I have long stressed that the most important thing about convention reporting is that it be done while the convention is still going on. In fact, I’ve codified that in Edelman’s Schadenfreude Rule of Convention Reporting, which states that it isn’t enough for me to be having a good time, you must know I’m having that good time and regret not being there to have it with me.

Updating statuses on Twitter and Facebook doesn’t feel sufficient in terms of making you miserable enough to make me happy. I need to post photos, videos, and blog entries. But as far as this year’s World Horror is concerned, I have failed.

I wrote a blog post about getting to the con, but nothing about the con itself, because I was that busy and tired. The half dozen videos I shot haven’t made it to YouTube yet. And I only just now, 24 hours after returning home, got my pics up on Flickr.

Go check them out. And remember, as you can see below—everything is bigger in Texas!

There’ll be more World Horror commentary later—but first I think I need to recover from World Horror!

On Saturday, April 30, 2011, I read my short story “Are We Not a New People?,” which had originally appeared in the anthology Zombie Apocalypse. The faceless woman who introduces me is Martel Sardina. As for what you see me tossing to the audience before I begin, those are glow-in-the-dark zombie finger puppets, some of which I’d already given out before the reading began.

Some higher power is trying to do everything it can to stop me from getting to this year’s World Horror Convention in Austin. Could it be … Cthulhu?

It all began with one of the most horrendous storms I’ve ever experienced, with thunder and lightning so great it was as if someone was in my bedroom banging a drum and flipping the light switch on and off. (And no, it wasn’t Irene!)

So I woke with a lousy night’s sleep, a little before I had to. The alarm was set for 4:15, but by 4:00, after having been woken at least half a dozen times through the night, I’d given up, figuring, OK, I may feel like crap, but that will be easily solved by sleeping on the plane. And then, in the few minutes between getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom … our power went out. Which meant an icy cold sponge bath. And, since I couldn’t open the refrigerator, no breakfast. 

I got into my clothes, feeling oogy, and headed out onto roads—well, after manually opening the electric garage door, that is—for which there was both a flood and tornado watch. 

I didn’t get far.

About two miles from the house, an indicator light went on reflecting low tire pressure. I took a look and, because I wasn’t 100% sure which tire it was and if I took the time to change the tire I’d miss my flight, turned around and tried to make it home before I lost so much air it was unsafe to drive.

I didn’t make it all the way. I had to abandon the car about half a mile from our house and walk home in the dark and the rain. Under other circumstances, it could have been beautiful. I told Irene the story, took the other car, drove to my Jeep, grabbed the luggage, and headed to Dulles, feeling grungy, hungry, wet, and tired … and wondering what would go wrong next.

Thanks to the rain, there was so much stopped traffic that I didn’t make it to the gate until just as boarding was beginning. In fact, if there’d been another couple of dozen people at security, I might not have made it at all.

But my travails weren’t over yet.

You should know that even with all my traveling, I’ve never been trapped in a plane. I’ve had flight cancellations, which have often led to some interesting adventures, but I’ve never been stuck on the tarmac. Until this morning. Due to the weather, the flight was delayed for nearly two hours. 

I’m now writing this above the clouds, somewhere between Dulles and Austin, and will post it while waiting for my luggage. But I wonder … do you think I’ll make it all the way to the World Horror Con hotel?

I’m not so sure. I think Cthulhu still has more in store for me.

But don’t worry. There IS a moral here. 

With so many consecutive calamities, I’ve realized—

One thing going wrong is a problem. Two things going wrong could possibly be a disaster. But four or five things in a row going wrong? That’s a farce. And farces are to be savored.

So I’m savoring it.

At least until the next thing goes wrong.

As those of you who were at the World Fantasy Con with me in Columbus last year already know, during my travels these days I try to follow in the footsteps of Adam Richman of Man v. Food.

Here I am, for example, at The Thurman Cafe, where I had the best burger of my life.

Early tomorrow morning, I’ll be heading to Austin for this year’s World Horror Convention. Well, that’s what I’m telling people. Those of you who know be best are aware I’ll really be there to compete in the Man v. Food triathlon.

For those who’ve never seen the show, I’ve embedded the Austin episode below so you can see where I’ll be dragging some of you this weekend.

So—who’s ready for a road trip?

Back in the mid-’80s, I wrote seven Ethics columns for The Comics Journal, which proved to be a very cathartic experience. But two additional columns were never published, both bounced by TCJ.

One of them, about my relationship with Jim Shooter, was in retrospect so personal that it was probably best that no one other then me and Gary Groth ever read it. The other, about a case of advertising censorship at The Comic Buyer’s Guide, was so of its time that it’s probably no longer of interest.

But one small part of that latter column shouldn’t vanish, and that’s a letter I received from Bill Gaines, publisher of MAD magazine. I wrote to ask what he thought about the banning of the word “sex,” considering that he once plastered it on one of his own covers, and this is what he had to say.

Gaines wrote:

“Well, I deplore it—but can understand CBG’s desire to avoid controversy. If, in fact, they followed their ad policy of censoring ads, you pays your money & takes your chances! Personally, I wouldn’t advertise there!”

My apologies to Bill’s ghost for not letting this quote out into the wild until now. (more…)

I don’t know how I missed this, but back on January 14, Peter Tennant had some extremely kind words to say about my zombie collection What Will Come After (which is now also available as an ebook).

Over at Black Static, Tennant wrote of the book:

A collection of zombie stories, with Edelman injecting new life into an old archetype and giving a kick in the pants to those who think zombies are good for nothing except shoot ’em ups (though those are fun too). What delighted me about this collection was the sheer variety, both thematically and in terms of technical virtuosity, with verse plays, stories within stories, grue playing off against a metaphysical dimension, and reifications of classic literature.

Thank you, Peter! Why, that’s almost enough to make my zombie heart start beating again.

Ad Astra 2011 was so overflowing with Guests of Honor (since it was the con’s 30th year, the committee attempted to bring back every previous Guest of Honor) that rather than have us give Guest of Honor speeches or be interviewed individually, the con doubled (and sometimes tripled) us up for low-key chats. Which ended up being fun and comfortable, because it was just like hanging out and catching up with a friend.

Here’s my final piece of Ad Astra video, as Kathryn Cramer and I ramble for what’s hopefully an entertaining hour.

(And please forgive the ambient noise seeping through from the hallway. It took awhile before an audience member thought to shut the doors. But I think you’ll be able to understand us throughout anyway.)

Two weeks ago, I told you that my collection of zombie short stories What Will Come After (now a Shirley Jackson Awards nominee!) was available as an ebook.

But that’s no longer my only ebook, for those of you who’d prefer reading me via pixels as opposed to dead trees. Because The Hunger of Empty Vessels, which was a 2009 Stoker Awards finalist in the category of Best Long Fiction, can now be purchased electronically, too.

Why should you buy my novella? If you don’t trust me, trust David Mack, who wrote:

“The Hunger of Empty Vessels is an unnerving work that peers into the darkest corner of the human soul and makes one fear what lurks at the bottom of that abyss—but also makes it impossible to look away. I dare you to try.”

Plus it’s only $2.99. Cheap! What a deal!

I’ve been thinking about exploding cows for the past couple of days, and of how I should finally share in some permanent way that long shaggy dog (shaggy cow?) story of mine. I’ve shared it several times to crowded rooms at conventions, but that’s as far as it’s gone.

What has me recalling those unfortunate bovines right now is The Collected Stores of Jack Williamson Volume Eight, which showed up in the mail this week.

When I began flipping through the book, what first caught my eye were the two Science Fiction Age covers printed on the inside front and back covers, which made me smile. Then, looking to see what was written about the stories reprinted from those issues, I got a little choked up, because I discovered that Jack had spoken to me from beyond the grave.

Since Jack died several years ago, I’d assumed that any story notes would have to be written by someone else, but no—Jack had known the contents of this volume so far in advance that he’d been able to write about them in 2005. And this is the final sentence of his passage about having “The Firefly Tree” published in Science Fiction Age:

It was the first of mine that Scott Edelman bought for Science Fiction Age, a great magazine while it lived.

Thank, Jack. That means a lot.

After reading that, I set the book aside for a bit, pleased by Jack’s kudos. When I picked it up again, it was to read Connie Willis’ introduction. I expected to see her love for Jack shining through, but what I didn’t expect to find were exploding cows.

Yes. Exploding cows. My exploding cows.

First Connie mentioned in passing that some of the difficulties those of us who visited Portales faced in getting there were “floods, blizzards, and exploding cows.” But in the next paragraph, discussing those of us who’d made multiple visits to the Jack Williamson Lectureship series, she got more explicit, saying that I personally had returned:

” … in spite of the fact that one time, he not only witnessed a wreck between a train and a truck full of cattle, but ended up on a smoke-filled plane which had to make an emergency landing.”

Which got me to thinking—I’ve told the tale of this adventure before crowds many times at cons, once with Connie on my lap as if she were a little girl being told a bedtime story. So isn’t it time I told it to you?

I think i should. But how? I can’t decide whether to simply write it out as a blog entry here, record a podcast, or create a YouTube video so you can see me as I recount that crazy day. I’m not sure when I’ll get the time to do any of those things, but when I finally do, which do you think it should be?

Let me know.

[BTW –this is my first attempt to post here from my iPad as opposed to my laptop, so if you’re reading this — it worked!]

I was skimming Us Weekly today and—

Before I go any further, I guess I should stop there and explain why the heck I’ve got a copy of Us Weekly around. I had some expiring frequent flier miles a few months back, and rather than let them go to waste, I traded in miles for a subscription. (As well as subs to Wired and The New York Observer and Time and a few other magazines.)

But now that I see what Us Weekly really is, I realize I’d have been better off letting those miles expire … because it makes People seem like The Atlantic.

The latest issue contained a list on “25 Stars Who Are Authors,” and here’s who the editors chose:

Britney Spears
Brooke Shields
Carrie Fisher
Chelsea Handler
Ethan Hawke
Felicity Huffman
Howard Stern
Jay-Z
Jenny McCarthy
Julianne Moore
JWoww
Kendra Wilkinson
Kim Cattrall
Lauren Conrad
Madonna
Nicole Richie
Pamela Anderson
Paris Hilton
Rob Lowe
Rosie O’Donnell
Sammy Hagar
Snooki
Tommy Lee
Whitney Port
Whoopi Goldberg

That was the best they could come up with? Some of them are acceptable, but as for the rest, well, I doubt that a couple of these stars even read the books they were supposed to have written!

How about Steve Martin? Or Danica McKellar? Or James Franco? Anybody but Snookie and JWoww … please!

I know, I know. I’m expecting too much. But somehow I suspect Us Weekly would find a way to disappoint me even if I was expecting too little.