My first submission to CEMETERY DANCE was also the first short story I ever wrote. I was nineteen and on the tail end of an Anne Rice spree. "St. Vincent's Confessional" was a horrendous piece of work about an angsty Angel of Death confessing his sins to a priest who was -- cue musical sting-- a pedophile. (In retrospect, I wish I'd also made the priest a vampire and a serial killer, just so I could have gotten three exhausted tropes out of the way in one fell swoop.)

Needless to say, Rich rejected the story. Little more than a sensitive child, I swore off short stories for nearly a decade. I dabbled here and there, but I didn't submit another story to CD until 2004 - ten years after my first submission. This story was met with the same form rejection, but I suppose my skin had gotten a little thicker in the decade since my first attempt -- I followed it with attempt #3. Rich kept the story for a year and sent me a nice hand-written rejection. Close. Try again.

It took me about two years to try again. I submitted "In Her Hand a Rag, a Rope" in December of last year. Last Friday, I learned that the story will be appearing in a future issue of Cemetery Dance.

Yeah, I'm a happy guy.

***

You've probably seen this one on your Friends list, so I won't drive home the point too violently: Bits of the Dead is now on hand and shipping. I have a story in it, so does my awesome wife. So do a few of my friends. If you dig zombie stories, you'll probably dig this book.

Order it from your favorite bookseller today.

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I don't agree with much of the recent thought-provoking DARK KNIGHT screed by vee_ecks, though I think it's a must-read for anyone interested in superhero comics. It did prompt me to dig out my copy of Miller's industry-changing series, THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS. I haven't read it in close to a decade, and I'm enjoying it more than I did then. (Odd, since I'm neither seventeen nor a Nazi.)  I'm only one issue in, and, looking at it with new eyes, the jury is still out as to whether or not it's a pean to fascism. (Obviously a pean to tough-guy machismo, yeah.) So far, the book neither condemns nor condones Batman's actions, and actually presents arguments for both sides of the issue. (Two-Face's plot to blow up the Gotham City Twin Towers is, of course, given more resonance today than it had in '86.)

I loathed the artwork as a child, but now find it grotesquely beautiful. The unique 16-panel grid on which each page is structured allows for more information per page than an average comic book, and Lynn Varley's colors conjure the sweltering heat and the stench of Gotham (and they're refreshingly real watercolor/inks, not Painter/Photoshop digital magic).

Earlier, I was reading the second issue -- THE DARK KNIGHT TRIUMPHANT -- at the dinner table while my three-year old beast of a boy, Luke, munched on a peanut butter sandwich..



He asked: "Is Batman angry?"

"Yes," I said.

"Is he Hulking Out?"

"Yes," I said, laughing.

A few minutes later he added: "That's Bizarro Batman."

I've not heard a better description of that particular piece of artwork.

Looking at it, I realized that it could be single-handedly responsible for the nightmare that is Rob Liefeld. I can see a young Liefeld studying this cover, his eyes drinking in the scratchiness, the explosive musculature, the pouches -- ye gods, the pouches. (Liefeld would, of course, add his own unique touches: complete and utter ignorance of human anatomy, obscenely gigantic guns, midget-sized shoulder pads, and, of course, even more pouches.)

***

We're in the early stages of producing an epic 12-part comic book series. Had our first meeting between the writers (myself, the wife, the best friend) and the artist (talented local boy). It went very well. We're excited.

***

Anyhow. That's all I've got for now. Maybe I won't wait a year to post something here. Maybe I will.

***

Cemetery Dance.

Yes!