Category: literature promotion

A Positive Review of ‘The Targeter,’ My Surreal Novella, by Dennis Riches

My friend, Dennis Riches, whose writing I have reblogged a number of times here, has written up a wonderful review on Amazon of my novella, The Targeter, and rated it five stars! It’s the only review as of the publication of this post, but hey, it’s a start! Baby steps, right?

Here’s what he said: ‘5.0 out of 5 stars An excellent short tale that encompasses the personal, the political and the spiritual. (Reviewed in the United States on August 3, 2024)

‘It is difficult to know how to describe and categorize this work. Is it a long poem or a short story? Is it fantasy or realistic fiction? Is the narrator a fictional character, or is this just a slightly fictionalized auto-biography—one rendered as a surrealistic reflection on a life and a family, and on all life at this point in history where nuclear catastrophe looms over us? Is it a Christian-Buddhist prayer or a political treatise? Perhaps it’s the author’s way of telling us, “Just say no to drugs”? Read it and contemplate all these questions to light your own path.’

I can’t say enough times how grateful I am for Dennis’s endorsement of my book! Thank you so much, Dennis, and I’ll be waiting for your next blog article! 🙂

My Short Story, ‘Sing, Sing, Sing,’ in the Anthology, ‘Psalms of the Alien Buddha #3, The Final Track

Psalms of the Alien Buddha #3, the Final Track is a new anthology of poetry and prose published by Alien Buddha Press. I have a horror short story in it, called “Sing, Sing, Sing.”

The story is about two eighteen-year-old girls in a high school jazz band who love a jazz clarinetist, Woody, who is almost ten years older than them, and who is creepy enough to want to fool around with them. The first of these two girls, Claire, is jealous of Hedda, the second girl, for stealing Woody, and Claire wants to get revenge on Hedda. Claire also knows how to use magic, so that will be how she achieves her revenge. Now, when she achieves her revenge, will all be well with her, or will she have to deal with some bad karma because of it?

Of course, there are many other talented writers of prose and poetry in this anthology. I’m hoping you can read all their names on the back cover presented above. The paperback is now available on Amazon for $14.99. Go check it out: I’m sure you’ll love it!

‘The Ancestors,’ a Horror Story, Chapter Five

“I gotta use the washroom,” Freddie said, then got up and left the dining room.

Good, Hannah though, frowning as she watched him walk away. Fall in the toilet and drown in there, why don’t you? As long as you stop belittling the man I love.

“Oh, nuts,” Brad said, squirming in his chair. “I gotta go, too. Do you have another bathroom, please?”

“On the third floor,” Emily said.

Brad frowned a bit. “You don’t have one here on the ground floor?”

“We do, but the toilet in it is broken,” Mrs. Dan said. “If you can’t wait for Freddie to get back, I’m afraid you’ll have to use the one on the third floor. Sorry.”

“And Freddie takes forever in the bathroom,” Al said.

“And you don’t?” Emily snapped at him.

He raised his middle finger at her, his other hand covering it so the others wouldn’t see.

“Ooh, the finger,” she said.

Brad let out a big sigh and got up. “I guess I’ll have to go up there,” he said. “My gout’s gonna kill me, but I don’t wanna hold this in much longer.” He went out of the room.

Hannah leaned over to her mother and whispered in her ear, “I hate for Dad to suffer with his gout going up those stairs, but if Freddie takes forever in the second-floor bathroom, I’ll be OK with his prolonged absence.”

“Agreed,” Margaret whispered back in Hannah’s ear.

Mr. and Mrs. Dan gave the two whisperers a cool glare, not approving of the privacy of their brief exchange. The two looked back at them with a shudder.

Just a few more steps, Brad thought as he struggled to reach the third floor. God, my foot is killing me!

When his two feet were finally on the third floor, he let out a grunt of relief. He saw, at the end of the hall, a wide-open door revealing the bathroom. Now he just had to limp his way over there.

He got in, closed the door and locked it, then lifted the toilet seat. He unzipped his pants, took it out, and let out a long, loud sigh of relief as he began emptying himself in the toilet bowl.

That was worth the pain in my foot, he was thinking as his bladder got emptier and emptier. Maybe.

Now, completely voided, he gave it a shake, put it away, and zipped himself up. He let out another sigh of relief and washed his hands after flushing.

He groaned in pain as he shuffled his feet and left the bathroom. Going down the stairs wouldn’t be quite as bad for him as going up, but the damage had already been done by the three-floor ascent. He was not looking forward to returning.

If only they had a stair lift here, as we have at home, he thought as he, wincing in pain, limped back to the stairs.

“Hello,” he heard someone say in an exaggerated, sing-song voice, as if mocking him, from behind.

“What?” he said looking back and seeing no one.

“Hello,” the male voice said again, in the same mocking way. “How do you do?”

“That isn’t funny,” Brad said, grateful only that the voice was giving him an excuse not to keep moving on that painful foot. “Maybe you think it’s amusing, but it isn’t.”

He took another step, then one with his bad foot. He moaned in pain.

“I love you,” his watcher called in that sing-song voice again.

“What kind of an idiot are you?” Brad said.

“Fuck you,” the boyish voice said.

“Is that you, Freddie? You aren’t just an asshole to your brother; you’re an asshole to everybody, aren’t you?”

“Come in here, and find out if I’m Freddie or not.”

“I don’t think I want to waste my time with someone so disrespectful to guests. Besides, my foot can’t handle moving around any more than I have to.”

The door to a room right next to him in the hallway suddenly opened. Brad looked in and saw nobody, though the light was off and little could be seen. He heard a slight grunting sound.

“What’s that?” he said softly. An animal, or just that jerk making animal noises?

He heard the grunt again. If that was Freddie, or whoever, making the grunts, he was good at doing animal impressions. The pain in his foot was subsiding.

I like animals, and I’m not looking forward to going down all those stairs, he thought as he turned to face the opened door. What the hell–I’ll take a look.

In he went, wincing from his aching foot. He felt around the wall in the darkness for the light switch as he tried to find, in the dimness, the source of the grunts.

Just before he found the switch, he heard another sing-song “Hello.”

The light went on.

No animal.

No speaker.

Just boxes of things, stacked up all over the room.

He shuffled further into the room slowly, grunting with every movement of that sore foot. He looked around to see if the grunts were from an animal or from Freddie.

He heard another grunt, from behind some of the boxes. The space behind them was too small for Freddie, or anyone else, to be hiding there.

He shuffled closer to the boxes.

He heard another grunt.

He bent down by the back of the boxes.

The door creaked.

With his bad legs and his awkward position, he wasn’t able to look around in time to see if Freddie, or whoever that was, made the door creak.

He saw no one in the room, but the door was now swung all the way open, instead of half-open, as it had been when he went in. Freddie, if it was him, had to be hiding behind the door, in the corner of the room opposite from where Brad was.

He heard another grunt.

He looked behind the boxes. It was a cat with ginger fur. Now it began meowing.

“Aww,” he said, reaching out. “C’m’ere, my little sweetheart.” He picked it up, then straightened up slowly with a groan from his stiff back. “What were you doing back there?” he asked while stroking its back and enjoying the sound of its purring. “You little silly–“

“Hello.”

He turned around and looked over at the door with a glare. Alright, asshole, he thought as he began limping toward the door, always stroking the cat. What nonsense do you have planned for me behind there?

Though he was impatient to get over there and find whoever was behind the door and get this nonsense over with, his sore foot was still slowing him down.

He inched closer and closer.

There was total silence.

Now, he would have preferred to hear another hello.

Finally, he reached the door.

He grabbed it, ready to swing it the other way.

As he did, he said, “Alright, asshole, what’s your–?”

No one was there.

“Mmm?” he said.

The cat was fidgeting in his other arm.

“Oh, I guess you wanna be let go.”

He let the cat drop from his arm, its feet tapping the floor.

“Good evening, Mr. Sandy,” the hoarse voice of an old woman said from behind him.

“Oh?” he said, startled, then turned around.

His eyes and mouth widened.

Before he could scream or process what he saw, an axe came chopping into his face, cutting his head almost into halves and spraying his blood everywhere. In the split second that he had to take in who had killed him, he saw Freddie.

The rest of his body shook for a few seconds, then it fell to the floor with a thump.

The cat meowed again.

“Come, kitty,” Po said through Freddie’s mouth in Chinese. “Run along back downstairs. I have a mess to clean up. At least his foot won’t be troubling him anymore.”

‘Nature Triumphs,’ an Upcoming Horror Anthology, Includes a Short Story by Me…’The Bees’

Nature Triumphs: a Charity Anthology of Dark Speculative Literature, is an upcoming collection of horror short stories and poetry edited by Alison Armstrong and Pixie Bruner, and presented by Dark Moon Rising Publications. The charity is dedicated to helping save the environment.

My short story is called ‘The Bees.’ It’s about a geneticist/beekeeper who, fed up with the world’s indifference to the dying off of the bees, does genetic alterations of the many bees he takes care of. He weaponizes them, making them bigger, stronger, smarter, and more lethal, capable of stinging their victims many times until they die. Can he be stopped, or will his enhanced bees multiply and tyrannize the world?

All the talented writers in this anthology include Angela Acosta, M.G. Allen, Alison Armstrong, Lilse Asalt, Andrew Bell, Katie Brunecz, Pixie Bruner, Ramsey Campbell, J. Rocky Colavito, Rebecca Cuthbert, Julie Dron, Stephanie Ellis, Timons Esaias, J.G. Faherty, Thomas Folske, Brian U. Garrison, Elana Gomel, Alejandro Gonzales, Norbert Góra, [myself], Sebastian Gray, Megan Guilliams, Linda Kay Hardie, Kyle Heger, Kristi Hendricks, Kasey Hill, Larry Hodges, Akua Lezli Hope, Sandra Lindow, Gordon Linzner, J.C. Maçek III, Victor Malone, John C. Mannone, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Makena Metz, Edward Morris, Irena Barbara Nagler, Kris Nelson, Kevin Sandefur, Em Starr, Michael Errol Swaim, Rob Tannahill, Lamont A. Turner, and Mary A. Turzillo.

The anthology drops on September 3rd, and they’re doing preorders now on Amazon and everywhere. Please come check it out, and help us to help the environment in a fun, scary way. I’m sure you’ll love the stories and poems in this collection!

‘Symptom of the Universe: A Horror Tribute to Black Sabbath,’ an Upcoming Anthology I Have a Short Story to be Published In

Symptom of the Universe: A Horror Tribute to Black Sabbath is the name of a new anthology of horror short stories, presented by Dark Moon Rising Publications, edited by J.C. Macek III, and with a foreword by Martin Popoff, the Canadian music journalist and critic. As the title implies, the stories are all inspired by Black Sabbath songs.

My story is named “NIB,” so you shouldn’t have a problem figuring out which song my story is inspired by (though it makes references to a whole lot of other Sabbath songs, albums, covers, etc). It begins with this line: “My drug dealer’s in love with me.” I hope that will pique your curiosity about where the story will be heading…a wild, surreal, and disturbing ride through the mind of a traumatized drug addict whose latest trip is more than just that–a paranoid nightmare that might involve witchcraft, and just might kill him.

The book will be published on September 18th. It’s available for preorder on Amazon.

Here, apart from me, are the names of all the talented authors to be included in the anthology: Rob Tannahill, David L. Tamarin, J. Rocky Colavito, Neil Sanzari, Sidney Williams, Don Webb, John Claude Smith, Rhys Hughes, Edward Morris, Tom Folske, Duane Pesice, Tom Lucas, J.C. Macek III, Gail Ice, Rhys Hughes again, J.C. Macek III again, Daniel E. Lambert, Bert Edens, Shayne Keen, Scott Couturier, Thom Erb, Stewart Giles, Jayaprakash Satyamurthy, J.C. Macek III yet again, Emmy Viane, Tom Folske again, Jason R. Frei, Thomas R. Clark, Keith Keesler and J.C. Macek III, Melissa Howard Corrigan, John Reti, J.C. Macek III, Ezekiel Kincaid, Kasey Hill, J.C. Macek III again, John Sowder, Tony Millington, and Neil Kelly. Note that several authors contributed more than one story, and a few stories are collaborations.

I really hope you’ll go out and buy yourself a copy of this new anthology. It’s a charity anthology, with all the proceeds going to the Dio Cancer Fund. It’s also going to be a really great set of stories. I’m sure it’ll knock your socks off!

‘The Ancestors,’ a Horror Story, Chapter Four

Hannah, her parents, and her brother arrived at the Dans’ house at 8:00 PM sharp for the dinner. She rang the doorbell, and Al’s mother came to answer it with a big, warm smile.

“Oh, good evening,” Mrs. Dan said as she reached out a hand to shake Hannah’s. “You must be Hannah. Al has told us so much about you. Come on in, all of you.”

The other Dans were still in the living room, not smiling at Al.

As the Sandys were coming in, Mrs. Dan greeted the others. “You must be Hannah’s mother, Mrs. Sandy,” she said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Sandy said, mirroring Mrs. Dan’s grin. “You can call me Margaret.”

“And you are Hannah’s father and brother, yes?”

“Yes,” Mr. Sandy said. “You can call me Brad.” He shook Mrs. Dan’s hand.

“I’m Doug,” Hannah’s brother said, then he shook her hand.

Mrs. Dan led the Sandys into the living room, where Mr. Dan rose from his chair with a grin. He reached out to shake Brad’s hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Dan,” Brad said as they shook hands. “Hannah’s told us so many nice things about Al. I’m Brad Sandy, her father, and this is her mother, Margaret.” Margaret shook Mr. Dan’s hand. “This is Hannah’s brother, Doug, and this is Hannah.” They all shook hands.

“It’s so nice to meet you all finally,” Mr. Dan said, then he gestured to Al’s sister and to Freddie. “Meet my daughter, Emily, my son, Freddie, and their brother–the one moping and twitching in the corner over there, the one Hannah is dating–is Al.”

Everyone shook hands.

“Emily,” Mrs. Dan said, “come help me in the kitchen.”

Emily left the living room.

“Let’s all go into the dining room,” Mr. Dan said. “My wife and daughter should be getting all the dishes for us to eat now.”

As they were heading for the dining room, both Margaret and Hannah were thinking, Interesting how only the females have to do all the work in the kitchen.

Of course, Al had concerns of his own, him still moping as they all sat down. His mother and sister were putting the bowls and plates of rice, vegetables, chicken, and seafood on the round table, which could be rotated to allow anyone to get access to any dish.

Oh, please, spirits, Al begged in his thoughts, with his eyes closed and his lips moving. Don’t do anything too horrible tonight.

Freddie noticed Al’s moving lips.

“Who are you talking to, Al?” Freddie asked. “Besides yourself?”

Al glared at him, his eyes telling him to shut up.

“Ooh,” Freddie said. “Dirty look.”

Now Hannah was glaring at Freddie.

I’m starting to see why Al didn’t want us to come tonight, she thought. His brother can’t even refrain from bullying him when guests are here.

“So, what do you do, Mr. Sandy?” Mr. Dan asked as he helped himself to some rice.

“Well, I’m the owner of a furniture store on the other side of town,” Brad said, then rotated the table so he could get at the rice.

“Oh, Brad’s Furniture?” Mr. Dan said.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Brad said with a smile.

“We have a chair or two in the living room that need replacing,” Mrs. Dan said.

“Because Al broke them,” Emily said.

There was a pause as the Sandys looked at her and the other Dans awkwardly. Al blushed.

Po broke both of them when I sat on them, he thought. But how do you talk about that without sounding crazy?

“We should go to your store and see if there are any we can get to replace them,” Mr. Dan said.

“I’d love to have you come in and look around my store,” Brad said with another smile. “After dinner, I can go back into the living room and look at your damaged chairs so I can get a head start in finding suitable replacements in my store.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Mrs. Dan said.

“Just make sure they’re extra sturdy chairs,” Emily said. “We don’t want Al breaking them again.”

Al, sitting next to her, whispered “Shut up!” in Chinese.

“Why?” she whispered in Chinese. “What’ll you do if I don’t?”

He cursed at her in Chinese, more audibly this time.

Mr. and Mrs. Dan frowned at him…but not at Emily.

“Al, don’t be like that,” his mother said softly but firmly in Chinese.

Trying to defuse things, Margaret then said, “Mr. Dan, what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a businessman, too,” he said. “I own a microchip manufacturing company located downtown.”

“I wish Dad would make a microchip we could have implanted in Al’s brain,” Freddie said. “If it can be called a brain.”

He and Emily giggled.

The Sandys all looked at Al’s siblings in shock. Mr. and Mrs. Dan acted as though nothing wrong was said. Al just sank into his chair.

There was an awkward silence of five seconds.

“A-and you, Mrs. Dan?” Margaret asked. “What do you do?”

“I’m a housewife,” she answered coolly.

“I’m a high school history teacher,” Margaret said.

“Oh,” Mrs. Dan said, almost with an air of disapproval, as if it would have been better for Margaret to be a stay-at-home mom. Margaret keenly felt that.

Al reached for the plate of chicken. As soon as he touched it, though, it twirled in the air several times, throwing the chicken pieces all over the place, one hitting Margaret in the face, another hitting Hannah in the chest, fortunately leaving no stain on her blouse.

“I was waiting for Al to fumble something,” Emily said. “You clumsy idiot!”

“Loser!” Freddie said.

Po, Al thought, looking down at his shoes.

Poor Al, Hannah thought after checking her blouse for any marks of chicken on it. He didn’t fumble that plate, though. It did a cartwheel all of its own accord…but how do you talk about that without sounding crazy?

Swimmers

Israel
has
swim-
mers,
as do the Palestinians.

Zion
does
not
need
swimmers; it just needs to disappear.

One
can
only
wish
the Palestinians could swim away from their hellfire.

But
they
can
only
quench that fire with all of the blood they’ve been swimming in.

They
should
not
have
to swim away, in red or blue; for Israel needs to disappear, no blood or water for land.

‘SPOTLIGHT: The Targeter: a Surreal Novella by Mawr Gorshin,’ from the Alien Buddha Press Blog

SPOTLIGHT: The Targeter: a Surreal Novella by Mawr Gorshin

Please don’t forget to check out my new novella, The Targeter, published by AlienBuddha Press! Here you’ll find an excerpt from the novella, describing how the protagonist, stoned out of his mind, is having a reverie in which he imagines himself experiencing a divine birth comparable to the mythical birth of the Buddha. Here’s a link to the Amazon page, where the paperback costs a mere US$14.46.

My Short Story, ‘The Portal,’ to be Published in ‘Confessions from the Think Tank: A MUFON Charity Anthology’

I have a short story called ‘The Portal’ that will be published in this charity anthology by Dark Moon Rising Publications. Like my short story, ‘The Harvest,’ published in this anthology by Alien Buddha Press, this collection is also focused on conspiracy-oriented stories.

A woman high on LSD stumbles into a portal that takes her to an alien world with human collaborators who are helping the aliens colonize the Earth and steal its resources. She’s come back through the portal to Earth to warn her friends about what she’s seen. But is it real? Has she really seen these sights, or is it just part of her drug trip? Is there really something out there to worry about, or is she just going insane, as her friends think she is? Read and find out, when it’s out!

Other talented authors in this anthology will include David L. Tamarin, Megan Guillams, J.C. Macek III, Walter Wiseman, Dawn Colclasure, and John Bruni.

All you believers in dark plots against us by the elite, check out this anthology when it’s published. I’m sure you’ll love it!