Pro Se Productions

INNOVATIVE GENRE FICTION AND NEW PULP PUBLISHER ESTABLISHES AGGRESSIVE MISSION AND SCHEDULE FOR 2015 FORWARD

Pro Se Productions, a publishing house based in Batesville, Arkansas, announced today plans for future projects and a more streamlined focus in its overall mission.

Established in 2010, Pro Se Productions entered into publishing focusing on a style of fiction that would come to be known by many as ‘New Pulp’.  Inspired by the usually fast paced, plot centric tales peopled with larger than life characters published in Pulp magazines of the early 20th Century, New Pulp as a style pays homage to classic Pulp, but also often brings a modern relevance as well as other aspects to new works.  Although not the first publisher focusing on New Pulp, Pro Se quickly established itself as a leader in the niche market that existed for stories of this type. 

Since its inception, Pro Se Productions has published over 150 individual titles, either in print, digitally, or both. Pro Se is known for publishing a variety of authors and artists, from previously unpublished creators to New York Times bestselling authors. The company has also established several different imprints, including author centered lines, an imprint focused on genre fiction for young readers, a nonfiction/academic imprint both studying New Pulp and offering facts and resource materials for fans and authors, and others.  One of Pro Se’s newest and strongest innovations has been the development of the Pro Se Single Shot and Pro Se Single Shot Signature lines, providing digital only short fiction – stand alone stories as well as series, serialized novels, and author focused imprints – for 99 cents each.

As a New Pulp publisher, Pro Se has thrown a wide net regarding the stories it accepts and publishes, carrying representatives of multiple genres in its catalog.  In doing this, Pro Se has become identified as a Publisher of Genre Fiction as well.

“Pro Se Productions,” says Tommy Hancock, Partner in and Editor in Chief of Pro Se, “is most definitely a publisher of New Pulp.  The company is also considered a Genre Fiction publisher as well.  The two terms aren’t mutually exclusive.   The bottom line and Pro Se’s mission from here on out is really simple.  We intend to publish quality Genre Fiction, the best of the best, and a fair share of what we publish will be action adventure oriented, regardless of genre, and will appeal to not only New Pulp fans hopefully, but classic Pulp fans, heroic fiction fans, and overall just fans in general.”

“Pro Se,” continues Hancock, “intends to take the type of works we publish, both past and future, not only to the audience we know exists for them, but to new fans, to markets most New Pulp or general Genre Fiction publishers have yet to tap.  We’ll be focusing on genre specific markets for the books that fit in them, but we also intend to introduce fan bases that didn’t know they already enjoyed the sort of work that writers and artists who create for Pro Se produce.  The diversity Pro Se already has in our library is a good platform from which to grow.  And that won’t simply be done just because we want it to be.   In the coming months, Pro Se will be experimenting with different ways of packaging current and future works as well as innovations in distribution and promotion.  We’ve spent the last four years building a company that we are proud of.  Now it’s time to show as much of the world as possible why they should be, as readers, a part of what Pro Se is doing.”

One major area of focus for Pro Se in the immediate future is the Pro Se Single Shot and Single Shot Signature lines.  “The thing,” says Hancock, “about getting what a company publishes into the hands of as many fans as possible is that it has to be accessible and affordable.  The Pro Se digital singles most definitely qualify in both ways and also feature some of the best writers in Genre Fiction today. We’ve also structured the lines in such a way that, within the next two months, we will be making several announcements related to various ways to access the Single Shots, potentially at even a better price than currently.  Much like classic Pulp magazines of the past, the Pro Se Single Shot lines have the potential to be the gateway for new fans into Genre Fiction and perhaps the strongest arm of Pro Se in the future.”

Pro Se Productions is committing to an aggressive schedule in 2015 and beyond.  Known for publishing up to four books or more a month in the last 18 months, Pro Se has no plans to slow down. The company is no longer taking unsolicited submissions until January 1, 2016.  The purpose of this is to focus on the myriad of works already scheduled for 2015, a lineup that is impressive, to say the least.

“To list everything,” says Hancock, “would take pages and pages.  We will be transparent in coming months, making multiple announcements about projects and events.  Pro Se Productions is proud to say, though, that we will be bringing fans not only the best authors we already publish, but new names as well. Some they may recognize, such as John Lutz, Robert Randisi, and Richard Lee Byers, and others may be new to them, like Charlotte Knox, Raymond Masters, and Spencer Loeb.  H. David Blalock will have a collection of short stories published by Pro Se Productions.  Author Paul Bishop is developing a new series of crime fiction and Pro Se is proud to be the home for it.  Van Allen Plexico will also have a much stronger and welcome presence with Pro Se in 2015 and beyond.  New Pulp concepts, like Derrick Ferguson’s Dillon, will receive the academic treatment in our PulpStudies imprint.”

“Pro Se will also continue to bring the best of classic fiction back in new stories, something that we have been doing already in our Pulp Obscura imprint. Beginning in 2015, Pro Se will have a new imprint focused on bringing classic public domain characters back to life in new stories as well as continuing to do so through Pulp Obscura.  Pro Se will also continue to work with companies like Heroic Publishing and creators like Barry Reese and Gary Phillips and publish licensed works for them as well as others to be announced later.”

“Most assuredly,” guarantees Hancock, “we will also continue to bring you the best authors in Genre Fiction, as we have been doing for four years.  More work from Nancy Hansen, Logan L. Masterson, Kevin Rodgers, Lee Houston, Jr., and other Pro Se stalwarts is definitely on the way.  Put simply, Pro Se Productions will continue to produce the best fiction in multiple genres from quality creators possible.”

For more information on this article or Pro Se in general, email Morgan McKay, Pro Se’s Director of Corporate Operations, at directorofcorporateoperations@prose-press.com.

To learn more about Pro Se Productions, go to www.prose-press.com.  Like Pro Se on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ProSeProductions.

The Return of Doctor Reverso: Chapter Sixteen

CLICK HERE TO GO BACK TO CHAPTER ONE

I had such a good response to my free PDF file offer that I'm making it again. Just message me on Facebook and I'll send you one-- 136 pages of thrills, confusion, girls, monsters, Doctor Almanac, secret formulas, adventure, Doctor Unknown Senior, and a special celebrity guest: Our Gang's Stymie Beard. This serial is about halfway done now. It provides a bridge from "Blood of the Centipede" to "Black Centipede Confidential," and it introduces a major new character, la belle femme sans visage, Anonymoushka, the faceless Russian assassin who specializes in remarkably disjointed conversation and has taken it into her head that she is the future Mrs. Centipede. Also a fairly silly and absolutely inconsequential villain called Crusher Cranium. (They can't all be brilliant...)

CRUSHER CRANIUM

"I have a certain amount of affection for you girls," I said to Prudence, "I honestly do. But you scare the hell out of me sometimes. You're plugged into something I don't understand. Your boss, too, come to think of it. I'm just glad you appear to be more or less on my side most of the time. If I ever look like I'm in danger of straying away from your good graces, please give me a warning."

Prudence responded by saying nothing (of course) and doing nothing. Her face was as still and unrevealing as an Easter Island statue, though I thought her left eye glittered a little bit-- but that might have been a reflection.

"Here we are," Stanley announced gruffly. "I was not looking forward to this, but after what just happened, I feel like I'm pulling up to the entrance of Coney Island. You and your friends, Centipede, I swear!"

We had reached our destination-- the prison without a name, run by people who didn't exist, on behalf of a division of the government that was just a figment of somebody's imagination.

"You're my friend, Stanley," I reminded him.

"I know, but I'm the only normal one you've got. You oughtta keep me separate from these others."

He braked the car to a stop in the gravel parking lot of the huge, square concrete building that squatted there in a clearing in the woods. The administration was careful not to draw the slightest bit of attention to the place. There was no fence, no guard towers, no signs, nothing to indicate that this was a correctional facility of the most extreme variety imaginable. The actual cells were deep underground, and all the security they needed lay behind those grim, grey walls. If anybody was able to get through that, no goddamn razor wire, chain-link, or machine-gun fire would be enough to slow them down. It was said that there had never been a successful escape in however many years the place had been in existence. Technically, Doctor Almanac had escaped-- or been hijacked-- before he had arrived here.

"Obviously," I said to the crew in the back seat, "Stymie will not be going inside, nor will either of you ladies. I hope I can trust you to sit here and amuse yourselves harmlessly, with a game of charades, perhaps. Try not to kill anybody or anything. And, for the love of God, don't summon any spirits from the great beyond."

Silence for a moment, then Stymie spoke:

"Miss Prudence says that those weren't spirits, and she didn't summon them. She just knew what they were when they appeared."

"Well," I said, "if any more like them show up, please don't encourage them."

"I shall read them the Riot Act," said Anonymoushka, "whatever that may be. I believe, however, that our eccentric creator has gotten the dei ex machinis out of his system for the time being. Anyhow, they weren't relevant to the plot of this particular slice of life. Just a dire warning of ghastly events to come-- more for the benefit of the audience than for you."

My normal friend and I walked around to the side of the building, where I knocked on an unmarked, nondescript door. Nothing happened for almost a minute, but I knew better than to knock again. Finally, a voice came from a small speaker grill set into the wall next to the door.

"Identification made: Bartowski, Stanley Aloysius; Black Centipede, the. When the door opens, please walk to the end of the corridor. Thank you."

I leaned toward Stanley and whispered, "Aloysius? Really?"

"Screw you," he grumbled.

We heard a click and the door swung inward.

The corridor was absolutely featureless-- no doors on either side, walls painted a dull grey, light provided by three or four bare 40-watt light bulbs hanging from the ceiling at intervals. We did as we had been instructed, traversing the thirty or so feet to the end of the hallway and stopping in front of the metal door we found there. It was the same color as the walls, and had neither doorknob nor visible hinges.

"Gentlemen," came the same voice we had heard before, "please prepare to surrender your weapons for the duration of your visit. Mister Bartowski, you are carrying a .38 revolver. Mister Centipede, you are carrying more ordnance than I have time to enumerate. Please hand everything to the guard. Thank you."

With that, the door slid sideways into the wall. In the opening stood a very large man dressed in jet black army fatigues. We couldn't see his face, because it was covered by a strange black mask, part of a helmet that covered his head completely. He stepped back several paces and gestured for us to enter.

We found ourselves in a small room that was almost as featureless as the hallway. The only furniture was a large metal desk, behind which sat a most curious individual. I recognized him immediately.

"Doctor Duranceville!" I exclaimed. "This is quite a surprise. I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but you were executed at Winnemac State Prison last month."

He eyed me coldly. Victor Duranceville was very thin and pale, with sunken, yellowish eyes in a bony, cross-shaped face. He had good reason to eye me coldly, since I was the one who had caught him and handed him over to the authorities after I put an end to his rampage of murder and robbery several months previously. He had, at one time, been warden of a small penitentiary in the Deep South, where he specialized in brutal, inhumane treatment of inmates. Then he had tried his hand at the slightly more honest vocation of armed robbery. That hadn't lasted long before he ran afoul of me.

"Obviously," he said, "I was not. After my sentencing and before my execution date, I was offered employment by the management of this facility. My specialized knowledge, they said, would be most helpful."

"You probably shouldn't have told me that," I said, sounding as bored as I was. "But I understand your compulsion to do so. The last laugh and all that. Okay, I'll admit it. You got me. You escaped justice. My faith in the system-- indeed, in mankind itself-- is shattered forever. Curse you, Duranceville!" I stifled a yawn.

Duranceville glared at me for ten seconds, then looked away.

The masked behemoth collected Stanley's revolver, then proceeded to search me. That took a while, and it took even longer for him to write down an inventory of the items he found. It was rather amusing, especially in light of the fact that I still had four weapons on me that he hadn't found, and wouldn't have discovered in a thousand years.

Duranceville made some notes in a ledger, then nodded to the guard. He didn't look at me or speak to me again. The guard-- who was toting a Thompson submachine gun-- led Stanley and me to a wide double door in the wall opposite the entrance we'd used. He pressed a button and the two halves of the door slid into the wall. We stepped into the elevator.

"Jesus," Stanley said as the cage descended, "I thought that guy was gonna croak us on the spot after you mouthed off to him like that. You gotta work on your conversational skills. How come you've always got to needle people?"

"Stanley," I said, "you remind me of the archetypal nagging wife. 'Oh, Centipede, you should talk nice to the murderous psychopaths! Oh, Centipede, killing criminals in cold blood is murder!' Your pacifistic nit-picking would get on even Mohondas Ghandi's nerves. I knew it was a mistake to let Duranceville live after I caught him-- and that was a direct result of your badgering, if you recall. I hope you're proud of yourself."

The elevator jolted to a stop and the doors slid open. We had descended at least ten stories down into the earth, by my reckoning. We stepped out into a corridor that was more like a tunnel, bored into the subterranean rock. The floor was made of concrete, but everything else was rough striated rock. It was cold down here, and poorly lit. We followed the guard to a massive iron door set into the stone wall at the end of the tunnel. It looked like it belonged on a bank vault.

This was the home of the hapless mad scientist turned experiment gone awry, Doctor Robert Bruce Bodog.

The guard worked a combination dial in the center of the door, which opened a panel about four feet square. Behind this was a barred window, and behind that was the incredible creature we had come to see.

"You can't go in there," the guard said, his voice muffled by his mask, "and he can't come out here."

"Fine by me," said Stanley.

Crusher Cranium, as Bodog was now called, was a mere slip of a lad, no more than nine feet tall and weighing less than three-quarters of a ton. He looked up when the panel swung open. He was completely hairless, with dark blue or light purple skin. He peered at us through the thick lenses of his specially-made tortoiseshell spectacles. If any of the speculation about him was even remotely accurate, he was both the most intelligent and the most physically powerful single organism on the planet. In a truly Darwinian society, he would have been king.

"What is this?" he said irritably. "I have calculated pi to the two-hundred-billionth decimal point today, and I think I have detected a repeating pattern. How am I to get anything done with all this banging around?"

He stood up and moved toward the barred window. I stepped up and gave him a friendly little wave.

"Hello, Crusher," I said jovially. "How's it hanging?"

"Sweet Jesus," he said, "it's the goddamn Black Centipede! You've come to taunt me? I should have pinched your head off when I had the chance."

"Don't flatter yourself," I said. "You never had a chance. Not even close. You may be a couple of geniuses smarter than I am, and you're certainly stronger, but I've got something you don't."

"And what is that?"

"You don't think I'm going to tell you?"

At this point, Stanley made his presence known, edging me out of what was, admittedly, an unproductive line of conversation.

"I'll make it quick, Bodog," he said, shoving me aside and putting his face close to the window. "Somebody has been using your formula. We want to know if you've got any idea who that might be."

"Impossible," scoffed the prisoner. "My formula won't work on anybody but me."

Stanley shook his head. "Sorry, but it will and it did."

"Who?" Crusher demanded.

Stanley couldn't answer that question because I had not told him about Doctor Almanac. He had no choice but to hand the conversational reins back to me.

"Somebody you don't like," I said. "And somebody who obviously thinks he's smarter than you are. And, if he's managed to duplicate your formula, he might be right."

"I don't believe you," said the giant.

"Yes, you do," I said.

He sneered at me. "If you think you're going to gull me into giving you information by playing to my vanity..."

"...then I am absolutely right," I finished for him. "And I'll tell you why. Because you can't be sure, can you? Somewhere along the line, someone may have gained access to your formula. You may not know who that someone is, but I'll bet you could come up with some contenders. I may be spinning you a tale-- for no conceivable reason-- but I'm probably playing straight. Somebody is fiddling around with your work, and they may be doing a better job than you. If I turn and walk out of here right now, how long will it be before it eats its way into your core and you're shouting for an audience with the Black Centipede? Just give me a day and time, and I'll come back."

Crusher Cranium was seething. The look he was giving me would have terrified a lesser man. Possibly even a greater one. Me, I just avoided eye contact.

He bounced it around in that vast cranium of his and made quite a show of weighing the pros and cons, but we both knew the conclusion was already foregone.

"Okay," he finally said. "There is a... possibility. While I was still working on the formula, long before I thought of experimenting with it, I was approached by someone who represented a mysterious criminal cabal. They wanted to buy everything I had done so far and hire me to complete the work for them. They made a very attractive cash offer, and it was with a hint of genuine regret that I told them where they could stick it."

"I can imagine. And what was the name of this organization?"

He eyed me skeptically and said, "I'm wondering if you don't know already. Have you never heard of the Cult of the White Centipede?"

I was about to confess my ignorance when I was interrupted by the harsh blare of a siren.

"Holy shit!" barked the guard. "That's an alpha-level threat alert! This facility is under attack!" He slammed the panel shut, twirled the dial, and told me and Stanley to stay behind him as he crept back toward the elevator, submachine gun at the ready.

We were almost halfway to the double doors when there was a deafening explosion and part of the tunnel caved in.

Which part, you may ask? In front of us? Behind us? Or maybe right on top of us?

Well, there's the rub...

The answer is: All of the above.

And I do mean above...


click here for chapter seventeen

THE RETURN OF DOCTOR REVERSO, Chapter Fifteen

"Have a care," Anonymoushka warbled from the back seat as I strode toward the figures in the road. "These are displaced persons, and they are somewhat fragile. They have nothing to do with the current business. This is our God moving in his mysterious and utterly arbitrary way-- what is known as the miracle of the teaser! Someone is sure to be roped in!"

I shook my head. I'd had just about enough of my faceless friend's foolishness. I resolved that, once this current crisis was over, I would force her to say something that made sense, even if I had to resort to torture.

Prudence had a hand on Stymie's shoulder and a look of intense concentration on her face. Stymie was speaking rapidly and uncertainly to the strange pair that had appeared in the road.

"Yes," I heard him say as I approached, "Miss Prudence here knows where you're from.. uh, and she... she knows you're confused about being here. She says not to, um, worry over it, because you'll be gone pretty soon, and... and you need to talk with the Black Centipede, because you can tell him things nobody else can. In a minute, uh, you'll remember what they are."

"What on earth could I say that would interest an arthropod?" Lovecraft wanted to know.

"The Black Centipede is a person," Stymie explained.

"Yeah," I said. "And here he is." Gently pushing Stymie and Prudence out of the way, I stepped up to confront the odd couple.

I studied their faces while they gawked at my mask. They certainly appeared to be the real McCoys. The light there under the trees was poor, but I thought Lizzie Borden looked much as she had the last time I saw her intact, just before she had been cut to ribbons by her "daughter," Mary Jane Gallows. As for Howard Lovecraft, with whom I had maintained a correspondence after I left Massachusetts in 1927-- I had last visited him the same day Lizzie died-- he was very much like the most recent photograph he had sent me, though he seemed to be older, thinner, and considerably less healthy.

"I'm wondering," I said, "if there would be any point at all in my asking if you two are who you appear to be."

Lizzie narrowed her eyes and said, "Just who in God's name are you?"

I started to say something, but it dawned on me that Lizzie-- if that's who this was-- had passed away years before I first donned my mask, and Howard had never learned that his young friend from Fall River was actually the mysterious and celebrated guardian of Zenith. I reached up and plucked off my hat and mask. It was impulsive, illogical, and probably foolish, but-- When in Rome...

Recognition dawned on both of their faces.

"William!" Lizzie exclaimed.

"Bill!" Howard said with a tentative smile, reaching out to shake my hand. "You're looking well. You've filled out since the last time I saw you. Are you going to a masquerade?"

Lizzie's eyes were brimming with tears. "I cannot believe this," she whispered, stepping closer to peer at my face. "How can you be here? The last time I saw you... My God, the last time I saw you, you were dead! You had been murdered by the tulpa, Mary Jane. Are you truly my William?"

I was greatly mystified by this, but I was irritated even more. My response reflected this.

I pointed the gun in my right hand at Howard and reached into my jacket for another one to cover Lizzie. Both of them shrank back.

"Let me tell you something," I said through clenched teeth. "For the past couple of days, I have been up to my neck in homicidal character actors, invisible mad scientists, deadly dirigibles, faceless Russian assassins who talk the most outlandish shit I've ever heard-- and now this. Well, I have had e-goddamn-nough. You're going to tell me what..."

I stopped talking because my little refugee from Our Gang was plucking at my sleeve and clearing his throat theatrically.

"Not now, Stymie," I hissed. "I'm busy at the moment, and..."

"This is important!" he insisted. "Miss Prudence says that these people are who they look like they are, and they're here to tell you something very  important, and if you don't listen, you're gonna find yourself in some very deep... a word I'm not allowed to say."

I glanced over at Prudence and she nodded. What the hell, I thought, I guess that's good enough for me. I put the guns away and folded my arms across my chest.

"Lizzie," I said, calmly and reasonably, "I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but you are dead. You're the one who was murdered by Mary Jane on the night of May 31, 1927. I'm quite certain about that. It's part of the reason I started wearing that mask. 

"And Howard. While you are still among the living, there is no force on earth that could entice you so far away from your home in Providence. The last time I saw you in person was also on May 31, 1927-- almost seven years ago."

"Seven years?" he repeated, sounding puzzled, and still nervously eyeing Lizzie. "Bill, that was almost ten years ago. I'm not the world's greatest mathematician, but I do know that 1937 minus 1927 is ten."

"That may well be," I said. "But it's 1933."

Lizzie let out a little gasp at that. It was then that I noticed something curious. She looked older than she should have-- older than she had ever lived to be.

"Oh, that can't be," Howard said. "I turned 46 back in August-- of 1936. I even had a birthday card from you. You suggested that we meet. I've been too ill to travel, I'm afraid, but you wanted to come to Providence to discuss a story idea you had. Something about a white centipede, now that I think of it."

I just shook my head. I tried to think, but I couldn't get any traction. I leaned closer to Lizzie and said, "Tell me, are you absolutely certain that you are Lizzie Borden?"

She thought about that for a minute. Meanwhile, at the mention of Lizzie's name, Howard's eyebrows had shot up and he had taken a couple steps away from her.

"I cannot be certain," Lizzie said after half a minute. "It feels like I am me. I am certain that I am Lizzie Borden. But I could be some other person or entity that believes itself to be Lizzie. If I've been brainwashed, I would hardly know the difference."

"If you've been what? Brainwashed? What does that mean?"

She looked puzzled. "Surely you cannot be unfamiliar with the term. It refers to a sort of mind control. The term originated during the Korean War, I believe."

"What Korean War? Who was Korea fighting?"

"Why, the United States and her allies, of course. Against Communist North Korea, that is. We supported South Korea, as did the rest of the United Nations."

I shook my head. "The United States has never fought a war against Korea."

"No?"

"No. And what the hell is the United Nations? You must mean the League of Nations."

"Do I? No, that doesn't sound right. The League of Nations dissolved in..." Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. "Oh, my. The little boy was right. I know what has happened. I've been drawn here through time as well as space. Perhaps into an utterly different version of the world I know-- one where you survived Mary Jane's attack and were restored by the agent of the Order, while I... Well, none of that is relevant. The engine brought us here to give you a warning."

"What engine?" I asked sharply.

Lizzie shook her head. "I cannot go into all that. William, you will be at the very eye of a terrible storm that is coming. Almanac is not the one you should be concerned about. Neither is Mag DeMilby. They are just mosquitoes, something to irritate and distract you. Behind them, hiding in their wake, is another-- a true predator, a deadly threat to everything you care about."

"And behind him," said Howard, who seemed to have gotten over his Lizzie-phobia, "there is yet another monster-- the worst of them all. I remember it now. He lurks, distorted and disguised, in a place very close to your heart. You cannot defeat him on your own. You cannot even detect him on your own."

Howard had evidently shot his bolt, because he fell silent. Lizzie remained that way. So did I. I just couldn't think of anything sensible to say. I looked over at Prudence. The corners of her mouth had turned up a fraction of a millimeter-- a broad grin in her own peculiar body language. She nodded her head.

"That's it!" Stymie announced brightly.

I looked back at Lizzie and Howard. Or tried to, at any rate-- but there was nobody there to be looked back at. 

I realized I had been expecting that.

"Okay," I said to Prudence and Stymie, replacing my mask and hat and rubbing my hands together. "I believe that more than meets my minimum daily requirement of cryptic, nonsensical flapdoodle. Anonymoushka herself would be hard-pressed to top what I just heard here. What say we get on with the slightly less bewildering errand that has brought us to this place?"

Prudence nodded. She took Stymie's hand and we walked back to the car together.

"Centipede," Stanley said as I slid onto the seat beside him, "I'm not going to ask you anything, and I do not want you to tell me anything. Is that clear?"

"As an unmuddied lake, Stanley," I said. "As clear as an azure sky of deepest summer."

"Welly welly well," came the voice of Anonymoushka from the back seat. "I heard the whole exchange, droogie, and my hat is off to old Bog in his heaven. He may run our world in a rather slipshod manner, but he knows how to foreshadow! I for one cannot wait to find out what that was all about! What a horrorshow tale it will be! Well worth the fifteen bucks!"

I closed my eyes and said, "Drive, Stanley."

  CLICK HERE FOR:

NEXT WEEK: CRUSHER CRANIUM!

Centipedia: Mayor Carlton "Spuds" Dietrich

Carlton "Spuds" Dietrich served two terms as mayor of the city of Zenith during the 1930s. He was every bit as corrupt as he was inept, making him the preferred candidate among the movers and shakers in the city's criminal underworld. Dietrich was first elected in 1931, shortly after his release from Winnemac State Prison, where he had served a three-year term for fraud and price fixing while he was a member of the city council. 

Most observers attributed Dietrich's victory to the unique touch of his campaign manager, Frenchy Donovan. One of Zenith's most prominent racketeers, Donovan took time off from his duties in order to work full-time for the candidate. During a press conference held to kick off Dietrich's campaign, Donovan announced that he had "found the Lord," and was "turning over a new leaf." 

Interestingly, Dietrich received 104 percent of the popular vote. When confronted by the press after it was learned that many of the voters listed in the rolls had in fact passed away weeks or months prior to the election, Donovan made reference to the Biblical miracle of Lazarus and thanked the Lord for His good work.

Dietrich's opponent, Morton Beltrane, demanded a recount and vowed to take his case all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. He was on his way to the federal courthouse to file the paperwork when he was accidentally run over by an unidentified man driving a car with no license plates. Four times. 

One of Dietrich's first acts upon taking office was to officially designate February 9 - 15, 1931, as "Beltrane Memorial Automobile Safety Awareness Week."

For 2012

Pro Se Productions, a leading Publisher in the New Pulp Movement, and Altus Press, the foremost Publisher of quality Pulp reprints and new works such as THE WILD ADVENTURES OF DOC SAVAGE revealed specifics about the PULP OBSCURA Imprint.

The concept behind Pulp Obscura is that Altus Press and Pro Se Press will work in conjunction to produce related products. When Altus Press publishes specially selected titles featuring rare and largely forgotten Pulp characters’ original stories, Pro Se will bring together the best writers of New Pulp today and simultaneously release a collection of newly written tales starring the same character. This stunning partnership will showcase both the classic adventures of some of pulp's lost treasures while simultaneously allowing New Pulp's finest to bring those characters back to life.

“This,” Tommy Hancock, Partner in and Editor-in-Chief of Pro Se Productions, “is no easy task. First to provide New Pulp stories, brand new exciting adventures of rare classic Pulp Characters and to coordinate that with Altus Press. But then finding the right creators, the authors who can breathe new life into these concepts and on top of that, deciding and planning which books will come out in the coming year. It’s a heck of a task and one that has been rewarding on so many levels.”

Thirteen books in the Pulp Obscura line from Pro Se have been planned. At least eight of these will be timed to release simultaneously with the reprinted adventures of the same characters as produced by Altus Press. Five more will be published by Pro Se that will feature characters Altus Press has already published the available adventures of in the past.

“We are extremely proud,” Hancock stated, “to be able to announce a fantastic line up of writers for Pulp Obscura. Some of the creators involved are well known figures in the Pulp Community, others are prestigious in other genres and literary fields, and there’s even a blossoming new author or two thrown in the mix. It shows a project has great promise when you as a Publisher simply put a call out for authors who might be interested in participating and you get not only a flood of interest, but also writers who stay on through the selection process of what will be written and who will write it. Pulp Obscura could not have a better line up of creators for both their skill and their commitment.”

"It's going to be great to see this new material. Interest in the series has been huge and the enthusiasm by the writers will certainly result in plenty of enjoyable reads," added Matt Moring, publisher of Altus Press. "I cannot recall such a publishing plan ever in the history of the pulp community."

The writers involved in the Pulp Obscura Line in 2012 are-

Howard Hopkins, Allan Gilbreath, Barry Reese,
Derrick Ferguson, Joshua Reynolds, Andrew Salmon,
Nick Ahlhelm, Jon Edward Klement, Bobby Nash,
I.A. Watson, Teel James Glenn, Nancy Hansen,
Lee Houston, Jr,. Chuck Miller, R. P. Steeves,
Don Thomas, Adam L. Garcia, Van Allen Plexico,
Frank Schildiner, Mike Bullock, Sean Taylor,
Andrea Judy, C. William Russette, Phil Bledsoe,
Ashley Mangin, Russ Anderson, Brad Mengel,
Terry Alexander, BC Bell, James Palmer,
Andrew Hind, Stefan Dogaru, Kevin Noel Olson!


Just as exciting and important as the lineup of writers involved in PULP OBSCURA is the list of characters and volumes that the Imprint will have in 2012. There are 13 planned volumes from Pro Se for the first year of PULP OBSCURA and the books, along with the writers contributing to them for the first quarter of the year include-

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF RICHARD KNIGHT VOLUME ONE-Adventures of a daring pilot/detective who encounters lost worlds and oddities galore!
Writers- Josh Reynolds
Barry Reese
Adam Garcia
I.A. Watson
Frank Schildiner
Terry Alexander

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF THE EAGLE VOLUME ONE-Classic Two Fisted Spy Stories! Pulpy Espionage and Intrigue!
Writers- Rich Steeves
Bobby Nash
Teel James Glenn
Lee Houston, Jr.
Ashley Mangin
Nick Ahlhelm

PRICE OF THE MISSIONARY’S GOLD: THE NEW ADVENTURES OF ARMLESS ONEIL VOLUME ONE- Classic Pulp Adventure in Exotic Lands seeking Treasure and Action! And with a Tough as Nails Hook Handed Hero!
Writers- Sean Taylor
Rich Steeves
I.A. Watson
Chuck Miller
Andrew Hind
Nick Ahlhelm

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF THE GRIFFON VOLUME ONE-Thrill to the adventures of Kerry Keen, the masked hero known as The Griffon! High Flying Escapades in the Pursuit of Justice!
Writers-Don Thomas
Rich Steeves
Chuck Miller
Van Plexico
Phil Bledsoe
Stefan Dogaru

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF THUNDER JIM WADE VOLUME ONE-Globe Spanning Adventures into the Darkest, Strangest Corners of the World with A Hero Like No Other!
Writers- Barry Reese
Andrew Salmon
Ashley Mangin
Nick Ahlhelm
Andrew Hind
Frank Schildiner

THE CASES OF MAJOR LACY VOLUME ONE –Follow The Major and his intrepid team of men as they take on crimes and criminals No One Else Can Stop!
Writers-C. William Russette
Andrew Salmon
Bobby Nash
Andrew Hind
Don Thomas
Rich Steeves


“At least seven more titles will follow later in 2012 in the Pulp Obscura line,” Hancock stated. “We are immensely excited not only to be a part of something so great, but also because of the fantastic response this concept has received. We hope everyone joins Altus and Pro Se for the wild roller coaster ride into Pulp Obscura!”

For more information on Altus Press, go to www.altuspress.com

To learn more about Pro Se Productions, check out www.prosepulp.com

Press packets and further information can be provided upon request at
proseproductions@earthlink.net