HOW TO #SAVECONSTANTINE (IF YOU'RE REALLY INTERESTED)

Many of you are aware that I was not thrilled with the aspect of a show based on the exploits of John Constantine. I am a long-time fan of HELLBLAZER, and I knew that they could never faithfully adapt him to TV. I still kept an open mind, but I did not expect much. I figured they'd give us the New 52 version of him.

Surprise of surprises, NBC gave us the middle ground between HELLBLAZER and the New 52, and even better, as the series moved along, it inched closer and closer into HELLBLAZER territory that I suddenly found myself loving the show. It can only get better from here on out. Matt Ryan is the perfect Constantine, and I've come to like the Americanized Chas, even if he does have special abilities. (I take that as an in-joke, because Chas is the only series-long friend Constantine has managed to keep alive.)

The sad fact of the matter is, CONSTANTINE is very likely to be canceled soon after the season finale next week. It's not because the show isn't good. It is. It's just that not enough people are watching to merit the high costs of production. If the budget remains where it is, there is no way the series can continue.

So I have an idea on how to save the show, or to at least give it a second season and thus another chance for survival. It's pretty simple, too. GIVE US THE GARTH ENNIS VERSION OF JOHN CONSTANTINE.

Take a look at the show now. It's heavy on special effects and high stakes end-of-the-world kind of material. It's good. It reflects the general feel of HELLBLAZER. However, that's the kind of thing that costs a lot of money. Scale it back. Make it more personal. As the show stands now, it's a monster-of-the-week kind of thing with just a little emphasis on character. Ennis's run on the comic book showed us the inside of Constantine's heart. It showed us his personal life with some monsters thrown in. There would be very little need for special effects if we were given the Ennis perspective on the show, yet it would ratchet up our love (and sometimes, repulsion) of Constantine. Not only that, but it would serve as a great way to introduce Constantine's greatest villain (aside from himself) to the show. The First of the Fallen has been mentioned in passing, so I'm sure he'll rear his head eventually, but what better way to introduce him than by adapting "Dangerous Habits?"

This would drastically lower the cost of production, which makes it a more attractive show for NBC to continue with. It might even increase the ratings, although the only sure-fire way to make that happen is to move it off of Fridays entirely. If we can make this happen, I'm sure CONSTANTINE would prove itself as a reliable show.

Here's to hoping. And thanks for listening.

HEY FUCKERS #14: AN EVENING OF FREE BOOZE WITH TONY STARK

Last year, the office building I work in hosted a beer and wine tasting. I managed to get a free ticket, along with a few friends, which meant I got to drink a lot of alcohol for free. There are very few things more magical than that. I wound up getting a lot of stories out of that night. One of them involves Iron Man himself. A guy who runs a design company in the building has a hobby of building very realistic Iron Man suits. They look like movie props, and they even light up. I wouldn't be surprised if the fuckers can fly. He had one on display in his office window, and it was amazing to behold. I actually got to meet the guy, and it turns out he goes to C2E2, as well, and he's usually wearing one of his Iron Man suits. How awesome is that?


The evening was incredible, and I remember walking into the building the next morning with Fitz, who had been there with me. Considering the wild events of the previous evening, the lobby looked kind of sad. Some of the furniture was still there, and movers were working at cleaning up. I remarked to Fitz that we were looking at the last ghostly remnants of a great time.


Shortly after, my pancreas failed me, and I nearly died. I think this party might have had something to do with it, considering the monumental amount of alcohol I consumed. Tickets to this event cost about $35, and I'm here to tell you that I probably drank about five times that amount in the space of three hours.


Fast forward to now. Guess who got a free pass to this year's event. That's right. So did Fitz and another friend who was present last year. Now that I've switched departments, I have a full view of the lobby below from my desk, and I've been watching the staff put everything in place, and I can feel the building excitement of the possibilities of drunken adventures tonight.


You know how, when you drop a pebble in a pond, it causes circles to drift out from the middle in all directions? What if death worked that way? I feel like I'm watching the ghost of tonight's event before it has even happened, and I feel very excited. Is it possible that Tony Stark will make an appearance? I certainly hope so. War Machine is on display right now. I desperately hope this guy puts on the Iron Man suit to mingle with us in the lobby. That would be great. Adventure and debauchery awaits.


Although I should probably not drink enough to put me in the ER again. That would suck, especially since I'm not done paying my hospital bills yet. I wouldn't mind getting shot full of Dilaudid again, but I'm not sure I want to go to such great lengths to get that.


Preparations have been made. A hotel room has been acquired. The event begins at five. The countdown has begun. Wish me luck. I'll wear a red carnation on my lapel tomorrow so you'll know I'm still me.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #140: AN EMPTY BOOKCASE

Surprise! Yeah, this was going to be a Hey Fuckers entry, but I realized I was about to go to bed, so why not label it as a Goodnight, Fuckers?


Anyway, I'm getting big boy internet at home now, and part of the deal is, I have to move two of my bookcases so the guy can drill through my bedroom wall to wire this old house (which can only handle antenna media) with digital. This means I have to move the books away first, and when I saw my first empty bookcase, it bothered me.


I never thought I'd see my bookcase empty in such a fashion. There are two circumstances I could have understood such a thing. Either I would move into a place closer to my square job, which I can't afford right now (but I want desperately), or I would be dead, and my relatives are picking through my books in the hopes of finding a rare edition (which is altogether possible, by the way, since I'm a reader of great, if questionable, taste).


This bookcase is such a part of my life that I walked into my bedroom tonight, and I thought I might have gone blind in my periphery because I'd moved the bookcase out earlier today. A blank wall faced me, and I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. It didn't make sense to me until I remembered the move from earlier today.


This goes against all I stand for. Saturday needs to come quickly. This guy needs to install my shit as soon as possible, so I can move my bookcase (and, obviously, my books) back to where they belong, so I don't have to doubt my sanity. I still have several other bookcases in here, but still. It's not enough. I can't have blank space on my wall, space were books should be but aren't.


All right, there might be something wrong with me. Possibly. But still.


I just looked at that wall, and I felt deja vu, which probably means I'm in the Matrix right now. I might need another drink to help me sleep tonight. Ha-ha, just kidding about that "might" part.


Goodnight, empty-bookcase-shaped hole in my life.

HEY FUCKERS #13: I HAVE SEEN THINGS YOU PEOPLE WOULDN'T BELIEVE

Yesterday, I was fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to make it in to work today. I let my boss know, just in case, but as it got closer to my bedtime, I saw plows starting to run through the alley behind my house. I figured that if they kept that up, coming to work would be no problem.

When I woke up this morning, I heard a plow go through. I felt that I would definitely make it in to work. So I went about my daily preparation, and after watching traffic reports, I thought I should start my commute a few minutes early. Nothing drastic, I just brushed my teeth a bit quicker. There was the possibility that I might have to dig out of my garage a bit, so I allowed time for that.

And then I tried leaving my house. Surprise! The snow was halfway up to my door, and I had to push like a fiend to get through. Then, I had to wade through snow up to my hips through my backyard to the garage. In that moment, I realized that I might have underestimated my ability to get to work.

When I opened the garage door, I saw that I was fucked. I almost gave up then and there. It would take me twenty minutes to tunnel through to the plowed part of the alley. By then, I'd be late for work, so why bother going in at all?

No. That is unacceptable. I refuse to let weather conditions stop me. Besides, this is a new job, and I sure as shit don't want to disappoint anyone. I grabbed a shovel and in a mad frenzy, dug my way from the garage to the plowed part of the alley. It sucked, because the plow had gone through, and instead of aiming the snow at the fence, it aimed it at the line of garage doors. It took me about fifteen minutes to carve away just enough snow in order to fit my car through.

Or so I thought. I backed out, but when I got to the fence and put it into drive, I couldn't get traction. I tried all the tricks, and it amounted to jack fucking shit. So I got out and shoveled under each tire and tried again.

No dice. I got out and shoveled more, and cursing and sweating, I screamed at my car as I tried to get traction yet again. Snow flew in all directions, but I finally had movement. Roaring my battle cry, I finally got the car heading out to the street . . . where the plows had left a giant hump of snow across the alley exit.

William Wallace himself couldn't beat my war cry as I gunned my vehicle and blew through the snow hump and into the street. My tires slipped across the icy street, but I used the momentum to keep moving through to the main street in front of my house. Only then did I know that I'd finally defeated my city's shoddy weather practices.

And then I got to the expressway. The Empire had sent out an army of AT-AT's to make sure I didn't make it to work, and I suddenly wished for a Tauntaun to get me through. Luckily, I'd just installed blasters on my fenders, and with the help of a lone Jedi, I was able to break through the line and get the fuck off of Hoth--

Eh, all right. The expressway wasn't too bad. Shockingly enough, all of my fellow commuters, even the truckers, were acting like reasonable people (I told you I've seen things you people wouldn't believe), so I made it in to work in pretty good time.

In fact, I was early.

Don't congratulate me yet. I still have to drive home after work, and that's not going to be good. Somehow, I don't see snow removal happening in my alley, which means I'm going to have to break my back shoveling. Seriously, I'm in rough shape as it is. I've got a pain in the side that's almost reminiscent of the time I had pancreatitis, and I can't breathe in too deeply without needing to cough. My legs are wobbly. I'm pretty sure I need a nap right now. Now I know what the guy at the end of "The Raft" segment of CREEPSHOW 2 felt like. Sure, I beat the weather, but it's going to get me as soon as I get home. Fuck.

For the first time in a log time, I dread going home from work. Maybe I should just camp out here until all the snow goes away. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. Good luck to the rest of you.

HEY FUCKERS! #12: WHAT HAVE I BECOME?!

Most of you know by now that I have recently gotten a new phone. Instead of following previous trends (ie. getting a burner phone, since my needs are small in this department), I decided to get a big boy phone. A smartphone. Mostly, I did this because I was sick and tired of how Tracfone was fucking with me. I had a conversation with a friend, and he figured they treated me like shit because they thought I was a criminal or a crackhead, considering how they're the only people who use burner phones. (I would add the elderly, too. They don't want to get involved with technology so late in life. I've seen it with my own eyes.) My friend added that they'd also think I was a terrible criminal, because I've had this thing for years instead of days.


Anyway, now I've upgraded and joined the 21st Century. To my surprise, I find myself liking this new phone better than I thought I would. All of those uses I figured I'd never need? I'm using them on a regular basis. I also didn't think I'd bother listening to music on my phone, which I do now. I'm also reading a bunch of free ebooks I picked up from Amazon over the years that I never thought I'd get to. All in all, I think this was a good decision.


But I've noticed a trend over the past few days, and it's rather startling. Every morning now, the first thing I'll do is look at my phone. NO! I'VE BECOME THE TYPE OF PERSON WHO DOES THIS! WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!


Okay, look. I'm a writer, which means I have to have a fairly large ego, but I wasn't ready to discover such blatant narcissism within myself. I've become the type of person who wakes up and thinks, "Hm. I wonder how many people tried to contact me while I was sleeping." Or, "I wonder what people are saying about me today." Or, "Me-me-me-me-ME."


Every morning before this, the first thing I did was clear out my congestion. Whenever I wake up, I have a horrendous amount of snot and incredibly large boogers in me, so bad that I have to double up on tissue or risk breaking through to my fingers. Only then can I face the day. Now, before I do even this necessary thing, I check my phone. I'm going to stop myself from doing this tomorrow morning and see how that makes me feel.


Well. I don't really have a conclusion here, but I feel I should wrap this up. I have to check out what's happening on my social media. If you need me, text me.

HEY FUCKERS #11: MY SLIGHTLY MASOCHISTIC STREAK

Has anyone here ever seen this movie?

In case you haven't, it's about a guy whose life turns to utter shit. Everything goes wrong. It gets bad. His wife dies, he loses his house, his career is a shambles. Rough shit. He screams at the skies for God to explain Himself, and in response, his dog is struck by lightning and killed. This guy then decides that he's going to dedicate his life to breaking all Ten Commandments. Yeah, that's kind of a weird subject for a romantic comedy. (No, I'm not kidding. This is a romantic comedy.)


I remember seeing this movie when it first came out, and as I watched this guy try to fulfill his quest, I started thinking that he was wasting a lot of time breaking them one at a time. And then I tried coming up with a single act that would break them all at the same time.


These are the kinds of thoughts that run through my head when I see a list of things someone's not supposed to do. Which leads me to something else.


I've tried to get published a few times in STRANGE HORIZONS, and I sent in a new submission this morning. They have an interesting list of things writers shouldn't do, which you can read here. They update it sometimes, so I thought I'd read it again. This is a great list, and I agree with almost all of it. But there's that slightly masochistic streak in me that spoke up, the same part of me that wanted to think up of a single act to break all Ten Commandments at once.


God help me, I suddenly wanted to write a story that violated every single item on this list. 51 rules to break, to say nothing of the 65 sub-rules. And I actually started brainstorming what such a tale would consist of. Just for a writing exercise, of course. But still.


I think I might have a problem.

HEY FUCKERS #10: WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE TABARD INN AUTHORS?

I was feeling a little sentimental today, thinking back on my old fiction magazine, TABARD INN. I got to wondering, whatever happened to all those people I published way back in the day? Sure, a few of them were friends before I published them, so I know where they are. I kept in touch with a few writers who had become my friends during the process of me publishing them, so I know where they are. But what about everyone else? Did they drop off the face of the earth? Did I discover anyone who went on to bigger and better writing credits?


(OK, there were a few who already had a pretty good list of writing credits before I came along, but what about those who didn't? If I may be allowed *ahem* a moment of possible hubris.)


I spent a lot of my downtime at work today Googling all of those writers who I haven't heard from since publishing them, and sadly I discovered that most of them either didn't have writing careers or they actually did fall off the face of the earth and are probably swimming in the ether. I found a few others, and while there were no big names, they seemed to still be writing and getting a publication out there every once in a while. Shockingly few of them had websites, though.


One of these guys became a writer of children's books, which I find incredibly funny, considering the graphic, doomed nature of his story in #3. Another guy just got a graphic novel Kickstarter going, and it looks pretty cool. One guy is in prison.


But there was one guy who surprised me. Norman Nathan, who wrote "Evolution" for #3, seems to have done well for himself in life, but he has the unfortunate distinction of being the first TABARD INN author to pass away. It threw me for a loop. I didn't expect to find out that one of the writers I'd published had died, and it brought me down quite a bit.


I guess it's because of the brutal vitality of the magazine that I didn't expect anyone involved to be so mortal. Intellectually, I knew there were a lot of older writers submitting stories to me, but emotionally, it just felt like there was such youth and vigor to the contributors that death would have never occurred to me.


If you have a copy of #3, give "Evolution" a read. It's a melancholy story, just the right mood for this kind of news. RIP Norman Nathan.