The Power of Potter

While my blog is intended for shameless self-promotion, among other things, I'd be remiss if I didn't share my thoughts and experiences about Harry Potter. With the release of the 8th book, HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD, PARTS 1 & 2 (a script book based on the original play and story by JK Rowling), it's been a decade since the "final" book arrived at bookstores.

But one thing is abundantly clear: Harry Potter still carries an immense weight in popularity.

I had the unique and fortunate experience  of seeing this all happen from the beginning as a bookseller for Barnes  and Noble back in late 90's, early 2000's. Sure, the first 3 books sold well, but I don't think any of us realized how big those stories were becoming about the boy wizard with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead until the 4th book, HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE broke. That was the first of many midnight release parties, but that one stood out because Scholastic sent retailers these cheap plastic cloaks, round black glasses, and lightning bolt scar press-on tattoos for employees to wear as promo materials.

Still, the hugely immense and massively gathering popularity didn't hit home until the 5th book...and by then, we all know one thing for sure: Harry Potter was something special.

And it was special because these were timeless stories about love and friendship, loyalty and betrayal, good and evil...and wrapped up in a magical world created by a once single mother in England, who used to write those first stories by hand while sitting in a cafe with her infant.

Most importantly, or equally so, the Harry Potter books resonated on another level because these were stories enjoyed not just by younger readers but by teens and adults. Families could read together and discuss (something, I'm afraid, doesn't happen nearly enough in this consuming digital age), older siblings would devour the books and hand them down to younger brothers and sisters. And us grown ups would just enjoy them for what they were: great stories.

Of course, when the Harry Potter  movies began to come out, that only drove the books even more. And the movies were well done.

As ORDER OF THE PHOENIX led to HALF-BLOOD PRINCE, it was quite something to see every few years the same attendees at each midnight release  party, many of them just kids but growing up and still in love with Harry, Ron and Hermione. And Snape...just because he was so good at being bad!

With DEATHLY HALLOWS in July 2007, it was obviously a huge deal but tinged with sadness. This was the final book. Sure, a few years later, THE TALES OF BEEDLE THE BARD came out, but fans flocked in massive droves to buy book 7 and it became one of the bestselling books of all-time. And again, I saw some of the same fans, now late teens or even older. And many, many adult fans, too. Most, young and old, came dressed as their favorite character at Hogwarts.

One of my favorite memories of that night is my store manager ripping the plastic wrap off the pallet of boxes of books  as the packed house of fans cheered and counted down to the appointed hour. Second favorite memory was the Potter fan who asked me if I was Snape (we'd all dressed up as made-up Hogwarts professors, and I had been Professor Colin Wordsmith of...well, you guessed it), and in my black clothes, cloak, and shoulder-length long dark hair, I did my best icy Alan Rickman.

Something special, indeed, and incredibly powerful.

Flash forward  to now, a decade later, and with the release of the 8th book (BEEDLE was more of a collection of stories  set in the world of Potter), while I had no doubts, Harry Potter is still as popular as ever. Seeing the fans line up eagerly  awaiting midnight, many of them dressed in black Hogwarts robes and holding wands or portraying another character, hit home again with me. And seeing a lot of young kids being swept up in the fun, many or most of them too young or not even born a decade or more ago, was pretty cool.

But I have to admit something: while I'd read all 6 books, I'd started book 7 but hadn't finished it. And for no particular reason, as sometimes us diehard readers with mountainous TBR  piles on our nightstands can attest to. Sometimes, we put a book down and simply forget. Yeah, I know. Sue me.

Time to fix that. I'm grateful for having experienced this wild magical ride. And Harry Potter will be around for a long time.

Brian Keene

Later today, I'll get to meet one of my favorite authors. Those who might've not heard yet, Stoker Award winning and Horror Grandmaster--and let's just say it--and fucking bestselling horror fiction legend, Brian Keene is stopping by my store from 2-5pm to sign copies of his latest novel, PRESSURE.

Needless to say, I'm honored, excited, flattered to have him...and just a wee bit apprehensive and nervous.

I've never met him before, so that's understandable, but have corresponded via social media and on his forum. As his aptly named nationwide tour begins this summer, THE END OF THE ROAD (BUT NOT REALLY) TOUR, I just want the book signing to be successful and not look like an idiot and total fanboy. Although I've got the former covered, not so sure about the latter. But I do know one thing: I just want to express my gratitude and appreciation for his work, what he has done, and continues to do for the horror genre and fellow authors (unknown or newbie), via his website, forum, and stellar weekly podcast.

I first became aware of Brian Keene before he hit it big with THE RISING. Fellow author and friend, John Urbancik, told me I should read him, and on a whim, ordered a couple of his books at the time: FEAR OF GRAVITY, 4X4, and NO REST FOR THE WICKED REDUX. I enjoyed those books, but when THE RISING came out from Leisure, I was hooked. Then came GHOUL, and I became a fan. While I've enjoyed everything he's written, GHOUL still stands as my favorite Keene novel, with TERMINAL being a close second. But then again, everything the man writes is simply worth reading, regardless of the plot or genre.

And if you haven't read his latest release, PRESSURE, do check it out. While probably the most mainstream book he's written to-date, there's lots of subtle, and not so, nods to previous works and even characters named from other genre authors. His novel, THE COMPLEX, published as a limited edition last year and released in trade paperback and ebook earlier this year, is classic Keene and one of his best.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt a certain kinship with Brian. We're the same age. While I was born in Pennsylvania, I've lived in Florida most of my life. I'm a stepfather to three, and while they may not be mine biologically, I take my role as a father figure as the most important. While we certainly have taken very different paths in life, I have a deep respect for Brian, not just as an author, but as a father and human being, who--if you've listened to some of his more personal podcast episodes and even nonfiction writings, such as posts on his website and recent column series for Cemetery Dance--because while you may not always agree with him, he doesn't just talk the talk...he fucking walks the walk.

Due to several changes in my personal life over a decade and a half ago--a couple divorces and financial upheavals, moving several times, etc--I became lost to my writing, and disconnected to the genre that I fell in love with back in the mid to late 80's. Then, I discovered social media for the first time, and began to reconnect with some old friends and made new ones. Slowly, but eventually, I got back into it and finally, after a long dry spell, I feel like the writer I was meant to be. But I still have a lot of work to do.

Brian, I just want to say thank you. I know I'm not the only one, but the work you do is incredibly important to the horror genre. You're inspiring beyond measure.

RIP Prince

One of my first albums I'd ever bought as a teen was Purple Rain and while I'm not a scintilla the fan some diehard Prince fans are, including my wife, I've always admired him for his singularly unique sound and style. His work to protect his music as well as those of all musicians is often understated, not to mention his philanthropy. Prince will be missed by millions but his music is forever.

After the passing of recent music legends like Lemmy and Bowie, I wrote a story, posted here a few months ago. So now, here's this. 

Rock on.

Purple Requiem
Copyright 2016


Amid the haze of smoke, myriad voices and sometimes raucous laughter, clink of melting ice cubes against glass, and the thunk of beer bottles on a tabletop, there was music.

In this place, there was always music.

But right now, what broke through those various sounds was the unmistakable riffs of the man standing up on the small stage, wearing a 19th century dark military jacket, faded bell bottom jeans, and a bright blue paisley bandanna wrapped around his Afro. Because he was a lefty, he played his electric guitar upside down.

A slight figure approached the stage, quietly, almost shyly, even though many in the place knew who he was, not to mention definite admirers of his solely unique, signature musical prowess.

The guitar player noticed the man, who stood before the stage holding his own trademark six-string instrument, white and stylishly designed. One of many, in fact.

"Hey man, nice jacket," the guitarist said coolly, while he kept playing. He'd always liked purple.

"Mind if I join you?" asked the smaller man, who gazed up at Jimi Hendrix with something close to reverence.

"Come on up, brother," replied Hendrix, with a wry grin. "Let's jam."

Happy Easter!

So, I wrote this earlier...enjoy!

Pigging Out
A Twisted Easter Tale
Copyright 2016

Every year, at this time, the same thing. Kids who were good, and some that were not, got baskets of candy--chocolate bunnies, creme-filled chocolate eggs, jelly beans, etc--to gorge themselves until that traditional family Easter dinner.

But not this year.

Three pigs had other plans. Not your average pigs, these were larger specimens, more like hogs or boars. They were incredibly smart, cunning, and had been planning their revenge ever since they escaped their pens at the farm weeks ago.

So, the three hogs gathered up implements stolen from the farmer, in which to slay the hated Spring Rabbit: a wicked pitchfork, an axe, and a scythe.

Their plan was simple. They would hide out in the woods near the farmhouse before Easter morning, when that  blasted Bunny would come hopping by with his sack of goodies, then they would attack. Hack and stab him to bloody shreds and leave the mutilated body on the doorstep. They'd even planned to take the sweets for themselves.

Night fell and they waited patiently, hungrily, eyes scanning the fields and road for any sign of Mister Easter Bunny. They saw nothing, heard not a sound, and they began to think perhaps the farmer's children didn't believe. Maybe they'd gotten too old to believe in such things.

As the late evening bled into very early morning, the three pigs heard a muffled thumping noise and peered intently into the shadowy gloom.

And they saw him!

Much bigger than a normal rabbit, the Easter Bunny hopped along the dirt road, the massively bulging bag of candy treats slung over one furry, brownish black shoulder. If he continued along the road, he'd pass by their hiding spot and then they'd pounce upon him!

Slavering, gripping their weapons tightly, they eagerly watched as he grew closer, completely unaware of his impending doom. But he stopped, a mere dozen steps away, nose twitching, large ears pricked.

"Is someone there? Come on out! I can smell you!" the Rabbit said in a strident but calm tone.

Surprised that they'd been discovered, the pigs scurried out of the night-shrouded trees, brandishing their deadly weapons.

"Drop the bag and come closer!" ordered one pig, the larger of the trio, and generally thought the leader. He carried the axe.

"Why would I do such a thing?"

The Leader Pig growled menacingly. "Because I'll chop your head off if you don't!"

The Easter Bunny considered this, scratching one paw under his chin. He lowered the sack and opened it. "But I brought you all very special treats, you know. Unless you don't want them, of course."

Another pig, arguably the less smart of the three, dropped the pitchfork and gleefully exclaimed, "Oh yes, I want my treat, please, yes I do!"

The Leader wanted to turn the axe on him, but didn't. Instead he glared at his compatriot, who noticed the baleful look and fell quiet.

"We will take what we want," he said threateningly. "And pray that's all we do."

The other pig who toted the scythe chuckled.

"But if you harm me now, these treats, the best of all, will be useless," the Rabbit said. "That's part of my Easter magic, you might say."

The Leader thought for a moment, then said, "Let me see them."

The Bunny reached into his bag and retrieved three eggs, each one a different color, and obviously not real eggs because of their size and hues. They were huge.

"Now you must open them together, as one." He laid the big eggs carefully on the ground and stepped away, his sack resting beside his haunches.

In retrospect, and as you can imagine, the three might've taken caution as these weren't normal Easter eggs,  and the Rabbit was smarter and more cunning than the hogs. Shells cracked and splintered and the sweet insides devoured in seconds. As the Leader turned to demand the Bunny hand over his bag, the other two began to convulse, crumpling to the dirt in agony. Bloody foam vomited from their gaping mouths. The Leader sank to the ground next to them, wracked by painful spasms. He writhed and spat up blood.

The Rabbit shook his head, and carefully scooped the egg shell fragments. He lifted the sack and slung it over his shoulder.

As he began to hop in the direction of the farmhouse, the Leader asked in a dying wheeze, "Why? How?"

The Easter Bunny stopped, and looked back. "Why, you ask? Because I don't take crap from a couple of foolish pigs, that's why. Also, the poison won't harm humans. After all, I wouldn't want to ruin an Easter ham dinner."

Hungry Like The...Werewolf!

To the all three or four of you who might be bored enough to read my blog, going strong now for about 4 years, you may recall my werewolf novel, PRIMAL. I'd finished the first draft and started immediately writing a sequel, PRIMAL BLOOD. Got several chapters into that before I realized the premise, while cool at the time I'd conceived it, was too implausible. So it got scrapped. As a result, the version of PRIMAL needed a complete overhaul. But I was excited by the prospect, since my story was a slightly different take on lycanthropes.

Then I lost my digital copy of the first draft. I had backed it up to a flash drive, and was transferring all my work from my old Dell to my new Toshiba laptop. The transfer was fine but in my haste made the mistake of not properly ejecting the flash drive.

I was devastated. Luckily, I did have a hard copy printout. But I needed time away from it, and the notion of retyping that draft onto Word wasn't a task I was particularly excited about. Plus, I had begun to find other aspects of the short novel I wanted to change or scrap entirely.

Flash forward a few years later. While I've been working on several new stories, novellas and a short story or two, for a collection called THE NIGHTMARE SEASON, this novel keeps clawing at my consciousness. I've been mentally piecing together the new PRIMAL story, the reworked version, which will look much different than its original. And I'm very excited. Many of the same characters will remain, including my protagonist, Jack Evans and his wife, Cheryl, and teenage daughter, Grace. The antagonist or villian, Anna, along with members of the secret society of lycanthropes, or Prime-L's (or Primals) will mostly remain the same. But the story's beginning will introduce a new character called Lobo, short for El Loco Lobo, a Latino rapper turned movie star. He's not a very nice guy, and largely, and inadvertently, why Jack becomes a Primal.

But first I need to get started. And I'm quite hungry...like the werewolf!

Rock and Roll Heaven

Recently, we lost a few notable rock and roll stars, least of which was the notorious Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead, and Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver.

And two days ago, David Bowie passed away. He left an indelible mark on the world of music from his classic alien persona, Ziggy Stardust, to the Thin White Duke era of "Let's Dance." And if you haven't heard of his late 80's rock band, Tin Machine, you need to unfuck that immediately. "Under the God" is a blisteringly catchy hard rock anthem. My own all-time favorite band, Duran Duran, has publicly for years cited Bowie as a major influence, and have covered a number of Bowie songs over the years.

This story popped into my head the other morning and while on Facebook, before getting ready for work, I wrote this. Feel free to blast some Ziggy or "Heroes" (my personal favorite is "Golden Years") and enjoy.

Rock and Roll Heaven
Copyright 2016

The vast room was hazy with smoke and filled the chatter of conversation, punctuated with laughter. Glasses rattled with ice cubes, beer bottles clunked together along with tumblers of drink in celebration and general good cheer. Some held intruments, guitars and the like, even a saxophone, but mostly just to idly strum or blow a few chords. One short blonde haired young man in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans sat in a corner scribbling in a notebook while a skinny guy with tight black leather pants and close-cropped, dyed-red hair talked animatedly to him, gesturing with his cigarette. Behind them at the long bar, two other men--one with long curly brown hair in a denim jacket--lifted his glass of whiskey and chuckled at something his companion sitting at the barstool next to him said, in his thick English accent. The Englishman had long black hair, thick mutton chops and a mustache, and he wore a leather vest with a black leather hat adorned by an emblem of silver crossed cutlasses.

Suddenly, the room's only door swung open, revealing a tall, thin light-haired man, clad in a trim yet stylish suit. His slender tie was impeccably knotted and his eyes swept the crowd coolly. He grinned rakishly as he stepped inside.

Lemmy glanced up at the latest entrant and called out in his distinctive raspy brogue.

"David...come on in and join the party!"

Top Horror Novels of 2015

I posted this on Facebook a few days ago, but here's my list again of the best horror novels read last year, published in 2015:

As the last four and a half hours of 2015 tick tocks away, here's my Best Books of the past year (in no order of importance):

THE COMPLEX by Brian Keene (actually, finishing it up this evening as we speak, but this is a fantastic book, right up there with my favorites by him)

A LITTLE MAGENTA BOOK ABOUT A DOLL HOUSE by Edward Lee (Lee doing MR James, but it's Ed Lee, so nuff said)

WOLF LAND by Jonathan Janz (love anything loup garou, and Jonathan freaking nailed it big time!)

TENEBRIS by Tim Curran   (I'm an unapologetic Tim Curran fanboy, and only   minor complaint is that I wanted the book to be longer; then again, DEAD SEA and RESURRECTION are huge, so I'll just shaddup)

FINDERS KEEPERS by Stephen King  (just because, and while he has been criticized  for his recent works not holding up to the classic ones, that's just nonsense; he's at the top of his game...in my opinion)

THE BORDER by Robert McCammon  (STINGER is one of my favorites by him and he returns to form with this bleak but heartfelt scifi horror novel)

THE SCARLET GOSPELS by Clive Barker  (yes, I know I'll catch some shit for this selection, but you know what? Don't care. It's Harry D'Amour versus Pinhead. While the book had issues, it was still a hellishly fun and nasty trip)

ORPHANS OF WONDERLAND by Greg F. Gifune (my favorite of his to date and if you haven't read him...what the fuck is wrong with you? :P)

ABRAM'S BRIDGE by Glenn Rolfe  (newer author to the horror fiction scene but this clever novella instantly drew me in and I'm a fan! And his latest novel, BLOOD AND RAIN just kills it!)

DARKNESS RISING by Brian Moreland  (fantastic novella that grabbed me by the heart and twisted; and DEAD OF WINTER is a great book, along with THE WITCHING SEASON...hell, buy em all!)

ALL HALLOW'S  DEAD by Bryan Smith  (Bryan is one of my favorites ever since he published his first few books from Leisure Horror; and while I haven't read his critically-acclaimed SLOWLY WE ROT, his Halloween novel was a blast!)

THE LOST LEVEL by Brian Keene   (pulp horror mixed with high fantasy of a sort, drenched in his Labyrinth mythos. It's Brian Keene. Nuff fucking said! ;))

THE NIGHTMARE GIRL by Jonathan Janz (yep, him again. And why am I thinking this book could've been called THE HEY GIRL...oh never mind. It's Jonathan Janz, and he rocks!)