I’m sure you’ve heard about Leisure’s issues. Just to bring you up to date; several weeks ago Publisher’s Weekly reported that “Mass market romance publisher Dorchester Publishing has dropped its traditional print publishing business in favor of an e-book/print-on-demand model effective with its September titles…” Many people believed that this spelled the end for Dorchester and soon, Brian Keene, one of their top selling authors, “elected not to continue [publishing] with Leisure for the foreseeable future.” Of course this wasn’t good and there were rumors that other authors were choosing the same. Finally, Brian Keene reported rumors that “Don D’Auria, the editor who created Leisure’s venerable horror line and oversaw the Western and Thriller lines, and editorial director Leah Hultenschmidt have both been let go as part of a staff reduction.”

To anyone familiar with the publishing business, this isn’t good, if for no other reason than their authors and readers don’t trust them anymore and they are losing business. This doesn’t mean it’s the end of Dorchester forever (though, I wouldn’t bet money on this one) after all, they could sell it or chose to refocus completely.

If they chose the latter, I would like to make a few suggestions. Read the rest of this entry »

Being a genre geek, I’ve been to many fan conventions that run the gamut from little, tiny Millenicon to big and mighty Dragon*Con (I’ve never braved any of the insanely large comic conventions). I’ve experienced many…wild things while at these conventions including (but not limited to): old man in leather diaper being led by dominatrix, three couples making out on one king sized bed (at my own party, no less), a game of Twister that should have never occurred and never spoken about, blue liquor in a plastic jug being carried by a large, scary bearded man (free advice: don’t drink the blue liquor), a ‘Big Boy Dance Off’, and a near riot by Sherrilyn Kenyon fans (most dressed in character) when a signing closed early. And then there’s the Mo*Con experience.

Not all conventions have such shenanigans. Many are quieter, professional affairs with room parties that are clean, harmless fun. And then there’s Mo*Con.

Some conventions have a whole slate of mind-bending literary panels with respected ladies and gentlemen from the world of speculative fiction. Workshops. Pitch sessions. Coffee with editors. And then there’s Mo*Con.

I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that Mo*Con is one tricky bastard to categorize. It’s not out-and-out wild, but the revelry can toe the line (ambulances are a common year-to-year theme). There are no on-the-fringe-of-fandom activities, though the con is far from restrained. There is a level of professionalism to the convention, but editors and publishers are generally free from the work/fun of typical conventions.

Let’s just say that Mo*Con is a fun time with friends of like-minded interests where responsible, yet plentiful drinking and partying occurs. It’s about being Maurice Broaddus. Also, it just so happens that Mo*Con is held in the basement of a fairly large church.

This year’s guests of honor included horror icons Brian Keene, Wrath James White, and Gary A. Braunbeck. Each go around the convention includes one special guest who is in charge of programming. This year that guest was Kelli Owen (formerly Kelli Dunlap). The theme of this year’s convention was sex. For those who know Kelli you can imagine the sort of programming she would create. Kelli did not disappoint.

Friday night included a convention hosted dinner (served up by Sara Larson). Best consuite offering ever. After dinner was Open Mic time. I’d estimate that nearly twenty people participated, including one creepy person in a cow suit who read from the journal of an anorexic zombie and seems to follow Nicole Cushing everywhere she goes. She really should call the FBI about it. Brian Keene read his story “I Sing a New Psalm” from DARK FAITH (that produced more than a few teary eyes). Alethea Kontis read a delightful story involving a precocious queen that kills Brian Keene. I don’t remember so much of “Killing Keene” as I was transfixed by the delightful striped leggings Alethea wore and that were part of the performance.

After the readings, it was time to haul ourselves to Maurice’s house (yes, Maurice Broaddus doesn’t have a room party, he has a HOUSE PARTY). I drank a bit too much. Kept harassing a couple of ladies with a bottle of Menage-a-Trois wine (shh, don’t tell my wife!), and woke up somewhere south of Indianapolis with a massive migraine and a note taped to my forehead that read “Thanks for the fun. I hope the rash gets better.”

I hiked my way back north to the church, just in time for the first of three panels hosted by Kelli. The first was rather traditional (yet informative) that had to do with blogging and being a writer. The second panel…I don’t remember the second panel. I was in the audience, but by this point the caffeine had started to wear off. We were served another fabulous meal by the convention and then were ordered back into the basement for the third panel, invigorated and ready to rock.

Turns out this was the sex panel.

The panel turned into a wild and raucous couple of hours of debasement and debauchery. From the start, Kelli grabs one of Wrath James White’s recent Leisure novels and pulls Bob Ford to the stage and orders him to read an explicit sex scene from the book. Bob handled it like a champ. He never stuttered, didn’t crack a smile, or beg to be let off the hook. He took it like a man and gave a professional reading of…I’m no prude but even this stuff was making me blush…graphic sex. After awhile I’d heard enough and decided to check out the art room. Unfortunately, the convention organizers had placed the artists’ area way in the back of the church. This led to many people missing some fantastic artwork by the likes of Steven Gilberts and Alethea Kontis.

I meandered outside and listened to Brian Keene and Gary Braunbeck talk about recent movies I haven’t seen (I have two young children, that means Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakal for me) so I didn’t have anything meaningful to add to the discussion.

I went back inside just after the sex panel had finished. People were walking out wearing dazed expressions and…looks of fear. Many sweated, most blushed, hair was tousled, and everyone wanted water. I’m not sure what happened in that basement Saturday evening. Perhaps the world should not know.

Saturday night Maurice had ANOTHER house party. Thirty people enjoyed a liquor bar flush with beer and booze. I absconded with a bottle of white wine and started to drink. I remember most of the evening…thinking “Wow, Wrath really IS a handsome man” and “Why isn’t Debbie Kuhn more amused with my charm and amazing personality” and “Maurice must have paid off the cops or we’d all be arrested for disorderly conduct.”

I awoke the next day face down behind a beat up Chevy Nova by the entrance of a trailer park. A note taped to my forehead read “Thanks for the fun. BTW, that’s a nasty rash. Try some cream.”

Turns out I had to miss the Sunday festivities. Overnight, my throat had swollen and I could barely talk. I decided to head back to Lexington. Despite the terrible rainfall (this was the Sunday of the awful flooding in Nashville), I made it home safe and sound.

And, believe it or not, the church did not crumble down on the sinners and God did not send lightning down to smite the blasphemers. Phew.

* * *

Okay. There are parts of this convention report that were embellished. There’s some fact. There’s some fiction. I’m going to let the readers decide what was what.

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Jason Sizemore is the owner and managing editor of Apex Publications. He’s nowhere near as wild and fun as this report makes him out to be.

WRATH JAMES WHITE is a former world class heavyweight kickboxer, a professional kickboxing and mixed martial arts trainer, distance runner, performance artist, and former street brawler, who is now known for creating some of the most disturbing works of fiction in print. Wrath’s two most recent novels are The Resurrectionist and Yaccub’s Curse. He is also the author of Succulent Prey, The Book of a Thousand Sins, His Pain and Population Zero. He is the co-author of Teratologist, co-written with the king of extreme horror, Edward Lee; Orgy of Souls, co-written with Maurice Broaddus; Hero, co-written with J.F. Gonzalez; and Poisoning Eros, co-written with Monica J. O’Rourke.

For more information, visit Wrath’s blog.

Who are you?
I am the large black male horror writer. To my knowledge, the only large black male horror writer. I’m also the author of The Resurrectionist and Succulent Prey.

What is your story about?
“He Who Would Not Bow” is about what would happen if the God of the Bible were to come down from heaven, take over the planet, and enforce all the laws laid out in the Old Testament. Some would be delighted of course, but many, most I believe, would find it oppressive and terrifying. Even a benevolent tyrant is still a tyrant. Just imagine an omniscient, all powerful dictator. I can think of few things more terrifying than that.

Where is your story set?
The bulk of the story takes place in Rome but it starts in Philadelphia and San Francisco.

When does your story take place?
A fictional but not-too-distant future.

Why do you think Maurice Broaddus throws a convention in honor of himself(Mo*Con)?
Because no one else did.

How does your story tie into the concept of faith?
“He Who Would Not Bow” was written because I don’t think most believers really examine exactly what the Bible says. I don’t think they have really stopped to think of the picture the Bible paints of God and whether such a being would really fit our idea of benevolence or morality. Would most Christians really want to meet the vain bloodthirsty God of the Bible? I don’t think so. Most ignore what the Bible actually says and make up their own ideas of what God is. They make him into something pleasant and user-friendly and ignore the truly abominable things about him. I think it would be quite a rude awakening where they actually to meet him. As someone looking from the outside in, it is hard to imagine how anyone could call the vengeful and capricious God described in the Bible as “good.” But most Christians never read the Bible or they read only the parts their pastor, priest, or minister tells them to and they ignore all of those parts that make them uncomfortable, those parts that even a psychopath would think was amoral. Ignoring things like God ordering Moses to murder an entire culture right down to their women and children or him condoning slavery or the murder of disobedient children. In my story, there’s no more ignoring it because God is right there making the rules and doling out punishment.

Excerpt from “He Who Would Not Bow”:

He claimed all faiths as His and demanded they all worship Him. His need for constant praise was limitless. Were He a human being, everyone would have thought it a sign of His insecurity. Those who refused to worship Him, those who did not accept Him as their deity, who questioned His authenticity, at least those who did so publically, suffered the fate of millions of heretics throughout history. They were killed, burned, and many were first tortured horribly at the hands of His followers.

Be sure to check back tomorrow for our next devotion with Jennifer Pelland!

Want to pre-order DARK FAITH? Then click this handy link.

We’d love your help. Attached is a banner for DARK FAITH. If you’d like to be a part of our promotional machine for this book, slap this nice banner on your website and link it to the book!

I have a so-called writer friend who shall remain nameless (Brian Keene says what?) who loves to remind me of the fact that this year I turn forty. Forty. Four Zero. That milestone of angst and turmoil, even for the most secure of us…and we all know how stable writer/creative types are. Thing is, this year also marks my debut turn as a novelist. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve had short stories, an anthology, and novellas published,* but I hadn’t had a novel see the light of day. Now, while I find myself ready to choke the next person forwarding me a headline about the latest pre-/teen offered a six figure book deal, there are some very practical reasons why it has taken me so long to find my way to get a novel in print.

1) Writing is long and hard.** I decided in 1993 to write a novel. I was all of twenty-three. The world was full of hope and I could dare to dream. I finally typed “The End” in 2000. For the record, let this be the first lesson of being a writer: writers finish things. When I set out to write a novel, I had NO IDEA how to write one. Sure, I’d read quite a few (and read the Cliffs Notes of many more during high school). Sure, I had thought to myself, “This is easy. Anyone can do this. I can certainly do this better than (fill in the blank).” Seven years and 140,000 words later, I have learned that twenty-three year old writers aren’t always that bright.

2) Just because you’ve written a novel doesn’t mean you have written a ‘sellable’ novel. My first novel is a horror work titled Strange Fruit. My second novel is an urban fantasy called Pantheon of Dreams. I would tell you the name of my third novel, an African-American romance, but one of my so-called ‘writer friend’ would join with another so-called ‘writer friend’ (Wrath James White says what?) to beat me to death with their taunts because I have made the mistake of telling them the pen name I had planned on using. My fourth novel is a sword and sorcery collaboration with Steven L. Shrewsbury titled Black Son Rising. My fifth novel is an urban fantasy/crime novel called Knights of Breton Court: King Maker (with the sixth being Knights of Breton Court: King’s Justice).

There are a few lessons I can take home from my lack of sales.

–One, there are no wasted words. My romance novel will never, ever, see the light of day. However, one of the story lines used in it was incorporated into Kingmaker. Just like there are scenes from Pantheon of Dreams that made it into King’s Justice.

–Two, some books have their time to shine. Strange Fruit and Black Son Rising are simply in-waiting due to the whims of market demands. For example, should a Conan movie go into production, the market for old school sword and sorcery novels will (hopefully) heat up. Also, I still stand by Strange Fruit. First time novels typically suck. That’s why God created second drafts. Or, in this case, fifth drafts (as the novel is now down to 90,000 words).

–Three, you sometimes get faster with practice. While it took seven years to write Strange Fruit, it took six months to write Pantheon of Dreams, one month to write the first draft of Kingmaker (yay NaNoWriMo), and three months to write King’s Justice.

–Four, just because you’ve written a novel doesn’t mean you can sell a novel. It’s one reason why so many first time novelists turn to self-publishing. But, for me, FOR ME (as in the decisions I’VE made for how I want MY career to go), I believe that there are worse fates than being non-published. Plus, if I’d gone the self-publishing route, well, my so-called friends would be beating me to death with physical copies of a book–a crappy self-published book.

The selling of a book can age a person. Spending time developing contacts, learning the business, finding an agent…all of these things take time. You query a batch of agents, you wait on their replies. You/your agent sends your brilliant, I say, brilliant manuscript to a publisher and you wait on their replies. And that’s IF you can bypass the developmental hell known as the slush pile.

It’s hard to factor in luck or being in the right time at the right place (depending on how your quantum universe works), but I do believe in being prepared for when your opportunities do arise. In short, fifth time’s the charm.

Five, publishing a novel takes time. I won’t lie, Angry Robot has spoiled me on publishing. They’ve been a delight to work with. But here’s another bit of time consumption: they accepted my manuscript in August of 2009 for a book that will be released in March 2010 (U.K. release date). That is a breakneck pace. The contract stuff had been worked soon after acceptance, but that gives us only months to go through the editing process, work up a cover, get my input for marketing ideas, and slotting it into their release schedule. Only then does the novel see the market. And like I said, Angry Robot is moving very quickly. I could very easily be a forty-three year old virgin writer.

I share all this to encourage my fellow aspiring scribes of all ages. Writing takes time. Publishing takes time. All you can do is keep writing. You’re never too old to write.

*I also have a so-called publisher/editor friend who shall remain nameless (a href=”http://www.jason-sizemore.com/”>Jason Sizemore says what?) who loves to remind me that I “ain’t no virgin.”

**THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID! Ok, I’m turning forty, but I’m afraid my sense of humor is perfectly eight year old boy.

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Maurice Broaddus

Maurice Broaddus is the author of the Knights of Breton Court series as well as the novellas Orgy of Souls (co-written with Wrath James White) and Devil’s Marionette. He has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, from Weird Tales to the Dark Dreams series to Apex Magazine.

Visit him on the web at www.mauricebroaddus.com.

A few years ago, I was speaking to a fellow black horror writer and she told me that she didn’t write characters of color in her work. She didn’t think it was important, even as a black writer, for her to write black characters (and descriptions of characters with dark hair and brown eyes were enough). It was more important for her to write for her chosen audience, who she perceived as white, and she didn’t want to in anyway alienate them.

This is how badly issues of race have infected and confused some people.

Yes, there is a current brouhaha brewing in speculative fiction that has since been dubbed RaceFail ’09. It started when Elizabeth Bear wrote a piece on writing the other which was then openly disagreed with. Hilarity ensued (catalogued here). I, too, wrote a piece on writing the other (in a response to something Jay Lake had written; mind you, both pieces came out a few YEARS ago) and have stayed out of this round of self-examination except to offer up a play-along cultural appropriation bingo card to go along with the “fantasy/science fiction no racism edition” bingo card. And yet, as Chesya Burke laments, such a discussion has largely not reared its head in the horror community. I don’t expect it to, frankly. Not to be too pointed about a race discussion in horror, but the genre largely amounts to white folks writing about white folks for the consumption of white folks. In other words, horror circumvents the issue of “writing the other” by … not.

With a few exceptions, race isn’t discussed much in the horror genre. Most folks are afraid to discuss it or admit there is a problem. With good cause: the last horror brand RaceFail discussion involved the release of Brandon Massey’s anthology series, Dark Dreams. The bulk of the discussion revolved around the series being the equivalent of reverse discrimination (because, you know, there are no all-white, even more specifically, all-white-male, horror anthology series) or writer affirmative action (because obviously writers like Tananarive Due, L.A. Banks, Wrath James White, Eric Jerome Dickey, Zane, or, I humbly submit, myself, can’t be published elsewhere).

In some ways, I can see why RaceFail has gone on within the science fiction and fantasy genre/communities. By the nature of those genres, they explore (and are allowed to explore) big ideas. Horror too often prides itself on being the “lowest common denominator” genre, not built for rigorous idea exploration. “I’m doing an analysis of man’s inhumanity to man” usually amounts to puerile masturbatory fantasies of rape and torture justified by someone getting their comeuppance in the end.

Let’s be honest, there are two kinds of writers/readers. The first don’t want to be challenged. They essentially want Stephen King redux, rearranging the deck chairs on a familiar cruise. They cling to their comfort zone of base elements, slaves to the tropes, as they await the playing out of the ensuing hilarity. Rarely is there an examination of the human condition, existence, or the exploration of a big idea. For every Gary Braunbeck there are hundreds of … pick your blood-splattered cover.

The other kind looks for a new experience. They want to go to a new place and think about things they haven’t before. Yet, when I hear horror writers talking about their craft in term of such artistic terms, there is a chorus decrying such lofty literary ideas or critical analysis. How many times have even best of the mid-list writers complained about their publisher neutering their work for the sake of reaching their market? Their lowest common denominator audience.

Right now, the genre can barely handle a discussion on women in the genre. That discussion breaks one of two ways: who are the women who write in the genre (so the discussion becomes a listing of women writers) or it centers around “can women be scary writers?” (and yes, that discussion is as ignorant as it sounds). And that’s before we talk in general about sexism in the genre or its conventions.

I was reading Kelli Dunlap’s post on diversity in the genre. Normally, when someone tells me “they don’t see race” it sets off a red flag of suspicion with me because that typically means “as long as all the people of color act and think like me, we have no race problem.” But I’m in her peer group. I look around our close circle of writer friends and I see the guests for Mo*Con, and I, too, see the diversity. I’m tempted not to engage in a discussion about women in the genre because I’m surrounded by fierce women whose talent I’d question at my own peril. But then I have to wonder if this is a chicken or egg dilemma: was there diversity in the genre to begin with or did we, The Others adrift in the sea of The Majority, simply reach out to each other?

So could horror handle a conversation involving cultural appropriation, the concept of white privilege, or even the idea of racism in the genre (much less among its writers)? The fact of the matter is that I could probably name the prominent writers of color in the horror genre and know most if not all of them. Sill, I don’t often hear them discussed in the various horror communities. What I hear is how race doesn’t matter, all readers care about is a good yarn. Though I suspect that’s true as long as that yarn doesn’t stretch them too far. And that’s the ultimate RaceFail.

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Maurice Broaddus is a writer, scientist, and lay leader at The Dwelling Place Church. He’s been published in dozens of markets, including the Dark Dreams II and III anthologies, Apex Science Fiction and Horror Digest, Horror Literature Quarterly, and Weird Tales. He is also co-author of Orgy of Souls. His sole goal is to be a big enough name to be able to snub people at conventions. In preparation for this, he often practices speaking of himself in the third person.

Apex Author and Editor News
This is hardcore — A Las Vegas City Life article featuring Apex author Wrath James White and his new book Succulent Prey

From Gene O’Neill — My newest novel LOST TRIBE will be released by Bad Moon Books as a limited/signed hard back February 11th. I think they have a handful of copies left, as does the Horror Mall — $50/a piece. The lettered edition is sold out.

From Jennifer Pelland — My story “Minya’s Astral Angels” will be coming out in The Solaris Book of New Science Fiction Volume 3 in a few weeks. It’s available for pre-order on Amazon now, and they claim the release date is February 24th, although the Solaris site lists it as a March release.

Jen will also be attending Boskone 46 next weekend (February 13-15). She’ll be doing a reading Friday night, as well as being on several panels during the weekend.

From Maurice Broaddus — Here’s a link to my convention, mo*con: http://www.mauricebroaddus.com/2009/01/mocon-iv-new-hope
From the site: Brought to you by the Indiana Horror Writers, Mo*Con is a friendly convention focused on conversations revolving around horror literature and spirituality. Mo*Con IV: A New Hope* takes place from May 15-17 in Indianapolis, IN. Visit the site for more details, including author guests, programming, and hotel information.

Link Crouton
Ants tricked into raising butterflies — We welcome our new Lepidopteran overlords!

Three of our books have made the preliminary ballot. Congratulations to the following…

Non-Fiction:
Beauty & Dynamite by Alethea Kontis

Collection:
Mama’s Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel

Long Fiction:
Orgy of Souls by Wrath James White and Maurice Broaddus

Apex is happy to make physical (or PDF copies) of these books to Active HWA members’ request for Stoker consideration. Email Jason Sizemore at jason@apexdigest.com.

Rosie patiently dusted the bookshelves; removing each book and wiping it down with an electrostatic rag and then replacing it precisely where it had been. She removed each knickknack one at a time from the mantle and wiped it free of dust. Then she ran the feather duster over the smooth surface of the oak mantle before spraying it with furniture wax and buffing it to a high gloss.

“Filthy!” she hissed in disgust.

She wiped down the television and stereo system with the rag, spraying window cleaner on the screen and wiping it until her reflection shone through. She then threw the rag into the trashcan and grabbed another, repeating her frantic wiping on every piece of furniture, every knickknack, and every trinket in the room. Everywhere she looked there was grime and scum–tops of the baseboards, beneath the stove and refrigerator, underneath the couch and between its cushions. She ran the vacuum slowly over the carpet until she was sure all the dust and dander was gone. Then she poured water and cleaning fluid into the steam cleaner and retraced her path over the carpet until it looked as if it had just come from the showroom floor. She poured three capfuls of ammonia into a bucket of water and lowered her mop down into it. Then she began furiously mopping the floors, walls, and ceiling. When she was done the house shone like a show model.

Rosie appraised her work with admiration. Satisfied over her accomplishment she went upstairs and stripped off all of her clothing, dumping them into the washing machine along with a capful of laundry detergent. She looked her body over, sniffed her hands and armpits and wrinkled up her nose.

“Filthy!” she declared with undisguised revulsion.

She sprinted to the shower and began furiously scrubbing at her flesh, using various soaps and bath gels before grabbing the bottle of bleach and dumping it over her head, wincing in anticipation of the burn. Various cuts and abrasions sang out in agony as the bleach seared her flesh and she scrubbed herself raw. When she finally stepped from the shower, she smelled as fresh as new linen.

She dressed in fresh clothes and went out onto the porch to watch as the garbage man struggled to heft her two trashcans into the trash truck. She winced when he dropped one of the cans and piece after piece of her drunken adulterous husband tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Blood flooded from the upturned receptacle and stained the sidewalk crimson as first his head–eyes still wide in surprise, mouth open as if still trying to lie his way out of it–then his legs, arms and finally his bloated torso splattered onto the street behind the garbage truck. Body fluids rolled up onto the driveway in a wave as blood, organs, and intestines came boiling out of the tremendous gash bisecting the corpse’s stomach and chest. Last, the gore-streaked weed whacker, the pruning shears, and the meat cleaver slid out of the garbage can on a slick trail of blood and viscera.

The two garbage men were shocked but managed to avoid throwing up and further soiling the blood-soaked street. They cautiously approached the second trashcan. The braver of the two stretched out his foot and kicked the can over, leaping back as the woman came sliding out, leaving her skin and much of her flesh crumpled up at the bottom of the can. They both lost all pretense of bravery when the woman–whose breasts, ass, and vagina had been removed, carved out so that the white of ribs and pelvic bone gleamed through where her sexual organs had been–turned eyes wide with terror towards them and began to scream. They hopped back into their truck and peeled out of the cul-de-sac, leaving the bloody mess behind.

“Filthy!” Rosie shrieked, her voice trembling with the force of judgment, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She turned and went back into the house to collect her cleaning supplies.

END

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Wrath James White is a writer, a fighter, and an all-around bad ass. He has fought professionally for nine years and has been training fighters for four years now. If you have a taste for the violent, the erotic, the blasphemous, the political, the philosophical, and the extreme, then check out Teratologist co-written with Edward Lee, Poisoning Eros co-written with Monica O-Rourke, Succulent Prey from Bloodletting Books (and forthcoming as a MMPB from Leisure Books), The Book of A Thousand Sins, his collection from Two-Backed Books, and the novella His Pain from Delirium Books. If you have a weak stomach, a closed mind, rigid morals, and Victorian sexual ethics, then avoid Wrath’s writing like the plague.

Wrath co-wrote the horror novella Orgy of Souls with Maurice Broaddus, published by Apex Publication. Orgy of Souls is available in the Apex Store as a limited-run, signed hardback editor or a more cost-conscious trade paperback.

Jason Sizemore has one of those senses of humor that it takes a while to get used to. I’m never really sure if what he’s asking me to do is serious, or if what he’s telling me is the whole truth… so when he told me – sotto voce – that Maurice Broaddus and Wrath James White wanted to talk about an orgy, I was kind of leery. On one hand, Maurice is a respected church leader; on the other, his nickname is The Sinister Minister. On one hand, Wrath looks like he could tear someone’s limbs from their body and beat them with it; on the other hand, I’ve seen a picture of Wrath cuddled up with his kid, looking for all the world like a giant teddy bear.

Jason could see my imagination drifting away in the oh-so-wrong direction, and pointed (electronically) to the cover of Maurice and Wrath’s absolutely hot novel, Orgy of Souls. I grin like an idiot and pretend I wasn’t having a nerd moment. The boss interrupts my fan-grrl moment to whisper warnings about the Yin and Yang that is this writing pair. I’m not to get too close, but close enough. No teasing, no taunting, no poking with sticks (sharp or otherwise) and absolutely, positively – no soul swapping. At that point, Jason signed off, chuckling in that creepy old man way he can have. I kinda like my soul where it is, and now names like ‘sinister’ and ‘wrath’ are starting to worry me. Was I walking into a bear-sized trap?? I almost balked – The Boss asked me to put these two on a rack and grill them with the hard-hitting (more likely nonsensical) questions; I had to oblige. Resistance is futile, and all that.

Besides, what woman in her right mind (or out of it, as my case may be) wouldn’t want to strap these two fetching young men to a rack and.. wait, what? Married? Damn!

So, once more, into the breach!

Questions for both authors:

Jodi Lee: Having had an early preview of Orgy of Souls, I have to say I was blown away by the stark realities of both points of view. Was it hard for the two of you to write together, to create such a dynamic pair?

Maurice Broaddus: Not really. The key to any good collaboration is to figure out who is the larger writer. I don’t mean who’s the bigger name, I mean who literally towers over whom. They get to set the rules.

It’s easier to work with people you already have a pretty good relationship with if you’re both good communicators. We just set up some initial ground rules (which Wrath broke immediately) and went back and forth. As we got more comfortable with the story and each other, we took more chances. It’s no accident that the two leads are brothers. As surprised as most people are that Wrath and I are friends, at our cores, we’re actually very similar.

Wrath James White: The characters of Samuel and Samson are as dichotomous as Maurice and I. It was easy to write the characters because there was so much of us in each character. There was some of me in both Samuel and Samson. This was a character driven story so staying true to each character kept us true to the story and precluded any ideological posturing that might have otherwise murdered any semblance of realism.

JL: Are there any glimpses of your personalities in the characters? If so, which one, and why?

MB: Write what you know, and all that. Obviously the beautiful, highly paid male model is based on my personal experience. I’ve been working on getting Wrath out of his shell more.

However, if you mean, for example, does Samuel’s faith and inner struggles mirror my own? I’d have to say yes. Constant reflection and questioning is key to how I practice my faith (and, ironically, how I imagine Wrath’s inner workings go also).

WJW: The hedonism of Samson comes directly from me. I am indeed a man of the flesh. But I don’t have as much faith as Samson. Samson is angry at God. I don’t believe such a being exists. I also used a lot of my experiences growing up in the fashion industry. My mother was a runway model. I did my first modeling job at age twelve. I never really took it serious though. Samson is sort of my nightmare of what life might have been like had I pursued a modeling career. Not that I thought I was anywhere near as pretty as Samson, ruggedly handsome maybe. I turned a few heads in my younger days.

JL: What was it like, working on such a raw, emotional, hot-button of a topic in Orgy of Souls? Did either of you have any reservations at all?

WJW: Controversy is the climate in which I thrive. I have few reservations about any topic.

MB: Seriously, Wrath had more reservations than I did. Well, let me put it another way, Wrath had reservations for me. He was curious how far I’d be willing to go, as a church leader, in telling the story that we tell. And if I’d face any backlash. I figure anyone who picked up and read a book with the words “Orgy of Souls” as its title and a blood splattered cross on the cover…well, let’s just say I couldn’t imagine too many folks who’d object to the material picking it up in the first place. And if they do, complain all you want … just be sure to link to the book.

JL: When can we see something new and equally disturbing from both of you? Any plans on working together again?

MB: I suspect that we both have a lot of work (and even other collaborations) keeping us busy for a long while. And Mr. Leisure Book Deal soon won’t have time for us little folks anymore. Actually, we’re always working together, even if it’s just coordinating how we can help each other out with whatever we are working on.

WJW: We have no immediate plans to work together but I’m sure this won’t be the last.

JL: Wrath, any truth to the rumor that you ‘offered’ to take Jason to the ring, and Maurice, were you to administer last rights if he didn’t take Orgy of Souls? ;) (obligatory poke fun at my boss question)

MB: If by last rites you mean “What’s that about our royalties? Kick his ass … in Jesus’ name” then absolutely.

WJW: No comment.

Questions I asked Wrath:

JL: You’ve done several collaborations as well as solo works. How was it different working with Maurice on Orgy of Souls?

WJW: What was unusual working with Maurice was not knowing how far he would be willing to go. With Monica, J.F. Gonzalez, and Lee I knew that there were no limits. With Maurice I wasn’t sure and I don’t think he knew either. I think we were both pleasantly surprised.

JL: For those of us who’ve become addicted to your style, what have you got coming out in the coming months?

WJW: Population Zero is coming out in October from Cargo Cult Press and the mass-market release of Succulent Prey is scheduled for December.

JL: You’ve become known for your Gross-Out stories. Any plans on attending WHC 09 and having a go at the next round?

WJW: I’m officially retired from the Gross-out contest. I’ll leave it to the next generation.

JL: I heard another rumor, Wrath – do you really settle theological differences via the ever popular atomic wedgie?

WJW: No comment.

Questions I asked Maurice:

JL: Did you have any reservations about the theme of Orgy of Souls?

MB: I firmly believe in serving the story first. I do what I have to do in order to tell the best story I can. Even when I wasn’t sure where the story was going (read: me – “Wrath, what the hell are you doing?”; Wrath – “Don’t worry, man, I got this.”; me – “You better. I don’t want to be fired from the church. How’s that gonna look on a resume: ‘hmm, looks like Jesus got tired of your behind and kicked you off his team.’” — and, wow, was that a long digression. Good luck editing this.), I had confidence in my writing partner.
(note from Jodi: I didn’t edit that digression out. Digressions are good! That’s where the juicy bits are…)

JL: Was Wrath your first collaborative partner, or have you had others?

MB: Wrath was my second collaboration. I have an unpublished tale co-written with Chesya Burke that we wrote for laughs and to see if we were as good as we claimed to be (she had just won the flash fiction contest at World Horror Convention 2004 and I had won it’s short story contest. Coincidently, Wrath in his continuing bid to be the Susan Lucci of the WHC Gross Out contest, came in second place that year). I’m also working on a sword and sorcery novel with Steve Shrewsbury.

JL: What was the reaction to the book, in your community? Did hosting Mo*Con at your church help introduce people to the ‘normal’ side of horror writers?

MB: I refer to Mo*Con as my on-going experiment in trying to get fired from the church. Not much that I do shocks anyone anymore. I suspect it’s because I don’t have the title “pastor” or “elder” otherwise, I’d be creating quite the crapstorm with some of my antics. Also, I use Mo*Con, on the congregation side, to let folks put their money where they mouths are. If we’re truly a community who loves people, let them (us) demonstrate our faith by loving everyone who comes through the doors. I think the congregation is kind of let down that horror writers are as normal as they are.

JL: Maurice, does Wrath have a soul, and if so – did he really give it to you for safekeeping? What have you done to it?

MB: Sh! Don’t let him know that he has one. I keep it safe in a little chest on my dresser. Every morning I stroke it while muttering “My Precious”.

JL: I’m rather glad I followed Jason’s breadcrumb trail into this bear’s den; I love the writers with senses of humor and mysterious, short silences… It was a pleasure getting to know you both a little better. Thank you, Maurice and Wrath, for taking the time to answer my questions. I can’t say I won’t tell anyone your secrets, because, well – I just did. It was certainly fun… and again, because it can’t be said enough: thank you for the Orgy!

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The horror novella Orgy of Souls is now available in the Apex store or in the Apex Amazon store.

1

Samson glided through the dance club, the pounding bass a second heartbeat in his chest, his body bouncing slightly, almost imperceptibly in time with the rhythm. His eyes sparkled with lust as he gazed across the dance floor at a sea of sweltering, undulating flesh. He wanted to make love to the entire room, the entire building, the whole faceless mass of humanity. No one person stood out from the next. They were all the same to him, neither male nor female. Only flesh. And he couldn’t wait to throw himself among them, to feel the press of their bodies against his, their smooth skin, slicked with perspiration, sliding against his own. He popped another tablet of Ecstasy and his flesh began to tingle. This was his element. People waved to him, shook his hand, patted him on his back, hugged him, and gave him the occasional pound and kiss. There were few people he didn’t know. He’d been a bouncer here once upon a time, and he’d recently done a stint as a guest DJ on Friday nights. Then his modeling career had taken off and he’d quit his job at the club, but the lights, the music, and the women still drew him. Just another patron on the prowl for someone to swap body fluids with.

“Samson! Samson!”

A sprightly Polynesian woman charged off the dance floor straight towards him. She had long black hair that curled slightly, thick heart shaped lips, slanted eyes with long lashes, dimpled cheeks, and a huge smile that seemed almost electric beneath the flashing colored lights. Though probably no more than five-foot-three inches tall, her body was amazing. She had a thin waist above wide, curvaceous hips squeezed into a mini-skirt that revealed her smooth muscular cinnamon brown legs. She wore a baby t-shirt that exposed her midriff, revealing the beginnings of a six-pack. The t-shirt itself was stretched almost to bursting by breasts that seemed disproportionately large for her diminutive frame. They were at least a D cup and natural from the way they bounced and wobbled as she made her way toward him.

“Remember me?”

He didn’t.

She smiled at him waiting for him to respond with her name. Instead he gathered her into his arms and hugged her. Then he took a chance and kissed her, a deep soulful kiss that sucked the breath from her lungs.

“Wow. I guess you do remember me.”

“I have to confess. I can’t remember your name but I could never forget your beautiful face.”

She blushed.

Too easy, Samson thought.

“My name is Tara. We met here a year ago on Memorial Day weekend? I was on spring break?”

Samson smiled and shook his head, still unable to place her.

“We went out for breakfast after the club and then back to your apartment and we spent all night in bed until the next morning.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” he lied.

There were a hundred women who could have approached him with the same story. The only difference would have been the date. True, most of them were not half as beautiful as Tara. He gathered her into his arms again, pulling her close to whisper into her ear.

“Do you want breakfast now?”

“I’m not really hungry. Are you?”

“Not at all. Not for food anyway.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You want to come to my place this time? I live here now. I just graduated last month and decided to move to San Francisco. I had so much fun here when I came for spring break. I had so much fun with you. I can’t believe I ran into you again.”

“I’m glad you did.” Samson smiled.

His smile was one of the things that had landed him his first modeling job. His teeth were bright white and contrasted starkly against his mocha complexion. He had unusually European features for an African American. His nose was small and narrow, almost pointy, and his lips were full but not exceptionally so. His high cheekbones, startling green eyes, and strong angular jaw gave him the look of a matinee idol. His hair was curly and kept short and neat, shaved close on the sides with the top gelled and moussed into a stylish coif. If ever the word “pretty” could be used in reference to a man, Samson was that man.

Samson followed Tara out of the club, lingering behind to watch the bounce and sway of her tight, though large and well-rounded, posterior. Physically she was everything he could ever want in a woman.

“You know, I saw an ad in a fashion magazine with your picture in it. I had no idea you were a model. My girlfriends thought I was lying when I showed them your picture and told them I knew you.”

Tara continued to ramble on and on as Samson smiled and nodded his head, barely hearing a word. He stared at her beautiful, flawless body and thought only of her immortal soul, wondering if it was as lovely as the flesh that clothed it.

She would be his first.

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