Autumn Reads

The other night my heart thrilled at the sight of an enormous harvest moon making wavy gold streaks on the river’s surface. I smelled the crisp scent of burning leaves in the suddenly chilly air and knew my favorite season had returned at last. In Pennsylvania we get the weather extremes, and as much as I love the hot summer nights, fall is my favorite and it’s here at last. To celebrate the season of the witch, I’ve put together a reading list to hit the sweet spots of Halloween haunts, #Victober (a cool BookTube trend of reading Victorian era books during the October month), some true crime thrown in to keep me up at night, Gothic romance because I’ll find any excuse to read those, and a crusty 80’s era horror paperback from a recent thrift shop haul.

October TBR

The Witching Hour by Anne Rice. I have about 200 pages to go. This is a re-read. Halfway through this nearly 1000 page tome while I was reading all about the Mayfair Witches history in the Talamasca file that goes on forever and ever, I kept thinking why? Why did I do this to myself? This book is such a commitment, but yet I couldn’t abandon it. It slowly seduces as much as Lasher and the city of New Orleans does. Yes, I will reread the subsequent books in the series, Lasher and Taltos. And yes, I’ll ask myself why the entire time. Can someone please make a TV series of this already so I don’t have to read it again when I feel the itch?

Small Sacrifices by Anne Rule. Again, why do I do this to myself? I must have read this book three times since it came out in the late 80’s. Some video about Diane Downs came up in my YouTube feed the other day and the next thing I knew I was loading up the book in my kindle and for the past few days I could barely pull myself away. There is something about the way Anne Rule writes that elevates hers from other true crime books. She not only reports the facts, she finds the drama and digs in deep.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. This Gothic romantic classic was written in the Victorian era so I suppose it counts for a #Victober read. This is another reread, but it’s been a while. Also, I just got myself a beautiful Easton Press leather-bound copy: perfect for cozy reading by the fire (or space heater) with a cup of tea.

For a less literary Gothic romance choice, I plan to read Volume Two in the Dark Shadows book series. They’re super short and I can knock one out in a day.

For my 80’s horror paperback pick, I’m reading Soul-Eater by Dana Brookins. I have no idea if this is any good, but the cover is fantastic. Let’s hope the story lives up to it.

And finally. I plan to finally finish Mr. Clive Barker’s Books of Blood that have been withering in my kindle for months. I just completed volume five and the stories contained within were my favorite so far. Now onto volume six. I can do this.

So, here are my best laid reading plans that will probably so awry, but what fun are plans if you can’t break them? Happy reading.

 

 

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A Year of Writing Dangerously

As another birthday roles around this August (Virgo,not Leo) and I do my habitual yearly self-assessment, I observe the following: I got healthier (sobriety, meditation, diet & exercise do work), learned to filter out (some) lingering negativity in my life (about time, eh?), grew out my natural hair color for the third time, read 78 books, started a BookTube channel, helped to organize a local arts festival, and wrote like the dickens (not Charles, unfortunately).

My production for the year included: three novels in a YA series, one novella, a good rough draft of one novel and the start of another, a bunch of poems, five short stories, and nearly weekly blog posts. I also quit Facebook, got back on recently then promptly quit again, and spent a lot of time alone in nature. Through all of the ups and downs, self-recriminations, broken sobriety dates, and moments of quiet (at times despairing) contemplation, I wrote. I may have skipped my exercise date, but never my morning writing session.

I owe a lot of my prolificacy to Wattpad. I joined the site just a year ago and the interaction and feedback I encountered there really spurred on my productivity.

Continue reading “A Year of Writing Dangerously”

The Horror of Aging

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I’ve Had Those Moments

As a woman in my mid-fifties, I’ve experienced the horror expressed in this classic moment of cinematic grand dame guignol. I started a YouTube channel recently, and I admit to spending as much time on my make-up, hair, and flattering lighting as I do my “content.” Like many Virgos, I’m vain. I can relate to that famous literary Virgo, Blanche DuBois, who once bemoaned about the “hard knocks my vanity has taken,” and she was only in her thirties at the time.

Vivien Leigh still looks damn good under the bare light bulb. My God, Tennessee Williams was a genius. Check in time at the Tarantula Arms. It doesn’t get any better than that.

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Smutty Sundays

Reading Richard Laymon

Back in the 1970’s, my cousin and his wife lived in a run-down trailer in a rural part of the upper county where I would sometimes babysit their kids. My cousin’s wife, a dead ringer for Michelle Pfeiffer with enviable Farrah hair, loved to read, her taste leaning toward the sleaziest horror and true crime books. I spent many hours poring through her stack of paperbacks that included tales of killer kidnappings, rape scenes involving hapless pregnant hitchhikers in vast Oregon landscapes, a teenage mom whose baby was eaten by the family dog, and a fictional work (I can only hope) involving incest that was too grammatically challenged for even my thirteen-year-old sensibilities.

One memorable babysitting episode involved me reading some trashy “novel” while my cousin’s hound dog gave birth to a litter in the chair next to me, forcing me to put down the book about a family changed into demons inside a grain silo (if anyone remembers the title I’ll be eternally grateful) and play doggie midwife. Those babysitting nights alone in the trailer seeped into my nightmares and gave me a sleazy thrill, like the times I’d stay too late at the drive-in when “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” was the feature presentation, and the really creepy stuff would play after midnight. There were no trigger warnings in the 1970’s, and thus Trip With The Teacher became unfortunately seared into my teenage memory.

Reading Richard Laymon  (this is my second time at the rodeo) gets me back in touch with that sick part of me that enjoys reading trash, but it also reminds me where to draw the line. I read The Cellar a few months ago, and as much as I love paperbacks from hell, the scenes from the rapist’s POV made me swear off Richard Laymon for good. But when my YouTube buddy, Peter Monn, included Laymon’s Endless Night in his popular Peter’s Book Club, I decided to give the prince of sleaze another try.

The book starts out good and scary when nubile (of course) teenager Jody’s sleepover at a friend’s house is interrupted by a crew of killers, known as the Krull, who break into the house wearing previous victims’ skins and start massacring everyone in sight. After Jody and her friend’s kid brother, Andy, manage to escape the Krull crew in a heart-stopping chase scene, the POV switches to one of the killer’s and that’s when Laymon really finds his writer’s “voice.” What follows are graphic descriptions of rapes and murders with a disturbing emphasis on the teenage victims’ suffering and lingerie. The word “panties” appears in the text a bit too often for comfort. Nipples run a close second.

I love a good, sleazy scare as much as the next horror hound, but there is something about Laymon’s work that goes too far, which is probably why he has such a loyal following.

I suppose his work gives a certain cheap thrill; I can’t say I’m a fan. Still, for the remains of this Sunday afternoon I’m reading The Endless Night till the bitter end. Then I’m taking a bath.

Postscript: I finished the book. The climax (hate to use that word) was even sleazier than I anticipated. I think I’ll pass on this author from now on.

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Rub-a-Dub-Dub-Dub, a knife in the tube.

My First BookCon

I’ve finally recovered from last week’s whirlwind weekend at BookCon in New York City. It was my first time at BookCon, and I had a blast. I will be back. In fact, next year I hope to have a booth with my YA book series (three, maybe four books in) on display. Attending BookCon helped me to visualize that goal and break down the intimidation factor. Even when I sat in on the panel and listened to authors I admire like Cassandra Clare and James Patterson, I saw that they were just people who worked really hard to achieve their levels of success. It was inspiring to me as a writer, and I returned home feeling energized and ready to get back to work.

I was also inspired to see so many young people being excited about books. I hear a lot of griping about the proliferation of YA in the bookish community. I get that, and I have definitely felt the frustration of not being able to find good adult horror, for example, but to see teenagers clutching books and jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of meeting their favorite authors gave this former English teacher a thrill.

My First BookCon Takeaway

  • Wear comfortable shoes. I was packing a few cute outfits, including a new pair of wedgie sandals, when I decided to throw in my sneakers (just in case). Well, I ended up wearing those sneakers and a pair of jeans the entire time. I must have walked twenty miles that weekend. The cute outfits and shoes I packed stayed in my suitcase.
  • Books are heavy. Next time bring the rolling suitcase instead of the shoulder tote and check it at the Javitt’s Center, not at the hotel on the East Side (especially when there were two parades going on that weekend).
  • Talk to more people. Full disclosure, I’m a bit of an introvert. Striking up conversations with strangers does not come easy to me; however, the few times I did work up the courage to talk to people I had a positive experience. I met indie writers just like me, excited to talk about their books. I must remind myself in these situations to make an effort to connect, to ask questions, and just relax.
  • Sign up early for workshops. I did manage to get into one workshop, which was great, but many of the events I was interested in sold out soon. This was a last minute trip for me so next year I’ll plan more carefully. There were a few things I missed just because I didn’t notice it on the schedule, like the Wattpad meet and greet. 😦

This was my first time ever attending any kind of CON, and I had such a good time I will probably be heading to the next Comic Con in my area. I found some horror comics at BookCon that I plan to devour on my living room sofa today. Happy reading!

 

 

Deconstructing Franco

Actors Anonymous: a Novel by James Franco

I was never a big James Franco fan (yeah, he’s cute), and I tuned out The Deuce after a few episodes, but I was really hoping The Disaster Artist would be good and I wasn’t disappointed. I was an early fan of The Room after spotting the billboard on a trip to L.A. then serendipitously seeing a small blurb on it in a Spin magazine someone had left on the plane. I immediately ordered the DVD and began having screenings of it and helped spread the love on the East Coast.

After watching The Disaster Artist, and laughing my damn ass off along with the rest of the movie theater audience (when was the last time that happened?), I excitedly texted a film friend of mine “Franco pulled it off” to which he replied “you don’t hear that said often.”

Francophile or not, The Disaster Artist is great, and I was happy to hear that Franco won a Golden Globe for it. Seeing Tommy Wiseau on stage with him brought the entire meta moment to a beautiful denouement, till the Twitter storm started.  Here we go again… While the jury’s (jury, what jury?) out, I’ll move on.

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a skull of stars?

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hi handsome.

Continue reading “Deconstructing Franco”

Vocabulary Building with David Foster Wallace

I still haven’t yet finished Infinte Jest (New Year’s resolution), but I’m a big fan of DFW’s essays.  The late writer’s mastery of the English language, as well as his courage to experiment with it, truly puts him in a class by himself (along with Shakespeare, Joyce, and Wordsworth).

I try to keep a notebook by my side while I’m reading (even when it’s trash) so I can jot down words or phrases I like. Listening to DFW read his great (and hilarious) essay on the AVN porn awards, Big Red Son, had me pausing the video and jotting like crazy (and reaching for a dictionary). He’s famous for  his long, but grammatically sound sentences and elaborately constructed footnotes.

Below are some of the juicy bits from Big Red Son (interesting phrases and word choices bolded).

“We pretty much all tune in, despite the grotesquerie of watching an industry congratulate itself on its pretense that it’s still an art form, of hearing people in $5,000 gowns invoke lush clichés of surprise and humility scripted by publicists etc.—the whole cynical post-modern deal—but we all still seem to watch.”

“He contrasts the woeful paucity of his own ejaculate with the concussive orgasms of certain well-known performers, comparing these men’s ejaculations to automatic lawn sprinklers and doing an eerie sonic impression of the same.”

“Treasure Island, with its intricate facade of decks and ringing and mizzens and vang.”

“The Harley-Davidson Cafe, with its tympanum of huge protruding hawg; Bally’s H&C, with its row of phallic pillars all electrified and blinking in grand mal sync.”

“A second-tier Arrow Video starlet in a G-string poses for a photo, forked dorsally over the knee of a morbidly obese cellphone retailer from suburban Philadelphia.”

“Several of the outfits defy basic precepts of modern physics. Coiffures are towering and complex.”

“Not unlike urban gangs, police, carnival workers, and certain other culturally marginalized guilds, the US porn industry in occluded and insular in a way that makes it seem like high school.”

This is ambitious writing that flies in the face of most writing advice, which is one reason why it’s so great. The best writers add to the language, stretch it to infinite possibilities. They also sometimes use adverbs. I’d hate to miss out on forked dorsally.

 

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