Short Story: "Affixed, Bothered and Bewildered"
Novella: Gunmen
Short Story: "What Alva Wants"
Short Story: "Pigs Get Fat, Hogs Get Slaughtered"
Short Story: "Dog Night"
Short Story: "The Baker's Song"
Order Here: Insatiable: The Magazine of Paranormal Desires
Many years ago in a medium size village there lived a baker who loved his work. He loved the smell of the dough, and the feel of it. He loved the shaping of it, and watching it rise. He loved placing the dough in his giant stone oven, and removing golden loaves of bread, their transformation complete.
His only real compliant in life was that baker's hours were lonely hours. He rose as the rest of the villagers were retiring for the night, and labored as they slept. Such hours don't allow for socializing, so except for the boy who came each morning to cart his breads to the market, the baker spent his time alone.
One night, after he had placed his last batch of bread in the oven- pumpernickel with a splash of molasses- he heard footsteps in his upstairs bedroom. The baker was not a wealthy man, and he had no enemies that he knew of, so it never occurred to him to be frightened. He closed the heavy oven door, and climbed the stairs.
The baker was surprised to find a witch in his bedroom. She was looming over his bed, fingers curled into claws...
Order Here: Insatiable: The Magazine of Paranormal Desires
Many years ago in a medium size village there lived a baker who loved his work. He loved the smell of the dough, and the feel of it. He loved the shaping of it, and watching it rise. He loved placing the dough in his giant stone oven, and removing golden loaves of bread, their transformation complete.
His only real compliant in life was that baker's hours were lonely hours. He rose as the rest of the villagers were retiring for the night, and labored as they slept. Such hours don't allow for socializing, so except for the boy who came each morning to cart his breads to the market, the baker spent his time alone.
One night, after he had placed his last batch of bread in the oven- pumpernickel with a splash of molasses- he heard footsteps in his upstairs bedroom. The baker was not a wealthy man, and he had no enemies that he knew of, so it never occurred to him to be frightened. He closed the heavy oven door, and climbed the stairs.
The baker was surprised to find a witch in his bedroom. She was looming over his bed, fingers curled into claws...
Short Story: ". . .And the Horse You Rode In On"
Order Here: How The West Was Wicked
Hatcher rested his hand on the stock of his six-gun and wondered whatever happened to regular old murder-for-hire. He didn't understand why everything had to be so damned complicated. It seemed to him that
it ought to be a simple enough transaction, but this here Avery fellow wanted to explain himself.
"I don't know what to call him," Avery said, his voice somber. "He drinks blood. Drains people dry."
This got Hatcher's attention. He poured himself a shot and examined Avery over the rim of the glass while he sipped. The man had a prissy look about him. He was dark haired and thin, with haunted eyes, and a drooping mustache that made his sad face look hang-dog. His clothes were expensive, but worn and dirty. He held his hat nervously in his lap and stared down at it when he spoke. The ivory handled cane he'd hobbled in with leaned against the table.
"And those he's killed?" Avery went on. "You have to sever their heads or they rise again and become blood drinkers themselves." (Click on "How the West was Wicked" to order the story collection from Pill Hill Press.)
Order Here: How The West Was Wicked
Hatcher rested his hand on the stock of his six-gun and wondered whatever happened to regular old murder-for-hire. He didn't understand why everything had to be so damned complicated. It seemed to him that
it ought to be a simple enough transaction, but this here Avery fellow wanted to explain himself.
"I don't know what to call him," Avery said, his voice somber. "He drinks blood. Drains people dry."
This got Hatcher's attention. He poured himself a shot and examined Avery over the rim of the glass while he sipped. The man had a prissy look about him. He was dark haired and thin, with haunted eyes, and a drooping mustache that made his sad face look hang-dog. His clothes were expensive, but worn and dirty. He held his hat nervously in his lap and stared down at it when he spoke. The ivory handled cane he'd hobbled in with leaned against the table.
"And those he's killed?" Avery went on. "You have to sever their heads or they rise again and become blood drinkers themselves." (Click on "How the West was Wicked" to order the story collection from Pill Hill Press.)
Short Story: "Dead Men Don't Drive"
Order Here: Crossed Genres #4
Fat Lou stared down at the body in the trunk. "The hell's wrong with you?" he asked.
"It's a new feature," I said. "It's for the carpool lane."
Lou didn't laugh at my joke. He continued staring at the body while he scratched his bare belly.
It was hot and muggy inside the garage; like always. Lou was wearing denim cut-offs and sneakers, both of which looked too small for comfort -- his or mine. He didn't wear a shirt and his huge gut was covered in red welts from his constant scratching.
"You got some balls bringin' this into my place," he said.
"Like I knew it was in there," I said.
"I don't care you knew or not. You should know better."
"The fuck does that even mean?"
"It means put your ass back behind the wheel of this car and drive away from here. Now."
Order Here: Crossed Genres #4
Fat Lou stared down at the body in the trunk. "The hell's wrong with you?" he asked.
"It's a new feature," I said. "It's for the carpool lane."
Lou didn't laugh at my joke. He continued staring at the body while he scratched his bare belly.
It was hot and muggy inside the garage; like always. Lou was wearing denim cut-offs and sneakers, both of which looked too small for comfort -- his or mine. He didn't wear a shirt and his huge gut was covered in red welts from his constant scratching.
"You got some balls bringin' this into my place," he said.
"Like I knew it was in there," I said.
"I don't care you knew or not. You should know better."
"The fuck does that even mean?"
"It means put your ass back behind the wheel of this car and drive away from here. Now."
The New Hire
Short Story: "The New Hire"
Outercast #5
Denby was flexing his massive biceps in the mirror when the phone rang. Best let the answering machine get it, he decided. It was probably his mother. She would want to congratulate him on his new job and take thirty minutes to do it. He couldn't risk running late. Especially not for his first day.
He smoothed the front of his sleeveless suit jacket and admired his bare, well-oiled arms as he listened to his recorded greeting. He had never purchased a suit this expensive before. It was something of a risk. If he hadn't gotten the job he wasn't sure how he would've paid for it.
"Denby, this is your mother."
He looked directly into the eyes of his reflection.
"Right as usual." He smiled big, showing a mouthful of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. He glanced briefly at the holo-image of his mother hovering over the answering machine. Her eye-patch was baby blue today and her gray hair was pulled back with a matching blue ribbon.
"I just wanted to congratulate you on your new job. Your father and I are so proud of you. Remember sweetie, this is just the beginning. You're going to go far."
Denby did a few deep-knee bends, threw a few jabs at his shadow. His mother droned on.
(Click on "Outercast" to visit the website of this international magazine.)
Outercast #5
Denby was flexing his massive biceps in the mirror when the phone rang. Best let the answering machine get it, he decided. It was probably his mother. She would want to congratulate him on his new job and take thirty minutes to do it. He couldn't risk running late. Especially not for his first day.
He smoothed the front of his sleeveless suit jacket and admired his bare, well-oiled arms as he listened to his recorded greeting. He had never purchased a suit this expensive before. It was something of a risk. If he hadn't gotten the job he wasn't sure how he would've paid for it.
"Denby, this is your mother."
He looked directly into the eyes of his reflection.
"Right as usual." He smiled big, showing a mouthful of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. He glanced briefly at the holo-image of his mother hovering over the answering machine. Her eye-patch was baby blue today and her gray hair was pulled back with a matching blue ribbon.
"I just wanted to congratulate you on your new job. Your father and I are so proud of you. Remember sweetie, this is just the beginning. You're going to go far."
Denby did a few deep-knee bends, threw a few jabs at his shadow. His mother droned on.
(Click on "Outercast" to visit the website of this international magazine.)
The Best Cartoons You Ever Heard! A tour through the world of Hanna-Barbera Records
Feature Article in Cool & Strange Music, Issue #13
If, as a kid, you ever spent a Saturday morning in front of the television watching cartoons while munching on a large bowl of sugar-saturated breakfast cereal, then you owe a debt of gratitude for that part of your joyously misspent youth to Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera. And not just for the cartoons they created.
From the time Kellogg's sponsored the duo's early TV shows, Saturday morning cartoons and cereal have been happily wed. When MGM ceased production of Hanna and Barbera's Tom and Jerry after 113 animated shorts, the pair decided to open their own studio. They successfully made the jump to television in December of 1957 with Ruff and Reddy. It was the first original animated series created for TV and was a tremendous hit. Their follow-up creations (Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound) were even more successful and have remained favorites for generations of kids. In 1965 Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera were at the top of their game - they had proven that witty writing and great vocal talent could compensate for (sometimes very) limited animation on Saturday morning as well as in prime time. The Flinstones was in its fifth season on ABC. They had also had some success with a feature film version of one of their most popular characters with Hey, There! It's Yogi Bear. (A second theatrical feature, The Man Called Flinstone, soon followed.)
If, as a kid, you ever spent a Saturday morning in front of the television watching cartoons while munching on a large bowl of sugar-saturated breakfast cereal, then you owe a debt of gratitude for that part of your joyously misspent youth to Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera. And not just for the cartoons they created.
From the time Kellogg's sponsored the duo's early TV shows, Saturday morning cartoons and cereal have been happily wed. When MGM ceased production of Hanna and Barbera's Tom and Jerry after 113 animated shorts, the pair decided to open their own studio. They successfully made the jump to television in December of 1957 with Ruff and Reddy. It was the first original animated series created for TV and was a tremendous hit. Their follow-up creations (Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound) were even more successful and have remained favorites for generations of kids. In 1965 Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera were at the top of their game - they had proven that witty writing and great vocal talent could compensate for (sometimes very) limited animation on Saturday morning as well as in prime time. The Flinstones was in its fifth season on ABC. They had also had some success with a feature film version of one of their most popular characters with Hey, There! It's Yogi Bear. (A second theatrical feature, The Man Called Flinstone, soon followed.)
Spooky Vinyl
Feature Article in Cool & Strange Music, Issue #18
Believe it or not, it was once acceptable to try and scare the bejeesus out of children on Halloween. Come October, (this was back before the Halloween season started in July), in addition to masks and candy, local department stores would proudly display records full of delightful horrors designed to frighten the pants off of kids.
Quite a few of these were cheaply made with rattling chains and barking dogs that sounded as if they were recorded in someone's basement. But some of them went above and beyond the call of mere atmospherics and tried a little too hard. It's difficult to imagine some of these gruesome offerings ever being produced in these overprotective times, but back in the day, they were sold right alongside the green Spiderman masks and wax-mustaches.
One of the shoddier spook records was an album titled simply Ghostly Sounds. The only credit to be found anywhere on this cheap gem states it was written by A. Ghost. I have a strong feeling that this is a pseudonym.
Little more than a collection of horrific sounds, the enthusiastic audio carnage this record creates is a bit surprising. The penultimate cut on Side Two, "Wolf Attacks Man," for example, is nothing more than the title implies. It is roughly sixty seconds of animalistic growls and snarls, and some poor slob screaming his throat raw.
Believe it or not, it was once acceptable to try and scare the bejeesus out of children on Halloween. Come October, (this was back before the Halloween season started in July), in addition to masks and candy, local department stores would proudly display records full of delightful horrors designed to frighten the pants off of kids.
Quite a few of these were cheaply made with rattling chains and barking dogs that sounded as if they were recorded in someone's basement. But some of them went above and beyond the call of mere atmospherics and tried a little too hard. It's difficult to imagine some of these gruesome offerings ever being produced in these overprotective times, but back in the day, they were sold right alongside the green Spiderman masks and wax-mustaches.
One of the shoddier spook records was an album titled simply Ghostly Sounds. The only credit to be found anywhere on this cheap gem states it was written by A. Ghost. I have a strong feeling that this is a pseudonym.
Little more than a collection of horrific sounds, the enthusiastic audio carnage this record creates is a bit surprising. The penultimate cut on Side Two, "Wolf Attacks Man," for example, is nothing more than the title implies. It is roughly sixty seconds of animalistic growls and snarls, and some poor slob screaming his throat raw.
