Am not!Real quick, here: I just read Seth's blog and saw that I'd apparently "made hints" that I was "drifting away from horror."
This takes some clarification.
I still write horror, & only horror. Okay, that one time, I wrote porn. And, okay, at first I wrote some kinda dipshit fuzzy junk, but one was a made-to-order gift for a friend that happened to sell, and one just outright sucked after rewriting it to suit a magazine's request. But NOW it's all horror, all the time.
I still read horror. Lots, and almost exclusively. Lots of it fucking sucks, too. Some doesn't. Nothing's changed there.
However, I'm not a member of any clubs. I'm not social except with the few hardline assholes whom I respect - but who all have reputations as being the Mean Guys in the Corner. (That's my spot.) I am the world's worst networker: I see the value of it, I get half-jealous when other people do it well, but I just can't fucking do it. I can rarely, barely be social with people whom I genuinely ADORE. (And when I am, if there's a witness to this, I clam up.)
(We'll ignore the fact, too, that the Mean Guys in the Corner have been dropping out of the horror biz entirely, shutting down magazines and presses and turning to other worthwhile things, like beer and meat.)
Anyway: I did tell Seth that I'm often so embarrassed by the caliber of writing available, and by the circlejerk - everyone's so
supportive of each other's work that they don't seem to feel the need to strive to improve anything about it - that I am at times ashamed that, as a "horror writer," I'm under the same umbrella as that crap. It's no different than the music scene, or the professional billiards circuit, or the academic/tenure-track deals, or anything else anywhere - but I love horror, and always have, and can't help but be bummed now that I see all the ugly stuff underneath.
However, here's the shining, glorious bit: nobody gives a sweet fuck about the stuff that drives us nuts. Only the insiders get caught up in it. The READERS do not care, or even KNOW, about this crap, and won't be snowed by the hype/advertising/spam. Well, once, maybe, but that one time is make or break. If they pick up a bad book, they'll put it down, end of story. They may well be so turned off that they'll never read that author again, or never buy any product from that entire press again. All hail the readers, the folks whose eyes are on the words, not the behind-the-scenes junk.
Writing, and writing something as tricky as horror, is hard enough when you're alone in a room with a page. So to clarify: I'm actively avoiding bullshit and distractions.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 5:33 PM
Stalking SteveSteve Gioia: I'm looking for you.
Okay, so the day job's been sucking. We've all been working every single day; my crew's been on 4am-11pm most days. No weekends, no holidays, no vacations, & none on the horizon until November or so. They get overtime, at least. (I don't. Salary. Very small salary. Not worth this.) This happens just before Fall quarter every year, so we were all prepared. Sucks, but no big deal.
However, from time to time it results in the need to start drinking beer immediately upon arriving home, so we can make ourselves sleepy by 10:30 or so. Yesterday was one of these days. That too is fine. Except Vince (hey, Vince, when am I going to see YOU again, daddio? we needs to eat the meat) sent a copy of FAMILY TRADITION for review.
I read the first paragraph and, suffused with black glee, chose to set the book aside for a night when I could focus completely on it. It's going to be ~foul.~ And hilarious. And I can hardly WAIT.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 12:08 PM
FloatIt's monsoon season here. My power - read, my A/C - is off more often than it's on. When I crawl into work and my boss catches me, dehydrated from a night of sweating in front of a fan strong enough to peel my eyelids clean off my face, chugging water, he's always certain I'm hung over. "Electrolytes," I slur. "Salt. Water. Gatorade breakfast. Hot at house. So hot." He doesn't buy it.
Anyway, thank gawd I bought a laptop, so I can work for three or four hours when the power's out. Or watch vcds - next on my want list is
PING PONG,which looks kinda artsy & teen-oriented, but, jeez, it's Sam Lee playing ping pong. It's apparently based on a surreal manga series by Taiyo Matsumoto called
Ping Pong Club.Over there is Sam Lee playing ping pong, but this doesn't have anything to do with the movies. This is some kind of celebrity fashion show ping pong tournament thingie. If you don't watch out, I might giggle, here. hee.
Geoff Cooper may have talked me into doing something. He's good at that. It's going to be long, and surely hard. Time will tell.
Meanwhile: where the fuck is NASCAR on the networks? The last one was Watkins Glen in early August, and road races are bo-ring. The next one's Kansas, and that's not until September 29. Argh! Argh!
Last week I recovered from the weird post-collection black mood with the help of Sopranos, Season 3. Those of us without cable, and without friends who can afford cable, had to wait. I watched six or seven episodes a night until it was over and I was spent. The pure joy that I felt when the theme song started on the first episode was amazing: I missed that show, and the characters, in probably unhealthy measures.
Tonight I'm taking Dick Laymon to bed, and Michael Laimo's waiting in the wings. Last week I read Brian Hodge's new collection and was once again confronted with the fact that he's AMAZING, unbelievable - and that I should just quit writing and watch Sopranos all day long. The book itself is very nice, too.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:19 AM 
