Special Tuesday Post

Where I live, every Tuesday is garbage day, the day you take out the trash.  It can be a chore, but it has to be done.  And this particular Tuesday is special, for a not-entirely-unrelated reason.  Yeah, it's a bit of a stretch, especially when I'm going to look for a photo of Ricky Chapman from the semi-infamous SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT 2 to use in this post.

But no joking matter is how I feel on this Tuesday, knowing it's Election Day, and how, in a few short hours, the results will start coming in, and--I'm being realistic here--a few days from now, we'll get an official declaration as to who won the Presidency.  It has been with dread and disquiet I've spent the last week--a week that should be filled with the light joy of celebrating all things spooky and make-believe, instead of all too real.  But hey, I voted, and I can only hope that enough good people did too, regardless of how inconvenient it can be, or how insignificant it can seem.

It's a little thing, to cast your ballot and (if you choose) wear that fun little sticker, but if enough people do it, it becomes not so little a thing.

The only guarantee regarding this election is that Trump is going to declare victory no matter what the results are, and that future generations will ask us about it.  Whatever happens, I have to believe that there are more good people than bad, and that, even with my myriad, seemingly endless faults, I can number myself among them.

Positive Achievement (For A Change)

So, at the end of each month, I tally up how much I've exercised, much like I used to do with my word count.*  My goal for 2023 was to Exercise 200 Days, and my goal for 2024 was to Exercise 222 Days.  These are achievable goals (last year, I managed 249 days, which is not at all bad), and one of the few things I've managed to do this year is keep up with my exercise goals, mostly running.  On Halloween, I went on an extra long run, because one of the neighbors had put up a fog machine in their yard so I ducked down the cul de sac to check it out, and when I got home, I added up how I've done for the year so far.

Not sure why I didn't save orange for October.

So, as of October 31st, I'm at 251 days of exercise for the year, which means that not only have I already achieved my goal, but I've already beaten last year's total, with two months left.  Not too shabby.  I guess Big Anklevich and I are alike in at least one way.**

*In November, I've set the goal of writing every single day . . . but the trick is, I didn't say how much.  So if I write three words, I'm counting it.

**Or two, if you count our love of dogs, and understanding that cats are cold, sinister things.

Archive.org Still Down

Okay, that's not exactly true: Archive.org has mostly come back, and all my previous episodes should be available.  For the last few days, I was unable to log back in, but today I managed to, and I can access my files (which means you can too), but I still can't upload anything new.*

So, that leaves us where we were last time.  No new shows can go up on my blog, but you can always go to my Patreon to check out new shows, which will keep on happening, regardless of the backlog on my regular feed.  Sorry about this, but tis what tis.

*If you're able to, please let me know.

What Scares You?

Often, my voice is used over on the HorrorAddicts podcast playing a character, in one of the audio dramas/stories host Emerian Rich has produced.  But this episode--their Halloween show--I'm just playing me, as she asked the non-musical question, "What are Horror writers scared of?"  She wanted us to record our answers and send them to her, reiterating that she wasn't talking about low book sales, or modern politics, or gun violence, or how weird my scrotum looks from pretty much any angle.*  She meant, what sorts of things actually scare us, either inspiring our writing, or creepy experiences we have had.

So, I happily sent in my response, and it's in the most recent episode, along with several other horror writers she knows.  You can check it out HERE.

*A pretty specific personal detail, considering she sent (I assume) the same email out to everyone.

Making Memories

Last night, I went out with a couple of cousins from Vegas, visiting a big haunted house in the city.  Everybody took photos, but every time I would hand somebody my phone, I failed to let them know that they were set on a delay (so I can press the button, take a step back, and get a selfie).  Hence, these wonderful mementos of the night:

One day, I'll look back on how young my hand looked.

This one is at least in focus, but . . . focusing on what?

Okay, so these aren't the ONLY photos that were taken.  Often, whoever was available would take the picture with their own phone, and those probably turned out better.  The thing is, unless they send them to me, I'm sort of stuck (of course, I sometimes took pictures of them too with my camera, so we're all guilty of something).

Alright, now I'm deleting them.

Future Blackmail Material

For story purposes*, I had to ask Google if girls have urethras today.  I normally don't clear my search history, even if it's sick stuff like "Why don't men who are probed by aliens ever get pregnant?" or "Create an image for me of a sexy dinosaur with Jenna Ortega's head on it" or "How long would I get for killing a roommate and burying him in a shallow grave in the woods?", regardless of how that will look to the authorities, but for "Do girls have urethras?" I am deleting it.

*Yes, I'm aware that sounds like B.S., and lame B.S. at that.

Novel Progress (Still Quite Lacking)

One of my goals for August and September was to get my audio production of my novel "Balms & Sears" to sixty percent.  Unfortunately, I didn't even get in the ballpark (apparently, they have a dress code).  

I did record two more chapters last week, though, and spent another hour formatting the book, turning ***s into chapter numbers, and rearranging a couple of scenes where I had left a note for my future self to "PUT UNCLE MATT REVELATION HERE."  So, it's closer, just not a heck of a lot closer.

I went to the library yesterday, and re-formatted the file, this time counting all of the chapters (fifty-nine in total).  That will probably change, but only because a couple chapters are a bit too long.  So, by my math, I have thirty-eight percent recorded, which isn't my goal or close to it, but is still something.  Obviously, I need to make it a priority, and work on it every day, instead of every week or so.  It's slow going, no matter how much I give it.

But wow, the book is up over eighty thousand words at this point, sure to expand further, and there comes a point with a monstrosity like this where you have to ask: is it too long?  Should I start looking for parts to cut out?  How many different ways can I say the same thing?  Maybe I should find a spot to end it and call it Part One, and then put the rest in a Part Two.  Hmmm.

No Updates Update

Archive.org, where I host my podcasts, has been down for several days.  Apparently, they were involved in a cyber attack and the site went down while they tried to fix/safeguard for the future.  The part they call The Wayback Machine is back up*, but it's not possible to upload new files.  So, I can't really post new Outcast episodes or Podcasts That Dare.  All one can do is wait.

In the meantime, you can always go to my Patreon for new items, which, of course, you were always free to do.  Good day.

I said good day!

P.S.  If you see Archive.org is back in business, let me know and I'll see if I can't get something uploaded.

*Including all our old Dunesteef episodes, apparently.  Big and I were talking about making them available on a blog for those that want them.

Re-Evaluation /Third Time's The Charm

Recently, I spoke to a real Horror aficionado, a die hard fan, one who makes my admiration of the genre seem quite pedestrian.  He told me his favorite movie is THE THING (1982), but that PHANTASM from 1979 is high up on his list.  Now, I have never had a love for Carpenter's THE THING, though I can certainly appreciate its technical achievements and cool musical score.  But jeez, my memories of watching PHANTASM in the late Nineties have never faded, where Jeff and I watched it and disliked it so much that we never went on to its many sequels.  I have always remembered it as being both idiotic and confusing, both when I saw it as a child on television, and as a young adult.

But this guy absolutely *loves* Horror, so I asked the guy, "Can you help me to appreciate PHANTASM?  Because I never have been able to."  And he said, "Well, it's not for everybody.  But hey, why don't you try PHANTASM 2, which was made a couple of years later.  Maybe that will be more your style."

I mentioned it to Jeff, who has been watching a couple of movies each week with me, several of them in our favorite genre, and when we went to the library together, he produced a copy of the 1979 original and said, "What do you think?"  Well, I told him how I remembered thinking it was a dogturd the last time I saw it, but he reminded me that we watched SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT last month and that it pretty much kicked ass.  So, I shrugged and said I supposed I'd watch it with him if I had to.  I suggested we play a drinking game where every time Angus Scrimm said "Boooooooy," we'd take a gulp, hoping that would make it more enjoyable.*

Well, he also got a couple other movies, and I much preferred watching those to PHANTASM, but eventually, he proclaimed the time had come.  And I gotta say, I tried to find good things in the movie, such as the framing of a couple shots, a couple of angles of Scrimm staring or smiling, and the lovely--if repetitive--score by Fred Myrow . . . but it was few and far between.  There is the scene where the shiny ball kills the Tall Man's employee rather than its intended victim, and the gore and excessive amount of blood are pretty great.  

But that's a single moment, in a ninety minute borefest.  

It may be that, twenty-five years later than the last time I saw it, I liked PHANTASM even less than before.  And I have become far more tolerant of mediocrity lately than I used to be since, a lot of times, simply making a movie during the Golden Age of Slashers will be enough for me to give it at least two stars out of nostalgia.

Huh.

I recalled, both previous viewings, being horrified (in completely the wrong way) by how train-derailingly not scary the fuggin' jawas were, and in that respect, I was not disappointed.  But man, everything else . . .

. . . everything else ranged from mediocre to festering garbage.  It's all so slapdash and meandering, like when I was a kid and I'd get my friends together and start the camcorder up and we'd just make up whatever scene we were going to shoot on the fly, with no thought of where it might be going in later scenes.

The story is nonsensical, from beginning to wow, that ending, where is it all a dream?  Was it a boy's imagination coping with tragedy, which would almost be an effective ending if it were handled well, but then the Tall Man shows up and grabs the booooooooy and we roll the credits.

Hey, maybe something that I love you think is total dogshit (Big Anklevich tells me this at least once a month), but I pretty much had my evening ruined by watching PHANTASM again.  But Jeff helped out by saying, "Look on the bright side: you don't have to watch it again for another twenty-five years . . . and by then, you'll probably be dead."

Thanks for that.

*It didn't.  I believe the first use of "Booooooy" came at an hour and ten minutes in, and by then, Jeff's drink had gone flat, and was now room temperature--which, in Jeff's defense/condemnation, is approximately forty degrees Fahrenheit.

Life Imitates Art - Miracle Edition!

One of these days, I'm going to release my novel "Balms & Sears."*  The road goes ever onward, as they say.  And for nearly two years now, this photograph, taken by Nine Koepfer, was going to adorn the cover:

You see, the novel is about Alec Ewell, who from at least four years old, has had the ability to heal.  Over the years (he's fourteen when the book begins), he has used that power, which his grandfather calls Balming, to heal animals and people, to the point where he can bring an animal back from the point of death.

When I first saw Koepfer's photo, I knew that's the image I wanted for my cover: a dead or dying bird, being touched or held in the hands of a child.  And I still love that image.

However, while I was editing audio yesterday at the family cabin, I heard a sharp thump from the windows beside me, and as has happened multiple times, a bird had flown into the glass.  Sometimes, the birds are fine, but often, they break their necks or wings or spines, and I find their still bodies on the deck below the window.  Last time, there was a dead woodpecker there, and this time, I went out to check, and found a poor, sad gray and white finch or swallow (let me know and I'll change it) fluttering on the wood slats, an unsightly bulge in its feathers behind its neck.

I've watched them die before, and this one was surely a goner, so I picked it up so it could, I don't know, slip away in a warm hand, or pass away quicker due to panic in the clutches of a deadly predator.

It occurred to me that this was like my cover to "Balms," and I grabbed my phone and took a photo, thinking that it could serve just as well as a cover, not considering that a) the hands belong to a middle-aged dork rather than a teen or child, and that b) I couldn't very well hold the bird in my hands or touch it with my index finger if I had to hold up my phone to take the picture.

I set the bird down where the rays of the sun could hit it as it passed, and went back inside, just in case I'd better wash my hands (I don't know that birds aren't clean animals, but the fact that it was dying made me think I ought to, even though the cause of death was a shiny reflection).  When I went out to check on the bird, though, it had rolled over onto its legs, which surprised me, considering its injuries, and when I went out a few minutes later, the bird was standing up, and seeing me, hopped off the log where I'd set it, and ran to the edge of the deck, where it jumped off, and ran off into the brush.

Later on, when I was carrying my junk out to the car, I saw the bird in a tree, obviously recovered enough that it could fly.  So, just like Alec Ewell, and like Judd Nelson in an unsuccessful 1986 movie, I've got the touch, I've got the power.

*It was SUPPOSED to have come out in September or early October, but alas, Rish B. Outfield was involved, so no.

Not Quite Christmas, But Close

So, this is a post to promote my holiday story "The Day Before The Day Before Christmas," which is available on Amazon.

This is one of those stories--that I just can't stop writing--about a town with an odd belief or practice: namely, you're not supposed to drink soda on the 22nd of December.*  Visiting Uncle Jake thinks nothing of it, and downs a glass of Diet Coke, but discovers that bad luck befalls those who break this rule, at least according to his nephew and niece.

Yeah, another one of those, but surely not the last.  Feel free to pick up a copy at Amazon AT THIS LINK.

Often, I disparage my own work, because I can see only the flaws, but like "Newfound Fame," which I went through recently to re-format it, I find a lot to like in this story.  Would I go so far as to say that it is good?  Sure, why not?  It's nearly Christmas!

*Yes, Big, I understand that . . . but the entire story takes place the following day.