Friends have asked what one does at Bouchercon.

As this was my first Bouchercon, here’s what I now know:

You show up after an all-night, can-of-sardines American Airlines experience, thanks to your poor planning skills and August bravado. You  hunt down your hotel roomie, Shea, and after years of emails and zines and journals, finally meet Smith, Bill, Gischler, Phillips, Quertermous. They tell you Ayres just left Indy after swaddling himself in your bed sheets and inhaling a mound of Embassy Suites breakfast buffet. You meet Bill’s buddy, Donny, an actual cop who’s packing heat, decide not to make any fast moves. Great guy.

You take a deep breath, realize, I’m home.

You realize you read about one-tenth the amount Shea does, and about one-fifth the amount of everyone else, feel like a dull turtle, a turtle watching a pack of cheetahs in full sprint. … You check out some great panels – the notion of “social issues” presented in crime fiction is your favorite, followed closely by a panel on crime and humor. John Jordan sees your name badge, asks you to sign a copy of UNCAGE ME. You hang out with your tribe, people who understand why you write what you have to write. You just hang, and talk. Beers. More beers. You meet folks, wonder if you seem like a fanboy or a writer or both, try to govern the excited praise rocketing out of yourmouth –Abbot, McDonald, Nikitas,  Gagnon, Olson, Littlefield, Crouch, Starr, Sakey, Barker, Grabenstein, Neville. You meet folks who just made it to the other side (Rector and Charbonneau and Parks), and folks who are like you. You compare notes, talk about Bruen and Ellroy and Huston. You tell  everyone about this guy they just have to read – Black. You talk projects, compare agents. You’re tugged to the St. Martin’s party,  do more of the fanboy/writer routine over more beer and two pieces of melon. You reconvene back at the main bar. More beer. More introductions.  End of night, you crawl into bed, realize you’ve eaten nothing in 24 hours but a Subway pita and the two melon pieces … and you fade to black.

Next day, you work the hangover. Shea pours a handful of vitamins down your throat. And you lard. You lard hard. More panels, more books. Meet some folks about a  project. Rendezvous with the tribe at the Rathskeller. Serious German sausage and beer. Lots of it. Huge moose heads. Lots of middle fingers for Phillips’s camera. The way back to the hotel, ribs with Shea … and then more drinks at the Bouchercon bar, more connections made, ideas exchanged, laughs had.

You get home at  midnight Sunday. You’re wiped. Your brain is shutting down — a squirrel monkey could destroy you in  tic-tac-toe. Hobbling home, almost there, can’t wait to see your family, can’t wait to get into bed, thinking, God, that was great.

Mark Richardson and I have been comparing notes on fiction-writing for years now. We have had some great talks about it all. Whereas, he’s more likely to tell me about the latest story by nearby peninsula genius Tobias Wolff, I’m more likely to tell him about some amazing stories I’ve read in Plots with Guns or the now-defunct Murdaland.

He reads fiction in The New Yoker. I read fiction in Thuglit. And then we trade.

A few years ago, we had a debate about Eat, Pray, Love.

Along the way, he’s turned me on to some great shit in his publications. And I’m happy to report that maybe I’ve turned him on to noir and transgressive fiction. Case in point, Richardson is now weighing in on UNCAGE ME, the anthology of noir that includes my story, Hotshot 52, and has asked me to answer five questions over at his new blog, Scrivo.

Mark is a great writer with an amazing track record in fiction — every story he’s written has been picked up so far. And Scrivo already has made some interesting observations about  the pursuit of fiction-writing.

You can chek out his bog and his five questions of me right here.

My poor son, Jack.

He says to me,  “No one is letting me be me.”

His eyes beg for sympathy, his lower lip eases out. He asks for a hug, and I open my arms with a heavy heart — my 8-year-old is hurting, and he needs me.

“What’s going on?”

“No one’s letting me be me.”

“Okay, but tell me more?”

“Like mom. … Tonight. … Not letting me …” Jack burries his face into my chest and mumbles, “pick my nose.”

“Jack. That was at the dinner table. You can’t pick your nose at the dinner table.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. If you need to pick your nose, go to the bathroom. Nose-picking at the dinner table will always get you in the dog house. Always. And it would be a disaster on a date.”

We hug a little more, and then I ask, “Who else is not letting you be you?”

He tells me about school. Apparently, some of the rules and procedures and curricula don’t jive with my expressive, language-oriented, naturalist son.

Math? Don’t even go there.

Penmanship? The banal work of simpletons who obviously don’t care about more important things, like how volcanos happen or how the White Oaks Elementary “bug club” might someday undermine the world’s insecticide companies.

He says, “I wish school had just two subjects: talking and reading.”

I nod in concession. That would be nice. I must admit.

When I hung out with Kim Kenny in high school, she was one of the funniest people around.

And one of the smartest.

All these years later, Kim is still funny and smart. Now she’s sharing those talents with the world — with the help of her “little” brother, Chris Kenny. The two write and star in their own Internet comedy series, “Siblings,”  which has yet to disappoint.

Every time I watch it, I smile ear-to-ear.

Here’s what I dig about “Siblings”: It’s a great example of people rising from their day jobs, their everyday obligations and routines, their own exhaustion, the noise of life, to create something  really cool. It may not pay the bills, or even pay for itself, but it’s creative — and it’s funny, and it’s connecting with people.

They created something cool, and it’s out “there.”

Get your hit of “Siblings” here.

Or check out my favorite episode so far, “By the Book,” below.

It’s funny how things turn out.

When I wrote Hotshot 52, which appears in the new crime anthology, UNCAGE ME [Bleak House Books], I wanted to try something different. I decided to focus not on my usual fare — you know, obese goofballs who upper deck into people’s toilets, or paroled Raiders fans who lounge in kiddie pools all day — but instead on the troubled mind of a Silicon Valley cubicle dweller, drilling in on the inner psychology of his need to transgress, examining the emotional makeup of  a man who hungers to do wrong.

I also kept going back to a certain conversation opener I always thought would be a  great way to start a story — “I don’t like your face.”

I was inspired.

I wrote Hotshot 52.

I sent the piece out.

It got rejected.

Then I read an interview featuring editor Jen Jordan, who was compiling a collection of crime shorts for a new anthology to be published by Bleak House. Looked her up and sent her the piece. Waited a real long time. Then maybe six months later, I learned Hotshot 52 had made it.

That felt great.

But here’s what fascinates me …

Some people like Hotshot 52, like it enough to put it in a book that’s sold in bookstores and on Amazon. Others, however, rejected it — didn’t want it for their ‘zines and journals.

All those reactions were true and fair. I have no beef with any of them. There never was a wrong way to react to the piece. What gets me is the diversity of reaction the story has illicited. What is one reader’s plum is another’s pus bomb.

Hotshot 52 is just one of 22 stories in UNCAGE ME. So far, each story I’ve read has captured me, compellled me, has taken me someplace I never expected. And I think that’s pretty frickin’ cool. As the legendary John Connolly writes in his introduction to the book, “There may be stories in this collection that you find difficult to like, or of which you may actively disapprove. There will be stories that may remind you of your own past acts, and stories dealing with acts that you believe you could never commit. Yet each of them touches upon the basic human urge to transgress, and in this you will find a certain sense of commonality, however uncomfortable it may be.”

UNCAGE ME  has been uncaged. It’s finally out there, and I’m thrilled to be included.

Now let’s go transgress.

Back in October of 2008, I blogged about J.P. Gallagher, a friend of mine who’d just learned he had stomach cancer.

It was a scary time. So many questions no one could answer. Was the cancer spreading? Would it respond to radiation and chemo? How would he and his wife  accommodate the birth of their third child just weeks after the docs would take out J.P.’s stomach? Life would change, for sure, but what would it look like, and how would they live it?

Well, I have good news. J.P. kicked the shit out of that cancer.

The past 20 months threw just about everything they could at J.P. and his family. Those 20 months gave, and they took away. A daughter was born. New friendships were made. Just weeks after J.P.’s surgery, his father died — later, his sister passed away, too. But the world kept spinning, and J.P. and his family kept fighting, and living.

Now, there’s nothing serendipitous about cancer. I know that. But there is something remarkable how a variety of circumstances came together to create something truly amazing out of something that had been downright awful.

Part of it was the fact J.P. always had a passion for the non-profit sector — he’d been elected chairman of the board for at the Jesuit Volunteer Corps (JVC): Southwest, and he’d earned an MBA with concentrations in marketing and public/non-profit management. Another part of it was the fact that, through his treatment, J.P. had gotten to know some of the world’s leaders in gastric cancer research, and that he just happened to work for a company that made the computers needed to assist with that research.

Toss in the fact that, back in October ‘08, his wife Cindy insisted he see a doctor about a swallowing problem and that, had he not gone, he’d likely be dead today, and you start to wonder if this is where J.P. is supposed to be — back in the saddle of life, full of energy, surviving cancer and starting The Gastric Cander Fund, which aims to do nothing short of finding a cure for the disease. With J.P.’s vision as well as the help of his employer, NetApp, the foundation aims to provide one lucky research group everything it would need — the money, the computers, the medical collaboration — to find the root cause of gastric cancer.

Pretty fricking cool.

And if you’re wondering how in the hell J.P. ever found the time and energy (let alone the vision) to start something like this while fighting for his life and mourning the loss of loved ones, on top of everything else, I don’t have an answer.

In October 2008, I asked you to pray for J.P. and his people. Today, I ‘m asking you to learn more about his new foundation, and to consider helping.

I’m thinking about a friend, and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

NOTE: This marks the beginning of what I hope will be an occasional series in which I tell you about friends doing some pretty cool things.

A while back, my wife and I were talking about our early relationship. More specifically, we were talking about those times, 17 years ago, when she’d try to dress me. At least the way I saw it back in 1992, she was trying to get me to wear fancy-boy jackets and shirts — outfits I thought were better suited for backyard-croquet dandies. Never mind the fact I was a serious slob who wore very old clothes that I kept in giant piles. I didn’t like being “controlled,” and at some point, there was a backlash.

So not too long ago, we laughed at it all. And I said the whole “Dress Greg” campaign was like trying to put a tux and top hat on a semi-feral cat. Point being, that tux and top hat ain’t gonna change anything about that cat.

Then I had an idea for a short story. I’ll leave it at that, but suffice it to say that my new short story, “Cool Breeze of Mercy,” is dedicated to all you guys out there who have struggled with deep-seeded fears that someone wants to change you.

I am proud to report that “Cool Breeze” was picked up by Pulp Pusher, the badass U.K. ‘zine run by the insanely gifted crime novelist Tony Black, author of the poweful new noir thriller GUTTED. The only bummer is that despite Black’s repeated best efforts, some limitations to a web-publishing system have left formatting of the story less than what we wanted. With that in mind, you can read the piece at The Pusher here, or if you’re having problems reading that text, you can try the properly formatted “reprint” here.

NOTE: If stories involving peyote, cat diarrhea, extremely hair men and pantsuited crazyladies wielding fire pokers aren’t your thing, you may wanna pass on “Cool Breeze of Mercy.”

 

Jed Ayres was right a few weeks ago when he noted that we were entering Anthony Neil Smith (ANS) season. Hell, the author of Hogdoggin’ is all over the place. Several weeks into ANS season, we’ve already had a virtual bike rally for his new novel as well as the far-reaching Hogdoggin’ Monday. Since then, he’s been all over the place – in the virtual, and the flesh. There have been Noir at the Bar events, book signings and interviews galore.

To mention but a few. … Hardboiled Wonderland gets deep into ANS’s skull and doesn’t leave, in an interview here. In the U.K., Pulp Pusher hands the mic over to ANS and Victor Gischler for a quickie here. And at Frank Bill’s House of Grit, ANS drops in here.

So, with all the work ANS is doing these days, you might be surprised to learn that he also put out another edition of Plots with Guns – this one a special edition Plots with (Ray) Guns, with each story set in the year 2509. The first two stories I have read so far – “Koko Takes a Holiday,” by Kieran Shea, and “Ill Nature,” by Kyle Minor – knocked my socks off, each leaving a mark in my mind that I have yet to shake off. Shea also has an equally strong piece in Pulp Pusher right now, so if you’re in the mood for a jolt, check it out here.

Speaking of The Pusher, some more news in that arena in a few weeks.

KIERAN SHEA UPDATE: Adding to the growing evidence that he and ANS secretly plan to take over the world, I’ve now learned that our man Kieran also has a piece coming out in Ellery Queen. Who’s the third party in this Axis of Noir?

The past few weeks more than two dozen writers have banded together to talk about a great book and its talented author. In the virtual biker rally that lasted two weeks and caused irreperable damage to the blogosphere (those stains will never come out, and that smell will never quite go away), we kicked up a storm of dust, laid down an inch of rubber, got into dozens bar fights and never really did stop talking about Hogdoggin’.

Because I had an advance copy of Hogdoggin’, I understood what all the fuss was about.

In Anthony Neil Smith’s follow up to the enthralling Yellow Medicine, we once again join up with Billy Lafitte, a former crooked cop whose worldclass cocktail of misfortune and bad deeds have earned him a reputation as one of the country’s most dangerous men. It’s also earned him a following of individuals who will do just about anything to bring him down.

With nowhere to go, Lafitte has found himself  ‘roided up in a biker gang that makes the Hells Angels look like the Sesame Street cast. Lafitte is now the No. 2 badass, behind the gang’s leader, Steel God, who rules the outtfit,  literally and figuratively, with a sledge hammer.

Lafitte’s new life comes to a screeching halt when he learns that his estranged family needs him — and needs him badly. Now.

It’s when  he attempts to make it home that we get a front-row seat to Smith’s talent — his ability to treat violence with a musky weight and yet with insight into all its dimensions, to expose us to the humanity beneath bad deeds, to suck us in with a cast of characters that most authors only handle with indictment, and to force you to keep turning the pages.

Turn the pages, I did. And the more I turned, the more sucked-in I became. It’s a book that sticks with you.

If you haven’t already surmised it’, this book enjoys a ton of grassroots support. There’s a reason — the pages pull you in, take you to a world you haven’t experienced before. So you can understand why all of us are asking you make today Hogdoggin’ Monday –meaning you join us in buying the book today, either online or at your favorite bookstore, with a mind to make the suits and bean-counters take notice.

All you gotta do is kick-start that bike of yours, and join us in making the ground shake.

Last Friday I took the family to the local bookstore for a triumphant little moment.

I was coming to pick up my copy of Sex, Thugs and Rock & Roll, the new Thuglit anthology that includes my story, ”Big Load of Trouble,” alongside those by Changa buddies Anthony Neil Smith, Jed Ayres, Jordan Harper and Patti Abbott. It also includes pieces by some very admired crime authors – Scott Wolven, Joe R. Lansdale, Marcus Sakey and Jason Starr, to name a few.

Of course, I could have ordered my copy via Amazon, and you surely can HERE. But I wanted the experience of seeing it in a bookstore, buying it in a bookstore, fanning through the pages to find my story — in a bookstore.

And I have to say, I felt pretty damn good. I felt like an average Joe getting called up to the majors for a weekend, and having a blast the entire time.

Then, when I started reading the pieces in this anthology, I got an entirely new rush. This, my friends, is a tight collection of compelling storytelling. Case in point: I re-read “Politoburg” by Ayres and was blown away all over again, and was reminded how my first reading of that piece in Thuglit in 2007 led me to praise it on this blog, which is how I got to know the guy.

I’m not the only one impressed by this anthology. One of the stories was nominated for a prestigious Edgar award, and Publisher’s Weekly recently weighed in with this review.

Robinson’s second anthology derived from the online magazine Thuglit is an improvement over 2008’s Hardcore Hardboiled. Jason Starr gets things off on the right foot with “Double Down,” a short but punchy contemporary PI tale, with an unapologetically amoral main character largely indifferent to the consequences of his greed. Joe R. Lansdale offers perhaps the strongest entry with “Bullets and Fire,” in which the narrator gets accepted into a hardcore urban gang by punching out a little girl, for reasons that only become apparent in the denouement. An ex-con’s despair over his estranged grown daughter drives Marcus Sakey’s “The Days When You Were Anything Else,” which ends with a twist that’s no less powerful for being predictable. While not every selection is top-notch, this volume also showcases a number of lesser-known authors who will undoubtedly be heard from more in the future. Sarah Weinman’s introduction extols the virtues of online publication. (June) — Publisher’s Weekly

So …. maybe you’d like to have a little Sex, Thugs and Rock & Roll in your life.