15 Fave Freaky Fictions

And by "fictions," I mean "books" but, you know, #alliteration. Here are 15 of my fave scary reads (so far), in order of publication date bc the idea of trying to rank them makes me feel faint. They're linked to their Goodreads pages, where you'll find buy links so you can check out pricing at your purveyor of choice, if you're so inclined. Publishers' book blurbs are in purple italics; my thoughts follow.

Review: Suburban Hell by Maureen Kilmer

Dig that groovy cover, y'all!
(But please ignore my thumb.)

Suburban Hell by Maureen Kilmer 

My rating: 4 of 5 stars*
*3.5 stars rounded up to 4.

About the book:

A Chicago cul-de-sac is about to get a new neighbor...of the demonic kind.

Amy Foster considers herself lucky. After she left the city and moved to the suburbs, she found her place quickly with neighbors Liz, Jess, and Melissa, snarking together from the outskirts of the PTA crowd. One night during their monthly wine get-together, the crew concoct a plan for a clubhouse She Shed in Liz’s backyard—a space for just them, no spouses or kids allowed.

But the night after they christen the She Shed, things start to feel . . . off. They didn’t expect Liz’s little home-improvement project to release a demonic force that turns their quiet enclave into something out of a nightmare. And that’s before the homeowners’ association gets wind of it.

Even the calmest moms can’t justify the strange burn marks, self-moving dolls, and horrible smells surrounding their possessed friend, Liz. Together, Amy, Jess, and Melissa must fight the evil spirit to save Liz and the neighborhood . . . before the suburbs go completely to hell.

*    *    *

Baby Faces Blogfest!

Howdy, y'all! Trisha over at WORD + STUFF is hosting the Baby Faces Blogfest. The rules be:

1. Between December 2nd and 3rd, post a pic of yourself as a baby, and/or;

2. Tell a story about when you were a baby

(You can choose to do one or the other or both.)

On December 2nd, when Trisha posts for her blogiversary, she will be giving away a little prize (your choice of a book she's selected, or some other book, from the Book Depository). More details about that on the day itself.

So, for funsies, I thought I'd present a snippet from an older blog post of mine titled Shooting at the Devil. (You can see how this would be about me as a baby, naturally.) I opened the post referencing Penelope Crowe's post about possession, then segued into my Great Uncle, Tio Nuno (TEE-oo NOO-noo)* who was rumored to be a witch/mystic/alcoholic (may God rest him and hold him close), who proposed a curious cure for whatever ailed me when my parents took my baby-self on a visit to their homeland, Portugal. If you'd like to read the full (long!) post, you can check it out here.

*       *       *

You wanna pass me over a what, now?

Mom and Pop brought me over from the States when I was a wee one so the family could meet their first born. Apparently, I gave them a bit of trouble - I stayed up crying the first nights they were in Portugal, growing cold and clammy from getting so worked up. Nothing they tried soothed me. I hadn't been colicky or anything up till then, so there was no reason they could discern for my fussing. They took me to a local doc who assured them that I was medically fine. So my Mom put it down to me feeling out of sorts from being in an unfamiliar environment. Or, you know, the evil eye (I dig that she didn't rule anything out). Shortly after the doc visit, Tio Nuno stopped by my paternal grandmother's house and my Avó told him about my peculiar spells. Because my Grandma's husband had recently passed away, she wondered if he might somehow be "visiting" me and generally freaking me out. Tio Nuno thought there might be a larger problem and asked her if any of my clothes or belongings were lying around. She found something of mine and brought it to him, which he examined carefully. After a while he told her that someone in the family wished me ill, but he wouldn't specify who (the big tease). He gave her the following instructions to pass on to my parents:

1. Make the baby a wreath of garlic and sprinkle her with holy water.
2. Make a bonfire and toss into it some rosemary, rue, and eucalyptus.
3. Pass the baby through the smoke of this fire and pray to some saints (which specific ones is lost in the mists of time).

When my Mom heard all this from my Grandma she nodded politely but privately thought there was no friggin' way she was going to pass me over a bonfire (the Portuguese equivalent of this thought, obviously). Instead, when she went to put me to sleep that night, she laid me on my back and prayed the Apostles Creed over me three times, all the while making the Sign of the Cross over me, asking God to liberate me from whatever ailed me. And, according to her, from then on, I did get better.

I have to admit, I'm disappointed that she didn't try the bonfire thing. Also, I think I'd look pretty smashing in a garlic wreath (kickin' it old-school!). But seriously, I'm proud of my Mom for turning to her faith during this peculiar phase in our lives...I hope I'll always turn to God, in good times and in bad. Still, I'd love to know who hit me with the bad juju, so I could avenge myself (and my parents) by TPing her house.

*Nuno was not his real name, but it is a common - and unique - Portuguese name, for an uncommon man!

Be Inspired (Redux) & The Next Big Thing Award!

Though I have been tagged with the "Be Inspired" meme before, there weren't any questions attached to it in that particular version. Now that the groovy Michael Offutt, author of sci-fi/fantasy novel Slipstream, has tasked me with bragging about one of my own books, I feel compelled to comply. Thanks for thinking of me, Michael!

I was also tagged by author Kate Larkindale of Fiction and Film for the "Next Big Thing" award - thanks so much, Kate!

I've merged these two memes into one post because the questions in each are nearly identical. (And because I don't like to work too hard, as many of you already know.) For each, writers are asked to discuss one of their books. There's really only one question that varies from one meme to the other, which I'll note below.

1. What is the name of your book?
That Fatal Kiss.

2. Where did the idea come from?
My interest in Greek mythology and my weakness for a passionate love story. (More about this in #8.)

3. In what genre would you classify your book?
Romance (mythical).

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie?
As I wrote That Fatal Kiss, I couldn't help but envision British actor Jeremy Northam as the male "lead," Hades—there's a sensual mastery he brings to pretty much every role that I always saw as perfect for the Lord of the Underworld (picture the scene in the movie Possession in which he's unlacing Jennifer Ehle's corset and you'll know just what I mean) (if you've not yet seen the film, I really think you need to). For the female lead, Persephone, I never had a particular actor in mind...I envision her as being in her early 20s (so to speak; time is relative for the Greek gods) (I imagine), with long, rich auburn curls, and amber brown eyes. She's intelligent, witty, and compassionate. I'd maybe say Kate Winslet (who I think would be a great leading lady for Northam, regardless of the project) except she's matured a bit for the part (the way she played Marianne in Sense and Sensibility is sort of, though not quite, how I'd see her play Persephone). The only other person who comes to mind is Emmy Rossum (as she played Christine in the 2005 Phantom of the Opera adaptation) (only, you know, a bit saucier).

5. Give us a one sentence synopsis of your book.
Gah, I suck at summarizing my stories, but I'll try:

Hades, fearsome Lord of the Underworld, wrests youthful goddess Persephone away from her life aboveground to be his bride—but the powerful goddess may yet escape him...if she really wants to.

6. How long did it take you to write the first draft?
Hmmm...a year (ish)? I was unemployed for about three months and began writing TFK fast and furious then, but slowed down when I got a jobby-job.

7. Is your book already published (Be Inspired)/will it be self or traditionally published (Next Big Thing)?
Not yet/it will probably be self-published, unless some publishing miracle comes to pass in the immediate future...

8. Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I'd become interested in Greek mythology as a kid and the bug for Hades and Persephone's story bit me in my adolescence. With my imperfect understanding, I found it sooooo romantical that the powerful god wanted the goddess sooooo much that he just couldn't help but ransom her away to his underground kingdom, though part of me didn't think it was fair to the poor gal to just take off with her without first asking if she wanted to go. Later, in college, I took a lit course that examined the Greek myths and, as part of my research, read some folks' opinions that Persephone and Hades' marriage was one of the few faithful and happy ones among the gods; that when together, they ruled harmoniously; and that at least once Persephone displayed some jealousy for/possessiveness of Hades when a sneaky nymph put the moves on the goddess' man. Er, the goddess' mate. Anyway, the dark romantic in me perked up at the idea that Persephone grew to want Hades just as much as he wanted her. Then it was just a hop, skip, and jump to imagining their rocky road to love and I just had to put my revisionist interpretation of the myth in writing.

9. What else about your book would pique the reader's interests?
Um...maybe the following snippet?

“Enough,” Hades said, closing the distance between them.  “I have taken you with your father’s consent, as custom allows.  You are in my kingdom, under my rule, and if you have any care for your continued well-being, you will get into my bed.  Now.”  And with the removal of the pins which held together his black cloak, he stood naked before her.

The anger warming Persephone clashed with another fire that roared to life within her.  She choked on a breath and turned her face from him.  “Be warned; I will resist you with the full force of my being, through violent means, if necessary.”

His large, unyielding hands encircled the soft flesh of her upper arms as he said, “If you must.  Though your surrender to me would prove more satisfying to us both.”

You're supposed to tag five other writers, and so I tag:

L.G. Keltner, Writing off the Edge

Mina Burrows, books for paranormal and mystic minds

Elise Fallson

Siv Maria, Been there, done that

Melissa Bradley, Melissa's Imaginarium

I hope y'all check these gals out!

Snarks ~ There's Not Chairs!

"Snarks" is another new feature I'm bringing to my bloggy-blog—it's basically my chosen monthly moment to bitch about stuff that irks me. (Yes, I wrote, "monthly." Make of that what you will.)

The title for this post comes from a sentence once thoughtlessly uttered in my presence: "There's chairs over there."

No.

What's wrong with this sentence, people? Let's break apart that first word, "there's." It is the word "there" with an apostrophe and an "s." There are two very basic and common uses for the apostrophe in the English language:

1. To show possession
2. To show omission (as in the case of contractions)

I believe the speaker intended the second thing; that is to say, she meant the contraction for "there is."

This would have been fine if the rest of the sentence had been, "...a chair over there." Breaking it down, what she actually said was, "There is chairs over there."

No. No no no no no. There's NOT chairs  over there. Trust me on this.

"There are  chairs over there," yes.

"There is  chairs over there," no.

NO, DAMN IT.

Gah, you hear this sloppy English all the time, everywhere—sales people do it, politicians do it, even writers and educators  do it! It's uttered on the news, for pity's sake! THE NEWS!  It's so pervasive that people default to it unwittingly.

Well, stop it.

There's another mistaken use of the apostrophe + s, which is a perverted attempt at pluralization that also pisses me off. Banana's, nut's, or chocolate's = wrong. Bananas, nuts, or chocolates = right (oh, so deliciously right!).  See what I did there? I magically multiplied the number of comestibles without abusing any apostrophes. (And not apostrophe's, for the love of all that's holy.)

To see more shocking examples of maltreated apostrophes, check out the Apostrophe Catastrophes blog, if you can bear such horrors.

And if you need a bit of help sorting out other apostrophe uses in this hellish era, check out this nifty little number:

Or take a look at Grammar Girl's essay on the apostrophe here.

Come on, folks—let us all fight the good fight. BE the change you want to see in the world. We can make it a better place, one well-placed apostrophe at a time.

Shooting at the Devil...

You wanna pass me over a what, now?

I recently discovered a blog which has quite gripped my fancy - As the Crowe Flies by author Penelope Crowe. Her book, 100 Unfortunate Days, is described on Amazon as being "...the diary of a woman of the verge of a breakthrough--or breakdown." With an opening like that, you can bet this'll prove to be a wild trip. I've not read it yet (it's available as an eBook right now and I've no eReader, so I'm waiting for it to come out in paperback format in the coming month or so, 'cause that's just how I roll). But Crowe's put some excerpts up on her blog, from the amusing Day 10, which provides "profiles" of a variety of pet owners, to Day 23, a dark fable which left me feeling rather hollow. In another post, Do You Believe in Possession? A True Story, Crowe writes about her friend, a young woman who suffered from and succumbed to Wilson's disease, though Crowe wonders if demonic possession was at the root of her illness. An unsettling post, certainly, but what really struck a strange chord in me was that the friend was in Portugal when the spooky stuff went down.

I'm a first-generation American of Portuguese descent. One thing about my peeps across the ocean that's always perplexed me is that, for a ridonkulously Catholic country, the folks there got superstition oozing out their what-whats. For instance, you can't say with any certainty that a thing you're planning will come to pass - you say it will, "Se Deus quiser" ("If God is willing"). For this reason alone, if you wish a Portuguese a happy birthday before that event takes place, you may induce a stroke in the poor unfortunate. Belief, whether real or "just in cases," of O mau olhado (the evil eye) is so pervasive that folks will give a newborn to the family a charm bracelet meant to protect the babe from supernatural harm. If a kid's stretched out across the floor, God forbid you step over him or her - the child's mother will insist you cross back over because you've just opened the kid up to eeeeeee-viiiiiiiiiiiil and you must close that "circle," imediatamente! (For realz!) Mind you, not all the 'guesers are that twitchy but the average native buys into this stuff just enough to make him careful not to cut a homemade loaf of bread when it's fresh out of the oven and still hot (because that would be the same thing as cutting into the loaf's maker, as everyone knows).

I myself have long been interested in things mysterious and spooky, from tarot cards to ouija boards, runes to gemstones, witchcraft to astrology to dream interpretation, vampires to werewolves, you name it. I've been told that my occult bent stems from a branch a little higher up on the family tree - my dad's maternal uncle (my great uncle), Tio Nuno*. (TEE-oo NOO-noo.) AND, as it happens, though the gentleman never met me in person, he did diagnose me as being "possessed" of some kinda yuck.

Tio Nuno was a typical, chouriço-fed farm boy from a podunk village in the middle of Portugal, until he traveled to exotic Brazil to make his fortune. This he did, and came back an "Espiritista," or Spiritualist, to boot. With his newly earned coin, he set about buying some forested land, a vineyard, and whatever else seemed a good money-earning prospect, and the man did well for himself. But he developed the reputation for being involved in bruxaria (witchcraft) and, to be honest, alcohol. My dad tells some entertaining tales of Tio Nuno's exploits, which frequently transpired in the black of night, while Tio Nuno made his way home from carousing with women and spirits of the liquid variety, his trusty pistol within easy reach. One time, as he made his way along the dusty road to the neighboring city of Aveiro, Tio Nuno was surprised by the Devil, who straddled the cliffs that bordered the road and effectively blocked his path. He told Old Scratch to get bent, who (unsurprisingly) wasn't inclined to oblige him. So Tio Nuno whipped out his pistol, fired off a few shots, and, when that failed to yield the desired result, prudently took an alternate route to his destination. Another time, as he engaged in his nocturnal rambles through the woods, he saw a light flaming from the top of a pine tree. Tio Nuno called out but heard no answer. He resorted to his pistol again, shot at the light, but it wouldn't go out. So he took an alternate route home. Yet another time, as he approached his parents' house in the wee hours of the morning, he found a lamb chillin' by the front door. He couldn't get past the lamb and couldn't shoo it away. Thankfully disdaining his pistol this time around, he scooted around to the back of the house, thinking to get in through the backdoor, but that tricky lamb was already there, once again blocking his access to the house. So what did Tio Nuno do? Well, he took an alternate route to Dreamland by snuggling underneath a nearby haystack, where he was discovered by his parents in the morning.

These stories are great for a laugh over a glass of vinho verde and some tremoços, but the one involving me is slightly less goofy.

Mom and Pop brought me over from the States when I was a wee one so the family could meet their first born. Apparently, I gave them a bit of trouble - I stayed up crying the first nights they were in Portugal, growing cold and clammy from getting so worked up. Nothing they tried soothed me. I hadn't been colicky or anything up till then, so there was no reason they could discern for my fussing. They took me to a local doc who assured them that I was medically fine. So my Mom put it down to me feeling out of sorts from being in an unfamiliar environment. Or, you know, the evil eye (I dig that she didn't rule anything out). Shortly after the doc visit, Tio Nuno stopped by my paternal grandmother's house and my Avó told him about my peculiar spells. Because my Grandma's husband had recently passed away, she wondered if he might somehow be "visiting" me and generally freaking me out. Tio Nuno thought there might be a larger problem and asked her if any of my clothes or belongings were lying around. She found something of mine and brought it to him, which he examined carefully. After a while he told her that someone in the family wished me ill, but he wouldn't specify who (the big tease). He gave her the following instructions to pass on to my parents:

1. Make the baby a wreath of garlic and sprinkle her with holy water.
2. Make a bonfire and toss into it some rosemary, rue, and eucalyptus.
3. Pass the baby through the smoke of this fire and pray to some saints (which specific ones is lost in the mists of time).

When my Mom heard all this from my Grandma she nodded politely but privately thought there was no friggin' way she was going to pass me over a bonfire (the Portuguese equivalent of this thought, obviously). Instead, when she went to put me to sleep that night, she laid me on my back and prayed the Apostles Creed over me three times, all the while making the Sign of the Cross over me, asking God to liberate me from whatever ailed me. And, according to her, from then on, I did get better.

I have to admit, I'm disappointed that she didn't try the bonfire thing. Also, I think I'd look pretty smashing in a garlic wreath (kickin' it old-school!). But seriously, I'm proud of my Mom for turning to her faith during this peculiar phase in our lives...I hope I'll always turn to God, in good times and in bad. Still, I'd love to know who hit me with the bad juju, so I could avenge myself (and my parents) by TPing her house.

*Nuno was not his real name, but it is a common - and unique - Portuguese name, for an uncommon man!