I was recently asked to attend a library meeting and lead a discussion on To Kill A Mockingbird. The group members have all read the book; now they’re going to watch the movie and discuss both. I gladly agreed (and it doesn’t hurt that they’re going to read one of my books next month).

Of course, that meant I had to read the book. I might have read it in high school, but I can’t remember. I know I saw the movie at some point, years ago. So I started reading the book a few days ago. It is, of course, a classic, and for good reason. I’m halfway through, and it’s great. Haven’t read anything quite like it in years, and that might be because nobody’s writing them like this anymore.

I love some of the language in this book, the phrasing and vocabulary. Makes you realize how much our language evolves in even a short period of time.

And boy, children sure have changed, even since I was a kid. Kids used to play outside--remember those days?--instead of sitting in front of a computer all day, or playing a GameBoy. Or we read books or played a board game if it was raining. We could amuse ourselves all day, just exploring the woods or a creekbank, or playing baseball with a rock and a stick. Scout and Jem’s adventures remind me of my neighborhood when I was growing up. We even had a “haunted” house nearby, complete with scary-looking willow trees in the front yard.

We knew all our neighbors, too, back then. I know some of my neighbors now, but it’s more of a nodding acquaintance. Why get to know your neighbors when you can email someone around the world in a millisecond? Online communities seem to be replacing real communities. That’s sad, don’t you think?

Equally sad is the segregationism and outright racism depicted in the book. It’s books like this that bring about change over time, albeit slowly.

Have you read it? Have any thoughts?

Last week, my friend and fellow author, Marsha Moyer, blogged about recently watching the movie Bull Durham. (Check out http://writerunboxed.com.) She had never watched it because she doesn’t like baseball. But she discovered that the movie was about a lot more than baseball, and she said:

“Viewing the film, I realized that I’d been guilty of something I’ve often accused others of doing: avoiding or labeling something due to its external aspects.”

I think we’re all guilty of that on occasion. Heck, I’m not a big vegetable eater, so I was well into my twenties before I learned that I love avocado. Prior to that, I’d been unwilling to eat it, even guacamole, which is a Texas staple. I was missing out.

I’ve done the same thing with movies in the past. I still haven’t seen Titanic, and I probably never will, because I have a preconceived notion about the movie. Actually, that might be a bad example, because I’m fairly certain the movie is exactly what I think it is, and it’s not for me.

But, luckily, I got past my preconceived notions to watch Shakespeare in Love, A Bug’s Life, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Girl With A Pearl Earring. They were all excellent, and they weren’t what I thought they’d be.

And I can tell you, this sort of pre-judging happens with books, too. Here’s one example:

Women make up a huge portion of the reading market. And they make up an even larger portion of the book-buying public, because they buy books for themselves and for others. Many times I’ve spoken to women at signings—women who are avid mystery readers—and when I tell them my books are about a game warden in Texas, they say something like, “Oh, I wonder if my husband would like that.” They don’t even consider reading the books themselves, and I have to wonder why. Because the books are about a game warden? Because they think hunting is involved? Because they’re desperate for their catatonic husbands to put down the remote control, for God’s sake, and read something? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they’ll consider buying the books for someone else, but I wish they’d try one themselves.

I always want to say, “It’s not what you think.”

The books have very little hunting in them, and my protagonist, John Marlin, investigates criminals outside the realm of poachers. But on the occasions when I’ve said these things, it hasn’t made a difference. I can’t seem to convince them, and it goes to show how ingrained our tendencies are.

I try to remember that myself when selecting books. Just last year, for instance, I read The Nanny Diaries. I’m not kidding. You know what? I enjoyed it. It was unique and funny and it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.

So that’s one of my New Year’s resolutions—to try to be more open to new things. I hope my wife doesn’t read this, because she’ll try to make me eat broccoli. And watch Titanic.

You know those commercials where they show people with nasty colds, then they take medicine, and suddenly they are completely free of symptoms, and they can go about their day with smiles on their faces and a spring in their step? Lying bastards.

Speaking of ads, have you noticed that the ads at the top of this page often correlate with the things I write about in my posts? Obviously, they have some sort of software that “reads” my posts and chooses ads accordingly. So I’m going to put a few random words in here and see what happens. Ready? Here goes: Transvestite. Rutabagas. Paralegal. Corvette. Munchkin. Tumescence. Baked Alaska. Hollywood. Cleavage. Programmer. Okay, did I create total chaos?

Speaking even more of ads: I was an English major at the University of Texas, but I started working at an ad agency when I was a sophomore. That’s where I learned to write. I can still remember the first headline I ever wrote: “The best leasing value in northwest Austin.” Is that brilliant, or what? Right up there with “Where’s the beef?” What? You’re too young to remember that campaign? You suck.

It took me nearly two years to write my first novel. Actually, it didn’t “take” two years, but that’s how long I took to do it. There were long periods of inactivity. Then, when I was done, it took me almost two more years to find an agent. I have more than 100 rejection slips. Most of those agents never saw a single page of my manuscript, because that’s not the way it works. What you do is send them something called a query letter, which describes your work, and in that letter you ask the agent if you can send them part or all of your manuscript. Based on that letter alone, you usually get rejected about 90% of the time. Just like high school.

And in breaking news, Saddam Hussein is still dead. Thanks, Chevy.

A rough estimate shows that I’ve put about 10,000 words into this blog. That’s about 10-15% of a novel. So maybe I should be working on my manuscript instead. Nah.

Try this experiment the next time you’re driving between two cities. Get out on a stretch of highway where there is little traffic. Put it on cruise control. See how long it takes before some idiot passes you, then slows down in front of you. It won’t be long, I assure you.

Another lying commercial: That one where they show a bunch of people paying by debit card, and everything is flowing like clockwork, then a guy pays with cash and screws everything up.

What I do is set a quota for the number of words I need to write every day, or every week. It’s a lot lower than you’d imagine, but sometimes it takes quite a while to reach my quota. If I know exactly what’s going to happen in the next scene, it flies. But if I’m wrestling with what comes next, that’s when things slow down. Same thing if my computer catches fire. Or if I get attacked by a weasel.

I’m maybe two-thirds done with my sixth manuscript, and the self-doubt never stops, no matter how many you write.

Send me your name and I just might name a character after you. Of course, that character might be a person who drinks his own urine.

When we moved into our new house about two years ago, I wanted to build a fence, but I didn’t want to dig the postholes. Around here, you have about four inches of topsoil, then a layer of rock. So I hired a guy to come out with his Bobcat and an auger, and he dug about forty holes in a couple of hours. You know who that guy was? Matthew McConaughey’s brother. Really.

The grocery store nearest my house doesn’t carry my books, and I wish they would, so one day I took a paperback in there and stuck it in the racks with the other books. The next time I was there, it was gone, and I giggled to think of the confusion it caused at the cash register. I’m easily amused.

Just before Christmas, I was asked to name my favorite book of 2006 for a year-end newspaper column. It got me to thinking, and the first thing I realized was how few newly released books I read last year. I read a lot, but most of the books were more than a year old. With newer books, I tend to save up a wish list for Christmas, so I end up reading them the following year. (For instance, I’m just about to delve into Nature Girl by Carl Hiaasen. I just finished The Fallen by T. Jefferson Parker and I’m in the middle of Echo Park by Michael Connelly.)

But another thing I noticed was that the columnist used “favorite books of 2006” and “best books of the year” interchangeably. They’re not necessarily the same thing, are they?

Here are some more questions:

Can a book that does nothing but entertain be a “best book of the year”? Or does it have to deal with a weighty issue? Does it have to be “literary”?

Let’s look at the same question in the world of movies: Fletch is one of my favorite movies, but would I list it as one of the best movies ever made? Probably not. Is that because it’s a comedy? On the other hand, Annie Hall is considered a comedy, and it would make a lot of “best-ever” lists.

Back to books:

What’s the difference between an author like Cormac McCarthy and one like Robert B. Parker? Is one “better” than the other? A lot of people would say yes. Why?

I’ve read a lot of “literary” novels that don’t seem to have any more substance than some of the crime fiction I read. Why do “genre” novels get less respect? Of the two dozen books named in the article, only two or three were “genre” novels.

War and Peace is considered a classic, but it’s also known as a challenge to get through. Same with Moby Dick. If those novels don’t keep the reader engaged, why are they considered good? I wonder if they were engaging to readers in the periods when they were published.

For the record, the “best” book I read all year was Provinces of Night, but it was published several years back. My “favorite” book (published in 2006) was Sea Change by Robert Parker. I had to give my answer prior to reading the novels named in the first paragraph. My answer might’ve changed.

“Best” is very subjective, isn’t it? “Favorite” is less so.

What was your favorite book of the year? Which was the best book of the year?

10. Are they selling nachos? Nothing goes with a hanging quite like nachos.

9. I heard Don King wanted to put this on pay-per-view.

8. For some reason, this makes me want to rent a Clint Eastwood movie.

7. He looks taller this way.

6. Yeah, sure, this is quality entertainment—but did you see that Texas Tech comeback?

5. Next, let’s go after Clay Aiken. His singing is a crime in itself.

4. I think this eggnog has turned.

3. Smile, everybody. This will wind up on YouTube.

2. Good thing I’m not Baptist, because I plan to dance around his corpse.

1. This time of year, one hopes for peace on Earth and good will towards...ah, screw it. String the sumbitch up.