More Updates Than You Can Possibly Comprehend

Okay, let's take this nice and easy, one at time...

* At 6:10 p.m., Sunday, November 27th, I finished the first (or 40th... I revise relentlessly) draft of a novel titled The Blonde.

* What? That isn't enough? Sheesh.

* Okay, okay... yesterday, Dave White reported that copies of The Adventure of the Missing Detective were seen on sale early at Borders. So today I darted across town to pick up a copy for myself. It is a sweet, sweet anthology--and not just because it contains my story, "Hilly Palmer's Last Case." But because it has a Dave White story. A Laura Lippman story. A Charlie Stella story. A Jeffery Deaver story (and I still say Deaver can out-thrill and out-surprise anybody on the block). And a cool essay by Sarah Weinman in which she lists a bunch of mystery blogs, including this one. Pick it up now. Stocking stuffer, you ask? Please. This baby was born to be shoved into red felt.

* One odd thing: my story, "Hilly Palmer's Last Case," was mysteriously retitled "The Last Case of Hilly Palmer" for this anthology. This is going to bug the shit out of archivists someday. Now I need to write a story called "Palmer: Hilly's Last Case" and really fuck with everyone's minds.

* I haven't shaved in over a week. Reviews at home are mixed. The Bride digs it, but this morning, my daughter Sarah put her little hands to my face and said, "Daddy, you need to shave."

* Over at BookBitch.com, The Wheelman received some very kind words. Scroll down a bit and check it out.

* Let me say it again: I finished another novel. C'mon, people, it's not like I do this every week. Only the third one I've written in what, seven years? This one is very much in the style of Wheelman: breakneck action, short chapters, set in Philadelphia. The Blonde is not a sequel, but it is set in the same universe as The Wheelman. A little less violence. A whole lot more sex. Some drugs. No rock and roll. I'm just about to submit it to St. Martin's. God be with me.

* I mentioned the not shaving thing, right?

Chain Reaction

Okay, I'll admit it: I wasn't looking forward to my Barnes & Noble signing this past Friday. It was one of those signings where you sit at a table, smile at people, hope they take pity on you and come over to say hello. When I booked it, I was still full of that "start of the book tour" enthusiasm; now, I was worried that I'd be sitting there for three lonely hours, hoping for someone to walk up to me and put a bullet in my face.

No one shot me.

People did approach me.

And much to my surprise, I managed to hand-sell 23 books: five copies of The Big Book O'Beer and 18 copies of The Wheelman, which is about 18 more than I thought I'd sell.

While it's true that three of those copies were sold to friends and family (my college buddies Drew and Jean picked up two for gifts; my sister's fiance Stan bought one for his mother), the rest went out to stone cold strangers. Some other highlights from the signing:

* The Barnes & Noble signing tables are extremely petite. I am not. I looked like Chewbecca at the little kids' Thanksgiving table.

* An absurd number of people who bought the book -- nearly half, I'd guess --were left-handed. I know this, because they commented on my left-handedness when I signed a book. "Hey, and you're left-handed, too! Right on!" someone said.

* About half were meant as gifts. "Yeah, your father will like this," a college-aged girl told her friend. "He's pretty sick."

* One enthusiastic guy bought the book, then explained his nickname was "The Wheel." Hence, he really was "The Wheel" man.

* My friend Drew told me that when he first saw the cover, he thought it said The Whee Man, as in, "The Wheeeeeee Man." That's right, I told Drew. I write amusement park noir.

* Two people asked to take their picture with me. Granted, one of them was my friend Jean. But the other was a complete stranger named Betty, who was out shopping with her daughter Sue. (Even better, this photo was being snapped just as my sister and her fiance showed up, as well as Drew and Jean, making me look like I was famous. Sweet.)

* One woman, Stacey, was interested in the book, but vowed that she wouldn't buy anything for herself today. So she took a postcard and gave it to her mother-in-law, standing a few yards away. Stacey left to buy a cup of coffee. Stacey's mother-in-law walked over and bought a book for Stacey. (Shhhhh; don't say anything.)

* Number of people who asked me directions to the bathroom: four. (Including Betty.)

* Number of people I met who were guitar players in a Hasidic reggae band: one. (Aaron Dugan of Matisyahu, who was home visiting family in Willow Grove.)

* Number of people who asked me, "You wrote this?": 12.

So for future reference, doing table signings on Black Friday at the Willow Grove Barnes & Noble? Definitely a good idea. Thanks for everyone who stopped by and said hello. (And a big left-handed high-five to all those bought a book.)

I'm Very Thankful...

... for this mention in Robert Wade's mystery fiction column in the San Diego Union-Tribune last week. (Scroll down to "Mistletoe Mysteries.") Robert Wade, of course, was half of the writing team of Wade Miller, whose Branded Woman was reprinted by Hard Case Crime this past summer. I absolutely loved that book, and immediately set out to order and devour as many Wade Miller novels as I could. There's not a dud in the bunch, but I'd especially recommend Devil May Care, which out-thrills most contemporary thrillers, and The Girl From Midnight, which is about a guy who's just been dumped by a woman named "Carlene" when a raven-haired beauty comes bursting into his living room. (Hey, we've all been there, right?)

So for Mr. Wade to give me even the tiniest of nods? It's hard to beat that high, even with a serious dose of tryptophan.

Happy Thanksgiving! Now with Mobile Hookers!

Ah, Thanksgiving. The only national holiday that encourages heavy drug (tryptophan) and alcohol (beer) use.

But let's go back in time a few days... that's right, it's time for another installment of the L.A. trip. I wrote about it in my City Paper editor's letter this week, focusing on some of the differences between the City of Brotherly Love and the City of Angels. Instead of just a link, I'll post it here in its entirely. It's a holiday. Don't want you having to do any heavy lifting, you know.

November 24-December 1, 2005

wtf

To Live and Drive in L.A.

James Ellroy once said, "L.A.: come here on vacation, go home on probation." But for me, it was more like, "Come here on vacation, go home on allergy medication." Greenery + fierce Santa Anna winds = a nose so raw, it looked like I was sporting a brand new coke habit.

Anyway, I was in Los Angeles this past weekend and I couldn't help but notice a few oddities. Granted, this may have been the Claritin at work. But here are some things L.A. has that we don't:

Mobile Hookers. Forget street corners—they're now in the streets. My weekend host, novelist Terrill Lankford, told me how he and a buddy were approached by an SUV full of women who asked if they "wanted to party." Terrill told them he was otherwise engaged. Still, one of them handed him a card. "You're bored later, give us a call." Not five minutes after Terrill told this story, a pair of blondes in an SUV drove by. The driver looked at us and made a gesture somewhat reminiscent of fellatio. Now I'm not saying she was definitely a mobile hooker. Maybe she was just hungry.

Blazing Freeways. Say what you will about the Schuylkill—at least it isn't shut down on a regular basis due to fire. Riding down the San Fernando Valley Freeway, I noticed scorched earth on the right. And scorched earth on the left. Wait, I asked my buddy, how does it catch fire on both sides?" He replied: "The fire leaps over the freeway." Oh, I said. The fire leaps over the freeway. Let me say it again: The fire LEAPS OVER THE FREEWAY.

Ass Transit. Gimlet-eyed readers will notice that the first two items involved cars. Well, yeah. This is L.A., where people look at you funny if you have a car more than three weeks old. Naturally, I wondered about the mass transit system. There had to be one, right? "Sure," a friend said. "But who wants to ride in a tunnel that's only designed to handle an 8 on the Richter scale?"

And that's when I had the vision—again, quite possibly Claritin-induced—that Philly could easily turn into L.A. Someday in the post-apocalyptic near-future, when SEPTA collapses, we'll all have to resort to cars, and burn through them two years at a time. And go out of our way—like, up to Quakertown and back—just to get from Old City to Upper Darby. (We actually did the equivalent of this in L.A.) We'd be too busy commuting to get laid in our apartments.

Problem with L.A. is that it's not about community; it's about the car. I'd hate to think that could happen here.

Hookers belong on the streets, goddamnit.

"Kick, Stab, Slam, Blast and Fry"

Blogger and critic Bill Peschel posted his review of The Wheelman last week. While he takes me to task for a few things (hey, I'm kind of fond of those opening and closing monologues, Bill), I'm very happy with his reaction:

So consider this fair warning: "The Wheelman" is a Punch-and-Judy show, with the emphasis on punch, as well as kick, stab, slam, blast and fry. It zooms along, with Lennon getting hammered like a cockroach on the kitchen floor on his quest to find the money, find who ratted them out, and get the hell out of Philly. Swierczynski sets off some great set pieces, such as how Lennon gets away from the bad guys in the garage.

The image of Lennon as a scuttling cockroach is nice, isn't it? And then there's this bit:

If you put a gun to my head — a technique this book's collection of crooked robbers, crooked cops and Russian and Italian mafiosi would sneer at as being for pussies; strapped to a board and menaced with blowtorch and circular saw is more their style — "The Wheelman" reminds me of Mickey Spillaine without the moral authority.

A lot of reviews have noted the violence in the novel, but in my defense (not that I'm feeling defensive or anything... really... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?) I think more violence is implied than shown. For example, at one point, our mute wheelman, Lennon, is strapped to a table, and a crooked cop wants to make him talk. You expect something bad to happen. You see the set-up of something quite possibly bad happening. But nothing truly bad happens. To Lennon, anyway. No eye-gougings, no circular saw moments, no car batteries hooked up to his nipples. You get worse in a Lethal Weapon movie.

Then again, there is that scene with the two-by-four across the face... so what do I know?

Thanks to Bill for the kind words, and taking the time to break it down in such detail. I love that kind of critique.

You Say Goodbye, But I Say Hello

Oh, what a great fucking weekend. (Pardon the use of the word "weekend.") From eating Prime Rib with Terrill Lankford and Joe Lansdale in a Hollywood bar, to watching The Long Goodbye at 5 a.m. ... in the apartment where they filmed The Long Goodbye... to meeting Bobby and Linda at the Mystery Bookstore, and then Heidi at Mysteries to Die For, to cruising the mean streets and fire-scarred mountains of the greater Los Angeles area with the real wheelman, Aldo Calcagno... oh, there's just too much fun to update in one post. So let's start off with the first report, over at Aldo's blog.

First we have my drop-in signing at the Mystery Bookstore. If I look puffier than usual, it's because I was hopped up on allergy pills. Apparently the Santa Anna winds have been blowing all manner of allergens all the hell over the place. At one point, my nose was so raw, I think people assumed I had a scorchin' coke habit. If that helps my street cred, so be it. And then you can find photos from my Mysteries to Die For reading right here.

Further adventures/explanations a bit later...

"Nice shooting, son. What's your name?"

Secret Dead Blog is on vacation until Monday, November 21. Until then, serve the public trust. Protect the innocent. Uphold the law. And never act against an officer of OCP. Thank you for your cooperation. Good night.

Updates and Previews

Sorry if this is rushed, but it is Black Tuesday (i.e., deadline day at the CP). I shouldn't even be taking a break to breathe, let alone post a quick blog entry. Some updates:

Toni McGee Causey said some really kind things about The Wheelman over at her excellent blog, "Electric Mist." That's not just (b)log-rollin', folks. Check out her Katrina entries. And just hearing the premise of her forthcoming novel, Bobbie Faye's Very (very very very very very) Bad Day (St. Martin's Minotaur) makes me want to read it very very very very very much.

J. Kingston Pierce tapped The Wheelman as one of his end-of-the-year Rap Sheet picks over at January Magazine.

Rumor has it that Al Guthrie will be posting a Noir Originals update sometime soon. Maybe even before 2007...

Why does this update suddenly sound like a newspaper gossip column? Fuck if I know. I've been editing too much, I think.

And as for upcoming tour stops:

Thursday: Drop-in signing at the Doylestown Bookshop. Along with The Bride, making a rare public appearance.

Saturday: I'll be goin' back to Cali to do a drop-in at The Mystery Bookshop (at noon) and then a reading/singing at Mysteries to Die For (at 3 p.m.). Playing the role of my wheelman: Aldo "El Jefe" Calcagno. El Jefe promises that we'll be knocking over more spots along the way, including a few coffee shops ("Garçon means boy") and liquor stores. If you're going to be in the greater Los Angeles area this Saturday, please do stop by and say hello. And if El Jefe says so, hand over your wallet.

And I've got to thank my other hosts in advance: Terrill "Spartacus" Lankford, Heidi Sobel, and another mystery benefactor, who I won't name just yet. But let's put it this way: This keeps up, I'll be in danger of becoming known as the Kato Kaelin of crime fiction.

Get Your Kicks in '06

Got the mid-November blahs? Can't see the point of living life beyond, say, mid-January?

Nay, I say. Not with these books on the horizon.

February 2006: Robert Ferrigno's Prayers for the Assassin. I managed to score an advanced readers' copy and it's fantastic. To say that it's a blend of political thriller and alternate history (a la Philip Dick's The Man in the High Castle) doesn't begin to do it justice. The book may take place in 2040, but the excitement is very much rooted in the now. Scribners has even ponied up the dough for a sweet website to give us a taste. ("Be the first to know..." man, that just's ominous, yo.) Everybody keeps saying that Ferrigno deserves to break out huge; if this doesn't do it for him, I say we start talkin' jihad.

March 2006: Once you've survived the Ides, let J.D. "Dusty" Rhoades shows you a Good Day in Hell, the second Jack Keller thriller. Dusty was kind enough to send Secret Dead Blog an advance readers' copy, and he had me at "merciless killing spree at a local church." Say no more, Mr. Rhoades. (Look for a longer take here in a few weeks, and maybe even an interview with my favorite North Carolina lawyer.)

May 2006: Finally? The first full-length Cal Innes joint, in print? At Polygon, the former home of Ian Rankin and Alexander McCall Smith and current home of Al "Sunshine" Guthrie? Unca Ray says it's so. So it's so. Buy Saturday's Child this month.

September 2006: Faithful readers of Secret Dead Blog will know the name Nancy French, because she was the first brave soul to host a Wheelman Home Invasion party. Looks like I'll be returning the favor next year, because that's when we can expect Red State, Blue State: How a Catfish Queen Reject Became a Liberty Belle from Time Warner. You can read about the genesis of the book at Nancy's blog. I'm pretty frickin' far (see Nancy? no cussing in your entry) from conservative, but I'll be first in line to buy this book. Nancy's the real deal, even if she is part of the Evil Empire.

And that's just scratching the surface. Already 2005 is so last year. Bring on '06!

The Mass Transit Trilogy

I haven't linked to my City Paper editor's letter in a while, and for no good reason. So here's a triple-dose: the three most recent weeks' worth, which form a loose trilogy, if you will. We had a mass transit strike here last week, and these pieces tackle the issue before, during and after. Next week: A new topic! I swear!

Part One: "This Is a Stoppin' Train, and I'm a Strikin' Man"

Part Deux: "What It's Like to be a SEPTA Rider This Week"

Part Three: "Questions, Anyone?"

Boulevard of Broken Hips

First, a certain Mr. Aldo Calcagno oh-so-innocently brought it up at my DetecToday chat.

Then Charlie "Mangel" Williams outed me over at Rara-Avis.

Finally, Bryon Quertermous e-mailed me about it. And when Quertermous knows a secret, you know you're in trouble.

But the rumors are true: I'm going to be editing a crime fiction anthology featuring some of the biggest and most respected names in the genre. My partner in crime, David Thompson of Houston's Murder By the Book, assures me that it's okay to release the details, so here's the fake back cover copy/pitch I started sending to possible contributors back in... geez, what was it? July? August?

Anyway, prepare yourselves for...

DAMN NEAR DEAD
An Anthology of Geezer Noir

Edited by Duane Swierczynski
Forthcoming from Busted Flush Press May 2006

Old. Bold. Uncontrolled.

When people think “senior citizens” and “mystery,” certain images come to mind: the kindly old amateur sleuth with a ball of yarn in her lap, cat on the sofa and a dead body in the foyer. A cup of tea, a plate of finger sandwiches, a severed head in a gift box. Jessica Fletcher, Miss Marple. Fixodent, and forget it. Genteel stuff like that.

But there’s a dark side to The Golden Years.

Truth is, getting old is the most hardboiled thing you can do. Make it past 60 and your hair starts to go. Your body fails you at inopportune times. You begin to suspect you’re surrounded by idiots. You have values and morals the rest of the world seems to have forgotten. Kids won’t stay off your lawn. You’re the ultimate outsider. Cast aside. Ignored. Expected to die peacefully, in your sleep.

Not the seniors in this collection.

Welcome to a twilight world where turning 65 can mean you’re the last woman standing… or the guy too stubborn to die. Here you’ll meet… [Thumbnail sketches of stories here.]

Damn Near Dead is a collection of hard-hitting mystery and crime stories for all ages.

DAMN NEAR DEAD

Bet you haven't had these kinds of senior moments.


Kind of cool, huh?

My favorite name for this sub-sub-genre comes courtesy Sean Doolittle: "oldboiled."

Al Guthrie's the one who came up with "Boulevard of Broken Hips" as a possible tag line.

And Mark Billingham was the one who first told me that "geezer" had an altogether different meaning in the UK.

So who are the contributors? (Note: I may have just dropped a hint or three there.) I'll be updating you on that over the new few weeks, as stories roll in and the editing begins. But trust me: some of the best in the business are on board. I'm still quite stunned by the lineup we've managed to assemble.

I'll also be blogging a bit about how the project came about, and what it's like to edit a fiction anthology. This is new ground for me. While I've earned my daily bread as an editor for the past... crikey, 12 years... I've never edited fiction before, so I'm pretty much teaching myself as I go. Guiding me are the various mystery, horror and science fiction anthologies I've enjoyed over the years (stuff like Dangerous Visions, Dark Forces, Fresh Blood, Men From Boys, Silver Scream and Book of the Dead, among others). And of course, my innate ability, as a professional editor, to be an absolute pain-in-the-ass.

In the meantime, feel free to lob any questions you might have, either in the comments section or via e-mail. God knows I'll answer pretty much anything.

I'm really excited about this project, and the writers involved, so believe me: now that the cat's out of the bag, I'm more than happy to yap about it.

It's Hard to Tell, But the Guy on the Cover of The Wheelman Is Actually Dan Aykroyd

I've had a surprising number of celebrity encounters in the past few days. At the Free Library's Borrowers Ball, I found myself sitting next to John Wesley Harding. Later, I shook hands with Smokin' Joe Frazier. Later still, I chatted with Lisa Scottoline outside of the library rest rooms. (Better than in the rest room, right?)

But as cool as those encounters were, they don't hold a candle to the e-mail I received from John Belushi's widow. This e-mail was sent to J.T. Lindroos at PointBlank Press, who forwarded it to me:

Greetings,

It has come to my attention that Duane Swierczynski has a book through you all which (I think) uses an unauthorized photo of my late husband. At any rate, I see no authorization from me for image rights on file. I understand how easily these oversights can happen, and am not out to bust your balls. However, I would like to protect and exercise my image rights. If I am incorrect, well, I will stand corrected. If not, I would request a minimum donation to my Foundation ($100).

I look forward to your reply.

Judy

At first I was puzzled. The guy on the cover of Secret Dead Men is my (late) grandmother's boyfriend, and the photo was snapped by my dad in 1974. I looked at the name: "Judy Belushi Pisano." Didn't recognize it.

Then yesterday, but sheer chance, I read a review of a book called Belushi that we're running next week and... you guessed it. The author is Judy Belushi Pisano. The famed comic's widow. I couldn't believe it.

Did she actually think we used a photo of John Belushi on the cover of Secret Dead Men?

I wrote back:

Hi, Ms. Belushi Pisano--

JT Lindroos at PointBlank Press forwarded me your e-mail about the cover of my novel, SECRET DEAD MEN. I'm writing to assure you that the man on the cover is not your late husband. Rather, it's a photo of a family friend, snapped by my father in 1974.

Hope this clears things up. If you have any other questions or concerns, don't hesitate to ask.

Cheers--

Duane Swierczynski

Judy promptly wrote back:

Thank you, Duane, for your response. A Belushi family member thought it was a John photo -- I haven't been able to find it, but would like to see it our of curiosity if you have it handy.

I e-mailed her the jpg of the cover, as well as the original photo. Judy wrote:

I have no idea what he's talking about. Must have gotten this mixed up with something else. Go figure.

Anyway, I thought Judy was great about the whole thing, even from the begining, when she thought we'd ripped off her husband's image for a book cover. Check out her book, because I've heard it's excellent.

Meanwhile, I need to figure out who's going to replace Joe Piscopo on the cover of my next novel.

We Need to Talk

I seem to have fallen off the blog wagon this week; sorry about that. I'll have updates for you later today, but if you want to catch up before then, you could always drop by the DetecToday chat with me this afternoon.

It's set for 3 p.m. (that's Eastern Standard Time). Just log on to Yahoo Instant Messenger, shoot moderator Gerald So a message at "g_so" and he'll invite you in. If you're nice.

Hope to see you there...

Update: Here's the transcript from the chat. Thanks to everyone who dropped by.