And thus began the most grueling part of the book signing tour since Tod Clark and I had driven across the American West—John Urbancik and I spent five days in mid-July crisscrossing Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia. That no doubt sounds romantic and adventurous to some of you. Hell, up until a few years ago, it would have sounded romantic and adventurous to me, as well. It would have been my idea of fun. Sadly, it’s not so fun when you’re approaching fifty. At that age, sitting behind the steering wheel of a Jeep for eight hours a day really puts a crimp in your fun. It also puts a crimp in your back and your neck and your butt and anywhere else arthritis and carpal tunnel have invaded your body. Indeed, if a career as a full-time writer hasn’t cursed you with arthritis or carpal tunnel (and sooner or later, it will) then you can expedite things by heading out on a promotional tour and driving like idiots across most of the Southern United States.
Tired doesn’t begin to describe it. I was beyond any word you can think of to describe exhaustion. Things like time and mileage and the days of the calendar ceased to exist. The world became the interior of the Jeep, with occasional excursions into bookstores or dingy hotel rooms. Poor John had to not only fill the role of my wingman and best friend—he had to be my therapist, as well. He served admirably, and when not playing the confessor to my sins or signing books for people, he worked on his latest—the aforementioned On the Road with Brian Keene. (I wasn’t kidding about that last week. Publisher inquiries are welcome).
In short, things became a blur—a scattershot, bourbon- and caffeine-fueled kaleidoscope of meetings and moments with no true narrative sense, no beginning, no ending, and often, no sense.
The bubble forms.
Time is a flat circle and everything is connected.
Everything has happened before.
Everything is happening now.
Everything will happen again.
Time collapses in on itself.
(Photo Copyright 2016 Brian Keene)
Mojo Books and Records delivers a large, enthusiastic crowd. Among them are my old friend Mike Bracken, Jeff Strand and Lynne Hansen (again), and a reader named Laurie who shares a very personal anecdote about her life and my work that nearly moves me to tears. It is 1998 and Mike Bracken, John and myself, along with Tom Piccirilli, J.F. Gonzalez, Mike Oliveri, Geoff Cooper, Ryan Harding, Regina Mitchell, Michael T. Huyck, Brett Savory, Cullen Bunn, Tim Lebbon, Mary SanGiovanni, James Newman, Feo Amante, and everyone else from those halcyon days of the early Internet are going to be successful writers someday. It is July 2016 and some of us did go on to become successful writers, and some of us didn’t, and some of us aren’t here anymore. Here’s something about success that they don’t tell you—if you become successful at something, you will carry a lot of guilt about it. You will wonder why you, and why not your friend, and surely they deserve it more than you do. Now multiply that by a dozen and welcome to yet another reason why Brian drinks. But never mind all that, because it is July 2016, and I am seeing Jeff and Lynne over and over and over again. I am so numb from bourbon and traveling that I try to divine some hidden meaning in this—expecting to reveal a fundamental, universal truth. Instead, Jeff and I just sign copies of Pressure (as we have both written novels with that title), which are later auctioned off for the Scares That Care charity. It is July 2016 and Laurie’s words are nearly moving me to tears but it is also November 2016 and I still think about them and her and hope that she is doing okay.
It is July 3, 1996, and I am the general manager of a home electronics store. I’m working fifty-hour weeks and writing when and where I find the spare time. I take a rare night off to see a movie called Independence Day, and am blown away by how much fun it is. The film becomes one of my go-to favorites—something to put on in the background and make me happy. It is July 2016 and I take a rare few hours of solace from the road to see the sequel, Independence Day: Resurgence, which turns into a massive exercise in frustration and disappointment.
It is July 1995, and my girlfriend and I are about to see Danzig in concert at the York Fairgrounds. Unfortunately, she gets ill, and we leave the concert a few moments before Danzig hits the stage. It is July 2016, and that girlfriend is now my second ex-wife (but remains one of my best friends), and the owner of a record store in Florida is so enthusiastic about our visit that he takes John and I into the store bathroom, where every inch of conceivable wall space is filled with the signatures of visiting musicians, and asks us to sign the stall door next to Danzig’s signature. I have still not seen Danzig in concert, but our signatures are now next to each other’s at a store in Florida.
It is March 2004, and I’m doing my first Barnes and Noble signing. The manager is a big supporter of the horror genre, but B&N corporate rules forbid him from creating an actual horror section in the store, so he does it stealthily. It was this type of ground level effort that led to the post-1990s horror boom at the start of this century. It is July 2016 and John and I are signing at a Barnes and Noble in Orlando. The manager, Chris, is a big supporter of the horror genre, but B&N corporate rules forbid him from creating an actual horror section in the store, so he does it stealthily. It is this type of ground level effort that will lead to the horror boom coming as we head into the 2020s.
It is 2001, and Geoff Cooper, Mike Oliveri, Michael T. Huyck Jr., Gak and I are driving across California on a book signing tour for 4X4, and I am so drunk that the neon lights of a passing gas station have vapor trails. It is July 2016 and John Urbancik and I are driving across the American southeast and I am so exhausted that the neon lights of a highway attraction called South of the Border (located on the line between North and South Carolina) has vapor trails. I recall author Armand Rosamilia telling us the day before that we have to stop at South of the Border, but John and I are zombies at this point, and almost simultaneously mutter, “We can’t stop here. This is bat country.”
(Photo Copyright 2016 Brian Keene)
It is…2006 or maybe 2007(?) and I’m meeting a young aspiring author named Lincoln Crisler who tells me he is inspired by my work. It is July 2016 and Lincoln shows up at a signing John and I are doing in Georgia—and I’m glad he has because the crowd is sparse—except that he’s no longer a kid and he’s no longer an aspiring author. He’s a professional. I feel very proud. And very old.
It is 1992 and Los Angeles runs riot in the aftermath of the police viciously beating black motorist Rodney King. The smoke and fires and chants and violence frame the current Presidential election between two absolutely loathsome candidates—George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton. No matter who is elected, things will only get worse. It is 2016 and America’s cities run riot in the aftermath of multiple police shootings of unarmed black men. The smoke and fires and chants and violence frame the current Presidential election between two absolutely loathsome candidates—Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. No matter who is elected, things will only get worse.
Time begins to expand again.
Everything is happening again.
Everything is happening now.
Everything has happened before.
Time is a flat circle and everything is connected.
The bubble pops.
A week has gone by, and John and I arrive in Williamsburg, Virginia, where we are greeted by dear friends and fans who love us and have missed us. Some of them we haven’t seen in a very long time, and yet…it hasn’t been any time at all.
Brian Keene writes novels, comic books, short fiction, and occasional journalism for money. He is the author of over forty books, including the recently releasedPressure and The Complex. The father of two sons, Keene lives in rural Pennsylvania.
It was great meeting you at Mojo Books and records. The Q&A format was fun.
Something tells me that Tim Lebbon will be fine on his tour. In fact, he’ll probably bike the whole thing and then make the rest of us feel bad that we’re such weaklings.