Autumn in the Abyss: An Introduction & Pre-Orders.

The time has come!  In a whirlwind that included intense editing--even a day on skype reading the stories back and forth and tweaking them to as close to perfection as humanly possible--as well working on the cover art and adjusting those damn beautiful horns to perfection--a move away from the little horns and the follow-up Mickey Mouse looking ones; me chatting with my girlfriend, Alessandra Bava, and she noting what editor/publisher Kate Jonez and I had noted: they might be construed as Mickey Mouse ears! No, we can't have that.  Alessandra suggesting they should be bigger, he's a big man.  How about ram's horns? I passed this on to Kate and awakened the next morning to "Eureka!" from her and those horns, symbolic and so damn perfect for the Sexy Beast who adorns the cover and narrates the title story--we are ready!

That's a lot of "perfection/perfect" for one rambling sentence, but you get the gist.

We Are Ready!

Autumn in the Abyss, my second collection of horror/dark fiction tales is available for pre-order adesso!  [That's Italian for Now!] The paperback, at least.  The ebook will come soon, I'm sure. 

What's that?  Well, sure, the TOC:

Autumn in the Abyss

Broken Teacup

La mia immortalità

Becoming Human
Where the Light Won’t Find You


Yes, a sweet, bloody handful of horror.  Two novelettes and three inter-connected via a recurring character short stories.  I'll blog details and samples, teasers, what-nots and whatever over the next couple weeks until the book is officially released on the 3rd of March. 

Pre-order now so you can get a copy ASAP--As Soon As Published.  Please and Thank You! 
:-)

I can't wait for you to read these tales and get to know all about poet Henry Coronado's bleak, self-annihilating history; the mysterious Mr. Liu; Detective Bobby Vera and his dealings with the copycat follower of the monster, Corbin Andrew Krell, and so much more.

Here's the purchasing info: 

http://www.amazon.com/Autumn-Abyss-John-Claude-Smith/dp/061597273X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1392510107&sr=8-1&keywords=Autumn+in+the+Abyss+John+Claude+Smith

Here's a little blog Alessandra wrote and I will expand on when I blog about the title story:

http://networkedblogs.com/TR9qW

Here's the poetry beast in all his glory:

Are you ready?  Let's rock!
:-)
 

Be My Valentine, Love is Hell Version: Flash Fiction: "Numb."

I've posted this flash fiction piece before, but since it's that time of year and I have missed the last two Monday posts because of intense editing sessions on my upcoming book, Autumn in the Abyss (more on that in a post soon; as well as story samples, etc.), just gotta get the rhythm back, soooooo...

"Numb."

After a relationship break-up 9 1/2 or so years ago, I sank deep.  Lost track of everything, I was a mess.  Even lost track of writing.  But there came a point when what's important periscoped up out of my personal hell; a personal hell most of us have experienced in our own, special, self-annihilating way.  I slowly started writing short stories again.  Sure, they were all constructed around my shattered mindset at that time, but not in always expected ways.  This one, though, the second story--a flash piece, as noted in the title--was along the lines one would expect after going through the mental and physical grinder.  This one bites hard.  I wrote a lot more about it in another blog post. So, without further adieu...


***

Numb

by John Claude Smith



He feels nothing: numb, empty…    

He resorts to cutting himself as an exercise in sensation, in trying to feel something at a time when he feels nothing. 

But even that does not break through.

He still feels nothing.

Acquiring a scalpel was easy, Tammy works at the clinic.  She brought one to him without questions.  He took it from her two days ago and closed the door before she had the opportunity to invite herself in or intrude in any other way. 

He did not care about how rude it came off.

He does not care about much of anything.

But her.  Alicia.  The woman he loves.

The woman who left him.  

(How could she leave me?  How could she give up on us?  The thoughts roll by in his head like a never ending freight train, its self-destructive cargo branded in torturous repetition.)

He places the scalpel against his naked chest, pressing hard.  The blade digs deep, blood streaming over his abdomen.

Nothing.

He grunts from the effort as he pulls the blade down.  The incision is deep, opening his insides to the world. 

Not quite.

It opens him, but will require the effort of his bare hands to continue the process.

Still, he is numb.

He sets the scalpel down and thrusts his fingers into the fresh wound.  Pulling with supreme effort, he pries his chest wide open.  Muscles and bones are wrenched from their usual homes, tearing and breaking.

He stops, sucks in a weary breath, and gazes into the moist, red cavity.

He jostles things, moves them about, rearranging the internal in ways that give him access to his goal.

The thick muscle’s rhythm is consistent, even though this more extreme exercise would normally render one dead.

He feels dead inside already.

He reaches in with both hands, scalpel severing arteries, clean cuts that lack precision yet serve their purpose.  Within minutes, he holds the beating heart in his hands.

Still, he feels nothing.

Well, what is the point of it all, then?

(He remembers how she used to put her hand on his chest, palm down, feeling the love, their bond, sensing the rightness of it all, staring intensely into each other’s eyes—enraptured--we are one…and her cherishing it, him as well, so close, so close…“Let me drown in you,” she would say, and he would plead, “Let’s drown in us, please”…and both of them meaning it, unconditionally, without fear because this is what people live for in the first place!)

(Drowning now: drowning, flailing, sinking…)

He walks calmly to the car and starts it up, pulling out of the parking lot.  The night is deep and uncaring.  Nobody notices because at least other people can sleep. 

He hasn’t slept in weeks.

He drives to where she lives.  Sitting in the car, he stares at the apartment where she rents a room. 

He scribbles a note on a piece of paper and exits the car.

He places the still beating heart at the foot of the door with the note. 

No reason to knock or ring the doorbell; let her sleep.  Let them all sleep. 

Maybe someday he will sleep again as well…

He rereads the note: Since you own my heart, you might as well have it.

Unhappy and exhausted, he leaves, his head still reeling as the freight train rolls by. 

Perhaps this gesture will help her to understand. 

Perhaps she will just scream.

Numb, he drives alone into the deep and uncaring night…

***

Cheerful, eh? 

Well, writing got me through that, as it does through so much more.  Love does, too, after all is said and done and perhaps makes the pain make sense.  Well, not sure about that. but...

:-) 

 

"Beautiful." An Aberrant Tale About Perspective & Perception & A Whole Lot More.

There are a few keys to writing that grabs me.  A mastery of words is one, of course.  The words need to, as I like to put it, crackle.  There needs to be magic; they need to sing.  Another element that really draws me in is a sense of the fearless, of going boldly, or boldly going, where no writer has gone before.  Well, that's rather impossible in a manner of speaking, yet not so much if you know you're moving into explorative territory, at least for yourself.

Hence, "Beautiful."

Sometimes an idea comes that is so bizarre, one must laugh as it takes root, but also be aware that it IS taking root, and you're just going to have to deal with it. 

***

     We are beautiful.

     We of nine limbs and three pleasant smiles.  We, with we one great silver eye and many large breasts.  We, one of a kind and special because of it.

      We are beautiful.

***

That's the opening to the story.  It came to me, just like that.  I had no idea what or who We were, but it struck me as something to explore.  As the story took shape, it demanded so much more from me, though.  It touched on ideas of how people perceive others who are different (and how the media influences and corrupts perceptions).  It touched on how one's perspective shapes one's reality, as well as how the perspectives of others really should not matter.  What matters is what's inside each of us, a simple yet obvious statement.  It touched me as a writer because it demanded a consistency of tone and construction.  The "we" in the first sentence is not a group, it is one person; a person most might consider a freak.  When you read the whole story, you'll see exactly what I am getting at with the comment about tone and construction.  This is like reading the mind of another life form, yet it's not so foreign as to make understanding impossible. 

But that's all a matter of perspective, because where you're coming from is bound by everything that goes into the make-up of you; of each individual.  We all see things differently, perceive things in a way inherent to Who We Are--our distinct self--even if we connect, or at least feel connected to others; or perhaps more so if we don't feel that connection...  (Yeah, me thinking out loud; I don't map these things out, I'm trying to be regular with the Monday blog and have a tendency to wing it, see where it all leads.)  The world shapes those who are different in a negative way.  Why?  Especially those who have something visually different about their appearance than what we have come to understand as the norm.  As if, for example, the person with a birth defect has a choice about this.  They're still a person.  I shouldn't even write it like that.  They are a person.  Period.    

So, "Beautiful," my exploration of these themes.  Perhaps it's as much an exploration of what it really means to be human.  I mean, one of the stories written soon after it was a story called, "Becoming Human," which delved even deeper into the theme.  Themes run through our lives, our art.  I know some that have been with me forever and will be extrapolated to infinite possibilities.  This one, though, seems more recent, and I welcome its addition to my repertoire.  Something to, yeah, explore.  (Exploration is a major part of all I endeavor to do in this thing we call life, in all facets of living.)

Ha, yes, winging it, let's wrap it up.  Where was I?
:-)

Where can you find, "Beautiful"?  In the brand-spanking new anthology released by Daverana entitled, Fossil Lake, An Anthology of the Aberrant.  That word, Aberrant, is what caught my eye.  I like that word.  Though there's a lot going on with "Beautiful"--layers, always layers--it is, if nothing else, quite aberrant; or, actually, it might simply be beautiful...  37 tales, a mix of fiction and poetry and, hey, Ramsey Campbell bookends the whole collection.

Enjoy!

   

"Black Hole Son." A Poem About The Viral, Three-Headed Cerberus Dominating The 21st Century: Spirituality, Technology & Media.

Or something.  Includes nods to Alice In Wonderland, The Exorcist, and more signposts on the road to WTF?  Yeah, sometimes as a writer--often, as far as I care--one must simply let the words flow and decipher messages and meaning afterward.  Hence, "Black Hole Son"--yeah, that's your Soundgarden nod, too--a hodgepodge of madness that, ultimately, carves a path toward salvation or, at least, acknowledges there is none. 

What?

Look, Monday Blog time and I am mentally fried, exhausted.  I was scribbling one on my take on the second Hobbit Movie, The Desolation of Smaug, but I'm not going to fight the exhaustion, so as a failsafe, I was thinking, share poetry.  Yeah, share poetry, John Claude.  But, I don't write easy little verses meant to make one smile and warm the cockles of one's heart.  Though, actually, anybody who smiles at this might be getting some cockle-warming, um...er...warmth (and that smile might be quite devious).

Cockles.  I think that's the first time I've ever used that word. 

Anyway, here's the poem, crude around the edges--so skip it if that's not your bag--mostly written about three years ago, I believe, though tweaked and tampered with, fondled and flayed, over the last couple days, to make it, um...

Just read it and remember it's © 2014 by John Claude Smith.

:-)

Black Hole Son

 

 

Down the rabbit hole we tumble,

Alice with a cross jammed into her vagina,

“Fuck me, Jesus,” followed by a tip of the hat

to the Maddest Hatter of them all:

Religion, by any other name

still pricks with thorny abandon.

“Praise Allah!  Praise Technology!”

Infected impact of overbearing ideals,

illusions of faith falsely constructed

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come,

And Take the Dreams Away…

 

But He‘s got a cross to bear,

so bear witness to his cross defense:

 

Ommmmm said the anchorman,

anchored to ideals based on the perfectly plastic hairstyle.

Ego and substance battle for the rights to

Spirituality. Humanity. Ratings!

Contagion sandblasted like blood off the cross.

“Praise Jesus! Praise Bill Gates!”

As technology tweaks the Shroud of Turin--

the appropriate Jurassic Park impetus--

cloning The Second Coming for Prime Time approval.

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come,

And Take The Madness Away.

 

Enter stage left, the stars of this absurdity,

featureless foes fortified on faux features:

 

American Idol? How about Mythbusters?

Spreading like a rash, a disease,

mad cow disease for those who follow like sheep.

Alice still screaming, “Fuck me, Jesus!”

while live cams and duplicitous sponsors

await the true climactic moment--it’s cumming, it’s cumming!

At the hands of the intrusive (24/7) Sinister Technology,

a viral spirituality that has corrupted the world

to our own gleefully negligent approval.

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You Come--

Come As You Are, Fercrissakes!

 

Patience a withered and weary March Hare, 

a disgruntled Red Queen in grim observance:

 

Down the rabbit hole humanity tumbles,

hands clenched in prayer to the Real Religion.

one basked not in blinding spiritual glow,

but blinding ignorance and social media seduction

tallied as How Many Friends one has on Facebook

or who we follow on twitter--such twitiotic times!

Oh, did you see the latest sound byte/snapshot/ego stroke blurb

from [fill in the blank space with the latest bland celebri-soul]?

Hence, Psalm 69 from the New Dark Age Bible:

 

“Sold my soul to the devil for a pack o’ cigarettes and some Taco Bell.

Felt I got the best part o’ the deal even with the gas. [cont.]

 

[cont.] You see, I wasn’t using it anyway, this so-called soul,

So what’s the use o’ carryin’ it around?  It didn’t fill the dead space…”

 

Black Hole Son, Won’t You--

Won’t You?  Please…?

 

Alice no longer curiouser and curiouser,

simply bleeding from self-imposed spiritual abuse:

 

While the water cooler zombies gossip about the celebri-soul’s every word,

God, the ultimate carrier/enabler, gleefully guns down rumors and ideals

in the latest version of Grand Theft Auto, 

with a Pazuzu possessed Regan MacNeil humping his leg BigTime

in the celestial wasteland, not heaven

but the vacant expanse where dead souls used to reside.

Now, dead souls and dwindling hope share the s p a c e,

feast on the empty airways where the corrosion of self

has reached code blue--critical mass.

 

Black Hole Son, You Have Come,

Deceptive and Divine!

 

Shaped by the technologically corrosive landscape the Viral Spirituality feeds on dreams and designs, a narcissistic future based on need and not necessity.

A black hole, son, a void within a void within a void.

 

Amen

…and pass the remote control.

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, that's the heart.  Here's some info on the cockles.
http://www.wisegeek.org/what-are-the-cockles-of-your-heart.htm 
Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2014: Waiting In The Wings--Stories, A New Book, The Need For Consistency, Etc.

Thinking about how to approach the blog again, been lean for awhile.  If I say there will be consistency, will there be?  A regular post at least on Mondays, perhaps; more posts when necessary, what with story publications, book stuff, random thoughts.  I'm good when it comes to writing fiction when it comes to consistency, usually finding time to "be with the words," as I like to say, even on the days when I'm less driven or I allow distractions to dictate.  For me, focus is the key.  The last couple weeks have been less than perfect, but with the holiday, I expected that.  So now I am circling and about to swoop down and pounce, take my Words back, and firmly entrench myself in the novel in progress.

And ramble on as I often do. 

So, let's get to what's upcoming in 2014 so far, as there's a lot in the pipeline.

My Heavy Metal Horror story, "Louder, Faster..." will appear in the Axes of Evil anthology put together by Alex Johnson, a fellow writer whose work I need to know better; he seems to have his head in the right place; a strange place, sure, but that's a good thing, hehe...  On the ultimate coolness side of things, Lucy Taylor will also be amongst the stellar TOC of this anthology.  Lucy Taylor!  Her Unnatural Acts and Other Stories was a landmark collection for me, influential and essential so, yeah, stoked about this whole deal.

The story that will squirm into your head, leave its mutant babies, and make you most uncomfortable, "Beautiful," will appear in the Fossil Lake anthology, edited by Christine Morgan.  Sometimes, something so out of left field seeps into my brain...and I run with it.  This story, the tone and voice, are utterly unique, alien in a way, yet a human foundation holds it up; but a human of--No!  Can't give it all away.  The guidelines mentioned wanting aberrant stories...well, this one, this one...[shivers]  Trust me, it will really mess with your head.

I entered a story into the SQ Mag short fiction contest because they publish Quality fiction and thought I'd give it a shot.  Didn't win, but was pleased to be in the top six, which means you'll get to read, "It's Only Going To End Badly," at some point soon.  Some things go bad; some things go sideways; some things, well...you'll see.

I have a reprint in the first Heartcore anthology, another one put together by Alex Johnson.  This was crazy as the page was put together on FB, mention of submissions posted, and about twenty minutes after I submitted my story, "My True Name," there was a notification on FB that I was mentioned in a comment.  The comment was the TOC so far for the anthology...and there I was.  Probably the fastest acceptance I've ever had. 

I should also mention I will have a poem, "The Dead Souls Work Song," published at some point in the middle of the year, though details are still being ironed out. 

Ah, but the Biggest News, not that any of what I've mentioned so far doesn't bring a smile to my face (as well as to my dark heart), but the Excellent, High Quality Dark Fiction publisher, Omnium Gatherum, will be publishing my second book, a kind of mini-collection centered on my 14,000 word novelette, Autumn In The Abyss.  Details still being worked out, even the actual title--though AITA will most probably be a part of the title--but this one, oh yes.  As a writer, I always want to push myself, never settle for the average or formuliac elements in my fiction.  Autumn In The Abyss does just this.  One of the two best pieces of fiction I have ever written, yes, according to moi, and something I hope you all enjoy, because it's quite a ride, indeed.   Poetry, history, the power of Words in ways most lethal.   

Yes, two mentions of Quality. This matters to me. 

But...there's even more percolating underneath.  I am deep into the second draft of a novel that has a strong William S. Burroughs element...as well as the man himself, though not in the form of a man, not exactly, as well as three perspectives, with one being, perhaps, unreliable.  Which means it is really working my brain in ways I have never stretched the imagination.  I don't believe in comfort zones when it comes to my art.  This one is anything but.

Or something, but that's a start.  You ready for all of this?  Deeper details and samples will be featured when the stories and book are released, as well as I will touch the writing of others who inspire, movies, art, music, this and that.  Yeah, shaking it all up and getting back to that one thing that needs to be addressed: consistency.  For me, more happens when I am locked in and writing regularly.  More happens when a lot of things in life are dealt with regularly, y'know?  (My workouts, reading, etc.)  Just part of the deal.  So, I ask again...

Are you ready?

Strap in, let's get to it! 

Here's a picture of the giant bird "purported to come from an antimatter galaxy" from the movie, The Giant Claw.  Why?  Well, I titled this, Waiting in the Wings, had no picture in mind to add to it, so thought, Pterodactyl wings, for whatever reason--that's my mind for ya--and then shifted that to this movie, one from my youth that I stole the idea from when I was a wee lad for a class and...sure, some day ask me about that whole mess.  Anyway, here's the handsome fella...

Black Friday-->Cyber Monday DARKness!

Okay, about time I started blogging again, what with A LOT happening in 2014, so what better way to kick things into gear than with a 99 cents sale on the ebook version of my collection, The Dark Is Light Enough For Me.

Yes, for all of you have have thought, hmmmm, maybe; for all of you wondering what the hell John Claude is jabbering on about?; for all of you looking for some "not your average horror" dark fiction, welllllllllllllll...

99 cents!

99 bloody cents--that's all!


Read the reviews, but here's a couple of prime snippets to inspire you to either
a) buy the ebook, it's damned cheap
or
b) think even more so, what the hell is this John Clause Smith up to as a writer.

Or something.

"It is a rarity that a short story collection can speak to me with each of its tales, rarer still that the voice be so articulate. While I can definitely appreciate elements of "splatterpunk," too many modern horror author don't even go that bloody route, instead remaining in a safe "horror lit" style. Smith goes elsewhere, a bleak universe that one gets glimpses of in works by Harlan Ellison, H.P. Lovecraft, and occasionally Clive Barker. The intellect powering these nightmares is a staggering, transcendental monster in itself. ..."--Brian Fatah Steele, Horror Writer.

"In a market that is pretty much saturated with the tiredest of horror tropes (vampires, zombies, werewolves), along comes this refreshing debut collection by John Claude Smith. And when I say refreshing, I certainly don't mean "lightweight". The darkness itself, in fact, is very much a constant character in these stories of guilt, hubris, paranoia, abuse, vanity, addiction, desire and depravity. ..."--David Antrobus, Writer (dark stuff and otherwise)

Okay, you get the gist.  Read em all if you need convincing.  Or buy the book and decide for yourself.

Enjoy the DARKness!

:-)

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Light-Enough-Me-ebook/dp/B0065M28L6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1320955068&sr=8-1


Up next: news about my New Book, out early in 2014, as well as info on some short story sales, as well as me going on about other writer's books I like, music and movies and who knows what else, too?  Stick around. 
:-)

Current, Worthy Horror Books That Have Caught My Eye...

Yes, I know.  Been awhile.  Been busy, but am here and want some kind of consistency again, so let's get rolling with some current horror books that look quite worthy.  Before I go on, I must admit, I've still yet to really utilize my Kindle Fire.  Books collect there, but I've yet to really dive in, though with some of these current releases fitting my budget better in that form, well...I must make it a goal to dig in and make it work for me. 

That said...

The Grimscribe Puppets, edited by Joe S. Pulver, a writer of worth if ever there was one, collects 22 stories inspired by the work of Thomas Ligotti.  This one goes to the top of my Amazon Wish List.  I mean, look at the TOC. 

Livia Llewellyn “Furnace”
Daniel Mills “The Lord Came at Twilight”
Michael Cisco “The Secrets of the Universe”
Kaaron Warren “The Human Moth”
Joel Lane “Basement Angels”
Darrell Schweitzer “No Signal”
Robin Spriggs “THE XENAMBULIST: A Fable in Four Acts”
Nicole Cushing “The Company Town”
Cody Goodfellow “The Man Who Escaped This Story”
Michael Kelly “Pieces of Blackness”
Eddie M. Angerhuber “The Blue Star”
Jon Padgett “20 SIMPLE STEPS TO VENTRILOQUISM”
Robert M. Price “The Holiness of Desolation”
Michael Griffin “Diamond Dust”
Richard Gavin “After the Final”
Scott Nicolay “Eyes Exchange Bank”
Simon Strantzas “BY INVISIBLE HANDS”
Paul Tremblay “Where We Will All Be”
Allyson Bird “Gailestis”
Jeffrey Thomas “The Prosthesis”
John Langan “Into the Darkness, Fearlessly”
Gemma Files “OUBLIETTE”

Yeah, worthy writers all.  I need this one.  I've always enjoyed Ligotti's unique work and mindset in the horror realm.  Heck, the title story of my first collection, The Dark Is Light Enough For Me, actually utilizes a main character somewhat based on this Ligotti mindset, so this anthology has my interest, no doubt.


Kate Jonez, who runs the excellent publishing house, Omnium Gatherum, with worthy releases by, among others, Ennis Drake and S.P. Miskowski, has just released her debut novel via Evil Jester Press, Candy House.  Here's the blurb: "In Kate Jonez's debut novel, CANDY HOUSE, a brilliant young scientist moves back home with his parents because his explosive temper has ruined his career. His neighbors, a family of witches, imps and demons, are charged with keeping science under control. They must, by using their debauched and twisted magic, stop Roland before he fulfills his destiny and makes a deadly discovery that will change the nature of humanity forever."  Sounds like fun, eh?  The Look Inside sample is most tasty, so I will be picking this up for the Kindle this week. 


I picked up Nicole Cushing's  Children of No One recently for my Kindle--further inspiration to use the damn thing--and it looks more than worthy, right up my dark literary alley, actually.  Here's the blurb: "Sadism, nihilism, poverty, wealth, screams, whimpers, sanity and madness collide in Nowhere, Indiana.  For Thomas Krieg, Nowhere is a miles-long, pitch-black underground maze in which he's imprisoned dozens of boys for the past ten years—all in the name of art.  For two brothers, Nowhere is the only place they clearly remember living. A world unto itself, in which they must stay alert to stay alive. A world from which the only escape is death.  But for an English occultist known only as Mr. No One, Nowhere is much more...and much less: the perfect place in which to perform a ritual to unleash the grandest of eldritch deities, the God of Nothingness, the Great Dark Mouth."
Sounds like total warped fun to me. 


What?  You want instant gratification?  Well, you can get the latter two titles for your Kindle in the blink of an eye...or read this, Laird Barron's first professional short story sale, reprinted at Nightmare Magazine: "Shiva, Open Your Eye."  Kind of a wicked piece from one of our best, most worthy writers of the Dark Stuff.

Don't forget, one of my most recent published stories, "This Darkness," appears in the recently released anthology, For The Night Is Dark.  A worthy endeavor, indeed, I'm in good company.  As I check the page, there's also a couple of cool reviews--excellent! 


So, there's a few things, check em out, as I expect to do. 

:-)

Here's an, ahem, eye-catching image from O__u_R_sick.  Not exactly what I had in mind when I titled this blog post, but...um...

O.o