Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 25
September 18, 2022
Emerald City Comic Con 2018. Resurrected Post.
And that���s ECCC 2018 in life���s rear view mirror.
I have been in the funny book business for over twenty years now. This year���s Emerald City Comic Con was my first comic book convention. Yeah, I don���t believe in dipping a toe in; I plunge head-first into the deep end.
The point of the visit wasn���t to buy comics or rub shoulders with the artists and writers. That���d be too much like work. I went, frankly, as a marketing exercise, hoping to interact with people who might be interested in my novels and stories. I did get a chance to introduce myself to some artists and writers with whom I���ve dealt over the years but never met in person. I enjoyed that.
But I think I���m getting ahead of myself. Details, Ken. Fine. MBW, the HA, and I loaded up the family car and trekked north to Seattle Thursday morning. We should have arrived around noon. But a collision involving loaded logging trucks (probably a fatality, judging from the remains of the cab of one of the trucks) backed up traffic for about an hour south of Tacoma. Eventually we checked into our hotel across from Key Arena, which was bustling with the women���s PAC-12 basketball tournament.
MBW dropped me off at the Washington State Convention Center, then drove on south to deposit the HA with her grandfather for some quality time. Poor MBW, stuck for most of the rest of the afternoon in Seattle area traffic ��� one of Dante���s lesser known circles of Hell.
Meanwhile, I ventured into the dense throng of costumed humanity that stuffed five floor of convention hall space. And this was Thursday, what everyone informed me was the light day. Oh boy.
There was a section of the con set aside for writers: prose writers that is, not comic book scripters. Some heavy hitters signed autographs at the head of serpentine lines of autograph seekers. More lines of people waiting for a panel discussion wound down hallways. The panel descriptions sounded much like the panels I���ve sat on at sci-fi conventions, and with writers of similar status. But here ten-to-fifteen times as many people shoved into auditoriums to listen.
Gulp. Do I want to volunteer for a panel or two next year?
The convention had set up a beer garden on the first floor, the ���League of Libations.��� Thank all the boozy gods of Valhalla. I quite liked the Dark Heron from Fremont Brewing. Given the number of people, communal seating followed naturally. There, over the next few evenings, I was lucky enough to meet a variety of interesting and accomplished people ��� some costumed, some not. (Howdy to any of my new friends reading this. Keep in touch. Let���s do it again next year.)
I did have a couple of opportunities to escape ��� I mean, take a short break ��� from the convention and wander the relative openness of the streets. Seriously, though, getting down the escalators and out of the convention could take as long as getting in. It reminded me of trying to cross Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. (You may have guessed that I���m not tremendously fond of crowds.) But I digress. I wandered down toward the waterfront and stopped at the Elysian Bar. The Perseus Porter was excellent, and the Scottish Ale, Suck it Trebek, wasn���t bad. I had dinner at Ivars with MBW, revisiting the place where she had her first, fateful encounter with Clam Chowder, initiating a love affair with the soup that grows ever stronger.
Saturday I took the HA with me for an hour or so. To her Disney-soaked mind ECCC became a sort of antechamber to Paradise. I had to limit her to one purchase, which was tough for her since she wanted everything on display in the vast acreage of the dealers��� floor. But she seems happy with the little stuffed unicorn. Toting a heavy backpack while carrying a four-year old on your shoulders for what felt like several miles recalled certain ruck marches back in my army days. Though I���m probably just getting old and worn out.
So, will I do it again? Probably. Maybe not three days in a row. We���ll see what next year offers.
Here are a few bonus photos.
Published on March 04, 2018 14:43
February Writing Update. Resurrected Post.
Doubtless you are all eager to read of my doings and progress on the writing front. Doubtless. Zero doubts, one hundred percent positivity. So, with that completely unwarranted self-assurance motivating me, I���ll update you.
My short story Mischosen was reprinted this month in Cosmic Scream: Digital Horror Fiction Anthology. I���m rather fond of that story. If you haven���t read, here is a chance to check it out. Let me know what you think of it.
I���m nearing the halfway point of current work-in-progress. I should pass the mark by the end of the month. After discussions with MBW I am increasing the amount time each week I put in at the keyboard. The goal is to complete two novels per year. I am receiving some gentle pressure to get some series fiction banked and ready for publication. That will demand a greater time commitment than I had previously allowed. But MBW encouraged me to make the commitment. So let it be written, so let it be done. Or, should that be: So let it be done, so let it be written?
MBW, the HA, and I will be in Seattle next weekend. (A long weekend: Thursday through Sunday.) I���ll be attending Emerald City Comic Con. Sporting a pro badge on my lanyard, so everyone will know how important I am. MBW and the HA will be enjoying the sights. I think they win. In any case, for those of you in the Seattle area, I���ll be in town if you want to say hello.
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Published on February 25, 2018 11:54
Considering the Remaining Appendix N Posts. Resurrected Post.
Glancing at Appendix N I find only a handful of authors remaining. Only five are left for me to write web log posts about. A notable five: Jack Vance, Stanley Weinbaum, Manley Wade Wellman, Jack Williamson, and Roger Zelazny. I���ll be finishing strong.
I���ve read something from all of them. I won���t need to seek any of them out for the first time. In fact, with the exception of Manley Wade Wellman, I have at least one book on my shelves from each of them. And I���m pretty sure Wellman appears in one of the dog-eared, paperback anthologies sitting there just to my right as I write this. Still, I have an excuse to add a Silver John collection to my books.
Jack Vance, the titan, the big dog of Appendix N is in the batting circle. I���m having a wonderful time preparing. I hope no one is in any rush; reading Vance is an experience to savor. A college fiction-writing instructor whose class I took back in the day considered genre fiction ��� the sort of thing I was predisposed to write ��� as so much junk food. I should have handed him a volume of Vance, chosen at random, and said ���Here���s fine dining, you snob.���
I might feel a bit melancholy when I���ve completed the list. I���ve enjoyed revisiting old favorites and filling in the odd gap. I suppose I���ll need a new project, something to anchor the usual potpourri of nonsense I write here. Any suggestions?
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Published on February 18, 2018 11:51
The Web Log Takes a Sick Day. Resurrected Post.
The web log is taking a sick day. I���ll spare you the details of the atrocities this virus has committed in my bowels. And the subsequent unspeakable horrors committed in my toilet bowl. ���Unspeakable��� may be hyperbole and thus not a literal prohibition or impossibility. But I���m going to honor the word in those latter senses anyway. You are welcome.
You���d think with a few days out of the office I���d be able to get some writing done. You���d be wrong. This is the most I���ve been able to concentrate since Wednesday afternoon. I���m on the mend. The headache is gone. The bowels are growing quiescent. The lethargy, however, remains. Though it is lessening. Enough for me to write this though the simple effort of thinking and typing is tiring.
Enough. I���ll be back next week with more of my regularly scheduled inanity. No virus can long contain me, no pathogen long cage me, no infirmity long dissuade me. I���m in my prime.
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Published on February 11, 2018 13:07
Fine Dining, NW Style. Resurrected Post.
Once you have a kid, selecting a place to eat requires factoring in considerations other than quality, cost, and distance. Locating kid-friendly restaurants becomes a constant, background, priority. For those of us who enjoy beer and brewpubs, this search demands even greater focus. One approaches a new prospect with both hope and trepidation.
Yesterday I took MBW and the HA to investigate such a place, meeting up with friends for lunch at Level. Level is a brewpub in Northeast Portland, in an industrial area near the Columbia River Slough and the airport (you know, PDX, famed for travelers taking pictures of their feet on the concourse carpet. For some unfathomable reason.)
The decor spoke to me. I���m not much of a video game player, but I do possess some of the nostalgia for retro-gaming that infects most Gen-Xers. The place doesn���t serve food, but immediately outside are a pair of food carts. This is in Portland, afterall. Food cart central. One is a hamburger joint, the other Mexican. We had Mexican. The menu is lengthy enough that it will require numerous return visits to get through it all. The hamburger cart might have to wait. (Though I suppose I might get a burger craving. Who doesn���t? I���m starting to get a hankering right now, just thinking about it. Maybe a 1/3 pounder, cooked just short of medium. With bacon and blue cheese. Some caramelized onions. A thick slice of tomato. Jalape��o mustard on the bun, maybe a few dashes of that green tabasco sauce.)
A large, heated pavilion opens off the brewhouse/taproom. It is filled with long, communal tables. It is dog-friendly, and ��� yes ��� kid-friendly. A section in the corner hosts a selection of toys. And a selection of children as well. So, relief. Another one found.
���But���, you ask (or, you ought to) ���how was the beer?��� Up to snuff, I���d say. In an area replete with beer riches, even average is pretty good. IPAs are what we drink here. It is hard to stand out from the crowd. Bridgeport brews probably the baseline Portland IPA. Everyone else is shooting for somewhere above that line. Breakside and Gigantic exceed the mark. Others, however, land somewhere in the vicinity, hitting below as often as above. Level���s IPAs were acceptable. I did like their Northeast style IPA, a hazy, mellow beer. The Belgian IPA was an intriguing concept. But I don���t anticipate Belgians to exhibit a pronounced hop profile and I don���t expect IPAs to offer that sweet, Belgian yeast flavor. It didn���t work for me. The ���Winter Warmer��� (which I guess is a Strong Ale) was good, and the Barleywine was serviceable. To answer your question, dear reader, the beer rewarded the trip and is worth return journeys.
Food, beer, and something to occupy the HA for the duration. Success.
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Published on February 04, 2018 11:22
Mileage Does Vary. Resurrected Post.
Sometimes a book does not live up to your memory of it, or to its reputation. Sometimes a book is, in as an objective fashion as you can manage, excellent but not thoroughly enjoyable.
I finished John D. MacDonald���s celebrated classic of American tough guy noir The Deep Blue Good-By that introduced the world to Travis McGee. I���ve read MacDonald before: one of his later Travis McGee novels, one of his science fiction novels, Ballroom of the Skies, and several of his short stories. No one needs tell me of his brilliant, prolific talent. I���m willing to stipulate that without reservation.
But. And you knew there would be one, didn���t you? I���m not as enamored of his stuff as perhaps I should be. I sensed a dismissive, disdainful note in Ballroom, as if science fiction was for MacDonald the literary equivalent of slumming. And then there is the famed and celebrated McGee. A well-drawn character. As he, along with Archie Goodwin, serves as one of the progenitors of Glen Cooks��� Garrett, I don���t want to speak too ill of him. (I���ll brook no disparagement of Garrett, you hear?) But Travis McGee is saturated with a post-war cynicism I find off-putting. He disdains everything about the country he lives in and the people who allow him to live the lifestyle he enjoys. Through him MacDonald writes jeremiads against marketing, profits, capitalism, banks, etc. Despite the essential role all of the above played in creating, for example, the Busted Flush on which McGee lives.
The Busted Flush itself is emblematic of McGee���s relationship to America. A houseboat, moored near the tip of Florida ��� part of the country, yet detached.
Travis McGee is a wonderfully realized character, yet one I find rather unlikable. Which may well have been intentional. I don���t know. But I do know that his characteristics render his stories less enjoyable for me than they might have been otherwise. He doesn���t exactly poison the soup, but he does sour it to a degree.
I���ll still read MacDonald from time-to-time, don���t mistake me. There will remain, however, some reservations, an unwillingness on my part to read him uncritically.
I also finished re-reading The Yngling, by John Dalmas. I bought a copy of this back when I was thirteen or fourteen. The fact that I sold it later maybe should have been a clue. But I���ve reacquired other books from my youth that I enjoyed the second time around. With The Yngling, however, I was disappointed.
There is, for example, the cliffhanger ending. Am I going to pick up the sequel(s) to find out what happens next? I don���t know. I took little enjoyment from the book. The main character possesses ESP. I find myself generally disliking books featuring psionics. And the main character of the Yngling is written as specifically abstracted, cold, inhuman. As with McGee, an unlikeable protagonist can limit the pleasure of a tale. Of course McGee is a complex and well-written character while Nils J��rnhand is a rather flat cypher.
The author appeared to have been in a hurry. There is a great deal occurring, yet it is rushed through or happens off-screen. The post-apocalyptic setting offered room for some fun, pulp adventure. But what I read managed to squander the opportunities, turning in some rather dull set-pieces and then moving on to the next in a rather rote fashion. I had some hopes for the villain. Perhaps I should hold on to those hopes as I assume he must pop up again in the sequel(s.) His fate in The Yngling happened in a rather off-hand, anti-climatic fashion. I kept expecting him to reappear, right up to the cliffhanger, somewhat out-of-left-field ending.
So, I don���t know. Have any of you read beyond The Yngling? Is the story compelling enough that I should track down the next book?
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Published on January 28, 2018 14:52
September 11, 2022
Texas Beer Tasting. Plus Savage Journal Entry 7
The HA enjoyed a school event in the gymnasium, staying up late for games, crafts, an animated flick, and running around with her little friends. The school branded this as parents date night. So MBW and I took advantage of that. After dropping off the HA, we drove to a ramshackle brewpub/venue a few miles away. The HA���s school is in a town on the distant fringes of the Houston metroplex, the land usage growing increasingly rural from there. The pub, Fublrook Ale Works, fits the location perfectly. Parking in gravel or on the grass. A refurbished warehouse or barn with an outdoor patio and music stage built, the kitchen a retired food truck. A cover band played country blues rock until sundown. After that the set switched to country singalong classics (David Alan Coe, Hank Williams, Jr., etc.) After a couple of months living in Texas I ��� finally ��� began to feel�� I truly was in Texas. And that I belonged. It was nice.
But, you ask, how was the beer? Well, let me regale you with a bit of Texas beer tasting.
I ordered a flight. The FML (Fulbrook Mexican Lager) was a promising beginning, crisp and citric. I don���t know if they added lime peel at the boil, an extract, or squeezed in fresh lime juice as a later addition. Don���t care. I���ve achieved somewhat similar results homebrewing, but this was better, if I���m being honest. The Zero Bocks Given was decent, but a bit muddled, if you know what I mean. Not a clear cut example of the style. The Good Nuff was more than good enough. I���ve found Texas more miss than hit when it comes to IPAs, but the Good Nuff is a fine version, balanced, drinkable, without wimping out on the hops. The Octoberish ��� well, the less said the better. I didn���t finish the taster. That ought to tell you something. Something in the Orange was a surprise. It smelled like orange juice and tasted like a creamsicle. I don���t think I���d ever order more than one. It���s a bit of a stunt, a cream ale bordering on the flavored seltzer category. But I liked it.
And now, for those of you still following the exploits of Magnus Stoneslayer:
SAVAGE JOURNAL
ENTRY 7.
The young lady in my care is playing coy, dear diary.�� It happens.�� Most of the women
who cross my path ��� the tavern trulls, dancing girls, princesses, temple slaves, and the like�� ��� are about as subtle as a mare in estrus.�� I find it refreshing when one dons the demure mask. Or, as this one had, feigns repulsion.
For example, when I quartered the hare I’d brought down for the evening meal with my new throwing stick, she uttered disgusted protests at my performing the function manually.�� I have no time for civilized fastidiousness.�� If she wants the meat surgically dismembered and roasted in fennel and white wine sauce she should have brought along a butcher and a chef. A rabbit torn by hand into four bloody chunks is what she gets for having me along instead of an entourage.
I know it is all an act.�� I’ve seen this performance before, curtain to curtain.�� After
the smooth skinned, perfumed and powdered courtiers she experienced all her life the noble savage will prove irresistible.�� I may have to save her life in some heroic fashion: pull her free from a torrent of white water at the risk of drowning myself, throttle a menacing wild boar, or slay a few brigands who are in the process of making off with her for nefarious purposes.�� After which I will leave her unceremoniously with a grunted warning to take better care of herself because we aren’t safe behind the walls of her daddy’s hall.�� This will throw her; initially she will anticipate that her rescuer will demand gratitude.�� The psychology of the saved damsel is invariable: when the barbarian warrior snatches her from the jaws of doom and looks expectant, the damsel ��� sooner or later��� begins to suspect not only the motives of her savage savior but also the bona fides of the rescue itself, no matter how improbable or absurd it would be for him to have staged the event.�� So, the experienced barbarian bypasses the psychodrama.�� He demonstrates his disdain for the silly little bint who allowed herself to fall into such a predicament to begin with.�� She is now left feeling both indebted and ignored.�� Gratitude she can swallow.�� Being overlooked she will not tolerate.
You will see, dear diary.�� The moment of crisis is impending, an immutable fact of a savage hero’s existence in these circumstances.�� I’d best keep my already keen native senses on even sharper alert tonight for wolves, bestial, half-human apes, demonic religious cults, and the like.�� So, needing to rest before nigh inevitable exertions, I bid you a fond good night.
Magnus Stoneslayer
So, how do you think that���s going to work out for Magnus? Check in next week. Previous entries can be found here, here, here, here, here, and here.) If you want more immediate story gratification, why not pick up one of my books? How about (random die roll) Thick As Thieves?
2018 Tolkien Birthday Bash. Resurrected Post.
Saturday I took MBW and the HA into Portland for the annual J.R.R. Tolkien Birthday Celebration at the Kennedy School. At four-years old, the HA is now able to appreciate it to some extent, though her attention still wanes at times.
We met up with several friends. In the Kennedy School gymnasium ��we commandeered a table somewhat too small for our group. But we made do. It was a solid vantage point for enjoying ���The Hobbit Greatest Hits��� radio performance. The performance is, in fact, live and not broadcast. But ���radio��� describes the spirit of the endeavor. The troupe encored a new (for them) scene and pulled it off with few hitches. MBW liked observing the foley artists produce the sound effects.
Following the radio play we stuck around for the costume contest. Given that the Tolkien Birthday Bash is a small event, without significant cash prizes, in a minor venue in Northeast Portland, the turnout for the costume contest is impressive. Some of the contestants worked on their costumes all year. The level of enthusiasm and dedication is astonishing. I get it, but objectively, how can one explain the love for a fictional universe over eighty-years old now?
I���m glad that level of affection exists. I���m looking forward to the HA reaching an age at which I can read ���The Hobbit��� to her, pass along the love to another generation.
Published on January 14, 2018 13:28
2018 Plans. Resurrected Post.
I did not make any New Year���s resolutions. I���m rather content, in general, with life. I always strive to improve, of course, for myself and for MBW and the HA. But I don���t plan to drop ten pounds or start exercising. I already maintain a healthy weight and workout regularly. I don���t intend to quit smoking; I never started. I���ve got a steady job and a roof over my head. There is always room to grow, to do more, to increase in prosperity. I���ll continue striving. But I don���t feel the need to make any concrete resolutions.
I do, however, have plans for the year.
I plan to see ���Boss��� published. The contract is signed. I���m waiting on editorial comments. So I suppose that one is out of my hands.
I plan to finish writing the current WIP. Now, I do need to get my ass in the chair more regularly. I���m not progressing as rapidly as I���d like. As of this writing, I���m about halfway through chapter 9. Maybe a third of the way through the story. But I���ve got twelve months left. I���m not worried. If I can get some dedicated, prolonged writing time, perhaps I can finish early.
Which brings me to my third plan: Travel more. I began the year on the road and already have hotel rooms booked and time-off scheduled for more trips. These trips include conventions. I���ll provide details as the date near. Maybe I���ll have a chance to meet some of you readers in person. MBW and I have tentative plans for even more travel. This year could see me racking up more air miles than usual. If possible, I hope to take advantage of time out of the office to rack up larger daily word counts than usual.
In short, I���m planning on a productive 2018. We���ll see how it goes. And you, dear reader? What does the year auger for you?
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Published on January 07, 2018 12:29
Happy New Year from Vancouver, B.C. Resurrected Post.
Happy New Year���s Eve to you all from sunny Vancouver, British Columbia. Yes, sunny. I just peeked out through the curtains of the hotel room and that is indeed blue sky.
The drive up from Portland was in constant, pounding rain. It did not bode well for the rest of the trip. But come the morning, the weather cleared and we���ve had beautiful, but frigid, weather.
It has been thirty years since I spent any significant amount of time in Vancouver. It no longer resembles my memories of the place. All to the good, I suppose.
MBW enjoyed the view over Lions Gate Bridge. The HA adored the aquarium. But then, she always has. She���s an aquarium junkie. This particular aquarium includes an Amazon exhibit, so along with fish she got bonus marmosets.
The beer is good. I mean, British Columbia is still the Pacific Northwest, national border or no, so of course the beer is good. Speaking of beer: What the hell, B.C? I wanted to put a few brews in the hotel room refrigerator, but the nearby stores don���t carry beer. Apparently, outside of certain rural areas, one must purchase beer at liquor stores. Frankly, this is barbaric. I expect better of a civilized nation. I ended up buying a couple of bottles from the hotel bar. Something called Alexander Keith���s India Pale Ale, which bills itself as the Pride of Nova Scotia. Honestly, Nova Scotia, unless you take pride in producing an IPA sans hops, a beer that tastes more like a sessionable Scotch Ale than an IPA, I���d look for something else to hang your toque on.
See? You get vital travel advice and trenchant political commentary from this web log.
Now, time to find a family friendly, early New Year���s Eve event. Those of you still in possession of the domestic logistics to stay up until midnight, enjoy the ball drop for me.
Published on December 31, 2017 11:00
