Magen Cubed's Blog, page 40

Shameless self-promotion is the rule of the day

It's Tuesday. I'm awake. It must be time for shameless self-promotion.

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My contributor copy of Dark Doorways: The Best of Post Mortem Press arrived in the mail yesterday, featuring my short story Ain't No Grave. It also features work by Jack Ketchum & Lucky McKee, F. Paul Wilson and Jonathan Maberry, and the best and brightest Post Mortem has to offer. Isn't that exciting? It should be. You can get your copy…today!

Imagine me saying that in my excitable 1950s announcer voice. Then buy a copy. Eric Beebe needs to make his money back on this one.

Art and Horror

So I was humming down I-20 this morning at a ridiculous hour, listening to Rob Zombie and likely irritating everyone within three city blocks, when I got to thinking.

Horror, since the beginning of time when critics were invented to pee all over the things that we "common folk" enjoy, has been more or less relegated to the bottom-rung of every ladder in the entertainment industry. The genre, quite literally, gets no respect. Horror films, in particular, have been likened to pornography by many film critics over the years. Some people have even published very silly articles on the topic. And, to be honest, there is a merit for the association.

Horror, by nature, is exploitative. Like porn, it fills a primal need we feel. Also like porn, it's existed as long as people have been around to tell stories and has been a part of the storytelling tradition in almost every culture. From moral parables to discourage children from misbehaving, to scary stories around the campfire, to big budget Hollywood movies. It solicits a strong response from the audience by preying on ones fears, real or imagined. Using blood, violence and sex (especially in recent decades with the rise of European horror and American slasher films) to achieve that goal, horror goes out of its way to make you uncomfortable in any way it can. That's why we seek out horror: We want to be made uncomfortable. We want to sit in the dark, hand our trust over to a filmmaker and get something memorable in return. We want to be grossed out, scared, squirming out of our seats and hiding under pillows. It's a safe way to experience fear and get out of one's own headspace. Because of that, the genre has to constantly up the ante, finding the next craziest, grossest, off-the-wall scare out there to satisfy audiences.

As an audience, we demand a grizzlier product every time we go to the movies, buy a new book, crack open the latest scary video game. As producers of content, horror writers and filmmakers strive to exploit every angle they can to get that much-anticipated rise of out us. We want it, and go back for more. We want to be exploited. After all, it's all in good fun.

Despite yea-sayers like myself who try to defend the artistic merit of the horror genre, the exploitative nature of the genre itself is, more or less, what defines it. It defines the fans as well. It's like a gross little badge of honor for people on the outskirts of fiction and film, who enjoy the blood and sensationalism. We latch onto it because it is a niche, a place where like-minded people can congregate and discuss favorite monsters and murder scenes. You can be an outsider everywhere else in the world, but among horror fans, your fascination with dead things and cheap movies is totally accepted. In fact, it's celebrated. It's fringe and we like it that way.

I won't lie to you: Give me aliens and zombies and werewolves juggling chainsaws and I'm a happy camper. I love scary movies and gore, blood and guts, as much as the next girl. In fact, I can't decide if I want to dress up as Freddy Krueger or Herbert West for the next Texas Frightmare Weekend, and the battle is tearing me apart inside. But I also like to think of fear as a tool, and horror a vehicle for telling smart stories about the human condition.

Let me put it this way:

Ain't No Grave? That was a story about a bad marriage, in an anesthetized modern American culture. With zombies.

At the Heart of Mina Jones? That was about one's struggle for self-worth when you're post-college with no options in a bad economy, and about gender roles in regards to our preconceptions of prostitution. And a guy dates a ghoul. Whatever.

Under the Moon? Child abuse. Child abuse, and werewolves. Because sometimes these things happen, okay?

Flesh Trap? Child abuse, relationships, and learning to love and forgive oneself for the things you can't control. It's a freaking love story, and I don't care who knows. And it's also about what happens when your childhood starts to hunt you and your loved ones down like a rabid dog, and gut various passers-by. Again, these things just happen.

Obviously in recent years, horror has started reaching a broader mainstream audience by doing just that. I think AMC's The Walking Dead is a prime example of this, using the zombie horror convention to talk about real human stories. Topics like rocky marriages, racism, domestic abuse, love and loss, seen every week through the lens of the zombie apocalypse narrative. Another favorite of mine is Rob Zombie's The Devil's Rejects, a exploitative horror film that manages to transcend the genre by turning much-loved tropes on their heads and making a complex and compelling (and very uncomfortable) character drama amidst the blood and nudity. Shows and movies like these have done a lot to help get people talking about horror, and how smart horror can be if given the chance by mainstream entertainment. Not just as an excuse to see the clashes of masked killers and naked cheerleaders, but as a way to tell interesting stories.

So I guess what I'm asking is if – by some miracle and against the wishes of Roger Ebert – horror found itself elevated to the status of other, readily accepted genres, would the fans still be there? If it became less exploitative and more art-driven, with fewer zombie werewolf lesbians and blood orgies, would people still be drawn to it? More Academy Awards and less fringe-element? I think we can have both. Art and horror don't have to be mutually exclusive, so far every schlock-and-awe picture you can have something smart and well-crafted. They both have their time and place, after all.

What do you think?

Let's talk about Flesh Trap

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Starting October 1st, my serialized horror novel Flesh Trap went live. This is only week three and the story is seven chapters in, and already receiving a fair amount of positive responses from readers. (With a few having received advanced copies and giving their feedback. Doesn't it pay to know the author?) I've been told that the story is everything from scary-as-hell to heartfelt, touching to uncomfortable, hypnotizing to Dickensian. All in all, I'm pretty pleased with the reaction so far.

Are you still unsure what Flesh Trap is? Not sure you should care? Then you've come to the right place. Let's talk about Flesh Trap.

What is Flesh Trap?

Flesh Trap is a serialized horror novel, updating Tuesday and Thursday each week. It's about Casey Way, a gay 30-something and insomniac library cataloger who lives with his boyfriend Joel. Casey, though a bit of a smarmy jackass who hates therapists like most people hate taxes, is a decent guy under all the cigarettes and jaded remarks. He keeps a garden of Venus flytraps in memoriam of his dead mother and would do anything for those he cares about. Casey also sees visions of his dead father and murdered strangers whenever he closes his eyes, if and when he sleeps, keeping a journal of nightmares and missing persons fliers in an attempt to make sense of the madness. His father, a pedophile who abused his stepsister for eight years, was murdered in front of him by his stepmother when Casey was twelve, leaving scars so profound that Casey hasn't quite learned to deal with them yet.

On the twentieth anniversary of his father's death, his stepsister Mariska takes Casey back to their childhood home to investigate the scene of the crime and put their family's demons to rest. Unfortunately, something follows Casey back out, something ugly and alien and yet so familiar, so natural to Casey. It begins stalking those close to Casey, taking the shape of objects and people from Casey's childhood memories in an effort to get closer, to go home again, and only he can stop it.

It's one part horror story, one part mystery story, one part love story. It's about broken people and family secrets, and how people cope with themselves and each other. It's Casey's journey to deal with what's eating him up inside. It's just Flesh Trap.

Is it finished?

Yes, the novel is done. Sixty-two chapters, plus the prologue and epilogue. There will be no impromptu hiatuses or writer's block to throw me off or stall me, so no worries there.

Is it multimedia?

Yes. It features illustrations by Anna Yoken, which will be posted as they are finished. Any and all audio/visual stuffs, such as the trailers and the upcoming soundtrack, are from my in-house A/V guy, the Reverend Civilian. These elements will be posted as they are completed as well.

What are people saying about it?

Here's some of the public responses I've received so far:

"I fucking love it."

"oh my god it's 4:24 am and i just finished your manuscript and TEARS ARE ROLLING DOWN MY FACE. oh my god. emotional outburst to say the least. thank you so much for that, and i just wanted to say in the heat of the moment how awesome it was now that i just finished. time to go find the kleenex and dab my tears away."

"I love how hypnotic your writing is. The moment I begin reading, I find it almost impossible to tear myself out of the story. I feel ensnared by the way you arrange words and your subtle descriptions."

"The Dickensian haunting on the bus was certainly the stand out scene and also the lushness of this site is reason enough to return next week and the week after."

"just finished reading the prolouge. i looooove iiiiit i cant wait for more ; ;"

(And I'm using public responses because nobody can accuse me of fudging reviews, hurr.)

Why did you choose to write a horror story about two gay men and a woman? Doesn't that go against the grain?

Because it's a horror story about two gay men and a woman. And yes, it does. Going against the grain hasn't stopped me yet. Why should it stop me now?

I don't like that.

Well, that's too bad, isn't it? Joel's a boy and Mariska's not wearing a dress anytime soon.

Okay, you've sold me. Now what?

Go. Read. Enjoy. Like the Facebook page. Retweet and reblog. If you like the story so far, let me know. Hell, let everybody else know. This is indie horror, I have little-to-no budget and only a small army of volunteers to get us through. We need all the help we can get to lure readers in, so if you really like the novel and want to see more, tell two friends. Then they'll tell two friends, and then they'll tell two friends. Lets' go old-school on this mother.

Does that answer your questions? Good.

News from Publishingland

And this time, it's very good news.

Post Mortem Press has put out its Best Of 2011 anthology, Dark Doorways, full of the best and brightest voices in horror from PMP's diverse catalog. It features a reprint of my short story, Ain't No Grave, which you have probably seen before in comic book form if nothing else. But more than just showcasing the "the hot new voices in modern horror," according to acclaimed author John Maberry, this anthology also hosts a slew of other goodies.

Excited yet? No? Well, just wait.

Exclusive to Post Mortem Press, this book boasts an excerpt of Jack Ketchum & Lucky McKee's The Woman, both the novel and screenplay. Moreover, it features a reprint of Jonathan Maberry's rare urban fantasy, Like Part of the Family, as well as F. Paul Wilson's genre-defining classic, Soft. You read that correctly: I'm in a book next to giants. Giants who make great stuff and get junk done, which are the best kinds of giants to hang around with.

Excited now?

 

That's what I thought. Pick up a copy at Amazon today (it's only $15, quit crying) or at Smashwords if you're so inclined. It's really for your benefit, you know. Because I'm just looking out for you. My favorite reader. (Did I mention that shirt looks stunning on you?)

Why you should support Divine: The Series

Indie horror is a lifestyle. It's what happens when writers and artists, filmmakers and visual effects technicians get together to produce content with only their bootstraps and their wits to get them through the day. It's messy, it's dangerous, it's not exactly profitable in the broader definition of the word, but people get into indie horror out of the need to create something shocking and new, scary and fun, and maybe — just maybe — a little thought-provoking in the process. It's like the mob, but prone to less violence and more nerdy outbursts over licensed merchandise. But, at the end of the day, it's worth pursuing, because it's people making what they love in celebration of horror film and writing.

Every once in a while I like to highlight a particular movie or show that I feel is a prime example of good indie horror in action. That's why I want to talk about Divine: The Series.

What it is

"Divine: The Series" is storytelling for the smartphone generation. It's got the DNA of graphic novels, action-adventure filmmaking, dark supernatural intrigue and cutting edge special effects all combined to create something new and exciting for the web. We want to push the frontiers of online entertainment and tell stories that you can watch in bite-sized chunks, and that you can watch in any order that you like, but at the same time when you watch more episodes, the answers to mysteries about the characters and their world will be unlocked.

What it is about

Coping with his loss of faith, a young priest has his world turned upside-down when he witnesses the resurrection of an immortal being named Divine. Given sanctuary by the church, Divine leads a never-ending crusade to show lost souls they have the power to choose their destiny between good and evil. With guidance from the priest's mentor and Divine's street-smart sidekick, the Father must now confront his own demons and the dark forces that challenge Divine.

Telling you anymore would spoil the surprises that await you.

Why you should care

"Divine" is a creation of Maple Blood Productions, a group of Vancouver-based filmmakers whose past credits include numerous major theatrical movies and television shows. We're producers, directors, special effects technicians, stunt people, writers and actors that wanted to take on the challenge of creating a brand new idea and deliver it for a worldwide audience that's online. Our team wants to push the envelope for what a web series can be, both in terms of quality of storytelling as well as in the concept of creating something that's designed to thrive in an online format.

We believe that the time is here for online web series. The old way of creating television and movie content will still be around for years to come, but we believe that now a new form of visual storytelling can be created, one that exists online. We've assembled the best cast and crew for "Divine" and we're going to find a way to make an online series work from both a commercial as well as a creative point-of-view. If the established system hasn't figured out a way to make this work yet, it's up to us—both ourselves as the creators and you as the audience — to do it.

The show itself is a labor of love for the crew and creative staff, produced entirely by volunteers, and it shows. Although it's only a few episodes in, I think Divine is off to a good start. The showrunners have established a steady presence in the growing online fandom, trying to promote the show and recruit viewers on a grassroots level, which I can really appreciate. While the non-linear format takes a little getting used to, the characters (especially Deacon Jim and Father Andrew, I find, regardless of my likely highly-biased attachment to Misha Collins as Father Christopher) are engaging, and the topics discussed (including a heartfelt scene regarding the Catholic church's view of homosexuality and the death of a gay man seeking Father Andrew's counsel) are interesting. As the story progresses and the mysteries unfold I hope more and more people get involved, because it is worth watching.

Sound good? I hope so. So get off your ass and support some good indie horror today.

Wherein Magen discusses being a tea-sipping hipster

So I went shopping today.

Actually, no, scratch that. I hate kind of shopping. I work in retail at my Day Job, in a reasonably sized mall in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Malls makes me think of Dawn of the Dead, as the mobile elderly folk amble by in the early morning before the mall opens to stare through the windows of the department store where I work. Glassy-eyed, palms clammy on the glass, walkers squeaking in the silence. (Shudder.) What I did do was pop down to a nearby mall to visit my closest Teavana shop.

I first discovered Teavana June of this year, when I was visiting my girlfriend Melissa Dominic in Florida over the summer. We didn't have any good shops like that in my abysmal little corner of the Metroplex, where drinking beer and making bad decisions the local team sport, so I was suitably pleased to find a decent tea store. I wasn't disappointed in the least. Upon discovering there was a relatively new Teavana nearby, I had to go today. And spent entirely too much money. (Ow. That sound you hear is my wallet screaming.) But I'm very pleased with my 12oz of Toasted Nut Brule Oolong tea and animal-print canister. Because I'm snazzy like that.

It was Melissa that got me into tea, sometime ago, before we started dating. (Are we dating? Did we ever date? I'm not sure. We just sort of do things together and send each other stupid messages about television shows and people we dislike.) Before that I knew nothing of tea, except for the prevalent kind that comes iced in pitchers at restaurants and tastes like Splenda. I knew nothing of Matcha or Genmaicha, or the difference between breakfast and bedtime teas. I know, how silly of me. Since then tea has become a staple in my diet and my day, replacing my very delicious frenemy Coca-Cola as my beverage of choice. A day without tea is weird, like not wearing underwear. (Or wearing underwear, if you have a different relationship with your undergarments than I do.) I enjoy it, it's relaxing, and it's good for my, well. It's good for my everything. And unlike Coke which eats my teeth, gives me chest-gas, and sits around on my ass giving me dirty looks, there's no downside to tea.

I wouldn't consider myself a connoisseur by any means. I just know that the kind with the stuff in it tastes really good, and that other kind. Yeah, that other kind is good too. With the stuff in it? Yeah, just like that. But if tea that tastes like almond biscotti or flowers or fruit and tree nuts makes me happy, then I'm cool with that.

Sunday morning in Magenland

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Sunday morning.

Strange dreams again. (Might be the anxiety.)

Get up.

At dawn.

Put on Scissor Sisters.

Pogo around living room.

Look like an idiot. (Who cares.)

Revise and schedule next week's novel updates.

Submit serial novel to online directories and Wikis.

Set up RSS and syndication feeds for site.

Try and look professional. (Who cares.)

Do not require caffeine.

Only swagger.

Well. (Swagger and a hangover?)

It ain't even 9am.

Why am I up?

Flesh Trap is here

[image error] FLESH TRAP: CHAPTER ONE

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?" The bus's empty gut lurched. Flesh hanging from his father's cheekbone dangled above his collar, a dangerous pitter-patter of blood. "I would've just ruined her anyway."

"Yeah, Dad," Casey said. His hands felt sweaty against his jeans, alternately hot and cold from wanting to rip the meat from his father's skull or push it back into place, preserving the semblance of his character. "I know."

Horror story. Mystery story. Love Story. It's Flesh Trap. Click above to read the first chapter.

Relationship dynamics in the Land of Ooo, and other things

Boy likes Girl. Girl is too old for Boy. Other Girl likes Girl, but Girl isn't sure what to do about Other Girl. So Other Girl is frustrated and lashes out at Girl. Boy just wants to be friends with both of them, and doesn't get the tension. Oh, and did I mention this was a kid's show?

Cartoon Network's Adventure Time is known for its cute and colorful characters and weird sense of humor. Recently it broke interesting ground by making an episode set in the completely genderswapped reality of Ice King's fanfiction, where Finn the Human and Jake the Dog were replaced by their female doppelgangers Fionna and Cake. The show played it off in its usual tongue-and-cheek style, but a lot of fans were impressed by the creative staff's decision to handle gender dynamics in such a clever way. In the color-coded worlds of kids television, where boys like gross things and girls are soft and pretty, and anything that violates these norms make parents and censors very nervous, Adventure Time came out to say that girls can be adventurers and boys can be princes who need rescuing. Because sometimes evil queens creep on cute princes and try to force them into marriages too, am I right? And because girl heroes can carry huge swords and punch evil in the face all day for fun, because that's what adventurers do.

Sometimes adventurers and princes can even fall in love, sure. Cue flowers and first dates, and the cute romantic musical segment about true love and junk. But do you know what lesson was waiting for Fionna at the heart of it? You don't need a relationship to validate you, because you're fine by yourself. You don't need a prince to make you feel special, because you're already special. Americans live in a culture where girls are fed lines from books and magazines, and taglines from movies and on the fronts of glittery t-shirts, about needing boys' attention twenty-four-seven in order to feel good about themselves. (We're all familiar with Twilight, yes? Okay, just checking.) So I don't know about you, but I think telling girls they're fine the way they are is a damn good message to have on a kid's show.

On the episode What Was Missing, this seemingly silly kid's show again seemed to take steps at chipping away at the rigidity of parental worry and network censors. It does this by showing something I don't think I've ever really seen before in this particular medium. Queer relationships on primetime children's television? It might be more likely than you think.

Okay, so, Finn loves Princess Bubblegum. When she was de-aged back to a thirteen year old, they had a brief but sweet little romantic sojourn, and it was all rather nice. Now PB is back to her eighteen year old self, and therefore over Finn. Even so, Finn is friends with both PB and Marceline, who PB has always seemed to dislike. Marceline's feelings for PB have always been rather antagonistic, but it's been played off as a rivalry. (PB is an uptight princess who loves science, Marceline is, well, the hipster queen of the underworld and such. These things just happen.) Now a lot of fans suspect that the context of PB and Marceline's relationship is much more complicated than it first appeared. Yes, they're former friends who now have a rocky association, drawn together again because of Finn, but might it be more?

And what's so bad if it were?

Yeah, so it's a kid's show. This was a story about friendship, even when that friendship is complicated. As it stands, this shows has some great characters and relationships in general, and portrays them in really interesting, and even poignant, ways. But if the relationship between PB and Marceline were more than that, where's the harm? The creative staff at Frederator Studios is aware of fan speculation on the topic (as well as the fanart, fanfiction, and everything else that comes along with it), and if it's true, it would be fun to see. And if it's not, well, that's why we have the internet.

I expect to see PB/Marceline t-shirts on Etsy within the next week. Don't let me down, fandom.

On the subject of living with fake people

I fall in and out of love with characters. It happens all the time.

Sometimes they burrow into my brain and under my skin. I think about them always, seeing them in line at the grocery store or in passing cafe windows on Tuesday afternoons. Lily Mackey in her black pumps, holding her coat to herself and talking to no one, like the shy girl at a party who doesn't want to be there and clutches her red plastic cup to keep from climbing out the bathroom window. Harold Tan and his harem of dead-eyed women sitting in the backs of dirty basement clubs, with amputated limbs and collars at their necks. Noam Patel at his typewriter, Elliot Townshend and his watering can tending to the ferns in the kitchen window, Hillel Alves in his castle-townhouse across the city and hatching his pseudo-Shakespearean plots.

Sometimes these people seem to take space in my house, eating toast at my kitchen table. Brushing their teeth at my sink. Flipping through my cable package on a Thursday night, lounging on my sofa and looking over my shoulder while I type at the laptop. I try to do my best and give them all my attention. Don't pick favorites. Don't dote on one character and not the other. Try to make them all interesting and well-rounded and worth reading about. Try to care, and make others care. Make them real.

Then there are days, like these days. Days when I'm flipping through notebook pages and going over old lines of dialogue, and I really just don't care about my other characters. There's one, maybe two, that I'm in love with. That I'm spending all my time with. That I'm seeing all over town. Whose entire life is a matter of utmost concern to me, pasts and futures circling each other. It's all over the walls in Polaroid snapshots and Post-It notes, tied together in bits of twine and held up by tape and thumbtacks. Childhood memories, first boyfriends, bruised knees and bloodied lips. I'm head-over-ass enamored with them and there's nothing I can do about it.

It makes me protective. It makes me obsessive. I don't know. It's just how I feel.

I'm ditching a lot of other stories right now, in favor of chasing my favorite cast of characters. Casey is at the top of this list, and Joel too, followed by a slew of new characters I'm working on for the second and third books. Like Gemma, the orphaned little girl with a mind of traps and mazes, surrounded by masked children and leather-men in her forest of the dead. Like Karl, the con job-priest with a shark-like smile and a lot of dark secrets underneath that coat of his. Like Liza, the preacher's daughter with snakes in her belly and blood on her clean white dress. They have a lot of work ahead of them, a lot of things to get done.

It makes me feel lazy as hell when I get like this, when my to-do list is stacked up to the ceiling and I'm running down dialogue and scenarios and would-ifs, has-beens and never-weres. Hanging out with my favorites when I could be doing other things. I can't shake the feeling that I'm just leaving good stories to sit out in the sun. Like the one about rising politician with the gypsy bound and gagged in his closet, and the guy with the killer Real Doll girlfriend, and the stories about the Horsemen of the 1945 Apocalypse. Maybe I am. Whatever. At least I'm having a good time.

Does this happen to anyone else? Can you juggle a head-full of characters, or do you play favorites? Tell me your stories if you have them. I'd like to hear about them.