Darker Plans Indeed…

The ever-vigilant Scott Dwyer—writer, editor, and administrator of The Plutonian site and its attendant newsletter—has published a generous essay titled “Clint Smith:  Poet of the Weird Underbelly of America.”  Link:  here.

(1) Ghouljaw and Other Stories - FINAL Cover

Ghouljaw and Other Stories (Hippocampus Press, 2014)

Skel Mel, paint, ready for edits (for upload)

The Skeleton Melodies (Hippocampus Press, 2019)

 

Dwyer’s awareness of the horror genre (as well as related genres) is evident in his commentaries and insightful criticisms.  That said, I’m humbled that he would find some merit in my work.  Pursuing character relatability in my stories is of paramount importance—something that produces an echo not only in my audience, but in any errant reader.

With as much fiction currently being produced in the Weird / Horror / Dark Fantasy fields, adroit voices like Dwyer’s are critical for both tempering the dimensions of our creative zeitgeist, and clarifying the fundamental features of these aforementioned mediums.  It’s quite clear that Dwyer does his homework—so if you’re unfamiliar with him, you have some homework too.  An ideal primer is his website, The Plutonian; afterwards, check out his seminal publishing project, Phantasm/Chimera:  An Anthology of Strange and Troubling Dreams.

phant,chimAnd keep your eyes peeled on his follow-up project, Pluto in Furs:  An Anthology of Erotic and Strange Horror (he’s accepting submissions through December 31, 2018—details here:   The Plutonian, Facebook).

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“This Godless Apprenticeship”: Weirdbook Magazine, #40

Just noticed that editor, Douglas Draa, has announced the release of Weirdbook #40, which includes my story, “This Godless Apprenticeship.”

Weirdbook no. 40, J. Florencio

Weirdbook #40, Cover Art by J. Florêncio

Though obviously dictated by a narrative’s shape of and the dynamic demands of the characters therein, my accustomed, rhythmic (first-draft) product clocks in around eight- to ten-thousand words; and while I can certainly contort the constraints of these pieces, I often have trouble finding suitable word-count venues.

I was sketching several stories at the time (each having subsequently gained both their intended dimension and fulfillment in publication), but—due to the period-period backdrop of the seventeenth century—took a digressive detour with this one. “This Godless Apprenticeship” is a pirate story (a first for me), and while it’s a shorter tale than I’m used to (just short of 5K words), it was a self-imposed challenge to infuse as much historic research as I could into its saltwater-eaten frame.

Captain Kidd, Pyle

Captain Kidd, by Howard Pyle

The story begins with my quartermaster, Thomas Ware, conducting nightwork for his trade-calloused superior, Captain John Lacewage, aboard the aptly named brigantine, The Gaggler Coach. It was a fun one to write, and like most tales of this variety, I learned quite a bit (more, certainly, than the brief yarn reflects).

The “set list” for Weirdbook #40 follows:

Features:

From the Editor’s Tower, by Doug Draa

Stories:

“Iconoclasm,” by Adrian Cole

“Have a Crappy Halloween,” by Franklyn Searight

“Early Snow,” by Samson Stormcrow Hayes

“The Dollhouse,” by Glynn Owen Barrass

“Elle a Vu un Loup,” by Loren Rhoads

“Bringing the Bodies Home,” by Christian Riley

“Restored,” by Marlane Quade Cook

“Nameless and Named,” by David M. Hoenig

“Playing A Starring Role,” by Paul Lubaczewski

“And the Living is Easy,” by Mike Chinn

“The Prague Relic,” by Paul StJohn Mackintosh

“The Circle,” by Matt Sullivan

“Sanctuary,” by John Linwood Grant

“The Giving of Gifts,” by Matt Neil Hill

“The Santa Anna,” by Jack Lothian

“The Dread Fishermen,” by Kevin Henry

“Blind Vision,” by Andrew Darlington

“The Thirteenth Step,” by William Tea

“This Godless Apprenticeship,” by Clint Smith

“Waiting,” by John W. Dennehy

“Pouring Whiskey In My Soul,” by Paul R. McNamee

“True Blue,” by Darrell Schweitzer

“The Treadmill,” by Rohit Sawant

“The Veiled Isle,” by W. D. Clifton

Poetry:

“Gila King,” by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

“Necro-Meretrix,” by Frederick J. Mayer

“Grinning Moon,” by Frederick J. Mayer

“The Burning Man,” by Russ Parkhurst

“Silent Hours,” by Russ Parkhurst

“The Old White Crone,” by Maxwell Gold

Douglas Draa and his partners at Wildside Press create a top-notch product (back in September, 2018, Draa’s What October Brings: A Lovecraftian Celebration of Halloween, which he edited, secured a standing at #15 among Amazon’s best sellers in the Horror Anthology category), and you can be confident the stories contained in this volume have been handled with equally trenchant attention.

Snag a copy here: Weirdbook Magazine, Issue #40.

pyle, plank

“Walking the Plank,” Howard Pyle

A Process, Well-Nigh Ossified

Skel Mel, paint, ready for edits (for upload).pngI’ve had several pleasant exchanges with representatives from Hippocampus Press over the past month or so, culminating in (among other processes) the completion of the galley proofs for my second collection, The Skeleton Melodies (due out mid 2019).  This volume includes twelve short stories and one, previously unpublished novella.  The table of contents follows:

  • “Lisa’s Pieces”
  • “The Undertow, and They That Dwell Therein”
  • “Animalhouse”
  • “Fingers Laced, as Though in Prayer”
  • “By Goats Be Guided”
  • “The Pecking Order”
  • “Her Laugh”
  • “Knot the Noose”
  • “The Rive”
  • “The Fall of Tomlinson Hall; or, The Ballad of the Butcher’s Cart”
  • “Fiending Apophenia”
  • “Details That Would Otherwise Be Lost to Shadow”
  • Haunt Me Still

Pleasingly Bleak: the Figments of J.R. Hamantaschen

A Deep Horror....jpg

Cover Art by Laura Givens

Next to discussing this author’s quality of work, that J.R. Hamantaschen continues to steadily produce pleasingly bleak fictions amid (or perhaps due to) the backdrop of social-media neediness is to be commended.  In his collection, A Deep Horror That Was Very Nearly Awe, Hamantaschen, with an almost prosecutorial execution, submits fictions containing themes familiar to his fans; but this most-recently revealed cache of stories (eleven in all) is a bit more resilient in their aesthetic and tangible in their approachability.

Along a literary landscape which, in some ways, has become distorted by the online channels of gnathonic, echo-chamber transmissions, Hamantaschen’s tales—devoid of a simpering sentimentality so prevalent in those interweb mediums—remain untinged by the typically mundane anchor of social-media activity, and reflect an admirable variety of isolation.

That said, Hamantaschen invests energy to, and capitalizes on, focusing on (what would otherwise be considered) the mundane—those day-to-day interactions which most dismiss despite possessing a prism for our multiform realities (case in point:  the story “No One Cares But I Tried”); and though I wager he’s knee-deep in the daily fray, A Deep Horror… budges very little when it comes to giving in.  “He usually didn’t like people looking at him dead on,” writes Hamantaschen in one of the pieces; but that’s precisely how the writer scrutinizes his subjects.

A few of these fictions are lengthy and contemplative (this volume contains a sturdy, novella-length study, Faithfully and Lovingly), and several pleasantly strain convention.  “7099 Brecksville Road, Independence, Ohio” is a meta-exercise in set-up which has a pay-off punctuated by a “back-to-the-drawing board” relent in this drudgery of thankless creation.

One of the more scalpel-sharp stories is the opener, “Rococo Veins and Lurid Stains,” which casts several regret-dwelling characters who—throughout several colorful exchanges—are plotting some sort of, well…exchange.  Cautious of exposing too much of the tale, there exists in this piece a sort of literary loop, a “chain”:  “You don’t come back as who you were before,” a central character suggests.  “You probably come back as something else and it’s doubtful you’d have any real memory of who you were before.”

My nits include several layout-formatting, general editing throughout the volume, and a number of distracting POV jumps (particularly in “That’s Just the Way Things Are These Days”).  But audience members aren’t reading Hamantaschen for these reasons.  Rather, it’s something more innately unique.

Aside from a bleakly acerbic sense of humor, the most compelling characteristic to Hamantaschen’s work is his voice.  Not unlike certain moments in life which bear the potential of developing into indelible vignettes, Hamantaschen’s resonant voice emerges in unlikely moments:  a stylistic mechanism within his narratives which seamlessly serves to insulate an unnerving scenario—the scenario, in many cases with J.R. Hamantaschen, is simply existence.