New Novella: "Speed Trap"

Every so often I'll write a novella -- something longer than a short story, yet far shorter than a novel -- and they usually end up in weird places. My sequel to The Blonde, a novella called "Redhead," was found in the back of the paperback edition, as well as available by request as a free PDF. (Offer still good, by the way. Just e-mail me and let me know that you've read The Blonde, and I'll send you back a "Redhead.")

My two interactive mysteries for Quirk (The Crimes of Dr. Watson, Batman: Murder at Wayne Manor) are also technically novellas, neither of them topping 20,000 words.

Over the summer I wrote a novella for IDW's G.I. Joe series called "Speed Trap," which will be included in a G.I. Joe: Cobra Wars anthology (edited by Max Brooks) next spring. But you can read the whole thing -- all 16,000 words of it -- right now, because the "Speed Trap" was included as a bonus feature in G.I. Cobra Special #2, available in finer comic book shops everywhere.

I'm proud of "Speed Trap" because I wrote it while traveling cross-country, and I tried to make use of what I saw on the road. I also tried to fit a novel's worth of plot into 16,000 words, gleefully tossing out anything that didn't keep the story moving, moving, moving. And I'm really happy to see that it's earned some kind words over at CBR.com today.

I'm still in the process of revising "Speed Trap" for the anthology, so Swierczy collectors (all three of you) might want to scoop up this issue, if you'd like to compare an early draft with the finished version.

And you don't have to be a die-hard G.I. Joe-head to appreciate the story; you learn all you need to know along the way. Hope you have a chance to check it out.

Here's Looking At You

Black Widow #6, my first issue on the series, is now available in finer comic shops everywhere.

The Poetry of Sylvester Gardenzio Stallone (Vol. 1)

When I wrote the script for Rocky, I wanted passion music. I wanted a symphony of powerful men...

... of lonely women.

... of thick-necked losers.

... of human ships that crash in the night.

... of love.

... of courage.

... of dignity cast in bronze.

--from Mr. Stallone's liner notes to Bill Conti's Rocky soundtrack (30th anniversary edition)

Frank Castle: Homeless!

Here's a reference photo I took a few years ago for the artists working on both Punisher: Six Hours to Kill and Werewolf By Night: In the Blood. I needed a Philly-area torture complex for the Punisher, and I also needed a place where Jack Russell could keep his giant werewolf-proof panic room. Feeling a little whimsical, I decided to use the same building -- the William Cramp & Sons Ship and Engine Building Company, down by the mighty Delaware River -- for both. Just imagine: Frank and Jack, crossing paths under a moonlit Philly night! (Below: Michel Lacombe's original art, showing the Punisher leaving the building.)

So I was sad to read today that they're tearing down the William Cramp & Sons building to make way for a bunch of I-95 exit ramps (via Philly Brownstoner). If anybody sees a pissed-off werewolf or a psychotic vigilante, you may refer them to the mayor's office.

David Thompson, 1971-2010

I heard the news this morning and thought it was a joke. Or some other David Thompson. I clicked through and saw that it was real. David was really gone.

I'm finding it difficult to write this, because I'm experiencing a surge of emotion that doesn't seem to want to be confined to words. So many memories; so much love for him. I'm sitting in my basement office, the same room where David stayed when he was here in Philly for the first NoirCon in 2007. I remember him talking about cars with my son Parker. Watching a goofy children's show with my daughter Sarah, making jokes in that wonderful, slow-motion Texas accent of his. (Sometimes I felt like we were the same record player, only set on different speeds: me on 78, David on 33.) I remember David reading an arc of Scott Sigler's Infected while he was here... see, I always paid close attention to what David was reading or recommending, because his recommendations were pure gold.

I remember taking the above photo at NoirCon -- the gag, of course, being the menopause reference, because we'd collaborated on Damn Near Dead (one of his first titles at Busted Flush Press). For a while there, we were the kings of a very specific sub-subgenre of mystery fiction: hardboiled geezer.

I remember the half-dozen times I stayed with David and McKenna at their place in Houston, and how they treated me like family, staying up late talking books and drinking beer and generally being silly.

I remember driving with David across scorching Texas, road tripping from Houston to Austin so that we could be at ConMisterio to promote Damn Near Dead, happily talking books and writers the whole way.

I remember the first time I spoke to David on the phone, thinking he was a 50-year-old man... why, he had to be, to treat an absolute nobody with such generosity and enthusiasm, inviting me to do a signing with the big boys (Ken Bruen, Jason Starr, Allan Guthrie, J.D. Rhoades). It was my first appearance as a novelist; nothing will ever top it.

I remember the 7th (or 8th?) beer we were knocking back later that night when David first pitched me his idea for Damn Near Dead.

I remember thinking: This guy must be crazy. I'm nobody! And he wants me to edit an anthology for him?

I remember all of this and more about David, and I'm heartbroken that I won't be hearing his voice again, or talking books with him again.

But the thing I remember most, right now, at this very moment...

I was on a panel last fall at Bouchercon in Indianapolis. At one point, I joked about Twittering a photo of the audience, and snapped one on my cell phone. The photo is below. Right there in the front row, in the middle, wearing his trademark untucked shirt and jeans, arms folded, is my friend David. Beaming. Laughing at our stupid jokes. Proud of all of us.

Philadelphia After Midnight

One of my favorite images of one of my favorite buildings in Philadelphia. One hundred and six years old this month. Site of the infamous Legionnaires Disease outbreak in '76. Still an awesome place to knock back a highball.

(From the Brightbill Postcard Collection, courtesy the Free Library of Philadelphia.)

Philly Flips Out

Check out this short film (sans audio, alas) featuring a model of downtown Philly that somehow calls to mind both Inception and Transformers.

(Hat tip to Field Notes Philly and Philly Brownstoner for originally posting this gem.)

Random Acts of Comicbookery

I have a few weird, random things out in comic book shops this week. First up: Deadpool: Wade Wilson's War #4, the conclusion of my mini-series with Jason Pearson. If you've missed the previous three issues, you could track down copies... or wait until the collected hardcover this December.

Also out: an 8-page Iron Fist and Misty Knight story in I Am An Avenger #1, with art by Jason Latour.

And finally: two one-page origin stories in Origins of Marvel Comics: X-Men #1. I contributed a page on Cable (with art by Dave Wilkinson) and Hope (with art by Jamie McKelvie). It's a great crash course, if you're a little behind on your X-people.

Everyone's Gone to the Moon(stone)

Two weeks from today, I'll be hanging out and talkin' crime fiction with Dennis Tafoya, author of The Wolves of Fairmount Park and Dope Thief. The fun starts at 7 p.m. at the Moonstone Arts Center (110A South 13th Street, Philadelphia PA 19107, 215-735-9598). There's a good chance alcoholic beverages will be consumed at a nearby watering hole directly following the event. And I'll stick to my long-standing offer: buy one of my books, I'll buy you a beer. Hope to see some of you there.