Carrie Clevenger's new book sizzles

Book Review:

Crooked Fang by Carrie Clevenger

I’ve always had a thing for Carrie Clevenger’s writing, not gonna lie, so I was a little prejudiced going into the reading of Crooked Fang, her new novel about a sexy, bass-playing vampire. I knew it was going to be well-written. I knew it was going to be tight and smart and edgy, just like her short stories that have been dazzling me since I got on board with the Friday Flash crew a couple years back. I knew I was going to like it.

I just didn’t know how much.

There were a few scenes in Crooked Fang that absolutely set me back on my heels, scenes of such crystalline, short-leashed violence, such visceral power, that I felt my blood pressure rising and my breath catch in my throat. That doesn’t happen often with me and, when it does, I can’t help but shake my head in jealous admiration and say, “damn, that’s some good writing."

For the most part, vampire Xan Marcelles ambles his hunky, long-haired form through the book, playing bass with his bandmates Crooked Fang at the Pale Rider, a bar in the rugged, spruce-scented hills and valleys of Colorado. I love the setting – reminds me of Muskoka, the woodsy place I call home, plus it’s fresh, outdoorsy and blue-skied, not like the dank dark depressing places most vampires hang out in.

Xan’s perfectly happy dallying around with music, whiskey, cigarettes and the occasional red-blooded woman, but he’s forced out of his comfort zone by a murderous wraith, a wanna-be vampire slayer, a devastating fire and crushing news about a lost love.

The novel moves along lickety-split but the action crackles as the page width on the right hand side of the tome gets skinnier, and the last few chapters are rollercoasters where Carrie’s mad writing skills are most evident.

To be honest, I don’t seek out vampire stories. I only read Crooked Fang because I know what Carrie is capable of and yes, I loved it. It was a fast, fun read with some really spectacular, Stephen King-like moments. Xan Marcelles is a memorable, original character, likeable despite his propensity for blood, and I’m glad to hear Carrie is working on a sequel. I'll buy it in a heartbeat.

I would like to take this opportunity to say, however, that I’m hoping she tackles something more literary in the future. She has such a gift for writing that I could easily see her penning a work that could have lasting impact on American literature. Carrie Clevenger has that kind of talent and she’s young enough and new enough into the game that she has a chance to really make a name for herself.

In the meantime, she has what could be a highly successful franchise on her hands. Crooked Fang would be a terrific film and I can see any actor playing Xan Marcelles being a bigger hearthrob than Robert Pattinson. He’s older, he’s bigger, he’s tougher and he’s got better hair.

Something to hang onto as he nibbles your neck, if you know what I mean ...

Carrie Clevenger is a writer
living in Texas, where
everything is apparently big,
including writing talent.

A lookie-loo

Helen Howell, author of Jumping At Shadows, and hostess of the writerly blog Helen Scribbles, tagged me with The Look Challenge. This game is a relatively painless one: find the word look in your work in progress and post the neighbouring paragraphs.

The first thing I realized when I did a word search for 'look' is that I use it too damned often. There were 303 occurrences in my 87,366 word manuscript. Is that a lot? Cause it seems like a lot.

The second thing I realized was how hard it was to choose one section out of 303 occurrences. Gah, I could have spent all day choosing one bit.

Naturally I chose one involving excrement:

When Shawn was a little kid he was a veritable dog poo magnet. Everywhere he went he picked some up in the soles of his sneakers. They’d be going somewhere in the car and the heater would start working and that’s when the aroma of canine du jour would waft up to the front seat, sending his parents into a gagging, whining chorus of, “Awww, Jesus Christ on a stick, Shawn, not again!”

He’d be like, “What? What’d I do?” Butch would stop the car in a flurry of curses and he’d pile out and open the passenger door and examine his son’s feet and, sure enough, there’d be a dog turd smeared on the sole of his shoe.

“We don’t even have a Christly dog!” Butch would say as he helped Shawn clean up.

“That’s because he’s a Dog Poo Magnet,” Weezie would add. “Shawn is magnetically altered to pull in dog poo from all points of the globe. He is the north pole of dog poo. If you don’t believe me, look up Dog Poo Magnet in the dictionary and you’ll see a picture of our Shawnie.”

Of course, posting my own lookie-loo isn't enough; now I must tag five others. All of these bloggers, by the way, are writers I met at this summer's Muskoka Novel Marathon, and I chose them in honour of our marathon wrap-up event being held this Saturday in Huntsville. I had the BEST time at the marathon this year and can hardly wait to rub elbows with these guys and hear what they've been up to. 

Kevin Craig is a multi-published author and one of the kings of the novel marathon. It's amazing how fast and how well this guy writes. Also? He has literary tattoos, one for each of his books that have been published. So, as well as being king of the marathon, he's the king of cool. Srsly.

Lizann Flatt is one of Canada's best known children's authors and I had the absolute pleasure of sitting next to her at the marathon. A few years ago one of her books was selected to be involved in a very prestigious program which gives a children's book to every Grade One student in Canada. Lizann's book was chosen! How amazing is that? (Plus she's really sweet. Really sweet. Did I mention sweet?)

M-E Girard is hell on wheels. She is outrageous, outspoken and funny as the day is long. Lately her hilarious blog is ranty and raucous, just like she is. And I mean that in the nicest of all possible ways.

Sharon Ledwith gave me bling! She had bracelets and bookmarks from her new book, The Last Timekeepers, and she was handing them out to everybody at the marathon. I have worn the bracelet many times since and, whenever I do, I am reminded of how very, very nice Sharon is. 

Lori Twining? What's not to love about Lori Twining? She's a veritable cheerleader of life and her enthusiasm was full on and adorable at the marathon. Her blog is self-deprecating and charming, just like she is, and even after pulling an all-nighter at the marathon, she was still cheery and wonderful to be around.

Thanks, Etta

I didn't think it would happen, actually. I was so wrapped up in getting one book written that I never thought I'd get around to even thinking about another one. Lately though there's been a character percolating in my old brain, just an idea, that's all.

Then last night I was driving home listening to At Last by Etta James and it hit me like a drunk with the burning reds – what she'd be like, this character. I could see her, what she looked like, what her apartment looked like, the art posters on her wall, old blues on her stereo, a glass of gin on the rocks in her hand.

I listened to that song several times in a row, hitting replay over and over as ideas took shape and, later, the mystery of it all, the crazy out of the blue magic of it, kept my eyes on the bedroom ceiling as the minutes ticked by into the dark rain of this new day.

This morning I did a quick Google before work and found out more about James. A white Canadian girl raised on Tommy Hunter and The Lawrence Welk Show, I don't know nothin' about the blues or about James, other than At Last was Barack Obama's inauguration song and he and Michelle sure looked pretty dancing close on the tender evening.

The more I found out about Etta James, the more songs I listened to, the more my character rose from the smoky wisps of imagination.

I'm going to be singing this one all day.

Genre Favourites Blogfest - Genre? What genre?

Just back from yet another weekend camping, a glorious one, I might add, only to remember that I'd signed up for Alex J. Cavanaugh's Genre Favourites Blogfest. Ye gods, I can barely see through the yawn-induced rivers seeping through my crusty eyes, never mind think clearly. For one panicked moment I thought about bailing on the blogfest but then I realized Alex has the easiest fests in the blog biz so I poured some coffee and put on a sweater (because it's frickin' freezing in here) and got to it. 

If you'd like to join in the fun (and Alex's bloghops are always fun), click HERE. In the meantime, here's the rules:

One blogfest, four favorites!

List your favorite genre of:

Movie

Music

Books

And a guilty pleasure genre from any of the three categories!

Now here's the thing – I don't really think in terms of genres and there's nothing I won't read/listen to/watch as long as it's well crafted. For example, I love Stephen King's books but I don't read them because they're horror, I read them because his writing is so darned good that he sucks me into the story. I mention King because I had a dream about him last night. He was doing a charity event in our town and for some reason only a few people showed up. I casually told him that I had just finished the first draft of my book and he asked to read it. (He did! He asked ME! I didn't even hound him – I know, hard to believe.) Then he offered some constructive criticism and told me he liked it, but then our cat started yeowling and Dave yelled "SHUT UP," and King's dear face disappeared in an obtrusive cloud of consciousness. 

The upshot is I have to think long and hard about what genres I DO prefer.

Movie: Chick flicks, I guess, even though I'm not sure what that term means to most people. In our house "chick flick" means anything that doesn't involve car chases, spaceships and fight scenes. It means that, for every nine Avengers, Bournes and Batman movies, I get to see one Hope Springs. My favourite movie is the kind that makes me laugh out loud and cry in the same breath. It makes me fall in love with the characters. It expands my horizons and makes me think. It lingers with me for days afterward and I talk about it to everyone who will listen. That's my favourite movie genre.

Music: Folk, I guess. Quiet music, beautiful lyrics. One of my favourite songs of all time is America by Simon & Garfunkel, but I also love I Feel Pretty from West Side Story. Go figure.

Books: No genre, just good writing. Two of the best books I read this year were completely different: City of Thieves by David Benioff and Still Alice by Lisa Genova. One is a survivalist adventure involving two men on an unusual quest. The other is about a woman with early onset Alzheimer's. As I write this I'm in the middle of Carrie Clevenger's Crooked Fang, about a bass-playing vampire. So you see, I'm all over the map.

Guilty Pleasure: True crime books, especially by Ann Rule, the more blood and guts the better. (I know, I'm sick, I can't help it.)

Wanna tell the world what your favourites are? Go see Alex! And happy Monday, everyone!

Me and Laura go camping with Sue and antics ensue

Laura Eno will not go camping with me.

I never figured her for some girly-girl but apparently her concept of being one with nature consists of listening to the spindly philodendron on her desk crying for a mercy killing, and scooping piles of dog crap the size of Buicks from her Astroturfed backyard. (I've seen pictures of her dogs – I can't even imagine the turds those sons and daughters of Jezebel must produce.)

Which makes me want to drag her sunless carcass into the great outdoors even more. I bet she hasn't seen the sun since 1973. I bet Xan Marcelles sees more sunlight than Laura does. And he's a goldurned bloodsucking vampire.

Me, I love camping. Am going camping this weekend, as a matter of fact (and so will be internet-free... again....) (Thanks to Babs and Henry LaRue for housesitting  - please don't let your rottweiler eat the couch this time, OK? Beast is the size of a Volkswagen. Why can't people have freaking normal sized dogs?)

I invited Laura to come along but she as refused because she's a big wussy-pants.

She'll be wishing she was fishing (yes I'm a poet) with me, however, because now she's in deep trouble over at I Refuse To Go Quietly. Fellow Friday Flash alumni Sue Harding noticed Laura's camp-phobia and wrote a very, very scary (more poetry) story about me and Mizz Eno going camping together.

Of course I think it's the bees knees (poetry) being the subject of a Sue Harding story. Even though the ending

FREAKS.

ME.

OUT.

You'll have to go see for yourself what that ending is cause I'm not gonna tell you.

Let me just say, my fingernail polish really is pink. Really.

Now. Off to catch some lunkers. Coming, Laura? (Wussy-pants.)