Tao of J.T. is the online blog of New York Times bestselling author and EMMY-award winning television host J.T. Ellison.
Looking for some reading material for your winter hibernation? I've got just the thing: the first two books in the Sam Owens series are now available in one digital package for only $5.99!
Interested? You can find the books here:
Hi, lovelies! How are you? I'll admit, it hasn't been the easiest week. But here's a bright spot: thrillercat Jameson has been cleared to resume normal activities, so she's out of her cone! Thank goodness. It was hard on all of us to keep the poor bunny confined.
And without further ado . . .
First of all, I'm heartbroken that cancer has taken two of our most talented men. I'm talking, of course, of David Bowie and Alan Rickman. I wrote about Bowie here on the Tao. And there's no question: Alan Rickman was Snape. I think one of my dearest friends, Laura Benedict, summed up our collective grief quite well:
Careers have highlights and low places. When someone dies, most everyone remembers the highlights. The best of people. They forget that the person was a work in progress, a work that was different from project to project, day to day. The day after that person sang/wrote that favorite song, or acted in that favorite film, they probably went on to do something less, well, remarkable. They went on living their lives, working because it meant something to be working, whether we cared about it or not. Their possibilities were still delightfully possible.
Rest peacefully, sirs. We will certainly miss you.
Some writers have a ritual before they put pen to paper. I get it — getting words on the page takes discipline. But Hunter S. Thompson's pre-writing rituals were more more unconventional than even I had originally thought . . .
It's no secret that I love Dani Shapiro. Her writing is so beautifully lyrical and resonates so deeply with me—like this piece about the friend that got away. I know we've all had that person. Dani articulates this situation so well, it's like she was inside my brain.
Go read AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE. Just trust me on this one.
I love a tool that helps me get the job done. I have a well-documented love of Wunderlist, so I was intrigued by this article—it explains why I love the melodious ding! that sounds when I check something off the list.
Speaking of handy tools: Mac people, do you long for a Gmail app so that you don't have to contend with yet another tab cluttering your browser? Here you go.
I dunno about you, but I'd much rather buy something once at a premium than keep replacing a cheap product. Turns out, I'm not alone—and there's a website to help people like me.
And score 1 for the indies: my hometown store, Parnassus Books, is expanding!
Um, I nearly fell out of my chair when BookBub named NO ONE KNOWS one of the "15 New Books to Read If You Love GIRL ON THE TRAIN!" And a few other people have been passing around ARCs of NO ONE KNOWS, and they've been saying some really nice stuff!
Two more months, you guys! I can't wait to talk about this one with you . . .
Also, you need these potatoes in your life. OK? I can't stress to you how delicious (and easy!) these are on a weeknight. Want more recipes? Sign up for the newsletter, and get a new one every month. Spoiler alert: next month's is a killer slow cooker recipe . . .
And on The Wine Vixen, Amy learned an important life skill: how to find delicious white wines at restaurants AND stay on-budget. And I indulged in a delicious Cabernet, brought to you by the same folks who make Grand Marnier (what!?).
Want some free book samples? Every product page on Two Tales Press is now equipped with a handy link that'll let you peek inside the books. Happy reading!
That's all from me. Y'all keep warm, make some soup (or, better yet, those rib-sticking potatoes!), and we'll talk again soon!
Xoxo,
JT
Available for pre-order!
Hi, loves! We are getting sooooo close to the March 22 release of my new standalone novel, NO ONE KNOWS. Here's an update on what's going on:
First, really exciting news: NO ONE KNOWS was selected as a 2016 Winter Okra Pick by the Southern Independent Booksellers Association (SIBA)! I am so honored to be among some killer books and authors. I was over the moon when I found out about this.
And BookBub named it as one of their 15 New Books to Read if you loved GIRL ON THE TRAIN -- super cool
And I was also tickled when the fine people at Publisher's Weekly said this about NO ONE KNOWS:
"Riveting . . . a skillfully plotted story that's equal parts mystery, psychological thriller, and cautionary tale. Ellison's twists are fresh . . . and the novel's action-packed conclusion will shock."
Hooray! Thanks, PW!
“You think GONE GIRL couldn't be topped, try Ellison's web of betrayal, lies and deceit. And wonder --”
— Catherine Coulter, #1 New York Times bestselling author of NEMESIS
“Enthralling! Ellison's twisty, turny thriller is my kind of novel: interesting characters, complex plotting, and an ending you'll never see coming. Suspense at its finest!”
— Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author of FIND HER
“Clever and compelling, J.T. Ellison’s NO ONE KNOWS is a page-turner full of unexpected twists and surprises. Pour a glass of wine, settle down in your favorite chair, and get ready for an entertaining roller coaster of a read. J.T. Ellison is a fast-rising star.”
— Jeff Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of THE FIRST ORDER
“Like a nerve-shredding trip through a carnival house of mirrors, NO ONE KNOWS left me breathless. Ellison's deft, seamless prose makes her devilish twists look effortless, and her sleight-of-hand with the facts of Aubrey Hamilton’s troubled life keeps the tension wire-high. NO ONE KNOWS is razor-sharp, shocking, and delicious.”
— Laura Benedict, author of CHARLOTTE’S STORY
“Reader, beware: In NO ONE KNOWS J.T. Ellison has created a masterful game of cat-and-mouse—with Ellison being the cat and us readers her prey. My favorite kind of story—I loved it.”
— Erica Spindler, New York Times bestselling author of THE FIRST WIFE and THE FINAL SEVEN
“NO ONE KNOWS grabs you from the start and doesn’t let go. A compelling thriller about loss, betrayal, and buried secrets, it’s a book you’ll devour, trying to guess what’s going on and what will happen next. The twists are genuinely—and satisfyingly—shocking. J.T. Ellison has written another winner.”
— Meg Gardiner, Edgar Award-winning author of PHANTOM INSTINCT
“J.T. Ellison has created one hell of a brain-bender. NO ONE KNOWS is a masterfully written shell game in which a grief-stricken woman is forced to reckon with her past until everything she believes about love, hope, and trust is tested. Ellison’s storytelling powers are on sharp display in this literary thriller, proving that no one is who they claim to be and everyone has secrets worth protecting. Compelling, perceptive, unsettling and with an ending so on point I wish I could read it again for the first time. I inhaled this novel.”
— Ariel Lawhon, author of FLIGHT OF DREAMS
Suffice it to say, I can't WAIT until y'all get your hands on this one. Five years in the making, baby. And it's almost here!
Pre-order now!
2:30 a.m.
I was up with the cat, giving her some food and love, when the notification buzzed on my iPad — David Bowie, dead from cancer at 69.
It is inevitable, these deaths. I am at an age now where this is becoming more and more clear.
But sitting on the floor, feeding my ailing cat in the middle of the night, was not when I expected one to come.
Bowie, man. Bowie.
Many will do him justice in print today. I just wanted to get down some thoughts about how much he influenced me. He was the grooviest cat, the man who broke all the boundaries, whose search for his authentic self through his art. He became his art. I respect the hell out of that.
You see, it was a Bowie song that inspired my very first book.
OK, it’s not a book. It’s a weird little handwritten short story I penned when I was 11, which ended up bound, and lives in my office drawer with all the rest of my early attempts at creativity.
It’s called The Samaritan: Part Two. I have no idea why it’s Part Two. I don’t recall ever writing Part I. Even at 11, I was sure every story needed to start in media res.
I have older brothers, both of whom had excellent taste in music. I believe it was Jay, though, the eldest, 11 years older than me, whose collection I most often raided — mostly because his room was totally, completely, 100 percent off limits to me, so when he wasn’t home, I’d sneak in and play his records. Yes, I was a brat. My middle brother, Jeff, never told on me, either. (Sorry, Jay!)
In Jay's room, I discovered a whole new world.
Heart. Jethro Tull. Pink Floyd. Deep Purple. Procol Harum. Blue Oyster Cult.
Bowie.
Bowie especially affected me. Space Oddity, in particular, set my imagination asoar. So simple, so evocative. NASA’s worst nightmare. Can you hear me Major Tom? Can you hear me Major Tom?
We grew up in an aerospace family. My dad worked for Lockheed Martin. They sent rockets to space. (At one point, the entire family did — both my brothers and me and Daddy; Daddy and Jeff retired, I quit, but Jay still does.) Growing up, there were telescopes, and star gazing. Science fiction dominated the bookshelves. Star Trek was practically required watching. The idea that there was more out there, infinite space, was something my dad instilled in us all, and I’m sure shaped my desires for knowledge.
When I listened to Space Oddity, over and over and over, I felt, in my own childish way, the song was written for me.
So I wrote a story about a man named Max, an astronaut, who is abandoned on Mars when his ship, and crew mates, explodes.
(Yes, I wrote a variation of THE MARTIAN when I was 11. I did not science the shit out of it, though.)
Space Oddity started my lifelong love of Bowie. Ashes to Ashes, China Girl, The Man Who Sold The World. Genius, all. The man could reinvent himself at will, though he did it with so much thought, so much care. He was always willing to break down the preconceptions, about music, life, sexuality, everything.
In short, Bowie was awesome. I pushed his music on everyone I knew. Some got it, some didn’t.
When I was 18, on a school trip to the UK, my best friend and I met up with a cute guy in a bar in Edinburgh. We were talking music, the Clash, a band he liked called King, and I began my usual proselytizing about Bowie. He completely freaked — he was a Bowie junkie. And I mean, junkie. This guy had traveled the world going to Bowie concerts, and made bootleg tapes of them all.
He offered to make copies and send them. My desire for law and order ( I despise piracy, did then and still do) was pushed aside, and I gave him my address, figuring he’d never follow through.
But he did! A few weeks later, a package arrived, with fifteen or so bootlegs concert tapes.
I wore them out. I played them and played them and played them. They were my prized possession. I was rarely without at least one of them in my car and in my Walkman.
Until my senior year of college, when someone stole them. I have a sneaking suspicion who (you BITCH!) The loss of those tapes was so hurtful. My special connection to the musician I revered, gone forever.
Suffice it to say, I am a lifelong Bowie fan. I even wrote his fabulous heterochromia into my Taylor Jackson series. Just a small honor. When I heard he’d died, a small part of my childhood did, too.
I started my day with Space Oddity, at 3:00 a.m., singing it to myself as I tried (and failed) to fall back asleep, shedding tears for a man I'd never met, but who shaped so much of my life.
Bowie has a new album out. I don’t have the heart to go play it right now. But I will. And I know he’ll find a way to make my imagination take flight, as he always does.
May God’s love be with you, David Bowie, you fabulous creature. You live on in all our hearts.
