Kealan Patrick Burke brings down The Curtain on Timmy Quinn with NEMESIS

Concluding a series must be one of the most difficult things a writer can do – especially a series that’s been as popular for a writer as the Timmy Quinn stories (comprised up to this point of The Turtle BoyThe HidesVessels, and Peregrine’s Story) have been for Kealan Patrick Burke. Not only have they been popular for him, they have in many ways defined his career: from the hot-shot indie writer making a splash among those “in the know” with The Turtle Boy, to the growing artist tackling more complex themes in Vessels, to the mature author back from a long absence with new confidence and mastery of his craft as displayed in Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn.

Many of the series I’m familiar with as a reader are open-ended, like the Hap and Leonard books by Joe R. Lansdale. Series such as these are more about the ongoing growth and development of the characters than a single storyline, and therefore are free of the pressure to give readers a definitive, cover-all-the-bases conclusion. For those writers who face wrapping up multiple books’ worth of interconnected storylines, I imagine the pressure is immense. J.K. Rowling had to be on pins and needles waiting on fan reaction to her last Harry Potter book. Stephen King was inundated for years with fan requests – demands, really – for a proper end to the Dark Tower series, and has been subjected to various degrees of second-guessing ever since he delivered the final chapter.

I don’t know how much external pressure Burke felt in writing the final Timmy Quinn book, but I believe the pressure he likely put on himself was more than enough. Fan feelings aside, this was a book Burke wanted to get right.

In my opinion, he did.

In Nemesis, Burke manages the precarious balancing act of not only tying together the threads from the previous books, but also introducing a number of new elements to the mix. He’s working on a much larger scale than in any of the previous Timmy Quinn books – larger, in fact, than anything he’s done up to this point. Where in the past Burke has struggled a bit with large casts and larger-scale stories, this time it’s clear that his craft has caught up with his ambition.

I’m not going to go into a plot description here. Not only do I want to avoid spoilers, but I also feel that if you’re interested in reading this review you’re probably already invested in the series. If not, I’d recommend that you start at the beginning – although Burke does a good job of bringing readers up to speed, it’s going to take more than a passing familiarity with the series to truly appreciate the scope of events that happens in Nemesis.

All along, this series has been about much more than the surface idea of a young man cursed with the ability to see the dead. It’s been about fathers and sons, and mothers and sons, and revenge, and fate; all wrapped up in the journey of Timmy Quinn, who has unsuccessfully tried running away from his abilities for most of his life. As Nemesis begins, Timmy is through running, ready to (or, perhaps, resigned to) embrace the destination those abilities have brought him to. Burke jumps back-and-forth in time throughout the narrative, weaving the threads he’s scattered throughout the previous books into a tight, cohesive whole. Yes, there are entirely new characters introduced throughout the book, and new details that haven’t even been hinted at before are brought to light, but each of these additions feels like an organic extension of what’s come before. Never once do you get the feeling that Burke is just trying to fill in plot holes – it all plays out like the carefully orchestrated finale that it should be.

And make no mistake, it is a finale – at least, for Timmy Quinn. What’s great about the book is that, while it delivers on the promise of bringing an end to the Timmy Quinn series, it simultaneously opens up a whole new mythology for Burke to play with in the future. Those looking for a definitive conclusion will be satisfied, while those hoping that Burke wasn’t abandoning the ideas of The Stage, The Curtain and the resurrected dead for good have a lot of hope to hang on to.

The Timmy Quinn Interviews

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis is available digitally as well as in a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

Interview: Kealan Patrick Burke on NEMESIS: THE DEATH OF TIMMY QUINN

In October 2012, Kealan Patrick Burke and Thunderstorm Books released Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn, the fifth and concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. As a fan of these stories from the beginning I wanted to commemorate this endgame in some way, so I invited Kealan to take part in a series of interviews, one based on each of the Timmy Quinn books, leading up to the final book’s release. Today I’m proud to present the final interview on the series, as Kealan discusses the conclusion of Timmy Quinn’s story…and what comes next.

OC: Nemesis is so much bigger in scale than the previous books in the Timmy Quinn series. How difficult was it to write in comparison to the other books?

KPB: Difficult isn’t the word, and not because it was bigger in scale. Once I finally sat down to write it, it came easy. It was getting to write it that was the hard part. As you know, I was forced to take something of a sabbatical (kind word) from writing that lasted almost two years. When I did at last get back into the driver seat, I found I was no longer as passionate about the book as I once had been. I wasn’t sure where to start or where to take it, and worrying over it kept stressing me out. So I shelved it. But then the series took off thanks to digital and the reader comments started flooding in, asking (another kind word) when the last book was coming. I figured I had already delayed it enough and owed the readers — and myself — some closure. So I sat down and reevaluated things and it was as if the book had been waiting for that very thing. It came together rather quickly after being shoved away for years, and once I began to write, it ran away with itself.

Could you have written a book of this scale immediately after Vessels, or did the time away from the series help you develop your skills to the point where you felt more comfortable tackling it?

I could have, but it would have been a very different kind of book. The ideas I’d had for Nemesis back in the day were good and made sense in the context of the series, but they weren’t good enough. As a result, even though I had years of accumulated notes at hand when I started writing Nemesis, I used none of them. So while I can’t say whether the time away honed my skills — though it certainly taught me humility and the folly of taking anything for granted — I know Nemesis is exactly what it should be now. I couldn’t be happier with it. Had I written it a few years ago, I’m not sure I’d have been able to say that with total conviction.

Going in, did you have any idea it was going to grow the mythology so much, and introduce so many characters?

To a point, I did, but honestly this book wrote so much of itself I really felt as if I was an observer more than a participant, a quirk of the process I adore and one that ended up becoming part of the plot.

Nemesis really opens up the pasts of many of the characters from the series, and one thing a lot of them have in common is negative relationships with their parents. How closely were you looking to tie the idea of this reality being a sort of facade behind which The Stage and the spirits of the dead are hiding to the idea that happy, “normal” families are often a facade behind which anger and heartbreak is hiding?

Very much so. One of the misconceptions about horror writing is that monsters have to be serial killers or vampires or werewolves. But for me, when you’re a child and you have to question your parents’ love for you, there is nothing more terrifying. Outsiders don’t see this in a family. It’s always discovered when it comes to a head, like say when the child grows into a monster, so it’s the façade that’s presented and accepted, just as the series presents the idea that as ugly as our world is, there’s an infinitely uglier one hiding behind it. And in a less dramatic sense, every family has their secrets, the hidden betrayals and heartbreak. I just chose to use that sense of hidden turmoil as the driving force for my characters.

I realize this is an intensely personal question, but is this theme of unhappy families coming from personal experience?

For the most part I had an ordinary, happy childhood, but sure there was turmoil and upset, not the least of which was the separation of my parents when I was eight, and the resulting ugliness that occurs when parents try to convince a malleable child that the other parent is the bad one. It was a confusing time, but without it, I’d never have been able to write the things I write, so I wouldn’t change any of it. I do, however, seem to keep incorporating the emotions from those years into my work. Rarely is it intentional.

There are places in Nemesis – I’m thinking particularly of the scenes where you illustrate the dead meeting up with their killers – where you can sense the fun you were having just cutting loose. Was this a fun book to write, or did the pressure of ending this series (or, at least, this portion of it) that’s been such a major part of your career make it more difficult than fun?

Well, as I said above, trying to get motivated to write it was the tough part, but once I started it, it was a dream book to write, and it was the pressure that made it happen. The readers demanded an ending and the series needed one. It was long overdue, so I had no choice but to do it. But writing Nemesis was the most fun I’ve had in years. And as you so rightly stated, those scenes were a blast to write, particularly the IRA one. They’re almost like EC Comics-style vignettes, and I almost cut them for that reason, my concern being that they didn’t fit the tone of the book, or represented too much of a pull away from the main event. But ultimately I liked them too much to remove them.

As I said before, Nemesis really kicks the door wide open on the mythology, and it’s clear that the potential for more stories about The Stage are possible – with or without Timmy Quinn. Any plans in place?

Yep, as indicated by certain scenes at the end of the book, there will indeed be a new series, one with a female protagonist who has to contend, not only with the implications of her heritage and her “gift”, but also the dark interlopers from another realm.

Describe the feeling you had when you knew it was done, and that Timmy’s story was finished.

Immense relief due to the fact that for the longest time I doubted it would ever happen, but it was also a bittersweet feeling. Timmy has been with me in one way or another for ten years. It was hard to say goodbye to him. On the other hand, I put the poor bugger through enough hardship, so it was time to cut him a break (not that I think that’s really what I did…)

The Timmy Quinn Interviews

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis is available digitally as well as a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

Essential October Reads: Kealan Patrick Burke

It’s become an annual tradition here in October Country to share my Essential October Reads, those works that best capture the essence of the Halloween season for me. This year I’ve asked some of my favorite authors to share their own Essential October Reads with us. 

Today I’m pleased to welcome Kealan Patrick Burke, award-winning author and editor and a frequent presence here at October Country, writing about a book that’s near and dear to many a dark heart.

I love October, fall, and Halloween. It’s my favorite time of the year and the one time in which nobody gets to turn their nose up at horror (not that they should, ever). Up until a few years ago, I would have said my favorite Halloween read was Something Wicked This Way Comes, for reasons any fan of Bradbury knows well. It’s the quintessential Halloween story, sumptuous, evocative, and moving, and of course, chilling in the way it forces adulthood onto its child protagonists.

But now I have another favorite and it came from left-field. I’ve been a fan of Norman Partridge’s work for almost a decade but he’s at the top of his game with Dark Harvest, a book that transcends horror into modern classic territory. It’s a dark fable, with shades of Jackson and Bradbury, told in an impeccable folksy style that makes it impossible not to read. I love many horror stories, but few linger in the memory as much as this one did. So much so that it has become, like Bradbury’s classic, a perennial favorite.

Kealan Patrick Burke is the author of more than a dozen novels and novellas and more than a hundred short stories. His latest book, Nemesis, is the concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. It’s available now in a limited edition hardcover, and a digital edition will be released on Halloween.

More Essential October Reads

Interview: Kealan Patrick Burke on THE TURTLE BOY: PEREGRINE’S TALE

In October 2012, Kealan Patrick Burke and Thunderstorm Books released Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn, the fifth and concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. As a fan of these stories from the beginning I wanted to commemorate this endgame in some way, so I invited Kealan to take part in a series of interviews, one based on each of the Timmy Quinn books, leading up to the final book’s release. Today we reach the penultimate chapter with The Turtle Boy: Peregrine’s Tale, a novella originally published by Cemetery Dance in 2010.

OC: In the introduction to Peregrine’s Tale, you mention that The Turtle Boy originally had a different ending than what was published. Could you describe that original ending? What prompted the change?

KPB: The difference was small but significant. In it, Timmy discovers Darryl’s notebook in his attic twenty years later when he buys his childhood home, prompting the revelation of the killer earlier than it occurs in the series. There were a number of reasons why it didn’t work, that it was clichéd being only one of them. After some feedback, particularly and most notably from F. Paul Wilson, who generously and aggressively edited the whole novella, I decided to change it. I had already turned the book in to Don Koish at Necessary Evil Press but asked if I might have time to give it another pass. He agreed. If that hadn’t happened, I doubt it would have been so easy to make a series out of it, so it worked out for the best (though readers might have preferred the original ending to the cliffhanger it ended up with.)

You also mention in the introduction that Peregrine’s story was part of Brethren, your attempt at combining the existing Timmy Quinn books into one novel for the mainstream market. Was this a complete excerpt, or was Peregrine’s story integrated differently into the text of Brethren?

What’s there is the same, though in Brethren, it went on a few more chapters to document Peregrine’s revenge on The Man, facilitated by his father. I liked these scenes, but they have no place in the series anymore, so out they went. Peregrine’s Tale, as is, is exactly all the information you need going in to Nemesis. It preserves the mystery, I think, and doesn’t cast Peregrine as too much of a villain before you meet him, whereas the original chapters did.

Did the details of Peregrine’s origin remain essentially the same from Brethren to this release?

Exactly the same. Who Peregrine is only changed—very organically, I might add—during the writing of Nemesis.

One more Brethren question: How close did it come to publication? Would you still consider putting it out there, or has the success of the digital editions of the series made it unnecessary? Will we see any more material from that version of the story?

Don D’Auria at Leisure Books expressed great enthusiasm for the book, but when I sent it to him that was the last I heard from him, so two years later, I pulled it. I don’t blame Don for this at all. As it turns out, Leisure was undergoing something of a change at the time and I am, by nature, impatient. But after that, I stuck the book in a file and forgot about it.

I wouldn’t consider releasing it now because I think Stage Whispers, the collected volume and Nemesis represent the complete story. Anything I could add from Brethren would just be extraneous and unnecessary matter now, some of which would contradict the events in Nemesis. I had a different idea back then of where the story was going.

That being said, there are a few salvageable sequences that may end up in a volume of Timmy Quinn stories sometime in the future, or at least inspire a few new ones.

Okay, that was three more Brethren questions. This is the last one, I swear: If Brethren had been published, would Timmy’s story reach essentially the same conclusion that it does now in Nemesis?

No. If I’d managed to get Brethren in print, the end of the story would have been very different, so in that regard, I’m glad it never saw the light of day, because Nemesis is exactly where it needed to go.

Now, since this is an interview about Peregrine’s Tale, here are some questions about that book. There’s a passage when Peregrine comes out of the forest to confront his mother where you write that the world is “a fragile picture pasted over something terrible.” There’s an echo there of Stephen King’s idea of “thin places” in the world, where realities overlap. I know you’re a King fan – did his idea about such “thin places” influence your vision of the fragile veil between the living and the dead?

As I’m a big fan, I’m sure King’s work inspired quite a bit of my writing, but not consciously in this case. Rather, I put myself in the minds of these children. With trust shattered and love corrupted, there is no way it would seem anything other than a façade behind which the ugly truth lies. Literary inspiration aside, this is something I learned myself as a child, so it stands to reason that, given what they’re forced to endure, both Peregrine and Timmy would too.

Peregrine really had no more choice in the direction his life took than Timmy, did he? Is redemption possible for either of them at this point?

One of the things Peregrine and Timmy have in common is that adults shaped (and it could be argued, destroyed) their worlds when they were very young and altered their destinies forever. Neither of them sees the need for redemption. They’re bound to the path on which their parents put them. All they can hope for now is a benevolent end to the torment, something else they both share, though their ideas of what constitutes ‘benevolence’ differs greatly.

This is an incredibly dark series, and I really think Peregrine’s Tale is the darkest chapter at this point. Parent/child strife is just rampant in this thing! Was there ever an urge to go in and inject some levity in there somewhere? A comedic sidekick for Timmy, maybe?

You mention parent/child strife there, and some reviewers have posited that that’s really what the whole series is about, and I find it difficult to disagree now that it’s finished and I can look back on it. And when dealing with such a theme, it’s tough to find anything funny about it. Though whatever levity there is in the series comes courtesy of Kim, who consistently seems to find the strength to crack wise in the darkest situations. She continues this trend in Nemesis, as does Alek, a new character. The conversations both of them have with Tim are some of the funniest the series has seen and they come when events have reached their most dangerous. Laughter at a funeral, you might say.

All of the books in the Timmy Quinn series up to this point have been very compact. Was that a conscious decision, or were you just more comfortable at that point in your career writing shorter material?

It’s a bit of both. The Turtle Boy was the longest story I had written at that point in my writing career. The Hides was longer, and, in technical terms, even though it’s on the shorter side, my first novel. I was working on writing longer stuff, but these seemed better suited to an episodic novella-length, particularly because I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going with the overall story. Gradually I learned how to tell a story at novel length, and which story needed that size canvas. And Nemesis is such a story.

As of now, the series is complete with Nemesis having just been published. Maybe this is a question best left for that interview, but I’ll go ahead and ask – do you ever see yourself tackling a series like this again?

As evidenced by the coda at the end of Nemesis, absolutely. Not just a series, but a related one.

The Timmy Quinn Interviews

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis is available as a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

Interview: Kealan Patrick Burke on VESSELS

In October 2012, Kealan Patrick Burke and Thunderstorm Books released Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn, the fifth and concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. As a fan of these stories from the beginning I wanted to commemorate this endgame in some way, so I invited Kealan to take part in a series of interviews, one based on each of the Timmy Quinn books, leading up to the final book’s release. Today we dive into the third book, Vessels, which Bloodletting Press originally published in 2006.

OC: I thought you’d completely isolated Timmy Quinn when you sent him to Dungarvan, Ireland in The Hides – then you upped the ante by moving him to the remote island of Blackrock in Vessels. How is this new locale a reflection of where Timmy is, mentally, at this point in his story?

KPB: Going to Ireland was a kind of naivete on Timmy’s part. He assumed because his experiences with the dead to that point had been limited to his hometown that maybe it would be different elsewhere, that the haunting might be limited by geography. He’s already getting worn down and this is his first time running. Of course, it makes little difference, because it isn’t the town that’s haunted at all; it’s him. So by the time we meet him in Vessels, he’s an adult and a life spent facilitating the vengeance of these things has taken its toll. He’s tired, dispirited, beaten down. His experiences have eroded him. He seeks solace on Blackrock because it’s isolated. It’s bleak, lonely, battered by the elements, just like Tim, and so I thought it the perfect place for us to find him.

At one point, The Scholar refers to Timmy as “a hollow vessel.” Between that comment and the title of the book, what are you trying to tell us about Timmy? Is there any of the Timmy we met in The Turtle Boy left at this point?

Only the faintest glimmer of it. Once Tim encounters The Turtle Boy, all chance of a normal childhood goes out the window. Similarly, his adolescence is traumatic, odd, terrifying. He hasn’t had a normal life, and likely never will. By the time we catch up to him in Vessels, he’s older, depressed, and angry. He’s starting to develop characteristics that make him more like the dead he serves than the living he seeks to protect. He resents the burden that’s been cast upon him, resents not being able to love. The bitterness and anger has hollowed him out. There are few reasons why he shouldn’t just give up, but those reasons—some of which he can’t even fully identify—are important enough to keep him going. When Kim shows up, he realizes she alone is worth every day of fighting the darkness.

I like the use of quotes as chapter titles. I know at least some of them came directly from the chapter itself, but others I couldn’t seem to find. Was I just not looking close enough, or do they come from other sources?

The book is partially dedicated to my late high school English teacher, who helped put me on the career path I’m still traveling today. Thinking of him brought me back to rainy days spent analyzing seemingly impenetrable verse in the classroom, so those chapter titles are something of an ode to him. All of them reference the content of the chapters in some way, even if those ways are obscure. I had no idea they’d prove to be so popular!

It’s strange that, by fleeing to an isolated community in order to “hide,” Timmy actually wound up drawing attention to himself almost immediately. Being from a small town in Alabama, I know that’s how it goes – people quickly notice strangers in such surroundings. Was it the same in Dungarvan, when you were growing up there?

Oh yeah. Newcomers are noticed immediately, and discussed thoroughly, though Dungarvan is considerably larger in scale than Blackrock. But as insular as small communities tend to be, island communities are even worse because they have to be. Everybody looks out for one another. There was no way Tim’s presence wasn’t going to be noticed. I think he expected that. It’s less the people he’s hiding from, than their crimes.

There’s a reference to Timmy’s years “of helping them to find justice, of helping them to murder their murderers.” Some people might actually view that as noble, questions of murder aside. Why isn’t Timmy able to find any peace in that idea?

I address this directly in Nemesis, so the best way to answer is with an excerpt from that book:

So yes, evil should be punished. He agreed with it in principle.

As an ethical issue, he believed none of it was right, a belief made easier by the burgeoning conviction that the dead did not know themselves, that they were mere puppets devoid of anything that had made them who they had been in life. And it was they, the true victims, who should be given the chance to make their executioners answer for their crimes, not the corrupt revenants, particularly when it was likely that their vengeance was merely the product of someone else’s agenda.

And that’s about the size of it. As early as The Hides, it’s been implied that the dead are being controlled, that their vengeance serves another entity, and Tim resents being a pawn in someone else’s metaphysical war. There’s no certainty in what he does, no evidence of peace, and so he finds it difficult to take any peace of his own in the face of monsters. I don’t think he believes the cause is a noble one, and without knowing the true instigator of it all, there’s no way to confirm this, and it leads to complicated questions of morality and its inherent grey areas.

Much of the action takes place in Blackrock’s small chapel. Why are churches such scary places?

I was raised Catholic and spent a lot of time in big Gothic churches and small shadowy chapels. For places designed to represent serenity and peace, the architecture, mournful statues, dark corners and creaking doors, used to terrify me. As of course did the pronouncements from the priests and bishops that we were all most likely going to Hell. You will never find anywhere else the kind of darkness you’ll find in an old church. If God exists, he has a grim sense of humor.

There’s also the scene at the beginning, in the confessional, between Timmy and his father. Again, you’re not doing anything for the image of the church as a “safe sanctuary.” Is that deliberate?

There’s a short story by the late Irish writer Frank O’ Connor called “First Confession,” which we had to read for school. It is, as the title suggests, a hysterical account of a child’s terrifying first confession. And it’s something to which all children who were raised Catholic can relate. It is, perhaps, the first real spiritual trauma we endure in our young lives. We’re prepped for weeks, exposed to fabricated horror stories about kids who went in to the confessional and never came back out, and then the day comes where we’re instructed to go into a box that’s dark as night, smells of dust and judgment, and tell all our sins to a priest who we know will know us by the sound of our voices. It’s a petrifying experience, and one you never forget. Aside from the terror of the dark inside that ancient confessional, there’s the terror of the priest, the terror that he’ll come into your side of the box and punch you in the face for being evil (because you just know your sins are worse than everybody else’s), the terror that he’ll go right back and tell your parents all the wicked things you’ve done, and finally, the terror that you’ll go to Hell for your sins. All of which sounds funny, and in retrospect, it is. But at the time? Horrifying.

So I have no love for confessionals. Vessels was the perfect opportunity to share that.

How has your own faith or belief system played into the series?

Until Vessels, I kept faith out of it as there didn’t seem a good place to illuminate the struggle, but as Tim’s about my age in that book, I figured it was about time for him to start questioning faith as a whole in light of his burden. Religion is not something you’ll find me discussing much outside of my own fiction because in this day and age, it’s only asking for trouble. I talk about the things that I need to talk about and resolve my own conflicts in the stories, which I think is the appropriate place for them. I will admit that though raised Catholic, I’m now lapsed enough to be prolapsed. I’ve seen religion used too much as a crutch, as an excuse, as justification for intolerance and wrongdoing to have much time for it anymore. When your faith in your fellow man buckles in the face of overwhelming evil, it’s hard to believe in the unseen.

There’s a scene in Nemesis (again in a church!) where Tim’s anguish leads him to consider an act of desecration. When he’s told by another character that it’s blasphemy, Tim’s response is: “Yeah, well, if God wants to put in an appearance, I’ll gladly answer for it.” Which I think perfectly illustrates his frustration (and mine) with religion. Though in Tim’s case, he’s not being flippant. He’s almost pleading for God to intervene if only so he has something to believe in other than evil.

Timmy’s dad tells him that everything is predestined. I’ve always found the idea of predestination to be a rather depressing and frustrating concept – the idea that things are going to turn out the same no matter what you do. Do you believe in predestination, or fate?

Not at all. I think we’re pinballs in the universe’s machine. I don’t much like the idea of predestination either. It would render everything we do somewhat futile and eliminates the concept of free will. I’d much rather fuck up my life on my own without thinking it part of some celestial blueprint.

But for Timmy Quinn, there’s a very good reason why everything is predestined (as you’ll see in Nemesis.)

We get our first mention of Peregrine, the living being behind much of what’s happened to Timmy. How long had you known this character was behind the scenes, or did he only reveal himself to you as you were working on Vessels?

I knew someone was pulling the strings by the end of The Hides, but not who or what he was. I wrote Peregrine’s Tale with no intention of ever publishing it. It was just a way to get to know who this guy was and where he came from. By the time I was ready to write Nemesis though, I knew him inside and out. Once I started feeling sorry for him, I knew he was the perfect bad guy. The why of what he’s done, however, didn’t become fully clear to me until I had already started the novel.

The Timmy Quinn Interviews

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis is available as a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

What will October bring to October Country?

So, yeah. October is almost here. And it’s going to be a very busy month here at October Country.

For one thing, I’ll be continuing my story-by-story reviews of The Devil’s Coattails and A Book of Horrors. Those have gotten put on the backburner the last couple of weeks as I prepared for the Halloween season, but they’ll be returning with a vengeance next week. For now, you can catch up on those reviews (and all October Country reviews, for that matter) right here.

I’ll also be continuing my in-depth discussions with Kealan Patrick Burke about the Timmy Quinn series, which is drawing to a close. We’re going through the series one book at a time, and so far we’ve covered The Turtle Boy and The Hides. Vessels is up next, followed by Peregrine’s Tale and, hopefully before the month is out, the climactic Nemesis.

Finally, I’m putting a new spin on something that’s become an October tradition around here: the Ten Essential October Reads series. In years past I’ve written about the books and the comics that captured the essence of Halloween for me. This year I decided to ask some of my favorite authors to talk about their Essential October Reads and, frankly, I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. Some of the biggest names in the genre took the time to contribute, and I’m proud to feature them on my humble little corner of the Internet. Who are they? What are their favorite October reads? Stay tuned throughout October to find out!

Interview: Kealan Patrick Burke on THE HIDES

In October 2012, Kealan Patrick Burke and Thunderstorm Books will release Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn, the fifth and concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. As a fan of these stories from the beginning I wanted to commemorate this endgame in some way, so I invited Kealan to take part in a series of interviews, one based on each of the Timmy Quinn books, leading up to the final book’s release. We continue that series today with a look back at the second Timmy Quinn book, The Hides, originally published in hardback by Cemetery Dance.

The Cemetery Dance edition of THE HIDES, with cover by James Higgins.

OC: The Turtle Boy came out in 2004, and The Hides was released in 2005 – a relatively quick follow-up. When did the idea for the sequel present itself? Was there something that triggered it, the way the sight of your stepson and his friend exploring in the woods triggered The Turtle Boy?

I actually hadn’t considered a sequel until I spoke to Richard Chizmar at Cemetery Dance after he’d read The Turtle Boy. I had published an anthology and some short stories in the magazine with CD by then, but no standalone fiction, and I was eager to do so. When Rich expressed a desire to see something in the vein of The Turtle Boy, I decided to play it safe and keep whatever I wrote in the same universe as that novella. As soon as I made that decision, I wondered where we might find the characters from The Turtle Boy if we moved ahead in time a few years. I found myself intrigued by the notion that Timmy might have not just the dead, but teenage angst to deal with too. I’d already been mulling over a ghost story set in my hometown, so the stage was set—excuse the pun—for Timmy’s adventures to take him there in The Hides.

The Hides takes place in Dungarvan, Ireland, which just happens to be your hometown. What prompted the switch in settings from a small American suburb to Ireland? Was it homesickness, story-driven, or a little of both?

It was a little of both. At the time, I hadn’t written very much fiction set in my hometown, and I wanted to do something that both addressed its turbulent history and incorporated the feel of the place. Plus, I hadn’t been home in many years and researching it through the town’s historian, photographs, and my own memories of it, was a way to revisit.

Was it easier to write about your hometown as opposed to a fictional or less familiar place?

Familiar settings are always easier, though I enjoy making places up from scratch just as much. With The Hides, I had to do a little of both, because some of the buildings where much of the action takes place are no longer there, so I had to rebuild them using my own imagination, memories, and notes from the town historian. I set the story decades ago and Dungarvan has changed an awful lot since then.

I feel like the setting is almost another character in The Hides – it seems to be much more a part of the story than the setting of The Turtle Boy. How much of the direction of the Timmy Quinn series from this book forward can be attributed to moving it to Ireland?

When I think of Ireland, I immediately get a sense of age, a sense you get when you’re there. So I think in bringing Timmy to Ireland, it gave me the idea that whatever was responsible for these revenants, or whatever they are, was very old, and not limited to any one place. I also liked the notion that the geography works in tandem with Timmy’s emotions at the time. This starts with The Hides and is compounded in the next novella, Vessels.

This is also the book where the use of theater metaphors really pick up – The Curtain, The Stage, even a mention of stage whispers. Where did that theme come from?

I always had the visual in mind of shadowy figures standing just beyond our ability to see them, and kept out of sight by a tattered curtain. As I started The Hides, this visual grew stronger, and the idea of actors (the dead) awaiting their turn in the limelight (revenge) took hold. Add to that the fact that I did quite a bit of theatrical work myself in Dungarvan, and it seemed very fitting indeed. But it wasn’t until Nemesis that it made complete sense to me in the context of Timmy’s world. The final book is very much about the genesis of that metaphysical theater, so hopefully that will serve as more complete answer to your question!

The digital edition of THE HIDES.

It’s hinted that the years between the events of The Turtle Boy and The Hides have been tough for Timmy. Any chance we’ll get to read about those years at some point in the future? I’d think some of those encounters would make excellent short stories…

It’s very much a plan of mine to do a collection of stories about Timmy’s (mis)adventures in the periods between the books, for completion’s sake and to sate my own curiosity. I already have some interesting ideas I’m looking forward to exploring.

This book goes a long way toward establishing the rules of what’s going on in Timmy’s world – how he interacts with the ghosts, why they appear for him, etc. Did you have those rules worked out ahead of time, or were you discovering them as you wrote?

I had some idea, but truthfully, not much. I’m a make-it-up-as-I-go-along type writer, which is sometimes a good thing, sometimes not. When it comes to a series, it helps if you have a guideline, a set rulebook. I didn’t, but once the basic rules came to me, I found it easy to build on them. And though I didn’t know it as I was working from book to book, those rules made for a very interesting finale, one that seemed to suggest to me as I was writing Nemesis, that I had more an idea than I realized about where it would all lead. That’s kind of what Nemesis is about too: the nature of artistic creation.

Did you get feedback from friends or family back home in Dungarvan about the havoc you wreaked on the place?

Yes, and I loved it. My own mother was freaked out every time she passed the Moresby Buoy after reading the scene in which the dead woman appears there. And as the book was available in the local library, many of the townspeople wrote to tell me they haven’t looked the same way at some of the local landmarks since. I even had American readers of mine include the town in their visits to Ireland. They all but used the book as a tour guide, which is amazing.

How much of Dungarvan’s history as presented in The Hides is based on actual events?

Almost all of it. We did have Nazi U-boats patrolling the harbor and a lot of IRA activity at the time. The names are all fictional, of course, as are the events that led to the hauntings.

What kind of reception did The Hides receive upon its release? Did it help bring more attention to The Turtle Boy? And is this the point where you started to get encouragement to keep the Timmy Quinn series going?

The Hides did very well, or at least, as well as a 750-copy release can do. It got some nice ink in the trades, was reviewed well among readers, and picked up a Bram Stoker Award-nomination. So I was happy with the reception, and it definitely helped get other publishers interested in the series, which led to the publication of Vessels a year later. And more readers were discovering the books, sometimes working their way backward to read them all. The problem was, The Turtle Boy was long sold-out and only available on the secondary market for insane prices, so it was hard to grow the readership by any substantial degree, and this was disheartening. To counter this, I combined the first three novellas into a standalone novel entitled Brethren, which I sent to Leisure Books. After two years of waiting, I hadn’t gotten an answer, so I withdrew it. The series might never have gone any further after Cemetery Dance published Peregrine’s Tale, if not for digital, which saw a massive increase in the popularity of the books and vocal demand from readers for the next installment in the series. So it took almost ten years for the real encouragement to kick in, and for that I’m endlessly thankful.

The Timmy Quinn Interviews

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis will be available as a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

Interview: Kealan Patrick Burke on THE TURTLE BOY

The Necessary Evil Press edition of THE TURTLE BOY, with cover artwork by Caniglia.

In October 2012, Kealan Patrick Burke and Thunderstorm Books will release Nemesis: The Death of Timmy Quinn, the fifth and concluding chapter in the Timmy Quinn series. As a fan of these stories from the beginning I wanted to commemorate this endgame in some way, so I invited Kealan to take part in a series of interviews, one based on each of the Timmy Quinn books, leading up to the final book’s release. We begin that series today with a look back at the one that started it all, the winner of the 2004 Bram Stoker Award for Best Long Fiction, The Turtle Boy.

OC: What was the inspiration for The Turtle Boy?

KPB: When I wrote The Turtle Boy, I was living in an old rambling farmhouse in Delaware, Ohio. Eager to write, but short on inspiration, I found myself looking out my office window at my stepson and his best friend standing at the threshold to the neighboring field. They were discussing the potential for adventure now that summer vacation had started. They eventually decided to explore the pond, which was some distance away and all but hidden from view by a cluster of pines. Suitably inspired, I started with this scene and the rest came easy, particularly as my neighbor at the time had told me the pond contained turtles the size of Buicks and that one of them had ripped off a hunk of his finger.

Are there stories or characters from other authors that influenced this book (or the series as a whole)? Being from Ireland, did you work any Irish folklore into the story?

I’m a big fan of coming-of-age stories like Boy’s Life by Robert McCammon, “The Body” by Stephen King, Summer of Night by Dan Simmons, and Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. Even To Kill a Mockingbird was an influence. If I hadn’t read all of these books, I wouldn’t have been able to write The Turtle Boy.

I wouldn’t say there’s much Irish folklore in The Turtle Boy, but there’s definitely an Irish flavor to the later books, most significantly in The Hides and Vessels, and not just because they use the country as the setting. Our attachment to and the influence of history comes into play in The Hides, and Vessels incorporates as a subtext the erosion of faith in the Catholic Church and religion as a whole. While these are not inherently Irish subjects, they’re definitely prevalent ones.

How much of you exists in the character of Timmy Quinn?

In the first book, there’s more of my stepson in Timmy than anyone else, but as the books go on and the conflict with his father comes into play, I think there’s a lot of me in there. As has been pointed out elsewhere, the theme of paternal estrangement seems to be a running one throughout the books. Although I wasn’t conscious of this when I wrote them, I am now, and given my own relationship with my father, it makes a lot of sense. And that’s what Timmy tries to do throughout the series: try to make sense of all that’s gone wrong in his life.

When did you begin writing the book, and how long/how many drafts did it take?

I started it in the summer of 2003, and it took about two weeks to write the first draft. Then I sent it around to some people for advice, among them Norman Partridge and F. Paul Wilson. Both of them gave me extensive notes and suggestions, almost all of which I incorporated. By the time it went to press, I’d rewritten it more times than I’ve ever rewritten anything since. It went through about twenty drafts before I was happy with it.

Were you thinking of this as a series at the time? It doesn’t read like a deliberate segue into a series, although you could easily see the potential for the story to continue.

No, contrary to popular belief (and a substantial amount of reviews that imply I ended it on a cliffhanger to get people to buy the rest of the series), The Turtle Boy was not written with a sequel in mind. It wasn’t until a year after the book had been released that Rich Chizmar at Cemetery Dance expressed interest in something in a similar vein. After I gave it some thought, I found myself curious about where Tim and Kim et al might be if we revisited them a few years down the road. I also hadn’t set very much of my writing in Ireland at the time, and it presented me with a great opportunity to do that very thing. The notion of populating my hometown with ghosts was irresistible.

How has the overall story evolved as you’ve continued writing about Timmy?

As soon as I realized it was going to be a series (right about the time the idea for Vessels sprung full formed into my brain), I assumed it was always going to be a ghost story. And while it is, for the most part, Vessels sets up some curve balls and Nemesis turns the tables in a most unexpected fashion. I also didn’t realize it was going to have an apocalyptic flavor by the end. So yes, the journey has been filled with unexpected twists and turns, but Nemesis is the mother of them all.

What else had you published when The Turtle Boy was released?

My first collection, Ravenous Ghosts, had just been released, and I’d had a number of short stories published in various venues, but The Turtle Boy was the most significant release to that point.

How big of an impact did its success have on your career?

Oddly enough, it didn’t do much for me at the time, not that I really expected it to, but it has done a lot in the past few years, more than I’d ever have imagined, in fact. Thanks to a new lease on life as a digital release, the success of it and the other books in the series has allowed me to return to writing full-time after a few years spent floundering in the doldrums.

Caniglia’s art was such an amazing addition to that first Necessary Evil Press edition of the book – especially that cover, which pops into my head whenever I think of this series. How much did his art add to the package in your eyes?

I absolutely adore that cover. With that image, and the interiors he did for the book, I think Jason completely nailed the spirit of the book. I remember the first time I saw them, my breath literally caught in my throat. With only minimal input from me, it looked as if he’d actually visited the real-life pond that inspired the story. It was uncanny. And I think his work elevated the book from just another small press title to a work of art, more due to his illustrations than my story.

Among your books, where does The Turtle Boy rank in your eyes? How about within the Timmy Quinn series itself?

Because of all it’s done for me over the years, The Turtle Boy is my favorite book. I’m not overstating things when I say it has given me my career. But overall, I think my best book to date is Kin for its maturity and cohesiveness. In terms of its rank within the series, I would rank The Turtle Boy lowest because I wrote it in my early twenties and had not yet found my proper voice. So I think every book in the series benefited from the age I was when I wrote it. To that end, I would rank Vessels and Nemesis as the strongest entries. I’m fond of them all for different reasons though.

Would you ever consider taking a second stab at The Turtle Boy, like Stephen King did with the first Dark Tower book? If so, what would you do differently?

That’s a superb question, and man, have I been tempted. The advent of digital publishing means I can revise at any time if I wish. And I do wish, if only to smooth out some of the clunkier parts, and reduce the block of exposition toward the end. Maybe even nix that cliffhanger ending so many readers find so troublesome. But I can’t. Don’t ask me why. Something stays my hand every time I get close. Maybe I’m just too proud of it, flaws and all, to want to fiddle with it. It’d be like if I took one of my childhood pictures and photoshopped out my buck teeth. Sure, I might look less goofy, but it wouldn’t be an accurate depiction of who I was at the time.

Catch up on the series with Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories

Nemesis will be available as a signed, limited edition hardcover from Thunderstorm Books. Thunderstorm is also prepping a deluxe edition of Stage Whispers: The Collected Timmy Quinn Stories that will include Nemesis, which is not included in the current digital edition. Visit Thunderstorm Books for more information.

Review: ‘Kin’ by Kealan Patrick Burke

Kin begins where many a horror movie has ended: with a lone survivor, battered and bloodied, staggering onto a back country road to be rescued by a passing stranger. Think Sally Hardesty in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, her young mind shattered in the wake of a brutal assault that took all her friends and very nearly took her as well. Except this time, there’s no fade to black and no credit roll. This time, the end is only the beginning.

In the past, Kealan Patrick Burke’s strongest work was found in his short stories and novellas. His longer works, including Master of the Moors and Currency of Souls, have been good but not great, often better in concept than actual execution. To really see why so many people, myself included, count Burke as one of the best writers working in the genre today, you’d have to look at his collection The Number 121 to Pennsylvania or his Timmy Quinn series.

Not any more. Now you look at Kin. Because with this novel, Burke has fully arrived as a novelist, his voice more assured, his hand steadier, and his talent running full throttle.

In Kin, Claire Lambert is our survivor, the only one of a group of friends overtaken by a family of backwoods cannibal lunatics in Elkwood, Alabama, who manages to get away. Her rescue is witnessed by Luke, a member of the Merrill clan who tracked her from his family’s ramshackle compound, toying with her just a bit too long and losing her in the process. It’s Luke’s job to return to his father, known as Papa-In-Gray, and his mother, Momma-In-Bed, and let them know that he’s failed to recapture their prey, a failure that has tremendous consequences for Luke and his family as a whole.

Those consequences – for Luke and the rest of the murderous Merrills; for Claire, her mother and her sister; for young Pete and his father Jack, the men who found Claire on that lonely road and snatched her, against Jack’s better judgement, from the edge of the abyss; and for Finch, a returning Iraq war veteran whose brother was among those in Claire’s group who died a grisly death – are what drives Kin forward. At one point, Claire compares the murders to “a stone dropped in a pond,” with the ripples from that one act radiating out to affect dozens of lives. Those consequences are something that are rarely touched on in the slasher films that are part of this book’s inspiration, but, as Burke proves here, they make for a compelling story.

It’s compelling because what Burke does here, which so many of those slasher movies fail to do, is give us characters we care about. Even the Merrill clan, which shares plenty of unsavory traits with their blood-spilling forefathers, are fleshed out. Yes, these are isolated, ignorant rednecks with their own skewed view of right and wrong, people who kill in the name of God (and do so cunningly and efficiently). But Burke gives us a closer look at at least some of their number, and in them we see doubt, fear and even regret, which more than sets them apart from empty-headed killers like Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers.

The middle portion of the book, falling between the tension-filled opening act and the climactic return to Elkwood, could easily have been the weak link here. This is where we get to know Claire, and Pete, and Finch; where we see how their lives are spiralling out of control and pushing some of them back to the place of their worst nightmares. While part of me was hoping for a quick return to Elkwood, these side trips into the lives of the characters made the wait worthwhile. By the time everyone reconvenes in Alabama, you’ve got a strong rooting interest in many of the characters – including one or two that might surprise you.

There’s hope here – not a lot, but that bit of light in the otherwise unrelenting bleakness is another thing that separates Kin from its origins. Burke invokes the tragedy of 9/11 many times in the book, seeing in our recovery from that dark day that people have the ability to live through the unimaginable and move forward. It’s an idea that’s reinforced in Kin. I don’t know that anyone gets what you’d call a “happy” ending, but there’s hope, and a chance to at least try and pick up the pieces and put them back together.  Sometimes that’s the best we get.

Burke doesn’t skimp on the violence in this one, but he shows just enough restraint at just the right times to keep it from becoming a simple gorefest. There’s one scene in particular, which I won’t dare spoil, that could have been so over-the-top as to be funny. But Burke handles it with precision, giving it the full, horrible impact it deserves, drawing gasps instead of guffaws. Trust me, you’ll know it when you read it, and you’ll be amazed at how deftly the author pulls it off.

Kin ends a long period of silence from Burke, and has me quite excited to see what’s coming next. It’s due out this Fall from Cemetery Dance, and I urge you to get a copy. It gets my highest possible recommendation.

Q&A: Kealan Patrick Burke

Kealan Patrick Burke is a small-press superstar, writing the popular Timmy Quinn series (starting with The Turtle Boy), stand-alone novels like Currency of Souls and Master of the Moors, editing acclaimed anthologies like Taverns of the Dead, and even starring in the film Slime City Massacre. After a nearly year-long absence from the scene he’s about to coming roaring back with an armload of new short stories, a couple of novels and other top-secret projects all in the works. He’s kicking off the new year by offering much of his back catalog digitally, including a collection of winter tales called Dead of Winter. Kealan was kind enough to take a few moments away from preparing for world domination to speak with October Country.

OC: You were churning along a couple of years ago, having just released The Number 121 to Pennsylvania & Others plus your reworked novel Master of the Moors, and then there was silence for a while. Was the sabbatical a planned thing? Was it a break only from publishing, or from actually writing as well?

KPB: Unfortunately, it was a break from both. I got divorced in the summer of 2008, and relocated briefly to Arkansas, where I worked on a movie project that turned out to be just another disaster in a year full of them. I came back to Columbus, moved into an apartment and got a full-time job in an attempt to get things back on track, which eventually they did, but with little time for writing. I didn’t quit writing, of course, at least, not intentionally. As a writer yourself, you know such a thing is hardly possible. It’s a compulsion, not a hobby. But what little I managed to concentrate long enough to get down on paper wasn’t very good. I was exhausted both physically and mentally, and more than a little depressed. I know sometimes that’s a condition that produces the best writing (if it wasn’t, would anyone have heard of Poe?) Not in my case. My inability to get the work done began to affect my relationships with my publishers. Projects I’d promised weren’t getting turned in and that only depressed me further. It was my worst nightmare: realizing I might be done as a writer.

Then, last summer, I took a road trip with my girlfriend. We set out from Columbus, Ohio and drove through Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Nebraska, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and stayed for a few days in Nevada. We came back to Ohio via as much of Route 66 as possible and passed through California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma. In every state we took time to soak in the sights and saw more amazing things and met more incredible people than I can list here.

When I got home, the writing had come home with me.

Sometimes when you take a break – planned or otherwise – you come back to a thing stronger and hungrier. How do you think the time away from writing may have helped you?

Being away from writing made me realize what it had felt like to be a writer, how enormous a part of me it was to be a creator, and how badly I needed it to be complete, and happy, as a person. So I came back after getting out into the world and rediscovering my muse (sounds melodramatic, but it’s no less true) with a renewed hunger for the craft and an insatiable desire to get the stories that had been cluttering my head down on paper. But since that moment, where I knew I could write again, things have been different. My writing is different, more mature than it’s ever been. And darker. I have written plenty of stories over the past few months and the only thing they have in common is a distinct lack of light and hope. Funny thing is, that’s the exact opposite of how I feel these days. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. I’m writing my best stuff in years, have a great woman by my side, and I have for the first time in my life, a solid plan for the future. But the voice inside, that one you never hear, but know never stops talking, that’s different now. I guess it’s like when they replace a character on your favorite TV show with a different actor. It’s jarring at first, but if you love the show, you go with the flow.

You’ve certainly come back to the scene in a big way, and we’d like to hear whatever you can share about a couple of upcoming projects you’ve been teasing. First up: Jack & Jill, which was recently announced by Cemetery Dance.

Without sounding like one of those nauseating actors in an interview who claims everyone was just great to work with! when in reality they probably weren’t, Rich Chizmar and Brian Freeman at Cemetery Dance are two of my favorite people. Ditto Bill Schafer at Subterranean. Not only have they provided me a great venue for my work for almost a decade, but on a personal level, they’ve always been very cool, understanding, and have saved my hide a number of times when everything in my life seemed to be falling apart. Up until The Dark Year, I had never been late on a deadline or failed to turn in a story they’d asked for. But like so many other things during that time, that changed. I tried to write and failed; I tried to force it, and failed, but I refused to give up until eventually I ran out of time, knew I was delaying the project and had to bow out. Now, any other publisher might have lost the plot completely and advised you to go run up a flagpole. Instead, after a few months of hearing very little from CD, Brian contacted me about the Collector’s Edition three-book series they were doing, and asked if I was interested in writing something for it. Grateful, and with the horrifying but endlessly inspiring details of my girlfriend’s dream from the night before still rattling around in my brain, I immediately got to work. The end result was Jack & Jill, which is a bleak, gruesome story about old ghosts and new ones, and it came out of me in a torrent the minute I opened that blank page. It’s also one of the best stories I’ve written in perhaps ten years. Because of the limitation on the Collector’s Edition series (500 copies or so), I do plan to reprint the story somewhere down the line, but right now, that’s not a priority. There are more stories to write first. Lots of them.

 What can you tell us about Kin (described in your blog as your “longest and most violent novel to date”)?

I once got into an online debate about the merits of horror novels and movies in the backwoods-inbred psycho-cannibal subgenre. My contention was that efforts thus far had failed to give the characters, both antagonists and protagonists, any humanity, negating the viewer’s ability to empathize with the latter or care to understand the motivations of the former. One response to my heated diatribe was “put up, or shut up.” I really had no intention of writing a novel-length response. It just didn’t interest me enough and, in my opinion, had already been done to death. Until I took a trip to Alabama and saw for the first time a cotton field, red dirt, and a makeshift village of lean-tos all but stacked atop each other on the side of a hill. I was inspired.

At the end of a lot of these backwoods cannibal movies, there’s a survivor. Unless there’s a twist and he (though invariably it’s a she), gets shockingly murdered in the last five minutes, we see them sobbing and driving off into the sunset. I found myself wondering what life would be like for that survivor when they got home. What kind of existence awaits someone who has seen what they’ve seen, done what they had to do to make it out of there? Think of the survivor’s guilt, the trauma, the nightmares, the constant fear that the killers might still be coming for you. Think of the ghosts, the paralyzing terror that clings to you like a shadow, the ghoulish curiosity of the media, the barely restrained resentment from the parents of your dead friends, whose eyes say to you: why did you survive? why not my baby?  And think of the primal rage that tells you the only way to set things right, and to keep the horror from being visited upon others, is to gather together people who also know loss, people perhaps a little less stable than you, and go back for revenge.

These are the questions that led me to finally sit down and write Kin.

You’ve been putting out digital editions of your previous work left and right, which is great for the readers who maybe weren’t able to shell out $40 or so for the limited editions. How is it working out for you so far?

 As something that started as an experiment, it’s been a great, if strange, experience so far. I really only got serious about the e-books about a month ago, which is right about the time I figured out how to format the damn things so they were readable. I’m averaging about 50-75 sales a month between Smashwords and Amazon, which is dismal compared to the numbers of giants like Joe Konrath and Scott Nicholson, but about what I expected at this early stage. It’s humbling to realize that you’re marketing your work to a huge audience of people who don’t know you from a hole in the ground, so it feels like starting all over again. Rewarding and frustrating in equal measures. It’s nice having complete control of your book from layout to pricing and promotion, but trying to figure out what readers want and how to make your work stand out among 400,000+ other titles is tough. But that’s publishing for you.

Interestingly enough, I made “Underneath” a free download two weeks ago and as I type this, it has 3,200 downloads on Smashwords. So the work is definitely getting more exposure, which is great. How that will translate to e-book and print sales over the next year remains to be seen, but it’s fun experimenting with the process, and nice to see a whole new appreciation for books that have over the past few years only been available on the secondary market at prices few people would be willing to pay.

 Any other future projects you can share about at this time?

There are some other things in the pipeline, some of which you’ve probably heard about, others you haven’t, but I can’t say too much about the latter just yet. What I can say is that in addition to more work in some Cemetery Dance releases (Shivers VI, Smoke & Mirrors, Crane House), hopefully in 2011 you’ll see two novels (Kin, and The Living), a novella from Bloodletting Books, a novelette from Subterranean Press, a darkly humorous, crime-horror story entitled “Stalled” in a long-awaited anthology, the mass market release of Currency of Souls from a Polish publisher, and some more short stories in various magazines. And on the movie front, you’ll see the DVD release of Slime City Massacre, in which I play an army deserter who turns to slime (a claim a few exes and detractors of mine have been making for years.)