Among my dreams last night were two which related to writing and publishing, one set in the world of science fiction and horror, the other in comics.

In the first, at about 3:00 a.m., I was at a convention in a packed room. I was sitting next to my old pal Gene O’Neill in an audience of several hundred. We were there because he was about to give a talk and reading, and I was supposed to introduce him. We each held manuscripts in our hands. As I was being called to the podium to say a few words to lead into his presentation, Gene slipped me a page containing a description of his latest novel, which I assume had to be this one, though in the dream it remained unidentified. I waved him off, telling him that if I used his words instead of my own, people would sense me parroting him, and never believe all the good things I was about to say about it. I woke before the talk began, but with the mood happy and us both enjoying ourselves.

I assume that this dream came about because of that new book, Lost Tribe, showing up in the mail last week, but also because we were both on HWA’s preliminary Stoker ballot, and the final ballot should be announced any moment—in fact, I was expecting to hear yea or nay over the weekend—so it’s very much on my mind. My fingers are crossed that we get to see each other in June as nominees. (more…)

Back around 1978-1980, if my memory for dates is functioning properly, I did some acting as part of a local community theater group in Brooklyn, the Greenpoint Repertory Company. Over the course of about two years, when life seemed to hold more spare time, I played Mookie Maguggins in “Dirty Works at the Crossroads,” Boris Kolenkhov in “You Can’t Take It With You,” Lennie Small in “Of Mice and Men,” and the Creature in “Frankenstein.”

Of these performances, very little evidence survives, which, after all, is one of the beautiful and poignant things about theater. You had to be there. I only have a couple of photographs from any of those productions, since it was a pre-digital time. But thanks to my brother, Lee, who was attending film school in 1979, something more remains of “Frankenstein.”

Whether for homework or just for the heck of it, he made a Super 8 film which captures a few snippets of performance, plus a sped-up sequence as I applied my make-up. Lee just found that film and transferred it to DVD, and watching it took me way back. (Thanks, Lee!) So now I’m inflicting it on you. (more…)

I woke in the middle of the night from a dream that started out science fictional and turned personal. The dream’s ending seemed so tense to me that for a while, as I lay there in the dark, I thought I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Thankfully, I eventually did.

It started out innocently enough. I was in a store buying some books. They were all anthologies, perhaps because of the string of them I’ve been reading in real life. (I’m in the middle of the Ellen Datlow-edited Poe right now). That morphed into me autographing a copy of one of the DAW anthologies in which my stories have appeared for a customer who’d recognized me. I’m not sure which title it was.

The next thing I know I was instead in a condo with the person whose book I was signing, and the electricity went out. It was so dark that I could barely see. I kept flicking light switches, but nothing would happen. Eventually, the sun came up—I could see it rise over an uninterrupted horizon out the front window—and illuminated the room. I was alone now, and the only sound was distant music. I went in search of the source of that music, which seemed to me to be coming from a radio in a back room.

I wandered the halls, opening closed doors, and eventually found a man tied up in one of the bedrooms. The radio volume was turned high so that no one could hear him calling for help. I stared at him for a moment before realizing that he was my maternal grandfather, Nathan Goldstein, looking younger than I’d ever known him.

I was in the past, which, since this was a dream, I did not question.

“What are you waiting for,” he said, not recognizing me for his future grandchild. “Untie me!”

My grandfather, who in this waking world died twenty years ago in his late 80s, was a bookie and an alcoholic. He hung around with unsavory characters. He could be tremendously charming, the life of the party. But let him take that first drink and things went downhill fast. So when you were with him, you never knew which Nathan Goldstein you were going to get, which meant you were always on edge.

As soon as I untied him, he rushed from the room, telling me to wait there while he dealt with those who had done this to him. Once he was gone, however, all I could think was … there’s no way that becoming part of his life will turn out well, not even if he now considers me his rescuer.

So I left the condo and went out into the street to get way from that entanglement, while wondering, based on his apparent age, what year it was. The ’50s? The ’40s? As I tried to think whether any of my knowledge of the past would help me escape from him and make my way in that time, I woke. I was tense from the encounter, and didn’t think I could get back to sleep … but by forcing myself to think of other things, I was able to clear him from my mind, and eventually did.

This was too, too sad …

I could almost weep.

Over at the Horror Drive-In, reviewer Mark Sieber writes:

“The first thing I want to point out is how well written The Hunger of Empty Vessels is. The language is rich and each sentence is a beautiful construction. Clearly Scott Edelman is a solid professional.”

Though the horror turned out to be a little too vague for him, he still went on to write that “I urge readers to give The Hunger of Empty Vessels a chance.” What more can I ask for?

Meanwhile, Don D’Ammassa calls The Hunger of Empty Vessels “another nice chapbook from Bad Moon” and deems my tale to be “nicely done.”

If you’d like to discover the reason for these kind words, copies are still available over at the Bad Moon Books site.

Yesterday’s Washington Post included the following correction on page 2:

The Second Reading column in the March 6 Style section mistakenly said writer James Salter is dead.

I hope that I will be around to see the same sort of thing written about me someday!

A review by John Seavey over at fraggmented takes a look at the Scarecrow stories I wrote for Marvel Comics more than three decades ago and finds them wanting.

Luckily, Seavey is so hilarious in his description of the plot that I couldn’t help but laugh.

Besides—when I wrote those comics, I was just a tadpole. He’s probably right about everything!

Here’s my favorite part of his review:

And finally we get “The Scarecrow.” No, no, not that Scarecrow. No, not that Scarecrow either. This is an entirely different Scarecrow, who is … um … he lives in a painting, and there’s this cult that hates him, or maybe he hates them, and he’s getting revenge on them for, um … something, but they want the painting, and there’s a demon, and this guy keeps vanishing, and he’s got the power to … do stuff, I guess, and … it’s all actually more than a little confusing.

There’s more, which you can find here.

Whether he loved them or hated them is almost beside the point. The fact that anyone is still bothering to think about these at all so many years later is flattering enough!

I have been deemed “deep, disturbing, and emotionally draining.”

Well … not me personally. Rather, it’s my about-to-be-published novella The Hunger of Empty Vessels which has been judged so, in its first review.

The reviewer also states that “Edelman really knows how to pack a knockout into a literary jab.”

If you’d like to find out why, The Hunger of Empty Vessels is available for sale over at the Bad Moon Books site.

Do you remember where you were over the 1972 Memorial Day weekend? I do!

I spent every hour I could at Manhattan’s McAlpin Hotel attending the 1972 EC Fan Addict convention. I paid my $7.50 entry fee and got to hang out with the madmen (and one crazy lady) behind one of the most amazing comic-book companies ever.

And I have the button to prove it!

Those of you who couldn’t make it to New York back then are able to catch up with a report in the pages of the September 1972 issue of Graphic Story World magazine, one of the high-end fanzines of the day. (And if that cover boy below puts you in mind of Watchmen‘s Nite Owl, well, that’s not him. It’s just … The Owl, a character created by Jerry De Fuccio and Mart Bailey for a potential newspaper strip in the mid-’60s.) (more…)

It’s true! Paul Levitz has left the building. Why, I read it only yesterday.

At least … it seems like yesterday …

Actually, though, he announced his retirement in the 100th issue of his fanzine, The Comic Reader. The Comic Reader started out called On the Drawing Board, which, at the time I started subscribing as soon as I read a mention of it in a DC comic, was being edited by Mark Hanerfeld. But Paul took over in October 1971, and by this issue two years later, dated August-September 1973, he was ready to call it a day.

Here’s the cover of his farewell issue:

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