Perhaps this is a completely inappropriate entry, but I couldn’t help but think that the recent tragedy at Wal-Mart could have been avoided if only those holiday shoppers at the Green Acres Mall had paid attention to those one-page public service ads which used to run “in cooperation with the National Social Welfare Assembly” in the pages of DC Comics.

Those ads were hokey, but I loved them anyway. Here’s a panel from “How Are Your Shopping Manners?” which could have changed the tenor of the day had it only been digested by them decades ago when they were impressionable youths.

You can check out the complete ad here, smurched from Booksteve’s Library.

I’m fairly certain that this was penciled by Carmine Infantino, and less certain that it was inked by Joe Giella … but I’m sure that one of you will show up eventually with the actual credits.

I guess I should apologize now …

In my final dream of the morning, I’m at a minor league baseball stadium with Paul Di Filippo. We’re not paying much attention to the game itself as we sit in the bleachers, though, entertaining ourselves more by eating stadium food and drinking our bottled water than we are with what’s happening on the field. In fact, as I get up to head over to a nearby snack bar to restock us, I never even notice that a foul ball is heading our way. It bounces once against an empty seat and lands right in my hand, surprising me. The crowd reminds me to hold it high over my head to claim it. As I do, I can hear a small boy cry out, “That was supposed to be my ball!”

I walk down to the bottom of the bleachers, and the player who had hit the ball comes over to autograph it. I look at the ball as I hand it over, and it’s nothing like an official baseball. (I know this because in real life I once caught one and had it signed by Cal Ripken, Jr.) Instead, it seems solid rubber, is green, and has already been signed by others many times before.

As the player, who turns out to be nicknamed Sparky, signs the ball, we joke, but he tells me to keep it clean since we’re being picked up by live television. While we banter, I’m thinking that perhaps I might turn the ball over to the child who’d bawled about wanting it, but then the player asks my name, and autographs the souvenir to me directly, which kills that idea. (more…)

We spent Thanksgiving over in Maryland yesterday at the home of my 94-year-old mother-in-law. And a fine time (naturally!) was had by all.

We made sure to do all the cooking this year so that she wouldn’t have to do anything more than eat and rest—she’s pulled together more than enough Thanksgiving feasts in her lifetime!

One thing we did while there was to gather together her stamp collection so that we could help her evaluate it. Back in the ’20s, ’30s, and ’40s, Margaret had been an avid collector of first day covers, but it’s been many decades since she’s had the time to devote her attention to it. So we’re trying to understand her collection and figure out what she actually has.

As with any sort of collecting, many of these items can be appreciated only by the cognoscenti, such as with envelopes which mark the first day of air-mail delivery to certain small towns in Canada. But there are some items in the collection which can be enjoyed even by a general audience.

Take the first one that caught my eye, which commemorates a visit by the 11th Bombardment Squadron to Midland, Texas on May 12, 1931. Ordinarily, such an obscure military event wouldn’t excite me, but look more closely at the top-hatted, cigar-smoking character in the circle above. You might recognize him. That’s the character of Jiggs from the comic strip Bringing Up Father (also known as Maggie and Jiggs) with a bomb tucked under one arm. It turns out that the squadron insignia was designed by cartoonist George McManus, who in addition to creating that strip, was also a member of the unit. (more…)

In last night’s dream, Irene and I are at a science-fiction convention walking through the halls of a hotel, heading toward a ballroom at which a cocktail party is being held. As we near the room, we bump into David Hartwell, and continue along with him, chatting. Once in the vast, high-ceilinged, and crowded room, we grab drinks, split up, and proceed to mingle and schmooze. As I stand there, drink in hand, surveying the crowd, I realize that I don’t know what day it is. Is the Hugo Awards ceremony still to come, or have I missed it?

I spot David again, this time standing by a small table with Marty Greenberg. I go over to ask them, because if the Hugos are that night, I need to head back to my hotel room and change into a suit. But before we can talk, we’re suddenly no longer at a World Science Fiction Convention …

… but instead in the cul-de-sac of Woodview Drive, the street on which I used to live over in Maryland from 1989 until 2004. I’m standing in front of my old house with Irene and Marty and David, but also with Lois Gresh, and they all have luggage, as if they plan on staying with me for awhile. There’s a problem, however, I tell them—I don’t live there anymore. We need to head over the West Virginia, where I’m living now.

So I get into my Jeep and drive down the street. I don’t get more than a quarter of a mile before I realize that my guests are not in the Jeep with me, they’re instead walking alongside it. I decide that this is silly, that we won’t get very far that way, and so stop, get out, and tell them to get in. But once I do, the vehicle is no longer something large enough to carry us all, but rather a motorized golf car, open to the air on all sides. Perhaps four people could fit inside, but not a fifth, and certainly not the luggage as well. (more…)

With no apologies to Mark Englblom, and him’s horrible, unfun Comic Coverage site, me pass along the awful “Unhappy Bizarro Thanksgiving!” wishes which him first served up last year.

Me could not have said it worser me self!

(more…)

Roy Robbins informs me that artist Dominic Harman will be providing the cover and interior illustrations for the Bad Moon Books release of my novella The Hunger of Empty Vessels, which will appear during the first quarter of 2009. I’m happy to see Dominic attached to this project, because I loved the work he did for me back when I was editing Science Fiction Age. Finally, this time, he’ll be decorating my words.

The Hunger of Empty Vessels will appear in a limited numbered paperback print run of 150 copies and a limited lettered hardcover print run of 26 copies. Purchasers of the lettered hardcover will also get a copy of “Here Choose I,” an additional original story exclusive to that edition.

I’ll share further details here are they’re announced. Meanwhile, start saving up that spare change!

Since I’d mentioned earlier today that a short story of mine which had originally been published in Space and Time had been adapted into an episode of Tales From the Darkside, I figured I’d share it with you, even though it had been extremely loosely adapted and was painful for me to watch.

As I’ve written elsewhere, the original short story told the tale of a man for whom gravity did not work. It had what I felt was a bittersweet ending, sort of like the one in the “Time Enough at Last” episode of The Twilight Zone. (You know, the one in which Burgess Meredith starred as the guy who broke his glasses.) But by the time the script rewrites were done, the TV episode was awash in buckets of blood.

Seeing my name on the screen was fun. Seeing what came after … not so much. But since you couldn’t possibly be as close to the source material as I was, the disparity might not bother you. (more…)

Back on October 25 at The Washington Post, the paper’s Style Invitational department put out a call for comically badly written endings to novels, in an inversion of the annual Bulwer Lytton contest.

And now they’ve announced the winners.

Here’s the ending that was judged to be the worst:

As the wail of the nearing sirens shook him awake, Todd rose from the charred remains of Rensfield Manor, wiped the ectoplasm from his brow and, stuffing the Amulet of Valtor inside his shirt, gazed ruefully at the venom-encrusted Sword of Darjan, realizing that this long night wasn’t over yet, because he still had a heck of a lot of explaining to do.

But I much preferred this one of the three runners up:

Oh, and by the way, Chapters 3, 8, 10 and part of 16 were all dreams, in case you hadn’t caught on.

My short story “The Human Race” was just accepted by Space and Time magazine. It’s due to be published sometime in 2009.

My only other publications in the pages of S&T were back during the Paleozoic era in the magazine’s Winter 1982 and Winter 1983 issues.

Here’s a bit of trivia you may not know:

The most recent of those two stories, “Floater,” was adapted into an episode of Tales From the Darkside with the title “Fear of Floating.”

It was extremely loosely adapted, and I winced quite a bit while first watching it when it aired at the time. But still … it was adapted.

That makes sale number four for 2008—and the year isn’t over yet!

Check out Bookride for a list of rock band names smurched from literature.

Fiction of the fantastic is well-represented, with names inspired by Philip K. Dick, Iain Banks, Michael Moorcock, Clark Ashton Smith, John Wyndham, and many others.