USED BOOKS

by Michael Weitz

There are a lot of stores out there these days that take gently used media such as CDs, DVDs and books as trade. Usually you receive store credit rather than straight across goods for goods, but it's better than nothing, right? Other options are donations to libraries, schools, Goodwill or other similar stores. I've found another option as well. I put my book down and left. Yep, walked away.

Photo by stockimages

What? you're saying. How could I do such a thing? I know, but let me explain.

My wife and I took a vacation recently. It doesn't matter where, but let's just say there was a beach, a swimming pool or two and more than enough lounge chairs fit for reading. Lots and lots of reading. One of the things we discovered while walking around was a tray of sorts with a few books on it. You could even describe them as gently used. Great idea, we thought! Any books we get through and didn't want to schlep back home in our luggage could be left there for others to enjoy.

After all, when you've read a great story you can always tell your friends about it, but getting someone you don't know to read something you've enjoyed is just as fun. Remember, they'll run out of reading material too! In fact, we heard people talking about how they didn't bring enough books to read. So we may very well have rescued someone from not having something to read! Think of it. And if one of my bookmarks directing them to my website happened to be left inside, well, what can I say? More for them to read on their next trip, right?

All my best,
Michael Weitz

Here is a short intro to Michael’s first Ray Gordon Mystery novel for your reading pleasure.

Making house calls or meeting people in public places is how Ray Gordon makes his living. He’s not a doctor. He’s not a prostitute. Ray Gordon is a chess teacher.

When one of Ray’s students, Walter Kelly, is found dead in his shop, the police and his family let it go as an accident. Ray, however, doesn’t buy it. As a former cop with a lingering curiosity, Ray snoops around and stumbles into the murky world of methamphetamine, the worst drug epidemic of our time.

The problem? Walter Kelly was sixty-five years old and his only addictions were woodworking and chess. How does a sixty-five-year-old man become involved with illegal drugs? Why is a neighbor glad Walter’s dead? And just how do dead men play chess?

Even Dead Men Play Chess Amazon


And a brief look at Book Two of the Ray Gordon Mystery novels.

The favorite to win the US Chess Championship is found dead. Was it suicide, or murder? Unfortunately the cop who lands the case is Ray Gordon's former partner - and the two haven't spoken in years for good reason. Since the victim was a friend and he doesn't trust the police investigation, Ray decides to take matter into his own hands. When others begin to diappear though, Ray finds himself deep within a savage game that becomes personal in more ways than one.

They say when it rains, it pours. For Ray that cliché couldn’t be more true.

The Grandmaster's King Amazon

Michael Weitz is an award-winning author who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, usually reading anything he could get his hands on. He wrote his first novel in the 6th Grade -- an eight page rip-off of Star Wars.

A variety of jobs including waiter, gas station attendant, truck driver and a host of others, helped shape his world. After college he landed in the television industry where he wrote and produced a multitude of award-winning commercials, two documentaries about Mt. St. Helens and various other projects.

After a few years in Phoenix, AZ, Michael, his wife, and their dogs are back in the Pacific Northwest. Currently working on the next Ray Gordon mystery, Michael may also be found reading, playing chess or shooting pool. As an avid photographer, he enjoys traveling anywhere picturesque with his wife.

Learn more about Michael Weitz on his website and Goodreads.

Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Teacher Learns a Lesson

by Michael Weitz

When it comes to my books, Even Dead Men Play Chess and The Grandmaster’s King, I’ve been asked, Why chess? Why is Ray Gordon (the main character) a chess teacher? For some people chess is an enigma, that interesting looking but mysterious game in grandpa’s den, but for others chess is much more than a game. Former World Champion Anatoly Karpov said, “Chess is everything: art, science, and sport.” His predecessor, Bobby Fischer, took it a step further by saying, “Chess is life.” I agree with Karpov, and while I think I understand what Bobby was getting at, he may have been a little obsessed.

I taught chess for a while at a Montessori school in Phoenix. My students were between 6 and 10 years old. Most of them had seen the game but never played while others had a rudimentary idea of how some of the pieces moved. I was nervous because I’d never taught chess before, let alone been the only grown-up in a room full of children. How was I going to hold their attention long enough to explain that a Rook is not a castle, or that a Knight is not a…I can’t bear to say it…a…horsey? Augh!

Deep breath. I had to step back and think about my own chess history. I had played against kids in tournaments and I’d been beaten by kids in tournaments and it was a mistake to underestimate them. This was proven later in the semester when one morning I arrived and began setting up only to discover a cockroach staring at me. It was tucked within the folds of a stack of paper towels the children used on a daily basis and it was as long as my hand. It stared out of the towels like it was tucked comfortably into bed and its long antennae swam lazily back and forth daring me to make a move.

Not cool! My students would freak once the giant creep fest was spotted and they would all run screaming. I had to move it, right? But I didn’t want to move it! So I did what any sane adult would do; I slowly backed away and hoped the cockroach would skitter into a dark hole when I turned on all the lights.

Once my master plan of ignoring the creature was in place I went about setting up my display board, rearranging the desks and so on. By the time my students began to arrive I’d forgotten about the cockroach. I was deep into a lesson about how sacrificing your Queen could be a beautiful and dramatic way to win the game when a little girl of about 7 went to the sink. I braced myself for the imminent panic and thought about how I could stop the mad rush of students toward the door.

“Mr. Michael,” I heard her say. “There’s a bug.”

The rest of the class looked in her direction, acknowledged that one of their own had identified the intruder and then returned their attention to me. No screams, no panic, no freaking out.

Huh?

Was it the power of chess that kept everyone in check? Perhaps. Chess has so much depth it teaches us lessons to use even when we’re away from the board. Look before you leap, there are consequences to your decisions, work with what you have, and so many more.

And I’m not the only one who thinks so. A New York area organization, Chess in the Schools, is on a mission to improve academic performance and build self-esteem among inner-city public school children. According to their website, Chess helps promote intellectual growth and has been shown to improve academic performance. Also on their website are several quotes from teachers and others praising what chess has done for their students. Here’s an example from a Manhattan elementary school Principal, “Our teachers believe that the game of chess fosters concentration, critical thinking and positive self-esteem.”

Read more about Chess in the Schools here.

I learned to play chess when I was in 3rd grade. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere in the years of playing chess, it became more than a game for me. I appreciated the art, studied the science and enjoyed the sport. Chess had everything. When I began writing it took a while before the mantra write what you know sunk in. Once I thought about that and what kind of book I wanted to read, it made perfect sense. Chess had everything, so it needed to be part of my stories.

Even Dead Men Play Chess and the award-winning The Grandmaster’s King feature Ray Gordon, a former cop turned chess teacher. The third Ray Gordon mystery, Till Tomorrow, will be available soon!

Available in print and multiple e-reader formats.
Amazon - Smashwords

Michael Weitz is an award-winning author who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, usually reading anything he could get his hands on. He wrote his first novel in the 6th Grade -- an eight page rip-off of Star Wars.

A variety of jobs including waiter, gas station attendant, truck driver and a host of others, helped shape his world. After college he landed in the television industry where he wrote and produced a multitude of award-winning commercials, two documentaries about Mt. St. Helens and various other projects.

After a few years in Phoenix, AZ, Michael, his wife, and their dogs are back in the Pacific Northwest. Currently working on the next Ray Gordon mystery, Michael may also be found reading, playing chess or shooting pool. As an avid photographer, he enjoys traveling anywhere picturesque with his wife.

Learn more about Michael Weitz on his website and Goodreads.

Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

THE WILD LIFE

by Michael Weitz

Growing up in a small rural community has its charms though we rarely appreciate them until we’ve grown up. One of the things I enjoyed was looking for deer, badgers, coyotes, birds and whatever else might be wild and not on a farm. It passed the time while my dad drove us through the surrounding agricultural fields on our way to a movie or to the home of a friend who happened to live seven miles out of town and surrounded by acres of wheat fields.

Today I live in a larger city that, if they’re smart, animals of an untamed nature tend to shy away from. After all, a raccoon driving a minivan around town to pick up his forest pals just doesn’t wash unless it’s in a Pixar movie, right? Besides, even though a raccoon has “hands” that could grasp the steering wheel, it lacks the size to reach the gas pedal and still be able to see where it’s going. That being said, my neighborhood surrounds a pond that is home to a number of creatures and my wife and I feel very lucky to be able to sit and watch their activities while we relax after a long day.

There are Canada geese, but the Canada moniker seems dicey because every spring we watch the newly-hatched goslings form a maritime train behind their parents in our pond so there is obviously some dual citizenship agreement; frogs and toads perform a nightly chorus that sounds more like broken fog horns than anything of the “ribbit” variety; Mallard ducks build their nests and receive an occasional visit from a colorful Wood duck, and there’s a turtle or two who are only seen when they sun themselves on a rock. We’ve even spied a fox trotting through our neighbors yard, but my favorite is a Blue Heron that appears nearly every day to stand majestically along the shore. It’s all very serene.

We’d recently bought our house and had been living in it for a few months before I finally dug out our binoculars in order to get a better look at the heron we’d arbitrarily dubbed “Simon.” The bright yellow eyes glared down his saber-like beak seemingly fixed in a permanent scowl of concentration. His grayish blue plumage smoothed back as he slowly stepped into the water of the pond. “Honey, come check out Simon!” I called to my wife. “The binoculars really bring him in close.”

She’d just poured a glass of wine and came outside to enjoy the warm weather. I handed her the optics and pointed to where the bird was standing stock-still. She looked through the binoculars and said, “Ooh, he’s so neat. He’s looking at something under the water. I wonder if-Oh! Blegh! He got a frog!”

“What? Let me look!” I said. She handed me the binoculars and I quickly focused on Simon. Sure enough he had a frog the size of a football dangling from the end of his beak. No sooner had I seen this, though, than the bird dropped the frog onto the grass and stared as it leaped twice and back into the water. Two giant steps and a flap of his mighty wings brought Simon to the water’s edge just as fast and with a lunge he snatched the frog and brought it back ashore. Again he dropped it and again he caught it and brought it back from the water.

“Do you want to look somemo…” That’s when Simon cocked his long neck into an S and with Bruce Lee-like speed, unleashed his beak of fury. In a flash Simon stabbed the frog, reared back and stabbed it twice more. That frog was dead, yep, no question. “Never mind, honey,” I mumbled and tried not to retch. The swift and bloody violence was shocking and worthy of a Scorsese film.

But I kept watching. The prey was dead, the predator victorious, now it was time to dine. If you’ve seen a heron, you know their necks are about as wide as a champagne flute and there are no knives and forks available at the pond side restaurant. I was genuinely, if somewhat morbidly, curious to see how Simon intended to down his dinner. In fact, it was a gluttonous scene of maneuvering the carcass into his mouth head first, lifting his head high and swallowing the frog whole. Through the binoculars I was awarded a splendid view as Simon’s neck swelled to near bursting as the night’s menu slid down into his stomach. No sooner had his neck returned to its slender, graceful state than he knocked back a quick sip of pond water. If he had lips I swear he would have smacked them.

That was the first time we’d witnessed Simon dining on the local wildlife and it was the last time my wife took up the binoculars to look upon his beauty. But we still feel blessed to live here on the pond. Simon has grown fatter and the number of frog voices singing the nightly song has diminished, but we’ve seen other birds and been visited by the occasional mammal. Oddly enough though, no raccoon. Although now that I think about it, there were some unaccounted for miles on the car after I left the garage door open the other night...

All my best,
Michael Weitz

Here is a short intro to Michael’s mystery novel for your reading pleasure.

Making house calls or meeting people in public places is how Ray Gordon makes his living. He’s not a doctor. He’s not a prostitute. Ray Gordon is a chess teacher.

When one of Ray’s students, Walter Kelly, is found dead in his shop, the police and his family let it go as an accident. Ray, however, doesn’t buy it. As a former cop with a lingering curiosity, Ray snoops around and stumbles into the murky world of methamphetamine, the worst drug epidemic of our time.

The problem? Walter Kelly was sixty-five years old and his only addictions were woodworking and chess. How does a sixty-five-year-old man become involved with illegal drugs? Why is a neighbor glad Walter’s dead? And just how do dead men play chess?

EXCERPT
To take my mind off the task at hand, I thought about Brian Kelly. Was it just the cabin going to waste that rubbed him the wrong way or was it the land value he was afraid of missing out on? Real estate assessments had been big news over the last month or two. Housing prices and land deals had gone berserk and sellers were making massive profits. Maybe Brian was in trouble financially and he just couldn’t take it anymore? Walt refused to sell and Brian killed him for it, knowing the cabin would eventually come into his hands or he would at least be able to talk his mother into putting the land up for sale.

Outside, I heard Ed Carter’s back door creak open and closed. I poured fresh water over the floor and started mopping it up. If Ed planned on being neighborly again, I didn’t think he needed to witness the clean-up process. But after several minutes passed without an appearance from the Kellys’ neighbor, I began my attack on the table saw with a scouring pad.

Just as I got into a nice scrubbing rhythm, Morphy growled low in his throat and raised his head off of his paws. I stopped and watched him. His ears were erect and his gaze was on the window behind me. Goose flesh erupted on my arms. To hide the shiver that ran down my spine, I resumed wiping down the table saw with calm casualness. I kept my attention focused on Morphy, though, and he growled again. This time, the hair over his shoulders stiffened and rose up as his emotions kicked in. Someone was watching or trying to look in the window. Morphy wouldn’t get so angry over something like a skunk or a cat.

I twisted around just as Morphy leapt to his feet and barked. Someone ducked down before I could see a face. I ran to the door and pulled it open. Morphy tore around the corner, barking after the intruder and I followed as close as I could.

In the darkness of Margie Kelly’s backyard, I saw Morphy’s blond fur disappear into the black shadow of Walt’s shop. He chased a dim figure, which ran toward the back of the property, to Helen Parker’s house. I ran full out once I saw the shadowy form of the person who had been spying through the window. Gone were the trepidations of twisted ankles and bloodied shins from unseen objects lying hidden on the grass.

I ran.

Even Dead Men Play Chess
Amazon
CreateSpace

Michael Weitz is an award-winning author who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, usually reading anything he could get his hands on. He wrote his first novel in the 6th Grade -- an eight page rip-off of Star Wars.

A variety of jobs including waiter, gas station attendant, truck driver and a host of others, helped shape his world. After college he landed in the television industry where he wrote and produced a multitude of award-winning commercials, two documentaries about Mt. St. Helens and various other projects.

After a few years in Phoenix, AZ, Michael, his wife, and their dogs are back in the Pacific Northwest. Currently working on the next Ray Gordon mystery, Michael may also be found reading, playing chess or shooting pool. As an avid photographer, he enjoys traveling anywhere picturesque with his wife.

Learn more about Michael Weitz on his website and Goodreads.

Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

The Straight Martini

by Michael Weitz

Let’s talk about olives. Specifically, green olives. I’ve always been a fan of green olives, the kind with the cheery red pimento stuffed inside; they have a flavor that can’t be compared to anything else, they’re just…olivey. As a kid I remember pictures, posters and TV ads for restaurants, depicting perfectly stacked and delectable looking sandwiches, their sharply cut triangular halves topped with a perfect green olive, all of it held together by a toothpick.

I don’t think that’s where my love of the green olive came from though. There’s a story in my family of how I ate an entire jar of green olives (pimentos included) when I was 3 years old. I hid under a table and gorged until the jar was empty and then promptly vomited all over the living room wall. To this day my mother still thinks they used green olives in the famous scene from The Exorcist. But I wasn’t deterred. My love of green olives lives on.

Which brings us to today. While the ubiquitous orb is no longer prominently featured as a sandwich topper, it is integral to a good straight vodka martini. It’s here that I need to make a confession. I don’t particularly like martinis. My wife, however, does, and she says I make a pretty good one, so I’m going to tell you my secret.

Actually, it’s not much of a secret and by now I’m sure you’ve figured it out. Olives. Mmmm, green olives.

Okay, obsession moment over.


The Fixings
martini shaker
good, non-flavored vodka
dry vermouth
ice
green olives

I know flavored vodkas are all the rage, but imagine eating raspberries and green olives together in the same bite. Exactly. We’re making a straight martini here, a la James Bond.

Prepare the Glass
Ideally, though not necessary, you have a classic martini glass (an inverted cone on a stem). Why? Because martinis are served cold and holding the glass by the stem prevents your hand from warming the drink. There are a couple of ways to prepare your glass. The one I prefer is to keep your favorite martini glass in the freezer so it will be nice and frosty. Another way is to put some ice and water in the shaker, mix them up a bit to get the water super cold and then pour it all into your glass and let it sit a few moments. I don’t care for this option though because any water in the shaker can dilute the drink, but I’ve seen bartenders do it so maybe I’m just being picky.

The Method
Fill the shaker half way with ice cubes.

Add two (2) jiggers of your favorite vodka (remember, non-flavored).

Next add a splash of dry vermouth. This is really all about personal taste so you’ll need to experiment. When I add a splash, I tilt the bottle down and back up again rather quickly. If I’m too speedy I repeat the process. If you like your martinis dry, once may be enough! But you must add vermouth in order for this drink to be a martini. I have a friend who likes his martinis so dry, he waves an open bottle of vermouth over the shaker like a voodoo shaman so only the fumes will settle on the ice cubes. That, my friends, is not the driest of martinis, it’s vodka on ice. So, again, add a splash or two of vermouth to taste.

Cap the shaker and get your groove on! Shake that shaker! Shake it until it turns frosty and your hands hurt from the iciness. This will ensure your martini is completely mixed and at a nice cold serving temperature.

Once you’re satisfied with your shaking, quickly spear a couple of olives with a toothpick; personally I like three olives on the stick. Place the skewered olives in the martini glass and then gently pour your drink over them. If you’ve never used a martini shaker before, the ice stays in it. Depending on the model you have, the top may have a built in strainer, or if you prefer a hand held one, that’s cool too.

This martini is basic and straightforward to make, but the secret is all in how it’s prepared. Just like a chess game in my book, Even Dead Men Play Chess, there’s an art to preparing something that’s to be appreciated.

All my best,
Michael Weitz

Sit back and enjoy your martini while you glimpse into Michael's novel.

Making house calls or meeting people in public places is how Ray Gordon makes his living. He’s not a doctor. He’s not a prostitute. Ray Gordon is a chess teacher.

When one of Ray’s students, Walter Kelly, is found dead in his shop, the police and his family let it go as an accident. Ray, however, doesn’t buy it. As a former cop with a lingering curiosity, Ray snoops around and stumbles into the murky world of methamphetamine, the worst drug epidemic of our time.

The problem? Walter Kelly was sixty-five years old and his only addictions were woodworking and chess. How does a sixty-five-year-old man become involved with illegal drugs? Why is a neighbor glad Walter’s dead? And just how do dead men play chess?

EXCERPT
To take my mind off the task at hand, I thought about Brian Kelly. Was it just the cabin going to waste that rubbed him the wrong way or was it the land value he was afraid of missing out on? Real estate assessments had been big news over the last month or two. Housing prices and land deals had gone berserk and sellers were making massive profits. Maybe Brian was in trouble financially and he just couldn’t take it anymore? Walt refused to sell and Brian killed him for it, knowing the cabin would eventually come into his hands or he would at least be able to talk his mother into putting the land up for sale.

Outside, I heard Ed Carter’s back door creak open and closed. I poured fresh water over the floor and started mopping it up. If Ed planned on being neighborly again, I didn’t think he needed to witness the clean-up process. But after several minutes passed without an appearance from the Kellys’ neighbor, I began my attack on the table saw with a scouring pad.

Just as I got into a nice scrubbing rhythm, Morphy growled low in his throat and raised his head off of his paws. I stopped and watched him. His ears were erect and his gaze was on the window behind me. Goose flesh erupted on my arms. To hide the shiver that ran down my spine, I resumed wiping down the table saw with calm casualness. I kept my attention focused on Morphy, though, and he growled again. This time, the hair over his shoulders stiffened and rose up as his emotions kicked in. Someone was watching or trying to look in the window. Morphy wouldn’t get so angry over something like a skunk or a cat.

I twisted around just as Morphy leapt to his feet and barked. Someone ducked down before I could see a face. I ran to the door and pulled it open. Morphy tore around the corner, barking after the intruder and I followed as close as I could.

In the darkness of Margie Kelly’s backyard, I saw Morphy’s blond fur disappear into the black shadow of Walt’s shop. He chased a dim figure, which ran toward the back of the property, to Helen Parker’s house. I ran full out once I saw the shadowy form of the person who had been spying through the window. Gone were the trepidations of twisted ankles and bloodied shins from unseen objects lying hidden on the grass.

I ran.

For a limited time, the bestselling book that started the Ray Gordon series, Even Dead Men Play Chess, is available for only $0.99 on Kindle!

Even Dead Men Play Chess
Amazon
CreateSpace

Michael Weitz is an award-winning author who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, usually reading anything he could get his hands on. He wrote his first novel in the 6th Grade -- an eight page rip-off of Star Wars.

A variety of jobs including waiter, gas station attendant, truck driver and a host of others, helped shape his world. After college he landed in the television industry where he wrote and produced a multitude of award-winning commercials, two documentaries about Mt. St. Helens and various other projects.

After a few years in Phoenix, AZ, Michael, his wife, and their dogs are back in the Pacific Northwest. Currently working on the next Ray Gordon mystery, Michael may also be found reading, playing chess or shooting pool. As an avid photographer, he enjoys traveling anywhere picturesque with his wife.

Learn more about Michael Weitz on his website and Goodreads.

Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.