Out this Wednesday: Cable #2

If you liked Cable #1, the second installment of the first story arc ("War Baby") is out this Wednesday at finer comic shops everywhere. And if you haven't gotten your Cable on, here's what you'll be missing in issue #2: robot tentacle asphyxiation (shown at left). Mutant cauterization. Jersey diner stand-offs. Salty Scottish barge captains. Who can say no to salty Scottish barge captains? Anyway, you can check out more preview pages at Marvel Noise.com.

The Statue of Libty

Chalk art by Parker Swierczynski, Prospect Park, Brooklyn.

The Old Nabe

The corner of Bond and Wyckoff in Boreum Hill, Brooklyn, Saturday, March 29, 1:30 p.m.

A Boy and His Skyscraper

Happy Birthday to my sweet boy Parker, who turns 6 today. We spent yesterday in New York City, which began with a trip to the Skyscraper Museum in Battery Park. Above, Parker checks out a model of his current obsession: the still-under-construction Burj Dubai, which, when completed, will be the tallest building on the planet. (For at least 10, 15 minutes.) But all of the stories in the world couldn't contain the love his parents have for him.

(Note to Parker: No, we will not be sending you to the United Arab Emirates for your seventh birthday.)

Who Is This Masked Man?

Who gave him a sword? Why is he attacking that innocent movie camera? Whose living room is that? Don't they mind a masked man is swinging a sword all the hell around? And what's the deal with that leather jacket? Did someone give it to him for his birthday, so he feels obliged to wear it, even when waving a sword around? Does he want to kill, or just maim? Is a leather jacket the right fashion choice for swordplay? I mean, isn't it hard to wash gore off black leather? Find out the answers to some (maybe none) of those questions right here.

If There's Any Doubt She's Mine

My daughter Sarah just walked into my office, told me that I'm a supervillain, announced that she was here to stop me, namely by cutting my head off. Then she asked: "Want to know what my super power is?"

I said, sure.

"I shoot eyeballs. Not candy eyeballs. Real eyeballs, that pop out of my head. Then I grow new ones."

I was stunned. Not because my daughter is thinking about decapitation on Holy Saturday, but because shooting eyeballs is a seriously cool idea. Wish I'd thought of it.

Pounding the Pavement

I heard this song last Sunday afternoon while browsing for books in a second hand shop on High Street in Edinburgh, and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind since. "Chasing Pavements" is a big hit in the UK, but unreleased here. I was happy to find the video on YouTube, even if it does feature the creepiest dance number I've ever seen.

The Return

The trip back to Philly today was uneventful, except for the part in the plane where the guy in the seat behind me stopped breathing. (He was fine, after a nice long hit from the oxygen tank.) And last night I almost got my Polish ass kicked by two lads who didn't like the fact that I took a photo as they went zooming down the street on motorbikes. ("Ya fuckin' faggot fanny," one of them yelled at me, after circling back.) I already miss hanging out with Sunshine (above, on Leith Walk) and Mrs. Sunshine, but it's also good to be home, where people hurl proper insults, like "fuck you, you fucking fuck."

Fun With Sco'ish

Jakey

Buckfast

Schemie

Pram-face

Neds

Cuntybaws

A Wee Stroll

(With annotation by Allan "Sunshine" Guthrie.)

Yeah, it's a case of me being too busy enjoying Scotland to actually blog about how much I'm enjoying Scotland. The past three days have been fun, but also very busy. I don't think I've walked so much in my life.* Take Thursday for example. Sunshine suggests we head up to Edinburgh Castle and stroll down High Street though Old Town. Cool. We turn a corner near Grassmarket, and he shows me the stairs leading up to the castle. I take a look. Not bad, I think. (I did take a photo of stairs, but forgot my USB cable for the camera. Sorry.) I climb the stairs, only to discover another set of stairs. And beyond that, another. And quite possibly another, only I lost track, because I was feeling very light-headed. I have vague memories of school children** laughing and running past me, and at some point, a tap on my shoulder, urging me to fish the camera out of my jacket pocket so I can snap a photo of the castle, only I'm not seeing any fucking castle, I'm seeing, like, dots and lines and God and shit.*** There were a lot of stairs.

Then late Friday morning, Sunshine suggests that, instead of taking a bus across town to our lunch appointment, we take a relaxing stroll from Stockbridge to Leith Walk. Now, I have no idea how far it is from Dean Village to Leith Walk. Sure, I say, sounds good. We start walking. And continue walking. And walk further still. Sunshine tells me he's taking me the long way, so we can avoid uphill climbs. We keep walking. Finally, after what seems like days of walking, we arrive at Leith Walk. Later, I check the map. Dean Village to Leith Walk? Pretty long walk.****

But then again, Edinburgh is a really great city for walking, so I'm not complaining. In fact, today I set off alone and took a three-hour walk***** through Old Town, Princes Street, Rose Street, and then Leith Walk again. There was a half-marathon in Princes Street Gardens today; if I wasn't such an oversized bastard, I'd be tempted to join in. ******

* Really?
** That was actually a group of day-tripping pensioners from Dundee, the youngest of whom was 71.
*** That was probably the Buckfast. I told you to go easy on it till you got used to it.
**** That's nothing. A bracing stroll, just enough to get limbered up.
***** Three hours? Were you walking backwards or on your hand or something?
****** Baby steps, dude. Baby steps.

Never Open With the Weather

That's one of Elmore Leonard's famous 10 Rules of Writing, but I can't avoid it when talking about Scotland. The weather is just nuts. There's a cliche about this place that goes something like, "If you don't like the weather, just wait 5 minutes." This was especially true yesterday, where it went from overcast to bright sun to lashing rain to blue skies to dark clouds... all within a matter of hours. Al tells me this isn't usual, even for Scotland, but I don't know. He tells me a lot of things.

Anyway, I got up at 7 or so this morning (3 a.m. Philly time) fully refreshed, so I guess that jet lag thing was true. Now that I'm showered and smell like Imperial Leather (I'm guessing this is the Scottish version of Ivory?), we're headed out shortly to see more of Edinburgh, and meet up with a certain Pulp Pusher. More reports later.

Live from Edinburgh

I've more or less been awake since yesterday morning (save a 45-minute recharge nap earlier today). See, the way Sunshine explained it, if I'm able to stay awake 9 or 10 tonight (more or less right now), I'd have jet lag beat. We'll see. Today was great, even if it felt like it was 36 hours long.

Anyway, expect kind of normal posts tomorrow after I fall into a pleasant seven hour coma.

Live from Newark

I'm here in the waiting area of Terminal C of Newark Liberty Airport. My plane is not for quite a few hours (yeah, I'm one of those check-in early types) so I'm going to wander the terminal a bit. Maybe I'll a beer. However, if a beautiful blonde sits next to me, I'm outta there. Just sayin'.

Another update later, if something interesting happens. If not, I'll be reporting live from Scotland. Dead tired, and probably acting like a zombie, but reporting nonetheless.

Update (4:07 p.m.): No, nothing happening. Just wanted to note that I'm sitting in a Brooklyn Brewery airport bar, having a lager, looking out over the tarmac and, in the distance, Manhattan. No blondes in the vicinity. (Mostly dudes, actually.) CNN on the TV directly above my head. The only place I ever really watch/listen to CNN is in airports.

Update (5:36 p.m.): Just finished some beer and nachos (granted, not the ideal meal choice before an international flight, but you know me, walk on the wild side and all of that). I IM'd a bit with mentee Dave White. Checked some news online. Wrote a bit. Watched a 747 taxi into a gate about 50 yards away from where I'm sitting. Now I'm dissolving an "Airborne" tablet into a glass of water. It's some homeopathic concoction that's supposed to boost your immune system before hopping on a plane full of canned air. Of course, those two Brooklyn lagers I just drank may very well negate this stuff. But like I said: Swierczy walks on the wild side.

Update (6:41 p.m.): This update is for Dave White, because he asked. I'm boarding soon. Back at you tomorrow morning.

Radiation Warning

If you're in a silly mood, you might enjoy this silly Q&A with me over at Atomic Comics. Interviewer Jake Bell and I talk about Cable, boozing, and the Allman Brothers. Oh, and Cher, too.

And speaking of Cable, I'm still happily stunned about this.

Back with you later today, reporting live from Newark Liberty Airport.

Aye... It's Back

That's right: Allan Guthrie Week returns, my friends. Only this time, instead of Sunshine's adventures in New York and Philadelphia, I'm taking the show to him. Tomorrow night I'll be flying to Edinburgh (not shown above; that's fictional Muir Island from X-Men, but it's totally how I imagine Scotland) and spending the next week with Mr. Guthrie, filing reports all of the way.

Will it match the madness of last year's Allan Guthrie Week? I have no idea, but consider this: Sunshine will be in his natural habitat this time, writing, doing readings (in Glasgow this Saturday!) and whatever the hell else he does. We're only a few weeks away from the release of his next gritty noir, Savage Night, so I'm sure things will be lively.

If you have any questions or request for Mr. Guthrie, leave them in the comments section below. I'll force him to respond, even if it's just a grunt and/or the word "cuntybaws."

Take care of the U.S.A. while I'm gone.

Available Now: Cable #1

Just a quick reminder that the first issue of my X-Men comic, Cable, is out today. You can check out a sneak preview here, and over here. Even if you don't know much about the X-Men, I think you could catch on here with little to no trouble. This first issue is full of knifeplay, flying grenades, flesh wounds, parenting advice, Dirty Jersey diners, global disasters, beer for breakfast—you know, all of that good stuff. And all for just 299 cents!

Blonde Baby Blonde

Remember that news that I couldn't spill, but kept hinting about, in an ever-so annoying fashion? Ever since, like, freakin' November? Well, I can finally talk about it. Here's the official announcement:

Film rights to Duane Swierczynski's THE BLONDE, about a soon-to-be-divorced young father who is poisoned by a beautiful woman at an airport bar, and told if he wants to live, he must stay by her side for the next 12 hours, optioned by "Mission Impossible: III" and "Gone Baby Gone" co-star Michelle Monaghan, with screenwriter Paul Leyden attached, by Angela Cheng Caplan on behalf of DHS Literary Inc.

Over the moon? Oh yeah. I've been a worshipper at the altar of Michelle Monaghan since Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and the idea of her playing "The Blonde" gives me severe fanboy chills. I'm also excited as hell about Paul Leyden adapting the book; his screenwriting debut, The Factory, is in production right now with John Cusack in the lead. (Look at me with the name-dropping. Jesus.)

Now I know that many books are optioned, and few are chosen. No one knows what will happen next. Hell, it wouldn't be Hollywood if this wasn't the case. But I have a really good feeling about these guys, and at the very least, it'll be fun working with them. It already is.

Clipjoints, Nightmares and Geezenstacks

Check out Dick Adler's short essay on Fredric Brown, who is one of my all-time favorite writers—and a huge influence on me when I first started writing crime fiction. Adler singles out The Fabulous Clipjoint, but I have two more recommendations for you: His Name Was Death, which was reprinted by Black Lizard back in the late 1980s, and Nightmares and Geezenstacks, a collection of Brown's famous sf/horror short-short stories. Death uses a very interesting structure that I totally ripped off... I mean, that inspired the structure of Severance Package. And as for Geezenstacks? Oh man, you have no idea. You really don't. Just track down a copy. Meanwhile, Ed Gorman recommends Five Day Nightmare, which I own but haven't read yet. Seems like the perfect excuse to dig it out now.