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The Big Thrill Interview

2012-01-31T16:08:00.000-05:00

Recently, the lovely and talented Miranda Parker took the time to interview me for the International Thriller Writers' The Big Thrill. You can read that interview here. Thanks to Miranda for taking the time, and for coming up with some killer questions as well!

For those of you who speak Russian...

2012-01-30T17:54:00.002-05:00

...DEAD HARVEST got what Google Translate assures me is a glowing review from this site. (Hey, nine of ten stars is fine by me in any language!) Many thanks to whosoever wrote it! It seems a very thoughtful review indeed, if spottily translated by my browser.

I'm going global, baby!

DEAD HARVEST at Terror Tree

2012-01-30T12:45:00.000-05:00

"This is quite simply, dead good!"

Click through to read the rest. (And thanks, Theresa!)

A Fantastical Librarian Reviews DEAD HARVEST

2012-01-30T07:31:00.000-05:00

"DEAD HARVEST is a phenomenal debut novel with a cracking plot and amazing characters... I can't wait for the second book."

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning. Many thanks to Mieneke for the kind review.

Publishers Weekly on DEAD HARVEST

2012-01-28T08:51:00.001-05:00

Wow. They, um, loved it. No, really:

"A war is brewing between angels and demons in this twisty, fast-paced, and thoroughly enjoyable urban fantasy debut."

Click through to read the rest. I probably will another couple dozen times.

DEAD HARVEST a Spotlight Review at BookFetish!

2012-01-27T18:35:00.001-05:00

"Holm’s perfectly pitched and finely tuned prose sets the rapid pace of unceasing action... you need not be a fan of gumshoe to get the most out of this read."

Announcing the "One Month From DEAD HARVEST's Release Date" Promo-festi-bration!

2012-01-27T07:00:00.000-05:00

In just one month (and seventeen hours, but hey, who's counting?) my debut novel, DEAD HARVEST, will be released in the US and Canada. (That's February 28, for those playing along at home.) Two days later (on March 1), it'll be available in the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and the secret English-language moon base you just know NATO's been keeping under wraps for decades. (Note: that last one may not, strictly speaking, be true. As far as you know.)

I can't tell you how excited I am the big day is almost here. It's a cliché to call something a dream come true, but in this case, it's the truth. If you'd like to pre-order a copy of DEAD HARVEST, you're welcome to stop by my website, where I've compiled a list of links to bookstores in the US and abroad who're carrying it, from the indiest of indies to the biggest names in online bookmongery (which, as far as I'm concerned, should totally be a word.)

Also, in celebration of DEAD HARVEST's pending release, this weekend my Spinetingler Award-nominated Kindle short story collection 8 POUNDS will be absolutely, totally, 100% free to download. 8 POUNDS features eight tales of crime, horror, and suspense, including my fiction debut, "The World Behind," which first appeared in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, as well as my Spinetingler Award-winning "Seven Days of Rain," and my Derringer finalist "The Big Score."

All totally, for-seriously free.

American Kindle-folk click here.

UK Kindle-folk click here.

So do me a favor, and spread the word. If you haven't read it, now's your chance. If you have and you enjoyed it, maybe suggest it to someone who might like it. But either way, act now. 8 POUNDS will only be available for free download from Friday, January 27 until Monday, January 30.

The clock is ticking...

New York Journal of Books Reviews DEAD HARVEST

2012-01-24T17:33:00.002-05:00

Wow. I've gotta say, I think this review does a better job of pitching my book than I ever could. Here's a taste:

". . . urban fantasy treasure . . . With a candid style that exhibits solid confidence and finesse, Chris Holm pulls readers in and pins us to the edge of our seats with a cleverly conceived story that is flawlessly executed.”

Click through to read the rest. Many thanks to Renee Fountain and all the good folks at the New York Journal of Books.

Chatting with Elaine

2012-01-16T23:29:00.002-05:00

Over at Ashedit, the inimitable Elaine Ash has a sort of behind-the-scenes post up about DEAD HARVEST, focusing the fateful day I got the deal, as well as on my snazzy, snazzy cover design. Angry Robot marketing guru Darren Turpin pops in for a quote or two, as does Martin Stiff of Amazing 15, aka the man behind the artwork for the series. So what're you waiting for? Go check it out.

Thanks to Elaine for having me, and to Darren and Martin for being such good sports.

"Alligator" Named in Five You Can't Miss!

2012-01-14T09:30:00.001-05:00

Over at Chris Rhatigan's Death By Killing, Alec Cizak names my short story "The Man in the Alligator Shoes" one of his five you can't miss from 2011.

Thanks to Alec and Chris both.

"Seven Days of Rain" at the Longest-Titled Blog Ever

2012-01-13T18:54:00.001-05:00

Much like the long-buried body in the story itself, it seems "Seven Days of Rain" just won't stay buried. I was delighted to see it pop up on the charmingly titled* HOW MANY SHORT STORIES CAN YOU READ IN A YEAR? CAN YOU READ A STORY A DAY FOR ONE YEAR? blog.

Thanks to Johnny Shaw for the kind mention. Johnny correctly attributes the story to my Kindle collection 8 POUNDS, but I feel I should tip my hat to Bryon Quertermous' sadly defunct Demolition Magazine for publishing it first. Oh, and in the interest of giving you, dear reader, free shit (in the hopes that you'll, you know, buy other, different shit with my name on it)(wait, that sounded all wrong), I should mention you can read it in its entirety for zero dollars here.

*This may not actually be the blog's formal title. But if it's not, it's an object lesson in putting one's title in one's masthead.

Drying Ink on DEAD HARVEST

2012-01-05T13:57:00.003-05:00

The latest word on DEAD HARVEST comes courtesy of Drying Ink (click through to read the rest of the review):

"A talented debut; this will keep you reading late into the night - and possibly beyond."

Guest Blogger Stephen Blackmoore on CITY OF THE LOST

2011-12-29T19:19:00.000-05:00

Okay, I said my piece about Stephen Blackmoore's fantastic CITY OF THE LOST (cough cough out January 3rd go buy it cough cough) the other day, but as promised, Stephen's here to give us an up-close-and-personal glimpse into the making thereof. So, without further ado, here's the man himself...

Did you know CITY OF THE LOST is a picture book?

It is. Sort of.

Back in 2006 or so I caught a glimpse of CRIMINAL: COWARD, a comic written by Ed Brubaker with artwork by Sean Phillips. Grabbed me from the first panel. Brubaker's writing is top notch, but Phillips' artwork really sells it. Calling it gritty doesn't do it justice.

I'm not able to keep up with comics as much as I'd like and though I've since read the rest of them it took me a while to get back there. But those images from that first run of CRIMINAL stuck with me.

My novel, CITY OF THE LOST is a book about Joe Sunday, a two-bit thug who gets killed and brought back to life. Things go downhill from there.

It's being called a dark urban fantasy but I still have trouble seeing it that way. I wrote it as a noir novel with horror and fantasy in it. It's a crime novel first and a fantasy second, not the other way around. I liked the idea of a cover that reflected that. Something that showed L.A.'s sunshine brand of noir, something with some rough edges and harsh lighting. Something that caught a little bit of the bad crazy that I was going for in the novel.

When it came time to talk about cover art my editor somehow managed to read my mind and say she was thinking of getting a comic artist to do it and did I have anybody in mind.

I didn't hesitate. I said Sean Phillips.

Now Phillips has done BATMAN: GOTHAM NOIR, SLEEPER, working on a horror noir book with Ed Brubaker called FATALE, which drops January 4th, by the way. Guy's got more things than I can name.

He has light and shadow down cold. His latest CRIMINAL: LAST OF THE INNOCENT is a fucking masterwork. In the geek hierarchy I'm nobody. He's so far above me I can't even see the soles of his shoes.

So I figured, nice suggestion but there's no way in hell I'm getting Sean fucking Phillips to do my cover.

And then I got an email saying that I got Sean fucking Phillips to do my cover.

And then, because my geek heart hadn't entirely seized up, my editor said, "He's going to do some internal illustrations for the book, too."

So not only did I get the cover artist I wanted, but he was going to do some black and white illustrations.

And Jesus Christ did he knock 'em out of the park.

The thing about his work on this that I particularly liked is that he didn't see the characters exactly like I did. Damn close, but not exact. And I love that. He picked up on my descriptions and depicted those characters in a way that never occurred to me.

Here's an example. The cover. It's a wrap-around image that I think really captures the essence of the book. There's no scene with Joe Sunday walking around Hollywood Boulevard with a gaping chest wound in the novel. But at the same time that's exactly what he's doing.

The harsh lighting, the burnt-out palm trees, the massive hole in Joe Sunday's chest you can see the traffic sign through. That's the book right there.

Now I'm not going to show you the internal pics. They're kind of spoilery.

But I will say this, Sean Phillips draws some mean motherfuckers and when somebody gets their head blown off in Chapter 4, well, he's got one hell of a point of view on that.

Thanks to Mr. Holm for letting me squat on his bloggy real estate. Even if that does sound kind of gross.

So there you have it. And if you think that cover's gorgeous, just wait until you get a load of what's inside. (If you don't think that cover's gorgeous, there's nothing to be done for you. It is, and that's that.) CITY OF THE LOST will be available at any bookstore worth its salt come January 3rd.

Another DEAD HARVEST Rave!

2011-12-29T07:39:00.000-05:00

With thanks to Ed Fortune:

Fans of the Harry Dresden series and those who like their modern-day fantasy with a twist of hardboiled detective story will love this (as will fans of GOOD OMENS and IN NOMINE). I firmly expect this page-turner to do well, and am pleased to hear that a sequel is already in the works.

Click through to read the rest.

Stephen Blackmoore's CITY OF THE LOST

2011-12-28T19:59:00.002-05:00

Six days.

That's how long you have to wait before you can read Stephen Blackmoore's CITY OF THE LOST (out January 3rd).

And believe you me, you should. Because I was lucky enough to read CITY OF THE LOST a few months back, and it kicks ass. But don't take my word for it. Peep this:

When Raymond Chandler wrote, "...down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid," the mean streets to which his mind had no doubt wandered were those of his beloved Los Angeles. CITY OF THE LOST's Joe Sunday is mean, tarnished, and afraid, but for good reason. The funhouse reflection of LA Blackmoore conjures is at once vibrant, seedy, and mysterious - streets so mean, they feel as though plucked straight from Chandler's DT nightmares. CITY OF THE LOST effortlessly blends the grit with the fantastical, and paints a world in which magic is to be feared - but not nearly so much as the people behind it.

Oh, no, wait; I said that, too. But plenty of other folks have been singing Blackmoore's praises, from Wendig to Jacobs to Kirkus, who gave the guy a starred review his first time out. Not too shabby, that.

What I'm saying is, this one is no joke worth picking up (wherever books are sold, yadda yadda). The damn thing practically reads itself. It's fantastic.

What? Still not convinced? Just you wait. Stephen's graciously agreed to pop on by this Friday to share a little behind-the-scenes on CITY OF THE LOST as part of his ~~literary debutante's ball~~ ~~grand coming-out~~ virtual book tour. Least, I assume that's what he's gonna talk about. There's a chance he's just gonna spam y'all with porn links and run his version of a Nigerian prince scam. Not saying he for-sure has one, but if he tries to get you to buy his limited-edition signed gold-leaf printing, I suggest you pass...

DEAD HARVEST Reviewed!

2011-12-20T19:22:00.000-05:00

DEAD HARVEST's first review comes courtesy R. Thomas Brown and Spinetingler, and it's a doozy:

"DEAD HARVEST is a triumphant debut that felt like the book I’d been waiting on for years without knowing it."

Click through the link to read the rest. And thanks to the whole Spinetingler crew, who've got me grinning from ear to ear.

"The Final Bough"

2011-12-15T19:26:00.005-05:00

If you pop over to Angry Robot's site, you'll find a little present from yours truly, in the form of free fiction. "The Final Bough" has everything a good holiday story should: dames, deceit, dentistry– and at the center of it all, an elf who wants answers even more than he wants another swig of nog.

Merry Christmas, and enjoy.

Psst: want some awesome free wallpaper?

2011-12-13T19:32:00.003-05:00

Folks have been pretty darn enthusiastic about the pulptastic covers for DEAD HARVEST (ahem, out February 28 in the US and March 1 worldwide) and THE WRONG GOODBYE (out November 2012). So I thought, what better way than to celebrate the holiday season than to help y'all deck the halls with boughs of awesome? (Where "the halls" is "your computer" and "boughs of awesome" are high-res details of my kickass Angry Robot cover art all cropped and suitable for wallpapering. I'll admit, my analogy needs work.)

Now, I'm no technical wizard. Nor am I technically a wizard, but that seems less germane to this conversation. Point is, I don't know how to do that thing where the little thumbnails serve as a link to the big honking pictures. So I'm just gonna post the big honking pictures. Sorry if I break the internet.

Anyways, here goes. Wallpaper away.

DEAD HARVEST, coming February 2012!

THE WRONG GOODBYE, coming November 2012!

A RIP THROUGH TIME Ebook Now Available!

2011-11-27T12:29:00.001-05:00

Four authors. Five stories. One thrilling serial, in which rogue time-cop Simon Rip travels to the farthest reaches of time and space in an effort to recover the Berlin Device, an object that represents both humankind's greatest achievement... and the deadliest weapon ever conceived.

I was honored to supply Rip's inaugural installment, and then joined the ranks of spectators while editor David Cranmer tapped Charles Gramlich, Garnett Elliott, and Chad Eagleton to take the helm. The resulting tale is both thrilling and unpredictable, and is now together for the first time, in ebook form, for the rock-bottom price of $0.99.

And not to sound like I'm peddling ShamWows here, but wait– there's more! Included in this collection is a never-before-seen bonus Simon Rip tale penned by Chad Eagleton, as well as Ron Scheer's essay on time-travel in popular culture, "Are We Then Yet?"

So what are you waiting for? Go pick yourself up a copy. Time's a wastin'...

The Magic Box

2011-11-23T09:56:00.001-05:00

I've spent a lot of (virtual) ink talking about my Papa Burns' influence on my reading (and therefore writing) habits. There's no question he hardwired me from a young age to always think of story – and life– in terms of mystery. What I haven't talked as much about is my introduction to the world of science fiction and fantasy. That's due in large part to the fact that my love of all things fantastical came about almost passively. I was born into the era of Star Wars and Stephen King, the two being so ubiquitous during my formative years, it's hardly a surprise that I, a voracious consumer of any and all forms of entertainment, internalized them into my worldview.

But Star Wars and King were as mainstream as can be. If I'm to pinpoint the moment I tumbled down the rabbit-hole of hardcore science fiction and fantasy fandom, I've got to to give credit to my Grandpa Holm, and to a box of musty, yellowed old paperbacks, which I devoured by flashlight (fittingly, it seems, in this post-Harry Potter world in which we now live) in a cupboard under the stairs.

I don't remember the specific circumstances behind Grandpa giving me the box, or how the box came to reside in the cupboard beneath our finished basement stairs. (I expect he thought I'd reached an age where I'd appreciate them. If so, he wasn't wrong.) What I do recall is stumbling across it one day in my attempt to push aside enough boxes to craft a proper hiding space, and being enthralled by the secret knowledge those yellowed pages hinted at, and by the tacky promise of their lurid, ornate covers.

The books inside dated largely from the Sixties and Seventies, and ran the gamut from forgotten to disposable to flat-out classics. Paul W. Fairman, Terry Brooks, and countless authors too obscure for Google's reach mingled with Heinlein, McCaffrey, Asimov and Herbert, with Niven and Clarke and Le Guin. Short story collections (all of the shocking-twist-to-the-tale variety) sat alongside massive tomes replete with maps, appendices, and glossaries. Space opera rested next to sword-and-sorcery. Dystopic paranoia tales were piled atop hardcore military sf. And I read every damn one of them, my impressionable young mind giving equal weight to each.

I write this post as news breaks that Anne McCaffrey has passed away. Her DRAGONFLIGHT, as I recall, was the first book from that magic box I ever read. How could any self-respecting twelve-year-old (as I'm guessing I was at the time) not fall victim to the siren song of that book's cover and all it promises?

Of course, it's been decades now since I cracked its cover, so who knows what adult-me would make of it, but at the time, it was one of the coolest things I'd ever read. And it sent me down a path on which I've continued to this day.

If I'm very lucky in this life, one day some nerdy kid will become enthralled with my own lurid, pulpy covers– perhaps while hidden in a makeshift box-fort in a cupboard under the stairs–and begin to read, with no idea whatsoever whether the book in his hands is a stone classic, or some throwaway bit of entertainment, long forgotten.

I only hope that he or she finds my story half as cool.

Ramblings of a would-be writer...

2011-11-21T13:11:00.001-05:00

Sunday, August 11, 2002. That's when it all began for me. One day before my second wedding anniversary. One year after dropping out of grad school having completed a lone miserable semester, loading up a moving van, and heading fifteen hours north from Virginia to Maine – headed toward a new job, a new city, a new life.

In retrospect, it makes sense. I'd always told myself I'd write a book one day, but it wasn't until Sunday, August 11, 2002, that my life settled down enough for me to even consider it. For me to muster the guts to try. For me to get quiet enough to hear the stories in my head.

On Sunday, August 11, 2002, I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of nine AM – a rarity for me in those days– and started writing. I didn't even tell my wife what I was doing, so sure was I it would soon wind up on the ever-growing pile of cast-off hobbies I'd turned to in attempt to distract myself from my sudden rudderlessness, having abandoned my life's goal of a career in epidemiology. I'd love to tell you that day I penned the first sentence of DEAD HARVEST, or maybe began one of my many published shorts, but the fact is, that's not remotely true. No, instead, I created a file folder titled "Ramblings of a would-be writer," and in it, I placed a file named "some beginning thoughts." Apparently, I couldn't even bring myself to capitalize the title of the file, so little did I think of what I typed into it. Which makes sense, because much of what I typed into it was crap.

No, really, I'm not being modest; I just reread it, and it was terrible. But here's the thing: terrible as it was, it was necessary. Those first godawful notes became my first godawful attempt at a novel, which in turn led to my first not-godawful attempt at a novel, which led me to begin thinking about seeking representation, which led me to write some short fiction so I could pad my query letters, which led me to write an even better novel... which leads me to right now.

In a little over three months, I'll be releasing my first novel – but of course it isn't really my first novel. That one, I worked on for the better part of two years, and never finished. It's not even my second novel, which also took two years and turned out well enough to land me an agent, but has yet to see the light of day. No, my first novel is, in fact, my third, and that one only took me a year to write. My fourth one took me shorter still, and it's slated to come out about a year from now. As for my fifth one... well, I'll let you know as soon as I finish it.

Some of you will read this and despair; after all, it sounds like nine years of toil and torment, with not a ton to show for it. But others will read this and take heart, because, like me, you realize not a moment of that toil and torment was for naught. The fact is, unless you're a cast member of the Jersey Shore, there's no shortcut to publication, no secret handshake to get you in the door. All you can do is sit down and get your lousy words out of the way because you know in your bones the better ones are coming.

And no matter how far your words wind up taking you, cross your fingers and keep on hoping the next ones you type are better still...

A RIP THROUGH TIME, Coming Soon to E-Readers Everywhere!

2011-11-12T08:44:00.001-05:00

Four pulp writers. One old-school, genre-bending serial. And all for $0.99. Rip mastermind David Cranmer's got the deets up on his blog, but the gist is this: the book includes Rip's first arc in its entirety, from my series opening installment to Chad Eagleton's thrilling conclusion, plus a brand new Eagleton-penned tale in which everyone's favorite rogue time-cop... ah, but to find out what he's up to, I guess you'll have to grab the ebook, won't you?

Interviewed!

2011-11-08T10:25:00.002-05:00

For those of y'all who ~~aren't yet sick of reading my inane ramblings~~ can't get enough of my brilliant proclamations here and on the Twitters, pop on over to Crime Fiction Lover, where R. Thomas Brown was kind enough to ask me a few questions...

CRIME FACTORY: THE FIRST SHIFT Reviewed!

2011-11-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

Over at Musings of an All Purpose Monkey, Elizabeth A. White takes a look at CRIME FACTORY: THE FIRST SHIFT, and has some nice things to say about my tale of a stoner caper gone awry. Of course, she claims she likes some Weddle fellow's story better, but I'll try not to hold that against her.

Look, Ma! I've got talent!

2011-11-01T18:04:00.001-05:00

Hey, wow! Crime Fiction Lover has kicked off New Talent November with a glowing review of 8 POUNDS, courtesy of Jacques Filippi! (That's right, hypothetical playground bully that lives in my head and haunts my every waking hour, they said "New Talent November," not "No-Talent November." And while we're on the subject, don't you think it's time you stopped calling me "Christina"? I mean, a guy tries on a dress one time, and you never let it go. Sheesh.)

Where was I? Oh, right: Thanks to Jacques and all the fine folks behind CFL. Y'all are aces.

UPDATE: The full version of Jacques' review is now up at his blog.

All hail our robot overlord!

2011-10-30T18:40:00.001-05:00

I am thoroughly geeked to report that Marc Gascoigne, my Angry Robot overlord (and architect of my kickass covers) has just won a World Fantasy Award!

Marc is without a doubt one of the most enthusiastic champions of fantasy the world has ever seen, and in the short time Angry Robot has been in existence, they've put out some of the most exciting books I've ever read. I say that not as someone lucky enough to be along for the ride, but as a fan.

Cheers, Marco. Your win is well deserved. Now onto Phase Two of your nefarious plan: ruling this damp rock of a planet and all the meat-suits on it with a merciless, stainless-steel fist...

"The Putdown" to appear in Grift #1!

2011-10-23T17:46:00.002-05:00

I just got word from ace editor (and damn fine crime writer in his own right) John Kenyon that my short story "The Putdown" will be appearing in the inaugural issue of Grift Magazine.

Grift Magazine is a thrice-yearly print mag dedicated to crime fiction of all stripes. In addition to the print publication, which will debut February 2012, Grift's website is already a major source of news, opinion, and interviews, and it's well worth checking out. If the print mag is half as slick as the site, I lucked out, getting in on the ground floor before John gets to big to take my calls.

Oh, and while you're at it, how 'bout you polish up a story and send it their way? Submissions are open.

Under the Covers

2011-10-21T09:31:00.003-05:00

Today at their blog, the insanely talented Amazing 15 Design team offer up a behind-the-scenes peek at the making of my Collector covers. Thanks to their tireless work and the tutelage of my Angry Robot overlord Marc Gascoigne, this process was a dream. I'm psyched they decided to throw back the curtain on it so you folks could see the journey from conception to (freakin' awesome) finished product.

DEAD HARVEST and THE WRONG GOODBYE

2011-10-09T16:20:00.004-05:00

Okay, I let my Angry Robot overlord Marc Gascoigne have his fun breaking the news of my gorgeous, gorgeous covers (on account of he designed them) but I just couldn't wait any longer to post the images myself.

The covers were Marc's brainchild, an homage to the classic Marber-era Penguin covers of the '60s and '70s, and they were executed brilliantly by the crazy-talented Amazing 15 Design.

DEAD HARVEST is scheduled for release February 28, 2012, and is now available for preorder! THE WRONG GOODBYE will be released November 2012.

Covers!

2011-10-05T17:13:00.001-05:00

I has them.

(Also, DEAD HARVEST now available for preorder! Click here for more info.)

THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011 Now Available!

2011-10-04T17:24:00.005-05:00

If the interwebs are to be believed, it would seem THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011, edited by Harlan Coben and Otto Penzler and featuring my story "The Hitter," is now available!

I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in such a stellar lineup. To share space with folks like Block, Rozan, Lansdale, Collins, and Spillane is a dream come true, and the coolest thing is, they're just the tip of the talent iceberg. This collection truly features some of the finest writing, genre or otherwise, going on today. And also me. (I mean "talent iceberg"? Geez. No wonder I'm not in THE BEST AMERICAN ANALOGIES 2011.)

But don't take my word for it. Not when you can read what Kirkus has to say. Here's a snippet:

“Diamond Alley,” Dennis McFadden’s quiet tale of small-town teens confronting the murder of a popular classmate, packs a far greater punch. Family stories are equally powerful. In Christopher Merkner’s chilling “Last Cottage,” a young couple tries to outlast a neighbor determined to oust them from their waterfront home. Across cultures, mothers protect. In Richard Lange’s “Baby Killer,” Blanca struggles with an acting-out granddaughter. And although embarrassed by her profession, a Chinese mother helps her detective daughter in S.J. Rozan’s “Chin Yong-Yun Takes a Case.” An absentee father’s return challenges a wife who’s moved on in Joe R. Lansdale’s “The Stars Are Falling.” But Chris F. Holm shows in “The Hitter” that sometimes the greatest threat is to the dads themselves.

Yup. I got name-dropped by Kirkus. Which is surreal to say the least. And not just a little bit happy-dance-inducing. (But, you know, in a manly way.)

If you're interested in buying THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011, you can find it almost anywhere books are sold. Apparently, including Walmart (and no, I'm not going to provide the link.) Obviously, it's also available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and through your local indie via Indiebound.

Post-B'con Post

2011-09-24T08:12:00.005-05:00

I'm not one to take pictures or video, nor to write journals. I prefer the moment to any attempts to record it for future consumption. (I also, um, suck at taking pictures, which may be a more honest reason for the dearth of them here.) As such, this post isn't going to be the typical pic and link fest most B'con wrap-ups are.

Instead, I'd like to say this: if you're a writer or a reader of crime fiction, be it traditional mysteries or the bleakest noir, next year clear your calendar and go go go. I promise you, you won't regret it.

I'm not someone who likes crowds. Or public speaking. Or having my picture taken. Truth is, I'm usually happiest on my couch with my laptop, clacking away like I am right now. Bouchercon pushed me so far outside my comfort zone, I couldn't see it from where I was standing. And, God help me, I loved every minute of it.

As far as nuts and bolts, I think my panels went pretty well (feel free to ask around, since there's a chance I'm a tad deluded on that point), and for the record, the Anthony for Best Short Story went to Dana Cameron (congrats, Dana!), not me. But the nuts and bolts of B'con don't tell the tale. The story, as any good story should be, is rooted in character. And my, the characters I met.

I'm not going to list all the folks I met in St. Louis, largely because I'll no doubt fail in my attempt, and feel terrible about it when I realize that great conversation I forgot to mention. So let me instead say this: if I talked to you, hung out with you, or so much as bumped into you in the hallway, it was my pleasure. To my tweeps in particular, you're even more charming and delightful in person, and I'm glad to count you as my friends. And a special thanks go out to Jon, Ruth, and Judy, the unlikeliest set of guardian angels you'll ever meet. You're all aces in my book.

So thanks, all. Once, and I'm hooked. It's a hell of a thing to find one's tribe. Which means I guarantee I'll see you all next year.

Buy the "By"

2011-09-20T17:51:00.002-05:00

Check it out, people. From New Pulp Press and the twisted minds behind Crime Factory Magazine comes CRIME FACTORY: THE FIRST SHIFT, a killer collection chock-a-block with some of the finest names in crime fiction. Names like Bruen. Bill. McKinty. Shea. Davidson. Weddle. Wolven.

And, um, Holm.

Wanna know more? Click through and check it out. Then buy it buy it buy it.

Oh, and speaking of names, a funny thing happened on the way back from the printer. See, the story I've got in this anthology is called "Green" (as in money, weed, inexperience, envy, and nausea, all of which feature in the tale.) Or, rather, it was called "Green." Somewhere along the way, a quotation mark got moved, and now it's listed as "Green By." In the far future of my deluded fantasies where I'm rich and famous and ruling the globe with an iron fist from my gold-plated moon base, the THE COLLECTED WORKS OF OUR EXALTED LEADER CHRIS F. HOLM will once more list the tale as "Green." Which, by my estimation, makes this printing of "Green By" a collector's item. Get 'em while they're hot.

8 POUNDS Named a Top 8 Crime Collection by Crime Fiction Lover!

2011-09-11T08:17:00.002-05:00

"This set of dark tales has an unparalleled sense of place... Of special note here is the story 'The World Behind.' It is the best single short story I have read in years."

Click through to read what else they had to say, and to check out the rest of the list. You'll find many a friend o' the blog on it. I'd be remiss if I didn't congratulate Keith, Nigel, David, Paul, and Chris for their inclusion. Congrats, gents.

Thanks kindly to R. Thomas Brown and Crime Fiction Lover for the mention. I'm honored to be included among such fantastic company.

Bouchercon 2011 Schedule

2011-09-10T15:29:00.006-05:00

September 15-18
Renaissance St. Louis Grand
St. Louis, Missouri

PANELS

BAD SEED: Sex, Violence, and Everything That Makes a Book Great
Thursday, September 15 from 9:00 to 10:00 PM
Majestic A, B, C
Moderator: Scott Montgomery
Panelists: Christa Faust, Chris F. Holm, Craig Johnson, Scott Phillips, John Rector, Benjamin Whitmer, and Jonathan Woods

DARK ANGEL: Morally Challenged Heroes
Friday, September 16 from 2:30 to 3:30 PM
Landmark 1, 2, 3
Moderator: Chris F. Holm
Panelists: Bill Cameron, Blake Crouch, Leighton Gage, Theresa Schwegel, and Michael Wiley

OTHER EVENTS

PUB QUIZ
Sunday, September 18 from 8:30 to 9:30 AM

ANTHONY AWARDS BRUNCH
Sunday, September 18 from 11:00 AM to 1:00PM
Nominated for Best Short Story for "The Hitter"

OTHER, OTHER EVENTS
(aka a shameless plug of my lovely wife's panel, which I shall doubtless be attending)

DEATH BY GOOD INTENTION
Friday, September 16 from 11:30 AM to 12:30 PM
Landmark 5,6,7
Moderator: Katrina Niidas Holm
Panelists: Donna Andrews, Shirley Damsgaard, Rosemary Harris, Julie Hyzy, and Joanna Slan

Southern Crimes and Southern Gods

2011-08-30T16:39:00.008-05:00

Yeah, yeah. Been remiss on the blogging of late. But the writing life's been insane lately, leaving little time for chatting at you people. Fear not, though, 'cause I've got a couple kickass suggestions for how to while away your time without me.

Like Lovecraft mythos? Southern Gothic? PI novels? The blues? Damn right, you do. That there list is a lightsaber away from mashing gleefully on every damn geek button I've got. And it also just so happens to be the basis for John Hornor Jacobs' stunning debut SOUTHERN GODS. And if you think the ingredients sound tasty, wait till you find out just how spicy things get once John lets it all simmer. This is one book you don't want to miss.

You know what never, ever happens? A debut author signing a deal with a major publisher for a short story collection. You know what else never, ever happens? A debut author drawing comparisons to Cormac McCarthy, Daniel Woodrell, and John Steinbeck.

That is, until Frank Bill.

This dude's got the goods. The stories in CRIMES IN SOUTHERN INDIANA pack a punch. Like a vicious, unexpected, holy-shit-was-that-a-roll-of-quarters-in-your-fist kind of punch. Pick this collection up now, so you'll know what the hell folks are raving about come award season.

So there you have it. Get clicking, and get reading. But don't stray too far. I just may have a cover to show off soon...

PULP INK Now Available!

2011-08-15T19:37:00.000-05:00

Cats and kittens, grab your hats and mittens, 'cause do I have some cool news for you. (Ugh; who says that? No matter, Chris: just keep calm and carry on.) As of right this second, PULP INK is live and ready for download.

What is PULP INK, you ask? (You don't? Well, just be a sport and play along, then, would you? Because obviously, I intend to tell you either way.) PULP INK is an ebook anthology, cooked up by Nigel Bird and Chris Rhatigan and released by the good folks at Needle, in which some of today's hottest crime fic writers take turns riffing on tracks from the iconic Pulp Fiction soundtrack. Writers like Allan Guthrie. Matthew Funk. Patti Abbott. Hilary Davidson. And, um, me.

My entry's called "A Night at the Royale." It's bloody, pulpy, and as referential as all get-out. (Seriously, I even crammed a nod to Tarantino's portion of Four Rooms in there, so you know I'm eight kinds of Tarantino-geek.)

You can download PULP INK for Kindle, Kindle UK, and via Smashwords. So what're you waiting for? Don't make me summon the gimp.

Bouchercon Appearances

2011-08-08T11:30:00.004-05:00

Confession: I've never been to a writing convention. Not sure why. Distance, for one, seeing as how I live way the heck up in Maine – a lovely place to spend one's time, but not exactly central to anything. Also, there's the whole what-do-I-do-when-I-get-there question. Okay, there are these panel things, and dinners, and a whole bunch of drinking, but for years, I didn't know many of the attendees, so I kind of expected I'd wind up having a quiet cocktail at the end of the bar with my lovely wife while wondering why we hadn't simply elected to do so in our living room.

Then Twitter happened, and suddenly, I knew all kinds of writerly folks. And to a one, the con they most talked about was Bouchercon. So, said lovely wife and I decided to hell with it – we'd go. Mostly, we figured, we'd just lay low; you know, watch our friends' panels, have some drinks, grab some books. It sounded like a decent enough plan.

Then I got a book deal and an Anthony nomination, and that plan went out the window.

In lieu of lying low, the fabulous Judy Bobalik, Jon Jordan, and Ruth Jordan have seen fit to put me on a couple panels.

Yeah, I said a couple.

The first of them, titled BAD SEED: SEX, VIOLENCE, AND EVERYTHING THAT MAKES A BOOK GREAT, is scheduled for Thursday night at 9:00 PM. Moderated by Scott Montgomery, this panel features such ass-kicking name-takers as Christa Faust, Craig Johnson, Scott Phillips, John Rector, Benjamin Whitmer, Jonathan Woods – and, um, me. Oh, and I hear tell there will be a bar.

The second panel, which I'll be moderating, is titled DARK ANGEL: MORALLY CHALLENGED HEROES, a topic close to my heart. It's set for 2:30 PM Friday, and damn did I luck out with panelists: slated to participate are Bill Cameron, Blake Crouch, Leighton Gage, Theresa Schwegel, and Michael Wiley.

Oh, and as a super-duper added bonus, the missus (aka ace mystery reviewer Katrina Niidas Holm) is moderating a panel called DEATH BY GOOD INTENTION, which features such luminaries of the cozy mystery scene as Donna Andrews, Shirley Damsgaard, Rosemary Harris, Julie Hyzy, and Joanna Slan. You can catch that one at 11:30 AM Friday.

So there you have it. In one fell swoop, I went from no cons and no appearances to one con and two appearances. Three, if you count me cheering from the back (or, more likely, right in front) while Kat does her thing. So stop by. Say hi. Feel free to heckle (me, not Kat). I should be easy to spot; I'll be the one surreptitiously snapping cell phone pictures of my fellow panelists whilst simultaneously trying my damnedest not to vomit. ('Cause dude. Big crowds. Big nerves. I'd best get interesting quick.)

The Boys of Summer

2011-07-23T09:11:00.000-05:00

In my last post, which was apparently the first in an accidental tangentially music-themed self-help series, the ghost of Beatles past told me not to worry so much about my prose (or something.) Today, Don Henley has this handy tip for getting first drafts done in a timely fashion: “Don’t look back – you can never look back.”

When it comes to first drafts, I ain’t historically the speediest of writers. I have a tendency to comb over a chapter until I’m completely satisfied with it before I can bring myself to move on, which means my completed first draft is pretty clean, but getting across the finish line’s like pulling teeth.

Two weeks ago, I began work on a new book. I’d like to have a first draft done by the end of the calendar year. Factor in the Day Job, the pending release of DEAD HARVEST, and THE WRONG GOODBYE to edit, and that’s a pretty ambitious timeline. So to stick with it, I turned to that most polarizing of writing tools: the outline.

Some writers outline everything. Some never outline. My approach to outlines is more situational (read: haphazard). THE ANGELS’ SHARE I outlined. DEAD HARVEST and THE WRONG GOODBYE, not so much. The new book, I’m kinda sorta outlining, by which I mean I’ve got maybe the first third of it outlined, and I’ve already started writing. I know the broad strokes of where the story’s going, but I plan to keep on outlining a little ways ahead of where I’m writing until I finish – as well as updating the outline-sketches of the chapters I’ve already written to reflect any details that may’ve changed. The former affords me the luxury of knowing the beats of a scene before I sit down to flesh it out, which cuts down on pointless noodling, and the latter provides me with a document I can use to confirm what’s come before to inform what comes next, without getting bogged down trying to iron out the prose every time I need to peek back. And if you ask me, it's the latter that makes the outlining worthwhile, which may make me the first writer ever to use an outline predominantly as a rear-view mirror. Or maybe this is something all serious outliners are hep to – but if that's the case, those sneaky bastards are mighty tight-lipped about it.

Maybe this little experiment of mine will prove a failure, but so far (knock wood), it’s working great. I won’t allow myself to read any chapters once they’re finished; if I need to know a name or date or salient detail, it’d better be on the outline. If it’s not, I’ll fix it in the second draft. And I’m writing faster than I ever have before – not to mention, having more fun. This weird hybrid method of mine is just the safety net my subconscious needs to soldier on without too much painful self-reflection, so I can just sit back, and watch the story unfold.

But of course, the real test will be how the finished draft looks...

“On Style” or, “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Tell the Freakin’ Story”

2011-07-20T17:23:00.000-05:00

John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” (Okay, actually, he was like the fifth person to be credited for that sentiment, but he’s the famousest fellow to utter the line, so like it or not, it seems the quote’s now his.) And seeing as how Lennon and I have so much in common (what? I’m a skinny white dude who owns a guitar), I’d like to not-so-humbly offer up a writerly corollary:

Your writing style is what you’re left with when you stop trying to write with style.

Crap. Hold up a sec. That came perilously close to Writing Advice. Writing Advice, in my opinion, is something I’m neither qualified nor inclined to dispense – except, on occasion, to myself. (That sounds weird, I know, but I find I’m constantly relearning stuff I thought I’d long ago internalized; you’d be surprised how much it helps to remind yourself of what few writing truths you know.)(Why the hell do I keep saying “you” when I mean “I”? For that matter, why am I posting this online if it’s only for personal reference? This post seems, at best, ill-conceived.)

But as a bit of self-instruction, it’s a useful one – particularly since I tend to write in multiple genres: crime, fantasy, horror, the odd bit of science fiction. See, whenever I sit down to write a story, I tend to think along the lines of what I’d like to see it shelved beside. “The World Behind” began as a coming-of-age story in the vein of King’s “The Body.” “A Simple Kindness” was a love-letter to Hard Case Crime. And I’ve always thought of “Seven Days of Rain” as my attempt to rewrite “The Tell-Tale Heart” as told by Michael McDowell. But that kind of thinking can sometimes lead to pastiche. So the trick, for me, is to leave all thought of style aside while I’m writing, and just try to tell the story. That doesn’t preclude making conscious decisions about prose; some stories demand short, terse sentences, while others support a more languid, descriptive style. But long or short, terse or florid, they’ve still got to sound like my sentences – not Ardai’s or McDowell’s or King’s.

The funny thing is, the only sure-fire way I know to write sentences that sound like me is to not think too hard about how they’ll read. Because the more I ruminate, the more my brain is liable to come back with some scrambled version of one of the billions of other people’s sentences I’ve got rattling around my head.

(An aside: do you people think about prose in terms of how it sounds? I can’t help but. To me, reading prose ain’t too far off from reading sheet music, except for the fact that I’m borderline illiterate when it comes to reading sheet music. Seriously, ask my 4th grade band teacher. Pretty sure I hold the dubious distinction of being the worst saxophone player in the history of Central Square Elementary.)

On Endings, and New Beginnings

2011-07-16T11:36:00.003-05:00

It's been quite a week.

Six days ago, I finished my third novel.

Five days ago, I started my fourth.

The novel I finished (in first draft, at least) is called THE WRONG GOODBYE. It's a direct sequel to my upcoming debut, DEAD HARVEST, and the first I've actually written under contract. DEAD HARVEST is scheduled for release in March of next year, with THE WRONG GOODBYE following that autumn. Technically, it's not due for another few months, which is good, because while it is now officially a complete novel, it's far from completed. There's doubtless a great deal of polishing to be done before I'm ready to let it out into the world, but it's much easier to make something good out of something rough than it is to make something out of nothing.

As for the New Book, it's a big-ass crime thriller, and maybe the most ambitious story I've yet told. I've got about a third of it outlined, and maybe a chapter and a half written. It has a name, but for now, I'm not saying what that name is. For now, that's all you get...

Oh, and a note for the mathematically inclined: yes, this post mentions I've written three novels. Yes, I only talked about two of them. The third, which was actually my first, is titled THE ANGELS' SHARE, and it's still looking for a nice home. So if you happen to have yourself a publishing house and you'd like to take a peek, you just let me know...

A Couple New Reviews!

2011-07-05T13:57:00.003-05:00

8 POUNDS is getting love all over the place! Seriously, that short story collection is a brazen, brazen hussy. But with a heart of gold, I tells ya.

First up, check out this gem from Unsquare Dance: "Chris F. Holm is one of the finest writers working out there today." I mean, damn. One can only assume by "out there," Stephen means "on Chris F. Holm's couch," but still.

And Ray Garraty had this to say:

Самиздатовский сборник Криса Холма включает в себя восемь рассказов, большинство из которых имеет солидный вес, отчего книга, вопреки своему названию, гораздо тяжелее восьми фунтов. Холм пишет в разных жанрах: есть здесь хоррор, есть современный неонуар, есть т.н «темная проза». Слово «темный» как нельзя лучше подходит для описания всей коллекции рассказов.

To be fair, I'm mostly just hoping that's a good review, on account of it's in Russian. But on the other hand, DUDE, I GOT REVIEWED IN RUSSIAN!

Okay, that's not entirely fair to Ray. See, though Russian is his native tongue (his Anglicized nom de plume is borrowed from a King tale, I believe), he also posts his reviews in English; you can read the translation of mine here. Still, it's way cooler in Russian.

Thanks to Ray and Stephen for the kind words. And thanks to all who've bought 8 POUNDS. If you haven't, but you'd like to, it's available for Kindle in both the US and UK, for the rock-bottom price of $0.99!

Rip Returns!

2011-07-01T11:35:00.002-05:00

Wow. The latest installment of Beat to a Pulp's epic serial A RIP THROUGH TIME, titled "Chaos in the Stream," is live, and it is a doozy. Garnett Elliott is at the helm this time, and damn, does he swing for the fences. If you ask me, he hits it full-on, too -- but why ask me? Go give it a read and find out for yourself.

Oh, and if you want to see how Rip's saga began, peep my installment here.

Another Rave!

2011-06-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

Today, over at KindleObsessed, guest blogger Jennifer MacRostie takes on 8 POUNDS.

8 POUNDS Reviewed!

2011-06-15T17:05:00.002-05:00

8 POUNDS garnered a rave review from Spinetingler today! Click through to check it out.

Big thanks to Nik Korpon and the whole Spinetingler crew.

"The Man in the Alligator Shoes" at Beat to a Pulp!

2011-06-11T09:28:00.002-05:00

Yup. The title of the post pretty much says it. "The Man in the Alligator Shoes" is live at Beat to a Pulp. Pop on over and give it a read!

Thanks as ever to David and Denise, the dynamic duo behind the best darn pulp 'zine going. Y'all are aces.

David Cranmer's ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES Now Available!

2011-06-10T06:29:00.003-05:00

David Cranmer's marvelous Western crime collection, ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES, is now available for Kindle (or your free Kindle app)! And what's more, it's only $0.99!

What're you waiting for? Go get yourself a copy or five today...

Cash and Miles

2011-06-08T17:34:00.004-05:00

I've made mention a time or two my love of David Cranmer's Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles short stories (written under the name Edward A. Grainger). For my money, they're the perfect blend of crime and Westerns. So imagine my delight when, a while back, David told me he was putting together an ebook release that'd collect seven Cash and Miles stories all in one place -- including two never-before-seen tales!

Now imagine my shock at being asked to write the foreword.

I won't lie; I damn near chickened out. I'm no critic. No high-powered tastemaker. I'm just a guy who really likes these stories.

In the end, I didn't chicken out. And today on his blog, David posted my foreword for all to read. Go check it out. If you dig it, be sure to buy a copy of ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES when it comes out. And if you don't much care for my foreword, go ahead and buy a copy of ADVENTURES anyway. I promise you, it won't disappoint.

ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES hits Amazon any moment now. Pop back here or to David's blog for updates.

"Sweet #$%#ing Mother of #$#@%!" Or, "An Announcement"

2011-05-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Everyone Ever:

If the interwebs are to be believed, it would seem I have a book deal. Not only a book deal, but a two-book deal. Not only a two-book deal, but a two-book deal with one of the hottest publishers in all of speculative fiction. (Yes, I'm aware that if the interwebs are really to be believed, the world is going to end on Saturday. Which would be a bummer, because I've been assured on many nonconsecutive occasions that I do, indeed, really for-seriously actually have a book deal, and that this isn't some kind of elaborate prank.)

Said book deal, for those who've yet to click through (quite possibly due to the same baffling paralysis that struck me upon hearing the news, which, in addition to greatly hindering my jumping up and down, also prompted me to exclaim to kickass-agent-slash-fancy-pants-haver Jennifer Jackson "I CAN'T FEEL MY FACE!") is with Angry Robot. If you're not familiar with them, well, you should be. They've been amassing accolades left and right since their founding two years back, and just last month took home the prestigious Arthur C. Clarke Award for Lauren Beukes' ZOO CITY. (Okay, in fairness, I'm pretty sure the mightily talented Ms. Beukes actually took the award home, but you get my drift.) And as an added point of asskickery, they also publish K.W. Jeter, godfather (not to mention coiner) of steampunk. I mean, c'mon.

Oh, right, I should mention which two books! (Hey, gimme a break; I've never broken news of a book deal before.) The first of them is DEAD HARVEST, which is slated for an April 2012 release. It'll be followed by its sequel, THE WRONG GOODBYE, that fall.

Enormous thanks to aforementioned fancy-pants-haver Jennifer Jackson, as well as Marc Gascoigne and the rest of the Angry Robot crew. Thanks also to all of you, for spreading word of my strange little stories far and wide. Looks like you'll get to read some strange big stories from me now...

The Value of Free

2011-05-14T15:01:00.007-05:00

Forgive me, Blogger, for I have sinned. It's been about a year since my last real blog post. Sure, I've posted news aplenty since then, held a couple contests -- even hosted an interview. But I haven't talked much of late about my writing life. Partly I've been busy. Partly I've been lazy. And partly, I feel like there are already more than enough people in the world talking about the art and business of writing. The louder the clamor of contradictory opinions gets, the less I care to shout to be heard over the din. But lately, I've come to realize I'm in a unique position to provide a little perspective on what's emerging as one of the hottest hot-button writing issues of the internet age.

No, not $0.99 ebooks. That debate, I suspect, will prove short-lived, and anyway, I've already said my piece. I'm talking about a belief so ingrained among writers, so prima facie obvious, only a fool would dare argue against it. I'm talking about the edict that (cue echo effect) The Writer Must Be Paid.

Turns out, I am just the fool for the job. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned, sometimes (like buskers, ice-cream shops, and Anthony Kiedis) the thing to do is give it away.

Now, I'm no expert, and I'm not one to prescribe, preach, or proselytize; at best, all I can say is what's worked for me. Thing is, giving (some) fiction away has for-seriously worked for me.

The first story I ever gave away was "Seven Days of Rain." To Demolition, this was. I confess, though I was delighted they'd accepted it, I was bummed I didn't get a check for it. Particularly since I'd gotten a lovely rejection letter from the editor of EQMM telling me it was a fantastic story, if not the best fit for them. Then "Seven Days of Rain" wound up winning a Spinetingler Award for Best Short Story on the Web (an award it would have been ineligible for had I placed it with EQMM), and I didn't feel so bummed anymore.

The second story I gave away was "The Toll Collectors," to Beat to a Pulp. That one (he says bitterly, waving a clenched fist at the cruel, uncaring world) didn't win a bloody thing. It did, however, kick off a rewarding relationship with editor David Cranmer, which has thus far yielded four additional publishing credits (three paid) and what I suspect will be a lasting friendship.

I'm not sure you can say I gave away "Eight Pounds," since Thuglit sent me a kickass T-shirt for my trouble, but I didn't, strictly speaking, get paid a dime. Upon publication of that one, I got a letter from a fancy-pants agent, asking if I was in need of representation. I was not (having already procured an agent of sufficiently fancy pants). But when Stuart Neville got a similar letter, he wasn't agented, and as he's written on his blog, the whole thing worked out pretty well for him.

At 11,000 words, "The Hitter" was perhaps my most egregious violation of the pay-the-writer edict. One seventh of a novel just given away, and before I'd ever even seen an issue of the magazine I gave it to. But I knew the guy who'd asked for it a little bit from Twitter, and I believed in the vision he and his cohorts had for Needle. Plus, I was out of work at the time, so I figured why the hell not write something for them? I had the time.

Not quite a year later, me and Steve are friends, and "The Hitter" has been selected by Harlan Coben and Otto Penzler to appear in THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011 (which, incidentally, pays about as much as my EQMM and AHMM credits combined, making it the most I've ever gotten paid for one story), not to mention nominated for a freakin' Anthony. Which (and again I'm no expert here) I'm guessing doesn't suck for my writing career.

Look, I'm not saying you should give work away all willy nilly. In fact, careful readers will note I'm not saying you should do anything at all. What I am saying is I've had damn good luck giving stories away. Now, I wouldn't give a story away to just anybody; in fact, I'm far more likely to submit to a paying market than a non-paying one. But the fact is, if I'd only published at the venues that paid, chances are, you never would have heard of me. And, as a side note, the only publication that ever screwed me over was a paying market. (They'd accepted a story of mine and paid me $10, only to disappear without a word when it was revealed they were a vanity project for their editor, who'd been padding his bibliography by accepting dozens of his own stories under a variety of pen names. I only tell you this so my editor-friends don't get all nervous I'm talking about them.)

Believe me, if you want to stick to paying markets, that's cool with me. In a perfect world, all markets would be paying markets. But we live in an era in which anybody with access to the internet and a passion for the written word can be a publisher, and it's important to note most of 'em lose money doing so even without paying for content. That doesn't make their tastes any less refined, or the role they play as gatekeepers any less valuable. So to those folks who stick to their getting-paid guns, I say this: stop demonizing non-paying markets, and grant the possibility that they have a place in the world of fiction. 'Cause I'm for damn sure better off for 'em.

"The Hitter" Nominated for an Anthony!

2011-05-09T22:01:00.004-05:00

It's been a good day. So good, in fact, I forgot to blog about it until it was almost over.

Today, "The Hitter" was nominated for an Anthony Award.

"The Hitter" first appeared in Needle: A Magazine of Noir (which, if you click through, is still available, by the way), and is scheduled to appear in THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011, edited by Harlan Coben and Otto Penzler.

Thanks to Steve and John at Needle. Thanks also to Jon Jordan, crack organizer of Bouchercon, and official nomination announcer-guy. But most of all, thanks to everyone who put my name down on your Anthony ballots; you have my eternal gratitude.

Oh, and congrats to all my fellow nominees! And a little extra-special shout-out to Hilary Davidson, whose debut novel THE DAMAGE DONE was nominated for Best First Novel. Though for my money, to say THE DAMAGE DONE is a great first novel is both true and too faint of praise. In a world of popcorn thrillers, THE DAMAGE DONE's a five-course meal. At once dark, brainy, and propulsive, but with the guts and heart to match, THE DAMAGE DONE announces Hilary Davidson as a major player in the future of crime fiction. (In case you couldn't tell, I'm a bit of a fan.)

In My Element

2011-05-05T08:55:00.003-05:00

Today, over at Criminal Element, Elizabeth White's got some nice things to say about yours awesomely. (Yup, way better than "truly.") She also name-drops some dudes named O'Shea, Weddle, Hockensmith, and Dave White, but I think it's pretty clear that secretly, she likes me best. (Editor's note: it is not.)

Kat Debuts on Criminal Element!

2011-05-02T14:49:00.005-05:00

Some of you know my lovely wife through her Twitter feed. Others from her mystery reviews at The Season, or on her blog, The Maine Suspect. (If you don't, that's fine; I can wait while you go bookmark them.) But it seems the missus has fallen in with a dodgy crowd of late. A Criminal Element, as it were.

Peep her inaugural post here. And keep an eye out; there's more to come. (No, really. Particularly on account of today's post kinda sorta used to be half of a Katrina Niidas Holm double-feature.)

UPDATE, May 3: Boom: Part Two. (Or one, or whatever it is. This crazy post-splitting thing is getting tougher to follow than Inception.)

Shorts Weather

2011-04-30T09:19:00.003-05:00

As I write this, it's a beautiful Saturday morning in Maine, the temperature climbing, the sun shining bright. I should be raking my yard, or spreading mulch, or whatever it is normal, decent folk do instead of killing imaginary people messily on the page.

Instead, I've been killing imaginary people messily on the page.

See, a while back, Nigel Bird and Chris Rhatigan cooked up an anthology idea. They wanted pulp tales inspired by tracks from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. And they invited me to contribute one.

Of course I said sure. The track I was assigned was "Royale with Cheese." So I popped onto iTunes and gave it a listen. (What? Mr. Self-Styled Pulp Writer doesn't own a copy of the Pulp Fiction soundtrack? As a matter of fact, he does. It just doesn't have tracks per se, on account of it's a store-bought cassette. Shut up.)

Anyways, today I put the finishing touches on my contribution to the PULP INK anthology: "A Night at the Royale." Old-school Tarantino fan that I am, it's got more references per page than maybe any story ever. (There's even a Four Rooms reference or two. Seriously, who the hell but me even remembers Four Rooms?)

(Actually, my short story "Action" gives "A Night at the Royale" a run for its reference money. That one was my love letter to the comic capers of Donald Westlake.) (Did I say "love letter"? I meant "homage." "Homage" sounds manlier.)

Oh, and in other pulpy short-story news, I have no other pulpy short story news. So beat it. To a pulp. Say, two rounds worth of pulp-beating, just to be on the safe side.

Hmm. BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND TWO. That's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? (See what I did there? Ring? 'Cause the title has a boxing theme? Oh, you did catch that. It just wasn't very clever.)

Great idea though it would be, I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND TWO. Which would make speculation that Matthew P. Mayo was joining David Cranmer in putting together one of the most startling collections of pulpy talent for it the world has ever seen premature at best. And any rumors of Crow-creator James O'Barr reprising his role as kickass cover artist would be ~~correct~~ only rumors, nothing more. Oh, and don't even think of asking me whether my ghost story "An Open Door" is to be included, because obviously, I couldn't say...

Two Quick Bits of Business

2011-04-24T18:57:00.002-05:00

Stuffed though I am with Easter ham (and a happy nondenominational whatever to all of y'all, by the by), I wanted to pop in for two quick announcements.

Firstly, I've just received word from über-editor David Cranmer that my short story "The Man in the Alligator Shoes" will be appearing at Beat to a Pulp this coming June! Beat to a Pulp's one of the best fiction sites going, and I'm always delighted to grace its hallowed (web)pages.

Secondly, I've finally succumbed to the gray-matter-noshing virtual zombie plague that is Facebook. Yes, just now. Feel free to justify my existence by friending me or whatever it is the kids (and my grandmother, and everybody else on the planet who isn't me) say these days. Or you can simply join the creepy online chorus chanting "One of us... one of us..."

Criminal-E Interview (Now with BONUS: Major 8 POUNDS Milestone!)

2011-04-17T08:40:00.003-05:00

If you pop on over to Criminal-E today, you'll catch me pontificating on all things 8 POUNDS (which, holy hell, I discover as I check the numbers seems to've passed 2,000 sales sometime during the night!)

Thanks to Allan Guthrie for inviting me to participate, and to the now literally thousands of people who've made 8 POUNDS a rousing success. Or, failing that, the five or six people who email-gifted my book to everyone they know (Hilary, I'm looking in your direction).

The Case of the Mysterious Non-Answer

2011-04-12T16:19:00.006-05:00

Today, Brian Lindenmuth dusted the cobwebs off of Spinetingler's Conversations with the Bookless interview series. The subject? Yours truly. (Wait; didn't I decide a while back I was gonna try subbing out "truly" for some other, cooler adverbs?) Er, I mean, yours awesomely.

Here's the link if you wanna check it out. And you should, if for no other reason than because I drop a whopping hint of a non-answer in response to one of Brian's questions. Which one? Guess you'll just have to read to find out...

Lineup #4 Blog Tour: An Interview with Steve Weddle

2011-04-07T07:00:00.025-05:00

For my stop on the Lineup #4 blog tour, I thought I’d pick the brain of a guy who knows one hell of a lot more about poetry than I: Lineup #4 contributor Steve Weddle. Some of you might know Steve as half of the dynamic duo behind the noir powerhouse Needle Magazine. Others from his kickass short fiction, or from his blogging at Do Some Damage. If you have any doubt this dude’s got the goods, stop and reflect that all three of those things garnered Spinetingler nominations this year. Then spend the next few minutes feeling shitty about how much you get done in a day.

Anyways, what you may not know about Steve is he’s also occasionally a fancy-pants poetry writer. (Editor’s note: Steve occasionally writes poetry. However, there is no evidence his pants are unusual in their fanciness.) So, that in mind, he seemed the perfect subject for my (quite possibly inane) questions. Without further ado, here goes.

Not too long ago, you described yourself in your bio as a “recovering poet.” Lately, though, that moniker has disappeared. Does your Lineup poem “The Balance Lost” represent a relapse of sorts, or have you been writing poetry on the sly this whole time?

I think I’m fully recovered now. I wrote that poem because I had an image in my head, the vision that closes the poem. And I got to thinking, well, how did we get there? So I went all Hilda Doolittle/ Ezra Pound and worked with that image to move to a scene that would explain it. The image could have been a graf in a story, of course. But when you have just that image as the poem, I think it kinda hangs out there and lets you focus on it a little more, you know? Like this line I’ve been working on about this dbag who is cheating and lying, etc. The line is “He knew cheating like the back of his best friend’s wife.” I like the line. I mean, it ain’t David Friggin Foster Wallace, but I think it’s a fun line. In a novel it would sound cheap. In a poem, maybe it’s too cute. It’s the kind of line that would probably work best in a song lyric. Which, you know, may mean I half-stole it from some old Foghat song I almost heard on the radio. I dunno. But I’m always working on lines, on images. And I try to find a good home for those, a home beyond scratched out on the back of the electric bill. I’m writing lines of poetry all the time, just not always poems. Come to think of it, maybe that line kinda sucks. So never mind.

Writing-wise, you wear a lot of hats: newspaper work, fiction editing (at the fantastic Needle Magazine), novels, shorts, poems. Which, if any, do you consider your native form? Or does each inform the others?

My native form would be writing characters and dialog. Not a form? No matter. I love the rat-a-tat of dialog running down the page. You picture people saying this and that and weaving in the humor and the darkness both. When I was in the MFA program at LSU, I was the token ‘Narrative Poet.’ I told stories in poems, I guess. The carnival came to my town when I was a kid. This is a papermill town that nearly rolled away when the mill closed. So the circus/carnival comes, big excitement. The parking lot for the Piggly Wiggly-Magic Mart shopping center overflows to the Otasco. And then the elephant dies. And they bury the animal behind the Piggly Wiggly. It was kind of a big deal. So, do you write a poem? A novel? A flash fiction piece? I just jot down images, characters, strings of dialog until it meshes together. Or just some sniper-shots of snark from on high and then move to something else. You know, come to think of it, Twitter may be my native form.

Your short fiction often has a lyrical quality. One that stands out for me is your tremendous “Purple Hulls,” which I wrote about as one of my Top Five Stories of 2010 at Death by Killing. “Purple Hulls” felt to me as if it sat upon the border of poetry and prose, and yet it still solidly came down in the latter camp. My question, as someone who’s never written a poem in his life, is in two parts: a) how can you tell whether an idea is supposed to be a poem or a short? And b) when the eff is “Purple Hulls” gonna be published, so other folks can find out what the heck I’m raving about?

Poem or short? Yeah, all my answers seem to keep coming back to that, don’t they? I’ve written stories that turned into awful screenplays and song lyrics that turned into terrible short stories. I think what happens is you get this thing in your head and you have to figure out what it is first and then what to do with it. Huh, I have this hunk of metal. Let me move it around. Flat. Pointed at one end. Whoa. What’s this? A stick at the other end? Well, this would make a good shovel. See, it would make a good a shovel blade but it would make a terrible carburetor. Sure, it could mix your air and fuel, but only in the manner in which you could mix pancake batter. You can’t decide you’re going to write a poem and then just grab whatever is close and make it a poem. I can’t. Maybe someone can. Maybe everyone can. Maybe those who publish poetry do that. Maybe Mark Strand does that. Maybe he says he’s going to write a poem, sits down and looks out the window, and writes a poem about whatever he sees. Maybe that’s how we end up with “Ode to Deliveryman Peeing on My House.” I don’t know. I’m not a poet. As for “Purple Hulls,” thanks muchly for the praise. I’ve got a Roy Alison story coming out in an anthology this summer and a shorter piece coming out in an anthology any day now. I’ve been toying with the “Purple Hulls” story and looking for a good home for it. It’s a bit of a departure for me in the sense that it’s kind of literary noir. But if I use that term, it sounds like “Oh, look at me. I’m a big, fancy literary writer. I’m not just a crime fiction writer. I write lit-rah-toor and my undergarments are made of feathers and silk.” My point, if I have one, is that the traditional outlets for my fiction aren’t quite the right fit. I’m not talking about a judgment on quality, more on style. Like at Needle Magazine. We get some great stories that we have to turn down because they’re horror, but not noir. And yes, I know there’s overlap. But Needle isn’t built for supernatural-horror-romance anymore than the New Yorker is built for David Goodis. Again, not a quality point – just one of the right fit.

Say there’s this hypothetical crime writer. Let’s call him Schmiss Schmeff Schmolm. This guy’s read the occasional poem that’s knocked him back, but he knows exactly jack about poetry in general. Who should he be reading?

Read The Never-Ending: New Poems (1991) by Andrew Hudgins. You know how there are those moments in your life when you’re glad you didn’t die in that car accident in 1971? Just something that might seem small that happens to you this afternoon, but where you’re just so thankful you crawled out of bed, that the bullet that caught you in that hunting accident back in 1993 missed your aorta just enough so that your Uncle Stan could keep you alive while your idiot cousin Johnny ran and got help. I mean, the sort of sunset that you see and you think, “Well, fuck, Lord. You can take me now.” Like when you’re holding the one you love and you just kind of want the world to end right there because, I mean, it’s just such a moment. You want to freeze that image, that feeling, hoping you can come back to it because it’s just so full of indescribable wonder that you can’t explain and you don’t want to break the spell and you can’t understand why this woman married an idiot like you but you’re sure if you move your elbow she’ll wake up from the spell and the beauty of that moment will be lost? Well, that’s the sort of moment piled on moment you get reading “Praying Drunk” and “Heat Lightning in a Time of Drought” from the Hudgins collection. Just beautiful wonder. That’s it. No list of ten books you have to read. Just the one. And start with those two poems. That’s my suggestion, for whatever it’s worth.

You juggle a lot of recurring characters in your fiction: newsman Alex Jackson, card-carrying badass Oscar Martello, and now the damaged Roy Alison. You figure any of them have got a Moleskine full of poetry hidden away somewhere? If so, you think they’re any good?

You know, Alex Jackson is the sort of character who would have written poems when one writes poems to impress the girls. Roy Alison would probably do something creative to try to deal with the guilt of accidentally killing his parents, but I’m not sure it would be poetry. In the story appearing this summer, “The Ravine,” he’s drawn to a young woman’s paintings. He might paint. As for Oscar, um, I’m not going to ask him. You want to ask Oscar Martello if he writes poems, you go ahead. Just leave me your Kindle in your will.

While I’ve got you hooked up to the polygraph, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you some more general questions about what’s going on in the Weddleverse (that’s right, I said it.) Where can we find your writing in the coming year? What’s the future hold for Needle? Who the eff do I have to threaten and/or blackmail for the privilege of purchasing a novel of yours?

In addition to The Lineup, my work will appear in the two anthos I mentioned earlier – the ones with the Roy Alison stories. I’m working on an Oscar novella at the moment. He’s searching for the people responsible for the death of his half-brother and Oscar is having to take care of his nephew. Not exactly your run-of-the-mill hitman story. Speaking of hitman stories, over at Needle HQ, we’re still thrilled as all hell that Chris F. Holm’s story “The Hitter” was selected for Best American Mystery Stories. You hear of this Holm guy? He’s awesome. We’ll have three Needles this year, kicking off with the Spring Issue, then the Summer Issue in August or September, which will wrap up the Ray Banks novel of awesomeness. As for my own novels, first, thanks for being so nice. And second, I’m reworking the second Alex Jackson novel, while I finish the Oscar novella and get started on the techno-thriller I want done soon. Though I gotta say, after reading this issue of The Lineup, I’m tempted to spend more time writing poems. Did you read the one about the guy who steals the Stephen Dunn collection from the hospital? That is my favorite one today. And speaking of Stephen Dunn, there’s a poem in his New and Selected collection about how this child comes back from Vacation Bible School all indoctrinated with religion and her parents want to explain their beliefs to her that it’s all hokum, but then they realize that she has Jesus now, a belief in something bigger, and they don’t have anything that can replace that. It’s not a religious poem. It’s a poem about belief and loss. And it’s the poem you should read after you finish those Hudgins poems and the new issue of The Lineup.

So there you have it. Thanks, Steve, for participating. If you’d like to read Steve’s “The Balance Lost,” as well as kickass poetry from the likes of Ken Bruen. Reed Farrel Coleman, Kieran Shea, Chad Rohrbacher, Keith Rawson, and more, go buy The Lineup #4, available now!

UPDATE: I don't know what kind of shady government agency this Weddle character's run afoul of in his day-job reporting gig, but I, for one, am scared shitless of them. This interview went live at 7:00 AM, and it looked fine. By 8:00 AM, the formatting had been blanked. By 9:00 AM, the questions disappeared. And by 10:00 AM, the text just vanished. And all without me touching it.

I tried to put it back up. Blogger wouldn't take it. To finally get it back up, I had to actually learn HTML. For real.

All I'm saying is, this Weddle dude has enemies. I, for one, won't be standing too close to him in a crowd...

8 POUNDS Nominated!

2011-03-31T16:58:00.006-05:00

I'm delighted (and not just a little stunned) to report 8 POUNDS has been nominated for a Spinetingler Award in the category of Best Short Story Collection. Many thanks to Jack Getze, Brian Lindenmuth, Sandra Ruttan, and the whole Spinetingler crew.

The Spinetinglers are cool in that voting is open to the public, so if you enjoyed 8 POUNDS, I'd be honored to have your vote. Just pop on over to Spinetingler anytime after 6 AM April 1, and make with the democracy. And hey, even if you weren't a fan, go peruse the ballot anyway. A lot of tremendous folks are up for awards in a whole host of categories. Just think of every vote as a down-payment toward making someone's day.

So thanks again to the Spinetingler crew, as well as everyone who's spread the 8 POUNDS word; I'm eternally grateful. And to my fellow nominees, I'm a lucky man to be in such rare company.

4/1/11 UPDATE: Voting is open! (No fooling!) Click here!

BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE Available for Kindle!

2011-03-09T10:12:00.005-05:00

It's official, people: BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE is now available for your Kindle or Kindle app, and for only $5.99! At 396 print pages of kickass pulp fiction, written by the likes of Charles Ardai, Sophie Littlefield, Frank Bill, Hilary Davidson, and yours truly, this collection is a freakin' steal at twice the price. Download it today!

Oh, and don't have a Kindle? No problem. The app to read it on your computer or mobile device is free. Just click through on the link above and check the sidebar. You'll be gobbling up the ebooks in no time...

How I Came to Write "The Toll Collectors"

2011-02-23T10:18:00.003-05:00

Today, at the lovely and talented Patti Abbott's blog, I talk about how I came to write my short story "The Toll Collectors". This hot on the heels of my last post, in which I talked about the inspiration behind my newest short, "Pretty Little Things". And, since people love a trilogy, no matter how slapdash, feel free to pop in on this old post on Patrick Shawn Bagley's blog, where I talked about the writing of "The World Behind".

"Pretty Little Things"

2011-02-21T10:07:00.002-05:00

Saturday morning, Kat and I were in our office, doing our usual Saturday morning stuff (which in this house consists of coffee and clattering keyboards), when we were distracted by a low, persistent buzzing. At first we couldn't place it (we live in an old house, so strange noises are commonplace), but eventually, we pegged it: it was my cell phone. And it was going nuts.

(An aside: can strange noises be commonplace? It seems as if they definitionally cannot. And yet the regularity of their occurrence has no bearing on the oddity of the sounds themselves. But I digress.)

I should state for the purposes of this post that a) I am a bit of a technological curmudgeon, and b) I'm also a tad misanthropic, which is to say I don't often use my cell phone, and when I do, it's usually to talk to the woman that, on the Saturday in question, was sitting right next to me. So when I opened the phone to find I'd missed several phone calls (no messages) and received a text ("PLEASE CALL") -- all from the same number -- I was puzzled to say the least. The calls all came in between midnight and three AM on Friday, which somehow only added to the intrigue.

I looked up the number online, expecting nothing more than to find a listing of "Cell Phone" and maybe a city of origin. Turns out, the calls weren't from a cell phone. They were from a landline in Manhattan registered to a company called Perfect Things. Curiouser and curiouser. (Did you know you can text from some landlines? Until Saturday, I didn't.)

You can see where this is going, right? Mystery writer receives a series of calls and a cryptic text from what sounds like a house of ill repute? Yeah, I called them. Turns out, Perfect Things is a self-serve Laundromat on Broadway. It further turns out that they're closed at the time the calls came in. When I asked who might have made the calls, the woman I was speaking to told me in broken English, "Don't know. Maybe the boss."

The question is, who the hell's the boss? Springsteen? Danza? Gotti? Inquiring minds want to know!

The upshot of all this is, my telephonic adventures drew to a close maybe ten AM Saturday. By ten AM Monday, I put the finishing touches on a 2,700-word short story called "Pretty Little Things". The beginning will be familiar to anyone who's read this post. The end, I'm willing to bet, you'll never see coming. And I'll say this: from idea to final draft, I've never written anything so quickly in my life.

So where will "Pretty Little Things" end up? Dunno. An editor friend's expressed some interest. For now, that's all I can say. More details as I have them.

Congratulations!

2011-02-15T07:29:00.002-05:00

Congratulations to David Cranmer and his lovely wife Denise, who, this Valentine's Day, welcomed baby Ava into the world. By all accounts, mother and child are doing fine, so pop on over to David's blog and wish them well!

In which I pick a fight with a literary icon...

2011-02-10T09:28:00.002-05:00

That's right, Oates. It's on.

Flash Fiction Contest!

2011-02-08T18:55:00.003-05:00

The inimitable Julie Summerell is running a flash-fic contest in which the spooky-scariest* entry wins 8 POUNDS! Details here. Deadline, Valentine's Day. Enter early and often.

*Why yes, I do now have Werewolf Bar Mitzvah in my head; thanks for asking.

Spinetingler Interview

2011-02-02T10:08:00.003-05:00

Recently, Brian and Sandra at Spinetingler interviewed me about 8 POUNDS as part of their series on e-publishing. You can read that interview here. I leave it to you to decide whether or not I've anything of merit to say, but it was a kick to participate either way. Thanks, Brian and Sandra!

"The Hitter" to appear in THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011!

2011-02-02T09:14:00.003-05:00

A few months back, this dude named Steve Weddle told me he and John Hornor Jacobs were putting together a new print mag, and asked if I'd like to contribute something to their second issue. I said sure.

I started kicking around a couple ideas. One was lean and mean at maybe 3,000 words. The other was a monster, a behemoth. The kind of story you know could get away from you. The kind you know could be a risk. It was big and burly and ambitious as all hell. Here's what I said to Steve about the latter when I emailed him to see which he'd prefer:

I had this idea about a week ago. Got me out of bed. Sat down in the dark and cranked out a bunch of notes, all the while thinking I really had something... it's big, and it's dark, and there's no place else for it.

I told him how long I thought it'd be. I pitched the other story, too. I thought for sure he'd take the safe bet. The one that looked like all my other stories. But then, I hadn't seen issue #1 of Needle yet.

Here's what Steve replied:

The problem with online writing (which I love and have nothing against and love and did I make it clear that I love online?) is that folks have a tough time scrolling through a 10k word blog post of a story. So if you have a piece that's longer than 5k, being in print would be the way to go, I think. AHMM and EQMM and those folks have limits to size. I mean, they can't just run 20k of something because it's cool. Needle can. It's what we were built for. Yeah, some quick punch is great. But something longer, developed, intricate, high-concept would be great to see in print.

So, caution thrown, I sat down and wrote "The Hitter." It came out fast. Crazy fast. And it felt huge to me, more novella than short story. Then again, at 11,000 words, it kind of is.

This past Saturday, I got a letter. From Otto Freakin' Penzler. When you get a letter from Otto Freakin' Penzler, you don't toss it on the kitchen island with a stack of bills to open at a later date; you tear that mofo open at the mailbox. So I tore that mofo open at the mailbox, where I discovered Mr. Penzler and Harlan Coben (middle name also Freakin', no relation) had selected "The Hitter" to appear in THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011.

When I stopped jumping up and down and hollering in the middle of the street (true story; ask my neighbors), I ran inside and emailed Steve. 'Cause "The Hitter" wouldn't have been written without him. As I said lo those many months ago, there was no place else for it. And as Steve told me, that's what Needle's built for.

THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES 2011 is scheduled to be released this fall, but if you'd like to read "The Hitter" before then, you're in luck. Not only can you buy Needle #2 right here, but if you hop over to Stephen Blackmoore's blog right now and leave a comment, you might just win yourself a copy.

Huge thanks to Otto Penzler, Harlan Coben, and all the folks at Needle. Looks like we did a hell of a thing...

"The Toll Collectors" Featured at Death By Killing!

2011-01-30T09:30:00.003-05:00

Over at Death by Killing, Chris Rhatigan is running features on his top five short stories of 2010. Yesterday, he featured "The Toll Collectors" by yours truly.

"The Toll Collectors" was the first short story I ever wrote, and its path to publication was a rocky one, full of false starts, folding publications, and even a shady character under an assumed name who disappeared into the night without a word. I was beginning to think that story was cursed -- that it'd never find a home. But then it wound up in front of David Cranmer at Beat to a Pulp, and all that changed. It's gratifying that since then, the story's been so well received.

A couple notes:

If you'd like to read "The Toll Collectors", it's still available on Beat to a Pulp. Or, if you'd rather, you could download it to your Kindle (or free Kindle app!) along with seven other stories for the rock-bottom price of 0.99! And if you'd like to see what inspired the story, check out this site, which is dedicated to the stretch of abandoned Pennsylvania turnpike on which it takes place. I stumbled across it when I was doing research on abandoned rail lines for my short "The World Behind", and once I saw those pics, the story sort of wrote itself.

So thanks, Chris, for the recognition; I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Rip's Saga Continues

2011-01-22T09:56:00.002-05:00

A while back, you may recall, I kicked off David Cranmer's epic time-travel adventure serial A Rip Through Time with A Rip Through Time: The Dame, the Doctor, and the Device. In fact, Rip was so well received, it's been included in P&E's Reader's Poll of the best short sf and fantasy published in 2010 (voting for which is open to the public, should you decide you dug the tale enough to swing a vote my way. Yes, there seem to be two entries; hopefully, they'll fix that glitch and count the votes for both.)

But Rip's tale is far from over. David Cranmer, the Doc Berlin of our little operation, has some details up on his blog about Rip's, uh, future (hey, gimme a break; you try talking about where this story's going without lapsing into accidental time-travel punnery). And over at Beat to a Pulp, Charles Gramlich takes the reins of the story, delivering A Rip Through Time: Battles, Broadswords, and Bad Girls. (See what I did there, Charles? Reins? On account of there are horses? Ah, forget it; there's apparently no such thing as a good time-travel joke.) Charles brings his own unique flavor to Rip's tale, and broadens Rip's universe considerably. Having experienced this installment as an audience member (seriously -- my first peek was nary a week ago), it's wild to see just how unpredictable a story can be when filtered through the lens of another writer, another perspective. It's a daring experiment, and one whose conclusion I, for one, eagerly await.

"A Rip Through Time" on P&E's Reader Poll!

2011-01-15T14:09:00.002-05:00

If you have a chance, and dug "A Rip Through Time: The Dame, the Doctor, and the Device", pop on over to P&E's Reader Poll and send a vote my way! 'Twould be much appreciated.

(There appear to be two entries for "Rip". I've notified them of the glitch, but it's unlikely to be fixed before voting is completed. Just aim for the complete entry, and fingers crossed votes for either will be counted.)

In which the writer actually (gasp!) talks writing...

2011-01-15T12:32:00.002-05:00

It's been a while since I mentioned any new stories here, but that doesn't mean I haven't been working on any. Time was, I'd finish a story, write a post on what inspired it, and then send it unsteady and downy-feathered off into the world, fingers crossed someone would take it in and give it a good home. Lately, though, I've been fortunate enough that folks are actually (for some ungodly reason) asking me for stories, which, though gratifying, makes for less compelling blog-fodder. ("The inspiration for this leprechaun-gold-heist-caper is someone asked me for a leprechaun-gold-heist caper, and then I wrote it."*)

To be clear, I don't think these stories are in any sense inferior to those whose premises I plucked out of the clear blue sky; in fact, I kind of love the challenge of taking an assignment and making it my own. But it does make the process a tad less sexy. (Less sexy than surfing the web in your PJs with bedhead until some random bit of nothing catches your interest? That, my friend, is crazy talk!**)

Anyways, the point I've been lazily circling for like two hundred words now is I've recently written a few new stories, and I figured I'd talk a bit about them here. No, I won't tell you when and where you can read them, because a) I'm not entirely sure when they're coming out, b) I consider any project top-secret until the editor of said project goes public with it, and c) as far as I'm concerned, the folks I wrote them for are under no obligation to publish them, should they, uh, hate 'em or whatever.

So yeah. Three new stories. As follows.

"The Man in the Alligator Shoes" is a flash piece (depending on your definition, since it comes in three words shy of 1,000) about a decent man corrupted by the loss of his wife, and determined to exact revenge. It was inspired, in part, by my recent bout of unemployment, the sad state of the economy, and the broken, corrupt machine that is our health-care system. Kind of a lot of baggage for a flash piece, I know, but too often, flash ignores character in favor of a rug-yank of a twist (I see flash as similar to jokes in structure -- all setup and punchline), and I wanted to see if I could write a character-driven story within the confines of the word-count. Whether I was successful or not, I'll leave to the audience to decide.

"The Putdown" is a 3,200-word bit of country-fried noir, and it features the best opening scene I think I've ever written. It's the story of a man looking back at a life spent in the thrall of a best friend he's slowly come to realize is a charismatic sociopath. For those who've read my Ellery Queen debut "The World Behind" (available here with seven other tales for the rock-bottom price of $0.99!), I sort of think of this story as what might've happened had things worked out differently for its antagonist, Billy McMahon, and his wheedling sidekick, Mike Harrington.

And last but (hopefully) not least, "An Open Door." "An Open Door" is a creepy little ghost story inspired by the cheesiest, awesomest, bro-I-got-chills-havingest show on all of television: Ghost Adventures. This story differs from the other two in that it wasn't written with a market in mind; it sort of popped into my head fully formed (borne no doubt of my full-on obsession with this equal parts terrifying and hilarious show). Two days and 3,000 words later, it was done. And speaking of creepy, not an hour after I finished it, I got an email from an editor friend asking if I'd be interested in submitting a 3,000-word horror story. Weird, right? Oh, and just for kicks, "An Open Door" centers around an abandoned mill fans of "Seven Days of Rain" might find eerily familiar...

So that's what I've been up to. Details on the wheres and whens as I have them. As for what comes next... I've got another short or two I'd like to bang out, and then maybe, just maybe, a new novel -- 'cause damn do I have a hell of an idea for one. Looks like whatever mojo problems I've been struggling with are in my rearview...

*This example is fictitious. Don't go stealing it, though, 'cause OMFG I NEED TO WRITE A LEPRECHAUN-GOLD-HEIST-CAPER.

**Who, exactly, am I addressing here? 'Cause it sort of reads like I'm talking to myself, but as someone else. Speaking of crazy talk. Seriously, it's half-assed self-indulgent parentheticals like this one that keep editors gainfully employed.

My spine, it tingles...

2011-01-04T18:00:00.002-05:00

Thanks to Brian Lindenmuth, crack non-fiction editor of Spinetingler, for giving an honorable mention to 8 POUNDS in his list of Best Mystery/Crime Fiction of 2010!

And for those of y'all sick to death of me yappin' 'bout the same old stories, I promise I've got an update on some new shorts coming real soon...

THE DAMAGE DONE Giveaway at Women of Mystery!

2011-01-03T10:03:00.003-05:00

Anyone who pops in here from time to time knows I'm a big fan of THE DAMAGE DONE, the amazing, fantastic, face-meltingly good debut from Spinetingler-Award-winner Hilary Davidson. But what you may not know is that right now, Women of Mystery are giving said face-meltingly good debut away, and all it takes to enter is a blog comment.

So what're you waiting for? Do you not like awesome free stuff?

Best-of Updates (and a Brief Canadian Digression)(Or Two)

2011-01-01T11:05:00.011-05:00

Many thanks to Stephen Blackmoore, who included 8 POUNDS in his "Best of Whatever" list over at Day Labor. Big thanks as well to Ian Rogers, who counted "The Well" among his Favourite* Reads of 2010. Both Stephen and Ian are damn fine writers, which makes their praise all the more rewarding. And the company both have put me in on their respective lists is humbling indeed.

*Yes, that's favourite with a u. Ian, you see, is Canadian. But we at _holm endeavor not to discriminate on the basis of silly spellings, love of Tim Horton's, or the preposterous notion that health care should be available to all regardless of personal wealth. Which is more than I can say for Blogger's spellcheck, which insists I've twice spelled favorite wrong.

UPDATE TO THE BEST-OF UPDATES: The lovely and talented (and somewhat hung-over) Paul Brazill pointed out in the comments that he included 8 POUNDS in his Top 13 Crime Books of 2010. Thanks, Paul! Now go take a couple aspirin, drink lots of ice water, and when you're up to it, power down some greasy breakfast fare. Always does wonders for me...

UPDATE THE SECOND TO THE BEST-OF UPDATES (MAKING WHAT -- FIVE UPDATES TOTAL? THIS IS ALL VERY CONFUSING.): The also lovely and talented (and to my knowledge, not hung-over) Hilary Davidson has included 8 POUNDS in her "Best of Whatever" list at Day Labor. Hilary, author of the flat-out stunning THE DAMAGE DONE, is also Canadian, though she elects to spell it favorite, quite possibly so that she can pass unnoticed among us. But to what end? I suspect a nefarious plot resulting in world domination. And if she nefariously plots as well as she writes, we may as well cede now, before her death-ray is fully operational...

Gimme Five

2010-12-29T17:22:00.002-05:00

2010's been a crazy-ass writing year for me, full of massive highs and crushing lows (to borrow a phrase from Craig Finn), so it only seems fitting I'm sending it out with a bang. Said bang is my list of five top crime stories from 2010 over at Death by Killing. (That's right, I said "five top" instead of "top five"; it was a hell of a year in crime fic, and who am I to claim authority as to the best five stories out there?)

Mondo thanks to Chris Rhatigan for the opportunity, and for plugging my Kindle short story collection, 8 POUNDS (buy it now for your Kindle or free Kindle app for just $0.99!) And to all of y'all reading this, have a safe, happy, and kickass new year...

Odds and Ends

2010-12-19T12:13:00.006-05:00

I'm taking a quick break from hall-decking and eggnoggery to point y'all toward a few cool 8 POUNDS developments.

THING THE FIRST is a lovely review from Naomi Johnson over at The Drowning Machine. Naomi's reviews are a go-to for me these days when I'm looking for something new to read, so being included among the well-reviewed on her site is quite a thrill.

THING THE SECOND is 8 POUNDS' inclusion in Steve Weddle's "Best of Whatever" list over at Crime Factory's Day Labor blog. In case you've been living under a rock in some collapsed portion of a cave in a remote mountain range on the dark side of some as-yet-undiscovered moon, Steve is the editor of the always spectacular Needle Magazine, as well as a badass author in his own right (in fact, he might just turn up in a top five list of mine, to be published any second over at Death by Killing), so such an inclusion in his best-of list is high praise indeed.

THING THE THIRD is John Kenyon selecting "Seven Days of Rain" from 8 POUNDS as one of his top five short stories of 2010 over at Death by Killing. John, a Spinetingler Award nominee and fellow Thuglit alumnus, had previously been so kind as to review 8 POUNDS on his blog, and when I look at the rest of the folks he selected for his list, I can honestly say I'm honored to be in their company.

The holiday season is rife with schlock and sentimentality, so if you've had your fill it's best to look away, 'cause I'm about to throw another yule log on the schmaltz bonfire. When I look back over this past year, I'm extremely grateful for the kindness of all those who've supported my writing. My heartfelt thanks to all of you, and best wishes to you and yours this holiday season. Have a merry Christmakkuhkwanza, all.

Just in time for the holidays...

2010-12-16T08:50:00.002-05:00

If you pop over to Women of Mystery today, not only will you find an interview with David Cranmer, editor of Beat to a Pulp, you can also enter to win a copy of BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE! (Man, that's a lot of links for one sentence.)

In which I get my critique on.

2010-11-17T20:51:00.007-05:00

Spinetingler is doing something kind of cool right now, reviewing every single story in Otto Penzler and James Ellroy's BEST AMERICAN NOIR OF THE CENTURY. It's a hell of a tome, chock full of gorgeous writing on topics that are anything but. Whether you're a die-hard fan of the genre, or just interested in getting a peek of what it has to offer, I highly recommend checking it out. It doesn't get much better.

But don't just take my word for it. No, wait: take my word for it.

That's right, cats and kittens (ugh -- did I really just say that?); for some crazy-ass reason, the good folks at Spinetingler saw fit to ask me to write a few words about MacKinlay Kantor's "Gun Crazy." Whether those few words are worth a damn is up to you, but it was an honor to participate, and Kantor's tale is a cracking one indeed.

Oh, and a confession: this wasn't my first review. My first review was for "The Red Hand of Ulster" by Sam Millar, which appeared in the marvelous REQUIEMS FOR THE DEPARTED, and you can read it here. (Why didn't I blog about it when it came out? Truth is, I wasn't sure the review was any damn good. Seriously, fiction's way easier.)

John Kenyon reviews 8 POUNDS!

2010-11-10T20:15:00.004-05:00

In case you've been living under a rock in a cave on the dark side of the moon (or, you know, not religiously reading this obscure writer's blog), I recently released a Kindle short story collection called 8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE. Said collection is available for the preposterously low price of $0.99, and the best part is, you don't even need a Kindle to get it, 'cause Amazon's got a free Kindle app for damn near every device under the sun. (I would have said every device under the sun, but a certain Mr. Lindenmuth might take umbrage on his phone's behalf.)

Buzz-wise, I've been incredibly fortunate, with 8 POUNDS garnering some truly glowing reviews (find blurbs and links to those reviews here, and holy hell am I grateful to those who wrote them). The latest review is from author John Kenyon, whose works have appeared in Thuglit, Demolition, Beat to a Pulp, and Crime Factory. John, who by dint of his reviewerly (it's a word: write it down) kindness is one of my new favorite people, had this to say:

I know he priced this at 99 cents to get the word out, but reading this provided more entertainment than the last movie I saw, and you can’t see one of those without a transaction involving large bills taking place. But no matter how and where he ends up publishing his next work, I’ll be paying attention.

Want to read the rest? You'll find it here. Thanks again, John, for making my day.

6-Word-Story Contest: Winners Announced!

2010-11-04T09:00:00.000-05:00

So today is the day. The day in which I announce the winners of my 6-word-story contest. Winners who will each find themselves proud owners of one of those lovely tomes pictured above (alongside, as you'll note, a hat full of names, lest you think this whole one winner shall be drawn from a hat thing is a euphemism for one winner shall be chosen based on whimsy and blatant favoritism on the part of the capricious ruler of this-here blog.)

But before we get to any hat-drawing, a certain Mr. Cranmer, editor of Beat to a Pulp and guest judge of this little contest, has weighed in with his pick for Winner Number One -- as well as a few honorable mentions for good measure. David tells me there were so many quality entries, he had trouble picking just one, and to that I say amen. But pick he had to do. And so, without (too much) further ado, and only slight continued vamping on the part of yours truly, I give you -- in just a moment...

Oh, to hell with it: here's the list.

Winner Number One (who, for the record, knocked me sideways with this one, and totally deserved the nod) is Kieran Shea, for this heartwarming tale of triumph in the face of economic adversity:

-Scram, honey.
-Who's he, mommy?
-Rent.

Touching, no?

As for David's honorable mentions, they are as follows:

Ame Dyckman
The vultures didn't bother saying Grace.

Sandi Olson
"Don't touch that!" came too late.

Steve Weddle
FOR SALE: Hemingway's shotgun. Used once.

AJ Hayes
Last words?
Fuck you asshole!
Bang.

Now, much as I'd love to give each of y'all a copy of ROUND ONE, I just don't have that many copies to give. Which is why I've decided to kick in PDF copies of my new Kindle collection 8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE (available now! $0.99 cheap!) for each of the runners up. (Steve, I know you've already got a copy, so instead, maybe I'll send you the negatives for those pictures we discussed. You know the ones I'm talking about.)

Now, onto Winner Number Two, who shall be chosen from a hat by my ~~lovely assistant~~ lovely and talented wife (who, FYI, has a kickass mystery review blog you should go check out right now and also honey please don't hit me for the "assistant" thing).

Are you ready?

Like, really ready?

(This is exciting, isn't it?)

Okay, fine -- here we go.

Drumroll, please!

Seriously, I said drumroll! What're you doing just sitting there, blinking at me? We're not going to pick a winner until I hear the pitter-patter of hands on desks, people. Now c'mon, you're holding everybody up.

That's more like it.

And Winner Number Two is...

Ian Ayris!

Huge congrats to the winners and runners up, and thanks to all for playing. If Kieran, Ame, Sandi, Steve, AJ, and Ian could each drop me an e-mail using the link in the sidebar, I'll get your prizes out all pronto-like.

And if you're bummed you didn't win, here's some consolation: BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE is only $15.95 at Createspace and Amazon. Don't you think after all this waiting and anticipation, you deserve a copy? And hey, why not pick up a copy of 8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE while you're at it, for the rock-bottom price of just $0.99...

6-Word-Story Contest Update

2010-11-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

Folks, it's been one hell of a contest, with damn near eighty entries and boatloads of killer 6-word-stories, but now it's time to close it down. As of today, November 3rd, I'm taking no more entries. Tomorrow, I'll announce David's pick as well as the winner of the random drawing. Those two lucky people will get copies of the brand spankin' Beat to a Pulp anthology, BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE.

Stay tuned, and good luck!

8 POUNDS Update

2010-10-30T10:00:00.002-05:00

My Kindle short story collection 8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE has been out two weeks now, and in that time, it's garnered some fantastic reviews. Reviews like this one over at I Meant to Read That:

You will never get such a wonderful collection of gems again at such a bargain price, so what are you waiting for? Hit that button and download it now...

And like this one, by the lovely Elizabeth A. White, who went an extra dozen or so miles by not only posting the review on her fantastic book blog, but also on Amazon, Shelfari, Goodreads, and SavannahNow.com! (Side note: if ever I run for public office, I want Elizabeth to manage my campaign, 'cause damn.)

In 8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE Holm serves up eight wonderfully entertaining short stories that will have you up late into the night reading, and leave you hungry for more.

Meanwhile, over at Amazon, Lauren Winters writes:

[...]$.99 is a criminally small price to pay for this stellar collection.

And Steve Weddle, ace editor of Needle Magazine, has this to say:

When you're twenty-seven deep in line at his ninth book signing, you'll still remember these stories. They're THAT good.

I couldn't be happier at how warmly 8 POUNDS has been received, and each and every person who's taken the time to read, review, or hype it (like Hilary Davidson, John Hornor Jacobs, and a whole host of fantastic folks on Twitter) has my sincere gratitude.

So... wanna see what all the fuss is about? Pop on over to Amazon and give it a download. You do have an Amazon account, don't you? Of course you do; everybody does. And really, that's all you need. Won't take but a sec to download a free Kindle app to your computer or mobile device (there's even a handy link to do so in Amazon's sidebar), and then not only can you get my book on the cheap, you can also pick up some fantastic free fiction like, say, the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley's FRANKENSTEIN, or Bram Stoker's DRACULA. God knows that's what I did.

(Oh, and don't forget: there's only three days left to enter my contest for a free copy of the new Beat to a Pulp print anthology! Details here.)

Cheap fiction, plus a chance to win a copy of BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE!

2010-10-25T10:44:00.001-05:00

For those of you who don't know, I recently released a collection of short stories on Kindle titled 8 Pounds: Eight Tales of Crime, Horror, and Suspense for the bargain-basement price of $0.99! In the week that it's been out, it's garnered some lovely reviews (like this one), and more than one report of insomnia, which is kinda cool. (Hey, some of it is horror, after all; I'm allowed to be proud of scaring the sleep outta people.) And if you don't have a Kindle, that's no problem at all - just follow the link, and you can download a free app for your computer or mobile device in seconds. What better way to celebrate the Halloween season than cheap, kick-ass creepy fiction?

That covers the cheap; now let's talk about the free. Namely, a free copy (two, in fact!) of the gorgeous pulp smorgasbord that is Beat to a Pulp: Round One. How gorgeous, you ask? This gorgeous:
And lest you think this baby's all sizzle and no steak, let's talk about what's inside. How about damn near 400 pages chock full of the best crime, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, western, and pirate tales you'll ever read, penned by such talented folks as Sophie Littlefield, Charles Ardai, Robert J. Randisi, Hilary Davidson, James Reasoner, Edward A. Grainger, Frank Bill, Patti Abbott, Jed Ayres, and Kieran Shea. Oh yeah, and, um, me.

So, whaddya gotta do to get one? Easy. I want you to tell me a story. A six-word story, to be exact. (No clue what I'm talking about? Click on over here and find out.) But not just any six-word story. A six-word pulp story.

Now, it doesn't have to be crime; like Beat to a Pulp themselves, this contest is all about celebrating the full breadth of pulp fiction. So use your imagination, and go to town.

Here's how it works: post your six-word story in the comments of this blog post (be sure to include a name if you're commenting without a Blogger account). Submissions will be open for ten days.

At the end of ten days, two winners will be picked. Winner Number One shall be chosen by none other than David Cranmer, editor-extraordinaire of Beat to a Pulp (which means not only does Winner Number One get a kick-ass anthology, he or she also gets some serious bragging rights.) Winner Number Two shall be selected by placing the names of the remaining entrants in a hat and letting luck take its course. (Originally, I'd written that the entrants themselves would be placed in the hat, which would've required one hell of an enormous hat. I'd also written that Lady Luck would have her way with them, but that sounded dirtier than intended. Why am I telling you this? I honestly have no idea.)

Once the winners are announced, they can each shoot me an e-mail with their addresses, and I will ~~stalk them~~ send along their prizes, even sullying them (er, the prizes, not the actual winners) with my signature if they (you?) so choose.

So get crackin', and spread the word! I can't wait to see what y'all have in store for me...

8 POUNDS reviewed at I Meant to Read That!

2010-10-24T14:33:00.000-05:00

I'm delighted to report that my Kindle collection 8 Pounds: Eight Tales of Crime, Horror, & Suspense (only $0.99!) has garnered a rave at I Meant to Read That!

Many thanks to the lovely, charming, and mysterious McDroll/FiBe/Small Town Girl for the kind words.

8 POUNDS: EIGHT TALES OF CRIME, HORROR, & SUSPENSE now available!

2010-10-18T19:45:00.002-05:00

It's official, y'all: my short story collection 8 Pounds: Eight Tales of Crime, Horror, & Suspense is available for download, and for the rock-bottom price of $0.99!

These stories represent three glorious years of toiling in the trenches ('07-'09, for those keeping track), and have appeared in publications as varied as Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine and Thuglit. I've collected them here because, well, websites shut down, and magazines go out of print, which makes some of 'em mighty hard to come by.

Like old-school, whiskey-swiggin' pulp? Then check out Derringer-Award-finalist "The Big Score" and "A Simple Kindness." Need a dose of horror? How's about "The Well," "The Toll Collectors," and "A Better Life"? Or maybe you like your stories black and bitter as your coffee, in which case check out the Spinetingler-Award-winning "Seven Days of Rain" or "Eight Pounds." And just to sweeten the pot, I've included my fiction debut 'The World Behind," which first appeared in EQMM's Department of First Stories way back in June of 2007.

So go on. Take a peek. And if you dig it, maybe do yours truly a favor and post a kind review.

No Kindle? No problem! Amazon's got a link in the right-hand sidebar to download a free Kindle app for your computer or mobile device.

(Oh, and any props for the kick-ass cover should be directed John Hornor Jacobs' way.)

The Adventure of Links

2010-10-14T19:23:00.003-05:00

Just a brief post to point out a couple (er, three) (um, four?) supercool links.

Link the First (Now With Bonus Second Link!)
The new Beat to a Pulp anthology, BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE is now live on Amazon! You can find it here. (Bonus link for those of you who wanna get it straight from the source, thereby depriving Amazon their cut of Beat to a Pulp's hard-earned dollars, right here.)

Link the Second (or Was That Third? Crap, This Header Scheme is Getting Away From Me)
Paul Brazill, decent chap and damned fine writer in his own right, reviewed Needle #2, and had some nice things to say about yours truly. You can read his review here.

Oh, and stay tuned. In not too long, I'll drop the deets on my upcoming short story e-book collection...

BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE is now available!

2010-10-09T20:00:00.002-05:00

Last night, under the cover of darkness, David Cranmer unleashed unprecedented awesomeness upon the world: Beat to a Pulp's first ever print anthology.

At damn near four hundred pages of pure pulp perfection, this collection's got it all. A foreword by the legendary Bill Crider. A story from Hard Case Crime mastermind Charles Ardai. Another from Robert J. Randisi. (You think it's bad-ass to win a Shamus? Randisi created the Shamus.)

Frank Bill. Edward Grainger. Sophie Littlefield. Patti Abbott. Kieran Shea. Jed Ayres. Hilary Davidson. We're talking a lineup of the best names in pulp, all operating at the height of their considerable abilities. Oh, and did I mention the gorgeous, gorgeous cover, featuring original artwork by James O'Barr, creator of The Crow?

That's like a hundred reasons to pick this baby up right there, and here's one more: BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE features a brand spankin', never-seen-before short by yours truly. It's called A Native Problem, and it's a doozy. Picture Indiana Jones by way of George Romero.

I know, right? (Ugh, did I really just say that? Blame the lack of sleep. I may have spent a large portion of last night drinking and dancing in a castle. No, for real.)

So where can you get this magical collection of awesome? Right here.

So go. Buy. Love. Heck, buy two -- Christmas is right around the corner...

On Cats and Bags

2010-10-06T17:30:00.000-05:00

Coming soon to an e-reader near you...
(with a hat-tip to John Hornor Jacobs for the stunning cover design)

Thanks, Julie!

2010-10-05T08:31:00.000-05:00

The inimitable Julie Summerell said some mighty nice things about me on her blog yesterday. You can read her comments here.

Julie, you made my day...

Happy release day, Hilary and Joelle!

2010-09-28T09:00:00.001-05:00

Hey, looking for something awesome to read? Then you're in luck: today marks the release of two of this year's hottest crime debuts, THE DAMAGE DONE and SKATING AROUND THE LAW.

Am I biased? Yup - Hilary and Joelle are two of the nicest people you'll ever meet. Thing is, they also happen to be damn good writers. But don't take my word for it; check out what Publishers Weekly had to say:

"[A] razor sharp mystery debut. . . . Davidson offers a great portrait of sisterly love, despite a dysfunctional past, as well as a highly satisfying mystery."

"Roller skates and crime don't mix, or do they? In Charbonneau's fresh, funny debut they most certainly do."

So go on. Treat yourself. Buy a couple kick-ass books. You know you want to.

THE DAMAGE DONE:
Amazon
Kindle Edition

SKATING AROUND THE LAW:
Amazon
Kindle Edition

And me? I'll be checking the mailbox hourly till they get here...

Chris Rhatigan reviews my installment of A RIP THROUGH TIME

2010-09-20T18:04:00.003-05:00

"...the most fun you can have with your clothes on. Anybody who claims reading is boring clearly hasn't read A RIP THROUGH TIME." So says Chris Rhatigan of Death by Killing.

Read the rest of his review here. And if you think that pull-quote didn't make my day, you're freakin' nuts.

Dancing, et cetera.

2010-09-12T09:15:00.001-05:00

Just wanted to pop in to say the gracious and talented Nigel Bird (seriously, his Beat on the Brat in the newest issue of Needle is flat-out fantastic) was kind (foolish?) enough to invite me to interview myself on his blog as part of his Dancing With Myself series. I have to say, I had a blast participating, even if the interviewer was kind of a dick. You can read the results here.

Also, according to David Cranmer's blog, our serial collaboration A Rip Through Time: The Dame, the Doctor, and the Device is a smash hit! Thanks to all who took the time to read it, with a special shout-out to those who commented (write this down: favorable comments make writers' days). Like you, I look forward to finding out what's in store for Rip, Ludwig, and company. More details on the e-book release as I have them...

A Rip-Roaring Good Time

2010-09-04T09:04:00.001-05:00

Thus far, the first installment of David Cranmer's epic multi-author pulp serial A Rip Through Time has been quite well-recieved, and I couldn't be happier. It was a blast to write, and it'll be even more fun to watch where David's stable of writers take it from here.

If you haven't checked out A Rip Through Time: The Dame, the Doctor, and the Device yet, go, do!

If you'd like to read David's thoughts about the genesis of Rip and company, check out his blog post on the topic here.

Gary Dobbs at The Tainted Archive has a brief piece up about A Rip Through Time; check that out here. (And thanks, Gary!)

And last but not least, I understand there've been some problems with the Beat to a Pulp spam filters keeping folks from commenting. Rest assured, crack editor David Cranmer is on it, but in the meantime, if you tried to comment but could not, please e-mail David at paladin-1[at]hotmail[dot]com, and he'll be sure to post it.

Chapter One of A RIP THROUGH TIME Now Available!

2010-09-03T15:00:00.001-05:00

Flash Gordon. Han Solo. Buck Rogers. John Carter. Indiana Jones.

All evoke for me a wide-eyed sense of adventure -- a childlike edge-of-seat glee as you wait to see what happens next.

Which is why when David Cranmer asked me to pitch in and help him scrawl a new name on that list, I said, "Hell, yes!"

That name is Simon Rip. And today, my chapter of his story, A Rip Through Time: The Dame, the Doctor, and the Device, is live at Beat to a Pulp.

Check it out. Leave a comment. And if you dig it, you're in luck, because there's more a'comin'. See, David conceived of A Rip Through Time as an old-school serial, but with a twist: each installment is to be written by a different pulp practitioner. Charles Gramlich is up next, and after that, Matt Mayo takes old Rip out for a spin. Same characters. Same story. But each episode with its own unique flavor.

I, for one, am dying to see where the story goes next. (No, seriously; I haven't the foggiest idea.) Wherever it goes, there is one thing I'm sure of: I'll be reading it on the edge of my seat.

So what're you waiting for? Read it now!

All shifty-like...

2010-08-18T18:58:00.002-05:00

Hey, remember a while back when I mentioned I'd written a short called Green for the good folks (er, yard-hardened badasses) at Crime Factory? (If not, just smile and nod; it's not like I'll know the difference.) Anyways, in that post, I mentioned Green would be appearing in issue #4 of Crime Factory. Thing is, issue #4 hit the virtual stands a couple weeks back, and Green wasn't in it.

So what happened? Was it a case of crossed wires? An editorial slip-up? Or was it something more sinister, like maybe me and Rawson tossed back a couple and then had ourselves a knock-down, drag-out brawl over which Macdonald is the awesomest? (Ross beats John D. hands-down, and I'll fight any man among you who says otherwise. Unless than man is Matthew McBride. I mean seriously, have you seen that dude? I'd concede Dan Brown beats Ross Macdonald before I'd go toe-to-toe with him.)

Turns out, the answer is no to all three. In fact, the reason for my omission is pretty damn great. And today, I got the thumbs-up to tell y'all what it is.

See, Green is going to appear in Crime Factory's upcoming print anthology, Crime Factory: The First Shift, and I for-seriously couldn't be happier. Liam, Keith, Cameron and company've got a good thing going with their online magazine (if you haven't had the pleasure, check their archives here), cranking out issue after issue of kick-ass fiction, news, and reviews from the wrong side of the tracks. And now they've set their sights on sullying up the print world, too.

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that? (Not this guy. This guy's psyched. You know, unless Rawson starts talking shit about Ross Macdonald.)

Needle #2 Now Available!

2010-08-11T21:00:00.000-05:00

The summer issue of Needle, featuring my novella The Hitter, is now available! Oh, and it also contains new fiction by such kick-ass writers as Stephen Blackmoore, Frank Bill, David Cranmer, Ray Banks, and Julie Summerell, just to name a few.

So what're you waiting for? Go get yourself a copy or three! (No, for real; orders over $19.95 are eligible for free shipping...)

Sneak Preview of "The Hitter"!

2010-08-04T08:30:00.001-05:00

Want a taste of what the summer issue of Needle Magazine's got in store? Then pop over to their blog for a sneak preview of my novella, The Hitter!

BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE Cover!

2010-08-01T10:10:00.004-05:00

Last night, David Cranmer dropped a bombshell: the cover for the upcoming Beat to a Pulp print anthology, BEAT TO A PULP: ROUND ONE. Painted by James O'Barr, creator of THE CROW, with additional design by John Bergin, it's at once brutal, witty, and nostalgic, like some gorgeous artifact from a violent, bygone era.

I, for one, am nuts about it. It reminds me of the timeworn pulps I used to buy in bag sales at the North Syracuse Free Library (two bucks a bag, and as many books as it'll carry). It taps into that lurid, visceral appeal that draws folks like me to pulp in the first place. In short, I couldn't have asked for a better cover for the first book I'll ever be a part of.

ROUND ONE is set to drop in a month or two. I suspect when it does I might just mention it. Buy it for Ardai, Littlefield, Davidson, Abbott, Reasoner, and Randisi. But when you do, take a gander at my humble entry, a creepy little adventure-pulp/horror crossover called A Native Problem. If I'm half as good at my job as the guys who made this cover are at theirs, it'll scare you silly for sure.

A Quick Update

2010-07-16T11:00:00.000-05:00

If you take a gander at the snazzy banner in my sidebar, you'll see I've written a novella (news to me, but I did think as I was writing it that short was gettin' kinda wordy), and that said novella is to appear in the summer issue of Needle Magazine. I'll be appearing alongside some damned talented writers (make with the clicky if you don't believe me), many of whom are friends to boot, and I couldn't be happier.

The summer issue's set to drop sometime this month, so keep an eye on this space. Needle's spring issue was no-shit some of the best reading of the year, so I'm psyched to get my hands on this one. Oh, and if you wanna know who's responsible for that sexy, sexy banner ad, that would be the lovely and talented John Hornor Jacobs (who, for a price, would no doubt be happy to design you a gorgeous banner ad for your macrame typewriter cozy business, your line of designer eyepatches, or, you know, your book if you wanna be all boring about it).

Free Fiction: Seven Days of Rain

2010-07-05T09:42:00.004-05:00

Seven Days of Rain was initially published in the late, lamented Demolition Magazine back in September of '07. I remember being pleasantly surprised when Demolition's editor, Bryon Quertermous, accepted it, and then utterly bowled over when it went on to win the Spinetingler Award for Best Short Story on the Web. Since then, Bryon closed up shop, and Seven's been without a home. So without further ado, here it is, for your reading pleasure:

Seven Days of Rain

It was bound to happen, I suppose.

There was a time, of course, when I didn’t think so. We were too smart, I thought. Too careful. But there’s men’s plans and then there’s God’s plans, and it looks for damn sure like God don’t think much of mine.

In all my years, I ain’t seen nothing like it. For six days now it’s rained. And not no spring shower, either. The kind of rain that soaks you clear to the bone. The kind of rain that gets in your joints and reminds you of every ache and pain you ever felt. The kind of rain that makes you feel like you ain’t never gonna be warm and dry again.

On the first day, nobody paid it no mind. Sure, the power flickered and the gutters overflowed, but most just figured it’d blow over by daybreak.

On the second day, the river swelled. Folks took off work to haul sandbags to the riverbanks, hoping to keep the rising waters at bay. They worked for hours in the wind and wet, and in the end, that river breached its banks and sent 'em running.

On the third day, they found the body.

I was out back in my workshop when the knock came. The place was leaking like a sieve, and between the hollow thrum of water into pots and the rain beating against the shingles, I barely noticed it at all. It wasn’t till he started yelling I thought to let him in.

“Christ, Eddie, I thought you were gonna leave me there all night!” Matt shook out his umbrella and shrugged off his slicker, tossing both across a chair.

“Hey, mind the finish!” I scolded. “That one ain’t been varnished yet!”

“What in hell are you doing out here, anyway? Can’t you see a storm’s on?”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about idle hands,” I replied, returning my attention to the chair-leg that sat turning on the spindle before me.

“I guess I do, at that.”

“So,” I said, easing my gouge along the surface of the wood and setting narrow ribbons of pine spiraling away, “what brings you out on so unpleasant an afternoon?”

“They found him, Eddie. They found Timmy.”

The gouge kicked back off the spindle and skittered across my forearm. Blood welled red in its wake.
“When?”

“This morning. Body washed up on the bank.”

“They know it’s him?”

“Not yet, but they sure as hell suspect."

I dabbed at my arm with a fresh rag. “I don’t see what this has got to do with us.”

“You don’t.”

“No, I don't," I snapped.

“Eddie, we gotta tell 'em what happened."

“The hell we do! Ain’t nothing we can say's gonna change a thing. It was an accident. It was sixty years ago, for God’s sake. We were kids. Just leave it be, Matt.”

“You don’t think I tried? I don’t sleep so good these days. Doc says I ain’t got long left, and I can’t help but think I oughta tell somebody.”

“Fine, then. You go on down to Sheriff Brenner’s and tell him me and you and Hollis and Wilson went and killed that boy and see what he says. He’ll think you’re a nothing but a senile old goat.”

“So what if he does? We owe it to Timmy to tell the truth.”

“You think Timmy’d want us locked up? And what about your grandkids? You think they wanna see Grandpa go to jail?”

“Come on, Eddie, I just wanna be square. You telling me it never bothers you?”

“I sleep all right,” I replied.

I didn’t, though. Not that night, as the storm rattled the windows in their casements, and not the next, as the water climbed through town, flooding basements and washing away gardens. My mind kept taking me back to the summer of ’48 – to the old abandoned mill, and to Timothy.

“I can't do it!” he called. “It's too far.”

“Don't be a wuss. It's not that far.” I rattled the chain at my end. Timothy, with a hand on the chain some twenty yards above me, squealed. Far above us in the gloom, the pulley clanged against an I-beam, loosing a flurry of rust.

“Come on, Timmy,” Matt said. “Do it.”

Wilson and Hollis picked up the chant. “Do it, do it, do it.”

“All right,” he said. He gripped the chain in both hands, closed his eyes, and stepped off the ledge.

It was the noise I noticed first, or, rather, the lack of it. One second, the chain was jingling past, and then it wasn’t. When the pulley seized, Tim lost his grip. He plummeted toward me, screaming the whole way. Then he hit the ground, and he wasn't screaming anymore.

The fifth day of the storm, I found myself walking to Miller's for a bite to eat. There wasn't but a couple of beers and a half a bottle of mustard in my fridge, and the market had been closed since the elm out front came down and took most of the roof with it. I had a coat and an umbrella and my rubbers on my feet, but by the time I got there, I was soaked clean through, and my socks were squishing in my shoes.

I took a seat at the counter as Donna poured me a steaming cup of coffee. “Much obliged,” I said, holding the mug in cupped hands and suppressing a shiver.

“Any time, dear. You know what you're having?”

“Eggs, over-easy. White toast. A side of bacon, extra crispy.”

“Comin' up.”

I sat and sipped my coffee while she put in my order, my clothes hanging wet and heavy on my frame. It wasn’t long before I felt a clap on the shoulder.

“Eddie Hanscombe, as I live and breathe! I hadn’t seen you ‘round in a while – thought maybe the river’d carried you away.”

I winced inwardly. “Mornin’, Sheriff.”

“Your place still standing?”

“For now, at least,” I replied.

“Bad bit a luck, the river overflowing.”

“It is, at that.”

“You hear about the Driscoll kid? Washed right up in the center a town. Scared the hell out of the McCreary boys. Body was stuffed into an Amalgamated Paper barrel, if you can believe it.”

“No kiddin’,” I replied. “Your boys sure it’s him?”

“Got the ME’s report back this morning. I hear tell you and him used to run together – any idea what he’d a been doing up at the mill?”

I pretended to think about it a minute. “No idea,” I replied. “Place had been abandoned for years ‘fore he even went missing.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Listen, Sheriff, I’d best be off. I got buckets that ain’t gonna empty themselves.”

“Course. You take care, Eddie.”

“You, too,” I replied. I fished a couple ones out of my pocket and tossed them on the counter, and then headed for the door.

Outside, I glanced backward through the rain-streaked window. Guilty conscience, I suppose. I was sure I’d catch Brenner watching me, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was frowning at the plate that had just been set down at the empty stool beside him.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night – I just sat on my porch in the dark and listened to the rain beat against the pavement. I couldn’t shake the memories that kept running through my head. Memories long thought forgotten. Memories best left that way.

“Eddie! Eddie, what the hell happened?”

“Shhh!” I hissed. “There’s someone coming.”

Footfalls echoed through the building, reverberating off the concrete walls. Above me, Matt ducked back into the darkness.

“Who’s in here?” A flashlight beam swung overhead. Security. “I swear if you kids don’t get out of here I’m calling the cops!”

I crouched over Timothy, praying the guard didn’t see us. He searched for what seemed like forever. Finally, though, his footfalls receded, and I raised my head to look around.

“Eddie!” Hollis whispered. “You still down there?”

“Where else would I be?”

“What about Timmy? I mean, is he –”

I looked him up and down, put a hand to his wrist. My mouth went dry. My heart thudded in my chest. “Yeah,” I replied.

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Just get down here. I’ve got an idea.”

Looking back, I wish we’d never done it. We coulda just come clean. We’d have taken our licks, to be sure, but it would have been nothing compared to the guilt we four carried around. Wasn’t but a few years later that Hollis took to drink, and a few more’n that that he wrapped his car around a tree. Wilson didn’t fare no better – the cops said it was a hunting accident, but me and Matt, we knew otherwise.

Morning arrived with an almost imperceptible lightening of the sky in the east. The clouds were low and unbroken, the horizon blurred by the unrelenting torrent. I rose stiffly from my chair, my joints achy and uncooperative. The street, I noticed, was under about a foot of water, and my lawn was a sopping mess. Beneath the patter of the rain, I heard the hollow burble of water poured from a height.

Ah, hell, I thought, wheeling toward the door. The basement.

I ran inside and down the cellar stairs, my bum hip creaking in protest. Sure enough, water poured in through my drainpipes, green-black and reeking. There had to be damn near two feet of water down there, its surface mottled with mud and leaves and bits of debris. Everything I had down there was submerged. An old photograph swam to the surface, where it floated for a moment, warped and discolored, before it was reclaimed by the seething water. A scuffed and timeworn bookshelf, the first I’d ever made, bobbed past on its side, and then foundered and sank. A lifetime of keepsakes, ruined.

I plunged into the murky water and waded to the far corner of the basement. After a few moments of blind groping, I found the floor drain. It was caked with thick, black muck, and no matter how much I scraped away, I couldn't seem to clear it. Finally, I gave up. I slogged upstairs and collapsed into a kitchen chair, sopping wet and covered in filth.

Beneath me, the water continued to rise.

When I regained my breath, I wandered the house, checking windows and changing buckets under leaks that seemed to strengthen by the minute. Walls and ceilings warped and stained. Windowframes swelled. Moisture seeped through the tiniest gaps. I spent hours pressing towels and rags into windowsills to stanch the flow, but it wasn't any use. The house was old and out of square, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stem the tide. Not that it mattered, really. The only things worth a damn are the furniture, and even then, only to me.

Still, I thought, I've got tarps and rope out back in the shed – it's not too late to save the pieces in my workshop.

I headed downstairs and out the kitchen door, not bothering with a jacket. Wind ripped the door from my hands, slamming it inward. Rain fell hard and sharp like needles. I leaned into the wind and made for the shed. I tried to slide open the door, but it barely moved, its runners clogged with thick, black mud. I reached through the narrow opening, wresting a couple of tarps and some nylon line from the musty darkness, and then I gathered them tight to my chest and set out for my shop.

I rounded the corner past the garage and stopped short. There was a figure, standing in the middle of the drive. Brenner, I thought at first, but it was only Matt, in a slicker and a pair of rubber boots, his feet hidden beneath the floodwaters. By the look on his face, I musta been a sight to see, all wild-eyed and drenched, clutching a tangled mess of tarp and rope.

“Eddie!” he shouted above the storm. “We gotta talk!”

“Ain't got time to talk,” I shouted back. “I gotta get this done!” I pushed open the door of the workshop and flicked on the lights.

“Then make time,” he said, following as far as the doorway. The place was a mess, and there had to be an inch or two of water on the floor already. I set about tossing the tarp over as much as I could cover. Matt just watched.

“What,” I asked, “can't you lend a guy a hand?”

“Eddie, I’m gonna tell 'em. I’m gonna tell ‘em everything.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Matt – you ain't gonna say a thing.”

“My mind's made up, Eddie. I only came by 'cause I thought you oughta know.”

“You can't tell 'em,” I replied.

“I can and I will.”

“You got as much to lose from this as I do.”

“Eddie –”

“Me and you and Wilson and Hollis, we all put that boy in that barrel. We all carried it to the river and watched as it sank. We swore we'd never tell. You'd break your word? You'd break your word when you're every bit as much to blame as I am?”

“We both know I'm not.”

I stopped tugging at the tarp. “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said.”

“What in hell are you implying, Matt?”

“Eddie, I saw you. I saw what you did. I saw Timmy wake up.”

“Who's in there?” the guard shouted, close. I crouched over Timothy in the darkness. Suddenly, from beneath me, he started.

“I saw you put your hand over his mouth.”

“I swear if you kids don’t get out of here I’m calling the cops!” Timothy's eyes went wide with pain and fear, and he started to scream. I clamped my hand tight to his mouth.

“I saw him strugglin' against you.”

“Be quiet,” I whispered, but still he thrashed beneath me. “Be quiet be quiet be quiet!”

“I saw you kill him.”

I held him fast so the guard wouldn't hear, whispering all the while. Finally, though, he stopped struggling, and all was quiet.

“NO!” I shouted, lunging toward him. I couldn't listen anymore. I had to make him stop. My hand found the gouge on the workbench and I brought it down, again and again.

It wasn't until afterward, when the guard’s footfalls receded and I saw Timmy lying there so terribly still, that I realized what happened, and by then it was too late.

By then it was too late for all of us.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. Matt was beside me, lying half in and half out of the door. Sticking from his chest was my gouge, buried to the hilt. His eyes were open, and he wasn't moving. His slicker was beaded with blood and water in equal measure. My hands were streaked with blood as well. I climbed to my feet and stumbled past him out the door. Rivulets of pink cascaded off my fingertips as I staggered through the cleansing rain.

It’s past midnight now. I’m sitting at my kitchen table, water lapping against my feet. I’d told myself a thousand times since that day that it was an accident, nothing more. That I could never kill anyone. Now I guess I know the truth.

In a way, it’s a relief. No more secrets. No more lies. Now there’s only one thing left to do.

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I can see the clouds lessening to the east. I expect the storm’ll break before long. After all, it got what it came for.

I don’t deserve your pity, I know, nor your respect, but should you see your way to granting an old man’s last wish, don’t come looking for me. I know where I need to be, and ain’t nothing can change that now.

Still, I expect there’re some who think I’d run, that this note ain’t but a bluff, so you do what you have to.

But if you have to come and find me, I suggest you look downstream.