Saints and Sinners: New Fiction from the Festival 2014

Here's a mix of absolutely shameless self-promotion and a new thing I'm trying: promoting others! The latest collection features my work and the genuinely queer work of other proud + loud lunatics. Here's a synopsis:

Voodoo John by James Russell (Warning: I'm talking about the stories in the same order they're in the book. The fact that I'm discussing my own story first is based on this, rather than being an intentional act of vile douchebaggery.)

A ne'er do well inheritance baby on extended holiday in Nawlins faces a mysterious voodoo curse that drains his finances, wits, and (gasp!) his good looks. To break the curse he must admit he believes it's happening and admit he needs help, before he is drained completely.

Mum's the Word by Jeff Lindemann
Jeff's characters live in a hyperbolic caricature of the South that almost needs subtitles. (Yew = you, whut = what, etc.) The genuinely unhappy characters have a lovable quality that reminds me of Peanuts: you know the football is getting pulled out from underneath them, but you can't help root for them anyway. This year's story takes an awesome left turn at the end, one I won't spoil.

Eleusis by Robert Hyers
Surrealism was an unofficial theme this year. Hyers' story begins with characters gay readers will recognize: raver boys being cunty with one another. From there, it gets trippy. Hyers deals with a truth gay authors are sometimes reluctant to tackle: sometimes, victimized people become quite vicious. (I've never taken "vicious queen" as a compliment.) The protagonist Adam's journey takes him to the source of his viciousness: a past he hasn't made peace with.

Sample Day by Jerry Rabushka
I was happy to see Jerry back in the competition this year. The first year I entered, he won (meaning I didn't), so naturally I wanted to hate his story (2012's "Wasted Courage") but it was a fucking masterpiece, as is this year's entry about a broken vet trying to learn to love again. It's a shame how topical the story is, but that's the fault of people a lot more powerful than Jerry. (No disrespect intended, his prose is buff and hairy and will take advantage of your purdy mouth.)

Stinkbug by Rich Barnett
A struggling Rehobath Beach author is visited by Truman Capote reincarnated as a stinkbug. If you aren't reading based on that, there's something wrong witchu brain.

If on a Dark Night Two Strangers Should Come by William Hawkins
The surrealism continues in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. We follow the speaker and another drag queen named Brazil on a quest for poppers and amusement among the ruins. The generation gap figures greatly in the failure of these characters to treat each other with basic human kindness. The story unapologetically rails against the notion that disaster brings people together. These characters are on a demented Dover Beach, alone on a darkling plain, beneath failing levies.

Corset by Sally Bellerose
An addict has to choose between her lover and the addiction that has her as tightly bound as the title object. Surrealism again figures heavily, as you can't help but root for broken people against steep odds. This was the winning story, and you'll see why. Bellerose is completely unafraid to let her characters act and interact on the page with zero author interference.

The Dark Symphony by Eric Andrews-Katz
And then we travelled to Victorian England, where a gay love story suggests the origin of some of history's most twisted monsters. The viciousness of a victimized character is once again a theme. I'm underselling this one in the hopes of not spoiling some fine twists.

Love Thy Neighbor by N.S. Beranek
Tolerance is a struggle. Beranek's story reminds us of this, as gays in various states of closeted and half-closeted work to understand (or simply avoid) one another in claustrophobic small town U.S.A.

Beanstalk by Clifford Henderson
Jack and the Beanstalk + forbidden lesbian romance. Again, if u not readin', check u brain.

Rhinestone Magic by J.R. Greenwell
Tackiness and glamour clash in the best possible way as change creeps, rather than sweeps, across a western Carolina town. Another reminder that tolerance is something we all struggle with.

The Red Coat by George E. Jordan
It all starts with a chance encounter on the streets of Nawlins. I know it's been my drinking game word, but surrealism pops up one last time, as this Nawlins tale is set during whatever passes for winter in the Crescent City. The main characters have an innocent genderless nature that hides another fantastic plot twist I won't spoil.

I was honored to be a part of this collection for the third year in a row. (Reading it afterward keeps me off the ledge as I return to my pedestrian, bill-paying life.) This was my first paid gig as an author and my first time placing in a national contest, so I'm waving my Bronze (or Silver? We'll flip for it N.S.?) with unabashed pride. Below is the link to buy. See everyone at Tennessee Williams in 2015!

 http://www.amazon.com/Saints-Sinners-2014-Fiction-Festival-ebook/dp/B00KAI6WWW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1401841536&sr=8-1&keywords=saints+and+sinners%3A+new+fiction+from+the+festival+2014

The Next Plateau

Chasing a dream means hitting certain plateaus. I was worried for a while that maybe I'd hit my peak as a writer. This week, I'm happy to hit a new high.

My story "Voodoo John" was a runner-up in the 2014 Saints and Sinners fiction contest. That means I'm number two. Not poo. More like silver medalist.

I'm happy about it. Fuck that "second place is the first loser" negative high school coach adage. It isn't easy to earn a silver. This is my first time placing in a national contest. This is my sixth published short story. This the first significant money I've received for my work.

"Voodoo John" is about a trust fund ne'er-do-well named Jack, a perfectly muscled and moisturized manwhore living on eternal holiday in the French Quarter. I meant him to be a skewering of the gay 1%, mostly out of jealously that they're always presented as the sum total of the gay community. There are a lot of us who can't afford to live in cities. Most of us wear jeans and have jobs.

Of course, I wound up loving Jack. If I had the money, I'd take an open-ended holiday. There's a ne'er-do-well in all of us.

Someone puts a voodoo curse on him, and poor Jack has to find out how to stop it before he loses his wealth, his wits, and (gasp!) his looks. Finding out who did it is complicated: Jack has a long trail of broken hearts in his rearview.

The collection, Saints and Sinners: New Fiction from the Festival 2014, will be available on Amazon in June. The 2013 and 2012 editions are available now, and also feature stories of mine. 

Escape to Elsewhere

I haven't blogged in a bit, but I have a good excuse - I've actually been writing! The first draft of my second novel is done. Rise of the Paramancers is about an arms race in a fantasy realm, featuring characters who break gender norms, dogmatic thinkers vs. those thirsty for evolution, and a world of elemental magic inspired by classic video games like Final Fantasy and Chrono Trigger.

(I also have good publishing news to announce soon, though I can't yet. Stay tuned.)

Escaping the mundane is a wonderful reason to read. Otherwise life can wind up being a series of hassles and bills. Consider some of my 99 cent stories to aid in your escape:

Friends and Pyromaniacs - To Tom, fire is a revelation, proof that life never ends, only transforms. His best friend Bill just thinks it's fun to burn stuff. Tom goes to extremes to make Bill see his vision in the flames.

Equality Chair - After the fascist takeover of our public schools, there is a wave of experimental classroom devices used to maximize efficiency. One such device straps the teacher in, rocketing them from student to student, ensuring equal time. Side effects include vomiting, seizures, dehumanization...

Eagle Eye - A sniper returning from war can't get care for his broken mind. Undaunted, he focuses his efforts on convincing the manager of his H.M.O. to put humanity before profits. And of course, if that fails, he is a trained killer.

Graduation - An eighth grader ad libs her graduation speech, ruining the evening for oblivious parents and a despotic administrator uncomfortable with her unfiltered truth. As a side-effect, she inspires a ne'er-do-well son of privilege to do the same.

Period Three Damnation - Exasperated with their dogmatic religion teacher, Chris and Kevin decide to start a war of words. They don't expect their war to have casualties.

I'm also editing a ton of newbies. Here's the link to buy.


http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00DV8K5FS


 

A.D.D. and Opening Lines

So, we all have a big fat flaming case of A.D.D. If it isn't the chemicals in the air or water, or the polar vortexes (I hate that that's a term now.) it might just be this: we have more demands on us at work and more entertainment options away from work than ever before. As comedian Patton Oswald pointed out, we've become a race of Roman Emperors, declaring, "You Tube, I want to see something fall or poop! Bring it to me!"

This presents issues for authors.

The days of methodical building seem pretty much over. The days of the Russian novel that spends the first 300 pages detailing the awfulness of Russia are over. Now, we grip the reader by the face with our first sentence, or we don't grip them at all.

Working under that premise, I've decided to present some opening lines of my own and of others that I think work well in this regard. Check them out and feel free to comment.

"All this happened, more or less." Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Announcing an unreliable narrator from the get-go was a gutsy move. As a reader, it put me on edge. I analyzed everything to try and guess if I was being lied to. That (and a hilarious and poignant story) kept my attention all the way through.

"It was a pleasure to burn." Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury

I love an opener that creates questions. The mind loves a puzzle, and hates a cliffhanger. Why was it a pleasure to burn? What is he burning? Why is he burning it? My attention never wanders because I'm curious right from the start.

"When I think of my wife, I think of her head." Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn

It's so easy to be jealous of Gillian Flynn's skill. All the love-hate dynamic of the marriage her novel explores is right here in the first sentence. Is he thinking of her severed head? (Is he hoping to make it severed soon, or is it sitting in his lap as he writes?) Or is it still attached? Does he want to kiss it? Or kick it in? Or both? Again, questions create curiosity.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fang called it art; their children called it mischeif." The Family Fang, Kevin Wilson

I cheated a little with the semicolon. Though Wilson's opener is technically two sentences, it's still amazing. The central debate of the book is presented right away. We learn quickly about the Fang parents' strange performance art and how they drag their children into it with little regard for their well-being, or even their desire to participate. As one of the children states later in the book, "Just because you think something is beautiful, that doesn't mean you should do it."

Here are my latest attempts to measure up:

"Like all my nervous breakdowns, this one started with a boy." (Collector)

"Jack didn't believe in flaws; a thing is either whole or broken." (Voodoo John)

"The ad for the experiment was clear: you test our product, we save your marriage." (Bottles of Sara and Ben)

"The boy is a narcoleptic kleptomaniac; this presents problems." (Narco-Klepto)

Like the others, I hope these lines will create curiosity, and also, grip you by the face until you're done reading. Then you can go Youtube the latest video of a cat falling while pooping.

The link to my stories for sale: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00DV8K5FS

Stay tuned for news about my next published piece!

Comments welcome!
-James Russell
 

New Year, New Story

I love that moment when I fall in love with a story. My newest, tentatively titled "Narco-Klepto" is hitting that point.

Crazy people falling in love is nothing new, so I wanted the disorder to be original. As far as I know, there isn't any link between kleptomania (addiction to stealing) and narcolepsy (falling asleep in random places). What's more, I didn't care. Part of the fun of fiction is telling reality to fuck off.

Here's the beginning. A link to my 99-cent short stories follows. Happy new year to all.

Narco-Klepto

                The boy is a narcoleptic kleptomaniac. This presents problems. He studies a store’s security infrastructure. He finds answers to many self-generated questions. Guards or no guards? Beeping machines by the exits? If so, do they bother to change the batteries? Or, like so much of his country, is it merely security theater?

                He goes to all this trouble to steal. The object is not the objective: it is often something as trivial as a pack of gum. Sometimes he steals tic-tacs because they make noise and it’s a challenge.

The thrill of crossing a perceived line: that is the kleptomaniac’s objective.

                This is where the narcolepsy becomes an issue. Sometimes the thrill of stealing is too much. Sometimes his mind will shut his body down. The boy will fall asleep standing up in aisle five, and when a guard or clerk checks to see if he’s alive, he’s busted. Sometimes they pat him or poke at him, discovering his ill-gotten gains. Other times, he wakes, forgetting the merchandise in his pocket. He walks rather than runs through the machine and beep-beep-beep! He’s caught.

                So, at fifteen, the boy has a record.

                You wouldn’t know it to look at him. His hair is long and heavy metal dark, but he maintains it well – he shampoos and conditions daily. He wears jeans, but none with holes. He does not scribble band names on their legs or allow others to do so. He wears button down shirts, exclusively. Though he will not tuck them in, they are always ironed, impeccably so.

                This is how he looks when he meets the girl.

                She dresses like a mall mannequin. Jeans and t-shirt. Tasteful makeup. A redhead but not head-on-fire. Not goth. Not prissy. No band shirts. Simple lines. Sometimes dots. Color but nothing nuclear green or orange. Nothing overdone. He guesses she isn’t shallow, just planned. This is a costume. She’s built to blend. It’s all by design.

                The first time he sees her, she’s reading US Weekly on aisle four in the local Walgreens. Her other hand pockets a stick of men’s deodorant. Her eyes never leave the page. The boy stands there, watching, in awe of her technique. It takes him a while to realize her eyes are closed. He hears her lightly snoring.

                He falls in love.

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00DV8K5FS

What I'm Writing Now

First off, thanks for 3,000+ pageviews! Celebutants may fart those numbers with minimal effort, but as a humble educator from New Jersey, I thank you.

I continue to wait on JESSE RULES and my short story collection MEN IN STRANGE ARRANGEMENTS is in multiple contests, but in the meantime, here's what I'm writing.

Voodoo John - Jack is a trust fund queen on permanent holiday in the French Quarter. He enjoys three strange men a day: one per meal. All is right in Jack's world until he's visited by a Chibaku: an ancient Egyptian spirit vessel used to steal intangible treasures. The first one flies off with his wealth, and two more are on the way. But the real horror comes when Jack realizes who sent them, and why.

Bottles of Sara and Ben - The prototype is designed to heal. You shout the things you can't say into the receiver, and all that hostility is bottled. A married couple with a tendency to repress seem like the perfect test subjects, until the researchers realize how unstable emotion can be.

Visionaries - Telekinesis and telepathy are the new normal, but they've also instituted a new arms race. Each nation hopes to be the first to acheive the Singularity: the first time a young telekinetic person can literally change a small part of the world to make it the way they picture. Like most power, it can be used to construct, and it can be used to destroy.

Delilah feels like she belongs at one of the U.S. telepath camps, but her boyfriend Chance isn't so sure. If the government can't control this new power, they're likely to try to dispose of it. Chance notes, "There's nothing more dangerous than a dreamer."

Happy Thanksgiving to all. I hope each of you is chasing a dream and enjoying the hunt as I am. Here is the link to my Amazon page, where amazing stories await for a mere 99 cents: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00DV8K5FS

-James Russell 

Horror Stories Worth Your Time

Halloween is polarizing. Some people hate it. I don't know why. It's easily one of my favorites.

This is the magical day where everyone gets to be as big of a skank as they want and nobody cares. Gay boys take their first baby steps out of the closet with ironic (?) drag. Schools set off massive A.D.D. bombs (we play costumed volleyball, even in the bullshit testing era). Sugar binging is encouraged. We shed our inhibitions. I think it's great.

One of my favorite parts is classic horror movies coming back on on-demand. I thought I'd recommend some from the last twenty years or so that might've flown under your radar.

Cabin Fever - Bunch of kids go up in the woods. I know, but stay with it. They turn away a stranger with a juicy case of flesh-eating bacteria, accidentally setting him on fire in the process. Their plan is to leave as soon as they can without telling anyone what happened, until they start to come down with symptoms. It plays masterfully on blue state fears of redneck America, and man's inhumanity to man is always scarier than sci-fi.

Moment of Satanic Zen: A boy with a crush has to euthanize the girl he's loved for years, with a shovel.

The Descent - A group of thrill-seeking female friends go on a spelunking adventure in a remote cave system. They're attempting to heal emotionally one year after an accident killed one woman's child and husband. Another member of the group was cheating with the husband as well. I haven't been more scared for a group of people BEFORE they entered the kill zone since the Torrence family took that long ride up to the Overlook Hotel.

Moment of Satanic Zen: When the jilted widow gets her revenge in a way you might not expect.

Sharp Objects - Moving to books for a second, it doesn't get better than Jillian Flynn if you want insight into female evil. The subtle abuse the women and girls in this book inflict on one another is more frightening than anything Jason Vorhees ever did to a camper in the eighties. When self-mutilation becomes a form of revenge, gentlemen, we can only recognize we're out of our league and back away slowly.

Moment of Satanic Zen: Flynn reveals a killer like no one else.

28 Days Later - The latest return of the living dead started here. One of the best aspects of a good horror movie is fuzzy picture quality, giving the impression of some dude with a camera who happened to stumble in while awful shit went down. (Best example: the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre) This movie has the snuff film quality, plus sprinting zombies. The Infected are hacking, guttural track stars. Their lack of immoratlity makes them more frightening. They launch themselves through windows with no regard for pain or self-preservation, simply because they absolutely can't wait to get you sick.

Moment of Satanic Zen: When Cillian Murphy's character has to become just as infected as the infected to save Naomi Harris (and that iconic theme music starts).

Event Horizon - Sci-Fi Horror can go from scary to silly without careful direction. Event Horizon stays scary. The titular ship is designed to tear a hole in space time, allowing for inter-galactic travel. Unfortunately, it disappears. When it reappears, a rescue team is sent to investigate, and they slowly realize the ship literally went to hell and came back alive. Laurence Fishburn's overacting is scary for the wrong reasons, but Sam Neill more than makes up for it as the ship's demented Dr. Frankenstein.

Moment of Satanic Zen: While begging forgiveness from the ghost of his neglected, suicidal wife, Sam Neill tears his own eyes out. Later, after setting a timer to send the ship back to hell, he informs Fishburn, "Where we're going, you won't need eyes to see at all." I would've pooped my trousers and sobbed like a little girl who dropped her lolly.

So everyone enjoy a good scare. And check out my previous post for the link to my short stories on Amazon. A few of my stories deal with more tangible horrors: self-inflicted emotional evil, religious evil, and corporate evil. Sleep tight!