Hi there everyone. Glad to see you back, especially after yesterday’s post. Today’s lucky guest is Beck Sherman who comes to me from Bewitching Blog Tours. When the notice went out about his book, I absolutely had to host this guy. Revamped sounds like a fascinating book! So let’s get down to business, shall we?
Since the womb. Okay, well, that’s hard to prove, so we’ll just say since I was thirteen or so, when I wrote my first horror story. I can only find two pages of that story, but there’s a strange caretaker in it with glowing red eyes, which makes it a must-read.
The daily circus can be time-consuming, but it helps having a partner who believes in you. Also, if you chalk everything up to fodder for your writing, simply living life becomes research, which can ease the pain when you’re not writing.
I tried to model Revamp after a rollercoaster. (TM – Nice analogy) I’m a big fan of amusement rides, especially the fast ones, and those feelings that riding a rollercoaster can bring on are similar to what I wanted my readers to feel: Is this ride safe? It has to be, right? Oh no, am I going to die? Nope, I’m okay, I’m okay. Oh God, yes, I’m going to die! I’m scared, when is this going to be over? It’s over… it’s over. That was fucking amazing, time to go again! I don’t think you’re going to die reading Revamp, but I can’t promise you won’t be thinking that.
Thank you, Tory! That is a good question. My spouse calls me creepy, so maybe that’s just it. I’m creepy. But seriously, my love for horror stems from a combination of two things: I like being scared and I appreciate the unknown and believe in it. Okay, is that three things? Some people say that everything has a reasonable explanation, but I disagree. The unknown is out there, floating around, explanation-free—just the way I like it.
My next book, which is already written, is also in the New Adult Horror genre. No vampires, but still scary. And my third book, which I have plans to start writing soon, will be New Adult too, but more on the suspense side. With some gore thrown in for good measure, of course.
News reporters scrambled. This was the biggest story to come along in weeks.
They called it a blackout.
The last one was in New York City in 2003, but this one was different, special, because the grids in six major cities across the country had been fried, kaput, see-you-next-Sunday. Everyone with some jurisdiction blamed each other, and when there was no one left to blame, terrorism rode in on its gallant steed.
It was the media’s fault. They were so busy stuffing fanatical Muslims with a penchant for Allah and decapitations down the American citizen’s throat, that they never saw it coming. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on them.
They were partially right.
It was terror after all, but a whole new kind. And when the lights came back on, things had changed.
The dark had brought us visitors.