“Niles… While Daphne’s busy with Roz, I have to ask you… Are you sure the four of us should be doing this?”
“Frasier, I had the same misgivings as you at first, but you know how Daphne is with this new genealogy thing– she was just delighted when she proved that you and I are the only remaining blood relations of great-great-uncle Hugh Crane, and now she’s convinced that she can purge this house of its haunted past– something about a nun or something.”
“Well, all right, but this idea about broadcasting a live séance for my radio listeners better not turn into– well, Nightmare Inn— and don’t say it, I know that was as much my fault as anyone’s.”
“More.”
“All right, more.”
“Well there’s nothing that can be done, Frasier, we’ll just have to make the best of it.”
“Mm. Perhaps it’s just as well Dad went back home with Eddie– lucky excuse…”
“‘Lucky excuse?’ Excuse me, Eddie refused to even come in the front gate!”
“Yes, once again, Eddie’s probably the wisest of us all… Well, might as well get this over with…” (Frasier heads upstairs, carrying luggage, humming to himself– he begins quietly singing under his breath–) “…Well baby I hear the blue room calling, tossed salad and scrambled eggs…”
Happy Halloween from Wicker Man Studios! Here’s Liz from GUN STREET GIRL and a werewolf! (She’s not a werewolf. She’s just yelling at one. But we stuck what she’s yelling at behind her, because otherwise it was hard to get them both in the same shot.)
Anyway: We have a NEW book available! It’s THE TALKING CURE BOOK TWO: TRANSFERENCE or THE MAN IN THE LIGHT GRAY SUIT!
Adventures in Cryptozoology: The Paul Dini Interview
Once upon a time, there was a column about comic books and pop culture that Park and Barb wrote for a website that shall remain nameless, and that column was entitled THE PARK AND BARB SHOW.
We wrote it for 12 years.
It’s mostly gone now, except for Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine function, but there was some stuff in there I want to put here. So I will.
One thing I did there, long ago, was that I interviewed Paul Dini– in 2006. So that seemed relevant to the craft of writing, so here it is again below.
Hi there! Happy #INDIEpendence! #INDIEpendence is a thing happening in July to celebrate indie artistic endeavors– such as indie comics!
As such, we’re helping bring attention to a couple of Kickstarters for indie comics that are running RIGHT NOW by doing mini-interviews! (Why, yes, most of the questions ARE from the Bernard Pivot Questionnaire that James Lipton always asked at the end of Inside the Actors Studio, thank you for noticing!)
First up: Winston Gambro, creator of HAUNTED HOUSE: A LOVE STORY:
********** 1. What is your favorite word?
–Lush
2. What is your least favorite word?
–Pneumonia
3. What sound or noise do you love?
–Machine Whirring
4. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
–Stunt Man
5. Please talk about your current project for 4 or 5 sentences…!
–A beautiful house is cursed with the gift of life– it soon falls in love with its sole occupant, its own architect. Unfortunately for the house, the architect is oblivious to the house’s sentience, and finds forbidden romance with his doctor. The house acts out in vengeance, setting off a tragic chain of events that ripple through the next century, entrapping a diverse assortment of couples, each seeking their own romance. As each pair of lovers grapples with their own romance, the house’s grief warps their journey into horrific ends.
If you’re interested in seeing what happens next, the entire horror/romance graphic novel is on Kickstarter here!
(Now I am at work just going Shrrakadoom everywhere…)
4. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
–Be a comic book artist. I have a mad dream to make a comic complete myself, from making the paper, to binding the book, to doing it all!
5. Please talk about your current project for 4 or 5 sentences…!
–Dusk: Love Bites plays off of the unrequited love the female lead has for her Vampire Lord. So her unwilling paramour shows her how dark a Vampire Lord can be when it comes to their thralls. Little did either of them know this particular thrall only joined the dark ranks of the supernatural to escape the turmoil and persecution as a young gay man in the ’80s…
If you’re interested in seeing what happens next, here’s where you can sign up to get notified when this indie graphic novel’s campaign begins on Kickstarter!
And THESE NEXT two links are about how if you’re one of the first 100 followers of David’s Kickstarter, you’ll get a huge bundle of indie comics– a bundle which also contains the entire graphic novel of HUNGRY GHOSTS by Barb and me (Park)!
This is just a preview of the very start of our prose novel SONG TO THE SIREN:
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫
CHAPTER ONE
If I reply to this email, thought Samantha, I’ll have to tell them what really happened. The whole thing. The slow way. Because if I just came out and tried to explain the truth to them all at once, they’d… She stared at the email that was waiting, on her computer screen, for her to reply to it…
Dear Ms. MacNamara… it began…
Samantha frowned. What would they do… if I really tried to explain what happened back then? What would anyone do? It’s why I’ve never told a single living soul...
She looked up above her monitor, at the wall of her home office, at the framed photograph of a handsome young man holding a guitar. His long blond hair was flying around as he played. He was smiling at the camera, at the person taking his picture… In the background was the rest of the band, with the drum set that bore the stylized logo of the Big Carnival. “Am I really sure I want to be interviewed, Reed?” Sam asked the young man in the photo. “Music press people, diehard fans, even people I trusted, I’ve never told anyone about… what happened. It’s amazing that after all of these years, people are still interested in you and the Big Carnival.”
Transcript: Discovering Your Maine Heritage (Episode 95 (S5 E15) now with added Update)
Findley (vocal over images of trees, the Portland skyline, waves breaking on rocks): …You’re watching Channel 10, Portland’s own public television station.
Findley (a thin, elderly man with silver hair and a white beard and glasses, wearing slacks and a sweater and a blazer and loafers) (outside a large mansion, with a slight breeze blowing): I’m James Findley, and as always, I’m your host… for Discovering Your Maine Heritage.
Findley (vocal over sitting at a large wooden library table near a large window with a man in his late 30s, with brown hair and haunted eyes): I’m here today with David Collins, of Collinsport, Maine. We’re exploring David’s family history.
(based on a piece of writing advice by Shirley Jackson)
●●●●●●●●●●
“I hate asparagus,” Louise MacNamara said to the kitchen clock on the wall.
All the clock said in response was tick, tick, tick.
“10:03 already. The morning’s just slipped away from me… I simply must get to the grocery store. …Where is my list…?”
She found it by her purse. “Milk, eggs, bacon, bread…” she said out loud.
And asparagus.
“I hate asparagus,” Louise said.
Asparagus was always a difficult vegetable to get right, her mother had always told her. Cook it too little, it’s chewy. Cook it too much, and it’s bitter and slimy.
I’m bitter because my husband is slimy, Louise thought.
“You look troubled,” I said to Roger. “And you’ve hardly eaten your food. It seems silly to bring me to one of the most lovely restaurants in Bangor and then not touch a bite of your food…”
“Ah, well, you’re far lovelier than this place, my dear…” said Roger.
I smiled at him. Roger might not have been other women’s romantic ideal; he was balding, and his countenance often seemed grim. But he had a fine mind, and he’d always been every bit the gentleman, especially to me. I’d known him for almost five years. We’d met soon after his first wife, Laura, had died under mysterious circumstances; he’d come to Bangor on business. He always seemed to have a lot of financial reasons to visit Bangor, something to do with his family’s business ties… He wasn’t the owner of whatever company or companies his family owned—his sister Elizabeth seemed to have the lion’s share of the stock in the concern, and he just managed things. I once asked Roger about the family’s financial arrangements… he told me quite honestly that he’d spent his money on having fun. Since he didn’t like talking about it, I was never sure quite what the family business was—something to do with lumber, or canneries, or perhaps both… “I appreciate the comment, Roger, but it concerns me that you’re not eating.”
1968 was a watershed year, people say. But it didn’t feel like it to me at the time, stuck behind my desk the way I was.
My career always consisted of being stuck behind a desk. During the halcyon days of the studio system, I’d been a big man. I’d worked with everyone from Errol Flynn to Jerry Lewis (I still don’t like thinking about working with Lewis). But TV killed the old studio system. I thought, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” and I got a programming job with NBC. Not the worst job, but I resented where I ended up.
“I know nothing about teenagers or their tastes,” I protested. “I’m an old white guy. I like Cole Porter and Frank Sinatra.”
“Believe me, Charlie, so do I,” my boss’d said to me. “But no one else around here knows what these crazy teenagers like either, so it might as well be you, so it’s either you do this job, or you retire.”
I couldn’t imagine retiring. Retirement meant death. I’d seen too many old executives retire and then fall over of a heart attack. I liked living, so I took on the job like my life depended on it, which I felt like it did.
“Charlie, we think we have a winner here,” my boss said to me one day. “It’s Elvis Presley—he’s interested in doing a TV special. Or at least that’s what his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, says. So read through this script and tell us what you think.”
In the great house of Collinwood, in the study, Julia Hoffman sat reading a book. It was a psychiatric book about new techniques in group therapy for which she’d promised to write a review for a scholarly journal.
She had trouble keeping her mind on it, though. Its language was no more dry and academic than any other book of its type—perhaps a little better, really—but even though there was a pleasant fire burning in the study’s fireplace, the wind was blowing just enough that the sound of the phenomenon called “The Widows” was occasionally happening.
