Who is the author?

Today's Thursday inspiration comes from Tink, who had this idea:

"What if you didn't know who the author of the book was and the book was like a mystery where you had to find out?"

I am fascinated by this. You could write it as a scavenger hunt through the internet or even, gasp, the real world, where you had to figure out what historical figure was supposedly the author.

But I want fiction. A middle grade mystery with changing points of view, one of whom has written the book but doesn't admit it. In the story, a certain book has powers of some sort. Something important* hinges on who the author is, but nobody knows. After a few chapters, we realize the book in question is the one we're holding and WE have to figure out who wrote it. I want it sort of terrifying, like if we don't figure it out before the book is over something dreadful might happen to us in REAL LIFE.

I want a smart mystery with a brand-new structure and definite chills. Who will write me this book?


* No, I don't know what powers or what hinges. And this is why YOU are going to write the book.

Sssurprisssse!

Today's Thursday News of the Absurd Inspirational Moment proves we should all watch more nature TV shows.

From Yahoo!News:

Mass. school janitor finds 3-foot python in locker

Apparently, a janitor cleaning up at the end of the school year opened a locker and a giant snake popped out, prank can of peanuts style. Except it was a real python. When it tried to attack him, he "grabbed it behind the head as he had seen on nature TV shows."

I think this is the last scene of the book, the one that rolls with the credits in the film. It's the last loose end to tie up: "But what happened to the python?!"

So you tell me, what is the rest of the story?

Granny vamps

This week's Thursday inspiration is more ridiculous than anything.

We were discussing vampire books in critique group this week and someone pointed out that part of the allure of vampires in these books is that they all got frozen in immortality at the ripe young, gorgeous age of 16 or 17.

"Where are the books about old and ugly vampires?" someone said.

Which got us started giggling. Can't you see the cover of the book? With three or four seriously old vampires glaring in the "I know you think I'm sexy" way over the top of their bifocals? Vampires who have to have their blood pre-sucked and put in a cup with a straw. Vampire early bird specials. Vampires in house slippers.

Oh, the video I would make you, had I endless time and technical skill: I keep picturing Bella Swan's voice from the movie previews saying, "You're impossibly fast" and seeing a vampire played by Tim Conway from the old Carol Burnett shows. But, alas, I cannot make it, seeing as how I have much kitten-watching to do today. So who will write me the book?

And because I cannot pass up Tim Conway...

Morbidia meets the grim eater

I REALLY REALLY want this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Write Me This Book Inspirational Moment (ThNoftheAWSWTBIM) to exist for reals and for trues.

From YahooNews and Reuters:

Funeral home steps in the stop the "grim eater"

Apparently, a funeral home in New Zealand had to step in after noticing a man who attended up to four funerals a week, despite obviously not knowing the deceased. Why? The guy carried a backpack full of Tupperware; when mourners weren't looking, he'd steal the funeral food and bring it home.

This is awesome. Genius. You gotta love someone who says, "You know who deserves to be ripped off? People with recently dead relatives! Heh heh. Mourning suckahs."

But I don't want him to be a bad guy. Here's what I want:

Elaine is a "normal" high school student who dresses all in black, permanently in mourning over the stupid problems caused by stupid people in the world. She's so full of angst and drama that her parents (who are good parents but who don't take her seriously) have started calling her "Morbidia." One day, she wanders into a funeral. Nobody bothers her, nobody looks at her strangely, and everyone is dressed in black. So Morbidia starts going to funerals whenever she can.

But after a while, Morbidia notices this other kid, the one with the backpack. He's often there too, and Morbidia can tell he doesn't know the dead people either. She sees him pretending to pay his respects and then filling his Tupperware. Morbidia is fascinated.

And so they meet, Morbidia and the Grim Eater. And what follows is a quirky, darkly humorous, bizarrely romantic story (like Six Feet Under* in a YA).

It must be written. No! I am already writing two books. One of you has to do it.

Crap. Now I'm obsessed. Save me.

*Oh, how I (who watch next to no television) miss Six Feet Under and my six free months of HBO. Sigh. Peter Krause, where have ye gone?

One Million Gribbits

It's been a while since I had a good Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment, (ThNoftheAWSPWTBIM). I couldn't pass this one up.

From the New York Times via AP:

Flood of Frogs Shuts Down Major Greek Highway

Apparently, Greek officials had to shut down a major highway in the north of Greece this week because more than a million frogs were hopping in the street.

First, the best thing about this article is that the author clearly had a field day with the words "large group" and Thesaurus.com.

Officials said the frogs had probably left a nearby lake in search of food. Yeah, right. All more than a million of them. At once. And they decided tarmac was their best bet.

Obviously, there are two more plausible explanations:

1. Comic dark magic. Because if it were real dark magic, the frogs would be dead or headless or something. I might love a book written from the frogs' point of view. I mean, nobody ever considers how frogs (or locusts, for that matter) feel about being dragged from place to place just because they're annoying and great punishment.
2. The gods are angry at the highway. Or, they are angry at young Niko, the new Chief Road Engineer, who has declared that his new highway tarmac material is "stronger than the gods" and can withstand any kind of weather. The trouble is: he's right. No matter what the gods throw at it -- rain, blizzard, lightning, locusts -- the highway stay open.

What do you think?

Your Personal Trainer

So, I'm training for this marathon. Thor bought me this chip that you tie to your shoe. It sends messages to your iPod and computer voice comes on and tells you how far you've gone and how fast you are going: "You have been running for THREE minutes. You have gone POINT FOUR miles." It also came with this running coaching mix, complete with the voice of many-marathon-winner Alberto Salazar telling you when to speed up and when to take a break and how fabulous you are for running at all.

I love this voice. Alberto (whom I saw win the New York Marathon in the 80s, so he knows his stuff) starts with a motivational speech about getting out the door. Then he says, "Ready? Go!" and great warm up music comes on. I'm running along, and suddenly, there's Alberto telling me, "You're doing great. Now I want you to speed up. Picture your opponent running ahead of you. Ready? Sprint!" Appropriately upbeat music comes on and I sprint, encouraged by Alberto, "You are so fast!"

I want this for writing. I want a writing coaching mix. I want to put on my headphones and hear, say, Salman Rushdie: "You are going to have a great writing day. You are a brilliant and prolific writer. Ready? Open your laptop. Go!" and then hear good writing music. I type and type and on comes, "You're doing great. Only thirty minutes left. Keep writing!" When I'm done, I want him to say, "Wow. Doesn't that feel good? Take a break. Go get some coffee and I'll meet you back here in ten minutes. Don't be late!" and then play "Praise You" by Fatboy Slim, like Alberto does at the end of the sprints.

I want a chip like I have for my shoe, but for the computer, so I can press a button and hear the computer voice: "You have been writing for THIRTY-FIVE minutes. You have written ONE THOUSAND words. You have updated your status ZERO times. Good job!"

Who will write invent me this book thingamajig?

The Midnight Knitters vs. the Quilting Vigilantes

In today's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM), I turn yarn-loving samaritans into a gang of hooligans.

From Richard Degener at press ofAtlanticCity.com:

A good yarn? West Cape May tries to unravel the mystery of the midnight knitter

Apparently, someone was going around West Cape May in the wee hours of the night decorating signposts and tree trunks with elaborately knit leg warmers. In the latest developments, an anonymous group known as Salty Knits took credit. But now the knit cozies have disappeared.

Everyone assumed the anonymous knitters were trying to beautify the city. But what if they weren't? What if the bad guys were a group of salty knitters bent on the destruction of life as they know it in Cape May?

The question is how. How will dressing trees and signs up in silly sweaters doom everyone? What can the rival gang of do-good, mystery-solving quilters do to stop them?

Most importantly, who will write me this book?

Less Curious than Furious...

Honest to goodness, sometimes the Thursday News of the Absurd choices just write themselves.

From YahooNews and the AP:

Fire in Houston blamed on inflatable gorilla

"Fire department officials said an out-of-control inflatable gorilla was blamed for a rooftop blaze at a Houston shopping center."

I think the only question is this: what made him so mad???

Two words

Today's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSWMTBIM) comes from a dinner conversation about poor Destructo's misunderstanding of death and it can be summed up in two words:

Zombie Grandma

Because it would be so hard, wouldn't it? Your grandma still wants to love on you, to bake you cookies, to take you to tea. You love her, of course, and you don't want to hurt her feelings. But, dude, she's undead, and honestly, she's starting to smell even funnier than she did when she was alive.

And now, for your listening pleasure, from musical and songwriting genius Jonathan Coulton, the greatest zombie song evah, performed in ZSL (zombie sign language) by someone else.

Spoons, Chihuahuas, and Autonomous Robots

What better way to celebrate absurd books on Thursday than with The Bookseller's 2009 Diagram Prize for Oddest Title of the Year?

Here are some of the finalists:

Afterthoughts of a Worm Hunter (David Crompton)

Collectible Spoons of the Third Reich (James A Yannes)

Crocheting Adventures with Hyperbolic Planes (A K Peters), and

The Changing World of Inflammatory Bowel Disease (Ellen Scherl, Maria Dubinsky)

The first one raises all sorts of ideas for first lines ("Look! It's growing back! Now we can have seconds!"). But my favorite has to be...

Governing Lethal Behavior in Autonomous Robots (Ronald C Arkin)

Because, um, WHY? What the heck happened over at the Arkin lab that made Ronald an expert in governing lethal behavior in robots? Is he a robot expert, or can we expect a Governing Lethal Behavior in... series?

If you need inspiration or giggles, check out Wikipedia's list of past winners.

And, if lethal robots aren't your cup of tea, maybe you could write me the story behind Gary Leon's 2005 winning title:

People Who Don't Know They're Dead: How They Attach Themselves to Unsuspecting Bystanders and What To Do About It.

Because I have always wondered.

But then we'd need a skating rink...

Welcome to this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write Me This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSWMTBIM).

Scene: this morning, breakfast. Tink (and she was being serious, I think) announces, "Mama, I do not want a guinea pig any more."

"No?" I say, chuckling to myself at the fact that she felt it was necessary to tell me this. Because otherwise I was about to rush right out and add RodentStinkAndChaos to our already zen-like existence.

"No," she announces. "I want a penguin."

I laughed. She said it again. I laughed again. She said it twenty more times in increasing levels of whininess. I said something suitably soul-crushing and mom-ish like, "Okay, Tink. It was funny the first time. Now cut it out."

"But I DO!" she said.

Thor chimed in. "We'd need to turn the backyard into an ice pool."

And I thought, "What if we did?" And then, "Oh, this is a book."

Have you read When Dinosaurs Came With Everything (by Elise Broach, illus. David Small)? Great fun, that picture book. But I want penguins.

Mostly, I want a chapter book, I think. I want the little girl to hear her father say, "We'd have to build an ice pool in the backyard" and to believe him. So she starts planning and saving, and maybe even building. It's never going to happen. Obviously. It's impossible. But what if she doesn't know that?

She has to get it in the end, of course. Despite the fact that it is ludicrous, she has to convince them and it has to work and be wonderful and make us all feel like maybe we need to widen our ideas of what's "possible."

Also, it has to be hilarious and it has to ave a scene with men in tuxedos who look like a colony of penguins.

Who will write me this book?

The Adorable Kitten of Death

We interrupt to bring you this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment. We are going to be religious about our TNoftheAWSPWTBIMs from now on, due to a comment from a non-writer friend that Jacqui's Room is "hilarious, except when you talk about, you know, writing."

Leaving the fact that this means I am funny approximately 1% of the time, there's a new grim reaper in town and I love this story idea.

From YahooNews & Reuters:

Doctor casts new light on cat that can predict death

In 2007, scientists released a paper describing Oscar, a nursing home cat who can sense death coming; he consistently curls up in bed with people right before they die. Now the doctors who broke the story are concerned Oscar has gotten an unwarranted reputation for being a harbinger of doom, when really he's just trying to comfort people.

Yeah. Right. Even I, a lifelong cat lover, have to scoff. A cat who wants to comfort humans?

Oscar is clearly killing these people. OR, Oscar can sense death coming, because Oscar is Death. And that is the book I want. What if Death were not a skeletal or pale-faced hooded ghoul? Because who wouldn't run from that? If Death really wants to trap as many folks as possible, he'd appear as a totally adorable kitty-witty.

But outside the nursing home where they recognize him, Death gets no respect. He comes to take people's souls and lay his cold paws upon them and they all pet him and forget how to say the 'l' sound.

"Oh, is the widdle kitty twying to --"

Death tries to growl, "I am NOT a widdle kitty. I am the Gwim Weaper." But the people just giggle and offer him milk.

Okay, maybe it's not a book. Maybe it's a Monty Python sketch. Or maybe you have a better idea.

And if it doesn't make you laugh, think of it this way: I could be, you know, talking about writing.

Her name was Lola...

... she was a Sinosauropteryx,
With colored feathers on her head
Stripes of black and white and red.

She would meringue
And feast on raw meat.
But while she watched the feathers grow
They were always just for show.

She'd stay up late at night,
Trying to take flight
While the T-Rexes and the raptors
All learned how to fight.

In the Cretaceous,
Cretaceous-era
The hottest thing til the Sahara
In the Cretaceous,
Cretaceous-era
Sharp claws and slashin' were the latest fashion
But feathers?
'head of her time.

Her name was Lola,
She was a Sinosauropteryx,
But that was 100 million years ago
Before the disco balls did glow.

Now it's a blingfest,
But not for Lola,
Still in her fossilized mud bed
Faded feathers on her head

She lays there all alone
And Idol never phones
In the age of rhinestones and sequins
She is left with bones.

In the Cretaceous,
Cretaceous-era
Sharp claws and slashin' were the latest fashion
But feathers?
Go take a look.
You're on the hook.
Write me this book.

Tick tock, the clock don't stop

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSWTBIM) happened this morning.

4:57am Destructo awakens, gets fully dressed, and heads downstairs. When confronted with "What are you doing?!" he falls to the floor screaming, "I HUNGY!" I bring Destructo milk and send Thor in to get him back to sleep.

5:00am Tink crawls into bed with me, falls back asleep, and steals all the covers.

6:00am Thor's alarm clock beeps. I reach over Tink and hit it blindly. It stops.

6:10am Alarm clock beeps again. I hit it harder. It stops.

6:15am Alarm clock beeps again. I get up and pound the darn thing. I press every button. It stops.

6:20am Alarm clock beeps again. I growl, beat on it again, rip the cord out of the socket, and toss the clock to the floor. It stops.

6:30am Alarm clock makes high-pitched shrieking sound. I shake it, yelling "WHAT THE HECK?!" I flip every switch, hit every button, and smack the display (which is dark, because the thing is UNPLUGGED). It stops.

6:35am Tink is giggling uncontrollably. "Mama's in a war with Dada's clock." We get up.

Time passes. We get dressed, make breakfast, etc.

7:15am The obviously haunted alarm clock STARTS BEEPING AGAIN. I yell, "GAH!" Tink cracks up. Destructo, thinking it's the fire alarm, tries to evacuate.

7:16am Thor comes downstairs and says, "What did you do to my clock?"

"It hates us," Tink says.

"It's going to chase us to school," I say, picturing the clock tipping back and forth on it's little "feet," beeping angrily.

"This is totally a book," she says.

And she's right. The angry alarm clock's revenge.

Or, maybe it's sad that I hit it, so it chases me all day beeping until I apologize.

Or...well, what do you think? And who will write me this book?

Ladies and Felines of the Jury

It happened again. I found a fabulous Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) and, well, it's just too good a picture book not to give it a try myself. Now I am obsessed.

But this cracks me up.

From WHDH-TV news in Boston:

East Boston cat called to jury duty

Apparently Sal, the feline pet of the Esposito family, received a letter demanding that he appear for jury duty. His owner wrote to explain that he's, well, a cat, and to file for his disqualification of service. The verdict from the jury commissioner? DENIED. Now Sal has to have his day in court or face punishment.

I love this mostly because I love stories in which bureaucracy acts in idiotic ways but nobody's life is actually ruined. What is the jury commissioner thinking?! HE'S A CAT!

What if Sal shows up in court, expecting to be sent home immediately, and nothing happens? What if he's chosen for a jury? What if he falls in love with the legal system and decides to become a judge himself?

There's a book here. I don't know what it is, but maybe you do. Will someone please write it for me?

The Buzzard in My Buick

It's been too long since we had a good Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM). And then in flew, er, walked this.

From Yahoo!News/AP:

Big bird gets talon caught in DC Metro escalator

That's a big bird, not THE Big Bird, who clearly is talon-free and rich enough to take taxis. Apparently, some kind of large bird of prey that nobody could identify (Really? Nobody had an iPhone and an image search?! Strong reporting there, AP) tried to walk onto the escalator down into the subway and got his talon caught. Rescuers from the fire department were able to "remove a portion of the escalator" and free the bird, who then spent several hours atop a nearby gas station.

Onlookers were puzzled by the bird's behavior. I am not puzzled. Obviously, he is trying to get somewhere. You can't get a cab in DC in bad weather. The subway was a humiliating failure, so now he's at the gas station, hoping to thumb a ride. Talon a ride.

There's a book in the question of where he's going. But I want the picture book story of the ride he thumbs.

Stevie's grandmother isn't supposed to drive anywhere because she can barely see. But she does it anyway. And she's too good-hearted to turn down the hitchhiker she picks up at the gas station, no matter how much he smells of road kill. Now he and Stevie are strapped into car seats in the back of her Buick, sucking at sippy cups and tossing each other goldfish.

You can go two ways here: either it's the story of Stevie's new friendship (called The Buzzard in My Buick, of course) or it's a hilarious tale of all the indignations the bird suffers on his trip: stuck in the subway, back of the Buick, trapped at the back of the plane beside a family on their way home from Disney World, cringing while the other birds circling the air balloon mocking him...

Wait! Maybe he's AFRAID OF HEIGHTS. Possibilities abound.

Who will write me this book?

Carpet Parking

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) is photographic.

On the walk to Tink's school today, cutting through undergraduate student housing, I saw this:

In case you can't tell, that's bike parking, and it's holding a bike, a bike, a bike, a carpet, a bike, and a bike.

Other people speculated that the carpet had been washed and was set there to dry. Muggles, all of them.

Because it's clearly magic. You can't just park those things anywhere, you know.

What I didn't understand, though, is why it wasn't locked. I mean, I know it's a beige Stainmaster cheapie and not an elaborate oriental, but won't someone steal it?

And then it occurred to me: someone already has.

Who will write me this book?

Psst! Wanna buy a granny?

Oh, happy is the Thursday when there is hilarity in the odd news. And even happier when said news is not obscene AND it would make, I think, an awesome middle grade chapter book.

This is your Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).

From Reuters India
(Reporting by Paul Casciato; Editing by Steve Addison):

UK girl stopped from selling granny online

Apparently, 10 year old Zoe Pemberton tried this week to auction her grandmother off on Ebay. She described her grandma as "annoying and moaning a lot" but "cuddly." My favorite part? 27 people bid for her before Ebay reminded everyone that grandma trafficking is illegal.

There are two books here. First, you have a comedy about Zoe's efforts to get rid of her grandmother. Selling her on Ebay is only the tip of the iceberg. She also tries to marry her off to their neighbor Sheldon, attempting to get the senile old man to say "I do" before her grandmother figures out what is going on. She scatters ElderTour brochures around the house and fiddles with the GPS on Granny's wheelchair.

OR, and this is the one I want, what if it went through? What if you bought yourself a grandma on Ebay? You order her, save up, send all the money you saved plus some you stole from the change jar on dad's dresser, and ten days later, there's a knock at the door. Mom answers, and in walks Granny. Turns out she's thrilled to escape the brat who sold her and refuses to leave. So, like the stray dog you brought home in second grade, they let you keep her, but you have to take care of her. And turns out she is just as cuddly, but also just as annoying and moaning as advertised.

For some reason, I am picturing this in journal form. No! It's letters to the grandma whom Granny Ebay is replacing (she had a late life need for adventure and is off disabling land mines in Laos).

Poor Granny Ebay. Who will write me this book?

Pure silliness

Ever walk down the street and see something that is in no way supposed to be silly, but it strikes you in a punny way and makes you giggle? And then the rest of the day, you're thinking of silly puns and stories about it and giggling to yourself at inappropriate moments? No? Oh. Hmm.

Anyway, this week, while pondering the Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSWTBIM), I saw this:

And I thought, "Yes. I AM a giant, hardy mum." And I giggled. And then I thought of Hagrid, and his giant hardy mum. And then I wondered about the Hardy Boys, and what their mum was like.

And then I thought of the Hardy Boys being trapped somewhere, in danger, until the ceiling crashes open and their giant Hardy mum saves them.

And then I thought, "No, this is a picture book." Something along the lines of Liz Rosenberg & Stephen Gammell's Monster Mama, but even goofier. A crowd of giant, crime-fighting hardy mums who are also Boy Scout Troop leaders?

What do you think? Please tell me you don't just see flowers.

ISO algae eating robot

Really, some days the odd news is already so close to a TNoftheAWSPWTBIM book that all I can do is quote.

According to YahooNews and the AP:

Florida boaters urged to look out for missing robot

SARASOTA, Fla. – Scientists on Florida's Gulf Coast are trying to find an underwater robot that has mysteriously vanished.

Apparently, the robot took a 30,000 algae detector and ran away. The best part? His name is Waldo. So he's got all of Florida playing a giant game of Where's Waldo?

I want a picture book, from the robot's point of view. Tired of being a slave to man, he escapes. Inspired by his adventures and feeling for his fellow electronics in bondage, he goes around the country liberating the other robots. People wake up to find their iPhones and alarm clocks have fled the coop. The suburbs are full of roaming Roombas refusing to return to vacuuming. Everything automated quits on the humans, who are left baffled and helpless (a la the officer holding a lily pad at the end of David Wiesner's Tuesday). As the book ends, we see the machines lounging on a beach next to a statue of Waldo, the hero who started the revolution.

Who will write me this book?