Talking Splatterhouse on the Spooklights Podcast

 

Don’t “BE GARBAGE OF CESSPOOL HA HA HA.” Listen to the latest episode of Spooklights instead!

The new episode of Muzzleland Press‘ podcast is up now, and co-hosts Jonathan Raab and Tom Breen were gracious enough to have me on as a guest so I could ramble on incoherently about one of my all-time favorite video game series: Splatterhouse!

We also talked a little about my meager bibliography, the inspiration for my contribution to Muzzleland’s latest anthology Terror in 16-Bits (available now in paperbook and ebook format through Amazon or the Muzzleland Press webstore, nudge nudge), our experiences at NecronomiCon Providence, and how A Nightmare on Elm Street 4 is woefully underrated.

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The Yellowed Page: An Appreciation of Vintage Paperbacks

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Paperbacks from Hell, the new book from Grady Hendrix (author of Horrorstör and My Best Friend’s Exorcism), came out yesterday. Unlike Hendrix’s previous releases, Paperbacks from Hell is a work of non-fiction, although at times the absurdities it recounts make you wonder how they could be true.

How could Zebra Books flood grocery stores with all their garish, goofy skeletons and still be taken seriously for so long? How could Rex Miller take Chaingang, the 400 lb. homeless serial killer/rapist from the 1987 novel Slob, and reimagine him as a superpowered crusader of justice with a soft spot for puppies over the course of just a few sequels? How could talented writers like Ken Greenhall and Joan Samson remain obscure and unloved in an era when every yahoo with a typewriter could somehow land a gushing blurb from Stephen King?

Paperbacks from Hell is a smart, humorous, and affectionate look at the gory glory days of the ‘70s and ‘80s horror publishing boom. If you’ve enjoyed reading Hendrix’s blogs for Tor.com, ever spent an afternoon marveling over gorgeous and insane relics of vintage paperback cover art on Will Erickson’s website Too Much Horror Fiction, or regularly come away from used book sales with armfuls of William H. Johnstone and Ruby Jean Jensen titles, Paperbacks from Hell is an essential buy. Shit, I preordered my copy months ago.

Having spent all last night and most of today flipping through it, I can’t understate how much of a rush it’s been seeing all these forgotten names given ample limelight, not to mention gorging myself on the beautifully lurid artwork replete with evil dolls, killer crabs, and, yes, so many skeletons. It makes me want to hunt Hendrix down and give him a big, fat, sloppy kiss, because it almost feels like he wrote this book just for me.

I was born in 1987, the waning days of the horror boom. Even still, I grew up very much in its shadow. When you’re poor, you really can’t waste money such a luxury as new books, and I grew up poor. Being a voracious reader with an appetite for the dark and fantastic, I was left with few options other than whatever was cheapest, and what was cheapest were the battered ‘n’ tattered secondhand paperbacks I found at flea markets, yard sales, and the Salvation Army. It was either subsist on bottom-of-the-barrel books for bottom-of-the-barrel prices… or shoplift. I’m not too proud to admit I did plenty of both.

When I say “bottom-of-the-barrel,” though, keep in mind I don’t mean it as a knock on the quality of those books, more as an acknowledgment of how they were (and still are) valued (or not valued) by more “serious” literary types. Those typerwriter-haulin,’ Stephen King blurb-scorin’ yahoos I mentioned earlier? I poke fun, but I still respect the hell out of ‘em. Shit, I’d sell at least 50% of my working limbs for a Stephen King blurb. Maybe more.

See, here’s the thing: The bargain bin may be where the “bad” stuff lives, but it’s also where the purest stuff lives, the stuff that relishes being about ghosts ‘n’ goblins and doesn’t feel the need to “elevate” itself. Even better, it’s where the weird stuff lives. These are not New York Times Bestsellers. These are the curiosities that slipped through the cracks: splatterpunk sickos taking sex and violence to a whole new level, extraterrestrial orgasms that kill innocent housewives, horny werewolf ghosts, sadomasochistic nazi leprechauns, and, for some reason, a whoooole lot of incest.

Call ‘em crass. Call ‘em crude. They’re also some of the wildest, most imaginative stories you’re likely to come across. They don’t play by the rules, and that is often their downfall, but you don’t find ideas this outré if you’re playing by the rules. They may be crazy, but they’re also earnest, and that counts for a lot.

I grew up on a steady diet of this stuff (so now you know where to point the blame). For that reason, I have never and will never look down on any writer or publisher or subgenre of horror for being too strange or trashy or low-brow or unrefined. Ultimately, horror is supposed to be all those things; it’s the punk rock of literary genres, just one step up in the publishing hierarchy from all-out pornography.

Though no longer a penniless youth (which isn’t to say I’m not still broke, I’m just slightly less broke), I still buy a lot of used books. Not necessarily because I have to, but because I want to. Because I enjoy it.

I enjoy trawling overstuffed shelves and rickety milk crates at flea markets and secondhand stores. I enjoy hunting for secret treasures hidden under piles of James Patterson cast-offs. I enjoy finding old authors who are new to me, reading the outlandish back-cover copy of impossible-to-summarize pretzel-logic plots, and drooling over eye-popping masterpieces pieces of lush, pulpy cover art the likes of which you simply can’t find today. All those cut-outs and step-backs and shimmery holofoil; gotta love ’em.

I also enjoy the sense of history you get with used books. One of my favorite things to find in an old beat-up paperback is a “This book belongs to…” notation, or a library stamp, a dog-eared page, an inky smudged fingerprint, a bookmark, a note to self, anything of that sort; I like the idea of being another link in a chain that stretches back to god knows how many other people over the course of god knows how many years.

The yellowed page may be ugly, it may be ripped and brittle, it may even smell a little… off. But damned if it doesn’t hold little wonders just the same. Like VHS and vinyl, there’s just something magic about it.

Cheers to Grady Hendrix for paying tribute to that.

New Story Transmitting from Planet X!

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Greeting mortals! Today I’m happy to announce that a new story of mine, “I Am Become Death,” will be featured in the upcoming anthology Test Patterns, the premiere release of the newly formed Planet X Publications. I’m fortunate to share the pages of this exciting anthology with some truly amazing writers, many of whom I would consider among the very best voices in genre fiction today. Check out the table of contents for yourself below. This is going to be one hefty tome!

Inspired by such classic TV shows as The Outer Limits, The Twilight Zone, and Night Gallery, Test Patterns is a collection of richly varied tales, told in unique ways, employing provocative twists and surprises, and exploring the universal themes of humanity and self-discovery through the lenses of horror, fantasy, and science fiction.

Test Patterns is due out this Halloween. In the meantime, click here to reserve a copy of the anthology in either ebook format ($5), trade paperback ($20), or limited edition hardcover ($40), and help support an upstart independent publisher with a vested interest in high-quality strange and supernatural fiction.

Table of Contents:

  1. “The Woman in the Forge of Saturday Night” by Joe Pulver
  2. “Evidence of Absence” by Scott Graves
  3. “I Am Become Death” by William Tea
  4. “The Judge” by Philip Fracassi
  5. “The Snake Beneath My Skin” by Sarah Walker
  6. “The Hands of Chaos” by Ashley Dioses
  7. “The Nomenclature of Unnamable Horrors” by Peter Rawlik
  8. “Golden Girl” by S.L. Edwards
  9. “Scenes From a Forgotten Diorama” by Brian O’Connell
  10. “You Can’t Go Wrong with Grass-Fed Beef” by Jill Hand
  11. “Abettor” by Ruth Asch
  12. “Work Group” by Pete Carter
  13. “The Cliffside Tavern” by Sean M. Thompson
  14. “One Evening in Whitbridge” by Scott Thomas
  15. “The Velveteen Volvo” by Nathan Carson
  16. “Outre Non-Limitations” by Frederick J. Mayer
  17. “The Kumiho Question” by Frederick J. Mayer
  18. “I’ve Lived in This Place a Long Time” by Can Wiggins
  19. “The White Terror” by Frank Coffman
  20. “Symptom of the Universe” by John Claude Smith
  21. “Sustenance of the Stars” by Scott J. Couturier
  22. “Alien Shore” by Rob Martin
  23. “Ye Hermit’s Lay” by Adam Bolivar
  24. “Bridge” by Don Webb
  25. “Balls” by Russell Smeaton
  26. “Call Me Corey” by Matthew M. Bartlett
  27. “Hero Mother” by Cody Goodfellow
  28. “Red-Eye” by Mark Rainey
  29. “Séance” by K.A. Opperman
  30. “Looking for Ghosts” by Duane Pesice

Con Report: My First NecronomiCon (Part 1)

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Just days before the first complete solar eclipse in almost 30 years, it emerged from out of the heart of that generations-old seaside metropolis, a many-headed monolith waking from hibernation to bask in the adulation of its black-clad worshipers, filling me with equal parts existential dread and perverse glee as it threatened to swallow me whole.

No, I’m not talking about some eldritch alien god from beyond the veil of corporeal reality. I’m talking about NecronomiCon Providence 2017. A celebration of weird fiction, literary horror, and all things Lovecraftian, NecronomiCon is a biennial event in ol’ HPL’s Rhode Island hometown. Half fan convention, half professional conference; all awesome.

Also, all terrifying. At least for me. As a lifelong Lovecraft fan who still considers the man one of the most personally relevant and influential writers of all time (even if he was, writing aside, pretty much a dick; see my blog post about the WFA’s), I’ve wanted to check out NecronomiCon for a while. And, of course, as a lifelong wanna-be storyteller finally making a go at this whole writing thing after too many years letting fear and self-loathing keep me from pursuing my passion, I’ve been eager to attend any event that might help me immerse myself better in the genre community, get to know some like-minded readers and writers, and hopefully get my own work out there a bit more.

Naturally, I was eminently excited for my first NecronomiCon. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t also nervous as all get out. Social anxiety and low self-esteem are absolute bitches at the best of times, but they only get bitchier when you feel lost at sea in a roiling tide of strangers, and even bitchier still when the whole damn lot of those strangers just so happen to be authors you yourself are a fan of and whom you feel pressure to make a good impression on. Surely, I thought, once I’m face to face with someone whose name is already known and respected throughout the community, and there’s little old me, an unknown nobody with hardly a handful of published works, surely they’ll be left wondering why the hell I’m bothering them, all while an agonizingly awkward silence envelops us in jet-black wings of mortification.

As it turns out, nope! First off, every single person I met at NecronomiCon could not have been kinder, humbler, or more inclusive. Maybe I thought of myself as an outsider among giants, but no one else seemed to share that perception. I’d say they went out of their way to make me feel like a genuine peer, but the fact that it all felt so casual and decidedly not like something they had to go out of their way to do, that alone speaks volumes about the positivity of my experience.

Second, there simply wasn’t any time for awkwardness. Going into the event, I was worried I would be given too much rope to hang myself with, but in truth there was so much to do at the convention and so many people to meet, I barely found enough time to rest, let alone put my foot in my mouth.

That said, I thought I’d share a recap of my experiences. Starting with…

WEDNESDAY (8/16/17)

nec1Though the con proper didn’t technically start until Friday, there were plenty of preparatory events scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday. I arrived in Providence Wednesday afternoon and checked into my room at the Omni Hotel (one of the con’s two main venues, along with the nearby Biltmore Hotel). After some much-needed rest from being on the road for several hours, as well as an equally much-needed shower, I enjoyed a short private rendezvous with a personal friend from the area, then made my way to the downtown Aurora nightclub for the NecronomiCon pre-party. On the way there, I came across a cat dragging a fake severed arm down the street and thought to myself, “Yes, this must be the place.”

Now, see, one of the things that made me so nervous about going to NecronomiCon was that I was essentially going alone. There were a few (actually more than a few) other attendees that I knew would be there, folks I’d interacted with somewhat via social media, but none whom I’d ever met in the flesh before. I’m an odd guy; my close friends would probably describe me as loud, outgoing, and talkative (if not outright obnoxious), but that’s only how I am when I get to know you. On my own, or with someone I haven’t yet developed a rapport with, I’m painfully shy. I don’t even know how to start a conversation, frankly, having never really mastered the beguiling art of simple self-introduction.

So it was that I found myself standing in a darkened corner at Aurora, nervously sipping a soda while a pair of already inebriated Call of Cthulhu players repeatedly explained to me how I needed to take charge and establish a RPG group in my own hometown, all despite the fact that, as I informed them again and again, I am not nor ever have been a tabletop gamer.

Ah, good times.

I confess, that first night I never did manage to loosen up, although I did greatly enjoy hearing Catherine Grant, J.T. Glover, Barry Lee Dejasu, Madeira Darling, and Farah Rose Smith read select pieces of work as part of the event’s open-mic component. Smith in particular blew me away with an excerpt from a current work-in-progress, so much so that I rue the fact that it’s still “in-progress” and not yet in my grubby little mitts. Shamefully, I lacked the self-confidence to go up to any of the readers and tell them face-to-face how much I enjoyed their cuttings. It took me a couple days to warm up to that.

As the night wore on, clips from old Night Gallery episodes and Paul Naschy movies played out on a screen above the club stage, and I made small talk with a few thankfully less inebriated con-goers before calling it an early night and shuffling back to the Omni in search of slumber.  Not a terrible first outing, but not great either.

THURSDAY (8/17/17)

Knowing that the next few days would be a blur, I let myself sleep in on Thursday. When I finally got up, I took a quick shower, found a nice sushi place nearby for lunch, registered for the con, then swung by the Lovecraft Arts & Sciences Council store in the Providence Arcade before heading to the opening ceremonies.

Having friends in Rhode Island, I’ve been to Providence before, and I always make it a point to stop by the Lovecraft store. Though not much bigger than my hotel room, the place is nirvana for any weird fiction fanatic. It’s wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling books, from the requisite Lovecraft collections and biographies, to fiction that runs the gamut from Robert W. Chambers and Arthur Machen to Clive Barker and Brian Keene, to nonfiction on such varied subjects as serial killers, world mythology, circus sideshows, fringe science, and new age spirituality. There’s also a buttload of art prints, shirts, and other tentacled tchotchkes, more than enough to clear out your bank account.

Considering the convention itself offered not one but two vendors’ rooms stuffed to the Innsmouth gills with similar offerings, I told myself I would only be browsing for now. Aaaaand that plan fell apart in about five minutes. I came out of the store with four issues of Fred Lubnow’s Journal of Lovecraftian Science, including two I already own but which are in pretty rough shape, and two others I haven’t yet read. If you’re not familiar already, Lubnow is a genuine smarty-pants with a Bachelor’s degree in Biology, a Master’s in Environmental Sciences, and a Ph.D in Limnology, who in his spare time runs a blog which explores the actual science in (or absent from) H.P. Lovecraft’s stories. He dissects the ideas Lovecraft puts forth and speculates on how they might be feasible according to modern scientific knowledge. Often I find Lubnow’s work not just a fun source of learning, but also a great way of getting my own imagination firing on all cylinders. I can’t recommend this stuff enough, people!

Of course, Lubnow was also at the convention, and in fact was scheduled to present several academic talks that I was interested in attending, including one on Lovecraft’s conception of the planets in our solar system and one examining both the accurate and inaccurate ways Lovecraft utilized evolution in his work. Sadly, I ended up missing these events, and in fact never managed to run into Lubnow the entire time I was there. Perhaps next time. Oh yes, there will certainly be a next time.

nec2Anyway, after forking over my hard-earned money to read essays about non- Euclidean geometry even though I flunked high school math, I made my way to the First Baptist Church in America for the NecronomiCon opening ceremonies. The irony of holding an event honoring an unabashed mechanistic materialist in a centuries-old house of worship was lost on no one, I’m sure. Lovecraft himself was vocally fond of the building despite his atheism, and it wasn’t hard to see why: It’s a remarkably preserved example of early English Georgian and traditional New England architecture, complete with a towering 185 foot-high steeple, an immaculate Waterford crystal chandelier, and a booming pipe organ from the 1800s.

Lovecraft himself reportedly attended Sunday school at the very building as a child. Needless to say, it didn’t take.

Arriving a bit early, I took a seat near the front of the church and looked around to see if anyone I recognized was around yet. No… no… no… n- OH MY GOD IS THAT ELLEN FUCKING DATLOW?!?

Yes, Ellen Datlow, the mastermind behind the annual Best Horror of the Year series, the woman who has edited more A-list horror, sci-fi, and fantasy anthologies than I could even read in a lifetime without sacrificing every other damn book on my shelves, who has won more awards for her contributions to genre fiction than I have reasons to live, THAT ELLEN FUCKING DATLOW… was seated two pews ahead of me!!!

Shamefully, I once again said nothing. I don’t know, groveling just seems sooo last season. Besides, what could I say? “Hi, nice to meet you, ELLEN FUCKING DATLOW, I’m someone you’ve never heard of and will likely never read anything by, and even if you do you’ll probably hate it. How are you enjoying Providence? Have you tried the clam chowder?”

Gah.

I managed to avoid fainting, which was worth the effort good. The opening ceremonies were definitely worth being conscious for. “Interesting” doesn’t quite describe the performance stylings of organist Gigi Mitchell-Velasco, who garnered as much attention from her baroque gothic wardrobe and eccentric theatrical mannerisms as from her beautiful renditions of classic Wagner tunes.

Additionally, Lovecraft scholar Steve Mariconda and NecronomiCon’s own poet laureate Donald Sidney-Fryer both spoke, among others, and it was encouraging that many did not shy away from addressing either the recent tragedy in Charlottesville or the controversy surrounding preeminent HPL researcher S.T. Joshi’s decision to “boycott” the convention (quote-marks there because, well, he still showed up to hustle his wares; such a gleaming beacon of integrity is he). As I’ve said before, Lovecraft’s contributions to literature do not forgive the ugliness of his bigotry, and being able to apply a nuanced, critical eye to the man and his work is vital in moving his legacy and the whole of weird fiction forward so as to keep it vibrant for future generations. This is especially true now, as regressive strains of ignorance and hate begin to reassert themselves violently in the current political climate. While some may not appreciate the real world intruding on their escapist reveries into the fantastic, the truth is that the fantastic is nothing without the real world to define it.

Following the opening ceremonies, I hoofed it up the biggest, steepest, most oh-my-god-why-did-I-eat-that-much-sushi hill in all of Providence to attending the opening reception for Ars Necronomica, the official art exhibit of NecronomiCon, which featured original pieces of Lovecraft-inspired art from almost 80 different creators, including guest of honor John Jude Palencar. This was definitely something I was looking forward to, as, much like reading Fred Lubnow’s science essays, drooling over dark and surreal artworks is one of my favorite ways of getting the ol’ creative juices flowing. Alas, I only got to see some of the pieces on display during my visit (though I did return a few days later to take the rest in), because I had the good fortune of running into David B. Busboom.

I knew David a little from social media, so it was a treat to finally meet in person. Like me, David is a relatively new writer still working on developing a published bibliography; in fact, we both had stories in the same anthology, Walk Hand in Hand Into Extinction: Stories Inspired by True Detective from CLASH Books. We talked about working on that project and on our individual experiences trying to improve as writers and get our work out there. We ended up hitting it off so well that we hardly moved from the spot, even as the reception began to wind down and the gallery had to close up for the night. So much for drooling over all that art.

We continued our conversation as we walked to the official NecronomiCon kick-off party, which transformed a parking lot near the Providence Arcade into a writhing mass of bodies bouncing along to the psychedelic glam-goth punk of The ViennaGram and the hilarious costumed spectacle and freaky-deaky funk rock of the decidedly Gwar-like Big Nazo Intergalactic Band. I’m especially bummed that my phone died before I could get more pics or vids of the Big Nazo performance, as it really does have to be seen to be believed: It included such sights as a triclops metamorphosing into a cyclops, a surprisingly limber mumu-clad housewife with rollers in her hair emerging from the guts of a giant dancing polyp, anthropomorphic cucumbers, and an octopus-man versus lobster-man showdown for the ages.

nec5The party also featured a beer garden (from local brewery Narragansett Beer) whose pleasures were lost on a no-fun teetotaler like myself, and a straight-up satanic goat sacrifice (okay, not really, but Great Northern BBQ was on hand serving goat-and-squid ink curry, and they weren’t at all shy about showing off where their butcher’s handiwork). All in all, Thursday was a much better experience than Wednesday and, happily, it set the tone for the rest of the weekend.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Now Available: Terror in 16-Bits & Weirdbook #36

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It’s time! Two new stories by yours truly are now available!

In “Insect Song,” a young woman returning home to make peace with her estranged mother runs afoul of local bigotry, her own haunted past, and something not quite human whose every movement is accompanied by the sound of dry, crackling leaves. This story appears in Weirdbook #36, and can be purchased in ebook and paperback from Wildside Press and Amazon.com.

In “Reset,” a tortured soul condemned to live and die and live and die and over and over again looks beyond the veil of reality in search of answers to the questions that plague his every waking moment: “Who am I?” “Why is this happening to me?” and “How can I get revenge?” This story appears in Terror in 16-Bits, and can be purchased in paperback from Muzzleland Press, and in paperback and ebook from Amazon.com.

Another New Story in August: “Insect Song” in Weirdbook #36

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Though I’m currently hard at work on the first draft of my first novel (which I hope to have done by the end of the year), that doesn’t mean I haven’t still had time to work on a few short stories here and there. Some of them I’ve even managed to trick people into believing are good enough for publication!

A few weeks ago, I revealed that my story “Reset” is set to be a part of the Terror in 16-Bits anthology being released in August by Muzzleland Press. Today, I’m happy to officially announce another story of mine, titled “Insect Song,” is also due out in August, in issue #36 of Weirdbook Magazine.

First debuting in 1969, Weirdbook has a rich, long-running legacy that I am overjoyed to become a part of, even if it’s only a small part. A fan myself, over the years I’ve collected almost every issue from both the mag’s original run and its recent revival from Wildside Press. More than a few authors I look up to have contributed to Weirdbook’s history, from Brian Lumley and William Scott Home to Gary A. Braunbeck and Garrett Cook. Having the chance to contribute to that history myself is a gift.

That the story I get to contribute to said history is the aforementioned “Insect Song” makes the whole thing all the more special. I’m not shy about admitting that this story means a lot to me. In lieu of spoiling anything, I’ll simply say that “Insect Song” deals with themes and issues that are very close to my heart. I worked very hard to get it right, and while I still fear I’ve come up short, I hope I managed to do the subject matter at least some justice.

On that note, I owe a special debt to my beta readers for helping me stumble through several early drafts before settling on the one that will soon see print. In particular, a good friend of mine, Dee Culp, provided extremely thoughtful feedback that helped to mold the narrative in drastic but very important ways. I could not have done it without her.

Anyway, be sure to pick this one up when it comes out next month.

Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.

I’m Goin’ Nuts!

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Here’s a very cool bit of news. As of today, it’s my pleasure to announce that yours truly has joined the staff of The Ginger Nuts of Horror, the UK’s largest independent horror website.

A die-hard supporter of all things macabre, GNoH has long provided the internet’s genre fiction community with thoughtful and enthusiastic book and movie reviews, author interviews, and more. For years, I have been a regular GNoH reader. Now, I’m proud to say I’m a GNoH contributor as well.

My first review, of Andrew J. Stone’s morbid bizarro fairy-tale The Mortuary Monster, from StrangeHouse Books, is up now. Check it out!