Somewhere I heard the expression “teaching the dead to talk with us.” I don’t think, really, that’s quite what was said. I don’t know that “the dead” were involved at all. But the minute I thought it, I knew I had a story.
I’ve been watching shark videos and reels in the way many people watch funny cats or goats in pajamas. I see people who are shark experts swimming with sharks. I admire them.
And I wonder if there are consequences to messing with the order of things.
I don’t have the answers. Just a story. Here it is.
JG Faherty was my mentor during a formal mentorship with the Horror Writers Association. And remains a mentor even now that the formal part is over. It is not an exaggeration to say he revolutionized my horror writing.
I’ve wanted to write horror as long as I’ve wanted to write. I admire people who started in horror and succeeded. I had to grow into it. I found my voice in flash fiction—a genre I adore. My mentor in that realm is Meg Pokrass. I have this idea that some day, future college students will study the Meg Pokrass school of flash fiction writing. If I could warrant a footnote, that’d be grand.
Faherty did that for me with horror. He gave me the roadmap I needed to be able to analyze my own work. That is no small thing. To read your story and know if it is on track or not is huge. I’m not an expert on my own horror writing yet. But he booted me far down the road—farther than I could ever have gotten on my own.
So anyway, yeah, I’m a fan. His recent book Sins of the Fathersgave me fucked-up nightmares. (Especially because they combined with Stephen Graham Jones’ The Mongrels.)
I don’t read enough poetry. Occasionally a poem will kick my ass all the way around the block. So I’m trying to read more. So when Faherty came out with a book of poetry, I was all about it. So I had some fun with it.
A reading in a sculpture garden at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. And an unflattering still.
And here’s a review:
If you read JG Faherty, you know he’s not afraid to go there. Where? There, man. Beyond the sane, normal, safe. He’ll go there. In a novel, that’s spread out over a couple hundred pages. So, take that (razor-wire) edge and condense it into poetry and you get Songs in the Key of Death. These poems are dark as a cloudy night sky with no moon. And they are bleak, or funny, or sly, or gory—all at once. I haven’t had this much fun reading poetry since… ever? These poems range from cosmic horror and aliens to slashers, serial killers, and sci-fi. The language is rumbly and strong, crashing around like giant-thrown boulders or trickling along like blood from a deep, non-arterial cut. They beg to be read aloud. But if you do that, stay in the salt circle—please! Enjoy!
So…. I usually do NanoWriMo Flash with Nancy Stohlman. I will be checking in there. I will also be joining my mentor-in-flashing, Meg Pokrass, with her 300 words or less stories.
But… as of not even five minutes ago, I signed up for the novel version. Because it’s about damn time.
So, real quick. I read The Whisper Man by Alex North at The W in Du Quoin, a place I am pre-disposed to like because it is a horse facility. No horses in sight (except for a chestnut mare in a disagreement with a dog, glimpsed briefly in a back pasture), but still, the place gots good vibes. I was fireside with a flight of fall cocktails. Pictured is a cider and brandy combo.
Truly chilling book. A serial killer with a little tinge of supernatural. And about how crime and trauma affects people in our society, calling to some in a gruesome way. Also, families and love and trust.
I tore through The Drowning Kind by Jennifer McMahon. Characters in McMahon stories are so damn believeable, relateable, even—even when they do strange things. Like become obsessed with a cursed spring that grants wishes and cures ailments. This is a story about sisters, generational inheritance, curses, blessings, and the importance of being very, very careful what you wish for.
It was right before Halloween. Tim had a basement gig—but it was a cool basement, and only a little bit haunted. That’s a Skrewball Russian sitting between my book and the Tito’s. Cool backdrop, eh?
As always, read more, and read more horror. And now I need to get my NanoWriMo set up. See ya’ round!
A trifecta of folk horror. I was reading The Only Good Indiansby Stephen Graham Jones while I was at Archon 46, a sci-fi and fantasy event featuring writing hero Jonathan Maberry. Whom I got to meet. And to hand-deliver a bottle of local Chambourcin after alerting him to the presence of a wine trail here in Southern Illinois.
Back to the book. Holy shit. SGJ wrecks me. In a good way. But I will have to take a few deep breaths from now on before starting reading. The Only Good Indians is a wonderful example of what happens when someone breaks a rule pertaining to the Other world and doesn’t know it or doesn’t take it seriously. In this story, four young Blackfeet men know they broke a rule—they hunted elk in a section reserved for their elders. Ten years later, they begin to realize they did more than poach—they transgressed. They have made an enemy of Elk Woman. And her fury is implacable. Their (self) destruction is painful to witness, and the struggle of those around them to avoid becoming collateral damage is heart-rending.
I stopped in at the Old Herald Brewery & Distillery for lunch and an Oktoberfest. The building is the former offices and printing site of the Old Herald newspaper. This ex-reporter appreciates the theme, carried through as it is on some of the menu items.
Harvest Home, by Thomas Tryon, makes just about every list of folk horror ever. I am late to the party, but can confirm—folk horror gold.
This is another one where the main character, Ned Constantine, knows he broke a rule. He fails to consider the consequences. Ned brings his wife and daughter to the quaint farming village of Cornwall Coombe, where they resolve to embrace country living and leave behind the pace and distractions of NYC. Ned counts befriends young malcontent, Worthy Pettinger. Ned begins to understand the nature of the strange pseudo-religious beliefs in the community, and the role of the Widow. Fearing for Worthy’s safety after the young man disappears, Ned determines to uncover the mystery. One great thing about this slow-build book is how the reader is constantly two or three steps ahead of Ned. You get the thrill of discovery as the plot unfolds, and the dread of watching Ned make mistake after mistake.
I was at Alto Vineyards for this one, drinking a Chambourcin blend, Dawg House Red. It should have been mead…
I just finished reading The Hungerby Alma Katsu. Katsu makes the horrific story of the Donner Party—the pioneers who resorted to cannibalism to survive after forced to winter in the mountains during their ill-advised shortcut to California—even more gruesome and terrifying. Blending folk tales and dread whispers from German settlers and Native Americans of several tribes, Katsu creates a threat that is monstrous, vicious, and horrifying when you realize what “the shadows” are and where they originate. While this book is clearly fiction, equally as clearly Katsu did plenty of research. It’s easy to lose yourself in this book, and to feel kinship with some of the characters.
I was at a nearby winery, Starview Vineyards, drinking Chambourcin, the same wine I brought to Archon. That oak tree you can see in the background is one of my favorite trees in the area, and is a true landmark.
Remember: read more horror. And share what you are reading! #nerdinabarwithabook
Stoker award winner. Deservedly so. Black Cranes: Tales of Unquiet Women, edited by Lee Murray and Geneve Flynn, is a beautiful book. Literally, the cover is compelling, and the interior illustrations lend magic. The fourteen stories that make up the anthology are, every one of them, breath-takers.
The authors are all Southeast Asian writers. These stories emanate, get their strength, from the authors’ relationship with their heritage, and with the culture and tradition that come with it. Some of the conflicts in the story are universal — disappointing a parent in your choice of partner or career or by the act of moving away, for example. But in these stories, there are struggles specific to Asian women who don’t fit in, or who struggle with aspects of their culture.
The stories blend fantasy and folk horror, ghost stories and dystopia and dark humor. The stories have been flowing over each other in my mind for days, making me feel haunted at times, pensive at others.
Though I wasn’t trying to match my drink to the book, the house special cherry mule, made with local ginger beer, seemed appropriate. Joe’s Friendly Tavern, Empire, Michigan.
I had a quiet weekend, so I fell into this book headfirst and barely looked up until it was finished. Rachel Harrison’s Such Sharp Teeth is a blast. It’s got great characters, witty dialogue, low-key drama, high-stakes drama, werewolves… obviously. I mean this in a good way—it’s like Vampire Diaries but with werewolves and for adults who’ve paid off at least one car.
But this book also has its serious side, and that what makes it hard to put down. Aurora “Rory” Morris (how’s that for a cool nickname from a cool name?) is back in her hometown (from NYC) to help out her twin, Scarlet, who is very pregnant and not very sure how she feels about it. Rory is barely settling in when, yep, she gets attacked by a werewolf, and yep, becomes one. That’s not a spoiler. But I will tell you, the way Rory comes around to the realization of what has happened to her is good stuff. Even better is how everything comes together in a perfect whirlwind — Rory glimpsing for the first time how different her life could be with a little domesticity — and how different it could be as a truly wild thing. Can’t say more, read it yourself.
The drink is one of the many microbrews on tap at the Underground Public House. It’s from B. Nektar Meadery in Michigan—it’s their Orange Cream Delight, a mead with orange and vanilla. Delish.
Coolest American Stories 2023, edited by Mark Wish and Elizabeth Coffey is an eclectic, exciting collection of stories. It’s their second of what’s becoming an annual anthology—they are accepting stories for the 2024 version as I’m writing this. Read their About section to understand fully what they’ve got going on with this book, but basically, they want stories that make you say, “Wow, that was a cool story,” when you finish it. They are literary stories, but accessible literary stories.
So, meet a celebrity stalker who knows how to take advantage of a situation, a woman trying to fulfill her mother’s puzzling last wish, a high school girl trying to stay true to herself in the face of deception and jealousy, and (the story that probably hit me most personally), a woman thrust into the role of grandmother, and then confronted with a devastating choice. It’s a fantastic collection.
It shouldn’t be so fun to read about a vengeful spouse stalking her family from beyond the grave. But it is. A ghost seeks revenge, zombie curse, whodunit all rolled into one novella. I’ve called JG Faherty the Master of the Mashup before this, and it’s an appropriate title. Don’t ever think one of his books will be simple and straightforward—there’s always a surprise. Death Do Us Partis a fun read. For true terror, turn to his latest three novels.
That’s a flight of semi-dry wines from Von Jakob Winery & Brewery, and that beautiful vista is from their large back deck.
The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan is the first book of a trilogy—which I didn’t know when I nabbed this one from the local Barnes & Noble. Glad to see it, though, because of course I want to know what happens next! I’ve seen this one compared to Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire and I get that. The Last Werewolf takes a philosophical approach, as we understand that we are reading Jake Marlowe’s journal and following along as he faces the extinction of his species at the hands of The Hunt—and what that means for him personally. Wait till you meet Talulla and Cloquet! These two breathe a new vitality into the story, as they are meant to. Nothing in this book is a mistake, read it closely. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.
When I could tear my eyes away from that beautiful Pope County scenery at Shotgun Eddys, and when I wasn’t listening to my beloved, favorite singer-songwriter Tim Crosby, I was knocking back a couple of Stags and reading about Marlowe’s wild world. A good combination.
Epiphany Ferrell 