Stephanie M. Wytovich's Blog, page 27
September 25, 2013
In Memory of Stephen M. Wilson
When I became a part of the RDSP family last year, my first job as Poetry Editor was to get in touch with Stephen Wilson about a manuscript that he had recently submitted to us. I was very excited to have the opportunity to work with Stephen, for I had recently read his collaborative work with Linda D. Addison, Dark Duet, and was blown away. I couldn’t get the email out fast enough.
The more Stephen and I talked about the collection, the more I realized that he was just as beautiful as the poems he wrote. Despite his illness, he was always upbeat, excited, and working with me on edits, artwork, and ideas. We talked about style, theme, and most importantly, what the collection meant to him: it was a way to handle, to fight, and to accept the darkness. And he did all of that through making good art.
Stephen was so passionate about this project, and his drive and excitement made working with him a true blessing. He found a way to showcase the light, no matter how dim or brief in its passing, and he did that through poetry.
And it’s that drive, that power, that transformation that defines the craft. It’s about battling demons, both real and imaginary, and finding beauty in the good, and in the bad. Poetry isn’t something that is just read. It’s something that’s felt, something that’s experienced. When you read good poetry, it’s almost like falling in love because it stays with you. It changes you.
So I invite you, as an editor, a poet, and a fan, to pick up Stephen M. Wilson’s collection, Kicking Against the Pricks . It’s a little slice of heaven, a little slice of hell, and everything in between that is all light, dark, and beautiful.
--Stephanie M. Wytovich
September 23, 2013
COVER REVEAL FOR KICKING AGAINST THE PRICKS
ANNOUNCEMENT: We're very excited to announce that Stephen M. Wilson's collection of poetry Kicking Against the Pricks is going to be available for pre-order this Thursday, September 26 from RAW DOG SCREAMING PRESS. Here is a sneak preview of what's to come... WEBSITE: http://rawdogscreaming.com/books/kicking-pricks/ AUTHOR BIO: Stephen M. Wilson was Poetry Editor for Abyss & Apex Magazine of Speculative Fiction and also edited the spec poetry Twitterzine microcosms (@microcosms) and San Joaquin Delta College’s literary magazine Artifact. Wilson spent 3+ years as Poetry Editor for Doorways Magazine and co editor of the Science Fiction Poetry Association’s annual Dwarf Stars Award anthology. He’s had several poems nominated for the Rhysling Award and a handful for the Dwarf Stars Award (including a win in 2011). His first book Dark Duet, a collaboration with multi-Bram Stoker Award winner Linda D. Addison, is available from Necon E-Books. Wilson lived in Stockton, CA with his partner and two dogs. More at: http://speceditor666.livejournal.com. BACK COVER:
Cover Art by Steven Archer, EgoLikeness.com First century tillers used oxen to help them plow the land, and when the animal slowed or refused their commands, the tiller would use a prick to jab the animal and regain control. Sometimes the oxen would rebel and kick against the prick, and as a result, get stabbed even harder. It was a lesson of cause and consequence, of insurgence, of anarchy, both against their owners, and against God. Wilson takes this concept of rebellion and weaves it throughout his writing in such a way that his characters know how it feels to be both the tiller and the ox. His verse is sharp like a pointed spike, and his style awakens reader to the gray area in the black and white world of right and wrong, good and bad. Wilson writes without fear and doesn’t shirk from the emotions that surface when he digs deeper, doesn’t hide from the shadows that creep in when he tills harder. The pieces in Kicking Against the Pricks bring an understanding to pain, suffering, and what it means to be conflicted. Wilson brilliantly shines the light on the darkness that hides within us all and envelopes his readers in a raw, emotional, and beautiful journey as noted in Stoker Award winner Linda D. Addison’s insightful introduction.September 8, 2013
MAD POET FINDS KEY IN HER DRINK
Patient: Stephanie M. WytovichIllness: Poet
Treatment: More poetry
When I gave my teaching presentation at Seton Hill this past residency, I told everyone that before I sat down to work on my novel, that I wrote a poem, whether it be about the character, the scene, the emotion, or the theme I was dealing with. I also told everyone that I had a very difficult time writing this novel, both physically and emotionally. So much in fact, that I stopped at one point and burned everything that I had. I didn’t want to go deeper. I didn’t want to actually see the Hell I’d created. It scared me, and the memories that it brought back gave me nightmares. I was falling into a pit that I couldn’t climb out of, and I couldn’t shake the blackness, couldn’t get rid of the darkness that the story brought back into my life.
But I kept writing poetry, kept exploring metaphors. I knew I had something, I just didn’t know what that something was, or if I even wanted to find it anymore. And so I wrote. And I wrote. And then I went to New Orleans for the World Horror Convention where I didn't write at all.
And if felt good not to write.
To just turn off everything in my head.
Then, one night when a group of us were at The Dungeon, we started talking about poetry. I talked about how I wrote/write a poem a day, and someone—I can’t remember who—jokingly asked if I’d written anything that day, and I hadn’t. So he/she told me to write something right then and there. No pressure right? I looked around for something to write about, and I saw the giant mixer for the drinks we were all having—Keys. They were orange, frozen, and the container they came in said "The Key to the Chastity Belt."So I wrote about keys:
“There are keys to souls and souls to keys and they are beautiful and eternal,
sweeping past life and opening locks.”
Yeah, I know. It’s awful. But I took a picture of the container, put the poem in my phone and didn’t look at it until about a month ago. And then everything clicked. That poem, that stupid little verse that I wrote at 3 a.m. as a joke while I drank in a dungeon, damn near saved my novel, and probably my sanity. On the surface level, I’m not even sure what that poem means or what it meant at that point, but when I looked at it later, when I thought about keys, and souls, and locks, and dungeons…I realized something very important about my book, and about its ending. There was a door there, and I needed to not be afraid to open it. I needed to find the key and unlock it.
So I did, and I found something orange. Something frozen.Something that very well might be a key to a chastity belt.
And I have a poetry dare to thank for that.
August 20, 2013
THE PISS FAIRY IS IN THE MADHOUSE
Lee Allen Howard's CALL OF THE PISS FAIRY Coming Soon
Armed with electric hair trimmers and a military fighting knife, Russell accepts his commission.
There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
Russell Pisarek is 26 years old and still wets the bed. He grew up different from other young men because his vicious mother punished him for wetting by shaving his head, advertising his problem to all his high school classmates. He took out his frustration by skinning neighborhood cats.Now fixated on dominating and humiliating women, Russell fantasizes about finding just the right girl—so he can shave her bald. He struggles to overcome his dark tendencies, but when his sister discovers he’s wetting again, she kicks him out of her house.
During this time of stress, the mythical Piss Fairy appears in his dreams, and Russell is driven to satisfy his twisted desires with his innocent coworker Uma, who also needs a new roommate.
When his plans go awry, the Piss Fairy commissions him for a much darker task that graduates him from shaving to something much, much worse.
Lee Allen Howard's bizarro psychological thriller, CALL OF THE PISS FAIRY, will be released first as a signed, limited-edition hardback this fall. The Kindle and Nook edition will follow soon after. Read the first scene at: http://leeallenhoward.com/call-of-the-piss-fairy/#read.
To be notified about availability, subscribe to Lee Allen Howard's private email newsletter (http://leeallenhoward.us7.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=667655be3a36dce170dfa4def&id=15ad042368).
Lee Allen Howard – http://leeallenhoward.com
Cover art by Samantha Schechter – http://sam-schechter.com
August 18, 2013
MOURNING IS THE NEW BLACK
Mourning is the new black.
That's my motto for this fall as I finish drafting my next poetry collection, Mourning Jewelry. Unlike Hysteria, this muse isn't vicious. She's soft, quiet...sometimes sad. I don't even know her name. She doesn't always come out from the darkness and sit next to me. Sometimes, she just lays on the swing outside and smokes alone as she stars at the stars. We don't always work together, but absence is part of the journey. When I start to get used to her, she leaves and teaches me what it's like to miss someone. When I start to fall in love, she takes my heart and shows me what it's like to die. And when I lust, she rips away my desires and explains what it means to sin. I don't always understand why she does what she does, but I trust her, because I think you have to know what it means to be broken before you understand what it means to be whole.
So here's to black veils, not enough poison, and lots of thunder.
Everyone mourns differently, but not everyone cries.
Here's an excerpt from today's work-in-progress:
The Day I Died
by Stephanie M. Wytovich
I remember the day I lost my heart. I was young—too young, maybe—but the man told me it would be worth it, that falling in love—that dying—was well worth the pain. And I believed him. I wanted to feel nothing, to feel everything, and when I found myself locked in a hotel room, drinking away the absence as I sat in mounds of empty bottles and half-burned cigarettes, I knew that this was love. That this was what people talked about: the break, the agony, the split of power. Because when I fell in love, I lost myself. I became possessed, haunted by his smile, and now it’s his face that forces me to wake up, to brush my hair, to put on my lipstick…
And so I died in his memory, more sure in that decision than in anything else I’d ever done in my life. I wanted to love even if it meant not getting it back in return. But I didn’t know how—I was weak, innocent—I didn’t know that the ache in my chest could actually hurt. And so I’d wake up in scratches, bleeding out on cheap carpet and covered in glass. The burns on my arms were in the shapes of tear drops, my throat raw from the screams. The furniture was broken and there were splinters in my feet. I tried to find him—looked behind doors, under beds, in the shower—but I couldn’t. He wasn’t there, and I started to think, to wonder, to feel, that maybe he never was. That maybe getting rid of my heart was a mistake. But when the man came back to me that night, holding regret in his hands, I said no.
Because I was in love. Shamelessly, painfully in love. And the misery was worth it. Was worth the casket as the bed, the poison in my cup, the demons in my dreams. It was better to feel nothing, to feel everything, if it meant that at one point it wasn’t fake. That at one point, it was real. That it had a shape, a purpose. That at one point, it had soul. So I walked away with my head held high and mascara smeared down my face. I wanted love, and I got it. It just wasn’t what I bargained for.
That's my motto for this fall as I finish drafting my next poetry collection, Mourning Jewelry. Unlike Hysteria, this muse isn't vicious. She's soft, quiet...sometimes sad. I don't even know her name. She doesn't always come out from the darkness and sit next to me. Sometimes, she just lays on the swing outside and smokes alone as she stars at the stars. We don't always work together, but absence is part of the journey. When I start to get used to her, she leaves and teaches me what it's like to miss someone. When I start to fall in love, she takes my heart and shows me what it's like to die. And when I lust, she rips away my desires and explains what it means to sin. I don't always understand why she does what she does, but I trust her, because I think you have to know what it means to be broken before you understand what it means to be whole.
So here's to black veils, not enough poison, and lots of thunder.
Everyone mourns differently, but not everyone cries.
Here's an excerpt from today's work-in-progress:
The Day I Died
by Stephanie M. Wytovich
I remember the day I lost my heart. I was young—too young, maybe—but the man told me it would be worth it, that falling in love—that dying—was well worth the pain. And I believed him. I wanted to feel nothing, to feel everything, and when I found myself locked in a hotel room, drinking away the absence as I sat in mounds of empty bottles and half-burned cigarettes, I knew that this was love. That this was what people talked about: the break, the agony, the split of power. Because when I fell in love, I lost myself. I became possessed, haunted by his smile, and now it’s his face that forces me to wake up, to brush my hair, to put on my lipstick…
And so I died in his memory, more sure in that decision than in anything else I’d ever done in my life. I wanted to love even if it meant not getting it back in return. But I didn’t know how—I was weak, innocent—I didn’t know that the ache in my chest could actually hurt. And so I’d wake up in scratches, bleeding out on cheap carpet and covered in glass. The burns on my arms were in the shapes of tear drops, my throat raw from the screams. The furniture was broken and there were splinters in my feet. I tried to find him—looked behind doors, under beds, in the shower—but I couldn’t. He wasn’t there, and I started to think, to wonder, to feel, that maybe he never was. That maybe getting rid of my heart was a mistake. But when the man came back to me that night, holding regret in his hands, I said no.
Because I was in love. Shamelessly, painfully in love. And the misery was worth it. Was worth the casket as the bed, the poison in my cup, the demons in my dreams. It was better to feel nothing, to feel everything, if it meant that at one point it wasn’t fake. That at one point, it was real. That it had a shape, a purpose. That at one point, it had soul. So I walked away with my head held high and mascara smeared down my face. I wanted love, and I got it. It just wasn’t what I bargained for.
July 19, 2013
THE MADHOUSE REVIEW: TOTEMS AND TABOOS
Totems and Taboos $19.65; 76 pages; June, 2005ISBN-13: 978-1411667020by When I first opened Totems and Taboos, I met a piece of art titled, “Release.” Drawn to the deep red background, contrasted against the dancing, soft pink outlines of the female form, I stayed on this page for a few minutes, thinking, analyzing. The piece vibrated with sexual energy, yet there was a subtle violence to it that screamed—and screamed louder—the longer I looked at it. Colors began to blend and images contorted on the page, and visuals that I didn’t initially notice showed up and questioned me to go further. To dig deeper.
And that’s what Brock’s collection is about.
Going deeper, and not being afraid of what you find when you get to the bottom.
Brock brings the horror genre to a new light as he tackles stereotypes, social conventions, physical and psychological break—whether through love or hate—and fashions them together to bring out a product that is charged with an honest brutality. Yet, I use that word as an noun o f extremes because in some cases, it’s love that consumes the art, taking over the body of prose and engulfing it metaphor by metaphor such as in his piece, “Papillion.” But then again, in a piece like “Victim,”—a personal favorite of mine—readers see a nightmare come to life as the narrator states, “Anger is a gift: use it” (Brock 47).
The collection balances the lover and the fighter and asks what it means to hide in plain sight. It shows how society sees too much and responds too little. There’s death and rebirth, resurrection and murder, and Brock ties it up and presents it in a way that makes readers stop, and not only reread, or take another look at what he’s written or created, but start to ask questions as well. How do we, as people, as consumers, as artists, live, love, respond and die? And why does it matter? Mind you, he won’t give you the answers, but he’ll lead you down the path to find them; he’ll take your hand and show you the tragedies and the beauties that the world has to offer.
Totems and Taboos is a striking collaboration of art and poetry, and the two work together as they create and form intellectual battles of the brain and the heart. I know I’ve read something beautiful—something meaningful—when it makes me question the way I look at something, whether it is a political or social issue, or even a dream that I’d dismissed the night before. Good art—good literature—takes you to places that you might not want to go, and in the places that you do, shows you the sublime, the uncanny realities of what you missed at first glance.
So I implore you, take a walk through the wild, the esoteric. Look at the stars and read their messages. See the world, live in it and take chances. Look at the good, see the bad, and then understand how and why you feel the way you do.
And then—and maybe most importantly—react, respond.
Stay Scared,Stephanie M. Wytovich Brock, Jason V. Totems and Taboos. Cycatrix Press, 2005. Print
July 15, 2013
WYTOVICH GETS STRAIGHTJACKET READY
PATIENT: LEE ALLEN HOWARD
ILLNESS: WRITER
When did you start writing? Why did you pick the genre you write it? One of my favorite books in elementary school was the humorous and horrific How to Care for Your Monster (1970) by Norman Bridwell. I’m not sure where else I got my excitement for horror fiction from, but I’ve always liked the spooky and morbid.
In second grade I started writing my own stories on three-ring notebook paper, binding them with construction paper covers. One memorable story was titled “Eyeballs Only,” about a mad scientist who turns into a monster that goes on a rampage to pluck people’s eyes out and eat them. Like chocolate-covered cherries, they squirt in your mouth.
I got a charge out of seeing people react with horror and disgust to something I’d written. (And I still do.) When I was around 14, I devoured Tom Tryon’s The Other(1971). I was electrified! And that’s what spurred me to write stories of horror, crime, and the supernatural.
Where you get your ideas from? Do you journal at all? I journaled in grade school and high school, but not now. Sometimes I print out articles concerning something weird or gruesome, but I rarely write about them. Most of my ideas seem to come from out of the blue (black, rather), and haunt me until I do something with them.
I think inspiration comes from another realm, and ideas descend like pinballs, bouncing off this creative person and the next, until they find just the right soul to communicate their message. I’m not sure what that says about me. But I feel I’m the only one who can relate the things I write about, however twisted they may be.
What’s a normal (writing) day like for you? I work from home full time as a technical writer for a software company. So the day job comes first. I’m done by 6:00 p.m., when I’m happy to leave the house. I go out for dinner and then spend two hours writing at one of my favorite coffee shops on the east side of Pittsburgh. I also write Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings from 7:00 a.m. to noon.
Favorite author or book? Who are you currently reading? As I mentioned previously, Tom Tryon’s The Other is responsible for my wanting to write, along with James Herbert’s The Rats (1974). My favorite British author is Ramsey Campbell. I also adore Patrick McGrath’s Asylum (1996).
Currently, I’m reading Stephanie Wytovich’s HYSTERIA and loving its delicious darkness. I’m also into neo-noir writer Trent Zelazny’s Too Late to Call Texas. He’s another favorite of mine.
Do you prefer writing poetry or prose? Why one over the other? I wrote some poetry when I was younger. I’ve also written a number of short stories. Now I need more room for my characters, plot, and story, so I’m concentrating on novels (working on #6).
Why do you write dark fiction? I write horror because I’ve always seen things from a dark perspective. For most of my life I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression. So what “normal life” looks like to others has been fear and misery to me.
Yet somehow, a horrifying story—one that creeps me out, makes my mouth drop open or my hair stand on end—has always filled me, strangely enough, with life. I figure if fictional characters can go through hell and come out on top (if there’s a happy ending, of course), so can I. Horror keeps me going.
Reading and writing horror not only stimulates me, it makes me laugh. I think I was able to interject some humor, albeit grim, in my latest novel, Death Perception .Would you consider yourself a Plotter or a Pantser? Definitely a plotter. I now spend a lot of time developing characters, timelines, backstory, story structure, and scene outlines before I begin drafting. This process helps me work out issues that would be more difficult to fix, were I free-drafting. I hate investing time and effort into something that stalls when I could have worked through the problem in the plotting stage.
What do you think is the hardest aspect of the craft?
Developing an initial idea into a full-blown story. I’m still learning this process—but I’m getting better at it.Current projects? My fourth novel, the supernatural thriller Death Perception , was recently released. Nineteen-year-old Kennet Singleton lives with his invalid mother in a personal care facility, but he wants out. He operates the crematory at the local funeral home, where he discovers he can discern the cause of death of those he cremates—by toasting marshmallows over their ashes. He thinks his ability is no big deal since his customers are already dead. But when his perception differs from what’s on the death certificate, he finds himself in the midst of murderers. To save the residents and avenge the dead, Kennet must bring the killers to justice. Dark and fun!
I finished my fifth novel in April (it took me only four months to plot, write, and revise it). Call of the Piss Fairy is a dark and disturbing psychological thriller about an abused young man with chronic secondary nocturnal enuresis (adult bedwetting). As pressures mount, he embarks on a killing spree using the tools of his dark fantasies: a military fighting knife and a pair of electric hair trimmers. I’m hoping the book will be out this fall.
How do you balance being an editor and being a writer? Not all editors are writers, but all writers must also be editors, at least of their own work. I’ve made a concerted effort to develop both my creative writing talents and my editing skills. Self-editing often makes the difference between acceptance and rejection. I spoke about “Self-editing for Publication” at this year’s In Your Write Mind conference at Seton Hill University. I also do freelance editing of dark fiction.
What do you think people expect from you with your writing? I hope readers get an interesting story well told—and well written. There are plenty of people dumping stories and books out there that aren’t ready for prime time because they aren’t sufficiently edited. I strive to make my stuff as smooth and clean as possible.
Considering what I have out there for sale, readers can expect a generous helping of misery in my fiction, served up with a chuckle and a generous side of creepiness. My motto is, “The creepier, the better.”Advice for aspiring writers?
STUDY your craft. Read books. Go to workshops. Get feedback. APPLY what you learn to your own writing. Over the past 25 years, I’ve bought and read nearly 250 books about story development, writing craft, and editing. Whenever I discovered something I was doing wrong, I edited ALL my unpublished stories to fix the problem. (Some stories I’ve opened and edited more than 500 times.) A lot of work, sure. But by the time I was done, the new technique was mine.
All education is self-education. If you want to write—and publish—you must teach yourself.
BIO: Lee Allen Howard writes horror, dark fantasy, and supernatural crime. He’s been a professional writer and editor of both fiction and nonfiction since 1985. His works include The Sixth Seed, Desperate Spirits, Night Monsters, “Mama Said,” and Death Perception, available at http://leeallenhoward.com. Lee is a practicing medium and blogs about Spiritualism and metaphysics at http://buildingthebridge.wordpress.com.
Lee will also be presenting a "Self-editing for Publishing Success" workshop at the WE WRITE! event, September 21, at the Monroeville Public Library.
ILLNESS: WRITER
When did you start writing? Why did you pick the genre you write it? One of my favorite books in elementary school was the humorous and horrific How to Care for Your Monster (1970) by Norman Bridwell. I’m not sure where else I got my excitement for horror fiction from, but I’ve always liked the spooky and morbid.
In second grade I started writing my own stories on three-ring notebook paper, binding them with construction paper covers. One memorable story was titled “Eyeballs Only,” about a mad scientist who turns into a monster that goes on a rampage to pluck people’s eyes out and eat them. Like chocolate-covered cherries, they squirt in your mouth.
I got a charge out of seeing people react with horror and disgust to something I’d written. (And I still do.) When I was around 14, I devoured Tom Tryon’s The Other(1971). I was electrified! And that’s what spurred me to write stories of horror, crime, and the supernatural.
Where you get your ideas from? Do you journal at all? I journaled in grade school and high school, but not now. Sometimes I print out articles concerning something weird or gruesome, but I rarely write about them. Most of my ideas seem to come from out of the blue (black, rather), and haunt me until I do something with them.
I think inspiration comes from another realm, and ideas descend like pinballs, bouncing off this creative person and the next, until they find just the right soul to communicate their message. I’m not sure what that says about me. But I feel I’m the only one who can relate the things I write about, however twisted they may be.
What’s a normal (writing) day like for you? I work from home full time as a technical writer for a software company. So the day job comes first. I’m done by 6:00 p.m., when I’m happy to leave the house. I go out for dinner and then spend two hours writing at one of my favorite coffee shops on the east side of Pittsburgh. I also write Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings from 7:00 a.m. to noon.
Favorite author or book? Who are you currently reading? As I mentioned previously, Tom Tryon’s The Other is responsible for my wanting to write, along with James Herbert’s The Rats (1974). My favorite British author is Ramsey Campbell. I also adore Patrick McGrath’s Asylum (1996).
Currently, I’m reading Stephanie Wytovich’s HYSTERIA and loving its delicious darkness. I’m also into neo-noir writer Trent Zelazny’s Too Late to Call Texas. He’s another favorite of mine.
Do you prefer writing poetry or prose? Why one over the other? I wrote some poetry when I was younger. I’ve also written a number of short stories. Now I need more room for my characters, plot, and story, so I’m concentrating on novels (working on #6).
Why do you write dark fiction? I write horror because I’ve always seen things from a dark perspective. For most of my life I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression. So what “normal life” looks like to others has been fear and misery to me.
Yet somehow, a horrifying story—one that creeps me out, makes my mouth drop open or my hair stand on end—has always filled me, strangely enough, with life. I figure if fictional characters can go through hell and come out on top (if there’s a happy ending, of course), so can I. Horror keeps me going.
Reading and writing horror not only stimulates me, it makes me laugh. I think I was able to interject some humor, albeit grim, in my latest novel, Death Perception .Would you consider yourself a Plotter or a Pantser? Definitely a plotter. I now spend a lot of time developing characters, timelines, backstory, story structure, and scene outlines before I begin drafting. This process helps me work out issues that would be more difficult to fix, were I free-drafting. I hate investing time and effort into something that stalls when I could have worked through the problem in the plotting stage.
What do you think is the hardest aspect of the craft?
Developing an initial idea into a full-blown story. I’m still learning this process—but I’m getting better at it.Current projects? My fourth novel, the supernatural thriller Death Perception , was recently released. Nineteen-year-old Kennet Singleton lives with his invalid mother in a personal care facility, but he wants out. He operates the crematory at the local funeral home, where he discovers he can discern the cause of death of those he cremates—by toasting marshmallows over their ashes. He thinks his ability is no big deal since his customers are already dead. But when his perception differs from what’s on the death certificate, he finds himself in the midst of murderers. To save the residents and avenge the dead, Kennet must bring the killers to justice. Dark and fun!
I finished my fifth novel in April (it took me only four months to plot, write, and revise it). Call of the Piss Fairy is a dark and disturbing psychological thriller about an abused young man with chronic secondary nocturnal enuresis (adult bedwetting). As pressures mount, he embarks on a killing spree using the tools of his dark fantasies: a military fighting knife and a pair of electric hair trimmers. I’m hoping the book will be out this fall.
How do you balance being an editor and being a writer? Not all editors are writers, but all writers must also be editors, at least of their own work. I’ve made a concerted effort to develop both my creative writing talents and my editing skills. Self-editing often makes the difference between acceptance and rejection. I spoke about “Self-editing for Publication” at this year’s In Your Write Mind conference at Seton Hill University. I also do freelance editing of dark fiction.
What do you think people expect from you with your writing? I hope readers get an interesting story well told—and well written. There are plenty of people dumping stories and books out there that aren’t ready for prime time because they aren’t sufficiently edited. I strive to make my stuff as smooth and clean as possible.
Considering what I have out there for sale, readers can expect a generous helping of misery in my fiction, served up with a chuckle and a generous side of creepiness. My motto is, “The creepier, the better.”Advice for aspiring writers?
STUDY your craft. Read books. Go to workshops. Get feedback. APPLY what you learn to your own writing. Over the past 25 years, I’ve bought and read nearly 250 books about story development, writing craft, and editing. Whenever I discovered something I was doing wrong, I edited ALL my unpublished stories to fix the problem. (Some stories I’ve opened and edited more than 500 times.) A lot of work, sure. But by the time I was done, the new technique was mine.All education is self-education. If you want to write—and publish—you must teach yourself.
BIO: Lee Allen Howard writes horror, dark fantasy, and supernatural crime. He’s been a professional writer and editor of both fiction and nonfiction since 1985. His works include The Sixth Seed, Desperate Spirits, Night Monsters, “Mama Said,” and Death Perception, available at http://leeallenhoward.com. Lee is a practicing medium and blogs about Spiritualism and metaphysics at http://buildingthebridge.wordpress.com.
Lee will also be presenting a "Self-editing for Publishing Success" workshop at the WE WRITE! event, September 21, at the Monroeville Public Library.
July 13, 2013
HYSTERIA PULLS SOME TRICKS IN THE MADHOUSE
PATIENT: MIKE MEHALEK
ILLNESS: TRICKSTER (AKA WRITER)
With HYSTERIA running loose out in the world, she continues to collect patients and spread madness like a disease, maybe now more so than ever. Crazy or sane, she locks her victims up, listening to their stories and memorizing their words. Nothing makes her happier than the drama in the psych ward, and at the end of the day-- only after she's sucked the patients dry of their memories and dreams--does she curl up in Ward C and start to compose. Today, she ended up in Boston and decided to pay SHUWPF Alum, Mike Mehalek a visit.
And now he too, is tragically locked up with nowhere to go--nowhere to look--but outside the asylum window.
The Asylum WindowMike Mehalek, Spring of '98
Peering down,
An oak tree,
a lamp post,
a person
cast their shadows on the sidewalk
from the morning sun.
Dew sparkles,
a car speeds,
a man smokes.
All eventually disappear.
Peering down.
i see two girls' joking laughter
i see the grass' fresh odors
i see the love of a warm kiss
i see the love of father and son
i see the love of two best friends
Peering down.
i cannot hear their laughter,
only buzzing lights.
i cannot smell the grass nor taste a soda,
only the foul scent of urine.
i cannot feel love
i cannot feel love
i cannot feel love
only see it,
Peering down.
BIO: Mike Mehalek (aka Tricky) is a country boy adapting to life in the big city, and is a writer of thriller, horror, literary, and flash fiction. In 2008 Mike graduated from the Writing Popular Fiction program at Seton Hill University with his thesis Only Human, an urban dark fantasy, soon to be released.
You can check out at an excerpt of Only Human on his blog here, and follow him on Twitter @mikemehalek.
July 4, 2013
HYSTERIA TAKES OVER MADHOUSE POETRY PROJECT
Hello Everyone--
The past two weeks have certainly been filled with their own special brand of madness, but I'm here to report that the initial Poetry Project that I started when I began my adventure with HYSTERIA has reached a following of 600+ people on Twitter today. Talk about true insanity!
So true to my word, I'm here to give you a taste of the muse herself. Tonight, I give you a patient that cries herself to crazy. A patient that can't distinguish fact from fiction, reality from fantasy.
Remember, madness lives inside of us all.
It's just a matter of finding it, and knowing how to keep it hidden.
Stay Scared,
Stephanie M. Wytovich
Patient Sorrow
In the corner she wept,And when I asked her name,
She looked at me,
Eyes wide in question,
Reflecting the coolest of blues
Like a wave at high tide
And she whispered my name,
Her lips moving in sync with mine,
Her tears streaming down my cheeks
We were in unisonThe broken half to the whole
Two pieces
That found each other Locked away in the asylum
Trapped in the mind’s fog
Where we tried to ignore, tried to forget
That nurses can become patients
When madness has no prejudice to its host
For more madness, check out HYSTERIA: A Collection of Madness:
http://www.rawdogscreaming.com/books/hysteria.html
The past two weeks have certainly been filled with their own special brand of madness, but I'm here to report that the initial Poetry Project that I started when I began my adventure with HYSTERIA has reached a following of 600+ people on Twitter today. Talk about true insanity!
So true to my word, I'm here to give you a taste of the muse herself. Tonight, I give you a patient that cries herself to crazy. A patient that can't distinguish fact from fiction, reality from fantasy.
Remember, madness lives inside of us all.
It's just a matter of finding it, and knowing how to keep it hidden.
Stay Scared,
Stephanie M. Wytovich
Patient Sorrow
In the corner she wept,And when I asked her name,
She looked at me,
Eyes wide in question,
Reflecting the coolest of blues
Like a wave at high tide
And she whispered my name,
Her lips moving in sync with mine,
Her tears streaming down my cheeks
We were in unisonThe broken half to the whole
Two pieces
That found each other Locked away in the asylum
Trapped in the mind’s fog
Where we tried to ignore, tried to forget
That nurses can become patients
When madness has no prejudice to its host
For more madness, check out HYSTERIA: A Collection of Madness:
http://www.rawdogscreaming.com/books/hysteria.html
June 26, 2013
WYTOVICH REVEALS HYSTERIA IN MADHOUSE
PATIENT: STEPHANIE M. WYTOVICHILLNESS: POET June 26, 2013Ward C She comes to me at night,Her hands around my neckTell my story...
Asylums once used to confine those deemed mentally unfit linger, forgotten behind trees or urban development, beautiful yet desolate in their decay. Within them festers something far more unnerving than unlit corners or unexplained noises: the case files left to moulder out of sight, out of conscience. Stephanie M. Wytovich forces your hands upon these crumbling, warped binders and exposes your mind to every taboo misfortune experienced by the outcast, exiled, misbegotten monsters and victims who have walked among us. The poetry contained in Hysteria performs internal body modification on its readers in an unrelenting fashion, employing broad-spectrum brutality treatment that spans the physical to the societal, as noted in Stoker Award winner Michael A. Arnzen's incisive introduction. PREORDER AT: http://www.rawdogscreaming.com/books/hysteria.htmlCOVER ART: Steven Archer
Asylums once used to confine those deemed mentally unfit linger, forgotten behind trees or urban development, beautiful yet desolate in their decay. Within them festers something far more unnerving than unlit corners or unexplained noises: the case files left to moulder out of sight, out of conscience. Stephanie M. Wytovich forces your hands upon these crumbling, warped binders and exposes your mind to every taboo misfortune experienced by the outcast, exiled, misbegotten monsters and victims who have walked among us. The poetry contained in Hysteria performs internal body modification on its readers in an unrelenting fashion, employing broad-spectrum brutality treatment that spans the physical to the societal, as noted in Stoker Award winner Michael A. Arnzen's incisive introduction. PREORDER AT: http://www.rawdogscreaming.com/books/hysteria.htmlCOVER ART: Steven Archer
