Irene and I have turned into LPs today—we are now 33 1/3. To translate that, we were married on September 4, 1976, which means that as of today, January 4, 2010, we’ve been married 33 years and four months.

Here we are many, many (many, many) years ago on that date in a photo taken in Irene’s Mom’s backyard in Bethesda. This is the photo that has resided in my wallet ever since that life-changing event.

Irene and I will celebrate the day by locking ourselves in our respective offices and working like dogs, occasionally blowing kisses up and down the stairs.

Yesterday, Irene and I attended a “2010: Odyssey Two Party” at the home of Risa and Sandy Stewart over in Rockville, Maryland. Also in attendance were Karen and Charlie Newton, Rosie Smith and John Naman, Sharon Patry, Todd Supple, and Kathy Waldbauer (all of whom we’d seen only six days earlier at the season’s previous holiday party), plus Tom Doyle, Beth Delaney, Bud Sparhawk, Kyle and Monica McAbee, Martin Wooster, Richard Waldrop, Julia Duncan, Hannah Waldrop, Brick Barrientos, and my sister-in-law Ellen Vartanoff.

I’m sure I’ve left some names out—if you’re one of them, sorry!

If you know any of the folks above, you also know that science fiction and comics made up the major part of the conversation. Among the many topics discussed were the weird comics of Fletcher Hanks, our worst convention hotel experiences (for me, it was the 1997 World Horror Convention at the Days Inn Niagara Falls), foreign editions of Tarzan comics, what degree of the credit that Stan Lee got for the early days of Marvel was undeserved, our favorite Ray Bradbury stories (I listed “The Picasso Summer,” “The Flying Machine,” and “The Toynbee Convector”), that night’s Doctor Who regeneration, our border-crossing war stories from attending international conventions, and more.

I spent so much time in intense conversation that I didn’t take many pictures. Here’s one of the few I did take (or should I say, one I had someone else take) with Monica McAbee. We’re both wearing the deeley-bobbers the Stewarts provided to add to the inarguable sci-fi nature of any 2010 holiday celebration.

And then today, Irene and I attended yet another party, this one a surprise 40th birthday party that also had a holiday feel to it. That makes four such events in the past three weeks. As much fun as they are, can we stop now? If we don’t, I’ll never get my new short story done—and we’ll never get the last of the back acreage cleared!

So next week, it will be just me, Irene, our computers, and a chainsaw, the way God intended!

Yesterday, Irene and I attended a “2010: Odyssey Two Party” at the home of Risa and Sandy Stewart over in Rockville, Maryland. Also in attendance were Karen and Charlie Newton, Rosie Smith and John Naman, Sharon Patry, Todd Supple, and Kathy Waldbauer (all of whom we’d seen only six days earlier at the season’s previous holiday party), plus Tom Doyle, Beth Delaney, Bud Sparhawk, Kyle and Monica McAbee, Martin Wooster, Richard Waldrop, Julia Duncan, Hannah Waldrop, Brick Barrientos, and my sister-in-law Ellen Vartanoff.

I’m sure I’ve left some names out—if you’re one of them, sorry!

If you know any of the folks above, you also know that science fiction and comics made up the major part of the conversation. Among the many topics discussed were the weird comics of Fletcher Hanks, our worst convention hotel experiences (for me, it was the 1997 World Horror Convention at the Days Inn Niagara Falls), foreign editions of Tarzan comics, what degree of the credit that Stan Lee got for the early days of Marvel was undeserved, our favorite Ray Bradbury stories (I listed “The Picasso Summer,” “The Flying Machine,” and “The Toynbee Convector”), that night’s Doctor Who regeneration, our border-crossing war stories from attending international conventions, and more.

I spent so much time in intense conversation that I didn’t take many pictures. Here’s one of the few I did take (or should I say, one I had someone else take) with Monica McAbee. We’re both wearing the deeley-bobbers the Stewarts provided to add to the inarguable sci-fi nature of any 2010 holiday celebration.

And then today, Irene and I attended yet another party, this one a surprise 40th birthday party that also had a holiday feel to it. That makes four such events in the past three weeks. As much fun as they are, can we stop now? If we don’t, I’ll never get my new short story done—and we’ll never get the last of the back acreage cleared!

So next week, it will be just me, Irene, our computers, and a chainsaw, the way God intended!

I guess the organizers of the upcoming World Horror Convention (which this year incorporates the Stoker Awards ceremony) never rest, because I received an e-mail from them this morning laying out my programming for the weekend of March 25-28. And since they’re sending me con info on New Year’s Day, then I guess I’d better blog about it on New Year’s Day, too. We wouldn’t want those Brits to think the members of the U.S. horror contingent were lazy, would we?

So—if you make it to Brighton, here’s where you’ll be able to find me. (Well, officially find me, anyway, as I’m never too hard to find whether I’m on a panel or not.)

The Walking Dead vs. The Undead: Are Zombies the New Vampires?
Thursday, March 25
3:00 p.m.-4:00 p.m., Russell
Once upon a time bloodsuckers proliferated, but now the walking dead are the “hot” monsters in books and movies. Is it just a passing fad, or is the zombie revival here to stay? (I’ll be moderating this one.)

Who Cares What You Think? Do Reviews and Blogging Really Matter?
Thursday, March 25
9:00 p.m.–10:00 p.m., Russell
Now that anybody can post a personal “review” on Amazon, or have their own blog where they can pontificate about anything they want, have we lost the critical acumen when it comes to reviewing books and movies?

PS Publishing Launch Party
Friday, March 26
5:00 p.m.-6:00 p.m., Bar Rogue
Peter Crowther’s PS Publishing launches new collections by David Case and Basil Copper (both edited by Stephen Jones) and Scott Edelman, with illustrators Randy Broecker, Dave Carson, Les Edwards, Bob Eggleton and Allen Koszowski.

That’s the the cover to my collection below, with art by the incomparable Les Edwards.

Should you feel in the mood, you can preorder it here.

The Writers Groups From Hell held its annual white elephant holiday gift exchange party yesterday. I was one of the founding members of the critiquing group back in 1989, when it didn’t yet have a name, and I had to drop out when Science Fiction Age took over my life. But each year, all members, both current and past, gather together to unload unwanted, unneeded, and unnecessary gifts on each other.

Over good food and drink, I learned things about my friends I never knew before—such as Sharon Patry’s misspent youth artificially inseminating rabbits. I’d share other unsavory anecdotes, but then I’d have to mark this entry NSFW, and we don’t want to go there, do we?

Here I am with Mindy Klasky, while Fred Gooding looks on from the background.

To see who else turned up, check out my flickr set.

And to see how well (or poorly) we’re aging, here are the holiday photos from 2007.

Scott Andrew Hutchins, who seems to be the world’s number-one fan of The Scarecrow, a comic I wrote for Marvel in the mid-’70s, has sent along this ad which offered subscriptions to the book, and to other comics which were never published. (I explained the on-again off-again nature of the character’s publication history here.)

Though the title had appeared on Marvel’s internal calendar, I’d forgotten that a public solicitation had actually appeared before the horror implosion occurred and killed the series. Click on the scan below to check it out.

I wonder how many people bothered to send in the $3.50? And when the comic they wanted became a stillborn, which title they chose instead?

I don’t know what Santa gave you for Christmas, but whatever you got, I’m happier than you!

I’ve been nattering on endlessly about my collection of zombie stories due to be launched by PS Publishing at the World Horror Convention in Brighton next year, and already shared the wonderful Les Edwards illo of my zombified self.

Well, here’s what designer Robert Wexler whipped up for the jacket. (Click through several times to view at a larger size.)

This didn’t arrive gift-wrapped, but it’s the best Christmas present I could have gotten!

As for what you’ll find beneath that cover, here are the nine zombie stories included (three of which were Stoker finalists):

“What Will Come After” is original to this collection

“Live People Don’t Understand” first appeared in The Book of All Flesh, 2001

“The Man He Had Been Before” first appeared in The Mammoth Book of Monsters, 2007

“Almost the Last Story by Almost the Last Man” first appeared in PostScripts, 2007

“Goobers” first appeared in The Book of More Flesh, 2002

“Tell Me Like You Done Before” first appeared in The Dead That Walk, 2009

“A Plague on Both Your Houses” first appeared in The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, 1997

“The Human Race” first appeared in Space and Time, 2009

“The Last Supper” first appeared in The Book of Final Flesh, 2003

Why not buy yourself one as a Christmas present today?

Since Christmas is only one day in the future, here’s a glimpse of me during a Christmas past. Back in 1983, when I still lived in New York, I had a day job working near Grand Central for Carlton Importing, the company that imported St. Pauli Girl and other beers. For their annual Christmas party, they had me dress up as Santa, and had another employee, Ruthie O’Connor, wear one of the St. Pauli Girl outfits we kept around the office that we shipped when bars hosted St. Pauli Girl nights.

Here we are before the party that long-ago December. I have no idea whatever became of Ruthie, and since it’s such a common name, I doubt I’ll ever find out.

But the fact that I was large and had a beard (though not a fluffy white one) wasn’t the only reason they shelled out for a high-end Santa suit. (I seem to recall the outfit costing several hundred dollars to rent for the day even then.) I was also expected to provide some entertainment. (more…)

I’ve been so busy digging out from under work since my return from Florida for the unveiling of my father’s grave marker that I haven’t had time to consistently post here, just micro posts over on twitter. So here’s a tiny appetizer as I rev up to regular posting again.

Remember the cover I shared with you from the June 1973 issue of the fanzine The Comic Reader? Well, it turns out that there’s fun stuff on the inside as well!

Let’s step into the time machine and read some of Paul Levitz’s editorial from that ancient publication. Anyone worried that Paul will be pulling back from his fine work on The Comic Reader due to an increasing workload at DC Comics needn’t fear—he has “no desire to make a career for myself in this industry.”

Wow! Just imagine how much further Paul might have gone had he wanted a career in the comics industry!

I can remember three dreams from last night/ this morning, all of them having some connection to my family. Which makes sense, considering I spent the weekend in Florida due to the unveiling of my father’s grave marker.

In the first dream, I was driving along in my Jeep at high speed, trying to keep up with a pterodactyl that was flying alongside me. For some reason, I was attempting to place a colander on its head like a hat. I kept almost getting it, but after multiple tries, the thing grabbed it in its mouth and dropped it to the ground. The whole time this was going on, my mother was continually telling me I was doing it wrong.

In the second dream, I was in some sort of Biggest Loser-like reality show, which now that I’m awake I can’t really understand, since in real life I’m in no shape to be eligible for such show. But in the dream it made sense. I noticed one of the other contestants carrying a wad of cash, and I realized she was taking bets from the other participants as to which of us would be tossed off the show that week. I called her on it, said she shouldn’t be doing it, that she should be thrown off the show, that I was going public with the info. As a result, I was visited by the guy in charge of the show, who in the dream was being played by a rather menacing … Harvey Keitel. He wanted to know why I’d want to make trouble for his show, and I explained why I was so offended, which included me telling him that perhaps I was sensitized to the issue because of having grown up with my grandfather the bookie (about whom many stories were told during my real life post-cemetery weekend). I woke while making my case, so the dream never arrived at any conclusion.

In the final dream before waking, I had been asked for some reason to appear in a play at a school for young kids. I was to perform as the Hunter in “Little Red Riding Hood.” The Wolf was going to be played by Robert DeNiro. The dream mostly took place in my home as I was choosing what clothes to wear for the performance. My mom asked me where the play was going to be performed, and I began to tell her, but when I realized she wanted to sneak into the school without an invitation, I stopped in middle of reciting the address.

It seems that though I’m home in West Virginia, my subconscious is still back in Florida.