Saturday, February 13, 2016
Friday, February 12, 2016
This Evening's Panel at Con DFW
The Digest Enthusiast #3 -- Richard Krauss, Editor
I look forward to every issue of this publication. It's filled with page after page of great stuff. Of particular interest to me in this issue is Peter Enfantino's summary and rating of every story in Super-Science Fiction, but there's so much more that it's hard to enumerate. Of equal interest is Steve Carper's article on the digest publications of the stories of Dashiell Hammett, including a bibliography. There's even a review of the December 1953 issue of Manhunt. And much, much more. This one's well worth you time and money. Highly recommended.
Gator Update Update Update
mypalmbeachpost.com: Wendy’s alligator thrower is only fulfilling his Flori-duh destiny
Where Am I?
Well, as you read this, I'm probably on Interstate Highway 45, chugging toward Dallas, Texas, where I'll be attending ConDFW XV.
If you're going to be in Dallas this weekend, you can drop by and say "hey," or you can go to one of the panels I'll be on and heckle.
Since I'll be on the road most of Friday and Saturday (Dallas is a long way from Alvin) and since I'll be on panels for most of Saturday, I probably won't be responding to comments on the blog or doing much e-mail. Everything should be back on track on Monday.
All the usual blog stuff will continue to appear, thanks to the magic of scheduling things in advance, as long as the Internet doesn't break.
If you're going to be in Dallas this weekend, you can drop by and say "hey," or you can go to one of the panels I'll be on and heckle.
Since I'll be on the road most of Friday and Saturday (Dallas is a long way from Alvin) and since I'll be on panels for most of Saturday, I probably won't be responding to comments on the blog or doing much e-mail. Everything should be back on track on Monday.
All the usual blog stuff will continue to appear, thanks to the magic of scheduling things in advance, as long as the Internet doesn't break.
Gator Update
As some of you know, the bank I use in Alvin is a haven for gators. I had to pay a visit there today, and the gators were in fine form. Naturally I had to take a few snapshots.
FFB: Chancy and the Grand Rascal -- Sid Fleischman
Long ago I picked up A. S. Fleischman's Gold Medal novels. I enjoyed the ones I read, but I didn't put Fleischman in the top rank of Gold Medal writers. About 20 years ago, I discovered that he'd reinvented himself as an author of children's books and gone on to win just about every award available. I picked up one of the books and immediately became a fan. The other day I ran across one I hadn't read, Chancy and the Grand Rascal. Naturally I snapped it up.Teenaged Chancy, whose father died in the Civil War and whose mother died soon afterward, was separated from his younger brother and sister. He's fond of the family that took him in, but now he's off to find his siblings, pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with food and his meager possessions. Along the way, as is the usual thing in stories like this, he'll encounter adventures and rascals, but there are some good folks too. One of the latter is his uncle, the Grand Rascal, Will Buckthorn, who claims that he "can out-laugh, out-exaggerate and out-rascal any man this side of the Big Muddy, and twice as many on the other!" He can, too, and he has other talents and abilities, including being able to bend a rifle barrel over his knee.
Some adventures occur on land, some on an island, some on a steamboat, and some on a raft. They're all fun and funny, as Fleischman gives a real tall-tale flavor to everything. And in a Fleischman novel, you can count on all the plot threads coming together neatly before the end. I get a big kick out of his books, and if I run across another one I haven't read, I'll grab that one, too.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Lonesome Dove Online Exhibition
Lonesome Dove Online Exhibition : The Wittliff Collections: Lonesome Dove was originally broadcast by CBS on February 5, 1989, drawing a huge viewing audience and earning numerous awards, including 18 Emmy nominations and seven wins. The show won two Golden Globes, for Best Miniseries and Best Actor in a Miniseries (Robert Duvall). The film was deemed Program of the Year by the National Television Critics Association, as well as Outstanding Dramatic Achievement. It received the D.W. Griffith Award for Best Television Miniseries, and CBS was presented with a Peabody Award for Outstanding Achievement in Drama.
Lots of great stuff in this exhibition.
Hat tip to Beth Foxwell.
Lots of great stuff in this exhibition.
Hat tip to Beth Foxwell.
Free for Kindle for a Limited Time
Amazon.com: Here Lies a Wicked Man: A Booker Krane Mystery (The Booker Krane Series Book 1) eBook: Chris Rogers: Kindle Store When Booker Krane retired early from his career as a white collar corporate investigator, he was sure of only two things: he was done digging up buried secrets, and he loved being near water. After recovering from the bullet wound dealt him in his final case, Booker settles into a leisurely lifestyle at his new home on Turtle Lake - including a new part-time job as a freelance photographer. But the morning his dog drags a dead body ashore, Booker and his camera are commandeered by Sheriff Ringhoffer, and in less time than it takes the elusive perfect lighting to disappear, he's deeply embroiled in the investigation.
I Remember the '60s (Part 3)
In our last thrilling installment, I told about getting a George Wallace bumper sticker for a friend. Now here's the rest of the story, or my part in the story, anyway.
Glenn was so grateful for the bumper sticker that he wanted me and Judy to come visit him and his wife, Anna, before he left for parts unknown (which turned out not to be the Carolinas). Judy had never met him, but she knew about the bumper-sticker episode. She was skeptical about a visit, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings, and we couldn't think of a good excuse not to go. So we did.
Glenn and Anna lived in a old rented farmhouse south of Austin just off Manchaca Road, an area that at the time was 'way out on the country. Now there's a lot of development out that way, but at that time Glenn's place was pretty hard to find. There was nothing else anywhere around, unless you count vacant, overgrown fields.
Somehow we managed to find the place one Sunday afternoon, and I pulled into the graveled drive. I knew we were at the right house when I saw the rusty old tin shed in front of me with the back end of a decrepit hearse sticking out. On the bumper was the brand-new Wallace sticker I'd obtained for Glenn, who came out of the house and took us inside.
We entered through the kitchen, and in the middle of it was a table on which lay some items wrapped in butcher paper. Also some cats. I forget how many. More than two.
Glenn introduced us to his wife, who looked a little bit like Janis Joplin. She must have fancied the resemblance, because she immediately produced an autoharp (it had been her grandmother's) and started to sing. She was no Janis. She was no Robert Lopresti, either. Glenn had heard enough after about thirty seconds, and he said, "Let's go shoot my pistol."
All this time I'd thought of Glenn as a peace-loving hippie, and maybe he was, but in his bedroom he had a gun belt hanging from the bedstead. There was a .45 caliber revolver in a holster attached to the gun belt. "Living out here in the country," Glenn said, "we need protection."
I didn't ask what or whom he needed protection from, but I was starting to wonder what those fields were overgrown with.
I was about to find out. We went outside, past the shed where the hearse sat, and into a field. Nothing illegal was there, not that I saw. It was mostly sunflowers. Glenn had a bale of hay set up to shoot at, and he fired off a few rounds. Didn't miss with a one of them, either.
"I'll have this with me in the hearse in case the bumper sticker doesn't work," he told me, hefting the revolver. I may have responded, but if I did, I don't remember what I said.
We went back in the house, where Anna had put the autoharp away. We talked a while, and now and then Judy would poke me in the ribs when she was sure nobody could see. I took the hint after a while and said we had to get back home. Anna wanted us to stay for supper, and as we walked back through the kitchen, she started to shoo the cats off the table. Cat hair flew everywhere.
"Stay for supper," Anna said, pointing to the table. "We're thawing some pork shops."
I tried to think of a good reason why we couldn't stay. Judy saw me hesitate. She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the haze of cat hair and out the door. It was an afternoon she never let me forget.
I saw Glenn only once more. That was in the English building on his last day there. We'd just turned in our final grades for the classes we were teaching, and Glenn told me that he hadn't even looked at the final exams. He'd just given everybody in his classes an A. It was his revenge on the system that he felt had somehow cheated him.
I read the papers carefully every day for a couple of weeks after that, looking for anything resembling a violent incident between Texas and the Carolinas. I never saw a thing.
Unlike the story of Arnie, this one has a happy ending. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I tracked Glenn down not long ago. I would never have guessed where life took him. He got his PhD, after all, at Duke University. A few years later, he went to seminary and became a United Methodist pastor. He's done a lot of good work, including serving on a missionary team in Haiti and building casitas in Mexico. He retired, but it didn't take. He went back to preaching, and he's now the pastor at a little church in the Midwest. He and Anna are still married, but I don't know if she plays autoharp at the church services.
Glenn was so grateful for the bumper sticker that he wanted me and Judy to come visit him and his wife, Anna, before he left for parts unknown (which turned out not to be the Carolinas). Judy had never met him, but she knew about the bumper-sticker episode. She was skeptical about a visit, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings, and we couldn't think of a good excuse not to go. So we did.
Glenn and Anna lived in a old rented farmhouse south of Austin just off Manchaca Road, an area that at the time was 'way out on the country. Now there's a lot of development out that way, but at that time Glenn's place was pretty hard to find. There was nothing else anywhere around, unless you count vacant, overgrown fields.
Somehow we managed to find the place one Sunday afternoon, and I pulled into the graveled drive. I knew we were at the right house when I saw the rusty old tin shed in front of me with the back end of a decrepit hearse sticking out. On the bumper was the brand-new Wallace sticker I'd obtained for Glenn, who came out of the house and took us inside.
We entered through the kitchen, and in the middle of it was a table on which lay some items wrapped in butcher paper. Also some cats. I forget how many. More than two.
Glenn introduced us to his wife, who looked a little bit like Janis Joplin. She must have fancied the resemblance, because she immediately produced an autoharp (it had been her grandmother's) and started to sing. She was no Janis. She was no Robert Lopresti, either. Glenn had heard enough after about thirty seconds, and he said, "Let's go shoot my pistol."
All this time I'd thought of Glenn as a peace-loving hippie, and maybe he was, but in his bedroom he had a gun belt hanging from the bedstead. There was a .45 caliber revolver in a holster attached to the gun belt. "Living out here in the country," Glenn said, "we need protection."
I didn't ask what or whom he needed protection from, but I was starting to wonder what those fields were overgrown with.
I was about to find out. We went outside, past the shed where the hearse sat, and into a field. Nothing illegal was there, not that I saw. It was mostly sunflowers. Glenn had a bale of hay set up to shoot at, and he fired off a few rounds. Didn't miss with a one of them, either.
"I'll have this with me in the hearse in case the bumper sticker doesn't work," he told me, hefting the revolver. I may have responded, but if I did, I don't remember what I said.
We went back in the house, where Anna had put the autoharp away. We talked a while, and now and then Judy would poke me in the ribs when she was sure nobody could see. I took the hint after a while and said we had to get back home. Anna wanted us to stay for supper, and as we walked back through the kitchen, she started to shoo the cats off the table. Cat hair flew everywhere.
"Stay for supper," Anna said, pointing to the table. "We're thawing some pork shops."
I tried to think of a good reason why we couldn't stay. Judy saw me hesitate. She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the haze of cat hair and out the door. It was an afternoon she never let me forget.
I saw Glenn only once more. That was in the English building on his last day there. We'd just turned in our final grades for the classes we were teaching, and Glenn told me that he hadn't even looked at the final exams. He'd just given everybody in his classes an A. It was his revenge on the system that he felt had somehow cheated him.
I read the papers carefully every day for a couple of weeks after that, looking for anything resembling a violent incident between Texas and the Carolinas. I never saw a thing.
Unlike the story of Arnie, this one has a happy ending. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I tracked Glenn down not long ago. I would never have guessed where life took him. He got his PhD, after all, at Duke University. A few years later, he went to seminary and became a United Methodist pastor. He's done a lot of good work, including serving on a missionary team in Haiti and building casitas in Mexico. He retired, but it didn't take. He went back to preaching, and he's now the pastor at a little church in the Midwest. He and Anna are still married, but I don't know if she plays autoharp at the church services.
Gator Update Update
In that case, kid, you are free to go.
Sun Sentinel: It was a prank, says dad of man accused of throwing live gator through Wendy's drive-thru
Sun Sentinel: It was a prank, says dad of man accused of throwing live gator through Wendy's drive-thru
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Pro Se Productions signs Noted Author Robert J. Randisi and ‘THE GUNSMITH’ series
First Comics News: Pro Se Productions, a leading independent Publisher on the cutting edge of Genre Fiction, proudly announces that celebrated author Robert J. Randisi has signed on with Pro Se for continued publication of one of the longest running and best known adult western series ever, Randisi’s THE GUNSMITH.
I Remember the '60s (Part 2)
Not long after the Arnie episode, another grad-school friend of mine needed me to be his straight friend. Let's call him Glenn. He was a really smart guy, but for some reason he didn't pass the graduate qualifying exam. He was going to be bumped out of the program, so he planned to drive back to his home state, which I think was one of the Carolinas.
Glenn, though still young, was already nearly bald. What hair he he had was stringy and blond and hung down all around his head. H looked like a tonsured monk who'd let himself go to seed. He also had a scraggly little beard, and he wasn't a guy who was into diet and exercise. His vehicle for personal transportation was an old rusty hearse.
Maybe none of this would have mattered if Glenn hadn't recently been to see Easy Rider. The route back to his home state led through the American South, and Glenn was sure that he and his wife going to meet the fate of Captain America and Billy in some southern backwater town. He became convinced that the only charm that would ward off that fate was a George Wallace bumper sticker for his hearse, so he went to Wallace headquarters in Austin to get one. They took one look at him and told him to leave. They refused to give him a bumper sticker.
You've probably guessed that this is where I come into the story. Glenn needed a straight friend he could sent to Wallace headquarters for a bumper sticker, so of course he came to me. The folks at the headquarters were happy to see me come through the door. They didn't question for a second that I was one of them, and I walked out with the bumper sticker.
That's not the end of this story, but I've gone on longer than I intended. Stay tuned.
Glenn, though still young, was already nearly bald. What hair he he had was stringy and blond and hung down all around his head. H looked like a tonsured monk who'd let himself go to seed. He also had a scraggly little beard, and he wasn't a guy who was into diet and exercise. His vehicle for personal transportation was an old rusty hearse.
Maybe none of this would have mattered if Glenn hadn't recently been to see Easy Rider. The route back to his home state led through the American South, and Glenn was sure that he and his wife going to meet the fate of Captain America and Billy in some southern backwater town. He became convinced that the only charm that would ward off that fate was a George Wallace bumper sticker for his hearse, so he went to Wallace headquarters in Austin to get one. They took one look at him and told him to leave. They refused to give him a bumper sticker.
You've probably guessed that this is where I come into the story. Glenn needed a straight friend he could sent to Wallace headquarters for a bumper sticker, so of course he came to me. The folks at the headquarters were happy to see me come through the door. They didn't question for a second that I was one of them, and I walked out with the bumper sticker.That's not the end of this story, but I've gone on longer than I intended. Stay tuned.
“Playful Ghoulishness of a Crime Queen”
“Playful Ghoulishness of a Crime Queen” (by R.T. Raichev) | SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN: R.T. Raichev is a lifelong fan of English crime fiction, even writing his university dissertation on the subject. His own fiction, which includes nine books in a classical whodunit series starring crime writer Antonia Darcy and her husband Major Payne, has received wide critical praise and comparisons to Evelyn Waugh, P.G. Wodehouse, and P.D. James. R.T. (Raicho) grew up in Bulgaria but has lived in London since 1989. He debuts in EQMM in our current issue (February 2016) and we have another of his stories coming up. Readers also won’t want to miss the latest Darcy/Payne novel, The Killing of Olga Klimt.—Janet Hutchings
Tommy Kelly, R. I. P.
Hollywood Reporter: Tommy Kelly, who starred as the mischievous Missouri boy immortalized by Mark Twain in David O. Selznick’s 1938 film The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, has died. He was 90.
Feelin' Like Some British Invasion This Morning
Forgotten Hits: Feelin' Like Some British Invasion This Morning: A dozen "must play" tunes from this great era of music ...
Margaret Forster, R. I. P.
The New York Times: Margaret Forster, who achieved early fame in the 1960s with her Swinging London novel “Georgy Girl” and later turned her attention, in dozens of works of fiction, memoirs and biography, to the complexities of women’s lives and their social circumstances, died on Monday in London. She was 77.
Hat tip to Jeff Meyerson.
Hat tip to Jeff Meyerson.
Tuesday, February 09, 2016
Crossfire: The Scales of Justice -- John Hegenberger
Eliot Cross, driving around on a two-lane road after having a few beers, or more, sees a body lying by the road. He gets out, and sees the body of man. There's a knife sticking out of the man's stomach. That's the last Cross knows for a while because someone clouts him in the head. When he recovers, there's a cop with him, and the body has disappeared. It's 1988, and Eliot Cross is a little disappointed in his life as a private investigator. Too few clients, and not much purpose in life. He's thinking about giving it up and finding some other line of work. Then he gets a call from an old friend who wants to hire him to find out who's stolen the secret to a new scale. Yes, a scale. Not the kind in your bathroom or the kind depicted on the cover. A somewhat different kind You might not realize just how important scales can be, but you'll find out if you read this book. The secrets of some scales can lead to murder and more deaths than one.
The story is a complicated one, and it even features a death in a locked room before it's all over, but Cross eventually gets to the end of it with a little help from his cop friend, Lou Stevenson (who's tired of his job, too, and looking to get out), a reporter named Sherry (Cross admits that he occasionally lets sex distract him from his job; in this book it's more than occasional), and a few others. And I'll bet you've already guessed that the body in beside the road is connected to the industrial espionage somehow.
In the course of the story you'll learn a lot about scales and trade shows, but what it is, is a good old-fashioned P.I. story, with sex, violence, surprises, and some laughs along the way. Check it out.
First It Was the Thin Mint Melee
And once again Texas leads the way: Texas man shoots puppy that pooped on his lawn — and is met with gunfire from dog owner’s friend
Beautiful and Bizarre Vintage Valentines
Flavorwire: Beautiful and Bizarre Vintage Valentines From the New York Public Library’s Digital Collection
First It Was the Thin Mint Melee
Man convicted of killing neighbor over noisy birds: A Camden County man faces 15 to 30 years in prison after a jury convicted him of killing a neighbor in a dispute over the victim's chirping birds in 2012.
First It Was the Thin Mint Melee
Daily Mail Online: Shirtless man demanded cigarettes, then URINATED on another passenger sparking 'big brawl' on flight to Paris
Overlooked Movies -- Les Girls
I was fifteen or so when I saw this movie for the first time, and I was smitten with all three of the female stars, Kay Kendall, Mitzi Gaynor, and Taina Elg. Especially Kendall, who died of leukemia only a couple of years later.Gene Kelly plays a man who's been touring Europe with dancers he calls "Les Girls." He disbands the group, and the women go on with their lives. Kendall writes a memoir about their days on the road, and that's when the trouble begins.
Elg disagrees with several points in the memoir, so much so that the matter has to be settled in court. We get three versions of what happened: Kendall's, Elg's, and Kelly's. They aren't the same, of course, but the court has to make a decision. Meanwhile things are going on outside of court, as well. When it's all over, nobody, not even the audience, can be sure of what the truth of the matter is, even though things are supposedly settled.
There's singing, dancing, and plenty of smiles throughout. I suppose the title is unPC now, and maybe the title, taken by itself, might lead people to expect an entirely different kind of movie. Too bad, because this one is really entertaining, and I'm still smitten with Kay Kendall, Mitzi Gaynor, and Tania Elg.
Monday, February 08, 2016
Daniel Gerson, R. I. P.
Variety: Daniel Gerson, who co-wrote Disney/Pixar’s “Monsters, Inc.” movies and “Big Hero 6,” died at his home on Saturday. He was 49.
Latest EQMM Podcast
PodOmatic | Best Free Podcasts: Screenwriter and novelist Paul D. Marks is also the author of more than thirty published short stories. His EQMM debut was the story "Howling at the Moon" (EQMM November 2014), a tale that went on to garner nominations for both the Macavity and Anthony awards for best short story. This recording of the California author reading his celebrated story was made at the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention in Raleigh, North Carolina in 2015.
I Remember the '60s
You know what they say: "If you can remember the '60s, you weren't really there." I was there, though. I was just the straight guy in the hippie crowd. I had a few experiences that illustrate this.
The first one was with a friend we'll call Arnie. He was a nice guy, very bright, and a poet. We were both grad students in the English Department at UT/Austin, and we'd entered at the same time. Arnie went through a good many changes while we were there. He was married to Mary, a very nice woman whom Judy and I liked a lot, but he started dating one of his students. (Dating is, in case you were wondering, a euphemism.) Judy and I nearly always had lunch together since she was working on campus, and sometimes Arnie and Mary did, too. One day Judy and I were leaving my office to go eat, and we saw Mary outside Arnie's office. She had a white fast-food bag in her hand, and when she saw us, she came up and asked if we knew where Arnie was. We didn't know, but I had a suspicion. I'd seen his student outside in the hall a little earlier. We told Mary that we didn't know where Arnie had gone, and we went on to lunch. One of the saddest sights I'd seen in a while was Mary standing in the hallway as we left, holding that white bag and trying not to cry.
That's just background. Arnie and his wife separated not long after that, and his hair got a lot longer. He grew a beard, too. He liked to play tennis, and one day he left his apartment without his wallet. He was stopped by the police on suspicion of being a hippie. When he couldn't produce his driver's license, he was given a ticket for driving without one. He was told that if he went to the police station and produced his license, they'd dismiss the ticket. This is where I come in.
Arnie came to my office and told me the story. He asked me if I'd go with him to the police station. I told him I'd be glad to go, but I asked why he wanted me. It wasn't like I was going to hold his hand. He said, "I want them to see that I have straight friends."
So we went to the police station. I don't think anybody even looked at me, but the ticket was dismissed and Arnie was happy. He gave me all the credit.
He didn't stick around in grad school much longer. I heard a rumor that he'd gotten a teaching job (a one-year appointment) at the University of Hawaii.
I never saw Mary again.
The first one was with a friend we'll call Arnie. He was a nice guy, very bright, and a poet. We were both grad students in the English Department at UT/Austin, and we'd entered at the same time. Arnie went through a good many changes while we were there. He was married to Mary, a very nice woman whom Judy and I liked a lot, but he started dating one of his students. (Dating is, in case you were wondering, a euphemism.) Judy and I nearly always had lunch together since she was working on campus, and sometimes Arnie and Mary did, too. One day Judy and I were leaving my office to go eat, and we saw Mary outside Arnie's office. She had a white fast-food bag in her hand, and when she saw us, she came up and asked if we knew where Arnie was. We didn't know, but I had a suspicion. I'd seen his student outside in the hall a little earlier. We told Mary that we didn't know where Arnie had gone, and we went on to lunch. One of the saddest sights I'd seen in a while was Mary standing in the hallway as we left, holding that white bag and trying not to cry.
That's just background. Arnie and his wife separated not long after that, and his hair got a lot longer. He grew a beard, too. He liked to play tennis, and one day he left his apartment without his wallet. He was stopped by the police on suspicion of being a hippie. When he couldn't produce his driver's license, he was given a ticket for driving without one. He was told that if he went to the police station and produced his license, they'd dismiss the ticket. This is where I come in.
Arnie came to my office and told me the story. He asked me if I'd go with him to the police station. I told him I'd be glad to go, but I asked why he wanted me. It wasn't like I was going to hold his hand. He said, "I want them to see that I have straight friends."
So we went to the police station. I don't think anybody even looked at me, but the ticket was dismissed and Arnie was happy. He gave me all the credit.
He didn't stick around in grad school much longer. I heard a rumor that he'd gotten a teaching job (a one-year appointment) at the University of Hawaii.
I never saw Mary again.
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