Strolling through the city of ghosts
Mine and others
Life lessening; remnants many
The only commodities exponentially growing
The less-ness and the dead
Faces curl by, mighty and mellow
Jesting jesters
Secret stalkers
Smooth and lined
Chiselling the face of ages
Charcoal sketches in a dusty book
My neck cranes from the tarmac
To sandstone stretching skyward
Behind blacked shades I hasten a look
Faces carved into stone statues
Corrosion of time changes their masks
And I see you there
Dancing among the gargoyles
Faces I’ve known
Faces I’ve kissed
Faces long dismissed
Echoes of ancient conversations
Undertows hidden behind music
Soothing ears and fears with every pluck and stroke
Muffling hyper consternation
Rapid beats in the throat
Lost words imprint the atmosphere
Bare toes curl into the black cracked pavement
They keep remaking it
Covering the splits
The old tracks; spectre paths
Undertows ripple underfoot
Soon only remnants shall remain
Ruptured
I’m one of them; a mere echo
In this Undertow City.
Pressing, softly through the cracks Fragments of consciousness Piston hissing speckled the dead-night
Moving electricity aside She slips in like butter Melting and reforming to what I once knew
She was melancholy like my heart Sullen of soul My scion mirror
The tunnel formed Attuning the station Between pre and post mortem A hollow in this verse A meeting place
We spoke about mortality Not with words It was all there, though Moths fluttering in the air It’s been a while…
Since we shared space Since we shared time She keeps reminding me, though Those are figments...
Of faux comfort Fool’s restraints Flimsy, weak cortex It’s not everything Not even close
The cat’s body is in the next room Upon the pink bedspread His marbled fur of coppers and black Still as the void I can look if I want, she tells me He won’t stir yet But I can’t leave Paralysed in the serenity Permeating from her form
There’s so much more to that cat
The sun seeps in Glimmers strain against the sides Dagger sharp Fragments tear the space asunder
There’s been some writing and lots of editing on the go this month — one in which my home life has also hiked up the demands. Though that could be the cumulative effect of this year of, well, you know, it’s been mental for many of us! To say a balance has been tricky would be playing down how much of a riot things feel. The execution, thankfully not so much, but certainly my panster and parent brain are on the juggle, with at least one child jumping on top of it incessantly ringing the jester bells on the cap feels out of whack. Who am I kidding — it’s a shambles in there!
Moving on from that shambles ramble…
I was delighted to be enlisted by Kevin J Kennedy to edit his debut solo novella, Halloween Land. For which I also created some supporting promotional graphics and synopsis for the release.
Kennedy’s solo project has been a long time coming! Given how hard he works as an anthologist, engaging and gathering horror voices to present to eager horror fans – this solo piece is eagerly anticipated by fans of his writing. The super cool cover art was created by François Vaillancourt, internal artwork by Mar Garcia and a closing poem written by James Matthew Byers.
He kindly asked me to write the foreword introducing the book, which I was taken aback by. To introduce such an important work in a writer’s career is a tremendous honour, I was delighted to oblige.
Halloween Land is out now and is available to download worldwide from Amazon, and the paperback will be available in the coming days. If you pick up a copy, please do leave a review! Kennedy loves engaging with readers and fans of the genre — you can reach out to him directly via Facebook, Goodreads or Instagram.
Writing — I have two short stories I’m working on with deadlines looming, which I can’t share much about yet. Both horror, one is extreme, which I am at the idea outline stage — this one will be sleazy and gore-filled. The other is further underway and is an adult-horror spin on a children’s classic. Though the inspiring story, I would debate whether it’s ‘children’s’ at all. Certainly, lots of coming of age issues addressed, particularly the challenges of girlhood and adolescence. The original story is heavy in bizarro / fantasy. If anything, there’s too much inspiration to play with for creating a new short piece. So I am keeping my distance and tipping my mad hat to this beloved literary classic only.
Being invite only opportunities, it’s imperative that they each fit their retrospective bills, which adds a little bit more pressure to the creative process. That time has been more of a challenge than I anticipated this month. It’s getting into the flow with it when batting different characters and plots around. All that being said, I shall get there with them; the engine is revving, I just need a clear stretch to slam down on.
Time being so restricted for longer pieces, I have ended up playing with another writer, David Owain Hughes, this month and co-writing some drabbles, as well as throwing a few solos down. March procrastinating at its finest! Productive down another road, at least. So there’s a bunch of these little bad boys being published with Black Ink Fiction this summer.
I’ve also shared a few free quick-fic pieces right here for those who fancy a gander! That’s it for now. The sirens are wailing, I better skedaddle!
From this tomb I look at the massacre I’ve made of myself Taking in every ripple of depression The marches of its succession Binging and fasting like waves sloshing Overwhelming loose skin Drinking in the scars Grooves deeper than can be seen Slashes from the blade Tracks worn into this sick façade Embedded in the tomb For me, there’s no room Depressions refusal to be released Sagging waves of torment Dropping into the scalding water Reddening surface and silver deep Lie back Just lie back let it sink in Conquer the concave slave Drench black-eyed face under Revell in the nearing thunder I can see through my corpse to the decomposition My life’s mission Taking in their rot I’m rotting alive No need to be a giver They keep taking Clawing at the veins Sucking my blood with straws Lie back further Steer across the landscape It ain’t too horrifying from this angle The sags tighten Silver streaks lighten Red fades to blush Embrace the incoming hush I’ll lie here Lie to myself for a while Let the silver lining twinkle A perspective shift A momentary lift.
Gnashing and gnawing at my innards Viscera shredded; trauma tombs embedded Stitch in bells, weigh down the nauseating flapping Jangle a euphonious jingle Steady placement of chinked shield Conceal agonies.
U-bend blocked There my guilt brims Shame for wishing away rapid cell division Liquor and voluntary scalding Natures way away Life folding poured out Out of Order; terror of disorder
For two, a freshly dug hole The morning after Mourning follows Nipping at heals with the snow A hollow in another garden There, a piece of my heart lays A depression for my first’s succession
She wants to see my torment on display To harvest in morbid grief games Pretend she’s just the same Catfish loss-mother Conspiring tiring Yearning to reap from the suffering leaks of my soul Observe my lamentations trapped in a fishbowl To don a cape, be in control Prodding my wounds, infecting
Imitation empath storing stories Catalogued, indexed, held hostage Latching of grief vampires Sucking ephemeral life’s marrow Chipping stones off my bones
An archaeologist scraping the shovel No delicate brushing of bristles Attention desperation Desecrating my pain Self-appointed steward on my cradles grave.
Claustrophobic, locked in.
Mirrored headstones line the grey road.
Buried alive, suburban death-row.
‘Did you hear about so and so?’
Blurred race of parallel lines standing still.
Masking — one fanes will.
Mimic gimmicks with lacklustre flare.
Another unforgiving snare.
Teeth scraping bone.
Smile while blood flows soaking frozen toes.
A trend-setting bush, a coat of paint.
‘Oh, look together we’re dammed saints.’
The season of outdoing the clone next door.
Marching down the line of uninspired duplication — snore.
Bored.
Trapped.
Locked down on cookie-cutter lane.
Painting beige with grey, painfully mundane.
Disgusted with one’s own disdain.
It really is insane.
I am delighted to have three of my own pieces published in this Halloween issue of ‘The Sirens Call’ alongside a host of creative writers and artists. Check out this beast of a horror/dark fiction eZine FREE via The Sirens Call original post above! Enjoy!
Rolling rumbling tumbling of the muscle Steadfast working out the dead
Waiting through waves Expulsion from womb to world; inner-outer dimension switch
Existence given visibility Life unviable; dead tangible
The ticking clock veiled agony; pulse-quickening within the neck Swimming through minutes in viscous shards; stark, exposed in wait
A sudden burst to cemetery-serene-silence Shock of expectations met, tension swells and pops within the void
Her body expelled, revealed Limp, still, disturbingly perfect
Few eyes lay upon her — none with such desperate thirst as the child-loss-mother Tattooing details to memory Cerebral and uterine imprints Memories outlived instantaneously
Tiny fingers, toes, torso, fused eyes, jaw, ears… All except the beating of the heart Virgin lungs void of air in this, her death hours stare
My pathetic heart beats so hard it chokes the throat The muscle has pried itself from within its cage, making way up to swell in the gullet
Don’t take her away… Emotion sickness swells drowning from the inside Even dead, she’s still the baby; even dead, she’s my baby, still
Must give her honour of life…somehow Gemini mother; creator, reluctant reaper
Now her death feeds life Entangled in root tendrils within the earth Forever reaching within and upward
The true heart of something that doesn’t have to beat Her cycles visibly viable
Bleary eyes can’t always see their praise of stars Despair wracked the heart for a time
Peace isn’t only for the dead…
She sways in the wind now; dancing grace Energy shared, scattered through leaves and bellies of beasts She worms and she soars through them
Not the life imagined; energy shifted, realigned Heart-wrenching, gut-punching beautiful
A little update since the sands are sure as hell quickening, if not entirely running away.
Reading this year has been pretty diverse, with an unintentional heavy focus on horror of all flavours. I’ve also developed a taste for bizzaro horror. I’ve come across a few authors who have tickled me — a new (non) guilty pleasure for sure. If it’s gonna simultaneously gross me out and make me laugh my ass off, it’s a thumbs up! Outwith proofreading, editing and competition reading my ‘just for fun’ list, in no particular order, have included:
Richard Laymon – The Beast House Chronicles Edward Lee – City Infernal (Series) Kevin J. Kennedy – The Horror Collection (Anthology Series) Jethro Punter – The Daydreamer Chronicles Eleanor Merry – Dead Aware (Series) RJ Roles – Girl’s Best Friend (Tangled Web Series) Steve Stred – Ritual (Father of Lies Trilogy) Matt Shaw – Deep Rooted Fetish (Short) Duncan Ralston – In Every Dark Corner (Shorts Collection) Darren Tarditi – Neigfrid (Novella) Natasha Mostert – The Midnight Side (Novel) Laurel K Hamilton – Anita Blake (Series) K Trap Jones – Welcome to the Splatter Club (Anthology) Ernest Cline – Ready Player One Ernest Cline – Armada Christine Morgan – Lakehouse Infernal Insignia Stories – Japanese Fantasy Drabbles Liian Varus – Is Stranged John Black – Growlers Iron Faerie Publishing – Hawthorn & Ash (Anthology Series) Iron Faerie Publishing – The Best of Iron Faerie Publishing 2019 Andrew Lennon – Life to Waste Tim Lebbon – Eden Saemund Sigfussion, Snorri Sturluson – The Poetic Edda & The Prose Edda
Writing wise, as per my previous posts, I’ve been subbing work out this year. When it comes to responding to open-calls and invites it can be a bit like having free time (which I never do) and swanning into a well stocked library — it’s easy to get lost and devoured by the stacks! Or, maybe a more precise analogy is the old ‘kid in a sweet shop’!
The submission opportunities are plentiful and you can’t write or, indeed, get accepted into them all.
I’ve naturally had a preference for small press/indie publishers. Responding to these opportunities is rather nice as it takes the work out of the book building/formatting side — which is an immense amount of work on the publishing side. I massively appreciate the work that goes on behind the scenes of a quality publication and am truly grateful to a part of each one who’ve warmly accepted my (often) warped little terrors into their fold.
Designing stories with specific open calls as a target has helped reign in the ideas by having a set genre or word count to meet. It’s been beneficial as I oftentimes overwhelm myself with too many ideas that get scattered around as notes and poetry that may evolve, or not. Needless to say, responding to some of the opportunities has put my other WIPs on pause, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, it gives those stories and characters more time to prove and maybe keeps the demon, Writers’ Block, at bay.
Some of my published (and to be published work) can be found within the catalogue of the below Publishers:
Those currently available are updated on my ‘Books’ page and links for those to come will make an appearance in due course. The below two titles are releasing in September 15th (Dark Celebration) and September 28th (Southeast Asian Fantasy Drabbles). I am grateful to have two pieces in each alongside a TOC of talented international writers. Both anthologies are available to preorder now from Amazon, worldwide.
