The stupid season arrives

Part I: I can’t dog-ear the pages on my iBook. Sue!

Apple Sued Because iPad Does Not Work “Just Like A Book.”

A new class action suit filed in California takes issue with how the iPad shuts off automatically if it overheats. In particular, however, the suit claims that the marketing phrase “reading on the iPad is just like reading a book” is misleading, and that Apple is therefore engaging in fraud and misleading consumers.

Says the Husband: Yeah, because when you lick your finger and swipe it across the screen, nothing sticks. And the pages don’t flip in the wind, either.

Part II: Prepare to be deported, all you frenchy lawyers. And physicists.

Iowa GOP wants to “restore” 13th Amendment, strip lawyers, and president, of citizenship.

This isn’t about slavery, which the 13th Amendment bans. It’s about an earlier proposed amendment to the constitution, introduced in 1812 but never ratified.

Article I, Section 9, of the Constitution reads:

“No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.”

[The] proposed amendment extended the ban from office-holders to “any citizen of the United States” and made the penalty loss of citizenship.

“To quote the Web site Constitutional Concepts, ‘This Amendment was for the specific purpose of banning participation in government operations by attorneys and bankers who claimed the Title of Nobility of ‘Esquire.’”

Which would mean… me. Gee, thanks. I mean, I think the lawyers suing Apple because the iPad isn’t literally a paperback are stupid and greedy, but I wouldn’t go so far as stripping them of citizenship. And if the amendment is ever enacted into law, will the Iowa GOP provide me with a one-way ticket to the Bahamas, or will they just stand on the beach prodding me into the ocean with a broomstick?

But wait, could this be a misinterpretation of the word, “title”? An example of unintended consequences?

Naturally, most lawyers see it differently. “The esquire thing is ridiculous,” says R. B. Bernstein, a professor at New York Law School and author of Amending America. “‘Esquire’ is not a title of nobility.

And lawyers aren’t actually the main target of the plank.

There are, of course, other implications of Thirteenthism, such as ensuring that the United States never again suffers the humiliation of having a president win the Nobel Peace Prize. That was just what the Iowa Republicans had in mind, according to Plogmann, who wrote in an e-mail that the plank “was meant to make a statement about the delegates’ opinion about Mr. Obama receiving the prize.”

(Presumably they didn’t mind if, in the process, they were also making a statement about any American scientist or writer unlucky enough to win a Nobel.)

Yeah, take that, Walter Kohn, and Toni Morrison, and Vernon Smith, and Linda Buck. Start swimming.

Oh, wait –

[T]he Department of Justice looked into whether Obama needed Congressional approval to accept the Nobel under the existing emoluments clause, and based on the meaning of “foreign state” (which would not cover the Nobel Prize Committee) concluded that he did not.

Maybe I’ll unpack my bikini. And wait for more examples of stupidity. They should be along soon.

“You feel stupid.”

I can understand why.

Woman’s nude pics end up on Web after call to Dell tech rep.

Tara Fitzgerald of Sacramento needed help. The nude photos she had taken for her boyfriend were nowhere to be found on her computer, so she called Dell in December 2008. She was patched through to support tech Riyaz Shaikh, an employee of call service center in India, and gave him permission to search her PC remotely. What happened next was horrifying, said Fitzgerald:

“I watched him take the pictures out of my e-mail. I watched him.”

More than a dozen of those pictures ended up on a site called “bitchtara.”

If the woman’s allegations are true, what’s most outrageous is that the Dell tech rep posted her photos, scammed her into sending him a free laptop so he could “fix” the problem, and then began charging her credit card so he could send gifts to another woman… and Dell has not responded to any of these allegations.

Maybe there’d be room for it in Texas

“Large Hadron Collider not large enough, say scientists who want a Humongous Hadron Collider.”

The worst self-help titles never written

Yesterday, SlushPile Hell held a contest to invent the worst self-help book ever. My favorites:

@cathy_bryan: How to Text and Drive Faster: The Last Self Help Book You’ll Ever Need

And:

@realsmivey: Do It You’re Self: A Guide To Self-Publishing

And speaking of contests… it may be time for a new one on this blog.

The author peers into the future

Here’s my iPhone, sucking bits from the electronic teat of my computer, downloading… the iBook app.

That’s a good phone. Drink those bits right down. Don’t dribble, baby. Here, let me burp you.

When I load actual e-books, I’ll post those photos too.

And yes, “Taking photos of my phone downloading the iBook app” constitutes #475 on my list of ways to postpone writing the scene I jotted in the outline five months back — the scene described as “Jo discovers the bad guys’ agenda” — while I figure out how the hell Dr. Beckett actually accomplishes this feat.

And yet the memory-erasing pill is not the most outlandish thing this man desired

In the You Couldn’t Make It Up files, this case would take up its own wing.

Former body-armor manufacturer tried for fraud.

Several years ago, David H. Brooks, the chief executive and chairman of a body-armor company enriched by United States military contracts, became fixated on the idea of a memory-erasing pill.

It was not just fanciful curiosity. A veterinarian who cared for his stable of racehorses said Mr. Brooks continually talked about the subject, pressing him repeatedly to supply the pill.

“Mr. Brooks said he had a specific recipient in mind: Dawn Schlegel, the former chief financial officer of the company he led until 2006, DHB Industries.”

Guess what? No memory-erasing pill exists. Yet. So the former CFO has spent 21 days testifying against her former boss in his fraud trial.

And what did he buy with all the cash he allegedly defrauded investors out of?

DHB, which specialized in making body armor used by the military in Iraq and Afghanistan, paid for more than $6 million in personal expenses on behalf of Mr. Brooks, covering items as expensive as luxury cars and as prosaic as party invitations, Ms. Schlegel testified.

Also included were university textbooks for his daughter, pornographic videos for his son, plastic surgery for his wife, a burial plot for his mother, prostitutes for his employees, and, for him, a $100,000 American-flag belt buckle encrusted with rubies, sapphires and diamonds.

“His lawyers… defended the hiring of prostitutes for employees and board members, arguing in court papers that it represented a legitimate business expense ‘if Mr. Brooks thought such services could motivate his employees and make them more productive.’”

Rocky II: My books hit the road with the pup, one more time

Rocky, last seen snowbound in suburban Chicago with his master and a copy of The Memory Collector, has grown up and moved on. Now he’s either guarding The Liar’s Lullaby from poachers, or he’s waiting for somebody to throw the book across the yard so he can fetch it.

Harrogate 2010 — postscript

I had a great time at Harrogate. The festival was so busy that I didn’t get a chance to talk to all the writers there, much less all the readers. The panel I hosted, “James Bond, Eat Your Heart Out,” was lively and — considering it took place on Sunday morning — well attended. Sean Black, Jeremy Duns, Jo Nesbø, and Zoë Sharp had some sharp commentary and good anecdotes about writing thrillers.

Here are some more photos.

The panel: from left, Zoë, Jeremy, Sean, Jo, and me. (What, you want focused photos? I told you: Sunday morning. Early.)

With my German editors, the passionate and hard-working Kirsten and Markus Naegele.

Did I mention that Harrogate’s artsy? This objet was on display in the front window of a local art gallery. A Hog scooter.

With my British editor, the inimitable Patrick Janson-Smith.

Play Guess the Author. The guy in the glasses asks that he be described as “inscrutable.”

But the most memorable incident of the weekend happened after Paul and I left Harrogate. Driving home, about 40 miles south of Harrogate, traffic on the motorway ground to a stop. Soon a traffic information sign flashed ACCIDENT AHEAD. As we inched along, our hope that it was a fender-bender evaporated. First the paramedics wound their way through traffic. Then two police cars raced past on the shoulder. And a fire truck. And another. And a second ambulance. Then a third ambulance, and a fourth. By the time a medevac helicopter roared overhead, aiming for a hospital in Leeds, a sense of dread had settled on us. More police cars sped past. Then the fifth ambulance, and the sixth.

We rounded a curve and were confronted with a sea of flashing blue lights a hundred yards long. And with a sinking feeling, so strong it made me dizzy, I saw ahead to the exit from the motorway. On the grass between the main road and the offramp was a white bus. It had spun sideways. It looked like it had been crushed from above. Though it was standing upright, clearly it had flipped, probably several times. Paramedics were swarming around it. A second Life Flight helicopter was parked on the offramp, ready to go.

Nearer, we could see the paramedics working on people. When we drove past, we got a look at the right side of the bus. Its huge windows were entirely blown out, and the driver’s door was wrenched open. Many of the seats inside had broken loose. Some were hanging out the windows.

It was only when we got home, four hours later, that we learned everybody aboard had, almost unbelievably, survived. Twelve people were injured, most of them seriously, two critically. But their injuries are apparently no longer life-threatening.

The bus was carrying a group of friends home from a bachelor party — a day at the races, apparently. It looks like a tire may have blown. My thoughts are with them and their families. And I can only express admiration for the other drivers who stopped to help — the trucker and the family in the little Nissan who must have been first on the scene — and for the professionalism and dedication of the paramedics, doctors, firefighters, pilots and cops whose response saved, undoubtedly, many lives.

Sense, Sensibility and Sucker Punches

Jane Austen’s Fight Club.

(Via Janet Reid)

Harrogate: charm and mystery

Harrogate has charm to spare. It’s one of those Yorkshire towns where, at any moment, I expect the BBC to sweep in and clear the streets of people and modern cars, so they can film their latest costume drama. Its reputation for real drama, of a sort, rests on its history as the town where Agatha Christie turned up after her disappearance in 1926.

At the hotel where I’m staying.

Doesn’t it look intriguing? All kinds of mysterious stuff goes on here. When we checked in, the girl at the desk whispered, “You might want a quiet room. There’s an … event tonight. Late.”

Turns out the event wasn’t a seance to rouse the spirit of Agatha Christie, or even the Fighting Nuns practicing Krav Maga. It was a graduation prom. For the local dental college.

Okay, that could be pretty spooky.

Road trip: Harrogate

I’m off to deepest, greenest Yorkshire for the Theakston’s Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival in Harrogate. Sunday morning, I’ll be hosting a panel about the future of thrillers — “James Bond, Eat Your Heart Out” — with authors Zoë Sharp, Sean Black, Jeremy Duns, and Jo Nesbø.

Wish me luck on the drive. I’ll report back if I run into feisty gnomes, roving Yorkshire Terriers, and, of course, the Fighting Nuns of Harrogate.

The Page 69 Test — The Liar’s Lullaby

The Liar’s Lullaby is put to The Page 69 Test.

So, holding my breath, I turn to page 69. Does the page entice? Is it representative? Does it feature a helicopter crash or an attack by an insane monkey? Some elegiac revelation? Or is it nothing but white space? (Read on)

Thanks to Marshal Zeringue for inviting me to subject my novel to the test.

NPR nominates China Lake for Best 100 Thrillers Ever

My Stupid Dance around the kitchen resumes, now with added Surprised Face.

NPR has nominated a list of novels for the 100 Best Thrillers Ever — and China Lake is a finalist.

But! To make the final cut, China Lake has to be voted in. And that’s up to you. Yes, you, my loyal legions of flying monkeys my generous readers. Click on the link to vote for your 10 favorite thrillers. And don’t make me resort to the Ransom Note Generator, or to posting pathetic photos of myself, hands clenched in supplication, lip quivering like the little match girl halfway through that cold, cold night in the snow. Click on the link below, vote, lobby in the comments on the NPR site. Have at it.

Now back to the Stupid Dance.

“Killer Thrillers”: Vote For The 100 Best Ever.

A reminder: things I won’t do

1. Blurb an unpublished book. Occasionally, thanks to a charming request by an editor or author whose book is scheduled for publication, I’ll read a novel and offer a quote. But I don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to read unpublished manuscripts and give them a blurb for submission to agents or editors. And I have even less time and inclination to puff someone’s writing ability based on a single paragraph of prose sent to me via email. ( “It would be best if you’d emphasize my professionalism and style.”) Nope. Sorry. Please don’t ask.

2. Write your life story. Or your grandfather’s, or your dog’s. I’m not a biographer, or a ghostwriter. I don’t begrudge people for asking — maybe your dog’s life story truly is thrilling, and it’s flattering that you think I might do a good job with Precious’s memoir.

One qualification: when somebody expects me to write their life story for free, I begrudge.

3. Read unsolicited manuscripts. Yes, I’ve said much of this before. I’ve mentioned it in my FAQ. But I must repeat: If you send me your unpublished novel as an email attachment, I will delete it. I will delete it even if you are my grandfather, or my dog. I will delete it even if you tell me you need feedback. I will delete it even if you list other authors you’ve sent it to… who haven’t responded, you say, because they refuse to give new voices a chance. I will delete it with extra vehemence if you complain that nobody responds to your unsolicited demands for feedback because they are self-absorbed. Sorry.

So ends today’s rant.