Back from doing book promotion in New York City. Still recovering. Call me a countrified rube, but I didn’t believe any of that “City That Never Sleeps” nonsense. And then there I am, still up at 7:00 in the morning, nowhere near sober, staring up at how vast everything is, just waiting for somebody to get smart enough to mug me. But there were no assaults. This was the post-Giuliani Shotgun Lockdown Corporate Remodel New York and that sort of thing doesn’t happen as often as it used to. Last time I’d stayed in New York City, Times Square was still porn central with barbed-wire outside of the windows (to catch/snag jumpers, I was told at the time), and now it’s a giant open-air mall with a hard-on for electricity waste. Call me a rube again, but I sort of like the new version better. Less “stabby.”
I was attending the 2005 World Horror Convention at The Park Central Hotel (one of those “Whore With Pretty Make-Up” hotels that have a gorgeous lobby and front but rooms fit for cheap affairs and booze binges). I was rolling with the Eraserhead/Raw Dog Screaming crew (Carlton Mellick III, Rose O’Keefe, Kevin Donihe, Andre Duza, John Lawson, D. Harlan Wilson) and we had a fine time pushing books and hefting a wide assortment of beverages. I had a good reading on Friday and also participated in the Celebrity Charity Poker Game (sponsored by Raw Dog Screaming/ promoting Michael Arnzen’s upcoming psycho-poker thriller Play Dead) along with horror masters like Jack Ketchum, F. Paul Wilson, and Tom Monteleone. F. Paul Wilson ended up taking the game, but I finished third, which meant $300 went to my charity of choice, The National Association to Protect Children, a pro-child/anti-abuse organization that you should go check out right now (or later, but seriously check them out; they’re doing great things).
The convention was a blast. The Eraserhead Press table sold quite a few copies of Angel Dust Apocalypse, and it was great to meet so many of my literary heroes (Dallas, Jay Clarke, the ever-manic J. Skipp). It was also cool to meet (and this is a partial list due to booze-related brain damage from the con): Cody Goodfellow, Jeremy Lassen, Matt Schwartz, Steve Vernon, Brian Keene, James Sneddon, Andre Duza, Linda Addison, Kevin Donihe, and a host of others. I can’t wait to get back to New York again.
I also got to visit with my friend Erin who showed me around town but, alas, could not find a way for me to make out with Chloe Sevigny, who was supposedly around, somewhere. Still, Erin, you kick ass. Thanks for taking me out on the town.
Further thanks go out to Jackson Ellis, editor-in-chief of the awesome Verbicide Magazine, and Nate Pollard (of Abstract Fantasy comics fame), for showing up and rocking the spot as if it had been there awaiting a mighty rocking for lo these many years. I shall remember your crackpot conspiracy theories and “tap fury” for the rest of my years.
Also, a quick shot of good news: Angel Dust Apocalypse is selling well and has even hit the Amazon Top 50 on five different occasions since its release. BIG thanks to all the people picking up this psychotic piece of work. I hope you’re enjoying it!
I’m on an awkward sleep schedule that modifies my melatonin to the point where my brain gets this weird pharmaceutical fog over it, like Dinty Moore Beef Stew is all I’ve got floating between my ears. So, if this entry seems particularly disjointed, blame the brain stew.
Once there was an English gentleman who was asked to type a sentence that he believed represented how Americans spoke. He responded with the following: “Fancy a corndog, bro?”
That just makes my day…
Your friend and neighbor,
JRJ
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