Simon Wood

Posts Tagged: julie

SHELF LIFE: Julie

Batman has robin. George has Lenny. Laurel has Hardy. Arm has Hammer. And I have Julie. Julie is my sidekick. Like Snoop Dogg says, “Everyone needs a sidekick.” Thanks for the wisdom, Snoop.

When I say sidekick, it may sound like I’m belittling the importance of this role. A sidekick’s relationship with their mainkick (That’s a new word. I invented it. Hands off, buddy) is a necessary one. A mainkick needs their sidekick to function. I need my sidekick. I need my Julie. I couldn’t function without her.

As I’ve mentioned before, on account of my dyslexia, Julie is a vital part of my writing process. She’s my eyes. She reads all my manuscripts to check for my mistakes and reads them all aloud so I can edit. This is just one of her roles. She’s my sounding board for ideas. I look to her for opinions on whether I should appear at this store or attend that convention. I don’t sign any contract without her reading it over. She’s my cheerleader when something good happens and my shrink when I’m low. There are many times when she’s talked me out of giving up writing (I think she’s holding out for the movie deal if one should happen).

All of this is great for me. I’m glad and feel really lucky that Julie has the right temperament to help me with all these issues. It might sound like I’m dependent on her or unsure of myself. In some ways that’s true, but my background is in engineering. No engineer lets his work go without a checker and an approver first looking over it. That instinct is engrained into me. It would be foolhardy of me to think I’m always right and incapable of making a mistake. I need someone like Julie on my team to ensure I turn out the best work I can. Working alone, it’s easy to get complacent or miss something.

Julie needs to have the spotlight shined on her.

This might sound like some sappy love note, but it’s not. I have a Julie and so can you. After January 1, you can have a Julie—the writer’s sidekick—for the low-low rental price of $99.99 per week + shipping and handling. This price does not include the cost of food. Apply now to avoid disappointment. Operators are standing by.

Categories: shelf life

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SHELF LIFE EXTRA: Want to be Julie Wood?

julieI find it funny (aka weird) what you, the public, readers and my social media circle pick up on.  Over the last year or so, there’s been a myth developing on the convention circuit about my #1 wife, Julie—namely, that she doesn’t exist.  The Loch Nessian belief in all things Julie has cropped up because sightings of her are rare.  As much as Julie is involved in my storytelling endeavors, she doesn’t attend my book signings or come to conventions very often—and when she does attend conferences with me she tends to go off and do her own thing.  Some people have met her but it seems no two people can corroborate her identity, which adds to the superstition that Julie is nothing more than a number of various women I hire to play “Julie.”

I can categorically state that Julie is real.  It’s just coincidence that she is one of those models that appears in picture frames.

julie badgeI want to assure people that Julie is no sleight of hand.  There are a couple of reasons for scant Julie sightings.  First, Julie is shy and she gets spooked by the reading and writing community, usually because they know a lot more about her than she does about them.  Second, I once had a run in with a stalker-type person.  It was an unnerving experience that I have no desire in repeating.  As a result of that I’m protective of my home life.  I don’t share images of us, don’t have Julie post on my Facebook feed and only limit what I tell you about us.  I realize that none of this is helping dispel the myth.

Because of these two factors, I do have quite large Julieless moments in my life and some people believe they could quite easily fill her shoes.  So do you think you have what it takes to be a stand-in Julie?  Answer yes to the following questions (or statements) and you will be awarded temporary Julie status.

  • Must change your name to Julie or at least be willing to answer to the name Julie.
  • Must be willing to laugh at all my jokes.
  • Must be willing to dress me in the mornings.
  • Must not find chip butties objectionable. I don’t but a Julie has to
  • Must show distain for my love of puppet shows.
  • Must be amenable to sharing the bed at least but not limited to three cats and dogs…exact mix to be determined.
  • Must be willing to be grossed out by something I say at one a day and open to saying “Ew!”
  • Once you’ve lost your usefulness, must be able to fit into a suitcase (in one piece or in chunks).

If you agree to these terms (willingly or otherwise), one day you could become a Julie.

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SHELF LIFE: Contamination

contaminatedMy wife, Julie, said to me a little while ago, “I’ve been with you too long.”

Goodie, I thought, we’re finished. I can go girlfriend shopping at the weekend. I wonder if that Kate Upton is seeing anyone. But seeing as Julie was talking and I really should take notice of her from time to time, I decided to hear her out and said, “What do you mean?”

“I keep seeing the dark side of things.”

“Tell me more, Haley Joel Osment.”

“Wednesday, I’m looking out the office window while talking to Susan. There’s a man and a woman. The man is holding the woman’s arm. They’re smiling, but he’s gripping her bicep a little too tightly for it to be friendly. Across the parking lot are two guys. The man with the woman waves at the two men. Everyone walks to the middle of the parking lot. The man with the woman maintains his grip on the woman’s arm all the way across the parking lot. Guess what I think?”

“I don’t know—maybe that you should be listening to your boss and not looking out the window?”

“No, I think kidnap exchange. That’s your fault. Years ago, I would have seen friends meeting to chat. Now I see a felony in progress. Because of you, I can’t see the world in normal terms. You’ve ruined me.”

What could I say to this? It’s a hefty accusation. So I just smiled and said, “Love you.”

Actually, I know what poor, confused, Julie means. Telling stories of crime means I tend to look at the world in criminal terms. Now I don’t mean I go looking for evil doers doing evil on street corners, but I do look for oddities in the world around me. If something catches my eye, I’ll concoct a story to suit what I’ve just seen. If I spot someone leafing through a trashcan, I don’t think homeless guy, I think money drop. When I notice a guy sitting alone in a dull sedan, I don’t think guy waiting on his wife, I think FBI surveillance on Columbian drug cartel operating out of a Happy Donuts. If I sneak a peek at a flatbed truck chock full of giant seedpods, I don’t think a horticultural expo must be in town, I think alien invasion is on and I shouldn’t go to sleep.

jane-levy-split-tongue-evil-deadSo how did I repay my lovely Julie for her imaginative thoughts about the goings on in her office parking lot? I used them in a book. In TERMINATED, the opening scene takes place in a private company’s parking lot, not too dissimilar from Julie’s. Things don’t go down the way Julie witnessed, but there are similarities. The theme of the book deals with workplace violence originating from a grudge that escalates and escalates. The scene now features the protagonist being assaulted in the parking lot. Julie shared the chapter with several of her coworkers with gratifying results. Let’s just say people have developed a healthy fear of the trash enclosure located in the staff parking lot. If nothing else, I’ve made people review their approach to safety.

It’s nice to see that I can convert people to my way of viewing the world. It makes for a far more imaginative place, even if people are a little scared to leave the comfort of their own homes.  If I haven’t warped your world view, I hope to do so, real soon…

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SHELF LIFE: My Inner Circle

I can’t send anything out unless someone has read it.  I don’t have the confidence or the objectivity that what I’ve written is good enough to send out.  On one hand, I’m bound to have made some daft error that will condemn me in the eyes of an editor.  Many years ago, I submitted a manuscript with all my notes written in the margins and my crossings out.  I’d picked up the wrong draft and sent it by mistake.  On the other hand, I might think the story is ready, when it’s still over-wordy or something.  So I need a second set of eyes to look my stuff over.
Like I’ve mentioned before, Julie is my primary reader and editor.  She works very closely with me on everything.  She doesn’t even like me leaving the house by myself.  I get into trouble very easily.  Julie, Julie, these men said I couldn’t swallow all these balloons full of white powder, but I proved them wrong.  I’ll be home late tonight.  I’m off to Columbia.  For this reason and many others, she goes through my work, correcting grammar and logic issues.  Julie’s great for this, because she’s a technical person.  Her talents lie in correcting structure.
But this is only one part of the review. Julie gets too close to the material after a while, so I need a number of readers for other aspects.  If I’m having trouble with certain scenes, chapters, what have you, I have a number of experienced authors who’ll give it the once over.  They know what works and what doesn’t. 
Until recently, I had a grammartologist on staff.  Me and grammar, well, we shook hands once at a party, but I’m not sure I’d recognize grammar if it said hi, so I need help.  Julie’s late father stepped in there.  He’d tear through the manuscript and make all the final adjustments that wouldn’t get me laughed out of an editor’s office.
I have a couple of people who are just fans of the genre.  They’re veracious readers and that’s good for me.  The more I write, the less I get to read.  There isn’t the time, so I need a couple of buddies that read everything to help keep me current.  I send my manuscripts their way for a reader’s gut reaction. All I want to know from them is whether they liked it.  Was it fun, different, a page-turner?  The problem of staying within the circle of editors and other professionals is that you get a one-sided view.  My reader readers give me a feel for what likely readers are to think.
I need all these people for their various skills, but I just can’t pick anyone.  Their input is vital.  I need people who are brutally honest.  I can’t afford to have people be kind.  My special readers have no qualms about telling me how much I suck.  Sometimes, I think they enjoy their jobs a little too much.
The reason I go through this is that first impressions count–especially in publishing.  I want everything I turn in to an editor to be better than the last thing I turned in, even if I have a contract for it, or they’re going to change or tweak something anyway (and they will).  It doesn’t matter.  I don’t want him thinking I’m sloppy.  I want to make the editor’s job easier.  The less time he has to correct the obvious, the more time can be spent on correcting the not so obvious.  I want all these people to make me a better writer.
So please join me in giving all my readers a round of applause, because none of them are getting a cut of the royalties…

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HUMP DAY: JULIE FOR A DAY (OR THREE)



Julie is in Switzerland for business this week, so I am left to hold down the family fort. This is the first time since we’ve been married that this has happened. Usually, it’s me who flies off to somewhere far flung, but because I’m away doing something fun or different, I don’t feel I’m being separated from her. So, this break looked to be interesting. Having not lived on my own in fifteen years, I wondered how I was going to get on being a single guy again. Could I slip into old routines again? So how did I fair?

Actually, I did alright. Not having my Julie appendage, I seemed to have a little extra time on my hands in the evening. The odd thing was that although I had more time, I didn’t write as much. I’m not sure why this happened. I didn’t start writing until I was living with her—just goes to show what living with someone will drive a person to do. 🙂

Maybe she’s some talisman that I need to have about me to inspire me to write tales of murder and destruction. (oh, that doesn’t sound good–oh well).

Moving swiftly along. I thought I would have more room in the bed, but that didn’t work out either. Royston and the cats who sleep on the bed saw this as an excuse to spread out and I was still confined to the edge. Who knew a dachshund and three cats could take up so much room?

Some of my single boy habits returned. I indulged in using the bathroom with the door open. Still a favorite with Royston and the cats.

I didn’t eat alone. My meals were served at the same time as Royston and the cats’. Very much a lad’s night in feel.

Something from the forbidden kingdom, I got pay-per-view all the crappy/b-grade horror movies that have to be rationed and can only be watched with the proviso that, “if you’re getting that, we’re getting something funny too.”

My single life comes to an end tonight when Julie gets back and we will no doubt fall back into our normal routines. Although my exploit was fun, I did feel a little gap where there was a little something missing from my life that bad movies and open toilet doors couldn’t fix. Welcome back, Julie.

Categories: hump day post

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Hump Day: Meet My Wife, The Werewolf

Let me just say my wife, Julie, is a lovely person, perfect in every way–well, not in every way, but I’m willing to overlook many of her short comings. I’m generous like that. However, there is one thing I can’t ignore and that’s when it comes to her and meat.

In the TV news world, if it bleeds it leads. When it comes to my dinner plate, if it bleeds it goes back to the kitchen. I like my meat to come out of the kitchen with more than a suntan. Julie’s different. The girl’s a carnivore and a werewolvian one at that. She’s a meal away from running around on all fours and baying at the moon.

“I used to eat raw hamburger when I was little,” she says proudly.

That’s wonderful, my angel. Wow, am I a lucky boy or what?

Julie has gotten my little foible of wanting my food cooked. When she cooks and cuts the meat open and a trickle of red leaks out along with a yelp, she looks at me with a frown and says, “I’ll put yours back on for a couple of more minutes.”

Yeah, you do that, wolfgirl.

But I forgive her and her animalistic ways. She is who she is. Although, I do get a little worried about having an open cut around her.

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Hump Day: Contaminated

My wife, Julie, said to me a little while ago, “I’ve been with you too long.”

Goodie, I thought, we’re finished. I can go girlfriend shopping at the weekend. I wonder if Eva Mendes is still single. But seeing as Julie was talking and I really should take notice of her from time to time, I decided to hear her out and said, “What do you mean?”

“I keep seeing the dark side of things.”

“Tell me more, Haley Joel Osment.”

“Wednesday, I’m looking out the office window while talking to Susan. There’s a man and a woman. The man is holding the woman’s arm. They’re smiling, but he’s gripping her bicep a little too tightly for it to be friendly. Across the parking lot are two guys. The man with the woman waves at the two men. Everyone walks to the middle of the parking lot. The man with the woman maintains his grip on the woman’s arm all the way across the parking lot. Guess what I think?”

“I don’t know—maybe that you should be listening to your boss and not looking out the window?”

“No, I think kidnap exchange. That’s your fault. Years ago, I would have seen friends meeting to chat. Now I see a felony in progress. Because of you, I can’t see the world in normal terms. You’ve ruined me.”

What could I say to this? It’s a hefty accusation. So I just smiled and said, “Love you.”

Actually, I know what poor, confused, Julie means. Telling stories of crime means I tend to look at the world in criminal terms. Now I don’t mean I go looking for evil doers doing evil on street corners, but I do look for oddities in the world around me. If something catches my eye, I’ll concoct a story to suit what I’ve just seen. If I spot someone leafing through a trashcan, I don’t think homeless guy, I think money drop. When I notice a guy sitting alone in a dull sedan, I don’t think guy waiting on his wife, I think FBI surveillance on Columbian drug cartel operating out of a Happy Donuts. If I sneak a peek at a flatbed truck chock full of giant seedpods, I don’t think a horticultural expo must be in town, I think alien invasion is on and I shouldn’t go to sleep.

So how did I repay my lovely Julie for her imaginative thoughts about the goings on in her office parking lot? I used them in a book. In my latest thriller, Terminated, the opening scene takes place in a private company’s parking lot, not too dissimilar from Julie’s. Things don’t go down the way Julie witnessed, but there are similarities. The theme of the book deals with workplace violence originating from a grudge that escalates and escalates. The scene now features the protagonist being assaulted in the parking lot. Julie shared the chapter with several of her coworkers with gratifying results. Let’s just say people have developed a healthy fear of the trash enclosure located in the staff parking lot. If nothing else, I’ve made people review their approach to safety.

It’s nice to see that I can convert people to my way of viewing the world. It makes for a far more imaginative place, even if people are a little scared to leave the comfort of their own homes.

Categories: hump day post

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