Jason J. McCuiston's Blog: Words from the Shadows
November 2, 2021
October 8, 2021
The Last Star Warden lands on Vella Today!
Vella is the literary equivalent of the serialized adventures that used to play before feature films back in the Good Ol' Days. Just might be perfect for my swashbuckling Pulp Sci-Fi hero.
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/s...
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/s...
September 7, 2021
The Last Star Warden is coming to Vella
Just posted the new trailer for The Last Star Warden: THE PHANTOM WORLD to YouTube. I hope you'll check it out and give the story a look-see next month.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7Lmf...
Thanks and all the best,
-JJM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7Lmf...
Thanks and all the best,
-JJM
April 6, 2021
The Last Star Warden Book Trailer
I've launched a YouTube channel with the trailer for The Last Star Warden: Tales of Adventure and Mystery from Frontier Space, Volume I.
I hope you'll check it out.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OUDQ...
I hope you'll check it out.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OUDQ...
February 27, 2021
The Origins of The Last Star Warden
By the summer of 2019 I was utterly exhausted by the Pop-culture War, having seen most of my beloved franchises torched into burnt-out husks by Post-Modernism, Nihilism, and Identity Politics. Disney had turned Star Wars into the cinematic equivalent of fast food, CBS had taken the intelligent optimism of Star Trek and twisted it into a mean-spirited and poorly written parody, and the BBC had essentially told generations of Doctor Who fans, “We’re taking this away and giving it to someone else because you don’t think like we want you to.”
I had given up on comics and superheroes years before, but they were faring no better. Though Alan Moore’s Watchmen and Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns had been catalysts in making me the storyteller I am today, they had also turned the paradigm of the four-color superhero on its head. Attempting to emulate (or flat-out copy) these seminal works, an ensuing generation of writers and artists embarked on the systematic and industry-wide deconstruction of the hero.
And I had grown bone-tired of it all.
So, as I sat in a local auto dealership waiting on a factory recall, I brainstormed and doodled in my notebook. I set out to recapture what I had always loved about heroic storytelling and genre fiction. Naturally, I had to go back to the beginning—my earliest childhood heroes. Who were they and what about them had fascinated me at such an early age, why were they essentially timeless?
The Lone Ranger. My dad has always been a big Western buff and, like most of my tastes in fiction, I inherited that from him. As a child of the 1970s, my favorite toys were the Lone Ranger and Tonto action figures from Gabriel. I watched the old reruns of the Clayton Moore TV show and was ecstatic when the Saturday-morning cartoon finally came along. Even more so when I found out about the live-action movie in 1981, which I saw at the local drive-in theater when I was eight years old. I remember begging for the film novelization, and then having my dad go through and mark out all the “bad words” so I could read it.
But what was it about the Lone Ranger that so captivated me? Was it the blue suit and the twin six-guns, the mask? Probably. But I think it was also the fact that he was the Good Guy, so much so that he wouldn’t even kill the Bad Guys. No matter how much harder it made his life, the Lone Ranger always did the right thing.
The Bat-Man: Like a lot of folks my age, one of the earliest memories I have of Batman comes from the Saturday-morning Super Friends cartoon. Another, of course, is from reruns of the old Adam West TV show. These incarnations share almost nothing in common with the grim and gritty Dark Knight of modern times. When I was a kid, Batman was the hero with the best gadgets and the coolest vehicles, but he also smiled and made jokes. And though there was plenty of Bang! Pow! Zap! action, as often as not, the Caped Crusader used his wits to beat the Bad Guys before sharing a laugh with Robin and Commissioner Gordon.
Captain America: I’ve always loved medieval knights even more than old-west cowboys. With his shield and chainmail shirt, Captain America seemed like the Marvel Universe’s version of a modern-day knight in shining armor. As I got older and began reading his comics, I found that the comparison extended to his ethos as well. Cap, like the Lone Ranger, is the quintessential Good Guy. He’s also a soldier, like my father and my grandfather, so I appreciated the military aspect of his character—the rigorous training and discipline, the drive to exceed one’s personal limits.
And though Buck Rogers had done it decades before, Captain America is also a man out of time. He’s a Greatest-Generation character living first among the Baby Boomers, and now adjusting to Gen Xers and Millennials. Yet, in his mind and in mine, the Right Thing doesn’t have an expiration date.
The Phantom: One of—if not the very first—costumed crime-fighters. Another two-gun hero in a mask on a white horse. A man with a mysterious origin and a legacy of immortality. A legendary man who fights pirates and corrupt governments. But a living, breathing man all the same. The fact that the character’s mystique is built on family and lineage makes the Phantom a believable human being. We know that the man in the mask will die someday, but the Phantom and what he stands for, what he fights for, what he believes in will live on. And the Bad Guys secretly tremble in that knowledge.
So, where to take this amalgamation of Wild-West lawman, urban crime-fighter, super soldier, and jungle legend? Why, SPAAAAAACE of course! (Yes, Space Ghost was another obvious influence.)
Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers are Sam Jones and Gil Gerard in my mind, not Larry “Buster” Crabbe and well, Larry “Buster” Crabbe… though I have watched some of the serials. But the proto/sub-genre of the ray-gun and rocket-ship has its fingerprints on everything from Forbidden Planet through Star Trek and Star Wars all the way to Farscape, Firefly, and The Expanse. We, as human beings, love the notion of exploration, of reaching out to see what’s “beyond.” Infinite space will always be that, the carrot forever out of our reach. And that is why space adventures will always appeal to us in one form or another.
The Last Star Warden is a Good Guy. He is a lawman dedicated to doing the Right Thing, even if the modern worlds around him don’t necessarily know what that is. He’s a mortal man, alone in this quest save for his friend and one-time enemy, Quantum. The Lone Ranger had Tonto, Batman had Robin, Captain America had Bucky (and later The Falcon), and the Phantom had Guran. The Last Star Warden has Quantum, an interdimensional alien with a mind like a supercomputer. Together they battle the Bad Guys, wherever they find them. They’re soldiers fighting The Good Fight.
In SPAAAACE!
The Last Star Warden
I had given up on comics and superheroes years before, but they were faring no better. Though Alan Moore’s Watchmen and Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns had been catalysts in making me the storyteller I am today, they had also turned the paradigm of the four-color superhero on its head. Attempting to emulate (or flat-out copy) these seminal works, an ensuing generation of writers and artists embarked on the systematic and industry-wide deconstruction of the hero.
And I had grown bone-tired of it all.
So, as I sat in a local auto dealership waiting on a factory recall, I brainstormed and doodled in my notebook. I set out to recapture what I had always loved about heroic storytelling and genre fiction. Naturally, I had to go back to the beginning—my earliest childhood heroes. Who were they and what about them had fascinated me at such an early age, why were they essentially timeless?
The Lone Ranger. My dad has always been a big Western buff and, like most of my tastes in fiction, I inherited that from him. As a child of the 1970s, my favorite toys were the Lone Ranger and Tonto action figures from Gabriel. I watched the old reruns of the Clayton Moore TV show and was ecstatic when the Saturday-morning cartoon finally came along. Even more so when I found out about the live-action movie in 1981, which I saw at the local drive-in theater when I was eight years old. I remember begging for the film novelization, and then having my dad go through and mark out all the “bad words” so I could read it.
But what was it about the Lone Ranger that so captivated me? Was it the blue suit and the twin six-guns, the mask? Probably. But I think it was also the fact that he was the Good Guy, so much so that he wouldn’t even kill the Bad Guys. No matter how much harder it made his life, the Lone Ranger always did the right thing.
The Bat-Man: Like a lot of folks my age, one of the earliest memories I have of Batman comes from the Saturday-morning Super Friends cartoon. Another, of course, is from reruns of the old Adam West TV show. These incarnations share almost nothing in common with the grim and gritty Dark Knight of modern times. When I was a kid, Batman was the hero with the best gadgets and the coolest vehicles, but he also smiled and made jokes. And though there was plenty of Bang! Pow! Zap! action, as often as not, the Caped Crusader used his wits to beat the Bad Guys before sharing a laugh with Robin and Commissioner Gordon.
Captain America: I’ve always loved medieval knights even more than old-west cowboys. With his shield and chainmail shirt, Captain America seemed like the Marvel Universe’s version of a modern-day knight in shining armor. As I got older and began reading his comics, I found that the comparison extended to his ethos as well. Cap, like the Lone Ranger, is the quintessential Good Guy. He’s also a soldier, like my father and my grandfather, so I appreciated the military aspect of his character—the rigorous training and discipline, the drive to exceed one’s personal limits.
And though Buck Rogers had done it decades before, Captain America is also a man out of time. He’s a Greatest-Generation character living first among the Baby Boomers, and now adjusting to Gen Xers and Millennials. Yet, in his mind and in mine, the Right Thing doesn’t have an expiration date.
The Phantom: One of—if not the very first—costumed crime-fighters. Another two-gun hero in a mask on a white horse. A man with a mysterious origin and a legacy of immortality. A legendary man who fights pirates and corrupt governments. But a living, breathing man all the same. The fact that the character’s mystique is built on family and lineage makes the Phantom a believable human being. We know that the man in the mask will die someday, but the Phantom and what he stands for, what he fights for, what he believes in will live on. And the Bad Guys secretly tremble in that knowledge.
So, where to take this amalgamation of Wild-West lawman, urban crime-fighter, super soldier, and jungle legend? Why, SPAAAAAACE of course! (Yes, Space Ghost was another obvious influence.)
Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers are Sam Jones and Gil Gerard in my mind, not Larry “Buster” Crabbe and well, Larry “Buster” Crabbe… though I have watched some of the serials. But the proto/sub-genre of the ray-gun and rocket-ship has its fingerprints on everything from Forbidden Planet through Star Trek and Star Wars all the way to Farscape, Firefly, and The Expanse. We, as human beings, love the notion of exploration, of reaching out to see what’s “beyond.” Infinite space will always be that, the carrot forever out of our reach. And that is why space adventures will always appeal to us in one form or another.
The Last Star Warden is a Good Guy. He is a lawman dedicated to doing the Right Thing, even if the modern worlds around him don’t necessarily know what that is. He’s a mortal man, alone in this quest save for his friend and one-time enemy, Quantum. The Lone Ranger had Tonto, Batman had Robin, Captain America had Bucky (and later The Falcon), and the Phantom had Guran. The Last Star Warden has Quantum, an interdimensional alien with a mind like a supercomputer. Together they battle the Bad Guys, wherever they find them. They’re soldiers fighting The Good Fight.
In SPAAAACE!
The Last Star Warden
February 10, 2021
AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Jonathon Mast
On March 1st, Dark Owl Publishing is releasing Jonathon Mast’s fantasy novel, The Keeper of Tales alongside my illustrated pulp-sci-fi collection, The Last Star Warden… This sort of makes Jonathon and I “literary twins,” so we decided to get to know each other better.
JASON J. MCCUISTON: Tell us a little bit about yourself. What process led you to become a professional storyteller?
JONATHON MAST: I have always been a storyteller. My mom drove bus for my grade school, so I was always the first one on. I told stories as the other kids got on the bus. They loved those stories, though I can’t remember any of the tales now! At that point, I knew I wanted to be an author!
JASON: That lifelong call to be a storyteller sounds familiar. Like me, I’m guessing you enjoy reading “How To” books on the craft of writing by famous authors as much as you enjoy their fiction. Do you have any favorite volumes of this kind? Are there any specific authors who have inspired or directly influenced you?
JONATHON: On Writing by Stephen King is one that’s stuck with me, though I tend to watch more Youtube videos on craft these days!
…and I now realize how silly that is, but bite-size helps me!
As far as specific authors go, whew. I’ve read so much and so widely, it’s hard for me to pin one author down. Helpful, I know! I will say I love old pulps, and in particular I’ve been reading the Zorro stories of Johnston McCulley!
JASON: Zorro and pulps, a man after my own heart! Now, your new novel, The Keeper of Tales from Dark Owl Publishing, is an epic fantasy that is as much ABOUT stories as it is a story. Can you elaborate on the particular magic that went into crafting such a tale?
JONATHON: Long ago I watched Return of the King. I love the long ending of that movie. I know there’s debate about it, but I adore the amount of falling action. I wanted to craft something that left readers with a similar feeling. I sat down to write having no other goal. What’s funny is that I pantsed the whole thing. In other words, I had no plan. I didn’t know the characters, the world, none of it. I discovered it as I wrote it!
That first draft was such a mess. You could tell I was wandering here, had no clue what was happening there. But once I had the outline of the story, I revised and polished and amputated until what was left told a strong story.
But something that came out through the entire process: my love for stories as artifacts in themselves. A well-told story will grab my attention, because I love the art of telling stories. I hope that love comes through in the novel!
JASON: Outstanding! So tell us about the protagonist of the novel. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve chosen a rather unorthodox hero for your epic tale.
JONATHON: So many of the fantasy stories I read focused on relatively young adults, either men or women, going on these demanding quests. I wanted to do something different, so the main character became an old man. Adal is past his prime and he knows it. He can’t handle doing a lot of the physical things usually associated with fantasy stories. He’s also not a magician (at least at first), so in many ways he can’t “pull his weight” with the main characters. What value does he bring? He’s a king, so he carries a certain weight with him when dealing with other cultures, and he’s got the wisdom of age. It was fun to write a character so unlike me!
JASON: One of the best parts of being an author, I think. I saw that Publisher’s Weekly recently pointed out the “unique and fascinating” qualities of your magic system in The Keeper of Tales. Considering how many fantasy novels are out there, this is quite an impressive feat. How much time did you spend on world-building versus writing the text? And what were your primary sources of inspiration?
JONATHON: The central premise of the novel: Stories are alive.
From that flows a lot of how the world works. If a story says that kings are good and just, then the kings of that world are good and just. If you want to change the world, you need to start telling other stories.
So magic is really just storytelling. For instance, if you’re injured, you need someone to tell your body the story of what it’s supposed to look like. Your body will match the story.
Of course, that means that if someone starts twisting tales, bad things happen…
So, I mentioned before that I pantsed the story. I made it up as I went. There was no worldbuilding ahead of time! But after that first draft, I sat down and did a full workup of all the cultures and races and the history of the world. In further drafts – and there were many – I was able to incorporate and change things to fit a much cleaner picture. That world-building process took a few months as I asked a lot of questions. “This culture grew up on the waves. What would that look like? How would that affect speech patterns or social patterns?” In fact, several of the characters from that first draft got a full overhaul!
JASON: Most people don’t realize just how much hard work goes into telling a good fantasy story. Speaking of which, what is it, do you think, about the High or Epic Fantasy genre that so attracts authors and readers, generation after generation?
JONATHON: Fantasy may be the only genre that truly says, “Whatever you can imagine.” You might argue that science fiction fits that as well, but there I’d say you’re usually tied to some sort of science. Else it’s really science fantasy. But in fantasy, you simply say, “This is the way the world works!” and it does.
Many fantasy works also have relatively clear protagonists and antagonists. Who are the bad guys? Who are the good guys? Generally you can tell fairly quickly. I think we look for that kind of ease in our fiction, at least sometimes. I want to cheer for the good guys!
There’s also something about the epic scope that fantasy welcomes. You can see fantastic lands, meet fantastic cultures, and many kinds, all in one volume. There’s something attractive about exploring what’s beyond the horizon, and fantasy invites the reader to do that.
JASON: Exactly. So, aside from fantasy, do you have any other genres or subgenres you enjoy?
JONATHON: I just praised fantasy… but science fiction is huge for me! I grew up on Star Trek and Star Wars (though Star Wars counts more as science fantasy).
I also mentioned before I love old pulp stories. Give me some of that adventure! Star Trek led me to love sailing adventures, too. I’ve recently started enjoying Westerns as well.
JASON: Clearly we have a lot in common. Your website says that you are a pastor as well as an author. As a man of faith, myself, I sometimes worry when I write villains doing villainous things. How do you approach the delicate balancing act of being a good guy writing bad guys? Do you ever lie awake at night asking yourself, “Where did that come from?”
JONATHON: I am a pastor. It’s true. And honestly, I’m not surprised when it comes to thinking up villainous things. I’m sinful. There’s a reason I’m Christian: I recognize my sin and that I need a Savior. I have darkness inside me. It’s not who I am, but I do have it. And it is forgiven!
It’s also something I love about the Bible: It doesn’t shy away from showing the evil humans are capable of. It doesn’t condone; it describes. And so when I’m crafting stories, I do the same. Hopefully by the end of a novel I’m not condoning evil, but I won’t shy away from describing it.
JASON: Well said. Okay, after that hard-hitter, let’s do some fun ones rapid-fire. What’s your:
*Favorite novel?
JONATHON: Um… um… I’m currently reading By Winged Chair by Kendra Merritt and greatly enjoying it. The Lightbringer series by Brent Weeks is fantastic, as is the Temeraire series by Naomi Novik. Horatio Hornblower by C. S. Forester. The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness and Unwind and Scythe, both by Neal Shusterman… This was supposed to be an easier question?!
*Favorite movie?
JONATHON: AAAAAAAAAAA! All right. Let’s narrow it down: The Mask of Zorro. The Return of the King. What’s Up Doc? Music and Lyrics. Ernest Saves Christmas. Inside Out. Clearly some of those are more high-brow than others!
*Favorite TV show?
JONATHON: Either Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or Babylon 5. Finally, an easier one!
*Favorite line of action figures from when you were a kid?
JONATHON: Thundercats!
*Favorite superhero?
JONATHON: Whew. This one changes constantly. For comic superhero, I’d go Batman or Green Lantern (Kyle Rayner). For movie superhero, I’d go Captain America.
*Favorite movie monster?
JONATHON: Brendan Frasier’s Mummy. I like things a little goofy.
*Favorite video game?
JONATHON: My family finally got a Switch for Christmas, and I’ve fallen in love with Zelda all over again!
*Favorite literary character?
JONATHON: Jonas from The Giver
*Favorite movie quote?
JONATHON: “Life is pain. Anyone who tries to tell you differently is trying to sell you something.” I should have listed Princess Bride up there with my favorite movies…
*Favorite contemporary author?
I keep returning to Neal Shusterman’s books. His imagination and scope are amazing.
*Favorite food?
I crave Chinese food. Also Mexican food. Burgers. Pasta. Food.
JASON: And finally, what one thing do you want to tell everyone about The Keeper of Tales to make them rush right out and get it?
JONATHON: If you love stories, you will love this story about stories!
JASON: Thank you, Jonathon. Now let’s go sell a million copies of our respective titles.
You can find Jonathon online at https://jonathonmastauthor.com . And The Keeper of Tales will be available from Dark Owl Publishing or on Amazon.com on March 1st. https://www.darkowlpublishing.com/the...
JASON J. MCCUISTON: Tell us a little bit about yourself. What process led you to become a professional storyteller?
JONATHON MAST: I have always been a storyteller. My mom drove bus for my grade school, so I was always the first one on. I told stories as the other kids got on the bus. They loved those stories, though I can’t remember any of the tales now! At that point, I knew I wanted to be an author!
JASON: That lifelong call to be a storyteller sounds familiar. Like me, I’m guessing you enjoy reading “How To” books on the craft of writing by famous authors as much as you enjoy their fiction. Do you have any favorite volumes of this kind? Are there any specific authors who have inspired or directly influenced you?
JONATHON: On Writing by Stephen King is one that’s stuck with me, though I tend to watch more Youtube videos on craft these days!
…and I now realize how silly that is, but bite-size helps me!
As far as specific authors go, whew. I’ve read so much and so widely, it’s hard for me to pin one author down. Helpful, I know! I will say I love old pulps, and in particular I’ve been reading the Zorro stories of Johnston McCulley!
JASON: Zorro and pulps, a man after my own heart! Now, your new novel, The Keeper of Tales from Dark Owl Publishing, is an epic fantasy that is as much ABOUT stories as it is a story. Can you elaborate on the particular magic that went into crafting such a tale?
JONATHON: Long ago I watched Return of the King. I love the long ending of that movie. I know there’s debate about it, but I adore the amount of falling action. I wanted to craft something that left readers with a similar feeling. I sat down to write having no other goal. What’s funny is that I pantsed the whole thing. In other words, I had no plan. I didn’t know the characters, the world, none of it. I discovered it as I wrote it!
That first draft was such a mess. You could tell I was wandering here, had no clue what was happening there. But once I had the outline of the story, I revised and polished and amputated until what was left told a strong story.
But something that came out through the entire process: my love for stories as artifacts in themselves. A well-told story will grab my attention, because I love the art of telling stories. I hope that love comes through in the novel!
JASON: Outstanding! So tell us about the protagonist of the novel. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve chosen a rather unorthodox hero for your epic tale.
JONATHON: So many of the fantasy stories I read focused on relatively young adults, either men or women, going on these demanding quests. I wanted to do something different, so the main character became an old man. Adal is past his prime and he knows it. He can’t handle doing a lot of the physical things usually associated with fantasy stories. He’s also not a magician (at least at first), so in many ways he can’t “pull his weight” with the main characters. What value does he bring? He’s a king, so he carries a certain weight with him when dealing with other cultures, and he’s got the wisdom of age. It was fun to write a character so unlike me!
JASON: One of the best parts of being an author, I think. I saw that Publisher’s Weekly recently pointed out the “unique and fascinating” qualities of your magic system in The Keeper of Tales. Considering how many fantasy novels are out there, this is quite an impressive feat. How much time did you spend on world-building versus writing the text? And what were your primary sources of inspiration?
JONATHON: The central premise of the novel: Stories are alive.
From that flows a lot of how the world works. If a story says that kings are good and just, then the kings of that world are good and just. If you want to change the world, you need to start telling other stories.
So magic is really just storytelling. For instance, if you’re injured, you need someone to tell your body the story of what it’s supposed to look like. Your body will match the story.
Of course, that means that if someone starts twisting tales, bad things happen…
So, I mentioned before that I pantsed the story. I made it up as I went. There was no worldbuilding ahead of time! But after that first draft, I sat down and did a full workup of all the cultures and races and the history of the world. In further drafts – and there were many – I was able to incorporate and change things to fit a much cleaner picture. That world-building process took a few months as I asked a lot of questions. “This culture grew up on the waves. What would that look like? How would that affect speech patterns or social patterns?” In fact, several of the characters from that first draft got a full overhaul!
JASON: Most people don’t realize just how much hard work goes into telling a good fantasy story. Speaking of which, what is it, do you think, about the High or Epic Fantasy genre that so attracts authors and readers, generation after generation?
JONATHON: Fantasy may be the only genre that truly says, “Whatever you can imagine.” You might argue that science fiction fits that as well, but there I’d say you’re usually tied to some sort of science. Else it’s really science fantasy. But in fantasy, you simply say, “This is the way the world works!” and it does.
Many fantasy works also have relatively clear protagonists and antagonists. Who are the bad guys? Who are the good guys? Generally you can tell fairly quickly. I think we look for that kind of ease in our fiction, at least sometimes. I want to cheer for the good guys!
There’s also something about the epic scope that fantasy welcomes. You can see fantastic lands, meet fantastic cultures, and many kinds, all in one volume. There’s something attractive about exploring what’s beyond the horizon, and fantasy invites the reader to do that.
JASON: Exactly. So, aside from fantasy, do you have any other genres or subgenres you enjoy?
JONATHON: I just praised fantasy… but science fiction is huge for me! I grew up on Star Trek and Star Wars (though Star Wars counts more as science fantasy).
I also mentioned before I love old pulp stories. Give me some of that adventure! Star Trek led me to love sailing adventures, too. I’ve recently started enjoying Westerns as well.
JASON: Clearly we have a lot in common. Your website says that you are a pastor as well as an author. As a man of faith, myself, I sometimes worry when I write villains doing villainous things. How do you approach the delicate balancing act of being a good guy writing bad guys? Do you ever lie awake at night asking yourself, “Where did that come from?”
JONATHON: I am a pastor. It’s true. And honestly, I’m not surprised when it comes to thinking up villainous things. I’m sinful. There’s a reason I’m Christian: I recognize my sin and that I need a Savior. I have darkness inside me. It’s not who I am, but I do have it. And it is forgiven!
It’s also something I love about the Bible: It doesn’t shy away from showing the evil humans are capable of. It doesn’t condone; it describes. And so when I’m crafting stories, I do the same. Hopefully by the end of a novel I’m not condoning evil, but I won’t shy away from describing it.
JASON: Well said. Okay, after that hard-hitter, let’s do some fun ones rapid-fire. What’s your:
*Favorite novel?
JONATHON: Um… um… I’m currently reading By Winged Chair by Kendra Merritt and greatly enjoying it. The Lightbringer series by Brent Weeks is fantastic, as is the Temeraire series by Naomi Novik. Horatio Hornblower by C. S. Forester. The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness and Unwind and Scythe, both by Neal Shusterman… This was supposed to be an easier question?!
*Favorite movie?
JONATHON: AAAAAAAAAAA! All right. Let’s narrow it down: The Mask of Zorro. The Return of the King. What’s Up Doc? Music and Lyrics. Ernest Saves Christmas. Inside Out. Clearly some of those are more high-brow than others!
*Favorite TV show?
JONATHON: Either Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or Babylon 5. Finally, an easier one!
*Favorite line of action figures from when you were a kid?
JONATHON: Thundercats!
*Favorite superhero?
JONATHON: Whew. This one changes constantly. For comic superhero, I’d go Batman or Green Lantern (Kyle Rayner). For movie superhero, I’d go Captain America.
*Favorite movie monster?
JONATHON: Brendan Frasier’s Mummy. I like things a little goofy.
*Favorite video game?
JONATHON: My family finally got a Switch for Christmas, and I’ve fallen in love with Zelda all over again!
*Favorite literary character?
JONATHON: Jonas from The Giver
*Favorite movie quote?
JONATHON: “Life is pain. Anyone who tries to tell you differently is trying to sell you something.” I should have listed Princess Bride up there with my favorite movies…
*Favorite contemporary author?
I keep returning to Neal Shusterman’s books. His imagination and scope are amazing.
*Favorite food?
I crave Chinese food. Also Mexican food. Burgers. Pasta. Food.
JASON: And finally, what one thing do you want to tell everyone about The Keeper of Tales to make them rush right out and get it?
JONATHON: If you love stories, you will love this story about stories!
JASON: Thank you, Jonathon. Now let’s go sell a million copies of our respective titles.
You can find Jonathon online at https://jonathonmastauthor.com . And The Keeper of Tales will be available from Dark Owl Publishing or on Amazon.com on March 1st. https://www.darkowlpublishing.com/the...
November 23, 2017
Thanksgiving 2017
Thanksgiving 2017
This year, I have so much to be thankful for that it’s hard to keep count. The Lord has blessed me in the past eleven months more than I can remember, and certainly more than I deserve. In addition to His constant and ever-present love, mercy, guidance, and forgiveness, He has heaped success and happiness on me throughout this year. I am humbled and grateful.
I am thankful for my loving and wonderful wife, Dr. Kimberly McCuiston, who has made it possible for me to make writing my full-time career. And for so many other things besides, including our little four-legged babies, Grendel and Winkie.
I am thankful for the fact that just as January came to a close, Mark Gottlieb of Trident Media Group called me, willing to take a chance on my first “completed” novel. Whether he knows it or not, that phone call gave me the confidence to go on a writing spree that has seen two short stories published this year, three more novels finished, two of which are out for consideration, and two more manuscripts in the works.
I am thankful for G.L. Cromarty and Marcus Henson for sharing their brilliant work with me and for their excellent insights into my own work, and for all their kind words and help throughout this year, including G letting me take over her blog for a day. I am thankful for Frank Oreto, Doug Gwilym, Vonnie Winslow Crist, and Kelly A. Harmon for taking a chance on my two stories and seeing them included in two fantastic tomes containing some of the best fiction I’ve ever read. I’m thankful for Steven R. Southard and Gregory L. Norris for selflessly promoting me on their blogs. Above all, I’m thankful for the newfound friendships I have with all of these fine folks. We may not get together for game nights once a week or help each other move, but we have come to share in each other’s triumphs and successes. And we do help each other with our writing, whether that be a little bit of social-media promotion, an occasional critique, or just a well-earned “huzzah” or the much-needed “better luck next time.”
I am thankful for NaNoWriMo for not only lighting a fire under my backside this month, but mostly for introducing me to all the wonderful people of the Pee Dee Writers. Now, I have people I can talk to face-to-face about things only writers understand without getting glazed eyeballs staring back at me. Most of you reading this will know what I’m talking about.
Finally, I am thankful for the network of friends and family who, though separated by miles and state lines, are always there to support me when I need it, and vice versa. I am thankful that the Lord has kept them all alive and (for the most part) healthy in 2017, and I pray that He continues to do so in the upcoming year as well.
So, on this day when families get together and eat way too much food, catch up on all the year’s gossip and grumbles, comedies and tragedies, successes and failures, I’d like to invite you to take a little time to yourself and consider what you are truly thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and loved ones!
This year, I have so much to be thankful for that it’s hard to keep count. The Lord has blessed me in the past eleven months more than I can remember, and certainly more than I deserve. In addition to His constant and ever-present love, mercy, guidance, and forgiveness, He has heaped success and happiness on me throughout this year. I am humbled and grateful.
I am thankful for my loving and wonderful wife, Dr. Kimberly McCuiston, who has made it possible for me to make writing my full-time career. And for so many other things besides, including our little four-legged babies, Grendel and Winkie.
I am thankful for the fact that just as January came to a close, Mark Gottlieb of Trident Media Group called me, willing to take a chance on my first “completed” novel. Whether he knows it or not, that phone call gave me the confidence to go on a writing spree that has seen two short stories published this year, three more novels finished, two of which are out for consideration, and two more manuscripts in the works.
I am thankful for G.L. Cromarty and Marcus Henson for sharing their brilliant work with me and for their excellent insights into my own work, and for all their kind words and help throughout this year, including G letting me take over her blog for a day. I am thankful for Frank Oreto, Doug Gwilym, Vonnie Winslow Crist, and Kelly A. Harmon for taking a chance on my two stories and seeing them included in two fantastic tomes containing some of the best fiction I’ve ever read. I’m thankful for Steven R. Southard and Gregory L. Norris for selflessly promoting me on their blogs. Above all, I’m thankful for the newfound friendships I have with all of these fine folks. We may not get together for game nights once a week or help each other move, but we have come to share in each other’s triumphs and successes. And we do help each other with our writing, whether that be a little bit of social-media promotion, an occasional critique, or just a well-earned “huzzah” or the much-needed “better luck next time.”
I am thankful for NaNoWriMo for not only lighting a fire under my backside this month, but mostly for introducing me to all the wonderful people of the Pee Dee Writers. Now, I have people I can talk to face-to-face about things only writers understand without getting glazed eyeballs staring back at me. Most of you reading this will know what I’m talking about.
Finally, I am thankful for the network of friends and family who, though separated by miles and state lines, are always there to support me when I need it, and vice versa. I am thankful that the Lord has kept them all alive and (for the most part) healthy in 2017, and I pray that He continues to do so in the upcoming year as well.
So, on this day when families get together and eat way too much food, catch up on all the year’s gossip and grumbles, comedies and tragedies, successes and failures, I’d like to invite you to take a little time to yourself and consider what you are truly thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and loved ones!
November 13, 2017
NaNoWriMO 2
Last week I posted the very first pages of my WIP, featuring Nyah, deposed Queen of Ryumbani - the protagonist of these adventures. Today, I'd like to introduce you to a new villain:
Torchlight glinted on silver as the skiff slid into a berth of the darkened smuggler’s cove. The bribe, like the long and circuitous route to get here, was a necessity. His quarry was cautious, and he could not afford to give even a hint of warning, lest he be eluded once again.
It had taken weeks to search all of Gotha and make certain that his prey had indeed fled the city. But Gotha was big and Elafry was thorough. He was a professional. He knew he had time. His prey would eventually make a mistake – another mistake – and he would find him. In fact, all he had had to do was follow a trail of his prey’s enemies through the city of Gotha, and one of these had finally spoken the name of this little village of degenerates on the northern fringes of the Delta.
He and his crew disembarked and took the secret path through the swampland to the south of the village after waving off the proffered guide. The useless man needed a lantern to see by night; Elafry Drakon and his kind did not. They moved through the marsh like shadows, not even disturbing the croaking frogs and chirping crickets with their passage.
Within minutes they were at the thieves’ gate; the secret entrance to the village of L’ Bo which, unlike the main gate, allowed admittance at any hour of the day or night. Provided, of course, one had the proper key. Another wordless bribe and the eleven elves entered the village with none the wiser.
The silver coins were coated with a slow-acting poison which would cause the men who had seen them and taken the bribes to choke on their own vomit within the next two to four hours. Elafry did not like to leave loose ends. He was a professional.
Minutes later, he and his ten stood in the shadows across the square from the large tavern. He watched the signboard swing slightly in the night breeze, and shook his head with a wry grin. “The Dead Dragon,” he whispered to his men, touching the black dragon tattooed along the right side of his face. “Of all the places in this town to set up shop, the stupid bastard chooses this one. I almost admire his wit.”
Once upon a time, I did, he reminded himself. The thought killed the grin and replaced it with a scowl filled with murder.
They crossed the narrow lane, empty save for sprawling bodies – either unconscious drunks or victims of violence, or both. The tavern’s heavy doors were locked, but that meant less than nothing to Elafry and his ilk.
The common room was empty; the benches and stools set atop the fresh-scrubbed tables and the stone floor already swept clean of most of the night’s filth. Only a single barmaid sang to herself as she washed down the long mahogany bar to the right of the doors. She was a curvy flame-haired Pale Man with an embroidered eyepatch over her left eye.
Elafry watched her right eye – a swirl of gold, seafoam green, and sky blue – go wide with terror when she looked up and saw him standing across the bar from her, a smile on his face. She started to scream, but strong fingers covered in black leather fell across her mouth and throat. Another pair held her hands flat on the bar; two of his men had encircled her while she worked and sang, oblivious to the danger surrounding her in the shadows.
Elafry drew one of his many sharp daggers and lay it on the bar in front of the girl’s hands; they were rough and aged beyond her years, so what he was about to do to them would not cost the world anything of beauty. “Good evening, my dear,” he said, admiring the ruby glint of his eyes reflected in the blade’s polished surface. “I am looking for one of my kinsmen. I believe you know of whom I speak.”
The hand around the girl’s mouth disappeared and she screamed, “Rastus!”
Elafry moved so quickly that the girl didn’t even feel the cut before he held the severed little finger of her left hand up to her one beautiful hazel eye. The gloved hand covered her mouth again. The one holding her left wrist tightened, slowing the flow of blood onto the wet mahogany.
Her tears flowed faster than the blood dripping from the calloused appendage. “Now,” Elafry said. “I am a patient man, and I am willing to ask you one simple question ten more times.”
The girl was shaking as if struck by a palsy. Tears and snot streamed over the black leather glove covering the lower part of her face. Elafry smelled urine and feces. In truth, he did not want to spend all night torturing this stupid girl, so he tapped her cheek with the tip of her own severed finger. “Just in case you’re not strong at arithmetic, my dear, I shall explain my statement. You now have nine fingers and one, single, solitary eye – and a lovely one, I might add. Now, at some point during our conversation, I am going to grow tired of cutting off your fingers and will instead go for that gorgeous hazel orb.
“I … haven’t … decided … when … exactly,” he said, poking her splayed fingers, one by one, with the removed pinky, “but … it … will … happen ….
“Unless you tell me right this very instant, where in this gods-forsaken hell-hole of a shit-heap village I can find Constantine Rose?”
The girl told him. Of course she did. Elafry was a professional. And what he did to her single hazel eye did cost the world a little bit of beauty.
Torchlight glinted on silver as the skiff slid into a berth of the darkened smuggler’s cove. The bribe, like the long and circuitous route to get here, was a necessity. His quarry was cautious, and he could not afford to give even a hint of warning, lest he be eluded once again.
It had taken weeks to search all of Gotha and make certain that his prey had indeed fled the city. But Gotha was big and Elafry was thorough. He was a professional. He knew he had time. His prey would eventually make a mistake – another mistake – and he would find him. In fact, all he had had to do was follow a trail of his prey’s enemies through the city of Gotha, and one of these had finally spoken the name of this little village of degenerates on the northern fringes of the Delta.
He and his crew disembarked and took the secret path through the swampland to the south of the village after waving off the proffered guide. The useless man needed a lantern to see by night; Elafry Drakon and his kind did not. They moved through the marsh like shadows, not even disturbing the croaking frogs and chirping crickets with their passage.
Within minutes they were at the thieves’ gate; the secret entrance to the village of L’ Bo which, unlike the main gate, allowed admittance at any hour of the day or night. Provided, of course, one had the proper key. Another wordless bribe and the eleven elves entered the village with none the wiser.
The silver coins were coated with a slow-acting poison which would cause the men who had seen them and taken the bribes to choke on their own vomit within the next two to four hours. Elafry did not like to leave loose ends. He was a professional.
Minutes later, he and his ten stood in the shadows across the square from the large tavern. He watched the signboard swing slightly in the night breeze, and shook his head with a wry grin. “The Dead Dragon,” he whispered to his men, touching the black dragon tattooed along the right side of his face. “Of all the places in this town to set up shop, the stupid bastard chooses this one. I almost admire his wit.”
Once upon a time, I did, he reminded himself. The thought killed the grin and replaced it with a scowl filled with murder.
They crossed the narrow lane, empty save for sprawling bodies – either unconscious drunks or victims of violence, or both. The tavern’s heavy doors were locked, but that meant less than nothing to Elafry and his ilk.
The common room was empty; the benches and stools set atop the fresh-scrubbed tables and the stone floor already swept clean of most of the night’s filth. Only a single barmaid sang to herself as she washed down the long mahogany bar to the right of the doors. She was a curvy flame-haired Pale Man with an embroidered eyepatch over her left eye.
Elafry watched her right eye – a swirl of gold, seafoam green, and sky blue – go wide with terror when she looked up and saw him standing across the bar from her, a smile on his face. She started to scream, but strong fingers covered in black leather fell across her mouth and throat. Another pair held her hands flat on the bar; two of his men had encircled her while she worked and sang, oblivious to the danger surrounding her in the shadows.
Elafry drew one of his many sharp daggers and lay it on the bar in front of the girl’s hands; they were rough and aged beyond her years, so what he was about to do to them would not cost the world anything of beauty. “Good evening, my dear,” he said, admiring the ruby glint of his eyes reflected in the blade’s polished surface. “I am looking for one of my kinsmen. I believe you know of whom I speak.”
The hand around the girl’s mouth disappeared and she screamed, “Rastus!”
Elafry moved so quickly that the girl didn’t even feel the cut before he held the severed little finger of her left hand up to her one beautiful hazel eye. The gloved hand covered her mouth again. The one holding her left wrist tightened, slowing the flow of blood onto the wet mahogany.
Her tears flowed faster than the blood dripping from the calloused appendage. “Now,” Elafry said. “I am a patient man, and I am willing to ask you one simple question ten more times.”
The girl was shaking as if struck by a palsy. Tears and snot streamed over the black leather glove covering the lower part of her face. Elafry smelled urine and feces. In truth, he did not want to spend all night torturing this stupid girl, so he tapped her cheek with the tip of her own severed finger. “Just in case you’re not strong at arithmetic, my dear, I shall explain my statement. You now have nine fingers and one, single, solitary eye – and a lovely one, I might add. Now, at some point during our conversation, I am going to grow tired of cutting off your fingers and will instead go for that gorgeous hazel orb.
“I … haven’t … decided … when … exactly,” he said, poking her splayed fingers, one by one, with the removed pinky, “but … it … will … happen ….
“Unless you tell me right this very instant, where in this gods-forsaken hell-hole of a shit-heap village I can find Constantine Rose?”
The girl told him. Of course she did. Elafry was a professional. And what he did to her single hazel eye did cost the world a little bit of beauty.
November 6, 2017
NaNoWriMo 1
This may be cheating, but for the duration of November, I think I'll post an excerpt from my weekly word count on my WIP - Swamp of Sorrows, which is the first sequel to my unpublished novel, River of Blood.
The arrow slashed out from the darkness and struck beside her head.
“Corrou!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “They’ve found us!” Her companion did not move.
Another arrow whistled through the shadows. Nyah took a deep breath and the missile seemed to slow, to stop, to hang in the air, the dim glow of the tiny campfire glistening along its razored tip. As her awareness spread out from her core, she sensed rather than saw her attackers. Three large men ran at her, but like the arrow, they were caught in a moment of time. Another, larger, group remained hidden in the foliage. The archers were among these.
Nyah reached out, plucked the arrow from the air – just as she had the crossbow bolt outside the gates of L’ Baile. Her mind’s eye flashed on the image of the last time she had seen ‘Karu; his body wrapped in salted canvas and propped unceremoniously in a corner.
The memory served to fuel her anger, to hone her rage, and to sharpen her skill. With the flick of her wrist, she sent the projectile into the nearest attacker’s throat. He gurgled rather than screamed before toppling to the ground.
“Corrou!” she yelled again, rolling across the narrow clearing of their camp. Two more arrows sliced the air she had just occupied. She came to her feet in front of the second man, who had slowed his charge when his companion’s arterial spray had struck his face. Nyah’s fist followed, and he collapsed like a shanty caught in a gale.
The third warrior rushed her, his curved sword and armored vest glowing in the firelight. Nyah dropped to a crouch. Two more arrows sailed over her head. She launched a kick into the man’s knee just as he planted it, heard the satisfying crunch, felt the cartilage explode inside the joint, and listened to the even more satisfying scream as the man went down in agony.
“Corrou!” Nyah called again as more men came from the shadows. And more arrows.
She spared a glance at the campfire. Corrou lay balled into a heap where he had fallen into a fitful slumber just hours before. She had not wanted to build the fire, knowing that they were still hunted, but he had burned with fever and was wracked with chills. She had feared he might die without the comfort of the small flames.
And now, because of their glow, they both might die.
“What the hell’s taking so long?” a voice called from the darkness in the Talakoku tongue. “It’s just one skinny girl and a half dead man!”
Seeing that there were seven brigands moving to encircle her, Nyah retreated back to the campfire, crouched and picked up her nunchaku. Another arrow whistled past her, forcing her away from the illumination. That was fine. It was time for her to go on the attack.
The arrow slashed out from the darkness and struck beside her head.
“Corrou!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “They’ve found us!” Her companion did not move.
Another arrow whistled through the shadows. Nyah took a deep breath and the missile seemed to slow, to stop, to hang in the air, the dim glow of the tiny campfire glistening along its razored tip. As her awareness spread out from her core, she sensed rather than saw her attackers. Three large men ran at her, but like the arrow, they were caught in a moment of time. Another, larger, group remained hidden in the foliage. The archers were among these.
Nyah reached out, plucked the arrow from the air – just as she had the crossbow bolt outside the gates of L’ Baile. Her mind’s eye flashed on the image of the last time she had seen ‘Karu; his body wrapped in salted canvas and propped unceremoniously in a corner.
The memory served to fuel her anger, to hone her rage, and to sharpen her skill. With the flick of her wrist, she sent the projectile into the nearest attacker’s throat. He gurgled rather than screamed before toppling to the ground.
“Corrou!” she yelled again, rolling across the narrow clearing of their camp. Two more arrows sliced the air she had just occupied. She came to her feet in front of the second man, who had slowed his charge when his companion’s arterial spray had struck his face. Nyah’s fist followed, and he collapsed like a shanty caught in a gale.
The third warrior rushed her, his curved sword and armored vest glowing in the firelight. Nyah dropped to a crouch. Two more arrows sailed over her head. She launched a kick into the man’s knee just as he planted it, heard the satisfying crunch, felt the cartilage explode inside the joint, and listened to the even more satisfying scream as the man went down in agony.
“Corrou!” Nyah called again as more men came from the shadows. And more arrows.
She spared a glance at the campfire. Corrou lay balled into a heap where he had fallen into a fitful slumber just hours before. She had not wanted to build the fire, knowing that they were still hunted, but he had burned with fever and was wracked with chills. She had feared he might die without the comfort of the small flames.
And now, because of their glow, they both might die.
“What the hell’s taking so long?” a voice called from the darkness in the Talakoku tongue. “It’s just one skinny girl and a half dead man!”
Seeing that there were seven brigands moving to encircle her, Nyah retreated back to the campfire, crouched and picked up her nunchaku. Another arrow whistled past her, forcing her away from the illumination. That was fine. It was time for her to go on the attack.
October 30, 2017
Lovecraft
As Halloween looms large, and NaNoWriMo looms larger, I find myself thinking … H.P. Lovecraft, of course!
Often called the “Father of Modern Horror,” Lovecraft was not a towering success in his own lifetime. His particular brand of nihilistic cosmic horror, coupled with his classically-informed (i.e. wordy) style were hard-sells for the pulp markets of the 1920s and ‘30s. When most everyone else’s story ended with the brawny Hero trouncing the Bad Guy and getting the Girl, Lovecraft’s tales usually concluded with the less-than-brawny protagonist going mad in the face of whatever cosmic evil he had confronted; oftentimes with said cosmic evil unaware that there had even been a confrontation. And there are very few Girls in Lovecraft stories.
But I did not come to Lovecraft and his Mythos by a traditional literary route. I did not stumble upon his stories in some long-lost cache of Weird Tales magazines or a box of forgotten small-press paperbacks hidden in the basement or attic; nor even find them on a shelf in a library or a bookstore. No, it was a game that introduced me to the man and the horrors of his imagination – which is ironic when you consider how trifling he found all manner of games and sports to be. The game in question was Sandy Petersen’s Call of Cthulhu role-playing game published by Chaosium; specifically the 4th edition. That was almost thirty years ago, and I believe they are now on the 7th or 8th edition. Even today, in my dotage (ahem), I am fond of a board game based on Lovecraft’s stories, called Eldritch Horror and published by Fantasy Flight Games. Just because the “heroes” rarely win in his tales doesn’t mean we as players can’t try.
Since discovering him in high school, I have read almost all of Lovecraft’s published stories – several multiple times, “The Colour Out of Space” and “The Lurking Fear” are two of my favorites – and even a few of his correspondences with fellow writers. Lovecraft wrote far more extensively about writing weird fiction than he actually wrote weird fiction. Among his coterie of pen pals were Robert E. Howard – creator of Conan the Barbarian and Solomon Kane – and Robert Bloch – author of Psycho – just to name two. He was also an accomplished ghost writer, even penning a story for Harry Houdini in 1924.
But his impact reached far beyond his contemporaries. Any list of modern authors who cite Lovecraft as an influence on their writing and love of weird fiction will find Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, and Peter Straub at the top. I’m somewhere near the bottom of that list, but you can bet I’m on it.
So, if you’ve watched all the horror movies you can stomach with two days to go to Halloween, or you need some inspiration for your NaNo project, pick up a copy of some of Lovecraft’s tales, or get together with a group of intrepid friends and enjoy losing Sanity while trying to save the world from unspeakable horror.
I promise, you’ll have fun.
Often called the “Father of Modern Horror,” Lovecraft was not a towering success in his own lifetime. His particular brand of nihilistic cosmic horror, coupled with his classically-informed (i.e. wordy) style were hard-sells for the pulp markets of the 1920s and ‘30s. When most everyone else’s story ended with the brawny Hero trouncing the Bad Guy and getting the Girl, Lovecraft’s tales usually concluded with the less-than-brawny protagonist going mad in the face of whatever cosmic evil he had confronted; oftentimes with said cosmic evil unaware that there had even been a confrontation. And there are very few Girls in Lovecraft stories.
But I did not come to Lovecraft and his Mythos by a traditional literary route. I did not stumble upon his stories in some long-lost cache of Weird Tales magazines or a box of forgotten small-press paperbacks hidden in the basement or attic; nor even find them on a shelf in a library or a bookstore. No, it was a game that introduced me to the man and the horrors of his imagination – which is ironic when you consider how trifling he found all manner of games and sports to be. The game in question was Sandy Petersen’s Call of Cthulhu role-playing game published by Chaosium; specifically the 4th edition. That was almost thirty years ago, and I believe they are now on the 7th or 8th edition. Even today, in my dotage (ahem), I am fond of a board game based on Lovecraft’s stories, called Eldritch Horror and published by Fantasy Flight Games. Just because the “heroes” rarely win in his tales doesn’t mean we as players can’t try.
Since discovering him in high school, I have read almost all of Lovecraft’s published stories – several multiple times, “The Colour Out of Space” and “The Lurking Fear” are two of my favorites – and even a few of his correspondences with fellow writers. Lovecraft wrote far more extensively about writing weird fiction than he actually wrote weird fiction. Among his coterie of pen pals were Robert E. Howard – creator of Conan the Barbarian and Solomon Kane – and Robert Bloch – author of Psycho – just to name two. He was also an accomplished ghost writer, even penning a story for Harry Houdini in 1924.
But his impact reached far beyond his contemporaries. Any list of modern authors who cite Lovecraft as an influence on their writing and love of weird fiction will find Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, and Peter Straub at the top. I’m somewhere near the bottom of that list, but you can bet I’m on it.
So, if you’ve watched all the horror movies you can stomach with two days to go to Halloween, or you need some inspiration for your NaNo project, pick up a copy of some of Lovecraft’s tales, or get together with a group of intrepid friends and enjoy losing Sanity while trying to save the world from unspeakable horror.
I promise, you’ll have fun.
Words from the Shadows
A weekly update on what is on my mind, whether it is sound or not. Read at your own risk!
- Jason J. McCuiston's profile
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