Tonight I Will Work On My Novel...

Said novel being CITY OF NEW SECOND CHANCES, starring Frank St. Cyr, Johnny Restivo, Ransom Holland, Chris the bartender and Scott the pool hustler at Uptown Jo's. Willy Sid and Lisa Sestina as the PIs (police informants). Blood Alley, Glengarry Townhomes, the Darlington Motel, and the vacant lot at Sunnyside and Agatite all ready for a dead body. But its 15 below with the wind chill, and I'm reading comics instead. So there you have it. What shall be my excuse tomorrow? A lost love (or royalty check)? Being hounded by Howie Mandel to co-host DEAL OR NO DEAL? Watching tonight's episode of HEROES again? Someone get on my @$$ about getting off my own @$$ and write this dang book already!!!!! Pleadingly, Wayne

Storytellers Unplugged

There is a link to Storytellers Unplugged, after the name Mark Rainey, and this will connect you on a daily basis to a different writer posting a thought, story, essay, what have you, and it might be a cool link for the newer writings who catch my blog to check out. My first entry was today, as I stepped in when Chet Williamson bowed out, and all my entries will appear on the 28th of each month. Rainey, who edited DEATHREALM magazine and published both my earliest works (after GRUE) as well as my article and correspondence with John Wayne Gacy, which detailed the days up to the killer's execution, was the first one to tell me about this blog. Speaking of which, after the BTK Strangler was finally caught in Wichita (having hid out in the open as long as the Unabomber), Mark sent me the author photo in the center which bore an uncanny yet not-unexpected similarity to the killer. The photo of the guy on the right, I got no idea. David Niall Wilson nudged me further into joining the group and Joe Nassie finalized the deal. I'd be pleased to hear feedback on this rambling piece, as its probably the "blog entry" that will have the biggest audience, as the link is somehow connected, in ways that confound me, to LiveJournal. I'd look at the days of the month to read past articles by writers like Elizabeth Massie, Brian Hodge, and others. Take care, Wayne

For My New South African Friends: CHICAGO!!!

This is for Sam-Girl and etain, who both have recently ventured into this realm of mine. (I keep it hidden from Stewart Sternberg, but only every other Thursday). So enjoy the tour, girls. As well as anybody else who comes across this brainstem labyrinth. Wayne

Sternberg's Multiverse

Well, I started work at noon Monday and it is now 3:13 AM and I am again going in to work at noon at working until 2 AM, an endless loop like Mike mentioned about the Steve McQueen action figure. In the top photo, you can see how I am fighting Stewart Sternberg's thought powers. In the lower photo, I can be seen secretly photographing those who worship the Cult of Sternberg, Tyrone Power at the cross, Sid Williams as Mister Mariachi from Earth-14, and Mike Fountain in a bad toupee as the Colgate Wisdom Tooth Guy from Earth-Prime. Marvel or DC, it doesn't matter. Sternberg traverses the multiverse and creates the dreams that become other's lives, ghastly as it may sound. Tomorrow I will live what Sqt is dreaming right now. (By the way, it should be noted that I post my times as Ulaan Baator, Mongolia time, in the hopes that I can hide from Stewart's scheming mind). My only hope is that is that I can dream something that Stewart himself will relive if only I can get to %$#&& sleep. Waynezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzsnrksnnnnsnnnnuhk

The Cult of Sternberg

My last post received more comments than the one about back in the days when I was working with the Elvis band. Of course, Stewart is very decent and even took a bullet for me back when Donald Rumsfeld was masquerading as the Super-Skrull, but I believe that he has become a puppet master. No, not like Donald Sutherland. A REAL puppet master. Just months ago, there might be one comment on his blog; the other day, I went to comment and found that 46 people had already commented before me! The only possible way that this man is able to write seemingly nonstop and yet still comment to every single post made to him has to be this: Stewart has broken through the fifth wall and the multiverse has spilled from his very loins. The Stewart from the Kree-Skrull War may not be the same one as the infommercial Stewart who sells abdominizers and hunting knives. Until I can be certain of this, I shall remain alert with my ally Steve McQueen, who the "good" Stewart miniaturized, thus faking the actor's death, and presented to me after our battle with Luthor and Brainiac. Yours in paranoia, Wayne

The John Agar Hypno-Cube

Stewart Sternberg seems to be forcing people to write stories whether they want to or not. This needs to be stopped, or at the very least, curtailed. I haven't taken my John Agar Hypno-Cube off my shelf since the Kree-Skrull War, but something needs to be done. Who's with me? Using my superhero name, I remain yours truly, The Scarlet Corgi of 1966, forever trapped in time. No thanks to Stewart, even though he hasn't caused time to be broken as of yet.

Orion

The one good thing about the cold winter weather returning is that our nights are so clear and devoid of clouds and--at this time of the morning, 1:42 AM--planes landing/descending at Midway that, as I sit while my border collie Buddy The Mitch sniffs for rabbit trails, I watch the stars above. Orion is due south of my house. Wayne

Arcana, Past & Present

I'm not lying about Half Deer Highway. Harry Fassl (just above this) and I passed a half of a deer standing upright at the edge of the interstate. I am adding photos of other friends & writers & artists that discovered Arcana long before I did ( the circumstances, I believe, involved a dwarf clown telling me the answers were at The Axeman's Carnival). Artist Rodger Gerberding and writer and editor of THIN ICE, Kathleen Jurgens, of Council Bluffs, Iowa. Now married, Kathleen toils at raising kids and playing archaeologist in the sandbars of western Nebraska during the summer, with Rodger doing theater, I believe taking up the role Bob Crane of HOGAN 'S HEROES fame performed before being bludgeoned to death. Seriously, though, he will be in Kansas, I think taking up where the BTK Strangler left off. Then...there's Sean Doolittle. He seemed to think Harry & I were famous when he met us in 1992. The guy who now has three novels in print, DIRT, BURN, and RAIN DOGS. Left us in the dust, I'll tell you. But this post is still about John Brower's passing. Several people have posted comments about my last two entries, and I think that we should all get together, if only as a gesture to John's spirit in the halls, along with the GoHs that have gone before...Karl Edward Wagner, Robert Bloch, Fritz Lieber. From his obituary in the 14 Jan 07 Minneapolis Star-Tribune : John lived in Shoreview, MN , and once worked at KFAI Fresh Air Radio in Minneapolis, where he produced and hosted "Poeme Electronique," and was co-founder of IPAAM (Indonesian Performing Arts Association of Minnesota). He built a strong and loyal group of friends, many of whom enjoyed his company over the years. That last line about sums it up (me talking here). In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to Feline Rescue, 593 Fairview Avenue No., St. Paul, Minnesota 55104-1708. Mike Fountain is in Kalamazoo. Stewart Sternberg is the Michigan Man of Mystery so he might be traversing limbo or Dimension Eighteen even as I type this. Larry Santoro would love to show up at this thing, as he'd be passing right through Bluffton. I think its time for a short weekend in early autumn with about the coolest group of people one could expect to meet. Arcana is like a secret to most, but John's passing has pushed many memories to my thalamus (or is that Thalmas, the town where the Axeman's Carnival exists?). Let's make a pact, fellow bloggers. Like the Fantastic Four did. I call, I'm the Thing. Wayne

Memo From Minn-Con

Philip J. Rahman was kind enough to pass on this photo from Arcana 2003; it was only us idjits from Illinois that called it Minn-Con. Probably to remind us to drive to Minneapolis, even though it was really in St. Paul. John Brower is standing at the left, listening intently to the late Peder Wagtskjald. Roger Lasley, who initially contacted me about John's death, is in the plaid shirt. Philip asked that the photo be credited to David Christianson. For those interested in this convention, it is very casual and low-key, with much discussion on the likes of Donald Wandrei, August Derleth, Hugh B. Cave, and of course, 'ol H. P. Scott Wyatt and Dwayne Olsen will likely have stories to tell at the next get-together. I am thankful for Philip's kind email and attached photo, though, in looking at my last photos, I realize how long it has been since I was in St. Paul, after driving up Half Deer Highway with Harry Fassl while wrapped in my Shroud of Elvis blanket in the pre-dawn hours. The Pepsi can in my photo with Dennis Etchison has the old logo and color, and in the photo with Robert Bloch, my Henry: Portrait of A Serial Killer shirt is still just barely faded. The shirt is my oldest piece of clothing, the words hardly readable now. Well, next to that Elvis jumpsuit, which goes back to when I worked with the Elvis band. All this babbling is honestly my self-contained memories of nice weekend getaways with decent folk. Not a single BIG convention was anything like the brief hours spent in a tiny hotel underneath an interstate with a bunch of guys who talked of wondrous things from nearly a century ago. Wayne

John Brower and Minn-Con

I received an email tonight. John Brower has died, found in his apartment. Rodger Gerberding soon told me that John possibly had stomach problems of some sort and had been dead since late December. He was supposed to have made a trip to Manhattan and he never arrived. I have photos of myself with my mentor, Dennis Etchison, and Robert Bloch, a few months before his own passing to the big nowhere. Where are photos of John Brower, and Dwayne Olson, Scott Wyatt, so many of the Minnesota writers who keep Minn-Con the cult success it is. I recall when John related to myself and Harry Fassl that he had finally met his birth parents, and how incredible it was to him. I last saw John at WFC Austin in early November 06; we made the same small talk we always did. My truest recent memory of John was when we stood out in front of the hotel in Madison, Wisconsin, at WFC 05. Shivering, drinking coffee, and sharing laughs to jokes and happenstance that I can no longer recall. Two months ago I last saw my dear friend John Brower and now he is further along on the mysterious journey that Bloch and Wagner and Kelly Goldberg and Charlie Grant are on, perhaps sharing dinner with Rod Serling. John was 51. Rest In Peace. Wayne

Mah Boy Mah Boy!

Stewart, Charles, and those who didn't comment on the blog: thanks. I am doing much better today, the body adapts in slow ways. The spirit of Elvis guides me on this, what would be his 72nd birthday. I am envied by some for having a story--"Elviscera"--in THE KING IS DEAD, but it tells a sad tale that still hold true. Next on my list of people to outlive, both David Janssen of THE FUGITIVE fame, and Rod Serling, both dead at 49. I'm closing in, baby. As I've said in the past, when I see the Grim Reaper with his scythe, I'll be telling you all "Gotta go. There's my ride." Hunka hunka burning love, Wayne

Chinks In The Armor

Well, the above normal weather is gone, and I'm back to my normal winter self. I was up north by Larry Santoro and his lovely wife Tycelia watching Tyrone Power films and other frivolities, and on the way home I was caught in a freezing downpour between my reaching street-level from the subway and then walking to the elevated tracks for the Orange Line. The worst of it was the 50 minute wait for my last bus home. I stood reading THE NIGHT GARDENER by George Pelecanos, fully aware that my hands were turning into claws in the near empty waiting terminal. I wear knee braces now, just so I can keep my balance better and not look like I am walking on beach balls most of the time. I am going to die alone--riding single-harness, as Johnny Cash might say--and if I had a choice, when my typing abilities are gone, I'd much rather end up playing ice cream vendor tunes on an accordion than moan on the street alone like the guy in Omaha back in 1995. Accordion Man is always in the Loop, playing on various streets each day, mostly in shorts even in the cold and rain. Most times, once I turn off my CDs of Cash or Yusef/Cat Stevens, I can hear Moaning Man. The echoes are very close. Wayne

Worth The Wait

Of course, the art is in the opposite order. Why? Because even in the new year, my tenth on AOL, the computer remains my nemesis. At one time my letterhead read I WILL FLATLINE BEFORE I GO ONLINE. I think I ended up doing both. Onward. Larry Santoro, link to the right, has an upcoming 500+ page book being published by Annihilation Press, JUST NORTH OF NOWHERE, filled with stories set in the fictional town of Bluffton. The artwork, by the esteemed Alan M. Clark, is above, and Alan's site can also be linked from the left. When asking permission to post the artwork, Alan informed me that he also has two new books coming out this year. But I shall write about our friendship, his books, and how we both were source material for Kathe Koja's book BAD BRAIN another day. Perhaps you could email him and ask him about the pouton butter beans. Then there is the book FRAGMENTS, by Jeffrey W. Johnston. Jeff tried with a whole slew of us wet behind the ears pups to get a novel out back in the day, and I secretly felt despair that no one saw his talent. After this book, which I know just a bit about, we will see THE SPLINTERED PLAYGROUND, of which I read parts of in the days of dot matrix printers and only a rumor of Al Gore's Internet passing in the wind. I am uplifted to see Jeff's name on a book. There is a photo of Jeff, andrew, and myself at Necon in 1989 and then...what can ANYBODY say about H. Andrew Lynch that hasn't already been said in the tabloids? Seriously, Andrew is another old chum who never got the notice he should have, yes, back in the day. The guy blew Chicago to move to San Francisco and we still exchange actual HANDWRITTEN letters on superhero letterhead. I ran into him at the World Fantasy Convention in November, and he was about the only guy not turning grey yet. Or bald. Regardless, his novel about Vernon Hood and the Goshenite, the "becoming" of young Laine in a world of heroes going back to Gill Man several generations back, is a wondrous thing to read. There is no true way to categorize this book other than to recommend it. XLibris is the publisher. What is also cool is the fact that these guys can be Googled now. I wish that there was a Google link to the Facebook photos of Andrew in New Orleans back at WFC94...just kidding, Andrew. Look for the first two books soon. Join in my happiness. Wayne