The Playboy Interview... No, Really!

Well, no, it's not one of those famous 20K-word interviews you find in the magazine. But this is almost as cool: Jamie Malanowski grills me about Severance Package, Steve Carrell, comics, snow globes and blood-soaked glasses over at Playboy.com. (Sorry about the glasses, Jamie.) And while you're at it, check out this cool interview with Mark Millar, creator of Wanted.

Also, Don Crouch has a few choice questions for me over at New Mystery Reader, as well as a very nice Severance review.

And George Snell at the Dark Party Review gives the book an A minus.

Duane Swierczynski's Keikkakuski

It's not just a tongue-twister; it's the Finnish edition of my novel, The Wheelman, which will kick off a new hardboiled crime line edited by Juri Nummelin. (Next up is Al "Sunshine" Guthrie's Edgar nominee Kiss Her Goodbye.) I absolutely love this cover art by Ossi Hiekkala; check out the reflection in the bumper. And I don't know if Hiekkala's ever been to Philly, but man, this really could pass for a stretch of the Roosevelt Boulevard.

Poland is the 51st State

From today's New York Times piece on the techniques used to interrogate 9/11 suspects:

Within days, Mr. Mohammed was flown to Afghanistan and then on to Poland, where the most important of the C.I.A.’s black sites had been established.... Poland was picked because there were no local cultural and religious ties to Al Qaeda, making infiltration or attack by sympathizers unlikely, one C.I.A. officer said. Most important, Polish intelligence officials were eager to cooperate.

“Poland is the 51st state,” one former C.I.A. official recalls James L. Pavitt, then director of the agency’s clandestine service, declaring. “Americans have no idea.”

(One) Shots Ring Out

By sheer chance I have three oversized, one-shot (i.e. self-contained) comics out this September. Originally, the King-Sized Cable Spectacular was going to be two issues, until my editor Axel and I decided it was better to give readers the story in a single blast. (It's also not a bad place to jump on, if you haven't tried Cable yet.) Wolverine: Roar was the second comic script I ever wrote, and it's been hanging in the wings, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Immortal Iron Fist: Orson Randall and the Death Queen of California (cover art at left) is the newest of the lot, and follows in the fine Brubakerian and Fractonian tradition of offering up an untold tale of one of the previous Iron Fists. Fans of 1920s Hollywood, Black Mask and beautiful ladies—looking at you Bill Crider—will probably dig this one.

Cool Indie Bookstore Alert

We had a few hours to kill before flying out of L.A., so we spent some time in Venice. As the Bride will tell you, I have an almost sixth sense when it comes to sniffing out bookstores, and boy, did I find a gem right off Ocean Front Walk. It's called Small World Books, and it's kinda sorta tucked behind a restaurant, although the signs for the shop are very clear. (So, okay, maybe it wasn't my sixth sense as much as it was my ability to read very large signs.) Anyway, the shop has a kick-ass mystery/crime section, with a nice mix of indie and mainstream stuff, as well as a whole shelf full o' Bukowski. I picked up two books: a Barry Miles bio of Buk, and Stephen Cooper's Full of Life, a bio of John Fante. (Small bit of trivia: Fante spent some time writing in Venice, just a few blocks away on Westminster Ave.) Secret Dead Blog highly recommends. (1407 Ocean Front Walk, Venice, CA 90291, 301-399-2360.)

Palm Readings

I started Ask the Dust today, and already, in Chapter One, there's a passage I want to cut out and tape to my desk. It perfectly sums up how L.A. is both the perfect place for a writer and the worst possible place for a writer:

Arturo Bandini in front of his typewriter two full days in succession, determined to succeed; but it didn't work, the longest siege of hard and fast determination in his life, and not one line done, only two words written over and over across the page, up and down, the same words: palm tree, palm tree, palm tree, a battle to the death between the palm tree and me, and the palm tree won: see it out there swaying in the blue air, creaking sweetly in the blue air.

It's a wonder anyone gets any work done out here.

Live from Hollywood, Pt. 2

I'm still not used to the time change.

According to my laptop clock, it's 1:16 a.m. back in Philly. It feels like 1:16 a.m. But it's only 10:16 here in Hollywood; the Bride and Brood are asleep, and I'm sitting up doing some writing, thinking about today.

Which was a great day.

It started out at the Mystery Bookstore in Westwood, where I had a blast hanging out and signing copies of Severance Package. (And some comics and earlier novels, too.) And by hanging out, I really mean hanging out, a bunch of us sitting around a table, with me going on how about how I became a writer, my process, comics vs. novels, what I'm working on now. It was like a family dinner, only with siblings who really seemed to give a shit about what you were saying. Great, great fun. Thanks to Charlotte from Iowa, Adam the Keychain, Alex the Intern, Brett the Director, David the Brother-in-Law, Alan "The L.A. Connection" Cranis, and later, Christa Faust, Stephen Blackmoore and his lovely Inkgrrl. Among the strange topics bandied about: dental vs. genital surgery, Grauman's Chinese Theater, and a children's book about the Black Dahlia (The Lil' Dahlia: A Primer for Young Ladies). Hands off! Faust and I have dibs.

Then it was time to reward the Brood for their patience while I signed books and acted like a geek. First stop: the Petersen Automotive Museum (6060 Wilshire Boulevard, at Fairfax) which comes with the highest Secret Dead Blog Stamp of Approval (TM). Not that I'm a car junkie; I can't tell a friggin' Prius from a Lotus. But the exhibit backdrops are like jumping into a goddamned time tunnel. One step, you're in a 1930s auto insurance office; another step, you're in a 1950s suburban garage. Genius. Plus, there's at least one Steve McQueen car on display at all times. (Big thanks to Brett the Director for recommending this joint.)

The next stop was supposed to be the American Girl shop for my lovely daughter, who's hooked on American Girl like Hunter S. Thompson on Chivas Regal. But the American Girl people up and closed the motherfucker down at 2 p.m. today for a movie premiere... granted, about an American Girl character named Kitt Kitteredge, or Myra Breckinridge, or something like that... but come on! Two p.m.? With no warning ? What kind of heartless bastards enjoy stomping their hob-nailed boots into the tender hearts of young girls?

We escaped the madhouse that is the Grove, had dinner in Studio City, then did the Mulholland Drive thing, from Laurel Canyon to the 101 terminus. Beautiful and scary at the same time. We stopped at the overlook, which offers an amazing view of Universal and Burbank, but the whole time I was freaking out about one of my kids losing their minds and running off the edge of the stone observation platform... and the possibility of me, losing my mind and diving after them. That's how parenthood fucks you up. Back in the old days... the childless days... all I had to worry about was just me losing my mind and jumping from a platform or tall building. Now it's double the worry.

I also picked up a very nice pile of books today: Don Winslow's The Dawn Patrol and Brian and Bonnie Olso's Trailing Philip Marlowe at the Mystery Bookstore, then Charles Bukowski's Post Office and John Fante's Ask the Dust and The Road to Los Angeles at a Barnes and Noble in that insane Grove joint. (See, Ray? I do listen to you. It just takes me a while.)

And now it's 1:43 Philly time, 10:43 Hollywood time, and time to wrap this up.

Your Late Thursday Hit of Bukowski

"Writing was strange. I needed to write, it was like a disease, a drug, a heavy compulsion, yet I didn't like to think of myself as a writer. Maybe I had met too many writers. They took more time disparaging each other than they did doing their own work. They were fidgets, gossips, old maids; they bitched and knifed and they were full of vanity. Were these our creators? Was it always thus? Probably so. Maybe writing was a form of bitching. Some just bitched better than others."

Hollywood
by Charles Bukowski
(Black Sparrow Press, 1989)

Live from Hollywood, Pt. 1

I would have had a photo at the top of this post, but I can't remember where I packed the wire for the digital camera.

But imagine, if you will...

The soft hum of traffic near Hollywood Boulevard. The occasional irate honking of a horn. Downtown LA, off in the distance, bathed in smog. The Hollywood Sign within view. The Capitol Records building, too...

And my wife and children downstairs in the hotel pool while I wait for a rollaway bed and a mini-fridge.

So I sit here and drink yet another can of beer before it goes completely warm. And blog.

The flight here was smooth; the kids handled their first flight like stone-cold pros. (They even charmed a bunch of cookies and a free breakfast out of the flight attendants.) As usual, the Bride drove as I assumed my role as the Human GPS. We hit the 405, then Ventura Boulevard, then a Koo Koo Roo in Studio City for lunch. I had never heard of Koo Koo Roo until reading about it Kevin Smith's latest book, where it seems like every meal consumed by the Smith family comes from the Koo Koo Roo kitchens. (Can't blame 'em; the turkey sliders are good.) The Bride sought out Starbucks; I made an ego trip to the nearby Barnes and Noble, housed in a former movie theater, where I was happy to find nine copies of Severance Package, and none of them bearing a handwritten note from Lee Goldberg, telling unsuspecting shoppers that the book was total shit. (I kid Lee! He knows that.) I signed them, then bought a few books, including a new edition of one of my favorite movie books: Harlan Ellison's Watching.

And I swear to God, the first name I see when flipping through the pages: "Lee Goldberg." He interviewed Harlan for Starlog back in the 1980s, and Harlan wrote about it. (Tell me there isn't some sentient being out there, fucking with us. Tell me!)

Then we did some cruising around Hollywood, picked up some hotel room supplies at the Ralphs on Sunset (including some beer, which is getting warmer by the minute... where oh where is the guy with the mini-fridge....) and then we checked in to our hotel.

I am here blogging.

My family is a few floors down, basking in the Calfornia sunshine, splashing each other with crystal blue, hyper-chlorinated water, laughing and embracing life.

I am waiting for the mini-fridge guy.

Um, Oh Yeah...

Talk about burying the lead: I forgot to mention one of the main reasons I'm going to be in L.A. this weekend--namely, a noon signing at The Mystery Bookstore in Westwood (1036-C Broxton Avenue, 310-209-0415). Please do stop by if you're in the area.

Also: earlier today, Playboy's Jamie Malanowski posted some photos from my Mysterious Bookshop signing a few weeks ago. I have no idea what I'm pointing at in that first photo.

Come Here on Vacation, Go Home on Probation

The bags are nearly packed; tomorrow we're flying out to L.A. I haven't been out since I shacked with up with Gischler and Doolittle for last year's L.A. Book Festival, and I'm very much looking forward to returning... this time with the Bride and Brood. Yeah, it'll be tough flying with two kids. There will be heavy bags. There will be crankiness. But the absolute toughest part of packing for this trip... nay, any trip: deciding which books to bring. No, I'm serious! Now, these books are mostly for the plane, because I invariably pick up new/vintage books wherever I go (just ask the Bride). But still, the choices have to be spot-on, because while I don't want to overpack, I also don't want to be stuck with a dud, either. Oh, and they have to be L.A.-related, too. Because I'm a huge nerd.

Anyway, I've already got two sure things in my bag already: Charles Bukowski's Hollywood (as you know, I've been on a Bukowski kick) and an arc of Charlie Huston's Every Last Drop (thanks to Ms. Weinman; I count this as L.A.-related because Huston now lives in L.A.). I also want to bring a Ross Macdonald I haven't read yet.

But which one?

My choices: the new Vintage Crime editons of The Instant Enemy, The Barbarous Coast or The Blue Hammer. The first and third are late period Macdonald; Barbarous is early to mid, I think. All seem cool. There is room, however, for only one. What do you think?

I'd also welcome another L.A. novel that I might possibly already own and haven't read yet. I've been through the classics, including my Chandlers, McCoys, Connellys and Ellroys. Devoured my Lankford; got my Hurwitz on. Any suggestions?

(The first one to say Mr. Monk in Outer Space receives a nice shiny cockpunch.)

Other Swierczynskis in the News

According to SpaceRef.com, a distant family member was involved in the ground-breaking detection of a astrophysical radio jet from an outbursting dwarf nova. And God, do I wish I was smart enough to understand the significance of that. But here's the skinny:

Stanislaw Swierczynski, a variable star observer in Poland, was the first to detect a possible outburst of SS Cygni on April 24, 2007. Within a few hours observers in Canada, the United States, Norway, and Finland provided the confirmation that an outburst was indeed underway.

Note: This very well may be a different Swierczynski from the one who was all up in the stars, binaries and cataclysmic variables. Yes!

(Third in an occasional series. Have you spotted another Swierczynski in the news? Let Secret Dead Blog know!)

The Dark Knight Right Now!

A few days ago, certain informed sources reported that Batman: Murder at Wayne Manor, my second interactive mystery, was spotted at chain bookstores. This surprised the staff here at Secret Dead Blog, because the publication date was set for July 15. I sent someone out to confirm, and... yes! It is indeed available, all the hell over the place. At B&N you can find it on the "summer movies" table, near the books about Iron Man and Hulk and all of those guys.

Show Us Your Titus (Andronicus!)

I'm very happy about a bunch of Severance Package reviews that have popped up lately. Yesterday, the novel was featured in Patrick Anderson's "Monday Thrillers" column in the Washington Post, and offered up this bit that I want to tattoo on my right bicep: "At the very least, [Swierczynski's] written one of the most outrageously original spy thrillers I can remember." And he gives me credit for a Shakespeare reference that I didn't intend, but will brag about anyway.

Book Strumpet Clayton Moore called me a bastard, but liked the book anyway.

Bill Crider pointed out one of the novel's in-jokes in his very flattering review. (The commenters? Um, not so much.)

Wally Conger thinks that Severance is yes, a spy story, and a horror novel, but also a love story. I'm not going to disagree with him.

Update (6/11): Just to balance things out: Lee Goldberg doesn't like the book, and says I'm skating on flash.

Charlie on Charles

Charlie Huston wrote a great post the other day about Charles Bukowski. It's one that Ecco Books should reprint in the front of every Bukowski novel, because it makes you want to run out and buy a bunch of Bukowski novels. And that's pretty much what I did this evening. I picked up Factotum, Women and Pulp, based on Huston's post, but also the first lines of each book. Check out Women:

I was 50 years old and hadn't been to bed with a woman for four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I looked at them without yearning and with a sense of futility.

How can you not continue reading? And then there's Pulp:

I was sitting in my office, my lease had expired and McKelvery was starting eviction proceedings. It was a hellish hot day and the air conditioner was broken. A fly crawled across the top of my desk. I reached out with the open palm of my hand and sent him out of the game. I wiped my hand on my right pants leg as the phone rang.

Dude, sold. I'm ashamed to say I've read more about Bukowski than his actual work, but I plan on fixing that situation over the next few days.

Though, as Huston cautions: "Don't read them too soon. Make sure you read them all before you walk in front of a car someday."

Out Today: Cable #4

Just a reminder that the fourth installment of Cable hits comic shops everywhere today. At left is a very cool variant cover by Marko Djurdjevic that looks like something from an illustrated Bible, or something (okay, minus the gun); you'll find the main Ariel Olivetti cover in the sidebar. There's also a preview of the issue here at CBR.com; if you really want to see what's coming down the road, there are also images from Cable #7 adorning a Q&A with X-Men editor Nick Lowe. Yes, it's very far in advance, and yes, it's meant to screw with your mind. Sort of.

Two White Dudes Talkin' Noir

That's Ed Pettit (a.k.a. Poe Boy) on the left, interviewing me (a.k.a. Swierczy) on the right, at yesterday's "Noir at the Bar" event at Tritone. I think Poe Boy is saying something like, "What the hell is wrong with you that you've never heard of Dr. Shock before," and me replying something like, "I have no idea. Can I go back to my beer now?"

But huge thanks to Peter Rozovsky for throwing such a cool event. By all accounts, it was an enjoyable evening. And by all accounts, I mean that even the Tritone regulars calmed down enough to listen to us gab for a while. I spoke for a few minutes about noir, and how my favorite definition of noir is "screwed," or to put it less politely, "fucked." Then the lovely Bride of Poe Boy, Ms. Kate Pettit, read the opening chapter of Severance Package. (Let me tell you now: if you ever have the opportunity for someone as talented as Ms. Pettit read your work, do so immediately.) Then Poe Boy and I settled in for a little Q&A before drinking more beer, eating Mahi Mahi burgers and yes, ordering up a deep-fried candy bar or two.

Ah, deep-fried candy bars.

(Photo by Lou "Mr. Noir" Boxer.)

Straight from the Booth to the Bar

Wizard World Philly was a lot of fun, though I have to admit, I felt kind of useless at the Marvel signing booth. Oooh, look, there's Mark Brooks, let's get him to draw a Skrull for me. Oooh, Joe Q., let's have him sketch a Spidey. Oooh, look, there's that Polish guy who's writing Cable, let's have him... uh, oh. Not that I didn't have fun talking to everyone and signing issues, but I felt like I wasn't exactly doing my part. I need to find a portable typewriter, so for the next signing, I'll be able to write a scene for somebody, right on the spot.

PAGE ONE, Panel Three
Cable aims a giant Liefeld-ian gun at Swierczy's head.

5 CABLE: No pressure or anything.

Though I did have two fans ask for something called a "writer's sketch," which had to be explained to me. Basically, it's when you ask a writer, who can't draw, to draw something; hilarity ensues. So I drew a fairly miserable Moon Knight, which in retrospect, looked something from a pre-teen book about female anatomy. I also drew a Cable, which was a little better, even though the fan mistook the metal arm for his shoulder padding. Ah, well.

Anyway, there was some news announced at the con: namely, a King-Size Cable that's coming out this September. It's 44-page one-shot actionfest told from Bishop's point of view. The art is by the amazing Ken Lashley (check out his Bishop above), and you can read more about it here at Wizard or Newsarama.

Speaking of Newsarama, that site's Steve Ekstrom posted a very cool review of Severance Package yesterday morning. Check it out.

And in other fun comics news, I'm happy this is finally public: my buddy Brian Keene will be doing a Marvel MAX Devil Slayer mini-series. I love Keene's horror novels; I can't wait to see what he does in the MAX universe.

I'm spending most of my day writing, but tonight is the kick-off of Peter Rozovsky's Noir at the Bar series, the first one featuring... me. There's a short item about it in today's Philadelphia Inquirer. What's not mentioned: the special guests, namely Poe Boy, who will be grilling me, and his lovely bride Kate, who will be reading the first chapter of Severance. (I've come to realize that I suck at reading my own stuff out loud, so I'm enlisting help wherever I go.) Hope to see some of you there.