The Bear Crawls East

Hello from frosty Philadelphia! I’m on day three of a short tour to promote California Bear, my 11th novel, which was published this past Tuesday. Leave it to me to promote a book with “California” in the title in the great states of Texas and Pennsylvania. But I’ve always been a little unusual that way.

Thanks to a certain flaw in a certain type of plane (where one of the “plug doors” suddenly blew out mid-air last week), my original flight to Houston was canceled and replaced by two flights that deposited me at George Bush Intercontinental much later than I’d intended. The moment I reached the hotel I went straight to the bistro, hoping to have a burger before the kitchen closed. The place was empty except for three fellow travelers at the bar, already engaged in lively conversation. Soon, I was part of that conversation. At some point, a road trip to Galveston was discussed. (Thankfully, wiser heads prevailed.) We all parted new friends, and one of them even made it to the signing the next night! Texas, y’all. I’m always made to feel like I’m at home here.

Speaking of: as I mentioned in my previous newsletter, Murder by the Book was where I had my first-ever signing as a novelist, so heading back there was a homecoming. Happily, the place hasn’t changed a bit, even as the titles on the shelves are ever-changing. There to moderate was my longtime friend McKenna Jordan, who I met at that first-ever signing! (Crikey, we were so young.) You could tell I was a little rusty at this whole “book signing thing” because she stumped me with the most basic question ever: What have you been reading lately? Now, I read all the time. I have metric tons of books and authors to recommend. I could do a fucking five-hour TED Talk about my reading habits. But in that instant, my mind went completely BLANK. Reading? What is reading? What are books? Anyway, huge thanks to everyone who spent their Friday night with us.

(For the record: I just finished the truly stunning Smoke Kings by Jahmal Mayfield, and packed Elmore Leonard’s Pronto for the plane.)

Then on Saturday I flew off to my actual hometown.

There are a few things difficult to find in L.A.: namely, a decent hoagie, soft pretzels and Tastykake Baked Pies. So on the way out of Philly International, I swerved off Bartram Avenue and pulled into a Wawa (which doesn’t exist on the West Coast) and ordered a meal fit for a prodigal son.

And that’s where I am right now: in South Philly (mere blocks away from where my great-grandparents lived when they first came to America ) preparing for tonight’s event at Farley’s Bookshop in New Hope, PA. This time I’ll be in conversation with another longtime friend: novelist Dave White, who never met a pun he didn’t like. Back in 2005, Dave assumed I was this surly 50something journalist and was surprised to learn I was only 33. Now, of course, I am a surly 50something ex-journalist. To paraphrase Harvey Dent: You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the cliche.

If you’re anywhere nearby, come on by and join the party. The fun starts at 6 and promptly ends at 9 because I’m old.

WHO THE...? You’ve signed up for a newsletter from writer Duane Swierczynski, who has written a dozen novels, hundreds of comic books, a fistful of screenplays and audio dramas, and other violent entertainments. He works out of a tiny private-eye style office in Old Pasadena. Learn more at gleefulmayhem.com and linktr.ee/swierczy.