Cluck The Book

Paddling away at Quack, Nary a peep about Cluck

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 21:27:51 +0000

It's been a while since I've had a chance to post any updates. In case you haven't noticed, the podiobook project stalled almost as soon as it started. This is definitely still going happen, folks, so don't throw away your iPods just yet. The problem is three-fold:

My microphone broke
I've been working on the next book, "Quack," which has been consuming a lot of my time
The workload at the day-job increased, with an acquisition (a good thing) and a promotion (a very good thing)

I can't honestly say this is a problem, because I'm having a lot of fun writing it. Nazis, mutants, spirits of all sorts .. and of course ducks. If there's interest, I may post rough drafts of chapters as they complete. Jus' lemme know.

Cluck Second to Stephen King's "The Stand" ...? The (beta) Readers Have Spoken!

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 19:40:29 +0000

"Cluck: Murder Most Fowl" is ranked #2, just under " The Stand" on Amazon UnSpun. How long will this last? Who knows, but I'm savoring my number two position under "The Stand" while it lasts. The Stand is one of the first horror novels that I ever read, and it has been re-read on occasion since. There's no need to go into an in-depth review, because everyone knows The Stand already, and even if you didn't like it (i.e., you're a mutant or a communist or both), you have to respect the importance of this novel. Cluck, which is also important to me (because I wrote it) is now second to The Stand in a reader-ranked list titled "Favorite Horror Novels."

Interestingly, Stephen King has a copy of my book (most likely in a tube of tin with a plastic liner, lid, and hands-free sanitary foot pedal). I managed to get it to him through a friend who is "once removed" from the successful Maine writer, and was well-warned that it was likely to be ignored. You never know, though ... maybe he'll read it, endorse it, and allow me to keep my position of honor for a while longer. It could happen. Regardless, this is making me very happy because even if it is some beta-system-statistical anomaly, my book is right there! I mean, The Stand? I am having a moment.

... (moment passing) ...

Okay, so now that the moment has passed and I've had a cup of coffee, I realize that this really is a statistical anomaly. UnSpun is a user-driven site run by Amazon.com, and it's still in beta. I'm not sure how the rankings are determined, but it's got nothing to do with sales. There's no scientific data to back that up other than: The Stand has sold zillions of copies, and Cluck has not.

Either it's an anomaly to be proud of, or I'll be getting larger royalty checks ... only time will tell. For now I'm going to continue to revel in my limited (beta) glory. At least until someone else posts a favorite horror novel that is ranked somewhere in between mine and Mr. King's. Or, you could go to Amazon UnSpun and vote for Cluck ... after all, it's Penultimate.

Mid- ... er, Third- life Crisis

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 16:50:17 +0000

I'm at a point in my life and my career where I'm looking for more. I think this may be what people refer to as a mid-life crisis, although I'm not old enough for that yet (I'm not, dammit!). The problem is that I'm torn in several directions: I want to step back from corporate enslavement and focus on my writing and other artistic pursuits; I also want to kick some more ass professionally, because I'm pretty darn good at my day job; there isn't enough time in a day to do both, and my loving wife certainly deserves a better life. It's a dilemma. The career path equates to more money, which leads to the comfort of knowing that bills will be paid, and that food will be on the table. It also leads to stress, more time apart, and all that comes with the Dilbertopia of modern corporate living.

I used to throw pottery, long ago. Mostly in art classes at school, because I didn't own a wheel or a kiln, but I loved the process of it. I used to paint, and was moderately good at it. I've been successful writing, but on a very small scale ... perhaps with some more commitment on my part, I could make enough of a living with words that I could let everything else go.

With an increasingly decreasing economy, it's hard to turn your back on a decent day job (and I should point out that I really like the company I work for, and the people I work with). But when that life takes away from your passions, and still only barely pays the massively-inflating bills, what does one do? Asking for more money is one option, although it is a slippery slope further into corporate lockdown.

Cluck Update

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 14:13:27 +0000

It's time again for another Cluck Update and call to arms!

To date, Cluck has won three awards:

Independent Publisher Book Award, horror
Indie Excellence Award
ForeWord book of the Year award, horror*

(*Cluck was a finalist in this award ... apparently you get to count 'finalists' and 'runner ups' as wins. The world is strange).

The book has also earned glowing independent reviews from the following legitimate review sources:

It's also received eight reviews on amazon, with an average rating of 5 stars. Now, here's my beef: of those eight reviews, only TWO of them are from friends and family. The problem is, that everyone assumes that the first ten reviews are from your friends and family, and they summarily ignore them. So ... I'm asking for reviews, please. I know a lot of people have read Cluck, loved it, written me about it, told their friends about it, and are helping to build a miniature fan base of zombie-chicken-lovers. Thank you, I really appreciate that. In fact, it's what convinced me to write a sequel (which I originally said I would never do). It is also because of you that I can prove Rachel Donadio of the NY Times Book Review wrong by selling more than a few hundred copies of my independently published book ... though just barely.

To put an even finer point on it: it is very hard to get "real" book reviews when you are independently published. If you think that the NY Times Book Review is the only "real" source (many do), then it is impossible. How do we, the indies, do it? We beg for reviews from our readers. On amazon. Please? You can't see me, but I'm on my knees.

Are you a fan? Please post a review. Are you friends and/or family? If so, please consider posting your obligatory 5-star reviews, because until you do people will ignore the real ones. Didn't like Cluck? Well, I suppose even you should post a review (despite your evident lack of perspective and/or taste). Haven't read Cluck yet? Well here's the link: Buy it. Love it. Review it. (please?)

This Car Brakes for Satan

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 15:55:28 +0000

It's not often that I have an experience with a company that is bad enough to warrant a public blogging. I'm simply not that guy. I don't return my steak if it's cooked wrong. I don't make a fuss. I don't squeak in order to get oil. I've only been angered enough to make a scene in public maybe one or two times in my whole life, and one of them was at National Tire and Battery last week. I've waited a week to post this because I was that mad.

The story goes like this:

8:15am

Me: Hello, NTB? My car needs new brakes, including rotors, and new boots also. Is there any chance that you can fit me in today? The car isn't really safe to drive like it is.

NTB: Sure, I'll put you in for an appointment. When can you get it here?

Me: I'll bring it right over.

I finish up a few things, arrange a ride back to work, and drop the car off before 10:00am. The day passes ... I hear nothing from them, but no news is good news, right?

3:00pm
Me: Hello? I'm calling to check the status of my car?

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been a small glitch. One of the bolts was giving us trouble, and we kind of foo-bar'd it when taking it off. But don't worry, we're going to fix it on our dime. But we need a part. It's on its way here now, and we'll have the car ready for you in one hour. Is that okay?

Me: Sure ... I work until 5:00 anyway. Just call if there are any more problems.

After work, a friend drops me off. It is pouring rain outside, so I say "thanks" and quickly dash into the store. I wait a few minutes before someone helps me.

5:20pm
Me: I'm here to pick up my car.

NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been another small glitch. We got the wrong part. There's another one on its way now, and it will be here in ten minutes. Give us another hour and we'll have everything ready for you.

Me: (groan...) Okay, I guess I don't have a choice. But I really needed to be home on time today, and I still have an errand to run. I don't suppose someone could drive me over to Best Buy (which is just on the other side of a very large parking lot) so I can do that while you finish?

NTB: No, but here's a plastic garbage bag that you can put over your head.

If I had known what I was in store for at that point, I would have wrapped that bag around my head and ended it all. Foolishly, I wrapped the thing around my shoulders and--avoiding suffocation and protecting myself from 32% of the monsoon's wrath--and went dashing over to the big retail electronics chain, with its welcoming blue price-tag facade. I run my errand, which doesn't take nearly long enough. I go next door to a bookstore, and browse the shelves. I am still sopping wet, but starting to warm up. My clothes are getting itchy, and my laptop bag (which is waterproof ... thank god!) is starting to dig a canal of pain straight through the bones and tendons of my shoulder. 40 minutes into my hour, I call back.

6:00pm
Me: Hello? Just checking on my car. Should I buy a book and a coffee, or should I start slogging back there through the rain?

NTB: Ooh. Um. There's been a bit more of a glitch. It seems that your car is a 2001 model, but it was actually manufactured in 2000. So the new part didn't work either. It's going to be another hour. Sorry about that.

My bullshitometer is in the "cow pie" zone at this point, but I have absolutely no choice but to wait ... so I grab a coffee and sit down with a book. Two sips into my caffeine hit, my phone rings.

6:15pm
NTB: Hello, is this Eric? This is [name removed to protect the incompetent] from NTB. I've got bad news. We couldn't get the part we need, and the supply places are all closed. We're going to have to keep your car overnight.

Me: I suppose that it's not drivable ...

NTB: No, we took it apart before we realized we didn't have the parts to put it back together again.

Me: You realize how foolish that sounds. My Grampa taught me to measure twice and cut once when I was only three years old.

NTB: There are really no excuses. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Me: (trying not to be loud or angry because I am in the sanctity of a bookstore cafe) I'm really not very happy about this. In fact, I'm angry. You've had my car since 10am this morning, and it's routine work. Now I need to get home, and I live an hour away. I'm going to call my wife, who is Scottish, red-headed and aware of how much gas costs. She's going to kill me when I tell her to drive an hour here, and then an hour back home. I was supposed to be home on time today. You are very lucky that I am going to shield you from her wrath.

At this point, I call me wife. Predictably, she is pissed off. I'll spare you the words (which would probably help the page views of this post, as they were very colorful) she used, and skip to the last thing she said, which was "why are we even talking about this? Get them to pay for a rental car - that's a fairly normal service when a mechanic f's up your car." I agree, hang up , and then call my buddies over at NTB. But first, I toss my latte in the trash and head outside so I can talk loudly and angrily if needed.

6:30pm
Me: Hello? I can't get home. I'm stranded. Get me a rental car. (I am preparing to get mad)

NTB: No problem - we'll call enterprise right now, and then call you back.

Me: Don't worry about calling me back. The rain has let up, I'll just walk back there now. Just please get the car as soon as possible, because I am very late.

NTB: Sure thing, no problem. (subtext: would we lie to you? No, we're not that smart).

I walk back.

6:40pm
Me: I'm here ... how long until the rental shows up?

NTB: Um, well ... there's a problem. Enterprise is closed for the day.

Me: (now officially pissed) What? Did you call any other rental places? Hertz? National? Budget? It's almost 7:00 ... you've had my car for an entire day ... I'm mad ... I'm wet ... do what it takes to get me a car now!

They start going through the yellow pages, and find a rental car. They're a bout twenty minutes away, so I sit in the meager excuse for a waiting room until they get there. Luckily, "Malcom in the Middle" is on, which is always a good reminder that life could be worse. Fast forward to 7:30, when the rental car gets there: they give the nice rental-car-driver-guy an imprint of their credit card (a corporate Visa), and I say my fair-wells. They insist that they will make it right in the morning. I don't believe them.

At 8:00pm, we pull into the rental place. The Rental Guy says not to worry, because all he has to do is run the card, get me to sign a simple form, and I'll be on my way. Until ...

8:00pm
RG: Uh-oh. You're not going to believe this ...

Me: No ...

RG: Yup ... their card was declined. We can't give you the car without a card ...

Me: Well, let's call [name removed to protect the poor excuse for a pile of primordial poop] and get a different card. They're still open, I think.

RG: We can authorize yours and deal with it tomorrow, if you want ... we won't charge it unless they refuse to pay.

Me: Well, at this point I don't have much confidence that they will pay, or even that they can!

RG calls the guy, and the conversation goes like this: Your card was declined. No, I ran it twice. Well, I have an imprint of the card, so it's not like I typed it in wrong. Uh-huh ... yup ... I understand ... okay. RG hangs up and says that the NTB-lackey is calling his manager and will call back. He tells me that when that when he said the card was declined, the other guy responded, "I was afraid that might happen ..."

This is unbelievable. Even though I deliberately waited a week before posting this, I'm still getting angry thinking about it. They deliberately gave a bad card, just to get rid of me. When the dude finally calls back, its only to say that he couldn't reach his manager and that he would pay cash tomorrow for the car if I put it on my card tonight. I have no choice, I realize, but I'm not going down without a fight.

8:30pm
Me (to RG): Let me talk to him ... (RG hands me the phone)

Me (to NTB): Remember when I was in your office a while ago? remember how mad I was then? Well, now I am even more mad. I am royally pissed. I don;t want to hear any excuses, and I don't want to hear any lies. It's 8:30, and I'm wet, tired, and hungry. What I want you to do is this: think of a very clever way to make me happy, and do it by tomorrow morning when I come to get my car. Goodbye.

And I go home. And I eat. And I sleep. And presumably the NTB staff is thinking of things that will quell my anger, and eating and sleeping. The next day, I go to pick up my car, and this is what they've come up with: three free oil changes. Otherwise known as "diddley squat." Now, three oil changes is worth a bit, so that's not so bad .. supposing that I was willing to give them my car again. I'm not, though. Not ever. I point that out, but my negotiatory shot over their bow goes over the heads. I argue that the labor should be deducted, anything ... but it goes nowhere. In the end, I leave. I am dissatisfied and left with the nagging feeling that I must have done some cosmic injustice to deserve this.

"On Golden Pond" meets "Poop Ship Destroyer"

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 15:32:29 +0000

An alternate title to this post could be "Why not to leave for a weekend sailing trip on Friday the 13th" ... if you're the superstitious type.

The weekend began on Friday the 13th, as we raced out of the house to meet my in-laws at the dock in Falmouth, Maine. As co-owners of a nice 30-something-foot sailing vessel, they sail every other weekend out of Falmouth. My father in law has been sailing his whole life, and is an excellent sailor - a fact that was proven out of necessity on this particular trip. So many things went wrong on a small scale that it actually did become funny. Once the bruises heal completely, we'll all laugh at this, I'm certain of that.

The highlights of the trip include:

my beautiful wife's double-handful of fiberglass splinters, courtesy of a mooring flag
my single-handful of said splinters, as I tried to help her
undercooked eggs for breakfast on father's day
seventy-five instances of bumping my own head against the ceiling in the aft bunk
some rain
a flat tire

Other than those small mishaps (all of which were easily remedied) the weekend was perfect: nice weather all day Saturday, good conversation, good food, and excellent ice cream at the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory. Looking back, there was much more good to the weekend than bad. Honestly.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, here are the two biggies, omitted from the above list for dramatic purposes. You can read on at this point, or simply watch "On Golden Pond" while listening to the song "Poop Ship Destroyer" by Ween. This is what happened:

Coming into Booth Bay harbor, the sun is shining, and all is well. It is a beautiful day. I am sitting at the rear of the cockpit, watching the depth gauge (not really watching, just kind of zoned out and staring in its general direction). My wife is to my right, and my Mother-in-law is at the helm. My Father-in-law, the only one of us with any sailing experience, is standing at the front of the cockpit, facing backwards, reading from the nav charts to his wife. I want to preface the following by saying that no one was doing anything wrong in any way. In fact, as we were approaching the red buoy, which was to our right, Dad--in-law was reciting the "Red Right Returning" rule (which I love, as a fan of alliteration). Ever sailor knows that rule, even me, and I've only been a boat three times in my whole life. I'm hearing all of this, but not really paying attention. The sun is out, and its so nice, and the gauge reads 38 feet. ... 30 feet. ... 25 ... 18 ...

I snap out of it just in time to yell "ten feet!" as the gauge dives to '10', and then the following happened all at once:

My wife dives towards the engine shut-off
My Mom-in-law reaches for the throttle to stop the boat
There is a loud crash
Forward mobility stops abruptly: 4 knots to zero in under a second.

At this point, my father-in-law goes ass-over-tea-kettle backwards down into the hold. My wife successfully dives to her knees, although much faster than she intended, and shuts off the engine. Somehow I get a charlie horse on my right calf (still not sure how that happened). Seconds later, we're all converging to see if my Dad-in-law is still alive. It's quite a drop down there, with strategically placed things like counter-tops to break one's fall "skull-cracking" style. Like some super-hero, he comes bounding back up almost as fast as he went down, and ignoring pleas of "are you all right?" he takes charge and gets everyone moving to free the boat. The "respect-o-meter" went up a notch or two at that moment. His arm was clearly broken, his hand was cut and bruised, and who knows what else was broken, sprained, or otherwise hurt. He was in the dinghy faster than Flash Gordon, and I was hoisting out the anchor. He sped back to deep water, dropped the anchor, and we winched ourselves back off of the rock. This was an amazing reaction: fast and clear thinking amidst what could have been a disaster. As it turns out, the arm was not broken (though very bruised), and the boat did not sink. The speedometer stopped working, but was okay after a reboot. There was no sign of serious damage at all. My wife barked up her knees good, and my calf had that inexplicable bump, but all said and done, we we're very lucky. (note: for the sailors out there, there is a red buoy near Booth Bay that you should keep on your left while returning. The various vessels that came out to help us all claim to have run aground there at some point themselves, so I feel I should point it out).

We celebrated our survival, and helped to calm adrenaline-aggravated nerves, by eating a large dinner of steak tips, shrimp, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot soup. There was some rum, too, but not excessive amounts. We unwound, finished the feast with Chocloate-Lover's Ice Cream from the Booth Bay Ice Cream Factory (which I recommend!), and then went to bed. Of course, with all that food and drink, there were many trips to the head before saying good-night, and a few trips in the wee-hours of the evening as well. The worst was behind us.

... In fact, the worst was literally behind us. It was in our dinghy, which was tied up to the port side, just under the overflow jets for the head unit. And the head unit was full. All night, as we did out feast-induced business, we were pumping poop into the dinghy.

I woke up blessed: as a writer, I am now able to honestly use the words "poop" and "dinghy" in the same sentence. Our sore-armed captain ended up being the foreman in a sewage removal exercise early on Sunday morning. That was Father's Day, by the way. Happy Poop-Dinghy Father's Day!

So, a weekend sail turned out okay - major death and disaster was avoided, and we were lucky enough to have a weekend that we will always look back upon with a grin and a giggle.

The Silver Vamp: Gabriele Caccini, The Vampire Gene

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:51:20 +0000

I just finished reading Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene) by Paigan Stone. This book won the silver Book of The Year Award from ForeWord Magazine ... beating out Cluck and Footfalls. While I'm sad that I didn't get the award (why isn't there an award for fourth place?) I'm pleased that the books that beat me are very well done. Well, so far I've only read two: the bronze and the silver, but I can assume by what I've read so far that the Gold winner must be pretty special.

On the surface, the story of Gabriele Caccini is a classic telling of the "Vampire Who Wants to be Loved." In place of the tired cliche of the vampire who wants to be human, however, we have a vampire who really is human: he's hardly a monster at all, obsessing more about love than blood. He starves himself to his own despair, allowing himself to feed only once a year in his quest to find the woman who can be both his victim and his lover.

The story is told in an interleaved style, folding back and forth between Gabriele's past and present. In the past, Gabriele becomes a vampire, a development which causes him to lose his first love. In the present, he continues his quest for the woman who can survive to become his eternal bride. His repeated failures, both in the past and present, shape a character ripe with despair. Both tales are wrought with love, lust, and tragedy. Without giving away the ending, there is also a convergence of the plot that leaves the book well situated for a sequel (a planned sequel is evident in the title, so you can look forward to it).

Now, vampire-romances are not my cup of proverbial tea, so I am no expert here, but I wasn't expecting to read a book about vampires where the vamps had such real weaknesses of character: self-confidence issues; not being able to fit in; unable to come to terms with their vampirism ... that kind of thing. I actually got irritated at the main character for not being bad-ass enough (I mean, come on man! You're four hundred years old ... grow a pair!). That may sound like a dig, but it is actually a compliment: any character that gets a rise out of me is a character written well enough that I'm thinking about them as a personality and not a plot mechanism.

There were plentiful doses of sex to feed the desires of those looking for a romance fix, though these scenes were more civilized that you expect from a romance novel (well, than I what I expect ... and I admittedly don't read them). Overall, the clear and colorful characters are what makes Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene) a book worth reading - and the silver medal that it earned.

Four-and-a-half Feathers from the Rooster King. Pros: strong character development, well structured plot. Cons: wussy vampire, too much romance, not enough horror.

Baby Got Paper Back: Why Women Read Naked

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 13:33:37 +0000

When I posted Women Think Men Who Read Zombie Chicken Books are Hot, my traffic jumped over 500% for a week. Now, I'm not stupid: I know that my readership naturally includes literate, sophisticated ladies and gentlemen ... but with a plot concerning zombie chickens, it also includes some weirdos and perverts. So, to capture my audience, I need to post something concerning boobies every so often. To that end, I went searching for more sexy stock photos of hot, lusty women who were also reading my book.*

What did I find? I found what everyone finds when they search for answers in a half-assed, non-scientific manner. I found the truth. The truth is: Women Read Naked. Maybe just topless, maybe sans-pantaloons, maybe just with breast-revealing unbuttoned blouses, but for a 30-something married guy, that's more or less the same as being naked.

They were everywhere: students reading books while wearing sweaters so tight that it would be impossible for them to turn the pages without getting paper-cuts on their nipples; Women lounging in bed, their perfect pendulous prizes barely hidden by the fluff of the featherbed, a book spread sensually before them; Wonky-eyed women clutching an open copy of Cluck to their bare chests in wonton embrace.

Now, I wasn't running a google image search with the parental controls turned off, using keywords like 'sexy nude women boobs breasts natural live xxx +book' (I tried but the results were too disturbing). I wasn't searching porn sites or sleazy image galleries. Rather, I was searching legitimate stock photo art sites, looking for images that I could legitimately purchase and use to lure browsers from those "other sites" to mine, in hopes that they'd take time out from their internet fetish-play fantasies and buy a book about zombie chickens.

Now I know what you're saying. You're saying, "did you ever stop to think that maybe the women reading books are all topless and hot because you're searching a stock-art site, which is populated with nothing except photos of models posing seductively, because those photos are designed for marketing folks like you, with the sole intention of luring people into buying decisions based solely on a libido response?" Well, that is a distinct possibility, so I won't even criticize your use of an amazingly long run-on sentence. However, I still prefer to draw my own conclusions, which is that women simply like to read in the buff. It's a much more concise explanation.

This leads to the next question, which is: Why?

It could be that thing about the media, and sex, and money, but I think it has more to do with free will. Isn't it nicer know that we're not complete slaves to the media? isn't it better to pretend that sex doesn't sell? For example, this woman here, to the left, is:

a) contemplating the finer qualities of zombie chicken fiction while sitting in a (presumably) public hallway, clearly lacking pants (i.e., free choice).

b) the sole product of manipulative advertising specialists (i.e., enslaved zombies).

I'm much happier with 'a'. She's not wearing pants because she doesn't want to wear pants while she's reading such a fantastic book. In fact, it's unclear at first whether she's even wearing panties, but if you zoom way in using photo-editing software, you can see that she is (not that I did that, that would be creepy). Judging by the angle of the book, she's not even reading it: rather, she's contemplating how much she wishes she knew more people who read zombie chicken books, so that they could engage in wild sex parties together. Again, this is free choice at work, and has nothing to do with my poor photo-editing skills. Honest. It's all about her. Further proof lies in the note, which clearly states, "To do: 1) read about zombie chickens, 2) go to a bar and pick up strangers who also also read zombie chicken books, 3) engage in wild, nude acts of giggling, tickling sex."** A marketing guy would never make something like that up, would they?

This almost-scientific approach to research led me to wonder if the clotheslessness of female readers was due to comfort, temperature, or (as implicated above) uncontrollable horniness. More painstaking research, wading through screen after screen of professional photos of attractive women (hey, it's a hard job but somebody has to do it), and I found the proof that I was determined to find: a fully clothed but obviously lusty redhead reading my book. Incontrovertable. I mean, really. Look at her:

Wow. If she's not about to take her clothes off, it's only because she doesn't really have to.

So, to answer the question using perfectly invalid scientific method, women read naked because that's the way they like it. End of story.

Need further proof? If you are a woman, buy a copy of my book, and read it. Feeling a bit constricted in that cotton? If you're a man, buy a copy of my book for your girlfriend and see if she takes her clothes off.*** If she does, ask her the same question. Remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

* I did attempt to find real live hot, lusty women who were reading my book, but after abject failure I opted for stock art and photoshop.

** Well, it was clear before I shrunk the text down to 3-point font in order to fit it on that ridiculously small note.

*** Of course, if you're a guy, you left this site after getting to the first picture and are already anxiously awaiting the arrival of the FedEx truck).

Lupa gives Cluck "Four out of Five Paws"

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 16:12:52 +0000

I sent a copy of Cluck to Lupa over at Pagan Book Reviews. I'm not really a pagan (but I'm not not a pagan, either), and Cluck is a tad off-topic for PBR, but I'd read several of Lupa's reviews and I found them thoughtful, insightful, and thorough. True enough, the Pagan Book Review of Cluck: Murder Most Fowl did not dissapoint. I recommend checking out the rest of PBR while you're there - good stuff, it is.

"Take one flock of zombiefied chickens, with an uber-rooster at the head. Throw in one inept wannabe farmer living in a haunted house. Top it off with an order (no pun intended) of secret zombie chicken hunters, with a particularly talented mortal off on a solo crusade to end the plague of undead fowl once and for all. Mix well with a good dose of off-the-wall humor, some camp, and enough talented description to give you a movie in your head, and you have the makings of one very fun read."

There's some great stuff in the middle, including some astute observations of what's not good in the book. I'm big enough* to recognize my own flaws, and appreciate the criticism. You can read all about them here. The end of the review finishes nicely with a recommendation to buy my book, which I always think is nice. Hint!

"Pick this one up if you have a long plane flight, need something to read on the morning commute, or simply want something entertaining to read over a weekend. It has good re-read potential, too, so you'll definitely get your money's worth."

* After eating three pounds of lobster over the weekend, I am getting bigger still

Black Sheep

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 12:36:50 +0000

It's a myth that sheep are the dumbest animals to walk on four legs. They're actually very intelligent and highly motivated ... it's just that their motivations tend to be limited to eating, eating, and on occasion eating some more. Slightly less important than eating is survival. Now you'd think that survival would come first for a species as far down on the food chain as the sheep, but that's certainly not the case with my black sheep.

No, I'm not crossing over into the second-best niche-horror-genre and writing a novel based on that awesome New Zealand film Black Sheep. I'm talking about a real black sheep. I have three (well, one of them is more brown than black) in my small flock. While they aren't murdering zombie sheep (like in the movie), they're just as compelled to eat. Thank god they crave grass and not brains, because these sheep are amazing. I bet you didn't know this, but sheep possess the strength of ten elephants when there is grain nearby. It's like a food-geiger-counter inside the sheep started to crackle and buzz as they get closer, causing their muscles to strengthen as they lose all sense of the world around them and dive towards dinner.

I'm not weak (male, 185 pounds, 2nd degree black belt, in my 30's), and I got pulled in half by two sheep this morning. Yes, as I type this I am indeed two halves of one person. Hopefully I'll heal in time for lunch or my food will fall out of the seam. This is what happened:

We have new lambs in our flock, which means they get herded very carefully to their pasture (which gets moved around the field every few weeks - right now it's at the faaaar end). There are two ring-leaders among the flock who, due to sheer maliciousness of will, try to go anywhere but where they're supposed to go. The others will follow them if left unchecked, and it's very hard to catch a rogue herd of loose sheep, so these two ewes (we'll call them "asshole" and "bastard face" for the sake of anonymity) have to be walked on a leash, like dogs, out to the pasture. This is fairly routine--a routine that includes having a prize of grain in the pasture, as well as a small dish of grain handy in case one of them get loose. This morning, in mid-sprint (picture a man just under six feet tall running in a deep-knee crouch while pulling two reluctant sheep who are only three feet tall), I ... dropped ... the ... grain.

One of the sheep noticed. It was the black sheep, a.k.a. bastard-face. Asshole kept running, having spotted the end-game prize of grain. Bastard face slammed on her super-human brakes and pulled full force in the opposite direction. Now picture the man, running n a deep-knee crouch, being spun, drawn into the air like some cartoon, and being ripped in half.

I'm gong to go get some coffee, and some paper towels in case it leaks back out through the split.

New Accolades for the Rooster King

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 00:16:59 +0000

The reviews are coming in clumps today - a good omen for the Book Expo America, which starts Friday. The first was from DeadRooster (great name, great humor blog, even better review), and the second comes from Odyssey Reviews. But "new accolades" doesn't just refer to another good review -- it actually refers to new accoldaes, as in a new award. Inspired by Cluck, awarded by Odyssey, is the son-to-be-coveted "Award of 'indie' Excellence".

All I can say is, "wow." I'm honored. This is the point where I try to thank everyone who helped, and the TV people have to turn up the music to get me off the stage, because I start blathering.

"Eric D. Knapp's "Cluck: Murder Most Fowl" is one of the best books we've reviewed so far on Odyssey Reviews. This tongue-in-cheek (or beak) work of brilliance will surely make you laugh. The writing is on par with the likes of Terry Pratchett. The story is brilliant, the writing unbelievably good"

A new award, and another comparison to Terry Pratchett (one of my literary heros). I think I'll be celebrating tonight with a martini or ten.

[UPDATE Jun 4] The award total is rising for Cluck:

- Winner, Bronze IPPY for Horror

- Winner, Odyssey Indie Excellence Award

- Finalist, ForeWord Book of the Year Award

- and a growing list of reviews

Review: Footfalls, by Eddie Gresham

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 16:32:35 +0000

I posted this review at amazon a while ago, but in support of a fellow author I wanted to post it here, as well.

Footfalls is everything that you want in a horror story, pitting an honest and likable cast of characters against a mysterious (and seriously creepy) nemesis. Gresham's brilliant attention to detail in the portrayal of everyday life -- such as how a dog acts as his owner returns home, the way someone kicks off their boots, or a co-workers love for odd-tasting pizza -- adds considerable depth to the story, and I was pleased to see that the book maintained this quality through to the end. The author paints a vivid and highly immersive setting that drew me in from the beginning, putting me in the middle of a picture-perfect midwest town.

Footfalls is eerie, chilling, and haunting, but not overly graphic or terrifying; replacing gore with clever hints of danger and the type of steadily-growing tension that puts you on the edge of your seat. It is easy to read, and the short chapters make it easy to put down and pick up -- although I rarely put it down, devouring the entire story over a weekend. Footsteps is well written, well crafted, completely enjoyable, and highly recommended.

Since my original review, Footfalls also won a ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year award, which is worth mentioning. Even being selected as a finalist in that competition is an accomplishment, or so I hear ;-)

Take a Bite of Your Favorite Site, and Zombify the Web!

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 22:02:17 +0000

This is such a simple lil' trick of CGI, but enduringly fun. Enter an URL in the mouth, and watch it get bitten by a zombie.

NOTE: I'm uncertain why, but this only seems to work on Mac browsers. Which doesn't make sense, because it's just an LWP grab of an http stream, with some regex's to re-map relative paths to stylesheets. I'll work on this some more... until then, get a mac, they're better anyway.

UPDATE: Fixed .. it was a bad regex that malformed css imports, which IE7 wasn't smart enough to resolve on its own. It's fixed now.

Feel free to comment or email with suggestion on how to better zombify the web .. right now pages just turn all moldy looking.

And also feel free to buy a book while you're here. Zombies ... chickens ... you know you want to read a book like that!

Book Expo Hits Me Like a Hurricane, or, 2 out of 3 Ain't Bad

Sat, 31 May 2008 01:03:58 +0000

Okay, so I was already a bit jet-lagged after flying to LA from New Hampshire, driving to San Diego for business, driving back late, and getting very little sleep. I was tired this morning when I packed for the expo. Everything unnecessary was pulled from my laptop bag, and several copies of my book were stuffed inside. I had sell sheets ready, and business cards, and a gleam in my eye. I got to the show at 8:45, and by the time the exhibit hall doors opened at 9:00, I was already feeling the pain. Six trade paperbacks and one laptop weigh a LOT. Well, Five trade paperbacks, as one was held in my hand like a mighty badge, to catch the eye of big publishers and agents with the sheer awe of the glossy, roostery goodness. The doors opened, and I enter.

This was my first trip to a BEA show, and I was not prepared. Now, I've worked many a high-tech trade event that were of similar size, with similarly large and pushy crowds. What I didn't expect was a fundamental reversal of capitalism: I expected people to be selling me books; instead, they were giving them to me! Free! Greed quickly sedated shock, and I started to accept some of the better titles offered (expect reviews). Six books turned into eight, then ten ... my muscles began to carry that slow constant burn that means "stop or you will regret this." My awesome, bright purple Bailey Works Bag helped, but not enough as the bag stretched to accommodate book after book after book ... My spine has compressed and I am now 2" shorter, and I may always walk with a limp.

So I was tired when I entered the theater for the ForeWord Book of The Year award ceremony. Sadly, I did not win. As one of four finalists, I expected I would (75% chance, right?), but I can't be disappointed. First, even making it to the Finalist level is an honor: the BOTY's are judged rigorously. Second, a new friend and fellow author, Eddie Gresham, won the Bronze. Third, I was able to meet the second place author, Paigan Stone. I'll be reading her book "Gabriele Caccini: The Vampire Gene - Book 1 (The Vampire Gene)" as soon as I can and posting a review here. There's no need for me to read Eddie's "Footfalls," because I've already read it - and it was fantastic (I would recommend it to any Stephen King fan). I was convinced he was going to take the Gold ... but then, I was also convinced that I would take the Silver. So much for my supernatural powers of prognostication. Anyway,it was nice to meet Eddie (who I've traded emails with since we were both selected as finalists), and I am very happy for him. No, not happy, proud. Give Eddie a hand, folks, and then go buy his book. Remember: If you want to eat, fund farms; if you want to live, fund medicine; but if you want to read, fund your independent authors - we are the wave of the future!

I also can't be disappointed because I won a Bronze medal in the IPPY awards, as well as a new award for "raising the bar" in independent publishing: an "Indie Excellence" award, from Odyssey Reviews. As the saying goes, "two outta three ain't bad!" The best part with the IPPY was the ceremony: we were called up to the front for photos, and a tall, red-gown woman placed real medals around our necks -- I felt just like Han Solo! The medal is large, heavy, and very kind to the ego.

There will be some followup posts on some of the cooler things about the show, such as the re-emergence of "choose your own adventure" books, a new tack on potentially starting a publishing company, and of course reviews of some of the more inspiring books. One is "All Ye Zombies," which is a corporate-zombie book. The booth was manned by the most amazingly beautiful girl (my wife still takes first prize though!), but I was honestly drawn by the zombie title. Another is "The Nine Lives of Romeo Crumb, Life One" by L. Rifkin. The book is independently published and beautifully produced, and illustrated by Kurt Hartman. I was given a copy of the paperback, but the hardcovers were even more exquisite ... if I like this book I will likely pick up all of the hardcovers, for a complete nine book set (well, only the first few are available now, but eventually ...)

Scary or Funny? The Chronicles of a Zombie-Chicken Slayer

Wed, 28 May 2008 23:25:17 +0000

From DeadRooster.com:

"Cluck is extremely well-written and is story-telling at its best. Author Eric D. Knapp shows his skills by successfully blending the difficult combination of humor and horror ..."

The new book by Eric D. Knapp has elements of horror mixed with side-splitting humor. Read a review of this fantastic supernatural comedy-thriller at DeadRooster.com

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