Category Archives: Writing

A change of thought, not mind

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My wife and I talked about my writing last night.

In my last post I suggested I was considering stopping altogether. It’s something that’s been on my mind for the last six months. She didn’t so much talk me off the cliff as put it into perspective about where I was ten years ago when we moved from Las Vegas to where we’re at now in Utah. And more importantly where I’m at and where my writing is.

We moved almost eleven years ago from a good paying job for me and my wife merely changed addresses. She’s been remote since our youngest was two and is now 16.

She said, “You used to just write and enjoy it. You didn’t care what you were writing or for who and I think that’s what you should get back to doing.”

I got it it my head that I should publish and chase all of those who have been published. Those are people I won’t mention because they don’t need the attention, but I look up to and have for a long time.

Ten years ago I didn’t know about any of the writing associations and I just wrote. I’ve written fifteen novels and they’re still on my hard drive, well all but one, Disunion By Force, which still sells decently, at least for me. It sells in the oddest of places. I sold one in Switzerland last month, digital and physical editions.

I’ve been writing to get published. I haven’t been writing because I like writing.

I’d like to make enough to help my wife out, but with my new job I don’t feel that as much.

I make enough that we’re stable and doing okay.

I’ll continue to keep my social medias deactivated. I’m not sure I’ll ever submit something again. It feels like too much and I’d rather just write stories for the sake of the story.

If I do publish something, this is the only place you’ll hear about it.

I hope all of you who read this have a pleasant week.

B

Break

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I’m not sure how long I’ll be doing this but I’m taking a break from posting anywhere. I’ve deactivated all of socials, deleted my substack, and the only reason I haven’t deleted this is because I’ve had it for a very long time.

I need to take time for me and all this and all of my writing isn’t going anywhere and I may not publish anything else.

I’m burned out and tired of trying to get my foot in the door only to have it crushed with the weight of what I’m attempting.

Changing Things

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This is a cross post from my Substack, where I’ll be posting more often.

I’ve been away from this place for a couple of months. I’ve been sorting things out in my head. It’s about deciding what way I’d like to take my writing.

It’s been a long time coming to get to this point. I love writing. I love writing what I enjoy reading. Let’s skip the BS and get to the nitty gritty.

Hello, I’m Brian. I’ve published horror novellas, short stories, and I have a story in the Utah Horror Writer’s Anthology for 2025.

I love horror stories. I love the darkness of the story. I love watching the movies and reading the books. But I’ve found my love of another genre, thrillers, has more pull with my writing and with who I am.

I watched a lot of horror as a kid. I was left alone often as a kid, as were most Gen X kids. I spent that time watching horror movies. I have the fondest of memories of watching Scanners for the first time only for my father to tell me not to watch it again. I did anyway.

I didn’t read horror until I was older. Horror books didn’t interest me. The movies always did. The first horror book I read was Four Past Midnight by Stephen King. I liked the stories in it but it didn’t hold my attention like other stories.

I spent quite a bit of time at the bookstore. My parents divorced when I was in third grade and I dove into books.

I owe my love of books to my father. He took my sister and I to the bookstore on his weekends. We’d get home and sit for a few hours and read, then dinner, and whatever movies we’d picked up at the video store.

I used to fault my father for only letting me read what he read. I read Tom Clancy’s Red Storm Rising in sixth grade and move of Tom’s books afterward.

I have fond memories of those books and I read many in that same genre.

My father didn’t let me read what I wanted to read. It always had to be the Tom Clancy style books.

I hated not reading what I wanted and took to hiding books in my closet, comics too.

I’m looking at 50 in few weeks. I love reading and watching horror but find that I’m not that good a writing them. My horror stories have sold less than my thriller, Disunion By Force. Which has sold 46 paperback copies and 51 digital copies.

Disunion is my best seller and it’s not even close. I’ve sold copies in Australia, France, Serbia, UK, Norway, New Zealand, and Germany, besides what I’ve sold in The States.

I’ve sold copies of my horror mainly in The States, but a few overseas.

I’ve realized that my thrillers are more popular and because of that I won’t be writing horror for a while. It’s less about sales and more about enjoyment and the process. Writing horror feels difficult. I’ve taken time off because I struggle writing horror.

My thriller writing comes easily. I’m able to outline, choreograph a beat sheet for an entire novel in a matter of days, but horror doesn’t come that way.

Every day feels like a challenge. Every time at the writing desk is hard.

I recently returned to a thriller novel I put away only to bust out 2,000 words without blinking. I’ve never been able to do that with anything horror related.

I love the horror community online. They’ve helped me figure out where I should put my focus.

I have plans for the next couple of years. I’ll be submitting my current project to agents. I’ve never submitted my thriller novels so I’m leery of it. I have plans for them regardless. I have 4-5 novels on deck in the next few years. I’ll be working on them.

If I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.

Review for Kill Your Darling by Clay McLeod Chapman

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Every parent thinks about what they’d do if they lost their kid. When they’re babies, we worry about whether they’re breathing in their cribs. When they’re toddlers, they get quiet in their rooms. We run to their room, and they’re usually asleep in a pile of toys or stuffed animals.

We lose sight of them when they get older, and we walk around the store. All the thoughts run through our heads. When they get to be teenagers and start driving or hanging out with friends, hell, in America, we worry about them not coming home at the end of the day because of a shooting.

That latter part is an everyday worry for me.

: SPOILERS AHEAD :

In Clay’s story, he takes the idea of losing your kid to violence and does a masterful job of following Glenn, our protagonist, through the stages of his life. Also, through the stages of grief.

Glenn feels the police have failed him and his son in discovering how he was killed.

His boy was left in a dirty, empty lot as a teenager.

Over the years, Glenn has done research and called whichever detective was assigned to the cold case, but he had a breakthrough when his wife urged him to join a writer’s group.

Glenn writes a story about his son’s death and how he believes it happened.

When he presents the story to the writer’s group, it begins a fracture in a community he believes hid the truth of what happened to his son. Glenn learns he didn’t know his son as well as he thought.

The heartwrenching ending for this book is brilliant, and I believe it captures the book well.

Glenn is looking for one last connection to his son. He finds it in writing the book but also in learning the truth about his son’s death.

It’s a magnificent ending, and as with all of Clay’s books, it will pull on your emotions.

I finished this book at work, and while it was a slow day behind the bar, I had to keep myself from crying.

We all think about how we’d handle the loss of our kids. Clay orchestrates a great story about loss, grief, and understanding that once our kids get older and have their own lives, we don’t know who they are.

We try to understand them as they grow older, and the best we can do is be there for them as they move through the world. Listening to them is essential.

I cried a lot…

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When I woke up I read the news. Somehow I knew it was going to be bad. I’m not sure how I knew, but it was there. I tossed and turned the night before. Sleep came in fits and I wondered how it could happen.

When my youngest asked, I told them what happened. They were afraid. Afraid for themselves, their friends, and I suppose their brother as well.

The world changed, or at least this country did. It wasn’t overnight. It’s always been here. But it hid in the darker places. Now it was in the open again. Now the hate had a purpose. Now the rage was higher. The bigotry and racism had a name. It was given purchase that we offered it like a ragdoll in a dollar store.

Hold them close. Keep them safe. Don’t let the darkness muddy their light.

The light is where we should be but the darkness is coming. It’s finding its way through to take the last of us. It’s in the dark we must come and hide. At least for a little while.

There’s going to be darkness for a while. It’s going to be as bad as we’ve been told. As bad as we’ve believed. Don’t let it darken their souls. Don’t allow it to change who they are. Protect them and keep them safe.

Today, is another day. Tomorrow is something else.