I've just returned from the World Horror Convention. I met lots of great people, many of whom were excited about the forthcoming release of
Southern Gods from the incredible folks at
Night Shade Books. I put a lot of ARCs in people's hands who needed (or didn't know they needed) them. It was really a magical weekend.
I arrived Thursday, mid afternoon. I had stayed up too late the night before -antsy for my trip - so after checking in, I went to my room - which, sadly, was on the top floor, with a fabulous view of the parking deck and adjacent to the door that led to the garage. It banged loudly every time it was opened. (That was the single low note to an otherwise life-changing weekend.)
Then I napped. Napping will be a common theme in this recap. Napping is important.
When I awoke, all refreshed and dapper, I made my way downstairs and began a'minglin'. It was amazing at how many people I either knew, knew of, or recognized.
First up?
The Snutch Lab folks. That is
Kim Despins,
Erik Williams, Kurt Dinan,
Sam Anderson,
John Mantooth, and last but not least,
Petra Miller. When I walked into the bar, they were the first folks I saw. I approached them nervously, because I feared they might all jump me and give me a solid thrashing - they're that kind of people - but they greeted me cordially and allowed me to join them, unmolested. Somewhat unmolested.
So, I'd come to Austin, Texas, with a forthcoming novel from a great press and I was there to promote awareness of it and have a good time. But then, once we were in the bar, the first night, shit got weird. Wonderful. Wild.
Maybe ten minutes and two beers into my first conversation with the great folks from Snutch - really just the first few moments of the convention - my phone vibrates and there's a text from my agent, Stacia Decker, telling me that we had received an offer for my novel
This Dark Earth from Jennifer Heddle at
Gallery/Simon & Schuster.
Most of you are writers so you can guess how I felt. Bloodless. My heart was too large for my body. I didn't know what to do with myself, my fingers were numb and my legs, weak. I showed the text to Petra and then stood up, muttering "holy shit, holy shit" over and over and went out into the hall to call Stacia. At that precise moment,
S.G. Browne walks up. I met Scott at WHC2008 in SLC when his first book,
Breathers, was on its way toward publication but many people didn't yet know who he was. Of course, I immediately blabbed my news and he congratulated me. Turns out, we'll share the same imprint, Gallery.
What happened next is, to me, the best part of the convention, really. See I have this friend,
John Rector. He's an amazing novelist and writer, author of
The Cold Kiss, and
The Grove. We met years ago on the Zoetrope Horror Library board - and honestly, we didn't hit it off too well at the start. However, we both managed to see past his overwhelming dickishness after he's admitted he has a problem (okay, kidding) and John has become one of my closest friends even though we had never met. In the acknowledgments of
Southern Gods it reads: "...my thanks to John Rector, whom at first I hated, but now I hate like a brother." That pretty much sums it up. He introduced me to my agent. He's been my mentor and guide. When I don't listen to him, things go wrong. Of all the people at WHC, he's the person I looked forward to seeing most.
So, up walks Rector, and he's grinning, and I'm grinning, too - stupidly - and we hug it out like real men and insult each other's looks and then I tell him the good news at the same moment we meet for the first time. It was a totally surreal event. I think he was as happy for me as I was - that is the mark of a true friend. There was none of the strange awkwardness that comes with finally meeting someone you know online. We fell into conversation just like we'd been doing it for years.
We went to dinner with all of the Snutch labs folks, and
John Langan and
Nick Mamatas.
Things got crazy after that. I don't recall exactly how much alcohol I drank, let's just say it was enough to kill a small pony then float its body off and away down Whiskey River.
There were parties, I recall. Hotel room parties. And at some point I took this photo of John Rector and the Snutch labs folks.
That's
Kevin Wallis trying to lick Erik Williams ear. And
Lincoln Crisler (he's named after TWO automotive manufacturers) half-obscured by Williams' gigantic melon of a head. It was great meeting both Kevin and Lincoln. I have designed covers for both of them. They probably contributed to Whiskey River.
At some point I had a conversation where I accosted Nick Mamatas for being mean. But I was drunk and he just laughed at me and ignored it. Nick is such a nice guy in person and it was hard to reconcile his online, hardcore biting-wit, rabid-weasel, ready-to-give-your-stupid-blog-post-an-ass-raping
nonpareil persona with this really cool dude.
Next day: HELLO! Woke up at 7:30am, grinning. Wow. Just. Wow. Simon & Schuster.
With a whopping 3 hours of sleep I made my way into the world. I had my first panel at 2pm.
Ate breakfast with S.G.Browne and Eunice Magill. They said stuff. I said stuff. It was great.
Then I went and napped for an hour. I woke in time for my very first panel.
There we are, John Rector and I, sitting on the "New Blood" panel. Also on the panel are
Rio Youers and
Norman Prentiss. Rio, I did not know beforehand, but he was funny, well-spoken, and possessed of a predilection toward the word "wanker". I knew Norman from my time at the Borderlands Press Boot Camp. (And also, possibly, I might've received a rejection from him, once, but it was very nice and he regrets doing that now, I could tell by the guilty expression on his face.) The panel was moderated by
Jesse Bullington. That guy makes me sick. He's young, far smarter and better looking than me, and wrote
The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart to boot. To top it off, he was very well spoken and generous. Sheesh. People that cool shouldn't be allowed to exist.
Afterward, I napped again. And then had two naps the next day.
What else? Let's see. There was more drinking. And more panels. And more panels. It all blurs together, but I will touch on some high-points.
I had a long conversation with
Brian Keene. Of course I blabbed my good news and he was very happy for me. He talked for a long while about how this WHC was bittersweet because he could remember, ten years ago, when he was in my position, asking advice of the older writers like Laymon and Peter Straub. He made a quite touching speech and toast at the Deadite party - there's might've been some very manly tears to fall - and he mentioned at how proud he was of
Nate Southard and Rio Youers. It was a passing of the torch. Very cool move. (Nate, btw, was one of the organizers and let me tell you, he,
Lee Thomas,
Wrath James White and Nick Mamatas, did one Hell of a job. There were more people involved but I can't recall who. Go look 'em up.)
Had long chats with Dallas Mayr (
Jack Ketchum) and he told me a really interesting story about when he was a literary agent and how the guy he worked for invented the book auction. That was an eye opener. Dallas was super nice and really interested in what I was doing and quite congratulatory. He forgave me for being drunk as a proverbial lord.
At some point, I had
F. Paul Wilson ready to go start a rock band, RIGHT FUCKING THEN, but I stupidly revealed that I didn't have my guitar with me and he gave me such a look of scorn that I felt terrible about myself. Luckily, a hot chick walked by and distracted him from verbally breaking me into my component psychological parts and stomping on them with his penny-loafers of DEATH. That Paul Wilson will fuck you up. He's a doctor. He can kill a man and only burn 10 calories doing it.
I spent some time at the
Cutting Block Press party making drinks for Peter Straub. Boyd and RJ did a fantastic job and the margaritas and Dripping Springs vodkas were right on time (despite the suggestive name). Straub and I chatted about my forthcoming books whilst I plied him with alcohol. Needless to say, I was totally in awe being near Peter.
Ghost Story and
Shadowlands are probably two of my favorite novels - and
Lost Boy, Lost Girl isn't too bad either. I might have shot myself in the foot, though - after all the drinks I served him, it's debatable if he'll remember me.
Oh! I keep forgetting stuff. I made the acquaintance of
Weston Ochse (and his wife
Yvonne Navarro) and we hit it off gangbusters. He gave me some invaluable advice that I won't share here because I don't want you to steal the new super-abilities that Wes' words of power gave me. But let me tell you what, friends and neighbors, Weston Ochse is a badass of monumental proportions. Do not fuck with Wes. He'll break you. I would be interested in seeing Wes face off with Paul Wilson in a verbal cage match. Too bad they're both too damned pleasant to do it.
I spent the weekend reading
The Kobold Wizard's Dildo of Enlightenment +2. Shades of Pirandello meet
Oglaf.com. If you ever played AD&D in your life, get this book. It's the funniest thing I've ever read. But
Carlton Melnick III drops some deep shit on you by the end.
I got
S.J. Chambers to sign her awesome
Steampunk Bible, inscribing it to my kids. Selena is total class, all the way. She gave me some great advice that I won't share because I was acting like an idiot and what she said put everything in a whole new light. Great lady, that Selena.
I had a long conversation with
Hank Schwaeble about the current state of publishing (and a shorter one with his fiance,
Rhodi Hawk). Hank is bound for big things and I'm pretty sure you'll be hearing more of him soon, as well as Rhodi. Between the two of them, they've got a metric assload of books on the way or in the pipe. That is the book-writingest couple I've ever met, other than Weston and Yvonne. As a couple, Hank and Rhodi are about as cute as the proverbial button. And the way they hand-hold, they could qualify for the Olympic hand-holding team. Bound by love. That's the stuff.
I never met Joe Hill. He was too busy with his iPad and I didn't want to bother him. If there was anyone who ever loved their iPad, I think Joe Hill fits the bill.
Whew.
That's not even half of what happened or a fraction of who I met. Sunil Sadanand, Paul Tremblay, Liz Gorinsky, Del Howison (who went to college in Arkansas when he wanted to be a minister!), Eunice Magill, Gord Rollo, Tim Deal (who cozened me into doing a reading at the Shroud party and then didn't attend himself - smart guy, that Tim), R.B. Payne, Deb Kuhn, Steve Niles (who was very cool but I didn't have much interaction with) - oh and Arkansas boy Ed Kurtz and his blushing bride Megan, just great people - sheesh, there were so many fantastic folks there, I can't do half of them the justice they deserve . But the blog post would go on too long if I kept typing. Needless to say, truly a crazy, life-changing weekend, one that I'll never forget.
Did I mention the Patron shots?
Chad Savage moves so quickly that it's hard to photograph him.
How cool is this guy? He just had titties rubbed all in his face but now he's back to texting his ladies. Ho-hum. Just an everyday occurrence in the life of a badass.
Brian Keene passes on the torch to Nate Southard and Rio Youers at the Deadite room party. Really a great and heart-felt speech.
I received the ARCs of
Southern Gods! Look how beautiful those bastards are.
Dallas says something awesome during Boyd's speech at the Cutting Block Press party. Can't remember what it was, but it was awesome.
Patron shots with John Rector. That dude is the fucking tits.
The glamorous life of writers. I love how Brian Keene's hand is rising, caught in mid-bird.
Weston and Rio ALSO move too quickly to be photographed.
That is all.
Yeah, I talk more about writing and stuff over at the Night Bazaar.
All about book covers. I reveal that I'll turn down cover work if you annoy me.
That's Kevin Wallis trying to lick Erik Williams ear. And Lincoln Crisler (he's named after TWO automotive manufacturers) half-obscured by Williams' gigantic melon of a head. It was great meeting both Kevin and Lincoln. I have designed covers for both of them. They probably contributed to Whiskey River.
I received the ARCs of Southern Gods! Look how beautiful those bastards are.
Dallas says something awesome during Boyd's speech at the Cutting Block Press party. Can't remember what it was, but it was awesome.
Patron shots with John Rector. That dude is the fucking tits.
The glamorous life of writers. I love how Brian Keene's hand is rising, caught in mid-bird.
Weston and Rio ALSO move too quickly to be photographed.
