David James Keaton's Blog

Hard Sentences: Crime Fiction Inspired by Alcatraz

Writers! Some new hotness:

So after visiting Alcatraz a couple times since I’ve moved to California, I had a brainstorm… Over 5,000 tourists visit the Rock EVERY DAY. And they have a gift shop on the island with a book section and some bush-league, self-published prison books, including some “theme” collections no one would look twice at in a bookstore, but I’ve seen these tourists snatch it all up like popcorn.

So… I called up their book buyer, stopped by their gift shops, and I pitched the idea of an anthology of Alcatraz-themed crime fiction, and hot damn, they’re interested. I got a title and everything:

HARD SENTENCES: Crime Fiction Inspired by Alcatraz

I’m working with Broken River Books, who will be publishing it, and brought in San Francisco Bay Area bruiser Joe Clifford (of December Boys fame) to help edit this thing. More solid info soon, but it’s definitely real money to the writers, and just think about that foot traffic! 5,000 people A DAY. Do 5,000 people walk through a bookstore everyday? I doubt it. Maybe, I didn’t look it up, but who cares.

So start thinking Alcatraz thoughts, and I’ll have more concrete details and a link to some specifics (more details in the comments below, too). Got some big names already. How big? So big some of ’em ain’t even on Facebook! But some of you, watch your emails, and the rest, if you think you got the juice, start scribbling, Submissions will be open at: hardsentences@gmail.com, so send your best Alcatraz stories there. Pay will be pro and semi-pro rates, based on length of story and level of new hotness.

Right now, I’m most interested in stories around 2,000 to 3,000 words on the following topics:

The early military incarnation of the prison during the Civil War
The boat that ferried prisoners back and forth (it was called the “Warden Johnston”)
The June 1962 escape and surrounding mystery involving Frank Morris and Clarence and John Anglin
Anything from the guards’ POV
The movies, like The Rock, Escape from Alcatraz, Birdman of Alcatraz, Point Blank, The Enforcer, etc.
The 1969 to 1970 Native American occupation of the island
Civilian life on Alcatraz Island and its cohabitation with the active prison (families lived in “Building #64,” where they had their own bowling alley, convenience store, and soda fountain)
A Contemporary crime tale involving the current Alcatraz tour
Stories involving the following famous prisoners:Al Capone

Robert Franklin Stroud (the “Birdman” of Alcatraz)

George “Machine Gun” Kelly

Bumpy Johnson

Rafael Cancel Miranda (a member of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party who attacked the United States Capitol building in 1954)

Mickey Cohen

Arthur R. “Doc” Barker

James “Whitey” Bulger

Alvin “Creepy” Karpis (Creepy might already be taken, actually, but someone extra creepy)

I’ll be reading your stuff all summer, so send your best and brightest.

And stay tuned, I got three big projects this summer. This is number one.

born to ruin

So I’m riding on this Bruce Springsteen anthology (downbound) train and wanted to type up some words about my own Broooooooooooooooose! superfandom and get some shouts out to all the people who gathered us together for Trouble in the Heartland, a collection of crime fiction inspired by Springsteen songs. This thing turned out to be bigger than I originally thought, as they ended up recruiting writers as huge as the Mystic Pizza guy. Seriously, though, Dennis Lehane’s in here, the man behind instant classics Gone Baby Gone, Shutter Island, and Mystic River (how many of us reenact Sean Penn’s “Is that my daughter in there???” scene on a weekly basis, right? Oh, just me). Here’s a link to Joe Clifford’s blog where he talks more about the project, an inspired and unholy merger between Gutter Books and Zelmer Pulp. The book also does some good in the world, too, as part of the profits go to the Bob Woodruff Foundation, which helps wounded veterans and their families. Now check out the cover. Rusty cars all gritty ‘n’ shit:

This car chase has been going on for decades.

That great album-like artwork is by Chuck Regan. I’m pretty sure Joe Clifford was just trying to be nice, but I was told my name can’t be on book covers because it’s too damn long. I choose to believe this story. Not that it’s any slouch to be a “Many More” up in here. There have been many, many noble Many Mores throughout history. But the name thing is not my fault. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s that other David Keaton, exonerated from Death Row (whose life story would make a great Springsteen song actually), who did this to me because he will always get more Google hits if I don’t slap the “James” in there.  They even made a movie about that guy starring Danny Glover. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to claim that distinction either. But the “James” does make for fun confusion with James David Osborne. Seriously though, very grateful to be on this album with a band like this. Thanks, Joe!

But, yeah, to justify our inclusion in such an ambitious project, everybody’s doing a little blog tour to get the word out. I for one would feel bad if I didn’t do some kind of promotion for a publication that refuses to pay for this grill (I’m talking all three possible kinds of “grills” here). Also, before they had settled on the name “Trouble in the Heartland,” I want credit for trying to talk them into the title… Born To Ruin. Get it? “Ruin!” And the title could have the “I” be a different color so it would still look like “Born to Run,” you see? But I guess there’s no “I” in team because that idea didn’t float. I kid! Of course, now that they revealed the cover, I see the error of my ways. And at the very least, I can give those rusty pickup trucks the googly-eye treatment, Pixar that sucker up a bit. Haven’t you heard? Those eyes improve everything. 

This is what happens when your eyes get acclimated to the Darkness on the Edge of Town…

So I’ll talk a little about the story I wrote for this. I picked “The Ghost of Tom Joad” and came up with something called “The Ghost of Jim Toad.” I did this for a couple reasons. You’ll have to read the story to find out who Jim Toad is, but one of the reasons for this particular selection was (and I hate to say it) because it’s one of the only Springsteen albums with decent artwork.

Maybe if you pan back though, this guy is building a giant Bruce Springsteen head.

Bruce has the same problem as my other absolute favorite musicians, Nick Cave and Warren Zevon. They all suffer from Giant Album Head Affliction (okay, except for Murder Ballads). I’ve complained about this for years. Most of the time with their albums, you just get a picture of their giant head on the front, which I guess means they’re so popular that they don’t need album art at all. But Tom Joad was one of the exceptions. And Nebraska of course, which also contained murder ballads! Murder ballads for everybody! 

Now that I think of it, as good as Springsteen’s album cover is, Rage Against the Machine one-upped them with their cover version cover cover. But what can you do. Other reasons for picking this song - it has “Ghost” in the title, so I figured a story would pretty much write itself. Which it did, but no real ghosts showed up in it to make things easier. I guess that’s not what “ghost writing” means. There was some ghost barking though. I’ll explain. A few months ago, my neighbor got drunk and broke into his own house after he locked himself out. I got confused and called the cops when I heard the glass shatter, and when the cops showed up to grill him and gently bump his chest, the dumb fucks left his door open and his little dog got loose. So I felt real guilty and crept out to help him look for it, denying the entire time I was the one who called the fuzz.

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“Tom said, ‘Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ a guy…’”

So this story is my confession, because the fool moved away, so he can’t get mad about it now! It’s also a “What If?” As in “What if things got worse and worse that night?” Because things got weird but they coulda got bad. So my story tries to give you both. Also, it’s one of Bruce’s “important stuff” songs (I mean, we’re talking Grapes of Wrath references here), which I normally don’t gravitate towards. I prefer his story songs and murder ballads (!) and dead-ender fables, like all of Nebraska. But I keep coming back to this tune and its mournful harmonica. And isn’t there a theory that Springsteen, much like the Star Trek films, alternates big studio albums for insular labors of love? So if the album Ghost of Tom Joad falls between The Rising and the poppy Doublemint twins Lucky Town & Human Touch, it fits the profile. But what does all this have to do with my Tom Joad story? Nothing. But it has everything to do with a “Jim Toad” story. (“Why does he keep saying that? Are there toads??”) Give it a look, you’ll see. And if you’re my neighbor, hey, can’t a man say “I’m sorry!’ and “Fuck you!” at the same time? Can there be neighborly redemption a year later? Is the Tom Morello-shredding live version of “Ghost of Tom Joad” a jarring mistake?? Was this his reward for doing that great cover version when he was in Rage Against the Machine? What were his hands doing in that video??? (if you watch the clip, check out the dude from The Sopranos just slinking away from guitar heroics like that) Do geee-tars work even like that?? All these questions will be answered very soon.

They haven’t published the full table of contents yet, but I’m going to read all these story songs I keep hearing about. I know everybody always says that about the collections they’re in, and then they never do it. But there’s a reason we gathered here. We all got Bruce fever. And I’ll tell you right now whose song stories I’ll be reading first because of mad curiosity about how they made a story out of these tunes that have long been favorites: Court Merrigan’s “Promised Land,” Steve Weddle’s “Meeting Across The River,” Ryan Sayles’ “Highway Patrolman.” Mr. Sales has got some big shoes to fill here. Not only is that song already a fully-fleshed out story – possibly one of the most fleshed-out story songs in all of music outside of the 900 versions of “Stagger Lee” – but also Sean Penn already made a goddamn movie out of it! And a good one. No idea what he’s gonna do with that. Dennis Lehane’s “State Trooper,” of course, not just because he’s clearly the most famous judging by his giant name (head) on the cover, but I’ve always thought of that song as “Frankie’s” story, the brother in “Highway Patrolman.” I’ll want to see what Keith Rawson does with “My Best Was Never Good Enough,” and Chuck Regan’s “Radio Nowhere” (love that noisy opening tune), Les Edgerton’s “The Iceman” has got to have something to do with that crazy hitman, right? Todd Robinson’s, too, because I bet someone ten bucks his last line would be “We Take Care of Our Own.” I’m surprised no one grabbed “(American Skin) 41 Shots” for a story. I’m surprised I didn’t do “41 Shots” actually. How perfect would that song have been for a story? What the hell was I thinking? What else? Chris Holm’s “Mansion on the Hill” will be good. Love that song’s narrative, and the odd Crooked Fingers cover version off the Badlands tribute album is weird and great. Proceeds from Badlands went to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders). Speaking of that other tribute, Paul J. Garth will be on my radar, too, because the version of “Nebraska” on that tribute album back there is, in my opinion, actually better than Bruce. Blasphemy, I know. Something about a woman singing it, I think. I don’t know. And when she’s sitting in the electric chair and says she wants her baby right there on her lap when they pull the switch….. chills. I’ve always wondered about that line though. Does she want her lover to die, too? Or is that just a murderer’s idea of romance. I vote romance. There’s still a heart in “heartland,” right?

 

 

 

rumble kitsch

The upcoming Hoods, Hot Rods, and Hellcats project now has an active IndieGoGo page (kinda like Kickstarter, except that Zach Braff is not allowed to use it for gas money and blow). Click here or here or here to read all about the fundraising campaign or to let Chad explain why and how you can be a part of this. And the book is looking better and better. Artwork by Skott Kilander. Introduction by Mick Farren (this guy has written over thirty novels, and a dozen nonfiction books, four on Elvis alone!), and there are pin-up prizes and original songs, even switchblade combs, depending on your level of contribution. Why contribute? Well, there’s those things I just said, but most of all, mastermind Chad Eagleton had this crazy idea to…pay the writer! What?! It’s shaping up to be quite the event. Please, if you’re strapped for cash, maybe just spread the word?

cover art by Skott KIlander

A couple weeks ago, our editor posted a picture online of the manuscript with his red pen hovering, and I was able to catch a glimpse of the story titles and authors sharing the rumble seat. Nik Korpon, Matt Funk, Christopher Grant, Heath Lowrence, Thomas Pluck, Eric Beetner, and Chad Eagleton, the fevered brain behind the whole beast. It’s gonna be greasy. It’s gonna be Wild Ones and Elvisidal Tendencies and a ton of exhaust fumes. There have even been rumors of irresponsible motorcycle handling during inclement weather.

My own contribution, “Headless Hoggy Style,” can only be found in this collection, and it’s the longest, looniest thing I’ve written in awhile. (At first it was called “Rumble,” then for awhile, “Jake Braking,” then “Jake Breaking,” then “Rumble” again for a second, then all the way back to “Headless Hoggy Style,” because that’s the name his mama gave him!) A little preview of what it’s about. First off, our editor told us to indulge in longer stories here, so this ain’t a flash party. In fact, my story started out right on the verge of “novella” koala-fications (speaking of, tell me a koala isn’t genetically engineered to cling to the back of a motorcyclist), and it’s kind of about two generations of “Jakes,” and the girls on the back of their bikes. I’d call it sort of a one-upmanship competition gone wrong if it didn’t already start off wrong. But I don’t want to give away what happens.

Valid as currency in all fifty states.

Just as a teaser though, I will say my story was birthed a few months ago in the middle of the night when I asked the internet for help answering the age-old question: “Can someone have sex with a motorcycle?” Glenn G. Gray came to my rescue with some scary science. It also contains a game that I dream about playing quite often, “The Princess and the Pea” (but using a pool table for the bed and M-80s for the peas). Hopefully, this makes sense later. Saying any more about the greasy noir in here would be cheating, but from what I’ve seen, everybody involved took a look at the ’50s from a crazy different angle, an angle way closer to weird, which if our world is any indication, is a lot closer to reality.

Also, if you get a chance to click on that fundraising page here (or probably even here) you can get a better idea what the other authors have cooked up for you. Wait, did I see something about a “stash of lurid paperbacks”? Did I see something else about a “stuffed rabbit”? Who is running this show??

From Mick Farren’s introduction:

“The world of Hoods, Hot Rods, and Hellcats is a dirty cocktail of fact, fable, fears, and fantasies. The 1950s are recreated one more time, but here it’s with a savage, razor-honed edge you’ll never find in Grease, Happy Days, or American Graffitti…”

Rockabilly. Psychobilly. Hellbilly. Billy is a problem.

More to come…

lynx review – robotron: 2084

Okay, okay, I’ll review another one! Can’t get an hour of sleep without the world demanding more Lynx reviews. Who knew. So, looking through my games, I thought I’d review another popular arcade conversion that tackled a unique control system and a baffling story line. Anyone remember Robotron: 2084?

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“Stand behind me, Mikey! Your mom and dad will be… oops.” (and in case you’re wondering, this is exactly what the game play looks like)

It was eye-catching, and ear-catching, back in the arcade salad days. It had those intense, “futuristic” sound effects (remember how Defender sounded so cool the first time you walked by), the sounds that kind of reminded me of a Fixx song actually. And all sort of pulsing colors, too (the memorable level-change animation from the arcade, with that sort of colorful 2001 ”stargate sequence” effect is intact in the Lynx conversion). But for the longest time, I always got it confused with Gorf, a talking game which pleaded with passers-by to “play with Gorf…play with Gorf” in this creepy, desperate electronic voice. Or with Berzerk (“Coins detected in pocket!”). The problem is Robotron didn’t talk at all, so my confusion makes little sense. They looked kind of the same maybe? Fuck if I know. Trivia note: a better reason to remember Berzerk might be how it secured its place in history by, um, actually killing people (number one on this list).

But what really got the crowds wasting quarters on this game was the controls. You had two joysticks. Say what?! Welcome to Crazy Town. One controlled your robot dude. One controlled its gun (which I guess was just his arm, like Megaman or something, but he was too tiny too tell, and there’s no way such a ridiculous weapon looked the way it’s depicted on that box). Also, like the rest of Williams’ oeuvre, this game was borderline impossible, perfect for arcade quarter munching. Of course, this control system was the perfect carnival barker, making victory seem almost within reach.

Why two joysticks? Interesting story really. The designer, Eugene Jarvis, claimed his double-joystick control brainstorm came to him in rehab after an automobile accident injured his right hand, making it impossible to use the usual joystick/button combination. Instead, he imagined a protagonist named, er, “Eugene,” who fired his weapon nonstop, sort of like a heavily-armed drunk or a Pittsburgh police officer, who you could maneuver with one joystick while aiming his constant barrage of deadly bullets with the other. This did give you a fighting chance in this game for a few screens, which like I said earlier, were hard as shit.

Lucky for Lynx owners, the challenging difficulty level is intact in the conversion. But what about that unique and essential control system? Nope!

Game Play 

Your little Eugene still fires nonstop like Jesse “The (Dead) Body” Ventura from Predator, but instead you rotate the aim around your body clockwise by hitting A or B. This means to shoot someone above you requires three taps of the button to fire down, left, then finally up. This means you’re sort of firing your gun like a lazy firefighter struggling to aim his hose and spraying everything on the way. This means you won’t make it very far. But the game is replayable as hell. And that’s what saves it.

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“I ain’t got time to breathe.”

But how about this crazy, futuristic story line though? According to the cycling between-quarters plot (transferred intact and word-for-word from the arcade version), you are some sort of experiment gone wrong, trying to save the “last human family,” consisting of a “Mommy,” “Daddy,” and, er, “Mikey.” But unlike Mikey from Life cereal fame, he’ll eat anything but a robot’s foot. You see, if you don’t save these members of the last human family, they are uncerimoniously stomped to death by lumbering green automatons. It’s sort of horrible really. The green robots seek them out and…splat. They walk over them leaving nothing but a tiny electronic scream and a skull and crossbones in their wake. Yikes. I’m going to assume that the skull and crossbones is there to represent what actually happened to Mikey and his parents, and the makers of the game are just censoring the carnage. You know what I mean? I’m pretty sure being curb-stomped with metal feet doesn’t transform you into a skull and crossbones. Unless those green robots are actually eating Mikey and the Last Human Family-Sized Meal.

Each progressive screen is like a time-lapse video of multiplying bacteria.

But, yeah, did I mention this game is hard? You aren’t going to save them for long. Things escalate quickly. Things become hard to follow. Things are screaming, squawking, thumping. Basically, the screen just fill up with more and more piles of digital shit.

Weapons

“Due to a genetic engineering error, you possess superhuman powers.” Wait a minute. Who made you? Who made who? The Last Human Family? Since they’re constantly running away from you in fear, it can’t be them. Even more incriminating, the Last Human Family sometimes has like ten Mikeys on the screen. What is this, Screamers?! So if the Last Human Family is something we’ll never understand, this means you must have been created by your Robotron overlords…in what has to be the most colossal fuck-up of all time. How did that scene go down? “Hey, Blarg. We were experimenting on the Second To Last Human Family over here, and in the middle of all the blood and screaming, uh, well, we seem to have give one of them lethal gun hands with unlimited ammo.” “Bleep!” (anger).

Enemies

Grunts: “Red Lectroids from Planet 10!” I always think these are the “Electroids” in this game because I’ve seen Buckaroo Banzai too many times. No, these are just red-suited clockwork fools called “Grunts.” Sorry, I mean “Ground Roving Unit Network Terminators.” Easy to zap.

Hulks Robotrons: Hulks are green, blocky robots who step on the family’s heads like this is anything that should be in a game readily available to children.

Spheroids: Just a red circle. It zips around creating “Enforcers,” little triangles that shoot X’s at you. The Spheroids seem to have a limited amount of Enforcers they can spawn. Enforcers are dangerous as they’re the first enemies you’ll encounter that fire back at you.

“Quarks: Just a purple square. It zips around creating “Tanks,” little rolling robots that shoot bouncy balls at you. The screen which introduces the Quarks and Tanks is by far the hardest screen to clear, especially when the screen is full of those lethal bouncing Quark-birthed Tank balls. What did I just say?

Electroids: Any swirl or triangle or square littering the game area. You die if you touch them, but they make no move to attack you.

Brain Robotrons: Aaaaaaah! These are terrifying. My money is on the Brains as the culprits who created you. They’re these blue-and-purple guys who look a lot like the Martians in Mars Attacks! They’re mission is to grab Mom, Dad, or Mikey and transform them into “Progs.” Aaaaaaah! I’m not sure what the Brains do to them exactly, but once they touch your precious family, they turn into murderous versions of the Xanadu cast, leaving light trails behind them as they streak around after you. Probably on roller skates. You know you’re in trouble when you hit this level and the Brains teleport in at the beginning, all slow and cocky. One more thing, in the opening scrawl, it says “Beware of the Brain Robotrons that possess the power to reprogram humans into sinister Progs.”

Reprogram?

Reprogram.

I rest my case.

Strategy

Run! Ignore the last family. No way they’re not in on it.

p.s. A note about my ongoing World Records. I do have the record in this game, as well. According to a tiny notebook which I kept since 1993 (and cut in half so it could be stored in a Lynx box!), I reached the seemingly ridiculous Level 39 and accumulated 698,875 points, beating some guy named Ron by a healthy 274,425 points. But you won’t see my name on that International Scoreboard because, apparently you now have to pay (!!!) for this privilege. Yes, you heard that right. You have to pay them to submit your record-setting scores to Twin Galaxies. Because that’s your reward for being the best, kids. So it looks like they’re going to settle for me submitting my record-setting balls in their breakfast because, yeah, thanks, but I’ll just keep track of everything in my head or this half notebook, scammers.

Future Dave looks back at his teeny half notebook! Such high scores! Silver dollar included for scale.

lynx review – joust

Since no reasonable person is clamoring for more reviews of games from a two-decade old handheld system, let’s do another one! Tonight, it’s Joust.

Exactly what the game play looks like

Famously conceived by Williams Electronics in 1982 as an arcade alternative to the usual spaceship theme (Asteroids was big at the time), this game was programmer John Newcomer’s baby. According to my friend Rob, Mr. Newcomer also worked with Python Anghelo, the man behind the alarming and wonderful Bride of Pin-Bot, probably the strangest pinball machine ever (which you can play over at Zanzibar if you’re a local). You know the one, the table with the creepy Cylon voice where apparently the goal is to finger-bang the flippers around until the power of your metal balls can turn the moaning machine beneath you from a cyborg into a human female (the plot of the Battlestar Gallactica reboot decades early!). It all makes sense when you play it, or not (“My God, she’s alive!”). But, yeah, Anghelo is the guy who designed those memorable knights and ostriches and vultures on the cabinet that catch your eye from a distance.

Sort of looks like Bakshi’s Wizards, huh?

And storks! You can ride storks, too, if you’ve got two players doing the co-operative game-play thing. On the Lynx, this means you’ll have to hook up the “ComLynx” cable. But then, of course, you’ll also need two Lynxes, as well. And two copies of Joust. And two people who like to double-up on equipment just to play two-decade-old game systems. In other words, just like children who were lied to about where babies come from…you’ll never see any storks.

Game Play

So, how’s the Lynx conversion? Pretty much perfect. It’s probably Atari’s most successful arcade adaptation (they produced this game for all their systems actually, all the way up to the Jaguar). And game play is virtually identical to the arcade, with no notable exceptions. The object remains successfully “jousting” with your enemies, which means striking them on a slightly higher trajectory. Once eliminated, bizarrely enough, the enemy rider turns into an egg, and the bird he was riding flies off unscathed. This egg then hatches into the next-more-dangerous rider. At least that’s what I always thought was going on. But now I wonder if the bird is not just laying a spontaneous egg the moment its rider is eliminated. I mean, what’s the point of the bird gimmick with this game if that’s not where the eggs are coming from? And if the eggs are squirting out of the birds when their riders are killed (maybe due to fright or reproductive instinct), then why do they hatch into little soldiers instead of birds? Is it the chicken or the egg? Or terrifying bird people? What is happening here??? Need more funding to continue research…

Neither storks nor where babies come from

Anyhow, as with the arcade game, you still “flap” your wings by clicking the A or B button as fast as you can. This was kind of a genius move back in the early arcade days, kind of the first Dance Dance Revolution level of interaction, because, much like the ol’ Track Ball on Missile Command, you had people actually exerting effort when they played. This is a display of plumage in the bird kingdom that can attract a mate. Also, flying should be hard. Didn’t the flying machines in Dune have to flap their wings to stay aloft? That was weird. And remember the disastrous earliest attempts at manned flight with those crazy contraptions? This is a little off-topic, but I’m just trying to explain that the flapping is why this game endures. And the Lynx was wise to hold onto that. Sure, it’s a little harder to tap, tap, tap with your thumb rather than smack, smack, smack a button with your entire hand, but it works. And even more brilliantly, this strenuous flapping has always been your only weapon in this game…

Weapons

I just told you! Yeah, no “real” weapons to speak of, except for your lance, of course. But that doesn’t really do anything. Either end of your ostrich simply has to make contact while flying higher than the enemies in order to defeat them. So learning to fly is learning to kill. Kind of like Top Gun. Except you don’t accidentally kill a Goose. You kill some vultures! See below.

Enemies

Bounder: Supposedly, these knights are riding nasty vultures while you ride a noble ostrich, but it looks just like a red version of you (you’re like a baby-blue hue). Bop him on the head.

Hunter: This looks like a gray version of you, maybe a little faster on the flap. Bop him on the head.

Shadow Lord: These guys looks like dark-blue versions of you but flap like a motherfucker. Don’t let them get to the top of the screen or you’re doomed. Your best bet is to catch them under overhanging platforms when they rebound off of them. Which they do a lot because of the manic caffeinated flapping I was talking about earlier. Red Bull. “It gives you wings!”

Lava Troll: What the hell is this thing?! Keep clearing waves, and eventually the lava rises and burns away the bridge, meaning you can’t run along the bottom and make that awesome tire-screeching noise with your bird’s feet anymore. But it also means the Rise of the Lava Troll! It’s probably a fascinating creature that someone could spend their life studying the life cycle of, but you’ll only get to see a red hand that takes shape out of a little lick of fire when you fly over the moat. So it’s tough not getting constantly distracted imagining what the entire thing might look like. At least it is for me. In fact, why didn’t Python Anghelo make a pinball machine based on the Lava Troll? Anyway, if it grabs your bird’s feet, you have to flap, flap, flap your little heart out to escape. It also makes you easy pickings while you’re struggling. The Lava Troll is unique in this game as it’s the only enemy that can destroy other enemies (enemy knights bounce harmlessly off each other, not matter where their lances hit), and the Troll won’t hesitate to snag the occasional foe and drag it down to its doom. There’s also the high comedy of the spastic Shadow Lords who get to flying way too fast and bonk their heads and do this suicidal slam dunk right into the fire. Red Bull. “It gives you barbecue wings!”

Pterodactyl: Last seen in the movie WarGames, where the heroes shrugged off the fact that a prehistoric beast was not only still alive, but under the radio control of a madman!

Fossilized remains, courtesy of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History

This thing comes out when you take too long to clear a level (or later during the second Survival Wave, where the screen begins with one already screeching), and it’s impossible to kill without a perfectly placed stab in the beak. It doesn’t matter if you’re positioned higher when you strike, it has to be a well-timed hit or you’re killed instantly. Therefore, they’re best avoided or you’ll get the dreaded “Thy Game Is Over.” And they also slowly but relentlessly target you and you alone. So work fast to clear the screens. P.S. They also make a horrible sound. Like early Trent Reznor vocals.

Strategy

Flap, you fools! And maybe during the Egg Wave, clear the eggs from the top down so that any that do hatch will have to mount their feathered beasties on the bottom of the screen instead of the higher platforms. This will give you a slight advantage, as higher is always better. Just ask Cypress Hill.

They mostly look like engorged mosquitoes actually.

Also, I recommend spending every moment you can on the right side of the screen, just above the platform that generates enemy combatants. Not only can you bop them on the noggin the moment they appear, they will also tend to fly perfectly into position for said bopping – a steady stream off the left side of the screen, then reappearing right under you. Once those platforms disintegrate in the later levels, however, your best best is to constantly hover right in the upper center of the screen. The bottom means death. Don’t linger down there. The only reason to hang around anywhere near the bottom of the screen is when a pterodactyl is buzzing the ground (or to make the tire-screeching noise). If you flap once while facing it, and tap your lance on its beak, it will be destroyed in a strange vibrating death dance. It’s a hard shot to master, but near the ground, the odds seem to be higher that you’ll line up your lance. So I guess I lied earlier when I said the lance did nothing. So if you see this creature anywhere else on the screen besides the bottom, treat it like you would in the real world. Run. I mean, flap!

This game is at Zanzibar, too!

Wait, another record score, you ask?

Okay, maybe that’s a little exaggeration. But, seriously, even though I can only ever get on the Daily Buzzard screen on the arcade version, according to the internet (which never makes mistakes) I am the Joust World’s Champion on the Lynx! I’m telling you, I searched and searched, and I keep coming up with the same record score by the same dude. And some puny 60,000ish scores that people were crowing about, too, for some reason. Hell, I get 60,000 points before my cornflakes get soggy. So until someone else starts playing Joust on the Lynx again, my record is going to have to stand. Check out my proof below that would stand up in any courtroom.

Jason C. Dove had a bird in his name, but it wasn’t enough to hang on to the trophy

lynx review – super asteroids & super missile command

Remember that movie King of Kong with the rival Donkey Kong guys and the wizened man in the referee outfit who logged all their high scores? Well, it looks like there’s an online version of Twin Galaxies now where they have an “International Scoreboard,” which includes… Atari Lynx games! I’ve emailed them regarding my score for Super Missile Command as it should top their list (I beat the current high score by over 21,000 points) but I haven’t heard back. In the meantime, in an attempt to bring readers to this site, and to help you become a serious contender with an outdated, notoriously unloved system, I will begin my reviews with the final Lynx game Atari ever produced (these days, you can find it for around 40 or 50 bucks on eBay). After this release, Atari only produced games for other systems, abandoning the poor cumbersome Lynx forever.

Exactly what the game play looks like

Super Asteroids also comes bundled on this same game card, but it’s horribly dull, and is missing the crucial vector graphics and hypnotic electronic heartbeat of the arcade favorite. So we’ll just stick with Super Missile Command, a solid, addictive update of the arcade classic. You remember the bowling-ball sized trackball and the bright red, seizure-inducing “The End” covering the screen when the missiles finally overwhelmed you? Yeah, none of that is here. But it’s still worthwhile.

Okay, the first thing you need to know is the early levels are actually harder than the intermediate levels. But after that, of course, just like the arcade version, it gets impossible. The reason the beginning three levels are so difficult is because you haven’t upgraded your missiles yet. This is one of several updates to earn the “Super” distinction in the title. Once this upgrade happens, it’s like the Goldilocks porridge that’s just right, and the game is at its most entertaining and playable. As your points accumulate, you can buy more weapons in a weapon shop interlude (not to be confused with The Weapon Shops of Isher, as this one doesn’t teach us any moral lessons).

[image error]♪ beautiful friend…the end… ♪

rumble kitsch

I was very excited to see the cover of the upcoming Hoods, Hot Rods, and Hellcats debut today online. Artwork by Skott Kilander. Introduction by Mick Farren (this guy has written over 30 novels, and a dozen nonfiction books, four on Elvis alone!). So it’s shaping up to be quite the event.

cover art by Skott KIlander

The other day, our editor posted a picture of the manuscript with his red pen hovering, and I was able to catch a glimpse of the story titles and authors sharing the rumble seat. Nik Korpon, Matt Funk, Christopher Grant, Heath Lowrence, Thomas Pluck, Eric Beetner, and Chad Eagleton, the mastermind behind the whole beast. It’s gonna be greasy. It’s gonna be Wild Ones and Elvisidal Tendencies and a ton of exhaust fumes. There have been rumors of irresponsible motorcycle handling during inclement weather. My own contribution is called “Headless Hoggy Style,” the longest, looniest thing I’ve written in awhile. At first it was called “Rumble,” then for awhile, “Jake Braking,” then “Jake Breaking,” then “Rumble” again for a second, then all the way back to “Headless Hoggy Style,” because that’s the name his mama gave him! A little preview of what it’s about. First off, our editor told us to indulge in longer stories here, so this ain’t a flash party. In fact, my story started out right on the verge of “novella” koala-fications. It’s kind of about two generations of “Jakes,” and the girls on the back of their bikes. I’d call it sort of a one-upmanship competition gone wrong if it didn’t already start off wrong. But I don’t want to give away what happens. Just as a teaser, I will say my story was birthed a few months ago in the middle of the night when I asked the internet for help answering the age-old question: “Can someone have sex with a motorcycle?” Glenn G. Gray came to my rescue with some scary science. It also contains a game that I dream about playing quite often, “The Princess and the Pea” (but using a pool table for the bed and M-80s for the peas). Hopefully, this makes sense later. Saying any more about the greasy noir in here would be cheating, but from what I’ve seen, everybody involved took a look at the ’50s from a crazy different angle, an angle way closer to weird, which if our world is any indication, is a lot closer to reality. From Mick Farren’s introduction:

“The world of Hoods, Hot Rods, and Hellcats is a dirty cocktail of fact, fable, fears, and fantasies. The 1950s are recreated one more time, but here it’s with a savage, razor-honed edge you’ll never find in Grease, Happy Days, or American Graffitti…”

More to come.

exquisite lunch

A big project I was involved with sees the light today. GORGE: A Novel In Stories, published by Pure Slush is now available to order. It’s not just a pile of stories, not just a novel, but it was a massive undertaking. A year in the making. 54 stories, 33 authors. Over 300 pages. About a hundred and fifty email exchanges. I have three stories within:

“We’re Made of Meat,” “Last Last Meal,” and “Half Staff at the Grease Box.”

A ton of talented writers share the pages with me, too. Sally Reno, Gill Hoffs, and mastermind Matt Potter, all who’ve I’ve enjoyed reading in previous Pure Slush projects. Sally Reno’s “Blueberry Hill” opens the novel beautifully, painting a perfect picture of this joint, the saucy but fictional Café Gano in Machiasport, Maine (they hold out hope that Stephen King comes to visit one day). I’m glad she busted the bottle over the bough. I would have never been brave enough to go first.

I’m serious about this taking a year. At least a year. You ever see The Doors movie and hear them complaining about how hard it was to get together and record L.A. Woman? Imagine thirty more Morrisons. Worse, imagine thirty more Manzaraks! But it was way more fun than that. To start off, I was given the chef character to flesh out. Vinnie “Bruce” Lui. I got into Bruce’s head. I also learned a couple recipes, which I would never dare to actually try cooking. This character felt like some responsibility. I mean, all 300 plus pages of this novel take place in one day, and people gotta eat!

I also learned about the Last Meal program on Death Row during my research, since the imaginary Café Gano is dangerously close to a prison. But most of my stories were based on memories I had washing dishes at a fancy restaurant called Chris Berman’s Supper Club back when I was a whelp (I also got my ass kicked in that parking lot, but let’s not dwell on that, I grabbed a lotta free lobster). But at Berman’s, one of our dishwasher tasks was to take a giant bucket of hot grease to the smoldering grease trap in the parking lot, a seemingly simple adventure, until… I’ll just let you read it.

Check out all this legwork. Here are the character profiles and photos we used to get our brains jumpstarted. And Mr. Potter also sent us maps! So we could visualize our contributions, which proved crucial as you were doing basically an Exquisite Corpse game with dozens of people. More like Exquisite Lunch. Lots of “Naked,” too, actually.

And we were given a menu! That’s a lot of pressure on a chef who faints at the sight of blood. Bruce was fragile. But there was more going on in his over-worked brain than the staff realized. Here are some tasty quotes from GORGE to get an idea. I also learned the differences between American phrases and names. Did you know they don’t call it “cooking school” over there across the pond?

So, yeah, check it out. It’s full of food, so that’s perfect for Christmas, right? And editor Matt Potter (a very hands-on kind of guy, did I mention my 150 emails?) is partial to cramming some sex in this thing, which is a nice change from the crime writing I’ve been doing. It was definitely a lighter project to work on, although I couldn’t resist introducing a lonely bullet where a pearl would have sufficed. This is the most fun I’ve had working on something in awhile.

p.s. Bonus! Working on this novel with 33 other people had unique challenges. One thing I quickly realized was…you can’t move too quickly. We had access to each others stories as we read them, but sometimes I got carried away anyway and would write something, only to find out, the logistics of it would be impossible because of actions other authors were giving the same characters. A good example was at the end of “Half Staff at the Grease Box” previously called “Gingerbread Stakeout,” which was chef Bruce doing a bit of stalking, until Matt realized that the woman he was stalking…wasn’t going to be home. So maybe minor spoiler in this deleted scene below (which I liked a lot), but it had to be chopped because we were all in this boat together. So, read on if you like, this alternate timeline where Bruce revisits his old vehicle and some old memories. My final story in GORGE has a better ending, and it’s a better fit, but I’m still interested in where Bruce may have gone in this alternate universe…

“Gingerbread Stakeout” – Deleted Scene From GORGE:

“I’m parked outside of Mya’s house in my little hornet, hiding behind some pine trees like I used to. It’s midnight. The mirror on the passenger side is angling straight down, making it impossible to see anything but the road. Did someone tilt it on purpose? I can’t believe I’d forgotten about my truck. I try to angle the mirror back up, and it slumps back down again, the mechanism inside loose and weak. It reminds me of an eye rolling back in the socket if you peek inside someone’s head as they sleep. I walk around to the back of the truck and see a brown edge of rust eating into the flanks. I tap it with my toe, and the rust crumbles like burnt toast. I’m terrified by this, that if I kick the tire it will cover my foot like taffy. I fight the urge to rub the metal ash off with my knuckles and jump back inside to open the glove box. Still empty. I reach under the passenger seat and feel some gum in the carpet, probably from someone spitting out a half-open window and the wind bringing it right back inside. You see that happening a lot in the movies with cigarettes, but never with gum. I decide that if gum started a fire, people would take it more seriously. I wonder how much spit never makes it outside and people don’t know it. If spit started a fire, we probably wouldn’t risk that either. Yes, if we breathed fire, we wouldn’t be unknowingly driving around with our feet resting in a dried swamp of saliva. Needing some air, I roll down the windows and crack open the door so that the dome light stays on. There’s a dozen mosquitoes rebounding off my glowing red hand before I count to a hundred. As I wait for her to get home and play with the prize I found in my oyster, I think back to when I first started working with Mya, how I tried to teach her to drive stick shift, how she seemed to kiss me under the lights that gathered the most insects. How her sweaty fingers and high heels kept slipping and stalling my truck more than I ever did, how, impossibly, she was actually ashamed for once. It was the most vulnerable I’d ever seen her, learning how to drive stick, and that was enough. She told me to park out of sight every time, and I did. We circled the parking lot that day I taught her, never getting out of second gear, and I imagined the trail of grease and maggots from that upended bucket, a runway that might hold its heat forever, slowing rising from the blacktop behind us to mark every lurch and halt.”

next next big thing

So there’s a round robin of bloggin’ going around where a writer tags you to answer 10 questions about your “Next Big Thing.” And I got double-tag-teamed by Chad Eagleton (0ver at Cathode Angel) and Richard Thomas (over at What Doesn’t Kill Him Makes Him Stranger), so here we go…

1.) What is the working title of your next book?

FISH BITES COP! Stories To Bash Authorities. It’s a collection of interwoven fiction attacking various authorities figures, easy targets, hard targets, deserving and undeserving, sacred cows, lots of bad cops and handcuffs that get slipped.

2.) Where did the idea come from?

In grad school at the University of Pittsburgh, I began writing grungier and grimier fiction in workshops to push back against what I perceived as a prevalent MFA-style of quiet epiphanies (I realize now this style wasn’t as rampant as my young workshop brain initially thought, my reading skills had to grow with my writing), and when I looked at the stories created in that time period from a distance, I realized a pattern of gleeful authority bashing had emerged. Not just cop bashing, but some weird God Complex paramedic bashing, too, which must come from the subconscious because I have nothing bad to really say about them. But they make a wicked Greek chorus when you need them to.

3.) What genre does your book fall under?

These stories are all over the place. Psychological horror, crime, western, humorous, experimental, creature horror, Choose Your Own Adventure, literary, slipstream, magical unrealism, “transgressive,” whatever that means, satire. There’s a good smattering of dark humor in most of them though, which I think of as the glue. Or silly string.

4.) What is a one-sentence synopsis of your book?

“Not only a brutal takedown of police officers, security guards, firefighters, police officers, bounty hunters, the military, organized religion, middle management, police officers, dyslexic paramedics with dog complexes, and more police officers…but, yeah, there is a lot of that, too.” or “A trunk full of surprises!”

5.) What actors would you chose to play the parts of your characters?

Hmm, of the recurring characters throughout these stories…

“Jack” would be played by Stephen Dorff. Or Brad Douriff. Either one. “Rick” would be played by the scrawnier and more powerful Bruce Springsteen off the back of Darkness On The Edge Of Town. But wait! At the last second, I would switch those roles. See, that’s what they did with Bill Murray and Robert DeNiro in Mad Dog and Glory, and what they did with Keitel and DeNiro in Mean Streets. And this is how I will get the most out of my actors. And hopefully we could get the entire cast of Deadliest Catch to play their doppelgängers in the imaginary reality show Crabmasters (as depicted in my story “Greenhorns”). Who else? The character of “Gumby” in my prison story “Schrödinger’s Rat” would be played by 12 Monkeys Brad Pitt, not Babel Brad Pitt. The villainous “Officer Bigbeep” would be played by, I don’t know, Ray Liotta? The part of “Heck,” the fireman who burns for our enjoyment in “Hell,” will be played by that idiot I once saw getting a tattoo of a dragon attacking the World Trade Center a month after 9/11. He was also taking the “firefighter test” the next day, or so he said. Whoosh! Who else? All the dogs in “Do The Münster Mash” will be played by the annoying dogs that live next door to me now. Hopefully, they will suffer the same fate. “The Man In Blue” will be played by Johnny Cash’s disapproving dad. The part of the “Bait Car” would be played by my 1993 Chevy Cavalier, which was also ridiculously easy to break into. “Female Cop With Hair Spilling Dramatically Out Of Her Helmet” would be played by my Junior High School crush.[image error] And of course, “Big Cop” would be played by Nick Nolte, but only if he channels monstrous Mike Brennen from the movie Q&A. “Small Cop” would be played by Harlan Ellison, but he’d probably fuck it up because of dressing room demands, and we’d have to make Stephen Dorff pull double duty. The part of “Nahla” in “Queen Excluder” would be played by my sister. And the part of “My Sister” in “Life Expectancy In A Trunk (Depends On Traffic)” would also be played by my sister. “C.A.T the Skip Tracer” (in that same trunk story) would be played by Hulk Hogan because he has stringy blonde hair and an orange-ish head like a certain bounty hunter, and it would come apart beautifully when we needed it to, like a soft pumpkin draped in corn husks.

6.) Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Weird question considering the logical third alternative, which is, uh, neither? I’m still seeking representation for my three novels, but my lack of an agent doesn’t stop this particular book from being published by up-and-coming New York publisher Comet Press. Release date is May 1st, 2013.

7.) How long did it take you to write the first draft?

These stories were collected over a period of about three years. The title story “Nine Cops Killed For A Goldfish Cracker” was actually originally called “Fish Bites Cop!” in early drafts (it’s a goofy headline, get it?), and ever since I switched titles on that story back in 2009 when it was picked up for The Death Panel, an excellent “dark crime” collection (my first big sale, and I was lucky to be included with talent like Tom Piccirilli, Fred Venturini, Randy Chandler, David Tallerman, and Simon Wood), I’d always thought it would be a good name for a book if I ever put together a themed collection.

8.) What other books would you compare your collection to within your genre?

I was going to say “Spoon River with more cop killing” to be a smart ass, but there’s a shit ton of death in Spoon River, beautiful as it is. Honestly though, I don’t know if I’ve read a collection where characters bounced around stories, resurrected, reset, or carried the baggage of previous stories, depending on how they’re needed. Maybe King/Bachman sort of did this with his characters in his Desperation/Regulators experiment, but not really? I don’t know. It straddles several genres, hopefully successfully. The position of these tales in the table of contents took, no joke, weeks to organize, as I believe there is a cumulative effect when read in a certain order. Not just exhaustion, but maybe also an understanding of a philosophy that started with a disregard for authority, but ended with a kind of manic celebration of abandon. It also feels very ’80s to me. All the King and Koontz and McCammon and Ellison and Ballard and Shane Stevens and Thomas Harris and Clive Barker I devoured back then kind of boiled back up.

9.) Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I come from a long line of contrarians. And growing up, nothing made my family happier than sitting around a table talking about the extra officers necessary to apprehend an uncle. Also, I grew stressed from almost getting my novel published every six months or so, almost getting an agent every three months or so, therefore I assembled this book to keep my sanity. My most recent novel The Last Projector is in reading limbo again as we speak (as I speak with myself, I mean). See, I can get an agent to ask for a hundred more pages but not quite pull the trigger (hundred and fifty pages is my record, requested in lumps of 25). Also, I often make the mistake of searching for “bad cops” on YouTube and feel my blood pressure skyrocket when I watch those clowns shoot loose dogs or kick pregnant women in the heads. So I do horrible things to them on the page and use their real names and dare them to do anything about it (as long as they’re in jail or dead or far away back in Pittsburgh, of course).

10.) What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

The book cover was designed by the talented Mark Dancey, co-creator of Detroit’s infamous Motorbooty magazine (clear inspiration for Beastie Boys’ Grand Royal magazine if you’ve ever read them both) and the artist behind iconic album covers like Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger (arguably their best). He’s done work for Tenacious D and Tricky, too, and I’ve had framed Big Chief albums sporting his cover art on my walls for a decade, ask anybody. I have been a huge fan of his work since the ’90s, so when we needed a cover, I reached out to see if he liked the project, and I couldn’t believe it when he signed on. In total badass fashion, he said he had an authentic Ann Arbor police cap in his studio he could use for a model (or did he say “skull”?). But, yeah, we were very lucky to land him. The cover is in its final stages right now, but here’s Mr. Dancey’s rough sketch to get an idea where it’s going.

And here’s my childlike rendition that Mr. Dancey likely got a chuckle out of. I like to doodle it on things…

 

Also, the introduction to my book is being written by Jed Ayres of Noir at the Bar and Fuckload of Scotch Tape fame. Jed is an incredible writer, all-around great guy, approximately nine-feet tall, and he seemed like the only writer I’d met recently who was also an unabashed child of VHS like myself, an orphaned child of the ’80s video heyday, and someone who, through his own inability to be shocked (just read any of his work or attend a salty event he M.C.’s), would look deep enough into this book, past the pileup, to get some of the artsy shit I was going for. From Jed’s killer intro:

“He revels in the extremes of bad ideas. He cajoles and fondles them. He teases each for its full potential. His voice is nearly audible between the lines of the text pushing himself and the reader ahead – let’s take it just one step further – no, fuck that – if you can’t hang with me to the end of the line, I win. Keaton’s characters are blessed/cursed with preternatural abilities to avoid the brunt of natural consequence until it’s matured into something damn near apocalyptic. He’s daring you to finish…”

So, yeah, that’s my book. First whole book I’ll be able to slap my name on. It’s a good slapping size, too. I hope you’ll read it.

Okay, to keep the ball rolling through the cobwebs after Dr. Jones, I’ll goose five more people and see what they’ve got on the horizon. They probably already did this because I’m slow and I don’t fully understand the process of this chain letter. How about: Jason Stuart, Randy Chandler, Matt Potter, Heath Lowrence, and Matt McBride. Speaking of McBride, please read “The Tar Hole” from Noir at the Bar II immediately. One of the top five stories I’ve read this year. Okay, so I only read ten, but I don’t take unnecessary risks.

these dogs ain’t dead yet

Hey, writer types! Rather than doing things I should be doing, I have an idea for another project. Have you ever had a story vanish from the internet because an online magazine went under, never got going, or magically transformed into horrible advertisements? Does that annoy the ever loving shit out of you? Do you think about all the back-and-forth revisions, community, and excitement that was squandered because of ten measly bucks in domain costs? Did you have to turn off the glowing blue hyperlink that steered people to your story, clicking that button with that same sad look in your eye you had when you pulled the plug on your eggbound turtle in the veterinarian’s office? It was exactly like that, wasn’t it, turtle lovers? No, I’m really asking. I’ve never had a turtle.

egg bound and down

The point is, you’re in luck. I’m doing a series of e-books that, as of today, I’m thinking I’ll call DOG PILE: Stories Rescued From The Dumpster Behind The Pound!

Because that is way more dramatic than just being rescued from the pound. This is more of an internet resurrection.

So, why don’t we start with crime/horror/noir stories for the first issue. Chime in down in these comments with your horror story behind your horror story; you know, which publication your story originally appeared in, or where it was gonna appear, or who dropped the ball, who punted, or who just cut open the ball to see what was inside, no matter what the cost to the other people playing the game. This is funny during a football game, if you were as terrible at the sport as I was. As a metaphor for online journals? Just tragic. Or confusing.

I’m thinking I’ll compile the best of these “lost” stories, slap them into an e-book on Amazon, and all the contributors will split the profits, or get a one-time payment, or use the profits for a print run, something. But whatever we choose to do, now the story is no longer relegated to fuzzy, television-addled memories and can live on in your crazy new-fangled electronic reading devices until the end of electricity! That’s a much better fate than the dumpter, right? So, please let me know what you think. Tell me about your dead dog (you can shoot me an email, too, of course, if you really want to vent).

Spoiler: When you pull out those fake stitches, a football has a bladder, just like the pig it came from.