Tag Archives: author photo

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Whiskey Row

This post isn’t about whiskey. But I could see how you’d think that, what with the title and all. Nope, this is about a destination.

Whiskey Row is in downtown Prescott, Arizona. It’s famous for an awful lot of rows begun by men who drank too much whiskey. And, of course, there used to be a whole row of bars there in the days when people only bathed seasonally. There still are quite a few bars there, but they’re interspersed with gift shops and scented candle stores now that people bathe more often. It tells you how far Arizona’s come in a hundred years: we used to just need booze, but now we need booze and a way to smell good afterward.

On the corner of Gurley and Montezuma is the St. Michael Hotel. It’s over a century old, which is “old” for Arizona. Teddy Roosevelt stayed there. John L. Sullivan did too, and I was told by my paternal grandmother (maiden name of Sullivan) that I’m distantly related to him somehow. (I only remembered that today, when I saw a plaque with his name on it affixed to the hotel. I sorta thought, “Wow. You know you’re famous when your sleeping arrangements get marketed to future generations.”And I might not be related to him at all—Grandma’s story might have been blarney; I think he’s someone every Irishman wishes he was related to, because he kicked a lot of ass and his mustache was epically virile.)

My supposed relation, John L. Sullivan

In any case, my family and I decided to sup in the bistro located on the ground floor of said establishment. It looked like this:

We were early so that’s why the joint looks deserted. I ordered a broiled portobello stuffed with artichoke, spinach, tomato, zucchini and parmesan spread out on a red pepper coulis. Jasmine rice and veggies on the side. It looked like this and it was nummy:

I gave the cauliflower to my daughter because I can’t eat that stuff. It looks like braaaaains.

We were visiting Whiskey Row today because there’s a very cool photographer up there named Amy Ryland, and if I absolutely must let someone take my picture, then it’s gotta be her. She found a spiffy stone wall on Whiskey Row and shot me there for my author photo. Brace yourself.

Ta-Effing-Daaa!

As promised, I eschewed the infamous and ubiquitous Author Chin Cradle. (Though I’m leaving my Profile Chin Cradle up on the right sidebar, and I’ll also continue to use it on Twitter and Facebook because it cracks me up.) I didn’t give into temptation and stand in front of a bookcase, either. Nope, this is Stone Cold Whiskey Row, and there’s a twinkle in my eye because that tends to happen when I’m in close proximity to that much whiskey.

I think you can click on the picture to enlarge it, but I’d recommend that you resist the urge, because there’s only so much cute chubby Irish guy you can handle.

My editor tells me that Advance Reader Editions of Hounded will be available sometime in December. I have no idea how many they will print or who will get them: It’s a mystery. But O, frabjous day! My cover shouldn’t be a mystery for much longer! For one thing, there will be a poster of it on display at the New York Comic Con next weekend. If you’re going to be there, stop by the Del Rey booth and check it out. :)

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If you stalk a writer…

I have to sit still long enough for someone to take an author photo and I’m practically gibbering, “distilled almost to jelly in the act of fear.” (Shout-out to Horatio)

How can I simultaneously make myself look interesting and yet not so weird that I scare the bejesus out of potential readers? Try to come up with an image of yourself being “conservatively interesting” and you’ll see what I mean. It’s nearly impossible. It’s why authors give up and stand in front of bookcases. It’s why they bow their heads and stare at pads of paper with pen in hand. It’s why they do the infamous chin cradle (see my profile picture, which I did on purpose and it cracks me up) or skulk around trees.

I will not go gently into that good night: I shall not cross my arms in front of a bookcase and pretend that this is what I normally do. If one of those wildlife photographers were to stalk me, to capture my life candidly in my natural habitat, then they’d probably catch me reading comic books on the couch, far away from the bookcase. Or I’d be writing at the kitchen table, which is what I’m doing right now and where I write most of the time. There might (or might not) be a beer next to the computer. But I can’t do any of that: see, if I’m reading a comic, some people are going to sneer at me because I’m reading comics, some will sneer because of the particular titles I read, and heck, I probably couldn’t get permission to publish a copy of the comic cover in any case. And if I have a beer in the picture, I’m going to offend all kinds of people—first, people who don’t drink, second, people who drink wine or “harrrrrd likker,” and third, beer snobs who will criticize my unrefined palate no matter what’s in my glass.

I paint miniature dwarfs, but someone will recommend me for therapy if they see a picture of that. On the other hand, I might be enshrined into the Nerd Hall of Fame for a picture like that.

Sigh. I’m probably going to hover around some plant life and hope it camouflages the fact that I’m almost forty. But it’ll be kind of cool to have a “39” picture out there. I might wind up using it for a long time. :)