Progress is slow going when you gotta stop in the middle of what you’re writing to do some research, but, damn… This story (a shortish one I’m calling Leeches for now) is fucking nuts, dude. It’s like the possibilities are endless inside this tiny little confined space my character is trapped in – anything is possible now that I’ve entirely distorted reality around him. I’m still feeling like this one is only gonna be around 60 pages, but I’m toying with the idea of getting some illustrations done for it to make it into something that can be sold in print.I met this artist at a signing a month ago who said he prefers to work with locals and indie artists, and his work is nice and gritty – heavy on the inks. So if I could get him to scratch up five or six gnarly illustrations depicting some of the lunacy of this story… Mmm! This could be a keeper. Stay tuned. -z
Undead by Mixielion
That glossy gaze… It whispers of silent pain, of haunting flashes of awareness. The Hunger is all consuming, but the soul weeps with the immorality of it… The soul remembers. -cm/z
Art credits: Undead by Mixielion.
…1253 words were plugged into a new Chap of my (first person) dorky vampire comedy today. A decent start to a day where I wake up with a fucking headache and wooziness (and I here I am, still sober after 12 years, waking up nearly every day feeling hungover… *sigh* Fucking migraines…) I say “inching toward inspiration” because the scene I’m working towards was inspired by a work of art I found (or posted) on Tumblr about a month back. That’s one thing I love about starting my day off with art: the inspiration it lends my imagination. And I realized last night while brainstorming on how to go about putting together that short horror story (turned novella) I’m working on, that I could look to previous writings I did on here that were inspired by art for scenes in the story. Gud chit. \m/ The one that came to mind I’ll repost before this so you can find it below it on your feeds and follow what I mean. Observe–
…was the opening line in a new chapter of A Christmas Carcassing – my stoner-themed horror/comedy novel. I’m not gonna lie… There are some elements of getting thoroughly lit that I miss. But when I do something, I really fucking do it, so me and Mary J just don’t make for functional fuck buddies these days. Sober 12 years now and am damn stoked about it. I know I couldn’t get half the shit done I do if I was drunk or high and I hardly do a damn thing so…yeah…. It’s fun to indulge in the user in me, tho, through creative writing. I get to share my experiences through fictional characters and have all new ones through them. This story has been a blast to write because I’ve got to put these two kids through all kinds of drug addled days and nights and have never once woke up with a hangover. Heh. There are definite benefits to being a “square”. It doesn’t make you happy or solve all your problems, but it gets rid of those you had that were caused by getting too damn blitzed to care.
Anyone ever been to a Zombie Burger + Drink Lab? This shit looks morbidly delicious! I’ve never been; there aren’t any near me. But one day I will make it my mission to indulge. There’s one about 30 minutes away from the little town in Iowa where my Christmas horror story takes place so I found a way to slip it into the epilogue that I’m working on now. I only wrote about 400 words tonight because I was scouring the wed for the perfect burgers and their horrid insides (ingredients). These three were the winners: The Cronut burger, the Krampus (so appropriate for an xmas horror story), and the Army of Darkness. Just for fun, here’s the rough draft of how I described them in the story:
“Good lawd, have mercy on my insides!”
The black dinner
plate Grandad slid in front of Shawn harbored atop its obsidian gleam an
affront to all meals decent. Three, greasy beef patties dripping with white
cheddar cheese under a friend egg and bacon only set the stage for the maple icing
and bacon-topped croissant-donut that held it all together. No burger had ever been
so blatantly ominous… Except for maybe the case-appropriate Krampus burger that
Grandad sat down with. Just as many patties under twice as much bacon with
fried onion strings, pepper jack cheese, red Chile sauce, and housemade goat Chorizo
drowning it between a pair buns. Only a meal beyond the confines of mortality
could possibly survive such an impetuous and irresponsible design.
And Marvin couldn’t
help but go with the stoner classic, the Army of Darkness that was just a horrid
mess of Coney chili and housemade cheese whiz topped with a gratuitous spillage
of crispy Fritos: every pot-head or couch-potato’s grub-filled fantasy.
The team behind my novel, Blood Magik: A Cold Day In Hell. Extra-dimensional corporate pirates for hire. They offer fame, adoration, money and power. And they deliver. In return they ask only for what is inevitable. The tears from your suffering at the realization that none of it matters. The salty discharge of your eventual enlightenment…
Like a morbid angel, they appear at your moment of collapse to sicken your torment with their perverted delight in collecting their dues. Bottling your utter despair, hopelessness and regret, these beasts leave you at your weakest, then return to their otherly dimension to “partake”. Your pain is their utopia, their escape from immortality. They imbibe your downfall in careful doses then lose themselves in the turbulence, fucking and cutting and crying and laughing hysterically. Ultimate suffering bleeds the most potent of alien narcotics.
“A broken heart is worth its weight in the acidic secretion of a demon phallus”.
art by –>
Cursed with immortality and duty, this loyal centurion has held his ground in the Black Forest for a thousand years. Guardian of the Order’s secrets – though, never trusted with the knowledge himself – he waits for Eternity to see to his release while he gallantly protects what he will never know is simply a book describing the lies of men. If only he could see beyond his blind loyalty to uncover the true faces of his masters, this poor fool could better the world forever by simply stepping aside.
The Nescience of Honorable Men, by Me -z
Been watching too much GoT reruns lately. Though, I suppose, that can’t possibly be a bad thing…other than that it has me writing like I was born in a manger, heh. -z again
art by –> Andrew Kuzinskiy