My origin story

I won't be seeing the new "Man of Steel" movie, mostly because it's the origin story all over again. Is there anyone in America above the age of six who doesn't know the story of a baby sent from a dying planet to Earth, where he had superhuman powers and became the greatest superhero ever?

Filmmakers seem to think they need to start from scratch each time. How many times have we seen the origin story of Superman? Spider-Man? The Hulk? Perhaps the directors feel the previous movies got it wrong, but more likely they stick with the origin story because it's easier to start at the beginning. Plus, everyone can relate to the story of where a person came from and how it shaped the eventual adult.

My own origin story bears a surprising number of similarities to Superman's story (not counting the whole illegal-alien-from-a-dying-planet angle).

My superpower was reading. I started reading at the age of 3, and was a major pain to my early-grade teachers because I already knew how to read well. Teachers soon learned to feed me library books to keep me quiet while the others were trying to learn.

Like Superman, I grew up in a small town. In Sheridan, Ark., a tidy brick library stood next to the courthouse square. My mother took me there every week and let me check out as many books as I could carry. She even insisted that the elderly librarians let me read books in the "Adult" section (such risque fare as Leslie Charteris and Mickey Spillane). About the time I'd exhausted that library, we moved to a nearby city with a bigger library. I was all set.

At Pine Bluff High School, I worked on the school newspaper. I quickly decided on journalism as a career, just like Clark Kent, and went to work for the Arkansas Gazette right out of high school. The editors and reporters there, and the ones at The Associated Press, where I worked for nearly 10 years, shaped me as a writer and beat a lot of stupidity out of me.

Encouraged by my wife Kelly (a former journalist who bears absolutely no resemblance to Lois Lane), I started trying to write fiction when I was 30. For a decade, I worked at the Albuquerque Journal and wrote fiction in my spare time, while also helping raise our two sons. Those were the superhuman years. When I turned 40, Kelly sprung me from full-time journalism, and I've been writing fiction from home ever since.

I've published more than 25 books over the past 20 years and have a couple more in the pipeline. Most days, I can't wait to get to work on whatever new one I'm writing.

And that feels super, man.

Guns 'n' curses

I've just published a new short story. It's full of violence and bad language. Consider this fair warning.

The story's called CEMETERY PLOT. It opens with a man kneeling, wearing handcuffs, watching another man dig his grave. How he got there, and what happens next, is the crux of this very hard-boiled story.

Available exclusively on Kindle (for now), CEMETERY PLOT is only 99 cents. For more info, click here.

Folks who read my crime novels think of me as an author who does a lot of comedy. And I do. Most of my novels, from LONELY STREET to THE BIG WINK to A BOX OF PANDORAS, are full of the funny stuff. But my short stories tend to be gritty little one-act plays about criminals, centered around an act of violence or three. Not a lot of room for comedy.

Four of these short stories are available individually wherever e-books are sold: PAYOFF, YVONNE'S GONE, FOUND MONEY and SHOWDOWN. Only 99 cents each.

PAYOFF is about a 77-year-old heist man named Eddie who gets hired to commit a murder. YVONNE'S GONE is a rural noir about a drunken hillbilly who is gunning for his wayward wife. FOUND MONEY is a monologue featuring a courier who lost a bag of drug money.  SHOWDOWN centers on two old friends who are rivals at cards and one's startling admission over a game of gin.

I did the cover art on CEMETERY PLOT myself, using Kindle's new beta version of Cover Creator. The other covers (which are much, much better) were done by the lovely and talented Kelly Brewer. I like the one she did for PAYOFF so much, I put it on my business cards. Bang!

Other short stories of mine can be found in the anthologies CRIMES BY MOONLIGHT and WEST COAST CRIME WAVE. Those two stories aren't quite so hard-boiled, but they're both twisty and fun.

Please give my short stories a try. But remember: They're full of guns and cursing. The fainthearted need not apply. ;-)

The ants go marching . . .

The exterminator just left.

With the arrival of warm weather, we've been blessed with an infestation of tiny little ants. They don't seem interested in our water or our food. They just want to run around on the kitchen countertops and drive me crazy.

Like most people in Albuquerque, I'd wager, we have a regular pest control service. This is the desert. There are bugs. We don't want them in the house. Period.

Most of the time, the every-other-month service is plenty. But these ants showed up, and I've had exterminators here twice in a week, pitching God-only-knows what kind of poison at the little pests. I think they've got 'em this time. Only time will tell.

The ants are most active when we're asleep, so I stumble onto a parade of them every morning when I make coffee. I crush the little buggers and mop up their corpses with a damp paper towel. Usually, I try to be quiet about it, but the other day there was an alarming swarm, so I snatched up a fly swatter and started wailing away at the tile countertop.

From the next room, Kelly says, "What are you doing?"

"Killing ants."

"With what," she says, "a FORK?"

I told this story to the pest control manager when I called about the ants. He got a big kick out of it. Not many of his customers, I'm thinking, go for the laugh. He sent someone right away.

And now we wait.

Keeping cool with Mr. Keitel

Yesterday, I had a chance encounter with one of my favorite actors, the great Harvey Keitel. And, yes, I gave him one of my books.

Mr. Keitel is in Albuquerque for a film project. He was meeting with a couple of producer types on Sunday, in a room just off the lobby of a local hotel. As part of the hotel's Mother's Day brunch festivities and to promote the nearby Southwest Book Fiesta, I was supposed to do a book-signing in that very same room.

 

He sat facing the door, and I recognized him immediately. We've all seen that face on the big screen so many times -- Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Smoke, The Piano, Moonrise Kingdom, on and on -- and he looked exactly like himself, if you know what I mean. He was in workout clothes and hadn't shaved in a day or two, but it was no question Harvey freaking Keitel.

Well, this is awkward. I'm supposed to do an event in this room, and Mr. Keitel and friends are having a business meeting that I absolutely do not want to disturb. I set down my bag of books and walked over to the seated trio and sort of loomed there until they looked up at me. I explained the situation and told Mr. Keitel that I of course had recognized him and was a huge fan. He jumped to his feet and shook my hand, chuckling, saying, "I thought you were with our movie."

He said they'd be leaving soon. I said I'd set up at the other end of the room and try to steer people away from them. Then, with the producer guys sitting there waiting, Mr. Keitel started asking me questions. So, you're an author? You're local? Why kinds of things do you write? I told him my first book, LONELY STREET, had been made into a 2009 movie and he asked me who starred and said he was friends with Joe Mantegna, who played the villain. We did another round of nice-to-meet-yous and I was about to turn away when I caught myself and said, "Hey, could I give you one of my books?"

I dug through the bag of random books that I'd brought over from the Book Fiesta and, sure enough, there was one copy of the perfect book to give to Harvey Keitel, my casino heist novel LOST VEGAS. I told him

he'd inspired one of the characters in the book, a retired Mob button man who runs a small-town casino. The character's nickname is Nicky Pop-Pop. Mr. Keitel laughed at that, thumbing through the pages and repeating, "Nicky Pop-Pop."

I excused myself and went to my table at the other end of the room. They continued their meeting for some time, but there were tall wingback chairs in the way and I couldn't really see or hear much from where I sat. Besides, I was busy with my phone, sending fanboy text messages to my wife.

A few people trickled in and out, and I handed them bookmarks advertising the Book Fiesta. Only one recognized Mr. Keitel, and the actor was charming with him, too.

After a while, the movie trio departed. As they were going out the door, Mr. Keitel showed me he was carrying my book and thanked me again and wished me luck.

So, there you have it. My most recent brush with greatness. I managed to keep my cool, have a nice chat and not go all stalker on Mr. Keitel. I kept my cellphone camera in my pocket. And I put one of my books in his hands.

Mr. Keitel seemed like a truly nice guy. Smart, well-spoken and interested in other people.

He'd be so perfect as Nicky Pop-Pop.

Bobbing with weirdness

Do you love stories about weird coincidences? Here's one:

Last night, I was at a meeting of SouthWest Writers. During intermission, I sold a few copies of my latest paperback, 1500 Rules for Successful Living, including one to a fellow author named Pete David. I've met Pete before and we've e-mailed a few times. Nice guy.

As I began to autograph his copy, I had one of those senior moments (which seem to be more frequent lately), and I didn't write "For Pete," as intended. You're thinking I wrote "For David," right? That would make sense. But what did I write? "For Bob."

Where did "Bob" come from? I have no idea.

Laughing at my own strangeness, I tossed the book back into the box and signed a different copy "For Pete." I've made this kind of mistake before. The screwed-up books become giveaways or shelf copies. No big deal.

Minutes later, while Pete and I were still chatting, another SWW member approached with money in hand, wanting a copy of the RULES. Guess what his name was? That's right. BOB.

As soon as I saw his name tag, I fished the "For Bob" book out of the box and said, "Here you go. Already inscribed for you."

That freaked Bob out a little, but he was a good sport once I explained what had happened. And we all went away, shaking our heads and laughing.

If you want some laughs of your own, give my 1500 RULES a try. Filled with twisted humor, the RULES are 106 pages of utter nonsense for only $5.99. Perfect bathroom reading! Click here for more info, or e-mail me directly at abqbrewer@gmail.com. I'll be glad to autograph a copy for you. Or for any Bobs you might know.