I spent October immersing myself in the horror genre. Well, okay, that’s something I do every month, but the pumpkin period is always a little different because a much larger chunk of my social media circle is doing the same and I look like a little less of a weirdo. Plus, the month saw me finish off some substantial pieces of horror-related blogging.
Which leaves me feeling free and breezy, really. Save for a few bits and pieces, my writing for the year is done, and I’ve got the time to focus on some long-gestating projects. I’m planning to spend the remaining two months of 2020 pushing Thoughts and Fears to gestation, making a dent in Monster Hunters, Dinosaur Lovers and boosting the wordcount of my novel.
Halloween season came upon us, and here is a smattering of what we saw…
Monster imagery turned up in an unusual place this month when Luciano Garbati’s sculpture Medusa With the Head of Perseus, which dates from 2008, was installed across the road from the courthouses of Lower Manhattan’s Center Street. The statue has provoked much debate as to how well it succeeds as a post-MeToo feminist statement, but it undeniably makes a pretty awesome Halloween decoration.
October brought with it the traditional surge in horrific film and television, despite the pandemic. One of the biggest releases for the horror genre was the Netflix series The Haunting of Bly Manor, a spiritual successor to the earlier Haunting of Hill House – although, where that series was adapted from a story by Shirley Jackson, this one takes its cue from Henry James.
If you’d like to celebrate some more offbeat horror fiction this Halloween, you might like to take a peek at my WWAC article on Still — perhaps the most accessible of Charlee Jacob’s idiosyncratic novels.
In the latest instalment in my Killer Horror Critic column on werewolf cinema, I’m looking at Hercules, Prisoner of Evil! It doesn’t sound like a werewolf film and, truth be told, I’m not sure if it actually is a werewolf film, but it was interesting enough to include…
The second instalment of my three-part essay series on lesser-known vampire fiction of the nineteenth century is now live at WWAC! This time around I’m looking at a selection of mostly-forgotten tales by female writers.
If you missed it, the first part — about “The Black Vampyre” — can be read here.
Can it be true? A Chick tract about transgender issues has been out for nearly two months now, and it’s only just caught my attention? I can remember a time when a new Chick tract on any subject was a hot topic in my online circles, but that seems to have changed. Oh well…
Gabriela’s having zombie trouble — and you wouldn’t want to leave her hanging, would you?
Lately, I’ve been jamming with my ever-lovely art crew Marcela Hauptvogelova and Jio Butler to get Midnight Widows issue 2 finished by the end of the year. It’s coming along well, and I’m looking forward to having the issue done and dusted so I can share it with everybody. The story involves a flashback to Berlin in 1918, and will clue you in as to what the Widows had been getting up to before their present-day adventure seen in issue 1.
And for those of you who haven’t yet met the Widows, well, don’t forget that you can still get ahold of issue 1 as a digital copy simply by donating to my Patreon or Ko-Fi. If you like your Halloween reading to come in sequential art form, then Midnight Widows will be the title for you…
The main character of this story, Lynette, grew up in the circus, her mother being a performer. After she was orphaned as a teenager, Lynette was left at the mercy of a harsh environment: “The other women in the circus tried to project me as much as they could, but I eventually found out what people were willing to do to young girls when they no longer had the protection of a lion tamer.” Alfous, an escape artist, tries to rape her; when she struggles against him, he throws her into a water tank. Nearly drowning, Lynette meets a strange sight:
I thought I was going to die, until I saw that there was a boy in the water. He looked my age, with dark eyes and dark hair and skin yellow as the moon. “You can do it,” he said. I didn’t know him, but seeing I wasn’t alone calmed my panic.
Face of the Screaming Werewolf has one of the best titles in b-movie history, but how does it stack up as a film? Find out in the latest instalment of my Killer Horror Critic column on werewolf movies!
This year, I’m marking Halloween with a three-part essay series exploring lesser-known vampire stories of the nineteenth century and examining their portrayals of race, gender and sexuality. The first instalment, in which I look at “The Black Vampyre” by the enigmatic Uriah Derick D’Arcy, is available to read at WWAC…