What's Bootsy Doin?

Oh, Trusted First Reader, how I love thee.

I've finished the third draft of MINDKILLER, which means it's in good enough shape to give to Trusted Reader for a critique. This makes me nervous, and I have to restrain myself from hovering over him and repeatedly asking: What's going on in the book now? How do you like it? Are you buying it?

The good news: He claims to be so caught up in the story at times that he forgets to critique.

The bad news: He has some solid suggestions. But that isn't bad news. Not really. It's what I want to make it better.

While he works on that, I've begun reading for my next book, a take on the exorcist/demon possession narrative. I can't say any more than that without jinxing it, but I have a confession to make: I'm afraid of the devil.

The first book I (re)read was The Exorcist. It wasn't nearly as scary as it was when I was a teenager what with all the adverbs Blatty overuses. What's freaking me out is the non-fiction.

Even though I don't believe in the supernatural, I can't help worrying that the more I find out about demons, the more demons will vex me! So far, though, I seem to be un-afflicted. No moving furniture, no vomiting, no writhing. Everything carries on as usual. But man, if you believe some of those books, America is crawling with demons! We're all at risk.

In other completely unrelated news, I've started a fish blog over at tumblr. If you love fish and fishing, come visit. And if you have any fish stories or photos, please submit to me. NOW! (Sorry, that's the devil talking.)

New Age, New Mexico

I'm not much of a believer, especially in the supernatural. Healing crystals, auras, astrology, vibrations of the universe, positive energy, bah humbug, I say.

Which is why it was strange to find myself at a Cycle of Fifths Crystal Bowl healing session. Or not so strange when you consider I'm in New Mexico visiting relatives--one of whom conducts Cycle of Fifths Crystal Bowl healing sessions--and I'm open to new experiences.

We get to her studio, which is decked out in incense, scarves, pillows, books by Rumi, and some hammock thing that's supposedly for yoga but looks more like a marital aid. It smells good in there. There are three patients besides me.

We lie on giant mattresses with little lavender pillows on our eyes. The bowls are on the floor, surrounding us, six or seven of them. The healer places pillows under our necks and knees and I am very comfortable. Then the crystal bowl music begins! The notes reverberate in my ears, echoing on each other, sometimes as loud as a guitar amp. The bowls are in perfect harmony, wonderfully tuned. I lie there and enjoy the concert, which lasts half an hour and is unusual, like nothing I've ever heard. It ends with chimes, a rainstick, and a Chinese gong.

After is where the experience goes outside of my realm. One guy saw visions but of what he didn't say. A woman's third eye opened and it was red. Someone else saw their late mom as pure white light!

Me? My lavender eye pillow made me sneeze, so I had to remove it. I think my third eye was crusted over with dried mucus. Or maybe I don't have one. The music was lovely though.

Make Faulkner County Wet

I live in Faulkner County, Arkansas. And it's dry here. Not dry as in it doesn't rain. It rains plenty. It's dry as in no alcohol. It's a Baptist-stronghold, Bible-belt, alcohol-free zone. You'd think with the name Faulkner--great southern writer who loved his booze--we'd be swimming in bourbon. Not so.

Because Faulkner county isn't named after William Faulkner. And it's not entirely dry either. It's moist. And that's a lot less sexy than it sounds. Moist means you can buy booze at restaurants that call themselves "private clubs," but you can't go to a flat-out bar and you can't buy any package alcohol at the supermarket or convenience store. To buy a six pack or a bottle of wine for at-home consumption, we have to drive to the next county.

And that's just wrong, not to mention un-American. So I am on a mission to make Faulkner County wet! And the first step in any political fight is a folk song. A protest folk song that galvanizes the movement.

Lucky for me, I didn't have to write one. My bandmate Julee did. We're going to start the revolution, one cocktail at a time. Get wet, Faulkner County. Get wet.

What I learned from Hell House

Last night I went to Eternity House. Here's what I learned:

1. Satan wears tennis shoes and has a lisp.

2. Chili is evil because you never know what your step-dad might put in it.

3. Doing the locomotion is evil too.

4. Faulkner County Sheriff's vehicles are available for many events.

5. Chick-Fil-A is the fast food of the faithful.

6. If a pretty young woman rolls her eyes during Bible study, she will burn in hell for ETERNITY.

7. If you drink beer, you will burn in hell for ETERNITY.

8. You can burn in hell for ETERNITY for being a snot-nosed teenager!

9. ETERNITY is a very long time.

10. In heaven, angels lip-sync while dancing with their hands.

11. Heaven also has a cheap fountain and twinkly Christmas lights.

12. Hell is a pretty cool disco with black lights and neon colors and hot guys writhing in cages.

13. The good die young.

14. God is overly judgmental.