Andrew Peterson’s Counting Stars releases today.

After listening to this record (which I got to do for the first time on Sunday), I wanted to sell my house and buy a copy for every person I’ve ever met.

I haven’t done the math on that (not one of my strengths), but you get the idea. You know something is special when you have an immediate, overwhelming desire to share it with others for their good. And this record is so very good in so many ways.

Counting Stars continues Andrew’s uncanny record of hitting me simultaneously like a new piece of art that astounds, while feeling as familiar as the natural soundtrack to my family’s life.

With each successive song-story you find yourself going deeper into the mystery and magic of the world God made, but it is not always “new” ground. It is only that Andrew can call your attention to what you failed to see before, but might if you try (or stop trying). He is not content to let ordinary be bland, he will say something about magic. Here are songs about loving your wife (or husband), looking in on sleeping kids, planting trees, and hope in the night. All told by a wordsmith who is more like a wizard than an ordinary singer-songwriter.

He offers here a humble tonic against ingratitude. A poem for the glory of ordinary chores. A thin place where the wall between the divine and the plain is tenuous at best.

On this record, as you may guess from the title, Andrew again alludes to Abraham. This is one of my favorite recurring flavors of his musical catalog. He makes us feel like we serve and love the same God that Abraham did, not by diminishing the patriarch, but by putting us in our place –surrounded by the love of that same God.

The Magic Hour is one of the songs on Counting Stars, but it also describes my experience of listening to the entire record.

Get yourself a copy here, so I don’t have to sell my house.

Note: Tonight a 8pm (EST) Andrew will be playing a Counting Stars concert live on the internet. He will be standing on the internet, playing. See about it here.

1. Andrew won a Christy Award for writing the very best Young Adult novel in what is known as the Christian market for North, Or Be Eaten! Bravo! Well done. It’s an amazing book, as is its predecessor, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. His literary career is on the ascent and well-deserved it is. I love his music, but I think he might end up being a better author at the end of the day.

2. Speaking of his music, his new record is available for pre-order now. Go here to see the various ways you can support AP’s work and support your own ears (and heart) by putting your order in today. I just finished watching the video for “Dancing in the Mine-Field.” Another grown-up love song from AP in the tradition of “Don’t Give Up On Me” and others. Having just gone over the ten year mark with my wife, I was moved once again by AP’s gift for song-craft with deep truth. It’s excellent, and only one of the nifty bonus opportunities available when you pre-order. There’s t-shirts, immediate download of the record now, that video, coffee with himself, and I think a lock of his hair. Check it.

Congrats on the Christy, AP, and the new record.

I’m just waiting for your feature film to hit theaters. Your art exhibit? I hate you because you’re good at everything respect you so much.

Disclaimer: AP’s been very good to me -generous. But I was a fan before that and shall remain so until he crosses me to the end.

Here’s a video his label put together to promote Counting Stars. It’s good. Watch it.

This is a classic. To hear the version of the song to which Andy G “Gully” “Hellsfury” Gullahorn refers at the end of the video, see here.

I like Andy Gullahorn and look forward to meeting him (and his wife) someday, maybe at the Hutchmoot. He did me a solid related to a gift for my brother, where he turned his album cover into a picture of a guy playing cricket (an activity my brother and I have done a lot together). What a swell thing to do. See his alterations here. Click on the first photo to see his cricket knowledge in play. (Note: Not called a “box,” but wickets.)

Plus, unlike the rest of the Square Pegs, (except the valiant Eric Peters), he likes sports. Get his record here and watch the commercial he did for it here.

Jellybean Highfive stood at the entrance of the house called Diffident Manor. He walked in reluctantly, stood in the doorway in an unassuming fashion. He had been invited here by invitation.

‘Place looks odd,’ he thought inside his mind, with his thoughts.

“Hello, stranger,” a voice said from in front of him. The voice belonged to a woman –a curvaceous, vivacious, hellacious woman.

“I’m Vivica Hellen,” she said, drawing on her cigarette like a smoker, “but my friends call me ‘Curvy Vivica Hellen.’”

“Because of the…?” Jellybean began.

“…curves,” she finished. “Yes. Because of that.”

“Why are we here?” Jellybean asked, looking around at the quaint, humble insides of Diffident Manor in an uncertain way.

“I got me an invitation, I did,” Curvy Vivica Hellen said.

“Me too,” Jellybean said. “Mine was a little odd. It said…” and he showed it to Curvy Vivica Hellen.

Come to Diffident Manor. Stop. Great riches await you. Stop. Why am I writing this like a telegram? Stop. I just can’t seem to stop. Stop.

“Mine says the same thing,” Curvy Vivica Hellen said.

“Mine too,” Jellybean Highfive said, drawing out a cigarette from his pack of cigarettes. He lit one with fire, began to smoke it cheerfully. “Mine too,” he repeated, this time with extra rasp.

“It’s a mystery. Why are we here?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked.

“You’re here,” a voice boomed, “because I invited you, by invitation.”

Jellybean looked around, but saw no one. He thought how weird that was, then remembered all the ways voices could be projected into the room with a person not present. “Yeah,” Jellybean asked. “But why?”

“Because we need you,” the voice boomed again. “We need you to save Diffident Manor in a desperate sort of way.”

“How desperate?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked. “On a scale of 1 to 12, how bad off is the Manor?”

“10.5, easy,” the voice said. “Maybe 11. I’m so serious. I’m not even lying.”

“That’s high,” Jellbean said.

“Yeah, so…” the voice paused, then continued, “…can I count on you?”

“Sure.” They said together, at the same time.

“Jinx,” Jellybean said, “Jinx.”

____________________________

Ten hours later they stood in the sitting room, having each committed various atrocities combined with acts of goodness.

“The Manor must be saved and it must be by you,” the voice said. “Then you will have a reward of gold.”

“Nice,” Jellybean said, “but who are you?”

“I will tell you who I am,” the voice said, “when you solve the mystery and rescue the Manor and get the reward.”

“The reward of gold?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked.

“Yes. That one.”

“OK,” they both said together, but it was far too pivotal a scene for Jellybean to say ‘Jinx.’

‘Not this time,” he thought. ‘But it is tempting,’ he also thought.

______________________________

Then there was a tumult in Diffident Manor. The entire building began to shake with shaky shakes. Into the room came six ugly giants. Their names were “Essential,” “Important,” “Serious,” “Central,” “C.S. Lewis,” and “Nimrod.” Essential spoke. “This is Important,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” Jellybean said.

“No, you idiot,” Essential said. “What I’m about to tell you is Important.”

“I knew that,” Jellybean said.

“Hear me and you might live,” Essential said. “Maybe. Go to the bottom of the house, the basement. There you will find three keys. The middle key must be used in the chapel closet, or doom will follow doom.”

“What kind of doom?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked.

“Certain. Doom,” Essential said.

Then Nimrod did strike Curvy Vivica Hellen on the head and she did die. Jellybean felt her pulse and it did not exist. In fury he killed Nimrod with a look, and a gun.

“It’s all right,” Serious said, “I’m kind of a wizard. Go to the cupboard and fetch me a pail of water.”
Jellybean ran, fetched a pail of water.

“Pour it over her head,” Serious said.

“Really? Are you..”

“Serious? Am I Serious?” Serious said. “Of course I am.”

“Do it,” C.S. Lewis said. Then he left, muttering “I have to get to the shed or the whole Manor will fall down at the end.”

“OK,” Jellybean said. He dashed the water on her head. Curvy Vivica Hellen revived. She asked for a cigarette.

They smiled and wondered, ‘What kind of a place is this?’

__________________________________

Three minutes later they were all in the kitchen, except some others had disappeared. There was Jellybean Highfive, Curvy Vivica Hellen, Essential, and Serious. Nimrod was dead.

“Essential,” Jellybean said. “Why didn’t we fetch a pail for Nimrod?”

“Because he got what he deserved,” Essential said.

“But all Nimrod did was kill some one for a little while. Now I’ve killed Nimrod forever.”

“It’s what Diffident Manor wants,” Essential explained. “It’s what Deuteronomical Max wants.”

“Who is Deuteronomical Max?”

“It will be told to you in twenty minutes.”

“What happens in twenty minutes?”

“You mean other than you finding out who DeuteroMax is?”

“Yeah.”

“The Manor of Diffidence will change forever, and we have to stop her.” Essential said. Then he walked into the refrigerator and disappeared in the light.

“Where’d he go?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked.

“I don’t know,” Jellybean said. “But he was the shortest giant I have ever seen.”

“And a good friend,” Curvy Vivica Hellen said. “A good friend.”

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” Jellybean said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to find this Deuteronomical Max.”

“Why?” Curvy Vivica Hellen asked.

“So I can kill him.”

“I don’t think that’s what Essential meant,” she said. “Before he disappeared behind the mayonnaise he winked at me and whispered, “‘It’s so cold.’ What could that mean?””

“We’re about to find out,” Jellybean said. “We’re about to find out.”

____________________________________

Four hours and twelve seconds later Curvy Vivica Hellen and Jellybean Highfive stood in the chapel. They thought about the keys, but not very much.

“I’m so glad we’re here,” Curvy Vivica Hellen said. “So glad.”

“Me too,” Jellybean agreed. “Me too.”

Then all the giants came in, smiling, reading books. Nimrod looked up from a Nancy Drew and ambled over. He gave Jellybean a hug.

“Sorry about the, um, unpleasantries earlier.”

“Me too,” Jellybean said. “Me too.”

Curvy Vivica Hellen said, “I’m the one you tried to kill.”

“True,” Nimrod said. “True.”

They were all smiling. With their teeth.

But also…..with their…

…hearts.

The End

Author’s Note: The powers that be posted this at the Rabbit Room yesterday. For a little context, you can go here for the brilliant Travis Prinzi’s post on why he loved the finale of Lost, and the comment thread of his post where fists fly and jaws rattle arguing over the super-important topic of “Did the Lost Finale Satisfy?” I guess you can see, if you watched the show, where I fall on that. If not you can just enjoy this story for the massive literary achievement it is. Kind of like Gulliver’s Travels. Did Swift write that in fifteen minutes?

UPDATE: There are almost ZERO slots left. Register now, or lose your place forever.

Back-story: The Rabbit Room is a online public house, a website where some Christians (creative types, mostly) meet up and talk about the Story, Story, stories, movies, music, and a bunch of other stuff. It’s supposed to be an Inklings kind of thing (the meet-up for C.S. Lewis, Professor Tolkien and others –but they had a real pub).

The Proprietor of our on-line Rabbit Room is Andrew Peterson (author, singer-songwriter, pro-proprietor). At some point AP asked me to be a part of this thing by contributing a few posts a month. I assume this was to achieve readership among the highly sought after demographic of hillbillies.

Now: AP has long held a desire for the cyberpub to incarnate in brick and mortar. So, while there is no physical RR, there shall be, if God wills, an in-flesh get together of Rabbit Roomers this year.

The get together shall be a retreat/conference type of thing, but since a perfect name could not be agreed upon, Pete Peterson’s working title of “The Hutchmoot” was settled on.

Hutch = A home for rabbits.
Moot = A meet up (like the Entmoot in Tolkien’s LoTR).

So, all that to say this: Why don’t you come and join us? August 6-8. Nashville.

I am actually a bit late in posting this announcement (because I am stoopid) and the thing is getting rather full. So, head over to the Hutchmoot web HQ and see what all the fuss is about.

If you are a hillbilly and care what yours truly is doing there (besides trying to act casual around all the amazing artists) then I’ll be participating in two panel-things. One is on storytelling (because of my millions of books sold –oh, wait) with the a fore-mentioned AP, along with authors Jonathan Rogers, Travis Prinzi, Russ Ramsey, and Pete Peterson. I’ll probably just be fetching sodas and adjusting the air conditioner. The other is called “Strength in Weakness” and is with authors Pete Peterson and Travis Prinzi. I’ll be doing a reading in that one based on the work of Tolkien and the connection of his work with all the bathroom jokes in my writings.

Check out the website.
See the schedule.
Register.
Make travel plans with fellow Hutchmooters here.

I am really looking forward to it, and plan to post more later. Cheers!

Two: Today there magically appeared a post featuring the Top 3 choices for favorite books, movies, and books, from (most of) the contributors to The Rabbit Room. So, deeply exciting I am sure, you can go and see for yourself how superior my choices are to those other fellows.

Also, go over and list your favorites in the comments. I dare you.

Note: I wasn’t sure if it was limited to things produced in 2009, but assumed it was. If it had been merely things consumed (so to speak, but a better way to say it is “received“) in 2009 then my list would have been pretty different. But I like the things I listed.

Did this fine book make the list?

So, Eric came to town and a great time was had by me and my family and friends and everyone was very complementary of him after the concert. Great reviews from the (pretty good-sized) crowd.  

One thing people kept saying (especially in my family) was how much Eric reminded them of me. Also, we really do have a lot in common. The disconcerting thing about this truth is that it reveals my oft-expressed admiration for EP as your basic prideful, self-love. Dang it.

But, honestly…Fact: I have nothing like the talent of Eric Peters. He is a unique bird. Plus I’m taller and, I assume, much better at lawndarts.

Here’s a video my brother (Will) shot and my other brother Daryl (Josiah) put on the “internets.”

Eric introduced this song by making a very clever joke about the connection between 80’s music and vermin and things that kill vermin (Ratt, Poisen, Anthrax, etc.). Then he talked about discovering the music of a different era, the music his parents loved. The Turtles, the Beatles, etc.

All I can say to that is a huge “ditto.” (How predictable, right?)

It’s a catchy EP tune from the Beckley, WV concert called, “Little by Little.” You can find it on the record Miracle of Forgetting. (My favorite EP album? May be.)

Andrew Peterson

This snippet is from a podcast which features the first of Russ Ramsey’s much anticipated Advent series over at the Rabbit Room. Listen to it here. Highly recommended.

Factoid: People are becoming symbiotic in their relationship with their computers.

Fact: Everyone is officially on Twitter. Plus if you’re really famous you’re probably on there at least twice, once with “fake” in front of your name.

Of course most people are fake enough on Twitter anyway. Not me, but other people who hack my account.

I made fun of Twitter publically in a Rabbit Room post a few weeks prior to joining up myself. Can you say “hypocrisy” with less than 140 characters? 

Ron Block promptly called me a “Twaitor.” That is one of the most brilliant rejoinders I have ever been on the receiving end of. He should have tweeted it on Twitter so someone could actually read it. I guess he can still share it in one of his thirty-or-so Facebook Status Updates a day –which is veeerrryyy different than a Twitter tweet.

But in my (actual) view Twitter isn’t nearly as important as many of its apologists/cheerleaders say.

Also, it’s not as egocentric and banal as its detractors say (or it doesn’t have to be).

OK, now that I’ve done the most irritating thing in the world and set up two poles and put myself between them and called that “balance,” and “quite moderate,” I will now show you one reason why I love Twitter.

If you hung out with really smart, wise, godly, creative, or just generally uncommon people, you would hear them say things in reaction to some bit of news (or whatever) and you would laugh, or ponder, or be very puzzled. But wouldn’t it be swell to hear some morsel of what your favorite artist is thinking right now, or your favorite author, or chef, or pastor, or whatever? Well, that is (can be) what Twitter is. I cite Al Mohler from 11.16.09. Mohler tweeted thus:

albertmohler: Kanye West: “I am a proud non-reader of books. I … get information from doing stuff like actually talking to people and living real life.”

Then he tweeted this follow-up…

albertmohler: Please note that proud non-reader Kanye West is the author of a new book, “Thank You & You’re Welcome.” I am a proud non-reader of his book.

Bam.

                    Aside: It’s so very shocking to learn that Kanye West doesn’t read.

Let me make it clear that I agree with the vast number of sentient beings who recognize that sitting around on Twitter or Facebook for hours is almost certainly a HUGE waste of time. But the doing of many things to excess is often an avenue to wasting life. I gotta hurry this up, there’s a football game on…

Most of what is on Twitter and Facebook is not worth seeing. Lots. Of. Narcissism. And you can spend half your day just getting through the exclamation points on any tweets/status updates by teenagers you know!!!!!!!!! And like don’t even get me started on this jk/lol business. AND ALL CAPS!! Blech.

The truth is there are few who seem skilled at using the tool well, and I certainly don’t count myself among them. But there’s some out there. Who are your favorite people to follow on Twitter? Why? Comment away.

Oh yeah, follow me on Twitter and be my friend on Facebook. If you wish. Or don’t, snob.

sdsmith_: Just wrote a post, now eating a cookie. Here’s a picture of me. It’s the one I use on Twitter! lol, jk, lol!!!!! Cookie now finished.

My Rabbit Room compadre A.S. Peterson’s debut novel will release soon (end of November!). The cover was revealed yesterday to well-deserved applause (Evie Coates, another Rabbit Roomer, designed). I love the cover, it feels old, and I am very much looking forward to the book.

Pete (as he is better known at the moment) has basically been about the business of starting up a new publishing house, Rabbit Room Press. This will be the debut, full-length fiction offering from RRP and it looks to be a stalwart flagship.

Rabbit Room Press, for now, is a small, independent press. This means that Pete has to think of clever ways to help offset costs. He has settled on the idea of a patronage, and offers some limited edition, and first edition, hardware for those with the vision and generosity to support the start-up and launch his book. It’s an opportunity to invest in something special. In ten years when A.S. Peterson is a house-hold name and Rabbit Room Press’ stock is trading on the New York Stock Exchange, you will feel that warmness of the heart that comes from blazing trails and supporting worthy ventures.

You can find out about Tier 1 and Tier 2 (with a limited edition companion book) patronage at Pete’s website.

I am for this kind of thing in general, and for Pete in particular.

Check it out.