Yes, you can probably file this under “Chris is thinking too much about Superman again.” But the latest trailer for Man of Steel is out, and I am almost physically excited by the chances for this movie now.

I admit, I’m an easy target for anything about Superman. As a kid, I wore the Underoos, I ran around in a red cape, and read the comics. I  saw Superman III in the theater, and even that did not kill my love of the character. So I was going into the theater on opening day, no matter what.

To put it in the kindest terms possible, that hasn’t always been the case.

Superman, despite being on the level of a primal myth for us now, is not an easy character to bring to life. The idea behind him is elegantly simple, and almost encoded into our DNA: a perfect man comes from the stars to save us all. That’s easy to understand and often incredibly hard to pull off in execution.

But two things in this trailer makes me think that’s going to be time and money well spent, that make me believe the filmmakers really understand what a Superman movie needs — what every Superman story needs.

This is the first: when Lara says to Jor-El, “He’ll be an outcast. They’ll kill him.”

And Jor-El responds with one word: “How?”

That’s brilliant. It’s more than just a badass line. It shows a fundamental understanding of what makes Superman so compelling.

In most fiction, the threat of death — “They’ll kill him” — is the ultimate raising of the stakes. I’ve read that every good story ends with a death, and while that may not be true, it’s definitely true that death is the engine that drives the drama. Characters seek to escape it, avoid it, or deal it out to their enemies. But they cannot ignore it.

Except, as Jor-El points out, Superman can. By virtue of his powers, he is beyond the usual punishments and sanctions that mortals must endure. He is outside the old rules of the game, and that makes his story a new and compelling set of problems. How do you create drama where the protagonist is invulnerable — literally — to what usually drives the story?

Many writers have a problem with that, which is one reason why Superman stories are not easy. It’s hard to find conflicts that a perfect man cannot end simply by spinning the world in another direction.

But the second moment in the trailer is what makes me confident they can do it.

When Clark first reveals his abilities by saving a school bus that’s gone into a river, his foster father Jonathan Kent (played by Kevin Costner, because, come on, who doesn’t want the guy from Field of Dreams to be his dad?) tells him that he’s not from Earth.

Clark responds by asking, “Can’t I just keep pretending I’m your son?”

And Jonathan Kent pulls him in close, and, voice cracking, says, “You are my son.”

If you didn’t choke up a little at that, well, you’re far less sentimental than I am.

Moses and Christ allegories aside, this is where we see how Clark chooses to deal with the legacy of great and unearned power from Jor-El and Lara. He still wants to be human. And his father embraces him for everything he is — not out of fear, but out of love.

Superman is not about what he can do. As Chris Sims recently said, if Superman wanted, he could rule us all and force us to be good, because after all, the dude’s got laser eyes. It’s about what he chooses to do. And he chooses to be good. He chooses to do the right thing. He chooses to care about humanity.

His enemies will say that this makes him weaker. But because of what he’s learned from the Kents, it’s actually what makes him a hero.

That’s the movie I want to see.

With super-punching, of course. Because you’ve got to have the super-punching.

Hey kids. It’s March, and in remembrance of the day when Julius Caesar got perforated on the way to work, I’m joining 16 great authors to give you a chance to win copies of all our books.

It’s called The Ides of March Book Giveaway. It runs from March 1-15th, and we’ll give away one copy of each of the following to the lucky winner:

(Yes, I know. It’s a much classier crowd than you’d expect to have me.)

One set of books will be given away per 500 entries. Winners will be notified within 48 hours of the contest’s end. You can enter here. And this is all due to the hard work of Alma Katsu, who got us all together. Many thanks, Alma.

Good luck.

Good news, everybody: RED, WHITE, AND BLOOD is a finalist in the 2013 Audies for Suspense and Thrillers, which recognize “distinction in audiobook and spoken word entertainment.” As much as I’d like to take credit, it’s all due to Bronson Pinchot, who once again did a brilliant job bringing my scary thoughts to life. (Bronson previously won Audible.com’s “Narrator of the Year” in 2010, in part for his work on the first Nathaniel Cade book, BLOOD OATH. He’s also just an incredibly nice guy.)

The awards will be MC’ed this year by Daniel Handler, author of the Lemony Snicket books, on May 30 in New York.

I’ve been asked by quite a few people when the next book in the Nathaniel Cade series will be done. Until now, I’ve mumbled some vague replies about a top-secret project, which probably made them think I was doing nothing but snacking on Cheetos and watching movies on Netflix.

Now the news is out: before I move on to Cade Book Four, I’m writing a book called BIMINI, about the Fountain of Youth. Here’s the announcement, which went out on Publishers Marketplace last week:

Christopher Farnsworth’s BIMINI, an action-packed thriller updating the legend of the fountain of youth and the conspiracy led by people whose vitality depends on it, to Rachel Kahan at William Morrow, in a pre-empt, by Alexandra Machinist at Janklow & Nesbit. (NA) Film rights to Tom Jacobson and Monnie Wills.

The book is inspired by an original idea from movie producers (and all-around good guys) Tom Jacobson and Monnie Wills. I’m having a lot of fun with it right now, and I think anyone who likes Cade is going to have a great time reading this, too. Once again, this is all due to my brilliant agent, Alexandra Machinist.

And that’s about all I can say before mumbling some vague stuff about how this is still top secret for now.

As for Cade, I am going to get back to him — he won’t let me rest until I do — by the end of the year. I’ll have more news on Book Four once it’s finished.

Anyway. Thanks to all of you who keep asking about Cade, and for all the kind words about the books.

“What do you think you want to be when you grow up?”

My reply, in shaky block letters: “A writer like Stan Lee.”

I was six or seven when I wrote that. I barely knew what a writer did, but I knew that Stan Lee got to make up stories about Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four and a bunch of other super-heroes. That sounded pretty good to me.

When I was 39, my first novel was (finally) published and I was invited to speak on a panel at Comic-Con. That would have been a dream come true by itself. But as I was checking into the hotel, I realized I was standing in line right in front of Stan the Man himself.

I told him something he’d probably heard a lot before: “I became a writer because of you.”

He gave me the famous smile, shook my hand, and then that voice that I’d heard narrating Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends said, “Bless your heart. Thank you.”

Today he’s ninety years old and still Smilin’ Stan. You could do a lot worse for role models.

Thank you, Stan. Happy Birthday.

(Recommended Reading: Sean Howe‘s excellent and comprehensive Marvel Comics: The Untold Story.)

Jean and I saw Skyfall on Friday night, and it was amazing. Beautifully shot, brilliantly acted, filled with lovely touches of nostalgia for the former Bond films but clearly written as a naturalistic answer to those movies. It immediately became my favorite of the series.

But something happened this same weekend after I saw it. Like any geek worth his comic book collection, I usually have a moment where I indulge in the wish-fulfillment inherent in the James Bond franchise: when I imagine myself as the sleek, well-tailored killing machine hopping the globe in pursuit of international madmen of villainy and the sultry, magnificent women all around them. (Even John F. Kennedy wasn’t immune to the lure; the Bond books were his favorite reading in the White House, and were reportedly on his nightstand during the Cuban Missile Crisis.)

Only this time, it didn’t happen. Instead, I found myself holding my youngest daughter after her morning nap. She was in the middle of a cold, and her voice and breathing were thick with snot, and she was warm and still drowsy in my arms.

She used my forearm as a shelf for her head. She said, “Tired,” and “Good nap” and then “Cuddle.” She stayed there, totally relaxed and trusting, for five minutes without moving.

I was smiling so hard I felt tears come to my eyes. At that moment, I realized, I wouldn’t trade places with James Bond for anything. Not for anything in the world.

I covered a few elections when I was a reporter and I still get infected by the excitement. For all my talk about being sick of the campaigning, there’s really nothing like the kind of charge you can get on Election Day. Sports fans, I know you think you’ve got the lock on intensity when it comes to game day, but trust me. Watch a bunch of former debate geeks, policy wonks, and political junkies waiting for the returns; it’s like a pack of werewolves taking over the local Holiday Inn. By the time the bartender finally escapes, there are claw marks in the drywall and someone’s eaten the carpet.

No matter who wins, I enjoy this part, with everybody equal parts exhausted and exhilarated and anxious. By tomorrow morning, you’re going to hear wails of despair and rage. There might be recounts, lawsuits, and the inevitable disappointment when the story doesn’t end cleanly and crisply, with a winner over here and a loser over there.

But right now, everyone is filled with a kind of savage joy, waiting for the moment when we all get to find out what happens. For all the misinformation, hype, spin, partisan hackery and outright lying, I’m always glad to see this day come. For a few hours, at least, millions of people all give a collective damn about what happens to our country and our future. As flawed and imperfect as the process is, it reflects our own flaws and imperfections, and our hopes to make something better on the next go-round.

If that’s not worth free beer and ice cream, then I don’t know what qualifies.

Specifically, the Crestwood House Monster Series of books.

I’d almost written these off to faulty memory until I saw this one in a Halloween display: The Wolf Man.

And then it all came flooding back. The Monster Series was a line of books that gathered up a bunch of (surprisingly accurate) monster lore and then included (surprisingly detailed) plot summaries of the great monster movies of the 30s, 40s, and 50s. The Collister Elementary library had the entire set, and since I wasn’t allowed to read comic books in class, I checked out every one of them. To this day, there are some horror films I haven’t seen — for instance, I’ve never seen Universal’s original Mummy series — but I know how they ended, because I read the Crestwood House books. This was the Internet before the Internet: a corner of the library filled with specialized knowledge, just waiting there for someone willing to seek it out. My path to writing The President’s Vampire started right there.

(You can read an excellent history of the books here.)

As soon as I knew the proper name for the series, I went to Amazon and got some copies of my own, in order to keep wallowing in the resurfaced memories. One old favorite holds up very well: Mad Scientists.

Yes, that is Boris Karloff as Fu Manchu. With a Death Ray.

It includes Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Fu Manchu, The Invisible Man, and The Fly. It’s a treasure trove of very smart guys with really bad ideas. And it’s got some lovely still pictures from all of those horror flicks.

Jekyll becoming Hyde

I’m still sort of amazed that no horrified parents’ groups ever rallied against these books, since they include murder, mayhem, occult practices, and all kinds of other crimes that kids are supposed to be sheltered from.

But then, as now, kids are tougher and smarter than we think — I don’t remember a single nightmare from one of these books, or, for that matter, from Channel 12′s month-long Halloween movie marathon. Instead, I think I began to realize that these were all stories — that there were common threads of legend and pure nonsense running through them, and if I worked at it, I might be able to unravel them and find the secrets for myself.

I’m thrilled to see that these books are still out there in the wild. The copies I picked up were discards from the Fergus Falls library, probably salvaged for less than a buck each, which seems like a shame.

Hopefully someone will buy up the rights to the Crestwood House series and bring them all back into print. I think there are a lot of kids who would appreciate this kind of field guide to the world of monsters; who might really be able to use books that explain away some of the mystery, and shed a little light in the dark.

• Cracked.com has five examples of stories from history that are just as frightening as any horror movie. Doesn’t include my favorite, but the one about a real-life Chucky doll makes up for it. There’s also this piece from Cracked about the creepiest stories in the history of war.(Spoilers: it includes eating human flesh.)

• Paranormal author Brad Steiger gives his picks for the most authentic ghost films at UFO Digest. Or you can check out his picks for scariest UFO movies, in case you’re looking for something to watch on Halloween.

• This one goes out to my friend Brill (and of course, to Robopocalypse author Daniel Wilson): “Predator Drones Coming to Life.” Apparently SkyNet is here.

• And speaking of real-life horror stories, try to wrap your mind around this concept: “Planetary Chemotherapy.”

(via BoingBoing)