From Me to You

Posted on October 31, 2007

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Necon Thank You’s

Posted on July 25, 2007

Well, with a couple days recovery time between myself and the Northeast Writers’ Conference, I’m ready to talk again.  They’ve got this whole “What happens at Necon stays at Necon” thing, but I suspect it’s an idle threat.  Just in case, I will limit my talking to a series of heartfelt thank you’s.

Thanks to Dan Fox for picking me up at the airport and teaching me the beer opening trick.

Thanks to Paul Puglisi for the apple brandy and for talking me up at his panel.

Thanks to Cassi for the high-test coffee.

Thanks to Kelli Dunlap for support, editing my drunk speech on the fly, and continuously inviting me over for coffee.  Couldn’t have done it without ya.

Thanks to Dave Thomas and the three Jo(e)’s for giving me folks to pal around with, though Big Joe needs to let other people carry stuff now and then.

Thanks to Nate and Nicole Kenyon for being far too cute once again.  It gives this cynic something to rail against.

Thanks to Monica Kuebler for listen to a drunken pitch that took five minutes somewhere around three in the morning.

Thanks to Wrath for looking colder than me.

Thanks to Jeff Strand for the laughs.

Thanks to Bob Booth for the ride to the airport, and to Weston and Yvonne for the offer.

And an extra thanks to Weston Ochse for swooping out of the dark to save the day like the sleeveless Batman he is.

Thanks to Kelly Laymon for sobering up the entire con for a few hours.

Thanks to Jim Moore for paralyzing me with his elbows and giant man hands.

Thanks to Chris Golden for putting me on a panel and in the program book.  Above and beyond, man!

Thanks to Sarah Langan for explaining environmental medicine to me.

Continued thanks to Keene for advice, friendship, racing me at lunch and dinner, and for laughing at all my jokes (I remain unconvinced they were that funny).

And an extra special thanks to Dan Booth, the Booth family, and the rest of the Necon board.  You guys go above the call of duty in every way, and you’ve created the best con out there.  Thank you so much.

A Special Magic

Posted on July 10, 2007

“Nothing lasts forever,
That’s the way it’s gotta be.
There’s a great black wave in the middle of the sea.”
The Arcade Fire, “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations”

I spent the last weekend, Friday through Monday morning, in the cluster of small Indiana towns that make up where I came from. I went to spend time reconnecting with my brothers and to see a boat race that used to be the most important day of my year. I saw old friends and fell in love with those friendships all over again. My family and friends really made me feel like I was home. I made sure to give each of my friends a strong hug as we said goodbye on the upper deck of the Grand Victoria Casino in Rising Sun, Indiana on Saturday night, then I walked at the back of the pack so they wouldn’t see me wipe away tears. I did the same thing as I hugged my family members goodbye over the following days.
Because, as special as all those folks are to me, everything else wore me down.

My hometown-that I originally loved, then decided to run away from-isn’t there anymore. There are a few withering cells left: the Gold Star Chili and the Skyline Chili. One of the used car lots is still there, and the Tandy’s IGA is still standing, but the spreading cancer of “progress” is all over the place. I found a strip mall almost a half-mile long where a beautiful hillside home used to be. Maybe another dozen dotted Highway 50 between Aurora and Lawrenceburg. I couldn’t see my high school from the road because the new middle and elementary schools block the view. Rising Sun, a tiny river town, now has a fire station bigger than Austin’s.

The people are still there, though. They still seem suspicious and a little sad, kind of like people everywhere. I won’t lie and say it didn’t hurt when I received more than a few of those “You’re not from around here, are you?” looks, because maybe I never was. Maybe I spent twenty-two years faking it.

Then again, maybe I do belong there. Maybe that’s why my friends just happened to be in town on Saturday. Maybe that’s why Randall drove all the way from Florence to Rising Sun late at night to hang out with us for a few hours.

Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe there’s a magic family members and friends share, something that reaches through the years and just feels right.

And maybe that’s enough. I hope so.

World Horror 2007, A Comedy in Seven Days

Posted on April 5, 2007

Tuesday

Flight two hours late leaving, although United lists it as on time right up until we board an hour and forty-five minutes late.

Minh and Shrews meet me at Chicago O’Hare after I spend 45 minutes thinking “In front of baggage claim” means “Stand out in the cold so we can drive by and pick you up.”

Wednesday

Eric picks us up, and we begin the eight-plus hour drive to Toronto.

Around Lansing, I take a nap.  I wake up as we pull into Grand Rapids, sixty miles in the wrong direction.  I don’t sleep the rest of the way into Toronto.

Hit the hotel and run into Kelly Laymon,Paul Puglisi, and Mike Meyers.  Paul slaps a check and contract for a short story into my hand.  I pocket the check but leave the contract in the room.

Down in the bar, Chris Golden asks me what I’m working on.  “Getting drunk,” I reply, then I do my Shrews impersonation for Cullen Bunn.  “So Rogan walks into a (insert building) and kills 100 (insert profession) but chains one up to (torture/question/fuck) later…”  Also, I congratulate Cullen on signing up for two more series of The Damned, his Oni Press comic.

In bed by 2AM or so.  Might not be such a bad weekend.

Thursday

Run into Nate and Nicole Kenyon while looking for a place to grab breakfast.  Nate and Nicole are a wonderful couple who are almost sickening in their cuteness.  Nate’s superior mastery of sarcasm is also a sore spot with me.  They direct me to Eggspectations, where I eat a bacon cheeseburger for breakfast. 

Of my roommates, I’m the only one daring to use Canadian money thus far. 

A group run is made to the State liquor store.  I pay $30 for two six-packs of Corona, then curl into a ball and cry.

In my typical way, I accidentally walk past a line of people waiting to register for the con and grab my goodie bag.  The glares aren’t as bad as I’d expect.

Everybody but Minh received a Tim Lebbon book in their freebies.  Being mature, I tell Minh to eat me.  I shouldn’t fuck with him too much.  He was in a Vachss book, after all.

Sometime in the afternoon, Keene appears with his wife Cassi and my good friend and meticulous proof-reader Kelli Dunlap.  I do a good job of not drawing attention to Keene, but Kelli comes screaming across the lobby to hug me.  Instantly, I smell like Virginia Slims.

A throng of us find a Thai place for dinner.  Due to Keene’s skillful maneuvering, I end up at a table next to Jeremy Lassen, publisher of Night Shade Books.  Over beers and fried rice, I convince him to sit down and listen to a pitch later.  I, of course, don’t see Jeremy for the rest of the con.

Talk with Tim Lebbon about the 30 Days of Night novelization he’s written for the upcoming film.  I ask if he’s fixed the ending, and he answers by saying he added a scene with a polar bear.  This excites me in strange ways.

Steve, the other bald Brit at the table, was the screenwriter of Ghost Watch.  Without thinking, I blurt out “My friend Mat has a bootleg of that!”

Hit the late night “What is Horror?” panel.  Kelli and I laugh at the skinny guy we dub “The Commentator.”  He sits at the edge of the table, slapping the table top with one hand while raising his hand like Horshack.  I expect him to break into a pee-pee dance, but he doesn’t.  In the end, it is decided that horror is a drunk Drew Williams.

Somebody yells at me in the hotel bar for an hour.  I finally respond with, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t care.”

Hit the sack at 3:30 this night.  As I drift off, I realize I haven’t heard a single Canadian say “Eh?” yet.

Friday

I get my “Eh?” pretty early when an Asian man tells me to “Have a good day, eh?”

Kelli and I hit the “What Editors Want to See” panel.  From the back of the room, Shrews says something about Titanic-meets-The Outlaw Josey Wales.  Under my breath I say “So Rogan walks onto an oceanliner and kills 100 gunslingers, but he leaves one chained up to massage later.”

Lunch with Kelli, Cassi, John Urbancik, Queenie, Marcy Italiano, and Monica from Rue Morgue magazine.  Urbancik and I eat terrible pizza, then split an order of fries.  We try not to puke when Monica shows up with poutine.

Talking to Cassi is like talking to the anti-Brian.  She’s laid back and smiles all the time, while Brian looks like he’s about to implode at almost all times.  She’s awesome, and I’m overjoyed I finally got a chance to talk to her without Dave Barnett constantly poking her in the butt with his cane.  Later, I’ll find out she thinks I look like a puppy, so at Necon I’m just gonna call her Keene-Wife all weekend.

At my pitch meeting with Peter Crowther of PS Publishing, I get a healthy dose or reality when I tell Peter about A FAMILY MATTER and he says, “Well, I’m not interested.”  We chat for a few minutes, then I go drink three shots of whiskey.

Dinner at Red Lobster baybay!  Blackened Catfish rules everything around me.

I’m drunk by the time the gross out contest rolls around.  I see Cullen talking smack, and I almost retort, but realize he’s right.  Three Up, Three Down indeed.  As long as I don’t have to follow him, I’ve got a shot.

Guess who I follow?  Fuck me.

Gross out judges are Kelly Laymon, Tim Lebbon, Christopher Golden, and Joe R. Lansdale.  Golden gives me a hotwing before I read, which I eat like an idiot who doesn’t have to read a five page story a second later.

I read the first two sentences of my story before losing my place.  I cover by reciting as much of my story by memory as possible while randomly turning pages in my notebook. It turns out pretty well, though I’m on my third blank page by the time I finish.  I shake Lansdale’s hand and get off the stage.

The rest of the contestants spend the evening spanking me with their entries.  I just hope I didn’t come in last.  When Lebbon later tells me, “I’m not sure I want to know you anymore,” I take it as a seal of approval.

We end the evening with a round table reading of a short story so terrible I won’t name the “author.” It involves spiders and reality TV and a haunted train and some mystery guy named Kyle.  Lebbon gives the material some much-needed oomph, and Wrath James White keeps staring at the page in horror, which is saying something for the guy who just read a story about sucking a dead dog’s ass at the gross out.

In bed at 4:15AM.  Ouch.

Saturday

I slink off to breakfast alone.  I’m starting to get homesick in a bad way, missing Shawna in the worst way.

This day is largely spent looking through the dealer’s room and dropping by panels.

I make a “Special Guest Appearance” At Shrews’s reading.  I try to stroll through the room while I read, but get trapped by chairs that are too close together.  Seriously, fuck those chairs.

Pitch meeting with Dan D’Auria from Leisure.  It goes well, but I drop so many names my pitch sounds like a library auction.  Don tells me to send him stuff, though, so I don’t do any shots afterward.

I talk to Shawna for the second time today (bad idea when International Roaming applies) because I miss her so frippin’ much.  I’m so homesick that when Keene asks what’s wrong, I say “I want to pet my dogs.”

Kelli’s Horror Web intern shows up and is soon stranded by Kelli with orders to “meet people.”  I hope we don’t find her stuffed in a closet during the last reel.

I fill the biggest coffee I can find with booze and head down to watch the Stoker awards.  If I ever hear tarot-centric poetry again, I’ll hurt myself.  Norm Partridge wins for long fiction, and I manage not to go apeshit.  Later, I congratulate him on the phone and receive a reply of “Thanks, Nate!  You sell a book yet?  You got the chops, man!”  Norm makes me feel so good I want to cuddle with him.

More drinking at the “quiet” bar.  I get caught up in a conversation about gun control and soon realize I’m surrounded by Republicans.  And here I am without garlic or holy water.  If Shawna were here, she’d start swinging.  God, I love that woman.

Weston tells me he plans to find a silver Elvis mime and receive a holy sign from him.  Strangely, I think Weston is sober when he says this.

In bed at 3AM.  Just because I want a bed instead of the floor.

Sunday

Goodbye’s are given.  The room is paid for.  Hugs are handed out like business cards.  I hate that I won’t see these people again until July.

No wrong turns on the way home!

I crash in my hotel room and watch good cable, which I can’t afford at home.

I fall asleep at 10PM.  Hurray!

Monday

I catch a $30 cab ride to the airport.

I take off on time and arrive in Austin ten minutes early.  Danny picks me up, and my allergies have given me a sore throat by the time he drops me off.

Four hours later, Shawna arrives home, and I break three of her ribs with the first hug.

So, yeah.  That’s that.  I love World Horror. 

It’s not my fault

Posted on March 6, 2007

No, I did not take Brian Keene to Chik-fil-a.  If he dies, it is through no fault of mine.

STAPLE! recovery

Posted on March 5, 2007

Just dropped Keene off at the airport.  I’m fuckin’ beat.  I can’t how many times yesterday Keene said, “Dude, you look fucking beat!”  I was then, and I am now.  I can no longer deny my current state by telling myself I have allergies.  I’m tired as hell, and I have a cold.

The weekend was awesome, though.  Picked up Brian on Friday (after he forgot to catch his Thursday flight). Got to hang out for a few hours before rushing back to the aiport to pick up Danielle Corsetto.  Did the pre-party at Austin Books, where I met Lee Thomas.  STAPLE! was a good show.  A little softer than previous years, but still great.  Got to meet Angelina Hawkes and Chris Fulbright,  Michael Lovell and OTFW (that’s a message board ID).  All in all a great weekend.  I just need to recover!

Birthday Round-up

Posted on March 2, 2007

Sorry it took me a week to post a run down of the birthday party.  I’ve been busy getting ready for STAPLE! and going to the airport only find nobody’s flying in (fun story, we’ll get to it later.

The party, in short, was a blast.  It’s not every day you get to watch you dad-in-law squirm as a maid gives him a lap dance.  Then again, it’s not every day you get to watch your mom-in-law have a blast while receiving a lap dance from a nun.  The Carousel Cabaret puts on one helluva show!

And now, a selection of photos…

Shawna and I, early in the night.

With the ladies and fella of Carousel Cabaret

Blowing out candles. Holding beer.

Much later.  I have now decided to wear an air freshener.

Shawna.  Proud.

Very late.

Action shot!

Hold me closer, Fire Dancer.

Congrats, Norm!

Posted on February 1, 2007

Excellent news coming down the wire today.

Dark Harvest, the book some of you might remember as my number one book of 2006, has been picked up by TOR books to be published in paperback.  This September, just in time for Halloween, Dark Harvest will be available as a trade, with a mass market version coming a year later.  Now none of you has an excuse to not read this incredible book!

Randy Lander is correct

Posted on January 25, 2007

Chip Zdarsky is a mad genius.

One Last Song up for pre-order

Posted on January 25, 2007

Good buddy Shawn Richter (Drive, A Trip to Rundberg) has a new books with CJ Hurtt available for pre-order from comic shops every where. From the book’s website…

In 2046, American media personalities must obtain an officially sanctioned “performance card” or face internment in “terror aversion camps”. Musician Amanda Casey is a rebel spreading the truth about her government’s corruption via seemingly innocent love songs. What she doesn’t know is that the government thinks her message is just the thing to keep the people under control. This is the story of a dreamer’s fight against a police state for a free society even as she herself becomes co-opted, another brand name to sell to the masses.

A four page preview of the book can be found here. The Diamond order code is FEB073275.  Just go to your local comic shop, give them this code, and tell them it’s for the book One Last Song, published by Brain Scan Comics.  Order a bunch.  Shawn’s one of the good guys.

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