One of the greatest things about becoming a published author is meeting other like-minded folks. And I have to say, one of the most likable like-minded folks I've met is Nate Kenyon, whose first book, Bloodstone, came out roughly at the same time as my first.

Now, Nate has a new one out called The Reach, and he's managed quite a feat with it: he earned a starred review in Publishers' Weekly. This is enviable from my point of view, because PW has been the toughest on me of any of the trade mags--so, way to go, Nate.

A short teaser from Nate's website:

Over 98% of the human genome is considered ‘junk DNA,’ sequences for which no function has yet been identified. Some scientists believe these sequences were once functional copies of genes that have since lost their protein-coding ability.

But what if those genes were simply dormant, and could become active with the proper trigger? And what if one of them, once awakened, made the carrier capable of things previously considered the stuff of legend—literally, the power of mind over matter?

Sounds great, eh? If you like creepy reads (and you know I do), go pick up a copy of The Reach and read it right now.

I believe I shared this joke somewhere in the ancient past, but I'll share it again because it relates directly to what I'll be saying:

Q: How many first-time novelists does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Enough about that; let's talk about my novel!

It's funny (at least to me), because it's true: when you have a book coming out, it's hard not to want to yell it at the top of your lungs to everyone else in the world. Especially in today's crowded marketplace, where everyone and everything competes for attention.

But you know what? It's not just first-time novelists. I see people who have had several books out who take every opportunity to shill for themselves. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, but I would like to suggest there's a fine line that gets crossed all-too-often.

Certainly it's okay to let folks know when you have books coming out, what they're about, where they can get them, and all that stuff. You can put that information on your web site, in your email signature line, online forum signatures, and on your social networks such as Facebook, MySpace, Shoutlife and the like. You know what? People will see that information, and they'll be able to order if they're interested.

I do think some folks tend to step over the line, however, when they use Twitter to announce every new review, or send constant messages on Facebook and MySpace. And if it strikes me as a bit heavy-handed--an author who tends to like PT Barnum antics--I can guarantee you other people find those tactics heavy-handed as well.

Perhaps most egregious of all are the people who send out friend invites on MySpace and Facebook, then begin peppering your wall or comments sections with throwaway messages. It smacks of desperation.

Some advice: people don't want to be sold to. But if you entertain them, they don't mind a sales pitch. So please, find a way to make your pitches for sales witty, informative or entertaining.

If you don't, you just cut your own throat. Worse, you make me want to cut mine.

For whatever reason, I've been drawn into recent discussions on the Interwebs about Christianity and horror. (Okay, some of the conversations aren't all that recent--only my awareness of them.)

Most of the discussions point out an awkward tension between revulsive subject matter and redemptive storytelling. Many, it would seem, think "Christian Horror" is the oxyest of all morons.

Maybe it is. Certainly, CBA publishers want to stay away from using such a term--possibly because the word "horror" connotes a celebration of gratuitious gore and violence, as Mike Duran ably pointed out recently.

On the other side, the mainstream public obviously shies away from the same label because...well, because they expect it to be preachy. As The Horror Geek's recent review of the film House says:

This is part of the reason why people don’t seem to enjoy religious based entertainment. It’s like if you slap “this is church approved” on something, religious folk will rush out to see it even if it insults their intelligence in the process.

Well, hey, I've thought the same thing myself. To be honest, most of the "bad" reviews I've received are from people who feel I've done a poor job of telling a "Christian" tale. I've been chided for not having a character quote an entire verse of a Psalm, for instance. And recently, a person scheduling radio interviews said he didn't "see anything of Jesus" in one of my books based on the cover and flap copy.

Go ahead and laugh. Those things are funny on some level. But in another way, they're not funny at all, because, as The Horror Geek suggests, many Christians actually want art that isn't particularly artistic.

Just Christian.

And that's just one side of the equation. Because as a guy who writes "Christian Horror," I can tell you mainstream acceptance is spotty at best. I'd love to support more independent bookstores, but many of them don't seem to feel the same way about "religious" fiction. I'd love to go to more conferences, talk to more writing groups, all that kind of stuff...but I can tell you many people are scared I'm going to come in and preach a sermon (especially frustrating because, after all, I'm the guy who doesn't seem to write "Christian enough" stories for some).

Well. Talk about an awkward tension between revulsion and redemption.

Am I complaining? Sure. But I won't complain too much. I've found a good audience; my first two books have gone into multiple printings in multiple formats, and I think the new book is going to attract even more readers. I get a lot of reader comments and email from people all over the map, both ideologically and physically. And I'm getting great publisher interaction and support across the board. In short, I've found a niche, and I'm thankful for the opportunity.

I'm fine with the Christian Horror label...I just wish it didn't sometimes describe my world outside of the stories themselves.

So I get a lot of email and comments from people who say my work reminds them of Dean Koontz. Which is flattering, to say the least--Koontz being one of the biggest, and most successful, names in all of fiction. And, particularly, one of the biggest names in downright bizarre fiction, which happens to be my neighborhood.

So I love when I get mentioned in the same breath as Koontz. Really, how could I not?

Imagine my delight, then, when I wander by Amazon today to check on my latest book, The Unseen (did I mention it's on shelves now?), and find it paired up with Koontz's In Odd We Trust for a package promotion.

Really, how cool is that? For Dean Koontz, maybe not so much. But for me, well, let's just say I grabbed a screen capture to keep.

Okay, so after a few days of excitement about the Brewers actually making the postseason, I got up this morning and said to myself: Tony, it's been 26 years since the Brewers have been in the postseason. It might be another 26 before they make it again.

And thusly, I convinced myself it was a good idea to buy some tickets to Game 3 of the NLDS. I'll be in Outfield Box 126, row 6 (just behind third base in left field) on Saturday, October 4th, scorecard in hand.

Maybe even a wee bit of a tear in my eye.

I've been a Milwaukee Brewers fan since I was a kid. Since before their one-and-only trip to the World Series in 1982, when they heartbreakingly lost to the evil St. Louis Cardinals in seven games.

Not that I'm bitter about that.

And so, today is a wondrous day--a day I've wanted to see for a long, long time. The Brewers are in the post-season. This will be new experience for me, actually being able to cheer for my favorite sports team in the playoffs as an adult.

Thank you, CC Sabathia. Thank you, Ryan Braun. Thank you Corey Hart and Prince Fielder and Ben Sheets and JJ Hardy and Rickie Weeks and Manager Dale Sveum and...everyone. Even Ned Yost, though he's not too popular with the Brewer faithful of late. (I have a soft spot for Ned, since he was on the 1982 roster of "Harvey's Wallbangers" that went to the World Series only to lose to the evil St. Louis Cardinals in seven games. Not that I'm bitter about that. Or did I say that already?)

This year, above all years, I'm gonna love me some October.

A quick clip in this weekend's local newspaper introduced me to a group I'd never heard of before: the Typo Eradication Advancement League (TEAL), dedicated to ridding public signage everywhere of typos.

Immediately, I knew I must join this group.

Alas, a Google search revealed dire straits for the organization after the two founders (and, okay, the only two members) were convicted of defacing National Park Service signage--something alluded to on the group's official home page.

Still, their hearts--and I suppose their editing pens--are in the right place. America is a wasteland of signage erected by people who have no idea how to spell or punctuate.

Not that it's all bad; often, typos are a source of much amusement. In the small town where I grew up, our local Army Navy store put out a banner one year advertising "Marital Arts Knives." I kid you not.

Did I go into the store and inform them of their typo? Of course not; it would have been a travesty to see such a typo cast into oblivion.

The funny thing is, that banner, with that typo, stayed on the building for years. Years. That means either no one else noticed, or the other people who noticed it also thought the world a more wonderful place to have an Army Navy store that advertised "Marital Arts Knives."

I'm sad to say I think the Army Navy store is gone now. But I still like to think, somewhere out there, the banner exists.

I did me some travelin' this past summer, and when I returned home from those travels, the one thing that stuck with me most of all was this: we in the USA are damned angry. About everything. Everywhere.

This is alarming, of course; I find myself wanting to trot out some kind of Can't we all just get along? speech, a la Rodney King. But then I think: Rodney King's plea was in 1992. That was 16 years ago. Certainly the times following Mr. King's beating and the LA riots weren't exactly filled with lemonade pies and sunshine skies.

And before that, we were in the midst of the Cold War, preceded by Vietnam and the modern civil rights movement, preceded by other wars, preceded by other civil unrest, all the way back to the founding of the USA. The Boston Tea Party wasn't exactly a party; it was a protest and riot rolled into one.

I think it's something genetic. Part of our DNA. We were, after all, founded by restless souls who left their homelands to seek new beginnings--and we've been joined by millions of immigrants from all over since then. America has always called itself a melting pot, and a melting pot requires heat.

Am I suggesting we celebrate that acrimony? No. But I do think there's a tendency for us to always think things are getting progressively worse, that we're more divisive and bitter than we ever have been.

I just don't think that's true. We've been divisive and bitter as long as we've been a country, and to say we're more civil is to kid ourselves.

Anger is, after all, our heritage.

Much has been made of the Chinese fixation with the number eight at these Summer Olympic games; the opening ceremonies officially began, after all, on 08/08/08 at 08:08:08.

Anyone who read my first book, Waking Lazarus, knows I have a particular fondness for patterns of eight myself. So the first thing I thought, after watching Phelps win his last gold medal, was: how fitting.

In an eight-obsessed Olympics, Phelps is taking home eight gold medals.

Cue the creepy woo-woo music. Or, if you prefer, the creepy conspiracy theorists.

Of all the internet-spawned celebrities out there, Matt Harding, of wherethehellismatt.com fame, has to be one of my favorites because...well, because he didn't try to become an internet celebrity. He's just your basic schlumpy guy, with dance moves only a mother could love, and yet, there's something infectious about watching him dance in places all around the globe. The early videos, of course, featured Matt all by his lonesome, but of late, it's nice to see him dancing with other folks from all over. And really, it's impossible to watch the video without smiling. My fave clip has to be the scene in Papua New Guinea.

All this from a self-described deadbeat who acknowledges he "doesn't like working." A man after my own heart. But if he ever does feel like working, I say we make him an international goodwill ambassador for the United States. Once those feet start tapping and elbows start swinging, it's impossible not to like the guy.