Smoke

When Ernst woke, he smelled the smoke first, even before he felt the rough cord wrapped around his wrists. His eyes began to water, burning from the ash in the air.

"Hallo?" he called.

Shapes shifted in the darkness. Ernst tried to move his head, but stopped as nylon rope scraped his throat. At his back, a square post, the corners digging into his flesh despite his woolen jacket.

The shapes came forward. Books. The cover of each speckled with morphing yellow and orange firelight...each having sprouted arms and legs of black shadow. One volume of dark green leather plucked its cover open with a shadow-hand. On the open page in front of Ernst, words stood out in the flickering light.

He began to cry. The rope at his throat constricted as he gasped for air, cutting into the soft skin. "Ich bin traurig," he gasped and closed his eyes, remembering the bonfires in Berlin, the piles of smoking pages. He understood the heat that began to sting his toes.

__________

Yeah, a little preachy today. Fahrenheit 451 does that to me.

For your viewing pleasure, I present:

All of the Dead

A brilliant blend of zombies and Legos brought to you by Tim Drage and Tony Mines. (no embedding of this video, but you'll be glad you checked it out...you can download if you want)

Finally, I'd be remiss not to mention the release of the special Road Trip edition of the Monsters Next Door. The best thing to come out of my experience running cross country in high school* is within, a little story I call "The Qualifying Run". There's fiction by some good peeps inside, so enjoy.

*What, you thought it was the shin splints or stress fractures?

I Hope They Burn My Books Someday

We're wrapping up Fahrenheit 451 in one of my classes, and I just want to share my love of Ray Bradbury. I hope they try to burn my books someday.*

(Bradbury's notes about the book title. Click for more from The Big Read.)

Read the Coda to Fahrenheit 451 to find out why.

NaNoWriMos...please write very flammable books. They're the only ones worth reading.

WIP Wednesday: Reading with My Kids

Owen is in first grade, mired in learning to read. He brings home a few new books each night, and we spend a chunk of the evening sounding out words. Last night, we read:

Horror-writer dad jumps up and yells "hooray!"

The Boogly came out of the swamp. Chased a kid into his room. The last page:

...and then I woke up.

(dagger to the heart)

Great for a kids' book, but ouch. The one-ending-that-is-never-okay-in-horror-fiction. We read another book (Spooky and the Wizard's Bats) about a wizard who sent bats to torment a poor black cat (Spooky) every night. The cat's former owner, a witch, was delighted, saying she wanted to see the kitty cry. That particular book was pretty scary. Of course Spooky wins in the end, stealing the wizard's wand (which is subsequently tossed in a fire by Spooky's new owner).

So we went 50/50 on sweetly creepy books for kids last night. Here's my NaNoWriMo moment of the day: make sure the ending works. Don't cheat your readers. *shakes fist at The Boogly*

I finished another short with a title nod to Joe R. Lansdale: "The Night they Went to the Horror Show". It didn't turn out like I planned in my head...which has been happening a good bit of late.

Gwen shoved him. “You’re a weirdo, Grant. W-E-I-R-D-O.”

The insult was lost in the slamming of his door. Grant knelt and peered in the window. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He tapped the flashlight and started for the dark wall of trees at cemetery’s edge. The old fence was still there, hanging loose on gnarled posts. He tightened his grip on the light, feeling the rubber grooves of the handle press into his hand. His feet scratched through rough grass as he walked. Gwen mumbled and cursed him from the car, but the yellow beam of light in front held him on course. She was eight years too late for that night, for the path, the pond, the old boat…

I'm going to start editing Loathsome again. I promise. (I think I thought of the missing piece.)

"In the Primal Library" up at Three Crow Press

"In the Primal Library" is one of my favorite stories. It isn't all that "original" and doesn't "add anything new" to the genre. But it was fun to write. I grew up with a library just like the one described, and yes, the second floor was spooky as hell. They even had collections of National Geographic in boxes. At right around 1,500 words, it's perfect 'net length, so give it a whirl if you have a spare 5-10 minutes.

So I've been debating a "collection" of my work. I have a pile of published stories in print and online, and I'm sorta-kinda proud of some of them. Here's the dilemma: collections don't sell all that well (so I'm discovered through bits of research...and I believe it), especially by a nobody like me, so I'd have to proposition various small presses. Not a bad thing, in general, but most (if not all) small presses utilize POD technology (Lightning Source etc.)--the same technology to which I have access. Personally, I don't see any value in trying to find reprint homes for these stories individually (not when I'm still writing new stories and trying to place them). Value in a collection of them, sure. Value in individual reprints, no. Am I making sense?

Sorry for all the parentheses. (really)

But what do I do? I've imagined releasing a free/cheap ebook collection of them myself, printing a copy for my mom (you know how moms are, surely). My goal is to have people read my work, not necessarily make money. I'd love to add value to the collection, too...like explanations of the inspiration behind each piece. Desperately seeking advice here.

Well...enough of that. Today's NaNoWriMo inspiration:

Remember: characters must be pushed beyond their limits to see what they're really made of.

Written by Me (and Send in the Clown)

KV Taylor wrote about recurring themes in her fiction last week (okay, one theme really, but it was blood, and blood is like ten themes in one), and my response:

At the core of most of my schtuff, I guess I’d have to say family dynamics, especially dysfunctional families. Maybe families that are trying really hard to be functional. Single parents. Dead siblings. Poverty.

...well, you read it yourself. Family dynamics are huge: the brothers' relationship in "Tesoro's Magic Bullet" or unresolved issues between the father and son in "The Sub-basement" or even the father and son with absentee mother in "The World in Rubber, Soft and Malleable". Why family dynamics?

I don't know if I've revealed this little tidbit before, but my father died of "complications" related to a brain tumor he developed when I was five. By "complications", I mean the fact that in 1980, when he was diagnosed, radiation was a relatively new treatment for cancer. They bombarded him with radiation, and yeah, it killed the cancer. But his brain started dying, too. You can imagine the changing family dynamics during the following nine years (he died when I was fourteen).

So that probably had a big impact on my life. You think?

I also write about poverty at times. Not about poverty per se, but about characters who aren't social elites. I weary of stories in which all the key characters are professors or princesses or doctors or *ack* writers. You know what? Most people aren't. My characters have worked at meat packing plants, auto parts stores, as secretaries, teachers (duh), custodians, clerks at fishing tackle shops...normal jobs. Not exactly poverty, but definitely with a trend away from high power careers/royalty.

So yeah, that works. There's also the strong inclination toward the unknown. Stranger things happen. I believe in weird. I prefer to watch "average Joes/Josephines" deal with the odd and uncanny than a princess.

I'm quite average, myself. What about you?

Now, I know some of you have come here for NaNoWriMo inspiration. No picture today, I'm afraid, but I do bring you:

The Happy Clown!

(and a friendly reminder to do something unexpected in your novel)