Duane Swierczynski's Blog, page 9

Charles Willeford's Turnaround

I love the story of how Charles Willeford wrote his first novel, High Priest of California, recounted by Lou Stathis in his introduction to the 1987 Re/Search edition. Seems that a roommate was tired of hearing Willeford always talk about writing a novel rather than actually writing the novel. "Aw, you ain't never gonna do it," said the friend, "so just shut up." Willeford realized: "I had no choice after that. I had to start writing."

At the time, Willeford was stationed at the Hamilton Air Force Base about 30 miles north of San Francisco. So on weekends, Willeford would travel down to the city in his power blue Buick convertible and take a room at the Powell Hotel, right at the base of the famous cable car turnaround on Powell Street. He'd divide his time between writing and fun. "Being thirty years old, "Willeford said, "with a blue convertible, a blue uniform, and blue eyes, I was just having the time of my life." More important, Willeford finished the novel. It was only 35,000, but that's exactly the right length for a book like High Priest. (Incidentally, James M. Cain's immortal The Postman Always Rings Twice was also 35,000 words.)


(Hey, I could have worse hobbies.)

Anyway, I've been keeping this quiet little Tumblr thing called (appropriately enough) Secret Dead Tumblr, where I simply post photos along these lines. I've focused on my favorites: David Goodis, Charles Bukowski, Raymond Chandler, Fredric Brown, Cain, Willeford, etc. Need to add a Hammett post, come to think of it.

But if you have any tips on where a notable writer worked/lived/played, I'm all ears.

Remembering Holly (1995-2011)

Secret Dead Blog lost a treasured member of its team today: Holly, our 16-year-old black domestic shorthaired cat.

Holly (named for Buddy Holly) has been around since the beginning. I brought her home on Sunday, March 19, 1995, the same week I was promoted to the position of staff writer at Philadelphia Magazine. So for as long as I've been earning a living as a writer, Holly's been by my side. She used to curl up around my neck as I'd write short stories and magazine pieces, sometimes wrapping herself around my computer monitor, just to make sure I stayed focused and on task. She'd knock over the wastebasket in the bathroom whenever my attention would drift. She'd steal my ties from the rack (as if to say, Someday, kid, you're going to have a job where you won't need to wear a tie). She'd growl and hiss at any human females who happened to visit my home. (You ain't got time for the dames. Write, damn it!) She even tried to dismember the human female who would eventually become my wife; this initial skirmish turned into a years-long battle of the wills that settled into an uneasy truce... then, finally, grudging mutual respect. Eventually, Holly accepted the Human Female Who Became My Wife as part of the Secret Dead Blog team, and even tolerated it when I and the human female produced two children. But inside, Holly knew her true place; her claws were sunk deep into the operation.


She was a great cat. The perfect writer's cat, in fact. A born killer down to the marrow of her bones, but patient and sweet, too. You would have loved her. Unless you were a Human Female, in which case she would have probably tried to kill you.

In Case You're Wondering... No, the Thrill Never Does Get Old

Just a short while ago the UPS man dropped off a box containing ARCs of my next novel, Fun & Games, out this June from Mulholland Books. I cut open the box with a knife (the kitchen scissors were in the dishwasher). Carefully, I opened the flaps and just stared at them, nestled around plastic air bubble pouches, like 10 babies in synthetic afterbirth. I couldn't even bring myself to touch them, at first. The Bride was the first to reach in and pick one up. After I knew it was safe, I did, too. I checked the front, and the spine, and then the back. (Yeah, this sounds paranoid, but
Or at least, it's just about ready to become a real book. ARC readers will find typos and such that we've caught, and I've fine-tuned a little bit here and there. But it's really amazing to hold the damned thing in my hands in bound form.

Like I said, this never, ever gets old.

The Battle of Hollywood

Want a glimpse of the sordid underbelly of Tinseltown, as seen through the eyes of Philly scribes? Boy, have I got an event for you. This Wednesday I'll be taking part in a panel discussion at the Free Library of Philadelphia titled, "Can Writers Survive Hollywood?"

(Spoiler alert: Everyone on the panel did, in fact, survive.)

The panel is part of the One Book, One Philadelphia festivities, and will focus on Sherman Alexie's short story, "Fearful Symmetry," which belongs to one my favorite sub-subgenres. Namely, the "innocent writer goes to Hollywood and loses his/her innocence and/or mind" sub-subgenre (see also Nathaneal West's Day of the Locust, Fitzgerald's Pat Hobby stories, Barton Fink, etc.)

Joining me will be novelist and screenwriter Joe Gangemi, novelist Ken Kalfus and screenwriter Mark Rosenthal, and the event will be moderated by Ursinus professor Erec Smith. We took part in a conference call last week to get to know each other, and if the conversation was any indication of how the panel will turn out... well, you guys are in for a wild ride.

The fun starts at 7 p.m., at the Central Branch (1901 Vine Street). Hope to see some of you there.

(Illustration: Charles Binger's awesomely pulpy Day of the Locust paperback art. Which springs to mind whenever I think about Hollywood.)

The Hit Parade

"Don't forget to floss."Yesterday Publishers Weekly Daily ran a special on Mulholland Books with a crapload of original content from its authors, including Michael Robotham on the top robberies of all time, Lawrence Block on Matthew Scudder, Mark Billingham on the perils of writing a series, Marcia Clark and Sebastian Rotella on how their previous day jobs influenced their writing, and then finally me with a quick rundown of "Great (Hit) Men I Have Known." I know I forgot a bunch of favorites (Thomas Perry's own "Butcher's Boy," comes to mind, as well as Block's Keller and Allan Guthrie's Park, the hitman who is afraid of blood). But that's the problem with these kinds of lists. You remember half a dozen more the moment  you hit "send."

So help me out here, before some creators send their creations after me. Who are your favorite fictional hit men?

(Photo from the wonderful Mr. Peel's Sardine Liqueur.)

The Wheelman Rides in Paris

The French edition of my crime novel The Wheelman is out this month from Rivages/Noir, and once again, I'm loving the cover. Yes, I'm sure a lot of that has to do with the classic Rivages look, and the fact that so many of my crime writing heroes (David Goodis, James Ellroy, Donald Westlake/Richard Stark) have been published by the same line. But the cover image is also spot-on. You've got a guy running down a road, scrambling for his life, much like Lennon in the novel. And I'll be damned if this doesn't remind me (kinda sorta) of the narrow tunnel that shoots under the Philadelphia Museum of Art, if you're cutting from Fairmount Avenue to I-76. (Philadelphians will know what I'm talking about here.) Anyway, what do you guys think?

Also: If any of you read French, I'd love to know what the translated title means. Best Babelfish can tell me is "any pace." And that just sounds... weird.

(Once again, huge thanks to Frédéric Fontès for the tip.)

Set the Time Machine to "Future Awesome"

One of the most valuable things about social media blogs, Twitter, Facebook, etc? Yeah, sure, the camaraderie, the photos, the links, catching up with that dude you spoke to exactly once in 10th grade, blah blah blah.

But what I really love are the tips on forthcoming books. Stuff that is weeks, months, maybe even years away... but makes me all twitchy, wanting to get my paws on them immediately. There is no book more tantalizing than the one you can't read right thisverysecond.

So, in no particular order -- and with no attempt whatsoever to be "complete" -- here are a few books I've heard about that have me drooling:

The Damned Highway, by Brian Keene and Nick Mamatas (Dark Horse). I'm a Hunter S. Thompson fan. I'm a Brian Keene fan. And I'm sure after this novel, I'm going to be a newly-minted Nick Mamatas fan. Look at that Ralph Steadman-inspired art above. I mean... seriously. They had me at "gonzo horror."

Fatale, by Jean-Patrick Manchette (New York Review Books Classics). Manchette wrote a dozen acclaimed crime novels in French. Only two translated into English, and I adore both of them. This will be the third, and I would probably surrender a finger or kidney to be able to read it right now.

(Oh, and while I'm at it: Fantagraphics will be publishing a graphic novel adaptation of Manchette's The Prone Gunman called Like a Sniper Lining Up His Shot. This is a good year to be a Manchette fanboy.)


Claire DeWitt and the City of the Dead, by Sara Gran (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt). Every so often, Gran turns her hand to a new subgenre... then totally owns it. With Come Closer, it was modern-day demonic horror. With Dope, it was 1950s junkie PI noir. Now she's sending a 1980s girl detective into post-Katrina New Orleans, and even better, this appears to be the start of a new series. There's never enough Gran on the shelves.

The Pack, by Jason Starr (Ace). Following his crime/horror graphic novel hybrid The Chill, the Dark Prince of Noir is now apparently ready to really bare his fangs. Ten bucks Starr's werewolves ain't going to be moping around, bummed that some sparkly vampire stole their dame.

The Informant, by Thomas Perry (Otto Penzler). One of the best hit man novels ever is Perry's The Butcher's Boy, which was first published in 1982. The Informant will be the second sequel, following 1992's Sleeping Dogs. Not only is Perry one of our finest thriller writers, he is also a cruel, cruel tease.

Robopocalypse, by Daniel H. Wilson (Doubleday). Just because it sounds absolutely mental.

Flashback, by Dan Simmons (Regan Arthur Books). Much of a very fucked-up near-future USA is in the grip of a drug that has its users literally living in the past. As a man slightly obsessed with nostalgia, I can see the appeal.

Tabloid City, by Pete Hamill (Little, Brown). Newspapers/New York/Cops/Murder/Hamill... really not needing much more convincing this pick this one up.

Also: Little, Brown will be bring out George Pelecanos's back catalog in handsome new trade paperback editions. That means I'll have a chance to re-read the Nick Stefanos trilogy, the D.C. Quartet... all of the brilliant stuff that got me hooked on Pelecanos a decade ago. Can't wait.

Again, this is not complete -- just what I've added to my shortlist recently. What are you guys looking forward to?

(To put it bluntly: I NEED MORE TIPS.)

Fun & Games in the UK

Very proud to share with you guys the official UK cover for my next novel, Fun & Games. I'm pretty much in love with it. The image is subtle, but darkly funny. And it pairs nicely with the blood-so-red-it's-almost-turning-black title treatment. My name doesn't look too ridiculous, nor is it hidden. The tagline is funny. (Similar to one I submitted along with the novel, but it's been sharpened up along the way.) And as the subtitle indicated, this is the first of a series. A trilogy, to be exact, with the second and third volumes following closely behind the first.

The UK version will be published this June by Mulholland Books UK, the sister of imprint of our own beloved Mulholland Books. I've seen a rough version of the American cover, and I can't wait to share it with you, because it kicks ass in an entirely different way.

What do you guys think? If you were in a Waterstone's or something over in the UK, and you saw this on the shelves, would you give this novel a go?

Tears of a Mercenary

Out tomorrow in comic shops everywhere, unless the ice storm washes away every single copy: the long-awaited Deadpool and Cable #26. Yes, it's been almost a year since Deadpool and Cable #25. And in the meantime, Cable... uh, died. But why let a little thing like that get in the way? I love the coverlines the Marvel folks slapped on this baby. (Whoever came up with "How Mourns a Mercenary?" deserves a beer.) Hope you'll check it out. It would be fun to write Deadpool and Cable #27 sometime in the next two or three years.

You Gotta Get Up If You Want to Get Off

If you're a fellow Lawrence Block fan (and if not, what the hell's the matter with you?) you have to admit: we are living in golden times. There's a brand new Matt Scudder novel, A Drop of the Hard Stuff, out this spring from Mulholland Books. There's a virtual treasure trove of ebook editions of many hard-to-find Block novels available on your Kindles and your Nooks and iPads. (If you haven't already ready, drop a ten spot on Such Men Are Dangerous, a short-but-blistering action thriller unlike anything else you've ever read. Trust me; you'll thank me in the morning.)

And now comes word that a brand-new Block novel is leading the relaunch of Hard Case Crime from a.) a new publisher, and b.) in hardcover.

Strangely it's Block writing as one of his former pseudonyms, a la Stephen King/Richard Bachman. Confused? Let Charles Ardai explain:

GETTING OFF: A Novel of Sex and Violence by Lawrence Block (writing as Jill Emerson) -- The story of a beautiful young woman who sets off on a mission to kill every man she's ever slept with (and she's slept with quite a few). For this book, Lawrence Block is reviving a pseudonym he hasn't used in almost 40 years, under which he wrote seven particularly sexy books back in the day. When he saw how sexy this new one was coming out, he thought...that's the Jill Emerson in me coming out again...

Me? I'm already sold. By the premise, as well as that 1970s-style chunkalicious font and the rather, uh, cheeky Gregory Manchess cover art.

(And that's just the beginning for the new Hard Case. Getting Off will be followed by a new Mickey Spillane/Max Allan Collins, a new Max Allan Collins, and a new Christa Faust.)

So yeah. These are golden times.