for the sheer joy of reading a no-nonsense, existentialist nearly hard-boiled prose, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Down to No Good</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> is as hard to beat as it is to put down.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Pretty good stuff, people. If you're in the mood for discovering someone new, here's a guy on a plate....</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-20406684513894048422018-07-24T19:14:00.002-04:002018-07-24T19:14:53.957-04:00Quick Book Review: JACK WATERS by Scott Adlerberg<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back from New York, the Noir @ the Bar was a lot of fun--best crowd I've seen at the Shade bar in the Village--and my car is even out of the shop. It shot craps coming back from Florida a couple of weeks ago and when I finally got two mechanics to get it back on the road, the check engine light came on. One of the problems was the catalytic converter had gone bad, they said.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No," I told them. "I just had it replaced in January."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"This is the other one."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"There's TWO?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hate cars. And the check engine light had come on for two problems, one of which needed the dealer. And then there was a problem with the steering, but that came from the catalytic converter the first mechanic had used. Fortunately they put a factory replacement in and all is well and while I still hate cars, I like that someone actually cared enough about customer service to eat the additional cost to do a job right and keep a customer happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, I'm in the midst of people waiting on me for things, so here is a review I posted on Amazon for Scott Adlerberg's latest, <i>Jack Waters</i>. Stylistically, Scott makes brilliant choices and I cannot remember the last time I felt I learned something artistically from someone else's novel. Of course it's happened, and happened a lot, it's just been a long while. And then comes this gem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really cool stuff. And they make great gifts.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The very best lessons often come as epiphanies, and in JACK WATERS, Adlerberg has taught me something wonderful with his book about style. "Show, don't tell" is not just a cliched rule or advice for a writer, it exists as an aphorism because it is--I thought--more or less a universal truth. With this book, Adlerberg "tells" the entire book, with very little "showing," and he pulls it off brilliantly. From the beginning he made me realize that this is how fairy tales and myths are told, this is how legends are told and re-told in the oral tradition. Whatever inspired Adlerberg to write this book in this style was a masterstroke and deserves to be not only read widely, but written about as well.</span></div>
Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-31287413420840675152018-06-12T22:24:00.000-04:002018-06-12T22:24:32.599-04:00Key West Mystery Fest<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every year there's a jewel of a conference in one of the happiest places on Earth not named Tijuana, the <a href="http://mysteryfestkeywest.com/" target="_blank">Key West Mystery Fest</a>. I go every year and you should, too, or at least this year. It is too small to get lost in and big enough that they bring impressive people to talk to us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last year I had a chance to meet Clifford Irving, he of the infamous Howard Hughes autobiography hoax, and later, at a reception at the Hemingway House, one of Ernest's grandson, John. He gave a nice talk and signed and inscribed a nice copy of his book to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone breaks bread together and rendezvouses for dinner at a local spot. The closing event is a brunch on a dockside restaurant. After all the information and stories you get from local, state and national law enforcement, various writers, agents and other people associated with the business, you will not be sorry you came.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And if you're in the hotel pool and one of the iguanas decides to come out of a palm tree and take a watery short cut, be cool. It's Key West, man, it happens all the time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">June 22nd through the 24th. Seriously. If you're in Florida, it's a no-brainer. And it's much cheaper than other conferences held in the state. And if you're not in Florida, jump on a plane. What's better than a summer vacation in the Keys? It beats walking in the park with a stick in your head. Or whatever that phrase is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope to see you--you--there....</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-7629689522308940092018-06-10T16:52:00.002-04:002018-06-10T16:52:15.350-04:00Quick Addendum and Blood Oath<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was just on Amazon's site and I forgot a biggie for my list of Books I Will Not Read: ANY BOOK that comes up as a "Sponsored" book when you do a search on a particular writer. That's a disgusting practice of Amazon's, especially when they list their sponsored books first, ahead of the author you're actually trying to look up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And they have the effect of squeezing my own stuff out of what should be my own list, which is long thanks to the many introductory essays I've written in addition to my own books. When a certain former President declared certain companies "too big to fail," I thought that was full of crap. Amazon, however, may be too big to fail because there is simply nothing to replace it unless they really, <i>really</i> transgress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sadly, they made their bones as a bookseller but now they treat books with the same reverence as bird food and you don't want to know how many books I return because they simply have a robot drop them in an envelope and let the post office swallow it up. It's actually luck if a book arrives undamaged and it becomes a question of damage tolerance and "return fatigue" when I get book shipments. Yes, there are alternatives, and I use them, but the fact is that if I used them for everything I couldn't buy as many books.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I still need to get bird food from somewhere.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-21583162159885081932018-06-09T22:01:00.000-04:002018-06-09T22:02:02.000-04:00Books I Will Never Read<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Books with titles similar--they don't have to be exact--to <i>Sins of the Father</i> or <i>The Good Son, The Good Wife, </i>or probably <i>The Good [anything].</i> Nothing with the word "Prodigal" in it. Almost certainly no book titled with a Biblic quotation. Definitely nothing that has "White People"--it just isn't funny (and no, you don't know how I mean that, you just think you do).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Copycat titles have worn thin, like the "Girl" books, although I've read several. I keep waiting for someone to write <i>The Absolutely Last Damned "Girl" Book That Will Ever Be Published.</i> That would be a must-buy in hardcover.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Titles derived from Shakespeare lines have also seen their time. Especially if I don't recognize the line, then I'm just distracted by how stupid and miseducated you've made me feel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Books with the word <i>Baby</i> are okay if they reference dames, chicks, women, ladies, tramps or trollops, but not so much when they mean an actual "baby" baby. Unless the baby smokes a cigarette and rides a hog, I'm passing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't tell me you can't judge a book by a cover. Why else do we put art on them? Titles are part of them, which is why publishers reserve the right to name the books whatever they want because they almost always retain cover design and part of that cover design is the title. I suppose we're lucky they like our names.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nursery rhyme titles seem to be artifacts from the eighties but I guess it would depend on the actual one used. Little Miss Muffet isn't a big name draw. Besides, Andrew Dice Clay already used that one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All of these rules can be broken, of course. There are always exceptions. They just need three little words below or above the title: James Lee Burke. That'll get me every time.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-65881496979827041672018-06-09T01:49:00.001-04:002018-06-09T01:49:34.333-04:00Help Each Other Out<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, there, it's been a while. There was a time there when I thought there was no way I'd ever recover from the busted hand but now, though still buried, I believe I can see the makings of a light. The long-awaited, much-anticipated BLOOD WORK anthology should be finished with CRX and bios tomorrow, then I'll get back to work on DOWN & OUT: The Magazine #4, and then I need to finish a new piece to read at a Noir @ the Bar event in Manhattan the Sunday after Thrillerfest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning I saw where Anthony Bourdain killed himself. I thought what I always do when someone takes their own life: they needed someone to save them. When you're in the darkness it surrounds you and there is no way out. Somebody else must bring the doorway to you. How you sustain that is anyone's guess. I wish I knew the answer. I was not a fan but I was barely familiar with his work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just kinda sorta have the notion that the key to stopping depression-based suicides lies with the unafflicted. It's easy to let yourself be driven away by someone in the midst of self-destruction. If I'm looking out for number one, if I just can't do it anymore, that may be all I can do but what a pity for the pain I'm leaving behind if I could only see through it. Before someone destroys themselves they often try to destroy those around them, not that I'm implying Bourdain did any such thing. I only base those statements on what I've seen. Or think I have. I may spend too much time alone these days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are several changes I have to make on the Schedule page and I'll try to get to those after BLOOD WORK goes back to the publisher. Noircon 2018 has been canceled due to the death of one of the co-founders, so I won't be going to Philadelphia this year, at least as of right now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I mentioned above, I'll be reading a new piece at Shade Bar in Manhattan on July 15th, more details to come this weekend (hopefully--soon, anyway). And I'm registered for the New England Crimebake for the first time. I was there a couple of years ago just to sign books but not as a regular participant. William Kent Krueger was there and he said we should catch up later and I just said okay as the surge of people carried him past. Then I left. I feel bad about it, but it was the simplest thing to say, and I'm sure he has no recollection of it. He has an excellent story in BLOOD WORK. When I suggested an alteration to the last lines he told me to go jump. You get that sometimes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should post more on that book, too, so I will. Right now though, it is a quarter of two in the morning, I'm on my fourth course of antibiotics for that same damned sinus infection I wrote about a couple of posts and a few months ago, and I think it's time to floss and brush. I need to be careful that I don't puncture the balloon that is my face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the way I'm reading Danny Gardner's excellent A NEGRO AND AN OFAY: The Tales of Elliot Caprice and enjoying the style immensely. Pretend "ofay" is a nice word, Bobby, and pick up a copy. I'm afraid the title may put some people off but the book is too good for that. At least the first half. I've been staying up too late working and not getting enough time in reading.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-91297280002333654412018-03-28T09:06:00.000-04:002018-03-28T09:06:35.635-04:00Saturday Celebration<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This Saturday, March 31st, I get to go to one of my favorite places in the world, Minneapolis's own Once Upon a Crime Bookstore. Formally owned by Gary Shulze and Pat Frovarp, it has been taken over by the quite capable hands of the Abraham family and on Saturday they are holding their 31st Birthday bash for the store!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From 12 Noon to 2:00 p.m. 26 native sons and daughters will show up to mingle, chat and sign in an informal meet and greet so this is an especially great event for people who have always been too shy to come out to these things before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm driving in from New Hampshire and then heading down to Florida. Someone told me it's on the way. So stop on by and say hello or ask me to introduce you to someone you'd <i>really</i> like to meet. That's always cool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-16908605787578703732018-03-27T12:18:00.001-04:002018-03-27T12:18:57.996-04:00Post-Conference Sinus Headaches<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just returned from the Liberty States Writers Conference in Iselin, NJ. Wonderful folks--though a lack of impulse control may have left a poor impression on some of them--and my sinuses are killing me. Before that it was two days at the Maryland Writers Association (the <i>other</i> MWA) conference. Jessica Williams knows how to run a conference. Every event has its issues; the trick is not letting them show. She's the magician that knows the secrets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friday was a day of hanging out and speaking with various people as they attended the all-day events put on by author John Gilstrap and motivational guy/storytelling coach Michael Hauge. Saturday was a full day with presenting a workshop, moderating three panels, sitting in on one, having one break period, and then a book signing session.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From there I did what everyone else probably did: I drove to New Jersey for the Liberty States Conference. Got to Iselin about midnight, asleep at one, up for the breakfast event at too early o'clock. I did my back to back workshops in the early afternoon but it hurt me that I hadn't been there the day before--this wasn't a crime fiction conference per se, so without having had a chance to hang out with and meet people, I was just a name on a piece of paper. I probably had about ten people for each workshop, "Real Detectives," or what detectives actually do as opposed to what TV and movies and bad books try to make us think they do. And a repeat of my "Creative Wordplay: Dialogue vs. Exposition--how to use dialogue and exposition to advance your story" of the day before. Altogether I think I presented that one to around sixty people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both conferences have already asked me back, which is my measure of success, and the kind folks at Liberty Writers were talking about extending my time and promoting "Creative Wordplay" so more of their attendees could come to see it. Which is nice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of this is before they get their conference feedback, though. Next door to my "Real Detectives" workshop was one on "Flash Fiction." On the way to my room I noticed nobody was smiling. I stopped by, remarked on it, people laughed, and I continued on. Back in my room, a few people wanted to take a few minutes before we got started. Okay, that's fine. Dangerous, but fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The words "flash fiction" popped into my mind and how the overall vibe seemed to be kind of down. I peeled off my Spider pullover and told everybody I'd be right back. I went to the next room where they'd left their door open. One of the three presenters was standing up, speaking. The mostly full room had their backs to me. I untucked my polo shirt, grabbed the hem and pulled it up and over my face, leaning backwards. I heard a muffled, "That's not funny," from the speaker before I left, returning to my room and my own workshop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's still early, but I have yet to receive a formal invitation to next year's conference.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-37622817617094746672018-03-16T21:40:00.002-04:002018-03-16T21:40:18.002-04:00An Update is Occurring as We Speak<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally or at last or why not, as we speak an updated website version is being ftp'ed up to the GoDaddy servers wherever they are. This has a small and not very good cover scan of <i>The Digest Enthusiast, </i>issue 7, where editor and publisher Richard Krauss took a very long conversation and turned it into a nice twenty-some pages of interview. He liked it so well he commissioned a portrait created of me for the cover. How much it actually looks like me, well, ah, um, I'll leave it to other people's imaginations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sad story behind it is that the painting was done by a guy named Joe Wehrle, Jr., whom I'd conversed with in the past on Harlan Ellison's board back in the days when the man himself would actually spend time there. The way I understand it, Joe complained of pain in his ear on December 10th and passed away on the 12th.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I got back in town from wherever I was, there was a package for me dated December 5th. The return address was in Joe's handwriting. Inside was a nice note, the original artwork, and a few prints of other work that he'd done in the past. It was the first time I'd ever opened a package from a dead man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sent Joe's daughter an e-mail and she sent back a very nice reply where she told me that Joe had completed other work since he'd done the thing for <i>The Digest Enthusiast</i> which I found a comforting thought. I haven't thought about why and I don't think I will. Overall it's just a sad story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At last year's Creatures, Crimes & Creativity (C3) Conference in Columbia, Maryland, which is put on every year by Austin and Denise Camacho, Cynthia Lauth, and the other fine people at Intrigue Books, Jess Williams of the Maryland Writers Association talked to me about doing a workshop and moderating some panels at their conference this year. That's going to happen this coming Saturday, March 24th in Baltimore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few months after that, I received an e-mail from someone else asking if I'd do not just one but two workshops at their conference. I'd sent them something so much earlier that I'd actually forgotten about it and when the e-mail came, I thought it was for the same conference as the Maryland one. I wrote out a reply telling them that I was already coming but that I'd been dealing with Jess Williams when something made me stop and check it out....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was for another conference completely. In New Jersey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first thing I did was delete my e-mail reply. Then I told them that I had another gig on Saturday but if they were willing, I could do both workshops on Sunday. The woman said she'd have to check with her board and long story short, this week is going to be busy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Wednesday I've got an all day dental thing going on. I think my dentist needs a new car. And when did these guys start working four-day weeks? And I used to wonder why people would want to work in other peoples' mouths. Clearly they knew something I didn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thursday I head out for Baltimore by automobile. I bought a car that's supposed to be comfortable that even my bent and twisted spine can drive it for distance and so far it seems to be working. Friday I'll lurk the first day of the conference and hopefully relax a little after the hellish schedule I've been working (seriously). Saturday I'm on the floor from 8 until 6, presenting one workshop, appearing on one panel and moderating three others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good thing I'll have new teeth. At least temporary ones. Hint: don't guzzle a gallon of fresh-squeezed citrus juice every morning for years. Apparently the enamel of your teeth can't stand up. On the other hand, neither did all the Florida orange and grapefruit groves that are now office buildings. Try to find fresh-squeezed juice from an orchard anymore--I think your teeth are safe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saturday night I drive away to Iselin, New Jersey and present two workshops the next day, Sunday, March 25th. If I'm still able I'll drive back to New Hampshire that night, otherwise its hotel time. Stay around NH for a few days, then drive through the wild flats of Canada to Minneapolis for the 31st Anniversary event at Once Upon a Crime Books from mid-morning on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, because there's no such thing as too many miles, or anything worth doing is worth over-doing, or hey, I haven't blown an engine in decades, I'll drive to Florida and see to a couple of things that need seeing to, like writing more of the next book and watching sunsets sink beneath lakes. Or maybe the Gulf of Mexico.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wait, I just realize--then I'll have to drive back to New Hampshire, about 31 hours. And have another marathon (get it?) session with the dentist. I better have a better time in Florida than I'd planned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How much trouble can you get in when you're on a soft food diet?</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-86487097473686015772018-02-06T15:46:00.005-05:002018-02-06T15:46:56.319-05:00If Time Flies, When Will It Land?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't think of a time the past few years where I haven't been crying in my soup over not having enough time to meet my obligations. I've stated here in the past that one of the pieces of advice I regularly give to writers is to "find ways to say 'yes.'" On the other hand, I haven't found the answer to the question of what happens when you say yes so often you can't weather any bumps in the road.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last year I broke my wrist. Could have had surgery. Should have had surgery. The doc put me in a cast, said I'd be able to type. Nope. That was seven months ago. I've been able to type the past couple of months but not only am I so behind, I'm going to PT twice a week, I'm supposedly a year out from "recovery," and at the same time the second surgery on my left knee (fourth total! Yay!) still has me literally limping along.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was so bulletproof until I was twenty-seven. I could take a punch, I could fall of a truck going down the highway in Nassau, I could jump off upper story balconies at the U of M, I could jump down flights of stairs rather than walk them, spit out crowns after hard parachute openings... there was no limit to the stupid things I could do and walk away without apparent lasting damage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then one day, there came a day, some bony apparition came calling with its hand out, and took, and took, and took, and keeps taking. By the way, it's easier to write this after a therapy session after lunch and a dose of painkillers and muscle relaxants. Just saying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I desperately need to update my website and put up 2018's calendar dates. There are going to be a lot of them. Seems like the Noir @ the Bars are drying up a bit lately. They take a lot of work and from time to time new people need to step up. I just hope they don't die altogether.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll be doing more conferences this year than in years' past, and I'll also be presenting at least three workshops. If anyone wants particular information on those, let me know ASAP. All three are in March, one is in Baltimore, and two others will be in New Jersey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lastly, a few years ago <a href="http://ollerman.blogspot.com/2011/03/abstract-expressionism.html" target="_blank">I wrote about a movie depicting the life of artist Jackson Pollock</a>. Here is a <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artist/jackson-pollock" target="_blank">link to more information about Pollock, his life and his art.</a> Pretty cool stuff. It defies a quick once over, probably as most good art should, though "good art" will always be relative to us common folk.</span><br />
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<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is."</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">-Jackson Pollock</i><img class="CToWUd" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEjcNP7gC0ogaQCus16hkngQuIP1LjztqFB5NIbgE8ChWclhWSE1lDaoJc-7drarQiUpiqvoPlgEIxM01Vo1Bd3mnDM01XirYXg3qBmx3NQU3PotLHjDsX9-Q-go_kyhxhw-HwzO-fyimXc5Fc0v6WTbqa6JyY2MBWGQhg7z3G9OUMwtXgSWOhW5GTTI0HvI-e0OmiiVq7I46sk02V0wKn3Z9WQGPphyHx3fIQLYdCx2vrNYiUCZ6QBXksg8bkrPl4ziyZzUnCllq8LRNoMbgKCmpAeKjUn-YbsTPvmo-QjldxFFx3SBLsVOL9PX2EyvxiUKoAx58ciYxBde6l16b328iDuh-GNBRo3NKkUtZGfOodhNoAnc22U9oP4GRq18eO8i0tpuQtQSUoTk-a6PWxTdYC0jJIdQR0061DELs4XXZ1m2eU-JTXc=s0-d-e1-ft&t=event&ec=email&ea=open&ni=1&tid=UA-12450662-1&cid=44134b15-6a2d-47a5-a325-a3ea485c2626&el=Reaching%20out%20about%20ollerman.blogspot.com&cn=2/1+Jackson+Pollock&cm=email&cs=DM&cc=initial&ck=ollerman.blogspot.com&z=1517592622" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look for that website update but if you have any questions in the meantime, don't hesitate to shoot a carrier pigeon. Or shoot me an e-mail.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-49067969982233440372017-10-23T21:28:00.000-04:002017-10-23T21:28:05.305-04:00Home from Toronto<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since so many people do post-Bouchercon reports, I probably don't have a lot to add. I know that my biggest disappointment was in <i>not </i>seeing people I was planning and hoping to see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first was a friend from Montreal I haven't seen for years. I looked for them from the moment I arrived on Wednesday until after my panel on Saturday afternoon. Yes, I was heartbroken.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also never ran across Bill Crider though I know he was there, or Sam Weibe, or a few others. A couple more I saw only in passing. Every Bouchercon has it's own issues, and at least in Toronto the elevators worked (sorry, New Orleans). But this one had a disjointed three level four plan that really could have been utilized better so that people were more often in a centralized place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, the people I did see were the best part of the conference, of course. Gary Phillips, John Sheppird, Eric Campbell, Reed Coleman, new writer Lissa Redmond, Scott Montgomery, everyone in the book room and scores of others. I had a lot of good work-related meetings and came out of there owing three different booksellers. It didn't help that I didn't bring much cash because, you know, credit cards. Until they didn't work in west of Montreal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Big thanks to Mystery Mike Bursaw for taking care of me so I could free my car from the parking ramp, have gas money to get home, and actually eat something the last two days. And to Debi Chowdhury for buying me new shoes when my surgically repaired knee went out while--of course--talking to one of the booksellers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The community of writers was never a better friend to me than they were in Toronto. Thanks, guys.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All I've got to do now is pay you all back....</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-68148358259517302592016-12-05T15:00:00.001-05:002016-12-05T15:00:07.628-05:00No Checkout?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Must blog something of substance soon. Must update web site.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But first....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whether you love or hate Amazon, I just read where their new company-owned brick and mortar stores are going to have no checkout line or cashier. Evidently you're supposed to be able to take what you want... and just walk out the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no notion why I find that idea so cool. Like we need easier ways to spend money, right? But I don't think I'd be able to resist going to one of those stores, grab a few things and just wave ta-ta as I left. I'd still have to hide the billing trail from my wife, but some things are just too tempting not to get in trouble for, if you know what I mean.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, support your local independent bookstores. Too many have been too kind to me to recommend otherwise. But just taking something off the shelf and leaving with it without getting arrested is like deep sea diving, or something: you just gotta try it once.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-71310144519347628042016-10-17T15:58:00.004-04:002016-10-17T15:58:52.088-04:00Win a Bunch of Books in October!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because everyone loves free books! Today I seem to like exclamation points!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">MAD DOG BARKED was chosen to be part of Stacy Alesi's <a href="https://stacyalesi.com/2016/10/01/win-the-october16-bookshelf-of-signed-thrillers/" target="_blank">BookBitch.com's</a> October giveaway of a half dozen new crime fiction novels. <a href="https://stacyalesi.com/2016/10/01/win-the-october16-bookshelf-of-signed-thrillers/" target="_blank">Head on over there to enter!</a> You still have two weeks....</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-2999897195100172832016-10-16T20:49:00.001-04:002016-10-16T20:49:38.582-04:00A Late Blog, Death, and More Death<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Disniheritance Provision: Not for any lack of love or affection, I hereby provide no provision herein for my daughter, ISA H. ERICKSON or my son, RICHARD C. OLLERMAN, JR., nor for any of their respective surviving issue."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I quote the above from the will of my mother, who literally dropped dead in July. She went golfing, had drinks and dinner with friends, went out to her car and collapsed. The only thing they could find was a low potassium level and while she had no stroke or heart attack, she did suffer an event to her heart and by the time rescue people got it beating again, her brain was long gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Despite the fact that she had a living will that said she did not want to be kept alive by machines, two of my siblings did exactly that, just so that a husband and their own friends could come and see her. With a ventilator down her throat and looking like she was exactly in the condition in which she was. The husband left town on vacation after my mother went down, and didn't come back until a few days later. But, the other sibling said, he and my mother had a "special relationship" so they were going to wait. And wait longer for that sibling's best friend to come by.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My cousin told me that my mother had been in his life since he was seven and he would go to the funeral but not the hospital because, he said, as well as he knew her he didn't think my mother would want anyone to see her like that. And I completely agree. When I popped into the hospital years and years ago when my father's mother died, she kicked me out of there so fast I was amazed until I understood her words: "I don't want anyone to see me like this." It made me sad that I couldn't spend time with her and that she was all alone in her hospital room, but that was what she wanted. I used to stop by her house unannounced all the time, sometimes with my friends, but under those circumstances, I knew that was the last I would ever see her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> When they finally unplugged my mother, they didn't even let me know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be clear, I wasn't planning to go; who wants to see anybody choke out their last breaths, let alone your own mother? But the first thing I was asked when I got to the hospital, before we knew she was gone, the sibling with the husband asked me four times, "How did you find out?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well, little did I know that my little sister and I had been disinherited in my mother's will filed three months after my father's death. Two siblings, the two that inherited everything, knew, because they are the executors of the will. It is characteristically cowardly that none of the people, including my mother, let me or my sister know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yes, the reason for this is completely inexplicable. My wife is shocked, and said she was physically ill when I finally got a copy of the will after my brother stopped trying to keep it hidden (I understand by law he can't, but he did anyway). My wife said my relationship with my parents had been great. They moved to Florida to be near my family. We spent every Thanksgiving with them, either at their house or sometimes at ours. After Hurricane Charlie I climbed up their steep as hell broken clay tiled roof to survey the damage. I did some wiring in the ceiling of their house. They babysat my kids, the same ones my mother also disinherited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My father wanted to make my son a set of golf clubs but he wasn't really well enough to do it. He'd give my son and daughter rides on his golf cart and golf with my son, who is named after him, in their backyard. My son is a golfer today because of my father. These are only two of the kids that my mother disinherited from her estate, the one which is only worth <i>anything</i> because my dad made it. The fact that he left everything to my mother just tells me he left it to her to do the right thing and split everything four ways. My father was the smartest man I've ever met but in some ways he was almost naive. He trusted my mother to be a person who was perhaps better than she was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I worked for the man for fifteen years and he wanted me to take over his business, the reason for his living as far as I could tell when I was a kid, but I didn't want it. My brother took it instead and has never had to work for anything in his life. Everything was given to him. Regardless, a crooked bookkeeper forged checks and stole every penny from the company. She bought a house, gave money to her sister, etc., all right from under the nose of my brother. (The bookkeeper eventually went to jail, her husband divorced her, and her life presumably changed for the worse.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My dad, fearing for the continued existence of his life's work, covered what he told me was probably close to a million dollars from his own personal wealth, which was never an amount I was familiar with. He was well off, that I knew from being as close to him as I was in the years that I was working for him, but I didn't know then and don't know now how well off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'll stop here. This will be the subject of a longer piece when I get to writing it. I started it after the death of my father, wondering as to the nature of love when my mother would not visit him in the hospital for longer than fifteen minutes only on <i>most</i> days of his final time. Wondering as to the nature of love of a daughter who moved her mother to Minnesota from California and then told her not to buy a winter coat, installed her in an all-white apartment that was impossible to be non-sunglassed during the daylight hours due to the glare off the snow, and who told the women at my dad's company that she wouldn't take any of her calls.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A cousin of mine took her out and bought her a winter coat. I measured her windows and had custom blinds and curtains made so she could see in her apartment. I would take her to different malls (she'd never driven on snow) so she could get out of the apartment and walk around. When the roads were clear, I put my life in her hands and taught her how to drive on the freeway for the first time ever. She told me two things early on. One, that she was heading back to California as soon as her lease was up, and two, that if it weren't for her and my deceased grandfather (who had spent World War II in Germany as refugees), my mother would have grown up farming potatoes in the Soviet Union.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When my grandmother, who has lent her name to my daughter's middle name, was dying, I flew out there and spent weeks not getting paid, first setting up the surgery she thought was coming but wasn't until the doctor and the insurance company did whatever they needed to do, and then as she lay in the hospital, never to go out again. Where was my mother, who didn't worry about money and who could have been out there every second of this ordeal?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had no idea. One day she waltzed in with my father and she hung around at the very end, much she did with my dad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last time I saw my mother was at my father's funeral. She was upbeat and handling things surprisingly well, and she was trying her damndest to get me and my wife to go with her over to my brother's house. I had just been told how my older sister and brother did not allow my younger sister to sit with the family during the service and I didn't say anything to my mom but I wasn't going to my brother's after that. It was unlikely that I would have gone in any event, but still.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the Noir @ the Bar event in Austin that took place the week after Bouchercon, a woman came up to me and read something I'd written about this dysfunctional family and said she was very gratified to know that she "wasn't the only one." But like I said, a longer piece will be coming, when my writing commitments are fewer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So this went on too long, so I'll wrap it up as quickly as I can from here. I just learned that Ed Gorman passed away two days ago. He'd been fighting multiple myeloma, an incurable form of cancer, for fourteen damn years. I never met him in person and I kick myself that I never made it happen. We communicated over e-mail and it was Ed that gave me encouragement when my first two books came out, a cover blurb I didn't know was coming for my third book ("This one has the power to hurt you"), and was the first to suggest all my non-fiction pieces be collected into their own volume. This is happening, and guess who it will be dedicated to? Rest in peace, Ed. The number of people that will miss the support, counsel, and of course your own writing, are more numerous than you could ever know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Doing a signing in Minneapolis on November 5th. I'll do another blog post about that. I did get a three star review from someone who didn't like the characters in TRUTH ALWAYS KILLS but the majority of readers, at least the ones that have communicated to me, have said they'd like to see a sequel because they like the characters so much. My publisher, though, has asked for a sequel to MAD DOG BARKED so that will be the next novel. He wants it for an October, 2017 release so I'll have to find a way to write it for him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And there's the anthology honoring the late Gary Shulze, the collection of letters between John D. MacDonald and his wife, the true crime book, and my own collection of essays. Next month I have two stories appearing in anthologies. One is in WINDWARD: THE BEST CRIME WRITING OF NEW ENGLAND 2017 and the other is in a collection titled WAITING TO BE FORGOTTEN, which are stories based on or inspired by the music of The Replacements, a band that came to prominence around the same time as Prince, which also happened to be the years around my time at the University of Minnesota. And you know college students and their irrational passion for music.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Where did all that wisdom go? I assume we all just grew up and realized our younger selves had been full of some sort of pretentious inert gas. And got haircuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'll post again very soon, I promise.</span><br />
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Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-80169667391072529712016-08-27T19:28:00.001-04:002016-08-27T19:28:31.464-04:00AVENUE OF SPIES by Alex Kershaw<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a very good book about the Nazi occupation of Paris in the second world war from the perspective of an American husband/Swiss wife couple that lived on one of the swankiest streets of the city. I had no idea how Paris had been taken by the Germans without firing a shot, and the enormity of the gradual but constantly building of the SS and Gestapo's efforts to track down resistance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Jackson family in the book is headed by Sumner, a native of Maine, who worked at the American Hospital. While the Gestapo confiscated houses all along his street, not only did Jackson continue his work at the hospital but he helped hide food for his patients as well as aid downed Allied fighters on their way out of France and back to Britain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Toward the end of the war, a French collaborator turned them in and the family was arrested after the Allies had landed at Normandy. Toquette Jackson, Sumner's wife and Phillip's mother, was separated from the men, who miraculously were able to stay together until the end of the war. The odds were stacked against all of them, and still two out of the three survived the war.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The book tells the story of the Paris occupation and the Vichy government with the center around this one family, and by doing so gives a microcosm of life in the City of Lights, including how Hitler's offices disobeyed his direct order to leave it in rubble before the Allies arrived. Recommended.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-85151636297308673322016-08-14T17:20:00.000-04:002016-08-14T17:20:11.656-04:00Visual Guide to Bouchercon 2016 Events<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this is happening Wednesday evening. It's organized by Eric Beetner and his events are always fun, always fast-paced, and always over too soon:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there's my Thursday morning panel at 9:00 a.m., LaGalleries 1. This is the third year for this panel and it always comes up as one of everyone's favorites. I'll be talking about Peter Rabe....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's an autographing session in there somewhere, but the better one should be in the book room at Mystery Mike's tables Friday morning at 9:40. This is the ad in the program book:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So please, by all means, find me and say hello if you're headed down to New Orleans for "the big one" next month....</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-55975750714279282892016-07-25T19:47:00.001-04:002016-07-25T19:47:20.845-04:00Bill Crider<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am absolutely crestfallen by the news of veteran crime, western, horror, and men's adventure writer Bill Crider. Apparently Bill has found out very recently that he's ill, so ill that he sounds as though he may not be with us much longer. A very aggressive form of carcinoma is what he's told us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bill has not only been a great supporter of my books, but is truly one of the nicest people on the planet. Not just writers, but people. Those who knew him felt his pain as he related the loss of his wife of over fifty years not all that long ago. Up until now he's still posted pictures of Judy and little stories of their life together but now he says he may not be posting anything. Ever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been called some flattering things about my personal knowledge of paperback original era authors, not only because of my essays but also my editing of and contributing to the book PAPERBACK CONFIDENTIAL. But I would challenge anyone who thinks they have more than a passing era of anything paperback related to have a conversation with Bill and not come away learning any number of things. You might have to draw a few things out of him, though; his humility prevents any sort of overbearing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He's trying to get into one of the best cancer centers in the country this week. Someone posted somewhere about Jimmy Carter's miraculous recovery from his own cancer--maybe, hopefully, if the Universe has a heart, Bill can enjoy a similar resurgence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Get well, Bill, and the sooner the better. We, the entire community that you've been such a part of for so long, needs you around for a lot more years. You set an example very few of us will ever match.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-6520795607051484892016-07-21T09:32:00.001-04:002016-07-21T09:32:36.723-04:00My Mother's Funeral<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life likes its curve balls. When I did my trip through Florida, culminating in the wonderful Key West Mystery Fest, I came home for about a week and a half, and then I heard my mother had collapsed. My little sister called with the news. I'm not sure how she found out because my other sister and my brother have made themselves the only kids that count. When my father died my wife called Isa because the other two couldn't be bothered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I called the hospital immediately. For some damn reason they gave me to the Queen sister, who asked me three times, "How did you find out?" as though her efforts to keep the news from me had failed. When my little sister told the busybody one that I would be there in the morning--living up in northern New Hampshire makes it difficult to get anywhere quickly--she said that I didn't even need to come.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's a lot more in that particular story, none of it reflecting well on the one sister and my brother, and my father would have rolled over in his grave. Again, as he would have done it during his first funeral, when the busybody and my brother denied my younger sister a seat with the family. How was that communicated? With choice four-letter words, of course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother's funeral was two nights ago. After I flew to see her in Minneapolis, I came home after the MRI proved that her brain had been destroyed, was home for a day, then drove to Manhattan for ThrillerFest. Then I stayed an extra day for a Noir @ the Bar reading (I need to put up that poster on my website) and drove home the next day. Two days later I was headed for the Public Saftey Writers Association conference in Las Vegas. I'd been invited, appeared on three panels, and got to enjoy the constant second-hand smoke that makes up Las Vegas's breathing spaces. Right now I'm jet-lagged off my rear end but I could have flown directly from Vegas to Minneapolis for my mother's funeral.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I didn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was very difficult to get any information from my brother but as he denied or lied about everything that happened at my father's service in regards to my little sister, I decided I couldn't tacitly support their untrue version of what they had done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People not related to anyone were seated in the family row. We had to pull up an extra chair so my wife and I could both sit. I had no idea until later that they wouldn't allow my sister a seat. Plenty of people saw it, including my wife and a very good friend from high school. At the end of it, when I had just been told, my mother tried to get us to go over to my brother's house. Shocked and appalled I told her we weren't going to do that. We seemed to have parted on good terms. I wasn't going to make a scene.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my brother deigned to answer my e-mails, he denied any of what happened with my sister was real. I had told him that that couldn't happen again, that when the officiator read her bio that Mom had eleven grand-children, instead of the four that came from my busybody sister. I told him that all of us should sit in the family row, as it should have happened at my Dad's funeral. I told him that all of us should be allowed to speak.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He told me in no uncertain terms that none of what had happened at my Dad's funeral had actually happened, despite all the people that saw it, and that I would not be allowed to speak.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In other words, it was their way or the highway. They have done so much over the years to splinter the family. My parents moved down to Florida to be near my wife and I. My Dad taught my son to play golf. We were together every Thanksgiving. I'd drive my dad's car and he'd drive my Jeep. I helped him out in his house, crimping and connecting the cable outlets in the ceiling of his house, helping clean up after a hurricane, and so on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently my older sister and younger brother thought they knew best. They tried to make me an outcast. I didn't allow it at my father's service but they toughened up for my mother's and forced me into a choice: attend not as my mother's son but at their tolerance, or be satisfied with the goodbyes I'd said to my mother at the hospital.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They kept her plugged in for a couple of extra days so people who had gone on vacation for the Fourth could come back. They left after my Mom had collapsed and went anyway. When they finally unplugged her, they didn't make the effort to even let me know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was younger, I rode my bike to the hospital where my dad's mother was dying of lung cancer. I remember going into this big empty room expecting to spend some nice time with my grandmother--I used to drop by on her and her husband at random times at their house--and was shocked when she couldn't kick me out of there fast enough. "I don't want anyone to see me like this!" she said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't believe my mother would have like to have been kept alive artificially so people could come and see her. That's just my opinion, but it seemed so unnecessary and absent of dignity (and my mother wasn't exactly devoid of being vain), that it was painful for me to see. At least one of my relatives came to that conclusion on his own and I salute him for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I didn't go. I assume I could have changed flights and got there on time but for what? To be shunned by two people who had no business shunning any family member? To legitimize their inane and disingenuous claims?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't go because they were lying about essentially everything, their keeping her artificially breathing against the terms of her living will, and their continued denial of their misdeeds kept me away. I've always been above those family dynamics. I moved away from those people after college and never went back. There are reasons.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I suppose I will always be the son that didn't care enough, but that's not the truth. I'm the son that was done being talked down behind his back by tiny, insignificant people. My wife went, and took the kids, and later when she told me how she and my busybody sister had an unpleasant conversation, my sister said that she hadn't "a mean bone in her body." Then she must be a squid. My wife told her that she'd seen it and that essentially ended the conversation. My wife's take? When my sister thinks no one's looking, that's when she's doing her dirty work. And I'm sure she's write. What she does is fairly apparent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my mother's gone. I suppose with luck I never have to see two of my three siblings again. And I won't miss them. I have always had an almost pathological disdain of dishonesty, of lying, and there's a taint that stains any dealing with these people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tried once to get on better terms with my sister. My dad asked me to, and I invited her to my wedding. I really would have tried. She sent a note saying she didn't think I was sincere enough in wanting her to come, so she was going to decline. So much for that effort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bottom line, they don't know the relationship I had with my parents any more than I knew theirs. We were in Florida, they were in Minnesota. The point is that they presume to know and to shape their own reality based on their twisted little partnership. That's up to them, and they're welcome to it, but it's a shame and pity they had to carry it over first to my dad's funeral, and then to my mother's.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shame on them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever they do, though, doesn't change any facts. Oh, they can convince their friends of anything they want to, and more power to them. Talking behind people's backs is how they've gotten to where they are. There's nothing anyone could do about it if they tried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So congratulations, you two. You kept me out of Mom's funeral. I can only hope that I'm more at peace with that decision than they can be with theirs, but I'm sure that's a forlorn hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good night, Mom. I miss you.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-17511876475680520522016-07-18T01:27:00.002-04:002016-07-18T01:27:54.618-04:00Short review, more stuff soon<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've been out of town forEVER, my mother passed away suddenly, and when I cure my own zombie-ism, I will write a longer blog. Right now, here's a brief review of a book I finished on a loooong plane ride to Vegas for the PSWA conference.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"The Apache Wars" by Paul Andrew Hutton</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4.5 stars</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: "brandon text" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Very readable, very entertaining history of the struggles of American expansion into Apache territory in the years following the Civil War. Treachery and betrayal on all sides--American, Apache and Mexican--highlight the violence and ultimate conquest of the region. The cast of characters is large, and the book does a wonderful job of showing how the personalities and policies of Washington, including the greed for gold and silver, collide with the torture and cruelty of a people that at times showed willingness to live together with the white man. When thing broke down, the degree of murder and cruelty are horrifying. Excellent history.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: "brandon text" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-29774884973734849792016-06-08T16:26:00.000-04:002016-06-08T16:26:20.224-04:00Nine Days, Nine Cities, Nine Hotel Rooms<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Almost like the heading says, I am now in my eighth different hotel room in my eighth different city on the eighth consecutive day. Right now I'm in Fort Myers and after a convoluted sequence of events (drove down from Sarasota, went to a bookstore on Sanibel to talk about a signing, then to Fort Myers to talk to the ferry people, on to the hotel, then to a grocery store, back to the hotel, then to the airport to return the rental car, and a taxi back. Phwew.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My cab driver turned out to be British (American now) and we were talking about the June 23rd vote on breaking up the British empire, and how immigration without assimilation is invasion. The melting pot vs. diversity argument, which, I think, is an interesting one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, it turns out he used to coach the professional soccer team I grew up watching in Minnesota. Small damn world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I feel like I've been on the road for four years and I hope that when the Key West Mystery Fest conference kicks in on Friday, I will be conscious enough to enjoy it. I don't know how people take this glamorous life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saw Lisa Unger last night in Sarasota. As I got to the front of the line to get my book signed, she looks up and says, "I know you!" I haven't seen her or her husband for maybe twenty years when she was newly published and I was not (and before I was struck down by illness). Then when I reminded her that I was the editor of the BLOOD WORK anthology I'm editing in honor of the late Gary Shulze, she yells, "You're Rick!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So she got me by sight, which is probably even more impressive after all that time had she recognized my name.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again, small world, and at times a beautiful one.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-61467869464626321772016-05-27T13:27:00.002-04:002016-05-29T16:58:42.656-04:00Richard Russo<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Drove down to Concord last night to meet Pulitzer Prize-winning Richard Russo, get some books signed (I'm a very occasional fan boy), and sit in the front row of an interview taped for NPR. If you listen to this, the inappropriately loud-laughing woman you may hear was seated to my immediate left. That person is always seated to my immediate left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Russo was a charming guy, two weeks into a three week tour, so he was working. We have the same name and we both go by Rick. I told him my father, who went by "Dick," used to be bothered to no end by my nickname, saying it wasn't my real name. Then one day I pointed out that it was as much a derivative of "Richard" as was "Dick." And that was sort of the end of it, though for the rest of his days his mouth seemed to marble up like Stonewall Jackson eating a lemon when he actually used it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rick Russo said he had a theory: Richards born before sometime in the early forties were always known as "Dick," later we were always known as "Rick." Unscientific, I'm sure, but I told him we were both fortunate come down on the right side of that line and not be "Dicks."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"The other kids," whomever that group describes, must have been more tolerant--at least in that regard--back in the old days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, if you care to look it up, he had some interesting things to say about his works, and the movies, and people who look like Paul Newman (my dad actually looked <i>a lot</i> like Paul Newman when he was younger; he told me when he first asked my mother out he asked her if she wanted to have dinner with someone who looked like Paul Newman. He finished the story with how surprised she was when it was my dad that showed up).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-62207723422721697452016-05-20T14:40:00.002-04:002016-05-20T14:40:45.197-04:00Excellent review in the new issue of "Deadly Pleaures" magazine<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Stark House is mostly known for its reprints of classic crime novels--sometimes in a bargain, two-novel format like the Ace Doubles of old. But apparently it comes out with a paperback original.</span><br />
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TRUTH ALWAYS KILLS by Rick Ollerman, Rating A-</div>
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Jeff Prentiss wants to be a good cop, but his bad temper and his willingness to bend the rules often land him in trouble. Transferred from Tampa to St. Petersburg, Jeff finds himself a pariah among his fellow detectives, except for his partner. Luckily, for the time being, the have a "good" case--the murder of a well-known thief with connections to a prominent businessman.</div>
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Jeff's personal life is also a mess. His wife Lori and daughter have left him for places unknown. Lori's ex-husband, recently released from prison, began stalking her. Then he disappears and Lori thinks Jeff may have something to do with that disappearance. Questions are starting to be asked and Jeff is able to deflect them for awhile.</div>
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I came to this noirish novel with no preconceived expectations and left it with high respect and admiration for the writer's talent. This is definitely not an "everything works out in the end" kind of tale. Good people are killed and maimed and Jeff may be worse off at the end than he was at the beginning. What makes this novel a winner is Ollerman's storytelling chops and his vividly memorable characters. Highly recommended.</div>
Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19517014.post-3646869682757540822016-04-22T12:30:00.001-04:002016-04-22T12:30:25.026-04:00Prince<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went to the same junior high school in north Minneapolis, although separated by about four years. Later, I went to high school with his future bass player, Mark Brown, who played in a band called Fantasy that wowed at Washburn High's talent show.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was in college, I made a lot of the party tapes for my fraternity. At one point, one of my fellow Phi Psis ripped a cassette of Prince's "Dirty Mind" from the tape deck and threw it under the refrigerator. I was funk and R&B, he was San Francisco alt rock in the days before Prince found a way to fit his music in to anywhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later I was an extra in his first move, <i>Purple Rain</i>. The girl I'd taken to the premiere shouted out, "That's you!" at a point where the camera had me full screen dancing to the music of The Time, guys that really were my favorite (I played basketball with some of them), but at the time I wasn't sure (we were too far back in a sold out Skyway Theater).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I met Apollonia there, introduced myself and brought her over to a friend who was involved in a touchathon, one of those things where the last person touching the car got to take it home. (He won eventually, a yellow Le Car if I remember right, and I'm sure it was due partially to the fact that I brought over a celebrity at two in the morning during a break in filming and introduced them).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even before that, I'd see Prince out at the local clubs usually with his then girlfriend, Vanity, who also recently passed away. The last time I saw both of them, together or separately, was at an Alexander O'Neal show at an upstairs club whose name I no longer remember, a club where I saw a girl I'd once crushed on in high school. At this point though, I'd become too cool to ask for her number.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could go on, but this isn't about me or the memories and stories I have of the time or the movie or the music. Prince died and although truthfully I wasn't a fan of much of his music, he picked up Minneapolis and put it on the national music scene, borne by the strength of his innovation and incredible guitar skills.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm reading this morning he may have had an issue with prescription opiates that may have had something to do with his death. This would just make it sadder, like Robin Williams' suicide (or anyone else's). In other words, if someone were around these talented people that recognized that they needed help outside themselves, perhaps they could have gotten it, and perhaps they'd still be with us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rest in peace, Prince. You made a mark on my early life and I will never forget.</span>Rick Ollermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02068917523381664001noreply@blogger.com0