Virgin comics is going out of business check out the PW article. Guess having a bunch of comics "written" by actors and directors didnt go over to well with us geeks. Or should I say a bunch of after thought movie ideas that sucked didn't go over to well with us. Not much of a loss.
I've been going over all of my old pulp magazines of late. And reading alot of the new stuff that is available in that genre. And I figured I would share some with everyone. If you're at all interested in seeing the roots of the comic book world then you should read the old pulps. Granted some are much better then others but here are a few to start with. Conan ,Doc Savage ,The Shadow, Doc Atlas and Captain Hazzard.
Wanted to hate this song as I love the two songs that make it up. Werewolves of London is just a great tune and Sweethome is a classic. But I wound up liking this in the long run. Mostly because it reminds me of a certain redhead and the good ole days.
Okay so I am going to rant for a bit here. I usually talk about my writing or some other such thing but I feel the need to vent a bit here. So for all those who don't wish to be pulled into the vortex of my everyday life I apologize.
It seems as of late I am having a bit of a crush of former "friends" contacting me or trying to in some form or another. Now for the most part this has been fine and pleasant. Most have just wished to catch up and or say hello. To which I have no problem with, what I do take issue with is people who can't seem to let go of the past. And slip into stalker mode. I mean my god its been forever and these people act like it all just happened yesterday. Was I not the nicest person to some of these people yes. I was an SOB at times I admit it. But what the hell people. I don't need to rehash it on a daily basis. And what I really don't need is people calling me at home or other places trying to "find" me. If I wanted to talk to you I would. If I don't call you back its because I don't want to, that simple. Get over it and move on, I have. So to all you stalkers out there "Hi psychos!" because I know your reading this just get over it and leave well enough alone.
Now not to discourage former friends to say hello this is not meant for everyone who has contacted me as of late. If your asking yourself does he mean me. I can pretty much guarantee it isn't you. Because these psychos would never ask themselves that. I've been happy to hear from some old friends and flames. Just not the inherently insane ones who won't leave me alone. Okay so that's my rant now off to have a drink because I could use one.
So I picked up and read The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril by Paul Malmont over the weekend. I hadn't heard of the book or talked to anyone who read it. But it was hardcover in a discount bin and when I read the jacket I was interested. How could I not be when the main charcaters are writers and pulp writers no less. Lester Dent, Walter Gibson I was sold right there. Well I won't spoil it for anyone but I will say it is worth a read if you like the pulps at all. It has a ton of history and little things thrown in that comic book fans could appreciate as well. And I must say this is the first book in a long while that I really enjoyed the Ending. So check it out!
In 1984 I was dressed as a gangster for Halloween. I had the pinstriped suit and the fedora, a magnum with a holster and a Tommy gun to boot. I also had the fake little mustache and for added affect I also had a scar. What can I say I liked bad guys and hell I grew up in Jersey we pretty much all liked gangsters.
So there we were a bunch of kids dressed as stormtroopers, football players and gangsters. When suddenly a neighbor of mine went running passed yelling how a certain kid (I figure I'll spare them the embarrassment of mentioning the name) was in trouble with his mom, and instead of giving out candy she was handing out his comic books as treats. The momentary glance we gave one another was fleeting as we all broke into a swift run towards his house. He had a hell of a collection and none of us wanted to be left out. At this point I learned to like gangsters less as I had on dress shoes and they are not good for running. Though my friend dressed as a football player fared worse as he wore cleats. He was left far behind in a pile of bushes as I remember.
When we made it to the house there was already a line and we jumped in all excitedly talking about what was happening. As we got up to the door and rang the bell we were giddy. His mom answered with him in tow and a large bin of comics. His face sank when he saw us cause he knew we all liked comics and would probably take his favorites. I felt bad for him but it didn't stop me from diving in and searching through the comics. She let us each take five. It was like Christmas Day, I found myself three rare X-Men and a Spider-Man and Fantastic Four I needed. My friends picked out there loot as well and we all smiled and waved as we walked away.
We saw nameless the next day and he refused to talk about the comics. We asked him what he'd done and he wouldn't say. I always wondered what could have been so bad as to loose your comic collection. I never did find out but as I was cleaning out some boxes I came across those very issues that I had taken that day. It reminded me if the whole sorted scene and made me laugh to think of my gangster days.
Whenever I talk to someone about writing they always ask me where I get my ideas. The answer sadly is usually very mundane. I see something I find interesting and slowly work it into something that can on a good day be read. Be it a news story or a name ideas come from all over the place. And most of all from daily life. But that being said they can take on a life of their own. Case in point, I had heard a lecture about two years ago on a favourite author of mine. And during the interview I heard something mentioned about them I had never known. I liked the sound of it so much I wrote it down on a receipt in my pocket. When I returned home I placed it in my nightstand and quickly forgot about it.
Then a year ago I was watching a program about another subject and wanted to jot something down all I could find was that piece of forgotten paper. I scribbled yet another thing on and returned it to the nightstand once again.
Now as most of you know we had the big move recently where I was forced to go through my things and discard as much "junk" as I could. Well up popped the note and though it had no value I could not part with it because in it somewhere I felt was a good idea that I may want to use one day. So I faithfully tucked it into a moving box and promptly forgot all about it.
And finally we come to last night when I was mulling over a story idea I had but could not for the life of me make work. I decided to just scribble a few notes and when I checked my nightstand I was bewildered to realize I'd yet to put anything back into it. Though I fleetingly thought of my receipt full of ideas. I trudged off to bed annoyed and cursing myself for not thinking ahead and dropping some scrap paper into the drawer.
But a curious thing happened because as I slept my mind took all those wonderful little pieces I had been gathering on that "junk" paper and blended them into a story. Now of course I woke up this morning with this story complete and ready for the page in my head. So for most of the day this is all I have been able to think about. The next step is to get it all down on paper.
Well now at least when people ask me where I get my ideas I can just say in my dreams.