Thomas R. Clark's Blog, page 9

SummerHome

Lisa Lee Tone reviews SUMMERHOME!

Bibliophilia Templum

SUMMERHOME
By Thomas R Clark

A Poignant and Graphic Tale

.

Synopsis

After Maureen Coleman is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, her children bring her to live at SummerHome. As her condition deteriorates, siblings Sean Spencer and Meghan Coleman are unsure if they have made the correct decision. They grow concerned when their mother claims to see the ghost of her dead husband, and a series of tragic, unexplained events impact the community.

Now, with the residents of SummerHome believing their complex is haunted, the world-famous Para-Hunters come in to investigate. The ghost hunters soon learn this isn’t a typical haunting. Because slinking through the shadows is an evil, unleashed from underneath the Mound nearly 300 years ago, and it doesn’t want to go back.

.

Review

I could write forever about the depth and complexities of the story, but it’s important to first note that it is a good…

View original post 388 more words

SUMMERHOME… And How We Got Here

Tomorrow marks the release of my first full length novel, SUMMERHOME. It’s my second piece to be published through St. Rooster Books, following last year’s THE GOD PROVIDES. It’s my seventh book release since publishing A BOOK OF LIGHT AND SHADOW, a collection of my professional short fiction, in fall of 2018. It perplexes me how, that in less than 4 years, I’ve been able to produce the content I’ve released on the masses. In all of the previous years before, I’d written and completed a handful of short fiction pieces. And now look at me… I’m a two-time Splatterpunk Award nominated author. 

Much of this is because of my drive to be successful, coupled with support by my wife… and the motivation of money. You see, since July of 2018, I’ve paid Garrett Cook (CHARCOAL) for monthly workshops. As as a result, I’ve pumped out dozens of short stories, a plethora of novelettes, and – as of this writing – I’m working on finishing my second novella in 2022. It won’t see print until later this year, but that’s OK by me. 

INTERIOR PLATE AND ALT HARDCOVER ART

Garrett, while he’s likely the most important, isn’t the only mentor to guide me since I started on this trip, what seems decades ago. In high school I reached out to L. Sprague de Camp, the man who coined the term EXTRATERRESTRIAL and, with the aid of Lin Carter, introduced a new generation to the works of Robert E. Howard. I corresponded with Sprague for a few years, he gave me valuable advice on grammar and words one should NOT use while writing (alot, alright, that, just, so…). Then I went into the Army and journalism school came with it. It all came to fruition in 2013 with Billy “The Kidd” Donnelly and This Is Infamous, which led to me joining the Horror Writers Association. A mentorship with Monica S. Kuebler at Rue Morgue followed. Then I met Lisa Vasquez (THE UNFLESHED), who has been instrumental in developing my descriptive prose and my eye for graphic design.  

“BROCHURE” ALT COVER/INTERIOR PLATE FOR HARDCOVER

I’ve had other advisors, including Armand Rosamilia (DYING DAYS), Jay Wilburn (CURSE OF THE RATMAN), Brian Keene (THE RISING), and Patrick Freivald (MURMUR), to name a few. Their wisdom and positive encouragement have been instrumental in keeping me going and pressing forward with this crazy venture. A Borderlands Bootcamp mini-class with Tom and Olivia Monteleone also helped develop my skills as a writer. But it’s Kelli Owen (THE HEADLESS BOY), and her words at the first Scares That Care Charity Weekend I attended with Dawn, that have resonated with me. When asked how long the longest piece I’d completed was to date, I told her around 5,000 words. Her reply?  “Unfuck that.”

Did I mention I wrote a full length novel at 60,000 words? I got a bit of unfucking done, I’d say. Hell, I edited out nearly 15,000 words while I wrote it! 

FINAL FRONT AND BACK COVER ART BY LYNNE HANSEN

SUMMERHOME is chock full of social commentary metaphor, and Easter Eggs connecting it to the world I’m building in my fiction. It’s stand alone, like all of my work, but has a place in the ongoing story I’m telling. Upstate NY deserves its own Castle Rock and Derry, and I have made them in the port city of Fenton and hamlet of Tinker’s Falls. In the near future, I’ll be introducing you all to Falls Brook, another important spot in my “world.” Regular readers of my fiction will be happy, and new readers will be sucked in (I hope).

How about that Lynne Hansen cover art? I’ve made a decision to use Lynne going forward on my novel releases. She has the aesthetic I wish to present for my brand. My novellas are another story. I’ll be the cover designer and creator for them. Here’s a sneak peak at A PRAYER FROM THE DEAD, my forthcoming grimdark cyberpunk alt-history piece:

As of the writing of this blog post, I’ve not settled on the narrator for the audio book. It will likely be Cheryl May or Mia Moravis, as they are going to be my narrators going forward.

I’ve dedicated SUMMERHOME to those we’ve lost to opiate addiction. Though the novel focuses on how Alzheimer’s tears a family apart, diseases akin to Alzheimer’s have the same affect on loved ones close to the afflicted. And opiate addiction is a horrible disease. Heroin was named thus because it’s “discoverer” believed it to be a miracle drug. A person could never have been so wrong.  

I’ll leave you with the words of Robert Ford (BURNER), in reference to SUMMERHOME: “I never feared growing older until I read Clark’s Summerhome. It made me wince more than a few times as scenes unfolded.  An absolute blast of a read!”

SUMMERHOME will be available June 28th on Kindle, through Amazon in paperback, and in digital on GODLESS! A special limited edition Hardcover with alternate cover art will be available soon from Barnes & Noble and Nook.

When Fan Film and Fun Collide: Voorhees Night of the Beast

I still fondly recall the times when I thought I saw Bigfoot in the woods near Cicero swamp in North Syracuse, NY back in the mid seventies. To be precise, I believed I saw this elusive being twice. Following in the footprints of the infamous Patterson film, the cryptoid was all the rage. Bigfoot was in the movies, he had television cartoon shows, and guest appearances on The Six MIllion Dollar Man (played by pro wrestling legend Andre The Giant.). Bigfoot obsessed my life, and molded my nightmarish imagination, along with fellow simian tropes in Planet of the Apes and King Kong. So naturally it was only a matter of time before, I thought I saw Bigfoot.

That day came on September early in the school year of either 1975 or 1976. Shawn was old enough to talk, and he was born in spring of 1974, so it was likely late summer of ‘76.  On this day me and my friends were exploring the woods near our houses, and ahead of us on the trail I saw something. It was tall, and tan, and hairy. It turned its head to look at me and I swear to GOD it was Bigfoot. I ran screaming down the trail, scared to death. Adult me believes I actually saw a deer, but hindsight is 20/20. Terrified me went home and made no secret of what I believed I saw.  I made a stink about it at school, too.

About a week later, playing outside, my little brother and I saw something across the creek running by our house. We about shit ourselves. I swear to God. 

It was another Bigfoot… almost in our back fucking yard.

We ran inside and told our mother. She looked out the window and she saw it, too, across the creek, standing in the tree line, its arms in the air, menacing us  My mother called the cops. The neighborhood teenagers in the Halloween costume and shag rug combo were lucky the cops didn’t shoot them. Yep. I said Halloween costume and shag rug combo. They had heard my story of seeing Bigfoot, and decided to cash in on the practical joke. My mother, hysterical and none too pleased, ended any further Bigfoot entertainment in the household. 

Dial ahead to end of the decade, a few years later. My sister has been born, we’ve moved, and the Bigfoot phenomena is replaced by a new horror sub-genre, the slasher killer. Now, I’m not a big fan of teen slasher movies. Outside of the OG Halloween, the genre has never appealed to me. It’s not that I think they’re bad movies, I just don’t enjoy them. But add a Bigfoot to the mix, and who knows I might watch it! Enter VOORHEES: NIGHT OF THE BEAST. Jason vs. fucking Bigfoot.

I’ve been following indy filmmaker Jason Pitts’ career for sometime, from his start as a producer and writer for TCW wrestling, to his short films that are burning up the genre convention film festival circuit. Alone and Masquerade (the latter features one of the stand outs of VOORHEES: NIGHT OF THE BEAST, Ms. Alivea Disney). Jason has a future ahead of him in the horror film industry. His desire and drive to make quality motion pictures shows in his work. I’m impressed, frankly, with how quickly Pitts has grown. With each successive film he’s put out, he’s improved on his previous work, learning from the mistakes he may have made, and capitalizing on his strengths as both a screen writer and director. 

My biggest issue with this film is with its lack of suspense. The pacing is a mess, in fact, there is no pacing at all. And I suspect this all might be because of the score. The music in the movie is distracting and doesn’t contribute to anything other than distracting you. There’s no recognizable theme in the music and it hurts the final product. Movie scores help add to the thrill. John Williams and the JAWS theme, for example. Even the KILL MOMMY echoing chant so familiar with the Friday the 13th franchise rings true of this. And we don’t get it, or a copyright free knock-off, as often as we should. As a result, there is no suspense. I regret the full songs in the film, written and performed by regional band Primal Apathy, are forgettable, but they do give the movie some of that Eighties metal feel.

This isn’t to say the movie is bad. Because it’s not. Pointing out the weaknesses in a production isn’t by any means an indicator of my opinion of the film as a whole. When watching, you can see Jason’s intent with VOORHEES: NIGHT OF THE BEAST was to pay homage to Friday the 13th, a venerable franchise he adores. He succeeds, to some degree, but not in the manner he intended, I think. And it’s through a trio of thought out tropes:

The quirky, small town characters gracing the screen, the kills, and the monsters.

You see, whether or not Pitts intended it, this movie is laugh out loud, full on belly laugh hilarious. And it’s mostly because of the aforementioned supporting players and the creatures, not because of star in the making Disney or Jason’s eye. They’re both destined to do more than independent films, and the supporting cast is just as stellar. Pitts’ screenplay and the manner in which said supporting cast delivers their lines reminded me of Eli Roth’s CABIN FEVER and its bizarre cast of locals, including the legendary Kung Fu kid. 

The kills in the film are fantastic, and without spoiling any of them, they’ll be the talk of the horror community in the coming weeks, both good AND bad. It’s another Jason, Jason Mansfield, who gets this done. Expert use of sound and film editing helped save on the special effects budget, I’m sure. But Pitts and Mansfield didn’t skimp on the blood. If you want gore, you will get it in buckets with mostly ingenious ways to spread it.

As good as the kills are, it’s the action captured during the inevitable final battle between Jason and fucking Bigfoot that brings me the most joy. PItts’ experience as a pro wrestling booker helped contribute to the final battle’s choreography, and its storytelling, which is some of the better storytelling in the film! It’s laugh out loud hilarious.

The Jason costume is dead on. James Stokes did a wonderful job of stepping into the jumpsuit and hockey mask ensemble. The Bigfoot costume on Jason Southwick didn’t work for me. I hate to say it, the hybrid costume the teenagers scared me and my brother with back in the day was more realistic. But rather than distract, this actually adds to the campiness of the film. Southwick, playing dual roles in the movie, did a great job of hamming it up in the outfit. 

And this is what makes it work, the balance between an authentic looking Jason and the garage sale special Bigfoot. As a result, the climatic battle takes on a personality of its own. It’s simply fun to watch the two duke it out and almost surreal to watch. 

I wish Jason utilized a ring announcer: In this corner, weighing in at just over an Ikea carpet and macrame planter, an uncanny valley version of Bigfoot. And in this corner, the epitome of the teen slasher, complete with a Spirit Halloween Store machete. DING DING DING! The fight is on and it’s simply fun to watch the two duke it out.

You could replace the Primal Apathy song playing in the background with the Benny Hill theme, speed up the frame rate to match the hyperkentic fun of Yakety Sax (that’s the song’s name) and this final fight would be the match of the century.  

 Though flawed, VOORHEES: NIGHT OF THE BEAST is superior to many fan films you’ll see on YouTube. It won’t go down as one of the best fan films made, but it will be remembered for presenting a unique and fun approach in the manner it pays homage to a beloved film franchise. It’s worth the hour to give it your attention. To be honest, I believe it will gain a cult status because of its campiness, and I would call that a double win for the filmmaker. 

Firestarter, The Professional, and the Horrors of Grooming

“Liar, liar, pants on fire” sums up the 2022 Firestarter remake nicely.

As a young man growing up with ADHD, outsider characters in books, especially those with a secret power, appealed to me. I’d always thought of my condition as a superpower. It aided me, but it also hindered me. But in characters, especially the young kids created by Stephen King like Mark Petri and Danny Glick, I found kindred souls. After reading King’s Firestarter in 1980, I naturally bonded with its protagonist, Charlie McGee who flushed the toilet before – and after – she used it.

I didn’t care much for the film adaptation. It dumbed down King’s brilliant book, and took out much of the psychological fears Charlie had. The focus shifted to the Shop and the superficial plot points from the book. The end product couldn’t be saved. Not even with a stellar cast, including Drew Barrymore, David Keith, George C. Scott, Heather Locklear, Art Carney, and Martin Sheen. To this day, it remains a pariah in the eyes of King. And I hate to say it, when compared to the 2022 remake, it’s a masterpiece. We’ll talk more about that soon.

A little over a decade later I found myself bonding with another character in Leon, The Professional. Luc Besson’s simple person who excelled at being a hit man movie allured me. The tale of an enigmatic man with secrets helping a young, orphaned girl touched my heart. Featuring the debut of Natalie Portman as the orphaned girl, the movie highlights brilliant performances from Gary Oldman, Danny Aiello, and French action star, Jean Reno. For a time it was one of my favorite movies. I regret it isn’t anymore.

You see, my daughter became the victim of sexual abuse, and as a result, my wife and I entered counseling with her, to help us understand what had been done, and the psychological harm the grooming had done to her.  This was my introduction to how abuse changes people, and knowledge of how abuse is carried out opens your eyes to horrors you’d never think you’d see. 

Abusers have a methodical manner in which they brainwash their victims. Here’s a list I found on a google search, from safe child dot org:

Identifying and targeting the victim. 

Gaining trust and access. 

Playing a role in the child’s life.

Isolating the child.

Creating secrecy around the relationship.

Initiating sexual contact.

Controlling the relationship.

All of this made me look at many of the things I found to be entertaining, and two of those properties were Firestarter and The Professional.  

I realized The Professional was filled with classic grooming manipulation, and it disgusted me. The entire film can be looked at as a metaphor for pedophilia, with firearms replacing sexual organs. Leon was groomed, by not only his mob boss, but by Mathilda, the girl he was trying to save. 

You see, Mathilda, Portman’s character, came from an abusive home. Children in these situations learn grooming techniques, and excel at manipulation as a result. She manipulates Leon into teaching her how to be an assassin. She uses her sexuality to entice Leon, and eventually he succumbs to hubris. He may not physically act upon the desire, but it does send him to an early grave when he  decides to quit the mob. 

This also made me take another look at Stephen King’s source material for Firestarter. The book, which I now realized is, itself, a metaphor for child abuse, came back to life for me. Charlie is manipulated by everyone in her life, which includes her parents on the run and, of course, the nefarious black ops government agency, the Shop.

But it’s the insidious grooming by assassin Rainbird that really twists this narrative. Unlike Besson, who replaces sex with metaphoric gun fights, King utilizes murder as Rainbird’s ultimate goal. It’s no different than Besson’s film, except Charlie gets away and goes to The Rolling Stone in an attempt to stop the cycle. And Mathilda? Well, she carries on her abuser’s legacy.   

Young star Ryan Kiera Armstrong is making quite a name for herself in the horror community. After playing a creepy kid in American Horror Story Double Feature, she has taken Drew Barrymore’s reigns with great gusto. She does her best Drew, and succeeds. It’s too bad the movie isn’t good.  

The pacing is off, there’s absolutely no sense of urgency. The changes made to Rainbird and Cap are done with good intent, but fail. Why? Because, like the 1984 adaptation, the filmmakers ultimately forgot what the story was about.

Firestarter is not about a proto-super hero. It’s not about a girl that can start fires with her mind. As we’ve already discussed, Firestarter is about abuse and grooming – it’s horror isn’t in a girl who can set things on fire – the horror is in the things done to her. Our 2022 remake instead tries to be a superhero film, and even says so in the trailers. And it fails miserably. 

And the changes made to the narrative? They leave me scratching my head. Outside of changing Cap into a black woman, we didn’t see much of the plot in those previews. I wish Gloria Reuben had more screen time in the final product. 

And Rainbird? At least they didn’t cast an old white man as him, this time. Michael Greyeyes is fantastic as the assassin. But, by eliminating Rainbird’s time with her as the janitor, wherein he manipulates Charlie and brainwashes her with all the classic grooming techniques (see above), you lose what this story is a metaphor of. The 1984 film kept this portion of the narrative intact, but it over simplifies it. The changes made around his character in this 2022 edition, while at first seeming novel and even possible, end up becoming contrived by the film’s end. 

Unlike the recent Pet Sematary disaster, which spoiled the film’s narrative change in trailers and ruined its impact on screen, Keith Thomas’s Firestarter kept its hand mostly hidden. His direction of the film is great, and I can’t fault him for the end product being so inane and banal. I can blame Scott Teem’s script. Like Stanley Mann’s 1984 adaptation, it falls flat and misses the point. But at least there was some chemistry between Drew and the rest of the cast in that film. A nuclear explosion couldn’t ignite any chemistry between Ryan Kiera Armstrong and either Sydney Lemmon’s Vicky or Zac Efron’s Andy McGee. 

If I needed to pick the film’s strongest point, it would be the soundtrack. John Carpenter and his band (featuring Cody Carpenter and Daniel Davies) knock it out of the park. Yeah, the music is better than what you see on screen, by far. But what would you expect from an icon like Carpenter than the very best?

Horror fans who already have Peacock’s premium plan, you’ll probably find Firestarter to be a satisfying, if not dull, movie to spend a night on, while chatting with friends on your phone. If you go to the theater expecting a bonfire, you’re going to be disappointed and pissed at the money you spent. I’m still angry I used Regal credits for our tickets. The “Liar, liar, pants on fire” line that should have been left on the cutting room floor, sums up the film’s marketing campaign nicely. They gave us hope but in the end that hope burned away. But hey, at least my wife liked her Dorito’s Nachos, so it wasn’t a total loss.

THE SLAP SEEN ‘ROUND THE WORLD

Was Will Smith justified in striking Chris Rock for a joke? 

In the instance you have been living under a- oh my God I can’t believe I’m going to say this- rock (groan!) the last 24 hours or so, let me catch you up on a little something something. I normally watch the Oscars, but this year, driving for rideshare early in the morning, I went to bed shortly after it started. I watched the James Bond tribute and that was it.

I wake up to find Will Smith pimp slapped the smile off Chris Rock’s face for making a joke. Now that line seems a little harsh, I mean, it’s unbelievable these guys who are public friends, would get into a scuffle of this magnitude on live TV? For a moment I thought I woke up in another reality, so I checked to see if CERN practiced any fuckery this weekend. Luckily CERN didn’t, but Chris Rock? Yeah, he fucked around and found out. 

Former friends Smith, Pinkett, and Rock…

My take? Neither of these guys were in the right.Here’s a few scenarios from my personal experiences I hope will allow you to look at last night’s Oscars circus with an objective eye:

Like many creatives, I was hazed in high school, badly. One day, in shop class, one of my abusers started their little games again, and I lashed out. I grabbed a book laden backpack and struck him with it. The shop teacher said I had a look in my eye like a beaten dog who had enough.This was true. Still, I was punished for my actions. Violence is never an answer. I was wrong to retaliate. I was given detention and had to sweep the wood shop that night.

Some years ago I was privy to an affair between a buddy and a former friend’s wife.  During a dinner party, the wife was being rather “mean” to her lover. I spoke up, defending my buddy, and called her a nasty name American women have hairy cat fits over unless you add a vowel to end of it. Her husband put me up against a wall. I submitted, not wanting to take a punch for my buddy’s soiree into infidelity. You see, I understood my former friend wasn’t choking me, by proxy he was choking my buddy, you know- the guy his wife was playing bedroom Olympics with. I left the party at this point. I was wrong for reacting as I had to her behavior and using the word I used. I should have kept my mouth shut. 

Will and Jada Pinkett Smith at the 2022 Oscars moments before Slick Willy pimp slapped Chris Rock

In math, two negatives make a positive. But when this occurs in a social setting within a civilized society, it is not math. It never ends well and two, or more, people always look like assholes.

Will Smith shouldn’t have approached a performer on stage and committed felony assault by slapping them during a live television broadcast, being shown around the world. He then doubles down, breaking FCC code for foul language on network TV. I don’t care if Chris Rock isn’t pressing charges. The venue should – but we’ll talk about that later.

With that being said, I understand his frustration, but this does not mean I condone it. The couple’s rocky relationship has been under the scrutiny of the public eye in recent years. Things are not happy in their house. Who’s at fault? I don’t care, it’s not my business or anyone else’s. One thing is clear to me, he loves Jada, and this was the result of frustration from his marriage crumbling. He didn’t punch Chris Rock as much as he punched some other person. How so, you ask? Let me give you another example.

Buddy Boeheim going for the body blow jab

We experienced a similar event a few weeks ago when Julie Boeheim, wife of long time Syracuse Orange basketball coach Jim Boeheim, was robbed at gunpoint during a visit to DestiNY Mall. Shortly after, her son, Buddy, struck an opponent during an ACC tournament game. The refs missed the foul, but the ACC benched him for the Duke game. He apologized for his actions to both the league, and the other player. He paid the price for his actions and may have cost his team a shot at the ACC title. Yet, I can find empathy for him, and an understanding of why he reacted as he had. He didn’t punch a basketball player, he punched the kid who robbed his Mom. Still he deserved to be punished because he acted in an unsportsmanlike manner.

Like Buddy, who suffered consequences for his actions, Will Smith needs to do community service or something for what he did. He committed a crime. Bottom line.  His winning and accepting his Oscar for his performance in King Richard. Most recent news indicates he may be stripped of the award for breaking the Academy’s code of conduct.

Will Smith accepting his Academy Award. Will he be stripped of it?

Now on to Chris Rock… first he should be commended for putting his hands behind his back and not hitting Will back. 

With that being said…what in the fuck was he thinking? GI Jane the movie hasn’t been relevant in 25 years. Get some new material, dude. If you’re a comedian and you can’t make people laugh without mocking someone (you know has a medical condition), should you be making off the cuff jokes on live TV?  Better yet, are you really a funny person?  Should this be your line of work? A rule I have for my comedy is to make fun with, don’t make fun of – and this is so true when it comes to a person’s idiosyncrasies and health issues. 

All this leads to one thing: I’m tired of the Ricky Gervaises, Chris Rocks, and Dave Chapelles of the world hiding behind the shield of “IT’S JUST A JOKE,”- a similar argument my high school bullies used to defend their crude remarks to me. They think their job as a comedian gives them carte blanche to mock who and whatever they feel they can, without the danger of repercussions. That’s just not the case.

Now, I’m not talking about political satire poking fun at elected individuals, for example, shitting on the shit weasels in public office is protected by law. But when you focus on a secular group of people, as Chapelle does with the trans community, and continue to bet on that number every time you do; you are creating a problem and adding more stress to an already touchy situation. Other than to vilify and mock them for their choice or physiology, what’s the point? It’s not funny. It never was funny, and I got some news for you, you can’t force it to be funny by continually repeating it, and don’t be surprised if someone slaps you for saying it. But if you do the slapping, be prepared to pay the price for your action.

A FEW RULES I’VE LEARNED ABOUT THIS WRITING THING

How understanding two simple concepts can lead to a successful writing career.

With Scares That Care’s inaugural Authorcon in Williamsburg, VA approaching next week, I felt the need to write this blog post. I’m looking forward to seeing the writers who have inspired me, and those I’ve risen with over the last few years. It’s exciting. Now this post? It’s for the new guys and gals on the scene to peruse so you can learn from my mistakes. It’s not for those select authors who feel as though they’ve been slighted and ignored by a community they believe is riddled with nepotism, allowing lesser talented people to achieve success. Of course people who resemble the latter example are a small, but vocal minority. They are also wrong, and I’ll tell you why.

You see, I’ve found this whole writing thing is a constant learning process. As many of you know, I take monthly workshops to challenge my skills and help me grow. But what I’m alluding to is a bit different. It’s less academic, and more a test of a person’s character. No matter what you think you know, there’s always something new. I’ve had my share of ups and downs since going all in, from a failed dream project, to being twice nominated for an award recognizing excellence in my chosen subgenre of horror. But there are two lessons I’ve found are the most important.

We all rise together.Be nice.

Number 1. We all rise together…  I learned this from a panel featuring Joe Lansdale, Brian Keene, and Chet Williamson. It means if one person in the horror community has success, we all have success. This is not, nor has it ever been or ever will be, a competition. Your peer’s success does not mean your work is any less entertaining or good, nor does it mean they are “better” than you. We all eat, sleep, and shit the same. 

And that leads us to number 2…

Number 2. Be nice. Just. Be. Nice. Be nice to people. Be nice in person. Be nice on social media. Be FECKING nice. If you have social anxieties that give people the perception you are not nice, like resting MEH face, be open about it. They’ll understand, no one is going to mock you for it. And if they do? They can go, and you can stay.  

Being nice is the easiest thing to do, but one of the most difficult to consistently subscribe to, especially on social media, a platform designed to operate off conflict. And here’s the irony in that one: We’re writers who know conflict drives narrative and we are allowing ourselves to fall into the trap set by social media algorithms. You’d think we’d be smart enough not to fall for that trap, but if you’ve used social media, you’ve likely fallen into at least one pixel battle with a perceived toxic individual… who thinks you’re toxic.

Remember a convention like Authorcon is an opportunity for you to make fans, network and grow, not to get bombed at the bar and devolve into a third grader high on Sugar Pops and Fun Dip. This does not make you a nice person, but it does make you a dipshit. I’ve made that mistake, and I’m still embarrassed to be around Bob Ford after praising his oratory skills with all the grace of a failed court jester- FIVE YEARS AGO! The unapproving glares from your peers last longer than the headache.   

Those two things are all you need to understand. Me? I personally have one more- “shut the fuck up and listen.” That amounts to listening to the pros and those who came before you. And you know what they all say? Be nice. We all rise together. As a result, I’m often humble about my work. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not. I can always improve my skills, and I do it by writing, finishing pieces, and taking classes.

Aside from the dastardly condition known imposter syndrome, part of this learning curve is understanding it takes a village. And that village is the horror community. Other writers are not your customers, but they are your peers, or even your surrogate family. The horror writing community, as a whole, is generally supportive of its members. But – if you rock the boat and make waves while disregarding advice given and knowledge shared, you’re not going to go far. And that’s all on you.

I can’t wait to see everyone in Virginia next week. I have a new short story collection available now for attendees, A TRUNK OF FORGOTTEN LORE. It collects the flash fiction and short stories I’ve put online over the last four-ish years in one volume for your convenience, and stands as a companion to my previous short story collection, A BOOK OF LIGHT AND SHADOW.

GHOST IMPERA CONQUERS

All hail Kaiser COPIA Emeritus the 1st! The new release from Swedish theatrical metal band Ghost promises to take over the world.

Tobias Forge has grown and evolved over the last decade like the character he portrays in his band, Ghost. And now on the 4th incarnation of his Papa Emeritus, he’s discovered the secret to mainstream success with Impera, Ghost’s 5th release and the first to have crossover appeal to Middle America. 

I find many similarities between Ghost and Savatage. The Florida based power metal act, formed around brother Jon and (the late) Chris Oliva, who evolved into theatrical metal and eventually, under the guidance of producer Paul O’Neill, became the biggest mainstream crossover metal act not named Metallica: Trans Siberian Orchestra. Tobias Forge and Ghost have managed to capture the same lightning in a bottle with both their music and stage show.  

Coming in at a tight 46 minutes, Impera calls back to classic ‘80s theatrical rock, especially Savatage’s Gutter Ballet album from 1989. With a theme foretelling the fall of empires, will it become as prophetic as their previous release? 2018’s Prequelle seems to have predicted the Covid-19 Pandemic, a point I brought up on my podcast a few weeks ago. With the world on the brink of World War III, it’s appropriate, I think, that Forge’s Bard’s Tongue tells a story about the rise and fall of an empire.  

RENO, NEVADA – JANUARY 25: Tobias Forge of Ghost performs at Reno Events Center on January 25, 2022 in Reno, Nevada. (Photo by Tim Mosenfelder/Getty Images)

The Nameless Ghouls who recorded the album are no strangers to the European metal scene. The stand out is Swedish ax slinger Fredrik Åkesson, most notably known for his work in dark prog rockers Opeth. His tone is recognizable throughout the album. For many fans who were unhappy with Prequelle’s poppy guitar sound, this is welcome. But it’s also the influence of producer Klas Ahlund, the man behind the board for both Impera and their Grammy winning release from 2015, Meliora. 

Impera is their best album by far. I regret they won’t win a rock or metal Grammy this time, folks, oh no. That’s because Ghost is going to get artist of the year with this one. Like Metallica before them, Ghost has broken the pop culture glass ceiling. The tracks tell the tale.  

Imperium – As with any theatrical production, you need an overture or instrumental opening…

Kaisarion – The influence of touring with Iron Maiden on Forge’s song writing shows. A dual lead guitar intro reminds me of Wasted Years… then it transforms into something you might find on an early Gabriel-Era Genesis epic, circa the band’s Nursery Cryme era.

Spillways – The second track blends Bon Jovi-esque pop music with Jim Steinman theatrical lyrics in a song reminiscent of Styx’s Paradise Theater album. The solo harkens back to Half Penny-Two Penny, JD Young’s metal solo on Paradise Theater’s second side.

Call Me Little Sunshine is perhaps one of Ghost’s best compositions and continues the build. A heavy riff preceded by an acoustic intro the song revisits during the vocal melody. This is classic Ghost, blending elements of all of their albums into one song, from the Satanic imagery to the music.

Hunter’s Moon became my favorite Ghost song upon its release. Is it still? It remains so to this point on the album, I’ll say that much. Like the previous track, it is a culmination of all of Forge’s composition skills, featuring many of the trademark Ghost chord progressions and changes. But it’s the phaser blend coming out of the bridge that tickles my taint.

Watcher In The Sky – What did I say about my favorite Ghost song? Blending influences of prog metal, ‘80s hair metal (I can hear Ratt’s Warren D. Martini playing the main riff) with classic Ghost elements, this is becoming a new fan favorite. Does it surpass Hunter’s Moon for me? It might.  

Dominion – like the opening track, this is another instrumental placed to give Papa time to change his clothes.

Twenties – the most controversial track on the album blends horns with doom metal riffs. It’s a mash up of System of a Down, Tom Waits, and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. And it doesn’t work for everyone. Isolated from the rest of the album, it’s Reggaeton is jarring. But played in order with the tracks on the album, it fits right in as it tells a tale of crumbling decadence. 

Darkness at the Heart of My Love is another Broadway production-Jim Steinman homage. It actually brings to mind the genre bending work of pop-star and metal head Lady Gaga’s album Joanne.

Griftwood brings back more memories of Bon Jovi, with lyrics you could have found in a non-secular Christian rock band like Petra during their Greg X. Volz-Beat the System era. It’s a solid song and one that I’m sure will grow on me – the chorus is catchy and the sing-song melody is a little bit of an earworm.

Bite of Passage – Instrumental time… cos you’ve gotta change your clothes before the last song.

Respite on the Spitalfields – The album ends with an epic fan fair. It’s another theatrical number featuring time changes, arena filling choruses, and haunting lead guitars. I hear a bit of each song within this piece, bringing it all together in a climax that fades away on the wind.

Impera is Ghost’s magnum opus. It’s their Powerslave, Black Album, Slippery When Wet, and Bat out of Hell- all wrapped up with a Trans Siberian Orchestra bow tie. The running joke with Ghost is the awards each Papa has obtained during his reign. I’m pretty sure when Ghost dominates the mainstream Grammy awards in 2023, Papa Emeritus the IV will have become the conqueror of the world, Kaiser Copia Emeritus I.

WIRD A Creepypasta By Thomas R Clark

BE CAREFUL WHAT APPS YOU DOWNLOAD ON YOUR PHONE…

HAS ANYONE SEEN THIS? IT’S FROM BEFORE THE PANDEMIC!

OR BETTER YET, DOES ANYONE HAVE THE WIRD APP CURRENTLY? THIS WAS TAKEN FROM THE USER REVIEWS FOR THE APP BEFORE THE SITE DISAPPEARED.

If I could rate this app with negative stars, I would.

I’m writing this review as I wait in line for my flight home. Let me start out by saying I gave this stupid fucking app one star because I couldn’t go any lower. Of course it stopped working for me yesterday. In hindsight, I’m happy about this, because it stopped sucking up my phone’s battery life.

I need to know who’s been as dumb as me and downloaded this app. I probably should’ve checked the other reviews before installing this crappy app on my phone. They’re all shitty and I back these claims up. The app is useless and invasive. To make things worse, today, when I deleted it from my phone, it went through my address book and spammed my contacts.

For two weeks I’ve dealt with multiple problems with the app. I don’t know where to begin. First off, I installed the WIRD app by accident. I know, everyone with half a brain tells you the same thing. Don’t open attachments in messenger, they’re viruses and they’ll hack your account. This one was different, it came from my cousin in Alberta on Christmas. I’ve been working in the Ukraine at a refining plant, and any message from a family member on a holiday is refreshing. After this, all I’m going to say is this is the last time I’ll be looking at any messages from Shirley. Fuck her.

I didn’t touch the attachment, it downloaded on my phone as soon as I opened my messenger. Then it took over my phone, it fucked the date up, pushed it forward a day, and I couldn’t reset it. I chalked this little quirk up to me being in a different time zone.

Then there are the alerts. Yeah, this thing sends you non-stop alerts all day long and burns your battery down to nothing. There’s no way to turn these alerts off, either. Plus it jumps the gun on everything and anything way too early, too.

Why do I mention this? Well, you see, the app also spoils TV shows with advance reviews. This drove me up a wall the first two days, then I grew numb to it. You’d think they’d at least give you a spoiler warning, but no.

I can’t say all the app’s alerts annoyed me. Their sports news analysts were amazing. They should be working in Vegas. The app was on for five minutes. Then it flashed an alert predicting all the winners of the Boxing Day College Bowl games in the States. On Thursday, after I watched these predictions come true, right down to Louisiana Tech shutting out the Miami Hurricanes, a string of alerts flashed across my phone. The predictions were for Friday’s Bowl games. So I said, what the heck, and placed some small bets.

I won a little bit of money Friday when North Carolina stomped Temple. The alerts for Saturday’s Bowl games followed. I won enough money to make some bigger bets on these games. So, I went all in on Clemson and won big. I watched the balance on my VENMO grow from my hotel room in the Ukraine. Trust me when I say the windfall I received isn’t enough to redeem this app.

This is because the app’s alerts aren’t limited to sports predictions. Current events, and news ranging from the entertainment industry to politics filled the alert banners. I swear to God their people know what politicians will be saying ahead of time, they have got to have some sort of insider scoop.

Things started getting really weird about a week after I installed it. I swear an alert came across telling me former New York Yankee Don Larson died on New Years Eve. I didn’t see anything about it on social media until January first.

Between TV spoilers and sports predictions, warnings of a virus outbreak in China causing parts of the country to go into lockdown were tied with the United States President’s social media snafus and saber rattling with Iran. I tried ignoring the bullshit, I needed to pack for my flight back to Canada, which happens to stop in Tehran for a refuel. I may be lucky at gambling, but I tend to have the worst luck with everything else. 

It’s worth noting yesterday, the WIRD app stopped working and my phone’s time and date returned to normal. The last alert I got indicated things weren’t getting any better between the United States and Iran. But hey, at least I can place a few looneys on LSU beating the Razorbacks.  

I wouldn’t wish this app on anyone I know.

USER NAME: TELLMEWUTITSABOOT

HOLY SHIT!

THE RIDE SHARE TRIP FROM HEAVEN & HELL

Did you see my social media post last week, declaring I was ending the year with a short story acceptance? Well, it happened. The story in question is called BEHIND THIS WALL OF SCREAMS and it’s a cosmic horror tale. The basic plot is that a ride share driver deals with someone casting Lovecraftian magic from their back seat and what happens as a result. It’s a paranoia laden piece you won’t want to miss, and was inspired by my side gig as a ride-share driver.

Now, as many of you know, I drive Uber and LYFT cos indy writers… we’ll say they struggle. Ride share driving pays me well, I can work when I want to-which my muse loves- and most important – the wife is happy. I still DJ, but the Pandemic is putting a pinch on that (my choice). 

So I write and I drive… and in the last few months I’ve had some doozies for riders in my car- rock stars, political figures, TV personalities, and so forth. I’ve dealt with guys beating their girls, drunks, stanky asses, and people I can only categorize as straight up bonkers. 

There are things you can do to prevent this. Back around Halloween I got a rider, a recent immigrant, who thought it was his mission to play his African minister’s sermon on speakerphone in my back seat. I dealt with it for the 7 minutes he was in my car, and 1-starred him. I did this so I’d never get him again, at least that’s the theory with rideshare, which doesn’t prevent them from making alternate accounts.

But last night? My rider won a fucking chicken dinner and a set of steak knives in the Batshit Crazy Ride Share Passenger Hall of Fame.

I shut my app off at 4:30 and was going to go home. I had a fruitful day and was happy. Time to work on the new book, I said. Then I saw a long ride alert on LYFT, 266 miles. I say to myself, “NYC, Tommy? Ooooo.  That’s a good payday.” So I accept the ride.

At the time I didn’t know this, but my choice to do so would become a 2-edged sword. On one hand I made a boatload of dough. On the other hand… um… I got a story to tell?

Meet “Ros.” Ros wasn’t her real name, but it was the name used on the app. Right from the get go she was weird. She’s wearing a Circle K employee T-Shirt, and I pick her up from a Circle K, so this doesn’t look odd to me, but she she just hopped in my car with her face mask over her chin and left it there. My internal monologue name for her morphed into Chin… Diaper.

“Hi Ros. Going to New York I see? Car trouble?” I say before accepting her in my car. She says “Yes,” and I realized she was on the phone with an insurance company. So I didn’t disturb her further, we can deal with that after her call I decide. So I tank up… 

The first thing I realize, and it should be noted, is her English was PERFECT and her verbiage was impressive, without any use of slang. She had a squeaky voice, reminiscent of Wanda Sykes sucking helium.

I finished filling the tank and swipe to start the ride. Next, I learn it’s not NYC. It’s deep in the heart of Pennsyltucky. Brian fucking Keene country-chock full of shadows and skeletal tree limbs beckoning of evil things in the darkness.

And then I find she has not one, but two phones. 

For three hours of the four hour and twenty-two minutes, she called multiple insurance companies, looking for one that gives long tows for roadside assistance. She is using one insurance company to pay for her LYFT rides. Yes, I said RIDES. During this three hour period she is bouncing between phones, talking with insurance companies and towing companies, having them pay for her LYFT rides. Basically, she’s running a barely-legal insurance scam to get a used car towed from Pennsyltucky to upstate NY.

Here’s an example of the verbal shell game she’s playing in my back seat: Geico tells her they can’t do the tow, but can send a guy with gas. She tells the Geico rep to send a person with gasoline. Then she calls the towing company to ask if they can bring a tow truck for the gas fill.  The guy tells her it was just a gas fill, and they don’t typically bring a tow truck to those calls. She then leaves it for them to come back the next day with a wrecker.

At one point she cusses and I get my first indication of where this is going, when she apologizes to Jesus for swearing. I ignore this and she goes on to the next call.

She calls State Farm. She calls Progressive. She calls Farmers. She goes through complete insurance applications on each call and when they tell her they only go 15 miles for a roadside tow, she moves on to the next one.

Two hours in, she finally goes through Liberty Mutual and gets a 200 mile free tow on roadside when the sales rep upsells her on renter’s insurance, and buys the policies. It takes her another hour to sort this out. And again, this entire time she’s talking like she’s a customer service pro, her voice is almost news announcer quality, albeit somewhat cute and squeaky. I was almost admiring her ability to run this scam.

And then Jesus took the wheel.

Well, not precisely my steering wheel, but He did start driving me crazy. I flash back to last fall when this woman calls her (and these are her words, not mine) “Sisters in Christ.”

A woman, I’ll call her “Sister Barbie,” who sounds like a camp counselor at a Kingdom Bound festival, answers.

Immediately I notice a few things about my rider change. Gone is the woman who was deftly handling insurance reps and tow truck drivers. Her tone shifts from assertive to submissive. Her perfect use of language and dictation is tossed out the window. 

Instead, she uses a voice with a thick African accent and baby talks. It’s as if I have a different fucking person in my back seat. The newly dubbed Sister Chin Diaper opens the call with prayer and all I can picture is a Kewpie Doll with a prominent cowlick saying “Grace” at a holiday dinner.

Then Sister Barbie goes on to ask her about what she’s been reading in the Bible and they have a discourse about the Holy Trinity and discuss Christ’s miracles, particularly Mark and the blind man. Then Sister Barbie shifts the discussion to the Garden and Christ’s Passion, and to Christ’s Immaculate birth for some reason. 

And right away I pick up on a frightening reality. Sister Barbie is playing serious psychological head games with Sister Diaper. I recognized it because the same game was played on me when I “found God.” The tactics are very similar to grooming techniques used by sex abusers. One of them is changing topics frequently, so to confuse the victim. Sister Barbie bounces around books of the Bible and concepts in Christ so fast my head is spinning along with Sister Diaper’s.

I found a whole lot of irony in my backseat at this point. I had to listen to Sister Diaper manipulate and use insurance companies and then listen to Sister Barbie manipulate her. This call lasts maybe half an hour and ends with a prayer, Amen. As fucking soon as it’s over, Sister Diaper’s verbiage and demeanor shift back to the insurance hustler. Then she’s playing a sermon on speaker phone…

By the same fucking pastor, I’ll call him Pastor Jeebus, as my rider last year.

I see motion in the rearview mirror. She’s got her hands in the air, palms faced out, feeling the Holy Spirit. She starts talking in tongues. I’ve got Sister Act going on in my back seat.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

This goes on for miles, until I stop for gas about a half hour out of her destination. I see she shuts up and pulls up her face mask, so I don’t bring it up. Sister Chin Diaper uses the restroom and I fill the clerk, who is outside smoking, in on my experience thus far. The clerk laughed so hard she snorted.

Chin Diaper comes back out and we go on. More Pastor Jeebus on speaker phone. More hands in the air like she just don’t care. She’s shifting around in the back seat, shaking the car as I drive – on her hands and knees bowing to the Lord, speaking in tongues. 

We’re five minutes out and she tells me don’t go to the address, to go to the Sheetz a block away instead. 

So I did. And parked the car.

“Here you go. Have a nice night,” I say. Sister Diaper remains in my back seat, not moving. She continues talking in tongues and praising Jesus, “We’re here. You can get out now,” I add. Then I see she’s back on her hands and knees.

“Ma’am, we’re here. You need to get out now.” She pulls herself up off my floorboards and back seat, and sits, staring at her phone.

“Ma’am, can you hear me? The ride is over, I need you to get out.”

“Are you going to drive me back,” she asks me instead of answering my question or moving.

“Have a nice night, please.” I reply, choosing to mirror her game, and not acknowledge her question. I learned that trick in sales. You want to play head games, lady? I can throw down with the best.

“I asked you question,” she says.

“Have a nice night,” I tell her.

“I said are you going to drive me back?”

“You need to get out of my car ma’am, the ride is over.”

“You need to answer me.”

“No, I don’t. Have a nice night.”

“I need to know if you will drive me back.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t want you in my car anymore, please get out. Some people get awfully offended by that Jesus shit, and well, I’m one of those people. Please keep that in mind the next time you are in someone else’s car.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. So how am I supposed to get back home?”

“Not my problem,” I tell her, “please get out.”

She gets out and disappears from sight. I lock the car up, take a piss, and drive off to call it a day. I get about ten minutes away and I see I forgot to shut off my LYFT app. And get pinged to pick her up. No one had taken her scheduled ride. I pull over. I shake my head. And I turn around. The insurance company calls me twice on my way back, making sure I know who my ride is (I told them I’m aware of who it is). 

So yeah, against my better judgment, I pick Sister Chin Diaper back up. As she gets in I tell her she needs to have her facemask pulled up, and there is to be no speaker phone sermons on the ride. If she wants, she can buy a set of earbuds Sheetz.

“My religion’s credo is ‘Harm none, do what ye will,’” I say to her as we’re driving away, “leaving you behind could harm you, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

She apologized, using the timid, accentuated voice she used with Sister Barbie. She seemed grateful, and slept the whole way back in the backseat of my KIA. And I felt better knowing I hadn’t deserted a person in East Bumfuck, Pennsyltucky. Now, was this my conscious speaking, or did her God answer her prayers for a fucking miracle? Who knows. It could’ve been someone conjuring Cthulhu in my backseat and no one was screaming. Praise Jeebus?

LEAGUES OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN

Jim Cobb, the King of the Preppers (as I call him), did something neat yesterday, his “Leagues of Extraordinary Gentlemen” from some of the eras he’s been alive…

Jim said:

“I’ve always liked the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen concept, this idea of taking different characters from various fiction works and tossing them together. I’m far from being the first to do this, but wanted to have some fun so I created my own teams based on rough timeframes. I admittedly played fast and loose with some of these, but that’s some of the fun. In large part, I went with when the character debuted, not when the story/film was set.

I realize that few of you will likely know every single character listed. There’s at least one of them that I’d be shocked more than maybe three of you recognize, LOL. I’d encourage you to let Google or the search engine of your choice be your guide ”

2000s

Levi Stoltzfus

Sandman Slim

Eliot Spencer

Dean Winchester

John Wick

Alice (Resident Evil)

1990s

Nikita (La Femme Nikita)

Eric Draven

Ash Williams

Peter Octavian

Hellboy

Mara Jade

1980s

Angus MacGuyver

John Thomas Rourke

John McClane

Rorschach

Jason Bourne

VI Warshawski

1970s

Steve Austin

Lucan

Bo “Bandit” Danville

Harry Callahan

Remo Williams

Carrie White

I loved Jim’s choices! 

Now, he didn’t make his lists public… but I will! And I’m adding their antagonist and mission! Like Jim, I’m not telling you what property the character comes from. You figure it out… the Library of Alexandria is at your finger tips.

Don’t post your lists below, share this blog post and make your list on the sharing post.

I went back to the 1960s to start, for a multiversal, time travel adventure from the written page and silver screen with:

THE THREAT?  Daleks who have hijacked the Doctor’s Tardis

THE TEAM:

HG Wells (and his Time Machine)

Captain Jerry Cornelius

Cpt. Keith Mallory

Dr. Zira

Commander James Bond

Yojimbo

1970s is Satanic Panic and a whole bunch of political horror!

THE THREAT? Barlow and his new ghoul, Michael Myers, infiltrate Washington DC!

THE TEAM:

Father Joseph Dyer

The ghost of Quint

Jamie Summers

Buford Pusser

Commander James Bond

Dr. Sam Loomis

The 1980s is an action movie spectacle and looks more like The Expandables than the League…

THE THREAT? Who else but RUSSIAN CYBORGS!

THE TEAM:

Col. Bob Hauk

John Rambo

Connor Macleod

Ellen Ripley

Commander James Bond

John Nadda

Oh, the 90s… and our story goes full on dystopian cyberpunk

THE THREAT? CYBORG ALIENS, of course!

THE TEAM:

Thomas Anderson/NEO

Snake Plissken

Judge Dredd

Sgt. Murphy

Commander James Bond

Sarah Conner

As the millennia changes, so does the game… these are all 2000 and after (this was harder than I thought and now I know why Jim stopped it at the 2000’s, too!)

THE THREAT: An army of Bigheads is on the rampage, and man, are they horny… or is it hungry? Horngry?

THE TEAM:

John Wick

Selene

Det. Nick Burkhardt

Danny Torrance

Commander James Bond

The Exit

Yeah.  I like James Bond.

Happy New Year, to my friends and fans, all of my peeps and perps.