Our Savage Anatomies #5: The Origin of the Beast, Part Three: The Mysterious Town in Italy

 ...just beyond Loretello, in the Marche region. 

Actually, the mysterious town is based on the layout of Loretello. 

Funny, there's nothing much going on in Loretello. It's small, you can walk through it in 5-10 minutes, depending on your pace. 

As noted in a previous blog post dealing with the origins of my 42000-word novel/novella, OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES, the inspiration for the first words was just outside of Loretello, where in 2021 while visiting a friend, I ran into a field of late summer burnt sunflowers. I swear I have photos of them, but since I cannot find them, you get two photos from a couple years after that encounter (courtesy of Alessandra), when the field was once again full of sunflowers and, hey, in the first photo, in the distance, you can see the blood trees!  At least in the novel/novella, that's what they are. 

At the end of August this year, we spent a week in the region again. I snapped a few more photos pertinent to the novel. The first one is of a vineyard, which served as the sleeping place for Rufus Skye, our wayward werewolf in search of peace of mind. 

In these two photos we are inside Loretello and have the terrace, sans the metal table that was there when I first saw it, where Rufus and Mister E. converse about blood trees and fates being aligned. This is also where Rufus meets Sasha, his love interest, though there time together is brief. 

Also: making another appearance, the blood trees! 

The second photo is of the church that plays a huge role in the finale. It is on the right, next to a bar that is, yes, underneath stairs. Weird set-up, but hey, limited space means you do what you must.  

Notice there's nobody around. There are times we've been there when it's questionable whether anybody lives there. Ahem! 

I find it quite curious how inspiration works. Honestly, the town is barely a blip and might not even show up on most maps, yet being there in 2021, something was lit within my writer's brain...and I ran with it; okay, I wrote the short story, "Home is Where the Howl Is" (which looks like it will be a special treat for those who pre-order OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES, which will be up for pre-order any day now), and as I've mentioned already, I realized after completing that tale, if I added one sentence to the end I could run with it, as I did. 

Anyway, inspiration. A curious beast. Yet, I find the world infinitely inspiring. What might seem like nothing can lead to 42000 words and make me shake my head and smile like a madman as I'm writing it. 

We (Hybrid Sequence Media and yours truly) should have pre-orders soon. You are going to love this one if you like off-the-wall horror that throws a wrench at the tropes.  

There ya go. Whipped this together just to get some photos your way and, of course, to pique your interest even more. I expect the next blog post might be for the pre-orders. That's when every one of you purchases a copy or ten and...and...

;-)

Our Savage Anatomies #4: The Origin of the Beast, Part Two: My Weird Writer's Brain...

It all started with...Downton Abbey. 

WTF?

You read that right. 

It's late July/early August, 2021. My girlfriend Alessandra is a big fan of period piece dramas. She informed me we should watch the Downton Abbey series. It's not my usual cuppa, but I'm game. 

I enjoyed the series, but at one point in the latter seasons, I told her I could picture this in a horror vein, the upper-class being vampires, the help being werewolves, and some variation of the regular townsfolk as zombies. I even mapped out the dowager as a mutant blob of sorts overseeing everything. Nothing too original, I'm sure there's been plenty of novels/short stories that have taken this setting and added blood and monsters. I wrote a page or two of notes, just for fun, then set them aside, never really expecting to do anything with them. 

But the seeds were planted. My brain had werewolves on the mind...and it really wanted to play in the world they occupied. Something out of character for me, sure--I rarely deal with familiar horror tropes--but this time...this time I was nudged to dive in. Or perhaps shoved in might be more appropriate. 

Those seeds blossomed into OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES when we made our way to visit a friend in the Marche region of Italy, near a small town called Loretello. I wrote about it in my previous blog post; you'll want to check that out.

This post is as much about how the writer's brain works. My weird writer's brain, at least. 

Though most big writing projects are somewhat mapped out or, at the very least, on my radar, on occasion I have noticed after I've started a big project how the seeds had been planted weeks or months before, even without my consciously knowing as much. These are the surprise projects, the gifts the Muse gives you and it's up to you to run with them, as with OSA.

What do I mean?

Here's an example:

I remember a couple years ago waking up from a violent, sex-drenched dream and thinking, what the fuck was that? At one point within that dream, as I am telling my brother about the dream in glorious, graphic detail (yeah, dream within a dream craziness, thanks Poe), my brother said to me, I want to read this. I was flabbergasted. I mentioned it to another person later in the dream and that person said the same thing: I want to read this. I told Alessandra about the dream and what the others said and how I wanted nothing to do with this horrible scenario...when she saw things differently. 

It's 4:30 in the morning, John. Go! Write those notes! 

I wrote a page of notes and got back to bed. I wondered as I lay there why I had thought up such a brutal dream. I have written rough stuff, have no fear about 'going there' if the story needed it, but this...this was not where I mentally was. 

Or was it? 

That's when I remembered I'd recently finished reading Charlene Elsby's Violent Faculties, a no holds barred psycho-sexual nightmare of a novel that Does Not Flinch. Sexual violence was prevalent, all within an academic setting. It's an excellent novel for those who can handle this kind of thing.

The sexual violence of that novel had planted the seed for what eventual became my novella, Souls At Zero. Yet, I did not realize this until the words were staring me in the face, laughing at me...and I was hooked on finding out where it all went. 

Just as with Downton Abby, of all things, and how thinking about werewolves and vampires and the mutant blob that was the dowager, easily the seed of mutant vampire, Jack Pandemonium, led to my writing OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES.

The writer's mind is a strange thing, my friends. The writers already know this, of course.

Anyway, the next blog post will include photos from the Marche region, and Loretello, as Alessandra and I are headed that way for a necessary break from the chaos of the world. 

Here's Rufus, the lead werewolf from OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES, perhaps giving me a side-eye at all this nonsense. 

;-)

Our Savage Anatomies #3: The Origin of the Beast, Part One

 OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES is my forthcoming 42,000-word short novel/long novella/does it really matter? to be published by Hybrid Sequence Media. 

The humble origins of the strange beast began in Italy. 

My girlfriend Alessandra and I were invited to stay at our friend Michaela's place in the Marche region, in the middle of Italy leaning eastward, August of 2021. Alessandra and I needed the break, so we took her up on it. Michaela had a large spare bedroom more like a small studio apartment, which was all we needed. Upon getting to her place after the long drive, we needed to stretch our legs. We walked up a tiny slope and, lo and behold, there was a massive field of late summer sunflowers. Burnt sunflowers. It was stunning.

At about the same time, there was an anthology call I was interested in writing for titled, Hybrid: Misfits, Monsters, and Other Phenomena, from Hybrid Sequence Media. I was not sure why, because I am not a horror writer who focuses on familiar tropes, but with that field as a starting point, and with the addition of more of the landscape--a triangle of red trees in the distance; Loretello, a small town more a village--the all-around vibe inspired by everything led me to...werewolves? 

Really, John Claude? 

I'd just completed another novel, Birdland (or Odd Blue; I'm doing a deep edit on it right now and am thinking Odd Blue might be a more appropriate title, Odd Blue being a creature from another dimension set on destroying the world...), a big, serious affair, and needed a mental break of sorts. I expected the short story for the antho call would suffice, but after writing, "Home Is Where the Howl Is," the reader's introduction to Rufus Skye and Sasha, two werewolves meeting under curious circumstances, and the mysterious Mister E, a vampire, I remember saying to Alessandra, "Y'know, I could run with this by adding one sentence at the end of the story." I let that thought marinate yet already knew something was up. 

I wrote that extra sentence...and OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES was born. The mutant king of the vampires, Jack Pandemonium, was born. As I was writing the novel/novella, everything and the kitchen sink was tossed into the mix. Everything! I would blurt out something to Alessandra about what was happening now in the tale, something utterly bizarre, totally off the rails, and I'm sure she was thinking, "He really is crazy. My boyfriend really is crazy." 

And that's where we are now. The first step toward introducing everybody to these characters and the mad ride that is OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES. 

I even had my friend and excellent writer, Sunni Ellis (author of the fabulous Once Upon A Time In Mexico, "a rollicking, fully immersive wild west romp") read the novel/novella and in response, she said nice things and even wrote a blurb. Here's that blurb, to pique your interest even more: 

"Our Savage Anatomies is a road trip, a love story and a monstrous manipulation of vampire/werewolf politics with a brutal twist. Trigger warning...dark scenes with maximum damage and truly terrifying transformation that will change the way you think about lycanthropy. Buckle up!"

I'll post some photos from Loretello in a few weeks as Alessandra and I will be visiting our friend again at the end of the month. Can't wait to get there, that place is inspiring. 

(I actually started a metafiction take on the novel and area a while back, maybe I'll dig into that, too.)

Anyway, that's it for this blog post. The next one will include more of the seeds of where OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES came from...including the, um...Downton Abbey connection. 

What the...?

You'll see. 

Pre-orders soon, but until then, hey, I've got other books you should check out...

BUY A BOOK (with links to books):

my Bram Stoker Award finalist debut novel, RIDING THE CENTIPEDE, my second, trippy horror novel, THE WILDERNESS WITHIN, and/or the expanded version of my second collection, containing 25 stories culled from that collection, all of my third collection, Occasional Beasts, and half of my debut collection, The Dark is Light Enough for Me, AUTUMN IN THE ABYSS REDUX. 

Happy reading!

 

Our Savage Anatomies #2: Cover Art Info

 You may have seen the lovely cover art already, but the process of getting it to the final stage was interesting, to say the least. 

The first version of the cover art for OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES was a sketch. It showed much of what the final version features, except for Sasha. She was dressed for battle and had long, luxurious hair. 

Ahem!

The human form of Sasha from the book has hair trimmed almost down to stubble. 

The publisher informed the artist, Małgorzata Mika, of this detail. Shortly thereafter, we got the follow-up version...which featured Sasha as you see her now, but she was...naked. Naked and furry, of course! Sasha in full-on werewolf form. I liked this much better, but there were some questions that we had to address. I went back and forth with the publisher about perceptions in the world we live in today, and how either both characters needed to be naked, down to their furry selves, or they both needed clothing. The publisher dug Rufus's gear from the get-go, as did I, so I knew we'd leave him as he was. A couple more variations of clothes for Sasha were tried until we came up with Sasha in the dark blue dress, which works for me. There's an attitude she flaunts, and I believe her look and pose fits the attitude. 

How about the rest of the cover?

To the right we have the mysterious village with no name, set in the Marche region of Italy, just beyond another real-life tiny village called Loretello, which was the template for the mysterious village. I will show you what I mean in a future post as at the end of August, my girlfriend Alessandra and I will be staying at our friend Micheala's place...in the Marche region...a short walk from Loretallo. There will be photos highlighting some of the key elements in Loretello I used for the mysterious village in the novel.  

To the left we have the Golden Gate bridge, meaning San Francisco, which is the home to the infamous mutant vampire, Jack Pandemonium. (Oh, you're going to love him!)

Dead center, down the road from Rufus and Sasha, we have the blood trees, a triangle of trees that the werewolves and vampires and any other creatures of the night feed from if they don't want to give in to their primal instincts...and becoming killing machines. 

Dig the colors, the abundant details--all of it. This is one full-bodied cover! 

Małgorzata Mika did a fantastic job, eh? 

I think so. 

Here it is: 

Next? How in the world did I, a writer of weird fiction, end up veering into the realm of werewolves and vampires? Amusing stuff, you'll see. 

For those of you who need a fiction fix before the release of OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES, you can check out my Bram Stoker Award finalist debut novel, RIDING THE CENTIPEDE, my second, trippy horror novel, THE WILDERNESS WITHIN, and/or the expanded version of my second collection, containing 25 stories culled from that collection, all of my third collection, Occasional Beasts, and half of my debut collection, The Dark is Light Enough for Me, AUTUMN IN THE ABYSS REDUX. 

Happy reading! 

Our Savage Anatomies #1: Final Edits Info

We wrapped up editing on OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES last week. Thank the gods, I tell ya. 

That was work! 

Some pieces require minimal editing. Some require...much more. With OSA, I felt it was in great shape when I turned it in to Donald Armfield at Hybrid Sequence Media. It was...but needed cleaning up and some tightening up, which required the much more work mentioned above.

When I wrote OSA, it was right after I'd completed a hardcore, intense novel called Birdland. That one wrung out my brain. It's one of the best things I've ever written and I hope to find it a home sooner than later. That said, my brain needed a break. I needed something perhaps lighter to follow-up Birdland. I'll get to the details and events that went into the creation of OSA over the next couple of months in blog posts--there's a lot of amusing details, trust me--but for now the point is, I needed that break and rolled with something I rarely explore: the more familiar tropes of werewolves and vampires, though from an atypical perspective, as you will see.  

The novel was written fast and loose. The process was just to be open to whatever wanted to be a part of the story. I threw in the kitchen sink, the piping beneath said sink, the hair stuck in the pipes...everything. 

That is why, with the editing process, though I thought it good where it was, that fast and loose mindset required clarification and the already mentioned cleaning up...along with some of the usual editing elements. 

So, it was work, all for the greater good. For the story.

It made me step back and look at some other long pieces. As I waited for the next batch of edits from the editor/publisher, I dug into other long pieces, keeping my editing chops in high gear. I reedited three novellas: The Ouroboros Ballads, which required a fair amount of cleaning up; Souls at Zero, that required barely anything but minor tweaks (I knew this before I started the reediting for that one as it's perhaps the cleanest piece of long fiction I've written, though right now I've started a re-read and possible edit of a novel called Mother Chaos that I've spotted no edits needed so far, so perhaps I do know what I am doing); and The Great God Pollock, the latest completed novella, one that was probably just going to get another edit anyway, but with the mindset locked in hardcore, yeah, that one didn't require much editing, but is much sharper now. 

Point being, editing OSA kicked my writer's brain into top editing mode and I love being there again, seeing everything with crystal clarity and snipping away without hesitation, haha... 

So, that's my brief update, with more news about my upcoming 46000-word novel/novella/whatever soon. Excuse me, my 42000-word novel/novella/whatever; editing chopped off almost 4000 words!

Over the next couple of months until release day (September 26. 2026), I'll blog details and more about OUR SAVAGE ANATOMIES, to pique your interest so perhaps you'll pick up a copy and go along for one wild ride! 

There's a lot on the way! 

This art comes courtesy of Zhou Song. 

"Closer: Quarantine Journals from a Parallel World" - A Bleak Poem Written March 19-20, 2020

Allow me to really mess with your heads, friends. "Closer: Quarantine Journals from a Parallel World" is a poem, sure, but it's more than that. 

Much more.

There's over a thousand words here, for one thing, utilizing Joy Division's Closer album song titles to distinguish sections; to lead us through the hell to come (at the time, in that parallel world). The timing is the other. 

This poem was written March 19-20, 2020.

Yes, March 19-20, 2020, exactly six years ago today. A few days after the company I formerly worked for sent us home, stating it might be a while before we get back to work...because Covid had sunk its teeth into the nation, and the world. 

As you read this, remember that info. I've maybe changed a handful of words since it was initially written. It came out like this, white hot and bleak as Hell. As bleak as this goes--and it is truly a bleak speculation--the present state of the world, though much different than what the poem posits, actually confirms elements within the poem, about those in a position of power. And how they do not give a fuck about anything but their own vile dreams. 

*I had a note after the poem, but I'm leaving that out to let the poem stand on its own. 

Anyway... 

*

Closer: Quarantine Journals from a Parallel World                                       

(written March 19-20/2020)

By John Claude Smith

 

 

 

All I ever want is to be close to you again—

 

The Atrocity Exhibition

 

The ineffectual leaders who think themselves overlords

Gods

--gelatinous slime, scum scrapped from the bowels of humanity, reptilian and cold-blooded:

Frozen--

Deemed the evidence inconsequential

But if their minions needed reassurance

Lies would be the method of protocol

As usual

Those of us with a bit of intelligence sensed the ripple in the life-waves and understood

Sharks can smell blood from miles away

The travesty played out daily until it became obvious the evidence had merit

 

It was already too late.

 

Isolation

 

One on one with myself for the foreseeable future

A future in question

foreseen or obliterated by ignorance

Apathy

Not mine

I’m sticking to self-imposed quarantine in a room about the size of my back pocket

 

This will not end well.

 

Passover

 

After too many weeks having surrendered to the malaise of hibernation

We are shaken from beneath the rocks of maddening seclusion and into the heart of hope

Rebirth

A sign that things will improve

As filtered through malevolent leaders sowing aberrant ideologies

we can only wonder as to the foundation

--how can anybody think in such deplorable terms during times as bleak as these? --

Having spent time with myself

I need contact

Conversation in the flesh

 —something, anything—

But in what form?

The world is changing—the world has changed-- and continues to change

But this change is mutation

The plague wavers

Yet reshapes itself as well

And sinks its fangs into humanity

Not willing to let go

Draining us of purpose

While the sycophants celebrate in drunken

Hedonistic revelry

I know those running the show

Have other plans…

 

My wariness is a crutch I will lean on until it snaps.

 

Colony

 

Knowing this much

I become a colony unto myself

A different shade of isolation

I am the ruler of the flesh-land of me

While the despicable tyrants continue to drone on and on

From the television screen that never fades to black

Even as I know I’ve turned it off repeatedly

Yet there the smiling monsters are

High and mighty and driven by deception

The fabrications draped over the nation like Christmas lights

 

A wreath of colors like an ever-patient noose.

 

A Means to an End

 

When sanity is embraced by the smirking malice of madness

I find myself on the kitchen floor with a steak knife in my hand

Tears polishing the tiles

Praying to a god I know exited this circus long ago

 

Weakness is the only reason I am still here.

 

Heart and Soul

 

I awaken days later on the carpet of my tiny bedroom

The air smells different

I’d left the window open and am refreshed by the breeze ruffling the curtains

I slowly rise

stand naked in front of the window as so many others are doing

our smiles emit a sound

a hum that can only be thought of as joy

The sound reverberates through each of us

I listen deeper and pick up the strains from the television I’d left on

The television that never sleeps

A vaccine has been forged in the dark soul of this horror

I stare at the heavens and wonder if God is staring back

I wonder if this was the biggest test we will ever have to endure as a species

Then I hear another sound

Like tinfoil crinkling and the crackle of flesh burning

--the smell is present as well—

And realize it is all for naught

Those in charge are still in charge and I can only fathom as to what wickedness awaits

 

Distortions of hope are now sideshow entertainment.

 

Twenty-Four Hours

 

We are told by the evil that has exacerbated this charade the “vaccine” is ready for all

No strings attached

Their smiles are insidious

Their methods have always been vile

These corrupt puppet masters

But the thought of stepping out into the world again

Out of my apartment-like-cell

Is too strong to halt my step as I join the line like everybody else

And take the needle with the poison into my arm

Illusions of freedom cultivated by plague demons are what we’ve accepted

 

Fools.

 

The Eternal

 

A month after what is known as the Second Coming

A curious designation the sinister conmen have stolen from the Christian bible

That they use for toilet paper and subtle mind-control

Their followers no better than dogs lapping up the dogma as if it were law

Barking their approval

Those like myself realize

There is no rehabilitation for avaricious greed of the magnitude

a few dismal blights on the face of this planet have courted

The Second Coming was of our stolen freedom

Their spiel

Their rhetoric

The lies lies lies lies lies

Imprinted on our minds

Bruises tattooed on every thought

Freewill rendered obsolete

Narcistic reaffirmation as to their mighty standing unto themselves

As if they were blessing us with existence

And the followers still cheered

But even on the screen I could see the bloodless realization of their cowardice

The white-faced shock of realization and surrender

 

While I would never give in.

 

Decades

 

The seconds would crawl

The minutes would mock

The hours would chime cheerfully

The months would meander

The years would lengthen

Five, ten, fifteen…

Fifty, one hundred

Two-hundred, five hundred

A thousand

Infinite

And we would all be exactly where we were right now

Locked within rooms

Locked within ourselves

Because the vaccine was nothing of the sort

Just as the plague was nothing of the sort

Simply two steps in a course of action by a handful of sociopaths

—lunatics; devils—

Meant to capture humanity in the palms of small hands and small minds

With ubiquitous omnipotence as their only goal

The vaccine had planted the seed of immortality

The final nail in the coffin of what might once have been a hopeful species

 

Immortality had become our curse, our reason to dream of death

Meandering without salvation

Stuck in the in-between

Stuck

--please hold, your message is very important to us--

 

 

The television volume buzzes louder

As faux idols prance in garments crafted from twinkling diamonds

Glistening gold

And blood

A cockroach scampers across the wood floor of the kitchen

I cherish its company

 

All I ever wanted was to be Closer to you again…

 

I pray to a god I know was never more than frivolous fantasy

That hope suffers as I do

as we do

Alone

Until the sun turns to ash

Or the earth loses its orbit and hurtles into oblivion

Or my heart simply explodes.

*

I would usually say I hope you enjoyed that, but enjoyment might not be the appropriate response. 

In forthcoming blog posts I'll be digging into details about my soon to be published novel, Our Savage Anatomies, among many more poems, short fiction, observations, reviews, meanderings...

Let's Step "Into The Void" with My Black Sabbath Poem

 With the final performance for the original line-up of Black Sabbath imminent, I was reminded I'd written a poem a couple years ago as a response to their song, "Into The Void." I remember reading the lyrics for the song and thinking, "there's a story here," but when I went to write the story, it let me know the proper presentation was as a poem. 

Anyway, reread the lyrics for the song and bounce those off the bleak SF vibe (which is also quite timely, even as I wrote the poem in response to lyrics written fifty or so years ago) I've written here. 

Enjoy! 

Into The Void 

By John Claude Smith (of course!)

 

 

Colossal ships soar into the vast black sea of night                          

 

A baker’s dozen Drakkar dragons spitting flames

as they tear a hole into the ebony sky wide as the devil’s smile

Hurling toward the vast unknown

as dictated by Newton’s third law of motion

     along with undetected distortions within the field of quantum physics   

while abandoning legions deemed unworthy

Noses raised in allegiance with human avarice

     (We pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of Depravity)

a perception one-sided, the absence of empathy reveals

the sluggish heartbeat of the atavistic adjudicators.

 

Time is the engine of space

 

One finally utilized in interstellar travel

(though still without pure understanding)

The first wave stops second hands on the Great Eternal Clock

The deception lingers unconfirmed as the ships sail onward

Galaxies surrender to their trespass

Universes succumb to the lazy pull

of wave after wave crashing shorebound

upon the abandoned beaches of Infinity

where stars blink into nonexistence

while the wasteland reconstitutes

as one with what they thought they left behind

disgusted by those deemed subhuman

below them while their knees bend

to capitalism and insatiable appetites

bound to unwavering greed

that fuels their ill celebrated escape

 

But to what true purpose?

 

Those left behind flourish without

the cruel components of class of which to bow

no god but Mother Earth deemed worthy

While those who race to the stars

watch as a single second eventually passes

swallowed after months of mastication

     Time now a snail’s pace consideration…

What looms is the bleakest outcome ever imagined

bellies never filled, dreams whittled to dust

their just reward: existence by rote

 

the     empty      embrace      of      immortality

 

all goals muffled in the ears of Hope

the song that arises a harrowing cry to anguish

breath and dreams devoured as they drift forever

 

Into The Void.

And here's a photo of the boys. ;-)