Just returned from eight days in glorious New York. So good as to be overwhelming. New sights, beers, experiences, friends, and beers. Yes, sampling the unusual beers was good. Somehow managed to stumble into a bar where Mike Stern was playing a jazz set and sat not three feet from him while empty beer glasses slowly swamped the table.
Then a man in a pinstriped suit cycled past me as I waited to cross the street, he held a rolled up newspaper to his eye like a telescope and peered right at me as he drifted slowly past – we exchanged friendly waves as my friends laughed at the weirdness and I felt very at home.
While I was away issue thirteen of PUSH was published and, I believe, is now close to selling out. It contains my noir-love-ghost story Shattered Glass in Shingle along with lots of top-notch prose. Pick up a copy if you can.
Home now, wondering why my mutinous brain has made me dream of this. Twice.
Shall we dream of Chinatown? No.
Of drifting slowly beneath the Brooklyn Bridge on one of the most beautifully sunny afternoons we’ve ever experienced? No.
Of seeing a shitty rubber mask of Prince Charles in a toy shop on Lexington Avenue? Oh yes! Twice!
But really, what an amazing treat, to be in New York with your friends for eight days. I shan’t forget it.
Back to writing work on Monday. Need to write an essay of a crypto-zoological bent for the bonus material of the graphic novel I’m doing with Chris Askham and Bram Meehan. It’s almost there, just a few pages of artwork left to complete. Then some lettering and design. The brilliant Matt Soffe produced an amazing cover. We’ve secured a publisher and it should be on shelves early next year. Can’t wait to reveal all the details. Soon . . .
Next week will also be about putting the finishing touches to a new short story collection. Ten new stories with a supernatural and horror flavour. Once they’re at a place where I’m happy with them it’s time to submit the lot to one of my favourite publishers. And then wait. And keep the twitchy fingers crossed.
It’s been a great summer, one of the best. But Autumn draws in and I am listening to Warpaint a lot. Son, in particular.
It’s dark by 7pm now, and my favourite season, Winter, lurks just around the corner. And I’m fine with that.
Reading: I Was Dora Suarez by Derek Raymond.