YARDLEY BRINGS MURDER AND WHIMSY TO MADHOUSE

Elegant Murder and Tragic Prose are in the Stars This Fall
Mercedes M. Yardley’s New Release is Nothing Short of Beautiful

Monday, September 8th—Crestview Hills, KY—“Murder and whimsy.” These things may sound incompatible, but dark fantasy author Mercedes M. Yardley’s latest novel manages to entwine the two concepts with lyrical language, beautiful imagery—and a high body count.

Ragnarok Publications is proud to announce the release of Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy, coming on September 29th. A dark but lovely fairy tale, this is Yardley at her finest: a tapestry of lush imagery, poetic prose, and beautiful violence about a woman destined to be murdered and her flight from Fate’s inevitable—yet seemingly terrible—marksmanship.

Yardley’s fans are no strangers to her lovely, tragic style. She is also the author of the acclaimed novella “Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love”, winner of the 2013 Reddit Stabby Award for Best Short Fiction, and the novel Nameless: The Darkness Comes, the first of The Bone Angel trilogy.

The creation of Pretty Little Dead Girls was something special for Yardley, however: “Pretty Little Dead Girls was created out of sheer joy,” Yardley says. “I've never experienced anything like it. This novel was written in three weeks. It bled from my pores, it was so intense. But so joyful.”

Hugo award-winning artist Galen Dara was commissioned to create a cover image that would capture the idea of lovely murder. The result, coupled with the design skills of J.M. Martin, is absolutely stunning. So stunning, in fact, that Ragnarok Publications has decided to release a special, limited hardcover edition of the book. Only one hundred of these signed hardcovers will be available, and preorders have already begun.

Also included in the package for the preordered hardcovers is a signed print from artist Orion Zangara, renowned for creating fairy tales with his lavish pen and ink drawings. Dark and evocative, this stunning image by Zangara was made with a particular scene from Pretty Little Dead Girls in mind.

Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy is not just a novel; with the poignant words of Mercedes M. Yardley, and the haunting images of both Dara and Zangara, it is, without a doubt, a work of art.

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The special signed hardcover edition of Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy, along with the Orion Zangara print, is NOW AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER. http://www.ragnarokpub.com/#!apocmon-boneangel/c234g

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Contact Ragnarok’s Publicity Coordinator, Melanie R. Meadors, with questions and/or requests.

ATTENTION: Wytovich Throws Lawrence C. Connoly in Madhouse

On Ghosts, Revenants, and Revision

By Lawrence C. Connolly

Copyright © 2014 by Lawrence C. Connolly

Lately, I’ve been contemplating ghosts.

I don’t mean the revenants of dead people, but rather the specters of books that were never born. Titles such as Harlan Ellison’s Blood’s a Rover, a yet-to-be published book that I saw advertised for release from Ace in the early 1980s, or the Orchises Press edition of J. D. Salinger’s Hapworth 16, 1924, which received considerable advance notice in 1996 before the author pulled the rights.

Sometimes these ghosts achieve a semblance of existence, usually after the authors are no longer around to stand in their way. Such releases are almost always incomplete and appended with editorial notes to outline what might have been (or worse, finished and revised by literary continuators who claim to know the authors’ true intensions).

In the early 1970s, the always eccentric Truman Capote referred to his long delayed Answered Prayers as a “posthumous novel” because “either I’m going to kill it, or it’s going to kill me.” The unfinished book was eventually released in 1986 – two years after Capote’s death.

Other well-known books that were abandoned either by death or disenchantment include J. R. R. Tolkein’s The Notion Club Papers, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Journal of Julius Rodman, and Mark Twain’s The Mysterious Stranger. It remains to be seen if Stephen King’s The Plant, started in 1982 and currently unfinished, will become one of these.

The abundance of such ghosts isn’t surprising, given the nature of the creation process and the fine madness shared by many writers. For us, it’s not just about getting the words right. As Patrick Rothfuss writes on his blog:

Words are just the tip of the iceberg. [It’s also about] the order of scenes, characterization, tension and subplot. I obsess about these things. I don’t want them good. I want them perfect.

Rothfuss cites these as just some of the reasons why his second novel, The Wise Man’s Fear, came out years after its anticipated release date.

In all, I think that Ted Thompson, author of The Land of Steady Habits, best identifies the reasons for such delays (and the ghosts that can result from them) in a recent article in Salon.

I think deep down we know when we’re done. There is something driving your writing, something that you might not understand, that has to be expressed for the project to be realized. If it hasn’t yet been found, or hasn’t yet been made clear, you’ll feel it and you’ll know you’re not there.

Those inner feelings are more important today than ever. In an age driven by publication deadlines and the option of rushing a work into print via a proliferation of self-publishing platforms, it seems literary ghosts are the least of our concerns.

Agent Rachel Gardner addresses this problem in a blog post titled “Quality Books Take Time.” She writes:

[I]t takes [time] to write a high quality book. I’m not talking about a book that everyone has to love. I’m talking about a book that has the basics: a solid story, well-developed characters, conflict that engages the reader, a satisfying resolution, well-crafted sentences and paragraphs, literate use of words, and a lack of typos and other egregious, noticeable errors [. . .] .

With the proliferation of self-pub, online retailers are flooded with books that contain almost none of those basics. Books that scream “vanity” and “I just wanted to get rich quick.” Books that say, “I was too impatient, or too arrogant, or too ignorant, to either learn the [. . .] most basic writing techniques, or to get an editor’s eyes on this before it went public.

Elsewhere in the blog, Rachel references a famous Paul Masson ad from the 1980s, in which Orson Welles proclaims that the winemaker will “Sell no wine before its time.”

Writers should be guided by the same dictum. They need to be honest with themselves and trust the inner voice that says This isn’t what you mean or This isn’t working or You can do better. I’m not saying that deadlines aren’t important, simply that they sometimes can and perhaps should be adjusted when the book demands it.

I spent a lot of time this summer thinking about such things.

Earlier this year, my novel Vortex: Book Three of the Veins Cycle was scheduled for a summer release. Ads appeared, review copies went out, and I began what was to be a string of summer appearances in support of the book. But even as the machinery geared up for the release, something was nagging me, a sense that the full potential of the story was yet unrealized. I suppose it would have been easier in the short term to let the book come out. Instead, I requested a delay.

Since it was the third and final act in the cycle, I knew from the outset that Vortex was going to be a challenging book. It was the place where all the narrative arcs and mysteries needed to come together, where the true nature of the cycle would be revealed and the series drawn to a close. The first version of the book did these things. That wasn’t the questions. At issue was how it did them. I didn’t want the book to feel rushed, to give the impression that characters were simply hitting their marks. Their actions needed to be fully motivated, with the revelations growing out of their decisions. To make that happen, I needed to live with them a little longer, spend a little more time exploring the potential of their lives and the reckoning of their choices.  

The additional revisions took three months. The work was intense, and I admit that I worried early on that I might be conjuring a ghost. Nevertheless, within weeks, the book began to truly come alive.

I turned the manuscripts in last month. No regrets this time. The extra time was worth it, and I can now rest knowing that I have given it the fully realized life it deserves.

It comes out in November.

Lawrence C. Connolly‘s contemporary fantasy series The Veins Cycle concludes this winter with the release of Vortex. The first two books in the series, Veins and Vipers, have just been reissued in both print and ebook form. This week (September 5-10), the ebook edition of Veins is on sale for 99 cents at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Fantasist Enterprises. Fasten your seat belts, and enjoy the ride!

 

Thoughts on Camp NECON and Axe Murderers

For about two years now, I’ve had friends from all over the world telling me that I had to go to NECON, that it was the best writing conference out there, that it was all about family, all about support and celebrating what we do as artists. As most of you know, writing is lonely. It’s a very solitary kind of craft. We spend most of our time alone making up stories in order to connect with others, and truth be told, even if we are out in public, we’re still probably lost somewhere in our heads, talking to our characters, building our worlds. For this reason—amongst others—I find writing conferences to be extremely uplifting to my mood and to my creativity. So after all the late night talks at World Horror, I decided to drink the Kool-Aid—which I actually learned is called a Staggering Squirrel—and go to NECON. I bought my membership, a last minute plane ticket, and before I knew it, I was in the sky and on my way to Rhode Island.

I had no idea what to expect when I got there, but I was met with big hugs from old friends, and warm welcomes from new ones. It was great to finally put some faces to names as I moved through the conference and met people that I’ve been reading and communicating with online for quite some time. I attended great panels—my favorite being The Best Monsters in Modern Horror—ate saugies, drank Staggering Squirrels (which side note, I will not be doing next year) and had great conversation and many, many laughs.  The great thing about NECON is that it gives you the opportunity to be yourself in a relaxed environment and just be. We stood around a campfire and listened to people play the guitar, we watched the sun come up in the courtyard, and we told ghost stories and just enjoyed each other’s company. And maybe it’s just because I’m a writer and I appreciate the importance of words, but there is nothing better in this world than having good conversation with people, and when you can talk at ease with those you admire and love, it becomes something more than a discussion about books, about business, about life.

It’s becomes a comradery.

A friendship.

A family.

And speaking of family… I also got invited to spend time with another very special clan that I’m sure you’ve all heard about: The Borden’s. Yes, my love for all things paranormal and disturbing sent me to Fall Rivers, MA with Sephera Giron, Gardner Goldsmith, Dennis Cummins and Heather Graham Pozzessere and her husband, to spend the night with Lizzie Borden and learn about the infamous axe murderess. We walked the house, heard the stories, and reenacted the murders.  It was surreal to lay in the spot where Abby died, to sit on the couch where Andrew was bludgeoned 11 times in the face. We got to see the autopsy boards were they were laid out, got to spend time in the basement where Lizzie found solace twice after the murderers, and then we got to pick our rooms.

I have a ritual when I spend the night at places like this. I don’t like to make blind decisions about where I’m going to sleep. I normally walk through all the rooms in the location and see how I react mentally/physically to the space. Part of me wanted to stay in Lizzie’s room just because I wanted to say that I did it, but I had no reaction to either of the places that she called her own while she lived there. However, when I made my way up to the third floor—the attic—I knew this was going to be it. I walked into the room of Bridget Sullivan—the Borden’s Maid—and was immediately overcome with paranoia and anxiety. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to see someone as the room felt very crowded to me. I felt my body go cold and I wanted to get the hell out of there ASAP. So naturally, I did the opposite: I brought my suitcase upstairs, unpacked, and claimed the room as my own. Then, to top things off, I went downstairs and had birthday cake for Lizzie while I looked at the autopsy photographs and ate on the table where her family was briefly laid out.

Totally good luck if you ask me.

But back to Bridget. In my opinion, Bridget was involved in the case, maybe not directly, but definitely during the aftermath. If you look into the murders, Bridget has a solid alibi, but there’s something about the way things were handled afterwards that doesn’t quite add up: the clean up, the disposal of the clothes, the weapon, how she came into money after Abby and Andrew’s deaths, how she skipped town. It seems a little suspicious to me. Plus, throw in the fact that she wouldn’t talk during the trial, and even if she did, how she didn’t say a single bad word about anyone, especially Lizzie. Now naturally, during that time, it wasn’t wise to speak out about your employers for fear of not getting another job, but there’s also a flip side to that.

Maybe she was afraid of talking.

Maybe she was afraid for her own life.

I think that’s why I got the anxious feeling when I walked into the room. Plus, there’s this terrifying rocking chair in the corner that you just know is going to kill you the second you fall asleep…which probably accounts for the reason I didn’t get much shut-eye that night. The sleep that I did get was wrought with horrible nightmares. I was in the attic, pacing the hallway, wringing my hands together in panic. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what, so I came back into the room and laid down. The rocking chair was violently moving back and forth and then there was a woman standing over me screaming, screaming for help.

When I woke up, I saw that rocking chair rocking, swinging back and forth. The only problem is that I can’t account that it really happened. I have a tendency to stay in my dreams after I wake up. I still see whatever or whoever it is for a few moments as I’m coming out of the dream so it’s hard for me to delegate fact versus fiction in those moments. Do I personally think it happened? No. But it was enough of a scare to get my heart racing and to make stay awake for the rest of the night.

This was the first place I didn’t write in.

Case in point, I was too scared.

I think it will be different next year when I go back and I’ll definitely be able to get a grasp on things and get some writing done, but this year, it was more or less about surviving the night, about making sure I stayed alive.

Cover Reveal: Mr. Wicker by Maria Alexander

The MADHOUSE presents the cover reveal for Maria Alexander's novel, Mr. Wicker.

Novel Summary:

Alicia Baum is missing a deadly childhood memory. Located beyond life, The Library of Lost Childhood Memories holds the answer. The Librarian is Mr. Wicker — a seductive yet sinister creature with an unthinkable past and an agenda just as lethal. After committing suicide, Alicia finds herself before the Librarian, who informs her that her lost memory is not only the reason she took her life, but the cause of every bad thing that has happened to her.

Alicia spurns Mr. Wicker and attempts to enter the hereafter without the Book that would make her spirit whole. But instead of the oblivion she craves, she finds herself in a psychiatric hold at Bayford Hospital, where the staff is more pernicious than its patients.

Child psychiatrist Dr. James Farron is researching an unusual phenomenon: traumatized children whisper to a mysterious figure in their sleep. When they awaken, they forget both the traumatic event and the character that kept them company in their dreams — someone they call “Mr. Wicker.”

During an emergency room shift, Dr. Farron hears an unconscious Alicia talking to Mr. Wicker—the first time he’s heard of an adult speaking to the presence. Drawn to the mystery, and then to each other, they team up to find the memory before it annihilates Alicia for good. To do so they must struggle not only against Mr. Wicker’s passions, but also a powerful attraction that threatens to derail her search, ruin Dr. Farron’s career, and inflame the Librarian’s fury.

After all, Mr. Wicker wants Alicia to himself, and will destroy anyone to get what he wants. Even Alicia herself.

Praise for Mr. Wicker:

“Elegant chills, genuine awe, and true tragedy are all ingredients in the spell cast by Maria Alexander’s Mr. Wicker.   Anyone who has encountered Maria’s short stories surely expects her first novel to be extraordinary, and she doesn’t disappoint.  Mr. Wicker is rich, lovely, and deeply unnerving.” —Lisa Morton, author of Malediction and Trick or Treat: A History of Halloween

Pre-Order: http://rawdogscreaming.com/books/mr-wicker/

Author Maria Alexander: http://rawdogscreaming.com/authors/maria-alexander/

Artist Ryan Rice: https://www.facebook.com/ryan.rice.7777

Manuscript a Month: A Summer of Poetry

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”   ― Anaïs Nin

Poetry is my game. Always has been and always will be.

And for those of you that have been watching, I’ve been under a type of spell lately. For the past three months, I’ve been writing a manuscript every 30/31 days. That’s anywhere from 50-100 poems a month, and there’s a lot of factors that are influencing that. I’m in a unique point in my life right now and there’s a lot happening. Some stuff I can talk about, some stuff I can’t, but for me, poetry has always been the easiest way for me to communicate to myself and to you, my readers. So that’s why I chose to pour out a little more soul than usual lately.

Now everyone keeps asking me how I’m doing this, how I’m generating so much work and I’m sorry to say, but there is no trick of the trade. No deep, dark secret. I didn’t sell my soul—at least not for this—but as Edgar Allan Poe said, “I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.” So on that note and in that respect, I suppose my answer is simply that  I write every day, not because I want to, or because I think it’s a good habit to have, but because I have to. When I tell people that poetry is cathartic, I stand by that full heartedly. I turn to poetry when I need to find God, when I need to relax, when I need to cry. Poetry has always been a type of medicine, a type of drug. It helps me sleep. It keeps me calm. It keeps me sane—unless we’re talking Hysteria. There’s always an exception for everything. The only difference lately is that I have a lot on my mind—too much on my mind—and the only way that I know how to sort through it, the only way I can decipher my feelings, is to write them all out. That, and I’ve found some pretty wonderful presses that only had their submission period open for a month.

So there’s that.

In tangent, I’ve been studying poetry for years, but I’ve been doing a kind of self-assessment and self-study lately, exploring and expanding my style and my voice. I had two projects specifically that I was finishing up—both horror—but the collection that I’m married to now is literary. It’s personal, it’s raw, and it’s me being myself, talking through my own words and experiences without a muse to hide behind. Is it any good? I have no idea. But I’ll be the first to admit that it’s much easier for me to build monsters and play with madmen than it is to face reality and write about what’s happening around me.

So I’ve turned to Bukowski, slept curled up next to Neruda, and I often spend time with Plath, and they’ve taught me about the self as subject, about not being afraid to love and not being ashamed to feel sad, lost, and confused. I’ve been reading their works for the past seven months, and I’ve learned that it’s okay to bleed on the page a bit. It’s okay not to hold back.

And so I’m not, and I didn’t.

I’m bringing Goth to literary, taking a stab at a new victim.

And it’s scary for me.

A new type of horror in its own way.

The Woman Said This Would Happen

Last year, something strange happened to me.

I met a woman at a writing conference after giving a poetry lecture and she asked me if I wanted to have my cards read. In fact, now that I think about it, it wasn’t so much as her asking me, but rather her telling me that I needed to sit down and have a session with her. Most people that know me, know that I believe in fate, that I believe in love, that I believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that people are put in our lives for specific reasons and that we take something from each and every encounter we have with them. So when this opportunity presented itself, I didn’t think twice about it. I sat down in an empty room with her and she read my cards, detailing the next year of my life.

She told me some things that I laughed at, things that I never thought I’d have a fighting chance with, and then she told me some things that immediately made my heart fall, that took my breath away. It was one of the first times in my life that I was truly speechless, and I remember sitting there, staring at the cards in utter shock, disbelief and awe.

 

I was skeptical until certain things started happening, until situations began to present themselves. The stack of coincidences was getting too high for me to ignore what was being put right in front of my face. 

And now I’m coming up on that year mark and the more I think about those predictions, about what the universe has already put in motion, how it’s broken me, how it’s blessed me, I’m wondering how this is all going to play out. A year ago, I was a completely different person; someone that even now, looking back, I don’t even recognize. This past year has taught me more about living than any other time in my life, and if that woman is right, if the words she said to me when I left that room prove true, then these next couple of months are going to be very interesting for me.

Now, like I said, I believe in fate, but I also believe that we can create our own destiny. So change is in the air for me--that much I know is true--but the more I think about it, the more I think that that air is starting to smell like chicory coffee and voodoo, that those nights are beginning to feel a lot like magic. And if I'm the one looking into my future, I'm seeing nights spent writing at Lafitte's Blacksmith Bar, mornings spent on the Mississippi River listening to Jazz.

 

Oh, and a new book.

Ah, yes. A beautiful, crazy, horrific, new book.

Getting Poetic in Portland: World Horror Convention 2014

World Horror Convention 2014.

Portland, Oregon.

Last week, I took a plane to Oregon to meet up with some of my favorite people in the world. We studied together, learned together, had some of the best conversations over great food and drink, and danced and laughed until the sun came up. I met new friends, caught up with old ones, and explored the city of Portland while I wrote poetry, sipped great coffee (and ale!) and took photographs of the uncanny, the weird, and the lovely.

 Some of the highlights include:

·       Attending the panel on Extreme Horror where Jack Ketchum, Wraith James White, Jeff Burk and Aaron Sterns chatted about where the line is drawn, and if there is even a line to cross in the genre. Great insight with a lot of commentary that made me think and take another look at my work. Plus there was a 6 or 7 year old kid sitting next to me, so that was interesting…and scary.

·       Lecturing on my first panel, Violence in Verse. I got to sit and talk poetry with poets that I’ve been reading and admiring for years: Rain Graves, Michael A. Arnzen, James Dorr and Dan Clore.

·       Having dinner and talking about the Apocalypse with my wonderful friend, CraigDiLouie. Greatly looking forward to his book, Suffer the Children, and the poetry that I’m forcing him at gunpoint to write.

·       Pitching my novel, The Eighth.

·      Chatting with my favorite power couple, Jason and Sunni Brock. Love these two. Always great conversation and lots of laughs. Plus, when you throw William F. Nolan and Gardner Goldsmith into the mix, you know things are only going to get better!

·        Meeting Rocky Wood and having one of the most enlightening and delightful conversations that I’ve ever had.

·       Sharing my Bram Stoker nomination moment with the man that inspired me to write poetry: Michael A.Arnzen. It was a wonderful experience and the added bonus of getting to have dinner and share it with him was the tops. Cheers, my friend.

·       Dancing at the Lovecraft with Tim Waggoner and my insanely wonderful roommates: Ryan DeMoss, Michelle Lane, and Joe Borelli. Not only have we had the great experience of studying and crafting together, but now we get to travel the world with one another, too, and keep making memories. Cin Ferguson, you too my dear. Our walk and dinner at the Blossoming Lotus was a great treat and I really enjoyed catching some one-on-one time with you.

·       Exploring Powell’s Bookstore and snagging some great classic beat poetry.

·      Stumbling upon the Saturday Market with Michelle where I bought a great hat right after the gentleman was done crocheting it.

·        Meeting a ton of my lovely Facebook and Twitter friends for the first time. Immediate friendships were had and it was as if we didn’t even skip a beat.

·       Having drinks, lots of laughs, and great conversation with the one and only JackKetchum, who is the man that inspired me to start writing horror. I raise my glass (sorry it’s only tea) to you, sir. Can’t wait for our paths to cross again.

The entire convention was a blessing and I feel strongly that I’ve left with some of the best memories and experiences to date. There is nothing more refreshing and special than friendship and on the taxi cab ride back to the airport, Gardner said something that will stay with me forever: “It’s not the stories we write, it’s the friendships we make.” Beautifully put and absolutely true.

Sending all my love and good energy to my friends. Safe travels and I’ll see you all next year in Atlanta, and some of you even sooner at Seton Hill, Necon, and Confluence.

 

xoxo,

--Stephanie M. Wytovich