Remember those four late-’70s rejection notes I shared that were written to me by DC editor Paul Levitz for stories I’d submitted to the company’s horror books such as House of Mystery and House of Secrets? At the time, I said I had no memory of which four plots had been rejected, and no way of finding out.

Turns out I was wrong. Because all I had to do was turn those notes over, which I discovered by accident.

This afternoon, I happened to glance toward a far corner of my desk, and noticed some scribbled blue pencil marks on a small sheet of paper. When I picked up the page and looked at it, I realized—this was one of the rejects face down, and what I’d scrawled was the name of the story being rejected.

Here’s what I discovered.

The story that Paul described as “too light-hearted” was called “Gingerbread Witch,” and I’m fairly confident that I eventually sold my concept to the TV series Tales from the Darkside as the episode titled “Baker’s Dozen.” Though somewhere along the way it became much less light-hearted. (more…)

My birthday isn’t until Thursday, but I got my best possible present two days early, in the form of an email this morning from Steve Jones, letting me know that my story “What Will Come After,” which appeared for the first time in my zombie collection called, well, What Will Come After, had been chosen to appear in The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror #22.

And what’s more, Steve had decided to open the book with it!

This will mark my third appearance in one of Steve’s Best New Horror anthologies, and it occurs to me that all of my reprint sales to him were originally published in somewhat unusual sources, that is, not in traditional magazines or anthologies. (more…)

I’ve enjoyed Doc Hermes’ series of mystery photos for years, so when I spotted the following image online, I thought, well, two can play at this game.

So here’s a photo of a comic book artist whose style became the signature look for a well-known character. And that’s the only hint I plan on giving.

Who’s brave enough to take the first guess?

Back in 2009, I was once again asked to participate in what I’ve grown to think of as the “speed dating” style of workshopping—three beginning writers and three (supposedly) advanced writers locked together in a room for a couple of hours so the beginners could have their work critiqued.

I always used to do it when asked, but had become disenchanted with it for a couple of reasons, the primary one being that knowing how to calmly accept criticism, even when you disagree with it, is something that (for many) isn’t innate. It has to be learned. And unlike with lengthier workshop situations such as Clarion or Odyssey during which there’s time for trust to be earned, in these quickie critique sessions the writer often doesn’t yet know how to hear, or respond to, the message.

As I explained to Oz Whiston why I was going to pass, I added that I didn’t think anyone who wanted to submit manuscripts should be allowed to take part in the WorldCon critique process until he or she sat through a panel on “How to Respond to a Critique of Your Writing.” I said it half in jest, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized … “Uh-oh.”

That’s right. Oz asked me to go ahead and give that presentation at Anticipation, the 67th World Science Fiction Convention. Which I agreed to do. The room was packed, and the advice seemed well-received, with many audience members tracking me down later during the con to thank me. And that was that.

But lately, I’ve been thinking that some of the info in the presentation might be useful to some beginning writers who weren’t at WorldCon that year. And so I turned my slideshow into an annotated YouTube video.

I’m not entirely sure how something created to be presented to a specific small group of writers who likely hadn’t been professionally critiqued before will play with a wider audience, but since I believe there’s some valuable info here that might be helpful to more than just the people who were in Montreal, here’s a re-creation of that talk.

Though I’ve used every slide, not every spoken tangential aside is in here—after all, I talked for about 45 minutes at WorldCon, whereas in the clip you’re getting a distilled 15 minutes—but I think there’s still enough meat here that I get my point across.

Speaking of points … my wife, in her wisdom, mentioned that rather that creating this clip as a stand-alone presentation on how writers should react to criticism, I’ve instead created a historical document about a presentation I gave previously, and that perhaps it should be reconfigured and couched as, “I’ve been on both sides of this thing for years, and here are some tips on how to cope with rejection” (that is, something valuable for any writing audience) vs. “I gave a presentation a couple of years ago, and for those who missed it, here’s what I said.”

You know … she has a point. And someday, when I have the time, I may revise, expand, and perfect this presentation so it does just that. But for now, I think I’ll let it stand as is. I hope someone out there gets something out of it.

In the latest installment of my father’s autobiography, which he sent to me a few years before his death, the Brooklyn boy is growing up … and war looms on the horizon.

Growing Up and Stuff: An Adventure
Part 3

Next on our hangout list was Happy’s Deli. Happy was a former professional boxer and had been a merchant seaman during World War II. He loved to sit with us and tell us stories of his fighting days as we sat eating large slices of salami.

Davey’s house was a great hangout for us. His father liked the company and enjoyed our laughter. Davey’s mother had passed away years before, and he always blamed a local doctor for it. We all avoided that doctor, through a combination of loyalty to Davey and just plain fear.

Davey had an older sister who would teach us the latest dance steps. Eddy was always hitting on her. He never got anywhere, no matter how hard he tried.

Another of our hangouts was Mendy’s house. His mother had also passed away, so that he and Davey had a sort of close understanding between themselves. Mendy’s father was a character. He was an avid gin rummy player and he could read the cards, memorizing what was out. He could almost tell you what cards you had in your hand. His local bootlegger supplied him with some great alcohol, which we sampled now and then.

Tuesday nights became almost sacred. It was Uncle Miltie night on television, and in those days the streets would be empty, because he was on. Televisions were expensive and not everyone could afford one. And so, on Tuesday nights, we’d drop into Jerry’s house and crowd in with his folks, sisters, brothers and all the neighbors and anyone else who showed up. We’d all sit in a darkened living room in front of a 12″ television set. (more…)

A recent post over at the always wonderful Giant-Size Geek sent me scurrying to the vault. Richard Guion posted pages of Bullpen photos from the 1975 Mighty Marvel Convention booklet, which happened to include pics of both me and Irene.

In case you don’t remember those pics from previous posts, here we are again.

Didn’t we used to be cute? (Well, Irene still is. Though as for me … )

But never mind that. We’re here today to talk about the cover. Here’s the cover con attendees saw back in 1975.

If you ever wondered how that layout came to be, I’ve got the answer—because among my many other Marvel staff duties at the time, I edited that program book, and I still have Marie Severin’s original sketches showing off two possible designs. (more…)

It felt good to commune with my father yesterday as I typed the opening of his autobiographical manuscript here. So good, in fact, that I’d like to commune some more. Here’s the second installment of what he sent me a few years before his death at 76 on January 27, 2009.

I’m not entirely sure that anyone out there is interested, but feeling him looking over my shoulders (or am I looking over his shoulders?) is doing wonders for ME.

Growing Up and Stuff: An Adventure
Part 2

A few things expanded my universe—clip-on roller skates and bicycles. We started to grow up, discovering ourselves and girls. The games changed to Post Office and Spin the Bottle, and some of this girl stuff without playing any games at all.

Then there would be guy talk. When I got older, I found that gal talk was twice as vivid and left very little to the imagination. So much for the guys who thought they knew it all.

Then, of course, came time to break from those guys on the block and seek another group that was a little more interested in girls and less in a good game of stickball.

I was standing in line in Gym at Seth Low Junior High School when I first met Eddy. He already shaved and had a five o’clock shadow. With these few words we started a long friendship: “I’ve got a date and need a few more guys for her girlfriends.”

Eddy was always the romantic and could find girls anywhere. It led to many adventures and helped mold my teenage experience, and also gave me a group of guys to hang out with.

So I became part of a group that ventured out of my world of the block. We went off chasing Eddy’s love interests and having a great time. We expended this to other boroughs after we got into High School.

We discovered Boro Park, a short ride on a bus for us. It became the place to be for the next few years.

In the summer, it was Boro Park at night and Coney Island or Brighton Beach during the day. How could a guy go wrong? We were on this happy trip and growing into our upper teens. (more…)

Two weeks from tonight, I’ll be laying my head to rest in Toronto, because from April 8-11 I’ll be attending Ad Astra. I gave you my rough schedule earlier in the week, but now that the committee has finalized things—including giving the date and time for my reading—I figured I should update you.

Here’s where you’ll be able to find me up in the Great White North:

Opening Ceremonies
Friday, April 8, 7:00 p.m.

Using Conventions To Your Advantage
Friday, April 8, 9:00 p.m.
Conventions can be important venues for writers to meet editors and publishers. Hear stories from professionals in the field on how-to and how-not-to use your con experience to network.
(with Ian Keeling and Justine Lewkowitz)

GoH Hour
Saturday, April 10, 11:00 a.m.
(with Kathryn Cramer and Elisabeth Vonarburg)

The Walking Dead
Saturday, April 10, 12:00 p.m.
Discuss the television adaptation of the graphic novel series The Walking Dead.
(with Colleen Hillerup, Ian Keeling and Mandy Slater)

Autograph session
Saturday, April 10, 3:30 p.m.

Why Professionalism Matters
Sunday, April 11, 11 a.m.
Writing is an art, but publishing is a business. How writers and artists should act, and what they need to understand when trying to sell their work.
(with Ziana de Bethune, Adrienne Kress, Matt Moore, Mandy Slater, Howard Tayler and Gregory Wilson)

Reading
Sunday, April 11, 12 p.m.
(with Matthew Johnson)

And if any of you who’ll be there have suggestions or requests for which of my stories I should read during my shared hour Sunday with Matthew Johnson, please let me know!

A few years before my father died on January 27, 2009 at age 76, he sent me a manuscript he’d written about his life growing up in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. I’m missing him, and since I’m in the mood to feel his presence for awhile, I pulled out those pages and started to read. But because I’d like to feel him flowing through me for a bit, I’m going to retype some of it here. I could simply scan it to share—that would certainly be much quicker—but it wouldn’t bring him back quite as strong.

So here is what my father thought important enough to want to tell us. On the front of the yellow folder he sent me was written, “My Long Story,” but inside, he titled what he’d written:

Growing Up and Stuff: An Adventure

I grew up in Brooklyn. You have to understand the sound of the way we talked in Brooklyn. It was rough to the ear, and had its own unique sound. You’ve probably heard someone try to talk the talk of a kid from Brooklyn. They either come close or miss by a mile.

To me, it was a sweet sound, and never having been away from Brooklyn at the time, I had no idea that we sounded different. That is, until I began to travel and heard some very distinctive accents. Have you ever heard someone in Scotland try to imitate a Brooklyn accent?

All over the world, kids play in parks, playgrounds, backyards, and schoolyards. But for us at that time in Brooklyn, it was the streets, close by our houses. Our block was our playground. It was our own safe little universe.

Getting up a game on our block was easy. You’d meet up out on the street and in no time, you could get up a game of touch football. You have to understand that this was all before any formal leagues of any sort had been formed, in our area anyway, long before anything like Little League or anything like it.

It didn’t matter if it was winter or summer. If you were a young, adventurous kid growing up in Brooklyn, the streets were your playground.

The cold winters held the thoughts of snowball fights and ice-skating, maybe a sled ride down a driveway. Or if you were lucky, you could make it over to one of the parks.

The warm summer and long daylight hours helped when you were exploring your youthful needs on the streets of Brooklyn. (more…)

Because one taste of Steve Gerber isn’t enough—at least, not for his true fans, of which I suspect there are many of you out there—here’s an additional chunk of my 1975 interview with him which had somehow gotten separated from the first part.

This section is entirely about his plans for Crazy magazine, which he had just taken over as editor. The sound quality on this section isn’t the best, but if you love Steve you’ll be willing to put up with it.

Those of you who do struggle through will hear him discuss how his (then) year and a half of therapy qualified him to edit the humor magazine, why he got the gig in the first place, how he once thought he might go into television until he realized he was too ugly, and more.

And near the end, you’ll also get to hear a few (insulting) words from Don McGregor.