An Amateur Author's Odyssey to Recognition

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Light on a Write by: Linda Raedisch

51d3-Fi7iRL._SX326_BO1,204,203,200_I was lucky enough to find The Old Magic of Christmas last year, when I was looking into Yuletide traditions for inspiration. I also ended up reaching out to the author, Linda Raedisch, for some advice as to where to look next on a few points, and found her to be a very pleasant and accommodating person to talk to. A knowledgeable folklorist, Linda is deeply enthusiastic about old rituals and forgotten holidays.

The Princess in the Mound: A Visitor’s Guide to Alvenholm Castleis written as a guidebook to a historic place of strange and subtle magic. Odd things still go on in Alvenholm Castle, from feathers in the fireplace to unseen visitors and ancient, obscure traditions. Reading it, you get both a sense of quiet awe, and a longing that such a place existed to visit.

Read my own review of the book, and see for yourself what the castle can make you feel.

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Castle Homes

Welcome to my hotel. Welcome to the castle. I trust you’ll find your stay a comfortable one.

My name? It is Holmes. With an L. I am the proprietor. It is only my latest such venture; I am a stranger here, as I perceive you yourself are. My last was in Chicago, but was sadly shuttered after some unpleasantness with former employees. It did not seem worth the pain to stay and suffer them, especially as they insisted on wasting the police’s time with spurious accusations. Inferences were drawn to slander my character, and thus my livelihood, and so I relocated here.

No, it is not a welcoming country, I agree. My neighbors are few, and those that exist are as suspicious of each other as they are of strangers. They do not like me here, but I do not employ them, and my business is not beholden to them. Oh, they do their best to discourage passerby, with their ruined homes and flat, lightless faces, but the wearied traveler has no choice when they’ve gotten this far. They have no expectations of comfort, let alone welcome. To see them happen upon my hotel, in the middle of this desperate land, is worth any amount of local unfriendliness I may have to endure.

Not to worry. That is not how we do things here. I will show you to your room, and if in the morning you wish to tell me of anything you find to be at fault, then you may leave or stay as you see fit, for however long you wish, without charge. I do not ask questions. Your business is yours.

My hat? Why, thank you. A past tenant left it on his bedside table when I went to wake him. I asked for nothing, but I do not turn away willing gifts. This cane, as well, was a gift from a widower who stayed here a fortnight before moving on. I have also a box of fine cigars given to me by a visiting constable, in exchange for allowing him room here while investigated certain cases of missing persons. Oh, I’ve no idea if they were found. He left rather suddenly. I can only presume in quick pursuit of some lead or other.

The bag? Oh, an affectation, from my days in surgery…are you a doctor, by any chance? I ask because a good acquaintance of mine owns a respectable medical equipment supplier’s in town. All secondhand but good quality. His specialty is skeletons and other anatomical curios.

Now I will show you to your room. There are, alas, one or two small things I must bring to your attention should you choose to stay here. Firstly, there is no staff. You may keep your room in any state you see fit. There are three floors, each with baths and common areas. I ask that you leave these rooms as you find them.

Secondly, you may from time to time see other guests about the place. Please do not disturb them unless invited. As I said, I do not see fit to pry into the affairs of those who grant me their custom, and though you are under no such obligation, you may consider your own journey, and the conditions that brought you here. You may find your neighbors to be of similar disposition, and their reasons for being here not too far off from your own. What is more, you might consider that in so openly indulging your curiosity, you open yourself to similar inquiries. I’m sure you understand.

Lastly, and most regretfully, you may from time to time be woken in the night, or otherwise alarmed by some sound or other. This is a building of some size, and I have spared no expense to allow for every modern comfort. The architect is an old firm by the name of Bender & Family, and I have allowed them some leniency in regards to aesthetics and even function. This can, alas, lead to some confusion.

If you go wandering without direction, you may find doors that open to empty rooms, or to brick walls, or doors that do not open at all. You may find windows overlooking unlit rooms, in which odd shapes move straining against unseen bonds or writhing in apparent agony. You might also see the glint of metal hung from racks, or other, less easily discerned things.

The noises I mentioned? Well, most often they will sound like hissing in the rooms next to you, as of air quickly escaping a valve or whistled between teeth. Merely the central heating. It’s a revolutionary network of pipes that runs all through the building, but regretfully prone to leaking. Not to worry.

You are also likely to hear some of your neighbors cough, quite painfully, in the early hours. I suspect it is a result of our policy of no smoking in the common areas or public rooms. I have informed several of them of the hazards of fire before now, but it never seems to take.

Speaking of smells, I have been told that occasional odors of a highly chemical nature have been known to waft through the halls, similar to lime and bleach. I cannot say I’ve happened upon this phenomenon myself, much less discovered its source. I apologize.

Here is the door to your room—ah, doors! I’d nearly forgotten. You’re likely to hear doors opening and closing at odd times as well. The cause of this I have not, as yet, been able to determine. It could only be my missing tenants on their way out, though the strange dragging sound that accompanies the opening of doors is inexplicable, as my guests rarely carry much luggage. And I never see them leave.

Well, anyway. Your room. The bed is small, but comfortably sprung. The walls are thick wooden panels, and the window is likewise small and barred, so you may be assured of privacy. You will find the wardrobe is stocked with clothes of all sizes and occasions. Do speak with me if you cannot find something suitable, and I will check the laundry.

You’re certain you aren’t a medical man? My friend in town also takes custom orders for skeletons of particular sizes or peculiarities. I have his card. I’ll leave it on the table in case you change your mind.

Thank you for staying with us. I hope the night passes peacefully. I hope your sleep goes undisturbed by hissing steam or hacking lungs. I hope you will still be here when you wake on the morrow. If you are not, then I can only hope that it was not my hotel that drove you away. Good evening to you.

A Long Overdue (and Very Unexpected) Update

Wow. I actually ended my last post ruminating on adulthood. What the bloody hell was going on back then that I thought warranted deep contemplation? Did I have any idea?

To put it plainly, I now have:

  1. A job.
  2. A house.
  3. A live-in girlfriend.
  4. An impending child.

We just discovered it will be a boy yesterday. Still processing that a great deal.

In other news, I continue to write. I’ve gone back and forth on my manuscript, which has yet to graduate beyond the very short novella stage. Not sure what else I can do with that at the moment.

I am, however, churning out short stories fairly well. Yet to have any of the newer ones accepted anywhere, but I shan’t get discouraged. Either way, once written, they’re all going in my next collection, currently titled Sleepless Nights, which I’m aiming to make a bit weightier than The Library Beneath the Streets (publication for which is still on, though apparently on indefinite hold).

What else can I say, really? As long as I’m writing, I’m honoring my promises. And as long as I come back here every so often to update…whoever, I can’t say I’m not on the right track.

Will I ever look back on this place from somewhere else? Will I wonder why I maintained it when it always seemed more of a chore than not?

Shouldn’t speculate. We’ll leave it at that.

My First Professional Review (And Some Other Things)

You know I don’t say much on here, so I suppose I’ll start to own up to it.

Got my first professional review (from Kirkus, no less) for the book. Not too bad, all things considered. Release is likely July or August, by the way.

If you’ve actually been following, you’ll notice that I’ve been doing this thing where I post the First Words of the books I’ve been reading, with my own wrap-up Final Word review. I think I’ve lost the taste for that project, tell you the truth. I might return to something a little less ambitious later on, but things are kinda busy right now. Full-time job, just bought a house, acquired a traveling home of misanthropic dolls. Ah, adulthood.

Please stand by.

First and Final Words of March, 2017

Speak Easy, by Catherynne M. Valente

First Word: There’s this ragamuffin city out east, you know? Sitting pretty with a river on each arm, lit up in her gladdest rags since 1624. She’ll tell you she’s seen it all, boy howdy, the deep own and the high up, champagne and syphilis, pearls and puke. Oh, she’s a cynical doll, nothing new to her.

Final Word: Reading this, you might almost think you’re reading the voice of that same city, all smoky and seductive and never quite smiling.

 

The Secret History of Twin Peaks, by Mark Frost

First Word: A wise man once told me that mystery is the most essential ingredient of life, for the following reason: mystery creates wonder, which leads to curiosity, which in turn provides the ground for our desire to understand who and what we truly are.

Final: The thing about the wise is they say the obvious thing.

First and Final Words of February, 2017

Infected, by Scott Sigler.

First Word: Alida Garcia stumbled through the dense winter woods, blood marking her long path, a bright red comet trail against the blazing white snow.

Final Word: Two clues right there about where this is going.

 

At the Mountains of Madness, by H.P. Lovecraft

First Word: I am forced into speech because men of science have refused to follow my advice without knowing why.

Final Word: ‘Forced into speech’ is a very Lovecraftian sort of predicament.

 

Spider Kiss, by Harlan Ellison.

First Word: First there was only the empty golden circle of the hot spot, blazing against the silk curtains.

Final Word: They call them stars because they burn.

 

Version 43, by Philip Palmer.

First Word: I was in a cheerful mood.

Final Word: The fact that he’s a nigh-immortal renegade cyborg cop should tell you just how this bodes for the bad guys.

The First and Final Words of January, 2017

The Boys, Volume 1: The Name of the Game, by Garth Ennis.

First Word: “I’m gonna fuckin’ have you. You cunt.”

Final Word: Take that as a certainty, if you have super powers and intend to step out of line.

 

The Boys, Volume 2: Get Some, by Garth Ennis.

First Word: “Doctor–I can’t stop fucking things…”

Final Word: You will hear that word a lot. I make no apologies.

 

Lumberjanes To The Max edition, Volume 1, by Noelle Stevenson.

First Word: Friendship to the max!

Final Word: Because these girls do nothing to the min!

 

Notes from the Shadowed City, by Jeffrey Alan Love.

First Word: I cannot remember my name, or how I came to be in this place.

Final Word: From the beginning to the end, this is all any of us will be certain of.

 

The Death of Mr. Punch, by Jonathan Carter.

First Word: He rubbed his eyes and peered into the gloom.

Final Word: His mind would never be so accommodating.

 

The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart, by Jesse Bullington.

First Word: The story of the Brothers Grossbart does not begin with the discovery of the illuminated pages comprising Die Tragodie der Bruder Grose Bart tucked inside a half-copied Bible in a German monastery five-hundred years ago, nor does it end with the incineration of those irreplaceable artifacts during the firebombing of Dresden last century.

Final Word: It begins with deaths of the most horrible variety, and ends in death as well.