A Fond Farewell to 2015

Normally, at the end of each year I like to get my house and office in order to ring in the new -- files filed, everything printed up that needs printing, fresh lists made of the ever-expanding roster of fiction projects I've completed and the shrinking list of those yet to achieve their first drafts. As 2015 waned, I did all these things, only to fall more than three weeks behind on updating this blog with the first of 2016's posts.

Without adieu, I hope to fix that one shortcoming. Know that the weeks between Now and Before have been busy ones, devoted to writing. In fact, the first two weeks of 2016 saw me completing the two of my oldest as-yet unwritten ideas (unwritten no more!), which hail from the long ago. 1984, in fact!

Back to 2015. The year kicked off with promise, despite a winter so brutal and long that I wondered if it would ever end. We suffered frozen pipes, both in our basement and elsewhere in town, ice dam damage to the roof, and what seemed an endless supply of snow and icicles, which transformed the sun porch of our home into a jagged dragon's mouth filled with transparent teeth. In 2015, I lost three relatives, including my beloved and brilliant Grandmother Rachel, who once wrote for Highlights For Children. Grammy Rachel was a great friend, and one of the two best grandmothers in the history of the universe (I'm looking at you, Grammy Lovey!).

In April, a week of sunny spring weather had me and the cats out on the sun porch writing, where I finished a first draft of my novel Kingdoms Be Damned in seven days. The sun porch throughout the summer was like my own private, comfortable, and efficient Command Center -- out there in my al fresco-style office, with its stunning views of the woods and mountains, I penned the longhand draft of a novella, Sweat Punk: A Love Story that kept me walking around in a daze for two months while I worked on numerous other projects. I was so wrapped up in the love story between two characters separated by walls both physical and cerebral that when the last page was put down, I mourned. On my birthday, I started my Space:1999 fan fiction novel, Metamorphosis, and found myself writing back and forth between both projects, and inspired to a height I haven't known before. I completed Metamorphosis in early October and shared the final chapter at one memorable meeting of my beloved Tuesday night writers' group, where I forgot I was German and blubbered nonstop throughout the reading. For the first time in my life -- my fiftieth on Planet Earth -- a new year began without a single Space:1999 story on the unwritten story idea list.

My collection of three novellas, Tales From the Robot Graveyard, was launched at Anthocon, an annual gem of the conference circuit held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. During that fantastic weekend, it was my honor to see three other anthologies debut containing my stories, including Anthology: Year Three - Distant, Dying Ember, which features my long epic SF tale, "The Sun Struck". On Christmas Eve, I learned that 2015's conference would be the last, and wish to extend my profound thanks to Anthocon's organizers. I attended every one. It was a pleasure, truly.

(Reading from ROBOTS at Anthocon, photo courtesy of Tony Tremblay)

I kept some pretty spectacular company in 2015. Within the covers of Firbolg Publishing's spectacular anthology, Enter at Your Own Risk: Dreamscapes Into Darkness, my short story "One More" shared space with reprints by none other than the D.H. Lawrence, Mary Shelley, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Earlier in the spring, editor Dave Goudsward sought me out with a personal invitation to write a story for his charity anthology to benefit the John Greenleaf Whittier farm and museum -- my gothic ghost tale "The Coldest Room in the House" was selected to be the anchor story in Snowbound With Zombies and is nuzzled up against a reprint by Mister Whittier himself. And in May, H. David Blalock solicited an original short story from me -- "Breakwater" -- to appear alongside a reprint of "Beyond the Wall of Sleep" by the master himself, H.P. Lovecraft, in his anthology devoted to the lesser written of human villains in Lovecraftiana, The Idolaters of Cthulhu.

I traveled to an event at the Whittier Farm to read and autograph Snowbound, and spent three luxurious days at The Coppertoppe Inn for a Halloween writing retreat with my writers' group. Joining us at the retreat were my good friends Laura Bear from New York State, and Tina McCollum, my best friend from my teen years -- Tina and I used to hang out and write together weekdays following our release from the humorless prison of Salem High School, and did so again for a full week between my home and the top-shelf accommodations at Coppertoppe.

(With the talented and lovely Judi Ann Calhoun at the
Whittier reading event from SNOWBOUND)

As the year's final days ran out, I tallied up my totals from 2015, as I always do: two completed novels, four novellas, a feature film screenplay, and fifty-six short stories adding up to nearly 380,000 fresh words over the course of my fiftieth year. I published one book, saw my fiction appear or get accepted in numerous anthologies, and, above all, lived my life here in the mountains of my home state being happy while harming none.

2016 will hopefully continue the trend, and seems to be headed in the right -- and write -- direction as of this early juncture. In addition to those two ancient stories finally having their THE ENDs (I was both shocked and pleased to witness their characters coming alive from the dead and really running with the fresh pulses of ink, across pages that flew off notepads!), I have booked three writing retreats, a return visit to my beloved Wednesday night writers' group in the southern part of the state, and a trip into Boston, where I'll be reading from my short mystery, "Exhuming Secrets on a Hot August Day", which is set to appear in the anthology Murder Ink. And, after thirteen years together, my wonderful partner and I are going to tie the knot officially, which will make 2016 one for the history books.  Carpe diem!

Summer Lovin' -- Had Me A Blast

(Arrival to Anthocon 4, with the luminous Roxanne Dent and the
equally brilliant Judi Ann Calhoun)

On a balmy August night in 1980, I exited the rear doors of the long-gone Salem Tri-Cinema and my life was forever changed. I'd just taken in the movie Xanadu with my circle of high school friends and was so inspired by the flick's theme -- that our dreams are worth pursuing if we have the backbone to try -- that my life was forever changed. An enormous full moon lit the sky. The air was sweet and intoxicating. As we negotiated the rear of the cinema and ambled toward the parking lot, I had that Eureka! moment: I loved to write, and I was going to be a writer, both end of story and the beginning. Thirty-five years later (twenty-five of them as a published writer), and especially now that I've gotten so unthinkably older, I've come to appreciate the summer months both for the warmth and also for keeping me young at heart. Soon, it will be winter, and I'll be negotiating around the house like something out of Toulouse Lautrec.

This summer actually kicked off early with a spell of gorgeous sunny weather at the start of April that ran for a full week. During that time, I finished a first draft of my M/M high fantasy novel, Kingdoms Be Damned, seated outside on the sun porch. As winter waned, one night while cooking dinner I challenged myself to come up with my own genre. What I created was "Sweat Punk" -- a futuristic storyline in which humans had willingly sold off soul for technology and longed to reclaim what they'd renounced. In late April, I put pen to page and began work on a novella, Sweat Punk: A Love Story. I was instantly sucked into the world I'd created and specifically the love between my two leads. For months while working on the story in the background, I found myself walking about in a daze, eager to return to them and their seemingly-impossible situation. I wrapped the first draft in early July. Like Kingdoms, I soon plan to begin computer edits on the project for submission.

In May, I hit the Big 5-0. One of my fondest goals for my fiftieth year on Spaceship Earth was to write my Space:1999 novel Metamorphosis. I put pen to page on my birthday and, like Sweat Punk: A Love Story, wrote it in the background, throughout the summer. The experience was so uplifting, so ridiculously fun, as I drew the courageous men and women of Moonbase Alpha into the biggest space battle in the history of the universe. I began reading the novel at writers' group meetings and, on those nights, was a kid again.

In early June, I headed to the fourth Anthocon, a world-class conference held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Anthocon saw the launch of several anthologies containing my short stories, including the stellar Dreamscapes into Darkness, where my tale "One More" is cozied up against a reprint by D. H. Lawrence, and From the Corner of Your Eye: A Cryptids Anthology. Most exciting was the release of my new book, Tales From the Robot Graveyard, which sold out within two hours of my arrival to the dealer's room. I managed to escape from Anthocon with one copy, signed the rest (along with a plethora of other anthologies), and gave two open mic readings. My two writers' groups -- Berlin Writers' Group here in the north and Nashua Writers' Group from the south -- were well represented, and over a dozen of us lunched together at the classic diner attached to the hotel next door, sight of the original con.

Most of my summer days began with iced coffee and blueberry bubble water in my Writing Room, but soon transitioned to the sun porch, my summer de facto home office. There, bookended by cats, I wrote a new horror-themed screenplay on spec, numerous short stories, and, during the first half of July, half of a new novel, which I plan to complete next month during National Novel Writing Month. I found myself besieged by new ideas from every direction -- while taking in the Chris Pratt event movie Jurassic World with friends on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon, three ideas latched onto me, leaving me scrambling for pen and paper (despite having an excellent memory for details, I still don't trust my brain enough to recall everything).  I sold numerous short stories in a multitude of genres to various magazines and anthologies, and enjoyed the long, laid back (but hardly lazy) days.

(screen capture from the feature film Brutal Colors, due to be released soon)

On September the third, we paid off our mortgage on our house, Xanadu -- lovingly named after that movie from my formative youth, a place where dreams come true. As I write this report on my summer adventures, a cold wind is blowing down from the mountains, knocking leaves from trees, a clear promise of winter. My plan for the cold months is to do what I did throughout the warm: live, write, and dream. And among those winter dreams, surely, will be ones concerning a return of the greenery outside, the balmy summer breezes, and the upsurge of passion I always experience when the days grow longer and brighter.

And Now For Something Completely Similar!

It's 2014, the New Year! And like many of my contemporaries, I've been inspired to reflect upon the past twelve months.  2013 had some serious highs, and its share of lows -- a hospital stay to remove a cranial cyst that has left a deep divot in my scalp, the loss of our beloved hero cat Chicken in July at the age of sixteen, a vitamin deficiency that resulted in a month-long zombie state among the lowest of the latter.

I never liked my name growing up, as 'Greg' rhymes with 'egg' and I was routinely referred to as 'Gregory Eggory' or 'Eggy Greggy' among the brats of my grade school years.  But at fifteen, when I discovered the vast universe of possibility and adventure that comes with claiming so powerful a sobriquet as 'Writer', I realized that 'Gregory L. Norris' would one day look fantastic as a byline, and since that Eureka! moment, I've pretty much lived my life by accentuating the positive.  So this post is all about the high highs of 2013, of which there were many.

In January, following decades of anticipation, I completed my 1,000th Work of Fiction.  Like other potent numbers -- 1, 50, 100, 500, 700, and 800 -- the novella "Alibe's Story" was a fan fiction based upon the late, great Gerry Anderson's outer space parable, Space:1999.  To celebrate, we filled our house with friends from my wonderful Southern New Hampshire writers' group and even a few beloved faces from high school, when my mom hosted a party to celebrate my 100th.  It was, not so simply, a divine time.

In March, we purchased a big old house far from the familiar in our state's North Country.  We trucked all we owned and trekked 150 miles to the town of Berlin, to Xanadu.  Following a week-long writing retreat to a venue on the other side of Mount Washington the previous October, I found this house on a real estate website and was smitten with what I saw.  When the price of the house dropped by $10,000.00 overnight, I made contact with the realtor.  We then drove north on a bright Tuesday and were greeted by a flock of wild turkeys, who came gobbling down from the hill in the backyard and were happy to share in the lunch I'd packed for the journey. Since our arrival, we've painted, renovated, and made the house a bright and cozy home where happiness and creativity have prospered.

From the moment we landed, I was inspired by the mountain views beyond every window and the bright nature of the house, and put pen to page.  While renovations to my new Writing Room commenced, I took to writing at our kitchen table, where I collected together twenty flash fiction stories under the working title Shrunken Heads: Twenty Tiny Tales of Mystery and Terror.  The finished book was submitted to Angela Craig, my wonderful editor on various past releases from Elektrik Milk Bath Press, accepted, and published in September. Smaller in size physically than the norm, the book is a charming showcase of my work that any writer would be proud to have graced by their byline.

Numerous of my stories, short and long, were also accepted for publication, in a variety of venues and countries -- a dozen to my publisher in Germany, at least as many to the fine folks at Cleis Press, and many to anthologies like the wonderful Cellar Door, D.O.A. II, Enter At Your Own Risk: Dark Muses (featuring reprints of classic tales by Polidori, Lovecraft, Poe, and Washington Irving!), the brilliant Ghosts in Gaslight, Monsters in Steam, and the gory and unapologetic Splatter Lands by Grey Matter Press (who then published my story "Third Offense" in their follow up release, Ominous Realities).

In the early summer, I learned that my short story "Bleedthrough" was one of fourteen accepted for the next publication release by the New England Horror Writers, Wicked Seasons.  The story, about evil bleeding through the wall and infecting a young woman's life from the apartment next door, was praised by editor Stacey Longo for its originality and its polish -- apparently, I made her job easy in this one instance.  At the annual conference Anthocon, it was a treat to be handed a copy of the anthology, which contains some impressive names in publishing!  Also at the same yearly event, Canopic Jars: Tales of Mummies and Mummification was launched.  I was asked to edit this anthology by friends who opened a press in 2013 and to select the stories that fill its meaty near-400 pages.  I have always loved this particular trope and was thrilled to dust it off for a fresh new take.  The collection contains my tale "Mummy Chips" about a socialite serving her guests a unique menu, and has garnered more than a few shout-outs as being among the best in the book's many positive reviews.  And at the tail end of 2013, my story "The Moths" was published in the highly anticipated latest volume in the New Hampshire Pulp Fiction series, Live Free or Sci Fi. My combat story of desperate humans seeking to intercept an alien armada using a fleet of heavy cruisers thought long mothballed -- led by the flagship New Hampshire -- concludes the anthology; Pulp Fiction and New Hampshire Magazine Editor Rick Broussard felt mine was, 'the perfect ending' to science fiction stories centered around the Granite State.

My career garnered serious attention in the media, first in a newspaper write-up that quickly led to an appearance on New Hampshire Chronicle, a long-running magazine show that reaches millions of viewers in my home state and past the borders of our closest neighbors.  On perhaps the muggiest and hottest day of the summer, famed host Sean Mcdonald ventured north with his cameraman Chris to tape a segment about me and my writing here at Xanadu -- what fun!  I was also interviewed numerous times for other newspaper articles, was a guest on the radio show Granite State of Mind three times, and was asked to appear in a literary art show at the best of our local eateries, Tea Birds Cafe & Restaurant.  Add to this the creation of a new and exciting writers' group in our adopted home town, and it was beyond the cost of that glaring new scar on the top of my head.

Besides, I've come to look at that reminder of the lows of 2013 as an exit point for the many ideas inside my imagination that couldn't be contained or wait to burst forth into the world.  In fact, I'm writing the first of them now, in early 2014.

Presented for Your Approval, ANTHOLOGY: YEAR ONE

(photo credit: Henry Snider)

Over the summer, between writing retreats, conferences, and adventures, I submitted two short stories to editor Mark Wholley, who was reading for an anthology open only to writers who had attended the Freshman experience of November 2011's Anthocon.  The anthology, appropriately titled Anthology: Year One, would be launched at this year's multi-genre celebration.

A Saturday night, months later, I paused the Hollywood blockbuster playing on our flat-screen in the living room (Snow White and the Huntsman, I believe) to refresh sodas.  I moseyed into my Writing Room to find an acceptance on one of the two stories, my short and creepy tale, "The Guests."  I was beyond thrilled and struggled to get through the rest of the movie.  I wanted to be in this project.  And I was.

The idea for "The Guests" came to me on a humid June afternoon, a Wednesday, in one of those thunderclaps of inspiration where a story takes shape, fully formed.  I saw, quite clearly, a woman X'ing off days on a calendar in red ink as she and her husband prepared for the arrival of holiday guests.  Only it turned out that though the motions seemed normal, an element of wrongness quickly grew apparent, for these guests were not your average in-laws or siblings.  I sat down a few hours before due to depart for my writer's group's weekly meeting, put pen to paper, and dashed off the first draft in one sitting.  I then read it to my fellow scribes, who dug it.  So did the luminous Mister Wholley, as he chose it to appear in a stellar Table of Contents in the conference's official literary companion.

Many of my fellow authors shared the back stories behind their contributions to the amazing read that is Anthology: Year One.

Marianne Halbert on "When Betsy Whispers": "As part of my day job, I travel to our local prisons from time to time. One snowy day, I left early in case the roads were bad. I arrived early, with time to kill. They were in the process of opening a new museum. There was a wall of shanks, and a letter written by a fourteen-year-old Charles Manson when he'd been at the boys' school. But what drew my attention was the chair. Ancient, yet elegant, untouchable due to the glass that separated us, she sat. Some states refer to their electric chairs as 'Old Sparky'. For some reason, in Indiana, she's 'Old Betsy'. She whispered to me, and planted the idea for my story, 'When Betsy Whispers'."

Stacey Longo on "Cliffhanger": "'Cliffhanger' came about when I was stuck at an employment law seminar all day, listening to two lawyers drone on about Connecticut's paid sick leave law. I was thinking about how nice it would be to push one or both of them into the Grand Canyon. So, while my boss thought I was diligently taking notes, I outlined the story that would become 'Cliffhanger.' And yes, the married couple in the story is named after those two tedious lawyers!"

Timothy P. Flynn on "A Day at the Bookstore": "Back in 2007, I was in the process of ending a fifteen-year relationship with my wife (together for ten, married for five) because my alcoholism and depression were just out of control. I hit the rock bottom that many talk about but yet never seem to face. My life needed a change or I was going to die. I finally took the plunge into a detox center at Hampstead Hospital. All I knew up until that point was being drunk. I had always loved writing and books, but had no clue how to pursue it. So I became more depressed because I suppressed my passion for writing. I made one promise to myself once I go out and was sober: I would follow my passion and have a dream.

I tried a dating site to look for a possible relationship. My search focused on a woman who enjoyed Horror, books, and movies. Common interests were the most valuable commodity now as my soon to be ex-wife never read a damn book in her life. This is how I met Barbara. We talked online for a few weeks before finally meeting: our first in person date? At the Salem, New Hampshire Barnes and Noble, yes a bookstore! I don’t know about the rest of you, but after being with one woman for such a long time, the first time you meet a new love is very exciting. We talked about books, various authors, movies -- mostly Horror, her college choices, and life stuff. I had such a great time talking about things I cared about; with a coffee in my hand instead of a beer.

The funny story about the poem is that I have no written copy of it anywhere. A few days after meeting Barbara, I opened up my email, and proceeded to write this poem in the space. It was written in a fury, the images just shot from brain to hand, no editing. I hit send and waited to hear a response. A few hours later, she responded with nothing but admiration for what I created for her. I wrote it for her, solely for her and had no intention of anyone ever seeing the poem. I don’t even have the account anymore that I used to write that poem; hence the only copy of its existence was lost to cyber land.  Barbara was so moved by my writing of this poem that the next time I saw her; she presented me with a surprise. The gift was a beautiful framed copy of the poem. She printed it out, blew it up, designed some fancy fonts and border to it and gave it to me. It had to be the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a very long time. To this day, besides this poem being published in Anthology: Year One; the only existence this poem was even written at all resides on my desk in my office."

T. T. Zuma on "The Old Man": "'The Old Man' was inspired by Tom Piccirilli.  I had attempted a few times before to write a noir-influenced story and never had much luck at it.  Everything I wrote seemed to hinge on a cliché, or I wasn’t able to pull off that tough guy attitude in my main character that Tom is so damn good at. Then one day while driving to work, I came to the bridge located in the center of my hometown and I saw an old man fishing off it. My imagination kicked in and later that evening I started the first draft of 'The Old Man.'  Reading it the next day I thought it sucked.  The characters were stereotypes and the plot wasn’t very original.

Pic had told me once that when he wrote a story all he had in his head was maybe the first line or the first paragraph and once those were written, he would then let the story take over and see where it brought him.  I decided to try and do the same thing.  After using the same first paragraph, I rewrote the story letting my characters take me on their journey instead of the other way around.  I hadn’t the slightest idea that my private eye was really a mob enforcer on the run or that the antagonist wasn’t some tough-talking gorilla but a young, scared kid.  As a result of these changes came a new ending which not only took me totally by surprise, but I thought perfect.  When I had finished rewriting the story, it didn’t suck anymore.

Once finished and then vetted by my first readers I had another problem, who publishes noir short stories anymore?   I held onto it for over a year. When Anthology: Year One announced a call for submissions, I thought it the right anthology and I rushed to send it to the editor, Mark Wholley. Thankfully he accepted 'The Old Man' and I am proud that it found a home in this anthology."

K. Allen Wood on "She Cries": "The title 'She Cries' has been with me for a long time. Back in the early ‘90s, as a young teenager, I used it as the title to the following poem:

She came to me in the night.

Her body seemed to move, sinewy, with the mist,

swirling, gathering at my window.

She coursed through my mind, bristled close to my skin,

leaving sweet beads, hope-filled.

Then she was gone.

That night, awake, I spoke a dream aloud:

'There is reason we return from the bitter darkness.'

Ignoring the poetic merit presented above, which should be easy because I’m fairly confident there is none (I don’t even know what that poem is about anymore), that was the first time I used the title. Later, it became a song. More recent, I used it as the name of a music project. You can hear one of those songs, a cover of an old System of a Down demo. And most recent, it was the perfect title for a short story I’d written, so I used it yet again.

Those two words together --'she cries'-- have always resonated with me, for one reason or another. Specific to the short story, however, which now appears in Anthology: Year One, a fine collection of tales from authors who attended the very first Anthology conference in 2011, the idea came to me after a friend broke down one night while drinking. 'I just want you to hold me,' she’d said in part that night. 'I want to feel safe.' The words haunted me for a long time, because she’d peeled back the layers and had given me a glimpse of the dark things that pulled her strings. But she didn’t want to cut those strings; she just wanted to use me. 'She Cries' doesn’t touch upon that moment specifically, but it does explore her psyche a bit, in that it features a haunted woman who isn’t strong enough to let go of the darkness that controls her; and because of that, those unfortunate enough to truly care about her or try to help often find themselves heartbroken -- or worse. The metaphor probably isn’t as clear for the reader because I know the history of and the catalyst for the story, but I’m confident that knowledge isn’t necessary for one’s enjoyment of the tale."

Peter N. Dudar on "The Strange Medicines of Dr. Ling": "My grandfather was the general manager of the Washington County Fairgrounds in upstate New York for many years, and during those hot summer days when the carnival rolled into town my brother and I were allowed to spend the week in his trailer, right inside the fair.  A great portion of my childhood was spent soaking in carnival life -- riding the rides, playing along the midway, breathing in the myths and mysteries of the fair.  There's two faces to a carnival: the fun, vibrant, excitement of a bigger world suddenly appearing in your small town; and the cold, terrible reality of people and animals being exploited to make a quick buck.  You never needed to pay a ticket for the freak show.  You only needed to see those old-time carnies, the ones missing a hand or a leg from some carnival tragedy, to feel that same level of discomfort.

I wanted to write a story that captured these feelings from when I was a kid, the way Bradbury had with Something Wicked This Way Comes, or F. Paul Wilson had with his wonderful anthology Freak Show.  Only, as an adult, I wanted to capture a portion of something almost everyone could empathize with.  In this case, what would you be willing to trade off to be rid of something you could no longer tolerate living with...say, a bad headache?  With a little creative magic, I devised an old-fashion spirit wagon, operated by the strange and sinister Dr. Ling.  And once the bad doctor appeared, the story pretty much told itself.  Even now, long after the story was written, I can almost hear the sound of his flute playing in my head and it takes me right back to my own childhood."

Jennifer Allis Provost on "Stir the Bones": "My story was inspired by several real life events. On June 1, 2011, Western Massachusetts was hit by a tornado; luckily, my home wasn't damaged. But it got me thinking about what it would be like to be trapped in my basement, just me and my husband and the dog...

The supernatural events mentioned are all true, to a point. The woman we'd bought the house from did have eight different men living with her over the course of ten years, and she did raise the basement floor by two feet with concrete. The scissors really did fly across the kitchen to open a bag of pet food, though it was cat food, not dog. And, the kitchen cabinets really did take a flying leap off the walls.

Of course, everything mentioned didn't happen; we weren't trapped in the basement, for one. In reality, if we were trapped I wouldn't just be with my husband and dog, but twin toddlers, two cats, and a parrot as well. If everyone had made an appearance, this short story might well have become a novella. Also, other than my overactive imagination, there is no evidence of bodies under the basement floor. Then again, how would I detect them underneath all that concrete?"

John Grover on "Bog King": "I have to credit the inspiration to my story to my partner. He is a geographer and historian and in his day job he edits world history textbooks.  He sent me an article on the bog kings of the Celtic tribes. Back in those days when the tribe decided the king’s reign was up they would ritually murder him and put his body in the local bog to insure the return of spring after the winter and to be the guide of the moon goddess since the king represented the sun on earth.

The article detailed how archeologists or scientists had exhumed the bodies of Celtic kings from the bog and had discovered the bog had preserved the bodies so well they were able to tell what their last meal was, what oils they’d had in their hair, how old they were, how they were killed and many other things. After reading this, of course, my writer’s imagination took off and I instantly began thinking of 'what if' scenarios and the story was born. I imagined a young king figuring out what his fate was about to be and getting the jump on his own blood-thirsty tribe, but the tale did not end there. I crafted a tale where the king flees into the very bog that was to be his final resting place and the tribe that will not rest until he gives the ultimate sacrifice for them -- his life. They will go to unthinkable lengths to make sure spring returns the following year."

Roxanne Dent on "The Legacy": "I was thrilled to learn my short story about greed and murder with a twist in Victorian times sold to Anthology: Year One.   Knowing my story was accepted into their first print anthology was exciting.  I got to read a section of it at the November conference, which was wonderful with fabulous speakers, the Goth singer Voltaire, and numerous panels and talks.  This year I kept winning books in a raffle and [my sister] Karen won a fabulous painting.  I love Anthocon and the people behind the conference and the book, which I’m sure, will be the first of many."

Scott Christian Carr on "The Jesus Bomb": "I didn’t want to kill Jesus again. I’d already done this once (God forgive me) in Hiram Grange and the Twelve Little Hitlers -- murdered the manic, pizza-munching, razor-clawed conspiracy theorist Ypsilanti Christ (who was hanging out and blogging with Little Hitler #8, until Mr. Grange put a quick and bloody end to them both).

           

I didn’t want to kill Jesus… again. But even after 12 Lil’ Hitlers had gone to print, I couldn’t shake the idea of another skewed Christ -- couldn’t get Him out of my mind: Googly-eyed, staggering and swaying, all Hippied-out in Birkenstocks and bathrobe, lobotomized and brainwashed, wearing a T-shirt bearing the immortal scripture, I’m With Stupid (complete with an arrow pointing up to the Heavens).  Oh, and a nuclear bomb strapped to His chest.

A character too good to throw away, and too insanely sacrilegious to use almost anywhere else -- it is a true testament to the strength of the series, that Hiram Grange’s universe was the best (if not the only) place that this tragically flawed miracle-bungler could find a home. And so, diving back into Mr. Grange’s world, it not only made sense, but seemed somehow apropos, that there was room enough (God forgive me, again) for more than a few Christ killings.

And just like that, the short story, The Jesus Bomb was birthed.

For any who are interested, I am currently at work on my third Hiram Grange novel (the second, Hiram Grange and The Twelve Steps will hopefully be out in 2013): Hiram Grange and the Twelve Apostles. God forgive me (can I get an Amen?), but as of this writing, I have no plans to murder Christ a third time…"

Andrew Wolter on "The Green Hour": "I've always been intrigued by the stories surrounding the consumption of absinthe. Was there truly a 'green fairy' and did those who partake of the jade-colored liquor hallucinate as if on some bad acid trip? Were such claims mere drunken ramblings or the subject of old wives tales? A year before 'The Green Hour' was published, I attended the very first AnthoCon convention in which Ted Breaux (a renowned expert on the subject) offered a workshop on the preparation and history of absinthe. Immediately after attending Breaux’s informative class, I was instantly inspired to write an absinthe-related tale and already had the title in mind. While I wanted to incorporate the history revolving the liquor, I longed to explore a modernized myth as well. What really occurred in those moments when this mysterious alcohol impaired all judgment? As my goal in writing this tale was for readers to truly experience my main character’s absinthe-induced state, the entire content of 'The Green Hour' was written during several sessions in which I was heavily under the influence of absinthe." 

Kevin Lucia on "Lament at Sundown": "'Lament at Sundown' began, ironically enough, with a good-natured, running gag in one of my high school classes. Several of my honors students had this running joke with one of their mates -- a student of an Arabic/Middle-Eastern background (but fully, whole-heartedly American) -- that she was Native American. This led to random references to hunting buffalo, scalping, pow-wows, and fire-water, whenever the time seemed right: in the middle of conversations, tests, class discussion...pretty much whenever. It became our class's version of the time-honored 'That's what she said' joke.

Now, I know what you're thinking -- how could I allow such cultural insensitivity in the classroom? But, I knew these students well -- had known this one student's family for over ten years -- and it was clear that everything was offered in good fun (and I checked with said student, several times). Sure enough, for Halloween, the student in question came into class dressed in full-tilt Native American garb -- headdress and tomahawk and all -- and proceeded to 'scalp' several of her fellow students for their insolence. 

This, ironically enough, on a slow day, led to a discussion about my writing process. They asked how I came up with new stories, and I told them I tried to draw as much inspiration from life as possible. I then referenced their running gag and said: 'Here's the thing: you guys have all been really kind and laid-back about this, it's obviously a joke between old friends. But what if it WASN'T? What if there was meanness and violence behind it, and what if...what if...the victim, a female, decided she wasn't going to take it anymore? Was going to take matters into her own hands?' And thus, this story -- in its earliest form -- was conceived with the help of these ten students. This story deals with other things, also. The helplessness I sometimes feel as a teacher, in trying to touch students' lives...and failing, so often. Also, it's a hard look at how fear and prejudice and even racism start as very small, innocuous seeds, sprout, grow into something dark and deadly...often claiming those most innocent."

Tracy L. Carbone on "The Imaginary Solution": "I wrote 'The Imaginary Solution' several years ago to purge some bad feelings about a painful childhood similar to the one the main character experienced. There were embellishments of course and exagerrations, but the Bialows were real. Their elderly poodles, the constant scent of cleaning solution in the house, and 'The Doctor' always in the other room coughing. As a child, this couple disturbed me. They were the oldest people I had ever seen, so aged that I wondered how they could be alive. The smell of Pine Sol and Mrs. Bialow's hands have stuck with me, just waiting for a spot in the story. 

Until the call for submissions for Anthology was announced, I'd never tried to send this story anywhere, unwilling to expose myself or my life, even if it was cloaked in fantasy. But this seemed the perfect venue for it so I decided to send it along. I am glad it found a home."

David Bernard on "Appledore": "As any Yankee already knows, Appledore is the name of one of the Isles of Shoals off the coast of New Hampshire and Maine (although Appledore's neighboring island, Smuttynose, is more fun to say). Of all of the ghost stories along the New England coast, and there is no shortage of them, the one tale that always intrigued me was the ghost of Blackbeard’s bride who walks Appledore, guarding hidden pirate treasure. The deceased Mrs. Blackbeard’s story has not grown over the decades like other stories where details become attached to the story with later retellings. I remedied to fix that oversight.

Here’s a confession, I like writing fiction, but not nearly as much as I enjoy my nonfiction projects. I like researching odd topics and my fiction writing tends to rely on real names, dates and places to guide the story. With that in mind, 'Appledore' relies on historical details from Haverhill, Newburyport and the Isles of Shoals to move the story along, much in the same way local poet and folklorist John Greenleaf Whittier used Hampstead folk figures like Goody Cole to tell his tales. This is not to say I’m in the same league as Whittier, even if I look just as spiffy in a beard as he does."

Trevor Schubert on his internal artwork: "For the image 'Seaweed Inferno" -- this whole thing started (like more than a few images do) drawing with my children. In particular, I remember it was Spaceman/aka astronauts with my six-year-old daughter. I’ve always been fascinated with the similarities between the ocean and space, so much is constantly changing, moving and evolving, so much undiscovered. It might be initially considered a dark or morbid scene, however my intent was to consider the fact that the unfortunate explorer in this scene now has an eternity to watch his surroundings play out. The 'evolution' of space to sea in this drawing was an easy one; convincing my daughter this was acceptable however, that was a different story 

Regarding 'Evil Pumpkin' -- as a child of the 80's, growing up with every possible ghoulish and monstrous movie you could imagine, not that super-duper digital stuff,  the classics born from latex, paint, and maybe a little silicone, however I’m quite sure it was mixed up in a bowl, not a valley. This might sound a little hypocritical of me considering I have in fact been a digital artist for the past decade, however the majority of my images start from a old fashioned paper and pen and are occasionally pulled from a deep-seeded foundation of 'jump out and scare you' horror creatures, thanks to a trusty VCR with a remote that was most likely only an optional feature on our family’s model. Or lost years ago. I just remember that when one of those monsters popped up you had two options: either get up and run out of the room, or shut your eyes and hope for the best, because we all know that physically walking towards the thing to shut it off was never going to happen. I became a pretty good sprinter, my imagination's just gotten better at chasing me." 

Anthocon 2012 Report

Anthocon 2012 loomed large and exciting at the end of a year-long schedule that found me traveling from one end of the country to the other, to conferences, writing retreats, and readings in venues as large as New York City, as intimate as Concord, New Hampshire. The second annual conference for writers in my home state was the culmination of a year's worth of adventures that put me on the road and took me away from home for a grand total of almost three months -- a full season!  I had such a great time at last year's Anthocon, I couldn't wait to reunite with so many of the wonderful writers and readers who made that time unforgettable for all the right reasons.  Though after realizing how long I've been gone from home and family in 2012 and cutting my Sophomore stay from four days down to two, the time was even more wonderful than expected. In addition to the aforementioned reunions with such fantastic folk as one of my favorite publishers, Charles Day, Jon Michael Emory, David Bernstein, Marianne Halbert, and the fabulous Sisters Dent, my good gal-pals Karen and Roxanne, this year's festivities introduced new luminaries to my world and included numerous attendees from my weekly writer's group.  Of added sparkle, my creepy short story, "The Guests," was accepted to appear in the gorgeous conference release set to have its unveiling at a special Saturday night ceremony, the anthology edited by con-guru Mark Wholley, appropriately titled Anthology: Year One.

I planned to ride in with Charlie, who's been my excellent hotel roomie now through four conferences. But an icy gray day punctuated by a Nor'Easter that was more blather than bluster left me craving the warmth of my little home on the hill.  So I instead headed up on Friday with my good pal Philip Perron, who runs the fantastic Dark Discussions podcast.  Philip is effortless to hang with.  We arrived to Portsmouth and the hotel wherein the conference was in full swing to be greeted by dozens of beloved faces -- friends from our writer's group, the Dents, even new chums known formerly only via Facebook, like the inimitable and vibrant Mandy DeGeit.

Friday night with the Sisters Dent

After acquainting and reacquainting, I retired to my room on the fifth floor and put down a few fresh pages on one of my works-in-progress, a memoir about a summer memory from childhood started in June that has mutated and grown monstrous in size -- some 54,000 words at latest count, with at least another 10 k to go.  Up early the next morning, I met the Dents for breakfast at the diner next door for delicious Eggs Benny and iced coffee, and then moseyed into the Dealer's Room, where I promised Charlie I would cover the table while he took story and novel pitches from writers hoping to break in with Evil Jester Press, specifically the new graphic novel project (one of my short stories is being scripted to appear in the first issue, alongside a tale by Jack Ketchum).  It was my absolute pleasure to be seated beside the dealer's table of the fine folk from Firbolg Publishing, helmed by the brilliant Dr. Alex Scully.  Alex and I talked at length, and within minutes of meeting, she offered me a story assignment in an upcoming Lovecraftian project. The press is republishing Lovecraft's "The Call of Cthulu" and I'll be writing a story told from a most unexpected perspective.  I was floored, inspired, giddy.  Adding to my excitement was seeing every print copy of my gargantuan collection of stories both short and long, The Fierce and Unforgiving Muse, vanish from the table.  I signed autographs on that book and The Call of Lovecraft, rubbed elbows with so many wonderful fellow scribes and fans and, following a light lunch, took in a reading by Alex's talented sister, B. E. Scully, who shared from her incredible short story collection, The Knife and the Wound. B. E. knocked it out of the park -- I left the conference's dedicated reading room with chills!

With Marianne Halbert and our beloved babies

Saturday night's big book party to celebrate the release of the official conference anthology arrived, but as soon as I had my copy in hand, I departed.  I was physically and mentally exhausted, not only from Anthocon but eleven months of adventures to islands, inns, retreat centers, and readings.  I returned home, and the next day began to cook in anticipation of our now-annual post-Anthocon dinner gathering.  The Scullys, my friend Douglas Poirier from writer's group, David and his gorgeous girlfriend Sandy Shelonchik, and Charlie all rendezvoused at our casa for a delicious buffet that included artichoke heart dip, crackers and grapes, roasted chicken and vegetables over broccoli and cheddar rice with a bleu cheese sauce, a romaine, strawberry, and red onion salad with raspberry vinaigrette, frosted brownies, deviled eggs, and cherry-seltzer punch.  It was a fitting follow up to last year's time.  Like so many conferees, I can't wait for Anthocon 2013, one of my few travel plans for next year.

TALES OF TERROR AND MAYHEM Part One

I first met Evil Jester Press publisher Charles Day and his alter ego, the Evil Little Jester, through the virtual realm of email and various forums for writers.  When he approached me about contributing to a new project he planned to put plenty of sweat and equal parts soul into, I was thrilled -- Charlie is one of the true passionate gentlemen in the industry, and his idea was to gather together some of his favorite contemporary authors within the covers of a standout collection of terrifying original short stories.  Among them would also be the Jester's secret back story.

Tales of Terror and Mayhem From Deep Within the Box, which contains my short story "Material Possession" about one man's obsession with the objects that share his living space, was recently unleashed upon an unsuspecting public in both e- and print formats.  Mustering my bravery, I dared to give the Jester's box a few turns of the crank and ventured deep within for a better look at the many gems featured in the collection's Table of Contents.  But first up, I spoke with the man behind the mayhem, the inimitable Charles Day.

Share with us the deets of your association with the Evil Little Jester—how did the two of you meet?

Well, I was walking through the woods one eerie and foggy night, and I happened to trip upon a small box, and….Hehehe! Just kidding my jesterly friends! Actually, the two of us met a few years back when I was first frequenting the small press forums, when submission calls for their anthologies were on fire. So, so many small presses to choose from, not enough time to write. Anyway, I needed a picture, an avatar of sorts, and I found the evil dude posing in a photo. And soon after it was love at first sight. From there, we bonded almost instantly. He became my alter ego, my muse, my best friend. I do have to add that it’s been a terrifying ride for me, but the stories my pal and I've created together have been worth it. Many times while reaching down into his box for a story, I was either bitten in the arm, the wrists, or a finger, until finally he warmed up to me. Well, that and because he began to recognize my aroma.  Nonetheless, today we are inseparable, two peas in the same pod you might say. 

Each of the stories in Tales of Terror and Mayhem From Deep Within the Box is prefaced by an introductory micro-story about how your alter ego came to know the author, which is fairly cool and original. Have any of the details been fictionalized?  Or are those introductions completely straightforward nonfiction about meetings and greetings between editor and author?

First I have to say, I’m so damn proud of this book, all the authors, Jessica Weiss, and Wicked East Press for helping me bring my idea to fruition. And I feel the story written by the evil Jester and I, titled "The Gift," has got to be the best short story I’ve written to date. When you read it, you’ll see that our hearts and soul are in this one. 

Getting back to your question, dear Gregory, I’d say some of the introductions are fictional, while others were from true experiences with a few authors who I was friends with early on. Now…the Evil Jester and I consider all the authors inside our collection writer friends. I’ve had the admirable opportunity to meet some at a few  writer’s conferences, and now many will be attending the upcoming Anthocon, to be held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire this coming November 9-11.  Hell, we’re all going to crash the Jester’s hotel room and bathe him in stinky beer and have a kick-ass Tales of Terror and Mayhem party. What, you don’t believe me? Well, just keep an eye out for the photos to appear on Facebook, shortly after the conference.

This seems a fitting one year anniversary hallmark for Evil Jester Press -- to release this particular book on your One Year Mark (the traditional one year anniversary gift is paper, you know). What have been some of the downs over the past year of being a publisher, and share with us the ups.

To be honest, there really isn’t that much on the “downs.” As with any business, the first year is all about sacrifices, investments, securing capital, throwing whatever profits and some of my own income I make back into the business so it can continue to grow. I’m fortunate to have a full-time day job and loving wife, otherwise, my wife may have changed the locks on the doors by now. But the biggest thing for me these last six months, and I know it’s personal, but I’ve been very limited on finishing up my own writing. My novel Deep Within is almost done. I’m applying the final edits from my editor Henry Snider, and then it needs to find a home.  I currently have four publishers interested in it.  So… talk about pressure. Yikes!

I also have some other projects, mostly Young Adult fiction that’s nearing completion. So, it’s been tough to get ample time to devote to getting these writing projects done. Nevertheless, they will eventually be done and off to find a publisher soon. No worries. I have more than enough accumulated vacation time from my day job, and I plan on using it. And I’ve started to apply the first round edits on my new YA western horror trilogy, Kyle McGertt, Destroyer of the Indian Curses: Book 1 the Hunt for the Ghoulish Bartender, which is being published with Blood Bound Books, Winter 2013. I’m real excited to get this first in the trilogy out. On the upside, being a publisher is rewarding because I get to work with so many authors and editors, meet new authors, and share some good times at conferences. I’m honored to have two great editors in charge, Peter Giglio and Eric Shapiro, and equally grateful for all the contributing editors and authors who are now, or soon to be a part of our jesterly crew. I’m also thrilled that in one year, we have not stopped in our growth or forward momentum, bringing out quality books and increasing our readership each month.

What’s next for EJP? 

Well, I’ll need to go knock on the Evil Jester’s lid and let him tell you what he’s doing. I’ll be right back! He’s a freaking work horse, to say the least.

Evil Jester here. Hello my jesterly friends. Where to start? Okay! We have more great titles on the way, and of course many are aware that we are humbly honored to have Joe McKinney doing a novel with us. Inheritance is due out in November, but the buzz around this book is incredible. Not only are our devoted readers and fans of the Evil Jester excited to get a copy, we have noticed many new readers are waiting. And then of course there’s Joe’s loving fans that can’t wait to read this.

Charles Day and I have always been comic enthusiasts as a kids, especially the EC comics and Tales from the Crypt, and Vault of Horror, and so much more. Well, I’m excited to announce that we’ve started a new division under the Evil Jester Press publishing company, helmed by David C. Hayes, who is both knowledgeable and a lover of comics as well. He’s also a damn great professional when it comes to script-writing, and he’s got the eye for artistic talent, and so together Charles, David, and I as co-creators are going to bring you the most amazing new series of graphic novels in the near future. You are in for a real treat. Evil Jester Presents Vol #1 will be filled with great stories from the big names you’ve come to love and respect, to the rising stars. Their stories will be adapted into comic form and our artists will have you fully engaged in the superior, full color art work. Now, bear in mind, the sky’s the limit on what we are going to do with this new division. Do I want to see more comic series develop? Hell yeah! Are we going to offer more variety in our choices? Yes. Stay tuned. The Evil Jester is building a bigger box and you’re all invited to come on in and play. 

When next the Jester's box opens, the authors in Tales of Terror and Mayhem share a bit of backstory behind their stories.  Stay tuned!

World Horror Con Report, Part One

My bags were packed.  All deadlines met and turned in.  House immaculate. Writing Room clean and sparkly, left in the perfect state -- all I'd need to do upon my return home would be to fill out contracts and a back cover copy sheet for "Mason's Murder," my recent novella sale to MLR Press.  I woke well before dawn on Tuesday morning, the 27th of March for what would be an exciting kickoff to an eight-day adventure that would lead me through numerous states, almost across the entire country to celebrate, among other things, the publication of my monstrous collection of original short and long fiction, The Fierce and Unforgiving Muse: Twenty-Six Tales from the Terrifying Mind of Gregory L. Norris (Evil Jester Press). Ultimately, the plane and car rides would culminate in Salt Lake City, Utah for World Horror Con, a destination first discussed in November of 2011 at local, lovely Anthocon, a fledgling conference for genre writers held in my very own backyard.  After months of anticipation, I was ready to depart.  Manchester, NH to Newark, NJ.  A two-and-a-half-hour layover, then Newark to Chicago, IL.  Another two hours in Chicago, then on to Lincoln, NE where I would spend a few days with good pal Peter Giglio, EJP Senior Editor.  From there, a twelve-hour drive through Nebraska and Wyoming, then on to Salt Lake City.  A very long and circuitous route, yes, but an adventure, and I've had many in the past thirty-two years as a writer.

My last flight anywhere was in 2005 when, following a week on Kiawah Island, the plane did steep circles around LaGuardia Airport for an hour to deal with a traffic jam, leaving me swearing off that mode of travel for good (clearly, I reneged).  After my trip through security -- removing shoes, belt, and dignity -- I boarded my plane in Manchester for the relatively short flight to Newark.  En route, I dreamed of my upcoming Space:1999 novel project for August and September (my Big #1,000, which I hope to complete during the five-day writing retreat to Starr Island off the coast of New Hampshire).  For the first of my layovers, I nestled down in Newark and wrote some seven pages of a very old novella idea, "Golden Skull," starring the Martins -- Jonathan and Grace, a well-to-do couple of supernatural sleuths whose antics and adventures I first began writing while in high school.  This final installment in their series divides its time between Upstate New York, Seattle, and fictional Brackenridge, New Mexico.  I wasn't visiting New Mexico on my vast itinerary, but it seemed a fitting project to work on. I had a blast reuniting with them as I waited for my next leg of the trip.

The flight to Chicago was one step short of apocalyptic, akin to the pilot episode of the TV series Lost.  We hit turbulence somewhere east of Chicago unlike anything I have ever experienced -- so bad, in fact, that the young woman three rows up from me vomited across the back of the seat in front of her.  People screamed.  Though belted into my seat, my lower back suffered several jarring jolts that left me sore for days after.  Eventually, we made it to Terra Firma (Fox's late science fiction show Terra Nova played on the overhead screens during the flight).  Chicago to Lincoln.  I walked off the third plane of the day and met Peter Giglio, who had a copy of Muse waiting for me.  Long last, I held my beautiful offspring; the rest of that Tuesday was considerably more enjoyable.

Peter and I dined at an upscale chain called Noodles, where I enjoyed incredible Japanese noodles with seared steak, sprouts, broccoli, and cilantro (not an herb I was familiar with before) and took in the five p.m. showing of The Hunger Games, which I loved.  After a solid night's sleep, we spent our Wednesday writing (I worked on my new novel The Zoo and more of "Golden Skull") and forayed out and about, gathering supplies for the long drive west.  That night, we watched Eric Shapiro's brilliant feature film Rule of Three before lights out.  At four in the morning, we departed for Salt Lake City, crossing Nebraska through long miles of mist; Wyoming through equally long spells of stark yellow sunlight.  I saw antelope, tumbleweeds, buttes, and hundreds of miles of barren prairie broken up only by sagebrush and cattle fences.  It was a part of the world I'd only visited via photographs and I felt richer for the experience as a writer and human being.

(me and, clockwise, Peter Giglio, Rick Hautala, Holly Hautala
Hollie Snider, Marie Green.  Photo credit: Henry Snider)

We pulled into Salt Lake City just after five and began to connect with friends, old and new.  It was my absolute pleasure to greet Charles Day, EJP founder and all-around great guy, the Sniders (Henry, Hollie, and son Josh, who quickly earned my esteem for his wit, intelligence, and recent bragging rights to his first published writing credit, complete with paying contract!), Marie Green and her lovely daughter Kate, and the Hautalas -- legendary novelist Rick and his wife, Holly. Despite a hideous check-in at the WHC welcome table and a rushed kick-off ceremony in the main panel room, ten of us moseyed on foot to dinner at a local eatery, the Red Rocks Pub, where we were packed in like sardines but treated to a decent meal.  Even better was my long and wonderful conversation with Henry Snider, a true gentleman in this writing biz.  From there, it was back to the hotel on a sultry night.  While others departed to various con parties and meet-and-greets, I rode an elevator with the Hautalas up to the sixth floor, promising them I was off to snog my Muse.  I did for another few pages, then passed out, exhausted.  There was much more to follow in the days ahead and I desperately needed to recharge very depleted creative batteries.

Anthocon Report

 (Me, nestled among, from right to left, Hollie Johani Snider, Peter Giglio, and Marianne Halbert)

The first Anthocon has come and gone and, by all signs that count, the event was a smashing success.  The weekend, held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and celebrating all-things-spec fiction and the related arts, attracted huge crowds comprised of celebrities, readers, writers, and some of the finest folk you could hope to meet.  It was with a great sense of anticipation that I traveled from my home early Saturday morning east to Portsmouth to meet with the finest of those fine individuals. From the instant I moseyed into the diner attached to the con's hotel venue to join Peter Giglio, Charles Day, Henry and Hollie Snider, and Marianne Halbert for iced coffee and eggs benny, I knew I was among the best of friends and some of the most talented writers one could hope to rub elbows with.

(with Peter Giglio, author of Anon and A Spark in the Darkness -- and HELP! Wanted)

Something magical happened at Anthocon, the sense that I was not only among great and talented folk, but that a random convergence in a writing conference setting wasn't so random after all.  I had appeared in print numerous times with Marianne Halbert and had loved reading her ultra-creepy story 'Neath Fallow Ground' in my contrib copy of Back to the Middle of Nowhere; I knew the fantastic Charles Day as both himself -- publisher and Top Honcho at Evil Jester Press, fellow scribe, and all-around great guy -- and as his alter ego, The Evil Little Jester.  I'd been constantly amazed at Ms. Snider's insightful and engaging posts in various forums, and also her fabulous fiction.  And her other half, Henry, for his wonderful IMs on Facebook and through his work, as well.  As for Peter, you can say I've been a rabid fan of both his work and his character from the moment we first spoke on the phone last May, when he called to touch base regarding my submission to HELP! Wanted, the anthology that brought us all to Anthocon in the first place.  From the moment I landed, I was inspired by and fell madly in love with these wonderful writers, all of whom turned out being light years beyond the lofty esteem where I already held them.

(With best selling author Jonathan Maberry -- on three hours of sleep)

Also during the fantastic weekend where I appeared on two panels -- "Selling Short Fiction" (for which my audience received handouts detailing Ten Tips for Successful Fiction Selling) and one devoted to EJP, where I and my fellow panelists discussed our stories in HELP! Wanted -- I met such heavy hitters as the gracious Jonathan Maberry, and some of today's rising stars, like David Bernstein and the talented Jon Michael Emory, whom I have the pleasure of appearing with in the forthcoming release by Wicked East Press, Tales of Terror and Mayhem From Deep Within the Box.  I signed dozens of autographs and was interviewed by Phillip Perron for his Dark Discussions podcast.  There were lunches and dinners, long and engaging discussions on the writing life, scheduled readings and, even better, one held in the Sniders' room where I and my fellow way-cool writer chums read our work well into the night.  And the morning.  At midnight, the hotel kicked us out of the Sniders' venue for being too loud (rebels!), and we concluded in the lobby somewhere around two in the morning.  Three hours later, I was up, showered, and writing the next installment of "The Cycle" (scheduled to appear in the bigger, badder version of my EJP collection of short and long fiction) in the diner.  Later that afternoon, the conference wrapped, and I returned home, where I cooked a vast spread to welcome my lovely fellow EJP luminaries for dinner, dessert, another reading, and that night's episode of The Walking Dead on the flat screen in our living room.

(The Selling Short Fiction Panel: Peter, me, David Bernstein, Henry, Hollie, and Marianne)

The conference was a tremendous opportunity to interact with other industry pros, readers, and to be energized anew by this profession we all love and which should be celebrated.  And it was here, in my very own backyard, for which I am tremendously proud.  I can't wait for next year's gathering and fully expect to enjoy the company of the talented and genuinely wonderful scribes I got to meet in the flesh, each one a gift and source of inspiration.  I am counting the days!