GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #605: ANDERSON'S

 You've heard me mention Anderson's as my favorite bookstore before. There are three locations. There is the original in Naperville, which is where authors usually go for signings. I've met a lot of people there, from Clive Barker to Weird Al to Penn Jillette to Dave Barry to Sarah Pinborough to . . . hell, I've met a lot of authors there. It's a great place, and their signings are always worth it.

There is another location in Downers Grove, which is also a pretty good store. It's a good backup if I can't get out to Naperville. And then there's the LaGrange location which I've only ever been to once. Parking is annoying, and I have to walk a distance to get there, which is never good for my bad leg. I also don't like the layout there.

Once upon a time it was easier to get to an Anderson's because there used to be one in Elmhurst a mere ten minutes from my place. I miss that one a lot. Back when I was still doing Tabard Inn I even got issues one and two in there on consignment. It was a great place. Elmhurst really needs a bookstore.

But Anderson's hasn't been in Elmhurst for maybe 20 years. Before that there was this great used book place called the Thrifty Scholar, where I got a lot of awesome books before they disappeared almost overnight. And then there was Ye Olde Book Worm, but I've mentioned that here before a few times. That really was the best bookstore Elmhurst ever had.

Now Elmhurst doesn't have a bookstore. Not really. There's A Book Above behind Mama Maria's on Vallette five minutes from me, but I've only ever been there once. It's more or less a children's bookstore with some stuff for any adults who may be waiting for their kids. It's not a great place. The only time I was there I bought a book just to be polite and left.

We need a real bookstore in Elmhurst again. Every once in a while I fantasize about opening a bookstore of my own, but I know it would fail in no time flat. I know books very well, but business? I have a rudimentary understanding, and that's no way to run a bookstore. Besides, the rental costs for apartments are out of control in Elmhurst. I can't imagine how much it would cost to rent a store.

Until someone thinks to bring a real bookstore back to Elmhurst, I guess I'm stuck driving great distances to get my fix. There's also the Frugal Muse in Darien, which is great, but also it's quite a distance. There's always Half Price Books, but I'd much rather go to indie bookstores. Ah well.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #527: A MORTAL WOUND

 By now you all know how much I love books. According to my mom, my first word was "book." I don't really consider myself much of a criminal, but I'd probably steal books. And so on.

The problem is, since I'm packing all my shit, I can't buy more books, at least not for now. That would just be something else to pack. I can't tell you how much this hurts me. Whenever I pass a bookstore I feel like I'm dying. I feel like I've been mortally wounded.

But last week I couldn't *not* buy Stephen King's new book. And I tried desperately to not buy any other books when I made the trek to Anderson's in Naperville to do so. But you know me. And you can probably guess that I failed. You'd be right.

I couldn't stop myself! I had to do it! Damn you all!

And damn me, too. And you know that I had to get a few books at Printers Row, too, so . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #170: TALKING ABOUT BOOKS I LOVE

You know what you can't get when you buy books from Amazon? I'd forgotten it myself, to be honest. I shouldn't have. It's something so important that I'm ashamed of not recalling this.


When you go to a physical bookstore, you gather together the books you want to purchase. Then you go to the counter to pay for them. The clerk starts zapping your bar codes with the laser reader. And then he or she comes upon one of your selections, and he or she says, "Oh! You love this author's work?!" Or, "I love this book! Let me know what you think of it!" Or something along those lines.


Yesterday I went to Anderson's in Naperville because it's been a while since I've gone to an indie bookstore. Longtime readers might recall that I routinely give this advice: go to an indie bookstore once a month. I fucked up. I'm sorry. But I went yesterday for the first time in a while. I selected books by Bonnie McFarlane, Larry Wilmore, Patton Oswalt and a collection of John Wayne's personal letters. I took them to the desk, and the clerk started zapping the bar codes.


Then she came to Larry Wilmore's book of essays, and she said, "Oh! I love this show! Do you watch this show?" And we spent the next five minutes talking about how awesome Larry Wilmore and The Nightly Show is. This conversation charged me up. I'd completely forgotten about how fucking cool these conversations are.


The last time I went to Anderson's (this one in Downers Grove), I purchased Harper Lee's GO SET A WATCHMAN, and when I went to the counter, I had a wonderful discussion of the controversy about Atticus Finch in this book.


Rewind about ten or fifteen years. I used to work at my local library. Most of my employment there was spent as a page, but the last few years were as a desk clerk. Whenever someone checked out a book I thoroughly enjoyed or a new book by a writer I respect, I always struck up a conversation with them.


I miss that. I really do.


Amazon is pretty cool. They always have what I want. But the indie bookstores are the best. I will never have a book conversation with someone from Amazon as I make my purchase. Once again I advise you all to go to an indie bookstore at least once a month. I hope you do better at that than I usually do.

MEETING AUTHORS #8: PENN JILLETTE

First of all, I should mention this isn’t the first time I’ve met Penn Jillette. Back in the ‘Nineties, my father took me to a Penn & Teller show in Vegas, and I met both of them as we came out after. The last part of their act featured them dressed in togas and covered in blood, so that’s how they stood out in the lobby of the theater, signing autographs. Fast forward maybe ten years, and my grandfather, my brothers and I went to a Penn & Teller show in Chicago. During one of their acts, Penn, who is a giant, was stuffed into a barrel with a bunch of rods stuck through it. He invited everyone in the theater to come on stage and take a look in the barrel to see there were no tricks involved. I went down and couldn’t believe my own eyes. I also met him again as we left the theater, and he signed more autographs.

But those times were as a magician. This time, I got to meet Penn Jillette, the author.

He’s written a few books with Teller, but he’s also done quite a few solo books. My favorite is SOCK, which is one of the most inventive cop novels I’ve ever read. His new book is EVERY DAY IS AN ATHEIST HOLIDAY!, and I rushed out to Anderson’s in Naperville to get my own copy. This time, I got there early enough to get a seat, which turned out to be a good idea since by the time I turned around at the start of the presentation, the bookstore was stuffed with people.

I sat there, reading the book when I heard Penn on the other side of the book shelf from me. Holy shit, he was early. Considering how many authors have been early to signings lately, I’m going to have to renew my general theory that everyone is late, and those who aren’t are exceptions.

I heard him talking with an Anderson’s rep about the details of the signing. And then I heard him reference bringing a friend with him. I wondered if it might be Teller, but then I heard the name “Tony.” I knew Penn was friends with Tony Fitzpatrick, who lives in the area, and I wondered if maybe that was the friend in question. That would be very cool.

Not too long after, Penn stepped out and greeted us all. He looked even taller than I remembered, and with his hair NOT tied back in a ponytail, he looked like a caveman dressed in modern clothes. The first thing he said? “I just want to check with everyone before we begin. Is it okay if I curse? I mean, I can do this clean, but I just want to check with everyone.”

I was the first person to respond to this, and can you guess what I said? Oh yeah.

And he cursed. He cursed like a motherfucker.

He also said that he’d brought a friend with him. “I’m sure since this is Chicago, Tony Fitzpatrick needs no introduction.” And he pointed back.

It was too crowded. I couldn’t see him. But fuck, how cool is that? According to Terry, the guy who runs the comic book shop I go to, Fitzpatrick used to have his studio on that very block in Villa Park. I love his art, but I was a bigger fan of his Comedy Central show back in the day, DRIVE-IN REVIEWS with Buzz Kilman. Fitzpatrick is an artist whose work adorns the private collections of top names like Harrison Ford, Johnny Depp, Kevin Bacon, Andrew Vachss, Bill Gates, Morgan Freeman, Martin Scorsese and so on. But as I looked around at my fellow fans, I suddenly got the impression that I was the only one who knew who Fitzpatrick is.

Penn began his presentation, and he spoke with the power of a hell-fire preacher, which is pretty funny, considering his atheism. He’s a riveting speaker, as he should be after years of being a stage magician. Not once in all the time he spoke did he become boring. He spoke on a lot of topics, mostly atheism and his run on CELEBRITY APPRENTICE. He brought out the one question us atheists are asked all the time by people who have at least some spiritual belief: “If you don’t believe in God, then what motivates you to be good?”

I usually respond with something like, “We’re all in this together. Why make each other miserable in our short time on this planet?” I like Penn’s answer a lot better: “I rape and murder all the people I want to. That number of people is ZERO.” He finds it abhorrent that people need to be threatened with punishment in the afterlife to be good on this planet. I agree.

He also told a great story about one of his friends on CELEBRITY APPRENTICE having a breakdown, and the cameras wanted to get the most out of the situation. Penn, feeling bad for his friend, started singing “Hey Jude,” and the cameras stopped rolling instantly. Apparently, it is very expensive to get the rights to use that song, and no one at the network wanted to pay the price. He also explained why he thought people tended to act like assholes on reality shows. It’s a very interesting theory, but it’s in the book, and Penn tells it better than I can here.

At one point, he broke the microphone. To the best of my memory, I think he dropped it on the table in faux-shock at something. The top just cracked off, and he did his best to put it back on. It worked for a while, but it kept falling back off. Finally, he gave up, asking the audience if he even needed the fucking thing. Of course he didn’t. His voice is deep and resonating. I’m certain people across the street could hear him.

It came time for the Q&A. As always, I wanted to ask a question that the author in question has never been asked. I figured most of the crowd was here due to his reality show appearances, and maybe from his magic shows with Teller. I felt fairly confident that no one else would ask about his movie (again, with Teller) called PENN & TELLER GET KILLED. A smile bloomed on his face as he talked about the project, which he really had fun with, but he knew they’d never get another chance at a movie because it flopped pretty badly. He couldn’t believe they’d gotten a real director for the movie, either. Arthur Penn directed BONNIE AND CLYDE, THE MIRACLE WORKER and LITTLE BIG MAN, among others. On set, they had to refer to the two Penns by their other names in order to differentiate between them.

After the questions, we all got lined up to get our books signed. When I got up there, I asked the Anderson’s rep if he’d also sign SOCK, which I had brought as well. She said sure. I put both books down in front of him, and as he signed, I talked about that first show that I’d seen. He loved talking about the blood and togas. He got a kick out of the fact that someone remembered that show, especially since he winds up mentioning it in the book. But there were a lot of people in line, so there wasn’t much time to talk. We said our goodbyes, and as I headed for the door, I kept looking left and right, hoping to run into Tony Fitzpatrick. I remembered reading a book of his poetry at the library maybe fifteen years ago, and I wanted to talk to him about it. Sadly, I didn’t see him.

I’ve met so many awesome writers at Anderson’s over the years. Clive Barker, Dave Barry, John Sandford, Joe Hill, Weird Al and the list goes on. I can’t thank Anderson’s enough for bringing them all in, and I hope to see more there in the future. They’re the best bookstore in the area, and I highly recommend you all give them a visit.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #23: HOW I'VE CHANGED

Most of the people who know me personally are probably laughing at this title right now.  Everyone knows I don’t really change all that much.  I dress the same way I did when I was in elementary school, I get the same haircut, I eat the same shit, and I try to avoid new technology.  (For example, I didn’t have a cell phone until maybe four years ago, and I just got internet in my house last year.)

But contrary to popular belief, I do change, if only a little bit at a time.  Look at it this way:  take two people who know a guy, and then send one of them away for ten years.  Bring them back together, and the one who’d disappeared for a while will be surprised to see how much that person changed.  The guy who stayed, though, won’t think much of it because he’s seen the subject every day of those ten years.  It’s like that.

There are four things that I’ve noticed about the ways I’ve changed of late, and I find two of them mildly disturbing, and the other two disgustingly shocking.

--I don’t remember anyone’s phone numbers anymore.  Even when I was a kid, I didn’t have a mind for numbers, but I still retained maybe ten phone numbers in my head that were absolutely essential to me, among them my home, my grandparents’, the library’s, my best friend’s, my cousin’s, and a few others.  Now, I can’t even remember my own cell phone number.  It’s crazy.  The only thing I can think of, aside from early senility, is that since I can just save phone numbers on my cell phone, my brain has decided it no longer needs to waste space on this remembering them.  This is mildly disturbing.

--I can’t remember directions anymore.  I used to be a parts driver for the City of Elmhurst, so I had to have a map of every place in my head.  I knew the suburbs and a lot of the city like the back of my hand.  Now?  I remember very little of it.  Again, senility comes to mind, but a more likely suspect is the GPS I have in my car.  Who the fuck needs to remember directions anymore?  Hell, when was the last time you gave directions to someone?  This is mildly disturbing.  (It should also be noted that this seems to go for cab drivers, too.  When I was a kid, cab drivers knew where everything was.  Now, as an adult, whenever I get into a cab, I have to give the fucker directions.  And that’s even WITH the GPS they usually have.  How the fuck is it possible that cabbies don’t know how to get to Midway?!)

--I’m losing my ability to spell.  Shit that I should know is no longer in my head.  I’ve always been an excellent speller.  Straight A’s on that one throughout my entire life.  This one I lay squarely at the feet of spell check and auto correct.  This is disgustingly shocking because I’m a writer, and I should know these things.  I’m supposed to be smarter than this machine when it comes to this kind of thing.

--This is the most disgustingly shocking thing of all.  I’ve always been a fan of bookstores.  Once upon a time, I would take my weekly paycheck and go to a bookstore and peruse their wares.  I would inevitably spend too much, but it would always be worth it, considering my prizes.  Even though it was more convenient and cost-effective to shop on Amazon, I resisted for a long time.  But then the mom and pop bookstores disappeared from my area.  And then Borders disappeared.  And I refuse to shop at Barnes & Noble because they were the ones who started the remaindering process.  Where the fuck else did I have to go?

I gave in.  I haven’t bought a book from an actual store in maybe three years.  Yeah, I know.  But the thing is, during that time, I forgot the bookstore experience.  I’d gotten caught up in the cold, antiseptic (but ever so convenient) practice of buying from Amazon.  And this is not to knock them, because Amazon is a fabulous thing.  I’ve probably spent thousands of dollars with them, and I’ll probably spend even more before my death.

But there is beauty in an actual bookstore, and I’d forgotten that until I’d gone to see Weird Al Yankovic at Anderson’s in Naperville.  (It could have happened a month previous, when I’d gone to Joe Hill’s signing there, but since he had an actual show to put on, I paid attention to that and not my surroundings.)  I sat down in the stacks to read while waiting for my turn to meet Weird Al, and directly in front of me was a bookshelf loaded down with glorious, wonderful books.

It’s hard to say how I felt in that moment, letting my eyes drift over spines and covers.  My heart quickened, thinking about how much I would enjoy having each and every one of those books in my own collection.  My head opened like a rose in the morning sun, and I found myself glancing up over whatever I was reading to admire the view before me.  I felt like I was 20 again.  I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten this sensation.  I started calculating how much money I had in my pocket, and I felt the almost overwhelming urge to grab a handful of books to take home with me.

I resisted, since I’m trying to battle my way out of debt right now, but I know that the 20-year-old version of me would have lost that struggle.

So how about it?  In what ways have you changed over the years?  And are you disgusted with yourselves or proud?  Let me know in the comments below.

MEETING AUTHORS #7: WEIRD AL YANKOVIC

Okay, it sounds kind of odd to call Weird Al Yankovic a writer, considering his prominence in music, but he HAS written two books.  He’s out promoting his new release, MY NEW TEACHER AND ME, a kids book about the importance of creativity, even at the price of truth.  I found out that he was going to be at Anderson’s in Naperville for a signing, so I preordered the book and got my number in line:  236.  Yikes.

Of course, I knew it was going to be extremely crowded.  Anderson’s may be pretty big for a family owned bookstore, but it’s still a small place.  I expected maybe 500 or so people to show up, and I really didn’t think they could fit that many people in there.  Maybe not even legally.

So I made sure to get an early start.  I got out of work, rushed to my comic book shop (it was Wednesday, after all), and sped out to Naperville.  I got there about an hour before the signing was scheduled to start, and I was surprised to find that there weren’t a lot of people there yet.  I discovered that he wasn’t going to do any kind of show or anything; he was just going to sign.  That was probably for the best.  There’s no way they could have accommodated 500 people that way, especially since his signing the previous night had taken five hours.

After I got my book, I scouted out a place to sit.  Just in time, too, because that’s when people started flooding in.  I got real comfortable, because I knew I’d be there a loooooong wait, and I zipped through Weird Al’s book pretty quickly.  It’s a fun little read.  It’s exactly the kind of book I would have worn to pieces when I was two.  I then started reading my comics.  I got through about half of them before he arrived.  By then, the bookstore was packed from wall to wall, and everyone was ready to murder each other over a place to sit.

I got through all of my comics and more than half of the novel I was reading at the time before the night was through.  I heard them calling out blocks of numbers and lining them up in the stacks.  Even though he was only signing the book and nothing else, the line went cripplingly slow.

The thing that surprised me the most was how many fat people were in that room, and they were all completely inconsiderate.  I’m a fat guy myself (255 lbs. as of this writing, something I’m trying to change), but I don’t go around carelessly knocking into people with my flabby gut and NOT apologizing to people.  I was jostled so much by these people, it’s insane.  There was plenty of room between my chair and the bookshelf in front of me, yet all these fat people kept knocking into my knees, sometimes violently pushing my legs away.  None of these fuckers so much as acknowledged my presence.  Seriously, these guys were so big I wondered if maybe they were auditioning for a sequel to the “Fat” video.

Anyway, they finally called my block of numbers, but when I got lined up in my cattle chute, we found out that he was still on the 170’s.  Fuck.  I’d given up my good seat for standing up for the next hour or so.  In front of me was a couple of young kids who were constantly making out.  Behind me was a quiet, polite woman who had bought two tickets so she could get something extra signed.  I sat between them and started reading again.  The woman behind me said, “That’s a good idea.  I should have thought of that.”

Before long, we were in the real line, and we could finally see the man himself.  He sat at a tall, round table, and he looked like a giant.  Also, he’s got a freakishly long face.  You can see it when he’s on TV, but in person, it seems even longer.

As we got closer, I could hear him bantering with his fans.  One guy said, “This is a pretty good book.  I read it while I was waiting in line.”  Weird Al replied, “You read the whole thing?!”  Another guy was so nervous that he knocked over the Anderson’s sign off to the side as he retreated.  Weird Al asked if he was okay, and the guy responded to the affirmative with a quaky voice.

Finally, it came time to meet him.  He was sitting down on a stool, and his head was just a bit above mine, which meant he was probably taller than he looked on TV.  Like, maybe six-three.  [Edit:  it turns out he’s six feet exactly.  He looks a lot bigger.]  He greeted me eagerly, calling me by name and shaking my hand with a firm grip.

I told him that many years ago, I’d seen him perform at Drury Lane in Oakbrook for his OFF THE DEEP END tour.  He remembered the show with a fond smile.  I then said that it was probably the only time stage diving had ever happened in that theater, and he seemed to get a kick out of that.

For those who don’t know, Drury Lane is a theater whose main demographic are retired folks who want to see classic plays and, at least once a year, a Debbie Reynolds concert.  Weird Al playing there is a very unusual thing, especially for OFF THE DEEP END.  The single off of that one was “Smells Like Nirvana,” so unsurprisingly, audience members felt the urge to stage dive.

After I told Weird Al that, he said with some faux-nervousness, “I wasn’t the one stage diving, was I?”  I laughed and told him it was people from the crowd.  “You know,” he continued, “that was probably the last time in my life I could have gotten away with stage diving.”

We laughed, and I shook his hand, thanking him for his time.  I then went on my way, which was a bit difficult because the way out was blocked by a lot of stuff.  I managed to get back around to the rest of the store when I found myself confronted with a phalanx of people standing in place, obstructing my view of the door.  Certainly a fat guy like me would wind up knocking people around on his way out to freedom, right?

Nope.  I sucked in my gut, slipped my bag around behind me, and made my way through that fleshy maze without coming into contact with anyone.  Not a single person.  And even if I had, the first words out of my mouth would have been, “I’m sorry.”

MEETING AUTHORS #6: JOE HILL

I’ve been a fan of Joe Hill’s since I picked up his first novel, HEART SHAPED BOX, when it was new.  I’d heard many good things about him, but I had not yet heard who his father was at the time.  I found out just before I started reading it, so comparisons to Stephen King were inevitable.  I’m glad to say that Hill’s work kicks a lot of ass, and I’d put it up against almost anything his old man has written.  (Almost.)

Imagine my surprise upon learning that Hill was going to be signing at Anderson’s in Naperville.  How many writers have I met there over the years?  It’s a great place to go for signings, if a bit tight, but as soon as I learned the news, I went to the bookseller’s website to check out the details.

Woe unto me!  You could only get a ticket for the event if you bought a copy of NOS4A2, his most recent novel, at the store!  I had preordered it from Water Street, and it came personally signed to me.  I had to sit down and think about whether or not it would be worth it to buy an extra copy of the book, just so I could meet the author.

The quandary didn’t last very long.  I ordered it at their website and got my ticket number:  59.  Not bad.  I guessed they could fit about a hundred people in there, so I was around the halfway mark.  Cool.  As for the extra book, I figured I could give it so someone as a gift, maybe my brother, Danny, whose birthday was coming up at the time.

Anyway, I gathered up my copies of HEART SHAPED BOX, 20^TH CENTURY GHOSTS, and HORNS, as well as the first issue of LOCKE & KEY, the night before.  I drove out to Naperville the next day two hours in advance, knowing that traffic would be shitty, and that I wanted to get there early enough to get good parking and maybe a seat.

When I first walked into the store, I noticed that there was a camera crew hiding down an aisle.  Then, I noticed they weren’t hiding; they were filming.  Who?  Joe Hill, of course.  He’d gotten there early and was doing an interview.

I think this is the second signing I’ve ever gone to where the author has arrived not just on time, but early.  Chuck Palahniuk was the first.  I can’t get over how cool this is.  I’m just too used to authors showing up a half an hour late, fresh from the plane.

Later, I saw on Twitter that he’d mentioned getting there early and was “secret shopping” for books.  I have NEVER heard of an author shopping at the store before their event began.  How fucking cool is that?

All right, so I showed up early, but I still didn’t get a seat.  Couldn’t find one away from the signing, either.  I’d intended to pick up my book, sit down, relax, and start reading it until the event began.  Instead, I stood and started reading.  I wound up with an amazing spot, right behind the last row of seats.  I had the perfect vantage point of the table where he’d be speaking.

Still, the older I get, the harder it is to stand still in one place, especially if I’m trying to read while standing.  Have you seen how big NOS4A2 is?  It’s about 700 pages long, and I practically killed my arms holding it up so I could read for about a half an hour.  Even typing this the next day, I can feel the pain.

I spent some time getting acquainted with Charlie Manx and Vic McQueen while I waited.  Things got pretty crowded, as I expected.  It was hard to avoid being jostled while trying to read.  And then, Joe Hill strode out and stood behind the table.

At this point, everyone in the crowd held up their phones to get a picture of him.  You think I’m exaggerating?  No.  I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THAT ROOM DID THIS.  Except for me.  I’m not a picture guy.  I think an experience is a bit more magical if you don’t record it.

And then, Hill whipped out his own phone and held it up to the crowd.  “Everyone,” he said, “say hi to Twitter!”

Can you point me out?

Wow.  This was quickly becoming one of the most fascinating signings I’d ever been to.

The next day, I saw his tweet, and I saw my own chubby grinning face near the back, waving my hand.

I’m sure you’ve seen a few pictures of him by now, and you’ve marveled at how much he looks like his father.  As soon as he opened his mouth, I realized that he also sounded exactly like King.  He doesn’t have much of the accent.  I think he tries to hide it a bit, but it comes out every once in a while.  As far as tone and volume go, he sounds like a thoughtful version of Jason Lee.

I will say this:  he reads better than his father does.  Hill read the prologue of NOS4A2, and not once did he ever sound goofy.  Nor did he drone.  King did both of those things when I’d met him about 15 years ago.

After this, he started the Q&A.  He mentioned that people sometimes got kind of shy when it came to this part, so to help matters, he said he would either ask himself questions, or he would find the person who looked the most timid and ask them if they knew the capital of Guatemala.  Everyone loosened up after that, and hands shot into the air.

Hill is an incredibly funny guy.  The only author I’ve seen at a signing who was quicker with a joke was Dave Barry, and well, you know.  He’s Dave fucking Barry.  Hill came off as a very nice, funny guy.  He seems to have accepted this part of being a writer very well, but I sensed there was maybe a little bit of apprehensiveness hidden behind all of this.  Later, when someone asked if being raised by two great writers ever had any negative effects, he mentioned being very insecure as a child.  I think there’s still a little bit of that in him, but he conducts himself very well.

Most of the questions were about his parents, his father in particular.  (One person seemed to know Stephen King but had no idea who Tabitha King is.)  He was pretty forthcoming about how he was raised, along with his brother Owen, who is also an author.  He did mention a family game, though, which I think is amazing.  His mother would roll a sheet of paper into a typewriter, and she’d write a few sentences.  She would then leave it, and whoever came into the room next would continue the story for a few sentences and leave it for the next person.  It would seem that the point was to write something that would be very difficult for the next writer to resolve.  He also mentioned that such exercises lost steam after a while because it would always devolve into obscenity.

When asked about collaborating with others, he said he couldn’t do it with someone outside of his family, mostly because he’s a control freak.  He’s okay with how things work out, provided he gets his way.

He also talked about why he went with Joe Hill as his name instead of Joseph King.  Naturally, it was because he didn’t want to cash in on his father’s name.  He wanted to make it on his own merits.  He knew that if the world knew who he really was, they would publish his book just because of that.  However, if the book sucked, no one would ever read his work again.  Fair enough.

He managed to keep the secret just so long as he was unsuccessful.  His breakthrough was when PS published 20^TH CENTURY GHOSTS in the UK.  He was able to sell HEART SHAPED BOX solely on the buzz he’d gotten on the collection of short stories.  However, as soon as people started paying attention, it was harder and harder to keep his lineage in the shadows.  By his estimation, he kept it a secret for 10 years.

And then he started doing appearances.  Signings.  Conventions.  People noticed how much he looked like Stephen King.  People realized that King had a son named Joseph HILLstrom King.  They put two and two together, and before long, people were posting on message boards and blogs about it.

Here’s the interesting thing:  whenever Hill saw something along those lines, he would send a private message to the poster, saying, “Hey, you got me.  I’m Stephen King’s son.  But I’m trying to keep that a secret, so I’d appreciate it if you’d take down your post.”  Shockingly enough, 100% of these people complied, mostly because they liked being in on the secret.

That’s amazing.  Could you imagine 100% of people agreeing about ANYTHING on the internet today?

Not all the questions were about his family, though.  There were some about the book, and about writing in general.  In response to one question, he said that he viewed each book as kind of a mystery for himself.  He wanted to find out who his characters were over the course of the book.  That’s the mystery.

A little girl asked him, “Who’s the main character?”

His response:  “Wow, that’s actually kind of an existential question, isn’t it?”  He then went on to say that every character in the book probably thought they were the main character.  Charlie Manx would probably view himself as the hero of the story.  But he said they would all be wrong except for Vic McQueen.

A young man confessed to being a high school teacher . . . teaching HEART SHAPED BOX to his kids.  First of all, I can’t even conceive of that.  There is no way in hell he could have been telling the truth.  I can’t envision any school letting a teacher assign that book to his students.  It seemed to surprise Hill a lot, too.  But the teacher said that the next test was coming up, and he wanted to put a “Joe Hill wants to know . . .” question on it.  It took Hill a moment to think about this.  It was the only question he didn’t have a quick answer to.  Finally, he warned the crowd that he was about to ruin the end of that particular book, and that if they haven’t read it yet, they should cover their ears and go lalalala for a while.  When people didn’t react to this, he said, “No, seriously.  I’m about to ruin the end to HEART SHAPED BOX right now.”  His question to the students?  SPOILER ALERT!  “Do you think Judas and Marybeth stay together after the book’s done?”  If you feel like answering that question yourself, post it in the comments below.  END OF SPOILERS.

Time started growing short, so he went into the rapid-fire Q&A section, in which he said he would still take questions, but he would answer them a lot more quickly.  Sure enough, he lived up to it.  It went so quickly I couldn’t even keep track of the questions.

After this, it was time for the signing.  He said he would sign 3 items per person, and he would personalize one of them.  If you had more stuff, he’d sign it, but he asked that after their turn, that they go to the back of the line so as to be fair to everyone.  I had three books, plus the one I’d just bought, in addition to the issue of LOCKE & KEY.  I wanted HORNS personalized, since that was my favorite.  I also wanted to make sure he got HEART SHAPED BOX and 20^TH CENTURY GHOSTS.  I figured if things went smoothly, I’d swoop around later for the other two.

People moved out of their seats to get into line, so I sat down for a while and read NOS4A2 while I waited for my section of numbers to be called.  I got through about 90 pages before that happened.  Not bad.  I read almost all of SURVIVOR while waiting for Palahniuk, just to give you an idea.

By that time, the hour had grown too late, and since there were about 100 people after me (more than I thought there would be), I just decided to get the three signed.  I had the other copy of NOS4A2 at home, anyway.

I stood in line, thinking I would tell him about my mom.  There was a super-long version of that story, but I knew I would have a brief period of time, so I edited it down.  My mom died a few years ago.  Her and I were kind of distant, but we always seemed to agree on reading material, at least when it came to comic books.  Near the end of her life, she loved THE BOYS, LOCKE & KEY, and THE WALKING DEAD almost as much as I did.  These three books (as well as PREACHER, HITMAN, and EVIL ERNIE about 10 years ago) that brought us together.  However, about two weeks before she died, she went into a coma.  She was put in hospice, and the very last time I saw her, I realized it was probable that the next time would be in a funeral home.

The one thing that scares me about death is that I’ll die before I know how all of my series end.  I knew she would feel the same way, so I held her hand, and I made up how those stories ended.  I knew she could hear me because the last time she’d been in a coma, back when I was in high school, and she’d been in a car accident with a UPS truck, when she woke up, she told me that she’d heard me all those times.

She died the very next day.

As Hill signed my books, I told the shortest version of this story I could.  I’d meant it as a feel-good story, trying to show the positive impact he’d had on my life, as well as my mom’s.  I think my story bummed him out a little.  He was very quiet and nervous when I told him about this.

He did ask me how I’d ended it, though.  I told him I don’t think Ty makes it.  Their mom doesn’t make it, either.  I thought Kinsey would step up and save everyone.  (We’ll find out if I’m right soon.  LOCKE & KEY has two issues to go.)

I couldn’t help it.  As I told him this, I kept a very sharp eye on him, to see if he had any tells, to see if I’d nailed any of this.  He kept a poker face.  In fact, he didn’t even look up at me as he drew devil’s horns on the O of the title HORNS.  After, he said, “I hope you like how it ends.”  I shook his hand, and he told me, “Be safe.”

It was at that point that I realized I must have come off as very depressed.  I hope I didn’t give that impression.  I’m not a suicidal guy.  Sure, my mom’s death gets to me from time to time.  I’m over it, for the most part.  It’s just that every once in a while, when I’m not expecting it, it sneaks up on me and cripples me.

But I didn’t mean to bring down the party.  I saw some of the pictures he’d taken at the event, and they were all pretty cool.  If you missed out, you missed out on a good time.  If you ever get the chance to meet Joe Hill, do it.  He’s a hell of a nice guy.  If you can meet him at Anderson’s in Naperville, also try that.  It’s one of the greatest places to meet an author.  The next time you’re in the area, head on in and keep an eye out for framed pictures on the wall of authors who have held signings there.

And be sure to pick up NOS4A2.  I’m not done with it yet, but so far, it kicks all form of ass.

[EDIT:  I have long since finished NOS4A2.  Yes, it kicks ass.  HORNS is still my favorite, but NOS4A2 is up there.]