Necon E-Books: The Live Blog

Tiny Kingdoms by Janet Joyce Holden

Guest Blogger — Wed, 16 May 2012 17:40:39 +0000

This is all out war, and instinctively you hide among friends. Your strategy is insignificance, until the big push when you reach out and raise your arms in greater numbers, hoping to be acknowledged and given strength by a more benevolent force. It is a gesture that becomes your undoing, for now you are too large to ignore and I crush you.

You are safe at night, and during the day you have discovered the means to hide. Within these constraints you flourish. You toy with my magnanimity; your appearance and manner beguiles me until I consider reaching for an acceptable compromise. But we are unable to communicate, to discuss terms, and when your behavior becomes indefensible I have no other recourse but to put an end to your tricky little games. You think you are safe, that I cannot touch you. But like the rest of us you are a slave to the rigors of hunger and thirst, and it just so happens I have left sustenance at your door.

I find your body and legs agreeable, but I dislike your hands and face and so I chop them off. I bind alien parts to your embittered, ugly stumps and I watch as, finally, you accept them for your own, for what else is there to do? And when you have done everything I asked, when you have danced in the light wearing such a glorious, pretty dress? I don the armor of a ruthless monarch; I wield his blade and I cut off your head.

I desire what you have, but we are forever at odds. You and your blind proliferation, while I wish to thin out the herd. I pinch you; I poke and I cut. I leave you dying of thirst because I have come to realize it is during the subsequent, cruel struggle for survival, that you are at your best.

Ours is a battle of dimension. I offer you two planes of existence. Alas, you perpetually seek a third and the fight becomes constant. It is a battle you always lose; your blades are no match for mine, and yet you keep on coming, whittling my courage, honing my despair while aesthetics, the ringmaster in this endless circus, goads us into a desperate, bloody dance.

You are stronger than you look, and there’s a moment in the beginning when you slide forth and offer me beautiful gifts. But you forget I am wise to you. I enjoy the flirtation; your clothes, the smell of you, but in the end I cut you down like the rest.

I know what I do. I am not deaf or without some manner of compassion, and there are days when I hear you cry – Who are you? Ruthless autocrat! Serial killer, jailer, torturer, murderer and slayer of our children! Yes, it’s true, and were I to exhibit such traits elsewhere I would be soundly punished. Alas, in this tiny kingdom there are no rules but my own and I wield them with impunity. I must, for the alternative is chaos, anarchy, and some of you would never, ever see the light of day.

You asked me who I am. I am the gardener.

Bechtel’s Buckshot Blog: Getting Stoked

Matt Bechtel — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 18:36:43 +0000

You never forget your first. As such, this article is dedicated to two tremendously talented writers, each of whom we’re honored to say, were “firsts” for your friendly neighborhood e-book company.

The premiere title in our first library of books, Necon Classic Horror #1, was Rick Hautala’s Winter Wake. In fact, Rick participated on the panel at Necon XXX at which Bob Booth announced the founding of our company, and Rick’s novel was our first project announced that day. The reason (beyond the fact that Rick Hautala is a pillar of the horror writing community, a master craftsman, and should be required reading for all fans of the genre)? Rick was the first author to sign on the proverbial dotted line with us, who agreed to dive into this brave new world of digital publishing, and as such gave our fledging company the immediate weight and credibility of his name attached to our brand.

Remember all those nice things I just wrote about Rick? Yeah, that wasn’t me just blowing smoke about one of our contracted talents. It turns out we’re not the only people who appreciate Rick Hautala the way we do … apparently, none less than the Horror Writer’s Association agrees with us, because they just bestowed their Lifetime Achievement Award upon Rick at the 2011 Bram Stoker Awards Banquet:

The achievement of a lifetime: Rick Hautala accepting his honor.

Rick, from the bottom of our hearts, congratulations! Simply put, this honor could not have gone to a more worthy author. This recognition was well-earned, and we sincerely hope that YOU, personally, recognize that fact as well.

To celebrate his Lifetime Achievement Award, we proudly published TWO new Rick Hautala titles this week. The first is Dead Voices, his classic horror novel first published in 1990 (available for purchase HERE). The second is his brand-new mainstream offering, Rough Winds (available HERE). We’re particularly proud to offer Rough Winds; in fact, Bob considers this tale of the real Coastal Maine “the best novel Rick has ever written” (and that’s some statement, considering he just won the Lifetime Achievement Award!). So why did it take so long for this gem to see the light of day? Because, no matter how good they all agreed it was, agent after agent told Rick it couldn’t be sold. We sincerely hope, and believe, that Rough Winds will prove to be another “first” for us — the first amazing novel which, when finally given the chance thanks to being freed of the shackles of the print industry business model, will find its audience and receive its due acclaim.

But, as it turned out, Rick wasn’t the only Necon E-Books author who had a good night in Salt Lake City.

For those who don’t know her, Linda Addison is truly one of a kind; in fact, she is as unique, vibrant, and quirky as the prose and verse she pens. Moreover, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love and respect Linda as both a writer and a person; she is truly one of the special people I’ve been blessed to know.

Naturally, we were thrilled when Linda agreed to let us publish her latest collection of poetry and short fiction, How To Recognize A Demon Has Become Your Friend (available HERE). As all who follow our company know, the majority of our titles are classic re-editions we’ve brought into the digital age. Linda’s collection was one of our first new titles … and as such, was nominated for the 2011 Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a Poetry Collection.

You know how all the losers on Oscar night always say, “I’m just honored to be nominated?” Yeah, I always thought they were full of it, too … until Linda’s collection was put up for this award. It really didn’t surprise me at all that Linda was nominated; in fact, continuing with this Oscars theme, I tend to think of Linda like Meryl Streep (i.e. she warrants a nomination every time she deems to share her talent with us). But there was a genuine disconnect in my brain that we were involved with it. It honestly boggled my mind to think that one of OUR books was up for a Stoker; after all, if Necon E-Books was a baby we’d literally still be in diapers! This just isn’t supposed to happen for a publishing company that’s barely a year old, right? Right?

Then again, most fledging publishing companies don’t have a talent on their roster like Linda Addison. And we got to ride her coat tails all the way up to the podium.

Linda Addison, with her Bram Stoker Award in hand, giving special thanks to her mother.

Winning this award actually wasn’t a “first” for Linda; in fact, she received the same distinction in 2001 for Consumed, Reduced to Beautiful Grey Ashes (when she was the first African-American to ever do so). But it most certainly was a first for our company, and it’s a BIG first — our first ever Bram Stoker Award. Delivered, and fittingly so, by Linda Addison, a unique star in the horror galaxy and, not coincidentally, one of our very favorite people. Linda, we are all SO proud of you, and SO proud to have played a role in your richly-deserved achievement. Thank you for making us look good, and for allowing us the honor of publishing your award-winning collection.

To celebrate Linda’s achievement, we decided to put her to work! April is National Poetry Month, so we adapted our monthly Flash Fiction Contest into a verse poem competition … and we enlisted Linda as the sole Guest Celebrity Judge! Think you’ve got the chops to have your poetry judged by a two-time Bram Stoker Award Winning Poet? Then just click HERE to read the rules and enter your submission!

Like I wrote at the top, you never forget your first … any of them. Rick and Linda, again, we are so proud of you; congratulations, and thank you both again for being a part of the Necon E-Books family.

* * * * *

Since this blog wouldn’t be “buckshot” without at least a few random thoughts —

• As we come to the end of this television season, I’d like to get something on the record (so I can brag about this in a year or two when the big reveal happens and I’m right) — for all fans of the CBS sitcom “How I Met Your Mother,” I know who “the mother” is. I have never read this theory anywhere else online, I don’t believe in reading spoilers, and I actually came up with this about two years ago. Okay, so here it is — Ted is going to wind up marrying Barney’s half-sister. Remember the episode when we met John Lithgow as Barney’s long lost father? He showed Barney a picture of his family, and told him, “That’s my son, and that’s my daughter, who’s in grad school.” We know Ted meets “the mom” at Barney’s wedding, so it makes sense that A) Barney’s half sister would be there; and B) that Ted wouldn’t have met her yet. Plus, it then explains why SO much of this seven-years-and-counting story of how Ted met the mother of his kids has centered around Barney and Robin (assuming the two of them wind up together, which I’m still betting on), because Ted will wind up meeting his kids’ mom at their wedding. Not to mention, it also means the show’s writers have hidden the truth in plain sight all along. Remember all the times Ted has called them “Uncle Barney and Aunt Robin?” Yeah, they’d actually be the kids’ aunt and uncle if their mom is Barney’s sister! It just all fits.

• Speaking of parents, one of the best ones I’ve ever known needs your support.

THE JOHN MCILVEEN LEGAL FUND

Our great friend, John McIlveen — one of the best-loved members of our writing community — is involved in legal proceedings that may endanger his custodial rights as a parent. John is one of the most loving, giving fathers we know, and for the sake of his whole family, his friends have put together the John McIlveen Legal Fund to aid him in his efforts. Without our help, John simply can’t afford legal representation. He needs someone who knows the law and the Massachusetts court system. For legal reasons and for the sake of the family, we’re keeping the details to a minimum, but let me be clear — John is not accused of any misconduct. He’s a fantastic dad involved in a fight that is dramatically lopsided where dollars are concerned.

There are several ways that you can help. If you’re an author, you could donate signed books for auction. When those auctions begin to be posted, readers can bid on them to help John and his family out. To everyone else who’d like to help, the best and fastest way is to donate directly to the PayPal account that has been set up specifically for this purpose. An anonymous donor has already pledged to match the first $1000!!! This challenge will cost thousands — possibly many thousands — so anything you can contribute would be deeply appreciated.

The other thing that you can do is spread the word. Share this on your own Facebook page or on Twitter or your blog. (Note from Matt: We’re doing our part; please feel free to copy this announcement and share it on your own social networking sites!) And if you know John personally, please comment here and let everyone else who might be considering a donation know what a wonderful guy and father he is! Thanks so much!

The PayPal email for the John McIlveen Legal Fund is JMcLF@comcast.net

Musing On My Old Mentor and What He Read

Bob Booth — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 19:31:44 +0000

I was thinking about Don Grant today (Donald M. Grant, the publisher). About the books and writers he so generously introduced me to, and what the common thread might have been. The occasion was my reading of The Face in the Abyss by Abraham Merritt, the last major project Don was involved in publishing, having turned over the day-to-day operations of his company to Robert Weiner.

Don waited a very long time to publish that book, over a quarter of a century. He wanted just the right artist at just the right level of maturity. He found Ned Dameron, waited until he thought he was ready as an artist, and gave him plenty of time to complete the project. That might seem extraordinary, but not if you knew Don. He did things the right way. Always.

So here we go, deconstructing (or maybe it’s reconstructing) Don Grant’s library. I will use his writings, the books he published, and conversations he and I had about books to arrive at a few conclusions. Here goes.

For those of you who don’t know, let me tell you that Don Grant introduced me to publishing (I worked for him for twenty years), introduced me to the world of running conventions (he brought me aboard the committee for the First World Fantasy Convention in 1975 while I was in college), introduced me to his extended list of friends in the field, turned over his day job at Providence College to me (at which I met Matt Bechtel and where both Dan and Sara went to school), and perhaps most important of all introduced me to a score of great books and a style of writing that I was totally ignorant of.

So, in sum, he shaped my career, got me my best job, paid for my kids college education and is largely responsible for both Necon and Necon Ebooks. He was a father figure to me and it is important that I trace his (and thus my) literary ancestry. Much like tracing my own father’s genealogy. I need to understand where I came from.

First, I thought about the time I had spent in his house in West Kingston, RI. For a period of time I was out of work and Don hired me to typeset several books at his house on his machine. They were books that he wouldn’t publish for years but it put money in the pocket of a young man with a new son and he reasoned he’d have to pay someone to do it at some point. That was Don. The typesetting machine was in Don’s garage, which was legendary in the field (Stuart Schiff and others have written about it). There was no one else there so when it was time for a coffee or lunch break I would browse the titles of the bookshelves that lined all four walls of the little workroom. These were not books he had published nor were they stock (he was a long-time bookseller), but books he himself collected and read. The names were totally unfamiliar to me: Mundy, Sabatini, Lamb, Friel, etc.

So one day we had a long talk and he showed me his bound set of Adventure Magazine, a pulp that ran from 1910-1971. He said it was his primary reading vehicle. The books on the shelf were mostly reprints from Adventure. I was curious enough to buy Richard Bleiler’s Bibliography of Adventure and track down many of the stories, some in pulps that I found on my Saturday book jaunts with dealer Paul Dobish of Other Worlds Books, and some in reprint, both hardcover and paperback.

The second piece of the puzzle fell into place while selling at his table at a World Fantasy Convention in Texas. I had bought an issue of Famous Fantastic Mysteries from the ‘40s because I liked the cover art (those of you familiar with FFM are smiling). Don said off-handedly that the basis of any good collection of the fantastic was a run of FFM. From then I bought what I could find and tracked down hardcover and paperback editions of stories that had appeared in FFM. The pieces fit together nicely. The writing was similar to Adventure (in fact Mundy, Haggard, and others published in both), but FFM was more fantastic. The emphasis changed, FFM emphasized the fantastic over the adventure while Adventure did the reverse. But both were present in both publications. The picture was becoming clearer.

Another clue was 333. For those not in the know 333 was the first attempt to separate the wheat from the chaff in Fantastic Fiction. The only bibliography that preceded it was the Bleiler Checklist, but Bleiler attempted to list everything published up to that time (1946), while Don listed “the best of the science-fantasy novels” published until 1950. Over time I met all three of the authors of this seminal work (Don, Joe Crawford, and Jim Donohoe). I have no doubt that while Joe and Jim shared in the work and the expense it was Don who made the choices. This is a seminal work of S-F (Science-Fantasy) criticism. It lists the books with first edition information and about 125 words of description (Flash Fiction contestants take note). The book lists and defines nine categories of fiction and is heaviest on Lost Race and Fantastic Adventure — Don’s forte. His favorite author, Talbot Mundy, has the most entries, followed by Haggard, Merritt, and Burroughs, three more of his favorites.

Two oddities about 333. Joe Crawford told me they had planned 666 (for obvious reasons) and had chosen and written out index card descriptions for all of the books. They didn’t have enough money to print 666 so they cut it in half, intending to print Part II at a later date. Don confirmed this. Joe and Don had a falling out with Donohue and Part II was never published. Neither Joe nor Don was able later to find their index cards. It’s a great game to guess the missing 333 titles.

Second, there was an old bookseller in Providence named Richard (last name forgotten) of Dick’s Book Store. Dick told Dobish and I he remembered “little Donnie Grant” in knickers coming into his store. That should give you an idea how old he was when Paul and I met him. He also remembered Lovecraft as a customer. He didn’t like him. “A cold fish,” Dick said. He wore a cardigan sweater and a green, poker-player’s eyeshade every day of the year. He had a copy of 333 with a hole punched in it hanging from a string over the register. When you brought a book up to purchase he would check it against 333. If it was in there, it was $2.00. If not you could have it for a buck.

To this day Lloyd Currey, fantasy literature’s most respected specialty dealer, always includes a 333 notice in the description of any book he’s selling that appears therein. That’s staying power.

Finally I looked at the books Don chose to publish. Not just with Donald M. Grant, Publisher but also with Grant-Hadley, Buffalo Book Company, Grandon Books, and Centaur Press (all of which Don ran). I found that Merritt (3 books), Mundy (4 books), Friel (2 books), Burroughs (3 books), Howard (dozens) and other names occurred over and over in the various lists. I finally had a handle on what Don Grant read and loved.

What did they have in common? Here are a few conclusions. Most feature a hero who is good at his job. He might be an archaeologist, a professor, a surveyor or a military man. Above all else he was competent at what he did. He would leave the comforts of his urban locale and travel to exotic, distant places like India (Mundy), the Amazon (Fried), Africa (Haggard), past historical epochs (Howard), or Mars (Burroughs). Once there he would interact with and learn an unfamiliar but exciting culture and usually fall in love with an exotic Priestess-Queen-Princess-Amazon. He would defend her honor against the evil King-Priest-Rebel-Scientist and either they would live happily ever after or the volcano would blow up.

Formula fiction? Sure. But so are Jane Austen and Stephen King. All fiction is formula fiction and some of the writers who used this particular formula are Jack London (South Sea Tales), Herman Melville (Typee, Oomo) and Joseph Conrad (Lord Jim). Don’t take it lightly.

In sum they are stories about a competent, curious man who wants to be loved. What’s wrong with that? It’s what Don wanted. It’s what I want. Don achieved it, in spades. I hope I have too.

Note: You will no doubt notice the absence of the modern horror writers that Don published in this essay — Stephen King, Peter Straub, Charles L. Grant, David Morrell, Les Daniels, etc. They are of my generation and Don read them at my urging. He was open and liked their work (especially King’s Dark Tower books). But they did not form him. In many ways I have dedicated Necon Ebooks to the continuation of his work with writers of my generation. Another thing I have to thank him for.

Polio, Dominican Friars, and Necon — A Mystery Solved

Bob Booth — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 16:41:31 +0000

A TV show premiered on Fox Wednesday night, called “Touch.” It is about a boy who is autistic, doesn’t speak, but has the amazing ability to see all of existence as a mathematical construct. By simply following the number lines he can discover why things happened in the past and, more importantly, what will happen in the future. A few years ago there was a show with a similar plot device, “Numbers.” That one starred a college math professor who helped his FBI agent brother solve seemingly impossible cases through complicated algebraic equations. More recently, “Person of Interest” uses a computer developed by Homeland Security to predict terrorist activities. A rogue agent and a computer scientist mine this information illegally to help prevent crimes.

Scientific Calvinism? Maybe. We are all predestined to do certain things, they seem to suggest, and if we only had the right device (professor, computer, idiot savant) to decipher what is in plain sight we could know the unknowable. Having worked twenty years in the Halls of Academe (and on computers), I’m pretty confident neither will solve the riddles of the universe any time soon.

It is an interesting, if not terribly original, idea. The Greeks had it. They believed in The Fates, consulted oracles and read chicken entrails. More recently mankind developed much more reliable methods like astrology, palm-reading, and head bumps.

Still . . . What if you could follow the threads of your life to see where they went. Well you can, but only retrospectively. It is one of the (few) advantages of being old. So here goes.

Mary and I watched another TV show last night, a documentary on the polio epidemic of the early ‘50s on PBS. It solved a mystery that has been stuck in my craw for over fifty years. It was nice to get the answer, and it led me down a path that led, in a curious way, to Necon. “God draws straight with crooked lines,” Thomas Merton reportedly said.

For those of you too young to remember, the polio epidemic of the late ‘40s/early ‘50s was a scary time. Polio killed and paralyzed thousands of Americans, including President Roosevelt. On Roosevelt’s instruction an aid started a charity called The March of Dimes and turned charity giving on its head. They found it was better to get small contributions from many givers than large contributions from a few philanthropists.

Two researchers, Dr. Salk and Dr. Sabin, competed for the money. Salk’s idea was a dead virus vaccine while Sabin wanted one with a live virus. Salk won because his vaccine could be ready sooner. It was successfully tested at two “homes for the feeble-minded.” There was no concept of Informed Consent in the ‘50s.

A press conference was held and madness ensued. Kids could go out to play again and parents could breath a sigh of relief. Labs all over the country started to produce the vaccine and every schoolchild got a shot. I was one of them that first year, the year the ended the polio plague.

Two days later I awoke with a stiff neck. I was in the second grade. I told my mom, who thought I was just trying to skip school. She made me go anyway. That afternoon I came home from school (about a half-mile walk before the days of moms with vans and busing) dragging my left foot behind me.

When my dad got home at five we went to our family doctor. He examined me, made a phone call, and told my parents to drive me to Charles G. Chapin hospital in Providence. My dad had never heard of it, so old Doc McClellan gave him directions. It turns out Chapin was formerly a home for unwed mothers that the state was now using to house quarantined patients, mostly tuberculosis and polio.

My mom was told she couldn’t visit, just stand outside my window and wave. She was pregnant. My dad could come to my room and talk to me, but only from the doorway. I had a spinal tap. I was poked and prodded by a group of about twelve men dressed in white with masks on. One was from New York, another from Washington. I was eight years old.

After about a month there my symptoms gradually left and I was sent home. My parents were never given a proper explanation so whenever I asked what had happened to me I was met with blank stares. As a precaution all of my toys and clothes were burned. The kids in the neighborhood wouldn’t play with me, no doubt on the advice of their frightened parents. Tired all the time, no toys, no friends. And then . . . a miracle!

My parents were not educated past high school but they had a dream. When the door to door salesman told them that the “Encyclopedia Americana” would lead straight to the Ivy League, they believed him. It was a godsend. I spent hours and hours immersed in the written word — dinosaurs, Egypt, the history of flight, whatever occurred to me. Out of this terrible experience were born my love of the written word and my insatiable need to be around friends.

Many years later I was working for fantasy legend Donald M. Grant. Don’s day job was at Providence College, run by the Order of Preachers (Dominicans). When he retired he recommended me to the Vice President for Human Resources and I was hired. I worked there for twenty years. Interestingly, the lower campus of Providence College is made up of the buildings of Charles G. Chapin hospital.

Both of my children (Dan & Sara) are graduates of Providence College, as is Matt Bechtel. All are important to both Necon and Necon E-Books. They probably all had a class in my old hospital room. My love of reading, my need for friends, Don Grant, Dan Booth, Sara Calia, Matt Bechtel, and Providence College: all connected by an invisible spider web of cause and effect leading, inexorably, to Necon (and Necon E-Books).

And the mystery? At the end of the documentary they said that a few labs inadvertently were shipped live polio virus for use in the dead virus vaccine. There was no equivalent of today’s FDA back then. A few hundred kids nationwide got the virus from the vaccine. Some died. Some were paralyzed. Some were lucky and the virus passed through them in a few weeks. When I’m tired I still limp a little, but you have to know me well to notice it.

God draws straight with crooked lines.

Bechtel’s Buckshot Blog: Having a Not-So-Blue Christmas

Matt Bechtel — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 01:39:19 +0000

Greetings again, one and all, and I apologize right off the bat if I’ve just put an Elvis Christmas carol into your heads.

This is our first new blog in over a month, and that’s not by accident or laziness or a lack of material — we decided to leave Bob’s last article up longer than usual in homage to Les. Unfortunately, that also meant that our blog has been rather, well, melancholy; combine that with the fact that we’re now squarely into the holiday season, where the inevitable “holiday blues” tend to rear their ugly head, and it’s left us with a web site that’s kind of been a downer.

Well, fear not! Despite our somber mood, the universe has stepped up recently and provided a number of unexpected laughs. For anyone who’s going through the seasonal “blahs,” please check out the following sources of levity; I promise you’ll crack a smile despite the fact that it’s now dark by 4:30 in the afternoon …

• I know this is a few weeks late, but I can’t write an article about funny stuff without mentioning Neil Gaiman’s pitch-perfect turn as himself, taking the young adult literature scene of Springfield by storm, on The Simpsons. Neil now joins a very select list of Neconers who’ve played themselves on the seminal animated show (along with Stephen King and Stephen Hawkings). What really made Neil’s appearance memorable, however, was his own incredible self-deprecating sense of humor. For those who’ve never had the pleasure to meet Neil, he always, always wears a black leather jacket; therefore, I nearly fell off my couch laughing when Homer referred to him as “British Fonzie.” Neil, once again, kudos and congratulations on an epic performance … especially impressive considering you “don’t even know how to read!”

Neil Gaiman (in all his animated glory)

• The following topic is EXTREMELY “Not Safe For Work,” so I’m not going to post a link or give a full web address (you can easily Google it). However, I’m utterly amazed at the phenomenon which is the “Texts From Bennett” web site. For those who haven’t caught it, this site simply posts text messages the creator receives from his 17 year old wanna-be-rapper cousin. They’re filthy and full of swears and misspellings, and they are so stunningly stupid that they are hilarious.

For the record, no matter how many times the creator claims, “This site is 100% real,” I don’t buy it; however, I also really don’t care. Whomever is writing this material is a genius at writing stupid and making it funny, and trust me, that’s an art form in and of itself. What leaves me scratching my head about “Texts From Bennett” is the entire process of an underground, viral internet sensation. There are literally thousands, heck millions of people posting stuff on YouTube and Twitter, and a surprising number of them draw attention, but NOTHING like “Texts From Bennett” has received in such a short time span (I think the site has only been live for about a month). As I told a buddy of mine, he and I could start a web site, make the site look more appealing, generate better copy, and we’d get two hits a day, one a piece from each of our moms. “Texts From Bennett” has really caught lightning in a bottle, and to me watching the ride they’re on right now adds as much appeal to following the site as the absurd text messages (whether they’re real or not).

• So how many people noticed the Necon E-Books reference in the holiday iPhone commercial? Throughout the ad, Santa asks “Siri” for various information (weather reports, his appointments, etc.); however, the first thing he asks his new smart phone is for “directions to Charlie Grant’s house.”

Honestly, as much as I’d LOVE to believe that someone in the Apple Marketing Department is a fan of Charlie’s fiction, the fact of the matter is that “Charlie Grant” is a pretty non-descript name, so this was probably just an eerie coincidence. But it did make me notice something — most of the biggest authors in horror have pretty bland, generic names (Stephen King, Anne Rice, Joe Hill, Charles Grant, etc.). Therefore, in a blatant attempt to stand on the shoulders of giants, I’ve decided to adopt the most boring pen name I can come up with. Unfortunately, I don’t look good enough in a pilgrim hat to pull of “John Smith,” no one would dare drink the free punch provided at a press event for “James Jones,” and “Bill Bo” makes me sound like a hobbit. Anyone creative enough to come up with something that’s dull as mud with no baggage attached, please let me know.

• Finally, staying on a similar topic, who here has caught the latest Cialis commercial? Anyone who has is probably laughing already; anyone who hasn’t, keep your eyes peeled for it, ‘cuz it’s the funniest ad to hit television since the original Shake-Weight spot.

I’m assuming everyone knows the basic formula for a Cialis commercial — middle aged couple doing everyday stuff, they exchange a look, the narrator explains, “When the mood is right …”, and suddenly they’re soaking in side-by-side bathtubs overlooking a cliff. Pretty ridiculous in and of itself, but that’s the typical pattern. What makes the latest one so special is what happens when that right mood strikes for the latest lucky couple. They’re out doing yard work, she brushes some leaves out of his hair, they smile at each other … and suddenly they’re transported, and their backyard becomes a woodland scene. It’s what comes next that’s so stunning, as the next shot of the commercial is of … (wait for it) … the couple, together, pitching a tent.

(I’m gonna give that a moment to sink in.)

I’m not just saying there’s a tent in the background as an obvious visual metaphor. I’m talking about the man and the woman, on their knees in the dirt, pulling ropes taut and hammering stakes into the ground. The actual ACT of pitching a tent. In a commercial for Erectile Dysfunction medication.

I tend to think of myself as a fairly funny guy, but there’s no way I could ever come up with a better punch line for this part of the article than that. As such, I’m just gonna sign off now. Happy Holidays in advance, and good luck with any last minute shopping (which, for some of us, means most all of it).

P.S. — I was just seeing how many of you were paying attention; Stephen Hawkings has never actually been to Necon … yet …

Bob’s Table at Café Necon: On Les Daniels

Bob Booth — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 20:25:56 +0000

Hi . . . Have a seat . . . Here’s your glass . . . What? Oh yes, it’s Maker’s Mark.

I propose a toast . . . To our missing friends . . . Here’s to Charlie, Don, Alan, and Les.

What? You hadn’t heard? Yes, Les left us sometime the first week in November . . . Heart attack.

You didn’t know much about him? Maybe nobody did. He was a complex man. Let me tell you what I know.

Les was born in Connecticut. His father was a writer. He wrote for radio, Jack Armstrong, All American Boy. They lived in a house either next to or across the street from one owned by Mark Twain — I can’t remember which. So writing was certainly in his blood.

His father gave him a book by Ambrose Bierce and that started him in his life’s direction. For Les also had a taste for the macabre and a wicked sense of humor. Like Bierce, he was also a pretty fair journalist. He followed the literary trail from Bierce to Lovecraft and that gave him a yearning to see Providence.

So he went to Brown University and lived on the East Side — Lovecraft’s neighborhood. Being single-minded and focused he wrote his thesis on Frankenstein (not H.P. Lovecraft as reported in the New York Times). He never went back. From then on, Providence would be his home. And writing would become his life’s work. He never did anything else.

In the early days he was much into music. He was a great banjo player, emulating Flatt and Scruggs. He formed a band with Sam Tidwell and Martin Mull. They were sort of a cross between The Foggy Mountain Boys and Monty Python — tight playing combined with absolutely insane satirical lyrics. There is a picture of them playing at Club 47. Club 47 was in Cambridge and the place to play in 60′s. Dylan played there, as did Joan Baez. Tidwell went on to be a bluegrass legend, Mull went on to Hollywood, and Les stayed in Providence and wrote.

He wrote rock journalism for a while, interviewing the likes of Jimi Hendryx and Jim Morrison. Working with comic book artist John Peck he created the iconic “Providence” poster that has also become the most popular postcard in Rhode Island. Every parent of a Rhode Island School of Design or Brown University student has gotten one. It contains the line: “Where Friendship is a one-way street.”

He was much into comics then and for the rest of his life. His early study Comix (1971) was the first really serious look at the comic book as a means of literary expression. He would later write the definitive histories of both DC and Marvel. That’s like being the official historian of both the Red Sox and the Yankees. It is significant that both comic book giants sought him out for their books. For good measure he produced studies of Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman.

In 1975 he turned his attention to horror and produced Living in Fear; a History of Horror in the Mass Media and its companion volume Dying of Fright. Living in Fear, like Comix, was a pioneering effort in understanding the history of a genre that was about to dominate the next forty years of pop culture. Dying of Fright was an illustrated anthology. They were both really beautiful coffee-table books produced by Charles Scribner’s Sons. A little later he and his sister edited 13 Tales of Terror, a collection of horror tales meant to be used as a textbook.

He wrote two screenplays that I know of, neither one of which was produced. Shortly after Saturday Night Fever he was hired by Dino DeLaurentis to write a “disco horror movie.” He was flown to London and put up in a hotel during the writing. By the time the production company turned its attention to the project the disco flame was sputtering and the project was cancelled. The other was an inspired bit of madness called “the Comediac movie.” Teaming with local comic, rocker, and columnist Rudy Cheeks, Daniels conceived of a serial killer obsessed with The Three Stooges. Les spoke about it often. In our movie, he woud say, an eye-poke is really an eye-poke. They were unable to get sufficient financing and this project also was shelved.

I could go on, and perhaps I have. But like I said, Les was a complex guy. He wrote book reviews and movie reviews. He would appear in nightclubs. His act was to comment on really bad horror movies of his choosing while they were showing. My personal favorite was Bucket of Blood. This was at least a decade before Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Finally, he was flat out one of the finest horror writers I have ever read. His first novel, The Black Castle, is a classic. Noted book collector and dealer Paul Dobish (Other Worlds Bookstore) says it is the most perfectly crafted genre novel he’s read in a very long time. I agree. The prose is crystalline. His hero, a vampire, appeared again in The Silver Skull, Citizen Vampire, Yellow Fog, and No Blood Spilled. Sebastian is an old-school vampire, neither “enigmatic” nor “sparkly.” Yet, despite his bloodlust and his cruel streak he is constantly disgusted by the humans around him.

A sixth novel, never published, is believed to exist. He also wrote a dozen or so fine short stories. He was nominated for four World Fantasy Awards, won the Eisner Award, and is in the Necon Hall of Fame.

Most importantly, he was my friend. We met before the first World Fantasy Convention in Providence. We were both on the committee and found we worked well together. Five years later, when Mary and I started Necon, Les was the first committee member we chose. Both of these conventions have done fine since, in no small measure due to Les’ influence.

You want another? Me, too. Oh yes, the Game Show. In the history of the Game Show (Necon’s epic trivia contest) Les wracked up more victories than anyone. His closest competitors (Stephen Bissette, Thomas F. Monteleone, and Chet Williamson) were way behind. He reigned supreme.

Thank you Les. For everything.

Les Daniels (at Necon, photo by Jill Bauman)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Matt Bechtel — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 19:44:14 +0000

Simply put …

(Left to Right) Publisher/Vampire Bob Booth; Contemporary Fiction Manager/Frankenstein Dan Booth; Art Director/Witch Kelli Jones; and Production Manager/Werewolf Matt Bechtel

Out of the Cauldron, Onto the Page by Janet Joyce Holden

Guest Blogger — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 18:18:57 +0000

I’m not on the NYT Bestseller list (yet). I don’t get asked about agents, or whether my bank account is overflowing. But I do get asked about ideas, and more particularly – how I transform an idea into the written word.

Ideas are born of raw materials – words, images, people, places, music, memories – they all churn away in that baffling cauldron between my ears until the right combination of ingredients floats to the surface and moves me to create. But where do I begin? How do I pluck the BIG IDEA out of that stewing, simmering bowl and transfer it onto the page?

We all know the drill: Write every day. Read every day. Practice. Pay attention to vocabulary and grammar. Edit, edit, and edit some more. All that is sacrosanct.

But in addition, I would also like to suggest a good rummage through our mental toolboxes. Scary, I know, but bear with me. Because we don’t all think alike. We don’t all benefit from identical patterns of behavior, or the exact, same application of the rules. And knowing how we individually apply ourselves to other activities, how we overcome obstacles, how we learn, might also help us take that first step along the path to creativity.

For me it starts with the visuals. I like to see how something works before I give it a try. Hand me an instruction manual with no illustrations and hear me howl in despair. Show me a diagram and I’m good to go. Likewise, offer me the choice between a list of directions and a map, and I’ll take the map every single time. And if I can see how a mathematical problem is solved, I have a much better chance of understanding it (Hello abacus!).

Before writing anything I tend to visualize it first. Metaphorically, blank page becomes blank canvas, flash fiction becomes flash photography, and stories and novels are broken down into a number of sets and scenes, giving my characters a place to play.

Actual visual cues, photographs for example, also help stimulate ideas and provide a starting point. It’s why I carry my camera everywhere I go. I take shots of doors and windows, of skylines and strange foliage; I take pictures in museums and hotels, along pathways and alleys and around street corners. I am my own set dresser and location scout. And on a rare occasion, one single, delightful image can inspire an entire story.

An example:

“Here’s a quiet spot. Why not sit here while I take the kids?”

“Sure.” He forced a smile and watched his family set off for the dining room. He wanted to go with them but he was in no shape to eat breakfast. Not now. Not ever. And when they were gone he resolutely folded his arms to stop them from shaking, and despite the allure of a comfortable chair he stayed on his feet and stared out of the window.

Out toward the lush, sunken garden, where waiters were busy laying out tables and polishing wine glasses; it was a scene utterly at odds with recent memory, and nowhere near strong enough to make him forget.

Another:

Floorboards creaked beneath thin carpet, sallow light shone dully from a covered lamp at the end of the hall and despite the weight distributed equally between the two men, the object was proving unwieldy and Joe’s fingers were burning under the pressure.

Henry giggled. “Hey. Seen the paintings? Like guys wearing dog masks -”

“Do I look like a freakin’ art critic?” Joe needed to get out of this house and that giggle was driving him nuts. “Keep moving, you idiot. We got what we came for.”

A couple more images:

They’re not perfect shots by any means, but the first one draws me in, demands that I make something happen beyond that tunnel of bamboo, whereas the second suggests a certain level of pathos. They work for me, but do they inspire you? Or do they leave you cold? Maybe your method is different. There’s always another way to kick-start that story. So, dig in, explore, rummage through that toolbox. Know thyself.

(With humble apologies to Socrates and St. Christopher.)

How to Reach A Cold Wind in July by Craig Shaw Gardner

Guest Blogger — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 18:50:00 +0000

Long ago and far away, horror anthologies were solid money makers. That may be hard to imagine today, when most anthologies and single-author collections are lucky if they find a home in the small press, but way back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, these books actually “earned out” (in other words, they made back the money the publisher’s advance) and even paid royalties to both editor and authors .

I loved reading these books in my struggling, wanna-be writer days, and a lot of my early stories leaned towards horror. I would dutifully send off whatever I had written to every market I could find, and, a month or two later, that story would come back to me. At first the stories would come back with form rejections, then, later, someone would write a few words of explanation or encouragement — usually on the corner of one of those same form rejections. And so it went for about seven years.

My first professional sale was a fantasy, something called “A Malady of Magicks” which appeared in late 1978 in Fantastic Stories. But my second professional sale was straight-up horror, and it sold to Charles L. Grant, the most successful of all the anthologists working at that time. Over the next decade or two, I sold a whole bunch of stories to Charlie, some to his long-running Shadows series, and others to his original paperback anthologies with titles like Horrors, Midnight and Doom City. And I sold to a handful of other anthologies as well. These were mostly horror, but the occasional fantasy story crept in, and the even more occasional mystery, along with one or two that might be called science fiction.

I’m proudest of the horror fiction, which, thanks to the kind folks at Necon E-Books, is now being collected and issued as an e-book, with an physical, printed-on-paper book to follow. This is the first time all these stories are in one place. They’re “quiet” horror, by the way, more Val Lewton than Tobe Hooper. They don’t hit you over the head. They crawl under your skin instead.

I’m calling the book A Cold Wind in July, in part to honor Necon, that fine summer horror convention which, in one way or another, helped me to write and sell a number of the stories in the collection. I understand it’s one of Necon E-Book’s first original books. It’s also my very first e-book, although I hope to have a bunch more to follow.

I hope you’ll take a look at A Cold Wind in July. Walk out under the hot summer sun. And shiver.

BECHTEL’S BUCKSHOT BLOG: Lions and Tigers and Hope

Matt Bechtel — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 03:17:07 +0000

Minutes ago, the Detroit Tigers lost a heartbreaker in extra innings to the Texas Rangers to fall behind 3-1 in the ALCS (side note, I actually waited all day to post this blog to include tonight’s result, a decision I now sincerely regret). Literally across the street from Comerica Field in downtown Detroit stands Ford Field, the home of the Detroit Lions, who defeated the Chicago Bears on Monday night to go to 5-0 for the first time since 1956. For a little perspective on how long it’s been since the Lions have been this good, the last time they won their first five games my father’s family had season tickets … to watch them play at the old Tigers Stadium. He was about to turn 11.

Although I’ve lived most my life in the northeast, I was born just outside Detroit (ask me where, and I’ll hold up my right hand and point towards the base of my thumb). Both sides of my family have proud Michigander roots; my father worked for years in the Renaissance Center downtown, and my maternal grandfather worked for the Detroit News for half a century. Needless to say, as a lifelong Michigan sports fan, I’ve never experienced a month quite like this one.

But this actually isn’t a blog post about sports; rather, it’s about that rare occasion where the silly games we follow touch on something much bigger. It’s about when our pleasant distraction does more than just occupy our minds, but manages to raise our spirits.

To be as blunt as I can be, no city in America has been hit harder by the recession of the last few years than my hometown of Detroit. None. I could go into the reasons why, but I’d prefer to keep this blog non-political; needless to say, the end result was a former blue-collar metropolis left devastated.

But then something funny happened — Detroit started to come back. Ford has had an amazing (and unexpected) run of success the past few years, and G.M. and Chrysler have begun to follow suit. Right around that same time, and even more unexpectedly, the Lions started to show signs of life for the first time in a decade. Then the Tigers made a few shrewd trades this summer and voila, they’re in the playoffs. Quite frankly, I don’t really care whether it’s karma or symbiosis or just dumb luck, and I also don’t mean to imply that the city’s economic future is linked to the success of its sports teams. What I do know is that Detroit, my hometown, a city that has been through the proverbial wringer, has something fun to cheer about right now, and that makes me smile.

Like I said, sometimes sports touch on things that are much, much bigger than themselves. ESPN opened their telecast on Monday with a piece about Detroit (click here); please note, not once does Barry Sanders cite “the Lions.” That’s because he’s not talking about the team, but rather the city they represent. Everyone loves a good underdog story in sports, but the only thing better is one in real life. No matter what happens to the Lions and Tigers from here, they’ve already done the city of Detroit proud; I’d expect the players on my teams would tell me that I got that last thought backwards.

• APPEARANCE NOTE: We’ll be at the Rock & Shock Convention in Worcester, MA this weekend (October 14 – 16), sharing space at the NEHW table. Moreover, our Publisher Bob Booth will be moderating the “E-Publishing Workshop” panel on Sunday at 1PM (our Art Director Kelli Jones and I will be participating); Bob will also be participating in “The Writers Studio” panel on Saturday at 12PM, and Kelli will be participating in the “Women in Horror” panel on Saturday at 1PM . Anyone attending, please come over and say hello (assuming they’re still alive by then, I’ll be the one in the Tigers hat; hey, I’ve worn it all playoffs, and it’s mostly worked so far!).

• A quick note to all the “spam bots” responding to this blog — thank you for your less-than-genuine interest in our site, but in the future can you at least try to make your fake posts seem real? For instance, no one has been “researching, looking for this information for years!” regarding what I wrote in my last “Buckshot Blog” (I know for a fact that my random opinions aren’t that interesting and are even less useful). Most importantly, to the non-person who wrote, “Thanks for the handy advice, I’ll be sure to try these tips!” about Jeff Strand’s guest blog … PLEASE DON’T actually shoot Jim Moore in the chest!!! See, Jeff was being what we in the writing business call “satirical;” Jim isn’t really a 600-year-old demon, and very, very bad things will happen if you shoot him. Thanks in advance, and I appreciate your efforts.

(Last minute addition — when I logged in to post this blog, there were SEVENTY-FREAKIN’-EIGHT comments pending approval, and about 74 of ‘em were spam. ”Find better spam blocking software for our blog” just jumped to the top of my “to do” list for tomorrow, even ahead of laundry, which is saying something because I’m down to my last clean pair of underwear …)

That’s all for now, folks; again, I hope we see a lot of you this weekend at Rock & Shock!