I’ve had so much on my plate recently that I’ve been unable to tell you about what was on my plates Saturday night during the World Fantasy Convention. And what was on those plates was good.

After studying many menus, I’d decided that the restaurant I most wanted to experience while in Brighton was Graze, and that rather than go with the a la carte menu, even though it was impressive, I wanted to try the tasting menu, which needed to be ordered by the entire table.

Luckily, I was able to find willing co-conspirators, and so on my penultimate night in town, I sat down with Ellen Datlow, Cheryl Morgan, and Kevin Standlee to this …

Amuse-bouche: A perfect bite of fish cake with truffle emulsion and bacon foam.

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I was too busy having fun during the World Fantasy Convention to download the new issue of Locus, so it wasn’t until today that I discovered Dick Kearns had died.

We’d crossed paths several times in the early ’80s because he’d attended Clarion in 1978, the year before I did. I doubt we’d seen each other since the late ’80s, but I remember him as being a good writer and a fun person to hang out with. That’s not why I called you all together, though.

His Locus obituary contained a typo that had me scratching my head at first. But once I figured out what was really meant, I thought … oh, that’s wonderful. Dick would have gotten a kick out of it.

It’s a typo I’m sure someone would have mentioned somewhere online had it been read, but as I haven’t seen any of you mention it, I’m guessing, sadly, that no one’s bothered to read it.

Can you spot the typo?

Did you see it? (more…)

I’ve already reported to you about my first day at the World Fantasy Convention in Brighton, and had hoped to fill you in further, but I now realize I have to abandon the idea of writing about my other three days there—life since my return has proven to be just too busy, and I’m forced to admit I’m not likely to ever get around to my traditional oversharing.

Besides, a whole week has already passed, so any write-ups now would violate Edelman’s First Rule of Convention Reporting, which I’m sure you’ve all internalized from my repeated mentions of it.

Instead, you’ll have to be satisfied with heading over to Flickr and checking out some photos from the weekend, like the one above of me hugging it out late at night (or should that be early in the morning?) with F. Paul Wilson.

But I still reserve the right to tell you all about my marvelous dinner at Graze and the bizarre limited edition cheeseburger crust pizza I picked up at Pizza Hut.

Which ought to show you where my priorities are!

October was busy, with a visit from friends and three convention trips, which means it was a light month for dreams. Travel and visiting, whether from or to friends, leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to fewer dreams. But still, I managed to have many guest stars and strange occurances while I slept.

Let’s see, as usual, whether poetry is made when they rub up against each other like this …

October 2013

I dreamt that while I was on the phone with my father, I accidentally shot myself. But don’t worry — it was only a flesh wound! 30 Oct

I dreamt my girlfriend and I were living with a cult, supposedly happy, but talking to each other in code about our plans to soon escape. 28 Oct

I dreamt friends had a baby that — though he was chubby and healthy — was only the size of a hardboiled egg. I was scared to feed him. 27 Oct

I dreamt I lent Eastbound & Down‘s Guy Young a sweater — he put it on inside out, and it immediately started unraveling, trailing threads. 27 Oct

I dreamt there was a problem at the Neb banquet: Someone had forgotten the red noses! So @ColleenLindsay leapt on horseback to save the day. 27 Oct

I’ve lost the details of my dreams. But there was one about BBQ. And one about dumping leftover pain meds. And one about a con suite. Sigh. 25 Oct

I dreamt I ran to the roof of an apartment, feeling hunted. Then mercury oozed up though my feet, bursting out the top of my head. I woke! 24 Oct

I dreamt I took my son to see “On the Twentieth Century,” but though the curtain rose and the actors came out, no one ever started singing. 24 Oct

I dreamt I watched an episode of Dr. Phil in which viewers had to ID a superhero from art — I scrawled Barry Allen/The Flash on a postcard. 24 Oct

I dreamt I was a walking corpse, showing the disfiguring signs of my death, standing in a line with similar others waiting to be judged. 23 Oct

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I took a redeye out of Dulles Wednesday night, arriving at Heathrow earlier than I usually wake up at home … and exhausted. My United flight was deserted, with only two people in my nine-person row, and most of the cabin similarly empty, so we were all able to stretch out. But even so, I didn’t really sleep well. The flight, which was meant to take seven hours and 15 minutes, arrived early, and with drinks followed by dinner at the front end, and a breakfast snack at the other end, not much time was left to even try to snooze. So by the time I got to Brighton via bus, even with a bit of napping along the way, it felt as if I was running on fumes.

Not a good way to begin a con, particularly when I had a panel and a reading as some of the first programming items!

I couldn’t access my room early enough to take the nap I’d planned, which meant that when I finally got in, I only had time to dump my bags, take note of the ghostly remains out my window of a pier which had burned down (setting the proper mood for a World Fantasy Convention, I thought), and then rush off to my panel “Thanks for the Memories,” on which I was to reminisce with Kim Newman, Gary K. Wolfe, Roz Kaveney and Rodger Turner on all those we lost since last year’s WFC in Toronto.

Unfortunately, through a combination of exhaustion and the labyrinthine nature of the hotel, I didn’t arrive for the panel until 12 minutes in. There was still plenty of time to remember fallen friends, including one I’d entirely forgotten about until Geoff Ryman prompted us from the audience as to whether there was anyone in comics to celebrate, and I remembered the great Carmine Infantino. In retrospect, I realize we spent too much time on the superstars, that is, those with whom the audience was probably already familiar, the Ray Harryhausens of the world, and so ended up leaving out those not quite as famous, such as Rick Hautala and David Silva. Sorry! But remember them anyway, OK?

And then it was time for my reading. Were you there? Because I wasn’t! (more…)

I love it when comic books pop up as props on episodic TV. Over the past few years, I’ve spotted copies of Justice Society of America on Alcatraz and The Eternals on Law & Order: SVU. (Meanwhile, an episode of Mary Tyler Moore featured an unidentifiable comic which I think was probably mocked up specifically for the show. At least, I’ve never been able match it up with any real cover.)

I watched Revolution today—an episode from October 30, which means I’m still one behind, so no spoilers please. In “Dead Man Walking,” computer genius Aaron Pittman is trying to figure out (and duck, ’cause here comes one of those spoilers) why his dreams/visions/angry outbursts/whatever are causing people to burst into flame, and so researches his troubles by reading …

… a comic book about the Human Torch. Specifically, Saga of the Human Torch #4, dated July 1990. (more…)

Before continuing with any World Fantasy Convention impressions …

While wandering over the weekend from the University of Brighton (where I took in the Jan Švankmajer exhibit) to a Pizza Hut (where I hoped to track down the infamous cheeseburger crust pizza), I heard the beating of drums. I turned toward the sound, and when I saw police motorcycles approaching along Stanford Avenue, pulled out my Flip camera.

What was up? A protest march in support of the National Health Service.

On a weekend during which a friend visiting the UK had been hospitalized and apparently received good care, I felt supportive of the NHS, too.

Arrived back home late last night from a fun and exhausting World Fantasy Convention in Brighton. There’s lots to tell you about good times with good friends and good food, but I’ve no time for that now, as I’ve got to leap into the work which allows me to go to places like Brighton and have those good times eating good food with good friends.

So for now, let these nine photos stand in until I’m oriented back to life in the U.S. and am able to fill you in on the details …

Stephen Jones’ Psycho-Mania! anthology—which contains a story of mine—launched with a book signing at which I was told 23 contributors were on hand to autograph. (more…)

I’ve been rereading my late ’70s run of Captain Marvel this weekend (for a reason which will eventually be made clear) and noticed something I should have spotted at the time, but never did. (Or maybe I did, but forgot that I had. I’m leaning toward the former, though.)

A couple of years ago, I told you about a page of George Tuska art intended for Captain Marvel #54 which was at the last minute replaced by a Dave Cockrum splash page. Well, as I took a look yesterday at Captain Marvel’s origin story, first published in Marvel Super-Heroes #12 way back in 1967, that proverbial lightbulb went on over my head.

I suddenly saw that in his replacement page, Dave had done an homage to the cover which had started it all—

—and I’d never noticed!

Cap’s walking down a city street toward the reader, filling the page, right foot forward, people pointing, the background crowd mere silhouettes … it was obviously meant to be a tip of the hat to the Gene Colan classic.

How did I not see that immediately when the art was handed in back in 1977?

A third of a century for the scales to fall from my eyes. Wow.

Surely you had all noticed this a long time ago. Why didn’t any of you tell me?

Moments ago, Grant Achatz teased one of Next’s 2014 menus by tweeting a pic.

This pic.

Whoa!

I can take a hint. Can you?