Chris Holm's Blog, page 27
February 10, 2014
January 14, 2014
Readers' Choice!
This morning, I woke to the news that my short story collection DEAD LETTERS won the House of Crime and Mystery Readers' Choice Award for Best Short Fiction Collection! And as an added bonus, THE BIG REAP was a runner-up in its category as well! I'm honored to be counted among the likes of John Connolly, Dennis Lehane, and Michael Connelly, to name but a few of the winners. Many thanks to Jacques Filippi, and to the scores of voters who took the time to weigh in. Extra-special thanks if you voted for me.
January 9, 2014
A Bookish Best!
Woohoo! Kristin at My Bookish Ways included THE BIG REAP in her Best Books of 2013 post! I can't tell you what an honor it is to be chosen alongside the likes of Donna Tartt and Stephen King. Many thanks, Kristin!
October 19, 2013
Double Feature: Blurb Hack, and Blurb Hack Strikes Back
Today's a twofer in the review department, because somehow the first one -- now a few weeks old -- sadly escaped my blogtention.
In Blurb Hack, Lorenzo Princi has one of the stranger book review sites going. Not only does he review a book, he also designs a concept cover for it. Now, as you're well aware I'm quite fond of my covers, but I think the idea's a fun one regardless; Lorenzo's designs (not just for my books, but for all the books he reviews) are minimalist, whimsical, and charming.
A few weeks back, he reviewed (and covered) DEAD HARVEST.
Today, he reviewed (and covered) THE WRONG GOODBYE.
Pop by and see what he thought!
In Blurb Hack, Lorenzo Princi has one of the stranger book review sites going. Not only does he review a book, he also designs a concept cover for it. Now, as you're well aware I'm quite fond of my covers, but I think the idea's a fun one regardless; Lorenzo's designs (not just for my books, but for all the books he reviews) are minimalist, whimsical, and charming.
A few weeks back, he reviewed (and covered) DEAD HARVEST.
Today, he reviewed (and covered) THE WRONG GOODBYE.
Pop by and see what he thought!
October 14, 2013
THROUGH THE EVIL DAYS
Good friend/force of nature/fellow expat upstate New Yorker turned latter-day Mainer Julia Spencer-Fleming hasn't put a book out since 2011's ONE WAS A SOLDIER, but thankfully for all of us, that's soon about to change. The eighth book in Julia's bestselling, award-winning, and critically acclaimed Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne series, THROUGH THE EVIL DAYS, comes out November 5. Want to preorder? Miss the boat on Julia's books and want to start from the beginning? Lucky for you, all the links you'll ever need are just a click away.
October 9, 2013
Word Nerds Interview
Today, I'm over at The Word Nerds, talking to Stacie Penney about all things writerly. Stacie's a regular at Murder and Mayhem in Muskego, an annual event I'm delighted to be attending for the second year in a row. We touch on my favorite moment from last year in the interview. If you live within reasonable travel distance of the greater Milwaukee area, I'd highly recommend checking it out; it's one of the best book events going. Check the site for more details.
October 8, 2013
The Story of Earl
I'll admit: I've been lax in the blogging of late. But today, thanks to a question in an interview I'm working on, I found myself thinking back on the tall tales my Papa used to tell. It turns out one I thought I'd written about here was actually included in an interview I did with Chuck Wendig way back in February of last year. The story seemed appropriate to the season with Halloween fast approaching, so I decided it to rescue it from archived obscurity. Chuck opened the interview by asking me to tell him a story, as true or false as I saw fit. I decided to tell him one that was true and false in equal measure...
My Papa Burns was a consummate storyteller with a wicked sense of humor, and there was nothing he loved more than winding up his grandkids, much to my grandmother’s consternation. Their house was on Earl Avenue in Mattydale, New York, and one of Papa’s favorite topics for grandkid-winding was Earl. Earl — according to Papa, and all my aunts and uncles who gleefully corroborated his story — was a gaunt loner of a man who once lived in an apartment above my grandparents’ garage. Earl was apparently quite the amateur photographer, but a horrible accident with his developing chemicals left his face irreparably scarred. Papa always intimated Earl was guilty of perpetrating great and terrible crimes against the children of the neighborhood, though of course he never told us what, precisely, those crimes were. Or, for that matter, how being a gaunt, disfigured loner who does unspeakable things to children leads to having a street named after you. But plot holes matter not to children. Not when presented with so juicy a story as Earl’s.
For you see, as the story goes, no one knows what became of Earl. Some say he died. Some say he was run out of town by the parents of his young victims. But not Papa. Papa was convinced that Earl was still up there, living like an animal in the ruins of his old apartment.
Did it occur to us to ask why Papa, a cop with a loaded sidearm and a litter of grandchildren forever underfoot, would let some creepy feral child killer/molester/photographer/whatever live in the attic of his garage? No, it did not. But it did occur to us to try to find out for ourselves whether Earl was still up there.
There were no stairs up to the garage’s second floor. There was no ladder. Just an empty square of darkness, framed by rotten four-by-fours and cut into the ceiling. The plan was simple: Me and my cousin Joey were going to lace our fingers together and hoist up our cousin Steph — the oldest of us at maybe ten, and therefore the tallest — so she could stick her head through the trap door and take a peek. Steph’s younger sister Sarah was in charge of steadying her so Steph didn’t tip over. And we’d find out once and for all whether Earl was still up there.
We found out, all right. We found out good.
When Steph’s head cleared the trap-door’s frame, she let out a shriek the likes of which I’d never heard. The three of us at ground level panicked, and we dropped her. She didn’t give us so much as a moment to worry if she was okay before sprinting, ghost-white, out of the garage. Instinct kicked in, and we three followed. When we finally regrouped, Steph breathlessly related what she’d seen: the scarred, pitted, anger-twisted face of a madman, just inches from her own. As if he’d known we were coming. As if he’d been waiting for us.
Once our initial fright had passed, me and Joey mocked her something fierce. In the protective light of day, far removed from the gloom of the garage, we were sure she was full of shit. Sarah, the youngest of us, seemed less sure.
But you know what? We never ventured into that garage again. And looking back, even knowing Papa’s stories were so much bunk, I’m half-convinced she saw Earl all the same.
My Papa Burns was a consummate storyteller with a wicked sense of humor, and there was nothing he loved more than winding up his grandkids, much to my grandmother’s consternation. Their house was on Earl Avenue in Mattydale, New York, and one of Papa’s favorite topics for grandkid-winding was Earl. Earl — according to Papa, and all my aunts and uncles who gleefully corroborated his story — was a gaunt loner of a man who once lived in an apartment above my grandparents’ garage. Earl was apparently quite the amateur photographer, but a horrible accident with his developing chemicals left his face irreparably scarred. Papa always intimated Earl was guilty of perpetrating great and terrible crimes against the children of the neighborhood, though of course he never told us what, precisely, those crimes were. Or, for that matter, how being a gaunt, disfigured loner who does unspeakable things to children leads to having a street named after you. But plot holes matter not to children. Not when presented with so juicy a story as Earl’s.
For you see, as the story goes, no one knows what became of Earl. Some say he died. Some say he was run out of town by the parents of his young victims. But not Papa. Papa was convinced that Earl was still up there, living like an animal in the ruins of his old apartment.
Did it occur to us to ask why Papa, a cop with a loaded sidearm and a litter of grandchildren forever underfoot, would let some creepy feral child killer/molester/photographer/whatever live in the attic of his garage? No, it did not. But it did occur to us to try to find out for ourselves whether Earl was still up there.
There were no stairs up to the garage’s second floor. There was no ladder. Just an empty square of darkness, framed by rotten four-by-fours and cut into the ceiling. The plan was simple: Me and my cousin Joey were going to lace our fingers together and hoist up our cousin Steph — the oldest of us at maybe ten, and therefore the tallest — so she could stick her head through the trap door and take a peek. Steph’s younger sister Sarah was in charge of steadying her so Steph didn’t tip over. And we’d find out once and for all whether Earl was still up there.
We found out, all right. We found out good.
When Steph’s head cleared the trap-door’s frame, she let out a shriek the likes of which I’d never heard. The three of us at ground level panicked, and we dropped her. She didn’t give us so much as a moment to worry if she was okay before sprinting, ghost-white, out of the garage. Instinct kicked in, and we three followed. When we finally regrouped, Steph breathlessly related what she’d seen: the scarred, pitted, anger-twisted face of a madman, just inches from her own. As if he’d known we were coming. As if he’d been waiting for us.
Once our initial fright had passed, me and Joey mocked her something fierce. In the protective light of day, far removed from the gloom of the garage, we were sure she was full of shit. Sarah, the youngest of us, seemed less sure.
But you know what? We never ventured into that garage again. And looking back, even knowing Papa’s stories were so much bunk, I’m half-convinced she saw Earl all the same.
A New DEAD HARVEST Review!
Today, the lovely and charming Jen Forbus steps outside her comfort zone to take a peek at DEAD HARVEST, and declares it "...a stunning story of good versus evil... daring and thought-provoking." Thanks, Jen!
October 7, 2013
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer...
Today, at Writer's Digest, a number of authors (including yours truly) tackle the question, "What's the scariest book you've ever read?" Read our answers here (bonus points to anyone who can guess mine based on the title of this post).
September 30, 2013
All book work and no free time...
...makes Chris a bad blogger.
