Kevin Lucia's Blog, page 71

Shroud Issue 10: Halloween Special

It was an extreme pleasure and privilege to guest edit Shroud's Halloween Issue.  I could say more, but I'm not going to. Tim Deal says enough for me here, and I'm confident the product will speak for itself. Danny Evarts is a layout guru supreme, Tim Deal is perhaps one of the BEST Managing Editors to work for in the industry, and I consider myself very lucky to have had the chance to work with the writers part of this issue.  All of them handled themselves with the utmost of professionalism.  LOTS of great stories came in, and the choices were very, very hard.  

And that's all you need to hear from me.  Pre-order it now!  Cover and TOC following.

American Frankenstein: The Outsider

What Norm said. And a review of Dark Harvest coming soon...


American Frankenstein: The Outsider: "I brought our first pumpkin home the other day, a gnarly orange beast from Trader Joe's that looks like it has warts. My baby girl took one ..."

A Contest, and Pimpin' My Cool Author Friends: Dan Keohane

First, there's a contest over at author Mike Duran's website for a free copy of  The Midnight Diner: Volume Three, which sports my most recently published story, "Lonely Places", a story I feel curiously ambivalent about - because it took me over a year to write and polish, so I lost all objectivity for - but people seem to really, really like.    

The Midnight Diner itself, in the new and VERY capable hands of author and editor Michelle Pendergrass, is an anthology that's young and growing.  It bought my horribly bloated and overwritten "Way Station" for Volume One and Volume Two featured (ironically) Dan Keohane's "Year's Best Horror" Honorable Mention story "The Box", but I really think THIS volume is going to be it's breakout edition.  Some great stories here, and - though I'm prejudiced - I think it's going to develop into a genre anthology with literary pretensions, and that's not a bad thing, in my opinion.

So.  Wherever I am in this "career-thingy", I feel like it's time to start tipping my hat to folks who've made a difference along the way.  The first was author Rio Youers, in the difference he's made as a good friend and through his work.  The next is author and good friend Dan Keohane.  Now, this post rambles - flings around generalities and stereotypes, which may cause certain folks to think: "Hey! What's he implying by that?"  But please take it all at face value, and know I mean no offense.

Anyway. When I first wrote "odd stuff" vaguely classified as "supernatural suspense", I felt some trepidation at assuming the mantle of "horror writer".  First of all, back then - as now - I didn't want to be pigeon-holed into one genre.  I had (and still harbor) the silly idea that I could/can write whatever I want/wanted.  

But, ya gotta start somewhere, and at the time, my reading  had started leaning towards darker horror.  So.  I sorta/kinda/maybe started thinking of myself as a horror writer.  I didn't really believe it, though.  I was a regular guy with a regular job and a house, a wife, two kids, a cat and I wasn't very interesting or flashy or impressive in any way.  I went to bed every night before 9 PM.  My idea of exciting times was mowing the lawn, or hanging out at Barnes & Noble.  Very "vanilla", honestly, and not even tapioca vanilla.  Just vanilla.

See, I was operating under the mistaken assumption that all horror authors were ultra cool, edgy folk who lived strange and wild lives so far removed from my quiet little country one out here in the sticks.  Now, since then I've met a lot of horror writers - even some of the bigger ones - and have realized an essential truth: they're all regular people, like me.


However, it wasn't until I spent some time with Dan Keohane that I realized I TOO could be a horror writer, could honestly think of myself as such.  Almost a year ago, Dan graciously drove down to New York to visit with my Creative Writing class and appear with me at our church's celebration of the arts, "Art Show On Main Street".  Through those two days and dinner with Dan, I got to know him a lot better and realized that in many ways, we were a lot alike, though separated by a few years.

Dan and I are both solid family guys.  Dan's a regular, down-to-earth guy with an easy-going way about him that really vibes with me.  He likes to hang out, likes all sorts of people, and does read outside the horror genre quite a bit.   He's got a nine-to-five, Monday through Friday like me, (though my gig is more like 8-to-3).

Though maybe I've missed some of his "wild years" (he's certainly missed mine) we approach "partying at cons" from similar, fairly relaxed and conservative perspectives.  We also come from similar faith backgrounds, and through our conversations it became apparent we shared the same feelings about how that faith should play out in mixed company and in our fiction.

But Dan is also a fine, fine horror writer.  A true professional.  Respected amongst his peers as both a writer and simply a person.  If Dan lived closer and we could hang out more, I could easily see him as a mentor.  Ironically, his advice after several drafts of "Lonely Places" proved invaluable, and helped make the story what it is.

AND, just his very presence  convinced me that "horror writer" and "regular" guy was NOT an oxymoron (It should be noted that Dan was one of the first folks I really opened up to and who really opened up to me, and I've since realized most other horror writers are regular people also. I also don't want to imply that all these things Dan is, other horror writers are not. See?  This post just rambles....).

I see a lot of what I'd like to be someday in Dan.  And that made a huge difference for me.  Now - I'm not implying that all other horror writers are weirdos, or that I like Dan because he's "boring".  He's anything but, as the following two pictures prove...













 


















...just that Dan himself made me feel a lot more comfortable thinking I had what it took to be a horror writer.  Like I said - just take it all at face value. And PLEASE pick up his work.  Solomon's Grave is probably one of the best spiritual horror novels I've ever read, and his newest short in the upcoming Shroud Halloween issue is sure to hit right where it counts.

Thanks, Dan.  For just being you.

Sleepless Hell

This is one of those times when I don't know if we're just going through a phase all parents and kids go through, or finally entering the hell I'm so afraid of (shamefully) in raising an autistic child.

Many autistic children don't sleep well.  At all.  I remember working for the HCA (Handicapped Children's Association) and we had one autistic adolescent there who slept maybe 2-3 hours at a clip.  On our overnight weekend respites, we had to lock him into a room (kid-proofed) and stand guard at the doors while he trashed the room until he finally passed out and slept for two hours, then he'd wake up and the whole cycle would repeat, all night long.

We've been very lucky.  Zack has slept very well. 

But every now and then, he goes through these stints where he just keeps getting up, and won't fall asleep.  Thing is, we're not sure if it's the autism or other things.  For example, right now he's potty training, so a lot of time he legitimately has to go bathroom, but he can't take himself.  Last night, Abby thought maybe his pajamas were too warm, plus it was her first night working the weekend night shift at the hospital, which probably threw him off.

Still.   This is the third night in a row he's not made it through the whole night.  At least Thursday and Friday he eventually went to sleep (though he gave the babysitter a tussle Friday night, which isn't encouraging)  and didn't start waking up until 1-2 AM, so I could say "Heck with it" and get up extra early and write.

Last night, I put him to bed around 8:15.  He proceeded to get up almost every thirty-five minutes, until about 1-2 AM.

Needless to say, I did no writing this morning,  My head's pounding.  I'm dead on my feet.  Abby's still sleeping.  And after all that and maybe only 4 1/2 hours sleep, Zack promptly got up at 6:30.

Maybe Abby working threw him out of sorts.  He actually didn't fall asleep until she came home.  Maybe it was the pajamas, (which I was too flustered to think about until, again, Abby came home and mentioned it), because with lighter pajamas he fell asleep.  Either way, the world right now is this hazy not-awake-sorta-dream world, and I feel ashamed at how much it scares me that he'd continue to do this, reducing Abby and I to sleep-deprived zombies who will stumble through the day in an almost drugged, sleepless hell.

Pardon the grumpiness and whining.  I'll be honest.  I feel like crap. Maybe later will be better...

Friday Blurb and a Question

First, this from a recent Amazon.com review of Hiram Grange & The Chosen One:

"HIRAM GRANGE & THE CHOSEN ONE moves fast, fun and furious... I couldn't put it down! And now I'll be looking for the other entries in the series. If you've always thirsted for James Bond to have a serving of Lovecraft -- you'll eat this one up."

This from Stoker Winning Author John Everson!  A good way to start the day, indeed.  Now, onto the blog.

I usually don't do the ask-a-question-on-my-blog-thing: mostly for two reasons:

1. Everyone else has already asked the same questions
2. I'm deathly afraid that no one will bother to answer

But, this blog has become more and more about me writing for internal reasons, rather than hoping for comments, so as of this morning, I've actually got a question, and I don't mind if no one answers, really, because the question itself is incidental to the rest of the blog post.

So, the question is this: If you're like me and are absolutely OBSESSED with reading and books - when did this obsession first hit?  When did it become an all-consuming NEED?

I know when I first got into the "speculative" genre - when my parents got me my first box set of Star Trek five-year mission novels.  I was hooked on strange new worlds and out of the box stories, from that point on.

But when did the reading mania begin?  I was reminded of it last night at my daughter's first open house for Kindergarten.  Book Fairs.  That's when it began.

 All through elementary school, my mom worked as a volunteer for our area's chapter of RIF (Reading is Fun/Fundamental).  So, because of this awesome hook-up, not only did I get a heads up on all the titles and got first pick, I got to go through the regular lines like all the other kids, THEN I got to glean through the leftovers at discount prices.

This may not seem like much to some of you...but it was like HEAVEN to me.

See, I was raised in a slightly different generation, by slightly old school parents, even by that generation's definitions.  They didn't indulge us much.  Don't get me wrong. We weren't deprived, and seeing as how I've taught OVER INDULGED students for the past 10 years, it was a good thing.  We learned right away that just because we wanted something, or even if Dad could afford it, didn't mean we got it.

However, one thing my parents ALWAYS indulged me with?  Books.  Reading.  That early experience in elementary school set the tone, because when the book fair rolled around....

I could have WHATEVER book I wanted.  As many as I wanted. Which, to me, meant this:

I could go to as many worlds as I wanted.  Travel to as many distant lands as I could imagine.  Experience adventures to the limit of my imaginations, and it was a thirst that suddenly became unquenchable.  

I have been blessed with people who have fed that thirst.  When I was in sixth grade, my teacher let me walk ALL THE WAY over to the high school to check out library books, because I'd already exhausted the elementary library's resources several times over.

When I was fourteen, after desperately lusting over a whole shelf full of old, hardcover 1940's detective pulp novels in my great  grandmother's  trailer, I asked if I could read one, and she started giving me one pulp novel a week, and when she passed on, she left the rest to me.  Still have all of them, to this day.  Around the same time, my parents started allowing me to use my allowance to buy comic books at the mall.

In my teens and early college years, for Christmas and birthdays, I'd make a list of books my parents could buy, and they fed my thirst again.

But it started at the those book fairs.  Choose Your Own Adventure Books.  Sports books, both fiction and non.  Books about dinosaurs and lizards and sharks and haunted houses.  Whatever I wanted when it came to books, my parents got.

And I'm passing that on to Madi.  It's really the only thing I indulge her in.  Whenever a vendor comes into the high school to sell things, I always buy her books.  Just randomly, I'll get her books off Amazon.  We can't afford to get Madi all the things her friends and even cousins get.  

But we can afford books.  And, so far: she loves them just as much as me.  That's a desire I'll indulge until my dying day.

So.  When did you first fall in love with books?