Book Review - We Have Always Lived In The Castle by Shirley Jackson

We Have Always Lived In The Castle
-Shirley Jackson


3 Stars

“Merricat, said Connie, would you like a cup of tea?
Oh no, said Merricat, you'll poison me.
Merricat, said Connie, would you like to go to sleep?
Down in the boneyard ten feet deep!”

Since the mysterious death their family, the superstitious Mary Katherine "Merricat" Blackwood, her ailing, wheelchair-bound, uncle Julian, and agoraphobic sister Constance have lived in a contented state of isolation, secluding themselves from the taunting villagers. But when cousin Charles arrives in search of the Blackwood fortune, a terrible family secret is revealed.

"My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, and I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phallaides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead."

First off, I loved the writing style of Shirley Jackson. I loved the narrative being told from Merricat's point of view. I loved her take on the world. After that I didn't love much else. This story reads slow, with no build up what so ever. Throughout the entire story I kept wondering if there was a twist since the reveal is known up front.

There are levels of suspense, notions of paranoia and claustrophobia, but I never felt trapped enough, I never felt like there was much too lose. I was really hoping the ending would save this book, but it just stops open-ended leaving you to create your own ghost story.

Book Review - The Darkest Part of The Forest by Holly Black

The Darkest Part of The Forest
-Holly Black

4 Stars

Holly Black is back to her faerie roots, bringing us the best thing she's written since the Modern Faerie Tale series.  This stand-alone YA novel is dark and gritty, written like only Black can do. But it is also magical and whimsical and every thing you can ask for in a faerie tale.  I found myself smiling throughout the book, remembering what it was like to be a child, running in the woods and blurring the lines between reality and make-believe.

"There's a monster in our wood.  She'll get you if you're not good.  Drag you under leaves and sticks.  Punish you for all your tricks.  A nest of hair and gnawed bone.  You are never, ever coming... home."

 Hazel lives with her brother, Ben, in the strange town of Fairfold where humans and fae exist side by side. The faeries’ seemingly harmless magic attracts tourists, but Hazel knows how dangerous they can be, and she knows how to stop them. Or she did, once.

At the center of it all, there is a glass coffin in the woods. It rests right on the ground and in it sleeps a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives. Hazel and Ben were both in love with him as children. The boy has slept there for generations, never waking.

Until one day, he does…

New Book...Out Now!

My new book of short stories is available now!  There are 13 great stories in this collection ranging from straight horror to bizarro, to some pretty disturbing tales. 

Check out the paperback here!


or


Check out the ebook here!


There is plenty more to come... I am writing more than ever lately.  I hope you enjoy.

Thanks,

J. Peter W.

The Birthday Massacre

Beyond by The Birthday Massacre

My favorite band, The Birthday Massacre just released a new album last week and ever since then I have been listening to it non-stop.  I love all of their albums and this one is no different.  They are the band I turn to while writing, always giving me inspiration and motivation.  I dream while listening to The Birthday Massacre.

Check out their latest album  Superstition.

Dreamtime

 

 

I remember one dream I had as I child very vividly. I rarely remember dreams, as a child or even now as an adult, but this dream still lingers in my mind as fresh as the night it happened. Spider legs. I can see spider legs towering over me. I'm not sure if I'm the size of a tiny speck or if the spider is huge. I guess that's really irrelevant. All I can see are the legs. My eyes never look to the body and it is unfocused in my peripheral. I remember a large, dark splotch as the body, nothing more. But those legs. They are spiny with hairs peeling off like thorny daggers. A wet, mucus like substance coats them from the tips to the prosoma. I stand, looking up, eyes darting between the eight massive things surrounding me.

I've read that dreams of large, oversized objects means that you feel overwhelmed or stressed. I don't recall having any feeling like that at the time. So I am assuming that's bullshit. What I did feel was happiness. I felt like I was part of something. Like there is more out there then what revolves around me and my daily life. I felt like I was the smallest part in all of it and that made me joyful.

When I woke up I was upset. I tried to will myself back to sleep and back into that dream. I think I did fall back to sleep, but I never found my way back to that dream. It was gone. Lost forever. But the memory stuck with me. It's been over twenty years since that dream but I can still see the spider legs as clearly now as I did in the then. And I still remember that feeling I had while staring up at the huge, spiny legs. I want to find it again. I want to revisit that place and see what else is there. What other feelings arrive when I stay longer. When I stay forever.

Misunderstanding My Rhythm

When I first started writing I mostly wrote poems and songs.  Back then everything I did focused on the rhythm of sentences and sounds of the words.  I could care less about whether the sentences made any sense.  That didn't interest me.  All I wanted was sentences that were beautiful to my ears.  That incoherent, rambling of random words made little sense to anyone but me.  Over the years I continued to use that style, even when it came to writing short stories and novellas, mixing in storytelling a little at a time.  As you can imagine, very few people enjoyed reading anything I wrote.  Some did.  Some people got it.  But not many. 

It took a while for me to find a balance between building rhythmic sentence structure and storytelling.  If there was too much straight story I became bored.  If it was too much random words, my readers would become bored.  Over the years I began to evolve the balance.  If you read my first two novels you can see the progression changing.  Eventually though, I realized that I was never going to have a steady readership if I didn't lose the random worded sentences. 

It took me a while to get to that point.  But I finally did make the realization.  I pushed myself and focused on storytelling and growing as a writer.  Now, I can write full novels without falling back on my random sentences.  Sometimes I miss that style.  If I read my old stuff I still smile and laugh.  I love it.  But I can see now that my new stuff is so much better.    

Here is a quick example of my old style.  I love this paragraph.

 There once was a place that missiles became lovely ideas of change and sticks for arms was gravitational arthritis. When the extremities of nighttime really meant to shovel out someone’s head. Blood only tastes good in your mouth. My decisive orphans cut their veins with tiny versions of knives and kiss boys by the wishing well. Reducible pox intoxicated scapegoats mansion twins for necessary near-beer phobias, then twist my wrist she hated hypnotics. Filtered wife epiphany vanquished graver bellyaches to natterjack partnerships by stepladders or cellars. The julian floorwalkers mustard rhinestone sod worms infecting woozy aviation equivalents to congregate gunboat. I endorse stabbed gullets. 

 

        

Moving across the country...

A week ago I drove across the country. 

My wife got a job offer for a position on the other side of the country and we decided to go for it.  We packed up everything we could fit into a 5 x 8 trailer and got rid of everything else.  We either trashed, donated, or gave to family and friends all of our furniture.  It was a terrifying and exciting feeling. 

It is over 2200 miles from Richmond, VA to Phoenix, AZ.  That's a little more than 36 hours if you were to drive straight through without stopping to eat or sleep.  We broke it up into three and a half days.  Mind you we took both our cars; mine a Mustang filled to the ceiling and pulling a trailer, and hers an overstocked Beetle busting at the seams.  We some how survived this journey despite bringing along our two small but very vocal dogs and our toddler that can't stand to sit still for more than 5 minutes, on top of my amazing, superstar wife being pregnant.  And yes, we did move to the desert in the summer.  What kind of person does that?

Anyway, we made it and now that we are here.  I love it.  AZ is a beautiful state.  I don't even mind the 110 degree very dry weather we've been having.  It feels like 80's to me compared to the 95 degree humid summers in VA. 

With all the packing and moving and unpacking, I have gotten a bit behind on my writing.  I am still in the process of the final draft of the first book of my YA dark fantasy trilogy and currently 2/3 of the way through the first draft of the second book.  I am also working on a collection of short stories that I plan on releasing in a few months.  I will blog more on that later.  I am also working on a novella that I hope to release by the end of the year.  So yes, very busy.  And I am happy to be through with all the moving an packing and finally being able to sit down and write... late at night... while the toddler monster slumbers... please... let her sleep tonight... please...