20/20

What's up, good people of the internet?
I imagine many of you are also putting your resolutions into play.  Like me, your 2019 may have been a bumpy ride, and maybe your life saw dramatic changes.  Hey, maybe your world got shaken up a bit, and you've had a lot of time to ponder the future.  That's my 2019 too, if so, and I'm ready to get to work in 2020 in more ways than one.
While I have a number of resolutions, I am also teeing off a project of sorts, and I am going to be discussing it here.  My blog is certainly part of it, so it makes sense.  If anyone decides to take a similar approach to the new year, I would love to hear about it, and we can surely have each other's back.  If I've learned anything from my 2019, it's that a support network is a precious commodity, and every bit of encouragement helps more than one could imagine.
So, here's what I'm doing.  I'm calling it 20/20, and it's pretty straightforward.  Where my writing is concerned, I have 20 goals that I'm looking to nail in '20.  Some are truly outrageous in scope, while others are honestly rather mundane.  All are surely steps in the right direction if I want my passion to become more than a glorified hobby.
I'll be breaking down my goals with you here and tracking my progress.  Blogging more frequently is one of the items on the list, so there's that too.  And all of these items could help me cross off the first thing on the list, my lifelong dream, and a longshot to end all longshots in this modern era when there may well be more writers than readers.  Yes, dear peeps, I really want this to be the year I see a book of mine land with a publisher.  And I have a candidate, and I have a lot of goals that could only help me where this is concerned.
And I'm hoping that my 2020 will represent the recovery to end all recoveries as I put my accident behind me and run down some dreams.
So, yeah, that's what's going on with your boy.  Happy New Year, my friends.  Let's celebrate for 365 days if we can . . .

New Project, New Playlist/Soundtrack

I've mentioned this to some of my peers before so it may be a rehash, but if not, consider yourself privy to an inside look at the workings of a deranged writer's mind.  When I'm working on a project, I like to compile what I think of as a soundtrack for that tale.  Whenever I'm working on that material, I put on my headphones and rock out to the playlist I have prepared.  I feel like this helps me get in the groove and arrive at the same mindset whenever I work on that piece, so the vibe and the voice that I'm looking for are easier to summon.  That may seem perfectly rational to some of you, and it may seem like utter nonsense to others.  That's just how I work, and it does seem to help me get to where I need to be to sling some ink. 

Anyhow, I rarely share much about any project I'm dealing with while it is in progress, but I occasionally dish out the working title and the playlist.  I do this because I love my peeps and I like to share.  Such a reveal may pique your curiosity so far as the current story is concerned, and it may also inspire you to check out some groovy tunes.  With all this in mind, let's get right to it.  I'm currently throwing down a novel about the most nightmarish camping trip ever, and I'm thinking of calling it "Southern Fried Hell."

This is the soundtrack I've put together to keep me on track while I put five lovely souls through the ringer:

Cattle Car – Clutch

Don't Step On The Grass Sam - Steppenwolf

Green Valley -Puscifer

One Horse Town - Hank Williams III         

Some Days – Sturgill Simpson        

Maggie M'Gill - The Doors   

Head Down – Soundgarden

Beercan - Beck

Shake Your Foundations - AC/DC  

Maybe I Am Amused - Melvins

Blue Monkey Disco - Syrup

Down To This – Soul Coughing

Spill the Blood - Slayer

I'm Shakin' – The Blasters

I Ain't Living Long Like This – Waylon Jennings

Vulture – Iggy Pop

Small Bones, Small Bodies – Future of the Left

Killing Floor – Body Count

Throw It On Me – The Hives featuring Timbaland

This Is Violence – Soulfly

Collapse - Motograter

D7 - Nirvana

What's the first horror novel that you read?

 October is here, good people, and I'm going to make the most of the spooky season here in the Land of Way.  As an author, I'm always curious about the books that the rest of you enjoy, and with Halloween arriving at the end of the month, I'm wondering how many of us remember the first horror novel that gave us goosebumps.  I would absolutely love it if if my readers were to chime in with their thoughts on the fist scary book that they enjoyed.

I was an avid reader from an early age on.  By the time I was 5, I was trying to write stories of my own.  Even as a youngster, I had a taste for the spooky stuff.  That became a legitimate passion when I read Stephen King's Christine during the summer that followed the third grade.  Honestly, I wouldn't recommend presenting your favorite 8 year-old child with this novel, but reading it was surely a transformative experience for this particular writer.  It firmly illustrated that both the horror genre and reading were things that I wouldn't want to live without.  Prior to reading this book, I enjoyed a good scary story, but after reading Christine I was head over heels for gruesome tales.  The worm had definitely turned in more ways than one, for not only had I become a horror fanatic, but I also no longer wanted to spend my time with smaller books.  Dr. Seuss and Encyclopedia Brown were left in the dust as I started devouring books by King, Farris, and Matheson, among others.

I'm going to post a review of Christine later today, but in the meantime feel free to tell me about the first horror novel you read and how that impacted you.

Finders Keepers by Stephen King (2015)

The latest from Stephen King is the second entry in a new trilogy.  It boasts the unlikely trio of heroes who saved the day in the slick and entertaining thriller Mr. Mercedes, though they don't show up here until the second act is well underway.  This novel is really more about a teenage boy who bites off more than he can chew and a sadistic lunatic whose love for prose is only rivaled by his penchant for dishing out brutality with a total lack of remorse.  Oh, he also has a knack for blaming his mother and an old friend for every sick mistake that he makes in a life that is filled with such mistakes.  This book is tied to its predecessor in more ways than one and a creepy subplot serves as an intriguing bridge to the next chapter in this blood-curdling saga.  I liked Finders Keepers a lot; it's a genuine page-turner and the good guys from Mr. Mercedes are some of the most interesting heroes that King has provided us with in a while.  Yet I wasn't as keen on young Peter Saubers, the gutsy hero of Finders Keepers, though the villainous Morris Bellamy was equal parts compelling and utterly repulsive.  Peter was a bright lad who was capable of fine moments that clearly displayed the presence of grit and intelligence, but there were a few too many times when he made incredibly stupid decisions for my liking.  Sometimes panic or stress were to blame, but some of these miscues seemed necessary to advance the plot.  Of course, Peter was young and maybe I expected too much from him.  Additionally, I should note that even the best fiction is often reliant upon plot devices to a certain extent.  Regardless, Finders Keepers is a gripping read with a wealth of tension, some truly abhorrent moments, and several well-defined characters at its disposal.  It's not top-shelf Stephen King, but a good book from this titan trumps a great book from most authors.

Final Grade: B

My Sleeping Brain Writes Good Lines for Sam Elliott

There are three things that stand out about a recent dream that I had:

1) The dream was pretty damn weird.

2) While dreaming, my mind is apparently capable of writing killer lines for Sam Elliott.

3) The way my brain works, when my mind writes a killer line for Sam Elliott while I'm dreaming, this experience is potent enough to wake me up.  Whereas some people might wake in the midst of a nightmare, scared out of their minds, dreaming up good material for Sam has the same effect on me.  I was literally jolted awake.  I sat there in the darkness thinking, "Wow, that was a really good line."

So, the dream involved a woman I do not know and Sam Elliott.  These two had partnered in an attempt to operate a video rental business.  Given that my dreams tend to be rather absurd, this venture was located in a canyon and their inventory consisted of VHS tapes from the 80s.  The fact that this operation utilized VHS tapes from the 80s makes a bit more sense when you take into account that the Sam Elliot present in my dreams was also from the 80s--think The Quick and the Dead.  The canyon location is a bit more puzzling, particularly since I should probably specify that there was no structure situated within the canyon.  The VHS tapes were displayed on natural formations of rock that were roughly akin to shelves. 

Anyway, some marauding band of raiders vandalized this burgeoning enterprise one night, shooting up all the tapes.  Naturally, upon discovering this carnage the following morning, the woman and Sam Elliott were both greatly upset.  The woman was crying, lamenting the fact that they had not built a structure to house and protect their merchandise as well as her inability to find those responsible and make them pay for the damage.  Sam was equally distraught, but he was too pissed off to show it.  As he climbed atop a horse and prepared to go out looking for revenge, he said the line that I'm still stuck on.

"You're wishing you had done one thing and you're wishing you would do something else," Sam growled, yanking his six-shooter from its holster and proudly displaying it with a grin.  "Well, I'm fixing to do something--and it ain't wishing."  Then he promptly holstered his weapon and rode off, blazing a path toward a violent revenge, all while I sat up with a start, pondering my brain's ability to generate quality Sam Elliott material while I'm snoring.

If you somehow wind up in one of my dreams,
I strongly advise you NOT to fuck with Sam Elliott's VHS tapes.

Meet Luke Wilson and Devil Wood (Baller excerpt #2)

The pitch is simple enough: Baller is an Agatha Christie mystery on acid, with a suspended NBA player and a porn star filling in for Hercule Poirot.  These unique pals are attending a private party at a posh resort in the mountains when a blizzard rolls in.  The lights go out, a murder is committed, and things quickly spiral out of hand.  None of the prestigious guests who have gathered at WinterCrest are safe.  A game with no rules is being played and deadly gifts have been scattered throughout this remote retreat.  Can our pair of unlikely heroes figure out who is responsible and save the day, or will they suffer a gruesome fate?

I provided an excerpt in my previous blog on Baller that details what happens when one of the deadly gifts mentioned in the pitch is opened by one of the guests at WinterCrest.  You can enjoy that excerpt here.  Today, I'm sharing another excerpt that provides an introduction to the main characters of Baller, Luke Wilson and Devil Wood.

An excerpt from Baller (Warning: Adult Content)

 

Jagged black spikes loomed on either side of the winding road, proud monuments of earth and stone thrusting up into a bleak winter sky that was all but obscured by the falling snow.  The road was narrow and curvy, a winding strip encompassed in metal guardrails that would give way upon impact, spilling into the rocky crevices that beckoned below.

Luke tightened his grip on the wheel; he still had complete faith in the Jeep and his ability to operate it in these conditions, but he had never seen a storm gain strength and tenacity with such speed.  He was reminded of a dog devouring food at a frantic pace, eating as though such an opportunity may never present itself again.  As they continued on, a white haze seemed to overtake them, the blinding mist swelling as the snowfall intensified.  The wind ripped through the night, driving the precipitation into swirling torrents that danced through the air. 

“Dude, can you even see to drive?”  His passenger wondered.

Luke smirked.  “It’s not so bad.”

“Shit.   It’s a good thing you’re the one behind the wheel.  It’s really coming down.  These roads will be covered in no time.”

“They salt these roads.”  Luke continued to crane forward, focusing on the narrow stretch of pavement that was quickly being blanketed. 

“Well, they don’t salt them enough.  I think we’re going to wind up spending the night at this bullshit affair.  If we even get there.” 

“We’ll get there.  We grew up in West Virginia, man.  Bluefield’s our hometown.  This ain’t nothing new for either of us.  As long as we don’t brake too hard or yank the steering wheel, we’ve got no worries.”

“We?  Ain’t no we, man.  It’s all you, I’m just watching.  And praying.”

“We’ve got no worries.”

“Maybe you don’t.”

“I always thought you were fearless.”

“Shit.  That was before I moved to California.”

“Well, this ain’t California,” Luke said, straining to see.  He let off the gas a little, squinting as he peered through the falling snow.  “We’ll be there in no time,” he said, but there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice that made it seem as though he was trying to convince himself as much as his passenger.

“If you say so.”

“You know you didn’t have to come.”

“Yeah right.  The invitation you received was issued for you and a guest.  If you show up by yourself, everyone there will think you’re an asshole who doesn’t have a girl or any real friends.  And anyways, it’s been far too long, man.  I want to hang out with you.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed.  “It has been a long time.  A lot has changed.”  He was clad in a pair of jeans and a black sweater.  He hadn’t shaved his beard in almost a month now and it was becoming unruly, but it suited him.  His leather jacket was in the backseat and he was wearing his favorite boots.  No matter how many zeros they put on his checks, Luke would always be a country boy at heart.   The private party they were en route to was a first class affair, but this was as nice as he cared to dress on a trip to the mountains.

As he veered into a curve, Luke worked the wheel a little too hard and the tires lost their grip on the slippery pavement for an instant.  “Shit,” he muttered, gingerly tapping the brake pedal as he nudged the wheel.   

The tires regained their traction and they came through it without a hitch, but his friend was shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” he said with a grin.  “No worries.”

Luke shrugged.  “That was nothing.”

His passenger responded with a chuckle. 

“Look,” Luke said, eager to talk about something else, “I was thinking about something.  Do I really have to call you Devil?  I mean, is that what you’re going to call yourself tonight?”

 “Why not?  That’s what everyone calls me now.” 

“Well, I mean, why not just go by Ricky around me?”

“Ricky?  Who the fuck is Ricky?  It would be Rick by now anyway, wouldn’t it?  We’re not kids anymore, dude.  Nobody calls me Ricky.”

“What does your mother call you?”

“She stopped talking to me a few years back.  But in her letters, she refers to me as Richard.”

“Well, maybe I could call you Richard too.”

Devil shot him a dirty look.  “Get the fuck out of here.  Richard is my father.”

“What does your mother call him?”

“They haven’t said a word to each other in over three years, but that’s another story.  He calls me Dick, but only because he knows that I hate it.  You can imagine how thrilled he is with my new life, but it is what it is, bro.  Shit, it’s not like we were the happiest family on the block anyway.”

“There’s an understatement.”

“Like I said, it is what is.  I’m fine with it.  I’m Devil, man.  Fuck it.  You are what you do.  It ain’t a bad gig, I’m telling you.  Fuck man, we can’t all be ballers and shit.” 

Luke couldn’t suppress a chuckle of his own.  “What the fuck are you talking about, man?  We’re both ballers.”

Devil thought this over for a moment.  “Yeah, but you play ball in the big leagues and I ball chicks while the cameras roll.  Both are fantasies, but only one of them will make you rich.”

“You’re not doing so bad.”

“I’m doing okay.  What?  Am I supposed to think this will last forever?  Shit, man.  I’m on the road to nowhere and I’ve got my foot on the gas.  I mean, yeah, Randy Spears is still kicking, and hell, I used to jack off to shit with him in it.  Not because of him, you know, but I’m just saying.  He did this scene with Raylene in a bathtub that I used to blow up, man.  I totally wore out that spot on the tape.  Who knew you could bust a nut that big?  It was like he opened up a fire hose on that poor girl.”  Devil stopped talking long enough for a wistful longing to creep into his eyes.  “I loved that scene, man.  It was on a collection I had, one of those tapes with nothing but six hours of scenes.  Those were the best, man, just get rid of the lousy plots and enjoy the fucking.  Plus, they were funny because the scenes were taken from various movies so there would be little bits of dialogue that didn't make any sense taken out of context.  It just sounded like ridiculous dirty talk.  'Damn, baby, you're one hell of a good landlord.'  Shit like that.  Anyway, I think that one was called Hosed and it was probably the best collection I ever had.”

“You share too much.”

“Always have.  That probably says a lot about my career path.  Regardless, Randy Spears is an exception to the rule.  Most of us don’t make it nearly that long.  Guys, I mean.  A lot of us wind up impotent, broke, and strung out before we get to have a midlife crisis, and that’s no lie.”  This potential candidate for such a woeful fate was wearing pressed khakis and a delicate knit sweater with tan loafers.  His short blonde hair was carefully styled and he was clean-shaven.  He looked like someone who should have been featured prominently in the Ralph Lauren winter ad campaign.

Luke was forced to slow the mighty Jeep to a crawl as the road wound upward in a precarious series of wicked curves.  As he deftly worked the brakes and nursed the steering wheel, he found himself wondering why he had agreed to bring Devil along in the first place.  He had wanted to reunite with his boyhood pal, but his friend had changed a lot over the years.  This could turn out to be quite embarrassing if his old chum didn’t do a better job of censoring himself at the lodge.  His friend had obviously been in California for too long.

Devil was still prattling on, explaining some of the finer points of his lurid profession.  “It’s different for girls.  They last longer in the industry, and they’re the real stars anyway.  They make the real money and on most sets they call the shots.  If you’re doing a flick with a slit with clout and she ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, man, you better believe that.”

“No shit?”  Luke wondered, immediately chastising himself for encouraging his friend.

“No shit.  Hell, some of the best directors are aging starlets who don’t want to lube up for a paycheck anymore.  They’re the real players in this industry.  Maybe one day I’ll get my chance to get cozy with one of them.  If you’re lucky enough to dazzle one of those dames and she starts using you steadily, that’s your ticket to the race right there.  That’s what I’m shooting for.  Who knows?  Maybe one day I’ll get there.”

Luke restrained himself from commenting, hoping the conversation would end there, but Devil continued, absorbed in his commentary.  “Like Nina Hartley, man.  Nina’s a golden oldie, she’s been doing this as long as I can remember.  I bet my dad used to jack off to her.”

Luke shook his head.  This was definitely going to be interesting.  Censorship didn’t appear to be a concern for Devil.  Luke was starting to think that the aloof country boy he had grown up with had been irreversibly altered by his vulgar profession.

“Forget it,” Devil continued, though Luke had lost track of whatever it was that he was supposed to be forgetting.  There wasn’t a point to this winding opus, there was a random series of points.  Undeterred, the porn star poet marched on, gesturing boldly as he spoke.  “It doesn’t really matter. Though Nina is definitely one of the hottest blondes of all time.  That ass?  Terrific.  A perfect ten.  Maybe the best ass of all time, and certainly the best ass I’ve ever seen.  You could decorate your house with pictures of that woman’s ass and no one would ever object.”

Luke arched his eyebrows.  “I know a few people who probably wouldn’t like it all that much.  Like my mom, for instance.”  

"Your mom might surprise you." 

. . . 

Playlist/Soundtrack for my Current Project

 I know, I know, it's en vogue for artists to tell people all about the music they're listening to while they work these days.  Forgive me for being trendy, but I had an urge to share.  I'm currently nearing the end of my fifth novel, currently titled 101 Nights of the Rougarou.  Ever since I wrote Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, people have been asking me if I would ever pen a story about werewolves.  In a way, this current project is just that, though much I like did with vampires, I'm doing things a bit differently.  The rougarou itself is a bit different from the werewolf, though there are similarities.  There are also several variations sprinkled throughout the folklore pertaining to this particular beast, so that gives me a lot of room to maneuver.  I like that.

Anyway, like many, I like to listen to music while I work.  I've always thought it was a good idea to listen to a fairly consistent mix while I work on a project to maintain a certain mood, so I actually create soundtracks for each of my projects.  I have always been a very visual writer, and I think my work would lend itself well to film, so I proceed accordingly.  Each of these playlists starts with a song I imagine playing over the opening titles and ends with a song I would like to hear played over the credits.  The rest of the music suits the mood and flow of the piece.  Often, there will be songs that are tied to specific scenes.  Finally, since I favor big third acts, you may notice that things build to a crescendo toward the end of the playlist.

So, for those who are interested, here is my soundtrack  for 101 Nights of the Rougarou:

"Sniper At The Gates Of Heaven" by The Black Angels

"I Can Almost See Them" by Tomahawk

"I Am A Man Of Stone" by The Toadies

"Human" by Elastica

"Mama Told Me Not to Come" by Three Dog Night

"Connected" by Stereo MCs

"Caress Me Down"  by Sublime

"Blood On Our Hands" by Death From Above 1979

"The Hives Are Law, You Are Crime" by The Hives

"Adrenalize" by In This Moment

"Silver Queen" by Philm

"Lobster" by Bender

"Smoke a Little Smoke" by Eric Church

"Aisha" by Death In Vegas

"Nervous Shakedown" by AC/DC

"Psychotic Break" by Jerry Cantrell

"The Talking Horse" by The Melvins

"Boom" by Soulfly

"Hush" by Tool

"Adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood" by Future of the Left

"Exhale" by Kylesa

"Stillborn" by Black Label Society

"Bury Me" by Helmet

"Evil World" by Powerman 5000

What I'm Working On Now: Baller

I'm currently putting the finishing touches on a novel called Baller.  When I'm done, I'm sending it to Andrew Necci, my trusted editor, and my dear friend Mal Rorrer will dream up a cover.  It's exciting to be at this stage of the game with another project, and this represents another cross-genre yarn, something I'm growing rather fond of.   

Baller is essentially my take on an Agatha Christie mystery, though the end result is (of course) something entirely different.  The protagonists are a basketball player named Luke Wilson and a porn star who calls himself Devil Wood.  Luke is currently serving a suspension, and he has invited his old friend to join him at a private party his former agent is hosting.  The party is set at WinterCrest, a quaint resort in the mountains.  A snowstorm keeps many on the guest list from attending, and those who arrive find themselves snowed in.  Still, it's a beautiful place, and things are going well right up until the host gets murdered.

At this point, our basketball player and porn star have made the acquaintance of Vincent Sanchez, a fearless detective who is also on the guest list.  In fact, they are seated together when the murder takes place.  Vincent looks to Luke and Devil for help and they quickly find themselves swept up in a sinister plot that will become a nightmare for all involved, bringing a frenzy of mayhem and death to WinterCrest.  Can these unlikely heroes survive a number of cold and calculated attacks and uncover the killer's identity before it is too late?  Who is the savage predator at work?  Why is this lunatic preying on the guests stranded at WinterCrest?   

Baller is equal parts mystery, thriller, comedy, and it also has a potent dose of horror in the mix.  I've gone from cross-pollinating horror and comedy or suspense and comedy to birthing a four-headed monster.  The book is surely my most entertaining offering yet, and my revisions are going well.  It isn't often that I speak about my work until I'm finished, but I'm close enough to dish out some details in this case--the first draft is complete--and I wanted you to know what I've been doing when I haven't been writing for RVA or working on movie stuff.  I do my best to share those things with you and I figured now was the time to tell you a little about Baller.  I think the book is hilarious and I don't feel that the comedy is in any way negating the impact of the other genres that it toys with.   It will be interesting to see what you guys think when it is released.  It is very possible that we'll see it in print before the year draws to a close.

Just Another Day in the Life . . .

Sat up until 3:00 a.m. working on my new book and editing an old video project that I'm finally committed to bringing to life--it's a long story.  Anyway, I had a nice workflow going: I would tweak my video as needed and while I waited for the adjustments to render I would bring up Word and type like a madman.  I had a blast with it; I love editing, which I've always considered phase two of directing, and I'm really enjoying the new book that I'm working on.  Last night I wrote the first big bloody horror scene of the book, and those segments are always a lot of fun to work with. 

Then I got up this morning and made pancakes for the fam, and now it's time to do it all over again.  I think an artist is at their best when they're truly enjoying what they're doing.  I hope that's the case, anyway, because I had a great time yesterday and I'm looking forward to another day in the life today.

The Scoop on Trailer Park Trash & Vampires (plus an excerpt)

What's my novel about?  Well, it goes something like this:

War erupts between the living and the dead in this unholy romp pitting a ragtag band of misfits against a new breed of vampire. These creatures of the night aren't dapper fiends seducing lovestruck damsels, they are soulless monsters that thrive on carnage and prey on the innocent. Sex, drugs, and violence reign supreme in this gruesome struggle where nothing is sacred and everyone is fair game.
Sink your teeth into Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, a depraved plunge into pure mayhem laced with dark humor and drenched in blood.

. . . . .

When I set out to write this book, I had two goals in mind.  First, I wanted to do something new and different with vampires, and given the popularity of this sub-genre, that was a tall order.  However, I think I succeeded.  My vampires aren't bothered by crosses or garlic, they don't turn into bats, they don't sleep in coffins, and they may not dig the sun, but they can endure it.  They don't even have fangs.  By placing them in a trailer park and showing these fiendish creatures struggling to survive in our modern world, I think I was able to present a different side of these terrors, and I actually feel that their vulnerability makes them even more unpredictable and dangerous.

Secondly, I wanted to have a huge climax.  Who doesn't?  Seriously, nothing is more disappointing than a gripping tale with a lackluster finish, and I wanted to offer up an explosive conclusion in TPT&V.  The end result was a saga that simmers, slowly building momentum until boiling over in a bloody battle that encompasses the last third of the book.

Currently, the book has a 5 star rating on Amazon courtesy of 15 reviews.  Here are a few choice excerpts from those reviews:

"If you are looking for the glitzy hollywood-pretty vampires, which politely and quietly feed and sip upon the high society of Europe, and then delicately wipe their lips with a lacey wet-nap and break for tea and biscuits to discuss Faulkner --- look elsewhere."

-Mal Rorrer

"What Mr. Wayland has done here is to portray vampires the way I believe they should be portrayed, violent and animalistic. These vampires don't sparkle in the sunlight, they rip your throat out and laugh about it as you bleed to death.  The human characters in this story are no less entertaining that their inhuman counter parts. The collection of outcasts thrown together in this trailer park are all unique in their own way and each of them contributes something to the story (even if it's nothing more than acting as a vampire happy meal.)"

-Brandon Bowles

"Mr. Wayland has done away with the aristocratic bloodsuckers of Eastern Europe and replaced them with gritty, primal, and at times surprisingly human monsters. The author not only reinvents the vampire genre, but also creates characters that are powerful and easily related to. Readers will quickly forge bonds with the blue collar residents of Little Drop and their satanic assailants. Black humor abounds in this highly imaginative and blood-soaked romp through Anywhere, USA. If you are tired of the same old one-dimensional rehashed horror clichés then I strongly suggest you pick up a copy of this book."

-Erin Sprinkle

"Think Pulp Fiction meets the Evil Dead Trilogy.  There's plenty of action, insanity, and, of course, sex to keep any hot-blooded reader (vampire or human) hooked."

-William Brust

Additionally, I always envisioned releasing TPT&V as an illustrated novel, and I was able to partner with Chris Visions, an amazing talent, toward that end.  Here's one of the spectacular pieces of grisly artwork he provided for this edition:

Lastly, I didn't think this blog would be complete without an excerpt, so here's one of my favorite sequences from the novel.  This is the second chapter from the big finale, Part Four: Come Hell to Earth.  Here, our hero, Lennie Prescott, a drunk who was once a hell of a basketball player, is under attack.  Vlad, the oldest and most powerful of my vampires, has declared war on the people of Ryker's Trailer Park, and he's looking to kick his campaign off by taking Lennie's head.  Lennie has other ideas . . .

chapter 2: war

1

                                                                                                        

Lennie Prescott found himself dancing with the devil in the eye of the hurricane.   

The rain was pounding down in swirling sheets, stirred by the gusting winds.  The nightmare ride that had started back when the strangers took the trailer on Lot 9 had reached a fearsome crescendo.

      The big vampire was after him and it was on as it had never been on before.  Prescott was moving before his mind actually acknowledged the need to flee.  The big vampire was bearing down on him and Lennie was running, his sore muscles answering the call of duty.

     This then would be either his finest hour or his last.  God knew he was going to try, but if he was a betting man-

     But it was better not to think of such things, it was better to move.  It was better to take hold of the doorknob and thrust the door open, slamming it behind him as he rushed into the camper.  Don’t stop!  Prescott wouldn’t allow himself any time to take pride in the seconds he had earned.  Pride meant death and he knew it. 

     Anything other than allegiance to the battle would result in failure. Lennie grabbed the couch, the ugly piece of shit couch that no one could ever like, and the adrenaline coursing through him boosted his strength.  He was able to thrust the ravaged piece of furniture against the door, wedging it shut with a single monstrous shove.

     But Vlad wasn’t coming through the door.  The vampire dove through the kitchen window, rising up amidst the shattered glass with a grace that would have seemed more at home in a ballet as the camper rocked violently.

    “Motherfucker,” Lennie said.  The beast was no more than six feet away.

     Vlad brushed himself off gleefully and offered the teacher a big smile.  “Howdy, neighbor.” 

     For an instant, Lennie thought he was going to faint.  His legs went rubbery and he wavered on his feet.  A single thought kept him alert: Toby. 

It was going down and Toby was defenseless.  Well, maybe not defenseless, as sharp as he was, he probably had a better chance of getting through this than Lennie did.  But he was outmatched.  They were all outmatched if they went at it alone.

      All these thoughts raced through his mind in no more than a second and then it was just like before, he was moving before he had decided to take action.

     The vampire started laughing.

     Lennie moved the couch just enough to open the door and dashed outside, pulling the door shut carefully and letting up at the last moment so that the locking mechanism didn’t catch as Vlad lunged after him.  The storm was picking up and the moisture on the ground made it hard to keep his footing, but he battled for traction. 

Prescott waited a beat and kicked the door open on the oncoming vampire, catching him high on the forehead with the aluminum frame.  Vlad stumbled backward, spitting curses. 

It was familiar, this motion without thought, this inspired drive that came from being called upon in the heat of battle.  His life was in jeopardy and part of him was petrified, but part of him was thrilled to be a keg in the machine once more.  There had been games when he felt like this, contests where the heated competition had triggered moments where his primitive nature took hold and his body and spirit merged, excluding his mind from the proceedings. 

It was as though Lennie’s intellect became an observer in such situations.

A jagged bolt of lightning arced across the sky as the vampire leapt outside with a fearsome roar.  Lennie made a U-turn and used his momentum to pitch himself toward the broken kitchen window.  He knew such a leap wouldn’t be nearly as easy for him as it was for the beast, but he thought it was possible. 

He was cut on his forearms and his belly as he went through and he slammed down on the tile floor awkwardly, but by some miracle, he came to his feet quickly, his momentum carrying him across the room.  He crashed into the tiny kitchen table he kept against the wall and sent the chairs clattering to the floor.  Without hesitating, Lennie bounded into the living room, shoving the couch forward, using it to barricade the door a second time.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Vlad groaned.  He ignored the window this time and patiently made his way around the camper, looking for a back door but finding only a tiny ventilation shaft. 

Lennie went to the gas stove and turned all the eyes on “HIGH,” pinching off the pilot lights with his thumb and index finger.  He ripped open drawers until he found a lighter and put it in his pocket.  He could smell the gas in the air and it made him think of the family cookouts he had enjoyed as a youngster.

His mind had yet to catch up with his body.

Well, there you have it, the inside scoop on my baby, TPT&V.  If you enjoyed this, I promise you that you'll have a great time with the book.  I strongly believe that fiction should exist solely to entertain, and no one will be bored with this novel.  Thanks for taking the time to read this blog, and I hope to see you at the trailer park!

Click either of the following links to buy the version you prefer:

6 x 9 Paperback - $8.99

Kindle Version - $1.99

Warning: Explicit Content

Interview with Duane Denison for RVA Magazine

I'm a big fan of the band Tomahawk, so I was thrilled to get the opportunity to interview guitarist Duane Denison for RVA Magazine. That interview is up, so I would love it if you were to click on this link and scope it out.

Thanks!

Why I Don't Like Discussing Current Projects

So, I want to try and explain something today.  There are a few questions that writers are accustomed to, and one of the most common questions is a polite inquiry about whatever it is that we're working on at present.  Now, I always appreciate anyone taking interest in my work, but this is a question I always try to avoid, and I'm sure my answers are seldom rewarding.  My hope is that in explaining my thought process here, those of you who may have been miffed (or may one day be miffed) by my generic responses to this all-too-common query will understand.

First off, I have no problems discussing anything that has been completed.  Typically, I'm more than willing to spill the beans once my first draft is finished, so you don't even have to wait for revisions and rewrites and such.  Yet I'm reluctant to discuss anything I'm currently working on, or any brilliant ideas I have yet to launch.  Many assume I'm not willing to talk about these projects because I'm afraid my ideas will be stolen, and I can see why they might perceive that as an insult.  Relax, I trust you, and I'm not worried that you're going to take my next big idea and run with it.  There are no new stories to tell anyway, it's all about the storytelling in this day and age, and I happen to like my flavor.

No, the truth is that I believe that any storyteller, whether they're a writer, a filmmaker, or even a musician, has a certain amount of juice to devote to their craft.  I guess I think we're sort of like batteries.  I also think that far too many storytellers use up too much juice talking about projects they should be working on and never produce the artwork they should.  Think about it: how many people do you know who have told you about a book they were going to write over and over again without writing a single sentence?  How many aspiring filmmakers constantly explain their big idea to people without ever buckling down and working to make it a reality?  How many musicians are constantly talking about the type of band they would like to be in and the material they would like to produce without bringing any other musicians into the fold or playing any chords?

I think a lot of aspiring storytellers fall into the trap of talking about what they intend to do, and either they use up all the enthusiasm and energy they have for the material in question describing it, or perhaps talking about it somehow becomes an acceptable substitute for production.

Now, maybe it's just me, maybe I'm the only artist wired like this, but that's why I'm so reluctant to open up and really lay out whatever I'm currently working on.  Hell, if you get a working title out of me, you should be impressed.  I like to devote myself to the work, and when I'm done I'm very eager to share the final product.  I just don't like talking about something I'm working on until I'm done.

So, I hope that helps.  For the record, I'm currently working on a sequel to Trailer Park Trash & Vampires.  The working title for that project is "Raining Blood" and I hope to use that title upon publication.  Since so many have asked, I have gone as far as to explain that the primary threat the survivors of TPT&V face in the sequel is NOT a vampire, but that's all you get.  I'm also working on an unnamed thriller that may or may not benefit from a small dose of the supernatural.  I'm not trying to be cryptic about the supernatural element either, I'm still undecided on that front.

Anyway, sharing is caring, and that's what I like to do here in the Land of Way.  I am looking to publish another novel this summer (it's called Dirty Southside Jam, it's finished, and you can ask me anything you like about it) and I'll keep you informed about that book and those that follow here.  I'll also continue to tell you all about the movies and shows I'm watching, the sports I treasure, the music I'm listening to, and the real good stuff, the various books and comics I'm scoping out.