Yawning and Posting

Got up at 4 a.m., which is early for me. Hell, some nights, that's not too far off from bedtime.

But I'm catching an early train to NYC, which... hey, you guys do know about the cheap train route to Manhattan, don't you? Especially if you live in Northeast Philly? Simply hop the R7 regional rail to Trenton, then transfer (in the same station) to NJ Transit's northeast corridor line. Takes about 2 hours and change, but round trip,it's only about $26. Which beats the hell out of $100 on Amtrak. If I was really cheap, I'd hop one of the two Chinatown to Chinatown bus services, where a round trip costs about $20, no questions asked. They depart from downtown, however, and that's a bit out of my way.

These deals work the other way, too, for any New Yorkers who want to check out Philly for a day.

Before I go, here's this week's WTF, but you might be better off reading our lead news story first. It's a bit weird, being quoted in your own newspaper. But Philly can be that kind of town.

And also check out the results of our "write a caption, win free beer" contest. I love the winning entry, but my personal favorite ends with the punchline, "Gee, I thought you said Ballantine..."

Connelly! Resnick! Smith! White!

Tomorrow promises to be one of those action-packed days that makes me forget I'm actually a quiet, moody loner.

I'm headed up to Manhattan -- which is really just a northern suburb of Philadelphia, if you think about it -- to interview Michael Connelly for the City Paper. The story will be timed to the release of his latest Harry Bosch novel, The Closers, due to hit bookstores May 16th. The local "hook" (fancy-ass journalist-speak for "the reason to do this story"): Connelly spent his childhood in Philadelphia, so I include him on my shortlist of favorite Philly crime writers (David Goodis, William McGivern, Pete Dexter). Yes, two of them are dead, and Dexter split town 20 years ago. But I'll take my local connections where I can get them.

Afterwards, I have a few hours to kill, and I plan to kill them in at least one of Manhattan's many fine mystery bookshops. Probably head to Otto Penzler's Mysterious Bookshop (it'll be the closest), where I'll try to resist blowing next month's mortgage payment.

Then in the afternoon, I'm scheduled to hoist some kind of alcoholic beverage with Marc Resnick, the wise fool who purchased The Wheelman for St. Martin's, and my agent, David "Hale" Smith, who's in town for Edgar-related activity. (Another member of the DHS Literary Galaxy of Stars, Michael Koryta, is up for a much-deserved first novel Edgar.) Joining us will be the ever-elusive Dave White, who claims he's closing in on a first draft of his first Jackson Donne novel. Clock's ticking, Jersey boy.

Back with some kind of report on Friday....

Notes from the Violent Psych Ward

Why am I grinning ear to ear? Why, because Ed Gorman had some really great things to say about Secret Dead Men. Even if he does think I have issues with reality and should be contained in a maximum security environment. I take that kind of stuff as a compliment.

It was especially welcome, given the day I had yesterday, what, with the director of communications of one of the Worst Mayors in the United States being pissed at me for... ah, you'll see later this week. Why ruin the surprise?

Corrupting College Students Everywhere

When I wrote The Big Book O' Beer, I'd hoped that it would eventually find its college audience. Before my City Paper gig, I taught college journalism for a couple of years, so I feel a special kinship with this particular demographic.

At long last, I've found my college audience... in Southern California, at least. Check out this very flattering review/Q&A; in Whittier College's student newspaper, Quaker Campus.

A sample exchange:

QC: Acquiring all the beer to write the book must have been difficult, is there any experience with the authorities or say, loved ones that got you in hot water legally or otherwise?

Duane: I avoided brushes with the law, thankfully, but not my wife. When I was researching my first book for Quirk, The Perfect Drink For Every Occasion (2003), she was pregnant with our first child, and couldn’t sample a single *bleep*tail. (Well, she could have, but we didn’t want our son to have three or four eyes.) Then, when it came time to research Beer, my wife just-so-happened to be pregnant with our second child. “I swear, honey,” I’d tell her.”It’s just a coincidence.”

Thanks to QC assistant editor Josh Lowensohn for taking the time to read the book and throw questions my way.

This Week's WTF

In my City Paper editor's letter this week, I discuss our mayor (voted as one of the worst in the country by Time magazine! Yeeeee-haw!), Philly's population loss, and an embarrassing bit of personal history.

Right now, I'm listening to the The Thorns' remake of "Blue," and damn if it's not appropriate.

Wait... CD just changed. Now it's "Float On."

Ah, better.

The Wheelman Rolls to Amazon.com

This isn't exactly an earth-shattering post, but it made my day. The Wheelman, my second novel, and my first from St. Martin's Minotaur, has just been listed on Amazon.com.

Hey, it's never to early to start shopping for Octoberfest presents...

Congrats, Ken! (Er, I mean, "Benedict")

As I predicted in this blog yesterday, Kenneth Martin Bruen has been elected Pope of the Roman Catholic Church in the first conclave of the New Millennium.



I know what you're saying. "Hang on, Secret Dead Blog... that doesn't look a thing like Ken Bruen." You may also be saying, "And they say his name is Joe Ratzinger, or something. What gives?"

Wise up, yo. You think Ken will be able to run the Catholic Church and still do various signings and readings at mystery bookshops around the world? No way. The minute he sits down behind a table, he'll be swarmed by people looking for absolution, advice, the healing light of Christ, blah blah blah, and of course, to sign their shopping bag full of Jack Taylor novels. It'll never work.

So Ken has adopted a pseudonym. Clever one, too. "Joe" is a classic workaday American name (we all know about Ken's weird fondness for the U.S.); kind of an "Average Joe" among Popes, if you will. And Ratzinger is the tough private eye in the ultra-obscure Gold Medal classic, You Crossed the Wrong Man, Buddy Boy, which Ken has often cited as the hardboiled novel that inspired him to pick up the pen in the first place.

"Benedict XVI" is also an inspired choice for a holy name. The "16" is an obvious reference to the number of crime novels he's written upon being elected Pope; Benedict is a reference to colonial-era turncoat Benedict Arnold, the ultimate American rebel. It's all so Ken.

To further disguise himself, Ken will wear a skin-tight "fat suit" whenever making appearances as Pope. But look at that gray hair. The sparkle in his eye. Definitely Ken. If you don't see it, you're not fit to kiss his Papal ring.

So blessings and good cheers to the new Pope. Best of all: things dry up at B-Con this year, we'll know who to tap to turn you-know-what into Jameson.

Update: We Got Pope!

Yep, there's white smoke. Bells. Crowds cheering.



Any minute now, Kenneth Martin Bruen should appear on the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica. (Hope he'll still be able to make Bouchercon.)

Party Papal in the House

Anybody else following the antics at The Pope Blog? Check out this tidbit from this morning:

... Minutes later, more confusion occurred: the clock struck noon and the Basilica bells rung out, causing many in the crowd to cheer wildly for about a minute, as they confused the bells announcing the hour with bells announcing a new Pope. The chimney then began again to pour out more smoke (much blacker the second time around), thus subsiding any hopes of the crowd...

Absurdist comedy at its best. We should elect a Pope every year.

Black Smoke

I don't know why the Vatican is taking so damned long.



C'mon, now. We all know the name of the next Pope. In fact, he's already called the Pope.

So the college of 115 cardinals need to get on the stick, give some relief to the 40,000 Papal-loving people hangin' around St. Peter's Square, and release the name already:

Kenneth Martin Bruen, a.k.a. Pope Noir I.

A Vatican by the Galway Bay was indeed heralded in one of the books of Revelations...

Cellar's Market

Sometimes, the gods smile upon book geeks.



See that little paperback? It's Richard Laymon's first novel, The Cellar. It is routinely cited as one of the earliest examples of no-holds-barred, in-your-face "splatterpunk" horror; I've been itching to read it ever since I read about it in Carroll & Graf's Horror: 100 Best Books (edited by Stephen Jones and Kim Newman, 1998). David Garnett writes:

"Richard Laymon slices away all the surplus fat and cuts down to the bone. Down to the bone and beyond ... The Cellar is fast moving and written in a very cinematic style, using the minimum of detail and description.

In other words, my kinda horror novel. I grew up on the things, but I always hated how padded many of them seemed. Lovecraft may have been a supreme visionary, but he was a wordy-ass writer. I've longed for novels that take a hardboiled style to the creepy crawly stuff. The Cellar sounded like one of those books.

So at long last, I found a decently priced ($10) copy on eBay, and won the auction. Sweet.

The book arrived yesterday. The 1980 paperback was in great condition--tight and square as a high school math teacher. Then I turned to the title page. And there it was.

Richard Laymon's signature.

Totally unexpected, very much appreciated. I don't go out of my way to collect signed books--though I do treasure my signed Clive Barker, James Ellroy and Ken Bruen. But this was just a nice bonus.

Sometimes, the gods smile upon book geeks.

And That Bitch Anne Murray, Too

That's me as a South Park character, courtesy my wiseass editors (most notably, Brian Howard and intern Nick Norlen). You bastards!

Apparently there's a website where you can customize your own South Park character. You can choose from a variety of hairstyles, clothes and as you can see, accessories.

I think my staff may be trying to tell me something...

The Night of the Birdie

At first, Victor Gischler seemed like such a nice, quiet, reasonable guy. He arrived at my office at five o'clock sharp, and within 20 minutes we were enjoying a few casual pints downstairs at the Plough and the Stars. We talked about writing, the mystery genre and fatherhood. There were no silly arguments about who would break the seal first. It was a shaping up be a quiet, engaging... dare I say adult? ... kind of evening.

Then Victor told me he heard there was a video golf machine nearby.



"Guy over at Rotten Ralph's told me about a machine," he said, with his eyes going a little crazy. "Right around the corner."

"You want to catch a bite to eat first?"

"No... video golf."

"Okay, let me just hit the men's roo..."

"No. VIDEO GOLF. NOW."

"But we have to pay the b-"

"VIDEO GOLF VIDEO GOLF VIDEO GOLF VIDEO GOLF!"*

(* Note: I am a trained journalist, skilled in the art of capturing dialogue verbatim. However, such was The Gischler's fury, I cannot vouch for the accuracy of these quotes. They may have actually been more intense.)

Victor's source was right. Buffalo Billiards, right around the corner from my office, has a video golf machine, similar to one pictured above. Three hours and 54 holes later, I came to appreciate the dark, mystical ways of Golden Tee. Which is impressive, considering that I otherwise really hate golf. Especially the stupid pants.

I liked it, even though The Gischler pounded me into the pixelated turf.

So if your town is next up on Victor's Suicide Squeeze World Tour, save yourself some trouble. Call the Chamber of Commerce and locate the nearest functional Golden Tee machine. Trust me on this.

I tell ya, he seemed like such a nice, quiet, reasonable guy...

The Gischler's In Town

Hide your lemurs. Crimedog Victor Gischler, a favorite of the staff here at Secret Dead Blog, is making a rare Philly-area appearance.



As I type this, Victor is reportedly checking out the Liberty Bell and a bunch of other historic crap. (Eat your heart out, Dave White.) In a few hours, we'll be meeting up for beers. Sadly, the Jersey Crew wasn't able to make it town for tonight's festivities in Old City. (Unless Dave White grows a pair and decides to drive down. No pressure, Dave.)

More updates tomorrow...

Sons of a Gun

It's not just bad news (The Pope, Mitch Hedberg, Johnnie Cochran) that comes in threes.

This morning, the Short Mystery Fiction Society released the shortlist for the 2005 Derringer Awards, and I'm proud to report that my story, "Hilly Palmer's Last Case," made the list along with Ray Banks' "Phillie's Last Dance" and Dave White's "God's Dice." Congrats to all the nominees, especially my fellow Cabana Boys. (My money's on Banks and White.)

For a complete list, click to Sarah's entry here.

Writes Ken: "Do I have to buy three bottles of Jameson? C'mon, guys... share. Kay?"

Good-bye, Goth friends

Yesterday I mailed back the copyedited manuscript for The Wheelman. I had about 10 days to respond to various queries (nothing major, thankfully), and dwell on the fact that I still don't know the difference between "lie" and "lay." I'm apparently shit at serial commas, too.

Anyway, included with the manuscript was a style sheet which listing proper names and "unusual" words specific to my book. Some of the proper names, when taken out of context, sound slightly off for a crime novel:

Aerobed
Bed Bath & Beyond
Al Buchan
Dixie cups
Giorgio Brutini shoes
Franklin Mills Mall
Habitrail
Nutri-Grain
Pergo
7-Eleven
Yamaha DX7-11
Ziploc

But they're nothing compared to the strange groupings of unusual words. Taken in groups of two or three (you see, they're listed in alphabetical order), they double as either drunk poetry or potential novel titles. For example:

black-and-white
blonde-haired
Borsalino hat

Or:

feng shui
Formica
fuckup

Or even:

good-bye
Goth friends

Or:

mid-level
motherfuck

And then there's:

Naugahyde
nine-pack
Nirvana

And:

thick-neck
tighty-whiteys

Can't you just see it? The Wheelman 2: Feng Shui Formica Fuckup?

Yeah, me neither.

Crider on Dead Men

Bill Crider had some very kind things to say about Secret Dead Men in his blog yesterday. And even though the entry was dated "April 1," I hope he wasn't foolin'...

I had the pleasure of meeting Bill and his family at Murder By the Book's "Noir Night" in Houston. During the signing portion of the evening, he noticed that I was seated next to Ken, whose line reached across the length of the store. My line was... uh, let's just say not as long. In fact, I kept standing up in front of myself so that I could fake the appearance of a line. (The only downside: I was stuck buying five books from myself. And I've already read it!)

That's when Bill approached and told me about the time he did a signing next to Mary Higgins Clark, and there was a similar disparity in lines. It was a such a warm and friendly thing to do, especially when he could have been doing something better with his time. Like standing in Ken's line.

Thanks double, Bill.