Tonight, an Evil Author Interview of a different sort … while I host Mark Everett Stone, author of “Things to Do in Denver When You’re Undead” and “What Happens in Vegas Dies in Vegas”, I don’t actually interview him. Actually, I don’t interview anyone. My main character, ex-forensic psychic and pro-derfwad Marnie Baranuik, interviews his main character, seriously badass monster hunter Kalevi Hakala, from Kal’s point of view. Buckle up!

I watched the pretty little bit of a thing burst through my office door under a full head of steam. She should be splattered all over the front lobby thanks to a couple of silver deer slugs wielded by our more than capable Receptionist, but she was in my grille instead, mouth running faster than Jesse Owens.

“Whoa right there, short stack,” I growled, hand on my Lahti 9mm, ready to draw. “You made it past Sandy, who should have stopped you with extreme prejudice, which means you know what we do here.” My Interdiction spell kept me from being specific.

The blonde said, “I told her I was here to knock some sense into you, and she said it was about time someone did. And don’t call me short stack, cockwaffle.”

“Knock some sense into me? It’s been tried and the only way I get sensible is if I get sensibly dead. You say you have questions, fine. Spit them out, then we can talk about jail time. Spill, I have a Fatburger with my name on it waiting for me.” My stomach growled, eyeing my liver for lunch.

“My name’s Marnie Baranuik. My author said YOUR author suggested that YOU and ME work a case together, but  YOU and my Harry can’t be around one another, and I’m here to make sure–”

“Whoa, Tex, I understand your confusion. Our authors couldn’t untie their shoes without us. Makes us valuable, but I don’t know any Harry, or hairy, or hare-y. I just work here. Now, if this Harry is a ‘who’ instead of a ‘what’, then if he keeps his nose clean, I won’t have to turn him into sushi.” There I go with the food metaphors again. I really was hungry.

“Sushi!” The little blonde’s nose wrinkled. “He’s not bloody Cthulhu. So, I don’t have to, like, kick your ass or anything?”

How can I ignore such a straight line? “Well, I have some other suggestions regarding my ass….”

Her response was a quicksilver smirk. “Don’t give me any ideas, hot shot. Here.” She gave me a box of Lucky Charms. “I brought this in case I had to bribe you.”

I took the leprechaun-decorated box reverently, flashing the tasty tidbit standing there looking all shamefaced one of my patented 1000 watt smiles. There are few things in life that can give such pleasure and a tasty cereal is one of them. Marnie sat oppposite, propping her red Keds up on my desk, and said,

Marnie: Can I ask you about your author, Mark Stone? Is he like, mentally unstable like my author is?

Kal: Mentally unstable? Kid, the man is three kinds of crazy and four kinds of fool for not getting professional help!

Marnie: How often does Stone write you into a scene and then *whoopah!* erases the whole thing and acts like it never happened? Do you get a lot of rewrites?

Kal: Nah, he’ll stare at the computer for hours while I sit in limbo bored outta my tree waiting for him to be all creative and inspired. Actually, I think it ‘s the caffeine that really gets his juices flowing. In the form of several cups of coffee. I mean, really…the dude must have an intestinal tract made out of asbestos. As for re-writes, about three per book is all he can stand to second guess himself.

 

Marnie: Is this him? *turns a picture on Kal’s desk* I can’t keep AJ’s picture on my desk; she’s all about the meta, sure, but she’s fuckin’ shy–hey, holy shit, your author is HOT! I mean, omg, jeez … sorry, but … wow. He’s so … *gulp* Sorry. Uh, questions. Right. Think, Marnie, think!

I raised an eyebrow, almost touching my hairline. If she thought he was handsome, then maybe it was time for me to put on the charm.

Marnie: When Stone has you out there kicking major monster ass and performing feats of insanity, does he consider your safety AT ALL? How many special skills did he give you preemptively to make sure you can get the job done without getting your ass handed to you?

Kal: He gave me SEAL training, that’s about it besides the rage that dominates my life, my ace-in-the-hole. If I wanted safe, I’d be in an Iron Man outfit. Although, come to think of it, the little turkey manages to have my ass kicked from here to the moon on a regular basis.

Marnie: How often does Stone have to go back and seed the early chapters with new skills to make sure that later in the book when some baddy pops up, you’re ready for it?

New skills? What did she think I was, a Transformer?

 

Kal: I have all the skills he had given me in the beginning, nothing new really.

Marnie: Does he reward you with sex scenes? Cuz, I’m telling you, I ain’t gettin’ nearly enough rewards: espresso, sure, but she took away my cookies, she makes me live with a cold snotty dead guy, the hot dude I wanna screw won’t do me…it’s almost like AJ hates me. Does your author do nice things for you? If so, how can I get him to write my scenes?

If she only knew…well, hell, misery loves company.

Kal: He implies sex, but you’ll never see sex. Don’t get me wrong, I get plenty of action, thank God, but it’s not between the covers of the book. And boy, doesn’t that suck the big one. But at least he doesn’t give me all sorts of relationship angst where I constantly worry about ‘Does she love me? What’s going to happen next?’ Bleh!

 

Marnie: Do you ever get exhausted that Stone throws so many complications your way, or are you as badass as you seem? Frankly, I’m exhausted just being in the same room with you.

 

Kal: It’s my job to field the crapstorm my author slings my way. Period. End o’ story. But to be honest, I need a vacation. That and some vodka and hot and cold running redheads.

Marnie: Do you ever go off-script and surprise your author, totally blindside him with something?

I laughed long and loud. Screwing with Stone was what I lived for. After all, even fiction needs some entertainment.

Kal: All the time. The fun part is watching him twitch and sweat through the logic traps. Sometimes I just lay back with some hot buttered popcorn and make a night of watching him sweat.

Marnie: He’s got you chasing shit all over the place. First Denver, then Vegas–which took you to some ODD places … well, you tell it better than I do. Where has he sent you, and where is he sending you next?

Kal: Well, as you can tell by the titles, every adventure is city based. First Denver, then Vegas by way of another world, London and Nazi-occupied France. Next is San Francisco, after that Chicago, then Omaha. Yeah, I said Omaha…thrillsville.

Marnie: Picture this: mild-mannered and slightly quirky writer sitting innocently at his desk, pounding out his daily words, and then … If YOU could be the author for a day, and write some shit to stick into Mark Stone’s life for YOUR amusement and entertainment, what would you do to the poor guy?

Good question and I had the perfect answer.

 

Kal: I’d type him rich, that way he wouldn’t be so quick to pound out these action-adventure pieces putting me in the path of far too many bullets! Rich means he’ll get lazy and maybe retire me. Then I could finally relax…” Ah, perchance to dream!

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto–SO not pictured on the left, honest–is sick in bed with the chickenpox, so her main character, Marnie Baranuik, stepped up to the plate. You can connect with Stone on Twitter @M3verettStone or check out his website. “Things to Do In Denver When You’re Undead”, the first book in his popular dark urban fantasy series (From the Files of the BSI), can be found here.)

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.)