Dave's Fiction Warehouse

After a long career in journalism, I'm back in the job market. For a limited time only. All I require are a company car, a five-figure signing bonus and a six-figure salary. If somebody could swing by and clean the house once a week, that would be great too. Until then, guess who's going to be blogging like there's no tomorrow. I've worked at various newspapers for the better part of three decades. I've been a reporter and an editor and there was a time in the mid '90s when I thought I was being very clever by learning HTML. I was thinking: Job security, baby; every newspaper will be on the Internet in a few years. I was right about the last part. But it turns out most people eventually questioned the wisdom of paying for what they could get free. Who knew? Then circulation and ad revenue headed south, and corporate boards figured they could maintain profits by shrinking the product and letting people go. Now circulation and ad revenue are Thelma and Louise: st

I've decided to changed the focus of the blog. Which is to say, I've decided that the whole focus thing is overrated. The crime-fiction theme went well when I was reading a lot of crime fiction, but now that I'm not, whole fortnights go by when I can't think of anything pertinent to say. Clearly, this cannot continue. Henceforth I'll be writing about whatever I feel like: Politics, the economy, those stupid Mac commercials, Paula Abdul. You name it. And yeah, if I pick up a book worth talking about, I'll hold forth on that too. I've got tepid opinions on most everything, so why hold back? Last time I checked, blogger.com was not charging by the word. For those of you have purchased lifetime subscriptions, drop me an e-mail and I'll immediately refund your money, at least that portion I've not blown on whores and whiskey. Ha ha. Look, it's not like anybody's reading this anyway. For me, the blog started out as just a way to write something eve

Here's the headline you don't want to see when you live where I do: "Much of Kansas at risk for tornadoes, large hail." I don't think they're kidding. This morning the sky was gray and the air was forbodingly still. I wouldn't have been surprised to see Miss Gulch peddling by on her bike with my dog's head protruding from the basket. I've yet to see a real tornado during my 30 months in the heartland, but I do have some experience with large hail. A couple of years ago a series of storms swept through, one of them raining quarter-sized projectiles on my almost-new roof and breaching it in a dozen places. Then it rained and rained. That's how I became aware of the leaks: The next morning pregnant bubbles had formed in the ceiling and water was dripping on the family room carpet. Much of Wichita had the same experience. An army of Mexican roofing crews seized the opportunity and spent months working from dawn to dusk. To this day, when I imagine

Finally catching up on all the movies I meant to see in 2007, I just finished back-to-back viewings of There Will Be Blood and Into the Wild . One movie is about a completely self-absorbed man whose solipsism and hubris take priority over everything else. The other ... well, ditto. I suppose Into the Wild was the more entertaining of the two, since the peripheral characters were more artfully drawn and recognizable. It's also beautifully photographed. I do think Sean Penn was easier on Christopher McCandless, the kid who starves to death in the Alaskan wilderness, than John Krakauer was in the book. In the film, McCandless takes on an almost Christ-like aura as he wanders the West, bringing vague epiphanies to all who cross his path. Sort of like "Route 66" without the Vette or Martin Milner. In the book, which I admired, he was a far more complex and troubled figure. Also kind of a petulant one, bent on punishing his parents for the crime causing him certain discomfort

American Idol manages to get rid of a contestant every week, but the other big national talent show, the Democratic debates, just keeps chugging along with the same two faces. No mystery why Idol does a little better in the ratings. Since they were on last night at roughly the same time, it was interesting to compare the two. Because it's all theater, isn't it? Clinton and Obama weren't trying to cover something from Mariah Carey's wretched songbook -- thank God --but they were performing just the same, singing a sappy ballad they hope might resonate with you, the home viewer. All the debates really need are better judges. Charlie Gibson tried mightily, staring over his spectacles like the ghost of journalism past, but he is no Simon Cowell. Also, maybe it would move things along if we voted after each debate, stabbing repeatedly at our cell phones the way certain dumb-asses do for that Archuleta kid. America voted, Hillary, and how'd you like to be secretary of n

I admit it: I'm not particularly fond of old movies -- the term "old" in this case meaning those made before about 1958. To be more honest, I usually like them even less if they're considered "classic." While I can credit their groundbreaking moments, movies made in the 1930s and '40s rarely hold up very well today. Maybe it's the cornball acting style, all that staccato dialog and scenery-chewing that has been satirized so often since. Or maybe it's the incessant background score in every scene -- back then, filmmakers didn't trust viewers to get any emotion without tarting it up in a surge of violins. Case in point: Double Indemnity, that classic 1944 film noir starring Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. Watching the Netflix DVD the other night, I was struck by how pat and rudimentary it seems. It takes Walter Neff about five minutes to go from insurance salesman to killer, and the lust that is supposed to motivate him arises chiefly fro

One of my many rewarding hobbies is imagining what I'd do if I found a large amount of money in a suitcase. It's also one of the most-used MacGuffins in crime fiction, but that's because it's so effective at driving characters. Think of " A Simple Plan ," or, more recently "No Country For Old Men." While those two tales don't end particularly well, I'm sure I could handle a Samsonite full of Benjamins just fine. And no, none of my scenarios involve turning it over to the authorities. First of all, this is cash in a suitcase, right? And it's just lying there. That suggests an illegitimate origin, and since it's illegitimate anyway, it might as well be mine. Such is the rigorous moral code here at Dave's Fiction Warehouse. Naturally, I'll take care not to leave my driver's license at the scene. And I will never, ever go back for any reason. If you're familiar with the two movies mentioned above, you'll appreciate why