I’d thought enough time had passed that I could forgive Jack Kirby. But I just learned I was wrong.

I was on staff at Marvel Comics in the mid-’70s when the King returned and tried to pick up where he’d left off. At the time, as I sat there in the Bullpen with my blue pencil and proofread the original art for some of his initial issues of titles such as Captain America, which he not only drew, but wrote and edited, I was horrified. The art could still be the stuff of dreams at times, but the words that came out of his characters’ mouths seemed more like a nightmare.

The buzz from us kids in the office wasn’t kind. I’ll admit it. Kirby was a god to us for what he did during the ’60s, but what he was doing at Marvel in the ’70s made us wince, and we didn’t have the tact or maturity to say it appropriately. So we acted like ungrateful punks. But now that the years have passed, as I read some of those issues of Captain America over again, I’m wincing still.

The reason I’m subjecting myself to them once more is because two of the backup stories I wrote at the time have been reprinted in The Essential Captain America Vol. 6, and after first rereading my own work (of course!), I decided to give Kirby’s another shot.

The powerful artwork still made me smile, and the frenetic pacing caused my childhood to rush back again, but as for the words on the page—Ouch!

Not only do none of the characters talk the way people actually talk—or even the hyperbolic, melodramatic way superheroes talk—but they are barely coherent. And what’s worse, in Captain America #207, old winghead, after discovering that a tyrannical dictator in a banana republic was torturing his people, decided to do NOTHING, basically declaring it none of his business!

Here’s that disturbing panel.

Until this rereading began, I was only offended by the crudeness and incomprehensibility of Kirby’s dialogue, but now, decades later, I’m also repulsed by Cap’s decision, no matter how well or poorly it was phrased.

Shame on you, Captain America!

If I ever needed a reminder of how much Stan Lee and Jack Kirby needed each other, neither ever creating separately at anywhere near the level they did when together, man oh man, this was certainly it.

I normally tweet my dreams, but this one turned out to be too intriguing to condense into 140 characters.

I dreamt I was nominated for a Hugo Award, and had entered an area by the side of the stage where a cocktail party was being held for the nominees. Once inside, I mingled with friends until I came upon one of my old Marvel bosses, the long-dead Archie Goodwin. While chatting with him, and wondering in what category the comic book writer/editor had been nominated, I was strangely unsurprised to see him there alive (in the waking world, he died in 1998), looking much as he had when I’d last known him in the early ’80s.

While wandering the room and continuing to schmooze, I suddenly noticed that I wasn’t wearing the suit I usually would for such an event—I was instead In a tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of jeans shorts.

What I found so interesting about the dream is this—here is where it could all have veered into anxiety dream territory, with me stumbling about, crying “Oh, no,” and wondering how the heck I could get back to my hotel room and change into a suit in time. I could have felt embarrassed over my state, or started to worry about how silly I’d look if I won that night and had to take the stage dressed that way.

Instead, I immediately found it funny.

I told a seated George R.R. Martin that this oversight might be a good omen, that I’d lost the Hugo all four times I’d previously been nominated and showed up wearing a suit, and so perhaps this time, dressed like that, the universe was playing a joke on me and would have me win so I’d have to go up in front of thousands of people that way. That turned the whole dream around, banishing any anxiety that might have arisen, and I found it all hilarious, instantly thinking of how much fun I could have laying it out that way in my acceptance speech.

And as I went around the room sharing this silliness with friends, I woke happy, not just because of that dreamworld realization, but also because of the real-world realization that I’d turned what could have been an anxiety dream inside out. I was glad that, even unconscious, I could look on the bright side of life.

No idea what category I was nominated in, though.

I attended Derwin Mak’s reading on the final day of Ad Astra 2011 intending to record it all, but sadly, the battery on my Flip camcorder died 10 minutes in. When I told this to Derwin, feeling sheepish about it, he said he didn’t mind if I went ahead and posted the clip of his reading anyway.

So I have.

Apologies to all for the way this cuts off in the middle of a sentence … but a little Derwin Mak is better than no Derwin Mak at all.

I’ve been so busy since Ad Astra two weekends back that with this post I’m breaking one of my rules. What rule is that? I call it Edelman’s Schadenfreude Rule of Convention Reporting. Which means …

I consider it insufficient to wait until getting home to write up how much fun I’m having. All convention reporting must occur while that convention is actually occurring. It’s not enough that I have a wonderful time—YOU have to KNOW that I’m having a wonderful time and be miserable because you’re not there having a wonderful time, too. You’ve got to be agonizing, thinking, “If only I jumped on a plane RIGHT NOW, I could be at the con ALSO having a wonderful time! Why aren’t I?”

Then, and only then, can I be truly joyful. But—the day job has demands I can’t ignore, and so you’ve had to wait nine days for this particular piece of video.

Ad Astra paired up writers to share an hour, and on April 10, 2011, after I read my short story “The Only Wish Ever to Come True,” Matthew Johnson read “Holdfast.”

And here he is!

Unfortunately, I’ll be continuing to break Edelman’s Schadenfreude Rule of Convention Reporting in the coming weeks, because I still have a few more clips to share …

Irene and I hosted our 5th annual daffodil party Saturday, and while we had lots of beautiful daffodils, lots of fun people, and lots of good food, the weather didn’t cooperate, scaring some friends away. We reportedly had between 2.6 and 3.1 inches of rain that day, depending on whom you trust.

Those who’ve been to our house know we warn against using MapQuest directions or paying attention to a GPS, because those sources always advise using Tuscarora Pike to get to us, a road which can be scary even under the best of circumstances.

After breakfast Sunday morning (Irene whipped up biscuits from scratch!), our out-of-town friends asked to see exactly how bad Tuscarora Pike really is, so we hopped into our Jeep and bombed a mile north to get to Shanghai. Once we hung a right, we were confronted with the view you can see the first image below. Thanks to the rain, Tuscarora Pike was unreachable.

We studied the scene for awhile, then retraced our steps, went over the ridge via a different route, and came back down to look at the same flooding from the other side of the road. So each photo shows in the distance the spot from which the other photo was taken.

And if you’ve ever wanted to drive through standing water, here’s a reminder of why you shouldn’t—someone apparently attempted it, and ended up having to abandon their car in a flooded field.

Next year there’ll be better weather for our daffodil party. We promise!

How can we possibly make this promise? Because for it to be any worse, it would have to rain toads!

I’ll be in Austin for the World Horror Convention two weeks from now. Though that might just be what I’m telling people. Sometimes I think I may actually be going for the BBQ. I remember the Salt Lick as being THAT good.

In any case, if you make it Austin, too, here’s where you’ll be able to find me. At least, officially.

Artists Are People Too!
Friday, April 29 at 4:00 PM
Panel description: Thanks to the Internet, a right-click of the mouse lets anyone copy an artist’s work right off the Web. It’s not unusual for someone to look at a piece and declare, “My kid could paint that!” or to assume that art’s easy—just be creative once in a while and then the money flows in. We’ve heard from writers about their rights; now it’s time to hear from artists. [So what am I doing on this panel? I’ve been told that I’m the wild card non-artist to talk about my experiences with those strange creatures.]
with Russell Dickerson (M), Vincent Chong, Steve Niles, GAK

Reading
I’ve decided to read “Are We Not a New People?” from the anthology Zombie Apocalypse … though that could change, depending on the audience.
Saturday April 30 at 11:00 a.m.

Guest of Honor Q&A
In which I interview Steve Niles.
Saturday, April 30 at 5:00 PM

Hope to see you there!

I’ve been biting my tongue since Monday because the Shirley Jackson Awards committee wanted to keep the news secret until its site could be updated, but I can now reveal here that my short story collection What Will Come After is a nominee in the category of Single-Author Collection.

Since you can easily find the full ballot elsewhere, I won’t repeat the list, but here are the nominees in my category. (And I hope it won’t be seen as an insult to the writers with whom I’ve appeared on any previous ballot if I say that collectively, this is the most talented group with whom I’ve ever competed. Seeing those other names fills me with awe and has me thinking … “Do I really belong there?”)

Occultation, Laird Barron (Night Shade)
The Ones That Got Away, Stephen Graham Jones (Prime Books)
The Third Bear, Jeff Vandermeer (Tachyon)
What I Didn’t See, Karen Joy Fowler (Small Beer Press)
What Will Come After, Scott Edelman (PS Publishing)

The winners of the 2010 Shirley Jackson Awards will be announced in July at Readercon, a convention I’ve been attending since 1987. I love that con more than any other, and the sense of anticipation I’ll be feeling throughout that weekend could make it the best Readercon yet!

Hope to see you there!

I’d heard that my short story collection What Will Come After was going to be released as an ebook for those who prefer their zombies pixelated. But I don’t think I knew that Pete Crowther of PS Publishing had actually pulled it off until a number of people at Ad Astra last weekend told me they’d purchased it for their Kindles.

And it wasn’t until after Robert Shearman’s reading Sunday that I had proof.

Robert, who when we first met on Friday had told me he’d already bought an e-copy of the book, whipped out his Kindle and showed me what the book looked like on his screen.

I think that looks rather nice, don’t you? And if you’d like it looking rather nice on your own e-reader, you can order it from PS Publishing here.

In other electronic news, StarShipSofa 184 features a podcast of my story “A Very Private Tour of A Very Public Museum.” I think Jeff Lane has done an excellent performance of the piece, far better than I did myself the one time I read it aloud at Readercon. So if you’d like to hear one of my stories rather than have to read it, you know what to do.

On April 10 at Ad Astra 2011, I read my short story “The Only Wish Ever to Come True,” which had originally been published in Talebones magazine. I shared the hour with Matthew Johnson, seen sitting next to me, waiting his turn to read. I’ll upload his performance in a separate video.

I chose that story because Matthew had indicated that he’d be reading a fantasy, so I thought I should, too, so that the flavors would blend together well for any audience. Also, I’d only read “The Only Wish Ever to Come True” once before, at a Readercon, and it was unlikely anyone attending Ad Astra would have heard it before. Don’t want to be repetitive!

Anyway, I recorded the hour so that what happens in Toronto doesn’t have to stay in Toronto.

(Please note that for some reason I’ve yet to figure out, the first few seconds of the last couple of videos I’ve uploaded are wonky, but that clears up quickly before the story begins. But if anyone has any suggestions as to why this is happening, please let me know!)

Earlier this year, faced with some expiring miles from an airline I no longer fly, I exchanged them for a bunch of magazine and newspaper subscriptions. One of them was to The New York Observer, which I find so annoying I’m looking forward to my subscription lapsing so I’ll no longer have to suffer its whiny sense of entitlement.

It’s as if the go-go ’80s never went. Several times an issue I’m tempted to throw the magazine across the room and shout, “Die, yuppie scum!”

Surprisingly, the April 4th issue had a couple of quotes worth sharing, which I never expected. And to show I’m unafraid of exposing my ignorance, I’ll add that they’re both from writers I hadn’t heard of before. I’m assuming that when you hear their names, you’ll think, “Has this guy been living in a cave?” But I’m risking your disapproval anyway.

First, a review of Otherwise Known as the Human Condition by Geoff Dyer contains this quote from that author:

“As the ball hangs there, moon-white against the wall of cloud, everything in the world seems briefly up for grabs and I am seized by two contradictory feelings: There is so much beauty in the world it is incredible that we are ever miserable for a moment; there is so much shit in the world that it is incredible we are ever happy for a moment.”

I happen to be a “Life is a banquet and most poor bastards are starving to death” kind of guy, but still, I found the second half of that passage quite moving.

Later in the issue, Lynne Tillman is quoted in a review of her new short story collection Someday This Will Be Funny:

“I don’t want this backstory business,” Ms. Tillman said. The word “backstory” might as well have been “incest” coming from her mouth. “I just think that’s horrible. I mean, backstory? What are you talking about? So often in writing classes you hear students say to one another, ‘But I’d really like to know more about that character.’ And I have to restrain myself. That’s not the story. You don’t get to know everything about the character. You get to know what’s necessary.”

I couldn’t agree more. Not all questions need to be, or should be, answered. It’s said of performers, you should always leave them wanting more. It should be said of short stories, too.

Anyway, thanks for surprising me, Observer. I hope you can manage to do it again.