JEFF FUNK
Friday, August 05, 2005
The Horror in Rhode Island
I was in Bristol, Rhode Island July 14-17th for the Northeastern Writers Conference, fondly referred to as Camp Necon. This yearly con attracts famous horror authors including Douglas Clegg, Peter Straub, Thomas Tessier, F. Paul Wilson, Tom Monteleone, David Morrell, Rick Hautala, Jack Ketchum, Elizabeth Massie, Matthew Costello, Philip Nutman and many others. It's held on a beautiful campus, Roger Williams University, a picturesque setting located on a bay--sailboats passing by, seagulls, fog coming in at night, etc. It's very laid back. Casual. You hear people toss around phrases like, "this is a place where you can really let your hair down." Parties every night, and these people know how to party, lemme tell ya. And where else would you pass open windows and hear such bits of conversation as: "What's the difference between farther and further?" Only at a writers camp. If we were in the '70s, it might be known as a writer's "colony."
I got to hang out with good friends like Douglas Clegg, Matt Schwartz owner of Shocklines online bookstore, Gerard Houarner and Linda Addison--all of whom are among the coolest people on the planet. I met some Live Journal friends, such as Bev Vincent, Lee Thomas, Alyson Benoit, Johnathan Reitan, Nick Kaufman.
Within an hour of my arrival I made some new friends. I met Holly Newstein (aka H.R. Howland) and Rick Hautala (aka A.J. Matthews). Rick wanted to play his son's CD for me, so we piled into Glenn Chadborne's car, a really nice Monte Carlo, and drove a short distance and found a place to park. When I looked at the back of the building next to us, I had the strangest case of déjà vu. I'd seen that building before in a dream.
The place was crawling with horror writers. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting an author or a fan boy. And the people were friendly. They'd recognize that mine was a new face and come up and introduce themselves. When I'd confirm that it was my first time there--fresh meat, a Necon newbie-- they would exchange knowing looks and tell me, "You'll be back." Several of them leaned in conspiratorially and said, "What happens at Necon stays at Necon." I nodded back, with squinted eyes. Understood. I guess I'd better try to keep all scandal out of this blog entry, huh?
One morning, I saw Dallas Mayr (aka Jack Ketchum) holding a big Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Where'd you get that coffee, Dallas?" I asked. He pointed to Trish (aka P.D. Cacek). "Can I have some?" I said, amazed at myself for asking for what I wanted. The old shy me would have gone without. Turns out, they were down to the end of the pot, so Dallas poured some of his coffee into a cup for me. How cool is that?
"You have to write the crap out of you." Was it Peter Straub that said that or was it someone contributing to his advice? Anyway, it stuck with me. You have to write your ass off and discover your talents and get the shitty writing out of your system. I was interested to hear that Tom Monteleone and Straub both wrote first books that they consider stinkers. Straub's first one isn't even available in America--only in Germany, I believe. Gerard Houarner said he's heard you need to write a million words before you're any good.
One night, I saw Linda Addison and two other women belly dancing. In front of whom, I shall not say. Drinking and music were involved. Absinthe was present and offered to me; alas, I declined the drink as I'm not fond of feeling out of control. And I'm reminded of rule number one: What happens at Necon stays at Necon. Damn, so I'd better not tell the other things I saw. Or did. The naming of names, the loosening of lips, could get my ass into trouble.
It might be wise to issue my nondenial denial as to whether I'm a member of the secret society that has formed within the horror community. You may have heard the rumors, the whisper-stream of hushed voices, people talking in low tones and wondering as to its intent, pondering its ramifications. As of now, it's an unnamed organization. I prefer to think of it as The Secret Order of the DILF. I'll admit that, as of now, I've attended my third such meeting in as many years. In two cities. But we have friends everywhere. Our reach grows, as does our power. At least one new member was tapped and admitted for the Saturday night meeting, but I shan't discuss the rites and initiations. Nor will I share the secret conversations from that night. It's secret. Shhhh...
I've always wanted to be in a secret society, and now I am. | posted by Jeff Funk
I was in Bristol, Rhode Island July 14-17th for the Northeastern Writers Conference, fondly referred to as Camp Necon. This yearly con attracts famous horror authors including Douglas Clegg, Peter Straub, Thomas Tessier, F. Paul Wilson, Tom Monteleone, David Morrell, Rick Hautala, Jack Ketchum, Elizabeth Massie, Matthew Costello, Philip Nutman and many others. It's held on a beautiful campus, Roger Williams University, a picturesque setting located on a bay--sailboats passing by, seagulls, fog coming in at night, etc. It's very laid back. Casual. You hear people toss around phrases like, "this is a place where you can really let your hair down." Parties every night, and these people know how to party, lemme tell ya. And where else would you pass open windows and hear such bits of conversation as: "What's the difference between farther and further?" Only at a writers camp. If we were in the '70s, it might be known as a writer's "colony."
I got to hang out with good friends like Douglas Clegg, Matt Schwartz owner of Shocklines online bookstore, Gerard Houarner and Linda Addison--all of whom are among the coolest people on the planet. I met some Live Journal friends, such as Bev Vincent, Lee Thomas, Alyson Benoit, Johnathan Reitan, Nick Kaufman.
Within an hour of my arrival I made some new friends. I met Holly Newstein (aka H.R. Howland) and Rick Hautala (aka A.J. Matthews). Rick wanted to play his son's CD for me, so we piled into Glenn Chadborne's car, a really nice Monte Carlo, and drove a short distance and found a place to park. When I looked at the back of the building next to us, I had the strangest case of déjà vu. I'd seen that building before in a dream.
The place was crawling with horror writers. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting an author or a fan boy. And the people were friendly. They'd recognize that mine was a new face and come up and introduce themselves. When I'd confirm that it was my first time there--fresh meat, a Necon newbie-- they would exchange knowing looks and tell me, "You'll be back." Several of them leaned in conspiratorially and said, "What happens at Necon stays at Necon." I nodded back, with squinted eyes. Understood. I guess I'd better try to keep all scandal out of this blog entry, huh?
One morning, I saw Dallas Mayr (aka Jack Ketchum) holding a big Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Where'd you get that coffee, Dallas?" I asked. He pointed to Trish (aka P.D. Cacek). "Can I have some?" I said, amazed at myself for asking for what I wanted. The old shy me would have gone without. Turns out, they were down to the end of the pot, so Dallas poured some of his coffee into a cup for me. How cool is that?
"You have to write the crap out of you." Was it Peter Straub that said that or was it someone contributing to his advice? Anyway, it stuck with me. You have to write your ass off and discover your talents and get the shitty writing out of your system. I was interested to hear that Tom Monteleone and Straub both wrote first books that they consider stinkers. Straub's first one isn't even available in America--only in Germany, I believe. Gerard Houarner said he's heard you need to write a million words before you're any good.
One night, I saw Linda Addison and two other women belly dancing. In front of whom, I shall not say. Drinking and music were involved. Absinthe was present and offered to me; alas, I declined the drink as I'm not fond of feeling out of control. And I'm reminded of rule number one: What happens at Necon stays at Necon. Damn, so I'd better not tell the other things I saw. Or did. The naming of names, the loosening of lips, could get my ass into trouble.
It might be wise to issue my nondenial denial as to whether I'm a member of the secret society that has formed within the horror community. You may have heard the rumors, the whisper-stream of hushed voices, people talking in low tones and wondering as to its intent, pondering its ramifications. As of now, it's an unnamed organization. I prefer to think of it as The Secret Order of the DILF. I'll admit that, as of now, I've attended my third such meeting in as many years. In two cities. But we have friends everywhere. Our reach grows, as does our power. At least one new member was tapped and admitted for the Saturday night meeting, but I shan't discuss the rites and initiations. Nor will I share the secret conversations from that night. It's secret. Shhhh...
I've always wanted to be in a secret society, and now I am. | posted by Jeff Funk
