Lately I've noticed many lamenting the absence of good writing and good stories within the horror genre. Many of those who complain about this lack of quality material are themselves writers.
to hear Mort Castle's lament go to
http://Storytellersunplugged.com/
In my mind the question that begs to be asked is:
Are we reading as readers?
Or are we reading as writers?
Personally I've read several thousand novels in my lifetime. Horror ignited my imagination when I was a child laid up for several weeks with a bad infection. From those early beginnings I branched out into other genres westerns, mysteries, thrillers, historical fiction, literary fiction to name a few. I viewed each book I read as a good read because it entertained me. When I grew older and dared to think I could actually write, the way I read changed. I was no longer reading to be entertained but to learn. As my writing matured reading became less of a pleasure and more of a chore. My competitive side took over as I read and I noted every problem with the plot, the dialog, and the story itself.
Mort's problem is the same as many other mature writers out there, myself included, there's good reads everywhere but our tastes have
changed significantly.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Reprisal
Here's a brief synopsis of my current novel, Reprisal. Scheduled for release on Halloween, 2009.
Susan Jenkins had successfully suppressed the memory of accidentally killing her best friend, Lindsay, when she was seven years old. Now, twenty five years later, she must come face to face with the truth in order to save her own daughter from Lindsay's mother.
Haunted by the ghost of her dead sister, whom she brutally murdered after the death of her daughter Lindsay, Margaret struggles to maintain her sanity. While living with her twin sister, Mildred, she is pushed over the edge when Susan drops off her daughter to be watched by Mildred. It becomes a race against the past as Susan fights to protect her daughter from Margaret's wrath, and Margaret discovers that the ghost of her dead sister is not a figment of her imagination.
Susan Jenkins had successfully suppressed the memory of accidentally killing her best friend, Lindsay, when she was seven years old. Now, twenty five years later, she must come face to face with the truth in order to save her own daughter from Lindsay's mother.
Haunted by the ghost of her dead sister, whom she brutally murdered after the death of her daughter Lindsay, Margaret struggles to maintain her sanity. While living with her twin sister, Mildred, she is pushed over the edge when Susan drops off her daughter to be watched by Mildred. It becomes a race against the past as Susan fights to protect her daughter from Margaret's wrath, and Margaret discovers that the ghost of her dead sister is not a figment of her imagination.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Background
Have you ever wondered what your life would be like now had you chosen a different path. It's a subject that comes up often in my current situation. I have not worked a permanent full time job since February 01, 2008. I have worked, but the two jobs I had were only temporary. The most recent one having ended the last week of April
I think of this because lately I've come to realize that I am responsible for my current situation due to the choices I made years before. Years ago, after I was discharged from the military, I made a decision to pursue a dream. I wanted to be a well known writer. And for some reason, that to this day I still don't understand, I chose to approach this task without any type of schooling.
Believe me, if it's your dream to be a writer, take some classes, it'll shorten the distance between dream and reality. It's not like I didn't have the opportunity. Upon graduation from High School I was offered a full four year scholarship to the University of Maryland for any course of study I desired.
Did I take it? Hell no! I was tired of school and chose to visit the world courtesy of Uncle Sam. Even with an honorable discharge under my belt, and the GI bill at my disposal I still refused to expand my horizons by taking advantage of what was available to me. At times I day dream about where I would be now had I taken just one creative writing class.
You see, writing is all I ever think about. I lie awake at night as my mind mulls over characters, plots, and dialogue. I can't see myself doing anything else but writing. I have tried to be normal. In the past I've managed to fool myself, for a short period, before the muse finally grabs me by the throat and drags me, willingly I might add, to my writing place.
Aside from my wife of eighteen years, writing has been the only constant in my life. In that time I have written twenty short stories, four novels, and six screenplays. It's not much when compared to the careers of other well known writers, but it's an achievement none the less. I've actually had a couple of my short stories published. And was offered a publication deal for one novel by a large NY publisher, which I turned down so I could publish the novel myself.
Self publication was a learning experience indeed. I messed it up, big time, but in the process I learned so much more than had I accepted the publishers offer. The biggest thing I've learned is to succeed one must always strive to give the reader what they've paid for. A good story with a character they can invest in that they will follow to the ends of the earth.
I'm what they call a horror writer, I prefer supernatural ghost stories, past memories imprinting themselves upon the present. I write about places even the ghosts of the dead fear. Ancient places where the echoes of a distant past still reverberate in our modern world. A quiet horror, that creeping, ever expanding sense of dread that washes over you when you realize you're not in Kansas any more. The sense of foreboding at what lies beyond the horizon. Yet, try as you might, you can't help but look beyond the next hill.
I think of this because lately I've come to realize that I am responsible for my current situation due to the choices I made years before. Years ago, after I was discharged from the military, I made a decision to pursue a dream. I wanted to be a well known writer. And for some reason, that to this day I still don't understand, I chose to approach this task without any type of schooling.
Believe me, if it's your dream to be a writer, take some classes, it'll shorten the distance between dream and reality. It's not like I didn't have the opportunity. Upon graduation from High School I was offered a full four year scholarship to the University of Maryland for any course of study I desired.
Did I take it? Hell no! I was tired of school and chose to visit the world courtesy of Uncle Sam. Even with an honorable discharge under my belt, and the GI bill at my disposal I still refused to expand my horizons by taking advantage of what was available to me. At times I day dream about where I would be now had I taken just one creative writing class.
You see, writing is all I ever think about. I lie awake at night as my mind mulls over characters, plots, and dialogue. I can't see myself doing anything else but writing. I have tried to be normal. In the past I've managed to fool myself, for a short period, before the muse finally grabs me by the throat and drags me, willingly I might add, to my writing place.
Aside from my wife of eighteen years, writing has been the only constant in my life. In that time I have written twenty short stories, four novels, and six screenplays. It's not much when compared to the careers of other well known writers, but it's an achievement none the less. I've actually had a couple of my short stories published. And was offered a publication deal for one novel by a large NY publisher, which I turned down so I could publish the novel myself.
Self publication was a learning experience indeed. I messed it up, big time, but in the process I learned so much more than had I accepted the publishers offer. The biggest thing I've learned is to succeed one must always strive to give the reader what they've paid for. A good story with a character they can invest in that they will follow to the ends of the earth.
I'm what they call a horror writer, I prefer supernatural ghost stories, past memories imprinting themselves upon the present. I write about places even the ghosts of the dead fear. Ancient places where the echoes of a distant past still reverberate in our modern world. A quiet horror, that creeping, ever expanding sense of dread that washes over you when you realize you're not in Kansas any more. The sense of foreboding at what lies beyond the horizon. Yet, try as you might, you can't help but look beyond the next hill.
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