Synchronicity

(This post is a both a present to myself and an early one for K., who shares with me certain beliefs Happy Birthdays!)

I wasn't certain what I wanted to do with my days off, though I knew I still wanted to take them even though we cancelled the overnight trip to Boston we booked months ago. Kim bought me exceptional seats for a bucket-list concert for my birthday, but the concert was postponed due to an illness in the band, and so I was left with a four-day weekend with no concrete plan. Earlier in the week I'd felt feverish and sick, so at the very least I could lounge around the house hydrating, writing, and maybe watch a movie or two. I'd been in bed by nine the last three nights after short spans of reading followed by some brief hunts on eBay. What better way to turn fifty?

Restlessness crept in, however, and I prefer my head to swelling with ideas instead of sinus pressure when I write, so I took a drive. First to the post office to initiate the process of renewing my passport--although I no longer have hair and a beard, I look younger in my new photo than in the one I took ten years and fifty pounds ago. Then to the bank and the dry cleaner; driving the short distance up a gray stretch of 395 I notice a very large owl sitting in one of the barren oak trees on a snow-covered slope rising up from the river a quarter mile from my exit. Afterwards I'll think it looked almost exactly like  Owl from the Disney Winnie-the-Pooh films, except with more spots, with the browns of his feathers more muted, and not smiling. Later still I'll realize it looked nothing at all like Owl from Winnie-the-Pooh but will remain convinced I actually saw it. After my errands, I drive south for an exit, get off the highway, and then return north in a big circle hoping to catch a second glimpse but no such luck. I head home, debating on going to the Book Barn to visit their Downtown location to check out the graphic novels, but decide against it because I was just there a week or so ago.

Whooo is that behind me?

(Photo by Linda Waters I never saw this owl)

I've been on a graphic novel kick lately, which probably has something to do with...turning fifty. The whole not-wanting-to-lose-touch-with-your-youth thing, the idea of wanting to stay in touch with that kid even though every last vestige of him has slid from the mirror even before I've picked up my razor. I don't imply that graphic novels or comic books are purely the providence of childhood or anything equally ignorant--if you are hoping for a rant against the newest Avengers trailer or Captain Marvel just move along--but from a personal perspective my love of comics came at a very early age, and I bought them all the way through high school and college, then quit for a few years when money was tight, and then used the birth of my kids as a great excuse to start buying them again, which we did until they lost interest in them. I never quit entirely, though, and there are times--the stressful times, the lost times, the times I feel like crap and want to stay in bed, where I want to read them even more. I finished reading the first volume of Kirby's Fourth World Omnibus when the sickness first started--talk about a gateway drug!

So I arrive home, play with the dogs, make some lunch, do the dishes, get the mail, play with the dogs some more. I decide I'll go downstairs and watch a movie, but before I do I check social media.

The very first thing in my feed is a tweet from the Book Barn (yes, I follow used book stores on Twitter. Other people follow Kardashians or Tucker Carlson. Sue me.) that says "We have a really nice lot of comics and graphic novels on the way Downtown"


What the hell, I think, and get in the car, and drive south. The weird thing is, I looked for three things on eBay the night before: the 2nd volume of Kirby's 4th World Omnibus, the 2nd volume of the Kamandi Omnibus, and the second Animal Man collection. None of those are exactly household names; comic book readers my age would be familiar with all of them, but I have no idea what the comic book readers who started in the nineties would know of them. So I was kind of surprised when I got to the Book Barn Downtown just as there were shelving the "nice lot" of graphic novels and the first thing I see on the table is the complete run of Animal Man graphic novels, beginning with the hardcover edition of the Animal Man Omnibus. I'd expected a bunch of X-Men and Batman stuff (and was not disappointed; see above) and probably some of the more well-known Marvel titles (again, see above) but not the primo HC  editions and off-beat titles (Xenozoic? Three volumes of the Marv Wolfman/Gene Colan Tomb of Dracula?,  so it was well-worth the trip.

So, synchronicity. Why was it I'd picked last night, after probably a decade of not thinking about Animal Man, to research Animal Man? And why is it that I put in "Make an Offer" bids on both the 4th World and Kamandi omnibuses last night (one shot down, one I'm still awaiting a reply on) but not on the much more affordable Animal Man volume two? Clearly, the universe wants me to read Animal Man (and The Uncanny Avengers, and that Fantastic Four stuff is that White Tiger oh yeah I heard the Human Torch flamed out), but why? Why did all of those tiny, butterfly wing-flap events occur in just that precise order to conspire to bring me to the Book Barn, part with some money, and depart with the above haul of books--books that had literally just been brought in, almost as though the universe had summoned them for me today, the ides of the ides of March, pie day, the fiftieth anniversary of my birth?

And why, upon returning home, do I see that a gift bag has been left on the front steps, a kind present from my mother-in-law, and that the gift bag contains four items...a card (with an owl on it), a bottle of wine, a gift certificate to a restaurant and a second gift certificate....
                                                        …..to the Book Barn?

Not so strange, you might say, if you are of a skeptical nature, as I usually am. It was a "nice lot" of graphic novels, after all, and the work of Grant Morrison is bound to show up somewhere in such a lot. His run on Animal Man was legendary (Brian Bolland covers!) and helped boost Vertigo's growing reputation and increasingly solid line; just because you've never seen it at the Book Barn doesn't mean there aren't thousands of copies sitting on the shelves of once passionate collectors in need of a serious downsizing. And the one thing you request from your mother-in-law for a gift is a Book Barn gift certificate. Although you protest otherwise, you are always checking social media, and so it was only a matter of time before you'd see some X tweet that eventually yielded a Y result. There's no magic here, there's no mystery. It's just some random stuff that happened on a Thursday you decided to keep as a vacation day even though the concert of a lifetime was cancelled. Turning fifty is just another day no matter how hard you try and inject some magic realism into the rather mundane proceedings. Sure, renewing the passport is a nice touch (the literal passport to adventure!), but dropping off the dry cleaning? For this you burned a precious vacation day?

Yes, for this. For this, and for the other pages I wrote earlier today, and those I will write tonight. And also for this large box of beautiful pictures and thrilling stories. I will end my "vacation day" with one of those books, propped up in bed, a glass of diet root beer on the nightstand beside me, and somehow I will feel not only a direct link with the eight year old boy who engaged in a similar way with different stories (albeit without the thick reading glasses I'll be peering through) and with the even older man who I will some day be who, if the universe continues to conspire, will still engage. in that way with even more stories. And in engaging, continue to create his own.

And in creating, will feel a direct link not only to those past, present, and future selves, but in all selves, in all things.

I can't wait.

Only $2.99 for kindle! Find it and my other stuff HERE

But Does it Spark Joy?

My Esteemed Uncle Ron and I make a pilgrimage every January to The Book Barn for opening day of their annual sale, arriving prior to the store's (there are four of them, spread along Main Street) opening. We've been making this trek for at least a decade, with only one exception (a few years ago I went alone; it wasn't nearly as fun without him). I've been a customer of the Book Barn for at least thirty years, and I wouldn't doubt if I've transacted a thousand books over that span, mostly buying, but sometimes trading for credit books I never connected with or no longer connect with. The place is an OOP (that's "out of print" for those who don't know) paradise, but also manages to get a fair amount of current stock despite many of the chain bookstores (some of which I managed years ago) having long since gone out of business. My Esteemed Uncle Ron was a professor of Humanities for many years and regularly publishes scholarly articles, books, and books in translation, primarily in Medieval topics. We have almost zero overlap in tastes (some crossover in history and what I call "drinking studies") and so he's a perfect partner to go book hunting with as I never have to wrestle him over a find.

We met at the appointed place at 8:30 and I drove the short distance to the store, splitting the quartet of donuts he brought from a local bakery on the way and discussing the weather--this was the first excursion in recent memory where the weather was both sunny and fairly warm; we usually count on the arctic weather (last year the temperature was in the single digits which was great for keeping the amateurs away). We arrived ten minutes early, and decided to vary our pattern a bit--usually we start at the Downtown location; this year we started at Midtown because that location is closing and being moved, so instead of the usual 30% off, the stock there was 50% off so the hard working crew will have less to move.

Danny's Pro Tip: Nothing removes unsightly sticker gunk like GOO GONE. And with such a delightful orangey smell!

Here's what I bought;

(Above) A whole lot of James Ellroy, who I've decided will be one of my Featured Authors for the year, meaning I will try and read their entire output. (2018 featured Patrick O'Brian, Stephen Greenleaf, and John Connolly). I found thirteen of his books, most of them in the Midtown location, and most of them with beautiful retro noir covers. Sharp eyes will notice I bought one title twice; not an accident, I found a copy with a cover I liked better at the Main Barn later in the day. Those with my sickness will understand. Since Ellroy was one of two authors I was specifically targeting (the other was Brian Lumley because I had a synaptic urge to reread his Necroscope series, which I've not done since high school, but no luck there--I usually get a dozen horror titles, but that genre was a bust for me this year!) I was especially happy to find a signed edition of his biographical work My Dark Places.

I centered on Ellroy because I recently re-watched L.A. Confidential, at least I started to until I saw that disgraced actor Kevin Spacey was in it, whereupon I ripped it out of the DVD player, snapped it in half and then in quarters before setting it on fire and melting it into a toxic puddle (all lies; I watched the whole thing; it's a great movie and he's great in it). I've read a few here and there in the past but never in order, with concentration. I'm looking forward to it.

BTW, I'm often asked by people, some who are intent to crush out joy, and some who are merely curious, if I, as a professional author who derives a percentage of his livelihood from book sales, if I don't feel a little conflicted buying books used so that the author doesn't make a cent from them. The answer? YES. (Mr. Ellroy would agree--check out his quote about Granny and L.A. Confidential in his Wikipedia entry HERE More regarding this guilt a little later.

I love fantasy and science fiction art books, especially from the seventies and eighties, especially ones with accompanying text and/or artists notes. Anything where the artist reveals a bit of their process or inspiration. One of my book dreams in that someone collects and publishes a book compiling my friend Jill Bauman's art, some of which was featured in Grady Hendrix's Paperbacks From Hell, but I'd love to see a nice coffee table hardback of her work. The books above all all paperbacks, but some good finds--the issue of Ariel that I was missing, which has a gorgeous Barry Windsor Smith cover and something called Amberstar written and illustrated by Bruce Jones, who was responsible for the Pacific/Eclipse comics Twisted Tales and Alien Worlds among others, but for those in particular he will remain a must-read for me. These plus A Cadillacs and Dinosaurs collection, a Sandman volume (Gaiman wrote the book, he writes the introduction on the Bryan Talbot art book)  with a Stephen King intro, and a volume of Warren Ellis's The Authority I haven't read.

Then for miscellaneous stuff, these:

I think I've read the Saunders before, but this is a nice clean copy and I don't think I own it, the new book of Franzen essays, Patton Oswalt's Zombie Spaceship Wasteland because I enjoyed Silver Screen Fiend, his recent standup, and the new MST3k. The Carver bio because I've read everything he's ever written (even the poetry, which is a stretch for me) and if I could just glean one technique or practice of his through his life it would be worthwhile, the Doo Wop book because I love Doo Wop music and style and the book is loaded with photos and illustrations, and the Megan Abbot book because I loved the cover and setting (I will read any Hollywood noir) and because it seems that I've been hearing her work being recommended often lately--I've never read any. Only when I got it home did I realize it has an Ellroy quote on the cover. The two in the top corner are off my daughter's college reading list, and the last one is called Cheap Hotels and is probably the one I am most eager to read. I don't know anything about it, but it is a memoir/book of photos by Daisann McLane, a NYT travel columnist, who went around the world staying at budget hotels and taking photos and writing about them. I fully expect it will be one of my favorite books by the time I'm done

I also bought one book for my Esteem Uncle, just because of the cover quote:

He laughed when I gave it to him and said he's pretty sure he read it in the early sixties.

I do think it is funny that my total for the day was 32 books, two over Marie Kondo's much-reviled recommendation of 30, once again placing me firmly outside the zeitgeist (although my clutter-count is actually 29; two are for my daughter and Don Camillo and His Flock went with my uncle. Then again, Ms. Kondo was not speaking to me, specifically, and the vast amount of umbrage directed her way was maybe a little misguided. I found this article which I think does a better job of giving perspective on Marie Kondo's target audience and intent. She isn't a monster by any stretch of the imagination; she's trying to help people who need it, not those of us who are fortunate not to require that sort of help, and shouldn't be vilified for her attempts.

Back to feeling guilty about buying used books--I have complex feelings about the issue. When I was younger, there's no way I could have afforded the volume of books I read without libraries, used book stores, and yard sales. And without that volume of reading, I wouldn't be a pro--I'm in total agreement with Stephen King's quote about not being able to be a writer unless you are a reader. Now, though, I can afford a fair amount of new books and don't have to rely on the vagaries of the second hand bins to keep feeding my cortex. So why, if I can afford it, and not buying the books new is essentially robbing the author, do I still buy used books.

Because it, to me, is fun. It sparks joy, which is what Marie Kondo was really trying to stress.

I consider the "vagaries of the second hand bin" as much of a way for the universe to speak to me as the books themselves are; the greatest finds are those that send me pursuing the author's other work.  I truly hope that reading Abbot's The Song is You and McLane's Cheap Hotels sends me on a quest to buy their backlists and to eagerly await their next works. Most of my favorite authors, the ones who I buy every new hardcover they release, came from a library or used bookstore discover. Of the authors and artists mentioned above, I can confidently say that Ellroy, Windsor Smith, Jones, Ellis, Gaiman, King, Carver, Saunders, Oswalt, and Schultz have all made money off me, as have Moorcock, Niven, and Zelazny, who have stories in Ariel. These thoughts assuage my guilt.

To assuage it further, I confess I saw three hardcover copies of my first novel Generation Dead for sale there, but not, strangely, any of my other books. You should not feel guilty at all about purchasing one, I would certainly not think any less of you. I would instead be hopeful  that in the mystical conversation that you and I and the universe have during your reading of the book you would then fing the impetus to seek out--and pay full price for, dammit!--my other books, which you can find HERE.

I really do love the smell of Goo Gone.

Every Day Is Black Friday When You're Dead

Make holiday gifts of my books HERE

Or, message/email me if you would like to purchase signed first editions. Remember, it is always okay to be kind to yourself, especially during the holidays.

The Periphery

Prior to my current careers (yes, I have several), I spent most of my twenties in various occupations I'd refer to as "peripheral". I briefly managed a CD store named after a fruit. I also managed several chain bookstores while concurrently working my way up from usher to head popcorn guy to assistant manager at a local theater. These jobs were peripheral jobs as I felt I was always on the periphery of a creative field that I really wanted to be in, circling like a buzzard around my hungry dreams and diminishing prospects. I was of the worlds of music, writing, and film, but not truly in them.

My goal was to write and publish books and in my most unguarded moments would admit to desperately wanting to have a story of mine adapted for film--Achievement unlocked!--and it often felt  that each shift spent at the mall or the megaplex took me further from my goals.

But...it wasn't all bad, because during those years I read hundreds of books, watched dozens of movies, and wrote thousands of words in my notebooks while on breaks in the food court. Living for your dreams in the moments you can't live your dreams isn't a bad life strategy, and I never had a shortage of creative fuel for the fire while in those peripheral gigs. 

And now my home is filled with some of that fuel--the books I'd read and loved sit on my shelves, posters from some of the movies hang on my office walls, and I even kept the standee for the movie Cool World so cartoon Kim Basinger could watch over me when I write.

Because of my previous work experiences, I had a complex reaction on seeing the above photo of the gorgeous 3D standee for I Still See You (I haven't seen it in person; In Rome they had electronic billboards and a nice big 2D standee; in Danvers they didn't even have a poster). My second reaction was that I'd love to drag it into my office. My third reaction is that I'm no longer on the periphery.

But to be honest, my first reaction was that I should probably go get my dustpan and whisk broom and go clean up all the popcorn in cinema seven.

New Bookstore Alert

You may not know this, but I worked for the Borders corporation for a number of years. So when they closed the doors forever a few weeks ago, my reaction was melancholy mixed with I told you so. But they were mostly happy years slangin' books, and less bookstores in the world can never be a good thing, whatever my personal feelings about my previous employer (”That's for employing me for twelve years!", Homer says as he flips a Molotov cocktail over his shoulder, firebombing the bridge to the power plant as he rides his golf cart into the parking lot and...to the future.

Anyhow.

News like THIS makes me very happy. New bookstores rising up from the ashes of the old, very thrilling. If you live within a hundred miles of The Book Frog, please go there and buy some books. Or frogs. Or books about frogs.