Welcome to Biting-Edge, a blog shared by authors and vampire experts, Mario Acevedo and Jeanne Stein. We’ll cover urban fantasy, vampires, pop culture, and all things Joss Whedon. Unlike other fantasy blogs, we don’t insist on body cavity searches (unless you ask politely). Snarkiness is most welcome...though we won't promise not to bite back!
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Cort McMeel RIP--your passing casts a giant shadow
Mario here:
In a week brimming with bad tidings, we were still sucker punched by the news that Cort McMeel took his life.
We all know people who seem to teeter on self-destruction, and if they happen to do themselves in, we're not surprised.
But Cort was a different story.
You couldn't help but notice him. He was loud, boisterous, and earthy--a roman candle of mirth and optimism. Highly educated and exceptionally well-read, he wasn't shy about sharing his opinions, especially when it came to literature and writing. And he was just as gracious and friendly. Already a physically imposing character, his ebullient personality filled a room like exploding fireworks. Yet you never felt diminished by him, in fact we all shined brighter the closer we stood beside him.
His reputation truly preceded him as I learned about Cort through his Murdaland
anthology months before actually I met him. And when we did meet, he instantly
acknowledged that he knew of me through my books and that he had looked
forward to the introduction. And he was as effusive with other
writers. When he recently became acquainted with our own Jeanne, Cort
gushed that he enjoyed her Doc Holliday story.
Above all, Cort loved hard-boiled noir. He'd summon a few of us fellow mystery writers like Benjamin Whitmer and Jon Bassoff to his favorite watering hole, The Thin Man in the Park Hill neighborhood, where we discussed books, teaching, and our writing projects. It was through Cort that I learned about Charles Bukowski, Graham Greene, and Daniel Woodrell. He was eager to receive our comments on his almost completed cage fighter novel, and he was equally excited to read my next work-in-progress. But foremost, Cort cranked the levers of those projects promoting his beloved mystery genre. Having already demonstrated his chops as an editor and publisher with Murdaland, Noir Nation, and Bare Knuckles Press, he was ready to move forward with an ebook publishing venture. He was the force behind Denver's Noir@Bar and saw that venue as the foundation for an ambitious mystery writing program.
Cort led writing seminars at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop where he was fondly regarded as an exceptional and popular instructor. To appreciate his infectious radiance, check out these photos of the book launch party for his debut novel, Short.
It wasn't as if Cort didn't face challenges. He had recently lost his job as a day trader but assured me that he had enough money set aside and had several writing projects to help with the family cash flow.
Writer, author, boxer, rugby player, hunter, Cort swung at opportunity with two-fisted bravado. He tackled life with Hemingway-esque drama, and ironically, died the same way.
Demons tormented Cort. Not mischievous imps or the devil's henchmen that we find in urban fantasy, but real demons--those destructive impulses that torment a person to madness.
I knew Cort as a raucous, happy drunk. Even with his reputation as a hard-drinking Irishman, around me he'd cut himself off at two drinks (more or less), claiming that he had to behave. The one time we did plan a late night of boozing, I was done at eleven but Cort still knocked the drinks down, slapping backs and making new friends around the bar. He dismissed my concerns about him getting home safe, and I let it go at that. After all, I wasn't his nanny. The next morning he texted that he had slept the night in his car and then driven straight to work. Two weeks ago at our Mystery Writers meeting, I bought him beers for his dinner. But the truth was, Cort struggled against the bottle. Concerned about the affect his alcoholism was having on his wife and children, Cort tried AA. And quit AA. And continued his lonely battle.
He kept his other demon well hidden. Behind his smiles and good-natured swagger, Cort habored a corrosive bleakness about the futility of life. Despite his accomplishments and plans and people in his corner, he somehow talked himself into believing that he had run out of hope.
Last Friday, Jon and I waited at The Thin Man to plan for the next Noir@Bar. Cort never showed up and I texted him, asking if he was okay. He never answered.
Many years ago, my father committed suicide (as well as other heinous acts), and it took decades for the wounds to heal. So while my grief for Cort is biblical in its pain, I cannot pretend that my anguish is close to what his family suffers.
I can't claim that I knew Cort as well as other writers, especially Les Edgerton. Even so, I deeply admired Cort and will miss him dearly.
In a week brimming with bad tidings, we were still sucker punched by the news that Cort McMeel took his life.
We all know people who seem to teeter on self-destruction, and if they happen to do themselves in, we're not surprised.
But Cort was a different story.
You couldn't help but notice him. He was loud, boisterous, and earthy--a roman candle of mirth and optimism. Highly educated and exceptionally well-read, he wasn't shy about sharing his opinions, especially when it came to literature and writing. And he was just as gracious and friendly. Already a physically imposing character, his ebullient personality filled a room like exploding fireworks. Yet you never felt diminished by him, in fact we all shined brighter the closer we stood beside him.
Me and Cort at a Lighthouse gathering.
His reputation truly preceded him as I learned about Cort through his Murdaland
anthology months before actually I met him. And when we did meet, he instantly
acknowledged that he knew of me through my books and that he had looked
forward to the introduction. And he was as effusive with other
writers. When he recently became acquainted with our own Jeanne, Cort
gushed that he enjoyed her Doc Holliday story.Above all, Cort loved hard-boiled noir. He'd summon a few of us fellow mystery writers like Benjamin Whitmer and Jon Bassoff to his favorite watering hole, The Thin Man in the Park Hill neighborhood, where we discussed books, teaching, and our writing projects. It was through Cort that I learned about Charles Bukowski, Graham Greene, and Daniel Woodrell. He was eager to receive our comments on his almost completed cage fighter novel, and he was equally excited to read my next work-in-progress. But foremost, Cort cranked the levers of those projects promoting his beloved mystery genre. Having already demonstrated his chops as an editor and publisher with Murdaland, Noir Nation, and Bare Knuckles Press, he was ready to move forward with an ebook publishing venture. He was the force behind Denver's Noir@Bar and saw that venue as the foundation for an ambitious mystery writing program.
Dan Manzanares (L) and Cort at Lighthouse.
Cort led writing seminars at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop where he was fondly regarded as an exceptional and popular instructor. To appreciate his infectious radiance, check out these photos of the book launch party for his debut novel, Short.
It wasn't as if Cort didn't face challenges. He had recently lost his job as a day trader but assured me that he had enough money set aside and had several writing projects to help with the family cash flow.
Writer, author, boxer, rugby player, hunter, Cort swung at opportunity with two-fisted bravado. He tackled life with Hemingway-esque drama, and ironically, died the same way.
Demons tormented Cort. Not mischievous imps or the devil's henchmen that we find in urban fantasy, but real demons--those destructive impulses that torment a person to madness.
I knew Cort as a raucous, happy drunk. Even with his reputation as a hard-drinking Irishman, around me he'd cut himself off at two drinks (more or less), claiming that he had to behave. The one time we did plan a late night of boozing, I was done at eleven but Cort still knocked the drinks down, slapping backs and making new friends around the bar. He dismissed my concerns about him getting home safe, and I let it go at that. After all, I wasn't his nanny. The next morning he texted that he had slept the night in his car and then driven straight to work. Two weeks ago at our Mystery Writers meeting, I bought him beers for his dinner. But the truth was, Cort struggled against the bottle. Concerned about the affect his alcoholism was having on his wife and children, Cort tried AA. And quit AA. And continued his lonely battle.
He kept his other demon well hidden. Behind his smiles and good-natured swagger, Cort habored a corrosive bleakness about the futility of life. Despite his accomplishments and plans and people in his corner, he somehow talked himself into believing that he had run out of hope.
Last Friday, Jon and I waited at The Thin Man to plan for the next Noir@Bar. Cort never showed up and I texted him, asking if he was okay. He never answered.
Many years ago, my father committed suicide (as well as other heinous acts), and it took decades for the wounds to heal. So while my grief for Cort is biblical in its pain, I cannot pretend that my anguish is close to what his family suffers.
I can't claim that I knew Cort as well as other writers, especially Les Edgerton. Even so, I deeply admired Cort and will miss him dearly.
Labels: Cort McMeel, Murdaland, Short
¶ posted by Mario Acevedo @ 9:20 PM 33 comments
Sunday, December 09, 2012
Watch your back!
Mario here:
What I'm reading this week: The Gods of Greenwich by Norb Vonnegut.
Don't forget. This Friday, Her Highness, Jeanne Stein, and I will be signing at the Boulder Barnes & Noble as a fund raiser for the Longmont Theater Company. Jeanne posted the details last week and you'll find them here.
And this Thursday, it'll be a literary beat down with writer pals, Warren Hammond and Cort McMeel, at Noir@theBar. 8 PM. Juanita's Eat. 32 S Broadway. Pack heat and bring bandages.
It wouldn't be the holiday season without someone playing Grinch. In this case, that shame goes to one of the NY Big Six, Simon & Schuster, who teamed up with the notorious Author Solutions to screw unsuspecting writers. Basically, S&S has gotten into the vanity press business and has hired Author Solutions to fleece the unwary scribe's pockets. Knowing that it's a tough gig to get published and make money at it, Author Solutions dangles the promise of a publishing contract with S&S and then pulls the old bait-and-switch, and you're out thousands of bucks paying for over-priced self-published books no one wants. And worse, they use fake people (via Facebook) to sing the praises of their services. Sad, so sad, that a major player in America publishing stoops to scams that would make a Nigerian banker say, "Why didn't I think of that?"
People are going schizo with this Mayan end-of-the-world paranoia. Believe what you want but at least get the details right.
This is the infamous Mayan calendar.
This is an Aztec calendar. It looks like a bar coaster. It does not predict the end of the world but it does note the best times for Happy Hour.
Mario here:What I'm reading this week: The Gods of Greenwich by Norb Vonnegut.
Don't forget. This Friday, Her Highness, Jeanne Stein, and I will be signing at the Boulder Barnes & Noble as a fund raiser for the Longmont Theater Company. Jeanne posted the details last week and you'll find them here.
And this Thursday, it'll be a literary beat down with writer pals, Warren Hammond and Cort McMeel, at Noir@theBar. 8 PM. Juanita's Eat. 32 S Broadway. Pack heat and bring bandages.
It wouldn't be the holiday season without someone playing Grinch. In this case, that shame goes to one of the NY Big Six, Simon & Schuster, who teamed up with the notorious Author Solutions to screw unsuspecting writers. Basically, S&S has gotten into the vanity press business and has hired Author Solutions to fleece the unwary scribe's pockets. Knowing that it's a tough gig to get published and make money at it, Author Solutions dangles the promise of a publishing contract with S&S and then pulls the old bait-and-switch, and you're out thousands of bucks paying for over-priced self-published books no one wants. And worse, they use fake people (via Facebook) to sing the praises of their services. Sad, so sad, that a major player in America publishing stoops to scams that would make a Nigerian banker say, "Why didn't I think of that?"People are going schizo with this Mayan end-of-the-world paranoia. Believe what you want but at least get the details right.
This is the infamous Mayan calendar.
This is an Aztec calendar. It looks like a bar coaster. It does not predict the end of the world but it does note the best times for Happy Hour.
Labels: Cort McMeel, Noir at the Bar, scams, sucking chest wounds, Warren Hammond, Writers Beware
¶ posted by Mario Acevedo @ 7:55 PM 3 comments
Monday, January 10, 2011
Hot and fresh on a cold, snowy day
It's the start of another week, and we're buried in snow. But that won't stop us from sharing the good news.
Mario here:
First, several weeks ago we posted the release of Cort McMeel's debut novel, Short. Well, Cort called to tell us the first print run had sold out. Already! Congratulations. Here is Cort signing stock after his recent appearance at the Colfax Tattered Cover.
Next up, local writing pal, Julie Kazimer, has sold another urban fantasy novel, The Body Dwellers. If you haven't done so already, follow her blog, The Never Never News, and get the skinny on all the weird and pervy doings in Fairytale Land.
One thing that really chafes us writers is when we bust our tight little behinds to turn in work to our editors and we wait. And wait. And wait. So what happens? What's keeping our editors from pouring love over our precious manuscripts? Shalom Auslander spills the beans in his article Excuses, Excuses in Tablet, A New Read on the Jewish Life.
Here at the Biting Edge, we're not big on New Year's resolutions. If you have to do something, then start right now. But for 2011, I've decided to be more diligent in slinging paint and creating new work. My newest inspiration in Gregory Manchess, whose work you may recognize from tons of fantasy book covers. Here he creates something fantastic for Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time - Lord of Chaos.
Starting this Thursday, our newest contest: Bad sex in modern literature. Jeanne will provide the details. Enter and win cool swag.
Labels: Cort McMeel, Gregory Manchess, Julie Kazimer, Tablet
¶ posted by Mario Acevedo @ 7:11 AM 3 comments
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Big Man and Big Money
Mario here:
Go Jackie!
Mario here:
We be pimping the awesome Baltimore expatriate, Cort McMeel. (Their loss, Denver's gain!) Don't let this pic fool you, McMeel is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. And he's plenty generous with beer money, which makes him a favorite here at the Biting-Edge around quitting time.
McMeel was the big man behind the acclaimed Murdaland mystery anthology. Short fiction noir at its darkest and most compelling. Now he's finally made it into the big league with his financial thriller, Short. Mark your calendars, as one of their Writer's Buzz presentations, Lighthouse Writers will host McMeel's book launch party, 7pm, Saturday, December 11 at 910 Arts, 910 Santa Fe Boulevard, Denver. Miss this and you might wake up on a pier wearing cement overshoes. Just saying.
There's no doubt this publishing business is CRAZY! Try and figure it out, I dare ya!
For example, the money. Hank Steinberg sold the screen rights, in the upper six figures, for a book that hasn't even been written. Likewise, Ernie Cline sold the screen rights for an unpublished debut novel, Ready Player One. And to further antagonize your green-eyed monster, 21 y.o. Paige Harbison sold her debut novel to Galgos Entertainment.
You won't have to read much between the lines to realize, that if you're going to schmooze, schmooze with people with Hollywood juice. Steinberg created the CBS show, Without a Trace. Cline already has screenwriter credentials. Harbison's mom has a movie of her own in the works with Galgos Entertainment, starring Halle Berry. Get the scoop here.
And we turn to the literary world's favorite punching bag, James I'm no sleazeoid Frey. Now he might be a man of questionable writing talent, but he is an expert of schmoozing his way into
big piles of money. He crashed and burned after the Million Little Pieces-Oprah fiasco. Then arose phoenix-like with the novel (and a huge advance) Bright Shiny Morning, which tanked. Recently, he's garnered even more notoriety with his publishing company Full Fathom Five and its infamous writing contract. Basically, you get paid $250 upfront to write a book, maybe another $250 upon completion, and maybe 40% of revenues generated by the work. But the real bacon for Frey is this clause: a $50,000 penalty if you the writer publicly admitted that you wrote for Full Fathom Five without permission. Why wouldn't Frey want you to tell the world about this deal? Besides the larcenous contract, what makes this even worse is that Frey recruited from students during his teaching gig at Columbia. He's teaching writing? Rather than guide his students around the perilous shoals of the writing biz, he takes full advantage of their desperate desire to get published and screws them with this offer. For details on the contract, read about it in the NY Mag.
But it's not always about the money. Sometimes, you get the most marvelous ego stroke like what happened to Leaguer pal, Jackie Morse Kessler, when Neil Gaiman had this photo taken with her book, Hunger.
Go Jackie!Labels: Cort McMeel, Hank Steinberg, Lighthouse Writers, Murdaland, Short
¶ posted by Mario Acevedo @ 4:51 PM 2 comments
