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Afterword: The True Horror Behind Two Books

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I THINK I DIED WHEN I WAS FOUR. Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself here… Recently, I was asked to write a little behind the scenes non-fiction piece for my novella, A Season in Hell (Crystal Lake Publishing, September 7, 2018). Having just finished that, feeling the joy in writing such a piece, I decided to dive into the behind-the-scenes inspiration for two of my releases this year. Those two books would be From Death Reborn (Silver Shamrock Publishing, April 13, 2021) and Storm Shadows (JournalStone Publishing, November 12, 2021). The two are actually connected in a way, so let’s dive in and see what inspired these stories.

Okay, back to the beginning… When I was four, lightning struck my window and formed a skeleton across the pane. Those of you who have already braved Storm Shadows recognize this as a scene in the book. But let me explain how this ties into From Death Reborn, and why I didn’t write an afterword for each book, due to this intersection. Laying there in my crib at four, that was something I had not expected. I was far too young to understand the purpose of the lightning rod just outside of my window, but I understood fear all too well. That house, and I mean this with all of my heart, was the scariest fucking place I’ve ever been. My family experienced a wide range of haunting, including seeing ghost dogs jump in through windows at night, knobs sliding up and down the door, hearing a deep voice warn us to leave, and many more. So yes, I knew fear better than most at that young age, and so I was terrified by the skeleton formed on my windowpane that night.

I know, I know… You’re thinking, “But you said you think you died?” Yes, that is true, and here is why and how that ties into From Death Reborn. After the lightning struck, I crawled out of my crib and headed for my parents’ bedroom. The house itself was a two-story model, one in which an old doctor supposedly killed his entire family and then himself (yes, I know it’s a very common story, but in this particular case it happens to be true). My bedroom, as well as my parents’ room, was on the first floor. On my way to their room, I stopped at the front door, and something compelled me to open that door. When I did, everything was gone. No trees, no houses, no ditches or small swells, no nothing…just flat land as far as I could see, save for some storm clouds hovering ominously in the sky above me. And as I walked out into our yard, and kept walking, eventually I found myself far away from my home, which I could no longer see. That’s when it happened.

For those who don’t know, I consider myself a spiritualist. What does that mean? I do believe in a higher power, and I think of myself as a Christian, though I doubt most of them would be very accepting of my beliefs, as science plays a big role. Regardless of my beliefs, the one thought I hold dearest is that people can make up their own minds about reality. It isn’t my place to judge anyone, and yes, that is ultimately what separated me from the church. I was told I was going to Hell for the music I listened to, for wearing tie-dyes, and other assumed wrongdoings. So it shouldn’t come as any surprise that when my mom approached me with a religious book, I refused to read it. She asked me time and time again, each time with me avoiding doing so. Until one day when she convinced me to read a few paragraphs she’d earmarked. In that small section, the author detailed a near death experience (NDE) and spoke about meeting God to the exact details of my own story. Imagine my shock. The afterlife has always fascinated me, but that was the birth of a story, right there, standing in my mother’s living room—a little nugget to build upon.

The clouds began to spread, the sky opening up, and what I saw beyond was a clear blue sky lit by a bright and shining sun. And then He appeared. Or, at least, I assume it was a he; it could have very well been a she or a them or something I cannot even comprehend. Whatever the case, I found myself standing beneath this hole in the sky, encountering a being comprised of billions of tiny glass prisms reflecting light in every possible color imaginable. And He/She/They spoke to me. What they said, I have no idea, and I don’t recall anything after that moment other than finding myself back at home. In fact, I completely disregarded this experience for many, many years, until my mom brought it up early in my marriage. 

The other truth in From Death Reborn revolves around the death of my niece, just sixteen at the time, who was killed by a drunk driver. Aleia (and yes, if you’ve read the book, you can make a correlation with the name) has appeared often in my stories in one way or another, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise. Her death changed me, as it would anyone. And the car accident in From Death Reborn is, in a way, a tribute to that, and the story itself a means of me working through my issues in losing her, including reuniting with her in the afterlife, should that be possible. While the core of that book is probably more dark fantasy, it includes many horror elements, but I like to refer to it as my superhero story. If you’ve finished all the way to the end, you might know why.

Now, let’s revisit Storm Shadows to complete this short essay. 

When we moved away from that house shortly after that incident, our new house also proved to be haunted. Perhaps it’s something inside of me, something unlocked by that NDE, that allows me to see things through the thin veil that hides them from others. The day we moved in I set off to explore the house, and soon I found a terrible looking stuffed gorilla in an oddly placed attic within the upstairs closet. That gorilla tormented me nightly, causing me to lose a lot of sleep. I was also the new kid in town, and a group of bullies had taken a liking to me and decided to torture me as frequently as possible. Those were grueling days, going without sleep and then finding myself face down on the ground, being pummeled and my face forced into the wet grass. Some would call those formative years; I call it trauma I’ve not soon forgotten. Did it make me stronger? Sure, but I’d rather have not gone through it all. So here’s my clear message on that: bullies suck. That is all.

Lying asleep at night, strange sounds often awoke me. And yes, all houses make sounds, and over time you might grow accustomed to them. It takes time. But in this instance, each time I awoke, I found that stupid gorilla standing in the middle of my room, staring at me with its awful orange eyes. I tossed it back into the attic, but it showed up in my closet weeks later. I threw it in the trash, and still it came back to my closet. Chucked in up the sewer tunnel of a nearby creek, and still it returned. I don’t think I rid myself of that gorilla until I was twelve and we moved to Pennsylvania, believe it or not. And, of course, all of this, the gorilla, the bullying, me trying to get rid of it, is in Storm Shadows. But there’s more…

Yes, the shadow people really did come for me in that second house in the suburbs of Chicago. One night I went to go to the bathroom and there he was, standing in the window of the backdoor, his shadow cast by the porchlight I had just turned on. That occurred a few times over the next few weeks, and eventually, one night while I was asleep, that shadow appeared from behind my bedroom door. It strangled me through my sheets, trying to kill me. I managed a peep, barely audible call to my mother, and the shadow took off. Who knows, maybe it was some entity coming to reclaim a soul it felt was stolen from the afterworld, but for whatever reason, that was the end of it. And soon after, we moved to Pennsylvania.

It should come as no surprise that even now I have real horror stories. I’ve seen things in near every house, things that cannot be explained away. I’ve seen things with friends, things that changed us, and terrified us. Perhaps this is why I write horror, as I try to reconcile the things I’ve seen, explain them in some way. Where that takes me, I often don’t know—I am a pantser, after all. But I hope you enjoy the ride when you take a chance on one of my books. I hope it keeps you lying awake at night wondering whether that shadow on your wall really did just move.

Amazon links for the mentioned books:

A Season in Hell – http://mybook.to/ASiH

From Death Reborn – http://mybook.to/FDR

Storm Shadows – http://mybook.to/StormShadows

Pleasant nightmares,

Kenneth W. Cain

January 31, 2022

Mark Allan Gunnells: For The Love of Collections

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CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER THIS BOOK NOW

I’ve always been a lover of short story collections. Even more so than novels perhaps. I find something infinitely satisfying about the short form, and I think a single author collection is a great way to introduce yourself to a writer, the range of which he or she is capable. Multiple author anthologies can provide of smorgasbord of different talent, introducing me to writers I may have missed otherwise.

The first short story collection that really grabbed my attention was The Twilight Zone. I know what you’re thinking – that wasn’t a collection but a television show. Well, yes, but it was an anthologytelevision show. Instead of providing one continuous story with recurring characters, instead it offered the TV equivalent of short stories. Each episode was a self-contained tale with a beginning, middle, and end. One week I might get science fiction, another suspense, another horror. It was my first experience with that sort of storytelling, and I instantly fell in love with it.

So when I got older and became a voracious reader, it is not at all surprising that I would be drawn to short story collections. One of the first books I ever read by Stephen King was his first collection Night Shift, and I delighted in all the different tales I found between the covers. To this day, I get excited when I find out a writer I like is coming out with a new collection. And I love writers who release multiple collections. King, Gaiman, Lansdale, Hodge, etc.

I also became a huge fan of anthologies. In my formative years, I remember devouring anthologies with titles like Under the Fang, Prime Evil, Book of the Dead, Shock Rock…eclectic collections of stories by some of the top talent in the horror genre of the day. Every new anthology was like a trip to heaven for me. So much treasure in one book.

As a writer, I enjoy writing novellas and novels and even the occasional poem, but short fiction has always been my truest love and greatest passion. And I dreamed of having multiple collections out there, just like my favorite writers.

And I’m thrilled that I have made that dream come true. I’ve been lucky enough to have had the privilege of working with a myriad of wonderful publishers who also believe in the power of short fiction.

My latest collection is BOOK HAVEN AND OTHER CURIOSITIES (April 26th) from Crystal Lake Publishing. I published a previous collection with them, and what really impressed me about them is that they promote a collection as hard as a novel. BOOK HAVEN contains the title novella as well as 20 short stories of various lengths. I touch on different subjects, different tones and themes. A lot of horror, some straight dramatic pieces, and even a few poems. The reader will definitely see the Twilight Zoneinfluence in a couple of the pieces.

I am beyond ecstatic to have a new collection coming out into the world. I think this is an assembly of strong stories, and I look forward to getting feedback from writers.

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Stop by Mark’s Amazon page and keep an eye out for the book: https://amzn.to/2OCdVva

Jack Wallen: Cry Zombie Cry excerpt

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chapter 3 | exit light, enter Rizzo

 

“Oh my God, turn that fucking thing off!” Joshua shouted over the Obliterator.

“What’s the matter, tough guy?” Morgan chided.

Jamal leaned forward, his head between the front seats, to address Josh and Morgan. “Tell me you have an ETA on your unit.”

“Aren’t you having fun? It’s like Camp of the Damned.” Joshua laughed at his attempted humor.

“Yeah, I’ve seen that film; it doesn’t end well—at least not for us.”

Morgan leaned over and smacked the back of Joshua’s head. “Stop being such a goofball, Josh. Tell the poor man how soon the cavalry will arrive.”

Josh laughed and glanced at his watch. “They should be here any minute.”

The distant sound of moans wafted up from the darkening sky.

“Please don’t get dark yet,” Echo whispered, as if to hide her plea. I wrapped my arms around her tiny frame and pulled her into me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The words took me back to broken promises from the past. Susan—another young girl I’d promised to protect. That failure would eat at my heart for eternity. The only thing to be done was to finally make good on a similar promise and ensure nothing happened to Echo.

So far, so good.

“By the way, what’s the plan once we’re gassed up and on the road?” Jamal spoke softly. I loved that about him, how he always knew when to effect peace in a room—one of his many gifts.

“The plan hasn’t changed,” I started. “We hunt down and kill the Zero Day Collective and reclaim Jacob.”

Echo shuddered. “Jesus, when you put it that way it makes Jacob seem more property than prophet.”

The sentiment cut sharply. The thought that Jacob would ever be seen as a commodity to be tossed back and forth between enemy lines was insane. He was my baby, my joy, my hope for life. The idea threatened to spiral me down into emotional withdrawal. I had to change the subject before I reached critical psychological mass.

“Speaking of which,” I added, as I focused my attention back to the laptop, “I need to see if the tracker has any hits.”

It has always been rumored that technology would eventually be the ultimate demise of man. The singularity would occur and machines would take over. The tiniest fragment of my intelligence begged me to consider it possible the singularity had finally arrived—in human form. The lowest common denominator had won out and would overtake the planet with predictable stupidity and greed. Ignorance and power were the new currency.

I propped the laptop back on my lap and minimized the Obliterator application. In its place came the tracker. The application ran in the background, collecting tons of data from the network at large. Any time specific suspect words were captured, traveling across the global network of connected computers and communication satellites, a flag would be raised and the data packets logged. Once the tracker had collected enough data, I could sift through the information and begin piecing together the location of the Zero Day Collective and Jacob. It was only a matter of time before they appeared on my radar. The NSA and Sherlock Holmes had nothing on me.

As soon as the tracker window was open, Jamal peered over my shoulder, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. I could feel his warm breath on my neck as my eyes ripped through the information. A pattern started to develop.

Mobile unit.

Biologist.

Zero Day Collective.

Jacob.

40.0176 degrees North.

105.2797 degrees West.

“Bethany,” Jamal whispered, “that’s Boulder, Colorado. But what does it mean by “Mobile unit”?”

“Well, Jamal, I would assume it means that whoever is sending out these communications happens to be on some sort of mobile Zero Day Collective biological unit. In other words, it’s moving.”

Jamal sighed. “So getting a fixed location isn’t likely.”

I nodded.

Jamal grinned. “Yes, but…if you get a number of consecutive coordinates, you can at least predict where the unit will be at a given time. Of course, that would require knowing what type of unit and at what speed they were traveling.”

Before Jamal could continue, I silenced him with a palm to the lips.

“Joshua, how quickly can you get us to Boulder?”

Josh laughed. “At this rate it’ll take, oh, forever!”

Again, Morgan smacked Josh across the back of the head.

“I’m just fucking with you. We get back up to speed soon, and I can have you there in a day…tops.”

“B, what do you have in mind?”

Before I could answer Jamal, a soul-destroying roar ripped through the truck. The prehistoric release was followed by the shattering of glass and a pale arm reaching into the truck. Dirty, blood-soaked fingers tangled deep into Echo’s hair and yanked hard. Echo released a cry that was almost too high in pitch to hear as the arm pulled her head toward the shattered glass.

“What the hell? The Obliterator is running strong.” Josh shouted, as he gave the volume knob for the Obliterator one last turn.

“Oh my God, look at its ears,” was all Morgan needed to say.

Blood was caked around both ears. A thick, viscous liquid bubbled from the holes on the side of his head.

“The fucker cracked his skull on the cement until he went deaf,” Joshua added. “Perfect immunity to the power of the Obliterator.”

The beast gave another tug that pulled Echo’s head nearer the shattered window. Echo’s arms flailed outward to thwart the thing’s attempts at commandeering her skull.

 

* *   *   *   *

 jack_hands

The stench of frozen rotted meat is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 10 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser… and pick up some great swag as well! Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them! #WinterZombie2014

https://www.facebook.com/events/1524813084430035/?ref_notif_type=plan_user_joined&source=1

AND so you don’t miss any of the posts in November, here’s the complete list, updated daily:

http://armandrosamilia.com/2014/11/01/winter-of-zombie-post-list-winterzombie2014/

Robert Essig: The Genesis of People of the Ethereal Realm – Part Two

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All stories have a genesis, a birthing into the world from writers’ minds, through their fingertips and into their computer (or onto paper for those who still write first drafts longhand).  In part one of this essay I wrote about how I came up with the idea for my novel People of the Ethereal Realm and a bit about the writing process.  If you haven’t done so already, you can read part one at Craig Saunders’ blog. I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re finished.

People of the Ethereal Realm was published as my second novel, however it was the first novel I’d written.  That’s not to say that I didn’t have opportunities for the book to be published before Post Mortem Press released it in July.  Bringing this book into the world began with several years of false alarms and disappointments that taught me a lot about the small press in the process.

So, after selling a number of short stories, I’d written my first novel, and I couldn’t have been more proud of myself.  I hit the Web and searched for viable publishers to send my manuscript.  This was before Post Mortem Press had opened for business, so they weren’t yet on my radar.  I’d sent the manuscript to a number of publishers, some of whom I had short stories published with, others with a sparkling clean reputation, and yet others I had little knowledge of.  The first thing I learned (something I should have learned from submitting short stories) was that research, particularly concerning unknown publishers, is a must.  I also learned to go with my gut, to listen to my heart. To ignore intuition is a fool’s game.

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So I had several poles in the water and I got a bite from a publisher—whose name will remain concealed—that I had no prior experience with. They emailed a contract that could have been an offer on a new house it was so big. I read every word of it, mostly the same jargon typical of a publishing contract.  They offered a twenty-five dollar advance, and then later in the contract I was given the option to have my advance applied to the cost of the twenty books I was required to purchase at full price within a certain number of days after publication.

Let that sink in for a second.  How much is the average price for a trade paperback?  Somewhere around fifteen dollars give or take a buck.

I was shocked, so I ran a Google search (yep, should have done that first!), and found a great deal of bitching and complaining about this publisher.  They were a pay-to-play gig, and from what I read, they didn’t put much force behind their horror titles, as evidenced on their website where there were plenty of thriller and romance but no horror novels to be seen.  This is what I mean about following intuition.  That had struck me as strange from the get go.

Needless to say, I politely rejected the contract and waited for bites from the other poles I had in the great pond of small press publishing.

Soon enough another publisher emailed me with an acceptance letter, contract to follow.  The contract never showed up and they were unresponsive to my emails. As of this writing, they seemed to have fallen off the face of the planet. Dodged a bullet there, I suppose.

I was beginning to think that this book was destined for disaster.

Next I sent the manuscript to Twisted Library Press.  I’d had many a story published in their anthologies and even edited two of them (was taking submissions for a third anthology at the time).  I could see the signs on the wall, beginning with so many anthology submission calls that there would be no way for a publisher to possibly follow through with each one.  I also saw that there was what seemed like an equal number of novels to be published by an ever-growing list of imprints.  But still I submitted my novel when I should have taken a moment to realize what was very clear.

The book sat in limbo for a year.  The cover had been designed, it had gone through an editing process, and I had even started promoting it.  The contract expired and soon after Twisted Library Press became defunct.

So People of the Ethereal Realm was destined for disaster … or maybe not.

During the period of time that I had edited anthologies for Twisted Library, I discovered a brand new publisher: Post Mortem Press.  I sent Eric Beebe a story and it was published in their debut anthology Uncanny Allegories.  My novella “Cemetery Tour” was included in the PMP release The Road to Hell, as well as a few more shorts in other anthologies.

Having been with PMP from the beginning, I’d watched them grow. It was all the research I needed.  In Eric Beebe I found a trusting publisher and a man of determination and dedication.  I submitted my manuscript, and when I received the acceptance letter, I knew that People of the Ethereal Realm was finally destined for something good.

I learned a lot during the process of getting this book published, but I am no fool and realize that there is so much more to be learned in the strange and sometimes discouraging world of publishing.

On a final note, I would like to thank Ken Cain for being gracious enough to allow me the use of his blog.  I appreciate it, man!

Find more about Robert on his website: https://robertessig.blogspot.com or on Facebook.
Other books by Robert on Amazon.

Single Question Interview: C Bryan Brown

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What is the anatomy of a solid character?

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Generally, that depends on the character, but every solid character must have a few basic things in common.

First and foremost, a solid character needs mass.

For example, ghosts, while they can certainly be well-rounded, entertaining, scary, or sympathetic, just aren’t solid. They walk through walls, fall through floors, disappear in sunlight. It makes them very hard to grab on to, you know, very hard to pin down for anything necessary. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you could put a pin in a ghost because there’s nothing solid to stick!

Actual mass will depend on a variety of factors, but mainly the size of your character. Large characters take up more physical space than, say, small characters. Be sure you remain consistent when writing kids, too. Smaller = less space, but if you’re writing about a juvenile bigfoot, for instance, its mass will be more than a juvenile human of the same age. Cuz, you know, it’s a BIGFOOT.

So, after adding the proper mass, you’ve got a pretty solid character on your hands. But solid doesn’t just mean owning a physical space, having some sort of cosmic address where a body is parked. No, it’s also about the correct bits & pieces being in place. So that means if you’re writing about an alien with three eyes and a tail, you need to make sure those are present and accounted for, always. Tails swish, they flick, people trip over them. While some people trip over nothing, or their own feet, it’s much more likely they’re going to trip over something solid. Everyone knows this.

This same rules apply for writing humans. The women and men characters need to have the proper parts. If needed, switch these parts around, of course, but they need still be present. And switched around means women can have male parts and vice versa, just tucked away where they should be, not, say, sprouting from their foreheads like a unicorn’s horn or reminiscent of a porcupine joke I once heard.

So we’ve covered mass and each character having the proper pieces for what they are. We’ve also seen that you’re allowed to shuffle them around when needed. Think of each character like a Potato Head doll: holes in the arms, legs, head, face, eyes. Put things where they need to go to fit your story.

Seriously, folks, it’s that easy to have proper anatomy on a solid character.

My serious answer to this question, which certainly includes all of the above, is that the anatomy of a solid character is quite simple.

It boils down to duality.

I’ve never known a single person who is all good or all bad (and I use those terms relatively) and that’s what you have to bring to the table when you write characters. You have to recognize that while this character is certainly the baddie, there’s a reason for that. Just like every super hero has an origin story, so does every villain. The villain may very well like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain, which aren’t very villainous things at all. But if the villain is nothing but mean and vile, then some of the mass is lost, some of those solid bits you want to stick a pin in.

Conversely, your good guy may shoot a kid in the face and then go home and hug his own.

If you know the goals, motivations, and loves of both your antagonist and protagonist, you essentially have a story tree with two thick, healthy, branches. You can use the leaves from either branch to tell a damn good story. Now, apply the goals, motivations, and loves to your secondary players, give them the same treatment. Now your story tree grows more branches that produce more and more leaves until you have a natural, beautiful canopy through which to stream the sunlight of your story.

***You can pick up Chris’ books through AMAZON.

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)

Single Question Interview: Nicholas Conley

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What are the challenges in creating a believable character that is younger than you, the writer?

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It’s certainly very tricky.  As an adult—and especially as an author—I do believe that it’s important not to emotionally separate myself from the personal issues of people who happen to be younger than me; when a person does that, it puts up a kind of barrier, a barrier that blocks the adult from empathizing with younger generations.  It’s a terrible trap, but it’s an exceedingly easy one to get ensnared in.  As an adult, it can be challenging to remember that the terrible struggles that one went through as a child or teenager weren’t laughable.  No, back at the time, these struggles were very important and often very painful.  This is why many teenagers tend to get angry at adults, I believe.  They feel like adults don’t understand them – and the truth is, they often don’t.

Adults tend to glamorize childhood.  Why?  Because back then, we didn’t have to worry so much about finances, relationships, jobs, et cetera.  As a result, it’s incredibly tempting for one to say that childhood was a blissful, happy time of wild abandon.  But I’ve found that for most people, that perception is not really true to life.  Children and teenagers don’t have the freedom that we adults take for granted.  Most children struggle through their early years; they struggle with loneliness, bullying, rebellious tendencies and so on.  Teenagers have to contend with a heightened awareness of their impending adult responsibilities, as well as the sudden onset of messy relationship drama, intensely sexual situations, peer pressure, alcohol and drug use.

When it came to writing Ethan Cage, the protagonist of The Cage Legacy, I made a point to step away from my (at the time) 22-year-old adult self and remember who I really was as a teenager.  I asked myself; what kind of personal issues did I struggle with?  What was important to me at the time?

Of course, since Ethan Cage is the 17-year-old son of a serial killer, his problems are greatly magnified.  Ethan is constantly in a battle to retain control over his emotional impulses; he’s angry at the world, stubborn, frustrated.  He wants to control who he is—his adolescence is like a prison cell to him—and every time another bit of control slips out of his grasp, he panics.  His id grows stronger than his ego with every failure, with every harsh judgment passed upon him.  Though very intelligent, Ethan is a self-conscious introvert who struggles to properly communicate with his loved ones, especially when it comes to his girlfriend, Whitney.  He constantly feels underestimated.  He’s torn between the urge to disappear into the background and the desire for some degree of recognition and/or acclaim.

As adults, it’s easy to look down on a teenager’s problems and say that we “know better.”  But if we do know better, it’s only due to the fact that we went through the trial by fire ourselves, got burned, and came out the other side alive.  Instead of diminishing the importance of teenage tribulations, I think it’s important to really understand where a teenager is coming from.  An adolescent’s pain is no less real than an adult’s suffering, it’s just different.

***You can pick up Nicholas’ books through AMAZON.

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)

Single Question Interview: Teel James Glenn

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Murder-mystery or mysterious murder?

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The concept of the conventional murder mystery is puzzle story, a game to be played with the ‘prize’ the satisfaction of solving it.

Murder Most Faire was anything but; it was a way to deal with the pain of a mysterious death of a friend. I took the real events of that terrible day when I found his body and, by weaving in other elements from my adventurous life fashioned a map of my recovery-as-puzzle. I found this was a healing journey for me and realized as I wrote it that it could be just that for others. So the final gift my friend had given to me was being able to lay this path out for others to follow–albeit not everyone can have the satisfaction of being able to drive a sword through their problem…But they should…

***You can pick up Teel’s books through AMAZON.

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)

Single Question Interview: Lori Michelle

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Write with purpose or for feeling?

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Like all writers, I can do both and have done both.  Writing for a specific purpose is more factual for me. I tend to view purposeful writing as just that, writing for a specific purpose.  It has its place and can be done very well.

Writing for feeling is much more evocative. Words come pouring out of you whether in anger, happiness or depression.  They are words that provoke emotion from the reader unintentionally. However, most of the time, really emotional writing is a tangle of jumbled mess without much rhyme or reason.

A good writer can do both. They have the skill to turn purposeful writing into something more meaningful and be able to draw emotions out of the reader. They also have the ability to corral the emotional part and write cohesively when feeling heightened.

I will admit, I write much better when emotionally charged. The feelings that flow through me manage to make themselves jump off the page to my readers.  My rage is especially powerful since I tend to express that better in words than I do in life. So going back to the original question . . . with feeling.

The best idea as a writer would be, find your emotions right before purposefully sitting down to write.

***You can pick up Lori’s books through AMAZON.

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)

Single Question Interview: Jamie White

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How important (or not) is relating
your writing to your past or present residences?

jamiebmusings

First, thanks for having me here today, Kenneth. I love this feature you do, so it’s awesome to be a part of it.

I think it’s a big help to “write what you know”. I put little details of people I know and things I’ve experienced into my stories, and I think that brings a certain life to a story that research alone can’t quite give you. All the details of a place can be right on, but I believe writing about a place you have lived in adds an emotional resonance to a story that is hard to manufacture. Our hometowns are, for better or worse, filled with memories and helped to shape who we are as people. I can’t think of a better source of inspiration.

***You can pick up Jamie’s books through AMAZON.

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)

Single Question Interview: David Wright

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Describe the feeling of being published.

299153_4722414031700_264933393_nGetting my first novel published was like Christmas morning. The Christmas morning after you’ve been told that year that there is no Santa. It’s still exciting. You still get up early and go look under the tree. Cuz, hey… there’s presents. But there’s no “Wahoo!” kind of moment. It’s more like, “Yeah. Alright. That’s pretty cool. I’m hungry… are we out of Fruit Loops?”

I try to get super stoked about being published but it is surprisingly difficult. Maybe it’s the nature of modern publishing. I had this scenario in my mind where I open the front door, take a brown cardboard box from the mailman, open it up and find my book in my hand. Music swells, the neighbors cheer and wave. A Jack Russell terrier runs up out of nowhere and offers to shake. The phone rings and it’s the publisher telling me we’ll take the world by storm. He’s smoking a cigar and wearing a bow tie. He calls me ‘Kid’ and laughs like he’s already drunk as hell at 11am.

Instead, I got an email that said, “Here ya go” and boom, it was on Amazon. Which is great. No long wait, no hassle. But just… plop and another work of fiction is born into the world.

Or maybe my lack of enthusiasm is more to do with the nature of the world now. I’m old. Getting published when I was a kid 40 years ago was a big deal. Being a writer meant you had skill and talent. You had crafted your masterpiece, run the gauntlet of agents and publishers and editors and you had arrived. You knew things that no one else did. Your sports coat had those goofy patches on the sleeve. You looked like Napoleon Dynamite’s twin brother but women still got all fluttery and worked up around you.

Now everybody is an author. Kind of like everyone is a photographer or a musician or poet or a model or an actor. Which doesn’t mean we’re all good at it. But it’s so much easier. We can produce movies on our telephones, compose music with 82 different instruments on a touch screen and take stunning photographs with the electric can opener. As Syndrome put it in “The Incredibles,” “And when everyone’s super, no one will be.”

I realize this makes me sound like Abe Simpson. Just bitching up a storm about everything with an air of senile entitlement. And I try to keep that in mind also. It is a big, huge, hairy deal to have completed a novel that I think kicks ass. It took two years to write. I rewrote it about ten times. I hooked up with a great publisher in Severed Press who pretty much gave me carte blanche to get the book out there the way I wanted it. That’s unheard of nowadays without going the self-publishing route. So I am grateful. And I’m more than pleased with the novel.

I just haven’t had my “Wahoo!” moment with it yet.

The publication of the book does make me look forward to this Christmas. Even knowing there is no Santa.

A couple of years ago, I went to my first Christmas party in the UK. I had just opened a beer and my big mouth to say that I was planning on being a writer when the host informed me that most of the people there already had at least a couple of books published. I spent the rest of the night nodding and smiling and trying not to look like a twat.

So when I go back to that party this year, I can say that I’m a writer, not a wannabe. I’ve written and published something every bit as good as anyone else’s. For even though more people than ever before are being published, there will always be an even larger percentage who just talk about writing without actually doing it. I did it. And there’s a lot of Wahoo in that.

I’m thinking that the big excitement will happen when I get that call from Hollywood telling me they want to option the book for a movie. I’m still holding on to that particular delusion pretty tightly. Can anyone else hear that music right now?

Cue the Jack Russell…

(Want to take part in a single question interview? Contact me for your question.)