The Witches MEGAPACK® — New Ebook of Horror Stories for $.99!

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Table of Contents

  1. Thou Shalt Not Suffer, by Matt Neil Hill
  2. No Holds Bard, by Adrian Cole
  3. Laying The Hairy Book, by Josh Reynolds
  4. Here Is Where Your Proud Waves Halt, by Erica Ruppert
  5. Vicious Circles, by Paul Dale Anderson
  6. Assorted Shades of Red, by Franklyn Searight
  7. Strange Days in Old Yandrissa, by John R. Fultz
  8. Fertility Rites, by Glynn Owen Barrass
  9. The Witch’s Heart, by Rachel Bolton
  10. Hag Race, by Andre E. Harewood
  11. Best Friend Becky, by Wayne Faust
  12. The Rat in the Rabbit Cage, by Ashley Dioses
  13. Two Spells, by Neva Bryan
  14. Pulled Over, by Paul Spears
  15. The Witch of Skur, by L.F. Falconer
  16. Cat and Mouse, by Duane Pesice
  17. Last of the Ashiptu, by Paul Lubaczewski
  18. Firestorm, by Richard H. Durisen
  19. The Witch of Pender, by John Linwood Grant
  20. The Nora Witch, by Brandon Jimison
  21. The Broken Witch, by Scott Hutchison

*Also includes: poetry by Maurits Zwankhuizen, Lucy A. Snyder, David F. Daumit, S.L. Edwards, Lori R. Lopez, Frederick J. Mayer, K.A. Opperman, Clay F. Johnson, Vonnie Winslow Crist, Oliver Smith, and Darla Klein.

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Not All Who Wander Are Lost: Why I Blog

Be-yourself
I see a lot of posts about bucket lists and goals…I’ve always been an odd one out in these areas. You can imagine the challenges for me in the workplace and in raising a family…hell, Life for that matter.

I don’t really have a bucket list. I never have. I don’t want one. It makes me too anxious. Planning and goals are negatives for me. They make me feel trapped. I don’t know if there is a phobia named for this weird thinking/fear. Maybe a stray vein of claustrophobia…or agoraphobia.

I am the opposite of competitive. Games don’t matter to me. Neither do power plays or politics or bureaucracies. Rules, fences, boundaries…not really considered the right way to go to my temperament…which is fueled by fringes/margins/rebellions.

I do have daily things I like to get done, though. Reading projects. (Reading is not entertainment for me.) A feeling of productivity is good, and creativity, but only in small doses for me.

Having a big mountain to climb is not my thing. I don’t care about summits. I like journeys. Impromptu things found “along the way”. I use my blogs to write at least 1000 words a day on any number of topics. Sometimes it’s fiction; other times poetry; and sometimes it’s just essay work or miscellany. This keeps me sane.

The blogs are my “daily journals” my “morning pages” (ref. Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way).

Links to my other blogs are here:

https://thesanguinewoods.wordpress.com/about/

Horror x 40 — History’s Creepiest Book Covers! #1: I Am Legend by Richard Matheson…

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Richard Matheson, I Am Legend; Corgi Books 1960 edition

It’s not the violence or even the murdered woman that makes this cover creepy. It’s the hammer in the hand of the man standing over her, and the implication that he’s about to pound that stake straight into the ground.

A newer edition sported this 1997 cover (below); my favorite cover to date of Matheson’s vampire masterpiece.

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“I’ll breathe a spell, shall Cleve the ground…”

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“He took the sacramental chalice, and stretching forth his bare arm, cried in a loud voice:

‘Come ye viewless ministers of this dread hour! come from the fenny lake, the hanging rock, and the midnight cave! The moon is red—the stars are out—the sky is burning—and all nature stands aghast at what we do!’

Then, replacing the sacred vessel on the altar, he drew, one by one, from different parts of his body, from his knotted hair, from his bosom, from beneath his nails, the unholy things which he cast into it.

‘This,’ said he, ‘I plucked from the beak of a raven feeding on a murderer’s brains! This is the mad dog’s foam! These, the spurgings of a dead man’s eyes, gathered since the rising of the evening star! This is a screech-owl’s egg! This, a single drop of black blood, squeezed from the heart of a sweltered toad! This, an adder’s tongue! And here, ten grains of the gray moss that grew upon a skull which had lain in the charnel-house three hundred years!’

And his eyes seemed like balls of fire as he cast them upwards. ‘I call ye once! I call ye twice! Dare ye deny me! Nay, then, as I call ye thrice, I’ll wound mine arm, and as it drops, I’ll breathe a spell shall cleave the ground and drag you here!’”

– William Mudford, “Reign of Terror”

Source: “I’ll breathe a spell, shall Cleve the ground…”

O for a Muse of fire…

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” O for a Muse of fire…” (Art by Annette @ Deviantart)

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
***
Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i’ th’ receiving earth;
For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them and there, jumping o’er times,
Turning th’ accomplishments of many years
Into an hourglass…

– William Shakespeare, Henry V

Source: O for a Muse of fire…

Some Thoughts on Good and Not-So-Good Ghost Stories…

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The cover of my upcoming anthology of Ghost Stories, published by Wick Press.

At the end of this post is a paragraph from a very very good ghost story that is 135 years old. But, first, I had to work out my thoughts about why I wanted to share it. And, it ties in with the premise for my ghost story anthology.

This is why I do what I do: I have been reading ghost stories and “mystery and suspense” stories and “uncanny” stories and “stories of the supernatural”—since the beginning of 2017, when I first began to narrow a list of hundreds of stories—maybe more—down to a growing longlist and then a shortlist for a 2-volume ghost story anthology—because, I thought, there is something about the stories written before 1920-ish, that were just better. They are better fiction, hands down, and I needed to explore this so I understood it better. After reading umpteen stories from 1780s-1915, give or take, I have come to the conclusion that, it is not about flowery language or “purple prose” or antiquated anachronistic plot structures, etc. etc. It is about being better-educated writers during a time when more was expected of our mind, our manners, our mores, our work ethic (even in writing), our reputation before “the world” (these periodicals made their way around and were widely read).

I had heard that a lot—the “overwrought prose of yesteryear” angle—and I was open to it being correct…and as I went along I compared some ghost stories from that time with some from the 1950s forward and all I could think was: ‘why does it seem that we have dumbed down fiction writing in the ghost story genre to a level of a Sport’s writeup in the Times?’ Nothing wrong with Sports writeups in the Times.

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One of the stories that I will be including in my upcoming anthology: The Greatest Ghost Stories Ever Told, ed. Sanguine Woods, Wick Press, 2017

But, I don’t want to read fiction like that. I want depth, thoughtfulness, a sense from reading that the author is well-read, the characters, too; I want them drawn in 3D and not over-described.I want atmosphere. And, I want to feel like the entire story took time to build, like a cathedral, not a hut made out of hay bales.

I know some amazing writers today who are writing cathedrals. And I am so thrilled as a reader about it.

I remember reading a quote in college by Henry James, or maybe it was Joyce Carol Oates…about writing the “telling detail”…but I think we still struggle today, especially in genre or “pop” fiction, which can also be very high quality, (sometimes), with telling the “wrong” detail(s). Wrong is a subjective term. Maybe the better descriptor is the “unthoughtful” detail, the “rushed string of details” the ones that sound OK, but that when strung together fall short of showing something cohesive about the character (e.g., the red-head waltzed into the room wearing a black dress cut down to there and orange lipstick, emerald earrings that dangled like stars from her earlobes, a matching bracelet on her right wrist, bright-red patent-leather 10-inch pumps, black nylons like the ones you wore in the 1940s with a line up the back, and a purse made out of the skin of some animal, but oddly, with all of that bling, she wore not a single ring on any of her long graceful fingers, the nails of which were painted “hotlips red”).

I would argue that the only telling detail here, is that she wore no rings. Why? That detail interests me. The others don’t. They are part of a “formulaic” writing style, noir, Roger Rabbit meets Raymond Chandler, but isn’t written as well as Chandler, etc.

I don’t mean to be negative, just reflective about why some stories seem to inspire more awe in me; whereas others feel utilitarian, not unnecessary, just thin.

The writers of the 1800s weren’t writing “horror” or “weird” fiction. Because those weren’t genres yet. They were states of mind or emotion, or behavior. And they made their way into this high quality fiction. What I especially love in these stories, is the way the entire story is treated with such respect—from the pacing to the tension and from the atmosphere to the characters—these writers were grand writers, and they had been brought up not on “the milk of fiction” but on its “meat”. I fear today, we are if not back to the milk, then at least to some protein-shake-gluten-free, non-dairy, lactose-free milk substitute, with vegetable-product thickeners.

I am still on my longlist, because I thought I would find more stories and novellas, sooner. Last night I found two, that may skip the longlist and jump right to the shortlist. I’m so impressed. One is by Sir Walter Besant. I’d never heard of him until today. And, here is a paragraph from the second one, a longer story by “Mrs. Oliphant” (Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant)—and published in a two-part serialized format in a new periodical of the time, that went on actually to become very successful.

This story is 135 years old. You tell me if it doesn’t read like the best literature published today. Purple prose? Outdated style? I don’t think so. And this is just one paragraph. Imagine the whole story, about the solemn, wandering ghost of a woman, long-dead—Stay tuned for The Greatest Ghost Stories Ever Told, ed. Sanguine Woods, December 2017.

“They asked me to come at Ellermore when we parted, and, as I have nothing in the way of home warmer or more genial than chambers in the Temple, I accepted, as may be supposed, with enthusiasm. It was in the first week of June that we parted, and I was invited for the end of August. They had ‘plenty of grouse,’ Charley said, with a liberality of expression which was pleasant to hear.

Charlotte added, ‘But you must be prepared for homely life, Mr. Temple, and a very quiet one.’ I replied, of course, that if I had chosen what I liked best in the world it would have been this combination: at which she smiled with an amused little shake of her head. It did not seem to occur to her that she herself told for much in the matter. What they all insisted upon was the ‘plenty of grouse;’ and I do not pretend to say that I was indifferent to that.

Colin, the eldest son, was the one with whom I had been least familiar. He was what people call reserved. He did not talk of everything as the others did. I did not indeed find out till much later that he was constantly in London, coming and going, so that he and I might have seen much of each other. Yet he liked me well enough. He joined warmly in his brother’s invitation. When Charley said there was plenty of grouse, he added with the utmost friendliness, ‘And ye may get blaze at a stag.’ There was a flavour of the North in the speech—of all not disclosed by mere words, but also by an occasional diversity of idiom and change of pronunciation. They were conscious of this and rather proud of it. They did not say Scotch, but Scots; and their accent could not be represented by any of the travesties of the theatre, or what we conventionally accept as the national utterance. When I attempted to pronounce after them, my own ear informed me what a travesty it was.”

– Mrs. Oliphant, “The Lady’s Walk,” Part I, Longman’s Magazine, 1882

Pandemonium: Lost Souls ed. Anne C. Perry & Jared Shurin, 2012

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Table of Contents

Pandemonium: Lost Souls • interior artwork by Vincent Sammy
13 • Introduction (Pandemonium: Lost Souls) • essay by Jared Shurin and Anne C. Perry
17 • An Experiment in Misery • (1898) • short story by Stephen Crane
29 • Quality • (1912) • short story by John Galsworthy
37 • Amanda Todd • (1898) • short fiction by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman [as by Mary Wilkins Freeman]
45 • The Professor • (1917) • short fiction by Calista Halsey Patchin
53 • The King is Dead, Long Live the King • (1928) • short story by Mary Coleridge
61 • P’r’aps • (1919) • short fiction by Charles Bayly, Jr.
67 • Ixion in Heaven • (1833) • novelette by Benjamin Disraeli
91 • The Demon Pope • (1888) • short story by Richard Garnett
103 • The Outcasts of Poker Flat • (1869) • short fiction by Bret Harte
115 • Miranda Higgins • (1885) • short fiction by William Atwell Cheney
123 • Christopherson • (1906) • short story by George Gissing
137 • Emperor Norton • (1868) • short fiction by May Wentworth
147 • The Secret of Goresthorpe Grange • (1883) • novelette by Arthur Conan Doyle [as by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle]
167 • A Butterfly in the Fog • (1919) • short fiction by Latrobe Carroll
179 • Marooned • (1917) • short fiction by Robert W. Chambers
193 • Hepaticas • (1915) • novelette by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
213 • The Prisoners • short fiction by John Reynolds
227 • The Devil’s Age • short fiction by David Bryher and Franchun Beltzarri
231 • The Four-Fifteen Express • (1866) • novelette by Amelia B. Edwards
255 • The Parrot • (1900) • short fiction by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman [as by Mary Wilkins Freeman]
265 • A Double-Dyed Deceiver • (1905) • short story by O. Henry