Owen Laukkanen and the SiWC
Owen Laukkanen. I was one of the lucky writers who managed to sneak into a “blue pencil” session with Owen because had a cancellation, and we had a brilliant conversation and a few laughs. But, Owen also told me what worked and where I could prolong the tension to create more suspense in the first chapter of my new novel. It was a first draft of a scene I’d written two days before so I’d have something to present for critique. Who better than a maritime thriller writer to comment on a B.C. lighthouse novel? And he bought a copy of my book!
For Owen’s take on the Surrey International Writers Conference, read So Surrey | Home | Project Nomad then sign up for next year’s conference because what he says is true. SiWC is truly “one of North America’s premiere writing conferences.”
Gwendy’s Button Box
This little treasure I read in two sittings. How could I not? When I saw it on the library shelf, I was instantly drawn to it. I picked it up and grinned inside and then felt a twinge of fear. It is, after all, a Stephen King story.
I heard the master’s voice lilting in the background as I read—a little Gunslinger drawl—though he had help with this one. Fantasy and horror writer, Richard Chizmar, co-wrote this novella. And it’s illustrated by Ben Baldwin and Keith Minnion. Just look at that cover!
So. Gwendy.
I couldn’t resist the title being that my name is Wendy and I’ve had my own button box forever. Every once in a while I take it out and run my fingers through the buttons. All shapes and colours, some black, some bling. I like the little clattering sound the buttons make as they fall through my fingers. My mother had one before me, and I’ll pass mine on to my daughter. It’s not the same as Gwendy’s though. Mine does not give perfectly detailed and delicious chocolate animals the size of a jelly bean. Or Morgan silver dollars minted in 1851. It doesn’t threaten to blow up continents. Or people. Or places I hate. Or make my life better. Or worse. And mine was not a gift from Mr. Richard Farris in his black suit and black hat with his blue-eyed charm, and gift of palaver. (Gosh, I love that word, palaver. You’ll find it in my own books.)
He points a finger-gun at her: pow. “That’s a good one. You’re a good one, Gwendy. And while we’re at it, what kind of name is that, anyway?”
“A combination. My father wanted a Gwendolyn—that was his granny’s name—and my mom wanted a Wendy, like in Peter Pan. So they compromised.”
I am also the Wendy of Peter Pan. And though my grandmother’s name was Gertrude, I had a great aunt Gwendolyn who my father loved very much. So who knows? I may have narrowly escaped being named Gwendy myself. I have always wanted to fly and jumped off my dad’s armchair once believing I could. “I do believe in faeries. I do. I do. I do.” A friend to faeries, I thought that was all it took. Alas, with no sprinkle of pixie dust, I fell and injured my ankle. Later, I did take flight. As a hawk.
But back to Gwendy and her button box. Read this book. You will like it. It reminds me a little of Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which is on my list of all-time favourite books. And the horror I feared would jump out at me every time I turned a page, never did. So, it’s safe enough—though it might make you think. And that can be dangerous for some people. And, there may be a drop or two of blood spilled before the last page. It did, after all, originate in the mind of the master and his friend. Know what I mean?
A Peek into the Pro Wrestling World with Cobra Clutch
Pro-wrestlers, scuzzy bikers, a yellow pet python, and a private detective—how does Devlin hold it all together in this gritty page-turning debut novel? With a whole lot of style and a splattering of tongue-in-cheek humour. The characters are highly stylized; their dialogue dazzling. From the first scene, when pro-wrestler Johnny Mamba appeals to his ex-tag-team partner “Hammerhead” Jed Ounstead to find the man who kidnapped his python, right through to the Rocky Balboa ending, Devlin takes us on a rollicking ride through the crazy XCCW world. A parody of EWWC, the acronym stands for X-Treme Canadian Championship Wrestling. You will read this book with your eyes wide open and your lips turned up.
Jed Ounstead (pronounced OW-n-STED) has left wrestling to work as a bar bouncer at Tonix nightclub and run errands for his father’s detective agency and pub, The Emerald Shillelagh. Jed’s Irish cousin and sidekick, Declan St. James, with his campy, no-holds-barred backtalk will steal your heart. “Jaysus, what is it with you Canucks and your need to share your feelings all the time? Back home, if you want to say thanks to a bloke, you just buy his arse a pint.” A feisty ex-IRA gunman, Declan is barman at the Shillelagh and “renowned for his ability to pour the perfect pint of Guinness.”
Jed doesn’t take Johnny Mamba’s predicament too seriously until the snake man receives a $10,000 ransom request via email for his python, Ginger. Then at the drop (near the Vancouver Flea Market), Ginger turns up dead, and Jed finds his old pal Johnny in an outhouse with his throat slit. After that, there’s no time to breathe.
We spend a fair amount of time touring Vancouver with Jed in his Ford F-150, ducking into Dairy Queens for a banana milkshake. (Warning: I had to go and buy bananas while reading this book. I’m dairy-free. But you may find yourself cueing at the DQ.) Vancouver landmarks abound. As Jed cruises Hastings Street and passes Playland Amusement Park, the “archaic wooden roller coaster” catches his eye. “The out of commission rickety green and yellow cars were still slick from the last rainfall, shimmering in the sunlight as they sat perched on an incline of the track, patiently waiting to start their slow mechanized climb to the top.”
Written in first person and peppered with contemporary references, Devlin’s exacting prose is tight and colourful. With an MFA in Screenwriting from The American Film Institute, we expect cinematic brilliance, but it’s his cleverly original similes that could become his trademark. “Melvin grinned so wide he looked like a saber-toothed squirrel” for example. Still, it’s not all belly laughs. In the beginning a “cobra clutch” is defined as a professional wrestling move, but in the end, the title has a much more sentimental meaning—one that gave me pause. There is no laughter without tears, and Jed Ounstead almost loses it all, as any real hero should.
If you’ve never seen a real Cobra Clutch, Sgt. Slaughter demonstrates it here on pro wrestler Randy Orton.
Cobra Clutch is A.J. Devlin’s debut detective novel but he promises us that he has “many more Jed stories” so rest assured, this is only the beginning.