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My little brother isn’t so little. He stands 6’4”, though lean with long fingers extended from bony hands; pianist’s fingers. I tended to envy him his hands, and his leanness.

Nearly three years younger, he had the same training as I, the same family, and the same mental abilities. He was the one who followed in Dad’s footsteps. He was the one who accidentally tried to kill me.

Oh, yes, he did. I sat on the floor in front of the TV. The Lone Ranger was flickering across the screen, struggling to subdue the bad guy, when my sweet little brother brought his pearl-handled pistola butt down onto the crown of my head with all the force his scrawny three-year-old body could muster. Back then these toy guns were made of metal, not plastic. They were heavy. Excitement at what was happening on-screen had temporarily relieved him of any sense of reality. I was knocked out completely.

I know what you’re thinking. He was just a baby. I’m sure I heard that argument when I came to and tried to throttle him. I know that I heard that argument throughout the years afterwards when the subject and memory came up.

Of course, he did make up for it several years later when he kept me from becoming sow chow. The sow took objection to my being in the stall with her piglets and rushed me when my back was turned. I almost didn’t make the age of nine. Brother dear, who wasn’t supposed to be at the barn, shouted a warning and got me out the gate before sow connected with my backside.

Yep, I did him a favor later. I encouraged his strength training by having him pull me in his little red wagon, between the rows in the corn field, while we were picking up dropped ears after the picker when through. All that loose corn would help fatten up those piglets. My mother wasn’t pleased with my interpretation of a self-improvement course for him. I got punished, I think, for working him too hard. I never knew if my dad knew about that little episode.

As a sidebar, I got to be the one who went to the top of the tulip poplar tree one summer afternoon to bring his happy self down to earth. Mom was not pleased with his antics. For once, I wasn’t the bad guy in the scenario. Dad did find out about that one.

When I learned to swim the summer of my 13^th year, I proved that I could retain lessons and excel at trajectory in the water. Mom had us down at one of the local creeks, along with her sister and at least one of my cousins. Brother ran a ways ahead against Mom’s admonition to stay close.

Before anyone could prevent it, he ran into real trouble. Creeks carve out deep holes in bends of the watercourse. He’d run himself off into one of those holes and promptly commenced to drowning.

Mom shouted for me to go save him. ME!? I was a dozen yards behind her and the rest and he was that far or more ahead of her.

Until that day, I didn’t know that I could sprint while running in ankle to knee-deep water. I kept my eyes on the spot I’d last seen his hand come up and dived when I got there. I found him with no difficulty. Getting him to the surface was the tricky part.

He kept trying to drown me until I finally got myself positioned where I could get my feet into the small of his back and kick him toward the shallows. It mi

My little brother isn’t so little. He stands 6’4”, though lean with long fingers extended from bony hands; pianist’s fingers. I tended to envy him his hands, and his leanness.

Nearly three years younger, he had the same training as I, the same family, and the same mental abilities. He was the one who followed in Dad’s footsteps. He was the one who accidentally tried to kill me.

Oh, yes, he did. I sat on the floor in front of the TV. The Lone Ranger was flickering across the screen, struggling to subdue the bad guy, when my sweet little brother brought his pearl-handled pistola butt down onto the crown of my head with all the force his scrawny three-year-old body could muster. Back then these toy guns were made of metal, not plastic. They were heavy. Excitement at what was happening on-screen had temporarily relieved him of any sense of reality. I was knocked out completely.

I know what you’re thinking. He was just a baby. I’m sure I heard that argument when I came to and tried to throttle him. I know that I heard that argument throughout the years afterwards when the subject and memory came up.

Of course, he did make up for it several years later when he kept me from becoming sow chow. The sow took objection to my being in the stall with her piglets and rushed me when my back was turned. I almost didn’t make the age of nine. Brother dear, who wasn’t supposed to be at the barn, shouted a warning and got me out the gate before sow connected with my backside.

Yep, I did him a favor later. I encouraged his strength training by having him pull me in his little red wagon, between the rows in the corn field, while we were picking up dropped ears after the picker when through. All that loose corn would help fatten up those piglets. My mother wasn’t pleased with my interpretation of a self-improvement course for him. I got punished, I think, for working him too hard. I never knew if my dad knew about that little episode.

As a sidebar, I got to be the one who went to the top of the tulip poplar tree one summer afternoon to bring his happy self down to earth. Mom was not pleased with his antics. For once, I wasn’t the bad guy in the scenario. Dad did find out about that one.

When I learned to swim the summer of my 13^th year, I proved that I could retain lessons and excel at trajectory in the water. Mom had us down at one of the local creeks, along with her sister and at least one of my cousins. Brother ran a ways ahead against Mom’s admonition to stay close.

Before anyone could prevent it, he ran into real trouble. Creeks carve out deep holes in bends of the watercourse. He’d run himself off into one of those holes and promptly commenced to drowning.

Mom shouted for me to go save him. ME!? I was a dozen yards behind her and the rest and he was that far or more ahead of her.

Until that day, I didn’t know that I could sprint while running in ankle to knee-deep water. I kept my eyes on the spot I’d last seen his hand come up and dived when I got there. I found him with no difficulty. Getting him to the surface was the tricky part.

He kept trying to drown me until I finally got myself positioned where I could get my feet into the small of his back and kick him toward the shallows. It mi

Damien Echols, one of the three teenagers known as the “West Memphis Three,” is writing a book about spending 18 years in prison for a crime he says he did not commit.

In the memoir, which is slated for publication from Penguin imprint Blue Rider Press in September 2012, Echols will talk about his experience.

The release explains more about the book: “The as-yet untitled book will be Echols’ account of the trial proceedings and eighteen years spent on death row, including his personal and public quest for exoneration, his prison diaries, and accounts of support from his wife and friends including Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam, filmmakers Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh, Johnny Depp, Natalie Maines, Henry Rollins and others.”

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Smith:  When you spouted a few lines of poetry to Samantha Morton, who played Elizabeth Barry in the movie—that was my introduction to Wilmot's work, to his poetry.  And I noticed in Alice, when the Hatter recites, "Jabberwocky," that you have a gift for giving us the full measure of a poet's work. It is really quite difficult. Could you imagine doing a recording of works of poetry?

Depp:  I don't know.  It's daunting, because you don't know exactly... I mean, you can decipher the intent, and you can kind of swim around in the guts of it, but you just don't know how the poet would have wanted it read.

Smith:  Yes, but that's no different than Glenn Gould having to anticipate how Bach would want his work played.  I thought the Hatter's reading of "Jabberwocky" was luminous.  Yesterday you read me a poem written by the Elephant Man.  I didn't know he wrote poetry.  The poem you recited was heartbreaking.  How did you come to find it?

Depp:  I made an appointment at the hospital where they had his remains....

A Slate article created a fictional voice for Rolling Stones singer Mick Jagger to respond to Keith Richards‘ memoir, Life.

Jagger’s imaginary manuscript includes the following observations: “Why did he write it? Or, rather, having decided to write it all down, why did he devote so much of it to carping about me? Well, he’s not talking about me, really. He’s just trying to get my attention, I think, in the end. The remaining part of the rancor comes from the fact that he knows he lost me, many years ago.”

The Jagger highlights Richards’ unprofessional behavior throughout the years and talk about the band’s long history.  Would you read Jagger’s real memoir? Leave your response in the comments section.

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New Career Opportunities Daily: The best jobs in media.

As we head home for the weekend, we wanted to make sure you had plenty of publishing headlines to keep you busy. Email GalleyCat to get all our publishing stories, book deal news, videos, podcasts, interviews, and writing advice in a daily email newsletter.

We revealed the Book Pitch Party finalists; follow this link to RSVP and meet publishing professionals and aspiring writers next week.

We found out that fictional Mad Men character Roger Sterling will publish his memoir in real life.

Danny DeVito will star in an an adaptation of Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax, joined by Zac Efron and Betty White.

The parenting handbook What To Expect When You’re Expecting will be adapted as romantic comedy.

Barnes & Noble unveiled a Color Nook (see the video embedded above) and eBook readers debated: was it revolutionary or a mistake?

After considering thousands of actors, director Ang Lee cast unknown Suraj Sharma as the lead in his 3-D Life of Pi adaptation.

Johnny Depp

Johnny Depp reads in the audiobook version of Keith Richards‘ memoir, Life.

The audiobook will also feature readings by musician Joe Hurley and The Rolling Stones guitarist himself.  Both the memoir and the audiobook will be released tomorrow.

Hurley had this statement: “It was a privilege to help tell his story … When you read the book, you feel that Keith’s sitting in a favourite armchair, reflecting, and sharing his wild ride, his life, with just you. The same sense you get from a great singer, he is singing in your ear, no one else.”

Over at The Huffington Post, you can take a Google Maps trip through Richards’ memoir.

New Career Opportunities Daily: The best jobs in media.

Avast Me Hearties!

It's time for that annual event, "Talk Like A Pirate Day!"

So, give me your best Captain Jack Sparrow line. The winner gets dinner with JD, himself!

Ha! Gotcha! Do you think, in your wildest dreams, that if I had the power to grant dinner with Johnny Depp, I GIVE IT AWAY?? Not in this lifetime.

Anyhoo, what's your favorite scene, line, eyebrow twitch? Post it here, or walk the plank!

Watch the trailer for Pirate of the Caribbean # 4!



Pirates of the Caribbean # 4 Blog

Talk Like A Pirate Day Website

And, don't forget to order your copy of Cynthia's Attic: Curse of the Bayou! Amazon or Kindle!

Ever since I can remember, time travel and "other worlds" have fascinated me. I used to sit in front of my dresser mirror and try to wish my way through it just as Alice in her looking glass. Not sure what I expected to see on the other side, but Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, probably wasn't in my thought process back then.

Sir John Tenniel was the original illustrator in Lewis Carroll's book, The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. So, how do you think J. D. stands up to Carroll's image of The Mad Hatter who was supposedly drawn to resemble an eccentric British inventor and furniture dealer, Theophilus Carter? Many would agree that Depp is also a bit eccentric, so in my mind, he's a perfect fit.

But, I much as I love seeing JD in almost any movies, the jury is still out (IMO) as to whether Tim Burton's version is simply too dark. I love the story, so much, I'll have to wait and see whether my trepidations can be overcome. Chances are good, they will!

But, back to the book. My fascination with all things fantastical led to writing "Cynthia's Attic." A recurring dream I'd had for over 20 years about a mysterious attic, began the process. Once I realized that the dream took place in the home of my childhood friend, Cynthia, the writing began. I kept hoping I'd have the dream again and that magical things would happen to add to my stories, but as with most recurring dreams, once you figure them out, they're gone forever.

That didn't stop my vision, though, of creating other worlds and other times for twelve-year-old best friends, Cynthia and Gus (Her real name is Augusta Lee, but don't call her that unless you want a kick in the shins).

So the next time you're sitting at a mirror, wondering what's on the other side, do what I do. Visualize Johnny Depp!

Watch the Trailer!

Meanwhile, check out Cynthia's Attic Series!

…”a good old fashioned family story, with all the sci-fi perks and jigs to light the imagination of today’s young reader.” Real Reader Reviews

"This wonderfully imaginative tale will delight readers. I wish I had a magic attic!" - Laura Schaefer, author of The Teashop Girls.

Mary Cunningham Books
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