Just got it in the mail, that Doorways I’m in:
Super, super-sharp. Such a cool illustration for my story, too. Which, the story: it’s “The Sons of Billy Clay.” First one (of three) I wrote after my knee-fun this summer. Or, after the hydrocodone allowed me back at least a little of my short-term memory. Anyway, I really like the story, and am all kinds of proud to be in the mag.
Too, coming up, “Captain’s Lament” in, I think, the February Clarkesworld. Another very cool place.
Seems there’s one more up soon as well, but I’m blanking on it suddenly. Mostly because of this news: that I’m moving to Boulder over the summer. Haven’t lived in Colorado for seventeen years now, nearly half my life. And then it was Colorado Springs, and I was dishwasher. Was just in Boulder this last weekend, though, checking out the unreal estate and impulse buying a 4-runner, which, yep, waited all the way until Raton Pass to blow its engine, strand me on the teeth-chattering side of the road, a joke of a cell signal, but that hardly mattered, as I was also out of minutes on my cell. Anyway, finally made it indoors, dragged the truck home on a credit card, and am now in the market for a new engine & tranny. Nothing like having to build a truck immediately when you get it. Not like I haven’t done this before, though, and not like I won’t do it again either, first chance I get. Part of the fun of this ride’s not learning from your mistakes, I mean. Leave that to the heuristic computer programs. Me, I’ll run into the same wall over and over, until it opens up into a door.
Anyway, just made the cardinal sin of mistaking Trixter for Jackyl — it was “Down On Me,” how could I not know? — so, y’know, off for some grief.
Oh, too, before I’m gone: Richard Lange’s DEAD BOYS is some pretty excellent writing. Thanks to Scott at Slushpile for the rec. Best short story collection I’ve hit since Joe Hill’s 20th C. GHOSTS, probably, but a lot more reminiscent of Oscar Casares’ BROWNSVILLE. That whole “DUBLINERS/stories-from-one-place”-trick, likely.
Other than that, I’m just, like everybody, holding my breath for CLOVERFIELD.
is the NYT bestselling author of 35 or so books, +350 stories, some comic books, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots. More