Friday, February 19, 2016


OPEN CALL:
http://syntaxandsalt.com/submit/
My wonderful 'Woman in Horror' today is Rie Sheridan Rose...
One of the best stories I've read appears in an anthology Bruce and I edited.

"I love writing horror. From the time I was a kid, I’ve been a huge horror fan. As a matter of fact, my first professional sale was a poem about a vampire waiting for prey. I really enjoy writing fantasy and Steampunk, but writing horror gives you the chance to explore a completely different set of parameters. Writing horror is about exploring the visceral as opposed to the ephemeral.

Of course, there are different flavors of horror. Some of my most successful works are a series of humorous horror stories about a restaurateur named Bruce Vincent and his waitress Roxanne Rogers who battle the supernatural. They have the sort of camp aesthetic that was often found in the old comic books, like Tales from the Crypt and House of Horror which could vacillate between silly and terrifying in one issue. Of course, Bruce and Roxanne always come down on the side of silly. Their stories are available from Yard Dog Press in a new perfect bound edition called Bruce and Roxanne: From Start to Finnish.

But, much fun as writing the silly stories can be, writing something seriously scary (or at least attempting it) can be much more satisfying. There is something exciting about looking beneath the expected societal norms—and it is more politically correct to do it on paper. It is a chance to embrace all your darker impulses. The freedom to be as vicious and cruel as you want without actually hurting anyone.

I’ve written several short pieces that fall into this category. Some of these are found in the collection By Candlelight. My favorite serious horror piece to date though is Bloody Rain from Mocha Memoirs—this look at what might really have become of Jack the Ripper is something I’ve wanted to explore for a long time. It is a solution I have personally never seen before—and hope you find interesting if you choose to look into it.

To me, the key to writing horror is to take an incident and look at what can happen as a result of that incident—the most twisted, dark, possibly unnatural, but logical conclusion you can think of. For example, zombies appear in your neighborhood. What happens next? That is the basis of horror.

I am currently revising the second draft of my first full length horror novel, Skellyman. It isn’t easy to sustain the suspense for a long work. I hope to finish it sometime in the next five years…

If you are interested in trying a bit of horror on your own, I suggest reading extensively in the genre. Some authors I would recommend are Anne Rice—you still can’t beat her description; Charlee Jacob—dark is her specialty…; Tanith Lee—her dark fantasy often skirts the edges of horror; and, of course, Stephen King, is still the Grand Master—even if it Women in Horror Month. ;)

Writing horror requires a specific mindset. You have to immerse yourself in the darkness. But you must also remember it isn’t someplace you want to dwell eternally. You have to come out of the darkness and into the light when you finish."

Sunday, February 14, 2016


FINDING MR. WRIGHT
(short horror for Valentine's Day, from Sirens Call WiHM 2014)



What were you thinking?” My inner voice chastens as I hear footsteps approaching behind me.

Shit! I had decided to take a shortcut, through the alleyway behind the University’s parking garage, because I was late getting off work and didn’t want to miss my bus. The ominous clouds moving rapidly across a darkening sky had reinforced the decision. I second guess myself, now. After all, the police never found whoever had been killing those students during my senior year.

What if it’s the killer is behind me, right now?

I reach into my purse, searching with one hand for my container of mace, when I hear a familiar voice.

 “Well, hello, Ginger.”

The chill that runs up my spine has nothing to do with the cold front approaching. I whirl around to find Professor Joshua Wright grinning at me. I’d had an enormous crush on him during my time at college.

I probably wasn’t the only one, either. He was so freaking hot, with those piercing green eyes and that mass of coppery waves.

“Professor Wright!” The squeaky enthusiasm I hear in my voice makes heat crawl up my neck, so I’m thankful that my face is already stained from the bitter February winds.

Chuckling, he suggests, “Why don’t you call me Josh now, Ginger. You’re not my student anymore.” Something in his voice makes me wonder…

Well, this is unexpected.” My Inner Voice exclaims, and moves her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner.

I frown unintentionally.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” he asks.

I quickly turn up the corners of my lips, forcing a smile. “A little. I thought someone was following me.”

“You can never be too cautious.” The tall structures surrounding us are now blocking out what little light remains. I shiver. “What brings you to the campus?”

“I was on my way home from work. I was afraid I might miss my bus.” Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze, I wrap my arms tightly around my torso, tugging at the sleeves of my jacket.

“So, you’re working in the area, Ginger?”

I blush a little again. “I snagged an internship at the city paper, guess they got tired of my pestering.”

“You always could be quite persistent, if memory serves.” His pale green eyes hold an odd expression that I can’t decipher.

We walk side by side towards the front, where a small coffee shop and a bookstore sit.

“May I buy you a cup?” Josh nods towards the quaint building.

I had already missed the 5:45 bus, and there wouldn’t be another for forty minutes.

“Sure.” I reply, sounding a little too breathless. My inner voice lets out an exasperated sigh. I want to stick my tongue out at her.

He pushes the door, holding it open for me. We enter the cozy little shop, the rich aroma of coffee filling my nostrils. Josh asks me what I’d like, so I order a tall vanilla latte.

Make sure you don’t sound overeager.”

“Quiet,” I mutter under my breath as Josh’s long fingers wrap around our steaming cups.

“What was that?” he asked me as he turned around.

“Nothing.” Beaming up at him, I try to hide my irritation. I am wishing my inner voice would shut the hell up.

We take a seat at one of the small, intimate tables. I like that he pulls a chair out for me. When I’d been in his class, I often felt there might be a vibe between us. I didn’t think it had all been in my head. One particular day; he’d petitioned me to stay after class. We were discussing an assignment when he’d covered my hand with his; assuring me I had a promising future in journalism.

After that, it seemed like he avoided me. I’d hoped it was because he was a consummate professional, and not due to any lack of interest. Besides, at that point, everyone was distracted by those campus murders.

Miss inner voice was going on about something, but I chose to ignore her as I hung on Josh’s every word.

We talk for quite a while, and before I realize it, I miss the later bus. I glance nervously at my phone.

Josh notices. “Why don’t you let me drive you home?”

“Really, I…”

A lightning bolt streaks through the dismal nightfall, silencing my protests. What am I going to do? Walk home?

A ride could be good.” I couldn’t dispute the obvious.

As we head back towards the garage, he grabs my hand. The contact sends little electric sparks through me.

We step inside the elevator, and it groans as it makes its way to the top floor. My heart is thumping wildly at the close proximity. He smells of pine and ice; it is a heady combination

He keeps hold of my hand as we walk over to his small black sports car.

Instead of opening the door, he unexpectedly wraps his strong arms around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

“I may be out of line, Ginger, but I’ve thought about doing this since I first laid eyes on you.”

If he only knew what we’ve been thinking….”

I ignore my inner voice as Josh’s lips descend on mine. When we pull apart, we are both breathing hard.

The air between us is filled with the type of tension resulting from long harbored feelings, and the ride to the West End seemed to take an eternity.

“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” I ask when he stops in front of my apartment building. I feel a yearning radiating from deep within.

A sharp intake of his breath was all the answer I…we… needed.

I fumble with my keys before his long fingers envelope mine and easily slide the key into the lock.

For an instance, it’s as if those sexy hands transform into claws, causing me to shudder.

“You’re cold,” he breathes into my ear. “I’ll have to warm you up.”

I am a ball of nerves as inner voice whispers, “He could be the one.”

“What?”

“Inside,” Josh commands. “You’re freezing.”

He’s apparently a little bossy. I’m not sure how I feel about this new revelation. He was never like that in class. I am confused by what my inner voice has said. What does she mean? The one to marry? Could she mean…he could be the campus killer? What did she mean?

I was thrilled and terrified all at once.

Josh pushes me down on the couch, slipping his hands under my t-shirt. The seductress inside me was busy doing a happy dance when my inner self splashes some cold water in my face.

And I realize that the three girls and one boy that had been murdered, had all been his students at some point.

I push him away. He looks at me, puzzled. My mouth turns dry.  

Flustered, I offer, “Would you like some wine?”

“Uh, sure,” he answers.

The knife.”

I nod my understanding as I stumble into the kitchen. I begin rummaging through the fridge. I have an unopened bottle in there somewhere.

Before going back into the living room, I slip a knife out of my butcher’s block and wrap it in a clean kitchen towel. I leave it on the coffee table as Josh takes the glass of wine I offer.

“I’m sorry, am I moving too fast?”

I offer a small smile. “A little.”

I sit next to him. He drapes an arm over my shoulder as he sips the wine. His eyes take on a glassy look.

“He’s ready.”

“Can’t it wait?” I ask.

“But we’ve waited so long already, baby.” His words slur slightly. I reach for the towel, feeling for the handle of the knife.

“Yes, Professor, it has been a long time.” I agree.

Now!” Inner voice demands.

I look into those green eyes one last time before I plunge the knife into victim number five.

Friday, February 12, 2016

OPEN CALL

An open call for horror today! Good luck...submissions due e/o month, 1cent/word.
https://freaktension.wordpress.com/weirdpunk-books/hybrid-moments-a-literary-tribute-to-the-misfits/

WiHM! Lindsey Beth Goddard!

I have a real treat for you today! Lindsey Beth Goddard has agreed to be my guest today! She is an amazing horror author...here you will find some info about this magnificently macabre lady, as well as a sample of her work:


Lindsey Goddard embraces the dark side of life. Over the past decade and a half, her short stories and poems have been published numerous times. Recent credits include Dark Moon Digest, Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing, James Ward Kirk Fiction, and Sirens Call Publications. Don’t be fooled if you spot Lindsey in the suburbs of St. Louis, MO. She’s only half there. The other half is anywhere and everywhere else - in the realm of her imagination. Lindsey loves her husband, three children, and crazy cat, and she hopes to make them proud of her weirdness (especially the cat). Her first full-length book is scheduled to be released through Omnium Gatherum Press this summer. For more information, please visit: www.LindseyBethGoddard.com 




A Pretty Girl With A Smile So Wide 
copyright 2015 - Lindsey Goddard

I used to be a good, sweet girl.
I only ever killed a squirrel,
A frog, a cat, a dog, a mouse
And buried them behind my house.

Blonde hair bouncing, big blue eyes,
A Sunday dress, my clever guise,
I fantasized cruel ways to die
For boys at church who caught my eye.

Then, as I grew, I fell in love-
A pitfall I am not proud of,
For there's no doubt a boyfriend cheats
With lipstick stains fresh on his sheets.

And 'cause he liked to tell tall tales,
I took and stretched out his entrails.
Slick with blood, I measured them,
Once full of shit, the same as him.

Not letting heartbreak dominate me,
His tortured screams, they served to sate me.
He crossed me so I crossed out his eyes
With the knife from our dinner of chicken thighs.

Digging holes I cannot stand
And fresh grave dirt upon my hands.
Plus, every time (it never fails)
The shovel handle breaks my nails.

I kill and still I've not been caught.
It's clear some men have not been taught
That a pretty girl with a smile so wide
Might have some skeletons to hide.

Come closer, dear, and meet my dark side.






Thank you Lindsey!






Wednesday, February 10, 2016

OPEN CALL! Reprints!

And for writers wondering where to submit quality reprints...here is my 'open call' of the day!
.https://dfpcorp.submittable.com/submit/53505

Tales of Horror!

Follow Blaze McRob and his 'Tales of Horror' as he promotes 'Women in Horror Month'! (Besides, he's just an all-around great guy! lol!)
.http://www.blazemcrob.com/2015/12/gift-of-horror.html?spref=fb