Sunday, September 22, 2019

Howdy, my name is...

...Chris Kosarich and I write scary things. Dark scary things. And it seems like most people have enjoyed my horror stories, ebooks and the short novels, given the reviews by readers over the past few years, which delights me to no end. Thank you to those who have purchased my books and authors can always use more reviews, so please leave one on whatever site you prefer!

So while I'd first published several horror short stories in the mid to late 90s, in various small press horror publications, over the past few years I've ventured into self publishing. Started small with a couple ebook shorts, CLOWNING AROUND and THE LAST CHORD, and earlier this year released a novella called ROSEBLOOD. Last October, I released MISTER JACK, a chapbook or novellette Halloween story. (Sidenote: MISTER JACK has been reformatted to a 5 × 8 trade paperback, with a less murky cover, tweaked backcover, and much better interior formatting. Available exclusively on The followup to the latter is titled NIGHT OF THE PUMPKIN GOD, due early 2020. I'm also hard at work with my editor on finishing revisions for THE RAVENING, my scifi horror novel,which I'll be submitting to a few small press horror publishers.

Here's a chronological list of my ebooks & trade paperbacks, with links to where you can get them:

And coming in early 2020...

You can find my ebooks & trade paperbacks at here

And my ebooks are also on Amazon here.

And again, thank you very much for your support! Horror fans rock! 

Friday, July 26, 2019

No Write Way

Thought I'd do something a bit different here on my blog site besides promoting my own books, so I'll be posting an occasional blog piece every so often about the craft of writing that I've learned over the years. 

And continue to learn. That's the thing, and ask any writer, published or's a lifelong journey in growing and developing. Finding your way down that twisting, winding path.

Hence the clever heading...No Write Way.

So let's start with a little history about me. I just turned 52 this week (Yikes...really?) and I first started writing my own stories when I picked up one of the old Mack Bolan Men's Action/Adventure series novels called Thermal Thursday. I was hooked and scoured area used bookstores for me, along with the recently published new novels from Gold Eagle and the spin offs. Then I discovered others in a similar vein, such as Jerry Ahern's novels. Being a very artistically creative kid, it was only natural and inevitable. Most of my early efforts were handwritten on notebook paper and bound together with those twisty clips. Eventually I got my first typewriter. My folks still have a big box of my early writings, and while I haven't looked at those in years, they are fairly juvenile, not very good (by my standards today, of course), and basically teenage me emulating the authors I'd been so devouring at the time. But this is all part of what I'd mentioned previously...part of the process.
(Not my actual notes!)
Then, shortly after graduating high school and entering college, I discovered Stephen King. Needless to say, I fell in love and once again devoured everything by him I could find (mainly at the Edison Mall bookstore), along with Dean Koontz, Robert McCammon, Peter Straub, and Clive Barker. I'd also picked up this funky little gaudy paperback at Wal-Mart by this relative unknown guy named Richard Laymon, but it would be years before I'd realized what a true dark gem he was...

Still with me? Good...sorry for the rambling. It's kind of a writer thing, ya know? 

So back then I would outline a story, which was usually a long piece like a potential novel, but I had started a few years later with penning my first horror short stories. Before I get into that process, let me spend a moment or two talking about the setting, so to speak. The time and place where the Master Wordsmith sits to create his tales. It would be nice if we all could be fulltime writers, and maybe someday that'll happen, but reality it is rare. And quite frankly, I like having things like a roof over my head, electricity, and food. That whole starving artist thing is a crock of shit. Fuck that noise. 
(Not my actual typewriter, either!)
Let's face it, we all have (or most of us, anyway) fulltime jobs and families and other responsibilities, so finding the right time (or is that write time? Hahahaha!) can be challenging. What works best for me, and probably for most, is to do so when you're as fresh as possible, and not tired and exhausted from a day's work, etc. For most of us, getting in those chunks of time, either early in the morning or later in the evening, works best. And sometimes, yes, you have to make yourself sit down at the desk, maybe have a cup of tea, and start hitting the keyboard. Not literally, of course. Have some music on low as background noise, but no death metal. Unless that's your thing. 
(Yes, my workspace!)
The key is being as focused as you can be...with minimal distractions! Which means keeping that smartphone and/or tablet not sitting next to you where whenever a notification pops up...yeah, you guessed it.

I also prefer my laptop to not have anything on it like social media apps etc...for just that reason. But that's me. Maybe you have better willpower or focus. Again, like the heading of the long rambling diatribe suggests (still awake...still with me?)...there's no write way!

So I'll finish up by talking about outlining and what works for me and maybe you as well.

In a nutshell, I stopped outlining before I got heavily into writing because I'd soon discovered that even doing shorthand sort of bullet point notes, I was mostly writing the story or chapter in full anyway. I know other authors who outline, some extensively with detailed character sketches, and that's great. But not for me. I do keep a notepad on my desk and depending on what I'm working on, it may just be a few important details I don't want to forget. Or more. I also jot notes down in either my smartphone note app or on my tablet. Ultimately, it has taken me years to have the confidence and comfort level with the process that works best for me. I'm much more of an organic, write by the seat of my pants kind of writer. works. Sometimes it doesn't. 
(Dude, I got a Dell!)
The trick is this. There is no write way...except finding what works best for YOU. And that's part of the process and journey of being a writer. Embrace it. 

Friday, May 31, 2019

Roseblood: The Soundtrack

So I teased this a while back, but here, at last, it is...ROSEBLOOD, The Soundtrack. Now sit back and rock on. Just watch out for Rose, though. She's beautiful, but she kills. Welcome to the Jungle by GnR  Every Rose has its Thorn by Poison  Wild Flower by The Cult  Hungry like the Wolf by Duran Duran  Looks That Kill by Motley Crue  Wicked Garden by Stone Temple Pilots  Closer by Nine Inch Nails  Shake Me by Cinderella  Love Bites by Def Leppard  The Devil Inside by INXS  Round & Round by Ratt  Never Gonna Stop by Rob Zombie

Bonus Track:  A Rose by any Name by Blondie

Saturday, December 15, 2018

Ho...Ho...Holidays Horror!

So, over the years I've written several Christmas-themed horror stories, starting with "The Werewolf that Saved Christmas." Unfortunately, that one was lost due to a flash drive mishap and no additional backup. (I swear by Dropbox and have for years now!) The wolfish main character in the aforementioned  does appear in a sequel of sorts, which you can read here. But this time he saves Christmas from bloodthirsty vampires, not a case  of flu-stricken reindeer.

Tired of those annoyingly cute Elf on the Shelf memes? You might enjoy an evil Elf story called "Hellf." Check it out here. But it's not at all cute. You've been warned!

And finally, another Yuletide horror classic involving zombies, Santa...and fruitcake. Need I say more? Pour some whiskey-spiked egg nog, open wide and enjoy it here.

Thursday, November 22, 2018

Happy Thanksgiving!

Well, I figured since I've written a handful of Christmas-themed horror stories over the years, which you can find to the right in previous postings, an Easter horror story, and of course, my latest Halloween horror story, which can (not so shameless plug) be found here and here, as well as here, it was time for a Thanksgiving story. So without further ado, please enjoy what's below whilst you gorge yourselves on turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and the trio of football games today.

Copyright 2018

The Cartwell family gathered every Thanksgiving at Grandpa Cartwell’s log cabin in the mountains. Both sons and daughter drove in from the city, just an hour’s drive, and brought their own children. Sometimes aunts and uncles would make the trip, too, nieces and nephews, and once the Cartwell family fall get-together boasted nearly forty guests! This year, however, the total was almost half that, which suited the senior Cartwells just fine.

The log cabin was one of those fancy two-story domiciles, with lots of spare rooms for visiting family. Plus the downstairs rec room could be used for extra guests, if needed. Grandpa Cartwell wouldn’t hear of family having to stay at motel, if he could help it. And family was the most important thing to him…next to the traditional and very special holiday gathering.

The annual autumn Feast was THE event of the season.

Like most families, they ate early in the day, Grandma Cartwell preparing the usual assortment of Thanksgiving delicacies, with help, of course, from their daughters and granddaughters. They sat around the large open-air family room, sipping after-dinner drinks (non-alcoholic for the kids, although the teenagers were allowed to sample Grandpa’s homemade cider). 

While the adults were mostly relaxed and comfortable, the children got antsy and anxious, as usual. They bounced around in the downstairs rec room, watching movies but mostly playing video games or watching YouTube, excited for the evening’s delicious grand finale. You see, after the afternoon’s sumptuous meal, they waited until later to enjoy their final meal of the day. The Feast always ended with a fine, unforgettable dessert of the most exquisite variety. But Grandma wasn’t responsible for this, no, this was Grandpa’s doing. You could say it was truly the one thing everyone looked forward to.

As dusk approached, they exited the spacious home for the vast backyard, which led down a gently sloping and neatly kept lawn to the wooded hills. Beyond that loomed the mountains. As the extended Cartwell family settled around a medium-sized bonfire, Grandpa brought along his banjo and harmonica, and they all sang and laughed. Once night fell, the elderly Cartwell put down his instrument and glanced over the flames at his oldest son, who nodded at him.
Both men quietly left for the house, heading for a pair of locked cellar doors set to the left of the rear back deck. Everyone watched expectantly, eyes gleaming with barely restrained excitement. 

High above in the night sky, the full moon washed down on them with ashen pale light.

Five minutes later, the elder Cartwell and son led the shackled figure over to the bonfire. He’d stumbled along behind them, led by a thin chain leash and sturdy leather collar attached to his neck. Earlier in the day, down in the locked basement cell, he’d been hosed down after his clothes had been removed. Later, those filthy garments would be destroyed, incinerated in the bonfire. His wallet and its contents, as well. The man had a smartphone when they’d found him, but that had been taken care of weeks ago, the battery and SIM card removed and disposed of. His pickup truck with out-of-state plates was long gone, too. No one knew he’d been the Cartwell’s very special guest for tonight…or Guest of Honor, you could say. 

The younger son met them just short of the bonfire, grinning, and the rest of the family, including the kids, rose from the seats. Everyone stared raptly at the naked man. He swayed on his feet, eyes widening, mouth working, but no words that made sense came out. His tongue had been removed a while ago, the wound cauterized. And he’d been given a steady diet of whiskey and high-calorie shakes to fatten him up a bit. 

“You made a big mistake coming to town, buddy,” the younger son quipped. He’d drunk his share of cider, but was only mildly buzzed, unlike the man. “You should’ve never messed with Jenny out at the truck stop. She’s a sweet, pretty gal, but she’s only 17, you fucking pervert!” He loosed a loud, braying guffaw. 

“Honey, the language…the kids!” his wife said. But she only chuckled at her admonishment of him. He shook his head, tugged off his sweater, and dropped it to the ground. It was a chilly night, in the mountains, but it usually was in late November. His wife started to unbutton her sweater and blouse, and soon everyone began to disrobe. They felt the sharp cold air on their bare skin, goosebumps rippling over exposed flesh, nipples hardening, but soon it wouldn’t matter.

Grandpa Cartwell unhooked the leash from the trembling man, who babbled incoherently, moaning as drool ran down his chin. He’d remove his clothes last, as would his own wife. Not that they were shy around their children and grandchildren. Not at all. After all, they’d enjoyed the yearly Feast together for many years. They just wanted the younger ones to have their fun.

“Go, get, run!” Grandpa said, dropping the coiled leashed to his feet. The man took a few unsteady steps away from the Cartwells and the bonfire, in the direction of the dark wall of trees. If he was lucky, he might make it a few dozen feet inside the densely wooded vegetation. But he kind of doubted it.

Then he ran for the trees, like a pack of hellions were on his heels. He stumbled over his own feet after maybe a hundred feet or so, and tumbled to the ground. When he glanced back at them, his eyes bulged. The naked Cartwells writhed and convulsed on the close-cropped grass, the fiery light revealing flesh that rippled and flowed, unearthly sounds of bones reforming, and simmering growls of lusty hunger. In moments, as he got back to his feet, they were no longer naked. Thick dark fur covered their bodies. Almost in unison, their glowing yellow eyes locked onto him.

They howled. He ran. They charged in pursuit.

The man’s ululating screams lasted for maybe a minute, if that.

He’d managed to get fairly close to the woods, but Grandpa Cartwell had been right. 

And they gave thanks for another successful Feast, blood-stained muzzles lifted up to the moonlight sky.

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Happy April Fool's...

...but the following is certainly no joke! Been a long while since I've updated my blog, so here goes.

My debut ebook, Clowning Around, is available at here and Amazon here. Since the biggest, best advantage an author has are honest reviews, I'd greatly appreciate one after you've read it on either website or GoodReads. 

And my latest ebook, The Last Chord, is available at here and also on Amazon here. Same goes for the above, please leave an honest review...thanks!

And since today is also Easter, for those who celebrate it, here's a twisted Easter story I wrote a few years ago, involving the Easter Bunny, Easter Eggs...and three pigs. But not those three little pigs. Oh, and this story is not really for kids. You can find it here.

I've been off from work for a week and working hard at home on finishing the first round of revisions for my scifi horror novel, The Ravening. Since this past Monday, I've spent 8-10 hours per day, with multiple breaks and a nap, going through my printed chapters and line edits, entering those into the Word docs, as well making numerous on-the-spot changes. It's been a blast! But it's also been exhausting, too. My goal was to be done by Easter Sunday. That's not going to happen. Keep in mind I've gotten half the novel almost completely edited (first round), but I also needed to do a few things around the house, too. I'll work on a bit more today, maybe more...and that will leave me around 4 chapters left. I'm pleased with what I got done on my working vacation. 

Well, that's it for now. Be good and stay scary! 

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Even Stranger Things

So it was exactly one year ago when Netflix dropped this original new series set in the early 80s, in the fictional Midwest town of Hawkins, Indiana. It largely centers around three nerdy middle school friends searching for their missing friend, Will. But then they find this strange girl named Eleven, who manifests even stranger powers. You have the mother and older brother of missing Will, dealing with the sheer terror of his disappearance, the gruff town police chief who harbors his own dark and tragic past. And that's just to name a few. Besides the obvious love-letter and homage to the Era it's set in, STRANGER THINGS is clearly influenced by the works of Lovecraft, Stephen King, John Carpenter, and even Spielberg, among others. It doesn't just resonate with those of us who grew up in that same time, but I think if you did, and perhaps you hung out with your geeky buddies playing D&D (or in my case, Top Secret, the espionage version of D&D), STRANGER THING really hit a definite chord. Even the theme music sounds like a John Carpenter 80s horror film...not to mention the numerous nods to his classic scifi horror flick, THE THING.

Recently Netflix released the poster for Season 2, due October 27th. And of course that stunning teaser trailer a few months before. Last week, it was announced that this blockbuster show had garnered an astounding 18 Emmy nominations. Needless to say, fans have been clamoring for more info, and plot details--while largely under wraps--have been few and far between, other than things leaked over the past several months. But we can only hope some unanswered questions from the first season get resolved, as I'm sure they will.  What happened to Doctor Brenner? Was he really killed by the Demogorgon? Where did Eleven go (because we know she's not dead)? And what's happening to Will? And what was this secret deal Hopper made with Brenner? And so much more.

Needless to say, late October can't get here fast enough.

Things are about to get even stranger in Hawkins.