Future Lovecraft Contest

I have two copies of Future Lovecraft to give away. It contains my story Deep Blue Dreams, which is my first Real Book publication. (Not to sneer at my Real Internet publication, which was quite lovely.)

So a contest! A contest!

Right now, I really should be promoting myself. But it's the winter, and I'm too fucking miserable to make a convincing case. I'm at a stage where I need to start establishing a presence on Amazon (I've decided not to fight gravity), and I need to get a professional website up, get cards printed, get a mailing list going -- in other words, begin actually establishing a professional persona in a conscious fashion.

So.

There will be two prizes, consisting of a signed copy of Future Lovecraft, inside of which will be tucked a small piece of signed original art. Possibly a pencil sketch, possibly a linoleum print or ink drawing, it will be a) old, b) shabby, and c) actually a decent piece of work suitable for framing. Which makes it a lottery ticket that pays off if I am successful in the arts. Whee!

One prize will be given to the person who provides me with the best bit of promotion on Amazon, whether it's a review, a posted link, or some other action beyond my primitive imagining. Either post a link in the comments or send me an email at craven dot sean at gmail dot com. Here is my Amazon page. And here is where you can read Tourists for free -- but that's not to discourage you from throwing me (and Macmillan and Amazon) money.

(And reviews of Future Lovecraft should be based on the Kindle edition or lie to me or ask me to send you my story or something. Here is a possible and legitimate 'or something.' It's the middle of the winter and I'm stupid. You figure it out.)

The other prize will be given to the person who gives me the best advice on building my public persona. This advice may take the form of a link to information, a book recommendation, etc. Anything actually useful is game. Again, leave your advice in the comments, or email me at craven dot sean at gmail dot com.

This contest will run through January 10, and I will announce the winners as soon afterward as possible, and maybe even before if I lose my damned mind.

Let me tell you a story, folks. (clutches hat to chest; his expression would be pathetic were it not for a touch of sly humor in his squinty little eyes)

When I was a kid, my favorite TV preacher was Doctor Scott, because we hadn't graduated to Robert Tilton yet. I loved the way Doctor Scott would refer to the idiots who sent him money as his 'King's Houses.' It was basically a term of abuse, I suppose, but it still thrilled me when he'd hear how the contributions were rolling in and he'd leap to his feet in rage and point his finger at the ceiling.

"What kind of lousy numbers is that? What kind of King's Houses have I got, anyway? If I don't get five thousand more dollars in the next five minutes, I'm putting the damned singers back on again and see how you like that."

Doctor Scott looms large in my consciousness, and right now he's rising up inside me, looking at you -- YOU! -- my friends, relatives, and readers, and he's asking a question. He is thinking of this contest, and of how my poor old Amazon items have no reviews and precious few sales and he knows you -- YOU! -- can do something about this and he wants to know.

What kind of King's Houses have I got, anyway?

Plus, the prizes! Cool prizes!

Stay tuned to find out what art will be shipped out!

State of the Oaf

So, whatcha think of the new look? Please glance to your right and notice the link to my spanking new Redbubble gallery, where the Bonelands series of prints is currently posted and ready for purchase. Also note a few changes in my blog roll -- I've added a couple of pals, deleted a few people who -- while certainly worthy -- were not particularly close to my circle.

See, it turns out that I passed 20,000 hits when I wasn't looking so I figured it was time to class the joint up. The banner? I didn't use 3D software; instead, I used Illustrator to draft a three-point perspective grid, then I drew the shapes in Photoshop, rendered them in Painter, and then brought the thing back to Photoshop for the lettering. Fun times.

So here's what's going on with me.

There's no need to go into the hell of last winter. If you're a reader, you've got an idea, if you're not, you don't need to read my pissing and moaning.

Things are different now.

I have a number of very specific plans to try and make some money. I'm going to be putting all my old art up on Redbubble and possibly DeviantArt galleries, and there will be prints available. My friend Deborah has recently approached me about doing a series of place mats with a dinosaur theme. I'll do those, and then use them as samples of my art when I try and sell a children's book on dinosaurs. And I'm entering the UC Extension editorial program this fall, and while I'm doing that I will be investigating the possibility of writing and editing manuals and tutorials for graphics software.

And I won't be going further into debt while pursuing these options. My sister has finally agreed to sell our family house in Merced, so I'll have enough money to get through the editorial program.

I will also be able to make a few changes in my studio that will make it a more effective creative space. Blinds on the west window so I can work in the late afternoon and early evening, a pillow to support a drawing board so I can sketch while at my workstation, a new stand for my light table so I can use it as a surface for blocking out plots with Post-It notes and file cards, and whatever I need to do podcasts. (That's right, by the end of the summer you'll be getting some spoken-word Oaf.)

The novel is cooking right along. I did some important writing yesterday, and will be doing a thorough re-reading in conjunction with the new plot outline generated at Taos Toolbox. I have every confidence that by the end of the summer, I'll be starting to circulate both the novel and the film script.

And Taos Toolbox was perfect. It set me back on my feet, made me feel that plot is learnable and the novel is under control, and the sheer pleasure of doing something well with people you respect is a difficult thing to beat.

I'm a little further along the process of coming to terms with myself. I am, like it or not, a classic crazy genius. If you were to go back and read this blog from the beginning, you'd find a fascinating if not always pleasant history of what seems to be a series of bipolar episodes. I run the gamut from sleepy croaks to extreme lucidity to hysterical ravings, and if you plot these out you do seem to get a sine wave.

So I am going to be experimenting with therapy, as well. But right now I'm riding the sweet edge of a manic state, and it's a hell of a lot of fun.

I'm grateful to all the people in my life who are patient enough to put up with me. I'm a rewarding person, I hope, but I'm not what you'd call easy on the nerves. Oh, well. Dealing with me is not always like dealing with a person. I'm a bit of a force of nature, a larger-than-life character, and that's just the way it is.

In the past I've felt kind of crappy about the fact that the personality I present to the outside world is one I deliberately tried to construct -- it's only bad craftsmanship on my part that keeps me from being arrestingly charismatic -- but I've come to realize that I had to assemble that personality from the parts I had laying around, and some of those parts are actually fairly admirable.

Yeah, I'm a weirdo. Even in the company of New Agers, stoners, junkies, writers, artists, and SF people I still stand out as an eccentric. What the fuck. You know what I am?

I am brilliant. Smart, talented, imaginative, and skilled. I have an excellent prose style, a fine control over composition, a rock-solid rhythm. I'm a brute, but I'm a good-natured brute. Having me around is like having a pet bear. And at the same time, I like to take care of people. I'm the kind of person people ask for advice, the kind of person children and animals automatically trust. People tend to open up to me if I'm around them for more than twenty minutes or so. That's because I really listen, and I really care. My raging insanity is balanced by a mind of exceptionally fine discipline, and the intense pressures involved in that balance are the source of my art.

I'm a man you don't meet every day.

My powerful drives toward self-negation and self-destruction are hard on the people who care for me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry -- but that is something that's going to come up. It just is. I can take responsibility for it, but sometimes I'm going to need help.

The thing is? I get that help. People think I'm worth the extra effort. I am so grateful for the kindness of those around me that it's hard to deal with sometimes, but it's enough to keep me going, to keep me motivated, to keep me interested in life. Every kind word and gesture extended to me carries a vital importance that I cannot ignore.

So think of it this way. If you're going to care about me, expect a fucking rollercoaster -- but you can count on a scenic ride. Yes, I make extra demands on the people around me. I wish I didn't. But I'm a rewarding person to be around in ways you won't get from anyone else. It's my job to be as good a person as I can be, but I simply am not going to be an easy person, and I'm through thinking I should be. I am big and hard and complicated and frequently difficult, because that's who I am.

I just have to try and be worth the trouble.

So The Presentation Went Well, Aside From The Way I Dressed

The missus took this picture of me; I'm standing in a doorway in order to give a sense of scale. Since I never see myself in this kind of context it's a little unnerving to see just how big I really am. There are places in the world where people would look at me and go, "Hey, I bet we could get a canoe out of that son of a bitch."

And is it just me or does that outfit say 'Cop show?'

Well, I had my final presentation for the Art Marketing class Tuesday night and I think it went fairly well. Let me correct myself; it went damned well. The people on the panel were a working filmmaker, a graphic designer, and the chairman(person) of the art department at school.

Well, they said flat-out that my work is gallery quality. There was something that threw me a little bit, though. They also said that my art would have been a lot less interesting to them without the story behind it and the words associated with it. As I've mentioned many times before, these pieces were done as inspiration for the novel; in my packet the prints of my art also featured related paragraphs from my writing.

So it was suggested that should a gallery show come to pass it would behoove me to a) figure out some way of working the novel into the mix, say by posting plaques featuring the appropriate writing side-by-side with the prints, and b) make a video featuring either an interview with me or just me explaining the story behind the work. Today in class my instructor made a point of repeating this again. Okay, chief. Whatever you say.

The thing that gets me about that is that (that! that!) I learned how to make art because I wanted to do comics; now I'm contemplating a gallery show with fucking captions. You can't rise higher than your roots...

The other encouraging thing that came out is that I'm apparently very well-spoken. I was told in so many words that once your art is good enough to get you in the door it's your ability to present yourself that makes the real difference -- and made it plain that the way I come across in person is a real area of strength for me.

Go figure.

Afterward we went out for drinks and pizza. (I had a red ale that was a bit green and sour and a very dry and toasty porter that more than compensated.) It was quite nice; the class was small and we've gotten to be quite fond of one another. And one of the people in class works at a local bookstore. When I was being congratulated on the way I handled myself I mentioned that I'd been considering some kind of performance and that one of my writer's groups was talking about organizing a reading; he said that we should do it at his store. Details to come; I'll be talking to my writing buddies about this in half an hour or so.

Of course the grownup costume I wore was a whole other kettle of slimy disgusting fish that bite. I've never had a sports coat before; the last time I tried to wear a tie was in my twenties and I warped it when I tried to tie it. I haven't had a white long sleeved shirt since those days either. And my pants were polyester.

There were two issues that contributed to the disgraceful quality of my appointment. First, I've got a bit of an unusual build and it's difficult to find clothes that fit me well. I'm sort of menhir-shaped -- short legs, long torso, narrow shoulders, wide hips, long thick neck, long arms, and general behemothosity all make me long for the day when I can afford to have my clothes tailored.

I'm not criticizing my body here -- I'm very pleased to have the kind of physiognomy that lets me walk anywhere at night. I just don't have the kind of form that dresses well.

The other problem was that... well, when I got home from the thrift stores the missus started moaning, "Why did I let you shop for clothes all by yourself?" The answer is simple, my beloved -- you wanted to play video games.

Interestingly, by the end of the evening I'd started to feel comfortable in my new duds -- the poorly-fitting ugly formal wear made me feel threatening in a new way, one that seemed more in fitting with my current prospects. One of my school pals said, "You actually look kind of punk."

I can live with that. But maybe I need to get a shoulder holster to round out the new look. I'm just saying.

Two Bios With No Self-Deprecation, And One With Just A Little

Well, I found out that this is the print they want at the Gualala art show. It was the best of the early pieces in the series but it's not my favorite anymore. It'll do, though. Imagine this at 3' by 4' on canvas.

And here's my page in the artist's book that's currently in production. The woman who advised me on the contents said, "Nobody reads these anyway," so I figured I'd give them something not to read.

Well, I managed to get through the two bio pieces without slandering myself. Here's the first, for the mystery project that I'll tell you about on March First.

Sean is a writer and artist who hovers in-between the fine arts and illustration and uses a wide variety of both traditional and digital techniques.

While he loves the dinosaurs, he likes to work with the full span of extinct life forms. Why limit yourself?

You can find tons of his art and casual writings at his blog, Renaissance Oaf.

And then something more extensive for the Gualala show.

Sean Craven is a writer and artist living with his spouse Karen Casino in Berkeley, California.

He’s had his fine art published in the literary small press, including magazines like Mean Times, Artfuck, Hand To Mouth, and Milvia Street. He’s the assistant editor, art director, and resident artist for Swill Magazine, which has been studied at the Columbia School of Writing and is in the permanent collection at The University of Wisconsin at Madison. It's also read for the Year's Best Fantasy and Horror anthology.

His paleontological illustrations have been published in Dinosaur World and Prehistoric Times magazines and have recently been featured on the University of Bristol’s DinoBase website, side-by-side with work from the top artists in the field.

His fiction has been regularly published in the small press and he’s recently made his first two professional fiction sales. He’s also worked as a scriptwriter for Mondo Media, producing Internet cartoons such as The God and Devil Show and Absolute Zero. Most of his scripting was done for the award-winning cult cartoon Thugs On Film, which made it off the Internet and was broadcast on BBC.

Fine art and scientific illustration, literature and genre fiction – Sean occupies a very odd cultural Twilight Zone and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And here's the bio that's being used for the Ten Nails anthology, which features Thinking Caps, my booze & brain surgery story. And yes. God help us, it's true.

Sean Craven once did an experiment involving two twenty-two ounce bottles of 7.2 per cent Maximus India pale ale, a half pint of Wild Turkey 101, and a reputable online IQ test. The rules were simple – drink the booze on an empty stomach first thing in the morning and take the test, skipping any question that required any thought. Rigorously adhering to the principles of drunk and lazy he scored a 98, which he thought explained a lot about America. Of course nobody who was really intelligent would pull an idiot stunt like that.