Tag Archives: writers

Aug 13 2015
2 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes – What is the Role of the Bookshelf Battle Blog in the Story?

Hey 3.5 readers.

“It’s a blog that writes about itself. Exceptionally confusing.”

Welcome to another “Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes,” the only column where I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, ask random Internet folk for writing advice because my friends and family are such that they’ll laugh their asses off if I tell them that I’m helping a 95 year old private dick write his memoirs.

There’s been an issue in the back of the mind and it starts to come to the forefront in the Informant Zero story.

OK.  Stay with me here.

  • Jake is a writer for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
  • The Bookshelf Battle Blog exists in the Pop Culture Mysteries world.  It has to, because Bookshelf Q. Battler bosses Jake around through his attorney, Delilah K. Donnelly.
  • Ergo, won’t people, when they meet Jake, look up the Bookshelf Battle Blog and learn about Jake’s past and his special abilities (non aging, invincibility, etc)

Originally, I thought I’d go with that old cliche where the special hero doesn’t reveal his special-ness to people he meets.  The vampire hides his fangs and blends in with the norms.  Superman puts on a pair of glasses.  Bruce Wayne pretends to be an do-nothing playboy.

Wait, let’s back up a minute.

THUS FAR, WHO KNOWS THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK?

  • Ms. Tsang, obviously, because she took care of him while he was asleep for decades.  Eventually, I’ll work it into the story how that burden really sucked for her and kept her from doing a lot of things she wanted to do in life, including starting a family, because, you know, how do you explain to people that there’s a gumshoe upstairs that just sleeps forever, never grows old and stays young?
  • Delilah K. Donnelly and Bookshelf Q. Battler – Battler’s claim to be able to answer Jake’s question of why did he sleep for 60 years is the center point of the series.  Battler knows, his trusted attorney Delilah knows, but they aren’t telling until 100 Pop Culture Mysteries are solved.  (Or does Battler know – is he just yanking Jake’s chain for the unscrupulous purpose of bringing a writer with an interesting story to his blog?)
  • Others from Jake’s Past, Who May or May Not Start Appearing in the Future, and If They Do, Only BQB and Delilah Will Know Why Past People are Showing Up in the Future – We’ll get to that.  Mickey Finn (Jake’s old partner), first girlfriend Peaches, his three ex-wives and anyone else from the past is fair game to return to the future.

THUS FAR, WHO DOESN’T KNOW THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK? – Agnes Abernathy, aka Agnes the Librarian, is Jake’s unwilling research assistant.  As a public librarian in a busy city library, she’s used to all types wandering in and bugging her to look stuff up for them.  Hobos and bums often use the library as place to hang out and up until Fan Dime Drops, Agnes thought that Jake was another bum.  She still thinks Jake is odd, but after seeing Delilah meet with Jake, she at least believes that Jake writes for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

BUT – she has yet to realize that Jake is a 95 year old private dick.

BUT – if Agnes keeps helping Jake research “cases” for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, wouldn’t Agnes one day be curious enough to take a peak at the Bookshelf Battle Blog and therefore, read Jake’s tales of stuff that happened to him long, long ago?

THUS – I’m not sure how I’ll handle this.  Right now, I’m leaning toward the possibility that:

  • Agnes checks out the BB Blog.
  • Agnes does read Jake’s stories that happen long ago.
  • Agnes assumes either a) Jake’s a nut (like she already does) or b) Jake’s just a modern day 35 year old and he’s just really into historical fiction and roleplaying and enjoys it so much that he walks around in a fedora and trenchcoat.

BUT – Will Jake openly share his “secret” with people?

OPTION 1 – Yes.  After all, Ma Hatcher taught him never to tell a lie.  He’ll wander LA, openly telling people he’s 95 years old and slept for 60 years without reservation. Most people won’t believe him, but at least he didn’t lie.

OPTION 2 – No.  Best to keep it hush hush.  Yes, I, Jake, do claim to be 95 years old on the blog, but that’s just for fun, don’t believe it.

Either way, most people Jake meets in modern times will not believe it.

WHAT ABOUT FUTURE MODERN WORLD CHARACTERS JAKE WILL MEET?

Remember that story, The Wrong Guy, I half finished?

I decided it was too early for all the revelations in that, and to hold off.

SPOILER ALERT:

BUT  – I hope that story will end with Jake meeting a female present day LA police detective.

Female dick...er, detective.

Female dick…er, detective.

Remember how Jake took out a few drug dealers?

The female detective will look at Jake as an off-kilter vigilante and start watching him, looking for a way to bring Jake in.  More and more, Jake will start using his private dick powers to help modern day people.

So, yeah.  Jake’s kinda like Batman.  And the female detective will kinda be like the cops that think Batman’s a menace.

Or maybe Jake’s not like Batman.  Maybe Jake’s honest to everyone about his powers and no one believes him.

It’d be like if Bruce Wayne were to walk around shouting, “I’m Batman!” and everyone’s like, “That’s impossible!  Stop lying, Bruce.”

(Will Jake and the female detective ever come to an understanding and work together? Your guess is as good as mine).

BUT – I guess, like AGNES, the question will be, will the female cop, after reading the BB Blog to find out more about Jake, believe Jake is 95 or just assume he’s crazy or writing fiction?

OTHER ISSUES:

  • INVINCIBILITY – In the Wrong Guy, (there’s already some posts that show it) we learn that in modern times, Jake doesn’t just not age.  He’s invincible.  Shoot him.  Stab him.  Toss him off a building.  Whatever.  Jake still keeps ticking.  Note in the past, from 1920 (his birth) to 1955 ( his nap) he was mortal and could have been killed, but now he can’t.  It’s all part of the mystery that we HOPE Bookshelf Q. Battler will reveal once the 100 mysteries are solved.
  • HOW TO HANDLE THAT – It’s the blog issue all over again.  If Jake writes about his invincibility on the blog, won’t characters read about it?  Will Jake just be honest and tell them, “Yup, I’m invincible” will he hide it or will characters just assume he’s lying until they somehow see it happen ( They witness Jake get shot and get back up and are like, oh ok, Jake’s not lying.)
  • BB Blog vs. PCM Blog – Once I write the rough draft of the first season here on the BB blog, I’ll rewrite it, revise it, and then start posting it on the PCM Blog.  So should I not refer to BB Blog and just have Delilah recruit Jake to work for the PCM blog?  I actually think I should just start the season with a note that this all started on the bookshelf battle blog, this is how Jake solved a bunch of mysteries for the bb blog at first, and then work it into the story (I start to in Informant Zero) that Jake will be shifting to the PCM blog.  So the first season will be about how Jake moved from BB to PCM.
  • AGNES – Do you guys like the Agnes character?  I’m toying with the idea that she eventually leaves the library and becomes Jake’s secretary.  On the PCM blog, she might get a regular column where she promotes indie authors by listing five-ten indie books she’d like to see in her library.  (Of course, then she can’t become Jake’s secretary, she’ll have to stay at the library.

SO HOW THE HELL WILL JAKE FUNCTION IN THE MODERN WORLD?  

Eventually, Jake’s going to need:

  • Money – And more than BQB’s cheap-o $5 bucks a case.  Per Delilah’s suggestion, Jake will have to start looking for actual, REAL mystery having clients who pay a lot more than $5.  Ms. Tsang can’t carry Jake’s ass forever.
  • Papers – Jake’s 95 years old.  His driver’s license, documents, etc., they’re all 60 years old.  Maybe Ms. Donnelly can work some of her legal magic to get Jake recognized as an actual citizen…which will require them to show he was born in 1981!  (Hell, maybe that’s a job for an Informant Zero).

AND FINALLY, WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THIS ONE….

  • If Jake was an infamous lawman in the 1940s and 50’s
  • Then surely, like Elliot Ness and other famous crimefighters, news articles were written about him.
  • Those articles probably printed his picture at the time.
  • And that picture will look like Jake now.
  • So if a) Jake tries to not let people in on the secret that he’s 95 OR if people refuse to believe it even though he’s up front about it:
  • Then how do we reconcile this?

I’M LEANING TOWARDS – People have a habit of explaining away the supernatural.  That bump in the night isn’t a ghost.  It’s your house settling.

(Calm down!  It’s not really a ghost!  Sheesh!)

OPTIONS:

  1.  If Jake hides his secret, he tells people who ask about the resemblance to past Jake that he’s the grandson of infamous 40s 50s lawman Jake Hatcher and was named after him.
  2. But I think I’m leaning towards Jake just is open and honest to everyone that he’s 95 and if they don’t believe it, that’s their problem.  Because people are quick to rationalize the supernatural, these people, like Agnes or the female detective, might just write the resemblance off as a coincidence.
  3. Maybe Delilah goes behind Jake’s back and tells them “Hey, yeah, Jake’s really the grandson of Jake Hatcher from long ago and he just likes to play pretend.”

I dunno.  Many possibilities there.

What I’m realizing is when you move from an idea to actual publication, so, so many loose ends pile up then you have to tie up.

Maybe that’s why so many aspiring novelists quit.  Every new plot point raises more questions to be answered.

But I don’t want to quit.

BUT WAIT A MINUTE, DOESN’T THE BOOKSHELF BATTLE BLOG ONLY HAVE 3.5 READERS?

Yes.  I’m also thinking maybe it’s possible to completely, totally, and utterly WIPE OUT all my above worries by plugging in the following joke somewhere into the season:

JAKE:  Ms. Donnelly, I don’t get it.  I’ve publicly written on the Bookshelf Battle Blog that I’m 95 years old, that I was once a famous lawman, and that I took a 60 year nap.  Why doesn’t anyone I meet ever ask me about that?

DELILAH:  Because no one ever reads the Bookshelf Q. Battle Blog, Mr. Hatcher.  It only has 3.5 readers.

JAKE:  Well, what do you know?  I’m hiding in plain sight!

If I go that route – NO ONE bothers to read the BB Blog because it’s so obscure.  Agnes never reads it.  The female detective never reads it.  They wonder why Jake looks like Jake Hatcher from the 40s and 50s, and Jake tells them he’s his grandson, and because the blog only has 3.5 readers, Jake’s secrets are safe.

Of course, that’ll only work for the first season, and then the joke will have to transfer to the PCM Blog and become that Pop Culture Mysteries only has 3.5 readers, or that anything BQB is involved in is cursed to only have 3.5 readers.

OK then.  Thanks 3.5.  Your feedback is appreciated.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright BQB all rights reserved 2015

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,
Aug 13 2015
Leave a comment
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 6)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“Ms. Donnelly,”  Informant Zero said.  “I have been so very intrigued by Mr. Battler’s blog since its inception that I decided I must get involved.  And Mr. Hatcher, your reports have especially inspired me.”

“So you’re the one who read them.”

“What a life you have lived, Mr. Hatcher.  From 1920 until present day, you have seen this world grow, shutterstock_13743706change, go to war on a massive scale, taken on the criminal underworld of LA’s yesteryear and survived.  Regrettably, you missed quite a bit during your extended nap, but that you’re in good enough condition to share your stories with the world now is amazing.”

“Thanks,”  I said.  “But if I wanted wind blown up my chassis I’d of skipped the trip and stood on an air vent.”

“This is not an enterprise I want to engage in for the rest of my life, Mr. Hatcher.  One day, I’d like to see a Los Angeles where the rich and powerful do what is right because it is the right thing to do, and not because they’re afraid I’ll expose them if they don’t.  Thus, this city needs a hero like you to clean it up and I’d like to do what I can to help.”

“I don’t do much cleaning these days, bub.”

“Then you are truly wasting your talents.  Surely that will change as you get adjusted.  But more importantly, Mr. Hatcher, I can’t help but wonder what this world would be like today had a man of your integrity not fallen asleep in 1955, but rather, had been allowed to continue performing feats of daring do.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the world would be a better place today had you been allowed to keep kicking criminal ass until you became an elderly man during the 1980’s, perhaps even the 90’s.”

“I think about that all the time,”  I said.

“But as an tech expert, I know the mind of a blogger and I know it well,”  Informant Zero said.  “If Battler doesn’t eventually see an increase in readership, he will decide that his time would be better spent playing video games and allowing his ass to expand.  He’ll abandon his blog, you, and your stories will never be shared, because good luck getting through the traditional publishing door.”

“Now just one  moment,”  Delilah said.  “I doubt very much that Mr. Battler will abandon Mr. Hatcher and leave him without the answers he is searching for.”

“He probably won’t, at least not intentionally,”  Informant Zero explained.  “But what if I could help provide a new feature for the upcoming Pop Culture Mysteries spin-off blog, one that would drive up the World Renowned’ Poindexter’s readership?”

I shot Delilah an incredulous look.

“Spin-off blog?  Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Mr. Battler’s mentioned it on his blog a number of times.  Do try to keep up.”

“Do I get any more money for this?”

“No,”  Delilah said.  “At least not according to your contract.”

“Mother of God,”  I said.  “It’s like the damn pinko commies won.”

“Mr. Hatcher,”  Informant Zero said.  “You write very long, detailed reports.  Those are great for individuals who read as a pleasurable past time.  But what about people on the go?  Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers who only have 3.5 seconds to spare?”

“I don’t know,”  I said.  “Tell them to screw?”

“No.  That’s where I will come in.  You continue to write your long reports.  I’ll write short bursts, quick mini-mysteries, a pop culture question of the week with a short answer.  Together, we’ll inspire Hollywood to plug up their plot holes and put out a better product.  It’ll bring more hits, Battler’s writing career takes off and who knows, maybe if he gets to the point where he actually starts making money off of his Internet ventures, he’ll release you early from your 100 mystery commitment.”

“Now you’re starting to make sense,”  I said.

Delilah was back to reading her note paper again.

“Mr. Zero,”  she said.  “To that end, Mr. Battler has expressed concern that your Pop Culture Mystery expertise may be lacking and has requested that I kick your tires, as it were, with three questions.”

More of that maniacal, ear crushing electric laughter.

“Proceed.”

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Aug 13 2015
Leave a comment
Ask the Alien

And Now a Message from Alien Jones

Hello.

The Esteemed Brainy One enjoys the dog days of summer...pantsless.

The Esteemed Brainy One enjoys the dog days of summer…pantsless.

Alien Jones, the Esteemed Brainy one here, reminding you to “Ask the Alien” a question and get plugs for your books and blogs in my answer right here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, bookshelfbattle.com.

Help me get Bookshelf Q. Battler’s writing career up and running so my boss, the Mighty Potentate, will release me from this mission.

“But Alien Jones,” you ask.  “What are the pros and cons of asking you, an alien, a question?”

PROS:

  • You help your planet become one answer smarter.
  • You help promote self published authors and strike another blow in the Mighty Potentate’s war on reality television.  You thought reality tv was harmless, didn’t you?  But now a reality tv star is running for president.  Next thing you know it’s Secretary of State Kardashian.  Don’t say you weren’t warned, 3.5
  • You’ll get a free plug and maybe even gain a new reader or two.  I’ve helped 20 indie authors already.
  • The Mighty Potentate won’t vaporize me.

CONS:

Literally, nothing.  Why are you humans so quick to look a gift alien in the mouth?  A representative of a hyper intelligent species wants to share all the mysteries of the universe with you and you’re all still like, “Well, I dunno, let me kick the tires on this one and get back to you.”

So ask me, Alien Jones, a question today.  You can ask away on twitter.  Tweet @bookshelfbattle #AskTheAlien and our resident Blogger in Chief will forward your question to my ship.

Or, just leave it in the comments here.

“But Alien Jones, where else can I, a mere human, get in touch with you?”

If you can reach BQB on his other social media, go for it.

Here he is on facebook.

Here he is on Google Plus 

And finally, here’s the World Renowned Poindexter on Wattpad.

And finally, you might ask, “Alien Jones, how long will it take for you to answer my question?”

Normally, I try to answer questions in the order they’re asked.  I used to bunch several questions into one column, but now I like to give each author a column all their own.  That doesn’t mean that repeat askers aren’t welcome.  They are.  And if you’re one of the 3.5 people out there without a book to push, feel free to ask away.  I like to help indie authors promote their works, but you don’t have to have something to promote in order to ask away.

Thank you, Earthlings.  Continue your normal functions of duck faced selfies and scratching yourselves at inopportune times.

Alien Jones, signing off.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Aug 12 2015
2 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Behind the Scenes – To Swear or Not to Swear?

Hello 3.5 Readers.

Here’s an advance chapter of a story that will eventually find its way into this season of Pop Culture Mysteries.

Basically, it’s the 40’s.  Hatcher’s an LAPD Detective.  A gang of bank robbers with a hilarious name is headed for LA.

Stereotypically gruff and angry Capt. Thaddeus Talbot is their boss, and he swears like a sailor on steroids.

Only problem is, I’ve tried my best to keep this PG.  I’m doing this selfishly, because I feel it will appeal to more readers (and hopefully, one day make me more money, ka ching!)

I feel like so far I’ve been kind of creative at making these stories interesting, salacious, and at times naughty without resorting to bad language.

I’m not against swearing.  I’ve done it on this blog before.  I just think once you drop some of the more serious swears, the story starts to become something very different.  Thus, I try to limit to “shit” or lesser swears and keep the F-bombs and so on at bay.

So, here’s what I came up with for the Cap’n.  I basically replace his naughty words with expletive deleted.  Tell me what you think.

And while you’re at it, just give me your opinion:

Should there be serious swearing in Pop Culture Mysteries?

“Uh huh…Uh huh…yes…yes sir…uh huh.”

Even through a shut door, the voice of my old boss, Capt. Thaddeus Talbot, traveled. 

Like a couple of kids waiting to get reamed out by the school principal, my partner, Mickey Finn, and I sat on a bench not far from the desk of the good captain’s secretary, Ms. Connie Connors.

Connie had a certain understated beauty about her.  She was a looker, to be sure, but she wasn’t trying to be noticed. 

Capt. Talbot

Capt. Talbot

She was a brunette and wore a simple green dress with a floral print, always carrying herself all nice and professional like.

Meanwhile, Mickey always wore a white suit, trying to pass himself off like he was some kind of hot shot ladies man.  He pulled a handle out of his pocket, clicked the switch, but instead of a blade, a comb popped out.  He ran it through a pompadour that rose several inches off the surface of his cranium.

“Think he’s mad?”  I asked.

I heard our fearless leader slam his phone down.

“CONNIE!!!”

“Does that answer your question?”  Connie asked me, and then in a sweeter tone, “Yes, Captain?!”

“Are those lazy expletive deleted sons of expletive deleted out there?”

“Yes, they are, sir!”

“Send them in!”

“Right away sir!”

“And get me some coffee, will ya’?!”

Yes, readers.  Back in those days, you could just bellow out demands for subordinates to fetch you coffee and human resources was powerless to stop you.  Come to think of it, I don’t think we even had an HR person.  Just an old lady who handled the payroll.

“Of course, sir!”

Mickey and I stood up.

“Good luck boys.”

“Thanks Con,”  I said.

Mickey and I headed into the boss’ office.  It was always messy.  Papers and clutter strewn everywhere.  Oh, and I can’t forget the massive bass mounted on the wall, the captain’s pride and joy.

“Shut the door.”

I did and we each took a seat in front of the captain’s desk.

“Hatcher and Finn.  Two disgusting, oversized boils on my ass that I can’t squeeze the puss out of for the life of me.”

“Good to see you too, Cap,”  I said.

“I just got off the phone with the mayor…”

Here it comes.  Under Capt. Talbot’s leadership, Mickey and I plus four other guys were part of the LAPD’s special operations unit.  Compared to modern assault tactics, there wasn’t  anything all that special about it.  We kicked down the doors that everyone else was afraid too, that’s about it.

There was a chain of command and really, the Mayor should have been lodging his complaints with the Chief of Police, but His Honor was a particularly corrupt degenerate and just called Captain Talbot whenever he had a bee in his bonnet, as though we were somehow his personal goon squad.

It was a source of great gastrointestinal discomfort for the boss.

Talbot was a tall drink of water and lanky too.  Built like Frankenstein and his face was just as pretty.  He was a tough old bastard and we’d often bond over how many Germans we sent into the afterlife during the wars we served in, him WWI and me WWII, respectively.

He grabbed his stomach.

“Goddamnit, my labonza.”

“Ulcer again, sir?”  I asked.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Connie came in with a coffee mug and set it on the captain’s desk.

“Thank you sweetheart.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Connie gave me a peak to make sure I was still alive before heading to her desk.

“Jesus Christ,”  Talbot said.  “His Honor just shoved his head so far up my ass that I can actually taste his Brylcreem.”

Mickey, who’d done little more than stare at his shiny shoes the entire time, laughed.

“You think that’s funny, Finn, you no good, two-bit Irish expletive deleted sucker?”

By now, I should inform you that the good captain had quite a mouth on him.  So bad that it could make a longshoreman cover his ears.  It was the type of mouth that Ma Hatcher would have washed out with soap.

Also, and I hate to admit it, but he was a racist.  And a sexist.  Most people were back then.  You have no idea how progressive I was for my time.

“No sir.”

“The Dapper Dandies,”  Capt. Talbot said.  “Those happy go lucky sons of motherless expletive deleted…”

It’s not easy complying with Bookshelf Q. Battler’s request to keep these tales PG, especially when Thaddeus Talbot is involved.

“…they just hit San Diego.  Do you know what that means?”

“Chula Vista’s screwed,”  Mickey said.

“Finn, I swear to Christ I’m going to leap over this desk and strangle the shit out of you if you don’t shut the expletive deleted up.”

“Sorry boss.”

“LA is next!”  Capt. Talbot said.  “The Mayor’s sure of it.  Washington, D.C’s already sent out some G-Men to take everything over.”

The captain took a swig of his coffee and winced, grabbing his side again.

“St. Christopher’s tits, expletive deleted on your Aunt Edna’s ass!”

My old boss was a virtual Rembrandt of obscenity.

“Cap,”  I said.  “I hear coffee’s not good for an ulcer…

“Are you a goddamn doctor, Hatcher?”

“No.”

“Did I ask for your expletive deleted opinion?”

“No sir.”

“Then you know where to stick it.”

“Up my ass, sir.”

Talbot slammed his fist down on the desk.

“Expletive deleted! Those FBI expletive deleted suckers are going to waltz right in here like they own the joint, take everything over, and we’re just going to be left sitting around in a circle jerk with our dicks in our hands.”

“Typical Tuesday,”  Finn said.

The captain pointed a finger at Mickey, reminding him to clam up.

“We need every man we can get,”  Capt. Talbot said.  “We need to grab every uniform, every detective, hell, every goddamn meter maid we can get our hands on, divy them up, and post a unit outside every bank in the city limits!”

“Boss,”  I said.  “No offense, but all that’ll do is scare these scumbags off.  If you really want to do them in, we need to set a trap.”

The captain shook his head.

“Hatcher.

“Sir?”

“That is, by far, the dumbest expletive deleted idea I have ever heard in my entire expletive deleted life.  I always thought you were the brains of this unit but now you’ve convinced me you’re expletive deleted dumber than Finn.  Shoot yourself in the head so I don’t have to look at your stupid face anymore.”

The door opened a crack and Connie poked her nose in.

“Captain?”

“Connie, do you mind?  Men are talking here.”

Yeah.  People used to say stuff like that too.

“There’s some men here to see you, sir.”

“Tell them to go expletive deleted themselves.”

Connie opened the door all the way.  Behind her, there were at least a dozen FBI agents, suits all starched and neatly pressed, not a hair out of place.

And leading the pack?

Noneother than FBI Director and notorious lawman J. Edgar Hoover and Assistant Director Clyde Tolson.

“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll let you tell them that, boss.”

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Aug 09 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

The Anything Goes Club.  Armand wasn’t kidding.

I’d never seen such a disgusting display in all my life.

shutterstock_71510056

“How is it possible that I’ve been scraping the fungus off of LA’s seedy underbelly for years and this is the first I’ve heard of this place?”

“We hide ourselves well, sir,”  Armand said.  “We cater to all manner of, interests, and our more famous clients appreciate our…discretion.”

Indeed, there were a number of celebrities in our midst.  Lucky for them, I was new to this time period and while I recognized many of them from seeing them in passing on Ms. Tsang’s television, I didn’t know any of them by name.

I was fairly certain one of the gals slathering herself up in the jello fighting pit was the same skirt who pointed to prizes and smiled on Ms. Tsang’s favorite game show.

And that guy who was tripping out and dancing on the pool table? He looked a lot like the actor who plays the father on that sitcom Ms. Tsang always watches.

You know.  The one where the wife and kids do everything right and never make a mistake and they all have to suffer through the constant incompetence of the family’s idiotic paternal figure?

Yeah.  I know.  That describes every sitcom so it’s hard to narrow it down.

Ms. Donnelly was a bit more hip than I was.

“Is that NAME REDACTED playing the banjo in his underwear?”

“Sure is,”  the bartender said.  “That son of a bitch sure can wail.”.

“Ms. Donnelly, I wonder if we might move this along?”

“Of course,”  she said as she turned to Armand.  “I was told it would be possible to meet with Informant Zero?”

Armand’s beady eyes lit up.

“Informant Zero?”  the butler asked.

“Yes, Informant Zero,”  Delilah repeated.

Armand looked at the bar keep.

“Informant Zero.”

The barkeep nodded and rang a loud dinner bell.

He then shouted, “INFORMANT ZERO!”

Across the room, there was a DJ wearing a furry gorilla costume, though he didn’t wear the mask.

Abruptly, he shut his turntables down, cutting off the music entirely.

“INFORMANT ZERO!” the DJ announced through his microphone.

All of a sudden, in a room full of sickos, Delilah and I were the ones being stared at.

A man with a ripped six-pac road over on one of those two wheeled Segways.  He wore a cowboy hat and a pair of leather pants.

Segway.  What an interesting machine.  I wanted one myself.

“Who seeks Informant Zero?”  the cowboy asked.

“These two seek Informant Zero,”  Armand answered.

I recognized the cowboy from somewhere else, but couldn’t put a finger on it.  In a room full of twisted behavior, a man who was just pretending to be a Southerner didn’t seem so bad.

The cowboy chewed on a toothpick for a bit, giving us the once over.  Then he had a question.

“What is the slope of the rope?”

It was a test.  I was stumped, but when Ms. Donnelly reached for her cheat sheet, I realized her contact must have prepared her for this.

She raised a finger in the air and read from the paper ever so triumphantly:

“It is equally proportionate to the angle of the dangle!”

I love it when Delilah gets tricked into talking dirty.

The cowboy looked at Armand.  Our butler nodded.  The cowboy wheeled away toward the back of the room.

“This way.”

We followed but he was going fast on that thing.  It was hard to keep up.

Suddenly, I noticed the cowboy was weirder than I had originally surmised.  From behind, I noticed he wasn’t wearing leather pants at all.

He was wearing assless chaps.

“What have I seen you in, buster?”  I asked.

“Nothing,”  the cowpoke said, keeping his face forward, refusing to look at me.

“You in show biz?”

“That’s none of your biz.”

“I do believe he’s NAME REDACTED,”  Ms. Donnelly whispered to me.

“THE GUY THAT PLAYS ROLE IN SUPERHERO MOVIE REDACTED?!”

Oops.  I was less than discrete.

The cowpoke wheeled around and leered at us.

“You know,” he said.  “You non-famous people have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under.”

“I’m sorry pal,”  I said.  “Forget it.”

“No,” the cowboy said as he scooted his scooter so he could get in my face.  He leaned over the handlebars and I found myself leaning backward just to give him some room.

“Sure.  You all look at me on the big screen in my costume and think, ‘Now there’s a guy with a great life.  But you don’t know what’s involved to keep my career going.”

He leaned back and got out of my personal space.

“Everyday I wake up at 5 am.  I run for miles, do sit ups, crunches, squats, pecs, lats, delts.  I work out until dusk and ALL I ever get to eat is a bag of baby spinach and three almonds.”

Delilah hanged back, realizing we were in for it for awhile.  I’d unleashed a monster and was now doubling as his impromptu therapist.

“That’s actually in my contract!  My lawyer and the studio banged out a deal that specifically states I can only eat three almonds a day or risk losing everything.”

Delilah couldn’t resist.

“You should have hired me, Mr. REDACTED.  I’d of gotten you five.”

“Whatever,” the cowboy replied.  “All I’m saying is when I work as hard as I do and provide as much joy to the world as I do, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for me to be allowed to hang out in a private club during my free time and dress up like a cowboy while a pair Czechoslovakian dwarves slather me with cottage cheese and read me the collective works of Ayn Rand.”

I repeated the phrase that I found myself saying a lot in response to this new world.

“What the?!”

“Oh,”  the cowboy said as his face turned red.  “What are you, one of those uptight right wing jerk-holes who thinks that everyone who suffers from Curdoslovakiandwarvishrandism should be swept under the rug and denied their basic civil rights?!”

I had no idea how to respond to that.

“Well guess what, pal?!  I’m here!  I love it when small people from Eastern Europe smear me with spoiled dairy products while they read me tales of an alternative dystopian future, SO GET USED TO IT!”

“OK buster, take it easy.”

“You have no idea how I’ve suffered because of an affliction I can’t control!  It’s not my fault, you know!”

Delilah’s intervention was welcome.

“Pardon us,”  Delilah said to NAME REDACTED.  

She pulled me away and confronted me.

“Mr. Hatcher, you’ve committed a very serious social faux pas.”

“I have?”

“Yes.  You mocked his condition.”

“Condition?”  I asked.  “That’s a real thing?”

“Every thing is considered a real thing now,”  Delilah said.  “No matter what bizarre fetish a person has, society expects you to listen politely and nod as the individual explains to you why this nontraditional interest is the cause of all problems in his or her life.”

“So I can’t just tell him to man up and knock that shit off?”

“Certainly not,”  Delilah said.  “Especially not if you don’t want Mr. Battler to have an anti-Bookshelf Battle campaign launched against him on Twitter demanding that he fire you.”

“This is going to be hard for me,”  I said.  “My generation was too busy fighting a global onslaught of evil to worry about being slathered up with, by, Jesus, I lost track of what this guy has.”

We returned to our guide.

“Sorry fella,”  I said.  “I didn’t know you had it so bad.”

The cowboy nodded and extended his hand.

“That’s big of you to admit you were wrong.”

I looked at his hand, then at Ms. Donnelly.  Her look convinced me I had no choice but to shake it.

The cowboy did a 180 degree turn and led on.  I wiped my hand on my trench coat.  Was that rude?  Sorry.  I didn’t know where his hand had been.

Probably on a Czechoslovakian dwarf.

For legal purposes, Delilah tells me I have to say there’s nothing wrong with that.

Copyright (c) 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
Aug 09 2015
1 Comment
Pop Culture Mysteries

Historical Celebrity Photos

At some point, Jake will start crossing paths with historical figures.

It’s a definite that he’ll collaborate with FDR and Gen. George S. Patton to take down Hitler.

But, and I’m not sure yet, but he might also have encounters with mobsters like Bugsy Siegel, Lucy Luciano, Meyer Lanky, etc.

He may even work with J. Edgar Hoover on a case.

Question about finding/using pictures of historical photos.

Do these pictures just belong to the ages?  FDR was our president so are we entitled to use an FDR photo whenever we want?

What about generals?  Mobsters?

What about Hitler?  I don’t want to be sued by Hitler.

The question is, can historical photos of famous folk be grabbed and used?  If not, is there some kind of repository or place that permission can be asked to use such photos?

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Aug 08 2015
7 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eyeshutterstock_225997396-2

I pulled my snazzy new set of wheels up to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

The joint was falling apart.  Broken windows, crumbling side panels, and I’m pretty sure I saw some bullet holes.

“Are you sure this is the place, Ms. Donnelly?”

“Of course, Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said as she stepped out of my passenger seat.

Together, we strolled to a steel plated door, upon which my colleague rapped three times.

She paused.  Rapped twice more.  Another pause, then four more knocks.

A booming baritone voice, not unlike that James Earl Jones fella, came through over the intercom.

“What is the password?”

Delilah retrieved a piece of paper from her clutch, unfolded it, and started to read.

“Hooray for big…”

She stopped and handed me the paper.

“Mr. Hatcher, will you be a gem and read this please?”

I took the note and read it to myself.

“Wowza.”

I looked at Delilah, my eyes begging the question, “Is this for real?”

Her nod told me it was.

Typical Delilah.  She was the kind of dame who wouldn’t say “shit” if she had a mouth full of it, which was ironic because the look on her puss suggested she was always in the process of sniffing it.

I cleared my throat.

“Ahem.  Hooray for big knockers!”

“All passwords must have a combination of letters, numbers, and symbols.”

I tried again.

“Hooray for big knockers asterisk…”

I pointed to an “&” symbol on the paper.

“Ms. Donnelly, what is that?”

“It’s an ampersand.”

“Is that what it’s called?  I always just called it the ‘and’ sign.”

“That’s the layman’s term for it,”  Delilah said, “But the accurate word for it is ‘ampersand.'”

“OK,”  I said.  “Let’s try this again.  Hooray for big knockers asterisk, ampersand, dollar sign, seven, seven.”

Nothing.

“Maybe you’ve been hustled.”

“I don’t understand,”  Delilah said.  “My contact assured me this password would gain us entry.”

BZZZZTTTT!

The man on the other side of the intercom was back.

“You…may…enter,”  he said, ever so ominously.

I grabbed the door handle and opened it.

We found ourselves in a small waiting room, staffed by a hunchbacked old butler in a tuxedo.  The top of his head was completely bald, but he’d grown out the white hair on the sides down to his shoulders.

I could tell by his voice he was the same cat from the intercom.

“Good evening.  I am Armand, at your service.”

He turned to me.

“Might I take your hat, sir?”

“No one touches the fedora, Jack.”

“Very well.  Walk this way.”

shutterstock_51368320Armand pushed open a set of heavy double doors and we followed him inside.

Let me tell you, 3.5 readers, the interior decor did not match the exterior at all.

We found ourselves in a large, luxurious indoor court.  Lilly white marble floors and columns.  A waterfall in the center.  It was straight out of Roman times.

And speaking of Rome, there was an orgy afoot so depraved that it would have made Caligula blush.

“Avert your eyes, Ms. Donnelly.”

“I’m a big girl, Mr. Hatcher.”

All sorts of degenerate perverts were going at it every which way you looked, and that wasn’t the half of it.

A man dressed up in a clown outfit walked up to me, grabbed me by my shoulders, and stared intently into my eyes.

White makeup, curly green wig, floppy shoes, red nose, over-sized polka dot die, he went all out.

“Do you know why the tungsten mermaid swims on a bed of roses across the night shade amber of the pickle farmer’s garden?!”

His voice was all screechy, more disturbing than an owl’s screams piercing through darkness.

“Um…no?”

He laughed.  His laughs started quietly, then became successively louder.

“Ha.  Ha ha.  Ha ha HA HA HA HA MUAH HA HA HA HA!!! NOBODY KNOWS!!  NOBODY EVER KNOWS!!!!”

“A little help here, Armand?”

“Do as you think best, sir.”

I improvised.  I kneed the clown in the groin, gave him an uppercut to his dopey chin and sent him ass over teakettle, dropping the psycho to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Literally no one in the room noticed or cared.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Ms. Donnelly.”

“Quite all right, Mr. Hatcher.”

We continued on a bit.  The room was enormous.

There were multiple tables set up.  Each one had men participating in various dangerous sports.

There were two men playing that game where you stab the table between your fingers with a sharp knife, timing how many stabs were possible in a minute.  There was a pool of blood on the floor, suggesting an earlier participant had missed and how.

At another table, two men were playing Russian roulette.  Delilah and I watched in horror as one blindfolded participant with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth pressed a revolver up against his temple.

Beads of sweat dripped from the man’s brow and he trembled as he pulled the trigger.

CLICK!

An instant sigh of relief all around.

“The guns never have an actual bullet put into them,”  Armand informed us.  “The game master just keeps spinning the empty chamber, fooling thrill seekers into believing their lives are at stake.”

“And what are those fellas up to?”  I asked.

I pointed to another table where two men were talking rather calmly.  Given the other events, it was a little disappointing.

“I’m thinking of a number between one and ten,”  the first man said.

“Five,”  the second man guessed.

“Nope.”

Enraged, the second man flipped the table over and socked the first man right in the kisser, sending his victim’s teeth and blood spewing everywhere.

“Lying sack of shit!  You know it’s five!!!”

Disgusted, Delilah turned away and buried her head in my shoulder.

Suddenly, this place didn’t seem so bad.

Armand finally answered my question.

“High stakes pick a number.”

We kept walking.

A tall, statuesque Amazonian broad wearing skimpy leather lingerie that left little to the imagination was walking a grown man with an orange ball gag in his mouth.

“Heel, worm!!!”  she commanded as she pulled on a leash attached to a spiked collar around the man’s neck.

Ever so eerily, the woman cocked her head to one side as she looked me over, then poked me in the chest with a riding crop.

“Do you wish to be my slave, maggot?  I will bark orders at you morning, noon and night and you will lick my boots, do my bidding, and cater to my every whim!!!”

I rolled my eyes.

“No thank you, ma’am.  I’ve been married three times already.”

Not sure what to make of me, the dominatrix yanked on her dog man’s chain and walked him away.

Delilah pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle.  Delilah laughter was rare, but not entirely unheard of.  I enjoyed it when it came.

“That was quite humorous, Mr. Hatcher.”

“I have my moments, Ms. Donnelly.”

“ROAR!”

Our moment was ruined by, get this, a goddamned real life bengal tiger.  A butt naked woman who’d shaved her head bald was riding the oversized cat like he was a pony.  The woman’s body was covered with an elaborate tattoo of two pandas slapping each other with bamboo sticks.

You think I’m making this up.  I’m not.

I reached under my trench coat for my shoulder holster, where I kept Betsy safe and snug.

“It’s housebroken, sir.  You needn’t worry.”

Sex.  Alcohol.  Gambling.  Assorted debauchery.  We saw it all until Armand led us to a bar.

The bartender wore a full length woman’s dress, red with shiny sparkles, but other than that, wasn’t attempting to not appear as a man.  He had a buzzcut, a mustache, and spoke in a tone that reminded me of my Army drill sergeant.

Oddly, he also wore a spaceman helmet.  He lifted up the visor so he could get a better look at us.

“What can I get you?”  the barkeep asked as he set out a tray full of pharmaceuticals and narcotics.

“Uppers, downers, poppers, floppers, choppers, grinders, whirling dervishes…”

As he rattled of the names, he pointed to a different crystal goblet holding the illicit substances.

“…Crank, yank, and spank.  Meth.  Coke.  Horse.  Oxycontin.  Flintstone’s chewable vitamins.”

“We’re good, Jack,”  I said.

“You sure?”  the barkeep asked.  “I make a good airplane glue bath salt sorbet.”

My reaction was a resounding, “What the?”

I leaned in to Ms. Donnelly’s ear and whispered.

“I don’t get it.  He wants to take a bath with me and build a toy model?”

“No,”  Delilah said.  “I believe people use these products to, as they say, ‘get high.'”

“Great Caesar’s ghost.”

“Perhaps a beverage?”  the barkeep pressed on.  “We have absinthe, ambrosia milk, devil’s delight, and Diet Shasta Orange.”

“It is a trifle stifling in here,”  Delilah said.  “I’ll have a water if it’s no bother.”

“Not at all,” the barkeep said.

He poured the lady lawyer a glass and set it on the bar.  Immediately, I put my hand over it and pushed it aside.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t accept drinks offered to us in a room full of perverts, Ms. Donnelly?”

I was in my element.  I’d spent a lifetime dealing with scum, knew exactly how to act around lowlives, and I could tell Ms. Donnelly was grateful.

“Armand, what the hell is this place?”

“Anything goes, sir.”

“I can see that,”  I said.  “But what’s the name?”

“That is the name.  You are in the ‘Anything Goes Club.'”

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.

All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Aug 08 2015
Leave a comment
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Fan Dime Drops – For the 3.5 – (Part 4 – Conclusion)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1      Part 2       Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE

“A third and final question, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Lay it on me, Ms. Donnelly.”

DELILAH:  Java Davis, The Road Trip Writer wants to know why there were so many characters named Johnny in old timey films?

I drummed my fingers along the edge of the table, stalling for time as Delilah stared me down, certain I’d been stumped.

“Davis,”  I said.  “Java Davis.  Word on the street is he’s the nineteenth scribe to take a whirl on Mr. Battler’s blog.  Must be a big time player to to rake in that kind of action.”

Delilah folded her hands and leaned in.shutterstock_239019775

“Do you give up?”

I rose to my feet and paced about, practically wearing a hole in the library’s carpet.

It came to me.

“They didn’t have self-publishing in those days,”  I explained.  “Establishment writers were free to be hacks.  They dished out the slop and the audiences ate it up like ice cream because unlike today’s discerning entertainment connoisseur, they didn’t know any better.”

The lady lawyer returned the dossier to her briefcase and pointed a gloved finger my way.

“You certainly have a talent, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Deduction is but one of my many talents, Ms. Donnelly,” I said as I raised my right eyebrow in a shifty manner.  “Perhaps you’ll let me show you my others sometime.”

The blonde rested a hand on my shoulder.  The gesture was more than welcome.

“Perhaps not.”

Once again, she walked out of my life, a brief distraction from an otherwise lonely existence.

I was sad to see her go, but what a pleasure to watch her leave.

For a brief moment, I was lost in my dreams of blonde bliss, only to be distracted by an old bag of wrinkles.

“You’re going to stare a hole in that behind,”  Agnes said.

“It’s the little things in life, Ag,”  I said, still gawking at Delilah from the study room doorway  as she waited for the elevator.  “Put a cork in it and let me enjoy it, will you?”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“Nah,”  I said.  “The man upstairs would never be so good to me.  Just someone I work with.”

Agnes was taken aback.

“Work?  You found a job!  Congratulations!  What are you doing?”

“Already told you.  I’m a highly skilled private investigator who tracks down questions to answers about pop culture posed by an anonymous blogger.  She’s his lawyer who brings me the cases.”

The old gal squinted and stared at me like I was from outer space.

“You’re serious?”

“Like a heart attack.”

“You weren’t lying?”

“Ma Hatcher didn’t raise a liar, ma’am.”

Agnes took a seat.  The news that I actually was a private eye threw her for a loop.

“Between the idea that that woman would be your girlfriend or that that woman works with you for a blog that you solve pop culture mysteries for, I have to admit the latter is more plausible.”

“Thanks Ag,”  I said.  “Thanks a lot.  Class over?”

“Yes,”  Agnes replied.  “One of my students had chest pains so I called it a day early.”

“Think I will too.”

“Oh Jake,”  Agnes said.  “I’m sorry.  I offended you didn’t I?”

“Nothing sticks to this gumshoe.  It all rolls off, like water off a duck’s back.”

“Have you made a move yet?”

I took a seat on the other side of the table.  My relationship with Agnes was becoming weird.  Technically, I was older than she was, but she didn’t know that, and she was quickly becoming my impromptu mother.

I think Ma Hatcher would have been ok with it.

“I’ve made more moves on her than a world champion chess player, but my bishop isn’t going anywhere near that queen.”

“Never say never.  Herb had to ask me a bunch of times before I came around.  I’ll never forget it, there was this one time we were at the park, and he got down on one knee and the birds were singing and…”

I stretched, yawned, and checked my pocket watch.

“Great Liberace’s piano, Agnes!  Look at the time.  I’d best skeedaddle.  Take it easy, kid.”

“Oh sure.  I listen to you, you don’t listen to me.  Just like my son.”

She sniffed the air.  Sniff.  Sniff.  Sniff.

“Have you been smoking in here?  This is a PUBLIC building you jackass!”

shutterstock_278169329

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
Aug 07 2015
12 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Picking Your Character Names

Hey 3.5 Readers,

Your old pal Bookshelf Q. Battler is bummed out.

Actually, can you forget that I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler for a minute?

I’ve heard rumors that this blog isn’t actually run by BQB.  That there’s just some random anonymous person behind this all.  “A man behind the curtain” if you will.

Poppycock, I know, but just pretend I’m that guy for a minute.

Pop Culture Mysteries has become such an enjoyable part of my life.  Am I counting the riches from possible PCM novels?

No.

But I’ve tried writing novels my entire life only to write myself in a corner, wish I’d put in a key detail earlier, decide it needs a major overhaul, and just move onto something else.

Why PCM works for me is that when I write it, I step into shoes and become Jake.  I’m just a guy telling a story about a long, remarkable life.

And if I think of key details later?  Jake just happens to remember them.

The result is that I’ve been writing and building this world since April with no signs of losing interest, gaining more interest by the day if anything, and that’s a record for me.

When I write myself into a corner, Jake just pole vaults over it.

I’m happy and that long yearned for novel no longer seems as out of reach as it used to be.

SO WHY AM I BUMMED?

Here’s what happened to me today that knocked me out like an uppercut from the Jersey Jabber:

  1.  While looking for a new book to read, I came across Larry Correia’s Grimnoir series.  It’s fantasy/horror meets hardboiled noir.  In book 1, the hero, Jake Sullivan, takes on monsters and is tricked into thinking an old girlfriend, Delilah Jones, is a bankrobber.

OK, so Larry has written a noir book.  It has characters named “Jake Sullivan and Delilah Jones.”

I’m writing a noir blog with hopes to write noir novels based on that blog.  My characters are “Jake Hatcher and Delilah K. Donnelly.”

The stories could not be more different.  Larry’s Jake Sullivan is an ex-con who wields magical powers.  My Jake Hatcher is a guy who fell asleep in 1955, woke up in 2014, and now in 2015 strikes a deal that he’ll solve 100 mysteries for a blogger in exchange for the information that will lead him back to his own time.

Larry’s is fantasy/horror.  Mine is a parody of pop culture as well as a humorous look at the present as seen through the eyes of a person from the past, how some of the things we do today would seem goofy to a person just getting used to the new world for the first time.

My story, Pop Culture Mysteries,  started as a goof, a hard boiled detective solving “mysteries” like what happened to the first Brady Bunch spouses but then lo and behold, in my mind, a whole world and backstory started for Jake, one where I think actual novels are possible.  It’s also intended as a spoof of noir style itself, Jake speaking in that stereotypical tough guy exaggeration filled, comparison laden cadence that old time detectives are known for.

So the two books are different, but you know how haters and online trolls are.

Probably one dingus out there will be like “Bahh there was a noir novel with Jake and Delilah and YOU wrote a noir novel with Jake and Delilah.”

I had no idea.  Had I never come across the book I’d of gone forward without knowing.

So the first question – does this mean MY Jake and Delilah can no longer be Jake and Delilah?  Do one of mine, either Jake OR Delilah, have to get a name change?

The premise makes me sad because, well, call me sad if you must but it’s almost like Jake and Delilah have become my friends.  My life is made so much better when I sit down at my computer every night to figure out what’s going to happen to them next.

2)  That lit a fire under my butt to do some more research.  Low and behold, there are a ton of detective stories with detectives named Jake.  I debated in my mind – I don’t think THAT reason alone is enough to change Jake’s name because if it’s a parody, then what’s one more Jake?

I mean, Jack, John, Fred, Tom, whatever – if it’s a traditional name, there’s a million stories already where that first name has been used.

3)  But – and this is what gets me, I did find another novel on amazon – “Diabolical” by Hank Schwaeble that’s a mix of horror and noir and the hero’s name?  JAKE HATCHER!  BOOOO!!! BOO!!!!  (Sorry Hank, that boo’s not on you personally, just that I can’t catch a break.

4)  So does that mean my hero can’t be Jake Hatcher?  I mean, how far do we take this?  If I write Steve Smith, can you never have a Steve Smith?

I get it if the name is really unique.  Like I can’t write a novel about an accountant called “Lando Calrissian.”  I almost laughed it off but I guess if this guy wrote a noir-ish novel about a guy named Jake Hatcher, then could that be a problem?

If my novel was about Jake Hatcher the janitor fighting for custody of his kids in a drama then it’s probably fine but I guess I am writing a noir, even if mine is a comical noir.

5)  What bugs me is I did research this every which way and a)  I really don’t want to change the names but b) if I’m going to put all the work in to start a Pop Culture Mysteries site and companion novels, then I don’t want some troll being like “you stole those names!”  even though I didn’t at all.

6)  And then my worry is this – there is SO, SO, SO MUCH written material out there, it’s not only possible that the name of your novel in a character was used before, it’s a given.  What if I go back to the drawing board, name my Jake and Delilah something else, and lo and behold, like what if name them Ned and Carol and someone points to an obscure novel I never heard of and they’re like “Ooo you stole those names from the Ned and Carol series!”

7)  It’s gotten me so paranoid that I’m starting to worry someone’s going to pop out of a bush and yell, “Hey you son of a B$%ch!  I’M BOOKSHELF Q BATTLER!  STOP USING MY NAME!!!

8)  Is this just all in my head?  Are these issues to worry about or not?  Is this just something that happens in fiction all the time?

9)  Can I press forward and just keep calling my dear Pop Culture Mystery friends “Jake and Delilah?”  Is it ever possible to think up names that someone wont have a problem with?

I don’t know.  Help me out 3.5 readers.

I guess if you want me to boil down this rant:

  1.  Should I change Jake and Delilah’s names?
  2. Or should I bother because unless I call them Jaboozle and Dawoozle, every name has been used in a novel before and I’m just worrying too much?
Tagged , , , , , , ,
Aug 06 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Fan Dime Drops – For the 3.5 (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

In a cramped study room, we sat across a table from one another, sizing each other up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Delilah was a gorgeous specimen of a lady, everything perfect, not a single hair out of place.  My inner animal wanted to gobble her up, but we weren’t there for hanky panky.

We were there to bargain.

Never cross a lady lawyer.

Never cross a lady lawyer.

She clacked open her briefcase and handed me a dossier.  Inside?

Printouts from the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

“Your reports have pleased Mr. Battler.  Sometimes his readership spikes to a grand total of 17.5 readers when there’s a Pop Culture Mysteries post.”

“Good for him,”  I replied.  “He might as well start packing his bags for LaLa Land.  He can have it.”

“Mr. Battler’s readers have enjoyed your files to the point where they have mysteries of their own.”

“As much as I’d like to stare at your lovely face all day, Ms. Donnelly, I’ve got a beep boop machine class to get back to, so let’s grab a pair of scissors and cut to the chase, shall we?”

“Very well.  Three readers have stepped forward with entertainment related questions that deserve an answer and as Mr. Battler’s resident detective, that task falls on your shoulders.”

“How much?”

“Nothing,”  Delilah said.  “You’ve already agreed to do it gratis.”

The conniving counselor handed me the contract I signed the night I first met her, as well as a magnifying glass.  I scrutinized the document and low and behold, she wasn’t just whistling dixie:

Mr. Hatcher agrees to solve any Pop Culture Mysteries posed to him by Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers.

Take a note.  When you’re dealing with a foxy broad, always check the fine print.

“What in the name of J. Edgar Hoover’s evening gown are you trying to pull here, sister?!”

I took another peak through the magnifying glass.

“What’s this about selling my kidneys?!”

Delilah snatched the paper back.

“Best we focus on the matter at hand, Mr. Hatcher.  You should be delighted.  Mr. Battler’s renewing your tales for a second season.”

“I don’t care about any of that, doll.  I just want to go home.  Your client is a real snake in the grass for holding out on me.”

“Our client, Mr. Hatcher.  Now then, Mr. Battler does not expect a thorough investigation for these questions.  He has simply asked me to relay his 3.5 inquiries and to obtain your reaction.  Certainly, these shorter mysteries will be no match for a investigator of your skill.”

I doubt she meant it, if there was any way to win over the shattered pieces of my heart, a compliment from a good looking lady was it.

I’m sure she knew that and used it to her advantage.

DELILAH:  Mr. Hatcher, Michael Gunter of “Michael Gunter’s Tales of Today and Yesterday” contacted Mr. Battler with this concern:

Here’s one for ya, Hatcher!

The mark’s name is Nedry. Dennis Nedry. He ticked off the wrong people (don’t mess with mega-corporations) and got eaten by a dinosaur. But that’s not your problem. What we want to know is why the idiot shut down ALL the security systems. If he programmed the whole system, why didn’t he just set it up so he could shut down specific systems, instead of letting every dinosaur in the park loose? I’d make a joke about buggy code, but he got eaten, didn’t he? Joke practically wrote itself.

I lit up my cigar and had a puff.  The carcinogens danced to and fro in my lungs as I mulled over my answer.

“Gunter,”  I said.  “Another one of these Mickey Spillane types with a blog-a-ma-call-it?”

“Indeed,”  Delilah said.  “I’ve heard he can even be followed on twitter @GunterWriting.”

I turned away and exhaled my exhaust.  I’d no sooner coat Ms. Donnelly’s visage with fumes than I would the Mona Lisa.

“I’m the last cat you want to be asking questions about beep boop machines,”  I said.  “After all, I am a student in an introductory computer course taught by an old broad who can beep boop laps around me.  Why was this Nedry character on the lam?”

“Corporate espionage,”  Ms. Donnelly answered.  “Mr. Nedry was secretly paid for a rival company that wanted Jurassic Park’s dinosaur genetic material.”

“Yeesh,”  I said.  “The stuff that passes for cinema now.  Well, like I said, computers go over my head higher than a Boeing, but I’ve caught a lot of crooks and I’d wager Nedry did it just to screw with the employer he was already screwing.  Maybe he thought it’d be harder to track him down if his co-workers were busy wrangling dinosaurs.  Or, and I know this is probably an unsatisfactory answer, but maybe he just did it because it wouldn’t have been much of a flick if all the dinosaurs remained in their cages in a safe and secure manner.”

“An astute answer,”  Delilah said.  “I shall have Mr. Battler contact Mr. Gunter with the details shortly.”

“Who else wants a piece of the Jersey Jabber?”

Do you have a Pop Culture Mystery?  Drop a dime!  Tweet your entertainment questions to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments below.  

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license. 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →