S.G. Browne

I don’t deal in happy endings or plots that don’t leave anything unresolved. The best you’re going to get from me is an ambiguous final chapter with the ultimate outcome for the main character yet to be decided. Possibly in a sequel but not necessarily. And even if there is a sequel, the ending of that one is probably going to leave some loose strings.

So if you like your endings wrapped up in a nice tidy package with a big shiny bow, then you’re probably better off watching a Hollywood movie.

But life isn’t like a Hollywood movie. Things are always left unresolved, and my novels echo that. I realize a lot of people read books and watch movies so that they can escape from reality and have the satisfaction of coming away feeling like someone rose above their circumstances. It gives us hope in our own lives that maybe it can happen to us, too.

The guy gets the girl.
The heroine overcomes her fear.
The underdog saves the day.

The truth is, things don’t always work out the way we want them to.

You don’t find Prince Charming.
You don’t overcome your fears.
You don’t realize your dreams.

And that’s what I like to write about. How things don’t always work out. Or how they might work out in one fashion, but ultimately the ending isn’t what the main character had hoped for. So if you’re picking up one of my books expecting a Hollywood ending, then you’re probably not going to get what you want. But if you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you need.

With apologies to Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones.

I came across a tweet today from John Hornor Jacobs, a friend and fellow word slinger, who posted the photo on the left along with the sentiment: “Days like today remind me that humans are supposed to spend a large amount of their lives under the open sky.”

As writers, we spend a lot of our time indoors in front of a computer, which is not what humans were created to do. Throw in all of the Facebook updates and the Twitter posts and the online social networking and you can become so connected that you forget to unplug.

Even when we go out, we’re still plugged in, taking our electronic leashes with us, be they cell phones, smart phones, iPads, laptops, etc. We’re always checking our e-mail, our Twitter feed, posting what we’re doing and when we’re doing it and who we’re doing it with, calling friends and family while we’re out and about. We become these share-whores, unable to experience a moment without wanting to post about it or tweet about it or talk about it.

So in effect, while we strive to stay connected to all of these people who are not there to share the moment with us, we become disconnected from experiencing the moment ourselves. It’s impossible to be in the present when you’re constantly connected somewhere else. But we’ve become conditioned by technology to take us out of where we are and electronically connect us somewhere else.

And so I took John’s advice and went outside to enjoy the afternoon sunshine of San Francisco. Granted, my sky wasn’t nearly as beautiful as his, for it lacked the clouds to give it texture, but I don’t have any photos of it to share because I left my smart phone and my laptop at home. That’s not to say I didn’t jones for my phone, but for a couple of hours, it felt good to disconnect.

I know, I know. We’ve gone over this before. Real books vs. eBooks. Parts I, II, and III. All the sequels. All the reboots. All the remakes. So why am I dredging this up again? Because this is my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want. Plus I couldn’t think of anything else to write about.

I realize there are those of you who feel that a book is a book is a book, whether digital, audio, or hardcover. I disagree. I feel there’s a definite difference, just like there’s a difference between MP3s, CDs, and vinyl. When you go digital, you don’t capture the complete sound wave, losing richness and warmth that can’t be duplicated no matter how much remastering you do.

To me, it’s the same with books. Real books are warm while eBooks are cold. I realize eBooks are the future and that the future is now, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I also realize that as an author, I earn money from the sale of the electronic versions of my novels. I even have a short story collection that is only available as an eBook.

So I’m not here to say you shouldn’t buy eBooks. Buy books in whatever format you prefer. However, if you are an eBook fan, I encourage you to purchase eBooks from local independent bookstores who have partnered with Google. You can get eBooks for your iPad, Nook, Android devices, and Kindle Fire if you do a side load. At least that’s what I’ve been told. So support independent bookstores rather than Apple and Amazon.

Okay, that’s it for the eBook PSA. Now, without further ado, here are my 10 Reasons Why Real Books Are Better Than eBooks:

1. Real books don’t run on batteries.
2. If you spill water on a real book or drop it in the pool, it still works.
3. Bookcases are windows into a person’s soul. When I go to someone’s house, I’m not going to browse through their Goodreads shelf or their iBooks library.
4. You can’t sign an eBook.
5. eBooks rob me of the thrill of seeing someone reading my book out in the wild.
6. Real books are conversation starters. I’ve never seen anyone ask someone with a Kindle if they liked what they were reading.
7. Real books have historical gravitas. They connect me with all of the writers who came before me.
8. There’s no such thing as a Used eBook Store.
9. You can’t own an eBook. You can only purchase a license that gives you the right to read it.
10. Real books smell like home.

That’s my argument for real books vs. eBooks and I’m sticking to it. You can take my old-fashioned Luddite novel from me when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

I have a fondness for Los Angeles. I lived there for three years, from 1989-1992, within spitting distance of the La Brea Tar Pits and the L.A County Museum of Art. Back then, you could get just about anywhere in 20 minutes: Westwood, Manhattan Beach, Universal City.

Now, about the only thing you can do in 20 minutes is work your way to the front of the line at Pink’s or Tommy’s.

But I love coming back and visiting friends and enjoying the warm weather. That’s one of the most rewarding benefits of going on the road to promote my novels. Not the warm weather. But the friends. Old and new. People I wouldn’t get the opportunity to spend time with otherwise.

Plus, when you spend a lot of your time alone in front of a computer making up imaginary stories about imaginary people, it’s good to get out once in a while. Helps you to manage your sanity.

While I’m now down in San Diego, which has its own charms and appeal, the highlights of my three days in Los Angeles included:

• drinking too much and staying up too late Thursday night with a college buddy and his lovely wife;
• reading and signing Lucky Bastard on Friday night at the new Mysterious Galaxy Books in Redondo Beach, which has an awesome staff and cheese popcorn;
• signing at the L.A. Times Festival of Books on Sunday, where I had the chance to meet some fans and hang out with fellow wordsmiths Chuck Wendig, Stephen Blackmoore, Maria Alexander, and Matt Funk

Once LATFOB came to a close on Sunday, I made it from USC to San Diego in 1 1/2 hours, a personal best, and have had the good fortune to spend the past thirty-six hours with some old, dear friends who treat me well and make me laugh.

Tonight, I wrap up my southern California Lucky Bastard tour with a reading and signing at the original Mysterious Galaxy Books in San Diego. The fun starts at 7:00PM, so if you’re in the hood, stop on by. Maybe you’ll get lucky.

When I started writing Lucky Bastard in the spring of 2009, my main character was named Jon Rolli. I wasn’t thrilled with the name but it held him in place. Once I finally made him a private detective, I decided he needed another name. Something that suited him better. Something with a little more panache.

Back in 1991, I wrote a screenplay titled A Fish Out of Water—an Airplane! and The Naked Gun inspired comedy spoof about a private detective in Chicago dealing with corrupt developers while trying to find a rare, stolen Australian myna bird purchased from a specialty hybrid pet store called The Fish Out of Water Pet Shop. That’s the screenplay over there on the left.

The script includes a lot of word play and silliness and characters with names like Nick Monday, Warren Peace, Sandy Beach, Al Chemy, and a band named Umbilical Dan and the Chords. Nothing ever came of the script, but I always liked the name Nick Monday, so I stole it from my Chicago detective and gave it to my luck stealing P.I. in San Francisco. I also took the name of the female lead in the script, Tuesday Knight, and gave it to my main femme fatale in Lucky Bastard.

Even though they share the same name, the Nick Monday in my screenplay and the Nick Monday in my novel are two completely different people. In A Fish Out of Water he’s easily confused, honest, and rarely gets laid, while in Lucky Bastard, he’s competent, steals luck, and has sex more often than Charlie Sheen. He’s also developed some repetitive consumptive behaviors that, while not destructive, are a definite by-product of his lifestyle.

Cappuccinos. Apple fritters. Lucky Charms.
Mochas. Mentos. Corporate-coffeehouse baristas.
Just to name a few.

And while you might think someone who was born with the ability to poach luck would live in a Pacific Heights mansion or own a place in Nob Hill, luck poachers live a nomadic lifestyle and often have to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. Plus, there are definite karmic consequences to stealing someone else’s good fortune.

So even though Nick lives in The Marina neighborhood, with it’s Art Deco buildings and views of the Golden Gate Bridge and abundance of attractive Kens and Barbies decorating the cafes and bars, Nick ended up with something less than what he’s grown accustomed to:

I live in a studio on the third floor of a four-story building on Lombard Street, next to a dry cleaner’s, across from a transient motel, and just this side of dilapidated. Not my first choice for living accommodations, but sometimes you take what you can get. Or go where your mistakes take you.

Again, I’ve played with reality a bit here, as Nick’s building doesn’t exist in the location I’ve described. But I wanted him to live in The Marina, so I placed his fictional apartment building on Lombard Street across from the Bridge Motel. While The Bridge has recently been “cleaned up,” for years it was a crime-ridden motel whose residents had to deal with bed bugs, rats, and on-site drug deals.

Above on the right is Nick’s view of the Bridge Motel from the front door of his apartment building, where he often finds a homeless person and gets to enjoy the smell of fresh urine. The photo on the immediate left is from the parking lot on the side of the motel, which gives you a better idea of it’s unique neighborhood charm.