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”

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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. ūüė¶

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!

 

 

A Good Fantasy

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Drogon, take me away.

There was this hippie dude back in the early 80s when I was in college, one of many older guys (anyone past twenty-seven) who pursued philosophy degrees part-time and tried to hook up with each new crop of freshmen girls. I doubt if this particular guy had much luck in that department considering his Bilbo Baggins appearance complete with pot belly, meerschaum pipe, and puffs of frizz crowning his bald pate (hey, you never know.) I don’t recall his name but I do remember he always wore the same faded t-shirt with an illustration of a dragon next to which were emblazoned the words: ‚ÄúI have abandoned my search for truth and am now looking for a good fantasy.”

This is exactly my creed as annus horribilis comes to a close. The stress of reading the “reality” of news stories has left me in shatters. One more article about my favorite actor digitally penetrating an unwilling someone thirty years ago will break me. One more smug shot of Trump making that hand gesture will send me to the loony bin. So I seek refuge in fantasy, particularly George (not your bitch) R.R. Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice books, where murder, rape, incest, and torture is so much more palatable than reading about these topics in the Daily Mail.

I was late coming to Game of Thrones, but now after binge watching the entire oeuvre last year and just completing book two, I’m officially obsessed. I’ve found in fantasy the catharsis of watching my enemies burn with dragon fire when in real life I’m stuck with platitudinal memes extolling my self-worth in the face of “toxic friends.”

Now that my Wattpad writing career has taken off (The Ghosts of Dark Hollow is now featured on the site and gaining a little following), I’m considering trying my hand at the fantasy genre. To prepare for that feat, I’m checking out sword and sorcery tomes from the library and vowing to finally finish Lord of the Rings this year. Of the sixty-seven books I read this year (according to Goodreads) only seven were fantasy. I vow to change that in 2018 as well as read all those “fucking George Martin books.”

Fantasy definitely helps me deal with reality. Bring on the dragons.

 

Summer Reading & Writing

Beach Reads

I took myself on a little beach holiday last weekend (and returned with a nasty summer cold). I did some editing for the new book. One more pass and I think I’ll be done.

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Taken before some dude set up a UV ray tent and blocked my view.

It’s difficult to edit your own work, but that’s where I’m at. It’s time to move it on down the assembly line, even if it’s not perfect (and it never is). I’ve been living with this story for years now and I’m ready to move on to a new project. I’ve been sticking to a fairly disciplined schedule of writing 3,000 words every morning (plus editing) so I have a few irons in the fire. Continue reading “Summer Reading & Writing”

Indie Horror Review #5

Blue Meat Blues by Joshua McGrath

In my quest for finding indie (self-published) horror novels to review, I consulted a list on Goodreads and deliberately chose the book with the least reviews and the weirdest cover–I’ve always had a soft spot for the underdog. I checked out the author’s profile page and see that his photo resembles a brooding Rive Gauche¬†intellectual. Sold!

I ordered the printed book (I don’t Kindle) and dug into this¬†love letter to misanthropy. A cocktail of sociopathy and vague spiritual ennui. A dumpster full of human meat with high hopes.

The writer gives the done to death dystopian genre a fresh twist by creating a very unique picture of futuristic horror. This mise en scene depicts a world encased in waves of tar‚ÄĒthat shit burns and lingers on the skin and seems to have its own life: a churning, creeping hunger. The survivors of this new world: a hierarchy of ferals, smoothies, and slaves, are as altered as the landscape we assume was once earth. They cling to a remembered humanity of sorts, although they are not quite human–perhaps their flesh is only an organic breeding ground for a new life form. Whatever it is, it’s ugly. There’s hair too, growing in the ocean‚ÄĒsomething organic, some strange glowing fiber optics of the future?
Continue reading “Indie Horror Review #5”

Frankenstein

Do you share my madness?

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The spark that lit the imagination of an eighteen-year-old girl during a bleak summer on Lake Geneva gave life to the Gothic novel. The Castle of Otranto may have started it, but Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is without doubt the genre’s seminal work. Scanning (with amusement) some of the one or even zero star reviews on Goodreads from readers seething with rage over expecting a horror book and instead finding a (God forbid) melodrama, I wonder if it should not be reclassified as as romance; although that might result in a shirtless Fabio as the creature with a fainting Elizabeth in his arms, and there is already enough confusion about a brilliant story eclipsed by monster B-movies, comic books, and a brilliant comedy called Young Frankenstein. All of these have, of course, little to do with the actual novel, which is perhaps why the outrage. But if readers can possibly clear their minds of prejudice, they will find one of the finest novels in the English language. Its themes are deep, its symbolism vast, and that a young woman was able to conceive all of this and write it down in elegant prose and moves the reader’s eye effortlessly along the page to its devastating conclusion is a wonder as profound as Victor Frankenstein’s creation.

Continue reading “Frankenstein”

For Entertainment Purposes Only

It was my desire to escape the clinging neuroses of the dour Ms. Tyler that made me reach for a purgative in the form of a trashy 80’s horror novel I found at my local used book store. Enter The Dragon by William Schoell. Aside from the fact that the image appears more lithedragonke¬†an iguana than a creature whose rage burned hotter than the fires of Hell, but I do appreciate the scaly texture of the embossed 80’s era cover. ¬†The Dragon¬†tells an enormous ¬†story that begins with a pre-historic prologue in New Mexico where a dragon monster, Ka Kuna, lives within the belly of an enormous desert mesa, El Lobo. Ka Kuna is no ordinary dragon, but a living-flesh computer that (feeds) off the energies of the human brain. Human sacrifice is part of the milieu–Cool!

Fast forward ten thousand plus years to where Eddie Drake, professional photographer and grieving widow, is convinced to join an old school chum, archeologist Lawrence Foster, on an excavation of….cue drum roll…the El Lobo mesa. Eager to put behind him the horror of his wife’s murder, Eddie takes the job despite his reservations about his egotistical friend who includes on the excavation team his bitter wife and his young mistress. The rest of the team is rounded out by a few clich√© characters including the homely girl, the old man, and the black guy. As a reminder that 1989 was a more innocent time before the corrupting influence of political correctness (sarcasm intentional) racist and sexist language abounds (the characters not the author) . I must admit it took this reader back a bit; although nothing can offend a true horror fan. Continue reading “For Entertainment Purposes Only”

Rosemary’s Baby

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Satan’s coming!

Beware the chalky¬†undertaste…

Continuing ¬†with my Gothic Literature Reading Challenge (no particular order)¬†I reread Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin, chowing it down in a few days. I enjoyed my Franklin Press leather bound edition (trying to collect all of the Gothic volumes). Good lit deserves quality bindings.

This is one of those books I wish I could go back in time and read cold, although it’s a testament to Levin’s great skill that a story I know every nuance of can still keep me turning pages till dawn.

In his 1981 book on horror, Danse Macabre, Stephen King praises Levin as a one of the great plotters. He is the Swiss watchmaker of the suspense novel.¬† And it’s true. Every revelation is supported by the hidden, and often overt, character motivations. Guy, an inspiring actor played to sleazy brilliance by John Cassavetes in the film, admits he’s a great bullshit artist and liar (brags about it in fact) on the first few pages of the book as the newlyweds try to get out of their lease so they can move into the Bramford, a fictitious Gothic apartment house along Central Park. Can’t say he didn’t warn you. Minnie Castevet, the nosy neighbor, says as much about herself when she declares I’m selfish as the day is long. She ain’t lying. You can’t trust anyone of these damn witches. Poor, naive Rosemary, carrying a time bomb in her belly during the hottest summer in New York history (a metaphor for Hell I assume) realizes this all too late. Continue reading “Rosemary’s Baby”

The Castle of Otranto

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Faint of heart…

Continuing with my Gothic Literature Reading Challenge 2017, I head for the granddaddy of Gothic literature The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole (try to say it fast). ¬†After reading some of the Goodreads reviews, I expected this to be a real chore, but I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this (gratefully) brief, at times silly tale. It helped that I found this beautiful Easton Press leather bound copy in my personal library. The moir√© endpaper, satin book mark, color plates, and gold embossed leather cover enhanced my reading experience of this classic. Continue reading “The Castle of Otranto”

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