Busybody

That would be me. It's been a long week, considering it's only Tuesday. Last night, I finished up an essay for an antho called Do Not Read! and began work on a new "big" project with a tight deadline. Worked very full days at the office, and then even snagged a couple of caches yesterday and today.

And a big sigh. I just got a notice from my Web domain host that I need to renew the domain name (www.stephenmarkrainey.com) or it will expire in five days. I renewed it for three years last month. I'd be so thrilled if I didn't have to go through this with them every year...

I sleep now.

Bloodbath

By day, I work for an educational publisher, and in past years, it has been less subject to extremes in the economy than many others, since the education field is such a crucial one — indeed, one of the few that is supposedly relatively stable, if not growing. However, the publishing business overall has tanked badly, and we are still exposed to much of that instability. Yesterday, almost a fifth of the staff at my workplace was cut loose, including my partner in the typesetting department, with whom I have worked for going on ten years now. She’s got lots of health problems, and for those who were let go yesterday, their insurance coverage terminated at midnight last night

The only option for most of them is COBRA, which is horrendously expensive. However, in this case, the timing of Obama’s stimulus package being passed may have been propitious, since now the government will pick up about 60% of the COBRA premium

Even then, for most of them, it will be a monumental struggle to stay afloat. And the company cutting staff just means that much more money coming out of the economy than going into it, thus perpetuating this evil cycle. I absolutely understand the personnel cuts; if the business fails completely and puts the lot of us out of work, it’s all that much worse. Still, this is a bitter pill to swallow. In some respects, I am grateful to still have a decent job. But overall, my mood is this:

I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore.

How wonderful it would be to have the answers and the means to implement them. But our problems are so widespread and so complex — thanks so much to corporate greed — that it’s going to take more a change in mindset than infusion of money for the real recovery to happen. As we’ve dug ourselves in deeper and deeper, the glowing horizon keeps getting farther and farther away.

Our company move was necessary, I’ve no doubt of this. But I hope that, at the end of it all — not just for our business but across the board — no one is going to end up rewarded for making “tough decisions,” when the consequence of this “tough” decision-making is financial devastation for so many talented and undeserving individuals. If they are, then the negative cycle will not have been broken but perpetuated. And that’s the last thing any of us need.

The Unthinkable...

...is exactly what I'm thinking. It's still a ways off yet, but eventually it's going to have to happen.

My next computer might be a Mac.

There, I've thought it, I've said it, and I meant it. There was a time that there wasn't a chance in hell of this ever happening, but apparently that time is past. Newer Macs appear to be what the machines should be, instead of machines full of wasted potential. The notion bears further investigating, but the very fact it's in my head is quite the novelty.

Specifics of Mac and PC issues aside (I use a Mac at the office and a Windows PC at home), I have to say, it's the Mac's advertising campaign that first got me thinking about it. Mac ads are clever and feature readily identifiable characters. They give you a tantalizing little peek at what the Mac can do.

Then there are the Windows Vista ads. What the fuck are those? To whom are they trying to appeal? Beyond that, what the fuck are they saying—and what are they trying to sell? Gracious me, those Vista ads couldn't sell a calculator to a technology geek who'd been abducted by fundamentalist Luddites and thrown into a computerless cave in the Mojave desert for a couple of years. No, I'm not kidding.

I mean, what the hell is this?

To top it all off, I might even get my Mom a Mac. I'm not kidding about that, either.

So, anyway, that's what I'm thinking about.

Happy freakin' Valentine's Day, by the way. (No, I'm not a fan.)

A Weekend at Stately Wilson Manor

Spent a very pleasant long weekend in Hertford, NC, visiting writing- and now geocaching-cohorts, David Niall Wilson and Trish Macomber, as well as their family of critters and young 'uns. Headed out on Friday morning with Mrs Death, snagging lots of geocaches along the way; ate and drank very well, as we usually do at Stately Wilson Manor; hunted more caches; and watched Deathrace, the recent remake of the cult classic Deathrace 2000. I'm not really a fan of the original, but the new one is okay. It stars Transporter guy Jason Statham, who proves that you can get by just fine without a lot of hair. Most notably, I rediscovered the fact that it's crucial to keep a lot of energy in reserve at Stately Wilson Manor, for their youngest, Katie, will run rings around you, the dogs (Gizmo and Ginger) will outtalk you, and Mr. Wilson will out-zing you. Oh yeah, there's lots of wit zinging around Wilson Manor, which is always my favorite part.

Coming home, Mrs Death and I found another 28 caches, making a trip total of 55. My favorite was one we didn't actually find. We were hunting near a cow pasture, and the whole herd came plodding down the hill to see what we were up to. I said, "Look, dear, honey bunches of steaks," which they didn't seem to like very much. I mean, they just kept looking at me with their big brown cow eyes. I almost hate to eat them now. Actually, I hope this bunch were milk cows, so that they may live long and prosperous lives, but if not, I bet they'll be delicious.

Pictures follow. Click on 'em to enlarge.

"Look, dear, honey bunches of steaks!"

Golden Corral

Near the "Battle of Windsor" cache, Windsor, NC

Fluffy, the Destroyer of Worlds' twin

Shadow Slayer and Damned Rodan at "A Cache With a View"

Clan Wilson

Who Could Resist...

...picking up a copy of a magazine of literary criticism whose cover lists "Torture, Cannibalism, and Necrophilia" as one of its features?

That would be the latest issue of Dead Reckonings (#4), edited by S. T. Joshi and the very late Jack Haringa (who was murdered so ignominiously on a great many blogs last year—many of which were collected in the volume, Jack Haringa Must Die, released last May by Merricat Publications).

It's probably my all-time favorite review zine, despite its thoroughly dead co-editor. With issue #4, I have special reason to be fond of it, since reviewer Matt Cardin tackled Other Gods, in an article called "Sometimes You Just Have to Gush" (which also covers Michael Shea's The Autopsy and Other Tales), and the title says it all. Mr. Cardin does indeed gush a little, but his review is thoughtful and balanced. He does call a spade a spade; when something falls flat for him, he up and says so, just as he absolutely ought. But with Other Gods also receiving other good reviews and having made the preliminary Stoker ballot, I feel like it is getting some positive recognition. That's particularly gratifying to me because the book is, after all, a fair sampler of the written work I've labored so hard over for the past twenty years.

Mercy, how life does go by.

My favorite Cardin quote of the review: "I finished the book feeling as if I had been processed through the kaleidoscopic imagination of a born storyteller. Other Gods is a superb example of what this sort of long-term collection is good for: It plainly highlights the author's long-running thematic obsessions and shows him circling back to revisit and reshape the concepts, tropes, and emotions that inspire him."

Note: Cardin's gushing article is the not the one about cannibalism, torture, necrophilia, etc. etc. For that, one must read on...

On the Trail...

...wooded, urban, and everything in between. It's been a great weekend for geocaching. Yesterday, Mrs Death and I spent the afternoon in Winston-Salem hunting mostly urban micros, but we discovered a few nice, wooded parks, with full-sized hides as well. We then headed over to the "Adult Swim," a fun social event at the Mellow Mushroom restaurant in downtown Winston, with about 40 cachers in attendance. Afterward, we moved to the Foothills tavern a short distance down the road and mingled a while.

Today, I headed out to conquer a fairly terrain-intensive cache called Terrainasaur, which was very aptly named. I took a few shortcuts that turned a plain old Terrainasaur into a Terrainasaurus Rex, but...as Bobby Goldsboro said...what the heck. It was a damn fine day out there.

Today's find was #982.

The Mellow Mushroom: Mrs Death, Tokyo Tako, Mr and Mrs Spring1, and some dude Mrs Death is but a Shell of her former self. A beautiful, obviously haunted house we passed in Winston Terrainasaur: One of the creeks I ended up plowing through this afternoon Terrainasaur: An odd little wigwam near the second stage

Remembering DARK SHADOWS at Fearzone.com

The past couple of weeks, Greg Lamberson of Fearzone.com has been interviewing me about Dark Shadows: Path of Fate. It's interactive and in-depth, and I really enjoyed doing it. I hope the positive energy shows through.

Check it out here: www.fearzone.com

Picked up four new caches after work this afternoon, which leaves me 41 before hitting the big 1K. Now it's back into the dark world of the short story I'm working on....

There and Back Again

Last night was such a beautiful evening, I couldn't not go out into the woods geocaching. About 10:30 PM, I took off with my caching pal, Ethan (Sneaky Bulldog), and we ventured out into the great beyond to claim a few finds. Yep, we snagged the ones we were looking for, but in the process had to pass through a dense pine forest full of spiders, which gave even the one of us who doesn't ordinarily mind spiders (which is not me) a touch of the shudders. Thousands of little glowing eyes in the beam of my headlight, and there we were traipsing amongst them. (Silly humans.) Took a close look at a few of them, and they were not necessarily small and innocuous. Think Shelob.

Then it was up fairly early this morning for a day-long trek over to Archdale with Mrs Death and our friend Beth (UNCGBogTurtle). We were mostly after quick park-n-grabs, but at Creekside Park, we got out and hiked a good ways in very picturesque surroundings. We ended the evening with dinner at Rearn Thai, which really hit the fiery spot after long day on the go.

I'm up to 952. 1K, here I come.

Now I'm tired as fire and contemplating sleep. Not sure I have the energy left to get to the bedroom, so if you hear a thunk and the text goes wonky...that was just my head hitting the keyboard.

I sleep now.

Success! UNCGBogTurtle and Mrs Death signing the log

OTHER GODS on 2008 Stoker Award Prelim Ballot

If you're an active member of HWA and would like a comp copy of my short fiction collection, Other Gods, drop me a note, as Dark Regions still has a few copies available (mark-at-stephenmarkrainey-dot-com).

Here's the preliminary ballot. Note: Only active members of HWA are eligible to vote on the Stoker Awards.

Superior Achievement in a Novel
Coffin County by Gary Braunbeck (Leisure)
The Shadow Year by Jeffrey Ford (William Morrow)
Ghost Walk by Brian Keene (Leisure)
The Reach by Nate Kenyon (Leisure)
Duma Key by Stephen King (Scribner)
Johnny Gruesome by Gregory Lamberson (Bad Moon/Medallion)
Water Witch by Deborah Leblanc (Dorchester/Leisure)
Bad Moon Rising by Jonathan Maberry (Pinnacle)
Dead and Gone by Harry Shannon (Delirium Books)
The Price by Alexandra Sokoloff (St. Martins)
The Man on the Ceiling by Steve Rasnic Tem and Melanie Tem (Wizards of the Coast)

Superior Achievement in a First Novel
Bestial: Werewolf Apocalypse by William D. Carl (Permuted Press)
Apricot Brandy by Lynn César (Juno Books)
Midnight On Mourn Street by Christopher Conlon (Earthling Publications)
Veins by Lawrence C. Connolly (Fantasist Enterprises)
Eternal Vigilance by Gabrielle S. Faust (Immanion Press)
The Gentling Box by Lisa Mannetti (Dark Hart Press)
Monster Behind the Wheel by Michael McCarty and Mark McLaughlin (Delirium Books)
Frozen Blood by Joel A. Sutherland (Lachesis Publishing)
Crimson Orgy by Austin Williams (Borderlands Press)

Superior Achievement in Long Fiction
"The Lagerstatte" by Laird Barron (The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy)
"The Shallow End of the Pool" by Adam-Troy Castro (Creeping Hemlock)
"Miranda" by John R. Little (Bad Moon Books)
"Redemption Roadshow" by Weston Ochse (Burning Effigy)
"The Confessions of St. Zach" by Gene O'Neill (Bad Moon Books)
"Orpheus and the Pearl" by Kim Paffenroth (Magus Press)
"Behold the Child" by Harry Shannon (Brimstone Turnpike)
"Just Like Hell" by Nate Southard (Thunderstorm Books)
"Population Zero" by Wrath James White (Cargo Cult Press)
"Orgy of Souls" by Wrath James White, and Maurice Broaddus (Apex Book Company)

Superior Achievement in Short Fiction
"The Last Word" by Maria Alexander (Sins of the Sirens)
"Mama Strangelove's Remedies for Afterlife Disorders, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Mother Death" by C. Dean Andersson (Brutarian)
"Consumed" by Michael Louis Calvillo (Horror Library Volume 3)
"Petrified" by Scott Edelman (Desolate Souls)
"Mechanix" by Christopher Fulbright (Bound for Evil)
"The Lost" by Sarah Langan (Cemetery Dance Publications)
"The Dude Who Collected Lovecraft" by Nick Mamatas, and Tim Pratt (Chizine)
"The Haven" by John Palisano (Horror Library Vol. 3)
"Turtle" by Lee Thomas (Doorways)
"The Blog at the End of the World" by Paul Tremblay (Chizine)
"Those Eyes" by Mark W. Worthen (Thinner Than Mist)

Superior Achievement in an Anthology
The Undead: Headshot Quartet edited by Christina Bivins and Lane Adamson (Permuted Press)
Like a Chinese Tattoo edited by Bill Breedlove (Dark Arts Books)
Horror Library, Vol. 3 edited by R. J. Cavender (Cutting Block Press)
Abominations edited by Tim Deal (Shroud Publishing)
Beneath the Surface edited by Tim Deal (Shroud Publishing) Unspeakable Horrors edited by Vince A. Liaguno and Chad Helder (Dark Scribe Press)

Superior Achievement in a Collection
The Number 121 to Pennsylvania by Kealan Patrick Burke (Cemetery Dance Publications)
Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel (Apex Publications)
Just After Sunset by Stephen King (Scribner)
Little Creatures by Michael McCarty (Sam's Dot Publishing)
Other Gods by Stephen Mark Rainey (Dark Regions Press)
The Autopsy and Other Tales by Michael Shea (Centipede)
Sheep and Wolves by Jeremy C. Shipp (Raw Dog Screaming Press) Fourtold by Michael Stone (Baysgarth Publications)
Gleefully Macabre Tales by Jeff Strand (Delirium)
Ennui and Other States of Madness by David Niall Wilson (Dark Regions Press)

Superior Achievement in Nonfiction
Shadows Over New England by David Goudsward, and Scott T. Goudsward (BearManor Media)
Bram Stoker's Notes for Dracula by Robert Eighteen-Bisang and Elizabeth Miller (McFarland)
Spirits and Death in Niagara by Marcy Italiano (Schiffer Publishing)
The New Annotated Dracula by Leslie S. Klinger (W. W. Norton)
Beauty and Dynamite by Alethea Kontis (Apex Publications)
Cheap Scares by Gregory Lamberson (McFarland)
Zombie CSU by Jonathan Maberry (Citadel)
Modern Mythmakers by Michael McCarty (McFarland)
A Hallowe'en Anthology by Lisa Morton (McFarland)
The Book of Lists: Horror by Amy Wallace, Del Howison, and Scott Bradley (Harper)

Superior Achievement in a Poetry Collection
The Nightmare Collection by Bruce Boston (Dark Regions Press)
The Phantom World by Gary William Crawford (Sam's Dot)
Virgin of the Apocalypse by Corrine De Winter (Sam's Dot Publishing)
The Flayed Man and Other Poems by Phillip A. Ellis (Gothic Press)
Attack of the Two-Headed Poetry Monster by Mark McLaughlin and Michael McCarty (Skullvines Press)
Ghosts of Past and Future by Darrell Schweitzer (Borgo)

Congrats and best wishes to everyone on the prelim ballot.

Dare to Hope

I expect just about every blogger on the InterWebz is having his say about today's inauguration, so here's my little contribution to stew.

(I'm backtracking here; I wrote much of the following using a lot of collective "we's". That's a mistake. I have substituted a few "I's" for a number of them. Otherwise, I would have reason to doubt my own honesty.)

This is a cynical nation, and it's no wonder. Near as I can tell, irresponsibility, divisiveness, and caustic rhetoric have all but replaced thoughtful, rational discourse across the entire socio-political spectrum—to the point that it seems everything, from the most urgent national/international summit to the weekly Boy Scout meeting down the street, is stalled in a gridlock of negativity. Wherever I am, in virtual space or real space, it's absolutely pervasive. People thrive on conflict, no matter how counterproductive. And since we are wired into the world's conflicts via every conceivable form of communication from the time we get up in the morning till we hit the sack, our senses are overwhelmed. It doesn't take much to short-circuit us because our circuits are overloaded.

In some respects, we are experiencing trauma. Certainly not like in so many other places. Here, we're not being shelled daily. Most of us are not facing a murderous famine that's the result of both nature and human depravity. We don't suffer under a theocracy that oppresses women and ferociously punishes dissent with corporal and capital punishment. Still, there is trauma. It's insidious. It's the cancer of chronic frustration.

Much of my personal frustration comes from the fact that the world is too small to process comfortably anymore. There's no over there left; the land across the water is my own backyard. And so many of the dire things I witness daily have nothing to with my choices. Constantly, I witness the consequences of greed, irresponsibility, and arrogance of a relative few, about whom I can do little or nothing—other than accede to so many demands to clean up their mess—to the point that that, instead of pulling myself up and out of it, I adopt a victim mentality.

A grave mistake.

(I think I can comfortably add a few "we's" here. Because I know there are an awful lot of others like me.) We are a people desperate for a breath of hope. We are mad as hell and don't want to take this anymore. We're dying for the medication that will bring down our collective blood pressure.

Whether real or illusory, Obama represents something different to a nation burned out with the garbage we've immersed ourselves in—unwillingly and all too willingly—for decades, and particularly for the past eight years. His words ring with common-sense truth. He gives the impression of integrity. His dynamic delivery lends credence to the idea that we can overcome the cancers of chronic frustration and cynicism.

The question that now stands is this: will he, can he, deliver? The problems he faces are BIG, and I feel it is a fatal mistake to place too much faith in one man, whatever his position of power, whatever his true intentions. People fail, and after the period of orientation, I fear that many who support him now, all too quickly disillusioned, will not just be watching for him to fail (eagerly watching, at that), but willfully placing stumbling blocks in his path.

That's the cynic returning. No. It's the realist returning, but I believe that realism and cynicism are all too closely entwined. But for today, I see people daring to hope. They make me dare to hope. Whether I personally believe the new president's words or not, those words — and his presence — have generated what I fervently hope will be a long-lasting wave of positivity powerful enough counter widespread negativity. To turn frustration into inspiration. Pessimism into productivity.

What I dare to hope for is that Barack Obama will just be a good president.

And please, please, pardon this cliche, but I see no good way around it. (Mind you, I love Rush but I hate this song—except for the message of its opening lines, which to me, have strong meaning.)

"And the men who hold high places must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality closer to the heart."

Tagged! Six Random Things...

I almost never do these random meme things, but since I was tagged by my friend Dave, who also almost never does these random meme things, I figured I would get into the spirit and do this thing.

Okay. Six random things that most people probably don't know about me.

1) My girlfriend from 1982–83 is now Assistant Deputy Secretary of the U.S. Navy. Had we gotten married (which didn't seem too far beyond the realm of possibilities at the time), there's no telling where we might have ended up, but something tells me she would not now be Assistant Deputy Secretary of the U.S. Navy.

2) Speaking of getting married...at our wedding reception, Mrs Death and I danced the first dance to "Do You Remember Love?" which was the song played during the final battle in the 1984 anime feature Super Dimensional Fortress Macross: Do You Remember Love? (we gave the band the music so they could learn it). Our final dance of the night was to "Born to Be Wild."

3) When I was seven years old, there or about, I watched Godzilla, King of the Monsters on TV, and just as it ended, an earth tremor shook my hometown—the first in over a hundred years. At that moment, I became a true believer in Godzilla.

4) My favorite drink is a hot-pepper martini of my own recipe. But then you knew that.

5) From age 12 to age 32, there was never a time I didn't have at least one guinea pig for a pet.

6) I created Japanese Giants, a fanzine about Godzilla, kith and kin (believe it or not), when I was 14 years old. Because of it, I met hardcore daikaiju fans Bill Gudmundson and Ed Godziszewski, both of whom lived in Chicago. They took the helm for JG in subsequent years so that it would not die. When I got out of college, I moved to Chicago to: 1) be at the bustling hub of daikaiju fandom and 2) find gainful employment. I haven't really been involved with JG in recent years, but Ed has kept it going to this day, albeit irregularly and infrequently. While in Chicago, I ended up meeting Mrs Death at my place of employment, and marriage resulted. So, in essence, starting up JG was probably the event that set me on the path my adult life has taken. So here's a hot pepper martini to Japanese Giants.

And in the spirit of keeping this blog-thing going, I'm going to tag Maurice Broaddus, Matt Cardin, Bob Freeman, Alethea Kontis, Kim Paffenroth, and Stewart Sternberg.

THE RULES (for this game of tag):
1) LINK TO THE PERSON WHO TAGGED YOU.
2) POST THE RULES ON YOUR BLOG.
3) WRITE SIX RANDOM THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF.
4) TAG SIX PEOPLE AT THE END OF YOUR POST AND LINK TO THEM.
5) LET EACH PERSON KNOW THEY ARE TAGGED AND LEAVE A COMMENT ON THEIR BLOG.
6) LET THE TAGGER KNOW WHEN YOUR ENTRY IS UP.
7) DON’T BREAK THE CHAIN (not actually a rule).

It's Becoming a Habit

Finding old cars in the woods.

Came upon another one while bushwhacking around Lake Townsend on the hunt for a few new caches (found five). I knew there was one old auto nearby, since there's a cache hidden there, but this one was a surprise. Well, not too big a surprise, as they seem to be everywhere out there in the wild (Out Yonder and Baby, You Can Drive My Car, Redux).

Mein gott, Mark is tired and shagged out after the afternoon's nice hike. But the deadline looms, and there's still work to be done on "The End of Henry Switch Road," so tonight, work will be done. It's progressing nicely.

A gray but very pleasant day for hiking.

A Well-Oiled Machine

That's the name of a geocache placed in honor of my impending one-thousandth cache find, which isn't too far down the road now. This one was a slippery challenge, to be sure. In fact, if you live within a hundred miles of here, you probably heard me fussing and hollering and yelling and kicking and screaming as I labored to conquer the thing — and finally succeeded. So, I'm one cache closer now to the big 1K.

Otherwise, I'm working on an interview for Fearzone.com about Dark Shadows: Path of Fate and a new short tale titled "The End of Henry Switch Road." It's all flowing pretty well. Have gotten both bad news and good news on the writing front, so I guess it all evens out in the end...

I Owe the Author a Drink...

...so I had a martini.

The Dark Shadows audio drama I wrote, The Path of Fate, is now officially available from Big Finish. It's the first time something I've written has been performed professionally, so I've been eager to hear how the finished product compares to what I heard in my head while composing it. I listened to it for the first time this morning, and by and large, it's pretty true to my original mental construct. Some aspects are, as expected, rather different, but its most intense moments are perhaps even more intense than I might have expected. As it moved toward its climax, I found myself going "Whoa." And I mean, "WHOA!" The actors (David Selby and Lara Parker) really gave the drama a fine treatment, particularly in its more, uh, energetic passages. While I can't exactly put myself in the position of a listener experiencing the story for the first time, I was able to listen to at least portions of it in the company of a partner at the office — an old-time Dark Shadows fan, at that — who was experiencing it for the first time.

By her reaction, I'd say she was pleased, perhaps more than a little. And that pleased me, like, more than a little, too.

Like anything I've written, Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate will have its admirers and detractors, and that's all fine and as it should be. How ever it's received by ye audience, to me, it's kind of a landmark in the ol' career.

So I consider that martini at least reasonably well-deserved.

Ack. Gack.

To kick off 2009, I'm posting no year-out, year-in words of wisdom; no lists; no vivid and exciting adventure stories.

F'ing cold bug. It's a nasty one, and it's all I can do to manage getting these several stories written and tidied up to get off to editors by deadline. And it's back to the office tomorrow, no matter how I feel, as we're off to a heavy start for the new year. Which is, all things considered in this economy—or lack thereof—a damn good thing.

At least things on the writing front are still keeping me hopping. Also a damn good thing. Sure would help to feel better, though. It was particularly frustrating yesterday, as it was absolutely perfect caching weather.

Oh, yes. This year, there will be caches hidden and found, and I expect lots of them. January 12 is the one-year anniversary of my first cache find, and right now, I'm just shy of 900. Perhaps in February, I'll hit 1K.

Man, I feel better already.

Terror Alert

This is a hoot.

Here is Wisdom.

Found my 888th cache yesterday. Let him that hath understanding count the number, for it is the number of the wildebeest.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car — Redux

Got up this morning and headed to Ferrum, VA, where I went to college in the late 70s. There's a beautiful hiking trail through the mountain forest there, and it turned out to be a warm, sunny day for hunting caches. Found them, of course, but as I've said before, you never know what other kinds of things are lurking out on the trail....

What you might expect to see on a mountain trail: trees and some dude

What I found on a mountain trail

The Most Wonderful

For me, the best thing in the world is spending quality time with my family, and the Thanksgiving/Christmas holidays are our traditional gathering times. Mrs Death and I joined my mom, my brother, and several family friends yesterday for a big Christmas dinner — the largest crowd we've had here for many years. Sadly, our young 'un was absent, but we hope to remedy that in February. It turned out to be a beautiful, reasonably warm day, which is my second favorite kind of Christmas. We swapped some nice gifts and gave a lot of thanks for having the opportunity to do so, since so many people — many that we know personally — are in very dire straits at the moment. Though 2008 in general has thrown some fairly nasty challenges our way, for now, we're still doing okay, so we made a little extra effort to share what good fortune we could this year.

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas, though, without some serious geocaching. Late yesterday afternoon, Mrs Death and I headed up to Rocky Mount, VA, about 30 miles up the road from Mom's, and went traipsing through parks and woods, snagging some really cool caches and taking in some picturesque locations. One of them was a memorial for WWII and Korean War veterans, which was a tranquil corner of an attractive little park. At one of the YMCA parks, the terrain was a bit much for Mrs Death, so I went out into the dark, very silent woods for a two-stage multi that would have made for a good Halloween night trek.

And speaking of...our final location for the night was a place called Piedmont Mill. Out in the sticks of Franklin County, this was the site of a grist mill built in 1870 and added to in 1922. Here they made a brand of flour called "Happy Maid," which was also the name of the cache. A creepy, creepy old place at night, portions of the original buildings still stand. The cache was located on an old trestle bridge that goes over the nearby river, and we spent a good while exploring the area — which is very near the fictional setting of so much of my scary fiction. It was an excellent end to a fun and meaningful day.

I hope all of you celebrated, in whatever way happens to be your own.

Damned Rodan at the Bridge

Mrs. Death at the Bridge

A spooky place

Kicking It Off

Yesterday was the last full day at the office till next Monday, so as far as I'm concerned, the holidays are hereby kicked off. Christmas shopping is done but for one particular item, which I'll pick up tomorrow. The family plans to be together for Christmas Day except for the young 'un, who can't get away from her job long enough to make the trip down — at least till February. She may grace us with her presence around Valentine's Day.

I do have approaching deadlines for three new writing projects, so there will be much writing going on over the holidays. A good thing, as it keeps me sane and almost out of trouble. I also anticipate a bit of caching, also to keep me sane — although last night, Sneaky Bulldog and I traipsed out in the freezing cold for over an hour to hunt for a new hide by one of our local evil geniuses (Newzerboy!!! [you should read the name aloud in a sinister voice that trails off into a rumbly growl]), all to no avail. The bulldog and I enjoyed ourselves, though, sharing the usual caching anecdotes and bitching about the cold.

It's my favorite time of year, though somehow it just doesn't seem like I'm quite in the middle of it. For some reason, I never got Halloween out of my system and moved on.

Sometimes life is complicated like that.

Red Skies at Morning

The only good thing about having to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to work is seeing something like this when I head out the door.

QUANTUM OF SOLACE Soundtrack Review Posted...

 ...on my 007 Soundtrack Revue Web site.

Here: JB22Quantum

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

I first saw it rising above the trees at 5:35 PM from U.S. 68, right around Stokesdale, NC. Big old moon. Huge. Half of it blood red, the other half silver. By the time I'd gone ten miles farther north, the whole thing was silver. By 6:00 PM, it dominated the eastern sky. I don't think I've ever seen a moon so big and bright.

It was a memorable ride to Martinsville tonight. I stopped off to hunt several caches along the way, one of them being a ways out in the woods, in one of those lonely areas where you almost expect to hear a chainsaw starting up, and if you hear it, you know it's on account of you, and you don't have long to stay in one piece. Fortunately, there were no chainsaws, but I had no sooner found the cache when a low-flying black helicopter came buzzing by, only to stop and hover directly above me. I'm thinking great, the geocaching police are coming to get me, but after a time, it glided away, and I headed back toward my car. Just before I got there, two beautiful silver-gray foxes came out of the woods, gave me a brief look that said, "Oh, it's just some dude," and then wandered off. I've never seen foxes that close before, and I swear, they were the prettiest animals I've ever encountered in the wild. Caching has a way of taking me to places I've never been before and showing me things I didn't expect. I'm always glad for it.

I ended up spending a quality evening with my friends, the Albaneses, drinking martinis and watching The Horrors of Spider Island. The martinis, at least, were excellent. Afterward, I stopped at a couple of my caches to drop off travel bugs and geocoins, and the silvery moon was up there lighting up the very cold night. To get to the caches, I had to hike fairly short distances in the woods, but the moonlight was so bright it was like walking around in daylight. No need for a flashlight.

At the one called "Give Me Liberty," something was in the woods nearby. Don't know whether it was a fox or something else, but it sounded damned large. Bigfoot, I reckon. And silly me, I left my Jack Links beef jerky in the car. I wasn't the least bit nervous, though, as I did have a nice whacky stick, and the other — whatever it was — didn't seem to have a chainsaw.

Out Yonder

You never know what you're going to find when you're out on the trail geocaching. This evening, I got together with a group of about a dozen cachers and hit the Greensboro watershed trails in search of a new and fairly complex multi-stage cache. It involved many miles of hiking, driving to several different trails, bushwhacking through some tough terrain, and, later in the evening, explaining ourselves to local law enforcement (again). Along the way to various stages, we picked up some other caches — one of which was hidden in the stylish conveyance you see above. The car is out in the middle of the woods, and there's no telling how long it's been there. Many decades, no doubt. How it got out there is really a question.

The lot of us started at for the big multi-stage at 6:30 PM and reached the cache called "Baby, You Can Drive My Car" around midnight, by which time our numbers had dwindled to three, with two stages of the multi left to go. Right about the time we found the car cache, a sheriff's deputy arrived to find out what folks were doing out in the woods at this hour. Turns out the officer was familiar with geocaching and, after making sure we weren't as dastardly as we surely looked, kindly wished us well on the hunt. Nice.

By now, though, I had one wet foot from a creek crossing gone slightly awry, it was below freezing, and my gloves had somehow taken their leave while I was in transit between locations (fortunately, I managed to find them). With several miles of hiking yet to go before the final stage, I opted to call it a night, and right now, I'm glad I did.

The technical term for it is "pooped."

The car pic is from the cache page and was taken by robgso.

"Iron Heart"...

...is the title of my latest short tale, and it's finished. Finally. Done by deadline. Now I've got two more tales to write, with two more deadlines. They're pretty generous, fortunately, what with the holidays coming up here.

"Demon Jar," my story featured at HorrorWorld during November, may still be accessed here: http://www.horrorworld.org/Rainey.htm

And the new issue of Cemetery Dance, #59, features my story, "The Gaki."

Lots of short stuff happening around here. Which is fine by me.

And don't forget Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate, my audio drama coming out very shortly on CD, from Big Finish.

Out.

Caching Turkeys

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year. I've been fortunate enough to spend most of my Thanksgivings with family, and in my old age, that feels more and more important to me.

Today has been a mighty good one. Up with the sun, or close to it. Interestingly, the sky around Mom's house was filled with huge turkey buzzards for several hours, so I watched them from the window for a time. An impressive sight. Then went on a nice hike with my brother at the Gravely Nature Trail just outside of Martinsville and dropped travel bugs into a couple of my geocaches. Came back to Mom's and had a great big feast of dead bird and other goodies, including some of Mrs Death's exquisite pumpkin pie. Then, while everyone else succumbed to the lure of beds and couches, I worked for several hours on my current story, titled "Iron Heart," and made substantial progress. Had a small supper of leftover Mexican food from last night. And then...a new cache listing popped up on the Geocaching Web site. What do you know...it's in Fieldale, not too far from here. So Mrs Death and I took off into the chilly evening and went hunting for it. Yep, we got first-to-find honors.

After we found the new one, I kicked back and let Mrs Death hunt the caches that I had hidden in the area last weekend (The Spooky Place, Route 666, etc.). It's kind of fun watching her try to think like the old man while she's out on the hunt. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Heh heh....

The Great Turkey was very kind to me today, for which I am very grateful. I hope he was kind to you too.

Count Gore DeVol's OTHER GODS Review

Awright. Other Gods has scared the breakfast cereal out of another one. As you may know, Count Gore DeVol, perhaps my all-time favorite TV horror host (from the old days of WDCA Channel 20, one of the early superstations, out of DC) runs a nice horror-oriented Web site, and reviewer J. L. Comeaux was kind enough to give Other Gods a big thumbs-up. Here's an excerpt:

"These stories possess an elusive sense of heft and weight, like a stealthy, deep-running undertow that slips around you, pulling you down and down. The tales begin disarmingly, with familiar people inhabiting a familiar world, going about their lives and business. But then, just one misstep, one small mistake, and they find themselves entangled in the ever-present, unseen, horrific undertow of terror that lurks beneath the façade of normalcy. Rainey's prose is muscular and confident, like a friendly arm around the shoulders ushering us down the cellar stairs towards what lurks in the darkness below. Other Gods is the perfect volume to snuggle up with on these dark and wintry nights. Sweet dreams!"

You may read the whole thing here: www.countgore.com/gore/tomb.htm (scroll down a short ways).

Thanks, Ms. Comeaux, and I'm delighted to have had the opportunity to give you the shivers again.

Joe, the Spooky Place, and Route 666

I'm seriously bummed this weekend because my friend Joe is in the hospital. By all accounts, it's not a life-threatening thing, but anytime a hospital is involved, I consider it serious. Joe and I were friends in high school; then our ways parted, and we didn't see each other again for twenty years. Once we got reacquainted — eleven-plus years ago — the two of us (and our respective families) have remained close ever since. Joe is one of those infectiously good people. I always feel better for having spent time in his and his family's company, and I have it on good authority that he only rarely projectile vomits after spending time in mine. That's not bad. Please send prayers and good thoughts out to the old dude.

I'm visiting me mum this weekend, so I spent most of this very cold day planting geocaches in and around Martinsville. Several of them have spooky themes. Yeah, I know, what a shock. One of them is at a place I've always called The Spooky Place. It's an old warehouse in Koehler where the local Jaycees used to have their haunted castle attraction at Halloween. Back in high school, and for a time thereafter, I helped them design the rooms and got to be one of the roving monsters that scared the bejezus out of you in the pitch-dark corridors. This was back in the good old days when you didn't get sued if you indavertently touched someone, so I really scared some folks. Probably scarred 'em for life, too.

Yeah, those were some of my favorite Halloweens.

And just up the road from there, we have route 666. You probably won't remember (I blogged about it somewhere), but a couple of years back, I went riding up that old country road to a little graveyard and scattered the pages of my homemade Necronomicon. As you may have guessed, there is now a geocache on route 666.

As there should be.

Such Deviltry

After an earlier false alarm, I understand the latest issue of Cemetery Dance (#59), which contains my story, "The Gaki," is now out. For real this time.

Is good news. What really made my day, though, was a nice note from Gary Braunbeck, who recently read "Fugue Devil" in Other Gods and found it unshabby. According to Gary, "'Fugue Devil' is a modern (if, alas, under-appreciated) masterpiece; the sense of place, the deceptively laid-back quality of the narrator's voice, the legend of the Fugue Devil itself, the hound, the familial disintegration, the feelings of alienation and guilt and helplessness, all combined to weave a genuinely...scary...story." I must say, there's something very, very gratifying about scaring Gary Braunbeck. After his work has engaged, jolted, disturbed, and kicked me the gut I don't know how many times over the years, I guess turnabout is fair play.

Take that, Gary.

QUANTUM OF SOLACE

I went into Quantum of Solace not quite sure what to expect. I have purposefully avoided reading reviews because, particularly when it comes to Bond, I prefer going in with relatively few preconceived notions. The most I knew before seeing it last night was that it made a lot of money and many of the critics weren't terribly pleased with it.

Well, then. Overall, I must say I was pleased. Very pleased. It did have lots of niggling problems, a few of which were enough to make me more than raise an eyebrow (such as a building constructed with highly flammable fuel cells), but its strengths so far outweighed its shortcomings that I must give Quantum a very enthusiastic "Hell yeah." Reason number one being that Daniel Craig is so damned good. He is Bond through and through, and if it's possible, he may have done it better this time around than in Casino Royale.

No need to go into the plot, but one of the biggest critical complaints that I'm seeing is its lack of larger-than-life elements. Personally, I find it rather a welcome aspect of the movie; it's darker and dirtier than many of the Bond blockbusters because it's a tad closer to the headlines. Yeah, it's still high espionage fantasy, no doubt about it, but there's something more authentically creepy about Mathieu Amalric's malevolent leers than a scarred Donald Pleasance threatening to start WWIII.

The biggest issue I had was the rapid, dizzying jump-cutting during the action scenes (and sometimes even the more static scenes). This vehicle for sensory overkill has been too popular for too long, and rather than immerse you in the picture, it achieves quite the opposite effect. It's a pity Martin Campbell (GoldenEye, Casino Royale) didn't direct this movie, for his talent is far superior to Marc Forster's, with a true understanding of how to rhythmically blend quick cutting and lingering views to draw you fully into the scene.

One of the things I most admire about Quantum's script is that it gives Bond some real human depth. The most powerful moment in the film is the death of Mathis (Giancarlo Giannini), in which Bond shows deep emotion, far more than he did with Vesper, with whom he had fallen in love in Casino Royale. Likewise, there's more dimension to the stone wall he erects around himself, which helps round out the character better than it ever has been. A lot of the credit goes to Craig's masterful portrayal, and I do believe he has proven himself the best of all the actors ever to wear Bond's dinner jacket. (Never fear, to me, Connery will still always be Bond. James Bond.)

I don't miss Q's gadgets, for their absence leaves Bond to handle deadly affairs with more "ordinary" high-tech acouterments. I do sort of miss the old, familiar byplay with Ms. Moneypenny and the traditional setting of Universal Export. Small things, though, given the darker, grittier drama of the new Bond universe. What I do miss, though, is a damn good, high-octane opening theme song. Good GOD, does "Another Way to Die" by Jack White and Alicia Keys suck. It sucks. It's pitiful. I think it may have topped Madonna's Die Another Day as the worst Bond song of all time. It. Sucks.

Happily, David Arnold's orchestral score rates very highly. Probably his best work to date, with numerous, distinctive themes and some atmospheric arrangements of the original Bond theme. When the soundtrack album to Casino Royale came out, I was rather put out that it didn't include the title song by Chris Cornell. This time around, I'm more put out that the soundtrack album does include the title song.

I expect I'll be returning to the theater to see Quantum of Solace a second time before it leaves, and when it comes out on DVD, it will most certainly be number one on the wish list. I do hope that for the next Bond film, we get to see more of what's right with Quantum and less of what's wrong. And hopefully, a few new tricks altogether. If nothing else, the last two Bonds show that they can still do it.

DARK SHADOWS: THE PATH OF FATE

Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate, the audio drama I wrote for Big Finish, is now available for pre-order. The very sharp cover art is by producer Stuart Manning.

Here's the official scoop:

Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate is a new audio production written by Stephen Mark Rainey, based on the classic Dark Shadows TV serial, featuring the talents of original series actors David Selby (Quentin Collins) and Lara Parker (Angelique). The hour-long drama will be available on CD or as an MP3 download. Due in December 2008 from Big Finish.

"Over a century ago, the first Quentin Collins built a stairway to traverse time, opening the way to countless, unimaginable realms of past and future. To prevent his family's destruction, he dismantled his creation, but now a new, mysterious stairway has appeared at Collinwood. The present-day Quentin finds himself drawn to explore the shadows at its farthest reaches, only to discover that the power lurking there holds no love for any members of the Collins family — Quentin in particular. To save himself — and his family — from destruction, Quentin forges an unlikely alliance with Angelique, herself a dangerous agent of darkness. But if she uses her powers to help him, she risks her own eternal damnation. Can the two of them prevail over this new terror before it destroys them both — and ultimately consumes the entire Collins family?"

FROM THE AUTHOR:
For me, it is a thrill to return to Collinwood and again visit with its most enigmatic and secretive characters, played so unforgettably by David Selby and Lara Parker. Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate ventures into strange new territory, at once ominous and alluring, yet it remains a familiar place, inhabited by people you know — just like old friends. After more than forty years, Dark Shadows continues to haunt its longtime fans and charm new ones. Like so many who were captivated by the show during its original run, my enthusiasm for it has never waned, and immersing myself in its unique world is always an experience to savor. I invite you to visit that world again with Dark Shadows: The Path of Fate. Enter with caution, for the shadows here are dark indeed — but know that you are welcome.

DEAD BUT DREAMING...Again

Back in 2002, the short-lived publisher, DarkTales, released a nice little anthology of Cthulhu Mythos tales titled Dead But Dreaming, edited by Keith Herber and Kevin Ross. It was the original home of my World War II/Lovecraftian horror tale, "Epiphany: A Flying Tiger's Story," as well as stories by Ramsey Campbell, David Barr Kirtley, Mike Minnis, Lisa Morton, Adam Niswander, Darrell Schweitzer, and others. About 75 copies of the book escaped into the wild before the publisher popped its rivets and went toes up, and I've seen copies of the book selling anywhere from $100 to $300 per copy. Anyway, Dead But Dreaming is looking at the light of day again, courtesy of Miskatonic River, a new small press devoted to producing supplements to Chaosium's Call of Cthulhu role-playing game as well as stand-alone Lovecraftian fiction. The book has been nicely repackaged, closely resembling the original release, but with a few updated extras. I received my contributor copy today, and it's nice to have one that's in pristine condition, as my original is somewhat battered and dog-eared.

It's a tough time for publishers, small pressers in particular, but it would sure be refreshing to see MRP fly in the face of it. The original DarkTales release of Dead But Dreaming received considerable critical acclaim, and I've always felt it was a damn shame that it suffered such an inglorious fate before it could hit the ground running. My story has since been reprinted in Delirium's Dark Homage series and in my collection from Dark Regions, Other Gods (yes, there is a very dark theme about this one, isn't there?), but it, as well as the other tales in the anthology, now have another chance to swat readers clean upside the head and make a powerful impression. By all means, if you're keen on otherworldly terrors wrapped in a dark sense of wonder, then Dead But Dreaming is most definitely for you.

You can visit it at the Miskatonic River Press Web site here.

Speaking of Other Gods, I see from the latest HWA Stoker rec list that it has several. Many thanks to you who have read it and treated it kindly. I plan on checking out the new Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, with Other Gods cover artist, Wayne Miller, this coming weekend. While the movie itself isn't likely to be scary, the audience is obviously going to be....

Cedarock

Cedarock is a fairly extensive park south of Burlington, NC, with several miles of hiking and biking trails and about forty geocaches. Mrs Death and I headed over there at the crack of dawn yesterday for camping/caching trip with our friend Beth (a.k.a. UNCGBogTurtle), her husband, and a couple of her students. We ate and drank exceedingly well (last night's steaks were Godzilla-sized), so to make up for it, I put in quite a few miles of hiking and found about 20 caches.

One of the neatest things was enountering not one but two trained red-tailed hawks out practicing maneuvers with their owners. Such beautiful birds, and absolutely fearless amid a crowd of people. Alas, didn't have the camera on hand at the time.

Couldn't have asked for a nicer weekend. It got right cold last night, but we built a fire big enough to have to wave off a couple of airplanes.

Wacko

Particularly here in North Carolina, there have been some really ugly campaigns during this past election. I've never been so glad for the business to be over and done with, at least until the next go-round. The hideous negative campaigns run by the candidates themselves are bad enough, but this year in particular, the polarizations wrought by politics have become so extreme — and it's usually so damned petty.

I was brought up to have at least an ounce of class, and I try my best to maintain it, even when my wits and my temper are stretched to their limits. One thing that damn near set me off, though, was a sign in the yard of a neighbor, about how we've GOT TO STOP THE WACKO ENVIRONMENTALISTS and DRILL, DRILL, DRILL, which is the only way to lower the price of oil and become energy independent. There's no need for me to go into detail about the fallacy of the statement; that's a whole separate issue. What burns me up is the strident tone and the automatic labeling of a contrary opinion as "wacko." Most reasonable people, even if they hold a contrary view, understand — at least I hope so — that such inflammatory rhetoric simply isn't true.

But it's hardly limited to this sign, this issue, this election. What I find myself becoming increasingly intolerant of in my old age is the wholesale intolerance of conflicting points of view, no matter how well-informed they might be. Most left-leaning folks of my acquaintance are not tree-hugging socialists who love to kill babies and for whom the very mention of God sends into apoplectic fits, and few republicans I know are greedy corporate thugs who earnestly believe the rich should get richer and the poor should get poorer, all in the name of the Lord, and who will blast with their shotguns anyone who disagrees. In my experience, most of us want something akin to the same thing but have different ideas on how best to get there. Yeah, some ideas (and individuals) are indeed wacko — and it goes as much for one side as the other — but this immediate, extreme demonizing of others who hold different views, far more so than the actual issues on which we have different ideas, is what really tears us apart.

After this election, I've never been so proud to see so many Americans coming together under an umbrella of hope. I'd love to see that hope be borne out; time will tell. I will even break with personal tradition and be guardedly optimistic on this count. At the same time, I've never been so ashamed of being surrounded by so many folks (particularly in an online area I frequent) spewing bitter venom about the black Muslim socialist from Kenya who loves terrorists, and how, four years from now, we'll all be living in Marxist state.

Please. This country is in a fair mess just now. The democrats blame the republicans, and the republicans blame the democrats, but the one sure way not to fix things is to continue this ridiculous, divisive bitterness that still consumes way too many of us. Yeah, we're going to disagree, sometimes strongly, and sometimes rightly so. It's all a part of being who we are. But — to quote the King of Siam — too many a man will fight to prove that what he does not know is so. There's so much of that around that it really does make me tired. Lots of negativity for its own sake, as if it's in any way constructive.

You know, anyone is free to disagree with me. People do it all the time, as they rightly should. I disagree with others, and more frequently than I like. I usually try to get past it and figure out a way to dialogue, because I know that if we're just going to call each other wackos, idiots, etc., etc., and so forth, we're going to get done a whole lot of nothing, probably become enemies, and likely alienate others in the process.

And I hate hearing stuff like, well, that's just the way big people play. Actually, it's not. It's the way kindergartners who haven't learned better play. Many is the time that a reasoned argument, delivered without venom, has swayed me to see a different point of view. Never once in my life have I been convinced to entertain a contrary view by a bunch of insulting noise.

For all of our sakes, let us all make like we graduated kindergarten way back when we were children.

P.S. If you've read this far, you are totally, fucking, apeshit wacko. But that's okay. I forgive you.

"Demon Jar" at Horror World

My short tale, "Demon Jar," is the featured story at Horror World for the month of November. It's free. It's scary. It's the story I read at our company Halloween fest last year and traumatized some former schoolteachers. It's the story I read at our friends' Halloween party last week and traumatized some former coworkers.

If you get the impression I enjoy traumatizing folks, you might be onto something.

I have no compunctions about traumatizing you, either. But you're not a weenie, are you. No sweat. For you, it's just a heap of fun.

So check it out.

"Demon Jar"

If Every Day Could Be Halloween....

...I'd make it a lot like today. It's gorgeous outside. Comfortable, sunny, and loaded with fall colors. I worked only half a day — actually less than that, since we had our Halloween festivities at the office this morning. I read "Somewhere My Love" to a less-than-angry mob, trick-or-treated and got lots of chocolate, and then hit the road and went geocaching. Found a few at Chinqua Penn plantation (near Reidsville, NC), and I'm about to head out to have dinner with my friends, the Albaneses. We may watch Phantasm tonight for good measure.

After the long rough spell we've been having (let's call it 2008), this Halloween has so far been a much-needed bit of tonic.

THE SOUND OF HORROR

Back in the early 70s, I remember watching on TV a 1964 Spanish monster flick called The Sound of Horror and thinking it just might be the worst piece of crap ever put to film. Except...it kind of left me feeling unnerved. A while back, I picked up the Alpha Video DVD for something like $3.99, watched it, and came out thinking exactly the same thing.

It's about an invisible dinosaur. I am not lying; it's true. The budget was so small, they made the dinosaur invisible. But you know what? It makes a hell of a scary noise. It shreds people in right gory fashion. And like some of the best SF/horror movies — The Thing and Alien coming foremost to mind — it features characters confined in a location from which they cannot escape. As a bonus, it stars a young Ingrid Pitt and Soledad Miranda (Lucy in Jess Franco's Count Dracula), who, in her day, was about the hottest thing on two legs. The moviemakers realized this and even stopped the film in its faltering tracks so that Pitt and Miranda could dance for the camera. No complaints from me.

Make no mistake, it's a dumb, dumb film, but, in its way, it's also a bit brilliant. A group of former Nazi fighters, along with the aforementioned beautiful women, meet at a remote location in Greece to seek treasure that was buried in a cave before the war. In the process of digging it up, they unearth both a remarkably preserved mummy (identified first as a "homo sapien neanderthal" and then as a fighter at the sacking of Troy) and a couple of very large, petrified eggs. The mummy stays dead, but the eggs hatch. One releases said invisible carnivorous dinosaur; the other provides us with a glimpse of a pair of creepy, glowing eyes, but their owner is bashed and burned before it can camouflage itself and join in the blood feast. Several of the treasure-hunting party are killed as the invisible horror continually attacks the house where they are trapped, until they finally figure out a way to best the noisy, unseen brute.

From scene to scene, the movie yo-yos from outright inept to chillingly atmospheric. The creature's murderous raids are surprisingly — and realistically— graphic. There's a rather poignant scene in which the household caretaker, a superstitious woman named Calliope (whose forecasts of doom are quickly borne out) is brutally savaged by the monster, and the others trapped in the house watch helplessly...almost casually. In reality, it was probably just a matter of lackadaisical direction, yet the scene comes across as depressingly authentic.

Overall, the characters are not terribly heroic, though the WWII veterans in the group evidently once fought with great honor. Their motivation is greed, yet they are played as mostly sympathetic and humane individuals. I can just imagine this movie being remade today, with every one of these folk portrayed as vile scum, each of whom deserves to die, and the sooner the better. I find it refreshing to be able to care about, and to some degree identify with, a group of not-quite-perfect people, depicted far more realistically than the despicable stereotypes that populate far too many of today's horrific features. For one thing, there's no annoying conflict-for-conflict's-sake between a bunch of foul-mouthed imbeciles, which is the main reason I so often want to strangle every character in most modern horror films, particularly when the protagonists are youthful.

Of course, the characters do some pretty dumb things, but by and large, they're smarter than most of their modern monster movie counterparts. The final scene, though, brings us to a mishmosh of cluelessness, heroism, and a display of one of the worst monster effects ever shown on the screen. It's the film's quintessential moment, where brilliance and ineptitude collide and create something like a cinematic black hole.

If you haven't seen The Sound of Horror... well, you just gotta. You can still pick it up on Amazon.com for cheap.

Crudbuster

Indeed I did stay home today instead of venturing to ZombieCon. Hate to have missed it, but I think it was for the best. Took it easy during the day and worked on a new short story. This evening, we ventured over to a friend's place for a fairly low-key Halloween gathering. Read a story to the good little boys and girls ("Demon Jar," which is coming up as November's featured story at HorrorWorld) and carved a jack-o'-lantern. Also threw back a few Buckshot ales, which are brewed here in Greensboro. I felt so much better after that, it had me wishing I'd thrown back a few sooner.

Oh yeah. Snagged a number of park-n-grab caches on the way over there, which was fun because my former co-worker and current geocaching nemesis, Cupdaisy, was at the party, and I got to rub it in.

Walking Zombie

I'm supposed to head over to ZombieCon in Chapel Hill in the morning, but I've been a bit under the weather this week, and I keep yo-yoing between feeling halfway decent and like I've been squashed by a giant walking stone statue. Not sure whether I'm going to have the oompf to make it tomorrow. The way I'm feeling right now, probably not...

Book Em, Damned-Ro

This past weekend, Mrs Death and I drove up to Waynesboro, VA, for Book Em, an event sponsored by the Waynesboro Police Department to promote literacy. It was a day-long affair, held at Kate Collins Middle School, where 60-plus authors—some local, some from as far away as the UK—gathered to sell and sign books. The early morning crowd was anything but—easily the smallest I've seen in the three years I've been an attending author—though I can't say as I was suprised, given the state of the economy. Hell, I can't afford to plunk down money to buy books. In fact, I probably would have been surprised to see a turnout as big as in past years. However, over the course of the day, patrons arrived in ebbing and flowing waves, occasionally pretty much filling the gymnasium where it it was held. I managed to move a few books—about the same number as I did last year—so, even after Book Em takes its 40%, I more than paid for my trip up there.

Book Em made for only a small part of the trip, though. Of special note was getting to hang out again with good ol' Andrea Locke's face, Elizabeth Jones (pictured), who writes kiddie fiction—and quite well; she's an Edgar-award winner. Anybody remember Andrea Locke? She was the magazine reviewer for Deathrealm magazine. I think everyone knows at this point that Ms. Locke was actually no less than five individuals, and Ms. Jones was the only female in the bunch (and the only one who didn't actually write reviews). Back in the good old days when she and her family lived here in town, we used to do a lot of camping together. I think this was the first time we've seen each other in a decade. Gad.

Other highlights include hanging out with the Beth Massie/Cortney Skinner dynamic duo; Beth's sister, Barb Lawson; Matt and Deena Warner; and Joan Vander Putten and her husband Tom. Joan was—way back in the darkest 1980s—a regular attendee of Ms. Massie's infamous Pseudocon and a bona fide Deathrealm author. We attended a rather bizarre production, called the River City Radio Hour, in downtown Waynesboro,which featured an SF/comedy skit penned by Mr. Warner himself and a howlingly funny diatribe by the right-irreverent Ms. Lawson. All good fun, and the local talent is in no way lacking.

No trip would be complete without geocaching, and Mrs Death and I did some considerable hunting—on the way up, while there, and on the way back. Much to our delight, we discovered that the Warners have become involved in this most sublime activity, so we spent yesterday morning caching around Staunton, VA, which is one of the most beautiful little towns I've ever encountered. I think our total number of finds for the weekend came to 38, give or take a couple. And I must say, it's always heartwarming to be a couple of hundred miles away from home, find a cache, and discover in the logbook the signature of one "Night-hawk, Oak Ridge, NC." Night-hawk is a local State Farm agent.

It's true; he's not unlike a bleedin' good neighbor.