Since I’m awake much too early thanks to much too exciting a dream, it only seems right that I start the day by harvesting last month’s dream tweets. So here are the nearly 100 dreams from March. (That I was able to remember, that is. I’m sure there were many more.)

Those dreams included appearances by fictional characters (Glee‘s Sue Sylvester , Fringe‘s Walter Bishop, Big Love’s Barb Henrickson), celebrities (John Larroquette , Rod Steiger, Charlie Sheen), and friends (John Kessel, Dennis Etchison, Barry Malzberg).

And maybe you, too!

March 2011 Dream Tweets

I dreamt that, by merely opening the latest issue of Locus, I was teleported to the magazine’s office, where I chatted with Amelia Beamer. 31 Mar

I dreamt a brobdingnagian mechanical device began to whirr, turning magnetic. As the world imploded, I ducked and let debris pass over me. 31 Mar

I dreamt that, for some reason which made perfect sense as I slept, I hung with LL Cool J and told all him about my grandfather the bookie. 31 Mar

I dreamt an SUV at the mall suddenly revealed itself as an alien construct and began firing missiles, which we dodged acrobatically. 30 Mar

I dreamt Irene and I stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere that was then invaded by a gang run by Machete’s Danny Trejo. We ran. 30 Mar

I dreamt I rummaged through the outdoor bins of a used bookstore and was stunned to find classic first editions on sale for $10-$15. 30 Mar

I dreamt that, as I pushed through the San Diego Comic-Con crowds, I thought I saw Duffy Vohland off in the distance. But no. It wasn’t him. 29 Mar

I dreamt I bumped into Mike Walsh in Central Park, spread out on a picnic blanket with his wife and two kids. (But does he even have those?) 29 Mar

I dreamt I arrived at a comics-related event to find Stan Lee standing calmly with thousands of people in a snaking line waiting to get in. 29 Mar

I dreamt an entire truckload of onions had spilled in a HS gym, and I was crawling around with Finn Hudson and Quinn Fabray picking them up. 28 Mar (more…)

An unsigned essay in the March 26, 1911 edition of the New York Times bemoans the fact that “mystery and romance have suffered greatly at the hands of modern science and invention,” and that the world therefore no longer has a place for such writers as Edgar Allan Poe, E. T. A. Hoffmann, and Hans Christian Andersen, who supposedly found it much easier to blow our minds in the good old pre-1911 days.

The writer is afraid that without, to use one example, the shadows cast by “heavy, sticky, leaky oil lamps,” and with instead “a savage, tactless, pitilessly even cataract of light”:

“Who will read those tales now to the family seated around the matter-of-fact radiator with its angular gills and its regular, commonplace, good-natured wheeze?”

Luckily, we have somehow gotten by, and still find things that frighten us, even though we’ve advanced quite a bit beyond the science and invention of 100 years ago.

What I found the most interesting in the piece, though, was that the writer complained about the lack of anonymity and the loss of the ability for people to reinvent themselves back then—and he or she wasn’t talking about it being caused by the Internet, but instead by a couple of far simpler technologies.

“What chance has the scion of a royal house to pose as clerk and be loved for himself alone, when commercial agencies supply you very promptly with complete details on the past, present, and ‘prospects’ of any of your acquaintances for a fee ranging from 25 cents to $1? … Telegraph and long-distance phone have blasted forever the hopes of would-be impostors.”

Which tells me that come 2111, when we’ve slid even further along that slippery technology slope, our descendants will look back on quaint 2011 and wonder how you and I didn’t realize how how good we really had it.

While reviewing the complete schedule for Ad Astra which I’ll be attending next weekend in Toronto, I noticed that my panel “Using Conventions To Your Advantage” was opposite one I really wanted to see—”Zombies: The Rise to Popularity.” So I asked whether it was possible to move that first panel so I could attend the second, and the committee was kind enough to not only make the move, but add me on the second panel, too.

As if those of who you attended weren’t going to get enough pontificating out of me already!

Anyway, here’s my revised (and hopefully final) schedule.

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

Using Conventions To Your Advantage
Friday, April 8, 8:00 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)

Zombies: The Rise to Popularity
Friday, April 8, 9:00 p.m.
What is the appeal of zombies? Will their popularity live on, or will it start to decompose?
with Stephen Jones, Mandy Slater, Karina Sumner Smith, Chris Warrilow

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)

I look forward to seeing some of you next weekend!

A couple of days ago, I challenged you to identify a mystery photo of a comic book artist as a child. All I said about this person was that his or her “style became the signature look for a well-known character.” If you don’t remember, go take a look and come right back.

I’ve gotten many suggestions over the past 48 hours … all of them WRONG.

Check out 23 people who the photo ISN’T.

Neal Adams
C.C. Beck
John Buscema
Dan DeCarlo
Steve Ditko
Will Eisner
Will Elder
Bill Everett
Hal Foster
Frank Frazetta
Carmine Infantino
Bob Kane
Gil Kane
Jack Kirby
Joe Kubert
Harvey Kurtzman
Stan Lee
John Romita, Sr.
Julius Schwartz
E. C. Segar
Marie Severin
Curt Swan

I’m going to give you guys one more chance. If I don’t hear the answer in 24 hours, I’ll spill the beans tomorrow night. But because it’s my birthday, and I’m in good mood, I’ll give you a clue. Here it goes—

In addition to being the artist whose signature style defined a character, before working on that character, this artist previously worked for a comics company that was sued by the company he or she eventually ended up defining that character for.

If I got any less cryptic than that, I’d just be giving you the name. So that’s all you’re going to get. Now—have at it!

Today’s my birthday, as hundreds of you reminded me with your wishes on Twitter and Facebook. And as people tend to do on birthdays (and New Year’s Eve, too), I’ve been thinking a bit about how the heck I got here.

And one of the reasons I did get here, got my wife, got my life, is a guy named Duffy Vohland, who’s sort of a forgotten figure in comics. So it’s appropriate that I share today a birthday card I received from him that featured a caricature he had Paty Cockrum (then still Patry Greer, I believe) draw for the occasion.

Here’s the image that was on the front of the card, and as anyone who knew him will tell you … yeah, that was Duffy.

I say that was Duffy because he died in 1982, one of the earliest vicims of AIDS. I wish he was still around so I could thank him today for what I’ve got, but he’s gone, so I’ll tell you instead. (more…)

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…)