Meghan: Hi, Austin. It’s been awhile since we sat down together. What’s been going on since we last spoke?
A.S. Chambers: Well, I seem to have been majorly busy. I now have four Sam Spallucci novels out, with a fifth one on the way. 2019 also saw the publication of a collection of vampire short stories entitled Children of Cain and a stand-alone novella Songbird, both of which are set in the same universe. Also, at the end of 2018, my fourth short horror anthology, Mourning Has Broken, hit the shelves.
Meghan: Who are you outside of writing?
A.S. Chambers: What is this thing called “outside of writing”? I have to say that it more or less dominates my life. For me, it’s a nine to five thing. If it wasn’t, then life would just elbow its way in and stop anything from getting written down. I have to be ruthlessly strict with myself and make sure that I approach my writing in a determined, professional manner. Having said that, I do chill out in the evenings. This summer I’ve been doing up my garden, planting in lots of flowering plants. I also love to go walking. I live in Lancashire in the UK and there is just a mass of beautiful open countryside to go and enjoy.
Meghan: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?
A.S. Chambers: They don’t read it until it’s finished. I tend to very secretive and keep the work closely under wraps, probably in case I have a major change of mind and swerve plots off in a completely different path. Once it’s finished, I have no problem. They can read away.
Meghan: Is being a writer a gift or a curse?
A.S. Chambers: I fail to see how writing could ever be a curse. You are creating something from within you, expressing it and putting it down on paper. This is a wondrous thing, an art form. It takes a long time to perfect and there can be times when you feel like screaming, but all beautiful things take a lot of work and effort to get right. They should never be rushed.
Meghan: How has your environment and upbringing colored your writing?
A.S. Chambers: I hold fast by the old motto, “Write about what you know.” I live in the beautiful city of Lancaster, so my urban fantasy books about the paranormal investigator Sam Spallucci are set here. I draw upon local places and even local people and events. My upbringing has also had a profound effect. Sam shares certain parts of my life: the death of his father, his education, his health. I know these things about him in an incredibly intimate way, so I can really use them to make him feel alive as a person.
Meghan: What’s the strangest thing you have ever had to research for your books?
A.S. Chambers: Oooooo… That’s a good question. I wouldn’t say it was strange, but I had to research the workings of the Victorian household and their use of servants for my vampire novella, Songbird. It was fascinating. The conditions that the young girls were forced to live and work in were deplorable. It was very close to a being a slave.
Meghan: Which do you find the hardest to write: the beginning, the middle, or the end?
A.S. Chambers: If I had to choose one of the three, it would probably be the middle. I wouldn’t say it’s the hardest, per se, but certainly the most time consuming. I always know how my stories are going to start and finish. It is up to my characters to develop the journey between the two points. When I start a novel, I always have certain scenes in my head. I make sure that I write these down first, then I see how my characters would join the dots by moving between them. As that happens, the story develops.
Meghan: Do you outline? Do you start with characters or plot? Do you just sit down and start writing? What works best for you?
A.S. Chambers: I always start with characters. My works are very much character-led. Sam is at the forefront and his friends and acquaintances around him. It’s normally a case of, “Well what shall we do to them this time?” Once I have certain pertinent scenes written, I then sketch a rough outline, highlighting flashpoints in the story which I will need to write next as they will be pivotal to plot and character development. After that, I reassess the outline and start ticking off “joining scenes” and develop other areas of the story which start to call out to me.
Meghan: What do you do when characters don’t follow the outline/plan?
A.S. Chambers: Go with the flow. You can’t fit a square peg in a round hole. If I’m writing something and think to myself, “Nope. They would not be doing that,” then I stop and have a break. Go for a walk and see the world through the character’s eyes. I then come back, start the scene afresh and let the character lead me down the rabbit hole.
Meghan: What do you do to motivate yourself to sit down and write?
A.S. Chambers: I don’t need motivation. I need peace, quiet and nice coffee. I have never had problems making myself write. It is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. However, due to my health, I do get very fatigued, so I have to make sure that I don’t overdo it and I take regular breaks. This keeps the whole process fresh and enjoyable.
Meghan: Are you an avid reader?
A.S. Chambers: Oh yes. It’s kind of hard to move for books in my house. They cover almost every wall.
Meghan: What kind of books do you absolutely love to read?
A.S. Chambers: I tend to read absolutely anything. I feel it’s really important to give anything a shot at least once because you don’t know whether you’ll like it if you just avoid it. Personally, I love Philip K Dick and Ray Bradbury. They both have a wonderfully quirky yet clean style which has me gripped from the moment I start reading. I also enjoy the Kathy ReichsTemperance Brennan books. They are good, character driven stories which I feel carry me along on an interesting ride as I try to solve the case before the heroine. However, two series which stand out the most for me are the Dexter books by Jeff Lindsay and the Barney Thomson novels by Douglas Lindsay (no relation to Jeff). Again, very character driven and thoroughly enjoyable. The Barney Thomson books, especially, stand out as they are so surreal at times due to the things that Douglas puts his characters through and you can’t help but laugh out loud.
Meghan: How do you feel about movies based on books?
A.S. Chambers: Absolutely depends on the movie. For example, The Long Midnight of Barney Thomson was adapted by Robert Carlyle and was an absolute hoot. They changed a considerable amount to bring it to life, but the feel and the atmosphere was exactly the same as the book. Likewise, Blade Runner. One of my favourite films, the original plot of the book is almost totally unrecognisable compared to the film, but the feel and the texture remain. However, you do get those productions where you think to yourself, “Dear Lord. Have you actually read the book?”
Meghan: Have you ever killed a main character?
A.S. Chambers: Technically no (Sam was “killed” but went back and changed history), but I have killed off side characters who readers liked. At the end of the day, the stories need to have a real feel to them to engage people. One of the truths of life is that bad things can happen to nice people. You need a certain amount of peril.
Meghan: Do you enjoy making your characters suffer?
A.S. Chambers: I wouldn’t say that I enjoy making them suffer, but like in the previous question, bad things can happen to nice people in real life, so fiction has to follow that too. We are the sum of our experiences, bad as well as good. The way that my characters react to suffering will ultimately determine what path they will choose. (Hmmm… I wonder if that could be some sort of spoiler?)
Meghan: What’s the weirdest character concept that you’ve ever come up with?
A.S. Chambers: A Bondage-loving Banshee. I had a twenty-something who had been cursed by her mate and every time she got “aroused” would scream and kill electronic devices in the surrounding area. Needless to say, she was fun to create.
Meghan: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever received? What’s the worst?
A.S. Chambers: My short story Needs Must was published in a charity anthology some years back and one reviewer singled it out saying that “This is what horror should be.” Can’t really get much better than that. Then there was the person who read Casebook and grumbled that there was very little historical matter about Lancaster. I think he had probably been reading the wrong sort of book…
Meghan: What do your fans mean to you?
A.S. Chambers: They mean a hell of a lot. It’s great seeing them getting hyped about a new book or theorising about what’s going to happen. I’ve even had one come to an event cosplaying as the werewolf of Williamson Park. How cool is that? As an author, it’s so satisfying having people (many of whom I have never met) becoming totally invested in characters and storylines that I have created.
Meghan: If you could steal one character from another author and make them yours, who would it be and why?
A.S. Chambers: Easy one. In the later Barney Thomson books, Douglas Lindsay created a hunchbacked, deaf barber’s assistant called Igor, whose job is just to sweep up in the barbershop. All the guy can say is, “Arf,” and yet everyone knows exactly what he means and, on top of this, he is a hit with the ladies. Pure genius and, in my opinion, the best character in all the books I have ever read.
Meghan: If you could write the next book in a series, which one would it be, and what would you make the book about?
A.S. Chambers: I couldn’t possibly write in a series that has already been established by another author. It would feel like I had broken into his house, crept into his bed room and stolen all his kinky underwear that he wears at those special kind of parties. So, I’ll just stick my own series about the down at heel paranormal investigator, Sam Spallucci.
Meghan: If you could write a collaboration with another author, who would it be and what would you write about?
A.S. Chambers: I am actually working on one at the moment. In the next Sam Spallucci book, Troubled Souls, Sam will get transported back to Victorian Morecambe where he will team up with a pair of detectives, Mulberry and Touchstone, who were created by the wonderful Peter Cakebread and first appeared in his book The Morecambe Medium. We are basically taking the story and writing it from our own characters’ points of view. Sam’s adventure will appear in Troubled Souls as The Case of the Time Travelling Tea Room and Peter’s will be published at a later date.
Meghan: What can we expect from you in the future?
A.S. Chambers: Like I’ve mentioned a few times already, I am currently working on Sam Spallucci: Troubled Souls. This is the fifth book in Sam’s series and will contain angels, haunted checkouts, Indian burial grounds and at least two serial killers. I also have my fifth short story anthology at the editing process and I am working on a Young Adult set of stories set in Sam’s universe.
Meghan: Do you have any closing words for your fans or anything you’d like to say that we didn’t get to cover in this interview or the last?
A.S. Chambers: In the immortal word of Igor from the Barney Thomson books, “Arf!” I think that covers it all.
Lancaster’s master of the macabre is well known for marking his home town’s place on the horror map of the United Kingdom. His Sam Spallucci books, with their quirky blend of urban fantasy, film noir and dry humour, have gained a cult following over the last few years with fans journeying from around the country to see where reality meets an ever expanding universe of vampires, werewolves, angels and a plethora of other supernatural characters.
For the first time, A.S.Chambers collects the popular stories of the vampires that feature in the expanded universe of his paranormal investigator, Sam Spallucci. Follow Justice the Wild West gunslinger as he tries to come to terms with his newfound supernatural abilities and heavy weight of being a king in waiting. Then, when finally reunited with his father and newborn sister, tragedy strikes. Accompany Nightingale, the all too human regent, as she creates her first offspring before attempting to train him to shrug off his own human nature. Go out for a night on the tiles with party-loving Scorpion and Tigress, the mute blonde and the bouncy redhead, as they hunt down an unsuspecting victim, before travelling back in time to when their supernatural lives crashed into the peaceful solitude of a medieval craftsman.Also includes a new foreword by the author.
Follow a young Nightingale through the late Victorian era as she escapes from abject poverty to become the ruler of the secretive vampire society known to its members as the Children of Cain. She travels from begging on the streets to a life of servitude under a sadistic parish priest before being liberated under the light of the moon by the vampire king, Doulos. With her new father, she travels to the Wild West in search of her older sibling, only to be cast into a tale of tragedy and bloodshed.
Songbird – A Nightingale Story is set in the same universe as the Sam Spallucci series and is penned by Lancaster’s master of the macabre, A.S. Chambers.
Welcome to the world of Samuel C Spallucci; whiskey drinking, chain-smoking, trumpet playing, sci-fi watching investigator of the paranormal.
When we start a new job all we normally encounter is overbearing managers, jealous co-workers and a dodgy toilet that needs that certain wiggle to make it flush. During Sam’s first week, based in the small university city of Lancaster, he is abducted by a cult of Satanic actors, has to baby-sit a new-born vampire, investigates a teenage poltergeist and escapes the clutches of a werewolf that works in a local zoo.
Not your usual first week on a new job, but certainly one you will never forget.
Contains the stories: The Case of the Satanic Suburban Sitcom The Case of the Vexed Vampire The Case of the Fastidious Phantom The Case of the Paranoid Poltergeist The Case of the Werewolf of Williamson Park
Last year, R.C. Rumple wrote a fantastic story – one that really had me giggling – so when this year’s guest post opportunity came around and he said he was writing me a story, I was seriously giddy in anticipation of what he would send me. And he did not disappoint. One of the best ones yet. I love the way this man’s brain works.
Halloween Lottery (You Gotta Play to Eat)
When ghosts and goblins hit the streets With empty bags awaiting treats And witches fly high overhead Cackling their laughter to wake the dead
For Halloween brings smiles to most Costumes covering each little host Children believe it’s all in fun Saying, “Boo” to scare everyone
They have no idea it’s all so real So precious their bodies that we steal In Hell we know whom to choose Which kids will win and which shall lose
We wait in shadows on sides of streets Watching them taste their candy eats Knowing our hunger will soon be sated With flesh from those for whom we waited
“So, how did you do in the lottery?”
All day long, that seemed to be the standard question asked around Hell. It was almost nice to hear something besides, “How many more friggin’ new arrivals are coming in today?” Oh, true, bitching about the way things were in Hell was normal. But recently, all of us demons were stressed out.
See, Heaven was getting extremely picky about who they let into their so-called Golden Gates. St. Peter had finally let go of his precious book and moved into the computer age, about twenty years behind everyone else. When he had once been slow to find reasons to keep out Heaven’s new applicants for entry before, now, all their bad deed files were so easy to find the bastard had basically locked the gates and thrown away the key. (Damn thing probably fell through the clouds and into a missing CIA file labeled, “The Truth About Weapons of Mass Destruction in the White House, 2001-Present.”) We demons were overworked with the torturing Satan required for new arrivals. Day and night, we whipped and beat them until it wasn’t the fun it had been. It’s pretty bad when torturing becomes torture. Kind of like the networks having to produce another Steve Harvey television show.
Anyway, with Hell becoming Hell for even the employees, Satan figured we demons needed something to look forward to. He had already tried broadcasting comedy returns on our IDGAF Network… shows like “Modern Healer Family” and “Christian Science: Aliens from Space,” but those were too predictable. Even the shows, “Hell’s Got Talent” and “Dancing with the Demons” drew poor ratings. So, a few year’s back, he’d started a lottery figuring it would give us something to look forward to each other year. You know, to keep us from going on strike and picketing… kind of like raising hell in Hell. Anyway, ten tickets would be up for grabs, each having a different value, but all giving their owners a chance to feed on the fresh blood of a human child. And, not just any child, but one whose spirit was deserving of early entrance to Hell!
Hot and spicy food… who could resist?
Anyway, the drawing date was set for noon on Halloween. For weeks, every demon in Hell fasted. We wanted to be ready to enjoy the grand prize… three “fresh meat” children to savor in one night… without being too full to enjoy them. Nothing could interfere with the weeks of joyous heartburn to follow the feasting.
So, a few minutes before noon, all of us gathered with our tickets, paid for by the compilation of screams of pain and “Help me, Jesus” profanities we’d been able to collect from our torture victims. (Two-hundred screams and one “Help me, Jesus” equaled one ticket earned.) Satan took the microphone and drew the numbers from an open torso of a new arrival, just for kicks. As the final ticket was read, the misery of the moans and groans from the losers put a big smile on the red guy’s face. “There’s always next year,” he announced, watching the demons trudge back to a fresh load of new arrivals being delivered. As his laughter roared through Hell, most gave him the honorary salute he deserved, a raised middle finger.
Ten of us walking away hid our smiles. We were the winners, the holders of the lucky tickets! But, to let the losers know would invite a mass attack. With the rule of Hell being, “Survival of the fittest,” we needed to keep our luck a secret. Otherwise, our tickets would end up in the claws of those who’d been there much longer. (See, in Hell, you continue to enlarge in size as a demon each year, so those there the longest would be larger and the strongest. I know it’s common sense, but since that’s in short supply anymore, I thought I’d fill you in.) I continued at my work, torturing some kid who’d committed suicide after being disappointed about living with his parents for years after graduating college with a degree in Political Science and thinking he was entitled to more. Try as I did, it was hard to keep my mind on my job. Deep inside, the joy at knowing I’d soon be biting into hot & spicy youngsters kept me going.
Returning to my pit after my shift, I filed down the scales of my wings to a nice point and sharpened the claws on my feet and hands. Checking out my image in the mirror, I was amazed at the great looking demon who stood there. I was one hot son-of-a-bitch, if I do say so myself. My eyes, with their red glow set on Medium, were ominous enough to bring fear, but not bright enough to be mistaken for a Harley Davidson set of taillights. My ears, long and pointed, cast a very nice shadow on the wall behind me, as did my dragon style wings. I had almost been ashamed of my appearance before I’d cleaned up. Flying home, my shadow had looked like a friggin’ flying elephant in a Disney cartoon. I flossed one more time, peeling away a month of plaque I’d accumulated from fasting, to ensure it didn’t mix with and taint my later meals. Popping in a breath mint, I was ready. I hated to lose the gangly odor of rotten breath, but the last thing I needed to do was have some kid smell my rot and alert them to my presence. It would ruin the surprise for them I’d planned.
Flying out of my pit, I joined the other lottery winners at the gate. Some had won the chance at one kid, others two. The lowest ticket combination had the least chance of success, while the Grand Prize winner was assured of at least some feasting.
I was that winner.
Yes, as Grand Prize Winner I had won the opportunity to feast three times… three! The temptation for my taste buds was totally tantalizingly tremendous. (I know, a play of words within an info dump. How callous of me. You were expecting friggin’ Stephen King?) I could hardly keep my tongue in my mouth. Yet, as with anything Satan cooked up, the quest for food wouldn’t be easy. I, and the others, would have to hunt for our food and follow a few rules.
Rule Number One stated we had to have our asses back in Hell at Midnight. After all, that was when Halloween ended. It made sense. But, I hoped to have an ace in the hole on that one. The time of Midnight was based on the local time of our victims. By being the Grand Prize Winner, I might just have the advantage of each being in different time zones. Rule Number Two stated we couldn’t harm any human besides our target. This took some of the fun out of the havoc and carnage I had hoped to indulge in, but rules were rules. Friggin’ Michael Myers had already put a hurt on the number of Trick or Treaters out and about, so I guess it was for the best. None of us wanted new year’s lottery to be called off for lack of victim participation. Rule Number Three is the toughest of them all. No one can see us but our prey… no one. That one’s a bitch! With all the scumbag meth-heads on the streets these days, parents are getting harder to avoid. All these damn millennials think it’s cool to go Trick or Treating with their kids and if a parent doesn’t, they’re reported to Social Services. I miss the good old days of conservative evangelism with Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker’s PTL Club. Parents in those days were so naive about giving other’s their trust. Now, ANTIFA has everyone scared to trust anyone. Friggin’ liberals!
As the seconds before the first gate opened ticked away, I couldn’t help thinking about what lay ahead. Three kids… human veal… tender, sweet, and oh, so good to eat. I needed to control myself. My eyes were already beginning to glow brighter with anticipation, as were those of the others around me. (If we stayed this way, we’d make someone think they were following a friggin’ motorcycle gang.) Oh, don’t feel sorry for the little bastards. Like I said, most of the ones on the lists we were to be given were on their way to join us in Hell, anyway. In fact, rumor had it, Satan had gotten this whole idea from Santa Claus.
What? You roll your eyes at that? Shows what you know. Santa has elves, right? Elves are lazy bastards. Santa would do better to go to the Mexican border and hire his help there. At least it wouldn’t take two hundred of them to put together a friggin’ Transformer toy. Anyway, Santa uses elves to go through mail and decide who’s naughty and nice. One day, this elf says to the fat man, “Hey, why don’t we get Satan to eliminate some of those requests? He could send his demons out to feed on the naughty ones and cut our workload down a little. Every little bit helps!” So, Santa decides to use as his clean-up crew to help out his poor, overworked elves, and to save him from having to pay out for overtime hours.
Now, I hate to give the lazy bastards credit for anything. (It’s like, “How many elves does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Ten… all telling Mrs. Claus to get up off her big ass and do it!”) This, however, was a good idea. The first year of the lottery, Satan only allowed one demon to feast. Santa really bitched about that. So, the big red guy has annually increased the number we take.
A loud screeching overhead indicated the first level gate was open. This was to our prep and planning area. One by one, we showed our tickets to the guards and were given our individual victim/target lists and exit passes. Oh, my Devil, you wouldn’t believe the moans and groans, especially from the three millennial demons in our group. They always felt they were entitled to more than what they got. You know, crap like, “I want a big pit not a small one. It’s not fair they get one and I don’t. I went to college and they said we should have more than anyone else.”
There are times I wonder what’s happened on the surface world. It’s sure gone to Hell since I left it a couple of centuries ago. Our population explosion down here is proof of that.
I overheard some talking about their low chance of scoring a meal tonight. One had been given targets who were in juvenile detention and others in gang ridden neighborhoods. Both were unfavorable toward success. I envisioned Satan laughing his ass off when he had come up with those. It was his way of putting the Trick in the supposed Treat. Still, others had to pick theirs out of crowded city streets and apartment complexes… all again with huge chances of being seen. I was afraid a few would return to Hell as hungry as they’d left it. Taking the chance of breaking the rules and being seen would carry the penalty of losing their “Demon” status and returning to human form to be tortured. No meal was worth that.
My list showed promise. Being spread from East Coast to West, my hopes were granted with the advantage of having a three-hour difference in time zones. True, there was travel time involved, but with good weather, I could easily cover the ground necessary for a three-course meal. First, I had one in Providence, Rhode Island, then one in Oklahoma City, and then one in California in Huntington Beach. If I could snatch the first one quickly, I’d have no problem reaching the other two with time to spare.
“Demons, Start Your Wings!”
Lights were flashing and electric guitars were twanging… it was almost time. All of us, even the moaners, began flapping wings like crazy, hovering just in front of the starting line. (I hadn’t had such anticipation since watching the British light the first torch to burn down the Presidential Mansion in 1814.) When the lighting flashes in front of us, the race was on. You never saw a group head so fast up to the surface in your death… err… life. It was a mad rush, each pushing and shoving the others, like there was only one commode in the bathroom and we all had a bad case of diarrhea.
I immediately headed to the East coast. I had little time to waste, so I engaged myself to lead the pack. One by one, they faded away into the lights of the cities below, the last of them being two of my friends from work. Neither had much chance of feasting. New York was a nightmare. Few dressed up for Halloween there. With all the Drag Queens and Kings, half the population dressed like it was Halloween daily.
Within minutes, I was over Milford, Connecticut with the lights of Providence looming just ahead. I did a quick review of the directions on my phone and headed onward. (How demons ever got around before MapQuest is beyond me.) My first challenge to this target would be to locate him outside of his apartment. This would be my only complex dweller, the other two residing in their own houses. Plus, Providence was larger than I had remembered it.
Oh, my devil, I neglected to tell you how we were to know which kid was our target. (Yeah, time for another info dump. I’m practicing my skills, can’t you see?) Hunger does that to a person… makes them forget things. As children perform bad deeds, they earn an aura which can only be seen by selected demons, like myself. The more evil they do, the brighter the aura. First, it’s white, then yellow, then orange, and for the really bad ones… our targets… it’s bright red. This aura can be seen through every type of vehicle or structure. So, if we’re flying overheard and the target is inside the building, we can see exactly where they’re at. Bad thing for us is the aura only illuminates the evil one, no one else. (See, you were afraid we’d fly overhead and see you screwing around on your spouse with your battery powered lover, weren’t you?)
Locating my prey, he appeared to be going down an inside stairway and headed out onto the street. The best I could hope for was that he was alone.
He wasn’t.
Out from the building comes this eleven-year-old, with another youngster tagging along beside him. I’m guessing it was his sister, much smaller and younger… and without my aura. First thing this boy does is yank her so hard he damn near disconnects her arm from her shoulder socket. Of course, she starts crying, so he slaps her and yells, “Shut your fucking mouth!” He then drags her to the alley and sits her ass down in a puddle of dumpster rot, before taking off his vampire costume. It’s easy to see he could care less about Trick or Treating. This kid plans on scarfing up by stealing the candy gathered by others. (I almost hate to eat him. Such a nice lad.)
It’s early in the evening yet, so foot traffic on the street is light. Gradually, tired of being smacked around, his sister rests her head upon her knees and cries herself to sleep. No longer having her to pester, this kid takes his position at the alley entrance and keeps a lookout for any Trick or Treaters with full bags of treats. He has it all planned out. Well, almost. He never factored me in the equation.
I wait until just before the streetlamps are switched on and then silently swoop down into the alley behind him. I do a double check to make sure his sister is asleep (reminding myself to thank the kid for doing what he had to help me not be seen by her) and slip up behind him. I reached around, cover his mouth with my hand, and snap his neck, all in a split second. (Yeah, I have a bad memory. So much for thanking the little bastard.) As the boy fell back into my arms, I dug my claws into his shoulders and took flight. Just outside the city, I find a wooded area to land in and partake of my first meal.
I enjoyed stripping away his flesh and carefully chewing each mouthful, but hoped his taste wasn’t an indication of things to come. At eleven, he was borderline human veal. Kids seem to lose some of their sweetness as they get older. (Just look at Miley Cyrus.) Still, I couldn’t complain… fresh meat is fresh meat. Still, a little barbecue sauce would have helped nicely.
Feeling a little better with something in my stomach, I took to the friendly skies and made my way to Oklahoma City. Of all things, I ran into one hell of a rainstorm… more like a fuckin’ monsoon. The wind blew me halfway to Dallas and came close to putting me behind schedule with my luggage on another flight. Avoiding being dumped by overbooking, I finally made it to OKC. Checking my Smart Watch, I saw Trick or Treat time was nearly over. Plus, the storm I had been thrown had a sister here… and she was bringing a tornado along as a companion. I would have to hurry to make this one my second course.
My target was a young lady. While most little girls play with dolls, this one loved playing with animals… puppies and kittens to be exact. This seven-year-old got her jollies by dropping them off bridges, throwing them out of haylofts, and even pulling their legs from their bodies… one by one. She had taken her baby brother from his crib and bounced him down a flight of stairs while her mother had been playing a video game, and claimed he had managed it all by himself. She had the beginning of a future serial killer, for sure. This “Mommy’s Little Angel” had an extremely bright aura for a girl, even surpassing that of Lizzie Borden in her younger years.
Anyway, there she was being driven from house to house by her father, trying to hit as many homes as possible and get as much candy as she could before the weather shut her down. I knew I’d have to hurry. I’d already had a problem flying in the wind of the storm and a tornado would spoil my evening without a doubt. (I’d probably end up in Kansas with a damn little dog humping my leg while I clicked my heels together saying, “I wanna go home, I wanna go home.”) My only chance would be if I could get her father to shift his gauze away from her for a second or two. Thinking fast, as the girl walked up to the next house, I nose-dived at full speed, snapped a small limb off a tree, slammed it into the glass of his driver’s side window, and, while his attention was drawn the other way, plucked up his daughter, all in a split second. (Yeah, fuck Superman and the Flash, I’m faster than both of those suckers.)
Doing my best to get away before the storm caught up with me, I shook my head knowing I had almost messed it up. I had been traveling at such a rate of speed that I came close to snapping the girl’s head from off her neck. I’d have been pissed if that would have happened. Not only would it have left evidence as to what had taken place, but I would have missed out on sucking down her little brain. (Brains are a delicacy. All I do is fix my lips to her left ear and suck really hard. It’s my version of a Slurpee, minus the straw.)
With two decent meals under my scales, I pushed on to the West Coast singing,
“California here I come, gonna eat me another one. So tender, so helpless, oh they taste good. So sweet now, so young now, just like they should. California here I come, have me waiting another one. California here I come, I’ll wipe my mouth when I am done!”
I know, but I’m a demon. You expected Taylor Swift? (Maybe, next Halloween.)
The last stop on my list was Huntington Beach. Ocean beaches, vacant shopping malls, and miles and miles of Chinese restaurants offering special combo platter pricing. (A city where the loneliest man in town is the dog catcher.) Passing over a car dealership, I realized I had a few extra minutes and headed out over the ocean, hoping to see a shark grabbing a bite from a night surfer or swimmer. Once again, California proved itself to be all talk and no show as none were feeding. Disappointed, I turned back and went to seek out my third course, or dessert, if you will.
This target was indeed a special child. Barely six years old, she had already been showing powers far beyond those of many residing in the management offices of Hell. It was rumored that Satan himself had been her father on a visit to the human realm. Her mother, a topless dancer, had loved the size of his wallet and taken him home for a night. Yeah, you and I both know it only takes once.
Unknown to him, she’d set up her phone camera to record the event. Under threat of blackmail, Satan gave in to her demands of support, seeing how he knew how a trial would come out. (OJ had lucked out, but he had a glove. If Satan had worn a glove, he wouldn’t be in such a mess.) So, he had managed to indirectly provide the woman with cash whenever she ran short. Once, there had been a suitcase full of cash tossed in her yard by drug smugglers being chased by the police. Next, an armored car had smashed into a tree and caught fire next door. By some quirk of fate, one of the main deposit bags had flown through her bedroom window and never sought by the authorities. He had even set up her finding a mouse in a bowl of fast food chili. That had brought in a huge payoff. But, no matter how much she got, it was gone before you could ask, “Harvey Weinstein did what?” No, the mother was no angel, now or in the future. Satan couldn’t wait for her day in Hell. He was paying now, but she would pay later.
The daughter was following her mother’s example, but with powers most humans never had. The first incident took place two years before, during a kindergarten class. After stealing another girl’s doll, and ripping the appendages and head from its torso, she had gotten mad and turned the doll owner’s hair into the color and smell of vomit. It had stayed that way… even after being shaved and new hair had grown in. (To this day, the girl’s parents accept donations from those who think the youngster is going through chemotherapy.) Another time, she had been mad at being teased by a neighbor’s boy while visiting at their pool. When their parents had gone inside to prepare drinks, she had levitated the boy high above the pool and then dropped him. Sad thing was he missed the water, and instead, landed on the concrete side, instantly killing him. (Gotta admit, she had perfect aim.) Those two instances were just the beginning of things to come. Over the last couple of years, the young girl had gotten progressively worse.
Satan wasn’t the type of guy to handle fatherhood well. He was sick and tired of the girl’s mother blaming all the girl did on him never being around and providing his daughter with the proper guidance. (Yeah, she was a millennial as well… a real blame shifter.) The big guy just wanted done with the whole mess. Being ever so coy, he had listed her as my third victim of the night. There was one catch. I had to restrain my appetite to the point of saving him one of her legs and thighs to munch on. Something to do with the expression, “A family that eats together…” or something like that. I forget.
So, I soon found myself flying over the section of Huntington Beach once known as “Little Saigon” by the locals. Having been home to Vietnamese refugees at one time, several generations still made the area their home. Locating my target, her aura nearly blinded me. In fact, it temporarily destroyed my night vision. I was flying blind as a bat and looked like one, too. After a few minutes, I regained my sight and could see the girl’s mother taking her door to door, doing the Trick or Treat thing. I had to chuckle a at an elderly woman who had originally come into the states from Asia and rejected the candy giving custom. As the youngster walked away empty handed, the trees in the old woman’s yard became magically covered with rolls and rolls of toilet paper. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it had been used and stunk to high Heaven!
Now, where the carload of young hoods came from, I have no idea. I have my suspicions the big red guy might have had a hand in it, but have no proof to that. I have to say their entrance couldn’t have been timed any better. As the girl and her mother walked along the section of sidewalk where the streetlamps had mysteriously burned out, the car slowed and those inside began shooting at the house behind the two. The loving mother dropped to the ground instantly and covered her head, forgetting about her meal ticket… err, daughter. Panicked, the young girl went running off across the street and tried hiding in the bushes. No, didn’t make a lot of sense to me either, but who’s complaining? With all attention being on the car and the house being shot at, I swooped down and snagged the girl.
Boom-wacka-boom-wacka-boom… just that easy!
I sat on the beach, watching the waves rush into the shore, eating my ever so sweet third course, and enjoying my Slurpee. About halfway finished, I found myself getting a headache, probably from too much MSG, and decided to not only save the requested parts, but to add in the heart and an arm as well for my boss. It never hurt to brown nose a little, even with a red guy.
The peaceful calm of the ocean began to grate on my nerves. Yes, I missed the screams of those being tortured back home in Hell. Having had my fill of the fishy smelling ocean breezes, I took flight, returned home an hour early, and made my way to give Satan his snack. I think I made some brownie points with him. He especially enjoyed the girl’s heart.
Retiring to my pit, I folded up my wings, lay back against the rocks, and patted my bloated stomach. It had been a wonderful Halloween. I’d eaten well, traveled and seen places I hadn’t visited in a while. Plus, I’d made my boss happy.
Lying here, I wonder, since I have been such a good demon, what Santa is going to bring me in a couple of months. I hope it will be the winning numbers to next year’s Halloween lottery.
“Yummy, yummy, yummy … more kids for the tummy!”
* P.S. Dear Santa, take that damn eggnog and shove it up Rudolph’s ass. That shit sucks!
What happens when a Yankee transplants to the South? What happens when Rhode Island meets New York City meets Bloomington, Indiana meets Mobile, Alabama meets Lexington, Kentucky … with Europe in between? What happens when a 70’s radio DJ becomes a stand-up comedian, and then a corporate training director and manager of sales? Richard Rumple!
“The advantage of living in many places is that you get to experience the best and worst each has to offer. From that, you get to know the people and what makes them tick. You’re able to look at life from the outside and see various points of view instead of living life wearing blinders.”
People and their stories are the essences of his writing. Relationships are the basis of his tales and the rest, be it the horror of reality, or horror of the paranormal are added to spice things up. His stories don’t end with the dismissal of the foes. They end with life moving on and your interest in where they may go from there.
It’s a different style of writing. Don’t pass by without experiencing it.
A book that will have you wondering every time a door slams in your home! Horror Across The Alley isn’t the typical book you’ll find on Amazon. It contains a cast of characters you’ll either love or hate, as well as those oddities you’d never want to meet.
Renters move in but quickly move out … either on their own or by ambulance. Now, a recent military veteran moves in and finds another enemy to confront. Will he and his group of acquaintances survive, or will the spirits of the house claim more victims? You’ll need to “Add To Cart” to find out!
Summer vacation 1966… time for fun and excitement… NOT! “Stand By Me” meets “Cujo” when four pre-teens have to deal with a pack of man-eating dogs, venomous reptiles, a local thief and kidnapper, and much, much more. Action packed horror thriller that will have you wondering if you’ll ever go in the woods again!
Thirteen tales of horror from Gabriela’s past lives and those she’s heard in Hell while waiting to be reborn into her next. Demented human monsters as well as beasts of folklore, legend, and technology await you in these twisted stories. Advance readers have said, “I couldn’t sleep for days”, “You’ve got it down, now”, and “God, what a visceral read.” Don’t gamble with fate. Tame the demon cat before she seeks you out!
From deranged minds come twenty-two horrific tales of misery, torture, and savage acts. Stories to give you nightmares… stories to make you wary of what lurks in the dark. How will the shadows you see out of the corner of your eye haunt your very soul? How will those you trust plot your demise? Are your demons real, or only in your mind? The pages within provide answers to your questions. Are you brave enough to take the demented journey? Do you dare?
One of the last wagon trains heads west facing numerous dangers. The wagon master has dealt with most on previous trips… disgruntled travel companions, terrible weather, deadly reptiles, vicious wild animals… all common to him. Yet, there is a new beast stalking in the darkness. A creature created by the magic of the medicine men of numerous tribes, more savage and dangerous than he’s ever faced. Will any survive?
Meghan: Hi, Joanna! Welcome back to my annual Halloween Extravaganza! It’s been awhile since we sat down together. What’s been going on since we last spoke?
Joanna Koch: Hi Meghan! Thank you for having me back. Since we talked about Doorbells At Dusk last Halloween, I’ve had about a dozen stories published in journals and anthologies. A project I’m especially thrilled to be part of is Not All Monsters, edited by Brahm Stoker award winner Sara Tantlinger! It’s a privilege to work with her. My story “The Revenge of Madeline Usher” will be included along with so many amazing female authors. I’m still a bit speechless. There will be a deluxe hardcover version with gorgeous illustrations by Don Noble (Twitter), and the images I’ve seen released on social media are fierce.
Meghan: Who are you outside of writing?
Joanna Koch: Addicted to privacy, a lover of silence. I work a day job dealing with financial and quality control matters in a hectic environment; lawful evil surrounded by chaotic good. I’m a former counselor. I’m an artist, too, although most of my energy goes into writing now.
Meghan: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?
Joanna Koch: I try not to think about it. My inner critic is loud enough.
Meghan: Is being a writer a gift or a curse?
Joanna Koch: You know, it’s a drive to create or make a mark, the same as any other drive. I don’t like perpetuating the myth of talent and gifts and all that. You follow your drive and make something, or you don’t. Instead of a gift or a curse, let’s call it a choice, a way to direct energy.
Meghan: How has your environment and upbringing colored your writing?
Joanna Koch: I’ve moved around the US and experimented with a variety of lifestyles. I feel like I’ve lived enough different lives to give me a good pool of material to draw upon, and heard a plethora of stories and secrets as a counselor.
Meghan: What’s the strangest thing you have ever had to research for your books?
Joanna Koch: How to make compost out of dead bodies in outer space.
Meghan: Which do you find the hardest to write: the beginning, the middle, or the end?
Joanna Koch: The middle. Until recently I exclusively wrote short stories without bulk in the middle. Moving on to pieces where I want more character change, I find I need more time to get through the arc while staying true to the character. But it’s challenging to linger. My natural tendency is to get in, stir some shit, and get out quick.
Meghan: Do you outline? Do you start with characters or plot? Do you just sit down and start writing? What works best for you?
Joanna Koch: I go with something that hooks me. It might be a character, an event, a feeling, an abstract idea, a memory or impression from my life. Or someone else’s. I trust there’s a pattern to what captures my interest, start running with it, and apply logic and orderliness along the way.
Meghan: What do you do when characters don’t follow the outline/plan?
Joanna Koch: I try to get to know them better.
Meghan: What do you do to motivate yourself to sit down and write?
Joanna Koch: I sit down and write. I’m too impatient for writer’s block. Besides, I’m getting old. I’ll be dead soon. I don’t have time to waste.
Meghan: Are you an avid reader?
Joanna Koch: There are so many books I want to read! I can’t keep up. Yes, I love reading and always have, even long before I tried to write.
Meghan: What kind of books do you absolutely love to read?
Joanna Koch: I like writing that is both intellectual and shocking, realistic and poetic. beautiful and ugly, that takes me to an unexpected place. I want it all!
Meghan: How do you feel about movies based on books?
Joanna Koch: They are separate mediums. One cannot replace the other.
Meghan: Have you ever killed a main character?
Joanna Koch: This is difficult to answer. I’ve been playing with boundaries and ambiguities surrounding identity, existence, and physical integrity lately with my main characters. I have definitely killed villains and libidinal objects. My work is not always wholesome.
Meghan: Do you enjoy making your characters suffer?
Joanna Koch: Not exactly. I’m interested in testing characters and exploring how they fail, because I think we all do that. I’m interested in what we do with suffering and how it changes us. I want to get more into that in the future.
Meghan: What’s the weirdest character concept that you’ve ever come up with?
Joanna Koch: My current main character is three characters that will be a single entity by the end of the story. One of their current forms is that of a hemimetabolous insect.
Meghan: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever received?
Joanna Koch: “Readers are smart; you don’t have to tell them everything.” This sounds obvious, but it’s what I needed to hear at the time to move forward.
Meghan: What’s the worst?
Joanna Koch: The critique that a female character who’s my own age is “out of character” or “not believable” if she swears or makes racy remarks. Apparently I’m a badly written human.
Meghan: What do your fans mean to you?
Joanna Koch: Do I have fans? That’s a lovely idea. When someone takes the time to let me know they appreciate a story, it means the world to me. It’s not only the ego-gratification; it’s about the way I get attached to a story or the characters in them and want them to have a life of their own outside of my head. Readers give them that life!
Meghan: If you could steal one character from another author and make them yours, who would it be and why?
Joanna Koch: Uh-oh, I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to steal! I stole Madeline Usher from Poe because I wanted to give her a voice.
Meghan: What can we expect from you in the future?
Joanna Koch: My first stand alone work – a novella called “The Couvade” – is in the editing phase and will be published soon. I’ve been invited to create a longer serialized piece that I’m working on now with an editor I trust. It’s the biggest challenge I’ve ever taken on, and I’m filled with fear that I won’t be able to pull it off. I’ll keep faking confidence and let you know next year if it works out!
Meghan: Do you have any closing words for your fans or anything you’d like to say that we didn’t get to cover in this interview or the last?
Joanna Koch: Thank you, Meghan, for inviting me back; thank you to readers who indulge me while going through this process of becoming a writer. I’ve delved into variations in style and content over the past year that range from fairy tale to splatter. I think I will always be a work in progress and I hope you enjoy the ride!
Author Joanna Koch writes literary horror and surrealist trash. Her short fiction has been published in journals and anthologies such as Synth, Honey & Sulphur, and In Darkness Delight: Masters of Midnight. Look for her novella, The Couvade, coming soon. Consumer her monstrous musings at Horrorsong.
Midnight strikes like an invocation, clock hands joining in prayer to the darkness. After the twelfth chime, there’s no escaping the nightmare.
Fear reigns supreme.
In Darkness, Delight is an original anthology series revealing the many facets of modern horror—shocking and quiet, pulp and literary, cold-hearted and heart-felt, weird tales of spiraling madness alongside full-throttle thrillers. Open these pages and unleash all-new terrors that consume from without and within.
Midnight is here. It’s now time to find . . . In Darkness, Delight.
The werewolf myth is two millennia old. That’s a lot of furry fireside stories, a lot of novels, a lot of movies. The familiarity of the genre means anyone wanting to play in that sandbox needs to bring his A-game.
Our hero is Shaun, a worker bee in the huge Lerner Solutions Corporation living a cubicle slave life. He’s a bit adrift in his job, wondering if he’s promotable, wondering if he wants to be. After a corporate retreat goes south, he doesn’t feel like the man he used to be, and that’s where lycanthropy takes the stage.
Shaun is a well-defined everyman, struggling with the ennui and the politics of work life. His “best work buddy” Redmond is the gregarious slacker everyone has worked with at some point in their life. Damon Brogan leads the pack (pun intended) of Lerner managers and is the rah-rah boss people hate to work for. West does a good job painting all his main characters through dialogue and action.
What sets this apart from other werewolf tales is the clear parallels highlighted between the canine Alpha lead/pack mentality and common attributes of the corporate world. By the end you are wondering if there are any leaders in corporate America who AREN’T werewolves.
There are many twists and turns in the plot, so I won’t kill the story by listing any here. There’s a lot of murderous action, but none of the descriptions rise to the splatterpunk level. West also leavens in a bit of humor to break the tension, but not enough to push it into Abbott and Costello Meet the Wolfman territory.
If you are a fan of fur and fangs, this will be howling good horror for you.
Stuart West might be an unfamiliar name to you. Check on Stuart West’s Amazon Author Page and you’ll be surprised to see over twenty works under his name, none being self-published. How does someone do that and be unknown?
Small presses.
Different from vanity presses you pay to put things in print, small presses still pay you. Usually not with an advance, but definitely with royalties. They are generally selective, unwilling to spend precious time and effort on a work that won’t pay back. They are also usually run by mega fans of the genre, and those folks know what’s good and what isn’t.
The small press problem is raising consumer awareness in an advertising-cluttered world. And that’s how a writer like West keeps leaping the hurdle to make the cut for publication and still you might still not have heard of him.
So I recommend you avert your eyes from the big publishers and the big names every now and then, and look at some titles from established smaller presses and from authors with a track record. Invest a few minutes in those preview pages Amazon makes available. There are diamonds out there like CORPORATE WOLF waiting to be discovered.
Russell James grew up on Long Island, New York and spent too much time watching late night horror. After flying helicopters with the U.S. Army, he now spins twisted tales, including horror thrillers Dark Inspiration, Q Island, and The Playing Card Killer. His Grant Coleman adventure series covers Cavern of the Damned, Monsters in the Clouds, and Curse of the Viper King. He resides in sunny Florida. His wife reads his work, rolls her eyes, and says “There is something seriously wrong with you.”
National Park Service Rangers Kathy West and Nathan Toland are the only ones stationed at Fort Jefferson, a restored Civil War fort sixty miles off Key West, Florida. Two overnight campers go missing, but before the rangers can investigate, shady Homeland Security agent Glen Larsson arrives to close the park due to a purportedly imminent red tide.
Things quickly escalate out of control when mercenaries arrive to back up Larsson and imprison the rangers. Larsson’s plan is to free a cast of giant crabs to overrun the park, and then Florida beyond.
It’s up to Kathy and Nathan to escape the fort, and then, with the help of an old Coast Guard vet and a scientist with inside knowledge of the plot, to save millions of innocents from rampaging giant crabs. But Larsson’s evil plan has been decades in the making, and the crabs seem indestructible. It will take courage, teamwork, and perhaps the ultimate sacrifice, to avert disaster.
Meghan: So, you’ve made it back for round three, Jon, where the questions get more and more difficult.
What are your go-to horror films?
Jon M. Jefferson: This is where things get a little weird. I am not strictly a horror writer. I don’t have a list of horror films that I could consider a go-to. Now there are some tropes in movies that really get me though. Monsters in their various forms or super cheesy over the top gore. Stuff like that hits me in my giggle places.
Meghan: What makes the horror genre so special?
Jon M. Jefferson: And this is still a tough one to define. My forte is within the realm of speculative fiction. Horror has a place in there but it isn’t the only thing for me. Now with that said, we can step into a deeper thought of horror. It’s one of those things that can hit us on a primal level. I’m talking about more than just jump scares or slasher stuff. It’s the truly horrific that digs deep into our psyche.
We’ve been watching the show Goliath on Amazon. In the first season there is this scene. Billy Bob Thornton is walking next to his current love interest when she is run down by a van. It’s a fast moment where the realization of what just happened takes a moment to settle into your brain. But you feel it on this deeper level and the reality of it stays with you.
Meghan: Have any new authors grasped your interest recently?
Jon M. Jefferson: I’m horrible at this. I’ve actually been catching up on some older stuff, especially in comics. The more recent books I’ve read have been from series that I have been reading for years. I dare say I am probably about two years behind the times right now.
Meghan: How big of a part does music play in creating your “zone”? What do you listen to while writing?
Jon M. Jefferson: Music is life. I listen to probably more than most sane people should. And it falls into quite a few categories.
Right now I am listening to mindless self indulgence. You just get these moments where you need to sing the words mother fucker with abandon.
I have this thing though… I’m big into specific female vocalists. And it’s something you wouldn’t expect of me. I’m talking, Diana Krall, Vanessa Carlton, even Sade. Their voices and music brings to mind smoke filled beer halls. Maybe a rocks glass with whiskey and a single cube of ice. It’s a mood, a place outside of time where ideas congregate.
Meghan: How active are you on social media? How do you think it affects the way you write?
Jon M. Jefferson: Depends on how you mean active. I mean, I’m a troll and take pleasure with shit posting memes that offend. I’m not sure this has anything to do with writing.
Meghan: What is your writing Kryptonite?
Jon M. Jefferson: I’m not sure I understand the question. My writing is nothing like green rocks from an alien planet.
Meghan: If you were making a movie of your latest story/book, who would you cast?
Jon M. Jefferson: Is this a trick question? I would cast me as the lead, duh… I’m pretty and have personality coming out my hinie.
Meghan: If you had the choice to rewrite any of your books, which one would it be and why?
Jon M. Jefferson: Not a one. I’m a different person than I was when I wrote them. I don’t reject who I was. That person helped me get to the person I am now.
Meghan: What would the main character in your latest story/book have to say about you?
Jon M. Jefferson: “That fucker? What the fuck do you want to talk about him for”
Meghan: Did you hide any secrets in your books that only a few people will find?
Jon M. Jefferson: Hell, I hide shit in there that even I can’t find. You make it sound like I might know what I’m doing.
Meghan: How much of yourself do you put in your books?
Jon M. Jefferson: Depends on the story and the characters.
Meghan: Have you ever incorporated something that happened to you in real life into your novels?
Jon M. Jefferson: I have stolen the lives of others to put into stories. That stuff just does what it wants to do.
Meghan: Are your characters based off real people, or did they all come entirely from your imagination?
Jon M. Jefferson: I am haunted by dumbasses.
Meghan: How do you think you’ve evolved creatively?
Jon M. Jefferson: The older I get the more I identify with red foreman.
Meghan: What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?
Jon M. Jefferson: Currently, finding a moment when I can keep my eyes open long enough to do something.
Meghan: Does writing energize or exhaust you?
Jon M. Jefferson: Life exhausts me. Telling stories is one of those things you can do for fun. It’s less draining on paper than in real life.
Meghan: Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with the bad ones? Have you ever learned something from a negative review and incorporated it into your writing?
Jon M. Jefferson: What other people think about me is none of my business.
Meghan: What are your ambitions for your writing career? What does “literary success” look like to you?
Jon M. Jefferson: The ultimate goal is always going to be making enough money from this bit of professional lying to go full time pro. Sadly, it isn’t always as easy as it looks. There are things you have to do as a professional liar that seems so counter revolutionary to the process. I mean, sometimes you actually have to do stuff. And no one wants to be a part of that.
Jon Jefferson writes Speculative fiction with forays into Noir and Bizarro. His stories have appeared in the 2013 Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Anthology, and the Weird Tales Magazine web site. His work can also be found on Amazon and Smashwords. Flash fiction stories can be found at his site Misadventures in Strange Places or his anthologies, short stories, and Novellas can be found at his Amazon Author page.
A longtime fan of Science Fiction and Fantasy stories in all their forms, he has spent most of his life looking for magic in the everyday moments of life. He hails from the tundra of Southwest Michigan. The monsters in his life include his wife, two daughters and grand babies.
Zack, Zack Goldman, pleased to meet you. I’m a runner. I know you don’t know what that is. It’s better if I just show you.
See this wire? Yeah, this one here coming out of my arm. This is my connection to the net. You probably don’t know that one either. I’ll get to that.
There was a time when wireless was the way to go. Everything connected in what they used to call clouds. The world was easier then.
Then we found true virtual reality. Jammed that shit straight into our brains. Wireless wasn’t fast enough. We’re talking full on change in perception of worlds here. The MMOs that people used to play were immersive, you were part of their world. Kid’s play.
The net changed all that. World Dynamics created the first neural net. A virtual world built in the user’s mind. Sure, it was electronic, and computers were a key component. Hell, you have to have a deck as part of your interface. But when you are logged into the net, the physical world is the world your programming creates.
Sure, it’s all still data, nothing but 1s and 0s. It’s your user interface that sets the stage and builds the world you see. Like I said, I’m a runner. In the old world they might have called me a hacker. I specialize in data retrieval.
And I’m late. So, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.
Meghan's House of Books 