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July 14th, 2009
docbrite
 | 11:33 pm - Chicago Trip First of all, a thousand apologies to foodie readers, but I didn't take a single picture of the amazing-looking and -tasting food at Alinea. I enjoy seeing other people's food pix, but I just can't do that in fine-dining situations ever since I once saw Chef Pete scowling at a diner who was happily clicking away, and anyway you can see better pictures on their website.
I did, however, manage to take a few goofy camera-phone pictures of me and Neil:

This one is blurry, but I like the contented, slightly dazed look on Neil's face, which pretty well represents his expression throughout the meal:

And here's Neil in the photographic style of Nick Rhodes (yes, I was enough of a Durannie to buy Nick's incomprehensible photo book):

Here's a Magnificent Mile skyline near our hotel:

Mr. Beef from the outside:

Mr. Beef from the inside:

And the winner is ... Portillo's!

(I know I said I hated taking food photos, but Mr. Beef was empty and nobody notices what stupid touristy shit you do at Portillo's.)
In keeping with its Richard Bachman theme, this scary scale in my hotel bathroom weighed me ten pounds lighter than I weigh at home despite my having consumed a 23-course meal the night before:

Garden photos coming soon, I promise.
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davidbain
 | 09:42 pm - Half-Blood Prince Scored tickets to the Harry Potter midnight show, going with my son & daughter!
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jeffstrand
 | 08:10 pm - Lots o' Stuff For those of you who've asked, my next "serious" novel is called DWELLER, coming March 2010 from Leisure Books. I got a sneak peek at the cover art today, and it's perfect. Way better than what I asked for, which I guess is why I'm an author and not a cover artist.
I found out that my novella KUTTER has been moved up two months, from February 2010 to December 2009. The book should go up for pre-order fairly soon, and the day before that happens I'll post a blog about the process of writing it. At this very moment I'm waiting for a glimpse at the first piece of interior artwork...it could show up in my e-mail any second now...the suspense is unbearable...
Meanwhile, the interior illustrations for THE SEVERED NOSE are weird and wonderful things, drawn by Melanie McVey. This one's set to ship in the next two to three weeks, so if you didn't order it before because it was months and months away, now's the time to reserve your copy!
When I finish a piece of writing, whether it's 500-word flash fiction or a 75,000-word novel, my response is "Yeah! I'm done! Huzzah!!! Woo-hoo-hoo!!! I'm doooooone!!! Cha-cha-cha!!!" THE SEVERED NOSE is the only thing I've ever written where I was kind of sad when it was over. It's easily the most fun I've had with a project for at least the past few years. The tone is sort of like a dry-humored, extremely dark piece of sketch comedy, with characters who are extremely polite in the face of ghastly events.
I've shared the opening bit here before, but it's been a while, so...
"When you kill people for a living, you get used to finding the occasional body part lying around your home. I do not kill people for a living, and so I freaked."
Pre-ordering links are conveniently located here (paperback numbered edition)...
http://www.horror-mall.com/THE-SEVERED-NOSE-by-Jeff-Strand-Limited-Edition-Chapbook-p-19132.html
And here (hardcover lettered edition)...
http://www.horror-mall.com/THE-SEVERED-NOSE-by-Jeff-Strand-Lettered-Edition-Chapbook-p-19135.html
Tell the economy to suck it! Order your copy today!
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pgtremblay
 | 08:40 pm - Readercon Sunday
Riveting stuff, I know, but I gotta finish what I started...
Up early again for breakfast with Laird. Jeffrey Ford joined us and he loaded me up with some good mystery-book-promoting/publishing advice while I loaded up on eggs and sausage. Feed a fever?
Next up was the Shirley Jackson Awards ceremony. I really can't say enough about how much work and the quality of the work JoAnn Cox puts into the awards and the ceremony. Everything ran as smooth as could be. Liz Hand was perfect as as MC. We had a big crowd, including many of the nominees. The first winner was Michael Bishop for his fine short story "The Pile," and his acceptance speech and poem read about his son Jamie was touching, crushingly sad, and poignant.
Post-ceremony, the day was spent saying goodbye too soon while haunting the dealers room and hotel hallways.
Those left out of the timeline: It was also great seeing/meeting (in no particular order) Livia Llewellyn, Vylar Kaftan, Tempest Bradford, Geoffrey Goodwin, Jedidiah Berry, Matthew Kressel, Evil Dave, Devin Poore, Paul Berger, Kristen Janz, Mike and Anita Allen, Sean Wallace, Neil Clarke (thanks for giving me book space, Neil!), Beth Bernobich, S. C. Butler, James Cambias, Matt Cheney, Leah Bobet, and the rest of yas.
Those who were missed: Nathan Ballingrud, Hannah Bowen, Nick Kaufmann, Carrie Laben, John Langan, Sarah Langan, Nick Mamatas, Kathy Sedia, need to get their butts back to readercon next year! Says me!
Bonus-con. Laird came back to my house and we had some post-con bbq with the family. Rascal quickly succumbed to Laird's dog-charm and Laird learned the magic and wonder of the nana bed. I need to keep of list of people who've stayed there and then compare it to the Lincoln bedroom.
Thanks for another great readercon weekend, everyone!
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pgtremblay
 | 07:40 pm - Readercon Saturday (*disclaimer: If I forget to mention you, or a certain event, it's not personal. It means: I'm still foggy while recovering from my flu and/or I'm a horrible person who sometimes forgets the names of his own children, no really, it's true*)
Saturday:
Laird and I woke up early to have breakfast with the talented and charming Steve Berman. The breakfast conversation was going wonderfully until Laird annouced that his pancakes were the worst he ever had. Steve finished his eggs quietly then flipped the table in a blind rage.
Then it was on to my two panels. The ten o'clock was Short Horror Fiction: The State of the Art (and Market) Today, which I think went really well. It helped to have moderator Adam Golaski keep everything moving, and of course, pros like Ellen Datlow, Jeanne Cevalos, and Laird Barron weighing in on the subject. The next panel was The Killer Inside Us, which was fine, but I have to admit I was a little disappointed it turned into the serial killer panel.
Fellow writer's group mate John D. Harvey made the trek up from Rhode Island. We spent the rest of the afternoon splitting time between the pub and the dealers room. In fact, we made ourselves into quite a nice road block near the front door of the dealer's room at times. I managed to introduce myself to Peter Straub, who was kind and accommodating. Later, after a run through of the Shirley Jackson Award ceremony with MC and GOH Liz Hand (who was so good to us Jackson folk, thank you thank you Liz!), eleven of us left the hotel for some great Thai food.
Upon return it was pub/wandering the hotel/pub, rinse and repeat. And the night ended like the first: Laird, my flu ridden self, Stephen Jones, and the Canadians in the lobby.
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hellnotes_feed
| 11:14 pm - Queens of Scream: The New Blood
http://hellnotes.com/queens-of-scream-the-new-blood/ http://hellnotes.com/?p=2266 NVF Magazine founder David Byron has compiled an impressive list of interviews with some of the hottest ladies in horror.
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darkfluidity
 | 07:09 pm - Fence

Upon every journey, you will reach a fence. You must stop, of course, perhaps for only a breath, perhaps only to devise a means of crossing. Some fences are bigger than others, or topped with barbed wire, or electrified.
Sometimes, you take your breath, and you keep on going.
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pgtremblay
 | 05:25 pm - Readercon Friday (*disclaimer: If I forget to mention you, or a certain event, it's not personal. It means: I'm still foggy while recovering from my flu and/or I'm a horrible person who sometimes forgets the names of his own children, no really, it's true*)
Friday:
Got up way too early to drive the kids north, and then to the hotel. I blame it for the illness that would soon turn me into Typhoid Tremblay. Regardless, I arrived in time to see a couple of panels and get lunch, off con-site, with Laird and Jack Haringa. The rest of the afternoon remains somewhat of a blur, though I did attend the Lovecraft Unbound reading, which featured Laird, Caitlin R. Kirnan, and Michael Cisco (who is an amazing live reader).
Much of the rest of the afternoon/early evening was spent in the hotel's bar/pub. I got to have a long chat with Victoria Blake (editor/publisher of Underland Press), get made fun of by Jack, deflect the verbal assualt onto Cisco, and have a shepherd's pie eating contest with JoAnn and Gabriel Mesa. I lost. Friend and amazing writer, Stephen Graham Jones, found his way to the hotel from Montana somehow and joined us at the bar.
Soon enough it was time for Readercon's Meet the Prose party. The room was packed, and hading out rocks (riverstones engraved with 2008 Shirley Jackson Awards) to the nominees was a challenge, but one we passed. Though Daryl Gregory tried to hit me with his rock.
People tried to tempt me with Mafia, but instead I tried my best to be social and mingle at bit. I met a group of very nice guys and good writers who became known, simply as, the Canadians. The Canadians: Ian Rogers, Richard Gavin, and Simon Strantzas. The Canadians are not to be trifled with. We soon found them in the company of Michael Dirda and Peter Straub. Later, Simon informed me that he wasn't going to be reading any damned novella that required yellow highlighting. I stabbed him in the pancreas with my highlighter. I await retribution from the Canadians.
At the risk of not mentioning someone terribly important, I enjoyed seeing/meeting/chatting with Orrin Grey, Tom English, Karen Heuler, Nick Antosca.
The night ended with Laird, the Canadians, and myself chatting in the hotel lobby. It was there that I felt the first pangs of the cold/flu that would haunt the rest of my weekend. And the rest of everyone else's weekend as I spent my time coughing on everyone. Enjoy the germs and airborne sputum!
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pgtremblay
 | 04:52 pm - Readercon Thursday (*disclaimer: If I forget to mention you, or a certain event, it's not personal. It means: I'm still foggy while recovering from my flu and/or I'm a horrible person who sometimes forgets the names of his own children, no really, it's true*)
Thursday:
Due to Cole's rescheduled baseball game, the day was a wee bit hectic. Me and kiddies picked up Laird Barron at Logan at 9am, then drove to Copley Square, parked, and gave Laird a brief walking tour of Boston. We walked down Boylston, through the public gardens, the common, past the state house, and to Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market for expensive tourist lunch, then down Beacon Street back to the car. Perfect weather for the trek, and my kids and Laird were remarkably well behaved.
From there we drove to the Readercon hotel in Burlington, dropped of Laird, and headed back home so Cole could eat a quick dinner then go to his game. Not exciting, but all the running around explains how I could show up to the hotel later than night for my reading, without my glasses. Grrrr.
I got to the hotel in time to meet friend Kurt Dinan, who is in fact slightly taller than I am. Pictured below:

Thursday night was all readings, all the time. Laird's first (which was very well attended), then F. Brett Cox's reading from a novel in progress, and my reading at 9:30. I gave an "ADD reading," reading two small chapters from The Little Sleep, a chapter from The Harlequin and the Train, and for the first time anywhere, I read the first chapter to No Sleep till Wonderland. Decent amount of people in the audience, and I gave out an assortment of free books (copies of my older collections and anthologies) to those who stayed for the reading. If you weren't there, you totally missed out on the free swag, man!
I couldn't stay at the hotel that night (had to go home so I could bring the my kids to my sis-in-law's house the next morning) but I spent the rest of the evening haning with JoAnn Cox (writer, con planner, and tireless administrator of the Shirley Jackson Awards), Kurt, Laird, Brett, and more. Pictures below curteosy of Ellen Datlow.
(me and JoAnn)

(me lamenting my missing glasses)

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hellnotes_feed
| 03:07 pm - Chimeric Machines – Book Review
http://hellnotes.com/chimeric-machines-book-review/ http://hellnotes.com/?p=2262 There is not one poem in Chimeric Machines that doesn't fit in place like a delicately carved piece of a complex and consuming puzzle.
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bev_vincent
 | 09:58 am - Lame ideas
I hate it when an otherwise good TV show relies on terribly faulty logic to further the story. Last night’s episode of The Closer is case in point. In order to give the wannabe cop access to detailed information about cases, the writers established that there was a new web site that contained up-to-the moment details about ongoing investigations. The entire case file, in other words, including the names of suspects and witnesses. How daft and irresponsible would that be, if it were real? They rushed that detail past viewers so we didn’t get to ponder it too long, but it was crucial to the way they trapped the guy. They added the false name and address of a witness to the online case file, knowing that he was monitoring the site and would rush right over there as part of his misguided investigation. Totally uncredible. I was also bothered by the fact that no one seemed to glom onto the fact that the victim and his producers seemed guilty of arranging and committing serial date rape. The actor who played “Dick Tracy” was delightful–he really made the most of the part–and the episode had some good moments, but there were some underlying major flaws that made me dislike it overall.
Got to the point in Caught Stealing where we learn what the “dingus” that everyone is looking for is. No lacquered bird, this. It’s the midpoint of the book, and there is a very long scene where a guy who has been mostly absent from the book until now–though his actions are what got things going in the first place–explains all of the backstory to the protagonist. It’s a very long scene of exposition, punctuated only by the fact that the guy is suffering from a concussion and the protagonist is sorting through a very large pile of cash. I’m not sure that there would have been a better way to handle all this backstory, but it does tend to go on and on. Better now than toward the end of the book, I guess.
Received an ARC of Sarah Langan’s third novel–can’t wait to get into it!
Originally published at Bev Vincent. You can comment here or there.
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nihilistic_kid
 | 07:11 am - This chat may be recorded for training purposes... Last night I did a chat with the members of the Snutchlabs writing workshop, speaking mostly about the stories in You Might Sleep... (which you should buy, as thanks to the Wildside/Prime split I'm forced to repeatedly mention the book myself like a Whole Foods employee who for an hour has to pretend to be very excited about chicken apple sausages). We also discussed MFA programs, the alpha brainwave state, how to begin and end stories, and how Kurt Dinan's new haircut makes him look like a stick of roll-on deodorant.


I'm just sayin...
Read the chat here.
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marcy_italiano
 | 09:58 am - Feelin' kina low We're doing all kinds of cool things with the kids. We went to the POMBA picnic on Sunday at Kiwanis Park, took them back to Waterloo park yesterday to see the animals and walk freely around the soccer field (where they found a cigar butt EW!), and we're discovering more stuff around town that they'd like.
But it's hitting me that I can't keep up. I knew it was going to happen, and I knew it would depress me, but I am hating my Fibro all over again. I'm limited, which limits them. Limited pool time, limited park time, I guess, this will only last until they're old enough to do more on their own...
A broken arm is for now, a broken body is for always.
I'll stop there with that, I'm sure there'll be more of this Fibro shit to post about for years to come.
In other craptastic news, I'm keeping a hearing journal. G and I decided to revisit this hearing aid decision in September. I was blindsided and it wasn't fair of her to make me feel suddenly attacked. In the meantime, I'm going to write down each time I *wish* I could hear something to see what kind of impact it makes on my life.
*It's easy to not pay attention to what you can't hear.*
So, I'll pay attention and see how I feel about it. I suspect in some ways it will make me feel shitty as well, but that will help me with the decision. But I'm thinking about it a lot.
And tomorrow I have surgery. Good times, good times...
At least today, aside from a couple hours of work, I get to play with my babies in the backyard with this gorgeous weather. :) Cherish the wonderful moments, right?
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July 13th, 2009
jeffstrand
 | 09:03 pm - Chicago PRESSURE So I flew to Chicago this past weekend as the PRESSURE tour continued its path of destruction. Most of it involved driving around with Joe Konrath, whose novel CHERRY BOMB (the sixth in his "Jack Daniels" series) came out last week. We stopped at 20 bookstores, where I scrawled my name on whatever copies of PRESSURE they had on the shelves. But there was also time for touristy stuff, most notably the Sears Tower (now the "Willis Tower," but if I said "Willis Tower" you'd probably think "WTF is the Willis Tower?" whereas if I say "Sears Tower" you probably know what I'm talking about) which now has these clear plexiglass boxes protruding from the top floor, where you can walk out and see straight down 103 stories. It's freaky. Really, really freaky. It's unlikely that the people in charge would approve this whole idea if the bottom of the box were likely to drop out and send you plummeting, but it's still pretty unnerving.
We left Joe's car in a parking garage during this adventure. It's self-pay parking where you feed your ticket in when you return. The machine ate the ticket, then wouldn't take the credit card. We pushed the button for assistance, and a pre-recorded voice insisted that somebody would be with us shortly. We waited. Joe went to look for an employee. We waited and pushed the assistance buttons on the other machines. Joe returned, his mission unsuccessful. We waited. We all went looking for an employee, any employee. There were none. (Note that this was Friday afternoon, not Sunday at midnight.) 45 minutes later, we pressed the emergency button. A pretty light flashed. Nobody came. We noted that this would be a superb place to break into somebody's automobile. We also prepared ourselves for a burst of pure rage in the likely event that an employee finally showed up and explained that we had to pay the maximum rate since we didn't have the ticket.
That didn't happen, though, because nobody ever showed. Finally, we got in Joe's car, waited for another car to pull out, and rode its bumper, hoping that the gate wouldn't come crashing down on us. Actually, I kind of hoped that it would, since it wasn't my car and I was actively seeking blog material, but it didn't and all was well.
We had dinner with Charlaine Harris, which was way more fun than wandering around a parking garage. She gave us free DVDs of all of the unaired TRUE BLOOD episodes. Okay, not really, but she probably would have if I'd used puppy dog eyes.
By pure coincidence, we stopped at a Barnes & Noble store where fellow Leisure and Delirium author John Everson was doing a signing, so I babbled at him for a bit. Rhonda Wilson, who'd driven six hours (!!!) for this event, was also there. She brought lots and lots and lots of books for me to sign--in fact, I believe it's the largest collection of my stuff outside of my own, which is way more Jeff Strand writing than anybody needs to possess.
(By the way, the "largest collection of my stuff" comment is a CHALLENGE! Everybody reading this should vow to beat the record! Purchase, purchase, purchase!) My wife went to the American Library Association conference while Joe and I drove around, and she acquired approximately 8,371,009 free books. Bill Breedlove held a truly awesome BBQ, whose guests included most of the aforementioned people along with Martel Sardina. Bill has a pet pigeon that pecks on his arm. He didn't flinch when the pigeon pecked on it, so I assume that the pecking was more gentle than it looked or that the nerves in Bill's arm have worn away. I ate several Chicago dogs, including one with a satanic sport pepper that still burns. The main event was a signing at the Centuries & Sleuths bookstore, which also included KILLING RED author Henry Perez. I was completely brain-fried by then, but managed to babble my way through a Q&A. PRESSURE sold out quickly and several people were left PRESSUREless, although they were polite and did not form an angry mob. And, yes, Joe Konrath's wife does indeed exist. I always kind of assumed that his "wife" was an amalgam of dozens of women who lived with him for three or four weeks then ran screaming into the night, but there is actually a woman who seems to be able to handle the torment. She deserves your respect. Anyway, it was a great weekend. Thanks to Joe for letting me crash at his place and driving me around Chicago for three days! Next weekend: Drop-in signings around southern Florida, along with an official signing at Murder on the Beach on Saturday, July 18 at 5:00 PM (www.murderonthebeach.com) and at the Ft. Myers Barnes & Noble on Sunday, July 19 at 1:00 PM.
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nihilistic_kid
 | 05:24 pm - Police state, you're soaking in it! When I was a kid, I remember reading in The Weekly Reader or some other free periodical handed out to schools of the horrors of the Soviet Union. In one story that listed many terrible absurdities, I read that a person with mild retardation was sent to prison for spilling ink on a newspaper that had featured a photo of Stalin. (This wasn't a story contemporary to the 1970s or early 1980s, when I read it.)
Meanwhile, here in 2009 in the US:
On Oct. 15, 2004, Mary Elizabeth Schipke entered the Oracle post office to buy a 47-cent stamped envelope. When she got frustrated with the clerk behind the counter, she told her: "God, I pray a bomb falls on your stupid, fucking head."
Almost a year later, Schipke was convicted of threatening a federal facility with weapons of mass destruction. Schipke describes what she told the clerk that day as an "imprecatory prayer"—basically, a simple curse—but that defense didn't keep her from serving a four-year prison sentence, with the last two years at Carswell, a women's federal medical prison outside of Fort Worth, Texas, that has been the subject of allegations about the questionable care of prisoners with physical and psychiatric conditions.
One of the things I noted immediately: "WMD" has been dialed down to apparently mean any bomb at all. That'll be handy for the next round of preemptive invasions, eh?
A couple of other interesting things. Schipke is kook in her own right (see November 7, 1998). Also, she looks forward to the day when the Chinese military frees their children from George Washington since the American people are utterly brainwashed by their masters. She certainly seems to count as mentally unbalanced, perhaps in a way not so dissimilar to our poor Soviet ink-spiller.
But real threats with WMDs? Nah.
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