Figure everybody needs a Slash-hat, Ozzy-specs kind of author photo. Not that I’ll ever get use this one on a book jacket:
This is a thrown-together couple minutes—camera crew came to the office, got a reel together to zap to all the news/radio places (thus: I’m on the radio a lot this morning). Also, I hear that I was wrong about Memorial Day. So it goes.
Anyway, what I kept getting asked was what’s up with the day Friday the 13th? So, in short, here’s what I see, none of which is really original, all of which packs into a bigger and bigger snowball:
So, if you need a bio from me, here’s the basic one, which I’ll try to keep updated. Can’t seem to get the titles to go properly italics, but surely you can fix that:
Stephen Graham Jones is the author of sixteen novels and six story collections. Most recent are Mapping the Interior, from Tor.com and the comic book My Hero, from Hex Publishers. Stephen lives and teaches in Boulder, Colorado.
Just noticing that the old pano of my office at Cutbank, it’s out of date—I’ve gone standing-desk. But there’s some Q&A there, still, that’s not here.
Anyway, to update, with TWO panoramics, as I can’t seem to spin slow/fast enough to do it with just one:
Yeah, I think I suck at keeping the phone at the same level/height. So it goes.
But that’s me standing over in the middle. Here’s what I usually see, rice bars and basketballs and Chris Ware and all:
Which is to say: where I write. Well, where I write when I’m writing in my study. Where I write when I’m writing in my office (on campus) is here.
But, this is home. The door of it, anyway:
And this is me standing in the middle of it all, trying to go as fast/slow as the arrow on my phone tells me. And, yes, there’s four five (just saw another) Waylon things in this pano:
Walking through his own house at night, a twelve-year-old thinks he sees another person stepping through a doorway. Instead of the people who could be there, his mother or his brother, the figure reminds him of his long-gone father, who died mysteriously before his family left the reservation. When he follows it he discovers his house is bigger and deeper than he knew.
The house is the kind of wrong place where you can lose yourself and find things you’d rather not have. Over the course of a few nights, the boy tries to map out his house in an effort that puts his little brother in the worst danger, and puts him in the position to save them . . . at terrible cost.
What do you do when your dreams come true? When you were twelve, camping out in the back yard, you told your best friend that if he could draw a superhero good enough, you’d give him the perfect words to say. And then it didn’t just happen, there’s even action figures now. Your comic book is on every shelf. And you live beside your best friend again. Your kids even play together, with those action figures. Watch them on the lawn, there. Take a snapshot, and then look over their heads, over the tops of the houses, past the city, past the world itself. Look at all the stars, at all the adventures waiting out there. What do you do when all your dreams come true? You close your eyes, so the dream can last. You close your eyes and you roll your hands into fists, and you try to hold on.
“The Night Cyclist by Stephen Graham Jones is a horror novelette about a middle-aged chef whose nightly bicycle ride home is interrupted by an unexpected encounter.” A Tor.com original e-book, edited by Ellen Datlow. Thought up one night when I was cycling home at night, faster and faster, because I was pretty sure there was something faster behind me. As happens.
— Daryl Gregory (@darylwriterguy) September 22, 2016
— Kevin Hearne (@KevinHearne) September 23, 2016
Me in my office, playing with all things werewolf related. At least those I could reach without getting out of the camera’s eye. Also some talking, some reading, some injudicious swaying from side to side, like I just spilled koolaid on the couch but nobody knows about it, and I really-really need to get outside, like acres away, and play for about fifty-four hours: