A Campfire Chat With Steve Vernon

Today I have a guest stopping by to chat. Talented horror author, and fellow Atlantic Canadian, Steve Vernon discusses writer's block and tips to get through those "staring at the blank page moments" we all have. Plus, there's a peek at his hockey horror book, Sudden Death Overtime. Enjoy...

A CAMPFIRE CHAT WITH STEVE VERNON

ON BURNING THROUGH WRITER’S BLOCK

Autumn is my favorite time of year.

You can feel the changes whispering at hushed gallop in the breeze as the sky leans down to kiss the leaves into bouquets of flame and color. It feels as a doorway has opened up in front of you and you know that you are going to have step right through the doorway into the weird winter world that is just waiting beyond it.

It is November and a lot of you folks – like me – are getting set to take part in NaNoWriMo. You are getting set to try and lay down 50,000 freaking words in a month that is only 30 days long.

That is a daunting task – but it shouldn’t ought to be so.

Let me give you the secret.

Let me whisper it into your ears.

Sit down.

Sit down here at the campfire.

These are magic words to the human ear. The campfire is a place in the universe where we all come to listen to the crackling dance of wood upon flame.

Every time that a writer sits down at their keyboard they get in touch with that inner spark as they blow their words upon the embers of their imagination trying to roar that flame into life.

That is what you need to remember whenever you find yourself at that fatal sticking point. When you start to think too damn much and you worry about what word you are going to put down next.

Remember – this is not rocket science.

It isn’t even writing – not really. Not when you stop to think about it.

You are just telling a story.

Don’t fear that.

Don’t let yourself freeze up.

Remember – we are ALL born knowing how to tell stories. Just as soon as you open your mouth and say “A funny thing happened to me just yesterday morning…” you are getting set to tell a story – and that is ALL that writing really is. At the heart of it, at the root of it – you are just telling a story.

You cannot open your mouth without a story falling out.

Whether you are talking about the hockey game that you watched last night, or the reason why your girlfriend has decided to run away with the local hot tub salesman, or if you are trying to sum up the answer to the meaning of life in 42 words or less – you are telling a story.

I always get a quiet little giggle out of how many people think that I am some kind of a freaking genius just because I know how to wrap a story around the framework of a novel and make it work.

It isn’t brilliant.

It isn’t freaking rocket science.

It is just telling a story.

 As you sit down at the keyboard today just stop and picture yourself sitting at a campfire across from your very best friend in the universe.

I mean besides your dog.

Just picture yourself sitting there and telling a story to very best friend and stop freaking out about how you are supposed to be writing and how this is supposed to be hard and just let the words ember and roll.

Blow each syllable upon the flames of your imagination and let the fire rise up inside of your spirit.

And if you think that I am just talking at you and telling you something that really isn’t all that true just stop and remember that I wrote this entire 600 word blog entry utilizing a strong underlying autumnal subtext with overtones of flame and fire without ever using the word “kindle”.

Speaking of kindle…

SUDDEN DEATH OVERTIME – A STORY OF HOCKEY AND VAMPIRES

Meet Sprague Deacon - one of the toughest old-time hockey players who ever skated upon a rink of hand-poured ice. Sprague was born and raised and he expects to die here on the Northern Labrador coast. What he did not expect was a tour bus full of vampires - none of whom glitter in the least bit - to pull into his town and begin lowering the population level - one corpse at a time. Sprague and his three best friends - an over-the-hill never-say quit bush league hockey team from Northern Labrador go toe-to-tooth with a tour bus full of vampires in an immortal-stakes showdown of street hockey? For the answer - throw Paul Newman's Slapshot into a blender with Steven Niles 30 Days of Night and hit frappe! Also including the bonus time travelling hockey tale, "Time Out" as well as a bonus hockey-oriented ghost story, "Smoke Signals". Only 99 cents for this week only.

Available on

Amazon.com - http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00P2P5WMY

Amazon.ca - http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00P2P5WMY

Apple - https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id998047572

Kobo - https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/sudden-death-overtime

Book Spotlight: The Tale of Sawney Bean

Today I shine the spotlight on the horror series, The Tale of Sawney Bean by Kevin J. Kennedy. Enjoy...

The Tale of Sawney Bean by Kevin J. Kennedy

The myth of Sawney Bean has long been discussed and adapted into other stories. There has been discussion on which parts of the tale are fact and which parts are fiction. 

This is the story from the mans mouth himself. Sawney Beans journey from a twelve year old lad into the leader of the most notorious cannibal family to ever live. He tells the tale of how he met his wife and how they ended up raising a massive inbred clan in a secluded cave not far from the very people they were killing for food. 

Here Sawney's side of the story and the true facts of what actually happened. Was he a cold blooded cannibal or just another man trying to do his best for his family?

Part coming of age tale, part biography. Follow the Bean clans rise from the very first meeting of the founding members in the is fantastic series by Kevin Kennedy.

The Tale of Sawney Bean can be found free on Smashwords. 

Author Bio:

Kevin Kennedy is a family man who lives with his wife, daughter and the worlds two craziest cats. He grew up reading everything Richard Laymon had written before finding Brian Keene, Edward Lee, Bryan Smith, Ray Garton, Iain Rob Wright, John R Little, Carlton Mellick III and so many more. He has several short stories due for release this year in various anthologies and will be posting free fiction on Smashwords.

You can find more about Kevin on his Smashwords profile:

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KevinJKennedy

Halloween Week: Step Into The Woods

Happy Halloween!

For this day of scare fests, we travel the forest path, far into the darkness…

Calling You

A single voice.

A sweetling voice.

A treble tone, and sing-song notes, of joy and giggling.

A voice to dance among the treetops and sing among the posies. A voice that calls, Come hither, come hither. It’s a beautiful day. It beckons and you will follow.

You will follow it off the safest path, and within the darkest woods. You will follow past the perfume scents and through the sharpest thorns. You will follow though the sun has set and the night is always met. You will chase the voice around the trees, and see them all appear. Their yellow eyes, their sharpened teeth, their fetid whispers in your ear.

And then the voice, that sweetling voice, that voice will call your name.

It will sing your song, your final song, and then your life will end…

With a screaming voice.

Your single voice.

Buried Bones

I miss the warmth of the sunlight.

It is too cold and dark buried here beneath the earth.

I miss the sounds of laughter, of my sweet children’s voices.

Interred deep, I hear nothing save the scrabbling of mice and insects.

I miss the moon, I miss the stars, but not the night.

Without eyes, I live in darkness.

I miss the smell of perfume on my skin. I miss my skin.

Would that I could turn back time.

Would that I could live again.

But I am nothing but murdered bones.

Trapped and forgotten under the forest soil.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

Thank you for joining me in this week long celebration of Halloween fun.
Have a great and scary day!

And remember, as a Halloween treat, you still have until midnight October 31^st
to download both books in my Killers and Demons series for free on Smashwords. 

Check them out here:

Killers and Demons

Killers and Demons II: They Return

Halloween Week: Rebirth

Something’s Coming…

Rebirth

Evening raindrops clung to a broken spider web, and fallen leaves held water like tiny crumbling cups. Silence draped across the forest; the animals fled at sunset when the sky shed its first tear. Even the carrion birds flew away, and the rodents scampered deep down into their holes.

The animals knew.

No moon graced the shrouded sky, and no starry luminosity scattered the inky air swallowing the trees. Fog crept like silky spiders, thick and velvet over the ground, obscuring earth and flora. Grey met black and swirled, mingling, melding in a darkling kiss.

And the night waited.

It waited in stillness, the breath of air grave and expectant with longing. It waited cold and cavernous, as if time gave this occasion pause. And then… past the midnight hour it came. A faint noise from beneath the onyx soil. Scrabbling, scratching, fingernails in the dirt.

Digging upward.

The ground trembled, softly, gently, as if a lover’s touch caressed it. The wind sighed, dancing among the trees and twirling with the hoary mist. Slowly, slowly, the earth gave way, the soil parted, cracked, and a bony hand burrowed out from beneath the world. Then a shoulder, and a head, and the thin skeletal remains of what once was human.

It cried.

A hoarse, guttural pain.

It hungered.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

And so ends today's Halloween fun.
Tomorrow is our last day of Halloween Week, with one last horror story.
I hope you'll join me, as we go for a final walk in the woods...

And remember, for a Halloween treat, both books in my Killers and Demons series

are free until midnight October 31^st on Smashwords. 

Check them out here:

Killers and Demons

Killers and Demons II: They Return

Halloween Week: The Wee Folk

Sometimes all you need is a little help...

The Wee Folk

Momma always placed a saucer of milk on the back porch every evening just before dusk.

“For the Wee Folk. You never know what lurks in the gloaming,” she said, “Best to leave an offering.” Then she’d smile and add, “’Sides, you never know when an offering will come in handy.”

I never failed to see her leave that saucer, even though it irritated my Daddy until the day he died. Once or twice she left other offerings out there too; don’t know if my Daddy ever knew about those. The way things turned out in the end, maybe he should have. He might’ve done things different.

And if he’d done things different, maybe I would’ve too. Maybe I wouldn’t have married Harry. Maybe if I had a better role model than a drunken good-for-nothing who beat on his wife, I might’ve aimed higher. But I didn’t, and I ended up with a part-time mechanic with a temper for a husband. I also ended up on the wrong end of his fists when he was drunk. Which happened fairly often. They do say girls marry men like their daddies. I sure did.

For a while I just took it. Kept my mouth shut, and pretended everything was fine. Daddy was still alive then, so going home wouldn’t have been better. And Harry wasn’t quite as bad as Daddy. He usually just gave me a few smacks and then stopped. Daddy used to beat Momma black and blue.

After Daddy died, I thought about leaving Harry and going home, but I waited too long. Momma put the house up for sale and hightailed it out of town. Came to me, suitcase in hand, kissed me on the cheek, and said goodbye. I haven’t seen her since. I thought I’d hate her for that, but I didn’t. I knew why she left, and I didn’t blame her.

‘Sides, by then I had met Sam.

He sidled into town one day, and got a job at the factory where I worked. Not in the same department as me, but we saw each other in the lunch room, and out back when we sneaked a smoke or two. We were both trying to quit, and failing miserably.

It didn’t take long before it went from friendly chat, to up close and personal smooching, and then quickies after work in his truck. It went on months, and maybe it was wrong to be cheating, but for the first time in forever I was happy. And hey, Harry didn’t have a clue.

Of course, that didn’t last. Things had to go and get more complicated.

It was in the back of the truck, just after, well you know. I’d pulled my clothes back on and was fixing to leave. And then Sam said it.

“I love you.”

I stared for a minute, and forgot to breathe. Before I could think, the answering words tumbled out.

“I love you, too.”

There, it was all out, and no taking it back. I didn’t leave the truck. I stayed and we talked. We made decisions. And then I went back home. To Harry.

I told Sam I’d leave my husband, but that I needed to tell him in person. But I was afraid, you see. Of what Harry would do. Truth was, my mind tumbled in on itself, and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be with Sam, but Harry… no telling how he would react. He might come after us, do something terrible.

It was about then I started wishing Harry would die.

Maybe that’s why I got that revolver out of the drawer. For protection. Maybe I figured it would scare him, when I told him I was leaving.

It didn’t.

I stared him down, gun behind my back. Looked at his sneering face, and said, “I’m leaving you, Harry.”

He laughed, and backhanded me across the cheek. I fell. He stood over me. “You ain’t ever getting rid of me, bitch.”

Something in me snapped. I brandished the gun. He lunged, grabbed the weapon. Next thing I knew the gun went off and Harry was bleeding out over the hardwood floor.

“Help—help me.” He reached his hand towards me, but I backed away and scrambled to my feet.

I stood there, and watched him die.

Then I realized what happened.

Harry was dead, and I killed him.

Panic started creping in about then. Folks might believe I had no choice, knowing Harry’s temper, but some people knew about me and Sam. They might think I did it on purpose.

Maybe I did. I sure as hell wanted him dead. Maybe part of me provoked him, gave myself the excuse. And if I don’t know for sure, will other people believe I didn’t murder him?

I stared out the window, feeling lost and scared. The sun was starting to turn the sky all shades of pretty. Then it hit me. The Wee Folk.

Heck, it worked for Momma when she killed Daddy, maybe it’ll work for me.

Yeah, I didn’t mention that, did I? Murdering kind of runs in our family.

I dragged Harry’s body out to our back porch and covered it with a blanket. Took me a few minutes and I worked up a sweat. Then I went to the kitchen and poured a saucer of milk. I put that on the porch next to Harry’s head.

I fidgeted for a minute, shuffling my feet and clearing my throat. I felt a bit odd, but it was worth a shot. “I’d appreciate it, if you’d take this offering. I know it’s been a while, and I ain’t been good to you like Momma, but I need your help. I know what you did for Momma, helping her and others fix their problems, and I’m asking the same.  I promise, if you fix this for me, I’ll keep leaving things on the porch for you.”

I stared at the darkening woods. The leaves rustled, and I swear I heard whispering. I took a breath, let it out, and went inside to clean up the rest of the mess I’d made.

~*~

The next morning I stood for the longest time at the back door, afraid to go on the porch. What if they didn’t take him? What if Harry was still there? How would I explain what I’d done?

I could always tell them I left Harry for the wee folk. Go with an insanity defense.

I finally turned the knob and opened the door.

No Harry. The body was gone. Not even any blood.

The saucer was there though, empty. Not a drop of milk left. I picked it up.

Then I sighed, a rush of relief flooding though me, and closed the door.

On the way to the kitchen, I began thinking of ways to explain Harry not being here anymore. Figured I best plead ignorance. That he took off after a fight and never came back. Might pack a few of Harry’s things and leave them out on the porch tonight. Might help with the story, if it looks like Harry took his stuff with him. Good thing his truck got repossessed last week.

All I got to do is keep it simple. It ain’t like anybody’s ever going to find that body. The wee folk don’t ever give back what’s been offered.

My momma taught me that.

I put the saucer in the sink, staring at the woods through the window. I never liked to think on some of what Momma did when I was growing up, but I guess it sunk in anyway. I guess her and me are the more alike than I figured. You see, Daddy weren’t her first offering, and, well, I don’t think Harry’s going to be my last…

There’s a few more people in town I wouldn’t mind seeing dead.

Like Momma said, you never know when an offering will come in handy.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

And so ends today's Halloween fun.
Tomorrow I have even more horror fiction for your reading pleasure.

And remember, for a Halloween treat, both books in my Killers and Demons series

are free until midnight October 31^st on Smashwords. 

Check them out here:

Killers and Demons

Killers and Demons II: They Return