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This is a man whose last novel featured a psychopathic vacuum cleaner on a killing spree.

Marty helps with the Dark Neostorm Special Edition Box Opening

Cannibal Nuns from Outer Space! Those looking for a profound meditation on melancholia in post-modern society will be disappointed. These are all handled deftly, enhancing rather than distracting from the story. Scattered too, are name drops of indie authors, something I occasionally do find distracting but here presented in such outlandish situations that the jokes are magnified. It could be the case that real character traits have been exploited for comic effect. As the title subtly hints at, the story concerns the threat posed by a group of extra-terrestrial sisters of little mercy arrived on earth to harvest human flesh.

The whole opening sequence is a joy to read, with some excellent one liners and highly inventive use of names. Possibly aware of how unrealistic these scenes are, and with an eye to keeping fans of literary horror happy, the author cleverly introduces a beard-dwelling axolotl to help ground the whole thing in reality.

I picture him sat atop a huge pile of shiny snippets, leaving only to find a fellow magpie to bring joy, or two more for a girl, three for a boy. The nuns themselves are a fine creation. Entrails and jokes fly thick and fast as the forces of good and evil, and evil duke it out head to head. A word too about the presentation of the book. Much work has gone into the formatting and layout, with a variety of versions available, each unique in its own way.

Read Good Shit On Musings: Dark Days

Both of which, I have to say, I would go and see. Whilst marking a natural progression from Mr Sucky , nicely developing what is a very distinctive style of writing, it also increases anticipation for whatever lunacy spills forth next from one of the weirdest brains in the writing community. Monday, 17 December in review. Stephen King has featured much in this re-reading process and I began the year with The Stand and IT — both epics which rekindled my love of losing myself in long novels. As such, the list presented at the end is a top ten of my favourite reads of the year and combines novels, novellas and short stories.

The decision to leave Dark Minds was driven by a desire to spend more time on my own writing. Seriously, if you think formatting a novel or anthology is difficult, give one of those a go. It was, I have to say, a labour of love. I can now laugh in the face of section breaks, headers and footers in Word. I was lucky to have a great cover for the first printing and Neil Williams has produced another stunner for its re-release.

Counting Witnesses as one publication, my tally for is four — which meets the informal target I set myself a few years back. My second publication was a brace of short stories released for Kindle, Past Horrors. It flew off the shelves, to linger on virtual TBR piles for years to come. Am I bitter? Next time I'll feature a Golden retriever with psychic abilities.

That number 8 spot will be mine Third up was my short story Collateral Damage in the marvelous George A Romero tribute anthology Stories of the Dead which was edited by two very fine authors in their own right, Duncan Bradshaw and David Owain Hughes. I also had the pleasure of working with them on the edits to the stories.

The writing continues. So then, to my top ten list. It is presented here in no particular order and features those pieces of writing which have given me that extra something above and beyond just being entertained. Labels: , review , self-aggrandising. Monday, 3 December Witnesses 2. Today sees the release — I should say re-release — of my novel Witnesses. It was first published in February by Crowded Quarantine Publications but unfortunately turned out to be their last book before closing down. I wanted to weep with joy and I felt the strongest compulsion to loop the video for always and always on my phone and my computer and my…..

So, I may have looped the video. She is involved in a project that she is proud of. She may be physically battered and bruised as evidenced by the wrist guards and bandages and supportive braces she sports on various appendages on various days of the week but she reports never feeling more inspired, motivated and challenged by a character before. I know. Fewer words, posted more frequently, it packs a profound punch, and is often addicting. Do you know where I am right now? I flew from my place in Northern Cali to L. Since I started my new and third job about three weeks ago, I have not had a single day off.

I was not writing anymore.

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I missed the physiological response of a calm contemplation that usually trickled over me. When Kristen joined the promo tour, the Heavens rejoiced. I was reading a handwritten love letter from my dearest DeeDreamer16 while on the plane down to L.

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I felt like I had come home. This is a BFD. Musings in smaller increments, more frequently. For instance, the next MooDrabble will include the story of my interaction with Scummit event planners and security…and we will certainly pause to gape at:. These are the signs I have with me for the Premiere. Live, mmmkay?

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See you soon!!! Thanks for bearing with me through this rough transitional time as I hammer out a posting schedule and maintain my sanity…. MOO Memoirs Part 2 later today! This Special Edition Musings is my tribute to the incredible souls I encountered over my day stint as a mental health therapist with the Red Cross Disaster Response Team earlier this month. There is an army of Otherness of Rebel Warriors cultivating and swelling in the south. Here are a few of their stories. I am but a student to their sage lessons in growth, faith, balance, compassion, reframing and perspective.

I already knew that in volunteering for deployment that I was going to emerge on the other side, changed. It was midnight and every single seat on the plane was filled. And oh, my my, those initial conversations were my first indicator that I was participating in something extraordinary. I was too self-conscious to wear the bright red vest just yet. But I did wear my neck identification. And talk. And share. And hug. And cry. I glanced over to see a white-haired gentleman with brilliant blue eyes framed by attractive lines indicating countless moments of crinkling, winking laughter.

I tucked my copy of One Day in the seat-back pocket in front of me and turned to my aisle mate at the window seat. The lump in my throat that had been growing prohibited any speech from me just yet. Mac had answered the call and was going to Texas to tame the wildfires that had consumed the western part of the state. Retired for nearly six years, Mac donated his time and services with the volunteer fire fighter association. He and his wife were happy Illinois residents, but they were eagerly looking forward to relocating to the Pacific Northwest, Puget Sound, Washington, more specifically.

His blue eyes twinkled when he heard I was a West-Coaster. Then those eyes teared up with an ancient ache when he mentioned his only child, a daughter, who lives in Bellingham, Washington with her month old son. Bryan, a fairly new army recruit, had grown up in Chicago, Illinois, dreaming of a time he could live in The Pacific Northwest, near the ocean, the Olympic Mountains, amongst the evergreen trees.

It would begin once Mac returned from his mission to fight the fires of Texas. If this was any indicator of the people and stories I was to encounter the rest of my deployment, I was in trouble.

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    Nothing, nothing could truly prepare me for the physical destruction left behind in the wake of the Joplin Tornado. And certainly, the tales told from the survivors will never, ever be properly conveyed by me, but I will try to the best of my abilities to grant the respect and compassion that these battered but resilient warriors deserve. Because I met a fair share of Other Warriors. I was one fortunate little therapist to meet just a few of them. But I will never, for as long as I am included among this plane of existence, forget them. My first day doing outreach was a scorcher.

    https://balmisamoworl.tk Approximately 95 degrees Fahrenheit 35 degrees Celsius and the heavy humidity left me sweating, sticky and sunburned which is a feat in itself. I walked amongst the neighborhoods seen above, having conversations and impromptu storytelling sessions with anyone wandering around or cleaning up, or assessing the unfathomable destruction. Eighty-three year old Mr. He attributes this visit as the only reason he is still alive today to tell us his story. His house along with his entire neighborhood was completely flattened.