You may have noticed that the last two updates were rather shy of text – mostly pictures of what went on for the last several weeks. I am here to correct that.

The San Diego Comic-Con was, as they say, “the best of times, the worst of times.” Our son Nathan brought his entire family (wife Abby and our two grandkids, Sam and Lucy), which made the trip special. They were in a different wing of the Marriott Marquis, and to some degree operated on their own separate track. Nate attended all three of my panels, and the whole brood attended the other two.

Let’s start with the “best.” I was an Invited Guest, which brought with it various perks, including getting our hotel room paid for and a meal allowance. I was assigned three panels. I had my doubts about the first panel, hosted by San Diego’s Mysterious Galaxy book store; it included moderator Betty Ramirez, Arvind Ethan David, Delilah S. Dawson, Adam Cesare, Ted Van Alst Jr., and of course yrs truly. When I read about it, the panel seemed like a bunch of writers tossed together who didn’t have much in common. One of those panels that cons avail themselves of to make sure all the invited guests got at least one panel.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was an extremely lively affair, and you can watch it right here:

The other two panels had me interviewed first by Robert Meyer Burnett, director of True Noir: The Assassination of Anton Cermak; and second by Andrew Sumner of Titan Books. Both Rob and Andrew are pals of mine and both interviews were a pleasure. Both men are knowledgeable about my work, and took different approaches, which meant the two panels taken together covered just about everything.

I did several signings, two official convention ones and one each with publishers Titan and First Comics. All of these were gratifying because fans (or customers, as Mickey Spillane used to put it) had brought all sorts of stuff for me to sign. It’s fascinating to me to see which of my properties an individual reader will gravitate toward – this was everything from Batman and Wild Dog to Road to Perdition and Nathan Heller, with some Quarry thrown in for good measure.

Lovely people to connect with, but kind of melancholy for me, as this is almost certainly my last San Diego con.

Which us to the “worst” part. I have some mobility issues that cause me no problems on familiar turf, but the crowd congestion and the long walks between panel rooms had me using my cane (a replica of Gene Barry’s on Bat Masterson, a TV show boomers will recall). It was tiring and frustrating, and the convention floor was jammed at all times. Even crowded, this used to be heaven to me – I could find all sorts of things to tempt me, including original art and physical media (Blu-rays and DVDs). Barb and I put together a game plan to get me to just the booths I wanted, for either buying goodies or talking to a publisher’s rep. This worked well, and I picked up wonderful stuff at the Hermes booth and Fantagraphics, but was unsuccessful connecting with anyone in editorial at the DC booth.

Turned out there was almost zero physical media, and the original art had skyrocketed in price. Art that would have cost in fairly recent years a few hundred dollars were now in the high thousands. No longer a game I can afford to suit up for.

But – despite an awful amenities-impoverished hotel room, which I am glad not to have paid for – it was a pleasure being with my family in such a beautiful place on the ocean. Unfortunately, the town had jacked up its already onerous prices to take advantage of con-goers – for example, a key restaurant at the hotel had dropped its lunch menus and served dinner all day instead. What had seemed a generous meal allotment was laughable compared to the Southern California prices.

Our usual trip to Ghirardelli’s in the Gaslight Quarter was a nightmare – packed streets made it nearly impossible to get for hot fudge Sundaes, and an unwillingess of Uber and Lyft to pick us up after had our family squeezing into a pedal cab and taking a breakneck ride back to the hotel – only to be charged $300 for the privilege, thanks to rates hidden below the legs of seated customers. Truly a nightmarish experience, and Ghirardelli’s itself was a horror – stuffed with people, uncleared tables and a single uni-sex bathroom.

Among the more comical joys of the trip was the adventure Barb and I had with a scooter she’d rented, anticipating my mobility problems. We practiced in the hotel hallway and she got pretty good, and so did I, but the thing ran too fast, unless hitting people like bowling pins was the goal. She tried it in a typical crowd and quickly we turned back, with Barb admitting defeat (a rarity on her part). But by the time we took our scooter over to Seaport Village, where a beautiful view and strolling tourists and an array of restaurants awaited, we had both mastered the speed problem with our trusty scooter. I eventually did most of the driving, but Barb was better at it.

Other joys included running into old friends, like Leonard Maltin and his family; and my inability to connect with DC editorial was cured when the very editor I wanted to speak to (about a possible Perdition collection) recognized me at the Marriott breakfast buffet ($40 bucks per and a limit of 19 minutes to have “all you could eat”).

When we made it home, after the usual airline delays, little Muscatine, Iowa, looked incredibly good to us, and Barb declared this our last trip by air, and to anywhere even by car that was more than a day trip or perhaps an overnight stay.

Nonetheless, we were only home a few days before heading to the Star City Film Festival, held in Waukon, Iowa, a little gem of a town (Muscatine is a metropolis by way of comparison) near the Minnesota border. Waukon looks to be a more or less straight line above us, as the crow flies, but Google Maps foretold a trip that would take three hours and change. Not bad. All paths to Waukon seemed to require making this turn and that, and going from one highway to another, with hardly any four-lanes in the mix.

I am a hopeless navigator, but I worked hard and, initially, quite successfully from three pages of Google Map instructions. Barb (the driver) and I were chipper and laughing and talking about what a great adventure this was. Then we found ourselves on a gravel road. Shit! Thank you, Google Maps! (Please don’t ask me why we didn’t use GPS.)

Our little car began to sputter on the last leg of what was turning into a four-hour trip, albeit through some lovely country, towering green and rocky walls, a lot like our trips to Galena. We barely rolled into Waukon just in time for a luncheon of the filmmakers hosted by fest chair Dr. Katie O’Regan at the pleasantly unpretentious Uptown Grill.

The luncheon was a blast, and Barb charmed everybody with her funny tales of woe as production manager on our modest movies. The food was great in a funky joint that included a bar with a Western saloon in its soul, an unpretentious dining room and a party room, where the filmmakers got together.

When the luncheon was over, Barb and I headed to the motel, a reservation having been made for us. The car sputtered badly and we managed to get off the street and into the parking lot of the Pladsen Chevrolet car dealership before our vehicle died a coughing death. But we were lucky in our bad luck…we had come to a stop about ten yards from the Chevrolet service department. We had a possible repair in sight.

Also in sight was the dealership’s next-door neighbor — our motel! See what I mean about lucky? We abandoned our buggy and schlepped our suitcases over to Boarders, which proved to be a very nice motel with a North-woodsy theme. Little did we know this would be our new home for several days….

As for the film festival, on Saturday evening we caught two features and several shorts, plus had our screening of Death By Fruitcake. The final film of the day, The Empty Church, a feature, was shown – after a terrific picnic-style dinner of barbecue brisket, sweet corn and baby potatoes – at the intimate theater behind Katie O’Regan’s home. A double-wide metal shed had been transformed into an intimate theater, with stage and screen and three rows of seating. Delightful.

Sunday morning the festival wrapped up auspiciously for us with our Best Feature win, and a “cold” table read by three terrific Chicago actors and Katie herself of about thirty pages of my Dying in the Post-war World screenplay. I mentioned this last week, and this cast knocked it out of the park.

When the car dealership opened on Monday, we were treated well – friendly and sympathetically. They would get right to fixing our car. Sweet! It was nerve-racking, wondering what the cost would be, both in time and dollars. More than once we wandered the dealership lot looking at cars that actually worked, wondering if it was time to buy a new one and was that even practical this far from home?

As our third day at Boarders began, we were relieved to be close enough to the downtown (about two blocks of it, modest but charming and fairly complete) to take our meals at a variety of restaurants, none of whose prices were of the San Diego pocket-picking variety: a breakfast joint, a Chinese restaurant, a Mexican place, a steakhouse. A phone call late Monday from the nice dealership guy told us a part had to be ordered and with luck would arrive by noon tomorrow.

It did, and – taking on the drive back a longer route but incredibly scenic – we were home by Tuesday evening. Once again, Muscatine looked very good to us. Barb affirmed that she was never leaving the house again, but this proved to be more of a threat and less than a promise.

Thus ended two weeks in our life that, reflecting, seem like two months. Oddly, we kind of enjoyed all of it – except the San Diego prices.

The film version of Road to Perdition continues to gain latterday attention.

And here.

Check out this review from In Love With Books:

Read Leonard Maltin on the new Blu-ray of the forgotten first Wyatt Earp western, Law and Order, which features a commentary by my pal Heath Holland and me.

M.A.C.