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brennanlafaro
Writing in the Dark is the compilation of Tim Waggoner’s experience writing horror and other genre fiction, and it reads like it comes from someone who’s been through it all, and is now itching to help you find helpful avenues and avoid common traps. We begin with a look at Tim’s experiences with horror in his early life, how his writing journey began, and why he’s the guy to lay all this information at your feet. We also lead with a justification of horror writing, and genre fiction in general. Why they matter and are, in fact, a lot more important than most people give them credit for.
Once we’ve established what’s on the table, we dive in headfirst. Chapters are divided into meal size pieces lasting anywhere from four to ten pages on average, focused on topics such as horror subgenres, where to come up with ideas and what to do with them, writing a hero’s journey, how to use fear, immersing yourself in the character, among many others. I highlighted a few chapters that stuck out to me, but there are twenty in all, not counting the introduction and appendices. I read through, and took time to digest, one a day, and would certainly recommend this version of the experience.
Each chapter consists of an essay-like portion, but then moves to examples, usually from Tim’s own writing that showcase how to put the ideas into action, as well as some pitfalls to potentially avoid. Sometimes the most daunting thing about writing advice is finding a way to take a good idea and apply it to your own craft. Waggoner includes exercises at the conclusion to each chapter, handing writers a way to practice the skill in a way that applies to what they’re attempting to achieve. Readers might also enjoy the mini interviews from a great variety of known voices in the horror community addressing what makes a good horror story and advice they would give beginning writers. No matter how experienced you are in the horror community, there will be some names you know here.
Writing in the Dark caters to writers of all experience levels, so when I tell you this is an indispensable addition to books on the craft, know that comes from a fledgling writer. Keeping an eye on the variety of advice offered within, I can see places where Tim put in things that might be useful to a seasoned writer looking to shake things up or break down a barrier, but my experience is that this toolbox is a must-have for newer writers.
One of the most useful things I found, so useful in fact that I’m devoting a whole paragraph to it, is the first appendix - entitled Autopsy. Here, Waggoner takes a story written toward the beginning of his career and performs, well, an autopsy. You can read the story in full, and then hear Tim’s ideas on how different concepts from the book you just read apply or could have been applied. The introspective look at an author finding a clear way to showcase the things they’ve learned through writing is absolutely invaluable.
Writing in the Dark is a book that I will return to time and time again, with highlighter and pencil in hand. Tim approaches it from the perspective of someone who has written a lot and taught a variety of students, very conscious of what works and what doesn’t in both arenas. Condensing it all into 230 pages couldn’t have been easy, but someone looking to write horror couldn’t ask for a better place to begin.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
Once we’ve established what’s on the table, we dive in headfirst. Chapters are divided into meal size pieces lasting anywhere from four to ten pages on average, focused on topics such as horror subgenres, where to come up with ideas and what to do with them, writing a hero’s journey, how to use fear, immersing yourself in the character, among many others. I highlighted a few chapters that stuck out to me, but there are twenty in all, not counting the introduction and appendices. I read through, and took time to digest, one a day, and would certainly recommend this version of the experience.
Each chapter consists of an essay-like portion, but then moves to examples, usually from Tim’s own writing that showcase how to put the ideas into action, as well as some pitfalls to potentially avoid. Sometimes the most daunting thing about writing advice is finding a way to take a good idea and apply it to your own craft. Waggoner includes exercises at the conclusion to each chapter, handing writers a way to practice the skill in a way that applies to what they’re attempting to achieve. Readers might also enjoy the mini interviews from a great variety of known voices in the horror community addressing what makes a good horror story and advice they would give beginning writers. No matter how experienced you are in the horror community, there will be some names you know here.
Writing in the Dark caters to writers of all experience levels, so when I tell you this is an indispensable addition to books on the craft, know that comes from a fledgling writer. Keeping an eye on the variety of advice offered within, I can see places where Tim put in things that might be useful to a seasoned writer looking to shake things up or break down a barrier, but my experience is that this toolbox is a must-have for newer writers.
One of the most useful things I found, so useful in fact that I’m devoting a whole paragraph to it, is the first appendix - entitled Autopsy. Here, Waggoner takes a story written toward the beginning of his career and performs, well, an autopsy. You can read the story in full, and then hear Tim’s ideas on how different concepts from the book you just read apply or could have been applied. The introspective look at an author finding a clear way to showcase the things they’ve learned through writing is absolutely invaluable.
Writing in the Dark is a book that I will return to time and time again, with highlighter and pencil in hand. Tim approaches it from the perspective of someone who has written a lot and taught a variety of students, very conscious of what works and what doesn’t in both arenas. Condensing it all into 230 pages couldn’t have been easy, but someone looking to write horror couldn’t ask for a better place to begin.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
Certainly you can’t name your novel They’re Watching without evoking a sense of paranoia and mystery. So just looking at the cover page, Michael David Wilson and Bob Pastorella of This is Horror, have set the bar for what they’ve promised the reader.
The novel delivers on these promises in a bigger way than I could have anticipated, however. We spend the runtime following Brian, who has just moved into a new apartment and wastes no time discovering a peephole that offers an unfettered view into his attractive neighbor’s apartment. What he sees sets an entire chain of events in motion that takes the reader to some quite unexpected places.
I mean unexpected. Wilson and Pastorella have done a stellar job of creating a narrative that moves along at a rapid fire pace - you won’t be able to limit yourself to just a chapter, I promise you. The story keeps the reader feeling like they’re constantly off balance. Consciously or not, I find myself thinking of what might happen next in a story, and I was on the money exactly zero times while reading this one. It creates an immersive, unsettling atmosphere when, moving parallel to Brian, the reader doesn’t know who to trust or what to make of the events that unfold.
There are some terrific supporting cast members on display in They’re Watching. Ted, the private investigator, makes for quite a few memorable moments, while still remaining something of an enigma to the reader. His interactions with Brian add a great deal to the complete product. Lexie and Yuki round out the group, putting themselves on display to Brian, but keeping just far enough into the shadows to leave the reader with questions.
The movement of the story, the seamless way that Wilson and Pastorella blend their voices together, the ending - oh my god, the ending - and the resounding note of unease that plays throughout the whole thing make this one of my favorite reads this year, and I can’t recommend it enough.
I received a copy from the authors for review consideration.
The novel delivers on these promises in a bigger way than I could have anticipated, however. We spend the runtime following Brian, who has just moved into a new apartment and wastes no time discovering a peephole that offers an unfettered view into his attractive neighbor’s apartment. What he sees sets an entire chain of events in motion that takes the reader to some quite unexpected places.
I mean unexpected. Wilson and Pastorella have done a stellar job of creating a narrative that moves along at a rapid fire pace - you won’t be able to limit yourself to just a chapter, I promise you. The story keeps the reader feeling like they’re constantly off balance. Consciously or not, I find myself thinking of what might happen next in a story, and I was on the money exactly zero times while reading this one. It creates an immersive, unsettling atmosphere when, moving parallel to Brian, the reader doesn’t know who to trust or what to make of the events that unfold.
There are some terrific supporting cast members on display in They’re Watching. Ted, the private investigator, makes for quite a few memorable moments, while still remaining something of an enigma to the reader. His interactions with Brian add a great deal to the complete product. Lexie and Yuki round out the group, putting themselves on display to Brian, but keeping just far enough into the shadows to leave the reader with questions.
The movement of the story, the seamless way that Wilson and Pastorella blend their voices together, the ending - oh my god, the ending - and the resounding note of unease that plays throughout the whole thing make this one of my favorite reads this year, and I can’t recommend it enough.
I received a copy from the authors for review consideration.
There are a few people whose recommendations on books, I trust implicitly. There are some I can go to for a good book in a certain subgenre, others for something character-driven, but one thing they all seem to have in common is Coyote Songs.
Coyote Songs is a mosaic novel. For those unfamiliar with the concept, the story is told in a nonlinear fashion. The reader spends a chapter getting to know a little piece of the story, in the case of this book’s first chapter, one that is both beautifully written and horrifying in its tragedy. The following chapter begins a different story, the next another. I’ll keep details scarce, but what makes a mosaic novel different than a story collection is the interconnection between the stories being told. You have to really give up your attention for the payoff.
Iglesias asks the reader to keep certain threads straight, as we return to check in on the characters and see where their story leads to next. This is a tough ask. Less because of the nature of the novel, and more because of Gabino’s immersive style of writing. Diving into each page, I found that Iglesias doesn’t waste a word. The action is fast-paced, the dialogue is crisp, and the word choice is second-to-none. Regarding the last bit, Iglesias seems to subscribe to the idea that you don’t need 1,000 words to describe something if you can find the absolute perfect one.
I found myself looking forward to some characters more than others, namely Jaime and the Coyote. None of the points of view are easy reads. They all have a certain grit and realness that go a long way toward establishing a view of the climate along the U.S./Mexico border. Iglesias writes in a way that paints a vivid portrait of this region, but also captures the way that current events and the oft-referenced nitwit in charge impact day-to-day life in a far more affecting way than how it affects someone living in, say, Massachusetts.
The storytelling is top-notch, and is very well-served by Iglesias’ writing style. By way of compliment/recommendation, I can offer three things. First, this novel has been on my shelf for a year and I’m sincerely disappointed that I didn’t make time for it sooner. Second, I started reading Iglesias’ other novel - Zero Saints - almost the moment I finished Coyote Songs. Third, I will be rereading this book. I regret that I read it alongside other stories. When I do reread, I will be devoting my full attention, as I think this story has even more to share with me than it already has. Five stars and my highest recommendation for Coyote Songs.
Coyote Songs is a mosaic novel. For those unfamiliar with the concept, the story is told in a nonlinear fashion. The reader spends a chapter getting to know a little piece of the story, in the case of this book’s first chapter, one that is both beautifully written and horrifying in its tragedy. The following chapter begins a different story, the next another. I’ll keep details scarce, but what makes a mosaic novel different than a story collection is the interconnection between the stories being told. You have to really give up your attention for the payoff.
Iglesias asks the reader to keep certain threads straight, as we return to check in on the characters and see where their story leads to next. This is a tough ask. Less because of the nature of the novel, and more because of Gabino’s immersive style of writing. Diving into each page, I found that Iglesias doesn’t waste a word. The action is fast-paced, the dialogue is crisp, and the word choice is second-to-none. Regarding the last bit, Iglesias seems to subscribe to the idea that you don’t need 1,000 words to describe something if you can find the absolute perfect one.
I found myself looking forward to some characters more than others, namely Jaime and the Coyote. None of the points of view are easy reads. They all have a certain grit and realness that go a long way toward establishing a view of the climate along the U.S./Mexico border. Iglesias writes in a way that paints a vivid portrait of this region, but also captures the way that current events and the oft-referenced nitwit in charge impact day-to-day life in a far more affecting way than how it affects someone living in, say, Massachusetts.
The storytelling is top-notch, and is very well-served by Iglesias’ writing style. By way of compliment/recommendation, I can offer three things. First, this novel has been on my shelf for a year and I’m sincerely disappointed that I didn’t make time for it sooner. Second, I started reading Iglesias’ other novel - Zero Saints - almost the moment I finished Coyote Songs. Third, I will be rereading this book. I regret that I read it alongside other stories. When I do reread, I will be devoting my full attention, as I think this story has even more to share with me than it already has. Five stars and my highest recommendation for Coyote Songs.
Oh boy, does Gabino Iglesias know how to start a book with a bang. Fernando, our main character, is jumped, beaten, and tossed into the trunk of a car. From there, he witnesses the graphic demise of his friend. It’s almost like Gabino’s trying to weed out the people who aren’t ready for it. Admittedly, I haven’t read a ton of books that fall under the umbrella of supernatural crime, but I’d like to remedy that. It’s a terrific genre.
It doesn’t start supernatural, of course. The reader is led to believe they’re embarking on a tale of revenge, following the underdog. When Iglesias has you on the hook, he begins toying with the reader, pulling them in a multitude of unexpected directions reminiscent of urban fantasy with the flavor of the Texas/Mexico border front and center. We’re introduced to some fascinating and unforgettable characters. I couldn’t help comparing Fernando’s journey to John Boden’s Spungunion as far as the colorful cast of characters is concerned.
When writing about Coyote Songs, I mentioned that Iglesias’ prose is fast-paced with great dialogue, and a very immersive feel. While a very different book, Zero Saints puts on full display the elements of Gabino’s voice that caught my attention in the first place. The intermingling of spanish and english dialogue is on display, providing an air of authenticity, and even offering insight into the spiritual aspect of Santa Muerte.
If I had one complaint, the ending had an element of deus ex machina to it. The payoff was entertaining and blood-soaked, the reader rooting for Fernando, and rooting against embodied evil. The novel as a whole feels like it transcends the cliches and traps that action movies tend to fall into. Frankly, it’s what provides a great deal of the interest and excitement on display. The climax simply felt like it borrowed one element that would have been more at home in a blockbuster, sprinkled on top of an otherwise successful piece of storytelling.
Iglesias has quickly cemented himself as a must-read author in my book. The way his stories flow and move is engaging in a way you just don’t see in many authors. Zero Saints is a fast-paced crime story with enough genre-bending twists and turns to keep any reader at the edge of their seat for the whole ride.
It doesn’t start supernatural, of course. The reader is led to believe they’re embarking on a tale of revenge, following the underdog. When Iglesias has you on the hook, he begins toying with the reader, pulling them in a multitude of unexpected directions reminiscent of urban fantasy with the flavor of the Texas/Mexico border front and center. We’re introduced to some fascinating and unforgettable characters. I couldn’t help comparing Fernando’s journey to John Boden’s Spungunion as far as the colorful cast of characters is concerned.
When writing about Coyote Songs, I mentioned that Iglesias’ prose is fast-paced with great dialogue, and a very immersive feel. While a very different book, Zero Saints puts on full display the elements of Gabino’s voice that caught my attention in the first place. The intermingling of spanish and english dialogue is on display, providing an air of authenticity, and even offering insight into the spiritual aspect of Santa Muerte.
If I had one complaint, the ending had an element of deus ex machina to it. The payoff was entertaining and blood-soaked, the reader rooting for Fernando, and rooting against embodied evil. The novel as a whole feels like it transcends the cliches and traps that action movies tend to fall into. Frankly, it’s what provides a great deal of the interest and excitement on display. The climax simply felt like it borrowed one element that would have been more at home in a blockbuster, sprinkled on top of an otherwise successful piece of storytelling.
Iglesias has quickly cemented himself as a must-read author in my book. The way his stories flow and move is engaging in a way you just don’t see in many authors. Zero Saints is a fast-paced crime story with enough genre-bending twists and turns to keep any reader at the edge of their seat for the whole ride.
The Worm and His Kings was a highly anticipated read for me, like HIGHLY anticipated. Combine an author who, in my opinion, has no misses on her record with one of the most exciting new publishers in the indie horror scene, how could I not be excited? At 114 pages, I thought this would be a one or two day read, but the book had other ideas. From page one, an atmosphere of creeping dread pervades the page. Turns of phrase and descriptions demand to be reread so nothing is missed.
I read a book a year or two ago that I won’t name here, but it promised an underground world of tunnels underneath New York City, and while it technically delivered, it didn’t capture the magic that Piper does here. The idea of a subterranean city under our feet is intriguing to say the least. As the elements that I found fantastical, but other readers might describe as Cosmic, are introduced, we’re eased into this new world. While it feels strange and we’re off-kilter, we’re grounded with Monique, our protagonist.
Monique descends into the underground in search of her girlfriend, Donna. Piper sets up the relationship with one of my favorite lines of the story.
“Donna makes the worst days okay, and the okay days heavenly.”
The people and the creatures Monique meets on her journey, reminded me of the dark fairy tale nature of books like Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere and more recently, John Boden’s Spungunion. While Monique takes part of this journey, Piper deals out backstory and flashbacks in bite-size pieces, before pulling the curtain all the way back.
I mentioned the atmosphere of dread, but at some indistinguishable point, the reader realizes the tale in their hand has been interspersing beauty in with the darkness all along. There is a part that I will actively avoid telling you anything about that had me feeling a lot, as though Piper managed to concentrate “the point” directly into IV form and hook it straight to my vein.
A blurb on your cover from Mary SanGiovanni, one of the most well-regarded voices in Cosmic horror, goes a long way to boosting the expectations. While Cosmic is a newer subgenre to me, Worm ticks the boxes off, having concepts bigger than we can wrap our heads around, and a looming sense of hopeless in the air. What sells me is not Piper meeting the criteria, but Piper injecting humanity, love, and hope, into a story where it would be all too easy to commit fully to the darkness. With this in mind, the last few pages are truly something special.
I’m already seeing The Worm and His Kings begin to pop up on lists of must-read Cosmic Horror, and I’m happy to lend my voice to that mix. This is a book that I expect to leave its mark on the independent horror community and make more than a few best of 2020 lists. I don’t like handing out five stars like candy on Halloween, but this decision couldn’t be easier. The highest of recommendations to fans of Cosmic and character-driven horror.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
I read a book a year or two ago that I won’t name here, but it promised an underground world of tunnels underneath New York City, and while it technically delivered, it didn’t capture the magic that Piper does here. The idea of a subterranean city under our feet is intriguing to say the least. As the elements that I found fantastical, but other readers might describe as Cosmic, are introduced, we’re eased into this new world. While it feels strange and we’re off-kilter, we’re grounded with Monique, our protagonist.
Monique descends into the underground in search of her girlfriend, Donna. Piper sets up the relationship with one of my favorite lines of the story.
“Donna makes the worst days okay, and the okay days heavenly.”
The people and the creatures Monique meets on her journey, reminded me of the dark fairy tale nature of books like Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere and more recently, John Boden’s Spungunion. While Monique takes part of this journey, Piper deals out backstory and flashbacks in bite-size pieces, before pulling the curtain all the way back.
I mentioned the atmosphere of dread, but at some indistinguishable point, the reader realizes the tale in their hand has been interspersing beauty in with the darkness all along. There is a part that I will actively avoid telling you anything about that had me feeling a lot, as though Piper managed to concentrate “the point” directly into IV form and hook it straight to my vein.
A blurb on your cover from Mary SanGiovanni, one of the most well-regarded voices in Cosmic horror, goes a long way to boosting the expectations. While Cosmic is a newer subgenre to me, Worm ticks the boxes off, having concepts bigger than we can wrap our heads around, and a looming sense of hopeless in the air. What sells me is not Piper meeting the criteria, but Piper injecting humanity, love, and hope, into a story where it would be all too easy to commit fully to the darkness. With this in mind, the last few pages are truly something special.
I’m already seeing The Worm and His Kings begin to pop up on lists of must-read Cosmic Horror, and I’m happy to lend my voice to that mix. This is a book that I expect to leave its mark on the independent horror community and make more than a few best of 2020 lists. I don’t like handing out five stars like candy on Halloween, but this decision couldn’t be easier. The highest of recommendations to fans of Cosmic and character-driven horror.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
I started my Gemma journey with Dear Laura, and it immediately showed me what this author was capable of. Not only that, but it’s one of the finest examples of what you can pull off in the novella form. Then it was onto These Wounds We Make, Gemma’s second collection of shorts. While I haven’t gotten to Cruel Works of Nature yet, I have no doubt that it’s going to be Amor showing that she doesn’t need more than 5,000 words to break your heart and twist your guts. When she announced a full-length novel, coming in over 400 pages, I couldn’t wait to see what she could do with it.
The answer is a lot. White Pines is touted as cosmic-folk-celtic-fantasy-cult-horror, and it ticks all of those boxes. More importantly, it does so without leaving the reader lost, confused, or overwhelmed. Considering the amount packed in, the story is surprisingly linear, following Megan as she moves to her grandmother’s cottage of Taigh Faire. What starts quietly escalates so gradually that the reader doesn’t necessarily know it’s happening until Amor flips the switch and the ride goes properly off the rails.
Amor excels writing female leads, which I realize is an odd thing to say. Her protagonists are strong, yet flawed. Like any good lead, they learn about themselves as the reader does, and even if you can’t put your finger on precisely why, you root for them. Megan is no exception, and even though the main events are spurred on by outside forces, it’s still very clearly Megan’s journey that remains at the forefront.
My one complaint seems a bit trifling, but White Pines does lack a little bit of the urgency that made me fall in love with the author’s shorter work. Trifling, because it’s a novel. Of course it’s not going to be paced the same as a work one quarter the size. It’s a wonderful story, but I’m not sure it will stick with me in the same way Dear Laura has.
The avalanche of potential sub-genre labels might overwhelm some readers so let me say that even though it does tick all those boxes, folk and fantasy horror are the best descriptors. As always, Amor packs emotion and brutal horror into the story, and doesn’t consistently warn you before dropping one or the other in your lap and refusing to let you look away.
The answer is a lot. White Pines is touted as cosmic-folk-celtic-fantasy-cult-horror, and it ticks all of those boxes. More importantly, it does so without leaving the reader lost, confused, or overwhelmed. Considering the amount packed in, the story is surprisingly linear, following Megan as she moves to her grandmother’s cottage of Taigh Faire. What starts quietly escalates so gradually that the reader doesn’t necessarily know it’s happening until Amor flips the switch and the ride goes properly off the rails.
Amor excels writing female leads, which I realize is an odd thing to say. Her protagonists are strong, yet flawed. Like any good lead, they learn about themselves as the reader does, and even if you can’t put your finger on precisely why, you root for them. Megan is no exception, and even though the main events are spurred on by outside forces, it’s still very clearly Megan’s journey that remains at the forefront.
My one complaint seems a bit trifling, but White Pines does lack a little bit of the urgency that made me fall in love with the author’s shorter work. Trifling, because it’s a novel. Of course it’s not going to be paced the same as a work one quarter the size. It’s a wonderful story, but I’m not sure it will stick with me in the same way Dear Laura has.
The avalanche of potential sub-genre labels might overwhelm some readers so let me say that even though it does tick all those boxes, folk and fantasy horror are the best descriptors. As always, Amor packs emotion and brutal horror into the story, and doesn’t consistently warn you before dropping one or the other in your lap and refusing to let you look away.
This book, wow. I previously read Bottled by Stephanie Ellis earlier this year, and therefore expected this one to have a quiet, slow-burn element to it. There are certainly some slow-building parts, but be it a positive or negative for the reader, this is a very different story from Bottled.
It begins with a poem that lays out the lore of most of what you’re about to read, setting the tone beautifully. At its heart, this book is folk horror, telling the story of sacrifice and ritual committed in the name of otherworldly creatures. When we realize these creatures may not be content to remain in the background, we make the jump to dark fantasy. The execution is pulled off with a certain subtlety one might not expect given the subject matter. Ellis begins the book setting up a world that feels plausible. It’s where a lot of the horror comes from - the idea that people like this could be up to the events of the book miles from where you sit right now. As Ellis sprinkles in fantastical elements, we never lose that sense of reality. Rather she brings the horrors to us rather than taking us to them.
The structure of the book is one of its stronger suits. From the outset, from the title even, we understand the book will contain five events leading to the climax. Between each event, which are described in brutal and unflinching detail, we gain a deeper understanding of how Tommy, Fiddler, and Betty operate, as well as following the growing concern on the minds of our main characters. Ellis makes the motivations clear, allowing the reader a crystal-clear glimpse into the decisions being made. I didn’t find myself particularly attached to Liza or Megan, but I was able to sympathize with their circumstances.
I’ve mentioned this already, but if you’re on the fence about this book, the juxtaposition of folk horror with dark fantasy alone is worth the price of admission. I’m still reeling from some of the more graphic rituals put on display. They’re written in a manner that doesn’t allow the reader to look away and the first is unexpected. So much so that I had to rewind to the top of the page and try again. Make sure I got it straight. When it happens again, you’re still caught off-guard. For a deeply disturbing read, you can’t go wrong with The Five Turns of the Wheel.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration
It begins with a poem that lays out the lore of most of what you’re about to read, setting the tone beautifully. At its heart, this book is folk horror, telling the story of sacrifice and ritual committed in the name of otherworldly creatures. When we realize these creatures may not be content to remain in the background, we make the jump to dark fantasy. The execution is pulled off with a certain subtlety one might not expect given the subject matter. Ellis begins the book setting up a world that feels plausible. It’s where a lot of the horror comes from - the idea that people like this could be up to the events of the book miles from where you sit right now. As Ellis sprinkles in fantastical elements, we never lose that sense of reality. Rather she brings the horrors to us rather than taking us to them.
The structure of the book is one of its stronger suits. From the outset, from the title even, we understand the book will contain five events leading to the climax. Between each event, which are described in brutal and unflinching detail, we gain a deeper understanding of how Tommy, Fiddler, and Betty operate, as well as following the growing concern on the minds of our main characters. Ellis makes the motivations clear, allowing the reader a crystal-clear glimpse into the decisions being made. I didn’t find myself particularly attached to Liza or Megan, but I was able to sympathize with their circumstances.
I’ve mentioned this already, but if you’re on the fence about this book, the juxtaposition of folk horror with dark fantasy alone is worth the price of admission. I’m still reeling from some of the more graphic rituals put on display. They’re written in a manner that doesn’t allow the reader to look away and the first is unexpected. So much so that I had to rewind to the top of the page and try again. Make sure I got it straight. When it happens again, you’re still caught off-guard. For a deeply disturbing read, you can’t go wrong with The Five Turns of the Wheel.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration
Ruby Miller is free at last. This is what I’m talking about - Gemma Amor writing a book that teeters on the line of long novella/short novel. From page one, Ruby Miller is a spiritual sister to the about-to-be released anthology We Are Wolves, co-edited by and contributed to by Amor. This book, and it’s titular character are brimming with fire. Literal fire, yes, but emotional fire too. The story begins following Ruby, who has been wronged, to put it lightly. Ruby perishes in a car accident, but is reborn from the ashes, like a phoenix.
From there, Ruby becomes something of a vigilante. Not the traditional Punisher-esque type, out looking for vengeance and trouble. For the most part, Ruby just wants to be. She wants to be allowed to exist and be who she is. When she is inevitably confronted, it never goes well for the confronters and bystanders.
Amor does an incredible job of building empathy for Ruby. The reader begins in her point of view, an opportunity to climb inside her head and understand what leads to her newfound ability, and why she’s not simply turning into a monster. What Amor also does a fabulous job with in this story, and much of it is accomplished by shifting points of view throughout, employing different styles of narration when the character changes, is stirring questions of morals in the heads of the reader. We begin with an understanding of why Ruby responds to things the way she does, but as the story progresses, we are left with questions like how much of Ruby’s humanity is left? Can we lay the end result of everything that happens at the feet of the people who drove her to this point?
It is certainly possible to read this book as a wham-bam-thank you ma’am tale of action, but reader, don’t deprive yourself. There’s so much more here. Gemma has the ability to pack a story into 150 pages or less that most authors can’t do in twice the length.
A couple other things I enjoyed - the surprise that this will be the first in a series. The mysterious organization out to capture Ruby, their motivations never made quite clear, are all but sure to return. The characterization of Cat, certainly aided by the first person narration section. Finally, the references to some of Gemma’s other stories including White Pines and a story from These Wounds We Make. Fun easter eggs for regular readers that don’t detract from the story if this is your first Amor experience.
This book doesn’t sing, it screams. Ignore whatever the “dates read” portion says. This was a two-day read. It’s captivating and full of white-hot fury. Enjoy.
From there, Ruby becomes something of a vigilante. Not the traditional Punisher-esque type, out looking for vengeance and trouble. For the most part, Ruby just wants to be. She wants to be allowed to exist and be who she is. When she is inevitably confronted, it never goes well for the confronters and bystanders.
Amor does an incredible job of building empathy for Ruby. The reader begins in her point of view, an opportunity to climb inside her head and understand what leads to her newfound ability, and why she’s not simply turning into a monster. What Amor also does a fabulous job with in this story, and much of it is accomplished by shifting points of view throughout, employing different styles of narration when the character changes, is stirring questions of morals in the heads of the reader. We begin with an understanding of why Ruby responds to things the way she does, but as the story progresses, we are left with questions like how much of Ruby’s humanity is left? Can we lay the end result of everything that happens at the feet of the people who drove her to this point?
It is certainly possible to read this book as a wham-bam-thank you ma’am tale of action, but reader, don’t deprive yourself. There’s so much more here. Gemma has the ability to pack a story into 150 pages or less that most authors can’t do in twice the length.
A couple other things I enjoyed - the surprise that this will be the first in a series. The mysterious organization out to capture Ruby, their motivations never made quite clear, are all but sure to return. The characterization of Cat, certainly aided by the first person narration section. Finally, the references to some of Gemma’s other stories including White Pines and a story from These Wounds We Make. Fun easter eggs for regular readers that don’t detract from the story if this is your first Amor experience.
This book doesn’t sing, it screams. Ignore whatever the “dates read” portion says. This was a two-day read. It’s captivating and full of white-hot fury. Enjoy.
Wormwood showing up in the mail from Silver Shamrock was a bit of a perfect storm for me. An eye-catching cover from Kealan Patrick Burke and a story from two top authors in the genre. Two top authors whose storytelling styles tend to be a little different, yes, but an anticipated collaboration nonetheless.
Meyer and Lutzke are in top form here. When I think of Chad Lutzke, I think of well-developed characters. People, especially younger people, I can really latch onto and empathize with. When I pick up a book that says Lutzke on the cover, I know I’m going to be gut-punched, and yet I’m never ready for it. When I open a Tim Meyer book, I never quite know what I’m going to get. He writes seamlessly in various subgenres, but you can always expect intensity. Wormwood has that in spades, and the penultimate chapter - the longest in the book - is an absolute masterclass is suspenseful storytelling.
Together, the two authors have written something in equal parts unforgettable, unputdownable, and surprisingly relatable. Our focus is on Baker Gray, the new kid. In the opening pages, he befriends Seb, another kid who borders on outcast. The two get on friendly terms with Cass, a girl who’s a little bit older than the boys, but seems to enjoy their company. The further we go down the rabbit hole, the more insinuation we get into Cass’ troubles and motivations. We see Baker get sucked into something of an obsession with this girl, and it’s understandable.
Meyer and Lutzke do a phenomenal job of tapping into the psyche of a 14 year old boy getting attention from a girl he has a crush on. The mental gymnastics that take place every day to overlook warning signs and do foolish things just because she bats her eyes and makes you think you have a chance. It would be very easy to look at Baker, to think his actions are unrealistic and there’s no chance anyone would let things spiral out of control the way they do. Equally interesting is watching Seb get drawn into events, because the authors don’t show us everything. We’re left with the Baker’s-eye-view of what Seb goes through, followed by the aftermath.
I opened this book at one in the afternoon on a Saturday, intending to read a few chapters, and before I knew it, the kids were looking for dinner, the sun was going down, and I was within ten pages of the end. Totally unable to perform any task until I learned how things were going to shake out.
Wormwood saw a Thunderstorm Books release in November, but will see a wide e-book and paperback release on December 16th. In my opinion, this is a special book that fires on all cylinders. While it’s possible that it just hit me at the right time and plucked at my nostalgia strings, I think a lot of people are going to feel the same way. This is Chad Lutzke and Tim Meyer at their absolute best, working together in one cohesive voice, and playing to their individual strengths. I hope we see these two collaborate on something else in the future.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
Meyer and Lutzke are in top form here. When I think of Chad Lutzke, I think of well-developed characters. People, especially younger people, I can really latch onto and empathize with. When I pick up a book that says Lutzke on the cover, I know I’m going to be gut-punched, and yet I’m never ready for it. When I open a Tim Meyer book, I never quite know what I’m going to get. He writes seamlessly in various subgenres, but you can always expect intensity. Wormwood has that in spades, and the penultimate chapter - the longest in the book - is an absolute masterclass is suspenseful storytelling.
Together, the two authors have written something in equal parts unforgettable, unputdownable, and surprisingly relatable. Our focus is on Baker Gray, the new kid. In the opening pages, he befriends Seb, another kid who borders on outcast. The two get on friendly terms with Cass, a girl who’s a little bit older than the boys, but seems to enjoy their company. The further we go down the rabbit hole, the more insinuation we get into Cass’ troubles and motivations. We see Baker get sucked into something of an obsession with this girl, and it’s understandable.
Meyer and Lutzke do a phenomenal job of tapping into the psyche of a 14 year old boy getting attention from a girl he has a crush on. The mental gymnastics that take place every day to overlook warning signs and do foolish things just because she bats her eyes and makes you think you have a chance. It would be very easy to look at Baker, to think his actions are unrealistic and there’s no chance anyone would let things spiral out of control the way they do. Equally interesting is watching Seb get drawn into events, because the authors don’t show us everything. We’re left with the Baker’s-eye-view of what Seb goes through, followed by the aftermath.
I opened this book at one in the afternoon on a Saturday, intending to read a few chapters, and before I knew it, the kids were looking for dinner, the sun was going down, and I was within ten pages of the end. Totally unable to perform any task until I learned how things were going to shake out.
Wormwood saw a Thunderstorm Books release in November, but will see a wide e-book and paperback release on December 16th. In my opinion, this is a special book that fires on all cylinders. While it’s possible that it just hit me at the right time and plucked at my nostalgia strings, I think a lot of people are going to feel the same way. This is Chad Lutzke and Tim Meyer at their absolute best, working together in one cohesive voice, and playing to their individual strengths. I hope we see these two collaborate on something else in the future.
I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.
From the onset of Amor’s fierce introduction, WE ARE WOLVES never lets up for a moment. Delivering stories and poetry from some of the best women writing horror today, this anthology sings a symphony of beauty and strength, all the while ready to rip your still-beating heart out of your chest.
Cina Pelayo’s “The Black Wallpaper” is a demonstration of never feeling good enough, never feeling like you’re doing quite enough. It’s a powerful and heavy opening that lets you know exactly what you’re in for in this anthology. I had read Laurel Hightower’s “Though Your Heart is Breaking” when it was originally released by Ink Heist, and I found it just as poignant and every bit as hard-hitting as I did initially. Gemma Amor’s “Angel” made for a hard-as-hell read, highlighting the unfairness of those who can become parents and take it for granted. A knock-down drag-out trio of stories from the women who built this book.
S.H. Cooper’s “A Key For Any Lock” is a standout. Distressing, but unfortunately not surprising, it reminds the reader of some privileged white males who have made the news and had their sins forgiven because they have such a promising future. Cooper says no more, here. Sonora Taylor’s “The Parrot” gives us a touch of tech horror and a main character with no redeeming qualities surrounded by compelling story.
V. Castro’s “Lobster Trap” takes us into the land of metaphor, but don’t let that make you think she pulls any punches. Pretty sure V isn’t capable of that. “Doll House” by Red Lagoe is really brutal, really hard to read. In an anthology like this, that’s saying something, but staying the course is worth it. “Ruthie’s Garden” by Cassie Daley, utilizes a bit of misdirection, but it’s ultimately the characters that draw you in, breaking your heart, but leaving you with a little bit of hope. This review wouldn’t be complete without a mention of “Woman. Mother. Goddess. Death.” by Lilyn George, a narrative that won’t let you look away, minces no words, and provides an unflinching view of wrongdoing and revenge.
It was my honor to read an early version of this book, including not only the incredible authors above, but also people such as Jessica Guess, The Sisters of Slaughter, Sarah Read, Hailey Piper, Sarah Tantlinger, Eve Harms, and more. The proceeds from this anthology go to benefiting the victims of abuse and assault. There’s no downside here. A book full of astounding and heartfelt stories that does some good on the backend. Pick this one up today.
I received a copy from the editor for review consideration.
Cina Pelayo’s “The Black Wallpaper” is a demonstration of never feeling good enough, never feeling like you’re doing quite enough. It’s a powerful and heavy opening that lets you know exactly what you’re in for in this anthology. I had read Laurel Hightower’s “Though Your Heart is Breaking” when it was originally released by Ink Heist, and I found it just as poignant and every bit as hard-hitting as I did initially. Gemma Amor’s “Angel” made for a hard-as-hell read, highlighting the unfairness of those who can become parents and take it for granted. A knock-down drag-out trio of stories from the women who built this book.
S.H. Cooper’s “A Key For Any Lock” is a standout. Distressing, but unfortunately not surprising, it reminds the reader of some privileged white males who have made the news and had their sins forgiven because they have such a promising future. Cooper says no more, here. Sonora Taylor’s “The Parrot” gives us a touch of tech horror and a main character with no redeeming qualities surrounded by compelling story.
V. Castro’s “Lobster Trap” takes us into the land of metaphor, but don’t let that make you think she pulls any punches. Pretty sure V isn’t capable of that. “Doll House” by Red Lagoe is really brutal, really hard to read. In an anthology like this, that’s saying something, but staying the course is worth it. “Ruthie’s Garden” by Cassie Daley, utilizes a bit of misdirection, but it’s ultimately the characters that draw you in, breaking your heart, but leaving you with a little bit of hope. This review wouldn’t be complete without a mention of “Woman. Mother. Goddess. Death.” by Lilyn George, a narrative that won’t let you look away, minces no words, and provides an unflinching view of wrongdoing and revenge.
It was my honor to read an early version of this book, including not only the incredible authors above, but also people such as Jessica Guess, The Sisters of Slaughter, Sarah Read, Hailey Piper, Sarah Tantlinger, Eve Harms, and more. The proceeds from this anthology go to benefiting the victims of abuse and assault. There’s no downside here. A book full of astounding and heartfelt stories that does some good on the backend. Pick this one up today.
I received a copy from the editor for review consideration.