Raegan Butcher's Blog, page 4
March 6, 2017
Rise of the Chupacabras
I signed the sheets for the limited edition hardcover last Friday and just gave the final edit to the proofs. Rise of the Chupacabras, surely the most shocking and nihilistic of all the books in the series, should be available on March 24th.
March 3, 2017
Books I am looking forward to: The Transient by Phil Volatile (Goodreads Author)
I have had the good fortune to become acquainted with Phil Volatile and he let me read an advance copy of his short novel about homelessness, The Transient.
That was quite a while ago and the book has stayed with me ever since. I think it is one of Phil's best. He captures the experiences on the street with simple honesty and the unvarnished, raw reportage lends itself well to his voice, which has echoes of S.E. Hinton, in its quiet, understated manner.
That was quite a while ago and the book has stayed with me ever since. I think it is one of Phil's best. He captures the experiences on the street with simple honesty and the unvarnished, raw reportage lends itself well to his voice, which has echoes of S.E. Hinton, in its quiet, understated manner.
February 25, 2017
Rise of the Chupacabras: Book #3 in Chupacabra Chronicles coming in March
The next installment in the Chupacabra Chronicles drops March 24th.
February 21, 2017
Old Song: Do You Want Fries With That?
i’ve slopped a mop
and i’ve pushed a broom
spent half my life in rented rooms
i’ve bagged groceries
and i’ve washed dishes
i’ve shoveled shit
and i've dug ditches
janitor, busboy, it’s all the same
welcome to the world of minimum wage
wanna go for the gold, the pie in the sky
but i’m always falling flat
and now there is this burning question
i’m just dying to ask,
do you want fries with that?
i wont get fooled again
that’s what i always say
but here i am still slaving away
for minimum wage
living on food stamps
i ain’t getting fat
i’m stranded on an island
in an ocean of crap
with my name tag, my hairnet
and my funny hat
and there’s this burning question
i’m just dying to ask
do you want fries with that?
and i’ve pushed a broom
spent half my life in rented rooms
i’ve bagged groceries
and i’ve washed dishes
i’ve shoveled shit
and i've dug ditches
janitor, busboy, it’s all the same
welcome to the world of minimum wage
wanna go for the gold, the pie in the sky
but i’m always falling flat
and now there is this burning question
i’m just dying to ask,
do you want fries with that?
i wont get fooled again
that’s what i always say
but here i am still slaving away
for minimum wage
living on food stamps
i ain’t getting fat
i’m stranded on an island
in an ocean of crap
with my name tag, my hairnet
and my funny hat
and there’s this burning question
i’m just dying to ask
do you want fries with that?
February 13, 2017
early influences
I have a hard time separating my interest in writing from my interest in movies. I was always into sci fi and fantasy films, ever since I was very young, about 5yrs old. Ray Harryhausen films, those Amicus Edgar Rice Burroughs flicks with Doug McClure, and Godzilla movies were favorites of mine when I was growing up. I always found my life to be very dull. I much preferred these fantasy worlds to my rather drab existence.
I started reading Dr Who novelizations when I was around nine or ten yrs old in the late 70s and I also began reading Stephen King at that age. I read The Terminal Man by Michael Crichton in the 5th grade. Later, I was lucky enough to have a teacher in jr high for creative writing, Patty Wade, who showed me three things that really had a formative influence upon me as far as sending me gravitating toward writing: The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe, “A Coney island of the Mind” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and “Born of Man and Woman” by Richard Matheson. The two short stories and the book of poems sparked my imagination in the right way, and I was off and running. I started writing weird short stories at about this time, early ‘81, ‘82.
Punk rock found me at thirteen and within weeks I was writing Ramones-style songs such as “Outta My Head", "Abusive Usage" and things like that.
I wrote a ton of songs very quickly in a couple of years, most of which have never seen the light of day, but it wasn’t until I was seventeen and Patty Schemel introduced me to the works of Leonard Cohen that the poetry bug really bit me.
I still recall very clearly that moment when Patty was perusing the shelves at this funky old bookstore in Everett, WA called Don Quixote, which, of course, is no longer there, and her eyes lit up and she grabbed this little black book. It was like she'd found a huge nugget of gold, and of course, she had found something more precious than gold (well, at least to me, but I am a poet, and therefore not quite right in the head, to quote Edna St. Vincent Millay) and it was The Spice Box Of Earth. And then she noticed another Cohen book, Parasites of Heaven, and she grabbed that too. She was stoked and so I was curious. She told me a great story of Cohen staying at the Chelsea Hotel and tossing his typer out the window and then having to go and get it and take it back to his room. I was intrigued. Then she loaned me the books and the rest is history. After that there was only Cohen and Charles Baudelaire's Flowers Of Evil as far as poetry that interested me. And with Flowers Of Evil, if you do not happen to speak French, which I don't, sadly, it really does depend upon the translator.
But I found an old, old copy of Flowers of Evil which had been translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay which I found quite good. Perhaps it is because it's my first exposure to that book, but I still prefer her translation more than any other I have read.
My earliest collection of poems, End of the World Graffiti, which includes many of my songs as well, (available on kindle for 99¢!) is full of poems where I am trying to write like Leonard Cohen and Charles Baudelaire. (I was very pleased when an artist from Belgium, Vagabundos, described my poetry as "Caught somewhere between Punk and Romanticism", which I thought was pretty good description of my influences.)
Then of course, right after I graduated from high school, I discovered Bukowski, and he was like the punk rocker of literature, with his no-frills, no bullshit style. He inspired me to stop writing like Cohen, without the filigree, so to speak, and just write simply and plainly.
I started reading Dr Who novelizations when I was around nine or ten yrs old in the late 70s and I also began reading Stephen King at that age. I read The Terminal Man by Michael Crichton in the 5th grade. Later, I was lucky enough to have a teacher in jr high for creative writing, Patty Wade, who showed me three things that really had a formative influence upon me as far as sending me gravitating toward writing: The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe, “A Coney island of the Mind” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and “Born of Man and Woman” by Richard Matheson. The two short stories and the book of poems sparked my imagination in the right way, and I was off and running. I started writing weird short stories at about this time, early ‘81, ‘82.
Punk rock found me at thirteen and within weeks I was writing Ramones-style songs such as “Outta My Head", "Abusive Usage" and things like that.
I wrote a ton of songs very quickly in a couple of years, most of which have never seen the light of day, but it wasn’t until I was seventeen and Patty Schemel introduced me to the works of Leonard Cohen that the poetry bug really bit me.
I still recall very clearly that moment when Patty was perusing the shelves at this funky old bookstore in Everett, WA called Don Quixote, which, of course, is no longer there, and her eyes lit up and she grabbed this little black book. It was like she'd found a huge nugget of gold, and of course, she had found something more precious than gold (well, at least to me, but I am a poet, and therefore not quite right in the head, to quote Edna St. Vincent Millay) and it was The Spice Box Of Earth. And then she noticed another Cohen book, Parasites of Heaven, and she grabbed that too. She was stoked and so I was curious. She told me a great story of Cohen staying at the Chelsea Hotel and tossing his typer out the window and then having to go and get it and take it back to his room. I was intrigued. Then she loaned me the books and the rest is history. After that there was only Cohen and Charles Baudelaire's Flowers Of Evil as far as poetry that interested me. And with Flowers Of Evil, if you do not happen to speak French, which I don't, sadly, it really does depend upon the translator.
But I found an old, old copy of Flowers of Evil which had been translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay which I found quite good. Perhaps it is because it's my first exposure to that book, but I still prefer her translation more than any other I have read.
My earliest collection of poems, End of the World Graffiti, which includes many of my songs as well, (available on kindle for 99¢!) is full of poems where I am trying to write like Leonard Cohen and Charles Baudelaire. (I was very pleased when an artist from Belgium, Vagabundos, described my poetry as "Caught somewhere between Punk and Romanticism", which I thought was pretty good description of my influences.)
Then of course, right after I graduated from high school, I discovered Bukowski, and he was like the punk rocker of literature, with his no-frills, no bullshit style. He inspired me to stop writing like Cohen, without the filigree, so to speak, and just write simply and plainly.
January 31, 2017
My favorite writer: Andrew Vachss
My favorite writer is Andrew Vachss. Talk about a truly no-bullshit guy. His statements go right to the heart of the subject like a laser. I am unaccustomed to hearing things expressed so bluntly, with such directness and force. I find it bracing, refreshing, inspirational. We are so accustomed to hearing mealy-mouthed prevarications and double-talk from just about everyone in the media, social or otherwise, that I find it invigorating to hear a man speak clearly and forcefully.
His writing contains an extraordinary combination of strength and compassion. That’s what comes through for me when I read Vachss: his compassion for the damaged and the dregs of our society. His writing is hard-boiled but with enormous heart. One is never searching for a moral compass in his books. It’s right there, upfront, usually in the form of “Burke” tossing a truly heinous creep off a building, or driving over them with a car. See? Toughness and compassion. Toughness because his characters are willing to do extremely rough things, and compassion because of the reasons they are getting rough. The violence is never gratuitous in a Vachss novel. He is an extremely moral writer.
Vachss is our titan, still going strong in the 21st century, and rather under-appreciated, in my estimation. The mainstream is perhaps scared off by his unflinching look at the most disturbing of subjects like child sex abuse, incest, and whatnot, but no other author can touch him, in my opinion.
I’ve never met him. He has responded to a few of my posts on-line. I find him intimidating. Even when he is in agreement with me, it almost feels like an upbraiding! Maybe that’s just the New Yorker in him, I don’t know. He was the same way with Oprah when he was on her show.(lol) I do know that he’s had a tremendous influence on me as a writer. And, more importantly, as a person. He makes me strive to be a better man. (How many other writers can you say the same of?) But his writing is an influence to this day. When I was writing Stone Hotel I tried to be as lean as Vachss. Someone once said of Vachss that he writes paragraphs that are “as spare and lean as a haiku.” Well, that stuck with me. Some of the most admired aspects of Stone Hotel are the short sketches of fellow inmates—exactly the poems that were most influenced by Andrew Vachss. (Also “1,000 Ways To Die” by Henry Rollins. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that. Henry Rollins is another no-bullshit guy for whom I have enormous respect.) My goal was to capture the one defining trait of each of my fellow cons in prison and get it down on paper in as few words as possible. (I was also influenced by 88 lines about 44 women, remember that song? Lots of different influences go into making up a poem!) But Vachss has influenced my prose just as much. I try not to use too much verbiage, to be terse, stripped-down.
I credit some of my ability to survive prison to having read Vachss books before I went down. No shit. Specifically, Ghost’s experiences in Shella, but lots of Burke and Cross stuff too. I knew before going to prison what a lot of the predators’ scams and approaches would be, and I was able to avoid them for having been forewarned. Also the books of Edward Bunker (especially Animal Factory) served the same function; so I was armored, reinforced, with Bunker and Vachss! Not a bad combination to keep you alive in the penitentiary. See? Books are priceless.
His writing contains an extraordinary combination of strength and compassion. That’s what comes through for me when I read Vachss: his compassion for the damaged and the dregs of our society. His writing is hard-boiled but with enormous heart. One is never searching for a moral compass in his books. It’s right there, upfront, usually in the form of “Burke” tossing a truly heinous creep off a building, or driving over them with a car. See? Toughness and compassion. Toughness because his characters are willing to do extremely rough things, and compassion because of the reasons they are getting rough. The violence is never gratuitous in a Vachss novel. He is an extremely moral writer.
Vachss is our titan, still going strong in the 21st century, and rather under-appreciated, in my estimation. The mainstream is perhaps scared off by his unflinching look at the most disturbing of subjects like child sex abuse, incest, and whatnot, but no other author can touch him, in my opinion.
I’ve never met him. He has responded to a few of my posts on-line. I find him intimidating. Even when he is in agreement with me, it almost feels like an upbraiding! Maybe that’s just the New Yorker in him, I don’t know. He was the same way with Oprah when he was on her show.(lol) I do know that he’s had a tremendous influence on me as a writer. And, more importantly, as a person. He makes me strive to be a better man. (How many other writers can you say the same of?) But his writing is an influence to this day. When I was writing Stone Hotel I tried to be as lean as Vachss. Someone once said of Vachss that he writes paragraphs that are “as spare and lean as a haiku.” Well, that stuck with me. Some of the most admired aspects of Stone Hotel are the short sketches of fellow inmates—exactly the poems that were most influenced by Andrew Vachss. (Also “1,000 Ways To Die” by Henry Rollins. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that. Henry Rollins is another no-bullshit guy for whom I have enormous respect.) My goal was to capture the one defining trait of each of my fellow cons in prison and get it down on paper in as few words as possible. (I was also influenced by 88 lines about 44 women, remember that song? Lots of different influences go into making up a poem!) But Vachss has influenced my prose just as much. I try not to use too much verbiage, to be terse, stripped-down.
I credit some of my ability to survive prison to having read Vachss books before I went down. No shit. Specifically, Ghost’s experiences in Shella, but lots of Burke and Cross stuff too. I knew before going to prison what a lot of the predators’ scams and approaches would be, and I was able to avoid them for having been forewarned. Also the books of Edward Bunker (especially Animal Factory) served the same function; so I was armored, reinforced, with Bunker and Vachss! Not a bad combination to keep you alive in the penitentiary. See? Books are priceless.
January 12, 2017
Raymond Chandler on Philip Marlowe
The passage below is quoted from an article in the New York Times:
One month before his death, Raymond Chandler wrote to Maurice Guinness, an English detective novelist, who suggested that Philip Marlowe marry. Chandler disagreed. “I think he will always have a fairly shabby office, a lonely house, a number of affairs, but no permanent connection.” he replied. “I think he will always be awakened at some inconvenient hour by some inconvenient person to do some inconvenient job. I see him always in a lonely street, in lonely rooms, puzzled but never quite defeated.”
Who can resist such characterization? I like the constant theme of loneliness and solitude. So much of the detective fiction that I enjoy is filled with melancholy and I am very drawn to that emotional state. After all, to quote Roger Ebert, “Film Noir is not about action & victory, but incompetence & defeat.”
Yep, I can relate.
One month before his death, Raymond Chandler wrote to Maurice Guinness, an English detective novelist, who suggested that Philip Marlowe marry. Chandler disagreed. “I think he will always have a fairly shabby office, a lonely house, a number of affairs, but no permanent connection.” he replied. “I think he will always be awakened at some inconvenient hour by some inconvenient person to do some inconvenient job. I see him always in a lonely street, in lonely rooms, puzzled but never quite defeated.”
Who can resist such characterization? I like the constant theme of loneliness and solitude. So much of the detective fiction that I enjoy is filled with melancholy and I am very drawn to that emotional state. After all, to quote Roger Ebert, “Film Noir is not about action & victory, but incompetence & defeat.”
Yep, I can relate.
January 5, 2017
poem
Verbicide
my first champions:
before crimethinc
before binary press,
before anybody
there was verbicide
and jackson ellis.
some people help you survive
just by being alive.
someone real
who listens
cares
and tries,
someone who is on your side
there are those
who call themselves friends
who are not;
then there those where the word friend
is merely a pallid imitation
of their stature
and presence in your life.
that's Verbicide
my first champions:
before crimethinc
before binary press,
before anybody
there was verbicide
and jackson ellis.
some people help you survive
just by being alive.
someone real
who listens
cares
and tries,
someone who is on your side
there are those
who call themselves friends
who are not;
then there those where the word friend
is merely a pallid imitation
of their stature
and presence in your life.
that's Verbicide
December 28, 2016
poem from Oct 2015
no big deal
one of the many terrible things
is whenever i am in fine form,
philosophical, profound, meaningful, lyrical,
when every word that falls from my lips
is pure poetry
my girlfriend will invariably interrupt me and say:
“i am getting sleepy.”
or “i am doing laundry tonight, do you have anything you want to wash?”
and it’s then that i realize
i am talking to myself, always;
she is not listening.
then I have
to remember not to sweat it,
because, really, it is
no big deal.
i should be writing
instead of talking
anyway.
one of the many terrible things
is whenever i am in fine form,
philosophical, profound, meaningful, lyrical,
when every word that falls from my lips
is pure poetry
my girlfriend will invariably interrupt me and say:
“i am getting sleepy.”
or “i am doing laundry tonight, do you have anything you want to wash?”
and it’s then that i realize
i am talking to myself, always;
she is not listening.
then I have
to remember not to sweat it,
because, really, it is
no big deal.
i should be writing
instead of talking
anyway.
December 21, 2016
Brand New Poem
When people find out
about my past and then express
incredulity that I could be
capable of armed robbery
I tell them, “Well, I don’t look as dumb as I am.”
what else can I say?
about my past and then express
incredulity that I could be
capable of armed robbery
I tell them, “Well, I don’t look as dumb as I am.”
what else can I say?
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