May 2013 Writers Group Party

(with the brilliant poet/writer Esther Leiper-Estabrooks)

So much has changed in recent months.  Not taking into the equation the lurking malevolence of a cranial cyst that landed me in the hospital for four-plus days, those changes have been mostly for the better.  We love our new life up here in the Great White North of New Hampshire, our beautiful new-old house, Xanadu, and the many new friends we've made -- not a full day in town, and I was seated at the monthly meeting of the local writers' group, where it was my pleasure to meet the legendary Esther Leiper-Estabrooks, who has since become a vibrant source of inspiration. And one of the things that remains the same in this new life is a love for breaking bread and sharing stories with my creative comrades, and so a week after my release from the hospital, we hosted our first writers' group(s) open house, and seventeen lovely scribes -- faces both familiar and new -- graced us with sumptuous offerings of food and fresh pages.  It was, in a word, spectacular!

The theme for the day's readings was 'Rebirth' (or variations: 'Spring', 'Resurrection', 'Renewal').  A week after our momentous move north from our former world to this big, bright new adventure, I sat in our living room and wrote a shiny, fresh idea based upon the cobalt blue lamp in our bay window.  The story, "Occupy Maple Street", inspired the theme, which seemed appropriate given our renewal here in a formerly sad old house that rises daily from neglect, and now -- dare I think it? -- smiles as a result of the happiness of its occupants.

The buffet was incredible. Among the many offerings, which stretched around our kitchen (you grabbed a plate, hopped in line, and traveled along counters, stove top, table, and finally the drinks station set up atop our big antique server with the marble top) were: maple-glazed pork roast, baby sausage torts, stacked, stuffed sandwiches, salads (potato, pasta, and green leaf), baby rolls and butter, perhaps the best dip for chips I've ever tasted, creamy mac & cheese, and an assortment of desserts almost too sinful to imagine -- berry pie, pineapple upside-down cake, and delicious little vegan-friendly coconut cupcakes by the fabulous Judi Calhoun, author of the Ancient Fire series.  In honor of the last big writers party we hosted, I made the same chocolate coconut cake, which suffered a bit of a volcanic meltdown during the baking process.  However, there's no cake snafu that frosting can't correct, and it was scrumptious.

While a warm, sunny day blossomed outside the house, and a sweet green breeze stirred the living room curtains, we read our stories, novel excerpts, poetry, and even staged part of a play penned by the brilliant Jonathan Dubey, Arthurian, which is being performed in town this coming August.  Six of us assumed roles and the results were delightful!

(Writers Kyle Newton and Lorrie Lee O'Neill)

Five of my favorite writers from my beloved Southern group made the long trek north -- the lovely and talented Lorrie Lee-O'Neill, with whom I share cover space in the New Hampshire Pulp Fiction series; Philip Perron, who runs the Dark Discussions podcast; the luminous Brad Younie and Ralph Mack, and Douglas Poirier, who always surprises and amazes me with his creativity.  The fit with the many creative geniuses from my new home realm was seamless, and many new friendships resulted.  The day was about celebrating the writing, and we did so with verve!

And we'll do it all again in September -- if not before!

BEHOLD: BLOOD RITES

Recently, we bought our dream house, far from the familiar, high in the hills of New Hampshire's White Mountains.  Before the momentous move (which tabled most other responsibilities, like updating my beloved blog) we rented a vast, two-bedroom apartment in the very house where local favorite son and native legend Fritz Wetherbee grew up (I interviewed Fritz in 2008 for a regional magazine, and found it somewhat neat that my now-former office was located in his then-former bedroom).

In the master bedroom of our previous home, placement of my antique dresser with its beautiful mirror and our gigantic antique oval mirror on a corresponding length of wall created an eerie multiplicative effect when viewed from certain angles.  It struck me that my reflection was performing a modern version of that old stage schtick where two actors ham it up in front of a mock mirror, one pretending to be the other's reflection.  Until, of course, the fake reflection messes up, and the game is revealed.  This concept dogged me until Thanksgiving Day of 2011, when I sat down to write a story's longhand draft based on some very bare bones. Thanksgivings are a special time in our home.  We always host an open house and a monstrous meal, with more side dishes and homemade pies than our guests can fathom or devour.  Since I was a teenager, I've also had the running tradition of penning a complete short story in honor of the day -- thanks offered up to the Muse, as it were.  I dashed off most of the first draft of my story "Phantomime" before dinner got served, finished it after dessert and the departure of our guests, and then filed it away until a personal invitation arrived from visionary publisher Marc Ciccarone and the fine editorial staff at Blood Bound Books, who'd previously featured my story "The Libidonomicon" in their brilliant erotic horror anthology, Steamy Screams.  A select list of writers were being given a shot at appearing in a new project, one which would literally drip with pedigree.  I fired off an edited draft of "Phantomime", which made it into an impressive Table of Contents in the stunning end result, Blood Rites: An Invitation to Horror.

Many of my fellow luminaries within the covers of this incredible book shared the back stories behind their stories.

Mark C. Scioneaux on "The Lady with Teeth Like Knives": "I had just watched the movie Insidious, and there is a part where it focuses on this horrific ghost lady, smiling with a row of sharp teeth.  That image stuck with me the most from the movie, and I decided to make a story around it.  In fact, I wrote the entire story while sitting in my truck at work one day.  Just penned it out quick on a yellow paper tablet, went home, and then typed it up.  The tale is simple, and follows the story of a man who thinks he got away with murder.  However, he finds himself haunted by a sinister ghoul, a lady whose teeth resemble knives."

Lisa Morton on "The True Worth of Orthography": "The idea behind ‘The True Worth of Orthography’ -- that the actual practice of writing is a magical act -- stems from my love of a series of books called the Abrams Discoveries series. These are beautifully designed little non-fiction books that cover everything from the history of rock music to the Aztecs to vampires, and they did one on the history of writing that was especially good. While I was reading it, I had this thought that writing is like telepathy -- we exchange thoughts without speaking - and that led to the notion that it's essentially a form of magic. The story, which centers on a magician who enacts spells by the physical act of writing them, grew out of that."

Maria Alexander on "Saturnalia": "In 1999, I had a really effed-up dream.  The dream was not only scary as hell, but extremely detailed and well plotted. It included an entire ensemble of strangers, a brother named Joshua who had died, and a town with a secret so dark it could only hide in a Louisiana swamp. The details of the dream were so deeply carved into my memory and psyche that I even named the main character after myself. I didn’t act like myself in the dream, though. I was naive, trusting, religious, forgiving…a person sure to find trouble."

Aric Sundquist on "The Candle and the Darkness": "This story originated from a central image of a mother and daughter fending off a growing darkness with nothing but a candle's flame.  For three months, I pondered where the story would go, until one day while doing research online for another story, I came across an old Roman Catholic prophecy called 'The Three Days of Darkness'.  The content fit perfectly with the story, so I infused the two together, added a bit of creepy back story, and completed a rough draft within a week."

John McNee on "The Lullaby Man": "The Lullaby Man was the title of the first horror story I ever wrote, back in 2006.  At the time, I wasn't sure if I was even capable of writing a real horror story, so I challenged myself to come up with the darkest concept I could.  What I arrived at  was the notion of a supernaturally-gifted pedophile who masquerades as the imaginary friend of his young victims to gain their trust.  That original draft (which took the form of a patient-psychiatrist confessional), is completely unpublishable, but the central idea stayed in the back of my head and, when Blood Bound Books invited me to submit to Blood Rites, I decided to revisit it and try to do it justice.  By this point, I'd developed the idea of telling the tale from the perspective of an adult survivor who had written her experiences off as childhood nightmares.  When she discovers the Lullaby Man really exists, she feels compelled to seek him out, whatever the risks."

Chad McKee on "Sleep Grins": "The source of inspiration for this story was, at least indirectly, my newborn daughter.  The whole process of having a child was fascinating.  As a biologist by training, I took that sometimes-irritating habit of close observation home with me and basically studied my child. The way she slept was especially interesting -- the little mannerisms and ticks and so on.  One thing was the way she made occasional smiles while napping -- the neurologist will tell you that it's not intentional, just the brain processing something, making more connections.  Totally subconscious. Yet, she also sometimes screamed and thrashed about as if in a nightmare prior to those grins.  It got me thinking: what was deep in your mind, even as a baby?  Memories or even memories of feelings?  As an adult, maybe you could have those little grins in your sleep, too. Maybe even when your subconscious mind is plotting revenge."

Daniel O'Connor on "The Binding": "I like things.  Real things -- books, vinyl albums, CDs, DVDs. Things we can hold., smell, and put on shelves.  Not a fan of downloads of any kind.  I also love classic rock, mystery, and horror.  I wanted to meld all of that into a story that could evoke past, present, and future, so I came up with this: 'Every Thursday night, four guys would meet at a local bar.  Watch some football.  Play some darts.  This Thursday, the fate of the entire human race rests in their hands. They also enjoy the jukebox.'  Astute rock n' roll fans might notice that, in a way, the entire story was inspired by a certain classic album.  Let me know if you get it!  My email address is AuthorDanO@aol.com."

Douglas J. Lane on "The Trapdoor":  I live in a pier-and-beam house like the one in the story, which is how many of the older bungalow homes in Houston are constructed.  Because it sits on pylons a couple of feet off the ground instead of a foundation, I hear house-settling noises in the night -- thumps, pops, creaks -- or animals in the crawlspace or, occasionally, in a wall.  One night, I heard what sounded like a door closing, and started thinking: what if there was a way to get inside from under the house that I'd never noticed?  But nothing interesting came through the door when I imagined it.  So I flipped it around: what if there was a trapdoor in the floor that led somewhere other than the crawlspace under the house?  Where would it go?  And as I wrote, I understood it went to the place of my characters' secrets and guilt.  Once I discovered what was waiting for them, the story came together quite quickly."

K. Trap Jones on:"The Butterfly": "To me, there's nothing scarier than the unknown.  True fear happens during a situation that is uncontrollable.  'The Butterfly' is a narrative told through the eyes of a common villager who is caught within the path of God's fury.  With no remorse and no sympathy towards those it devours, a mysterious storm barrels through a peaceful village.  I chose to wrap this horrific tale with imagery of a beautiful butterfly, which symbolizes the good in life even within times of death and decay.  There are events that we humans will never be able to explain and never be able to outrun.  'The Butterfly' was inspired by the song, 'Creeping Death' by Metallica."

Matt Moore on "The Leaving": "Sometimes, we don't know why, just what is.  This could be the friendship that's lasted decades.  Or, for the people of Jefferson Hollow, you don't go out after dark when a barnyard stink pervades the small town.  As a small town boy, I watched box stores force mom-and-pop shops to close, local restaurants fold while chains sprung up, and woodlands cut down for cookie-cutter developments.  Replacing centuries-old Yankee traditions with cultural homogeny was itself a horror story.  For years, I've wanted to explore these themes.  Good horror needs to be grounded in reality, providing an accessible and emotional anchor for the reader.  'The Leaving' was the perfect story for this.  And I wanted to explore one more idea: small town legends.  As a horror story, the legend needed to conceal something monstrous.  Haunted houses and the boogeyman have been done, so I turned to something innocuous into a deadly object of terror.  'The Leaving,' set in a grown town thanks to a new highway, balances secrets the locals keep from new arrivals with the secrets we keep from the people we love.  We tend to believe that concealing an awful truth will hurt less than revealing it -- this rarely ends well."

Desmond Warzel on "The Final One Percent": "I recently had another story ('Cosmetic Procedures') performed on an episode of  Cast of Wonders, the fabulous young-adult-oriented podcast featuring stories of the fantastic.  I took the opportunity to dispense a small bit of advice for would-be writers: 'Don't waste time being bored.  Look around.  The pieces of your stories are everywhere, and only you can make the connections.'  'The Final One Percent' is one example of such a story; its inspiration lay in a single observation, made in passing and then stored away for mulling over at leisure: a book review website titled Blood of the Muse.  The site ceased updating nearly two years ago, but the name has always stuck with me.  The Muses are classical goddesses; I'm no expert on mythology, but I know that Greek gods perform human biological functions (such as eating), and they also possess bodily fluids.  What, I wondered, would the blood of a muse be like?  If it could be extracted, would it retain the essence of its former owner, and how might it be put to use?  Interestingly, one major online magazine includes 'Muse' stories in a lengthy list of fictional topics they see too often among their submissions.  Certainly my memory is not beyond question, but I'm well-read enough to have encountered most major cliches at least once, and I'm almost positive I've never actually seen such a story.  Perhaps writers and editors shy away because it seems as though it ought to have been done before.  In any case, I'm rather pleased with my interpretation of the idea, and its appearance in Blood Rites is a welcome vindication."

Nathan Crowder on "Cold Comfort of Silver Lake": "The story comes from an unexpected list of influences.  The primary one is a long-established dislike of swimming in lakes.  The dream in the story is a dream that I had as my last marriage went through an especially rocky patch.  The setting is loosely modeled on the small mining town I grew up in -- and who knows what's lurking in the water there?"

Adrian Ludens on "Life and Limb": I enjoy researching and writing weird western stories.  That research naturally led to the topic of the Civil War.  I had published a story a couple of years ago that involved Confederate zombies and I had so much fun that I wanted to revisit the era.  That period in history lends itself well to supernatural/horror fiction, in my opinion.  I read that the term 'Sawbones' originated during the Civil War.  Thanks to a combination of projectiles (not bullets but mini-balls) that did a lot of physical damage, and the lack of cleanliness and hygiene in the tent hospitals, many a soldier lost his life -- or at least a limb.  Doctors found it easier to actually saw the limb off rather than try to repair the extensive damage.  The title and the final sentence of the story popped into my head first, and from there I hammered out the rest of the tale with zeal.  My local critique group suggested some minor revisions, and the Blood Bound Books editors (who are always excellent about offering helpful critiques) asked me to clarify one key point.  I hope readers enjoy the end result."

Brad C. Hodson on "The Philosopher's Grove": "Ancient Greece and Rome have always been obsessions of mine.  I've also always been interested in the origin of words and concepts.  Reading about how our modern idea of 'demon' was just a corruption of the Greek idea of 'daemon' (a corruption that happened largely through an misinterpretation of the Bible when translated from Greek to Latin to Englilsh), I started to wonder what it would have been like if the corruption of the concept had been a very real thing.  Xenocrates (and later Aristotle) both wrote about evil spirits and how the daemon could be subverted, so it seemed a natural fit.  Plus I love the idea of taking famous figures like Aristotle and Menander that we think of as stuffy old men in pristine robes standing around all day and showing how they really were: lustful, arrogant, raging drunkards.  In other words, they were just like us."

From the Bookshelf: The Jesus Injection by Eric Andrews-Katz

One of my happiest acceptances in late 2011 (and contributor copy arrivals in early 2012) was for a short, dark steampunk tale submitted to the brilliant editing team of Eric Andrews-Katz and Vince Kovar -- the latter, the driving force behind the Gay City series of speculative anthologies, the former a respected journalist and new novelist, both fiercely talented powerhouse scribes in their own rights. The fourth Gay City volume, containing my short story "The End of an Era", posited alternate histories (the latest, presently reading, will be chock full of creature features and things that go bump in the night). In notching the acceptance, my experience was further heightened by my introduction to their writing.  I've gotten to know both through our wonderful interactions following the book's release and via their work.  It is my pleasure to welcome back Eric Andrews-Katz, author of the engaging novel, The Jesus Injection, in which a hunky gay spy faces off against a host of threats, the personal, political, and potentially world-shattering.



Eric, The Jesus Injection is bold writing! Please share its genesis with us.
I wanted to write a parody of something meshing two genres that would normally not be mixed -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer was already written, and so I settled on a story about a secret agent that was gay. My partner and I were feeling very giddy and started coming up with names of characters. 'Agent Buck 98' was first, and then came Noxia von Tussell, and eventually Dr. Raven Evangelista. Everything snowballed from there.

The funniest thing is the title itself -- The Jesus Injection. I’ve gotten quite the uproar because people have assumed that somehow it’s going to be sacrilegious material. One person accused me of taking [his] ‘Lord’s name in vain just to sell my book’. He knew nothing about it except the title. I was hoping that having “A Buck 98 Adventure” on the book’s cover would discourage such thoughts. It’s truly a case of NOT judging a book by its title. Personally, I think Bold Strokes Books did an incredibly wonderful job with the cover! 

Take us into your writing lair -- tell us what your creative space is like.

We have a loft outside of the master bedroom in our townhouse, and that’s where I do my writing. I have my desk set up with my computer and printers etc., bookshelves behind me, and inspirational pictures around. It’s an open space so I feel very relaxed there and have a plethora of resources at my fingertips.

How did you come to the Muse?  Did you write stories when you were growing up?

I started writing as soon as I could hold a pen.  I remember writing my first piece in second grade and it got published in the school paper. As for my Muse (aside from my husband), it’s the Great God Pan! I started having dreams of Pan when I was three. They continued up until I was seven. Then he appeared and said, ‘you’re going to follow me the rest of your life’. I agreed in a heartbeat and he’s been an important part of my life ever since. I’m very particular about my Pan artwork, but I have many pieces and several of them are displayed in my work space.

Do you write longhand or compose on the computer.  How many drafts?  In other words, please share some insight into your creative process.

I almost always write on the computer. My brain goes too fast (I’m a Gemini) for my hands to keep up with if I write longhand. I taught myself to type when I was ten, and so can do that much faster. I never have a set number of drafts that I want to complete. For me, a story is complete when I’m satisfied with it. I’ll get an idea and mull it over in my mind for a while. When I’m ready, I’ll sit down and start writing. I usually don’t storyboard because I’m used to writing short stories. When I started my novel, I found it helpful to make outlines of what I wanted to happen and where in the story they were to occur.

If you could cast Buck in the movie version, he'd be played by...

Now this I’ve often thought about as its one of the fun parts of writing. I think someone like Ewen McGregor could play Buck. He’s metrosexual enough to pull off both masculine and feminine aspects of being a gay man. He’s already proven that he has a decent singing voice, and since he’s already done [what are considered] gay films, I don’t think it’ll be an issue. His movies usually include a nude scene, so that won’t be bad, either!

Wednesday, Lovely Wednesday

At some point in my journey, I realized I was not the kind of writer who liked being an island.  I'm more of a peninsula.  Oh, I love my alone time.  In fact, I'm notorious for 'nesting' in my home, working on my fiction, and having limited interactions with the rest of the real world beyond these fortress walls.  When I do venture forth, normally it's to enjoy a movie at the cinema with my squeeze or to shop for groceries. Sometimes it's only once in a full week, on Wednesday nights when I attend my writer's group meeting.

I joined this group in early 2011 when it met in the loud and chaotic cafe of the local big book retailer. Toward the end of the same year, facing greater hostility from the store's management over ridiculous reasons (not enough of us swiped membership cards on Wednesday nights, though all of us bought drinks, whole meals, and plenty of books and magazines there weekly) and getting elbowed out by other groups claiming the increasingly limited table space, we relocated to a small coffee and donut shop in a strip mall that, against all expectations and assumptions, has become to me proof of the Divine.  Despite no WiFi for laptops, brutal heat on one memorable July night when the air conditioning died, teeth-chattery cold on a recent January Wednesday, the occasional crazy customer, and robust coffee aroma that impregnates whatever clothes one wears to meetings, I have grown to love that venue like a home away from home. On most Wednesday nights, I arrive a few hours early, hopefully snag my favorite seat at the big round table beside the only public plug, turn on my laptop, and listen to music or favorite TV episodes on CD, like Space:1999 or Stargate Atlantis.  I order a drink, a bagel, uncap my pen, and the fresh pages flow. In December, I spent an entire pre-meeting visit jotting unwritten ideas on note cards as part of my end-of-year organization, getting the bones down on all those near-future adventures.  And it all felt like a blessing.  So much fun, it should be illegal.

But what has made Wednesday nights so unique and such a gift are my fellow writers, who routinely thrill, inspire, and captivate me with their newest offerings.  It has been my pleasure to see so many of them evolve and notch the first of what will amount to many publication credits. Though I'm frequently a zombie from the scalp down after six p.m. and hear the siren-song of my bed calling from across the miles, I am seduced by their prose, fall in love with their characters, and count my lucky stars for being in such talented company.  I completely believe that many of my comrades-in-pen will grace shelf space in that same big bookstore that didn't want our weekly visits.  One or two, I'm convinced, will become household names.  My writer's group is that good.

Last night, I attended what will be my last visit for a while.  Our little family is about to embark on a new journey to the grand old house in the hills we purchased, a hundred and fifty-odd miles from that strip mall that feels so much like home.  Being part German, I tend to not show much emotion (don't ask the many writer's group members who bore witness at my recent Sweet 1,000 Party, where I blubbed nonstop while reading from my 1,000th work of fiction, "Alibe's Story"; I'm not sure where the endless stream of tears originated -- in the story's subject matter or as a result of the occasion's scope. Maybe both).  But as I sat and wrote on my final Wednesday night in the coffee shop before the move, part of me was overwhelmed.  The other stemmed the waterworks by reminding me that I will return, and joyous reunions await in the not-too-distant future.  Already, plans are underway for a long weekend retreat to nearby Maine, where I and my fellow attendees will write, eat, read, and dream. We're hosting our maiden Sunday all-day writer's party up at our new home in May and, though I've already been invited to join a new local creative group in our soon-to-be adopted town that meets 2/10ths of a mile from my front door, I plan to pop down on Wednesday nights from time to time, just not as frequently.

Until then, I will love this new beginning and stately hilltop home to the fullest, write and polish and submit, and savor the many wonderful memories of my times at that table, with those outstanding writers and people, the finest of the fine, the best of the best.  Until we meet again, they'd better keep creating -- and save a seat for me!

The Number 1,000

(Upper Left, in honor of my 500th; Upper Right, for Number 100)

Though I have never been great at math, for me certain numbers are charged with as much power as the most magical of words.  311, for instance -- the number of men and women stationed on Moonbase Alpha in the late, great Gerry Anderson's outer space parable, Space:1999. From the moment I first picked up my pen, 311 or combinations thereof have acted as signals or portents around me. This past summer, the number in perfect sequence began appearing on license plates throughout my fair state of New Hampshire, at a time when I was gearing up for another number that has held awesome power over my life for a long time: the Number 1,000.

Many years ago, while watching a biography of the luminous Rod Serling, who wrote over 1,000 stories, short and long, and numerous scripts for both television and the big screen, that number lodged in my grey matter.  I had written some 200 short stories, novellas, and even a handful of novels by that time.  The impetus to reach 1,000 imprinted on my psyche, my soul, and for twenty-two years it became not only a goal, but a concluding point as well.  I believed that the millennium mark would punctuate the end of my journey, which I have so loved with all my heart.  It has been my reason for living.

On May 28, 1982, a humid and overcast Friday, I labored throughout that day's high school classes to complete my 100th work of fiction, a rousing Space:1999 novella called "Arrival to Palmeron."  Two stories earlier, I'd introduced a race of bellicose androids into my fan fiction continuation of the series. The Palmerons were based upon the many bullies and brutes who made my three and a half high school years miserable -- because they were artificial life forms, I could destroy them and bring them back, again and again (thanks to the Palmeron 'Personality Imprinter' construct), my own secret imaginary war against real world enemies.  I got in trouble for writing in Mr. Mills' chemistry class that afternoon.  I wrote on the bus.  I raced home and wrote, because my mother, bless her, was throwing a "Happy 100" party for me, complete with a guest list of my small but wonderful circle of friends. Diane Elaine Gauthier didn't have a lot of resources to draw upon, but she crafted an award certificate on a pilfered sheet of my typing paper, made the best cake in the history of cakes in celebration -- golden, with milk chocolate frosting, shredded coconut, and a cherry on top, the same cake I once mentioned was my favorite from boyhood birthdays growing up in the big woods of Windham, New Hampshire. And since this was a costume party, she had stitched together a mock-up of the uniform worn by Lorne Greene as Commander Adama on the original Battlestar Galactica, my second-favorite TV show.  To address the discrepancy of Adama's silver hair, she shook baby powder into my luxurious Lebanese Afro. Throughout that muggy May night, sweat poured, and liquefied baby powder ran out of my locks and down my costume.

(My Sweet 1,000 cake, in tribute to Number 100)

At the party, held in the basement of a house I haven't visited in a million light-years, I sat on the floor, careful not to drip onto the pages, and finished "Arrival to Palmeron" while records played on the record player, and my friends danced and ate and talked.  There was no alcohol involved, nothing illicit took place.  It was all very civilized when you consider it.  And incredibly fun. One for the history books, truly. It's part of my history that I am supremely proud of.

In February of 2000, during a horrible time in my life following my mother's death from the Big C, I reached what I assumed was the halfway point with another 1999 tale, a 300-page novel that again found the Alphans facing off against a new race of Palmerons on a vaster scale than ever before. Planetkill 6: Hands Across Space was the sixth installment of a monstrous eight-story series that tallied to nearly 1,500 pages by its conclusion.  All of my noteworthy numbers -- 1, 50, 100 -- had been 1999 fan fic stories, and so, too was 500.  My writer's group at the time commemorated the occasion with cake and an award plaque, which still hangs on the wall of my Writing Room, thirteen years hence.

In 2007, on the first of three weekend writer's retreats spent in the White Mountains with my group before resigning after sixteen years over the deplorable behavior of some new members, I penned my 700th, a 1999 novella called "Moon City".  Camped on a cozy sofa beneath my headphones with the show's emotionally-charged Year 2 soundtrack playing, tears flowed along with a continuous succession of fresh longhand pages.  The tears were misinterpreted for sadness by some of my fellow attendees, forcing me to put down my fountain pen long enough to clarify: I wasn't crying because I was sad -- I was supremely happy.  Writing is powerful stuff.

In 2010, during one of the most difficult years of my life, something as uplifting in contrast occurred: I penned 100 works of fiction -- six novellas, three novels, a short script, the rest a mix of flash and short stories.  Through a devastating medical diagnosis, loss of work, and a house foreclosure, I wrote nonstop. I sold numerous stories and all of the novels penned during that time.  Writing ultimately saved our small family, each of those contracts, the big and the tiny alike, coming in when needed most.  And in July of that year, I penned Number 800, my 1999 novella, "The World at the End of All".

After two productive years in a new rented home, the Number 1,000 loomed.  I have a lot of ideas. They're my babies.  I write a lot, and try to finish everything I start, those worthy of publication, and those I pen only for my own enjoyment.  In other words, the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.  At one point, I released the notion that the Number 1,000 was an ending point.  I didn't, however, let go of the desire to make my 1,000th a 1999 tale, as all the other Big Numbers were, despite having mostly written out the universe over the course of thirty-seven years.  Seated in my Writing Room with episodes of Space:1999 playing on my laptop, I asked myself if there was one story I had yet to write, one I wanted to in honor of that powerful equation.  And I soon had an answer.

(With my lovely lifelong pal, CathyAnn St. Jean-Lemieux January 27, 2013
at my Sweet 1,000 Party)

Toward the end of 1999's run, actress Alibe Parsons appeared in three episodes as the moon bases's communication's officer, "Alibe Kurand." Parsons, also featured in the early scene of Aliens where Sigourney Weaver's "Ripley" suffers the nightmare of an alien ripping through her stomach, delivered an impressive and layered performance in her sparse time on screen.  I would write Alibe's back-story, starting in her grandmother's home north of Boston, when she first dons her Moonbase Alpha regulation uniform, and is told she will do great things during what is believed will be a short tour of duty.  I wrote through the emotional devastation after Earth's moon breaks out of orbit, followed through by penning narrative to all of the character's individual scenes in her three episode appearances, and then placed Alibe, seemingly alone, in a no-win scenario against the Palmerons. The story swelled to novella length.  I shared the Palmeron pages of "Alibe's Story", some 3,000 words in all, to a packed house during my Sweet 1,000 party's reading portion, and life came full-circle. Decades in the making, one of the biggest blessings of January 27, 2013 was the surprise attendance of my wonderful friend CathyAnn, who was there way-back-when on that muggy May night in 1982 for my 100th.

And so, the Number 1,000 was made manifest, not with trumpets or special effects, but chocolate coconut cake and special friends, real and imaginary.  Members of my talented present writer's group arrived en masse. We ate from a magnificent buffet spread, we sipped sodas and iced coffees, laughed and read and celebrated this magical gift we all love so dearly.  And the next morning, I picked up my pen and started work on Number 1001.  Number 2000, here I come!

The Fabulous Jan Kozlowski Reads at the Spookiest Little Bookstore in New England

(Jan Kozlowski, photo courtesy of Books and Boos)

You couldn't meet a nicer or more engaging author than the brilliant Jan Kozlowski.  And you couldn't experience a cooler Indie bookstore than the little shop among the tall pines, Books and Boos. Creative force-of-nature recently teamed with one-of-a-kind literary venue and treated a lucky audience to an unforgettable afternoon where books were celebrated, and the chill factor skyrocketed!

"Jan is so wonderfully down to earth and able to make friends with anyone. We had a lot of people stop in for her reading simply because they like her so much," says Stacey Longo, one half of the husband-and-wife team behind Books and Boos, and a talented scribe I've had the pleasure of appearing in print with on numerous occassions, most recently in the outstanding Anthology: Year One. "The night before the reading, Jan contacted us, as she thought reading from her new novel Die,You Bastard! Die might be inappropriate the day after the Newtown shootings. She was able to find another piece to read instead, and we collected donations that day for Sandy Hook. It was nice to feel like we were able to do something for the victims' families and survivors in our own state. It was an awesome afternoon -- we had food on hand, and a group of us just hung out, visiting and laughing and telling tales."

Jan shared a selection from her appearance in Hungry For Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance (St. Martin's Press, edited by Lori Perkins).  "I was really conflicted about what to read. Die, You Bastard!  Die! is dripping in human evil almost from Page 1, so I opted to go with my story "First Love Never Dies" from Hungry For Your Love. Most of the people in the audience had never heard it, including my husband's granddaughter, so I think it ended up working out for the best...or at least the best we could do on such a sad, sad day. We did end up raising about $80 for the Newtown Parents Connection, though, and I think it helped all of us to be among friends."

The fabulous Ms. Kozlowski, who I first met at 2012's Camp NECon, has been writing for as long as she can remember.

"My first memory is being about three and writing my grandmother a 'prescription' because she wasn't feeling well. It's interesting that I ended up working in both the medical and writing fields; sometimes I guess we're just wired for certain vocations," she says.  "Growing up I scored my first paycheck writing articles about raising tropical fish for my local newspaper at about the age of eleven and edited a nationally distributed newsletter, also about tropical fish, throughout my early teens. The writing took a back seat when I got my first 'real' job at Friendly's at sixteen and, other than working at the college radio station and writing and editing the ambulance company newsletter, I didn't do much more writing until I met my husband and he encouraged me to get serious about writing professionally.  So I opened up my own freelance writing shop, with sidelines in editing and research, around 1997. My clients have included: Poisoned Pen Press, The Society of Children’s Books Writers and Illustrators, The Senior Network, ConnLife, Strong Books, AOL, Hips & Curves, and Remilon."

Jan's short fiction also appears in the Ravenous Romance anthology Fang Bangers: an Erotic Anthology of Fangs, Claws, Sex, and Love, NECon e-books' Best of 2011 Flash Fiction, and Weird Noir (Fox Spirit Books) among others.  A nonfiction exercise of hers is featured in the Tarcher/Penguin handbook Now Write! Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror.

(photo courtesy of Books and Boos)

"Reading at Books and Boos was outstanding! Jason and Stacey are wonderful hosts, and being members of New England Horror Writers, as well as writers themselves, they know how to make their authors and customers comfortable and happy. They provided not only a wonderful space, but a warm and inviting atmosphere, complete with a yummy spread of snacks and enough books and novelties to keep everyone interested."

Jason is author Jason Harris, Stacey's husband and co-creator of the Books and Boos experience.

"We were so lucky to find that spot. As soon as we saw the space, it felt right," says Jason who, in addition to his feature work for three Connecticut newspapers, also writes reviews for DVD Snapshot. "We spent a few weeks painting, doing trim work, setting up bookcases, and rearranging -- we still rearrange every week, trying to get it just right. In one room, we painted quotes from different writers around the top. We were hoping to do it in every room, but it wound up taking so long for me to do just one, now we're thinking about contacting the local high school to see if any of their art students want to finish that project up."

"For me, owning a bookstore always seemed like the ideal job," adds Stacey. "To be surrounded by the thing I'm most passionate about -- books -- sounded like heaven. It was the job I dreamed about while doing my regular day job. When we finally decided to get off our butts and pursue the dream, it was fortunate that we were so involved with the NEHW and the horror community. We knew we wanted to give shelf space to books that don't normally garner that kind of attention at places like Barnes & Noble. We were able to contact writers through the NEHW to let them know their book would have a home on our shelves, if they were interested. Being writers ourselves, we know how hard it is to get small press books into peoples' hands. We also got the word out to local artists that we had room for them, too. We now have paintings and professional photographs on our walls, etched bookmarks, hand-crafted cribbage boards, crocheted Cthulhus, hand-sewn blood stain pillows, and sculptures crafted from recycled flatware in the shop."

(photo courtesy of Books and Boos)

Books and Boos opened its doors on Tuesday, November 20, 2012, and in its short existence the shop at 514 Westchester Road in Colchester, Connecticut is already flexing its limbs.

"It seems like every day we need more shelves and bookcases," says Stacey. "We have a short-term plan to rearrange -- yet again -- to fit more books as needed. Of course, we'd love to get bigger, but that depends on how successful we are!"

"I would like to get authors of all genres into the store. If any author or speaker wants to do a reading, I welcome a call or email to talk about it," says Jason.  "I would like to have all kinds of presentations and talks. At the moment, I'm working on getting a person in who takes ghostly photographs, a woodcarving group, and a gentlemen who makes pens."

And, of course, an encore visit by the delightful Jan Koslowski is an event worthy of  marking up calendars!  Boos and Books can be contacted at: (860)861-6214.  

I Have a Secret

(In the Gertrude Stein Salon.  Photo Credit: Julie Foster Hedlund)

Actually, I have two.  But due to signed NDA agreements, at this point I'm unable to discuss the television series production team I've joined as a writer, or the national book award I'm judging.  I will, however, in due time.

Ever since I was a young boy lifting up the other telephone in my grandmother Lovey's house and listening in on adult conversations, I've had this thing for secrets. I write about them constantly -- family secrets, secrets that terrify, secrets that inspire.  In recent years, I've attempted to make my life that cliched 'open book' and often remark that if you're not interested, stop reading and move on to other peoples' stories. Still, I find it difficult to resist the attraction of secrets and mysteries.  More than twenty years after its broadcast on network TV and the big screen treatment that followed, I'm fascinated by, fixated on David Lynch's surreal glimpse through the curtains of a seemingly sane and simple American town called Twin Peaks.  There, the secrets were ominous, deadly.  And oh such fun.

So here's the latest news from my world regarding the things I can discuss.  In the past month, I was cursed with a crippling knot in my neck and one of those zombie colds popular at this time of the year. But the blessings far outweighed nagging ailments -- the world did not end on the Twenty-First of December (not that I thought it would), though after a fashion it transformed, as on that very afternoon, we learned that our offer on the new-old house we sought to buy was accepted.  A beautiful lady, we knew instantly that Xanadu was the home for us.  There, I plan to continue the prosperity I've enjoyed here in our present home, but in my new and, hopefully, final Writing Room.  One of my 2013 goals is to pen the writing manual that has haunted me for a few years now, If You Can't Eat It, You Don't Need It: A Starving Writer's Guide to Survival, a subject I'm something of an authority on.  My new home office is stunning, with wide antique pine floors reminiscent of the knotty pine walls of the enchanted cottage where I grew up.

(Welcome to Twin Peaks -- from my articles file)

In 2012, I traveled to three writing conferences, four writing retreats, and gave two readings -- one in New York City.  The total time I spent on the road enjoying these adventures tallied to almost three full months -- an entire season!  My most recent found me back at the wonderful When Words Count writer's retreat center, where it snowed daily and where I wrote some 10,000 words over the course of my four days, including the concluding pages of my novella "The Arsonist," a project I am most proud of.  While camped out in the luxurious Gertrude Stein Salon at WWC, I added up my 2012 word totals: 377,000 between fifty-two completed projects -- three novels, five novellas, the rest stories short and long.

While 2012 was a year of travel and adventure, I look forward to 2013 being one where I snuggle down in our cozy new-old home to write and complete even more of my stories, old and new alike, though the possibility of travel exists via the incredible promise contained within the TV series.  And the awards ceremony, held in New York City.  But again, I can't talk about those luminous and exciting facets in my writing career's orbit just yet -- they're still secrets.