GaryWOlson.com

2012.02.17 12:45:24

gary

The Penguins of Doom by Greg R. Fishbone

Septina Nash's sister, Sexta, is missing, and Septina is willing to face mad scientists, ninjas, the need to learn skateboarding, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, penguins, and much more in order to find her--if only her teachers would understand! Subtitled 'from the Desk of Septina Nash,' this epistolary book is a long series of letters that either describe a real, weird, zany adventure, or show just how far one grade-school girl will go to explain why her homework isn't done and she had to skip certain classes.

That this works at all is a tribute to Greg Fishbone's ability to write a central character at once relentlessly likeable and so committed to her way of seeing the world that nothing will stand in her way. It's appeal isn't quite so broad as that of his Galaxy Games--it's bright, high-speed whimsy is more suited to tweens than teens or adults. (Though there were some bits that cracked this 42-year-old up, nonetheless.) That said, it's a great fantasy book for that age group--I'm planning on getting a copy for my niece when she's a bit older.

The Blood Reapers by Darren Frey

Julian Frost, whose life is already dark due to the murder of his parents and the loss of his sister, believes he has found his salvation in his new love, a vampire named Violet. But fate has more troubles in store for him, and he must decide if he is to let her make him into a vampire, so that he might face the vampire hunter that menaces her, and perhaps finally take revenge on his parents' killer.

There is a lot going on in this book, and it's to the author's credit that it never becomes confusing and that none of the scenes are gratuitous. Julian is a compelling character, and his struggles were well presented. The one knock I have against this book is that it feels like it zips along too quickly--there are enough story developments along the way for a novel twice this length--and secondary characters and overall atmosphere take a few hits along the way. But what's there is entertaining, and should be enjoyed by fans of non-sparkly vampires.

reading | reviews

2012.02.10 12:16:39

gary

Not long ago, Clive Barker told us had had a terrifying brush with death, due to being put into a coma for seven days due to a spillage of poisonous bacteria into his blood during some dental work. It was a shocking thing to learn, and I along with many others was relieved to hear that he made it through and his health was improving. It also got me to thinking about something I'd planned for this blog that, with everything that's been going on with me and my book in the last three-quarters of a year, I'd never made happen. I wanted to do a series of appreciations of writers, such as Clive Barker, that have had a strong impact on me.

Barker wasn't one of my formative influences; I didn't pick up one of his books until 2002, when I was 33. It was maybe two-and-a-half years after I'd finally dug into some Stephen King, whose works I'd once avoided, erroneously believing the negative opinions of some non-horror-fan friends. Clive Barker being one of the biggest names in the field after King's, I figured he was worth a try. So I started with a cheap, dog-eared volume I'd snagged from a used book shop, figuring that if it didn't suit me, I wouldn't be out much money. That book was Imajica.

Once in a while, a book comes along that turns my head inside out, and this was definitely one such book. It was epic, intense, and effortlessly strange. It was violent, graphic, sensual, demanding, and surreal. Not only did it demand my time, my active involvement, my intelligence and my imagination, it drew upon these before I even realized what was happening. It changed my perceptions of what a book could do, how far writing could go, and what I wanted to do with my own writing. (For this reason, I listed it as one of the books that made me weird in one of my guest blogs.)

I followed these up with two more of what would become my favorite Barker works, The Great and Secret Show and Everville, both epic works set on Earth and the dream-sea world of Quiddity. They weren't quite the shock to my system that Imajica was, but the feeling of immensity, depth, and danger was there, expertly spun into works that gave me the feeling that there was something more here than fiction; that there was a truth within that only fiction can reach, one I could sense but could not--perhaps still cannot--express.

I've enjoyed some of Barker's other works, including Coldheart Canyon, The Thief of Always, The Books of Blood, Galilee, and Sacrament, though those did not have the same terrific impact. In fact, it may be because they didn't have the same impact that I drifted away from reading Barker: on looking at the log of books I've kept for the past 14 years, I was surprised to discover I hadn't read any by him in the last five.

Clive Barker's power for me is that, in some ways, he's the opposite of King. Where King is so very good at finding the horror in the everyday and the mundane, Barker excels at elevating the everyday and mundane into realms of terrifying, dreamlike horror. Many writers try to create worlds that are larger than the one we all inhabit; Barker is one of the few who succeeds, not only on a lofty imaginative level, but on a visceral level. He simultaneously evokes senses of wonder and terror, and for that I'll always come back, no matter how long I've been away.

appreciations | writers

2012.02.03 12:23:17

gary

It's been a pretty warm winter up here in Michigan. There's been nothing I'd really call a major snowfall, let alone a blizzard, when by this point in most years we've been held down and snicker-snagged upon repeatedly by Old Man Winter, Jack Frost, and Cold Miser. Not that I'm complaining, mind you... it's just... strange. Strange weather... weeeeiiiird weather...

I've been busy, as per usual. I put my latest project, Entering Cadence, briefly on hold in order to pound out the first draft of a horror short that, if done right, will be very, very wrong. Entering Cadence itself has been chugging along pretty well, though it keeps trying to change as I type. Then again, that's true of most anything I write.

But enough about me. Release the kra--er, release the links!

Last Sunday I put up a page on this site excerpting the full prologue for my novel Brutal Light. If for some gobsmacking, logic-defying, plausibility-stretching, disbelief-suspending reason you haven't bought and devoured (or at least licked) Brutal Light, check it out!

Get photos sent directly from Mars on your smartphone! Because that's what smartphones are for, when you've run out of funny cat videos.

If you're like me, and I know I am, you're worried about robots, AIs, and othersuch sentient artificial life rising up and destroying us all. But it turns out that cyborgs and mutants are more likely to do that. (How they compare to zombies, though, I'm not sure.)

Here's the 6 Most Counterproductive PSAs of All Time, according to Cracked.com. YMMV, of course, but I'm suddenly craving some Gofer Cakes for some reason...

...and then I'll wash it down with some coffee. 10 Reasons Coffee is Both the Best and Worst Beverage Ever Invented.

The battle goes on: If you opposed SOPA and PIPA, you should oppose ACTA, too.

Some news that put a big, Gumby-like smile on my face: the Monty Python crew is reuniting to appear in 'Absolutely Anything,' a SF comedy. While it won't be a 'Monty Python' movie, per se, it's probably as close to one as we'll ever get...

Finally, you may think that 2-Headed Shark Attack is the bad shark movie of the year to watch for, but I contend that Sand Sharks is going to be so much worse. And by 'worse,' I mean 'more awesome.'

cadence series | entering cadence | writing | links

2012.01.27 12:26:25

gary

Empty Cradle: The Untimely Death of Corey Sanderson by Emmy Jackson

Civilization has fallen, ravaged by apocalyptic wars and an infertility epidemic caused by the Empty Cradle virus. Ivy Aniram, a trader who is also one of the few women untouched by Empty Cradle, makes a deal with Corey Sanderson, a farmboy who longs to escape the isolated rural town of his birth, in order to escape a trap set by that town's elders. So begins a long and dangerous journey across what used to be America, aided by some and threatened by many. Along the way, Ivy and Corey learn to rely on one another and their new companions... but as the title implies, sometimes even that is not enough.

Emmy Jackson's story is set against a world of considerable depth and detail, which somehow comes across without any obvious 'infodumps' (other than the quotes from the notes of one of the characters, a historian). Unlike many 'post-apocalyptic' novels, this is one that is largely persuasive in how it presents life going on and even thriving. It also helps that the pacing of the story is solid, the action when it comes is riveting, and the characters have depth and chemistry. I'm eagerly anticipating the next book in this series.

Wild by Lincoln Crisler

In 1886 El Paso, Matthias Jacoby--a mystery man with a reputation for solving impossible cases--is called upon to find a missing colonel and his son. The trail leads into the New Mexico desert, and Jacoby is accompanied on it by the deputy sheriff who recruited him, a doctor, and an outlaw with essential knowledge and ideas of his own. What they find is much more than they bargained for--black magic and the risen dead.

Lincoln Crisler's novella is a smooth hybrid of western detective and zombie horror fiction, moving at a fast clip without sacrificing detail or atmosphere. Matthias Jacoby is an engaging character, though we learn very little of his backstory, and the supporting characters hold their own. Short enough to complete in a single sitting, with an accelerating plot that all but demanded I do so, I found Wild to be a lot of fun.

reading | reviews

2012.01.20 16:15:02

Guest_Blog

The Story of Don't Look Back, Agnes and In This House
More Backstories
By Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Eternal Press buy link   
You Tube Book Trailer

The older I get, the more I like to reminisce and write about what I’m going through at any particular time. I guess it’s an age thing. So many of my stories and novels come about because of what I’m actually experiencing in my real life at the time. Not all, but some.

But my novella, Don't Look Back, Agnes is definitely one such story.

At the end of 1998 my beloved father, the very heart (along with my mother’s mother, Grandmother Fehrt, who was also much loved) of my large family, passed away after a short but heartbreaking battle with lung cancer. He’d been a cigarette smoker his whole life so it wasn’t a complete shock that it ended up killing him. Yet the suddenness and the swiftness of his departure devastated my six siblings, my mother, grandmother, and me. It was a very dark time for us.

To complicate the matter, my brothers and sisters, myself included, were in our forties and working hard at our lives, our families and jobs, but my grandmother and mother were left living alone together and neither one drove; so both needed constant care and attention. My grandmother was in her eighties and my mother in her late sixties; though my grandmother was fairly healthy (she was spunky lady, with a zest for life, who’d emigrated from Austria as a child) my mother was already in a wheelchair, crippled from bad ankle surgeries, debilitating osteoarthritis and a host of heart related problems.

The first thing the family had to do was move them into town, nearer to some of us, and out of the country where they’d been living in the new sprawling house my father had built them just the year before. It was too hard caring for them way out there and the house was too big, too expensive. Boy, that was fun. They had so much stuff, so many memories to dispose of and cry over. We settled them in a small ranch house in town and life went on. Or tried to.

Now, I loved my mother and grandmother dearly but taking care of them was often difficult. Each needed concentrated care, love, endless visits to the doctor, prescriptions fulfilled and, as time went on, housekeeping and grocery shopping help–and finally, someone to do their bills, my mother becoming too disoriented and sick to any longer do any of those chores. For a long time, years, my grandmother stepped up, even at her age, and became my mother’s constant nurse and helper. Their two Social Security checks combined were just enough for them to live on. It was a thin line they had to tread and we tried to help them every step of the way.

So, with love, sometimes desperation, and some bickering every so often between us siblings as to who would do what when, we took care of them and their whole household, their house. There were many late night runs to hospital emergency rooms, or long stays, and rehab centers for my mother, who steadily over the next nine years grew worse. By the end of 2005 it seemed we were always at the hospital with mom or grandma. My mom had her heart troubles, high blood pressure and medication problems, and my grandmother broke her hip. One thing after another. It was exhausting at times. Who’d ever think two sick old ladies could need so much care?

Then my grandmother got really ill and was rushed to the hospital. She needed emergency surgery and afterwards was in intensive care for a month…never recovered…then sadly joined our grandfather in the next life. We were all so broken hearted.

That left our mother, all alone, without enough money to live on (her Social Security meager; no savings), and unable to care for herself or her three cats. Born an only child, she was a demanding sort of woman, almost childlike in her unending need for attention and devotion. She was terrified of going to a nursing home so the family did what we could to keep her in her own home as long as possible. My brother got her a reverse mortgage on her house and we all chipped in financially whenever and however we could. We fought the good fight but there came a day where mom got so sick, was rushed to the hospital so often, needed so much constant supervision, couldn’t get out of bed and some of us couldn’t lift her, that my siblings and I had to admit defeat…mom had to go into a nursing home or one of us had to move in with her, which wasn’t feasible. We were married with families and mom needed too much nursing care.

So a nursing home it was. We picked out a newly opened one in town, the nicest we could find, and the next time mom got sick we moved her into it for her recovery. Then told her the truth. The house was up for sale and the cats had been placed in new homes. I even took one, Patches (the cat in the story), because it was old and no one wanted her. My husband and I already had two cats but it was something I had to do…for mom. She really loved that cat as she’d really loved her home. But poor Patches, probably pining for her mistress and her old life, only lasted five months. I lied to my mother for months afterwards, afraid to tell her that the old cat had died (mom had always said that when Patches died, she’d die) and it tore me apart when I finally had to tell her. Mom had come to our house for a family Thanksgiving and I couldn’t hide the fact that Patches was no longer there. Oh, that was hard. Telling her.

If anyone has ever put a parent or relative into a nursing home, they know the heartbreak it causes all around. My mother was inconsolable and my guilt was awful. But, as sick as mom had become, with so many prescriptions each day, hospital visits, and how most days she couldn’t even get out of bed or get to the bathroom, clean or feed herself…we had no choice. She stayed in that nursing home – although it was a bright cheery place with kind people running it – until she died two years later. The hardest two years of my life. I visited her often, shopped for her and kept her company. Decorated her room so it looked like a home. Brought her special lunches and little gifts. Fancy quilts and stuffed cats. It still broke my heart.

I began writing the novella, Don’t Look Back, Agnes, while she was there. A ghost story centered around a young woman who’s forced by grim circumstances into returning to her haunted, and deadly, childhood home because her mother is ill in a nursing home and needs her. Looking back now, I can see it was also my way of dealing with the nursing home guilt…of wishing for a different ending to mom’s life than what had occurred. Writing the story was my therapy. I cried all my sorrow out into those words and prayed to be forgiven for putting my mother into such a place.

Even In This House, the bonus short story included because it’s also a ghostly tale, deals with old age and the passing of all a person (or a couple in this instance) ever knew or loved as time and their lives slip away, as it must always do. At the same time I was writing the Agnes story I read an article in the newspaper about this old man who was the last resident of a neighborhood that had been systematically bought out and emptied by an iron smelter plant. He was the last one living there in the last house. He spoke of his loneliness since his wife had died; about her. Their past. It sparked the idea for In This House. Both stories deal with responsibility, sacrifice and…love. Love for a mate, for an aging parent, children, and a way of life or the loss of one’s independence that we all in the end have to relinquish in one way or another. Life’s sorrows faced with a brave smile to cover the tears.

I hope the two stories help anyone going through what I was going through in those difficult years. If they do, then the words have done their job.

Written by the author Kathryn Meyer Griffith this nineteenth day of December 2011

****

A writer for 40 years I’ve had 14 novels and 8 short stories published with Zebra Books, Leisure Books, Avalon Books, the Wild Rose Press, Damnation Books and Eternal Press since 1984. And my romantic end-of-the-world horror novel THE LAST VAMPIRE-Revised Author's Edition is a 2012 EPIC EBOOK AWARDS FINALIST NOMINEE.

My books (most out again from Damnation Books and Eternal Press): Evil Stalks the Night, The Heart of the Rose, Blood Forge, Vampire Blood, The Last Vampire, Witches, The Nameless One short story, The Calling, Scraps of Paper, All Things Slip Away, Egyptian Heart, Winter's Journey, The Ice Bridge, Don't Look Back, Agnes novella, In This House short story, BEFORE THE END: A Time of Demons, The Woman in Crimson, The Guide to Writing Paranormal Fiction: Volume 1 (I did the Introduction)

***

Blurbs:

1) Don't Look Back, Agnes.

Agnes Michaels is coming home. Home to her childhood town of Fairfield and the house her father lovingly built for her mother. A house surrounded by the woods where Agnes’ two childhood friends and her boyfriend, Tyler, were all murdered twenty summers ago when she was just seventeen. She was the only one who escaped, but not without emotional and physical scars. Agnes knows that the woods and the evil entity that lives in it have been waiting for her all these years but she has no choice but to return to Fairfield and her mother’s house when her mother falls very ill and needs her care. Agnes can no longer avoid her destiny. Because the killings have begun again and she’s the only one who can stop them. And with the help of a new friend and Tyler’s ghost, she’ll defeat the evil and save another child’s life.

2) In This House.

Bernard and Althea have lived their whole lives in the neighborhood, in the same house and have grown old there. But Deer Run’s lead smelter plant has been buying out the houses around them because of lead contamination fears and now the lots are empty weeds and only their house remains. Their neighbors are gone. They’re alone. Althea’s been sick and Bernard cares for her even as he remembers how lovely she once was, all the friends they once had and all the good times they enjoyed when they were young. He loves her and he’ll never leave her. They’ll never leave their home. But they can’t stop time and they’re only waiting for their lonely daughter, Jenny, to make one last visit so they can say goodbye to her and introduce her to the man they know she’s meant to be with…then they can leave this earth happy.

***

Excerpt (from Don't Look Back, Agnes):

"Okay," she announced, as she yanked the car to the side of the road and spun around to him, "who are you really? I know you’ve been lying to me. My mother doesn’t know you and you don’t work for the hospital’s ambulance service. No one knows you."

He seemed hurt by her anger. "They weren’t all lies," he said, bowing his head. "And I had to think of something to tell you, so I could speak to you. I knew that if I just walked up and knocked on your door, you wouldn’t open it."

"What made you think that?"

He lifted his strange eyes that appeared to have no depth and met hers. His face was shadowed, even in the car’s overhead light, indistinct, but again so frustratingly familiar. "Because I know who you are and what you went through that summer. I know how much you hate being back here and how scared you are of the woods and what exists in it."

Fear crowded in around her and she felt dizzy. "Who are you?"

She thought the sound that came from his throat was a chuckle but she wasn’t sure. "It doesn’t matter." Then in a much lower voice she barely caught, "And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

"Why is that?" Her voice just as low.

"Never mind. I’m sorry. But I do know your mother and I do take care of her cat. Sometimes. I only wanted to talk to you. See you."

"Why?" She was becoming more suspicious every second, and a little frightened, though she sensed the man besides her meant her no real harm, that he was only hiding something. But what happened if she was wrong?

"I’m here to help you."

"Help me what?" She’d switched the car’s engine off. Outside, the night fog surged against the windows and cut them off from the world. She was alone with a crazy man.

She knew she should kick him out of the car and drive like a launched missile straight to Ida’s. She’d be safe there. But something, the poignant begging in his gaze or the hopeful smile on his lips, kept her from doing that. It was as if he’d enchanted her.

"I’m going to help you find Lottie."

Shocked, she exclaimed, "You’re kidding? You want to help me find the missing girl? That’s the police’s job. I have no idea where she is. Besides, she’s only missing. There’s no proof she’s even been taken or is in danger."

"Ah, Agnes, you know better than that." His voice was firm but melancholy. "She’s in the woods where you were and if we don’t find her tonight she’ll be dead."

"How do you know that? Why are you doing this to me?" She realized she was infuriated with him because he was trying to make her do something she really didn’t want to do.

"Because you know where she is. You know and you can save her."

"I don’t have a clue where she is. I’ll tell you what, you go save her."

"That won’t work, I’m afraid. Alone, I can’t do it. I need you. You’re the one. We can’t find it. And it won’t show itself unless you’re there." He tilted his head and his dark hair, somehow longer than the last time she’d seen him, brushed against his shoulders. Tonight he wasn’t wearing a uniform or a dirty T-shirt. Dressed in an old-fashioned collared shirt with buttons down the front and frayed jeans, she thought he looked even younger than last time.

Agnes had had enough. "Herb, or whatever your name is, would you please get out of my car?"

"It’s Herb, kinda. And, Agnes, you’re never going to be able to live with yourself if you don’t try to save Lottie. I mean you tried and couldn’t save Sophie and the others and you’ve had to live with the guilt all these years. You don’t want to go through that again, do you? No, you’re coming with me."

He reached out his hand, touching her, and suddenly the car was gone and they were standing at the edge of the night woods, the mist churning around their feet. Her mother’s house was behind them, so she knew where she was. A sliver of moon shone its silvery light above, just enough to see what was surrounding them. Thick night trees. Undergrowth and bushes. The woods.

Oh, hell.

kathryn meyer griffith | paranormal | guest blog

2012.01.19 13:00:33

gary

I'm over on Ash Arceneuax's blog, talking about the writing and rewriting of Brutal Light, and what the Deros had to do with it. I can't promise it's completely accurate--I based it off the notes the night gaunts kept--but it is something to keep in mind when writing. That and bacon.

brutal light | writing | weirdness | humor

2012.01.17 12:50:26

gary

My dark fantasy/urban fantasy short story Something You Should Know" is now available for free from Smashwords. It's a stand-alone tale set in the world of Brutal Light, taking place a few months before the 'present day' action in that book:

A homeless woman, Rennie Kalick, has been given the ability to turn the painful memories of others into weapons, and has used this power to seek revenge for wrongs done to herself and those like her. But Kagami Takeda, whose connection to the merciless, godlike sea of light known as the Radiance was responsible for this gift, wants to take it back. A short story set in the Brutal Light universe.

Though technically it's a prequel, in that it takes place before Brutal Light, it's written as a stand-alone story that can be enjoyed without having read my book, with very little in the way of spoilers. (Of course, my hope is to attract more readers for that book, which is my ulterior motive for this whole deal...)

Formats available are .mobi (Kindle-compatible), .epub (Nook-and-many-other-ereader-compatible), .pdf (Adobe), and .pdb (Palm). There should soon be a version that can be directly downloaded from BarnesAndNoble.com for the Nook, and eventually one that can be directly downloaded from Amazon.com for the Kindle. All DRM-free, so you can freely share it, so long as the file is unaltered and remains free.

Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

something you should know | brutal light | free | short fiction | links

2012.01.13 12:48:58

gary

Torment by Greg Chapman

Jessica Newman returns to the derelict Scottish mansion where she spent her early years to sort out her late father's estate. She is forced to confront the legacy of her mother's death during an exorcism ritual, and what role her father might have played in it. But what she finds in the house, in its basement, is more horrifying than she could ever expect, and may claim her as well.

Greg Chapman tells a gripping story that starts out slow and creepy while introducing and fleshing out the characters. It then grows violent and intense, with several bloody, visceral passages that are all the more gripping due to the care taken early on with the character development. (There are a number of movies and books that I wish would take such care!) It's a short novella that can easily be devoured in a single sitting, one I think fans of supernatural horror will enjoy.

reviews | reading

2012.01.10 12:52:10

gary

As I consider which conventions I'll be going to this year, as both a writer and a fan, I've been reminiscing about the first SF/fantasy convention I ever went to--ConClave. It was in 1995, when the convention was still being held in the Holiday Inn South in Lansing, and I had no idea what I was getting into.

I was 26, and you may wonder how it is a 26-year-old SF fan could go for so long without going to a con. I wonder now, myself; the only thing I can think of was that I had no idea that cons were going on so close, or that I might have easily gone to one before then. (This was back when the 'net was young, there was no Google, and downloading something simple like a picture could take the better part of an hour at 2800 baud. And we liked it that way!) A friend invited me to go to the one in Lansing, so we went--me thinking it was just for the day.

The hotel was packed. My first memory of it was the long, curving corridor you had to walk through just to get to the front desk, and the immense open lounge with the piano at the center. It was packed. Of course, I knew no one except my friend, but that didn't stop me from being amazed at the costumes some of the fen wore. (Amazed for assorted reasons, depending on the costume and the person filling it.)

A few unfortunate things prevented me from enjoying this first experience more than I did. For one, my friend and I got separated somehow, and I did not see her until the following morning. I lived in the Lansing area at that time, and had not planned on staying overnight. I had no place to sleep, but felt I couldn't just go home without finding where my friend had gotten to. So, I was up all night, sometimes chatting in the con suites, but mostly just trying to stay awake, and stay in public areas where I could hope to spot her. I wasn't very happy when I finally did find her.

Yet, I clearly liked something about the experience, as I readily accepted when she invited me to Detroit for another con (one which was a much better experience, as I knew what to expect). There was something invigorating about it, being amidst all these people who were dancing, chatting, screening films, buying books, and just generally being welcoming and understanding. I'm convinced that all of us, no matter what our interests are, need such a community.

I went to a lot more conventions in the latter half of the nineties and the early part of the 'aughts before my attendance fell off. I made a number of lifelong friends, had a hell of a lot of fun, and figured I would always be back. (Of course, that was not to be....) Now, all my best memories of these times sort of blend together... all the late-night parties, the Elven Toasts, the panels, the dances, the writers I met, and even the interminable Sunday afternoons where there was nothing left to do but none of us wanted to leave... things like that. Even though I'm going back to conventions now, with the aim of getting my book in front of people's faces, it's no longer quite the same. The old crew, with a few exceptions, has either dispersed, doesn't want to go anymore, is too busy to go, or can't afford to go. C'est la vie...

On coming back to ConClave last year, this time as a writer promoting his book on panels, I was surprised and saddened to see it a ghost of its former self. I suspect that the economy is to blame--fen who would ordinarily go to all of Michigan's fan-run cons likely had to cut back. I really hope that ConFusion (coming in a week-and-a-half to Troy, Michigan) has healthier attendance--I have a lot of fond memories of that con as well, especially from its years at the Van Dyke Park Hotel, and would hate to see it going the way of ConClave and ConTraption.

(Note: I will be at ConFusion, but I unfortunately won't be on any panels. But say hi anyway if you're there and see me around!)

conventions

2012.01.06 13:05:33

gary

So, we're now six days into 2012, that exciting, unstable year with Roland Emmerich's sweaty handprints already over it. I've just started on writing a dark science fiction novella, Entering Cadence, while continuing researching things in preparation for the sequel to Brutal Light. I'm determining which conventions I'll make the extra effort to go to this year (beyond the Michigan-based ones I attend every year). I'm also working on some surprises for this month and next. Good times!

But you're not here to listen to me be enigmatic, you're here for a blog entry! Or possibly lutefisk. With that in mind, I direct your attention to these links...

Author J.E. Gurley's new book of horror Blood Lust is now available for a very limited (that is, for today and the next three days) time for free as a Kindle download from Amazon.com. If you have a Kindle (or a Kindle app for your computer or phone), check it out!

Author Karina Fabian has launched the 30 Minute Marketer, a series dedicated to helping writers market their books. It'll come out weekly (depending on donations) and breaks down marketing tasks into easy-to-fit-into-busy-schedule bits. Well worth a look if you're a writer like me who wants to do more with marketing but can never seem to find the time.

A new anthology will soon be open for submissions: Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous, edited by Tim Marquitz. In a world where the light has faded, what creatures will make their presence known to man once more? Submissions are open from 1/15/12 to 5/15/12.

There's a Facebook meme thingy going around where people are posting links to videos on YouTube featuring the song that was at number one on the pop charts when they were born. Here's mine: In the Year 2525 by Zager and Evans. A song that somehow manages to be both haunting and annoying at the same time. (I think I would have liked it if I'd been born one week later, though, so I could claim the Rolling Stones' Honky Tonk Woman. :P )

One more video, from the 'Epic Rap Battles of History' series: Gandalf vs. Dumbledore. Because it's Friday, and it's made of awesome.

links | brutal light | entering cadence | cadence series