Monthly Archives: April 2014

Editing Axe to the Face #rzp #iartg #bookplugs

For some strange reason, editing Axe to the Face is a lot tougher than Vamp-Hire was. At only 31,000-something words, it’s less than half the length of my second novel, but it feels like it’s taking me twice as long to comb through it. And the really odd thing is, I’d already done a lot of editing before I began writing Vamp-Hire.

Maybe the YA novel was a lot more straightforward for me. Maybe I might be reaching for too many themes in so short a story. I can’t be sure. It’s probably just my imagination. I think I finished VH in mid-march and I’d finished the working draft sometime in February. I can’t remember when I picked up with AttF. I am up to page 14, though, and the novella is only 49 pages in Word. Maybe I can get done with it in two weeks.

Why not join the Axe to the Face fan page? I’ll be announcing all giveaway information there.

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Ten Zombie Books To Turn Your Stomach by Karin Perry

Originally posted on Nerdy Book Club:

Sometimes our mood determines what we want to read. Every once in a while you might need a good cry, so you’ll pick up something like The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  Sometimes you really need to laugh, so you choose Beauty Queens by Libba Bray. AND, for those times you really want to be creeped out, zombies are a great choice.

Believe it or not, not all zombie books are scary, so, unfortunately you can’t just pick up any zombie book you find and expect to be scared out of your mind.  For your convenience, I’ve pulled together ten zombie books that will scare the pants off of you (or totally gross you out).

The Infects by Sean Beaudoin

Nero, a bad boy, is stuck on a wilderness hike with several other juvenile delinquents. “Inward Trek” is meant to teach the boys survival and responsibility with the…

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Keepsakes, pt II #amreading #iartg #rzp

Hope you enjoyed the first installment. If you haven’t read, stop now and click here.

Come back tomorrow for the next installment (if you came here through Twitter you can also search for #rzp). And don’t forget to check out my book list.

George was aware of his imposing size, his mother always said how he had to be careful with people and Carol being as small as she was, he knew better, but… there’s only so far a guy could be pushed. He immediately regretted it after, wanted to run after her when she fled the room, but was too afraid of what he might still do.

He heard her screaming and knocking around in the kitchen, probably destroying it, but as soon as the anger rose up in him to run downstairs he would see that wounded face again. He couldn’t take that face again.  George sat and began to weep.

It wasn’t long before the noise stopped. George didn’t have his watch on, but he didn’t think it’d been that long, anyway. He could have blacked out for a little while.  He did that sometimes when he got angry.

“Carol?” he called. “Carol?” He crept downstairs, afraid to face her. “Carol, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I understand if you want to leave me.” He didn’t understand, but you were supposed to say stuff like that to get people to forgive you.

Of course, she was gone.

“Of course,” George had said.

“Of course,” he said now, reminiscing. He felt himself bristle with anger and pulled one more time as hard as he could and it seemed to give somewhat, but George would never know for certain because in the next instant the barbs extended to spikes, impaling George’s hands.

He pulled his hand free and fell on his butt for the second time, holding his hands up as the blood flowed freely down his forearms. He blinked twice, the pain running past the wounds to his elbows.

Thump. George looked up at the cabinet door by the sink. Thump. There was something in there, brushing against the door. George got up on his knees, ignoring the pain. He crawled over to the door and pulled it slightly ajar. The spill of light revealed a few golden strands of… something. He pulled it open slightly farther and the wedge of light revealed more golden strands. He could see something round and glistening on the surface, but the thing in front of him was a mass of parts to him.  It was slow in becoming a whole.

“Carol?” he said, yanking the cabinet door open.

Carol’s head lolled out of the cabinet, skin shriveled in patches and one remaining eye sunken and fogged over.  The other socket was a hole, the artery hanging loosely over the cheek. There were a few straggling strands of her blonde hair left, clinging to her bare skull. Her lower half was gone and what was left looked picked bare.

“Carol, no,” George whispered. His mind raced as tears filled his eyes, wondering when he had done this. His hand was cradling the back of her head, propping her up.

Thump. Carol’s head fell free from George’s hand. He scooted away from the other cabinet door and slowly pulled it open.

Thick green tentacles burst from behind the door and wrapped firmly around George’s forearm. He heard the bones crack as they began to pull. He screamed as they relentlessly drew him in, slapping his free hand above the door and pushing. George felt his shoulder jolt out the socket and his clenching muscles begin to give way. He caught site of the potted plant above the sink one last time before he was pulled in. The bud had burst open; the issuing flower turned toward him.  It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He still struggled half-heartedly, recognizing the animal grunting as his own voice. His body shook from the effort as he felt the tentacles wrapping around his thighs and waist. The plant lifted him and pulled him in except for his arm and head. He cried out one last time before his face smashed with a sharp crunch and neck and shoulder were nearly torn off as he was drawn in. His fingers hooked the cabinet door and shut it behind him.

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Keepsakes #amreading #iartg #rzp

I wrote this story prior to 2002 as part of a thing (I won’t go into it because I’m not entirely sure what it was supposed to do at the time). I’ve progressed a lot since this time in my writing, but this one is still pretty good. Please, enjoy.

Come back tomorrow for the next installment (if you came here through Twitter you can also search for #rzp). And don’t forget to check out my book list.

George sat and stared at that stupid potted plant. He plucked his thumb out of his mouth and fresh beads of red immediately sprouted up. The pain was unbelievable when he’d tried to pull that thing from the windowsill.

He stood and approached it, tentatively, wondering how it had rooted to that one spot. Carol would have enjoyed seeing this. Running off the way she had, she hadn’t meant to do anything but hurt him. She was always so selfish.

George had gotten his revenge, though. Carol had left everything behind. Her clothes, jewelry, her cat, Gus- everything. He’d taken his time, destroying it all. George relished the pain of Gus’ claws raking his arms for the last time right before he’d gone into the dishwasher. The platinum pendant went on top of the pyre of her clothes he’d set fire to in an abandoned parking lot.

“Friggin’ Robby Keller,” he muttered to himself as he examined the potted plant. “What he have I don’t?” There were tiny razor thin barbs edging all the way around the saucer underneath the pot. George sucked on his thumb again, carefully circling his other hand around the top of the pot. Those barbs had hurt so much he’d stumbled over his own feet trying to get away from them.

“‘He listens to me’,” George mocked. “‘He cares about me as a person.'” He tugged on the pot but it didn’t budge.

“What the hell?” he said. He gave it two more tugs, wrapping his wounded hand around the other and put his knee onto the cabinet face for leverage.

The plant had been his special project. He’d been ready to chuck it as far as he could when he decided to do something different. Instead, he poured everything in it he could find. Bleach, mouthwash, spoiled milk and beer when he was home alone drunk- anything, so long as it wasn’t water.

The damn thing hadn’t died, though. It didn’t grow, either. It was always looking like it was ready to bud, but that was exactly how it looked the day Carol had brought it home.

“What is it?” he asked her, annoyed.

“I don’t know, but it’s exotic!” she said, looking excited. Carol was always into ‘exotic’. That’s why George had to waste so much money on jewelry. She was so inconsiderate she’d even waited until he’d slipped the engagement ring on her finger before telling him no. Before telling him she was leaving him for Robby Keller. He could take care of her the way she deserved to be taken care of, she’d said. He knew how to treat a woman, she’d said. He was a real man, she’d said. Her bags were already packed- when George had seen them he had assumed she was going to visit her mother again.

The things she’d said to him then. George knew he wasn’t the brightest man or the best looking, but he didn’t deserve how she’d made him feel. He didn’t even want to think the words she’d said, they burned him so.

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Odd Thomas Audio Review #iartg

I just finished listening to this book last week and enjoyed it. I haven’t read a ton of Koontz (Mr. Murder, Tick Tock, and the one with that guy who had to scale a building to escape a couple killers come to mind) and his style was pretty refreshing.
Okay, so I’m about a decade late on this one. I also didn’t pick up the Dexter series until last year. I’d always passed any of the Odd books by

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Petite Morte #iartg #buyindie #poetry

I found an old folder full of stuff, including a bunch of poems I wrote back in college. I’ll comb through it diligently to find some more good stuff. I think this was my first zombie poem. For more zombie stuff, please check out the several zombie stories in my book list.

My poor broken angel, buried in the yard

Eternity to tend the lush greens,

purples and reds of your garden.

A twin engine of lust half-winged


My over-brimming passions drowned you out.                                    5

Two fingers to your soft bruised throat

Confirmed the look in your tender eye.

That accusing stare that becried your crumbled heart


When only a moment before, I swear

Was filled with your undying lovingkindness.                         10

Yea, the day is forever long that you left behind,

And all the darker the rest thereafter;


Choked I am from your presence.

Oh woe! for your beauty is consigned for alway to the scavenger beast

Of microscopic size that picks                                                 15

And chooses and chews and—


What is it?

That unfamiliar scratch on the door,

From a stranger hand.

A monster’s sight behind thine knowing eyes!                         20


Oh, beloved creature,

Take mercy upon me

Where I was excess

Leave me unmolested


For more than filth                                                                   25

And slime separate us.

The very walls of life and

Death are our barrier.


Leave not your stiff kisses

Upon my lips, O raised horror                                                 30

Nor your degenerate stain upon my door

Grant me not the sounds


Of dirty utterances

No, I say!  Speak not!

But instead I hear your soul-terrorizing answer                                    35

As you reach for me ‘most tenderly,


“I didn’t,” you say on,

“I didn’t.”



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The Beggar’s Bowl – New Cover #iartg #buyindie

I will be revealing the new cover for The Beggar’s Bowl on May 21. This short of mine has been free for a few years now and I know it hasn’t gotten as many downloads as 30 Minute Plan because the cover is just awful. I’d made it myself. But now it has an honest-to-goodness nice cover and I will be revealing it next month in anticipation of the release of Axe to the Face. TBB will also include an exclusive excerpt of the novella.

Don’t forget to download a copy of Where the Monsters Are or join the giveaway over at Brutal Books!

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#Trueblood Season 7 Trailer #hbo

So sad to see it go, but I’ll definitely be tuned in June 22!

I haven’t written any stories with vampires, but if you want monsters, try Where the Monsters Are. Only $0.99!


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You don’t own your #Kindle books, #Amazon reminds customer – NBC

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If Only I had an Idea What This Was #buyindie #iartg #horror

Nick entered through the mudroom. His heart hammered in his chest like a fist-sized bird eager to be free. He could sense this was it, three weeks of investigation had lead him here, to this house.

He hadn’t knocked or even waited to see if anyone would come in or out; his sense had told him he needed to be inside immediately, that it was beyond a matter of life and death.

Nick proceeded quickly to the door opening into the house proper. He paused with a hand poised over the knob, took out his gun. Shooting someone wouldn’t be preferred but at the end of the day he’d rather risk a trial than be dead.

He opened the door and was surprised at the sight of a little person encased in shrink-wrap, strapped to a white piece of cardboard, propped against a door. Almost like a tiny (well, big) cut of steak like at the grocery store.

Poor little man. Nick thought that must have been a horrible way to go even though he had a serene look on his face. He was about to step into the little nook and passed him when the little man twitched. Barely perceptible and Nick almost missed it, but he had. He froze, stared intently, waiting for another movement.

There it was. The corner of his eye, half an eyelid flickered and was still again.

I wrote this back in September of last year, but I have no clue where it’s supposed to be going. It’s intriguing, but I have no clue what to do with it. It was titled, The Followers of Xokk.

Download a copy of Where the Monsters AreOnly $0.99!

Nick reached an arm out and finger-poked a hole in the plastic covering his open mouth. It took a moment, but then the ragged edges of the hole began to flagellate with the slight push-pull of his respiration.

Nick quickly unwrapped his head, then his body, coloring slowly trickling into the little man’s sheet-white cheeks. He blinked a couple times and Nick set him on the floor.

He regripped his gun. How many hundreds of years had man been doing that? Gripping a weapon for security like a child with a blanket or ragged teddy bear. But his tightening grip was inversely related to his relaxed mental state. At that moment he was supremely confident he could have handled an army of unknown foes with only the dozen bullets in his gun simply by virtue of how tightly he held it.



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