Her life is made very nicely on the head

Apparently, I am very easily amused, but this makes me laugh out loud ... every time I read it. This is the Google Translate version of my interview on my German publisher's website (which they translated from English into German), and it amuses me greatly.

How would 'A heart beat to death' [German title of Learning to Swim] described in three lines?

The very brief description: A woman rescues a baby from then on, her life is made very nicely on the head.

But in three lines: A single woman looks like a small child is thrown into a cold lake, and jump without thinking afterwards. Their determination to protect the child, she moves away from her quiet life as a journalist in a small town in the mountains into the unfamiliar world of the rich in Canada, where she tries to unravel the mystery of this suspension child. The dangers that this entails - and their unexpected bond with the child - forcing them everything they previously thought of themselves, to question.

Here's the original English version, if you're curious:

How would you describe “Learning to Swim” in three lines?
The very short description: A woman rescues a small child, upending her life in the process.
But in three lines: A single woman sees a small child tossed into a cold lake, and dives after him without thinking. Her determination to protect the child takes her from her quiet life as a writer in a small mountain town into an unfamiliar world of wealth in Canada, where she tries to try to unravel the mystery of the boy’s abandonment. The dangers that result—and her unexpected attachment to the child—force her to evaluate everything she thought true about herself.

Do NOT Click - It's Not Really From Facebook

Here's the thing - this email looks real, as if it's a genuine Facebook notification. And it's clever - because your first instinct is to click on the comment to see why this person is dissing you. But if you run your cursor over the link - without clicking - you'll see that the URL (web address) it leads to ain't a Facebook one. (This is how accounts get hacked, folks - sites can install viruses or steal your email address book or your stored passwords.) Just never, ever click on something without first looking to see what the URL is.

If You're Looking for a Phenomenal Book ...

... go here. Buy this book. No, you can't buy a regular book or an e-book - it's an Audible.com exclusive. You can listen to it on your computer or your iPad or other device thingy, or burn to CDs and listen to in your car. And, look, you can get it in a free trial or for a $7.49 trial.

This is a phenomenal book, probably the best I've read this year. (And yep, I read it, because I saw it in manuscript format - but I've heard the two narrators are marvelous.)

It's enticing and gritting, intoxicating and heart-breaking all at the same time. I don't know when a book has so swept me up, picked me up and taken me along every step of the way, looking through the character's eyes as things unfold. I'm there, every step of the way.

But don't take my word for it - here's what Daniel Woodrell (Winter's Bone) had to say:

"Narrated by a failed writer who has notions of literary redemption suddenly sparked awake again, it is an audaciously plotted adventure in the unglamorous America. Coleman has a lot to say about the psychology of a writer's life, ethics or their absence, and a great eye for the world around us. It is a confessional but propulsive novel, bizarre at times, touching, expertly paced and fresh."

The book is Gun Church, by Reed Farrel Coleman, which he describes loosely as Wonder Boys meets Fight Club, with guns. (Note to tender readers: This means it's decidedly not PG rated.) This isn't a series book like most of his others, and in my opinion, it's his best yet. It's a formidable novel. And it will stay with you.

So. Go get it.

Oh, My

Here's the problem with cleaning out your crawl spaces (part of the campaign against invading chipmunks and mice): You not only open an old suitcase that is a virtual time machine, with your cherished tattered suede fringed jacket, corduroy bell-bottoms, multi-colored string belt, and big-collared shirt with puffy sleeves ... but then you open another suitcase that contains something large and squishy, carefully double-bagged, and when you open it you realize it is one of the loosely crocheted shawls your father used to wrap around himself when he napped in his favorite chair  (always marveling that something so loosely made could be so warm) and although he's been dead two decades, you hold the shawl close to you and you feel his essence, as if he were still here. And you cry, sitting there with your face buried in the shawl, in your crawl space surrounded by boxes.