A David J. Schow Triple Feature

You know what's cool? When one of your favorite writers has a new book out. You know what's even cooler? When one of your favorite writers has two new books out. You know what's absolutely fucking insane? When one of your favorite writers has three new books out... all in the span of, say, a month.

Then again, I've never made a claim for David J. Schow's sanity.

From The Man himself:

Many writers have such a huge backlist that three books per month is no sweat for them (Dr. Flip, for example, or that Lansdale guy). But these are three NEW books, all at once, a personal best for me not likely to ever occur again.

The paperback: HUNT AMONG THE KILLERS OF MEN, a pulpy softcover thriller in the “Gabriel Hunt” series founded by Hard Case Crime kingpin Charles Ardai (who also published GUN WORK). The adventures are written as “as-told-to” books, and this one’s my installment. The fabulous cover is by Glen Orbik. Yes, there are guns.

The hardcover: INTERNECINE, my first novel since 2003’s BULLETS OF RAIN; what I hope is received as a “suspenser .” Yes, there are lots more guns. (That’s Thomas Jane on the cover — twice — as rendered by Tim Bradstreet).

The pricier hardcover: THE ART OF DREW STRUZAN, which is pretty self-explanatory except that THIS is a book of comps — all the different interpretations of various movies before they get to the poster-painting stage (like those vetoed Indiana Jones posters with the swastikas on them, or the SIX OTHER VERSIONS of the famous Creature from the Black Lagoon limited-edition print). Drew speaks at length on these and his retirement from the Hollywood grind; I interpret what he says. Virtually no guns at all in this one.

Coming soon to actual, real bookstores everywhere.

I haven't read books #1 or #3 yet (but can't wait). However, I have read Internecine, and was flattered to be asked for a blurb. I kind of gushed, and I have no idea how much of it will actually be used. For all I know, I could just be...

"Balls-out!" --Duane Swierczynski

Or even just:

"Balls!" --Duane Swierczynski

But here's the whole blurb, and I stand behind every word. Seriously: we're only five months into 2010, and I can't imagine the thriller that will top this one.

You know how some writers twist reality just so, enabling you to see the world in a different way? David J. Schow doesn't twist reality so much as slip a garrote around its neck and hold it upside down from the roof of a burning skyscraper, all the while jamming a snub-nosed revolver into the base of its spine and telling reality: "Here's how it's going to be, my friend..."

Internecine is a balls-out, bone-snapping, mind-melting thriller -- the best I've read all year. Just when you think Schow's jabbing left, he goes right -- and somehow, you end up with a shiv between your ribs. To paraphrase Billy Bob Thornton: once you finish Internecine, you won't think straight for days.

Schow's even managed to out-shoot Stephen Hunter, who I've long regarded as the Ron Jeremy of gun porn. Duck, you suckers!

July 2010. Start putting aside your milk money now.

Beer and Loathing

Yesterday's signing at the Port Richmond Bookstore was a lot of fun, despite the fact that my nerves got the better of me and, right in the middle of my little talk, I accidentally dumped a bottle of Yuengling, spraying beer across my crotch in a manner that suggested I'd lost control of my bladder. Actually, this was the best place the beer could have ended up up; the bottle had been sitting on the writing desk of pulp legend Mike Avallone, which thankfully remained safe and dry.

Thanks to everyone who ventured out, including national internet sensation Joe Walker, Ed "Poe Boy" Pettit, Dennis Tafoya, Curt Broad (former owner of the much-missed Marlo Books), and whole gaggle of cool people who didn't mind hanging out with a guy with wet jeans. Special thanks to my hosts, Deen Kogan and Greg Gillespie, absentee host Lou Boxer (who arranged the whole darn thing), and my own Bride, who ran sales and, at one point, when someone asked for another beer, suggested I wring out my pants. Love you too, honey.

By way of revenge, I managed to do a little damage at the bookstore. Here's what I picked up. Usually I go for the paperbacks, but I was in a hardcover mood yesterday:

A Morning For Flamingos, by James Lee Burke. Picked this up last night, intending to read a page or two, and ended up blazing through the first 50. I love Burke.

The Way We Die Now, by Charles Willeford. I have the paperback, but I couldn't resist the hardcover for my collection.

Blood Simple, by Joel and Ethan Coen. Apparently, St. Martin's had an "original screenplay series" back in the 1980s?

The Player, by Michael Tolkin. I've wanted to read this for a while now.

True Confessions, by John Gregory Dunne. One of my favorite writers. Own the paperback, but again, this hardcover called out to me. Which is just an excuse to read it again.

Dreamland, by Newton Thornburg. Thoughts of Cutter & Bone made me pick this one up.

The Breaks, by Richard Price. Signed, too! Haven't read it yet. I'm pretty sure Greg Gillespie gave me a ridiculous discount on this one.

Chandlertown, by Edward Thorpe. Say the words "Chandler" and "Los Angeles" and I'm already pulling out my wallet.

Also purchased, but not shown: a paperback copy of Elmore Leonard's Ryan's Rules, which is actually Swag. Which I own. But I couldn't resist... alternate cover... alternate title... someone... help me...

Amazon Hostage Crisis: Day Six

As reported elsewhere, Amazon and Macmillan (my publisher) are in the middle of a brutal e-book price war. Now I'm not a business reporter, nor do I understand the intricacies of the economics of book publishing, but it seems pretty clear that Amazon is acting like a bunch of petulant, greedy assbags.

It pains me to say this, because I love all booksellers, great and small. If you sell books, you're on the side of the angels as far as I'm concerned. I've been a happy Amazon customer since 1997. I even remember the first book I ordered: Walter Mosley's Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned. And that was the first of many, many Amazon orders. Just ask my wife.

But last Friday night, Amazon unceremoniously ripped the "buy buttons" from every single Macmillan title, including my three novels from St. Martin's (The Wheelman, The Blonde, Severance Package) and my fourth, out in April (Expiration Date). There were early rumors that Amazon might restore those buttons, but as of now (8 a.m., Thursday morning), there's nothing doing.

What's gone unreported thus far are the hundreds of thousands of victims of this price war -- the collateral damage, if you will.

I'm not talking about writers or readers. Though they, too, suffer.

I'm talking about the books.

Imagine pallets and pallets of unsold Macmillan titles, waiting for a reader to 1-Click them to life. Yes, of course you can purchase Macmillan books from other chain stores, indie shops and online dealers. Which is great, and I encourage you to do so. The books sold in those stores are lucky. They have the chance to be sold and enjoyed. Polybagged and shelved lovingly. Even loaned to friends and family.

Not so with copies held hostage by Amazon.

So for the past two days I've tried to mount negotiation/rescue efforts using the popular social network "Twitter." You can follow my earliest attempts below. But I encourage you to also make your voice heard. Do not let these books go gently into the remaindered good night. Free my books! Free all Macmillan books! And God have mercy on the souls of their captors.

My opening volley, from early on Day 5.

There are reports of hostages being freed, but not my books.

The first reports of mistreatment of captive titles.

Here, I follow the advice of a hostage negotiator.

I attempt to bargain with the captors; my requests are met with stony silence.

A report from inside the Amazon compound reveals shocking conditions.

And then... nothing.

The movement to free the hostages expands to local churches.

The exact number of hostages is impossible to determine.

A request to send in supplies and bibliophiliac aid goes unanswered. Amazon, why do you want these innocent books to suffer?

For more updates, check my Twitter page. And pray this is resolved soon.

UPDATE: War is over. If you want.

The Sunday Afternoon Haul

With the ladies away at a bridal shower, the boy and I passed the afternoon at Harvest Books in Ft. Washington, PA, which just so happened to be having a "$5 per bag" sale. This is exactly what it sounds like: browse the shelves. Fill a paper bag. Pay $5 (plus tax) for it.

The boy scored a few Far Side collections and a Bart Simpson book. Meanwhile, here's what I scooped up:

How to Talk Dirty and Influence People by Lenny Bruce. A Playboy Press paperback, as shown above. I've never read this. It's long overdue.

The Family by Ed Sanders. Don't know why, but I've been in a Manson mood lately.

The Kennedy Wit, Edited by Bill Adler. The coverline is what sold me: "1100,000 Copies in Print at $3.00. Now Only 60c!"

The Way We Lived Then and Justice by Dominick Dunne. I've been on a John Gregory Dunne tear lately, so I thought I might check out some of his brother's work.

Capote, by Gerald Clarke. A bio I've been meaning to read for years.

The Late John Marquand by Stephen Birmingham. Another literary bio. I've never read Marquand. But the jacket copy makes him sound like a real son of a bitch, so in the bag it went.

Damon Runyon: A Life by Jimmy Breslin. You might be sensing a vague theme to my picks this afternoon.

Kiss Hollywood Good-By by Anita Loos. "Her irreverance is the key to her readability." Sold.

Heroes by Joe McGinniss. He's a hometown boy (or was). In the bag it went.

I also picked up The Selected Letters of Raymond Chandler (edited by Frank MacShane) for five bucks, as well as a softcover copy of one of my favorite biographies ever, Cain by Roy Hoopes (for $4). Yes, I already have Cain in hardcover. But I buy copies whenever I run across them, because I usually end up giving extras to friends.

Anybody ever read any of the above?

Dutch Treat

Elmore Leonard sounds a bit like Jimmy Stewart. Which is weird, because Jimmy Stewart is definitely not the voice I hear in my head when I read Elmore Leonard novels. He also has this wonderful mischievous grin whenever he cracks himself up, and the wild, boyish humor that runs through his work is apparent on his face.

I could listen to Leonard speak all night. But tonight at the Free Library we only had an hour. Leonard read a little from Road Dogs, talked about how the book came together, told us how he sent a draft to George Clooney—who played the character of Jack Foley in Out of Sight—only, Clooney hasn't had time to read it. ("I guess they have other things to do in Hollywood," Leonard said.) He talked about his work-in-progress, a novel called Djibouti, about a documentary filmmaker on the hunt for Somali pirates. "I'm a 130 pages in," Leonard said, "and I'll start back on it after this book tour." He talked about some of his favorite contemporary writers—Dennis Lehane, George Pelecanos, Cormac McCarthy. He talked about his love for Hemingway, although wished he had a sense of humor in his work. He talked about avoiding writing that sounds like writing. "People ask, what do you mean by that?" Leonard asked, then said: "Upon returning to the room..." Leonard strives for dialogue that sounds like "normal people talking." He doesn't do similes. He likes to have characters talking before you realize where they are, or what they're doing. And he still thinks George V. Higgins' The Friends of Eddie Coyle is the best crime novel ever written. (And a lot of people would agree with him.) He talked about how he and his wife Christine once saw Paul Newman in a Beverly Hills clothing shop, and briefly thought about approaching and telling Newman that he was the author of Hombre. "But what if he didn't like it?" Leonard asked.

So he didn't.

Let Loose the Dogs

Elmore Leonard is doing a reading and signing at the Free Library of Philadelphia tonight in support of his latest novel, Road Dogs. Two years ago I had the chance to do a phone Q&A with Leonard for the Philadelphia City Paper (my ex-employer), and he spoke about the novel, as well as his writing process:

CP: Speaking of your next book, I heard on your podcast that you took three characters from previous books and set them off in a new story.

EL: The plot always comes out of the characters. That's the way I write books. And these three are some of my favorites. One, Jack Foley—George Clooney played him [in Out of Sight]. And Clooney said it's one of his favorite characters, so we're going to show him this book when I finish it. But Jack Foley's back in prison, facing 30 years, and I want him to meet Dawn Navarro, because I loved her, and didn't feel I enough with her, and it'll be just a few years later—I'm not going to do it actual time later, she'd be too old. But she'll be in her early 30s when she meets Foley. She's a psychic, and she knows things. He doesn't believe it at first, but she tells things about him that are true. And then the bad guy, Cundo Rey, he's from LaBrava, and I though of him, and I though, God, I hope he's still alive. I read the last chapter or two of LaBrava, and I found out LaBrava shot him in the chest three times. Oh my God—but! La Brava just assumes he's dead, and leaves. And so the emergency guys come, and his heart's still beating.

CP: Do you have an end point in mind? Or is it total improvisation?

EL: No, I'm always making it up as I go along. The first 100 pages seem to work, because I'm introducing characters, and we find out what their angle is. But then from 100--and I always think of it that way, in three parts—but from 100 to 200 is when I have to do a little plotting. And I don't want the plot to be obvious. I want the reader to wonder what's going to happen and be surprised at what develops. Because now in that second act some of the secondary characters will get into action. And then, of course, the third act, in the past my manuscripts all run around 350-360 pages, around in there. So once I approach page 300, I have to start thinking of the ending. And there are always several different ways you can end it. I choose one that I like and just go for it.

Highland Highlights, Pt. 2: Books

On the way to Scotland I only packed one printed book (David Bishop's Thrill Power Overload, a history of 2000 A.D. Comics) and my Kindle, loaded with all kinds of bootleg noir/hardboiled stuff. Of course, I made up for it on the way back, lugging home the titles you see above.

Some were gifts; the rest purchases. They fell into a few loose categories:

Books by Friends: This includes Slammer by Allan Guthrie (signed, of course); The Good Son by Russel McLean (forgot to ask Russel to sign it, which sucks), Gutted, by Tony Black (also forgot to bring it to get signed when we met up with Tony... shit!); Flesh House by Stuart MacBride; and In the Dark and Death Message by Mark Billingham.

Books I Already Own: This would be the volumes of Clive Barker's Books of Blood, which I own in hardcover, Pocket paperback, Berkley paperback, and a few scattered Sphere editions. But I saw these and just had to pick them up, because a.) they're in a newish Sphere edition, b.) I've been wanting to re-read these stories, and c.) I tend to re-read books only if I can re-read them in another edition. I know, it's weird. I also already own Stephen King's Just After Sunset, but I wanted an excuse to buy a UK "airport edition," which is basically an oversized paperback version of a current hardcover bestseller. I kicked myself for not picking up an airport edition of Duma Key last year; this was me making up for that. Yes, my book nerdery knows no bounds.

Books That Were Gifts From Allan Guthrie: Namely, Robert Westerby's Wide Boys Never Work (part of Guthrie's plan to school me in Brit noir) and Ryu Murakami's Audition, which looks short, brutal and fantastic. (I'm a big fan of Murakami's In the Miso Soup).

Books Written by David Peace: I recently read the Black Lizard edition of Peace's 1974 (the first Red Riding Quartet book) and liked it a lot; I couldn't resist the Serpent's Tail tie-ins of the rest of the series. Probably going to regret not picking up the first, just so I have a complete set. Crap.

Books That Were Impulse Buys: Iain M. Banks's Matter, purchased because I had a sudden fit of wanting to read some science fiction. Particularly, Scottish science fiction. (Or is that SyFy?) I also picked up Conrad Williams' One at the Edinburgh Airport because a.) the synopsis on the back grabbed me, and b.) I've been meaning to read Williams for a while now. The first 50 pages, read on the plane home, were kick-ass, and made me order two earlier Williams novels (The Unblemished and Head Injuries) the moment my home computer was fired up.

I mean, isn't this the reason we travel? To acquire more books?

My Favorite Read of 2009 (so far)

I know, I'm a day early. But I picked up Josh Bazell's Beat the Reaper yesterday at Barnes & Noble, suckered in by the cover (along with a faint recollection of hearing about this novel at some point) and sucker-punched by these opening lines:

So I'm on my way to work and I stop to watch a pigeon fight a rat in the snow, and some fuckhead tries to mug me! Naturally there's a gun.

What follows is a raw, funny, violent thrill ride that blends two great tastes that are rarely tasted together: the medical thriller and the mob novel. (With a little bit of World War II revenge story thrown in for good measure.) You've got the medical- geekspeak of Michael Crichton mixed up with some fine, in-your-face attitude a la Don Winslow or Charlie Huston, sometimes in the same sentence:

I'm thinking too slowly to deal with the Squillante problem, though, so I crush a Moxfane with my fingertips and snort it out of the declivity you can make at the end of your wrist by sticking your thumb out as far from your hand as it will go.

Beat the Reaper is packed with great little weird throwaways like this. It's one of those rare novels where voice is king, and man, what a voice. Bazell also does a neat trick with a split narrative: present day events in the present-tense, and chapter-long flashbacks in past tense... which sounds like a mess, but he pulls it off beautifully. There's no pretentious, ooh-ma-look-at-me writing, but there is plenty of seriously smart writing, the kind that makes writers stop reading for a minute and seethe with jealousy. (At least this writer did.)

If you received any bookstore gift cards over the holidays, I heartily recommend exchanging some of them for this kick-ass novel.

Michael Crichton, RIP

Not a good couple of months for mystery/thriller writers (or their fans), I've got to say. First James Crumley, then Tony Hillerman, and now Michael Crichton. Oddly enough, my first Crichton wasn't one of his thrillers, but his non-fiction collection, Travels, which I read just after my senior year of high school. It absolutely fascinated me, and almost made me wish I was pursuing a life of medicine (despite the fact that the sight of blood makes me dizzy) and/or traveling the world instead of wasting my time pursuing an English degree. I was a fan of Jurassic Park before the movies, and have my review from the La Salle Collegian to prove it. I also remember being embarrased when the father of a friend of mine pointed out that the author's last name was pronounced "cry-ton," not "crick-tin."

Last night I picked up Zero Cool, a Hard Case reprint of a early Crichton novel (published under the name John Lange) and was again knocked out by how good Crichton was so early in his career. I'm pretty sure he wrote these early thrillers while in medical school. (Which is depressing to a guy who has nothing but a bunch of partial manuscripts to show for his undergrad years.)

I'm sad that we're not going to be seeing any new Crichton books, but grateful for the ones we have. I wonder how Travels holds up, nearly 20 years later...

The Summer I Read 47,000 Books

I've been in the process of moving my book collection around, which made me think of the summer of 1997, when my collection grew by leaps and bounds. July 1997, to be specific, because that was the month I started working as an editor at Details magazine.

At the time I was living with the Bride (just before she became the Bride) in lovely Allentown, PA, but we weren't able to relocate to NYC until September. For a little over two months I experienced what I now fondly refer to as the "Summer My Book Collection Grew Like Crazy," but back then called my "Three State Commute From Hell." See, to make it to my office at Broadway and Bleecker by say, 9:30 a.m., I had leave our apartment by 6:45 a.m., drive 10 minutes to the Wescosville Diner, where I could catch the two-hour Bieber Bus ride to Port Authority in Hell's Kitchen, then hop a 15-minute B,D,F or Q subway line down to the Broadway-Lafayette Station. All told, about two and a half hours. Then, the same thing back at night. Repeat five times.

Sure, once in a while I cheated and stayed with a friend for a night or two. But for the most part, my ass was traveling 5 hours per day, five days a week.

(There are some people who do this all of the time. Like, for a 30-40 year career. So I'm not complaining. Especially now that my commute is about 10 seconds.)

So new job, plus long commute, created the Perfect Storm of Book Acquisition. Suddenly:

a.) I had five hours to do nothing but read; and

b.) I suddenly had a decent-paying job, which meant my book budget had increased four-fold; and

c.) I was working in Manhattan, pretty much the book capital of the friggin' universe.

So I read my fuckin' eyes out.

It got to the point where I'd start a novel in the morning, and finish it somewhere around Clinton, New Jersey. At which point I'd read a magazine, or start tomorrow's book.

I read like coke fiends snort.

I can remember where I bought each book: mostly Shakespeare and Company on Broadway (aross from NYU) and Tower Books, just around the corner. Shakespeare, though, was my favorite, because they stocked a mystery/crime section like nobody's business.

And I can remember the titles of pretty much every book I read.

Which included: all of Raymond Chandler (minus The Long Goodbye, which I'd read the year before); Raymond Chandler Speaking; Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music, The Wall of the Sky, the Wall of the Eye, and Amnesia Moon; Haruki Murakami's Wild Sheep Chase, Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Dance Dance Dance, The Elephant Vanishes; Picador's Jim Thompson Omnibus 2 (After Dark My Sweet, A Hell of a Woman, Savage Night, A Swell Looking Babe, Nothing More Than Murder); Robert Polito's Savage Art; Geoffrey O'Brien's Hardboiled America; John Ridley's Stray Dogs; Astro Teller's Exegesis; Fredric Brown's The Far Cry...

I could go on. (Seriously.)

But what I realize is how much these books have stayed with me, influenced me, haunted me. Hardboiled America, especially, kicked off my 10+ year love affair with vintage paperbacks and Gold Medal-style pulp. There's a checklist of books in the back, and damned if I haven't been slowly working my way through that list ever since.

I have to say that my two-month binge (a mix of noir, SF, and noir/SF hybrids) was a big influence on Secret Dead Men, which I wrote the following summer.

I also think that the experience of gorging on novels -- having the luxury of five friggin' hours to totally immerse myself in a piece of fiction -- left me with the desire to do the same for other readers, which is why my novels tend to be the type you snarf down quickly. Novels where you don't even need five hours.

And, as the Bride can tell you (shaking her head wearily) that's where my book collection, as it exists today, was truly born. We were in New York for two years, and sweet Jesus in heaven did I gather an unholy number of books -- new, used, free, whatever.

I'm looking at my Jim Thompson omnibus right now, and I tell ya, I'm gettin' misty.

(Illustration at top by Scott Laumann.)

Come Here on Vacation, Go Home on Probation

The bags are nearly packed; tomorrow we're flying out to L.A. I haven't been out since I shacked with up with Gischler and Doolittle for last year's L.A. Book Festival, and I'm very much looking forward to returning... this time with the Bride and Brood. Yeah, it'll be tough flying with two kids. There will be heavy bags. There will be crankiness. But the absolute toughest part of packing for this trip... nay, any trip: deciding which books to bring. No, I'm serious! Now, these books are mostly for the plane, because I invariably pick up new/vintage books wherever I go (just ask the Bride). But still, the choices have to be spot-on, because while I don't want to overpack, I also don't want to be stuck with a dud, either. Oh, and they have to be L.A.-related, too. Because I'm a huge nerd.

Anyway, I've already got two sure things in my bag already: Charles Bukowski's Hollywood (as you know, I've been on a Bukowski kick) and an arc of Charlie Huston's Every Last Drop (thanks to Ms. Weinman; I count this as L.A.-related because Huston now lives in L.A.). I also want to bring a Ross Macdonald I haven't read yet.

But which one?

My choices: the new Vintage Crime editons of The Instant Enemy, The Barbarous Coast or The Blue Hammer. The first and third are late period Macdonald; Barbarous is early to mid, I think. All seem cool. There is room, however, for only one. What do you think?

I'd also welcome another L.A. novel that I might possibly already own and haven't read yet. I've been through the classics, including my Chandlers, McCoys, Connellys and Ellroys. Devoured my Lankford; got my Hurwitz on. Any suggestions?

(The first one to say Mr. Monk in Outer Space receives a nice shiny cockpunch.)

The Dark Knight Right Now!

A few days ago, certain informed sources reported that Batman: Murder at Wayne Manor, my second interactive mystery, was spotted at chain bookstores. This surprised the staff here at Secret Dead Blog, because the publication date was set for July 15. I sent someone out to confirm, and... yes! It is indeed available, all the hell over the place. At B&N you can find it on the "summer movies" table, near the books about Iron Man and Hulk and all of those guys.

"You've Really Gotta Pulverize That Thing"

Frank Bascombe has a cool Q&A with Richard Price over at Ain't It Cool News. Price talks about Lush Life, his screenplays, adaptations, and this little interesting bit about autobiographical details in fiction:

I feel like whatever you write is autobiographical, even if every character is a different race or speaks a different language- it’s all you. Because every time your character hits a crossroads, they make a choice that you’re making for them. And that is predicated on your values and what you’ve experienced in life.

For Appearances' Sake

After a long time slackin' off, I finally have some reading/signing-type things on the horizon.

This Sunday, October 21, I'll be at Author Fest in downtown Wilkes-Barre, PA, along with fellow Philadelphian William Lashner, the kick-ass Stephen Hunter, and Paul Giamatti sound-a-like Dave White, among others. Tickets are $16, but you get a $5 coupon off a book, snacks and drinks, and merriment all around. If you live anywhere near Northeast Pennsylvania, I hope you can stop by.

On Saturday, November 3, I'll be pulling a double-header. First, at 3 p.m., I'll be honored to introduce Jamie Malanowski at a reading of his new novel, The Coup. (The tagline: "Godwin Pope is Vice Presisdent of the United States. He wants to move up.") Malanowski—a former SPY staffer and current Playboy editor—is a longtime journalism hero of mine, and not just because he kept his Polish surname. Catch him at Robin's Bookstore, 108 S. 13th Street in downtown Philly.

A few hours later, I'll be putting on a tux (and the Bride, a dress) and headed to the Free Library of Philadelphia's Borrowers' Ball. This is a private event, unless you want to a.) donate a lot of money to the Free Library, and b.) put on a tux or gown. I'm there as a local author guest, and yes, my tux will be a rental. But this will be our third Borrowers' Ball, and every year is a blast. It's kind of like prom for book nerds.

Further out... it looks like we'll be throwing a Blonde/Crimes of Dr. Watson launch party at the Port Richmond Bookstore on November 18 at 2 p.m. (That is, if the neighborhood will have me.) More details to come, but I'm sure it will involve books, good food, beer and wine. And yes, you are invited.

Finally, on December 1 I'll be flying out to Murder By the Book in Houston, Texas to blab about "Redhead," The Crimes of Dr. Watson, and maybe even my Moon Knight one-shot, "Date Night," which will be out by then.

Hope to you see you in one/some/all of these places...

New Coolness from Hard Case

This weekend Charles Ardai leaked word about two forthcoming Hard Case Crime titles. First up, in July 2008: No House Limit, a novel by pulp maser Steve Fisher, who hasn't seen the light of print (correct me if I'm wrong) since Black Lizard reprinted I Wake Up Screaming back in the early 1990s. Count me in.

But I'm especially excited about the second title:

Later in '08, we'll be publishing a brand new book called GUN WORK by the fine horror novelist and screenwriter David J. Schow -- who, entirely coincidentally (I didn't know this till after we bought the book), was once married to Christa Faust. (All together now: "It's a small world, after all...") Schow's years in Hollywood show through in GUN WORK -- it's one of the most action-packed novels we've had the pleasure of publishing, and man oh man can the guy write a great gunfight! But it's not "just" a shoot-'em-up -- this is an intense story with a lead character in a perilous predicament, and the emotional tension runs high from beginning to end. I'd be shocked if this one didn't end up on film some day -- but you'll be able to read it here first...

I've been a Schow-head since the late 1980s (color me Splatterpunk), and strangely enough, just went through a Schow jag this summer, re-reading his story collections Seeing Red and Lost Angels, as well as Crypt Orchids, now available in a nice trade paperback edition from Babbage Press. (All highly recommended.) I even just nabbed a copy of Schow's second novel The Shaft, which was only published in the UK. Can't wait to see what he's cooked up for Hard Case...

No, I'm Not in Alaska

I do wish I could have made it to Bouchercon this year, but it just wasn't to be. I think this time last year, Al "Sunshine" Guthrie and I had just stumbled into our shared room in Madison, Wisconsin to discover... um, a single bed. Never so quickly was a call made to a front desk in a hotel to beg for a cot. (Ah, Madison. Good times.)

But that doesn't mean I'm all mopey. In fact, looking back the past 16 hours, I have to say it was a pretty damn good day. By way of proof:

* This morning I edited next week's cover story for the City Paper, written my good friend Edward Pettit. It's the lead story in our Fall Book Quarterly, and it's a riot. (In a geeky, literary way.) Then I saw the cover image the art department cooked up, and it made me laugh out loud. So damn perfect. Wait until you see it.

* Accompanying Ed's story will be a short original piece by none other than Laura Lippman. It's a kind of a rebuttal to Ed's piece. Mystery fans will definitely want to check this out.

* At lunch I went off-campus and read a nice chunk of Kevin Smith's My Boring-Ass Life, a new paperback collection of his blog entries. Very funny, very insightful, and as advertised, very candid. (Almost every entry opens with the same, Zen-like routine: I woke up, I took a dump.)

* After lunch I received a slightly upset call from a Philadelphia Phillies rep, who was concerned over a column we ran this week. But our conversation was friendly, rational, and ended on a good note -- you can't ask for more than that. Part of my job as editor-in-chief is to be the guy to take these calls, and they almost never end like this. Chalk one up for my blood pressure.

* The Bride made Stove Top for dinner tonight. I love Stove Top. If I could snort/inject Stove Top, it would become my recreational drug of choice. (Of course, that would not be good for my blood pressure.)

* Two weeks + one day after surgery, I finally feel normal. And my voice is much different. Go ahead, give me a call. You won't believe it.

* This evening, my daughter and I sat thumbing through a copy of The Marvel Vault, which is this great "museum in a book" of Marvel Comics history. To my everlasting joy, she was able to identify a good number of Marvel heroes on sight -- including The Thing, Spider-Man, Sue Storm, the Human Torch, the Hulk and Ghost Rider. She's four. Someday she'll either thank me, or curse me for turning her into a nerd.

* And finally, later this evening I received an offer from someone who wants to option the film rights to The Blonde. Someone very, very cool. Wish I could say who, but we're just starting the dance, and it's too soon to reveal the name of my (potential) partner.

So like I said: pretty damn good day, considering I'm not in Alaska.

Buried and Loaded

I've been meaning to post a "Book Report" for a while now... I've read a ton of great stuff over the past few months. But until I get off my lazy Polish ass, you'll have to make do with this, my editor's letter from this week's City Paper. Therein, I discuss everyone's two favorite topics: death and taxes.

First, the Bad News

Severance Package is being delayed.

Until late spring/early summer 2008.

Yeah, I know. I'm bummed, too.

If you were able to snap up an ARC of the would-be hardcover at BookExpo, you're one of the lucky few--those suckers are about to become as rare as hen's teeth. If you were one of those who received the cool 50-page "pink slip" excerpt, and were eagerly awaiting more... all I can say is, mea culpa, man.

Why oh why, you ask? Well, there's one simple reason: St. Martin's is retooling it as a trade paperback original. And that means launching it from scratch, starting this August. (The production/publicity machine takes a while to reboot.) I truly believe this is a smart move in the long run, otherwise I would have slit my wrists by now. Truth is, I've long thought my stuff is better suited for paperback. Far more readers are willing to take a $12 chance on something that looks potentitally cool than spend $25 on something that very well may be a dud. I should know--I'm one of those readers. (Yeah, I buy hardcovers. But only when I absolutely have to.)

So yeah, you have to wait until May or June of next year to read Severance Package.

However, this November brings The Crimes of Dr. Watson, my first interactive mystery for Quirk Books. (I say first because I'm in talks now to do another one, which would be released next July.)

And this November also brings the trade paperback of The Blonde, which will include a bonus novella sequel, "Redhead."

And if all goes well, my next novel will be released in October or November 2008, just six short months after Severance Package.

Finally, I've also been working on a few projects I can't talk about now, but will see the light of day in 2008. It's killing me not to be able to tell you, but I've been sworn to secrecy.

In short: you've going to have Swierczy out the ass in 2008.

See? Not so bad.

(If anyone needs me, I'll be out in the garage.)

Samuel L. Jackson IS The Blonde

Marshal Zeringue, the hardest workin' man in blogland, recently asked me to cast The Blonde, over at My Book, The Movie. While I never write characters based on specific actors, some immediately jumped to mind, as you'll see if you click here.

"I Stopped Reading After Page Three When My Balls Exploded."

Over at pointlesswasteoftime.com there's a collection of fake book covers (like the one above) you can slap over the final Harry Potter novel, just in case you're embarassed to read it in front of your tough guy friends. The covers are very funny. But the fake blurbs are even better. God, would I kill for a blurb like "Will completely blow your shit off."

Oh, and take note of the third cover down: McDead. Somebody should tell these guys that Ken Bruen already wrote that.

(Props to Drew Lazor for sending this my way.)