Brian Harmon's Blog, page 5
January 23, 2012
Hot Naked Women!
Now that I've got your attention… (Don't deny it. You're here, aren't you? Just curious, were you? I'm sure you were.) My wife and I were having a discussion today about the old adage that "sex sells" and the fact that my blog stats clearly show the most visited entry of all time to be the one titled "Making the Naughty List." (Here's the link, since you'll probably be "curious" about that one, too: http://darkthingsrising.blogspot.com/2011/09/making-naughty-list.html) My regular visitors might remember that post being about graphic material—both sexual and violent—within my writings. I made it clear that I don't set out to produce graphic content, but that I also make no effort to quash this kind of subject matter when the plot progresses in that direction. I tend to describe my work as horror, suspense, adventure and mystery, stressing these areas to draw new readers. I am careful to mention the sexual aspects of the story in the summary of The Box, openly telling potential readers in the plot summary that "their clothes lost in a moment of strange lust, they find themselves forced to navigate the unearthly stone corridors naked and vulnerable." I want to be sure that no one who is easily offended by sex and nudity stumbles unwitting into my story. If I should get a bad review, so be it, but I'd rather not receive one simply because the reader is honked off at being waylaid by an unwanted sex scene. But otherwise, I've always downplayed the sexual content in my marketing, choosing to try and separate my work from the ill-perceived erotica categories. I've never actively advertised my books as "sexy" or "steamy." But sometimes I wonder if I should.
When I first launched my author page on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/BrianHarmonBooks, for those who haven't been there and "liked" me yet), I went in search of other independent horror writers with author pages, thinking I would insert myself into a community and hopefully get a quick boost for my still-infantile social network. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to find in the way of independent horror. Instead, I ended up having "liked" a bunch of paranormal romance writers and fans. Don't get me wrong, these are fine people and I wish them the best, but they weren't very much interested in my mostly non-romantic books and I wasn't very much interested in their mostly vampire-heavy bodice-rippers. But I did notice that words like "steamy" and "spicy" and "sultry" were tossed around a lot in those circles. I found myself wondering if there might be another market out there for my books if I simply came out and instead described the plot with phrases like "inexorably thrust together into an unexpected explosion of unbridled passion" and "lost utterly in a fiery fury of intense and smoldering desire." Sounds kind of corny, I know, but I feel like there is a noticeable sentimentality for this kind of dramatic romance.
In book three of The Temple of the Blind the cast has grown to four characters, all of whom, by the end of chapter seven, are navigating the dark passageways in the nude. I've not openly advertised this part of the plot as I have no desire to be perceived as the guy who writes books about naked people…although my titles so far do seem to suggest it as a common theme, when I stop and think about it… (Really, not all my books will contain sexual content.) But would more readers be drawn to this book to read about a cute blonde and a hot brunette and two really attractive guys attempting to seek out the answer to an ancient and dangerous mystery while clad in nothing but their birthday suits? I have to wonder if that would lead to more book sales than the promise of finding out what lies beyond the fear room…
Then again, would drawing attention to the sexual elements in my books frighten away more readers than it would bring in? After all, the books are not about sex. They are not really erotic. They merely contain some erotic content. Even when the characters are nude, it is mostly downplayed. It's not as if I spend the entire narrative describing…things. (I promise I have not used the word "jiggle" even once so far.) Perhaps, then, it would bore a reader who only purchased it for the dirty bits while those who would not have been bothered by the actual amount of sex in the book might be given the impression that it is far smuttier than it really is and pass it by without giving it a chance. So the question really is does sex sell?
I also have to wonder what exactly it is that defines a book as erotic. Is it the amount of sexual content? Or is it the graphic nature of the sexual content? The language itself? My wife once commented that my use of the word "thrusting" might have been all it needed to put it into the erotic category. But I thought I kept it rather tasteful, considering the circumstances of the scene.
I suppose it doesn't really matter how I choose to market the book. The content remains what it is. If you read The Temple of the Blind, you will find steamy sex. You will find romance. You will find hot naked women and men. You will also find an engaging mystery and terrifying suspense at every turn. You will find lots of things. So whether you're looking for a good read or just…"curious"… I hope you'll check it out, if you haven't already. And let's face it, you did just read a blog post titled "Hot Naked Women!"
My Amazon Author Page (for the "curious" ones): http://www.amazon.com/Box-Book-One-Temple-Blind/dp/1463616295
When I first launched my author page on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/BrianHarmonBooks, for those who haven't been there and "liked" me yet), I went in search of other independent horror writers with author pages, thinking I would insert myself into a community and hopefully get a quick boost for my still-infantile social network. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to find in the way of independent horror. Instead, I ended up having "liked" a bunch of paranormal romance writers and fans. Don't get me wrong, these are fine people and I wish them the best, but they weren't very much interested in my mostly non-romantic books and I wasn't very much interested in their mostly vampire-heavy bodice-rippers. But I did notice that words like "steamy" and "spicy" and "sultry" were tossed around a lot in those circles. I found myself wondering if there might be another market out there for my books if I simply came out and instead described the plot with phrases like "inexorably thrust together into an unexpected explosion of unbridled passion" and "lost utterly in a fiery fury of intense and smoldering desire." Sounds kind of corny, I know, but I feel like there is a noticeable sentimentality for this kind of dramatic romance.
In book three of The Temple of the Blind the cast has grown to four characters, all of whom, by the end of chapter seven, are navigating the dark passageways in the nude. I've not openly advertised this part of the plot as I have no desire to be perceived as the guy who writes books about naked people…although my titles so far do seem to suggest it as a common theme, when I stop and think about it… (Really, not all my books will contain sexual content.) But would more readers be drawn to this book to read about a cute blonde and a hot brunette and two really attractive guys attempting to seek out the answer to an ancient and dangerous mystery while clad in nothing but their birthday suits? I have to wonder if that would lead to more book sales than the promise of finding out what lies beyond the fear room…
Then again, would drawing attention to the sexual elements in my books frighten away more readers than it would bring in? After all, the books are not about sex. They are not really erotic. They merely contain some erotic content. Even when the characters are nude, it is mostly downplayed. It's not as if I spend the entire narrative describing…things. (I promise I have not used the word "jiggle" even once so far.) Perhaps, then, it would bore a reader who only purchased it for the dirty bits while those who would not have been bothered by the actual amount of sex in the book might be given the impression that it is far smuttier than it really is and pass it by without giving it a chance. So the question really is does sex sell?
I also have to wonder what exactly it is that defines a book as erotic. Is it the amount of sexual content? Or is it the graphic nature of the sexual content? The language itself? My wife once commented that my use of the word "thrusting" might have been all it needed to put it into the erotic category. But I thought I kept it rather tasteful, considering the circumstances of the scene.
I suppose it doesn't really matter how I choose to market the book. The content remains what it is. If you read The Temple of the Blind, you will find steamy sex. You will find romance. You will find hot naked women and men. You will also find an engaging mystery and terrifying suspense at every turn. You will find lots of things. So whether you're looking for a good read or just…"curious"… I hope you'll check it out, if you haven't already. And let's face it, you did just read a blog post titled "Hot Naked Women!"
My Amazon Author Page (for the "curious" ones): http://www.amazon.com/Box-Book-One-Temple-Blind/dp/1463616295
January 17, 2012
How the World Ends
The year 2012 is upon us! Destruction is nigh! Doom! Armageddon! Wrath of God! Cats and dogs living together! Mass hysteria!
…I, for one, am not ready to start stocking my bunker just yet. We've been through this before, you know. Y2K. Hale-Bopp. That Harold Camping guy back in May and then again in October. The Spice Girls breaking up. We've endured all manner of doom. We even saw Janet Jackson's nipple on live television and somehow the world kept turning!
I will continue my writing long after the Mayan Calendar finishes its doomsday countdown. You will continue to read my books, uninterrupted by earthquakes, geomagnetic reversals or zombies. The earth will spin merrily away, undisturbed by Nibiru or Planet X or Nemesis or Krypton or whatever the hell is supposed to be lurking out there.
There will be no fire and brimstone, no comet of death, no ice age, no solar disaster, no horsemen of the apocalypse. I can tell you how the world will end. I've known it for years. And it won't be pretty. Pray tell, you say? How will the world end, you ask? What eventual doom awaits us all? I warn you, it's not for the squeamish. But if you're bold enough to handle the truth, I will tell you…
The world will end by DE-EVOLUTION.
That's right. De-evolution. Just look around you. Aren't there considerably more stupid people in the world today than there were a hundred years ago? Do you watch the news? Do you see the people you work with? Have you ever worked with customers in retail? Haven't you noticed that something is very much amiss in the gene pool?
Oh, sure, it's not as action-packed as the sky falling down around us. It's no glorious, fire-belching super volcano. It wouldn't make a very exciting movie. After all, it's simply not going to happen all at once. It's going to take a long, long time. But mark my words: when there're no more jobs in telemarketing, the incompetent will walk the earth!
It's our own fault, really. We've created such a safe and comfortable society. We have seatbelt and helmet laws. We have workplace safety regulations. We have redundant procedures on everything that could possibly cause anyone harm. It's harder and harder these days for evolution to take its natural course and kill off all the stupid people. It's supposed to be survival of the fittest, isn't it? That's how evolution works. The more suited for survival the individual is, the better he fares, the longer he lives, the more offspring he sires, the more he contributes to the evolution of the species. The stupid animals are supposed to get eaten.
Perhaps this is the price of climbing to the top of the food chain. Perhaps this is nature's way of limiting the term of office for the apex predator. It makes sense, I suppose. And we probably have it coming for knocking off those dodos…
Yes, it's going to get quite ugly in the next few centuries. But this certainly won't be our final year.
…Unless, of course, the stupid people have already found the warheads…
…I, for one, am not ready to start stocking my bunker just yet. We've been through this before, you know. Y2K. Hale-Bopp. That Harold Camping guy back in May and then again in October. The Spice Girls breaking up. We've endured all manner of doom. We even saw Janet Jackson's nipple on live television and somehow the world kept turning!
I will continue my writing long after the Mayan Calendar finishes its doomsday countdown. You will continue to read my books, uninterrupted by earthquakes, geomagnetic reversals or zombies. The earth will spin merrily away, undisturbed by Nibiru or Planet X or Nemesis or Krypton or whatever the hell is supposed to be lurking out there.
There will be no fire and brimstone, no comet of death, no ice age, no solar disaster, no horsemen of the apocalypse. I can tell you how the world will end. I've known it for years. And it won't be pretty. Pray tell, you say? How will the world end, you ask? What eventual doom awaits us all? I warn you, it's not for the squeamish. But if you're bold enough to handle the truth, I will tell you…
The world will end by DE-EVOLUTION.
That's right. De-evolution. Just look around you. Aren't there considerably more stupid people in the world today than there were a hundred years ago? Do you watch the news? Do you see the people you work with? Have you ever worked with customers in retail? Haven't you noticed that something is very much amiss in the gene pool?
Oh, sure, it's not as action-packed as the sky falling down around us. It's no glorious, fire-belching super volcano. It wouldn't make a very exciting movie. After all, it's simply not going to happen all at once. It's going to take a long, long time. But mark my words: when there're no more jobs in telemarketing, the incompetent will walk the earth!
It's our own fault, really. We've created such a safe and comfortable society. We have seatbelt and helmet laws. We have workplace safety regulations. We have redundant procedures on everything that could possibly cause anyone harm. It's harder and harder these days for evolution to take its natural course and kill off all the stupid people. It's supposed to be survival of the fittest, isn't it? That's how evolution works. The more suited for survival the individual is, the better he fares, the longer he lives, the more offspring he sires, the more he contributes to the evolution of the species. The stupid animals are supposed to get eaten.
Perhaps this is the price of climbing to the top of the food chain. Perhaps this is nature's way of limiting the term of office for the apex predator. It makes sense, I suppose. And we probably have it coming for knocking off those dodos…
Yes, it's going to get quite ugly in the next few centuries. But this certainly won't be our final year.
…Unless, of course, the stupid people have already found the warheads…
December 30, 2011
First Year's End
As December draws to a close, so does 2011. A lot has happened these past twelve months. Last year at this time, in the final hours of 2010, none of this existed. Dark Things Rising was not even a thought in my mind. My return to publishing was merely a dream collecting dust. My work sat unread within the aging files of my computer, unheard of, unloved.
It began with my website, www.HarmonUniverse.com. A simple name, I know. Rather uncreative, but it can be difficult to pick a domain name that appeals greatly to you and is not already owned. And besides, I like to think that, as a hub for my marketing efforts, "Harmon Universe" sums everything up quite nicely. The whole thing was, quite honestly, my wife's idea. (She's awful smart that way.) At the time, it was little more than a starting point, a launch pad, I thought, for advertising my writing. It was originally to be a gallery of free short stories, assembled with the hope of building a small fan base and maybe even attracting an agent. It wasn't until I began to contemplate selling my novels from my website that I discovered the miraculous world of independent publishing. Before I knew it, book one of The Temple of the Blind was available for purchase on ereaders worldwide. …And how ironic is it that I now realize my website is the most neglected of all my publishing tools? I haven't updated it nearly enough these past few months. I've promised myself to give it more attention as I journey forward.
Now, as the year draws to an end, I sit here in a cloud of contemplation, reflecting on what I've accomplished. I've released four books in my dark adventure series this year, both in digital and print formats, as well as the recent collection of short stories. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I consider my writing career a runaway success. I'm afraid you won't find me at the top of any bestseller lists this holiday season. However, I do consider 2011 to be a successful year. Just check out my reviews on Amazon. I've collected a number of fans… It's not a large number… I mean there's definitely more than zero… And my book sales have been…well…existent. Most months… Still, I remain confident that my name will grow, that more and more fans will eventually find me. I still have so much I wish to share, so many more stories, so many more adventures. But it can be so hard to wait, can't it?
Looking forward again, 2012 should be a great year. Look for the final two books of The Temple of the Blind and maybe even another short story collection. I also have a new novel in the works. And of course I will continue to entertain you here at Dark Things Rising and keep you informed at Harmon Universe. I have only just begun to write!
Thank you to everyone here on this blog who has decided to come along for the ride. Let's continue to see where this journey takes us.
It began with my website, www.HarmonUniverse.com. A simple name, I know. Rather uncreative, but it can be difficult to pick a domain name that appeals greatly to you and is not already owned. And besides, I like to think that, as a hub for my marketing efforts, "Harmon Universe" sums everything up quite nicely. The whole thing was, quite honestly, my wife's idea. (She's awful smart that way.) At the time, it was little more than a starting point, a launch pad, I thought, for advertising my writing. It was originally to be a gallery of free short stories, assembled with the hope of building a small fan base and maybe even attracting an agent. It wasn't until I began to contemplate selling my novels from my website that I discovered the miraculous world of independent publishing. Before I knew it, book one of The Temple of the Blind was available for purchase on ereaders worldwide. …And how ironic is it that I now realize my website is the most neglected of all my publishing tools? I haven't updated it nearly enough these past few months. I've promised myself to give it more attention as I journey forward.
Now, as the year draws to an end, I sit here in a cloud of contemplation, reflecting on what I've accomplished. I've released four books in my dark adventure series this year, both in digital and print formats, as well as the recent collection of short stories. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I consider my writing career a runaway success. I'm afraid you won't find me at the top of any bestseller lists this holiday season. However, I do consider 2011 to be a successful year. Just check out my reviews on Amazon. I've collected a number of fans… It's not a large number… I mean there's definitely more than zero… And my book sales have been…well…existent. Most months… Still, I remain confident that my name will grow, that more and more fans will eventually find me. I still have so much I wish to share, so many more stories, so many more adventures. But it can be so hard to wait, can't it?
Looking forward again, 2012 should be a great year. Look for the final two books of The Temple of the Blind and maybe even another short story collection. I also have a new novel in the works. And of course I will continue to entertain you here at Dark Things Rising and keep you informed at Harmon Universe. I have only just begun to write!
Thank you to everyone here on this blog who has decided to come along for the ride. Let's continue to see where this journey takes us.
December 15, 2011
Buried in the Basement
They say if you wish to make God laugh, all you have to do is devise a plan. I announced in my last post that Buried in the Basement, my new short story collection, would be available on Friday and that was apparently all I needed to ensure a very busy and distracting week. But have no fear! I had to spend the entire day today working, but I remain on schedule!
Buried in the Basement should be available at Smashwords, Amazon and Barnes & Noble in a matter of hours. It's difficult to predict exactly when the files will be ready for sale at Amazon and Barnes & Noble, since the review process can take up to 72 hours. I have already uploaded the manuscripts to both of those sites and with any luck they will be ready by morning. Smashwords, by comparison, is usually much faster, requiring only minutes when at its best, but occasionally it does get backlogged. I'll be uploading it there later tonight. With luck, it'll actually be available for sale before many of you go to bed.
In the meantime, I'd like to formally pull back the curtain and introduce my new book…
Buried in the Basement
"A creepy collection of six short horror tales by the author of The Temple of the Blind series.
A nice guy finishes last one last time. Robbed of everything he ever loved, Daniel sets out to confront the bringer of flames and put an end to his suffering one way or another. Allan is amused by the prospect of a ghost taking up residence in his modest home…until something begins to take an interest in him as well. A night of illicit passion quickly turns hellish for Roger and his wife's best friend. Kyle and Cat find themselves all alone in the dark with no memory of how they arrived there…and something unnatural is lurking in the unseen walls around them. After surviving a bizarre fall from a second story window, Jeremy's life begins to unravel around him as he finds himself and his new friends, Violet and Corey, running for their lives from a strange, black creature.
If you're a fan of scary stories, you won't want to miss this collection of tales unearthed from the darkest and most chilling corners of the basement."
This collection is approximately 44,000 words long and includes the following short stories:
"Low Tide"
"The Man in the Fire"
"From Such Small Things"
"The Hell Within the Heart"
"Children in the Dark"
"Jeremy Fell"
Excited? I know I am! Let's all try our best to sleep tonight and then have a great release day tomorrow! Then I can get to work on Buried in the Basement 2! I've got my shovel!
Buried in the Basement should be available at Smashwords, Amazon and Barnes & Noble in a matter of hours. It's difficult to predict exactly when the files will be ready for sale at Amazon and Barnes & Noble, since the review process can take up to 72 hours. I have already uploaded the manuscripts to both of those sites and with any luck they will be ready by morning. Smashwords, by comparison, is usually much faster, requiring only minutes when at its best, but occasionally it does get backlogged. I'll be uploading it there later tonight. With luck, it'll actually be available for sale before many of you go to bed.
In the meantime, I'd like to formally pull back the curtain and introduce my new book…
Buried in the Basement
"A creepy collection of six short horror tales by the author of The Temple of the Blind series.
A nice guy finishes last one last time. Robbed of everything he ever loved, Daniel sets out to confront the bringer of flames and put an end to his suffering one way or another. Allan is amused by the prospect of a ghost taking up residence in his modest home…until something begins to take an interest in him as well. A night of illicit passion quickly turns hellish for Roger and his wife's best friend. Kyle and Cat find themselves all alone in the dark with no memory of how they arrived there…and something unnatural is lurking in the unseen walls around them. After surviving a bizarre fall from a second story window, Jeremy's life begins to unravel around him as he finds himself and his new friends, Violet and Corey, running for their lives from a strange, black creature.
If you're a fan of scary stories, you won't want to miss this collection of tales unearthed from the darkest and most chilling corners of the basement."
This collection is approximately 44,000 words long and includes the following short stories:
"Low Tide"
"The Man in the Fire"
"From Such Small Things"
"The Hell Within the Heart"
"Children in the Dark"
"Jeremy Fell"
Excited? I know I am! Let's all try our best to sleep tonight and then have a great release day tomorrow! Then I can get to work on Buried in the Basement 2! I've got my shovel!
December 11, 2011
The Return of the Short Stories
First of all, I realize that I haven't updated my blog in a while and I sincerely apologize for the long wait. I'm sure you've all been very worried and simply beside yourselves without my delightfully deep and meaningful ramblings on the nature of all things…well…me. But I assure you, it is okay. I'm fine. I've returned. Where have I been, you ask? (I'm sure you're all dying to know.) I've simply been busy. Last time I posted, Thanksgiving Day was fast approaching and I was preparing my humble home for company. Soon after, the day of the feast arrived and I began my day of cooking. Unfortunately for me, my invaluable partner, my irreplaceable assistant, my wonderful and brilliant wife, was ailing from the flu and a rather overwhelming ear infection. (Don't worry, she's feeling much better now.) Somehow, I managed to neither hurt nor embarrass myself without her help…or at least, no one's told me that I embarrassed myself, which is good enough for me, I suppose. I did, however, discover a newly invigorated appreciation for my beloved spouse as I was forced to incorporate her share of the day's chores into my own. (So many potatoes to peel!) And yet, even in her discomfort she still somehow managed to remain a gracious and wonderful host to our guests and even managed to help me prepare the rolls. I was only about an hour behind schedule for all that…and since the Packers game was on in the living room, no one even seemed to notice. After Thanksgiving, and up until now, I've been occupying myself with one thing or another. My dear wife's flu has not fully infected anyone else in the household, although the children and I have all had little ailments that have knocked the energy out of us for a few days on different occasions. We've also had a number of other, much smaller parties to plan for. There have been birthdays and family visits. In the future, perhaps I should take a formal leave of things such as this blog during the months of November and December so that I don't leave you all feeling so abandoned. It really is a very busy time of year for me.
But that's all done now. I am back at my keyboard. And I'm very proud of you all for being so patient with me. You've been so calm and confident. Not one of you sent me a frenzied message begging for news of my whereabouts and assuring me that you were worried sick in my absence. Not even one of you…
But I'm here now, and I bring joyous news! I'm here to announce the return of the short stories!
Yes, that's right. The short stories are returning. This week!
It's okay. I know how exciting this must be for you. You can cry. I won't tell.
This Friday, you can look forward to the release of my brand new book, Buried in the Basement, a collection of dark and scary tales. As I stated before, included in the collection are the four stories previously available through online retailers (and available still through some of the pokier sites, I've noticed) as well as two brand new, never-before published short stories. And yes, I said Friday! This Friday. December 16.
So now I'm sure you're asking yourself, "What am I going to do with myself until Friday?" Well, for starters, you can join my brand new MAILING LIST! That's right. I have a mailing list. (I feel so grown up!) How can you be on my mailing list, you ask? It's easy! Simply contact me via my website's "Contact Me" page. (You can use this link if you don't feel like looking for it yourself: http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/contactme.) E-mail me your name and e-mail address. That's it. You don't have to write me any kind of formal letter. I don't require any sort of flattery or praise, poetry, marriage proposals, heartfelt declarations of your undying adoration of the genius that is my work. Don't trouble yourself. Your name and e-mail address is all I need. I won't spam you. I won't sell your address. I won't sign you up for embarrassing newsletters about erectile dysfunction. I'll simply send you and all my other adoring fans a little message whenever I have news that I think you wouldn't want to miss. Such as when I have a new book available, for instance.
And don't think I've forgotten that I promised my adoring fans here at Dark Things Rising something special. I have a gift for all of you. But I'm not going to spoil the surprise. Not here. It's a secret! You're going to have to join my mailing list to find out what it is. But you were going to do that anyway, weren't you? Simply sign up and watch your e-mail. But hurry! To receive the special gift, I have to have your name and e-mail address by the end of the day on Thursday.
And check back soon. I'll be posting more information about Buried in the Basement in the next few days.
But that's all done now. I am back at my keyboard. And I'm very proud of you all for being so patient with me. You've been so calm and confident. Not one of you sent me a frenzied message begging for news of my whereabouts and assuring me that you were worried sick in my absence. Not even one of you…
But I'm here now, and I bring joyous news! I'm here to announce the return of the short stories!
Yes, that's right. The short stories are returning. This week!
It's okay. I know how exciting this must be for you. You can cry. I won't tell.
This Friday, you can look forward to the release of my brand new book, Buried in the Basement, a collection of dark and scary tales. As I stated before, included in the collection are the four stories previously available through online retailers (and available still through some of the pokier sites, I've noticed) as well as two brand new, never-before published short stories. And yes, I said Friday! This Friday. December 16.
So now I'm sure you're asking yourself, "What am I going to do with myself until Friday?" Well, for starters, you can join my brand new MAILING LIST! That's right. I have a mailing list. (I feel so grown up!) How can you be on my mailing list, you ask? It's easy! Simply contact me via my website's "Contact Me" page. (You can use this link if you don't feel like looking for it yourself: http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/contactme.) E-mail me your name and e-mail address. That's it. You don't have to write me any kind of formal letter. I don't require any sort of flattery or praise, poetry, marriage proposals, heartfelt declarations of your undying adoration of the genius that is my work. Don't trouble yourself. Your name and e-mail address is all I need. I won't spam you. I won't sell your address. I won't sign you up for embarrassing newsletters about erectile dysfunction. I'll simply send you and all my other adoring fans a little message whenever I have news that I think you wouldn't want to miss. Such as when I have a new book available, for instance.
And don't think I've forgotten that I promised my adoring fans here at Dark Things Rising something special. I have a gift for all of you. But I'm not going to spoil the surprise. Not here. It's a secret! You're going to have to join my mailing list to find out what it is. But you were going to do that anyway, weren't you? Simply sign up and watch your e-mail. But hurry! To receive the special gift, I have to have your name and e-mail address by the end of the day on Thursday.
And check back soon. I'll be posting more information about Buried in the Basement in the next few days.
November 14, 2011
The Holidays Are Upon Us
Thanksgiving is fast approaching. Fall is giving way to winter with the first snowfalls. Holiday music can be heard in department stores everywhere. My wife can be heard complaining about holiday music in department stores everywhere. And we all begin to look forward to eating ourselves into a tryptophan- and gravy-induced coma. And for me, that also means it's time to get off my lazy ass and get to work.
A few years ago I took over the responsibility of Thanksgiving dinner. This was not a burden thrust upon me, understand. I volunteered. I thoroughly enjoy the cooking (and I'm not too bad at it, either, believe it or not). And it's always nice to have everyone over. I find it fun. And the cooking is really not so much work, especially given that I have the assistance of my wonderful wife, without whom I would never be able to deliver such a magnificent feast. I'm sure that without her I'd probably manage only to hurt myself…or embarrass myself…or embarrassingly hurt myself…
My menu always includes a huge roast turkey and stuffing, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, made-from-scratch rolls, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and usually enough desert for about four times as many people as would ever possibly show up. I begin working the day before, preparing everything I can ahead of time. Time management was the hardest part of learning to cook for me. When I first started out I could never make everything finish cooking at the same time. There would always be something done way too early or too late. Thanksgiving dinner, however, has to be perfect. I don't want to disappoint anyone, after all, by screwing up their favorite side and so I've turned it into an exercise in patience and meticulous planning.
And still the dinner is not even remotely the hardest part. Before I even begin shopping for my annual feast, I set out to clean every surface of my house. After all, with two children under seven in the house, it seems to be constantly in a state of disarray and there's always some chore I've put off for far too long. Like cleaning the ceiling fan blades, for example. How embarrassing. Usually by Halloween I've begun formulating a list of chores to do. And the first thing on this list is to pick up all those toys. The first thing on my children's list, however, is apparently to put them back on the floor. As quickly as possible. In as many rooms as possible. (They're really good at it too. I turn my back and playthings are scattered all over the place. I don't even hear it happen. I swear they're like little messy ninjas.) I just cleaned the house yesterday and today there are dolls and action figures and cars and Barbie accessories everywhere I look. I don't understand it. There's a little plastic Scooby Doo on the living room floor. Daphne's on the dining room table. Shaggy's in the bath tub with Polly Pocket… It's like the aftermath of an epic, Toy Story kegger. Barbie's passed out in the back of her convertible. Ken's naked in the closet. Mr. Potato Head is wearing a Cabbage Patch Kids dress. There's part of an Optimus Prime Halloween costume on top of the fish tank and a Little People school bus in the laundry hamper. There's a plush Spongebob Squarepants in the refrigerator! How does that even happen? One of Polly's shoes was inside the sock I pulled out of the dryer this morning. It's out of control!
Assuming I have any hope of staying ahead of these toy ninjas, I still have to sweep and mop and vacuum and dust. The laundry has to be put away and the dishes absolutely must be clean before I start cooking. I'll need all the space I can get when I start prepping that turkey.
I'll save the windows for last, like I always do, in the naïve hope that they will stay clean at least long enough for someone to see them. But, alas, I will barely have the first room done before I turn around to find little hand prints smeared across one or more of the panes. Or perhaps the three-year-old will simply be licking the glass. Again.
And I'll have turned my back again by this time, so let's not forget to pick up those toys…
Is it all worth it in the end? Of course it is. I look forward to it all year long, actually. And I have no one to blame but myself for letting those ceiling fan blades get so dusty. But I do wish the ninjas would give it a rest for a while.
And what is going on with Shaggy and Polly in there…?
A few years ago I took over the responsibility of Thanksgiving dinner. This was not a burden thrust upon me, understand. I volunteered. I thoroughly enjoy the cooking (and I'm not too bad at it, either, believe it or not). And it's always nice to have everyone over. I find it fun. And the cooking is really not so much work, especially given that I have the assistance of my wonderful wife, without whom I would never be able to deliver such a magnificent feast. I'm sure that without her I'd probably manage only to hurt myself…or embarrass myself…or embarrassingly hurt myself…
My menu always includes a huge roast turkey and stuffing, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, made-from-scratch rolls, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and usually enough desert for about four times as many people as would ever possibly show up. I begin working the day before, preparing everything I can ahead of time. Time management was the hardest part of learning to cook for me. When I first started out I could never make everything finish cooking at the same time. There would always be something done way too early or too late. Thanksgiving dinner, however, has to be perfect. I don't want to disappoint anyone, after all, by screwing up their favorite side and so I've turned it into an exercise in patience and meticulous planning.
And still the dinner is not even remotely the hardest part. Before I even begin shopping for my annual feast, I set out to clean every surface of my house. After all, with two children under seven in the house, it seems to be constantly in a state of disarray and there's always some chore I've put off for far too long. Like cleaning the ceiling fan blades, for example. How embarrassing. Usually by Halloween I've begun formulating a list of chores to do. And the first thing on this list is to pick up all those toys. The first thing on my children's list, however, is apparently to put them back on the floor. As quickly as possible. In as many rooms as possible. (They're really good at it too. I turn my back and playthings are scattered all over the place. I don't even hear it happen. I swear they're like little messy ninjas.) I just cleaned the house yesterday and today there are dolls and action figures and cars and Barbie accessories everywhere I look. I don't understand it. There's a little plastic Scooby Doo on the living room floor. Daphne's on the dining room table. Shaggy's in the bath tub with Polly Pocket… It's like the aftermath of an epic, Toy Story kegger. Barbie's passed out in the back of her convertible. Ken's naked in the closet. Mr. Potato Head is wearing a Cabbage Patch Kids dress. There's part of an Optimus Prime Halloween costume on top of the fish tank and a Little People school bus in the laundry hamper. There's a plush Spongebob Squarepants in the refrigerator! How does that even happen? One of Polly's shoes was inside the sock I pulled out of the dryer this morning. It's out of control!
Assuming I have any hope of staying ahead of these toy ninjas, I still have to sweep and mop and vacuum and dust. The laundry has to be put away and the dishes absolutely must be clean before I start cooking. I'll need all the space I can get when I start prepping that turkey.
I'll save the windows for last, like I always do, in the naïve hope that they will stay clean at least long enough for someone to see them. But, alas, I will barely have the first room done before I turn around to find little hand prints smeared across one or more of the panes. Or perhaps the three-year-old will simply be licking the glass. Again.
And I'll have turned my back again by this time, so let's not forget to pick up those toys…
Is it all worth it in the end? Of course it is. I look forward to it all year long, actually. And I have no one to blame but myself for letting those ceiling fan blades get so dusty. But I do wish the ninjas would give it a rest for a while.
And what is going on with Shaggy and Polly in there…?
November 12, 2011
Free Preview - "Low Tide"
In anticipation of my new short story collection, and as a thank you to all my fans who keep checking in with me here at Dark Things Rising, I've decided to post the first tale from the aforementioned collection right here as a free preview.
Some of you may have already read "Low Tide" as it was among those for sale online until I removed it recently. To you, I say thank you. "Low Tide" was originally published in a little small press magazine called Welcome To NOD in the Spring of 2000, which also turned out to be the final issue for the magazine. As a result, almost no one I knew at the time had the opportunity to read it. Now, more than a decade later, I'm happy to offer it to everyone. I hope you all enjoy it.
And don't forget to check back here soon. I still have something special in store for all my blog fans out there.
Low Tide
by Brian Harmon
There was a strange stillness in the air as the dusty pickup crept onto the empty beach and rumbled slowly to a stop.
A handsome, dark-haired man sat silently behind the wheel for a long moment as he stared through the dusty windshield at the wreckage and debris that surrounded him. It was all that was left of the cabin that had stood in this very spot only a week before.
The storm had moved through very quickly, and had actually come very close to missing the little structure. A few short miles up the beach, the only damage had been a few fallen limbs and some washed-out driveways. "Bad luck," his friends had called it, but his luck was beyond bad.
Everything had seemed to be going great. Just a year ago, he'd had all that he ever needed: a beautiful wife, a great job that put him rubbing elbows with some of the wealthiest people in the world, exotic cars, plenty of the things that made him feel like he was worth something…like his private cabin on the beach, for example.
He could not help but wonder where it all went wrong, how he lost everything so utterly. It just didn't seem possible. One day he was making love to his wife in the shower, and then talking about the trip to Paris they had been planning for months as they dried each other off. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on his couch staring at the letter she had left him—the only goodbye she had allowed him—and trying his damnedest not to cry.
Then, to make matters worse, he lost a promotion during his struggle to get over her, and the man who earned that promotion over him wasted no time in letting him go. It wasn't anything personal. It was simply that his office would look a lot more appealing with the redhead from downstairs sitting at the desk instead of him. After all, he wasn't qualified to do any of the extra errands for the boss that she supposedly was.
He supposed he could not blame the man. He had the power after all. He'd won the position. It was his decision. That was what being on top was all about. He might've done the exact same thing.
Maybe.
One never knew.
At last, he opened the door and stepped out into the warm sunlight. Debris was scattered as far as he could see across the rocky beach. There would be a lot of work to do before this mess was cleaned up. He didn't think he could afford to have it rebuilt now. He'd probably be forced to sell it and eat the loss.
He kicked some trash from his path and uncovered a broken and muddy picture. He picked it up, letting the water run from the broken frame. Immediately, he recognized it as the picture of his ex-wife that had hung upon the wall in his bedroom. Her face was distorted and scarred upon the paper…not unlike the way he had every right to view her. He thought about dropping the picture back into the mud, even grinding his heel into her washed-out face, but he didn't. As bitter as he should have been, as he had every right to be, he simply did not have it in his heart to be angry with her. He still missed her far too much. He still loved her.
He knew that he was a sentimental fool but he didn't care. She had meant everything to him. He placed the picture gently atop a heap of dry debris and walked on through the disaster area of his life.
He was not a stupid man. He knew that it was his own, nice-boy attitude that got him into these predicaments. Nice guys finish last. Everything in his life had always ended up this way. He'd rise to the top of the world, only to be tossed aside by the next guy to arrive.
But it was just his nature. He simply could not see how anything would justify being bitter and mean about things. He wished he could be bitter about things. At least bitterness hurt less than heartache.
He shook his head wearily. He remembered the fight he put up in court to keep the cabin. It was the only thing he had actually cared about at the time. It was just something to hold onto, a lifeboat for his drowning sanity.
"Should've kept the Corvette," he muttered as he stepped through the rubble.
He turned and walked away from the ruins. The past few days—not to mention the past few months—had been so incredibly stressful for him. Right now his head was pounding and he felt that he needed to take a walk. Perhaps the beach could offer some serenity.
The scent of the ocean drifted across the sand and the rocks as he made his way slowly to the shoreline. He stepped over an old tire and kicked aside what might once have been a suitcase. It was surprising what could sometimes wash up onto the shore, especially after a storm.
He lifted his face toward the sky. "Why me?" he asked loudly. "What did I do?"
A giggle rose from the water just ahead of him and he froze, startled. He gazed out into the warm sea. There, a woman sat up to her neck in the surf, staring back at him. Only her tanned face and sandy hair were visible above the soft waves.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" she asked as she grinned up at him.
He could say nothing. He was shocked that there was anyone out here at all, much less the lovely vision he was seeing now.
The woman giggled again. "What? You'll talk to yourself, but you won't talk to me?"
"I…I'm sorry," he stammered. "I…"
"I'm just out for a swim." She stood up and began walking toward him. He had been shocked to find her there at all, and was astonished to see that she wore no bathing suit. "Want to join me?"
He stared at her as she stepped out of the water, stark naked, and crossed the open beach. The sunlight glistened upon her wet skin as she walked right up to him and placed her hands against his chest. He felt the warm seawater soaking into his shirt.
She was like something from a movie. Her every movement, every gesture, was a masterpiece of beauty, grace and sexuality.
He could say nothing. He stood frozen as the woman slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid her wet fingers down his chest.
"Come on," she pleaded. "Live a little. Have fun."
He looked down at her, studying her. She had a gorgeous body. Her skin was soft and flawless. Her round breasts, still glistening from the surf, shimmered in the gleaming sunlight. Her eyes were brilliant and green. They stared directly into his, bold and unafraid. She was unbelievably beautiful, easily the most perfect woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
She backed away from him, beckoning him with her finger. "Come on. I want to show you something."
He shook away his excitement and began to remove the rest of his clothes as she dived back into the waves and slowly swam away from him. This was exactly what he needed: a little good luck to ease his bad. And this was good luck. How many guys, he asked himself, go for a walk on a beach and find a beautiful, sex-crazed woman swimming naked in the water? Had it ever happened to anyone before? He was willing to bet it had never happened to that cocky jerk who took his job. Oh, if only he could see this!
He cast his clothes aside and followed quickly after her. He did not want to waste time wondering who she was or why she was here. This was his chance to have a little fun, like she said. This was his chance to live, to do something he had never done before. This was just what he needed!
He swam out into the water, his heart pounding with excitement, following the gorgeous, teasing woman until long after he could no longer touch bottom. Then he stopped and looked around.
The woman was gone.
He turned in a circle, looking, searching every rock and every wave. Where was she? She could not have simply disappeared.
He heard a soft splash behind him and turned, startled to find her right before his eyes. "Were you under water that whole time?" he asked. It seemed to him that she had been under for quite a while, but perhaps it had only been a moment. After all, he'd been busy trying to swim out to her. He wasn't in the best of shape these days. He couldn't even remember the last time he swam.
She giggled and moved closer to him. "My friends say I have gills," she replied.
"You must."
"You know," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her naked body against his, "I didn't expect to see anyone out here."
"You didn't?" To his own ears, it sounded like a pathetic reply, childish even, but her eyes only brightened at his obvious astonishment. She seemed amused by him and his fascination with her.
"Must be our lucky day."
"Must be!" he agreed. He could no longer hold his excitement. He felt like a child on Christmas Morning.
She thrust herself forward and kissed him hard. He could feel himself being pushed under the water, and had to struggle to keep his head above the waves.
She smiled and tugged at his wrist. "Come on. I want to show you something." Holding onto his hand, she began to descend beneath the surface.
He took a deep breath and followed her into the depths below.
He opened his eyes as the woman led him deeper and deeper into the murky darkness. He could feel the pressure growing at his ears and in his chest, and wondered if he would be able to descend as deep as she wanted him to go. But then his toes dipped into the soft sand and the woman turned to face him again. She pulled him close and pressed her lips to his.
He reached out and grasped her breasts, kneading them with his hungry fingers as she thrust herself eagerly toward him.
This was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He was making love to a gorgeous woman on the ocean floor. This was the sort of thing other men lied about while drinking with their friends. This was the stuff of movies, not of true life…especially not of his life.
But the pressure was growing rapidly in his chest and though he wanted nothing more than to stay with her, he could not. He was not in good enough shape. He could not hold his breath for so long. Reluctantly, he let go of her and began to rise toward the surface.
But she grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him down again. She kissed his neck and his chest, her lips venturing lower and lower as she held him with surprising strength.
He struggled to rise to the surface again, but like before, she would not let him leave.
My friends say I have gills, she had said.
His heart began to thump painfully in his chest. His lungs ached. And yet she had not even begun to look as though she needed to surface. He pulled at her, trying to wrench his hand free from her unyielding grip, but she would not let him go.
She floated just beneath him, gazing up into his eyes, and for the first time, even through the blurry murkiness of the water, he noticed how brilliantly green her eyes were. They seemed almost to glow in the murky depth of the ocean water.
As he stared down at her, she opened her mouth, revealing rows of long and jagged teeth. Terror swallowed him, paralyzing him. In his panic, he wondered absurdly how he had failed to notice them while kissing her. He struggled to pull his hand away from her, but she was so very strong. Valuable breath belched from his mouth and nose as he fought to free himself.
He was certain that he was about to feel those razor-edged teeth in his flesh, but he was wrong about that. She did not snap at him. She did not even move toward him. Instead, something appeared from her throat. A long, tongue-like thing snaked from between her lips and rose toward him, gray and dark, like an eel. It hovered before him for a just a moment and then lashed out at him in the murky depths with the speed of a frog snatching a fly from the air. There was a piercing pain in his stomach, and then something awful was squirming deep inside his belly.
He tried to scream.
On the surface of the water, not far from the beach, the still waves were shattered by the quiet fury of escaping bubbles. Far below, the water became clouded with blood, the blue murkiness filling with the dark red tint of gore as predator and prey struggled in the shallow depths of the sea.
An hour later, the man awoke upon the sand, his body naked and cold with the salty wetness of the sea. Slowly, he stood up and walked shakily back toward his truck. There was a fleshy wound on his stomach, just below his belly button, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been. It was healing fast.
He stopped once to pick up the clothes he had left strewn upon the sand, but did not bother to put them on. He had things to do. His flesh tingled, and he yearned to go back into the sea, but he could not. Not yet. He knew somehow that he only had perhaps a week before he would have to return to the sea and remain there, but in the meantime he had some people to visit. First was his lying, ungrateful bitch of an ex-wife. Second was that high-on-his-horse bastard that had won his promotion and then fired him for his efforts. Then there were others. Maybe that whore redhead who slept her way into his old office. And plenty more. He would make them all pay. He would make them all hurt. Then he would return to his princess of the deep.
As he walked, a long, snaky thing emerged from his throat and nimbly brushed the sand from his ear.
Some of you may have already read "Low Tide" as it was among those for sale online until I removed it recently. To you, I say thank you. "Low Tide" was originally published in a little small press magazine called Welcome To NOD in the Spring of 2000, which also turned out to be the final issue for the magazine. As a result, almost no one I knew at the time had the opportunity to read it. Now, more than a decade later, I'm happy to offer it to everyone. I hope you all enjoy it.
And don't forget to check back here soon. I still have something special in store for all my blog fans out there.
Low Tide
by Brian Harmon
There was a strange stillness in the air as the dusty pickup crept onto the empty beach and rumbled slowly to a stop.
A handsome, dark-haired man sat silently behind the wheel for a long moment as he stared through the dusty windshield at the wreckage and debris that surrounded him. It was all that was left of the cabin that had stood in this very spot only a week before.
The storm had moved through very quickly, and had actually come very close to missing the little structure. A few short miles up the beach, the only damage had been a few fallen limbs and some washed-out driveways. "Bad luck," his friends had called it, but his luck was beyond bad.
Everything had seemed to be going great. Just a year ago, he'd had all that he ever needed: a beautiful wife, a great job that put him rubbing elbows with some of the wealthiest people in the world, exotic cars, plenty of the things that made him feel like he was worth something…like his private cabin on the beach, for example.
He could not help but wonder where it all went wrong, how he lost everything so utterly. It just didn't seem possible. One day he was making love to his wife in the shower, and then talking about the trip to Paris they had been planning for months as they dried each other off. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on his couch staring at the letter she had left him—the only goodbye she had allowed him—and trying his damnedest not to cry.
Then, to make matters worse, he lost a promotion during his struggle to get over her, and the man who earned that promotion over him wasted no time in letting him go. It wasn't anything personal. It was simply that his office would look a lot more appealing with the redhead from downstairs sitting at the desk instead of him. After all, he wasn't qualified to do any of the extra errands for the boss that she supposedly was.
He supposed he could not blame the man. He had the power after all. He'd won the position. It was his decision. That was what being on top was all about. He might've done the exact same thing.
Maybe.
One never knew.
At last, he opened the door and stepped out into the warm sunlight. Debris was scattered as far as he could see across the rocky beach. There would be a lot of work to do before this mess was cleaned up. He didn't think he could afford to have it rebuilt now. He'd probably be forced to sell it and eat the loss.
He kicked some trash from his path and uncovered a broken and muddy picture. He picked it up, letting the water run from the broken frame. Immediately, he recognized it as the picture of his ex-wife that had hung upon the wall in his bedroom. Her face was distorted and scarred upon the paper…not unlike the way he had every right to view her. He thought about dropping the picture back into the mud, even grinding his heel into her washed-out face, but he didn't. As bitter as he should have been, as he had every right to be, he simply did not have it in his heart to be angry with her. He still missed her far too much. He still loved her.
He knew that he was a sentimental fool but he didn't care. She had meant everything to him. He placed the picture gently atop a heap of dry debris and walked on through the disaster area of his life.
He was not a stupid man. He knew that it was his own, nice-boy attitude that got him into these predicaments. Nice guys finish last. Everything in his life had always ended up this way. He'd rise to the top of the world, only to be tossed aside by the next guy to arrive.
But it was just his nature. He simply could not see how anything would justify being bitter and mean about things. He wished he could be bitter about things. At least bitterness hurt less than heartache.
He shook his head wearily. He remembered the fight he put up in court to keep the cabin. It was the only thing he had actually cared about at the time. It was just something to hold onto, a lifeboat for his drowning sanity.
"Should've kept the Corvette," he muttered as he stepped through the rubble.
He turned and walked away from the ruins. The past few days—not to mention the past few months—had been so incredibly stressful for him. Right now his head was pounding and he felt that he needed to take a walk. Perhaps the beach could offer some serenity.
The scent of the ocean drifted across the sand and the rocks as he made his way slowly to the shoreline. He stepped over an old tire and kicked aside what might once have been a suitcase. It was surprising what could sometimes wash up onto the shore, especially after a storm.
He lifted his face toward the sky. "Why me?" he asked loudly. "What did I do?"
A giggle rose from the water just ahead of him and he froze, startled. He gazed out into the warm sea. There, a woman sat up to her neck in the surf, staring back at him. Only her tanned face and sandy hair were visible above the soft waves.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" she asked as she grinned up at him.
He could say nothing. He was shocked that there was anyone out here at all, much less the lovely vision he was seeing now.
The woman giggled again. "What? You'll talk to yourself, but you won't talk to me?"
"I…I'm sorry," he stammered. "I…"
"I'm just out for a swim." She stood up and began walking toward him. He had been shocked to find her there at all, and was astonished to see that she wore no bathing suit. "Want to join me?"
He stared at her as she stepped out of the water, stark naked, and crossed the open beach. The sunlight glistened upon her wet skin as she walked right up to him and placed her hands against his chest. He felt the warm seawater soaking into his shirt.
She was like something from a movie. Her every movement, every gesture, was a masterpiece of beauty, grace and sexuality.
He could say nothing. He stood frozen as the woman slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid her wet fingers down his chest.
"Come on," she pleaded. "Live a little. Have fun."
He looked down at her, studying her. She had a gorgeous body. Her skin was soft and flawless. Her round breasts, still glistening from the surf, shimmered in the gleaming sunlight. Her eyes were brilliant and green. They stared directly into his, bold and unafraid. She was unbelievably beautiful, easily the most perfect woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
She backed away from him, beckoning him with her finger. "Come on. I want to show you something."
He shook away his excitement and began to remove the rest of his clothes as she dived back into the waves and slowly swam away from him. This was exactly what he needed: a little good luck to ease his bad. And this was good luck. How many guys, he asked himself, go for a walk on a beach and find a beautiful, sex-crazed woman swimming naked in the water? Had it ever happened to anyone before? He was willing to bet it had never happened to that cocky jerk who took his job. Oh, if only he could see this!
He cast his clothes aside and followed quickly after her. He did not want to waste time wondering who she was or why she was here. This was his chance to have a little fun, like she said. This was his chance to live, to do something he had never done before. This was just what he needed!
He swam out into the water, his heart pounding with excitement, following the gorgeous, teasing woman until long after he could no longer touch bottom. Then he stopped and looked around.
The woman was gone.
He turned in a circle, looking, searching every rock and every wave. Where was she? She could not have simply disappeared.
He heard a soft splash behind him and turned, startled to find her right before his eyes. "Were you under water that whole time?" he asked. It seemed to him that she had been under for quite a while, but perhaps it had only been a moment. After all, he'd been busy trying to swim out to her. He wasn't in the best of shape these days. He couldn't even remember the last time he swam.
She giggled and moved closer to him. "My friends say I have gills," she replied.
"You must."
"You know," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her naked body against his, "I didn't expect to see anyone out here."
"You didn't?" To his own ears, it sounded like a pathetic reply, childish even, but her eyes only brightened at his obvious astonishment. She seemed amused by him and his fascination with her.
"Must be our lucky day."
"Must be!" he agreed. He could no longer hold his excitement. He felt like a child on Christmas Morning.
She thrust herself forward and kissed him hard. He could feel himself being pushed under the water, and had to struggle to keep his head above the waves.
She smiled and tugged at his wrist. "Come on. I want to show you something." Holding onto his hand, she began to descend beneath the surface.
He took a deep breath and followed her into the depths below.
He opened his eyes as the woman led him deeper and deeper into the murky darkness. He could feel the pressure growing at his ears and in his chest, and wondered if he would be able to descend as deep as she wanted him to go. But then his toes dipped into the soft sand and the woman turned to face him again. She pulled him close and pressed her lips to his.
He reached out and grasped her breasts, kneading them with his hungry fingers as she thrust herself eagerly toward him.
This was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He was making love to a gorgeous woman on the ocean floor. This was the sort of thing other men lied about while drinking with their friends. This was the stuff of movies, not of true life…especially not of his life.
But the pressure was growing rapidly in his chest and though he wanted nothing more than to stay with her, he could not. He was not in good enough shape. He could not hold his breath for so long. Reluctantly, he let go of her and began to rise toward the surface.
But she grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him down again. She kissed his neck and his chest, her lips venturing lower and lower as she held him with surprising strength.
He struggled to rise to the surface again, but like before, she would not let him leave.
My friends say I have gills, she had said.
His heart began to thump painfully in his chest. His lungs ached. And yet she had not even begun to look as though she needed to surface. He pulled at her, trying to wrench his hand free from her unyielding grip, but she would not let him go.
She floated just beneath him, gazing up into his eyes, and for the first time, even through the blurry murkiness of the water, he noticed how brilliantly green her eyes were. They seemed almost to glow in the murky depth of the ocean water.
As he stared down at her, she opened her mouth, revealing rows of long and jagged teeth. Terror swallowed him, paralyzing him. In his panic, he wondered absurdly how he had failed to notice them while kissing her. He struggled to pull his hand away from her, but she was so very strong. Valuable breath belched from his mouth and nose as he fought to free himself.
He was certain that he was about to feel those razor-edged teeth in his flesh, but he was wrong about that. She did not snap at him. She did not even move toward him. Instead, something appeared from her throat. A long, tongue-like thing snaked from between her lips and rose toward him, gray and dark, like an eel. It hovered before him for a just a moment and then lashed out at him in the murky depths with the speed of a frog snatching a fly from the air. There was a piercing pain in his stomach, and then something awful was squirming deep inside his belly.
He tried to scream.
On the surface of the water, not far from the beach, the still waves were shattered by the quiet fury of escaping bubbles. Far below, the water became clouded with blood, the blue murkiness filling with the dark red tint of gore as predator and prey struggled in the shallow depths of the sea.
An hour later, the man awoke upon the sand, his body naked and cold with the salty wetness of the sea. Slowly, he stood up and walked shakily back toward his truck. There was a fleshy wound on his stomach, just below his belly button, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been. It was healing fast.
He stopped once to pick up the clothes he had left strewn upon the sand, but did not bother to put them on. He had things to do. His flesh tingled, and he yearned to go back into the sea, but he could not. Not yet. He knew somehow that he only had perhaps a week before he would have to return to the sea and remain there, but in the meantime he had some people to visit. First was his lying, ungrateful bitch of an ex-wife. Second was that high-on-his-horse bastard that had won his promotion and then fired him for his efforts. Then there were others. Maybe that whore redhead who slept her way into his old office. And plenty more. He would make them all pay. He would make them all hurt. Then he would return to his princess of the deep.
As he walked, a long, snaky thing emerged from his throat and nimbly brushed the sand from his ear.
November 5, 2011
Where Have All the Short Stories Gone?
For any of you who might not have noticed, my short stories have been removed from many of my author pages. I know, I know, what kind of person wouldn't have noticed such a thing? I'm sure all of you have been sitting there at your computers, wringing your hands, wondering desperately where all the short stories have gone. But perhaps one or two people haven't yet noticed. Let's not judge them. I'm sure their reason was quite life-threatening. It's perfectly okay.
Now, let me assure you that you have no reason to panic. The short stories will be back. That's right, it's okay. Take a moment to compose yourself and then I will explain everything…
I would like to start by saying thank you to everyone who bought my short stories while they were available. I hope that you all enjoyed them. However, I've chosen to pull those titles from their virtual shelves in order to consolidate them into a single collection which I expect to release sometime this month. This is solely a marketing decision, as the individual short stories were not selling as well as I'd like to see. It seems that collections of short stories may be much more popular, which is no big surprise, since they tend to be much better values.
For anyone who missed out on any of my titles for any reason—strange as such reasons must surely be—have no fear. All four short stories will be available in the new collection along with two brand new short stories never seen anywhere before. And I'll have a special offer just for my devoted fans right here on this blog. Watch this site for more details in the near future.
I hope that I have eased your minds and made it a little easier for you to sleep tonight. Except that now you are no doubt incredibly excited about my new short story collection and wondering about this amazing special offer I have teased to you. Sorry about that. If you simply cannot wait, remember that "The Man in the Fire" remains free to read on my website at http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/themaninthefire, so if you haven't read it, head over there right now and check it out.
Now, let me assure you that you have no reason to panic. The short stories will be back. That's right, it's okay. Take a moment to compose yourself and then I will explain everything…
I would like to start by saying thank you to everyone who bought my short stories while they were available. I hope that you all enjoyed them. However, I've chosen to pull those titles from their virtual shelves in order to consolidate them into a single collection which I expect to release sometime this month. This is solely a marketing decision, as the individual short stories were not selling as well as I'd like to see. It seems that collections of short stories may be much more popular, which is no big surprise, since they tend to be much better values.
For anyone who missed out on any of my titles for any reason—strange as such reasons must surely be—have no fear. All four short stories will be available in the new collection along with two brand new short stories never seen anywhere before. And I'll have a special offer just for my devoted fans right here on this blog. Watch this site for more details in the near future.
I hope that I have eased your minds and made it a little easier for you to sleep tonight. Except that now you are no doubt incredibly excited about my new short story collection and wondering about this amazing special offer I have teased to you. Sorry about that. If you simply cannot wait, remember that "The Man in the Fire" remains free to read on my website at http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/themaninthefire, so if you haven't read it, head over there right now and check it out.
October 24, 2011
Book Four is Here!
Road Beneath the Wood (The Temple of the Blind #4) is now available! Now, I know you're all excited, but just take it easy. We don't want anyone to hurt themselves. Let's all just calmly head on over to Amazon's Kindle store at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005YNO0JK or to Barnes & Noble's Nook books at http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/e/2940013307056 or you can just go to Smashwords for any format you want at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/98599/?ref=brianharmon and everyone can get a copy. Then you can all tell all your friends how great it is and they can all buy a copy, too. And so on and so forth……Go on now. …You don't have to be that calm about it. You can hurry a little. …(Why won't anyone ever humor me?)Oh well. Enjoy the book when you get to it and feel free to leave a message and let us all know what you think. 
October 16, 2011
Sneak Peak: ROAD BENEATH THE WOOD
I have a special treat today for all my followers here at Dark Things Rising: A sneak peak at my upcoming book, Road Beneath the Wood! This is book number four in The Temple of the Blind series and I expect it to release sometime this week at Smashwords, Kindle and B&N. But just for my adoring fans here on my blog (humor me) I have for you today the entire first chapter!
If you'd like to sample the first chapters of books one, two and three, head over to my website at http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/templeo... and check them out. But I'm sure most of you have already read each of those books half a dozen times by now (again, humor me). For those of you who haven't read through the end of book three (I'm sure there was some sort of horrible catastrophe you were swept up in) feel free to stop reading right here and go get caught up. This blog post will still be here when you get back. If you're just too darn impatient to wait until you've caught up, I've tried my best not to spoil too much. But I always like a story better when I have no idea what's going to happen, so if you're like me, I won't blame you if you skip the rest of this post.
In this fourth installment of my epic horror, adventure and suspense series, we find Wayne where we last left him, alone, separated from his friends, and facing a profoundly intimidating task…
Book Description for Road Beneath the Wood:
"Always close one seal before opening another. Never linger long in one place. Do not touch the roots of the trees that grow in the Wood. If you see something in the darkness, do not investigate it. If anything should call your name while you are down here, do not answer. You must ignore these things. When you pass a stone marker in the road, you must not look back. This is important. No matter what you hear or feel, you must not look back. You must not stop walking and you must not run. Do nothing but walk straight ahead until you pass the second marker. If you fail to do this, you will die. Only after passing the second marker may you look back. The things in this tunnel are imaginary as long as you don't prove them otherwise…"
Separated from his companions, Wayne stands alone as he prepares to take his first steps on a journey through a terrifying, personal hell. The dark and ancient tunnel that lies before him will test his courage to its very limits, and force him to face even himself. The rules have been explained to him, but can he really ignore these "imaginary" things to save his own life? And even if he is strong enough to endure this torturous road, does he have what it takes to survive what lies beyond? The things that lurk in the Wood are not imaginary. It is a place of immeasurable darkness and despair, a place where death is eternal, but never final…
Can he overcome the fearsome road before him, survive the unthinkable horrors that await him in the black forest beyond and finally fulfill the promise he thought he had failed to keep?
And now, Chapter One of Road Beneath the Wood:
Wayne did not know how long he had lain upon the cold, dirt floor of the tunnel before consciousness finally returned to him.
He sat up, struggling to orient himself. He was cold and naked and filthy. He felt dizzy, his thoughts sluggish as he struggled to rise from his unnatural sleep. He did not know what the "gift" was that the Sentinel Queen gave him, but he was fairly sure that it was nothing he'd wanted. His body felt weighted, as though he'd performed some great physical feat, and there was a cold dampness upon his body that made him feel even dirtier than the reeking, rotten sludge that was dried upon his skin and clotted in his thick, black hair.
He'd been through hell tonight already. First, he was attacked by that thing inside Gilbert House. Then he'd walked for hours, naked, through miles of dark passages within the Temple of the Blind, collecting cuts and bruises along the way and battling to the brink of exhaustion his own fear. He'd even trudged through that disgusting lake of foul-smelling mud, only to end up at the mercy of a long, freakish woman with no face.
He was not so much seduced by her as raped, and that feeling was like a vile worm wriggling around inside his guts.
Even his dreams had seduced him. He dreamt of Laura Swiff, naked and lusting, her voluptuous body glistening with sweat. He dreamt about Nicole Smart, her amazing breasts bare and pressed against his skin as she gazed up at him with a naughty gleam in her sexy eyes. He dreamt about Olivia Shadey, her sweet face gazing up at him, pleading with him as he reached out to touch her.
He even dreamt about Gail Porbin.
He hadn't let himself think about Gail in a very long time, but as his dreams began to break apart and he felt himself rising toward consciousness, he found himself remembering her vividly. She was a time in his life that seemed very far away, though the years between now and then were not so many.
Gail was a confident girl, a member of the volleyball team, well liked by her friends and well admired by the boys. She was petite, with a gorgeous figure, and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Back then, she was everything he'd ever wanted. She was beautiful, popular, sexy, free-spirited, easy going…but in the end he'd let her go. It had been much easier to break up with her than to go off to college without her. He'd set himself free of that leash and prepared for a new life with new friends, new women and new opportunities. At least, these were the things he told himself every night as he lay in bed waiting for peaceful, unthinking sleep.
His flashlight was lying next to him, still on, still intact. He vaguely remembered dropping it when the Sentinel Queen advanced on him. He rubbed at a dull pain in his temple and looked around. The walls of this tunnel, as well as the floor, changed abruptly from smooth stone to coarse dirt and rock about halfway between the first and second seals. He was sitting on the dirt, only a short distance from where the stone ended, close enough to see both seals without picking up the flashlight. He was alone. The Sentinel Queen was gone.
Behind him, the first seal was tightly closed again.
He stood up and walked back to this first seal, leaving the flashlight on the floor. This side of the stone was also covered with those odd carvings, but there was no circle like there had been on the other side. He ran his hands over the surface. It was hard and cold. He pushed, but it would not budge. Like it or not, he was locked in. He could only go forward.
He walked back to the place where he'd been lying when he awoke and picked up his flashlight. Ahead of him, there stood another heavy slab of stone, the second of the fourteen ancient seals he had been told about. On the left-hand side, amidst the shapes and lines and symbols that were carved into it, was a single circle, about ten inches in diameter.
He tried first to push outside the circle, to move the great stone slab without the trick he'd been shown. The seal might as well have been a mountain. Several tons of solid stone stood against his bare hands and would not budge. But when he put his hand inside the circle, the seal withdrew as though intimidated, rotating on its center with the ease of a well-oiled gate. There was a sound as it moved, the coarse grinding of tons of stone across the floor, the sound one would expect to hear while performing such a feat, but the effort was absent, as though he were not actually moving the stone, but watching someone else do it.
Beyond the second seal, the tunnel stretched away into the darkness. He could not see the third seal from here, only a dense blackness that hovered ahead of him, almost mocking him.
Always close one seal before opening another, the Sentinel Queen had told him, and he quickly found that he could push the seal closed from the other side without the circle. It turned without effort until it was flush with the wall, and then it would budge no more, regardless of where he pushed. He wondered how these seals worked, but he did not dwell upon it long. Having permanently closed this one, he felt a quiet sort of anxiousness building within him. What exactly was he locking himself inside?
But there was no turning back. From the start there was nowhere to go but forward. The Sentinel Queen made sure of that when she left him in the tunnel and locked the first seal between them.
He turned and began his long walk into the ominous, looming darkness as a feeling of deep apprehension began to grow inside his gut. He had no idea what awaited him ahead. He had no idea if there was anything on the other side of the darkness but lonely death. He had no clothes, no supplies, no weapons with which to defend himself. He had nothing at all except blind faith and desperate hope that somehow he could overcome this challenge and fulfill the promise he made.
Never linger long in one place. Do not touch the roots of the trees that grow in the Wood. If you see something in the darkness, do not investigate it. If anything should call your name while you are down here, do not answer. You must ignore these things. These were the warnings of the Sentinel Queen, exactly as she had spoken them, and remembering them now, Wayne felt an icy shiver run up his back. The things in this tunnel are imaginary as long as you don't prove them otherwise…
He had a terrible feeling that this journey was going to test his courage far more than the fear room ever could.
Intrigued? Look for Road Beneath the Wood at online bookstores soon. That is, if you're brave enough…
If you'd like to sample the first chapters of books one, two and three, head over to my website at http://www.HarmonUniverse.com/templeo... and check them out. But I'm sure most of you have already read each of those books half a dozen times by now (again, humor me). For those of you who haven't read through the end of book three (I'm sure there was some sort of horrible catastrophe you were swept up in) feel free to stop reading right here and go get caught up. This blog post will still be here when you get back. If you're just too darn impatient to wait until you've caught up, I've tried my best not to spoil too much. But I always like a story better when I have no idea what's going to happen, so if you're like me, I won't blame you if you skip the rest of this post.
In this fourth installment of my epic horror, adventure and suspense series, we find Wayne where we last left him, alone, separated from his friends, and facing a profoundly intimidating task…
Book Description for Road Beneath the Wood:
"Always close one seal before opening another. Never linger long in one place. Do not touch the roots of the trees that grow in the Wood. If you see something in the darkness, do not investigate it. If anything should call your name while you are down here, do not answer. You must ignore these things. When you pass a stone marker in the road, you must not look back. This is important. No matter what you hear or feel, you must not look back. You must not stop walking and you must not run. Do nothing but walk straight ahead until you pass the second marker. If you fail to do this, you will die. Only after passing the second marker may you look back. The things in this tunnel are imaginary as long as you don't prove them otherwise…"
Separated from his companions, Wayne stands alone as he prepares to take his first steps on a journey through a terrifying, personal hell. The dark and ancient tunnel that lies before him will test his courage to its very limits, and force him to face even himself. The rules have been explained to him, but can he really ignore these "imaginary" things to save his own life? And even if he is strong enough to endure this torturous road, does he have what it takes to survive what lies beyond? The things that lurk in the Wood are not imaginary. It is a place of immeasurable darkness and despair, a place where death is eternal, but never final…
Can he overcome the fearsome road before him, survive the unthinkable horrors that await him in the black forest beyond and finally fulfill the promise he thought he had failed to keep?
And now, Chapter One of Road Beneath the Wood:
Wayne did not know how long he had lain upon the cold, dirt floor of the tunnel before consciousness finally returned to him.
He sat up, struggling to orient himself. He was cold and naked and filthy. He felt dizzy, his thoughts sluggish as he struggled to rise from his unnatural sleep. He did not know what the "gift" was that the Sentinel Queen gave him, but he was fairly sure that it was nothing he'd wanted. His body felt weighted, as though he'd performed some great physical feat, and there was a cold dampness upon his body that made him feel even dirtier than the reeking, rotten sludge that was dried upon his skin and clotted in his thick, black hair.
He'd been through hell tonight already. First, he was attacked by that thing inside Gilbert House. Then he'd walked for hours, naked, through miles of dark passages within the Temple of the Blind, collecting cuts and bruises along the way and battling to the brink of exhaustion his own fear. He'd even trudged through that disgusting lake of foul-smelling mud, only to end up at the mercy of a long, freakish woman with no face.
He was not so much seduced by her as raped, and that feeling was like a vile worm wriggling around inside his guts.
Even his dreams had seduced him. He dreamt of Laura Swiff, naked and lusting, her voluptuous body glistening with sweat. He dreamt about Nicole Smart, her amazing breasts bare and pressed against his skin as she gazed up at him with a naughty gleam in her sexy eyes. He dreamt about Olivia Shadey, her sweet face gazing up at him, pleading with him as he reached out to touch her.
He even dreamt about Gail Porbin.
He hadn't let himself think about Gail in a very long time, but as his dreams began to break apart and he felt himself rising toward consciousness, he found himself remembering her vividly. She was a time in his life that seemed very far away, though the years between now and then were not so many.
Gail was a confident girl, a member of the volleyball team, well liked by her friends and well admired by the boys. She was petite, with a gorgeous figure, and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Back then, she was everything he'd ever wanted. She was beautiful, popular, sexy, free-spirited, easy going…but in the end he'd let her go. It had been much easier to break up with her than to go off to college without her. He'd set himself free of that leash and prepared for a new life with new friends, new women and new opportunities. At least, these were the things he told himself every night as he lay in bed waiting for peaceful, unthinking sleep.
His flashlight was lying next to him, still on, still intact. He vaguely remembered dropping it when the Sentinel Queen advanced on him. He rubbed at a dull pain in his temple and looked around. The walls of this tunnel, as well as the floor, changed abruptly from smooth stone to coarse dirt and rock about halfway between the first and second seals. He was sitting on the dirt, only a short distance from where the stone ended, close enough to see both seals without picking up the flashlight. He was alone. The Sentinel Queen was gone.
Behind him, the first seal was tightly closed again.
He stood up and walked back to this first seal, leaving the flashlight on the floor. This side of the stone was also covered with those odd carvings, but there was no circle like there had been on the other side. He ran his hands over the surface. It was hard and cold. He pushed, but it would not budge. Like it or not, he was locked in. He could only go forward.
He walked back to the place where he'd been lying when he awoke and picked up his flashlight. Ahead of him, there stood another heavy slab of stone, the second of the fourteen ancient seals he had been told about. On the left-hand side, amidst the shapes and lines and symbols that were carved into it, was a single circle, about ten inches in diameter.
He tried first to push outside the circle, to move the great stone slab without the trick he'd been shown. The seal might as well have been a mountain. Several tons of solid stone stood against his bare hands and would not budge. But when he put his hand inside the circle, the seal withdrew as though intimidated, rotating on its center with the ease of a well-oiled gate. There was a sound as it moved, the coarse grinding of tons of stone across the floor, the sound one would expect to hear while performing such a feat, but the effort was absent, as though he were not actually moving the stone, but watching someone else do it.
Beyond the second seal, the tunnel stretched away into the darkness. He could not see the third seal from here, only a dense blackness that hovered ahead of him, almost mocking him.
Always close one seal before opening another, the Sentinel Queen had told him, and he quickly found that he could push the seal closed from the other side without the circle. It turned without effort until it was flush with the wall, and then it would budge no more, regardless of where he pushed. He wondered how these seals worked, but he did not dwell upon it long. Having permanently closed this one, he felt a quiet sort of anxiousness building within him. What exactly was he locking himself inside?
But there was no turning back. From the start there was nowhere to go but forward. The Sentinel Queen made sure of that when she left him in the tunnel and locked the first seal between them.
He turned and began his long walk into the ominous, looming darkness as a feeling of deep apprehension began to grow inside his gut. He had no idea what awaited him ahead. He had no idea if there was anything on the other side of the darkness but lonely death. He had no clothes, no supplies, no weapons with which to defend himself. He had nothing at all except blind faith and desperate hope that somehow he could overcome this challenge and fulfill the promise he made.
Never linger long in one place. Do not touch the roots of the trees that grow in the Wood. If you see something in the darkness, do not investigate it. If anything should call your name while you are down here, do not answer. You must ignore these things. These were the warnings of the Sentinel Queen, exactly as she had spoken them, and remembering them now, Wayne felt an icy shiver run up his back. The things in this tunnel are imaginary as long as you don't prove them otherwise…
He had a terrible feeling that this journey was going to test his courage far more than the fear room ever could.
Intrigued? Look for Road Beneath the Wood at online bookstores soon. That is, if you're brave enough…
