lying for a living

And here I get panicky if I leave my book in the terminal when I board the plane.

Parents board flight, forget toddler at airport.

The Beatles get hold of a thesaurus.

(Via Wordsmith.)

Warning: if you’re afraid of heights, this video will make you squirm. I just watched it, and I’m still whimpering. (It’s six minutes long. And it’s stunning.)

People ask me where I get my ideas. Here’s where: from my fears. I think about what gives me the willies, and I write about it. This lets me face what scares me — safely. I pour it out on the page.

I inflict it on my readers.

Heights aren’t my thing. When I took my kids on the Swiss gondola ride at Disneyland, I wanted to duct tape them to the floor of the car. However, small spaces don’t bother me. So, in my new novel (Watch out! Shameless self promotion ahead!) The Dirty Secrets Club, I created a heroine who’s my opposite. Jo Beckett is claustrophobic. But she loves rock climbing. To her, heights are the place to find the widest open, most unconstrained spaces of all. In writing the book, I took everything I feel when looking down (agh… ohhh, God…) and gave it to Jo when she faces the prospect of getting in an elevator. And I tried to understand how she could thrill to the challenge and rush of getting above it all.

Of course, in a thriller, facing one’s fears should involve a visceral, life-threatening experience.

And no matter how much I try to cope with my hatred of heights by writing about it, no matter how well I eventually desensitize myself to the thought of dropping hundreds of feet into a ravine, I’m not walking El Camino del Rey. No way.

UPDATE: In the comments, Ken asks, “Where is that place?” It’s in southern Spain, and is used as the path to the rock climbing at El Chorro.

Reading that Karen Allen will return as Marion Ravenwood in the new Indiana Jones movie, I thought, “Please, please, please let the movie be great.” Marion is a terrific action movie heroine, and was from the get-go. As Allen explains:

“How can you go wrong when you meet a woman in a bar in Nepal and she’s drinking men under the table, yelling at large men in Nepalese and ordering them out of the bar, and when she first sets eyes on Indiana Jones, she socks him in the jaw?”

Here, in no particular order, are five of my favorite action heroines.

Marion Ravenwood. Just picture her shaking her head, dusting off her hands, and laughing with cynical disbelief as she saunters across her bar toward Harrison Ford. “Indiana Jones. Always knew someday you’d come walking back through my door.” How I love her.

Sarah Connor. Now that’s what I call a protective parent.

Trinity. Cool, collected, and can think her way out of danger as the bad guys close in. From The Matrix:

Neo: Can you fly that thing?
Trinity: Not yet.
Tank: Operator.
Trinity: Tank, I need a pilot program for a B-212 helicopter.

All that, and leather boots I’d kill for.

Lisa Fremont. Okay, Rear Window isn’t technically an action movie. But, my God, did anybody ever look more fabulous than Grace Kelly — climbing over balconies, fighting the murderer, wearing the latest couture from Paris?

Ripley. “Get away from her, you bitch.” Enough said.

IN THE COMMENTS: DJ Paterson notes, “I think even Seven of Nine would struggle to get the better of Joy, from My Name is Earl.”

Parents, if you ever feel the urge to push your kiddies into show biz, don’t. Take a look at this photo of the Olsen twins, and stop yourselves. Violently, if necessary.

(Via Ann Althouse, who calls the photo “something akin to ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’ — except the aging entity is not a painting — it’s a living woman!”)

Amazon has thoughtfully e-mailed me, recommending these products I might like to buy “based on items you purchased or told us you own.”

• The Simpsons Movie
• The Serial Killers: A Study in the Psychology of Violence
• Fancy Dress Handcuffs with Key (Metal)

How’d they know about The Simpsons?

The Magical Mystery Tour bus, Alice’s Restaurant, and a Led Zeppelin rollercoaster: it’s the Hard Rock theme park.

The Eagles’ “Life in the Fast Lane” roller coaster spins through what appears to be an abandoned saw mill as the hit song plays. “Nights in White Satin, The Trip” winds through the dark amid psychedelic lights and images set to the 1960s Moody Blue’s [sic] hit.

I’m sorry, but “Nights in White Satin” is not rock and roll. And yes, “Whole Lotta Love” has that swooping guitar glissando, guaranteed to make riders hork up their popcorn, but let’s face it — it’s not the Zep song that deserves its own ride. Didn’t Hard Rock realize that park visitors would buy, over and over, a stairway to heaven? Especially if they got to the top and had to pay to get back down. That’s the time to have Robert Plant screaming in their ears.

Park visitors can also “see swimmers and divers perform in a show called ‘Malibu Beach Party,’” or “play arcade games such as Whack-A-Boys-Band.”

They could do better. At the very least, they could have guests stay at the Hotel California. “Sorry, sir — the system’s slow. Just let me run your credit card again.” And if they’re going to have a magical mystery tour, they should put the “Rehab” ride next to it. Then there’s the “Thriller” playground. Okay, maybe not. But how about a “Jesus, Take the Wheel” go-kart track?  And, of course, the “Janie’s Got a Gun” shooting gallery.

Your suggestions?

The Onion has breaking news about the blogosphere.

(Audio NSFW.)

Here’s today’s weird news round-up. Because we live on a strange little planet.

Look out — she’s wearing a tiny pink boa! It’s Subversive Barbie.

What, he got tired of licking the wallpaper paste? Australian politician admits sniffing woman’s chair.

And finally, New Zealand scientists thaw 1,000 pound frozen squid. Sorry, I’ll pass. I like my calamari fresh.

How fast can you type — against competition?

Typeracer.

The fun comes not just from the chance to engage in addictive, pointless competition online, but because you test your skills by typing quotes from books and movies. See if you can recognize the source of each quote as you type, and as you watch your little VW Beetle avatar nudge across the screen toward the finish line. Watch out: typos are the equivalent of spinning off the track and running into a ditch.

UPDATE: Losing by 15 44 words per minute to a competitor named NotSober has dented my pride.