Daniel I. Russell's Blog, page 8

CARNIES by Martin Livings

Carnies by Martin Livings was one of my 'pay it forward' sales, in that I always ALWAYS buy a book by a small press writer I know if I see it in a brick and mortar store. That store was Borders...so I guess the sale wasn't enough to keep the boat afloat.

So Carnies. A bit of history.

The book is a Ditmar and Aurealis award nominee and the winner of a Tin Duck award (a quite prestigious award for writers in Western Australia). The book has also been optioned to be made into a feature film.

So, going into the this novel, I was expecting big things. But werewolves? WEREWOLVES? After vamps and zombies, werewolves get the cliched bronze medal. But does Livings take the subgenre into completely new territory? No...but read on.

In the town of Tillbrook, there is a carnival that has stood on the sight for a century. The locals can't remember why they still go and spend their hard earned cash...it's just become a tradition. But some people in the town know all about the secret the carnival holds and will stoop to any lengths to see it gone.

Step in David, a reporter past his prime who is now relegated to write the fluff articles for the newspapers weekend supplement. Tipped off that there might be a meatier story (and there certainly is!) behind the carnival facade, he sets off for Tillbrook with dreams of exposing it and reigniting his journalism career. Along for the ride is Paul, his younger brother. Paul's life is dovetailing. Permanently unemployed and with a busted ankle he suffered in a FLT accident, Paul goes with his brother for a few days away from his crappy life and to make a few dollars. He's a dab hand with a camera.

And that's all I'm going to give you for now really. Oh, and there's werewolves. LOTS of werewolves.

I mentioned that nothing remarkable is done with the werewolves. They aren't in space. They aren't fighting bigfoot. They aren't telekinetic werewolves that have formed a cult to stop a government conspiracy to raise Cthulu.

The traditional werewolf story here is actually quite refreshing. Livings dispenses with far-fetched notions to make the novel stand out, and instead, concentrates on writing a damn good story that doesn't need to try too hard to win over the reader. This, my friends, is what makes it stand out.

Livings comfortably spins his yarn. This is one of the most welcoming books I have read in a long, long time. The book comes across as clever without being smug about it and funny without resorting to jokes or bizarreness for the sake of it. The voice here is just so...effortless! You sink right in and the pace belts along, but with enough depth and thought to give the pages a bit more personality compared to other horror thrillers.

Gore hounds will be satisfied, yet the blood and guts are done tastefully, so I don't think that green horror readers will go...greener. The writer doesn't go for graphic deaths or torture, spilling every cringe-worthy detail (unlike some other horror writers. Dan whistles nonchalantly...). It's simply a great all round book.

One last thing: Livings is from Perth, so while the book could kinda be set in America to an untrained eye, this book is about as Australian as a Chiko Roll, only it has both taste and texture. We don't have gangsters...we have bikies. The petrol stations I'm sure are here in town. As a writer living in Australia, I love to see these things. Makes a change from an almost US saturated market of good, quick horror.

Put down your crappy teen romance "horror" book, or the constant turds that are vampires vs werewolves caught in an eternal battle (boooooring!). For a great read of all things tooth and claw, and without the bullshit, I can't recommend Carnies enough. One of those books were you intend to read a chapter or two and find a hundred or so pages have whipped by.

You're going to need a silver-plated bookmark for this one! Cannot wait for the movie. The Howling? Eat your heart out. (Sorry, werewolf pun)

Blood Orchard by S.D. Hintz

Okay, here we go. While I'm always honest in my reviews, the more astute of you may know that S.D. Hintz is one of my publishers...but that won't spare him the toasting I give every book I read. Blood Orchard is his first full-length debut novel.

Onward is a town with a history, a history of missing triplets. Fifteen years ago, the Sheriff's teenage triplets, a trio called the Blondies, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Not surprisingly, most of the residents were glad, as the Blondies' reign of violence, harassment and vandalism was finally over. Bad point, that makes everyone a suspect. Skip ahead, and triplets are missing again, this time three baby girls. Psychotic Sheriff Pritchard, a Chicago detective and a mild-mild mannered reporter are all trying to crack the case, but the town's bloody history and mounting paranoia may mean the wrong man is found guilty, and the babies will never be found.

There's a lot to be said about Blood Orchard, both good and bad, and what this results in is a very unique book. Very unique indeed. It's very hard to compare Hintz to another writer, what with the style and voice he has here in Blood Orchard.

*I refuse to abbreviate like usual, as I would then be calling the book BO.

Let's start off at the beginning.

Major problem, and this might just be a personal thing, and in no way a reflection of the writer, but more the publisher. I have no idea what the thought was behind the choice of font. There's something about it which, for me, didn't make the text instantly enjoyable. It took a few pages for my eyes to adjust (for want of a better explanation) to the font, especially in flashback scenes, which are italised. Hopefully, when a second edition of the book emerges, a more standard font will be used.

The book opens and we hit the ground running, which works for it as much as against it. It's a jarring start, and the reader is immediately dropped into this crazy situation. The characters are lacking in development at this point (I mean, it is chapter 1!) and the reader just has to ride it out. For those readers who love show over tell, this is how Hintz develops his characters. Like a fly on the wall, the readers can only develop an opinion about each character from their actions and speech, not drawn out ramblings about what they like to eat for their dinner and the name of their first pet, etc. Even the flashbacks, which gradually fill in the holes of the mystery, are written this way. It's refreshing, allows a wider reader opinion of characters and also gives a full-tilt pace.

The book definitely becomes more engrossing the more you read, and the last half will keep the pages turning. You'll be confused in the first half, and at some points have no clue what's going on, but rest assured, Hintz has got this covered. You're dancing to his tune, and he knows where the beat is going.

It may be considered that the book does too much headjumping and flashbacking. This is tit for tat, as while you can't get super in depth with a character, as you aren't with them long enough, things never get dull and the pace never lets up.

The gore is done tactfully, but that doesn't mean there's not much in there. Again, the last half of the book is chock full of nasty, and personally, I think it was done just right, but then again I am a gore hound. One image in particular is vivid, unsettling and will stay with you.

I can recommend this book for horror fans who are looking for a quick, snappy read. I can see this not being everyone's cup of tea, but this writing style is worth a look just to see if it suits. It's a great starting point for a novel career, and I am very interested to see what S.D. comes up with in light of this release.

I want to talk about...gore

I would like to just take a minute and talk about gore.

Gore and splatterpunk, as it was popularly know a few years back, encompasses writers such as Laymon, Ketchum, Keene and Lee. Yes, there are arguments for and against each one for inclusion, and the whole thing about labeling authors in a subgenre...but I think anyone who has read one of the above authors can agree that there is no shortage of blood spilled, limbs munched on and brains used to decorate walls.

Which brings me onto Samhane, as there's been a bit talked about my book since its release.

The book was written back in 2004. At the time, I firmly believe that this would be the first and only book I would ever write, and because of this, I wanted to have lots of fun with it. This might have been my one chance, you know? I wanted to write something extreme, something to emulate the authors I adored, mainly Laymon and Barker, to write something with Laymon's to the point style of writing and pace, with some deformed machinations akin to Barker. Did I succeed? Personally, I think so. I'm not saying this is better or as good as these legends of horror, but I hope that readers will feel the love in the streets of Samhane.

Now the book is hitting readers. Here are a handful of reviews:

ScaryMinds

Shroud Magazine

Phantastiknews

Goodreads

So far, the reception that I'm getting is the book is a good one, but very, very extreme. Perhaps too much. Surely...it's not THAT extreme, is it?

Compared to later books of mine, I feel that Samhane is relatively tame in hindsight. Mother's Boys, The Forgotten and the almost completed Entertaining Demons all have far, far nastier death scenes. In fact, some of the scenes described in the latter made my partner nearly retch.

On the shorter side, my novellas also have their squeamish moments...even though in my novella Critique, there is barely any violence at all. Would this book be considered extreme? Dealing by the subject matter...I dare say so.

And this is the problem...or is it a problem?

By writing novels that are generally considered on the verge of being unfit for sane human consumption, am I restricting my market appeal?

Carsten Kuhr hit the nail on the head in his Samhane review for Phantastiknews (translated) :

"This is certainly not a mainstream horror, but is aimed explicitly at a fairly small group of corresponding fans."

Aaaaargh! So by writing splatter, I'm only going to be selling to other like minded deviants? I would say so, but then...coming from England, Richard Laymon books are in almost every book shop in the country. The SAW movies get some flack, but they still pull in the crowds. I think maybe more people are agreeable to a bit of splatter...but perhaps they don't know it yet?

The one thing that irks me a major way, and I'm going to use a bit from the Scaryminds review for this. This is not a slur on scaryminds.com, nor am I arguing with the reviewer's rating (as with Carsten above), I'm using this to highlight a point that I actually agree with. But just because I agree with it, doesn't mean I like it!

"7/10 Gore limits rating, well recommended otherwise"

Hmm. So the amount of gore kinda keeps the book from doing better. Okay, I can see that. But here are the things that really piss me off!

Horror. I've been in many arguments over what horror is. I like the definition:

Horror - an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting, anything that causes such a feeling, a strong aversion; abhorrence.

Yup. To me that is horror. I expect horror to sicken and disgust, to create a sense of tension and suspense, to explore the realms of the extreme. One of the things we band about the Necrotic Tissue office is 'this story has a mounting sense of dread'. I like that. A mounting sense of dread. Yes, I like horror novels that feature a normal everyday character slipping into a macabre, bloody tangent, and as they fall further down the rabbithole, a mounting sense of dread develops. Ooooh. That kinda makes me want to go and read some Ketchum right about now.

I detest books that simply are not horror, that have no feel of terror or revulsion about them, but are sold as horror instead of dark fiction or paranormal or crime. Hang on, it has a what? A friendly werewolf? Ah, a werewolf means it's a horror novel. And this one has somebody that not only dies but is...(dramatic pause for tension) murdered. Has to be a horror. Miss Marple can scare the bejesus outta you! And finally, the third book has a mopey female protagonist that is full of gloomy and depressed thoughts. We gotta stick a cover of a chick with a full moon behind her and stick it on the horror shelf.

I know there are grey areas, but I think some are more clear cut books then people would want to hear. I'm not prepared to get into the whole Twilight is not horror just because it has vampires argument again.

Personal rant: There are big publishers who won't even consider horror. They release a dark fiction novel...and all of a sudden it's in the horror section in bookstores. What the hell?

Sigh. Back to the point.

Okay, so I'm kinda limiting my options by writing a book, sorry books, this extreme. How can I get around this? I have two possible solutions:

1. Lie about the content. Well, I say lie, more like deceive. A few mutilated corpses swept under the pubic hair rug.

2. Write a more mainstream novel.

Ah, Dan! You all cry. You get it! You finally get it!

Nah. Not happening. I tried. I really tried! The more I try to keep things light, the worse they inevitably get. With the latest novel, which is about 80% complete, things really do get quite low and nasty. Yet, I feel it's the most ambitious and possibly grown up (harhaar!) novel I've written. Maybe on day I can write a more commercial novel, but the closest idea I have on the horizon is a bizarro epic post apoc kinda gig.

Anyway, thanks to Anita S for letting me know my leave a message facility is busted, so if you have any thoughts about the predicament, such as shut the fuck up Dan and write a paranormal romance instead of splatter, feel free to email me at harlequin-writes@hotmail.co.uk.

Other big thank yous go out to the reviewers linked above, to German site horror-forum.com for having Samhane for their reading circle this month, the 947 people who entered the competition to win a copy of Samhane and the person already selling Samhane on eBay (gotta love it).

Anyway, after six weeks summer holiday, I'm back at the coal face as the students arrive back at the high school tomorrow for a brand new academic year. I'm actually looking forward to it. Think the break from the writing world will do me good for a few weeks until I get in the rhythm of things.

See you next week! (I do have something planned to discuss...but I've forgotten it. I'm sure it will re-emerge before next week!)

BRIDES OF THE IMPALER by Edward Lee

Apologies, but it's been a week since I read this, so don't expect the degree of detail you usually get in one of my reviews!

I like Edward Lee. My first book was Slither which I bought at Heathrow Airport during my migration to Australia. That was a fun little romp, followed by The Golem, which was only spoiled by one annoying character.

Now Ed sent me a copy of Brides of the Impaler after he heard I was a fan (we share the same agent in Germany). I'll be honest, if I was to pick another Ed Lee book to read, this would not have been it. I would have gone for House Infernal or Flesh Gothic (which incidentally have been purchased since!). Brides seemed just a dark sex book judging from the blurb. But is it?

A successful macabre doll manufacturer, Christina, moves into the expensive NY house her hot shot lawyer husband bought her. Across the street sits the abandoned church which previously owned the house, where an old, brooding priest keeps watch. Something is buried under the brownstone house that is calling to Christina, filling her with passion and lust. The images of a vampiric nun haunt her day and night. Meanwhile, NY detective Vernon is on the case of a bunch of crazy, homeless women that are apparently impaling people on sharpened broom handles. The thing that links the two events are the colours police find at the crimes scene, and on the latest batch of macabre dolls...

Ed Lee is, as Cemetery Dance call him, "The hardest of the hardcore horror writers", but this book was on the light side in regards to gore and violence. Sure, the impalements are well done, and the bodies start to really pile up towards conclusion, but this reads like a more mature Ed Lee at work. Hang on...more mature? No, no. Gore and violence doesn't mean immature, but more the subplots are well-crafted and here the author prefers to use a steadily building sense of doom then go all out with an axe. It was a very refreshing affair, with more (vastly more!) sex than violence. The main character Christina rarely has her hands out of her pants...or someone else's, as this burning lust takes hold. Normally we have to discuss gore for gore's sake, but this was more masturbation for masturbation's sake. It is relative to the plot, but this character might have got through more batteries than the Duracell bunny.

*Yes, I understand that the whole selling point of the Duracell Bunny is that he can go on and on and on...but that's the point. He is ALWAYS on. A good battery or not, he would go through a FUCKLOAD of batteries.

** In fact it's a bad example. Parents: Yes, use good quality batteries, but please encourage your kids to turn off their toys when finished with them. We only get one earth...and a limited supply of Duracells. Or Everready, if that tickles your troat.

SEX! Yes, sexy sex and lots of it. This doesn't really spoil the story, but adds to the characterisation and the emotional history of the main character. This constant mental turmoil allows the reader to accept some of the more 'oh no she didn't' moments.

My favourite character was detective Vernon and his fellow cops. Lee captures NY perfectly (not that I've been, but I'm a Flight of the Conchords fan and it all seems to fit)and makes it a character itself more than just a setting. The banter between the cops is great.

Basically, this is one of the Edward Lee books that rarely gets a mention, and I hope he didn't send me this in particular because he has boxes of them unsold at his house. If he has, and even if he hasn't, which is likely, buy one. It's a very different feel to the other books I've read (in fact, it had a Masterton feel about it to this reader) and if you have a partner into the -ahem- naughty kind of novel, this might be a good way to share something. Sex and violence is always a good thing on paper between loving couples. Oh and don't be put off because it's vampires. They pay a small part but when they're on the scene, they're spot on.

Yeah. Readers of Ed should love this. Other general horror readers should get a kick out of it too.

COVER by Jack Ketchum

Seeing as how my partner bought the remainder of Jack Ketchum's back catalogue before the Leisure house of cards fell down as a Christmas gift, I now find myself in the same situation as with Brian Keene. Lots of books to read and so little time! I had Cover on the shelf for a month or so before Christmas, so this had to be the first in a run of Ketchum.

Lee is a Vietnam veteran haunted by the violence and horror he's seen. Now back home, he lives out in the woods as protection from other people. His flashbacks are too vivid, and he can be back in the jungles hunting VC in the blink of an eye. When his wife, exhausted from this way of life and wary of their own own safety, takes his son and moves out of the forest, this leaves Lee alone with his dog, Pavlov, and his nightmares.

Kelsey is a successful novelist who takes his friends on a camping trip, a matter complicated by his wife, a literary agent, and his lover, a supermodel. Both women know of the arrangement and have developed a close friendship. There's also a photographer along for the ride to capture the trip for a major magazine, Kelsey's own agent, and his friend, a playwright.

Problem is that they've chosen to camp in Lee's territory, and he's been looking for the enemy a long time. Now he has one.

As with The Girl Next Door, Ketchum tries to inject a certain social conscience into the horror on display here. With Girl, it was the case of Sylvia Likens, a crime that went dually unnoticed or accepted among the local community. Here we have the horrors of Vietnam on display.

The character of Lee, in my opinion, is simply a shell for the violence. His actual personality only comes through in moments with his dog. There's very little there, you see. Normally, this would be a big problem, but Ketchum proves a point here. Lee is a shell because that's all that's left: a man who only has his training, his memories and his nightmares. This makes the onslaught vastly more believable. He shows no remorse, as he has none. The war has made him into a killing machine.

The characterisation mostly comes into play with Kelsey and his entourage, in particular the model Michelle. We have subplots involving the love triangle between Kelsey, Michelle and the wife Caroline. While this gives some depth and attempts to make us care for the fates of the characters as they enter the woods, this leads to a very slow first half. The only action present is Lee's VC flashbacks, which are brilliantly done. As for our humble good guys, I wanted them to get to the woods already!

After the first kill, the action is none stop all the way in typical Ketchum fashion. But again, the violence is more measured and calculated (Rambo as opposed to Rambo 3). You won't find much 'psycho running around with a machete' action here, but there are accurately researched traps and army maneuvers with just the same result. Blood is shed, but in a more realistic way.

Dare I say it, this book did not read like a Ketchum book. While his fluid writing is there, and his wonderful ability to paint a scene, especially in the great outdoors, this just didn't feel like a Ketchum book. I've had a few days to chew on this one since finishing. I wouldn't call it a horror novel. This is more a heavy on the violence action novel, similar to the feeling I got after reading Shaun Hutson's White Ghost.

Certainly worth a look, but there are more traditional horror novels out there if that's what you want. Should you require a change (but still like a bit of splatter) then this might be a great choice.

Don't look back, look forwards (there's an elk behind you anyway)

Happy 2011, folks! I've already made several mistakes regarding the date. I've developed a typing mental block over 2011 and keep typing 2001 (and yes, I had to go back and correct that!), but bear with me.



Rather than list my achievements, highs and lows for 2010 here (and why would I? If you're the interested sort--unlikely--then it's all here in the archives), I'm going to look across the sands of time through 2001, I mean, 2011, and see what's coming...or indeed, what I hope will come.



SELF PUBLISHING? SAY IT AIN'T SO, DAN, SO IT AIN'T SO!



Yes, yes. Some of you may know that I'm dead against self publishing and I've had many (sometimes ridiculously long) arguments online over it. My stance has changed in the last few months, but (adopt Nazi voice) ONLY EVER SO SLIGHTLY!



In 2011, following the success of chapbook FLUFFS , which has been downloaded close to 1000 times, I aim to release a chapbook or short story every month digitally to read online or via Kindle, etc. This is cover art pending. I don't want to release something that looks like a piece of shit, obviously.



January's release is ROOTS:



It forced a way through the compact darkness, feeling and probing. When it touched upon the flesh, it started to feed.



Richard is on the trail of a spate of missing person cases, unknowing they lie buried in the garden across the street.



It grows in the darkness, a special plant, carrying the memories of the dead. We all have our roots. His might kill you.



I would like to thank Dru Morgan for her excellent cover art, a picture called Re Animate, which is a perfect fit for the story!



Is this self publishing, Mr. Russell? Maybe, but not in the traditional sense.



I will not self publish something (apart from the odd flash fiction on the blog) until it has been traditionally published. Ever. It's my bench mark that the story is a good one. But then...what of the story when it has spent its time in the limelight and I get the rights back?



I do really want to release a collection of my short work in 2011. I have about 100k of short story reprints featured in places such as Pseudopod, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, Midnight Echo, Sick Things, Malpractice, WICKED, etc. Sure, there's been a few feelers put out in the industry and conversations had, but so far, no contract has been signed.



GRATUITOUS BEGGING ALERT! Should anyone know a reputable publisher interest in collections, send them this way... The full TOC and resume are available!



So while the collection is still waiting and I have all these stories sitting around...why not release them? There's life in the nasty critters yet (or death as is the case) so they can earn their keep on my hard drive.



Longer stories will carry a price, always $1, never higher. I intend to give artists exposure and hopefully a little coin from these sales. Anything I do make personally will be going towards postage costs of print copies of Samhane, again, trying to keep the costs down for readers. Daniel I Russell is a nonprofit organisation and an equal opportunities employer.



So far we have FLUFFS for free and ROOTS for $1 over at my Smashwords page. Unsure what to cook up for February. It's early days yet.



This is also somewhat of a marketing experiment. My challenge is this: Can the stories make more money this way than in a digital anthology? Remember that in a digital anthology, you're getting a split royalty. Personally, I'm finding this incredibly interesting, and yes, might sway self publishing a little bit...but only a little bit.



And only for reprints! ><



COME INTO DARKNESS



Mario Fulcinni, young, successful and handsome, has seen it all. In his adult film career he's tasted more indulgences then a Roman emperor, the women, the parties, the drugs. Hunting for something more, he attends a party on the promise it will 'change his life...forever'.

Chilled to the bone and in the pouring rain, Mario attends Metus House.



A chubby elderly man in an old, crimson blazer emerges. He is Worth, Mario's guide for the evening.



And the tour begins...



Fall into a twisting nightmare of creatures and contraptions.



Come into Darkness.



The book should be available in print and in ebook form in the coming months. Can't wait! Available in English from Skullvines Press, and in German from Voodoo Press.



IN OTHER NEWS:



The Goodreads giveaway continues for one of three copies of Samhane:










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Goodreads Book Giveaway



























Samhane









by Daniel I. Russell

Giveaway ends January 31, 2011.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win







Only one month to go! It's free to enter, and you never know!



Other hopes for 2011. Don't ask, because I won't tell you, but two of my unpublished novels, Mother's Boys and The Forgotten, are currently under consideration by an amazing publisher. I've worked with this house before and am anxiously waiting their decision. I have oodles of respect for the person in charge and if it's a no, then so be it, but at least I think I'll get a reason. Fingers crossed for the next few months. I'm surprisingly nervous...something I haven't felt in a while over a submission!



I also hope that the readers who buy Samhane enjoy it as much as people seem to so far. The German readers are currently lapping it up!



Besides my standard hopes that my family will remain safe and that work will be tolerable, I think I'm pretty much covered, if the 2001, erm, 2011 fairy of good luck is reading.



Happy New Year!

Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King

The latest offering from King takes us down a familiar routine, similar to Four Past Midnight and Different Seasons. Some of these novella collections have given us some truly incredible stories, such as Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, The Body, Apt Pupil, and the overlooked Langoliers, Library Policeman and Secret Window, Secret Garden. How will this latest collection stack up against some that others may consider classics?

In 1922, Wilfred James is a farmer with a big problem. His wife has recently inherited some land, and a firm wants to by it to build a pig slaughtering plant. She's keen. He's not, as this would mean selling all their land and moving to the city, which he despises. With only one option out of the mess, the farmer grooms his only son into assisting with the murder and disposal of his wife. What follows is an extreme revenge from beyond the grave.

Big Driver. An Agatha Christie-esque mystery writer is on her way home from a speaking engagement and takes an advised shortcut. Driving over nailed bits of wood, her car blows a tyre. The friendly trucker who stops to help turns out to be not very friendly...not very friendly at all.

In Fair Extension, a man dying of cancer makes a deal with the Devil, agreeing for a 'fair extension' of his life. But is the price too high?

Finally, A Good Marriage follows a woman and her marriage to a nice, quiet, meticulous accountant over 27 years. One night, while he's away on business, she fatefully trips over a cardboard box in the garage. Its contents take her on a dark journey into her husband's secret life.

You've probably noticed that I've given Full Dark, No Stars 3/5 stars if you're reading this on Goodreads.

It's not a bad book, but none of the tales featured within blew me away. I've always defended King, but as I read through the collection, it became apparent that some of the arguments against his writing style were cropping up. 1922 did extremely little with the large chunk of the book it takes up. Most of the story involves the protagonist feeling sad and lonely in his farmhouse, while the real action of the story, that of his son, is a mere subplot. Disappointing.

The second story held no real shock value for me, especially after reading Ketchum. I did like the mystery elements and the twists; obviously in key with the main character, the mystery writer! It was an intriguing tale and its second half made this my favourite of the four.

Fair Extension, which is a short story nestled among the three other novellas, was the biggest disappointment. This offered nothing original, in fact, Caroline B. Cooney's Vampire Trilogy I read as a young teen executed the idea better. Sorry, Stevie. Guess I'll never get a cover blurb now...

A Good Marriage was decent enough, but I like to gradually see characterisation emerge. You know, like how you get to know someone through what they do and say? King does his normal thing of giving us pages and pages of information straight off the bat regarding the couple in the Good Marriage. This info could have been leaked throughout the story...hang on...it was? No wonder the piece, just like 1922, felt fifty pages too long.

It's not a bad book. In my opinion, King cannot write a true stinker, but this falls far from his best. A shame, as I've been really looking forward to this book. Oh, and the cover IS a stinker, by the way. What were they thinking?

Massive update

Bloody Christmas, eh? It's the holidays and you have all this news to share (or a novel to write, as the case may be) and every morning you think 'today I AM going to write that blog post'. Yet everyday is filled with stiffling heat and presents and alcohol and all things lovely. Having written my required word count for the day, finished the edits for Necrotic Tissue #14 and barbecued the NICEST peppered steak ever, it was time for bum in seat to write a blog.



After all, this week has seen release of Samhane in English and German speaking countries! Who'd have thought this day would come, when that nasty, blood-soaked novel I wrote back in 2003/2004 would be in people's hands! Und deutschen Händen!







And now, the photographic evidence that the book exists...



English/US front cover





English/US back cover





Bio with author pic of me just after I wrote Samhane...young bastard!





See how good that spine looks on a shelf? Eh? Wink wink nudge nudge?









The German edition. BOX FRESH!



So there we have it. Samhane has been entered into both the Australian Shadow Awards and the Aurealis Awards. Fingers crossed for them.



For a little tidbit of information, I was also honoured to be in the Manjimup Bridgetown newspaper this week. For those not in the area, the newspaper put the article up online here. I occasionally take a nice author picture. Those more eagle-eyed readers may compare the pictures and see how I have aged in about seven years.



REMEMBER! The Samhane draw is only open until December 31st!



As this is the festive season, and Christmas is all about mass consumerism, every copy of Samhane bought from Stygian Publications or if you're a German reader, Voodoo Press puts you in the running to win an ultra rare and signed Festive Fear Global Edition. That's one for both...erm...languages. A runner up for each will also win a signed copy of Necrotic Tissue #12. All you have to do is buy a copy from the above places to enter the draw.



It couldn't be easier!



If you don't have much money to spare (I too have felt the pinch of Christmas. Nintendo don't sell their wares cheap) then perhaps the Goodreads giveaway may float your boat?










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Goodreads Book Giveaway



























Samhane









by Daniel I. Russell

Giveaway ends January 31, 2011.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win







And while that's a whole heap of news, it's all on Samhane, available from Stygian Publications or in German from Voodoo Press.



Things are looking good for wheels to start turning for the horror novella Come Into Darkness from Skullvines Press in the coming months, as well as the German edition through Voodoo Press. The new novel is currently only at 10k, but cooking nicely.



Oh! Nearly forgot! For those people who like an ebook every now and again, my free chapbook FLUFFS is now available on Kindle, etc via Smashwords .







And as a marketing experiment, I will also have another chapbook available next week via Smashwords, a plant horror previously published in the anthology Decimate, Roots. Stunning cover art has already been confirmed. Can't wait to get this overlooked story out there. It's one of my more girly (God forbid!) short stories, but rest assured, there will be blood, there will be violence...and a very camp supporting character!



Happy New Year, folks!

MACABRE: A JOURNEY THROUGH AUSTRALIA'S DARKEST FEARS

MACABRE: A Journey Through Australia's Darkest Fears is one hell of a volume. Literally. It's like a brick...but a brick chock full of great horror fiction.

Editors Angela Challis and Dr. Marty Young have put together an extra special anthology here. The book is exclusively an Australian endeavor, charting the change of the genre over the years. This is the big selling point of this collection in my eyes. The editors did not simply put out the call for submissions or do a year's best. This book has been thoroughly researched and it shows. The stories are arranged chronologically, and the first piece, Fisher's Ghost: A Legend of Campbell Town is dated 1836.

To be honest, this bothered me, at first. I'm not really a fan off pre-20th century horror as it can be thickly written, too flowery, or simply just lack a plot. The stories featured here, despite their age, were great and written with a certain contemporary feel.

This book took me a long time to get through, choosing to dip into for a short story every now and again. Obviously, I can't comment on every single story featured, but there wasn't really a story that was poorly written or off the mark.

It sucks that our very own Necrotic Tissue will be running against MACABRE for the 2010 Shadow Award for best publication, as MACABRE really is a monster. I also have to thank Angela and Shane for getting my copy signed by oodles of the writers at Worldcon this year. Makes this fine collection a cherished gem on my shelf.

If you want to spend some of you hard earned cash on an anthology (and in this day and age you really are spoiled for choice on that score) I can highly recommend MACABRE. It oozes quality on every page. This was no slapdash anthology thrown together. Come on, it's been nearly 200 years in the making! You don't even need to be Australian, Just buy it and enjoy it. Well done, guys. A standout book. Top marks.

A VERY ENGLISH CHRISTMAS (a free holiday read)

As it is Christmas (well, near as damn it), I thought I'd repost last year's festive flash fiction.

Enjoy!

A VERY ENGLISH CHRISTMAS

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Every year the same old bleedin' shite.

Ken, lying in a recliner, popped the button of his jeans, opened the zipper and exhaled. The pressure on his gut subsided somewhat; the lashings of turkey, stuffing, pigs in blankets and roast potatoes succumbed by the slight extra room. Quite a meal, oh yes, quite a meal. The best thing about Christmas. He'd even eaten the traditional Brussel sprout or two, despite Alice over-cooking them. The swollen things looked like boogers on the edge of his plate. Boogers covered in onion gravy.

He picked up the remote from the arm of the chair and flicked to ITV.

"Oi!" moaned Tansy. "We were watching that!"

"Were you balls," Ken grumbled at his daughter. "You can't mess with that thing and watch the TV at the same time."

She sat perched at the end of the sofa, messing with some pink Japanese bullshit gizmo. An I-something. Everything had to have an I in front of it now. He'd joked to Alice about Christmas being all about the I-wants.

"Haven't you got it working yet?"

Tansy shrugged her shoulders.

No surprise there then. Even with the few apparent buttons the thing had, it was proving too much for his airhead daughter to understand. Ken studied her for the hundredth time, bemused by her denim miniskirt and tiny vest top. Snow flakes danced past the glass of the patio behind her. The house felt like a bloody sauna.

"Sweety?" Alice called from the kitchen. She'd been up since five, preparing the dinner. Then she served it. Now she was washing the dishes. Ken had seen her for all of ten minutes on this solemn family day.

"Yeah?"

"Is it nearly time for her?"

He checked his watch and sighed.

"Nearly."

"Oh it just makes the day," his wife warbled. "Have you tried your present yet?"

Ken's gaze dropped to the black plastic case in his shirt pocket. Darts. New ones.

"Haven't you seen the snow? Be freezing out in the garage." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, checked the contents and then smeared it on the arm of the recliner. "It can wait."

Alice bustled in, his plump wife wringing her hands on a tea towel. Her thick black hair had tumbled loose and hung messy around her glistening face.

"Phew!" She gasped and fanned her face, dropping onto the sofa next to Tansy, who was frantically shaking the I-gizmo. "Like a greenhouse in here."

"Then turn the heating down!" said Ken and stared back at the TV. Adverts. He watched out for any mentioning Easter.

"It's been a tough year," said Alice, not hearing him. "A tough year for everyone, us included. Must be even tougher for her."

Ken frowned. "How so?"

"Well, watching the people of your country suffer and worry."

He snorted. "This ain't her country. All she does is bloody sponge of us workin' stiffs."

And that was when he could work. The building industry was on its arse. Not much demand for plasterers these days. Not like the blessed eighties. The money they'd had to scrimp and save just for Christmas. Tansy's I-thing coast close to two hundred notes. She also wanted a download of this year's X Factor winner, predictably, unable to think for herself. Ken had seen him. Some baby-faced whiney crooner. Shit show. Shit singer. Take any old thug off the street, shave him and give a bit of hair gel and put him in a suit. Viola. Frank fucking Sinatra. And a download? When he was a teenager, you had records. LPs. You could hold them in your hands because, guess what? They were real. At least Damien's PS3 was real. His son had opened the package, grunted and taken it upstairs to his bedroom. They hadn't seen him since, and that was about seven hours ago.

In hindsight, Ken wished they'd bought him one weeks earlier.

"It's starting!" said Alice and clapped her hands together.

Ken grabbed the remote and turned up the volume for her.

"And now on ITV1, the Queen's Christmas speech."

Bollocks, thought Ken. At least Goldfinger's on after this…

Onscreen, a cosy drawing room faded in from black. An open fire burned below hanging stockings. A grand piano stood to the left ready for carols, and to the right, the biggest Christmas tree Ken had ever seen, laden with decorations with brightly wrapped presents stockpiled underneath.

Glad to see the economic crisis has touched us all, Ken seethed.

The Queen stood by the fireplace, ever the short, harsh, sour-faced old bat she'd always been. The aunty that made you eat liver and onions and wrapped your knuckles with a spoon should you put your elbows on the table. She peered over spectacles.

"Christmas is a time for celebration," she said, as wooden and miserable as the chick from that Twilight movie, "but this year it is a more sombre occasion for many. Some of those things which could once have been taken for granted suddenly seem less certain and, naturally, give rise to feelings of insecurity."

"Amen to that," Ken told her. "No Corfu this year…"

"Ken!' Alice shushed him.

"People are touched by events which have their roots far across the world. Whether it is the global economy or violence in a distant land, the effects can be keenly felt at home." Her eyes glimmered gold.

Ken leaned forward slightly, gaze fixed to the screen. "Did you-?"

"For the last time," Alice moaned. "Shush! This is our majesty speaking."

The Queen winked, quite cheeky for a lady of her standing. Those eyes flashed golden, like two shiny pound coins, behind her glasses. Ken felt a little better and settled back down, transfixed by her kind, loving expression.

"But I have a solution," she said, a little knowing, like Anne Robinson before she booted someone off The Weakest Link. In an instant, the tiny pensioner ripped a poker from the stand by the fire place and plunged it forward.

Tansy and Alice glanced at each other.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Tansy asked.

The camera angle slid to the side and plummeted. Viewers now saw a side view of a plush, elaborate carpet. A bloody hand – the cameraman? – flopped into the picture.

"It has to be," said Alice, hands rising to cover her mouth.

Ken remained in the recliner, watching nonchalantly.

Two pairs of feet emerged from the right, circling each other like they'd waltzed in. A gurgling choke, and another body fell to the floor, a man in a light blue shirt with large earphones clamped over his head. A boom, a guinea pig on a pole, fell from his hand. A knife, or perhaps a letter-opener, jutted from the scarlet geyser of his throat.

Tansy and Alice screamed.

The Queen, still smiling and with her eyes still shimmering, leaned in close and leered out of the TV screen. "I have the solution,' she said again, her grin amplifying the cracks in her ancient face.

The picture suddenly clicked off, immediately replaced with the ITV1 symbol.

"We apologise for the loss in picture and sound," said the mellow announcer. "We're working to rectify the situation, and in the meantime, here's some music."

The whiney X Factor winner again.

"It…it has to be a joke," whispered Tansy.

"Or terrorists," added Alice.

Ken reached for the black case, popped it open and removed his darts, poking the Union Jack flights into the tungsten stems. He forced the recliner to the upright position and stood, scratching his balding head.

"Jesus. Well…she had one thing right…"

Alice placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and stared at it through a hazy, golden hue.

"What dear?"

Ken smiled. "I have the solution."

The darts, clutched together in his sweaty right hand, slid through her eye ball like a cocktail stick pronging a pickled onion. The membrane popped and vitreous humour ejaculated from the socket. Alice flew back, clutching her face, wailing. Ken stayed with her, gripping her jaw and pummeling the darts into the vacant hole, sometimes driving the needle-sharp points through the flesh of her defending fingers. The tips pounded the squishy brain matter behind the remains of her eye, and Alice gave up the fight, choosing to fall to the floor and jerk around like a fish out of water.

Eye… he thought. Eye…I?

Ken, enjoying Christmas and full of festive cheer, spun to face his daughter. She cowered against the front door, which remained locked since the night before. Of course, her slutty miniskirt had no pockets. No pockets meant no keys, but the moron didn't realise you needed keys to open a door. Her hand slid around the door handle in vain attempt to turn it.

In one fluid motion, Ken grabbed her I-thing from the I-sofa, and rammed it into her I-mouth, knocking out several of her I-teeth. She cried, her lips pulsating around her Christmas gift.

"Shhhh!" he cooed. "It's Christmas. You know what that means?"

He stared at her. She whimpered.

"Do you know what that means?" he asked, louder, squeezing her throat.

She frantically shook her head, tears cascading down her cheeks. Her eyes bulged.

Ken leaned in close to her.

"It means…James Bond's on the telly. Goldfinger this year. You gonna be quiet so dad can watch it?"

She sniffed, yet a trickle of clear snot escaped her nose. She locked eyes with him and nodded.

"Good," he said, relieved. "Sing with me. Si-lent niiiiight…"

He smashed her head back against the door. Her body swayed in his grasp.

"Ho-ly niiiiight!"

CRASH!

Blood marred the white paint of the door. It looked like a face. Wilson from Castaway. Ken had it on dvd.

"Alllllll is caaaaalm…."

He put a bit more effort into this one. Her skull cracked with the sound of breaking a hardboiled egg.

"Well it is now," he said, out of breath and dropping his daughter's lifeless body to floor. "Now. The solution."

He approached the window.

A man ran past, a hand pressed to a bloody wound in his head. He left a delightful pattern in the snow. A woman ran after him, brandishing a rolling pin. Good old Mrs. Perkins, making mince pies again, Ken guessed.

Ah Christmas, he thought wistfully. My favorite time of year.

Humming Jingle Bells to himself, he strode over to his wife and plucked the darts from her face. Sighing in contentment and filled with Christmas spirit, he wondered if Damien wanted a game, and headed upstairs, unaware that his jeans had fallen around his ankles.