Idols of March Writing Contest Results!

Well, at long last I’ve finished reading all 200 entries. Some were disqualified for a variety of reasons so there were about 192 actual competitors for the First Last and Only Idols of March Writing Contest.

There was an amazingly high percentage of good work considering the word use requirements, the short amount of time AND the 100 word limit.

Herewith the results:

Two entries reminded me of great words I hadn’t used in a while:
Wang Chung! (90)
Snivel (77)

Two entries used the Space Ark hilarity to great effect:

Seven entries eschewed “the usual suspects” and did some interesting things with form:

Three entries had to use the Topic That Will Not Die: SASE. They all made me laugh!

One entry is cited for Best Suck Up of the Day:

Several interesting revelations about Mr. Lazar:

He owns a compound (19), and a weekend house on the Niger River (160)
He’s in fact Miss Snark (28), who is of course also a girl (152) and a drag queen (46)
He’s a missile man (55)
He bowls! (73)
He’s a vampire! (97), and an executioner (180)
He’s a real estate broker (101), a master thief (107) a secret agent (117) a heartbreaker (122) and of course a hero (136).

He has a teddy bear tattoo (141) goes bungee jumping (151), and kidnaps dogs (157).

But mostly Dan Lazar is a rock god (179)

Some entries were funny but horrifyingly true:

The award for use of ‘non-jack’ reacher goes to #64 for Reacher, West Virginia.

The award for best use of the word ‘helicopter’ goes to #138

There were 22 entries that stood out from the pack:

The first 15 are:


These 3 are really good:

These three are very good:

Third place goes to: 92

Second place goes to: 118

First place goes to: 170

I remain astounded by the wealth of creativity in the readers of this blog.
It was crazy to do this contest, but it was worth it!

IOM 123-194 (last entry) -UPDATED with comments

Entry 123
Dr. Susan Applegate, M. D., sat behind her oak desk, staring her client in the eye. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I'm not Dan Lazar!" Daivad squawked, looking at her stapler.

"All right," Susan said. She put the stapler in the drawer. Too distracting.

"I'm not a helicopter, and I didn't fly in on some snazzy moonbeam, either," he croaked.

"So what is the problem?" she asked.

"I'm a reacher," he moaned. She arched an eyebrow. "I reach out and touch everything."

Lovely. An OCD griffin. And, as Special Counselor to Exotic Species, she was within claw reach. Oh, dear.

oh yes!!

Entry 124

“Who’s Dan Lazar?”

“Some guy.”

“That’s helpful,” Jamie rolled her eyes. “Not a llama or unicorn or gin guzzling griffin?”

“He flies helicopters or some shit.” Doug was playing with Grandma’s reacher, squeezing the handles to grab at his thigh. “This thing’s snazzy. I wish I had shrunken arms and arthritis.”

Jamie stared into the night sky with teenage self-importance and annoyance – wondering what she’d done to deserve a brother – when suddenly a freak moonbeam aligned disastrously with the reflectors and lenses of Dr. Freundenheizer’s giant death ray, reversing it upon the hapless mad scientist. Small portions of Oklahoma survived.

What's the bad news?
(sorry Lesia!)

Entry 125

Chapter 5- Crash Page 56

horrific crunching noise.
The twisted wreckage of the once snazzy helicopter settled into place like a large griffin tucking his wings awkwardly underneath him.

"Dan Lazar!?! Dan??" she cried out desperately. She heard soft moaning, and the pale light of a moonbeam glimmered in the dark abyss of her heart.

Hot tears burned her cheeks. She cursed; she always carried her reacher with her! And now, when her crippled lover needed her, she was without the tool that could free his bruised, muscular body from his prison of tangled steel.

Chapter 6 – Rescue

Not dead yet!...and "muscular"...woo hoo!

Entry 126
"Yes. I will be there. The helicopter is ready?" The phone crackled. "You're breaking up. Take care of Dan Lazar, Mr. Griffin. I have one more errand."

The man drove through the night and listened to gentle classical. He aimed for potholes and smiled each time he heard the package thud in the back.

He parked at a cliff atop a rocky shoreline and opened the trunk. The package laid still.

The man dragged it to the edge and rolled it off. His lips curled as the body fell, lit by a moonbeam. "Snazzy. Goodbye, Mr. Reacher."

I spot on guarantee you that Reacher not only survives the fall, he returns to return the favor.

Entry 127
When I left him in Mexico, I hadn't expected to see him again. But here he stood. Dan Lazar. And he didn't look pleased.

He stared. I stared. He said something I couldn't hear as a helicopter flew overhead. I wasn't sure I wanted to anyway. He always did have a foul mouth.

I hoped a giant moonbeam would zap down and pluck me up. Nothing quite so snazzy happened.

I pulled out my reacher to pick up trash. If nothing else, maybe it would protect me from this fire-breathing griffin who was about to unleash his fury.

I told you he was a survivor!

Entry 128
Dan Lazar tossed the Marymount Manhattan Griffin yearbook on the seat of the snazzy helicopter cockpit and picked up a Jack Reacher novel to read by the light of a moonbeam.

well, brevity is the soul of wit but this is only so brief as to be a halfwit.

Entry 129
dupe of 127 (which is a relief cause I was off on my numbering and this explains it).

Entry 130

Atlanta, Detective Reacher mused, is a Great Gatsby city: a moonbeam straining towards the sun, a country girl in Donna Karan. Snazzy as a helicopter whir, but about as elegant as a Dan Lazar rejection.

The perfect home for an overachieving serial killer.

Reacher could see why the Griffin had chosen it. A city full of unripe lives to pluck, dark and secret pasts to delve. And, of course, the AWP: the one place a pathos-ridden bibliophile could
become invisible. For the Griffin had murdered with literature before, and he would do it again.

Well, at least Dan is alive!
I like this one in addition to Dan not being dead.

Entry 131
Snazzy and Moonbeam spent all morning crunching numbers. There was just no getting around it. S & M High-Riders would have to close shop for good. Ironically, their alcoholic helicopter pilot wasn’t even the problem this time.

“We’ve been grounded,” Snazzy lamented, pulling his rising T-shirt back over his beer-gut so that its airbrushed griffin appeared menacing once more. “I don’t know who Dan Lazar thinks he is, but his lawsuit against us for false advertising is a real reacher, man.”

Moonbeam shook her matted dreadlocks and the two old hippies held each other, weeping the loss of their dream.

Brilliant. Plus, Dan isn't dead.

Entry 132
The forest trees shielded the moonbeams from providing sufficient light to land a helicopter. However, Griffin was an experienced fighter pilot. Though it was dark and it was a tight squeeze, he was able to find a clearing just a few feet from the rendezvous point.

“Snazzy landing” said Reacher as he adjusted his Night Vision Goggles to a sharper image.

“Sweet” agreed Dan Lazar as he did the same.

“Well, what can I say” Griffin replied quickly turning his attention to the dispatch call blaring through his headphones. Than he siad “Ready up Romeos Juliet awaits your arrival.”

Who knew Jack Reacher owned night vision goggles??

Entry 133
Griffin's pissed: "you reckon you're Dan Lazar? You sell 'dogs, man, and not in Central Park!"

Reacher smiles, his chipped incisor escaping his lip. "I tell you, Griffin, I can do it for you. Trust me, here."


"All you need is a helicopter and a cloudy evening. And a snazzy moonbeam tool to write the message."

"Yeah, right! I want something permanent. How's Suze going to know I love her if it ain't permanent?"

"That, amigo, is 'your' problem. Take a photo or something. Now, are you buying the dog, or do I have to mug your pockets again?"

alrighty then.

Entry 134
Reacher shifted uncomfortably in his helicopter jump seat. The moonbeam shining through the domed plexiglass reflected harshly off of Dan Lazar’s snazzy sequined suit.

“Dan,” can you shift a bit to the left, please?

“Sure,” he said, not moving an inch.

A winged shadow temporarily cut off the glare.

“Look! The griffin!” Reacher said.

Dan craned his neck uncomfortably to get a view. “Nah, it’s just Killer Yap out on Miss Snark’s broom again.”

Killer Yapp rides a swiffer. Customized of course.

Entry 135
A toddler's titter in the air announced the return of the reacher. Grandma's claw they called it. An old Featherlite--32" aluminum-frame--with a snazzy magnet on one of its jaws. There, near
where the moonbeam fell during the summer months (when grammy couldn't pull the curtain shut: no reacher), she raised it, pulled the trigger, and lacerated old stumpy.

Stumpy the griffin. 'It no griffin,' Vern said, 'it Dan Lazar's beast, sure, but no griffin.' Grammy spun around, reacher in her claws, twirled, helicopter blades and such. 'What it be then if no

'Snark!' grammy's chords screeched.

Oh great, now Miss Snark joins the ranks of the deceased!

Entry 136
Dan Lazar was worried. Maybe his wife was right, that his snazzy new helicopter “the Griffin,” was a bad business decision. They were now deeply in debt, and he’d just spent their last thousand dollars on an ad, but he knew it would pay for itself if he got just one celebrity rescue on LA’s TV news. He sighed and opened the last beer in the fridge when the phone rang. It was George Clooney, whose dog, Moonbeam, was stranded on a ledge over the Pacific. A storm was coming in fast, and he had only one hour to reacher.

Dan Lazar, hero!!!

Entry 137
“Can you reacher?”

The helicopter drifted across the sky.

“Don’t know,” Griffin said. “That’s a lengthy shot.”

The first man patted the steel tube. “Well, what you waiting on? Let’s test that snazzy new lazar out.”


“You gonna make fun of the way I talk or you gonna shoot that dan helicopter out of the sky?”

“Damned helicopter,” Griffin said as he aimed the laser and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Griffin, your dan lazar don’t even work. Jeez, I got a better chance of shooting a moonbeam out my ass.”

Despite the terrifying anatomical images, this is hilarious.

Entry 138
Jack Reacher walked along the shoulder of US-75, keeping a three-foot space between him and the passing traffic. Three feet was optimum for a hitchhiker; close enough to encourage rides, but still maintain a margin of safety.

A car stopped. Reacher saw a moonbeam glint against the griffin logo: a Saab.

“Ride?” the driver asked. “I’m Dan Lazar.”

Lazar was sociable, confiding he was an agent. “Doing my helicopter routine. In town to hover over a best-selling client.”

The agent paused, but Reacher didn’t fill the space with words.

“Your shoes sure are snazzy,” Lazar finally commented. “British, right?”

Good knowledge of the Reacher novels here! And GREAT use of helicopter!

Entry 139
The Griffin swooped down, the Lee Child novel clenched tightly in it’s beak. Dan Lazar freaked out; his last book. He’d never make it as a literary agent, not with that griffin flying away taking with her his only clue, his bible to the business. Without it, Dan wouldn’t be able to identify a good writer from A snazzy typewriter. What would Reacher do?

So Dan jumped in the helicopter. He ascended with the bright moonbeam in his eyes. Too late, the rotors caught the Griffin’s lion tail sending them all crashing in a mass of tangled metal and feathers.

He's better off dead I guess.

Entry 140
Dr. Lazar grabbed his reacher and sent it down my throat.

"Think of unicorns and moonbeams," he said, "and magical griffins."

"I just read a book about a stoic helicopter medic."

"Whatever works."

Soon my pabrums were qualibrating.

How disconcerting to receive mediaeval remedies in such snazzy office. Oh well, arthritis picked me, I didn't pick it. On the sonogram I could see my worm being removed. Soon a fresh one was plucked for imbibement.

"I'm going to name this one," I said. "Here's hoping he works harder than the last one."

"What's the name?"


Lazar laughed.

Nice, nice, nice!

Entry 141
Moonbeams slipped through the window, the light softening the griffin tattoo on his wrist into the shape of a teddy bear. He tugged his cuff down to cover it. He was The Reacher, not a pre-school teacher. The teddy's ears poked out and he yanked the cuff harder. He dropped in and out of lives like the devil in a helicopter, taking away hope. The ears appeared again,
waggled slightly. Cute...Snazzy little thing... No! Stop! The shirt ripped at the shoulder, but the teddy was gone. He was Dan Lazar, Literary Agent and it was time for manuscript torching.

Dan Lazar has a teddy bear tattoo??

Entry 142
Feeling the helicopter touch down, Dan Lazar shook his head as he glanced at the snazzy masks worn by the other passengers; Moonbeam and Reacher. The masks and nicknames were requirements of the bride. Dan was calling himself Griffin. Stepping out while ducking under the still whirling blades, he saw the unfairly suave groom in the distance, the only one without a mask. Even the bride would be wearing one.

The bride. . . . Dan still couldn't believe it.

Clooney marrying Miss Snark. . . . Dan shook his head again, fearing the apocalypse that couldn't be far behind.

Bring it on!

Entry 143

A sexy man, his charms enticing like Kama Sutra bonbons. “Writer’s House welcomes new blood.”

“Which writer’s home?” I ask. “Maybe Lee Childs? I love Jack Reacher.”

“Reacher might be there now. I’ll take you in my helicopter.” A moonbeam yellows Dan Lazar’s teeth. He isn’t quite as sexy anymore.

“Say, you aren’t thinking of throwing me off the ‘copter, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“My personal griffin says not to trust you.”

“Sign with me, and I’ll buy you a snazzy new one with George's Clooney's head instead of a lion’s.”

I thought about it.



Entry 144
The pleasant spring breeze coming through Dan Lazar's office window became a violent tempest and the slush pile erupted. The helicopter was back, and this time with a floodlight. Dan forced deep breaths into his panicked body and tried to imagine the swirling pages as dust
motes in a moonbeam.


Dan stuck a reacher out the window and snatched the manuscript.

"S.A.S.E.?" he screamed over the noise.

The megaphone spluttered, "WAIT! THAT'S $35.00!!!!"

Excellent use of Blog rants for material!

Entry 145
Dan Lazar had made a snazzy getaway as his helicopter sashayed over head. It would take a moonbeam to take him down now.

If only I had been more prepared and brought my reacher, I could have grabbed onto the bottom of the helicopter before it flew away. Now here I was alone on this island with nothing but a half-empty bottle of tequila.

As my despair set in, I took a swig of the tequila and heard a rustling in the bushes. I turned to see a giant griffin staring back at me.

"Oh shit."

alrighty then.

Entry 146

The helicopter was ready. Unfortunately, three different agencies couldn't tell him where to go. So he was sitting in the dirt in a shack outside Pune. His snazzy uniform was getting dirty. He would tell them all where to go later. The Reacher sat facing him, eyes closed, in a trance. Horseshit. Someone was Googling by moonbeam on a wind-up computer and passing her answers. This was taking too long.





Her eyes opened. An insult.

"A name. Please."

"Dan Lazar."

He shot her twice, stepping over her as he left.

"Dan Lazar. Thank you."

Well, at least Dan't not the dead one this time!!

Entry 147

When Hunter sold the “big house” he sighed. Not because he'd miss the snazzy griffin beside the gilded front door, or the phallus shaped junipers flanking the portico. The Macmansion had swallowed funds for five years, but he'd attained his objective: a condo in fashionable Moonbeam Grant sub-division with no mortgage. He'd always been a reacher; pigeonholing long-term goals. With money inherited from his grandfather, agent Dan Lazar, Hunter had purchased the Macmansion with a small down payment and a colossal mortgage one month after landing his first job as co-pilot for a helicopter transport.

ungrateful loinfruit.

Entry 148

"Someone killed Dan Lazar in a contest entry," said Zeus. "He's in Hades, and I need him out to represent GRIFFIN REPORT: HELICOPTER SCANDALS."

"That's Orpheus' job."

"His voice hasn't been the same since Selene demoted him from moonshine to moonbeam. Turns out the alcohol fumes were what sent everyone into a trance."

"Masters, I is saving him."

"What are you?"

"Reacher, a temple-elf."

"Aren't you from Harry Potter?"

"No, that's copyright. You needs a snazzy lawyer for that. But I is close enough to use Charm."


Reacher smiled proudly. "I gets Master Lazar out on the Space Ark!"

oh dear dog, another stogie gone, Grandmother Snark calling for oxygen and Miss Snark herself requiring new drawers.

Entry 149
"Griffin watched as the maple seed spiraled like a helicopter gently to the moss covered ground. She sighed.

Yesterday, Reacher had come to her for the last time. She remembered how they made love here, urgent yet satisfying; their skin illuminated by a moonbeam.

“Will you forget me?” she had asked him.

She did not remember his answer today. It had been snazzy yet evasive. She had laughed and cried at the same time. Then he had gone."

Laughing, Dan Lazer forwarded the story to his closest friends and reached for drink. Lee won the April Fool’s prize, again.

Reacher's really getting around!

Entry 150
Once upon a twilight time in a thatched village, an old man was sitting on the back porch with his griffin.

"That moonbeam's a reacher," Dan Lazar said. "See, it's almost touching the bay."

The griffin snored.

"Wake up!" cried Dan, for at that very moment a silhouette was flying through the moonlight, getting larger and larger. "Wake up!"

The griffin awoke for a moment, looked up at the moon, then promptly fell asleep again.

"I bet it's a snazzy helicopter, whirling lights and all," Dan said. "Or the aliens, coming to getcha." And he was right.

Can't be soon enough!

Entry 151
Dan Lazar fell. Not just any fall, off a chair or down the stairs or some such. Dan began a thousand-foot plummet. Why had he jumped out of the helicopter? He immediately regretted it, twisting about and extending an arm back toward the woman he called Reacher, since she reached out in a futile attempt to save him. Dan had no crazy, drug-induced delusions about riding snazzy moonbeams or mythical griffins back to the ground. Death would snare him after these interminable seconds in freefall. Unless

The bungee cord about his ankles finally tightened, offering relief and salvation.

Dan Lazar, bungee jumper!

Entry 152

Dan Lazar had to hold on to the wall to keep her balance. Tatters of her jumpsuit were all that remained, strategically placed for a PG-13 world. Perhaps the outfit had been snazzy once, before jumping from the helicopter trying to re-capture Reacher. Wings spread in a moonbeam, the griffin taunted her, holding his leash out and then flying away like the petulant child he was. The fall had broken more than her pride, but she’d never really needed her third leg anyway. With a sharp twist, she ripped it off and threw it at her pet. She missed.

Surreal in so many ways.

Entry 153
A heavy stuttering sound pulsed rhythmically through the night, beating against Sky-Reacher's sensitive ears. He circled in the air, curious about the strange creature slicing through the moonbeams below. It rose, coming closer and closer—too close for Sky-Reacher's comfort. Screaming, the griffin dove.

"What was that?" Jim looked up at the helicopter's ceiling.

"Dunno." Matt continued reading his magazine. "Pretty good thump though. Blades might of hit an owl or something."

Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe."

"Hey." Matt held up the magazine. "Pretty snazzy car, huh?"

"Yeah. What are you reading?"

"Article about some dude named Dan Lazar."

Nifty trick doing a POV change in fewer than 100 words!

Entry 154
You slide into a booth at Griffin Diner and bark at the waitress, "Get Dan Lazar on the phone, right now!" She rolls her eyes because she doesn't know who Dan Lazar is, but she knows you, or someone just like you. The type to come floating in on a moonbeam, or dropped from a helicopter. She doesn't understand. You're a reacher.

She brings you coffee and you tell her, "You're looking snazzy tonight." She gives you a finger, and not the chicken kind. You like it. You like it so much, you bite it off. Now she understands.

Tales from the bright lights in the big city!

Entry 155
The Reacher was sometimes rude, but was always considered odd. To arrange oneself so that anytime you need to pick something up you must reach for it, with arms spread as the wings of a griffin, IS odd.

The reaching took its toll, especially constantly trying to goose the quick Dan Lazar. Reacher's arms drug about behind him.

Some LSD and a helicopter ride make a good gift. However reaching for moonbeams, with the door open, was a surprise. Whoever finds his arm will have questions. I feel it would make a snazzy boa, covered with colored feathers and de-boned.

given the insanity of 100 words in less than 24 hours, I planned to go easy on the ones that just puzzled me, but there is only one thing to say to this one:

Entry 156
The gate to hell was locked. Terror rose within her as the Reacher forced her soul into a perpetual game of torment and longing. There must be a key.

Charred images of dying dreams fought against her resolve as she slid her hands against the cold steel. Nausea swept through her, a pulsating rush like snazzy helicopter blades were spinning within each cell of her frail, neglected body.

Moonbeam, she was named, as though the word itself was protection from the harshness of life. Her scream signalled surrender as she forfeited her agent, Dan Lazar, to the demon griffins within.

alrighty then

Entry 157
Miss Snark heard a desperate yelp and staggered to her bedroom window. Pulling the drape, she was alarmed to see Moonbeam, Killer Yap’s illegitimate offspring, being carried away via helicopter by that snazzy dresser, Dan Lazar.

She met the cold eyes of the kidnapper as he dangled the terrified pooch by some geriatric's Reacher and thought, ‘He assumes he can get away with this because he’s so damned good-looking.”

“Killer Yap!” she said, pointing out the window. “Fetch!”

Killer Yap knew what to do. He spun around three times and took his true form as LEOGLE, the heroic griffin ...

Dan Lazar, dognapper!

Entry 158
The phone rang. Dan Lazar opened the blinds in his snazzy corner office. As a New York agent, he had the perfect cover. No one suspected that he had been an MP in Vietnam. He had always identified with the fictional detective Jack Reacher, another MP in 'Nam. But unlike Reacher, Dan was five foot six, not six foot five, and couldn't bench press more than fifty pounds.

"Moonbeam," the voice said. "We're here."

Dan heard the whirling of the helicopter, his family crest, a scarlet griffin, emblazoned on the side. He packed his double-action revolver. Dan was ready.

All literary agents can not only bench press 50 pounds, they can haul it up and down subway stairs, and hold it on line at the post office.

Entry 159
The machine griffin lay preening her titanium feathers. A newcomer from the desert approached.

“I’ve come for training,” said the robed stranger. “I reach for the power of the vehicle-beasts.”

“A reacher?” muttered the griffin. “How snazzy.”

The man stepped forward, cast pale in the path of a moonbeam. “I was once a lowly author. Now I am a bringer of death.”

“Black-belt, I see,” said the griffin. “Which Dan?”

“Dan Lazar. I seek the Dan Quasar.”

At this the griffin unfolded her wings and started her engines, rotor-blades spinning in the night. “Then prepare to experience the Mythical Helicopter.”

Dan Quasar!!!!!
This is hilarious!
Bringer of death indeed!

Entry 160
“Monsieur!” the guide called, but he had spotted it as well. A cave, sunk high into the hillside. He shivered and not just from the malaria. He swung the wheel of the Reacher, burying the prow into the Niger’s muddy bank.

“Go Moonbeam!” The guide took the snazzy package and scampered up the cliff on all fours, reminding him of the beast in that Griffin Dunne movie. Moonbeam dissapeared inside for only seconds, before his body helicoptered from the sky, and smashed into the deck. He read the words carved in the dead man’s breast:

Dan Lazar's weekend house is in Timbukto? Who knew?

Entry 161
Eagle Eye

and claw…
see it now?”
It’s a bird, then?
A constellation?
“It’s all about theme.”
Jack the teacher, the always reacher, directs his moonbeam,
and Dan Lazar gilds the account with the molten wash
of his baritone wave.
“Look again.”
Snazzy! A griffin!
Beneath, the body shifts;
I feel feline muscles, restrained power.
I become the wind against a breast of fur and feathers,
even here in this airless space,
on this helicopter ride,
circling points
from star to


Entry 162
“Crap! My arm’s not long enough. Hand me that snazzy Thinga-Ma-Reacher.”

“Stealing Federal mail is a crime,” Dan Lazar said dolefully.

“I’m not stealing. I’m the moron who put it in this box.”

“You should have made sure the SASE was included before you let go.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Any more scintillating observations?”

“Helicopter coming.”

Chopper blades cut the moonbeam I was angling by. I recognized the merciless griffin on the aircraft’s underbelly.

“It’s the AAR!” I gasped.

“You should have put the SASE--”

“No way! You turned me in!”

He shrugged. “It’s not just the writing.”

Captain Obvious!! Oh dog this made me laugh!

Entry 163
Kate always had a plan of the day. Today, it turned out, had a plan for her.

In the morning she planted a snazzy Moonbeam Coreopsis in her beloved garden.

She’d been languishing over whether to send her book query to Dan Lazar and finally hit “send.”

After finishing Griffin’s latest novel, she settled into a nap.

Kate awoke with a jolt. A helicopter hovered overhead. Something fell from the chopper and landed, with a thud, on her new plantings.

She felt like a character in a Jack Reacher novel — but this was real, and the story had just begun.

I hate prologues!

Entry 164
As the nitwit army advanced, Killer Yap, eyes glistening in the moonbeams and curly coat flowing like a regal griffin's mane, beckoned Dan Lazar to reload the snazzy, fully-automatic clue gun mounted in the back of the Reacher 760, Yap's state-of-the-art helicopter

Lazar preferred to sip his gin.

Nitwit army!!!

Entry 165
Moonbeam leaned across the table.

"Don't be a reacher, squirt!" Griffin exploded. "You want the salt, ask for it." Moonbeam glared, her irises whirling in the ceiling fan's reflection like helicopter rotors.
"I'm no beggar," she hissed. She turned to Dan. "Lazar gets anything he wants, thinks he's in charge. Not any more." Her .38 cracked twice, and both Dan and Griffin lay dead. Avoiding the diseased blood pooling on the snazzy carpet, she calmly salted her fries and left.

Geeze louise, he's dead again.

Entry 166
Hoboken Haiku: R&R

"Jack Reacher or John Rain, who'd win?

"Just tell me about the job Gus."

I teach poetry at Hoboken Community College. Working extra for Gus supplements my income.

Gus described the job. I took it.

I leaned into the open car window, "Snazzy tattoos. A griffin and helicopter?"


He was still looking down my blouse when I jammed the syringe into his arm.

Just another needle mark among many. The coroner would figure overdose.

Job's done. Haiku isn't. Dan Lazar passed on ' Moonshadows.' Reacher vs Rain? Heh. They aren't real.

I closed my laptop and went to get laid.

Reacher, Rain, and Joe Pike. For that I'd buy a tv and get cable and watch the WWF.

Entry 167
“Come on, Dan! What do you want to pack?” Nathan opened his backpack and made room for Dan’s unopened Christmas present - a Snazzy Shooter helicopter.

“Where’s your Griffin shirt?” Nathan rummaged around the floor of the closet, and finally found Dan’s favorite sweatshirt. He started to pack it, then changed his mind and pulled it over his sweater.

“We’ll bring this too.” Nathan gently removed Dan’s ‘Reacher’ award from under a pile of papers: High Flying Reader, Dan Lazar.

Nathan closed his brother’s door. “Let’s go.”

A moonbeam slanted through the window, and landed on Dan’s obituary.

yikes!!!!!! Not only dead but doing an Alice Sebold number it looks like.

Entry 168
“We’re taking fire!”
Dan Lazar banked the helicopter hard to the right. An RPG shot past the aircraft, roaring like some mythological beast come to life, a griffon trailing smoke and fire into the night.

Next to him, Ronald Massey whistled. "That’s some snazzy flyin’.” He reached up, flipping a switch on the overhead console. Massey was always reaching to flip a switch, turn a knob, press a button. If questioned, he’d only shrug. “What can I say? I’m a natural born reacher.”

Beneath them, the desert stretched across horizon, a sea of sand lit by moonbeams and stars.

Griffon is a dog, not a griffin. DQ'ed for word violation.

Entry 169
The Fantasy

Daniel Lazar sighed, reaching for the next slush manuscript. Reading was a
low priority, but it must be done. The thin sheaf of onionskin was mounted in a snazzy purple leather binder, emblazoned with the Griffin family crest.

Tempted to reject on format alone, he forced himself to read the first

“Miss Reacher,” he screamed to his assistant. “I need a helicopter!.”

Lazar rushed aboard, clutching the cover page, as the beating blades cleared
traffic in front of the brownstone.

Pointing to the address, he yelled, “Take me to her!” as they rose through the
streaming moonbeams.

I believe this is actually how Dan does sign his clients.

Entry 170
Literary wunderkind Dan Lazar arranged the midnight reception at the House of Seven Gables. In conversational knots, authors surrendered to the otherworldliness of the colonial milieu. Grimoires. Griffin. Spooks. Satan. We inspired sycophants silently spun plots like helicopter blades. Later, I found Dan stoking kitchen hearth coals with an antique iron reacher.

“Snazzy blazer, pal,” I said, despite that it was not. Without acknowledgement, Dan turned
and dashed outside, me right behind.

“There is no Pyncheon elm!” he cried. Awash in moonbeam, edged in shadow, sober as Hawthorne’s portrait, he wandered to a blighted chestnut, to stand against the day.


Entry 171
"In Bed with Dan Lazare"

Dan Lazare--not Dan Lazar--loves his last name. Letters mostly common and soft, but for that sharp "z", like a griffin's beak surrounded by feathers, or the moonbeam couched in diffuse light that shot through the tiny hole of a window above his bed. The window had been an impulse decision, which seemed snazzy at the time, but now was rather silly and useless and annoying and required a special reacher to close the tiny blinds. Lying on his back in his bed, he stares at the window and cringes. In the distance, a helicopter is heard.

this has a certain unexplainable charm.
Plus, Dan's not dead.

Entry 172
He was a tall man, dressed in the latest snazzy style. He boarded the helicopter as he had done a hundred times before, confident and deliberate in every movement.

They took off and flew to the west. He looked out the window as they passed his building and saw the beak of a griffin reflecting a moonbeam.

“There in twenty minutes, Mr. Child.”

“That’s fine. Dan Lazer should be there by then.”

He leaned back and picked up a book, his latest in the Reacher series. He paged to the inscription.

“To my new agent, Fondly, Lee.”

uh oh, now I'll have Emma on my ass too. Great.

Entry 173

A thin pale light lay across the bloodied face of my old friend Dan Lazar. More accustomed to streetlamps than moonbeams, I crouched down to get a better look.

“How did you find him, Snaz?”

Snazzy Griffin rubbed her eyes. Her voice was thick.

“I… I heard a helicopter, flying low, and I went outside to see who it was,” she said. A soft night breeze caught her loose cotton dress, swirling it around her bare legs. It teased my nose with hints of spring, of coconut lotion, of the metallic tang of fresh blood. “Reacher, I saw him fall.”

Dead again!

Entry 174
Snap! Moonbeam's snazzy hit the target like a fork of lightning. Hidden under the purplish bulbao stones, Koyla felt his blood drain to his toes. He became a black-eyed wraith with death ten minutes away, as he watched the snazzy's webbed layers wrap, then tighten, around the prize. It was all over for the helicopter.

"Oye, Puds!" Moonbeam called, "Where dat dan lazar?"

"Ah dinno," Puddlestump shouted back, "Wayt, wayt, hah, dar iss she!"

Puds lifted a tri-part leg over the griffin, stretched, and failed.

"Urggh, EmBe, ah caint reacher!" she gurgled.

I'm gurgling too.

Entry 175

Dan Lazar looked up from the manuscript as the Author dropped her snazzy jacket and bolted across the darkened yard.

“If she makes it, you buy this thing. That’s the deal.”

The Publisher just nodded.

As the clouds parted, a stray moonbeam illuminated the great golden mane of the griffin crouched and waiting under the starless sky.

“Here we go again,” Lazar sighed, throwing the manuscript on the bloodied pile.

“You don’ know Jack,” said the Publisher. “She’ll make it if she kin reacher’ helicopter in time.”

oddly compelling, and clearly the sort of thing authors imagine happen ALL the time.

Entry 176
A helicopter circled overhead, cutting the moonbeams with shadow. Dan Lazar cursed the blinking tracker strapped to his left ankle. Today had gone to hell.

"Mr. Lazar!" boomed a magnified voice. "The stairwell to the roof has been blocked. There's nowhere for you to go!"

"Of course there is-down!"

Dan leaped from the high-rise. "Reacher!"

His nagging mother told him how stupid a name this was for a rescue griffin. Dan thought it was rather snazzy. True to its name, Reacher zoomed toward him and extended a taloned foreleg.

Dan jerked upward as the griffin took hold. "Thanks."

Dan Lazar, superhero!

Entry 177

Snazzy climbed into her helicopter and dropped the crumpled letter onto the seat. "Take your time, Griffin. I'm not in a hurry."

They rose into the night sky. Snazzy's vision blurred with unshed tears.

Your prose is an embarrassment. Don't query me again.

The letter was signed by the man himself. Dan Lazar. The man would edit Jack Reacher.

"All men are pricks!" The pilot turned his head. "Not you Griffin."

Snazzy opened the door. The Statue of Liberty slid gracefully past.

Griffin snatched at her wrist.

Snazzy flipped off her Prada's and took a swan dive through a moonbeam.

Well, at least it's not Dan who's dead but really y'all, I'm getting a trifle worried by your obsessions here.

Entry 178
Striking was the woman who flicked filth from beneath her fingernails, watching the helicopter speed away with the meddlesome Detective Reacher. He would die mid-flight from the poison so daintily slipped into his scotch. Such an uncouth drink; nothing like gin.

Of course, his death was more artful than the first. The bludgeoning of Dan Lazar bordered on crass, not to mention unsightly. She shook her head – a snazzy pair of stilettos ruined.

A stone griffin lurked in the shadows, a moonbeam in its knowing eye. She winked at it.
Mr. Clooney would be next. Rejection had its price.

Heresy!!! Mr. Clooney has never rejected Miss Snark! He just hasn't excercised his option yet!!!

Entry 179
Dan Lazar had one dream: to become a Snazzy Moonbeam. Ken Reacher, the band's slide whistler, was a god among Lilliputians. Griffin Tides played the recorder with an alacrity only known in textbooks. John Snees, well, he was John Snees.

They were the real deal -- they toured. Lazar had all five of their mp3s and knew he was a perfect addition.

They were slated to blast Skokie into the stratosphere on Tuesday morning. One song and two Aquafinas in, Lazar jumped onstage with his signature move -- hands rhythmically beating his chest like a helicopter.

Snazzy Moonbeam played on.

Dan Lazar, rock god!

Entry 180
"Any last words?"

"Dan Lazar." The prisoner's words came out like a curse.

The executioner nodded once before finishing his job. Turning, his mind already on the paperwork before him, he noticed Snazzy running toward him. The Griffin helicopter was still waiting on the edge of the cliff, the rest of the team inside. No one had wanted to witness the execution.

"We were wrong," Snazzy said. "He wasn't the Moonbeam Reacher…did he say anything?"


"He must've known the Moonbeam Reacher's identity. Now we'll never know. Are you coming, Lazar?"

The executioner nodded, his face firm. "Count me in."

ohhh, not only not dead, but not dead due to evil evil evil ways!

Entry 181
Griffin Reacher busted out the jalopy’s headlights with a baseball bat. He pulled at the exposed lights, grasping the bulbs by the neck, drawing them carefully out of the sockets. A moonbeam spotlighted his creations that hung like a Halloween ghoul’s dangling eyeballs. Thoughts spun around his head; his ears vibrated with the imagined noise of helicopter propellers. The last step was rubbing, dripping, and splattering blood red paint on the body of the vehicle as though it was a Jackson Pollock painting. Griffin pushed the snazzy clunker into Dan Lazar’s yard. His rejection letter was under the wiper blade.

Dan Lazar has a yard?
way cool!

Entry 182

Captain Dan Lazar stood on the wet tarmac under a full moon and admired the sleek black beast. The Griffin Attack Helicopter was a marvel of efficiency and technology. It looked vicious even sitting still and quiet, a sallow moonbeam reflecting off its snazzy carapacian hide. The Griffin seemed nothing more than a malevolent, greedy insect – no mind, no mercy, no qualms about murder. Well, it'd get its wish for blood tonite, even if he was already sick to his stomach with the thought of this nasty mission.

"Fire her up, Lieutenant Reacher," Lazar said, "its time to go..."

Captain Dan Lazar! I wonder if he's related to Captain Underpants?

Entry 183
Paradise Found

Dan Lazar stapled the last of his signs to the post.

Lost Dog. Wearing snazzy red collar. Name: Reacher.

He thought of his bad black lab, gone for two days, probably filthy from getting in trashcans, eating whatever he could find, but rolling in it first. Taunting traffic. Dan pictured the dog at night, dancing in a moonbeam, fighting a griffin only he could see, chasing his tail, helicopter ears spinning out.

Quite sweet.
Miss Snark of course, is anti-sweet.

Entry 184
The thought of touching even a skin cell of a germ-ridden literary agent unnerved Howie Mandel, which is why he rammed his snazzy extendable reacher into Dan Lazar’s face to wake him. Even through a headache that screamed like a griffin drowning in battery acid, Dan knew he was in a helicopter.

“I have 26 parachutes,” Mandel said, gesturing toward a gaggle of knapsack-sporting fashion models illuminated by a moonbeam reflecting off the game show host’s head. “But only one works. Or, you could just represent my mysophobia-erotica novel. Deal or no deal?”

Dan surrendered. “How about ‘no whammies’?”

I had to look up mysophobia but it turned out to be germane.

Entry 185
Dan Lazar & Reacher: An Interview

Interviewer: Nice snazzy designer label suit…

DL: Thanks. Lunch meetings all day today.
R: Joe’s suit. Don’t ask.

Interviewer: Did you know the guy who fell off the Helicopter?

DL: Read about him.
R: Yes. Just got one thing to say: You do not mess with the Special Investigators.

Interviewer: What do you think of when you hear the word griffin?

DL: An eagle and a lion.
R: The desert.

Interviewer: Moonbeam?


Interviewer: Ok. Thank you.

DL: No trouble.
R: Yeah, just call.

Interviewer: But you don’t have a phone…

R: Bad luck.

Someone has read the book!!

Entry 187

Dan Lazar is the final obstacle between Reacher and publication. The former cop had faced dangerous opponents before, how tough could one literary agent be? He checks the clip of his automatic as he manoeuvers the helicopter toward Manhattan. Within minutes, Reacher bursts through the snazzy doors of Writer’s House demanding to see the agent.

“No,” the nightwatchman roars, the griffin on his baton glinting in the ray of a moonbeam.

Reacher fires his weapon and the guard falls. Racing past the inner doors, Reacher is knocked unconscious by the wily agent.

“That’s how tough,” Lazar sneers.

yea!!!!!!! Dan Lazar kicks ass (finally!)

Entry 188
“Definitely Reacher.”

All the signs were there. The body, sprawled beneath the lazy whoosh of helicopter blades. A stray moonbeam illuminated the head, face up, a snidely derisive look still upon it. The tang of decaying manuscripts whispered through the darkness.

“Poor Dan. I warned him, If you’re going to give writers brutal feedback, hide your identity.”

“That’s Dan Lazar?” The kid gulped, his greenish pallor clashing with his snazzy puce tie.

“How’d you know it was Reacher?”

“See the griffin graffiti? That’s Reacher’s query. In a world that can envision an griffin, he’s miffed he can’t get published.”

I love the smell of decaying manuscripts in the morning!

Entry 189
“Thet-thar nucular Reacher am gonna blow, jess like Three Mile Island!”

Portia adjusted her rhinestone #1 Bitch pin, as if wanting to look snazzy for the occasion.

“Whut brand o’ moonbeam beverage you imbibin’ Portia?”

The fuzzy pooch in her purse groaned.

“Aw Dan, lazar the damn thing with yer fancy-ass machine quick-like. Don’t yew smell that? It’s gonna blow!”

If he played along...Dan snuggled closer.

“Hel, i’ copter feel, Griffin!” Portia reflexively squeezed the dog.

Griffin yelped, farted, then grinned with relief.

“Dammit, tew late,” said Portia, breathing through her red painted mouth.

“Some veterinarian yew are.”

Entry 190

I'm a double-agent. Literary by daylight, secret by moonbeam. The name's Dan Lazar, but call me 'Griffin.' The Russians already do. Oh, in the end I pledge allegiance to no one but myself, but at the moment, the GRU has my bank account number and undivided attention. In a few moments, a helicopter will take me and ten years of secrets to Moscow, then on to ritzy houses, snazzy women, and suitably aloof French waiters. It's a reacher to assume no one will be suspicious—a literary agent making millions?—but in the Riviera, no one asks questions.

Gainsville Regional Utilities need a secret agent?
Who knew!

Entry 191

Dan Lazar pulled out his Jack Reacher novel and began to read while the helicoptor lifted into the night air. This annoyed Miss Snark, who'd been waiting impatiently all evening for a critique of her snazzy new outfit.

She flicked the offending novel from his fingers. It sailed through the open door, its flapping pages caught in the light of a moonbeam. With the ferocity of a griffin, she growled, "Pay attention to me, dammit."

Her manicured fingers curled around his linen collar, and she pulled the surprised agent to her, giving him a passionate kiss.

AAAAAAKKKKKKKKK!!!!!! Miss Snark kisses editorial ass, not AGENTS!!!

Entry 192
There once was the creature with frightening feature.
Teacher, called The Reacher.
He flew his helicopter.
Risk was his adopter.
He laughed in the face of fear.

He was snazzy,
His jeans so jazzy.
His grin, a dream, like the cat with cream.
It would seem, he's not part of a team.
Flying solo along the moonbeam,
with his companion, Jim Beam.

He penned his life's story, all guts and glory.
Queried Dan Lazar, words cut like a laser
Dan's sidekick, old Griffin saw his jaw bristle and stiffen,
as The Reacher's creature was featured.

Entry 193
“Snazzy,” Dan Lazar murmured. “No author’s taken me for a helicopter ride among the moonbeams.” His leg pressed against Reacher’s. The small hairs on Reacher’s neck stood up; was this how agents did foreplay?

“Have you considered writing a memoirs? A novel? I bet you have a great mcgriffin.” Lazar’s words slurred.

“That’s macguffin.”

“Eight thousand feet,” the pilot said over his shoulder.

Reacher leaned across Lazar to throw back the cargo door. Artic wind slapped both men’s faces.

Reacher wrenched the agent from his seat. “Tess O’Brien doesn’t like the deal on her last book. Too bad your contract’s iron-clad. She said this was the only way out.” Reacher gave a great heave and watched Lazar spiral away.

I told you to put those 30 day notices in your contract Dan!!!!!

Entry 194
The writer’s conference was over, but wanna-bes still circled like a helicopter over a car crash. The query letter boot camp was not a success. His snazzy shoes and painfully honest critiques had angered the so-called writers in Denver. Unfortunately, a griffin with a thick manuscript pointed to him. Dan Lazar glanced around for an exit. He made a desperate wish and a gossamer moonbeam descended from the Heavens. Dan stepped towards it, longing for escape. Alas, his Cole Haan caught a seam in the carpet. Dan stumbled and became a reacher, not a teacher. He fell. The mob applauded.

Mob indeed. Y'all are just blood thirsty!

IOM Entries 101-122-with comments

Entry 101
"Moonbeam loves the moon."

"Moonbear, mommy."

"What?" Mommy tried to ignore the constant whop-whopping of the helicopter making its...fifth circuit overhead.

The tot sighed. "Moonbear loves the moon."

She closed the book then tucked the blanket up to his ears—a polyester charm against evil.

"And I love you. Sleep time."

"Kiss Griffin." Dutifully, she kissed the stuffed mutant in snazzy pajamas and tiptoed out.
Never buy a house tucked between the penitentiary and state asylum for the criminally insane. Sage advice. But that Dan Lazar could sell anything. He even claimed he could sell fiction. What a reacher.

Dan Lazar is really Barbara Corcoran? Who knew!

Entry 102

The helicopter, an almost-invisible black-ops MoonBeam, should have carried Dan Lazar alive and well, not his battered and bloody corpse. How the hell could a corpse explain Lazar ignoring the favor he owed Reacher and selling The Hatpins of a Griffin--the memoir of Reacher’s long-dead snarky grandmother--for a million bucks? The agent (literary, not covert) had earned Reacher’s respect despite being a snazzy dresser, making the situation yet more curious. Oh, hell. The question became moot as the chopper, with a barking, coughing yap-yap-yap, lost altitude, engulfing Reacher in the painful flames of literal--not literary--annihilation.

Dan Lazar is a snazzy dresser, and yet still...dead!

Entry 103
It all came down to griffins. One griffin in particular actually. He was a hulking feathered figure incongruously named Moonbeam and he was rocketing around his aviary. Which shouldn't exist.

I am a pragmatic guy. I write mysteries like the Jack Reacher novels and include a SASE every time I submit to Dan Lazar. Griffins don’t practice helicopter hovers in my world. Moonbeam’s flight did not agree with my logic.

He landed finally in a storm of sand and feathers. The sunset caught the light of his snazzy rhinestone flight suit.

"So your next book is going to be fantasy?"

Rhinestone flight suit!!!
Miss Snark calls her seamstress!

Entry 104
Dan Lazar, high on opiates and believing he really was Jack Reacher, flew his snazzy helicopter through the moonbeam lit night as he tossed fistfuls of slush pile rejections across Manhattan and listened to CDs by Jimmy Griffin, Patty Griffin, and Johnny Griffin.

Miss Snark is going to need the opiates once Dan Lazar reads this IOM run.

Entry 105

Griffin gripped his Kalishinikov more tightly. He could hear rotors chopping the air into rapid basso-profundo pulses. They were getting louder.

“Steady, Reacher.” He looked at the civilian. Big guy, but could he handle that snazzy new moonbeam laser? The Pentagon thought so.

Reacher didn’t bother to take his eye from the sighting mechanism. “As a rock.”

The helicopter appeared over the ridge. A pearly white beam lanced out from Reacher’s station – and simply bounced off the fuselage.

Reacher swore. “Dan Lazar!” At least, that’s what it sounded like. Griffin was suddenly too busy returning fire to care.

Reacher is back in the Army?
I think I need my skates, Hell is freezing over!

Entry 106
They call me Reacher.

Helicopter blades whip the night air, thrashing moonbeams into dust.

Through murky binoculars, I see my mark, dressed in a snazzy little getup and wobbly stilettos. This can’t be right. She looks like Dan Lazar in drag, but I suppose every soul needs saving.

On my nod, the pilot descends. I extend my arm and reel her in.

I’ve got her, barely.

“Griffin, take us up,” I yell, as she struggles to escape.

A moonbeam grazes her neck. An Adam’s apple? It is Dan Lazar!

My grip unravels. I reach out, but it’s too late.

Dead again! Poor Dan!

Entry 107
As the world's most secret and expensive attack helicopter prototype jolted down through the jungle canopy, Griffin Reacher and Raza Land braced themselves. Perhaps the heist hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"If we survive the landing," Griffin shouted, "we'll need to fake our own deaths! Our former employer, the Moonbeam Consortium, won't be happy about the betrayal!"

"We'll need new aliases!" he continued. "You might consider a snazzy anagram. You could easily transform Raza Land into an inconspicuous Al Dazarn, or even Dan Lazar!

"Ooh, I like it!" yelled Raza as the ground rushed to meet them.

Dan Lazar, master thief!

Entry 108

Sexy Ass Sexy Everything (SASE)

She wore a snazzy bikini, sipping gin in Stilettos.

“What’s your name?”

“Dan Lazar — yours?”

Her oiled skin shone like moonbeam.

“What do you do, Danny?”

Why did she remind him of a griffin?

“Literary agent,” he said, “you?”

“I’m a writer,” she said. “Ever make love in a helicopter, Dannyboy?”

“Er — no,” he said. “Um, so what’s your book about?”

“It’s called ‘The Reacher,’” she said, “and it’s about a sexy woman who does a Hannibal Lecter on the agents who rejected her novel.” She smiled, hungrily.

Dan swallowed, then offered his representation.

He might be better off dead!

Entry 109

"This is a snazzy helicopter," said Dan Lazar.

"Yup," replied the pilot, sipping his beer.

"Are you okay to fly this thing?"

"Oh, yeah. The alcohol lessens the glare of the moonbeams."

"I didn't know that was a problem."

"Well, the moon makes it hard to see all the griffins flying around nowadays. Hell, back in '03 it got so bad that I mounted a mechanical reacher to the front of my chopper just to get them out of the way."

"I see," said Dan. "Well, this looks like my stop."

"We're in mid-air."

"I'll take my chances. Bye."

Miss Snark is glad she rides a broom after reading this.

Entry 110
Dan Lazar checked his watch. In less than twenty minutes, the helicopter would touch down at Griffin Airport. His whores, Snazzy and Moonbeam, were making out in the seat beside him.

"Hey, save some for Reacher. He's paying for it."

"Reacher's an ass," Moonbeam said.

Just then, a blade came loose from the chopper and sent the whirlybird hurtling toward the ground. Snazzy and Moonbeam died on impact. Lazar suffered severe brain damage, causing him to forget all about his glamorous life as a pimp, and instead he settled into the drudgery of the slush piles of New York.


Entry 111
Hey Dan--
Lazar says the helicopter’ll be here at noon, but that’s a reacher.

Noon or not, we need to be there on time.

We can’t get Miss Snark to reconsider?

For what--a gift of moonbeams and rainbows? It would be easier to get her to give up gin.

We’re gonna stand out snazzy in the daytime.

Just be on time. Lazar won’t wait for us.

Okay. Just be sure you bag Clooney the first time. I don’t need that damn KY biting me again.

Excellent innovation for "Dan Lazar"!

Entry 112
Dan Lazer lunged for the corner griffin, and swung into the crevice behind the hideous carving. Safe from betrayal by searchlight or moonbeam, he marveled at his dilemma.

A slush pile memoir, shredded after he had read six lines, placed him in the cross hairs of the Feds and a foreign consortium.

Air pulsed from the helicopter as it swept by. Dan shuddered.

His experience with international intrigue was safely acquired through fiction. Books had not prepared him for this.

Maybe they had, he thought.

Yes. A snazzy plan. His lone opportunity to survive was something worthy of Reacher.

Alive! Dan's alive!

Entry 113
"What the devil-?!" the wrinkled man cried in the bright light. "Turn off the Moonbeam," he ordered, boarding his vehicle.

"Don't boss me around," growled Frank. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be 'The Snazzy' Dan Lazar. Right, Danny?" Contempt shone in his thin eyes.

"No need when the moon's out," Dan muttered.

"I'm the Reacher here," Frank asserted, straightening his back.

"My dear boy, as long as you remain like this," Dan chuckled, tapping his wand against Frank's side, "the world will only acknowledge me. Now get moving, griffin."

Like a helicopter, they rose into the night sky.

alrighty then....

Entry 114

"Who the hell is Dan Lazar?"

"A legendary creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle?"

"Noooo, that's a griffin!"

"Name the male protagonist of Lee Child's highly sucessful novels. Jack...?"

"Reacher!" Snazzy Moonbeam wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned into her buzzer. One more question and she had the million dollar first prize.

"What mode of transport--"


The host shook his head. "I'll just finish the question... What mode of transport first hit the rails in 1804? The steam train."

Snazzy threw her Prada's at the TV screen. "Shit."

Well, at least Dan isn't dead!

Entry 115
"Helicopter or limo?" she asked.

Moonbeam on her hair, Dan Lazar knew this doll's secret.

Miss Snark was no griffin; no she could have been one of those snazzy babes in a Jack Reacher novel.

If Clooney doesn't show, tonight's the night, he thought.

As if!!!!
(sorry Dan but you know my heart belongs solely to Mr. Clooney)

Entry 116
When I was an actor, I worked as Griffin Dunne's stand-in, because we're the same height. I remember an exciting night shot in a helicopter and I got to fly over Manhattan with a fake moonbeam lighting my face. Griffin, playing Jack Reacher, snoozed in his trailer.

I wrote about this in my memoir and queried Dan Lazar, who promptly responded with: "Thanks, but this wasn't snazzy enough for me. Why not try Miss Snark? Maybe it'll make her laugh out loud." So I tried Miss Snark and I'm still waiting for a response. It's been over a year.

That will teach you to query via email won't it?

Entry 117
The helicopter winch lowered wannabe secret agent Dan Lazar toward the massive stone griffin. Lazar used the light from a moonbeam to work, because the dork left his flashlight (and snazzy secret decoder ring) on the chopper. He held his breath as he stretched to place the explosive charges. The griffin, ancient symbol of evil publishers, stared vacantly at the reacher. Lazar finished his work, then signaled his partner to reel him in. Instead, Miss Snark screamed, “Your slush pile is mine now, Loser Lazar!” He realized he’d been betrayed as she pressed the detonator button.

uh oh, Dan's dead again and this time Miss Snark is at fault.

Entry 118


"Mr. Lazar, Arthur Treacher here"


"Treacher. Sidekick for Merv Griffin. We're sending a helicopter over to fetch you. Wear something snazzy. You're our first guest."

"Whatever." Dan Lazar rolled his eyes and moved to the closet. A moonbeam illuminated the parade of white stitched leisure suits, paisley shirts and Cuban heels.

"I never agreed to this," said Lazar.

"You wanted to be a world class literary agent. Now you have to pay." The devil popped an 8-track, cranked up Disco Inferno and smiled. "I love the seventies. Beats the hell out of hell."

Miss Snark loves this almost as much as she loves Satan.

Entry 119
Dan Lazar sprints across the tarmac to meet the descending helicopter. It lands soft as a moonbeam. Breathing through a tube in his nose and motionless on a blood soaked stretcher is Reacher. The medical team swarms around him, transferring him to a gurney and races it across the landing pad, into the brightly lit elevator. Reacher’s lip is bleeding, his eye is swollen shut and he can barely breathe. They tear open his snazzy shirt, and press new gauze into his bullet wounds. Reacher feels a pinch as another IV needle is inserted.

Lazar shouts, “Where is Agent Griffin?”

Thank dog Dan isn't dead!

Entry 120
Dan Lazar was the only person who could help her.

Overheard the helicopters were slicing through the moonbeams, snazzy-neon of the city streets. It was past curfew, watchdogs and mutated griffins out,

collecting dead,
collecting criminals,
collecting reachers,

like her.

fingertips outstretched,
trying to catch something,

Dan Lazar.

She was a go-between, from one person to another.
And it took too long through the back streets,
before she got to his door.
A dent in a alley on a sidestreet of nowhere.

"Dan." She murmured, as he opened, second hand that was hidden, unopening, "I need your help."

ohhhhh...this is nice work!

Entry 121
After the fifteenth query arrived, by helicopter this time, Dan Lazar started to steam.
Snazzy prose and imagery like 'the glittering bronze griffin standing in a moonbeam' was fine, but he'd rejected this author once, twice, five times - was he dense? Miss Snark said to query extensively, but this was ridiculous.

"Dear Mr. Reacher, Unfortunately..." He paused. To Hell with the form letter. "Enough is enough. If you trouble me with one more bad query, I will..." he looked up. Another helicopter hovered outside his window.

Grinning, he got his bazooka. What luck. He never thought he'd use it.

Yea!!!! Dan takes his revenge!

Entry 122
Who is Dan Lazar? That was the question that plagued Tom Griffin on the eve of battle. The thrum of the blades overhead and the rushing of the wind past the open door of the helicopter couldn't drown out the cacophony in Tom's own mind. Once again he held the letter up into the moonbeam that fell across his seat.

Anna's note was as frustratingly brief as it was ill-timed. It had arrived via courier, complete with the snazzy "signature required" instructions that had made the other men from Reacher Company take notice. What a way to receive divorce papers.

Dan Lazar, heartbreaker!

IOM 46-100 with comments

Entry 46
Though she was Snazzy Moonbeam, Diva Queen, in the evening, during the day she was a he named Dan Lazar. Dan owned a sporting goods store in Griffin, Georgia; Snazzy emceed the drag show at “The Reacher Round” bar in Atlanta. Two separate worlds, about to become one.

“Good Evening. I’m Snazzy Moonbeam, Diva Queen extraordinaire! The Reacher Round proudly presents The Helicopter Girls!” Offering soundless white-gloved applause, Snazzy graciously gave up the stage, headed into the crowd and up to the bar, sliding in next to a pair of kissing girls.

A hand touched her arm.


nice work. Scary, but nice!.

Entry 47
“You presumptuous reacher! How dare you come here!”

He flinched, trying to ignore the small dog with the cigar. “Dan Lazar told me…”

“First of all, ‘moonbeam’, I don’t rep fantasy. Second, this is utter garbage! ‘Prince Griffin, Lord of the Moon Paths’? Sappy drivel!” Miss Snark snarled.

“M-my mother liked it,” he stammered, wondering if those really were brass knuckles the dog was slipping his onto paws and just why there was a hatch marked ‘Emergency Escape Helicopter’.

“Also, only Saint George looks snazzy in scrubs, take those off. Not here,” she added without even looking up

Those ARE brass knuckles...the kind that figure into Bad Luck and Trouble too.

Entry 48
Fucking moonbeams.

The papers slip from his hands to swirl among the helicopter seeds. The wind infects Central Park's Literary Walk with a white plague of purple prose.

Alabaster moonbeams!

"Dan Lazar."

A griffin stands before him: beaked nose, hair coiffed into wings, voice sharpened to a talon.

"Uh, yeah?"

She digs into a snazzy Burberry handbag, removing a stack of legal pads. "Reacher here wants you for her how-to. It's entitled Bitch's Brew: Homeopathic Remedies From Park Avenue's Pooch Princess."

Dan directs his gaze to the bulldog, grinning like a gargoyle.

"We're willing to grant an exclusive."

Fucking moonbeams.

Reacher is a dog! Thankfully Lee Child is off at the Virginia Festival of the Book and will NEVER see this.

Entry 49

Mary Victor took off hurriedly in her snazzy new ultra-light helicopter. She was late because she had tried hard to not awaken from her dream about Dan Lazar, who had been snatched out of the moonbeam he was standing in and carried away by a griffin. Grinning delightedly as she flew, she planned a new short story about griffins invading D.C., though admittedly publishing it might be a bit of a reacher. Mary sighed when she landed in the employee heliport at the Agency. She decided her crabby boss would be the first victim in her story and smiled snarkily.

Miss Snark is quite glad to not have employees!

Entry 50

Jacqui Reacher was surprised when the helicopter landed on her lawn.

She was even more surprised when agent Dan Lazar, in a snazzy Armani flight suit, emerged from the cockpit.

“I usually travel by griffin-drawn chariot, but I wanted to get this here ASAP.” Dan handed her a familiar number ten SASE.

Breathless, Jacqui read the letter inside.

“Thanks for sending me your novel, MOONBEAM MCBRIDE SETS HER HAIR ON FIRE, but this project is not right for me at this time.”

Jacqui stifled her disappointment. “Thanks Dan,” she said. “It's true. You give great rejection.”

I love this! Armani flight suit!...AND a flaming coiffure, although it's sadly off the page.

Entry 51
When Dan Lazar arrived in his snazzy helicopter to a secret meeting with the head of Animal Authors’ Representatives he expected to see his old pal Killer Yapp. But last night the members held a meeting in the Central Park Zoo. The two rivals - Eagle Reacher and Lion Mozzarella agreed to share the responsibilities. It didn’t help that a single moonbeam was the sole source of light. The widely quoted message, tapped by Rabid Squirrel in Morse code, claimed that a griffin had been chosen and that it spelled doom for the all important nuts and seeds catalog publishing.

cheesy, very cheesy.

Entry 52

Dan Lazar sat in the moonlit helicopter teleport waiting to take control of the Snazzy 3000®. His designated moonbeam lead to MoonStation 15. "Why am I doing this?" he wondered aloud.

"Because you can't resist a challenge, Lazar!" Margaret Starshine said, eyeing him. She stood next to the flying griffin, the legendary Symbol of the Snazzy 3000®'s line of helicopters. "Ever since '15 when you got a taste of adventure."

"So they sent you?" Lazar asked, feigning indifference.

"I'll be your asteroid reacher on this trip. Guess they don't trust you," Starshine said, fingering the fierce griffin on her uniform.

"Why am I doing this"...I think that might be exactly what I'm thinking.

Entry 53

“Reacher.” Dan Lazar screeched through vocal chords rubbed raw in panic. “Don’t let ‘er die.”
Beth darted out, gulping in the dirt and stench. Moonbeam yipped, his shaggy coat slick with soot as she tightened her grasp.

Climbing onto the ledge, she grabbed hold of the griffin, apologizing for past references of ugly uselessness.

“You’re quite snazzy,” she prattled on, “if we get outta this, I’ll fill my next place with, umn, whatever the hell you are.”

Tree tops swooned in the breeze. A lone helicopter spun from its branch as Beth followed its spiraling descent to the pavement below.

I like the use of Moonbeam as a name!

Entry 54
One morning, Dan Lazar flew a snazzy young writer, Griffin Moonbeam Reacher III, to Miss Snark’s office in his private helicopter.

“Now, remember,” Dan said. “Be sure to address her properly, just as you would in a query letter.”

Griffin nodded and left the rooftop heliport but returned quickly, appearing quite disheveled and weary.

“That was fast,” Dan said. “What happened?”

“Well, sir,” panted Griffin, “I've never addressed an agent before. Getting the stamp on her forehead was easy enough, but all that kicking and flailing she did while I stuffed her through the mail slot was a bit unnerving.”

Miss Snark is vastly amused.

Entry 55
"Git this monster under control!" Theobold "Tex" Tsakis shouted. "I cain't reacher."

Samuel "Snazzy" Snarr twisted the throttle, but the helicopter, the latest in the Griffin XIX Series, shuddered and yawed.

"They must've hit the fuel line," Snazzy yelled. "We've got no lift."

From three o'clock, the Dan La-zar 183 lived up to its name, shooting a second bolt like a lethal moonbeam.

"Goddam, Snazzy," Tex hollared. "Why did we leave the parachutes in the back?"

"Because the yellow doesn't go with these brown flight suits, you idiot. Haven't you learned anything from seven days of shooting 'Queer Eye'?

Dan Lazar, missile man!

Entry 56
Moonbeam kicked Dan Lazar's body; retribution for sixteen flights of stairs. She pushed a finger into a hole in his snazzy Hawaiian shirt. It went through the bone.

A news helicopter roared by, hovering near the building. Moonbeam crunched across the gravel and looked over the edge. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"Drop the gun," she shouted, dropping her .22 onto the ledge next to the jumper. The cameraman extended his microphone reacher toward the conversation.

"Take my hand!" Moonbeam pried the jumper's fingers from the griffin. His eyes widened as he slid downward. "Thanks, man," she whispered.

I'm not sure I get this.

Entry 57
A silver moonbeam slanted across the lawn where Dan Lazar and Griffin O'Neal lay guzzling homemade gin. A regular Tuesday.

"Can't b'lieve Clooney signed with tha tramp, Snark," Lazar grumbled. "I coulda sold his erotic memoirs for more'n her."

"Clooney's a sonofabitch," said O'Neal. "Juss cuz he's gotta snazzy jet. Thinks he's God."

Lazar patted his buddy's shoulder. "Hey, you gotta helicopter."

"No," O'Neal shot back. "I gotta helicopter RIDE to the hosspital when I O.D.'ed."


"Saw Missnark in detox. Wantedta make out with her, but I couldn' reacher."





Miss Snark always carries a hatpin for straitjackets. That's one of the first things Grandmother Snark insisted on when enrolling Miss Snark in the Gin and Tonic Finishing School for Young Ladies of Salubrious Heritage.

Entry 58
Last time I saw Reacher he was running for that snazzy helicopter I’d heard about out at Central Command. Dan Lazar built her; shit, he called that sleek, black baby “the griffin.” Man could feel the smooth lines of that doll; arms like eagle wings, body like a lion; legs like that dish I met outside Tokyo in forty-five. Some night; one bright moonbeam and sweet jasmine. Dame couldn’t hold a candle to the baby I was looking at again; she’s gonna get me outta here and into the worst fighting the big guy’s are sending me to: Pynnogjung. Korea.

Who knew Tom Clancy read Miss Snark's blog??

Entry 59

"Y'all won't believe where I got this snazzy hat!!" she said, her entrance clamor to the parlor surpassing the sheer volume of her ensemble. Alyson was a reacher; new money always was. She didn't fit in. You could almost see her arms helicopter, propelling her beyond the point where others would halt. The bafflement was that she'd don the regality of a griffin around our husbands. "Moonbeam, get away from that," came Mrs. Worthington's disdain as she beckoned her butler from Alyson. She had all the subtlety of Dan Lazar on a Clamato bender, but none of the tact.

Clamato bender!!!

Entry 60
"Snazzy tattoo," she said, tracing the outline of the eagle/lion on Reacher's forearm. "What is it?"

"A griffin, and that tickles." Reacher downed his shot. "Knock it off."

"Ooh, I love a ticklish man." The girl with pink hair walked her fingers up his arm.

Knocking her hand away, Reacher stood to leave. "Christ, you're annoying." He turned away and paused in the doorway, scanning the empty dirt road. Hearing the reassuring whir, he nodded.

"Call me," the girl yelled after him. "Moonbeam Phillips! I'm in the book!"

In the helicopter, Dan Lazar shot Reacher a raised eyebrow.

"Don't ask."

Don't ask...do tell.

Entry 61
Helicopter hovers.
"Looks snazzy," the pilot says, pointing to the Reacher Building.
The griffin atop the nearest buttress captures a moonbeam.
"No. It's superb," murmurs Dan Lazar, conscious any discussion of the aesthetics of Le Corbusier, van der Rohe, Saarinen, and the semiology of postmodern architectural criticism would only delay his enjoyment of the Prime Rib Au Jus Cabernet, garlic mashed potatoes, and napoli vegetables attente sur sa table privée in the building's penthouse restaurant. An elegant meal, he thinks, yet one that stops short of pretension.

Miss Snark looks askance at her homestyle tofu and veg.
and calls for reservations at the Reacher Building Skylight Bar and Grille.

Entry 62
Griffin, Indiana’s population had, between last moonbeam and first sunlight, grown from 171 to 173.

They knew: he was Danish. He was a leper. They labeled him aptly ‘Dan Lazar.’

His wife – who’d been cleanly decapitated by helicopter blades at least six years prior – began an affair with a snazzy used car salesman who said things like ‘hooch,’ and ‘broad,’ and who did not have leprosy.

Dan the lazar found his comfort in the form of a cruel pun each time he answered the phone: “Nah, she’s off givin’ head in a parkin’ lot. Ya can reacher at the dealership.”

ewwwwwwwwwwwww on every single level, and yet also, funny.

Entry 63
“Holy Snark!” Dan Lazar said, wide-eyed. He turned to his left and faced Lee Child who piloted the private Helicopter. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that Jack Reacher that just whipped by us? As in your fictional character."

Child remained silent, dressed in his snazzy suit coat and wool derby cap, but a knowing smirk grew on his face. It was as if he expected this all along. Like he knew Reacher, riding atop a legendary griffin, would follow the same moonbeam they did in search of answers that seemed just out of reach.

Great first paragraph...then splat.

Entry 64
Dan Lazar. Famous literary agent. Bon vivant. Dead man.
Moonbeam McSwail eased her way around the smirking griffin perched along the narrow ledge outside Lazar's snazzy penthouse. A helicopter buzzed nearby. She flattened herself against the wall, cursing softly till it flew off.

Thank God.

She'd escaped the coal dust of Reacher, West Virginia and arrived in town with little besides her virtue and a carefully hoarded bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Lazar had unrepentantly stolen her gin and innocence, both.

Well. Mr. Literary Agent about to learn how hillbilly girls handled gin thieves.
With duct tape. Stiletto heels. Battery acid.

I'm sensing a developing revenge motif here.

Entry 65
Dan Lazar held the helicopter steady while Reacher steadied himself by the open door. A moonbeam reflected off Reacher's snazzy weapon, as he prepared to fire at the oncoming griffin.

Blue fire erupted from the mouth of the laser and sliced toward the mythical creature. The stench of crisped feathers accompanied the beast's list to the right.

Lazar maneuvered to maintain Reacher's line of fire. The second blast sent the creature plummeting toward earth.

Lowering the weapon, Reacher pointed in the direction the griffin arrived from. "Let's find its aerie and finish this."

Well, at least no one's killing off Dan in this one!

Entry 66

An apocryphal winged griffin makes a reacher’s frail
hopes stiffen -
The query rebounds faster than Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.
In terms upbeat and jazzy comes a message less than
snazzy –
I'm a helicopter circling far beneath his rising star.
Tell me what thy earthly name is, asks a moonbeam of
the star.
Quoth the agent, “Dan Lazar.”

Thank goodness Dan Lazar is not from Nantucket!

Entry 67
Dan Lazar was neither simple nor a savant, which suited him fine until his brother came to visit.

He had always been overshadowed by the attractive, Rhodes scholar, griffin brother his parents had adopted from Romania.

Reacher was a ladies man, riding on moonbeams and playing the game like no other. One night, like a helicopter, he descended into Dan's apartment through the window. A green homburg hat with a red feather topped his head. The air hinted of gin.

"Well don't you look snazzy," Dan said.

"The ladies come for the hat but stay for the talons," he replied.

Amazing what 100 words can do, isn't it.

Entry 68
Damn it. I only wanted to reason with him, explain my plot, and show some snazzy illustrations, since he obviously isn't smart enough to grasp the concept without pictures. But now that bull-headed Dan Lazar is bleeding out on his floor instead, and I'm stuck running from the Griffin Police. I'm dodging moonbeams and the light from their freakin' helicopter, all because he had to be childish and snarky and say I had no voice. Bastard.

"Get down on the ground, Reacher, or we'll send the dog!"

Crap. I knew I should have written about dancing chickens instead.

You guys are starting to scare me on this revenge motif thing.

Entry 69


“Did he reach her?”


“The hotsy totsy caught with Merv Griffin in a Crosley Moonbeam biplane?”


“Who wants to know?”


“Swifty’s boy?”


“What’s he want with DeeDee? She died in forty-eight. Helicopter accident.”


“I told DeeDee, ‘Stay outta planes.’”


“They’re bad luck and trouble.”


“She was beautiful in her snazzy dress with that silver moonbeam. And when she danced …”

“GRANDPA? You asleep?”

“Maybe tomorrow, Mr. Lazar.”

ohhh....clever connection to Swifty Lazar!

Entry 70

It was all over - because of Dan Lazar and some helicopter . First place was mine. I was certain no one could catch me, even if they found a way to harness moonbeams. No one thought to use the waterway. But I've always been a reacher. Nothing like victory via sailboat - especially one as snazzy as the one I managed to commandeer. How did Dan Lazar get a helicopter, anyway? He'd once asked me if griffins were real, and where to get one. I'd discounted him as flying high – looks like I was right about one thing.

Its a Mad Mad Mad Mad World indeed.

Entry 71
Helen’s heartbeat matched the intensity of the traffic helicopter’s thumping rotors as she exited the cab in front of Random House. She admired the grand edifice, (complete with granite griffins) wondering if the pile-up on 5th Avenue would make the news.
Later, she rehashed meeting Dan Lazar (her snazzy agent) and stroked his business card for the hundredth time.

“We’d like to publish you,” he’d said.

Later still, a stretch of moonbeam graced her dream-filled bed; wherein she was a published author, autographing her novel while the bookseller used a Reacher to bring down more copies from the shelves above.

ummm...agents don't say "we'd like to publish you". We're happy to figure in your visualizations for success but "we'd like to represent you" is what we say.

And Random House is at 1745 Broadway last time I checked.

Entry 72
Dan Lazar lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He punched a number into his cell and prayed Reacher would pick up.

“Helicopter over here pronto,” Dan breathed. “It’s the scoop of a lifetime.”

“What’s up?”

“You gotta see to believe. Meet me at the Moonbeam Bay overlook.”

Thirty minutes later the station’s snazzy new chopper settled in the deserted parking area. Reacher scuttled bent-backed to join Dan at the cliff’s edge.

“What’s so all-fired important you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“That,” said Dan, pointing to a griffin nesting in a snarl of driftwood on the beach below.

Dan has an eagle eye for the good stuff, no doubt about it.

Entry 73
Dan Lazar was a spiritual atheist. He worshipped nothing except snazzy Hawaiian shirts with orchids propagating on beds of fiddlehead fern and Roxbury Lanes. A timid pilgrim to its glossy altar of three- fingered balls and crashing kingpins, he savored the musk of rented
shoes and secondhand smoke. Each time he rolled a strike, he imagined himself a cunning beast, a griffin hovering like a visceral helicopter atop a supple divorcée.

Moonbeam Reacher studied Dan from a lanefront table. He narrowed his eyes, downed another Heineken, and screwed its bottle cap into a table salt mosaic. No looking back.

Give a whole new sensibility to three strikes and you're out, doesn't it.

Entry 74
The weary griffin sat watch outside, moonbeam dancing off her wings and piercing through the window to the room she watched and the man inside. Dan Lazar slept, broken leg elevated, his snazzy Reacher, a temporary necessity, propped up nearby. He thrashed in the bed – his dreams shot through with visions of the helicopter crash – the propellers, and had that been feathers? Vague memories of being supported in the air and his bumpy landing and the harsh noise of an eagle's cry. And his sleeping brain formed the word he didn't dare think of in light of day: "Mom?".

He broke his leg kicking Miss Snark I'm pretty sure.

Entry 75
An overcast sky, a new moon: It's under these conditions you're most likely to spot the Grim Reacher slinking through your neighborhood, eyeing his next challenge. Obsessed with the intangible, the locked away, the closely guarded, the Grim Reacher snatches diaries, unspoken words, fleeting facial expressions. Moving helicopter blades, a single moonbeam, lost time. He keeps his treasures in a bone-studded labyrinth, where a giant griffin stands watch at all times.

I'm telling you this, Dan Lazar, because you're next. Yes, you, in the snazzy suit! He's after your attention, your approval. You are his most ambitious target yet.

oh my!

Entry 76
“No one would know that but Dan Lazar.” Moonbeam hissed. Her disposition had never been sunny, but she seemed worse than usual. Jacque fought back the urge to let his fist slip and send her and her snazzy new manuscript into orbit.

“He lived in the 21st century for dog sakes. Take a motrin.” He countered.

“Pull over.” She gestured toward the Griffin Ozone Reacher Experiment (GORE).

“Lunatic. We’re not taking a helicopter to the LBF.”

“What?” She demanded. It would be easier to land an off-shore oil driller on an asteroid than it would be to deter her.

I've heard Dan Lazar can land off shore oil drillers on asteroids while blindfolded AND reading query letters.

Entry 77
He snivelled exquisitely whilst I lay into him with my moonbeam cannon. The spectacular rays enveloped his sanity, crushing it in a snazzy pattern of silver light. Dan Lazar had no chance of escape this time--by griffin or otherwise--and he would die well before The Reacher came.

This rooftop, bathed in summoned moonlight, played host to all my fears of reprisal from Lazar's cronies. The headless mob would seek retribution. As I took in the beautiful rattling of Lazar's dying body, I heard my fear become realized. The steady whuf-whuf of The Reacher's Helicopter grew louder as it approached.

geeze, poor Dan, dead again. He's worse off than Kenny!

Entry 78
Dan Lazar watched the helicopter lift. The griffin was on board. Or so they said, “Find the Griffin, before the helicopter leaves the city.” Who were they? The CIA? Teenagers wasted on moonbeam? It didn’t matter. What would Jack Reacher do? Dan pulled a snazzy move, grabbed a pontoon and swung into the cabin. There was no mythical creature there. Just a Pakistani with a gun.

“Where’s the griffin?,” Dan said.

“Look it up. The other definition is newcomer – white man from the west. The griffin is you.”

He pulled the trigger. Dan dropped toward river. They never found the body.

We need an MP3 for Another One Bites The Dust and Dan Lazar is the Number One.

Entry 79
A moonbeam through the window illuminated my coffee.

"I want you to follow Dan Lazar," I said.

Griffin snorted in his latte. "Stalking literary agents now? Real snazzy."

"I'll get representation or die trying."

"Yanno, you've only got one shot with Lazar," he said. "A run-in with the mob might not be right for him."

"Well, I know you can be a real persuader."

A helicopter droned outside.

"That's your chopper." I pushed the manuscript across the table. "You know what to do. Hell, be like Reacher."

Griffin raised a brow. "That could mean bad luck… and trouble."

It does mean that without fail and to the enemy**

**other Reacher novel titles

Entry 80
Inter-Office Memo

To: Dan Lazar
From: Billing

Your latest expense report has been summarily denied. We appreciate your efforts to woo J.K. Rowling to Writer’s House – but enough is enough.

Snazzy dinners are one thing, but helicopter rides over Diagon Alley? Mani-pedis at the Moonbeam Mall? And what the hell is a griffin?

Even if we believed these were all necessary expenses, our accounting system is not equipped to handle direct deposits to Gringotts Bank.

Next time you want to impress a potential client, I suggest a good ol’ fashioned reacher-round. That’s how Zuckerman landed Ken Follett.

I think Dan and I have the same accountant!

Entry 81
Dan Lazar reads novels
Never a rhyme
But the minutes are ticking
I’m out of time.

No words, sentences
Can enter my mind
I’m thinking about my pet
That I did find.

About my griffin neither
Lion nor bird
But a mix of the two
Kind of absurd.

Covered with feathers
So soft and snazzy
His call in the wild
Is upbeat and jazzy.

He whizzes like a helicopter
Through the air
Chasing moonbeams in circles
With nary a care.

And when he is tired
He lands on my wall
A reacher is needed
He won’t come when I call.

at least Dan isn't dead in this!

Entry 82

"Moonbeam, the rope!" Sonny Reacher shouted down to his daughter while her little monster, Snazzy, whined in the rear of the purloined helicopter.

Dan Lazar was at the controls, struggling against a fierce wind, hovering as low as he dared over the highest point on the island of Rhodes. The rescue line danced across the boulders, but Moonbeam refused to clamber from between them.

"I'm going down," Sonny announced. He started his rappel, but halted halfway when a four-clawed hand shot from among the rocks, snagged the line and snapped it taut. The Griffin started to climb.

Dan Lazar, Colossus of Rhodes!

Entry 83
Snazzy Lazar was a helluva helicopter pilot, but his son, Dan Lazar, had no intention of following in his Dad’s cockpit. While Snazzy whirled across a blackened sky, daredevil Dan zoomed through moonbeams on his griffin, Reacher.

That is, until Reacher joined the Army, and left Dan grounded.

“While you’re playing soldier,” Dan cried, “I’ll dream up my own damn moonbeam.”

Reacher went on to command a team of gargantuan griffins whose job it was to destroy missiles hidden deep within enemy territory.

But each time Reacher found one, it was mysteriously pulverized by a Lazar beam.

Lazar beam!

Entry 84

The sky was hard to see against the rooftop floodlights, but I heard the telltale thump-thump overhead. Would this be Reacher’s helicopter? Dan Lazar hocked a louie to the street below.

“Nah,” he said. “Just Miss Snark, again.”

Suddenly there she was, all chic and snazzy, alighting like a moonbeam from the whirring griffin. Being sans culottes as usual, she didn’t wave — both hands struggled to keep her wind-blown dress below her famous knees — but she smiled at me demurely. (Later, over drinks, she chided me on this. “Demurely? But adverbs are so lazy! You should avoid them, mostly.”)

Miss Snark has famous knees?
Who knew!

Entry 85

The snazzy Apache helicopter skated through the moonbeam. Without warning, an explosion shattered the night. Weapons and fuel ignited. The impact tossed the unseen barrier downward. The airmen weren't as lucky. They were trapped inside the inferno.

Major Dan Lazar searched in widening circles, his frustration growing. They hadn't hit the hills and there was nothing else to hit. There. He saw blood. Curled in the exposed roots of the mangrove tree was a huge, injured beast. Using his reacher, Dan tentatively prodded the creature. It flinched instinctively, stretching out it's huge wings. Dan gasped. It was a griffin.

Finally, Dan Lazar in a heroic role!

Entry 86

A moonbeam gleamed as Reacher crept toward Dan Lazar. “Did you get it?”

Lazar jerked his head toward the door. “On the roof.”

“We don’t need it any more.”

“Do you have any idea how much trouble I went to, getting that thing?”

“Yeah, but I got a griffin.”

“That’s it,” Lazar said. “I’ve heard one too many of your mythical beast stories. I’m out of here.”

Reacher shrugged. As Lazar stepped into the stairwell, lion paws padded down the alley.

Lazar was still trying to start the helicopter as they soared overhead. “Snazzy machine,” the griffin remarked, “but unreliable.”

Amazingly complete sketch here!

Entry 87
KY licked Snazzy Moonbeam’s face, dragging her back to consciousness. She lifted her skirt, removed a flask from her stocking and threw back a slug of gin. The gash on her head felt like a helicopter blade had taken a swipe at her.

Who had clocked her and why?

She struck a match on the bottom of her stiletto and lit her cigarette. Faster than Dan Lazar rejecting an e-query she knew!

“Dear Dog! Griffin Reacher! The author whose hook I publicly trashed!”

KY smacked his jaws. “He’s taken care of, Miss Snark.”

“Good dog.”

Her secret identity remained safe.

Miss Snark is secretly named Snazzy Moonbeam?? Shades of Frank Zappa!

Entry 88
Dan Lazar stood, looking less than snazzy after the plastic surgeon unraveled the bandages. Turning, he frowned in the mirror. It was his own fault really, not making sure they were on the same page. Instead of Icarus he looked more like a griffin, now needing a reacher to scratch his ass.

Since childhood he dreamt of gliding through the air on a moonbeam. During his maiden flight he tangled with a gaggle of bats, his eyes no match for echo location. To his detriment he miscalculated, broke free, and was mauled by an oncoming helicopter.

Well, at least he's not dead!

Entry 89

Eddie swam silently through the reedy pond. Spying the helicopter's searchlight, he dove.
He tried to count to one hundred, to wait out the searchers. But the image of Griffin's dead body, illuminated with moonbeams, seemed more real in the pool's depths.

Eddie escaped to the surface. Blinded by light, he couldn't see his captor. He didn't need to. Eddie knew Dan Lazar's voice. He would never forget it.

Eddie headed for the bank, to be taken to Reacher. Maybe Dan would let him change into a snazzy outfit on the way, for old times sake.

Well, at least Dan's not dead here either.

Entry 90
"THE Dan Lazar?" Her eyes lit up like moonbeams.

"No, not that Dan Lazar. He's all personal helicopters and caviar," I shrugged. My dates always start with disappointment.

The waiter brought fortune cookies before we'd even ordered. A griffin was stamped upon the note:


"Hey," said Blondie Golightly, "You don't eat the fortune."

"I'm sorry; I must leave," I said.

The helicopter on the roof wasn't private. My handler gave me a photograph.
"Reacher?" he asked.

"Must I say it?"

"The code phrase is compulsory."

"All right," I said while reaching for the rifle, "Let's Wang Chung."

Miss Snark is amused.

Entry 91
Normally Dan Lazar would have been elated to get his hands on a snazzy new helicopter. Running his hands along the shiny skin of this new bird he realized it was under armed for the task at hand. If he were going to ride this beast into the valley with little more than a moonbeam to guide him he would need a lot more fire power. The last three vessels that Reacher sent in never came back and Dan had no intention of flying in to face the griffin armed with a prayer and a pop gun.


Entry 92

"Hey,Toots, you look pretty snazzy in those stilettos."

I turned, startled. It was Dan Lazar.

"You too," I lied. His Hawaiian shirt sported nude wahines and moonbeams on a purple background. "Are we waiting for the same helicopter?"

Dan threw his chewed stogie over the railing. "Guess so, just you and me, Baby. Reacher's with Barbara Bauer and Griffin signed with Publish America."

I heard the sound of the Fox News chopper. I once told Dan if he was the last agent in America I still wouldn't date him. Funny how wrong you can be when push comes to shove.

Miss Snark is rolling on the floor. Killer Yapp swallowed his stogie. Even Grandmother Snark, genteel to the end, is laughing like a loon.

Entry 93
People say that knowledge is power. I'm finally going to have both. And the literary career I’ve dreamed of, too. What a piece of luck.

I turn the postcard over again. Check the address. It isn’t as snazzy as those cards in the Griffin and Sabine books, all artistic, covered with moonbeams and such. This one shows a helicopter, an OH-58A, like they used back in Vietnam. But the meaning is clear, even through my methadone fog.

Dan Lazar will finally believe me. He’ll represent my memoir. I have proof. Griffin Moss has left Sabine for Jack Reacher!

Intrepid mingling of titles and meanings!

Entry 94
It’s 9pm. This is North American Indian News, and I’m Moonbeam with your latest headlines.
New technology will get a boost this year in the form of a special fair for laser technology. The event will be called “Laizzes Fair” and will be hosted by the tribe of Dan, said newly-named tribal chief, Dan Lazar. The snazzy publicist and media liaison was formerly known as Dan People-Reacher.

But not everyone is happy about this announcement. Dan Preserver is planning to protest the event. “It’s bad enough that griffins are being replaced by helicopters,” he says. “Now this.”

Laizzes Fair!!!!

Entry 95
Dan Lazar jerked the steering stick and slid his snazzy new helicopter onto the moonbeam, waiting for the reacher arm to add enough thrust to send him into the atmosphere overhead.

Voices sounded over the radio implanted in his left ear.

"That red griffin is big as a dreadnaught. Watch its tail, Macy. Watch its..."

Macy's scream echoed in Lazar's ear even after the voice itself stopped. The battle was going badly, but as commander, he had his duty. G-force glued him to his seat as the reacher flung him skyward. The mythical creature filled his screen.

“Fuck!” he yelled.

Well, he's not dead!

Entry 96
Rescue and Recovery

Dan Lazar landed the helicopter in the dead zone surrounding the abandoned nickel mine and ordered the team to don their HAZMAT suits. He hoped they weren't too late for little Bobby Reacher.

Lt. Griffin led the team into the mine. A moonbeam illuminated each guard as he stepped through the adit. They reached Bobby after a two-hour slog through partially collapsed mine walls and standing water from prior flooding.

Griffin knelt by the boy. "He's barely alive."

Alive! Their dangerous trek was worth taking.

Bobby said one word before he died--snazzy.

Bobby's only dead once, he's got a long way to go to equal the number of dead Dan Lazars!

Entry 97
Griffin kept to darkness and the cover of trees. She darted between shadows and pools of silver moonbeam.

Overhead the helicopter noise chopped doplars. Dan Lazar, acclaimed taxidermist and collector of mythical creatures, was circling the sky, hunting.

Searchlights washed over the canopy of foliage, grounding in places between. Griffin was aware of Lazar's sunlight allergy, and awaited dawn horizon's snazzy bruising.

Time passed.

Night crossed the nexus to day.

But Lazar ignored the bleeding, yellow sky, always looking downwards.

And as the first rays reflected off the rotors, Griffin heard a scream, and knew that he would not reacher.

Dan is a vampire! That explains oh-so-much!

Entry 98

As instructed, Dan Lazar carried the carved griffin home in his pocket. A gin bottle rested against his door. Snazzy Snark must have left it. Should he ask her to join him? He’d rather hand it off now. Dog phobic, he used the Reacher to knock on her door. No answer. He left a note and retreated to the fire escape, where he watched a moonbeam make its soft glide across the brick as he sipped gin from a paper cup. Crumpling, then tossing it aside, he made his way to the roof. The helicopter was here. Where was Snark?

Snark is trapped in a prison of her own making; held hostage by google heads and her own nitwittery at not limiting entries to the first 100.

Entry 99

The Griffin's blood coursed ever quick
Pushing forward through the squick
and grime-filled city skies
A moonbeam marks where his prey lies

(A helicopter pilot sees
This creature glide above the trees
and turns true tale to reacher then
Is published by Hyperion)

The splintering of glass awakes
Dan Lazar who stands then shakes
to see the Griffin making tracks
Through his snazzy knicks and knacks

The Griffin's blood coursed ever hot
Paws pressing Lazar to the spot
while asking him with voice so teary
"Why did you reject my query?"

I'm feeling the need to come and go, talking of Michelangelo.

Entry 100

Big night ahead. Time to saddle up.

He liked riding moonbeams to the stars on the back of a soaring griffin. Sure, Dan Lazar could have used the snazzy Belltronics Helicopter his grateful clients had given him, but he was a Reacher-of-Dreams and a lover of the old ways.

The waiting griffin was green, and unusually ill-tempered. “Uh-uh. You can forget that saddling-up crap! This trip ain’t happening!” A gust of moist, anchovy breath enveloped Dan’s head and a scatter of pizza boxes told where the missing cell phone and credit card had gone. He was left with no alternative.

Finally, Dan Lazar has been given grateful clients!!!