This was a
rough year personally in a lot of ways, and I’m sure hoping that 2018 will be
an improvement, but the reading and the writing rolled on, as they have for
decades now. That’s what I’m here to talk about today.
READING
I read 117 books this year, a slight increase from last year. Here are my Top Ten favorites, in the order in which I read them.
RIDERS OF THE NIGHT, Eugene Cunningham
READING
I read 117 books this year, a slight increase from last year. Here are my Top Ten favorites, in the order in which I read them.
RIDERS OF THE NIGHT, Eugene Cunningham
FLASH
CASEY—DETECTIVE, George Harmon Cose
LEO
MARGULIES: GIANT OF THE PULPS, Philip Sherman
NEVER SAY NO
TO A KILLER, Clifton Adams
THE LOST END
OF NOWHERE, Gordon MacCreagh
SAY IT WAS
MURDER, Stephen Mertz
KISS AND
KILL, Richard Deming
AVALANCHE!,
E.S. Dellinger
PLAY A COLD
HAND, Terence Faherty
THE ART OF
THE PULPS, Douglas Ellis, Ed Hulse, Robert Weinberg, eds.
If you’re keeping score at home, you’ll note that my blog posts for a couple of these haven’t shown up yet, but they will soon. Also, one of them, SAY IT WAS MURDER by Stephen Mertz, hasn’t been published yet, but it’ll be out next spring from Rough Edges Press. Remember the title (like I’d let you forget!) because it’s a great private eye novel.
The older I get, the more I seem to retreat into the pulp era. Four of the books listed above first appeared in the pulps, and two more are about the pulps, at least partially in the case of the Margulies bio. But four of them are also new books, appearing for the first time in 2017, so I’m not a complete fossil yet. Still, more than a fourth of the books I read this year were either pulps, pulp reprints, or pulp-related. Another fourth were what I would consider vintage paperbacks or hardbacks. So I’m definitely beating ceaselessly into the past, boats against the current.
WRITING
I wrote a million words again this year, for the 13th straight year. I have a tentative plan to try to hit a million two more times, then semi-retire and write about half a million words a year from then on. (I know, I know, we’ve all heard this before . . .) I spent enough years as a semi-starving freelancer that it’s difficult to turn down work, but I’ve begun to do that now and then. The million words this year included eight solo novels, six collaborations, and sizable chunks of two more novels. No short fiction at all in 2017, and only one of the novels, which probably won’t be out for a while, will have my name on it. But I haven’t worried about that in forty years and don’t intend to start now, as long as I can continue fooling everybody into believing I know what I’m doing and don’t have to take an honest job. I’m ’way too old for that. Many thanks to everyone involved in saving me from that terrible fate, from the editors and agents to the readers to Livia, Shayna, and Joanna, who make it all possible to start with.
I don’t make resolutions, but I have the vague hope that I’ll have more time to read, watch TV and movies, and just generally enjoy life. I plan to attend Robert E. Howard Days in June, I may make it to a science fiction convention or two, and I’ll definitely continue going to hockey games when I can. (I’ve become a big hockey fan and have been known to pontificate about games that I’m watching, based on my vast experience of two whole years as a spectator and never having been on ice skates in my life . . .) The blog will continue, the WesternPulps group will continue (until Yahoo pulls the plug on all the groups, which I remain convinced they will, sooner or later), and I’m sure I’ll still spend too much time on Facebook. To all of you out there who make this stuff fun, my very best wishes and the hope that 2018 is kind to you.
