Oh alright.
Promote anything you want in the comments below all day Saturday…
…and you don’t have to swear fealty to the Mighty Potentate at all.
Just don’t tell him I said that. I don’t want to be vaporized.
(Those who do hail the Mighty Potentate will get a promotional tweet as well though.)
ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!
Gee whiz, asking your 3.5 readers to pledge allegiance to an alien overlord goes over like a lead balloon around here.
Attention Pitiful Humans,
Know ye, Earth creatures, that I, the Mighty Potentate, declare the following:
BUT – THE CATCH…
At the end of your comment, you must swear fealty to the Mighty Potentate.
A simple, “ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!” shall suffice, but feel free to get creative.
ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!
For those 3.5 readers just tuning in, the Mighty Potentate is the Supreme and Unquestionable Ruler of A Planet the Name of Which is None of Your Beeswax.
He of Great Potentostitude is the boss of Alien Jones, author of “Ask the Alien.” The MP has declared Bookshelf Q. Battler to be the chosen one, the individual whose exceptional fiction writing skills will surely prevent reality television from sweeping across the universe.
Boy howdy, does the Mighty Potentate hate Reality TV. Don’t even get him started.
Thus, the MP has assigned AJ to aid BQB in the promotion of his blog. Alien Jones cannot rest until Bookshelf Q. Battler is a famous writer.
So go forth, promote your stuff in the comments below, and remember, you have to say, “All Hail the Mighty Potentate” or some reasonable facsimile thereof.
Remember, a column that plugs you as an author and your books and blogs is possible if you ask Alien Jones a question.
Image courtesy of openclipart.org
Happy Thursday, 3.5 Readers.
Bookshelf Q. Battler here.
Afraid it’s one of those days where I don’t have much for you at all.
On a whim, I went back and tweeted every Indie Author that Alien Jones has promoted thus far since his Ask the Alien column started in March.
Sixteen so far and another author has already made an inquiry for this Sunday.
Check out @bookshelfbattle ‘s most recent tweets for all the indie book promo goodness.
Alien Jones’ question for you:
Why haven’t you asked the alien a question and gotten your plug yet?
Alien Jones has been on a hot streak. This Sunday will mark 5 whole consecutive weeks of the Esteemed Brainy One answering a question. (He’s answered questions from 16 going on 17 writers, but has sometimes gone a week or two here and there with no one consulting his bulbous brain.)
Can we keep this momentum going?
Ask the Alien a question and get in the cue!
It sure would make the Mighty Potentate happy and the happier the MP is, the less likely Alien Jones is to get vaporized by his boss.
Greetings Earth Losers! A Happy Sunday to you all and thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules of Comic Con Cosplay to read this fine column.
(Sorry, but all 3.5 of you can’t be Daenerys Targaryen. 2.5 of you are going to have to change.)
Huzzah! My favorite Game of Thrones character is doing great and…uh oh.
Speaking of, Bookshelf Q. Battler, a Game of Thrones fanboy if there ever was one, not only plotzed, but passed out and had to be resuscitated by the Yeti when he received this tweet:
Yes, that’s none other than Justin Sloan, a writer for Telltale Games, who’s worked on the Game of Thrones video game, as well as Tales from the Borderlands.
He’s an optioned screen writer, a USMC veteran, and a recent guest on the Self Publishing Podcast with Johnny, Sean and Dave:
Read more about that podcast on the Sterling and Stone site.
BQB informs me he enjoyed that podcast thoroughly, because it explains how one author managed to rise above the odds and land a sweet, sweet career as video game writer. You don’t get there without rolling up your sleeves and putting a little elbow grease in, folks, and Justin can certainly attest to that.
(Plus, Dave doesn’t even complain about the lousy service at Target and Olive Garden once in the entire show.)
Teddy Bears in Monsterland
Anyway, long story short, BQB reached out to Justin to inform him he enjoyed his appearance on SPP and Justin, class act that he is, requested that one of his books be pitted against a classic on bookshelfbattle.com
After reviewing Justin’s Amazon Author Page, I, Alien Jones, humble intergalactic correspondent, will now pit one of his works against a classic and decide which one is better.
Teddy Bears in Monsterland vs. Hamlet
Hamlet. It’s considered by scholars of English literature to be the quintessential piece of writing that everyone should read at least once in their lifetime.
It’s routinely assigned in high school English classes and actors believe it is a great achievement when cast in a production of the Bard’s seminal work.
But, it’s severely lacking in the teddy bears vs. monsters department.
I’ve studied the entire play and not once do I see:
POLONIUS: Come come, my son, for your ship doth prepare to embark and thou hast yet to encounter a teddy bear with magical powers.
LAERTES: Fi on thee, oh father! For I hath witnessed many bow tied teddy bears able to harness the power of the supernatural for the purposes of dispatching monsters most foul!
A great oversight on Shakespeare’s part, if you ask me. I don’t know how he wasn’t laughed out of the industry for such an epic fail.
WINNER: Teddy Bears in Monsterland (Book 1 of the Teddy Defenders Series, Recommended for Children ages 7-12)
Justin also mentioned that out of all of his works, he’s partial to Back By Sunrise, a Magical Children’s Fantasy Novel.
As an alien being with a superior intellect (which doesn’t take much when you’re around humans), I’m fairly certain Back by Sunrise would soundly defeat The Chronicles of Narnia. Really, all a competitor has to do is offer Edmund a piece of candy and he’ll gladly sell out his entire family.
Are you an aspiring scribe? Justin has some books about writing that you might want to check out as well.
Finally, and avert your eyes Game of Thrones fans if you don’t want to read a SPOILER but, come on Justin. Seriously. What’s next for Jon Snow? Is there a resurrection afoot? Maybe the Red Woman works a little hocus pocus? Perhaps a little eye of newt gets dropped into a potion and Jon’s back to his old mopey know nothing self again?
Come on. Spill the beans. The secret will be safe here. Only 3.5 people read this blog anyway, and one of them is Bookshelf Q. Battler’s aunt.
Alien Jones is the Intergalactic Correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, on a mission to raise Earth’s collective intelligence levels one question at a time. Do you have an inquiry for the Esteemed Brainy One? Tweet it to @bookshelfbattle or leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com. If he likes your question, he might even promote your book, blog, or other project in his answer.
Green alien image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
And he really wants to answer them too.
Alien Jones abducting questions from indie authors.
And not just because his Supreme Overlord, the Mighty Potentate, has threatened to vaporize him if he doesn’t.
Still need proof? Here’s a conversation we had just the other day:
BQB: Alien Jones, you’d still help indie authors promote their books on the Bookshelf Battle Blog even if the Mighty Potentate hadn’t threatened to vaporize you, right?
AJ: Ummm…
BQB: I doubt he’s listening.
AJ: He’s totally listening! He knows all! YES! Yes, of course, I love answering human questions. It warms the cockles of my ganderflazer it surely does. I love writing the “Ask the Alien” column just as much as I love the Mighty Potentate.
Alien Jones is the Intergalactic Correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, on a mission to raise Earth’s collective intelligence levels one question at a time. Do you have a question for the Esteemed Brainy One? Tweet it to @bookshelfbattle on Twitter, leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com, or stop by Bookshelf Battle on Google Plus. If he likes your question, he might even promote your book, blog, other project in his answer.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES:
“Are you sure?” Delilah asked. “I’m not sure you understand that in 2015, five dollars is not considered a lot of money. It doesn’t go as far as it did in the 1950’s.”
I felt my smile muscles get some exercise for the first time in forever.
“Lady,” I said, “I don’t care. I’ll solve one hundred mysteries for this chump, take his five hundred bucks 
back to 1955 and live like the King of Siam!”
“You could live like the Emperor of the Universe in 1955 with fifty dollars an hour, which is really a more fitting wage for a private investigator today, especially one with your training and skill.”
Delilah slinked back into my chair.
“Oh,” she said. “Please forget I said that. Mr. Battler will be very cross if he learns I spoke ill of him.”
“Ma’am,” I said. “I doubt a fella who wastes his life away watching the boob tube and making with the typey typey on the beep beep bop machines has much money. Does that big galoot even have fifty bucks per case to spend per case?”
“Between you and I, I don’t think so,” Delilah confided in me. “I wasn’t even sure he had five hundred bucks until he put the sum in an escrow account to pay you upon the completion of one hundred pop culture mysteries.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “Although, I have to say, I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job.”
“How’s that?” Delilah asked.
“I slept for nearly sixty years,” I said. “How in hell am I going to be able to answer cultural questions for a man of the modern era?”
Delilah slapped her hand down on the desk.
“That’s precisely why you ARE the best man for the job!”
“How do you figure?”
“You’ll come at these mysteries with no preconceived agenda,” Delilah replied. “You won’t have already formed an opinion. You’ll be able to provide Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers with full, detailed, unbiased reports!”
“True enough,” I said as I clanked my shot glass against hers. “And I suppose it will be nice to solve a case without having anyone shooting at me for once.”
“Oh my,” Delilah said. “Now I can’t provide you with any guarantees on that, Mr. Hatcher. Hollywood folk are very sensitive about their art, you know.”
It’s all about the Lincolns.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a stogie. It was one I kept close to my heart, ready to be smoked on special occasions. I couldn’t think of anything more special than the chance to become a five hundred-aire.
“Don’t worry about me, doll,” I said. “Whatever those showbiz folk fling my way, I’ll catch it and put it up on my mantle.”
“Very well,” Delilah said as she handed me a pen and the contract.
I signed it. Instantly, I felt a strange sensation. A chill took me over and squeezed me to the very depths of my soul. It made me feel nauseous. I doubled over and grabbed my stomach but then as quickly as it came, it was gone.
“Are you all right?” Delilah asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Suppose I’d better lay off the hooch du jour.”
Delilah stood up and extended her hand. I shook it. It was silky smooth, like touching God’s butt cheek.
It’d been awhile since I’d touched any part of a woman. It was nice.
“A pleasure doing business with you,” Delilah said in an authoritative, business-like manner.
“Likewise,” I said. “What now?”
“Ahh,” Delilah said. “Well, we’ll need to make some changes around here. Some men will be by your office within the next few days to set you up with equipment you’ll need to research your cases, namely a T194 Alpha Desktop Unit, High Speed Transmission Cable, WI FI uplink, and of course, a top of the line Android cellular phone.”
“Come again?”
“We’re going to set you up with a couple beep bop machines.”
“OK,” I said. “Those things make me more nervous than a cat in a sack on laundry day, but hell, if five hundred big ones are on the line…”
“We’ll be in touch,” Delilah said as she snapped her briefcase shut and sashayed her way out of my life as fast as she’d dropped into it.”
Now that she was out from behind the desk, I was able to observe that her black dress went down to just above the knee, revealing the sweetest, smoothest, sultriest pair of getaway sticks this side of the Rio Grande.
To my dismay, she was using them to get away from me as fast as she could.
And who could blame her? No high society dame was ever going to be caught dead with a bum like me. It was a fact I’d learned to accept a long time ago.
I never learned to like it, only to accept it. Drinking helped with the acceptance process.
In fact, it was time for another.
It would go well with my moo goo gai pan.
This concludes Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blonde! Join us next time as Jake Hatcher, Private Eye tackles his very first pop culture mystery!!!
Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All rights reserved.
Detective and money photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
BQB croaked and now he seeks the meaning of life. What, you want me to spoon feed it to you?
BQB wakes up in the hospital, interacts with the characters from his shelf who drive him nuts, discovers that a Great Guru lives on top of a mountain deep within the war torn island nation of Pango Tango. Bookshelf Q. Battledog, who momentarily learns how to speak, alerts him to a news story that convinces BQB to make the journey.
READ
“YOU SHALL NOT TRAVERSE IN THIS GENERAL DIRECTION!”
Growing up, two of my favorite kids’ books were:
Esmeralda and the Ice Cream Rendering Plant: A crackpot ice cream rendering plant manager goes off his meds, invites a group of children to visit the plant, and then one by one the children are tortured for, you know, behaving like children, through various ice cream related punishments. (i.e. the mean kid has maraschino cherries thrown at him, the spoiled kid gets doused with hot fudge, the kid that lies all the time gets buried in a vat of rainbow sprinkles.) I mean, they make it out alive in the end, but as a grown up, I kind of wonder how this book ever got published in the first place.
The Master of the Bracelet: A young lad travels across a mysterious land with a magic bracelet in his pocket. His mission? To pawn it – because it was ugly and no one wanted to wear it but it was solid gold so it was worth a couple months’ rent.
These were two books that kept me entertained as a boy and yet once on my shelf, the characters from these tomes fought like cats and dogs.
Dropinius comes and goes as he pleases.
There was Dropinius the Sorcerer. He always popped in and out of Master of the Bracelet. He’d offer some casual advice to the young lad, warn him against trouble, give him some orders, then claim some business that had to take him elsewhere. In short, he was always adept at finding stuff for someone else to do.
Between you and me, I always thought Dropinius was like that weird guy in your office. No one has any idea what he does and you never see him accomplish anything, but he walks around acting important, so he keeps drawing a paycheck.
A tiny version of Dropinius slammed his magic wand down on the bookshelf, much to the great dismay of a group of pink lumpy wumpies, who were smaller than usual, thanks to the shelf.
You might remember that the lumpy wumpies were the goofy assistants to the off his rocker ice cream rendering plant manager. They were so cheerful that they performed every task with a song and dance routine.
“Lumpy wumpy dumpitty duck doff, somebody tell that sorcerer to fu…”
“ENOUGH!” I yelled as I walked into my home office.
“Dropinus!” I said. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop slamming your magic wand down on the bookshelf? You’re going to crack it and it’s not like I’m going to be able to find a magic bookshelf repair shop!”
“They started it!” the long bearded, pointy hat wearing sorcerer said in his exceptionally authoritative voice. “Look what they’ve done to Schmedley!”
If you’ve read, Master of the Bracelet, then you know Schmedley is the psychotic creature who is obsessed with the bracelet and wants it because he finds it extremely fashionable.
Schmedley sat on my shelf and sucked on a pixie stick that was taller than he was. Between slurps of sugar, he argued with his multiple personalities in his signature creepy, screechy voice.
“Stinksy lumpsie wumpsies!” Schmedley said. “They gives us the bad sugarsies!”
Schmedley turned around to address his alter ego.
“No!” Schmedely said. “We wants it! We needs it! We needs the pixie stixie…it is our…our… pre!!!”
“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want to pay off Peter Jackson!” I said as I grabbed the pixie stick and pulled.
Schmedley grabbed the other end. I found myself in a tug of war with the little beast.
“Why did you give this to him?” I asked the lumpy wumpies. “You know he has an addictive personality!”
“Lumpy wumpy dumpitty dask dor dit…the little jerk came right over and asked for it!”
“So?” I asked. “You wouldn’t give a beer to an alcoholic if he asked for it, would you?”
“Its ours! Its ours! We needs it!” Schmedley screeched. “Stinksy Booksie Q. Battlesy is stealing our PRE…”
Dropinius conked Schmedley on the head with his magic wand and not a moment too soon, for I could almost hear Peter Jackson’s secretary calling his lawyer. Luckily, Dropinius’ quick thinking forced the monster to let go of the pixie stick. I grabbed it and tossed it into the trash can.
“Official Bookshelf Q. Battler decree,” I said. “No one is to give Schmedley candy ever again.”
“MY PRECIOUS!”
“Schmedley!” I yelled. “What have you done?!”
Schmedley scratched his head and looked up at me. “My…um…copy of Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire? We must watches it immediately for it is a grim reminder of the plight of inner city youth?”
“Good save,” I said.
I opened up my copy of Master of the Bracelet and flicked the monster into the book with my thumb and forefinger.
“Alright,” I said. “Everyone else! Gather around!”
Several characters exited their respective books and took a seat on the shelf. Others popped out of their various hiding places.
“I’m going on a trip,” I said. “And while I’m away, I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”
“Yes Papa,” D’Artagnan said mockingly.
“That means no battling on the bookshelf,” I said. “You know you all get carried away and if I’m not here to stop you, you’ll lose control and burn my headquarters down.”
I consulted a list of rules I’d written down on a yellow legal pad.
“While I’m gone, you may rent three and only three pay per view movies,” I said. “Nothing too risqué, keep it PG-13 or lower, and I swear if I come back and find you guys have run up my cable bill I’ll toss all of your books into the recycling bin!”
“What about sustenance?” Annie asked as she patted her pegasus on the head.
“The fridge is stocked,” I said. “And Antonio’s Pizza delivers. Against my better judgment, I’m leaving a credit card next to the phone. Again, use it only for emergencies. Do not abuse it. If you do…”
“The recycling bin?” Tessa asked.
Tessa’s totally going to blow up BQB’s compound while he’s gone.
“I’m thinking wood chipper,” I replied.
I checked the list.
“My number is also next to the phone,” I said. “You guys can do that thing you do when you jump up and down on the buttons to call me, but again, only in an emergency.”
“You’re worse than Overlord Kwazlo and the corrupt dystopian regime I fight with little to no battlefield experience,” Tessa said.
“Lights out by 9,” I said. “And please do not do anything to make the neighbors suspicious or else…”
“We know, we know,” Dirk Lane said. “The government will confiscate us and cut us into pieces just to see what makes us tick.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Finally, remember that Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog, as Head of Security for Bookshelf Battle HQ, is in charge. I trust his judgment and I expect you to follow his orders.”
“He’s a dog,” Tessa said.
“Yes,” I replied. “Oh, and fun fact – he talks now. So, there’s that. Any questions?”
All the characters just looked around silently.
“Class dismissed.”
The characters dispersed back into their books. I removed my big dictionary to find a spot on the shelf where Monroe was throwing a wild and lavish party.
BQB and The Incorrigible Monroe have more in common than you’d think.
The notorious poser was in a dixie cup that doubled as a pool, snuggling with two beautiful flappers.
Behind him, at least twenty small, well-dressed 1920’s people were jitterbugging.
“Young duffer!” Monroe yelled as he removed a tiny cigar from his mouth. “The water’s fine! I’d invite you in, but I doubt you’d fit!”
“You missed my lecture,” I said.
“Did I?” Monroe asked. “A terrible shame!”
“Listen,” I said. “While I’m gone…
“I know, I know,” Monroe said. “No parties. I’ll be good, Young Duffer.”
“Actually,” I said. “I want you to throw one great big non-stop party the entire time I’m gone.”
“Come again?” Monroe asked.
“Invite all the characters,” I said. “If they’re too busy partying, then they’ll be too busy to fight and if they’re too busy to fight, they won’t burn down Bookshelf Battle HQ.”
“That idea is the bee’s knees, Young Duffer,” Monroe said as he jumped out of the dixie cup. He was covered by a pair of swim trunks and as he walked around, he dripped water all over the shelf.
“I’ll throw the wildest, out of sight shin dig your bookshelf has ever seen.”
“Good,” I replied. “But just keep the party to the bookshelf. No parties elsewhere in the house.”
“Understood,” Monroe said.
“I mean it,” I said. “I don’t want this to turn into that time I took a day trip to wine country and came back to find hundreds of tiny well-dressed 1920’s people puking and passing out all over my house.”
“You can count on me, Young Duffer,” Monroe said. “Why, I’ll get on the horn and invite Jenny right away!”
“Yeah,” I said. “Listen, about that.”
“What’s on your mind?” Monroe asked.
“You and I suffer from the same affliction,” I said.
“We’re both a couple of larger than life go-getters?” Monroe asked.
“We both pine for women who wouldn’t pee on us if we were on fire,” I replied. “It’s not healthy. I’ve decided to do what I can to put Blandie out of my mind and I suggest you do the same with Daisy.”
Monroe nodded.
“You know, Young Duffer,” Gatsby said. “You are all kinds of smart. You’re exactly right. If Jenny doesn’t want me, then there are plenty of other gals who will. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?”
“Right.” I said.
Gatsby pointed to my copy of Missing Woman.
You seriously haven’t read Missing Woman yet? Oh what an amazing mysterious thrill ride. First, the woman is missing, and the author sends you on all these twists and turns but…well, SPOILER ALERT – let’s just say the protagonist, Molly, is not exactly a bowl full of sunshine.
“You know, I think I might knock on this book and invite that Molly gal over to my big soiree,” Monroe said. “I hear she’s a real looker and between you and me, her husband’s a bit of a cad. Perhaps I’ll swoop in and be her shoulder to cry on if you know what I mean.”
“NOOO!” I yelled.
I slapped my forehead and pulled my copy of Missing Woman off the shelf.
“I can’t believe I left this here,” I said.
I know – I think a sequel called “BQB’s Rogues Gallery” in which a bunch of tiny villains escape the safe and take over the magic bookshelf would be awesome too.
Next to my desk, I kept a safe full of books that featured characters I didn’t exactly want to see small versions of running around my home. I opened the safe and placed Missing Woman inside, right next to my copies of books involving killers, wackos, monsters, and those guys who always take a penny out of the change tray at the convenience store but never give a penny even when they have one.
“Nah,” I said as I closed the safe. “Molly’s uh…she’s not right for you. And besides, you really need to stop hitting on married women.”
“You sure, Young Duffer?” Monroe asked. “I hear Molly’s a fiery redhead with legs from here to Yayaville.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “Find another woman, Monroe. Literally, find any other woman.”
Finally! Bookshelf Q. Battler will leave BQB HQ and venture forth in the big bad world to seek out THE MEANING OF LIFE!
But you’re going to have to wait over a week or so to read it (wah wah).
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Wizard, safe, and man in tux photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
BQB’s Attorney advises “Any resemblance to other literary works or characters is purely coincidental and/or for parody purposes only.”
What an amazing exclusive, 3.5 readers!
Joel LL Torrow, Author of the Dirge of Murder and Betrayal Series
Legendary fantasy author, the great Joel LL Torrow, after reading my tribute to him in Part 8 of Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life, was so moved that he contacted me to arrange for an interview, the transcript of which is below:
Q=Bookshelf Q. Battler
A=Joel LL Torrow
Q: Joel, thank you for taking the time to reach out to me. For anyone out there who might be living under a rock, I have to mention that you are the author of the spectacularly popular fantasy book series, A Dirge of Murder and Betrayal. Briefly stated, the story follows an epic struggle for power and control over the Kingdom of Wentzlendale.
You’re known as the author who isn’t afraid to kill off beloved characters so let me start by asking, who did you put on ice this morning?
A: Ha! That’s the first question everyone asks me. Let’s see, this morning I woke up, brushed my teeth and then while polishing off my usual breakfast of oatmeal and half a grapefruit, I had Sir Gremly, Vendo the Magnificent, and Hugh the Stable Keeper burned at the stake.
Q: Not Hugh!!!! He just returned from the Palisade Incursion and finally worked up the nerve to propose to Lady Farsquar!
A: That’s life. The best way to make the Holy Keepers of Wentzlendale laugh is to tell them your plans.
Q: Why not give the fans what they want though? Everyone was rooting for Hugh.
A: Life only goes according to plan for a small percentage of people. The rest struggle to cobble together some semblance of a life based on what fate allows them to have. Sure, there are many fans who don’t want Hugh to be burned at the stake. They’d rather see Hugh marry Lady Farsquar and live happily ever after. Then again, there are fans who totally relate. They have their own stories. “I was just about to propose to my love but then I lost my job, was stricken with a terrible illness, caught her cheating with my best friend and so on.
Q: Almost makes you wonder if Hugh got off easy by getting burned at the stake when you put it that way.
A: A tremendous amount of pain and then it’s all over vs. a life time of inner turmoil and regret over something that didn’t go your way. You be the judge.
Q. Who’s buying the farm in your next book?
A: I don’t want to give away any spoilers but things aren’t looking good for the Duke of Shabadoo.
Q. Finally! I hate that guy! But oddly enough, sometimes I like him too.
A: That’s another aspect of life. Things aren’t always black and white. Sometimes people do horrible things and yet you grow to understand why they did them when you realize who they are and where they came from. That doesn’t excuse it, of course, but things don’t happen in a vacuum. Better understanding of why people do what they do can help society find ways to stop bad behaviors in the first place.
Q. Do you take great pleasure in hoodwinking us? It never ceases to amaze me that even after we’ve come to realize that anything can happen to our favorite characters at anytime, you keep figuring out new ways to pull the rug out from under us.
A: Which time are you referring to? There have been so many.
Q. Take the Tournament of the Star Quarter, for instance. Burt Frederickson pummels Agitator Stabsmore within an inch of his life. Our hero is about to deliver the final blow when the Duchess of Shabadoo breaks wind, thus distracting Burt and giving Agitator the upper hand he needs to grind Burt’s face into a fine paste. I did not see that one coming.
A: Once again, that’s life. “I did not see that one coming” has been the famous last words for many people for many a moon.
Q: By the way, one thing I’ve noticed: some of your characters have interesting names like “Agitator Stabsmore” and “Anara Mistwake” but then once in awhile you’ll throw in someone with a name like “Burt Fredrickson.” Some say that’s another element of realism, that not everyone has a magnificent name in the real world. Between you, me and my 3.5 readers, are you just getting worn out coming up with new names and just grabbing some at random?
A: Guilty. I just use the names of people in my life when I can’t think of a good fantasy name. Burt Frederickson is my podiatrist. Good fellow. Has a clinic in a strip mall next door to a Ruby Tuesday’s.
Q. I recently predicted that the series will end when fan favorite Anara “Annie” Mistwake destroys all her enemies and is then named Supreme Super Queen of Wentzlendale only to unexpectedly die an agonizing, totally out of left field death when she stubs her toe and develops a nasty, fast moving staff infection.
A: I was actually going to go with food poisoning from expired cottage cheese but it’s like you’re reading my mind. I repeat, “that’s life.” Sometimes you get what you want and enjoy it. More often than not, you lose it to something you never could have predicted in a million years.
Q: I apologize if this is a rude question, but why do you always wear that hat and vest?
A: Not rude at all. You see, I’m not the best looking fellow and sadly, society puts a lot of stock in what people look like. For some reason, they think “well, that ugly person can’t be a good writer because if he had any brains he’d just use his mind to change his face” even though that’s scientifically impossible. So, I improvise. I just dress up like a quasi-fantasy character so people will see me and think, “Hey! He kind of looks like a wizard or something so he must be a good fantasy writer!”
Q. Kind of sucks being a writer sometimes, doesn’t it?
A: It does. Then again…fat stacks of cheese, bitches!!! WOOT WOOT!!!
You heard it here, 3.5 readers. Annie Mistwake’s going to croak from spoiled cottage cheese and Joel dresses like a quasi-fantasy character so people will accept him. Who knows? Next some random guy might pretend to own a magic bookshelf or something just because he fears readers won’t find him personally appealing.
The Bookshelf Battle Blog – the site for exclusive author interviews.
The Intergalactic Space Force is a pants optional organization.
He’s small. He’s smart.
He literally has no need for pants.
He’s Alien Jones and he’s taking your questions right here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
How did the universe begin?
Why are we here?
What does the future hold in store for us?
Is there a Burger Queen or does the Burger King lead an incredibly lonely life?
No question is too big or too small for the Esteemed Brainy One to answer.
Heck, he might even plug your book, blog or other writing project in his “Ask the Alien” column, a semi-regular feature on bookshelfbattle.com
And you don’t even need to be a published scribe with something to promote to consult the knowledge of He of the Great Gray Matter.
Submit your questions to Bookshelf Q. Battler, Owner and Proprietor of this blog. You can do so through a tweet to @bookshelfbattle, or drop it in the comments on this site, or stop by BQB’s Google Plus Page:
https://plus.google.com/+BookshelfBattleblog
All inquiries will be forwarded to Alien Jones’ spaceship and he will get to them when he isn’t busy fighting the dastardly Moloklaxons (Officially Branded as the A-Holes of the Universe).
Alien photo courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Bookshelf Battle 