The Blurb-apocalypse.

 What? 

Well, with the publication of Autumn in the Abyss Redux, which collects all of Autumn in the Abyss, all of Occasional Beasts: Tales, and six stories from The Dark is Light Enough for Me, and looking to get some new reviews or at least having anybody who has read any of those books and reading this willing to dump the old reviews on Amazon or Goodreads for the new, expanded collection, thought I might drop some of the original blurbs in a blog post to drum up some interest. 

When we released the new book, it was done on the fly, without any pre-order period because I was dealing with Life stuff and when it was ready, I was just happy to get it out. That said, most of the time--and especially for a new book--the plan will be to have an ample period beforehand to contact reviewers and even set up interviews and/or podcasts to discuss the books; again, this is the mindset for new material, though I would gladly get into any- and every- thing promotion-wise with this book and the forthcoming re-issue of Riding the Centipede, my Stoker-finalist debut novel.

So, that's where I am with this post. Blurbs galore. The Blurb-apocalypse, as noted in the title. 

Here goes: 

A few of the original Autumn in the Abyss blurbs: 

These five emotionally complex tales ask, above all, what it means to be human in a tempestuous universe. What part of ourselves do we owe to the pursuit of goodness, especially if there's no apparent advantage to being good? How can we define ourselves in the absence of moral authority? Blurred lines of identity, the role of the artist, and the nature of temptation are explored in these stories of sacrifice and self-destruction. Autumn in the Abyss is another dark and captivating collection from a writer who isn't afraid to plumb the depths of our greatest and most dangerous desires. --S.P. Miskowski Shirley Jackson Award nominated author of The Skillute Cycle

The stories in John Claude Smith's new collection take their characters to the limits of human experience, the places where our bodies come asunder in the face of the abyss. Positioning his stories in the seams of our cultural history, Smith chronicles the efforts of artists of all stripes--poets, musicians, sculptors, filmmakers--to break through our common experience to another, more essential one that is painted in blood. It's a quest that draws these artists into proximity with the serial-killer in the book's single and singular tale of a police detective's obsessive manhunt. Whether with pen or carving knife, Smith's characters will not stop until they have gone too far, into a space where revelation and terror are part of the same, vast thing. --John Langan, author of The Wide, Carnivorous Sky and Other Monstrous Geographies

The Rhythmic flow of John's words instantly absorbs you into his world, bringing not only his words to life, but the story as well. --Joe Mynhardt, Crystal Lake Publishing

 

...and a few of the original Occasional Beasts: Tales blurbs: 

"John Claude Smith's collection Occasional Beastsis a dark mosaic of the weird, the surreal, and the bizarre. These stories willdig into your brain-meat and take up permanent residence there. Highly recommended!" -- Tim Waggoner, author of The Mouth of the Dark

"Smith has mastered the delicate art of dread, transcending genre to put his stamp on weird horror. Provocative and terrifying, he groundsOccasional Beasts in the human condition while warping the walls of reality in fourteen tales that are not for the faint of heart." -John Foster, author of Mister White and Dead Men

"Occasional Beasts is yet another dazzling collection of dark imaginings from the mind of John Claude Smith. His evocative prose,mastery of atmosphere, and wildly original concepts manage to cast a spell on the reader that is as alluring as it is unsettling. There is a certain glorious madness that permeates this collection, as well as a fearless, visceral writing style that demands your attention. Smith's beautifully rendered and complex characters show us the uncomfortable truth about the occasional beastlinessthat dwells within us all." -- Taylor Grant, Two-time Bram Stoker AwardNominee, The Dark at the End of theTunnel

"A tumble down a dark slide with stories extremely dark, poetic and metaphysical, Occasional Beasts feels like holding hands witha demon while an angel whispers in your ear. Not to be missed for those predisposed." -- John Palisano, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Nerves andAll That Withers 

"John Claude Smith's Occasional Beasts lurks in the subconscious long after the last page. Despair becomes peace, and the soul is left a scream in the darkness as these tales churn through your psyche. As if traversing into an unknown forest refusing to give way to sanity, each story creeps deeper and deeper into nightmare and terror. Occasional Beasts: Tales is a must-read, but do so with the lights on." --Alex Scully, editor Firbolg Publishing

Here's the link for Autumn in the Abyss Redux.

And here's a fantstic photo of My Love, Alessandra...and Joe Landsdale, back when Occasional Beasts: Tales, was just out and she went to one of his readings in Rome, Italy. 

The Pinworm Factory: A Tribute to Eraserhead

 Scott Dwyer of Plutonian Press has published some stellar anthologies (Phantasm/Chimera: An Anthology of Strange and Troubling Dreams, Pluto in Furs: Tales of Diseased Dreams and Seductive Horrors, Pluto in Furs 2, and The Pinworm Factory: A Tribute to Eraserhead), as well as a fantastic collection, Carrion Men by Jeffrey Thomas. I've been lucky to have tales in some of the collections. I look forward to every publication from this amazing small press because of the distinct, unique vision Dwyer brings to the table with what he wants, which is definitely not familiar horrors. He likes to dig deeper into places one might rather avoid, which has also been one of my primary goals as a writer of weird horror fiction. 

I enjoy working with Scott because he brings honest, unflinching perspectives to the tales I've brought him. He's made suggestions that have pushed me to explore a different avenue within a tale that made the tale stronger, as I did with the ending of "Chrysalis," from Phantasm/Chimera was completely rewritten, while a suggestion in shifting the ending of another moved us back to the original. He's not set in the mindset that his suggestion will be the right one, though it comes with a lot of thought, he just wants to see something within the tale from a different angle, trying to find the true strength in what it can be. I always like working with editors who do this, the give and take of the process being inspiring for me.

Anyway, beside the point and moving forward, here's the ad copy for his latest venture, The Pinworm Factory: A Tribute to Eraserhead.

Smoke-stained skies. Abhorrent bodies hidden in shadow. Squirming fetuses under your blankets. Dark wet abysmal holes. Welcome to the world of Eraserhead. David Lynch's filmic dream of strange and troubling things. Now with The Pinworm Factory, we plunge deeper into that world. The Pinworm Factory is a literary homage to Eraserhead, seeking to further explore its themes and ideas. Inside this factory, you will find nightmares and body horror crafted just for you. This short story collection features works inspired by Eraserhead by such amazing authors as Michael Cisco, Mike Allen, LC Von Hessen, Adam Golaski, Roland Blackburn, and Kurt Fawver among others.

Included 'among others' is yours truly with a psycho-sexual nightmare called, "Emma Unbound." It is one of my personal favorite tales I've written, but with the TOC of top-notch writers, there's much to devour here for those into uncommon horrors. 

(Excuse me. I went to Dwyer's FB page to snag the full list of contributors as well as credit for the fabulous cover art. Here ya go: "Cover art by the amazing Don Noble. Featuring stories by Michael Cisco, Sara Century, Adam Golaski, Sam Richard, K. H. Vaughan, John Claude Smith, Rhys Hughes, Kurt Fawver, LC Von Hessen, Brendan Vidito, Mike Allen, Maria Barnes, Liliana Carstea, and Roland Blackburn." That's a killer list, I must say!) 

It all sounds like too much grim fun to me, so why don't you pick up a copy today?! One more time, as I've put a bunch of hyperlinks in this post for all of the Plutonian Press titles, as well as the label's blog, that will lead you to hours of excellent weird/body/erotic horror for your reading pleasure. Buy your copy of The Pinworm Factory: A Tribute to Eraserhead Here. 

***

     “Welcome home, sweetie,” a voice said. A voice without definition or gender. A voice threaded with something artificial, as if it were a machine, yet not a machine, an organic quality caressed the edges. A voice seething with menace. 

***

And here's the captivating cover. 

 

Waffle House: I May Be A Horror Writer But...

...I also write poetry that is all over the place when it comes to focus. Sure, a lot of it is dark, the themes veer from obsessions to addictions to many other off-ramps leaning into darkness. Dread is a favorite subject. Horror creeps into some, of course. And weirdness is threaded through many of them. 

Occasionally, I need a break or assume, as I am putting together a poetry collection, the reader might need a break from the heaviness, while still keeping it weird and/or amusing. 

Which brings me to Waffle House, a poem based on a true experience. Really, c'mon, for somebody just passing through the South--Louisiana, to be precise--one has to eat at a Waffle House at least once, to see what it's all about. 

This, my friends, is the truth about what it is all about. Vague as it may be. 

Enjoy!

***

Waffle House

 

I have no idea what she said

Menu options spoken in an

Alien language

Stared dumbfounded as her lips moved

Its lips moved

It could not have been of this earth

I nodded and said “sure”

Not knowing what I was agreeing to

Anal probes or a side of grits

The woman sitting across from me

A transient partner just passing through

Shrugged as we laughed

The outcome of our vague decisions

Still up in the air

Perhaps with The Mothership

Or the Starship Enterprise.

 

Waffle House, man

Good for a hearty breakfast

In the Twilight Zone…

***

I kid you not. That was one weird experience. 

While I am here, I will remind you I have a new, expanded reissue of my second collection that is looking for your eyes to read and perhaps your pen or keyboard to type up a review. Here's the link. Autumn in the Abyss Redux - Kindle edition by Smith, John Claude. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

And here's Waffle House!

 

Something's Happening: Reissues and More!

Somebody's laughing. God? The Universe? I made plans...and then the world tipped off its axis. 

After I'd published Occasional Beasts: Tales, what I felt it was my best collection and contained some of my best tales. I thought, yes, this will generate sales. 

It did not generate much of anything, sadly. 

This was 2018. I had been consistent in getting out a book or chapbook for a few years running, so decided to pull back on the reins, give myself and the readers, however few they may be, a break. I decided not to publish a book in 2019. 2020 would have to do.

Yeah, right. 

We all know what 2020 threw at us. Top that off with two of the three publishers for my books going out of business between then and Right Now, and nothing I had planned in my head was even in the realm of possibility. 

But, even amid the chaos of Covid, I kept writing. Sometimes sporadically, sometimes locked in. Strange times, but I tried to lean on writing as a way to keep myself sane, which is often what I lean on it for. 

Fast forward to late 2022. I hooked up with Crossroad Press for reissues of three of the books...which became three and a half. Up first is Autumn in the Abyss Redux, which will contain the five tales from that mini-collection, all of Occasional Beasts: Tales, and six tales from The Dark is Light Enough For Me. Twenty-Five in all, this is a burly beast of a collection, a recap of the first part of my so-called writing journey (though, TBH, a true summing up would include many of my earliest tales in a collection, which I might actually look into putting together at some point). Along with a re-issue of Riding the Centipede, my Stoker nominated debut collection, this seems a succinct way to re-introduce myself to the world today. Something like that, c'mon. 

But it's all with a purpose but not set plans. Not teasing out more laughter from any unknown, unseen forces, but I like getting these earlier titles re-issued with what should follow. 

What, exactly, should follow, JCS? 

Out in submission land, there's a lot going on. 

I have two completed novels (Odd Blue, originally called Birdland, as well as Our Savage Anatomies), along with a novella that needs me to shove it out of the nest, The Ouroboros Ballads, and, soon after that, another novel, The Ecstasy of Becoming. More details on all of these sooner than later.

That's a lot in the pipeline, a lot for a publisher and/or an agent to love. 

Add to that at least one compilation, tentatively titled, It's Hard To Be Me & Other Confessions...or something like that, haha...and even a poetry collection. 

So, plans falter, but I kept my nose to the grindstone and wrote a fair amount--this doesn't even include short stories and a long novelette/short novella, etc. Busy is good, as I often say. 

But for now, with more details to come, Autumn in the Abyss is up first. You know that from the previous blog post. This was supposed to be the lead in post for that one, but as noted already about how things go: plans? hahahaha... 

Are you ready for this? 

I certainly am!

Here's a link to the book: Autumn in the Abyss Redux - Kindle edition by Smith, John Claude. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

And, for the sake of amusement and because this is how it often feels when writing, here's J.G. Ballard's edits for the first page of Crash, one of my, if not my, favorite novels. 

Autumn in the Abyss Redux!!!

 Autumn in the Abyss Redux, a massive collection, kind of an overview of the first stage of my so-called writing career, is Out In The Wild Now! 

Thanks so much to Crossroad Press for working with me to bring this to You! 

So, what exactly is in the updated and expanded version of my second collection? Twenty-five tales, 479 pages, that's what? Over 160k words. Details? Here's the TOC: 

Autumn in the Abyss 

Black Wings

The Dark is Light Enough for Me

I Wish I Was a Pretty Little Girl 

Not Breathing 

Strange Trees 

Plastic 

Broken Teacup 

la mia immortalita 

Where the Light Won't Find You

Becoming Human

The Glove 

The Wounded Table 

A Declaration of Intent

Dandelions 

The Cooing 

The Occasional Beast That Is Her Soul

This Darkness 

Personal Jesus 

I Am... 

Beautiful 

Chrysalis 

Vox Terrae 

The Johnny Depp Thing 

The Land Lord

1 + 8-11 are the complete Autumn in the Abyss mini-collection. 2-7 are six of my favorite tales from my debut collection, The Dark is Light Enough For Me. 11-25 is ALL of Occasional Beast: Tales, my third collection. 

Here's the link so you can pick up your copy today: Autumn in the Abyss Redux - Kindle edition by Smith, John Claude. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

I have digital copies for reviewers, just get in touch. Also, if you reviewed any of the collections and would like to drop that review for the updated and expanded collection here, by all means, please do. Amazon and Goodreads, anywhere, everywhere. Thank you! 

Here's a low res but looks fine to me picture of the cover. 

There's A Lot Going On

 Yeah, I know. Haven't posted here in quite a while. Let's rectify that Right Now. 

What's up? 

Omnium Gatherum, the publisher of my books Autumn in the Abyss, Riding the Centipede, and Occasional Beasts: Tales, has gone out of business. A wonderful publisher, I was sad to see this happen. [ETA: my understanding is that by the end of the year, doors officially close.] Ah, but already I am working on getting those books back out to You early next year. I will follow up with details as things develop. 

What else?

I presently am shopping two novels to agents and will probably work them to publishers, too. But I started with agents thinking, Hey, JC, it's about time you got an agent!  

Birdland, though I may change the title to Odd Blue--I'm leaning that way--clocks in at 68k. 

Briefly: Birdland is a melting pot neighborhood that is invaded by a creature (Odd Blue) from another dimension set on annihilating humanity. The core of the novel deals with the interactions of gritty, diverse characters as events unfold leading to a confrontation with the creature. 

Our Savage Anatomies runs lean and mean at 46k. 

OSA includes werewolves and vampires and a mutation creature of a vampire and includes a mind-boggling [redacted; I cannot give away all the surprises] centerpiece and is, as I noted to my girlfriend as I was writing it, completely nuts! Yeah, everything and the kitchen sink AND the pipes and monsters that live in the pipes and, hey, what the hell is that? Yeah, so, it's a wild ride. 

I am wrapping up a novella called The Ouroboros Ballads this week (the file is up as I type this). Just tightening up the last 20-25 pages. It runs 36k and includes lyrics, c'mon! Music is a key, there's a mysterious guitar, and another humanity hating creature utilizing it all for its own apocalyptic designs or...something like that. Anyway, that will be done this week and I already have a publisher lined up who I hope will be interested. 

There's another novel in need of revisions, The Ecstasy of Becoming, more of a bizarre, fantastical tale that comes in around 51k at the moment, and, yes, Another Novel, this one in progress, that will probably be my primary focus for the next few months. More info sooner than later. 

Short fiction for magazines and antho calls will be interspersed throughout the process of writing the larger pieces, as well as poetry. I've been leaning a lot into poetry right now, keeping the writing chops sharp as I work through the fiction. 

So, as you can see, there's a lot going on. Busy is good, as I like to say. Now, time for me to shut up and get to it. 

I will be more regular in posting now that I've swiped away the cobwebs. 

Here's a photo of the Clark Nova I just picked up that I am using for my writing...and no, ha, but gotta love it. It IS the Clark Nova from David Cronenberg's spin on William S. Burroughs' Naked Lunch, one of my favorite movies. The 'other' typewriter from the movie is the more familiar insect one with the talking asshole, but I tried to use that one for a while and it just would not shut up! So, trying out the Clark Nova. Or not. 

;-) 

 

I Give You My Heart. Valentine's Day Flash Fiction.

 Why not? I haven't posted a blog post in...too long. But inspired by re-reading a grim flash fiction piece full of heart, I thought, Why not? 

Also, it gives me the opportunity to say, hey, I've been writing a lot. My novel, Birdland, is with agents, we'll see what, if anything, happens with them. I'm doing final revisions on another novel, Our Savage Anatomies. There's two collections in the mix (Winter in the Wasteland and Love in the Key of Suffering are the tentative titles), as well as perhaps a poetry collection (My Scars Recite Poems My Mouth Won't Repeat, another tentative title). There's also a couple of novels being written, waiting for me to wrap up the OSA revisions. So, a lot has been happening, even as my latest book (Occasional Beasts: Tales) was published in 2018. Time...flies, and then a pandemic throws everything out of whack. 

But enough of this! 

A grim flash fiction piece, as promised. It's an old tale, so don't judge too hard, haha... Written after a break-up around 16 1/2+ years ago, pure hell period. It's your Valentine's Day bittersweet treat. And rather bloody. 

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. Well, 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, so….

     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.

     And still 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!)

     (And 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 house 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….

So, there ya go. I hope you enjoyed my gruesome little tale. 

Here's a link to my Amazon Author page so you can catch up with what's already out there while I load the chambers for some releases sooner than later. 

Don't know who the artist is, but this is damn cool.