My new piece — the one that was delayed for socio-political considerations — has gone up at tcj.com. It begins:
In 1961, Walker Percy published The Moviegoer, which came to mean a lot to many people, including me. “The search,” Jack “Binx” Bolling, the novel’s narrator, informed, “is what anyone would undertake if he were not sunk in the everydayness of his life. … To be aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair.” In 1961, to be coming out of teenage years spent in the 1950s, which, if they were anything, were perennial “everydayness,” interrupted by the occasional Little Richard song, was a steady contest against despair.
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 451-453
Sold a “Schiz.” It was sort-of a “mercy” buy, since the purchaser, the poet/therapist J____, a sincere appreciator of my work, had asked when my next “Adventure” would appear, and I’d said I needed to sell a book first. (I then recommended IWKYA, but she felt more comfortable with my imagined blackly comic depravities than with my actual health crisis.)
I also gave a “Cheesesteak” to one of the new co-editors at tcj.com. It turned out that, not only was she from Philadelphia but, when she learned I was from 46th & Pine, revealed that was an area she walked her dog. (In my day, to cite B. Dylan, dogs ran free.) And speaking of tcj, the disclaimer I added to my last submission – See: previous “Adventure” – has received tweaking from both me and the other editor, and should be up next week, as written
.
My table also drew a few non-commercially inclined guests. There was a pair of 60-ish lesbians from South Carolina, fans of “the Wolf Pack,” in town for the Cal-NC State game. (We discussed how I came to Berkeley, one of my favored topics.) There was another woman, heavy set, with long grey hair, garbed in baggy grey, who took my card – and was never heard from again. And there was a 20-ish woman artist, who thought highly of J.T.’s brushwork on the sign he’d done for me. She was up from Santa Cruz “for a face-painting gig.” When I described my books, she showed the most interest in “The Pirates & the Mouse,” which I am not selling at the moment, so I directed her to the internet. (I gave her a card too, just in case.)
In other news…
1.) FOM will be putting up a “mini” by Adele and me shortly;
2.) I have a first draft of a longer piece done for it, which is in the process of being fact-checked by its subject, a zine artist in North Jersey. (I’d interviewed her by phone but – not for the first time – failed to work my cassette recorder properly. My notes, while 90% accurate I’m sure, had some holes.)
3.) “Messiahs” remains on hold. I had the lost scans re-sent, but the publishers’ auto-reply said that he was attending a comic-con in Italy, and, if the election didn’t work out properly, he might not return. Not that Italy’s PM, from what I read, is any bargain.
4.) And finally, in the realm of prophets being without honor in their hometown, the Berkeley Public Library hosted its second annual comics convention, with talks, panels, and guests, no invitation having been directed to me. I was temporarily amused/rankled, but then a pal, who took his 14-year-old son, said there was not a whiff of the transgressive on display, so I would have been an odd fit, I reckon. (Still, I plan to withhold my annual charitable contribution.)
I also gave a “Cheesesteak” to one of the new co-editors at tcj.com. It turned out that, not only was she from Philadelphia but, when she learned I was from 46th & Pine, revealed that was an area she walked her dog. (In my day, to cite B. Dylan, dogs ran free.) And speaking of tcj, the disclaimer I added to my last submission – See: previous “Adventure” – has received tweaking from both me and the other editor, and should be up next week, as written
.
My table also drew a few non-commercially inclined guests. There was a pair of 60-ish lesbians from South Carolina, fans of “the Wolf Pack,” in town for the Cal-NC State game. (We discussed how I came to Berkeley, one of my favored topics.) There was another woman, heavy set, with long grey hair, garbed in baggy grey, who took my card – and was never heard from again. And there was a 20-ish woman artist, who thought highly of J.T.’s brushwork on the sign he’d done for me. She was up from Santa Cruz “for a face-painting gig.” When I described my books, she showed the most interest in “The Pirates & the Mouse,” which I am not selling at the moment, so I directed her to the internet. (I gave her a card too, just in case.)
In other news…
1.) FOM will be putting up a “mini” by Adele and me shortly;
2.) I have a first draft of a longer piece done for it, which is in the process of being fact-checked by its subject, a zine artist in North Jersey. (I’d interviewed her by phone but – not for the first time – failed to work my cassette recorder properly. My notes, while 90% accurate I’m sure, had some holes.)
3.) “Messiahs” remains on hold. I had the lost scans re-sent, but the publishers’ auto-reply said that he was attending a comic-con in Italy, and, if the election didn’t work out properly, he might not return. Not that Italy’s PM, from what I read, is any bargain.
4.) And finally, in the realm of prophets being without honor in their hometown, the Berkeley Public Library hosted its second annual comics convention, with talks, panels, and guests, no invitation having been directed to me. I was temporarily amused/rankled, but then a pal, who took his 14-year-old son, said there was not a whiff of the transgressive on display, so I would have been an odd fit, I reckon. (Still, I plan to withhold my annual charitable contribution.)
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 448-450
Sold NO books.
In fact, drew no one to my table for an interesting/colorful/newsworthy chat. Have my books/sign/distinctively garbed presence become commonplace? Am I another potted ficus?
(I did receive a visit from a librarian/cartoonist in town from Maryland, with whom I have been in sporadic correspondence since my first article on the Air Pirates appeared 20 years ago. And a café regular introduced me to her boyfriend, a criminal defense lawyer in Sacramento, as the fellow who’d written “Bob.” “I read part,” he said.)
Gave TWO books away.
A “Cheesesteak” went to a jazz musician (“Lester” in its last chapter) whom I’d met in high school and who’d sent me a link to a documentary about book censorship in public high schools on which he’d been an executive producer.
And a “Best Ride” to the ex-wife of “Max Garden,” (See: same chapter) who now lives in Jamaica. She recently sold her house in Philly and lost her copy in the move. She sent me a photo of her granddaughter in full motorbike racing regalia. Her and Max’s son lives in Vietnam, where he runs a training center for tri-athletes.
How the world turns.
In other news…
Readers will recall that my final review of “Messiahs” was awaiting only incorporation of its illustrations. I had scanned and sent to the publisher those that it lacked, but when I did not receive a pdf for a week or so, I inquired. He had received the scans but had no idea what had happened to them, so I had another set sent and resumed awaiting. It is growing a bit uncomfortable on the edge of my seat, but I am not worried.
For one thing, my relationship with this publisher began 35-years ago with it losing the first article I sent it three times. So this disappearance may mark an auspicious new beginning.
For another, when writers of my stature get together, a basic topic of conversation is the indignities, abuses and kerfuffles we have suffered in pursuit of our art, and now I have added one more.
In fact, drew no one to my table for an interesting/colorful/newsworthy chat. Have my books/sign/distinctively garbed presence become commonplace? Am I another potted ficus?
(I did receive a visit from a librarian/cartoonist in town from Maryland, with whom I have been in sporadic correspondence since my first article on the Air Pirates appeared 20 years ago. And a café regular introduced me to her boyfriend, a criminal defense lawyer in Sacramento, as the fellow who’d written “Bob.” “I read part,” he said.)
Gave TWO books away.
A “Cheesesteak” went to a jazz musician (“Lester” in its last chapter) whom I’d met in high school and who’d sent me a link to a documentary about book censorship in public high schools on which he’d been an executive producer.
And a “Best Ride” to the ex-wife of “Max Garden,” (See: same chapter) who now lives in Jamaica. She recently sold her house in Philly and lost her copy in the move. She sent me a photo of her granddaughter in full motorbike racing regalia. Her and Max’s son lives in Vietnam, where he runs a training center for tri-athletes.
How the world turns.
In other news…
Readers will recall that my final review of “Messiahs” was awaiting only incorporation of its illustrations. I had scanned and sent to the publisher those that it lacked, but when I did not receive a pdf for a week or so, I inquired. He had received the scans but had no idea what had happened to them, so I had another set sent and resumed awaiting. It is growing a bit uncomfortable on the edge of my seat, but I am not worried.
For one thing, my relationship with this publisher began 35-years ago with it losing the first article I sent it three times. So this disappearance may mark an auspicious new beginning.
For another, when writers of my stature get together, a basic topic of conversation is the indignities, abuses and kerfuffles we have suffered in pursuit of our art, and now I have added one more.
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 440-447
Business, as opposed to the more traditional lack of business, accounts (mostly) for my absence.
A café pal, who lives in his truck, had it impounded, along with most of his possessions, due to unpaid tickets and has been sleeping outside. He asked for something to read, so I gave him a “Best Ride,” upon which he has not commented.
A friend (and prior reader), whom I’d met in college and went on to become (a) a newspaper reporter and (b) attorney, after frequently expressing his intent to purchase “Bob on Bob,” came by the café and picked one up. He has not commented either – though someone purporting to be him e-mailed he was in the hospital for knee surgery and asking I wire funds to a relative.
J___ , another repeat customer, picked up “Cheesesteak.” A retired physician from Hawthorne (“Where the Beach Boys are from”), he gave me a reminiscense from his childhood. He said he had hundreds (or was it a thousand) he was thinking ot publishing, so I shared, without his asking, my general approach.
J____, the poet/therapist, bought both “Bob on Bob” and “Cheesesteak.” (“Beyond admirable,” she said of the first and “You are a true scholar,” of the second.) A couple days later, she led me into a discussion of the absence of darkness in my work. (She has a perfectly reasonable preference for memoirs in which narrators confront and rise from theirs.) Coincidentally, a couple days earlier, I had looked at my journal from 60 years ago. “Boy, was I miserable,” I’d thought. (It was a period friends and I could seriously say we did not know anyone who was happy.) But now I look back with – and write from – a fond (and recognizably fortunate) bemusement at it all. (It is not just the Lexapro.) The darknesses remain undiscussed – or undiscussed darkly.
Then there was D_____, a 40-something Bay Area native now living in Germany. (A self-described “late starter in academia,” he works in “human-centered digital health.”) He was in town visiting family and had been led to me because he had a recently revived interest in Golden Age comics and had heard I knew about them. (After reading my article on ECs, he invited me to speak at an art museum in Berlin. I explained I never went further than San Francisco these days and then, usually, only for medical reasons, and asked if Zoom would work. I was already fantasizing this might be where I would donate my archives when he admitted the idea for my talk had not gone beyond his head so far, but he would bring it up with a curator.) We had a delightful conversation, which veered into his scraping together nearly the full cover price of “Bob” and acquiring a copy – upon which he has not yet commented.
In other news…
1.) No news on the Air Pirates film.
2.) Shown work of a words-and-pictures artist that interested me, I emailed to ask if I might write about her. Assuming she did not know me, I told her the venues where my piece might go. She said she did not regard herself as a cartoonist, which ruled out tcj.com, but having checked out First of the Month, found it appealed. So that it where I will be aiming.
3.) Speaking of tcj,, the last article I submitted has been read by an editor, who received it with a less-than ringing “pretty good.” However, unbeknownst to me, one of the creators whose work I’d discussed had been the target of outrage in the indie comics world because of his alleged harassment/abuse of trans-sexual women (and others). This was an elephant whose presence in the room I had missed, and which the editor felt needed addressing lest the internet ring. So I have been working on that.
4.) But the BIG STORY is “MESSIAHS.” The cover is done! It’s a knock-out – and if I knew how to transfer it from an e-mail, I would post it. All that seems left is selecting the illustrations – one per piece. Then it should nearly be ready to go. I have expressed my preferences; Fantagraphics will see what it has, and I will scan and send them the rest. I can barely contain myself from drawing up the list of invitees to the launch party.
A café pal, who lives in his truck, had it impounded, along with most of his possessions, due to unpaid tickets and has been sleeping outside. He asked for something to read, so I gave him a “Best Ride,” upon which he has not commented.
A friend (and prior reader), whom I’d met in college and went on to become (a) a newspaper reporter and (b) attorney, after frequently expressing his intent to purchase “Bob on Bob,” came by the café and picked one up. He has not commented either – though someone purporting to be him e-mailed he was in the hospital for knee surgery and asking I wire funds to a relative.
J___ , another repeat customer, picked up “Cheesesteak.” A retired physician from Hawthorne (“Where the Beach Boys are from”), he gave me a reminiscense from his childhood. He said he had hundreds (or was it a thousand) he was thinking ot publishing, so I shared, without his asking, my general approach.
J____, the poet/therapist, bought both “Bob on Bob” and “Cheesesteak.” (“Beyond admirable,” she said of the first and “You are a true scholar,” of the second.) A couple days later, she led me into a discussion of the absence of darkness in my work. (She has a perfectly reasonable preference for memoirs in which narrators confront and rise from theirs.) Coincidentally, a couple days earlier, I had looked at my journal from 60 years ago. “Boy, was I miserable,” I’d thought. (It was a period friends and I could seriously say we did not know anyone who was happy.) But now I look back with – and write from – a fond (and recognizably fortunate) bemusement at it all. (It is not just the Lexapro.) The darknesses remain undiscussed – or undiscussed darkly.
Then there was D_____, a 40-something Bay Area native now living in Germany. (A self-described “late starter in academia,” he works in “human-centered digital health.”) He was in town visiting family and had been led to me because he had a recently revived interest in Golden Age comics and had heard I knew about them. (After reading my article on ECs, he invited me to speak at an art museum in Berlin. I explained I never went further than San Francisco these days and then, usually, only for medical reasons, and asked if Zoom would work. I was already fantasizing this might be where I would donate my archives when he admitted the idea for my talk had not gone beyond his head so far, but he would bring it up with a curator.) We had a delightful conversation, which veered into his scraping together nearly the full cover price of “Bob” and acquiring a copy – upon which he has not yet commented.
In other news…
1.) No news on the Air Pirates film.
2.) Shown work of a words-and-pictures artist that interested me, I emailed to ask if I might write about her. Assuming she did not know me, I told her the venues where my piece might go. She said she did not regard herself as a cartoonist, which ruled out tcj.com, but having checked out First of the Month, found it appealed. So that it where I will be aiming.
3.) Speaking of tcj,, the last article I submitted has been read by an editor, who received it with a less-than ringing “pretty good.” However, unbeknownst to me, one of the creators whose work I’d discussed had been the target of outrage in the indie comics world because of his alleged harassment/abuse of trans-sexual women (and others). This was an elephant whose presence in the room I had missed, and which the editor felt needed addressing lest the internet ring. So I have been working on that.
4.) But the BIG STORY is “MESSIAHS.” The cover is done! It’s a knock-out – and if I knew how to transfer it from an e-mail, I would post it. All that seems left is selecting the illustrations – one per piece. Then it should nearly be ready to go. I have expressed my preferences; Fantagraphics will see what it has, and I will scan and send them the rest. I can barely contain myself from drawing up the list of invitees to the launch party.
Last Ten Books Read (xxxvi)
(In order of completion)
1. Mark Z. Danielewski. “House of Leaves.” Recommended by friend Fran. Struck me as among the best novels by an American I had read in decades. It seemed to winningly combine Pynchon, Nabokov, and “The Blair Witch Project.” But when I mentioned it to three well-situated-in-the-literary-world others, not one had heard of it – or of Danielewski.
2. Mike Silver. “The Arc of Boxing.” Recommended by friend Michael. Makes a strong, if unexpected, case for the superiority of boxers from the first 60 or so years of the 20th century over those who came along later. I can’t argue, and my main contact with the current boxing world does not disagree.
3. Mark Z. Danielewski. “The Whalestone Chronicles.” In “Leaves” (see above), a woman in an insane asylum sends letters to her son without. This volume purports to contain additional letters. They turn out to be unnecessary, irrelevant, and perhaps even an unseemly cash grab by the author worthy of Donald Trump.
4. James Atlas. “Delmore Schwartz.” I read that this was an excellent biography and, even though I had no interest in Schwartz or his poetry or prose, I like literary biographies so I read it. I can’t say it did much for me, but I knew Schwartz was the basis for…
5. Saul Bellow. “Humboldt’s Gift.” …so I re-read that. I had forgotten – or maybe never knew – how funny Bellow was. You can skim his philosophical remarks and just enjoy the colorful characters, among whom his protagonist, Charley Citrine, ping-pongs.
6. Stacy Schiff. “Vera.” An enjoyable and educational bio of Mrs. Vladimir Nabakov, written with good humor and full appreciation of her life and work with her husband. Did you know Vera was a crack shot, suspected of involvement in a plot to assassinate Trotsky, and was a strong supporter of Sen. Joseph McCarthy?
7. Alice Munro. “The Beggar’s Maid.” Recommended by Adele. Good book. Simultaneously conventional and original. Well-grounded in place and psychology and moving. (I do not hold the recent revelations about her daughter against Munro.)
8. Walker Percy. “The Moviegoer.” Another re-read. Recalled it as fitting a piece I was writing. Struck now by how unlikely/out of time it now seems. The existentially questing “hero” is an investment counselor, and he doesn’t have sex with the young woman he pursues. That may have won an National Book Award in 1961, but I can’t imagine that happening now.
9. Lydia Davis. “Our Strangers.” I like Davis. She opens the possibilities of what makes a “story”
and I pick up ideas for things to write. I scored three – two short-shorts, one substantial – from this collection.
10. Elfriede Jelinek. “Lust.” Recommended by my friend Jaden. Powerful, devastating. An exegesis on man’s brutality to women, capitalism’s brutality toward workers, and society’s brutality to all. Sometimes all three seem to be going on in the same sentence. Not a line of dialogue. I didn’t think I could make it through. But then the sex started – and I had Jelinek’s Nobel Prize as a carrot to lead me on.
1. Mark Z. Danielewski. “House of Leaves.” Recommended by friend Fran. Struck me as among the best novels by an American I had read in decades. It seemed to winningly combine Pynchon, Nabokov, and “The Blair Witch Project.” But when I mentioned it to three well-situated-in-the-literary-world others, not one had heard of it – or of Danielewski.
2. Mike Silver. “The Arc of Boxing.” Recommended by friend Michael. Makes a strong, if unexpected, case for the superiority of boxers from the first 60 or so years of the 20th century over those who came along later. I can’t argue, and my main contact with the current boxing world does not disagree.
3. Mark Z. Danielewski. “The Whalestone Chronicles.” In “Leaves” (see above), a woman in an insane asylum sends letters to her son without. This volume purports to contain additional letters. They turn out to be unnecessary, irrelevant, and perhaps even an unseemly cash grab by the author worthy of Donald Trump.
4. James Atlas. “Delmore Schwartz.” I read that this was an excellent biography and, even though I had no interest in Schwartz or his poetry or prose, I like literary biographies so I read it. I can’t say it did much for me, but I knew Schwartz was the basis for…
5. Saul Bellow. “Humboldt’s Gift.” …so I re-read that. I had forgotten – or maybe never knew – how funny Bellow was. You can skim his philosophical remarks and just enjoy the colorful characters, among whom his protagonist, Charley Citrine, ping-pongs.
6. Stacy Schiff. “Vera.” An enjoyable and educational bio of Mrs. Vladimir Nabakov, written with good humor and full appreciation of her life and work with her husband. Did you know Vera was a crack shot, suspected of involvement in a plot to assassinate Trotsky, and was a strong supporter of Sen. Joseph McCarthy?
7. Alice Munro. “The Beggar’s Maid.” Recommended by Adele. Good book. Simultaneously conventional and original. Well-grounded in place and psychology and moving. (I do not hold the recent revelations about her daughter against Munro.)
8. Walker Percy. “The Moviegoer.” Another re-read. Recalled it as fitting a piece I was writing. Struck now by how unlikely/out of time it now seems. The existentially questing “hero” is an investment counselor, and he doesn’t have sex with the young woman he pursues. That may have won an National Book Award in 1961, but I can’t imagine that happening now.
9. Lydia Davis. “Our Strangers.” I like Davis. She opens the possibilities of what makes a “story”
and I pick up ideas for things to write. I scored three – two short-shorts, one substantial – from this collection.
10. Elfriede Jelinek. “Lust.” Recommended by my friend Jaden. Powerful, devastating. An exegesis on man’s brutality to women, capitalism’s brutality toward workers, and society’s brutality to all. Sometimes all three seem to be going on in the same sentence. Not a line of dialogue. I didn’t think I could make it through. But then the sex started – and I had Jelinek’s Nobel Prize as a carrot to lead me on.
The Morning Crowd
My latest piece is up at First of the Month
https://www.firstofthemonth.org/the-morning-crowd/
It begins:
The customer who had been coming to Espresso Bongo the longest had been a magician. He had white hair and blue eyes which were alert and bright. He arrived when the café opened and sat at a corner table opposite the rest room and told people if it was occupied and, if they had never known or had but had forgotten the lock’s combination, he clicked the remote he palmed and opened it. If a small child arrived, he bowed, introduced himself to its parent and, with their permission, pulled a quarter from the child’s ear.
https://www.firstofthemonth.org/the-morning-crowd/
It begins:
The customer who had been coming to Espresso Bongo the longest had been a magician. He had white hair and blue eyes which were alert and bright. He arrived when the café opened and sat at a corner table opposite the rest room and told people if it was occupied and, if they had never known or had but had forgotten the lock’s combination, he clicked the remote he palmed and opened it. If a small child arrived, he bowed, introduced himself to its parent and, with their permission, pulled a quarter from the child’s ear.
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 434 – 439
Adventures in Marketing (Weeks 434 – 439)
As today’s title indicates, things have been slow at the marketplace. Perhaps when interest rates come down.
I can report two repeat customers. J__, the poet/therapist, bought a second café journal (Only one left) as a gift for her daughter. And K__, the bio/physicist with aphasia, added an IWKYA to her collection of my works. But a couple people who said they would buy books failed to act upon their promises.
I gave two “Lollipop”s away. One went to a former head of California Rural Legal Assistance, whom I met in the hospital through my work for Mended Hearts. He had been at UChi law school the year I had been in VISTA there. The other went to a retired physician who had already bought a couple of my books and who, it turned out, had grown up there.
My table display did draw a number of curious drop-by visitors, but mainly they wanted to know if I had done the illustrations. There was a Hispanic former school teacher who is seeking grants so he can work with underperforming kids. And a hard-hatted guy setting up an IT network in a building under construction. And a fellow in hoodie and jeans who had been spending the last several years on “self-development” and the “inner journey.” (He was a writer himself but of journals.) And Max, who had come to Utah with the goal of becoming a ski bum and was in town for the Billy Strings concert at the Greek. (I forget if he was fan or musician.)
In other news…
1.) No new word on “Meshuganahs…” If the silence holds, I’ll call the publisher in a couple days. But I did hear from the fellow making the documentary on the Air Pirates. He’s added a couple people to the project which may strengthen its appeal to potential funders. (And the guy doing a comic version of the saga asked me for sources of a couple things I wrote in my book and after an hour or so pawing though cartons in my basement, I found one.
2.) My article in “Comic Book Creators” has hit the stands, but one I submitted to tcj.com has hit a snag. It used to be that pretty much everything I submitted was welcomed with open arms, but new editors want writers to query them first. I queried and was told they weren’t looking for anything on those about whom I had written but would look at it anyway, which rocked my sense of where I stood in the universe. But almost simultaneously an editor at the print “Comics Journal,” where I hadn’t submitted in a couple years, told me he liked an article I’d sent him, he’d bump it up and run it an issue early. That re-set me on stable ground but where the path across it goes is uncertain.
3. The first place was a non-comics related story which should be up at First of the Month in about a week.
As today’s title indicates, things have been slow at the marketplace. Perhaps when interest rates come down.
I can report two repeat customers. J__, the poet/therapist, bought a second café journal (Only one left) as a gift for her daughter. And K__, the bio/physicist with aphasia, added an IWKYA to her collection of my works. But a couple people who said they would buy books failed to act upon their promises.
I gave two “Lollipop”s away. One went to a former head of California Rural Legal Assistance, whom I met in the hospital through my work for Mended Hearts. He had been at UChi law school the year I had been in VISTA there. The other went to a retired physician who had already bought a couple of my books and who, it turned out, had grown up there.
My table display did draw a number of curious drop-by visitors, but mainly they wanted to know if I had done the illustrations. There was a Hispanic former school teacher who is seeking grants so he can work with underperforming kids. And a hard-hatted guy setting up an IT network in a building under construction. And a fellow in hoodie and jeans who had been spending the last several years on “self-development” and the “inner journey.” (He was a writer himself but of journals.) And Max, who had come to Utah with the goal of becoming a ski bum and was in town for the Billy Strings concert at the Greek. (I forget if he was fan or musician.)
In other news…
1.) No new word on “Meshuganahs…” If the silence holds, I’ll call the publisher in a couple days. But I did hear from the fellow making the documentary on the Air Pirates. He’s added a couple people to the project which may strengthen its appeal to potential funders. (And the guy doing a comic version of the saga asked me for sources of a couple things I wrote in my book and after an hour or so pawing though cartons in my basement, I found one.
2.) My article in “Comic Book Creators” has hit the stands, but one I submitted to tcj.com has hit a snag. It used to be that pretty much everything I submitted was welcomed with open arms, but new editors want writers to query them first. I queried and was told they weren’t looking for anything on those about whom I had written but would look at it anyway, which rocked my sense of where I stood in the universe. But almost simultaneously an editor at the print “Comics Journal,” where I hadn’t submitted in a couple years, told me he liked an article I’d sent him, he’d bump it up and run it an issue early. That re-set me on stable ground but where the path across it goes is uncertain.
3. The first place was a non-comics related story which should be up at First of the Month in about a week.
Two-short
Incorrect
In July 1995, George Caragonne, the 29-year-old, 450-pound editor and principal writer for “Penthouse Comix,” went to an atrium the top floor of the tallest hotel in Times Square and jumped into the food court 500-feet below. Jon B. Cooke, editor of “Comic Book Creator,” thought that I would be just the guy to tell this story, which I have in the just released Summer 2024 issue (No. 35).
Pick it up and see what the fuss was about.
Pick it up and see what the fuss was about.
Adventures in Marketing: Weeks 430 – 433
Adventures in Marketing – Weeks 430 – 433
My café pal F__ views me as a presence to be visited and taken in as others would a (fully dressed) holy man on a mountain top or a (non-ranting) lunatic in Sproul Plaza. So when his younger brother J__ and his wife E__ were visiting from the east, he brought them by. They were delightful people, artists of multiple modes and media. (In one performance, visible on You Tube, J__ plays a wind instrument of his own design, while suspended upside down with his head in a fish bowl he shares with a Siamese fighting fish, as E__ pedals a stationary bike from which cables extend to the platform on which the bowl sits, enabling her to revolve it and him.) We had such a good time I gave them a “Best Ride.”
A couple days later, my doctor friend B__, who, as faithful readers know, has been a great champion of IWKYA, wanted to buy a copy to give to a former associate who teaches first year med students. (B__ champions humanistic medical practice and believes the book a wonderful example of it at work.) Still feeling generous, and grateful for his past support, I sent it as a gift.
Things picked up balance-sheet-wise when M__, the activist attorney from Sacramento, and his wife arrived for their annual grandkid-sitting while the parents vacation. M__ has been a regular customer, and he picked up a “Bob.” (He also told me that his friend William T. Vollman has finally placed his mammoth novel, which spans from the 1960s to the present. His past publisher had shied away, but Vollman is a great novelist, and I can’t wait to read it.) Then K__, the science PhD with aphasia, bought (at 20% discount) a “Bob” and a “Lollipop,” both of which she’d scouted but passed on before. Finally, a psychotherapist/poet I’d met when she complimented my style (brown beret, black leather jacket, Bennie Briscoe t-shirt, snakeskin boots) purchased a café journal.
Not one of these people have commented as yet.
In other news…
Perhaps dwarfing all of the above in significance, I am pleased to announce “Messiahs, Meshuganahs…” progresses. The precipitating event may have been my submitting a proposed “author’s photo” snapped by H__, another café pal, which, while it will undoubtedly draw attention to the book, may also throttle sales in certain markets. (Maybe we can include strips of black tape to be liberally applied.)
Anyway, my publisher – courageous fellow – loved it and soon thereafter sent me a pdf to proofread to demonstrate the book my been forgotten. I scanned it and didn’t catch much to correct, though some of what I did made me wonder if anyone had looked at it before me. The big plus were photos, one of which opened each chapter. I had been indifferent to whether samples of the work of the creators I wrote about were included, but these were thrilling. Unfortunately, I must temper my excitement because they are simply “place-holders.” It is unknown if the rights-owners can be identified and, if they are, if the rights can be obtained.
My café pal F__ views me as a presence to be visited and taken in as others would a (fully dressed) holy man on a mountain top or a (non-ranting) lunatic in Sproul Plaza. So when his younger brother J__ and his wife E__ were visiting from the east, he brought them by. They were delightful people, artists of multiple modes and media. (In one performance, visible on You Tube, J__ plays a wind instrument of his own design, while suspended upside down with his head in a fish bowl he shares with a Siamese fighting fish, as E__ pedals a stationary bike from which cables extend to the platform on which the bowl sits, enabling her to revolve it and him.) We had such a good time I gave them a “Best Ride.”
A couple days later, my doctor friend B__, who, as faithful readers know, has been a great champion of IWKYA, wanted to buy a copy to give to a former associate who teaches first year med students. (B__ champions humanistic medical practice and believes the book a wonderful example of it at work.) Still feeling generous, and grateful for his past support, I sent it as a gift.
Things picked up balance-sheet-wise when M__, the activist attorney from Sacramento, and his wife arrived for their annual grandkid-sitting while the parents vacation. M__ has been a regular customer, and he picked up a “Bob.” (He also told me that his friend William T. Vollman has finally placed his mammoth novel, which spans from the 1960s to the present. His past publisher had shied away, but Vollman is a great novelist, and I can’t wait to read it.) Then K__, the science PhD with aphasia, bought (at 20% discount) a “Bob” and a “Lollipop,” both of which she’d scouted but passed on before. Finally, a psychotherapist/poet I’d met when she complimented my style (brown beret, black leather jacket, Bennie Briscoe t-shirt, snakeskin boots) purchased a café journal.
Not one of these people have commented as yet.
In other news…
Perhaps dwarfing all of the above in significance, I am pleased to announce “Messiahs, Meshuganahs…” progresses. The precipitating event may have been my submitting a proposed “author’s photo” snapped by H__, another café pal, which, while it will undoubtedly draw attention to the book, may also throttle sales in certain markets. (Maybe we can include strips of black tape to be liberally applied.)
Anyway, my publisher – courageous fellow – loved it and soon thereafter sent me a pdf to proofread to demonstrate the book my been forgotten. I scanned it and didn’t catch much to correct, though some of what I did made me wonder if anyone had looked at it before me. The big plus were photos, one of which opened each chapter. I had been indifferent to whether samples of the work of the creators I wrote about were included, but these were thrilling. Unfortunately, I must temper my excitement because they are simply “place-holders.” It is unknown if the rights-owners can be identified and, if they are, if the rights can be obtained.