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1/19/08 5:27 PM
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El Maquina
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Edited: 19-Jan-08
Member Since: 01/01/2001
Posts: 8867
 
Are his other books as good as his "Every Dead Thing" series? Those books were excellent.
2/22/08 2:02 PM
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Gator Man
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Edited: 22-Feb-08
Member Since: 01/01/2001
Posts: 22516
Charlie Parker is his main character. His books, in order, are: Every Dead Thing Dark Hollow The Killing Kind The White Road The Black Angel The Unquiet His standalone was Bad Men. It is excellent and soon to be a movie. Charlie Parker is mentioned breifly in Bad Men but it is not pivotal that you read it to enjoy the Parker series. He also wrote a short story collection called Nocturne. It is awesome. It is full of creepy short stories and 2 novellas. the last novella is called The Reflecting Eye and is about 120 pages and may be the best thing JC ever wrote. It is IMPERATIVE that you read The Reflecting Eye AFTER The Black Angel and BEFORE The Unquiet as there are a few characters from The Unquiet introduced in The Reflecting Eye. He wrote another standalone called The Book Of Los Things. I enjoyed it but it is not as good as the parker books. It's about a boy who is living in the English coutnryside during the initial bombing of WW2. He loves to read and eventually gets sucked into a book during one night of intense shelling by the nazis. He faces a bad guy called the crooked man and werewolves, etc. It is a lot like Alice a Wonderland crossed with The Hobbit or something like that. It is good but more of an allegory than a great novel. His next book The Reapers is due in May 2008 features Charlie Parker as well but it is not one of the Parker novels. It will instead focus on Angel & Louis (2 gay hitmen) and some of the terrible things they do. The next Parker novel is due in summer of 2009 and will be called The Lovers. www.johnconnollybooks.com and by the way, he's the best crime/noir/supernatural novelist working today. he BLOWS king/patterson/koontz/etc. out of the water.
2/22/08 2:06 PM
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Gator Man
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Edited: 22-Feb-08
Member Since: 01/01/2001
Posts: 22517
Thursday, February 21, 2008 THE BLACK BOOK I'm in a rented apartment in Maine, trying to get some work done on THE LOVERS before returning to Europe and the various commitments that will keep from writing as much as I might wish during the weeks to come. Beside me is a small black notebook, a Moleskinne, one of those little hardback jobs witha pocket at the back. It's the latest in a line of such notebooks dating, I think, back to DARK HOLLOW, when it began to seem like a good idea to have something easily transportable into which I could jot notes for the novel in hand. Although it has only been in use since the start of the month, it already includes: 1) Twenty pages of interview notes from a conversation with a former NYPD cop whoused to work the 9th Precinct, an area that will play a crucial role in the next novel. He was extraordinarily helpful, so much so that I'm hoping to pick his brains at least once more before I deliver the book. My only regret is that I didn't have my little tape recorder with me to capture the rhythms of his speech. Next time, maybe. The pocket at the back of the book also includes a map of the precinct in question, drawn on a bar napkin, as well as three newspaper articles concerning, respectively, cars, Jews, and Peruvian death squads. 2) My own initial notes from a walk through Alphabet City, including the first of many poorly drawn maps in my own hand, this time of the area around Tompkin's Square Park. There's also a written description of the 9th's precinct house, and some details of the menu from a nearby Greek restaurant, as well as casual observations jotted down in almost illegible script. Someone once suggested to me that I should use a little recorder for myself, but I'd feel like an idiot walking down the street and talking into a metal object. I don't even use Bluetooth on the grounds that, when I was growing up, the sure sign of a lunatic was someone who talked to himself on the street; that, and tying a coat with string. Now everyone seems to be talking to themselves while walking down the street. I don't want to add to the confusion. Incidentally, I do not tie my coat with string. Yet. 3) More poorly drawn maps and scribbled notes, this time concerning Pearl River in New York. Pearl River is very Irish indeed. Being born there may well entitle one to play for the Irish football team. Even standing still for too long may affect one's nationality. 4) Various plot notes, some of them written under the influence of wine. Ditto supposedly humorous comments, snippets of dialogue, and the odd metaphor and simile. Many of these will not find their way into the finished novel, since they didn't seem half as interesting/useful/funny when I sobered up, leading to the alarming prospect that I may not be half as entertaining as I think I am when I've been drinking. By the time the novel is eventually delivered, the notebook is likely to be close to full. When I'm done with it, I'll add it to the pile of notebooks that I've already used. I think I've kept them all, but only very occasionally do I return to them. I try not to repeat my research, and part of the pleasure of writing the books lies in finding new subjects and places to explore. Still, in these days of computers, word processing, and the electronic delivery of manuscripts, there is something reassuring about the presence of these little black notebooks. They help to remind me of how the novels were formed, and to chart my own progress through the world of my books. PS This week, filming began on THE NEW DAUGHTER, with Kevin Costner and Ivana Baquero, based on the short story of the same title in NOCTURNES. For those of you curious to know, principal filming is taking place in McClellanville, South Carolina, under the guiding hand of director Luis Berdejo. I still haven't read the script, which is a matter of choice (although someone who has read it was very impressed with it) but one interesting snippet of information reveals that a casting call went out for a thin, almost emaciated actor to play a "creature" role in full make-up, suggesting that John Travis, the screenwriter, has stuck to the original story's central idea of something very nasty indeed hiding in the burial mound on Costner's property. The film is due to be released in 2009. This week John read: The Quest by Wilbur Smith The Naked Jape by Jimmy Carr and Lucy Greaves and listened to: Vampire Weekend by Vampire Weekend Phoenician Terrace by Bevel The Pearl by Harold Budd and Brian Eno
2/22/08 3:51 PM
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El Maquina
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Edited: 22-Feb-08
Member Since: 01/01/2001
Posts: 9202
Thanks gator, interesting stuff, I've read everything up to The Unquiet.
3/26/08 3:32 PM
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Gator Man
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Edited: 26-Mar-08
Member Since: 01/01/2001
Posts: 22522
Bad news on The Lovers: Saturday, March 22, 2008 HELL While computers have done a great deal to make a writer's life easier, there is one way in which words on a screen can never improve on paper. Barring a fire, or a careless spring clean of a room, words on paper can't be easily lost. But words on a screen are only one mouse click away from oblivion. Yesterday, I began transferring, from laptop to desktop, the work on The Lovers that I had done in the US. The delay in the transfer was due to travel, and the completion of my office, in which I am, or was, happily established. I had about 25,000 words from the US, and before I left I'd managed to get about 30,000 done on my desktop. Due to the vagaries of builders, painters, and assorted other distractions, I'd failed to back them up. I know, I know. My fault, right? I always back up what I write, but moving house tends to result in routines falling by the wayside. I've been struggling to find my feet, let alone a place to work, in the new house. I think I was just glad to be getting any work at all done while strange men were trooping through equally strange rooms. So yesterday, in my nice little office space, I transferred one file marked 'The Lovers' to my desktop and, when asked if I wanted to replace the older file with the same title, I immediately clicked 'OK'. Bang. 30,000 words gone. The prologue, the first five chapters, all gone. As I write this, I'm sitting in a state of near shock. That's three months of hard grind down the drain, and I've undone all that I managed to achieve in the US. A frantic call to the nice, clever computer man who services my Mac gave no joy: I'd overwritten the files, not deleted them. They're gone, and they're not coming back. This is the first time that I've ever lost so much work. It's beyond frustrating. I was on target to complete the book in October, allowing for time spent touring The Reapers, and now I'm not. I'm not sure that I can even remember what I wrote: I can recall characters and situations, but not the dialogue. The prologue was good, I felt, and a long encounter between a girl and the parents of her murdered boyfriend was moving and more than a little eerie, but trying to reproduce it exactly will be like trying to snatch at smoke. Right now, I want to bang my head against the wall. It's my own stupidity that's caused this to happen. So what to do? Start again, that's what. Open a new file, entitle it 'Prologue', and begin writing. And yet that's so much easier said than done. Damn. Damn, damn, damn . . .

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