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?