The first of three totally bonkers Ken Russell movies I watched on The Criterion Channel.
The Devils: a lecherous priest gets into a religiopolitical fracas with the French government and a sex-crazed nun. Mayhem ensues.
Our Share of Night, by Mariana Enríquez
Astonishing, complex, and really dark.
Film analogy: You know how somebody asks you for a horror-movie recommendation, and you have to determine if they want something fun, like The Return of the Living Dead, or something that’s going to leave a mark, like Hereditary?
Our Share of Night will leave a mark. Some of the most harrowing demonic ritual magic shit I’ve ever read in a novel, set against the backdrop of Argentina’s Dirty War (when 22-33K people were “disappeared” by government death squads), with riveting interpersonal storylines throughout.
Snow Monster Copyedits
Today I finished reviewing the copyedits for my forthcoming snow-monster novel. That was my last chance to monkey with it, so aside from the proofreading round to catch minor snafus, the book is now in the loving care of my publisher.
The book deal hasn’t yet been formally announced, but it will be soon… and that will be preceded by exciting news for horror-fiction fans.
Things are afoot. Or aclaw. More when I’m allowed to share…
On and On and On…
I caught the live video of Black Sabbath’s “Heaven and Hell” on Vevo TV, and Ronnie James Dio had the crowd sing along to the “on and on and on” lyric.
And then he said now I just want the people on the sides of the arena, and they all raised the rock horns and sang “on and on and on.”
And then he said now I just want the people way up top in the back, and they all raised the rock horns and sang “on and on and on.”
And then he said now I just want that guy alone on his couch in Troy, NY, and I jumped up like a shot and…
Heavy Metalists
Recognize the danger.
I Felt Like a Winter Turd Today
Under-slept, crabby about the falling snow, lonely with my wife away. Anxiety grew its cat claws.
So I trusted my routine: writing, workout, healthy food, quality time with our dog, music. I focused on The Thing Directly in Front of Me at the Moment (the paragraph, the pull-up bar, the dog) and each of those things was good at the moment.
In other words, my routine—consisting of good things I otherwise may not have been in the turdy mood for—worked.
My Plots Are Skeletons with Guts
My in-progress demon novel is over 100,000 words and I haven’t officially written a single, actual page of fiction.
Which makes my document either a comically extensive plot summary, or the messiest first draft imaginable. Either way, when I finish working on the plot, it’ll be almost as long as the book it ultimately becomes.
My plots aren’t “the general bones the story.” They’re a complete skeleton with living organs and muscles. Constantly moving. Such a mess.
When I work like this, I essentially tell myself the story to figure it out. In broad stroke and minute detail. With bird’s eye view and magnifying glass. I get to know the characters intimately. I retell myself the story over and over. I ask myself questions (and answer them) in type, as if I’m addressing a highly interested and finicky listener. I delete stuff, add stuff, move stuff, change stuff.
The only thing I don’t do in this phase is obsess over the actual wording. And since I’m not getting hung up on the right simile or adjective—or falling in love with a crafted page—I’m free to let the whole thing crazily emerge.
A lot of writers understandably fear that overplotting will make their fiction stilted, forced, unnatural.
My weird way of plotting does the opposite for me. I write the whole thing as a bonkers plot-draft combo that feels, day to day, wildly organic. I can be playful. I can be reckless. Anything goes, at any time. And when it’s time to truly write the thing, I’ll know exactly what story I’m trying to tell. The guts. The blood. The bones and all.
Stalker (1979)
Want to watch a dreadfully mysterious Soviet-era film about three dudes who enter a forbidden wasteland in search of supernatural transcendence? Who doesn’t.
Upside: Spellbinding and hits a lot of eerie, meaningful buttons. Downside: Long, abstruse, characters that are unlikably gray and sullen.
Depressing trivia: the forbidden “Zone” was filmed near an old chemical factory and many of the crew, including the director, may have eventually died due to toxic exposure during production.
Stay Away From the...
Look at this marvelous shirt my wife got me for Christmas. I’m reminded of such good times… listening to K.A.B. Radio, visiting the lighthouse, finding driftwood on the beach.
(Shirt from here.)
You and I, Dear Stranger
A hopeful message (after the next paragraph):
I’m anxious and emotionally ill sometimes. Lacking purpose. Fucking scared! Social media is suffering a brain bleed. A.I. vertigo is real. The internet feels noisy and inhuman. Earth is an expiring egg. My phone screen is a bad window, making me wonder: Is that how people really are??
But you and I, dear stranger, know there’s an Otherworld waiting to be explored.
Imagine reaching out to others without algorithms, ad junk, ugly comments, and corporate crap-factories. Years ago, they called it “mail” or “books” or “human contact.” In the late 90s, it was called “the world wide web.” You could find stuff you liked. People you related to.
Would you like that more? I would.
If you’ve found this blog, we may have things in common. A love of horror books and movies. An ear for dark music. Strange personal experiences.
Here, I’ll be sharing quick, dark, weird material you might like. There’s also an occasional email digest. You can sign up at the end of this post.
I hope you like what I’m offering, and I hope you share back now and then. You know… “mail” and “human contact.” I’ll try to answer somehow.
🩸 Dennis