He stared at the screen. The screen returned the gesture with a vibrant glow.
Tick-tick-tick, his fingers punched the keys. A quick head shake, and the word vanished with a backspace tick-tick-tick.
"Damn."
The screen glared. The man narrowed his eyes.
It was time, now or never, a whole array of overused idioms and limp metaphors. The man grasped his jaw in one hand and shifted it back and forth. The bone came loose with a muted pop. Unhinged, his mandible dropped open like the entrance to Wind Cave.
He started with the mouse, sucking down the cable like a wispy bit of pasta. The keyboard came next, a test run to see if the larger bits might fit. Tick-tick-tick a few keys dragged across his teeth was they slid into his throat--which, as it happened, expanded like a rubber balloon to accommodate the awkward snack. The speakers popped in, one-two, and the man sat back and took a deep breath.
The monitor would come last, he decided. With his fingers, he stretched his lips over the CPU tower, forcing it in in with a few, quick taps. The cords, cables, and other loose paraphernalia rocketed down his widened esophagus.
The monitor didn't glare anymore. The man left it, alone, screen blank and muddy, on the desktop. He had won.
This time.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Two From DarkHart
I picked up two books from DarkHart Press recently...The Gentling Box, a novel by Lisa Mannetti and Martyrs & Monsters, a collection of short fiction by Robert Dunbar.
I picked up The Gentling Box after learning Mannetti had won the Stoker for best first novel. The premise intrigued me, and the first couple of pages grabbed me by the throat. Mannetti has a fantastic way with imagery, pummeling the reader's senses as she paints a vivid world of gypsies, betrayal, and dark magic.
You'd be hard pressed to find any negative reviews of the book, and with good reason. It's well-researched, well-written, and builds just enough tension to keep a reader hooked. But, I found myself skimming some of the more tedious passages of description. After a certain point, I drowned under the imagery and needed a breath. No spoilers here, but the central conflict--involving the device for which the novel is named--just didn't work for me, either. Note I write: for me. The book is fantastic...truly deserving of the Stoker...my frustrations reveal more about my taste than Mannetti's prose. (read on for more)
I grabbed Dunbar's collection, Martyrs & Monsters after starting The Gentling Box. DarkHart seems to have something here...a small press that publishes wonderfully literary horror. I read the introduction and dove into the first story, put the book down, and scratched my head. Again--there's a theme--the imagery was brilliant, but I didn't care for "Getting Wet". The story felt hazy, unclear. Determined to try another, I read the related, "Are We Dead Yet?". Again, I put the book down. Neither story really hit that special nerve.
I'm glad I picked it up a third time. "Red Soil" is worth the price of admission alone. Originally appearing in Cemetery Dance, the story drives a sharp pike right into the heart of what I like about horror: short enough that I can churn through it quickly, digesting all the juiciest bits with enough time to let the chill settle deep in my imagination. A short story can afford to be a little open to interpretation, and my brain is always ready to play. Since reading "Red Soil", I've found other gems in the collection (I never read them cover to cover...I just can't). "Red Soil" is one of those stories I wish I would have written, and as a fledgling author, I have no higher praise to give.
What did I learn about myself? I like my horror fiction short, for one. I prefer longer works of fantasy or science fiction, but horror...give it to me quick and dirty.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
WIP Wednesday: Subpar Home Makeover Edition
Color me unimpressive; I only added a little over 4K on Loathsome...I blame it on a lengthy visit from the in-laws, the continuous saga to paint the trim of our house, and a short story that begged to be written. The visit was fun and the short story (around 2K itself) was fun, too. The house painting however...slow and agonizing.
So my word count is around 27.5K. I don't have one of those fancy progress bars because that would just freak me out. I'm approaching halfway. That's it.
For a moment, the world became the riotous pound of blood in my ears, but then the drag lessened on the rope. Jim, no longer of use at the bottom of the falls, had climbed the shore and took up Olson’s post. With a last pull, we heaved the heavy aft of the boat above the precipice, and let the two larger men pull it toward their bank to rest on shore. Silas and I worked through the current again and fell panting on the opposite side.
“Ya god-damned pansy,” Silas snarled at Olson. “Ya could’ve killed us all with your weakness.”
Olson cringed. “I—I just lost—my hold,” he stuttered.
“Enough,” I said, rubbing the soreness out of my hands. “We need to press on. Our final station is nearly a day’s journey upriver, and if we are to make it before nightfall, we have no time to waste bickering with one another.”
Ah, tension. How I love thee.
Tomorrow, I give my take on two books from Darkhart Press. Enjoy WIP Wednesday.
So my word count is around 27.5K. I don't have one of those fancy progress bars because that would just freak me out. I'm approaching halfway. That's it.
For a moment, the world became the riotous pound of blood in my ears, but then the drag lessened on the rope. Jim, no longer of use at the bottom of the falls, had climbed the shore and took up Olson’s post. With a last pull, we heaved the heavy aft of the boat above the precipice, and let the two larger men pull it toward their bank to rest on shore. Silas and I worked through the current again and fell panting on the opposite side.
“Ya god-damned pansy,” Silas snarled at Olson. “Ya could’ve killed us all with your weakness.”
Olson cringed. “I—I just lost—my hold,” he stuttered.
“Enough,” I said, rubbing the soreness out of my hands. “We need to press on. Our final station is nearly a day’s journey upriver, and if we are to make it before nightfall, we have no time to waste bickering with one another.”
Ah, tension. How I love thee.
Tomorrow, I give my take on two books from Darkhart Press. Enjoy WIP Wednesday.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Patient Growth of a Mammoth Sunflower
The blooms have just emerged on two of our mammoth sunflowers. Less than four months ago, they were seeds smaller than the nail on my pinkie. I'm about 6'3", so you have a point of reference for just how utterly gargantuan these things are. These plants belong to the variety that produce edible seeds, and while we only have four that survived, they are quite stunning.
I'm sure there's a lesson about writing or patience or life in general in there somewhere...I'm too busy to think about it right now.
__________
In a fit of rather apt timing, our local paper (the Lawrence Journal-World) published a story about online comments. Given last week's maelstrom surrounding one of my posts, I thought the article was interesting, at least. If you read the article, make sure to read some of the comments. ;)
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Cover Art Goodness
Triangulation: Dark Glass is now on sale. The collection includes some wonderful tales. (Hidden behind which my own "Dancing Lessons" can be found.) The cover of Triangulation: Dark Glass smacks of dark fantasy goodness, doesn't it?
Friday, July 24, 2009
Vintage Sunshine
(with acknowledgements to Catherine J. Gardner for the title)
Two boys wiggle through the last few feet of earthen tunnel and drop, one after the other, onto the concrete slab below. Small puffs of dust dance into their flashlight beams.
“Bomb shelter,” the smaller boy says. "Really old bomb shelter." His draws his beam across a shelf of cans. The labels, once displaying bright fruits and vegetables with bold words, now wear a layer of filth that mutes the colors. “S’pose there’s still anything in these cans?”
“Dunno,” the big boy mutters. Shooting from the hip with his flashlight, he lumbers to the shelf in front of him. “This one looks good.” He sets the light on the shelf and pulls the can toward him. “Heavy,” he grunts.
“Look, maybe we should go…”
“Shine your light here,” the big boy says. He pulls a shiny device from his pocked and digs around the lip of the can. The tiny machine makes a dull hum as it cuts through steel.
“Really, should you open that? It’s been down here for what, a couple hundred years…”
“Shut up.” The big boy folds his tool and latches onto the can lid with his fingertips. He peels back the metal disc and fumbles for his flashlight. A crash sounds, followed by the metallic thunk of cans hitting the slab floor.
“Sorry…I tripped.”
The big boy frowns, turns to the can, and shines his light inside. A smile creeps over his frown. “No shit,” he mumbles, thrusting his hand inside. A moment later he fishes out a few limp, pale-green tubular objects. “Green beans.” He brings them to his nose and sniffs. “Still good, too.”
“You’re not going to…”
"Watch me." The big boy pushes a few beans into his mouth. “Well-aged,” he mumbles through the green mush.
Now you know why I don' write science fiction.
I'm holding on to the other titles, hoping to make something out of "Rats with Long Legs" and "Hard Pressed". This little ditty is for Robert Swartwood: a story (almost) shorter than the title.
"How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You That The Dog Ate My Homework, Madonna Spit In My Face, And Aliens Abducted Me Three Times But Only Probed Me Once?"
"It wasn't even painful," Marcy said.
June frowned. "Getting the F on your paper?"
"No...not that."
"The spit?"
"No, silly."
"Oh," June said, nodding. "That."
"Of course, it would have been nice if I didn't have to ask. I figured 'third time's a charm'. Right?"
Have a fantastic weekend.
Two boys wiggle through the last few feet of earthen tunnel and drop, one after the other, onto the concrete slab below. Small puffs of dust dance into their flashlight beams.
“Bomb shelter,” the smaller boy says. "Really old bomb shelter." His draws his beam across a shelf of cans. The labels, once displaying bright fruits and vegetables with bold words, now wear a layer of filth that mutes the colors. “S’pose there’s still anything in these cans?”
“Dunno,” the big boy mutters. Shooting from the hip with his flashlight, he lumbers to the shelf in front of him. “This one looks good.” He sets the light on the shelf and pulls the can toward him. “Heavy,” he grunts.
“Look, maybe we should go…”
“Shine your light here,” the big boy says. He pulls a shiny device from his pocked and digs around the lip of the can. The tiny machine makes a dull hum as it cuts through steel.
“Really, should you open that? It’s been down here for what, a couple hundred years…”
“Shut up.” The big boy folds his tool and latches onto the can lid with his fingertips. He peels back the metal disc and fumbles for his flashlight. A crash sounds, followed by the metallic thunk of cans hitting the slab floor.
“Sorry…I tripped.”
The big boy frowns, turns to the can, and shines his light inside. A smile creeps over his frown. “No shit,” he mumbles, thrusting his hand inside. A moment later he fishes out a few limp, pale-green tubular objects. “Green beans.” He brings them to his nose and sniffs. “Still good, too.”
“You’re not going to…”
"Watch me." The big boy pushes a few beans into his mouth. “Well-aged,” he mumbles through the green mush.
__________
Now you know why I don' write science fiction.
I'm holding on to the other titles, hoping to make something out of "Rats with Long Legs" and "Hard Pressed". This little ditty is for Robert Swartwood: a story (almost) shorter than the title.
"How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You That The Dog Ate My Homework, Madonna Spit In My Face, And Aliens Abducted Me Three Times But Only Probed Me Once?"
"It wasn't even painful," Marcy said.
June frowned. "Getting the F on your paper?"
"No...not that."
"The spit?"
"No, silly."
"Oh," June said, nodding. "That."
"Of course, it would have been nice if I didn't have to ask. I figured 'third time's a charm'. Right?"
__________
Have a fantastic weekend.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
WIP Wednesday; On Not Naming Names
Well...yes. Wednesday again?
Here goes. Loathsome stands at 23K--not a huge jump from last week, but I'm managing around 1,000 words a day. Funny how I write less in the summer when I have more "free time". (I also have a wife and two kids sharing the summer with me...and projects. Ugh...projects. I know Mr. Eyberg likes projects, but me? Meh.)
An excerpt (I'd mention a spoiler alert, but then, you don't know any of these characters, do you?):
It was early in the morning when we woke to Greig’s cries. Silas and I took turns running the shirt to the river for fresh water. We sat up with the dying man for until dawn, trying to cool the fever and make him as comfortable as possible. Just as the sun began to break over the ridgeline to the east, Greig opened his eyes.
“Get me my pipe, will ya, Yank?”
I nodded and rummaged through his personal effects until I found his pipe, a hand-carved thing from mahogany, dark and beautiful. My hands shook as I filled the bowl and fumbled with a match. Meanwhile, Silas helped prop his back against a piece of driftwood so he could sit and enjoy the smoke.
“Thank ya,” Greig muttered. He closed his eyes and puffed. The smoke wreathed around his head and melted into the morning mist. After a few minutes, he plucked the pipe from his mouth and started whistling the tune to “Dixie”. His voice gradually fell silent, and his head rocked back.
Dead.
As an addendum to yesterday's post (according to Statcounter, my most read ever--not sure what to make of that), I want to be clear two things:
1) The frustration that poured over into words had been building for some time. The comments of Mr. Professional Writer were the proverbial straw that broke my back. To mention the writer by name on the post would be unfair to him (I did call him "Mr.") and me. The comments and behavior of quite a few individuals led to my open letter.
2) I am fully capable of disliking a person's behavior without having to attack the person. Welcome to the world of being a parent. Do I stop loving Owen when he throws a dirt clod into the open window of my car? Of course not. I try to make this clear to my kids. I don't know Mr. Professional Writer personally. To name names would be unduly snarky and very personal.
Look, the internet has enough of that negative karma already. That was one point I was trying to make.
I'll sign off with a quote from Mort Castle's introduction to On Writing Horror:
"Come in, and we, all of us together, will explore the strange art and demanding craft..."
Wow. "All of us together." That's a nice thought, eh?
Here goes. Loathsome stands at 23K--not a huge jump from last week, but I'm managing around 1,000 words a day. Funny how I write less in the summer when I have more "free time". (I also have a wife and two kids sharing the summer with me...and projects. Ugh...projects. I know Mr. Eyberg likes projects, but me? Meh.)
An excerpt (I'd mention a spoiler alert, but then, you don't know any of these characters, do you?):
It was early in the morning when we woke to Greig’s cries. Silas and I took turns running the shirt to the river for fresh water. We sat up with the dying man for until dawn, trying to cool the fever and make him as comfortable as possible. Just as the sun began to break over the ridgeline to the east, Greig opened his eyes.
“Get me my pipe, will ya, Yank?”
I nodded and rummaged through his personal effects until I found his pipe, a hand-carved thing from mahogany, dark and beautiful. My hands shook as I filled the bowl and fumbled with a match. Meanwhile, Silas helped prop his back against a piece of driftwood so he could sit and enjoy the smoke.
“Thank ya,” Greig muttered. He closed his eyes and puffed. The smoke wreathed around his head and melted into the morning mist. After a few minutes, he plucked the pipe from his mouth and started whistling the tune to “Dixie”. His voice gradually fell silent, and his head rocked back.
Dead.
__________
As an addendum to yesterday's post (according to Statcounter, my most read ever--not sure what to make of that), I want to be clear two things:
1) The frustration that poured over into words had been building for some time. The comments of Mr. Professional Writer were the proverbial straw that broke my back. To mention the writer by name on the post would be unfair to him (I did call him "Mr.") and me. The comments and behavior of quite a few individuals led to my open letter.
2) I am fully capable of disliking a person's behavior without having to attack the person. Welcome to the world of being a parent. Do I stop loving Owen when he throws a dirt clod into the open window of my car? Of course not. I try to make this clear to my kids. I don't know Mr. Professional Writer personally. To name names would be unduly snarky and very personal.
Look, the internet has enough of that negative karma already. That was one point I was trying to make.
I'll sign off with a quote from Mort Castle's introduction to On Writing Horror:
"Come in, and we, all of us together, will explore the strange art and demanding craft..."
Wow. "All of us together." That's a nice thought, eh?
An Open Letter to Mr. Professional Writer
*has been removed because a crackpot managed to use it as a weapon*
If you would like a copy, including all comments, I'm happy to oblige. Drop me an email: aaron_polson(at)hotmail.com. They are my words, and I will dispense them at my discretion.
If you would like a copy, including all comments, I'm happy to oblige. Drop me an email: aaron_polson(at)hotmail.com. They are my words, and I will dispense them at my discretion.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I was Angry, and Then...
This movie meme thing happened. I still have a rant brewing. Maybe tomorrow it will spill over. Maybe not.
1.Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times:
Rear Window (1954), the original Hitchcock. Talk about suspense, I seen that darn flick a gazillion times, and I still clench up when Raymond Burr (aka Lars Thorwald) enters Jimmy Stewart's place. Yikes.
2.Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater:
I'm a cheapskate, so this doesn't happen often. The last time was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I wanted to see the "eat shit" look Ginny gave Cho again.
3.Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie:
Harrison Ford. But that was long ago.
4.Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie:
Any "professional" wrestler except Tor Johnson. Plan 9 was bitchin'.
5.Name a movie that you can and do quote from:
Okay, I'll name two: Platoon.
I can't help repeating the line from Barnes to O'Neil before the final battle: "We all gotta die sometime, Red."
and Ghostbusters. (any line that comes out of Bill Murray's mouth...Mother Pussbucket comes to mind)
6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs:
Jesus Christ Superstar. Love it. The movie was weird as hell, too. I also dig Phantom of the Opera (go ahead, throw things), but the movie...meh. I couldn't watch more than ten minutes.
7.Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with:
Guys and Dolls. C'mon everybody..."I got a horse right here..."
8.Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see:
Rebel without a Cause so you'll know what all the James Dean schtuff is about. That and Zombie Strippers. (I'm kidding about one of these, of course)
9. Name a movie that you own:
Seven Samurai. You should probably watch that one, too. Slide it in #8 instead of the strippers.
10.Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops:
Ice Cube. Have you seen Anaconda? That's what acting is all about. Hell yeah.
*edit* But seriously...I'm a big Tom Waits fan. Thanks to KC Shaw for reminding me. I loved his Renfield in Bram Stoker's Dracula.
11.Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?
Regrettably, no, but we did have a "drive-in" party in our backyard last year (big sheet hanging from the house with a projector=drive in). We showed Scooby-Doo episodes for the kids and watched The Horror of Dracula when they went to bed.
12.Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to it:
The last movie with Peter Cushing in it...you know, the one I haven't seen yet. I think it might have vampires in it. Vampires or reanimated corpses. Either that or he plays Sherlock Holmes. Damn. Too many Cushing movies.
13.Ever walked out of a movie:
Only to, you know, go "potty".
14.Name a movie that made you cry in the theater:
Up. Like a freakin' baby. That movie is like torture for the first 10 minutes, man. I also cried at The Muppet Movie, but I was like four or five.
15.What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?
Up. Can't go back to the theater. Too traumatic. Except maybe to see Harry Potter. Gotta have my Potter fix...
16.What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?
The good one. You know, with the awesome schtuff in it. Explosions and meaningful exchanges of dialogue about the nature of love and the universe?
17.What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?
The Muppet Movie. It made me question the nature of reality.
18.What movie do you wish you had never seen?
The Ring. Seriously, I had trouble sleeping. Then I started trying to understand the logic of the whole thing, and I had trouble sleeping for a whole different reason.
19.What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?
Kwaidan. Japanese ghost stories for the win! If you don't think giant eyeballs floating over a blizzard are weird, you're fired.
20.What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?
I'm with Katey on this. Full Metal Jacket freaked me out. Horror stuff, yeah...scary. But war. War is effin' real. Full Metal Jacket is messed up real...weirdo soundtrack that twists your head, too.
21.What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?
I still love Ghostbusters. I didn't get half of it when I was a kid. Some of Aykroyd's lines are priceless. Nobody, but nobody, improvs like Bill Murray. Plus, the big monster at the end? Marshmallow!
Yum.
I'm going to go make some s'mores. Cheers.
1.Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times:
Rear Window (1954), the original Hitchcock. Talk about suspense, I seen that darn flick a gazillion times, and I still clench up when Raymond Burr (aka Lars Thorwald) enters Jimmy Stewart's place. Yikes.
2.Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater:
I'm a cheapskate, so this doesn't happen often. The last time was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I wanted to see the "eat shit" look Ginny gave Cho again.
3.Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie:
Harrison Ford. But that was long ago.
4.Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie:
Any "professional" wrestler except Tor Johnson. Plan 9 was bitchin'.
5.Name a movie that you can and do quote from:
Okay, I'll name two: Platoon.
I can't help repeating the line from Barnes to O'Neil before the final battle: "We all gotta die sometime, Red."
and Ghostbusters. (any line that comes out of Bill Murray's mouth...Mother Pussbucket comes to mind)
6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs:
Jesus Christ Superstar. Love it. The movie was weird as hell, too. I also dig Phantom of the Opera (go ahead, throw things), but the movie...meh. I couldn't watch more than ten minutes.
7.Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with:
Guys and Dolls. C'mon everybody..."I got a horse right here..."
8.Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see:
Rebel without a Cause so you'll know what all the James Dean schtuff is about. That and Zombie Strippers. (I'm kidding about one of these, of course)
9. Name a movie that you own:
Seven Samurai. You should probably watch that one, too. Slide it in #8 instead of the strippers.
10.Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops:
Ice Cube. Have you seen Anaconda? That's what acting is all about. Hell yeah.
*edit* But seriously...I'm a big Tom Waits fan. Thanks to KC Shaw for reminding me. I loved his Renfield in Bram Stoker's Dracula.
11.Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?
Regrettably, no, but we did have a "drive-in" party in our backyard last year (big sheet hanging from the house with a projector=drive in). We showed Scooby-Doo episodes for the kids and watched The Horror of Dracula when they went to bed.
12.Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to it:
The last movie with Peter Cushing in it...you know, the one I haven't seen yet. I think it might have vampires in it. Vampires or reanimated corpses. Either that or he plays Sherlock Holmes. Damn. Too many Cushing movies.
13.Ever walked out of a movie:
Only to, you know, go "potty".
14.Name a movie that made you cry in the theater:
Up. Like a freakin' baby. That movie is like torture for the first 10 minutes, man. I also cried at The Muppet Movie, but I was like four or five.
15.What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?
Up. Can't go back to the theater. Too traumatic. Except maybe to see Harry Potter. Gotta have my Potter fix...
16.What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?
The good one. You know, with the awesome schtuff in it. Explosions and meaningful exchanges of dialogue about the nature of love and the universe?
17.What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?
The Muppet Movie. It made me question the nature of reality.
18.What movie do you wish you had never seen?
The Ring. Seriously, I had trouble sleeping. Then I started trying to understand the logic of the whole thing, and I had trouble sleeping for a whole different reason.
19.What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?
Kwaidan. Japanese ghost stories for the win! If you don't think giant eyeballs floating over a blizzard are weird, you're fired.
20.What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?
I'm with Katey on this. Full Metal Jacket freaked me out. Horror stuff, yeah...scary. But war. War is effin' real. Full Metal Jacket is messed up real...weirdo soundtrack that twists your head, too.
21.What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?
I still love Ghostbusters. I didn't get half of it when I was a kid. Some of Aykroyd's lines are priceless. Nobody, but nobody, improvs like Bill Murray. Plus, the big monster at the end? Marshmallow!
Yum.
I'm going to go make some s'mores. Cheers.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Truth About Rabbits
The car is black, devouring gravel on a side road to the lake. Two men ride inside, both wearing wrinkled suits and loose neckties. The driver tightens his grip on the wheel. Lined up in the headlights, a jackrabbit freezes, then bolts for the shoulder.
The two-day beard in the passenger seat smacks the driver on the back of his head.
“What the hell was that for?”
Two-day Beard crosses his arms. “The rabbit, you jackass.”
“I missed him.”
“He ran.”
The driver frowns. “When’d you go soft?”
“Shut up.”
“’fraid it was the Easter Bunny?” The driver laughs. “Like you was ever good enough for the Easter Bunny to leave a basket, right?”
Two-day Beard lifts the pistol from his lap. “I just don’t like nobody killing something what never hurt ‘em, is all.”
Another rabbit skirts into the road. The driver’s foot drops on the accelerator. For a moment, the headlights have the furry thing trapped, but it vanishes into the grass as the car passes. The driver laughs again, opening his mouth with the laughter.
“Fuck you,” mutters Two-day Beard.
The car slides between a few more trees and skids to a halt at the edge of the lake. Both men climb out and slam their doors in near synchronicity. The driver jiggles the keys on his way to the trunk. He inserts the key and clicks the trunk open.
“The truth about rabbits, buddy,” he says, “is that they’re just rats with long legs. Like our friend here.” He nods to the trunk.
Two-day Beard scowls as he puts his hands under the body’s arms. “You gonna help with this guy, or write poetry?”
If nonfiction is your "thing", I have a short piece up at Flash Fiction Chronicles about my road to loving flash.
Next week, I'll be writing a piece of flash based on a title submitted in the comments to this post, ala Name Your Tale . (Check out the site...crazy...they write 100 word stories based on reader submitted titles.) I won't promise it will be any good or exactly 100 words, but I will throw something together from a randomly selected title from those added to the comments below. C'mon. Have fun.
The two-day beard in the passenger seat smacks the driver on the back of his head.
“What the hell was that for?”
Two-day Beard crosses his arms. “The rabbit, you jackass.”
“I missed him.”
“He ran.”
The driver frowns. “When’d you go soft?”
“Shut up.”
“’fraid it was the Easter Bunny?” The driver laughs. “Like you was ever good enough for the Easter Bunny to leave a basket, right?”
Two-day Beard lifts the pistol from his lap. “I just don’t like nobody killing something what never hurt ‘em, is all.”
Another rabbit skirts into the road. The driver’s foot drops on the accelerator. For a moment, the headlights have the furry thing trapped, but it vanishes into the grass as the car passes. The driver laughs again, opening his mouth with the laughter.
“Fuck you,” mutters Two-day Beard.
The car slides between a few more trees and skids to a halt at the edge of the lake. Both men climb out and slam their doors in near synchronicity. The driver jiggles the keys on his way to the trunk. He inserts the key and clicks the trunk open.
“The truth about rabbits, buddy,” he says, “is that they’re just rats with long legs. Like our friend here.” He nods to the trunk.
Two-day Beard scowls as he puts his hands under the body’s arms. “You gonna help with this guy, or write poetry?”
___________
If nonfiction is your "thing", I have a short piece up at Flash Fiction Chronicles about my road to loving flash.
Next week, I'll be writing a piece of flash based on a title submitted in the comments to this post, ala Name Your Tale . (Check out the site...crazy...they write 100 word stories based on reader submitted titles.) I won't promise it will be any good or exactly 100 words, but I will throw something together from a randomly selected title from those added to the comments below. C'mon. Have fun.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
WIP Wednesday...It's still Wednesday, Right?
Okay, I'm up to my eyeballs in paint (trimming the house...thank God for bricks), so this will be a quick update.
I'm just shy of 17K in Loathsome Dark and Deep and just penned the end of the first act. I have some details to add, and I suspect act one will land around 20K, act two closer to 30, and the final, "run-like-hell" act (that would be number three) to clock in at 10-15K. Yes, this only makes a 60-65K novel.
Sue me.
In today's snippet, as they motor up the Lewis River, our heroes find what they think is a corpse nailed to the remains of a totem pole. Enjoy!
All hands fell silent, and the only noise came from the constant slap of water against wood, the low puff of our engines at idle, and the clucking of a pair of ravens on the body—clearly that of a large man. The black carrion birds pulled at strips of flesh from the man’s face and exposed neck.
His arm flinched.
“Jesus God, he’s alive,” Silas whispered. Metal and wood clicked to his shoulder; I didn’t have to look—he aimed for the poor soul writhing in pain atop the pole. The Winchester barked, the ravens flapped to the sky, and we all stared in silence as our boats slowly held the curve in the Lewis, slipping away from the grizzly totem.
I'm just shy of 17K in Loathsome Dark and Deep and just penned the end of the first act. I have some details to add, and I suspect act one will land around 20K, act two closer to 30, and the final, "run-like-hell" act (that would be number three) to clock in at 10-15K. Yes, this only makes a 60-65K novel.
Sue me.
In today's snippet, as they motor up the Lewis River, our heroes find what they think is a corpse nailed to the remains of a totem pole. Enjoy!
All hands fell silent, and the only noise came from the constant slap of water against wood, the low puff of our engines at idle, and the clucking of a pair of ravens on the body—clearly that of a large man. The black carrion birds pulled at strips of flesh from the man’s face and exposed neck.
His arm flinched.
“Jesus God, he’s alive,” Silas whispered. Metal and wood clicked to his shoulder; I didn’t have to look—he aimed for the poor soul writhing in pain atop the pole. The Winchester barked, the ravens flapped to the sky, and we all stared in silence as our boats slowly held the curve in the Lewis, slipping away from the grizzly totem.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Atmosphere for the Win!
I'm a sucker for good atmosphere in fiction and film. My love for Disney's clunky sci-fi snoozer, The Black Hole is predicated primarily on the power of the movie's atmosphere.
God knows the "science" is stoopid, not to mention the dime-store dialogue.
But wow. There is a moment when our heroes (a small band of American explorers on board the Palamino, a chubby hypodermic needle of a spacecraft) escape the pull of the black hole (right) only to cruise by the supposedly derelict hull of the Cygnus (a cathedral in space...spooky as hell). The Cygnus is dark, dead. Little V.I.N.C.E.N.T. (a robot) is clinging to the outside of the ship, the Palamino's searchlights rove over the grey hulk of the larger ship...chills. Really.
God knows the "science" is stoopid, not to mention the dime-store dialogue.
But wow. There is a moment when our heroes (a small band of American explorers on board the Palamino, a chubby hypodermic needle of a spacecraft) escape the pull of the black hole (right) only to cruise by the supposedly derelict hull of the Cygnus (a cathedral in space...spooky as hell). The Cygnus is dark, dead. Little V.I.N.C.E.N.T. (a robot) is clinging to the outside of the ship, the Palamino's searchlights rove over the grey hulk of the larger ship...chills. Really.
Embedding is disabled, but here is the link to the scene via YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ts-v6AHr38 (the creeps start at around 3:45 as the Palamino makes another pass on the Cygnus)
I'm that big of a sucker for atmosphere.
So much so, that when I write, sometimes I find myself lost in the atmosphere. The story...meh. Who needs a story when you have atmosphere?
I love old Hammer films for the same reason. And Roger Corman? Don't get me started. No one used the cheesy plastic skull with cobwebs and rubber spiders as well as Corman.
Am I destined to be lost to a world of pulp movies with spooky vibes? The thing is, in a book, atmosphere can be magnificent. I've just picked up this year's Stoker winner for best first novel, The Gentling Box by Lisa Mannetti. Wow. Atmosphere so thick I almost have to chisel my way out.
In a word: heaven. If you like your heaven in a dark, scary place.
I'm that big of a sucker for atmosphere.
So much so, that when I write, sometimes I find myself lost in the atmosphere. The story...meh. Who needs a story when you have atmosphere?
I love old Hammer films for the same reason. And Roger Corman? Don't get me started. No one used the cheesy plastic skull with cobwebs and rubber spiders as well as Corman.
Am I destined to be lost to a world of pulp movies with spooky vibes? The thing is, in a book, atmosphere can be magnificent. I've just picked up this year's Stoker winner for best first novel, The Gentling Box by Lisa Mannetti. Wow. Atmosphere so thick I almost have to chisel my way out.
In a word: heaven. If you like your heaven in a dark, scary place.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Limbo
...not the fun dance-party game, either.
I'm writing about "short list" limbo. Two pieces of mine are currently floating with the other undead souls in short list purgatory. I'm eager for both to make the proverbial "cut" and slip through the pearly gates of publication, but short list limbo has damned a good many stories in the past. I've seen a few of my own favorite creations fall in the name of "hey, but at least it made the short list."
Would I rather not know the stories were short listed? No...I think I like the mere suggestion of publication-hood. But the waiting...ugh. Shortlistage has a nasty way of making the waiting that much longer.
How about you, dear writerly-folk: do you like a short list notification, or would you rather stumble through the dark until a definitive answer lands in your box?
I'm writing about "short list" limbo. Two pieces of mine are currently floating with the other undead souls in short list purgatory. I'm eager for both to make the proverbial "cut" and slip through the pearly gates of publication, but short list limbo has damned a good many stories in the past. I've seen a few of my own favorite creations fall in the name of "hey, but at least it made the short list."
Would I rather not know the stories were short listed? No...I think I like the mere suggestion of publication-hood. But the waiting...ugh. Shortlistage has a nasty way of making the waiting that much longer.
How about you, dear writerly-folk: do you like a short list notification, or would you rather stumble through the dark until a definitive answer lands in your box?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Why We Decided to Use a Blender
Jack wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “You ever read that Poe story?”
I look up, but my hands keep working. “Which one? The guy wrote tons of stuff.”
“The one with the old guy.” Jack thrusts deeper with the knife.
A spurt of crimson strikes my apron and I flinch. “Be careful, damnit.”
“So, have you read that one?”
“Jack, there’s a couple with old guys.” My knees are tired from kneeling on the tile, but the job is almost finished.
Jack stops. He looks at the bathroom light as if the answer's hiding there.
“The Tell-Tale Heart,” he says, puffing out his smile like he just won the Kentucky Derby or something.
“Oh yeah.” I look at the mess in the tub. We’ve got most of the corpse dismembered. “Cuts the old guy up, buries him under the floorboards.”
Jack nods and holds up a lump of meat. A few ticks pass before I realize what he’s holding. “Be a shame if we heard this thing beating later on, wouldn’t it?”
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
WIP Wednesday: The Small Press Edition
So, I changed my direction entirely. As of last Wednesday, I'd started (rather tepidly) a manuscript called The Neither.
Well, I'm now 8K words into a totally different book, this one a riff on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, only involving elements of horror and steampunk in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. around 1880. Think clockwork zombies. I'm calling it Loathsome Dark and Deep for now.
Is this book very commercial? Doubt it. I'm actually writing this with small presses in mind. Niche markets will never make one rich, but this is the book I want to write. Cate Gardner wrote something on another blog earlier this week that really resonated with me (I'm paraphrasing here): "I'd rather have a cult hit than a blockbuster." Me too. I don't read many blockbusters. Most that I do, disappoint me.
So I'm okay with small press. I'm okay with being a little fish in a vast universe. I'm even okay with mixing my metaphors.
And this book is a helluva lot of fun to write. A sample:
“Tell me you won’t go upriver. Tell me you’ll burn the forest down. All of it.”
“Burn the forest?”
“Tell me!”
I knew then that Pete Archer was gone. The poor soul had clearly lost what wits he once possessed. I’d seen cases, none as bad as this, of men who lost their peace of mind while logging, men who were lost so long under the shadowed canopy of those trees, buried in the folds of the mountains. None of those men came half as far to raving insane as Pete Archer. I lied to quiet him.
"We will.”
Another shuddering breath sounded from within the cell. I didn’t move for several seconds. No closer to any bit of information about Curt, I played strategies through my brain as to how and mine something from the lunatic.
“One more thing, mister.” Placated, his voice was calm now, slow and cool. “I need you to show me the back of your neck.”
Happy writing. Don't forget to read "Inked". And thank you.
Well, I'm now 8K words into a totally different book, this one a riff on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, only involving elements of horror and steampunk in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. around 1880. Think clockwork zombies. I'm calling it Loathsome Dark and Deep for now.
Is this book very commercial? Doubt it. I'm actually writing this with small presses in mind. Niche markets will never make one rich, but this is the book I want to write. Cate Gardner wrote something on another blog earlier this week that really resonated with me (I'm paraphrasing here): "I'd rather have a cult hit than a blockbuster." Me too. I don't read many blockbusters. Most that I do, disappoint me.
So I'm okay with small press. I'm okay with being a little fish in a vast universe. I'm even okay with mixing my metaphors.
And this book is a helluva lot of fun to write. A sample:
“Tell me you won’t go upriver. Tell me you’ll burn the forest down. All of it.”
“Burn the forest?”
“Tell me!”
I knew then that Pete Archer was gone. The poor soul had clearly lost what wits he once possessed. I’d seen cases, none as bad as this, of men who lost their peace of mind while logging, men who were lost so long under the shadowed canopy of those trees, buried in the folds of the mountains. None of those men came half as far to raving insane as Pete Archer. I lied to quiet him.
"We will.”
Another shuddering breath sounded from within the cell. I didn’t move for several seconds. No closer to any bit of information about Curt, I played strategies through my brain as to how and mine something from the lunatic.
“One more thing, mister.” Placated, his voice was calm now, slow and cool. “I need you to show me the back of your neck.”
Happy writing. Don't forget to read "Inked". And thank you.
They Warned Me This Would Happen...
I have a short up at Every Day Fiction today. "Inked" is a different kind of story, and the editors warned me that some readers wouldn't like it because of the vague nature of the tale. A few have already left comments to that direction, one fairly nasty. I love EDF because they accept all sorts of flash. I loathe reading the comments from some of the peanut gallery, though.
Personally, I think the story tells it all. You be the judge.
I'll post my WIP Wednesday later. Promise.
Personally, I think the story tells it all. You be the judge.
I'll post my WIP Wednesday later. Promise.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
When I Pay for Advice...
...it means I have some serious respect for the author(s)/editor(s).
Which brings me to this guy. Have I read anything by Mr. Parnell? Um, hell-no (except for his b.s. laden website). Bestselling? Right.
The word "easy" doesn't belong to any book about writing (or becoming rich, for that matter). Nothing about writing is "easy", except maybe taking money from poor schmucks who want like anything to be published--those who want it so bad, they'll make the mistake of coughing up dough to a charlatan.
Makes me sick.
So here are my suggestions for free resources and a few proven "how to write" books. If you've been around my blog, you'll have seen most of these before. (Remember, I'm just some schmo with a few short fiction sales and plenty of rejection slips, but I'm honest):
1. Creating Short Fiction by Damon Knight
Can't afford Clarion? (I know I can't.) Knight was a co-founder and the book is one of the few out there about crafting short fiction. I've mentioned this book before and return to it frequently.
2. J.A. Konrath has a great blog titled A Newbie's Guide to Publishing filled with fantastic advice and insights, including a wealth of marketing tips.
3. Alexandra Sokoloff shares piles of plotting, character, editing, etc. ideas and insight at her blog. Granted, the subtitle is "screenwriting tricks for writers", but the content could really help anyone in any fictional endeavor.
4. On Writing Horror: A Handbook by the HWA edited by Mort Castle
This book is more of a compilation of essays, and as such, is a little hit and miss. But with names like Joyce Carol Oates, Ramsey Campbell, Michael A. Arnzen, Jack Ketchum, Tom Piccirilli, and a host of others writing the essays, there are plenty of helpful gems.
5. Writing Fiction: The Practical Guide from New York's Acclaimed Creative Writing School (Gotham Writers' Workshop)
Once upon a time, I had more "literary" ambitions. This book is dense and helpful, especially if you have the want to write but none of the how.
6. Spunk & Bite: A Writer's Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style by Arthur Plotnik
I'll admit, everyone needs a good style guide. Be bold. Throttle your writing until it suffocates and rises as something interesting. I don't utilize this book enough.
7. The internet (yep, the whole thing). Not too much though. Let it be your friend, but not your only friend. And know when to shut down and write.
I've bought books that didn't deliver. In the interest of keeping this positive, I'll save that list for a later date.
I'm sure I've missed tons of great resources, but I use these most. What else is out there? How can we help newbies avoid the snares of "Easy" guides that promise $$$?
Well-paid authors work hard. So do most of us just starting out.
Which brings me to this guy. Have I read anything by Mr. Parnell? Um, hell-no (except for his b.s. laden website). Bestselling? Right.
The word "easy" doesn't belong to any book about writing (or becoming rich, for that matter). Nothing about writing is "easy", except maybe taking money from poor schmucks who want like anything to be published--those who want it so bad, they'll make the mistake of coughing up dough to a charlatan.
Makes me sick.
So here are my suggestions for free resources and a few proven "how to write" books. If you've been around my blog, you'll have seen most of these before. (Remember, I'm just some schmo with a few short fiction sales and plenty of rejection slips, but I'm honest):
1. Creating Short Fiction by Damon Knight
Can't afford Clarion? (I know I can't.) Knight was a co-founder and the book is one of the few out there about crafting short fiction. I've mentioned this book before and return to it frequently.
2. J.A. Konrath has a great blog titled A Newbie's Guide to Publishing filled with fantastic advice and insights, including a wealth of marketing tips.
3. Alexandra Sokoloff shares piles of plotting, character, editing, etc. ideas and insight at her blog. Granted, the subtitle is "screenwriting tricks for writers", but the content could really help anyone in any fictional endeavor.
4. On Writing Horror: A Handbook by the HWA edited by Mort Castle
This book is more of a compilation of essays, and as such, is a little hit and miss. But with names like Joyce Carol Oates, Ramsey Campbell, Michael A. Arnzen, Jack Ketchum, Tom Piccirilli, and a host of others writing the essays, there are plenty of helpful gems.
5. Writing Fiction: The Practical Guide from New York's Acclaimed Creative Writing School (Gotham Writers' Workshop)
Once upon a time, I had more "literary" ambitions. This book is dense and helpful, especially if you have the want to write but none of the how.
6. Spunk & Bite: A Writer's Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style by Arthur Plotnik
I'll admit, everyone needs a good style guide. Be bold. Throttle your writing until it suffocates and rises as something interesting. I don't utilize this book enough.
7. The internet (yep, the whole thing). Not too much though. Let it be your friend, but not your only friend. And know when to shut down and write.
I've bought books that didn't deliver. In the interest of keeping this positive, I'll save that list for a later date.
I'm sure I've missed tons of great resources, but I use these most. What else is out there? How can we help newbies avoid the snares of "Easy" guides that promise $$$?
Well-paid authors work hard. So do most of us just starting out.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Accidents are Fun
Some of them, anyway. I won't mention the 2nd degree burns on my left leg. For the past seven years, we've gone to my friend's house south of Wichita, KS to celebrate the 4th of July. Seven years ago, it was only six adults. Now, we collectively have eight kids.
Anyway, my buddy Aaron (yes, he is why I'm "the other Aaron") likes to do little tricks with fireworks. Accidents happen sometimes...
Have a great week.
Anyway, my buddy Aaron (yes, he is why I'm "the other Aaron") likes to do little tricks with fireworks. Accidents happen sometimes...
Have a great week.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Remember This:
(this was supposed to go out yesterday..."scheduled post" my @$$)
I'm not the most patriotic guy, but this means something.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Friday Flash Two-fer
I could let my short-short, "The Long Contract" over at Everyday Weirdness stand in for Friday Flash, but, with the 4th of July tomorrow, I couldn't help offering this little ditty:
"The Bet"
Ben says the the fuse is waterproof.
I take the bet. He swallows sparks, and the color burns from his face.
After a dull thump, his mouth opens, blood sputters out, and he mutters, "You owe me," before collasping.
(remember kids, place on ground, light fuse, and get away)
"The Bet"
Ben says the the fuse is waterproof.
I take the bet. He swallows sparks, and the color burns from his face.
After a dull thump, his mouth opens, blood sputters out, and he mutters, "You owe me," before collasping.
(remember kids, place on ground, light fuse, and get away)
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
WIP Wednesday. I Slack.
Before I start, check out "Everything in its Place" at 10Flash--a new online magazine of flash fiction. (It will soften the blow when I reveal the pathetic nature of my WIP...)
Okay, I'm joining the WIP Wednesday club.
My WIP? Um...
I did put together a site dedicated to all the freebies I've posted. Free is something I can really support. Free is the new cheap. Check out Dark Flotsam for audio, video, and free fiction. I've posted a new story, "Empty", that had originally appeared in Candlelight, #1 last year.
But that isn't a WIP, is it?
I wrote a synopsis for Rock Gods and Scary Monsters last night. I've been avoiding certain markets/agents because of the synopsis requirement, but alas...it would eventually come to this.
But that isn't a WIP, is it?
I resurrected a short story (an early, lame attempt at horror). It is now flash-length (500 words), not scary at all, and off to some literary-type markets in submission land.
But...well, you get the picture.
So my WIP? Tentatively titled The Neither, it stands at 300 words. I'm shooting for 80K. Guess I have some work to do, huh?
(Oh...and Cate won the guessing game. It was a bit from the cover art for Fifty-Two Stitches. I promise to post more later.)
Okay, I'm joining the WIP Wednesday club.
My WIP? Um...
I did put together a site dedicated to all the freebies I've posted. Free is something I can really support. Free is the new cheap. Check out Dark Flotsam for audio, video, and free fiction. I've posted a new story, "Empty", that had originally appeared in Candlelight, #1 last year.
But that isn't a WIP, is it?
I wrote a synopsis for Rock Gods and Scary Monsters last night. I've been avoiding certain markets/agents because of the synopsis requirement, but alas...it would eventually come to this.
But that isn't a WIP, is it?
I resurrected a short story (an early, lame attempt at horror). It is now flash-length (500 words), not scary at all, and off to some literary-type markets in submission land.
But...well, you get the picture.
So my WIP? Tentatively titled The Neither, it stands at 300 words. I'm shooting for 80K. Guess I have some work to do, huh?
(Oh...and Cate won the guessing game. It was a bit from the cover art for Fifty-Two Stitches. I promise to post more later.)
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