Guest Post: Horror Author and Publisher, Lee Pletzers!

How twitter saved my writing life

By Lee Pletzers

                                                                    

A lot of people ask me why I decided to write. I don’t think there was any actual decision on taking the plunge to write. I just sat down and wrote ever since I was a kid. I have always loved books (my caregiver loved Reader’s Digest condensed books – 4 shortened novels in one volume) and I wanted my family to read my stories. That didn’t happen.

There were no thoughts of becoming rich and famous when I was a kid, I just wrote when I had an idea. The idea of a publisher picking me up in a Limo for a contract signing entered my dreams when I was 16. That didn’t happen either.

My first long short story came about when I was 13 and in on holiday Whangamata and it was raining cats and dogs (the poor little pets hit the ground with resounding thumps-- occasionally a whimper escaped before impact) and I was bored. No TV (Granddad did not believe in the idiot box), nothing to do and I had an idea of an alien race entering Earth and taking over. It was set in another dimension. It took two weeks to write and was over sixty pages long.

I never made a conscious decision to write, I just did it and didn’t stop.

When I was eight a teacher would send me and my friend to the playground during Social Studies to write a short story. It had to be two pages long. We had trouble understanding Social Studies. Each week, we wrote a short story, usually vampires (Hammer Horror fan here, from childhood) and the teacher decided to read my story out in front of the class. I had made a spelling error writing bloood (blued) instead of blood and everyone laughed (me included), but then the teacher said: ‘Lee writes ten times better than all you put together.’ Head swell moment that lasts even to this day.

I left the vampires alone for a long time and concentrated on religious horror: demons, creatures from Hell, werewolves, and all the good stuff. In 2004 I completed a novel that had been locked in my head since I was 11 years old called The Game. After that, books and short stories flowed from me, most getting published.

Last year I found a publisher for my Cthulhu novel, Resurrection Child (one of my more violent thriller—horror tales) and once I typed END two years ago I suddenly hit a dry spell in writing long fiction. Short stories were a struggle as well. I thought this writing gig was all over and I was going to end up as a reader only.

I still got ideas but had no motivation to write. I would sit down at the computer and then click Google Chrome and be lost in FB and Twitter and other writer’s blogs for hours. Then something would come on TV and I’d be thinking: Next time I’ll get this idea done. After two years of not writing much, I was surfing the net and stumbled onto a message board calling for submissions for werewolf stories. There was 24 hours left until submissions closed. I started writing a war werewolf tale. Then the message board said submissions were closed. I replied asking for an extension as living in a foreign country the time zones were mixed up. He gave me 8 hours to send in something. Three hours later I was done and sent it in. A week later, it was accepted. After that, on the same message board, I found a zombie anthology, and wrote a zombie tale, having only ever written two previously I was not very interested in zombie tales (side note: totally into them now with my Kindle app). Three zombie tales were accepted for different anthologies.

But all this was short form fiction, I couldn’t seem to get long form fiction to stay long form—everything just ended. I thought I was doomed to tapping out short stories every now and then. I was not content with that but what could I do?

Twitter saved me.

Shocking huh?

You may wonder how Twitter could save my writing life. Well, since you asked so nicely I’ll tell you: I thought it would be great to write a twitter zombie tale at 140 characters a time. I could do that on the train, during breaks at work, between teaching classes and on the way home. I could then grab the tweets and paste them in a word file.

Within a few weeks I was up to 11,000 words and the zombie short story was growing longer by the day and I started adding to the file and forgetting to tweet. I will have this tale completed and re-written in two weeks and it will go up on Kindle.

                                                   

This long story (novelette) has kick started me back into the long form, novels here I come kicking and screaming and cracking skulls and slashing and typing.

My goals for 2012 were posted on my blog ( http://kobefiction.we.bs/site/ ). It’s doable now. 2012 will be an exciting year.

The moral of this post: Dry spells happen and there’s not much you can do about that but battle on and not give up. Writers write and we do so for ourselves and then we re-write for the reader, giving them a much needed break from the real world.

And let’s be honest, it gives us a break as well.

If interested, my Kindle place is: http://tiny.cc/MyAmazonStore

My Smashwords place is: http://tiny.cc/MySmashwordsStore

My Website is: http://kobefiction.we.bs/

Love and horror

Lee Pletzers

Thank you, Lee Pletzers!

Next week:


Horror author, Lorelei Bell!

 

Mardis Gras: House of the Dead

The streets were packed. The noise, nearly deafening, all of New Orleans it seemed, was alive with the fun and excitement of Mardi Gras and this was Shrove Tuesday, the best night of all.

“This is the biggest parade,” Scott said. “Look at those floats!”

Dany looked. "It’s fabulous!”

They all were--these themed floats. Some were inspired by fairy tales or magic, some by history. Whatever theme they had each was filled with the most fabulously costumed people throwing necklaces and coins at the crowd.

A great cry would go up as people rushed forward to catch the gifts. Some were lucky. Not Scott or Dany though. They hadn't caught anything. That was why Scott was determined they would.

It was their first time away as a couple and if Dany wanted a necklace or some coins as a souvenir, Scott was going to see she had them.

Once again, the crowd heaved forward, with Scot trying so hard--even clapping to catch someone's attention. Sadly, he didn't catch a thing.

“Next time," he promised.

He was right because when the next float came by, he actually did manage to catch a necklace. He was so excited he hadn’t noticed the float really. He only looked at it when Dany continued to stare at it. 

“Do you see that one?”

It was frightening looking. Clearly, the theme was Death. One of the riders was waving at them and yelling something that neither Scott or Dany could make out. It was then that Dany looked down at the necklace. It startled her because the beads on it were shaped like tiny skulls. Dany shuddered and tossed it away. “You‘re not mad are you?”

“No, you’re entitled to keep what you like and get rid of what you don’t like. Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go for a drink before we go back.”

Go back, as in a night of love making with the French doors open and the damp, sweet Louisiana air blowing over their naked bodies.

“I hope the revelers won’t keep us up.”

He shook his head. “Look, everyone’s going.”

It was true. It was as though someone had turned off a light. Once the parade was over the streets began to empty. Yes, there was the odd drunk or loud kid raising a ruckus but for the most part it was pretty obvious that the parade had indeed passed by.

They decided to sit in a little bar on Royal Street and sip the famous New Orleans’ Hurricanes.

“It’s like heaven, isn’t it?” Dany sighed. 

“I‘d love to live here someday.”

“So would I.”

They finished their drinks and started walking back to their hotel. They were staying nearby in a sweet little bed and breakfast place. Okay, it was super expensive but it was furnished beautifully, real period stuff or so it seemed.

They returned to their hotel quite late. It wasn't until they stepped inside that they noticed the change. It was darker for one thing.

“Hello? We can hardly see here, can someone please put the lights back on?!”

Dany was from New York and she wasn’t shy about speaking up but Scott was from a small town in New England and he was. He tried to shush her which only annoyed her.

They were arguing when they heard a scream. It was the worst God awful scream either of them had ever heard.

Dany got frantic and rushed every which way. “Get me outta here. I gotta get out of here!”

Scott didn’t know what to do so he reached for his phone even though he knew he wouldn’t get a signal. He started to say something but Dany shushed him. “Listen, do you hear it? The music?”

It was hauntingly beautiful music and it was coming from somewhere close by.

“What is that? It sounds like a...”

“Harpsichord.”

Now they both looked frightened. He started to laugh “Look, there’s a perfectly good explanation for this, right?”

No, not right because the music suddenly stopped and a woman appeared.

"Are you lost?” she asked.

"We must be could you just show us the way out, please?”

The hall was darkened but they could just make out the woman was masked. It wasn't until she removed it and lit a candle that they could see how beautiful she was. Yet, there was something strange about her features--her eyes in particular. 

"Won't you join me in a toast?" she asked.

The glass she held out seemed to come out of nowhere. She stepped forward with it. "Do taste it, it will make things so much easier for you!"

But they didn't want to taste it for it reeked of something metallic, something like the smell of blood mixed with something else.

When they realized someone else had just come into the hall, they spun around. Their eyes fell upon a masculine figure standing in the shadows.

"Come, Leonard, we have guests."

The man began to step forward. "How lovely to have new ones, these we will savour!"


The woman nodded. "But they are afraid. Do not be, for we are Madame and Monsieur LaLaurie and we will show you worlds you have only dreamt of!"

It was Scott who suddenly knew. “You're them! You murdered and tortured scores of people! But it can't be! You’re..!”


"Dead?  Death is relative. You will find that out for yourself,” Madame said as she held up a necklace. "This is the necklace I threw to you. The one you didn't want. You may have it back now."

They would have screamed but she stopped them. “Oh no, no mon petites, there is no use screaming, no one will hear you here in the House of the Dead.”

Possibly not, but they screamed anyway.

The LaLaurie Mansion, New Orleans

Epilogue:                  

The LaLauries were wealthy socialites, the toast of 19th Century New Orleans Society. When a fire broke out in their mansion it was discovered they had been killing and torturing countless slaves. During the confusion and excitement of that night, they escaped in their carriage.

They were never brought to justice for it was believed they had escaped the hangman and fled to France. Their mansion is reputed to be very, very haunted!



Copyright 2012 Carole Gill


1023 words

A Bit About the Sequel I Am Writing

I am writing the sequel to my very dark gothic romantic novel, The House on Blackstone Moor and I am enjoying doing it despite all the historical research I have to do.

Unholy Testament is the confession of a demon. It is the accounting of all the sins he has committed in his immortal existence.

He presents his journal to the woman he loves, who is  you might say, a captive audience.

The chief protagonist of the book is Eco. The evil baddie who appears in the first book. Eco is mad, bad, dangerous to know and campy.

It has been challenging to present him in a way that the reader might actually understand what he's about. Why he is the way he is and how he got to be that way.

I am endeavoring to do this. It isn't easy, but it's fun too sometimes--this accounting of his sins and his mad existence.


For that part of the novel to be credible Eco would have to be engaged in all manner of sin. There would be things depicted that would possibly shock even Caligula. As a matter of fact Eco did shock Caligula!


There was this time when he was telling Caligula at Caligula's urging of a rather amazing weekend he had in Egypt with some Vampire cultists. Caligula, though no stick in the mud, was rather shocked.


What surprised the Emperor was not only Eco's ability to keep interested a half a dozen concubines at once but to also keep fascinated at least that number of Palace guards as well.


"You are the most amazing man...!" Caligula gushed.


Eco we all know is not mortal. But he did not correct Caligula. He did stifle a laugh when the Emperor went on to say: "Of course for myself--it is different, being a God as I am."


"I tell you what!" Eco suggested. "As a God you will be able to out do me with one hand tied behind your back! How does that sound?"


Caligula leaned forward to hear Eco's absolutely outrageous suggestions about some sort of sexual olympics he had in mind for the Senator's wives to participate in.

Caligula was enthused to say the least. "You shall show them all you can do, my friend. You shall have all of them! They would never dare to refuse me and to make it even more fun, we will have this performed in front of the entire Senate!"


Eco was delighted. Caligula was thrilled.

I hope you will be too!

Stay tuned for all sorts of surprises!

RELEASE DATE: THIS SUMMER!

Inside the Mind of Wenona: Carole Gill on Genre Blasting

Inside the Mind of Wenona: Carole Gill on Genre Blasting: Sounds violent? Well, maybe it is. Permit to me explain. When I happened to read that Gothic Romance was passé I found I didn’t agre...

Circus Act: Blood Under The Big Top!

                                           Vladko Sr. and Jorvik

They were known as the Flying Vladkos. The greatest high-wire act to come along in decades. They played all the great cities of Europe. Places like Berlin, Paris and London adored them.

They admired their daring. You see they insisted on performing without a net.

“We do not require one for we are skilled at what we do!”

“Ah, but what if one of the children misses the catch, what then—do you want to take that chance?!”

Vladko senior would only smile when asked that and re-iterate what he had already said.

As for the audience, they’d continued to be thrilled, most daring not to even breathe while the act was going on.

 “Do you see that?!”

“I have never seen anything like that in my life! They really seem to fly!”

A truer word was never … well, you know the rest of that saying.

Yes, they were rather special, quite unique actually—this family.

There were four of them. Papa Vladko, his wife Hannah and their two sons: Jorvik and Bosco. You wouldn’t want to meet nicer people. They were cordial and polite and not at all arrogant. When told that a reporter had come to interview them they were so welcoming.

“Of course,” Papa beamed. “We shall be honored!”

They really seemed to be delighted, answering all of the reporter’s queries but then when he began to ask some rather peculiar questions they grew increasingly alarmed.

When the man suddenly rushed toward a small cupboard the Vladkos shouted for him not to open it.

“Why are you afraid? Do you think I’ll find something unusual?”

Without saying another word, he flung open the door and gasped for there were six bottles of red liquid surrounded by ice.  No one said a word for what seemed an eternity.

Abraham Van Helsing’s brother looked triumphant. “I have you at last, you vermin!”

 "Oh no you don’t!” Papa cried for he had suddenly recognized something about the man’s appearance. “Where is he, your brother? You are small fish. I want to know where our would-be destroyer is!”

“You’ll see him soon enough! And he’ll be the last thing you ever do see!”

  This threw Papa into a rage. He lunged for the man, tearing out his throat. Mama tried to hold back the children but could not. They had not had fresh blood for quite some time.

Both Jorvik and Bosco had the man drained quickly, leaving Papa and Mama hardly a taste, with the exception of whatever blood had pooled nearby.

  The children only 13 and 14 when they died, and still those ages now after several centuries, felt badly for having been greedy.

 “We are sorry,” they said. “You can have all of his flesh though. We will be happy with a finger. And that we shall share between us!”

 Mama sighed. “Such good children, I have!”

Papa waved her off. He was thinking about Van Helsing.

“He must already be here. You know what he’s like. So dogmatic. So bigoted! Our worst enemy!”

 Papa gazed upon the mutilated carcass his family was feeding on. He continued to speak though they were not paying attention for Abraham Van Helsing’s brother tasted much too good.
                                                                     *

                              

There was to be a new act, some fellow who threw knives. As soon as Papa saw him he realized what was what. For the knives were not knives at all but finely sharpened wooden stakes.

“Van Helsing!”

 "Ah, the Vladkos! We meet again!"

“Mein Gott!” Mama cried, placing herself in front of the children. “He will destroy all of us!”

They tried to make a break for it, but Van Helsing shouted it was too late and began throwing the stakes.

A shot suddenly rang out. The owner, Joe Fielding had taken perfect aim.

“He won’t bother you again,” he announced dramatically.

And he wouldn’t either, for Fielding’s real name was Renfield. His family knew all too well about vampires.

"Not all vampires are evil.” Fielding said. “My own brother was duped by one he trusted. Yes! Count Dracula was a mean son of a bitch but some vampires are wonderful beings, you and your family for instance!”

 Vladko smiled proudly. “Our family has only killed when forced to."

“Don’t I know that Vladko? Why you and your kin were great heroes! You saved many from the Inquisition and the Crusades!”

“We tried.”

Fielding nodded, looking at Van Helsing’s corpse. “People like him foster prejudice and prejudice blindly enforced can never be a good thing.”

"You’re quite right,” Papa said. “I shall remove him now, for it is time to feed the lions I think.”

Fielding smiled. “Permit me sir, to at least carry his legs.”


779 words


copyright 2012 Carole Gill

The Demon Clowns IN FOOD FOR THOUGHT!

Warning: graphic violence and imagery!

“It’s no use running because we’ll catch you!”

The three demon clowns were closing in.

It might not have been any use, but he ran anyway. He ran all the way down the station platform, got to the end and just stopped. He knew he was licked.

It wasn't until he heard the approach of a train that he smiled. Then he screamed once and jumped on to the tracks.

The train hit him at breakneck speed. He was dead before his body was torn assunder. Bits of him were scattered all over the place.

The clowns nodded to one another and smiled as they flew down to the tracks.

Yes, these clowns could fly.

His flesh tasted good, salty and sweet at the same time. They ate whatever they could find: bones and sinews even the mangled body parts.

His guts were the real delicacy though, filled as they were with his last meal.

“Mac Donald’s," one of them announced in his slightly nasal voice.

The other nodded. “Fries too but some chicken bits as well.”

The third clown was smiling mischievously. “I think he probably found two half eaten meals. I'd say it was the Big M and Kentucky Fried."


He was annoyed when the other two didn’t reply. He liked being agreed with. So he waited.

When the others felt his blood red eyes upon them they spoke.

Happy said he thought Red Eyes was right and Fuzzy agreed.

“You’re always right, Red Eyes. That’s why we respect you so MUCH!"

They were demons from hell--clown-like monsters from Satan’s own domain. The damned like a circus too, who doesn’t?

They tended to come and go as much as they liked. No hidden apertures for them to pass through. No that was old hat.

Besides, they preferred the city, any big city, Paris, London and New York were their favorites.

For the past century or so they had been coming to New York.

“I love the Big Apple. So much to eat!"

They meant, of course, the homeless.

Paris pissed them off because their homeless were regularly carted away. They were considered far too unsightly to be left around.

As for London, there were just less homeless, social services was a big player there.

But New York! Now, there was a place! They had their pick in New York, everything from lone beggars to groups of homeless to children, even.

 

Entire families were also homeless sometimes. They tended to live in cars (if they were lucky to have one that is), but that was not a problem for the clowns. These were strong demons and they could tear metal apart with their teeth.

And so on the occasions when they’d come to sup, they’d feed all night and sleep all day. Any quiet place would do. An abandoned building was perfect because they’d feast upon any squatters they found there.

Then like most beings after a good meal, they’d yawn and stretch and recount various murderous adventures they had.

Generally it all concerned food. Meals were important to them. It’s just the way they were.

“I do like eye balls. And do you know,” Fuzzy said, "eyes taste different depending on their color."

Happy didn’t agree with him at first but then he did. He did because he performed a little taste test on the head he was currently holding.

The head still happened to contain eyes which were blue.

He pried one out and popped it in his mouth. "Mmmm!" he said while trying to make up his mind. “I’d say that tastes…”

“Almost minty?"

"Yes, Fuzzy, You are quite right they do taste minty. There's kind of a minty after taste."

After ruminating on the varying taste of eyes they fell asleep, although Fuzzy woke up during the night because he felt like eating something meaty.

*

                                         

He hadn’t walked that far from his friends when he spotted a tall, thin man, a man who looked lost.

The homeless always looked lost so he wasn’t surprised.

He smiled and crept along the station platform.

Yes, they were still in the subway.

Moving amongst the shadows he found he made steady progress as he went along.

At last he got within yards of the man. He sniffed the air and smiled. He was pleased. The man didn’t stink. So often their quarry did. But this man smelled fragrant.

Ah. Fuzzy thought to himself. Maybe he’d permit himself a grope or two or more if he felt like it.

Naturally, he’d wait until the guy was dead—before he‘d permit himself the luxury of a good old necrophile feel-up.

He liked doing that. There was a lot to be said for such shenanigans as Red Eyes referred to them. But he was critical. "There’s no dignity in molesting the dead, Fuzzy, really even for demon clowns there are limits."

Fuzzy was so caught up in his thoughts he barely noticed the stranger turn around. When he did he was shocked. For the man was smiling at him.

“Good evening, how do you do?”

Fuzzy nearly smiled when the man did. But his smile vanished when the man smiled broadly.

"Yes, I know. Quite something these teeth of mine. My father was a demon clown you see but mother—!"

Without saying another word he flew toward Fuzzy and began tearing into his neck.

“Mmm that is good. Your blood is tinged with the scent of sulphur but I like it anyway. As I was saying…my mother was a vampire you see.”

Those were the last words Fuzzy heard.

His comrades Red Eyes and Happy did indeed hear more, they heard the sound of their own testicles being cannibalized for their killer was something of a connoisseur not only of blood but of exotic things like the sexual organs of DEMON CLOWNS!

972 words

© Copyright 2012 Carole Gill

The Return of the Murderous Midgets: Al and Hank's Latest Rub-out!

Al and Hank in their clown make up

“Freaks get bullied it’s as simple as that.” Baby Alice wept. "And we are freaks!”

Poor woman. She was the fat lady in the circus. And what an unhappy lady she was.

Al and Hank nodded because what she said was true.

Baby Alice sniffled. “You oughtta hear what this guy said to me. He’s been coming around regular too. Every day nearly. What am I going to do?”

“Point him out,” they said.

So she did. The problem was he wasn’t just a regular mug; he was the new assistant manager. You see, the circus was in the process of changing hands. And if he was bad the new owner was worse.

Word spread quickly about him.

“Ain’t you heard? Joe Surley bought us out! He’s the worst bastard on the circuit!”

“Oh no!”

"Oh yes!"

The sword swallower and the thin man stopped speaking. They could feel someone was watching them. They turned to see a sour-faced character eyeballing them.

He was the new manager, Festus McCoy. “Care to repeat that to me?”

The men shook their heads.

Festus smirked and waved them off. He had just spotted Baby Alice and she was a lot more fun to insult. “Hey fatso,” he called. “Come here, I need a good laugh!”

                                                                     *

Just as predicted, the notorious Joe Surley appeared on the scene a few days later. He introduced himself in his usual manner:

“I’m running this here two-bit circus. Don’t think that I won’t close it down and sell off the animals for dog food if I want and you too!”

Some of the circus stars began murmuring. Surley stopped them cold.

“Look, this ain’t big time. You’re strictly the rejects from the bigger shows. So don’t have any delusions about your worth!” When his eyes fell upon the cowering circle of those deemed ‘freaks,’ he smiled: “And you messed up creeps, step outta line and I can replace you like that!” he snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Just then Al and Hank happened to walk over. They were all dressed up.

They enjoyed dressing up between shows. They were movie fans and their favorite stars were the Hollywood tough guys. Paul Muni’s Scarface and Edward G. Robinson’s Little Caesar thrilled them.

Those in the know would have said they lived vicariously through film, becoming something different than the 3 ft. 10 inch midgets they really were.

Joe snorted. “And just what are you freaks supposed to be? You look ridiculous!” Before either one of them could say anything their new boss stormed off. But not before laying it on thick: "Freaks you are and freaks you'll always be!"

“Bastard!” Al spit out.

Hank wiped his face. He was sweating. He always sweated when he was upset. And boy was he upset.

Each of them had grown up in mental institutions. Al had a police record. He pistol whipped a bully in Nashville when he was 17 and was put in the pokey for awhile.

The boys, as they referred to themselves, were tough as old boots. They were sometimes mean besides and capable of anything.

Both of them had done murder, most recently last Halloween in some jerkwater place, rubbing out two old maids for what they could get. Well times were hard in this Depression.

They sold silverware and one or two other things they had come away with which was enough to buy suits and have a high old time besides.

They liked dames, see?

             *

Although Surley was rubbing them wrong about a lot of things, they weren’t really planning to murder him until he told them about the clown outfits.

 “I been thinking. I got plans for this here circus! And we’ll start with youse two! See I want you to be clowns! You’re clowns anyway, so you might as well dress the part.

When Surley left the boys smiled.

“You know what we’re going to have to do, right?"

Sure, they knew.

They waited until the following Sunday. Joe always drank himself to sleep on Sundays because there were no shows on Monday.

That’s when they dropped one of his cigarettes onto his mattress.

They had splashed the place with kerosene too; well they wanted to finish the job in the right way.

Al lit the match. “Fucker.”

The boys watched the fire for a while.

"Shame we couldn't cut his throat. I love to do that."

They both did, nothing like a good old crimson torrent.

"We can't always do what we want." Hank said. He was wise, that Hank.

                                                                *

The screech of sirens tore through the night air. All the circus people were huddled together in their night clothes.

No one said they were glad. Mostly they didn’t speak much about it other than to wonder what would happen to the circus and to them.

Baby Alice was worried though. “Geesh, I hope McCoy don’t take it over.”

She needn’t have worried since they arrested Festus McCoy the next day. Well, they found him with a lot of matches and an empty can of kerosene.

The cops thought it was pretty obvious as to what he had done.

As for Al and Hank they just knew they were lucky it was another jerkwater town and not much was checked in such burgs.

“Yup,” Al said. “We ain’t never gonna kill in a big city."

“You’re right," Hank answered. “Only we ought to go to Coney Island next week, I hear they’re hiring.”

“Okay, swell but look, no matter what happens we won’t kill there.”

“We’ll work hard and try to get laid.”

“You said it, brother, I'm always up for that!”

                                                                   

956 words

© Copright 2012 Carole Gill

You can read Al and Hanks' muderous debut here:
Halloween in Jerkwater, 1932