Bev Vincent

My latest essay, The Wheel of Fortune, is up at Stephen King Revisited. It puts The Dead Zone in its historical context.

I picked up a golf club yesterday for the first time in roughly 30 years. The only other time in my life I’ve “gone golfing,” I was a grad student at Dalhousie University. A group of us took a weekday afternoon off and went to a par 3 course near the airport. I was the only one who told my advisor what we were doing. All the others made up excuses. I discovered that I couldn’t tee off to save my life, but I was a pretty decent putter. My biggest problem was that I was forced to use right-handed clubs when my natural tendency is to swing left. We had a lot of fun, but I wasn’t inspired to take up the sport.

Yesterday, my daughter’s fiance and I went to a place called Top Golf. You rent a “booth,” which is sort of like a lane at a bowling alley. It’s a bit like a driving range, I guess, except it’s game-based. The one we picked made use of the half a dozen or so targets in the field that were divided up into rings and segments. You got more points for putting your drive into a ring closer to the flag, and for hitting a farther target. No points at all if you hit it really well, but missed all the targets. I got left-handed clubs, and found that all of a sudden I could hit the ball pretty well. I couldn’t bring myself to do a full swing by bringing the club back over my shoulder—I didn’t have that much confidence—but I could drive the ball 150 yards or so with a three-quarter swing. It was fun. Might try it again.

We watched a movie called 5 to 7 this weekend. It starred Anton Yelchin, who I first remember from Hearts in Atlantis and, more recently, as Chekov in the Star Trek reboot. He plays an aspiring writer living in Manhattan who nails his copious rejection letters to his wall and takes encouragement when an editor hand-writes “sorry” at the bottom of a rejection. He meets a French woman during a smoke break, and things take off from there. The title refers to a euphemism in France for an affair, because during those hours a wayward spouse’s whereabouts are generally less certain, but in this woman’s case she takes them literally. If the young writer wants to see her, it must be between those hours. Her husband has a mistress. It’s all very natural in their culture. The young writer even gets invited to the house to meet the rest of the family and the mistress. His parents are less accepting of the situation, especially his father (a delightful Frank Langella), though his mother (Glenn Close) is rocked on her heels a bit by it, too. It’s all very fanciful, but it treats both cultures respectfully. A fun, frilly film.

I’ve never seen a single episode of the rebooted Battlestar Galactica before last weekend. I watched the 3-hour miniseries and then went right into season 1. I can see a kinship with its contemporary, Firefly, especially in the way the cameras track when filming the spaceships from the outside. I’m liking it so far.

One of my favorite shows came to an end last week. It’s always a sad moment when I pull up the DVR menu and delete a show from the series recordings listing. I’ve been watching Justified since day 1 and I’ve always enjoyed its laconic dialog, fascinating characters and iconic feel. It’s a modern-day western mixed with crime fiction, populated by stupid criminals, that had a fantastic, morbid sense of humor. It was Elmore Leonard to the core, and even when it sagged a bit, it was better than anything else on the tube. I knew the end was coming and I dreaded it, but they pulled it off far better than I could have expected. Life doesn’t come to an end for the characters just because the show does. Lives go on, just in a different context. I applaud Graham Yost and Olyphant and Goggins and Carter for a terrific send-off to a fine, fine show.

We saw a couple of interesting movies this weekend. First was a documentary called The Wrecking Crew that focused on a group of session musicians who worked on just about every famous album you can think of that was recorded in L.A. in the 1960s. The so-called “crew” wasn’t an official name and it was applied to a group of as many as 20 or 30 musicians. I was familiar with the concept of the session musician—Toto was formed from a group of them—but I had no idea how pervasive or influential they were. They were far better musicians than many of the acts they supported. They created riffs that their counterparts in the bands couldn’t duplicate. They invented some of the most famous bits of these songs. They appeared on albums by The Beach Boys, the Mamas and the Papas, the Association, Jan & Dean, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Cher, Captain & Tennille, Nat King Cole, The Monkees, The Partridge Family, Elvis, Frank and Nancy Sinatra, and so many more, including Glen Campbell (did you know he played on Elvis and Sinatra albums? Or that he toured with the Beach Boys?), who arose from among their ranks and became a performing musician in his own right. These were the go-to musicians when you needed someone reliable. Some record producers wouldn’t book studio time unless they knew certain of them would be available for the session. The documentary was written by the son of one of the best known, Tommy Tedesco. It’s not a big budget production, but we came away from it with a better understanding of and appreciation for the music of that era.

Then, on Saturday we went out to the cinema to see Danny Collins, a film I hadn’t even heard of before that day. It stars Al Pacino as a rock star musician who hasn’t written a new song in thirty years. He still packs in the audiences, but the crowd is getting noticeably older. He’s almost become a lounge lizard, trotting out the same old favorites. Think Barry Manilow. Then one day his manager (Christopher Plummer) tells him that John Lennon had read an interview he did 30 years ago and wrote him a letter, only the letter went to the magazine instead of to him, and it’s only just now come to light. It was a personal invitation by Lennon to call him up and talk about the perils of fame (this part of the story is based on a real event). This causes something of a personal crisis for Danny Collins. He sets up camp in a Hilton in NJ (managed by Annette Benning), starts writing songs again, and attempts to right some of his past wrongs. Bobby Cannivale and Jennifer Garner play a couple whose path crosses with his, and they have a delightful but frenetic little daughter. It’s a charming movie that upends expectations to a certain extent. The banter between Benning and Pacino is terrific (Benning is utterly charming), and Jennifer Garner’s compassion and honesty shine through, too. Plus Pacino seems to be having a blast. He embraces the aging rocker persona and plays it for all its worth.

I finished rewriting a short story and got it out the door this morning. It was originally written for a Canadian anthology where it wasn’t accepted, and the new market had certain geographic constraints that meant I had to relocate the setting. There was one specific detail of the original version that I thought was going to play havoc with the move, but it turned out that this detail was also associated with the new location, so I didn’t have to uproot it as much as I thought I would. And I was surprised by how delighted I was when I reread it for the first time in a few months. The last paragraph really made me grin. It’s a long-shot market, but I’ll have other places to send it if it doesn’t make the cut.

My interview on the Ka-tet podcast, Episode 41 is now live. This link takes you to the index page rather than straight to the MP3 playing page. It’s Dark Tower-oriented with an Australian accent. It contains spoilers, and it lasts for nearly three quarters of an hour.

I received my contributor copies of October Dreams 2 last night. What a beautiful volume. My story is called “The Boy in the White Sheet.” I look forward to reading all of the other contributions.

After watching The Imitation Game, I decided that Alan Turing, as portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch, is a cross between Sherlock (as portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch) and Sheldon from Big Bang Theory. Apparently it’s not quite an accurate representation of the man, and there’s a substantial controversy surrounding other inaccuracies in the film, but we enjoyed it. I especially liked the director’s response to the criticism. He said that this was art: you don’t look at Monet’s water lilies and expecting to see what water lilies really look like. It’s a representation of water lilies, just as this movie is a representation of Turing’s life as a code breaker. It’s not a documentary.

The first season of Better Call Saul finished up last night. The series doesn’t have the huge dramatic moments that Breaking Bad did, at least not very often, but it has some terrific character moments. That Bingo game from hell was almost a torment to watch as Jimmy worked though his hurt feelings and anger. Lots of “Easter eggs” from breaking bad, too, including the stories behind some of Saul’s anecdotes, like the time he pretended to be Kevin Costner. It’ll be interesting to see where they go with it next season, but it seems to me it has a built-in expiration date: the day Walt hires him. Unless, that is, they decide to go off in parallel, because Saul had other things going on besides Walt.

I received a very nice email late yesterday afternoon advising me that my short story “The Honey Trap,” published in the MWA anthology Ice Cold, edited by Raymond Benson and Jeffery Deaver, had been nominated for a Thriller Award from the International Thriller Writers. This came as quite a surprise, as I hadn’t even thought that it would be under consideration. Someone must have recommended it, or perhaps the editors or the MWA made the stories available for consideration. I was very pleased when the story made the cut for this anthology, so now I’m doubly thrilled by this accolade. I don’t know yet who the other nominees in the short story category are, but I imagine the competition will be stiff. The winner will be announced at Thillerfest in July.

The Shining: Studies in the Horror Film, edited by Danel Olson, is now available for pre-order. And a bargain at only $25 for a 752-page volume. It contains essays (including one by me) and cast and crew interviews. In addition, there is a special gallery of alternate film poster art. There are many behind the scenes photographs as well, provided by crew members. An illuminating introduction from acclaimed Oscar-winning writer/director/producer Lee Unkrich ushers the discussion forward, asking why the snowbound story still means so much for pop culture, filmmakers, and us. The book is scheduled to ship in late May, approximately.

I turned in my column for Cemetery Dance issue 73 yesterday. I still have to write my review of Finders Keepers for that issue. I still have to do a blog post about it for King of the Year, but that’s not due until June, and something for Overlook Connection, by which time I should have said everything I have to about the book.

I thought the season finale of The Walking Dead was a little low-key. Oh, sure, lots of fights and struggles but what did it all come to? I found the scene between Elizabeth and the old woman on The Americans quite powerful last week, but couldn’t help but think that if she’d just stayed downstairs, all of that messiness could have been avoided.

My latest Stephen King Revisited essay went live today. It’s called “Only Death Can Keep You from the Finish Line,” and it’s about the history of The Long Walk.

I went down to Murder By the Book in Houston last night to meet Dan Simmons (photo) on the first leg of his The Fifth Heart tour. I’ve been corresponding with Dan for at least 15 years, but this is the first time we’ve ever met. I wrote the tribute to him for the souvenir book when he was Grand Master of the World Horror Convention in New Orleans, but alas he was not able to make that meeting. He talked for a while, then read a section from the novel and then answered questions. He’s currently working on a book called Omega Canyon that deals with the Manhattan Project and espionage and Richard Feynman.

Our local community has a lunchtime talk every month related to law enforcement and safety. I’ve gone a few times in the past. Today, the speaker was a local CSI, who explained the reality of the job versus what we see on TV. Most of it was common sense, but a few things surprised me. Luminol, used to detect the presence of blood, something CSIs squirt around on TV like air freshener, is a carcinogen, so they use it sparingly. (The luminol glow also fades within 30 seconds, so they have to act quickly when something is detected or else spray again.) Fingerprints sent to AFIS (or related services) generate a batch of hits that are then returned to the CSI for visual comparison. It’s not done automatically by the computer. Our sheriff’s department has the only dedicated crime scene reconstruction room in the country. The clay in the ground around here is so heavy that most people attempting to bury bodies give up after 6-12″ and just cover the corpse over with debris.

There’s never any doubt around here when spring has officially arrived. All of a sudden everything is coated in yellow-green pollen. When I leave work in the afternoon, it streams up my windshield like tiny hailstones. I can see my tire tracks in the driveway, and my tires lay down green prints in the garage. For people with allergies, it hellacious. For everyone else, it’s just messy. We’ve already had a couple of days over 80°. The heavy rain we’re expecting over the next couple of days should wash some of the pollen away, but I have no doubt there will be more.

My short story “Groundwood” gets the audio treatment by Nelson W. Pyles at The Wicked Library today. This is the second time they’ve adapted one of my stories to audio. Check it out when you have a spare half hour or so. The story is set in the groundwood division of a paper mill, something with which I was very familiar back in the late 70s and early 80s. In those days, students could work in the mill during summer vacation and get the same wage as the regular employees, so it was a great way to earn money for university. Of course, the work was grueling at times, and groundwood was one of my least favorite places. We were generally on call. If a regular didn’t feel like showing up for work, he’d call in sick, and then one of us would get the phone call. Often it was the 12 – 8 overnight shift. I used to lie in bed, dreading the sound of the telephone until 11:30 or midnight had passed, especially on a Friday night. Even then, there was a chance that you’d get a call if a worker just didn’t show up. I’d have to put on my work clothes and drive the 10 miles to the mill. If you were called in late, the hoppers or magazines would be near empty so you had to work twice as hard to get caught up. If you got into the rhythm, you could fill them up and then take a 30 minute break, so a good shift was 45 minutes of hard labor, a 30 minute break, then another 45 minutes of work and so on throughout the shift. The magazines were one floor above the grinders, which used steam to soften the wood, so it was a hot, dank place. We usually found someplace else to be during the 30 minute break. One time, my coworker on our line climbed onto the roof and went to sleep. Didn’t come back. I had to find a foreman to take over, by which time the magazines were pretty much running on empty. Worst shift ever.

“Groundwood” is a zombie story that doesn’t have any zombies in it. Well, it does, but they aren’t lurching around.

I received my copy of the signed and numbered edition of 25 Years in the Word Mines by Graham Joyce yesterday. A somewhat poignant arrival. This version has a “chapbook” of extra stories—the slim hardcover companion volume is signed by Owen King (foreword), Kelly Braffet (afterword) and Graham’s daughter Ella. Both volumes fit snugly into a slipcase. I look forward to having the chance to read these stories.