Somewhere In Time ….

I rarely share things before they are done. However, it is snowing, so I guess that is a good enough reason.

Here is a poetry snippet.

We slither formless and mad into the vortex

And the river of souls bears us into eternity

Caught between atom and quasar

Pale eons and translucent seconds pass as one, tangled and shifting

We come in time to a burning paradise

The elders spoke of this realm

They carved its myth into stone

They cast the stone into the sea

And we fall silent when we reach that place

Where tomorrow and yesterday meet

And abominations shuffle into shadow, fleeing the sallow light of a dying sun

The dead and the unborn are waiting for you

Their mad, broken god

If you want to see more, the entire, finished version of this piece will be included in the Tuesletter, along with flash fiction from Peter N. Dudar, an article from April Hawks, and a surprise guest post from another local author. So, yes, I am doing this to get subscribers. However, we want to stuff this with killer content, rather than just be all sales-pitchy. Also, hoping some will just enjoy this as is, even if you don’t sign up.

Sign up here to join our mailing list.

#noreaster  #wip #amwriting #writersareweird

Tuesletter

My writers group is putting together a pretty cool newsletter. We will be including poetry, fiction, articles, art, and all sorts of cool stuff. Click here to subscribe

This is a quarterly newsletter, we will not spam you. We don’t like spam.

 

 

Gaerea Interview

My latest interview … Gaerea. Atmospheric black metal from Italy.

Click here for interview

Go Ahead. Make My Day.

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This is the blog I contributed to the Women In Horror Month series from the New England Horror Writers. Link is here.

The first time I really paid much attention to Women in Horror Month was back in February 2015, during the kerfuffle now known in the horror community as #HagGate. Basically, several Maine authors—particularly us ladies—found ourselves being belittled and insulted by another local writer. This did not go over well, especially seeing as it was WIHM. What started as a storm into a teacup turned into a tempest that spread throughout the horror community. However, some good came out of it, at least for me. I realized that we have a wonderful community of horror writers—both male and female—that for the most part want to lift each other up. That’s so much stronger, and more important, than a few rude comments.

I don’t think being a woman in horror is something to overcome. I think it’s something to celebrate. If you are a writer—or a musician, or a painter, or any sort of artist—sooner or later, someone is going to say something nasty about you or your work. Criticism—whether constructive, harsh, or downright rude—is not just something women in horror have to deal with. It affects all artists, in all fields and genres. And maybe it’s not all bad. After all, any piece of art that was adored by absolutely everyone would probably be utter crap. Fortunately, most what we see around WIHM is not derogatory or critical, but is instead a loving signal boost for the many talented ladies in this field. As it should be.

But who are we? Who are the women in horror?

We’re mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, co-workers, bosses, teachers, students, and neighbors. It would be impossible to paint us all with one brush. We’re all very, very different, and I dare say most of us are probably at least a little bit mad. (In a good way, of course, as all the best people are.)

At least, that’s who we are in real life.

Behind the pen (or the keyboard), we are the mother, giving birth to stories and characters and poems, to tales woven from blood and ash and fire. We are the maiden, exploring new worlds, finding ourselves, discovering our voices, setting forth into the unknown, venturing into misty woods or haunted caves or dark alleys. And we are also the crone, the witch, keeper of secrets. We don’t all have grey hair and wrinkles yet, but we are earning those, one day at a time. Our characters dispense the wisdom we’ve fought to gain, word by word, page by page, book by book. We are flesh and blood and bone, wrapped around fountains of images and phrases that we spill onto the page or screen. We’re the ghost in the forest, the madwoman in the attic, the bag lady holding the poisoned charm, the witch in the well, the queen sipping blood from a teacup, the rape survivor, the banshee howling in the blizzard. And we, like our male counterparts, use our work to ask hard questions of the world, to wonder what if?

As we age, our stories change. And sometimes, our stories change us.

As writers, it seems we are always trying to describe our world, to trap it in words, to somehow make the whole universe fit into an alphabet. We may live in a broken, beautiful world, but we are lucky to live in an age where we can pretty much do what we want, within reason. (I probably would have burned at the stake had I lived in Europe a few hundred years ago.) Today’s women writers are reaping the rewards of the work our predecessors have done. Shirley Jackson, Daphne Du Maurier, George Eliot, Maya Angelou, Mary Shelley, Anne Rice, and others broke the trail already. Our job is to widen it and take it in new directions. But we are also tasked with tasked with making sure the paths our forebears made for us don’t grow back in.

Art is always, to some extent, a commentary on the times it was created in. I don’t have to tell you that we are living in strange, dark days. We seem to have reached and passed a tipping point, and we’re now in this weird, surreal place where we are somehow simultaneously slipping back towards the dark ages and living in a time of technological wonders.

Tomorrow’s women in horror may be writing from hovels, or from spaceships. Or both. Either way, they’ll probably have their own detractors to face. No matter who you are or what you do, there will always be someone wanting to knock you down. That’s just a fact of life. We can’t change that. But what we can change is what we do for them.

If you want to make this crazy, broken, beautiful world a better place, improving arts and literacy programs for children—particularly those in impoverished areas—is a great place to start. Below is a list of literary and arts programs for kids. Feel free to add to it. (You can also mentally add your local library to this list.) And since I have your attention, I’m hoping that some of you will take a moment to help the future women—and men—in horror, and give them the tools they need to capture their time in words, to tell their own stories, regardless of medium, and also to read our work and perhaps understand our era. We’ve split atoms, gone to the moon, unlocked the mysteries of DNA, and harnessed electricity, but if we continue slashing arts, literacy, and education, we may only be offering these things to a generation of automatons.

We cannot pay our predecessors back for what they did for us. But we can pay it forward.

If even one person reading this helps—even if just by donating old books—you’ll have made my day. And, to be honest, it would be kind of awesome to replace #HagGate with something a bit more positive. Like #HelpGate, maybe.

Go on …

Room To Read

Milk And Bookies

Book Aid International

Pajama Program

First Book

Kids Need To Read

Reading Partners

Iwrite.org

artsmith

givekidsthearts

innercityarts

Food For Thought

“The world has not contracted as much as you may believe. The interior of the human head is infinite.” – Alan Moore

Interview here.

 

For the poets out there …

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Poetry Publishers That Do Not Charge Reading Fees

Because reading fees suck.

Interview With Death Metal Pope

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I just realized that for some reason I’ve been forgetting to post my articles from Antichrist Metalzine over here. So, here is one for today – an interview with sludgy/thrash/hard to define Death Metal Pope.

Click here for interview

Just a note on older posts …

Most of the articles I did for businesses and metal bands on the now-defunct online radio I worked for vanished when the scamming fuckers that ran the site started pulling crap. I moved what I could here. So, in case anyone is wondering, those were initially done for other sites. About 80 percent of the articles I have done are no longer available online, though in some cases they just expired.

 

E.J. Stevens’ Dark Faerie Prize Pack Giveaway

From E.J. Stevens:

Let’s celebrate the holidays and ring in the new year with fabulous prizes.  Today we are giving away a HUGE dark faerie themed prize pack.

Dark Faerie Prize Pack

We are giving away a Dark Faerie Prize Pack, including a coloring book, faerie necklace, book, earbuds, and more!

  • Gothic Dark Fantasy Coloring Book
  • Faerie Necklace
  • Amy Brown Faerie Greeting Card
  • Ivy Granger LED Keychain Flashlight
  • Ivy Granger Button
  • Shadow Sight (Ivy Granger #1) Ebook
  • Signed Ivy Granger Postcard
  • Custom Purple Earbuds

 

Dark Faerie Prize Pack EJ Stevens Ivy Granger Fantasy Purple

To enter, please use the Rafflecopter form below.  This giveaway is open to the US, UK, and Canada.  Giveaway begins December 15, 2016 and ends December 31, 2016.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

What is your favorite creature from folklore?
(Faeries, Banshees, Unicorns, Trolls, Pixies, Goblins, Kelpies…)

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

E.J. Stevens
Author . Blogger
Blog: http://www.fromtheshadows.info
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/E.J.Stevens.Author
Twitter: @EJStevensAuthor

Tom Deady’s HAVEN

Everyone's Devil

I just finished Tom Deady’s debut novel, HAVEN, and really dug it. Enough to write him a blurb. Read the description and my blurb below, then go order the book at CEMETERY DANCE!

deady01

The jacket copy:

In 1961, the small town of Haven thought they’d gotten rid of their monster.

After a series of child killings, Paul Greymore was caught carrying a wounded girl. His face, disfigured from a childhood accident, seemed to confirm he was the monster the community hoped to banish. With Paul in prison, the killings stopped.

For seventeen years, Haven was peaceful again. But Paul served his time and has now returned to Haven–the town where he grew up, and the scene of his alleged crimes. Paul insists he didn’t commit those crimes, and several townspeople believe him including the local priest, a young boy named Denny, and his best friend Billy.

Trouble is, now…

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