Blood Standard by Laird Barron
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Violent, witty, and compulsively readable, BLOOD STANDARD, the first in Barron’s Isaiah Coleridge series, ranks among the best of the recent noir revival. It crackles with great characters, bone-crunching action, and unstoppable momentum. But perhaps the highest compliment I can give it is that BLOOD STANDARD makes me want to read the next novels in the series right away. Highly recommended for fans of smart, brutal crime fiction.
This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is my good friend of many years Richard Dansky, whose latest book is the deeply personal haunted-house novel Ghost of a Marriage. Here is the book’s description:
There’s something in Gary’s house that doesn’t want him there.
Ever since his marriage fell apart, he’s been seeing things, things that everyone keeps on telling him aren’t there.
But Gary’s not just seeing things, and soon it’s more than his peace of mind that’s at stake—it’s his life.
And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for Richard Dansky:
The scariest part of Ghost of a Marriage was the first word.
It had been roughly three and a half years since my wife had left me before I sat down to write the book, and in that time I’d barely written an original word. I mean, I’d written — written for video games, written for tabletop RPGs, even written some tie-in fiction — but for three years I’d been unable to churn out a single original piece. In the months preceding sitting down to write the novel, I’d managed to squeeze out a single, very short story, but that was it, and I was really questioning my future as a writer.
So I decided to confront the elephant in the room. I would attempt to write a novel drawing on my recent experience, on the heartbreak I’d felt, and see what supernatural elements I could weave into that.
And then I sat there for weeks before I was able to start. I knew that I wanted to write about a disintegrating marriage, about the effects when one partner is ready to move on and the other isn’t. I knew that it would be a ghost story, for what are ghosts but memories, and I was still living in mine far too much at the time. And I knew that my protagonists was in for a rough time, but I was prepared for that. This wasn’t going to be a stroll in the park for me, so why should he get off easy?
As a result, I forced myself to dive back into the emotions I’d experienced at the time. Three and a half years is a long time, plenty of time for emotional scar tissue to build up. Plenty of time for people to move on, in many cases, but there I was, trapped in the amber of my feelings, and the only way to break free would be to live it all again as I wrote the book.
Which left me sifting through my memories for the moments of particular vibrancy, of particular pain. Soft-pedaling things wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Taking it easy wouldn’t lead to creative catharsis. I needed to probe at the heart of things, tear away the scars and poke at the tender, unhealed feelings underneath.
That was when I remembered the moment that, in its own way, had hurt the most. Not the request for a divorce, not the farewell, but a simple bit of a day that in its own way had dug deep. I’d been writing in my office, working feverishly on the tie-in novel I was writing for the Ghost Recon video game, when I heard a sound coming from the bedroom. It was a grotesque noise, ripping and tearing and moaning all at once, and I went to see what it was.
It was shrink wrap, and my ex-wife was neatly wrapping up a pile of her belongings. She looked at me, I looked away and retreated to my office, and the noise started again. If I’d been smart, I would have vacated the house until she was done. But I wasn’t smart, and I thought I was stronger than I was, and so I sat there and typed a few words while listening to the plastic dying screams of my marriage from down the hall.
That was it. That moment, that sound, that feeling of helplessness — that was the key I needed. And so I wrote the first words of Ghost of a Marriage: “Heartbreak is the sound of shrink wrap coming from your bedroom.”
I won’t say the rest of it was easy. I dug deep on a lot of feelings and came to a lot of realizations, not all of them terribly complimentary to me, as I wrote the book. I got stuck 45K words in and had to put it down for a month while my subconscious scrambled for a way to get me out of the corner I’d written myself into. I had to keep going back to that well, to that awful sound and everything it meant, and eventually I emerged with a complete manuscript.
But I won’t lie. Facing that blank page and all of its implications was terrifying. That I was finally able to confront and transcend it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done as a writer, and it scared the hell out of me while I was attempting to do it.
Ghost of a Marriage: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Powells / Bookshop
Richard Dansky: Website / Twitter
Richard Dansky is a twenty-plus year veteran of the video game industry who has written for franchises including The Division, Splinter Cell, Outland and more. A passionate advocate for the craft of game writing, he is an advisor to the Game Narrative Summit at Game Developers’ Conference and curates the narrative at East Coast Game Conference. On the fiction side, he is the author of eight novels and one short fiction collection. In addition to video games, he made extensive contributions to White Wolf’s seminal World of Darkness roleplaying setting, most recently Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition. Richard lives in North Carolina with an extensive collection of single malt scotches and a cat named Goblin, whom he swears was named that when he got her.
This week on The Scariest Part, my guest is author and editor R. Saint Claire, whose latest book is the anthology Served Cold, featuring stories written exclusively by members of the HorrorTube community, content creators who talk about horror novels and movies on YouTube. Here is the book’s description:
Twenty-two teeth-chattering tales!
Wrap yourself in your favorite blanket, curl up by a fireside or in a warm bed, and enjoy these tales of sub-zero terror brought to you by some of the many voices of HorrorTube.
Foreword by Steve Donoghue
Karakoncolos by Cameron Chaney
The Rescue by Janine Pipe
Red Albums by Cam Wolfe
Magic in the Hat by Donnie Goodman
Isolation by N.M. Brown
Sweep in the Sidestreet by A.B. Frank
Frostbite by Alfie Tobutt
Black Wood by Marie McWilliams
The Cold Traps by Steve Donoghue
This Grey Winter by Mihalis Georgostathis
Orpheus Descends by Andrew Lyall
Thou by Mers Sumida
The Walk-in by Mike DeFrench
Ensnared by Aphrodite Lee
Cold Crossing by Jacob Peyton
Snow Boy by Ryan Stroud
The Woods and Mister Softee by R. Saint Claire
Revival by Madison Estes
Lake Alice by Michael Taylor
Fractals by D.L. Tillery
Water of Life by Gloria McNeely
Black Solstice by Dane Cobain
And now, let’s hear what the scariest part was for R. Saint Claire:
When did I first consider putting together a HorrorTube anthology? I’m not sure, but I was pleasantly surprised at the positive reception once I put the idea out there. Then came the scary part: can I pull it off?
I had some experience composing indie books for self-publishing, which wasn’t altogether challenging. Also, as someone who had worked in theater most of my life, I was confident in my ability to “put on a show” with minimal investment. However, once the date was set, I wondered if I’d get any submissions. I needn’t have worried. People came through, and even better, they were willing to do it for charity.
Fears confronted and challenges met, the first HorrorTube anthology, Local Haunts, went off without a hitch. It continues to sell well today. Soon after its publication, Steve Donoghue, BookTube’s prolific professor emeritus, encouraged me to do another one and offered to help.
From there, Served Cold was off and running. However, the problem with doing a seasonally-themed anthology is you need to get it out in time. Cutting it too close for a winter release, I shelved Served Cold for ten months and aimed for a holiday launch.
Served Cold emerged from the freezer this past December, and so far, it has been thawing out quite nicely. The receptions for both anthologies exceeded my expectations. People outside of our small community were starting to notice, even if just to ask the question, “What the hell is HorrorTube?”
It’s a question Steve Donoghue answers in his foreword for Served Cold, where he breaks down the evolution of YouTube and its various sub-groups. He also reflects on why horror and the cold are a perfect marriage made in Hell. “Horror tales always give chills, not hot sweats,” writes Steve. This anthology explores the many possibilities expressed by that idea.
If given a choice between fire and ice, as Robert Frost’s famous poem posits, I, like Frost, would choose fire. But, as Frost so eloquently reminds us, ice is just as hateful and destructive, but perhaps in less overt ways than its fiery counterpart. Ice’s slow, soul-eroding nature entices mountaineers to perilous summits and leads, as it does in Served Cold, men and women to embark on ill-fated missions to Antarctica, the ocean’s depths, and deep space, as well as the coldest regions of the human heart. In horror, nothing is more chilling than realizing you’re irretrievably trapped in a cage of your own making or to awaken, as one of our characters does, within a deep freeze with no way out. The deceptiveness of the cold and our belief that we can survive it make for fertile, albeit frozen, ground for horror fiction.
That’s not to say there aren’t plenty of bone-chilling frustrations involved in the real-life operations of producing an anthology composed of authors from all over the world with varying levels of experience. But I can confidently say that all the authors involved brought their A-game, as did our returning cover artist Cameron Roubique, whose bug-eyed skeleton character is a story unto himself.
Overall, the plusses of producing both anthologies far outweighed the minuses. It was an honor to have Local Haunts recognized in Ellen Datlow’s The Best Horror of the Year, and I’m proud to report that as of this date, we’ve donated over $500 to the children’s literacy charity First Book.
Will we do it again? Possibly. Honestly, it was a lot of work that, at times, felt overwhelming. But other BookTubers, such as Cam Wolfe with his recent We’re Not Home anthology, have already picked up the mantle.
I sincerely hope the trend continues whether I’m involved or not. BookTube, and by extension HorrorTube, is a wonderful community of readers and writers worldwide. Not acting on the impulse to bring talented people together to strengthen the community and give to a good cause is a scary prospect indeed.
Served Cold: Amazon
R. Saint Claire: YouTube Channel / Instagram / Blog
Regina Saint Claire writes adult and young adult fiction, but always with a dark flair. Writing honors include a Watty Award for best horror novel and multiple screenwriting awards, including a Webby Honoree. Regina is also the contributing editor of the bestselling Local Haunts: A HorrorTube Anthology and its follow-up publication Served Cold.
Jews Don’t Count by David Baddiel
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This remarkable, difficult, important, sometimes hilarious and often heartbreaking book is a must-read for anyone who, like me, wonders why so many of our progressive friends, who frequently and vocally challenge and condemn racism and discrimination, tend to remain silent about antisemitism. The answer Baddiel puts forth is that for many progressives, antisemitism is viewed as a “lesser” form of bigotry, one not as important or relevant as the others. But why would anyone think that? Therein lies one of the most difficult truths Baddiel lays bare: that the antisemitic trope that Jews are wealthy and powerful has been adopted by the progressive movement. In other words, that Jews are seen as oppressors, not the oppressed — this despite 5,000 years of oppression, exile, having our property and belongings taken from us, and of course multiple instances of attempted genocide.
Also fascinating and resonant to me is Baddiel’s thesis that antisemitism isn’t about Judaism but about Jewishness; not a form of religious discrimination, but a form of racism, where even if being Jewish isn’t technically a race, it is viewed by antisemites as one. As he famously puts it, “Telling them I’m an atheist wouldn’t have gotten me a ticket out of Auschwitz.”
Baddiel has written a powerful, important book that I will no doubt find myself returning to again and again. I wish everyone would read it so that maybe one day Jews will count.
