ChiZine Publications founders Sandra Kasturi and Brett Savory step down

In a stunning move for an independent Canadian publisher, but not an unexpected one, ChiZine Publications founders Sandra Kasturi and Brett Savory have stepped down.

Their statement on the the ChiZine site is here.

High Fever Books is doing an admirable job of keeping up with the stories that continue to come out from complainants. Kelsi Morris is the latest person to come forward with a story about bullying, uncomfortable rape jokes, and being on the inside of the machinations at ChiZine.

The link to High Fever Books' regularly updated blog is here.

ChiZine Publications Authors and Others Come Forward with Complaints

Well, wow. Just... wow. For those not in the know, ChiZine Publications is a fairly well known independent Canadian publisher that has published weird, subtle, surreal, disturbing dark SF, fantasy since 2008.

Last week, ChiZine author author Ed Kurtz came forward with a grievance, claiming he has not been paid in full his due royalties from the independent publisher. Kurtz's complaint, as though finding a flaw in a dam, encouraged a floodgate of not only other writers, but employes, editors, and acquaintances to also come forward with their stories of mistreatment at the hands of the publisher.

The most striking commonality for me is that the grievances and stories are across the board - from not paying royalties, not paying staff, mistreating people, alienating people, and bullying people. One of these stories would be damning enough. Together, they're a maelstrom.

If you're interested, here's context - a reasonably cogent summary of the number of the people airing their stories from High Fever Books.

This week, U.S. horror author Brian Keene will be discussing the entire ChiZine debacle on his popular The Horror Show With Brian Keene, of which I am a follower. Needless to say, I'll be listening to this, however surreal it will be to hear an American podcast analyze a Canadian small speculative fic press' controversy.

All Hallow’s Eve Checklist

I had a rough start this Hallowe'en - just a lousy morning. Derek Newman-Stille inspired me with his tweet:

"Remember that today is also Samhain, a holiday dedicated to the blessed dead and the memory of those who have gone on from this life. Remember those who you have loved and who have died and set aside a place for them in your thoughts."

And I made this All Hallow's Eve Checklist to try and turn my day around.

·         Read issue of The Samdman Universe Presents: Hellblazer (by Simon Spurrier). Came out Oct. 30. Those clever monkeys at DC Comics know the way to my heart, dammit. Consider why all the rogue comic-book protagonists that I follow tend to suffer.
·         Begin prep of mummy meatloaf.
·         Look at many decorations (in-door and out).
·         Carve second jack-o’-lantern.
·         Listen to Mike Oldfield, starting with Tubular Bells (then Hergest Ridge, Omnadawn,  Return to Omnadawn).
·         Be ready to welcome the lost ones. Remember them.
·         Start with Hugh DeCourcy. He introduced me to Oldfield tunes, Roger Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October and H.P. Lovecraft. Hugh believed in my writing and my book Town & Train when it was a mere 100 pages, typewritten, foolscap and dot Smith-Corona-printed pages and all.
·         Let them know they are missed. Perhaps they already know. Iet Dolman (also believed in me, my writing).
·         Meditate on this as I finish the long journey of rewriting my second novel, Monstrous. Cry when needed. Alternatively, rage and curse. Be friends with the book; it’s tell you what it wants to be. Let it.
·         Remember them - Robert Delorme, Ian Dennison, Keith Morgan, Guy Tremblay, Phil Robertson, Paul Robineau, J.P. Craig, Lori Jean Hodge, Helen Mullen, Anis Dahbar, Angus Archer, Leah Weber (sibling of best friend of my youth),. All departed too soon (an opinion that is a luxury for the living only).
·         Light jack-o’-lanterns to guide them.
·         Be there for my son and my loved ones here now.
·         Greet disguised spirits of a younger and different variety.
·         Keep your heart open and your mind receptive

·         Have fun; these spirits want acknowledgement, but they also want to party.

Notes on Washington Irving's magic-infused 1819 The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

I finally read Washington Irving's magic-infused 1819 The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. And I never realized that Brom Bones, Ichabod Crane's rival for Katrina van Tassel's affections, could have rigged the whole thing. Brom intimates at the conclusion that he knows more about Crane's passing than he is letting on. He is of burly, athletic stock and could posed as the giant Headless Horseman. Crane's vanishing conveniently clears the way for Brom to court and ultimately wed Katrina.

There are some other interesting facts, as well as differences between the 1819 novel and the 1949 animated Walt Disney adaptation.

Unlike in the Disney animated adaption, a pumpkin, not a jack-o'-lantern, was the featured weapon in the climax of the book. There is no incendiary scene on the haunted bridge in the novel.

Arthur Rackham, illustrator of the recognized classical 1928 edition, crammed each drawing with fairies, spirits, witches, etc., but did not depict the climactic scene, nor the galloping Hessian, the Headless Horseman.

The greatest surprise of the book is that the actual encounter between Ichabod Crane and Brom Bones lasts only a scant two pages after all the exposition and set-up and atmospheric establishment.

The Sleepy Hollow narrator is not omniscient, does not always know Crane's motivations - as in why Crane bolted from Katrina's castle that evening. Still, this unreliable narrator presides, presumably closes the postscript as well.

Ichabod figures as a curious suitor - living nearly as a pauper and hungry social climber and admirer (one might argue fetishist) of all things colonial Dutch. Crane was arguably just as in love or more in love with the trappings and comforts of Katrina's estate and wealth than with her.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is drenched in magic, charmingly so, which I am not sure if the Disney adaption succeeded at conveying. It's an ethereal, atmospheric locale where locals adore spinning yarns about apparitions.
Irving successfully fuses Indigenous folklore, German folklore to brew heady American mythology to match European myth, with unseen-before Halloween elements. (As Richard Bowes prefaces for his story "Knickerbocker Holiday" in Ellen Datlow's and Nick Mamatas' anthology, Haunted Legends.

Notes on "Jack’s Back” (1988), starring James Spader

Admittedly, "Jack's Back", the 1988 James Spader vehicle that I presumed was unfortunate, actually has some merit. Spader plays twin brothers. One brother, John Wesford, is a doctor and a humanitarian. The other brother, Rick, is dark, brooding and unhinged with a scar on his face (what we would call an emo method actor today). In a ludicrous stretch of our suspension of disbelief, the film informs us that dark and handsome manages a shoe store.

Spader as Rick is detached, cool, and seems preternatural, knowing more than the cops investigating the murder of his brother. He claims to share a mental bond with his good brother. At every opportunity, he is shirtless (i.e.: wakes from a nightmare, sweat-drenched), or lies in bed, displaying bulging underwear (Editor's Note: Bugle Boys? It was the 1980’s and the brand was running a campaign). Various artful posing shots abound of Spader looking sexy and cool. He smokes and drives a lot, looking detached and cool. Ah - the 1980's obsession with looking cool. Still, it’s a fun film, even if the director insists the characters look cool, even racing down a staircase.

The supporting actors do an admirable job of exhibiting sexism (beat cops), anger management (black police chief), comic relief, and dejection (the latter tasks fall to the black co-worker, pulling double duty). Spader's co-worker's are also sexually charged and either openly flirtatious, suggestive or lascivious or breathless around him. The male, effete, hypnotist Dr. Carlos Battera on the case drools over Rick with obvious attraction (and the director Rowdy Herrington too, perhaps?). Naughty, both, then.

The musical score by composer Danny Di Paola is brooding, simmering, with pop music undercurrents that echo Miami vice and other crime fare of the era. Some shots remind one of "To Live and Die in L.A.", another flawed masterpiece of note. But “Jack’s Back” is must-view for James Spader completists. It’s a fascinating and mixed 1980’s serial-killer flick, praised at the time by Roger Ebert. “Jack’s Back” is like a moving fashion magazine layout for young and hot Spader. 

Thanks go to friend Helen for recommending.

Lovecraftian Novels That Are Both Loving and Crafty: Part One

I don't always go in for H.P. Lovecraft pastiches and tributes, where authors or artists get to play with the Provincetown's denizen's Cthulhu mythos and have fun with his monsters, but lately, I have been drawn to them and have started seeking them out. The Lovecraft game is a fun one, and it goes like this; the majority of H.P. Lovecraft's work is n the public domain, hence the annual deluge of Lovecraftian goods, including books, short stories, statuettes, plush toys, video games, role-playing games and films. So any author who wants to play with his toys can.

In my recent reading, I have discovered some Lovecraftian tributes that are enjoyable treasures for anyone with even a passing acquaintance with the old boy’s Cthulhu mythos. These are Nick Mamatas’ Move Under Ground and I am Providence, Matt Ruff’s Lovecraft Country, Stephen King’s Revival and Victor Lavalle’s The Ballad of Black Tom. While each book is noteworthy in its own right, here are my impressions and analyses of Nick Mamatas’ novels. I'll get to reviewing the others in good time.

Nick Mamatas’ Move Under Ground (Simon & Schuster)

When I explained to a good friend that someone published a book that mashes up the Beat Generation holy trinity of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs, and the Cthulhu mythos, my friend assumed that book was written solely for me. This book is Move Under Ground. In Move Under Ground, Mamatas tells the yarn from Kerouac’s voice, jettisoning the use of Sal Paradise and other fictionalized names and pseudonyms that Kerouac employed in his sprawling, cadent works. Picking up at about the beginning of the novel Big Sur, Mamatas blends Lovecraftian monstrosities and cosmic horror with the rambling, run-on sentences and musings of a writer who has drunk too far, and is helpless to halt or even slow his decline.

Mamatas, on the horn, blows the tune in long, winding solos that carry Kerouac and Neal Cassidy across the U.S., pitting them against the cosmological forces of darkness that are sweeping across the country and, presumably, the world. Some sections are a little dense, but others are rewarding and beautiful, fusing facts about Kerouac’s life  and the Old Ones, the Deep Ones and Nyarlathotep. In one such instance, Kerouac treks into San Francisco from Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s cabin at Big Sur. However, Jack cannot hitch a ride from likely the very same people who snapped up On The Road, ensconced now in a middle-class suburban lifestyle and raising kids. This failed hitchhiking scene segues into an attack of the undead, with Kerouac trying to fend workaday zombies off. 

Spoiler Example of Solid Speculative Writing:
Hands down, my favourite scene involves Jack and Bill Burroughs trying to hop a train and ride the rails. For Ti' Jean, it's old hat to run up to a moving train car and leap on. But for Burroughs, this proves a complicated and daunting physical feat. Jack resorts to running with Bill and throwing him, actually freaking throwing him, at train cars, and concussing him  as a result.
End of Example of Solid Speculative Writing. Carry on....

It’s some trick to carry for an entire novel, but Mamatas nails Kerouac’s voice, his alcoholism and his musings and wanderings and wonderings, free-spirited sex, drugging and desperate quest for calmness, grounding it all in an all-out confrontation with old gods come to take back the Earth at last. The ending is bittersweet for anyone with knowledge of Kerouac’s decline. As it’s fall in the book and real life and I know that after Big Sur, Kerouac was too far down in an abyss of alcoholism to recover, living in the home he bought for Mamère with royalties from On The Road, and this inevitably saddens me. Still, I am impressed with the bizarre fusion Mamatas has succeeded at alchemizing. If only I’d thought of it first....

Nick Mamatas’ I am Providence (Simon & Schuster)

Clearly, Mamatas loves him some Lovecraft, even though Providence came out in 2016, twelve years after Under Ground, and in the acknowledgements he claims this will be his last Lovecraftian mythos novel. Here, Mamatas mercilessly satirizes the conference-going subculture set with a whodunit murder mystery set in Providence, Rhode Island, at the Summer Tentacular (a name I cannot help but grin about each time I consider it). As many other reviews have already indicated, the story has two beats, the murder victim whose face was sliced off in their hotel room, and Colleen Danzig, a conference-goer and up-and-coming weird fiction writer.

Many readers of the book draw comparisons between the lambasted fans or editors or writer and academics and the frequenters of these conferences (i.e.: the annual Necronomicon). A disclaimer: While I am progressively more familiar with Lovecraft’s work and him as a subject each passing year, I have never attended any of these events. However, I do recognize Danzig as a possible composite avatar (a Dean Moriarty/Neal Cassidy, if you will, as she is the novel's heroine) for prominent weird-fiction writer Molly Tanzer. The murder victim Panossian I see as a possible fictionalized Mamatas. Mamatas gently balks at these comparisons between his characters and real-life personalities, and that’s alright. Readers can draw their own conclusions. I should also add that I have never met either author.  

The book received flack from the Lovecraftian community, with some members railing against the thinly veiled composite depiction of its members. The novel has not endeared Mamatas to many of the Lovecraftian set, galvanizing some into the anti -camp or amusing readers in the pro-camp who enjoy the inside jokes and how Mamatas pokes fun at everyone, including himself, it should be noted. However, as a piece of fiction, it must stand on its own, and considered on its own merits.

The hilarious stand-offs between fans and writers, the depiction of theme parties where guests must guess which story the party theme is based on, and the panels arguing about Lovecraft’s sexism, which dismiss any female opinions in the room, however, ring true from other conferences I have attended.

Still, satirical or not, Mamatas writes with a keen eye for human foibles, a thread of post-mortem nihilism and sadness, and with an almost British sensibility for the absurd in describing his subjects. The ending’s a jilting one, but arguably reflects the perspective of the deceased. The cosmic horror aspect of the book is subdued background for the tableau of characters that Mamatas mercilessly satire. There’s fun in here, and sadness, and an obvious and tempered and conflicted love for Lovecraft. This, at the core of the novel, makes it worth the trip.

Both Move Under Ground and I Am Providence are dense with references and are worth pursuing, whether you are a fan of Jack Kerouac's writing, of the Beat Writers, of Lovecraft, of horror, or of whodunits. If you enjoy all these things, then you're in for rich and entertaining reads.

Chip Zdarsky hits Daredevil: Know Fear story arc outta the park

I've said it before... Zdarsky'd again! 

In my heart of hearts, I envision a fictional scene in which a surly and moustached newspaper publisher yells at Canuck comic-book artist and writer Chip Zdarsky.

“Zdarsky!” the publisher barks. “Get you mangy, bearded hipster ass in here.” 

“What's the word, boss?” 

“Tell me—are all you Canadian freaks into craft beers and indie music?” 

“Not necessarily. It's a fairly wide demographic. The term 'hipster' can be applied a little broadly...” 

“Alright, enough already. Get me a piece on horn-head, that freakish devil of Hell's Kitchen!”

“It's uncanny," Zdarsky replies with a quick tug of his beard. “I was just headin' down to the docks to get the word on D.D.'s whereabouts.” 

“Well, head outta my office. And since when did we start calling him double-D? It's horn-head, for #$%&@#'s sake, not a bra size!”

“The devil, you say,”  Zdarsky replies. “On it.”  Zdarsky heads out, ducking pre-emptorily en route.

And ooh boy, did our accomplished Toronto comic-book artist/writer deliver. Daredevil Vol. One: Know Fear hits all the fan buttons, D.D. eras, and tributes John Romita Jr. and Frank Miller throughout.

Chip Zdarsky is very much passionate about the classical canon of Spider-Man, admittedly his favourite Marvel character and now, I see from Know Fear, Daredevil. Zdarsky's what I consider an (arguably) neoclassical writer in the same league as, say, Mark Waid, whom writer Greg Rucka has called the professor emeritus of comics. While Waid certainly has a more encyclopedic knowledge of superhero esoteria,

Zdarsky is a fresher voice and likes to play with the action figures. That is, he plays with an established character but takes them in new and unexpected directions that still jive with continuity and the character's fairy considerable history.

It's interesting to note that reader reaction thus far to Zdarsky writing Daredevil has been surprise at the dark tone for the most part. This makes sense, though. After all, he is better known for his offbeat humor, quirky art, which he himself undervalues, and zany concepts.

For Daredevil, however, Zdarsky nails the dark, gritty tone. Matt Murdock suffers, through his Catholicism, and otherwise. Matt's flawed and horny. He hits villains and obstacles a little too hard and must tussle with them, so there's great tension. The story arc also raises the question of what constitutes judicious use of violence. Zdarsky, to his credit and despite his comedic reputation, does not back down from answering that question, and developing Matt's reaction to a grave mistake. Accompanied by the often gritty pencils of Marco Checchetto, the book has a comic-book noir look, from New York architectural detail to exquisitely rendered facial expressions to bloodied square jaws. 

In other words, the book's tone is in-line with the Netflix series, and touches on multiple landmark eras of the title, from horn-head's early days in the yellow costume on up to now.
Zdarsky knows how to draw on the well of established characters (see notes about liking canon) Foggy Nelson, Wilson Fisk (aka the Kingpin), not to mention other heroes (whom readers can delight at discovering for themselves) and, of course, the Catholic Church.

I'm not religious by any means, but make no mistake; the Netflix interpretation of Daredevil may have ended, but it made clear, as has the comic book, that Irish Catholicism constitutes a prominent character in the Daredevil universe. Matt Murdock's struggles with faith have always added layers to the title. Arguably, the protagonist has not wrestled with his beliefs since legendary Marvel writer/editor Ann Nocenti's late 1980's-to-early-1990's writing run on Daredevil. This is also Zdarsky's favourite Daredevil run (and, coincidentally, mine, aside from Frank Miller's influential Born Again story arc).

Now, getting back to Zdarsky. He possesses a startling set of talents; a singular riotous sense of humor, which pervades his work, and firm grasp of character, also ever-present. His one-shot character study issues earn him acclaim (such as the Eisner for Peter Parker: Spectacular Spider-Man #310). Before Spidey, the writer/artist cut his teeth on Howard The Duck, in which he gleefully lambasted the Marvel Universe. Around that time, he also established Jughead of Archie Comics as a groundbreaking openly assexual character. Zdarsky also draws the provocative and unexpectedly successful Sex Criminals (with writer Matt Fraction)— unexpectedly successful because the duo did not expect the book to run for more than a few issues. Sex Criminals' panels are crammed with Zdarsky's visual jokes, from storefront names to sex-toy products to character actions.

Zdarsky also does his own projects including the mind-bending space opera Kaptara, which I maintain should come with a warning label/disclaimer, as it detonates and undermines a fair number of precious sci-fi and space-opera tropes. Then there's Monster Cops, the title which won him the attention of the big houses. Haven't read it, but hey—every serious comic-book aficionado needs at least one remaining gem to hunt down.

Marco Checchetto's pencils bolster the book, complementing Zdarsky's script. His panels revere recognizable groundbreaking Frank Miller shots (most notably the influential Born Again storyline, arguably the best Daredevil arc), but also legendary John Romita Jr. who was the penciller on the book for several years (for much of the Ann Nocenti run, in fact). As Zdarsky recently said in a podcast (Steg-Man and his Amazing Friends), Checchetto cannot help but depict all his characters as beautiful. That's an accurate summation of Checchetto's style. A fascinating quirk, that.

In short, Chip Zdarsky is proving that he has the chops to write comic-book noir, the trials of Matt Murdock, drawing on pre-established mythos. I am keen to see where Zdarsky takes Matt Murdock and Daredevil next, with Marco Checchetto remaining his comic-book noir partner-in-crime.

Geez—even the photo of the multitalented comic-book artist/writer looks Canadian.
Check out the winterly backdrop. Looks cold and winterly.
I keep wanting to tell him to put on a tuque.
Photo from thirdeyecomics.com.

Baseball-style Review: Glen Hirshberg’s The Ones Who Are Waving: Tales of the Strange, Sad and Wondrous

Cover art by Jonas Yip

Glen Hirshberg’s The Ones Who Are Waving: Tales of the Strange, Sad and Wondrous

Cemetery Dance Publications, 2018

Out of Print (but some copies are findable on ebay and amazon)

The Short Version, or Postgame Analysis

Glen Hirshberg’s done it again, telling speculative stories through a literary lens, whether describing characters agonizing over their pasts, events they cannot quite come to terms with, or ruminating on the cost of the pursuit of one's dreams and ambitions. As promised, there’s horror, fantasy and wonder in these fine new tales.

My only qualm about this limited-run collection is the lack of background about each piece or previous publications credits. Often, learning about a writer’s background regarding their work is enriching. With Hirshberg, such explanation can be positively enlightening. It can mean the difference between finding a writer's story in Ellen Datlow's Best Year's Horror and then discovering their various novels and collections.

And now the review, sports fans...

Well, ol’ Artie is looking good as he steps up to the plate. Lean and mean. He’s got eight stories to bat out this time, sports fans. Let’s see what he’s got. Hirshberg’s limbering up, taking practice swings with his Louisville slugger. He gives a nod to his fans and peers in the bleachers, Peter Atkins, Dominik Parisien, Aimee Bender and Sean Moreland among them.

“Shaken”

Hirshberg really stepped up to the plate, all bases loaded, and showed the visiting team where he lives. Home run! The fans are on their feet, roaring. An elderly retired corporate man must wait out a disaster at an airport in Tokyo. It might be tremors, or war, or something else that has awoken. Literary speculative fiction that may or may not be spec fiction. It's a character study with ruminations on an unfolding disaster, supernatural or otherwise.

“A Small Part in the Pantomime”

A grand slam. Lookit’ Hirshberg run! Hirshberg sent teammates to home base, but not all of them. This story is reverent in regards to “Mr. Dark’s Carnival”, his lightning-in-a-bottle story of a mysterious carnival that protagonist professor tracks down in Halloween-crazed Clarkson, Montana. This story serves a love letter to Halloween and to Ray Bradbury. For Hirshberg, it meant moving from the farm team to the majors, and readers were better for it.
This sequel focuses on the meta of storytelling within storytelling. What has happened in Clarkston since the original story? Well, the professor protagonist has an academic circle of friends (literally) who are quite obsessed with relating his story to a newcomer who just earned the rarity of tenure. The characterization is deft, layered and complex. The ending, though (no spoilers, here...) did not quite tickle my brain and soul like the original “Mr. Dark’s Carnival”. Still quite good, though. Makes me wonder, though, if Hirshberg has unintentionally set up his own Green Town, Illinois, Bradbury's established town for many of his novels (including Dandelion Wine). "Pantomime” is rich and evocative in that sense, metafictional, and possessing a history and life of its own and whose characters' pasts have pasts.

“India Blue”

A pop fly into far left field. Hirshberg earns first, then second, base. This telling of a game of a bastardized version of critique, laden with reference to Hirshberg’s home turf (at least for a good number of years) of San Bernardino, is a wonderful ode to the environs, the strange game and its athletes. Shades of Ray Bradbury’s “The Great Black and White Game”. The ending was a knuckle-biter until an outside element, introduced late in the last act, seems unnecessary to the remainder of a beautiful rendering.

“Pride”

A solid hit that earns Hirshberg a third base run. Off he goes, in good form! He introduces sleuths of the supernatural, Nadine and the enigmatic Collector. Riveting descriptions of show, startling characterization. Much postgame analysis in the denouement, however, is muddled and undermines the magical tone of the piece.

“His Only Audience”

Hirshberg returns with his A-game that we saw during the regular season (his short-story collections). Crack! He hits another homer. The supernatural-mystery-solving team of the Collector and Nadine seems to really gel this time. Plentiful musical references abound. The ending presents a very Bradburyian view of inspiration, ambition, and their costs to the artist, but in a good way.

“Hexenhaus” 
Our pro ballplayer is waxing poetically here, and taking readers along for his visions. He's pausing, looking out at the left field, musing about the past. Glen writes about snow like a poet, whether in Detroit or Siberia. It swirls, dances, blends, obfuscates, clarifies, distorts. Hirshberg concocts a heady blend of magical realism and longing for the past. The protagonist returns to his anarchist roots, although Siberia is now populated by polar bears. There's a lovely ambiguity at play initially, where the reader is unsure whether the animals are real or visibly only by the narrator. There's magic here, too, and reminiscing of younger days, tempered by knowledge and experience. 

“The Ones Who Are Waving”

Still waiting in the dugout box on this one. Looks quite charming, though, and ready to swing the Louisville slugger.

A tribute to Peter Atkins’ and Hirshberg’s Rolling Darkness Revue. A travelling road-show of horror writers, they performed predominantly in the Los Angeles area, but also once in Canada (with myself) and featured guests including Aimee Bender. Since I also have a story-in-development about the very same Revue, and travelled with Artie and Algie to Nipissing University, North Bay, and also performed the play and my story “Glimpses through the trees” there and at the Ottawa International Writers Festival (they also held a talk at the University of Ottawa), I may recuse myself from reviewing this one.

What a spectacle! Thanks for watching, folks! Hirshberg has once again brought his skills to the playing field. He can do horror, he can do sci dystopia, he can do fantasy and, yes, fine folks at home, he can do literary works as well, all grounded in a human sensibility and often sympathetic characters.

Hirshberg remains a premiere voice in American speculative fiction, whether running the distance in novels such as the unbelievably good The Snowman’s Children, his Tor Books vampire trilogy Motherless Child, Good Girls and Nothing to Devour or sprinting down the track, as in his short fiction collections, The Two Sams, American Morons,The Janus Tree and Other Stories. Hirshberg brings the human condition to horror, for example the Jewish  traditions ever-present in the wonderful short story, “Shomer”.

O, my traveling companion of yesteryear

Trusty backpack, now mouldered. Saw me across Canada twice (once by Via Train in '99 and once on antique fire truck in 2000); to London, England, Scotland, Ireland and France, all in '98. Canadian flag sewn on by my mother.

O, my faithful traveling companion, you accompanied me well, and kept me safe. Farewell.

Rue Morgue Queer Fear Issue Features Lethe Press

Congrats, Duke (Steve Berman)! You and your fine LethePress (my publisher) got some great ink in the current issue (issue # 186, July/August 2019) of Rue Morgue Magazine, which is the Queer Fear issue. Monica S. Kuebler's article (page 50) covers the nearly 20-year history of Lethe, mentioning such horror luminaries as Lee Thomas.

Lovely!

"After decades of being vilified, LGBT people want nothing more than to be the centre of the story....We're tired of being ignored, treated as if we don't exist or are lusus naturae. We want our turn with the monsters. We demand it."
- Steve Berman, Publisher and Editor, Lethe Press

Stranger Things 3 As An Elevator Pitch

Just going to say this once, because I need to get it out of my system.

Stranger Things Season 3 in an elevator pitch?

Imagine film director John Hughes shares a joint with Stephen King. They scheme up a kids’ small-town horror backdrop fetishizing mid-1980’s nostalgia. 

King immediately suggests a tortured young antagonist who is a borderline sociopath, albeit an impressionable, self-involved sociopath who drives a Camaro and likes him some hard rock music - an archetype plucked from King's horror work from the eighties. 

Hughes posits many scenes involving the young teenage protagonists in mercilessly awkward, and often humorous, plot points, augment by a relentless (and often enjoyable) soundtrack of 1980's pop music.

King and Hughes concur - the story will be resplendent with tributes including (but not  limited to) Arnold Schwarzenegger’s 1980’s action films, The Goonies, the 1950’s The Blob (1958, with Steve McQueen), the lesser-known The Stuff (1985), John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982), The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (any from the series), and Red Dawn (1984).

There. Now that feels better.

But watch it and decide for yourself, of course, true believers.

Losing friends and walking onward

Sometimes life can bring you pain because of those you love, and in unexpected ways, but there's no better way to live than with an open heart and compassion.

I've lost two friends this year, but purely in the sense that we're no longer in contact.

The first just moved to Kingston to be closer to their parents, and he and I had gotten close, after an initial instant connection.

The other is a friend from years ago, with whom I reconciled last summer under an August full moon, by the post-midnight river. If that sounds fanciful or farcical, it's because it's a real moment, and my own, or maybe our own, at the time. We talked about grievances and transgressions from over 16 years ago, and made amends. Because of the death of a mutual friend last year, we renewed our acquaintance. But I would be fooling myself if I said that embracing them at our friend's funeral didn't refire our long-dormant feelings of mutual attraction. I won't go into detail, but I will say that we're not in touch anymore because we know where it could lead. Admittedly, I also wouldn't leave unopened any missives from them, or comments from them, or a blog link, if sent. I'd owe them that much.

But it's hard to move on, with the living death of parted friendships and companionship. I'm trying my best to work through it, as though through a fog, toward some sort of clarity.

Crack of light through the fissures

I found this crack of light coming through the fissures. Using a crowbar, I leveraged my way into the wall of darkness, and pulled with everything I had. There, amid the crumble and rumble and debris raining down, I found the light alright. 

I was writing again. Without any idea exactly where I was headed.

The thing is, I have characters who want their stories told. Maybe I'm headed toward Joshua's pencil drawings, or reclusive John Daniels' treatise on the merits of painting as therapy and transformation, or Bruck, unsure what to do with his love, or Sara, ruminating and not wanting to negotiate with phantasm, or Sergeant Ritchie O'Donnell, running his LGBTQ+ counselling group, but unable to be honest with himself about his own ex walking out after 15 years. And what about John Newman? What is he going to when he meets his old enemy from adolescence? 

I was writing toward something, anyways. Which is better than aimlessly sitting by the side of the road, watching the night sky, counting stars and wondering when my second novel rewrite would call to me again, or me ot it.

But that's poetic bullshit; I knew where I was headed. I was writing and rewriting and editing, hard, toward that light.

Thanks for listening or, rather, reading, whether you consider yourself boring or old, or not, which you are certainly not, ideal reader.

 "One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."

—Jack Kerouac 

Taking a Sabbatical

I will be taking a break from doing, well, whatever I do on this blog (reviews, comic-book coverage, observations, mainly) until my troubles recede.

Nothing earth-shattering - just writing, job, job-search, life, etc, etc., - have all come crashing in all on sides for me. I need to regroup, or whatever the hell they call it nowadays when you step back and re-evaluate everything.

Had a long, dark night of the soul this week (literally and figuratively) and have come through with many observations that I must unpack or make conclusions about.

Leading up to this night of examination on Wednesday, I was already very dubious and doubtful about the prospect of rewriting my second novel to my satisfaction, either by my overly optimistic deadline of late June, or at all, for that matter.

It's hard to articulate my feelings because they are oblique, but mainly I'm discouraged with my writing and with several aspects of life right now (finding work outside of the retail work I have now, for example) and can't quite see my way through them (To use another example, short-story markets remain blocked up to me, for whatever reason, and I have a stack of short pieces sitting in my hard drive with no feasible markets for them; so going on or giving up remains a question). There seems to be plentiful other writing going out there and the market is pretty crowded right now as it is.

There's light somewhere in all this, I know, but I just don't feel the same way about my writing or whether my new book will help add any joy or escape or richness to anyone's lives (i..e.: if the novel  is indeed completed into a second draft form someday).

And, in the grand scheme of things, what are my troubles compared to others' troubles? This too I am considering as I decide what to do (or not to do) next.

I will check in here from time to time, but have no clear idea of when. Keep reading and dreaming in the meantime.

Comic-Book Scribe Alex de Campi Nominated for Four Eisners in 2019

Luscious trade cover by Alejandra Gutiérrez.

Alex de Campi, I am very pleased to say, having followed her work for some time, has been nominated for four Eisner Awards in 2019. 

de Campi is nominated for Best Graphic Album–New: Bad Girls, Best Anthology: Twisted Romance, and for Best Writer and Best Letterer.

Some critics liken Alex de Campi to a new Alan Moore, but to understand that comparison, readers must understand that, like Moore, de Campi can dance from genre to genre (grindhouse, film noir, horror, action, superhero, sci-fi, fantasy, drama/lit) with aplomb and consistent attention to character development.

Twisted Romance, for example, features a stunning cross-section of surprising and non-traditional stories about love, featuring queer space captains, asexual movie stars, women of sexy size and even a possible throuple (a relationship involving three people dating). It's a stunning mix of art and writing featuring an array of talents. Twisted Romance is a beautiful and delightful and rare comic-book creature.

See de Campi's Mayday for a white-hot, cold-war spy thriller (with a kick-ass Spotify soundtrack, to boot). Semiautomagic, her Dark Horse Presents collaboration with master artist Jerry Ordway, holds a special place in my twisted heart for its depictions of occult investigator Alice Creed, and phantasmagoric imagery from Ordway.

For the uninitiated, the Eisner, in the comic-book industry, is often equated with the Academy Award in the film industry.

Stylish cover by Victor Santos.

Alex de Campi's First Volume of No Mercy Sings

This first volume of the aptly named No Mercy series  sings, with lush art by Carla Speed McNeil and the usual top-notch script by prolific comic-book scribe Alex de Campi. It's about a busload of insular and self-absorbed Princeton University hopefuls who have to learn to survive after a horrific bus accident. They get more sympathetic as things get bleaker. de Campi's admitted grindhouse-film influence is here for those who appreciate it, but also her admirable technique of always putting her characters through the wringer. No Mercy is harrowing and beautiful all at once. A trans protagonist features, once again showing that de Campi is out in front of everything, developing asexual characters and various queer characters alike in her other works. 

No Mercy, Image Comics, ran for 14 issues.

Gorgeous cover by Carla Speed McNeil.

Are you a poet with an unpublished poem?

Are you a poet with an unpublished poem that deserves to be out in the world? You’re in luck, then! It’s last call to entry Arc’s Poem of the Year Contest. Deadline’s tomorrow (Fri. Feb. 15). Possibility of cash prize, publication, payment. Deets are here- https://bit.ly/2nWdGyNAre you a poet with a poem that deserves to be out in the world? If you enter Arc Poetry Magazine’s Poem of the Year Contest, I could be reading YOUR poem in a different country. 

Last call to enter!
Deadline tomorrow (Fri., Feb. 15).
Possibility of cash prize, publication, payment. 

Deets are here - https://bit.ly/2nW

dGyN

Shadow Puppet by Jeffrey Round: A Review

Gay Toronto private investigator and perennially single dad Dan Sharp is at again, digging around, solving mysteries among the very Canadian locale of Toronto in early winter.

In Shadow Puppet, the seventh Dan Sharp mystery, Toronto writer Jeffrey Round turns a fine, almost perfect book with a minimalist finale. There are funny moments, dramatic turns, heartfelt found-family subplots, and creepy scenes as Sharp hunts down what he suspects is a potential serial killer at large in Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. It’s a story that could be ripped from the headlines regarding actual events in Toronto’s Gay Village, yet as Round indicates in the preface, he penned the tale before the revelations came out about a real-life serial killer preying on the community. (See this piece in Vanity Fair about accused serial killer Bruce McArthur.)

Dan Sharp is hired to track down a missing young man who is part of Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. He inadvertently stumbles on a possible link between other missing young gay Muslim men in the community and navigates nightclubs, creepy characters, and even a perilous dating scene.

Published by Dundurn Press, 2019.

The novel is sprinkled with several horror allusions that I appreciated. These include the creepy old basement and the ancient furnace at the Viking apartment building setting, the latter of which reminded me of the furnace in Stephen King's The Shining ("It creeps," the caretaker said in the opening scene of that novel.). Thankfully, though, the furnace does not blow up and destroy part of the Viking and the serial killer therein. (I was prepared to feel cheated if this Deus Ex Machina occurred and was very relieved with it didn't). I like how Round deals in horror tropes but works them in so that they are part of the texture of the story and simply the scarier aspects of Sharp's job. 

The pop culture references, dashed throughout, work nicely to add levity to Sharp’s bleak investigation, which occurs in an early Canadian winter. My absolute favourite was a comparison of a leather-man character to The Incredible Hulk. 

However, I was mildly disappointed that the story did not feature a character with the last name Moran, as Tony Moran did in The God Game, the previous Dan Sharp novel in the series. Thus, I did not see my surname throughout a Dan Sharp novel a second time. 

The date scenes that Sharp endures/experiences are painfully accurate. His exchange with a fanatical/paranoid/egotistical body-builder is a particularly humorous scene that had me laughing aloud as I read it in bed. A scene where the P.I. makes inquiries at the Mr. Toronto Leather competition was also a particular delight where contestants and audience members alike lavish him with far too much unwanted attention in the spotlight. Admittedly, this scene was particularly enjoyable for me, as I have written many news stories about Ottawa’s Mr. Ottawa Leather competition for Capital Xtra, xtra.ca (I used to call it the leather beat. Get it....?). It’s a ridiculously funny scene, but believable and demonstrative of how Dan has an appealing look to even the leather crowd. 

The epilogue is a kick to the heart, but I won’t spoil it.

While Shadow Puppets is the seventh Dan Sharp mystery, it occurs between The Jade Butterfly and After the Horses, the third and fourth Sharp novels. The only flaw in the book I see is that a reader familiar with the Sharp mystery series will know that Dan will likely make it out unscathed. On that note, Round’s foreword, explaining this in-between continuity to readers, remains a wise editorial choice.

For the next editions of the books, perhaps Dundurn Press should number them in chronological. As well, Dundurn should eventually market all the Sharp books in a set. That would be an undeniably sexy gift set.

(Both of my suggestions, I’m guessing, may already be in the works.)