John Lacey » John A. Keel

Pulp Friction

John Lacey — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 03:33:19 +0000

As writers we are told constantly to write, rewrite and edit rigorously. I’m sure this blog post will make the merits of such advice obvious.

Due to a rather unfortunate printing error Penguin Books Australia has pulped a run of its cookbook, the Pasta Bible. According to the news section of the Penguin Books Australia website:

At Penguin every book is proofread at least twice, depending on its complexity. In this case it is clear that a spell-check error crept in, the recipe incorrectly suggesting the addition of salt and freshly ground black people instead of freshly ground black pepper. Normally such an error would be picked up by proof readers, but they would have been concentrating on checking quantities, a common source of error in cookbooks. Penguin would also like to point out that it maintains the highest of standards throughout the editing process, hence a mistake such as this is a very rare occurrence. Obviously though, editors are human and even the best and most professional will at times overlook an error.

While this is clearly an unintended term of phrase it did remind me of something equally morbid – and apparently true. In Jadoo, John A. Keel documents his adventures in the Middle East and the Orient in search of Jadoo (real magic). He writes:

Four hundred years ago you could buy “Egyptian Mummy” in any apothecary. It was a coveted cure-all during the Middle Ages. Ground-up bodies hauled out of Egyptian crypts were considered good for everything from a hangtail to a knife wound. For this reason hundreds of priceless tombs were rifled by profit-hungry merchants, and undoubtedly many records and relics of immense historical value were stolen or destroyed. Eventually the heavy traffic in mummies exhausted the supply, so the merchants had to start manufacturing more.

So the next time your pasta seems a little bland, or your medicine has a terrible aftertaste, or you realise you’ve spelt ‘possession’ wrong, just think – it could be worse…

Do Authors Frequent Secondhand Bookstores?

John Lacey — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 20:02:04 +0000

After completing my first 2047 words of NaNoWriMo yesterday, I headed off to a local book fete (a fundraiser for a rural firefighter service). I scanned all the titles haphazardly scattered across tables. There was a piece of non-fiction among the ‘fifty cent novels.’ Sections bled into each other. I noticed another fifty cent novel from a very prolific and successful Australian author (who I know is on Twitter). And in light of this and NaNoWriMo, a new thought occurred to me…

Do published authors frequent secondhand bookstores and fetes and sales?

Even leaving the ethical implications of book resales (second hand books don’t result in any income for authors, or count towards recouperation of an advance) aside, how would you react if you saw your book at such a sale? Be grateful that somebody bought it in the first place and decided to share it with the world? Wonder why they didn’t think it was worth keeping? Do you buy it, or leave it there in the hope you make a new fan? Do you offer to autograph it (after all this might be for charity)?

And what, heaven forbid, if your blood, sweat and tears has a 50 cent sticker on it?

Like most ‘entertainment products’ (if you’ll forgive the expression), books tend to exist both as individual artistic expressions and mass produced, mass marketed products. Sometimes the value of the work can be confused with the cost of the raw materials – the paper, the binding. Certainly when it comes to digitilised product consumers expect the work to be available to them more cheaply, even though the experience of the story (or movie or music) it could be argued is essentially the same. But talk to many Kindle authors who offer their books for a couple of dollars and you soon discover that a cheaper price point has it’s own benefits. The barrier to entry is smaller so more people take a chance on your book. If they enjoy it, there’s a good chance they’ll enjoy your other work. They may buy from you again.

This, I suppose, is the case I’d make for secondhand bookstores, free content online, and even traditional brick-and-mortar libraries!

I first heard singer-songwriter Sophie B. Hawkins on the radio. Then I discovered her album Whaler at the local library. Did this hurt her bank balance? I severely doubt it. Because after I discovered it there, I bought it somewhere else. Plus her other albums, and a lot of singles, compilations, movie soundtracks on which she appeared. She toured Australia two consecutive years and I followed her around from gig-to-gig for weeks at a time. The work is the introduction to the artist. An individual may connect with the work, and by extension, the artist, or they may not. But the point is they were more comfortable in trying something new because the cost was reduced or, in the case of libraries and free content, removed entirely.

Don’t forget also that secondhand bookstores are the last refuge for out-of-print books. When I discovered my favourite author John A. Keel, for example, all his work was out-of-print. It was only through diligent searching of secondhand bookstores across the world – Australia, New Zealand, America, England, Scotland – that I was able to get my hands on these treasures. eBay, Abebooks and Books and Collectibles were particularly helpful in this regard.

Death and Legacy

John Lacey — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 05:17:30 +0000

When Michael Jackson died, I was genuinely sad for about a day. After that though I just found myself enjoying his backcatalogue. I went out and bought more CDs, including one that spanned his entire career from Jackson 5 to his most recent work. I wondered why Invincible (his final studio album), a perfectly wonderful pop album, didn’t receive a bigger reception when it was released. I wondered too what it was about death that made us reflect upon an artist’s works, and why living artists were only as good as their most recent offering… What could we, as artists, do to better represent not just our most recent work but our entire repetoires?

When John A. Keel died, or rather when I found out about his death a week later, I became very ill. It was some time later that I brought myself to reflect on his life and death. As I sat there musing over the first Keel book that fell into my possession, the book that spurred a passion and an obsession, something occurred to me that had never occurred to me before. That first white covered trade paperback movie tie-in edition of The Mothman Prophecies did not have the elaborate cover artwork of other editions or the feel of the hardcover first editions. But there was something special about it. Something that confused me at the time and something that I promptly forgot about after encountering it for the first time. The paperback edition had an Afterword penned by Keel in August 2001. This effectively meant this edition of the book contained Keel’s most recently published thoughts.

An unexpected consequence of my need for information on Keel’s death was that I discovered a book that I didn’t know existed. The Best of John Keel is a compilation of articles Keel wrote for FATE magazine. The book arrived from Amazon this morning. (Interestingly it is described as ‘Volume 1.’ I wonder if subsequent volumes are planned?)

I guess the conclusion I have reached is that in a practical sense these people are as real to me today as they have ever been, because my relationship with them has roots in their works and their works live on beyond them. And I guess the impetus to actually create has never been more apparent to me. In the same way that you can’t edit a blank page, you can’t be remembered for a work you never completed.

John A. Keel, My Hero

John Lacey — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 07:19:23 +0000

At a former workplace we were at one time inundated by moths of a curious size. Standing outside with a work colleague surveying the potential business on a Sunday afternoon, he looks at the moth thoughtfully before parsing his lips to speak. “Have you seen The Mothman Prophecies?” he asks. “It’s really creepy and it’s based on a true story.” I admit that I have not seen this movie. I don’t really think much of it until another work colleague poses the same question and description almost verbatim. I am intrigued. I don’t particularly know anything about this movie, but the expression on my workmates’ faces as they talk about it spurs me to learn more. Eventually I borrow the movie from a local DVD store. It is creepy and it is – apparently – based on a true story. What is this story?

I imported a paperback copy of The Mothman Prophecies with a white movie tie-in cover from the United States. That poor paperback became batted as I thumbed my way through it, first at home and then interstate while on holiday. It was fascinating and disturbing. The flying humanoid terrorising residents of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, circa 1966-1967 had apparently existed. But it was only the tip of the iceberg. There were even more sinister and oddball things covered in the book that the movie didn’t even make reference to. But even more than that it introduced me to John A. Keel, the author, who was thoughtful and intelligent. He had a deliciously wicked sense of humour. He had a rich sense of voice on the written page. He seemed to genuinely have a lot of respect and compassion for people, especially people who had unusual experiences (people who were frequently ridiculed and dismissed by others). The simple truth was that before reading The Mothman Prophecies I thought paranormal subjects were purely the domain of wide-eyed crackpot ‘true believers.’ Keel’s book was a refreshing revelation.

But more than anything the book excited me and instilled this strong feeling within me that I was doing something wrong. I mean why would anyone answer phones for a living when you could be sitting on far off hills watching strange meandering lights (UFOs), interviewing people and writing incredible books?!

I located a copy of Keel’s first book, Jadoo, in Sydney and had it shipped to me. Keel had been fascinated with ‘sleight of hand’ magic tricks from a young age, and Jadoo is his foray into the Orient and the Middle East to find ‘real’ magic. The things he details on his travels are truly fascinating, from the black market trade for mummies in Egypt to an invitation to live with bonafide devil worshipers, elaborate trickery with snakes, and even individuals who have themselves entombed only to come out unscathed. As I read of far off lands and ancient mystical practices I also learnt much more about Keel himself. I took great comfort in the knowledge that he too feared the blank page. I learnt about his Keel’s parents and home, his desire to write, how he had changed his name. I clung to each page as he struggled to sell articles of his adventures to magazines and as he systematically sold off his camera equipment just to make ends meet.

I was completely in awe of this man and as I ordered another of his books and it would arrive I would abandon the one I had been reading in favour of the new title (eventually going back to finish all the books). Soon I had multiple copies of many of his books, different editions. I snapped up cheap books whenever I encountered them, determined to share them with friends. The Eighth Tower (also published as The Cosmic Question), UFOs: Operation Trojan Horse, Disneyland Of The Gods, Our Haunted Planet, The Complete Guide To Mysterious Beings (also published as Strange Creatures From Time and Space), The Fickle Finger Of Fate (Keel’s lone piece of published fiction). I even discovered in my research a collection of short stories for school students that included one by Keel about the Great Houdini.

I was able to track down some recordings of talks he had given at FORTEAN events and these only endeared me to him further.

JOHN A. KEEL
March 25, 1930 – July 3, 2009

The Blank Page

John Lacey — Mon, 18 May 2009 06:45:46 +0000

John A. Keel, best known for penning The Mothman Prophecies, is undoubtedly my favourite author. In his first book Jadoo he spent time in the Middle East and the Orient, in search of people with odd talents. He covered all manner of tricks and oddities, from snake charmers to devil worshippers and – perhaps most disturbingly – individuals who were mummifying bodies to sell to collectors for trophies and medicine. Most of his books revolve around paranormal themes and ideas, and up until I read The Mothman Prophecies I kind of thought the whole genre was the domain of wild eyed crackpots. I was impressed by the way he presented information. I was impressed by the genuine sympathy he expressed for people. But, more than anything, I was impressed by his voice. It just made a lot of sense to me.

In Jadoo he writes:

There were no jobs to be had in Baghdad; no way to make a dinar (£1). My typewriter collected dust in my hotel room. A few times I shoved a piece of paper into it, but a blank sheet of paper is a frightening, disheartening thing to a would-be writer. I always slapped the cover shut with the paper still blank.

While the technology has changed, the ‘frightening, disheartening’ prospect has not.

I’ve barely brought pen to paper or fingers to keys in relation to my current project Heartbroken and Grieving. Admittedly I was ill for a while, and then I had this sudden need to rearrange everything in the house, but the progress (or lack thereof) is still disappointing. But the thing that really bothers me is the sense of unadulterated terror that enters my mind when I even think about sitting at the new desk in the corner of the room with a couple of blank pages and a pen.

I guess I’m a control freak, and I have really only the vaguest sense of what I am attempting to build here. I think I understand the catalyst for this project, I understand my motivations for doing it but I don’t really understand what form it will take. I just want to delve into the subject matter and explore it and see where I end up. I find myself writing paragraphs and a little voice in the back of my head goes, “I want to write poetry. Let’s write some poetry.” And I guess the takeaway is that it’s better to write something than nothing. The fear is paralysing and the only way around it is to go through it.

But while the blank page is currently my trial, I am also hoping it will be my saviour.

Because if I pause to consider my own burgeoning creativity in high school it had its genesis on blank pages. The library was my retreat and I was filled with all this emotional ‘stuff’. I used to scribble on pages in exercise books really just as a way of channeling the tension of my teenage years. But after a while those scribbles became words, first lyrics to songs I liked and ultimately my own words. I found myself expressing opinions and understandings I didn’t even know I possessed.

I want magic to happen once again. I guess, as Elizabeth Gilbert noted, for us as creative people our responsibility is to show up at the page or canvas or computer.

John Lacey » John A. Keel

Pulp Friction

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