Dark Harvest available for pre-order

A bare bones pre-order page has been thrown up at

http://cairnwood.net/darkharvest

Priced at $20 with free continental US shipping…
all copies will be signed, sealed, and delivered with a wicked smile.

Mo*Con III: The Intersection of Spirituality, Art, & Gender

Support your local Indiana Horror Writers

New Releases:

Apex Science Fiction and Horror Digest 12.

This issue features tales by our very own Maurice Broaddus and IHW Vice-President Michael West, as well as stories from members of our IHW extended family, such as Brian Keene, Steve Shrewsbury, and Alethea Kontis.

You can order directly from the Apex online store or you can hunt it down in one of the over 500 stores across the US and Canada (namely Barnes and Noble, Hastings, Chapters, and Joseph-Beth Booksellers) that it is sold in… or pick it up at the all- new Horror-Mall.com.

 

Doorways 5 features non-fiction from IHW President Bob Freeman and a haunting tale from Maurice Broaddus.

Here’s a video if you want to see what it looks like.

Here’s a direct link to the issue in the Doorways Publishing store.

If you want to order, it’s $6.75 + .75 for shipping ($1.50 if you’re outside of the U.S.) or a one year subscription is: (4 ISSUES) $20.00 + $3.15 for shipping ($6.31 if you’re outside of the U.S.)

You can send a check (if in the U.S.)  to :

DOORWAYS MAGAZINE 247 N SYCAMORE ST UNION CITY, OH 45390

Or send paypal payment to:  bewisedesign@yahoo.com

Still Available:

Lose yourself in a gothic tale filled with werewolves, vampires, and witches in the spellbinding debut of the Cairnwood Manor Saga, Shadows Over Somerset by Bob Freeman.

Order directly from Black Death Books HERE

or you can order from amazon.com

Coming Soon:

IHW’s anthology Dark Harvest, featuring 13 terrifying tales by Maurice Broaddus, Bob Freeman, Tracy Jones, Sara J. Larson, Michelle Pendergrass, Tiffany L. Proctor, and Michael West… and an introduction by Stoker Award winner Gary A. Braunbeck.

The second chapter in the Cairnwood Manor Saga, Keepers of the Dead by Bob Freeman (Black Death Books)

Tracy Jones’ Scent of the Wolf (Lachesis Publishing)

Legends of the Mountain State 2, edited by Michael Knost and featuring stories from Bob Freeman and Maurice Broaddus.

And don’t forget to check out our cafepress store: www.cafepress.com/ihwgear

The IHW Store is live…

Visit www.cafepress.com/ihwgear for some great IHW-related merchandise… especially those Mo*Con III shirts.

IHW Winter Writers Retreat 2008 (PartI)

www.bymichaelwest.com

“Can you play Snow, ‘Informer?’” a nameless voice begs on my radio, and then a stream of unintelligible lyrics suddenly blasts through the speakers.

Every week, a local radio station in Indianapolis has what they call “No Refusal Friday.” You can call in, request whatever you want to hear, and the DJ on duty is obligated to play it. On this particular day, it seems the people want hits from the late 80s and early 90s.

I drive through very real snow, taking my right hand from the wheel every so often for a sip of still hot coffee or to consult my trusty Google map, and it feels as if I am actually going back in time. Strip malls and chain stores give way to trees and then to endless expanses of farmland, all buried beneath a freshly fallen shroud of white. Small towns pop up and fade in the rearview mirror, each one taking only a moment to traverse, and it does not take me long to reach my final destination: Converse, Indiana.

I drive down the main strip and see the old Woodcarver’s building, site of the Indiana Horror Writers first annual Winter Retreat. It is three stories tall, with large display windows on the first floor, betraying an earlier time when the lowest level might have been some sort of store. A metal fire ladder descends the brick façade, providing possible escape should it be necessary.

You see, the Woodcarver’s building is haunted.

According to Bob Freeman, IHW’s newly elected President, and author of Shadows over Somerset, it is one of the most actively haunted locations he has ever experienced. This is saying a lot, as Bob has been to the ancient castles of Ireland, places where tortured souls still cry out on a regular basis.

I grab my laptop and bags and head inside.

The first floor appears normal. Row after row of tables and chairs, some with massive jigsaw puzzles in various stages of completion, others with woodcarving tools neatly boxed and waiting for their owners to put them to use. The results of their labor are all around, hanging from the wall and lining various shelves. There are Native American figures, animal heads, and entire landscapes carved from various grains of wood. Atop an old Pepsi machine I see an odd sight, the first of many…a huge wooden sculpture of human limbs intertwined.

(Later, I would learn that this particular sculpture once sat in those large store windows facing the main street of town, just a bunch of arms and legs, until someone pointed out that they were in the shape of a swastika.)

Most of the other IHW members are already here. Bob Freeman, Sara J. Larson and her husband Bill, Tiffany Proctor, and Michelle Pendergrass. We sit down to recount our respective journeys, to discuss our excitement about the events that have been planned, and then Scent of the Wolf author Tracy Jones arrives, anxious to find her room and get unpacked.

Bob rises from his chair and offers to give us a tour.

First, we climb the steep stairs to the second floor.

“Stay close to the railing,” Bob warns. “People have felt something give them a push.”

A push?

He goes on to warn, “And it’s probably best not to be alone, on the stairs or anywhere else for that matter.”

The upstairs hallway is long and dark, with light shining through the window at the end. It’s very surreal, and more than a little bit creepy. The doors that line the hall are made of a deep red wood, and they are deeply set in the frames, creating shadowy alcoves that could hide any number of horrors.

We walk to our rooms, the floorboards creaking beneath our every step.

At least nothing can sneak up on me, I tell myself.

Those who have stayed in the rooms before us have signed huge white boards. When a board is filled, it is framed and hung on the walls of the hallway. Many of the blurbs left behind speak of ghosts and strange happenings.

One of the blurbs even has a carved axe glued to it, with a bloody “REDRUM” from The Shining beneath “All work and no play Rich a dull boy.” I look out the window and watch the snow; thinking how fitting a sight this is, considering a bunch of writers will now be snowbound in a haunted inn.

The first room, the one we will be using for our discussions on this day, had once served as the waiting room for a local doctor. Attached to this room is the bedroom where Sara and Bill will sleep. Years ago, it was the office where surgeries were performed. Who knows how many patients died there, how many remain there still?

I follow Bob down the hall to my room. A lawyer had once set up office there. Now it is a small bedroom with a queen-sized bed and a couch. I look out my window and down onto the street below. Already, my car is covered over in snow, and the tiny flurries have turned into huge wet flakes. I wonder how many inches we will really get when all is said and done.

This really is The Shining, I thought. I’ve just stepped into a horror movie!

The next room down the hall had a more sordid past. Now, it was a harmless storeroom, piled high with knick-knacks and boxes, but it used to serve as the offices of the Klu Klux Klan. Psychics, called in to investigate the Woodcarver’s building, had broken down into fits of tears upon entering this room. They claimed the KKK had tortured young black men with hay bailing hooks.

I took a step inside, gave a quick look around, then followed Bob across the hall, where the tour grew even more surreal.

Hammers. The door opened on a large, rectangular room filled from floor to ceiling with hammers of all shapes and sizes. Some had their handles carved into faces, their claw ends painted to look like ears or bucked teeth, others had antlers attached to the sides, and still others were screwed together to form words and odd sculptures. There was even a hammer in the corner that stood more than six feet tall.

I stared around, wide-eyed, then turned to Bob and managed, “What the hell…?”

Bob explained that one of the Woodcarvers had spent his life carving and creating these hammers. When he died, his wife did not want any of them, so she donated everything to the building. The room had been turned into a museum dedicated to his work. Bob went on to say that the last time Quest Paranormal was here, they caught an apparition on tape that may or may not have been him.

I felt a sudden chill run up my spine, and after a quick look around, followed Bob out. We walked back down the hall to another door, one hiding a winding staircase that led up to the third floor, where the Independent Order of Odd Fellow (IOOF) performed their rituals.

We climbed the steps.

The third floor was still being renovated. Power cords criss-crossed the floor like black and orange snakes, and ladders were everywhere. Paint was peeling from the ceilings and the walls were cracked, but the place was absolutely beautiful. Brass chandeliers and fixtures were everywhere and light streamed in from huge bay windows on two of the four walls.

“My God,” I said, “It’s Session 9* !”

(*Session 9 (2001) is a very creepy horror film about a crew who goes into an abandoned insane asylum to remove asbestos, only to have weird things start happening. See my review here: http://bymichaelwest.proboards49.com/index.cgi?board=film&action=display&thread=1122140979)

As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I caught sight of an old-fashioned wheelchair, just like the one in the movie. I could not believe the coincidence. It was more than a little unnerving.

“Quick, you have got to take my picture sitting in that chair!” I hand my digital camera to Sara Larson, and after showing her how to work the buttons, I walk over and sit in the wheelchair, posing.

The camera goes dead.

“I think I hit the wrong button,” Sara confesses.

I leave the chair, turn the power back on, and check the battery. There is still a charge. We try it again, and again…the power goes out. It seems that someone or some thing does not want me to have my picture taken in that chair.

Luckily, Tracy Jones did not have the same problem with her camera and I got my picture.

Later, I would take my camera downstairs and it would work fine.

This was the first odd happening of the weekend, but it would not be the last.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Dark Harvest

Dark Harvest, an anthology being put together by the Indiana Horror Writers, is progressing nicely.

So far, we’ve received some fantastic fiction, such as Maurice Broaddus’ “Soul Food”, Michael West’s “Trolling”, “The Coven” by Tracy Jones, and my own “Born Again”.

Lots more stories coming, and a few surprises are in store.

Watch for IHW’s Dark Harvest to be released in June of this year, with a release party planned to coincide with Mo-Con III at the Dwelling Place in Indianapolis on June 14th.

Yes, it’s true. There is more than corn in Indiana.
I’m betting this is not what you bargained for.

Get over yourself already

from the blog of Bob Freeman 

Anyone out there had the pleasure of reading this: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=117226642&blogID=348729850

Here’s an excerpt:

I’ve met so many authors over the past couple of years who today if I ran into them my stomach would churn but I would be kind because my parents brought me up that way and speak to them but I’ve grown bored with doing what’s right especially when you meet someone like Brian Keene who obviously thinks his shit don’t stink — seriously - hate me if you will for dissing the guy but I met him at the World Horror Convention last year and he seemed cool. Met him again at Raven Con talked to him for a good bit then the next thing I knew I was sitting at a bar at the hotel a little later - he walked right past me and talked to the people who were sitting next to me and acted as if he didn’t know me or I had the plague - wouldn’t even speak to me. Now you know I ran right away to a corner and cried - my ass! It just showed me who he really was. Hell he came there - blew off half of his panels and then bolted before it was over. I don’t know about the rest of you authors who attend conventions and have commitments to the convention but if I’m one of those I’m there even if I have to trip over my boots because I’m still drunk from the night before and run out my door to be driven by an escort seeing as how I’m a bit impaired to be there because I said I would. Now I’m going to catch some flack about why this occurred but truth is he never would answer his emails about which panels he would be on and he bolted on one of his book signing panels - now I don’t know about you but if I was a patron who paid the membership thinking I was going to see Keene and get him to sign my book I would be pissed.Anyway this isn’t a pick on Brian Keene day - he’s just one of hundreds who started the same way you have and forgot where it was they came from.

Now, let me be perfectly clear, Brian Keene does not need me to defend him. He’s a big boy and can take care of himself, but when I read nonsense such as this, well it tends to get my Irish up. I consider Brian Keene a friend. I’ve broken bread with the man and have always found him to be a genuinely warm and witty compatriot. Why up and coming wannabes continuely take pot shots at him is beyond me. As Brian himself has stated on his own blogs, perhaps it’s because he has always been approachable and therefore an easy target.

Miss Tallman needs to take a step back and think long and hard about what she’s doing here. Her Next Generation Writers cabal is but the latest in a long line of misguided attempts by the legions of self-published and basement press authors who demand attention and demand it now.

Damn Al Gore. If only he hadn’t invented the internet.

The Horror Writers Association is not the enemy.

Brian Keene is not the enemy.

The Other Dark Place is not the enemy. (Okay, maybe it is, but just a little bit)

The enemy is bad writing. The enemy is not paying your dues. The enemy is self-delusion that you are more than you are… that you don’t have to work hard and struggle to make it to the top of your chosen field of creative endeavor. The enemy is believing that writing and being published is easy.

It’s not.

It’s a struggle, and one worth swaggering into battle for. It does not come easy and it does not come overnight.

And dissing someone of Brian Keene’s calibur will not get you there faster.

Miss Tallman runs the risk of joining the ranks of the IOHPs, Philbens, Paciones, Dagstines, and the like… and that’s simply not an association that’s good for anyone who wants to succeed in this business.

Nurturing the creative spirit

from the blog of Tracy Jones

Writers write. We’ve all heard it a million times. So have our friends, spouses, children, parents, third-cousins twice-removed, bare acquaintences, blog subscribers, and most everyone else who cares to listen. But do they really understand what those two words mean to us? Do they feel that niggling feeling that sometimes starts as a thought or word or just a vision, but gets hold of us and we absolutely have to satisfy it? It’s like thirst or hunger–it can’t be ignored, or we might die. At least, it feels that way. They don’t understand why we enter that special place deep inside, and woe to the person who tries to rip us out when we’re firmly enmeshed with our muse.

I don’t know why it is, but it seems we writers more often than not end up in relationships with non-writers who are clueless to what goes on inside our minds. And, worse yet, some really don’t care. They don’t even attempt to understand. No matter what we say, to them, it’s a hobby, something you should only do when everything else is done and you have time to kill. But that’s not how it is. It’s a need. When a person who claims to love you takes something so important in your life and either trivializes it or outright demeans it, a flicker inside you goes out. And the more they continue treating it so carelessly, the colder you become until the flame that once burned for them can no longer be lit. 

I do understand, to an extent, the frustration writers’ partners face. Some days, whilst deep in writing, I’m sure I looked and acted more like Audry (that man-eating plant from Little Shop of Horrors) than Tracy. But, when I come out of the zone, and my significant other not only gives me dirty looks and snide remarks for having “wasted so much time” when I could have been “doing more important things,” but also refuses to read what I wrote…well, it’s hard to explain the way that makes a writer feel. Worthless. Cruel. Useless. Selfish. Lots of other terms, but you get the picture. And all the work we’ve done, and the accomplishment we feel for what we’ve written, just goes straight out the window.

How do we handle this? We seek out other writers, people who truly understand what it means. And we grow further and further away from the person who swore to love us and stand by us, but apparently added under their breath where we couldn’t hear, “as long as you do things the way I expect you to do them.” I don’t understand how someone can claim to love you, yet laugh in the face of your dreams. I have finally come to realize, though opposites might attract, they end up going in different directions, disconnected. And partners will begin to resent you for seeking out others like yourself, for sharing your passion for writing with others, but they still don’t give you what you need emotionally, spiritually, and if they get mad enough, even physically. Until the day comes when you find you just don’t give a damn anymore what they think or feel, because they’ve given so little thought to your feelings.

What an odd turn this blog has taken! What was really supposed to be constructive, has become therapeutic, but writers sometimes do that–just go with the thought flow. Mea culpa. I’ll try to do better next time. I look forward to your responses.

Mo*Con III: The Intersection of Spirituality, Art, & Gender

Mo*Con III: The Intersection of Spirituality, Art, and Gender*
Category: Religion and Philosophy

Hosted by The Dwelling Place and the Indiana Horror Writers.

Church is a communal expression of faith, to pursue spiritual formation to be the kind of people God wants us to be. To be a safe place to ask and wrestle with spiritual questions. Whose mandate should include building a sense of community, loving each other, and serving the world, all in the name of Christ.  So why not have church with a bunch of horror writers?

Continuing the tradition of exploring spirituality, art, and social issues,  The Dwelling Place desires to be a refuge or sanctuary, a place of rest and freedom for people to be themselves, where we connect with God and one another by joining Jesus’ mission to bless the world.  The goal of Mo*Con, pure and simple, is to continue conversations.  With that in mind, I’ve invited a few friends to chat with me for the weekend:

Guests of Honor:

Nick Mamatas
The editor of Clarksworld Magazine, Nick Mamatas’ work appears frequently in Razor Magazine, The Village Voice, and various Disinformation Books and BenBella Books’ Smart Pop Books anthologies.  His short novel Northern Gothic (Soft Skull, 2001) was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award for Best Long Fiction in 2002. His first full-length novel, Move Under Ground (Night Shade Books, 2004/Prime Books, 2006) was nominated for both the Bram Stoker Award for Best First Novel and the International Horror Guild Award for Best First Novel in 2005.  His second novel, Under My Roof, was released in 2007.

Mark Rainey
Author of the novels Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark (with Elizabeth Massie, HarperCollins, 1999),  Balak (Wildside Books, 2000), The Lebo Coven  (Thomson Gale/Five Star Books, 2004),  The Nightmare Frontier (Sarob Press, 2006), and Blue Devil Island (Thomson Gale/Five Star Books, 2007), Mark Rainey has also published three short story collections and over 80 published works of short fiction.  Some may remember him from his editing of the legendary magazine, Deathrealms.

Matt Cardin
Matt Cardin is a writer of horror fiction and scholarly essays.  His books include:  Divinations of the Deep, a collection of literary horror stories with a dark spiritual theme; The God of Foulness, a novella about a cult that seeks salvation by worshipping a god of disease; and a second collection of his work, titled Dark Awakenings in late 2007 which wiill feature fiction and nonfiction writings about horror — both the existential experience and the entertainment genre — and religion.

Lucy Snyder
The author of Sparks and Shadows, a cross-genre short story collection from HW Press, Lucy A. Snyder may be most known for her humor collection Installing Linux on a Dead Badger (And Other Oddities).  With over 70 short fiction sales and over 20 poetry sales, her fiction goes all over the road, although she does tend to write genre stories (science fiction, fantasy, horror, romance, etc.) more often than straightforward mainstream fiction. She also writes a column for Horror World on science and technology for writers.

Tina Jens
A writer, producer, editor and performer, Tina Jens’ writing spans the genres from cat mysteries to fairytales, classic ghost stories to gory horror, hard boiled noir yarns to humor that will tickle your funny bone.  She is a two-time Bram Stoker Award nominee (given by the Horror Writers Association) for short fiction in 1999 and producing the Twilight Tales reading series in 2001. She Tina Jenshas produced Twilight Tales, the live weekly reading series, for eight years. And she serves as the editor of the Twilight Tales line of anthologies. With fourteen books out so far, they’ve garnered two additional Bram Stoker nominations for short and long fiction.

Featured Guests Include:

Chesya Burke
With more than 40 publishing credits to her name, including the acclaimed Chocolate Park, Chesya Burke has been making her mark in the horror and fantasy worlds.  She has several articles appearing in the African American National Biography published by Harvard University and Oxford University Press, received the 2003 Twilight Tales Award for fiction and an honorable mention in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Science Fiction: 18th Annual Edition.

Kim Paffenroth
The author of several books on the Bible and theology, Kim Paffenroth has been considering the interface between religion and pop culture, especially his favorite movie monster, the zombie.  He has written Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero’s Visions of Hell on Earth (Baylor, 2006), and his zombie novel, Dying to Live (Permuted, 2007),

Bob Freeman
Bob Freeman majored in Anthropology at Ball State University, specializing in Witchcraft, Magic, and Religion. He is the author of the Cairnwood Manor Saga published by Black Death Books.

 

 

The overall weekend will look something like this:

Friday, June 13th
The Dwelling Place
7440 N. Michigan Road
Indianapolis, IN 46268

Doors open at 7:00 p.m.
8:00 p.m. Guest Reception
10:00 p.m. Concert by Mother Grove (what?  You didn’t think I’d like a Celtic rock band?)

Saturday, June 14th
The Dwelling Place
Doors open at 10:00 a.m.

Panels will include discussions about how our respective faiths impact our writing, what editors demand,  and the impact of gender issues when it comes to writing.  We will have an artists gallery.   Lunch and dinner will be provided and there will be an Apex Digest of Science Fiction and Horror after party.

Sunday, June 15th
The Dwelling Place
10:30 am - Dwelling Place Service
Followed by a Guest Farewell Luncheon.

Other confirmed guests include:
Kelli Dunlap, Gary Braunbeck, Jason Sizemore, Debbie Kuhn, John C. Hay, Taylor Kent, Lauren David, Carrie Rapp, Michael West, Sara Larson, and Tracy Jones. You can let me know if you are coming by leaving a note here (or drop me an e-mail).

There are plenty of nearby hotels (I am particularly fond of the MicroTel).  This page will be updated as more guests and details are confirmed.

Cost:  $10 per Person, but  DONATIONS ARE APPRECIATED.

We hope to see you there!

*a.k.a. Make Sure Alethea Kontis Relaxes and is Spoiled Weekend

Holy Grails

from the blog of Bob Freeman

So, my friend Nate Southard, a former Hoosier who now basks in the Hell known as Texas, scored a serious writers victory, announcing a sale to the prestigious Cemetery Dance Magazine. I couldn’t be happier for him. Nate’s a great talent and it’s nice to see that talent being recognized.

Nate’s success got me to thinking about those “Holy Grails” that many a writer chases. They are different for each scribbler, but they are there in each of their heart of hearts.

Primarily, my own lust for literary asperations have centered on the novel form, and while having one novel published and another on the way, there are three distinct short form venues that I long to see join the ranks of my writing credits.

Like Nate, I consider a sale to Cemetery Dance a real benchmark and it falls number two on my list of magazines that I am eager to make my own sell to. Number three on that list would be Clarksworld Magazine, which is a real nut to crack, in no small part due to the high standards that editor Nick Mamatas holds those who submit to.

So, what magazine holds top honors for yours truly? Which periodical holds an allure that is almost maddening?

Weird Tales.

Why Weird Tales you ask? Three words. Robert. Ervin. Howard. Old Two Gun was Weird Tales, and to see my name on the cover of Weird Tales, a magazine that is virtually synonymous with Robert E. Howard is my short story Holy Grail.

So, I write and I submit and I hone my skills… and one day I will see my name there.