FF Monthly Contest; Review: Equoid by Charles Stross

Fantasy Faction, one of the largest fantasy (and SF and horror and...) sites, has a monthly flash fiction contest. November's theme is "Doors." Subs must be between 500-1500 words, and both prose and poetry are accepted. I've submitted my first entry, The Dragon in the Attic, a 1300-word YA dystopian horror about a little girl with her very own dragon. Sort of.

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So have I enjoyed anything I've read lately? Well, yes! Until recently, I'd never heard of the Laundry series. Then Charles Stross's Equoid was a KDD and I picked it up. Thanks to Worlds Without End, who tweet Random Reads of past F/SF award-winners and Kindle Daily Deals in the genres.

Apparently, the Laundry in question is a secret agency in London that investigates and battles aliens, Eldritch horrors, urban myths come alive, and that sort of thing. From what I gather from reviews, Laundry tales are typically full of biting humor and satire, and no small amount of gruesome, chilling scenes. Without having read any of the others, I'd have to say that Equoid is perfect.

*note: Many reviewers thought that this book could be read as a standalone, but they weren't sure. As a reader new to the series, I can definitively say yes, one can read this by itself. I understood enough of the Laundry and the world it inhabits to enjoy this novella immensely.

Bob Howard is dispatched to Ruralshire to investigate a report of a unicorn infestation. Equipped with a series of letters written by H.P. Lovecraft, a number of requisition forms for carnivorous equines that begins around the early 1900s, and his trusty ward and warrant card, he soon realizes he is in way over his head.

Foully, viciously, disgustingly, horrifically over his head. Think tentacle pr0n and demon horses with mouths full of steak knives for teeth, not to mention a side of zombies and computer programs that suck the soul out of those who open them. And unicorns, it should go without saying, are not at all sparkly and lovely creatures.

How this all makes complete sense and ultimately, cleverly, snaps into place for a thrilling ride is testament to Stross's writerly abilities. And the whole thing is, indeed, full of bits of humor, gallows and a heap of bureaucratic satire, both.

My only problem -- and this is a personal thing, for which I should probably be thankful -- is that I have quite a difficult time imagining tentacled, gelatinous, amorphous Eldritch horrors. Always have. You can describe the thing as much as you like; until I open the garage door and find one waiting behind the kiddie pool and snow blower, I shall not likely ever be able to understand it.

Equoid is a novella. I read it in an evening, and loved it. As Stross writes a fair bit of these Laundry stories, long and short, I'll be picking up more.

CARGO: short film

One of the most compelling films in a while, CARGO was a finalist in an Australian film festival and does what I think the best zombie tales do: present a small slice, one of the billions of stories that might occur in the wake of disaster, steeped in humanity. Clever, with a growing sense of urgency and anxiety. Tissue alert for those of delicate emotional constitution. ;)

CARGO: Stranded in the midst of the zombie apocalypse, a man puts into motion an unlikely plan to protect the precious cargo he carries--his infant daughter.




 

Music for a Summer's Eve Apocalypse; Zombie flash fic

The zombie apocalypse should have its own soundtrack.

My Official Zombie Apocalypse Playlist (via an iPod on shuffle) at Bizarro Central. The Chipmunks? Yes.

bon appetit by heile

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There were no signs, no one who remembered what the street had been. A number, a name, General So-and-So highway. Route 6, A Historic Scenic Parkway. It stretched anonymous and flat into the distance, a crumbling blue arrow pointing to the setting sun. West. 

Marv watched his shadow, always afraid it would rise up and take him. I turned him by the shoulders. 

W'ere going this way, I told him. He nodded. Shaggy black curls, thick with dust, fell around his face. 

They watched from the last house, faces peering from second-story windows. When it got dark enough, they'd come out. 

It was almost dark enough. 

Marv's shadow trailed us, growing smaller. Asphalt cooled beneath our shoes. I prayed to the unknown road to take us somewhere safe, somewhere there were others like us, someplace with walls. Somewhere my brother's shadow couldn't hurt him. 

He took my hand, and I whispered it would be all right. Just keep walking. That's all. Keep walking.

Three Sick Tales (one by me!) for your reading pleasure

For your reading pleasure today, two by others and one of my own:

Cheeky by R. Thomas Brown -- Flashfic that's sick and twisted, and I love it. As usual, The Molotov Cocktail delivers (and now they have voting on each issue). Coincidentally, it appears Mr. Brown also has a story up at TFFO. Just read it. It rocks just as much! Finger Lickin' Good. Mm. That Mr. Brown is a, shall we say, sharp writer.

If you're a Chuck Palahniuk fan, his new story, "Romance," is in the August issue of Playboy. Also sick and twisted. I also loved it. And it's been raging about my head all day since I read it; he can take a premise that, if I told you, you would absolutely not believe, and he makes you absolutely believe it could happen. Amazing. But sick (not as fucked up as Snuff or some of his novels, so sort of tame on the Palahniuk-o-meter, but still icky). Well worth the cover price. :)

Also worth the price of admission: My own story, The Bumpy Road.

The zombies have come to suburbia, and eleven year old Richie has a hammer, a brother, a Bronco, and a Dad who loves him. I swear.

I don't usually talk too much about where my stories come from. It's the kind of navel-gazing with which I'm uncomfortable, and in the end, it doesn't matter. I don't, personally, care where an author got their ideas or who a certain character is based on or that a piece was inspired by the yellow lamp in their grandma's living room. I really don't.

Having said that, "The Bumpy Road" is an homage to my family. I won't say how much of them (and, therefore, me) is in this one, but this is deeply personal, taking eight months to write and edit. I'm going to tell my sister tomorrow (she'll squeal as soon as she hears the title) and my dad maybe never. Not that it's unflattering, it's just... There's a weird thing about knowing someone's written about you. Or so I would imagine.

If anyone would ever like to make me a character in their story, I think I'd feel weird.

Anyway.

Love and zombies,

R

Gangrene: Not just for breakfast anymore.

Eaten Alive is up and running, and I'm deeply decayed honored to be first out of the chute with:

Gangrene

Zombies.

Short, horrifying, sickly funny. You know you want to read it.

A special thanks to Lily Childs, whose Friday Prediction spawned this grotesquerie. I never entered it into the Prediction because I couldn't fit in the other words nor get it under the word limit (100), but all the same, I thank her. I guess you never know where inspiration will come from, eh?

Where is the last place you found inspiration? The wackier, the better. I like that kind of stuff.

BRAINSSSSS

Christopher Grant, editor of acclaimed noir zine A Twist of Noir, has just opened for business his second zine: Eaten Alive.

Zombies.

Yes.

That is me you hear, jumping around and shouting, BRAINSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!

Eaten Alive literally just opened, so he's looking for subs. If you've ever thought of writing zombie fic, NOW IS THE TIME.

Get yer zombie on.



Zombiefied by scabeater

Lego Zombie Apocalypse; Crepes at Midnight

If the zombie apocalypse ever occurs while we are all Legos:

Holy fuck my feet are stuck to the ground!

There is something called Zombie Con? And I must now go to it? For rlz? YES.

Also, this is to get you ready for tonight's fourth episode of The Walking Dead. Of special interest: Kirkman wrote this episode. If I had a goatee, right now I would be stroking it as I contemplate this information. Also, I might be in a traveling circus.

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Last night, B and I tried a new place for dinner, What Crepe? in Royal Oak. Crepey goodness. Not creepy -- crepey! Before I review, we got a certificate for $40 for only $10 on Living Social. Apparently, 700 other people did as well. No, really. They sold over 700 of them in 24 hrs.

So we took our certificate and got there at quarter to six, which is very nearly early bird time, but it was a good thing in this case, because by 7, when we were leaving, the place was packed and had a line waiting. Of course, I don't think they've got more than ten tables, and only a couple of them seat more than two, so it would be easy to fill the place up.

The restaurant is tiny, cozy, and filled with dark colors, chandeliers, comfy chairs, and a few antiques. The service was pefectly adequate and friendly enough. She did forget our appetizer, but that didn't matter: the dinner crepes are fairly large, and we barely had enough room after to split a dessert crepe. I had a glass of Wende chardonnary that was absolutely wonderful, although I would caution the drinkers among us that though they advertise a full bar, they don't have the most popular beers and wines. No Bud on this menu, no Sutter Home zine, and no, oddly, Bailey's for my coffee after dinner. Having said that, they're infamous for dazzling, delicious martinis, which I'll try next time around.

The crepes were slightly rubbery in spots, but considering how difficult it is to make them, I'll let it go. Besides that, the fillings are divine. B got the Mushroom Madness, with shiitake, crimini and white mushrooms, spinach, gruyere and a truffle zip sauce. I got the smoked salmon, with a dijon sour cream on top, avocados, capers, onions, and diced tomatoes. Fully enjoyed my crepe; the salmon itself was wonderful. Dessert was a crepe with Nutella on the bottom, just enough, topped with strawberries, bananas, and blueberries, served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Nummy. And I had a coffee with hazelnut liqueur instead of the Bailey's.

Crepes don't run more than $9, and you can create your own. They offer a coffee press, martinis, and totally vegan options. If you are vegetarian/vegan, this is an awesome place to go. Open until midnight some nights, and we really want to go back on a Friday night: Friday's, dinner is by candlelight, and they show a black and white movie at 7:45. And on Wednesdays, it's $20 pp for unlimited wine and tapas-style sweet and savory crepes. Saturday nights is live music; last night was jazz musician Wendell Harrison.

We used our certificate and owed $5 more. What a bargain. And better yet, it did what they hoped: we'll be back. In fact, we can't wait.

Reviews on Yelp are overall good, though some people who went when What Crepe? first opened complained of poor service and some bugs in the system. That, people, is why you don't go to a restaurant when it first opens. Sheesh. Also, some guy complained that they have a lot of vegan/vegetarian options, and he thinks that's ridiculous and any place that caters to such idiots should be docked stars. Well. That might take the cake for most ignorant thing I've heard in a while.

We absolutely loved it. Truly an experience.

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That's it, people. Zombies and crepes. Think about that.

Just Don't Tell Me I Suck! and The Words, They Are Always There, Unlike Your Cold Hands

Writing's not all fun and games. Unless you make a game of your rejection letters, I suppose. I've read that you could, for example, print them out, fold them into tiny footballs, and play tabletop football.

Meh. I just print them out and put them in a folder with the acceptance letters. Can't say they hurt too much. Thick skin and all that.

So this, yes, is a rejection. I've received two in the last two weeks, and both had been out for a while. Now that they're back, I need to decide what to do next. Here is my process:

First, I try to understand why a piece got rejected. If it's because it's good but not great, I may post it here and/or to my DA. If it's utter crap, I relegate it to the "rejected" file on my USB and it never sees daylight again. And if I think it's good, it'll be submitted elsewhere. Perhaps, for instance, I realize that a piece simply wasn't right for that particular publication. So I search for the right home for it.

This one, I think, is a good concept.

However.

There's something wrong with it, and I'll be damned if I can figure it out on my own. I've had this idea for well over a year, and I've tried several different ways of putting it on paper, but nothing seems to jell the way it should. This was my best attempt, and it got rejected once, and I am throwing it up here in the hopes that I can learn something from you.

Critique requested.

A Piece of Advice  -- 800 words. Link goes to my DA account.

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It's taken me all three days of this holiday weekend to approach something resembling "rested." I am saddened by the fact that I've got work tomorrow, as I could use one more day to really get back to myself. The past six weeks have been hell, work-wise. Not just the load, but the scorching temps, a near-constant that drained me. On Friday, I thought I actually wouldn't be able to do another single thing -- and that was when I woke up. After I locked my keys in my car that afternoon, I took it as a sign from the universe that I needed to STOP everything.

I do overburden myself, this is true. But in the last month or so, it's become ridiculous. Right now, I'm making a list of things -- other than my job -- that I want to do, and then I'm taking a good look at everything to see what can be accomplished without breaking myself in two.

On tap: I'm riding the noir train over at A Twist of Noir. Many thanks to Christopher for dropping me a line and reminding me that I had a ticket. I'm 655, which gives me lots of time, and I'm so glad to be doing this. Now for an idea, LOL!

Two short stories that have been in the works for most of this year. Both will top out at 8-10,000 words before editing, and they're completely different genres. I am committed to both of these, not least because they both occupy very special places in my heart, so besides the noir, these make up my top three assignments.

I've got my pieces mostly finished for next month's publication of my first chapbook at Deadly Chaps, but I'd like to write a few more, to give JQ, editor, a wide selection to choose from.

Other than those, I've got pieces out and awaiting response, and accepted pieces that won't be up for a bit. So... I'm thinking that after these, I buckle down and take what I've learned in the past year and, you know, write that fucking book.

Remind me of that when I'm talking about writing new fics, LOL! Oh, and 3WW and OneWord don't count. Those are just fun. :)

It's Zombie Sunday! Get yer undead, right here!

Whoa. Killer nuns. And the rest of Drew Falchetta's work is equally fan-fucking-tastic. I've seen a lot of artists paying homage to his work, and it's easy to see why. This guy brings it.

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We took Gryff to the vet yesterday for a check-up. Good news: he's in perfect health. Bad news: when the vet walked into the room, he exclaimed, "Wow! Annette told me he had a huge head!"

GiantHead!Cat was not amused. He head-butted the vet when the guy got in for a closer look at his eyes.

Also, his tail appears to be the result of a birth defect, and not an old war injury. The numerous scars on his face and ears, however, say that he was a bit of a brute on the streets. B now hums the "Rocky" theme whenever Gryff goes strutting by.

Book reviews: Heart Shaped Box, Thursbitch

Since the utter disappointment that was Metro 2033, I've read two excellent books:

Heart Shaped Box by Joe Hill, described by my friend JS as "a cracking horror page-turner." Absolutely. Once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down. With a protagonist as unlikeable as any you'll come across and what seems, on the surface, to be a simple tale of revenge, ultimately ends in something not quite like redemption, not quite like a fairy tale, and much like the old horror novels I would read, standing up, by the dozen in the used book store in my teens.

Full of creepy moments -- she and I each had our own, separate passages that creeped us out -- great dialogue, and interesting characters that I actually cared about and, even better, could fully see in my mind. No wasted words, just a great story.

After reading Hill's 20th Century Ghosts previously, I can attest to the man's skill as a storyteller. I highly recommend both works, and his new novel, Horns, is on my to-be-read list.



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Thursbitch by Alan Garner. I'll excerpt JS' review:

a brilliant book - admittedly, frequently incomprehensible and not an easy read by any standards, but fascinating and powerful and written with an incredible economy. Rarely have I read a book that expresses such great scope in so few words. It's only about 150 well-spaced pages, but it manages to encompass so much. It's all about the power of places, the power of landscape, and how places can link people and events that happen hundreds of years apart, not just psychologically, but also literally. There are two stories, set 250 years apart, that begin to overlap and affect each other in strange ways. As my friend Si described it when he recommended it to me, "It's psychogeography, Stone Tape theory and quantum physics as folk tale".

This book attracted me before I opened it, as those are all elements I love to read/write about. Yes, there are parts -- mainly, the chapters set in the past, with Jack -- that are full of language that can be difficult to understand. But even if you don't understand the word, you will get the sentiment, and I had no problems at all with dialogue in those sections.

As with HSB, there was a protagonist that I found unlikeable at first. I won't say much about Sal, except that the author did a brilliant job of portraying her, and I read the last page in tears.

Here's what I can say best about Thursbitch: Unlike HSB, I could, indeed, put it down. In fact, about every 2-3 chapters, I set it down.

Because the use of language, the imagery, the concepts caught me on fire. I had to keep a notebook next to me, so that I could put the book down and immediately write whatever was in my mind, born of the magic that is Thursbitch.

Not a book for everyone, yes. But for some, it will be a reading experience unlike any other.

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No fic today; I'm busy working on something I hope makes it into xTx's Zombie Summer. Nothing better than zombies. Except zombie haikus, of course.

brains brains brains brains brains
infection, meteorite,
it comes down to: brains