Tonight: The Grey Lodge Pub

Well, the tour officially begins tonight... in a bar. I can't think of a better place. The Grey Lodge Pub may be tucked away in the Mayfair section of Northeast Philly, but it's a nationally-ranked beer bar, and Scoats (Lodgemaster and owner) is supercool.

If you happen to be in the Great Northeast tonight, stop on by. The Grey Lodge is at 6235 Frankford Avenue (just up the street from Robbins Avenue); things kick off at 6 p.m. I'll have copies of The Big Book O' Beer and The Wheelman on hand. Joining me will be local beer expert, writer, editor and columnist Lew Bryson (author of Pennsylvania Breweries) as well as Louis Iatarola and Lynn-Carmela Iatarola, authors of Images of America: Lower Northeast Philadelphia, which is like a time machine in book form. Easily, my favorite nonfiction book of the summer.

No pressure to buy any books, though. Really. Just mention that you saw this on my blog and prepare to watch me keel over in shock.

If all goes well, I'll have photos and a recap late tonight/early tomorrow morning...

Worse Than Baby Pictures

Aren't they just so cute? Don't you want to pick up a stack, cuddle them, and take them home with you?



Look at that. Standing up so tall, like a big boy:



Okay, I'll shut up now.

But at long last, The Wheelman is officially available at fine booksellers everywhere, and online, and soon, in various bars and basements in the tri-state area. (The above photos were cell-snapped at the Borders on South Broad Street in Philly. These babies are now signed, and looking for a good home. Or better yet, a dysfunctional one.)

Cinco de Author: Swizzle Stick-Style

Paul Guyot's legendary "Cinco de Author" series has featured the likes of Lee Child, Michael Connelly and Laura Lippman. So what's he doing wasting precious electronic ink on a Polish kid from Philly?

Find out in Cinco de Author Installment #8, in which I blather on about Air Supply, meteors, spurting blood and Johnnie Walker Blue.

(Thanks, Paul. And believe it or not, other people have referred to me as "Swizzle Stick." That and "Liquid Duane-O.")

Being a journalist, I'm used to asking questions, not being on the other side of them. Just yesterday, I participated in my first full-length interview with a writer at the Northeast Times. The reporter, Jeannie O'Sullivan, was a total pro. I, however, must have sounded like I was dropped on my head as an infant. At the very end of our interview, she asked the classic question -- the one I always ask, and the one I encourage my reporters to ask: "Is there anything else I should know?" And I drew a complete BLANK.

Pathetic, isn't it?

Buy This, I Swear

Now that I'm getting ready to start my reading/signing/drinking tour in support of The Wheelman, I've been thinking about choosing a portion of the novel to read in public.

I know that I should keep it as short as possible -- nobody likes hearing an author drone on forever. At least I don't. When I attend a book reading, I want just enough to intrigue me, then hear a little backstory, then have the author open it up for questions.

But here's my problem: The Wheelman is full of cussing. And violence. But mostly cussing.

The first proper line of the book? "Holden was right up Bling's ass."

The first line of dialogue, a few pages later? "Fuck."

The second line of dialogue, a few pages after that? "Jesus fuck yo."

The novel isn't exactly an Andrew Dice Clay routine, but it is full of what some people politely refer to as "spicy" language. All of it is true to the spirit of the characters and the situation; people involved in a violent doublecross aren't going to sit back and exclaim, "Oh my word!" However, I can appreciate the fact that some people don't want to hear it. And if I'm turning potential readers away from the get-go... well, that just can't be good. Plus, at least one of my readings is within earshot of a children's section.

As I often do in times of trouble, I turned to Allan "Sunshine" Guthrie. His novels (the superb Two-Way Split and Kiss Her Goodbye, if you haven't had the pleasure) are also full of nasty words and blinding violence. This is a writer, after all, who's infamous in mystery circles for using the phrase "pussy snorkel" in a novel. How does he handle public readings?

Sunshine writes:

I'd bland down if children were present. Otherwise, I usually give notice of the foul-mouthed filth I'm about to read so that those adults of a sensitive disposition can leave the building and engage in a more wholesome activity instead. If I censored what I read and someone bought my book on the basis of that reading, I'd consider myself a con man (apart from which, there'd be very little material left for me to read). It could even be argued that, by omission, I'd be contravening the Trade Descriptions Act. If you write Guinness, it's wrong to pretend it's Kaliber, right?

So no censoring. Makes sense. That's not to say that Sunshine doesn't believe in a little editing for the occasion:

I always edit the passage(s) I'm going to read aloud, though, simply for clarification. It's amazing how much doesn't work when you take away visual clues such as italics, paragraph breaks, speech marks, etc.

Another excellent point. It's easy to forget that the spoken word is vastly different than words on a page. (Which is probably why I don't enjoying being read to as much as I enjoy reading.)

Any other ideas out there? Would you be offended by a mysery writer dropping the ol' f-bomb at a reading? Or would you be more offended if he/she didn't?

Tour Updates, in Sizes M, L and XXXL

First, the medium update: I'm set to do a lunchtime reading/signing at Voices & Visions, a new indie bookshop located on the ground floor of the historic Bourse Building, which in spitting distance (if you can really spit) of the Liberty Bell. I'll be there at 12:15 p.m. on Thursday, October 27. This will be the first in a series of "brown bag lunch" readings; bring your bologna on wheat, and listen to Polish writer talk about bank robbery and cartoonish violence.

Okay, now the large one: I'm a last-minute addition the Collingswood Book Festival this coming weekend. Collingswood, New Jersey is just across the river... and, well, past Camden... from Center City Philadelphia, and even though this festival is new-ish (this year is the 3rd annual), it is the closest thing this area has to Book Expo America. I'll be in tent #1, signing at 1 p.m., after Larry Kane and Mary Jane Clark.

(Weird coincidence: Kane, a local TV legend, is promoting his latest book, Lennon Remembered, as in John Lennon; the protagonist in The Wheelman is named Lennon, after John Lennon.)

Okay, so are you ready for the big one? The XXXL tour update?

You sure? Make sure you're sitting down.

I'm serious.

Park your butt on something sturdy.

Laura Lippman is joining "Bullets, Bylines and Beer," my 215 Festival panel of journalists who are also crime ficiton writers.

Yes, that Laura Lippman. Not my cousin Laura from Parsippany. Not your hip aunt Laura from North Carolina, the one who made hash brownies once at the family reunion and your dad confessed to... well, never mind.

No, I mean THE Laura Lippman. Author of the kick-ass Tess Monaghan series, as well as two praised stand-alones. Edgar, Shamus, Agatha and Anthony Award winner. Former Baltimore Sun writer, blogger and superfriend to the mystery community -- not to mention all-around cool person. That Laura, at my humble little 215 panel, representin'.

A panel that also includes Wallace Stroby, Bill Kent and Solomon Jones. All I know is that this is a can't-miss event.

The time/date: 9-11 p.m., Thursday, October 6. The place: McGlinchey's Bar and Grill on S. 15th Street (near Spruce).

Even Dave White said he'd drive down from Clifton to catch this.

More from Friday Night

After a few bottles of Sam Adams, the NYC boyos moved to an Italian restaurant. Here is the back of Charles' head, Ken and Reed. (I can't say for sure, but I think Ken was telling us about how he once killed a man with a wet ravioli.)



After a few glasses of chianti, Reed inducted Charles into the Royal Order of Moe (Prager). That, or the Carmelite sisterhood.



Toward the end of the evening, Ken and Jason hit a bench outside to sketch out the plot of Bust II: Electric Boogaloo.

Last Night, Somewhere in New York

Last night the Bride and I drove to Princeton and hopped a train to New York City. Only we hopped the wrong train at first... um, the one headed back towards Philly. After an amusing series of double-takes and slapped foreheads, I managed to find the train going in the right direction. We arrived at Penn Station, hailed a cab, and made our way to the bar in the lobby of a midtown hotel.

Our usual date night? Hardly. We were in town to see Ken Bruen and the New York-based boyos. Ken and The Bride have corresponded, but never met. "You didn't tell me she was gorgeous!" Ken exclaimed, and then patted the seat next to him. Without so much as a backwards glance, The Bride slid in next to Ken, much like an iron filling to a magnet.

Here's The Bride, Ken and Sarah Weinman, who is also not immune to the Bruen Effect:



Here, Reed Coleman provides a strategic buffer between Ken and Michele Martinez, lest she find herself flying across the room and affixed to Ken as well:



Jason Starr plays it cool, but you can tell that Charles Ardai feels the pull:


Next post: Ken's attraction becomes so great, gravity collapses and all of reality is drawn into the core of a massive black hole. Stay tuned for photos!

The Most Ridiculous URL in the Known Universe... Now With Content?

Not quite, but if you look at www.duaneswierczynski.com, you'll see a cool-looking placeholder that hints at the marvels to come.

The full website will roll out sometime in November, and will be created by Heidi "Web Designer to the Mystery Stars" Mack, who is the genius behind the websites of Ken Bruen, Lee Goldberg, Ridley Pearson and Jan Burke, among others. Then, you'll be able to enjoy excerpts, links to stories, Q&As and all of that other web-based goodness.

Many thanks to Heidi, who seems to do most of her work whenever the rest of us mere mortals are fast asleep.

Secret Dead Blog isn't going anywhere, but I'll probably update the look to reflect the website at some point. I briefly considered changing the name of the blog to something like "The Wheelman Diaries," but then thought, what, am I going to rename the friggin' blog whenever I write a new book? Secret Dead Blog it will remain.

More McPartland

While we wait for J.D. Rhoades to give us his report on I'll See You in Hell, anybody looking for a McPartland fix can check out Bill Crider's piece on the author at his blog, as well as Ed Gorman's take. Both are excellent, and much appreciated.

Two side notes:

Reading Ed Gorman's blog is dangerous. At least once -- often twice -- a week, I find myself leaving the blog to go order a book Ed mentioned. Tonight it was Stephen Jones and Kim Newman's Horror: Another 100 Best Books. The first installment was my horror novel bible for years. My copy actually has checkmarks next to the books I own, and double checkmarks next to the ones I've read. (I've vowed to complete my reading by the time I die.) And now there's another 100 novels to worry about? Thanks, Ed. Thanks a lot.

And let's all keep Bill Crider in our thoughts as he stares down the ugly face of Hurricane Rita. Even though I think I know the real reason he's not pulling out of town: a good man never leaves his Gold Medals behind.

An Important Decision That I Entrust to You, Valued Secret Dead Blog Reader

Promotional Wheelman car air fresheners: a cool idea, or just plain tacky?

And if it's a cool idea, what scent would you recommend? Fresh stacks of dollars? Or that groovy "new stolen car" smell?

Booklist on Wheelman

Have I mentioned that I love Booklist, and have always trusted their reviews completely, and without reservation? And how much Booklist has meant to me over the years? And how great Booklist's hair looks first thing in the morning?

Ahem. Anyway, here's their take on The Wheelman...

The man who wrote the book on robbing banks -- This Here's a Stick-Up: The Big Bad Book of American Bank Robbery (2002 ) -- here indulges his fascination from a fictional angle. Lennon, the untalkative Irish hero, doesn't technically rob banks, but he does drive the getaway car for guys who do. Though he is a consummate pro, the job is unpredictable by nature, and when we meet him -- waiting outside a Wachovia bank in Philadelphia -- he is about to find out exactly how unpredictable. The heist goes horrifically wrong, and in the adrenaline-charged pages that follow, Lennon is betrayed, beaten, and befuddled as he relentlessly tries to recover his loot and get out of Philly intact. Fast-moving and funny, The Wheel Man is a Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in an R-rated amusement park. It's cartoonishly violent, but fans of pulp fiction won't bat an eyelash. The book sports a blurb by Ken Bruen (Vixen, 2005), which makes sense: despite their different milieus, fans of one writer should enjoy the other. --Keir Graff

(Copyright Booklist Publications Sep 1, 2005)

I'm certainly happy with that. (After the PW review, I was bracing myself for another punch.) And while I know that "cartoonishly violent" is probably meant as a criticism, that's something I'd be proud to blurb. After all, I'm a guy who thinks there's nothing better than a fusion of bloodshed and slapstick (a la RoboCop and Evil Dead 2).

Oddly enough, whenever I watch Nip/Tuck with the Bride, I literally hide my eyes during the surgery scenes. Paging Dr. Freud...

Advice Squad

I've received many pieces of advice over the years, including, "Stay away from my daughter." But perhaps the most useful was the advice I received five years ago, when I was still stinging over the rejections I racked up for Secret Dead Men, despairing at the thought that I'd never see any of my fiction published. An editor pal, Gary Goldstein, told me I should consider a straightforward crime novel. Specifically, he said, I should...

Make it funny, make it dark, keep the body count in the low double digits, liberally coat with lotsa Philly ambiance, keep the surprises coming (never let the reader get too comfortable; keep 'em off kilter whenver possible) and you might just have a winner on your hands.

I printed this, cut it out, and taped it above my desk. And a few years later, I was looking at this advice when I wrote The Wheelman.

Gary was basically telling me to play to my strengths -- for one thing, my knowledge of Phildelphia. He was also reminding me not to take myself too seriously, and not soak the thing in too many buckets of blood. (He knew I was a big horror geek.)

But the real gem is the thing about never letting the reader get too comfortable. That's some seriously great advice, especially in the suspense/crime genre, because the moment you let the reader relax, that gives him/her an excuse to close your book. My favorite novels have a way of never complete releasing the tension; it's always there, goading you to read just another page. And just another one. And just another one... because you have to find out how it turns out.

Thanks to Gary, I was spared a lot of trial and error. And maybe it's coincidence, but The Wheelman sold within a month of sending it out to publishers. In the dead of summer, no less. (No, not to Gary.)

Anybody else receive a particularly helpful piece of advice?

I'll See You in Hell

No, this is not an excerpt from a conversation with my mother-in-law.

Rather, it's the title of a kick-ass 1956 Gold Medal crime novel by John McPartland. In many ways, it's the perfect Gold Medal: tightly-written, suprising, violent, and unputdownable. Take the first two lines:

He found the bodies one by one. The dog first; a big lean-boned hill-country farm dog.

You just know it's only going to get worse from here.

The plot is boilerplate: innocent guy travels to a small town to help a friend, but ends up neck-deep in surprise homicide, crooked coppers, and purty dames.

But what impressed me the most about I'll See You in Hell was a character named Merl McKinstry -- a deputy sheriff who's the baddest m.f. I've ever encountered in print. (You never meet the actual sheriff, nor does anyone talk about him; somehow, you get the sense he's rotting under a set of wooden planks somewhere.) Even by today's morally-bankrupt standards, McKinstry is a real dick, and his evil oozes through line of dialogue. At one point, another character describes McKinstry as a "mean rooster that doesn't care about nothin' but makin' everybody's life mighty miserable except his'n."

Even better: our hero, Lee Farr, is clearly no match for McKinstry.

There's one excruciating scene where the anticipation of torture -- at McKinstry's hands -- is far worse than any torture scene you've ever read, watched or imagined. (I'll say just three words: Silver Lead Hotel.) That's because McPartland has done a terrific job establishing ol' Merl as a brutal force of nature who won't listen to reason, no matter how much you beg. In the words of another character: "When Merl McKinstry says squat, you squat."

McPartland is all but forgotten these days; according to Lee Server's Encyclopedia of Pulp Fiction Writers, he died when he was only 48, at the height of his career. I know these guys are probably sick of recommendations, but I'll See You in Hell would seem perfect for Hard Case Crime, Stark House, or even my pals at PointBlank Press, especially paired with McPartland's other classic, The Kingdom of Johnny Cool.

I Knew I Should Have Changed My Name to Something Easier, Like Xiango Goldblatt

I like to joke about my last name. I would tell people my last name was one of the former Soviet republics. That I'm vowel-challenged. And that I gave the Bride something long and hard on our wedding night (my last name, yuk, yuk, yuk.)

I'd even joke about my name being misspelled on one of my books someday. Wouldn't that be a scream, I'd say.

Well...

Today my first official hardcover copy of The Wheelman arrived, and like a parent with a new baby, I examined it front, back, top and bottom, from title page to jacket flaps. It was sweet and perfect and good. The smell of fresh cut paper was intoxicating. And it wouldn't spit up on me.

Then I looked at the spine, and saw this:



The version on the dust jacket (and the rest of the book, thank Christ) is correct; the one on the spine is missing a "c."

This, roughly, was my reaction:



I'm not sure if it's too late to do anything about this; probably is. Maybe St. Martin's can fix it if we do a second printing.

And if so... hey, I guess it will be easy to spot a first edition, eh?

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the garage with an IV bag, needle and a gallon of Johnnie Walker Black.

Publishers Weekly looks at Wheelman...

... and they're still scratching their heads, apparently. The review:

Lennon is the hapless wheelman, the getaway driver in a Philadelphia bank robbery that goes awry, in The Wheelman, journalist Duane Swierczynski's fast-paced but confusing first novel. In an effort to find the man responsible for betraying him, Lennon runs up against the Russian and Italian mafias, a hired gun working for the mayor, a corrupt ex-cop and lots, lots more. Despite a rave from Ken Bruen, don't expect a plot that makes much sense.

I'd offer to send a Cliff's Notes-style summary, but PW's reviews are unsigned.

And why did they drag poor Ken into this? Is this to punish him for blurbing the book?

I'd like to say I'm one of those people who doesn't pay attention to reviews, but I'd be lying through my Polish teeth. Of course I read them. And of course they get to me. Shortly after I read this, I was browsing in a Borders, and it seemed like every novel I picked up featured a starred or mildly-orgasmic PW review. (This is surely the writer's equivalent of breaking up with someone, then hearing heart-grinding love songs everywhere you turn.)

The logical part of me knows that one review doesn't matter, and most of the feedback I've received has been on the positive-to-great side. But... ah, you know. It's still a kick in the shins.

The Wheelman Get Your Ass in Gear Tour '05

This is shaping up to be one of those oddball tours; stops include bars, mystery bookshops, swank apartments and Dave White's parents' basement. At the very least, there will be a lot to blog about.

Anyway, here's a preliminary list of the places I'll be visiting over the next few months to promote The Wheelman, my St. Martin's Minotaur debut. This is just the first wave; as dates are confirmed over the coming week, I'll be adding to this list, and posting a link in the right column.

If you have any questions about any of these appearances, don't be shy. Drop me an e-mail. And if you're interested in hosting a Wheelman Home Invasion (where I come to your house, Tupperware-style, to read and sign and discuss the book), there's still time.

The rundown so far:

September 30
Authors A’Plenty Nite (with Lew Bryson, Louis M. Iatarola and Lynn-Carmela T. Iatarola)
Grey Lodge Pub, Philadelphia, PA
6 to 10 p.m.

October 1
Collingswood Book Festival
Collingswood, NJ
1 p.m., Tent One

October 6
215 Festival: Bullets, Bylines and Beer, with Bill Kent, Wallace Stroby and Solomon Jones
McGlinchey’s, Philadelphia, PA
8 p.m.

October 7
Home Invasion: Hosted by Nancy French

October 14
Drop-In Signings at the New York City Mystery Bookshops

Black Orchid
303 East 81st Street
12:00 p.m.*

Mysterious Bookshop
58 Warren Street
3:00 p.m.*

Partners in Crime
44 Greenwich Avenue

(*Note: times approximate.)

October 15
Home Invasion: Dave White’s Parents' Basement
Clifton, NJ

October 20
Barnes & Noble, Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia PA
Reading/Signing
7 p.m.

October 22
Tudor Bookshop, Wilkes-Barre PA
Reading/Signing
1:30 p.m.

November 5
Mysteries to Die For, Thousand Oaks, CA
Reading/Signing
1 p.m.

December 8
Murder By the Book, Houston, TX
Noir Night II with Ken Bruen, Charlie Stella and Reed Farrel Coleman
6:30 p.m.

Eight Magical Years with the Bride

Eight years ago today, the chucklehead on the left married the girl of his dreams (right).

Yep, our anniversary is on 9/11. On the bright side, I won't ever have trouble remembering the date. Not that I would...

Some interesting facts about the Bride and me:

* We were married twice. The first time (shown above) was a small justice-of-the-peace deal in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. A year later, we had our vows blessed in a church. Which pretty much means we lived in sin for year. Which is kind of cool.

* Originally, I'd wanted to go to Vegas and get hitched by Elvis. The Bride-to-Be nixed that idea.

* While we've been married for eight years, we've known each other for sixteen. There is a plaque hanging in our hallway commemorating the day we met. (March 3, 1989.)

* What? A plaque? Long story short: we met at a jazz band competition in Wilkes-Barre, PA. I played keyboards for the Northeast Catholic Jazz Band; the Bride-to-Be was our escort. We exchanged addresses and promised to write each other. That same night, the band won "best rhythm section." At the end of the school year, we divided up our various awards, and I ended up with the one from Wilkes-Barre.

* The Bride claims she went home that night and told her mother, "I met the man I'm going to marry." In other words: she brought this curse upon herself!

Happy Anniversary, my Bride. I wouldn't change a second of our time together. Except for maybe that one time when you opened up that packet of ranch dressing at Burger King and it splattered all over my face like a porn flick money shot.

Ah, what am I saying? Even that was fun.

Word to Your Mother

Bob Sassone over at Professor Barnhardt's Journal issued another challenge a few weeks ago. This one was a toughie: pick your favorite word.

To me, this is an impossible assignment. Out of the 171,476 distinct words in current use out there (according to the Oxford English Dictionary)... pick just one? Words are more like molecules: I appreciate having a bunch at my disposal.

So I chickened out and selected my favorite word of the moment. (You'll find my answer, along with the favorite words of Jonathan Lethem, Tod Goldberg, Steve Almond and Daniel Radosh right here.) Thank God Bob didn't make us explain it.

But what about you? Do you have a favorite word?

This One's For Charlie Williams

The week before I left for Bouchercon, I visited 1818 Tusculum Street here in the City of Brotherly Love. A random address? Hardly. This is where Rocky Balboa lived in the first two Rocky flicks, and the residents still have mixed feelings about the whole thing. You can read about it here.

Before you ask: no, I didn't run up the Art Museum steps afterward. Only tourists do that. (But don't worry, Charlie. I won't poke fun when you do it someday.)

Married, With Bouchercon

One recurring theme from this past weekend at Bouchercon: spouses.

It came up at the panel I moderated, even though the topic was "Crime Pays in Many Ways." How do you make a living as a writer? someone asked. Panelist James Lincoln Warren replied: "Marry rich. And marry often." He was kidding (I think), but his comment prompted some talk about marriage and the writing life -- two great tastes that don't often go great together. Let's face it: writing can be an extremely selfish pursuit. Marriage, by definition, is often about being selfless. You do the math.

Not many mystery writers bring their spouses to B'Con, but I managed to hang out with some who did, most notably Ray "Kuncklebuster" Banks, who's married to the lovely and brilliant Anastasia. There was no glazed-over expression or feigned interest with Ana; she was as excited about Ray's fiction career as he was (possibly more). At one point, Ray received a bit of good news, and Ana squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around the good ol' K-Buster's neck and squeezing him tight. That was so nice to see. Quite frankly, that's what every writer dreams about: a spouse who completely gets it.

I also had the good fortune to meet Steve Sidor and his wife, who were celebrating their 11th wedding anniversary. Steve's the stay-at-home parent, and both seemed happy with their arrangement of professional and parenting duties. And of course, there was J.D. "Dusty" Rhoades and his wife Lynn, who were my favorite people at the conference, aside from my beloved Al "Sunshine" Guthrie. (Who, by the way, is married to the awesome and beautiful Donna.)

Why this fixation with spouses this past weekend?

Well, because the Bride wasn't there. And I very much wanted her to be.

However, we're the parents of two toddlers, and bringing them to B'Con just wouldn't work. (For one thing, Parker would have taken over the 21st Century Noir panel, and Sarah would have starting doing shots with Otto Penzler, browbeating him into editing a country music anthology.)

Someone has to stay at home with the cherubs. Almost always, it's the Bride. After all, I'm the one with the day job, as well as this fledgling second career writing crime novels.

So whenever I have some kind of writing event--a meeting, a reading, a signing, a conference--it's done solo.

Which is quite different from when we first got married. Back then, me being a writer was a cool thing. The Bride would be right there with me, experiencing everything I did. That's how we lived life, pre-chidren. I had a press junket to Ireland? We plunked down the money for an extra planet ticket. I was headed to L.A. for a magazine party? The Bride was there, too, excited to bump into Drew Barrymore at a Santa Monica restaurant.

That's not the case these days.

And not to get too personal (too late, right?)... but it's been a source of considerable tension. I'm off being Mr. Writer Boy, and she's at home, raising our children.

So what's the deal? Can you be married with kids and still dedicate yourself to a selfish pursuit such as writing?

Good question, and I'm sorry to report, I don't have a very good answer. The Bride and I are trying to figure this out; like other hurdles in marriage, the only way you can get anywhere is by talking about it, and brainstorming solutions together. But I am encouraged by the couples I met at Bouchercon. I know this kind of thing can work, that you can have a writing career and a wife and children.

For me, it's a no-brainer: I don't want a writing career if I can't share it with the Bride and the Brood.

Yet, Meredith, Parker and Sarah wouldn't want me around if I wasn't a writer. Because that's too much a part of who I am.

Ah, the Devil himself couldn't come up with something this good.

[Editor's Note: Secret Dead Blog is completely aware that postings as of late have taken a serious turn. We're not sure what the fuck is up with Swierczynski; we just know he's bumming us out. Just as soon as we can apply the butter Crisco and zap him a few times with the cattle prod, we're sure he'll be shaken out of his current funk. We keep telling him, "People want to be entertained, not hear your whiny bullshit." Rest assured, Secret Dead Blog will be monitoring this situation closely. You hear that, bitch? We're watching.]

More From God

I fully intended to post my Bouchercon highlights yesterday, but then I received word that a dear friend of mine suffered a tragic loss. The worst kind of loss you can imagine.

All of this set against the backdrop of the wrath of Katrina... and well, I'm having trouble focusing on the events of the past few days. Because it all seems so insignificant by comparison. That's not to say that I didn't have a great time, but I haven't been able to bring myself to post about Bouchercon when so much else is going on.

Thanks for being patient with me. I'll post a real update soon.

Man Plans, God Laughs

Well, as you can tell from the utter silence here at Secret Dead Blog, I've had computer issues. Finally got them sorted out yesterday afternoon (with the help of a nearby Apple Store on the Magnificent Mile and Mr. Magnificent Himself, Pat Lambe), but by then it was too late to settle down into some proper blogging.

Right now, it's 7:30 a.m. Chicago time. Al "Sunshine" Guthrie is resting comfortably in the bed behind me. Contrary to Bouchercon rumor, we did not share a bed. (We shared a small section of the floor. Al like to spoon on a hard surface.) I have to shower and figure out how I'm going to pack a huge pile of books (relax, Bride, many were free) into my luggage. So there's no time for a proper post... but I do promise a rundown of the highlights later today.