Finally, a GUD home...

After a difficult four-year journey, my short story, Lost Lying on Your Back, will finally see publication in Issue 5 of GUD Magazine (Autumn 2009). Lost Lying is dark, literary, written in 2nd Person, and deals with some pretty heavy subject matter. A tough, tough sell, in other words. But I always felt it was one of my best and therefore worth the effort. I’m really happy at the moment, and hope to build on this success by finding homes in 2009 for my two science fiction stories, The Bug in the Suit and Clean Until the Final Act. Onwards.

Also, Sand Between a Dead Boy’s Toes, has now survived a painstaking third draft. Minor edits aside, it looks ready to submit. I’ve got pretty high hopes for this story, too (don’t we have high hopes for every one, though?), so watch this space.

Coming soon: my story-by-story review of the Stephen King collection, Just After Sunset.

Book Review: Castaways, Brian Keene

I am quite familiar with Brian Keene’s work, having read The Rising, City of the Dead, Ghoul, and Dead Sea. He is a prolific writer with an aptitude for fast-paced horror thrillers that grab and don’t let go. So when I read the blurb of his latest offering—monstrous half-human creatures start killing a bunch of reality show contestants on a supposedly deserted island—I immediately ordered it, and got to reading. It’s been a while since I’ve read anything so bad I wanted not only to close the book but to inflict actual physical damage to it. Castaways took me there. I suspect Mr Keene, an author I have come to admire, had a particularly tight deadline or an unexpected bill to pay or please some other good reason for allowing this substandard effort to be published.

So what’s wrong with it?

It’s lazy. Despite what many reviews would have you believe, it’s not scary, nor is it well written. That’s not strictly true. There are some scenes in the second half of the book that are mildly disturbing. The characters are, without exception, stereotypes that constantly spout laughable dialogue and react in ridiculous ways. Description is sparse (Richard Laymon style, yes, I get it) but completely flat and uninspired, meaning trees are trees and the wind is always “howling.” As for the supposedly terrifying creatures? Read this:

“One of them looked horribly deformed. Its bulbous head seemed overly large, like a melon. A few others had obvious deformities as well.”

Is it me or is the image of a melon not frightening? And how about providing the reader with some specific deformities? It’s this kind of clumsy, lazy, insipid writing that destroys the impact of every scene early on, so that by the time things improve (marginally) in the second half, this reader couldn’t care less.

I wholeheartedly recommend you give Castaways a wide berth, at least until you have sampled Keene’s other, stronger work (such as those mentioned in the first paragraph, particularly The Rising). At least then you might have it in your heart to forgive him this half-assed effort. 3/10.

Starts with a sigh, ends with a high (of sorts)

*sigh*

On the workshopping site I frequent, Clean Until the Final Act has gone down like a sack of onions. I would have said potatoes but onions have more layers, which if you read on will make a little more sense. It appears all the subtleties have been spectacularly overlooked and the story is just a predictable revenge tale. Rather unfortunate, to put it mildly. But I don’t see the point of trying to explain. After all, can I be there to point out to every potential reader that, for example, there may be a reason why Triggerman Joe’s speech is all italicised? No. Or that one of the themes is the (ab)use of religion as a means to an end (in this case violence)? Again, no. So, um why bother? Besides, maybe the story, which I had high hopes for—the highest, in fact—does indeed stink. I don’t think so, but then I wrote the damn thing. Time or rejection slips will tell...

My usual reaction to a small disaster such as Clean Until is to do an about turn and head in the opposite direction. So, my densely-written treatise on religion/religious motivation segues into a simple tale about a boy who sees sharks. Oh, and dead people. Well, actually it’s one dead person. His brother. Anyway, instead of taking three weeks to write the first draft of this story, it’s down in just two sittings. Admittedly, it’s rough, as in unreadable-to-anyone-but-me rough, but all the elements of what I call the surface story are there, in place. All they need now is some care, attention, and much polish. The title, if anyone is interested, is probably one of my best: Sand Between a Dead Boy’s Toes. I think the finished story may live up to that and at the same time heal the wound caused by the response to Clean Until...