Christa Faust's Blog, page 12
December 28, 2010
Postcard from the Front Lines
Sometimes, towards the end of a project, I get into this weird headspace where I can't do anything but write. I'm done for the day, I've made my word count and I just can't stand to sit at my desk for one more minute, but I have no idea what else to do with myself. I walk around, picking up books and putting them down. Staring at DVD cases but never actually watching anything. Eventually I find myself drifting inevitably back to the desk. Just to make some notes, or jot down a few random lines of dialog. I had the word "PULQUE!" written on the back of my hand when I got up this morning because I woke up in the middle of the night with this idea for a scene where my foxy Mexican huntress teaches the Winchester boys how to spit the last swig of pulque into the shape of a scorpion. I have no idea if this scene will even make it into the final version of the book or not, and it doesn't really matter. My point is just how weird this process feels sometimes, how it gets so deep under my skin.
Well, back at...
Well, back at...
December 11, 2010
Night and the City: Rough Cut
I get a lot of fan mail. People who contact me because they like my books, or my looks, or my feet. I don't have time to answer all of them, but it's a nice little pick-me-up when I'm having a shitty day. That's usually as far as it goes.
The other day I was contacted by a fan named James Hahn who works as a nitrate film curator at the academy film archive. He mentioned that one of his recent projects was the restoration of NIGHT AND THE CITY, my favorite film of all time.
We started chatting about it, about the differences between the British and the American cuts. He told me that when he was gathering the original elements, he discovered a third, even longer print that combined scenes from both the US and UK version and included a totally unique beginning and ending. He figured it was some kind of pre-release rough cut. If that was the case, it's fair to say that this mysterious print had never been screened for a public audience and had probably only been viewed by Zanuck, Dassin and maybe a couple of other execs.
Needless to say, I had to find a way to see it. I'd seen the UK version when it screened at the Film Noir Festival and I've watched the US version more times than I can count, but this was something totally new that I'd never even heard of. The first person I thought to contact was Noir City Kingpin Eddie Muller. I figured maybe I could pitch him an article for the Sentinel about this lost third version and then get access to the archive because I was writing about the film. Muller was so jazzed to hear about this lost print that he wanted to be in on the screening. Next thing I knew we were set up for a viewing. In like Flynn.
We would have to watch the film on a flatbed viewer rather than in an actual theater, but we would have Hahn right there with us to change reels and talk us through some of the differences. To be honest, that was actually way cooler for me. I'm sure that sort of thing is old hat for a guy like Muller, but this would be the first time I'd ever even seen a flatbed viewer. It's genuinely awe-inspiring, watching the actual film winding through the machine right in front of you.
I hope to go back for round 2, take copious notes and actually write that article for The Noir City Sentinel, so I won't give away every single detail and difference, but I will mention one or two key things. Just to whet your appetite.
For starters, the big difference is the unique bookend scenes that open and close the film. Instead of opening on Fabian running through the streets, the first thing you see is two dock watchmen greeting each other at the change of shift. They have a short exchange of dialog, something like "What's new, Joe?" "Nothing ever changes around here." Then at the end, we see the two watchmen again, only the night man is going off and the day man coming on. They have what amounts to the same dialog, only in reverse. The point being that everything that happened to Fabian over the course of the film amounts to nothing in the bigger scheme of things. That nothing ever changes in the big bad city. I can see what they were going for there, but cutting those scenes was clearly the right thing to do. It's so much punchier to go right to Fabian running. That's what sets the tone for the whole movie, for Fabian's whole life really. Always running.
The rest of the cut is a strange mix of scenes from both versions. For example, the scene with Nosseross and Helen where he gives her the fox stole contains both the longer conversation from the UK version and the kissing scene from the US version all in one long take.
There were also lots of scenes that were just slightly longer, with only one or two extra lines. Plus, there's a lot more of Hugh Marlowe as Gene Tierney's artist neighbor in the bad corduroy jacket. Including a bit where he shows up at the end to comfort Tierney, which I especially disliked.
The big win for me was the extended wrestling sequence between Gregorius and The Strangler. (More shirtless Mazurki? Be still my heart!)
In both the US and UK versions, I always thought it seemed a bit unrealistic that Gregorius the Great would drop dead after what amounted to a shorter than average match. But man, when you watch that extended sequence, the beating he takes from the Strangler is absolutely brutal. And what makes it even nastier is that there's no music. It's just grunting and body-blows and the slap of flesh on canvas. Again, I see why they cut it down, because it does slow the pace when you look at the big picture, but I can die happy having watched that scene in all it's uncut, ugly glory.
I'm not a hardcore film scholar or anything like that, I'm just a fan. I can't even imagine how I got so lucky, but I'm absolutely thrilled to have had a chance to see even more of my favorite film. Thanks again to James Hahn, May Haduong and everyone else at the archive who helped make this unique and unforgettable experience possible. Who says there are no happy endings in Noir City?
The other day I was contacted by a fan named James Hahn who works as a nitrate film curator at the academy film archive. He mentioned that one of his recent projects was the restoration of NIGHT AND THE CITY, my favorite film of all time.
We started chatting about it, about the differences between the British and the American cuts. He told me that when he was gathering the original elements, he discovered a third, even longer print that combined scenes from both the US and UK version and included a totally unique beginning and ending. He figured it was some kind of pre-release rough cut. If that was the case, it's fair to say that this mysterious print had never been screened for a public audience and had probably only been viewed by Zanuck, Dassin and maybe a couple of other execs.
Needless to say, I had to find a way to see it. I'd seen the UK version when it screened at the Film Noir Festival and I've watched the US version more times than I can count, but this was something totally new that I'd never even heard of. The first person I thought to contact was Noir City Kingpin Eddie Muller. I figured maybe I could pitch him an article for the Sentinel about this lost third version and then get access to the archive because I was writing about the film. Muller was so jazzed to hear about this lost print that he wanted to be in on the screening. Next thing I knew we were set up for a viewing. In like Flynn.
We would have to watch the film on a flatbed viewer rather than in an actual theater, but we would have Hahn right there with us to change reels and talk us through some of the differences. To be honest, that was actually way cooler for me. I'm sure that sort of thing is old hat for a guy like Muller, but this would be the first time I'd ever even seen a flatbed viewer. It's genuinely awe-inspiring, watching the actual film winding through the machine right in front of you.
I hope to go back for round 2, take copious notes and actually write that article for The Noir City Sentinel, so I won't give away every single detail and difference, but I will mention one or two key things. Just to whet your appetite.
For starters, the big difference is the unique bookend scenes that open and close the film. Instead of opening on Fabian running through the streets, the first thing you see is two dock watchmen greeting each other at the change of shift. They have a short exchange of dialog, something like "What's new, Joe?" "Nothing ever changes around here." Then at the end, we see the two watchmen again, only the night man is going off and the day man coming on. They have what amounts to the same dialog, only in reverse. The point being that everything that happened to Fabian over the course of the film amounts to nothing in the bigger scheme of things. That nothing ever changes in the big bad city. I can see what they were going for there, but cutting those scenes was clearly the right thing to do. It's so much punchier to go right to Fabian running. That's what sets the tone for the whole movie, for Fabian's whole life really. Always running.
The rest of the cut is a strange mix of scenes from both versions. For example, the scene with Nosseross and Helen where he gives her the fox stole contains both the longer conversation from the UK version and the kissing scene from the US version all in one long take.
There were also lots of scenes that were just slightly longer, with only one or two extra lines. Plus, there's a lot more of Hugh Marlowe as Gene Tierney's artist neighbor in the bad corduroy jacket. Including a bit where he shows up at the end to comfort Tierney, which I especially disliked.
The big win for me was the extended wrestling sequence between Gregorius and The Strangler. (More shirtless Mazurki? Be still my heart!)
In both the US and UK versions, I always thought it seemed a bit unrealistic that Gregorius the Great would drop dead after what amounted to a shorter than average match. But man, when you watch that extended sequence, the beating he takes from the Strangler is absolutely brutal. And what makes it even nastier is that there's no music. It's just grunting and body-blows and the slap of flesh on canvas. Again, I see why they cut it down, because it does slow the pace when you look at the big picture, but I can die happy having watched that scene in all it's uncut, ugly glory.
I'm not a hardcore film scholar or anything like that, I'm just a fan. I can't even imagine how I got so lucky, but I'm absolutely thrilled to have had a chance to see even more of my favorite film. Thanks again to James Hahn, May Haduong and everyone else at the archive who helped make this unique and unforgettable experience possible. Who says there are no happy endings in Noir City?
December 7, 2010
Tied In, Again
You're probably not gonna be seeing much of me on the ol' interwebs over the next two months. Here's why:
No, Sam and Dean don't team up with Hijo Del Santo or anything like that, but it's been a real blast for me to cut loose from the real world and make with the hot monster action. It's getting down to crunch-time on the deadline for this one, so I'm going into hardcore pulp machine mode. I'll see you on the other side.
No, Sam and Dean don't team up with Hijo Del Santo or anything like that, but it's been a real blast for me to cut loose from the real world and make with the hot monster action. It's getting down to crunch-time on the deadline for this one, so I'm going into hardcore pulp machine mode. I'll see you on the other side.
November 25, 2010
BitchGiving
Everyone is posting lists of things they're thankful for today. So, just to be contrary, I thought I'd take a moment on this warm, fuzzy holiday to bitch about some of the things I don't have.
1. A big girl house. I'm really REALLY sick of living in Barbie's Crackhouse.
2. Enough steady, dependable income to move out of Barbie's Crackhouse and into the above mentioned big girl house.
3. A beautifully remastered DVD release of CRASHOUT starring William Bendix. (Get on that shit, Muller!)
4. Health insurance. That'd be nice.
5. The right to marry anybody I want, regardless of their past, current or future gender identity.
6. Salt. This low-salt diet sucks.
7. This statue of The Spider. (Interchangeable heads!!!)
8. A jetpack.
Share the hate, Faustketeers! What are you pissed off because you don't have?
1. A big girl house. I'm really REALLY sick of living in Barbie's Crackhouse.
2. Enough steady, dependable income to move out of Barbie's Crackhouse and into the above mentioned big girl house.
3. A beautifully remastered DVD release of CRASHOUT starring William Bendix. (Get on that shit, Muller!)
4. Health insurance. That'd be nice.
5. The right to marry anybody I want, regardless of their past, current or future gender identity.
6. Salt. This low-salt diet sucks.
7. This statue of The Spider. (Interchangeable heads!!!)
8. A jetpack.
Share the hate, Faustketeers! What are you pissed off because you don't have?
November 24, 2010
Murder and Mayhem in Muskego, Part 2
Yes, I realize this post is outrageously delayed, but you know, deadlines and all that. Girl's gotta make a living. Anyway, here it is.
Once the library meet and greet was done, we rode the mirrored space limo back to Jordan HQ for drinks and chow. I had heard all sorts of crazy stories about the wild debauchery of MMMs past, but the evening was actually very relaxed and mellow. Butch made lots of new friends and ate way too much people food. I got to hang with Crimespree Cinema editor and fellow fightnerd Jeremy Lynch, who I love to death and don't get to see nearly enough. Speaking of the fights, I also got to meet a fightnerd of a different stripe, boxing judge Tom Schreck. And yes, I'll get to the stuffed Basset Hound. All in good time, little Miss Impatient.
The day of the actual event, I managed to get myself vertical and presentable for the 9am arrival of the space limo. I wasn't about to leave Boston Butchie alone in a strange hotel room for 8 hours, even in a dog friendly hotel like the Iron Horse, so he came to the library too. I think he had more fun than any of us.
My panel wasn't until later in the afternoon, so I was able to loaf around, explore the surrounding neighborhood, (such as it was) peruse the stacks and chat up the librarians. I was amazed to discover that there was a shower in the staff bathroom. I had no idea being a librarian was such a dirty job that they need a full body scrub-down before they go home. Or maybe when those naughty librarians take off their glasses, pull the pins out of their hair and transform into rock-video hotties, they all get into the shower together and soap up… Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Murder and Mayhem.
Okay, okay, the stuffed Bassett Hound story. Well, I'm not sure who bought the plush dog for Tom Schreck, but it was life-sized and amazingly realistic. Not only that, but Tom, being a real dog person, knew exactly how to move the thing, going through all the classic doggy body postures as he made it interact with Butch. It was love at first sight. Next thing I knew Butch was humping away on his new plush girlfriend like there was no tomorrow. Yet another tawdry convention affair to be gossiped about and regretted the next morning.
After that kind of hot plushie action, Butch clearly needed to get some air. We decided to join Konrath and the legendary Beer-Behind-the-Gas-Station Brigade for their annual and ongoing winter cavalcade of fun. And beer. Neither Butch nor I actually like beer (or freezing our asses off behind a gas station in WisFuckingConsin for that matter) but I'd heard it just wouldn't be Muskego without participation this venerable tradition. And you know what? It was actually a blast. It's never about the booze for me anyway, it's about the company.
When I got back in out of the cold, I ran into Kat Richardson carrying several square pink boxes containing gargantuan chocolate cupcakes given to her by a fan. Downside of being a hardboiled writer; none of my readers bring me cupcakes. Luckily, Kat was willing to share the wealth. I did not die from frosting overdose, and when it came time for the Noir panel to hit the stage, I was hopped up on sugar and ready for action.
I'm still not sure how I wound up being in charge of the panel. It was kinda like the scene in Apocalypse Now where Willard is walking through this nightmarish war zone asking "Who's your CO?" and the one soldier replies "Ain't you?" Well, however it happened, I did end up acting as commanding officer of our little hardboiled outfit. Nobody threw tomatoes so I guess it went okay.
But the most interesting discussion of the day took place after the panel was over, in the green room. It started with labiaplasty went swiftly downhill from there. I won't mention the Aflac duck. Oh wait, I just did. I think Jen Forbus may have been secretly videotaping this profound debate, so don't be surprised when footage pops up on YouTube. And in case you had any doubt, it will be very NSFW.
Yes there will be one more chapter to this saga. In which I become a gay sex therapist and Judy Bobalik refuses to tap out. Wait for it…
Once the library meet and greet was done, we rode the mirrored space limo back to Jordan HQ for drinks and chow. I had heard all sorts of crazy stories about the wild debauchery of MMMs past, but the evening was actually very relaxed and mellow. Butch made lots of new friends and ate way too much people food. I got to hang with Crimespree Cinema editor and fellow fightnerd Jeremy Lynch, who I love to death and don't get to see nearly enough. Speaking of the fights, I also got to meet a fightnerd of a different stripe, boxing judge Tom Schreck. And yes, I'll get to the stuffed Basset Hound. All in good time, little Miss Impatient.
The day of the actual event, I managed to get myself vertical and presentable for the 9am arrival of the space limo. I wasn't about to leave Boston Butchie alone in a strange hotel room for 8 hours, even in a dog friendly hotel like the Iron Horse, so he came to the library too. I think he had more fun than any of us.
My panel wasn't until later in the afternoon, so I was able to loaf around, explore the surrounding neighborhood, (such as it was) peruse the stacks and chat up the librarians. I was amazed to discover that there was a shower in the staff bathroom. I had no idea being a librarian was such a dirty job that they need a full body scrub-down before they go home. Or maybe when those naughty librarians take off their glasses, pull the pins out of their hair and transform into rock-video hotties, they all get into the shower together and soap up… Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Murder and Mayhem.
Okay, okay, the stuffed Bassett Hound story. Well, I'm not sure who bought the plush dog for Tom Schreck, but it was life-sized and amazingly realistic. Not only that, but Tom, being a real dog person, knew exactly how to move the thing, going through all the classic doggy body postures as he made it interact with Butch. It was love at first sight. Next thing I knew Butch was humping away on his new plush girlfriend like there was no tomorrow. Yet another tawdry convention affair to be gossiped about and regretted the next morning.
After that kind of hot plushie action, Butch clearly needed to get some air. We decided to join Konrath and the legendary Beer-Behind-the-Gas-Station Brigade for their annual and ongoing winter cavalcade of fun. And beer. Neither Butch nor I actually like beer (or freezing our asses off behind a gas station in WisFuckingConsin for that matter) but I'd heard it just wouldn't be Muskego without participation this venerable tradition. And you know what? It was actually a blast. It's never about the booze for me anyway, it's about the company.
When I got back in out of the cold, I ran into Kat Richardson carrying several square pink boxes containing gargantuan chocolate cupcakes given to her by a fan. Downside of being a hardboiled writer; none of my readers bring me cupcakes. Luckily, Kat was willing to share the wealth. I did not die from frosting overdose, and when it came time for the Noir panel to hit the stage, I was hopped up on sugar and ready for action.
I'm still not sure how I wound up being in charge of the panel. It was kinda like the scene in Apocalypse Now where Willard is walking through this nightmarish war zone asking "Who's your CO?" and the one soldier replies "Ain't you?" Well, however it happened, I did end up acting as commanding officer of our little hardboiled outfit. Nobody threw tomatoes so I guess it went okay.
But the most interesting discussion of the day took place after the panel was over, in the green room. It started with labiaplasty went swiftly downhill from there. I won't mention the Aflac duck. Oh wait, I just did. I think Jen Forbus may have been secretly videotaping this profound debate, so don't be surprised when footage pops up on YouTube. And in case you had any doubt, it will be very NSFW.
Yes there will be one more chapter to this saga. In which I become a gay sex therapist and Judy Bobalik refuses to tap out. Wait for it…
November 19, 2010
Murder and Mayhem in Muskego, Part 1
It was great to have that week of down time in NYC in between NoirCon and Muskego. Necessary, really. I read. Caught up with friends. Took my dog to the park. Recharged my batteries. By the end of the week, I was ready to dive back in to the action.
We left my old stomping grounds on Friday morning, heading for cold, cold Milwaukee. My dog Butch knows the airport routine. He's a jet-setter who's flown all over the country and charmed the pants off everyone along the way. Up until that point, we'd always had friendly, accommodating airline staff willing to bend the rules and look the other way in order to make sure Butch was comfortable on the plane. When we were delayed during a stopover on our way to NoirCon, one of the flight crew took Butch out onto the tarmac for a pitstop so he wouldn't have to hold it till Philly. I guess we've been spoiled because I was really surprised when we wound up with a bitchy anti-dog Nazi for a flight attendant on the way to Milwaukee.
As I was boarding the plane, I had the top of Butch's carrier unzipped so he could look out. Yes, I realize that's against the rules, but are his little ears really gonna cause some kind of apocalyptic safety hazard? Anyway, this bitch sees his head poking out and says, "That pet carrier needs to be zipped up while you're on this aircraft." There's a big line of people behind me waiting to get on, so I tell Miss Texas 1981 that I'll zip him up when I get to my seat. She tells me, "Ma'am, you need to zip that carrier up right now!"
Needless to say, he only stayed zipped up and under the seat as long as that bitch was looking. Nobody shoves Noirdog under the seat! And, gee, what do you know, the plane didn't crash. Nobody died from allergies, or even noticed he was there. Because, unlike most people's obnoxious, shrieking, e-coli contaminated toddlers, Butch is clean, quiet and well trained.
My lovely con-wife Judy Bobalik was there to pick us up at the Milwaukee airport and take us to the Iron Horse Hotel. Man, is this place great! Cool, quirky, and dog-friendly. I've always had a thing for old, industrial buildings, and if it wasn't so fucking cold (shut up, you Eskimo Midwesterners, it was too!) I would have really loved to spend more time exploring the neighborhood. It was my first time in Milwaukee, really my first time anywhere in the Midwest other than Chicago, and I still don't really feel like I got to know the city at all. Just the one block stretch between the hotel and the Jordan's apartment.
Butch had his first doggy nose-to-nose encounter of the weekend, with Anthony Neil Smith's Frenchie mix Herman. It did NOT go well. Butch doesn't take kindly to hyper young whippersnappers who want to bounce all over him. It got growly pretty quick and I had to put the kibosh on any further interaction. The next day, Butch met another dog that was more to his liking, but we'll get to that in the next post.
That evening's plans involved a meet and greet at the library, followed by dinner and drinks at the Jordans. When the time came to head over to the library, an enormous, astoundingly gaudy bachelor party limo showed up to take us there. Not quite as awesome as the legendary Chicken Limo from Indianapolis, but still pretty pimpin'. The only two things missing were a hot tub and a stripper pole. Given the low ceiling, it would have to be a very short pole. Which led to dueling smartphones as Kat Richardson and Victor Gicshler furiously googled contact info for midget strippers in the Milwaukee area. Kat won. Much to my dismay, I couldn't get anyone to chip in with me and actually book Cupcake for the evening. Maybe next year…
We left my old stomping grounds on Friday morning, heading for cold, cold Milwaukee. My dog Butch knows the airport routine. He's a jet-setter who's flown all over the country and charmed the pants off everyone along the way. Up until that point, we'd always had friendly, accommodating airline staff willing to bend the rules and look the other way in order to make sure Butch was comfortable on the plane. When we were delayed during a stopover on our way to NoirCon, one of the flight crew took Butch out onto the tarmac for a pitstop so he wouldn't have to hold it till Philly. I guess we've been spoiled because I was really surprised when we wound up with a bitchy anti-dog Nazi for a flight attendant on the way to Milwaukee.
As I was boarding the plane, I had the top of Butch's carrier unzipped so he could look out. Yes, I realize that's against the rules, but are his little ears really gonna cause some kind of apocalyptic safety hazard? Anyway, this bitch sees his head poking out and says, "That pet carrier needs to be zipped up while you're on this aircraft." There's a big line of people behind me waiting to get on, so I tell Miss Texas 1981 that I'll zip him up when I get to my seat. She tells me, "Ma'am, you need to zip that carrier up right now!"
Needless to say, he only stayed zipped up and under the seat as long as that bitch was looking. Nobody shoves Noirdog under the seat! And, gee, what do you know, the plane didn't crash. Nobody died from allergies, or even noticed he was there. Because, unlike most people's obnoxious, shrieking, e-coli contaminated toddlers, Butch is clean, quiet and well trained.
My lovely con-wife Judy Bobalik was there to pick us up at the Milwaukee airport and take us to the Iron Horse Hotel. Man, is this place great! Cool, quirky, and dog-friendly. I've always had a thing for old, industrial buildings, and if it wasn't so fucking cold (shut up, you Eskimo Midwesterners, it was too!) I would have really loved to spend more time exploring the neighborhood. It was my first time in Milwaukee, really my first time anywhere in the Midwest other than Chicago, and I still don't really feel like I got to know the city at all. Just the one block stretch between the hotel and the Jordan's apartment.
Butch had his first doggy nose-to-nose encounter of the weekend, with Anthony Neil Smith's Frenchie mix Herman. It did NOT go well. Butch doesn't take kindly to hyper young whippersnappers who want to bounce all over him. It got growly pretty quick and I had to put the kibosh on any further interaction. The next day, Butch met another dog that was more to his liking, but we'll get to that in the next post.
That evening's plans involved a meet and greet at the library, followed by dinner and drinks at the Jordans. When the time came to head over to the library, an enormous, astoundingly gaudy bachelor party limo showed up to take us there. Not quite as awesome as the legendary Chicken Limo from Indianapolis, but still pretty pimpin'. The only two things missing were a hot tub and a stripper pole. Given the low ceiling, it would have to be a very short pole. Which led to dueling smartphones as Kat Richardson and Victor Gicshler furiously googled contact info for midget strippers in the Milwaukee area. Kat won. Much to my dismay, I couldn't get anyone to chip in with me and actually book Cupcake for the evening. Maybe next year…
November 16, 2010
Social Networking Question For the Hivemind
I've seen a lot of grousing about people "linking" twitter to facebook. Presumably meaning that every single tweet, including @ replies are popping up verbatim on facebook. I can see why that would be annoying, because no one on twitter actually reads every single one of your tweets. They just read the relevant ones that pop up in their own stream as a natural part of the ongoing dialog.
Now maybe this makes me a social networking Ms. Bungle, but I don't create separate, unique posts for twitter and facebook. If I did, I'd never have time to write any books to promote. Plus, I don't want people who are only on facebook to miss out on the good stuff from twitter and vice versa. (Because, you know, all my tweets are fucking brilliant.) Occasionally, I'll word things differently, because I have more room to spread out on facebook, but it's still basically the same point. When I'm on the road, I find twitter so much easier to deal with on my phone that I mostly just post there. Which is probably stupid, because I have so many more people reading my posts on facebook. But, then again, if I were a social networking genius I'd be doing that for a living instead of writing books.
Also, as a reader/fan, I prefer to read posts by the authors I follow on twitter. Those same authors are also my "friends" on facebook, but I don't read or comment on their posts nearly as often over there.
So here's my question. Authors, do you compose two totally separate sets of posts for twitter and facebook or do you share the same posts on both networks? Readers, do you get annoyed or feel cheated if authors use the same posts on both networks? Or are you primarily reading just one or the other?
Now maybe this makes me a social networking Ms. Bungle, but I don't create separate, unique posts for twitter and facebook. If I did, I'd never have time to write any books to promote. Plus, I don't want people who are only on facebook to miss out on the good stuff from twitter and vice versa. (Because, you know, all my tweets are fucking brilliant.) Occasionally, I'll word things differently, because I have more room to spread out on facebook, but it's still basically the same point. When I'm on the road, I find twitter so much easier to deal with on my phone that I mostly just post there. Which is probably stupid, because I have so many more people reading my posts on facebook. But, then again, if I were a social networking genius I'd be doing that for a living instead of writing books.
Also, as a reader/fan, I prefer to read posts by the authors I follow on twitter. Those same authors are also my "friends" on facebook, but I don't read or comment on their posts nearly as often over there.
So here's my question. Authors, do you compose two totally separate sets of posts for twitter and facebook or do you share the same posts on both networks? Readers, do you get annoyed or feel cheated if authors use the same posts on both networks? Or are you primarily reading just one or the other?
November 10, 2010
NoirCon Report: Part 2
The real action at any con is in the bar and NoirCon was no exception. Smuggling Butch into the Doubletree Hotel bar turned out to be way easier than I thought. I zipped him up inside his Sherpa carry bag to sneak him past the front desk and when I let him out, he just sat quietly at my feet the whole time.
In addition to all the usual passionate debate, complex and endlessly evolving in-jokes and non-stop double entendres, I was also asked for a most unusual autograph. I signed a baseball bat for Steve Weddle. Me and pretty much every other author in the building. A strange but ultimately pretty damn cool idea. I'll be posting photos of that when I get back to LA.
Meanwhile, back at my hotel, another convention was in full swing. Something to do with "Scientific Instrumentation." Let me just say, those science nerds put us crime writers to shame with their wild, drunken debauchery.
On Saturday, I let myself sleep in a bit and then cruised over to the theater to catch the later panels. Butch and I had sashimi with Vicki Hendricks and checked out the local comic shop around the corner. I picked up that hardcover edition of the graphic novel adaptation of Stark's The Hunter I've been coveting and chatted with the guy behind the counter about NoirCon. Hey Swierczy, how about moderating a panel on noir comics/graphic novels at the next NoirCon? Maybe coordinate with that shop to set up a small table selling the books by the authors/artist on the panel? Just a thought...
We had our big Damn Near Dead 2 panel that afternoon, which I was simultaniously dreading and looking forward to. I just wasn't sure how it was gonna feel, getting up there and pimping that book without the man whose passion made it possible.
In the end, the panel wasn't maudlin or depressing at all. Everyone in the room shared great stories about our late publisher and friend David Thompson. There were more laughs than tears. Unfortunately, things got all balled up at the head office and we didn't have any books to sign. Somehow the books we should have had got shipped to Otto in New York instead. But in the end, strings were pulled and the guys at Farley's Bookstore offered free shipping to anyone who ordered the book at NoirCon. Plus they also arranged for an emergency shipment of DND2 posters, which we all signed and which would also be included with each order. Way to go, guys. Thanks for your quick thinking and grace under pressure.
After the last panel of the day, I walked back to the Doubletree with Richard Edwards and Mike White. I was thrilled to finally catch up with Edwards, since I hadn't seen him for ages. I'd never actually met Mike White in the real world, but we hit it off right away. The three of us enjoyed some of the most profoundly, unapologetically geeky debate of the weekend. Those scientific instrumentation guys got nothing on us. The only thing missing was Shannon Clute.
I had to leave Philly very early on Sunday morning. See, like the Doubletree, Amtrak hates dogs. Butch and I got lucky and were able to hitch a ride up to NYC with Reed and his wife, but they needed to hit the road first thing in the morning in order to make an afternoon signing. It was a beautiful drive, in great company, but I'm real sorry I missed that Fantomas panel.
So that was NoirCon 2010. Thanks to Lou Boxer and Deen Kogan for pulling off another great event and for giving us writers an excuse to hang around and talk noir.
In addition to all the usual passionate debate, complex and endlessly evolving in-jokes and non-stop double entendres, I was also asked for a most unusual autograph. I signed a baseball bat for Steve Weddle. Me and pretty much every other author in the building. A strange but ultimately pretty damn cool idea. I'll be posting photos of that when I get back to LA.
Meanwhile, back at my hotel, another convention was in full swing. Something to do with "Scientific Instrumentation." Let me just say, those science nerds put us crime writers to shame with their wild, drunken debauchery.
On Saturday, I let myself sleep in a bit and then cruised over to the theater to catch the later panels. Butch and I had sashimi with Vicki Hendricks and checked out the local comic shop around the corner. I picked up that hardcover edition of the graphic novel adaptation of Stark's The Hunter I've been coveting and chatted with the guy behind the counter about NoirCon. Hey Swierczy, how about moderating a panel on noir comics/graphic novels at the next NoirCon? Maybe coordinate with that shop to set up a small table selling the books by the authors/artist on the panel? Just a thought...
We had our big Damn Near Dead 2 panel that afternoon, which I was simultaniously dreading and looking forward to. I just wasn't sure how it was gonna feel, getting up there and pimping that book without the man whose passion made it possible.
In the end, the panel wasn't maudlin or depressing at all. Everyone in the room shared great stories about our late publisher and friend David Thompson. There were more laughs than tears. Unfortunately, things got all balled up at the head office and we didn't have any books to sign. Somehow the books we should have had got shipped to Otto in New York instead. But in the end, strings were pulled and the guys at Farley's Bookstore offered free shipping to anyone who ordered the book at NoirCon. Plus they also arranged for an emergency shipment of DND2 posters, which we all signed and which would also be included with each order. Way to go, guys. Thanks for your quick thinking and grace under pressure.
After the last panel of the day, I walked back to the Doubletree with Richard Edwards and Mike White. I was thrilled to finally catch up with Edwards, since I hadn't seen him for ages. I'd never actually met Mike White in the real world, but we hit it off right away. The three of us enjoyed some of the most profoundly, unapologetically geeky debate of the weekend. Those scientific instrumentation guys got nothing on us. The only thing missing was Shannon Clute.
I had to leave Philly very early on Sunday morning. See, like the Doubletree, Amtrak hates dogs. Butch and I got lucky and were able to hitch a ride up to NYC with Reed and his wife, but they needed to hit the road first thing in the morning in order to make an afternoon signing. It was a beautiful drive, in great company, but I'm real sorry I missed that Fantomas panel.
So that was NoirCon 2010. Thanks to Lou Boxer and Deen Kogan for pulling off another great event and for giving us writers an excuse to hang around and talk noir.
November 8, 2010
NoirCon Report: Part 1
NoirCon is like a gay bar. You never get that awkward moment in a conversation where the other person says something like, "I don't read authors that use the f-word." You know walking in the door that everyone in the room is into the same thing.
Actually getting to Philly this year was a bit of an adventure. I was originally supposed to arrive on Wednesday night. I didn't get in until around 2am Friday morning. Which wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have a 9am panel. That's 9am East Coast time. Which means 6am inside my West Coast head. Who the hell plans a porn panel at 9am? Typical men, always wanting sex first thing in the morning.
On this trip, I was accompanied by my intrepid canine sidekick Butch, so we were not allowed to stay at the dog-hating Doubletree Hotel with all the other kids. We wound up at the Sofitel Philadelphia a few blocks away. Fantastic, classy, super dog-friendly joint. Highly recommended.
The nice lady who checked me in told me the Society Hill Playhouse was only a 5 or 10 minute cab ride away. Maybe at 2am, but not during morning rush hour. As a result I was nearly 10 minutes late for my panel. I'm never late. Especially not to an event in which I'm an active participant. I blame Russel McLean. So what if he was a thousand miles away at the time? It was clearly his fault.
Having brought shame on my ancestors and ready to commit Seppuku, I finally arrived at the venue. I threw money at the unflappable African cabbie and Butch and I tore ass into the theater. I'm told we made quite an entrance.
The panel, Pornography and Noir, was a blast. Great questions, great debate. I'm amazed that I was able to make any sense at all. I'm afraid I did get a little snappish with one guy who suggested that all underage girls are ruined by sex with an older man and all underaged boys are improved by sex with an older woman. Tell that to the kid who's older lover convinced him to murder her husband. Or the young woman who seduced her male teacher and then used the threat of a statutory rape charge to extort unearned As. Plus I hate that hoary old conceit that men of any age are the perpetrators of all sexual acts and women their victims. The truth is that any person can take advantage of any other person under the right circumstances. Understand, I'm not talking about child molesting here. I'm talking about one person who is, say, 16 and another who's 30. Anyway, that panel was the most fun I've ever had at 6am.
At that point the jetlag had kicked in hard and I had no choice but to tap out for a few hours. I've never been into naps. For me, it's usually 8 hours or nothing. But in this case, I knew I was gonna fall on my face if I didn't try to catch up on my Zs.
After a quick power nap and an excellent roomservice lunch with Butch, I was back on my feet and ready to rumble. I took a leisurely stroll through Philly, caught the last panel of the day and then headed over to the awards dinner.
I sat next to Scott Phillips. Apolgies to our dining neighbors. Really it was my fault. I was the one who brought up the Human Turducken.
After the chow and the awards, I was approached by Neil Anthony Smith with an idea for the next Plots With Guns. He was doing a series of photos in which established authors murder up-and-coming whippersnappers. He'd just shot Reed Coleman slashing Seth Harwood's throat with a steak knife and wanted to know if I'd be willing to wack Cameron Ashley. How could I refuse? When asked to choose the method of Cam's demise, I chose to choke him out. With my thighs. The resulting photo is a thing of beauty, but unfortunately you'll have to wait until January to see it.
Meanwhile, here's a not-nearly-as-awesome photo of me and Butch with Goodis Award recipient George Pelecanos to tide you over.
Actually getting to Philly this year was a bit of an adventure. I was originally supposed to arrive on Wednesday night. I didn't get in until around 2am Friday morning. Which wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have a 9am panel. That's 9am East Coast time. Which means 6am inside my West Coast head. Who the hell plans a porn panel at 9am? Typical men, always wanting sex first thing in the morning.
On this trip, I was accompanied by my intrepid canine sidekick Butch, so we were not allowed to stay at the dog-hating Doubletree Hotel with all the other kids. We wound up at the Sofitel Philadelphia a few blocks away. Fantastic, classy, super dog-friendly joint. Highly recommended.
The nice lady who checked me in told me the Society Hill Playhouse was only a 5 or 10 minute cab ride away. Maybe at 2am, but not during morning rush hour. As a result I was nearly 10 minutes late for my panel. I'm never late. Especially not to an event in which I'm an active participant. I blame Russel McLean. So what if he was a thousand miles away at the time? It was clearly his fault.
Having brought shame on my ancestors and ready to commit Seppuku, I finally arrived at the venue. I threw money at the unflappable African cabbie and Butch and I tore ass into the theater. I'm told we made quite an entrance.
The panel, Pornography and Noir, was a blast. Great questions, great debate. I'm amazed that I was able to make any sense at all. I'm afraid I did get a little snappish with one guy who suggested that all underage girls are ruined by sex with an older man and all underaged boys are improved by sex with an older woman. Tell that to the kid who's older lover convinced him to murder her husband. Or the young woman who seduced her male teacher and then used the threat of a statutory rape charge to extort unearned As. Plus I hate that hoary old conceit that men of any age are the perpetrators of all sexual acts and women their victims. The truth is that any person can take advantage of any other person under the right circumstances. Understand, I'm not talking about child molesting here. I'm talking about one person who is, say, 16 and another who's 30. Anyway, that panel was the most fun I've ever had at 6am.
At that point the jetlag had kicked in hard and I had no choice but to tap out for a few hours. I've never been into naps. For me, it's usually 8 hours or nothing. But in this case, I knew I was gonna fall on my face if I didn't try to catch up on my Zs.
After a quick power nap and an excellent roomservice lunch with Butch, I was back on my feet and ready to rumble. I took a leisurely stroll through Philly, caught the last panel of the day and then headed over to the awards dinner.
I sat next to Scott Phillips. Apolgies to our dining neighbors. Really it was my fault. I was the one who brought up the Human Turducken.
After the chow and the awards, I was approached by Neil Anthony Smith with an idea for the next Plots With Guns. He was doing a series of photos in which established authors murder up-and-coming whippersnappers. He'd just shot Reed Coleman slashing Seth Harwood's throat with a steak knife and wanted to know if I'd be willing to wack Cameron Ashley. How could I refuse? When asked to choose the method of Cam's demise, I chose to choke him out. With my thighs. The resulting photo is a thing of beauty, but unfortunately you'll have to wait until January to see it.
Meanwhile, here's a not-nearly-as-awesome photo of me and Butch with Goodis Award recipient George Pelecanos to tide you over.
November 3, 2010
Coochie Confidential and the Myth of the Porn Star Pussy
Let me start by saying how much I've been enjoying thumbing through Lissa Rankin's WHAT'S UP DOWN THERE. After all, it's all about one of my favorite topics. Kind of like an owners manual for your vagina. Haven't read it cover to cover yet, but so far it's been funny, candid and full of useful information. However, I did stumble across something that kinda bugged me. Something I want to address.
I don't fault her for this at all, because this is something I've seen again and again in articles written by women talking about labia size. Here's what she says:
"Seems that all porn stars have neat little labia tightly tucked up between their legs…"
Many smart and well meaning articles I've read online even went so far as to claim that porn stars are specifically chosen because they have smaller labia. I see angry women posting to defend their large labia, claiming "I don't have a porn star pussy!"
Um… I think you better tell that to the ladies on this list:
Nina Hartley
Vanessa Del Rio
Jada Fire
Amber Lynn
Lauren Phoenix
Alexis Texas
Lena Ramon
Eva Angelina
Tori Black
Lexi Belle
That's right kids. All of the famous porn stars on that list have what is classified in the biz as an "outie." That means long labia, ladies. And men pay them for the privilege of looking at those long labia every single day. Nobody thinks they're ugly or not good enough or in need of "corrective" surgery. (Well, sure there are plenty of people out there who think long labia are ugly, but there are also tons of people who think small ones are ugly. That's the glory of the internet. Something for everyone.) Anyway that's just an off the top of my head list. There are hundreds, if not thousands more. In fact, you can search many adult sites for "outie pussy" and be directed to nothing but photos and movies of chicks with long labia.
What I suspect Rankin, and many of those other well-meaning, long labia loving ladies are talking about when they say "porn" is actually just Playboy magazine. But you see, Playboy airbrushes out any protruding labia. Not because they are ugly, but because they are too racy, too sexy. Playboy is a very mild "girlie" magazine, so heavily stylized that it's barely considered porn. They want photos that are more suggestive than overtly sexual and so they try to minimize any visible hint of actual girly bits.
My point is this: somehow this teeny tiny "porn star pussy" myth has gotten blown way out of proportion. It's important for women to love their bodies no matter what shape or size, but it's also important to really analyze anything that gets people all whipped up. Don't automatically blame the porn industry. Look at where this really coming from. Need a hint? Who stands to profit from this hysteria over long labia? Because I'll tell you what, women who feel bad about their labia don't go out and buy dirty DVDs featuring tiny labia. They go out and pay a plastic surgeon to cut them off.
So don't spend your money on dangerous, traumatic plastic surgery you don't need. Spend it on Nina Hartley movies and see just how beautiful and sexy long labia can be.
I don't fault her for this at all, because this is something I've seen again and again in articles written by women talking about labia size. Here's what she says:
"Seems that all porn stars have neat little labia tightly tucked up between their legs…"
Many smart and well meaning articles I've read online even went so far as to claim that porn stars are specifically chosen because they have smaller labia. I see angry women posting to defend their large labia, claiming "I don't have a porn star pussy!"
Um… I think you better tell that to the ladies on this list:
Nina Hartley
Vanessa Del Rio
Jada Fire
Amber Lynn
Lauren Phoenix
Alexis Texas
Lena Ramon
Eva Angelina
Tori Black
Lexi Belle
That's right kids. All of the famous porn stars on that list have what is classified in the biz as an "outie." That means long labia, ladies. And men pay them for the privilege of looking at those long labia every single day. Nobody thinks they're ugly or not good enough or in need of "corrective" surgery. (Well, sure there are plenty of people out there who think long labia are ugly, but there are also tons of people who think small ones are ugly. That's the glory of the internet. Something for everyone.) Anyway that's just an off the top of my head list. There are hundreds, if not thousands more. In fact, you can search many adult sites for "outie pussy" and be directed to nothing but photos and movies of chicks with long labia.
What I suspect Rankin, and many of those other well-meaning, long labia loving ladies are talking about when they say "porn" is actually just Playboy magazine. But you see, Playboy airbrushes out any protruding labia. Not because they are ugly, but because they are too racy, too sexy. Playboy is a very mild "girlie" magazine, so heavily stylized that it's barely considered porn. They want photos that are more suggestive than overtly sexual and so they try to minimize any visible hint of actual girly bits.
My point is this: somehow this teeny tiny "porn star pussy" myth has gotten blown way out of proportion. It's important for women to love their bodies no matter what shape or size, but it's also important to really analyze anything that gets people all whipped up. Don't automatically blame the porn industry. Look at where this really coming from. Need a hint? Who stands to profit from this hysteria over long labia? Because I'll tell you what, women who feel bad about their labia don't go out and buy dirty DVDs featuring tiny labia. They go out and pay a plastic surgeon to cut them off.
So don't spend your money on dangerous, traumatic plastic surgery you don't need. Spend it on Nina Hartley movies and see just how beautiful and sexy long labia can be.
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