“Made to Order” Writing

I’m not a big fan of what I refer to as “made to order” writing. I’ve written a novel and eight short stories thus far – not to mention a novella and two other short stories in varying degrees of completion – and I usually write whatever the hell I feel like writing about. Usually, an idea strikes me, I say, “Holy crap! That’s awesome!’ before firing up the laptop that has a screen held precariously to the keyboard by copious amounts of electrical tape.

However, I recently discovered that a small press publisher is taking submissions for an upcoming zombie anthology book. Yes, you heard me right. Zombies.

Zombies – at one time – were cool. But ever since 28 Days Later, the Dawn of the Dead remake, and George Romero’s Land of the Dead, zombies have done little more but piss me off. They seem to be an excuse to throw together a cheap capitalization of their popularity, usually in the form of uninspired remakes. From what I’ve read thus far, zombies in horror fiction haven’t fared much better.

I never wanted to write a zombie story. Never. Nope. No way. I like to stick primarily with the supernatural and Lovecraftian horror elements such as fear of the unknown, insanity, extra-dimensional abnormalities and unimaginable monstrosities from beyond time and space. But opportunity is opportunity, right? How can I ever achieve my dreams of writing horror fiction for a living if I reject this latest chance for exposure? How can I ever hope to get my mangled teeth fixed up if I spit in the face of opportunity? How can I ever hope to afford that elusive Cleveland Browns coat I’ve wanted since I was ten years old? I guess you get the idea.

So I grudgingly sat in front of my crumbling laptop and started to write…a zombie story. A zombie story, so help me God. And you know what? It’s turning out much, much better than I dared to dream. These characters have developed lives of their own and refuse to do what I planned for them to do. These unpredictable and damaged characters are the central focus of the story, not the zombies. I also think I’ve created a unique twist to how these zombies are made that is firmly rooted in reality.

So what am I trying to say? Sometimes – but not all the time – writing a story “made to order” can be a good thing. You never know what the imagination can do unless you use it.

Saying Goodbye to a Friend

As I sit here writing this, I can’t help but to notice that everything seems so surreal to me at the moment. The past week has been a confusing blur of events and it seems my mind has run the emotional gauntlet.

Eight days ago, a friend of mine, Lewis Coil, died of a heart attack. Lew was a regular at The Game Room, a fine establishment here in Toledo that I’ve compared to the bar on the old television show Cheers; it’s a place where everybody knows your name. As expected, Lew’s sudden death threw us all into turmoil. I got to know Lew back in early 2006, and over the course of two and a half years, I became very fond of his well-timed humor, charming crankiness as well as his sheer passion for comics and those particular creators who make them special. I didn’t know Lew as long or as personally as my close friend Paul Shiple – the man who helps make The Game Room the great place it is – or some of the other regulars, like Aaron Weisbrod or Eric Palicki. Due to the lack of income, I’ve been able to make only sporadic trips to The Game Room over the last year and a half and I hadn’t seen Lew in a year. His passing fills me with regret, as I missed sitting next to him, listening to his opinions and his well-timed jokes before he passed on. Now I know it’s too late.

After the news of Lew’s passing, my mother – who suffered the amputation of her left leg above the knee a little over two years ago – sustained an infection in a wound on her right foot that required another traumatic surgery. Not only did they have to remove the lower portion of her right leg at around mid-calf, but they also took another section from her left leg because of a lingering infection inside the bone there.

With Lew’s passing fresh on my mind, I wasn’t optimistic of her chances.  For a few eerie days, everything seemed a little darker than normal, the shadows in every room felt as if they were closing in with a malevolent sentience of their own. I saw my mom minutes before she was taken back in the operating room. I said what I had to say to her before having to leave.

It wasn’t until seven hours later when I received the word that she made it out of surgery okay. I exhaled a sigh of relief. I was elated that my mother’s time hadn’t come yet.

Which brings me to now. I’m preparing to attend a memorial service for Lew, a gathering that will have many – if not all – of The Game Room’s regulars. I’ll see many good friends there, and a number of them I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing in a while. It is there where we’ll celebrate our merry little band of marauders as well as Lew’s life. I have no doubt he’ll receive a truly heartfelt goodbye from the gang who loved him and looked up to him.

From relief over my mother to this. When I’m able to go to The Game Room more often again, there will be an empty space there that nobody can possibly fill, and I know the rest of the crew feels the same way. Max Lambdin – another regular – said it best when he posted that Lew was a “great curly-haired guy” on Facebook. Wednesdays will, most definitely, never be the same.

So long, buddy.

If You Can’t Write…Then Don’t

I don’t believe I’m the greatest writer who ever lived nor do I think I’m the greatest writer alive today. I do have enough faith in my talent to say that I’m a good writer, which should be enough to prevent those rejection letters from piling up faster than cat shit in an untended litter box. Right?

I’m sure that the rags-to-riches success of writers such as J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer have led to thousands – if not millions – of people taking up writing in hopes of emulating their accomplishments. Of course, I’ll save my nasty opinions of Meyer’s Twilight series and its myriad of rip-offs for another day; that isn’t what this particular post is about. No, what I’m ranting about here are the people who are cluttering up the desks of editors all over with drivel such as this:

He opened the door. There, staring back at him, was the Hook Man. He shot the Hook Man with his gun, but the Hook Man screamed a scream of such crotch-tingling rage that he threw his gun at the Hook Man in hopes of distracting him so he could run away from the Hook Man, which he did. He ran down the hall. Turning right, he saw a crumbling wooden door that may or may not have promised him safe refuge from the fury and murderous intentions of the horrible scariness of the Hook Man. He opened the door. The Hook Man was already there! His balls shriveled up and he screamed and ran back into the hall. Not knowing where to go, he screamed for help but no help would come. He was in the lair of the horrific and diabolically homicidal Hook Man…

I don’t know about you, but if I were an editor having to read through hundreds of those types of submissions over a small span of time, I’d be looking for a shotgun so I could attempt self-inflicted brain surgery. I can’t help but wonder how many good stories and good writers are overlooked because of long-suffering editors who are worn down from the crap they have to read day-to-day.

What I’m trying to say is this…if you can’t write, then don’t. Don’t waste your time or the time of others by deluding yourself with fantasies of being the next J.K. Rowling. There’s nothing wrong with learning writing as a new skill and trying to make yourself better at it. But if years go by and you still can’t eliminate those run-on sentences, grammatical errors, typos, and formulaic plots without the aid of Microsoft Word and a handy copy of Writing Amazing Plots for Dummies, then maybe it’s time you move on. Find something else that you are good at and shoot for the stars…

…or else the Hook Man might find you.

Artwork of “The Blackening”

As some of you may or may not know, The Blackening is my first completed novel, and – to this day – remains my only finished novel. It’s a brutal, uncompromising look at how the scars of racism haunt the protagonist as he slowly unravels the terrible truth behind a school shooting.

Tha Blackening is both a labor of love and hate for me. While I still believe it is the best work I’ve ever written, I also dumped two-plus years of emotional heartache and loss into those characters and the unholy horrors they face. Along the way, I somehow wrote a deeply poetic yet hopelessly suicidal – almost nihilistic – reflection of society.

The novel contains four pieces of artwork that I penciled, each one representing the four parts that the story is split into. I will have to modify them in order to remove potential spoilers, but I will post them sometime later on. Firstly, here is the scanned image of my rough sketch for the cover:

Since I have the IQ of a dusty broom when it comes to digital imaging, my good friend (and the Madman of Manchester, England) Tim Sinclair stepped in. Working from my sketch idea, he started a new image in Photoshop and built it up from there:

Pssst…that’s Tim himself as the cover “models.” Many thanks go to Tim for working on it and putting up with copious amounts of my constructive criticisms and suggestions as he went along.

Unfortunately, due to Tim’s time constraints, I haven’t been able to work with him further as I would like; he really is a swell guy and it was a joy working alongside him. I have several pencil sketches of promotional artwork for The Blackening – as well as those aforementioned interior pieces – that just need a little love in Photoshop. Here’s a sampling of these pieces:

Anybody I know willing to lend their Photoshopping skills, I pay a reasonable rate of gratitude…because it’s all I can afford.

When I feel inspired enough to do so (AKA a little less lazy), I’ll post an excerpt from The Blackening.

Domain of the Disturbing is Online

Welcome to the official WordPress blog of Daryl Brownell, aspiring horror writer and all-around madman (not to mention the scourge of boneless chicken wings the world over). Following the advice of a friend, I’ve started this blog as a means of “pimping” my own work to the masses, as the rejection notices have been piling up and making me feel just a wee bit unstable as a result.

In the future, this blog will be the home to sample excerpts of my artwork, novels, novellas, and short stories, as well as random rants about the things that have the tendency to piss me off.

Prepare youself to be disturbed.