Smart, Dark, & Deadly

SpellCraft Beads will be at the Three Rivers Festival in Fort Wayne, Indiana this weekend.  I've got lots of new stuff - come out and see.  www.threeriversfestival.org

Hey local types (and any not local who want to have some fun)!  I'll be at InConJunciton this weekend, with both SpellCraft Beads and the Indiana Horror Writers.  Hope to see you there!  http://www.inconjunction.org/

            "You're about to be disturbed, fascinated, entranced and bruised," writes Tom Piccirilli in the introduction to Lucy A. Snyder's poetry collection Chimeric Machines. I was all that, and more. Poems are easy to write; just check the greeting card section of your local Walgreen's. Good poems - that's another story. Excellent poems? Almost impossible. Enter Lucy A. Snyder.

            If you love language, Snyder never disappoints. These pieces don't need rhyme or meter to make them sing. She places each word like a gemstone in a setting formed by a master's hand. I kept turning certain phrases over in my mind, fingering them like rosary beads. From "Tech Support", Faith's no narcotic, once you've lost humanity. And, Mom's a brick of ash in a Baptist wall/and the nest I made stayed empty, from "After the Funeral". She also offers up what may be the most provocative title of all time, "And There in the Machine, Virginia Finally Stood Up". The poem's as tasty as the title, too.

            Snyder channels some fantastical voices - a black hole, an S&M Prometheus, a patricide/suicide. And sometimes, she's just messing with you. You can hear her laughing in "The Fish and the Bicycle", "Home For The Holidays" (who knew a dead man's self reassembly could be witty?), and "Dime Novel". But this is smart stuff. "A Boy's Guide to Neoteny". I had to look up "neoteny" and then the subtlety of the title took my breath away. No, go get your own dictionary.

            The pinnacle of the collection is the five-poem cycle "Crete, Kentucky".  Greek mythology by way of white trash drug dealers. Labyrinth, anyone? Keep reading; you'll get it. The story seems so straightforward, but layers of meaning reveal themselves on so many levels.   

            If you like poetry, if you love words, if you revel in wit and intelligence, Snyder's work satisfies and delights. Chimeric Machines is a collection you'll read again and again.

Publisher: Creative Guy Publishing

ISBN-10 1-894953-55-X

ISBN-13 978-1-894953-55-9

Spread the word.  Help if you can.  This could be any of us who depends on a spouse's "real" job to keep us going.

http://yuki-onna.livejournal.com/487082.html

"But you know what?  Some people don't want to be saved.  Because saving means changing.  And changing is always harder than staying the same.  It takes courage to face yourself in the mirror and look beyond your reflection.  To find the you that you should have been."  Dick Grayson, Batman: Battle For The Cowl 3.

Oh, not much.  Just that all my friends could be happy, healthy, and have all their dreams come true.  I'm surrounded by a group of the most incredibly creative and wonderful people who've ever lived; I'm so lucky.  And whether it's artistic success, relief from pain, or a cessation of grief, I wish it for them, each and every single one.

I will be computerless on Monday, May 11.  The parts are in!

Program ad space for the Mo*Con IV: The Love and Business of Writing program is now available. 

 

Mo*Con is sponsored by the Indiana Horror Writers and The Dwelling Place. It is a friendly convention focused on conversations revolving around horror literature and spirituality. Our dates for this year are May 15, 16, and 17^th, and it will be held at Trinity Church, 6151 N. Central Avenue, Indianapolis, IN.

 

Writers, editors, publishers and fans of horror and dark fantasy come from across the country to attend Mo*Con. This year’s special guests are Tom Piccirilli, Gary Braunbeck, Lucy Snyder, Linda Addison, Gerard Houarner, Wrath James White, and Steven Gilberts. Previous guests have included Brian Keene, Mark Rainey, and Kim Paffenroth. This year’s guests will be participating in a poetry jam, panel discussions, book launches, and a church service.

 

Our rates are as follows:

 

Business card (2 X 3.5”):            $20.00

 

Quarter page (2.25 X 4.25”)            $25.00

 

Half page (5.5 X 4.25”)            $50.00

 

Full page (5.5 X 8.5”)             $75.00

 

Full page, inside front cover,            $100.00

Inside back cover, outside

Back Cover

 

Deadline for ad purchase will be April 23, 2009.

 

 

2009 will be the inaugural year for the Mo*Con program, so we anticipate it becoming somewhat of a collector’s item. Don’t miss this opportunity to be included!

 

For more information, contact Sara Larson at wlarson@indy.rr.com or Maurice Broaddus at mauricebroaddus@gmail.com

 

 

What can I do to help you today?

This past weekend was PFM (pure freaking magic)! A bunch of us from the Indiana Horror Writers and our guests holed up in one of the Officer’s Houses at Fort Benjamin Harrison for our annual Winter Retreat. We had an indecent amount of fun. With us was Chef Phil, our own personal culinary genius, and he kept us so well-fed, it was ridiculous. Can you say “chocolate chip cookies hot from the oven”? “Bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers”? Lucky, lucky us.

 

Nicole brought her karaoke machine, and we sang for three hours straight Friday night. Natalie and I destroyed “Sweet Caroline” but redeemed ourselves with “Takin’ Care of Business”. Danielle shut us all up with “The Rose”. That girl can really sing. Gary and Mike belted out “New York, New York”, complete with high-stepping. (The Chairman of the Board is probably doing about 78 rpm at the moment.) The highlight was Maurice’s version of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. I’m hoping he’ll reprise it for Mo*Con. Also memorable was the sweet bonding moment when all the Big Bad Horror Writers, in their zombie death t-shirts, spontaneously broke out in a full-length, a cappella version of “The Rainbow Connection”.

 

Saturday afternoon, Gary led an awesome workshop on developing character through dialogue. The second half consisted of a group effort at developing back story for two characters, then writing a short piece of dialogue. I found it very rewarding (having asked Gary to do this particular workshop), to sit back and watch as everybody got passionately into the exercise, people arguing over what these characters were “really” like. Good stuff.

 

After dinner Saturday, we gathered to do some readings. Some pieces made us cry, some made us laugh, some made us go, “Ew.” Then Kyle brought out the absinthe, and things progressed from there.

 

It was a lovely venue; there was enough room to spread out and enough room to gather together. The breakfast nook just off the kitchen became the place for good conversation. It was a great weekend for conversation. Here are some of the topics I participated in myself:

 

Writing, of course

Religion, and the origins of faith

Dogs

Cats

Ferrets

The failure of the U.S. military to provide for its veterans

Books

Movies

Kinky sex

Our health care system

 

Shooting mice in the nude. The shooter nude, not the mice. Actually, upon discussion, we decided that mice were either always nude or never nude and therefore, the word “nude” does not apply to mice.

 

Other golden memories include Doug doing the voice of the Bosch from his story “Stickhead”. Matt’s spoken rendition of “Jesse’s Girl”. Danielle telling jokes she learned from her rotation at a children’s hospital. Lucy saying, “I think absinthe smells like ass.” Jerry saying, “The reason there’s no horror stories about karaoke is that you can’t make it any scarier.” Phil’s “Drunken Irishman” joke. Dubbing the master suite (where all the guys attending stag slept) “The Caligula Room”.

 

I hated to see everyone go. I can’t wait until next year.

 

 

 

 

nihilistic_kid 's birthday.  Happy Birthday to him!

A friend and I were commiserating the other day over the fact that February is The Worst Month. Gray and dreary. Today’s not so bad, cool, but sunny, with that Crayola sky blue sky we only get in the winter. This week is going to be frantic. Wednesday I have an INklers meeting, and I’m driving myself to finish a short story to submit for critique. The coming weekend brings the Indiana Horror Writers Winter Retreat, and I’m losing sleep to ensure that I have all my undead, flesh-eating ducks in a row, so everybody has a place to sleep, enough to eat, and some fun. After today, I probably won’t draw a deep breath until next Sunday, post retreat. But today, right now….

 

The late afternoon sun slants through my living room windows, making Mondrian patterns on the walls and floor. The mantel candles are lit, and a fire hisses and pops in the grate. The logs are hard maple from the tree that blew down in Lisa’s yard a couple of years ago, and they burn hot, bright, and fragrant. I filled the potpourri crock with cinnamon sticks, whole allspice, and dried orange peel. From the kitchen, I catch whiffs of a pot roast simmering in onions and red wine. The place smells good.

 

The cats are snuggled in the arm chair, curled into a furry yin-yang of sleep. The dogs sprawl on the floor, each with a chewy of their choice – Jagger worries a stick I gave him from the kindling, Cassie munches a rawhide bone. It’s so quiet, I can hear the mantel clock ticking. Soon, I’ll get up and put on the noodles that go with the roast.
 

The week ahead will be crazy. By Thursday night, I’ll be in a suicidal frenzy, sure that I’ve forgotten some crucial retreat point, that some list item remains unchecked. When I get there, I’ll reach into my brain, pull out this moment, look at it, and say, “See, there is something else.”

Happy Valentine's Day to all my loved ones.  And if you're feeling sad 'cause you think no one loves you, remember that I do.

))))HUGS(((( for everybody.

One of my friends on Facebook tagged me with this item called “The Bucket List”. It was one of those check off things where they give you a list and you mark off the things you’ve done. As I was going down his list, most of the things on there I had already done (gone to Westminster Abbey) or had no interest in doing (skydiving). But it did get me thinking. What is my real Bucket List? So I sat down and here you have it.

 

1. Go back to Paris. And this time, not as part of a group, but just with Bill. I’d spend every morning in the Louvre, and then afternoons and evenings somewhere else. Last time we were there, we had half a day to ourselves and spent it walking down the Champs Elysees from the Louvre to the Arche de Triomphe.   Paris is a great city for walking, and I’d like the leisure to do it.
2. Swim in the ocean. I’ve never actually seen the ocean face-to-face; I’ve just flown over it in airplanes. I’d like to smell the aroma everybody tells me about, and get salt water on my skin. In fact, I’d like to swim in both oceans, so I could compare the experiences. And that leads to…
3. Make love on the beach. On a blanket, not bare sand on my bits.
4. Get published. I would like to actually sell a piece of my fiction. This, by the way, is probably the most likely thing on this list.
5. Go to Italy. The land of my grandfather’s birth. Rome. Sicily. Pasta. Art. Architecture.   Wine.
6. Go to Sweden. The land of ALL Bill’s grandparents’ births. I’d like to hook up with his cousin Birgit who visited here, and find other members of the family. And don’t forget smorgasbord!
7. Create a lasting piece of bead art. Not a piece of jewelry or one of my little amulet bags, but a big beaded tapestry. I’ve been working on the design for about four years now. I don’t care if I ever sell it, and if I haul it around to craft shows for the rest of my life, watching people go, “Wow!” then looking at the price tag and moving on hastily, I don’t care. I want to do something big that is all mine.
8. Travel to the Pacific Northwest by train. I think train travel is so romantic. I rode the train from Paris to Madrid, and it was magical. I dream of seeing the Pacific Northwest, real tree-hugger that I am, and the train ride would take me through some of the most beautiful parts of the country.
9. Make love in the woods. Not out at Eagle Creek (although that would be fun), but in the real wilderness under the stars. Like up by the Boundary Waters.
10. Finish a novel. Something around 75,000 words. I don’t care if I ever sell it or not (well, maybe I do, but selling it’s not the point), but I’d like to get something in fit shape to shop around.
11. See New England. Eat Maine lobster. Visit Walden Pond. Do the whole Early America thing. Part of the pleasure would be Bill’s sheer joy in the trip.
12. Learn to draw and paint. I can do both, after a fashion, but I’ve never had any formal training in either, and I would like some.
13. Really kiss He Who Shall Not Be Named. Not Voldemort – ew. A genuine kiss, with heat and passion, not a friendly peck. Just to see if it would be as cool as I think it would be.
14. Go to New York City. I’d like to see a play on Broadway, and take a carriage ride. Go to Central Park and have a picnic. 
15. Design and make a quilt. While I love the traditional quilt designs, I am intrigued by the idea of the quilts that paint a picture. Of course, it would have to be made of something sturdy and washable, for when the cats throw up on it, as I intend to use it on my bed.

 

There you have it. Not a particularly wild list, but like I said, skydiving has no appeal for me. If you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged. I dare you. What’s your “Bucket List”?

With tongue firmly in cheek, and many thanks to my dearest Beth, who sent it to me in the first place.



 

And I'm not going to tag anybody, either.

1. At one point, I seriously considered studying to be a professional ballerina.
2. My teenage pen-pal was Metallica’s tour manager for many years.
3. I play guitar, bass, and piano – none of them well – but I can’t read music.
4. I have a degree in Religious Studies.
5. I used to run a comic book store.
6. I learned to read when I was 2 years old.
7. I’m an only child. Aren’t you grateful?
8. I’m still best friends with my best friend from third grade.
9. I can’t have babies.
10. My favorite food is sushi, especially tuna and eel.
11. I used to have a massive crush on Carl Sagan. Geek Grrrls Rule!
12. I was the editor-in-chief of my high school yearbook.
13. When I’m tense, I get out my coloring books and crayons. Coloring soothes me.
14. I can knit, crochet, do all kinds of embroidery, and tat lace.
15. I’m one quarter Italian, and the rest is pure UK – English and Scottish. No wonder I’m psycho – my blood is at war.
16. I have never had a dental cavity and I have all my teeth.
17. I can sweat fit copper plumbing and install an engine in a car.
18. My first real job was selling shoes at K-Mart.
19. I’m afraid of mannequins.
20. I adore snakes.
21. I live within 50 miles of where I was born.
22. My favorite city is Paris, followed by Toronto.
23. I keep my mom’s ashes in a jar in my computer room.
24. My favorite tv show of all time is “Twin Peaks”.
25. I went to Catholic grade school.

 

 

I can’t bear to be alone with my thoughts, but there is no escape. I’ve made a hideous blunder, a tragic mistake, a fatal error. I’m broken on the rack of my own idiocy - criminal, victim, judge, jury and executioner. There is no pain like a self-inflicted wound, and I don’t even have the luxury of claiming innocence, of blaming it on someone else. My own hands filled this cup of poison, and now I have to drink it down, even though it blisters my lips and lacerates my heart. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! 

 

After having sworn to myself that I would never believe again, never open myself up to the hubris of thinking I had something to offer, I managed to find the one little corner of my heart not thick with the cicatrice of former foolhardiness. I handed my self-enemy all the weapons that I needed, and my aim was flawless, as only a true insider’s could be. My own hand nailed my body to the cross, lit the pile of faggots at my feet. Ludicrous, ridiculous, laughable to think that this time I would escape intact.

 

Now all I can do is wait for “time to heal the wound”. Experience has demonstrated that the most I can hope for is that it will stop bleeding.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent an hour doing my annual post-holiday mantel rearrangement. Every year, I take all the stuff off the mantel, put up the Christmas stuff, then when I take the Christmas stuff down, I do a new mantel, with different stuff. Some stuff never changes, like the clock. Among the unchanged are the two sets of bookends holding my collection of books autographed by my published friends. As I was putting these back up, I took a minute to leaf through Lucy’s most excellent collection, Sparks and Shadows. I stopped at her essay, “Camp Songs: Innocent Fun or Diabolical Brainwashing Plot?”.

 

That’s when it happened.

 

My eyes fell upon the complete lyrics of the dreaded “Weenie Man” song.

 

Earworm.

 

Over the last fifteen days or so, I wake up to “The Weenie Man”. I go to sleep to “The Weenie Man”. I shower to it. I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy. The Tibetan Buddhist monks chanting, humming, and playing their weird atonal instruments. Even my sure-fire earworm cure failed me. I sang “Happy Birthday” and “Jingle Bells” at the top of my lungs, but when I finished, the cerebral CD player went right back to “The Weenie Man”. (And when I sing, dogs bleed from their ears, cows spontaneously abort, and hordes of horny male moose show up in my front yard, sure there’s a moosette in here who needs it bad.) It’s no use. I can’t escape. I can’t stop it.

 

It’s all Lucy’s fault.

 

By the way, if you haven’t read Sparks and Shadows, you’re missing out. And keep your eye out for Spellbent, the first volume in Lucy’s urban fantasy trilogy, coming out next year.

There’d just better not be any damn song lyrics in it.

Worst.  Christmas.  Ever.

I'm not going to go into it, and I'm not going to whine about it.

I'm just glad it's over.