After spending the last few weekends at bookstores where every title that interests me is $15+, I find myself a little antsy for the start of the yard sale/book sale season. When you go through a couple of books every week, that $15/book can turn into $200-300/month in no time. That’s enough for a cheap car payment.

While I love getting books for a quarter, there’s also a part of me that wonders where the used books have been. Did someone read it on the toilet? Did they drop it in a litter box? Did the previous owner pick his nose as he flipped through the pages? Sometimes it’s just too much.

So I’m asking you guys to give me the worst case scenario - What’s the most digusting thing you’ve ever done with a book? Are there any mysterious stains on your books? Do your pages stick together? You might just drive me back to my local NEW bookstore.

Despite the fact that things so often go wrong when an author keeps adding books/movies to a successful existing storyline, my blackened heart was thrilled to hear about Hannibal Rising. So thrilled, in fact, that my poor significant other was forced to take me for Valentine’s day.

This got me wondering - what kind of person would write books like this? Was the author just tiptoe-ing through the tulips one sunny afternoon when he decided to write a story about a guy that eats people? Did he suffer a life as traumatic as that of his star character, Hannibal Lecter?

I checked Wikipedia, but it was no help. Apparently, the guy is kind of reclusive. And by “kind of reclusive,” I mean that I couldn’t even find more than one or two photos of him.

The Thomas Harris Official Website offers the worst biography ever. Check it out, but don’t blink or you’ll miss it:

Thomas Harris began his writing career covering crime in the United States and Mexico, and was a reporter and editor for the Associated Press in New York City. His first novel, BLACK SUNDAY, was published in 1975, followed by RED DRAGON in 1981, THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS in 1988, and HANNIBAL in 1999.

Two sentences to sum up almost 70 years. I am not satisfied. They did have a picture, though. In his picture, Mr. Harris has some of the kindest-looking eyes I’ve ever seen. He looks like the kind of guy who would spend his weekends passing out toys in orphanages, not writing novels about flesh-eating serial killers. Of course, I suppose the two activities don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

On a separate note, I did notice that Dr. Thomas A. Harris is the guy who wrote “I’m Ok, You’re Ok”. Now that could make for some interesting mix-ups.

Anyway, the fact that there’s a movie doesn’t mean you get to skip the book. If you’ve never actually read one of Mr. Harris’ books, you’re in for a treat:

Hannibal Rising

Oh, and Mr. Harris, if you’re out there - You should get rid of the person who designed that book cover. It makes it look like one of those semi-trashy novels that I always see old ladies reading. Your novels lend themselves to much more intriguing imagery…

I’ve never really been okay with librarians. When I was little, they steered me towards books “appropriate for a child my age.” In the mid to late 90s, I can recall several librarians discouraging me from using internet resources, attempting to send me on my way with countless heavy volumes. Even now, at my day job, I get yelled at by a librarian a least once a week (okay, so we do send them mail that may or may not be of interest to them).

It’s not that I hate all librarians, I just need a little time to heal.

Anyway…a bunch of librarians are really getting in an uproar over scrotum. Yes, scrotum. S C R O T U M. >>If you have more than one, are they scroti? Hmm…any librarians in the house? I’m too lazy to consult dictionary.com.<<

My thoughts? Roughly 50% of the kids have their very own, free for the taking, low mileage scrotums (okay, I checked on the plural). The passage isn’t even about a little boy’s scrotum, it’s about a DOG’s coin purse….which is bitten by a rattlesnake.

I’ve read some of the back and forth debates, but this quote is my favorite, by far…

“I don’t want to start an issue about censorship,” she said. “But you won’t find men’s genitalia in quality literature.”

“At least not for children,” she added.

What do you want to bet she’s got a couple of dog-eared DH Lawrence novels in her nightstand?

I realize that this post looks a little bare without a picture, so here’s an image of the offensive book. Also, I’d like to ask that you please, for the love of all things holy, never, NEVER perform a Google Image Search on the word “scrotum”.
The Higher Power of Lucky:

It seems that there’s an awful lot of literary trash out there. While I won’t hesitate to navigate away from the celebrity coffee table book section at Barnes and Noble, I realize that trashy books serve a purpose. They help keep people reading - people who might otherwise forget how to read things like safety warnings and street signs, causing them to drive into me and my tiny little car. I wouldn’t like that very much.

I just heard today that sales of the Anna Nicole Smith biography are up slightly after her death, and her old Playboy back issues are bringing $50-60 per copy. Do you feel safer yet?

I’m a little ashamed to admit that I’m still working on the stack of books I got for Christmas. In years past, I would have been done before the holidays were over, but I have two very time consuming jobs now, and something has to give.

I heard a lot of talk last winter about The Thirteenth Tale, so I wasn’t particularly jazzed to unwrap it at Christmas. So often, “a lot of talk” means that it will be another Da Vinci Code - something you read so that you’ve read it, rather than something you eagerly and willingly devour. I’m pleased to say that my initial impressions were dead wrong.

I’m a sucker for a good ghost story, and Diane Setterfield delivers. I still can’t figure something out, though…Does she look more like this:

Diane Setterfield vs. MySpace’s Haunted Clown

Or this, Diane Setterfield vs. Cynthia Nixon as Miranda Hobbes?

Yeah, you heard me. I’m talking to you, Uzodinma Iweala. You think you’re so cool, just because you went to Harvard and wrote a book and got into medical school. Well good for you. You get a gold star!

That doesn’t change the fact that you look like one of those guys from Boyz II Men. Heck, you probably ARE one of those guys from Boyz II Men. That would just take the cake, if you could write, become a doctor, AND sing.

Uzodinma Iweala - Beasts of No Nation

If you have a good story about a book signing you’ve been to, shoot me an e-mail at authorazzi (at) gmail (dot) com. I’m collecting some good ones to post as time goes on. Did you catch John Grisham picking a wedgie? Did you see Anne Rice waiting alone without any fans? I’m open for anything interesting. Pictures make it even better.

I’ll post the best submissions here on the blog.

Sometimes there are great artists who make beautiful work and gracefully accept the gains that come with it. Other times, there are artists who create equally wonderful works and foolishly turn away the monetary rewards. A couple of authors come to mind…

Charles Webb - Author of The Graduate and New Cardiff, this guy gave away most of his money and totally screwed himself on the film rights of The Graduate. On top of it, he turned down an inheritance from his wealthy father. Yeah, I know, poverty is like, super cool and stuff, but maybe you should have put a little of that cash in a safe deposit box somewhere - Assuming the normal places, like bank accounts and index funds are too sane for you. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to sell yourself out with a sequel just to pay the rent.

Maddox - What, no ads? I’ve heard all the nonsense about maintaining integrity and truly being in control of your content, but please - with that kind of site traffic, I seriously doubt it would be difficult to find advertisers that would keep their noses out of your content.

Funny as the guy is (and I’ve purchased three copies of his book, The Alphabet of Manliness, so don’t take this as a statement that I hate his work), there is just something very juvenile about his demeanor - The whole “mainstream sucks, I’ve gotta keep my integrity and protect my art from the man” shtick is a little tired. Oh well, he’s got a bestseller, I’m sure he’ll live.

Okay, so it’s not the most sensitive title. It’s not like I ever claimed to be sensitive, though. Plus, he was 89. He had a full, happy life filled with lots of accomplishments and he died beside his wife and daughter. You really couldn’t ask for much more.

If you don’t already know, Sidney Sheldon is the author of books like The Other Side of Me, Tell Me Your Dreams, and Nothing Lasts Forever. Indeed.

I did find this story to be a pretty crazy example of the way writers can act, though. It’s an excerpt from an old CNN article:

Years ago, he was living near a canyon in the Los Angeles area. A raging blaze began in the canyon, and the police came to his neighborhood and ordered everyone to evacuate. After his wife took what she needed, Sheldon went into his house and looked around. Inside were valuable scripts, priceless mementos, items that could not be replaced.

A half-dozen yellow pads and a handful of pens.

Because of course, if you’re not just a little bit crazy, you can’t be a successful writer. I really can’t find a bad thing to say about this guy. In fact, he’s probably too boring for me to write about. I guess I’m only doing it because his books have made my grandma very happy. She loves a good mystery.

I guess that means I’m leaving it up to you guys to find the funny in this one. Here’s a picture of Sidney Sheldon and his wife Alexandra Kostoff for inspiration. Help me out with the caption.