Slow Writing Week, Pulp Fiction, Balls

It's been a crazy week, with very little writing and little to report.

But wait! Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods has been updated at Pulp Nocturne. Go there now and read it.

This week has been heavy with wacky videos here at the ol' DOJ. That's partly because I have been updating the blog so infrequently and wanted to offer new content.

Also, I believe the world could use more wackiness. Or, hot chicks talking about how much they hate balls:

Katherine Heigl Hates Balls from Katherine Heigl

25 Signs You Spend Too Much Time on the Internet

1. Whenever you find a penny or dollar bill, you hear that “Congratulations! You’ve won!” voice inside your head.

2. The prospect of any phone conversation provokes an unreasonable level of anxiety.

3. You just steal sh*t when you’re bored.

4. You know where your high school best friend’s former roommate’s gorgeous ex-girlfriend goes for the summers (Nantucket. Her cousin Becky is kind of terrible though, you can tell).

5. You find the concept of paying for pornography endearing.

6. You’ve had multiple conversations with friends speculating about the sexuality of someone you haven’t seen since you were six.

7. You’ve forgotten that watching TV on the TV used to be, like, a thing.

8. You have a legit panic attack when you can’t reconnect to your WiFi network.

9. You’ve seen all of “Felicity” despite never enjoying a single episode.

10. You hate Jeff Dunham way more than he even deserves.

11. Going to the movies counts as having a “break from technology”.

12. The phrase “follow me” does not even remotely invoke thoughts of physical movement.

13. You send emotionally complex, romantically tinged messages by “Like”-ing sh-- on Facebook.

14. You know far less about the Mayor of your city than you do about the Mayor of your local Panera Bread on FourSquare.

15. You think a beautiful sunset lighting up the New York skyline on a November evening just looks like a crappy desktop background.

16. You treat people who say they don’t have Facebook as if they have a horrible illness that you have to do your best to appear optimistic about.

17. You haven’t been on a date in months, but you do have a really messy, emotional “friends with benefits” situation going on in SecondLife.

18. The words “LiveJournal” or “Xanga” bring up far more nostalgia than any old home movie could.

19. Your reading responses for classes often just say: “TLDNR”.

20. You’ve gotten past the tenth page of comments on the YouTube video of that little British girl rapping with Nicki Minaj on Ellen.

21. You can name more celebrities with leaked nude photos than American presidents.

22. The last family argument you had was over Gchat.

23. You haven’t read a whole book in a year, but you have read the entire Wikipedia pages for “Sleep”, “Jon Voight”, and “Yo momma (maternal insult)” today.

24. Your day is completely made when you get a “what up my brother!!” tweet back from @mark_mcgrath from Sugar Ray.

25. You know what (insert 90s rapper/or one-hit wonder/Da Brat) is up to these days.

Santa needs A Light Saber

Charlie Brown/G.O.P. Debate Mashup

William Shatner's Steps to Unfriending Recovery

Happy Thanksgiving

I hope this day goes exactly as you want it to, whether that means spending it with family and friends, as I will, or flying solo.

As I've said elsewhere, I have so much to be thankful for this year--more than any other Thanksgiving--and I will be taking time to reflect on the blessings in my life.

I expect those blessings to include dressing, mashed potatoes and pie.

Have a good one.

Cramming for Stuffing

One more brief day of work, then I’m on vacation. It’s the first real vacation in what has been a very long year.

Here’s my vacation plan:

1) Don’t get up at Oh God o’clock every morning.

2) Help Norma with whatever needs to be done to prepare for Thanksgiving (including–but not limited to–being the official taster. Oh, what a burden I bear). This year I have more to be thankful for than at any time in my life and I want to take the time to properly appreciate that.

3) Write. I have to finish two non-fiction pieces, one overdue short story, a final edit on Dead Earth: Sanctuary and continue with the second Dead Sheriff book.

I thought about adding “eat leftovers” but I think that is assumed.

I hope you have a good week.

500 Miles, Changes and Farts

Here's a nifty little video that was created for the end of producer Russell T Davies' and star David Tennant's run on Doctor Who. And who doesn't like singing, dancing aliens ?



Nice, eh? I think the world needs more of Billie Piper dancing. But that's just me.

***

I have a theory. I think we’re changing all the time, you and I. Even when you think you aren't. Even that hard-headed redneck miscreant who doesn't seemed to have evolved past the Neanderthal stage. He’s changing, too.

Some of the changes are big, and you can feel them happening, like when that guy who comes over and drinks all your beer while you watch football wraps his truck around a tree when he’s loaded, leaving you reeling like the elevator door opened and you almost stepped through into that empty, black abyss. That’s the moment you quit drinking.

Some of the changes are smaller and almost glacier-slow, like the way your political views morph as you spend time with friends and/or a spouse, or the way you start out hating musicals, but you put up with them because they’re important to the woman you’re in love with and, quite unexpectedly, one day you find yourself humming “Seasons of Love” or “Tonight”.

So what’s this all about?

As most of my friends know, 2011 has been a hell of a year. It was so hard on my wife. And, it turns out, it really kicked my ass, too. The experience–the ongoing experience–has changed me both profoundly and in subtle ways.

It’s like I can feel my brain being rewired. Things that once seemed so important to me are now little more than dusty curiosities, while others things, things that were always vital, are now so significant to me that I have trouble find the words to express their importance.

I’m Mark 2.0, with 2.1, etc, not far behind.

But just so you don’t think I’ve changed too much, here’s a video of Peter Griffin farting.

Ends and Odds

Here’s what’s been going (or hasn’t been going) on:

Writing

Dead Earth: Sanctuary is being revised. Dave Wilbanks and I want this manuscript to sing before we turn it in to the publisher. When I sent it to him, it probably sounded closer to William Shatner than Tony Bennett. I’m sure when it returns to me the pitch will be closer to perfect.

I have begun the second Dead Sheriff book for Evileye Books. It’s a bit difficult to talk about it, since the first book isn’t out yet (and I don’t know the release date), but I can share the opening of #2:

The Indian youth screamed when Arlo Belcher bit into his shoulder and ripped away a mouthful of flesh and muscle and blood.

“Damn it, Arlo, I ain’t even got the fire built yet,” his brother said.

“Cain’t help it, Billy,” Arlo said, around a mouthful of meat. “I was hungry and this here Injun tastes good.”

I have a couple of short stories in various stages of completion, and another novel I will be writing as soon as The Dead Sheriff #2 is finished. As always, my writing schedule and productivity waxes and wanes with the demands of my full-time job and personal life.

Reading

For my birthday, Norma got me a number of books by Jack Kirby and others featuring the work of Kirby and his partner of many years Joe Simon. I’m working my way through these slowly, a story or two at a time, so I may savor the experience for as long as possible.

I’m also reading Killing the Blues by Michael Brandman. Or, more precisely, Robert B. Parker’s Killing the Blues: A Jesse Stone novel by Michael Brandman. This is a continuation of the popular series from the late Parker. Brandman is a writer/producer on the CBS Jesse Stone movies. His style is not very close to Parker’s, and the novel reads in places like a first draft, but I’ll stick with it and see where it goes. Parker’s Spenser series is also being continued by mystery writer Ace Atkins.

Next up in the queue: The Affair by Lee Child and Feast Day of Fools by James Lee Burke.

Pod of Horror

I hope to have another episode up this month. Other than that, I don’t have much to report.

Rainy Days and Mondays, Blah, Blah, Blah

It’s a strange day, even for Monday. I feel melancholy. Maybe it’s the weather–overcast with drizzle.

Also, I seem to be trying to come down with a cold or a bug. They may also be weather-related, but I rather suspect it has something to do with living a stress-filled life for months, with little or no down time.

I seem to once again be buried under commitments, despite an effort about a year ago to try to prevent this very thing from happening again.

In the cold, harsh light of day (well, a day other than this grey one) I realize that some of the things I have agreed to do are things that I no longer have much enthusiasm for. Another pruning is in order, a scaling back. I have a birthday in a few days and recent events have made me outrageously aware of how fleeting time really is. I spend enough of it engaged in activities that bring me no joy and may be wearing my soul down a silly millimeter at a time.

That has to change. I’ll spend the rest of the year finishing up those things I have promised, then I will make some hard decisions about the sort of projects I want to take on.

(By the way, my wife is doing great. Her health is excellent and her amazing spirit and resilience inspires me every day. Her pumpkin pie ain’t too bad, either.)

Meanwhile, here’s something that makes me happy.


That’s Callie, standing on my bedside table next to a copy of The Losers by Jack Kirby.

I’m going to wrap this up, brush my cats and read for a while. Now that’s a wise use of my time.

9/11 Again

In 2001 I was doing a morning radio show in Kentucky. In 2011 I still am, though I work in a different city. I was on the radio when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. Like everyone else, at first I thought it was simply a bizarre accident. And, like everyone else, the second plane changed things. Shortly after that, the radio station went to total news coverage and I had a lunch to cancel.

A few day’s earlier, the manager of another radio station (or, rather, his representative) set up the lunch to discuss my interest in simulcasting my radio show on his station.

If you were around then, you remember the confusion, the fear, that we all experienced. Would there be another attack? Were more enemy-controlled jets in the air? Were major cities going to be torched by nukes? Were enemy armies now waiting to invade our country? I heard all of those suggestions, and some more bizarre, in the hours following the morning attacks.

Talking about a silly morning radio show didn’t seem very important that day. I called the other station, and to my surprise, the man who’d approached me still wanted to have lunch. “There’s nothing else we can do,” I was told.

So I went to lunch and had one of the most surreal experiences of my life.

The restaurant was normally a busy place, where one had to wait a few minutes for a table, even at lunch.

There was no wait. There were no other diners, save for the other radio guy, his employee (a friend of mine who had served as the intermediary) and me.

We took a table by the window, which gave us a view of the busiest street in town, a street that should have been bumper-to-bumper at lunchtime on a weekday.

During the hour or so I was there, I saw maybe 10 cars. Every one traveled well below the speed limit, like members of a funeral procession that was spread out across a continent.

The change in the world was disorienting. I had trouble concentrating on what the other radio guy was saying. As soon as I could, I left for home.

My strongest memory of that afternoon and evening was the sadness my wife and I felt. We flipped through the television news channels, trying to find answers, but at that point, most of what was being discussed was pure speculation.

The most chilling thing was the number of channels that went off the air. As we went from channel to channel, many of the non-news cable channels were not broadcasting any programming. In most cases, a title card and the picture of the flag was the only thing on the screen.

Ten years later, some things–like airport security–seemed to have changed in a fairly permanent way, while others–politics, for example–seem to be back to “bidness as usual”, as we say back home.

Nothing ever came of that lunch, except for the memory of that strange day. I was listening to meaningless babble while most everyone else was gathered around a TV in the office, or huddled at home with loved ones, crying or angry or scared. Or, most likely, all three.

New Column

My latest Horror World column is up and ready for your eyeballs. You can read it here.

Time Is Running Out...

...to get in the drawing for a signed copy of my collection Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye. The winner will be drawn on September 1. You can still sign up here.

Waiting on Fall

The other morning as I was crossing the street between the lot where I park and the building I work in, I caught a hint of Autumn on the early morning breeze.

That’s a good thing. It’s been a dark, difficult summer. I’m hoping Fall, a time of the year that has always been good for me, is going to bring better things on all fronts. Good tidings, if you will.

Don’t worry, kids. This isn’t one of those whiney blog posts (okay, it stuck a toe across the Whiney county line, but that's all). It's actually a writing update.

Actual work is getting done, though circumstances have made me less productive than I hoped to be.

Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye is generating good feedback. The publisher has promised that an e-book version is on the horizon. By the way, you can still sign up for a free, signed copy of the book. The winner will be announced on September 1,

Dead Earth: Sanctuary is almost done. We’re running slightly behind schedule (all my fault, believe me) but I suspect The End will be typed by Dave or me sometime this week. Then we start the revisions. We hope to turn in the final manuscript by the end of September.

With any free time (ha!) I might have in September, I will finish up one project and write a story that’s long overdue. On October 1, I will begin writing the second Dead Sheriff book.

By the way, since I mentioned it here last, a couple of new chapters of Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods have been posted at Pulp Nocturne.

I’m also prepping episode 66 of Pod of Horror. The current plan calls for it to go live in mid-September.

I’ll be back with another update soon. As Garrison Keillor says, be well, do good work and keep in touch.

And let Autumn get here soon. I need it.

Pod of Horror # 65

Pod of Horror is back with nearly two hours of fear-filled fun. On PoH #65, Don D’Auria discusses his move from Leisure to Samhain Publishing. Bestselling thriller writer James Rollins returns to talk about The Devil Colony. Writer and actor Kealan Patrick Burke gets Slimed. And Matthew Warner reveals the inspiration for Blood Born. Jason L. Keene gives the Moonshine Matinee treatment to more fright flicks. Nanci Kalanta has the news (and drops the F-Bomb–and we don’t mean “Fudge”). Tim Curran, James Newman and James A. Moore get reviewed in Scary Words. And we finally have a winner in The Tomb of Trivia. Get it at iTunes or download it here. Pod of Horror is hosted and produced by Mark Justice.

Zombie vs Baby

Click to embiggen.

Heh heh.

Nice Review

Over at the Vintage Horror site, Matt Cowan has reviewed my collection, Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye.

Check it out.

A Review of Doc Savage: Python Isle

As a fan of pulp magazines, Doc Savage and radio drama, I was the perfect audience for Radio Archives' new series of pulp audiobooks. So when they sent me a copy of Doc Savage: Python Isle, I was prepared to be entertained.

Python Isle was the first Doc Savage novel written by Will Murray, based upon an outline by original Doc scribe Lester Dent (this is all covered in a nice featurette accompanying the audiobook, sort of like the extras on a DVD). As a Doc Savage story, Python Isle is nearly perfect. It contains all the ingredients of the best Doc Savage novels: high adventure, a lost civilization and humorous interplay among Doc’s aides. Radio Archives has produced an unabridged version of the novel that encompasses 8 CDs (well, seven and a half).

The narration is key to any audiobook, and Michael McConnohie does a fine job. He makes each character distinct and individual, and he carries the narrative without sounding too announcer-y, if you’ll excuse the made-up word.

Roger Ritner produced and directed Python Isle. He was involved with the Doc Savage radio series on NPS in the 1980s.

My complaints about the package are minor. Sometimes McConnohie pronounces Python as PY-thun, which was a little distracting.

And the musical cues took a while to grow on me. At first, they struck me as generic cuts from a production library. If they were, then the cuts were more carefully chosen for the second half of the book.

All in all, listening to Python Isle was a very satisfying experience. Radio Archives has already released a second Doc audiobook, as well as that NPR series. And audibooks of other pulp characters are on the way, including The Spider. It’s a great time to be a pulp fan.

Check out the offerings of Radio Archives at their site.

The Dead Sheriff Is Covered

Evileye Books has unveiled the cover for the first book in my Dead Sheriff series. Here, take a look:



Pretty nice, eh? I know I’m happy with it. You can read an essay on the creation of the cover here.

It will be a few months until the book is released, and that’s okay. Evileye has a marketing plan in mind and I trust them in this department.

Meanwhile, in a few weeks I will begin writing the second book in the series. We’ve made a long-term commitment to the Undead Avenger of the West, so you can expect a lot of The Dead Sheriff in the years to come.

You can follow all the news on the project right here or at Evileye Books.

Hey, Kids! Free Fiction

Here's a free story from my collection Looking at the World with Broken Glass in My Eye.

Life's Work

They’re retiring me tonight after 67 years of faithful and uncomplaining service.

Too cruel, they say. Inhumane. There are more pleasant, socially acceptable ways to get the job done. As if a deviant who abducts a child from her home, then tortures and rapes her before ending her life deserves society’s pity or compassion.

I don’t pity. My justice is final and absolute, dispensed like lightning.

I give comfort to the families of the victims. I deliver a message of vengeance, one that tells all who witness it that the punishment does fit the crime.

Or it used to. Now I’m obsolete, politically incorrect, a reminder of simpler times, when choices were more obvious and right was right. But no more. I’ve heard them say I’m the last of my kind in the state. The protesters already gather outside the walls of my chamber, paying for a reprieve that will save a monster from my embrace.

I can pray too, and if there is a god for my kind, my prayer is that I be given this last chance. I need it. I am so close now.

I first achieved sentience in the late 40s, though I suppose I was always aware in a dim and cloudy sort of way. But it was the death of Arnold Reeder that lifted me out of the quagmire of mindlessness.

Reeder had murdered an entire family – father, mother and six children – then had sex with their corpses. All of their corpses.

When he was strapped into me and fed the first jolt of 2400 volts, I stirred. When the second and final jolt was delivered through my electrodes to his head and both ankles, I awoke.

With each death I dispensed, my knowledge and my perceptions grew. Was I receiving consciousness from those I executed? Did their essence, their souls impart strength to me?

I’ve had years to ponder the question and I still have no answer. I’m not a philosopher or theologian or scientist. I am oak, copper wire and leather restraints; efficient at my job.

And tonight I will be decommissioned.

They bring the condemned to me at ten minutes before midnight. His head has been shaved and he stares vacantly at me. While he is strapped against my polished flesh, I can reflect on my last task.

With each electric death delivered, I grew in strength and cunning. I could listen and understand the people around me and, after a time, I learned to extend my senses beyond these walls.

Even as the tide of public opinion turned against my kind, I found the need for my decisive retribution was greater than ever.

The idea came to me three years ago. I was still too weak to accomplish my goal, as I was used with less frequency. If I wanted this to work, I had to be stronger.

Three executions since then had brought me nearly to the zenith of my power. If the Gods of Justice favored me, tonight would be enough.

His name is Danny Black. He was a murderer many times over, though he had only been caught once, when an attempt to rob a market ended in the death of two people. One of them was a pregnant woman. Danny doesn’t regret what he’s done. I can feel his emotions seeping into the whorls of my grain. He’s happy that no one knows about the other deaths he’s caused. He holds those memories close to him like precious gifts and here, in his final moments, he cherishes their sweet bouquet.

When the switch is pushed, the living fire leaps from my electrodes into his body and Danny Black convulses madly.

After one minute the power is turned off. Ten seconds pass, and a second jolt is delivered. It’s unnecessary. After the first dose, I felt his life flee from his body, passing through me and hopefully leaving behind just enough to do what needs to be done.

The doctor doesn’t approach until my failsafe switch is thrown, the Energized light goes off, and my two power switches are turned off by key.

The doctor places a stethoscope to the chest of Danny Black and listens to nothing.

Randall Kirtner has been a physician for thirty-two years. He’s gone through three wives, a fortune and half the booze in the state. He’s marking time. He’s a ship without a rudder. He no longer has a purpose.

As he leans forward, he places his left hand on my arm.

All my planning, all my prayers have come to this.

I jump.

The doctor stumbles back, nearly falling. He gasps in surprise. He only fights me for a moment and then I shove him down deep into a place where he can do no harm.

I look around the room and take my first tentative steps.

I turn back to Danny Black, and, for the first time, I see me. I am solid, strong. For 67 years I cleansed the world of its worst elements.

Now they can carry me to the basement. I’ve outgrown that body.

I allow the doctor to rise up long enough to sign the death certificate and to shake hands with the warden.

I am escorted out four gates until, finally, I step into the world.

Nothing I’ve heard can prepare me for the beauty of this earth. I am momentarily overcome as tears roll down my face.

This only reinforces my dedication. This is too precious a place to allow the Danny Blacks and the Arnold Reeders to infect it.

My old body may have been retired, but my mission continues. The old doctor lacked a reason to live and I have given it to him.

I walk to his car and briefly set him free so he may teach me how to drive.

Then we must be going.

There is much work to be done.

-End-

If you enjoyed the story, you can order the book here or here.