New Anthology From Cutting Block Press - Butcher Shop Quartet II

www.cuttingblock.net

The Breach, by Greggard Pennance

Jared, one of the few survivors from the crash of flight 319, is visited in his dreams by one of the perished passengers. Needing answers, he is drawn to the site of the wreckage -- 140 feet deep in the Atlantic. What Jared finds there is beyond extraordinary, and it sets him on a path to make choices that will determine much more than his own fate.

Road Rash, by Simon Janus

After a botched bank robbery in which the rest of his team is lost, Straley escapes on foot. Toting the loot, he is desperate for a set of wheels. Then his luck seems to turn his way, as he finds the car he needs, but soon he learns that it has come at a terrible price - in acquiring it, he's contracted an aggressive skin rash, and soon it is ravaging his body. When he receives his diagnosis, a terrible curse, he learns that he must use up the last of his loot in attempt to rid himself of this infliction. He must journey into the depths of Central America, where he will find the answer he needs … or doesn't need.

Bodies Raining, by Rick J. Brown

As a young boy, Corey is the only witness to an atmospheric miracle that will signal the beginning of the end of civilization. Years later, after a virulent disease has ravaged the Earth, and with no safe way to dispose of the corpses, Corey must leave his wife to work in space as a 'body dropper'. While human corpses pile up on the surface of the moon, he is sent to the surface to unravel a mystery. There Corey finds that even the most unimaginable of events can be natural, up to and including personal vengeance.

Condemned, Written by Vince Churchill, Story by Ray Brown (R. Lenard Brown)

In a blink the world changes, but Quentin is too busy having illicit sex to notice. It isn't long before things in the Midwestern town of Benson become strange. People are different, neighbors violent. He learns that the Rapture has occurred, and that he was mistakenly left behind. As all Hell breaks loose, Quentin finds himself in the race of his life, and he has one chance to reclaim his salvation. Accompanied by two gun-toting preachers, he must reach the Church of the First God before sunrise, and all that stands in his way is a long night and the enraged souls of the damned.

The Portal (Free Flash Fiction)

The portal shimmered up at him and if he looked hard enough, he could see things. He could see his dead mother, gesturing for him to come to her. Looking harder, he could see his girlfriend, Summer, blowing a kiss.

They drew back from him and he cried for them to stop. If he waited, they'd be gone forever. So he pushed his face through the portal and let his body rest as Summer's face drew close to kiss him. Then he heard the muffled cries of his daughter, Annie, but it was too late.

The child could do nothing but stand there, sobbing, as her father sat on the stool, his head resting in the sink full of water.

[Published in Black Box (C) 2008 by CD Allen]

Tired. Bubbling.

Argh. Tired. Saw Jen for like two minutes after I got off work as she's doing a sleep over with a RegIV resident tonight. Otherwise I haven't seen her all day. I think I'm ready to sit down and hammer out a new novel. It's bubbling. I'm hoping for some froth. James Devon, my occult detective, is itching for something to do. I think it will be about the Rectors again (see The Rector House in Dark Distortions volume I for more details). I very much a fan of Gothic horror--not subculture gothic, but The Castle of Ontario and The Monk sort of Gothic. The Rector House was my first attempt at working in this sub-genre and the rave reviews about it made me think that that's where I need to be working right now.

Wherein Time Refuses Elasticity

Well, my new official full-time job is as a youth counselor at Springfield Academy in Springfield, South Dakota. So far it's a good job and it's great working with the kids. I usually run the Voyager group (as they call them), which are ages 14 & 15.

Jennifer and I have just sent out our invites. Our wedding is closer (September 12th), so every spare moment is spent getting things done for that special day. Jennifer is glowing and I'm excited, too.

My writing has suffered a lot from all this work. Hopefully I'll be able to pick it up after the honeymoon. There has to be stories hiding in my head somewhere...

Chickenpox Thrice?!?

What a wonderful week for me.

First, we lose Jennifer's grandmother. Then I notice that my sudden outbreak of what I thought was zits (caused by all the stress I've been having lately) isn't just on my chest and underarms, but ALL OVER MY BODY. Jennifer noticed it first after I took off my shirt. She said, "Oh my God, Charles, it's all over your back!" I looked at a full length mirror, and see that it has spread from my chest and underarms, all the way down my sides, back and legs. It's all over my arms, too.

"Did you ever have the chickenpox?" Jennifer says.

"Yeah. Twice!" I say, remembering them distinctively from when I was a child. "I thought having them twice was super-rare, so this can't be chickenpox. It can't be."

Jennifer looks at the oldest welts, saying, "Charles. These are scabbed over. This is chickenpox."

I'm dumbfounded. "No," I say, "Who has ever had them three times? Besides, I'm a little exhausted, but otherwise I feel pretty good. Doesn't the chickenpox come with fever and all that?"

Jennifer looks it up online and points out that, indeed, I have chickenpox. Besides, I've been exhausted for a few days now and that night I get a pretty high fever. I throw up and I shake, get all clammy. The next day I'm not moving much and I can't move too far away from the bathroom. Yep, chickenpox, by God. Thrice.

Today: I'm feeling a little better. But I'm due Monday at the photography studio to take pictures of a family. Now I have to cancel. It says that your infectious from 10 to 20 days, until every welt has scabbed over.

Palm on cheek, I roll my eyes and sip my chicken soup.

Winter: The Season of Cancer, Death & Diesel Trucks

Last May I was able to meet an old woman who'd just got out of chemotherapy, who was tired of the radiation and was just growing back her dark hair. She was a kind woman, my fiancé's grandmother, in point of fact. While old, she still walked, talked kindly and was always happy to talk about her life, her children and grandchildren. She still worked in her garden, did chores, the laundry and dishes, and even looked after a guy who, to me, seemed a little more than of under average intelligence, who couldn't hold down a job or even take care of himself, a guy with one glass eye and told rather silly, childish jokes that maybe only kids would find funny.

Anyway, this story isn't about him. It is about this old woman, who my fiancé loved, and who wasn't around too much longer for me to really get to know her. She worked hard and was dying of cancer—it was eating away at her as I looked upon her, as my fiancé visited with her. There wasn't anything anybody could do about it and I think it made their family feel sort of useless when it came to her health. The woman wasn't supposed to smoke, but somehow she got them anyway. If she would have quit, she would have still died. Maybe it'd take longer, but, eventually, it would have taken her.

Not too long ago, last week in fact, she was smoking a cigarette while on oxygen. Of course, you're not supposed to smoke around those machines and there's a good reason for it. My fiancé's grandmother became an example of it: she burnt her face and inhaled some of the fire when the tank exploded. We received a call only a few hours after it happened and when we were able, we went to the hospital in Yankton, South Dakota. By this time she was taken to her own room, and was conscious. We saw the burns and the inflammations, the tubes and machines connected to her, and we visited. My fiancé, understandably, was upset. Her grandmother was medicated and she wasn't finishing complete thoughts, or inquired about things that wouldn't make sense to anyone. She even asked her great-granddaughter why she didn't have her own cup of coffee.

But while she was out of it, there's something vital in her. For some reason there was a part of me that thought she still had many years in her left. This, of course, was a false assumption. You had to see behind the life that was still there to see the cancer, and, frankly, there was a part of me that didn't want to, didn't want to even acknowledge it being there at all.

Eventually, she made it home, bed-ridden. I never saw her on her feet again. Family members were considering hospices. Family some distance away started showing up to see her. Jennifer and I visited her on the last night she'd be alive. They'd rolled a bed out for her, a breathing machine was there, its tubes in her nose and her head was fallen back on the pillow as she gasped deep breaths of air. My fiancé, as strong of a woman that I've ever seen, takes a look, but finds herself unable to really look for long at what state her grandmother was currently in. I found it difficult myself, but I have to force myself away from it. There's an odd otherness I feel in such macabre moments, something that fascinates me and perplexes me. I don't want to look away because I guess there's a part of me that needs to see what happens when someone is dying. I think it's the same reason why I didn't want to see the cancer in her, the withering death eating her vitality away.

We talk for awhile. We leave. The next morning, we wake and there's already people calling us. My fiancé's grandmother passed away during the middle of the night. And I have to confront the fact that I was wrong, that she was dying, and it had happened. I wasn't surprised, really; I just had a reckoning with myself on the subject of life vs. death (is it really “life VS. death,” or “life IS death?”). I have to realize that yes, I lied to myself, knowing how fragile the vital is in all of us, how easy it is to go from animate to never-ending inanimation.

Her funeral was yesterday. There was a big blizzard, a complete white out and we traveled home. We got stuck for a couple hours behind a car accident. A diesel truck has smashed into a pick up. I'm not sure if anyone is hurt. After a couple of hours of not moving, kids complaining, calling people on my cell phone to pass time, we finally get moving again. Everyone is moving just under ten miles an hour. Another diesel truck comes crashing through the white out, going way too fast.

It makes you wonder. How much control do we have over our living and dying? How much control do we grant those around us?

NaNoWriMo, 2008

NaNoWriMo, 2008! I've been waiting for this all year. I'm giving it a go this year with my already titled THE MOON OF LYKAIA. I believe my user name is CD Allen, so if your doing NaNoWriMo this year, feel free to add me as a buddy.

Here I go...

Writing & More Writing... And Old Friends

AJ Brown. A good guy with lots of heart. While I was a part of the HL's workshop office at Zoetrope.com, I read a lot of blogs about writers writing horror. Or merely, writers trying to figure out how to better write through blogging about it and conversing with one another about it. If you continue to read them I'm sure you'll learn a lot. I'd doubt I could believably say that I didn't learn anything from them. But after reading them for some time, they sort of start saying the same thing over and over again and after awhile you just want to shoot yourself. But, I would suggest reading this. I kind of like AJ's blog this time. It sums a lot of my own feelings up on the matter.

* * *

Never heard of them, but they are intriguing me: http://gravesidetales.com/. I have this old (and yet unfinished novel) called Grave October Moon. It's based off my feature-length screenplay, which is adapted from my story Jack Straw. I don't have the original story due to one of those crashes where you have realized that you (the complete moron that you are) have not backed up your hard work enough in the last year, or possibly even longer.

It might, however, be fun to see if I can use what I have (the novel and screenplay) and see if I can rewrite that original short story. Why not? Right?

* * *

Just talked to an old friend, who I used to go to grade school with. Haven't seen him in more than eighteen or nineteen years. It's funny how just a voice can reawaken so many details of a life that seemed to have been lived long ago.

Jennifer's going to be home soon. I guess I have things to do.

Nicotine Demons

Wretched, awful, hate my day... bad. Good grief. Every day I've been thinking: I need a cigarette. But never have I really wanted one this freaking bad. Of course, part of it is my fault. Sort of, anyhow. I had to stop taking the Chantix for awhile because I was getting very sick between that and the pain meds for the surgery.

Hm. Wow. Anyway. Point is, I don't need the pain meds and that fiend, the nicotine demons are making me a living asshole. I'm jumpy and crazy and I've offended just about everybody today. Well, almost everybody. My dentist's receptionist learned I was a writer and she was very happy to talk about reading good books with me while I waited on the Doc.

Anyway. I won't have that cigarette. I'll refuse. But tomorrow morning I'm back on the Chantix.

Hel Hounds & Halloween

Just found this article on Norse Hel Hounds and werewolves. It's a scholastic piece of work, so it might be slow for some, but I found it fascinating.

* * *

Halloween is just around the corner. Chase (not to be confused with me: Chas) wants to go as a Banana and Taylor's a Gothic Vampiress. I'm designing Taylor's costume for fun, a mishmash of makeup styles and a costume not meant for the normal vampiress. Jennifer trusts me, I think.

* * *

Oh! And before I forget . . .
PHIL RICKMAN'S TO DREAM OF THE DEAD!

It's on Amazon, and I'm so there.

Kicken Butt

Mike Wever won first place at The Middle of Nowhere Film Festival for the three minutes category (staring me . . . hahahahahaha!). We were all very excited for him and the festival was fun.

TRADITIONAL THREE MINUTES AND LESS CATEGORY:
1st Place- $150 prize
"Man and Monster" by Mike Wever

I'm currently on several meds after my oral surgery and I'm really not feeling well, and am very tired. However, the swelling has gone down and I'm finding enough energy to do some writing/editing today. It feels good.

I also finished Gaiman's American Gods. I have to say that it was probably my favorite read this year. That guy IS a master storyteller and I'm looking forward to reading more of his work.

Ghoul Season Begins

Yes! It's October. The countdown to probably my most favorite holiday: Halloween, All Hallow's Eve, Samhain... Plus, don't you just love the smell of cooling air tinged with, on the best of days, a bit of rain? Everything becomes colorful and you're usually through feeling like a sweaty pig. Well, it makes me want to sing and dance.

I re-worked my website at http://www.freewebs.com/cdallen/
so, if you're interested in seeing what I've done, I'd stop by and have a look.

Also, I'm proud to say I'm on my second day of having not one smoke. It's very hard. Even as I write this, my fingers itch for putting one between them, so I'm making it through each minute by chanting, "You're not a smoker anymore. You have those who love you. You have those you love. And Jennifer would kick your ass." That usually does it for about three minutes and then I have to repeat. That, or I eat. Luckily, I have a very fast metabolism. Hopefully it can keep up with me.

The hardest part about quitting smoking, for me, is what the hell do I do with my hands if they're not working the cigarette from lap to mouth? My answer: read. More reading never hurts. So I subscribed to a couple more magazines and picked up Neil Gaiman's American Gods.

American Gods. You know, I have never read Neil Gaiman. Not really. I collected his Sandman comics, which I loved, but after comics Mr. Gaiman put out a collection of short stories. Mike, a friend of mine, picked up the collection and read through them. He said, "Charles. I'm not liking any of this. I think Neil's a great comic book writer, but I don't think he can write narrative very well. At least, I'm not liking his style." Apparently that had an affect on me, because I never did read his book or anything else he's ever written (save comics and watching movies based off his work). Flash forward, I pick up a copy of American Gods, thinking about how badly I needed a cigarette, and took it home with me, still needing a cigarette, and started reading it, still needing a cigarette. Three hours later I'm still turning pages and suddenly realizing, I forgot I needed a cigarette. That and Jennifer's pissed because I forgot to take some time to finish the dishes. But that's a small grief. I was still happy that I bought a good book and it was taking me away from thinking about something I don't really want.

Speaking of Neil Gaiman, his The Graveyard Book is turning out to be a very cool story, too. I've been listening to it for free on audio, as they are coming out in like a serial audio/video. Check it out!

QUITTING ZOETROPE

I received a few question regarding my withdrawl from www.zoetrope.com and +The Horror Library+. I just wanted to point out that my reasons for doing so have nothing to do with anything that happened on Zoetrope. I have a lot of friends there (or one would like to imagine, anyhow), and it is a great place to rework your stories and network friends and colleagues. But my time has become very active. I used to go from day job, to Zoetrope, to writing, to bed and started the whole thing over again the next day. I was single (mostly) and had no other expectations of me. Now, I've gotten engaged to a wonderful woman, Jennifer, who also happens to have two kids: ten and eight. Now my time runs more like this: day job, clean/errands, make and have dinner, clean/errands, and then go to bed. I read during my breaks at work and perhaps have time to write a few notes for a story, but otherwise, I'm hardly doing either. I decided that on my days off, I need every spare second I can get toward writing. And I only get the morning. Starting at 1:00pm I'm making sure the house looks good so Jennifer doesn't have to worry about anything when she gets home. Then we make dinner. And then we spend time with the kids or work on our wedding plans.

That's all there is, really. It's nothing more than that.

Getting Gory & Other Cultural Stuff

Right. So...

I've been a little ill the last few days, which has slowed me down, but I'm getting a lot of work done on DD2. That's made Molly very happy. I'm also back to writing again, working on Usher's Wake, so near our half-way point that I can almost taste it.

Well, to make things interesting, I received a call last night from Jennifer's aunt, Gail, who informed me that an EMT is instructing a crisis class and needs more "bodies" for the students to check out and use first aid and/or CPR on. So, though I should be writing and cleaning house, I told her I'd be one of the bodies. She told me to be there early and they'll "make me up".

That's the weird thing about my life. I'm surrounded by people in the medical field. My mother was a nurse. Jennifer's mother is a nurse. (Our mothers were best friends since high school). Her Aunt Gail and Uncle Mike are local EMT and Jennifer is an x-ray tech. It's not surprising, of course, to hear at supper, something like: "There she was, dripping blood all over my scrubs from the shattered jaw while her snot is dangling in strings..." or something equally macabre. I've learned to have a strong stomach and try to put these images out of my mind during supper, but I'd also have to confess that in real life: yeah, I'd be sick. I'm a writer. I can imagine the stuff just fine. But don't put it in front of me.

But, it should be fun to get dressed up like a crisis victim. Maybe I'll take a few pictures while I'm there. I do have a morbid sense of humor. These should make fun keep-sakes.

Okay, I better go and get ready.

UPDATE: Okay, I'm back and cleaning house. But while the dishwasher runs I thought I'd share a few pics from the C.E.R.T class, where I sported some very bad burns on my arms.

Beth had glass sticking out of her arm...

And a gash in the other...

Tom had a nail in his shoulder...

Jennifer's aunt, Gail, is having her face painted up to be the shock victim. Unfortunately, she looked dead. I covered her up with boxes and told her that when the C.E.R.T students came in, she should jump up from the pile and scream bloody murder...

Gail also suggested that I become an EMT and gave me a long talk about it. She convinced me after some time, so I'll begin training in October.

The Niobrara Ponca tribe is having a Pow Wow this weekend. Did I tell you Jennifer also works with the mentally challenged? Well, she does - and they asked her to take some of her clients to the festival. I wasn't able to go, or rather, didn't think I was able to go, so I wasn't there, but Jennifer brought back some pics and a video of some of the ceremony.

Last, but not least, the video... (if it doesn't appear, check back later... Utube is probably still processing the video).

Creating Memories

Somebody asked me awhile back about videographing weddings, and I did mention that I have two good friends in the business. Mike Wever, one of my long-time best friends, and his wife, Crystal, run a studio in Lincoln, NE and are one of the best in town (and with great rates). Creating Memories Photography is where you want to go, if you happen to be getting married in Lincoln. Trust me, folks.

I've only helped with a couple weddings, but it was fun. I had a lot of people really happy with the results of some of my camera work - a very good thing to hear from you audience, you know?

Has anybody been enojoying Stephan King's N.? An audio-book like comic? That's a freaking awesome idea.

I'm a little late getting this one out, but have you seen this? Arthur C. Clarke, huh? One of the facts of life, getting older and watching all your heros die.

I'm also almost done with Mark Deloy's Life Suspended. I have to fit reading in between reading for DD2, work and family life, but I'm getting there. So far, all I can say is, Wow. It's fast paced and keeps you on the edge of your seat. I think a lot of people are going to like it (if you're not reading it already). If you'd like to get yourself a copy click here!

Alright, I'm off to bed . . .

Gehenna

So I was working on my new novel, tentatively titled The Raven of Azazel, where my MC, James Devon comes across a man with ants crawling all over him (possibly a demon), an allusion to the weird behavior of ravens doing the same for reasons scientists have yet to discover. And then I was thinking about how cool this would be if minor demons were doing this to some great arch-devil in hell. Though I'm somebody who shoots for more realistic settings and events before using fantastical ones, a part of me really wanted to interject that scene.

How? I have no idea... Maybe in a vision? Nah, too boring. Looks like I have some thinking to do.

Jonathan Coulton

Jonathan Coulton. Freaking hilarious.

Life Suspended

20 Years ago a rash of murders in the Outskirt Woods
held a town in the grip of fear. The killer, known only
as the Hangman, stopped as suddenly as he started
after a brush with three of the town's children, an
encounter that forever altered their lives and their
friendship. Now the Hangman has come back, forcing
the community to relive the nightmare one body at a
time. The three estranged friends are reunited in a
twisted tale of murder and mysticism.

Friend of mine and author of the macabre, Mark E Deloy, wrote a story that has been anticipated by horror fans for about a year now. It's first release, hardback versions, was disseminated at the HWA convention, but its publisher, Dark Recesses Press, has finally released the book in paperback. I bought the book last night and once it gets here I'll give it a review. For now, think about picking up your own copy. It's only $12.95 (+$3 for shipping, USD).

(Click the Pic to Buy Now!)

Liquid Imagination

Folks over at Steel Moon Publishing have given my friend, John Arthur Miller, some space for his new e-zine, Liquid Imagination.

In his own words...

Every story is fantasy weaving truth into fiction. This ezine is
dedicated to the Fantasy Genre: modern day faerie tales where
mortals fall in love with Fey; sirens of the high seas whose songs
stir sailors’ hearts; mortals finding themselves becoming
vampires or werewolves, or finding themselves entering new
impossible worlds co-existing beside our own; worlds of fantastic
realities ripped open within characters’ minds. Intermingling
within Liquid Imagination is emotion with the target being awe—
and if we miss the target perhaps we may come close.

So far the team consists also of Kevin Wallis (another editor) and Chrissy Davis (poetry editor).

It looks to be fun. I am writing a story for it now, so, if you have the time, stop by and check it out!

Whistle of Death & Other News

So I read a lot of anthropology articles online, and recently came across this: Whistle of Death. It's creepy. I love it.

Well, tomorrow's the 4th of July, so I'm excited. It's actually about good memories for me. My dad might have been abusive and terrible, but his favorite holiday was the 4th of July. It was the one day where he'd be there with us, sharing the excitement. I'd go into more details, but suffice to say,even after his death, I still have these memories that makes this holiday very special for me.

Luckily, I'll be sharing them with Jennifer this year. More memories to take with me. It feels wonderful.

Jennifer Today

So, here's the thing . . . I met this incredible girl, who I've known since we were both very young children. Her mother's my mother's best friend from high school, if you can dig that. Of course, as kids, we used to have sort of crushers on one another and I tend to have very fond memories of her. She says I ignored her, and that might be partially be true. I mean, I was kind of shy toward girls in early junior high school. But I digress - I've recently run into her again and we've developed a very romantic life together so far.

Jennifer. Though she won't believe it, she was inspiration of Dr. James Devon's wife by the same name. Though Devon's wife dies (to her dismay), I wanted somebody who could really touch people before she went. Jennifer. That's who I chose.

Now I've chosen her as a friend, romantic and perhaps future . . . Well, we'll keep our secrets for now.

RECENT MOVIE

Stardust. ****1/2 The best film so far adapted by Neil Gaiman from his own work by the same name. Beautiful. Haunting. Pure Gaiman, at his best.

RECENT BOOK

I'm slowly making it through yet another textbook on archaeology. Can't help it.