I Turn Up The Radio/But I Can’t Hear It

So, yeah. I was on NPR awhile back.

nprIt was a surreal, but ultimately enjoyable, experience – Although, I’ll admit, it didn’t end up with “ultimately enjoyable” until after everyone had heard the interview. I was (and still kind of am) surprised and unsure that it aired at all; I had managed to convince myself that I had screwed up and the entire thing would’ve been unusable because I was so boring or something. I was also amazingly nervous, because look at that studio I was in. That’s a real radio studio, with multiple mics and someone that you can’t see through the glass working to produce the whole thing, even though I was in Portland and the interviewer was somewhere on the East Coast.

I meant to post this picture back then, when the episode of All Things Considered aired, but I forgot; I’m kind of glad, now. Enough time has passed that I feel like I can say that I’d happily go back, if I was ever to be asked. I guess for that to happen, I’ll have to write something suitably sticky for Wired again…?

It hasn’t stopped being surreal, though.

A Kurt Power Novel

Kurt Power was Niles Golan’s signature character, a no-nonsense private eye and ex-lawyer who, on the days when he wasn’t solving cases involving serial killers, consulted for the police and anti-terrorist forces. He was divorced, with a drink problem and – the clever touch Niles was most proud of – an autistic six-year-old daughter, whose unique insights often provided the key to a difficult case.

In The Fictional Man, every now and again, writer Al Ewing will drop in the title of one of his lead character’s novels into the narrative. Here, thanks to the wonders of searchable Kindle books, are the collected Kurt Power works of Niles Golan (that we know of):

Pudding and Pie: A Kurt Power Novel
Down to The Woods Tonight: A Kurt Power Novel
The Saladin Imperative: A Kurt Power Novel
Power of Attorney: A Kurt Power Novel
Murder Force: A Kurt Power Novel
Edge of Doomsday: A Kurt Power Novel
Pocketful of Posies: A Kurt Power Novel
Little Pig, Little Pig, Let Me Come In: A Kurt Power Novel
The Moon Comes Out As Bright As Day: A Kurt Power Novel
Eye of The Scimitar: A Kurt Power Novel
One, Two, Buckle My Shoe: A Kurt Power Novel

In a perfect world, there would be garish fan art for these books already.

It’s The Time of The Season

It struck me, this past week, that March and April are cursed months for me. Both this year and last, I got into this weird hermit mode where I’m neither overly productive nor overly social, if that makes sense? I don’t know where the time goes, or what causes it, but that’s two years in a row where I look back at March and April with a sense of “What actually happened there?” all confused and wondering if I was somehow living in a cave without realizing it. I should remember this next year, and try to do something to thwart it happening again.

(Of course, thinking like that simply invites whatever the curse is to come in and try to flatten me next year.)

The Freewheeling

So, at the end of last week, I met comic writer Ales Kot for the first time, and we ended up talking for a couple of hours about… Well, a lot of things, really, from gossip-y comic industry stuff to the importance of fearlessness in both creativity and everyday life (and also what “fearlessness” actually means as a concept to both of us). It was a great, really enjoyable conversation that happened at just the right time; earlier that week, I’d been thinking about an idea I’d had a year or so earlier and completely abandoned, only for it to pop back up for a couple of reasons last week – An interview podcast or radio show with no agenda whatsoever; just two people (Me and a guest) talking about whatever comes to mind during the conversation. Not aiming to stay on any particular topic or plug any particular project or whatever, just… a conversation that’s almost purposefully all over the place.

(Those who listen to the Wait, What? podcasts that I do almost-weekly with Jeff Lester will recognize this as, essentially, what the two of us do every episode. And that was the inspiration, as well as listening to the Nerdist Writers Panel and, perhaps less obviously, BBC Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs.)

What crystalized this as an idea for me way back when was the name that I came up for it. I wanted to call the series The Freewheeling with each episode being named after that particular guest. So, if I was talking to Ales, it’d be The Freewheeling Ales Kot, and the next episode I’d talk to, say, Jeff Parker and that episode would be called The Freewheeling Jeff Parker and so on and so on. Obviously, ripping off this, but the obviousness of the reference was intentional and part of the appeal.

I’d still like to do this; I kind of dropped the idea when David Brothers was publicly wondering about something that felt very similar (although, looking at what he was writing back then, maybe not as similar as I thought at the time — especially because I was thinking longer conversations and not just with comic people), but I’ve circled back to it recently in light of being on NPR and also just becoming more interested in… freeform conversation, perhaps? Or wanting to play with something less structured, in light of a workload that feels increasingly restrictive in terms of format? (There’s another element that I’m not really discussing, for reasons along the lines of (a) it may not be real and (b) if it is real, I don’t want to jinx it; rest assured that either way, I’ll spill those beans sooner or later.)

But, yeah. The Freewheeling. It could be fun, right? And maybe interesting, and maybe do-able. One of those things that you throw out into the world, just in case.

Me in Honey

The blogging panel on which I participated was weird because I think it was supposed to be a kind of Laura Hudson + current CA people reunion panel but instead became a more general news panel where none of us could talk about the weekend’s big piece of news: that CA had been shuttered. There was some talk about blackballing and the fear of not having publishers cooperate with your site, which the panel felt wasn’t all that significant a thing except for that fear. Laura Hudson described having an app on her desktop that measured traffic in either real or almost-real time, which sounds terrifying. We talked death-threats and rape-threats, or the lack thereof. Graeme McMillan was once actually threatened with an ass-kicking right on the floor of a con, which cracked me up. Who would want to fight Graeme McMillan? It’d be like cuffing your best friend from kindergarten to the floor.

From here. I’m still trying to work out if that’s a compliment or an insult.

One of The Most Important Movies in The World (YMMV Edition)

threecolorsred1

threecolorsred2

Three Colors Red – and Three Colors Blue, as well, although Three Colors White left me somewhat cold – rewrote my brain when I first saw it as a teenager in the U.K. There was such precision in the filmmaking, such humanity and affection and empathy in the writing, but also such ambiguity and uncertainty. It’s not just that the characters were flawed, or whatever would be the traditional way to describe them in American movie terms, but that they were also clearly lost and confused and didn’t have all (or, at times, any) of the answers. Blue and Red hit me like a brick to the head when I most needed it, and changed what I thought movies, and mainstream pop narratives in general, could do.

We Should Always Remember To Laugh Knowingly at Horror

She hit all the right checkboxes to get this crowd all jazzed up: Obama teleprompter jokes, White House tour cancellation jokes, jokes about her sex life, drinking a Super Big Gulp of Soda, gun talk, religion talk, a heartland twang voice, anti-DC trash talk, a Karl Rove swat, everything else. It worked. It was fun! She also let out a little hint about returning to politics…

…Which was of course a tease. She is not returning to politics anytime soon. She is an entertainer and part of her routine is to tease about how she may return to politics, for attention. She is not running for anything. If you see any story headlines this week like, “Is Palin Running in 2016?” then you should print out the full articles and burn them in a trash can, or bomb them. She likes playing pop star muse to the conservative movement, and that’s all.

From here.

The Guardian’s U.S. political coverage is the best U.S. political coverage. “If you see any story headlines this week like, ‘Is Palin Running in 2016’ then you should print out the full articles and burn them in a trash can, or bomb them.” I love the knowingness, and the comedy, in that.

Reports of My Demise Were Only Slightly Exaggerated

It’s been a week, people.

I don’t mean that in the literal sense – Well, I do, I guess; I am talking about the last five days of work, which is technically a week in the work sense if you want to be technical and all. But what I really mean is, it’s been a rough week; I got sick last weekend through what was nothing more than just overwork and overstress and exhaustion, and then that just didn’t really have a chance to go away, because I had the kinds of deadlines and workloads in front of me that I had to break my “No Work On The Weekend At All” rule in order to just keep my head above water… which meant that, robbed of the chance to destress for a couple of days, I was just under-powered and increasingly overwhelmed all the time this week.

That happened at the time when I had to go a couple of bigger-than-usual stories – interviews, really – for Wired (One about streaming video and the growth of the audience on tablet devices, and another about MonkeyBrain Comics and their new print titles) that had particular hand-in deadlines that couldn’t be switched or changed, as well as an increased workload for Newsarama because of the death of Batman’s sidekick (Instead of the one front page news story for them per week, in addition to my daily blogging duties, I had two and a half: here, here and here) and my regular Time essay, which was also connected with the deceased Boy Wonder. In almost every case, the work-as-handed-in and the work-as-published were considerably different, due to the editing process that’s almost always a good thing but also means that there’s a bunch of stuff that was written and didn’t see print this week, moreso than usual.

(For those curious about my workload: There’re also daily blog posts for Digital Trends, another handful of Wired pieces – including some that still have to run, and I think are showing up this weekend? – and the final Food or Comics for Robot 6 from this week, too. I also had to do the Comix Experience store catalog from scratch last weekend, which was a bear this month for some reason, and the Wait, What? podcast, which remains the highpoint of my work week.)

All of which is to say: I know, I know; I’ve been very quiet here lately, but it’s not by choice, I promise. Just as I owe people emails (Sorry, Adam, David and Lauren – Soon, I promise!), I owe this blog all kinds of attention. Hopefully, things will be less crazy this upcoming week, and we’ll get back to something resembling normal service. We can but hope, right…?

The Soloists

It was a weird dream, the dream I had last night; it was one of those dreams that sprawl, expand around all of your available brainspace and then some. The “plot,” such as dreams have plots, was that I was in some kind of… convention, I guess, or event, with lots of people I work with and know through the Internet, and at this convention and event, two people I know/have worked with, are rumored to have died. A strange thing, I know; it wasn’t that they were dead, but that they may have died but no-one was sure. In the middle of this, there was some kind of power cut or something, so we couldn’t use our phones to check on anyone, and had instead – for some reason I can’t remember, if there was a reason – to wait through the night and get an answer in the morning.

In the middle of this, The Soloists appeared; they were a roving, rambling band of performers who went to people’s house and apartments, followed by an eager, excited audience, to perform spoken word readings (or improvisations? I can’t remember). There was an excited throng that swept us all up, an electric feeling that people wanted to share, while I was concerned and worried and asking someone whether or not she believed the rumor that her girlfriend had killed herself.

It wasn’t a depressing dream, as such, but certainly an anxious one. What remains most clear in my memory, though, was the city we were all in. A nighttime, rainy place with the orange streetlights of the U.K., it was a city that doesn’t exist, but an amalgam of London, Amsterdam, Aberdeen (where I went to college) and New York. Somewhere that could have been friendly, in another time.