I recently had a talk with my agent about my next big project, a thriller called DRIFT. I’m very excited about it, and when I told him a little bit about it, he was excited, too. I told him it was completely outlined and ready to go. Then he asked me to e-mail him with a little more about it.

The process went south from there. He got back to me and politely said ...maybe not. He pointed out some of the specifics that he didn’t like, and that the idea as a whole didn’t grab him.

I couldn’t believe it. It was a great idea, a great premise, and soon, I hoped, a very good book. The idea of bagging it and moving on made me feel sick.

Now, I was already well aware of my lame-ass pitch writing skills. One of the best things for me about getting an agent was that I could stop pitching agents (and in my experience, no, agents will not take your word for it when you tell them that you write real good, just not pitches). So I asked my friend and fellow Liars' Club member Jonathan Maberry to take a look at what I had sent my agent. Jonathan, in addition to being an excellent writer and student of both the craft and the industry, is also a great teacher. One of his classes is on how to write a pitch.

He read mine, making an effort to keep the shudders and head-shakes to a minimum. Then he looked up and said kindly, “Well, you write a hell of a novel.” The pitch, however, was dreadful.

We talked about what goes into a pitch, and he helped me tweak this one (i.e., throw it out and start all over). A lot of what Jonathan told me, I already knew, but hadn’t applied. Some of it was new to me.

The main thing I realized was that my biggest shortcoming in the writing of the pitch is my obsession with relatively minor plot points. I’m a plot geek, I admit it. When I’m structuring a plot, I get a big kick out of the minor bits of plot hardware that make the whole thing work, or the clever twists that make everything logical. The ones I think are cool. And god help me, I put them in the pitch.

That’s not what you do when you’re trying to sell an idea. You don’t see ads for watch companies that say, “Rolex: We use .5 mm Z-toothed micro-cogs.”

Looking back at what my agent had said about the pitch, I realized he was probably right about the specific points he mentioned. So I went in and changed them. Then I rewrote the pitch, from the point of view of an agent trying to sell it, or an editor trying to convince a marketing department, or a reader trying to decide if they want to read it. And not from the point of view of a technician geeking out over the details.

I did change the story and the outline, but I changed the pitch even more. My agent read the pitch and liked it. Then we talked for a while about the idea, and he liked it even more. By the time we were done, I think he was as excited about it as I am.

To be honest, my pitches are probably still kind of lame, but they’re getting better. Now, if I could only write a decent synopsis....

I'll be starting out wih some of the posts from my other blogs, so you'll know what I've been up to, and hopefully I'll keep up with this a little more regularly than I have in the past.

Hope to hear back from you.

Hopefully.

Fulmer subpoena

This is Brian Cook. No, seriously. It is. He can not be more wrong.

Funny.

But just how badly has Brian been wrong? Let me count the ways.....

First.

"If you wandered over to the various recruiting sites on signing day you probably noticed big banners proclaiming Alabama's return to power via the nation's top recruiting class. This is due in large part to the enormous number of recruits that put pen to letter of intent for Nick Saban: 32, a full seven more than the NCAA's yearly limit of 25."

But Brian, Scout only ranks the teams according to the top 25 recruits. I'm pretty sure Rivals does the same...

"...contain large numbers of players with no chance to qualify this fall; it's all smoke and mirrors."

With all due respect to Brian's fortune telling prowess, and inside knowledge of the scholastic deficiencies of a large number of young, southern males, only two of the OMG! It's so huge! class Alabama signed have failed to qualify. Well, three if you count Kerry Murphy who was already at prep school after failing to qualify the year before after committing to Shula.

Then there was Brian's Buzz Bissinger Moment (Warning:language), where he was wrong on just about everything, including, but not limited to: how many players were currently on scholarship at the time, the fact that there were grammatical errors in one of my posts (that really ticked me off), how the Bryant schollie works, how many players Saban just had to kickoff to trim the roster to get the 25 freshmen on campus (his lowest number was five, highest twelve), and the biggie, the assumption that Saban would have to, no planned on while twirling his handlebar moustache, kick kids off in the first place.

There's more. Brian then dons his scrubs and stethoscope:

"I think I should revise my position here: Saban's managed to sluff off most of his roster deadweight on medical scholarships of dubious merit and it looks like there will be no outright cuts. So this is not PURE EVIL, as previously theorized. It is still KIND OF EVIL"

I'm not sure about you, but I wouldn't say diabetes, a potential life-threatening heart condition, and a shoulder that pops out on contact dubious. Nor would I call the sack and TFL leader, starting corner for seven games, and a #2 guard deadweight. But I'm just a schmuck from Alabama. What do I know?

And that brings us to his latest post linked at the top. To do everything but come out and say that Saban drug Farmer from his dorm kicking and screaming and throwing him on a bus back to Texas is disingenuous at best. Saban would do absolutely nothing that would hurt him on the recruiting trail. The man chooses his underwear based on how he thinks it'll better help him recruit. And cutting players without reason is a quick way to get on high school coaches' crap lists. But once again I'm just a schmuck. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he was recruited as a DB, but had to move to wide-out, and then saw that he probably wasn't going to ever see more than garbage time snaps. I'll leave you with one more quote from the omniscient Mr. Cook. This one from an interview on Alabama Gameday:

"When a player voluntarily leaves it's different."

(HT: RBR)

The good news is that on Saturday, they're going to be running a free shuttle between the Liars' Club and Hamilton's in South Park. There will be a van that goes between the two bars continuously, starting at the Liars' Club at 2 p.m. and going until around 8 p.m.

My advice: Don't be surprised if the shuttle isn't as punctual as you'd like. The good news is that whichever way you're heading, you'll have plenty of good beers to drink while you wait on it.

"athletics directors interviewing candidates for head football coaching positions should include one or more minority candidates for that position, resulting in a formal interview opportunity. It is prudent to hire from a broad, diverse and growing group of candidates, and to support equal opportunity and fair hiring practices throughout the hiring process. This is not only the position of the association, but most likely in alignment with the hiring policies of the institution."

My favorite part is the consequence for not interviewing minority candidates. Wait. There isn't one.

I'm sure it started out with the right intentions. Some member of the executive committee accidentally saw an episode of Outside the Lines and discovered that ESPN was concerned with the lack of minority coaches in the college ranks (read: football...only football). This of course was startling. They asked the one black guy they knew (the associate professors in African-American studies don't count...those guys are angry) if he wanted to be a football coach. He said, "You mean rather than scrub toilets in the faculty bathrooms? Sure." And it was settled. There needed to be more minority representation in the coaching ranks (football). So, said member brought it up in committee. After the laughter died down, someone pointed out that the NCAA couldn't make money off of it.

Fifteen years later, someone brought it up again. There was uneasy agreement this time. Frankly, no one wanted to be the member that pointed out that there own schools would have to hire minority coaches, too. You just don't say that kind of thing with two black men in the room. Yep, two. The high and mighty executive committee that oversees these decisions only has two minorities among the 18 members. That's 11%. Eleven percent of diversity. Bravo.

So, under four watchful eyes, the committee decided that racism is bad. They also decided that if you don't go ahead and name a successor (hint, hint, Paterno--we're trying to help you out here), then you definitely should probably consider interviewing a minority coach. Maybe. If you don't mind. And if you don't, then shame on you. And that's about it. They can't even make you lose sleep over it. That's the kind of hard-hitting legislation we've come to expect from the honkeytocracy in Indianapolis. If you can't attach a dollar figure to it, you can pretty much classify their interest as "modest." And essentially that's what this says. "We think it would be a good idea, but who are we to tell you how to run your business?...um, school."

The real problem with it is that it's being sold as the college equivalent of the Rooney Rule and it's not. For those unfamiliar, the Rooney Rule is the name given to the NFL legislation that requires all teams to give a significant interview to at least one qualified minority candidate. And get this novel idea--there are actual penalties for failure to do so. Well here's another significant difference: the Rooney Rule works. Ask Mike Tomlin, head coach of the Pittsburgh Steelers whose candidacy was originally intended to satisfy the rule and ended up with his hiring. Better yet, ask Steelers fans. After a dismal 2006, Tomlin came in and not only got back to the playoffs, but won the division. Since the institution of the rule, Romeo Crennel, Lovie Smith and Marvin Lewis all were hired as head coaches and all have enjoyed success. Smith coached in the Super Bowl last season. Lewis has made multiple playoff appearances in his short tenure in Cincinnati. Crennel took Cleveland to a ten win season this year. Yes, that Cleveland.

There are a number of factors that make the NFL's rule work better. First of all, coaches' contracts actually mean something. Coaches cannot be contacted during the season, so the covert third party interviews through agents and "interested parties" are largely unnecessary (just don't tell Jerry Jones). As such, the interview process is usually more than just a formality. Secondly, because there are penalties for failure to comply, there is incentive to make the interview count. Since you have to do it, why not interview someone who has a legitimate chance of being hired? The rule doesn't require quotas or mandatory hirings. It only requires that the best candidates get a chance, and it's hard to argue with the results.

That's not going to happen in the NCAA, though. Why? Because there's no incentive. If the interviews of white candidates are meaningless, how much more of a charade are the interviews of token candidates?

The answer to that is of course "Who cares?" which is supposed to be a rhetorical question, but you just have to imagine the powdered wigs on the executive committee staring anxiously around the room, hoping someone else will be the first to raise their hand.

James 2:15-16

To want to be a professional author you really need a lot of optimism, or you need to be just on the useful side of delusional.  Often both.  One of the key elements to making this wacky profession work is ‘networking’.  Two writers together can do more than two writers alone.  Not exactly a new concept, but it’s nice to discover that it still works.

Yesterday I met with three friends who are also professional authors and together we created a new organization: THE LIAR’S CLUB.  (Why that name?  Well...let’s face it, we’re authors, we make stuff up for a living.)  We started the group to network with each other authors, but over the course of a long and very funny lunch at the Irish Pub in Philly, we agreed that we could also do a lot of good for the writing and reading community.  So...were cooking up plans to do joint signings, workshops, panel discussions, speaking engagements, contests, mentoring and more. 

The one certain thing is that we’re going to have fun.  No doubt about it.  But I got a feeling that Liar’s Club is going to make itself heard.  Count on it.

Here are the founding members:

  L. A. Banks (www.leslieesdailebanks.com), author of the insanely popular Vampire Huntress series of novels. 

Gregory Frost  (www.gregoryfrost.com) author of, among other things, the recent Random House release SHADOWBRIDGE.

Jon McGoran  (www.jmcgoran.com), who writes forensics mysteries under the pen name of D. H. Dublin.  The third in that series, FREEZER BURN will be out in June.

 And my website is www.jonathanmaberry.com 

There are some other folks who will be joining us.  I’ll catch you up on those later

Right now, do yourself a favor and check out my co-conspirators in the Liar's Club!

Then, Saban was let off the hook somewhat this year when Pignocchio informed Atlanta Falcons brass that he'd be back next year then bolted for Arkansas on THE NEXT DAY!

Well, those two guys are the choir boys of the SEC stacked up against Lyin' VanGorder.

Photoshop courtesy of Rakefighter.blogspot.com

When it comes to job-jumping, fibbing, speaking-out-both-sides-of-your-mouth, Lyin' Van Gorder is the king.

After accepting the South Carolina defensive coordinator position just in December, Van Gorder said this:

"I'll enjoy all the things about college football that I always have and I won't look back at the NFL," VanGorder said. "That's something I've put behind. I'm ready to finish my career as a college football coach."

"My intentions are to be at South Carolina and to be there a long time."

It was obviously understandable that Gamecocks fans would be worried about this. Especially considering Lyin' Van Gorder left his defensive coordinator post at Georgia to become Jacksonville Jaguars linebackers coach in 2004, then left there after a year to become head coach at Georgia Southern -- where he tore down a proud program -- before leaving to become the linebackers coach with the Atlanta Falcons again after one season.

But Steve Spurrier told several publications that he received assurance from Van Gorder that he was ready to settle down.

Van Gorder did just that ... for a month.

According to the Atlanta Journal Constitution, Van Gorder is in negotiations to return to the Atlanta Falcons as the new defensive coordinator.

WHAT?

You've got to be kidding. I don't even know what to say other than I hope he leaves Atlanta to become the defensive coordinator and assistant head coach at Arkansas. In my opinion, since that state's school decided to hire the world's second-biggest liar, it should become an exile state where we throw them all and watch them reap what they sow.

Now, in defense of LVG, apparently he and new Falcons coach/former Jax DC Mike Smith are best friends. But come on! There has to be a measure of trust in any job, right?

How can Falcons fans be excited about this? Let's hope in Smith's case, LVG doesn't have any other friends. The way things have gone recently, that's probably not too far from the truth.

I guess football is the last frontier of chronic truth-forsakers (that's a Ghost original word, by the way). LVG just happens to be the President of the Liar's Club, high profile or not.

"SO, I'M ADDICTED TO CAREER BUILDER!!! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT???!!!!!"

LSU defensive lineman Glenn Dorsey after an illegal chop block by Auburn.  Dorsey missed a good bit of playing time after this.  He will finally be fully healthy for LSU's National Championship game against Ohio St.

These were Rodriquez's comments last year,

"There weren't many reasons not to go. It's all about the reasons for staying," Rodriguez said. "I'm biased, this is my school. I think it's a great place to raise a family. We've always had a great athletic tradition."

There may be a sticking point, though. After Rod's flirtation with Bama, he signed a contract extension that includes a hefty $4 million buyout. The funny part is that Michigan also took West Virginia's basketball coach from them, too.

I think Rodriguez either really wants out of Morgantown, or he just graduated from the Petrino School of Upward Mobility. I believe he's gone. Before Rod changed his mind about going to Alabama last year, the fans were calling him a traitor along with a lot of other names I can't put on here. Then they welcomed him back with open arms once he changed his mind. I'm not too sure they'll be willing to forgive or forget it this time. He has to go, now.

When all the excitement dies down and the chants of "Woo Pig, Sooey" drift silently into the forgotten Ozarks, Arkansas still has to look itself in the mirror.

That's something the new Razorbacks' coach probably avoids doing these days.

How could he? When you've signed three contracts for 20 years of service to three different employers in the past 18 months, how can you look at yourself? How can you sleep at night?

Before we slide into full argument mode, we need to get one thing clear: I do not fault Bobby Petrino -- aka Pignocchio -- for tossing aside the Big Peach for all its worms. When you enter a situation with one of the most exciting, entertaining (albeit underachieving) and marketable superstars in Michael Vick, and he ends up stabbing your franchise in the back, all bets -- and contracts -- are off. When superstars on the team publicly question your decision-making and personnel moves and vehemently attack you in the press, what can you do? The river of loyalty flows both ways.

But let's not make Petrino out to be a victim here. Please.

He assured Rich McKay and Arthur Blank he was staying in Atlanta as late as Monday night. He said he was staying in Louisville hours before going to Atlanta. He lies. It's what he does.

That's where I'm going next. Over there!

When it comes to worms in the Big Peach, Petrino may be the biggest, especially when a good and decent man who cares more about his franchise and fans than most trusts you with his team and you stab him as soon as he rushes to support you.

Those three contracts Petrino SIGNED in the past year and a half were worth more than $64 million. We're not talking about small potatoes here.

In any profession, you are warned against leaving places without paying your dues first. You can become labeled as a "job-jumper," therefore making you less attractive as a candidate for a job down the road. What does this make Petrino? He is proving himself to be unworthy of any trust, and any fan who cares about his program should be on high alert with him leading it.

This is a high-stakes game that Petrino is playing, and if you bet the house, you should prepare to lose the house.

Bobby? Is that you back there?

Alabama is walking that slippery slope right now, and the reward can assuredly outweigh the risk. If the rewards become reality, then you look safe and smart. But when the risk becomes reality, you're left as much at fault for making the decision as the coach is for walking away.

All of this brings us to Arkansas. Did they upgrade from Houston Nutt? Probably so. But they lost any possible peace of mind, whether they want to admit it or not. Standing in front of the oinking masses last night, Petrino had this smug grin on his face, a grin that looked to me like it said, "I'm in control."

Falcons and Cardinals remember this grin

That's a good thing. And that's a bad thing. Just ask Louisville. Just ask Arthur Blank.

So Petrino wanted to be back in the college coaching forum? Really? Or was he just looking to get out of a sinking ship which every week had more holes blown in it, holes that were not only being inflicted by the media over the Vick controversy and by superior football teams, but by its own idiotic and defiant players.

What did Bobby Petrino really accomplish at Louisville? Rather than face the inevitable hard times that come with rebuilding, he bolted. What did Bobby Petrino really accomplish at Atlanta? He proved that he is consistently a liar, that he has no moral guide, no backbone, no regard for public perception or contractual obligations. And that he'll leave at the first sign of tumult.

With Darren McFadden and maybe Felix Jones going pro, THIS is what the Hogs have to look forward to?

Bobby Petrino has regard for Bobby Petrino and Bobby Petrino alone.

Is Arkansas the top of the collegiate food chain? Hardly. One thing Alabama has going for it is Saban's age. Why would he leave now? Where would he go? Why would he not want to cement his legacy? What more could he want financially? He's in a place where he can be revered and lauded for turning around a once-proud program.

What does Arkansas have? It has money, sure. It has some prestige, sure. It is in the SEC, sure. But the most alarming thing about this whole deal is that Petrino actually took a pay cut to leave Atlanta for Arkansas. It's not about the money. It's about control. It's about avoiding controversy. It's about Bobby Petrino.

Petrino made several interesting comments in his Tuesday night press conference, but one thing stood out to me: He said at one point, "I like to speak softly and carry a big stick."

Watch out, Hogs. He'll hit you in the knees with it when you least expect it.

How long will it be before Hogs fans feel like Nancy Kerrigan?

Did I just hear a collective nation say: "Huh?"

Looks like Nick Saban, Tommy Tuberville and the Liar's Club have a new SEC member. This is absolutely stunning news.

Petrino's year in Atlanta has been rife with thuggery, fan fallout, the Vick saga, players publicly calling out their coach and questioning play calling and personnel decisions. Now, it ends with the biggest city in the Southeast hating his guts.

This is HIGH COMEDY! Let the comments roll...

Here's an updated story.

Smash & Crunch is back this Friday night over at Liars Club, this time featuring Pase Rock of the acclaimed Philly based group Spank Rock and lesser known but nonetheless legendary Five Deez. And judging by the show that Amanda Blank threw last night, I'd be sure to check this gig out. She 'effing killed it. I'll bet that she spent more time in the crowd than on stage. And with all the costumes and people on stage dancing afterwards, the whole event was so much fun.

And along for the ride comes Chicago's own Deejay Pickel, Capcom & Joe Vortech and Josh Rodriguez (link?) as well as Kid Cut Up outta Milwaukee. That's quite a heavy lineup for ya. Remember that last few gigs these guys put together? Smash and Crunch shows are always the bomb. But before you go about planning anything, be sure to RSVP to get the hookup at the door.

Pase Rock - The Motherfucking Rave Is Over (Feat. Diplo)

Chromeo - Bonafied Lovin (Eli Remix Featuring Pase Rock)

Editors - Munich (Pase Rock Edit)

Pase Rock - Live in Miami Mixtape

Tracklist
01. Pase Rock - I'm So Disco (snippet)
02. Chaka Khan - I Know You I Live you
03. T Ski Valley - Catch The Beat (Disco Mix)
04. Spank Rock - Sweet Talk (Smalltown Romeo remix)
05. Justice - D.A.N.C.E.
06. Cassie - Me And U- (Eli remix)
07. M.I.A. - Pull Up the People (Eli Refix)
08. MC Lyte - Paper Thin (remix)
09. Eric B. and Rakim - I Know You Got Soul (remix)
10. Pase Rock f. Amanda Blank - Sexy MF
11. Peter Bjorn and John - Young Folks (Eli refix)
12. Robin Thicke- Cocaine (Spruce Lee remix)
13. Uffie - Hot Chick (Feadz edit)
14. LL Cool J- 3 The Hard Way (Eli remix)
15. Rod Lee - Dance My Pain Away
16. Luke- Breakdown
17. Pase Rock and The Posse - Lindsay Lohan's Revenge
18. GQ - Disco Nights (Rock Freak)
19. Brass Construction - Got Myself Together
20. Kraftwerk - Computer Love (Eli Retouch)
21. Metro Area - Miura
22. Stevie Wonder - Another Star
23. Shaun Escoffrey - Days Like This (Spinna remix)
24. James Brown - PAPA (Eli remix)
25. Stevie Wonder - Fingertips Pt. 3 (Pase Rock remix)
26. Stardust - Music Sounds Better With You
27. Earth People- Dance

The Passions hit Chicago @ the Liars Club, Friday.

So, The Passions are set to invade Chicago this weekend at the The Liars Club. You can read all about the event on Going.com, and I believe that if you RSVP the show it's free cover- which is always nice. There've been a lot of free shows lately. I love promotional bonuses. Any handout nice considering that these shows are eating my wallet. But I'm pretty excited for this one. These Brooklyn Kitsune Records residents will be sure to set floors on fire. Kitsune never fails, that label has consistently put out some of the most groundbreaking, cross-genre dance music that there is.

I've never been to the Liars Club, but you can expect to see me there later this week. If you're on the fence, wondering if it's worth it give these tunes a listen.

The Passions - Emergency

Foals - Hummer (Passions Remix)

Nine Inch Nails - Head Like a Hole (Passions Splatterhouse Remix)

Damn Arms - Home Wrecker (Passions Remix)

Math Heat vs. Passions - Turn the Music Up (Rough).mp3

He had known himself to be a liar and a sinner; he ate too much, was envious of his more successful co-workers, and worst of all, went all too often to filthy web sites and did things to himself that would be held against him in the final tally.

It was hard to believe the Devil put so much effort into him, but He did. As a result, he didn’t trust himself, but there were people you could always trust: the President; the Church elders; the principled principal of Dingby Baptist High School where his two kids went. And first and foremost, your wife, because she held it all together and she was truer
than true.

Then there had been the Dixie Chicks, his wife’s favorite band; it was clearly music for women, but one night after he had tucked Tyler and Shayna in, he had listened to “Godspeed”: “Sweet dreams, little man, Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels’ wings, Godspeed.” To his complete astonishment, he had found tears rolling down his cheeks, and at first had felt betrayed by his emotions—but the love for his children that had swelled in his chest, that massive surge of joy and gratitude tinged with inexplicable sadness, that could not be the Deceiver’s work.

He had felt open after that, and … and dare he say it, saintly. He had been willing to actually listen and relate to Jane’s complaints about the household that night. He had felt less envious at work the next day. And so the Dixie Chicks had joined the very small Pantheon of artists you could trust your heart with.

Then there was that day of Revelation in May of 2003, a spring day so warm that Sheila Stiles had worn summer clothes, and the torture of not allowing his eyes to linger on her cleavage had begun earlier than usual.

They had all been sitting in the break room, all seven of them in the Logistics and Supply Chain team, even that smarmy Dick Weinthrop who took any opportunity to have lunch with the General Manager; they had been eating fast food, vaguely watching TV, and talking about the drought of Biblical proportions Texas would face if the early heat wave went on like that when Sheila had shushed them all.

“Did you hear that?” she had said, her bosom aquiver.

Everyone had lifted their head from their Styrofoam lunch boxes and muttered “what,” “what’s going on,” “what’s the deal,” and, he now remembered, it had sounded like cows mooing in unison.

“That’s Natalie Maines” Sheila had croaked. “She said she’s ashamed that the president is from the same state as her.”

Of course, that was Texas. That was their home state Maines had talked about.

There had been a long silence.

“The gall!” Sheila had said. “Look at that Jezabel” she’d added, her breasts seemingly ready to burst out of her blouse from the outrage. “I’m never buying a Dixie Chicks album again.”

Jan Sorenson, who always finished her meals methodically, had snapped her half-full Styrofoam box shut and stared at the ensuing Kellogg’s commercial with indignation.

There had been nods, frowns, cold anger, and a generally wonderful feeling of united hatred; but not for him. Instead, there had been an icy feeling descending from his throat all the way into his stomach, like those terrifying stalactites he had seen at Carlsbad Caverns.

What exactly had Natalie Maines meant? The others had gotten it, and he still hadn’t. What was she ashamed of? President Bush’s decision to go to war in Iraq? Was that it?

He thought of the things that caused him shame: his secret admiration for Weinthrop; his lust for Sheila; his obsession with the porno sites. But war? A righteous war? How could that be shameful?

He had felt bewildered and let down, and had had trouble falling asleep. The following day he’d gone to the Food Court with Jan, who had huffed and puffed as she tried to keep up with him—as much as he slowed down she still had trouble waddling along. She had finally inserted herself into a plastic chair and picked at her Caesar’s salad, taking tiny bites. “I don’t know how you do it” she had said. “You eat so much more than I do, and you stay trim.”

She always made comments like that, and he invariably felt flattered; but that day, he couldn’t help but goggle at her. A scream had formed in his throat, a scream so powerful that it had threatened to take him over. “If you eat so little, then why are you so morbidly obese?” The thought had flooded his brain. He pushed it down frantically.

“Something wrong?” Jan had asked.

“Nothing” he had said. “I’m still upset over that Dixie Chicks thing.”

Jim kept his thoughts to himself but couldn’t stop from laughing lightly. Sometimes even laughter was a sin. Humidity was the nickname that Betsy Vidor had bestowed on Jan back in junior high. Jan sometimes still winced when she heard the word in passing.

She climbed into the truck as Jim commanded all the windows down. It would probably take the entire drive across the parking lot and around to the Home Depot side of the mall before any cold air would creep in from the vents.

The previous week, in this same lot, Jim had side swiped a parked car. He wasn’t used to the extra length that the double cabin added to his Ranger. He glanced down at the Lexus he had just hit with its passenger side mirror now dangling by the root. This shiny new car was the same color as the underside of an oak leaf. Its mirror, undoubtedly power heated, maybe even light sensitive, would cost a small fortune to replace. He kept driving. Couldn’t they keep car parts simple and modular, he wondered.

Home Depot was even more crowded than usual.

They walked across the parking lot; flashing car mirrors glinted in their eyes like fish scales. Just then, Jim had the sensation of a dark, spreading energy working its fingers over his skull, to his forehead. He knew he was one of God's liars, and he knew what this familiar gloom made him want to do.

Jan left a trail of light sweat wherever she walked now, a Rubenesque snail leaving its obligatory stream. He turned to her and grabbed both her wet hands with his own. He thought he knew what W must feel like, about to make a speech to bitter mothers of drowned children.

They were halfway down the interior paint aisle. The sample strips of mushroom-colored bathroom enamels made chessboards in the air.

She jerked her hands away. He grasped at them again; her sweat made him slip. After a long moment, she looked him in the face.

"What?"

He mustered the lie:

"Jan I have to tell you something. I talked to my wife last night. I told her something I've been meaning to tell her for a very long time. I hope you can forgive me, Jan. I hope my wife can forgive me."

He felt himself flush, and this time it was Jim who looked at the floor. He bet 10-to-1 he was doing just as good a job---if not better---than our president. He felt that familiar swell of love in his chest again---or was it pride?---just like the other night when he had looked in on his sleeping kids.

"Jan, I told her that you were the one I really wanted to be with. That you and I had something special, but we had never talked about it." A beat of silence. "I told her that."

Jan started to wipe the sweat from her hands onto the front of her dress. She had no idea what to say to this man, this man she had dourly wanted since the day he had nearly fallen on her desk after slipping on a wet spot in Supply Chain.

She had not been with another human being in six years. She could not let this possibiity glide past her. No. She would not. It was time for her to put it on the line. Maybe for the last time.

"Are you being serious with me?"

An Office Depot worker deftly carries a ladder down the aisle between them, then was gone.

"No." He laughs and looks directly at her. "I'm just kidding."

Jim stood in front of her, expectant, smiling. A flash of white rage, and then Jan’s fist connecting with Jim’s front teeth. They both screamed—Jan, because she had never ever hit another person before in her life and now her fist was on fire with the pain, and Jim because he had never ever in his life been struck by a women and now his front tooth was swimming in blood inside his left cheek.

“You….you…bitch!” Jim yelled from behind his cupped hand. “That was my tooth!”

Jan felt that same flash of rage again and this time saw, almost as if it were happening on the big screen at the mall movieplex, her foot connect with Jim’s crotch.

“Arrrrggghhh!”  Now Jim clutched his crotch with one hand, his bleeding mouth with the other.

Jan, shaking, began to walk back across the parking lot but then turned and ran-walked back to Jim, and kneed him in the rear-end. Jim lurched to the ground.

“Shame on you,” was all Jan could muster as she turned and marched back toward the food court entrance. She needed a cupcake.

He cursed at the thought of spending an extra $75 on detailing with no guarantee they'd be able to remove the bloodstains. He breathed deep and escaped into the dripping of blood. Pit. Pit. Pit. The steady rhythm reminded him that the crimson puddle came straight from his own heart. Spontaneous meditation slowly blossomed into ill-advised euphoria and he convinced himself that he'd never felt more blessedly alive.

The taste of blood, the painful throbbing, the sweaty smell of his own fear, the spaciousness of his 4-door SuperCab---it all made him feel larger than life, like a wounded hero on the big screen. A sweet and sorrowful benevolence swept through him. Pity those who would never experience emotion so deeply, so completely.

He laid his head on the steering wheel---the leading man in a Hollywood film, sensitive but hard---gathering himself before he stuck it to the world.

The horn shrieked in protest, and Jim bolted upright, a nervous shock blowing heroic notions to smithereens.

Two kids walking past the front of the truck retaliated for the undeserved blast. The girl gave him the blowjob signal with the bobbing fist and tongue inside the cheek. The boy blew him a kiss and smacked his ass.

Jim started crying.

His wife was going to find out. His boss was going to find out. He was screwed. Jan would tell everyone in the office.

What was he going to do?

Wrong question, he told himself. I need to think big. What would Doubleya do?

Doubleya'd stick to his guns. He always sticks to his guns. He shapes his own reality.

I can do that. I've gotta shape my own reality. It's not a lie if you believe it.

"And I want, I need, Somehow to believe, In the choice I made..." The angelic voice of Natalie Maines came to him from nowhere, like a sign from above.

Jim caught up with Jan outside the Cinnabon. He held her hands as if he couldn't let go. He looked deep into her eyes and tried to see her soul.

"Please listen," he said. "I panicked ... I can't say I love you. I'm married. But believe me when I say that I can't bear the way you look at me with those hungry eyes. It drives me crazy to see the way you fill the space around you and devour all that life offers. Sometimes, when you're in the room with me, it takes all my strength not to scream."

Jim pleaded from his heart, "Please forgive me. My life is hard enough just being near you. Please forget today ever happened and let us both move on."

I say "brutal" because Karr's childhood is exactly that, and the way she tells of growing up in Leechfield, Texas, with a famiy as dysfunctional as they come, is brutally honest and quite discerning--not "disturbing", but "discerning", because she knew what to put in, and what to leave out. Her telling isn't steeped in bitterness--instead, she uses the best edge of humor to separate herself from the story's events, but also to retain a certain child-like sense of awe and unflinching love.

THE LIAR'S CLUB is sort of the polar opposite of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood: though there are some similarities (the peppery smell of gumbo cooking is enough to make my eyes water, and the sticky heat of the bayou makes the sweat bead up on my upper lip, no matter that I've never seen a swamp, nor spent a night tossing in that oppressive damp), there is not a Southern belle to be seen in Karr's memoir. I give her two thumbs up.

RATING: 4

Finally, after what felt like minutes, Jan wiped a tear from her eye and weakly smiled. "Why, Jim, I didn't know you felt that way." Like clouds lifting after a rainstorm, her face lit up. "I mean, I always kind of suspected, but…."

The blood returned to Jim's face and he felt like he had just escaped something, like when he ditched Bible Studies to drink beer at Bobby Joe’s house to watch football and managed to convince his parents that he was there to have a private study session. Lady Luck was once again wrapping him in her arms and covering him like a blanket. "So, you forgive me?

Jan's eyes widened further. "Well, Jesus commands that we must forgive others and as I accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, I am commanded to forgive you." As she said it, her face turned from happiness to what Jim could only discern as lust, or as lustful as somebody with a double (triple?) chin and a wide, fleshy, moon-shaped face could look. Jim hoped it wasn't him that brought out that look but the Waffle House in the distance.

"You know, Jim," she said with a tone of mischievousness this time, "I always felt the same way about you. Sometimes, late at night, I'd picture us together, and, may the Good Lord forgive me for the thoughts that passed through my mind and for what I did while thinking about it."

Jim turned bright red. Like beet red. Like the kind of red you get when you choke on a corn dog and somebody has to do a Heimlich maneuver. He had to quickly figure out a way around this, something made even more difficult by the images just placed in his head and the ensuing nausea building from the pit of his stomach. Why does he always have to lie like this? In fact, why did he do any of those things he knew he wasn’t supposed to do. It was like the more he tried to not do it, the more determined he was in doing it. Like all those times he vowed he wasn’t going to visit those kind of porn sites on the web and then ten minutes later, he’d plunk down some more money on his credit card for “HotLesbianSchoolGirlsInWhippingCream.com” or that special online video of Penthouse Pets playing naked touch football. Well, W. says we must stay the course and not cut-and-run and if it’s good enough for Dubya, it’s good enough for Jim. He ain’t no cut-and-runner.

"Oh Jan, you know I'm crazy about you. And like you, at night, while in bed with my wife, I…” and here he trailed off as he couldn’t go any further and his thoughts frantically ran through what little Bible versus he could think of in his brain for just the right passage to say (praying every night was another thing he lied about, except the night before an LSU football game). “Doesn’t it say in Corinithians 5:32 that we must honor the family above all? In fact, doesn’t the Bible tell us that that even lusting after someone in your heart is adultery?"

Jim made yet another silent prayer to the God he had once again forsaken that he came even a little bit close to the correct passage. Or a passage whatsoever.

"Oh, Jim, I couldn't do that...." said Jan as tears once again started streaming down her face. Damn, Jim thought, that woman sure does cry a lot. She even cries on Doughnut Friday’s. He quickly looked around to see if anybody he knew could possibly be watching and gave her a quick hug in sympathy, trying as hard as possible not to give her any chance of wrapping her huge body around him in return.

"But...you know..." he started meekly "we have to keep this secret. Nobody can know of our love. Not our coworkers. And not my family. Why, it would ruin me. It would ruin us. This will always have to be our thing, a love that will never be. Like that song “I Love You In Your Cowboy Boots But I Ain’t No Cowboy.”

A pause. For Jim, the world stopped at that moment, like in all of those TV shows where the background froze and the only thing that moved were the main characters. Jan looked down at the ground for a second as she started crying again. Finally, she looked at him, straight in the eye. "Why, of course, Jim. I promise. I swear to Jesus Christ himself that I will never tell a soul. For the sake of your children and our souls."

And with that, she gave him a quick hug. Jim let out a breath of air and vowed yet again to never do something like this again.

As she was leaving, Jan turned around. "One more thing, Jim."

"Yes…"

"When I get home, the first thing I’m going to do is call your wife.”

Jim’s jaw dropped and he couldn’t take a breath. “But why?” he croaked.

"‘Cause I’m a member of the Liars Club too"

And with that, she went into the Cinnabon, laughing as she went.