I just received a galley of the Pulp Press edition of Gil Brewer’s FLIGHT TO DARKNESS because I was asked to provide a blurb. For Gil Fucking Brewer. Am I the only person who thinks this is ass backwards? Brewer was pounding out raunchy pulp before I was the proverbial gleam in my daddy’s eye. It oughta be me asking him for a blurb (if he were still alive, of course) not the other way around.

Guess I’d better make it good…

Check out this spectacular vintage paperback diorama by Thomas Allen:



More here.

Pulp Santa came early this year. Look what I found in my stocking!

I just scored another load of cheap Shell Scott spares and reading copies from the world’s greatest used bookstore. I’m trying not to obsess on scoring every cover permutation of every title, since that way lies damnation, but even though I already have several copies of Dead Man’s Walk, I had to pick up this one too, just for the stunningly horrendous cover.


(Click to see it bigger... if you dare!)

This lousy snapshot really doesn’t do justice to the astounding awfulness of this 70s era photo cover. The befuddled, clearly black-faced white guy in the bad afro-wig. The awkwardly posed Breck Girl in the unflattering floral romper. Don’t even get me started on Shell himself. Hilarious!

Started the day with coffee at a wonderfully grungy little South Street joint called The Bean Cafe. It ain’t Starbucks, and that’s a good thing. I spent a very entertaining half hour people watching from my perch under this astounding serial killer painting of Hall and Oates.



This was actually for sale. I wonder how much the artist was asking…

From there it was off to the Noir Ladies Auxiliary panel. Now that’s not entirely fair I know, but I’m with Jenny Siler on the issue of the obligatory “bad girl” panel. Of course there is no equivalent “men’s panel” (since all the other panels are “men’s panels” by default) but hey, Megan Abbott, Vicki Hendricks, Jenny Siler and I did have a great time deconstructing the femme fatale archetype. Also, don’t know why it slipped my mind in the post about day one, but I forgot to mention that we had recorded a podcast on the same topic the night before for Shannon Clute and Richard Edwards’ excellent Behind the Black Mask.

After the femme fatale panel, I got invited to have lunch with Ken Bruen, his agent Lukas and a very dangerous man, known only as Greg.




That’s him on the left. But he looks so friendly and innocent, you say. Ha! This nefarious pusher shamelessly lured me into sin by inviting me to visit his used bookstore. And so soon after my paperback bender at the Black Ace book show. Look, I told you I can quit any time…

Well, maybe tomorrow. Come on, tell me you could have resisted this:



Be still my heart! I wanted to bring a sleeping bag and move in for a few days.

For the drive out to the shop, deep in the heart of Goodisland (don’t worry, I was the designated driver) we were also joined by the other Scott Phillips. (Ice Harvest Scott Phillips, not Stink of Flesh, Perro Dos Mil and That Ass Ain’t Gonna Fuck Itself Scott Phillips.) So while Ken and Greg sat around playing records of old Irish drinking songs and lifting a pint or three, I got happily lost in dusty pulp heaven. I was amazed to discover that Phillips was also a Helen Nielsen fan. We had a wonderful time browsing together and he came out with almost as many books as I did. In addition to the obligatory stack of cheap Shell Scott reading and lending copies, I also scored THE BRASS CUPCAKE by John D. MacDonald, HOT DAY, HOT NIGHT (aka Blind Man With a Pistol) by Chester Himes and an Ace double of THE HUMMING BOX by Harry Whittington and BUILD MY GALLOWS HIGH by Geoffrey Homes (filmed as OUT OF THE PAST with Jane Greer and Robert Mitchum.)

After several worried calls from Lou Boxer (it was his car I was driving) we eventually managed to tear ourselves away and get back to the venue. By then it was nearly six o’clock. Of course, the night was still young and we had no idea what we were in for.

Yeah right...

When I went to the paperback show today, I brought a small cloth tote bag, about 12" square. I told myself I would not buy more than could fit in that little bag. We all have ways of controlling our addictions. Well, I did not buy more than could fit in the little bag, but that little bag was packed close to bursting by the time I dragged myself away. The real killer was the eleventh hour score of a beautiful copy of WHIP HAND by W. Franklin Sanders. (Charles Willeford) Here's the rest of the haul.

WILD TO POSSESS - Gil Brewer
THREE WAY SPLIT - Gil Brewer
HOMICIDAL LADY - Day Keene
DEAD DOLLS DON’T TALK – Day Keene
WORLD WITHOUT WOMEN – Day Keene and Leonard Pruyn (a rare SF choice for me)
DAGGER OF FLESH – Richard Prather
SO WICKED MY LOVE – Bruno Fischer
SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS AND OTHER STORIES – Ernest Lehman

and this amazing score:



Published in 1940. I love the two fallen fedoras on the cover. Great interior illos in this one too.

Great show, great score and great to see so many old friends and meet a few new ones too. I'm just really glad this is only once a year.

The good news is that the Black Ace vintage paperback show is this Sunday. The bad news is that the Black Ace vintage paperback show is this Sunday. Bad news for my wallet anyway. I’m dead broke after all this traveling, but I know I’m not going to be able to resist picking up one or two. Or five. Or seven.

OK, I really need this! I love that they did both the earlier, suave classic Wentworth version and the more demented, fanged later version.

Meanwhile I’ve suddenly got galleys aplenty here at the House of Faust. Galleys for MONEY SHOT and for HELL OF A WOMAN, the new antho from Busted Flush, are both awaiting my attention, plus I’ve got my latest ghostwriting project to contend with. Naturally now is the perfect time to be surfing the web lusting after toys I can’t afford.

Of course, if I had gone to San Diego Comic Con, not only would I have been able to pick up my Scribe award in person, but I also could have scored one of these super cool Spider rings