Ronald Kelly's Blog, page 4

Spinning Tales: Upcoming Writing Projects

Last year had its ups and downs, but 2013 seems to be progressing smoothly, particularly from a creative aspect. Here are some upcoming writing projects that I hope to complete by the time the Christmas tree comes down and the party hats and hooters (those little noise-makers you blow, not the other ones!) herald the beginning of 2014.


RESTLESS SHADOWS: I just finished the final edit of RESTLESS SHADOWS, the long-awaited sequel to my first novel, HINDSIGHT. RS was one of two novels that Zebra Books had scheduled for publication before they decided to pull the plug on their horror line in 1996 (the other one being HELL HOLLOW). This previously unpublished novel will soon be released as an economically-priced hardcover edition from Thunderstorm Books, hopefully sometime this autumn. RESTLESS SHADOWS continues the story of HINDSIGHT seventy-seven years after the Great Depression. Cindy Ann is an elderly woman now and comes out of retirement every now and then to lend her psychic abilities to the local police, solving murder cases. When a triple murder almost identical to the one she revealed back in 1936 takes place in her hometown of Coleman, Cindy must return to the old tobacco barn with her granddaughter, Beth, who also possesses the gift of second sight. Together, they attempt to determine exactly who committed the murders. Is it a copy cat reliving history... or is it the evil spirit of Bully Hanson in action once again?


CEMETERY DANCE PROJECTS: During the next few weeks, I'll be finishing up some projects for Cemetery Dance Publications. One will be a short story for an upcoming Halloween anthology. The other will be a Signature Series book with the tentative title of WHITE LIGHTNING, BLACK MASS! It will be a rip-roaring tale of moonshiners and devil worshippers with the feel of an old grindhouse movie. Some of you have asked about the status of A DARK & BLOODY GROUND, an upcoming novel from CD. Alas, the manuscript -- nearly three-quarters done -- is still floating around in crashed hard-drive limbo. As soon as I find someone with the expertise to liberate AD&BG from its imprisonment, I'll finish that sucker up and send it out to Rich, Brian, and the rest of the folks at CD.


ESSENTIAL RONALD KELLY COLLECTION, VOLUMES #5 & 6: In September and October, I'll be doing final revisions and edits on the next two Essentials: PITFALL and TWELVE GAUGE (formerly FATHER'S LITTLE HELPER). I'll also be writing the two companion novellas for the books. PITFALL's will be titled "The Last of the Chupacabra", while the one in TWELVE GAUGE will be titled "Killing Time". I hope to have the finished manuscripts to Thunderstorm Books in time for a late December or early 2014 release.


UNDERTAKER'S MOON & FEAR: I've turned in the manuscripts to Roy Robbins at Bad Moon Books for the softcover trade editions of UNDERTAKER'S MOON & FEAR. These books, with new covers by Keith Minnion, will be similar to what the Essentials have to offer, except without the "Writing of" feature. We're hoping to have both of these out before the end of 2013.


As I gain momentum with the completion of these projects, I'm hoping for a productive 2014. Among other things, I'll be working on sequels to FEAR and AFTER THE BURN (this time a full-length novel!), short stories for upcoming anthologies, and I'll be finishing  up the Essential collection with Volumes #7 & 8: BLOOD KIN and BURNT MAGNOLIA. On the heels of those projects, I'll be writing a five-volume horror-western serial titled DEAD-EYE, followed by DEAD OLD MEN, the first book of the Grandpa Kelly mystery series that I have in the work.


Be sure to check in regularly here at Southern-Fried & Horrified and RonaldKelly.com for updates and news on these and other forthcoming projects!

Zombie Bites! Talking Appalachian Undead, Zombie Apocalypse, and More at Apex Books

Head on over to Apex Books for Zombie Bites : a feature showcasing the contributors of Appalachian Undead, an anthology of horror tales that take place in the rugged hills and hollows of the Appalachian Mountains. Today it's Ol' Ron's turn.



I'll be discussing my story "Company's Coming", my personal zombie apocalypse survival plan (every respectable redneck family should have one!), the proper use of steel-toed boots, and more. While you're there, you might as well pick yourself up a copy of Appalachian Undead ... the best collection of zombie stories to come down the pike in a month of Sundays. (Cortney Skinner's down-home zombie cover is worth the price of the book alone, if you ask me!)


And if you're still hankering for zombie fiction, check out my story "The Day UPS Brought Zombies" at Ronald Kelly.com. It's chocked full of dark humor and re-animated flesh: zombies, demonic books, chainsaw-slinging grannies, evil dolls, a Zuni warrior straight out of Trilogy of Terror, and a special cameo appearance by Brian Keene!


So slip on your steel-toed clod-hoppers and get to kicking those brains... in a literary sense, that is. And, as always... enjoy!

Walking the Fence Rail: Balancing Faith and Horror Writing

When I was a young boy, I would walk the fence on Grandpa Kelly's farm. On one side there would be green grass and soft clover; on the other, thistle and blackberry bramble, with plenty of sharp rocks hidden underneath. It wouldn't have taken much at all to have lost my balance and fallen one way or the other, but I never did. Mostly it was due to my own youthful balancing act, but sometimes it was because Grandpa held my hand while I walked the rail.


Sometimes that's how it feels when it comes to my faith and my horror writing career. On one side there is all goodness and light, while on the other there are sharp thorns, dangerous shadows, and the potential for a disastrous fall. You may think it is an unlikely and incompatible combination that was doomed to failure from the beginning. But you would be wrong. There are more Christian horror writers out there than you would think. I've talked to quite a few and, amid our discussions, found that we all hold the same doubts and fears. We definitely have questions about what we're doing from time to time. Some of them are of our own making, while others come from fans or members of our spiritual niche. The following are some issues that we are forced to address -- for ourselves as well as for others -- every now and then.


Am I compromising my faith by choosing to write this particular genre of fiction?  No, I don't think so. As a Christian, I believe that God has a hand in all aspects of my life, both personal and professional, and that includes my talent and desire to write. I developed a strong interest in monsters and the macabre at an early age (one that my mother shared and reinforced) so you might say that I was "predestined" to write and create this sort of stuff later in life. Believe me, I've tried my best to specialize in other genres over the years; science fiction, mystery, western, children's literature, even inpirational. But horror was the only one I was actually successful (or happy) with. I'm relatively good at it, seem to know how to press readers' emotional buttons, and I have something of a warped and dark sense of humor. I see this as more of a blessing than a fluke or coincidence. People are always referring to someone's "God-given talent" in an off-hand way, but I believe there is more truth to that than folks realize.


Is it sinful to write horror fiction?  Whenever someone asks me this question, I can't help but think of a hundred cartoons I've seen in my lifetime: the well-meaning guy with an angel perched on one shoulder and a devil on the other, persuading him to do either right or wrong. I don't know about other horror authors, but that isn't how it is with me. For the most part, I don't feel conflicted while writing horror fiction; it seems to flow naturally, with no mental shifting between "good and bad" taking place. Sure, there are some instances when I feel like I've stepped past my comfort zone, but that's what gives horror its edge... the author's willingness to go a step further and take the reader into realms they would, in life, hesitate to tread. As for the horror genre being evil? Only those who don't read it or aren't familiar with it seem to hold that opinion. I've actually had several people -- some of them family members -- call me a "devil worshiper" because I write this stuff. There's a misconception among a small minority of people (mostly radical religious groups) that writers and film directors of horror-related material are actually in league with the Devil. Of course, thinking in such a way is both ignorant and preposterous. I've  met hundreds of horror authors since I began writing in the genre in 1986 and 99% of them were some of the nicest and most wholesome people I've ever met. Some have been fellow Christians, some atheists and agnostics, some straight, some gay... which proves what a diverse body of wordsmiths the horror genre boasts compared to, say, the romance and western genres.


Do you inject your religious beliefs into your stories and novels?   No, not consciously. I consider my faith a personal matter and prefer not to inject it into my fiction, lest it be considered as "preachy". Besides, trying to fuse religion with horror (as in "Christian horror", a strange and seemingly contrary sub-genre to be sure) very rarely works. It's like mixing oil with water. Sometimes religious themes, characters, or settings surface in my books, but I'm not sure if I've done it with the intention of actually sharing my faith. After the Burn had a definite undercurrent of religion throughout and, I suppose, the last story in the collection, "The Paradise Pill", even gave the reader a glimpse of a heaven which may or may not be. The mass murder from my novel Father's Little Helper (soon to be re-released as Twelve Gauge in the Essential Collection) took place in a country church at Christmas time, and of course Grandpappy Craven from Blood Kin had been a mountain preacherman before vampirism caused him to trade his Bible and cross for a hankering for blood. So, perhaps, subconsciously, I do let my faith show through a little in plots and characters.


Am I expressing a hidden side of myself when I write about evil or ungodly characters?   This is where a lot of writers of horror fiction experience the most friction. When family, co-workers, or even members of one's church, discover that they write "those awful horror stories", then perceptions begin to alter and the author is suddenly regarded in a different, less favorable light. Most "regular" folks (and by that I mean those who don't possess a love for the macabre) believe that surely something must be mentally or morally wrong with someone who would write about monsters or serial killers and, in turn, derive pleasure from doing it. Writing horror doesn't make you an unstable person, a devil worshipper (there's that enigma again), a weirdo, or a child molester. As I said before, most of the time it's the normal folks who specialize in the horror, suspense, and mystery fields... and I could add science-fiction and fantasy to that grouping as well. To tell the truth, it would be the full-blown romance writer, especially the ones who fill their books with ultra-explicit sex and wanton debauchery who I would be wondering about. Actually, there are some Christians (and I've been told this myself by fellow believers) who think that is morally wrong to write about vampires, werewolves, demons, zombies, and ghosts because they are of "Satan's dominion" and it is sinful to "glorify" such creatures. I, myself, don't believe that such monsters exist, maybe with the exception of demons, whose presence is apparent every day in countless news stories about terrorists, child murderers, and those who commit crimes too horrible to even comprehend. Writing about evil characters (the antagonist) or terrible, unthinkable situations or plot twists, doesn't mean that your Dr. Jekyll is unleashing its Mr. Hyde. A person can write about both good and evil without actually being one or the other; that's the gift of a good writer... they can wear many hats convincingly. Being a horror writer no more makes you a carbon copy of your most fiendish character than wearing mouse ears makes you Mickey Mouse or sporting a dab of a mustache on your upper lip makes you Adolf Hitler. Prose is a creative action, like painting or playing music. If a writer's story is about an axe murderer, that doesn't mean he or she is going to take up a hatchet and chase you gleefully around your front lawn. It is simply an exercise in imagination that takes a darker path than other genres take.


Why would God approve of or even want you to write horror fiction?   This is the number one question that horror writers of the Christian faith ask themselves from time to time. The very nature of being a person of faith is to question things that do not involve goodness and benevolence. Philippians 4:8 says "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there by any praise, think on these things." Basically, that means almost everything that horror is not. Truthfully, I believe in everything in the Bible, from Genesis to Revelations. But I've always had an aversion to Philippians 4:8, simply because it condemns a person's interest in things dark and mysterious, which is not only a major pastime of mine, but, frankly, my bread and butter. I've actually had fellow Christians throw this scripture in my face when I suggested that they read one of my novels or stories.


I had a huge problem with this question following the implosion of the Zebra horror line back in 1996 and the sudden loss of my first career as a novelist. Having recently "found religion", as the old-timers call it, I became convinced that God had taken away my writing career because He didn't want me to write horror. That might sound silly to you, but to a believer, whose faith dictates that God is instrumental in all things, it is practically logical. So I gave it up... for ten years. It was a long journey of self-doubt and denial, and it took a long time for me to realize that I was downright miserable because of my self-imposed hiatus. It was only when I returned to the genre in 2006, that I was truly happy creatively again. I originally intended to tone my tales down considerably, but discovered that you simply couldn't do that with horror fiction. True, I'm not as "in-your-face" as other horror authors, but I do use a little profanity (never the F-bomb or the Lord's name in vain) and include occasional sexual situations; I just don't go overboard for the sake of offending or grossing my readership out.


If the Lord has a purpose for my writing this stuff, I'd have to say it would be the perpetuation of "good versus evil" storytelling. There was a time in horror literature (any literature, to tell the truth) when the good guys always won and the bad guys got their just dues. These days, fiction isn't as black and white as it once was. More often than not, it is a battle between evil and a lesser or greater evil. I reckon I'm just old-school, because this approach irks me alot. In my way of thinking, if you don't have a clearcut protagonist and antagonist, then it is simply not horror fiction... or at least not the kind that I enjoy and write.


In the horror genre, there are all kinds. I just happen to be one of the choir boys of the bunch. If you don't agree with what I've said, remember, this is simply my opinion and how I feel concerning these particular questions. You may believe or disbelieve; that's your God-given right. As for me, I definitely believe that there is something more than talent and luck involved in the success of my writing career and I know precisely who to give all the glory to for that. And if I need a Fatherly hand to keep me balanced on the literary fence rail, then I'll gladly hold onto it.


 

RESTLESS SHADOWS... In The Bag!

RESTLESS SHADOWS, the long-awaited sequel to my first novel, HINDSIGHT, is now finished and in the hands of Thunderstorm Press. It will be released as an economically-priced hardcover edition sometime this fall. The cover will be by master horror artist, Alex McVey.

RonaldKelly.com: New & Improved!

Thanks to webmaster and good friend, Hunter Goatley, Ronald Kelly.com has recieved a new face-lift. Head on over for the word on upcoming releases,new features, and more!

http://www.ronaldkelly.com/

Two New Audio Books: The Dark'Un & Unhinged!

  The folks at Crossroads Press have been hard at work bringing my work to audio. Some of the best voice talents in the business have been gathered, each with their own unique performance and genuine Southern twang. As a result, we now have seven full-length, unabridged audio books available for your IPod or MP3 player. They include Dark Dixie: Tales of Southern Horror, Flesh Welder, Cumberland Furnace, Timber Gray, Twilight Hankerings, The Dark’Un, and Unhinged: Tales of Darkness & Depravity.  



The two newest offerings are now available directly from Audible.com. Unhinged: Tales of Darkness & Depravity is a collection of my serial killer and mass murderer stories gathered from various horror publications and anthologies over the years. It also includes several previously unpublished stories. The Dark'Un is my full-length novel (eleven hours worth of audio in all!) dealing with a Tennessee mountain under seige by a ruthless corporation and the shadowy changling, the Dark'Un, who takes on hired guns and mercanaries, in every shape and form imaginable... and with absolutely no mercy whatsoever.


Stick a little Southern-fried horror in your ears... at Audible!

A Word from the Shlocky, Pulp-Writing, Zebra-Striped, Retro-90s Horror Hack

Recently, I've been reading some fan reviews of my novels on Goodreads and other online websites, and I've come to a sobering realization. For the most part, folks enjoy my work... but they don't take it very seriously.


Does this bother me? Maybe a little. I suppose every writer starts out a new novel or short story putting everything they have into it and hoping that their work will gain respect and touch someone in a creative and emotional way. But I reckon when it come down to pleasing horror fans and critics, you can either go in one of two directions. Do you want to be a serious, high-browed author of the macabre or an old-fashioned writer of pulp horror and spooky tall-tales? Do you want to impress readers with your English degree and wow them with your intellectual prose... or do you simply want to have some fun and tell a good story?


According to the majority of those who've read my brand of Southern-fried horror, I fit into the latter catagory.


From a review of my novel, Fear, J.B. says: Every so often, I crave something dumb in my entertainment diet. Not dumb like a Michael Bay movie or "Twilight" or network TV. I said dumb, not worthless. I mean something creatively dumb. Something that lets me give my mind a rest but that doesn't insult my intelligence. I mean dumb as in an all-nite flying saucer movie marathon, an old-school Mack Bolan, or meathead metal. I mean dumb as in early '90s cheap horror paperbacks.


Dumb? This worried me a bit. Is this fella saying that my books are dumb? Worse, is he saying that I'm dumb? That old Irish temper of mine wasn't quite at a boil, but it was starting a slow simmer. Then I continued reading...


About 15-20 years ago, publishing outfits such as Zebra, Leisure, and Pinnacle were the kings of supermarket book racks, carpet-bombing their aisles with goofy vampires, werewolves, demon children, etc. who glared with glowing eyes off foil, cut-out covers that tore nanoseconds after purchase. I bought armloads of the things, along with a big bag of picante Cornquistos (greatest snack food EVAH!) to go along with the junkfood prose. Among the better purveyors of this kind of pulp was Ronald Kelly, the Zebra poor man's version of Joe Lansdale.


Okay, I'll agree with that. The guy knows of what he speaks. Mass market paperback houses such as Pinnacle and Zebra (of which I was sort of an indentured servant of the literary type) did over-saturate the book racks with horror novels, both good and bad, and around the mid-90s, caused an implosion that knocked quite a few writers offf their feet and out of a job... me included. That I was considered to be one of the "better purveyors" of paperback horror during that period is a compliment and anytime I'm compared to Joe Lansdale in any manner, positive or negative, it is a good thing in my book.


Most Zebra writers didn't require a repeat visit. A lot of the books that publisher put out were just plain garbage and contributed to the sinking of the horror market a few years later. Turns out that saturating the shelves with crap was not a good long-term business strategy. But I liked Kelly's books. They were unpretentious, solidly constructed, meat 'n' taters, good 'n' evil horror stories. Kelly isn't likely to win any prizes for his glittering sentences  or his eye-opening insight into the nature of man, but he knows how to tell a story. Too damn many "serious" authors haven't clue No. 1 about the mechanics of plot. I bought all the Kelly books and stashed em away until I'd get my next craving for good dumb popcorn fun.


Okay, this is where the unshakable stigma of being a "Zebra Hack" comes in. Even before the Big Z accepted my first novel, Hindsight, for publication in 1989, they had a shoddy reputation. For two years my agent submitted the book to almost every paperback house in New York City and, after running the course from A to Z, it was finally accepted at Zebra. The acceptance was bittersweet. I was overjoyed  to finally have a publisher, but not so happy that it was Zebra. During the first leg of my horror writing career (I'm currently on the second one) I always felt like horror aficionados and my horror-writing peers regarded me as second-string (or less) because I wrote for Zebra. At the first World Horror Convention, I even had Charles Grant ask me point-blank "Why the hell are you tied up with Zebra? You could do so much better than them!"


I reckon it just came down to this: everyone has to start out somewhere. You do as well as you can with what you have at that particular point in time... and at that point in my wet-behind-the-ears writing career, my only chance at mass market publication was the dreaded Z. So I stuck with them and tried to buck the traditonal Zebra formula. Instead of writing five or six evil child/doll novels in a row, I wrote something different every time. And I fought to retain my Southern identity, even though the folks at Zebra accused me of being too "rural" more times than I could shake a stick at.  I wrote 8 books under the Zebra imprint before the bottom dropped out and they shut down their horror line. I always did my best to be a cut-above the average Zebra author (the way the late, great Rick Hautala did) and, acccording to this particular review, I managed to accomplish that.


J.B. makes another good point here, too. When it all comes down to it, it's all about "telling the story". You can have the most brilliant plot in the history of literary fiction, but if you don't know how to tell the story -- how to invent characters that you genuinely care about and develop situations that are reasonably credible and fun to read -- then your book will have no soul and it will fall flat on its face. I've read a number of books since coming back to the horror genre in 2006 and, for the most part, they were good, solid stories. But more than a few had all the pizzazz and appeal of a techical manual for a toaster, Whenever someone reviews one of my books and uses the term "throwback to the pulp paperback days of the '80s and '90s horror boom", I take it as a compliment. Because that was when the genre was at its pinnacle, in my opinion. That was when everyone involved had an individual voice and style, from Stephen King himself to the lowliest horror hack. And no one seemed to be particularly concerned about sales or popularity. Most of us were just having to much dadblamed fun to care.


In another review, L.W. says: If Stephen King's fiction, by his own admission, is the equivalent of a Big Mac and fries, then Kelly's is most certainly an RC Cola and a Moon Pie.




This classification of "junk food literature" in comparison to, say, "steak & lobster literature" seems to be a recurring theme here. If King is part of that common-man fraternity, then so am I. If fast-paced, adventurous fiction that leans more toward fun and fright than grim intellectualism and unsettling dread, is your cup of tea (or sweet tea, in my case), then I'm your man. More than likely, I won't ever win any major awards for my down-home horror (as of yet, the Stoker folks have neglected to bless me with one of those spooky, little outhouses), but I really don't care. The reward is writing what I want, how I want, and having readers derive some enjoyment from the end result. And, if I accomplish that by using shivers and smiles, then I can punch the ol' literary time clock and feel good about it at the end of the day.

Sixteen and Counting: The Ronald Kelly E-Book Collection!

Several years ago, I became aware of an exciting new outlet for my books and short story collections: digital publishing. Kindles and Nooks were becoming more and more popular and rightly so. A digital e-book reading device could store hundreds, perhaps even thousands of titles, giving you a library in the palm of your hand. Adjustable fonts could make it easier for those with poor vision (like Ol' Ron) to read without eye strain. And the compact size made it convenient to tote your favorite book in your hip pocket or purse (especially something like a Stephen King 1,000 pager). The problem was, I had no idea how to break into this new frontier of digital publishing and said as much on one of the horror discussion forums.

Then, along came David Niall Wilson and his new endeavor, Macabre Ink Press, and the rest is history. Three years later and Macabre Ink is now Crossroad Press, with hundreds of big-name authors to its credit, offering the best of horror in digital book form. I was fortunate to be one of their flagship authors and currently have sixteen titles available online. So far, we have the following books and short story collections ready for downloading: Undertaker's Moon, Fear, Hindsight, The Dark'Un, Hell Hollow, Dark Dixie I & II, The Sick Stuff, Cumberland Furnace, Unhinged, Twilight Hankerings, Flesh Welder, After the Burn, Timber Gray, and The China Doll. The digital edition of my first published short story collection, Midnight Grinding & Other Twilight Terrors is also available through CD Publications.




Soon, Crossroads will be publishing my seventeenth e-book, Long Chills, a collection of 13 of my novellas and long fiction pieces. In the meantime, you can catch up on the rest of the Ronald Kelly E-Book Catalog at Amazon Kindle. Crossroad Press, Barnes & Noble Nook, & Smashwords. Enjoy!

Gloom, Despair, & Agony on Me: Trading the Pathos for Prose

It's been a rough year and a half.

Some of you out there know what has been going on with the Kelly household for a while now, while others may have no idea at all. So it's time to exorcise the demons, so to speak. It's time to reflect upon the past eighteen months and try to make some sort of sense out of this long journey of darkness and despair that I -- and my family -- have recently taken.

The unanswered emails, the missed deadlines, unmailed books and stories, unwritten fiction, the utter lack of communication; all of it comes down to one word. One black and gloomy word that carries the very weight of the world upon its narrow and trembling shoulders.

Grief.

Between February of 2012 and June of 2013, we have seen the deaths of four close family members. It began with the loss of our sister-in-law, Debbie, who succumbed to a long illness, then continued with the death of my father, Robert, who passed away after many debilitating years with Alzhiemer's Disease. Those two deaths alone were enough to drag the spirits of my family to the depths of despair (yes, I know that's an overused and somewhat corny term, but when you're experiencing it, it fits like a well-worn glove). Then in October, my father-in-law, Carroll, suffered a massive stroke and died a month later. A short reprieve of emotional healing followed before we were hit hard again with the unexpected death of my wife's young cousin, Heather, who had just given birth to twins -- a boy and a girl -- at the age of 26. After her return home from the hospital, Heather put the babies down for a nap one morning, laid down for one herself, and never woke up.

So, you see, we no more came to terms with one death, before being hit with the sledgehammer force of another. This would be difficult for one person to deal with -- even a person of faith like myself -- but when the entire family shares the grief equally, it can be devestating. You can be brave, put your trust in God, and carry on, and folks will say "They're taking it remarkably well. I'm not sure I could have handled it if I were in their shoes." What they see is the courageous front, strong and seemingly at peace with the situation. What they don't see is the tender underbelly of pain and grief lying underneath. The tears, the doubts, the fears, the awful anger... directed toward Old Man Death and, yes, admittedly and shamefully, toward the very Lord Himself.

People deal with grief in different ways. My way is a strange sort of apathy. I grow depressed, lazy, and tend to procrastinate. This is what happened  to yours truly as the visits to the funeral home grew more frequent and standing, grave-side, at the cemeteries grew more and more unbearable. I concentrated on my family's emotional well being and spent less and less time on my writing. Manuscripts became overdue, ordered books gathered dust on my desk, signed, but unshipped. My desire to even write at all dwindled from a brilliant flame to a lukewarm ember. The Beneath the Bed fund-raising story -- that helped finance my daughter Reilly's trip to Europe -- should have been mailed out months ago, but instead lay in a stack, printed but unsigned. My friends and fans, editors and publishers, first grew concerned, then gradually grew irritated at my blatant disregard and inactivity. I found myself sitting down before the computer monitor, fingers poised above the keyboard, staring dumbly at a blank screen, uninspired. Sometimes I would write a paragraph or two, or if I was lucky, a complete page. Then I would save the literary pittance I had managed to produce and turn the Word document off, only to waste precious time on Facebook and Twitter, which, for some odd reason, gave me comfort and occupied, and diverted, my troubled thoughts.

Yes, grief is so powerful that it takes hold of one of your greatest and most profound joys and lays it gray and shallow at your feet, to be neglected and trod upon. Life is a fragile thing and, at the loss of such, things like promised stories and manuscipt deadlines seem insignificant in comparison. Questions such as "Who will be next?" and "Will my children suffer and want in the event of my death?" come uncomfortably to mind, particularly in the dead of night.

Luckily, my faith in God carried me through those dark months, as it did my wife and three children. We believe in Heaven and know that our loved ones; the four we recently lost -- as well as my mother and grandparents, who passed on years before -- will be there in joyful reunion when our time comes to leave this mortal world.

I'm back at work now, picking up the pieces, trying to glue them back into some semblance of an ongoing writing career. It was difficult at first, getting back into the swing of things, but it grows easier and better every day. Stories are reaching completion, manuscripts are landing on the publisher's desks, and books and stories that folks paid good money for are gradually making their way to the post office. For those who waited, thanks for your patience and your understanding. For those of you who were impatient and sometimes cruel, I find no fault in you, for I know you believe that your reactions were justified... and perhaps rightly so.

The Southern-fried horror skillet is back out of the cupboard and on the blazing eye of the stove once again, cooking new tales of darkness and suspense for your literary supper plate. I've always tended to use my life experiences to fortify and season my fiction, and I'm certain that these past months of grieving and soul-searching will eventually prove to serve me, and you, the reader, in the same manner. In time, they will make it into your anxious hands, beneath your reading lamp, and upon your book shelf, where sadness and woe evolves, Phoenix-like, into the written word... and pathos transforms into prose.

A Goodbye Between Strangers: My Father's Battle With Alzheimer's Ends

My father is gone. But, then, in actuality, he has been gone for several years now.

Alzheimer's Disease is brutal... much more brutal than cancer. I never thought I would say that, having lost my mother to lung cancer 22 years ago, but I find, with the death of my father last night, that it is true. Cancer attacks the body, but Alzheimer's attacks the mind, the memory, the personality... that which makes us what we truly are. Alzheimer's robs a person of their true essence -- the person God made and built them to be -- and replaces them with an empty shell of themselves; present in body, but absent in mind. Sometimes kind, compassionate people turn into angry, vindictive people that you wouldn't want to be around, let alone grow up with or love. Sometimes the disease turns them into catatonic zombies that will only aknowledge you if prompted to. I've seen both phases during this long, difficult journey with my father.

Being a writer, it is natural that I would want to vent my sorrow and explore my inner thoughts concerning my father's death through the written word, and so I do. Mine is not a perfect story of a perfect relationship between father and son. Like so many similar stories, ours was one motivated by friction... friction caused by a mutual stubbornness and a failure -- or refusal -- to understand one another's viewpoint (particularly during my teens and twenties). He was a hardened, tool-and-die man of 40 years, while I was a sensitive, cerebral young man more intrigued by art and literature than sports, hunting, and "learning a solid trade". Such far-reaching differences make for a volatile relationship.

I suppose much of this friction began from the very beginning. My father was an army man when he and my mother married and, even after I was concieved, he continued his service... only without us. While he was stationed in Germany and then Korea, Mama and I stayed on the homefront. For the formative years of my life, it was just me and her ( talk about the catalyst for becoming a "mama's boy"). When Daddy finally did return to the States for good, I was two years old. Mama said I took the toy tank that he offered me, handed him his uniform hat, and said "Now go!" After that, there always seemed to be a distinctive distance between the two of us.

There was no denying that he truly loved me. It was just that he didn't exactly understand me. He didn't understand my leaning toward art during my early years and he certainly didn't understand my desire to become a published author in my mid-teens. He seemed frustrated that I didn't want to attend vocational school and learn a trade like engineering or drafting. I, in turn, was frustrated that he didn't see my talent and potential, the way my mother obviously did. After my first novel was published, he began to see that my aspirations were valid and he developed pride in my accomplishments. A musician and lover of country music himself, he even tried his hand at song writing at one point.

I suppose we were the closest following the death of my mother in 1989. I was still living at home at that time and we found ourselves depending upon one another to fill in the gaps that Mama's absence had left behind. I helped him pay his bills and keep his financial state in order (something that Mama had always taken care of). In turn, he gave me the opportunity to quit my job and write for a living, helping me pay my car payment when I could have never done so otherwise.

If my father had one flaw, it was that he could not devote himself to more than one person at a time. So when he remarried, I found that our brief period of standing on common ground slipped a bit and we began to return to the way it had been before. His admiration continued, but that old awkwardness returned. Whenever we would meet it would be "How are you doing?"and "What have you been up to?", followed a strained silence, as my wife and step-mother (who, incidently, are neice and aunt... this is Tennessee, you know) carried on the majority of the conversation.

I do recall some of the ways he showed his love toward me and my family over the years, though. Daddy was an inventive person and could pretty much rig up any device that he set his mind to. I remember him using milk cartons packed with ice and linked to the air vents of  his '56 Chevy to conjure up an artificial "air conditioner" to keep us cool during long vacation trips in the 60s. And, on another vacation trip in the mid-70s -- when there was no such thing as an Ipod -- he took an old 8-track car tape player, linking it to the car battery and postioning in the floorboard of the back seat where I sat, and wiring in stereo headphones, devised my own private stereo system because he knew how much I loved listening to my rock music back then. What other father would have had the ingenuity and desire to do such a special thing for his son?

After my marriage to Joyce and the birth of my first two children, however, I saw that ingenuity began to slip away and I suspected that something bad was taking place. His driving skills became erratic, he grew more irritable and frustrated at simple tasks, and his memory seemed to be faltering. I recall going to his house one Christmas to help him put up outdoor Christmas lights and finding him to be confused about how to do it, where his old self would have had no trouble at all. I remember me and Joyce riding with him to the local K-Mart to get lights for the shrubbery and porch and him regarding us suspiciously, as though he wasn't exactly sure who we were. After that, things got progressively worse and we discovered that he had been diagonosed with Alzheimer's Disease.

I wish to God that I could say that I spent a good deal of time with him during his declining years. But, as hurtful as the truth might be... no, I didn't. Due to my step-mother's conversion to Mormonish during Daddy's illness and her shunning of her old family in favor of her new one, an inpenetrable wall was built between us... one that has given me much grief and regret over the past year and a half. But I am not here to condemn another's religion or speak badly of anyone. I just find that I must defend myself against allegations of being a "bad son". I did my best to mend fences, but for the sake of my own family and particularly my children, keeping our distance was the best choice to make.

Although Daddy will be cremated and won't rest in the plot beside my mother (which pains me to no end), I can find comfort in the fact that he is now himself again... without confusion, without anger or pain. Being a Christian, I believe he resides with my mother, as clear-minded as he ever was and much happier and contented that he was in life. As for me, I'm looking forward to the time when I can see his smile and shake his hand and, together, we can stand on common ground once again.

I love you, Daddy.