Call me Herm. Yeah, I died in 1891, but, thanks to my new wireless card, am able to blog now.

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I am an American author, best-known for my novels of the sea and my masterpiece MOBY-DICK (1851), a whaling adventure dedicated to Nathaniel Hawthorne. "I have written a wicked book and feel as spotless as the lamb," I wrote to Hawthorne. The work was only recognized as a masterpiece 30 years after my death. TYPEE (1846), a fictionalized travel narrative, was my most popular book during my lifetime. As noted above, I currently am deceased. Recently, however, we got wireless.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

A new Guy-Tries-To-Get-Revenge- Against-A-Whale Story

Shipmates, I think Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal is the finest guy-tries-to-get-revenge-against-a-whale book published in 155 years. Below, the thoughts of a couple of folks who are probably less-biased. I look forward to hearing what you think.

Kirkus Reviews: A blogger-slash-whaler goes hunting for his prey in the Caribbean-where the waters are shark-infested, the crew is always on the verge of mutiny and absurd plot twists arrive with every other paragraph.

Thomson's raucous comedy of errors is the tale of Gus Openshaw, a worker at a cat-food cannery who spends his summer hot on the trail of the "blubbery bastard" who swallowed his wife, child and right arm. Openshaw obsessively details his pursuit on his blog, and he's a little surprised to learn that his readership knows of other obsessive, one-limbed whalers. ("I've been calling [the whale] 'Dickhead,' " he writes. "Everybody always laughs and says that's a witty reference. Hell if I know why.") Joining him on the trip are a short-tempered, murderous cook, a deckhand who's addicted to hull cleaner, the appropriately named Stupid George (who at one point heaves a harpoon handle-first) and Flarq, a Queequeg-like deckhand who draws "scrimshaws" of the events in the story (illustrations appear throughout). Thomson constantly subverts the narrative by concocting increasingly ridiculous turns of events-Openshaw's sued for libeling Dickhead on his blog, after which he falls for the Princess of Whales, the ruler of a small whale-worshipping island who, in turn, happens to work for a black-market arms dealer who appears at crucial moments with, say, a prosthetic arm, or an F-15 fighter jet. Yet Thomson never loses his grip on the plot-he works hard to make the story hang together logically; the brief, blog-length chapters, meanwhile, keep the jokes punchy and entertaining. If Moby-Dick was a richly symbolic work about the whole of human experience, this is just an assortment of riffs on adventure tales, love stories and human idiocy in general. Thomson is no Melville, but there's no question who's the better gag-writer.

Dumb fun, smartly imagined.

Entertainment Weekly:
Here we have a novel -- could it be the first of its kind? -- purporting to be the reprint of a blog. Gus Openshaw is an absurdist Ahab, a middle-aged cat-food cannery employee who has lost his wife, child, and right arm to a blubbery sea beast-- "he'd be pushing the max if they had Big & Tall stores for sperm whales" -- and who sets sail seeking vengeance. His blog entries describe silly encounters with pirates, a preppy dungeon master, a psychotic cook, the whale-huggers of "Bluepeace," and a nonagenarian navigator, among others. The love interest is his arms dealer's raven-haired intern, who's sold him a remote-controlled robotic giant squid. This is all fairly amusing and entirely inconsequential -- “ an anti-Moby Dick.

John Ol' Chumbucket Bauer, Co-Founder of Talk Like A Pirate Day and author of the book Pirattitude:
Move over Melville! Outta the way, Ahab! In the world of obsessed whalers, Gus Openshaw and his crew of misfits (and that's being kind) are second to none as they chase a rogue whale across the Seven Seas -- pursued by lawyers, pirates, several navies, and a tribe of Caribbean whale worshippers. Keith Thomson (author of the side-splitting novel Pirates of Pensacola) has done it again with this hilarious adventure of a bad-luck captain single-mindedly chasing the whale dubbed 'the Blubbery Bastard' to exact revenge for the loss of his wife, son and arm. Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal beats the classic Moby-Dick on every count--it's a lot shorter, has more amazing adventures, is far less likely to be assigned as school reading, and is much, much funnier.

Buy this swell book on Amazon

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Nat Hawthorne's Stag Party

Shipmates, all that discretion permits me to share is that it took place in 1842 in a Boston alehouse, it was the first time any of us had seen porridge wrestling, and—unrelated, to be sure—it was the night he got the idea for The Scarlet Letter.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Bills Mounting, I Take A Job

Not long before I died, in 1891, I let some storage space in a facility in the West 20s in New York City. Shipmates, some advice: If you start a blog 100-or-so years after your demise, do so, like everyone else, under a pseudonym. Why? Otherwise your creditors will come after you.

Owing 1380 months of storage space rental—and the current monthly rate is about twice the value of my estate—I was forced to scour the Help Wanteds. Luckily I've found employment. I began the other day a freelance, telecommunting basis (it's difficult for me to go to the office as I no longer have a body) with a mid-sized advertisting agency, the client a pet food manufacturer.

The boss tells me writing an ad is just like a novel—a compelling story with a beginning, middle and end—except instead of a character, your hero is a car or packaged good.

Shipmates, meet my new hero:
I just need a headline now, and would be glad of any assistance, shipmates. All I've come up with so far is CALL ME FISHMEAL. Have a feeling I've heard that somewhere before though.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Death: Not As Bad As You'd Think

A number of you have asked me what heaven is like. I guess it was on my mind too when I was where you are. I mentioned heaven thirty-nine times in ’Dick.

I can tell you that it looks remarkably like the city of Providence, Rhode Island, with better public transportation. Perhaps therein lies, somehow, the derivation of "providence." The thing that surprised me the most: the Popeye's Fried Chicken chain has several restaurants here.

Beyond that, I really shouldn't tell you. My doing so would be a bit like a man revealing to a woman what really goes on at bachelor parties.

Have a pleasant evening.

P.S. Remind me to tell you about Hawthorne's stag night one of these days.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

The Sequel to Moby-Dick

I have been working on the new book for some time. I'd wanted to pick up the narrative with Ishmael's return to port. However the agency and publishing house both felt (and backed it up with market research) that setting the story in present times would better resonate with modern book-buyers.

Accordingly the plot will go something like this: The hero is Ahab's great-grandson, Alan, a worker on a cruise ship. He pursues a vendetta, not against the whale, but rather against a giant Japanese fishing conglomerate illegally hunting whales.

"Son of Moby-Dick" is the title that has tested best thus far.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Call Me Herm.

Yeah, I died in 1891. So how am I writing? We just got wireless up here.

In case you're wondering, death has been decent for me. You get much more reading done, not having to eat, sleep, change the cat litter, etc.

One of the interesting things here is there are whales that you can kill. Of course, being immortal, they come back to life again. So say you give one a fine, lethal harpooning. He springs right back and you get to go at it all over again. Sort of like having a terrific racquetball partner.

Well, that's all for now. Harp lesson.

No, just kidding. You don't see nearly as many of those up here as you might think. God forbid we had to tolerate that racket for eternity.