Hollywood-grade Klieg lights threw their carbon arcs into the sky … y’know, in my imagination.

When first I heard I’d won a Stylish Blogger Award, I thought: about fuckin’ time! No, wait … you didn’t hear that. That was my ego, a slippery little gremlin who (in 1998 on a sweltering night in late July–with the candle stick in the conservatory) murdered my shoulder-Angel & -Devil. My ego now squats by my right ear, combing his prissy little goatee, murmuring honeyed, sycophantic commentary and uttering the most lascivious–OW! I call him Cedric. *swats at the right side of her head* Cedric nibbles my earlobes, and bites when I sass him.

                        <My ego, “Cedric”, AKA Mephistopheles>

I was nominated for this lovely award by an equally lovely Canadian writer, Jack Flacco, to whom I am very thankful.

The rules associated with accepting the Stylish Blogger Award (just backspaced over Booger Award, which is something else entirely) are simple: sacrifice a goat to Belphegor, Great Demon Lord of Vanity and Sloth, and then–no? Oh. “Cedric” informs me this is the Old Way; in thanks for his swaying the judges, I can just offer up some 150 yr old whiskey, half a dozen chicken livers and a transient. Good news, cuz goats are expensive these days, and hard to slip past the neighbours. Waaaaait a minute …. *tries to give her shoulder passenger the hairy eyeball*

The Rules are actually as follows:

1. Thank and link to the blogger who nominated you.

2. Share 7 random facts about yourself.

3. Pass the award onto 5 new-found blogging buddies.

4. Contact the winners and congratulate them.

So, here are 7 things you never needed to know about AJ Aalto and will wish you hadn’t learned (wondering now if Mr. Flacco didn’t just nominate yours truly so he could dig up some dirt. But that may be “Cedric” talking again.)

1. I may write murder mysteries and horror novels, kinky paranormal thrillers full of detailed forensic goop (clinical term, verrrrrry scientific) and slice-n-dice monstery goodness … but I am, in person, about as deadly as an empty pillowcase. No, for realzies!

2. While I enjoy snuggin’ into dark, enclosed places (the opposite of claustrophobia … claustrophilia?) and have been known to sleep in a closet or under my bed, I do not (as of yet) own a coffin. I know, right? What’s up with that?  

<AJ’s future bed, minus the lady with the hammer and nails>

3. I got trapped in a Zellers department store once by clowns. And if that’s not the perfect synopsis for a horror story, I don’t know what is. See, as I approached the store, I hadn’t noticed 5 clowns in full make-up collecting for charity. When I glanced up and saw them,  my terrified brain kersploded into a mushy grey soup (a thick stew, more of a cassoulet cérébral) without telling my legs to stop pumping. So I continued past them into Zellers, promptly forgetting a) why I was there in the first place and b)how to do that thing, y’know, where you suck air into your lungs to sustain life? I wandered those aisles, lightheaded, my frantic heart clobbering my ribs, for a solid hour … before realizing the store had another exit. I’m cool like that.

4. My two favourite sounds are thunder http://bit.ly/m9TdmM  and a male lion’s territorial roar http://bit.ly/ljNnWS.   Guess my idea of heaven is the cat cages at the zoo during a storm. The sound I think is pretty much the worst ever in nature? This red fox call in the dark http://bit.ly/jrTD47 

5. When the sun goes down, I live by candle light. Candles in the kitchen, on the bathroom sink, in my bedroom. If the power went out, I might not notice … unless of course I was watching Firefly reruns. Then I’d be all “Mal, what the frak?” I’m a gal who needs her Fillion-Fix.

6. Every day I spoil myself terribly–(who can pamper you better than you, I ask?) I spend every cent, devour every passion, heed every urge, attend every temptation. I rarely deny myself anything, and aim to wallow in pleasure. (What’s that chortling–Cedric, hush, I can’t hear myself think with your sulphuric stink-breath wafting in my face) I am a dyed-in-the-wool hedonist, and 110% unapologetic about it. Want a Cheesecake-Ice-Cream-With-Skor-Bits cone at Marble Slab? Then why the fuck would you not have one?? You want it. That means: GET IT. GET IT NOW. GO NOW. No one’s gonna get it for you. Vault past the old lady, give the punk in the white leather jacket a flying-elbow to his pock-marked forehead, put the guy at the front of the line in a headlock, and scream at the startled ice cream scooper GIVE ME THE LARGE, MOTHERFUCKERRRR. (side note: it’s a medical mystery that I don’t weigh 897 pounds. Also: I should probably not be allowed out in public without a chaperone)

7. I have a degree in biology (no guff!) and enjoy manipulating science to explain how magic, monsters, demons, ghosties, zombies,  and other things that go boo-snarl-gnash could plausibly exist. Then I toss that science directly in the face of my main character, Marnie Baranuik, a “preternatural-biologist-slash-psychic-detective”. My favourite writing pastimes include: naming carrion insects, inventing scourge plagues, unnatural world building, and word-weaving a perfectly rotten description.

And at last, the best part:

 5 Nominations for Great Blog Reads and winners of the Stylish Blogger Award are as follows (Cedric, please! Pretty sure eardrums are not made for drum rolls *sigh*):

1. Al Boudraeu: supportive friend, brilliant man and author of the intensely paced thriller In Memory of Greed. Check his blog here:  http://alboudreau.wordpress.com/

2. Steve Umstead: whose novel Gabriel’s Redemption made me wish I could write sci-fi.  http://steveumstead.com/ If I ever do manage the genre, you’ll know “Mayor Steve” was the inspiration.

3. Everett Powers: tireless indie champion, and author of the Grant Starr thrillers, beginning with The Mighty T  http://everettpowers.blogspot.com/

4. Michael R. Hicks: an inordinately talented writer, author of the bestselling In Her Name series  http://authormichaelhicks.com/

5. Wendy Sparrow: whose light-hearted, goofy wit makes me LOL daily.  She’s a rare spirit, give her a look-see! http://ladybugsroar.blogspot.com/

(Author’s note: AJ Aalto is just plain silly. Anyone visiting this blog for serious matters is lost on Flapdoodle Trail, a dangerous downhill donkey path leading to the vast Valley of Ineptitude. Go back while you can and consider yourself warned.)

A Peek Behind the Eyes of a Horror Writer: R. A. Evans

*Whispers*: Shhhhhhhh. No, no. Don’t struggle, you’ll only make it worse. They’re iron shackles, Mr. Evans. Pretty sure your futile twisting isn’t going to accomplish much. Now, focus. Over here in the corner. There ya go. Hiya! Nice bow tie. *finger wave* Christ, you’re pale. Didn’t see any heart problems when I hacked into your medical records, but I suppose under the circumstances …*ahem* 

Mr Evans, look past the furnace to the cellar stairs, if you would, please. See that hatch? You’re probably thinking it leads to freedom. You want that, don’t you? Wanna play “guess who holds the keys to your chains”?–gosh, you’re quick, even when you’re hyperventilating. *steps under the single swinging lightbulb* You needn’t stare at the work bench like that; I hardly think I’ll need tools to get what I want from you. Unless you’re going to make me work for it tonight? … Settle down, bronco, that was not an invitation to resume bucking. Golly–threats from a man in a tight spot like this? Afraid that won’t get you far. *shakes her head sadly* And if you spit at me again, I’m gonna have to put the gag back in. Here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m going to ask you a few simple questions. You’re going to tell me what I want to hear. Then I can set you free. Now, close your eyes. Relax. This won’t hurt much. Cross my little black heart and hope to rot.  

            Spill your secrets, Mr. Evans … I’ll take ’em to the grave.

AJ: Give us a little synopsis of AsylumLake. It’s a horror novel, correct? Well of course it is, or you’d never have ended up here. *innocent smile* Tell us a bit about the story.

RA: Asylum lake is a story about the power of memories – especially those of the dark and sinister variety – and how they can attach themselves to places and things waiting for you to return. The memories in my story involve an abandoned asylum, a nefarious doctor, and three generations of the Tanner family. Asylum Lake is a tragic story of loss – with plenty of chills, blood, and even some humor mixed in. The mysteries of Asylum Lake run deep – and beneath its sparkling surface the unremembered have grown restless.

AJ: Do you think you’re more sensitive to the horrors of every day life … or desensitized to things that might shock others? Generally speaking: are horror writers harder to scare? 

RA:I actually think horror writers are easier to scare – we tend to find darkness and tragedy in what are otherwise normal surroundings. I, for one, tend to look at life through a dark filter. I have a very healthy fear of the unknown. Anything from what lurks under my bed when I shut the lights off, to what the neighbor next door does behind closed doors – it’s all unknown. As a writer, I just like to fill in those blanks. Writing, to me, is like a Mad-Libs on steroids.

AJ: Do you remember the last thing/situation to make your blood run cold, to make your heart hammer, to fire off that fight-or-flight?

RA:I was awakened a few nights ago by a dream that involved finding a headless corpse in my bathtub. It all felt so real. I laid there in my bed for the longest time, afraid to go check the bathroom.  Ever since I’ve been trying to recreate that feeling of fear with my current project.

AJ: Are you a fear junky? Do you enjoy feeling frightened?

RA: Definitely. Very few things come close to the rush that fear provides. That being said, I am also quite possibly the worlds biggest wuss, so I don’t push my fear limits very often…or far.

AJ: So you’re a ginormous pussy. Gotcha. (I’ll put that box of fat, juicy nightcrawlers away in a sec.) I know where and when my random “what ifs” usually pop up, let’s see if you’ll be brutally honest with us: where do your “what ifs” occur most often?

RA: My best “what ifs” occur while watching television. 

AJ: OK, so totally not what I was expecting.

(What I was expecting, or some version thereof —->)

(side note: One wonders how many new shower curtains a gal can buy in a month before her husband calls the men in the white coats?) 

RA: I had a great “what if” while watching American Idol last week. “What if the zombie apocalypse started with Ryan Seacrest in the middle of the show. How many people could he devour/infect before the camera’s stopped running?”

AJ: I think zombie Ryan Seacrest (AKA Ryan Z-crest) would be even more annoying than he is now, fly-speckled guts flapping out and all. Dude, a classy gentleman tucks in his shirt AND his entrails. That’s Style 101. 

AJ: Asylum Lake has religious undertones: the priest, the Parting of the Veil … are you a fairly spiritual person? Do you believe in a ghost, spirit or soul that lives on? Do you have the devil on speed dial? 

RA: I’m not a fan of organized religion but do consider myself a spiritual person– 

AJ: Hold on a sec …. *sneers into cell phone* So that’s why you won’t answer my texts, because you’re busy with this jaggoff? Nice, Lucifer. Reeeeal nice. *hangs up* Sorry you had to hear that, Mr. Jagg–err, Evans. You were saying?

RA:  –I think George Lucas was rather spot on with his take on the whole thing – there is a “force” that lives within each of us. Whether it’s a soul or not is anybody’s guess.  As for ghosts and spirits, I believe we all leave pieces of us behind when we die. Some of those pieces are just darker and angrier than others.

AJ: Dark and angry pieces need lovin’ too. Like this fellah, though I think I’ll love him from afar. So, describe to me your mindset at a funeral. As a writer, are you taking mental notes?  

RA: I can’t say that I’m taking mental notes, but I do try to draw on all of my experiences when writing. There is a lot to be learned from how people express their emotions – especially grief.

AJ: Was there a scene in AsylumLake that you found especially challenging to write, or that kept you awake at night?

RA: Without revealing any spoilers – there is a childbirth scene in the back of an ambulance that gave me fits. It was tough to write for a variety of reasons. I must have re-written it half a dozen times. I’m still not completely happy with where it landed – but I was too worried about pushing the envelope with it. I’d love to hear some feedback from readers. I’m sure they know exactly which scene I am referring to.

 AJ: I remember it vividly. Did you have any moments in the creation of a particular character during which you upset/disturbed yourself?

RA: Dr. Wesley Clovis is a pretty disturbing guy.  His bloody handiwork is mostly only hinted at in Asylum Lake – it’s not until Grave Undertakings that readers will get to see just how creepy the guy really is. There were a few times that I even freaked myself out a bit. He was a blast to write, however.

AJ: How much like you is your protagonist, Brady Tanner? How long has he been rattling around inside your head?

RA: Brady is entirely me – but from 10 years ago.   I’m nearing forty and feeling even older. Brady’s almost thirty yet still hip and cool.  He gets to say and do all of the things I wish I had the courage to. The best part of writing Brady was all of the little anecdotes I sprinkled throughout the book. It’s a sneak peek into my own warped world.

AJ: In his song Misery’s the River of the World , Tom Waits wrote: “If there’s one thing you can say about mankind, there’s nothing kind about man.” There are a few characters in Asylum Lake that definitely illuminate Waits’ point. What sort of struggles does this present to Brady Tanner, his mindset and his resolve?

RA: Brady is grieving the loss of his pregnant wife and is teetering on the edge of his own pit of darkness. As the secrets from his family’s past begin to surface he is confronted with the knowledge that he shares some very disturbing similarities with the story’s antagonist – Ellis Arkema.  Asylum lake is a story of loss — loss of love, of life, and in many ways loss of one’s sanity. Brady is dealing with all of these things – as well as supernatural elements with a taste for blood.

AJ: Fear and sex seem to go hand in hand in the horror genre, in both novels and movies. What do you think is at play there, and what is your strategy for managing sex scenes in your work?   

RA: Sex can be used to depict a character’s strength or vulnerability.  It can be used as a weapon, a punishment or sometimes even as reward.

AJ: Better reward than Alpo snacks.

RA: It’s carnal and physical – full of lust and raw emotion.  Asylum Lake has a very tender sex scene. Grave Undertakings opens with a hospital orderly diddling the still warm corpse of a patient. Both are powerful elements which are integral to the overall story.

AJ: Sorry, I’m still snort-giggling about “diddling a warm corpse” … ah, the follies of youth and the raging excitement of new love. Wait, what? I mean … dude, that’s sick! 

RA: Much like comedy, however, it’s a challenge to write sex in a believable manner. Too easy to make things sound like a Letter to Penthouse Forum.

AJ:  I’m sure I wouldn’t have a CLUE what that is. *batting eyelashes*

One last thing, Mr. Evans, before I unleash you upon the world again. *slow, wicked grin* On the table behind me, you will notice a Gransfors Bruks forest axe. Very nice, yes? You’ll also see a 3 lb ball pein hammer, a handheld oscillating bone saw, piano wire, neoprene gloves, a box cutter and an ErgoHunter Avid buck knife. You’ll have 30 seconds and one shot to finish me off. *dangles the keys to the shackles on one finger* What one item do you choose?

RA: The box cutter, of course. The first slice will take your tongue. I like my women quiet. Then your eyelids – no closing your eyes and wishing this away as a nightmare. I want to watch the life drain from you.

*unlocks her captive and steps back, whipping two pickle forks from her pockets.*

Most excellent. You want my tongue, Mr. Evans? By all means, come and take it, if you can. *plays pickle forks adeptly across her knuckles*

                                       And may the best horror writer win. 

(Author’s note: R. A. Evans is the author of the delightfully wicked horror novel Asylum Lake, available here http://amzn.to/hGNex. Check out Mr. Evans’ blog at www.raevanswrites.wordpress.com  or follow him on Twitter @raevanswrites–found lurking now and then in #pubwrite–for upcoming news on his work. I’d like to thank Rich–Thanks, Bow Tie!–for being such a great sport. I’d also like to remind my readers that banter between writers is fraught with fictional elements, especially on this blog. I encourage my readers to check back for the launch of R.A. Evans’ next book, Grave Undertakings, in the near future.)

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto carries pickle forks in her coat pocket, but only for the same reasons all the other pickle-fork-wielding maniacs do. Extreme caution should be used in approaching this woman after dark; while tiny and quick with a disarming smile, she’s most likely imagining what you’d look like without any clothes. Or eyes.)

(Author’s note: AJ Aalto is royally insulted by the above accusation and has the following to say about it: “Editor” can take a flying leap backward and sommersault head-first up her own ass.)

(Editor’s note: Being that “editor” and “author” are the same person, “author” may wish to rethink that last statement.)

(Author’s note: No. No. No, “author” does not wish to rethink that last statement. In-fucking-fact, “author” would like to reiterate said statement, add a hearty nah-nah-na-boo-boo, and end blog abruptly, thereby denying “editor” the last word.)

                       *Looks up from sharpening her pickle forks*

Oh hiya! Didn’t hear you creep in. Yes, I’m getting ready for company.  *gives her shiny new gibbet the full Vanna White treatment*

It’s quite thrilling, so pardon me if I’m all a’flutter! Gosh, I haven’t had a guest in my dungeon since … well, let’s keep the closet door closed on that skeleton, shall we? Next week, I’m doing my very first indie author interroga–erm, interview. *tosses towel over power tools and iron shackles* Yeah, “interview”. 

With the kind of courage that borders on folly,  R. A. Evans (author of the chilling horror novel Asylum Lake) has agreed to share some of his secrets with me. And once he does, oh man, I am totally gonna blab.

Before he arrives (read: before I throw a bag over his head, sucker-punch him in the kidneys and haul him into the back of my van) I’d like to clear up some vicious rumours about him … ones I may or may not have started in the first place.

First of all, this is not him —–>

He’s got an admittedly fiendish mind,

but Mr. Evans is not in fact a ghoul.

<–He’s this guy!  Hold on …. *holds finger to headphone, listens with dissatisfied sigh* OK, I’ve been informed that this isn’t him either.

<——  He’s this guy!

But he sounds like this guy  —>

and when you get him in the dark, in front of a mirror,  and whisper his name three times backwards, I swear you can see his soul.

                <R. A. Evans’ soul, probably>

Secondly, Mr. Evans assures me he’s never killed anyone, for realizies. And while I was relieved to hear it, I don’t actually buy that, do you? Nah, you’re right: this guy’s definitiely got bones in his crawlspace.

Thirdly, Mr. Evans does not do his writing while wearing a fursuit with a dickhole. That furry thing in his attic is a blow up doll stuffed into a fur suit. He doesn’t wear it. See? Nothing to worry about. Just your regular, average … hmm … nope, on second thought, that might bear watching.

 Fourth(ly?)  It has been suggested that Mr. Evans is undead. This is completely and utterly false. He is entirely dead, and I know this, because: I’ve NEVER felt a pulse on him, I’ve NEVER seen him breathe–not once!–and if that’s not enough, just look at him. Go ahead, scroll up … notice anything? He’s fucking black & white, people. It’s almost as though he completely defies the notion of colour. I rest my case.

 Last but certainly not least, rumour has it that he’s a degenerate pervert who’s been known to haunt mortuaries and mausoleums in the quietest hours of the night, seeking to satisfy the most depraved and baleful sexual urges, and worse … things you don’t want to know about, things best not spoken of in the oh-so-polite society of the Interwebz. I started this rumour myself (just now, in fact! Wheeee!) because it sure is a fun one, isn’t it?

But the truth is: he’s a charming gentleman, devoted father of three, uxorious husband to a wife he adores,  and he only throttles hookers on the very rarest of occasions. I know, that’s a relief, right? *whew*

 I think everything is almost ready for him at my end. *adjusts the angle of the video camera* It won’t be a lengthy visit *sighs at grim stains on the cement* … visits to my dungeon rarely last long. But it sure will be a thrill. For one of us, anyway.  Heh. *selects pickle fork and tests the sharpness of prongs against fingertip, drawing a pinprick of blood*

      I sure hope that Mr. Evans is ready for me …

(author’s note: In reality, Rich Evans is not a pervert, a ghoul, a dead man, a serial killer, a nice guy or a necrophiliac. Wait! I’m sorry, I’m mistaken … he IS a pervert. Duh.) 

It’s almost spring; Finally, forest season–don’t get me started about the forest in a Canadian winter–and so begins a series of long walks through the woods at the cottage or at Short Hills Provincial Park, swatting bloodsuckers (mosquitoes, not vampires) and going off the path to investigate strange sounds or furtive movement in the boscage and undergrowth (see also: the adventures of getting back on the path after thigh-high plunges into fetid muddy ditches). I’m fearless in the forest (read: stupid) and I’ll check out anything,  adopting that wary half-crouch half-slink of a B-movie actor slated as “Victim 3, Ditz In Woods”. If I’m hiking alone, I like to run full-out in short bursts as if something or someone is in pursuit with cold intent … but as I’ve clearly stated before, I’m not normal. Sadly, nothing ever IS chasing me, except that one bloodsucker who just won’t quit (vampire, not mosquito).

There’s a lot of room for what-if in a forest. Shade and shadows hip-hop, shimmy and rock behind the trees like they’re auditioning for Dancing With the Stars. Gusting winds thrust limbs against one another, holding them overhead in submissive bondage. A dischordant click-squeal to your left, and pretty soon your imagination is flooding with possibilities. Especially if you walk at nightfall … what horror writer doesn’t do this? What self-respecting horror writer passes up the opportunity to think what the hell made that noise?? So much to see, hear and fear. (See: weirdass white fungus in picture above–alien lifeform? I vote yes!) A good forest is pregnant with what-ifs that may or may not lead to oh-shits.

I wonder if writers are oversensitive to such things, if we pick up cues and blips and snatches of sensory input that normal people overlook? Do we go looking for the unseen? Are we all prone to hypersensuality? And if so, is that a blessing or a liability?

A handy alternative to the forest, for this little writer, is the long, familiar stretch of the Welland Canal between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario; now that it’s spring, I don’t have to keep the car running to stay warm. I’ve known this area my whole life. If I was a nutcase, (“if”, heh heh) this would be my hunting ground. Hrm. Probably I should backspace over that; with my luck they’ll turn up mutilated bodies in the canal’s sullen murk and my name will get slapped on a suspect list. Hell, why pass up an opportunity to get tackled by cops? *drool, pant*

 This is my spot by the canal. It’s an ideal place to write (if by “ideal”, one means “risky” and “slightly moronic”). I type merrily away, waiting (hoping, let’s not bullshit, here) for a figure to slink past my rearview mirror, or the creeping shuffle-crunch of a carefully-placed boot on the gravel just beyond my blind spot. Anticipation of fear is nearly as sensual a ride as the fear itself. Any minute now, something eldritch and feral, something lazily letcherous, something slithering between human and other will give my poor heart a reason to buck into a hammering joyride … annnnny minute now. No?

*crickets* Pffft. Psychos and monsters: always popping out of the friggin’ barn when you least expect them, but when you really need one, where are they? Right, down at the damn carnival licking clown sweat off the seltzer nozzles. Don’t they know I’m impatient for some shuddersome company?

Until the mud clears off the backwoods jogging paths, and the dangers of the canal crank up, I suppose I shall have to satisfy my need for inspiration by hanging out here in the back yard under your window. That new lamp looks great, by the way. No, no … no need to turn it on.

I can see you just fine in the dark.

(editor’s note: AJ Aalto is an unrepentant liar, a devourer of raw cookie dough and human hearts,  a creator of falsehoods, and a creepy ratfuck. She’s only pretending not to actually stalk you, and might be planning on eating that leftover meatloaf in your fridge, though she’s heartily disappointed in your no-name condiments. AJ Aalto has booked her next haircut to coincide with yours; she’ll be the one smiling behind her Vogue Paris. When you’re ready to go, she’ll be in the parking lot. If she can take you, she will.)