826michigan’s Liberty Street Robot Supply & Repair Is Now Open

Sat, 22 Jun 2008 23:47:20 GMT

posted by larryfire

Visitors of Ann Arbor, Michigan now have a new shopping destination: 826michigan’s Liberty Street Robot Supply & Repair. The shop, which recently opened at 115 E. Liberty Street, Ann Arbor, is stocked with robot-themed toys, novelties and unique gifts.

Never been to a robot supply and repair shop? Liberty Street Robot Supply & Repair carries the perfect combination of products for robot enthusiasts and robots themselves. Here are some examples: Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots , a four-foot inflatable robot, Robot Emotion Upgrades & First Aid kits and Positronic brains

826 National is a program created by the author, Dave Eggers. Its family of seven nonprofit organizations is dedicated to helping students, ages 6-18, with expository and creative writing. Their mission is based on the understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success. Each chapter offers drop-in tutoring, field trips, workshops, and in-schools programs — all free of charge — for children, classes, and schools with particular interests or particular needs. 826 is especially committed to supporting teachers, offering services and resources for English language learners, and publishing student work. All locations offer unique retail experiences such as a pirate store in San Francisco and a space travel store in Seattle.

Book Expo Hits Me Like a Hurricane, or, 2 out of 3 Ain't Bad

Fri, 31 May 2008 00:03:58 GMT

posted by ericdknapp
Okay, so I was already a bit jet-lagged after flying to LA from New Hampshire, driving to San Diego for business, driving back late, and getting very little sleep. I was tired this morning when I packed for the expo. Everythingunnecessarywas pulled from my laptop bag, and several copies of my book were stuffed inside. I had sell sheets ready, and business cards, and a gleam in my eye. I got to the show at 8:45, and by the time the exhibit hall doors opened at 9:00, I was already feeling the pain. Six trade paperbacks and one laptop weigh a LOT. Well, Five trade paperbacks, as one was held in my hand like a mighty badge, to catch the eye of big publishers and agents with the sheer awe of the glossy, roostery goodness. The doors opened, and I enter.
This was my first trip to a BEA show, and I was not prepared. Now, I've worked many a high-tech trade event that were of similar size, with similarly large and pushy crowds. What I didn't expect was a fundamental reversal of capitalism: I expected people to be selling me books; instead, they were giving them to me! Free! Greed quickly sedated shock, and I started to accept some of the better titles offered (expect reviews). Six books turned into eight, then ten ... my muscles began to carry that slow constant burn that means "stop or you will regret this." My awesome, bright purple Bailey Works Bag helped, but not enough as the bag stretched toaccommodatebook after book after book ... My spine has compressed and I am now 2" shorter, and I may always walk with a limp.
So I was tired when I entered the theater for the ForeWord Book of The Year award ceremony. Sadly, I did not win. As one of four finalists, I expected I would (75% chance, right?), but I can't bedisappointed. First, even making it to the Finalist level is an honor: the BOTY's are judgedrigorously. Second, a new friend and fellow author, Eddie Gresham, won the Bronze. Third, I was able to meet the second place author, Paigan Stone. I'll be reading her book "Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene)" as soon as I can and posting a review here. There's no need for me to read Eddie's "Footfalls," because I've already read it - and it was fantastic (I would recommend it to any Stephen King fan). I was convinced he was going to take the Gold ... but then, I was also convinced that I would take the Silver. So much for my supernatural powers of prognostication. Anyway,it was nice to meet Eddie (who I've traded emails with since we were both selected as finalists), and I am very happy for him. No, not happy, proud. Give Eddie a hand, folks, and then go buy his book. Remember: If you want to eat, fund farms; if you want to live, fund medicine; but if you want to read, fund your independent authors - we are the wave of the future!
I also can't bedisappointedbecause I won a Bronze medal in the IPPY awards, as well as a new award for "raising the bar" in independent publishing: an "Indie Excellence" award, from Odyssey Reviews. As the saying goes, "two outta three ain't bad!" The best part with the IPPY was the ceremony: we were called up to the front for photos, and a tall, red-gown woman placed real medals around our necks -- I felt just like Han Solo! The medal is large, heavy, and very kind to the ego.
There will be some followup posts on some of the cooler things about the show, such as the re-emergence of "choose your own adventure" books, a new tack on potentially starting apublishingcompany, and of course reviews of some of the more inspiring books. One is "All Ye Zombies," which is a corporate-zombie book. The booth was manned by the most amazingly beautiful girl (my wife still takes first prize though!), but I was honestly drawn by the zombie title. Another is "The Nine Lives of Romeo Crumb, Life One" by L. Rifkin. The book is independently published and beautifully produced, and illustrated by Kurt Hartman. I was given a copy of the paperback, but the hardcovers were even more exquisite ... if I like this book I will likely pick up all of the hardcovers, for a complete nine book set (well, only the first few are available now, buteventually...)

New Accolades for the Rooster King

Tue, 28 May 2008 23:16:59 GMT

posted by ericdknapp
The reviews are coming in clumps today - a good omen for the Book Expo America, which starts Friday. The first was from DeadRooster (great name, great humor blog, even better review), and the second comes from Odyssey Reviews. But "new accolades" doesn't just refer to another good review -- it actually refers to new accoldaes, as in a new award. Inspired by Cluck, awarded by Odyssey, is the son-to-be-coveted "Award of 'indie' Excellence".

All I can say is, "wow." I'm honored. This is the point where I try to thank everyone who helped, and the TV people have to turn up the music to get me off the stage, because I start blathering.

"Eric D. Knapp's "Cluck: Murder Most Fowl" is one of the best books we've reviewed so far on Odyssey Reviews. This tongue-in-cheek (or beak) work of brilliance will surely make you laugh. The writing is on par with the likes of Terry Pratchett. The story is brilliant, the writing unbelievably good"

A new award, and another comparison to Terry Pratchett (one of my literary heros). I think I'll be celebrating tonight with a martini or ten.

Desperation Comes & Goes

Mon, 6 May 2008 02:10:18 GMT

posted by kathleenmaher

Walter grilled trout he’d caught that morning, and removed the heads, bones, and skin.

Watching him at the grill, Evie asked if next time he could leave the head on her fish. “So while I’m chewing him, I can look him right in the eye.”

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Walter laughed. “You’re like my daughter Olivia.”

“People say I look like my mom.”

“No one looks like your mother,” Walter said. “She’s like no one else.”

“Well, me either,” Evie said. “I’m like no one else.”

“That’s right. You and DeeDee, your mother, me—everyone’s different from everyone else.”

After Amanda read the girls a bedtime story, she joined Walter downstairs where he had built a fire in the stone fireplace.

Open on his lap was a history of some Chinese dynasty, but the fire was mesmerizing.

“Was it hard when your wife took Olivia away?” Why had she asked him such a stupid question?

Amanda sweltered in the blazing firelight. Perhaps the room had warmed past what was pleasant. Walter pulled off a sweatshirt and smoothed a gray t-shirt over his body, white hair glistening against his lightly tanned arms. Amanda slipped free of her a cotton cardigan, only to shiver inside her purple top, although her skin was stinging hot.

Walter raised his body up, preparing drape a strong arm around her. But something warned him away. He inched away from her. She pulled the hair off her damp neck, letting heavy strands fall along the back edge of the couch.

“Don’t think I’m oblivious to how you feel.” Walter whispered this. “It’s just that I’ve spent my life defining how to love you.”

“Why stick to the same definition?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as petulant to him as it did to her. “I’m not a child anymore.”

He took her hand and at first that distracted her so much she didn’t hear him. Then she did: “I’ve loved you since you were three years old, Amanda. And if it stays paternal, I’ll never lose it. Or you. But the rest?” He winced. “Desperation comes and goes.”

“Do I seem that desperate?”

“Maybe desperation’s the wrong word,” Walter said. “But if you want something, or someone, long enough, more than your own life—and it’s impossible—eventually, the desire lets up. For a while. It can rebound at any time. It can be terrible. And then it abates again. Things get better.”

Again, he moved as if to embrace her but stopped. “Maybe I shouldn’t touch you at all.”

She couldn’t catch her breath and didn’t trust her voice. Finally, she said, “No. I want you to touch me.”

He almost looked at her. “Olivia kisses me on the mouth. She likes to think she’s wild but with her it’s not dangerous.”

“And I am dangerous.” Suddenly angry, Amanda shoved him hard and kissed him hard, and hurried upstairs.

Lying in bed at the other end of the hall from him, she couldn’t sleep.

In the morning she was weary and chagrined. He had made pancakes. Fixing Amanda a plate, he said that if the girls woke early enough tomorrow, he’d take them fishing.

After cleaning up, he taught the girls to play checkers. Amanda watched for a while, but soon she was sitting on the porch wearing an apple green bikini, a sunhat, and sunglasses.

Then the girls walked out, wearing their bathing suits and Walter took the chair beside Amanda, his finger in the Chinese history book.

“I warned them the water was cold.”

Amanda nodded and smiled at him, her fifth silent apology.

The girls tiptoed along the swimming dock. A bobbing raft floated twenty-five feet out.

“No way you’ll do it,” Walter called.

Evie turned around, stuck out her tongue, and then dove straight in. They saw her crawling easily toward the raft. DeeDee, who couldn’t dive yet, jumped and swam fast enough to catch up.

“Walter, what was I like as a child?”

“You were serious and sensitive. Kind of, don’t get me wrong, kind of ethereal. That searching, spiritual quality? You always had it.”

“Walter, if I do some errands—I’ll take a bike—will you watch the girls this afternoon?”

Now Walter jumped up. His book thudded beside his chair. “You trust me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought you knew.”

“What?”

“How I felt. That year before we went to Disneyland.”

“Oh.” Amanda sank back in the chair and he crouched in front of her.

“I loved you, Amanda and still do. But my problem was because of the circumstances. My wife was gone. I had no job. I had no one but you. And except for me, you were alone.”

“I tormented you, though. I know that.”

“You know it now, but you didn’t then.”

Walter pulled her out of the chair. He didn’t kiss her, but lifted her up and laughed. “Go. Do your errands.”

Amanda ran inside, changed into shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Before she left she heard Walter telling the girls, no more swimming. Without saying good-bye, she dashed out the front door and rode a bicycle until exhausted. To her left were the woods. Off the path, under a tree, she hid, curled up, and broke into violent tears.

(To be continued)

Heaven Backwards

Thu, 2 May 2008 01:51:13 GMT

posted by kathleenmaher

No fingers, mouths, tongues, lungs, secret crevices or racing, pounding, breaking hearts. After their momentary passion at the airport, Walter kept a careful distance for an hour.

But once she had unpacked, once Evie and DeeDee decided the water was too cold for swimming, Walter suggested an afternoon hike. Amanda sank back into the wooden porch chair and covered her face. Walter stepped in front of her, ready to explain why they couldn’t be lovers, if she wanted an explanation.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

That’s how certain he was. Shy, lonely Walter could talk about anything with her. That’s how much he loved her.

And sex, she could hear him telling her, with its thrill and thrall, came and went. If Walter and Amanda forgot who they were, if they pretended no father-daughter attachment, they would betray themselves and each other. She knew that. She knew how destructive her desire was.

He gently shook her wrist, rousing her from the chair and she knew no matter how much they might want each other, past or present, indulging in sex would mean squandering their real love.

Casually—that’s how much control he had summoned—Walter draped an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to see the turtles, Amanda? It’s late enough so that we might see the herons.”

Evie and DeeDee ran ahead, following the trail-markers Walter had shown them. Every few minutes, though, they stopped and turned around. Giggling. That’s what little girls did. She overheard Evie telling Walter, his hand on her head as she stared up at him, how her almost-step-dad had looked just like him.

He smiled. “Anyone ever tell you looks are deceiving?”

“So deceiving.” Evie grinned, the two in collusion.

Walter was eight years older than David, but you’d never know it. Walter was stronger. He stood straighter and his eyes and hair shined brighter. Amanda asked him to lead the way. She liked watching him march through the low slanting sunbeams weaving in and out among the trees. He called to Evie and DeeDee whenever he didn’t catch sight of them a few switchbacks ahead.

Did they see the mushrooms, the tiny frogs? He caught one for DeeDee but she didn’t dare touch it. “You’re right,” he said. “We don’t know how many people this baby’s had contact with. It’s early in the season. The smell of us touching him might make him an outcast.”

DeeDee bit her lip. “Huh?”

“Cooties,” Evie said, and Walter laughed, surprised cooties were still around. “They’re around,” Evie told him. “I know one girl who’ll have ’em forever.”

“What’s her name?”

“Neveah. Heaven backwards.”

“Do her cooties have anything to do with her name?” Walter asked.

“Nope. Another girl has the same name and she’ll never have cooties. Ne-vay-ah Grant— nevah. Ne-vay-ah Scott—forevah.”

Amanda wanted to sink through the forest ground—the sunlight between the treetops, the whirling sky, and the ones she loved, the only ones, sheltering her. If only she never had to move; if only nothing had to change.

A few minutes later, they strolled along the edge of a silent pond. Walter found a huge turtle but warned the girls not to get too close.

At the far edge of the water two herons stood, on one leg each. The girls wandered away from the water, hunting through the undergrowth for more frogs while Walter pulled Amanda close. They hovered there, father and daughter, watching and waiting for the birds to fly off.

Except now a supernatural light played on the dark water. Amanda pressed her face against Walter’s chest and shivered with more sensations than her body could hold.

“Amanda,” he whispered, stroking her hair. No one but Walter knew how to say her name. No one but Walter should say her name. She grew faint and unreal with longing. He let go, moving away, and a tiny cry escaped from her throat, “No.” She’d do anything.

“Look at them.” The hand that a moment ago was stroking her head followed a pair of regal birds along an upward arc. The hand, whose weight and warmth sent waves of pleasure through her skin, dropped to her shoulder after the birds disappeared into the far distance.

Amanda stumbled backward for fear of adhering to him. Why was it again? She rubbed her eyes, refusing to see. Why couldn’t they be lovers? Because, Christ, she’d do whatever it took. Really. Anything.

(Click here to read the next episode.)

Popular Fiction - Articles - Zimbio

826michigan’s Liberty Street Robot Supply & Repair Is Now Open

Book Expo Hits Me Like a Hurricane, or, 2 out of 3 Ain't Bad

New Accolades for the Rooster King

Desperation Comes & Goes

Heaven Backwards