Austin, TX. Part 2: Austin Books
When I walked through the door of Austin books the first thing I noticed was the undulating murmur of the crowd. It would crescendo up to an excited roar then taper off to near silence. John (Picacio) would later remark during one of the quiet spells that it was slightly unnerving like everyone was expectantly waiting for something to happen.
Glancing around at the many score people in the store it slowly dawned on me just how big this shop was. I couldn’t venture a guess at floor space in feet or meters, but I could tell it was at least twice the size of any other Comic shop I had ever been in and at least five times the size of my local comic and novelty shop, “Hidden Treasures.” 10 years ago I worked part time at a local B.Dalton bookstore; the entire store-including stock room-would have been able to fit three or four times over within Austin Books. And it had that smell. The smell of barely dried ink, book glue, and paper dust. The smell any self-respecting bibliophile or bibliomaniac (not certain where in there I fit) can recognize from a stone’s throw.
It was love and attention in that shop. A person walking in there can immediately see the care with which the entire stock has been handled. Each comic, magazine, and book in placed just so. Spaced perfectly. No creases, no bends, no jamming something in to fit. It doesn’t matter if it an Ennis, Gaiman, Moore, or a Whatsit, Ho-hum, or Nimrod; everything that has a binding (and even some that don’t) is loved. Carefully stacked and organized statues rest in their mint boxes on shelves, end-caps, and counters. They know their customers, you can tell. They know that even if they don’t care for this book or that artist others do, and out of respect for those potential others they don’t play favorites.
I wish I had an extra day (and a few thousand dollars) in Austin just to burn an afternoon (and those few thousand dollars) in the store.
The bulk of the crowd was to my left, mobbed together in front of the table where Mike and John were signing, greeting, and chatting with their wives chaperoning over their shoulders (good thing too, if not for Linda and Traci I have the feeling Mike and John would have happily talked to each guest for hours). I couldn’t see either at first-the crowd was too thick-so I briefly debated whether or not to sneak around the side of crowd and let them know I had arrived (they were expecting me thanks to communication on www.multiverse.org). A second glance at the crowd made me realize that there were just too many good fans of both author and artist for me to risk disrespecting them by ignoring the line (or, queue if you prefer). So, without a word, I started the winding trek to far end of the line.
I found it on the far end of the shop, through the aisles and around a corner. It was going to be long wait.
No sooner did I get into line that someone came behind me: at least I wasn’t the last one!
“Were you here for the reading?” I looked back at him, blue striped shirt and cloth hat. His arms were full of various edition of Elric and his eyes were joyous. Here is a man that has been waiting years for this chance, I thought, and now he’s had it.
Cursing my limited budget and flight options I let him know that I had only just arrived in town.
“Where did you come from?”
“Minnesota.”
If it weren’t for the noise of the rest of the crowd, I’m certain his stunned silence could have spontaneously hatched the ubiquitous chirping cricket. It was a response I would get used to over the next hour. Well, that and the successive explosion of awe as the import of my distance from home fully dawned on people.
“Minnesota!? I thought coming from Fort Worth was far!” “Did you say, ‘Minnesota!?’” “Did you come just for this?” I would get all matter of responses and questions while waiting in line from a number of people. By the time I was nearing the table some of the other fans were treating me as some sort of celebrity in my own right. “He-Who-Came-From-Minnesota”
The man behind me (who would later introduce himself as Carlos), his girlfriend/companion, and I talked for most of the long shuffle through the line. Initially the conversation was about being a Moorcock fan, of course; after all, how big a fan must I be to fly all the way from Minnesota. Not obsessive, no. Just fan-enough, is the answer. I explained to him that it wasn’t entirely my doing; it was a wedding/birthday present to me from my fiancée. That gave rise to most heard comment of my entire trip, “you have to keep that one!” (You don’t need to tell me that!)
Early on, several others-the ones from Dallas/Fort Worth, if my addled brain recalls-came to say good bye to Carlos. They overhead the bit about me coming down from Minnesota and out of appreciation or amazement, or perhaps just sharing fandom, they gave me a promo poster for the event that Mike had already signed. I think that is when the surrealism started to kick in.
There I was in Austin, Texas having traveled half-way across the country and I realized that I’d end up spending less time at my destination that I would in travel. Why was I here?
Was I some raving lunatic, obsessed with celebrity? Did I require the presence of fame to validate myself? Was I after bragging rights? No. Nothing so depraved, nothing so deep, nothing so shallow. It was simple, really.
As I waited in line, conversing with Carlos and the others my mind was working; looking for the truth in the answers I gave and the questions I had. I came to understand that it wasn’t even about the prospect of dinner or conversation. It was about shaking Mike’s hand and saying, “thank you.”
Thank you for your creations, your art, and your insight.
I explained some of this to Carlos as we approached the head of the line, standing in the aisle with thousands of comic books in pretty little rows to either side.
I found Mike’s work, Elric first, in the anthology “Tales of the White Wolf” by White Wolf. It was the title first that caught my attention. I was at that time in the early stages of developing a character who had a white wolf companion (in the more recent versions of the character he is the white wolf…after a fashion, but that’s another conversation). I picked the book off the shelf and saw that striking Brom cover. The white-faced Elric standing before a faded white background; framed on either side by the remnants of some wall or portal crowned in eagles’ heads (or perhaps representations of the devil-dogs from “While the Gods Laugh”). His clothes are worn and tattered, his black scale armor similarly showing signs of abuse. On his left hip, an empty scabbard; in his right hand a massive black sword held casually low. His waist and pose are almost feminine, his right hip jutting out and up. His face draws attention, for there, framed in the wisps of white hair and half hidden under the blue shadows of his brow are two sparks of angry red; his eyes.
The cover and title weren’t enough to buy the book. It wasn’t until I opened it to see what it was about that I made the decision to buy it. I had never heard of Michael Moorcock, or most of the authors in the collection for that matter, but the author that was first favorite in the genre, the one that led me into the genre for that matter, was represented. Tad Williams. The story was titled “Go Ask Elric.”
I devoured the book, much to the chagrin of my Phy.Ed. teacher as I did much of the reading between throws and laps.
I was 14 and the heedless-most likely needless-angst of middle-class adolescence was taking hold of my life. Elric spoke to me in many ways (my friend who I stayed with before heading down Austin even called me “Elric” through most of high school). As I delved deeper into the character I found myself seeing a lot of my own anti-social cynicism in him. I started to track down the old DAW editions in used bookstores and careless of whether I owned a particular volume or not, would buy them and read them.
It was shortly thereafter that White Wolf began releasing their collected Eternal Champion Omnibuses. As the picture of Elric and Eternal Champion (EC) started to open to me I could feel myself growing. It was the right work, at the right time for me.
It was the way I could associate myself with various aspects of the EC that helped me get though many of my own intern troubles and struggles. It was the fight of my own burgeoning morality and conscience against my actions and those around me that was hardest to deal with. The reconciliation of my own young ideas with what I saw as a growing decadence in my environment and society. It was through Mike’s work that I was able to find new paths of thought. I was able to take the very entertaining threads of fiction and see within them a message and example that seemed only for me. A personal morality.
I was 16 and my personal philosophy had become, “perception defines reality.” I wouldn’t know what existentialism was for another five years.
For five years or so I would fight the steady waves of depression so commonly spoken of today. I never saw a doctor, I never medicated. I had my own drug, my own therapy: Moorcock. Mike’s work helped me face the reality-in all of its pain and, I would see later, glory-of my life and my world. I came accept the myriad points of view I saw. I learned that there is often more than one right answer. I began to see the beauty of variability.
It has been over 12 years since that first taste of Elric and Mike and a lot has changed for me; especially me. I look back and laugh at the angst and depression recognizing now that there was no real cause for it, other than the causes I created. It was honest, though, and real. It affected me and shaped and I know that without my books-especially Mike’s-I would have had a much harder time to overcome that and triumph in that period of my life.
So, yes. It was for a handshake and kind a word that I flew across the country. It was for what I felt was a debt owed.
I spoke something of this and much more in conversation while we came ever closer to the table. The most difficult moment came near the end, when Carlos-who had been such amazing company, bearing my rambles and sharing his own-asked if I had dinner plans.
How can I turn down a gracious offer of dinner in a polite way without telling him why? The answer, I realized, was that I couldn’t.
“Actually,” I hesitated as I found the best way to tell him, “keep this quiet because I don’t want everyone knowing; but, I’m having dinner with Mike and John tonight.”
I can’t recall his exact words, but they were something to the effect that he now hates me (playfully, of course). He then added, “At least I can say I stood next to you!”
By that time I was almost to the table. I looked up and saw John, younger than I had anticipated, enjoying himself immensely but I still had the impression that he was starting to feel a tired. Beyond him was Mike.
My mind actually reeled slightly…he wasn’t wearing a hat! I had only seen pictures of him and most every picture I had seen showed him behatted. His focus was entirely on the work directly at hand and he leaned an ear attentively forward to catch the name of the fan before him. Linda was close beside him, a calm and organizing presence.
The line had grown behind me and still reached halfway back to where I had started. One of the Austin Books employees was coming by and letting people know that because it was getting late and there were still a lot of people that Mike and John were only signing one piece per person now. It was a small matter to me; I intended only on getting a copy of “Elric: The Stealer of Souls” and having them sign that (well, that and having John sign the promo poster I had been given).
It was close to closing time when I finally got to John.
He looked up at me from his chair pen in hand and waited for my name so he could personalize the pieces I put before him.
“John,” I said as confidently as I could muster at the time, “I’m Eric, ‘EverKing.’” I extended my hand.
I wish I could get the reaction he gave me every time I introduce myself. His eyes lit up and he practically jumped out of his chair. “Ah! Awesome! You’re EverKing?” He shook my hand while I nodded in confirmation. He looked back at Traci, “This is the dude that came down from Minnesota for this! It is so awesome that you’re here! Wait! I got some stuff for you, just hold on.”
He reached down and started digging into a bag. Out comes “Silverheart: A Novel of the Multiverse” by Michael Moorcock and Storm Constantine (cover by John Picacio) and “Tales from Texas Woods” by Mike with a cover by John. “Do you have these?”
I’m thrilled! “No! I’ve been trying to find ‘Tales…’ for a while now and haven’t been able to.”
“Perfect, these are yours.” He goes on to explain that “Tales…” was the first time he did Elric (on the back cover) and that he is pretty embarrassed by it-wrongfully so, I might add. That particular treatment of our favorite “silverskin” fits perfectly with the theme and style of the book.
He goes quickly, but still takes enough time to add good personalization to each book and chat while he does so. His friend, Brian, snapped a quick picture of us. Not sure what happened to that one. I ask him about the pencil work he did for the book and points out that several of the originals are on the table right in front of me. Not prints, or copies…the originals. I can see the texture of the page and the stroke of the pencils. I thought the teasers he posted on his website (http://johnpicacio.com/blog.html) were impressive enough but the originals are mind boggling! Maybe it is because I do pencil work and can see it better than I can see paint or another medium, but I can really appreciate the talent, practice, and skill he displays with those drawings. Or, as with Mike’s writing, maybe it is because I see something of myself in John’s art. His style is very similar (albeit more complete and practiced) to mine. Fantastical realism, I suppose would be closest term I can think of.
I didn’t want to hog John’s time at signing so when he was done signing my books and poster, I quietly moved over the Mike. Here is where the picture of me that is posted at http://www.multiverse.org/imagehive/v/mikepix/album16/AusSign2302/ was taken.
I was quickly in front of Mike. I laid the books and offered my hand and introduced myself as I had with John. Due to the swell in noise at the time and my own quiet voice Mike missed the initial reference to “EverKing.” I didn’t want to press the matter, knowing that there would be plenty of time to talk later. Someone asked me again whether I had been there for the reading and I said that I had, regrettably, missed it. “Well,” Mike joked, “we’ll just do the whole thing over for you!” It was then that John piped in informed Mike who I was.
Mike’s reaction was as pleasing as John’s. His face almost beamed and I’d like to think that my being there, even late though I was, helped give him a little extra spark of energy. His voice was warm and friendly, earnest even, when he said he happy I had made it. (On a side note, hearing the English accent, even though it was subtly different, made me miss my “mum,” June, who was from the London area). He took his time with personalizing my books; going so far as drawing the “Masked Buckaroo” in my copy of “Stealer of Souls” and warning me to, “…watch out for that EverKing, too…”
Linda made sure that no one was missed, bless her. She reminded Mike and I that there was still a sizable crowd waiting for their chance; so, I stepped aside and went to pay for my book.
I let the rest of the crowd dwindle and let the great hosts of Austin Books get everything in order while I sat back in a chair and began to read Allen Moore’s foreword in “Elric: The Stealer of Souls.” I soon found the gem of Moore’s description of Melniboné as “an anti-matter antidote to Middle-Earth, a toxic fluorescing elf repellant.” I was so entertained I had to momentarily set the book.
Brian sat down next to me while everyone was finishing up and we talked a bit about John’s and Mike’s work and how he knows them. I filled him in, briefly, on how I made it down from Minnesota and the occasion that permitted; drawing once more the “she’s a keeper!” comment! Brian talked about watching John’s art grow over the years and how he had been some small part of it, here and there.
As the crowd dissipated and Mike and John completed their signing we all started getting things together. I met Allison Baker from MonkeyBrain Books and several of the crew from Austin Books. Mike came up and again stated how pleased he was that I had made it. “When I was reading, even though I had never seen you before, I looked for you and had the feeling you weren’t there.”
There I was, standing face to face with Michael Moorcock. No crowd, no pressure, just a handful of people. I smiled and all I could think to say was, “how are you doing?”
Glancing around at the many score people in the store it slowly dawned on me just how big this shop was. I couldn’t venture a guess at floor space in feet or meters, but I could tell it was at least twice the size of any other Comic shop I had ever been in and at least five times the size of my local comic and novelty shop, “Hidden Treasures.” 10 years ago I worked part time at a local B.Dalton bookstore; the entire store-including stock room-would have been able to fit three or four times over within Austin Books. And it had that smell. The smell of barely dried ink, book glue, and paper dust. The smell any self-respecting bibliophile or bibliomaniac (not certain where in there I fit) can recognize from a stone’s throw.
It was love and attention in that shop. A person walking in there can immediately see the care with which the entire stock has been handled. Each comic, magazine, and book in placed just so. Spaced perfectly. No creases, no bends, no jamming something in to fit. It doesn’t matter if it an Ennis, Gaiman, Moore, or a Whatsit, Ho-hum, or Nimrod; everything that has a binding (and even some that don’t) is loved. Carefully stacked and organized statues rest in their mint boxes on shelves, end-caps, and counters. They know their customers, you can tell. They know that even if they don’t care for this book or that artist others do, and out of respect for those potential others they don’t play favorites.
I wish I had an extra day (and a few thousand dollars) in Austin just to burn an afternoon (and those few thousand dollars) in the store.
The bulk of the crowd was to my left, mobbed together in front of the table where Mike and John were signing, greeting, and chatting with their wives chaperoning over their shoulders (good thing too, if not for Linda and Traci I have the feeling Mike and John would have happily talked to each guest for hours). I couldn’t see either at first-the crowd was too thick-so I briefly debated whether or not to sneak around the side of crowd and let them know I had arrived (they were expecting me thanks to communication on www.multiverse.org). A second glance at the crowd made me realize that there were just too many good fans of both author and artist for me to risk disrespecting them by ignoring the line (or, queue if you prefer). So, without a word, I started the winding trek to far end of the line.
I found it on the far end of the shop, through the aisles and around a corner. It was going to be long wait.
No sooner did I get into line that someone came behind me: at least I wasn’t the last one!
“Were you here for the reading?” I looked back at him, blue striped shirt and cloth hat. His arms were full of various edition of Elric and his eyes were joyous. Here is a man that has been waiting years for this chance, I thought, and now he’s had it.
Cursing my limited budget and flight options I let him know that I had only just arrived in town.
“Where did you come from?”
“Minnesota.”
If it weren’t for the noise of the rest of the crowd, I’m certain his stunned silence could have spontaneously hatched the ubiquitous chirping cricket. It was a response I would get used to over the next hour. Well, that and the successive explosion of awe as the import of my distance from home fully dawned on people.
“Minnesota!? I thought coming from Fort Worth was far!” “Did you say, ‘Minnesota!?’” “Did you come just for this?” I would get all matter of responses and questions while waiting in line from a number of people. By the time I was nearing the table some of the other fans were treating me as some sort of celebrity in my own right. “He-Who-Came-From-Minnesota”
The man behind me (who would later introduce himself as Carlos), his girlfriend/companion, and I talked for most of the long shuffle through the line. Initially the conversation was about being a Moorcock fan, of course; after all, how big a fan must I be to fly all the way from Minnesota. Not obsessive, no. Just fan-enough, is the answer. I explained to him that it wasn’t entirely my doing; it was a wedding/birthday present to me from my fiancée. That gave rise to most heard comment of my entire trip, “you have to keep that one!” (You don’t need to tell me that!)
Early on, several others-the ones from Dallas/Fort Worth, if my addled brain recalls-came to say good bye to Carlos. They overhead the bit about me coming down from Minnesota and out of appreciation or amazement, or perhaps just sharing fandom, they gave me a promo poster for the event that Mike had already signed. I think that is when the surrealism started to kick in.
There I was in Austin, Texas having traveled half-way across the country and I realized that I’d end up spending less time at my destination that I would in travel. Why was I here?
Was I some raving lunatic, obsessed with celebrity? Did I require the presence of fame to validate myself? Was I after bragging rights? No. Nothing so depraved, nothing so deep, nothing so shallow. It was simple, really.
As I waited in line, conversing with Carlos and the others my mind was working; looking for the truth in the answers I gave and the questions I had. I came to understand that it wasn’t even about the prospect of dinner or conversation. It was about shaking Mike’s hand and saying, “thank you.”
Thank you for your creations, your art, and your insight.
I explained some of this to Carlos as we approached the head of the line, standing in the aisle with thousands of comic books in pretty little rows to either side.
I found Mike’s work, Elric first, in the anthology “Tales of the White Wolf” by White Wolf. It was the title first that caught my attention. I was at that time in the early stages of developing a character who had a white wolf companion (in the more recent versions of the character he is the white wolf…after a fashion, but that’s another conversation). I picked the book off the shelf and saw that striking Brom cover. The white-faced Elric standing before a faded white background; framed on either side by the remnants of some wall or portal crowned in eagles’ heads (or perhaps representations of the devil-dogs from “While the Gods Laugh”). His clothes are worn and tattered, his black scale armor similarly showing signs of abuse. On his left hip, an empty scabbard; in his right hand a massive black sword held casually low. His waist and pose are almost feminine, his right hip jutting out and up. His face draws attention, for there, framed in the wisps of white hair and half hidden under the blue shadows of his brow are two sparks of angry red; his eyes.
The cover and title weren’t enough to buy the book. It wasn’t until I opened it to see what it was about that I made the decision to buy it. I had never heard of Michael Moorcock, or most of the authors in the collection for that matter, but the author that was first favorite in the genre, the one that led me into the genre for that matter, was represented. Tad Williams. The story was titled “Go Ask Elric.”
I devoured the book, much to the chagrin of my Phy.Ed. teacher as I did much of the reading between throws and laps.
I was 14 and the heedless-most likely needless-angst of middle-class adolescence was taking hold of my life. Elric spoke to me in many ways (my friend who I stayed with before heading down Austin even called me “Elric” through most of high school). As I delved deeper into the character I found myself seeing a lot of my own anti-social cynicism in him. I started to track down the old DAW editions in used bookstores and careless of whether I owned a particular volume or not, would buy them and read them.
It was shortly thereafter that White Wolf began releasing their collected Eternal Champion Omnibuses. As the picture of Elric and Eternal Champion (EC) started to open to me I could feel myself growing. It was the right work, at the right time for me.
It was the way I could associate myself with various aspects of the EC that helped me get though many of my own intern troubles and struggles. It was the fight of my own burgeoning morality and conscience against my actions and those around me that was hardest to deal with. The reconciliation of my own young ideas with what I saw as a growing decadence in my environment and society. It was through Mike’s work that I was able to find new paths of thought. I was able to take the very entertaining threads of fiction and see within them a message and example that seemed only for me. A personal morality.
I was 16 and my personal philosophy had become, “perception defines reality.” I wouldn’t know what existentialism was for another five years.
For five years or so I would fight the steady waves of depression so commonly spoken of today. I never saw a doctor, I never medicated. I had my own drug, my own therapy: Moorcock. Mike’s work helped me face the reality-in all of its pain and, I would see later, glory-of my life and my world. I came accept the myriad points of view I saw. I learned that there is often more than one right answer. I began to see the beauty of variability.
It has been over 12 years since that first taste of Elric and Mike and a lot has changed for me; especially me. I look back and laugh at the angst and depression recognizing now that there was no real cause for it, other than the causes I created. It was honest, though, and real. It affected me and shaped and I know that without my books-especially Mike’s-I would have had a much harder time to overcome that and triumph in that period of my life.
So, yes. It was for a handshake and kind a word that I flew across the country. It was for what I felt was a debt owed.
I spoke something of this and much more in conversation while we came ever closer to the table. The most difficult moment came near the end, when Carlos-who had been such amazing company, bearing my rambles and sharing his own-asked if I had dinner plans.
How can I turn down a gracious offer of dinner in a polite way without telling him why? The answer, I realized, was that I couldn’t.
“Actually,” I hesitated as I found the best way to tell him, “keep this quiet because I don’t want everyone knowing; but, I’m having dinner with Mike and John tonight.”
I can’t recall his exact words, but they were something to the effect that he now hates me (playfully, of course). He then added, “At least I can say I stood next to you!”
By that time I was almost to the table. I looked up and saw John, younger than I had anticipated, enjoying himself immensely but I still had the impression that he was starting to feel a tired. Beyond him was Mike.
My mind actually reeled slightly…he wasn’t wearing a hat! I had only seen pictures of him and most every picture I had seen showed him behatted. His focus was entirely on the work directly at hand and he leaned an ear attentively forward to catch the name of the fan before him. Linda was close beside him, a calm and organizing presence.
The line had grown behind me and still reached halfway back to where I had started. One of the Austin Books employees was coming by and letting people know that because it was getting late and there were still a lot of people that Mike and John were only signing one piece per person now. It was a small matter to me; I intended only on getting a copy of “Elric: The Stealer of Souls” and having them sign that (well, that and having John sign the promo poster I had been given).
It was close to closing time when I finally got to John.
He looked up at me from his chair pen in hand and waited for my name so he could personalize the pieces I put before him.
“John,” I said as confidently as I could muster at the time, “I’m Eric, ‘EverKing.’” I extended my hand.
I wish I could get the reaction he gave me every time I introduce myself. His eyes lit up and he practically jumped out of his chair. “Ah! Awesome! You’re EverKing?” He shook my hand while I nodded in confirmation. He looked back at Traci, “This is the dude that came down from Minnesota for this! It is so awesome that you’re here! Wait! I got some stuff for you, just hold on.”
He reached down and started digging into a bag. Out comes “Silverheart: A Novel of the Multiverse” by Michael Moorcock and Storm Constantine (cover by John Picacio) and “Tales from Texas Woods” by Mike with a cover by John. “Do you have these?”
I’m thrilled! “No! I’ve been trying to find ‘Tales…’ for a while now and haven’t been able to.”
“Perfect, these are yours.” He goes on to explain that “Tales…” was the first time he did Elric (on the back cover) and that he is pretty embarrassed by it-wrongfully so, I might add. That particular treatment of our favorite “silverskin” fits perfectly with the theme and style of the book.
He goes quickly, but still takes enough time to add good personalization to each book and chat while he does so. His friend, Brian, snapped a quick picture of us. Not sure what happened to that one. I ask him about the pencil work he did for the book and points out that several of the originals are on the table right in front of me. Not prints, or copies…the originals. I can see the texture of the page and the stroke of the pencils. I thought the teasers he posted on his website (http://johnpicacio.com/blog.html) were impressive enough but the originals are mind boggling! Maybe it is because I do pencil work and can see it better than I can see paint or another medium, but I can really appreciate the talent, practice, and skill he displays with those drawings. Or, as with Mike’s writing, maybe it is because I see something of myself in John’s art. His style is very similar (albeit more complete and practiced) to mine. Fantastical realism, I suppose would be closest term I can think of.
I didn’t want to hog John’s time at signing so when he was done signing my books and poster, I quietly moved over the Mike. Here is where the picture of me that is posted at http://www.multiverse.org/imagehive/v/mikepix/album16/AusSign2302/ was taken.
I was quickly in front of Mike. I laid the books and offered my hand and introduced myself as I had with John. Due to the swell in noise at the time and my own quiet voice Mike missed the initial reference to “EverKing.” I didn’t want to press the matter, knowing that there would be plenty of time to talk later. Someone asked me again whether I had been there for the reading and I said that I had, regrettably, missed it. “Well,” Mike joked, “we’ll just do the whole thing over for you!” It was then that John piped in informed Mike who I was.
Mike’s reaction was as pleasing as John’s. His face almost beamed and I’d like to think that my being there, even late though I was, helped give him a little extra spark of energy. His voice was warm and friendly, earnest even, when he said he happy I had made it. (On a side note, hearing the English accent, even though it was subtly different, made me miss my “mum,” June, who was from the London area). He took his time with personalizing my books; going so far as drawing the “Masked Buckaroo” in my copy of “Stealer of Souls” and warning me to, “…watch out for that EverKing, too…”
Linda made sure that no one was missed, bless her. She reminded Mike and I that there was still a sizable crowd waiting for their chance; so, I stepped aside and went to pay for my book.
I let the rest of the crowd dwindle and let the great hosts of Austin Books get everything in order while I sat back in a chair and began to read Allen Moore’s foreword in “Elric: The Stealer of Souls.” I soon found the gem of Moore’s description of Melniboné as “an anti-matter antidote to Middle-Earth, a toxic fluorescing elf repellant.” I was so entertained I had to momentarily set the book.
Brian sat down next to me while everyone was finishing up and we talked a bit about John’s and Mike’s work and how he knows them. I filled him in, briefly, on how I made it down from Minnesota and the occasion that permitted; drawing once more the “she’s a keeper!” comment! Brian talked about watching John’s art grow over the years and how he had been some small part of it, here and there.
As the crowd dissipated and Mike and John completed their signing we all started getting things together. I met Allison Baker from MonkeyBrain Books and several of the crew from Austin Books. Mike came up and again stated how pleased he was that I had made it. “When I was reading, even though I had never seen you before, I looked for you and had the feeling you weren’t there.”
There I was, standing face to face with Michael Moorcock. No crowd, no pressure, just a handful of people. I smiled and all I could think to say was, “how are you doing?”