Their Stories Carved In Stone

Going on a vacation as an adult is a lot different than going on one as a kid. My family went on a lot of them. Florida, mostly, but also Niagara Falls. My first time on an airplane was to visit my grandfather in Illinois and the infamous lakeside guest house that became surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of frogs each and every night. One of my most memorable summer vacations, however, had nothing to do with staying in hotels or enjoying amusement parks, but it did involve going to one of my favorite places – the local cemetery. Their Stories Carved In Stone first appeared in the Tioga County Courier, Owego, NY – Oct. 6, 2010.

Their Stories Carved In Stone

“What did you do over summer vacation?”

Other kids in my middle school class likely answered that question with such things as going on a family vacation to Florida, maybe 4-H Camp, or just hanging out with friends around a swimming pool. I spent most of one particular summer in the Berkshire Evergreen Cemetery, voluntarily documenting and mapping the headstones.

I’ve always been fascinated by cemeteries and never found them creepy to walk in, day or night. To me they are places to get away from it all, to relax, to think, to reflect on all my dreams for life. Being surrounded by death like that makes you appreciate living.  Thanks to the Internet I’ve discovered I’m not so alone in these feelings, but as a kid very few of my friends could understand my fascination and fewer still would join me in my various cemetery adventures.

One youthful journey that I made with my father reigns over them all. We were visiting family graves in Speedsville, NY at the time. I must have been eleven or twelve years old. While Dad tended to watering flowers and plants that had been brought earlier that year, I wandered around and read the tombstones. One stone quickly got my overly active imagination going. It was one of the earlier stones in the graveyard and at the top was carved a hand with a finger pointing downward. From the finger dangled three chain links, one of them broken. I was instantly convinced that finger pointing down could only mean one thing, this poor sinner was bound for Hell. When I showed Dad the stone, he didn’t know what it could possibly mean, either. The mystery would remain with me for almost thirty more years.

I started taking pictures in cemeteries in my early twenties. Whole weekends would be devoted to cemetery hunting and grave walking.  I occasionally found others to join me, but most of the time this was a solitary practice, just me and my camera. My images eventually started to focus on the intricate carvings on the headstones: the different types of flowers, trees, animals, birds, and a variety of archaic symbols, including many, many headstones with hands in various poses on them. I remembered the stone I’d seen with my father all those years ago and knew there had to be a reason and meaning behind all these things.

My serious research soon began.

In North America the earliest markers erected were generally unrefined and simple. The inscriptions, if indeed they bore an inscription at all originally, have in many instances eroded away or crumbled off. These stones are generally from what is called the Federalist Period, 1789-1850, and sometimes offer us little information. But even the crudest markers can tell us a great deal about the history of the region during this time. One of the most popular symbols displayed prior to 1850 is the funerary urn. These appear with great regularity on 19th century gravestones in all settled areas of the United States and Canada. The urn was a well-understood symbol of death and the mortality of the body. Quite often the urn was accompanied by the Tree of Life (not to be confused with the Weeping Willow symbol that will be explained later). This provided a sacred message for the living; although the individual had perished, their remains would provide the seed for new life. When this same tree appears to be growing out of the urn it expresses the Western religious understanding of the hope of everlasting life.

The urn and Tree of Life made perfect sense to me, but when I saw my first tree-stump-shaped grave marker, I was baffled. Why would anyone have a headstone shaped like a tree stump?

I discovered there was a fraternal organization called Woodmen of the World and to have the graves easily identifiable by their brothers, the headstone would be carved into the shape of a tree stump. One tree symbol led to another. The Weeping Willow mentioned earlier was a common symbol found in Great Britain during the neoclassical period (1660-1740) and was intended solely to represent perpetual mourning and grief. You will find countless depictions of the willow on grave markers from the nineteenth century in the American Northeast area as well. Oak leaves and acorns on tombs stood for power and longevity. Laurel branches often mark the graves of those who have served their countries with great distinction.

Then came the flowers: roses, poppies, lilies, and sunflowers just to name a few. Not only did each flower have a meaning, but the flowers arrangement and stage of life could tell the informed observer about the person whose remains lay beneath. This is most visible in the rose. A rose bud will most likely mark the grave of a child or young, unmarried woman, while roses in full bloom are carved on the stones of those who have led long, productive lives. A wreath of roses, or wreaths of any kind, speaks of eternity. Anything round, such as wreaths and orbs, have long been symbolic of things that are meant to last forever, just as the familiar circle, or band of gold many of us wear for a wedding band does.

In hot pursuit came the animals one finds carved on graves. The two most popular are the lamb and the dove. A lamb will mark almost exclusively the grave of an infant or a very young child. Doves can be found in various postures from sitting upright, to flying upward or downward to lying flat on their back, feet curled up in the typical image of a dead bird. As with flowers, each of the dove’s positions has a different meaning. Sitting upright means the soul of the deceased is believed to be at rest. The bird flying upward represents the soul’s transcendence into Heaven, downward it symbolizes the spirit of Christ coming down to take the soul. If the bird is flat on its back, chances are the life of the deceased was suddenly cut short.

The Freemasons, along with countless other fraternal and sorority organizations, use a variety of symbols to identify the final resting places of their members. Masons view the beehive as a symbol of industry. A beehive may also mark the grave of a Mormon. If you find a stone carved with an eagle and the number thirty-two, this marks the grave of a 32nd Degree Scottish Rite Mason. The most common of all Masonic symbols are the compass with the square along with the obelisk-shaped headstone itself. The Ancient Order of Odd Fellows often uses a three-linked chain where one of the links is snapped open, symbolizing the severance of the dead from the living.

Wait. What? A three-linked chain with one link broken? Where had I seen that before? The Speedsville cemetery with my dad, of course!  Did that mean the deceased really wasn’t bound for Hell as I’d first imagined? I searched further and found a reference to hands, and more importantly, hands with fingers pointing in various directions. I was about to have my answer.

You’ll find a lot of hands on graves. Some hands are clearly folded in prayer. Other times, the hand of one person may be seen holding the hand of another. In the case of two different hands being held together, look very carefully. A hand that reaches down and may appear a bit larger than the one below symbolizes the Hand of God fetching up the soul of the deceased. Sometimes the cuff of a man’s shirt or a lady’s blouse has been added and this could represent the hands of a husband and wife held together for all eternity. Hands with the fingers pointing upward are meant to guide the soul in the direction of heaven. Finally, the hand with a finger pointing downward means that those on Earth have been called to witness the mortality of humanity, that the deceased has been chosen by God. My dearly departed friend in Speedsville wasn’t Hell bound after all. He was merely a member of the Ancient Order of Odd Fellows whose family had left behind a symbolic reminder of the mortality of us all. That wasn’t even close to the sinister imaginings I’d harbored all those years.

As you can see, a vast number of iconographic symbols and themes grace the headstones of cemeteries. Only a very few have been mentioned here. Gravestones are, in many aspects, works of art. Some are masterpieces, while others are representative of the crude and harsh pioneer environment our own ancestors endured.

Every grave marker has a symbolic message all its own to share, a voice waiting to be heard. These stones have stories to tell, but it takes a willing and observant person to sit down and read that message and understand the story left so lovingly behind by the family who placed it there.

What did you do over your summer?

I walked through and took pictures of what I believe to be some of the most beautiful and fascinating stone sculpture gardens ever created by man and read the stories carved in the stones of our local cemeteries.

*

Vacations, those all too brief outings and breaks we take to escape the hum drum, work-a-day life. I’m taking a spring vacation this year. It started Friday. With the weather still being cold and wet, it’s unlikely to include any cemetery visits, but you never know. We do plan on getting away from the house for a couple of days which will be nice. Maybe I’ll even finish a writing project this week.

Over the past month, a lot of time has been spent on book covers. All the Barnesville books have been rebranded. No progress to speak of has been made on what will be the fifth Barnesville Mystery. It’s not abandoned by any means, and I hope some of you are looking forward to “Death at the Devil’s Elbow”, another Murder-mystery featuring Nell, Beth, Angie, and crows whenever it is I get my writing butt in gear and finish it. I did make some nifty new trailers for “Secrets of the Scarecrow Moon” and “That’s What Shadows Are Made Of“, though, so, that’s something new to see.

We’ve finished updating the covers for “No Rest For The Wicked” and “Dark Hollow Road”, too. Next will be “The Inheritance” which I am currently doing another quick edit on. With any luck at all, the week of vacation that lies ahead won’t be all about home improvement projects, but will also see this writing project nearing completion, too. While I’m on the subject of “No Rest For The Wicked”, check out this slick new Book Trailer.

Once that’s done, I’ll put more effort into the collection of fairy tales I’ve been working on since 2005. No, that’s not a typo! I wrote my first twisted fairy tale in 2005 and I finally have enough to put into a book. “Not Your Grandma’s Fairy Tales” is close to becoming a thing at long last.

Bill The Worm’s latest “Bill The Worm Counts To Ten“, is selling reasonably well. I’ve been considering putting together a coloring and activity book. But haven’t taken any steps at this time to actually do so. He’s recently found homes in a couple of local libraries, too. I’ve also been puttering away on a non-Bill the Worm Children’s book. Top secret for right now, because I’m so darn slow and don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up too high until it’s something more concrete.

NEWS ON OTHERS:

My friend Jay Bower has a new trilogy out, Dead Blood. I haven’t gotten to read it yet, but have book one on the TBR pile. Vampires and zombies, y’all! My one regret is that I didn’t come up with this amazing idea first!

Another local author and friend, C.W. Briar recently released a collection of short stories titled, “Sticks and Stones: Tales of Childhood Horror”.  I’m eager to take a little trip back into childhood with that one – or am I?

Not long ago, I began a journey down the long and dusty trail of the Splatter Western genre by reading “The Magpie Coffin” by Wile E. Young. Splatter Western is pretty much self-explanatory. Lots of blood and guts and weirdness combined with those old Westerns your grandpa used to read. I bought the first three in the series put out by Death’s Head Press and now that “The Magpie Coffin” is behind me – hopefully way, way behind me, I’m eager to get into “Hunger on the Chisholm Trail” by E. Emmembach.

PODCASTS I’M LISTENING TO:

Bleeding Page Podcast featuring Chad Lutzke and Jason Brant, released three more Horror author interviews over the past month, Kealan Patrick Burke, Michealbrent Collings, and Zach Bohannon.

Monster Men with Jack Campisi and Hunter Shea did a great show on Janine Pipe’s recent book release, “Sausages : The Making of Dog Soldiers”.

Mr. Ballen started creeping me out this past week with his story telling podcast based on real life experiences and events.

 

 

The Phobia Phactor

Uncategorized

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had Cynophobia, a fear of dogs. Where it stems from is anyone’s guess as I have never been attacked or bitten by a dog. We always had a dog when I was a kid and I wasn’t quite so afraid of them as I was other canines in the area. Always been a cat person instead. I don’t like being afraid of dogs. It’s a phobia I’ve been working on conquering for my whole life with some level of success – thanks to my husband and daughter and their dog-loving ways.

I also have Arachnophobia, a fear of spiders. The movie of the same name was torture to watch, but I forced my way through it. It’s the spindly legged ones that bother me the most. Oddly, if I HAD to pick an arachnid to hold, I’d take a Tarantula over a Daddy Longlegs (aka Harvestman and technically NOT a spider) any day. It’s all about the legs. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna happen, kids! Snakes, on the other hand, no problem!

One of my more common phobias is Glossophobia, the fear of public speaking, or more specifically in my case, the fear of public SINGING (Decantophobia). In high school I was in Drama Club which involved several cases of group singing (which was fine) and a couple minor speaking roles, not a problem. I also took an elective class called Public Speaking. As a writer I’ve done a couple talks on my work and always enjoy one-on-one chats with people who stop by to talk about my books. Singing solo in front of other people, on the other hand, terrifying!

My Decantophobia may stem from the numerous times my Nana required me to sing to her Church lady friends during their get-togethers on Sunday afternoons following services. I was all of six or seven when this madness began and INTENSELY shy. I’m still very quiet and shy around people I don’t know. But, without fail, if I were staying with Nana and Papa and it was Nana’s week to host the luncheon, I’d inevitably hear “Come and sing for us, Pammy. Oh, she has such a pretty voice.” I remember trying to hide at least once, but I was always found and pretty much forced to perform either “Over The Rainbow” or “Take Me Home, Country Roads” under the watchful eyes and ears of The Church Ladies.

With this deeply entrenched fear of public singing, I went and got myself hooked up with a musician about six years ago. I am more than happy to let him stand in the spotlight while I sit at the table in the crowd and enjoy his talent and skill. Unfortunately during one of our many Skype calls, he apparently heard me singing while I thought he was out of the room eating dinner. Once he moved in, I’ve never heard the end of “You need to sing more. You have a really nice voice. You should sing karaoke when we go.” Yadda-yadda-yadda. Like the whole spider thing, “No, no, no, and no. Did I mention, no?”

I’ve been considering this for a long time – over a year, at least. “Absolutely not” began to morph into “Only if I’m drunk enough,” to “Maybe, if you let me hide in the ladies room while I do it”, to “Maybe, if I can hide behind the stage,” to “Maybe, if I can just sit here at the booth.” to “Well, if I were to do it, I’d sing this.” to “I’m pretty sure I could sing that a whole lot better than she is.” You get the idea. And in no way, shape or form was I going to stand up there ALONE! Way too self-conscious for that. For months I’ve carried around one of the slips you have to fill out with the name of the artist and song you want to sing on it that you hand into the DJ before the singing starts. That, however, would require a solo. So, again, no.

That all changed while making chicken gravy and biscuits for dinner.

Jim came into the kitchen and said, “You want to go to karaoke tonight?” Aloud I said, “Sure.” In my head I heard, “And you’re going to be shocked at what I’m going to do when we get there.” Lest I chicken out, I didn’t mention this internal dialogue to the spouse. The closer the time came, the more nervous I got, but something kept pushing me to do this. You’ve done more difficult things. What’s three minutes of public singing? Pft. Nothing. Before I could change my mind, I went up and grabbed a slip of paper and the song book while Jim went and got us each a beer. By the time he returned, I’d filled out the song and sat at the table waiting. I slid the paper over to him. He read it … nodded, but obviously didn’t read the bottom line where instead of writing just ‘Jim’ I’d written, ‘Jim and Pam”. Needless to say, the look he gave me was one of utter surprise. “Really?” he said. “What brought this on?” All I could do was shrug.

I spent the next twenty minutes forcing myself to think of other things, nervously looking out the window, trying not to guzzle down the bottle of liquid courage set before me, swallowing down those feeling of pure terror, and taking big calming breaths. I could do this. I would do this, damn it. With my heart in my throat and my hands shaking, I joined Jim after his solo performance and took up a mic of my own. “Just be calm!” If you start freaking out it’s only going to make it worse. Just do it.

Three minutes and one Dr. Hook song later (Sylvia’s Mother), it was over with. I made it. I hadn’t passed out, thrown up, or burst out sobbing with embarrassment even though I messed up a bit. Pretty sure my face was beet red by the time I scurried back to the booth, but … done.

The point of this long-winded phobia-facing rant is this. I’m a Horror writer. I’ve written about some pretty dark and disturbing situations. I love scary movies and books. I love cemeteries and haunted places. I’m fascinated by the darker side of life and for some reason a lot of people think that makes me immune to fear. Everyone has fears. EVERYONE! If someone tells you they aren’t afraid of anything, they are full of shit.

At 50+ years old, I am still learning and exploring who I am. I want to grow and do things I’ve never done before it’s too late. Accomplishing that and being all I can be and having no regrets means pouring some water on those flaming fears that hold me back. I want to like dogs. I want to be brave enough to hold a tarantula. I want to be confident in front of strangers. And, apparently some place in me wanted/wants (?) to sing in public. Who knew?!

Our perspectives of our fears are always a lot more extreme that the actual result of stepping up to the mic and facing them. I encourage everyone reading this to work towards conquering those fears you have one tiny step at a time. And you people out there who mock people who have phobias like mine, KNOCK IT OFF! Have some sympathy and stop laughing. You aren’t helping. You’d not put a bottle of whisky in front of an alcoholic trying to better themselves or a full needle of heroin in front of an addict trying to stay clean, would you? If so, don’t even bother speaking to me. I have no use for people like that.

Just like overcoming an addiction, the decision to face and try to defeat a phobia must come from the one who suffers from it. They have to want it, but it’s nice to know there are people out there who believe in you and will stand by your side (sometimes literally as when I took that microphone in hand last week) when you’re ready. Be encouraging, but don’t push. For me, being pushed into something is possibly what started this whole case of Decantophobia.

I became a little bit braver that night than I was the one before it. The relief and the sense of personal accomplishment for facing a fear I’ve had since childhood was amazing. That isn’t to say the fear is gone, not by a long shot. But, a bit of the edge has been trimmed. It’s a start … and who knows where it will go from here?

Speaking of phobias – check out my short story Because, Spiders over on Amazon!

So, Ya Wanna Be In A Book, Do Ya?

Uncategorized

I’ve had quite a few people ask me to put them in one of my books. It’s funny and I wish characters came to me that easily. I can only answer that if a story calls for someone like them, I’ll put them in, but I can make no promises.

One of these requests comes from a woman who works in the café where I work. She’s quite a character herself and I’d love to work her in at some point – even if just for a one-scene cameo. Another person is my uncle. He’s got some wild stories from his youth to tell and thinks I should put them into one of my books. Other friends and family have made it onto the pages in various ways without even asking and probably at least one would rather I hadn’t.

The habit of drawing characters from people I know pretty much dominates my writing, most of the time they are fictionalized to the point that even the person being taken from won’t recognize themselves. In other cases, the characters come to me from some other unknown and mysterious realm of which I haven’t a clue about. The two best examples of that are Lee Yagar and Mary Alice Brown from my psychological horror novel “Dark Hollow Road”. Lee came to me first. One night I was sitting alone by a campfire in my backyard and he told me his name and that he knew what had happened at the house on Dark Hollow Road. He also made it clear that getting that information out of him wasn’t going to be easy. Weird, I know – but that’s what it’s like to be in my head sometimes, the voices – the visions.

All that being said, there’s still a chance you can be in your friend’s book. Is there any way you can help move that dream along? Yes, there are a few methods you can try.

Probably the easiest, and least attractive way is to be an asshole and piss your writer friend off. I write Horror and dabble in the Murder-Mystery genre so if you want to be snuffed out in a gory and unpleasant way, that may just be the ticket to admission. You’ve made an impression and if I detest you enough, I’ll find a way to kill you in the most grisly way possible. Best of all, it’s completely legal. Nobody has to go to jail and nobody has really died – but I feel a whole lot better about things. As a bonus, despite you being a total waste of air in the real world, your most horrible traits have been exposed and you have been made immortal. Don’t you feel special now?

Another, much nicer way, is for me to love you deeply – as a friend, as a family member, as someone I hold near and dear to my heart. I’ll treat you a lot better then. Be a positive inspiration just by being yourself. I love that. I may still have to kill you, of course, but at least the readers will be crying over your death instead of shouting about how you got what you deserved – you jerk.

It’s not just dearly loved friends that find their way into my stories, but common people I remember from my childhood. My memories of tons of those from my hometown and surrounding communities populate my Barnesville Chronicles. Sometimes it feels like I’m cheating so bad when I use them. Small towns are full of quirky characters just begging to be written about.

Lastly, be original. Stand out as someone who I will see and make a mental note of – either by way of your voice, the way you dress, some sort of wild hair-do, something I will remember when I walk out of whatever space we may be sharing when I notice it. I’m really into people watching. It helps to be memorable and unique. This brings us back to that café lady. I’ve no doubt she’ll show up in a book at some point, but I don’t know when or where. Next time a café scene is required, I suppose, as I only know her within that realm. She’s funny and unique and has a certain boisterous loudness about her that may prove quite useful in the future. Notes have been taken.

Book Review – In The Valley Of The Sun by Andy Davidson

At the age of ten, I read my first vampire novel, Dracula by Bram Stoker. Over the past forty years literally hundreds of other vampire novels and short stories have crossed my path. Most of them have been quite forgettable. Andy Davidson’s In The Valley Of The Sun is not one of them.

First, it’s original. That’s really hard to find in the world of vampire novels. The word vampire is never used and the effects of becoming one of the undead don’t adhere 100% to the traditional. Better yet, these particular creatures of the night do not ‘sparkle’. (THANK, GOD!) If you want goody-goody vampires this book is NOT for you.

Set in West Texas (not to be confused with West, Texas – which is located in Central Texas), we follow the wretched and lost life of Travis Stillwell, a deeply disturbed and traumatized Vietnam Vet who travel the roads in search of something he’s lost – what that is, he’s not sure. Even before he meets up with Rue, he’s not a particularly pleasant fellow. After they meet, well – it goes from ugly to absolutely monstrous.

It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book of this length (almost 400 pages) in less than 10 days and that’s always a good thing. Loved this book to pieces and would recommend it as a MUST READ to anyone who loves the vampire genre as much as I do.

Raven Rating: 5 out of 5 Caws.

The Raven Scale:
1 Raven: Yuck! Don’t eat that.
2 Ravens: Bread crumbs, but it’ll keep us alive.
3 Ravens: Oh, hey! Peanuts, popcorn and cat kibble!
4 Ravens: Lunch time pizza place dumpster. Hell, yeah!
5 Ravens: Holy Shit, Fellas! Fresh Road Kill!

Author Interview – Brian Rathbone

Twitter’s been a great venue for me to find fellow writers and share our unique senses of humor. One of the funniest I’ve come across is Fantasy author, Brian Rathbone. His quick one-liners always crack me up and made me very curious about the man lurking behind all those dragon jokes. And so, without further delay, here’s what I was able to find out. 

Hi, everybody! I’m Brian and I’m weird but it’s okay. I promise.

Some writers come to writing later in life, almost accidentally, while others have been honing their skills from a very young age. How did your journey as a writer begin? What were some of your favorite books as a child and can you tell me a bit more about your children’s book, “The Silliest Dragon”?

As a kid, I hated reading. It was a forced act lumped in my mind with homework and making my bed—things to avoid at all cost! Then I read a Wrinkle in Time. It was unlike anything else I had read, and I was able to get lost in it. My tastes soon shifted to fantasy and series like Dragonlance, The Belgariad, Incarnations of Immortality, and other requisite fantasy reading of the 1980’s and 1990’s. I knew from that point that I would someday write my own stories, it was something I told my wife of 25 years on our first date, but it took some time and a couple false starts before the magic could happen.

May, 2005, in the Atlanta Airport, I inherently knew my time with my current employer would soon end. I flipped open my laptop and started writing a story I’d been thinking about for 15 years. It took another five years to have any success, and more than a decade to produce the twelve books that currently make up the World of Godsland fantasy series.

SILLY_cover-gpThe Silliest Dragon was also the result of workplace drama. After a meeting that left me so angry I could barely contain myself, I drove home and somehow managed to channel my rage and disgust into a message of hope, laughter, silliness, and love (I really have no idea how or why that works.) My friend Matt Ostrom is the one who really brought The Silliest Dragon to life in two dimensions, three dimensions, and even augmented reality. The 3D printed Silliest Dragon is the first of my characters I can hold in my hand. How cool is that? And the Silliest Dragon AR app lets The Silliest Dragon come to life whenever the camera is aimed at a print copy of the Silliest Dragon.

The little purple guy has become very popular in the India as well as the US, and now he has two more books coming out.

The Silliest Dragon Goes to School
The Silliest Dragon Goes to the Zoo

Speaking of dragons – you Tweet about them a lot! Clearly they are your favorite mythical beast. But, what about unicorns? I hear you spend a great deal of time thinking about them, too. Where do they stand in the Brian Rathbone Universe?

Unicorns are a dangerous subject. Very pointy… In all honesty, I find dragons easier to write in a credible way, although my horse training experience would seem more relevant there than with dragons, but that’s not how it has worked out. I may find a way to work the magical creatures into my fiction at some point, but mixing them with dragons just seems like a vet bill waiting to happen.

My tweets, while inspired by my fiction, have a flavor and personality all their own. When throwing things at the wall to see what sticks, unicorn jokes almost always stick. This is why so many of them end up as short-order cooks in little “hole-in-the-wall” places. It’s just physics.

Setting a mood for a story is one of the most important parts of writing, but what about setting the mood for yourself as you sit down to write? Do you have a special time and place, or maybe some music you like to put on to get your creative juices flowing for a good session?

My process is to walk and work on the scene in my mind until it plays smoothly, taking hand-written notes along the way. I will often listen to classic and progressive rock to set the mood. The Wind Blew Them All Away by Transatlantic is a particular favorite. When scene plays like a movie in my mind, I sit down and try to get the scene to go from my brain, through my fingers, and into keyboard. That never works. I muddle through anyway leaving a trail of typos and errant tildes just for flavor. I then go back through my hand-written notes and make sure I didn’t miss any gems. Repeat this process four to five times per writing day, and I can complete a rough draft in three weeks. I then bask in the glory of being a writer for a week or two before knocking myself back down a few pegs during the editing process.

Despite all the memes that keep screaming at authors to be writing during every waking moment, all occupations require some downtime. When you’re not writing, what activities allow you to relax and regroup?

I’m weird. Have I mentioned that? I haven’t written fiction in three years. When I write, I tend to binge write. I fight and scrape to find dedicated blocks of time where I can concentrate and write more cohesive novels. In some ways, writing fiction is how I regroup from the other things I do, and vice versa. Professionally, I am a technology generalist, programmer, inventor, tinkerer, and computer networking jack-of-all-trades. I’ve written software that manages the manufacturing of sofas, fruit salads, and car mirrors. Sometimes I get them mixed up. If your sofa tastes funny, don’t blame me, it’s closer than it appears.

I also write technical non-fiction, mostly for state and federal agencies regarding the mapping and expansion of broadband internet access in underserved areas. Telling dragon jokes on Twitter is like a vacation from it all, and I don’t get to spend nearly as much time interacting these days as I would like.

When I’m not doing those things, I really enjoy online auto racing—the more realistic the better. I’ve been known to take a car with dragons painted on it to victory lane. You should see the burnouts!

Godsland-Bundle-webI know there must be several works in progress going on. Can you tell me what’s up next for you and about any recent releases? Where can people learn more about your work?

I’m so excited to begin the fourth trilogy in the main Godsland story line. This trilogy will complete the primary story line. I also have a sequel to Dragon Airways to write, and I have an idea I’ve been honing for a couple years now for a stand-alone fantasy novel that is more suitable for traditional publication. While I haven’t written any fiction for years, I have continued to hone the characters and stories in my mind. It’s always fun when I get to brain dump a nearly completed novel.

Thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a bit of yourself with my readers and me.

Thanks to you and your readers for playing along.

Brian is stalkable on Twitter as Fantasy Author @BrianRathbone. You can find Brian’s work on his website www.brianrathbone.com or visit his Google Play Store.

All images provided by author Brian Rathbone and used with his permission. (c) 2018

Book Review – Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach by Ramsey Campbell (2018) Flame Tree Press

Though not entirely oblivious of Ramsey Campbell’s name and work, I am hard-pressed to recall what stories or novels of his I’ve read in the past and I know I have. Likely way back in the 80’s when I easily devoured a novel a week and paid little attention to the author’s name. When I saw this book on the list of titles I’d be getting with the other Flame Tree Press ARCs I requested, I was pretty excited to refresh my memory on Campbell’s work.

As a fan of the genre and the monstrous beings that inhabit it, I quickly picked up on what Ray, his wife Sandra, and the rest of their family were about to encounter on the Greek island of Vasilema during a two-week-long family vacation. Over the course of the holiday, Sandra – who is dying – finds herself feeling rejuvenated while her teenage grandchildren act like dark and brooding teens forced to endure quality family time in a family that seems hell-bent on squabbling among themselves.

I struggled a quite bit with the dialogue, the main reason I gave it 3 instead of 4 stars. At times it didn’t seem to flow as naturally as it could have and I kept wondering if maybe I was having a hard time because of a difference between British layout vs. American. One too many times I found myself puzzled over who was speaking or thinking what was being said by a particular character didn’t come across as being age-appropriate.

Other than that, Campbell handles the subject matter well and in such a way that other readers, maybe not so familiar with it, will find themselves deeper into the novel before they realize where the danger lurks. Despite knowing, I was still pulled in wondering when these people would come to their collective senses and take some precautionary measures to protect themselves and not leave poor Ray floundering all alone with his suspicions. How is Ray ever going to be able to convince them that there’s more going on that just make-believe stories and local legends? Is he going to be able to protect his wife, children, and grandchildren from any of it? Will they be able to get off the island before it’s too late?

I found Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach a very unique take on the genre – something that is increasingly hard to come by. For that reason alone would recommend it to others who are looking for something outside the normal hum-drum way of presenting it.

3 out of 5 Ravens

The Raven Scale
1 Raven:  Ew. Yuck. Don’t Eat That.
2 Ravens: Bread Crumbs, A Bit Dry & Flavorless, But It’ll Keep Us Alive.
3 Ravens: Peanuts, Popcorn, And Cat Kibble! Nom-nom.
4 Ravens: Pizza Place Dumpster After Lunch! Hell, yeah!
5 Ravens: Holy Shit! Fresh Road Kill, Dudes!

Book Review – The Sky Woman by J.D. Moyer (2018) Flame Tree Press

In all honesty, when I saw the cover, “Ugh, I’m going to have to slog through Science-fiction”, I wasn’t really looking forward to reading this book. But, being as when I received the ARC from Flame Tree Press and said I’d write up a review for my blog, I felt an obligation and I try and keep my word no matter how difficult it may be. Turns out, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be at all.

Car-En is on a mission, an exploratory mission to Earth in the 28th century. She, and others like her, have explicit order not to intervene with what now passes as intelligent life on the planet. Of course, how dull a story would it be if Car-En followed directions? She soon finds herself involved with the inhabitants of the small village of Happdal who are suffering from what appears to be radiation poisoning as well as the threat of invasion from another nearby settlement. Car-En just can’t resist the urge to help them in some small way. That small way is going to land Car-En into a heap of life-threatening trouble.

Moyer has created an incredible and detailed vision of Earth’s future that I found original and refreshing. He also kept the technical aspect of traditional Science-fiction down to a manageable and easy-to-understand level, Science-fiction for Dummies, in a way. That’s a wonderful thing in my book as that’s my biggest problem with the genre. I have a very hard time picturing future technology. The majority of the story is told from Car-En’s perspective and as she’s on Earth where all our modern gadgetry and beyond is a thing of the very distant past, it really helped me get into and understand what was going on. It was all very much like a Fantasy novel in that respect.

The residents of Happdal are of Nordic descent, adding a very mythical and down-to-earth element to the plot and characters. It makes you feel as if you’re in the ancient past and distant future all at the same time. They were well-rounded and realistic and I instantly cared about what was happening in the village and with its residence. Car-En’s curiosity became my own as she watched from various hiding places. It helped a great deal that the lead here was female, too. It made her much more relatable to me.

All in all, The Sky Woman is a great and very satisfying read no matter if you’re into Science-fiction or not.

4 out of 5 Ravens

The Raven Scale
1 Raven:  Ew. Yuck. Don’t Eat That.
2 Ravens: Bread Crumbs, A Bit Dry & Flavorless, But It’ll Keep Us Alive.
3 Ravens: Peanuts, Popcorn, And Cat Kibble! Nom-nom.
4 Ravens: Pizza Place Dumpster After Lunch! Hell, yeah!
5 Ravens: Holy Shit! Fresh Road Kill, Dudes!

Author Interview – Isobel Blackthorn

As a female author of Horror, you quickly come to realize the genre is very much dominated by male writers. I find that odd as women have been in the business of writing Gothic Horror since the 18th century and that a woman, Mary Shelley, penned one of the great masterpieces of horror with her novel Frankenstein.

With that in mind, I am always thrilled to land an interview with a fellow female writer of the genre and this month that woman is Isobel Blackthorn!

  1. Setting a mood for a story is one of the most important parts of writing, but what about setting the mood for yourself as you sit down to write? Do you have a special time and place, or maybe some music you like to put on to get your creative juices flowing for a good session?

CABIN SESSIONS FRONT COVER 4 800x500 For years I thought I needed to set the mood for myself in order to write. When all I really needed was to have pen and paper, my sofa and solitude. I have to be alone. Living alone means I am always in the mood for writing and I dip in and out all day long from the moment I wake up until I stop to make dinner. I write at a leisurely pace. I try not to care about output and I don’t mind occasional interruptions. I cannot write anywhere other than my home, which means wherever I happen to be living as I move a lot. Two things put me off writing. Music and barking dogs. Silence is king.

 

 

  1. Every writer started somewhere. Can you tell us a little bit about what prompted you to become a writer? Was it childhood dream or something you fell into more recently? Do you remember the first story you ever wrote?

I have always wanted to be a writer but it was a secret desire, even secret from me for many decades. In my late-teens I toyed with song lyrics. Then it was little bits of poetry. Friends and others encouraged me, told me I had talent but I didn’t believe them. In my mid-twenties something reared up in me, an urge, a surge of creative impulse. It was the 1980s and I was living in Oxford surrounded by literature. I began to talk to my friends about wanting to write fiction and I did make a half-hearted attempt at a novel. I had no idea what I was doing or how to go about it. None at all. Back then, there were no creative writing degrees. If there had been, I would have been the first to enroll. Lacking a mentor or any sort of guidance, I gave up. Life took me in other directions.

A few years later, I was living in the Canary Islands, Spain. I was living in the grand old house of my boyfriend, and he was the first to really believe in me as a writer. He was about to travel to Indonesia to buy an old wooden boat and sail it back to Spain to sell for a fortune. He wanted me to travel with him and write the memoir. What an adventure! What an opportunity! Only, I still had no idea how to write creatively. Even though I yearned to do it, I had no confidence, no self belief. I did go with my beau to Bali, but finding myself in an awfully dangerous situation there, I fled to Australia. The next time I felt an impulse to write was in the mid-1990s. Again, I had a go at writing a novel. Three chapters in, I gave up. Every now and then the impulse would rise up in me, only to die back down deflated.

Finally, in 2007, I was employed by a literary agent as her PA. My luck had changed. Suddenly I had someone who truly believed I could write. By then I had a PhD so damn straight I could write! But there is an ocean of difference between academic and creative writing. Another stroke of luck, the best, was I made friends with an author who agreed to be my mentor. His belief in my writing was transformational. It was incredibly affirming and validating and by then I was in my late forties and oh so hungry to learn. Now, I feel I am making up for lost time.

  1. Taking breaks from the intensity of work is important to everyone. What sorts of activities do you enjoy doing that aren’t related to writing. Hobbies? Travel? Maybe jumping out of airplanes?

I knit. I have my cat for company. I go for walks and have coffee with friends. I visit family, friends, sometimes travel. You can imagine from my answer to your last question that I don’t have a big desire to do anything other than write, but people are important to me.

  1. As a Horror writer myself I am often asked how I can write such things and doesn’t it keep me up at night. (It doesn’t.) What sorts of things scare you?

Gran ParksTons of things scare me. I cannot watch most horror movies. Even the music puts me on edge. Although I love Tarantino. I am not so easily spooked as I used to be. I used to be terrified of the dark and being alone in a house at night. I’ve lived in haunted houses and managed to eliminate the ghosts through my own force of will, but it was unnerving having things switch themselves on right beside you. I come from a long line of occultists, Spiritualists, healers. I stay away from horror because I do not want to invite that sort of energy into my life. Which might make anyone reading this ask what kind of self-respecting horror writer am I? I write dark psychological thrillers and satire. I like the line between horror and comedy. The British movie, Sightseers, for example. I like my horror twisted. I don’t want to be terrified. I want my mind bent out of shape a little, the way it is when you find yourself siding with the killer. I’m going to plug Gerri Gray’s Amnesia Girl, as a great example of the horror I like. And I love gothic horror of the No Rest for the Wicked kind, too! HellBound Books is a comfortable place for me to be because they publish a diverse range of quality horror and there is something for all horror tastes.

  1. I’ve always got a work in progress. Do you have anything in the works that you can give us a hint about and where can people find out more about your already published works and about you?

I have another two works of dark fiction in the pipeline. One is a gothic mystery set in the Canary Islands. The other is a Noir thriller, erotic romance style. I am very excited about this one. I don’t want to spoil the surprise but it sizzles! I am always pushing the boundaries, exploring new styles and genres. To date, I have five novels published by small presses, along with a short-story collection and my memoir.

They are all on Amazon and you can read excerpts, reviews and more on my website. https://isobelblackthorn.com/ All my fiction packs a punch and most contains occult themes. I can be found on:

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Lovesick.Isobel.Blackthorn/

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5768657.Isobel_Blackthorn

Twitter @IBlackthorn

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/isobelblackthorn/

Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com.au/isobelblackthor/

Tumblr http://isobelblackthorn.tumblr.com/

All images provided by author Isobel Blackthorn and used with her permission. (c) 2018

Movie Review – A Boy & His Dog (1975)

Starring Don Johnson, Susanne Benton, Ron Feinberg, and Jason Robards. Directed by L.Q. Jones. Based on a short story by Harlan Ellison.

This little blast from the past was brought to my attention by my husband. He’d seen it before and thought I’d enjoy it so we sat down with a huge bowl of popcorn and off we went into the post-Apocalyptic world and the journey of well, a boy and his dog.

It’s 2024 and mankind has managed to remain alive, though far from civilized, following World War IV. Women seem to be at a premium because young Vic (Don Johnson) is horny as hell, but luckily for him his mind-reading, psychic talking dog, Blood, can sniff out a female from miles around. The two bicker constantly (mentally, of course) and no one but Vic can hear Blood advising, warning, and generally annoying Vic. All Vic wants to do is get laid. All Blood wants is to be fed. Despite their squabbles, they are a team and survive for and because of each other.

Eventually, Blood sniffs out a fine, ripe female for Vic at what passes for a town in 2024 and Vic is just about to make his move when danger befalls them all. A group of raiders descends on the place along with what are called Screamers. We never see these so-called Screamers, we just know they apparently glow green, scream, and kill everything in their path. After surviving the attack, Vic and Blood are ready to move on while the girl (Quilla) wants to return home to a place known as the Down Under. (No, it’s not Australia – but apparently a vast world located deep underground.) In order to escape from Vic (who wants to keep her around for sex) Quilla bashes him on the head, but Vic will not be so easily put off. He insists on perusing her and it is at the entry to the Down Under that he and Blood part ways. Blood keeps warning him that it’s a bad, bad, bad idea to go down there and agrees to wait for Vic to return, at least for a little while.

The boy really should have listened to his dog.

This movie is so 1975! It has a very Mad Max meets Fallout feel to it. There aren’t any special effects to speak of, just a weird bit of post-Apocalyptic shoot ‘em up fun about one young man’s struggles to get laid in a world gone to hell and a heaping helping a justice served in the end. This was a fun film that I really enjoyed. Not mind-blowing but certainly worth a watch if you’re looking for something a bit off the beaten path.

Raven Rating: 3 Caws.

The Raven Scale:
1 Raven: Yuck! Don’t eat that.
2 Ravens: Bread crumbs, but it’ll keep us alive.
3 Ravens: Oh, hey! Peanuts, popcorn and cat kibble!
4 Ravens: Lunch time pizza place dumpster. Hell, yeah!
5 Ravens: Holy Shit, Fellas! Fresh Road Kill!

 

Movie Review – The Open House

The Open House (2018) – Netflix. Directed by Matt Angel & Suzanne Coote. Starring Dylan Minnette, Piercey Dalton, Patricia Bethune

I went into this film completely blind. I didn’t watch the trailer. I’d only heard about it from another Horror movie fan in passing. Honestly, I don’t even remember what they said about it. I only remembered the title.  I had no idea whatsoever what it was going to be about and didn’t read a single review.

After the sudden death of his father, Logan and his mother, Naomi, move into Naomi’s sister’s vacation home in the mountains to get away from it all and try to rebuild their lives. The house is huge and gorgeous. Only problem, it’s also for sale. The Sunday after the mother and son move in, there is to be an open house. The realtor sends them off for the day and tells them in no uncertain terms to not return until after five o’clock. While they are away strangers come and go. Upon their return, the realtor’s assistant is still in the house doing a quick, last minute walk-thru. He hurries away as soon as he finds out they’re back.

Shortly after, the weirdness begins. Logan hears strange thudding sounds coming from the basement but finds nothing and no one down there when he investigates. The water heater, also in the basement, keeps shutting off. The two local people Naomi and Logan have met seem to have an unnatural interest in what’s happening at the house. One neighbor, Martha, appears to be lying about the death of her husband. Another is found prowling around the outside, peering into windows. What’s going on here? Who are these creepy people and what’s up with the water heater? Even when the police are called in they don’t seem too concerned or interested in what is obviously breaking and entering. They chalk it up to just some neighborhood kids having a bit of fun.

I had no hopes going into this beyond what anyone would hope for in a movie – to be satisfactorily entertained and I was to a degree. It’s far from the greatest things since sliced bread and the red herrings thrown in to keep the viewer off track on who is really causing all the problems were well done. Unfortunately, the viewer is never given a solid solution or explanation of the goings on. There seems to be a lot of backstory missing about the house, the neighbors, and maybe even the neighborhood in which is stands. We never find out much of anything and are just left with a wide open sore. You almost get the feeling that this is not a simple case of home invasion, but that the entire town is somehow in on it, but you’re never told why if that’s the case. The ending was full of one predictable cliché after another.

It’s wasn’t a TERRIBLE movie or what I feel to be a waste of 90 minutes, but it fell pretty flat when it comes to offering a satisfying resolution and stepping outside your standard Horror tropes.

Raven Rating: 2 Caws.

The Raven Scale:
1 Raven: Yuck! Don’t eat that.
2 Ravens: Bread crumbs, but it’ll keep us alive.
3 Ravens: Oh, hey! Peanuts, popcorn and cat kibble!
4 Ravens: Lunch time pizza place dumpster. Hell, yeah!
5 Ravens: Holy Shit, Fellas! Fresh Road Kill!