THRILLVILLE: Will "the Thrill" Viharo's weird, wild world of Pulp Fiction, B Movies, & the Lounge Lizard Lifestyle.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Dreams of a Dog Walker

You may have noticed if you follow this blog that my posts have become much less frequent since I relocated to Seattle in June, 2014. This indeed reflects the slower pace of my life now compared to my many fruitful (but often frustrating) Bay Area years, which comprise most of my adulthood to date. In fact, this is only my third post of 2015. It's not over yet, but it will probably be my final post of the year as well. Not that I don't have anything relevant to report. I do. But recent events just aren't urgent and momentous enough to share outside of my social media network, particularly Facebook, so I don't feel the need to update this blog on a regular basis. My daily existence now is a case of peaceful passivity and calm resignation, very quiet and uncomplicated, sans any adventure, surprises or glamour, and thanks to the ambient therapy of my beloved new home city, along with a daily dose of antidepressants, I'm relatively content with this low-key reality. Three years ago, I really, really didn't think that would be the case by now.

"The Movie That Never Was" (mock poster design by storyboard artist Matt Brown)
My ship arrives at last...?
In June of 2012, I thought my life had changed forever, and that my long-gestating movie deal with Christian Slater was finally about to bear fruit when he flew me out to Miami for location scouting, and then I signed a contract to revise his own screenplay adaptation of the first Vic Valentine novel, Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me. I thought my career as a novelist would take off at last after three and a half decades of desperate dedication, and I would simultaneously forge a new, lucrative professional path as a real Hollywood screenwriter.
With Crispin Glover at a private party in his honor in Seattle, 11/18/15 - he was our choice to play "Bobby Bundy" in the screen version of Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me.

Monica and me hangin' with our new friend El Vez in the Dead Elvis Tiki Lounge, Seattle!

Reading at Books Inc. in Alameda, CA, October 2013. I really thought I had it made, or rather,
 had "made it." I made it to Seattle, anyway.

Flash forward to this future: I'm a true Seattle dog walker. And in some ways, I've never been happier. Though I must admit, there is a huge void in my soul where my dreams of literary success resided for most of my lifetime. Letting go of hope has proved far healthier, mentally and spiritually, than clinging to dead dreams, I've discovered the hard way.
Cover art and design by Matt Brown
And it's not like my days as a novelist are totally kaput, even if they're not particularly lucrative from a livelihood standpoint. Far from it, in fact. Earlier this year, Double Life Press published a three volume set called The Thrillville Pulp Fiction Collection, with a fourth planned omnibus called The Vic Valentine Case Files, collecting the four sequels from the '90s, delayed but forthcoming. And this past summer, my second sci-fi collaboration with Scott Fulks, The Space Needler's Intergalactic Bar Guide, debuted with a symposium and book signing at Tiki Oasis in San Diego.

Final cover art by Scooter Harris
Then I end 2015 with a big bang: the publication of my first Vic Valentine novel in two decades, Hard-boiled Heart, due this December from Gutter Books, with my friend, fast rising crime novelist Joe Clifford returning as my editor. (Check back to this space for purchase link).

Some advance praise:

“Totally engrossing, a knockout read. Funny, emotional, and hypersexual, this book is another great installment in an amazing series that spans twenty years of writing. You’ve just got to love Vic Valentine, Private Eye.” — Michael Pool, author of Debt Crusher.

“Loquacious gumshoe Vic Valentine makes a welcome return in Hard-Boiled Heart, the sixth novel in Will Viharo's cult classic series. Valentine, with his bottom-feeding clientele and penchant for exploring the underworld's weirdest fringes, is like a West Coast cousin to the late, great Charles Willeford's serial detective Hoke Mosely (Miami Blues). As always, Viharo's pulp fiction prose rockets the reader through Valentine's adventures and as the pages turn, the author's encyclopedic knowledge and adoration of pop culture's kitschiest corners elicits gut-bursts of laughter.”— Pete Crooks, author of The Setup: A True Story of Dirty Cops, Soccer Moms, and Reality TV

"Vic Valentine is back with a lusty vengeance. Armed with the same world-weary street smarts and B-movie quotes that made him the perfect, quirky anti-hero in Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, Valentine gets reluctantly lured out of retirement by a movie star turned murder suspect in this fast-paced thriller. It's a story 20 years in the making, and one that any pulp fiction lover will definitely not want to miss."— S.W. Lauden, author of Bad Citizen Corporation

“Will Viharo writes not just neo-noir but neon noir, his Vic Valentine novels brilliant paeans to Chandler, Hammett, and other aspects of pop culture that Viharo clearly loves, from old B-movies to Frank Sinatra. But his roots are only a backdrop for Viharo’s modernization of the detective genre. Vic Valentine is a detective who falls hard for his dreams, knowing full well that he shouldn’t. For Valentine it seems that the greatest defeat would be to give in to the idea that he cannot win. In Will Viharo’s fast paced, witty and wise Vic Valentine novels, there is always hope, however hardboiled it may be. As with its predecessor, Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, Viharo’s Hard-Boiled Heart is a joy ride for the reader.”— Rob Pierce, author of Uncle Dust and The Things I Love Will Kill Me Yet

I've already detailed the rather painful genesis of this long planned sixth (and most likely final) installment in the series, so I won't rehash it here. In brief, it's my creatively proactive reaction to circumstances beyond my control, and as both an artistic and personal triumph, I'm extremely proud of this accomplishment.

As for what's next? I have absolutely no idea. That's both deeply terrifying and strangely stimulating.

Book-wise, I certainly don't have any ideas or plans beyond promoting the six books that have come out in a single productive year. I'm considering re-entering the arena of traditional publishing, but my distant history with the brutally apathetic New York industry still haunts me, and frankly I'm not sure I could come up with something commercial enough to warrant the attention of an agent or a major publishing house. The title "Dreams of a Dog Walker" popped into my head recently, and I always start with a title. If I pursue that project, it might be something unlike anything I've ever done before in order to directly appeal (pander) to a mass audience, like magical realism. Or it might be in the form of a memoir, a followup to my unpublished, epistolary autobiography "Graffiti in the Rubber Room: Writing for My Sanity," which I wrote at the request of celebrity editor Judith Regan over twenty years ago, before she unceremoniously dropped me after a two year courtship, during which time I feverishly wrote the first five Vic Valentine novels, foolishly believing my ship had finally sailed into port at age 30.

Pastoral peace.
Now, at age 52, my ship once again leaving me stranded on shore, I must admit: I've given up hope of ever being "rescued" from this little island of mine. But at least I finally live in a personal paradise, with my very own bold, beautiful, brilliant Tiki Goddess (now in her second year and kicking serious ass in the PhD program at the University of Washington School of Drama) and our two precious cats, Tiki and Googie. And now I'm making more furry friends with several canine clients around our apartment complex.

I was a graveyard shift desk clerk at the Hotel Europa when I first moved to San Francisco, age 22, 
circa 1985-86.
I embellished this cartoon from the SF Chronicle and sent it to my friend Greg Vargas back in L.A.
RIP Carol Doda, who erotic neon image still glows in my foggy memory.
"Waitron" at the UC Berkeley Faculty Club, circa 1987 (as you can tell by the hair...)
"Classified Ad Manager" at The Daily Californian, circa 1989. 
I had no idea what the hell I was doing. But I faked 'em out for over a year!
Delivery driver for the ACCMA Blood Bank in Oakland, circa 1993, when I was being courted by famous editor Judith Regan and began writing the Vic Valentine series.

Dog-walking is definitely my favorite non-writing gig ever (and I still write a regular blog about the literary craft and business for Digital Media Ghost, which I very much enjoy and appreciate; I also still work remotely for The New Parkway in Oakland as a social media admin/PR consultant). This epic forced employment list includes my 12 year stint as programmer/publicist for Speakeasy Theaters, my 18 years hosting and programming Thrillville Theater, my multiple happily worn hats for Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge (band booker/movie night host/publicist/weekend doorman), and of course the many, many crappy gigs I endured for the sake of survival since I was on my own at age 16, including blood bank driver/ medical courier/Aero delivery driver, dishwasher/busboy/waiter, hotel/bookstore/video store/clothing store/fast food/deli clerk, box office ticket taker, warehouse worker, banquet houseboy, Classified Ads manager, freelance journalist, freelance blogger, freelance film reviewer, social media admin, Mickey Rourke's personal office assistant (!), and others I can't even remember. I hated most of them, and they really made me feel insecure and basically worthless as a person.

I don't feel that way now.

Harper and me
Jean-Luc and me 

Mendel and me

Rocky and me

Yatzie and me
Monica and Jean-Luc on the Burke-Gilman Trail

This tune often plays in my head when I'm walking the dogs, for some reason.
It best expresses my tranquil but melancholy mood, I guess. 

But dog walking? Picking up puppy poop not only pays better than fiction writing (at least in my case), but it offers essential exercise as well as a sense of tranquility, since I live near Lake Washington, which provides serenely scenic atmosphere as I bask in the beauty of my natural surroundings as well as my pleasant four-legged company. My two lifelong passions are writing and animals, and since I don't have the medical acumen (or frankly, emotional fortitude) to become a veterinarian, this is the next best thing. I actually feel qualified for this "work," which I'd do free if I didn't need the money. This gig fell into place gradually by answering requests in the apartment complex newsletter and online bulletin board, and now I have several regular canine clients, along with a cat and rabbit I sit on occasion.

This also followed over a year of frustratingly fruitless job hunting, submitting resumes to every sort of business, from the local pizzeria (as a delivery driver; they turned me down with a gift card in the mail, which was nice) to various positions at Amazon. In each case, no dice. At my age, I'm grateful for whatever I can get, especially if it's something I can stand, and for which I'm qualified. I finally found it.

Despite my internal hell, I am in heaven. It's an odd dichotomy, one I wrestle with daily, but overall, life is sweet, mostly due to the one ingredient that makes it worthwhile anyway: love.

Monica and me toasting the first Noir at the Bar Seattle in the Fireside Room
The other excellent regular gig I've recently acquired is hosting (and reading) at the new Noir at the Bar Seattle live author series being organized by rising local crime writer Michael Pool, who reached out to me recently to recite some excerpts from Hard-boiled Heart at the first of these events, the Emerald City edition of a national, loosely connected "franchise." The location for the premiere was the Fireside Room at the Hotel Sorrento, a gorgeously elegant venue that offers many similar literary gatherings.

Hosting the first Noir at the Bar Seattle, October 2015
Future gigs have already been booked at equally cool sites, including The Alibi Room and Hugo House. I'm honored to be sharing the bill with an incredible roster of talent.

We also hosted perhaps my final local Thrillville gig (at least as a movie show), Thrillville's Swedish Halloween Show at The Swedish Club, with a screening of the 1959 Swedish sci-fi monster movie, Terror in the Midnight Sun (AKA Invasion of the Animal People). Low turnout (another reason I'm retiring from this racket after 18 years), but tons of fun. We love that venue. But from now on, I'm probably save my "Will the Thrill" hosting gigs for Noir at the Bar. That's just more my scene and speed these days.


And of course we're still enjoying Seattle's thriving cocktail culture...

Sand Point Grill 
Ivar's Acres of Clams 
Zig Zag Cafe 

The Ram 
University of Washington Club

Monica and I just returned from a trip to Portland where she attended an academic conference and I just did my bit to keep it weird...

We also visited some favorite haunts down there...

Mecca: Powell's Books

Possessed by Voodoo Doughnut
Driftwood Room

Multnomah Whiskey Library 
With our friend Paddy at Hale Pele
Trader Vic's Portland

On the waterfront: "I coulda been a contender..."

Otherwise, pretty much business as usual...

The rare Wrestling Were Husky stalks the Burke Museum during a grad student Halloween party hosted by Monica
Monica dragging me to a Mariner-A's game - I love my wife more than I hate sports...

Another regular ritual: Swedish Pancakes at The Swedish Club with friend Sonja and children

The Swedish Club on Lake Union
El Vez and me!

Halloween night at Grand Illusion Cinema, watching Invasion of the Saucer Men in 16mm!
With our friend Strephon Taylor at the Grand Illusion screening of his documentary,
Jack Pierce: Maker of Monsters. 

He also designed my Thrillville T-shirt.

Pike Place

Catching SPECTRE at Cinerama (loved it)
Mostly I'm happy these days because, after a brutally, historically hot summer, Seattle finally feels like the "Seattle" I signed up: dark, wet, lush, romantic, and mysterious. Just like living in Blade Runner.

And autumns here are gorgeous, cool and crisp, reminiscent of my youth in New Jersey, the opposite of the warm, sunny Indian Summers that always ruined my Halloween and holiday season every year back in the otherwise beautiful Bay Area.

I am home at last.

So there you have it: the latest from Chillville. Onward! Or whatever. Cheers.

You may also dig:


BACHELOR PAD MAGAZINE #34 featuring my tribute to my late friend Yvonne Craig


Volume One: A Mermaid Drowns in the Midnight Lounge and 
Freaks That Carry Your Luggage Up to the Room BUY

Volume Two: Lavender Blonde and Down a Dark Alley BUY

Volume Three: Chumpy Walnut and Other Stories BUY

THE VIC VALENTINE CASE FILES coming soon from Double Life Press!
The first new Vic Valentine novel in 20 years, HARD-BOILED HEART, being published this December by Gutter Books! (Cover by Scooter Harris)



My story SHORT AND CHOPPY and editor Craig T. McNeely's article WILL VIHARO: UNSUNG HERO OF THE PULPS featured in the premiere issue of the new pulp magazine

My story THE LOST SOCK featured in the second issue of DARK CORNERS (Winter 2014)

My story PEOPLE BUG ME featured in the third issue of DARK CORNERS (Spring 2015)
My story COOL RECEPTION featured in the fourth issue of DARK CORNERS 
(Summer 2015)

My short story BEHIND THE BAR is included in this anthology

"Director's cut" of Jeff M. Giordanos' documentary THE THRILL IS GONE!