There was a lot of personal history that went into writing Birth Offering. Not that I experienced the haunted events portrayed in the novel…far from it. Rather, the story makes use of various interests of mine that have accumulated over decades.

The horror aspects of Birth Offering are obvious. I've been a horror fan most of my life. The origin may stem from the first time I found my brother’s toy dinosaurs arranged in a diorama on the floor. I became fascinated with dinosaurs (and that fascination has never left me). Movies from the ‘50s and ‘60s about dinosaurs attacking and laying waste to cities were my favorites. Gorgo is my all-time favorite, mostly because the dinosaur and her baby live at the end (sorry if this proves to be a spoiler for someone). My interest in dinosaur movies quickly generalized to monster movies and then to other forms of horror movies. The transition was rather quick if I recall correctly, and I was known as the weird kid who liked scary movies at a fairly young age.

I found myself being drawn to stories that had kids as characters, especially if they were the monsters or ghosts (hence my interest in the “creepy kid” sub-genre of horror). Although, having a kid as the hero or a main protagonist worked for me as well. I can pinpoint three events that may have swayed me in this direction. The first was seeing the trailer for the Village of the Damned on TV when I was 6 years old in 1960. As I’ve written before, that scared the daylights out of me while at the same time thrilling me to no end. Second, I became a huge fan of horror novels when I read The Other by Thomas Tryon and The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty when these novels were released in the early 1970s. These novels portrayed what I feel are the quintessential creepy kids in horror fiction.

My career path also explains a lot. I majored in psychology in college and then went on to obtain my PhD in psychology. My life as a psychologist has focused almost entirely on child and adolescent issues. As an undergraduate, I became enthralled with the processes involved in human development in the first 18 years of life. The emotional, behavioral, cognitive, and physiological changes during these first two decades were astounding, and I found the research literature to be absorbing. After I obtained my PhD, my research program and counseling experience has all been with teenagers, with topical issues ranging from conduct problems, stress management issues, and living with chronic health conditions. So, with a career path that involved studying kids, the interest in them as horror material kind of tagged along. As a side note, I think that having kids as characters is a simple (and some may say “cheap”) way to increase the chills and danger in a story. No one wants to see kids hurt, and if they are the source of the trouble (that is, they are the creepy kids), the tension level is already multiplied before the plot completely unfolds.

I meant to add this review two days ago, but time got away from me...Fevered Hills, by Keith Deininger is a highly unusual and unconventional horror novella. Martin is a 16 year old soldier has seemingly deserted his unit in an effort to return to his parents’ home. When he arrives, they are nowhere to be found. The family farm is abandoned, the livestock is dead, and the gardens overgrown and are out of control. He slowly begins to lose his grip on reality. When the soldiers arrive to capture him, Martin narrowly escapes and is rescued by two strangers: one who wants to ultimately kill him, and the other who wants to save him. Up until this part of the story, Mr. Deininger has been ramping up the suspense by spinning an astounding yarn that keeps the reader guessing as to exactly what is going on. At this point, though, he is just getting started. The “underground” portion of the story packs a wallop, with a series of eerie and bizarre encounters between Martin and his rescuers. I found the story riveting. Mr. Deininger has created an alternative world that I wholeheartedly entered. I was captivated as I followed Martin’s experiences. His prose and imagery is outstanding, and I would strongly recommend Fevered Hills as a shocking and vivid read.
 

Benediction by Kent Haruf is one of the selections of the book club. I just finished it minutes ago, and felt so moved that I needed to write about it. The story involved the final days of Dad Lewis who is dying of cancer. Now in his 80's, Dad (as he is affectionately known) plays out his close relationships with his wife Mary of fifty-plus years and their eldest child, Lorraine. Missing from the picture is their estranged son, Frank, who left home at 19 (thirty-plus years prior) when his father didn't know how to deal with his son's homosexuality. This certainly isn't my standard fair, but I have read two other books by Haruf, Plainsong and Eventide, and all three are things of beauty. His prose is simple and direct, yet conveys a deep sense of praise, family blessings, and the fullness of life. Benediction is all of these, and not in the sappy Lifetime network movie way. Rage, disappointment, distress, and fear are prominent in the books, and many of live's turmoils remain unfixed. Yet, the characters engage fully in life through disappointments and even death, and Haruf treats all characters with respect and attention. In many ways, the novel addresses how all of our lives are interconnected and that we are basically a close nit community. The process and part of exiting this life are honestly dealt with in the narrative, and one is deeply concerned for all of the characters (even ones who are less than gallant). A truly remarkable achievement. 

I've mentioned earlier in this blog that I am a member of a men's book club - which has been one of the highlights of my life over the past two decades. I hesitated to write the previous sentence for fear of alienating readers - only because it casts me as a rather hum-drum individual, one step in the grave due to sheer boredom. Actually, though, for avid readers, the opportunity to discuss books with like-minded individuals at regular intervals over the years can be quite an escape from the frequent grinds that have choke holds on our lives.

Last night was book selection night, when member suggest ideas for books for the coming cycle, which can range 4-7 months depending on how many books are chosen. We go around in a circle describing our choice(s) with a brief description of each title. Then, everyone has 5 votes to cast for the books to be read. All things considered, we usually end up with 4-7 books that have a plurality of votes - and these are chosen for the next 4-7 months.

This is a tough group - suggesting book titles can be stress-provoking, not because your selection might not be chosen. Rather, the stress comes from the idea that your book suggestion might actually be chosen - and then the pressure is on to be a sharp discussion leader while at the same time hoping to God that the majority of members will not think that the booked sucked.

Anyway, back to book selection night last night. Of course, I mentioned to the club a couple of months ago that I have a novel (Birth Offering) coming out in September. I had a suspicion that they may want to read the book for the book club. I swear to God that I did not campaign for this honor... I just know these guys after two decades of book discussions. As expected, it was chosen. In fact, there was no voting. The October meeting was earmarked for the book discussion (October = Halloween = horror novel). 

Secretly, I am thrilled. Not so secretly, I'm scared to death. They will be kind... I hope.

PS. Birth Offering - coming in September....

I’m one of the millions of Americans who thoroughly enjoy the gut-wrenching and admittedly disgusting serial killer, psychopathic criminal crime shows on TV. Namely, Criminal Minds, Law and Order SUV, and Hannibal are my first rate thrill fests. I have even got my wife hooked, a surprising accomplish given she is such a refined and cultured individual – she is an avid classical music, opera, and art museum aficionado. If truth be known, she always was a murder mystery fan, although she leaned towards the British PBS mysteries, cozy mysteries, talking cat mysteries, or food related mysteries complete with embedded recipes when we first met three decades ago. Over time and under my influence, she gradually shifted towards the tougher and edgier novels. She would even add Bones to the list of her favorite crime shows, but in my mind the writers of that show struggle with maintaining a consistent tone… one week everyone gleefully exchanges banter while dissecting a mauled corpse, another week the show is a gritty police procedural, then a romantic comedy, and occasionally a psychological thriller. As a result, the thing just doesn’t work for me.

I digress. I wonder if the visual and plot content of these shows (Criminal Minds, Hannibal, et al.) has gotten rather extreme. Who would have thought that such carnage would routinely have gotten air time even just ten years ago? It’s probably true that we, as a TV-watching culture, have habituated to such extreme visceral images. Maybe we watch these shows because we can safely say to ourselves, well thank God I’m not that nuts or thank God that can never happen (to me). So, there is a sense of safety or smugness as we sit in the comforts of home watching people being torn apart. (For what it is worth, I am a little concerned about the mental health of the writers for Criminal Minds…those folks have to come up with a new form of mass murder or torture or both week after week – a lot of time with young women as targets).

When you come right down to it, the most frightening plot twists involve images not seen but implied. Then, imagination takes over and often delivers more of a jolt than a screen image. Maybe fewer body parts will enhance our imaginations?

One final post-script, I enjoyed the season finale of Hannibal and I’m looking forward to next season. What that says about me in conjunction with my mini-rant above? Who  knows?

Kealan Patrick Burke has written another humdinger. One of his earlier works, The Turtle Boy, is one of the most creative and original ghost stories I have ever read. The Tent, his latest novella, is a masterful experience in creeping terror.

A family camping trip rapidly descends into a nightmare. A raging thunderstorm destroys the tent of a couple and their son, and they flee the scene only to get lost within minutes. With neither parent noticing, the boy disappears. Their backs are turned from their son while they argue, and when they finally realize the kid is missing, the situation is well past dire.

The Tent is a striking novella on a number of levels. 

First, it works as unnerving horror story. The atmosphere is thick with dread and a barely controlled sense of panic. The parents’ anxiety over a missing child is well described. The fact that the reader is aware that something other-worldly is probably involved adds a hidden layer of intensity. 

Second, Burke is a master of portraying the inner workings of his characters. Much of the narrative is internal: emotional distress, physiological reactions, and trains of thought. Everything rings true, grounding the sequence of events in a believable reality. When the pieces fall into place with the stunning conclusion, the reader is helplessly drawn in for the full impact. Highly recommended.

I am the proud member of a men’s book club. I have been for over 20 years. And no, “book club” is not a euphemism for “poker”.  The Men’s Book Club is as real as its name, although capitalizing the letters was my contribution. The monthly readings are by no means pushovers – no sports books (although we read When Pride Still Mattered, a biography of Vince Lombardi by David Maraniss – we do live in Wisconsin after all) and fluffy bestsellers.  In addition to a psychologist and professor (me), the group contains multiple attorneys, a dentist, a family therapist, business professionals, a physician, an engineer, and English professor – you get the idea. We read histories, classics, National Book Award nominees, Booker Award nominees, biographies, history - anything at all. The eclectic nature of the group is its real strength. Besides my own avid reading over the decades, I think my attendance in this group has really informed my writing. This is not to say that we read horror novels – the exact opposite really (although they did go along with my suggestion of 11/22/63 by Stephen King – the only King book read by most of these guys). Instead, I have learned what others appreciate in their reading, how they value the written word, what constitutes well written prose, what facilitates the intricacies of character development – all of the fine points that I probably slept through during high school and college English classes.

My exposure to the breadth of interests and opinions of very educated people has dramatically changed my ability to tell a story. While my academic and scholarly writing has been honed over the years through writing empirical journal articles, receiving reviews of my work, and being challenged by my psychology colleagues, my fiction writing – and the courage to try it – has been informed by the monthly meetings over 20 plus years with this group of men. 

Worm, a novella by Tim Curran, is a recent release from the dark fiction publisher Darkfuse. Without warning, oozing slime and fetid matter bursts from the ground, and within hours a small Wisconsin town is hip deep in the gruesome sludge. The smell is horrible, but that is not the worst of the town’s problems.

Inside the mud are sightless and segmented worms multiple feet long that have a knack for eating the townspeople. They are capable of moving with lightning speed, snaring their prey without warning. Supposedly, the National Guard is going from neighborhood to neighborhood rescuing the inhabitants, but for the unfortunate folks of Pine Street, the rescuers seem to be starting at the wealthy end of town – and they’re at the opposite end of the SES spectrum. So, they’re on their own.

This is Saturday afternoon creature feature material. There is no character development to speak of (although there is one guy who is stuck for the day with his wife’s annoying, yapping, puff ball of a dog – he adds a little life to the human side of things).

The scene is set quickly. The ground rumbles and the worms appear. People die. Given the pacing, you care little for who lives or dies. But, heck, if you’re reading a horror novel called the Worm, what do you want. Worm action, of course. The worm attacks become increasingly dramatic and gruesome (for instance, besides the ground, the worms come up through the plumbing. Think toilets).

On more than one occasion I realized I was reacting viscerally, squirming and tensing my muscles as I read. I found the writing to be pretty cinematic; I could visualize the characters wading through the ooze, unaware if or when the worms would attack.

Definitely creepy. When you get right down to it, what more can you ask from killer worms? 

As a neophyte in the realm of social media and one who is learning the ropes of fiction writing, I was pleased to discover blogs by authors who willingly offer advice on a wide range of topics related to publishing and using social media. Two authors whose blogs I’ve found helpful and interesting are Scott Southard (http://sdsouthard.com/) and Susanne Lakin (http://www.cslakin.com/) . I will undoubtedly find others and mention them as time goes along. If you are a novice writer or social media-challenged like me, I recommend reading the blogs of these helpful folks.

Sometimes I am embarrassed about being a horror fan. Not because the genre produces writing of any lesser quality than other forms of fiction, although some may argue that is true, but because the content is disturbing.  Does this say something about me? Maybe there is a certain degree of deviance or darkness lurking deep within. I know some of my in-laws think this way. That is, I am bringing something unholy or unhealthy into my life. These very loving and well-meaning people would likely want to pray over me if given the opportunity. Other times, I think people are seeing me as somehow less sophisticated, and I can almost read their minds as they scoff at my reading or viewing habits.  “Why waste your time on this crap when there are so many good things to read or watch?”

Am I wasting my time? God, I hope not. I enjoy the thrills and the ratcheting suspense. Ironically, I am not a believer in the paranormal. I don’t sense any impending danger by being enthralled by the frightening.  As a psychologist, I am all too aware of things that frighten and disturb people (and, quite frankly, the things that disturb and frighten me) and none of them involve the supernatural. There are too many real life events that can send us into a panic. No need to manufacture the impossible.

Yet, there is that sense of embarrassment. But, at 59 years of age, I don’t see the need to change it at this stage of the game. Still…