This is my World

Meet Matthew Tait

2012-02-12T19:56:00.000-08:00

Today I welcome Matthew Tait to my blog. He's recently seen the release of Slander Hall through Dark Continent's Publishing Tales of Darkness and Dismay collection. Thank you for stopping by, Matthew. In a recent discussion you and I had, you mentioned your interest in cult groups that are heavily involved in brainwashing--such as the Jonestown Massacre and Heaven's Gate. What, in your opinion, is the special horror attached to these social situations?

I think the core horror attached to these situations – and one of the reasons people find them so fascinating – is that many of us (if given just the right set of circumstances), might be able to envisage ourselves in a similar situation. Millions of years of evolution have taken place, and yet we are all still grappling for answers – the reasons behind our existence and why we are here. There are certain watershed moments in history when particular charismatic individuals seem to give these answers to us in a coherent structure that makes sense at the time … and those answers fill a void we’ve carried since infancy. It’s only in the aftermath after these groups implode that the real eye-opener dawns: that seeking revelation can ultimately lead to a dead end.

Not only that, of course – but I think the fundamental fascination lies in how these cults ultimately self-terminate. Death will always hold its morbid spell. We hope to see (perhaps by catching a glimpse of the bodies) if there are any answers to own mortality etched there… that maybe we’ll even be granted revelations of our own.

How did these two tragedies come together to give rise to Slander Hall? Did you do a lot of research?

I think writing (in particular fiction writing), will always be cathartic to those who practice it. I’ve long held a fascination with this taboo topic and Slander Hall was a short attempt to exorcise some of those niggling demons and unanswered questions that still plague me to this day. Very little research was needed as most of the information still resides in my skull; however, some of the the main encouragement came from a book I bought by one of the sole survivors of the Heaven’s Gate tragedy. This book is very difficult to find and gives an insider's view as to what really went on during the final days. Suffice it to say I’ve been studying it for so long now the spine has rubber bands holding it together …

Can you tell us more about your protagonist, Cedar Jarrell? Why does he go back?

This question goes back to my previous answer for the above one. The main protagonist in Slander Hall is loosely based on the sole survivor and why he left at the eleventh hour just before the suicides took place. Unbelievably, this particular individual didn’t "come to his senses" or expunge the belief system from his psyche (to this day he still holds true to it). In my fictitious version, Cedar Jarrell returns to the ghost town of Slander Hall for some kind of closure … perhaps even revelation. He thinks his deceased friends might still be alive in some capacity – that their energy might still remain. That is, after all, why they died: so that they could live on in another evolutionary level.

What scares you the most in real life?

Interesting question … and one that some people might not like the answer to. In the past I’ve been labelled somewhat of a conspiracy theorist (which I don’t believe), but ultimately what scares me is big government using the general population as sheep or fodder to further their own agendas. Another taboo subject I hope to write about one day is the advents surrounding 9/11. We know now that government’s version of advents cannot possibly be true … and in the face of this information the alternative theories that crop up are terrifying beyond belief. If such things have taken place in the past (innocent people being sacrificed for a greater cause), then there is a total lack of control on our part … and that scares me the most.

And now, for the not-so-serious question: do you have a writing soundtrack of go-to albums/songs that put you into "the zone" when you're creating?

It is no secret among my writing friends how much Clive Barker has influenced me over the years. Not only as a writer but ultimately as a person. His keen insights and philosophies have always been pertinent with my own. When composing, I like nothing more than listening to Danny Elfman’s soundtrack from the film Nightbreed. The opening sequence of music never fails to induce a frisson of pleasure. But I am just enamoured to the music of Lord of Illusions or even Candyman. There is a haunting quality to all of it – an apocalyptic ease I try to imbue into everything I write. When editing, the tune changes somewhat and my heroes from the nighties all get a spin: Nirvana, Bush, Alice in Chains and most of the music featured around that era.

You said you worked in a video store. Are there any of the films you saw that later influenced you to become a writer?

It will always be the books one grows up with that plant the seeds for that particular ambition; however, there are many films that have added to the tide. They might be somewhat self-indulgent, but I’ve always held the same fascination someone like Stephen King holds for the art: stories on celluloid that are actually about writers and the often blurry world they inhabit on a daily basis. (And he’s created quite a few of them). Movies like Secret Window and Misery and The Dark Half. One particular one that I’ve watched too many times to count is David Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch. To this day I’m still puzzled by what I see up on the screen – but the images did induce me to pick up my pen on more than one occasion. Lastly I have to give another shout-out to Mr. Clive Barker. After seeing the original Hellraiser I sought out his novella The Hellbound Heart immediately. After that, my life changed forever.

Purchase Slander Hall here.

#FridayFlash: Class Outing

2012-02-09T20:03:00.000-08:00

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance and the air was already syrup thick. We stood at the giant wrought iron gates of Lord Innsworth’s private arboretum and botanical garden, and waited for the stragglers to arrive.

“Indemnity forms in?” Professor Spiggs asked those of us who were already present.

“I don’t see why we need bloody indemnity forms for a botany excursion,” Derren muttered to me.

I shrugged. “I’m just glad we’re not sitting in the laboratory this morning. It’s a good day to be out.”

Derren glanced up at the overcast sky. “It’s going to rain at noon.”

“Better ’n tagging bulbs in the greenhouse.”

Professor Spiggs cleared his throat and gestured for the rest of the students to gather round. “Listen up, please. This is a great privilege. Lord Innsworth the Twelfth Earl of Curriemore hasn’t opened these gates to the university in more than five years. Not after the last, rather unfortunate incident...” The professor mumbled something only he could hear before he brightened and looked about. “Please stay on the demarcated paths. At all costs.”

Derren nudged me in the ribs. “Oi, what’s he talking about?”

“Be buggered if I knew.” I’d only lived in the city of Wynnton for the past two years, and everything was a bit of a novelty to me.

“I see Marcus isn’t here,” Derren said.

“Too bad for him then.” Secretly I was glad the fool hadn’t joined us. I still hadn’t lived down his last practical joke. Funny for him, yes, but intense mortification for me when the stink of fertiliser refused to wash out of my clothing for more than two weeks.

The gates squeaked open and we bunched together as we entered the hallowed grounds, clipboards in hand. There were plenty of oohs and ahs as we meandered down the gravel pathways. Our excursion was well worth chipping in the extra coin, though I wasn’t entirely certain what I’d do for meals the rest of the week.

Lush palms stood cheek by jowl with giant ficus and wild banana. Trembling spider lilies filled entire banks beneath iron woods of great girth, and I noted fifteen cycad species I’d never before had the pleasure of seeing or, indeed touching.

Even Derren, who’d gone on several field excursions to a number of exotic destinations, was impressed. “Good lord, this man’s sitting on more wealth here than the king himself,” he said while scratching at an insect bite.

“And now for the gem of the collection,” Professor Spiggs said once we’d finished goggling at a very rare violet-flowering squamous tree orchid.

Dutifully we trooped after the man, who trotted ahead in a state of agitation. We might find this excursion a highlight of our rather mundane botany degrees, but he frothed with childlike excitement. He led us to a wide expanse of lawn where a portion at its centre had been fenced off. No one could miss the multitude of “Danger” signs that had been posted. These ruined the organic flow of the garden’s layout, and immediately had me wondering what could possibly be so threatening about the bulbous mass of gnarled trunks in the middle of the enclosure. The tree—if it was that—had no leaves. Only short bare branches crowned its top.

“And here we have,” said Professors Spiggs, who was quite out of breath, “The most dangerous caudiciform plant in the world. Behold the balon tree from the Arceneedian Isles. This is a very small specimen. In nature they are at least three times this size.”

We all stared, slack-jawed. This was the botanical equivalent of the unicorn—rare and almost impossible to lay hands on. Lethal too, if it was the flowering season, though few botanists had gone close enough and lived to tell the tale.

“Now we will approach, but with caution,” the professor said. “And keep well away from the tentacles.”

“What tentacles?” Derren asked loudly.

I didn’t have an answer for him because even a bit closer, the tree looked dead. The only sign that it was alive was a white frill with a shocking pink edge at the seams, where some of the branches met. It fluttered slightly in the breeze that stirred and the scent of honey was strong.

“Sorry I’m late,” someone shouted. That someone was Marcus, who managed to turn his scruffy clothing into a fashion statement. He jogged up and wasn’t even out of breath. Bastard.

I sighed and shuffled slightly behind Derren.

Spiggs beamed. “So good of you to join us, old chap.” Then to the rest of us, he said, “There, do make a space for Marcus so he can get a clear view.”

We shuffled so that Marcus got a prime position. Several boots came down on my feet, and I wasn’t certain how many of these were unintentional. The professor then continued to extol the virtues of this plant, his voice dwindling to a nasal drone in my ears while I stared at the balon tree.

Tentacles? What tentacles? Apart from the way the damn tree’s fringe moved in the wind, it was perfectly motionless, its olive-flecked bark shiny in the sun. Because I was at the back, there was no one to see me pick up a pebble from the ground. I bit my lip and debated on the wisdom of what I was about to do. Then I thought, ah fuck it, and threw the pebble, hard.

It hit the trunk with a resounding clop and the damn tree moved—so fast none of us could react in time. A snakelike thing expelled viciously from its crown, coiled around a hapless student’s middle and dragged him screaming into the slimy maw which opened to receive him. We stood staring as the tree writhed while Marcus struggled gamely. Then, with an audible snap, he was gone.

“He didn’t sign his indemnity form, did he?” Trust Derren to be the first to speak up.

2012-02-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

My mom’s one of the people I blame for my love of books and writing. She was a school teacher, and some of my earliest memories are of sitting in her classes during the afternoons when I was done with preschool. My favourite class was English, and I’d listen to her teach while I drew on bits of paper. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but often when my mom asked the kids a question I was the only one to put up my hand with a correct answer. I was five at the time. She was teaching Grade 6s.

So, yeah, it would appear that my knack with language is largely thanks to my mom, and we still spend hours chatting about the written word. She’s also the only member of my family with whom I can discuss my writing. Apart from my dad, who also used to be a school teacher, the rest are pretty much functionally illiterate.

When I was little, my parents would often take me on long hikes in the mountains, and one of the ways in which my mom distracted me from the distance or my sore feet was to tell me stories. One such story was about a young boy, about my own age then (six), who got lost in the woods and was looked after by a badger. She remembers wishing she could find that book again but had, sadly, forgotten the title and the author’s name. One of the children at the school where she was teaching loved that story so much he stole the book before she could finish reading it to the class.

My mom and I had also gone to the library in a bid to find the story, and asked the librarian if she could help. She had no idea what the book’s title was and that’s where the matter rested for almost twenty years. Today I received a phonecall from my mom and we spoke about that book. I was at my desk so I suggested we run a few searches online.

My mom gave me what she thought was the author’s surname, and I had some fun with Google and Amazon. Nothing came up. Then I typed in “badgers in fiction”. Lo and behold, www.whatsthatbook.com came up as one of the search results. It’s an online community dedicated to helping people find their long-lost books and the Google search had dug up, “children’s/young adult novel about a young boy who falls into a badger hole, is injured and subsequently cared for by the mother badger inhabiting the hole.”

When I read that blurb out to my mom she yelled with joy. We’d found our book: Incident at Hawk’s Hill by Allan W Eckert. Because I love supporting independent bookshops, I mailed the Book Lounge right away and they’ve put it on order. It’ll be here in two weeks.

This is one of those niggling little life stories that has a happy ending. My mother had remembered the book with such fondness and it really made my day to help her rediscover it. I can’t wait to read the whole story myself. I’d love to know what some of your book mysteries are.

Guest post: Autumn Christian

2012-02-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

Today I allow my fellow Tales of Darkness and Dismay author, Autumn Christian, loose on my blog. Welcome, Autumn...

I’ll be honest, I’ve had to rewrite this blog post about four times. I’m nervous about the face I present to the Internet, and as a former closet writer I’m just getting used to talking about my writing to strangers. As a twenty-two year old, I don’t feel inclined to offer writing advice like some kind of pulp war hero, nor am I yet past the phase where I can promote myself without feeling an odd sort of unworthiness. My girlfriend recently took me to her aunt’s house for Christmas dinner. I felt like a strange creature in my doc martens and lace dress, sitting at the dinner table squeezing the tablecloth between my fingers.

“Congratulations on Autumn’s new book!” said this foreign family as they toasted me with wine and I tried to smile but instead hid my face into my shoulder.

“What kind of book is it?”

“Horror fiction,” I said, voice quiet, and the subject was quickly changed.

Nevertheless, I’m pleased to announce the release of my e-novella from Dark Continents, A Gentle Hell, which is part of the Tales of Darkness and Dismay. It can be purchased from amazon here. A Gentle Hell is comprised of four dark fiction short stories. Described as “surreal,” “beautiful and melancholy,” and “The Thinking Person’s horror”:

In They Promised Dreamless Death a salesmen sells sleep with the promise of a better life, but what dreams lurk beneath the substrate of consciousness for those who take it are stranger than they ever imagined.

In Your Demiurge is Dead, while the world adjusts to the death of God and the new reign of the Triple Goddess, Charles hunts for an Oklahoma murderer and is forced to confront his religious ideals when he encounters a new prophet.

The Dog That Bit Her, is the story of a neurotic young woman who gains freedom from her co-dependent marriage with the bite of a rabid dog.

And in the semi-autobiographical The Singing Grass, the artist and the writer converge at a meadow haunted by a carnivorous deer and the burnt monsters that show them the consequences of an artistic life.

If you’d like to follow me around the Interwebs, you can find me at my website autumnchristian.net, on twitter at @autumnxtian or on facebook.

- Autumn

Link round-up

2012-02-04T06:31:00.000-08:00

This week has seen a frenzy of writing on my side. Which is probably why I've been a bit "not quite there" in the real world as I'm currently 23 000 words into my current work in progress, which I started last Sunday. All I can say at this point is that it involves vampires and is set in a secondary world, with a pseudo-Victorian feel to it. The really sucky working title is Heart of a Dhampir. Yes. It sucks my big toe but I don't know what else to call it right now.

Now, for the linkage. First up this week is an interview with Severin, the vampire who features in my most recent Lyrical Press release, What Sweet Music They Make. Xan Marcelles, who needs very little introduction to regulars in my world, is the brainchild of Carrie Clevenger, one of my writing partners. Do stop by and check it out.

It's always lovely when people pick up my older writing. A book blogger over at Heroes and Heartbreakers really enjoyed Khepera Rising, my debut release at Lyrical Press. She made it one of her "best of January" picks. Swing by here and see what she says.

Then, I spent a little time hanging out with fellow Dark Continents author AJ Brown at his blog. It was a riotous interview which provided me with many giggles. Do swing by.

Cathy Olliffe-Webster gives my favourite vampire, Xan, some airtime and Blood and Fire gets a bit of link love. And yes, I find long-haired rockers in tight jeans extremely delicious.

Lastly, if you haven't read my Friday Flash piece yet, here it is. It has a fanged theme this week for all those vampire lovers. Now that I look at it in hindsight, I realise it's a bit of a stab at the Tweelight mythos.

Friday Flash: Kissing the Dawn

2012-02-02T18:57:00.000-08:00

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” I told Sam. “You honestly think she cares that you fry yourself at sunrise?”

Sam sniffed loudly and rubbed at his eyes. His tears stained his cheeks red—a serious downside for a vampire showing strong emotions in a public place. Luckily we were on the roof of Senator Park and no sensible mortal would think to hang out up here an hour before dawn.

“I don’t see any point to this existence,” he wailed. “Everyone I love’s gonna grow old and die, and I’ll be all on my own.”

“I’ve got news for you, old chap. You’ve been all on your own since the day you were born. Being a vampire ain’t gonna change that. You just think you’ve got friends but they’re all back-stabbing little shits in the end.” I glanced toward the east, where the night faded a little lighter on the ridges of the mountains. Not enough to give warning tingles on my exposed flesh but I’d run from enough sunrises to know when it became dangerous for our kind to be out and about. Below us the city still slumbered but the first delivery trucks were already on the road. I could sense the world stirring.

Sam hissed at me then; showed a flash of fang. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got years on me. You’ve had plenty of practice.”

I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. He sat on the edge, legs dangling into the void, dreadlocks half obscuring his face. Sam was just some tranced-out hippie kid who had turned up undead in my stomping ground a year ago. He had no idea who his sire was and no one laid claim to him, so I had sort of took him under my wing. Not that the ungrateful little wretch showed me any gratitude.

I merely stared at him then lit a cigarette. I had time for a smoke before I vanished back inside. He glared back at me and, to give him some credit, lasted almost two minutes before he looked away first. Sure, I had years on him. A whole five years. Like that made a difference when we were both way beneath the vampire elders’ notice.

“I went home a year after I got turned,” I told him. “My sire told me not to. Told me it was stupid.”

Sam’s head shot up, though he didn’t look at me.

“I went to see if my cherry was still okay. I missed her, you know. She never did find out what happened to me. My supposed ‘death’ was a missing person’s report in the False Bay Echo. I’d gone out for a pint with my mates at The Vic and I’d never come home. They found my car parked by the beach. No sign of my body.

“So, I caught the train out one evening. It was winter so the sun was long down. Figured I could hole up somewhere then catch the train out the following night, or something. I’d make a plan. I just needed to see her. Maybe go on to see if my parents were still around but I really, really wanted to see Marissa...” I had to stop then. I didn’t want to remember.

“What then?” Sam mumbled.

“Oh, she still stayed in the backflat on Seventh Avenue.” I laughed, the sound bitter. “My luck was in. She was home too. I even went so far as to press my nose against the glass and peer in like a regular Peeping Tom. She was there on the couch. A new boyfriend all cuddled with her. They were eating popcorn and watching TV. He had his hand on her breast.” I didn’t add that she looked about eight months pregnant.

“And?”

“And nothing,” I said while I ground the cigarette butt under my boot. “I’m still here. She’s there. We get on with life. We make new connections. Some of us live for three score and ten years like they say in the Bible. Some of us live until we’re stupid dumb-ass little shits who sit outside and wait for the sunrise.” With that I left him.

Yeah, I reckoned it would bother me if he self-immolated. Kissing the dawn—as we called it—was not uncommon but it sure as hell was a painful way to ensure final death. And, though I’d never admit it to him, I kinda liked the kid’s company. His naïveté perked up my nights. But it wasn’t like I was his boss or anything. Free will.

I shut the door to the roof firmly behind me and trotted down the fire escape stairs until I got to the sixth floor. Senator Park never really slept. Even now my Tanzanian neighbors argued loudly in the apartment next to mine. The ganja smoke hung heavy in the hallway and I slunk into the one-bedroom unit I shared with Sam.

My muscles ached—my body still recovering from me accidentally having partaken of hepatitis-infected blood. Chilling out seemed like a very good idea. I threw myself down on my mattress, checked that the black-out curtains were drawn to firmly and picked up the dog-eared copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein I was trying to read for the nth time.

A key grated in the lock shortly before sunrise proper, and Sam slunk in. He didn’t say much but threw himself down on his mattress, an arm slung over his face.

“Chicken,” I said with a smirk then made a few squawking noises.

“Fuck you.” The tossed copy of Penthouse that came my way fluttered like a dying bird. I was pretty sure Sam and I would be dodging quite a few more dawns in each other’s company.

A few words with Tracie McBride

2012-01-29T19:37:00.000-08:00

Today, fellow author and dweller of the southern hemisphere, Tracie McBride, joins me on my blog. Like me, she wears many hats, and not only writes but edits. Welcome, Tracie!

You've been writing for quite a while now, and have short stories available in a number of anthologies. Can you tell us a little about the general theme of your tales? Which of your shorts are your three favourites of all time, and also, would you ever plan on a novel-length work?

One of the advantages of being a short story writer is that I have the luxury of exploring a multitude of themes. Having said that, there are some I keep returning to because they’re lodged deep down in my psyche. Often I’ll intertwine the banality and familiarity of modern-day suburban life with surreal or horrific elements. Parenthood and other familial relationships also come under the microscope often.

I’m glad you asked for my three favourites instead of just one, because it’s a bit like having to choose which one of my children is my favourite. In no particular order, I choose –

Baptism, in which a young friar attempts to convert a pod of predatory mermaids to Christianity.

Ghosts Can Bleed, the title story of my collection, which deals with themes of grief and the despair of a life lived without meaning.

Last Chance To See, the story of a woman who is killed in a car accident and is given a ‘loaner’ prosthetic body to extend her life by another 24 hours. This story was inspired by my aunt Noeline who died of cancer in 2008.

Writing a novel remains an elusive goal; the official line is that I’m waiting for a novel-worthy idea to come to me, but the truth is that the thought of writing a novel scares me. I enjoy the immediacy of the short story, the more readily attainable goal of completion and publication, the liberty to experiment with voice and structure that is harder to get away with in longer works, and the challenge of expressing my ideas in as few words as possible.

The short story is quite a different beast from novella and novel-length works. What, in your opinion, are the hallmarks of a great short story? What are some of the issues you see in short story submissions for anthologies?

I have particular tastes in short stories. I like a story that makes me sit back at the end and say, “Damn, I wish I’d thought of that.” Stories that leave a little mystery and room for the reader to interpret it in their own way.Stories that are elegantly constructed with subtle and well-crafted (but never over-laboured) imagery.

I read slush Dark Moon Digest, a US-based horror magazine. The number one issue is a poorly crafted story. If a writer mixes up his or her tenses, doesn’t know how to punctuate dialogue correctly or hands out adverbs like lollies, then I find it difficult to see past the craft to the story within. Number two is a lack of originality. I come across a lot of clichéd concepts and overused tropes.

Electronic publishing has created fantastic opportunities for writers, but it's also resulted in a slew of published works that needed a bit of extra spit and polish before release. What's your advice to writers who're embarking on self-publishing?

Oh boy – you’re trying to get me into trouble, aren’t you? I’m full of advice for indie writers, especially for those at the beginning of their career, but I find that many of them aren’t very receptive to constructive (or any) criticism. I’ll try to limit it to three key pieces of advice.

1) In the absence of a competent editor (and let’s face it, how many indie writers can afford one?) join a critique group. In particular, join a group that has members who are further along in their writing career than you are.

2) Learn to accept criticism with good grace. Even better, learn to heed it.

3) Read widely. Read outside your favourite genres. Read intensively within your favourite genres. Buy books on the craft of writing. Keep those books by your bedside and re-read them until you’ve memorised them.

Small presses. There are hundreds, if not thousands more of them around compared to just a few years ago, and it seems like every Tom, Dick and Harry considers himself a publisher. How does one discern whether a publisher is legit, and what are the benefits of entrusting one's writing to a small press as opposed to going it alone?

I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask this question. Because I write short stories and poetry, I have less invested in finding the ‘right’ publisher, so I have a cavalier attitude to choosing a publisher; if they promise to pay me for my contribution and send me a contributor copy, then they’re OK by me. But for fledgling novelists, my advice is to become involved in the writing community (although the act of writing is a solitary exercise, the business of being a writer is not). Join writers’ groups, Facebook groups and professional organizations such as the HWA. Listen out for news, watch where other writers are submitting and observe who wins awards. Dodgy or under-performing publishers will be outed soon enough.

For me, the biggest advantage of signing with a small press is that it provides me external validation and an honest appraisal of the value of my work; they’re not my mother, they’re not my best friend, they don’t have to say they like my work if they don’t want to, and yet here they are saying that they like it well enough to pay me for the privilege of publishing it. Another advantage is that, although small presses don’t have the resources of a major publishing house, they can still expose your book to a wider audience than you can reach on your own. And unless you’re a particularly multi-talented or resourceful writer, the editing, layout and cover design work will be superior to what you’ll be able to afford or achieve on your own.

Please tell us a bit more about your title that's just seen release with Dark Continents' Tales of Darkness and Dismay collection. What were your intentions when you and John Irvine started discussing initial concepts?

The collection is called April Fool and other Antipodean horror stories. It contains three short stories by John Irvine and two by me. John and I share a country of origin (New Zealand), a love of speculative poetry and brevity in storytelling, and a certain dark and dry sense of humour. We’re also both board members of Dark Continents Publishing. And that’s about the extent of our commonalities. So rather than work with a cohesive theme, we’ve gone in the opposite direction by compiling a collection that showcases the diversity of style and theme to be found in Antipodean horror.

Tell us more about Dark Continents Publishing (DCP). I've had the pleasure of reviewing a number of the full-length horror/dark fantasy titles, all of which blew me away as a fresh approach to non-mainstream writing with a serious literary edge to the genre. DCP allows its authors to retain a very authentic voice and a high quality of writing in general, which has been refreshing. What makes DCP special, especially as a "gatekeeper" in current times when it's sometimes difficult to find good-quality fiction among the slew of releases?

First of all – thank you very much! Like most small press, we’re not as driven by financial imperatives as the major publishing houses, so we can afford to take risks and choose novels on the basis of quality rather than looking solely at their likelihood of mainstream commercial success. We have global distribution through our printer Lightning Source and their distribution chain, so we’re not restricted to tailoring our publications to a limited geographical appeal. We’re small, we’re quick, we’re flexible and we’re adaptable. But the main reason DCP is special is that we’re all writers ourselves. We understand the creative process.And we know the difference between sanding down a novel to generic blandness and polishing it until it gleams.

Links

Buy Ghosts Can Bleed here and April Fool here.

Follow Tracie's blog here.

Link round-up, Saturday, January 28

2012-01-27T20:54:00.000-08:00

This week was rather challenging, as it saw my return to the day job, which just further underscores that at some point I need to break out of that horror novel that is working for a newspaper publisher. It's not always easy following one's dreams and I often wonder what "regular" folks do for fun 'cos there's rarely a moment when I'm not behind a computer.

And yes, I get tired. Very, very tired. I don't see myself laying out advertorial and subbing advertising-related copy for the rest of my life. My "night job" as I call my work for Lyrical, as well as my writing, is really what I want to do, but yeah... If I like my little luxuries like a roof over my head and food in my belly, I have to make sacrifices.

A big thank you to my dear husband, Thomas, who helped me with my promo photos last Sunday. He's a very talented visual artist and film director, and if dark arts are your thing, do stop by his deviantArt page.

But enough of the banter. I've had a number of ace appearances this past week:

I celebrated release day for What Sweet Music They Make on Monday. Things were kept very low-key with a bunch of my friends meeting up at Roxy's on Dunkley Square. Yes, I made a speech. A very quick one... Then had chocolate brownies. Many thanks to everyone who attended.

After that, it was a brief stop by Tombstone Tails to chat with Psynde about What Sweet Music They Make. Psynde delivers some great content on her blog and is definitely one I enjoy following.

For those of you who love the idea of immortals in fiction and film, I discuss functionally immortal characters on Autumn Christian's blog. This was a fun post to write and I've had some great feedback from it.

Then the last big 'un for this week was my debut appearance on The Word Fiend's blog. She interviews me and we discuss my latest release, plus there was a giveaway.

And if you missed it, I wrote my first piece of flash fiction in ages. Jamie fans of my Khepera books will be happy to see our friend up to his usual antics.

I'm also rather excited (and nervous) about a call for submissions I heard about yesterday because I have a concept and I'd like to give it a try. I did the Angry Robot open door call for subs last year. I got one really good novel out of the effort which I eventually subbed and had contracted to Dark Continents Publishing. This year I'm trying my hand at YA secondary world fantasy. Bearing in mind it's secondary world fantasy that was one of my biggest influences when I was growing up... It's odd that I haven't pushed hard to get one published, as I do have one languishing on my hard drive.

Speaking of novels languishing on hard drives, I had Camdeboo Nights contracted to Lyrical Press. It is a YA urban fantasy novel I wrote about two or so years ago that stalled mainly because it sat for months with a literary agent then later for months with another publisher that had requested a full submission. I'm yet to confirm release dates but in the meanwhile I'm just happy the tale will now see the light of day.

Friday Flash: The Fool

2012-01-26T21:19:00.000-08:00

As a rule, I don’t generally do tarot readings for myself but I’m always willing to make an exception after a glass or three of wine. It’s a Friday night. The wind outside shakes the trees and rattles the windows in their frames. I should be out. I’ve gone as far as opening my cupboard to stare at my black threads, but not one garment has caught my fancy.

Why go out and get pissed in the company of people who annoy the living shit out of me when I can get blind drunk at home without all the predictable aggravation? Of course this sudden reticence on my part is out of character, but for fuck’s sake, I’m allowed to indulge in the occasional fit of pique.

The others will still be there next week. They’re always there at The Event Horizon, their fat-rolls stuffed into too-tight corsets or PVC pants as they blink drunkenly into the narcotic strobe light when the DJ spins Marilyn Manson, VNV Nation or Rob Zombie.

Tonight is different. This sense of the sacred aches in my bones like nicotine withdrawal. Or perhaps not the sense of the sacred, but rather the realization of the futility of routine, of breathing, of waking each day and going through the motions, a mechanical animal that sweats, eats, shits and pisses its way through its miserable existence.

My chest is tight and my breath wheezes past my lips. I reach for my packet of smokes but my fingers twitch away. The ember of the last cigarette still smolders in the heavy glass ashtray to my left. Instead my fingers tap a complex rhythm on the dark wood of the table top. They have a life of their own tonight, the most animated parts of my body, which is frozen, hunched over the deck of cards resting on a square of midnight velvet.

The red wine has gone bitter on my tongue, my throat thick from smoking too much. Nevertheless, I gulp more Pinot Noir and grimace at the taste. I’m almost ready for that second bottle and the wine hasn’t touched sides. The world is still in too-sharp focus while the liquid churns in my belly.

The cards are cool to the touch and I shuffle them thoroughly while I concentrate on my breathing, on clearing my mind of all the dross that’s been nagging me this past week and, especially expunging the clutching nightmares that have shaken me from sleep almost every night.

Slap, slap, slap.

Three cards in a row lie face down on the fabric. I clear my throat, the sound resonant in the echoing domain of my lounge. I flip the one in the center over to reveal The Fool, resplendent in his green jacket with a tiger gnawing at his leg. It’s too early to tell exactly how he’s dignified. I hate the way he grins at me, like he beholds some secret of the universe; knowing I’m still going to discover it.

The next card, on the left, reveals the Nine of Swords. Cruelty. Blood drips from the blades. I’ve never liked this card. I try figure out how The Fool relates to Cruelty and growing unease stabs at me. Perhaps I’m rushing off into a direction I don’t want to take. I might face the cruelty of those around me. I’m taking a definite plunge. It could be inspired. It could be folly. But there are people sharpening their knives, slanderous tongues and wicked thoughts twisted against me.

Yet I don’t know. It’s always easier to read the cards for someone else, where I can cut loose and babble incoherently, and take cues from my client. Then I can play with words in such a way that makes it appear that the cards impart wisdom, advice for the future, when all I’m doing is giving them the meaning someone else wants to hear.

My fingers tremble when I turn over the last card. The Tower. Destruction of all illusions, of the entire world burned up by the wrath of Shiva’s eye, of the earth opening to belch forth flame to devour saint and sinner alike.

With a growl I sweep the cards together then shuffle them. They hiss against each other for what feels like forever but this time, once I clasp a neat deck, I fan the cards out across the velvet.

Eyes closed, I trail a finger across them, from left to right and back again until one seems like a better option than the others.

I flip the card over and my pulse stutters. The Tower’s dirty orange-and-black tones scream at me. A hiss escapes my lips as I repeat the process. Shuffle, cut the deck this time, shuffle some more. Make three piles of cards which I randomly stack together. Shuffle. Pick another card. Look at it.

The Tower. A strangled sound wrenches itself from me. This would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that The Tower’s showed up in five of the readings I’ve done for paying clients this past week.

The shatter of breaking glass from the kitchen has me lurch to my feet accompanied by a tortured rasp from my chair’s legs. The black-painted walls close in on me and I catch a glimpse of my pallid features in the gilt-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace. My mouth opens and shuts without sound for a heartbeat or two before my legs obey my need to investigate the nature of the disaster that awaits.

Wine pools among shards on the slate of my kitchen floor. Pyewacket washes her white mittens on the counter, her eyes cold emeralds as she briefly pauses in her ablutions so she can cast a glance in my direction.

What Sweet Music They Make release day!

2012-01-22T19:43:00.000-08:00

With the glut of vampires, angels, wolf shifters, demons and ghosts doing the rounds in paranormal and urban fantasy offerings at present, as an author I’ve often asked myself, “What can I do to make sure my writing is different and fresh?” Love triangles, sparkly vampires and soul mates... Why do I even consider looking into supernatural beings?

My overwhelming answer is “Because I want to.” Most of the stories I enjoy reading feature these creatures, and when I write, I put out the kinds of stories I would like to read, with my own spin on the usual themes.

And at the end of the day, it’s all about that: personal preference. Certain authors have unique styles/voices that appeal to readers. This doesn’t necessarily mean that one author is better than another. You’ll always have those who prefer JR Ward to Anne Rice, or Stephanie Meyer to Charlaine Harris.

What Sweet Music They Make was written as an indulgence. I enjoy the vampire mythos very much, but like to explore the lives of characters who might not necessarily be the power mongers or Alphas in supernatural terms. In many cases they are ordinary folks, sometimes with special talents, who are at the mercy of those who are in leadership positions. I ask myself this: How do they come into their own? What are the problems they face and how do they overcome them?

Central to What Sweet Music They Make is also my love of music. Both protagonists are musicians who have very different approaches to their skills. Severin was a young adult at the height of early 1980s pop. Think David Bowie, Peter Murphy and Siouxsie Sioux, and you won’t be far off when you consider Severin, my vampire. He takes to the stage armed only with his 12-string acoustic guitar and a powerful, mesmerising voice. Mortal Tersia is his counterpoint, a gifted violinist who plays fiddle in an Irish band. I’ve always marvelled at how even a small Irish group can create magic in a gathering.

Another element of the tale is the fact that the two main characters are pawns in the political schemes of older, powerful vampires. Both face difficult decisions, as well as sacrifices they have to make. Also, of interest to my readers, is the story’s setting, which is in Cape Town, South Africa. It might sound like an exotic destination to many, but in truth there’s a first-world city to explore.

Without further ado, I invite you to give What Sweet Music They Make a try. It’s available in a variety of non-DRM electronic formats directly from Lyrical Press. It offers readers a little bit of romance, a healthy dose of mystery and magic. Go check it out here, and read an excerpt while you're at it.

And if you're not following me on Twitter @nerinedorman yet, shame on you.

Link round-up, January 20

2012-01-19T23:09:00.000-08:00

This has officially been my last week of playing full-time author and editor. As of next week I return to my day job and I hope I do so without becoming completely homicidal. They're renovating our building, and it's going to be... Interesting.

News from my side is that I finally got off my arse and submitted Camdeboo Nights to a small press with a call for YA subs. The MS has been gathering dust on my HD for almost two years now. The only reason why I didn't sub it to a small press before that was because it's only a recent development that certain small electronic-first presses are taking on the genre. The opening chapter of Camdeboo Nights was initially a short story--one of my very first sales before I sold my first novel.

Other news is that I was invited to write a Titanic-themed horror short story for an anthology that's releasing soon. Initially I was like, "Erm, I don't really write short fiction," but then I slept on it, and my short story, And the Band Played On, came into being. Once I had my hook, the piece was immensely fun to write, and I hope to bring some good news soon.

A while ago, a by-invite-only publisher of quality m/m fiction invited me to submit to them. I was flattered, but also didn't have a story, and I'm a firm believer in only writing when a story grabs me by the short and curlies. Well, I got my idea just before I went on leave last year. This week I finished writing and revising The Jackal's Shadow, a dystopian novella of about 20 000 words. And I've submitted it, hoping for the best.

All in all, it's been a productive week, and I feel I can return to the salt mines with a clear conscience. Without further ado, here are some of my online appearances for the past seven days:

Last Friday I made my debut at April Steenburgh's blog. Many thanks to April for having me over. She does a sterling job promoting authors and it was an honour to have this opportunity.

Then author Suzanne Robb had me over at her blog for a little Q&A. Some delightful questions there. Thank you, Suzanne.

Then, for those of you who are curious about my upcoming Dark Continents Publishing release, Inkarna, I stopped over at Tracie McBride's blog to discuss some of the influences. This was quite a difficult post to write, and I've laid my soul bare there.

Lastly, Blood and Fire continues to hit the mark with readers. Carrie and me had this stunning review for the novel, that left me grinning from ear to ear. Well, yeah... I write gothic like Mervyn Peake. I ain't complainin'.

A few moments with Suzanne Robb

2012-01-15T20:58:00.000-08:00

Today I have the pleasure of having author Suzanne Robb on my blog. Welcome, Suzanne, and tell us a little about your current Dark Continents release. Where did it originate? Are there any underlying themes you explore that are personal to you? What was its writing process like for you?

The collection for Dark Continents is really varied. It is a collection of three stories, one is about a werewolf, another a dysfunctional family fending off the impending apocalypse, and the third about genetic mutation. The stories all came from pretty random places, the spots of my brain with cobwebs that like to change things up a bit.

There was no real personal theme for me other than humor in two of them, even though they are horror stories, they are also funny and my goal as a writer is to make people laugh at times.

The writing process for me is ever changing. I used to write like a mad woman, but there was no way to keep up that pace. Now I wait until an idea has fully formed and then I run at it full speed. I might go a few days with no writing and then write 5 stories in a week.

What are some of the writing resources you've found most useful in your time as author? What is the one truly good piece of advice you'd give to a newbie writer?

Editors, the best thing a writer can do is make friends with an editor and learn. That is also the same advice I would give to any writer, new ones especially. An editor's advice is invaluable, do not mouth off to them, or say you like your way better, or any other variation of that. An editor has a job that kicks in AFTER the writer has finished.

What are some of your interests, outside of the written word? Care to tell us why they blow your hair back?

I like LEGO's, puzzles, crosswords, some video games, and playing with my dog. I would not say they blow my hair back, as an adventurer I am not, but they relax me and at the same time let my mind wander. Playing fetch with the dog is when I come up with some of the best ideas.

Do you think the written word has the power to change people's perceptions of the world? What is the single-most influential work of fiction you've read, and why?

The written word has the power to do almost anything, changing perceptions of the world one of them. They can make people sad, angry, and a whole gamut of emotions if strung together in the right order.

The work I read that had the most impact on me was The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. The first story to take me somewhere else and teach me about nobility and sacrifice, and had an emotional impact on me, most likely why it stuck with me for so long.

How do you feel about electronic publishing? Do you read ebooks? Do you prefer printed books?

I have mixed feelings about electronic publishing. Seems like anyone can put a book out, which is their right. But what is happening is the lack of editing and proper formatting is giving e-books a bad name, and thus many readers think e-books are all cut from the same cloth so to speak.

I do read e-books, but it is more of a money-saving matter. I have so many friends who write that if I were to buy all their books I would need another job and about seven more bookcases.

I prefer printed in the end, something about them, not sure if it is the feel or smell.

Links:

Blog - http://suzannerobb.blogspot.com/

Twitter - @srobb76

Facebook author page - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Robb-Writer/153456314746693

Link round-up, January 13

2012-01-12T21:09:00.000-08:00

I've decided to try get my rear into gear and pick up my Friday linkages, just to consolidate some of the stuff that's been happening, because things have been... busy. I must admit I had a bit of a dubious start to 2012, and am still recovering from a stint in hospital. It would appear that all the meds I was on during the last quarter of 2011 had an adverse effect on my liver, and I was hospitalised with a rather nasty case of hepatitis (not the infectious kind, mind you, thank Dog). Needless to say, I've been booked off and have been spending most of my time at home and concentrating on getting better. The best part is that I've been indulge in my favourite occupations of writing, reading and editing.

So, without further ado, I'd like to share some of my good news from this past week:

Blood and Fire, the paranormal thriller co-written with Carrie Clevenger, had a stunning review at Eva's Sanctuary. Do stop by and leave a comment.

Then, for those of you who live in Cape Town, I'll be having a small celebration at Roxy's Cafe on Dunkley Square on January 23, to celebrate release day for What Sweet Music They Make, my latest Lyrical Press title. I promise I won't do anything embarrassing, like read an excerpt, but I'll probably just make a short speech to thank everyone who helped me during the process.

For those of you who're interested in the process that goes into creating cover art, I guest-posted over at Carrie's blog about the how-tos that go into putting together your front cover artwork. For me this is just common sense due to my background in the media industry, but I tried to sum up the most important bits. You'll also get to see some of the preliminary sketches that went into the artwork for Blood and Fire.

And, lastly, I had my debut appearance on the Dark Continents Publishing blog, telling about the process of collaborating with another author.

Sjoe! I've been a busy bee! Thank to everyone who's RTed and shared links. It's much appreciated.

Along the Splintered Path with AJ Brown

2012-01-08T23:04:00.000-08:00

Today I welcome my fellow Tales of Darkness and Dismay author, AJ Brown, to my world. To put you in the picture, Tales of Darkness and Dismay is a collection of titles recently brought out by Dark Continents Publishing, an offering of novellas and short story anthologies, available in electronic format from Amazon. Brown is the author of Along the Splintered Path, a collection of short stories.

Tell us a little about your fiction, and especially this latest release through Dark Continents.

I tend to lean a little to the darker side of fiction—not always horror, but rarely ever those feel good, coming of age stories. I find it a bit more challenging to write about people who are put into situations that you don’t see every day. Along with that, the world we live in today is becoming more and more brutal with acts of violence stepping into the realms of unfathomable acts. With that in mind, I try to do the same with my fiction, but without going into the gory details.

Along the Splintered Path falls in that category of the world as it is today. The three stories center on different subjects and one of them even gets a little supernatural, but they all keep their grip on reality. A young man deals with his childhood demons and tries to save his brother from those same memories that haunt him; another man splits with his wife and ends up in a valley in the mountains during a snowstorm. His only refuge? A small hut in the middle of nowhere made of trees and plant life from the forest. And a homeless man who comes into money after it falls from the sky and lands beside him. Their lives are ‘splintered’ so to speak, in one way or another.

Are there any underlying themes in the tale you think are particularly pertinent? How closely does life imitate art in your creative work?

Two of the three stories came as a result of events or things told to me. The Woodshed is based on a story my dad told me years ago about a man who beat his kids with a studded strap. I don’t know if he even remembers the conversation, but it stuck with me. Round These Bones is a result of being in the mountains with my wife and having a truck come zooming by us while we stood on the edge of the road looking out over the mountains.

When I put the stories together I didn’t realize there was a theme—the splintered souls, the torment and discovery of the characters—until my friend, Paula, pointed it out to me. Thus, the title, again thanks to Paula, who came up with it.

Tell us a little more about yourself and your writing methods. Do you outline or do you let the story wander as it will?

I’m a little bit of both. I probably do what most writers do: I get an idea, jot down a couple notes and then come back to it later. That’s usually the extent of my outlining. Once I have an idea, I think about it some—I don’t dwell on it. Doing that makes the story run and hide. Then I start writing.

Most of my stories have either the opening or the closing cemented when I start. I let the story fill in the rest as I go along. Here’s the real thing for me: if I limit a story, it sucks. That simple. If I plan a story out, it sucks. However, if I go into a story with the mindset of, ‘hey, story, are you ready?’ the story gives a nod and we write it together, with the story telling me what to write. It often goes off on its own and—most of the time—I let it. I find this to be the most satisfying and exhilarating way for me to write.

Have you had any truly frightening real-life experiences you wish to share?

Oh man… oh yeah. I’ve had a knife pulled on me. I’ve had a gun pointed at me by a guy with suicidal tendencies. There was an accident as a child that left me partially deaf and resulted in a life long run of headaches.

Possibly the most disturbing thing that has ever happened to me is when I was in my late teens I went next door to see a neighbor. I don’t recall why. When I knocked on the door, her youngest daughter who was maybe four at the time opened it. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders and I asked to see her mom. She looked up at me with those blue eyes and said, ‘My mommy’s dead.’

And she wasn’t kidding. Her mother had died that morning, choking to death on toast. It was just her and her mother that morning and I’ve often wondered if she watched her mother die. I’ve also wanted to use this in a story, but I never have. I will one day—the image is strong and the way it made me feel… I don’t get unnerved very easily, but this bothered me for a long time afterward.

Which three books should be on the great dark fantasy library shelf of all time? And why do you think so?

I’m not a real fantasy person, but I’ll say the Dark Tower series, for both horror and fantasy should be up there regardless of what genre it is viewed as. The storyline is magnificent, the characters realistic and how many series’ are out there that just have readers craving more and more?

Linkage:

Buy Along the Splintered Path here.

AJ Brown's blog.

AJ Brown on Facebook.

Blood and Fire unleashed

2012-01-02T04:48:00.000-08:00

With the festive madness and NYE behind us, and I hope not too many of you are nursing the after-effects of too much indulgence. Things have been a bit disjointed at the Treehaus. I've been a tad under the weather with problems related to liver toxicity thanks to the meds I've been on. This, unfortunately, necessitated a short stay in hospital, but I'm back home and booked off while I recover. I've also cut back a bit on my working so I can rest up but it's going to have to take a severe case of death to keep me away from the one thing that I love more than anything else: words.

But there is some good news amid the "fun" over my festive season. The Top Sekret Projekt Carrie and me were working on, Blood and Fire, has been released in its Kindle edition on Amazon. It's available in a lot of countries, so if you're itching with something decent to read that involves tall, dark and looming males, some of them with extra byte, then do take a look here.

The cover art is rather lovely, and I'll be blogging over at Dark Continents Publishing in a few days to give a more indepth look into our creative process for the story.

News of a contest from Lyrical Press

2011-12-26T21:50:00.000-08:00

The First Annual Lyrical Press How Lyrical is Your Romance? Contest opens on Monday, January 16th. This contest is open to both published and unpublished authors.

Entries must be complete works, ranging in word count between 15,000-100,000 words, any heat level, and fit into one of the following subgenre categories:

Contemporary romance

Historical romance

Paranormal or urban fantasy romance

Romantic steampunk

Romantic Suspense

Prizes:

1st Place: $200 advance and digital publishing contract (advance payable as $100 upon finalized contract and $100 upon publication).

2nd Place: $100 advance and digital publishing contract (advance payable as $50 upon finalized contract and $50 upon publication).

3rd Place: Top-scoring contestant in each genre category will receive an acquiring editor’s critique of synopsis and first 50 pages of manuscript.

Guidelines:

File type: .rtf, .doc, or .docx only

12pt black font (Times New Roman, Cambria, Courier or Georgia preferred)

Line spacing: 1.5

Margins: 1" all

Page-breaks between chapters

Please include a title page listing the following information:

Legal name

Pen name

Email address

Contact phone

Working title (include series name and details if applicable)

Word count

Genre/category

Entries will be accepted from January 16, 2012 through February 5, 2012, and must be emailed to contest@lyricalpress.com. Entries sent to an email other than the aforementioned will be ignored. Please include book title and contest in subject line thusly: Booktitle – How Lyrical Is Your Romance?. Attach full manuscript, and 2-5 page synopsis in .rtf, .doc, or .docx format (Booktitle_MS and Booktitle_SYN as file names--your book title replaces “Booktitle”). After February 5, the contest will close, but we’ll still be accepting submissions as always at our submissions@lyricalpress.com address.

No entry fee required. Judges reserve the right to Decline to Judge any entry if it does not fit our lines, level of writing is not acceptable, or submission guidelines are not followed.

Entries will be judged on the following criteria: Hook, Pacing/Plot, Characterization, Dialogue, Mechanics, and Author Voice.

Winners will be announced on March 12, 2012 via our blog http://lyricalpress.blogspot.com/ and direct emails to winners.

Sara stops by my spot

2011-12-11T06:06:00.000-08:00

Sara Jayne Townsend has a taste for solving mysteries, and it shows in her fiction. I've had the pleasure of working with her on two of her novels, which she published through Lyrical Press, and I invited her to stop by my blog today to chat a little bit about the art and craft of writing.

Plus she's a gal after my own heart. She's learning to play bass guitar!

Welcome, Sara!

Although your first novel has supernatural elements, you show a tendency toward murder-mysteries. Are there any novels/authors that are influential with regard to this?

Sara Paretsky is hugely inspiring to me. Her character, VI Warshawski, was the first female private eye in the field of crime fiction, and I still hold her up as a shining example of a strong-minded, independent woman, and she introduced me to the genre of crime with a female heroine. In fact, this is what inspired me to try to write a series of my own featuring a female amateur sleuth.

Ebooks aren't tangible and, so far as I can see, the ereader market is still growing outside of the US. How do you market yourself in the UK?

It’s hard with ebooks as you have no physical product to sell to people. On the other hand, bricks-and-mortar bookshops are in decline as virtual bookshops like Amazon rise ever higher, and even print authors are turning more to the internet to market their books. The good thing about the internet is that it’s global. Virtually all of my marketing is done online. As well as having a website and a regular blog, I utilise social media sites such as Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Goodreads, etc. I also do guest blogs and online interviews whenever I can, just to try and get my name out there as much as possible.

On top of a day-job, how do you balance your writing/reading schedule?

It can be tough. It seems like there aren’t enough hours in the day. I have a two-hour journey every day on public transport to and from work, and I do most of my reading on the train.

I used to be able to write late into the night and then get up for work five hours later and still function, but now I’m the wrong side of 40 I can’t do that any more. I find when I get home from work I’m too exhausted to write productively, so I use that time for writing blog posts, answering emails, and whatever other marketing activities need doing. And fitting in all the other non-writing aspects of my life such as going to the gym and learning the bass guitar.

For the last couple of years, I have been getting up early a couple of times a week and going into London on the early train, sitting in Starbucks for an hour to write before heading into work. And I try to get some writing time in on weekends if I can. This is working for me, but if someone had told me fifteen years ago I would be voluntarily getting out of bed at 5,30am to write, I wouldn’t have believed them.

First and foremost, all authors are readers. What are the next three books on your "to be read" list and why?

Body Work by Sara Paretsky. As I mentioned earlier, I am a huge fan of Sara Paretsky. I had the privilege of meeting her when she was in the UK earlier this year as part of a tour to promote her latest book and I got a personalized signed copy of it.

Ghost Story by Jim Butcher. I am a big fan of Jim Butcher’s series about contemporary Chicago wizard Harry Dresden. I read Changes recently. Without giving away any spoilers, the book finishes on something of a climax. I had to go buy the next book to find out what happens next.

Babylon Steel by Gaie Sebold. This is a debut novel by a friend of mine, soon to be released by Solaris. Gaie is an amazing writer and I am so pleased that she’s now got a novel in the public domain, so everyone can enjoy it. Although it’s fantasy, which isn’t really my genre, the title character of Babylon Steel is just my sort of woman – independent, and strong-minded. She’s an ex-mercenary who runs a brothel. Gaie has a witty and easy-to-read style of writing and I am looking forward to reading her debut novel.

How has your approach to writing changed since publication of your novels? What have you learnt about yourself?

I’ve learned that I’m quite lazy and have had to become far more disciplined about my approach to writing. We all have the same number of hours in the day, it’s how we use them. As I mentioned earlier, getting up early to write is one change I’ve made to ensure that I do get some writing in every week. I also spend a lot more time on internet promotion. This can often seem like a thankless task with no immediate reward, but I think it’s important. Building one’s name as a writer is a very slow and gradual process.

I’ve also learned about some of my own bad habits in writing – such as feeling the need to describe every single detail. In early drafts of Death Scene, when my amateur sleuth got out of the car, she didn’t just get out of the car. She put the brake on, turned off the engine, undid the seat belt, opened the door, got out, collected her bag, shut the door, locked the car, walked away. I think this comes from my own rather anal habit of attention to detail, but the reader will imply she’s done all these things just by her getting out of the car.

What, in your opinion, are the three greatest mistakes authors make when promoting their writing?

One is to assume they haven’t got time for promotion. Many writers have said to me they don’t blog because blogging detracts from writing time, and it has no affect on sales. I know it’s said that the most effective way of selling your book is to write the next one, and I have no doubt that’s true, but the industry is changing and it’s becoming ever important to get yourself Out There. Readers find an author they like, chances are they are going to Google that author. The more places on the internet you can be found, the better. Blogging is a very good platform for getting yourself Out There. You don’t even have to blog about writing – readers want to know about the writer as a person. Most people think they lead quite boring lives, but other people are interested in aspects of your life unfamiliar to them. I find commuting to London every day very boring, but people who don’t live in London seem to find the tales I tell on my blog about my daily commute interesting. If only one person decides to buy your book because they came upon your blog and decided you were an interesting person, then it’s been worth doing.

However, you have to be careful of over-exposure, which I would list as Mistake Number 2. If you’re on Twitter, you shouldn’t be using it solely to tell people to buy your books six times a day. There’s a fine line between being proactive and being intrusive. Tweet regularly, but Tweet about other things as well as your book.

The third mistake is, I think, writers who take criticism too personally and decide they are going to use the internet as a public forum to defend their book. I’ve seen – rather too often, it seems – a writer who’s had universal praise have a rather public meltdown when someone posts a less-than-favourable review about the latest book. Some writers have felt the need to defend their book, which has often involved attacking the reviewer. Growing a thick skin isn’t easy, and it does rather cut to the bone when someone really doesn’t like your book, and says so. But the author biting back on this doesn’t look professional, and ultimately will not help sales. Not everyone’s going to like your book. That’s just something you have to live with.

* * * *

Sara Jayne Townsend is a UK-based writer of horror and crime fiction.

She has two novels, Death Scene and Suffer the Children available as ebooks from Lyrical Press, and a collection of short stories scheduled for release in 2012 from Stumar Press.

You can learn more about Sara and her writing from her website and her blog.

It's all about image

2011-12-02T09:43:00.000-08:00

I'm very fortunate to be part of a burgeoning creative scene here in Cape Town, and was honoured to work with the very talented Leon Visser on the cover art for my upcoming Lyrical Press release, What Sweet Music They Make. We had a fun-filled day shooting with our two lovely models, Lohan and Anika then chose the two images we'd work with. It's good to have options. And it was a difficult decision at the end of the day, because both images had their charms.

Black Friday at Lyrical Press

2011-11-23T08:56:00.000-08:00

Shop at Lyrical Press on Black Friday and save 50% on our entire catalog of digital books (and you don't even have to get up early and stand in line all day!)

Have a Kindle? Have a Nook? No problem! Lyrical books are compatible for most reading devices.

So this is an unashamed plug from me telling you to GO BUY MY BOOKS.

Yes, you can read it on your iPad too, you geek.

Why? 'cos I'm not ashamed to say that I rock and will give those hankering after vintage Poppy Z Brite, Storm Constantine and Neil Gaiman some of the good, dark stuff.

Khepera Rising

The wickedest man in Africa has problems, and they can't all be solved by magic.

Occult bookshop owner and black arts magician James Edward Guillaume reckons he has it all, and enjoys living up his reputation as South Africa's "wickedest man", a nice house, a business that's breaking even and the pick of all the pretty Goth girls and boys in Cape Town.

Little does he know, a group of violent Christo-militants are panting at his heels, ready to destroy his carefully constructed fantasy world. To add mischief to his misery, he's unwittingly unleashed a terrifying demonic entity, and he alone holds the key to The Burning One's secret. To bring order out of the chaos, all James has to do is conquer his personal demons, teach a rather nasty, self-righteous sod a lesson in humility and find out whether he can win back the trust of an old flame. Only, as James discovers, getting back on top is hell on earth.

Khepera Redeemed

Just when the wickedest man in Africa thought the nightmare was over...

Still recovering from the trauma of his encounter with the Christo-militants who tried to kill him, Jamie only wants to get his life back on track. This is easier said than done when he’s essentially blackmailed into helping solve a case involving alleged cult activity.

To complicate matters further, the media gets involved and Jamie has to tread carefully. However, soon the hunter becomes the hunted and Jamie faces some difficult choices. Will his uneasy symbiosis with The Burning One save him or will he be tempted to grasp for more power than he can possible hold?

The Namaqualand Book of the Dead

How far will you travel to lay your dead to rest?

Struggling to come to terms with her boyfriend Aidan’s death, Chloë is ill prepared to deal with the violent murder of his best friend. When tantalizing evidence suggests there is more to Aidan’s apparent death than meets the eye, Chloë will not let her lack of material resources keep her from uncovering the truth, even if the truth proves far more dangerous and with a far more sinister nature than she bargained for.

Hell's Music (writing as Therese von Willegen)

Sometimes trouble comes in a very appealing package.

It's never nice when your boyfriend leaves you for someone else. It's even more of a slap in the face when he leaves you for a man. Emily Clark has put her wild years and the boyfriend she considered "safe" behind her, ensconcing herself in a Luddite lah-lah land centered on her second-hand bookstore.

But when her self-absorbed sister runs away from home to end up on her doorstep, Emily discovers the past has a funny way of creeping back into her life. And when an alternative musician uses her shop as a hideaway from a nosy reporter, Emily finds herself falling for the enigmatic man. By the time she realizes his celebrity status, it's too late--she's head over heels for Simon van Helsdingen, a notorious shock-rocker. Not only must she deal with her sister's delinquent ways and their dysfunctional family, but Emily must navigate the stormy seas of

being with a man whose reputation for trouble puts Ozzy Osbourne in the

shadows.

On Agents--a discussion with Louise Fury

2011-11-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I had the pleasure of having coffee with literary agent Louise Fury, whose refreshing attitude toward the publishing industry immediately had me perking up. Thank you, Louise, for stopping by my blog today and answering some of the questions I wish I'd had answered way back when I was first starting out.

When you receive submissions, what sort of stories are you tired of seeing?

The same old vampire tales and things that have been done to death. I am looking for “fresh” takes on old tales, beautiful imagery and well-crafted dialogue.

What are some things queriers do that elicit a "hell no" reaction from you?

I am going to be very honest and tell you that it is rare that I read past any first paragraphs that start with someone waking up or dreaming. I read tons of submissions a day and at least eight or nine of them start with someone waking up. It has been and continues to be done to death! The beginning of your story doesn’t always start at the beginning of the day. It starts at THE BEGINNING of the story! The moment/s leading up to the event/person/etc. that everything changed. If you can’t find a unique and creative way to start, I question your instincts and creativity.

I don’t appreciate photographs of yourself, I delete unsolicited attachments and I don’t need to know about your personal life or family. I only care about your work, your experience and the story you are trying to get me to read.

What can authors do to make your life easier?

Follow submission guidelines as listed on our website: www.lperkinsagency.com

What do you, as an agent, offer your clients? What can they expect from you?

I bring to the table years of experience in the marketing and publishing industry, I brainstorm new ideas, listen to old ones, help with edits and structure. I make sure their work is ready for submission, prepare and send it to my editorial contacts and advocate for my author. There are so many things an agent does and it is not only about getting and negotiating a publishing contract. I cannot list all the things I do here, but I am part of a team – foreign/translation agents, film agents, marketing professionals, contract managers etc. I do not work alone, my colleagues and I work together and my authors benefit from the entire team. I also happen to be part of an agency that has been around for more than 20 years and is always adapting to meet industry changes and demands. We are very careful to evolve and we embrace change. Our clients know that we always try to get through the wall first. We were ahead of the pack when it came to the digital revolution and we continue to strive to stay ahead. Out clients come first and sometimes that means taking some heat for being the first to adapt to change, but we don’t mind, because this is an ever-changing industry and we will always make sure to move forward.

Bad agents, they're out there. What are the warning signs authors should look out for when encountering these entities?

Don’t pay anything up front for representation.

Know the industry. Don’t listen to gossip. Do your research and you won’t have to worry. The warning signs are always different, but if you have done your research, it should not be a problem. Not all agents are created equal and not all agent/author relationships work out. But it is not always the agent or author’s fault. Sometimes personalities clash. Be careful of rumors because just as you could easily sign with someone who might be considered “bad,” you could also pass up someone good based on false facts.

Follow Louise on Twitter @louisefury or at her blog: www.louisefury.blogspot.com

The Pumpkin Man winner!

2011-11-17T03:44:00.000-08:00

On October 25, horror author John Everson stopped at This Is My World for an interview while on his blog tour for his new novel THE PUMPKIN MAN. As part of the interview, he offered readers a chance to win both a grand prize of all of his novels or an e-book edition of THE PUMPKIN MAN, solely for people who entered the contest from this site. On Halloween, John had his son draw names from "the Great Pumpkin" and chose Carrie Clevenger to win the e-book from This Is My World. The full list of winners, including the grand prize, is listed over at The Pumpkin Man website. Congratulations Carrie!

For everyone who didn't win in the drawing, we hope you'll stop by the website dedicated to THE PUMPKIN MAN, read some sample chapters and free short stories, play the Ouija Board and maybe pick up a copy of the book from Amazon or the other links in The Pumpkin Man Store. Visit www.thepumpkinman-horror.com and check it out!

Two perspectives on publishing

2011-11-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

There isn’t a right way or a wrong way to get published. Both traditional and small press publishing environments offer different benefits/drawbacks to authors. I’ve got my good friend and writing buddy, Cat Hellisen (author of When the Sea is Rising Red), blogging with me today about the differences in the two methods. We’ve approached our publishing careers from two very vastly different paths and I thought it would be nice to compare our journeys.

Nerine—un-agented, indie-published author
Why would you want an agent?

Although I’ve several small press and self-published titles behind my name, I still try for a literary agent because I’d be able to get an “in” with one of the bigger publishing houses. A reputable literary agent would have a vast network available to me, and would be able to negotiate a better deal for me. Essentially, I’d entrust someone who’s got a grasp on the nitty-gritties of contracts with selling my writing to the right publisher, leaving me free to concentrate on my creativity. While I’m not bemoaning the fact that I don’t have an agent, I’m not losing sleep over it either while I home my titles with reputable small presses. Remember, no agent is better than a bad agent.

How would you choose an agent?

I always run a background check on any literary agent I submit to. To this end, the Absolute Write forums are worth their weight in gold (http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums) and I always stop by Preditors and Editors (http://www.pred-ed.com). This is, naturally, a time-consuming task but I’m adamant I only want to deal with people who are legit. Another thing I make sure of is that the agent I’m approaching does, in fact, represent the kind of fiction I write. It’s no use submitting a dark fantasy story involving a half-demon vampire to an agent who represents mostly Christian inspirational fiction. Let’s repeat that mantra: “No agent is better than a bad agent”.

What are some of the benefits of small press publishing?

Many of the small presses allow a lot of freedom for authors to experiment with their writing and the direction their stories take. Some (not all) also offer faster turnaround from date of acceptance to release day than what one would get in a traditional environment. In my experience, dealing with a reputable small press marries the best aspects of self-publishing with traditional publishing, giving me, as an author, access to cover artists and editing expertise, with an established administration system to deal with vendors and royalties. I don’t want to still play publisher, so all the belly-aching is removed from the process. Point is, I could do this all myself, but I don’t want to.

What's the downside of small press publishing?

As a small press/indie author it’s often very difficult to make my voice heard above the absolute flood of other authors in the same boat as me. Also, I am reliant on royalties, so I often see very little return for my investment. I don’t write specifically in the “best seller” niches of erotica, and genres such as dark fantasy and/or horror still have small readerships in an electronic market. Not all my books are available in print. Some are only available in ebook format. There’s no nice advance and I won’t be quitting my day job any time soon. The only time that I have to write is during my lunch hour or over weekends. Also, I’d love to have the kind of editorial feedback a good agent would give an author, and also have the opportunity of working with more hardcore editors, which will only help improve my skills in the long run.

Your advice to authors?

Remember why you’re writing in the first place. If it’s because you want to make lots of money and be the next Rowling or Meyer, stop right there and step away from the computer. Like any other author, I’d love to get that elusive, six-figure book deal, but I’m realistic about it. I write stories because I enjoy writing stories. I’m grateful that a number of small presses have faith in my abilities by extending contracts to publish my writing. I’m even more grateful to the people who buy my books then tell me how much they enjoyed my stories. If, at some point, I reach that mythical number of a thousand true fans, that’s also peachy keen. Be prepared to do a lot of self-promotion, and be active on Twitter, Facebook and with your blogging.

Primarily I remind myself I’m a storyteller. That’s why I do it. I read widely and outside my genre. I listen to the critique offered by my writing partners. I aim to improve each novel I write. Every time I submit, I aim high. I try not to take rejection personally and I keep revising and resubmitting as I go along. There are very few overnight success stories in publishing. It’s ten percent raw talent and ninety percent hard work.

* * * *

I'm Cat Hellisen. When the Sea is Rising Red is my first published novel, and it took me many years of dreadful first drafts to get here.
Why would you want an agent?

While there are still a few big spec fic publishers who accept unagented manuscripts (Tor springs to mind), I didn't want to limit my chances of being read. An agent has more connections within the industry, and a better knowledge of which editor is more likely to be interested in what. They also deal with contracts, with foreign rights, movie rights, and a host of other things that I do not want to deal with. A good agent is also your first fan. They're the person in your corner.

An agent is also likely to score you a better advance and friendlier contract than you'd be able to on your own.

How would you choose an agent?

There are many people out there doing an excellent job of watching out for scam agents and agencies (http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/agents/ is a good place to start.) But ultimately, you're going into a business partnership with someone, so you need to do your research. If you get a bad feeling about certain business practices, there's a damn good reason for that. Agents charge their clients (generally) 15%. That's AFTER they've sold your work – the 15% comes out of the cheque your publisher cuts you. They don't ask for money up-front, reading fees, editing fees, and other strange things. And a good agent is worth every bit of that 15%.

Know what you want from your agent, and ask to speak to some of their clients before you make a decision. If they don't want you to do this...be wary. Do you want an agent who gives editorial feedback? Mine does, and it really helps me, but other writers want less input. Do you want an agent who is communicative and keeps you in the loop about submissions and progress? Not everyone wants that level of communication, but others need it or they go insane (Hi. *waves*)

My agent, Suzie Townsend, is wonderful – she takes no nonsense, but she's also sympathetic to the fact that all writers are insane. Also she knows how to score me amazing blurbs. Fantastic person, and I am so glad I signed with her.

Sometimes things don't work out. Whatever you do, don't let that make you think you're a failure. Don't feel that if you part ways with an agent that your writing career is now over. I know very few writers who are still with their original agent.

What are some of the benefits of traditional publishing?

Massive amounts of editing. (In my case, anyway). I'd already done a number of revisions before my book sold, but my wonderful editor, Beth at FSG, took me through another three pretty substantive edits, and that was before we dealt with nit-picky things in several rounds of copy edits. One of the best things about my editor is that she doesn't read the way I do, so she brings a different perspective to my books - she's the one asking me the hard questions and not letting me coast. And like your agent, your editor is your fan – he or she bought your book because they loved it. That's a pretty awesome thing in itself.

Big publishers also have marketing departments. I'm not quite sure what people normally expect from their publicists, but I wasn't expecting anything at all because I'd heard horror stories about how unless you were a big name no-one actually cared. So I was happy to find out I have perfectly lovely people helping to promote my book, sending out arcs and setting up awesome opportunities for me. So that part rocks.

What's the downside of traditional publishing?

I am not Patient Bunny.

So I can guess you see where this is going. Those edits I talked about earlier? Yeah. They don't happen overnight. When the Sea is Rising Red sold in May 2010. It comes out in February 2012.
This is something that you just have to learn to deal with. No matter how frustrating it is.

Your advice to authors?

Read everything you can. Write and keep writing. Write with the intention of improving. Write with the intention of having fun.

If you're ready to start looking for an agent or publisher, make sure you've done your homework and that your novel is the best it can possibly be.

Don't give up. I wrote (I think) eight complete novels before I sold my first one. Like any art, writing is not something that happens overnight. When you start, your work will most likely fall short of that goal in your head. It might have potential but it will still be the work of a beginner. Good writing comes with practice.

First look at BLOOD AND FIRE

2011-11-08T09:14:00.000-08:00

Another special by Carrie Clevenger and Nerine Dorman

See Xan's teaser here.

I gathered a few tangles of daimonic essence, just enough to be coiled, in case I had to strike, and pushed open the door. The barrier swung inward, grating dryly on invisible hinges. Within was a chamber, its unplastered walls revealing redbrick and mortar. The only source of light was yet one of those horrid green lights that illuminated a lidless sarcophagus, which appeared to be carved out of limestone.

Within lay a Native American man with noble features, his body bound painfully with chains in a mockery of a mummy’s bandages. Several padlocks held these bonds in place. He wasn’t a mortal. His lips were pulled back in a silent rictus snarl to reveal vicious elongated canines—which would not look out of place on a wolf.

Other collaborations by Carrie Clevenger and Nerine Dorman, Just My Blood Type

Nerine's Facebook page

Crooked Fang on Facebook

*teaser material subject to change

Review: Home by Carson Buckingham

2011-11-04T02:43:00.000-07:00

For lovers of shadow realms hidden behind a thin veneer of normality, Home by Carson Buckingham will offer a tantalising glimpse into a world of mysteries. Kate Kavanagh has tried her entire life to fit in--and this need of acceptance from those around her has resulted in her marrying an unsuitable sociopath of a husband.

At its heart Home is a tale about Kate's inescapable acceptance of her fate and how it changes her. Her passive acceptance of events around her is maddening at times. The first and only action she takes to free herself is to flee from her husband, which only leads her straight into her somewhat terrifying inheritance.

Structurally this novel is a bit rough around the edges. Most of the back-story at the start could have conveniently been lopped off, with important information woven into the narrative further along the line. The story only really starts from the moment Kate steps onto that plane that returns her to her home. At times I felt authorial voice intruded, taking me from a deep third-person point of view to more omniscient, but Buckingham is a good storyteller with a pleasing turn of words. I carried on reading and found that I readily immersed myself in the setting, which was well detailed. At times a few cliches slipped in, which an editor could have snipped, as well as perhaps bumping up on the emotional, intellectual and physical layering.

Overall, Home is a pleasing story. I wouldn't truly categorize it as horror, more as a dark fairy tale which makes for an intriguing, quirky read. Buckingham gets full marks for her world building, even though the final execution could have been tighter.

Buy Home here.

* * * *

Yes, I'm available to review your novel. I will give an honest, balanced review. Self-published and indie authors are welcome. Mail me at nerinedorman (at) gmail (dot) com and put "REVIEW" in the subject line.

Call for submissions: Erotic Dystopia

2011-11-02T10:46:00.000-07:00

A word from my publisher, Lyrical Press.

Lyrical Press is actively acquiring erotica dystopian works.

Dystopia - A repressive and controlled society, usually under the pretense of utopia. Dystopian societies feature all different kinds of social control systems that repress some while lifting others to a form of nobility. There is usually a distinct system with blatant and vast privileges and oppressions separating higher classes from lower classes. Dystopian societies are often police states, where an individual (dictator) has unlimited power over citizens.

Sensuality level: Red hot

Length: 30,000 – 95,000 words (60,000+ words are eligible for print)

Key Characteristics: Erotica romance set in a dystopian society. Strong sexual relationship between main characters. Elements of bondage and S&M that explore the dominant/submissive roles of a BDSM relationship welcome. Multiple partners acceptable.

Deadline: None

Submission Guidelines: http://www.lyricalpress.com/submissions

Submissions eMail: submissions@lyricalpress.com

Go ahead and try to shock us. We dare you.

Beware, The Pumpkin Man

2011-10-25T11:13:00.000-07:00

Today I welcome master of the macabre, John Everson, who's been a guest here before. He's stopping by today to share a little about his latest release, The Pumpkin Man, which I can't wait to sink my fangs into. Some of you may have read his short story, Pumpkin Head, which was one of those which didn't quite leave me.

Editor's note: Go to the new site for The Pumpkin Man: http://www.thepumpkinman-horror.com and ask the online Ouija Board your darkest questions! And then enter the contest to win free autographed John Everson books or e-books, as well as autographed CDs from the band New Years Day. Make sure you note that you are entering the contest from Nerine Dorman's blog when you enter the contest--someone from the blog will win an e-book edition of The Pumpkin Man, and be added to the Grand Prize contest!

You've got this thing for pumpkins. There was that infamous short story a few years ago. What prompted The Pumpkin Man and is there any connection to the Legend of Sleepy Hollow?

I do love my jack-o-lanterns! Love to carve them, and love to see them in October--they just MAKE the mood of Halloween for me. The genesis of this novel does go back in a sense to that "infamous" story you refer to (Pumpkin Head)--due to its erotic horror nature, the story couldn't really be read in mixed company, though it's my most popular piece of short fiction and is perfect for Halloween. A few years ago I was doing a lot of Halloween-oriented library appearances where I would read a short story and talk about horror to both kids and adults, so I decided to write a more "family friendly" horror story, again using that Halloween standard--the pumpkin. The original story The Pumpkin Man was about kids who go visit this pumpkin patch where the proprietor is known for his amazing jack-o-lantern carvings. But then the darker side of it all comes out when one of the boys witnesses him carve his friend's face into a pumpkin... and the friend is never seen again after that night.

When it came time to write my fifth novel, I thought about the "horror" of that short story--the idea of a guy who could transfer people's essence to a gourd with his knife--and decided there was a much bigger tale to tell there. The novel uses that short story (which is going to be reprinted next year in an anthology called All American Horror of the 21st Century) as deep background. The novel is set 20+ years in the future of the short story. It seems that back in the 1980s, The Pumpkin Man of the short story was captured and hung by a lynch mob after being accused of murdering a half dozen children. Today, Jennica and her friend Kirstin, two young school teachers, move into a California coastal cottage that Jenn inherits after the murder of her father. But the townspeople shun her for her relationship to the previous owner (Jenn's aunt, who had the reputation of being a witch), and it seems The Pumpkin Man has returned for a new cycle of killings... if Jennica doesn't use the arcane books and magical detritus left behind by her aunt to discover the true history of The Pumpkin Man quickly, the lives of everyone she knows may be forfeit!

What are some of the underlying themes running through The Pumpkin Man?

This is a classic horror novel about the unstoppable "thing in the night". You don't know quite what it is, or why it is... but it's coming for you. There are themes of loss (Jenn has just lost her dad and a few months earlier, her aunt), loneliness and isolation, but it's also a story of coming to terms with who you are, and what you want in your life--positive affirmation. I played with the whole "urban legend" element that you see in movies like Candyman, as well as the idea of the Ouija board as a channel to contact the other side. But when you open communication with the other side... you're never quite sure who you're talking to, are you?

What in your mind makes for good horror in fiction?

Good horror fiction, like any fiction, should make you feel for the characters so that you're eager to turn the page to find out what happens to them next... but at the same time, you're afraid for what might happen to them next! It should play to fears that most people can identify with, so that the reader is really drawn into the fear that the characters are experiencing.

Are there any anecdotes you'd care to share that occurred while writing The Pumpkin Man? Did you visit particular locations or conduct any research that was out of the ordinary for you?

The Pumpkin Man really continues my love of the northern California coastline. I'm from the middle of the United States, near Chicago... so we don't have mountains or ocean here. But one of my favorite destinations in the world over the years has been San Francisco. I've been lucky enough to have multiple business trips there, and also have taken a couple vacations there. I love the mixed culture of the city, and the amazing geography--you can go an hour in any direction and experience just about any season!

My previous novel Siren is set in a remote town a couple hours' drive north along the coastline from San Francisco, and as I finished the editing of that book, I was really fortunate to have a trip that took me to San Francisco again. I tagged on an extra day to the trip and drove up the coastline to essentially do "location" scouting. I made sure my descriptions in Siren were accurate (in a general sense--the town I set Siren in doesn't exist). At the same time, I scouted the place where I wanted to set The Pumpkin Man. I found a town called Jenner which was perfect. It's a tiny seaside spot with the echo of sea lions barking in the distance from the estuary north of town. I changed the location a little bit to suit the novel and renamed the town, but Jenner is the model for River's End. I even wrote a couple chapters of the book while I was on that trip.

How do you approach your writing process? Do you work with an overview or does the story flow organically? Do you have any writing tips you'd care to share?

I used to sit down with just a loose idea of the beginning of the story and where it might ultimately end up... and then I would just come up with everything on the fly. As my career has progressed, I've had to get a little more structured, since I'm selling my novels to my publisher ahead of writing them--which means I need to present them with a much clearer idea of what I intend to write than I used to have when I wrote my first three books! The stories still invent pieces of themselves that I never imagined at the start, and that keeps it fun for me--while I'm writing the story, I'm also entertaining myself--telling me the kind of story that I want to read each day that I sit down to write. Because of that, I am a completely linear writer--I write the story from beginning to end, I don't jump around, as I know some writers do.

In terms of writing tips? The main one is to just force yourself to maintain a regular writing schedule. Writing fiction is just like any discipline--the more you practice it, the better you become (hopefully!). It's not something where you wait for the magic to strike, and then you sit and miraculously transfer that to the computer. The magic only hits because you've put your butt in a chair and worked every day or every couple days for a long period of time. And sometimes, the parts of the book that you thought were the slowest and least inspired while writing turn out to be really good, in retrospect. So you can't doubt and second guess yourself while writing -- you just have to force the story out onto the page.

Worry about editing the blob later after you have it down start to finish.

Or, in my case, carving the blob into a really refined, haunted face!

Happy Halloween!

Visit The Pumpkin Man at www.thepumpkinman-horror.com. And stop by John's main site too, at www.johneverson.com

Wolves of Singapore, a meeting with J Damask

2011-10-24T10:37:00.000-07:00

J Damask and I have walked a long path already. She was one of those rare finds I saw glistening in the slush pile and when I read the opening lines of her debut novel, Wolf at the Door, I just knew this was an author whose voice was special, who was able to bring the magic of dreams to life in her prose. Well, we've just completed work on her second in her Jan Xu Adventures, Obsidian Moon, Obsidian Eye, and the story is every bit as magical as book one.

Today I welcome J Damask to my world, to share a little more of hers.

Tell us a little more about the Myriad of Singapore. How did this setting come about? And why wolves?

The Myriad of Singapore are basically non-human types, the "other kind". They comprise mostly of the types we tend to see in fantasy or urban fantasy: elves, fae, dragons, phoenixes and were-animals. Likewise, Singapore being right smack in the middle of Southeast Asia, the Myriad also includes the existing non-human types from this region. The term is an umbrella term for this non-homogenous group (or groups) of beings.

Singapore is a cosmopolitan island-state, straddling both East and West. Her culture is a mishmash of cultures, both merged and distinct. The setting itself – both East and West, a mélange of cultures – is perfect for urban fantasy.

Post-colonial themes are strong themes in your writing. Can you tell us more about how your culture influences your fiction?

My grandparents came directly from China (Shanghai, Fujian and Guanzhou) and settled in Singapore who was then under British colonial rule. So my education is pretty much Anglo-Saxon and for a while, I struggled with the dichotomy of trying to speak Queen’s English (or Standard English) and coping with Chinese dialects at home. As a family, we keep to our traditions and celebrate the major festivals like Chinese New Year, Duan Wu, Midautumn Festival and Winter Solstice. This observance of festivals comes through strongly in my stories, because I feel that we need to hold onto our culture as it forms our intrinsic identity.

I love the festivals, not only because of its food(!), but by the fact that it is also family.

How do you go about balancing your day job as a teacher with your writing?

Like juggling spinning plates. No, really, I am serious. My weekdays are spent planning, marking and teaching – my creative energies – most of them! – go into all these aspects. So when it comes to writing, I have to plan… wisely. I tend to write at nights (but then, I have my kids to wrangle). I also find time to write. During examination periods and marking phases, my writing tends to dip – which is fine with me. ;)

Is the ebook revolution happening where you live? How do you go about marketing yourself to your potential readers?

My personal observation: not really. People are still fixated on print books. There is a small group of people who are also publishing ebooks, but on the whole, the big publishers here in Singapore are still print book focused.

I make use of social media (Twitter and blogs). I also use Smashwords which is – so far – a good platform for ebook publishing.

I have had to choose: obscurity or nothing.

How do you go about crafting your stories? Do you write an overview or do you just get stuck into chapter one and go from there?

Hmm. I sometimes plan. That’s right – sometimes. I write an outline, follow it and sometimes discard it, because the characters end up taking charge. I also write snippets as ideas come off and on in my head and merge them later into the story or expand them into individual stories.

J. Damask is on Twitter as @jolantru and she maintains her writerly blog at A Wolf's Tale: http://awolfstale.wordpress.com

Her urban fantasy novels at Lyrical Press

The Jan Xu Adventures:

Wolf At The Door

Obsidian Moon, Obsidian Eye (due to be released on the November 7)

Inkarna uncovered!

2011-10-19T11:41:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have heard rumblings about my dark fantasy novel, Inkarna, which I sold to Dark Continents Publishing earlier this year. Well, I'm pleased as punch to reveal the cover art. Artwork is by none other than Dr-Benway himself, who's known for his fetish, glam and bizarre photography. Not only that, but he's one of the scriptwriters and directors for BlackMilk Productions, an award-winning independent film production company. He also happens to be my Dear Husband, who has to put up with me dwelling in my imaginary worlds.

A little about the novel: Inkarna is the tale involving conflict between members of an ancient Egyptian reincarnation cult. It plays off in Cape Town, South Africa. There's plenty of action and misadventures which follows my protagonist, Ash, who returns to the material realm in the wrong body--then has to deal with the consequences of unwittingly getting lumped with a terrible secret.

The novel's currently undergoing its first editing rounds and I'm very excited (and just ever so slightly nervous) to find out what my editor is going to do to it with her red pen and scalpel blades.

If you want to keep up to speed with my assorted authorly antics, do follow me on Twitter @nerinedorman or like my author page on Facebook.

A few words with TuesdaySerial

2011-10-12T11:19:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I posted a serial story on this blog entitled On an Empty Shore. It was for me a lovely experiment in flash fiction featuring a mash-up of some of my favourite themes, namely vampires in a post-zombiepocalyptic society. I picked up a good few new readers and thoroughly enjoyed the process of putting this story out. Using Twitter and the TuesdaySerial hashtag, I put the story out there, to great success.

Today I'm pleased to have Tony and PJ of TuesdaySerial over on my blog, to tell us a little more about this process.

When and how did TuesdaySerial come about?

Last year (on May 1, 2010, to be precise) a few of the writers on Twitter were discussing how most existing hashtags for promoting and/or finding fiction were geared toward standalone stories, not toward serials. After kicking around a few ideas, we proposed a new hashtag, #TuesdaySerial, to help authors and readers of online serials and serialized novels find each other. From the idea on Twitter came the website with the weekly collector and then the regular contributions of writers, editors and publishers who have an interest in serials on the web.

How does TuesdaySerial benefit authors?

For writers of serials, connecting with readers poses a special challenge. You need to entice that demographic slice of readers who are looking for longer form fiction, but also readers who might be new to it and are willing to give it a shot. At the same time, within that group are readers whose primary interests will lie with one or more specific genres. When readers have to sift through a lot of things they don't care about to find those things that they like, it can turn them off from the whole experience. TuesdaySerial benefits authors and readers by having a structured, easy-to-use means to get serial fiction out there for people to see. If you want toys, you know you'll find them at Toys-R-Us. If you want serial fiction, you know you'll find it at TuesdaySerial.com.

We also bring guest posts to our readers and contributors that generally have to do with serial fiction or other topics of interest. We try to do everything we can do support the community and help our contributors grow and find readers.

In a nutshell, explain how TuesdaySerial works.

Each Tuesday, from midnight to midnight Eastern Time, the TuesdaySerial collector is open for new entries. The author of a serial will provide the title of the serial, the genre of the serial, what episode is being posted that week, a link directly to that episode, special notes if it is a debut episode of a new serial or the finale of an ongoing serial, and the author's name. Readers who just can't wait can then come to the Collector page that day, or, if they are a bit more patient, come to the Weekly Report, which will list all the week's episodes. This information lets readers track the work of favorite authors, find serials in favorite genres, be aware of new works and get a handle on completed serials that they could read start to finish. Completed serials are listed on our Graduates page.

What sort of stories have proven to be the most popular?

That's the great thing about TuesdaySerial. Stories which might have only a thin following can be brought up to the fore and find a readership that will fall in love with them. The serials range in genre and tone, from horror and thriller to science fiction and fantasy. Some of them run for more than fifty episodes, others tell a complete story with a dozen or less. One part of it all which has been a great joy for us as writers is the TuesdaySerial Hall of Fame. This is collection of serials which had been promoted through TuesdaySerial which have been published in print or ebook. These talented writers and eager readers connected with each other via TuesdaySerial. It's a great object lesson on how social media can help to build bridges and open new opportunities.

Icy Sedgwick and her Guns of Retribution

2011-10-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

I got to know Icy through her Friday Flash pieces--well worth stopping by her blog when she puts these up. Her tales are dark, yet carry a kind of quirky humor. Without further ado, I hand over my blog for a little Q&A.

You're interested not only in writing but film. Do you envision combining your two loves at some point?

I don't know. I've occasionally toyed with the idea of writing a script but I'm not sure where to start. I think in a fairly cinematic way, in that I tend to see my story unfold and I describe what I see, but I'm not convinced I'd be able to translate that into writing. It would be like visualising something, distilling that into words, and then reconstituting it as visuals again. Maybe I'll have a go one day, but for now I think I'll keep my fiction and my film theory separate.

You're quite the mistress of dark short stories. How do these come into being? Visions? Sudden flashes of insight?

It can be anything. It can be a random snippet from a newspaper story, a photo somewhere, a conversation I overhear on public transport - I either get a full blown idea, or just an image in my head, and then I keep asking "What if?" until I get a plot. That's a bit of an oversimplification but I don't even begin to understand the real process behind it so I just go with the flow when it happens. I suppose they tend towards the dark side because I find the darker side of life far more interesting.

You and your partner regularly go ghost-hunting. Has any of this spilled over into your writing? Ever had some strange occurrences you care to share?

I certainly find lots of interesting stories, both in the history of the places we visit, and in the information we get during the investigations, but I don't always like to use them. I suppose in some ways I would feel like it would be disrespectful to use them in a fictional sense. Having said that, I think the strangest experience we had would have to be when we were doing a ouija session at Kielder Castle and Grey O'Donnell, the bounty hunter from my Western, came through to say thank you to me. It really makes you wonder if these characters you work with are complete fantasy, if we bring them into being through the amount of energy we lavish on them through the power of thought, or they're entities that attach themselves to writers.

You've selfpublished a collection of short stories. Tell us more about how you pulled these together and where people can find it?

All fifteen of them were previously published online over the course of two years, but due to some of the sites having funding problems or simply clearing out their archives, the stories had disappeared from the internet. I wanted people to still be able to read them, so I edited them and put them out as a collection. They're mostly what I'd call "weird fiction", so not really horror, but more just about strange things that happen in everyday life. Checkmate & Other Stories is 99c on both Smashwords and Amazon.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/28540

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004J8HVXI

You've also written a Western. Tell us a little about Guns of Retribution.

It's a pulp Western set in Arizona in the 1880s. It stars my bounty hunter, Grey, and he is drawn back to his hometown of Retribution while on the trail of a murderer. He has to confront an old nemesis from his past, because if there's one thing Grey doesn't like, it's a bully. It's really inspired more by the Western as a film genre than a literary one, but I did plenty of historical research. I wanted to try and capture the emotional side of the genre, and tap into the mythos somewhat, but I didn't want people to be jolted out of the story by a misplaced gun reference! Plus I really enjoy writing historical fiction so any excuse to do some research is fine by me. I'm currently outlining the sequel, where things take a more supernatural turn.

Who are the three most influential authors in your life, and why?

I couldn't do an interview like this without mentioning Roald Dahl. I loved his books as a child, and I still love them now. I was fascinated by his humourous twist on the macabre, and I think he really wrote books that celebrated children who are seen as a bit "different". I suppose I could relate. I'd also say Neil Gaiman - the breadth of vision in The Sandman is truly astounding, and I love how imaginative his books are. I also want to give credit to Carrie Clevenger, too. The lady is really going places but she's always been so generous with her time, and she's very supportive of me. I really look up to her and I admire how she handles everything.

In brief...

Icy Sedgwick was born in the North East of England, and is based in Newcastle. She spends her time gallivanting around the North East as a blogger and researcher for a paranormal investigations company. Icy has just had her first book, a Western named The Guns of Retribution, published through Pulp Press.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/miss.icy.sedgwick

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/icy_sedgwick

Twitter: @icypop

Blog: http://blog.icysedgwick.com

Meet Joan De La Haye

2011-10-10T11:29:00.000-07:00

Today I have the pleasure of featuring fellow South African author, Joan De La Haye, here on my blog. She is the author of Shadows and is fast making a name for herself in horror fiction.

Welcome, Joan. When did you know you wanted to write novels? Do you have any amusing anecdotes related to your first writing attempts?

I wrote my first story at the age of twelve. It was a fairytale called The Wonderful World of Candy-floss. My mother sent it off to a local publisher who felt that I should write in Afrikaans, since I obviously couldn't spell in English and my surname (which was Groenewald at the time) wasn't English either. I was devastated! It took me a few years to get over the rejection. My mother just said the man was obviously an idiot and gave me some chocolate. Now, whenever dealing with rejection I need chocolate.

Why horror? What is it about the genre that turns you on?

I find horror to be a fascinating genre. It's all about pushing the boundaries. It's not "safe". Most other genres are very much in a box and have very fixed rules, which horror doesn't have, and I love that. I love that it's filled with free thinkers, both the authors and the die-hard fans. Plus, let's face it, in some perverse way we all love to be scared. It makes us feel alive in a manner that no other genre can.

What are some of the prevalent themes running through your stories?

Insanity and rape. I think we've all had moments where we've questioned our own sanity and that of the people around us. Rape is one of the most horrific experiences a woman can have and survive. It's also something that is way too often swept under the carpet and ignored.

Tell me a little more about your existing publications. What path did you follow on the road to publication?

Shadows is published by a small indie publisher based in the States called Generation Next. I'm a huge fan of indie presses. They do so much for their authors and provide a lot more freedom. My second novel, Requiem in E Sharp, will also be released shortly by Generation Next.

How do you approach the craft and art of writing? That being said, do you have advice for writers who're approaching their first novel?

I try and write everyday, but sometimes my muse decides to take a holiday which can last for anything from a couple of days to a month. When that happens I grab the chocolate and ride it out as best I can. Apparently I get rather bad tempered when the muse is on a break, so the chocolate prevents me from killing anybody.

My advice would be to just write the first line, then the first paragraph, then the first page. Focus on the line in front of you, not the next hundred pages. I would also suggest reading a LOT! Also read Stephen King's On Writing. It's a must-read for all writers. I reread it everytime I get stuck or when the muse has pulled another disappearing act.

Lastly, who are the authors you'd like to thank for setting you on the path of being a horror writer? What is it about their writing that keeps you returning to their books time and again?

The obvious one would be Stephen King. I think most of us can blame our love of horror on him. His body of work is awe inspiring and he is so easy to read.

The less obvious one would be Dennis Wheatley. I grew up with his books and didn't even realise that they were classified as horror novels. I loved the adventures he took me on and the exotic places he took me to.

Links

Buy Shadows at Amazon, Smashwords or Exclusive Books.

Joan's blog: http://joandelahaye.wordpress.com/

Follow Joan on Twitter: http://twitter.com/JoanDeLaHaye

Beneath the Skin with Amy Lee Burgess

2011-10-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

Today I welcome one of my Lyrical Press authors, Amy Lee Burgess, creator of The Pack novels. Beneath the Skin is her debut novel, and I'm both thrilled and honoured to introduce her to you here on my blog.

Where does Stanzie originate? Was she a fully formed character?

I knew I wanted to write about a woman shape shifter and about wolves. I had the opportunity to participate in NaNoWriMo last year and knew that on November 1, I would begin a tale about werewolves. But I had no story or plot line in mind. Stanzie came to me in a sort of lucid dream Halloween night. Just her name Stanzie and that she’d be blond with blue eyes. I remember struggling with the idea that Stanzie was more of a nickname and what would her full name be?

At first I thought “Constanza” but that didn’t seem right because I wanted her to come from New England and “Constanza” sounded Italian. So then I thought “Constance”. Newcastle is the name of a street I drive past frequently only I didn’t consciously pick it, I realized a few weeks later that it must have come from there. Apart from that, I only knew that I didn’t want her to be a standard, ass-kicking, violent, ninja warrior woman and that I didn’t want her to have any special talents or powers. I wanted her to be an ordinary woman (who happened to be able to shift into a wolf) under extraordinary circumstances. What those circumstances were I didn’t work out until after I started writing.

How does your Pack differ from ordinary wolf shifters?

For one thing they are a separate species who cannot interbreed with regular humans. Their bite does not turn a regular person into Pack. Most shifter novels I’ve read have shape shifting abilities tied to magic, a curse or a virus.

I don’t think my Pack shifters are as violent as most wolf shape shifters seem to be. They don’t have a lot of fights and solve their problems with their fists. They are generally “normal” people who live by their cultural and societal rules. They have their own laws and their own system of justice and they do not tend to befriend outside the Pack.

Aside from being able to shift into wolves and enhanced senses, they possess no super powers. They cannot read minds, they are not exceptionally attractive or physically fit although they don’t age as quickly as humans.

In order to be able to shift, they must have male/female sex and when they do, they have a twenty-four to forty-eight hour window in which they can shift.

While they become wolves when shifted, they still retain a sense of self and can think almost as intellectually as they can while in human form.

They exist in packs, but all adults above the age of twenty-six need to be bonded with one or two other members of the pack. I call these duos and triads. Duos are male/female but triads can be male/male/female or female/female/male. I think most Pack are bisexual, but the majority tend toward hetero because they need male/female sex to shift.

Packs are led by the Alpha duo or triad, but leadership is frequently changed in order to give fertile females the chance to reproduce. Only the Alphas can reproduce and once a woman has a full-term pregnancy, she can never get pregnant again.

What are some of the key themes you treat in Beneath the Skin?

Isolation is a big theme in Beneath the Skin. What do you do when you want desperately to belong but have been set apart from your peers? The Pack itself is isolate from human society. They exist within it, but apart and in secret. Stanzie and Murphy are both isolated from their packs and are trying to realign after a long exile where they lived alone and struggled with grief and guilt. Even when they bond together, they still have to act in secret and are apart from other Pack members.

Fear is another. How do you handle it? Do you let it rule you or do you rise above it? I think Stanzie faces her fears, although sometimes they get the better of her whereas Liam Murphy fights his or turns his back on everything and pretends it doesn’t exist.

How do you go about creating tension in your writing?

I like to set my characters up and have them accused of crimes they did not commit but cannot prove they didn’t do. Lots of shades of gray. I also use sexual tension – one character falls for another but is convinced his/her feelings are not reciprocated so they stay silent yet cannot keep away.

I’m not above using the weather or repetitive sounds or even strange angles in a room description to set up tension.

Which authors have been the most inspirational in your writing?

Stephen King and Agatha Christie definitely. For years. Lately, Kelley Armstrong, Lilith Saint Crow, Marjorie M. Liu, Patricia Briggs, GA Aiken, Ilona Andrews and Eileen Wilks.

Tell us a little more about your writing process.

I use lucid dreaming a lot. I fall asleep plotting out scenes and wake up with dialog and ideas in my head. Most of my novels come from an opening scene I come up with in a half asleep state and then I write it down. I let myself get maybe two chapters in and if I don’t have a coherent plot and ending by then, I stop writing until I do. I like to use recurring characters and reveal more and more of their back stories in subsequent novels.

I write every morning before work whether I want to or not. At least one hour every week day. Sometimes I come home and write until bed, but definitely at least an hour in the morning.

It’s a pretty fluid process. Sometimes halfway through a novel, I realize something I’ve already written is not going to work or is contradictory to where I want to go and I’m not afraid to go back and rewrite. I re-read what I’ve written every few chapters and sometimes I have an “aha” moment where a seemingly throwaway line or description takes on a whole new meaning and changes everything. I both love and hate it when that happens!

I like to have a few main ideas in place, but let the details work themselves out as a write. I also write about places I’ve been, live, or want to go. I buy a lot of travel books with photos of cities I write about so I can get details right. I hate reading books set in cities I’ve lived and know right away the author does not know what he/she is writing about.

I don’t think I’m very good a descriptive writing. I want the reader to have a high level understanding of a room or a house, for instance, so I find that room or house online and write about it as I stare at the photo.

Stanzie is obsessed with shoes and every pair of shoes she wears or sees in Beneath the Skin I’ve found online.

Curious about Beneath the Skin? Read more about it or purchase it here.

Interrupting my regular schedule...

2011-09-18T12:11:00.000-07:00

...to bring you the trailer for the latest BlackMilk Productions trailer for Anna, their latest offering due to premier at the South African HorrorFest in October.

The Emerald Isle--day two

2011-09-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

No surprises, it was raining when we woke on Sunday morning. I totally overslept due to completely not setting my alarm properly. But that was okay at the end of the day. Danny, Sheldon and Helen were still having breakfast so I gulped down copious amounts of tea and assorted yoghurts, nuts, croissant, eggs and toast--then we braved the cold.

To be honest, it isn't that much more cold than Cape Town during winter, so the weather didn't really bother me. We walked a bit to where we could catch the Dublin Bus Tours, which is the hop-on, hop-off bus that drives a circuit through the city to the majority of its sights. And it's worth every euro for this. If you're here, DO invest in a ticket. It's going to save your life--and your feet. Plus, if you're lucky, you'll get a smart-mouthed bus driver who'll tell dirty jokes.

We first drove the circuit and got an idea of where everything was situated. Then we went to the Guinness Storehouse where we climbed all the way to the top to have our pint. The Gravity Bar gives an awesome, fantastic view of the entire city. And I had my first proper pint of Guinness, which is rather nice.

Plainly put, the Guinness brewery is huge. I cannot remember how many millions of pints it puts out daily but the amount is staggering. It makes our little SAB brewery in Newlands look like a baby. But ja, if you're a fan of the "black nectar" as it is called, the Guinness Storehouse is a cathedral devoted to the liquid. For me it was just a total treat to see the panoramic views of the city from the top.

What I love about Dublin is its architecture, which combines everything from the gorgeous Gothic styles of its cathedrals and churches, to the many Georgian-era buildings. Window boxes and hanging baskets are filled with colourful flowers this time of the year. And there is not a scrap of litter to be seen. The locals are super-friendly and if they see gormless tourists looking lost, they're quick to ask where you want to be and to give directions.

Lunch we had at one of the restaurants at the Storehouse, a surprisingly good buffet with poached salmon and a selection of fresh salads. Salmon is very common in Irish menus, so for folks like me, who don't see all that much of it in South Africa, it was a treat. I've been eating fish pretty much my entire time here.

Afterward, Danny and I (the two sub-editors/crazy ladies) eventually decided to see the Dublin Writers Museum--the whole being a wordsmith thing. The exhibits were just enough to whet my appetite to delve into Irish literature, which is very much tied in with the history of the country. We didn't see the whole museum as it was closing time and we were in need of a bath, so we waited for the bus then headed back to the hotel.

Feeling much fresher, we caught a taxi later to the Temple Bar in the Arlington Hotel, to take in a show and a meal. The crowd was mostly tourists, from countries such as France, Ukraine and a lot from the US. To think that a few years ago we'd never admit to being South African! How much has changed.

The Irish band that played was very slick and, while I would have loved to have heard more traditional reels, they took requests from the audience. Don't laugh. Someone requested Molly Malone (and yes, I died a little). After the band came the dancers, who were, likewise, also slick--delivering a lovely Riverdance-styled show. Very energetic and very rousing.

We were quite merry by the time we returned to the hotel but gosh, was I tired. All in all, I didn't realise how quickly the time would pass. I'd have loved to have gone to more of the destinations in the city, to its numerous museums and art galleries, but there simply wasn't time.

Dublin is a magical city with many wonderful places to spend time exploring. You need at least a week here and you will still only have scratched the surface. Thank you to Tourism Ireland for giving me the opportunity for this small taster.

We plunge into the countryside next.

The Emerald Isle--day one

2011-09-10T09:38:00.000-07:00

It was with some trepidation last night that I boarded the KLM flight to Amsterdam. How the hell was I going to survive 12 hours in the air? I needn't have worried. The cabin crew made sure that even economy class wanted for nothing. And can I say it? Oh my, smoked almonds.

Even better, I didn't have any snorers and I did sleep a little.

Schipol is BIG. Then again, I am a South African who's on her first trip to the northern hemisphere. Everyone was very friendly and I found the rest of my group (they'd flown up separately from Jozi) and what did we do? We ended up in an Irish pub in Amsterdam. Go figure.

And that first 500ml Crossbow cider went down mighty fine.

One highlight of the airport (not that airports by their very nature have highlights) was that I saw the Schipol Rijksmuseum that had an exhibit of Dutch girls. Now I understand why the Dutch were considered the masters of portraiture and landscapes during the 17th century. And while I've seen a few masterpieces in South African art galleries, this small taster of what can be found in Amsterdam proper makes me fiend for the day I can haul the DH to Europe with me on one of these trips.

Our flight to Dublin, courtesy of Aer Lingus, was uneventful. I was a bit concerned at the strong winds we had upon landing, but kudos to the pilot. He did a bloody good job. And this is the Capetonian who's blase about the southeaster perking up about wind.

I watched some of the other planes land and they looked a bit like drunk geese caught in strong cross-winds.

It looks like what's happening in Cape Town's CBD is happening in Dublin too. A LOT of revitalisation of the CBD with more public-friendly amenities. Public transport here rocks. South Africans who visit will probably have their eyes pop out of their skulls when they see how much everything costs--food and drink is quite expensive in the big hotels and restaurants.

But it's all worth it. I'm looking forward to tomorrow when we do our first tour of the city. Tonight we're just chilling out, going out for dinner in an hour or so and I'm heartily glad I've had my bath. I have cosy room in Jurys Inn, and it even has a slightly psychedelic carpet in the hallway outside my room.

Even better, I have wifi. I'm so not watching telly tonight when we get back. I may well edit. Yes, yes, I know I'm supposed to be on holiday but I can't help myself.

Looking toward the future

2011-09-08T13:08:00.000-07:00

We all end up standing before a crossroads from time to time. That's life. Sometimes the shoes we're wearing don't fit so nicely anymore and it's time to find a new pair, or at least begin wearing in a new pair.

Three years ago, after I sold my first novel, I never dreamed that I would discover one thing I love as much (if not more) than writing my own novels--editing fiction--something for which many years in the media industry have prepared me.

I know there aren't a helluva lot of folks out there who wear both editor and author hat, but I gain so much satisfaction out of my authors' reviews as I do my own.

While I will still continue in my work as content/acquisitions editor at Lyrical Press, I have also started the process of setting up my own editing business.

The reason? I don't see myself holding my current day job--as that of a newspaper sub-editor--forever. Too much is shifting in the world of print media and, to be quite frank, if I don't branch out, I'll be sitting without a salary sooner rather than later.

The publishing industry is in a state of flux at the moment, especially print media. I've got a toehold in digital publishing and I intend to eventually make that jump to doing what I love full-time: writing and editing fiction.

Granted, I still need a roof over my head, so I'm not jumping ship until I know I can support myself, but this is my official heads up to let authors know that my services as fiction editor are available.

For those of you who're on Facebook, I have a page I've recently started, where I'll share some of my authors' releases, successes and reviews, as well as editing tips and resources I encounter in my daily trawls that I reckon are useful.

So, without further ado, here's the Creepy Green Editor. Do stop by and like the page. And if you'd like to chat to me about editing or manuscript assessments, feel free to message me or mail me at nerinedorman (at) gmail (dot) com

Celebrating Iron Dominance with Cari Silverwood

2011-08-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

My good friend, BDSM erotica author Cari Silverwood celebrated the release of her steampunk BDSM novel, Iron Dominance yesterday. She graciously stopped by today to share a little about her latest tale. Thank you, Cari.

Is there anything in particular that sparked off this novel?

Spark? Hmm. I love steampunk and throwing a lady in there, mixing it round and having her ravished by a lovely man was irresistible.

Sum up your main characters in a nutshell.

Claire is a trained assassin but totally unsuited to her role--when put into her first mission she finds out she hates to kill and falls in love with the man who may be her target.

Theo is a strong independent man--rich, self-assured yet he's never found a woman who is more than superficially interesting to him. Claire turns out to be exactly the right woman.

How do you balance your narrative with your more erotically charged scenes?

I told the story the way it rolled out. Knowing it needed the erotic scenes I planned ahead though and wove the sex into the plot. It's a romance so you just have to make sure some of the pivotal moments for the people in it happen during sex. Or soon after. LOL!

If you have to describe the novel in three words, what would these be?

Action, tragic love.

What are some of the unique features of your milieu?

The Pancontinental Mexican Empire has surged ahead of the rest of the world and developed frankenstructs--humans made from cloned parts who are born as slaves to the PME. In this alternate steampunk world the world map is squeezed together and every continent is within reach of a well-steered airship. Just remember to pay a visit to the Hellene Nation where BDSM is the secret national preoccupation.

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore VIII FINAL

2011-08-30T10:47:00.000-07:00

Only Forward

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

I was stupid to think that things would last. I was a fool to imagine that I would remain the unofficial lord of the city. It had to change, and change it did. They arrived during the late afternoon so I wasn’t around to see the convoy of trucks pull in. I was so sound asleep in my lair I didn’t hear a thing but I knew things were different the moment I got up.

It wasn’t easy to pin what the difference was until I heard a diesel engine and saw the sweep of headlights as the vehicle swung down Buitengracht Street. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was an old Land Rover Defender and it had been heavily reinforced with bars over the windows and big-ass bull bars on the front. The thing was dented and dusty but there was no mistaking the power in its engines.

I got goosies just listening to the growl as it powered past.

At first I was excited. I mean, people! Strangers from upcountry! We were saved. Estelle was really happy. They were packing their things, getting the children ready when I arrived.

“They’re coming to fetch us,” she said. Her eyes were bright with tears.

That’s when it struck me. I’d be on my own again.

“Where are you going?” I asked her and tried to sound casual.

“They have a new city they’ve made, on the banks of the Orange River. There are no zombies there and they can defend it easily.”

Oh my god. That was more than a thousand kilometres away.

“Why there? Why can’t they build closer to home?” I asked.

I don’t think she picked up on my disappointment because she didn’t stop smiling. “It’s a new beginning. There’s water and the place is clean. The children will be able to play because there is a fence.”

I knew then I wouldn’t go with. I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t just the fact that the men who’d come wore military-style uniforms and carried the biggest guns I’d ever seen. I could smell it. These weren’t just survivors. These men were hard. I could see it in their eyes. They’d not ask questions about me. They wouldn't listen to explanations. They’d shoot me.

Part of me wanted to argue with Estelle but I couldn’t. I knew they’d be safer though I worried about the strangers’ motives. They were making a big deal about asking after the women and children. Why would they want the women and children?

I thought about crazy Gerrit Smuts in the Castle. He’d not wanted to open the gates, or so Estelle told me, but when he saw the strangers had bigger guns, he let them right in. I heard then they shot him. Just like that. They went in then one of the guys pulled out his pistol and shot Gerrit right between the eyes.

Then I thought about the lions, how the big males sometimes banded up and went into another male’s territory. They would fight and occasionally the rogue males drove off the older male, killed all his cubs then mated with the females.

Estelle, Betty and the kids didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Or maybe they forgot about me. I hung back when the truck came to fetch them and I think Estelle was so busy trying to round up the last of the little ones she completely forgot I was still there.

The dude driving the truck was a big, dark-skinned man who spoke with a French accent. His companion was as large, but spoke with an American accent and I didn’t like the size of his rifle, so I stayed in the shadows. They noticed a lot of stuff around them, their gazes roaming about so I didn’t want to take the chance that they’d spot me.

A younger couple I recognised from Mouille Point was in the back of the truck already. They were talking and laughing, and helped pull the others’ stuff into the vehicle.

I stood like a statue, hardly daring to believe this happened. Even when the big black guy slammed the tailgate up it didn’t feel real. Then, in an angry roar of fumes, the truck lurched down the road and the last I saw of my warmbloods was their pale faces peering out at the world they were leaving behind.

And now?

Not everyone left with the convoy that went north. There were people, wild ones who never spoke to the others, who decided to take their chances with the zombies. The gangs moved in and I didn’t stop them. I became a shadow again, slipping between other shadows.

I killed a warmblood three months after my people left. He asked for it because he was walking around at night. I stalked him so that he knew he was being hunted. I chased him so that he thought he’d get away. And then I killed him. I ripped his throat out and I drank my fill.

Why?

That’s what vampires were supposed to do. I didn’t feel like pretending to be anything but that anymore. My game had been nice while it lasted, but it had only served to remind me that it was in my nature to hunt, stalk and kill. It didn’t help to dull that horrible ache in my chest, but if I let it take over, I didn’t have to think about why the ache was there.

Sometimes I climbed Lion’s Head when it was full moon. Warmbloods often used to do that in the old days. I guess someone had to continue with the ritual. The moon rose big and orange over the Hottentot’s Holland mountains, like a big eye. To me it was as bright as day. Even warmbloods could see well in this light. How many more times would I climb this mountain to watch the moon rise over a dead city? Would I stand sentinel for five years more? A hundred? Would the warmbloods return?

I didn’t have an answer to these questions but I’d keep climbing that mountain to watch the moon rise. I knew that much.

* * * *

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Five-minute interview with Aidan Whytock

2011-08-26T13:07:00.000-07:00

I've had the pleasure of meeting the very talented and charming Aidan Whytock a number of times. He's acted in a few of the short films my husband's worked on with the BlackMilk Productions team. Those of you who're au fait with the South African indie film industry would have seen him in a bunch of films, but notably in Sweetheart, by the Be Phat Motel film company.

Aidan's been an absolute darling and stopped by my blog for a quick Q&A. Catch him while you can, folks, damn right this lad's going places.

So, Aidan, when did you know you wanted to be an actor?

I developed a stammer when I was five years old. It made it difficult to communicate and thus I developed a fear of speaking and especially speaking under pressure. My wise dad once told me to face my fears. So when I was about 15 I decided to get a one-liner role in the school play. I practiced and practiced and I didn't mess it up! It turned out the stage was a place where my stammer wasn't in command of me. It was liberating and became a desire from then.

Who were some of your influences and what were the most influential films you watched while you were growing up?

When I saw The Last of the Mohicans Daniel Day-Lewis became one of my favourite actors. The soundtrack also blew me away and the fiddle theme-tune became an anthem of my youth. The Crow also had a profound impact and my propensity for darker content was born. Again music and imagery's fusion captivated me.

Okay, you've mentioned The Crow, which means I'm probably going to be your undying fangrrrl forever. What I want to know, is it difficult breaking into acting as a career in South Africa?

Very. There isn't a huge amount of work on offer. Theatrical space is there to be utilised but alas it isnt well supported, which makes it tricky to pay the bills. Film work is in short supply and generally the lead roles go to international actors. The supporting roles go to the seasoned SA actors and they, to their credit, have created a captive market for themselves

With that in mind, what advice do you have for aspiring actors in SA?

Do it for the love. Do it for the money and you ll never enjoy your work.

To get where you are now, what path have you followed so far? Tell us a little about some of the work you've undertaken.

I used to be in the corporate world, selling beer. I decided there was more to life than the bottom line and I returned to the passion place from school. After training again I joined a troupe that meets twice a week and honed my ability as a Meisner actor. With a bit of training in LA under my belt I found myself in a position being asked to perform roles I didn't think I could do. That has been the largest lesson: push myself. Because of that I had the privilege of working on the award-winning The Lovers, Safehouse and recently a short action comedy and a heavy apartheid drama, shot in LA.

Thank you for stopping by, Aidan. Dare I say break a leg?

What Sweet Music They Make blurb love

2011-08-25T10:34:00.001-07:00

Well, dear friends, I'm pleased to announce that the blurb for my early 2012 release, What Sweet Music They Make, has been finalised. So, without further ado...

Music brought them together, but can it set them free?

Betrayed by those closest to her, musical prodigy Tersia is heartbroken. She immerses herself in her music, turning her back on love. However, when she notices Severin at one of her performances, the serious, pale young man makes her want to risk her heart again.

Severin’s future as a lackey to the vampire Lord Murray has him chafing at his bonds. That is, until he encounters Tersia, whose rare musical talent captivates him. But Severin is not the only one to notice her. Other, darker forces have taken a sinister interest in her potential.

Tersia and Severin can't deny the spark that has ignited between them, but can they overcome the shadows that threaten to smother their trust?

Coming soon from www.lyricalpress.com

Guest post: Jaye Sonia, on Games, Games...

2011-08-24T10:45:00.000-07:00

I'd like to thank my friend, Jaye Sonia, the creator of Rhune (go check it out if you're into RPGs) who has graciously offered "reprints" of content he's written for Bazaar magazine. I'll be posting one a week for a few weeks running, just to keep y'all out of mischief. This week, to take a different tack from "just" fiction, it's games. Thank you, Jaye, and over to you...

Games, games, and more games: Your fall review way too early….

This month, I’m talking about console games. If you haven’t been checking the upcoming releases for 2011-2012, let me be the first to say it; “So much awesome…” There are some pretty incredible games headed our way – and not just for adult gamers, either.

First up, something awesome for kids (and I suppose, their parents and caretakers, too) that involves one of the world’s biggest (and best established) franchises revolving around a mouse. Want a hint? It starts with a D and ends with an isney.

But first, let’s talk about Microsoft’s Kinect (released last November). If you’re not aware, Kinect is available for the Xbox 360 (with some hacks for the PS3 floating around on the Internet) and is getting all sorts of wonderful reviews. Much like the Wii did, it’s taking young gamers away from the stereotypical lounging to getting up, mobile, and active about their games. Not surprisingly, most of the games for Kinect have been sports related (tennis, bowling, dance, ect).

Now, however, things are starting to expand. The technology is better established and people like Disney are jumping into the ring. So parents, be prepared for a winter of excitement. Why? Disneyland Adventures, that’s why. Slated for release sometimes at the end of this year, this game is going to mesh everything that’s cool about Kinect with everything iconic about Disney (including customizable avatars).

Of course, there’s also something exciting coming for all of you FPS (first person shooter) enthusiasts, too. So, put down your Black Ops game and get ready for Call of Duty: Modern Combat 3 (WW3), which releases November 8th, this year. Contrary to what The Onion predicted last year, this game actually looks amazing. The storyline of the Russian invasion of America continues, with players traveling the globe in a series of missions aimed at opposing their offensive. Some of the planned areas for combat include England, France, Germany, Somalia, and even Dubai (how cool is that, eh?). Needless to say, if you’re a CoD fan, this game – the 8th of its type – should make this winter an exciting time.

(And if you’re like some of my co-workers, keep you pretty darn busy on Thursday nights! Go Blue Team, Go!!)

Of course, there are more than just mice and machine guns on the horizon, too. If you’re a Nintendo fan, you’ve got a classic returning very soon. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword is slated for release late this year and looks promising (even if bloggers are attacking Link’s overtly feminine physique). Like many Wii games, this will require gamers to get out of their seats and direct Link’s actions by swinging the Wii controller around, something trendsetter Wii has long championed. He’ll use his sword to do a lot of hacking and slashing, but that’s not all. From what I’ve read online, he’ll even open doors with it. The game has a 3D look to it, but more of a cartoonish perspective.

Along those lines, look forward to, Fable: The Journey (again for the Xbox 360). While it’s aimed for older kids in their 30s, rumors abound that young teens might just enjoy this game, as well. It’s slated for release sometime in 2012, likely in the early summer. I saw the trailer (available online) and was pleased to see that a number of the gestures access various powers and abilities, while still maintaining basic features. So, you can launch fireballs at enemies and cut them down when they rush you. Even if it is a styled after a FPS, this is still very, very cool (and we need plenty of cool for these hot Kuwaiti summers).

Another classic to return this fall is The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (PC, Xbox 360, and PS3). While I’ve never been a big fan of this intense RPG (role-playing game), it’s still one of the giants in the playground. It’s scheduled for release on November 11th, 2011 and offers gamers a chance to visit Skyrim, home of the Nords. The game’s storyline revolves around the return of dragons (lots of them) and those that would oppose them, namely, the dragon born. This is another title that promises endless high-fantasy action that should carry gamers happily into 2012.

(Don’t believe me? Have a look at some of the trailers online. The graphics are more than pretty…)

Finally, keep your eyes peeled for Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception (PS3) this November. I’m not a big PS3 guy (I’m in Microsoft’s corner with the Xbox, sorry guys), so I haven’t played any of the previous versions of this saga. I have to admit, though, that I wish I had. This game looks pretty amazing and I’m instantly reminded of Indiana Jones when I look at the previews. This, of course, might just be because the game is about an adventuring archeologist (aptly named Drake) that is exploring the Arabian Peninsula in search of the “Atlantis of the Sands.” He doesn’t stop off in Kuwait, but I’m told his adventures are legendary nonetheless. Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception releases on November 11th, 2011 (is everyone capitalizing on this 11-11-11 thing or what?).

So, if you haven’t done it yet, get online – yes, right this minute – and start looking at some trailers. But be warned. There’s a lot of awesome on the horizon!

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Short fiction: On An Empty Shore VII

2011-08-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

On an Empty Shore

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Estelle showed me a history book not so long ago. Normally I didn’t bother looking at them but this one was interesting. It was about boats and the history of Cape Town. This place used to be called the Tavern of the Seas and over hundreds of years people used to stop here to pick up supplies.

I didn’t tell her that all I remembered was occasionally helping Korean or Filipino sailors find less than legal narcotics while they were on shore leave. They sometimes helped me out with cash which I could use to buy more heroin.

It blew my mind when I saw pictures of Woodstock that used to be a beach. The area today was just a wasteland of old industrial buildings and no one went there much because of the gangs. Guess some things didn’t change much, with or without zombies. All that land got reclaimed. I had no idea that most of the Foreshore used to be under water. Amazing stuff.

I never went down to the sea when I was a warmblood yet for some reason I was drawn there after my change. Some evenings I’d walk through Green Point to the promenade. There was a slipway that the fishermen sometimes used to launch their boats in the old days. The doors at the bottom were never locked, and the cove was sheltered and a perfect place to poke around in rock pools.

The sea had all sorts of moods. When it was winter, it got really exciting because then the surf would be big and sometimes the breakers would explode against the concrete in a huge wash of foam. I got soaked plenty like that. I didn’t feel the cold but there was something very cool and scary about not knowing whether the next wave would drench me.

The Atlantic was like a hungry beast, big and powerful. I liked playing with the danger that it could devour me, suck me off the rocks. One night the only reason it didn’t was because I got wedged in a crevice. Had to wait between rushes of water before I got to a safer distance from the worst of it. The rocks were like black teeth sticking out of the tidal pools. Death to both warmbloods and vampires if you got mashed on them. Many times zombies washed up there and got stuck and I chopped them into bits just for the hell of it.

At low tide I sat and the rock fish nibbled at my toes or I poked at the sea anemones. It felt weird but kinda nice the way they contracted over my fingers. It made me think of times when I’d been a little kid full of sand, only it was hot and ma made me wear a hat. I could almost taste the ice cream.

But there was one night I walked a lot farther along the rocks to where the sand started. I didn’t know what had drawn me out until I saw the long black shape lying on the sand. It was a whale―a very small whale but still a whale. The first I’d ever seen. Once I’d heard on the radio that they beached themselves and I suppose this was a similar situation.

When I looked I saw it wasn’t just one but seven of them and they lay there on the sand, their skins drying out. I could almost feel their sadness and their pain. They were dying and there was no one to help them.

I didn’t want to leave them there. My eyes felt very tight and so did my chest, though I didn’t need to breathe. Moving them wasn’t an option. They were too big except for one that was only slightly longer than I was tall.

I tried, okay? I really tried. I managed to shift the little one closer to the water. It helped also that the tide was coming in and I loved the way its black skin glistened the moment it got wet.

It was slippery in my arms and started to struggle when the waves broke over it. I don’t know for how long we fought each other and the waves. Eventually I was waist deep in the breakers that kept washing over my head. It’s okay, it’s not like I could drown but it was difficult keeping my footing.

We got out quite far and it was almost impossible for me to hold onto it.

“Go back to the sea,” I told him.

For a while he just flopped about in the water. I had to hold him so his blowhole pointed above the surface otherwise he just sank. Then he started swimming. Wow! I whooped and clapped then a wave knocked me over.

The little whale swam a short way along the shore.

Then I swore. He turned himself back at the beach and another big wave came and he just swam with it to beach himself on the sand again. I screamed at him, tried to tug him back out to the water. I tried another five times and it was close to dawn and I was as cold as the sea when I realised there was nothing I could do. The little whale was as tired as I was.

I couldn’t tell if it was the sea that was so salt in my mouth or if I tasted my tears. I hadn’t cried in a very long time but I got out of the water and stood there for a long while and stared at the terrible scene. Three of the whales had already died. Two were close to death. If I’d a gun I could have shot them so they wouldn’t suffer. Instead I did what I could. I went back to where I’d left my things and got my blade. I finished the whales so that they wouldn’t hurt anymore. Dark hot blood gushed onto the sand and bathed my hands and feet in great, iron-rich fountains.

I couldn’t bring myself to drink it.

* * * *

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My clubbing adventures over for another 365 days

2011-08-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, just in case I grow too stodgy, friends drag me out by my hair and submerge me in mainstream culture. This is a good thing, I think, because it reminds me that I’m not a complete hermit. Or perhaps I can keep telling myself it’s a good thing long enough to start believing it. Especially when faced with fellow patrons who’re possibly half my age, who don’t worry about bond repayments on their homes.

It’s always the morning after the night before that I have to sit down to ask myself why people have this tendency of engaging in certain modes of behaviour in clubs that, in the garish light of day, seems pretty pointless.

But it is fascinating to watch. Clubbing for me now is pretty much like visiting a zoo, where the DJ occasionally spins a tune I enjoy dancing to. That’s if there’s space on the packed dance floor and that big oaf that hovers constantly around me isn’t busy ogling my arse.

My friend B pretty much summed it up: “It’s a meat parade. Just one big meat parade.”

I guess one can meet a life partner when you least expect it. While it’s not something I readily like admitting, I did meet my husband in a club. We’ve been married for more than a decade and I haven’t killed him yet.

But back to a recently past weekend: my friends and I were seated off to one side in the subterranean recesses of a popular Capetonian nightspot, kind of hoping for a gap on the dance floor, something which only materialised way after the witching hour.

But boy oh boy did I have plenty of people-watching to do between waiting for old favourites such as The Cure’s Lovecats or vintage Siouxsie Sioux. That’s when I wasn’t having a good chuckle at folks bopping and jiving to Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby.

One bright spark decided to show his friends how to juggle beer bottles. And no, I’m not making this stuff up.

Needless to say, said beer bottles shattered on the pretty black-and-white chequered dance floor. Or should I mention the girls dressed in little more than a handkerchief and garters with little gold stiletto-heeled sandals tweeting on their cellphones while they teetered about to the tune of Metallica’s Enter Sandman?

Granted, I’m a fine one to talk. Whenever I felt the need to catch my breath I absconded to what I thought was my safe corner so I could whip out my BlackBerry and offer my friends a running commentary of the sights and sounds courtesy of two of my favourite social networking sites. Times have changed. In the old days I’d probably have drunk more beer and stared glumly into the middle distance, because having a proper conversation in this sort of environment is near impossible.

At least I thought my corner was safe. While the dear husband had at last won a precious spot on the dance floor, the beer bottle-juggling rocket scientist saw his gap and decided to approach me. Only one small problem there – he didn’t see the all but invisible step leading up to the tables.

Said inebriated desperado landed face first in my lap. Too horrified to react, I merely gaped at him while he, unfazed, looked up and asked whether I would dance with him. Fortunately he backed off quickly when I showed him my wedding ring.

Either that or his friends had dared him to chat up the scary-looking Goth chick in the corner and he could now slink away, the ordeal over, the bet won. Go figure.

And I have to add, there’s nothing like the addition of a few poles to bring out males’ inner exhibitionist. I saw more male pole-dancing than I’d ever considered possible.

Later, when I said my goodbyes to a friend who’s a manager at the club, I asked her what the weirdest thing was that had ever been left behind by patrons.

“Oh,” she answered. “Someone left a shoe here a while back.”

“Really?” I asked. “Surely that’s hardly a surprise.”

She laughed and shook her head. “It was a Jimmy Choo.”

This had me raise a brow while I did the maths. Ouch. “What did you do with it?”

“Oh, I threw it out in the trash. It was lying around for ages.”

Righty. Good thing no one’s making me part with my New Rocks in a hurry, no matter how clunky or unfashionable they are. And thus ends my annual clubbing adventures, it can be hoped for another 365 days when I’ve conveniently forgotten the ringing in my ears, the drunk-stumbling weirdoes and the almost indelible stench of smoke in my hair.

Oh, and the pole-dancing men with beer-guts.

David Attenborough never had it quite this good.

Follow me on Twitter @nerinedorman

This column was initially published in the Sunday Independent Life section on August 21, 2011

Review: Uneasy Tales

2011-08-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

What a lovely collection of short stories to land on my desk. Or maybe "lovely" is the wrong word. Creepy, yes. Discomforting, definitely. Simon Kurt Unsworth delivers a tight collection of macabre tales. There isn't always rhyme or reason why events unfold as they do, but what is certain is that each tale leaves you feeling scratchy behind the eyes.

In Button, Bruno catches a button that adheres to his left hand, with unfortunate consequences. This story still leaves me feeling phantom pains on my palm.

Dog was perhaps the only story that didn't resonate with me. Slightly reminiscent of the Cube films, it left me uneasy for reasons I won't go in that will spoil the tale. It's suitably horrible, even if one never discovers the raison d'etre for the viewpoint character's predicament.

My phobia for hospitals, needles and scalpels were next on the list when I read Excision. What I liked the most about this one was that the horror is implied and the truth ambiguous. Thank goodness for general anaesthetic, is all I can say.

The grim vision of a sterile future for planet earth is explored in Plastic. Once again, Unsworth plays with medical themes gone wrong in this broody and rather tense story.

Overall, Unsworth is a master of mood and suspense. The true horror lies not in the end result but the growing sense of inevitability so often lacking in horror fiction nowadays. Well done with this anthology, sir. You've definitely succeeded in giving me my sick thrills for a gloomy Sunday afternoon.

Buy Uneasy Tales here.

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore VI

2011-08-16T12:52:00.001-07:00

It’s Eat or be Eaten

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

I saw my first lion two years after the zombiepocalypse. Doesn’t matter that technically I was already dead, I still just about wet myself. Whether the lions escaped from that fancy lion park near Paarl or if they got out of one of the wildlife reserves I don’t know. I expect they were pretty quick to multiply and stake out territories because not long after that I did encounter a female with four cubs.

By then there were people farming close to the city, so the cows, pigs and sheep were easy pickings and I shouldn’t have been too surprised the night I came face to face with one. The southeaster was blowing like mad, and I was upwind from the beast. Guess it couldn’t smell me―not that vampires smell much like anything except dust―so both of us were totally clueless up until the last moment.

Our chance meeting happened not far from Lion’s Head, actually. Though I wasn’t laughing at the time. There was a quarry near there and I think the animal had gone there to drink. It was already quite dark and, on top of it, it was new moon.

Sure, I saw pretty good at night but I was preoccupied. Estelle’s girlfriend, Betty, had gotten sick and I was supposed to see if I could get antibiotics from the hospital, but the place was already picked clean. Not nice going back empty-handed.

I’d also seen the remains of a fresh zombie kill. It had been a young woman because I saw most of her face had been untouched, her expression one of horror. Her bones had been scattered and very well chewed. It grossed me out big time so ja, for once I didn’t look where I was going and I almost stomped on the big cat’s tail.

Fuck me, the lion moved fast. Almost as fast as I could run. Its claws whispered right past my back. It’s like I could feel them almost in my spine. I screamed like a little girl and fucking ran. I didn’t stop until I was almost at Estelle’s shelter.

At first they laughed at how freaked out I was but then it must have sunk in. Lions in the city centre meant they had more to worry about than zombies. By then Estelle and Betty had more people to living with them. Three small kids, and no one knew what had happened to their parents, so the ladies took them in. What if the lions got the kids? They were easy targets.

With every month that passed the city got more dangerous. Simply being able to run faster wasn’t always all that helpful. After a few more close shaves with local wildlife I took to carrying a weapon. I found an old samurai sword in one of the houses up in Camps Bay. Smart-looking thing with a carved ivory handle. Of course I was no swordsman but it would but it still made a bit of a difference. Now the skinny vampire had a steel claw.

But it wasn’t just the lions, and later bears or tigers. Yes. And wolves. It was also small stuff that could kill, and there wasn’t a doctor a phone call away who’d be able to help.

Snakes came down into the city: puff adders, Cape cobras. There were scorpions too. One of the kids got stung and almost died. I got bit once or twice but the poison only gave me a headache. It was the warmbloods who were really in trouble here.

People forgot that Africa used to be a very wild place. Estelle asked me to go to the library to get books for the kids and during the day I’d listen to her teach them about history and stuff. I never had teachers when I still went to school who told me stories with so much love.

I learnt stuff about South Africa, about its past. I sometimes wondered if the zombies hadn't done us all a big favour in a way. If it wasn’t the one group who stirred kak it was the other. People did some pretty horrid things to each other. What makes one man better than another? Coloured, black or white, they all bled the same. They tasted the same too. No diffs.

Sometimes I sat and wondered whether the zombiepocalypse wasn’t the earth’s way of wiping most of the warmbloods off the face of the planet. My uncle used to keep pigeons. He had hundreds of them, these big white fantail pigeons that used to preen and strut all over the roof of the house. And when they flew, their wings made a wonderful whirring sound.

My auntie always used to complain that he had too many pigeons and although they were white and quite pretty, they used to fight, the males, I think. One day the birds started dying. My uncle tried everything but he found out it was some sort of bugs that were attacking the birds. The vet told him it was because he had too many of them in the Wendy house out back.

Nearly all the pigeons died, almost to the last one. The ones that survived were clever enough to go live in the neighbour’s roof. They never came back though my uncle put out food for them.

Maybe the zombies were meant for the warmbloods. Maybe the vampires weren’t doing a good enough job keeping them in check so the zombies came to do the job properly.

But what do I know? I just gotta try figure the stuff out after the fact. Nothing out there would want to eat me, that much was for sure, but I still had to watch my back. Survival of the fittest, Estelle often said. I don’t think I was ever fit, but I kept correcting her and telling her it was survival of the fastest. She’d laugh at me and just shake her head. Guess it’s good to see the humour in these things.

* * * *

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Guest blog: David Youngquist

2011-08-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

Today I'm pleased as punch to offer the limelight to David Youngquist, one of the masterminds behind Dark Continents Publishing, who will be nurturing my next "heart" novel, Inkarna (you may have heard me muttering about the novel a few times on assorted social media). I'm very excited to be on board as I believe that Dark Continents is bringing the art back into horror and dark fantasy, with gritty often unrelenting offerings of fiction guaranteed to leave you thinking about what you've read for months, if not years after.

So, without further ado, I hand the mic to Mr. Youngquist...

I got around a lot as a kid. I crawled through the African bush with Peter Hathaway Capstick. On my hands and knees, I swatted away tsetse flies and waited for a wounded leopard to charge. After Peter and I had finished the job, I went on a trip to the future with Piers Anthony and a naked serf named Stiles and a magical, shape shifting unicorn mare named Neysa. I lay on the cold cobbled floor of a rundown barn in the Yorkshire Dales and helped James Herriot pull a calf on a cold winter night with snow sizzling on our backs. I even took a trip across the mores with Holmes and Watson as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sent them in pursuit of The Hound of the Baskervilles.

They were amazing trips. Told through the voices, minds and eyes of people who lived in far away countries. I loved going on these trips through my reading. I’ve got a few books in my collection of each of these authors, and on occasion, I’ll dig them out and reread them. I love the flavor these writers bring to my world.

I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m David Youngquist. Publisher/President and one of the founding members of Dark Continents Publishing. Nerine asked me to do a guest blog for her, and I’m happy to oblige. I cut my teeth writing an opinions column for my college newspaper, so I’ve had a little practice at this.

Dark Continents is a new publisher on the scene. We did our official company launch this past may at the World Horror Convention in Austin, Texas. We launched with 13 books from the authors in our company at that time. By Christmas of this year, we’ll launch another eight books. Not bad for a company who just has their one year anniversary a few days ago.

When we founded DCP, there were six of us from around the world who came together to take better control of our careers. We saw where the publishing industry was floundering, and where we could fix it. We also have a green mindset, corporately. We take only electronic submissions. No slush pile of manuscripts to recycle. Our books are Print on Demand. Therefore no books that didn’t sell that have to be recycled. We used corn plastic pens that are biodegradable as giveaways at conventions and signings.

A big thing that we do differently than other publishing companies is this: We welcome unique voices from around the world to be part of our publishing family. The internet has allowed for amazing things. Our original six founding members are from the US, Australia and England. Hence, our name. We have since added writers from New Zealand, Australia and South Africa. One thing I wanted to do, when I started putting this together, was to bring some of the flavor back to people’s reading menu.

If you walk into an American bookstore, and start thumbing through titles, one thing you’ll notice is a severe lack of variety in the writers offered. Oh, you’ll get a few Brits here and there, but they’ve been homogenized by American editors to sound like the rest of us, so the flavor is pretty much gone.

But I like the differences we all bring to the table. A lot of publishers here in the US are afraid that Americans won’t be able to relate to a British author or an Australian author and vice versa, I’m sure. I give the reading public more credit than that, however, and have seen that with the rise of the internet, people can read authors, bloggers, reviews, and just about anyone else from around the world. Old style, traditional presses have yet to figure this out. They don’t believe that someone in Kansas would want to read a novel written by someone on Birmingham, England.

But isn’t that what reading is all about? Going to places you might never get to visit otherwise? Capstick has retired and is out of the African bush. James Herriot passed away a few years ago, and no longer walks his beloved Dales. I think I’ll dig some of those old books soon, and take the trips again.

See Dark Continents Publishing's website here... Or like the Facebook page.

What Sweet Music They Make uncovered.

2011-08-14T10:47:00.000-07:00

It's always lovely when I can uncover a project that's been sitting backstage for a while. It's reached the stage of "Oh my, yes, I rather did write this one, didn't I?"

Granted, we still have to do the content editing etc, but it's with great pleasure that I'm revealing the cover for What Sweet Music They Make, an urban fantasy novella releasing early 2012 through Lyrical Press.

It's set in Cape Town, South Africa, and features two of my favourite subjects: music and vampires. Oh, yes, and a dash of wangst.

I'd like to thank some special people who helped with the artwork. First off, my publisher, Renee Rocco, who's the mastermind behind Lyrical Press. She puts up with me when I wear both my author and editor hats. Seriously, she gave me my toehold in the publishing industry and after three years I'm still hanging with the Lyrical crowd.

Next, I'd like to thank Leon Visser, who's a fucking amazing photographer, cinematographer and editor. He's part of BlackMilk Productions, and indie film-making initiative here in Cape Town, South Africa. But do go check out his blog while you're at it.

Lastly I'd like to thank my two models. While Anika doesn't have her Facebook profile up anymore, do go check out Lohan. He's a shit-hot photographer and I reckon the lad's going to to from strength to strength.

So, a big thank you to everyone involved in helping me put together the cover art for What Sweet Music They Make. There's still a lot that needs to happen behind the scenes before we can say "it is done" but ja... this is the kind of stuff that makes me realise a project is becoming real.

If you're on Facebook and want to keep up to speed with my doings there, do like my author page. Or share the love if you already do so that I may gather more minions. Muhahahahaha!

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore V

2011-08-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

Under the Radar

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

I mentioned there were the warmbloods who had guns, right? They were the ones who’d always been a bit twitchy even before the zombies arrived. Some were your average Afrikaners who’d always kept a stockpile of weapons despite the change in gun laws. A few others were the opportunists who grabbed what guns they could when the shit went down.

I didn’t like guns. I knew a bullet to the brain would kill me just like the next person―or a zombie, for that matter. A shot gun made a very big mess. While I didn’t need antibiotics or bandages, and my body healed pretty good once I’d had a dose of blood to speed up things, it still hurt like shit.

Also, if I was down and trying to heal up, it also meant that some lucky bastard could get closer to deliver that killing blow. I didn’t want to take that chance, so I generally stayed the hell away from warmbloods who pointed guns at me. I may not be alive in the true sense of the word, but I wasn’t stupid.

A gun often meant the difference between life and death after the zombies came. Once ammo ran out, it definitely levelled the playing field, if you catch my drift. And ammo wasn’t always easy to come by, since those who had sources protected them fiercely. After all, it wasn’t like there were factories producing the stuff anymore.

But ja, there was still more than enough live ammo in circulation to keep guns in action for years to come and I wasn’t about to take my chances. One man armed with a rifle could take pot shots and thin out a mob of zombies without breaking a sweat. Or flatten a lone vampire.

So I was always a bit more careful to go into territories where known gunmen lived. It was almost like the Wild West, Clint Eastwood and all. Unarmed vampires like me had to be careful.

I considered finding me a gun but I never did learn to shoot one. Something about handling a lump of metal that looked dangerous made me uneasy. Guns just scared me.

The gun people were total nutters. There’s this crazy dude who’d taken over the Castle of Good Hope. He kept himself a harem of wives and some animals in the place. Gates were locked almost the whole time. It took me three attempts to convince him that I was there to trade and bring news.

Gerrit Smuts almost squeezed in a head shot that first time. Bullet grazed my cheekbone and clipped my ear. Like getting burned. The next time he got me in the chest. Smack! Punched me right over and I lay there for about five minutes trying to figure out how to make my body work again.

Can you imagine his amazement when I got up again? But I had a letter from a woman who lived in Sea Point. She’d spoken to someone who’d heard they’d seen her sister near the Castle and she wanted to tell her she was still alive.

And it was worth the effort for me to be in as many good books as possible. Supply and demand, and all that. It’s not like I had any competition for my services, and payment in blood was a necessary evil, as far as the warmbloods were concerned.

There were also gangs. Fucking tsotsis who went about taking what they wanted from other people who couldn’t defend themselves. Fucking rapists made me angry enough to go after them.

People can point fingers at me and say I’m a monster, but I wasn't like these beasts who hurt others just because it made them hard. Waving a gun around in the air didn’t make you a man.

These assholes thought that just because they had guns they were safe. But a gun didn’t help against a death that could move silently and see better than you in the dark.

They raided a bit too close to home one night. Two of Estelle’s friends were raped, the one beaten so badly she died the next morning. I was near enough to hear the screams when it happened. Five guys were too many for me to take on but I followed them.

They made so much noise it was impossible to miss them. Their kicked litter and joked and laughed all the way back to where they stayed. What zombies they saw they shot. Overconfident stinking bastards. I got the first one when he went off by himself to take a slash. His buddies made the mistake of splitting into pairs to track me down.

Thing is, those guns did no good once I got close enough to rip out their throats. I didn’t feel bad about taking my fill of their blood. Scum didn’t deserve to breathe.

I’m no fucking Lone Ranger, but for once in my existence I’d got something to be proud of. It’s just a run-down city but it’s mine. No one told me what to do and the same went for the warmbloods under my care.

Granted, the day Estelle and her neighbour, a grumpy old sod who kept chickens, almost came to blows, I did tell them to cool it. For fuck’s sake, it’s chickens, damn it. There were worse things to fight about than worry about the price of eggs.

The zombies, man. They don’t just go away. It’s like that whole suspended animation vibe. If they didn’t have fresh meat they sort of went to sleep, lay there pretending to be a piece of furniture. I expected they could last almost forever like that.

I’d seen it with my own eyes and the damn things could move so quickly when the promise of fresh meat was near. One minute the dude just walked then next long rotted arms reached out from under a car to grab his ankles. Next he was dragged under and you didn’t want to think about what it sounded like. The crunching carried on long after he’d stopped screaming.

I hated hearing about new horror stories. Just like we South Africans used to complain about the crime in the old days, now it was zombie stories. The problem was there weren’t enough new warmbloods being born. Or they got sick and died because doctors were hard to come by or too expensive. It’s sad, man, and it broke my fucking heart because they’re so fragile.

I gotta look after them. Who else was gonna look out for them? My life depended on their survival.

Indulge in a Dark Kiss with Liz Strange

2011-08-04T13:31:00.000-07:00

Liz Strange and I have walked a long road with her Dark Kiss trilogy and she was one of the first authors I took on when I started editing for Lyrical Press. Her Rachel and Giovanni are memorable and I've gotten to know them quite well over the course of three novels. This week Liz celebrates the release of the third in the series, Born of Blood and Retribution, which should give vampire fans a roller coaster ride.

When asked about some of her favourites in contemporary media, Liz says, "I love Jean-Claude in Laurell K Hamilton's books and Henry Fitzroy in Tanya Huff's series. They are both sexy and strong, but have an edge. They have embraced their monstrous existence."

It's fascinating watching how characters grow, and I had to ask Liz about Rachel and Giovanni. To this she adds, "Well Rachel has grown from a confused, somewhat insecure young woman to a powerful, well-connected immortal. She's faced the grimmest of circumstances and come back the better for it. I wouldn't underestimate what she could be capable of.

"Oh, Giovanni. He did get a bum deal, but what an amazing story! By book three he is mostly recovered from his ordeal, and firmly back in the relationship he was destined for. He will, however, have some lasting effects from what happened to him, essentially the same Giovanni, but perhaps a bit more guarded and appreciative of what he has and who he is."

Themes of abusive relationships and revenge are prevalent in book three. This results in some potentially tricky situations with readers. I was curious as to how Liz brought readers back from the brink of despair.

Liz says, "I like to give the readers a sense of closure, and some sort of 'happily ever after' after the intense and often violent situations the characters find themselves in. As much as my characters ever get anyway. I think I've given them characters to fall in love with and root for, and that makes the adversity they face and overcome that much sweeter."

Of course all authors have their favourite scenes in a novel, and Liz is quite happy to share hers, as well as a bit of background that went into its creation.

She concludes, "I love the scene where Harshika takes Rachel back to ancient Egypt and lets her experience the time period for herself. I got to live vicariously through Rachel with this. It was so much fun doing the research for the scene, and letting my imagination fill in the blanks. This story really allowed me to bring my love of history, mythology and vampires together in a very satisfying way. I am a huge history nerd, and would jump at the chance to see what Rachel did."

Thank you for stopping by, Liz. And I wish you all the best of luck for the Dark Kiss trilogy and your future endeavours.

DAMIAN: Traditional Vampire with a touch of the Contemporary One

2011-08-03T11:28:00.000-07:00

Once again, I welcome Tony-Paul de Vissage to my world, to share a little about another release, with extra bite. Always glad to have you round, Tony-Paul! The floor is yours.

Limousin, France, 1249… The Black Death rages and Faith is abandoned in the search to survive.

In one night, Damian La Croix loses his life and his soul as he willingly choses Undeath rather than perish of the Plague. His payment for immortality: the lives of everyone on his father’s estate—including his parents—paid to LeMaitre, the vampire he comes upon in a charnel pit. That act sets Damian on his journey. Through Mankind’s long centuries, many women cross his path, respond to his enticements, and are forced to make a choice…for when the Night Man Cometh, Death is never far behind.

They say the “traditional” vampire is making a comeback. No longer the anguished seeker of acceptance, of finding love and nothing more; no sparkly, benign, adolescent-appearing male wavering between turning the girl he’s attracted to or giving in to his bestial nature, not waging war with werewolves or others of his own kind; no pair of Undead sibling rivals who’ve loved the same woman in the past and now are committing the same mistake in the present… This Undead gentleman is sometimes no gentleman. He can be cruel and seductive by turns, blood-lusting or just plain lusting...a ravaging beast or a ravenous lover. If he can’t get what he wants one way, he’ll get it another…no holds barred…

With that in mind, I decided to write a traditional vampire tale, with a protagonist who was more Prince Drakula than Stefan Salvatore or Edward Cullen, but I still wanted him to be likable in spite of his obvious negative character traits. So…how to do it…?

First off, I had to pick my era…the Thirteenth Century sounded good…times of the Renaissance…those great tunics…swords…men with long flowing hair, Women with even longer hair and those fantastic high-waisted dresses pushing bosoms even higher. Sounded good. Damian la Croix, son of the Marquis la Croix of Limousin, France, is a child of his time…spoiled, pampered as only a noble heir can be…a threat to anything wearing a dress, while falling madly in love with the woman he’s been betrothed to…and then, his life is interrupted.

The Black Death strikes and Damian doesn’t want to die. He wants to live, to marry Antoinette, to love her, and when he chances upon a vampire struggling to find a victim in the dying village, he sees a way to escape the Plague and have his Antoinette, too. Without blinking an eye, Damian bargains the lives of everyone on his father’s estate for his own immortality. That alone places him outside the pale of the present type of literary vampire because no matter what comes later, Damian never repents or regrets his choice, and as we all know, one of the characteristics of the current paranormal lover is that he generally descries some of the things he’s done in his immortal past. But Damian…? He has no hesitation in destroying his beloved Antoinette when she turns against him, and he may mourn the others he loves and loses, but never once does he say those words: “I wish I hadn’t made this choice…”

It would’ve been easy to make Damian a complete villain, so the reader would applaud when he gets his comeuppance in the form of the downward-stab of a stake, but I didn’t want that. In the Grand Scheme of Things, Damian isn’t even better or worse than his Undead peers. He has friends among the Undead, men he shares adventures with, but he also has acquaintances among the Living, some of whom he’s quite willing to fight for. He has one rule he lives by in his journey through the centuries: Damian never forces anyone to become a vampire; he gives every woman he loves the right to make her own choice. As a result, though many profess undying love for him, when the moment comes, all invariably choose mortality rather than succumb, and Damian, though it leaves him once more alone, lets them go. He chooses to walk the corridors of Time alone rather than have a companion who has no wish to be as he himself is, and yet… There’s still a bit of human optimism left in Damian, and enough humanity for him to keep believing that somewhere…somehow… there exists someone for him, that somewhere a woman waits who’ll accept him for who he is…in spite of what he is…

…and when Damian does find that elusive someone—three thousand years in the future—he discovers her to be not what he expected at all…

It’s a bit of a different story, but one I think both horror fans and paranormal romance readers will enjoy, for its perspective of the vampire as both potential villain and hero.

The Night Man Cometh is available from Class Act Books, in ebook and print versions. Buy it here.

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore IV

2011-08-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

The Essence of Survival

Part I

Part II

Part III

When I discovered the zombies didn’t pay vampires any special mind, I was pretty blown away. There I’d been slinking around all the time when I didn’t have to. It was a big relief. It’s funny that now I was a lot safer than I’d ever been before. I would have laughed about it but there wasn’t anyone there to share the joke.

Even a vampire can only go so long before talking to himself stops being fun. I remembered that movie with that Gollum thing that made noises at the back of his throat as he was looking for his Precious. It was a bit too close to the bone.

Since I couldn’t find any vampires, I decided to try talking to the people, because they were about, just hiding like mad, especially at night. After a year or two, walking dead weren’t the only things they had to worry about.

The dogs that survived ran in packs and were lank dangerous. Animals that had been in zoos roamed about. Lions, tigers. Hell, bears even. With all the livestock running around there was plenty of food for them.

It’s enough to say things weren’t safe for warmbloods and it was pretty obvious that if I planned to eat in the future, it would be a good idea for me to look after them.

Talking to my food was better than talking to myself, in any case.

The first human I made friends with was this dyke and her girlfriend who were hiding in what used to be De Waterkant. They’d holed up in the cellar of an old house. I met Estelle when she was headed back from a scavenge mission. She was carrying lots of stuff she’d found in some of the shops that was still good to eat. Problem was the zombies were moaning on her tail.

I’d been following her too but when I saw her stop, as if she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to dump her shit and run, or try to get the stuff home, something in me snapped. Hell, I hadn’t spoken to someone in more than a year.

“You need help?” I called to her. My voice sounded very strange. Like it belonged to someone else.

She gave a small shriek and looked like she was going to drop dead from fright. When she saw me―and really, I’m not much to look at, I look like a girl with my long hair―she chilled out right then. I told her to head back to her place. I knew where she stayed. I knew where all the warmbloods stayed. To prove my point I took her bags and told her to run.

“But they gonna eat you! They gonna eat you!” Estelle cried.

I laughed. “No man, it’s cool. They won’t eat me. You’ll see.”

She looked at me like I was on drugs or something but when the zombies rounded the corner, she ran. I waited for the zombies to pass. Not pretty. They shambled past me and I stood still, closed my eyes. No sudden movements. Didn’t want to look at them either.

You should have seen her face when I brought her things to her. Like total amazement.

Warmbloods were faster than zombies but there were more zombies than warmbloods. Zombies could lie still for weeks and months without moving but the minute they smelled a warmblood they would follow. Going underground or finding higher ground helped, usually. But it also paid putting as much distance between yourself and the zombies. I think the reason why they didn’t sense me was because I didn’t give off heat.

I decided to be upfront with the warmbloods. After all, if they could believe in zombies, they could believe in vampires. When they understood I didn’t mean to kill them, that I only wanted a little blood in exchange for running errands or carrying messages, we quickly worked out a deal that was cool for all of us.

It wasn’t so bad. It gave me something to do and I was in good company. They didn’t look at me like I was worse than a piece of dog shit they just found under their shoes. Not like before when I was still doing brown. Back then they’d look at the track marks in my arms and they’d un-see me. I’d simply cease to exist for them.

Not every surviving warmblood liked me, though. There were groups of people with guns, who also knew about vampires, that would shoot me on sight. I generally stayed away from them. But it was the other people I helped. I got them to connect with each other. That’s how they started the first proper little villages. Almost like the gated security villages in the old days.

You know what? I still get warm and fuzzy when I think about that. I may be a small dude, but I can run fast. I can slip by unnoticed. I’d like to think that I’ve been selfless and good but I’ll be honest. It’s also about making sure that I keep up a supply. It’s almost like being a farmer―who talks to his sheep and his cows.

Would I ever turn another warmblood into a vampire? I didn't know so much. It would mean I’d have more competition. I tried not to get too close, even if I couldn't help but liking some of them. Estelle was like an auntie to me. I loved the way she smelled, because she made soap that had me think of the veld. It was nice when she hugged me. She was warm and when she laughed, her skin crinkled at the corners of her eyes.

When I looked in a mirror at Estelle's home I saw a very pale, dead face. I tried to smile but it looked like I showed my teeth, like one of those feral dogs. If I made another vampire, I’d just make something like me that may end up hurting these warmbloods who were now my friends.

* * * *

Liked this story? Interested in my other literary endeavours and media splashes? Then like my Facebook author page and we'll keep in touch.

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore III

2011-07-26T13:07:00.000-07:00

The Anatomy of a Junkie

Part I

Part II

A vampire isn’t all that different from a junkie. Kept away from a regular supply of fresh blood we get sick.

In the old days, when I was still scoring brown, there were times when I couldn’t get any. Could be that the cops intercepted a big shipment, or there was a delay somewhere along the line. The price would go up and either you made a plan to get money or you got sick; sweating and half shitting yourself to death going cold turkey.

If you were desperate, you scaled paregoric from the pharmacy. That was until the pharmacists cottoned on and started keeping the shit behind the counter. Paregoric is a tincture of opium, and prepping to shoot it was a mission. Even if you got it right, it burned like shit and the taste of camphor lingered in your mouth.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Being a vampire had one advantage. I never needed heroin again. While I got nostalgic-like about some of those old days, I can’t say I missed that never-ending worry about where I’d get my next portion.

My unlife revolved around a far more terrifying addiction. It wasn’t that I found blood disgusting. Far from it. It’s just the idea of hunting people freaked me the fuck out because I never was the sort to go out looking for trouble. To have to approach someone to bite them, although it felt like the right thing to do, still scared the crap outta me.

Most people were bigger and stronger than me. Guns and knives could still hurt me, though I healed a helluva lot faster. Once I got blood. But it was the getting blood that wasn’t easy.

Laugh all you want. I don’t care. Just be glad you’ve never fiended bad for the one thing that keeps you from turning into a fucking wild animal, foaming at the mouth like a dog with rabies, and go around biting people.

Biting people isn’t cool. Vampires that went around biting people in the old days got put down. They had to be sneaky. The warmbloods must never know. As much as I didn’t ask to be turned into a vampire, I was still attached to existing. No one likes the idea of dying. Even if God existed, I wasn’t prepared to take the chance that I really was damned.

It took about two nights to come to terms with what I’d become. By then, I was starving. My veins almost clawed their way out of my skin to throttle me but the more water I drank the more I puked. I’d holed up in my digs I shared with a buddy who put up with me because I scored him weed.

Food was the last thing on my mind. I was thirsty, like I could drink out a swimming pool and never kill the need for liquid. I spent those two nights sicker than ever before. During the day I was dead to the world, but at night I shivered and shook. It’s only when I looked in the mirror on the second night, and saw what had become of my teeth, that it sort of sunk in. A big WTF moment. I had great big fucking canines. I smelled my buddy, asleep in his bedroom.

I mean he smelled really good, like I could eat him.

I wasn’t quite all there. I was tripping off my tits from the thirst and I did what any vampire in my condition would do. I let my thirst ride me.

Maybe I spared Sean a worse death. I wasn’t very good at being a vampire and I bit him a few times and it must have really hurt before I got it right and drank him up like he was the best wine ever. But it sure beat what the zombies would have done.

And I think he kinda got into it near the end. That’s the thing with vampires. Warmbloods sink into the whole vibe of being sucked on. Maybe it’s something in our spit. They go limp the moment the fangs sink into the skin.

It’s better than sex. It’s better than junk.

I got beaten up a few times until I learned to be clever about stalking my prey. I always took out the ones that would have died anyway. At least I keep telling myself that. I didn’t always kill, but often then ones I drank from were so weak, I don’t think they survived every time.

Some of the other vamps said we were the apex predators. Whatever that meant. Just fancy words. Still didn’t change the fact that we killed and that didn’t always sit right with me.

Nowadays I don’t kill at all. They’re so scared, the warmbloods. Their blood is thin and bitter. I look into their eyes and I see fear. Real fear. In the old days they could pretend they were immortal, like us. That illusion’s been stripped away. There’s no pretend-pretend now.

Maybe if I work hard at it, I can somehow show that I’m better than the mindless flesh junkies roaming the street. I don’t want to be like that, just eating and eating and eating. I want to be something better, and I’m not quite sure if I am.

I’ll never kick this habit unless I greet the sun. And I’m too chicken shit to do that. Some small part of me wants to make up for what I was when I was still a warmblood. It’s all bullshit anyhow. I don’t know what I really want anymore. I can’t change anything.

* * * *

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Fang feature: Sweet Sips of Blood

2011-07-25T09:32:00.000-07:00

And today I hit pause on my usual round of activities to give my friend and fellow author Tony-Paul de Vissage a little link love.

Some vampires want to have their cake and drink it, too

Sweet Sips of Blood…a collection of vampire tales written with a pen dipped in crimson ink…

After the Apocalypse of 2012, humans and vampires unite to face an assault from a mutual foe…

A famous writer of vampire novels goes too far with her latest literary effort…

A vampire with a toothache seeks out an unusual dentist…

Blood will Freeze…Working-class Vampires…the Best Dentist in Orange County… and seven other short stories, some whimsical, some sad, a couple horrific, but all designed to titillate and chill…

Sometimes the vampire gets his “cake”; in others, he’s still outside, staring in through the bakery window. Like the sweet sips of blood sustaining the vampire’s existence, these stories are sweet sips of vampires’ secret souls…

Buy link: http://www.vamptasypublishing.co.uk/#/new-reads/4549210091

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore II

2011-07-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

They Always Ask This Question

Part I

Before the zombies ate nearly all the warmbloods, there was one question people always asked. Sometimes I’d be hanging with another vamp and he or she would be curious.

It’s the thing a lot of vamps get asked. Kinda like when the warmbloods sometimes wanted to know where you went to school or what job you had. Or where you were born or where you came from.

So, Dracula, who made you?

I’m not a complicated person. I was born in Cape Town, grew up in Cape Town, and died in Cape Town. Plain and simple, and not very exciting. The way I was living at the time I should have pegged a lot sooner but some fucking demon watched over me. The smack shoulda gotten me a hundred times over.

Fuck, I ODed so many times it was a joke. And every time my buddies, other junkies, would get me breathing again. Once night they were even driving me to hospital when they got me breathing after I shot up too much smack. We turned round and went home to shoot speedballs.

So it’s sorta funny, now that I think about it, that it wasn’t the brown that got me dead. It was a vampire.

I remember that it was summer because there was a drought, in more ways than one, and there was a whole bunch of us smack-heads left high and dry. We were all scratching and sweating, five of us in a row by the call box there on Kloof Street. All of us waiting for The Man.

We were so damned obvious I’m surprised the pigs didn’t come and pick us up and lock us away for the weekend. May as well wave a big red flag and scream “spot the druggies”. We were all pretty terminal. In it for the long haul. In and out of rehab fuck knows how many times.

A car pulled up―a resprayed Honda with tinted windows like the gangsters on the Cape Flats always drive. You know, the 2 Fast 2 Furious types? Car even had those dinky blue lights in the undercarriage that I guess was supposed to make it look like a UFO or something. Really styling. Not. Even we knew this vibe was so not cool. Our dealer drove a VW Polo, gunmetal grey.

Soft music spilled out, and it was fucked-up weird. Whoever was in that car was listening to some symphonic stuff that had like this horrid eighties beat to it with a synth-pop vibe my uncle sometimes played when we were there for Sunday lunch.

The others all looked to me to go check it out, so I got up real slow to take a peek. It was almost night and the interior of the car was dark. When I leant in, I could barely make out the driver, some coloured guy. I remember he smoked one of those mini cigar things and it smelled like vanilla.

That’s all I can recall.

Next thing I knew, I’d lost a chunk of time and it was almost dawn. I came to in a pile of rubbish in a side street in the Eastern City Precinct. A rat had bitten me. That’s what woke me up. That and the fact that my skin was smoking and I could smell burning meat. And it was me that was cooking.

I’ll never know who turned me into a vampire. Or why. The dude didn’t do me a favour. I went from being a scum-of-the-earth junkie to being a bottom-of-the-pecking-order vampire. No diffs, really. I exchanged my drug problem for a blood problem.

I had nothing to offer the guys at the top unless they needed some idiot to do their dirty work and almost get killed in the process. I didn’t owe them anything. They deserved what they got when the zombies came and ate nearly all the warmbloods.

Rats like me got to slip between the cracks. Guess I’m a survivor.

I should count my blessings, my mother would say. My parents are dead. All the people who said I’d turn up dead in a gutter with a needle in my vein, are dead. For all I know, the vampire who turned me is dead too.

I’m the one who’s left roaming the streets like one of those starving dogs not even the walking dead will touch.

I can only laugh when I think of those vampire movies that I watched when I was still living with Ma and Pa. Tom fucking Cruise, Gary Oldman, that glittery Edward boy. It’s all shit. There is no glory to this life. It’s dirty and, if you’re unlucky, violent and short.

In all the time since the zombiepocalypse I saw only one other vampire―a stranger. We both crossed Strand Street and it was close to dawn, and what caught my eye is that we both hurried. He kept looking over his shoulder, like me, to the east, where the sky got lighter.

Like me he was dirty, his clothes ragged. His eyes bulged slightly when he recognised me for what I was. No human would walk in the open like that. Unarmed. I knew what he was, right off.

I wanted to stop him to speak to me, to tell me his story, of where he came from but he slipped sideways into the shadows and was gone. Just like that.

I’m kak lonely. There’s nothing fun about being a vampire. But I’m a survivor. Tomorrow might get better.

* * * *

Keep track of me on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter.

Cat Hellisen Uncovered

2011-07-13T03:41:00.000-07:00

Today I welcome Cat Hellisen to my world. She's a close friend and writing partner, and I'm absolutely thrilled to reveal the cover art for her YA fantasy novel, When the Sea is Rising Red, which is pegged for an early 2012 release.

Can you tell us about When the Sea is Rising Red in a nutshell?

It's about a girl who fakes her own suicide in order to run away from an arranged marriage. She thinks she's choosing to finally break free of her society's constrictions and limitations, only to discover that it's not all that easy to escape her upbringing. Especially when she ends up falling for the guy who wants to destroy her family.

I think one of the hardest and scariest things about growing up is

realising that the choices you make don't have simple repercussions and that no matter what you do or how much it blows up in your face, you can't return to the safety of childhood. You have to own your

mistakes and make them work for you.

What is it about your "Hobverse" that offers something special to your readers?

As a South African I'm influenced, however obliquely, by the classism and racism I see around me. I've brought that to Felicita's universe: the casual Colonialist racism of the privileged, the human desire to somehow get a label that makes you Better Than another human, no

matter how ridiculous that concept is. But I also loved messing about with all the classic fantasy tropes and picturing them at their most unfantastical.

The Hobverse originally began as this idea of "what if fairies were just like us? What if the magical was utterly mundane and ugly?" And so I ended up building this universe where the unicorns were genetic mutant goats bred as sports for rich women, and magic was accessed by

a kind of drug and rigidly controlled, where vampires, when they did appear, were lower than dogs and about as far from superhuman as you could get. I had a lot of fun playing with ideas.

When is the novel releasing?

February 28, 2012, and it's available for preorder now on Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/When-Sea-Rising-Red-Hellisen/dp/0374364753

What was the soundtrack you had playing in the background while you wrote When the Sea is Rising Red?

The closest thing to musical inspiration was Chumbawamba's rendition of the partisan song Bella Ciao. It still manages to give me shivers. For this particular book I drifted into a fairly unmusical headspace. Odd, considering I have constructed lengthy soundtracks for other novels.

Who are some of the voices in YA literature you drawn most inspiration from?

We can sit here all day. *grin* YA is BOOMING, and right now it's filled with some of the most amazing voices. Sticking specifically to fantasy, I love what I've read of Holly Black and Lisa Mantchev's work. Some awesome titles are coming out in 2012, most of which are

listed at the apocalypsies' blog - http://apocalypsies.blogspot.com/2010/11/meet-apocalypsies.html

I also grew up reading loads of Diana Wynne Jones, Tanith Lee, Ursula le Guin, and Clive Barker, so they were a major inspiration.

Linkage

Website/blog: http://www.cathellisen.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/hellioncat

Goodreads for When the Sea is Rising Red:

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10194425-when-the-sea-is-rising-red

Short fiction: On An Empty Shore I

2011-07-12T00:21:00.000-07:00

For Once We Weren’t the Greater Evil

Where were you when the zombiepocalypse happened? Nasty piece of work wasn’t it? They didn’t see it coming, the dumb fucks. One moment everyone went on like the world wasn’t going to come to an end, chasing their daily lemming-grind. The next boom! neighbour ate neighbour and everything just ground to a standstill.

Me? I noticed the shit was going down when I came out at night to see the streets were all but deserted. Lots of sirens. More than usual for Cape Town by night. And, of course, the other weird factor. No street people. Doorway after doorway was empty of bodies wrapped in blankets or makeshift cardboard shelters. No easy snacks for nocturnal lurkers like me.

At the time I was doing what any self-respecting vampire would do at night—prowling and keeping an eye out. For what I wasn’t quite sure. No acting like the big dude like those snooty bastards in their penthouses, who got their food brought up to them all discreet like.

Being all high and mighty didn’t help them when things turned to shit. By the time the warmbloods called in the army, it was too late. Damn zombies pretty much chewed their way through everyone who put up a struggle. What a waste of perfectly good blood. Zombies were only after one thing: meat. And they weren’t too picky about the condition they found it in, so long as it filled the gap.

This kinda left us vamps at a loose end. The clever warmbloods who survived were armed to the teeth and extra freaked out, which made it tricksy for the rest of us to get a meal. In the end vampire turned on vampire, and this is where it was better to be streetwise.

No one ever paid me―Joost Brink―any attention when I was alive. They paid me even less once I was undead. Small, skinny ex-junkie. Not important in the grander scheme of things, hey? This saved my bacon when the almighty papaya hit the proverbial fan. The old ones at the top were the first to go, if they weren’t clever enough to go into hiding. Which they weren’t.

They expected their loyal lieutenants to keep them safe. The lieutenants did what any self-serving creature of night would. They looked after number one, and number one wasn’t the boss man. Who knew?

The things I saw during those first nights of fire, blood and terror I don’t want to remember. I am glad vampires don’t dream because if that were the case I’d have daymares. Or whatever you’d call it. Dunno.

It’s kinda twisted that a monster like me would want to puke after seeing stuff like kidlets all ripped into bits, the horrible gnashing mouths chomping onto tender flesh. Lips blue in death smacked as fat dribbled between the gaps where teeth had been knocked out. Even I never killed kids, okay.

An old man made his last stand, cornered in his driveway. Armed with only a nine-millimetre pistol, he fought off a mob of walking dead. He took out one with a head shot at almost point blank range but by then it was too late―too many of the rotting things clawed and moaned at him.

The truly fucking hysterical thing about this whole drama was that the zombies simply weren’t interested in other undead. Not that I claimed any relations to the shambling rotten things. As far as they were concerned, we belonged among their ranks.

The night I discovered this I would have pissed myself if I could. I’d walked straight into a pack of the beasts, and bumped into a creature that may once have been a secretary or a sales rep, had half her skin not hung off her in loose sheets. Grey meat gleamed in the low light. We bounced into each other and I staggered back half a step then froze, half expecting her and all the rest to fall upon me the same way they’d dismember warmbloods.

To my fucking disbelief they shoved past me, as though I were just a lamp post or some other obstacle in their path. They did not even pause to sniff in the air. Bully for me. I should have smelled them but there were parts of the city where the overall stench of rotted meat was so strong I sometimes overlooked the obvious. I tended to go on sight rather than smell. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

It still didn’t help that my food was in short supply. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn to zombies for a Happy Meal. Their blood, such as it was, was viscous and black, and smelled like they looked―days-old road kill.

I preyed on the lost, the hopeless, much as I had before the zombies took over, but somehow now, despite my hunger, I simply lacked the taste for the kill. I used to see myself as an angel of death, wouldn’t drag out the inescapable shit. The warmbloods who cowered in their nooks and hidey-holes were even more pitiful than the dregs I used to cull. I just couldn’t do it. They clung to life like kittens drowning in a bucket. Often, I slunk back to my lair hungrier than when I awoke.

Mind you, a starving vampire was about as frightening as a horde of zombies. I stalked the deserted streets, stepped around cars discarded like oversized toys. I stooped to feeding off feral dogs, of which there were many and, besides, the infernal things tried to hunt me of occasion. I may have been the runt among the vampires, but I wouldn’t allow mere dogs to make me roll and show my neck.

Cape Town was weird without the cheery bright lights or the low rumble of traffic. From time to time I’d see the flicker of candles from some of the high-rise buildings, tenacious warmbloods barricaded from the gore-fest in the streets below. For the most I let them be. It’s almost as if for once, they deserved a break, the poor bastards.

Warmblood or vampire, we were in this mess together. I didn’t know where those zombies came from any more than the warmbloods. We were equally fucked.

The silence was louder than a siren.

* * * *

Liked this? See my Goodreads author profile here or check out my fiction at Lyrical Press.

Stuff is happening, okay?

2011-07-10T23:12:00.000-07:00

It's been a little quiet around my blogging for the past few days and there's a very good reason for it. I'm on leave from work in the salt mines and I've been busy catching up with my editing obligations, as well as just taking time out to sit in the sun, drink tea and read. For those of you who know me in person, you'll understand why I need to do this. To give you some indication of my state of mind: I slept the whole first day of leave, I was that tired.

But stuff's been happening, okay? During the past week or so I've written a blog serial that will release in weekly installments for the next eight weeks. It's a bit of a monster mash-up but I've had good responses so far from my beta readers, who've been invaluable with regard to the advice they've given me to help fine-tune the writing. Many thanks to Carrie, as well as the ladies at ERA. I'll be releasing it every Tuesday, from this blog, so keep your eyes open.

Last week also saw the release of the Bloody Parchment anthology, which was a project that kept me busy between all the deadlines and madness for the past year. I'm crazy enough to have announced that the entries for volume two are now open. Get the download link and details for the competition here. The winner receives a full batch of edits on a novella- or novel-length work.

Other than that, I've been reading submissions, working on beta critique and catching up on Lyrical Press editing obligations. It's been absolute bliss staying at home, in my PJs mostly. This ends on Thursday but the illusion can continue until then, I reckon. Then it's back to early morning starts and doing my usual two-hour commute every day. I'll say this much, that I've knuckled under and started work in Khepera in Shadow, which is book three of my Khepera series. So far, books one and two, are available. In order they are Khepera Rising and Khepera Redeemed.

For those of you who have a fondness for cocky, foul-mouthed anti-heroes, you may want to give Jamie a try. He's a bad-ass black magician and bookshop owner in Cape Town, South Africa, and his world almost literally becomes hell on earth when stuff goes wrong in his life. I can guarantee you'll be cheering him on though at times you'd dearly love to slap him.

Artslink award!

2011-07-01T03:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I interrupt your blog-reading pleasure with a small announcement. I kinda won the June Artslink award for my article on Leon Botha. I'm very stoked about this.

And for those of you here in South Africa, do buy the Weekend Argus on Saturday or Sunday, and read my article about Kersefontein. Photographs taken by my dearly beloved.

Then go and buy a copy of the Sunday Independent and page to the life section, 'cos I've got an article about Sam Shearon appearing that day.

Double whammy of editorial goodness for the weekend, folks! Now go forth and buy the papers!

What the readers have to say

2011-06-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I’m quite stoked to see how people have taken to Just My Blood Type, a short work of collaborative fiction between myself and Carrie Clevenger. And today I'm going to do something different by letting the readers who so graciously reviewed our piece have their say.

“I have a fondness for bad-mouthed female leads. This one made me grin while reading through the dialogue.” – Rikki K, Smashwords

“The story switches back and forth between the two in a sultry give and take building to a climax that gives the title its name’s sake. For the price of only intoxicating your senses, Carrie Clevenger and Nerine Dorman deliver one hell of a story.” – Jodi MacArthur, Smashwords

“This is Gothic Romance but at the cutting edge. If you’re looking for Twilight fan fiction then you better go look somewhere else.” – Noor A Jahangir, Smashwords

“I’m in awe of the way they’ve woven their own book characters and personas into this story of vampire meets romance novelist. That it seems real and gritty and as if the reader is having a conversation down at their local bar or cafe is a tribute to their skills.” – Cari Silverwood, Goodreads

“Absolutely loved this read! I felt as if I were sitting in the bar eavesdropping on the goings on of Therese and Xan and enjoying every moment of it.” – Ava Riley, Goodreads

“Loved this short story! It’s got a great concept and terrific writing from both authors. I look forward to more of Xan when Crooked Fang is released.” – Sonya Clark

“Xan is a force to be reckoned with and I cannot wait for his book! This story was so adorable. Just a taste... a small glimpse into Xan’s world.” – Wookiesgirl, Goodreads

Haven't read it yet? Well, go on, what are you waiting for?

Free download here.

And catch Xan, Carrie or me on Twitter, when you’re around.

Howl--a Meeting with Silke Juppenlatz

2011-06-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

I'd like to congratulate Silke on the release of Howl, a tale about wolves of the shifting kind I had the pleasure of working on with her. So, without further ado, I'm handing you over to Silke for a little Q&A...

Welcome, Silke, and tell us a little about the types of stories you enjoy reading.

Well, now. That's a loaded question, since I read absolutely everything. Back of cornflakes packets, shampoo bottles, the lot.

I enjoy a good yarn, no matter what genre it is. I predominantly read paranormal, but I dig out the odd historical and contemporary too. Futuristics are another favorite. I like a strong hero who is not afraid to look like a wuss sometimes. The ones I really enjoy are Gena Showalter's heroes. Grumpy and cranky, but oh-so-sexy. There has to be action in the stories, and it has to be plausible. I don't really read first person books. They go straight back on the shelf. It's just not my thing, and I can't get into first person.

When did you know you had to write Howl? Were there any events that sparked the story off?

I took a week off work, wanted to slouch and watch TV, and do nothing. That worked for about a day.

Then I listened to some music, came across Howl by Florence and the Machine--and next thing I knew, there was a wolf in my head. And he was noisy. Persistent. Annoying.

The odd thing about Howl was that I knew all of the story from the moment it popped into my head. It was also the fastest story I've ever written--one week. Sleep is overrated. Ask Zalin.

Why do you think wolf shifters remain popular? Would you ever populate your stories with other types of shifters?

I think they still hold mystery, and the wild animal appeals to people. Taming the beast, so to speak. I actually have a cheetah shifter sitting on my harddrive, begging to be finished. Oddly, lion shifters don't appeal to me. I don't know why. They do hold a fascination for others, however.

Tell us about Zalin. What makes him tick?

Zalin is really a loner who likes company. A bit of an odd duck, to be sure. He's Alpha, but he defers to another Alpha. Grudgingly. He moves from pack to pack and is never really home anywhere. I think if there is one thing that defines him, it's that he has a massive protective streak. He just can't help helping and protecting people. If there's someone in need, he'll be there. He's also big on promises. If you make one, you keep it. People tend to use that against him, or take advantage of it. He's had his share of hard luck, and he understands rejection and betrayal, which is why doesn't like what happens to Lucia.

Do you have any other published works?

I have a novella named Smitten out, which is part of an anthology, but it's a standalone book. It's about an angel on probation, who has to contend with the woman who caused the loss of his halo, coming to him for help. Ash so doesn't like that. He'd rather never set eyes on her again. After all, how is an angel supposed to redeem himself, when his nemesis tempts him at every turn?

Which authors get your creative nod of approval and are the ones you return to time and again?

Gena Showalter and Kresley Cole. I like their books a lot. Sherrilyn Kenyon's League Series is a very old favorite of mine, having read Born of Fire way back in 1999. I find my tastes have changed a lot over the years, and old favorites are still keepers, but I don't read them again. The first romance I ever read was Shanna, by Kathleen E Woodiwiss--but I can't read her books anymore. The way they are written turns me off now, and I'd rather remember them from when I first read them, or I'd spoil the memory.

If you had no financial limitations, describe your ideal writing/living environment.

Ohhh.... I would likely have a huge battery of computers and monitors (check out Terry Pratchett's setup some time, it's awesome.), and I'd set them up in a conservatory. Or maybe have a proper computer room and a superfast laptop I can use in the conservatory or outside. I'd have a nice comfortable chair and an old-style writing desk with room to write letters. (I write letters by hand, with a fountain pen. And post them to people. Even if they have email. It's nice to get a letter in the mail, you know? I’m probably weird, because I send handwritten thank you letters--for rejections.)

There would not be a TV in the room (I don't have a TV in the room now, either. Hate that. Too distracting.) Most of all, I would have the room entirely to myself. The where doesn't really matter to me, as long as there is greenery outside, not a built-up area. (Yeah, I like nature.) I don't want a huge mansion or a castle. A farm would be nice, but the house itself needs to be manageable. We don't need sixty rooms to rattle around in. Enough to have people over and entertain comfortably, room for a horse and a dog and whatever other animal I drag in. Somewhere in the countryside. I'd love to live in the US, but I think if pushed, we'd probably end up in New Zealand.

If I really had the money... I'd buy a house in the UK, a ranch in the US, and an island in the Maldives for holidays. :)

Maybe throw in a lodge somewhere in Africa, just to keep my dad happy, who would like to go back there some time. (I've never been.)

Okay. Anyone got the (winning!) lottery numbers handy?

And I'd have air-conditioning in that computer room!!! (I'm in the UK, we open the windows, you know?)

Are you planning any follow-ups to your setting in Howl?

Oh yeah. It's actually almost finished. I've got about 3-5k more to write, then have a good read through to catch inconsistencies and typos and stuff--then it'll be sent out. (By the time the post is live it'll probably be finished.)

It's Tiffy's story and starts off about seven months after Howl ends. It's not a young adult novel (although Tiffy is just past 17 at the beginning of the book), but the first meeting with the hero happens when she's still jailbait. Not that she cares, but it scares the dickens out of Keric, who doesn't want to end up in jail!

Link it!

Well, there is Querytracker (http://querytracker.net/), of course. I use it a lot to check out trends, agents and publishers. Their forums are pretty good too.

Goodreads (http://goodreads.com) is a great place if you like to read (and great for authors too.)

My own blog, Evilauthor (http://www.evilauthor.com), has a ton of stuff which can be useful to authors.

If you're looking for a great critique group, check out Passionate Critters (http://www.passionatecritters.org)--although we are currently closed for new people, you can still apply--just be prepared to be on a waiting list while we're closed. (New members are voted on.)

Another I go to infrequently is Novel Publicity (http://www.novelpublicity.com/)

Cindy Myer's Market News (http://cindimyersmarketnews.wordpress.com/) is a valuable source, too. Subscribe to her newsletter or RSS this one. :)

Thanks for having me, Nerine!

Bio:

Silke grew up in Germany and is used to things going bump in the night--and it wasn't always the acrophobic cat, or someone hitting their head on a low beam on the ceiling.

She writes paranormal romance, usually at night, and blames Anne Stuart to this day for all her ambitions and strange stories, after reading one of her books.

These days the only thing going bump at "oh-dark-thirty" is her--usually when she smacks into the sofa while creeping to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

Silke likes to hear from her readers. Feel free to contact her via her blog at http://www.evilauthor.com, follow her on Twitter, or become a friend on Facebook.

You can get Howl here: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Lyrical Press or at any other ebook store.

Uncovering Hell's Music

2011-06-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

Those of you who read Just My Blood Type this past week would have read about Therese von Willegen, intrepid romance author. Well, folks, that's me, my other half who writes dirty books.

Last year this time I wrote and sold my first erotic romance novel, entitled Tainted Love, which released through Siren. This was more an experiment than anything else, to see if I could write and sell contemporary erotic romance. I discovered two things: not only did I write this well enough to sell to a publisher other than my existing one, but I also enjoyed the genre very much. Enough to write Hell's Music, which I've homed with Lyrical Press.

Why back at Lyrical Press? Because Lyrical gave me my foot in the door, and have allowed me to experiment with my writing and flex my muscles. Another reason: because behind the scenes there's a well-oiled machine and a support staff of fellow authors, content editors, line editors and, lastly, I must thank people like Stef, Mary, Piper and Renee for just being absolutely the best team I've worked with. Ever.

So, without further ado, I'd like to thank Renee for the wonderful cover art for Hell's Music. This was pretty much spot-on what I was looking for when I briefed her with regard to the artwork.

Hell's Music releases early in September and I'm already very excited with how things are looking.

And, if you're on Facebook, do swing by my author page.

Giveaway! The Mall by SL Grey

2011-06-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

Well, I've got something sweet to pass onto a lucky reader--a copy of The Mall by SL Grey--that I'll mail to the first lucky sod who tells me in which country the novel is set.

Read more about The Mall here: http://slgrey.book.co.za/

Then mail me with your answer at nerinedorman@gmail.com and put "The Mall Giveaway" in the subject line of your email. Remember to include your full name and postal address. The competition closes on Friday, June 24, 2011.

In conversation with SL Schmitz

2011-06-20T13:33:00.000-07:00

It's not often that an author catches my fancy on such a visceral level as SL Schmitz has with her novel, Let it Bleed. Maybe it's because I'm the last of a dying breed of eldergoth, and can reference the subcultural references Schmitz paints in her novel.

I'll be straight, Let it Bleed is not an easy novel to read. If you're expecting straight narrative, you're not going to get it here. Instead Schmitz offers readers a Ginsberg-esque threnody of word-pictures and textures that act together to create a three-dimensional tapestry.

Once I adjusted to her writing style, I couldn't put the book down. The story read like an acid trip, rife with symbolism, narrative poetry and mythology, all wrapped together in a fever dream.

This is the kind of book I want to own in print, that I will take down from my bookshelf every now and then so I can read passages out loud, for it is only when the words are spoken out loud that they will live.

So, while this is no easy read, this retelling of the story of the Nativity has a raw beauty in its brokeness, its narcotic daze... Let it Bleed is a brave offering from this author, and has definitely succeeded in making me sit up and notice SL Schmitz.

Today I'd like to welcome SL Schmitz to my world for a little Q&A.

Let it Bleed, I feel, can be read on two levels. Am I off-mark suggesting the story can be read both ways? Simultaneously?

It would be interesting to hear more about your thoughts on this, Nerine. But I agree that there is a high note and an undertone to the story. On one level, this is a modern-day Joseph and Mary story with a punk rock soundtrack, complete with a savior and a martyr and a villain. It is raw and brutal and hostile, intermingling the psychotic thought processes of the Dead Girl with the apocalyptic mission of mercenary angels.

Then there is the undertone, humming deep beneath the epidermis of the main story… a tale of demons and monsters lurking under the impassive eye of a ruling god. Not sure which is more blasphemous – suggesting that God could be so taken with one of His earliest creations, the mythical Sophia, that he just lets her run around causing chaos wherever she goes, or the idea that God is not really in control of all of the worlds in the Universe.

Were you at all influenced by Allen Ginsberg's Howl? Are there any other authors who've influenced your style or who are inspirational?

Howl is brilliant – one of the greatest opening lines ever written. I have to admit that I was influenced by Jack Kerouac, Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski and all the rest of the boys on the electric acid kool-aid bus. But I also have to give props to Anais Nin and Flannery O’Conner.

Throw a little Patti Smith and Lydia Lunch/Exene Cervenka in there, and I guess I ended up with a whole liturgy of 20th-century gospels to choose from. Then there are the poetry slams from the 1980s and 1990s – I still have old cassette tapes that I bought for $5 at clubs in New York and Kansas City of poets with their voices rising and falling among cheering crowds. Words are magic, and can weave spells. I tried to capture some of that magical imagery in Let It Bleed; to raise the lead singer of a band into mythological godhood based on the adoration of Generation X and the powers of the new Madonna.

Why a Goth theme? Were there any albums you had on repeat while you wrote?

I grew up in the suburbs right outside of Chicago. The Goth scene was the coolest, darkest, most absurdly underground and desirable music in the whole world. Back then, it was all about voice, image, and tone. And make up. Lots and lots of black eye makeup.

There was the independent Blue Skies Record store in Naperville and Wax Trax in downtown Chicago – places where you could take $50 and walk out of the store with 10 new LPs or records. We would just walk in and buy the albums of bands we had never heard of, but had the best names. Back before Jarboe was a part of the Swans, Michael Gira was putting out the most hypnotic music with a hallucinatory bass line that just altered brainwaves.

We loved Bauhaus and Ministry, and as the 1980s progressed we loved the Cure and Siouxsie and Morrissey. Don’t forget Ska and the influence of the Dead Kennedys! Once upon a time, that stuff was revolutionary. It seems almost quaint now, but back in the day it was uber-alternative to like these bands, and it shaped me into the person I am today.

Why names such as Razorblade Boy, Dolphin Boy or the Dead Girl?

I did a guest blog about this awhile ago, and I proudly but hesitantly admitted that I committed an author’s sin by not really naming my main characters. There was this primal need in me to keep the characters in a constant state of turmoil, leave them unnamed so that just their horrible, scandalous, visionary, beautifully decadent personalities could shine through.

I think it keeps the readers guessing – if you look very very closely, I have detailed their proper names once or twice within the context of the 340 page novel – but it’s kind of like an Easter egg to find them. Isn’t the “Razorblade Boy” a great name? It has so many connotations – he is so jagged and sharp and self-important that he is unapproachable, and yet he is sorrowful and causes pain. I tried to match the name with the essence of the character, in a very Andy Warhol/John Waters kind of way. I think it works, because the novel is contradictory. Is everyone totally insane and hallucinating, or could this story really happen?

How long did it take you to write the story, and how challenging was the editing process?

LOL – this story took a really, really long time to get on paper. I am a painstakingly slow writer and I do constant re-writes. I am grateful to my beta readers, and to my actual editors who took a deep breath and went in with red pens poised. Could this book have been leaner and meaner, harder and more fast-paced? Of course. But the editors and beta readers viewed it as a symphony that starts out slow and then builds. You have to move with it, and not become overwhelmed by vocabulary or obscure references. It will all fall together in the end.

Are you going to continue in a similar vein with your next novel?

I have promised myself and Dark Continents Publishing, Inc., that my next two featured novels will be written like a normal human being. LOL! But seriously – I am trying to grow as a writer, and although Let It Bleed is written in a deeply stream-of-consciousness way of speaking and implying, I am seeking other, more accessible voices for future publications.

Care to spill the beans about any upcoming stories?

The Seven Ravens will be published in early 2012, and it a re-interpretation of a Grimm’s Fairy Tale. There will be another novel coming out, hopefully by end of spring 2012, that will be called Crunchbone, the story of werewolves and a doomed wedding party during turn-of-the-century Russia. I will also have a story published in P is For Phobia, an anthology being edited by Dean M Drinkel for Dark Continents Publishing.

See: http://www.thedeadgirl.com/

Writing is... the only thing that keeps me alive

2011-06-19T07:01:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Carrie Clevenger tagged me in a blog entitled Writing is...

And, typically, it takes me a while to respond to stuff, especially when it comes to defining how I feel about the topic. Plainly put, the only reason why I haven't shuffled off this mortal coil yet is because of writing. I have stories to tell. I exist and am defined by the stories I write.

For me the art of writing is about magic, about changing reality in accordance with my will. While I'm quite honest about the fact that I'm not going to write the next earth-shattering work of literary greatness, I'm going to tell a lot of stories.

Be they horror or works of erotic fiction, it doesn't matter. When I enter that creative space, it's akin to an act of lucid dreaming where I synthesize my thoughts and feelings and mix them with life experiences in an act of imagination.

My writing acts as a refuge, for when the mundane world eats away at my childlike sense of wonder and threatens to drown me in banality. For a few hours I can escape the tragic comedy that is reality and swap it for worlds where anything can happen.

If I didn't have this form of self-expression, I'd have no reason to continue living. Take away my writing and you remove the one thing I have always been passionate about. I will continue to tell stories, to whisk my readers into realms of make-believe. I love telling stories. I love showing people worlds they could never have imagined.

Through telling stories I hope to inspire others to reach beyond themselves and grasp that flame within themselves.

I'm tagging Cat Hellisen, Annette Bowman, Sonya Clark, Manda Benson and Pam Turner.

Follow me on Twitter @nerinedorman or Go forth and like my Facebook author page.

I am a Goodreads author.

Good news for Khepera fans

2011-06-17T03:50:00.000-07:00

Well, Khepera series fans should be filled with happy at this point. I've finally managed to wrap my brain around what happens in book three. I'm outlining as we speak. In the meanwhile, I've a small gift here for those of you who love Jamie. She Hates Me takes place just before events in book one, Khepera Rising.

Guest Blog: Cari Silverwood

2011-06-13T09:59:00.000-07:00

Cari and me go back a good few years. It all started innocently enough when we met on the Critters Workshop and and she eventually joined a closed writers' group we're both in. She's one of my writing buddies and we both pretty much started writing erotica at the same time. It's quite clear Cari's really taken a shine to the genre. Today, to celebrate the launch of her first venture into the realms of erotica, a novel entitled Three Days of Dominance, she's kindly agreed to guest-blogging slot on my main blog.

So yeah... if you don't like the heat, I suggest you don't read further, 'cos this is a sizzlingly steamy post.

Welcome, Cari, and I'd bet you put those mint-green eyes into Three Days of Dominance just to torment me, hey?

* * * *

My Journey into the Art of Writing BDSM

The topic of this blog is the suggestion of an evil friend, Nerine Dorman. Blame her. I usually plan things a little but here, I’m going to ramble through how I stumbled on erotica, and thence on writing BDSM. Despite the stumbling, I do adore writing in this niche.

Why. Hmm. Put simply. I was already writing in another genre, discovered the demand for online erotica, and went for it. I chose to write BDSM erotica, without ever having read a pure erotica book. I figured I could write a story about tying someone up without researching it.

Since then I’ve done a ton of research, spoken to a lot of people about BDSM, written three novels, and come to admit to myself that the reason I chose to write BDSM, is because it has always fascinated me.

So I wrote Three Days of Dominance and, though it has since been heavily added to and edited, to my surprise, as I read other stories in this erotica field I found that I had used a lot of the ‘tropes’ -- the themes that get repeated over and over. I may not have been familiar with the Dom and sub terminology, but I wrote them in anyway. All those ‘control’ aspects appeared.

I had the Dom circling the sub, the bondage (well, of course, a no-brainer LOL), the formal agreement between the two people before the hanky panky started. I had the insistence on obedience -- though I’m afraid my heroine, Danii, does get away with an awful lot, and also the lovely firm voice of the male Dom. Yum. Plus I didn’t forget to place in the heart of the heroine that little bit of, oh-my-god, trepidation whenever my Dom arrived on the scene -- my, my, my, I had to have that.

Oh, and orgasms, mustn’t forget the lots and lots of orgasms.

I now know I write BDSM because it pushes all those fantasy buttons in me that are common to a lot of women. And because I have always thought bondage terribly erotic visually, as well as on the page of a novel. The D/s aspect and bondage are my favorites. You may find some flogging and whipping in my stories, but anything dealing with nasty painand hard-core sadomasochism, I’ll leave for others.

One of the best things about BDSM is the versatility. I get toys to play with -- real nice ones. Throw that into steampunk land, as in my Iron Dominance, and you get upside down on a St Andrew's cross with a view of the sky passing by below to literally die for. Or throw that into my novel where fae mix with human…

Her wrists were drawn taut above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her protruding red nipples and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.

The man, his black hair floating like the rays of a sun, lifted his head from between her thighs. She gasped, rolling her hips upward. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…

She panted as his thumbs glided in the slickness down below, felt them sink deep into her, then deeper inside, and gasped again, lost in the molten sensation. She tried to move her arms, her legs and couldn’t. Trapped and pinioned for him to do what he wished. Excitement screwed her insides a notch tighter.

* * * *

I plan to keep writing these stories that will hopefullyleave you gasping and fanning yourself, my heroine tied up in knots, and the hero with a smile on his face. Like my website says: Scorched Souls, Bound Hearts.

Buy Three Days of Dominance here: http://www.loose-id.com/Three-Days-of-Dominance.aspx

Visit Cari's website at: http://www.carisilverwood.net/

Farewell, dear friend

2011-06-06T01:07:00.000-07:00

Leon Botha and I never spoke about his progeria. I figured he'd probably discussed this topic to death with the idly curious. But we did speak about time, creativity and Western mysticism, with emphasis on Egyptian philosophy and magic, in which both of us shared an abiding love and interest. I used to send him info-updates from online resources and we kept in touch via email and social media.

I met him only the one time in person, last year, when his friend, Gordon, brought him in to the CBD and the pair of them stole me away for an hour during my lunch break. We went to the Book Lounge and sat on the couch. I remember thinking how large that cup of hot chocolate in Leon's hands was and how much more joy he'd get from drinking it than me, who was more than twice his height.

In person there was no denying the wisdom and courage of this young man who had aged before his time. Even then (and now) my heart bleeds for him. Every day could be his last yet he lived his life with such fortitude, with such hunger to learn, to create, to explore. Never once did he ever complain to me about the injustice of his situation.

I learned a valuable lesson from Leon. If that means that I sleep less than most people, so be it. Life is too short, brutal and uncaring. There is so little joy in the world and it is up to us to shape life to mean something, to find the beauty and the truth of our Selves.

Leon gifted me with the painting, the image of which I've included in this blog. At first I couldn't believe he'd give me such a valuable work of art, something he must have spent many, many hours working on.

He insisted, telling me he knew I was the one who resonated the most with the work and he wanted me to have it.

But I just want to thank him yet again. The picture hangs above my bed. It reminds me that life is precious. Every moment is irreplaceable and it is up to me to make the best use of every last, living breath.

I heard about his passing on Twitter yesterday. Not the best of ways but yeah, that's the way it flows nowadays. I'm not going to wallow in all the "might-have-beens" and "should-haves". Leon, thank you, not only for gifting the world with your art, but also for your friendship. You are a shining light, a magician transformed, and I will carry your memory with me until I am dust. Wherever you are, dear friend, may Thoth enlighten you, Anubis open the way. Strength for your journey, brother.

I interviewed Leon last year, and the link is here: http://nerinedorman.blogspot.com/2010/08/leon-botha-artist.html

Call for Submissions: Meet me at Dusk

2011-05-18T06:10:00.000-07:00

And *drumroll please* Here's my pet project, indefinitely, under the theme of Meet me at Dusk. Yes, it's all about dark fantasy.

As Edgar Allan Poe once deep into darkness peered, to wonder, fear and doubt, he also dreamed dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. And Nietzsche, while warning against hunting monsters, was quite fond of that abyss which gazed back.

The light of our hearts' delight can only shine sweeter against a backdrop of despair. Darker stories swirl and fester in the midst of the mundane; mysterious creatures prowl at the edge of awareness to seduce and devour.

Conflicts bleed into our world, to snare unwary mortals; tantalize us with hints of magic and enigma beyond our ken. Love is lost and found, empires rise only to crumble, and few dare to step beyond the threshold.

Did you grow up reading Poe, Burroughs and Lovecraft? Do Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere and The Sandman graphic novels languish on your bookshelves next to Poppy Z Brite's Lost Souls and Storm Constantine's Wraetthu novels? Lyrical Press is looking for works of dark fantasy that explore the contrasts of modern urban living with that of the supernatural, expressed in a gritty tone redolent with pop culture references and noir elements.

See the submission guidelines at http://www.lyricalpress.com/submissions.php and email nerine@lyricalpress.com with your query.

Call for Submissions: LGBT fiction

2011-05-18T05:04:00.000-07:00

I have my own Call for Submissions happening fairly soon, but I'm sharing the shout-out for one of my fellow Lyrical Press editors.

Lyrical Press is seeking gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender stories that are lightyears outside the proverbial box. Dark and stormy nights full of deep and steamy romance. Sleek and edgy sci-fi with savvy, sexy characters. Suave swashbucklers who capture more than ships—they capture hearts.

Lyrical Press is accepting all forms of LGBT, with a focus on romance and erotica. If you've got a story that'll steam up the windows and steal the reader's heart, we'd love to hear from you.

Sensuality level: All – with a focus on romance/erotica

Length: 30,000 – 80,000 words

Key Characteristic: Central romance must be LGBT.

Deadline: None

Please follow Lyrical Press' guidelines found here: http://www.lyricalpress.com/submissions when submitting. Send submissions to carinbrumal @ lyricalpress (dot) com.

Guest blog: Tony-Paul de Vissage: Vampires are Forever

2011-05-16T10:55:00.000-07:00

This week I welcome Tony-Paul de Vissage to my blog, who drops by to share a little about my favourite fanged creature of the night. Welcome, Tony-Paul!

* * * *

Romania—specifically that section of it called Transylvania—isn’t the only place having vampires. It’s just the main place people think of, thanks to Bram Stoker’s little epic. In point of fact, the first vampire novel to gain attention in the literary world was set in England.

Now for the Pop Quiz section of my blog. All those knowing the name of that novel, raise your hands? Hmm…more than I expected. How about the author? Non? Would you believe Lord Byron? If not, good for you. Byron didn’t write The Vampyre though he was blamed for it for many years. John Polidori, Byron’s physician wrote the story, patterning his villain after his employer. Generally that’s not such a good concept but I have a feeling Byron loved the idea.

After all, the man lived for scandal and it probably didn’t hurt book sales a bit. Good PR. Nevertheless, today, except for we vamp-aficionados, the name of the world’s “first” literary (as well as how to pronounce it) is fairly forgotten. Who knows Lord Ruthven? Dracula wins that title, fangs down!

When I wrote Vampires are Forever, I decided to ignore Transylvania in lieu of Ireland, which has its own special vampire. Oh, my hero/villain hails from Hungary but that’s only mentioned briefly. And the city he says he comes from actually does exist. It’s called Lugos (pronounced Loo-Gowsh), and is the town from which Bela Lugosi took his stage name. Appropriate, non?

The Irish town—Balleywalegh—is a place knowing what you do with vampires and it doesn’t involve giving them the key to the city, unless it’s presented on the end of a well-sharpened stake.

I also chose to set my story in a slightly inappropriate era…the Twenties. 1929 to be exact, when the movies were just becoming the rage, automobiles were still fairly rare, and any woman showing more than an ankle was considered “fast”…or worse…a flapper. My vampire drives a Stutz Bearcat. He dances the Charleston, smokes “coffin nails”—appropriate, don’t you think?

And he takes the lass he’s pursuing to the flicks to see Richard Barthelmess and Lillian Gish in Broken Blossoms.

The time is just enough of a blend of the old century and the new to make it different.

Now, as to that vampire…

Like a thousand other countries, Ireland has its own home-grown version. The dearg-due (pronounced drag-dul). Though the vampire in Vampires are Forever is male, the true dearg-due is female, a cross between the succubus and the vampire. Her story is typical legend-material…romantic and tragic. A young woman forced into a cruel marriage, she kills herself, then rises to exact revenge upon men, enticing and draining them of blood…and life. The only way to prevent a dearg-due from rising and creating its special havoc is to pile the grave high with stones. Their weight holds the evil spirit inside. I imagine that hold-over is one reason most graves today have slabs over them. (Ce qui? You never wondered about that?)

Don’t think my tale of a vampire descending on a little Irish village is a tragic one, though. Nor is it bloody. It’s more whimsical…uh…fang-in-cheek, if you will, filled with Irish lilts and brash Gaelic characters…though it does have its shivery moments. And I think the ending will give everyone a bit of a laugh as well as leaving them satisfied.

EXCERPT:

There was a rattle of keys, a click of a lock. Slowly, the door swung open. Everyone prepared to run. Even Seamus tensed, though he would never have admitted it.

“Yes sir?” A man stood there. A very dignified man, dressed in dark, conservative livery. He blinked slightly as the sunlight struck him directly in the eyes. “May I help you?”

“Oh…uh… Right.” That brought Seamus out of his trance. “We—that is, th’ others an’ I—” He gestured behind him at his mates. “We’re from Balleywalegh an’ we saw th’ light last night, an’—”

He stopped, uncertain of what to say.

“Yes, sir, you’re from the village, and—?”

By now, Seamus had gotten a good gander at him and decided he didn’t look as he thought a vampire should, especially a dearg-due. Hadn’t they always been described as extremely ugly, having fiery eyes and the palest of skin and rows and rows of sharp teeth like those piranha-fish he’d read about as lived in South American rivers? This fella… Why, he looked to be about as old as Seamus himself, and certainly neither pale nor fiery- eyed. And definitely not ugly. Pleasant-looking, as a matter of fact. Blond and fair, with blue eyes squinted in the sunlight. And his teeth? They might be a trifle large—what Seamus considered English teeth—but there were no more than the usual number. And they certainly didn’t look sharp.

“—an’ we saw th’ light an’ thought we’d stop by an’ offer a welcome to th’ village.” Conor had finally come out of his daze and managed to speak up, if a trifle weakly.

“Oh. I see.” The man smiled and that transformed his face to something totally human and completely harmless.

“So if your master’s around,” Seamus picked up the thread again. “We’d like to extend an invitation—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment, sir,” the man interrupted.

“But—”

“The master is unavailable. He’s out for the day.”

“Out?” Conor spoke up again. “We haven’t heard any motors passin’ by, an’ anyway, his car’s still here, so how did he travel? Did he fly?”

Conor, you idjit! was all Seamus could think.

The butler—for that’s what Seamus had decided the man was—didn’t appear insulted however. In fact, he smiled again, though his answer was a trifle frosty, this time. “Master Novotny has several motor cars. He occasionally drives himself, Mr—?”

“—Leary. Conor Leary.” It was a moment before Conor spoke, reluctantly supplying his name, then adding, “Mayor o’ Balleywalegh.”

“Mr. Leary.” The butler acknowledged this with a nod. “If you’d care to come back this evening, I’m certain the Master will—”

“We wouldn’t mind waitin’,” Seamus put in quickly, knowing it would take a team of horses and a blast of gunpowder to get Conor or any of the others back here again. Even in daylight. “Until he returns.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper,” came the answer, as he expected. “I’ve no authority to allow anyone in without the Master’s permission.” He was pushing the door shut as he spoke. “Just come back this evening.”

The door was closing fast. Seamus attempted to insert one of his Size 13 brogans into the still-open space. “Wait—”

“Good day, sir.” It was said with finality. The door was nearly shut.

“What’s the problem, Steven?” The question came from behind the man, somewhere far inside the house. Asked with a slight accent.

“Sir? W-when did you get back?” There was bewilderment in the question.

“I never went out.” Footsteps came down stairs. The door was pulled open again, the butler looking back. Once again, those on the stoop braced themselves.

The man standing beside Steven couldn’t have been more different. Seamus felt his heart sink as he looked at him. Now here’s what a vampire should look like, was all he could think. Tall, longish dark hair, very much out of style—more like what one of them stage actors would sport, Seamus thought—framing a pallid, narrow face contrasting with the lightest of blue eyes, so pale they appeared nearly colorless… Handsome, yes, the Master of the house truly could’ve graced the screen of any cinema.

As a creature of the night.

“Karel Novotny.” It was an introduction as he peered out at Seamus, blinked as Steven had done, then took a step backward out of the doorway and into the shadows inside. Seamus nodded an acknowledgement and offered a hand.

After a moment, it was accepted, Novotny stepping forward and clasping it in his own. Seamus was surprised at how warm it felt.

“You must excuse Steven,” Master Novotny said, releasing Seamus’ hand. Not much of an accent, Seamus decided, but enough to give his speech an odd melody. His voice was well-modulated, carrying all the way to the men standing on the steps though he wasn’t speaking loudly. “So…you’re a welcoming committee from Balleywalegh,” he summed it up with a smile revealing another set of white teeth. But no pointed ones, as far as Seamus could see. He’d like to get a closer look at those eye-teeth, however. Master Novotny glanced out at the others, as if assessing whether they might be carrying flaming torches, pitchforks, or crucifixes. “And you’ve come to…?”

“—to invite you to th’ Fall Fellowship Festival. To be held this Sunday at th’ town hall.”

“A festival? How interesting. At what time?” That was asked a little quickly.

“Starts at six in th’ afternoon,” Conor spoke up. “So’s we all have time to finish our chores aforehand.”

“Six in the afternoon…” He appeared to consider that. A bit of a scowl appeared on the smooth forehead. Caused by the sun slowly creeping over the threshold?

He’s going to decline. Seamus could tell. He felt his heart sink a little. He was startled to find himself actually believing that nonsense Conor and the others were spouting the night before. He’s goin’ to give us some song-an’-jig about bein’ too busy when in reality, he can’t come out in daylight. ’Tis just a fluke he’s awake now at all.

He was surprised, therefore, when Novotny asked, “And what does one do at a Fall Festival? Will there be food?” Did he imagine it or was there a quick flick of a tongue across a pale lower lip? “And drink?”

“Anything you could want,” Seamus forced joviality into his reply. Aye, the treacherous thought wiggled through his mind, an’ which o’ us will you be wantin’ to sip from? “’Tis to celebrate all th’ good Lord has given us in th’ way o’ bounty this past year.” Was there a slight cringe at the mention of God? If so, it was so brief, he wasn’t certain. Perhaps Novotny’d simply shifted his weight a bit. “There’s be plenty o’ good cookin’ an’ beer an’ even some home-brew…” He let his voice trail away because Novotny was speaking again.

“I’m certain I can make it, Mr…?”

“Flannery. Seamus Flannery.” Now why did I give him my full name?

“…Mr. Flannery. I definitely wish to meet everyone, though I hadn’t expected to quite so early.” Did this second smile hide a secret meaning, some darkness?

“Sir? Y-you’re going?” The butler turned to stare at his master, looking astonished at his acceptance of the invitation.

“Of course!” Novotny looked almost gleeful as he answered.

But sir. What about…?” Steven looked from him to the interior of the house, nodding slightly.

“Any tasks here can wait, I imagine.” Steven’s concern was dismissed with a shrug and a third smile, this one slightly wolfish. “Have you ever known me to turn down a chance for a good dinner…or liquid refreshment? Home brew, you say, Mr. Flannery? I’ve found homemade drink the best kind.”

Now Seamus was certain of it. There was a hidden meaning there. Without meaning to, he shivered. It didn’t go unnoticed. The smile eclipsed a moment, then was back in place.

“I’ll see you all there. On Sunday. Around six.” The door was closing again. Seamus turned away. The door reopened. “Ah…Mr. Flannery…?”

“Yes?” He looked back.

“I was wondering. Could you possibly refer me to a good carpenter? There’s been some damage to one of the rooms. Looks like a fire. Vandals no doubt.” He paused slightly.

“Aye,” Seamus replied. “Vacant houses do invite such.”

“So I supposed. But it will need to be repaired. So…?”

“Ah…well…Sean Sweeney does most o’ th’ carpentry work around here. You might ask after him. If ’tis not too big a job…”

“Sean Sweeney. Excellent.” The dark gaze swept past Seamus to the men on the stoop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve some things to attend to.”

With a click of finality, the door shut.

Vampires are Forever has been available since May 15 from Class Act Books, www.classactbooks.com.