I don’t get excited about horror movies very often anymore, as most just don’t blow me away. Especially Americans films of late, although there are a few great movies coming out of the United States (the film versions of Jack Ketchum’s novels and Eli Roth’s work comes to mind). Foriegn flicks continue to amaze me though, and I saw one recently that floored me.

Lake Mungo, an Australian film written and directed by Joel Anderson, seems like a documentary the first time you watch it. I thank God that I don’t read the descriptions that come with Netflix features, because I don’t think I would’ve liked it as much if I’d known it was fiction. It takes the standard ghost story and grabs you by the throat. I was in a trance-like state throughout the whole film.

The film deals with a family coping with the disappearance of their daughter at a lake and later reveals she died. More plot twists unfold as you’re watching the feature. The ghost pictures and camera shots are genuinely creepy, unlike most glimpses of specters in films. The more you watch the movie the more revolted you are. I don’t want to give away too much, but what this girl had to live with before she died is more than a mind can handle. I couldn’t even think about the movie when I went to bed that night, because I felt I’d go crazy if I did.

I will certainly keep adding foreign films to my Nexflix queue.

I’m always against the defiling of Christmas–I think the holiday season is bad timing for a horror film release and I dislike Christmas horror even more–but I had a unique experience this year. I hope somebody out there can relate to this.

I was all set to be festive this holiday season, then, like usual, many people didn’t have the Christmas spirit they claimed to have. They never do. I don’t know why I fall for it every year. I got verbally kicked in the teeth so many times that I decided to “Bah humbug” the season. Getting glitter all over me after hanging Christmas decorations and buying cards didn’t help. Death metal people hate glitter (I didn’t know the shit would be all over the Xmas cards I was sending; I just grabbed a box).

Just like in the seasonal movies though, I learned the true meaning of Christmas. I got blessed with cash I wasn’t supposed to have and some other gifts I wasn’t supposed to get, but the real kicker came when my dad announced he’d be coming over for lunch tomorrow and I couldn’t sleep that night. I’d given out all the cards from the box I bought and figured I’d go to the store and buy more in the morning–plus a gift–since he was coming around noon. Since I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t get that chance (if I can’t rest the night before, I sleep in vs. driving myself crazy).

I ended up buying lunch. It was expensive, more than a simple gift would’ve been, but I’m glad I did it even though I couldn’t afford it. It made me feel good to do something kind for someone else, and that’s the true meaning of Christmas, not getting some stuff I wasn’t supposed to get.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Here’s a podcast I read of my flash-fiction story, “When Computers Attack.” Enjoy.

When Computers Attack Pressed Podcast

 

The quality of horror films has significantly dropped, in my opinion.

Horror shot itself in the head with slasher films, most of them absent a plot beyond a guy wearing a mask and carrying a knife, chasing a girl who chooses a flashlight instead of a weapon to defend herself with. Then there are the tons of remakes, more than usual lately, as if filmmakers of today don’t have their own ideas. Many horror authors have new, original ideas—like myself—that get ignored by most agents in favor of overdone vampires, zombies, and books by celebrities instead of real writers in the trenches who’ve gotten many short stories published. Of course, these novels could be made into movies, but this is rare. I’ve read a lot of great horror novels lately, but only about 5% become movies, it seems.

Then there’s CGI.

You can’t beat Rick Baker and realistic-looking Special FX. An American Werewolf in London is a great example. An American Werewolf in Paris didn’t even come close to the quality of the first movie. Some of the flicks on Syfy are so ridiculous they make me laugh out loud, though I have to admit the channel does have some fresh horror films and is a better place for an up-and-coming screenplay author to send his final draft than the big-deal film studios. But Sharktopus? Are you freaking kidding me?

This makes many turn to independent filmmakers. Though Roger Corman doesn’t think he could make a living as an indie filmmaker today, many do, and kudos to them for using realistic FX. Perhaps in the future, films will go the way of the Kindle, which offers self-published authors a chance to get their work out there that most agents ignore in favor of bandwagon trends. One shouldn’t hold one’s breath, however.

We get just under one great horror film a year. Some of the amazing movies that come to mind are The Ruins, The Descent (not the sequel), The Ring, The Grudge, 2001 Maniacs, Let the Right One In, Inside, and Orphan. Actually, I think the quantity of great films has spiraled downward fast. One used to be able to turn on HBO in the early 80s (the golden age of horror was from the 60’s through the late 80s, if you ask me) and get a plethora of great horror choices, like Mother’s Day, Without Warning, Evilspeak, The Funhouse, The Shining, and many more, too numerous to mention. Now you just get True Blood, filmmakers without a work ethic, the CGI crap, and camera angles moving so quickly you can’t tell what’s going on.

I’m afraid technology isn’t going away, so true fans of the horror genre will have to dig deep for great movies.

Happy hunting!

 

 

I believe the quality of horror has diminished lately, and there are books that get published just because they’re trendy. I’m not much for the slasher genre–though there are exceptions: I Spit on Your Grave & The Last House on the Left–because it’s usually low on plot and high on a guy with a mask coming after a bimbo who picks a flashlight instead of a weapon. But what I really hate are vampires and zombies done to death, as well as books that succeed just because the author is a celebrity.

I’m going to stick with books by real writers in the trenches who’ve had several short stories published. Being a famous artist in another field is not a qualification for writing, in my opinion. Most of the time, I tend to help authors who have talent but aren’t earning much money. They should be, but I guess that’s reserved for TV stars and musicians. Oh, and people who write about vampires and zombies, though they were overdone years ago.

When someone contacts me on Goodreads, asking me to read their book and offer a review, if they say it’s a vampire book or a zombie book, I always say no. (We all know them, the people who geek out and scream “Zombies!”). I’m not saying all those kinds of books suck, but some writers put a new spin on it and/or don’t reveal it’s about nosferatus or the undead till near the end, and that’s why they’re so great. That and talent. You have to have that, I’m afraid, or all your hard work is for nothing. I’m not saying I’ve never written those types of stories, but I feel it’s important to call a zombie “undead,” “creature,” or a “walker.” That lets me know you’re not a trend whore riding the bandwagon. It’s easy to tell the difference between them and true fans of the genre. Yet lately, they’re the ones who sell most of the books.

This is not a popular viewpoint, but I believe it’s the right one.

 

I’ve just finished paying the freelance editor for the editing job he did for the novel I’m going to self-publish, as well as submitting short stories to Undead Tales 2, Writer’s Digest’s Horror Contest and Short-Short Contest, and Your Story 38. I’m proofreading the next novel I’m going to put out, and decided to skip NaNo this year because I’ve already written ten novels, six of them non-newbie books worth putting out to the public.

Next month, I’m going to pay to have the story formatted and put it out on Amazon, Smashwords, and all the outlets. I’ll also copyright the next novel that’ll be appearing in my critique group starting in December, so my money’s tied up for quite a while. I just recently paid for the cover of the self-pubbed book. There’s also the usual work of revising more short stories for more anthologies and such.

Hope you’re having a productive early winter as well. I barely have time to shit!

Here’s a fun vlog about some of the questions I wish interviewers would ask, plus a peek at my books & ‘zines.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8reucpKd_7Y

Here’s a video of what my workaday looks like. Enjoy.

And now for the tale of my scariest Halloween ever . . .

It was 2001, and the ex-wife and I craved excitement on October 31st like never before. Too old for trick-or-treating, bored of haunted houses, we decided to hold a seance. The landlord never told us what happened to the last tenant and, like anyone else, we assumed he’d simply moved out.

This was not the case.

Once we got to talking to the people in the neighborhood, we found lots of eerie things to write home about, like a dead dog left to rot in the cellar. But the creepiest factoid we had to deal with was that the last tenant had hanged himself in the closet.

A terrible thing.

But like I said, we were bored and wanted a Halloween we’d never forget. So we lit the black candles and called the previous tenant. I don’t remember if we were just screwing around and didn’t believe his sprite would show or if we truly thought he’d come. Yet one thing we didn’t count on was . . .

. . . a poltergiest.

But that’s what we got.

Now, my ex thought she was really brave, braver than me. She didn’t think the ghost could one-up her. And although I’ll admit to her fearsome force, one thing the living aren’t going to do is turn the tables on the dead. I always figured true bravery lied in admitting you’re scared and still fighting.

And scared I got. You see, the truly brave make mistakes.

One night, I came home after a hard day at work and, when she asked me how the day went, for some reason I thought of Reggie Miller of the Indiana Pacers, put my hands on my throat, and said, “I choked.”

Big mistake.

Right before bed, I jammed a death metal CD while her head was in my lap. Then, at bedtime, I closed my eyes, thinking I’d drift off. My eyelids quickly opened again as the specter got in my face and made a choking sound. Sleeping didn’t get any easier as the night progressed, for the ghost growled outside my window all night long, imitating the vocalist on my CD.

As I talked this over with her, I found the wife had her own problems while I was at work. She’d heard someone walking around the apartment even though she was the only person home (the only living person, anyway). I marveled that the television still blared in the living room, went out to turn if off–figuring we’d left it on accidentally–and found it was off.

My wife kept up her brave front, standing in front of the bedroom door and saying no ghost was going to frighten her. Why, she used to be in a street gang! When the door slammed right behind her though I lied on the bed, however, she jumped so far into the air you would’ve sworn someone had set her feet on fire.

By then, we’d had enough. We got rid of it through prayer, or thought we did. But the problems in our marriage continued, as if someone’s invisible hand guided us the wrong way all along.

But that couldn’t be.

Yet, in this Halloween season, some of you might be inclined to believe the hangman’s ghost still lurks in that apartment, making life hell for anyone who moves in, that when a couple thinks they’re getting rid of him, he stays in the shadows, puppeteering them toward disaster.

As a horror author, who am I to deny you?

Be my guest.

I learned some great things at the 2011 Muse Online Writer’s Conference–most importantly, a couple facts about self-publishing an eBook. Along with all the friends I made, there was a wealth of information about all aspects of the writing business in this free, week-long workshop.

One of the key elements of putting any book on the market is a good editing job. Those on tight budgets need not despair; there are affordable freelance editors that offer their services at a lesser price than most. An author always benefits from a 2nd pair of eyes, but the invaluble services of an editor makes the difference between a professional product and a sloppy end result that’s evidence of a crappy work ethic.

No matter how much of a Grammar Nazi one may be, the writer simply can’t be objective enough to edit his own work, even if one proofreads ten times before and after critiques as I do. This gig may be a lot of fun, but it also requires a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, and it really does take a village to succeed.

I disagree on the teachings of just changing the .doc into a .pdf, though. I personally am going to pay to have the book formatted. Some may feel changing your .doc novel into a .pdf is all that’s needed, but I’m going to go the extra mile to make it look as professional as possible. After making an eBook out of one of my short stories with clip art and story text, I know how awful an amateur job can be. This may be the workaholic in me, but I believe in being safe rather than sorry.

I feel that, with all the success self-published authors have had since the eBook boom in 2008, I’d be a fool not to try it. And if I don’t have the success I desire with one book, I can always put out more.

I’m not looking to be rich. I’d be happy living comfortably.