Legends of the Underwood #14: Philip K. Dick

"[Phil] was a fluent writer, and his work came easily to him. He said that the idea for a novel came in one intuitive flash, but he couldn't tell it 'in under sixty thousand words. The words come out of my hands, not my brain. I write with my hands. I type 160 words a minute, the rate of a really good legal secretary.' One day he told me that he had typed sixty original manuscript pages without an error."

--From Anne R. Dick's Search for Philip K. Dick, 1928-1982 (Point Reyes Cypress Press). Dick's biographer, Lawrence Sutin, notes that in 1963 and 1964, Dick wrote eleven novels, eleven stories, two essays, two extended plot treatments, as well as "hundreds of letters and God knows what all else that may have been lost or destroyed along the way."

(Fourteenth in a series. Won't make it to 15 this calendar year, but hey, 14's not bad, right?)

Photo: copyright Nicole Panter.

Welome Home, Davey Boy

I've long known that noir legend David Goodis was born in Philly's Logan neighborhood. But until Lou Boxer and Aaron Finestone sent me the above photo, I never knew it was that part of Logan. And by "that part" I mean the notorious sinking homes of Logan. Seems that 80-plus years ago, some developer decided it would be okay to build a neighborhood on top of old creekbeds filled in with ash and garbage. Nice homes, mind you. Stately brick townhouses with green lawns. But over the years, the foundations began to collapse. Walls cracked. Gas pipes leaked. By the turn of this century, over 900 homes had been razed. And today, Logan is left with a 17-block preview of what the apocalypse will look like.

I wonder what David Goodis would have thought, had you plucked him out of the 1950s and dropped him at 10th and Loudon (the intersection near his birthplace) today, at the edge of 2010. He probably might have thought the H-bombs had finally been dropped. Or that someone had dropped a bomb on Logan specifically. Then he'd probably go off and write about it. Goodis was a genius when it came to capturing these dark, little slices of the city in his novels.

Anyway... this is but one of many fun, happy, bright tour stops on this year's Tour of Goodis's Philadelphia, a new part of the annual Goodis Graveside ceremony. I'll be there, along with organizers Boxer and Finestone and other noir-heads. We're meeting up at the Oak Lane Diner, 6528 Broad Street, at 11 a.m. on Sunday, January 10. If you can't make it, no worries. I'll be taking some photos and video of the tour stops. You know. Just in case you need a little pick-me-up.

(Photo: Lou Boxer)

Another Goodis Gathering

We're less than a month away from the second annual graveside ceremony honoring Philadelphia noir legend David Goodis (above left). You can read my coverage from last year's event here; I'll definitely be headed back this year. The details are in from Aaron Finestone and Lou Boxer:

"From the nearby Delaware a cold wind came lancing in, telling all alley cats they'd better find a heated cellar"

Shoot the Piano Player (Down There)

Sunday, January 10, 2010 is the 43rd anniversary of the funeral of David Goodis, the Prince of Noir. In his memory, the Noir Coalition of Philadelphia will re-enact his funeral and tour the slums, dives and streets-of-the-lost which he frequented. His characters will retreat from oblivion, as we learn what made David Goodis the brilliant writer who he was. Details will follow.

At 11 a.m., Hardcore Goodisheads will convene at the Oak Lane Diner, Broad Street and 66th Avenue, Philadelphia, PA 19126, 215-424-1026, for a bleak, chilling, depressing tour of the hardboiled underbelly of David Goodis' Philadelphia.

At 2 p.m., we will gather at Roosevelt Memorial Park, 2701 Old Lincoln Highway, Trevose, PA 19053 (215-673-7500), just over the Bucks County line from Philadelphia. The grave is located at Section B-3, Lot 324, Grave 3 near the mausoleum.

At graveside, we will read excerpts from David Goodis' coldest, most gripping work. Bring your favorite, darkest passages from Goodis' novels and short stories.

After David's funeral, friends gathered at the Toddle House to remember David's outrageous humor and recount his devoted friendship. The Toddle House---at Broad and Belfield Streets in Logan---is now a vacant lot.

We will re-live the apres-funeral with lunch at the Club House Diner, 2495 Street Road (between Knights and Mechanicsville Road, 215-639-4287) in Bensalem, a few minutes from Roosevelt cemetery. Lunch (liquid and otherwise) begins at 3 p.m. We will adjourn at nightfall.

If you would be interested in tour or the luncheon or want more information, please email Louis Boxer at lboxer1@gmail.com or Aaron Finestone at aaron@microbrewjournalism.com . Your email is not binding. We just need estimates for the bus and the restaurant.

Join us for this Day with Dave. What better way to spend a cold day in January, alley cats and all.

Legends of the Underwood #13: Arthur J. Burks

"Average daily output of [Arthur J. Burks'] Underwood is four thousand words. In emergencies Burks can do three or four times this amount. Once, for example, Sky Fighters called him at ten in the morning and ordered three stories, a total of twelve thousand words. It got them by six in the evening, and Mr. Burks made two hundred and fifty dollars for his day's work. He never rereads his writings, either in manuscript or after they are published, and doesn't care what editors do to them."

--From "Burks of the Pulps," a Talk of the Town item in the February 15, 1936 issue of the New Yorker.

(Thirteenth in a series. Will we make it to fifteen by year's end?)

Made in Philadelphia: 1918

Image from TavernTrove.com.

A Date with Laurence Campbell

Last week I mentioned that my next novel, Expiration Date, would include a dozen pieces of original black and white art. Today I'm proud to share the name of the artist: Laurence Campbell, of Punisher MAX, Moon Knight and Wolverine fame (as well as 2000AD's Judge Dredd, Synnamon and Breathing Space). Until this project, Laurence and I have never worked together; I've just admired (okay, drooled over) his work from afar. My editor Axel Alonso showed me some of Laurence's work early on and I became an instant fan. When Laurence said he'd be willing to work with me on Expiration, I was like a kid at Christmas. When finished art started rolling in, I felt like I'd hit the lottery.

Above is just a sketch of an illustration from Expiration; for the full dose of Laurence Campbell, however, you need to pick up the Punisher MAX arc he did with Gregg Hurwitz (Girls in White Dresses) or check out his online gallery at getcampbell.com.

And keep checking back, because Laurence has graciously offered one of his original pages from Expiration Date to a lucky reader. Details to follow soon...

Sqweegel in Your Pocket

Apple iTunes has just released the App and iTunes Extras version of Level 26: Dark Origins. Now you can enjoy the Digi-Novel the way nature... and by nature, I mean Anthony E. Zuiker... intended.

I downloaded these yesterday and started playing around with them. The app version is pretty fantastic. (Standard disclaimer: I co-wrote the book, so I'm naturally biased. But I had nothing to do with the design of the app.) The text is easy to read, the pages are easy to flip, the backgrounds and sound effects are creepy without being annoying... and best of all, there's no waiting/punching in codes to watch a cyberbridge. It's all perfectly seamless and kind of addictive. This is what Anthony had in mind all along: a way to marry text and video and art and sound and everything else in a truly new format.

(In fact, it's so new, iTunes didn't quite know where to put it. You'll find it in the "movies" section)

And the iTunes Extras version is more or less the same thing, only you don't need an iPod Touch or iPhone. You watch it through your iTunes program, clicking to flip pages, then sit back to enjoy the cyberbridges.

Each cost $12.99. A little more than most Kindle books, but then again, you're receiving the complete text of the novel, plus 20 cyberbridges, plus a slew of extras.

If any of you do check it out, I'd love to hear what you think. So would Anthony, over at www.Level26.com.

Miss Philadelphia, 1924

Her name was Ruth Malcomson, and she would go on to win the title of Miss America in Atlantic City later that year. I wonder if the "Miss Philadelphia" title brings the trophy, or that weird shell thing, or both. (via Shorpy)

Date Night

The cover of my next novel, Expiration Date, just popped up on Amazon.com, so I'm guessing it's safe to pass along here. (Click on the image for a larger view.) I haven't said much about Expiration, mostly because it's probably too soon to start yattering on about a book that won't see the light of day until next April. But there is some cool news to share in the coming weeks, including the name of the artist who has contributed a dozen stunning black and white illustrations to the book, as well as Expiration's slightly unusual origin story.

But like I said, that stuff will be revealed in the weeks to come. In the meantime, I'd love your thoughts on the cover. What do you guys think? Would you give it a second look at the local chain or your favorite indie book shop?

Update: Jay Tomio's thoughts over at BSCreview.

Fredric Brown Update

A few months ago I blogged about Fredric Brown's two early California residences. One, in El Segundo, is long gone. But the other, an address on a street in Venice that didn't seem to exist, left me stymied.

That is, until commenter "Used to Live in Venice" supplied this clue:

1309 Alexandria Way is now (probably) 1309 Palms Blvd.

Palms used to be called Alexandria, west of Centinela, back in the 1950s. Not sure why they renamed it. You can look it up in an old Thomas Bros Guide from the 50s, if you can find one.

I'm not sure when I'll be in Venice next, but I'll have to cruise by the address and see if anything's around. Thanks, Used to Live in Vence, whoever you may be!

Destination: Indy

My bags for Bouchercon are packed... okay, that's a lie. I'm still packing.

Clothes aren't the hard part; it's the books.

I've got Charlie Huston's My Dead Body set aside for the plane, as well as the latest Kevin Smith collection (Shootin' the S**t With Kevin Smith); Criminal: The Sinners #1, by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips; and the latest issue of Crimespree. Then of course, there's my Kindle, loaded with at least 100 books and six months' worth of New Yorker back issues. Also bringing my iPod, loaded with not only Sam Raimi's Drag Me to Hell, but 35 episodes of three different podcasts: Creative Screenwriting, CrimeWAV and Out of the Past: Investigating Film Noir. Oh, and probably a week's worth of music. Maybe two weeks, come to think of it. Straight. Without ever repeating a single song.

Still, I worry about not having enough entertainment... for my one hour, 52 minute flight from Philadelphia to Indianapolis.

This my sickness. My disease.

I need to be surrounded by a ridiculous amount of entertainment at all times. Otherwise, I feel cranky.

This is a relatively new thing. I remember taking a flight to L.A. back in 1998, armed with a single trade paperback. As I remember, it kept me quite entertained the whole way. (Also entertaining was the end of the flight, when I was overwhelmed with nausea and tried to make my way to the bathroom in the back of the plane, only to freak out the flight attendants because, well, see, we were kind of starting to land at the time, and the flight attendants had to summon an air marshal to have me escorted back to my seat, and... well, you can guess the rest. This was pre-9/11, so I wasn't shot on sight. But it was a really weird way to enter the City of Angels for the very first time.)

Back in the early 1990s, I traveled all over Philly on a bus, with nothing more than a beatup used paperback to keep me company.

Now, I find myself embarrassed by the array of entertainment options at my disposal... and the nagging idea that maybe I'm not bringing enough.

Those folks in that vintage photo of Indianapolis (above) didn't have these worries. Hell, they could roll up into any bus station, flip the counterman a quarter, and walk away with a Gold Medal paperback... then throw it away by journey's end and snap up another one.

(Me? I spend hundreds of dollars every year tracking down copies of those paperbacks that people didn't throw away, and sealed up in little plastic bags.)

Part of me wants to say fuck it. Leave all of the books and devices home. Reach out and grab a single random paperback from my shelves of Gold Medals and Lions and Bantams and Signets... and then throw it in my backpack and be done with it. Savor that one book on the flight. Get lost in it. Don't worry, because duh, you're going to a mystery convention, there will be plenty of books to pick up while you're there. You won't die from lack of entertainment...

But I'm not sure I'm strong enough to obey this part of me. The spirit is willing, but the pulpy, noodle-like flesh under my skull is weak...

What if the book I pick up at random sucks?

What if I want to watch a movie?

What if, mid-air, I'm suddenly overcome with the urgent need to hear a cheesy 1970s power pop hit?

So... I'm going to keep packing.

If any of you faithful Secret Dead Blog readers will be attending Bouchercon this weekend, don't be shy! Step up and say "yo." Chances are, I'll buy you a drink. I may look like a college linebacker gone to seed, but I'm a perfectly nice guy.

And if you can't make it, keep an eye on this blog, as well as my Twitter feed (www.twitter.com/swierczy) for random updates, embarrassing photos, and other weird dispatches that will make it will feel like you're there. Only... sober.

Balboageist

We spent the afternoon at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. If you've ever seen Rocky, you know the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Rocky runs up the front steps, then jumps around and pumps his fists into the air, all proud of himself. Gonna Fly Now, indeed.

Well, my children have never seen Rocky. We've never talked about Rocky. We've never described the steps of the Art Museum as the "Rocky Steps." We've never even talked about Sylvester Stallone. When it comes to Rocky, the kids are a complete blank slate. The film may as well not exist.

Nonetheless, as we stepped outside for some fresh air after lunch, the kids insisted on walking down the stairs... and then running up them, Rocky-style.

This suggests that Rocky is not merely passed along, parent-to-child, via video transmission or oral history. No, man... this shit is in the air. It has possessed the City of Philadelphia, fused itself with the spirit of the place. You can't visit the Art Museum and not run up the fuckin' steps.

Next time you're in Philly, try it. Stand at the bottom of Eakins Oval and look up. Feel your leg muscles twitch. Your stomach spasm in anticipation. Your blood start to run hot...

And pretty soon, you'll be at the top, pumping your fists in the air, all proud of your damn self.

Sometimes, I really do love this crazy city.

(Photo by The Bride. Click on the image to appreciate the full splendor.)

Secret Dead Blog Recommends: Assassination and Senseless

Assassination of a High School President, Brett Simon's dark, weird and funny debut, is out on DVD this week. You all need to watch it immediately.

Sure, I'm a bit biased, since Brett and I have adapted my novel Severance Package, and someday soon (hopefully) Brett will be directing the thing. But Assassination is the reason I teamed up with Brett in the first place. I was sent a top-secret screener about a year and a half ago, and I knew right away Brett was a sick fuck, and I needed to team up with him as soon as possible. Assassination is about a high school journalist named Bobby Funke (pronounced "funky") who's dead set on breaking an S.A.T. scandal, only to be blindsided, betrayed, and -- in that great James Ellroy tradition -- tied, dyed and swept to the side. Like all great noirs, there's a femme fatale (Mischa Barton). There's a hard-ass, possibly psychotic authority figure (Bruce Willis). There's sex. Violence. Plenty of cursing. In other words, everything that made high school so memorable.

And in a weird bit of synchronicity, Senseless, the debut of director Simon Hynd, was released on the very same day. Hynd is the director who is adapting my novel The Wheelman, along with Allan "Sunshine" Guthrie. I watched a top-secret screener of Senseless... well, also about a year and a half ago (hey, what can I say, a year and a half ago I was privvy to all kinds of cool shit) and it made me squirm like you wouldn't believe. This is a good thing. Movies almost never make me squirm.

Mr. Hynd is a lovely man. I've dined with him. I've gotten drunk with him. I've met his lovely wife. And yet, I can say, without hestiation, that he is a sick, sick fuck. I mean, look at the cover. Look at the eyeball on the spoon. Though, to be fair, some of the blame rests with novelist Stona Fitch, who wrote the original novel, which is just as sick as the movie. Mr. Fitch is also a warm, lovely gentleman, so much so that he loaned my wife his coat on a cold night as we were headed off in search of another bar on a cold night in Manhattan. But still: he is a sick fuck. Just like Mr. Hynd. And that Guthrie guy... well, it goes without saying that he's a sick fuck, too.

Definitely put these two in your Blockbuster queue, or your Netflix thingy, or better yet, buy copies to own, especially if you're curious about the minds who will someday be putting The Wheelman and Severance Package to film.

Sick, sick fucks.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Taipei Back

Today's mail brought the Taiwanese edition of my novel Severance Package. I think it's a winner. The red wine in the glass looks very much like blood, the splashing effect is nicely unsettling. On the inside flap (not shown) there's a hand making a gun shape, complete with smoke curling from the extended index finger. And the interior contains a series of illustration headshots of every main character. Since I can't read Chinese, I'm not sure who is supposed to be who, or what the accompanying copy says... but it looks cool. Here's a sample:

Also: last week I received a copy of the Italian edition of Level 26: Dark Origins, which looks very close to the Dutton version, except that the "Level 26" logo is stained with blood. Kind of a running theme this week, I guess.

Anyway, what do you guys think?

My Favorite Writing Advice (Third in a Series)

Ken Bruen, to interviewer (and novelist) Ray Banks:

"I like to strip everything to the bone, see if it stands up by itself. The doorstop books -- 500 pages and up -- Jesus wept, who has that amount of time to piss away. Ninety percent of what I read is padding and I roar, "Get the fuck on with it!"

You can read the full Bruen/Banks interview at Allan Guthrie's Noir Originals.

My Favorite Sentences (First in a Series)

The crime teletype machine was quiet at police headquarters... so I decided to sneak away and go to the opening of the opera.

From Naked City by Weegee (Essential Books, 1945)

Your First Look at Hope...

... all grown up.

CABLE #21
Written by DUANE SWIERCZYNSKI
Penciled by HUMBERTO RAMOS,
LAN MEDINA & PAUL GULACY
Cover by MARKO DJURDEVIC
“HOMECOMING,” PART 1
PRELUDE TO “X-MEN: SECOND COMING” EVENT!

From the moment Cable jumped into the time stream with the infant “mutant messiah,” he's had only one goal: keep Hope alive until she can choose her own destiny. But now, stranded on a planet in its death throes, eating fried rat on a stick for the millionth time, Hope turns to Cable and tells him she's ready to go home. Thus begins “Homecoming,” the penultimate chapter in the X-Men saga that began with “Messiah CompleX.” It's not only zero hour for Cable and Hope, but also for the mutant hunting them, Lucas Bishop, who is rapidly running out of chances to save mutantkind and the world. Because if Hope does make it back to the present, everything changes for the X-Men.

40 PGS./Rated T+ …$3.99

Another Reason I Love Dashiell Hammett

In this single Hammett novel the detective shot and stabbed one man to death, helped shoot another dead, was himself attacked with dagger, gun, chloroform and bomb, fought off a ghostly manifestation barehanded, wrestled with five women, cured a girl of narcotic addiction — and … was obliged to deal with one seduction, eight murders, a jewel burglary, and a family curse.

--John Barlow Martin, writing in Harper's Magazine (via Mystery*File.com)

Forthcoming Comicbookery

It's been a while since I've updated you guys on forthcoming comic book stuff.

First, there's Cable, which has just kicked off a new story arc: "Brood." Cable #18 is in shops now; Marvel.com has posted five preview pages of Gabriel Guzman's art from #19.

Speaking of Cable: In November, I'll be writing a series of Cable and Hope backup stories that will appear in four different X-books as a lead-up to the big fat Cable arc, "Homecoming" (which starts in Cable #21). These four stories are collectively called "Long Way Home," and will detail previously unseen moments throughout Cable and Hope's adventures. I've literally just learned the name of the artist who will be doing these stories, and I'm still giddy with fanboy glee. I wish I could tell. God, I really wish I could tell you. But you'll have to wait for the formal announcement.

I've also written a short story for Punisher: Frank Castle #75, an anthology due out this October. My story's called "Ghoul," and the artist is the one and only Tomm Coker, the mad genius who illustrated the cover of my novel, Severance Package. I've been dying to work with Tomm for a long time, and I'm thrilled we were paired up for this. The anthology also features the comics debut of Tom Piccirilli, and stories by Charlie Huston, Peter Milligan and Gregg Hurwitz, with art by Coker, Ken Lashley, Das Pastoras and Laurence Campbell.

Annnd I've written a short Deadpool story called "What Happens in Vegas," which will appear in October's Deadpool #900, with illustrations by the amazing Shawn Crystal. Other writers and artists jumping into the 'Pool: Jason Aaron, Victor Gischler, Mike Benson, Fred Van Lente, Joe Kelly, Charlie Huston, Kyle Baker, Sanford Greene, Damion Scott, Chris Staggs, Dalibor Talajic and the one and only Rob Liefeld.

But wait! that's not all! There are still two installments of my Immortal Iron Fist backup story ("Caretakers,"), which will appear in Immortal Weapons #4 and 5, due out in October and November. IW #4 is my own contribution to this mini-series, a one-shot tale starring the enigmatic Tiger's Beautiful Daughter, with art by Khari Evans.

So yeah. A lot of short stories. A lot of Cable. And there's another mini-series I'm working on that I can't talk about quite yet. (And no, it's not Jiminy Cricket MAX #1.)

Downtown Philly 1959

The corner of 15th and Walnut.

(Photo from the Philadelphia Dept. of Record/PhillyHistory.org.)

An Anniversary Gift So Cool, You'll Wish You Were Married to My Wife

The Bride just handed me the best anniversary present ever: a Limited Edition Cable statue by sculptor Junnosuke Abe, inspired by his appearance in Cable #5 (and the artwork of the amazing Ariel Olivetti). But man, the photo just doesn't do it justice. This Cable is 13 4/5 inches of cold-cast porcelain bad ass-ery, complete with the armored baby carrier and oversized Liefeld-style gun. Plus: Flip a switch on the base and Cable's techno-organic eye lights up.

But wait! That's not all! Remove the top of the baby carrier, and look who's there!

Awwww, it's baby Hope, long before she even had a name!

So now Cable (and the baby) are guarding my comics collection. If you're nice to me, I'll let you look at it next time you visit. It's scary how well The Bride knows me, after all of these years. I feel like a kid at Christmas.

(Special thanks to fellas at Brave New Worlds in Philly, who helped The Bride acquire this glittering, techno-organic prize.)

My Favorite Writing Advice (Second in a Series)

Howard Browne, pulp magazine editor and novelist (mostly under the name John Evans), once looked back on his writing process:

"I always started a novel with one thing in mind: present the interesting characters facing an interesting situation, and then take the next logical step. At the end of the process you'll have a novel. I never made a false start on a novel, and I never had writer's block... that I can remember!"

From Howard Browne's "A Brief Memoir," included in Incredible Ink, a collection of his pulp stories (Dennis McMillan, 1997).

Sqweegel's on the Loose...

... but there's no need to keep it secret. Tell everybody: Level 26: Dark Origins, the horror-thriller I co-wrote with CSI creator Anthony E. Zuiker, is finally available in finer bookshops and online book emporiums everywhere. There's also a nifty Kindle version you can download in about a minute flat, and an audiobook version read by John Glover. (I've always had a warm spot in my heart for Glover after his cameo in a faux RoboCop 2 commercial.)

Level 26 can be read straight through in book form. You won't have any trouble following the story. However, I do recommend watching the "cyberbridges" (short film clips available free online) along the way; it's a cool and unique way to experience the story. Sure, maybe the characters look different in your mind's eye. But you really owe it to yourself to see the sick, twisted shit going on in Zuiker's mind's eye...

If you are picking up a copy, I'd love to hear what you think. You can leave comments here, or better yet, join the party over at Level26.com.

My Favorite Writing Advice (First in a Series)

Marcel Duhamel, editor of Gallimard's famous La Serie Noire, to novelist Chester Himes:

"Get an idea. Start with action, somebody does something--a man reaches out a hand and opens a door, light shines in his eyes, a body lies on the floor, he turns, looks up and down the hall... Always action in detail. Make pictures. Like motion pictures. Always the scenes are visible. No stream of consciousness at all. We don't give a damn who's thinking what--only what they're doing. Always doing something. From one scene to another. Don't worry about it making sense. That's for the end. Give me 220 typed pages."

From James Sallis' Chester Himes: A Life (Walker & Company, 2001).

Look, Ma! My Name Up in Lights on Times Square! (Kind Of!)

Big thanks to Mike Dawson, who snapped the above photo for me at the corner of 7th and 42nd. If you squint, you can see the cover of my novel, The Blonde, on that big cell phone. (Click on it for a larger version.) It's an ad, of course, showing how you can search Amazon.com for "blondes" right there on your Sprint-powered phone. Mike reports: "The image appears towards the end of a three to five minute loop illustration the joys of Sprint cellular service."

Mike, for his trouble, will be receiving a signed copy of Level 26: Dark Origins, which will be out exactly a week from today. (Have you pre-ordered your copy yet? What, do I have to take out an ad on Times Square? Sheesh.)

Attention: New York City Residents!

I have a favor to ask. Rumor has it that one of those 42nd Street light screens (near the Times Square subway station) is currently featuring an ad that shows how easy it is to browse Amazon.com from your cell phone. The search on the phone is for the word "blonde," and my own novel, The Blonde, is one of the three book covers that pop up in the ad.

I heard about this being a possibility about a year ago, so this is not coming out of the blue. Still, I've love to see it. So here's the deal:

The first person who sends me a photo of that ad will receive (in addition to my undying gratitude) a signed copy of Level 26: Dark Origins, which isn't even in stores yet. You can send that photo to me at duane [dot] swier [at] verizon [dot] net, replacing the dots and ats with the usual symbols.

Thanks in advance, New Yorkers!

Update: Former New Yorker Mike Dawson has come through for me, big time. (See above post.)

Gimme A Shot, Next Round's On Me

Michel Lacombe and I worked on six blood-splattered issues of Punisher MAX together, and now they're all available in one affordable trade paperback, just out from Marvel this week. Punisher MAX: Six Hours to Kill includes not only the five issues of our arc, but also our one-shot story, "Force of Nature." It's available at comic shops everywhere; bookstores should have it in a few weeks.

Or, if you're anywhere near Philly, you can pick up one next Tuesday at McGillin's Ale House, where I'll be signing copies. Again, my offer stands: buy a copy of Six Hours to Kill, and I'll buy you a pint of McGillin's 1860 IPA. McGillin's was featured in Six Hours (under the name "Interesting Times"), which you can see in the above panel. This fictional bar takes quite a beating in the story. Windows are shattered. Tables and chairs are smashed into splinters. The entire building is shot to hell, blown up with rocket-launched grenades, then set ablaze. I'm kind of suprised the McGillin's folks want me anywhere near the place.

But hey, I guess it's no hard feelings. Hope to see you some of you there! (1310 Drury Street, 6 p.m.)

Molly Goes to Japan

The Japanese edition of Severance Package is out from Hayakawa, and they were kind enough to send me a box full of 'em via sea mail. Will you look at that bad ass cover? I love it even more than Hayakawa's edition of The Blonde (and I was pretty fond of that one, too). Even better, the novel's "death list" is faithfully reproduced in the text, cross-outs and everything, and they've included Dennis Calero's fantastic full-page illustrations. Best of all, there's no dude in a raccoon suit. (Just kidding, Newton and Compton!) What do you guys think?

Never Heard of Him

In an e-mail early this morning, Charles Ardai finally revealed the title and author of Hard Case Crime's top-secret extra December release:

And what is the book...? It's the very hard-boiled story of a man murdered by a blast from a sawed-off shotgun to the face at point-blank range; of a criminal on the run from Chicago who comes to a dirty Pennsylvania coal-mining town and winds up locking horns with the corrupt Masonic lodge that runs the town; of a Pinkerton detective who sets out to clean up the town; and of the doom that pursues a man across an ocean and leaves him at the mercy of the world's most ruthless criminal mastermind. It's a story narrated by a veteran of the war in Afghanistan, whose partner in investigating the twisted plot is a drug addicted private investigator with a brain like a steel trap. And wait till you see the cover -- Glen Orbik has really outdone himself here, with his portrait of a gorgeous, bosomy dame in a transparent negligee watching with horror as a man with a brand on his arm appears in her doorway. And the author -- it's one of the best-selling authors in the world. His books have been made into movies, computer games, comic books; they've sold tens of millions of copies. He's not someone you'd think of as a Hard Case Crime author in a million years!

Ardai's dug up some real obscure gems in the past, but I think he's outdone himself this time. Anybody know anything about this "Doyle" guy?

Sanity Claws

The trade paperback collection of my Werewolf By Night arc (with artist Mico Suayan) is finally available at comic shops everywhere. (You can probably find a copy at certain bookstores and Amazon.com, too, but go on, show your local nerd hangout some love.) Werewolf By Night: In the Blood is part of Marvel's MAX (read: adult) line, so you may not want to hand out copies at your next children's birthday party. I guess it depends on the kid.

What's cool about this edition is that includes a reprint of both Tomb of Dracula #18 (by Marv Wolfman and Gene Colan) and Werewolf By Night #15 (Wolfman and Mike Ploog) from the early 1970s, both of which warped my mind as a young lad. I'll never forget the epic battle between Jack Russell and ol' Drac, and I tried to pay homage to their otherworldly fisticuffs in "In the Blood." You'll know it when you see it.

Anyway, I hope you'll check out a copy. This is my first full-on horror story in quite some time, and it makes me want to make good on my long-standing threat of writing a full-on horror novel one of these days...

Crawling Out of the Cave

With a few exceptions, I've spent the past year hunkered down in Secret Dead Blog HQ, writing my Polish ass off. I haven't done many signings, except for last fall's Bouchercon and the most recent NYC Comic-Con. Well, hunker down/Polish ass time is over. I'll be emerging from the basement for three very special, quite possibly beer-soaked events...

First up is a hang-out/signing at McGillin's Ale House in downtown Philly on Tuesday, August 25 at 6 p.m. McGillin's served as the model for a fictional bar called "Interesting Times" in my Punisher MAX arc (with Michel Lacombe), so I'll be there to sign copies of the trade paperback collection, sold by my pals at Brave New Worlds. Standing offer: buy a copy of Punisher MAX: Six Hours to Kill, and I'll buy you a pint of McGillin's 1860 IPA. (1310 Drury Street, 215-735-5562.)

Next up: I've been invited to be a guest on Comic Book Club, a live comic book talk show in NYC, on Tuesday, September 8 at 8 p.m. Past guests have included folks like Ed Brubaker, Matt Fraction, Joe Quesada, Bill Hader, Brian Michael Bendis, Dan Slott, Seth Meyers, among other luminaries. If you're in NYC, I hope you'll stop by. I won't be able to buy you a beer at the show, but hell, afterwards anything's possible. (The Peoples Improv Theater, 154 West 29th Street, 2nd Floor, NYC. Tickets: $5.)

And finally, I'll be at the Bouchercon 2009 World Mystery Convention in Indianapolis. No word yet on panels or such, but it's good bet you'll find me in the bar with the rest of the crime-writing reprobates.

The Punisher's Been Busy

"Pulitzer-nominated Inquirer crime reporter George Anastasia puts the total number of currently active mobsters at just 20 guys. To put that in perspective, the Blind Bowlers Association of Delaware numbers 24."

--from "Whatever Happened to the South Philly Mob?" by Steve Volk in the current issue of Philadelphia Magazine.

The Fredric Brown/El Segundo Mystery Solved! (Sort Of!)

About a year ago I blogged a little about Fredric Brown, one of my all-time favorite writers, and his short stints in Los Angeles. (For much of his career, he lived and wrote in New Mexico and Arizona.) In particular, I wondered about his time in Venice and El Segundo in the early 1950s. This is what nerds do in their spare time, you see. Wonder about stuff like this.

Well, a Marvel Comics retreat is bringing me to El Segundo next week, and a few days I started wondering again—specifically, what if Brown's house was still around? How could I find his address? According to Jack Seabrook's Martians and Misplaced Clues, El Segundo was where Brown wrote His Name Was Death, my favorite Brown. I tried Googling. I re-read Martians, as well as Newton Baird's A Key to Fredric Brown's Wonderland (Talisman Literary Research, 1981), which includes a helpful timeline, but no addresses for El Segundo. Finally, I tried the Fredric Brown Group at Yahoo! Groups, and within hours... an answer! Kind of.

Alex Verstegen, a fellow Brown junkie who lives in Amsterdam, forwarded me an excerpt from "Oh, For the Love of an Author's Wife," the unpublished memoir of Elizabeth Brown, Fredric's wife:

"We stopped at the Charcoal Broiler for a drink and to study our map before going on. A man sitting beside Fred, overhearing us mapping out our route, asked if he could be of help. He could, Fred told him, if he knew of a furnished house with a fenced-in yard for rent. He did! A three-room cottage with a high board fence around the yard. It was back maybe eight-ten blocks on Main Street at Imperial Highway. (....) We retraced our route, and there on the corner of Main and Imperial was the little cottage with the high board fence with the little white sign on the big yellow gate. Charming it looked from across the street where we parked. (...) We went next door. Mrs. Kelly [landlady] answered the bell."

So there was the answer: the corner of Main and Imperial.

A Google Maps search revealed, however, that Main and Imperial is on the southern edge of LAX. And clicking on satellite mode revealed nothing that looks like a little cottage. (I wonder what part time sf-writer Brown would think of that last sentence.) I know that back in the 1950s, LAX wasn't even the LAX we know today; prior to 1953, the whole dang thing was East of Sepulveda Boulevard.

But what the hell—I'm going to check the corner anyway and report back later this week. I'll also try to take some photos of the area before the Department of Homeland Security slips a hood over my head and pushes me into the back of a white van. This is LAX, after all. It does make me smile, though, to think of Brown sitting there 55 years ago, cranking out a nasty little mystery like His Name Was Death on the edge of what would become one of the busiest airports in the world.

(Of course, other Brown L.A. mysteries remain. Newton Baird's timeline lists Brown's Venice address as "1309 Alexandria Way," which doesn't seem to exist. And then in the early 1960s, Brown lived in Van Nuys while doing some TV work. But I'll save those searches for another trip...)

Huge thanks go to Alex Verstegen for breaking the case wide open.

El Lay: Remember the Paramount

"The Paramount recently underwent a multimillion-dollar renovation, with Disney picking up the check. Today, rechristened the El Capitan (its original name), it is very clean and stylish, with a presentation that brings applause even before the movie starts... The hitch is that only Disney films play there now—a far cry from the days when it took three of us to eject a barbiturate abuser who decided to dance in front of the screen while wearing a motorcycle helmet."

—from David J. Schow's essay, "Boulevard of Broken Screams." (This essay first appeared in the September 1993 issue of Fangoria, but was also reprinted in Schow's highly, highly recommended essay collection, Wild Hairs. Don't give me that look. Go track down a copy now.)

(Photo by The Bride.)

El Lay: The Big Gauche Baby

"For me, L.A. is like a big, gauche baby with a shotgun in its mouth. It'll do anything. And with more style, with more fire, with more Errol Flynn go-to-hell vivacity than any other city I've experienced."

—from Harlan Ellison's essay "Face-Down in Gloria Swanson's Swimming Pool," reprinted in The Essential Ellsion.

(Photo by The Bride, snapped on Hollywood Boulevard.)

Other Swierczynskis in the News: Robocalypse Edition

Like many writers I know, I have an automatic Google keyword search thingy to let me know when anyone's talking smack about me on the interwebs. A few days ago the name "Swerczynski" popped up as a character in a video game called Robocalypse: Beaver Defense. I thought, okay, this is a joke. But it isn't; shit's real. And one of the characters is named "David Swierczynski." Here's a summary from IGN.com:

DAVID SWIERCZYNSKI
The smoothest Environmental agent this side of the Love Canal, David Swazzu- ,Swizerr-- , er.. Swierczynski… is a man on a mission – to stop industrial polluters in their tracks! His finger-pointing is aimed directly at Thermidoom, and he could do his job if that pesky Beaver wasn′t always getting in the way...

That pesky Beaver, indeed.

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

El Lay: Sort of a Mirage

"I think of the city as a sort of mirage. If you look at pictures of the city a hundred years ago it’s just a bunch of weeds and desert dust. It's not really supposed to be here. I was always fascinated by the city it was meant to be. I guess it was a place created by developers. It’s not really like a city where some people roam around and then they find a good piece of land, and then they test it out for a while and make sure there is water so they don’t die, and then they decide to make a city."

—Beck on L.A., in conversation with Tom Waits.

(Photo by The Bride. Click on the image for a larger, tilt-shifty view.)

Legends of the Underwood #12: Erle Stanley Gardner

"Gardner slept as little as three hours a night, instead staying at his typewriter until he had produced the 4,000-word daily target he set for himself. Gardner was a writing machine, a story industrialist... in recent years he'd hammered out millions of words and sold hundreds of stories."

—Richard Rayner in his latest book, A Bright and Guilty Place: Murder Corruption, and L.A.'s Scandalous Coming of Age (Doubleday).

(Twelfth in a series. Here's the whole danged thing so far. )

"Did He Violate You?"

Here's the official trailer for Level 26: Dark Origins, the suspense novel I co-wrote with CSI creator Anthony Zuiker. There will be more Level 26 madness at San Diego Comic-Con. And yes, before you ask... that is indeed Marshall Flinkman (Kevin Weisman) of Alias fame, as well as legendary big screen badass Michael Ironside, of Scanners, Total Recall and Terminator Salvation fame. Michael Fucking Ironside! The cool, calm co-author in me takes it in stride; the fanboy in me wants to squeal with giddy delight.

Anyway, the novel is out in less than two months. Hope you'll check it out...

A Fistful of Cable (Interviews)

In case you missed it, I answered reader questions about Cable in this week's "X-Position" at CBR.com. Plus, you'll find some exclusive art from Gabriel Guzman, who joins the series with issue #18. Also, I talk about Cable #17 with Marc Strom over at Marvel.com, and there you'll find three cool preview pages from current artist Paul Gulacy.

And finally, some readers have mistaken the "Hope Summers" in the X-Men relationship chart (a few posts down) for the other "Hope Summers." I dedicate this 1960s cheeseball classic to those readers.

Girl Missing

The "Messiah War" may be over, but that doesn't mean it's all marshmallows and rainbows for Cable and Hope—as you'll see in these preview pages for Cable #16, out today. Joining Cable is legendary artist Paul Gulacy, and his stuff blew me away from the very first page. Here's hoping you'll check out a copy.

Cable: Kind of a Slut

At least according to Uncanny X-Men.net's X-Men Universe Relationship Chart (via BoingBoing).

Secret Dead Blog Recommends: Hickey & Boggs

A few years ago I became a huge fan of Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye, thanks to Terrill Lankford and Michael Connelly. Huge to the point of rewatching it two, three times a year, because I see something new each time. And just a few weeks ago, I was turned on to Night Moves, the Gene Hackman/Arthur Penn P.I. classic, thanks to both Ed Pettit and Lee Goldberg. Now I've found the private eye movie that completes the trilogy (in my own head, anyway): Hickey & Boggs, starring (and directed by) Robert Culp, and written by the legendary Walter Hill.

All three films are essentially about the same thing: the death of the private eye as we know it. Altman called his version of Chandler's hero "Rip Van Marlowe," implying that he took a very big sleep somewhere in the 1940s and woke up in the hazy, lazy crazy days of the early 1970s. In Night Moves, Gene Hackman's Harry Moseby is a little more in step with modern times, but not much. He's hopelessly out of his depth, both metaphorically and literally, within the first 15 minutes of the movie, and he sinks deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

The same goes with Frank Boggs (Culp) and Al Hickey (Bill Cosby, in one of his few... maybe only?... non-comedic roles). They're two private eyes so down on their luck, they have to decide between paying the bill for their answering service vs. the bill for their actual phone. And soon, they're embroiled in a case involving a virtual United Nations of bad guys: slick white Organization torpedoes, Latino bank robbers, and a militant black power group. They're hopelessly outnumbered, hopelessly outgunned. But unlike Marlowe and Moseby, Hickey & Boggs are painfully self-aware about their predictament, and more importantly, their obsolescence. "Nobody came, nobody cares," Hickey says at one point. "It's still about nothing."

Culp and Hill also pack a ton of story into small, spare moments. There's a scene where Boggs goes to see his ex-wife, who is hardly ever mentioned, and it still manages to be one of the most devestating moments of the film. There is no backstory given, no voice-over, no expository dialogue... but it's still all there for you, every bitter painful moment of their marriage, in the little details of their exchange. I can think of a dozen films where a subplot like this has been beaten to death, but none packs the emotional punch that Culp gives you here. And Hickey & Boggs is full of moments like this. The film never spoon-feeds you. It forces you to keep your eyes open.

Okay... didn't meant to turn this into a mini essay or anything. But if you love your private eyes pushed to the point of oblivion, if you think the best crime films were made in the 1970s, and love a good neo-noir that plays out in broad daylight, I very much recommend tracking down Hickey & Boggs. I've heard the DVD is a bit of a muddy mess; I bought a digital copy from iTunes and it's crisp and clear.

(For more on Hickey & Boggs, check out Kevin Burton Smith's Thrilling Detective Web Site entry; also, this excellent blog post from Mr. Peel's Sardine Liqueur, a new favorite site of mine.)

Severance and the Barry

This morning I woke up to the happy news that my fourth novel, Severance Package, has been nominated for a Barry Award in the category of Best Paperback Original. The full list has been leaked here; the winners will be announced at this year's Bouchercon in Indianapolis. I'm sure I'm going to have my ass handed to me by my fellow nominees (including Max Allan Collins and Christa Faust), but as they say, it's just a pleasure to be nominated.

Get Your Cable On

Newsarama has posted a double-barrel "Messiah War" interview with Chris Yost and yours truly, if you want a sneak peek at what lies ahead. Cable #15, the penultimate installment of "Messiah War," appears next Wednesday; you can find a 5-page preview right here at CBR.com.

Bam! What Happened? Where Am I?

Sorry for the radio silence. It's been crazy busy here in the basement office... but not too crazy to mention that Immortal Iron Fist #26, the conclusion of the "Escape from the Eighth City" arc, hits comic shops everywhere today. CBR has an eight page preview right here; I hope you'll check it out.

"He Will Freak You Out... Right Out of This World"

Is there better film poster in the world than this poster for Dracula A.D. 1972? You've got vampires. Muscle cars. Exposed necks. A chalice of blood. How can you not love this? How can you not want to watch this flick right this very moment?

The Universal monster movies never frightened me; I still have nightmares about the Hammer versions.

Pistol-Packing Polaroid Pulp

I read a short piece in today's NYT Style section about Neil Krug's pulpy photo series featuring model Joni Harbeck. They were taken with old Polaroid film stock, and look like stills from the bloodiest grainiest grittiest sun-drenched 1970s grindhouse crime flick you never saw. You can buy prints this Friday, wait for the book in the fall, or check out samples from the series right here. (Or here, in Krug's Flickr album.) I love these photos.

The Sunday Afternoon Haul

With the ladies away at a bridal shower, the boy and I passed the afternoon at Harvest Books in Ft. Washington, PA, which just so happened to be having a "$5 per bag" sale. This is exactly what it sounds like: browse the shelves. Fill a paper bag. Pay $5 (plus tax) for it.

The boy scored a few Far Side collections and a Bart Simpson book. Meanwhile, here's what I scooped up:

How to Talk Dirty and Influence People by Lenny Bruce. A Playboy Press paperback, as shown above. I've never read this. It's long overdue.

The Family by Ed Sanders. Don't know why, but I've been in a Manson mood lately.

The Kennedy Wit, Edited by Bill Adler. The coverline is what sold me: "1100,000 Copies in Print at $3.00. Now Only 60c!"

The Way We Lived Then and Justice by Dominick Dunne. I've been on a John Gregory Dunne tear lately, so I thought I might check out some of his brother's work.

Capote, by Gerald Clarke. A bio I've been meaning to read for years.

The Late John Marquand by Stephen Birmingham. Another literary bio. I've never read Marquand. But the jacket copy makes him sound like a real son of a bitch, so in the bag it went.

Damon Runyon: A Life by Jimmy Breslin. You might be sensing a vague theme to my picks this afternoon.

Kiss Hollywood Good-By by Anita Loos. "Her irreverance is the key to her readability." Sold.

Heroes by Joe McGinniss. He's a hometown boy (or was). In the bag it went.

I also picked up The Selected Letters of Raymond Chandler (edited by Frank MacShane) for five bucks, as well as a softcover copy of one of my favorite biographies ever, Cain by Roy Hoopes (for $4). Yes, I already have Cain in hardcover. But I buy copies whenever I run across them, because I usually end up giving extras to friends.

Anybody ever read any of the above?

Dutch Treat

Elmore Leonard sounds a bit like Jimmy Stewart. Which is weird, because Jimmy Stewart is definitely not the voice I hear in my head when I read Elmore Leonard novels. He also has this wonderful mischievous grin whenever he cracks himself up, and the wild, boyish humor that runs through his work is apparent on his face.

I could listen to Leonard speak all night. But tonight at the Free Library we only had an hour. Leonard read a little from Road Dogs, talked about how the book came together, told us how he sent a draft to George Clooney—who played the character of Jack Foley in Out of Sight—only, Clooney hasn't had time to read it. ("I guess they have other things to do in Hollywood," Leonard said.) He talked about his work-in-progress, a novel called Djibouti, about a documentary filmmaker on the hunt for Somali pirates. "I'm a 130 pages in," Leonard said, "and I'll start back on it after this book tour." He talked about some of his favorite contemporary writers—Dennis Lehane, George Pelecanos, Cormac McCarthy. He talked about his love for Hemingway, although wished he had a sense of humor in his work. He talked about avoiding writing that sounds like writing. "People ask, what do you mean by that?" Leonard asked, then said: "Upon returning to the room..." Leonard strives for dialogue that sounds like "normal people talking." He doesn't do similes. He likes to have characters talking before you realize where they are, or what they're doing. And he still thinks George V. Higgins' The Friends of Eddie Coyle is the best crime novel ever written. (And a lot of people would agree with him.) He talked about how he and his wife Christine once saw Paul Newman in a Beverly Hills clothing shop, and briefly thought about approaching and telling Newman that he was the author of Hombre. "But what if he didn't like it?" Leonard asked.

So he didn't.

Let Loose the Dogs

Elmore Leonard is doing a reading and signing at the Free Library of Philadelphia tonight in support of his latest novel, Road Dogs. Two years ago I had the chance to do a phone Q&A with Leonard for the Philadelphia City Paper (my ex-employer), and he spoke about the novel, as well as his writing process:

CP: Speaking of your next book, I heard on your podcast that you took three characters from previous books and set them off in a new story.

EL: The plot always comes out of the characters. That's the way I write books. And these three are some of my favorites. One, Jack Foley—George Clooney played him [in Out of Sight]. And Clooney said it's one of his favorite characters, so we're going to show him this book when I finish it. But Jack Foley's back in prison, facing 30 years, and I want him to meet Dawn Navarro, because I loved her, and didn't feel I enough with her, and it'll be just a few years later—I'm not going to do it actual time later, she'd be too old. But she'll be in her early 30s when she meets Foley. She's a psychic, and she knows things. He doesn't believe it at first, but she tells things about him that are true. And then the bad guy, Cundo Rey, he's from LaBrava, and I though of him, and I though, God, I hope he's still alive. I read the last chapter or two of LaBrava, and I found out LaBrava shot him in the chest three times. Oh my God—but! La Brava just assumes he's dead, and leaves. And so the emergency guys come, and his heart's still beating.

CP: Do you have an end point in mind? Or is it total improvisation?

EL: No, I'm always making it up as I go along. The first 100 pages seem to work, because I'm introducing characters, and we find out what their angle is. But then from 100--and I always think of it that way, in three parts—but from 100 to 200 is when I have to do a little plotting. And I don't want the plot to be obvious. I want the reader to wonder what's going to happen and be surprised at what develops. Because now in that second act some of the secondary characters will get into action. And then, of course, the third act, in the past my manuscripts all run around 350-360 pages, around in there. So once I approach page 300, I have to start thinking of the ending. And there are always several different ways you can end it. I choose one that I like and just go for it.