The Morph-mobile

There are a lot of advantages to being a humor writer ... not the least that we can burp in public without too much of an eye roll ... because people expect it.

But better, we have freedom other writers don't have. We can screw up, and our editor will go, "did you mean to put a weasel in your underpants?"

I mean, for most people, that's a screw up, but for a humor writer not necessarily so. The editor has does some hand-wringing, thinking, "there must be something funny about this that I'm not getting."

How liberating, huh?

Case in point. With my first book, "The Adventures of Guy ... written by a guy (probably)," there's a point in which my characters jump in an SUV and go off to battle telemarketers. But later on, I described the same vehicle as a mini-van. Later, it was an SUV again.

So my editor sends me a hesitantly phrased email asking, "Was this an 'oops', or is this the incredible morphing vehicle?"

I love putting doubt in my editor like this!

Anyway, yeah, it was a screw up, so I'm glad I had a sharp-eyed editor.

So when you're off writing your gut wrenching love stories, or twisty-turnie mysteries or whatever it is you write other than humor, remember ...

... we humor writers are laughing at you.

Norm

Get yourself some Fang Face today! $2.99 on ebook! A bit more expensive on paper, but worth it. Just go to my website www.normcowie.com, and follow the instructions.

The Cat Whisperer

“Feed me,” my cat whispered.

“No,” I retorted.

“Hungry,” he whined.

“It’s not time yet.”

He rolled onto his back and showed me his belly, perhaps to demonstrate how empty it was. It wasn’t the best strategy because he’s … well … fat.

But he’s a cat. Cats aren’t much about strategy. They stalk and kill. Not much strategy there.

“Go find a mouse,” I said ungraciously.

He stalked off … or more like waddled … most likely to go nibble on one of my plants so he could barf it up in revenge.

I wish this is how it went.

What really happens is this.

He can’t sleep in the bed, because if he did, he would wake me at four in the morning since he’s absolutely convinced he’s starving.

So the door is shut. Not just shut. It’s locked because of fears he will spontaneously sprout an opposable thumb to defeat the doorknob. I’m safe on one side. He’s prowling the countertops and dining room table looking for crumbs on the other.

And when my alarm clock goes off, it’s a call to action for each of us.

Carefully, I open the door. The cat falls into the room with a fuzzy thump because he’s been trying to push it open for the last hour. There are cat prints and fang gouges all over the door.

I walk through the darkness towards his bowl, with him zigging and zagging between my feet doing his best to trip me, because obviously I will feed him faster if I fall on my face.

Like I said, cats aren’t big on strategy.

But what he doesn’t appreciate is I’m old. Something else is making demands on me, too.

“I gotta go,” my bladder whispered.

“I can’t. I have to feed the cat,” I retorted.

“Now!” it insisted.

“No. Can’t you see, the cat is starving to death.”

To emphasize the point, the cat headbutted my leg, nearly sending me into the wall.

“I don’t care,” my bladder sneered. “We go to the bathroom, or you’ll regret it.”

I tried to imagine trying to measure out cat food while trying to hold off my bladder while the cat’s pushing against my legs. Kibbles and Bits would go flying.

For the first time, I wondered if perhaps my bladder and cat were in some kind of dark conspiracy.

So I veered towards the bathroom. Seeing me not heading to his bowl sent the cat into a maddened frenzy and he tried heading me off like a collie shepherding baby sheep. But I dodged and ducked him in a crazy cat dance and raced towards the bathroom, my bladder chuckling in evil triumph.

Before I could get inside and shut the door, the cat slipped inside so he could torment me while I was trying to ..well, you know.

So I closed the door.

Him on the inside. Me and my bladder on the outside.

“You’ll be sorry,” my bladder hissed, as I hurried to the cat bowl.

I crossed my legs as I dumped food in the bowl. I could hear the cat throwing himself against the door. I ran for the bathroom and whipped the door open. A fuzzy torpedo shot off towards the kitchen.

Watching his fuzzy butt, I whispered, “enjoy.”

Then, well, you know … time to empty the bladder.

Norm

(new book! Fang Face. Vampire humor at its most juvenile. www.fangface.homestead.com)

Banning the Bat

I was sitting at a book signing, my books spread out on a table in front of me. A boy walked by, maybe twelve years old, thirteen... I can't tell ages of kids much anymore. His mother was standing back a bit.

Anyway, he was drawn to the covers of my Adventures of Guy series. The book covers are lively and cartoonish, and they often are mistaken as books for the younger'uns.

But my Guy series is filled with a bit more mature of a theme, and as you know I don't like to corrupt the critters (It's okay to corrupt everyone else).

"Actually, that's for a bit older crowd," I said, and then I gestured towards my new book, Fang Face, which was written for his age. "You might like this one more."

He reached out, but before he could take it, his mother grabbed his arm and pulled him away. As she hurried him away to safety, she shot over her shoulder, "We're Christians, we don't support that kind of book."

My mouth dropped open.

Not like that's anything new, but mostly because I'm talking.

But this time no words came out. I was stunned.

She obviously took offense at the topic of Fang Face... vampires... and somehow felt vampires were a threat to her religious views, and that it might taint her vulnerable, young, sensitive son.

Even more, judging from the sneer on her face, she obviously took offense to me, as I am the creator of the book that so offended her sensibilities.

She knows nothing of my religious views.

She knows nothing of my moral compass

She obviously knows nothing of vampires either, because if she'd have given it a thought, she would have realized that the best way to fight a vampire is ... a cross.

You know, a cross. She was probably wearing one.

So how does this diminish her religion? What possible offense can she take to the symbol she holds so dear being held up as the bastion of protection to the threat from the dark side, the undead?

Most of you who know me know I'm rarely at a loss for words. But it wouldn't have helped me to argue with this lady. Obviously, she uses her religion as a platform to lift herself above other people. She uses it in a way not intended. She could have hustled him away without making a loud moral pronouncement on me.

Will this help her son as he casts about for his own moral compass? Will her strict indoctrination lock him into her feeling on the world, or will he turn away from her, rebel and push away from her black and white views on evil?

Will she drive him to seek out the very thing she tries to shelter him from? Forbidden books. Banned books.

There's a reason that some writers try to write books that will be banned. They are popular. People want to read them.

So bring it on, lady. Get my book banned. And I'll see you on the Best Seller lists!

Norm

www.fangface.homestead.com
www.normcowie.com

(exciting day today, It's my anniversary ... 24 years!)

Presenting Fang Face by Norm Cowie

Fresh from Echelon Press for September is Fang Face by Norm Cowie:

"Hilarious, lightning-paced, and as sharp about high school as a bite to the throat. I loved this book, fangs and all." - James Rollins, New York Times bestseller of Jake Ransom and the Skull King's Shadow.

From the back cover:
Erin has bigger worries than how she’ll do on her Trig Final.
A vampire bit her and she’s turning into an Undead.
Things could be worse, though. It cleared her complexion, she can fly and now her parents have to let her go out at night. And being a vampire is great for freaking out her little sister. The downside? … besides being dead, of course … and having to drink blood smoothies … was having to give up tanning and pizza.
And with her new edgy Goth look, jet-black hair and porcelain skin, everyone tells Erin that she’s become beautiful. So much so that the other girls in school have started calling her names…like ‘Fang Face.’
Erin wouldn’t mind checking her new look for herself. But as everyone knows…
Vampires can't see their reflections!

And here's an excerpt from between the book covers:

Alex bolted upright from a sound sleep, her heartbeat beating out a manic drum solo.

What was that? Was it real? Was it part of her dream?

There was thumping on the stairs and running footsteps in the hallway.
"Alex? Erin?" her mom called, her voice filled with anxiety.

Well okay, then. It was real.

"Girls!"

"Mom!" Alex squeaked.

The door burst open and a bright light slashed into her room followed closely by her mother. Her mom looked pumped full of the surge of adrenaline mothers use to lift cars off their offspring. Her face relaxed when she saw there wasn't a Toyota on her daughter.

"I'll check Erin," her father said as he tore past the door, a huge gleaming sword in his hand, chain armor rattling in his haste.

Not really, it was a Louisville Slugger and he was wearing pajamas.

He disappeared and a moment later they heard his squeak of horror.

Yeah, yeah, if you asked him, he would deny it was a squeak. He would say it was a grunt or some other manly noise. Uh, huh.

Her mother looked back at the doorway in alarm. Seeing Alex was safe, Beth commanded, "Stay here," and then bolted down the hallway.

Three seconds later there was a woman's scream. Her mother this time. Either that or Dad was trying to get in touch with his feminine side.

Alex froze, her mind spinning. She had been told to stay put, so like any teenager, she did what she was told without question.

Um...right.

What really happened was she jumped up and crept toward her sister's room. The door was wide open and light streamed into the hallway.

She sneaked a peek around the corner and gasped.

Erin was sprawled on her bed, eyes open and staring. Twin streams of blood pumped from puncture wounds near her jugular.

Want to read more? Like your own copy of the whole book right now?!?!!

The reviewers have spoken:
"This book sucks ... in a most delightful way! Norm Cowie's latest is boy-meets-girl-meets-vampire-meets-wow. Don't miss this gem." - Shane Gericke, National Bestselling thriller author

"FANG FACE made me laugh, and I'm not a Teen. Or perhaps I am, but I'm trapped in a grown-up's body.”- Raymond Benson, author of James Bond, The Union Trilogy

Mr. Cowie, I mean, Norm speaks to being an author...

The best part of writing is it feeds my freak. A writer is a bit of a control freak. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I decide who farts, who bites whom, and it’s up to me what a vampire is like. Does he sparkle in the sunlight? Does he need a straw to suck blood? Does he need SPF eight billion?

The worst part of writing is what I like to call, ‘the other writing.’ Extra curricular writing, like blogs. Anything that takes me away from writing fun stories. I even begrudge ‘Twitter.’ I’d much rather write a story than write about writing stories.

The craziest part of being a writer is signing stuff. I love graffiti’ing all over a book. I was always taught that we should respect and take care of a book. But now, people want me to write on a book … even better … they want me to write something weird or crazy. And I want to sign other stuff, like body parts. I know of a case where one of best-selling author Christopher Moore’s fans had one of his books tattooed onto her leg. Then she came to one of his signings and he autographed her leg. Then she had his autograph tattooed onto her leg. I want that!

What's next for Norm and his readers?

What else? A sequel. Fang Face ends a bit on a cliff hanger, though most issues are resolved in the first. I’m busy working on its sequel, WereWoof. Yep, werewolves, kinda, sorta. Count on more biters and more fun.

Thanks, Norm!

Find Norm here on Teen-Seen or at his website or the fang place blog!

Goo-Goo, Gah-gah

Birthdays, ya’ gotta love ‘em … ya’ gotta hate them.

I mean, think about it. A five year old kid holds up five pudgy, candy grimed fingers, “I’m almost five,” he says proudly.

At that age, the next birthday is like the world to you. Then you start hitting really cool milestones, like first becoming a teen … then sixteen … twenty one … thirty and a half.

But somewhere along the line, we all … well, you, not me … stop adding to your age. You won’t see a middle-aged person bragging, “I’m almost forty.” Or, “next month I’ll be thirty-six!”

Instead, you start shaving years off your age, sometimes to ridiculous extents. I personally know two women who have celebrated … well, not exactly celebrated … their twenty-ninth birthdays more than once.

Where am I leading with all this?

Well, it’s because .. um … uh …

Hmmm … (drumming fingers)

Okay, fine, I don’t have a clue.

Big surprise, huh?

But I do want to tell you the most special birthday ever for me. I mean, forget my own hatching, er, development in a test tube, er, binary fusion … but the most special birthday wasn’t mine. It was my daughter.

But you have two daughters, you say.

Yep, and they were both the best birthday ever.

commercial break: my upcoming vampire humor Young Adult book Fang Face comes out September 1.

Just weeks away

… hee, hee, hee!

Come check it out http://www.fangface.homestead.com

Norm

The Goofiest thing I ever did

Bwah! Ha! Ha! Ha!

I'm supposed to blog about the goofiest thing I've ever done? What, that's like trying to find an individual atom in a block of iron, like trying to tell one ant from another, like trying to tell the difference between a Republican and a lobbyist.

Oops, sorry, my political views slipped in there. Must be all the Sarah Palin quitter coverage going on.

Okay, enough of that.

Goofy, huh? I mean, have you SEEN me at an author event? I'm like the definition of goofiness. I swear, if Disney knew about me, they'd hogtie, gag and fly me to Disneyland where I wouldn't have to wear a costume to amuse the kids.

And can we talk about my weird form of chicken dance? My mangling of the English language? I mean, even the way I'm built ... balding, pigeon toed, bow-legged ... my elbows are registered weapons with Homeland Security ... my wife claims I need a beeper when I back up so no one gets killed.

Okay, fine ... let me try and focus on one particular incident. Well, there was that one time back in college when I ... oh, wait ... not exactly PG. Oh, yeah, that time where ... hmmm, not exactly appropriate, either. Wait, once I ... um ...

Never mind. You'll just have to take my word for it. Micky Mouse's friend has nothing on me.

Norm

http://www.fangplace.blogspot.com

(hey, my book comes out soon! Beware, er, watch for it. check it out here http://www.fangface.homestead.com)

Fangs in school

On my other blog (fangplace.blogspot.com), I discussed whether a boy should be expelled from school because of acne ... no, not that, heck, if acne was a reason to keep kids out of schools, they'd be empty.

What I meant to say, was if he got caught at school with a penknife.

Anyway, this touched on something from my upcoming book, Fang Face, where school authorities discuss banning a teenage girl from school just because of a little blood problem.

No, not anemia.

Her problem is that she likes blood. To drink. This isn't all of an uncommon feeling among her kind, seeing as she's in the process of being turned into a vampire.

But she isn't yet fully a vampire, and frankly, the law requires she attend school.

This was a fun thing to research. I called an administrator at the local high school, and asked her how a school might respond to something like this, and her answers surprised me.

I want to throw it out to y'all. How do you think a school should respond if it were asked to let a vampire attend classes with the other kids? And how might you respond if your child were in the same school?

The floor's open...

Norm

www.fangface.homestead.com
www.fangplace.blogspot.com

Glimpse into Missing

Okay, here's a treat for you.

In just a couple short weeks, Echelon Press will introduce the anthology Missing at the Love is Murder Conference in Chicagoland. I'm all excited because it will include a story of mine with the characters from my Adventures of Guy series.

All of the stories are about missing people, and all profits will benefit a missing persons organization.

If you're like that kid before Christmas and you just can't wait, I'm gonna let you take a peek under the wrapping at my story.

And check back here soon - I'm going to post the beginning of Fang Face, humor and vampire and teens and all that.

Here goes:

The MisAdventures of Guy
By Norm Cowie

Thurman sipped his beer and tried to watch the blur of Umberto’s fingers on the frets. After a moment, he gave up and turned his attention back to the television. Umberto had exactly three talents. He was a physics whiz, he could wiggle his ears and he could play Guitar Hero like no one else.

Umberto’s fingers flew with the speed of gas stations raising prices through the twin power guitar solos of DragonForce’s Through the Fire and Flames. Though his fingers were going at warp speed, his face was serene and blissful.

“Know what, man?”

Okay, Umberto had a fourth talent. He could have a regular conversation even while shredding his way through some of the most insane guitar riffs in music history.

“No, what?” Thurman asked, taking another sip of his brewski. His eyes widened as Umberto frazzled his way through a particularly insane twist of chords. The extremely well endowed female demon on the screen pumped her fist in animatronic exultation.

“I was playing around with some stuff in the lab the last few weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I think I made a breakthrough.”

“Uh, huh.” Thurman wasn’t really interested. Boring science stuff. He was way more interested in the female demon.

“Really, it was like we overlooked the absolute easiest way. I’m surprised no one thought of it before.”

“What’s that?” Thurman asked disinterestedly.

“Alternate fuel.”

“Alternate fuel?”

“Yeah. I discovered a solution that would totally enable us to replace fossil fuel. And the supply would be cheap, clean, environmentally friendly and work with an internal combustion engine.”
“What are you talking about?” Thurman said, finally interested. Even someone as marginally aware of events as Thurman knew how much a gallon of gas cost.

“Oil, man. We can get rid of oil.”

“Get rid of oil? But, but … how would the people at Exxon get by without their thirty nine billion dollars of annual profit?”

“Oh, poor Exxon,” Umberto snickered.

“Are you serious about all this?” Thurman asked.

“Yeah. It’s all in the transfer agent. All we had to do was find a plentiful energy supply and a way to transfer the energy.”

“So what’s the energy supply?”

“Cortisol.”

“Cortisol?”

“Yeah. Stress hormones.”

“What the heck are you talking about?!” Thurman asked, exasperated.

Umberto took his hand off his guitar and pointed triumphantly at Thurman.

“That!”

(All kinds of great authors in this anthology. Don't miss out! Order at www.echelonpress.com!)


Norm

www.normcowie.com
www.fangface.homestead.com

The Adventures of Guy
The Next Adventures of Guy
The Heat of the Moment
Missing (coming Feb 09)
Fang Face (humor vampire stuff, coming Aug 09!)