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.)

WIP Wednesday: What I Read

I have a "you are what you eat" philosophy about reading. Aside from work written by authors I know personally (including those of you I only know in the digital sense), I tend toward highly recommended material written by acknowledged pros. I'm sure I'm missing some diamonds in the "rough", but reading time is limited (like too much of my life these days).

This is the third year I've picked up Ellen Datlow's Best of the Year--the first year in which the book is solely dedicated to dark fiction (and soley edited by Datlow). While I'm not through with Best Horror of the Year Volume 1 (it's my current "read in progress"), I want to highlight a few high points.

"Beach Head" by Daniel LeMoal is the first piece since god-knows-when that inspired a physical fear response from page one. The set up: three drug smugglers with hands tied are buried to their neck on a sandy beach. It only goes creepier from there. While the prose isn't always razor sharp, the effect is. I felt like I was suffocating while I read.

"The Hodag" by Trent Hergenrader affected me in a different, more nostalgic way. It is a tale that spans decades, and the narrator's chilling realization in the final paragraphs is more frightening than the Hodag itself. What is a Hodag? Glad you asked. "The Hodag" is the kind of story I would write if I could write better. It's a goal.

Some pieces, meh. I didn't finish "If Angels Fight" by Richard Bowes. Not my style, a little slow. But there is variety in this collection. Even if you disagree with Datlow, there isn't a true clunker in the anthology. Not that I've found, yet. It's nice to see what she picks for the best. It's nice to have a sampling of pieces from a number of high quality venues, too.

Yeah, I'm still writing short stories. I've chopped an old piece in half and am reworking it into something completely different, a tale of two friends separated by circumstances (supernatural and otherwise). From "Come Out and Play":

I tried to run; I turned and tried to run down the rough path, but my foot hooked a protruding tree root, and I toppled to the ground, skinning my left palm and striking my elbow on a rock. My inhaler toppled from my outstretched hand and tumbled into a pile of damp leaves. No, no, no, no. The sound of snapping twigs came closer; Gage came closer, but there was another sound—a scratching sound.

The sound of sharpened nails against tree bark. My lungs burned.

So there we are. October almost over (yay! Halloween), but no complete edits to Loathsome. Maybe in November.

Book Recommendation: The Tenant

I finished The Tenant by Roland Topor. I should mention that I'm not a big fan of existentialism. The novel is often described as existentialist horror. Not my thing, either.

I liked parts of the book--the feeling of paranoia present in the final few chapters is fantastic. Some of the images are haunting: the teeth Trelkovsky finds stashed in a hole under his baseboard...weird. The morning he wakes and realizes he is missing a tooth and knows just where to find it...priceless.

It was the pacing of the novel that disappointed me. Sometimes, pacing issues are due to the translation. This was different. For the first 2/3 of the book, each chapter stands alone, seemingly unconnected. Yes, most elements do come together in the end, but some bits just float.

The same is true for certain images/events. Trelkovsky wakes in the night and sees strange, carnival-show goings on in his courtyard. While strange, I finished the book scratching my head. What was that all about? The old, dark woman sitting on a trash can when he tries to sneak into the building at night...also very weird and scary. But, how does she fit into the overall narrative?

Is it all just to unsettle the reader? Do I feel alienated? Yes...but disappointed, too. A string of disturbing events does not a plot make. Maybe that is the existentialist message--there is no plot in our pathetic, alienated lives. (twirls finger in the air with sufficient sarcasm)

I usually post these reviews on Amazon, and there I will be the odd man out (the current average is 5 stars). The book is important piece of the "horror canon"; I won't deny that. But I can't, in good conscience, rate it higher than 3/5.

A note on Centipede/Millipede Press: This is my third book from them this year (Some of Your Blood, The Other, & The Tenant), and I must say the quality is exquisite for a trade paperback. The layouts are professional, the introductions quite insightful, and the cover art perfect. Each includes additional writings from the author--a nice, added bonus. I'll be checking out more of their catalog soon.