The VCU Cabell First Novelist Award and Festival celebrates an outstanding debut novel published in the preceding calendar year.  This year’s10th anniversary will be marked with two days of celebration including a Q & A with this year’s winner, David Gordon (The Serialist), as well as with his agent and editor; the event will also include panel discussions with past winners Victor Lodato (Mathilda Savitch), Michael Byers (Long for This World), Maribeth Fischer (The Language of Good-bye) and NPR book critic and author Alan Cheuse.

The festival, which will take place Nov. 15-16, will include an evening with this year’s winner, David Gordon. The festival is free and open to the public.  The evening readings will take place in the VCU Student Commons, 907 Floyd Ave. To find out more about the festival and events, please visit the website: http://novelist.library.vcu.edu/winners.html

Q & A with author David Gordon

2011 VCU Cabell First Novelist Award Winner, David Gordon, discusses how personal experience as both a reader and a writer influenced his novel, The Serialist.  

The Serialist really plays with genres – you have the detective genre, the vampire and horror genres, etc.  Do you read a lot of genre fiction?

Yes, I have on and off. I continue to read a lot of crime novels, and I’ll switch back and forth between those books and things I have to read, like Proust (laughs). I have read a great deal of sci-fi and horror books, especially when I was a kid.  I’m also a big fan of horror films and Kung-Fu movies, so a lot of that is just sort of there, in the attic of my head. 

In this book particularly, I seized on the idea of using the mystery format as a way to give it a plot. In terms of the other genres, I was thinking about detective stories and mystery stories and wanting to deliver one, and the fact that this character (Harry Bloch) wrote them got me thinking about genre.  I just sort of expanded that to thinking more and more of other genre types—sci-fi, horror, etc.

As someone that doesn’t read a lot of genre, the narrative really rang true to me. 

That was something I spent a lot of time thinking about.  First off, I wanted it to ring somewhat true to the person who was a fan, and I also wanted it to be kind of like a parody, but at the same time, not so much of a parody that it has no semblance of believability. I had to actually create things that seemed like excerpts but stood on their own feet.  One thing I think is fluid in fiction is being able to move back and forth, in this case between telling the story and thinking about books. It’s the sort of thing fiction does so well.

Having worked in many different fields, how did your past occupations inform the novel?

Even though nothing nearly as exciting as any of this actually happened to me, obviously, it’s somewhat of a catalog of the various very weird jobs I’ve had.  Like many writers, I feel like my resume looks like something a maniac would live with unless you have an explanation, like “novelist.” I worked at adult magazines and have done ghost writing, and copywriting, and all of those sorts of things. First and foremost, just the experience of having all of these occupations, I basically gave Harry a bunch of them and made them more exciting. I might have thought of the basic storyline, but I don’t think I would have thought of this guy in this situation if it wasn’t for my own experience.

The book is kind of a love letter to books and people who love reading.  Also, it embraces that writing is writing, and that there is not just one way to tell a story.

I thought it was important for his character, that he feel, at least at the beginning, a little bitter about his position in the hierarchy. The truth is if I had a friend who published 23 novels I would think that was amazing. I would be hugely impressed.

I also thought it just made it much more interesting, purely by chance, that it became a very literary book. I felt like I’m not going to have a writer character and say “Oh, he’s a genius,” or famous. If you’re going to write about loving books and loving writing, what if you take all of that away? Now he’s just a guy who’s barely getting by, he’s working in the trenches and doesn’t think that much of his own work—and now, what does it mean to love books or literature to be quote unquote like an artist or a writer? I just think it made it more interesting.

Courtesy of event coordinator Shannon O'Neill 

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

PHOTO SOURCE

I've been thinking a lot lately about perfection: perfect games in baseball, 300 games in bowling, all holes in one in a round of Putt-Putt. Putt-Putt? Do they keep records about Putt-Putt? You bet they do. Putt-Putt golf has sponsored professional and amateur tours for 57 years, and thousands and thousands of players have played millions of rounds. In all that time only three players have aced all 18 holes in one round. The most recent came right here at the Richmond Putt-Putt course on Midlothian Turnpike on April 9 during a state tournament. PPA pro Rick Baird of Charlotte, N.C., who will play anywhere anytime there is a Putt-Putt tournament, did it. Baird, 53, and winner of the 2007 national PPA National championship, estimates he's played “a million rounds” over the 40 years he's competed. This time his one-in-a million shot came home. Every time he stepped to the tee mat, his ball found the bottom of the cup.

The closest he ever came to the dream every Putt-Putt player has was making the first 13 in a round l (an incredible feat in itself). After he made the first 13 in Richmond, he teed off on no. 14, which is guarded by a block shielding most of the path to the hole. Most players, Baird included, roll the ball up the hill, off the far rail and back into the hole. To Baird's horror, he hit the ball a little easier than he intended and it narrowly missed the block and went straight into the cup. Although it was a legitimate shot, he knew he had been a tad lucky. He also knew that he now had a shot at history. He made 15 and 16. No. 17 has a wicked little triangle you have to roll the ball off of and make it bounce (often unpredictably) up a hill and off two rails into the cup. Baird was confident, though, because he had made it in the previous round (as he had No. 18). When that ball went in, all the other competitors stopped their own rounds and scrambled over to No. 18. Baird backed off his putt to let the crowd settle. “I thought you did that to settle your nerves,” I told him. “There was no chance of that,” he laughed.

So, nerves sort of settled, he took his two practice swings and launched the putt that made history. His ace was videotaped for posterity and can be seen on YouTube.

Which is better, winning a national championship or shooting an 18? He's not sure but he knows that “someone will win the national championship every year. Only three people have ever shot an 18.”

Randy Fitzgerald teaches modern American literature at Virginia Union University. He was a longtime public relations director at the University of Richmond and columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Contact him at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

Former Richmonder Woody Bedell went me one better with his own Elizabeth Taylor story. I reported yesterday on this blog my story of seeing Miss Taylor up close about 55 years ago, but my friend Woody, who now lives with wife Joyce in Chicago, actually once got a kiss from the star.

            He emailed me from Chicago with an account of time spent with Elizabeth when her then-husband John Warner was first running for the US Senate. Woody was responsible for the overall logistical management of Elizabeth’s comings and goings during the campaign, and as such, spent a fair amount of time with her, including a lunch here and there. Being young then, he chatted with her easily and asked whatever popped into his head. One question was about the love of her life, whom she identified as Mike Todd. Since her death, many friends have said her great love was surely Richard Burton. Woody allows that the scars of her off-again, on-again love affair and marriages to Burton may well have been too fresh when he knew her to allow her to be totally open.

Woody has a lot of Liz stories, but one incident, he says, tells much about her true character and charm.

            “We were scheduled to go to Ebenezer Baptist Church in Richmond, and Elizabeth was running late, as usual. As we got into the car, she asked if there was anything she had to do except meet and greet.” Woody told her that the candidates’ appointed representatives would be the ones speaking and reassured her that her only responsibility would be to greet the congregation afterwards.

They got to the church about 35 minutes late, and already “the place was rocking with the sound and voices of gospel music, and it was packed. They ushered Elizabeth to the front pew with Mrs. Miller [the wife of Andrew P. Miller, Warner’s opponent], and I stayed in back. The music stopped, the church fell silent, and the senior pastor rose to the podium. In his booming voice, he said he was changing the agenda and that he wanted the candidates’ wives to speak for their husbands, instead of those who had been assigned to speak. And then he said, ‘Mrs. Warner, I would like for you to speak first.’”

            Needless to say, Woody in the back of the church was trying to get as small as possible. “But Elizabeth walks up to the podium and in one sentence captures and begins to control the audience. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I do not know much about John’s politics. He and others are far more qualified to speak, but I do know John as a husband, a friend and a person of character and integrity … and let me talk to you about those characteristics.’

            “From there, she just had the congregation in the palm of her hand. In that moment I saw the charm, command and ability that made her a national presence.”

            Woody was not immune to that charm himself. When they parted for the last time at the end of the campaign, Elizabeth Taylor gave him a little Hollywood kiss. “I felt,” he recalls, “as if life was complete.”

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

When I was thirteen years old, I met Elizabeth Taylor face to face as we both crossed an open field by the railroad station in Keswick, Virginia. I angled over so that I would pass as close to her as possible, and as a result I got a good look at those famous violet eyes. I was mesmerized. She was clearly the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen or could ever hope to see. Gorgeous.

            It was 1955, and she and Rock Hudson were filming scenes for the early part of the movie “Giant.” Keswick, a prosperous farming community in Albemarle County, was standing in for the Maryland locale in Edna Ferber’s book. The shoot involved the Keswick train station and an estate across the road called “Belmont.”

            My mother had taken all three of her children out of school that day to drive out from Charlottesville and watch whatever could be seen of the filming. A lot of other people had the same idea, so there were locals all over the place. Both stars walked around freely and unmolested among the fans.

            My sister, Linda, was nine years old then, and when she went to Rock Hudson to ask for an autograph, he put his arm around her and walked back down the railroad track with her. I wish someone had gotten a picture of that. No paparazzi in Charlottesville then—or anywhere else in 1955, I guess.

            While Linda, brother Terry and I were busy staring at the stars, my mom was chatting up and befriending crewmembers. She knew where the stories were. I remember Dad had just bought her a new Buick, and by the time we left the set that day, Mom had offered its overnight use to Rock Hudson’s stand in, who was going to chauffer the stars in it that night.  He came by our family restaurant and picked it up at the end of the day.

            When Dad found out, he made Mother go get the car back. He was not easily impressed with Hollywood and stars. But then, he didn’t see Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes.

BY LINDSAY McALLISTER ZARSE

   February was a bit chilly in the Richmond area.  No.  Scratch that.  It was downright cold.  So, when hubby’s ah-mazing company offered to bring wives to the business gathering in sunny, warm Palm Beach, Florida, I jumped at the opportunity.  (Actually, I was completely packed two days after being invited—in January; six weeks early.)

   We dropped the princess off with her grandparents and headed to the airport.  Upon our arrival, the men folk were rushed off to meetings, while the wives were left here to do as they pleased.  (Tough life, I know.)  A few of the wives hit the beach.  The Richmond wives headed for the pool.  I was antsy.  I love the beach, but knew there was no possible way I was going to be able to sit still — I had been on a cramped plane for the last two hours.  So, I opted for a quick run on the beach.  (Mom, stop laughing.  I figured since I had purchased and broken in new running shoes, I should actually run.  Once.)

   After I stepped onto the beach, I took off in the opposite direction of the pier.  Just a fast walk at first, but Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” helped get me moving.  I must have jogged a mile or better down the beach before deciding to turn back.

   On my return jog, I pass a family of four with a video camera.  Pointed down an empty beach.  Weirdoes.  Figuring they must be from Alaska, I continue jogging.  At the conclusion of Springsteen’s “Rosalita”, “Thunder Road” comes on.  Admittedly a phenomenal song, but not quite the jogging tempo I needed.  (Side note: NO ONE writes lyrics like the Boss.  “The lonely cool before dawn…” Genius.)

   I slow to a quick walk to change songs and accidentally walk into the ocean.  Looking up, I noticed I was too far from the resort for anyone I knew to have seen my detour.  But, oddly enough, I spy several groups of people starring in my direction.  So, of course, being the egotistical Gen Y’r that I am, I start playing the “Mayhem Like Me” Allstate commercial in my head.  Come on, you know the one — he’s pretending to be the super hot chick out for a jog, “keeping this a ten.”  I smile because, after all, I am hot.

   In the spirit of “keeping this a ten,” I quickly up the tempo and my pace.  As I get closer to the resort, I see hundreds (OK, dozens) of people starring at ME.  They are standing on the cascading stairway leading from the resort restaurant to the sand, and looking AT ME.  I suck in my stomach as I climb the steps and head inside.  I feel great, and, with all these people checking me out, I am sure I LOOK amazing.  Even after a sweat inducing run.

    Not wanting to be anti-social, I grab a $4 4-oz bottle of water from the gift shop, and head to the pool.  (Yea, they had the 8-oz water, but it was $9,000.)  Turning off my iPod, I greet the other Richmond area wives.  I explain how I had been jogging on the beach.  To which Debbie asked, “Ooh, did you see the space shuttle launch while you were out there?”

   No.  No I didn’t.  I think to myself, “When will I ever be down here during a launch again?”  I find out later that evening the answer is a big fat NEVER.  Because this was the LAST launch EVER.

   Boomers, I blame YOU.  You are the ones who doted on us.  You wanted us to have high self-esteem and treated us accordingly.  Now, my generation, Gen Y, thinks it’s all about us.  Otherwise, I might have glanced over my shoulder and witnessed history.

   But, because of you, I was too busy “keeping this a ten.”

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

Boomer and Boomer folks are sounding out this week for Fisher House, the organization that provides a home away from home for military families whose loved ones are hospitalized at V.A. hospitals around the country. Money collected locally will go to help house families of veterans treated at McGuire V.A. Hospital, or to improve the local Fisher House facilities.

            You will see elsewhere on this site more about a special online charity auction to benefit Fisher House—your chance to bid on and win a one-of-a-kind, custom-made TOOL BAR (To place a bid, click here). You can bid on that item between now and Thursday, Feb. 24, and help raise funds to build a rehabilitation patio for the Richmond Fisher House.

            Then, on this Saturday, Feb. 26, local band East of Afton is hosting its Second Annual Bluegrass Jam Marathon from noon until midnight, at Grandpa Eddie’s Alabama Ribs and BBQ, with all proceeds going to the local Fisher House. Bands from all over the area will be participating, and the music will never stop for 12 hours.

            Last year’s Marathon raised $6,000, and the goal for this year is $10,000—all to be raised from contributions at the door. These marathons have been staged all over the country, the first one being held in Raleigh, N.C., in 2004. 

            In the interest of disclosure, I’m the clawhammer banjo player for East of Afton, but this isn’t self-promotion because once the Jam starts, all bands are equal and all are invited. Groups signed up so far include Copper Ridge, the Cary Street Ramblers, Leather Britches, Highway 249, Churchyard Grass, and the Shockoe Bottom Boys. But you don’t have to be a band or in a band to participate; in fact, last year a lot of musicians, pros and amateurs, brought along their instruments and sat in with various groups who were happy to share the stage (or the warm-up tent in Grandpa Eddie’s parking lot) in typical bluegrass jam fashion. All musicians play for free  … and for a very good cause.

Randy Fitzgerald teaches modern American literature at Virginia Union University. He was a longtime public relations director at the University of Richmond and columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

   You log into Facebook. You scan your news feed, check for messages or requests and then you do the inevitable … you peep at your child’s Facebook profile. (Face it: This is the main reason you actually joined and regularly log onto the social network site.)

   If you’ve somehow convinced your child – especially a teenager – to add you as a friend on Facebook, CONGRATS! (Seriously. Facebook has so many adjustable privacy settings; it’s virtually possible to fly under the radar of parents or anyone else.) That’s no easy feat, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The hard part is actually remaining friends with your son or daughter on the site.

   Here are a few tips on preventing your child from removing you from his or her online list of friends – also known as “unfriending” or “defriending”:

·        Try not to embarrass your child. The last thing a millennial wants is to be tagged in an embarrassing childhood photo by a boomer parent or for that parent to write, “Hey, pumpkin. Have a great day at school. Mommy and daddy love you!” on his or her Facebook wall for all their friends to see. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but for an angst-y teen, this is the end of the world. Which brings me to the next point …

·        Look but don’t touch. While you’re going through your child’s photo albums, resist the urge to post comments on them. No matter how sweet or thoughtful your comment may be, your child will most likely hate that mom or dad is flooding their photos with comments. Instead, if you’re fond of a photo, hit the “Like” button.

·        Don’t panic if you see something questionable. Witnessing your child participating in inappropriate behavior is a parent’s worse nightmare – especially if those actions are immortalized on the Internet. But don’t jump to conclusions – or down your child’s throat. Take a breath, and if you feel that the behavior needs to be addressed, do so without antagonizing your child. Remember, many children and teens flock to Facebook and Twitter to be with their peers – away from parents. (I’ll admit, I jumped ship when my co-workers, professors, older family members, etc. got on Facebook … What happened to the days when Facebook was just for college students?!) Be sure to discussion the “dos” and “don’ts” of going online with your child, and, of course, if you see something dangerous, immediately contact Facebook administrators.

·        Use common sense. On a lighter note, whatever you do, do NOT stoop as low as one parent (who shall remain nameless) and create a fake profile. Yes, I know a mom who posed as a “hot girl” so her two pubescent sons would add her. Needless to say, her teenage sons friended their mom (who posed undercover as an young, attractive female model-type) and the rest is history …

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

Barb and I usually like to spend our New Year’s Eve at home, just the two of us. That has become our personal tradition over the years, and very rarely do we ever go out and celebrate at a party or in a crowd.

            In the days when we were younger and not taking so many meds, we’d make a good dent in a bottle or two of wine, but in recent years we’ve tried to obey our doctor’s edict and go light on the hard stuff.

            This year, Barb went all the way in the other direction and purchased some sparkling cider for the occasion, which she had been chilling in the fridge well in advance of the holiday.

            As midnight approached on New Year’s Eve, I volunteered to go down and get the apple cider. I retrieved the bottle from the refrigerator door, carefully selected two of our best wine glasses and put them on a tray, wrapped a nice linen napkin around the bottle, unscrewed the top, and went upstairs to join Barb and Anderson Cooper as the countdown began.

            “Nine, eight, seven …”—and I, with a flourish, poured the amber liquid into our glasses and presented one to Barb, turning back to the screen to make sure I timed everything right.

            At the stroke of midnight, I kissed my bride, we clicked our glasses together and wished each other love and health and brought the sparkling cider to our lips.

            “PLEW-YY.” 

            “What the heck is this?” I asked, my mouth and nose reeling from the sour, biting taste of what I had thought was sparkling cider.

            Barb, who had stopped just short of imbibing after noting the sharp smell emanating from her glass, was bent over laughing.

            “You doofus,” she said. “You got the apple cider vinegar rather than the sparkling apple cider.”

            So much for my romantic-guy credentials.  All I can say in my defense is that the bottle I chose WAS the one with the apple on it.

Randy Fitzgerald teaches modern American literature at Virginia Union University. He was a longtime public relations director at the University of Richmond and columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

BY RANDY FITZGERALD

In October of last year, Barb began a project to gather up all the old photos in various drawers and boxes around our house and put them neatly into matching photo albums with labels like “Our College Years,”  “Jobs and Hobbies” and “Children’s Pre-school Years.”  It took her until almost Christmas to get all the snapshots filed away in some logical system, and she ended up with more than a dozen albums, which were scattered around the house for much of that time until she cleared a bookshelf on which to exhibit them.

            She had so much fun going through the old pics and was so satisfied with the end results that she decided to give all the women she knew a couple of empty albums as Christmas presents. Each of her sisters was to get two albums apiece, as were my sister and sister-in-law, and then there were a number of her friends, too, who would be recipients. And because that meant a lot of extra presents to wrap, she enlisted my aid.

            When I was an undergraduate at UR a hundred years ago, I had an afternoon job in downtown Richmond working for an elderly lady who printed and packaged insurance forms, mailing them off to insurance companies around the southeast. My job was to wrap those forms for mailing, a skill I mastered against all odds, and to this day I still remember how to make neat corners and wrap a package securely and attractively.

            So I gathered up photo albums in both hands, wrapped them beautifully and either placed them beneath the tree or sent them winging on their way to their varied destinations. A few days before Christmas, waving a nice leather-like white album in the air, Barb asked me why I had left that one out, had failed to wrap and mail the one in her hand.  We were both baffled as I insisted I knew I had wrapped every album that had been on the table.

            The mystery was solved on Christmas Day when one of Barb’s friends called to thank her for the two albums, but to cautiously ask about the one labeled “Randy’s Childhood Years.” 

            “He was a cute baby,” her friend said, “but the picture of him naked in the bathtub was probably too much information.”

            When Barb got through laughing, she said, “Just be grateful he didn’t mail you the one labeled ‘Honeymoon’!”

Randy Fitzgerald teaches modern American literature at Virginia Union University. He was a longtime public relations director at the University of Richmond and columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

   Six- and seven-year-olds are taking over … Australian elementary schools.

   According to an article that was published last week in the Sydney Morning Herald, schools in Sydney, Australia expect a spike in enrollment in kindergarten classrooms this year.

   Why?

   A mini baby boom that occurred from 2004 to 2008. Seven years ago, fertility rates increased in the country as the federal government launched a $3,000 baby bonus.

   Yes. A baby bonus.

   The baby bonus is supposed to help with expenses involving childbearing, and has also been used in countries such as Canada, the Czech Republic and Singapore.

   As Australia schools make room for the influx of students, my fascination is not with the mini baby boom or the baby bonus; I’m curious about how a new generation – those born after the year 2000 – will experience the world.

   In early January, Money Talks News released a list of “Things Babies Born in 2011 Will Never Know.” Of course, a few were obvious: newspapers, magazine, videocassette tapes, encyclopedias, books, etc. However, a few were surprising – and kind of sad – such as commercial music radio, snail mail, handwritten letters, the evening news and so on.

   I understand that as technology advances, some things fall by the wayside or completely disappear, but as I lover of all things print (I make a living as an assistant editor for a print magazine), I couldn’t imagine living in a world without books. Furthermore, I’d hate to raise children who don’t even have the option to at least experience watching the evening news on television at 6 p.m. or flipping through the funny pages in the daily newspaper.

   But what do I know? …  I still listen to CDs.