Writing is like Canasta

No, really, writing and canasta have some parallels. Trust me on this one.

For those of you who don't know what canasta is, it's a card game. It's kind of like rummy on steroids. There's are a lot of rules and it takes a while to feel comfortable playing the game without having to ask if you're doing it right. One deck of cards just isn't enough, so you play with two decks. You better get used to shuffling that monstrous pile of cars, and you better shuffle 'em good.

You might already see some parallels to writing in that introductory paragraph, but the meat of why I think canasta and writing are similar goes a bit deeper.

My mother taught me how to play canasta maybe twenty years ago. If I remember correctly we were camping at King's Canyon in Northern California. A friend of mine was on that trip with us and we both loved playing card games, so we were excited to learn a new one. My mom told us not to expect to win right away. In fact, she said it would be a while before we won. A long while. Now, that kind of straight talk will discourage some people. They'll toss their hand down right then and there and say, "Well screw it then, why would I play a game I know I'm gonna lose?" Because it's fun, that's why. Because you have to learn how to play the game and this game is far more skill than chance. The initial dealing of the hand is chance, but after that it's ninety percent skill. You gotta know what to do with those cards you've been dealt regardless of whether it's a bum hand or not. You also have to watch your opponent carefully. Learn what signals they give to indicate what they're planning on doing. These are things you learn after playing the game over and over again and losing every damn time, but eventually you get closer to the win. Your score at the end of the game is higher, and then you have that breakthrough and you actually win one. You want to dance and cheer and scream it from the rooftops.

Then you play another game and you lose.

However, now that you have the win under your belt, you play harder and one win turns into two, then three, and soon enough you're feeling pretty good about your canasta skills.

Last week when I played a game of canasta against my mother I took her to the cleaners.

But that doesn't mean that she won't do the same to me next time.

In writing you start off and you're told to expect a pile of rejections. Kind of sounds familiar, right? You're pretty much told you're gonna lose right from the get go, and I imagine that crushes a lot of people's will to follow their dreams of becoming a published author.

It's all true. I have a file of paper rejections from back when most publishers were accepting snail mail submissions. Now I delete them as soon as I log them on my submission tracker sheet. I've been at this for a number of years. I've published over sixty short stories, two novellas and two novels. In the past few weeks I made my first pro sale to Eldritch Press for a story called "High Fashion" that is going to appear in their debut anthology Our World of Horror. I sold my novella Salpsan to Damnation Books, sold three flash fiction stories to Post Mortem Press ("Names on the Sidewalk", "Meeting the Quota", and "Moonlight Sonata"), and sold another story to Eldritch Press for their online zine. That story went live yesterday. It's called "Like Ants on a Carcass". You can read it HERE.

Without any doubt whatsoever I can expect to find rejection emails in my inbox. I can expect to be disappointed. I can also expect to take those stories and submit elsewhere and eventually, dammit, I expect to sell them.

Cheers!

People of the Ethereal Realm Excerpt

My novel People of the Ethereal Realm has been out for a little while now. It has been some time since I did any promotion on this book, so I thought I would post the prologue and first chapter here on my blog. I appreciate those of you who take the time to read this. I hope it creates a spark of interested and, of course, I hope you purchase the book. It is available at all major online retailers, and I will provide links after the excerpt.

Enjoy!

 

 

Prologue

IT WAS A NIGHT OF DISTURBED SLEEP, covers sweaty and forlorn, thrashed and piled atop one another haphazardly. There seemed to be something stirring, drawing Gerald from his slumber. Usually, he slept very well—like the dead as some would say, though he was quite reluctant of using such an analogy.

His eyes opened into darkness, not to the pitch of night, but of blindness. He could remember nights when he still had sight, and the fears that the dark seemed to display in every shadowed corner, silhouettes that would appear perfectly harmless in the morning light. Now, those fears seemed silly to him.

As he woke in the middle of the night, sweating and disturbed, it was the sounds—or lack thereof—that could bring those childhood fears of the dark back to him. Though it wasn’t the dark, per se, that brought fear into the mind of a blind man.

Gerald could tell by the utter silence that it was about three in the morning. The city was always quiet during those wee hours in the middle of the night, long after last call. The only sound was that of an occasional car driving by.

Yet, there was something awry, something he could sense, though he was uncertain of what was wrong. Perhaps an intruder, but he would have heard a noise by now, his hearing having been amplified in the years since the onslaught of his blindness. Then something caught his eyes, something shadowed and still, standing at the foot of his bed. How could that be?

“You can see me, blind man?” said a soft female voice.

Gerald was too shocked for words. How could a woman be standing at the foot of his bed? How was it that he could see her?

 She’s no woman, thought Gerald. She’s a spirit.

“I can smell your fear, blind man . . . but you not need worry of me.”

“How?” Never before had one of them been able to talk so coherently. This woman was something of a spiritual miracle, or perhaps a demon. He wasn’t experienced with demons.

“You need not know how, blind man. I require your help.”

Gerald was very used to hearing the phrase “I need your help” from the living, but this woman—this shrouded figure standing before him—was no longer of the living, of that he was sure.

 

After a pregnant pause, filled with Gerald’s steady breathing, she made her request. “I need you to find my Arthur. I haven’t seen him in two hundred years.”

Chapter One

LIFE CAN BECOME SOMEWHAT OF A RITUAL, a routine that sneakily takes hold without notice, and before too long there seems to be no way to alleviate the monotony. For some, the simplistic ritual of everyday life is a means of stability and comfort. For others, it can act as a wedge that creates a divide—each monotonous ritual a swing of the mallet on that wedge, widening the divide and further separating what once was whole.

 

For Adam and Justine Kroger, there was such a wedge (probably made of steel, maybe even titanium) that had been driven between them. It happened so slowly that neither of them noticed it distinctly enough to confront one another. If neither truly recognized there was an issue, they would never know how to properly address it or seek counseling, now would they?

 

Their routine always included Justine heading off to the hospital at ten, while Adam was left home alone for the night—simple as that. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that simple.

It had been that way for the past several years of their marriage—hell, for the whole five years of their marriage. When nine-thirty rolls around, Justine’s dressed in her scrubs. With a peck on the cheek, she’s off to the graveyard shift at the hospital.

Adam would smile, kiss her back, and tell her he’d see her in the morning before work. On those dreary mornings (he, foggy brained from sleep; she, worn out from work) they would have an hour together to eat. He would have breakfast, while she would have what served as dinner. It became a routine, a goddamned ritual. Yet, they were oblivious to the detrimental effects it was having on their relationship. 

 

They were used to sleeping solitarily—he at night, her in the afternoon. With such a schedule, sex was almost nonexistent. Seeing one another at odd times—each in different moods and stages of tiredness—made lovemaking a thing of the past. Yes, she had two days off every week when their schedules were normal, but on those days Justine only wanted to catch up on her sleep.

Adam thought about their predicament while sitting in his easy chair, sipping a beer and watching Sports Center. This was his little ritual every night. The one perk of not having his wife around was that he could watch whatever he damn well pleased on TV. Then there were the nights when he couldn’t stop thinking about what their lives had become. She was gone every night, while he sat at home alone, drinking into oblivion. He very much had begun to realize the throes of their daily routine. It was crazy.

 

For all he knew, she could be having a fling with one of the male nurses. What else did they have to do as they waited for the next car wreck victim or amputee to waltz into the ER? A lot of time was left getting to know one another, more time than Adam seemed to have with Justine lately.

It’s cryin’ time again.

Adam hated the thoughts that the beer brought on. His father had called drinking “cryin’ time”. Apparently, his old man had had a lot of “cryin’ time” in his life, too, for cirrhosis of the liver had taken him at fifty-six. 

 

What was it with alcohol anyway? It seemed to have an effect on him that rendered his mind to a basic paranoia between his wife and their failing marriage. It wasn’t as if she had done anything behind his back in the past. Nothing you know of, his mind interrupted.

He took another swig, trying to focus on the hockey scores, but he couldn’t. His mind was troubling him more than usual, pestering him with thoughts of infidelity—his wife with Derek, that male nurse she worked with, her back against the wall of a storage closet, his hands groping at the landscape of her body. In Adam’s mind, Derek gives her a kiss, one the French would be proud of, a kiss a thousand times more passionate than the little peck she gave Adam before she left the house. Then, he unzips the front of her uniform, and . . .

Shut the hell up!

It was the beer again, talking, whispering jealous thoughts into Adam’s ear. It’s cryin’ time again.

“I should write a cheesy romance novel thinking up things like that,” Adam said aloud, addressing an empty room.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking.”

He took his empty into the kitchen and exchanged it for a fresh beer. He cracked the top and took a hefty guzzle. It was getting late, but what would one more hurt?

Back in the comfy confines of his easy chair, Adam finally extinguished his ridiculous fears about his wife’s loyalties. What was he so scared of anyway? The hospital could be busy at night, especially the ER. She was probably getting an IV set up for someone who’d come down with a terrible sickness, or drawing someone’s blood, or . . .

Nothin’ to worry about, Adam thought as he swallowed the last drops of his final beer for the night. It was after midnight: past Adam’s bedtime. Tomorrow would be like every other day. How dull does that sound? He would wake up at six in the morning. Justine would walk in the door around six-thirty, exhausted from a night of dealing with everything from bloody bodies to crazy night owls and drunkards. They would have a meal together, and then he would be off to the shop to build custom cabinets.

Then, she would do whatever it is she did during the day.

“Don’t even think about it,” he scolded himself. “She sleeps during the day, does housework. That’s it. Don’t start in on the cheating shit.”

After brushing his teeth, he crawled into the lonesome bed. It was the lack of intimacy that was frying his brain with thoughts of infidelity, thoughts of Justine and Derek in the storage room at the hospital. For all he knew, she was having the same questionable feelings toward him. She may be at the hospital this very minute, racking her troubled mind over the awful thought of Adam at home, in bed with a mystery woman.

Yeah right. That’ll never happen.

It was the last thought Adam had before he retired to the land of dreams. He didn’t sleep the whole night through, though. There came a disturbance in the middle of the night, both strange and enticing. It was about three in the morning when Adam was awoken by the feeling of someone beneath the sheets with him.

At first, his eyes opened wide at the lump beneath the covers, wondering what was going on. Instinct told him to kick and push the intruder away, but after gathering his thoughts together (feeling the unseen bedmate pulling his boxers off) he realized the person meant no harm. That didn’t make what was happening any better, but likewise, Adam’s body failed to reject the caressing of soft hands beneath the sheets. His heart raced as she caressed and stroked him.

 

Has to be a she, right? Could this obscene intruder be some crazed homosexual?

To him, it sure didn’t feel like it, but what did he know about crazed homosexuals? The hands were petite and soft, definitely a woman’s hands.

As his mind unglued from the epoxy of deep sleep, he realized what was going on. He felt ashamed for allowing some mysterious person to pleasure him, because at first he was willingly acknowledging the possibility that it was indeed a stranger. It wasn’t anyone unknown, though. The thoughts and feelings were something he was going to have to keep to himself.

It was Justine.

She had done this once before, after unexpectedly being allowed to leave the hospital early. That was several years ago (back when their bond had been still very tight, before that pesky wedge began splitting the seam), and it had scared the shit out of Adam. Though, it was a pleasant surprise.

He smiled and groaned, letting her know he was awake and enjoying her little surprise. It had been a long time since they’d been with one another sexually, maybe three months. He couldn’t have been happier.

And I was thinking she was hot for Derek.

As good as her mouth felt, he knew she wasn’t a big fan of giving oral sex. 

 

“Baby, come here,” he said, reaching for her beneath the covers. As he grabbed for her—wanting to pull her forward and kiss her the way he’d imagined she was kissing Derek in the storage closet—the shape beneath the covers disappeared. He gasped, groping air and empty sheets, searching the empty bed frantically for his wife.

 

Had she slipped away and was crouched on the floor playing some kind of trick?

“Honey, where are you? I can’t see . . . my eyes haven’t adjusted.”

There was no response.

“Where are you? Are you gonna try and sneak up on me again?”

Still no answer came. The night suddenly felt cold and dark, and just a little frightening. Had it been some lunatic, some mad-person getting their rocks off on giving unsuspecting strangers blowjobs in the middle of the night?

Oh my God!

 

Adam jumped out of the bed, nearly tripping because of the boxers around his ankles. He reached the light switch and flicked it on, ready for anything, but there was nothing. No deranged queer, no Justine. The room was empty.

He looked down at the boxers hanging around his ankles and pulled them up. If there was no one in the room, then how had his boxers been pulled down? He hadn’t pulled them down, he was sure of that. Besides, it felt so real. Disbelieving his own mind, Adam walked around the bed and looked under it for good measure. He found nothing.

It could have been a dream, but Adam didn’t believe it. He could separate a dream from the real thing, and what he had felt under those covers had been no dream. If it were a dream, when had he woken up? He had reached his hand out to his wife, and with his touch, the sheets had dropped over him as the shape disappeared. At no point had he felt as though he’d awakened from a dream. It was real, all of it.

I felt her hands on my flesh for crying out loud!

As he thought about it, he could pinpoint when he had woken up. He had awakened as he felt someone beneath the sheets pulling his boxers down. How could he not wake up? It was the kind of thing that didn’t happen every night.

It had to be real, he thought in disbelief. Hadn’t it?

Sitting on the bed, Adam knew sleep would be nonexistent for the rest of the night. If the experience had been merely a dream, that would have been one thing. However, he was adamant that what had happened, what he felt under those sheets, was real. Even as he thought about it, it seemed real, felt real. He knew the power of dreams and how life-like they could be, but never before was he convinced that a dream really happened.

The phone on the nightstand caught his eye. Perhaps he should call Justine, just to make sure.

I don’t need to call her. If that was her, she wouldn’t have snuck away like that. The gag would be over by now.

Against his own better judgment, he picked up the phone and dialed the number to the hospital. After several rings, the receptionist answered. “Kaiser Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

“May I speak to nurse Justine Kroger, please,” Adam said, disguising his voice to sound like that of an old decrepit man.

“Let me see.”

Oh God, she’s gonna’ tell me Justine went home early.

 

“Let me page her. One moment, please.”

“Thank you.” His old man voice was about as authentic as Pamela Anderson’s breasts.

After what seemed like a small eternity, a voice he knew very well said, “This is Justine Kroger.”

Adam abruptly hung the phone up, as if she would know it was him based on the pattern of his breathing. He looked at the phone resting in its cradle as if it were something evil. In some part of his mind, he thought she actually was at home, playing some elaborate prank on him. It was the only logical explanation.

“If not her, then who?”

Suddenly, the house felt eerie. Gooseflesh created a bumpy landscape on his arms, as the feeling of being watched took hold of his worried mind. The room seemed to swell—every crack and corner a place that eyes could be watching from, eyes of the stranger who’d snuck into his bed.

But you enjoyed it!

He felt sick because it was the truth. For a moment there, before he thought it was his wife, he had been ready to go along no matter who it was. It seemed like some sort of fantasy, where a mysterious woman wakes him out of a sweet slumber for a night of unadulterated sex, and it had felt good.

Once again he felt ashamed of himself, the idea of some crazy intruder watching him now fading like an old Polaroid. It was a dream, he told himself, nothing but the makings of a teenage sex dream. 

 

But you’re no teenager.

With that, Adam nestled back under the sheets and fell asleep, much quicker than he thought he would.

***

Praise for People of the Ethereal Realm:

"People of the Ethereal Realm is a wicked tale of possession and mayhem that is sure to unnerve the most seasoned horror fan! It's original, frightening, and very creepy! A ghost tale with razor sharp teeth! I loved it!"

--David Bernstein, author of Damaged Souls and Machines of the Dead


"Robert Essig's voice is a beautiful thing. He wields it like a handcrafted baseball bat, and People of the Ethereal Realm is Essig at his finest, with a story that hits hard but leaves pretty scars."

-- Craig Saunders, author of Deadlift and The Estate


"People of the Ethereal Realm starts off slow, allowing us to get comfortable with the characters, but then picks up so rapidly that you find yourself turning pages for hours. I finished this book in two sittings. Well done!"

-- Michael S. Gardner, author of Betrayal


People of the Ethereal Realm is available at Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

A Review of Jamais Vu, Issue 1

For those of you who don't already know, Jamais Vu is the latest relevant horror magazine on the block from the fine folks at Post Mortem Press, publisher of my second novel People of the Ethereal Realm. I was excited when I heard that Post Mortem were going to publish a magazine featuring horror fiction. When I heard that Paul Anderson was assigned as editor-in-chief, I knew the magazine was in good hands.

Jamais Vu is everything I expected and more. Within the beautiful covers are 85 pages of book and movie reviews, articles, poetry, and, of course, horror fiction. In the mix are interesting factoids about random subjects such as fungus infected ants to strange Swiss statues to a pair of horror themed comic strips. This magazine has an eclectic mix that keeps you turning the pages, but, for me, the meat is in the horror fiction. Of the seven stories there was only one that I didn't like, and it had nothing to do with the quality of the writing, but more that it wasn't my taste. Those are the kind of odds that have made an instant fan out of me.

The first story, "Photo Captions" by Gary A. Braunbeck, sets the tone of magazine as far as the fiction is concerned. A stunningly real and depressing portrait of how low life can sink, this one will grab your heart and squeeze. It's like a behind-the-scenes look at so many unfortunate news stories, but I won't tell you which stories, because that's a part of the shock ending.

Michael Kelly's "Bait" is beautifully written, and though I had a good idea where this story was going, it was one of my favorites. From the title you can guess that it's a story revolving around fishing, but there's so much more. Sometimes the darkest secrets are oh so close.

I would call Jessica McHugh's "Another Pleasant Valley Sunday" a mix of Ira Levin's Stepford Wives meets "It's a Good Life" by Jerome Bixby, and I'm cool with that. This one is surreal, and, like "It's a Good Life", this story would have made for a great episode of The Twilight Zone...well, and R-rated episode.

"Video Nasties" by Max Booth III is perhaps the most aggressive of the seven stories that, like the issue opener, takes on a serious societal issue. Following the story are two essays that straddle two sides of the issue of media's influence on violence in society.

When I finished Cameron Suey's "Shiva" I stared off into space for a moment and thought deeply about what lies in wait after death. This story is as touching as it is powerful. One of my favorites of the bunch.

"The Hydra Wife" by Sandra M. Odell was the one I didn't connect with. Well written, this story just didn't hit my jive, though I imagine the bizarre surrealism will have found the tale placed on the top of many a reader's favorites list.

Finally, the issue closes with what may have been my favorite tale, "Another Friendly Day in the Antique Trade" by Adam-Troy Castro. This one brought me back to what I found so enthralling about Stephen King's early short fiction. The opening sentence says it all. Yes folks, there's a mouth in the sidewalk and it ate Otis Hinkman. That may sound preposterous, but I guarantee you'll read this one with zeal and savor every last morsel.

Jamais Vu has what it takes to stick around for a long time and I'm certain the readership will grow with every issue. I'm hooked. Already looking forward to issue 2, which promises a new story by none other than Jack Ketchum.

You can purchase Jamais Ju from amazon, Post Mortem Press, and all major on-line retailers.

In an attempt to secure new fiction from well-known authors, there has been a kickstarter campaign that you can find HERE if you are interested in further supporting Post Mortem Press and their amazing endeavor with Jamais Vu. Whether you choose to kick down a few bucks or not, you certainly must give this magazine a read. You will not regret it.

KillerCon Bound

In one week my wife and I will be setting forth on a venture like no other.  We will head out on a five hour journey to the land of dinging slot machines, hookers, despair, excitement, alcohol, glee, money, tourists, heat, fun, fuck-it-all, and KillerCon.

That's right. We're going to Las Vegas.

While not my first tme in Vegas, this will be not only my first KillerCon, but my first convention (discounting the many times I've been to San Diego ComiCon as a teenager). On top of that, I will be hosting a table in the dealer's room for Post Mortem Press. Damn right! I'll have a number of books available from the PMP catalogue as well as my novel People of the Ethereal Realm.

If you're going to attend KillerCon, I hope to see you there. Look for me at the Post Mortem Press table. Stop by and say hi. Maybe you'll find a book you'd like to buy. Remember, what happens in Vegas may stay there, but the books you buy from Post Mortem Press go home with you.

Cheers!

Robert

People of the Ethereal Realm - NOW ON SALE!

That's right, folks! My second novel of horror, People of the Ethereal Realm, is now available in trade paperback from Post Mortem Press. I'm very excited about this release.  I hope those of you who decided to read the book have a good time with it, and, of course, I hope you will be kind enough to leave your comments in an amazon or goodreads review. Word of mouth is so damn important for us struggling authors.

Barbara comes to Adam at night while his wife is working the graveyard shift at the hospital. She is but a dream in the mind of a frustrated man whose life is on the verge of collapse, but Adam has something she wants and she will go to any extreme in acquiring her desires.

Gerald lives a lonely life in the Boulevard, a ghetto on the wrong side of the tracks. He's blind, but where his sense of vision is obsolete, his ability to communicate with the souls of the dead is acute. He fears nothing, having grown up on the mean streets, but on the night Barbara visits him that is about to change.

Who is this mysterious woman and what does she want so badly that she'll destroy anyone and anything that gets in her way? Can she bring two men from different backgrounds together for her bidding? How many people will have to die, and how many will wish death was the end?

"Robert Essig's voice is a beautiful thing. He wields it like a handcrafted baseball bat, and People of the Ethereal Realm is Essig at his finest, with a story that hits hard but leaves pretty scars."

--Craig Saunders, author of Rain and A Home by the Sea

"People of the Ethereal Realm is a wicked tale of possession and mayhem that is sure to unnerve the most seasoned horror fan! It's original, frightening, and very creepy! A ghost tale with razor sharp teeth! I loved it!"

--David Bernstein, author of Damaged Souls and Machines of the Dead

Available in print and kindle format HERE.

The Spice of Nightmares: A Few Updates

I'm always working on something, though slowly at times. No deadlines at the moment, so I have my hands dipped into a few projects that I hope to submit in the near future, and, of course, quite a few stories and two novellas in the hands of publishers. Us writers are always waiting to "hear the good word" from someone. When Tom Petty wrote the song "The Waiting" he must have been dabbling in the writing biz.

I have a short story called "Dr. Scabs and the Hags of El Cajon" coming out in the soon-to-be-released anthology from Blood Bound Books entitled DOA II. Easily my most disturbing and offensive piece yet. The story certainly holds up to the title. Writing this story was a way of preserving the idea since I have a lot I want to get to before exploring it further.

My second novel People of the Ethereal Realm is slated for release from Post Mortem Press in June, just in time for my birthday. This is the story of two men from different walks of life who are brought together by a mysterious, ghostly woman who uses them to find something she has been searching far too long to find, and she'll go to any length to get what she wants.

As for what I've been writing: two short novels and a novella. The First is called In Black. I still have a few rounds of tightening up and fixing typos and grammatical errors. I'm waiting for a couple of readers to get back to me with their thoughts. My first reader brought up a few points that I will address when I go over the manuscript again. The second short novel is called Of Dreams Come Nightmares. I'm currently editing this one and will soon request volunteers to beta read it (a concept that is new to me, but seems to be working well). This story is about a man who lives a simultaneous life in reality and his nightly dreams. When the stress of starting a new business becomes too much, his worlds begin to collide. The third is a novella called Brothers in Blood that I am in the process of writing. This one is a non-supernatural horror story. People seem to be more responsive and freaked out about stories that could actually happen. This one'll rip your face off.

I have also been dabbling with a few short stories, but for the most part that's what I've been up to. I can't wait to get these stories into the world. Hopefully some publishers feel the same way.

Blood and guts to all, and to all a good fright!

Robert

Fear the Abyss

Fear the Abyss is the latest anthology from Post Mortem Press in which the stories blend science fiction with horror. I wrote a story specifically for this anthology called "The Nostalgiac". I have had an idea for a story about and intergalactic moving company that transports relics from a defunct Earth to people now living in the universe. I'd tried to write the story once but it was utter shit. When I was invited to submit to this anthology I knew it was time to revisit that idea. I changed it drastically and wrote the first draft over the period of a few days. After rewrites and some editorial suggestions, I am very pleased with how the story turned out.

Below is the table of contents. I'm honored to share the pages with such talented authors.

• "Cutting the Cord" – Joseph Williams
• "Extraction" – Jessica McHugh
• "Amid the Walking Wounded" – Jack Ketchum
• "A Box of Candy" – Nelson W. Pyles
• "That Which Does Not Kill You" – Matt Moore
• "Human Caverns" – Lawrence C. Connolly
• "The American" – S.C. Hayden
• "What's Left Behind" – C. Bryan Brown
• "Always Something There To Remind Me" - Gary Braunbeck
• "Neptune Dreams" – Rose Blackthorn
• "Broken Promises" – Jamie Lackey
• "The Great Ocean of Truth" – Tim Waggoner
• “Graphic Violence Equalizer" – Michael Arnzen
• "Parasite" – Kenneth W. Cain
• "If Thine Eye Offend Thee" – Thomas Malafarina
• "Seeing" – Harlan Ellison®
• "A Nice Town With Very Clean Streets" – Paul Anderson
• "The Nostalgiac" – Robert Essig
• "Life After Dead" – Jeyn Roberts
• "Andrew and the Better Mouse Trap" – KT Jayne
• "They Still Sing Beautifully" – Brad Carter
• "What We Found" – Andrew Nienaber

Fear the Abyss is slated for a late November release. I will post details when it is available.

Cheers!

Post Mortem Press to Publish My Novel People of the Ethereal Realm

The title says it all! Post Mortem Press will be publishing my novel People of the Ethereal Realm. This novel has a bit of a history, having been accepted for publication by four publishers in the past several years. Without getting into detail, there were a variety of reasons it was not published before Post Mortem got their hands on it. Bad contracts and publishers dropping off the face of the planet may have all been for the best. I've worked with PMP before, and I am looking forward to seeing this book on their 2013 roster.

The tentative release is for February, 2013. I, of course, will make updates as the novel progresses through the many steps toward publication.

Here's a quick blurb about the book:

Barbara comes to Adam at night while his wife is working the graveyard shift at the hospital. She is but a dream in the mind of a frustrated man whose life is on the verge of collapse, but Adam has something she wants and she will go to any extreme in acquiring her desires.

Gerald lives a lonely life in the Boulevard, a ghetto on the wrong side of the tracks. He's blind, but where his sense of vision is obsolete, his ability to communicate with the souls of the dead is acute. He fears nothing, having grown up on the mean streets, but on the night Barbara visits him that is about to change

 

Who is this mysterious woman and what does she want so badly that she'll destroy anyone and anything that gets in her way? Can she bring two men from different backgrounds together for her bidding? How many people will have to die, and how many will wish death was the end?

 

Skeletons in the Basement

I'm pleased to announce that my story "Skeletons in the Basement" has been picked up by Post Mortem Press and will appear in their forthcoming anthology Dead Souls, which will be introduced by none other than Jonathon Maberry.

"Skeletons in the Basement" deals with a secret between a father and his daughter that comes out in the wake of a zombie invasion.  Just a bit longer than a flash fiction piece, I am happy to have found a home for this story and I hope it is well received.

The Road to Hell -- Now in Print!

That's right, The Road to Hell is now available in print at amazon or postmortem press.

Post Mortem Press present four novellas:

Number Six by Joseph Williams Have you ever been to Hell? Zach hadn’t. Not until he lost his job, girlfriend, car, and home over the course of just a few hours. In his quest to find solace in isolation and introspection, Zach finds depravity beyond any fathomable nightmare. Zach has found the true meaning of freedom discovering it’s not as wonderful as he figured. Freedom has consequences, and God isn’t always the only one with a plan for you.

Cemetery Tour by Robert Essig Three college students decide to spend their Spring Break taking a driving tour of cemeteries across the southwest of America. When they discover a dug up grave in one of the cemeteries their trip becomes much more than they had anticipated.

Mistress of a Higher Purpose by Daniel Pearlman In 2035, bad luck tosses beautiful Rose Langley from a prison in New York to a strange environmentalist slave-camp run by scientists in Idaho. A series of abusive men have frustrated her deepest desire--to have a child of her own--but her jailers in Idaho miraculously offer her this, and freedom too. The price is gigantic, however.

Enslavement by Nicholas Conley Addiction is an easy trap to fall into. It starts out small. It turns into a habit. Given enough time, it becomes enslavement. Six individuals, each suffering from their own individual addiction, are kidnapped one night and wake up on an empty, moving train. There are no exit doors, no outside contact, the train is an endless maze of identical compartments and the group is terrorized by monstrous “Grey-Men.” As they struggle to understand the unseen force that’s thrown them together, it becomes clear that there’s only one way off the train; they must either overcome their dark histories and self-doubts, or drown in them.