Monday, September 17, 2012

Collecting Old Friends

Hey y'all! It's been a while, right?

It's okay because I've been busier than a one legged cat. In case you're not tapped into the mainline of R.W. Webb information - there has been a dramatic amount of releases over the past month.

You heard me!

First up: The Collected Tales (Volumes 1-3) are available for your kindles NOW! The paperback versions of each of these volumes will start becoming available in October (vol. 1) November (vol. 2) December (I lost track, you get the gist).

Inside these three books are 41 of my weirdest, most reknown, most published, most unloved and most disgusting short stories penned over the past twenty-five years. I have officially purged my secret stash of about 30% and it filled 3 volumes! Whaaaaat?

Volume One: Includes everything I've published in magazines, newspapers and elsewhere - under any of my various pen names. There are fifteen total stories in Volume One. Two are making their debut in this collection. I'll list them out below, let's move on.

Volume Two: The Novellas - this volume has four massive thrill-rides. You can't miss this one. There's two new stories you haven't seen included here! I'm getting you ready for the big surprises in Vol. 3, see?

Volume Three: Twenty-two brain farts! The oldest story I still have ("The Tickets" when I was 10) and the most recent story ("The Wobble Effect" the Biblical tale of Moses...if Moses was an octopus in a fish store). Boom! Your mind just blew up.

But wait! That's not all!

Saturdays, At The Bijoux - is available as a Kindle Single and already topping the best seller charts in literary fiction and horror. This novella is included in Volume 2 of the Collected Tales, but if you prefer your gore in tidy doses, this $2.99 thrill-ride is for you! I'll admit, the ending to this one actually makes ME cringe - so for those of you who like it rough...you may want to buy a ticket for the picture show and go see what's going on inside that old, abandoned theater. You were warned.

Here's where shit gets weird...

As you all know, I have a trilogy of fantasy novels starring the character Singer Bardin coming out soon. What you don't know is ... Singer Bardin meets his friends every day at 6pm in Storytime Village (a small town atop his mountain fortress) and reads from a gigantic tome of "happy stories" as he pretends to be the character of Uncle Rooster. The villagers aren't that smart.

The Furrie Niblets: Is part of "Uncle Rooster's Tome of Happy Stories" - the first and only tie-in to the Whirligig Ranch series, this collection of 31 flash fiction tales will delight your boobies off. Not only that - but each of the 31 "niblets" have an audio edition where Uncle Rooster himself reads these tales FOR you! For the time being - the mp3's are separate from the ebook, but we're working on making an "enhanced kindle" experience whereby these are fused together. Technology.

So that's about it for now. One month - 1400 pages of fresh reading for you.

That outta give me a head start.



Happy Reading!!

Friday, June 22, 2012

A Drop In The Ocean

A Drop In The Ocean
Copyright © 2012 by Ward Webb


The young woman stood framed at the end of the pier with her long, golden hair billowing around her narrow face as she stared down to the undulating waves exploding against the barnacle-crusted pilings. Thousands of razor-sharp shells dotted the wood like green crescents that turned the thick water into foam with a kiss.

A passing shower of mist had sent all the tourists indoors to mill around the massive souvenir shop for the time being, leaving her isolated on the wide platform on the far end of Ocean Isle Pier. Beside her sat a small stroller, covered over with a screen of plastic to shield the newborn from the sea spray that glistened in the air around them.

The scaly, wrinkled infant napped peacefully inside its bubble as the woman stepped away from the thick guardrail and squatted down to the damp wood beside the locked plastic wheels.

She slid forward and let her bare feet dangle out into space. She folded her arms over the lower horizontal beam and let her eyes lose focus as she gazed down at the foamy waters below.

Her voice came out soft and gentle; rolling with the same lilting rhythm the waves used against the tired, rotting legs of the pier.

She spoke down into the forty feet of space between her and the skin of the sea, but she spoke to the tiny sleeping child – her only other companion as the gray storm passed by the western rim of the island.

The lighthouse blinked and she sighed, cleared her throat and began.

“These things can't be safe. I don't know how they manage to keep them from collapsing. I've always been scared to death of piers but I figured today was finally the day to conquer that silly phobia once and for all and look at us, right out here at the very end! We are two brave women, aren't we Tonya honey? I can't believe I found these things so scary for so long. There's nothing scary about it at all! It's downright peaceful. Praise His name.”

The infant wriggled under the plastic screen but didn't crack its eyes.

The setting sun turned the storm clouds into vivid streaks of lilac, scarlet and ocher that burst across the eastern skies. The tips of the waves turned a pale lavender as the woman smiled and lifted the plastic screen away from the face of the stroller and allowed the salty wind to engulf the sleeping child within.

“Come on out of there and get some fresh air. Ain't that better? It's beautiful out here, right? You can turn and look back at the beach and feel like you're cut off from everyone. It's just all so peaceful and perfect. It's almost hard to imagine just a few hundred yards away the world turns into complete stinkie-doo-doo's. I can't believe anyone would ever dream of bringing a child into a world like this. It's almost criminal to think of being so selfish, but here you are! I guess it isn't your fault, Tonya, sugar. You didn't ask to be born. None of us did. That's the whole poopy-doodie problem with the world, right there.”

The damp wood beams drummed gently under her thick waist and the young woman turned around to stare down the bowed length of the pier.

A man, woman and small girl around the age of six came toddling down the pier, unaware of their damp companion glaring back at them from the far end.

The woman whipped herself back around to face the Atlantic and groaned with impatience.

“Great, just as soon as we started to enjoy ourselves someone has to come along and mess it all up for us. It's fine though. We still have a couple minutes before they get down here and I don't even think they've seen us yet. Thank you Lord. Let's get you out of that thing so you can enjoy the view a little better, little sleepyhead. Here you go! See there, Tonya? Don't that fresh air smell so good?”

She unbuckled the infant and lifted it up against her right shoulder. A thick stream of milky fluid trailed down from the child's bottom lip and hung against her thin, green sweater like a rope.

She bobbed up and down on her heels as she turned and let the baby admire the flattened expanse of darkening water below. A family of fattened pelicans skimmed the surface of the waves as the woman smiled and tucked her burnished hair behind one ear.

“Isn't it so pretty? You're such a lucky little girl not to have to experience the pains and agonies that this world has in store for you. One day people will write about me and I'll be a hero. They'll understand everything so much better in the future. No one realizes we're living in hell right now. It won't be until mankind has come through to the other side that we as a people will turn and look back on our past and reflect on where we went wrong. Then they'll see. Then everyone will realize I was just doing a good deed that spared so many from so much pain. I didn't get that, you see? I had to suffer and hurt for twenty-six years and where did it all get me? Where did all the patience and keeping-my-chin-up actually lead me? Nowhere. It's more bleak now than it was before. There's no hope for the miserable and anyone who tells you differently is just lying to you, Tonya. This is the only truth. Praise Him! This one moment that defines us is all that really matters when it's all said and done. You're just a baby. You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?”

The infant cracked it's eyes and bubbled foam from its cranky lips as it glowered at the setting sun and writhed in her arms.

The trio of sightseers continued their march toward the end of the pier. Their footsteps came firmer through the rails as the young woman cut her eyes toward their progress and wiped away the spittle with a loving finger.

Tonya's chubby legs kicked at the open air as the woman pressed her waist against the guardrail and leaned down over the lapping waves.

“Here you go now, darling. You're free now. Stop wriggling like that! You're a restless little lamb. Now. There ya go.”

From behind her the husband of the little family shouted out in alarm, but the woman didn't flinch. She leaned further over the open waters and let the bundle roll from her embrace.

She opened her arms as if welcoming home a long lost family member and let the tiny, swaddled bundled topple down into the dark waters and vanish without making the slightest splash. The pink blanket came loose and hung on the surface as the waves pushed the violet child against the wood piling. A faint spray of pink bloomed against the barnacles as a frantic man came rushing up and threw himself against her shoulders like a stampeding bull.

“Did you just throw that baby,” he began but with one glimpse down at the limp blanket drifting on the surface, he cut himself off and dived over the edge of the pier. As the ocean swallowed him, the woman called down over the rails.

“Yes sir! I sure did! That baby is free and soaring all because of me! Praise Jesus!”

Now the wood was really rumbling under her as she pulled herself back up to her feet and turned to see the approaching hordes.

Dozens of men and women were running at full speed along the length of the pier.

The wife of the man who had plunged into the water – and their nervous looking daughter hugged the edge and watched with their mouths gaped open as the end of the pier pooled full of horrified locals, all shrieking and asking the woman the same question.

What did you do to that baby?

A quartet of uniformed officers came running and the crowd parted. The woman stood quietly beside the stroller without making a sound.

She nodded and smiled at each of them like a gracious hostess but never said a word in response to any of their questions.

A faint satisfied smile was etched in her face as a voice from far below called out – coughing and sputtering with salt water, “I can't find it! Oh, God! Help! Help! Someone help! We need more people down here!”

A half dozen answering splashes sounded out from up and down the length of the rocking pier as people plunged into the water in the hopes of finding the child.

The police reached the end and enveloped the woman in their sturdy grip.

Pinning her hands behind her and pinching them tight in a pair of fetching steel bracelets; the biggest officer – a former high school football captain - shoved the quiet woman face down to the wet planks and crammed his knee into the small of her back.

The wind was pushed out of her as she lay patiently with her face against the wood. She peered through the crevice between two beams and looked down at the green, supple waves below.

The crowd pushed in a ring and stared down at the unmoving woman in horror.

The police started mumbling to one another, whispering into the CB radios on their shoulders, but no one made a move to pull the young woman onto her feet. The waves kissed the pilings below and people shouted back and forth from beneath the pier as they searched in vain for Tonya.

The wind whipped the plastic film across the face of the empty stroller and tore it loose. It billowed over the railing and disappeared down into the waves.

From the foot of the pier a heart-wrenching cry pierced the confused silence and everyone turned to see a frazzled woman in a blue blazer leap out of her Toyota and come running down the length of the boards.

The car coasted to a stop and bumped against a handicapped parking sign as the icy-eyed woman screamed down the length of the wobbling pier.

Two officers stepped forward and blocked her from springing onto the handcuffed woman's back and lashing her to pieces with her fingernails.

The only female officer took charge of the thrashing woman and pulled her back from the ring of onlookers as the other three helped get the unphased suspect to her feet.

The brown haired woman in her second-hand blazer continued clawing at the open air and screaming a high-pitched, primal wail that echoed across the long row of beach homes dotting the beachfront.

“Ma'am! Calm down,” the officer insisted and held the woman firmly by her shoulders. “What is your business with this woman here? Do you know who she is? Stop fighting or I'm going to have to put you in handcuffs, too! Ma'am!”

The businesswoman spit across the ring of people and hissed.

Her attention was locked on the indifferent smirk on the young woman's cheeks. The stroller was knocked aside as the trio of men pulled the grinning woman away to the edge of the wide deck.

Gathering her senses and quickly cutting her eyes to the crowd of neighbors, the woman sobbed as she tried to push the words out of her mouth. “She's my babysitter! I hired her to take care of my little Tonya while I went to a fucking job interview! Let me at her. Just let me have ten seconds with her face! Oh, God bitch – I'll kill you! You better hope my baby is okay! Bitch, you hear me?! I'm going to … Fuck. You. Up!”

The female officer looked across the deck at her colleagues and turned back to the woman, keeping her iron grip on the frail mother's trembling torso. “Just remain calm and let us take care of this, ma'am. We still haven't found your baby so as far as we know this might all be a big misunderstanding. Just calm down so I don't have to cuff you. We'll find your baby, don't panic.”

A raspy, heartless cackle filled the air and all eyes turned to the chuckling, manacled babysitter – shaking her head with amusement.

“Ain't no mistake,” the babysitter grinned from across the barren ring of slippery wood. “You don't have to worry - I spared your baby from a life of torment, I did. Tonya is free now – soaring with the angels, praise Jesus! I don't know why you're all so angry. I'm a hero. You're just ignorant fools – too blind to see what's right in front of you!”

The mother lunged and almost made it past the female officer but a burly fisherman came forward and with one quick motion, engulfed the grieving woman against his barrel chest and held her tight.

People gasped at the audacity of the babysitter standing within a protected ring of police as she smiled proudly.

Mumbled whispers ran down the length of historic Ocean Isle Pier. Words like monster and psychopath rippled in the warm evening breeze while the team assembled and prepared to march the woman back toward the gift shop at the foot of the pier.

The crowd parted and hugged the left and right edges of the wooden boardwalk as the waves far below disappeared and the sand began, glimmering pink with the sunset.

The distraught mother had collapsed and was allowing herself to be towed along inside a protective huddle of beefy men and clucking women. Each of them purring, cooing and reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.

The babysitter sat down easily on the wide backseat of the police cruiser and the door slammed shut with a dull thump that muffled the voices now raised in anger as the crowd followed behind with the sobbing mother in the center, the nucleus to their fury. Her pain fed the horde as they came toward the police sedan and the babysitter's smiling face shielded behind the glass.

As the officers fell into their sedans and prepared to haul the woman to the intake center six miles away, the howling mother came forward from beneath the folds of her skirt of sympathizers and threw her body against the scalding exterior of the police car.

The babysitter didn't flinch at the sudden blow on the glass mere inches from the tip of her nose.

She turned her entire body to face the bulging rage of the mother and beamed with pride. Her teeth sparkled in the rose colored sunlight.

Through the glass, the babysitter lifted her voice and called out with sincere curiosity, “Does this mean you won't be paying me? You still owe me for three hours, Ms. McCarthy!”

The agonized mother clawed at the glass and wailed, “Hell no, I'm not paying you! You better hope they find Tonya. No jail on this planet will keep me from getting to you if anything happened to my baby, you crazy bitch!”

The babysitter wilted against the vinyl seat and looked glum for the first time all afternoon.

“You're greedy, Ms. McCarthy. I don't think I can work for you no more.”

The mother blinked with shock as the babysitter fell back against the seat and nodded toward the female officer, “Driver, I've had enough of these snobby, selfish people. Take me somewhere nice. Somewhere I can have some peace and quiet and think for a minute. A bar. Take me to a nice, quiet bar. I would just love a nice, cold drink right now. Being a hero can make a person awfully thirsty. Praise God.”

She threw her head back and laughed as the police cruiser pulled off with a crunch of gravel beneath its bald tires.

The crowd of baffled witnesses watched as the three police cruisers screamed away along Beach Drive and disappeared behind a wall of wild sea oats.

The strangers swarmed and surrounded the grieving mother and drowned away the sound of the sirens growing softer in the distance. The grieving mother crumpled down to the asphalt of broken shells and sobbed into her hands, soft and weak.

At the same moment - a limp, fleshy bundle was pulled out the cold waters of the Atlantic.

With her tiny face torn to ribbons against barnacles as sharp as broken glass, Tonya seeped warm blood down into a hungry school of minnows that flickered around the man's thighs.

He waded slowly to shore under a hushed cloud of onlookers staring down from the pier above.





:-)

Monday, June 18, 2012

This Sweet Agony

In case you weren't aware - I have an incredibly hard time staying focused. That's why SOUTHERN GOTHIC exists now. I had no intention of writing another novella length freak-fest...I was supposed to be finishing the central section of the sequel to WR1. Rather than doing that - I was usurped back into the 1800's to save a little black child (who really didn't need my help in the first place).

Oddly enough - after two days on Amazon, SOUTHERN GOTHIC is now at #50 on the Bestsellers list, which makes me turn my attention to other projects.

Forget everything I've already told you. For now, this is the current plan of action.

I have opened my trunk. I have pulled out an old friend no one knows about entitled (rough) "130" and let a dear friend riddle me with questions...

Why is it a number?

Because numbers are eye-catching, but besides that - it applies to the material in the story. For those of you who have to sit in a room with me occasionally and listen to me rant - this is the story I've been trying to figure out for a good 15 years now. I got it.
It is being called "130" for now because each of the 26 sections takes up 5 minutes of real-time in this little town. Chapter One starts with Alba at 6:00am in the morning. Chapter Two is Bert, Three is Clarice, Four is Doug...so alphabetical and real-time...a cast of characters no less than 26 all intertwined during a 2hr and 10minute nightmare in this small town. That's why.

What's it about?

Hell on earth. For lack of a better description - let's call it a zombie tale, even though there is absolutely no trace of zombies anywhere in this. Let's just stick with that for now, okay?

What short stories have you selected for the collection?

I've selected 20 because that's a nice, even number. Nine of them have been released before in various magazines and newspapers over the past couple of years. Four of them are currently available as ebooks on Amazon for .99c. The remaining few will be stories I've written that no one has seen before. Most of these are in what I call my "vault" (where I keep 20 finished stories solely meant for magazines - and magazines only). You guys never see these stories so it should be fun.

What will the title be?

More than likely something eyecatching and topical. Fuck: A Collection. Oh Snap: A Collection. Assy-Pie: A Collection...something like that. I hate titles. If any of you have a better idea - please fast forward that suggestion to my personal email (wardwebb2772@gmail.com). I'll give you lots of accolades and credit - I may even use your name as a character in a forthcoming tale - if you don't mind being crippled, deformed or murdered in some weird, exotic way. I can't help myself. Y'all know how I do.

Besides the short stories - what is the status on the release of your novels?

I will tirelessly push myself to get WR1 into your hands before the end of the year. I'm actively trying to finish the center section of the second book in the series. This is a key moment in the overall saga, so I don't wanna screw it up. I've told myself and all my beta readers - as soon as I'm satisfied with this middle portion of the sequel - I'll return to volume 1 and punch up the fine details. From that point - we're good to go! (Cover ideas....see previous email address)

What is WR1?

WR stands for Whirligig Ranch. 1 indicates which volume in the trilogy I'm talking about. What is it? The greatest fucking thing you'll ever read. That's what it is.
If you want a sneak-peek at this delicious, life-changing work - buy MATTROPOLIS and check out the bonus feature at the end of the story. I included the first chapter from Volume 1 at the tail end of this bed bug infested love story. I think it was the most suitable place to introduce the world to Singer Bardin, Lady Buggargon, Max Bidewell and Teddy. Queen Mother does not make an appearance until Chapter 4, so unfortunately she does not appear in this opening chapter. I'm so sorry.

What happened to the Civil War novel you were writing? You released the first chapter about an escaped slave named Bell and then....everything vanished. Is that still in the works?

That is The Binding - and that, my friend - is done. This novel came about because my grandmother asked me to one day pen the story of our family - and since we've been in the same place for 300 years, I had to take it back into olden times to begin this series of adventures. The Binding is the first in a planned 4 volume series centered around the old plantation house we still currently run. It was a very agonizing novel to write, but I wrote it. As far as my plans for this - I think I'm subtly creeping back into that era whether I mean to or not - look at SOUTHERN GOTHIC, where did that even come from?
I'll eventually return to the sequel of The Binding and once I have 50% of that hammered down on paper, we'll talk about releasing that hot mess onto the world.
For the record - The Binding tells two interweaving tales from two families living in Edgeboro around the turn of the century. One is a dynamic land owner - one is a meek family man living in town and trying desperately to solve a murder before the tensions over race relations cause the tiny community to explode into the stratosphere. Both stories bounce back and forth against each other, mirroring socially relevant issues of that time - until you reach my big, explosive finale.
My great-great-great grandmother is a star. You'll see.

So what's coming next - and when?

The next thing I know of - are two short stories coming out sometime in the next month or two. No sorry, make that three. I can't keep up with this stuff...Two will be printed in magazines you can pick up at any B&N and one will be included in a paperback anthology that's due out sometime around Halloweeeeeeeeeeeen. Other than that...who knows?

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Dirty South

This all started because I kept being haunted by the image of a little black girl struggling her way through an endless field of mud. You know the type that's so deep it's exhausting? A mile of that.

She wouldn't leave me alone. I kept seeing little tired hands struggling to pull the next leg free only to take another step. And then one afternoon I wrote it down...and this happened.

Her name came easily - Miracle.

As soon as I had her out of that horrible field and standing on a small county road - I realized where this was leading. Enter: Ruby-Lee Braswell.

The two girls represent two different cultures, during the years shortly after the Civil War. I set it on the same exact road featured in The Two O'Clock as well as the closing scenes of Earth Angel. I believe anyone familiar with those two stories will recognize this strip of land.

The story takes a turn for the spooky and honestly...I had nothing to do with that. By that point, I - like you, was just along for the ride. I'm apologizing in advance.

I look forward to introducing you guys to all these new friends I've planted in Edgeboro County.

Ruby-Lee Braswell: 12 year old daughter of a former land owner who now lives a life of leisure on Johnston Street. The house with the green shutters. You know the one.

Miracle Henry: 12 year old former slave who's finally old enough to leave home according to her parents to "make her own way in the world"wastes no time hitting the road as soon as the candles on her birthday cake were blown out.

Captain R.L. Bascombe: owner of Four Oaks plantation, survivor of the war who paid a great cost.

You can check out the little teaser/trailer do-hickie here!!!

Only a few more days and this should be showing up for Kindle.

I can't wait to hear from all you guys about these new adventures. It'll be a hoot and a half. Until then, keep reading Sweet Peaches!

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Breakin' It Down

While wrapping up the final touches on the second novel in the Bardin series - I've had to spend some extra time working on this collection of short stories I keep promising is on it's way. I thought it would be of interest to those of you watching to see the anticipated lay-out of all the upcoming releases.

By the end of this year, the first anthology of short stories will be out in paperback. At this time, the stories included in this opening volume will be:

Southern Gothic
Some Time
The Two O'Clock
An Emptied Nest
Pale Yellow
Wake Up, Aggie
The Red Mittens
Gardenia Blossoms
The Wobble Effect
Trestlewood Estates

I did a little hypothetical formatting and found that this collection should be somewhere in the ballpark of around 350-400 printed pages.

After that - and probably somewhere in the same time-zone as the release of the first Bardin novel (God, I hope it can happen by end of summer/early fall) - I'll be dropping out another little anthology! What? Oh yes I did!

Collection two will strictly be my novellas and have the following titles:

Earth Angel
Mattropolis
Have Mercy
and either 130 or The Monster (I haven't really decided)

These things are all finished and ready to be read. I just have to get busy with all the red-tape associated behind the scenes so that I can put them out there into the big, scary world.

But, wait - I'm not done surprising you! Somewhere during 2013, I have two more collections of finished fictitious fantasies coming for you. These will be comprised mostly of stories very few of you have read - mostly things written during the 1990's, 1980's and early 2000's. I felt guilty showcasing the newer stuff when the oldest friends still wanted love and affection. So...

Collection Three:

The Shadow In The Fog
A Garage of My Own
Moving Day
Bartleby the Knave
Now & Forever
The Champion
Lucky Bedelia
Last Day
A Visitor in Valhalla
Patience
Porcelain

Collection Four:

The Tickets (1979)
Boo
Homecoming
Naked City
The Bastard
The Bug House
Snow
The Day Cassandra Came
The Amazing Adventures of Dog Boy
The Greatest Unknown



And that's that!

We'll talk again soon, sweet peaches! Happy Reading!

Friday, April 20, 2012

Return to Bardin's Mountain

I know few of you have read the first volume, and there's a valid reason for that which I will get to later. Forget about that for now and allow me to tell you how exciting it is to be back writing the sequel to my fantasy adventure Being Bardin, the first in the Bardin series of stories set atop Whirligig Ranch in the mountains of North Carolina.

As far as the first book goes - I am working at nights to get that ready for publication in paperback sometime this year. I'd feel really dirty publishing volume 1 without volume 2 ready to go - which is why I've returned to these four characters that won my heart last summer.

Without revealing too much, this second portion of the saga revists the main characters that we first met in volume one (Singer Bardin, Lady Buggargon, Teddy and Queen Mother Beulah). The action begins far in the past, thirty years prior to the adventures in Being Bardin. I wanted to show Bardin's kingdom when it was blossoming into the fairytale land we saw rusting away in the first novel, so when volume two starts - we're in WW2 Berlin. Fast forward dramatically to 1980's Vienna where the story follows two different people - a man who's struggling to find a job in his field during the economic dark days of Europe and a woman - who's hiding something behind her facade as a waitress.

As the adventure proceeds - we're introduced back to our magical foursome and whisked to North Carolina to witness the dawning of Bardin's mountain, just three years after his purchase - and on the opening day of Red Castle, the train line and ... well, that's enough for now.

For anyone interested - you can check out the first chapter of this saga as a bonus feature at the end of MATTROPOLIS (which is so good it hurts to talk about it, so I can't right now).

Feel free to check out Singer Bardin and Lady Buggargon on Facebook. They're not very good at using computers, but they do the best they can.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

New Old Friends

Since last time - I've had a handful of new stories published. Since it makes sense to keep track of things like this - I'll be compiling the links to stories here.

If you missed it - to harken in the Spring, Deep South Magazine chose my precious little ditty entitled "Gardenia Blossoms" to be their cover story. It was my first attempt to focus on a romantic tale - it almost worked too...but someone had to die. They always have to die, you know? I also have always been fascinated with the idea of skunk love...nevermind that part.

Another recent addition is the story "Patience" which appeared for April Fool's Day in The Big Stupid Review (one of my favorite current publications). This story was an attempt to tell a full-fledged narrative using ONLY dialogue to move the action along. I think it worked, despite the fact that there is little to no action in this short story about standing in line. Yes, I was a bit put-off at the obnoxious lines to get into the 9/11 memorial. This is how I coped.

There are a few more lingering out there that I will post here once they go live in the various publications. One - a gripping horror story recounts a local legend anyone from Nash County, North Carolina will recognize - the Momeyer Ghost. That should be appearing in a print anthology sometime later this year (I think Halloween-time?).
The other is a companion to "Patience" entitled "Porcelain" - which is also somewhat gross in nature.

AND IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY EXPERIENCED THE MAGIC....

Journey to MATTROPOLIS - where bed bugs aspire to become poets. You're guaranteed to laugh, cry and possibly call in an exterminator.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

"Mattropolis" Is Unveiled!

The long wait is over! After weeks of arguing and squabbling, the finished version of "Mattropolis" was released this past weekend. Unfortunately there are very few ways of describing this tale without spoiling it - it's just that good. Instead, I will share some of the hate mail I have received from other writers:

"Dear Jerk:

I cannot believe that after 70 different titles under my belt, this never occurred to me. I am disheartened that such a miraculous sensation of science-fiction has been released under a name that is not my own. If only I were not dead, I would destroy you with such a jealousy fury - the world would never be the same.

With Love,
Jules Verne"

"Hey:

Who do you think you are? I resent you tampering in my genre like this. What kind of madman turns such a repulsive creature into something so adorable? You're messing with people's minds and I don't like it one bit.

Sincerely,
S. Freud"

"Dear Mr. Webb:

I would like to congratulate you on your recent publication, cleverly entitled 'Mattropolis.' I would like to say that I enjoyed this tale, however I was so enraged that I had not thought of this first I accidentally tossed the entire demonic reading machine out my window. Now I will read nothing. You've ruined everything. Thanks.

On The Brink,
E. R. Burroughs"

Please feel free to see what all the anger is about by checking out "Mattropolis" for yourself.

It'll change you. We promise.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Explaining The Triptych

Surprise #1 was released yesterday to a whirlwind of download ruckus - in 24 hours, almost 500 of you sickos downloaded this new trio of tales. I was taken aback by this - I had no idea these three little stories would warrant such interest, so let me give you a smidge of backstory on this and hopefully clear up a few things that seem to be causing burps and bells:

The title "Triptych" refers to a 3-paneled painting of some religious iconography. Popular during the Renaissance, these types of paintings don't happen much anymore - but there is a reason these three seemingly-unrelated stories all fall under this one larger title...they're all religious in nature!

I became obsessed with different religions and the types of folk tales, anecdotes, etc. that they passed down through their history. I read a ridiculous amount of them. Then I whittled it down to three religions and really honed in. I came up with what you have here.


"Saint Gemma" is a cryptic retelling of the legend of the Catholic Saint Gemma. I liked her because - she was female and a saint...which isn't common. I also liked the legend surrounding her - mostly the part where she bled and vanished into thin air. There was something horrifying and alluring about that. I added in the character of Priyanka to give a voice to the Hindu religion - her personality is modelled after a goddess, so you are left with a Hindu goddess meeting a Catholic saint, and both of them exacting what made them famous in the first place. There is no sense to this story. It is meant to leave you confused and baffled because - that's what Saint Gemma did.
This was the shortest piece in the collection because originally I didn't even want this to be a story - just a glimpse, flash, dash, snort of a scene in a woman's daily life. No beginning, no middle or end - just BOO!/gone. This is panel 1 of the triptych.

"The Night Walkers" is African. I have tried and tried to find my source material and can't - but the gist of it was originally from Kenya (I think), and a story about a man who meets a ghost along a deserted path in the jungle. What caught my attention was the fact that the ghost's attitude the entire time was HELL YEAH I'M A GHOST! I liked that he was proud of being dead, and criticized the living man for not being more ghost-like in nature. There was an Aesop-quality tone to this little African ditty, so I used the arrogant ghost and relayed the center panel of the triptych. The setting for this is a lead-in to the final story and set in familiar terrain. This is the same stretch of highway where MANY others have been set ("The Binding," "The Two O'Clock," "Gardenia Blossoms," "The Day Cassandra Came," and so many others it's pointless to continue)...

"Up The Gump Stump" is originally a Buddhist parable that I just basically raped. There is very little of the original story left in here, but if you look super-carefully, you might find a twinkle in the dialogue between the chicken and the dog. At the core - this is a brains vs. braun story. This was originally much shorter - about the length of "The Night Walkers," but it kept nagging at me so I returned and it blossomed. In this version - it's a much richer, meatier, funnier story that has gone down as one of my all-time favorites. I read this now as if I didn't write it, and everytime that little persnickety chicken starts waddling or back-talking...it makes me laugh.
This was originally published in The Piker Press (2/13/2012) and got favorable reviews. It is included here as the third and final panel of the triptych.

Catholism. Islam. Buddhism.

That being said - grab your copy here!

$1 for 35 pages of joyous reading bliss - and help yourself to any of the other titles available!

Keep Reading!

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Announcements!!!

The rumors are all true - there are two big, juicy snacks coming your way over the next two weeks. Did I say two? Yes, I said it.

In addition to "Mattropolis" (due March 1, 2012), I have also pulled an old friend out of obscurity and fixed it all up - ready for company. As a special surprise - there will also be another .99c short story coming before "Mattropolis" that you should all enjoy. This surprise release will contain three dainty short stories - only one of which has been published before.

On Twitter I get a lot of direct messages from readers asking if I have any plans for March in the "short-story" arena. It seems my rapid-fire style of popping out new adventures has found a niche audience that demands more - or at least more details while they wait.

Don't hold me to anything specific, date-wise - but on the distant 30-day horizon, I'm looking at the following projects:

1. Getting some more stories into magazines - I really love learning new places to find stories to read and new authors to love. If I can join in and be included - it's even better. There are three or four that I've penned recently that I would love to see in a magazine. A couple that are killing me not to be able to talk about - I'm sure I'll cave eventually...

2. Finish a co-authored project with my ghostwriting bestest friend - a short story with a working title of Rage. We are taking turns telling snippets of the story - but also trying to gross each other out. The pages we have accumulated so far are downright disgusting and I cannot wait to share it with all of you. Hopefully we can wrap that up, edit it and I'll have that on Amazon during March/April 2012.

3. Finish my short story set in a laundromat - based on a real event, this tale is dying to be finished and it's been lingering in my uncompleted folder for too many weeks.

So best case scenario: you can expect at least two new stories during the coming month. If I can't stand it - I might drag an old friend out of the closet again, dust it off and shine it up as a special surprise, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there!

Monday, February 13, 2012

Old Friends for Sale

It just dawned on me that I haven't done this:

Below are links to all my available short stories/novellas/perversions online. Typically I would never comment on a short story, but for this blog I don't see any reason not to...

Corduroy
This is an attempt at Flash Fiction. Since I can't tell nice, happy stories - I threw a guy in the trunk of a car and made it into a religious hate-crime in 900 words or less.

Old Rosa's (Home For Weary Travelers)
This one was originally written for a different magazine - I changed my mind when Dew on the Kudzu liked it! Originally titled ORHFWT, this was shortened for aesthetics and features my home town, a crushed velvet suit (of course), blood-thirsty rage and - a crazy old lady with a pet opossum named Cartier.

Up The Gump Stump
Now we're talkin' - this is a prime example of what I love to write. I originally included this in a highly abbreviated form in a larger short story no one will ever see entitled "Triptych" where I took 3 different cultures, read up on their typical folk tales and legends - then made my own. The three were all short, snippet stories - but UTGS always nagged at me. It wanted me to come back and fix it - bring it to life...so with the addition of nearly 4,500 more words - the delightful story of Merriweather McCluck and Mr. Dog came to life - in full force. This is one of my all-time favorites just because it's so quirky - and I like her snarky attitude.

***Coming Soons***

"Trestlewood Estates" - has been accepted and should be included in a print anthology this coming Summer/Fall. Once I have the date - I'll announce the location. Don't want to be hexing myself...

"Gardenia Blossoms" - my one true attempt at a love story is due to appear in the Spring 2012 edition of Deep South Magazine. No idea the actual date, but once I know something - you will too.

Other Friends for Sale

Earth Angel: A Novella
So now you know - it isn't just the short stories I love, I also do novellas from time to time. I picked this one from the four I have ready-to-go. I'm not sure why other than I really love the little girl in this. The seed/idea that started this whole 60 page, chaotic maelstrom was that I imagined being in such a vile, repulsive, horrifying situation - but being so damaged that ... it wasn't horrible at all.
As most know, I love finding beauty in trash and this was just another attempt to make something incredibly unpleasant - pleasant.

The Two O'Clock
This is one of my personal favorites - for a variety of reasons. First, it's set in a location that's seared into my memory. Secondly, it's a line by line retelling of a teensy piece of Dante's Inferno. Third - it's a pretty decent story.

Pale Yellow
This is probably the oldest thing available at the present time. I first wrote PY about 6 years ago, in a much different version. I did some braiding and twisting, teased and combed and ended up with this version available now. I cannot explain why so many people have downloaded this one, I did not see that coming. It's a pleasant surprise to learn that my sick fans also enjoy long, drawn-out scenes of torture, angst and discomfort centered around little old ladies. Shame on all of us for liking this!

Lucky Bedelia
This is the next oldest friend for sale - Bedelia is about 4 years old and has been highly fluffed as well. I had no expectations when I first wrote this. It wasn't meant for sharing but one of many stories I write just to "get the stink out."
My intention here was to take an ordinary young woman - common in every way, and tear her apart limb-by-limb through a series of ridiculous accidents. I think I nailed it. The only thing I did leave out of the version available here is that the original had a slightly altered ending whereby I set the building on fire and let Bedelia burn - but on the last reading, by the time I got to the glass-busting finale, I felt like she'd suffered enough. Bedelia is the opposite of lucky.

What's Coming?

A new novella - something freshtacular...it will be out by the end of February 2012 and should be cherished by one and all. I have tried painfully to get a little bit of everything into this surreal, sci-fi/fantasy adventure...and if it wasn't so damn funny, I could probably edit it a lot faster.
I've been very vague with my hints but the gist is that it's a story about love. The protagonist is unlike anything that's been penned before - and the setting ("Mattropolis") should send most people shivering into their showers. Again - I am hoping to make the cringe-worthy...spectacular.

Speaking of edits...lemme get on that now...

xoww

Saturday, January 28, 2012