Tag Archives: Writing

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.

Good morning, Good Evening or Goodnight?

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I’m writing this as I put a self-imposed ban on social media. I have deactivated my IG, Threads, and TikTok to get my head right. I have contemplated quitting writing over the last month, but I sold a book recently, and my thriller, Disunion By Force, is selling well.

I needed time to get my head right. It’s been in a bad place, and while I like sharing my journey with my mental health, it appears that my family doesn’t like seeing me struggle. I haven’t posted my usual content. I have been writing reviews. I’ve enjoyed the distraction of writing reviews for the last year. I’ve read some fantastic books. I got most of them through NetGalley.

I am going to start submitting short stories again. I feel I’ve fallen off somehow, and short stories are a way for me to get my head back in writing. I have three books left to review for my NetGalley account. After I finish the books I have, I’ll be taking a break from doing reviews for a while.

I’ll be cleaning up 30-40 short stories for submission. Each is a horror story and fits into various subgenres.

I’m taking time for myself, which will exclude social media for a while.

I am playing World of Warcraft: The War Within with my wife. It’s a great expansion, and we’re both enjoying it. I’m currently reading Nobody’s Hero by M.W. Craven. It comes out in December and is one of the books I received on Netgalley.

I’m not really watching anything. I will be seeing Terrifier 3 in a couple of weeks. I saw Beetlejuice this past weekend for my youngest’s birthday. It was fun—not great, but fun. She really enjoyed it, and it was nice to spend time with my wife and kids.

My job at the bar has changed a bit. It was bought in July, and they’ve made some significant changes. The food is better, and the menu is more manageable. It’s a lot cleaner than before.

I work four shifts now. I only worked once every week before. It’s been slow as some of our regulars change as the bar changes. That’s fine. People change in every aspect of the life of a business.

I’m ready to get back to work on the page.

Review for The Atrocity Engine By Tim Waggoner

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I have read a couple of Tim’s books. I loved them. He takes an idea and turns it into a fever dream. I don’t know where the idea for the Atrocity Engine came from, but it’s wonderful.

We start with the main character, Neal. He works for an organization trying to keep the universe from being consumed. The story has a lot of detail about what is consuming the universe and its eventual end. I’ll leave that to Tim.

The world-building in this one blows me away. It feels like an urban fantasy with incredible horror gore. If you’ve read Tim before, you know what I’m talking about.

I’ve seen the comparisons to the Cenobites, but I feel it leans more toward Dark City and the creatures within that universe. The description of one of the creatures, Brother Nothing, gives me Cenobite feelings, but the entirety of the story gives me Dark City feelings—at least in the descriptions of the Multitude.

I know the book is listed as book one. I’m more excited to see what happens with Neal in book two.

I don’t write long reviews, and this is no different.

I enjoyed the hell out of this novel. It’s fun and disturbing. It gives us a glimpse into a world dissimilar from our own.

Who knows, maybe that white van driving around town works for Maintenance. I see it all the time.

Moving ahead and through

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I’ve had this problem with who I am for a long time. Am I the kid whose parents divorced when he was eight and threw his world into shambles? Am I the 18 year old who was sent home from Marine boot camp?

I used to be really angry with my parents about their divorce. My mom left when I wasn’t home and nothing was explained to me. Her and two of my sisters just weren’t at our house anymore. We all went to therapy together, but it was a ruse, or at least felt like it to me. I knew something else was going one. I was eight. I had no idea the minds of adults.

Over time, I’ve grown to understand what they went through. That eight-year-old boy may not understand, but this 47 year old man does, and that’s good enough for me to move forward.

That 18 year old boy didn’t know what the hell was happening. He said something about his lungs. He didn’t have any lung issues, but had a reaction when he was working one night. He took that as something worse. It’s something he, and I, have had to deal with for almost 30 years. Sometimes the consequences of honesty are not what you expect. Sometimes they change your life. I’ve been angry with what I said that day. It’s taken a long time to forgive that boy. He’d barely experienced anything in his life. He’d barely lost his virginity(Something that was a big deal then, but not as much now). I think that boy needs to be forgiven. He wanted that title worse than anything. He didn’t know the consequences of his actions. He was just a kid who wanted to get away from his family.

I never planned to come home after boot camp, except to see my grandmother. She passed away while I would have been at boot camp. It’s a nice thing to say that if I’d have made it through boot I’d never have talked to her again. She visits me often. I don’t believe in things happening for a reason. It’s bullshit.

I see where my life is. I see that boy I was, both at eight and 18. He would be amazed we’re married, have kids, and writes books. Neither of them would have believed it.

It’s time to do something now that I’ve let them go. There’s a force in me that rears its head on occasion. I call it the monster. It’s been leashed for too long.

Let’s take it for a ride.

Getting back to normal

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I found myself straying away from the point of this blog. It was meant to help me deal with the world around me. I know why it went sideways. I was chasing my writing. I should have let it develop on its own.

I used to talk about depression, dealing with it, and trying to escape it.

I have a book coming out in October. It was challenging to write. Here’s where I get a bit personal. With the healthcare system in the United States, I should have seen someone about a specific situation. I had a severe mental break ten years ago. During and after that break, I dealt with delusions. I would hear things, see things, and for most of those years, believe untrue things. I used what I dealt with to write the book coming out in October.

I didn’t seek professional help because I worried it would impact my wife’s and my health insurance. We had great health insurance in Las Vegas, but sadly, we’re using my wife’s now. It’s not as good as what he had in Las Vegas. But no health insurance is decent when it comes to mental health.

Gerald’s journey in ‘The End Is All I Can See’ is similar to mine. He has dealt with other issues, but writing the book was cathartic. I found myself diving into my head, seeing the world through those lenses. I haven’t been diagnosed with what Gerald deals with, but the signs point to it. My delusion was something like the Truman Show. I completely believed the delusion. It wasn’t until I said something to my wife that we sat down and discussed it. It continues to raise its head. It’s usually when I’m stressed or worried about how I’m perceived. This perception led me to believe in the delusion. There are times I’ve wished for it to be real. This plays into the delusion. With my writing, it’s an ever-present thought. If the delusion were absolute, someone would care about what I do. Someone would care about my writing. It’s all any of us want. For someone to care about us. This makes my depression worse. I constantly worry I’ll head down the road on this delusion and have a psychotic break. This is my greatest fear with the delusion.

I would like the delusion to stop. I have weeks where it’s not there. Then it pops up again.

I think it started a few weeks before my mental break. I’d taken a pill for something. A few hours later, I heard a woman screaming for help. I ran around our house and outside, looking for her. My wife was worried as hell. A woman, completely naked, her skin all bloody as if she were pulled from a Clive Barker story, stood outside our closet. I didn’t say anything to my wife about the woman. I knew how mad it sounded. I knew how absolutely ridiculous the idea of the woman being there was, but I saw her.

I haven’t seen her since, but it’s something that has stayed in my head.

I had to get that out. I hope you’ll read the book when it comes out.