Comic-book writer Jim Ottaviani, creator of science-related comics such as Two-Fisted Science: Stories About Scientists, posted this flow chart yesterday to shed some light on his working methods.

I’m out of the comic-book loop for the most part these days, so I’ve got to sheepishly admit that until discovering his post, I’d never heard of Ottaviani. But since I’m a major fan of Richard Feynman—I long ago took up the title of Feynman’s autobiography What Do You Care What Other People Think? as a mantra—I’ll have to keep an eye out for Ottaviani’s upcoming graphic novel about the physicist.

It seems to me, though, that the road map laid out in these squiggles, arrows, and boxes speaks to the journey of non-comics writers as well, and so I decided that it was worth sharing here.

The only thing missing from the chart seems to be the part where we spend time blogging about what we should have been doing instead of actually doing it!

John Joseph Adams has just posted the complete table of contents for his upcoming zombie anthology The Living Dead, of which my Stoker-nominated tale “Almost the Last Story by Almost the Last Man” will be a part.

I won’t repost the entire TOC here, but I do want to point out how proud I am to be collected between the covers with such strong stories as Doug Winter’s “Less than Zombie,” Dan Simmons’ “This Year’s Class Picture,” and Adam-Troy Castro’s “Dead Like Me.” Just reading those titles brings back powerful memories from when I experienced each of them for the first time. If you haven’t read them yet, it will certainly be worth picking up the book for that trio alone. But since the book will feature 34 stories and more than 230,000 words, you won’t want to stop there.

The Living Dead won’t be out until September, but since it’s already listed on the Night Shades Books Web site, why not order it now?

With George Clooney’s film Leatherheads opening this weekend, taking us back to football of the 1920s, it seems like a good time to return to the time machine here as well.

As I’ve shared before, I love digging through century-old magazines, and one of my favorite essays from that period is this one by Elbert Hubbard, which was printed in the March 1903 issue of The Cosmopolitan, a magazine we’ve visited here before.

If you attack football in this country today, you might as well be attacking Mom and apple pie, but things were obviously different 105 years ago, as reflected in “A Gladiatorial Renaissance,” which was published in the magazine’s “Men, Women and Events” section.

Check out the excerpt below to learn just how many men were killed playing football in 1902, and how many driven mad. (more…)

While in Utah a week ago, I stole a few hours from the World Horror Convention to ride the light rail system so that I could at least pretend that I’d seen some of Salt Lake City. (Often, all I ever see of a city while attending these conventions is the airport, the interior of the hotel, and the view from the cab while shuttling between the two.) So I rode the University Line and saw the recently refurbished state capitol, the interior of the Mormon Tabernacle, and many other local sites.

I also jumped off to visit the main branch of the public library, but what I found more interesting than the architecturally intriguing library building was this book-themed public sculpture across the street and between the tracks at the Library Station.

Above are the metal stacks of books, which were covered in light snow that day. Some of those stacks were were short enough that you could sit on them while waiting for the next train. (more…)

My first original short story of 2008, “Petrified,” was published last weekend in Desolate Souls, the souvenir program book for this year’s World Horror Convention.

Since the convention took place in Utah, the editors were looking for desert-themed horror stories, so I set mine in Petrified Forest National Park. The book includes a mix of original and reprint stories, with a list of contributors that includes F. Paul Wilson, Orson Scott Card, Dennis Etchison, Yvonne Navarro, Linda Addison, and others.

As I was flying home from Salt Lake City, however, I discovered that due to a publishing glitch, the story didn’t appear entirely as I’d intended it. Because of that, I’d rather “Petrified” not be judged by how it appeared in Desolate Souls.

So if there’s anyone out there who would like to receive a PDF of the story as it was meant to appear, please e-mail me and I’ll send one along.

Unless there’s a shake-up to my publishing schedule, my next story to come out will be “A Very Private Tour of a Very Public Museum” in the Worldcon 2008 Special Issue of Postscripts magazine.

I’ve always been fascinated by the philosophical concept of mono no aware, which, though literally translated as “a sensitivity to things,” I’ve always interpeted personally (and perhaps wrongly) to mean the idea that things are beautiful not just in spite of the fact that they are ephemeral, but because of it. That one of the qualities that makes the things we love beautiful is because they are dying and only here for a moment.

I was reminded of this while reading an article in the New York Times titled “Japanese Poetry Persists in Korea, Despite Disapproval,” which is about older Koreans who are scorned in their home country because they have a passion for writing haiku.

Japanese poet Reiko Yamaguchi is quoted as she explains one of the reasons for this disdain:

“Japanese and Koreans have different ways of perceiving nature,” she said. “Japanese tend to find maximum beauty when they see cherry flowers falling. Koreans’ hearts exult when the flowers are in full bloom.”

Something to think about when considering literary translation. Some things, while they are capable of being translated literally, might still not be able to be made to speak to everyone.

This might also explain one the the reasons I found Japan to connect with me so deeply during my visit last summer, and why I ache to return. I’ve always found the fact that things fade to be one of the reasons for their beauty, and rather than mourning, instead feel an aching poignancy.

I guess I must be Japanese.

Just to torture Paul Riddell, who has been bemoaning his fallow Spring, here’s a photo I snapped of some of our daffodils yesterday afternoon, when we had 846 blooms scattered about the acreage. (And yes, I counted them!)

Those of you who are interested can check here for further daffodil images.

While looking through the March 1977 issue of Omega the Unknown yesterday in order to write about Jim Mooney, I came upon this blurb in the Bullpen Bulletins page that issue. It would have run in all Marvel Comics published that month, which meant you would have been reading this in December 1976 or January 1977, depending on the lead time off the cover date back then.

(And depending on whether you were born yet, as well. And if you’d been born, whether you were old enough to read. Yes, I’ve been married a long time.)

Considering the fact that I was the one who wrote the Bullpen Bulletins pages at the time (well, except for the Stan’s Soapbox section), I guess there was no way that announcement wouldn’t have been there!

And I also guess that considering Irene’s recent behavior (as I reported earlier), there’s no arguing with the fact that I seem to have made the right choice over 31 years ago!

Prolific comic-book artist Jim Mooney, who as far as I and many other people are concerned was the greatest Supergirl artist who ever lived, passed away on Sunday.

He and I only worked together once, in 1976. We only met face to face once, in 2006. And strangely, without realizing he had passed, I was talking about him on the day of his death.

The panel above, from the March 1977 of Omega the Unknown, in which the character Gramps grieves for Mamie while Omega watches, captures a little bit of my mood today. (more…)

A few years ago, the publisher Alfred A. Knopf started a program to celebrate Poetry month—this month—by e-mailing a poem a day to those of us who signed up for the service. I always forget all about it until the next April 1 rolls around, at which time I start receiving the first of 31 daily poems.

Today’s e-mail contained the title poem from Mary Jo Salter’s A Phone Call to the Future: New & Selected Poems, which seemed relevant to those of you who wander here. I won’t reprint the entire poem, but if the opening section below intrigues you, you can listen to it read by the author in its entirely here.

Here’s how it begins: (more…)