By W.D. Gagliani On May 23 2013, 9:21 am

Writing the fifth Nick Lupo thriller (Wolf’s Cut) found me strangely in need of a certain kind of music. Of course, everyone who’s read a Lupo books knows my musical interests because, well, they’re Lupo’s too. Lupo prefers his rock progressive because I do. Sometimes you can assume that traits exhibited by a character are shared by his or her creator. Though you wouldn’t want to make a habit of it – after all, Thomas Harris probably isn’t a serial killer… but I bet he likes a good Chianti.

But for some reason much of my collection just didn’t feel right while I was working on extended portions of the novel. I went back to writing in silence, or whatever was playing on the loop at my Starbucks office. However, I missed music to write by. I started listening to my stand-bys again, the various Genesis-related offerings, the Alan Parsons Project, the Yes, Muse, neo-prog stuff such as Spock’s Beard, Marillion, Transatlantic, and so on. I loved all the music, but it didn’t seem right. I flailed about, looking for music that would inspire me somehow.

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By Hunter.Shea On May 20 2013, 9:26 am

The first piece of advice given to all new writers is “write what you know”. Now, when it comes to those of us brave, or insane enough, who desire to become horror writers, I have a little caveat to add.

Write what you fear.

If a subject doesn’t scare you, it’ going to be hard to give that little jolt of terror to your readers. Lucky for us, everyone fears something. Us horror folks have to dig down deep into our depraved psyches and root around for things we’d feel were best left to the recesses. Those fears don’t have to necessarily be of ghosts or monsters or spiders or apocalyptic events, though they are all great starting points.

I’m talking about the things that can put you in a panic attack spiral just by thinking about them. This is the real stuff, the emotional ooze from which all great stories arise. If you’re a parent, you naturally fear something bad happening to your child. Or maybe you have social anxiety. Does your stomach bunch into a knot when you cross a bridge, feeling that almost imperceptible bounce when you’re caught in traffic in the center of the span and the structure begins to sway? We’re talking dry mouth, heart palpitations, sweaty palms, the whole horrid deal. Read more…

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By Jonathan.Janz On May 16 2013, 9:58 am

Samhain Horror published my third novel in March (The Darkest Lullaby) and will serialize my fourth novel in June and July (Savage Species). In The Darkest Lullaby, the husband and potential father (Chris Crane) proves, by degrees, unworthy of his wife. How this happens and why it happens is one of the main concerns of the story, and though I don’t want to give everything away, I will say he makes some very bad decisions (or perhaps he’s ensnared into doing so).

In Savage Species my heroine Charly Florence is married to a man far worse than Chris Crane. Eric Florence, a millionaire basketball coach and father of three, seems to be a bad person. In truth, he’s far worse than Charly could ever imagine. How he changes—or perhaps more to the point, how his true nature is revealed—is one of the focal points of Savage Species (By the way, have you pre-ordered the free first installment Night Terrors yet? If not, you can get Night Terrors right here—over a hundred pages of free horror!). But the main point is that this man is despicable. He’s bestial. He’s, well…savage. Read more…

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By John Everson On May 13 2013, 10:18 am

This morning I stopped at a gas station on my way to work. It was a grey, damp morning and as I stood on the hill above the intersection I’d just left, pumping gas into my Mustang, I heard the screech of brakes. A car was barreling towards the intersection — he must have been going 60 MPH when he realized the light was already red. He threw on the brakes but the car just fishtailed through the intersection barely slowing at all.

I held my breath as I watched. There were cars lined up at on every side of him, waiting for their turn to get through the intersection. The car began to spin to the left, and for a second I thought he’d slam over the median and into a line of stopped cars. How many lives would his recklessness maim in the next heartbeat? But then he pulled out of that slide and instead spun the other way skidding off the road and up the grass of the embankment on the other side.

Wow. I can still see it replay in my head 14 hours later.  It was like those moments you wait to see in a car race. You hope the driver’s OK, but you look for the excitement of the crash. Read more…

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By Russell R. James On May 9 2013, 9:00 am

When I moved to Florida, people said “Aren’t you afraid of hurricanes?” I laughed. What were the odds?

In 2005, I got my hurricane. Actually, I got three. This triumvirate of terror ruined the entire summer for the state. All three hit my house. Hard.

A hurricane is an exercise in fear. Weather hits all the extremes; high wind, blinding rain, hail, tornadoes, waterspouts, floods. You always think your home is your literal castle, a concrete block fortress against animals, insects and the elements, the place to go to be safe. A hurricane tests those assumptions. At some point the awful realization hits: all that stands between you and the howling hell outside is a thin pane of glass. One flying branch shatters it, and inside becomes outside in seconds. Read more…

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