Anthony Izzo's Blog, page 4

What's Your Excuse For Not Writing?

My oldest son has muscular dystrophy. He used to play in a wheelchair soccer league. When he had spinal surgery to insert a rod in his back, he had to give it up. 

The wheelchair soccer got pretty competitive. For anyone not familiar with wheelchair soccer, players use a sturdy plastic box that's mounted to the front of a chair. The box is used to strike the ball. The ball is oversized (about the size of a beach ball). Two orange cones serve as a net. 

One time, at a tournament in Rochester, I observed a player who used a special mouthpiece to maneuver their chair. The person didn't have the use of their arms. To me, that showed incredible determination. We all need to apply that same type of determination to achieving our writing goals. 

How often do we tell ourselves we're too tired to write, or say something idiotic like "I'm just not feeling it today." Sometimes, when I need a mental kick in the ass, I think back to that wheelchair soccer player.  Don't let lame excuses keep you from pursuing what you love to do. Go write. 

Grinding It Out - Sticking Around The Writing Game

I recently recalled a term from when I used to golf, which was about a thousand years ago. When a player was "grinding," he was fighting from behind in a tournament. Taking things shot by shot, digging in, and not quitting. In hockey, a "grinder" is a third or fourth line player.  That player might not be the most skilled, but he works hard, going out and playing physical to help the team win.

I think in order to stick around for any length of time in the writing business (whether as an indie or traditional), you have to be a grinder.  

Writing is often thankless. It can feel like you're yelling into the void and no one is listening. That you might never get where you want to go. That's when you have to grind.

Grind by hitting a daily/weekly word count goal.

Grind by submitting to publishers and markets, even when rejections pile up.

Grind by indie publishing work, even if it feels like you don't have an audience yet.

Grind by getting better at your craft and learning to become a better storyteller.

Grind by promoting your work (without being obnoxious about it, of course) and making genuine connections with people.

It's that tenacity and consistency that leads to more finished work, and hopefully meeting your writing goals. And remember to have fun. Grinding and working hard on your writing goals doesn't mean being miserable. 

 

Some New Art - Black Panther

So with the recent death of Chadwick Boseman, I wanted to create some Black Panther Art. I hauled out the watercolors and did the piece below. I wasn't terribly crazy about it, but here it is. My relationship with my own artwork runs between "That's not half-bad" and "I can't believe I shared that publicly."

Either way, creative people are never the best judges of their own work, for good or bad. 

 

Time Doesn't Stop and Kids Grow Up

My youngest son started his college classes online yesterday. He was initially supposed to go in once a week for an in-person class, but it's been changed to all online. Have to say I'm relieved (and I think he is too), given that COVID cases are popping up on college campuses. 

This time of year is always a bit melancholy. My wife has returned to the classroom (she's a special education teacher) after six months at home due to COVID forcing schools to close. My youngest son started college. Fall is in the air. The nights and mornings are cooler. Darkness sets in earlier. The summer is waning. 

My youngest son's friends spent the majority of the summer hanging out at our house. We always enjoyed having them around. Typically, seven or eight of them gathered here for swimming, video games, movie nights, and campfires. It's down to four of them now, as the others have gone off to college. I've watched all of them grow up together, hang out at our house over the years, and coached many of them in soccer.  Some of them even jokingly call my wife and I "Mom and Dad." 

We're starting the next phase of our lives. The kids are grown. I only have one lunch to pack now (my wife's), as I'm working at home for the foreseeable future. I've been the chief lunch packer since the kids were in first grade. I suppose it's a small way to mark the passage of time. 

Someone asked if my wife and I are empty nesters. I laughed at that. The nest is still quite full. Both of our boys are at home. My brother-in-law, who is also disabled, lives with us. As crazy as it gets around here sometimes, I'm glad to have everyone around. As we move on to the next phase of our lives, that song about handling the seasons of life comes to mind. I guess we're currently in autumn, if we're going by the song. But autumn is good. There are still plenty of golden leaves and crisp, fall days to relish. 

Raining Blood - Horror Novella in the Works

I just crossed the 10K word mark on my latest novella. It deals with the effects of a toxic rain that falls on unsuspecting townspeople. I'm aiming to have this fall in the 30,000-word range, but who knows? It could take off into a novel or wind up a long short story. 

In the excerpt below, two of the main characters, Tim and Sara, are in a restaurant when the storm begins.

The Lacerated Sky

Copyright 2020 Anthony Izzo

At that moment, the sky opened up, and rain splattered the Stackhouse’s front door, which was all glass. Only it wasn’t rain. Fat, red droplets battered the glass and streaked the door.  

Within moments, it looked as if someone had smeared red jelly all over the door. 

“What the hell?” Tim said. 

“That’s crazy,” Sara said.  

The red droplets continued to pound the glass. In the dining room, most of the customers had moved to the windows to watch the strange storm. 

A moment later, Sara heard the first scream. A woman in a skirt and white jacket stumbled along. She beat at her head. Her hair sizzled and had fallen out in clumps. As the woman faced the door, Sara recoiled. 

Her cheeks were scorched, the skin peeling away. Drops hit her and hissed, causing her flesh to bubble and smoke.  

“Jesus, it’s like acid,” Sara said. 

“Strider. Shit. I have to get to him,” Tim said.  "He's out in the truck."

“You can’t go out in that.” 

A middle-aged guy in a suit staggered along. He had holes burned in the suit. A drop of the red rain it him in the eye, and steam rose from the eye socket. He wailed in agony as the rain bit into him.  

The woman in the skirt was still flailing around. She spotted the guy in the suit, and then an even crazier thing happened. A gurgling scream came from her, and she pounced on the guy in the suit.  

Sara shuddered as the woman sank her teeth into the guy’s neck. Blood erupted from an artery in his neck, painting the two of them with it. The guy fell to the ground as the woman clamped onto him, ripping at his neck. 

The guy’s legs flailed and kicked. After a few moments, he no longer moved. 

Wanna See a Horror Sketch?

 I got my writing done yesterday morning before logging on to my day job. Last night, I did this Leatherface sketch. I used a .05 Micron Pen, Pitt Marker (for the black), and Touch markers (for the grays). I've drawn Leatherface a bunch of times, just because the lovable maniac is so fun to sketch.

If you like, it you can purchase a print here.

My favorite of all the slashers is probably Jason. Who is your favorite movie slasher/killer? 

New Promotional Graphic

I signed up for Canva, something I'd been considering doing for a while. It allows users to create graphics for social media posts, banners, etc. I think you can also make a book cover in there, as well. I'm going to experiment with some graphic/tag line combos to get the word out about my books.

Here's one for Nightshade that I did. 

This could be fun, coming up with tag lines and/or pulling quotes from the books. Hoping it sparks some interest. 

Yellow Jackets and Stuff

On Friday, I got stung by a yellow jacket for the second time in three weeks. The first sting resulted in cellulitis in my ankle. Got some antibiotics and that cleared up just in time for the second sting. This sting caused my calf to blow up and nasty blisters to form. On antibiotics again. I managed to locate a yellow jacket nest in our garage wall, and an exterminator took care of it.

I spent the better part of the weekend keeping my leg elevated. My wonderful wife took care of things (and me) while I tried to let the leg heal.

Got some writing done on a new novella and watched a few Bigfoot movies (Willow Creek and Boggy Creek). 

Recently finished reading An Occurrence In Crazy Bear Valley by Brian Keene, which I highly recommend. 

Get Some Werewolf Horror

 Nightshade, my werewolf novel, is now available for all major e-book platforms. It's the first in a series dealing with the Nightshade corporation and their collection of monstrous specimens. Nightshade also loosely ties into my novella, The Island.   

A paperback version will be available in the next few weeks.

People in Arlen have whispered about the windowless building outside of town for years. It's owned by the Nightshade Corporation, who specialize in capturing unusual creatures. When a delivery scheduled for Nightshade goes wrong, a terror is unleashed. Seven feet of fur and fangs. A genuine werewolf. 

Police chief Hannah Sorens is called to the scene of a brutal murder. The victim has been torn to pieces. As she learns the true nature of the killer, Hannah realizes she must track down a werewolf. As the body count rises, and the wolves grow in numbers, Hannah must protect an entire town from a coming onslaught. An annual festival is scheduled to take place in a few days, bringing thousands of people to town. Thousands of potential victims for werewolves on the hunt.

Hannah must form an uneasy alliance with Nightshade if she hopes to save her town from a nightmare come to life.

This Week's Excerpt - The Gray Men Trilogy

I wrote The Gray Men trilogy in 2015. It's an action-filled thriller with supernatural elements. Today's excerpt is from the first book, Storm Rising. The entire trilogy can be purchased here in one volume. The individual books are also for sale.
Also available at Amazon. 


Chaos.
Pain. 
Death.
The Gray Men have lived among us for centuries. They exist to cause suffering. Now they’ve gathered to strike again, controlling the minds of ordinary citizens and turning them into vicious killers.
For years, The Guild has resisted the Gray Men. Their agents have been waiting for the Gray Men to appear once again. John Marshall is one of these agents. Armed and trained by the Guild, he discovers the Gray Men are gathering followers and preparing to wipe out anyone not on their side.
An explosion set off by followers of the Gray Men begins a chain of violent attacks in John's hometown. John realizes that nowhere is safe as the Gray Men and their followers spread panic and death like a contagious disease. 
John takes his family and goes on the run. As society begins to break down, John must keep his family safe while carrying out his mission to fight the Gray Men.

Storm Rising
Copyright 2015 Anthony Izzo

They had come to kill her. Trina was sure of that. She stole glances in the rearview mirror. The drive-in speaker blared fuzz in her ear. On screen, Liam Neeson chopped a terrorist in the side of the neck. The last night of the season at one of the last remaining drive-ins in the state. A little relaxation is what she'd hoped for. Now she had to deal with the killers. 
Not that she wasn't ready for them; she had a Sig Sauer P220 in the glove box and a pistol grip shotgun under a blanket in the back seat. Not to mention two K-Bar knives strapped on her person. She reached over, popped the glove box, and took out the Sig. She set it on her lap. On screen, Neeson was blasting two guys to hell; she liked his style. 
They'd trailed her here in a black Ram pick-up. Hadn't done a great job of it, as she'd spotted them a quarter mile back, matching her moves. Now they were parked two cars behind her, at least two of them that she could see sitting in the cab of the Ram. They were Larsen's men, of that she was sure. What she didn't know was how they'd caught her scent; it didn't matter now. She'd have to deal with them.
The bad thing about these fucks was that they didn't care. A public place meant nothing to them. They'd shoot you up in a day care center. It didn't matter as long as they found the target. Larsen wanted her dead. She'd almost caught up to him near Albany, but he'd slipped away. Now he'd set his dogs on her. She peeked in the rearview mirror. On the second screen behind her, they were showing some animated flick. There would be a lot of kids. Trina basically thought kids were booger and fart machines, but she didn't want to see any of them dead. When the men came for her, she'd have to draw them away somehow. 
She glanced at the Subaru parked next to her. The young couple inside were locked up in a make-out session. The guy had a hand under his girl's tank top. At least someone was enjoying the drive-in right now. 
She looked in the rearview. They were still watching the movie, both of them wearing sunglasses.Subtle, fellas. Why not just throw on some black trench coats, too?
It was about to go down. Time to move. 

Trina stepped out of the Acura. She shut the door. Her Sig Sauer was in a shoulder rig under her jacket.
It was warm for early October. Seventy degrees at this time of night. A lukewarm breeze blew across her face. She started down the first row of cars. The snack stand, with its giant neon hamburger sign, stood a few hundred feet from the screens. Beyond that was a white stucco building that housed the restrooms. 
That would be the place to go. She glanced sidelong at the truck and saw them step out. There were three in all. A big bald guy with the sleeves cut off his flannel, a lanky guy with motor-oil slick hair and aviator shades, and a woman shaped roughly like a tennis ball on toothpicks. 
She crossed the road that bisected the drive-in and passed the snack stand. The greasy smell of movie popcorn drifted from the stand. It made her stomach rumble. 
They would be about fifty feet behind her. She risked another glance, concerned about giving herself away. The trio walked side-by-side. 
The bathroom was lit by sodium vapor lights. Even in early fall, moths fluttered in the lights.  The crowd had gathered around the snack stand, leaving the bathroom empty. 
Trina went into the ladies room, took out the Sig. She ducked and checked the stalls for feet. It was unoccupied, so she took the first stall and climbed onto the seat, balancing her boots on the seat in a squat.
She waited.