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

Evil Dead (remake)

When I heard there was an Evil Dead remake in the works, I was skeptical at best.  When I found out that there would be no Ash in the picture, I couldn't imagine it working.  Even after the theatrical release, I wasn't interested--despite my good friend Tony D's assurances that it was an awesome reboot.  I shouldn't have doubted him.

The Evil Dead remake may represent the most fun I've had with a horror film in years.  It was a gory thrill ride that was disturbing, repulsive, dark, demented, and 100% entertaining.  The direction was spot-on, the acting was on-point, the effects were glorious, and the sense of impending doom was a perfect recreation of the sinister tone and the grisly atmosphere of Raimi's original.  In fact, I think it's fair to say that, Ash or no Ash, this remake topped the original.  To be fair, the makers of this film had Sam and Bruce in their corner, and they had the original and every other meaningful horror film from the last 30 years to reflect on.  Yet many remakes of films with similar legacies fall flat, and I thought this was a smashing success.

Finally, I think the lack of Ash was appropriate.  After all, who else could play that role?  It's a part for the The Chin, and a part for The Chin alone.  If you're looking for a good time drenched in blood, look no further than the Evil Dead remake, a rip-roaring massacre that is incredibly well-made.

Fishing (a poem)

It's been a while since I have been fishing this year, so I've had time to think about all the joy one of my favorite hobbies has brought me in 2013.  With that in mind, I decided to write a poem.  Here goes:

Fishing
by James Wayland

Fuck fishing.




Author's Note: I don't know about you, but I'm very happy with how that turned out.  As far as I'm concerned, a good poem should be truthful and direct.  Mission accomplished.

The Shark is Still Working: The Legacy and Impact of Jaws

It's Shark Week, so while many of you are soaking up all the marine action airing on Discovery, I spent this morning watching the latest documentary on the pop culture phenomenon that is Jaws.  The Shark is Still Working: The Legacy and Impact of Jaws is a feature-length documentary that was included on the 2012 Blu-Ray release of my favorite picture.  I hadn't taken the time to view this collection of never-before-seen footage and interviews with the cast and crew, partly because I've seen so many of these things.  Heck, I've even read numerous accounts of the film's production, release, and most importantly, the impact the movie has had on the industry at large and the legions of fans who still adore it.  I found this documentary to be the best of the lot, and I was amazed at just how moving this making-of feature was.

Now, I could go on and on about the movie, and anyone who knows me well has probably heard me do so on multiple occasions.  Yet I'm going to direct my attention to The Shark is Still Working, which was a truly emotional experience for me.  Obviously, anyone who loves the film is going to grow wistful when thinking about the key figures involved who are no longer with us, namely Peter Benchley, Robert Shaw, and Roy Scheider, but there was so much more to this documentary.  I don't know if I can adequately describe how much impact hearing about the ultimate fate of the Orca had on me.  Seeing how Martha's Vineyard has been shaped by the movie and witnessing how the making of the film is still celebrated there was also profoundly touching.  There are many great movies, just as there are many great books, yet the scope of this particular piece of art's legacy transcends both mediums.  It's a global experience, and the legions of devotees who still cherish Jaws give it a revered spot in our society than cannot be understated.

The documentary was riveting, capturing Peter Benchley's efforts to write the story, the studio's efforts to turn the property into a motion picture, the making of the film, and the unbelievable reception that followed.  To this day, many people still harbor potent feelings on both sharks and the ocean based on Jaws.  To this day, our interest in sharks and the popularity of such material still serves to enrich the storied history of one of our most beloved tales.  The Shark is Still Working does a fantastic job of exploring how the story came to be and probes the fascination and wonder Jaws has spawned for several generations of people--not just Americans, but people all over the world.  It was a magical ride, and I can honestly say that few stories have struck such a chord with me.  Surely, I've never been so moved by a documentary about the making of a film, and that's both a credit to everyone involved with this feature and the film and book that launched the phenomenon.

If you are a fan of Jaws, (and seriously, who isn't?) you owe it to yourself to sit down and spend a little time with The Shark is Still Working.  I thought it was positively mesmerizing, and it only served to reinforce my love for a story that is proving to be timeless.

From the Archives: The Best of Times

Yes, I'm still recycling, but there's a method to the madness.  Football is almost upon us, and that means it's time . . . for The Best of Times.  This piece was also originally published in RVA Magazine.  Enjoy!

From the Archives:

The Best of Times

What is it?

The Best of Times is a 1986 comedy starring Robin Williams and Kurt Russell.  In the film, the two reside in the small town of Taft, where lovable loser Jack Dundee (Williams) is still haunted by the pass from local hero Reno Hightower (Russell) that he dropped in the big football game 13 years ago.  Dundee decides to stage the game once again in the hopes of atoning for his biggest mistake, but first he has to sell this ridiculous idea to both the town and his former teammates.  Once he manages to do that, it will be a miracle if he can get his old team in shape, and speaking of miracles, do you think Jack can actually catch the ball this time out?

Why don’t I know about it?

The film didn’t win over many critics or audiences when it debuted, and despite being televised routinely after its release and gaining a meager following, The Best of Times never really evolved into a true sleeper either.

What makes it unique?

Before Ron Shelton (Bull Durham, White Men Can’t Jump, Blue Chips, Cobb, The Great White Hype, Tin Cup, Play it to the Bone) gained notoriety for creating some of the best-received sports films ever made, he wrote this little gem for Kings Road Entertainment.  Shelton got the idea for the film when the high school he attended in Santa Barbara actually re-staged several big games against rival San Marcos in the early 80s as part of a fund-raising effort.  The first such game was a huge success, selling out, and according to Shelton sub-sequent games were also successful until the practice was discontinued due to injuries. 

Shelton has some issues with the piece, most notably his displeasure in regards to an epilogue left unfilmed.  He also doesn’t like some of director Roger Spottiswoode’s choices, though he claims that the studio gave the director a tough time.  Shelton wasn’t pleased with the publicity the film received either, and as far as business relationships are concerned, he writes the whole thing off as a very bad experience.

Kurt Russell was already a budding star when this picture was made, but Williams was just a zany comic with some success in television and a few mediocre films under his belt who would hit the big time with Good Morning, Vietnam a year later in 1987.  They have great chemistry here, and the film works best when it is centered squarely on their shoulders, yet they have never shared the screen again. 

When I was composing this piece I couldn’t find any commentary from the stars themselves.  That leads me to believe that this film probably doesn’t rank among their personal favorites, though it is entirely possible that they have made comments to the contrary that aren’t currently available.

For the most part, this is a truly a forgotten film within the industry.  Despite the star power and the creativity at work behind-the-scenes, there isn’t a lot of fanfare for this one to be found.  In fact, while I was putting this piece together, I didn’t find any retrospectives or features devoted to The Best of Times, though I should not that there are a wealth of forums and reviews where fans express their strong feelings for the film.

Is it any good?

I have loved this picture for a long time.  I have loved this movie for at least as long as I have loved football, and that’s a very long time indeed.  It is a bit clumsy in places and I know the stars of this piece have certainly offered up better performances, but this will always be a personal favorite of mine for a variety of reasons. 

First off, Kurt was at a point here where he could no wrong, and his Reno Hightower is a joy to watch.  Kurt doesn’t miss a beat throughout this irreverent and ultimately heart-warming little oddity.  Williams is often a bit much for yours truly, but here he is subdued enough (and trust me, a subdued Robin Williams is still a lot like you or I on crack) to amuse me without annoying me.  His Jack Dundee is a wounded man, but seldom has another man’s misery been so incredibly funny to behold.  The scene where he goes to a massage parlor and pays someone to listen to his agonizing self-dissection, all of which is based upon dropping the football in the big game, is one of his funniest bits ever, and he is consistently amusing throughout. 

While clearly the stars of the piece, Russell and Williams receive a lot of help from a great cast.  M. Emmet Walsh, R.G. Armstrong, Pamela Reed, Holly Palance, and Donald Moffat are all game for this quirky comedy, and everyone brings some humor to the mix.  Everyone fares well unless they happen to be involved in a poorly-staged song and dance routine that is positively embarrassing to behold and nearly drags the whole affair into oblivion.  Yet the film survives and offers up several far more entertaining and memorable setpieces along the way.   

Williams and Russell are both at the top of their game throughout, and their reliable performances are a model of consistency.  This is my favorite film featuring Robin Williams, and in truth I like Russell’s Reno Hightower almost as much as I like Snake Plissken, Jack Burton, and R.J. MacReady.  That’s high praise indeed coming from yours truly, and if you don’t believe that you need to take another look at my Top 5 John Carpenter Films.   

Additionally, the home stretch is definitely a crowd-pleaser.  The film that stumbles occasionally in the first and second acts really nails the big game in the third act.  Russell is truly magnificent, and the fire and determination he shows in this muddy battle makes you want to go out and block for him.  The film becomes surprisingly dramatic as the contest unfolds, and it’s hard not to cheer when fate is kind enough to offer Jack a shot at redemption in the closing seconds. 

The verdict:

The Best of Times isn’t a great picture, yet it still works.  Don’t be surprised if there are a few scenes in the mix that are so bad you can’t comprehend why they weren’t cut altogether, and yet don’t be surprised if you do find yourself incredibly moved by the silly happenings of this fun little film.  It’s whimsical, it’s absurd, it’s a little sloppy here and there, and it is anchored by two terrific performers in great roles who make us care about this imperfect movie that slipped through the cracks.  In the end, The Best of Times succeeds because it is fueled by warmth and a premise we can all identify with—after all, who wouldn’t like a shot to make up for at least one grievous error from the past—and even if it is a bit rough around the edges, it remains a lovable winner with a lot of heart.   

The Man with the Iron Fists

I'm a kung-fu guy.  Like, I love the movies, and I studied it.  Well, kind of.  There wasn't a kung-fu class anywhere around, so I spent a good portion of my life studying everything that I had access to.  I love the old movies, particularly The 5 Deadly Venoms and any other Chang Cheh features.  If it comes c/o The Shaw Brothers, I'm probably down, and then there's that Bruce Lee guy.  We can file all of that under stuff that I love.

So, I was thrilled with the throwback approach RZA took with The Man with the Iron Fists, and for the most part, I enjoyed the picture.  It's ludicrous, and anyone who doesn't like a vintage kung-fu outing shouldn't expect to enjoy this one any more, but I'm cool with that.  I loved the score, the choreography was on point, and all of the characters were badass.  Well, all of them except for RZA in the title role.

Now, I'm not really busting his chops for giving himself the lead role, though it should be noted that while he managed to pull his fight scenes off, he was definitely the least impressive presence in the film when it came time to throw down.  Yet that wasn't really the problem.  The problem was in a picture bursting with interesting characters, the main character was dull.  Seriously dull.  I'm not even sure that it was because it was a tired approach that we've seen a hundred times over, for that could be said of many of the roles, and most of them managed to impress.  There were like ten primary characters, and everyone but the main character was a delight to watch in this festive romp.

Russell Crowe owned the movie, but he had some serious competition.  The gore was fantastic.  All things considered, I had a good time with it, so I'm going to recommend it, but it's a shame that the main protagonist wasn't more charismatic.

Which Jaws has the bigger bite?

While I'm resurrecting old bits, here's the first piece I published in RVA Magazine.  It's a comparison of Steven Spielberg's film and Peter Benchley's book.  It's brief, but since that there are few (if any) tales that I enjoy more, it's something I had a lot of fun with.  Enjoy!

Which Jaws has the bigger bite?

It’s a true anomaly: a stellar book is optioned by Hollywood and brought to the screen in epic fashion, surpassing the source text in the eyes of many.  For once, fans of either format can sit and ponder the merits of these beloved blockbusters, engaged in a difficult debate.  Which version has the sharpest teeth? 

            When Peter Benchley wrote his signature novel, he ignited the literary world with a gripping “Man vs. Nature” opus that plunges the reader into a marine nightmare on the first page and never looks back.  Benchley based his work on an actual series of attacks on the East Coast attributed to a single shark and this gives his plot a potent dose of realism.  The characters are well drawn, the setting is perfect, and the prose is both rhythmic and knowledgeable, a delicate balancing act performed to perfection here.

            Steven Spielberg took Benchley’s book to tinseltown and frightened audiences across the country out of the water with his amped-up approach and an explosively different climax (literally) that won the author over despite some initial conflict.  Young Spielberg was willing to take more chances and it shows, this stark and scary picture is a far cry from the family fare the director is also known for.  Here, his ambition and ability join forces with an exceptional cast to land an instant classic.  Give an assist to John Williams, the famed film composer who supplied one of cinema’s grandest scores.

            Since there can be no doubt that both versions of this tale have touched countless lives, a prominent question arises: which is the better fishing trip to go on?  Unfortunately, this is a query that simply cannot be answered.  The two visions vary enough that it simply will not work if one attempts to compare and contrast them.  Prominent characters and subplots within the novel didn’t make it before the cameras, most notably an extramarital sexual encounter between Matt Hooper and Ellen Brody that charges the third act of the book with blistering tension as three men take to the sea in pursuit of one of nature’s most violent killers.  Alas, who can forget Robert Shaw’s incredible monologue regarding his service on the Indianapolis, a plot device Spielberg originated and a setpiece the actor ran wild with.  There is also the conclusion to consider, as well as the fact that a primary character who survives on celluloid perishes in print.

            This is all a blessing, as those who know and love the story have two separate experiences to enjoy, both of which are frequently cited as favorites by bookworms and film buffs alike.