2010 In Review

Hey, before you read all this goal-setting ramble, hop over to Linger Fiction for a peek at their first issue and my short story (editor's choice, even), "A Game of Lost Boys".

Last year, I started with the following "What I can do" goals (along with how I did in bold):

1. Always have at least one story in front of a pro paying market. Mostly a success. Of course I've had a story on "hold" at a pro market for about five months...does that count?

2. Finish my final pass of Loathsome, Dark, and Deep and have it ready to query/submit in February. (Get on this one, eh?) Um, so I win here, right?

3. Write my fifth novel*--a ghost/suspense/YA thing with no title but one hell of a first line:

When I was younger, I imagined numerous ways to kill my sister just to see if she'd come back and haunt me. Written. Sitting unfinished (and unedited in large part). Doing Write 1/Sub 1 this year, I probably won't have time to write another novel, but I can finish this one, right?

4. Write at least one high quality story a month (or 12/year). I've gotten better at letting my stories "age" before editing. I'll do even better this year. I win. "The House was Never a Castle" sat for three months before final edits and revision, eventually selling to Shimmer. Yay!

5. Buy something from the small press every month. And read it. And review it for Skull Salad. More than one would be sweet. Fail. I bought at least twelve small press items (including subscriptions to three mags), but haven't managed to do the reviews. Thank goodness some other good peeps are helping out at Skull Salad.

I would like the following to happen as well, but these items require outside "assistance":

1. Land an agent/sell a book. I sold two books and sent out two query letters to agents. I'm kind of sour on the agenting front, to tell the truth.

2. Sell another story to a pro paying market. Huzzah! I technically sold two: "Wanting It" (forthcoming in Shock Totem) and "Different Strings" which won the Whidbey Writers Workshop Students' Choice Award for October...of course I never received the prize money...hmmmmm.

So where do I go from here? Tune in next week to find out. ;)

And HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Fear Before Dying

Tomorrow, I'll do the proper end-of-year wrap up thingy. Today, I'd like to share a couple of anthologies:

I wrote "Keeping the Dead" with no real market in mind. It's a strange story, not quite horror, but dark. Very dark. Imagine a world in which loved ones fear the souls of their dearly departed are subject to monsters who leave beyond the lights of the village.

Okay, so it sounds like horror. Grab a copy of Fear of the Dark when it's released from Horror Bound and find out. Plenty of good names in the book, including Martin Rose, Christopher Fowler, Paul Kane, and Bram Stoker winner Lisa Mannetti.





And then comes the little anthology that could. The intrepid Jodi Lee of Belfire Press fame came to the rescue of several orphaned stories last year, offering those stories a home in Ante Mortem.

The table of contents includes stories from Jeff Parish, Kelly Hudson, John Grover, David Chrisom, Myrrym Davies, KV Taylor, Benjamin Kane Ethridge, Aaron Polson, Natalie L. Sin, David Dunwoody and Gina Ranalli. Good company, yes indeed. And at $7.99, you can't beat the price.

Another Peek Inside My Brain (via AJ Brown)

AJ Brown has posted an interview with yours truly on his site. Check it out for yet another peeling back of the onion. Or parfait. Or whatever.

Thanks, AJ, for taking the time.

I'm still "away" with limited 'net access, but if you haven't read "Night Lights" and you'd like to see the dark places Fred can take you, read on.

Peace.

Night Lights

On the outside, the lights shine brighter than I remember as a kid, but inside the old man is dying. That’s what Mom says anyway, that’s what she tells me while we drive the boys around town so they can see Christmas lights. She’s Grandma to them, and she doesn’t say anything about the man dying loud enough for them to hear.

“He has cancer. The bad kind,” she whispers.

I nod, wondering just what the good kind of cancer is.

She continues. “A nurse comes in twice a week, that’s what Mary Ann says anyway. Really bad shape.”

“How’d he do the lights?”

“The town helped out—some volunteers at the church. Downtown businesses. It’ll be too bad when he’s gone, an end to an era. Do you remember when we used to drive by here.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. “Sure.”

The boys are still gawking at the house, their bundled little faces pale and slack as they drink in all the twinkles, the thousands of tiny sparkles. Out, out brief candle, I think, but the candles won’t go out. The town won’t let them go out. I step on the gas and pull away from house, a little disgusted with myself, a little disgusted with us all.

At the Phillips 66 station three blocks down from the house, I turn onto the highway and head home. In the review mirror, I see the boys yawn. They’re up past bedtime, and tomorrow is Christmas. Mom looks at me, and I can tell she’s frowning a little from the droop at the corners of her mouth. Probably a response to my scowl. I try to relax, but all I can think about is the old man rotting inside his house.

Liz meets us at the door. “How was everything?”

I shrug. “The boys need to get to bed. Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

She backs away a little, probably sensing one of my moods. Before helping Nick and Nate into their pajamas, we lay out three sugar cookies—the flaky kind Mom makes with red sprinkles—and set them on the table with a glass of milk. “For Santa,” Liz tells the boys.

We tuck them in upstairs, and I crash in the living room, flipping through TV stations trying to find A Christmas Carol. I only like the version with Alastair Sim. In every advertisement, the houses are decorated with little lights. I can’t escape the thoughts of the old man. Mom and Liz are talking while I surf; I can hear a little of their mumbles.

“What’s eating him?” Liz asks.

“I don’t know…we drove by all the places he liked as a kid.”

I smash the power button on the remote, and march into the kitchen.

“I’m going to bed,” I announce.

On the way to my old bedroom, I pause outside the boys’ room and peek in. They’re tucked neatly under fat comforters, sleeping peacefully with visions of Santa and the gifts to come in the morning. Nothing is out of order for them, only me.

I’ve been lying in bed for thirty minutes, staring at the ceiling, before Liz comes upstairs. She undresses, folds over the blankets, and slips inside. She’s trying to be quiet, probably sure I’m asleep.

“I’m not asleep,” I say.

A pause. “Oh, sorry.”

Another pause. I feel the air in the room thicken.

“What’s wrong, Bub?”

“Nothing.” I close my eyes and wait a few moments. Maybe sleep will come. Maybe not. “We drove by a few houses I remember from when I was a kid.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. This one house, well Mom said the owner was dying. Cancer. He’s in bad shape.”

“That’s too bad.”

I suck in a lungful of stale air. “The town won’t let him die.”

“What?”

“They put up lights on the house.”

“Who did? I don’t understand.”

No, Liz, you don’t understand. You never will. She’s from Chicago and doesn’t appreciate traditions in a small town. “The town did it. They won’t let him die in peace. He’s in that house, dying, alone, and the town won’t let him go. He should be in a nursing home or a hospice. Someplace else.”

“Maybe he wants to die in his own house.” She touches my arm under the blanket. I pull away.

“I’m sorry. Goodnight,” she whispers. Within minutes, I hear her breathing slow to a steady rate.

The boys are asleep, dreaming of Santa on the roof, but I can’t sleep thinking of how many times I’ve driven past that house. I don’t even know the old guy’s name. I’m a leech—the whole town is full of leeches—sucking pleasure from his Christmas display for thirty years, and now he’s rotting from the inside and no one seems to care about anything but the lights.

I climb out of bed and slip downstairs as quietly as possible. In the kitchen, I eat one of the cookies. The red sprinkles look like splatters of blood in the dim light. I swallow the milk in three big gulps. The boys will think Santa did it.

In the garage, I rummage through Mom’s tools, looking for something to do the job.

I leave the house through the back door and drive away without headlights so they won’t see the glare and wake. A fragment of moon hangs limply in the midnight sky; I glance at it, half expecting to see a sleigh pass across its yellow face.

At the Phillips 66 station, I turn and drive three blocks. The lights are still on, even at midnight. I look closer at the house this time and notice peeling paint. The house is rotting outside just like the man is dying on the inside. Volunteers put up the lights, but can’t paint the place? All people care about are those goddamn traditions—shitty town. They don’t care about his pain, suffering. He’s dying for Christ’s sake.

I pull around to the alley, sure that the loud Christmas music pumped on an endless loop will cover the sound of the back door splintering around the lock. Maybe he wants to die in his own house. I take up the hammer, feel its weight in my hand, and imagine the peace the old man will feel once I’ve cracked open his skull and ended his misery. That will be a real Christmas gift.

Then, I’ll take down the lights.

(originally appeared in Nothing to Dread: a Niteblade Anthology edited by Rhonda Parrish)

WIP Wednesday Thanks You

Saying "thank you" is hard.

It isn't hard because I'm ungrateful...it's hard because I know I always forget someone. Consider this an incomplete list.

Thanks to Jodi Lee and the Belfire crew for releasing my first novel to the wild. Loathsome, Dark and Deep started as an experiment in story telling, and now it is paper and ink. Huzzah!

Thanks to all the editors who have published my work this year and those who have taken a chance on my strange little stories.

Thanks to the brave souls who signed on to Skull Salad Reviews. I, the ultimate slacker, haven't posted my first review since I gave the call a little over a month ago, but C.D. Brinker, Gef Fox, Cate Gardner, Brady Golden, T.J. McIntyre, and Deborah Walker have all stepped up to the plate. Awesome.

Speaking of reviews, and reading in general, thanks to anyone who read my words this year. I don't really do this alone, and without readers, I might as well spend my days replaying the Resident Evil series. Not that playing Resident Evil is wrong. Oh no. It's not wrong at all.

Thanks to my family, of course, the close physical relations who live under my roof and all of those around the world who've treated me with kindness.

All right...enough of this sappy crap. I have a story to finish, and my MC is dropping a million tons of explosives on a distant planet.

The trigger must carry the weight of the faceless dead, so we do not become them.

I'll be "away" until next week, but be sure to stop by on Christmas Day (or shortly thereafter) for a special short story "present".

Thank you all, and enjoy the season.

Reading for the Bradbury Year #write1sub1

I'm calling my Write 1/Sub 1 year the Bradbury Year. It helps as a motivator to feel the great one's presence.

In addition to writing and submitting 52 stories next year (crazy much?), I want to read a collection of short fiction each month. Santa's helpers have suggested I might receive Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King for Christmas. That will be first in the queue. But then what?

I'm looking for single author collections but anthologies will do, too. I find I'm most motivated to write when I'm reading great work. Any horror, fantasy, or science fiction book is welcome.

What should I feed my brain?

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Writing

The word "sell" leaves ashes in some writers' mouths.

Here's the truth: any writer who wants to be read must learn how to sell her/his writing. If you really love something, you'll want to share it.

Selling can come in many forms: sales to a market (as most short stories are sold), sales of books (which I'm trying to learn about and/or do now), sales to a library (yes, most libraries won't just take anything for their collection), sales to readers...

It's that last bit that gives me motivation. Even when I worked at the bookstore (my job was to sell, sell, sell), I tried to see "selling" beyond the bottom line. I wasn't making a profit, but sharing a story/book I felt was worth the sharing.

As a teacher, I feel like 80% of my job is sales. Motivation and engagement are key--if the students are tuned out, forget it. I don't have a problem doing my job. I love writing and reading and literature--I want everybody else to feel the same way. Of course I can "sell" that.

Well, I love telling stories, too. And telling stories involves a "sale," even a simple "please read my story."

That's how I learned to stop worrying and love my writing (and "selling" it).

So here's a piece of me for sale (and it won't cost you a penny): an interview at Write 1 / Sub 1.

What about you, dear readers, how do you feel about the "selling" aspect of writing? How much do you love telling stories?

Friday at the Pub, Goodreads, Kindleboards

Rock Gods and Scary Monsters is now available through Smashwords. You can read the first 85% for free. Like I said, everything I do is an experiment.

Go on and read my pub interview with Barry Napier. Good times, Barry. Thanks.

I'm also playing with other ways to interact with readers. Yes, this means you.

For example, I'd love to talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly of Loathsome, Dark and Deep at the Kindleboards...

or Rock Gods and Scary Monsters...

or even The Bottom Feeders.

All three books are on Goodreads, too.

Loathsome, Dark and Deep
Rock Gods and Scary Monsters
The Bottom Feeders
Hell...even The House Eaters is up at Goodreads, and that book isn't even released yet.

Come join me. I'll bring the virtual beer.

WIP Wednesday Has a Crush

I'm doing a good bit of editing this week, both the dark, weird novella How We Die in a Hungry Town and a humorous (I hope) short monster tale, "The Monster, the Lake, and Megan Manning".

Some of you may have seen my first line of the later as I tweeted on Friday:

There was a time, many summers ago, when a beautiful seventeen-year-old interrupted my quest to pull the Sleeper from the murky depths of Lake Lotawana.

Pretty clear the narrator had a crush, no?

And then...later in the story:

The Sleeper yanked hard, and the stern rose above the water. Megan clasped the gunwales on either side, her ruby-red fingernails garish against the moon-glow of the whitewashed boat.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I didn’t do it. Bass,” I said.

She turned on me, glaring. Her eyes flicked to the rod and taut line, then back to my face. “Are you…fishing?”

I might as well have been masturbating, the way she spat the word “fishing.” The line jerked back and forth.

“Um…”

“Are you?”

Funny...both the novella and story feature a young woman named Megan. I think Fred (my subconscious) and I need to have a talk. (Did I mention I have two stories due for publication in January with Megans at center stage? Yikes. Somebody get me a baby-name book...)

Detention Hall

So one of my detainees came into detention hall with nothing to do yesterday. I told him to grab a book from the bookshelf. His pick: Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya. Um...don't think he was going to read that one. So I handed him:

And showed him my story in Blood Lite II. The first line of "The Unfortunate Persistence of Harold Francis Beamish" begins with the words: "On their way to drunkenness..."

Detention hall kid: "This story is making me thirsty."

True story.

Adventures in Book Promotion

My writing life is one grand experiment, and like an good science project, complete and utter failure is always an option. You all know Belfire Press recently released my first novel: Loathsome, Dark and Deep.

I have to tell the truth: it's pretty exciting to receive a box of books with my name on them. Exciting and frightening. I've come to realize with any creative endeavor there comes a time to promote (unless said endeavor is strictly for personal enjoyment). Promotion doesn't come naturally to many writers, especially those of us who hide in dark places and punch out stories about even darker places. But if I don't talk about my book and do my damnedest to promote it, it might as well stay in the box and go under the bed in the Man Cave.

Well shit. I guess I have to come out of the dark then. Again, I see writing as an experiment. Some of the things I do, whether in a story or in "promotion," will fail. Hopefully, I can learn from failure, just as I can learn when a story "fails" (and doesn't sell).

So along with the grand experiment of writing a book and seeing it published, I'm stuffing envelopes with letters and bookmarks bound for independent bookstores which specialize in dark fiction and libraries. I'm gearing up to shake some hands with area booksellers. In addition, I'm running a second contest to promote Loathsome. Will the cash I've sunk into these endeavors pay off? I don't know, but not doing anything is the quickest path to failure.

So enough about failure. What would success look like, realistically? I'm not sure I have a clear picture, but I want people to read my book (and maybe even enjoy it). I want as many people to read and enjoy it as possible.

Some of you know I've taken a leap into another experiment. I'm offering Rock Gods and Scary Monsters on Kindle. (I have been for over a month, but you know how things are if you don't promote them at all.) It's a YA book (some of you "veterans" might remember my rambles about it a few years ago). It's not perfect. It's an experiment. But I'll tell you something--if I don't talk about it no one else will. Self-promotion is a necessary evil. Hell, I don't even know that I'd call it evil. It just is. Jeremy D. Brooks (author of Amity--read it) calls this thing we do "literary buskering". Yeah. That feels about right.


Writing a good story is important. It's the most important thing. But promotion--buskering--needs to happen, too. My comfort and skill telling stories has outpaced my comfort and skill in promotion. I feel it's such a fine line to walk between hubris/self-aggrandizing and genuine love for storytelling.

It's an experiment.

I'll fail. I'll learn from my failures (I hope).

And I'll tell you all about it when it happens. There are no secrets among inmates.

Loathsome Reviews Contest & Holiday Book Giveaway

I'm feeling like I need to give away some more money and a couple of books. Here's the details (scroll to the bottom for the holiday book giveaway):

Loathsome Reviews Contest (12/9/10 - 1/31/11)

Like to win a $25 gift certificate to an online bookseller of your choice?

1. Write a review of Loathsome, Dark and Deep and/or The Bottom Feeders and post to a blog, Goodreads, or Amazon.com. Better yet, post to all three for triple entries. Each post earns one point (or your name in the "hat" one time).

2. Email me: aaron.polson(at)gmail.com (replacing the (at) with @ of course), letting me know where you posted a review.You can use the subject line "contest" if you wish.

3. Additional points can be earned for buying either book (just email a copy of the receipt), tweeting about the contest (make sure to reference my twitter handle @aaronpolson), or tagging the book on Amazon (just email me at the above addy and let me know).

All entries must be in by January 31st, 2010. Plenty of time to enter this one, folks. I'll send out periodic reminders. If I have enough entries, I just might give away two gift certificates.
Hey...and you're entered even if you give Loathsome a loathsome one star. Be honest!


...and the Holiday Book Giveaway:

I'm shamelessly "borrowing" the idea from the legendary Kim Paffenroth. Check out the Zombie Christmas Contest at his blog.

In the spirit of giving, you enter this giveaway for someone else. Email me (aaron.polson(at)gmail.com) with the name of someone you'd like to give a copy of Loathsome, Dark and Deep along with a sentence (or two) explaining why. Entries for this one are due Sunday, December 12th by midnight (CST). I'll choose two winners at random to receive a free, signed copy of Loathsome.

Fun? Spread the horror joy!

WIP Wednesday is Late for the Dance

My second official Loathsome, Dark and Deep contest starts tomorrow (at least I'll post the "rules"). I'm also going to give away a book, or better, having you help me give away a book. Make sense? Er...okay.

I'll explain...promise.

Today, I want to introduce you to Ron's Bait and Tackle:

Ron’s Bait and Tackle was a bent-backed grey mule of a shack at the corner of State Highway 15 and Old Miller’s Road, the later of which ran over a few hills and swooped around a curve until it ran into Lake Lotawana. It was the special hub of fishing action for Boone County, far enough outside of Boone’s Hollow to be free of the town’s more stringent laws regarding the sale and consumption of alcohol. The poor taste of the citizens of Boone County insured all the beer sold at Ron’s was domestic, in a can, and sold from an iced-down stock tank in Ron’s back room.

The Tiny End of the Long Tail

Yesterday marked the N+1 time I officially wanted to give up writing. Or quit. Or however you want to phrase the term stop. A few factors contributed to my poor attitude, including a nasty head cold (which is still hanging on) and a rejection. Yes, I've had plenty of rejections. No, they don't usually bother me (much) any more. The story had been short listed (which is great) but the rejection cited factors such as limited space and fit the theme of the issue. Sometimes it's not about a story being good enough.

Here's the truth: there aren't enough quality venues for good stories, let alone those that pay. You can call it sour grapes; I don't mind. Those who have been around the proverbial block will understand.

I also read "What Publishers, Authors & Journalists Can Learn from Indie Rock and Music Blogs" on GalleyCat. Let me quote a few eye-openers:

"Most successful indie rock stars earn a teachers’ salary through record sales, touring, and merchandise. For publishing, that means we have to adjust our expectations."

Wait...a teacher's salary? (um, speaking of that...your apostrophe is in the wrong place, GalleyCat) I already earn a teacher's salary, plus benefits. Indie rock stars don't have health insurance plans.

"You have to work for every fan, from blog interviews to hanging out in bars after the show."

I'm trying, I'm trying. How does one fight obscurity? That, to me, is the real question.

And from the Music Blogs side:

"Let your readers create on your site. "

Hmmm...wheels turning...thoughts forming...I'll get back to you on that one.

The bottom line, really, is I'm at the very tiny end of the long tail.* I assume I'll stay there for my career (at least somewhere in the long tail). I'm pretty happy with that, but it does effect the kind of writing I'm willing to do.

For example: you know I love short stories. Writing short stories, especially genre stories of the kind I write (horror, fantasy, magical realism), won't boost one's position in the long tail much, even if a writer publishes in the biggest genre mags. I'm okay with that. I'm okay with anything which allows me to hang around and share stories. Anything which kills my desire to write...well...

Have you read Natalie Whipple's post about her harrowing journey toward publication? (she used to be one of Nathan Bransford's clients) Um, sorry. Not for me. She does follow up with a nice take on what she's learned. The truth: even after you win, you haven't won anything. Kevin J. Anderson (genre writer extraordinaire and editor of Blood Lite II) wrote about "False Summits...and Careers in Writing." Read it. Another eye opener.

I'll end my little ramble with this: Ten years ago, Aimee and I took a trip to Yellowstone & Grand Teton National Park. On our last day in the Tetons, we took a short hike into Paintbrush Canyon. We were exhausted after a week of exploring and day hikes. Aimee was sure the big Paintbrush Canyon payoff was just around every corner. She expected something big, the summit, the epiphany, the very mustache of Zeus. We stopped at one point, and the epiphany struck. We'd been surrounded by the big payoff the whole time if we'd just stopped to look around. The lesson: if you focus on a distant shore, you'll miss the journey. Enjoy the journey. It's all you really have.

*Don't know what the "long tail" is? Here's a primer from Wired Magazine and writer Chris Anderson (who basically coined the concept).

Weird and Creeepy Shopping List

As promised, I bring you a small shopping list for the weird reader on your list. (click on the images for purchasing info)

Yes, it may seem a little self-serving (being a Strange Publications book and all), but Cate's collection is wonderful. Check out www.strangemeninpinstripesuits.com and read the reviews.

I'm a big fan of just about everything Kim Paffenroth has written. If you haven't taken a peek at Valley of the Dead yet, you should grab a copy (or buy two and send one to a loved one). Smart horror, folks.

When I was seven, my sister gave me one of the best gifts she could: a subscription to the Star Wars comic book (then produced by Marvel). How about giving that fantasy lover a subscription to a nice small press mag like Shimmer?

Or, for the horror fan on your list, a subscription to Necrotic Tissue, a magazine which never fails to entertain.

Okay, so some people like poetry. Some people like their poetry weird (and somewhat dark). Stuff A Mouth for Picket Fences by Barry Napier in their stocking.

I'll wrap up with a gift which never fails to put a smile on my face: old EC comics from the '50s. Reprints (and some originals) are readily available on eBay. You might even snag one of the increasingly rare hardcover reprints.

What reading material do you plan on buying for the ghouls on your holiday list?

Friday Loves the Library

When I was a child, the public library was a haven. I knew where to find the books I wanted by memorizing their relative location on the shelves in the basement (the kid's section). With glee, I took the "secret entrance" hidden behind bushes in the front of the building. The haunted second floor called to me with its dark woodwork, high ceilings and creaking floors.

School libraries were always special places, especially during junior high after we found all the "dirty words" in the urban dictionary.

When I was in college, I'd walk through the stacks just to be surrounded by books. I studied in the stacks, finding the quietest corner I could: a desk tucked in an out-of-the-way niche. The library was safe. Peaceful. Alive.

I love the public library now. Its a place to find books to feed my ravenous second grader, new authors to explore, comedy DVDs to watch with my wife and prove I'm not all "ghosts and cobwebs".

Libraries are our friends. As a writer, I can think of no better monument to the written word. (Used bookstores are pretty awesome, too, but that's another post).

So here's the call to action:

This holiday season, think about a "gift" donation to a library (public or school). Libraries (almost always) take cash donations, and most won't turn away a book. Think about buying a copy of your favorite novel, collection, or biography (if the library doesn't already have one). Better yet, introduce them to something from the small press and help support writers who might not be on the "radar".

Our school library is running a campaign through Book-Boosters to raise money (www.book-boosters.com/bulldogbooks). I think its a great idea.

On Monday, I'll mention a few "gift ideas". Let me know if you have a book you'd like me to include (aaron.polson(at)gmail.com).

Have a safe weekend.

WIP Wednesday: Winning and Winners

First things first...

Thanks to our good friends at Random.org, Alan W. Davidson has won the grand prize in the Very Loathsome Contest ($25 bucks to spend at an online bookstore of his choice, Heart of Darkness, and Robert Frost's poems) and Gef Fox has landed second prize (Heart of Darkness and a copy of 52 Stitches 2010). I'll be in touch soon, gentlemen. And as a big thank your to anyone who played along, I'll send those singed bookmarks soon (I just placed the order yesterday). If you entered the contest and I don't have your mailing address, please drop me a line at aaron.polson(at)gmail.com.

Wait...did the Canadians just sweep the prizes? I think they did. I'll post rules for another opportunity to line your pockets with cash next week. Until then, thanks for playing along and getting the word out about Loathsome, Dark and Deep.

Speaking of winners, Erin Cole is a big winner with her Holiday Book Blog Catalog. Check it out and support some small press folks. I'm thinking about putting one together...suggestions from the cryptkeeper and all that. Extra signal boost never hurts a small press author (or any author). The time frame is short as I'll post my holiday buying suggestions on Monday, December 6th. (I don't have a snappy name yet) Interested? Drop an email to aaron.polson(at)gmail.com with a cover art jpg, blurb, and buying info. Deadline is Friday, December 3rd.

Yes, and I have a real WIP, too. I hope to wrap up How We Die in a Hungry Town by the end of December. Astute visitors will note the title is a wee bit longer now.


Just a little way to the river. A short drop.

[Mike] climbed on the edge of the railing. His sister smiled in the darkness and held out her hand.

“It’s easy,” she said. “Just a little jump and we’re both free.”

“Free?”

“Out of here at least.” She smiled.

Did I mention Mike's sister is dead?