Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Rest In Peace, Philip Jose Farmer


Philip Jose Farmer passed away this morning at the age of 91.

He was a giant in science fiction. If the Riverworld series was all he wrote, his immortality would be assured. But he created so much more.

He had a love for the age of pulp magazines heroes. In fact, when I published a Doc Savage fanzine in high school with my friend John Boehm, Farmer was he first author I ever interviewed. Even as he tried to convince me over the phone that Doc Savage and Tarzan were real people, he remained a true gentleman. In later correspondence he encouraged my writing, and never treated me like the gawky fanboy I was.


I think I'm going to sit down with To Your Scattered Bodies Go, and rediscover the brilliance of his work.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Funked-Up Hog Meat


Proving that Internet radio shows have officially run out of guests, I’ve been invited to appear on The Funky Werepig tonight at 11:00 (eastern).

What’s that, Mark? you say. You’ll be a guest at 11:00 PM on a day where you got out of bed at 2:00 AM?

Why, yes. That’s right. Imagine the hilarity. Imagine the fun. Imagine the incoherent rambling.

Hard to believe they don’t charge you to listen.

I’m not sure what we’ll discuss, but I’m guessing the topics may include Pod of Horror, my meager literary efforts and my inexplicable fascination for Rachael Ray and Marie Osmond.

Tune in at the link above. If you hear somebody snoring, it will be me.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Pod of Horror #51 is Live


On Pod of Horror #51 we answer the question: Where in the world is Scott Nicholson? Also, Ronald Damien Malfi tells us about PASSENGER and his dad’s secret life. Author-editor Louise Bohmer talks about both jobs. Nanci chews out Wall Street on The Call of Kalanta. Norm Rubenstein is back with a plethora of book reviews and The Tomb of Trivia remains unanswered. All this, and a special appearance by Rain Graves. Get it at i-Tunes or download it here. Pod of Horror is hosted and produced by Mark Justice.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Appalachian Holiday Hauntings


For the writers out there, Mike Knost and I are editing an anthology of Christmas ghost stories. Details below.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

Title: Appalachian Holiday Hauntings

Editors: Michael Knost and Mark Justice

Publisher: Woodland Press

Publication date: November 1, 2009

Word count: 1000 to 3000 words

Pay: three-cents per word plus contributor copy (one-cent per word on reprints)

Submit to: xmasanthology@yahoo.com

Format: Attached RTF or Word Document file. (do not copy and paste into email body)

No simultaneous or multiple submissions

No explicit language or sexual content (this project will be in regional school systems)

Deadline: September 1, 2009 (do not inquire on status of submission until after this date)

We are looking for traditional Christmas ghost stories set in the Appalachian region. Think Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol with an Appalachian backdrop. However, given this example, we want to make sure you understand that stories may be set in any time frame, including the present.

We are not interested in tales that disrespect or alter the religious aspects of the holiday.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The Haunt

I joined the new horror social community The Haunt.

Think MySpace or Facebook with blood and fangs.

If you're a member, drop by and add me.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Pod of Horror #50: Skipp & Goodfellow



Pod of Horror has reached 50 episodes. Who’d have thunk it? We celebrate with John Skipp and Cody Goodfellow discussing JAKE’S WAKE and future collaborations. We also talk to Scott Sigler, author of INFECTED and CONTAGIOUS. There’s a test of the Byte Me Emergency Response System on The Call of Kalanta. Norm Rubenstein is back with a bevy of horror reviews, and The Tomb of Trivia has another winner. Get it at i-Tunes or download it here. Pod of Horror is hosted and produced by Mark Justice.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Mondays Don't Totally Suck

I was given the official approval from my editor on the humor column, which may become a regular gig.

I also got that comic book proposal out to another editor.

And I hit my goal on the novel, despite a long, wacky day at work.

Let's hope Tuesday goes as well.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Sunday, Sunday

Here’s a quick note to catch you up on what’s happening. That’s right, both of you.

The new writing schedule continues to pay dividends. I’ll hopefully be finished with the first draft in early March. My plan is to then let it age a couple of weeks while I get to work on the next novel, Reaper Road. I’ll edit Novel #1 in the evenings. I’m not being coy about Novel #1's tile; I just haven’t settled on one I like yet.

Also in March, Dave Wilbanks and I plan to start Book 3 in the Dead Earth series. What’s that, you say? Where is DE #2? We’re shopping it around at this very moment. We hope to have something to report soon.

That humor writing I referred to the other day is turning out to be a lot of fun. I wrote the first column today and had Norma proof it. Since she laughed in all the right places, I sent it off to my editor. If it gets approved, I’ll let you know where to find it.

This weekend I talked to a publisher about a cool new idea for a novella series. This will be something I’ll write later in the year. I also had a conversation with a comic book publisher. I’ll be sending out a proposal for that tomorrow.

Finally, it looks like a project of mine that I tried to get off the ground a few years ago still has some life left in it, thanks to the interest of a friend of mine.

All in all, 2009 is looking to be the busiest year yet for my writing. Now if the Bengals learn to play football before this fall, it will be a fantastic year.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Happy Soupy Day!

Soupy Sales is 83 today. In 1944 he graduated high school a few miles from me, in Huntington, WV. His daily kids show was huge in the 60s, and now, looking at clips, it's a little hard to understand. Soupy was an acquired taste. Even as a child it was obvious to me that his show was a bit more, ah, spontaneous than those of his contemporaries. Watch the clip below and you'll see what I mean. Watch it long enough and you can see Soupy lip sync--or "ear" sync--to his hit The Mouse. And I use the term "hit" loosely.

I would like to believe that my sense of humor has matured past the Soupy Sales level. But I know deep down that it hasn't.

And that's okay.

Happy birthday, Soupy.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Mid-Week Update

So far so good on the new writing schedule. I've been able to hit my goal every day in 2009 ( that's right...seven big days!). Next week will be a challenge, due to some extracurricular stuff at work, but I should be able to plan around it.

It looks like I'm finally going to finish this novel, then move on to the next and the next...

An interesting proposal came my way today for some non-fiction humor writing. If it pans out it should be fun. As always, I'll keep my Internet pals and gals updated.

So far my favorite read of this very young year is Jake's Wake by John Skipp and Cody Goodfellow. Splatterpunk lives, baby! It's not for the fainthearted (Skipp's name on the cover should tell you that) but once you start, it's impossible to close the cover. Listen for the dastardly duo on a future Pod of Horror.

Sunday, January 04, 2009

Bad New/Not-So-Bad-News

Delirium dropped my collection Bone Songs, due to the economy and the downsizing of their output. And let’s face it: I’m not a big name.

The book is already under consideration with another publisher. This version is bigger. It contains several stories not in Bone Songs, including both stories that made up the sold-out Deadneck Hootenanny. I’m also shopping it around under the original title Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye. That’ll choke a librarian, eh?

The same day I got the news from Delirium, I also got an invitation to an anthology that I’m very excited about. The editor is a well-known horror writer, and I have an idea that I think will work out well.

Speaking of writing, I was checking out my blog entries for the beginning of 2008. Ah, what a naive, wide-eyed romantic I was back then. I set lofty goals and met almost none of them. My biggest regret was missing a deadline given to me by another well-known writer who took an interest in my writing career.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been trying to break down my problem in finishing a novel. Other than the things that are out of my control (a sometimes-crazy work schedule and a steady spate of health issues), I think I set an unrealistic daily goal. When I routinely failed to meet the goal, frustration would set in, and I would eventual flee from the keyboard.

So I’ve given myself a more realistic daily goal, one that I should be able to reach successfully. It’s worked well for the past few days and with a little luck and determination I should be able to finish this novel by early March.

The new schedule will also leave me a bit of free time to work on stories. I have several of those due, not including the anthology invitation mentioned above.

So here I am in 2009: refocused, re-energized and relentless.

Let’s see if I can keep it up.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Donald Westlake



If you're a fan of mystery fiction, you've no doubt heard of the passing of Donald Westlake. I didn't know the man. I just know he was a damn fine writer. You can find some remembrances at Ed Gorman's blog.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

The S**t Monster

Maybe it’s the new year, but I’ve found myself reflecting on the past, including the oddball collection of strange people I’ve occasionally found myself working alongside. Like the guy I call the Shit Monster (that’s right, kids, this entry will contains multiple uses of the word “shit”. If you thought you were logging into the Webkinz site, please leave now).

The Shit Monster had a problem. Maybe it was IBS. All I know is that SM didn’t believe he had a problem. SM thought the near-constant evacuation of his bowels was normal. Most of his stories would start like this: “You know how you’re standing in line for a prescription and you have to shit but you don’t make it to the rest room in time and you shit your pants? It happened to me again today.” Then he would laugh like we were all members of the Brotherhood of Zero Sphincter Control.

Most of SM’s stories ended with, “...so I just left my underwear in the stall!” Followed by more I-know-we’ve-all-done-that laughter.

Here’s my favorite Shit Monster story (and it wasn’t easy to settle on just one, believe you me) and it’s one that SM didn’t tell me himself. Was he finally too embarrassed? I doubt it. He was probably busy buying new underwear.

A friend of mine worked at an upscale business. One day, Shit Monster ran into my friend’s office and said, “Quick! Where’s your bathroom?” My friend pointed the way and SM disappeared. It was a particularly busy day, so my friend didn’t think about SM anymore until he noticed a commotion in the lobby of his office an hour or so later.

I’ll let my friend explain it in his own words.

“One of our male staff members went into the rest room and was so shocked by what he saw that he almost threw up. There was shit everywhere. On the toilet seat. On the tank. On the floor and on all four walls. He must’ve spun like a top. We had to hire a cleaning crew. It took them two days to fix that room.” My friend shook his head, like a trauma victim remembering a horrifying scene. “It was like...like a shit grenade exploded in there.”

One of my last conversations with SM occurred in the break room at work, where I was heating my lunch in the tiny microwave. SM was regaling me with his latest hilarious Bad Bowels anecdote. It seemed the day before he was trying to get into the men’s room at work and he didn’t make it in time. Since he had to meet a client, he told me he washed out his underwear in the bathroom sink.

I stared at the numbers on the microwave display, which had suddenly slowed so much that each second took approximately three minutes to pass. I was also trying not to throw up a little in the back of my throat.

“Well, I couldn’t go to the meeting with wet underwear. You wanna know what I did?” SM said.

In the name of the Sweet Baby Jesus, I prayed, let this microwave ding!

SM smiled like Michael Jackson at a Boy Scout meeting. “I dried them in the microwave.”

Happy New Year, Shit Monster. For the good of mankind, I hope someone finally fitted you with a permanent butt plug.

Happy New Year


I hope 2009 will be a fantastic year for you, the year you cut back on drinking cheap wine and beating your kids in Wal-Mart. The year you quit dropping "awesome" into every conversation and the year you stop acting shocked when people stare at your low-cut top. I wish 2009 will provide you a fresh start and enable you finally realize that Fox News is neither fair nor balanced. Look, I can say I'm skinny and have a full head of hair, but saying doesn't make it so, and it's time you grew up and realized that. And maybe, just maybe, this will be the year you finally start making up your own mind about things that matter, instead of listening to that loud asshole at work. I know, I know. It hurts to think, but you'll be a better person for it.

Make 2009 the year you remember who your friends are. Do right by them. In 2008 I had a deal go south on me because I wouldn't screw over a friend. The money would have been nice, but I'm able to sleep soundly every night. And that's where I'm headed now. Good night.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

A Free Story: The Harvest

I wrote this in 2003. It appeared first at Horrorfind, back when they had a fiction section, then at Adventure Fiction Online and, later, at The Late Late Show. It's a golden oldie that I'm dusting off for you. I hope you like it.

The Harvest
by Mark Justice

N’Fa’alu stopped the Hummer in the center of the narrow dirt road a few miles out of Charikar. Three men approached him, their bearded faces grim beneath the traditional Lungee turbans. Each carried a Russian Kalashnikov rifle. They could be bandits or militia. Or locals, protecting what small existence they managed to claw from the desert. It did not matter. He would not be stopped.

Even with his strength still depleted, he would not be stopped.

The first to reach the Hummer made a rolling motion with one hand. The other hand held his weapon, pointed at the vehicle. N’Fa’alu nodded and lowered the driver’s window. The heat, like a dragon’s breath, poured into the Hummer.

The man drew closer. “Who are you?” he said, speaking Dari. The language was fairly new to N’Fa’alu. But it wasn’t a problem. He could see the words in the bearded man’s mind.

“I am Red Cross,” he said, using the human voice box and speaking in the old language of his people. The bearded man heard the reply in his own tongue.

“Show me your credentials.”

N’Fa’alu smiled in his human skin. He produced the laminated badge and papers the little man in Karachi had prepared for him.

The bearded man jerked the identification from N’Fa’alu’s hand and turned to his companions. They began to jabber in a dialect that N’Fa’alu was unfamiliar with. He skimmed their thoughts and drew forth an image of his body, riddled with bullet holes, quickly covered by the blowing sand.

So bandits it was.
They probably couldn’t actually kill him. But in his weakened state he could be slowed down, perhaps even hurt. And he didn’t have time for that.

The first man returned to the Hummer, dropping the fake ID and raising his Kalashnikov.

N’Fa’alu whispered a word in his true voice.

The bearded man turned and fired upon his two companions before they could raise their own rifles.

A wave of nausea rolled through N’Fa’alu, causing his vision to blur. He couldn’t afford to expend more energy this soon. There was much work ahead of him today.

He stepped out of the Hummer, staggering a bit. The bearded man wheeled on him, confusion twisting his features.

N’Fa’alu grabbed the man’s neck and squeezed until bones snapped. He let he body fall to the ground and climbed back in the Hummer. He rested against the leather seats and let the air conditioning wash over him for a moment.

What a blessed device, he thought.

He sat that way for five more minutes, then straightened up, put the vehicle in gear and drove past the bodies toward the mountains. Toward his past.

And his future.

***

He had awakened nearly a year ago, weak as a newborn, unaware of who he was. It had always been that way. The sleep lasted centuries; the awakening happened at its own pace.

He was in a cavern, deep within the earth. The room was filled with a light the type of which he had never seen. It seared his eyes and he lashed out, shattering the source of the illumination. It was dark again. But he had weakened even more, forced to lay immobile for several days. In that time, his memory began to return. And something else.

The beacon, deep within his mind. There had been only one voice when he went to sleep so long ago. Now there were many. The voices were prolific, yet weak. He had to reach them.

After he had been awake for nearly a week, someone finally came to him, a descendant of the family he had charged with the task of his protection during the sleep.

The old man carried a torch in his hand, a torch without flame. He examined the broken lights and then realized that N’Fa’alu was awake.

The man fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the stone floor. His illuminated tube rolled away from him, casting a mosaic of shadows within the chamber.

N’Fa’alu hissed and the man looked up, fear in his eyes. N’Fa’alu hissed again and the man arose. He quickly lit candles and helped N’Fa’alu to sit up.

“How–how long have you been awake?” The man was old, dressed in unfamiliar garments. The tongue was also unknown. However, N’Fa’alu could see the meaning in the man’s mind, though it taxed him greatly. But he needed information.

“It does not matter,” he told the man, using the old language. He sent the words into the old man’s head. “When is it?”

“It has been over two thousand years, Master.”

N’Fa’alu was not surprised. It was near enough to when he had expected to waken.

“I need information,” he said.

***


At the base of the mountain, he stopped the Hummer and got out.

The desert heat bothered him less than it had before, and he felt stronger.

He knew it was his proximity to her. And to them. The voices were closer now, though diminished in volume. Weak. There wasn’t much time.

He stared at the ancient path that snaked up the mountain. The hillside was full of caves. And humans. He could smell them.

Inside his human skin, N’Fa’alu yearned to make the humans pay.

He began his trek up the mountain.

***

This was an age of wonders.

In addition to the fascinating indoor lights, his caretaker, who, he learned, was named Abidin, showed him television, indoor running water–hot and cold–, the telephone and, that most blessed innovation, air conditioning.

N’Fa’alu found television to be the most disturbing revelation of this amazing future. He watched while he recovered in a bedroom of Abidin’s apartment. On this television, an organization called CNN told him what had become of what he thought of as his homeland. It had a different name today.

The land he had known as Bactria was now called Afghanistan

According to this CNN, a few men had caused hell itself to be rained down on the country where his future–his destiny–lay hidden. The weapons the humans now had at their disposal could rival his own power, could destroy that which he held most dear.

But not yet.

The voices still spoke to him, distantly, like screams across the desert wastes.

This CNN constantly displayed a image of a human who had claimed responsibility for the near-annihilation of Bactria . N’Fa’alu studied the picture carefully. He wanted to know this human if ever he encountered him.

***

The humans attacked before he had covered a mile.

He knew they were there long before they revealed themselves. Since he had begun his trek to the caves, each step he took made him stronger. He seemed to be drawing potency from the land itself. He knew, though, that his strength was coming from them.

He sensed the two humans crouching behind the brush. He walked past their place of concealment then stopped in the center of the path. As they stood and approached, he touched their minds. They saw an old man, wearing the face of Abidin, helpless and harmless.

N’Fa’alu was almost amused.

Instead of firearms, these humans carried short blades.

N’Fa’alu turned and faced the two men, both bearded and dressed for the desert. Both smiling.

The man on the right ran at him and lunged with his knife. N’Fa’alu extended his arm and allowed the blade to pass through his hand. He closed his grip around his attackers hand and squeezed. N’Fa’alu ignored the scream and only released his grip when a pulpy fluid leaked from between his fingers.

The second human dropped his own blade and ran away. N’Fa’alu pulled the first man’s blade from his own hand and casually tossed it toward the fleeing attacker. It lodged between the shoulder blades. The man dropped to the ground and did not move again.

N’Fa’alu was disappointed. He had expected more resistance.

***

“I must go now,” N’Fa’alu told Abidin.

“Master,” the old man said, “you are not strong enough.”

N’Fa’alu shook his head. “I cannot wait. They need me now.”

Abidin lowered his gaze. He had been a faithful servant. N’Fa’alu would miss him.

“I will need a few things,” N’Fa’alu said.

Abidin listened to his master’s orders, then went to carry out his tasks.

Three days later, N’Fa’alu was prepared to leave. The Hummer was parked outside and Abidin had given him the name of the man in Pakistan who would prepare the documents he would need. In the front seat of the Hummer was a small briefcase filled with gold coins.

There was only one more detail to take care of.

“Abidin, you have served me well,” N’Fa’alu told the frail man.

“Thank you, Master.”

“You know what I must do?”

“Yes,” Abidin said, without a trace of fear in his voice. At that moment, N’Fa’alu felt something akin to affection for the elderly human.

“I will make it as painless as possible.”

“Thank you, Master.”

N’Fa’alu leaned close to Abidin and whispered in his true voice.

It was over quickly.

***

He reached the cave at dark. He stopped a short distance from the entrance and he listened.

The voices were here, weaker than ever. But close. Very close.

There were more humans, as well. At least three. He could feel their small, angry thoughts scuttling through his head like cockroaches.

N’Fa’alu walked into the cave. The interior was unlit. It smelled of dampness, which he found oddly refreshing in the desert.

About fifty yards in, the cavern made a sharp turn to the left. Here, he knew, two humans waited for him.

N’Fa’alu spoke a few words in his true voice, words from the earliest days of his people. Almost instantly, he heard two gunshots.

He rounded the turn and saw the humans, now dead, their brains splattered on the cavern’s walls.

The cave floor slanted downward. N’Fa’alu followed the path for almost two hundred yards before he saw the glow of the lamp. He soon entered a large chamber, one he recalled from nearly two thousand years before. Three cots had been set up. One of them was occupied.

The human was tall and very thin. N’Fa’alu read fear in his thoughts, and confusion at the site of this elderly form. He pointed a handgun at N’Fa’alu.

The man was ill. He had lost quite a bit of weight. But N’Fa’alu recognized him at once from the television reports.

The man who had started a war that caused this country to almost be obliterated.

The man who had almost destroyed everything N’Fa’alu held dear.

“Who are you?” the man said in Arabic.

“Your destroyer,” N’Fa’alu said.

The man fired. The projectile struck N’Fa’alu in the chest. He stumbled back half a step, then regained his footing and grabbed the man by the throat. With his other hand he removed the handgun from the man’s grasp and tossed it into the passageway.

He pulled the tall man off the cot and slammed him against the chamber’s wall, still holding him by the throat. He wanted to kill the human now, but that would have to wait. He slammed the man’s head against the wall a second time. The man went limp in N’Fa’alu’s grasp.

As the unconscious human slumped to the floor, N’Fa’alu stepped to the back wall of the chamber.

And he stepped through it. The illusion had held for these many years.

She was stretched out on the floor, so beautiful to him even in her desiccated condition.
Her eyes were luminous in the dimness, and filled with love. She recognized him even in his human casing.

“I knew you’d come,” she said.

The joy of hearing another voice speak the language of their people made him gasp.

“N’Fa’alu”, she said, her voice growing smaller, “I’ve done all I could. Take care of them.”

Her life slipped away, leaving only an empty husk on the cave floor.

He silently wished her speed on her final journey. He would grieve for her another time.

N’Fa’alu stepped over the body of his mate, crossing to a pit in the floor of the cavern.

For the first time, he viewed his children, awake now after two millennia of gestation.

A dozen grey-veined egg pods had flowered open, and N’Fa’alu could see his children looking back at him.

He could feel their weakness. Several of them were close to expiring. He stepped down into the pit and walked among the egg pods, softly touching each child on the head or the wings, transferring a bit of his strength to each one.

With each touch he also sent a message:

**I am your father. I am here to give you this world.**

He felt their young minds reach for his, eager and fearful. He did what he could to soothe them.

One by one, the infants lapsed into sleep.


N’Fa’alu watched for a moment longer before he leapt from the pit.

It was time to finish this.

“Wake up,” he said to the human.

The tall man shook his head, his eyes fluttering open.

“Look at me,” N’Fa’alu said.

The architect of this cavern’s near destruction stared up at N’Fa’alu. There was no hint of the smug expression N’Fa’alu had seen in the images on television.

N’Fa’alu let his human form fall away.

The tall man screamed and covered his eyes, but it was too late.

The angles and shapes of N’Fa’alu’s true body were incomprehensible to the human mind. The tall man’s eyes had been vaporized. The liquid remains of the orbs flowed down his cheeks.

The human uttered a word. It was the name N’Fa’alu had been known by centuries earlier, a bastardization of his true name.

He squatted next to the blind human.

“You know who I am,” he said in Arabic. “ I came here to guide your kind. Yet you twisted my words and my teachings to justify the blackness and the pettiness in your soul.”

The human whimpered. His shaking hands covered his dead eyes.

“Even worse, you jeopardized my children and their mother, who lay here tending to them for two thousand years. I do this for them.”

N’Fa’alu sang in his true voice, in his true language. The tall man trembled, then burst apart. His viscera coated the walls and splattered upon N’Fa’alu.

The blood was hot. N’Fa’alu liked the way it felt.

He stood and walked back to the pit. He checked on the children, sleeping safely in their egg pods.

He stopped for a moment at the body of his mate. Her work was over now. He would make sure it had not been in vain.

N’Fa’alu walked to the cave’s entrance. He wanted to feel the desert’s night air on his face. His true face.

The stars and the quiet of the desert were soothing, But he also knew it was deceptive. Though their leader was gone, there were many men left who twisted his tenets to their own ends.

That would change.

Soon the world would know of his presence and of his children. They would know him by the name the humans had given him.

Allah was back.

And he was angry.

© 2008 Mark Justice

Monday, December 22, 2008

Pod of Horror #49


Pod of Ho-Ho-Horror is back. On episode #49 we bring the holiday cheer like a bunch of elves drunk on tainted egg nog. We talk to VAMPIRE ZERO author David Wellington and to Michael Knost, the editor of the LEGENDS OF THE MOUNTAIN STATE anthology series. We also feature several audio excepts from HORROR LIBRARY VOL. 3. Plus Grim Rictus, The Call of Kalanta and The Tomb of Trivia. Find all this yuletide warmth on i-Tunes or download it at Horror World. Pod of Horror #49 is produced and hosted by Mark Justice.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Return of the Deadnecks


My story "Deadneck Woman" will appear in Novello Publisher's upcoming humorous horror anthology, Dark Jesters, to be published in mid-to-late 2009.

It's great to work with Nick Cato again. I also really enjoyed visiting my redneck zombies one more time.

Here's the full lineup:

- FOSSILIZED BRAAAINS by William A. Veselik

- THE PLAGUE OF GENTLEMEN by Matthew Fryer

- TONGS AND THE ROACH by David T. Wilbanks

- BLESS THE BEASTLY CHILDREN by Laura Cooney

- WOLF PLUGS by Jerrod Balzer

- HACKS by Sam Battrick

- PAPA'S GOT A BRAND NEW BAG by Robert Guffey

- CURSE OF THE BLIND EEL by James Roy Daley

- RETIREMENT by Rob Brooks

- DEADNECK WOMAN by Mark Justice

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Randomness

It’s been a while between updates.

My day job involves a lot of writing. A. Lot. Of. Writing. Some days I get home and discover there’s no gas left in the ol’ creative tank.

I know, I know. A “real” writer will crank out the words no matter the obstacle in his/her path. It’s nothing I haven’t told myself when I count my regrets in the middle of the night. Still, there it is.

Having said that, I’m starting to make a little progress on the word count front.

I also just submitted a longish story to a new market. The previous editor hadn’t responded to numerous inquiries over the past several months, and I’m quite proud of this piece.

Work and life have also gotten in the way of Pod of Horror, but there should be a new episode coming your way in a week or so. I’m looking forward to The Call of Kalanta. It’s been a long time since I heard foul language. Heh.

By the way, if you go to the reviews page at Nanci’s Horror World site, you can scroll down to my brief review of Steve Shrewsbury’s Hawg. Shrews’ writing can sometimes make you feel like you’re sliding down a banister made of razor blades. And that’s a good thing.

I’ve watched a handful of new movies lately, including:

The X-Files: I Want to Believe. Not as much suckage as I’d been told. I actually thought the Mulder/Scully character arcs were very good. Alas, there were no aliens, and I think that pissed off a lot of movie-goers.

Wanted. Pretty movie, but monstrously stupid. I will suspend disbelief to a remarkable degree, but “The Loom of Fate”? Really? Someone needs their ass kicked for that one.

Mama Mia. My wife’s new favorite movie. We saw it on the flight to Mexico, where I had the surreal experience of removing my headphones and witnessing half the passengers singing and dancing in their seats. At the risk of losing all of my testosterone street cred, I had fun watching it.

In the last few weeks, I’ve read Stephen King’s Just After Sunset (uneven, with flashes of brilliance. “N” is a masterpiece), Your Heart belongs to Me by Dean Koontz (it hooked me, despite some annoying Koontisms), and my favorite book of the year, The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. If you love stories well-told, then this will be a volume you will read many times.

Finally, here’s a picture of my niece Scarlett at three months old. She’s a beautiful baby, despite being related to me.

Monday, December 01, 2008

How's Your Team Doing?

The Bengals suck more than Madonna in the back of A-Rod's limo.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Metal Crypt

Dave Wilbanks and I were guests on Metal Crypt a couple of weeks ago. You can hear all the rambling, nonsense and bad jokes here.

Happy Thanksgiving


From the offices of Department of Justice, we extend to you best wishes for the holiday, and hope you spend it with family and friends. Save some pie for us.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Horror Library Volume 3


Volume 3 of Horror Library is out -- or about to be any second -- with my story "Being Supreme".

The lineup this time includes Bentley Little, Kealan Patrick Burke and Gary Braunbeck.

Clicking here will preview the first two pages of my story, while this link lets you see the table of contents, sample other stories and order the book.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

By the Way

Here's a link to that Pod of Horror episode that featured Robert McCammon and Pulpmaster General Ron Fortier.

***

What's the true meaning of Thanksgiving? The two freshly-baked Red Velvet cakes and two pumpkin pies cooling on my kitchen counter, that's what!

Monday, November 24, 2008

The Past Year


We just got a first edition hardcover of Boy's Life for a Christmas present to a friend, and I realized that it was almost a year ago that I had the chance to tell Robert R. McCammon how much his novel meant to me.

In the last 12 months I interviewed McCammon, I interviewed Bill Clinton and I got to write a story about The Avenger.

I also produced some good radio, a few podcasts and sold a few other stories. All in all, not a bad year.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Sunday


More on Mexico:

The trip was great. We stayed at an all-inclusive resort at Rivera Maya. I got a little tired of the wristband we had to wear, but it was a small complaint. The weather was perfect everyday. Norma and I took walks on the beach each morning, at least until I cut my feet. That’s right, the Justice vacation curse struck again.

See, for years, each time I was on vacation, we had an appliance fail. Air conditioning, washer, dryer, and so on. Then karma took a cruel turn and the new rule became I fell off our deck and screwed up my shoulder. Burned the top of my foot. Fell off one of the pirate ships used in the Johnny Depp movies, etc. In Mexico, it was lacerations on both of my feet from the rough surface of the resort’s pool.

I had an amusing time visiting the resort’s doctor, who insisted on being paid in cash and sending me to a Mexican hospital. I declined the latter offer. I spent the last couple of days on the deck of our pool side suite, socializing with our neighbors. Despite my injury, it was an excellent trip, and I would do it again. Maybe I’d be a little more careful next time (and I did have water shoes, which were full of sand from the beach; now I wish I’d worn them anyway).

By the way, I’m on vacation again next week, and on Thursday our dishwasher died. Hopefully, the appliance took the bullet this time.

The photo above was taken by Norma from the resort’s lobby two weeks ago just before we left for the airport.

***


I spent this morning with my wife, shopping for Thanksgiving. Norma’s a super-shopper, who spent two weeks plotting out the shopping, clipping paper coupons and loading e-coupons on her Kroger card. She saved $60 today, so I guess it worked out.

We’ll have a house full of family and friends. My part in the preparation revolves around eliminating the piles of books that have accumulated since last Thanksgiving.

On top of that, we’re getting new carpet and furniture the week after Thanksgiving, so I have to create a whole new filing system for all the books, since our shelves are long past full. I am genetically incapable of getting rid of books, so I have my work cut out for me.

***

I’ve barely had a chance to crack the covers on The Avenger Chronicles. The two stories I’ve read have been excellent. Ron Goulart was the writer chosen to carry on the Avenger paperback series for Warner Books in the 70s after the original pulp novels had all been reprinted. His story in TAC is a sequel of one of those novels. I’ve always enjoyed Goulart’s style, and this story reads like he wrote it 30 years ago.

I’ve also read James Reasoner’s entry. Reasoner is one of the top western writers working today (he dabbles in the mystery and historical fields too). He’s also a pulp fan, and that shows in his Avenger story.

So far the book is off to a great start.

And before anybody points this out, I am fully aware that I am incapable of reading an anthology in order. You’ll just have to live with it.

***

I have writing to do this week. Wish me luck on carving out the time. I have a feeling it will done after my whip-cracking better half goes to bed.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Guess What I'm Doing Next Week?

Besides doing all the jobs on Norma's honey-do list to get the house ready for Thanksgiving.

My plot for a short story has just been approved by the license-holder. So I'll be writing about one of the world's first super-heroes (and I don't mean Popeye! Arf!), for an anthology to be published next year. I'm as jazzed about this as I was for the Avenger book.

More on this when the story is accepted.

PoH/Twitter

Pod of Horror has been postponed again. This is entirely my fault, and due mostly to my day job and other bill-paying obligations. If you feel the need to hate me, the line starts right behind Nanci Kalanta.

***

I'm Twittering again. For the life of me, I don't know why. Follow me here.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Our Secret Masters

Legendary country singer Loretta Lynn was in town to perform the other day. Her bus was parked in front of my office (she was staying at the hotel next door).

As I was leaving, one of the local homeless guys rushed by me. I asked him was what going on.

"Loretta Lynn is handing out autographs," he said. "Come get one."

I told him I was running late for an appointment.

"By the way," he said, "did you know Loretta Lynn is a robot built by the two-fingered people who really control the world?"

I didn't. But that explains why she can still perform at 115 years old.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Back From Mexico




It was a great trip. I’ve decided I’m tired of airports. And it’s good to be with our cats again. More when I catch up on rest.

I came home to find my contributor’s copies of The Avenger Chronicles. It’s a nice looking book that includes two contributions from me: a solo story and a collaboration. You can find it here. (I was a late addition to the lineup so I didn't make the cut for the Amazon listing. *sigh*)

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Reading, Writing and Packing

It’s been too long since I’ve talked about books here.

Ed Lee’s new novel, Brides of the Impaler, is both a departure from what most fans expect from Lee, and a bloodsucking success. Lee’s setting is uber-urban: a midtown New York populated by excess-addicted yuppies, calloused cops and crackhead whores. Add to the mix an artifact that may contain the spirit of Dracula, and this book’s off to the races. Lee proves he can deliver the scares in the back woods and the big city. And there’s plenty of sex and gore to satisfy longtime fans of Lee.

The Given Day is another departure, this time from Dennis LeHane, author of Gone Baby Gone and Mystic River. Set in Boston, at the end of the first World War, this epic encompasses racism, baseball, the influenza epidemic, police corruption, labor unions, immigration and the devastating Boston police strike. It’s a potboiler and a page turner, with writing that is, in turns, literary and pulpish. My only question is: will Scorcese be directing the movie?

A racially-charged incident from 1972 propels The Turnaround by George Pelecanos. Three white teens drive into a black neighborhood. Epithets are shouted, violence ensues, and one of the teens is killed. In the present, Pelecanos catches up with the survivors of the incident. Some have prospered. Others haven’t done so well. When Pelecanos finally brings the survivors together, each is looking for something different: forgiveness, redemption, even payback. The story concludes in a way that is surprising and moving. Possibly Pelecanos’ best novel to date.

***

I had a story accepted for an anthology this week. One more commitment out of the way. I’m trying to finish another promised piece this week, before we head out of town.

***

We’re going to a resort in Mexico next week. I’ll be out of the country on election day, and will miss voting for the first time since I was 18.

Norma and I went to our courthouse Friday to cast our absentee ballots. The election officials told us that absentee turnout was huge, and they hoped the number of ballots cast on election day would be record-setting. So do I. In the past, a 30% voter turn out in Kentucky has been considered good. Oh, really? 70% percent of the citizenry stays home and that’s good thing? If this election causes more people to participate in the process, regardless of who they vote for, that’s a victory.

Now I have to face my greatest challenge of the year: what books to pack.

Hardcovers are out. Since I have to pay if my bag is over fifty pounds, I’m not taking any chances. I can stuff more paperbacks into my carry-on.

At the moment, I’m leaning toward a few Hard Case Crime novels, a couple of Leisure paperbacks and the last few issues of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. That’s subject to change, of course. In fact, I’ll probably be adjusting the book lineup on the way to the airport. I’m sure my fellow book lovers will understand.

The beach, books, no election commercials and unlimited alcohol? Just what the doctor ordered.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Come on Come On/Stones in the Road

Hey, kids! It's one of Mark's favorite Mary Chapin Carpenter songs.



And here's the other one.

Whassup, McCain?

Friday, October 24, 2008

My Friends, Let Me Be Honest With You...

I have a confession: I'll vote for whoever Andy Griffith tells me to vote for. Come on, he's Andy Griffith.


See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

Monday, October 13, 2008

Reading in the Mountain State

Friday Night I joined Brian J. Hatcher and Michael Knost at a release party for Legends of the Mountain State 2: More Ghostly Tales from the State of West Virginia. Here's an action shot:


A good time was had by all, even if Border's had us set up a few feet from the gizmo they use to grind the coffee beans. Thanks to everyone who stopped by. We left a bunch of signed books behind for you.

Update:

So I'm not a blog hog, I ripped this off from Knost's site:

Sunday, October 12, 2008

This Is Funny, I Don't Care Who You Are

Happy Birthday, Lester Dent


Thanks to L. L. Soares who reminded me that today was the birthday of Lester Dent, the man who wrote most of the Doc Savage novels under the Kenneth Robeson house name.

Dent was born in 1904 and passed away from a heart attack March 11, 1959 --a few months before I was born.

In between he wrote a lot of fiction, some of it very good. Had he lived, I have no doubt he'd be fondly remembered as a mystery/suspense author ala John D. MacDonald (who had a number of stories published in Doc Savage Magazine).

Early in his career Dent published an article in Writer's Digest in which he revealed his master plot formula for pulp fiction. Check it out, then compare how closely a lot of today's fiction sticks to it.

This is a formula, a master plot, for any 6000 word pulp story. It has worked on adventure, detective, western and war-air. It tells exactly where to put everything. It shows definitely just what must happen in each successive thousand words.

No yarn of mine written to the formula has yet failed to sell.

The business of building stories seems not much different from the business of building anything else.

Here's how it starts:

  1. A DIFFERENT MURDER METHOD FOR VILLAIN TO USE
  2. A DIFFERENT THING FOR VILLAIN TO BE SEEKING
  3. A DIFFERENT LOCALE
  4. A MENACE WHICH IS TO HANG LIKE A CLOUD OVER HERO

One of these DIFFERENT things would be nice, two better, three swell. It may help if they are fully in mind before tackling the rest.

A different murder method could be--different. Thinking of shooting, knifing, hydrocyanic, garroting, poison needles, scorpions, a few others, and writing them on paper gets them where they may suggest something. Scorpions and their poison bite? Maybe mosquitos or flies treated with deadly germs?

If the victims are killed by ordinary methods, but found under strange and identical circumstances each time, it might serve, the reader of course not knowing until the end, that the method of murder is ordinary. Scribes who have their villain's victims found with butterflies, spiders or bats stamped on them could conceivably be flirting with this gag.

Probably it won't do a lot of good to be too odd, fanciful or grotesque with murder methods.

The different thing for the villain to be after might be something other than jewels, the stolen bank loot, the pearls, or some other old ones.

Here, again one might get too bizarre.

Unique locale? Easy. Selecting one that fits in with the murder method and the treasure--thing that villain wants--makes it simpler, and it's also nice to use a familiar one, a place where you've lived or worked. So many pulpateers don't. It sometimes saves embarrassment to know nearly as much about the locale as the editor, or enough to fool him.

Here's a nifty much used in faking local color. For a story laid in Egypt, say, author finds a book titled "Conversational Egyptian Easily Learned," or something like that. He wants a character to ask in Egyptian, "What's the matter?" He looks in the book and finds, "El khabar, eyh?" To keep the reader from getting dizzy, it's perhaps wise to make it clear in some fashion, just what that means. Occasionally the text will tell this, or someone can repeat it in English. But it's a doubtful move to stop and tell the reader in so many words the English translation.

The writer learns they have palm trees in Egypt. He looks in the book, finds the Egyptian for palm trees, and uses that. This kids editors and readers into thinking he knows something about Egypt.

Here's the second installment of the master plot.

Divide the 6000 word yarn into four 1500 word parts. In each 1500 word part, put the following:

FIRST 1500 WORDS

  1. First line, or as near thereto as possible, introduce the hero and swat him with a fistful of trouble. Hint at a mystery, a menace or a problem to be solved--something the hero has to cope with.
  2. The hero pitches in to cope with his fistful of trouble. (He tries to fathom the mystery, defeat the menace, or solve the problem.)
  3. Introduce ALL the other characters as soon as possible. Bring them on in action.
  4. Hero's endevours land him in an actual physical conflict near the end of the first 1500 words.
  5. Near the end of first 1500 words, there is a complete surprise twist in the plot development.

SO FAR: Does it have SUSPENSE? Is there a MENACE to the hero? Does everything happen logically?

At this point, it might help to recall that action should do something besides advance the hero over the scenery. Suppose the hero has learned the dastards of villains have seized somebody named Eloise, who can explain the secret of what is behind all these sinister events. The hero corners villains, they fight, and villains get away. Not so hot.

Hero should accomplish something with his tearing around, if only to rescue Eloise, and surprise! Eloise is a ring-tailed monkey. The hero counts the rings on Eloise's tail, if nothing better comes to mind. They're not real. The rings are painted there. Why?

SECOND 1500 WORDS

  1. Shovel more grief onto the hero.
  2. Hero, being heroic, struggles, and his struggles lead up to:
  3. Another physical conflict.
  4. A surprising plot twist to end the 1500 words.

NOW: Does second part have SUSPENSE? Does the MENACE grow like a black cloud? Is the hero getting it in the neck? Is the second part logical?

DON'T TELL ABOUT IT! Show how the thing looked. This is one of the secrets of writing; never tell the reader--show him. (He trembles, roving eyes, slackened jaw, and such.) MAKE THE READER SEE HIM.

When writing, it helps to get at least one minor surprise to the printed page. It is reasonable to to expect these minor surprises to sort of inveigle the reader into keeping on. They need not be such profound efforts. One method of accomplishing one now and then is to be gently misleading. Hero is examining the murder room. The door behind him begins slowly to open. He does not see it. He conducts his examination blissfully. Door eases open, wider and wider, until--surprise! The glass pane falls out of the big window across the room. It must have fallen slowly, and air blowing into the room caused the door to open. Then what the heck made the pane fall so slowly? More mystery.

Characterizing a story actor consists of giving him some things which make him stick in the reader's mind. TAG HIM.

BUILD YOUR PLOTS SO THAT ACTION CAN BE CONTINUOUS.

THIRD 1500 WORDS

  1. Shovel the grief onto the hero.
  2. Hero makes some headway, and corners the villain or somebody in:
  3. A physical conflict.
  4. A surprising plot twist, in which the hero preferably gets it in the neck bad, to end the 1500 words.

DOES: It still have SUSPENSE? The MENACE getting blacker? The hero finds himself in a hell of a fix? It all happen logically?

These outlines or master formulas are only something to make you certain of inserting some physical conflict, and some genuine plot twists, with a little suspense and menace thrown in. Without them, there is no pulp story.

These physical conflicts in each part might be DIFFERENT, too. If one fight is with fists, that can take care of the pugilism until next the next yarn. Same for poison gas and swords. There may, naturally, be exceptions. A hero with a peculiar punch, or a quick draw, might use it more than once.

The idea is to avoid monotony.

ACTION: Vivid, swift, no words wasted. Create suspense, make the reader see and feel the action.

ATMOSPHERE: Hear, smell, see, feel and taste.

DESCRIPTION: Trees, wind, scenery and water.

THE SECRET OF ALL WRITING IS TO MAKE EVERY WORD COUNT.

FOURTH 1500 WORDS

  1. Shovel the difficulties more thickly upon the hero.
  2. Get the hero almost buried in his troubles. (Figuratively, the villain has him prisoner and has him framed for a murder rap; the girl is presumably dead, everything is lost, and the DIFFERENT murder method is about to dispose of the suffering protagonist.)
  3. The hero extricates himself using HIS OWN SKILL, training or brawn.
  4. The mysteries remaining--one big one held over to this point will help grip interest--are cleared up in course of final conflict as hero takes the situation in hand.
  5. Final twist, a big surprise, (This can be the villain turning out to be the unexpected person, having the "Treasure" be a dud, etc.)
  6. The snapper, the punch line to end it.

HAS: The SUSPENSE held out to the last line? The MENACE held out to the last? Everything been explained? It all happen logically? Is the Punch Line enough to leave the reader with that WARM FEELING? Did God kill the villain? Or the hero?

Friday, October 10, 2008

Signing/ Reading

If you're anywhere in the vicinity of Huntington, West Virginia, consider coming to Border's in the Huntington Mall tonight. I'll be there with Michael Knost, the editor of Legends of the Mountain State 2, signing books and reading my contribution.

The party is 7-9. I'll be there for the final hour.

Sunday, October 05, 2008

Make Believe Maverick

Rolling Stone explodes many of the myths about John McCain in a new profile. If it's true, this makes Johnny Mac look even more like the second coming of W. If it's not true, I'm sure one of the fact checking sites will let us know.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Sarah Palin Debate Flow Chart

(stolen from the Shocklines forum)

Pod of Horror #48


Let Pod of Horror #48 be your pumpkin carving soundtrack. Robert Dunbar talks about Leisure publishing THE PINES twice. Scott Bradley is back with the scoop on THE BOOK OF LISTS: HORROR. Actor and Writer Michael Boatman takes THE REVENANT ROAD. Glenn Kay, author of ZOMBIE MOVIES: THE ULTIMATE GUIDE, discusses the cinema of the dead. And everybody’s favorite sassy demon, Grim Rictus, returns to PoH. We’ve also got Norm Rubenstein’s book reviews, The Call of Kalanta and The Tomb of Trivia. Pod of Horror is produced and hosted by Mark Justice. Download it at I-Tunes or direct to your desktop

Get Pod of Horror merchandise

Visit our MySpace page

Be sure to drop by the Justice & Wilbanks message board

and Mark’s MySpace page

Monday, September 29, 2008

Coming Up For Air

I’m still around, just covered up with work related to my day job. All the writing I’ve done over the last few weeks has been for radio. So if I owe you a story, please know I’m sorry. If it doesn’t have a punch line, then I haven’t had a chance to work on it.

***

I did get my contributor copy of The Book of Lists: Horror today, edited by Amy Wallace, Del Howison and my pal Scott Bradley. It’s gorgeous book, and I vastly underestimated how cool it would be to share a book with Stephen King and Ray Bradbury.

By the way, Scott will return to Pod of Horror this weekend with an interview about the book.

***

I’m only a couple of chapters into The Given Day by Dennis LeHane, a sprawling novel revolving around the 1919 Boston police strike.

I know that LeHane has pissed off a lot of mystery writers and readers with his recent comments dismissive of his earlier work. But, damn, can he write. The opening of The Given Day stars Babe Ruth, and it’s friggin’ magic.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Obama Meets THE WEST WING


The West Wing was one of my favorites shows, especially the first four seasons, as produced and mostly written by Aaron Sorkin. (in fact, we watched the series finale again last night). It was an inspiring fantasy -- the characters chose public service to actually make thing better, not for personal power or glory. Can you imagine that?

In this morning's New York Times, Maureen Dowd presents a meeting between Barack Obama and the fictional ex-President Josiah Bartlett, actually written by Sorkin (who once dated Dowd).

As usual, Bartlett hands out a few sharp words of wisdom.

Check it out.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Monday, September 15, 2008

Bizzy

It's been a whirlwind of a weekend--literally, as I spent yesterday watching the suckage that is The Cincinnati Bengals first hand in 60 MPH winds.

I have a ton a email to sort through. If you are waiting on a response from me, expect it later today or tomorrow.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Legends of the Mountain State 2 is Here

I got my contributor's copies today, so I guess this one is ready to go.

Here's part of the publisher's press release:

This book portrays more of the mysterious, bizarre and
spine-tingling Mountain State tales and legends that
have been passed down over the centuries. The title is
Legends Of The Mountain State 2: More Ghostly Tales
From The State Of West Virginia, with a foreword
written by Gov. Joe Manchin, III.

But don’t be misled by the title of this anthology . .
. although all stories are based on known ghosts and
legends of West Virginia, every fan of horror, ghost
stories, and dark fiction will love this project.

In fact, legendary horror writer Joe R. Lansdale had
this to say:

“Hardboiled, Southern Gothic. I loved it. It’s lean
and mean and it doesn’t care if you like it, which is
what makes me like it all the better. Written with a
razor on the back of a dead bloated redneck cracker
down by the river side, the mountains in view, this is
one excellent read.”

Like its predecessor—Legends of the Mountain State
[which was released on Halloween 2007]—this unique
anthology offers thirteen additional accounts of
ghostly manifestations, mythology and mayhem, based on
legends from West Virginia. Rural ghost sightings and
stories of the macabre take center stage with this
release by Woodland Press, LLC, an independent
book-publishing firm located in Chapmanville, WV.

Noted horror writer/editor Michael Knost, a native of
Logan, WV, returns as the anthology’s editor, and
writers for this volume are an amalgamation of
nationally respected authors in the horror, science
fiction and fantasy fields, including Gary A.
Braunbeck, Mark Justice, Bob Freeman, Lucy A. Snyder,
Nate Kenyon, Steven L. Shrewsbury, Michael Laimo,
Maurice Broaddus, Brian J. Hatcher, Mary SanGiovanni,
Jonathan Maberry, Rob Darnell and Nate Southard.

“This is a book that uniquely promotes the rich
folklore and storytelling tradition of our Mountain
State,” says Keith Davis, CEO of Woodland Press.
“Readers went crazy over the first installment.
Actually, Legends of the Mountain State remains the
number one ghost tale book in the Mountain State. This
fresh, new release builds upon its predecessor’s
monumental success. We believe Legends of the Mountain
State 2 will also appeal to readers outside the
state’s borders. West Virginia has more than its share
of ghost stories, legends and peculiar oddities.”


You can order it here.

There's also going to be a launch party at Borders in the Huntington Mall (Barboursville, WV) on October 10th from 7-9 p.m. I should be there for the last hour.

Double Outhouse

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Sucktacular Sunday Sports

The NFL season begun in its usual tradition: The Bengals lost.

Thankfully, though, they only suck on offense, defense and special teams.

Jeez.

Fortunately, my wonderful wife didn’t want me to watch the game alone (my brother was working), so she invited some friends over and made her world-famous tacos and Better Than Sex Cake.

Believe me, tacos, beer and cake make everything better.

***

Let’s talk reading’ and writin’.

I’m in full pulp mode. I read a Doc Savage this weekend (The Thousand-Headed Man). It’s been over 35 years since I read it and it was, in essence, a new novel. It’s one of the best of the Docs, with all the ingredients: a far-flung locale, a weird mystery and much fighting.

Now I’m reading one of the new Shadow reprints. When I was a kid, I found the Shadow novels too slow, especially compared to the Doc Savages, but I’ve been enjoying a lot of the new reprints.

Anyway, this is all to pump me up for the long pulp story I’m writing for Ron Fortier. I’ve owed it too him for a while, so I’ve put the novel aside for a few days to work on this pulptacular yarn.

I also received another invitation to an anthology. I’ve got a pretty good idea for this one, so I’m going to go for it as soon as the pulp thing is done.

***

Callie update:

We adopted a new cat a week or so ago. We already have two cats. Here’s how it’s going:

Hiiiiiiiiiiiissssssss!

Welcome to the new soundtrack of my life.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Stephen King Sums It Up

When people ask why I'm leaning toward one particular candidate in the upcoming presidential election, I try to explain.

But leave it to Stephen King to say it more simply and clearly in an interview he conducted with himself on his new website:

Steve: So you do want to talk about politics?

SK: Really, I don’t. I’ve got an Obama sticker on my car, and I guess that says what needs saying. Call me a tiresome liberal if you want, but I just think it would be nice to have a smart guy running things for a change. We tried dumb and it hasn’t worked out too well.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Twitter Litter

No, I don't Twitter. I tried it back in the spring and quickly realized that it was in direct opposition to my goal of spending less time on line, not more. Even my ego is not large enough to want people to know if there was corn in my latest poo. Deleted account. Thanks for asking.

Monday, September 01, 2008

Dastardly Dave's New Blog

David T. Wilbanks, the man who has started more message boards than anyone else on the World Wide Interwebs, has a new blog. Let him point you to something of interest to fans of horror fiction.

Dave also reports we're getting good feedback to our Dead Earth sequel from his hand-picked squadron of ninja readers.