Laird Barron's Blog, page 29
October 23, 2014
image via Schlock Magazine
October 21, 2014
In the Pines, in the Pines Where the Sun Never Shines
Karl Edward Wagner left us twenty years ago this month. I am an admirer–along with Michael Shea, Peter Straub, and Roger Zelazny, his work is part of the bedrock of my literary inspiration. It was my honor to write an afterword to Walk on the Wild Side: The Best of Karl Edward Wagner for Centipede Press. I reprint it here in tribute to one of the greatest writers and editors the horror field has known.
In the Shadows of the Pines
It’s getting late.
A bloody yellow moon floats over the pines. A man sits on the porch in a rocking chair. A big guy, a grizzled, salt of the earth type, tie unstrung, collar loose. He’s sweating, and it’s a cold sweat. In his hand, a glass of bourbon, neat. Not the first of the evening, not the last. To his right, a small table upon which rests a bottle and a revolver. His calloused hand lies in the middle. He meditates on the choice between another drink or a bullet. Maybe one, then the other, like love and marriage. Wind rises beneath that sanguine moon and rustles the pines. Upon the air, a hint of jasmine, out of place here at the border of endless night. Yes, a trace of jasmine that almost disguises an undercurrent of rotting leaves, wet bones, approaching death.
Down there in the creaking pines, softly, sweetly, a woman calls his name, invites him into the shadows. Invites us.
This is the essence of my experience with Karl Edward Wagner, a larger than life figure who achieved fame as an author of the occult and the fantastic, and as an editor of the same. His strange worlds are populated by a cast of drifters and malcontents, alcoholic salesmen and conniving archeologists, of demons, devils, and other things that shamble in the dark. Of a mind with his contemporary, Michael Shea, another famous devotee of the weird tale, Wagner embraces and elevates the trappings of classical pulp fiction to modern art, carves out elements from the archetypal works of Blackwood, Lovecraft, and Howard, among others, and repurposes them into a warlock’s brew of modern, hardboiled dark fantasy and horror.
For my money, when it comes to literary modes, short fiction ranks as first among equals. From London’s “To Build a Fire,” and Blackwood’s “The Willows,” to Vance’s “Liane the Wayfarer,” and “The Cask of Amontillado,” by Poe, the short story, the novelette, and novella strike me as the most potent expressions of horror and dark fantasy literature. Horror thrives on escalation of tension and dread, elements that all too easily dissipate in novel format. Wagner is an acknowledged master of the short form. We are fortunate, nearly twenty years after his passing, to finally see a definitive collection of his stories.
image courtesy Centipede Press
A skilled prose stylist, his writing is redolent of a worldly, blue collar aesthetic that dominates stories such as “.220 Swift,” and “Where the Summer Ends,” and “Sticks,” his quintessential Lovecraftian masterpiece. Even the sinuous and erotic gothic horror novelette “The River of Night’s Dreaming” possesses something of his characteristic gruffness, his taciturn delivery, rumbling in the background like the low growl of a bear in its den; a growl that the hypnogogic prose merely smoothes and softens until the crushing final moments when all hells breaks loose.
Wagner’s gritty aesthetic is often divergent from the baroque pleasures of the aforementioned Shea, yet no less poetic insomuch that Wagner’s greatest power resides in his bluntness, the simplicity and directness of his descriptions, his genius at deconstructing traditional tropes and reincarnating them into something new and vital. He speaks with the conviction of man who’s scraped his knuckles in a brawl, who’s loved and lost, who’s seen the bottom of a few too many whiskey bottles. A man who has, in fact, seen many things. It’s all there on the page, infusing his characters, his landscapes, and more ominously, those chasms between the lines. You can taste that whiskey, those honeyed lips of forgotten lovers, the violence. When Wagner speaks, you’re there next to him at the scarred bar of some smoky bucket of blood where the men snarl when they smile; men who carry knives in their pockets, and it’s getting late, very late, and the wind is moving in the pines beyond the porch light, the muddy parking lot and the lonely strip of blacktop, and that damned perfume uncoils in your nostrils, mingling with the scents of sawdust and beer. Damned is right. Evil is always waiting, always biding in the darkness of Wagner’s corner of the kingdom.
Evil lurks out there in the shadows, and evil festers in the dark hearts of wicked men. Pick your poison, but poison it will be–a darksome miracle, a sinister revelation, a sudden end. He speaks to the truth of the matter for so many, and all we can do is avert our eyes or shudder as our animal brain recognizes the presence of the immutable reality of the universe as rendered by Wagner’s imagery.
It has been a rare pleasure to explore this manuscript, and one that has evoked a powerful sense of nostalgia. During my youth in Alaska I spent many a lonesome night, after the huskies were put to bed and the sashes drawn and doors barred against the howling wind, wrapped in a blanket near the stove, reading ancient pulp paperbacks by the dying glow of a kerosene lamp. L’Amour, Lovecraft, H. Rider Haggard, Poe, and London kept me company. In those days, my primary experience with Wagner was through a few of his uncollected tales and his selections for the various anthologies that he helmed. His editorial vision increased my appreciation of the genre and introduced my young self to writers I’d surely have otherwise neglected, and in them I found seeds for my own eventual maturation as an author of the weird, the uncanny, the macabre.
This winter, as I made my way through the manuscript of this omnibus the days were passing dark and the nights shrouded in mist and gloom unseasonable even for the Pacific Northwest. Storms howled through this rural neighborhood among towering fir and cedar trees and, shook my house to its foundation. On many of these nights, I reentered Wagner’s mad and twilight realms as the windows rattled, the lamp flickered, and shadows crawled across my bookshelves. The cumulative force of these stories, and the knowledge of his tragic and early death, have reminded me why I possesses such admiration for horror in the literary pulp vein, and kindled a sense of urgency–our hours are few, our days fleeting, and god only knows what awaits beyond the pines, in the darkness.
Would that I live half as large as Karl Edward Wagner did, or make a mark so indelible as this tome he has left to posterity.
–Laird Barron
January 14, 2011
Olympia, WA
October 17, 2014
Read This: Llewellyn in Nightmare Magazine
Few writers can match Livia Llewellyn for darkness. There’s a sonic quality to the images she carves into the page. Imagery both alluring and repulsive. The kind of writing that lingers with you long after you’ve moved on to another story by another author. Do yourself a favor:
Image via Nightmare magazine
October 16, 2014
On Writing: Film Rights
This goes for all writers, but especially for those of you without agents–pay attention to your contract language. Some small presses will attempt to take a cut of film/television proceeds, or attach them outright. My answer is No. Without exception or remorse.
Newer, unestablished authors are particularly vulnerable to this ploy. They fear rocking the boat, or they tell themselves, “what’s the harm, it’s not like my stuff will sell to Hollywood.”
Do what you must, of course. Saying no to a rights grab may well result in a lost deal. My opinion is that no small press offers enough money or exposure to an author to justify going after film/television rights. Not even close.
Weigh the costs and what you’re willing to surrender to make the sale. Whatever you do, keep in mind this isn’t, at the moment, standard behavior. Don’t sell yourself short.
October 15, 2014
On Writing: Short Fiction Submissions
A dump truck-load has been written about formatting short fiction. My piece of advice for the day regards an approach to editorial/publisher guidelines.
Follow the guidelines. If they are specific, it behooves you to follow them to the letter. If you aren’t chummy with the editor, don’t get cute or long-winded in your submission note. Don’t get cute or long-winded in your bio. Just the pertinent facts, and nothing more unless the guidelines dictate otherwise.
My letters read something like–“Dear X, Please find enclosed a 4500 word short story entitled “Y.” Thank you for your time and consideration.”
If the publisher is interested in a bio, I list three or four credits, max, and where I currently reside. Usually, that won’t come up unless your story has been accepted and they need a 50 to 100-word bio.
If the instructions are vague or indicate “standard” formatting, use common sense. Name address, email/phone in the upper corner (left or right, nobody cares enough to dock your choice); Courier or Times New Roman 12 point font; header containing title, author surname, and story title; title centered; byline and word count under that. Indent paragraphs, one space after the end of each sentence; double-space sentences, one inch margins all around…
A simple contact note and a clean, well-formatted manuscript put you in a good light. But listen, this part is key–Don’t obsess so damn much about the bloody guidelines. None of the genre publishers I’m familiar with will reject you because you put your contact info in the wrong corner or run a footer instead of a header, or use Tahoma instead of Courier, or go fifty words over the cap. A minor flub is not going to get you rejected. Egregious bullshit, bad writing, and bad behavior are what get you rejected.
October 13, 2014
Read This: 31 Hath October
Brian Lillie has posted a reading list for those interested in spooky stories. I’m honored to be mentioned, particularly because Lillie directed a fantastic short horror film called The Meriwether Device.
October 11, 2014
NY Comic Con Adventure
The most perilous stretch of the journey was getting into NYC from New Paltz. Holiday weekend lines for the bus proved chaotic. The hour and a half trip stretched into four. Eventually, Trailways got us to the city. Ardi of Tor Books found me wandering in the wilderness outside the Javits Center and brought me to the Tor booth to meet the gang. Thanks to her and Theresa for letting me hide out there for a bit.
I signed* books at the Skyhorse/Night Shade station for over an hour–it was terrific to meet a slew of fans, old and new. I owe the Night Shade crew, especially Cory and Jason, a huge thanks for setting up and directing the event. I have difficulty hearing at the best of times, so their help made a significant difference.
After that, I went to the Dark Horse booth and signed copies of Nightmare Carnival with Ellen Datlow. Kari of Dark Horse was on hand to run interference and we had a nice signing hour. The bus home was packed, but we made great time.
It was a terrific day in NYC. I appreciate the hospitality of the publishers. Thank you so much to all the fans who stood on line. I enjoyed meeting everybody.
*Regarding the Hello Kitty pen I used for signing–I borrowed it from Jessica Mace. She also gave me a lift to and from the bus station.
image via Gaminette
October 9, 2014
On Writing: Pitch Session v. Query Critique
Today, my agent talks about the evils of pitch sessions. Janet Reid knows her stuff. Her site is loaded with practical advice. If you’re new to the game, it would behoove you to head on over and see what she has to say about the job.
October 8, 2014
October 4, 2014
NYC Comic Con
I’ll be at Comic Con in New York on Friday, October 10th. I’m signing books for Skyhorse/Nightshade from 5pm to 6pm.
Then, I’ll meet Ellen Datlow at the Dark Horse booth for more signing from 6pm to 7pm. Come on by and say hello.
Night Shade Books/Skyhorse Publishing, Booth #2129
Dark Horse Booth 1636
