On their 199th (!) show, we discussed the lesser-known film Diary of a Madman starring horror great Vincent Price.  Find out where Wikipedia goofed on its entry!  (Hope they fix it sometime.)  Discover the true origins of the film’s title & story!

We also discussed the late, great Jonathan Frid (who passed away just before the show) and numerous other items of interest to sci-fi, fantasy, horror, and b-movie fans everywhere.

Click here to go to the podcast.  You can (and should!) also subscribe on iTunes.  Check it out!

And if you’re in the mood for a little horror reading, why not check out Tricks & Treats, a suite of short stories which is also contained in Martian Knights & Other Tales.  Buy!  Read!  Enjoy!

The photo Jonathan Frid signed to me earlier this year. (With Kathryn Leigh Scott.)

One of my heroes died today, Jonathan Frid, a.k.a. Barnabas Collins, the vampire with a soul.  Actually, and fittingly for a horror icon, he died on Friday the 13th (of April, 2012) — but his family released the news today, the day after the anniversary of his first appearance on Dark Shadows.  (April 18, 1967.)

Dark Shadows was my favorite TV show as I kid.  I don’t think there was even a close second.  (Maybe Star Trek.)  Like millions of kids, I raced home from school every day to catch the latest episode.  We were lucky, my brother Mark and I; we lived between Boston and Providence, so we got the show on 2 channels, right after each other.  And somewhere in the run, the two stations got out of sync, so the 4 o’clock show (as I recall) was the newest, and the 3:30 show was the one from the previous day.

That meant we got a full hour of Dark Shadows every day, and we got to watch every episode of Dark Shadows twice.   (Our youngest brothers missed out on this first-time-around, being born during the show’s run.)  So that’s what Mark and I did, every day for as long as the show ran — watched it twice, every day we could.  I don’t think we ever missed an episode.

After the local station moved the show into the afternoons, that is.  I remember discovering Dark Shadows when the local station had it on around 9am.  I found it while home sick one day.  Naturally, more sick days followed.  (Some of the time, I was even actually sick.)  I loved the werewolves and witches and ghosts and, of course, the vampires.  And one vampire in particular.

Barnabas Collins was the vampire to end all vampires.  He was the first “vampire with a soul” — a man fighting as hard as he could against an affliction he could not control.  I suppose, as a kid with chronic health problems, that maybe meant more to me than it might have to most — an idea that didn’t occur to me until just now when I wrote it.  At the time, though, I just thought Barnabas was the coolest thing ever.  Sure, vampirism was a curse, but who wouldn’t want to walk the night as an immortal, able to change into a bat and vanish at will.  Who wouldn’t want to be completely irresistible to women?  Who wouldn’t want to have Maggie Evans (Kathryn Leigh Scott) under his power?  Certainly not this pre-teen.

The Barnabas character was supposed to be a short-lived stunt.  He was brought in as a desperate attempt to shore up the show’s failing raitings — a last-gasp attempt, as it were.  And boy, did it ever work.  Barnabas soon turned from a one-shot heavy into the heart and soul of the show.  Though the show’s writing was good, I have to give nearly all of the credit to Mr. Frid.  A practiced stage actor, Jonathan Frid brought an intensity and gravitas to the role in a way seldom seen on TV, never mind in a soap opera.

He also brought a poignant stranger-in-a-strange-land quality to the character that fit in perfectly with the 200-year-old vampire he was playing.  Some of it — most of it, probably — was certainly due to Mr. Frid’s acting talent.  Another portion, though, I later found out, probably had to do with the strictures of TV and the crazy live-on-tape nature of the production.  Frid, used to the stage, didn’t have the time to prepare and memorize as he would like, because every day was a new play.  This, I think, added to that “lost boy” quality Barnabas had, which was one of the things that made the character so endearing.

Who, as a child or teen (or even an adult), hasn’t felt lost amid the turmoil of the modern world?

It’s maybe ironic that on Dark Shadows the best-trained stars (Mr. Frid and Joan Bennett) seemed the most likely to flub their lines.   But just watch what they, and especially Mr. Frid, brought to the screen — an intensity and presence perhaps never before seen in daytime TV.  Which is not to cut down the considerable acting talents of the rest of the cast.  Dark Shadows was a repertoire company filled with incredible actors.  Every day they brought 30 minutes of horror-based drama to TV, and — because they had only a brief time with the expensive master video recorder — there were pretty much never second takes.

To sustain making such a production over a week would be a tough job; to sustain it across 1225 episodes (all of which are available on DVD) is nothing short of astonishing.  Mr. Frid was not in all those shows, but from the moment he appeared, Dark Shadows was his show.  And we were his fans, as loyal as any of the thralls whom Barnabas had bitten on the neck.

I was, and continue to be an immense fan of both the actors and the show.  In 1996, I dedicated the original publication of the second Frost Harrow novel to Mr. Frid (and Kathryn Leigh Scott & Darren McGavin).  The book was in e-format only (yeah, I was doing e-books before people had e-readers; bad marketing move), so I doubt he ever knew it.  I also doubt that he and the other cast members knew they made a tribute appearance in Hardy Boys #173 — Speed Times Five (as Robert Frid, Quentin Curtis, and Maggie Collins).

Mr. Frid & Ms. Scott (again), signed by her to me.

I know many other authors and creators have paid tribute to the show, and I suspect that even more have sneaked in subtle winks like the one above.  I had hoped to send Mr. Frid a copy of the new version of Frost Harrow #2: Die With Me when it comes out (hopefully later in 2012).  Sadly, that will not now be possible.

However, despite not being a convention goer (I became a gaming pro too early to relish going back to fan after 1980), I did have some contact with Mr. Frid via his website, and earlier this year I got an autographed photograph from him (the one I’m sharing in this post).

I have only two autographed photos in my collection, both from Dark Shadows stars.  One is from him, the other is from Kathryn Leigh Scott, his co-star on TV and film.  Happily, she is alive, well, publishing great books, and keeping the Dark Shadows legend alive.  You can follow her on twitter here:

https://twitter.com/#!/Dark_Passages

As for me, I’ll continue doing work inspired by Mr. Frid and Dark Shadows for as long as I live, including Frost Harrow and, I suspect,  many other projects as well.

So thank you, Jonathan Frid, for Dark Shadows, for conflicted vampires that don’t need to sparkle to have a soul, and for everything.  Long may you be remembered, and may you Rest In Peace.

With Love, Your Fan,

Stephen D. Sullivan

(An author who knows he’s just stepped on his newest book announcement, which he just put up yesterday.  Click here to make his publicist and his wife happy and see said announcement.)

Me in front of fabled Collinwood (in Newport, RI) 2006.

“It’s not often I wake up in a first-class stateroom, especially not when starting a new life…”  Yet, when those stateroom walls are covered with blood, it seems certain that this incarnation will not be a peaceful one for Crimson, our time-skewed heroine — especially not when the ship she’s woken up on is the Titanic.

Soon, Crimson is racing against time to save not only her own life, but the lives of all aboard the doomed ship as well.  It would be a tough enough job on its on, but sinister forces are also arrayed against her — forces that would prefer the ship ends up on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

Out nearly in time for the 100th anniversary of the sinking, “A Titanic Mistake” is the newest story in the ongoing Crimson saga.  It features my peripatetic heroine in over her head — literally this time — as she fights against destiny.  As a special bonus, I’m also including “The Candle Goes Dark, But the Light Remains” — my tribute to my friend Aalandria Edmonds, and all lives cut far too short.  (That’s a Crimson story as well.)

You can buy “A Titanic Mistake” on Amazon for Kindle by clicking here, or on Smashwords for all e-book formats (including Kindle) by clicking here.

 Take the plunge and pick it up today!

You can listen to the Podcast by clicking here, or you can download it on iTunes or your regular pod-catcher.  Don’t forget to subscribe!

Here’s a link to the new, print edition of The Crimson Collection, which I mentioned on the show (also available for Kindle).

I also mentioned “Elf Princess on Mars” (which contains a free copy of A Princess of Mars), so here’s a link to a page where you can pick the edition and format of that story you’d like.  (It’ comes in a regular edition and an illustrated Elf Erotica edition.)

Finally, here’s a link to “The Gates of Paradise,” the Crimson story that I’m currently giving away on the B-Movie Cast every week — just in case you don’t win. (Wink!)  Enjoy!

General Readers version of the book.

My sci-fi/fantasy mash-up, “Elf Princess on Mars” is now out!  (Just in time for you John Carter & Dejah Thoris fans.)

EPoM tells the story of Faye, a young elf looking for love in all the wrong places.  In this case, the place is Mars, or as the planet is known to its inhabitants, Barsoom.

The e-book is available in both a general audiences edition (with tame illustrations) for Kindle here at Amazon and for all e-book formats (including Kindle) here at Smashwords.

The story is also available in an Elf Erotica explicitly illustrated edition (with extra illos & nudity) here for Kindle at Amazon and here for all e-book formats (including Kindle at Smashwords).  Yes, the adult version costs a bit more, but it has a lot more illustrations — including the fully illustrated version of EPoM.

Yeah, it's censored. Go buy the thing if you want to see it.

As an added bonus, the e-book features the original text of Edgar Rice Burroughs A Princess of Mars (as it was originally published in 1917), with new character illustrations by me, Steve Sullivan.

So, pick your version and settle in for a fun-filled slightly off-color romp on Mars today!

A Princess of Mars – Cover by SDS

In some ways, steampunk still seems to be in its infancy for movies & TV, though examples exist back into at least the 1960s — earlier if you count Jules Verne inspired works or futurist pieces that seem like steampunk to us today (like Metropolis).  I’m including Verne’s & Wells’  work here, though they were actually futurists when they wrote.  For now, I’ve decided to ignore steampunk-like works that seem to rely as much or more on magic than on technology (Full Metal Alchemist), though I reserve the right to change my mind in the future.

On to the list!

The Adventures of Brisco County Junior – ***** – Great show that should have lasted more than 1 season.
Around the World in 80 Days (Chan) – **** – Fun vehicle with Jackie Chan. Better than expected.
Atlantis – The Lost Empire - **** — Fun Disney film with some great character contrib by Joss Whedon & top-notch voice talent.
Atlantis – Milo’s Return – *** – Compiled from TV (pilot) episodes, not as steamy as the original, but still fun.
The Brothers Grim – *** – Fun Gilliam stuff, not as bad as people say.
Castle in the Sky – **** – A high-flying film by the great Miyazaki.
The City of Lost Children – not seen
First Men in the Moon – **** – Great Ray Harryhausen adaptation of the Wells story.
From the Earth to the Moon - *** – Limited budget but generally good Verne adaptation.
The Golden Compass – *** – Great elements & look, but not nearly so good as the book.
The Infinite Worlds of H.G Wells – not seen
Jonah Hex – ** – A bit of a mess, despite a fine cast.
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen – *** – Not a patch on the comic but not as bad as people say.
Master of the World – *** – Solid Verne with Vincent Price outstanding, as usual.
Metropolis (Lang) – ***** – Futurist when it came out, now practically a steampunk bible. Uncut, one of the best films ever.
Mutant Chronicles – not seen
Porco Rosso – **** – Not sure this qualifies, but with so many flying machines… And it’s Miyazaki!
Sky Captain & the World of Tomorrow – **** – I loved this flick when it came out, and I still do. Wish there’d been more.
Stardust – **** – Been a while since I’ve seen this, so I’m not sure it qualifies, but I liked it a lot.
Steamboy – **** – Great animation from Otomo, a modern master. Slows a bit at the end.
Time After Time – ***** – A great film, though only the premise and start are steampunk.
The Time Machine (Pal) – ***** – The machine is steampunk, the story sci-fi, the film great.
The Time Machine (Simon Wells) – *** – Watchable, but not nearly as much fun as the Pal adaptation.
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (Disney) – ***** – Perfect adaptation. Skip the rest, this is  the best.
The Wild Wild West (TV) – ***** – If this show didn’t invent steampunk, I don’t know what did. Many gems in the series.
The Wild Wild West (film) – ** – A stand-up routine and over-the-top anti-racist themes mar this promising flick.

As always, comments are welcome (and will be moderated, so make them obviously non-spambot).  And you can send me suggestions by clicking my contact link or e-mailing fanmail-at-stephendsullivan-dot-com.  (With the usual e-mail punctuation, rather than what I’ve done to confuse the spambots.)  And if you have a flick you’d like to send me, e-mail me for details.

My crazy idea today was to do a Mardi Gras illustration featuring Faye, the main character from my upcoming story “Elf Princess on Mars” — which, in itself, is another crazy idea, since I intend to release the story in the first part of March — with illustrations — and I only started working on it last week.

So, that makes doing the Mardi Gras on Mars illustration even crazier, as it’s spending time I should probably be using to do something else.

On the other hand, maybe it’ll pique your interest for the project.  Stay tuned to my Twitter and Facebook accounts for more info (and some other sneak peaks from the project).  Don’t forget to sign up for my free newsletter, too.

And, the day after, you might even find a more “New Orleans friendly” version of the illo in my gallery at Renderosity.  (Sorry, my timing was off to get it put up on the day.  Just pretend our photographer is still out having a good time and will get to it when he returns.)

Happy Mardi Gras from Faye & Friends!

The Candle Goes Dark… – Cover

Stephen D. Sullivan

For Aalandria Holly Edmonds, 1993-2012.

* * *

My name is Crimson. I’m a warrior, and I’ve lived many lives—though only in fragments. That is my gift … and my curse.

For most people, life is like the flame dancing atop a candle. While the flame burns, you’re alive; once it’s snuffed, that individual flame is gone, never to return.

I’m different. I did the gods a favor once, and because of that, the flame of my life is more like the filament in a light bulb. Throw the switch, and the light is gone, but the filament remains, essentially unchanged, waiting to spring back to full luminosity once the switch is thrown again.

So when the gods flick the switch, I’m back, reconstituted from local materials into a fair semblance of my former self—same red hair, same muscular frame, same blue eyes, same weapons and armor—nearly as good as new. Nearly. Though the “light bulb” of my life has usually been moved to another room since the switch got turned off.

Yeah, always another room, another time … and often another planet or another reality entirely.

I live in the remnants of other people’s lives, reborn into their transformed bodies to use the moments they would have wasted. That’s how the gods told me this deal works—a kind of metaphysical recycling—a fate they deemed both reward and punishment for my past deeds.

Flick! I’m in Asgard. Flick-Flick! I’m in Vietnam. Flick-Flick! I’m on a moon of Tau Ceti. Flick-Flick! I’m in the Blue Kingdoms. Flick-Flick! Pharaonic Egypt.

I never notice the time between the flicks of the cosmic switch—if there is any. For me, it’s just one life after the next. Some of my lifespans run fairly long; most are relatively short. Few allow me any chance to form lasting relationships or even catch a bit of rest.

But I guess I wasn’t put in this position to make friends. My karmic mission is to make things better, to set worlds right, to live out the allotted span of wasted lives and make something useful of them.

I’m the multiverse’s Designated Hitter. You screw up fatally; I take over. Elvis leaves the building, and I finish out the set ’cause he ain’t coming back for that last deep-fried peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich—not in this lifetime.

In each of my new lives, I’m reborn from the body of a life cut short, a life that didn’t deserve to go on.

Sometimes, the span I’m given is horribly brief. But brief or long, I remain the same warrior woman I was when I first died, so long ago. That death was easy compared to some of the ones since.

Flick!

I’m lying face-down in a puddle, my right cheek pressed against wet concrete. A chill breeze blows away the dust of my reincarnation, the fine ash that is all that remains of this body’s previous appearance … and life. This place smells of garbage and piss. An alley, I deduce. It smells of something else as well. Metallic … Iron? The pool I’m lying in is not composed entirely of water from the gently falling rain; a generous amount of blood is mixed in, likely a remnant of my body’s previous owner.

Not surprising. My rebirth is often accompanied by gore and other unpleasant stage dressing. Usually, though, I don’t awaken with my face in the proverbial dirt. Usually, when my eyes open, I find myself gazing at an alien sky. If I’m lucky, I can see the stars; if I’m very lucky, I even recognize the constellations. If I’m unlucky, I find myself staring at a dungeon ceiling, surrounded by hungry manticore. I don’t know why I’m usually reborn facing out into the cosmos, but that’s the way it is.

Not today.

I’m face-down and wet and cold before I’ve even been alive a minute. I’m in a stinking alleyway, and I’ve no idea where in hell I am. Darkness surrounds me, along with the patter of the rain, and the sound of distant traffic. Cars. A post-industrial city.

Without moving, I take inventory. Chainmail; sword at my hip; the heft of a dagger in each boot. All good. Thanks to the godly bargain that puts me in situations like this time and again, I remain well equipped during my “travels.” With this gear, I can take on the nine worlds … or at least make a start of it.

Voices echo from nearby, rough and unpleasant: two male, one female. Fully awake now, I concentrate on the sounds, though the way my head is turned I can’t see the talkers.

One of the men laughs cynically. “Jesus, is that all there is?”

“Should have been more,” the woman slurs. “Said she had more. I heard her.”

“Maybe you heard wrong,” the third says. “The little bitch!” He turns and spits in my direction.

They are the killers; whoever I was before, their victim.

I turn my head to the right, so I can see them. The darkness of the alley hides my movement from them, just as it hid my transformation from victim into avenger. The three are standing in a pool of wan yellow light cast by a single bulb burning above a battered warehouse door. Grimy industrial bricks form the walls of the alley; debris and refuse make up its décor.

“Gotta go,” the woman says. “Cops’ll come. Somebody musta heard.” She looks nervously down the alley in the other direction from me, toward a deserted city street. She’s dressed inappropriately for this cold rain: short skirt and cropped jacket, t-shirt, belly bare, nylons with a long run down one leg, scuffed knee-high boots. She clutches a stiletto in one hand and hugs herself with the other, trying futilely to stop the shakes. The blade of her knife is tarnished.

“Your fault,” the third killer says to her. He’s a brute, more than six-foot two and built like a linebacker. Wears a fancy leather jacket two sizes too small. Showing off his beef. “You reeled her in. Shoulda known she didn’t have enough.”

The first one finishes counting a small fistful of blood-spattered greenbacks. He’s slender and handsome, but with a wolfish look to his face. He wears a team logo leather jacket, jeans, and new boots. He finishes a cigarette and casts it to the street, looking at the other two with a mixture of amusement and contempt. “Enough to get us by … for tonight anyway.”

“Sh-she shouldn’t have fought,” says the woman. “Not enough to fight over. Pisses me off!” A drug-fueled mood swing: panic to manic. “Lied to me. Shoulda cut her!”

“Forget it,” Wolf-face says. “She’s done. Let’s go ’fore someone sees us.”

“Dumb bitch!” the big man curses, angry at their dead victim. He steps into the shadows hiding me and reels back to give a savage kick to whoever I was.

I grab his sneaker and surge to my feet, toppling him backwards. He lands hard, the air rushing out of his lungs with a puzzled grunt. I kick him in the head, to keep him from getting back up.

The wolfish man freezes in shock, but the woman charges me, knife in hand, her face pulled tight in a drug-enhanced blend of fury and fear. “You seen us? Cut you!” She stabs at my gut.

My sword clears its scabbard in an instant. I parry her weapon easily and slash my silver-traced blade across her throat. She reels back, spraying blood.

Wolf-face drops the money—not more than fifty dollars—and reaches into his jacket.

Gun! I think, and stab at him. He turns, though, and my blade only pierces the arm of his leather jacket.

I jerk the sword out, slicing down the length of his forearm. He screams and falls to his knees. I aim the sword at his neck. It will feel good to kill him.

What?!

I can’t breathe! My chest is being crushed.

“Stupid bitch!”

The big man recovered too fast. He’s got his beefy arms around my ribcage, trying to squeeze the life out of me.

Pop!

One of my ribs breaks.

I snap my head back, shattering his nose. He slackens his grip. I heave forward, taking us both to our knees.

With my left hand, I grab one of my boot daggers and stab it up between my legs and into his groin.

He screams like a soprano until I leap to my feet and put my sword through his heart. He falls dead. I smile.

Two down.

Urgent fire courses through my left leg.

I look and find the woman’s stiletto plunged into my calf and her hanging onto it with both hands. She’s too drugged out to know that she’s already dead; she’ll bleed out from the neck wound I gave her within minutes.

I block out the pain and swing my sword hard. It finishes the job it started, and the woman’s head rolls across the alleyway, a look of dumbfounded surprise on her face.

Crack!

I stagger back involuntarily, tasting my own blood. My chest feels as though I’ve been stepped on by an elephant. Fragments of red chainmail fill the air.

I’ve been shot.

I wheel and stare into Wolf-face’s hate-filled eyes and the smoking barrel of his Saturday-Night Special. Who knew he could shoot left handed? I stab at him.

He shoots again.

My sword goes straight through his left arm; my right shoulder explodes.

More chain mail shrapnel; more pain.

The gun flies from his hand and skids into the darkness.

Wolf-face howls and jerks away, taking my sword with him.

I can no longer feel the fingers of my sword hand; that arm dangles limp and useless. Sparks explode behind my eyes and the world dims.

At least it’s stopped raining.

He pulls my blade out of his arm, but doesn’t attack me. He stares at me for a moment—a wounded animal—panting, glaring. “Who the fuck are you?”

I smile and clutch the remains of my shoulder, trying to stanch the bleeding. My lungs feel like they’re burning, and I know they’re filling with blood from his first gunshot. It’s no use. This battle is over for me. My head swims.

I force my eyes to focus. I will not die with my eyes closed.

Wolf-face must see I’m helpless, but his eyes are searching for his lost gun.

Gun brave. Coward.

“C’mere, you little bastard!” I manage to hiss through blood-stained lips.

I crumple to my knees, my life bleeding away.

He hesitates, afraid of me, even now.

He stoops to pick up the blood-stained money. Then he runs.

With my left hand, I draw the knife from my other boot and throw it into his back.

It’s a solid hit, catching him behind the right shoulder blade, going clean through his starter jacket, but not deep enough.

Not enough to kill him.

He keeps going, vanishing quickly into the benighted street, taking my knife along, dripping blood as he runs.

In the distance, sirens … growing closer.

Not soon enough.

The police will have to catch Wolf-face, because my time in this body is done.

At least I’ve left them a clear trail to follow.

Flick!

The flame of my life is like the light from a light bulb. Throw the switch, the light goes off, and I’m ready to live again somewhere else. Mostly, that’s how it works.

Not tonight.

This time, when the “switch” goes off, my light fades gradually. I find myself floating away from the earth, away from a body no longer mine—a body now reverted to its original state. I’m gone now; no trace of me remains in the victim. Even my wounds are gone. The flesh has returned to its original owner … to the one who wasted her life, giving me a chance to set things right.

But…

This one cannot have wasted her life.

This one is no thug, no brute, no desperate addict, no career criminal…

She is a waif of a girl … seventeen or so years old. Her clothing is casual and careworn, but not ill-kempt; her skin is clear, and her eyes must once have danced with a joyous spark of life—though now the flames within have gone dark.

She lies on her back in the alleyway, her hair fanned out like a halo around her head. Her face is beautiful in the way that only the young can be, a look that radiates innocence despite a hard-scrabble life.

Someone loved this girl.

She wears a hand-made sweater—perhaps from a grandmother—and in the center of the carefully knitted pattern lies a single bullet hole.

Bastards!

No one this age deserves a bullet, no matter what she had done, no matter how these people knew her—whether false friends or opportunist predators—no matter what deal she had made … or broken.

No one this young can have so thoroughly wasted their life as to not deserve another chance.

I realize that I have been too harsh on the people whose bodies I inhabit during my reincarnations. I have thought of them as worthless husks, as hopeless cases, as garbage.

And perhaps some are.

But clearly, there must be others as well.

Others, like this girl, whose journeys were cut short, who could not obtain justice in their lifetimes, but who could find some measure of peace by offering up their last, brief moments to me, so that I could, perhaps, set things right.

And maybe that’s why, this time, my death is not merely a flick of the switch. Maybe that’s why this time I get to see the person in whose footsteps I lived—if only briefly.

Because she was worth it.

My name is Crimson. I’m a warrior, and I have lived out the last moments of many lives, though only one of those fragments was entirely my own. That is my curse … and my gift.

And even after two dozen lives, I don’t know that I am qualified to mete out justice…

But I am very good at retribution.

The girl lies on her back. Her eyes are open, and she’s looking at the sky.

The clouds part.

There are stars.

Then—

All is darkness.

Flick…

* * *

Good night and safe journey, Aalandria, my friend. We’ll meet again.

—Stephen D. Sullivan

January 23, 2012

The characters and situations in this story are entirely fictitious—though they do reflect some of the pain and endless questions in my heart.

Crimson also appears in The Crimson Collection.

Illustration for the story "The Candle Goes Dark, But the Light Remains."

January 2012 was a really rough month.

Aalandria Holly Edmonds 1993-2012

Aalandria Holly Edmonds was a new friend to me — though I’d been involved in her life almost since her birth.  How?  Because she was named after a character in The Twilight Empire: Robinson’s War – a name I made up for the series.  I only found out about her last year (2011), from her dad, who wanted to show her my story for her 18th birthday.  I was so honored that I figured out how to bring the book back into print, just for her.  Later in the year, she and I started corresponding together on Facebook.  She was a good kid who had had a few rough patches in her life.  I became very fond of her very quickly.  I was looking forward to being her friend for many years to come.  In January, though, she was gunned down by persons unknown.  I hope the police will catch her killer(s).  I’ve missed her every day since, and I’ve written a story in her honor that I will publish soon.  Prayers and good thoughts for her family are appreciated, and for those of you of a mind to do more, donations can be sent to:

Aalandria Edmonds Memorial Fund c/o
Tempe Monthly Meeting
318 East 15th Street
Tempe, Arizona  85281

Jean Wells

Jean Wells was an old friend of mine, one of the first friends I made when coming to work at TSR in 1980.  She got me through the only panic attack in my life and was a generous and helpful person.  We worked together on the infamous, banned module B3: Palace of the Silver Princess.  She went into the hospital for a minor issue a few weeks ago and was dead the next morning.  No one is sure why.  Gary Con has a nice memorial here.  Her family said to  make a donation to your favorite charity in her memory.  (I donated to Wisconsin Public Radio.)  Thoughts and prayers — especially for her husband and family — are appreciated, too.  Jean was a very spiritual person.

Damien Bona was a writer and an expert on the Oscars, so expert that he actually helped in the production of at least one of the broadcasts.  I only talked to him once or twice, but he worked with my brother Mark for years and was loved by everyone who knew him.  I own a signed copy of his book on movie casting blunders, Staring John Wayne as Genghis Khan, which is wonderful.  In the middle of January, he had a heart attack at work, and the EMTs and doctors couldn’t save him.  He lingered long enough to become an organ donor.  Though I barely knew him, he was one of those people you felt good just knowing was in the world.  I’m deeply sad that he is no longer with us.

Al Rio was a comic artist, and a great one.  I didn’t really know him, but he was a good friend to my dear friend David Campiti, who also represented him.  Last week, Al killed himself — which someone once noted is usually a permanent solution to a temporary problem.  You can read more here.  My deepest condolences go to his family, friends, and especially David.

I hope not to have another month like this January for a good long while.  Please, all of you, stay safe and be well.

If this is a flick you haven’t seen, you should watch it!  Listen to the podcast and we’ll tell you why.

And it’s not just because of Christopher Lee & Peter Cushing (which should be reason enough for you, anyway).

Enjoy!