Tzer Island writes, "Nickle's writing style is at least a step above the ordinary. His prose is efficient; Nickle uses a few carefully selected words to set scenes that some writers would have wasted pages developing, a skill that allows the story to develop at a brisk pace. The mood and atmosphere are perfect for a tale of the supernatural."
Reviewer Keith Rawson writes: " If you’ve never read Piccirilli before—yes, you’ve been missing out on one of the strongest talents in the business—I would strongly suggest you make Every Shallow Cut your first foray into his extensive catalog."
He also has a lengthy interview up with Tom Piccirilli, talking about EVERY SHALLOW CUT, his future projects, and e-publishing, among other things.Tom Piccirilli: I've been in this game over 20 years, and it's never been easy. Writing is a gut-wrenching process and publishing can be even worse. My proudest moment is the fact that I'm still alive after being kicked in the head by every boot in the biz imaginable.
Adam Shaftoe at The Pages of Reviews writes: "With its rich environments and characters who ooze empathy, Filaria is as thoughtful as it is emotionally satisfying."
My favourite convention memory?
Happened when Joe finally caught up with me, late Sunday, to settle things once and for all.
The rest of you'd fled for Toronto by then – there was no one left but a handful of straggling frat boys and sorority girls... the night shift at the Doubletree. Claude Lalumiere was somewhere, missing a train on account of flooding somewhere north, but he doesn't figure in this memory.
For that, there was just me. And Joe. Both of us looking for trouble, in our way. Both of us finding it, over $3.75 Shiner Bocks and a pair of stone-honed machetes.
I probably shouldn't have said what I said noon-time Saturday at the ChiZine table, loud as I did. I'll wear that. But Joe should've known better too. Hell. You don't do something like that – not without expecting consequences.
So when Joe swaggered into the bar, hauling the fresh-oiled machetes swaddled in Doubletree bath towels ... I wasn't going to back down, and he damn well knew it.
It got real quiet – the only sound was the soft "whoas" from the kid in the Abercrombie and Fitch polo shirt sprawled on the sofa by the fireplace and Barack Obama mumbling something on the flatscreen.
Joe set the bundle of blades on the bar, slid one out, stepped back and pointed with his chin at the other, like he does.
I didn't need more invite than that. I set my glass down, walked close enough he might've slashed my belly if he'd a mind, then took hold of the second blade.
Now, at this point security might've intervened. But as I was checking out early Monday, the night clerk told me it was on account of good behaviour. The assembled authors at the World Horror Convention – and particularly the ChiZine contingent – were so good-graced and kindly in disposition, that the hotel staff all just thought we were horsing around and figured they'd let it play out.
So it went a lot longer than it should've. Joe was good with a machete. He'd had plenty of practise working that place of his, and he could swing true and strong enough to split a mahogany credenza right down the middle. But I'll tell you – never under-estimate a middle-aged Toronto boy who got out of phys-ed by faking asthma attacks. I gave as good as I got.
We crossed blades in the lobby, and for awhile it seemed like I had the advantage. Joe couldn't seem to hold ground, and soon we were outside, steel flashing sparks up the courtyard so blue and sharp they lit the clouds. We fought around the palm trees, up and down some stairs... and finally, on the edge of the jacuzzi, I figured I had Joe for sure. But no. "I was left handed all along," he sneered – and just like that, the sonofabitch turned it around.
I damn near fell in that jacuzzi, ducking a swipe that was surely aimed at decapitation. Joe cackled like a swamp witch, and swung some more, and soon as I got my bearings – I'm ashamed to admit, but I cut and ran.
Made it up the stairs and into the third floor elevator lobby, and bought myself some time slamming the door shut on old Joe's machete arm. Didn't do anything about the machete – Joe has a grip of iron – but he surely did holler. When the elevator door opened, I let him go and got inside. Would've gotten away, but couple of the sorority girls were in there debriefing on the weekend debauch, and they were too polite to let the door close before Joe got in.
We took respite between floors Three and Six, while the girls made conversation asking us if we liked Texas and how we came to write horror stories, and we both answered best we could.
At Six, the girls got out, and Joe and I didn't have the heart to start up until the doors closed and the elevator was on its way back down.
I'll tell you something now: machete fighting's a different game in the close confines of a hotel elevator than it is across a wide courtyard under a Texas sky. A game with even fewer rules than there is room. A game where truly, it's easier to punch and kick and pull on a fellow's hair than it is to swing a machete around.
So that's how it went, for six floors down to the lobby. End of it all, Joe was on his way to developing a first-class Texas shiner, and his lip was bleeding from where I'd elbowed it. I was doubled-over from a well-aimed punch to the gut and a for-good-measure boot to the unmentionables.
"Well," I said, "I got a taxi coming for the airport in just an hour."
Joe whistled and spat. "Man, that's early," he said.
"Don't I know it. No rest for the wicked."
"All right then."
"All right then."
And that was that. Joe got out first, and held the door while I hobbled into the lobby. We left some things behind in that elevator: a pair of stone-honed machetes notched in battle, part of a left incisor, a healthy spray of blood and spittle and a good handful of Joe's hair. Didn't matter, though. We took what was most dear to us: that being, memories of the best damn convention the town of Austin has ever seen and ever likely will.
As with many of the other posts I find it hard to describe my World Horror experience. I've never been to a horror convention before, but they are the nicest people out there. Being a marketing guru and not a writer myself it was great how nice and welcoming people were. I met a lot of great folks and had a fantastic time hanging out with the ChiZine crew and the British contingent (including Chris Roberts although he's American). I'm sure after the experience I had this year I'll be going again next year!
Some of my favourite memories from the weekend:
- Working the CZP table in the dealers’ room. I always love trying to convince people to buy our books!
- The look on Ian Rogers face when he was told about his book deal (and the plotting behind the big reveal)
- Coming up with the rules and gestures for Margarita, Lion, Man
- Plotting world domination with Nick Kaufmann
- Running into everyone again at the Austin airport...it's like the convention never ended!
WHC was a blast from beginning to end, though I was only in Austin for two days. I met a lot of people, some whose name I had previously known, others, not so much. Everyone was great. There was a regular flow of beer and good food. The furthest I strayed from the hotel was to Thundercloud Subs, just across a few dozen lanes of highway. (I have been to Austin before, so remaining in the vicinity of the very nice Doubletree Hotel wasn’t ever frustrating, despite the knowledge that, all the while, a very cool and special city lay not too far away.) Highlights from the con are difficult to pick out, but I will list a few: laughing about ass goblins; the CZP kegger launch, with hot dogs and pretty colours on the margarita machine as it churned; the EDGE launch, with readings about dead strippers; the drunken frat boy—a little person—who chatted with me as he took the glasses from atop my head while I waited for the shuttle; my peaceful room, overlooking the courtyard....Thanks, Brent. If anyone out there has memories they'd like to share, send 'em our way!
My experience at World Horror Con was killer.
Living in Ottawa, I don't get to spend as much time with the Toronto contingent of ChiZine Publications as I'd like. So hanging out with Brett, Sandra, the Marshall sisters and the authors is always something I look forward to. Plus, I got to meet Nick Kaufmann and Paul Tremblay, who are super guys.
What surprised me was that even though Brett and Sandra were Guests of Honour, it seemed everyone knew about CZP. It's one thing at a convention in Toronto for us to have large turnout at a party, but for an event in Texas, it was both humbling and exhilarating. One thing that stands out was being in an elevator, a woman saw me carrying a couple of our books and said (with an unmistakeable southern accent) "I love ChiZine Publications. They do great stuff." That did it for me.
I met a lot of great people and saw a lot of great presses in the fight to make it. It's good to know CZP is one of those small presses making a difference and putting out work people love. As a bonus, I get to work with staff and authors I count as good friends and can make me nearly spit my lunch all over Sandra while explaining the rules of Man-Lion-Martini... because a lion can't handle its liquor.
In the coming days, we hope to post some memories from CZP staff, authors and friends about their experience during the World Horror Convention 2011 in Austin, Texas.
First up, our Managing Editor Helen Marshall:
My favourite memory was the look on Ian Rogers' face after we announced that we would be doing his first collection—particularly after Michael Rowe and I had to drag him out of the bar to come to our launch with an astounding lack of subtlety and he still managed to pull a disappearing act. It was fantastic to spend time with the British contingent—the incredibly talented Vincent Chong, Lou Morgan, Gary McMahon and Rio Youers (who is ours, but still counts)—and to meet up with the CZP folk from afar—Nicholas Kaufmann, Paul Tremblay, and Colleen Anderson. The talent was staggering; the margaritas were cheap; the friends were many.
CZP author Nicholas Kaufmann (Chasing the Dragon) chimes in
The whole convention was a wonderful time with friends old and new, but one of my favorite memories is riding to the airport on Sunday afternoon with Artist Guest of Honor Vincent Chong, Special Guest Del Howison, and authors David Wellington and Livia Llewellyn...in a rented hearse! I felt like such a rock star. Of course, this being Austin, no one batted an eyelash at us.We'll be posting more as we get them!
