Thanksgiving Wrap-Up and Fake Deadlines

Posted on November 27, 2007

Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I’m giving thanks for not reclaiming the sixteen pounds I’ve lost in the last month or so.  I’d give more thanks, but I’m already out of leftovers, and that bums me out something fierce.  Seriously, if anybody I had dinner with has some of that sausage stuffing left, I will pay you for it.

And Now… Fake Deadlines!

Let’s face facts… I don’t have some multi-book deal with a major New York publishing house.  I don’t even have a one book deal with Schlub Publications.  I’m writing on spec (as in speculation, as in “You might never get paid for all this hard work!  Ha!”).  That’s no reason to get lazy, though.  Writers write.  Otherwise, they’re just those assholes who sit around and talk about their great idea they’d love to write but they just haven’t found the time but seriously it’s the best story ever and if I ever find the time to write it I’ll make A KAJILLION DOLLARS!

So the answer for me is to write everyday.  Sometimes, however, I work myself into such a manic state over my writing that I inflict fake deadlines on myself.

For instance, I’m finishing up a project right now.  2000 words a day (about ten pages or so) should let me finish it by Friday.  Even if it doesn’t, though, I have to finish the book (which I’m writing on spec, you see) Friday night.  That’s the fake deadline I set for myself.  See, I promised somebody I would get back to them on something “within two weeks.”  I need the nine days that fake deadline will leave me.  Sure, I could leave the book for a week and come back to it, but why do that when I could convince myself to just plow on through?

Once I finish that certain something for that certain somebody, I need to knock out some short stories.  Ten days on those, tops.  Another fake deadline.

Why?

So I can plot and write the first draft of a Young Adult horror novel by the end of January (yet another fake deadline).  This gives me the two months before World Horror to polish the novel I’m finishing this week (final fake deadline).

But what does all this internal pressure give me besides intestinal problems?  Well, it give me a sense of purpose.  It might also lead to this conversation come Friday night…

Shawna (Who is kind and understanding and would never really do this): Are you still writing?

Me: Yeah.  Gotta meet deadline.

Shawna: For what?

Me: For me.  It’s a deadline I set for myself.

Shawna: That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.  Get your ass out here and spend time with me!  You shouldn’t be avoiding me on a Friday night.  We never do anything anymore!

Me: We went out last Friday!  We saw The Mist, remember?

Shawna: I told you I was going, and you asked to tag along!

Me: But I paid!

Shawna: Damn right, you did!  So, are you coming out or not?

Me: One hour?

Shawna: Go eat a dick.

And that, my friends, is the world of fake deadlines.

Gosh, it’s hot! Three days at the Austin City Limits Music Festival

Posted on September 26, 2007

Ten days on, I still have the last remnants of a heat rash–what was once thirty-nine terrible zits–on my forehead.  I’ve given myself time to digest the events of my weekend at ACL Fest, and I am ready to tell you, the reading public, if sending $130 on passes is worth it.

In a word: maybe.

“Everybody festivals differently,” a wise person told me the day after ACL.  And while I had no idea you could use “festival” as a verb, it makes sense.  I think the festivals worth is up to you and how you approach the weekend.  My friend Clinton, who was probably the first to arrive and the last to leave each day and ran from one stage to another like a chicken with its head cut off probably got the most bang for his buck out of all of us.  A lot of folks, however, seemed content to set up a chair in front of one stage and sit there for three days, missing out on roughly 97% of the bands playing.  I’d say that’s not getting your dollar’s worth.  Hell, one guy who set up camp in front of us on Friday stayed for three bands and then left!

But hey, it’s not like I bought his ticket.  Who am I to judge?  I even collapsed in a camping chair now and then, when I wasn’t too busy bitching about how un-cool they were.  Newsflash: like most humans, I can be hypocritical now and then.

So I’ll probably go back next year.  I might even buy those stupid passes that go on sale before the line up is announced.  And if the line up isn’t so hot, well that’s why they invented ebay.

I figured I would leave you with my five favorite sets from the festival.  I was pleasantly surprised to find these in an order other than what I’d expected.

ACL 2007 Best Sets

1. Yo La Tengo
2. Butch Walker and the Let’s Go Out Tonights
3. The Arcade Fire
4. Pete Yorn
5. Ben Kweller

 

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.

Appearing this weekend

Posted on July 16, 2007

I’ll be attending the Northeast Writers’ Conference (or Necon) this weekend.  Should be a blast.  I’ve been looking forward to making this con for a solid year, and the time is now upon us.

And what’s this?  I’m appearing on a panel on Friday,

4:00 p.m.   THE SOUND THE KNIFE MAKES AS IT ENTERS THE THROAT — Extreme horror are us, at least sometimes.  Sephera Giron (moderator), Brian Keene, Gerard Houarner, Wrath James White, James A. Moore, Nate Southard.

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. 

Working Through the Weekend

Posted on March 19, 2007

Spent the entire weekend working on the new book, scratching and tearing to have the first draft fone before World Horror on the 28th.  I’m exhausted, and I just want to hook a coffee IV up to my arm.  I got a ton of work done, though, and with seven days left to work on Malice, things don’t look so impossible.

Did take a couple hours off on Friday night to go see Behind the Mask with Shawna.  Very fun movie!  Everybody should go see it right away.

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.

How to destroy something perfect in only 1.5 hours

Posted on February 15, 2007

Author’s Note: Shawna normally hates it when I mention her here, but I have a feeling she’ll appreciate this one.  In fact, I have a feeling I’ll have to sleep on the couch for the next month if I don’t tell this story.

I’m a lucky guy.  I know this.  I have the perfect girlfriend in Shawna.  She hates the idea of Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, marriage, and she enjoys a lap dance from semi-nude women every now and then.  Every year, I look forward to treating Valentine’s Day like any other day.  Last night should have involved crashing and watching some TV after a few hours of writing.

But I screwed that up.

Well, maybe it wasn’t just me.  After all, the older sister of one of my best friends (yes, YOU) sent me a myspace message a few weeks ago asking what I was doing for Shawna on Valentine’s Day, with the addendum that “‘Nothing’ is not an acceptable answer.”  Everybody loves Valentine’s Day, and I should at least put forth an effort and blah, blah, blah.  Okay, she probably didn’t go on that long, but I’m trying to defend myself here!

So yesterday morning I really start to doubt myself.  I should make an effort, right?  Sure, I’m the perfect boyfriend who sleeps in the spare bedroom everytime I get a cough, but maybe that’s not enough.  So, I ask Shawna if she wants to go out for Italian food.  She loves the idea, since we haven’t gone out for Italian in quite a while.  We decide to go to the little place around the corner.  Can’t be too crowded, right?  We’ve only known one other person who’s ever eaten there.

See?  That’s a dumb idea!

So we show up and the place is packed like a cat house on dollar handjob night.  After a few moments, I manage to squeeze my way up to the hostess and request a table for two.

“45 minutes.”

I turn to Shawna, she says, “Sure.”

“Okay.  Put us on the list.”

I sit next to Shawna in the last pair of seats in the waiting area, right next to the door.  Everytime somebody enters, we get a blast of arctic air.  When special folks like Old Man with Walker and Excitable Nine-Year-Old Who Outran Her Parents show up, we get a prolonged wind that damn-near freezes us solid.  Eventually, we move into the bar area, where we order hot tea before standing underneath the television that’s blaring Fox News.

Around this time I look at my receipt for the tea and realize we’ve already been waiting our 45 minutes.  I head to the front to check on the list, but it’s too crowded to reach the hostess.  I report back to Shawna (who’s sharpening a knife for some reason), then try to check again.  There’s one party of two left to go before it’s our turn.  I report back to Shawna, and she puts the knife away for the time being.

She’s eyeing the knife again when we finally leave 45 minutes later, our name still uncalled.  We go to the grocery store, and I pay for Shawna’s Hot Pockets, which she will eat instead of fine Italian Food for her Valentine’s Day.  I apologize for the fortieth time and wonder if the frozen pizza I’m buying myself will kill me if I try to eat it in one bite.

So remember, guys.  If you have the perfect girlfriend, don’t fuck it up.  Take her to a strip club for a lapdance or cook her a nice dinner at home.  Leave Valentine’s Day to the deluded and silly.  They started it anyway.

Sorry, Shawna!  Italian tonight?

Post-Signing

Posted on January 5, 2007

Well, my third signing was by far the best.  The two hour sprint at Austin Books and Comics was a blast, with more than a hadnful of folks showing up to say hello and buy books.  Austin Books still has signed copies of all of my books, so you know where to go if you’re looking for one all local-like.  Thanks to Brad and the Austin Books staff, and thanks to everybody who came out.  It was a great thing to be a part of.

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