This briefing comes two days late, having been a distant priority in the wake of several deadline-specific projects that have loomed large over the Bunker for some time now. This may be considered a proof of life missive only, with our sincere apologies for the radio silence. The media report will be on time, I have been assured.
For the past ten days now, the entire Administration staff here at the bunker has been miserable, both in the field and safely ensconced indoors, thanks to the record-high temperatures in Texas that are a nearly exact recreation of a brick pizza oven at lunchtime. Fire Lizards are afraid to leave their cave-like lairs for fear of melting. Everything outside feels like the temperature of the sun. It’s days like this that I am so very grateful for the whole of the refrigeration industry.
And yet, despite these colorful reminders of what a hellscape the state has become, last weekend found me out in it, being very authorial and so forth. That trip report is located here, and I won’t rehash it for the newsletter.
But my role at Howard Days has morphed over the years into a kind of “utility” player, in that I am readily called upon to host panels, play host, and in general help out with whatever is needed throughout the weekend.
Not surprisingly, everyone was pleased and happy to see me up and about, and as many of them remarked, “seeing less of me.” We are funny, us sons and daughters of Robert E. Howard fandom. We got jokes.
I’ve often referred to the annual gathering as a Family Reunion, and it’s just about the most accurate description of the vibe we’ve created for the event. The backbone—the core of the attendees--have been making the trip for twenty or more years. We all fly/drive to a small town in Texas where we know everyone’s name and everyone knows us, and we play Goodwill Ambassadors for the whole of Robert E. Howard fandom, in between eating fried catfish, chicken fried steak, and barbecue. I’ve been to way worse weddings.
It's not perfect, of course. There’s usually at least one little asshole that Just Doesn’t Get It, or is too weird for the weirdos, or who would prefer to ask any and all questions with his foot stuck firmly in his mouth, or whatever. The last few years have really brought home to us the idea that those people, those incidents, are the conversational equivalent of pebble in the shoe. Quickly noticed, easily fixed, and just as easily forgotten about.
The last couple of years have had their challenges, to be sure. There’s a person in REH fandom I’m in active opposition against, to the point that I can no longer stand to look at him, much less talk to him. He’s also a regular at the get-together. But I’ve not let it ruin my weekend. If avoiding him during the crowded events is all I’ve got to worry about, then I’m not that concerned.
Even difficult fans aren’t enough to dampen my enthusiasm for Cross Plains, nor the ungodly heat, the always-interesting local accommodations, the indolent cell phone reception, and all the rest of it. I wouldn’t miss going for the world. I get too much out of seeing old friends, and making new friends, and recharging my batteries, creatively and otherwise. I always spend a few minutes standing in doorway of Robert’s bedroom. It used to overwhelm me. Now, after all these years, it merely grounds me, like I’m completing a circuit. It’s a circuit that began back in 1981 at the age of 12, reading a paperback book in Abilene, Texas, and feeling those words lance into my brain to create fast-moving pictures of time-lost places and men carved from the stuff of legends. Without Robert E. Howard, there would be no Mark Finn, not as we understand him today. It really is a pilgrimage for me.
In Other News...
Ever since Top Gun: Maverick premiered at the beginning of Summer, I’ve found myself in the position of actually owning and operating a movie theater again. Despite all of exterior pressures
been eager to get back to the movies. I’ve seen people in the theater this summer that I’ve not seen in years.
This is being partially fueled by nostalgia for people my approximate age (Top Gun: Maverick and Jurassic World: Dominion being the prime examples with throwback plots, cast members and theme songs). Upcoming films will feature an Elvis look-alike and Thor’s naked ass. In other words, it’s a license to print money. I won’t really be able to look up from things until after the first weekend in August. That’s Tax-Free weekend in Texas. The following week is the local car show, Summer’s Last Blast, and right on its heels comes Two-a-Days for Football. My attendance is going to drop off about 85%, and I won’t see anyone back until Salem’s Lot premieres in September (in the same slot that another Made-for-TV Stephen King movie, IT, appeared a few years ago, i.e., nostalgia).
I’ve been getting by on some grant money for the most part. I’ll be in the weeds by that time, and if I don’t have an audience to at least show up for the horror movies and the faith-based movies, in turn, I will be on the defensive—again.
My Latest Project: Tools of the Trade
Those of you who are tabletop gamers may want to consider joining my Patreon, as I have a proofreading copy of this book up right now.
It’s a system-neutral fantasy heist creator. It’s incredible robust and it makes actual heists. This is the core engine of what will later be kickstarted as Polite Society (5e). If you want to see what I’ve been doing, and if you’re curious about what Polite Society is and how it will work, the beating heart of that whole project is right here, right now.
SoonerCon, I’m Coming For You
Last weekend, I gave away all but four of the Field Assignment badges for REHupa, and I’ve got a limited number of Field Assignment badges for SoonerCon, too. If you’re going to be at SoonerCon next weekend, come find me and demonstrate your fealty to the North Texas Apocalypse Bunker and you will be rewarded! With stickers!
I'm not going to make it to SoonerCon. Do you bother with FenCon any more?
I'd tell you how absolutely scorching it is up here in Wisconsin, but compared to TX it just feels like rookie numbers.