Blog

From the Cutting Room Floor

Slasher Final

The picture you see above was the first attempt at a page header for The Grindhouse (coming soon!  To a theatre near you!).  I commissioned it from The MASMan, who I found at Deviantart, and all I asked for was: 1) a badass Final Girl, who was 2) protecting her boyfriend, who was wounded and cowering from 3) a Slasher who was at least a little different from your stereotypical masked machete-swinger.

I think I got what I wanted.  Our Heroine is badass, the slasher is distinctive…but as much as I liked it, I decided it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.  Our Heroine here is in a defensive posture, and I wanted it to be 100% clear that our slasher has messed with the wrong Final Girl this time, and is about to get his ass kicked so hard that there may not be a sequel.

So I commissioned another drawing, and that was everything I could have hoped for.

Coming soon to a theatre near you…

 

Coming Attractions: The Grindhouse

As my friends and family will tell you, I don’t always have the best of taste.

When it comes to literature, I love J.R.R. Tolkien, Bram Stoker, H.P. Lovecraft…and R.A. Salvatore, Stephen King, and even Edward Lee (do not Google unless you have a strong stomach).  At the theatre, I love a well-done Shakespearean, but I also loved a staged reading of H.P. Lovecraft stories, a musical comedy about the Hopkinsville Goblin Incident, and a little independent comedy about beer and zombies called Brew of the Dead.  And its sequel.  Movies?  The Lord of the Rings and The Maltese Falcon share space on my shelves with The Return of the Living Dead, the entirety of both the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street series, and of course, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s Grindhouse.  Visual arts?  I acknowledge the greatness of the Old Masters, but I can’t help but prefer Joseph Michael Linsner and Michael Whelan.  As for music…heh.  I guess this is where my taste is entirely lowbrow.  Loud and bombastic, Epic Rock and Country – Garth Brooks and Bonnie Tyler, Journey and Meat Loaf, and every note that Jim Steinman ever wrote.

What I’m leading up to with all this is that my Novels and Novellas page and my Short Stories page are where I put the things that I take seriously: horror and fantasy where I try to tell some sort of truth, to make myself heard, to build something with the art and craft of writing.

But I also need to feed the other urge.  That’s what the Grindhouse Page (coming soon to this very theatre!) is for.

The Grindhouse page will be the uncensored version, the back room of the video store, the grindhouse theatre on 42nd street in the depths of the Seventies getting ready to start its midnight show, the director’s cut where all of the scenes that were cut to keep the rating at R instead of NC-17 are put back in.  It will be where I have fun with boobs and blood, all the graphic and gratuitous sex and violence that would be a distraction in the serious stuff.  There will be sleaze and slashers and even outright erotica.

Coming soon to this very theatre…

 

Another Fine Portrait of An Awesome Character

Dubiousbyhabit of Sartorially Smart Heroines has posted a new portrait of Queen Viarraluca, the protagonist of Dubious’s upcoming fantasy novel, First Empress.  Once again, the portrait is the work of the talented MJ Barros.

Queen Vi is looking particularly imposing in this portrait.  As Dubious explains on Tumblr:

The scene here is where she confronts a nobleman who conspired to pay an assassin to take her out. The confrontation doesn’t go well for him.

It doesn’t go well for the assassin, either.  Somehow, we’ve developed this cultural idea of assassins as the ultimate death machines, but we forget: assassins don’t have opponents, they have victims.  If an assassin is fighting anyone, they’ve already screwed up.  And if they’re dealing with a warrior, a warrior who sees them coming…well.  In that case, it tends to be the warrior who has a victim instead of an opponent.

PS – I recommend you check out “Portrait Four”.  It’s just as NSFW as Dubious warns, but it’s also beautiful.

It Was Taking Too Long

Hey, all.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been rolling out my old short stories one at a time, each complete with their own product page and a promotional post on the blog.  But like the title says, I decided that was taking too long.  Those stories were published before.  There was no point in drawing things out.

So now, all previously published stories are once again available at Amazon.  All are also enrolled in KDP Select, so if you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited, they are available there for your reading pleasure.

Product pages coming soon, as well as new stories.  And keep your eye out for promotions!

 

 

The Guardian Cats of New York City: Watcher On The Shore is now available for sale!

Watcher on the Shore Title

Hey, all!

Like the title says, The Guardian Cats of New York City: The Watcher On The Shore is once again available for sale and for checkout on Kindle Unlimited.  For the story that gives us our first look at what happens when there’s something too big for the Guardian Cats to handle – and how they manage to help any – check out the Short Stories page, The Watcher On The Shore‘s own page, or just go straight to Amazon.

To whet your appetite, here’s an excerpt:

Nar-Tali didn’t often envy the senses of the two-legs, nose-numb and half-deaf as they were. But tonight he would have accepted their night-blindness if it had brought with it the distance and clarity of their vision. The Thing that was coming, it was coming from the water. He could sense that now, feel it in his whiskers and fur and bones like the coming of the storm. But as much as he strained his senses toward the Great Salty Water, he could detect nothing. The roaring of the rain filled his hearing; the water and the wind washed away all smells.

Then the skyfire flashed again, and he caught a glimpse of…something. It was distant and unclear and it was only there for a moment, but it was…it was like a hill had suddenly risen up out of the water, then slid smoothly back in.

The sky rumbled in response to the skyfire, drowning out all sound. But as the last of the echoes of the sky-roar faded, Nar-Tali thought he heard the last echoes of another – a distant reptilian bellow.

There it was again. Much closer this time. And much, much louder.

Nar-Tali noticed that the ragged two-legs was standing beside him now, staring out at the Great Salty Water. For all the good it would do him. Even if the hill in the water surfaced again, all he would see was black on black. Not that he, Nar-Tali, was doing much better. With all this blinding rain coming down, he might as well be a two-legs himself.

Wait – there it was. The hill in the water. It was beside the long wooden sidewalk that went out onto the water now, and it was approaching shore.

On some instinct, Nar-Tali nudged the ragged two-legs, then pointed toward the shore.

The two-legs nodded. He saw it, too.

The hill was rising out of the water. Only it was longer now. More of a ridge.

The ridge kept rising. And rising. And then it broke the surface, and…

Oh. Great. Sekhmet.

It was huge.

Bast have mercy, it was a great serpent. As long as the sidewalk-over-the-water…no, longer, as long as one of the great metal serpents that carried two-legs in their bellies as they screamed along the rails. And at least as thick.

Its head was broad and flat and angular, with horns and razored spines sticking out in all directions. Its mouth, with its three rows of fangs, was easily capable of taking the ragged two-legs whole. Its scales gleamed black in the light of the boardwalk lamps, and its eyes glowed a poisonous green.

It thrashed and coiled its way out of the surf, and then it was on shore, rushing forward on thousands of limbs of all description. Crab legs and lizard feet supported it as tentacles and jellyfish stingers waved in the air.

It was so big. So impossibly big. As big as old Apophis, but he was no Bast. He was just Nar-Tali. He couldn’t fight that. But he’d felt the calling in his bones tonight, the call to duty. Why had he been called if he could do nothing? There must be –

And then the ragged two-legs was striding forward, a stick in one hand, the other under his coat. “Whoa there!” He shouted. “Hey, whoa there!”

Reviews: Streets of Fire

streets_of_fire_poster

 

This review was first published on March 8, 2013, back on Dreams of the Shining Horizon.  I bring it here for several reasons.  First, I intend to bring  all of my reviews over – I believe they have relevance to writing theory and my philosophy as a writer.  I bring this review over  first because it was the first and, in my opinion, one of the best on the old site.  What’s more, this movie remains a great inspiration to me as I continue to write fiction about myths and dreams.  Finally, it’s summer time, and this is by far my favorite summer movie.  Enjoy.

On my About page, and again in my first post, I mention that one of the things I intend to write about on this site is movies.  It would be strange if I didn’t: I’ve been a movie buff ever since I was a little kid hanging out in the local video store, wishing I could take the entire stock home.  And while there are certainly movies I’m going to pick apart or hold up as examples of what not to do, most of them are going to be movies I love, or that inspire me in some way.

That’s why the very first movie review on Dreams of the Shining Horizon is going to be about Streets of Fire.  It fits into both categories, and I wanted to get the whole endeavor off to a positive start. Continue reading “Reviews: Streets of Fire“

Looking the Other Way is now available for sale!

Cover-Final

The first story of the dark beneath the City is now available for sale!  Check out the updated Short Stories page, the story’s own page, or, if you’re in a hurry, just go straight to Amazon.  It’s available both for purchase and for checkout with Kindle Unlimited.

(All stories previously released through this site are now available only through Amazon, and can now be checked out through Kindle Unlimited.)

Excerpt:

The tracks were full of vermin.

It was a living river, flowing from the Queensward side – from the deep and unbroken dark beneath the East River. Probably shin-deep or worse, if I’d actually dared to get down there: rats squirming and climbing and tumbling over each other as an endless current of cockroaches carried them along.

They were running from something. Was the tunnel flooding? Should I be headed for the surface, like right-frigging-now?

But no, that wasn’t it. If I looked further up the tracks, toward the tunnel, I could see what they were running from. Right behind the cockroaches was a tide of…well, they looked like cockroaches, too, except that they were black – I mean absolute, gleaming, lightless, deep-space black, like chips of the all-consuming Void moving among the plain brown carapaces of New York’s everyday garbage-eaters – and they were big. The ones the size of my finger were running before the ones the size of my palm, who were running before the ones the size of my whole hand, who were…

Then, just as I was about to make a run for the surface – possibly while screaming like a little girl – a dark shape appeared in the tunnel. It looked human and it lurched along like it was drunk or unsteady on its feet, like the homeless guy up on the platform.

I started forward; plague of giant mutant cockroaches or no, a person down on those tracks is in several different kinds of deep trouble. The train would be along any minute, but it might not even be that long before a stumbling drunk stumbled into the third rail.

I didn’t get two steps before Janitor’s Coveralls grabbed my shoulder. “Dejalo, m’ijo,” he said. “Leave it. This is their territory.”

“Their what?” I said, starting forward again. Then I stopped short as the figure emerged from the tunnel.

It wasn’t human. If it ever had been, it wasn’t anymore. More of the black cockroaches – these ones with weird silver-colored ridges and knobs forming patterns on their shells – were swarming all over it. Over it and through it. Black bugs dripped from the sleeves of its trench coat and the cuffs of its raggedy corduroys; they spread like sweat stains across its ancient white undershirt; they concealed its feet as it shuffled forward through the swarm. It opened its mouth and a horrible crackling noise emerged, followed by more of the finger-sized black beetles. Worst of all, when it raised its head so I could see under the battered brim of its hat, I saw two of them lodged in its eye sockets, like tiny pilots operating the vehicle that had once been a man.

Coney Island: Opening The Beach

Coney Island Greeting Card

I had an experience I didn’t expect this weekend.

It was a bright, sunny summer day, and my fiancee was going record shopping with some friends to commemorate the closing of several well-beloved old record stores.  As you can probably guess from the banner, I decided to go to Coney Island instead.

When I got there, I saw people in colorful costumes and makeup, and I started to get worried.  Then I saw the police barriers set up, and I was dismayed to realize I was right: I had arrived on the day of the Mermaid Parade.

For those who are unfamiliar (and who didn’t follow that link), the Mermaid Parade is New York City’s Mardi Gras, a celebration of the beginning of summer at Coney Island, a tradition that goes back to 1983.

I’d been to the Mermaid Parade before, once on purpose and once by accident, and resolved to never go again.  Way too crowded for an introvert like myself to enjoy.  But after this weekend, I may need to make it a yearly thing.

While I would still want to avoid the parade route itself, Coney Island that day was filled with the strange and beautiful creatures of New York, with their makeup, their colored hair, and their costumes.  See here, here, here and (for this year’s event) here to see what I’m talking about, but be careful – those links are very NSFW.  It is legal for women to go topless in public in New York, and the Mermaid Parade is one of the few times you’ll see any significant number of women actually exercise that right.  Seriously, so many bare breasts in those links, you guys.

One of the Strange Beautiful Creatures you don’t see in those pictures is the Snake Guy, who was walking the boardwalk with his pet boa constrictors wrapped around his shoulders.  I didn’t pet them, but others did.

I was out on the Steeplechase Pier getting ready to leave – more specifically, to head to the Violent Femmes concert in Prospect Park where I spent the evening with my fiancee and some friends – when I noticed a bit of commotion down on the beach.

I looked down, and who should I see but Dick Zigun himself, founder of the Mermaid Parade and unofficial mayor of Coney Island:

Dick Zigun

That’s when I realized I was present for the annual Opening of the Beach!  This is the ceremony that marks the traditional beginning of summer at Coney Island.

I don’t know if this happens every year, but this year they had a houngan perform a blessing: there was drumming and chanting and shaking of an asson gourd rattle; rum was sprayed all around, and a tall, strong fellow placed a basket of fruit on his head and walked out into the water until the fruit floated out of the basket, which I believe is an offering to Agwe, the loa of the Sea.

I’ve written many times and in many places of the spiritual connection I feel to the waters, to Coney Island in particular.  To see someone else, even from a distance, even from a tradition I don’t understand very well, recognize and honor that holiness was a powerful and moving experience.

So I think I’ll go again next year.  Avoid the worst of the crowds as best I can, mingle with the strange beautiful creatures, and take a more active part in blessing the waters that have so blessed me.  I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday in June.

I Don’t Know What To Do

When I started this year, I had three ideas for changes of direction in my writing career:

  1. Create this site, so my marketing efforts are associated with my own name, instead of a melodramatic and rather silly blog title that I must admit I still have quite a bit of affection for.  It’s a little slow to get off the ground, but I’m going to keep plugging at it (if anyone could help by sharing me all over your social media, it would be much appreciated), because the original reason I did it remains valid and isn’t likely to change.
  2. Take down all of my short stories and only sell them as collections.  This idea has already been rescinded.
  3. Stop using Amazon KDP Select, which requires Amazon exclusivity, and start publishing on Smashwords as well, which (through their Premium Catalogue) sells through a number of different venues and formats, improving options for potential customers.

That last one has run into a significant speed bump:

No one is buying anything at the alternate venues.  A fair-to-middling month on Amazon KDP Select is better, in terms of sales, than my entire time on alternate venues.  And that’s counting the significant amount of time I spent on those alternate venues before I signed up for KDP Select the first time.

Philosophically, I’m uncomfortable with being exclusive to one venue.  I want my buyers to have options, and I don’t want to be at the mercy of some megacorp.  This is how monopolies happen.

That said, I have to be realistic.  I’m trying to build a career, here.  If Amazon Kindle has become the public’s medium of choice, then I have to do what maximizes my exposure in it.

So talk to me, folks.  I got my ears on, good buddy.  My instinct is to hit “Depublish” on all those alternate venues, and get back on KDP Select.  What do y’all think?

(PS – A little good news to go with all this: I’m very close to finished with Part 3 of Dreams of the Boardwalk, and it will be going up next week.)

Sights of New York: Green-Wood Cemetery

Green-Wood Cemetery 6-11-2016

My fiancee and I were in the neighborhood this past Saturday, and we happened to stop by Green-Wood Cemetery.  That gatehouse you see up above caught our attention.  It was beautiful and peaceful – everything a cemetery should be, instead of everything that horror writers like myself always turn them into.  We’re planning to go back sometime, to get more and better pictures.  And I’m almost certain to set a future story there.

(Still and all, we might have been better off if we hadn’t watch all four Phantasm flicks before we went to visit this place…)