Live From MidSouthCon 31: Update #4, the Darrell Awards

I'm not often left speechless, no matter how many people fervently wish for that singular event.

The outcome of this year's Darrell Awards did manage to silence me completely for a brief but indeterminate time.

I was nominated for two pieces -- Saving the Sammi for best short story, and The Broken Bell for best novel.

Before I go any further, let me talk about the competition. I say competetion only in the broadest sense of the word, because none of us has any desire to 'beat' the other guy (or gal). We're all authors, slugging it out in the trenches I believe we all want the best for each other.

So, to my friends Jimmy Gillentine, Steve Bradshaw, and Aaron Drown (also known as the inimitable A.christopher Drown), I was honored to be in your company.

You should read these guys. Here are their works:

Bluff City Butcher, by Steve Bradshaw. Steve was a CSI investigator in Texas for many years, and his stories of mayhem and murder will curl your hair. His book is not be missed!

Night at Death's Door by Jimmy Gillentine. There are some dicey night clubs in Memphis -- but none dicier than the one the vampires favor! Check it out -- but be prepared to pay a very special cover at the door.

A Game of None Magic By A.Christopher Drown. Epic fantasy with a Southern accent! First of series, with the rest soon to come.

I really enjoyed meeting you guys or catching up. Steve's tales of high-speed impacts and down-home stabbings were especially enjoyable, because I'm a seriously weird guy.

Being included amid such a talented bunch made the presentation of the Darrell Awards for Saving the Sammi and The Broken Bell a truly humbling event.

My thanks to the Darrell Awards jury, for their consideration and efforts during the year!

Now, because I can't resist, the Awards themselves...

Thanks again folks!

Live From Midsouthcon 31: Update #3

Con are full of surprises, in that you never know who you'll meet.

MidSouthCon 31 was no exception. Among the attendees was the crew from Expedition Unknown, a paranormal investigations group based in the Midsouth.

From left to right, Expedition Unknown is Andy Brisendine, Stephen Guenther, and Tanya Vandesteeg. Andy acts as tech manager, photographer, and videographer. Stephen, Lead Investigator, is an experienced paranormal sleuth whose investigations have taken him to such far-flung sites as Stonehenge. Lead Investigator Tanya does extensive site research and debunking, among many other duties. You can catch Tanya's podcast "Live From the Multiverse" each Thursday at 8:00 PM at http://www.tmvcafe.com/.

We sat in on three panels hosted by Expedition Unknown, and each was a blast. Andy and I use the same microphone (a Zoom H1) and we all share a fascination with EVP phenomena. Plus, they're all friendly smart cool people with a genuine interest in local cryptids and other paranormal happenings.

If you're in this area and you ever encounter bumps in the night that you believe warrant a visit from the professionals, I recommend the Expedition Unknown crew!

They also offer classes and live field investigations. You can see and hear their evidence on their YouTube channel, and I cannot wait to slap on my headphones and dive into that myself.

Again, their website is Expedition Unknown. It is well worth a thorough look!

Live From MidSouthCon 31 Update #2

The Con is still underway here in Memphis, and everyone is having a blast.

So far I've met a number of talented authors, amazing artists, and equally amazing fans. I've been on a ghost hunt with the crew from Expedition Unknown, been on a panel, watched in awe as the Drunkest Fanboy in the World struggled to maintain a rough approximation of bipedalism, and won not one but two Darrell Awards. 

The Expedition Unknown crew and the Darrell Awards get their own posts, to follow shortly. 

Now, though, let's see some pictures!

No SF/fantasy con is complete without a Klingon or two. This year, I spied a Klingon with a familiar face beneath the brow-ridges. I even put up his picture a couple of years ago, when he was a roving but cordial zombie:

This year, he shed his shamble for the more menacing look of a Klingon warrior.

Despite only knowing a single word of Klingon (graak, which means 'You wouldn't hit a guy with glasses, would you?) I asked the mighty Klingon for an interview.

Here it is, thanks Frank Chin!

Meeting people such as Frank is what makes the Con scene so much fun. I know the media loves to poke fun at us in their minute-and-a-half segments between Sports and Weather, but there are some genuinely fascinating and articulate people behind the masks. 

Speaking of masks, here are a few more of the many cosplayers at this year's Con!

I love the way this Tusken raider is being photo-bombed by an Old Republic stormtrooper. 

They're serious about pedicures on Altair VI.

This is how I see all clowns.

Stormtroopers!

Stormtroopers after one too many Pan Galactic Gargles Blasters at the Mos Eisley spaceport bar.

Steampunk Lives!

Old Republic Stormtroopers, and friend.

The Black Widow!

Breathless Mahoney

The Hilton at midnight

More to come!

Live From MidSouthCon 31 Update #1

MidSouthCon 31 is underway here in Memphis, Tennessee, and your roving reporter is right in the middle of it.

This year's Con is hosting the biggest crowd I remember seeing. The guest list is pretty impressive this year, and I'm sure that's a big part of the draw.

After arriving at the Con, getting checked in, and finding the nearest bar, I began my series of in-depth interviews with Con attendees. Being a bold soul, I simply turned to the first pretty woman I saw and asked for an interview. She not only agreed, but later accompanied me to my hotel room. Her picture and interview is below:

Interview with Frank's wife Karen

One of the great things about any Con is the Dealer Room. There you can find just about anything -- SF and fantasy prop art, books, comics, and of course art. 

We picked up an piece of original art by Levi White. Levi uses spray paint to create some really stunning and unusual pieces, such as ours, shown below:

In keeping with my newfound habit of sticking a Zoom H1 microphone in the faces of strangers, I begged Levi for an interview, and you can listen to it by clicking the link:

Levi White interview

Levi can (and should) be reached via email at artbylevi@hotmail.com. He does everything from superheroes to Star Trek to Dr. Who, and his prices are so affordable starving authors can afford them!

Artist Levi White and muse

When you think of cons, you might not also think of music. But MidSouthCon has a house band, and they are Order of Tyr!

Here they are in the Dealer's Room, many hours before their first Friday evening show. I picked up their new album, Tearing Reality Asunder, and they were also kind enough to speak to me after I made it clear I was fully capable of rolling on the floor and screaming if my request for an interview was denied. 

Click here for Order of Tyr interview!

The Order plays a powerful, straight-ahead blend of heavy metal, hard rock, electronic, and prog-rock, all blended with fantasy themes and lyrics. You can check them out further by hitting their webpage, VideoGameMetal!

Costumes and cosplayers. I know that's what you want to see, so let's open with the best of the Con so far. I give you <drumroll please> The Black Widow!

Regular Con-goers will recognize Alex as the 'Catwoman Cosplayer,' who graces MidSouthCon and several othyers with her beautiful costumes every year. This year, she's at MidSouthCon as The Black Widow, and she was kind enough to grant me an interview:

Catwoman Cosplayer interview

You can find Alex on Facebook here. Stop by her page and give her a like!

And now, for a more or less random series of Con images:

That was just yesterday afternoon. More to come!

Frank's Handy Guide to KindleGen. And Suicide. Because You'll Need Both.

It all looked so simple. So easy.

As many of you know, I teach a couple of writing classes. I've been teaching them for a while now, and I finally put most of the material together into a short book.

It's nothing fancy. No tables, no graphs, no interior trickery at all. Thus I thought to myself, 'Self, why don't we package the whole works as a Kindle book, and maybe make enough extra money from it to buy a single burrito, come next May?'

Fool that I am, I agreed, even though my track record of Cunning Plans tends toward catastrophe and head injuries of mild to moderate severity.

But this is an e-book. Surely, I decided, I can safely create and publish a single short Amazon e-book all on my own without involving paramedics or morticians.

I've done it before. Wistril Compleat, On the Road, The Far Corners -- all are short story anthologies composed of stories I sold to print magazines back in the 90s. I put all those titles out myself, mainly for fun. So why shouldn't I be able to do so again?

After all, Amazon now provides free formatting and previewing software. Back in the old days, I had to do all the formatting by hand! Not so now, with the amazing Kindlegen!

Like I said, it all looked so easy.

First, I downloaded the free Amazon formatting program, Kindlegen.

Then I downloaded the free Amazon previewer, Kindle Previewer.

The advantage to using these two items, I am told, is that you are absolutely assured a Kindle-compatible product. No weirdness in formatting. No glitches. You can see how your ebook looks on each and every Kindle model, and fix any problems before you take the book to market.

Sounds ideal!

I used a free HTML editor called HTML-Kit to create my HTML ebook file. This part of the process is one I know. There's nothing at all hard about it. You only need know a dozen or so HTML commands.  Most of the code is self-explanatory.

That's how I created the other ebooks. Turn the book into an HTML file. Zip that file and the interior cover image together. Upload them to KDP. Yes, I know Amazon now claims you can use Word to create your ebook, and then save that as a Web page file, and upload directly to KDP, thus skipping all the HTML hand-coding.

And you can. You can also dance with a goat. As with goat-dancing, though, the results are usually messy and often completely unacceptable. You'll find weird spaces inserted at random, odd indents, big gaps in the text -- no. Just no.

Here's how I understood Kindlegen to work:

1. Create your HTML file.
2. Use Kindlegen to convert this HTML file into a perfect .mobi file.
3. Use the Previewer to check your file for accuracy.
4. Upload your cover image and your new .mobi file to Amazon.
5. Become rich, buy your own tropical island, crush your enemies beneath your merciless feet.

I got as far as step 4 and thought myself a clever lad. I followed Amazon's documentation (I wince just using the words 'Amazon' and 'documentation' in such close proximity) and was pleased with the results.

I uploaded the new ebook and prepared my feet to begin the crushing of enemies like grapes.

What I didn't understand was that I'd skipped a step. Do you see step 3.5 above?

No?

Neither did I.

Step 3.5 is displayed in invisible letters, you see. And what is says is this:

3.5 HAHAHAHAHA. We forgot to mention that for your interior cover image to display, you'll need to create an ncx file, and opf file, an xyz file, solve Fermat's Last Theorem, calculate the value of pi out to eleventy billion characters, comb Nessie's hair, teach Bigfoot to scuba dive, and finally provide us with a singing albino sea otter who can also drive a cab.

Here's what the Kindlegen README file should state, in towering letters of blood and fire:

ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER

Because by firing up Kindlegen you just entered Hell.

I was confused and a bit embarrassed at having released a Kindle book into the wild with an error. So I quickly grabbed my HTML code, gutted the portion of it that should have resulted in the cover being shown inside the book as well as outside, and replaced the interior cover with the title of the book in big letters instead. At least it doesn't look goofy, and I was sure I could resolve the missing interior cover problem in just a few minutes.

Ha ha ha. 

The documentation provided with the Kindlegen file never bloody mentioned ANYTHING about an ncx file, or an opc file. But Googling the problem quickly pointed out that both these files were required before Kindlegen could create the final file for upload.

Look, I'm no hacker, but I know enough to code and maintain my own website. I'd never heard of ncx or opf filetypes. I had no idea what they were, what they did, or how to find them.

The Amazon documentation?

I might as well go back to goat-dancing. Never a single word was spoken of these files, their purpose, their origin, or their content. 

The references I did find via Google all seemed to assume that the files simply sprang into existence from the heavenly aether. Seriously, I've never seen such an obtuse and uninformative collection of technobabble. What does ncx stand for? Nonexistent Carnivorous Xenophobe? What about opf? Obnoxious Probe Fatality? Ornithopter Pressure Frame?

Do I create the these elusive entities? Does Kindlegen? Are they files at all, or some kind of meat? Pets? Aircraft?

The more I read, the more confused I became.  In fact, after scouring half a dozen tutorials and discussion boards, this is how I've determined one must actually use Kindlegen to create a Kindle ebook:

FRANK'S HANDY DANDY GUIDE TO USING KINDLEGEN 

• Don't. Seriously, just wave money at someone until they agree to format your book for you. If they need a kidney give them that as well, you have two.
• Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.
• Download Kindlegen and Kindle Previewer.
• While you wait, drive to the liquor store, and head right for the rotgut whiskey because YOU WILL NEED IT. 
• Create your HTML file. Now look at it. Look at it HARD. 
• Do you see ncx and opf and half a dozen other previously unknown file formats appear?
• Take a swig of whiskey (first of many, I assure you) and stare harder.
• Run Kindlegen. Run around your living room. Both activities are equally likely to result in the creation of a fully-functional e-book.
• Use the Kindle Previewer to assure yourself you have failed.
• Look under the couch. Maybe that's where opf files wind up. No one seems to know. But there might be loose change under there, so check anyway.
• Man, the bottom half of this Old Overcoat whiskey is really smooth.
• Still no ncx files? Plenty of whiskey left. Maybe they only come out at night.
• Really, who needs a lousy interior cover image anyway?
• Leprechauns. That has to be it. Wait for a leprechaun to appear. Trick him into playing a game of riddles, and win by asking 'Where do ncx files come from?' 
• Give up and decide to patch the roof instead.
• Be careful on the ladder, because dude, you are hammered.

If you're at all interested in the writing guide, and you believe you can live without an interior cover illustration, click here. 

And if you ever decide to self-publish using Kindlegen, take my advice and get two bottles of Old Overcoat.

Ahoy MidSouthCon 31!

It's almost time!

I speak not of my next colonoscopy, but of my attendance at MidSouthCon 31.

If MidSouthCon is not known to you, it is the premiere SF/fantasy con in this part of the country. Held in Memphis, MidSouthCon is large enough to attract big names (Cherie Priest, Steve Jackson, John Picacio) and small enough to feel intimate and relaxed.

I'm even on a panel this year. If you're going to be at the Con, stop by the Grand Ballroom at 3:00 PM Saturday, where I'll be joining other Darrell Awards winners and nominees to talk writing.

I enjoy the panels. You can find everything from nuts-and-bolts author sessions to ghost hunting techniques. There truly is something for everyone.

Of course the press will concentrate solely on the cosplayers (i.e., people dressed up as fantasy/SF characters). Which is understandable, since the cosplayers are a dedicated and imaginative bunch. I've seen some truly awe-inspiring outfits at MidSouthCon, which always has a strong steampunk showing. Last year's girl with articulated wings was one of my favorites.

The Storm Troopers are always in attendance as well. They're a nice friendly helpful bunch, although they are a bit sensitive about mentions of unshielded thermal exhaust ports.

And what Con would be complete without zombies? We get all kinds. Zombie storm troopers. Zombie Alices. Zombie cheerleaders. Zombie tax preparers...

Itemize....

And, of course, steampunk Catwoman. Because -- who needs a freakin' reason?

This year I'm going to try something different at the Con. Along with the usual photos, I hope to post some short audio interviews (and possibly even video segments) with any of the more interesting cosplayers and attendees I can corner -- er, invite to take part in my blog. I've spent a lot of time tweaking my ancient Dell netbook, getting it up to snuff, and I'll be taking my microphones as well as my camera.

So, with any luck, next week's blog will feature an extensive Con report, with pictures.

March 26 is of course the release date for Brown River Queen. To celebrate, I'll be at the Barnes & Noble bookstore on the University of Mississippi campus in Oxford, where I'll be grabbing the ankles of passers-by and begging them to buy a copy until the University Police Department tazes me into unconsciousness. You don't want to miss that, so if you're in Oxford on Tuesday the 26th, please stop by the B & N at noon. I'll also be signing copies of The Broken Bell, so even if you don't have a Kindle or a Nook you can buy a print book.

Did you know that authors who fail to sell all the books at a signing are ritually shaven and then held underwater for eight minutes by the infuriated bookstore manager? It's true. I mention that not to entice you to buy a book, but just to pass the time. I'm pretty sure I can hold my breath for three of the eight minutes, and let's face it, another five minutes of brain damage probably won't have a significant effect on my cognitive skills.

I'm kidding. Signings are a lot of fun, and the people at Barnes & Noble have been most gracious and kind. There WILL BE SNACKS. I am willing to share.

To recap -- noon on Tuesday the 26th at the Barnes & Noble on the Ole Miss campus. Stop by and say hello!

One final word: progress on the new Markhat went very well last week. Looks like I might make my goal of writing two novels this year after all.

Of course it's one thing to write the books, and another to sell them. But unless I've completely lost my ability to tell good from bad, this new book is a good one.

Speaking of which, it's time to get back to work.

See you at MidSouthCon 31!

Movie Review and More!

That's your Mystery Picture for this week. What is it? Where did it come from? What if any significance does it hold?

I'm not telling.

But I will tell plenty about my new favorite movie, Oz the Great and Powerful.

By now, you may have seen some lukewarm Oz reviews. The New York Times is disenchanted, calling it an 'extravagant misfire' after babbling on about how much better movies were in the 1930s. The LA Times claims the movie is a 'rough slog' down the Yellow Brick Road.

I claim both reviewers watched the movie with their heads up their asses.

Oz the Great and Powerful is not a remake of The Wizard of Oz. It doesn't try to be. There is no Dorothy, no Toto, no Tin Man. Also, and noted with much relief on my part, there is no singing.

But there are visuals which make critically-acclaimed films such as Life of Pi and Avatar seem like cheap Saturday morning cartoons by comparison. And the new characters are just as engaging as any of Dorothy's face-painted retinue.

I dare anyone to tell me China Girl alone wasn't worth the price of admission. Go ahead, tell me that, and I will knock you down. I mean it. And Zach Braff's Finley, the flying monkey in the bellhop outfit?

Magical. And hilarious.

Without giving anything away, I can also say I loved the witches. Glinda the Good was spot on perfect, as the beleaguered defender of the peaceful folk of Oz. And James Franco's con-artist carnival magician turned makeshift wizard is unfailingly endearing.

This will sound of heresy to some, but I'll say it anyway -- Oz the Great and Powerful is a better movie than The Hobbit: an Unexpected Journey.

Oz the Great and Powerful has everything -- visual feasts, engaging characters, suspense, humor, and heart. Ignore the bleating critics. See the movie. You'll be glad you did, or I'll eat a hot-air balloon.

The above is another piece of Markhat fan-art, created by Raevyn Tws (his Facebook page is here).  Some say Markhat is pointing out the guilty party, but I maintain he is indicating to a bartender which beer he wants next.

Speaking of Markhat (see what I did there?), the new Markhat novel Brown River Queen is still available for pre-sale. It goes live on March 26!

I've blathered on and on about the book for weeks. I know that. But it's a good book, and I can hardly wait until people can dive into it.

The new Markhat book is underway, of course. I'm calling it The Five Faces. I've also toyed with the idea of a book narrated entirely by Mama Hog, who has no end of things to say about any subject you might care to name. If may wind up entitled Mama On the Town. But that is by no means a promise; just keeping the Markhat books written is about all I have time to do these days.

Brown River Queen cover, just because.

Just for the heck of it, here's a brief excerpt from The Five Faces, featuring an unusually vengeful Markhat:


FROM THE FIVE FACES:

Voices, from the top of the stair.

A match scratched and flared.  The lantern bobbed off its hook. The door swung open.

Boots clambered down the stairs. A man laughed. Another cussed.

I divided feet by two and came up with three.

Three men, who didn’t know a damned thing about fighting in the dark. They held the lantern close to their faces. They took the stairs before their eyes had time to adjust. They swapped a bottle as they walked.

They never saw me coming.

Two went down before the third finished swigging at the bottle. I hit him in the gut with the butt-end of the stout club I’d found amid the trash. When he doubled over, I hit him in the mouth.

Down he went. I kicked him as he fell.

None of the three managed to stand by the time I joined them at the bottom of the stairs.

One did groan and make a half-assed attempt to rise to his elbows. I rewarded his determination with a sharp blow to the back of his head. He went down and went still.

The lantern rolled down, trailing small pools of burning oil. I snatched it up before it sparked a real fire.

“You’re going to give me a name,” I said. A pair of faint groans answered. “You’re going to give me a name, or I’ll kill every damned one of you, and enjoy doing it.”

More groans. Somebody spat teeth. I felt myself smile.

“Someone paid you to watch this place,” I said. “Who?”

Silence.

The light still illuminated the pile of dead dogs not thirty feet distant.

I issued a dozen heartfelt kicks.

“Stop it, stop it,” muttered one of my supine friends. “Chuckles. Chuckles pays us. We don’t know nothin’, mister. We just got paid to watch the door.”

I dropped to my haunches.

“Chuckles,” I said.  I waved the lantern near my talkative friend’s face.

He was maybe fifty. Whatever teeth he’d worked so hard to keep were scattered on the floor beneath him. I wasn’t sorry.

“Now, where can I find this Chuckles?”

A knife-blade glinted in the lamp-light. I brought down my lumber. Wet cracking sounds and a scream echoed in the dark.

Again, I wasn’t sorry.

“You were saying?”

“Everybody knows Chuckles. Keeps a table. Down at the Bastion.” He cut his eyes to his fellows “What the Hell’s the matter with you? We just watch the door. I don’t think Mort is breathing.”

“Worry less about Mort and more about yourself. This Chuckles. He run this place?”

“Hell if I know, mister, he just pays us to—”

“Watch the door. I heard. Tell you what. I’m going to pay this Mr. Chuckles a visit. But before I do, you’re going to give him a message. How’s your memory, pal? Think you can repeat what I’m about to say, word for word?”

He spat blood and glared hate.

“I’ll take that as a yes. My message is this – the dog fights end. Or I end you. Simple enough. Got it?”

He spat again. “You got a name?”

I don’t remember much from the days when Mom dragged all us Markhats to Church. But a line of Scripture came to mind.

“I am Death. You shall not know my name until I speak it in thine ear. Dread my name, and fear its revelation, for it shall be thy undoing, amen.”

“Crazy bastard.”

I hit him again. He rolled over and howled, and I rose. I cast my club down beside him.

The other two lay still. If they breathed, I couldn’t see their chests rise or fall.

“I am Death,” I said. “Dread my name.”

I blew out the lantern and threw it as far as I could.

Then I climbed the thirty-eight steps, whistling all the way.

END EXCERPT

That's it for this week!

Ghost Hunter's Guide: Dead in the Deep South

As both long-time fans of this blog know, I do a little ghost hunting on the side.

Since my private jet is A) in the shop and B) doesn't exist, I do all my ghost hunting locally. Which means I stalk a particular brand of restless spirit -- that of the wily Southern ghost.

I'm a Southerner myself. I was born right here, not in this chair but in Mississippi nonetheless. This grants me a unique insight into the ectoplasmic minds of the local spectres, haunts, haints, will-o-the-wisps, goblins, revenants, poltergeists, apparitions, and of course the Class II free-floating non-repeating vapors that haunt these gently rolling hills.

From what I've seen on television, your northern, eastern, and western ghosts seem to have standardized their behaviors, at least when the cameras are rolling. Here's every ghost hunting show I've ever seen, condensed:

GHOST HUNTER #1: I'm getting a hit on my K2.

GHOST HUNTER #2: I'm being touched!

GHOST HUNTER #3: I saw a shadow!

Play obscure EVP segment during reveal, in which ghostly voice says short phrase:

"I smell the eggs, Bartholomew."

Which is a lot more dramatic when shot in patented Green Night-O-Vision(tm) and accompanied by a sepulchral voice-over and sinister background music.

Southern ghosts, though, often march to a different tune (usually the phantom strains of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd album).  As such, I've decided to offer my own brief primer on the nature of Southern haunts.

Pull your Alabama ball-caps down firmly, and enjoy the ride.

Ghosts of the Haunted South: A Bestiary

1) The Residual Bubba.

A residual Bubba haunting is non-responsive and wholly un-communicative, unless provoked by the playing of NPR anywhere on the property. Residual Bubba situations are rarely dangerous, and in fact often go unnoticed if they peak during football season. 

A residual Bubba haunting is characterized by the following physical phenomena:

• Repeated auditory phenomena, i.e., the sound of a pickup horn playing 'Dixie,' the reluctant cranking of an un-mufflered diesel engine, source-less WWF wrestling played at high volume, etc.
• Periodic visual phenomena. Apparitions of bodiless Big Yank overalls, translucent Pabst Blue Ribbon six-packs floating through the double-wide, etc. 

An EVP indicative of a residual Bubba in progress:

Residual Bubba EVP

2) The Intelligent Dwayne.

An intelligent Dwayne haunting occurs when the spirit of a deceased person remains attached to a property. Often, these spirits don't realize they are dead, and sometimes grow agitated when they mistakenly assume their new state of being is simply some newfangled Yankee holiday that has made their disability checks late.

These intelligent hauntings are characterized by:

• Menacing physical phenomena, most often in the form of slaps, punches, and repeated butt-kickings.
• Movement of physical objects, usually of TV remotes and bottle openers.
• Poorly-spelled Ouija Board warnings, usually of the 'Git out er I will KICK YOR ASS' variety, although some sessions might reveal a decided slant toward debating various NASCAR drivers or the inability of Ole Miss to consistently score in the fourth quarter. 

An EVP indicative of an Intelligent Dwayne haunting:

Intelligent Dwayne EVP

3) The Saturday Night Phantom.

When a person is taken by death too soon, they often remain Earthbound, tethered by a wistful sense of leaving behind unfinished business.

When a Saturday Night Phantom is taken by death, the process usually includes (but is not limited to) propane, firearms, crude incendiary devices of a homemade nature, copious amounts of easily-affordable alcohol, motorcycles, livestock, heights, wet roads, lack of headlights, amateur rocketry, and ill-timed use of the phrase 'Watch this, y'all.'

A Saturday Night Phantom, known as a poltergeist in other locales, is a mischievous (and possibly still drunk) spirit which reveals its presence through pranks and trickery, such as:

• Sudden foul odors, usually accompanied by loud raspberry sounds and faint giggling.
• Crude knock-knock jokes delivered during Ouija Board sessions.
• Repeated inexplicable toilet flushings.
• Nocturnal wails and screams, followed by slurred renditions of the Arkansas State football fight song.

An EVP typical of a Saturday Night Phantom:

Saturday Night Phantom EVP

4) The Old Man Burtrell Ghost.

Every community in the South, no many how tiny or remote, features an Old Man Burtrell by one name or another. In life, these reclusive, hostile souls demand absolute privacy and demonstrate an eager willingness to maintain it by casual discharges of shotguns and cursing. In death, their spirits continue on as they always have, not knowing or caring that their Earthly lives are over.

An Old Man Burtrell haunting is indicated by any of the following:

• Sounds of a phantom shotgun being chambered.
• Motion on the part of empty rocking chairs, followed by a spit of phantom chewing tobacco.
• Spectral gunfire, followed by confused, enraged cursing.

Sample of a typical Old Man Burtrell EVP:

Old Man Burtrell EVP

5) The Wilted Rose.

Saddest perhaps of all the Southern haunts, the Wilted Rose is the wandering spirit of the truck-stop diner waitress who, even in death, can find neither rest, peace, nor affordable astral housing on her lousy tips alone. 

The presence of a Wilted Rose is most often indicated by:

• Coffee cups which fill themselves. Small plastic containers of spoiled creamer often appear beside the cup, alongside a syrup-smeared paper packet of pure cane sugar.
• Clouds of cigarette smoke which form from nothing.
• Phantom diner checks decorated with smiley faces drawn on steamed mirrors.

Sample of Wilted Rose EVP:

Wilted Rose EVP

Next Week: On the Trail of the Southern Bigfoot, or, Sasquatch Can't Drive Worth Crap.

Bonus Tuesday Blog

I know, it's not Sunday, but here I am blogging.

I don't always blog on Tuesday, but when I do, I've been drinking Dos Equis. Which isn't true either; I haven't been drinking, but I do want to make a small special effort to let people know they can snag a copy of The Mister Trophy free from Amazon!

If you haven't read any of my Markhat books before, this is a great place to start. It's short, it's fun, it features at least one scene of gratuitous vampire-thumping, and did I mention it's free?

And of course I can't help but cackle with unseemly glee over the upcoming (March 26) release of the new Markhat novel, Brown River Queen. Which you can now pre-order.

The piece of original fan art above shows Markhat encouraging you to pre-order. (Thanks to Raevyn Tws aka Eric Ralphs for the artwork).

So, to recap -- free stuff! New release! Dogs and cats, sleeping together!

See you all Sunday!

Announcing an Announcement!

Hold your metaphorical hats tight on your allegorical heads, gentle readers, for today I am full of....news.

I saw a bunch of you mouthing a very different word from 'news,' and I find that hurtful, but even so my spirits remain undampened, and I'll tell you why.

First of all, the new Markhat title is now available for pre-order at Amazon and Samhain! Barnes & Noble doesn't have pre-order turned on yet, but Samhain offers a Nook version (as well as Kindle, pdf, and every other format imaginable) of the book. So you don't have to wait for B&N, if you'd rather not.

I'm really excited about Brown River Queen.

Sorry, I get this rash when I'm happy. 

There's the right image! The book's cover, because I never get tired of looking at it.

Fans of the series will see the return of all the old familiar faces. Mama Hog will supply her usual homespun charms. Buttercup the banshee is always underfoot. Darla, who finally made a cover (she's been waiting patiently for her spot beside Markhat) is there, and she's reading over my shoulder to make sure I mention that at no point does she require rescuing. Quite the opposite, in fact, but you'll need to read the book to find out what I'm talking about.

I've tried to bring some new influences into the Markhat series. There's always been a touch of steampunk about Markhat's world, where magic and heavy industry rub shoulders in unexpected ways. The Banshee's Walk was set in a private artist's retreat. Hold the Dark explored Rannit's churches. The Broken Bell saw the introduction of gunpowder, cannon, and the outbreak of civil war.

I set Brown River Queen on a lavish gambling steamboat right out of the Mississippi River post US Civil War. There are gamblers and ne'er-do-wells. Plots and subterfuges. Vampires and worse. Intrigue and Blues singers. It was a blast to write, and I think you guys are in for a treat when it goes on sale March 26.

To those of you who've already pre-ordered, my thanks! Few things are more gratifying that seeing one's book show an Amazon ranking before it actually goes on sale. That's rare good fun. I may well have cackled maniacally. No, I'm sure of it.

Next, I've been nominated as a Finalist for the 2013 Darrell Award! The winners will be announced at the annual awards banquet, which takes place at the always-amazing MidSouthCon. 

I'm looking forward to the Con this year, because  -- well, look at the Guest List. Cherie Priest, Steve Jackson, John Picacio, Ross Lockhart? I know these names, and others! And being nominated for a Darrell Award is a genuine honor.

 It's going to be a blast.

That's my blaster, not a blast, but you get the idea.

Since it's a long time until March 26, I'm posting a brief excerpt from BROWN RIVER QUEEN below, to whet your appetite. There aren't any spoilers, so read without fear.

From BROWN RIVER QUEEN:


A meaty fist struck my door. “Open for the Watch!” shouted my new friend Captain Holder. “Open or we’ll break it down.”

Evis stubbed out his cigar and folded back into the shadows. I rose and unlocked my door, then opened it wide before stepping back out of yanking distance.

Captain Holder marched in, hand on his sword hilt, face beet red around eyes already going teary from the cigar smoke.

“What brings you here, Captain?” Carelessly, I puffed smoke directly into his face. “Care for a Lowland Sweet?”

That’s when Captain Holder, an officer of the law and a high-ranking Watchman, dared lay hands on me—a law-abiding citizen who did nothing but exhibit a generous nature concerning his excellent tobacco.

Evis moved, a silent shadow leaving brief wakes in the smoke.

Slam went my door, plunging my office in shadows.

Snick went the Captain’s Watch-issue shortsword as it was snatched from its scabbard.

Thunk went the blade as Evis buried the tip of it in my desk before returning to his seat and once again wrapping himself in silk and shadow.

The Captain gaped, his sword hand closing on air. “I have half a dozen men right outside.”

“Only half a dozen?” I sniffed and looked down my nose. “I’d have thought a desperate criminal such as myself would have demanded a full dozen, at least.”

He wasn’t listening. Instead, he backed toward my door, his eyes on Evis, and then he yanked it open and bellowed through it.

“Your men were called to attend pressing matters elsewhere, Captain Holder,” said Evis from the dark.
“Close the door. You are in no danger. But we do need to have a chat.”

I would have bet even money on the Captain bolting. But after a moment of staring out into the empty street, he straightened, uttered a single brief curse word, turned to face us, and closed the door.

“You’ve had a bad morning, Captain,” I said. I strolled around my desk and pointed to the empty client’s chair. “But it doesn’t need to get any worse. Have a seat. Let’s talk this out like gentlemen.”

He glared but yanked the chair back and sat.

“You dumped a bucket of shit on a Watchman,” he said, his voice still rough with rage. “I know all about you, Markhat. You’ve been running roughshod over the Watch for years. I’m here to tell you you’ve gone too far this time. I’m charging you with assault on an officer of the law.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Charging me? With assault? Good thing my legal counsel is present, then. Captain Holder, meet Mr. Evis Prestley, of House Avalante. I believe you’ve heard the name.”

“I know it.”

I leaned back and laced my fingers together behind my head. “Assault, you say? Mr. Prestley. Have I, to your knowledge, assaulted any Watchmen recently?”

“Why no, Mr. Markhat, I don’t believe you have.”

The good Captain repeated his curse word. “You dumped a bucket of shit on my man outside. I can’t hang you for that but I can damned well throw you in the Old Ruth for a week or three.” He made as if to rise.
Evis appeared by my side, his dead-pale face just touched by the sun.

“And you can prove my client was involved, can you Captain?”

“It was him. You know it and I know it.”

Evis shook his head and made tsk-tsk noises. “At what time did this alleged assault by excrement occur, Captain? As you have noted the complainant is a Watchman, I assume he was able to provide such details in his official report?”

“Ten of noon,” growled the Captain, his beefy right hand clutching his Watch-issue handcuffs. “You’re wasting your time. He’s coming with me.”

“Ten of noon,” said Evis. “Well. I can produce no fewer than two dozen prominent citizens of Rannit who will gladly swear they were dining with Mr. Markhat at the Brickworks between eleven and half-past one, Captain Holder. Remind me of the names, Mr. Markhat.”

“Certainly. Tavis Green, of the Tavis Greens, was there. We enjoyed a bottle of Fitch together. Oh, and Markum Sate, and Corliss Poole, and that nephew of the Regent’s chief of staff, Malcom Slater.” I trailed off and watched a vein in Holder’s forehead bulge and pulse.

“You spoke of a waste of time, Captain. Indeed, that is what incarcerating my client will yield you. Time and trouble. I assure you, Avalante will take an immediate and active interest in the matter.”

“Might as well put the bracelets away,” I said. “Maybe one day I’ll slip up and you can clap them on me. But that isn’t today, Captain, and you know it.”

Ten breaths. That’s what it took for Holder to work out the truth behind my words. But work it out he did, and the cuffs went back in his pocket.

“I won’t forget this,” he said after a time. “Nobody dumps chamber-pots on my Watch officers. Nobody.”

I shrugged. “Good for you. Now then. Being completely unaware you had a man watching my door, I find myself suddenly compelled to ask why you’d do such a thing. So. Why?”

“Because a woman is dead and you killed her, that’s why.”

Evis waggled a taloned finger at the Captain’s nose. “My client acted in self-defense during an unprovoked attack by a deranged stranger,” he said. “Even the Watch concurs.”

“I think your client knows exactly who the dead woman was and why she ended up cut in half by a beer-wagon.”

“If I knew who she was, Captain, I’d tell you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, as usual, you’re mixed up in something,” said the Captain. “Think you’re above the law, don’t you, Markhat?”

“We don’t see enough law in this part of town to think ourselves above it.” I put my hands on my desk and leaned close. The Captain needed a bath. “Look. I’m not lying. I don’t know who she was or why she came at me. There wasn’t time to ask. But why do you care? The dead wagons haul bodies out of alleys every morning. Nobody asks. What makes this woman so special the Watch is pestering me about her?”

“You’re telling me you don’t know her.”

“I’m telling you I don’t.”

“What happens if I stand up and try to walk out of here, Markhat? You going to turn your vampire loose on me?”

I stood. “Beat it,” I said. “Get out and stay out until you calm down enough to talk sense. Try and snag me again and you can explain yourself to the Corpsemaster. That clear enough for you?”

“Corpsemaster is dead.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why don’t you piss me off again and we’ll see?”

He stood. Evis watched but didn’t move.

“We’re not done here.”

“I beg to differ. Get out.”

He did, slamming my door behind him.

Evis glided back into the shadows, chuckling.

“Markhat. Did you really arrange for a Watchman to be bathed in excrement?”

“The Arwheats don’t much care for the Watch. I almost had to force their pay upon them.”

Evis shook his head. “They’ll not forget that. Not for a long time.”

“Good.” I put my hands back behind my head. “Something about that dead woman has the Watch nervous.”

“Indeed. Have you learned anything new about her?”

“Nothing. I was heading to the hotels downtown today to see if anyone fitting her description skipped a bill. Maybe she left something in her room with her name on it, along with a note detailing her dastardly plans.”

Evis nodded. “Still. A bucket of shit?” He shook his head. “As your attorney, I must admonish you against future use of night soil as a deterrent for loiterers.”

“As you say, counselor.”

Evis chuckled and produced fresh cigars.

End of Excerpt

The rest will have to wait until March 26.