Showing posts with label dead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dead. Show all posts

Thursday, 7 March 2019

Interview with Author Feyisayo Anjorin

Today I have an interview with author Feyisayo Anjorin who discusses writing and his novella, The Night My Dead Girlfriend Called.  Enjoy.


Interview with Author Feyisayo Anjorin




Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself?

My name is Feyisayo Anjorin, I am a writer, a filmmaker, a husband, a father, a lover of all good things.


Could you tell us about your latest book?

My novella, “The Night My Dead Girlfriend Called” is an urban fantasy/science fiction set in 22nd century Nigeria, about the personal conflict of a young police officer against the backdrop of the societal changes orchestrated by the possible intrusion of technology into realms that had been hitherto totally human-driven.


What did you enjoy most about writing the urban fantasy/science fiction genre?

I particularly enjoy the freedom to create a world that is familiar and at the same time strange. The cosmopolitan cities in Africa come alive in the book, and I was able to put in a bit of Yoruba mythology. I am Yoruba from South West Nigeria, so a bit of the traditional spiritual beliefs of my people, with my knowledge of technology, where it is and where it would likely go; and the conflict of culture too, and unbridled creativity, all that, in a good mix, got me a great story.



Why did you write this book? What was your inspiration?

One day I was thinking about a friend who lost his wife, and who wanted to start dating not long after the bereavement. This decision got some people talking, asking why this man is in a hurry to replace the dead. So I imagined the man and his wife, their life together, their love so strong, I imagined the man’s wife being jealous and not happy about being replaced. That was how the story came. Initially, it was meant to be a short story, but when it was published by Brittle Paper, Ainehi Edoro, the editor of the magazine, wanted me to write a more comprehensive story. It was easy.



What did you enjoy most about writing your book?

I loved the personality of the dead woman, Sade, and the confusion of Badoo, the lead character, the way I was about to explore Yoruba mythology and what our people believe about dead people.


Did anything surprise you about the process of writing your book?

I was surprised by the end, because there was a time that I thought I could not start writing something if I do not know how it would end, but after Brittle Paper commissioned a story series (which was eventually compiled and became the novella) I was just writing episode by episode, not knowing how it would end. The characters developed on their own, based on their motivation, conflicts and relationships.


Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?

When a certain story possibility comes to mind, I dwell on the thought to see what interesting things could come of it, then I start writing things on paper. I guess the things that I write typically come from the synthesis of ideas, whether from the books that I’ve read or from the stories I hear, I mean real life stories, or from a song. I don’t have a strict writing routine but anytime I have the opportunity to be alone, I write. If I don’t have the opportunity to write I would read, because I can read anywhere, no matter the noise. I need absolute peace and quiet to be productive as a writer though.


How do you research for your books?

It depends on the genre I’m trying to write. I notice that anytime I read about the Yoruba traditional religion, I write scary stuff, not because it is scary, but I am a Christian, I am Yoruba too. We typically fear what we don’t understand, especially spiritual stuff. If I am writing about another African country as in the case of ‘Kasali’s Africa’ I just read newspapers and online articles from that country. Sometimes I just read, and then writing something similar becomes easy.


What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?

My next project is a story collection “Women of the City”, it’s about women fighting for survival in a city that is, in fact, a perilous jungle without looking like it.



The Night My Dead Girlfriend Called is available on Amazon.




As the 22nd century Nigeria becomes divided by the plan of the government to introduce law enforcement robots into the police services, Badoo, a young police officer gets a phone call from his dead girlfriend.
The passage of time and the persistence of the calls slowly turns Badoo’s affection for the deceased to hatred. 
Badoo has to summon the courage to face Pa Fakunle, a witchdoctor, a man of secrets who says far less than he knows; and an unknown top police establishment bent on disputing his sanity.





Monday, 6 November 2017

Book Spotlight: The Dead Ride Fast

Today I have a book spotlight, for the collection of horror western short stories, The Dead Ride Fast by Jackson Kuhl. Enjoy!


The Dead Ride Fast by Jackson Kuhl



A gang of bank robbers arrives in a town where the local newspaper prints the future. A prospector discovers the cost of gold is the loss of himself. An abandoned ranch house conceals a dark history. An ailing sailor is initiated into a secret world after consuming an unusual medicine. A businessman reopens a silver mine that should have been left sealed. Two young girls confront a string of unnoticed disappearances.

The Dead Ride Fast collects five stories previously published in the award-winning magazine Black Static and various anthologies, including the Stoker-nominated Dark Tales of Lost Civilizations. An original story is also included.

Ghosts. Doppelgängers. Our guilty yesterdays and anxious tomorrows. Saddle up for six stories of existential dread on the haunted frontier.



The Dead Ride Fast is available as an e-book on AmazonSmashwords, and Kobo





Author Bio:

Jackson Kuhl is the author of the Revolutionary War biography SAMUEL SMEDLEY, CONNECTICUT PRIVATEER and the fiction collection THE DEAD RIDE FAST. Kuhl has written for Atlas Obscura, Connecticut Magazine, the Hartford Courant, National Geographic News, Reason, and other publications.

Website: http://www.jacksonkuhl.com/

Wednesday, 1 February 2017

Drabble Wednesday: Scavengers

Today on Drabble Wednesday walk among the carrion and join the devourers, the eaters of the dead...




Reclamation Duty

You know the worst part of this gig? The smell. Not what I imagined. I figured it would be the process itself. Loading the flesh, hauling everything to the factory. Watching it be ground up, knowing what went into the general food supply. I figured that would get to me.
Funny, it didn’t. Guess you can adapt to anything. But the smell. Some of those bodies plain reeked... human decomposition has an odor let me tell you.
I’m just glad this job came with real food perks.
No way I wanted to eat that processed stuff they feed most people. 

~*~




Crow

Her stilted gait picked its way past the corpses, her body hunched, her bobbing head tilted to one side. Her feathered head ruffled in the breeze, and her yellow eyes darted across the battlefield, looking.
Where, where? Which one, which one?
Her bony arms fluttered slightly. A movement echoed by the hoards of her kind waddling their way through the dead. Each one searching, like her, for their perfect carcass. Suddenly, she stopped. She sniffed the air.
There, there. He’s the one.
Like many of her fellows, she trundled over to a fallen warrior, knelt down and began to feast.

~*~




Soul Stalker

I hunt for a living.
It ain’t pretty, no glory, no adventure. It’s boring, mostly, just waiting around. Stalking some poor hapless oaf, following him until he dies. That’s the only fun part, after the person kicks off.
I can smell them you see, humans about to die. Doesn’t matter if they’re sick, or about to be murdered, or hit by a bus. The stench of impending death clings like maggots on a rotting corpse.
So I wait. For their last breath.
Then I swoop in, a nameless shadow, and devour their soul.
That’s the prize. Humans are so delicious.






© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved


Wednesday, 19 October 2016

Drabble Wednesday: Undead Things


Today on Drabble Wednesday, come spend a day among the undead...





Fading Memories

A tangerine and cherry red sunset. The clouds seem to dance with the colours. My mother used to say the sky gave us fireworks to welcome the night.
I wonder if I’ll remember her, or sunsets. When it happens. When this me is gone.
I breathe the smell of the dewy grass, and the stink of rotting corpse. You can’t escape that smell anymore.
Damn. Why wasn’t I more careful?
What’s careful anymore? You live until your luck runs out. Like mine did.
I glance at the remains of mutilated zombie, and then at its bite mark on my arm.

~*~





Eulogy

I can still hear the screams.
That’s what happens when you crash your own funeral as a walking corpse. Not that I wanted to attend as the risen undead, or even die for that matter, but I didn’t get a choice. A car accident cut short my life and for the other thing...
Never have an affair with a woman who dabbles in the occult.
Break ups get unnaturally messy.
But I did have the last say, because she screwed up whatever the hell she did.
Now she’s dead with the rest of the funeral party.
She was tasty though.

~*~




Return

The stench of brimstone clings to me. Even inhabiting this corpse I can smell it. In these clothes, the hair, on the skin. I wanted to escape Hell, not bring it with me.
I sigh. Best ignore and keep moving.
I scurry forward, staying to the shadows. I’ve slipped into the body of a woman, that much I know. Someone knifed in an alley, guessing from the blood and where I woke up. At least the wound is healing.
Now I just need to avoid the bounty hunters and kill my back-stabbing husband.
Then we can be in Hell together.





© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved



Monday, 2 May 2016

Book Spotlight: Sonny

Today on the blog, I bring you a book spotlight for the newly released horror/thriller, Sonny by MJ Mulholland. Enjoy...



Sonny by MJ Mulholland

Meet Sonny – quiet, simple, murderous – and all he wants to do is join the club.
He is taken under the wing of a professional in the field of torture and murder, and is tested and shown the bloody horror of the house he will now inhabit.
Sonny meets the rest of the team, and soon realises that he needs to be careful if he is going to survive at all inside a house of murderers and helpless victims, where being dead becomes a luxury.
But there is one thing to remember – you are Sonny, and Sonny is you.

Are you what you first appear to be?





Sonny is available at:





Author Bio:

MJ Mulholland was born out of love for the horror genre and the need to push the limits of what horror is. He enjoys the quiet, he enjoys the dark, and with his pen and paper he weaves monsters that his counterpart doesn't dare to even look at. In his spare time, he watches you.



Wednesday, 6 April 2016

Drabble Wednesday: Disappeared

Today Drabble Wednesday does a vanishing act…






Ghosts

Have you ever been so afraid that you didn’t want to open your eyes?
That you wanted to stay in the dark?
Because there was nothing you could do to stop what's coming?
Every night since we moved into this house I’ve felt that afraid.
Whenever they came into my room.
They simply appeared at the foot of my bed, mouthing silent words, before vanishing.
The dead ones.
No one believed me. They sent me to doctors. Told me I was hallucinating.
Oh, why didn’t they believe me?
They’ll believe now.
Now that I’m missing.
Now that they’ve taken me.

~*~





Magic

It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I mean who wouldn’t want to dabble in magic? Real, honest-to-goodness, change reality magic. And I was good at it. Sure there were a few missteps, but nothing major.
Until that one big mistake.
Just one bad pronunciation, and boom! Mystical backlash and the guy teaching me the spell is dead.
And that wasn’t the worst of it.
Despite everything the spell worked.
Problem is, I can’t turn it off. And the only person who knew how is, well, deceased.
And let me tell you, being invisible gets old quick.

~*~





Hell

What if hell isn’t what we thought?
No fire, no brimstone, no devil.
Torment, yes, but the rest… I don’t think it exists.
I died you see, I’m not sure when, but it’s been a while, and I didn’t go to heaven.
I didn’t expect to go there—I’ve never been a good person—but I didn’t expect this.
Hell is some kind of limbo.
Eternally drifting outside the living world. Watching everything you used to be pass you by. Never touching, never interacting. No one can see or hear you. Ever. It’s a totality of in-between.
An invisible hell.



© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved



You may have notice Drabble Wednesday posted earlier today. That’s because it’s a double act today on the blog, with another #B2BCYCON author feature also posting.



Wednesday, 2 March 2016

Drabble Wednesday: The End Of All

Today on Drabble Wednesday we walk in the valley of the shadow of Death…





Descending Petals

A bloom plucked, wilted on its stem, dried petals tumbling to the earth. Age and time called Death’s hand, and turned a rose to dust.
“So beautiful, once.”
The desiccated petals scattered to the wind, bits of mummified life, of membrane and skin peeled off and abandoned to generations.
“So lost, so alone.”
Little more than a husk, shrivelled, thorns still clinging, next to a fragmented blossom speck or two not yet gone. That tiny spark of life, refusing to accept the inescapable.
“Come with me. I am all you have left.”
Last petals falling, into the embrace of Death.

~*~



War

Death comes on swift wings, swooping towards the battlefield like a dark sheathed Valkyrie. It walks the blood soaked earth, its touch indiscriminate, in that final illustration of fragile mortality. It is inevitably drawn here, to the best of feeding grounds.
Death’s shadow stalks every breath, civilian and combatant, the bystander and the blood-stained. It flies with every bullet, and strides in every footstep. It consumes in fire, in ruin, in rivers of blood, with no mercy, no preference. Death cares not for ideology, politics, religion, nor race. It simply comes.
It comes for us all…  why help it along?

~*~



The Price of Fear

Them, Us. Us, Them.
Drawn the lines, build the walls. Keep the danger out. Keep it out. Keep Them out.
Is your neighbour the right kind? Be suspicious. Voice your suspicions. Suspicions constructed on fear.
Should you be afraid?
Fear the difference. Difference is bad.
Bad must be destroyed. Bad can hurt us. Keep the traditions, keep everything pure. Get angry.
Should you be angry?
Time to take back. Speak up. Rise up.
Violently.
Scream, Kick, Punch, Lynch. Riot, Bomb, Terrorize.
Kill Them all.
Lay waste to human lives.
Lay waste to the world.
Because that solves the problem.
Never.



© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved



Wednesday, 27 January 2016

Drabble Wednesday: Buried

Today upon this Drabble Wednesday we come not to mourn, but to unearth those things that should stay buried…




Dead and Buried

The hour grew late, and the church bells chimed their dirge. I watched the funeral procession slowly climb the hill to the graveyard, the closing rays of sunlight dancing with lengthening shadows. The mourners were few: the pallbearers hoisting the shiny mahogany casket, the dry-eyed widow, and a few backstabbing family members. A pitiful parade, but one to be expected given the decreased.
You see, I was a most horrible person in life, cruel, ruthless, vindictive. I took great pleasure in tormenting any hapless creature that crossed my path.
That shall not change. In death, I will truly haunt them.

~*~




Nevermore

One black feather.
It floated with the puff of winter air, a capricious thing, and settled tenderly upon the cold ground.
A raven’s feather.
Shed from the wing of a soaring bird, fled from war and towards a far distant shore. In its wake came a fading echo; the keening cries of the dying and the lasting silence of the dead. It preceded the howling tempest…

Soon, the sun peered from behind the clouds; the storm had passed. In its aftermath the land remained, blanketed with snow, the shroud to cover the decaying bones and the crumbling ruins of kingdoms.

~*~




Waiting

Dust, earth, smoke and bone.
Interred deep, below the soil, overgrown.
I still breathe, this timeworn air, here in my box, thin of flesh and coil of hair.
They called me mad, called me witch. Bound me up, left me to twitch. It didn’t work, no, not one tiny bit. For I’m still here, though worse for wear, I’ll admit.
I’ve been patient, I’ve been calm. I believe I’ve shown some aplomb.  Yes, through the ages, I’ve lain so silent. Nary one peep, nothing violent.
But my time is coming, I can feel. Soon from my grave, I will steal.




© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved




Wednesday, 25 November 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Quests

Today on Drabble Wednesday we go questing with warriors, peasants and kings…




The Eye of Blood

The messenger died at the feet of his king.
King Andras tossed his bloodied dagger on top of his latest victim.
From a limp hand of the dead, the king retrieved a wooden box, the prize that cost the messenger his life. Inside lay treasure, a dream that set his kingdom to fire and ruin.
The Eye of the Gods. The Bloodstone.
Power.
The king lifted the lid. A large scarlet gemstone nestled within, resting on black velvet.
“Mine, you are mine.” He closed his fist around the stone. And screamed.
The body of the king fell beside his messenger.

~*~




Fabled Journey

Warriors never die easy.
A saying he should have remembered five days ago, and stayed home, safe in his bed. Glory, honour and fabled riches weren’t worth slogging through a swamp on a daft quest. Nor ease tired joints after being chased by a ballycoot wraith through the Forest of Shadows. And they sure as spit weren’t worth dying at the hands of a dragon.
“What are you waiting for? Slay the beast.” The frantic shout came from inside the cave, from his companions.
“No.” With a whisper, he turned around and headed home.
This warrior would die another day.

~*~ 




Be Careful What You Wish…

All Evan dreamed came true, one rainy afternoon.
The day the warriors rode into town, looking to recruit men to join their ranks. To serve the Baron. They promised camaraderie, adventure, a better life. Evan swallowed the stories whole, but it wouldn’t have mattered what they said, for they promised a life away from the pokey village he called home. Away from his dreary future as a sheep farmer.
Funny how that was, how he longed to leave. Now two years in, two long years riding hard, fighting ogres, dragons, and everything in-between, all he dreamed was to go home.



© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved 

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Book Spotlight: Coffin Riders

Today we shine the spotlight on the intriguing fantasy horror novel, Coffin Riders by James W. Bodden. It looks like a great book, and a treat for horror fans, so enjoy...




Coffin Riders by James W. Bodden


The worst part about hell? There aren't enough towels. 

Bloom deep-throats the barrel, and pulls the trigger. He waits for Lorraine to follow him into the afterlife, just like they planned, but she never shows. Death has no payoff. 

He drops down to the underworld, a place called Paradise Cove, an assisted afterlife facility masquerading as a cheap hotel deep in the bowels of the earth. A modern day Dante, Bloom searches desperately for a way out of hell. He journeys through the nine known underworlds in a mad search for his lady love to take the revenge he thinks he is owed.

Death is a spiral: the deeper you go the worse it gets.



You can find Coffin Riders at:




Author Bio:

James W. Bodden’s the writer of the Red Light Princess, and Coffin Riders. He lives in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and has hunted UFOs for a late night radio show, and after fresh corpses as a crime beat reporter.


Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Secrets

Today on Drabble Wednesday I delve into the dark shadows and even darker hearts…




A Venice Night

I slip through shadows and sunset and the drifting mist, my near silent footsteps swallowed by the ocean lapping against the bridge. A gondola is waiting; soon I will be lost among the murky waterways and alleys of the city. As I near my escape, I clutch my precious satchel close, my free hand grasping my stiletto.
Too late I see. An empty gondola, the flash of another blade. Pain in my side, my useless knife falls. I watch the assassin snatch away my satchel, the stolen papers reclaimed. Then he rolls me into the water and all goes black.




Winter

A winter snowfall blankets a crisp white across the mountain landscape, imbuing the night with a quiet beauty. Against the weather, welcoming light—cast from a human dwelling—flickers. A sliding door stands open, the frigid air swirling past the bamboo and wood.
A breeze wafts a flurry of the tumbling flakes inside the home. A tiny storm dances, and for a moment, a minuscule of time, the white suspends in air. Then it descends. It spawns a brief contrast to red stains on the floor, before it melts into pooling liquid.
Before it joins the blood of the dead.




Desert Sand

Footsteps, impressions in the sand. Two sets lead out into the desert, the tracks of friends, of two adventurous men. One man, a natural leader, outgoing, handsome, a risk taker. The other quiet, more introverted, cautious, but clever and patient.
One man kissed his beautiful wife as he left this morning, the other shut his door on an empty apartment. Two friends. One careless with his words, never letting his success go unremarked. The other smiles while resentment and envy churn in his heart.
Footsteps, impressions in the sand. Two sets lead out into the desert, only one lead back.



Saturday, 9 May 2015

Book Spotlight: Grave Touched

A bit of science fantasy today, with spotlight for the novel, Grave Touched by Erin Zarro, the second book in the Fey Touched series. Enjoy!


Grave Touched by Erin Zarro
Book 2 of the Fey Touched series. 

Fey Touched – humans, genetically engineered for immortality and flight, tasked with protecting the rest of the world from rogue Fey...

Grave Touched – dead souls in search of living bodies to possess, especially those who've had a brush with death...

When Fey Touched Hunter Emily wakes up in a hospital, she doesn’t know that she was in fact dead. Nor does she know that her lover, Nick, broke all kinds of rules to bring her back. But the grave touched do.
Fey Touched Healer Asha does know that her mate, Joe, saved her when her abilities nearly killed her. And she knows the voices in her head are the grave touched trying to stake their claim. Asha needs Joe’s help again, but unfortunately she’s the only one who believes the grave touched exist.
The grave touched are plotting to take over the corporeal world, and they’re gaining strength. Only Emily and Asha stand in their way – and both are about to be possessed.

Grave Touched. 


Please note that this book contains explicit sex, explicit language, and violence and is not suitable for those under 18.

You can find Grave Touched at:

Kobo 


Fey Touched, book 1, is ON SALE for $.99 for a limited time!

Fey Touched on Amazon
     


Author Bio:

Erin Zarro is an indie novelist and poet living in Michigan. She's married to her Prince Charming, and she has a feline child named Hailey who she's convinced is part vampire. She loves all things scary and spooky, and is on a mission to scare herself, as nothing lately has scared her. She writes in the genres of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. Her first published novel, Fey Touched, is a blend of sci-fi and fantasy. She is currently working on Book 3, Ever Touched, and is trying to stay out of trouble. Mostly.
Her website is at erinzarro.com.


Wednesday, 30 April 2014

A Poem To Close Out National Poetry Month

I've been celebrating National Poetry Month over on Facebook (with one of my poetry groups), but I thought I'd do a last hurrah here as well. So for your enjoyment, a dark poem to chill your soul... 


Ashen

Path of stones, pale bones
to carry them down
Hear the wild wind howl

The crow caws, give pause
Shadows shift around
Hear the wild wind howl

Wolf in white, need bite
savagery unbound
Hear the wild wind howl

A scream lost, in frost
countless echoes sound
Hear the wild wind howl

None to save, buried grave
The dead, in the ground
Hear the wild wind howl




Wednesday, 13 November 2013

Spotlight on Waking Up Dead

I'm showcasing a book today, the paranormal mystery, Waking Up Dead by Margo Bond Collins:




Waking Up Dead by Margo Bond Collins

When Dallas resident Callie Taylor died young, she expected to go to Heaven, or maybe Hell. Instead, when she met her fate early thanks to a creep with a knife and a mommy complex, she went to Alabama. Now she's witnessed another murder, and she's not about to let this one go. She's determined to help solve it before an innocent man goes to prison. And to answer the biggest question of all: why the hell did she wake up dead in Alabama?






An Excerpt from Waking Up Dead :

When I died, I expected to go to heaven.
Okay. Maybe hell. It’s not like I was perfect or anything. But I was sort of hoping for heaven.
Instead, I went to Alabama.
Yeah. I know. It’s weird.
I died in Dallas, my hometown. I was killed, actually. Murdered. I’ll spare you the gruesome details. I don’t like to remember them myself. Some jerk with a knife--and probably a Bad-Mommy complex. Believe me, if I knew where he was, I’d go haunt his ass.
At any rate, by the time death came, I was ready for it--ready to stop hurting, ready to let go. I didn't even fight it.
And then I woke up dead in Alabama. Talk about pissed off.
You know, even reincarnation would have been fine with me--I could have started over, clean slate and all that. Human, cow, bug. Whatever. But no. I ended up haunting someplace I’d never even been.
That’s not the way it’s supposed to work, right? Ghosts are supposed to be the tortured spirits of those who cannot let go of their earthly existence. If they could be convinced to follow the light, they’d leave behind said earthly existence and quit scaring the bejesus out of the poor folks who run across them. That’s what all those “ghost hunter” shows on television tell us.
Let me tell you something. The living don’t know jack about the dead.
Not this dead chick, anyway.


Waking Up Dead is available on Amazon
And for your Goodreads bookshelves





About the Author:

Margo Bond Collins lives in Texas with her husband, their daughter, several spoiled cats, and a ridiculous turtle. She teaches college-level English courses online, though writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about vampires, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, and other monsters. Waking Up Dead is her first published novel. Her second novel, Legally Undead, is an urban fantasy, forthcoming in 2014 from World Weaver Press.

Connect with Margo:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/margobondcollins
Website: http://www.MargoBondCollins.com
Twitter:  @MargoBondCollin
Google+: https://plus.google.com/116484555448104519902
Goodreads Author Page: http://www.goodreads.com/vampirarchy
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/MargoBondCollins
Facebook Novel Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Waking-Up-Dead/502076076537575
Tumblr: http://vampirarchybooks.tumblr.com/
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/mbondcollins/


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