TERROR TOWN by James Roy Daley REVIEWED

Terror Town by James Roy Daley

Terror Town is the second novel by horror novelist James Roy Daley that I've read. My review for his novel The Dead Parade is here.

James Roy Daley knows how to write horror. He's really good at what he does. Terror Town delivered the goods in a blood-soaked wrapper. Daley went to film school, and he's a huge lover of Stephen King. (I don't mean to imply that Daley and King are having some sort of illicit affair, but rather Daley knows the works of King well, and incorporates many of King's tactics in his own stories). You can see the influence of both great horror movie film-making and the writings of Stephen King in Daley's Terror Town.

After an initial setup that establishes the small town of Cloven Rock, and many of it's denizens, the book accelerates at a cinematic pacing. We meet Nicholas Nehalem, who is one of the most diabolical characters I've ever met between the covers of a book. I won't give any spoilers. But I will warn Hannibal Lecter that he's a pansy boy.

Then we meet Daniel McGee. Dan finds a tunnel in the floor of his basement that leads deep down into darkness. This scene alone was like reading an exquisitely crafted tale by Edgar Allen Poe. It had me shivering in fear, and nothing bad even happened. It was the expectation of terror that got me.

But have no fear. Daley delivers terror with both fists and a shotgun blast. This book explodes into action. It's equal parts monster-movie madness and serial killer death flick. But more than that, there's an amazing twist that happens about half way through the book. Syd Field's classic Reversal, anyone? I will only say that I was NOT expecting it, and that not only was it freakin' awesome and super original, it gives me hope that the tired old roads trod by many writers still hold buried treasures further down the trail. Or should I say, off the trail, where the bodies are buried. Because that's where James Roy Daley takes you in Terror Town.

If you like hard-hitting, intense horror, the scary kind that makes you triple-check you locked and dead-bolted the front door before going to bed, buy Terror Town. It will scare the crap and vomit out of you.

Buy Terror Town by James Roy Daley on Amazon here.

COVER REVEAL - Night Walk by David Hudnut

Night Walk by David Hudnut

Ka-BLAM!!

How do you like the new cover for Night Walk?

Hopefully this will help sell more books. As any of you self-published authors out there know, the cover is king when it comes to selling a book. I read somewhere the notion that "your cover is your genre." While I liked the previous cover for Night Walk, it didn't fit with a modern, slickly published horror novel.

So I took the original photo I'd shot for the cover and slapped a new logo treatment on it. This cover certainly gets to the heart of the basic plot better than the old one did: family of three, walking alone at night, bad shit happens.

What do you think? Do you like this cover better, or do your prefer the old one?

If you don't care and just wanna get down to the business of reading, be my guest:

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

City of Angels. City of Devils.

In every city big or small, rich or poor, the killers walk alongside the innocent. 

Undetected.

They travel the same streets and breathe the same air. Much of the time, they coexist harmoniously.

But when Devils walk alongside Angels, random acts of violence are bound to happen at any moment…

It was Friday night in West Hollywood. The misty sky overhead glowed faintly orange, illuminated by the tapestry of city lights beneath. Crowds meandered in and out of numerous restaurants and bars along La Cienega Boulevard, enjoying the balmy summer weather.

One restaurant, the award-winning Il Susso, was packed with people sitting elbow-to-elbow while dining on delicious edgy cuisine. The restaurant’s bar overflowed with conversation, laughter, and Friday-night energy.

Tyler Hastings, 22 years old, waited tables at Il Susso. When his shift ended, he cashed out with his boss Giorgio, said goodnight to the cooks and kitchen staff, and walked outside into the fresh night air, smiling. Another successful night at work. Tyler spotted Veronique, the late night hostess, who stood by her podium at the main entrance. Tyler had a thing for Veronique. 

At work, Veronique was Red Carpet ready at all times. On any given night she would fit right in with gorgeous Hollywood A-list actresses who got decked out in exclusive designer wear for the Academy Awards. Tonight Veronique wore blood red lipstick, her hair up in sultry curls, and a form-fitting black dress that caressed her curves elegantly. Peep-toe Jimmy Choo knock-offs completed her ensemble.

“Hey Veronique.” Tyler casually loitered by the hostess podium, pretending to text someone on his phone.

“Hey Tyler! You all done for tonight?” Veronique jotted a note on her seating chart.

“Yup, all cashed out and ready to party,” Tyler quipped.

“Did you get a call back on that Warner Bros. audition?”

“Any day now,” Tyler sighed. “I know it’s a toss up between me, Brad Pitt and Chris Hemsworth.”

“Was Chris Hemsworth the guy who played Thor?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, he’s super hot,” Veronique said wistfully.

“Like I said, they can’t make up their minds between me or him.” Tyler grinned. He wished he was in the same league as Pitt or Hemsworth, but he’d already realized that he was more of the supporting actor type. If Anthony Edwards could go from playing Gilbert Lowell in Revenge of the Nerds to Goose in Top Gun, Tyler thought, maybe I can find my own niche too. Unfortunately for Tyler, his only credits thus far were Customer #2 in an ad for In-N-Out Burger and Grocery Store Bagger in a Ralph’s commercial. “Got any plans this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Veronique said. “Thousands of dates with rich and powerful men, all of them legitimate producers, directors and studio execs. I plan on being famous by Monday.”

“Me too, I’ve got tons of dates lined up,” Tyler said.

“Yeah, probably with the same guys I’m dating! Being bi is so Hollywood.”

“Ahhh, yeah…”

“Well, don’t steal any of my dates,” she said sarcastically and smiled dryly. “If you do, I won’t seat your tables.” Despite Veronique’s stunning appearance, she was yet another beautiful nobody looking for a break. 

“As if,” Tyler replied. One of the other waiters at Il Susso had told Tyler that Veronique’s real name was Julie, but if you called her that she would kill you. Tyler was entranced by the idea that beneath the dazzling, high-gloss exterior of ‘Veronique’ hid an everyday ‘Julie.’ 

What Tyler didn’t know was that ‘Julie’ was three continents away from being single. She was secretly dating several different men. One was older, and had plenty of money. The second was young, and had a killer body. The third was crazy and dangerous and rode a Harley. All three believed they were the only man in Veronique’s life. A girl had needs, after all, and in her experience, one man couldn’t fulfill them all. She kept her dating life lock-down private at work because she hoped to be discovered by any of the many agents, producers and directors who came into the restaurant regularly. Powerful men always made time for attractive single women, even if they weren’t single themselves. Hollywood was all about the appearance of things, not the truth. 

But the truth was, ‘Julie’ didn’t like the life she was living as ‘Veronique.’ Julie didn’t want to date three different guys or obsess over how to manipulate men into making her famous. All Julie wanted was to enjoy life like a normal person. Veronique—Julie—needed an honest, sincere man like Tyler, but she didn’t know it yet.

A low, predatory rumble caught Tyler’s attention. A glistening black Maserati GranTurismo Sport poured into the valet space in front of Il Susso. Two valets sprung into action, opening both doors simultaneously. 

A coifed Mediterranean guy with sculpted shoulders stretched languorously out of the Maserati, as if he knew that the paparazzi cameras were trained on him and rolling. From the other side of the car slid a sizzling young woman wearing an explosion of high fashion clothing and accessories. Dark glasses shielded her eyes from the glaring light of midnight. They were an effortlessly orchestrated ad campaign for beauty. Business as usual in the heart of Tinsel Town on a Friday night.

Three men wearing loose fitting khaki clothing, carrying heavy camera bags, and holding long-lensed Nikons in front of them like assault rifles jogged across four lanes of honking traffic. They fired off semi-automatic strobe flashes, snapping photo after photo of the glamorous couple. The photos would show up within one hour on internet gossip blogs like PerezHilton or TMZ.

Tyler was enthralled by it all, and imagined that one day he might be driving a similar car, with a similar super-model on his arm. Or maybe it would be Veronique on his arm. 

Julie, Tyler thought.

Veronique smiled wide at the mysterious power couple as they approached her podium. “Good evening. Table for two?” She winked at Tyler, a hint that he should move along and let her get back to work.

Tyler winked back at Veronique, telling himself he would see her again tomorrow night, when he could resume his slow burrowing past her chrome-plated exterior, toward what lay beneath. 

To Julie.

He dashed across La Cienega through an opening in traffic and walked onto a side street and headed toward the adjoining West Hollywood neighborhood where he’d parked before work. The neighborhood had an upscale suburban quality reminiscent of Tyler’s hometown of Bloomfield Hills, but also had a smattering of $800-a-month apartment buildings sandwiched between the million-dollar condos. Every block was crammed full of enough parked cars to fill a Walmart parking lot. The streets were surprisingly quiet at night but had a creepy quality that Tyler could never quite identify.

“No matter how nice it seems, it’s still Los Angeles,” his father John would remind him several times a week on the phone. “It’s the big city, Tyler, not Bloomfield Hills. Be careful.”

Tyler tried to keep his dad’s warnings in mind. So far he hadn’t had any problems since moving to L.A. He wondered if his dad was being over-protective. Every city had problems. Even Bloomfield Hills. Look what happened in upper-middle-class Columbine. As long as Tyler was careful, like his dad said, he would be fine.

Two blocks from his car, walking briskly, Tyler caught his foot on the sidewalk. He turned to investigate. No crack or root-lifted pads of concrete. What had he tripped on? He noticed a telephone pole surrounded by tall ivy bushes. Something shuffled in the darkness of the ivy and agitated the branches. A twig snapped. Probably a cat. He turned and kept walking.

Something heavy punched Tyler in the kidneys. It twisted. Intense fire bloomed in the small of his back. A rough hand wrapped around his neck from behind and pushed him to the ground face-first.

Tyler’s nose pounded into the cement. White fireworks exploded in his eyes. One of his front teeth cracked off, but he didn’t realize it. Someone fell on top of him and a heavy knee slammed into his punctured kidney.

Tyler shrieked.

Before Tyler could recover from the shock, cold metal pressed against his throat and sliced. His flesh fell open easily under the sharp edge. Blood poured out of Tyler. It pooled around his head and shoulders on the sidewalk and soaked through the back of his shirt, where he had been stabbed in his kidney.

A hand reached into his back pocket and yanked out his wallet violently, ripping the seams. The seams popped tiny firecracker snaps.

Absently, Tyler thought: You ruined my pants. He couldn’t see who, or what, had attacked him. He heard the voice of his dad in his head: “It’s still L.A., son, be careful.”

The pressure on Tyler’s back was suddenly released as the attacker stood up. 

Tyler’s head was turned toward the street, and he could see the man’s back as he trotted off into the shadows.The man wore sagging jeans and a white tank top. Tyler never saw the man’s face.

Faintly, from the darkness, Tyler heard the following words: “Shit dawg, you fucked dat boy up REAL good, yo.” 

Tyler’s attacker chuckled and replied “Next muhfuckah be yours, yo.”

The two unknown men faded into the darkness.

Tyler tried to push himself up on all fours but collapsed when white lightning ricocheted in his bowels. He hadn’t felt any pain in his throat, but he felt very light headed and tired. Usually he was wired for several hours after working the dinner shift. He lay where he was and his mind drifted off as a blood-chill set into his bones. The eighty-two degree midnight weather would not warm him.

In his remaining moments of consciousness, Tyler thought about his mother and father. What were they going to think? This was the last thing they would ever have imagined would happen to him when he moved to Los Angeles to become an actor.

Tyler remembered how last night he had parked right on this same street. There had been no attacker then. Instead there had been a young couple leaning against the side of a parked Audi attempting to swallow each other’s tongues. 

He thought about the fact that his tip money from work was still in his front pocket. His wallet contained only twenty dollars in cash and his nearly maxed-out Visa card. That guy didn’t even bother to check my other pockets. Tyler tried to spit out the word “dummy.” All that came out was a gurgley whisper.

The white stars in Tyler’s vision were fading, as was the faint orange streetlight glow covering him like a corrosive shroud. 

He thought about his roommates Josh and Todd. Who is going to help them pay rent next month?

A faint image of Veronique shimmered in Tyler’s mind’s eye, blotting out all his other thoughts. 

Julie…

She smiled confidently at him. He slowly realized, with a pang of regret, that he would not get to talk with her at work tomorrow. He would never get to know the real Julie.

Julie…

Blackness painted his eyes. He swam toward nothingness.

Tyler Hastings had never previously met the man who had killed him on this night. His murderer did not know him either. They were complete strangers, and would remain unknown to each other for eternity.

* * *

Tyler’s murderer will never be caught despite every effort from his father John. Over the coming year, John Hastings will spend a substantial portion of his savings hiring three separate private detectives to look into the case. All of this effort will yield nothing. No evidence, no clues, no leads, no suspects, no motives. Nothing.

The killer will get away with it. Justice will never be served.

Two years hence, Tyler’s mother Barbara will gently encourage John that it is time they let their son’s memory rest in peace. John will cry for two hours while sitting on Tyler’s bed in the boy’s enshrined bedroom. Barbara will sit next to him, her arm draped around him lovingly. John will hold Tyler’s 1st place Lahser High School Varsity Tennis trophy in his quivering fingers the entire time. The trophy will be damp with his tears when Barbara gently takes it from him and puts it into a box with Tyler’s other things.

No one, not even the murderer, will ever know why Tyler Hastings was killed at the age of 22, for twenty dollars in cash and a nearly maxed-out Visa card. It was purely a random act of violence.

It’s still L.A., son. Be careful.

Despite John Hastings’ cautious warning, his Angel Tyler is dead. 

Another Angel will die in Los Angeles tomorrow.

Randomly.

The mysterious man in the white tank top and his companion will make sure of it.

To find out what happens next, buy the full novel of Night Walk on Amazon.com here.

James Roy Daley's "The Dead Parade" reviewed

James Roy Daley first thing in the morning

I just finished reading The Dead Parade by horror novelist and all-around good guy James Roy Daley.

How can I describe his book?

In a word: grim.

Or:

Like being chained to the back of a pickup truck and dragged 40 miles down a gravel road.

This is a bleak book. It's an amazingly well written, fast-paced, page turner of a book. Reading this book is like witnessing a massive 18-car pile-up with multiple fatalities on the freeway first hand, narrowly avoiding death yourself, all while watching it through a microscope. The excruciating detail of human misery is presented with raw and scintillating depravity.

I loved this book.

First off, on a technical level, it's superbly well written. James Roy Daley has crafted The Dead Parade in a classically elegant pulp/noir "spare" style. There are no wasted words. Each sentence is about moving the plot violently forward. The metaphors are razor-sharp and inventive, reminiscent of some of Raymond Chandler's classic turns of phrase. The dialogue is fresh, authentic and reveals familiar and believable characters efficiently and with minimal description. A reminder to aspiring writers how much can be done with so little, Daley's style is akin to the masterly works of the late great Jim Thompson and equally skillful mid-career one-offs penned by John D. MacDonald (MacDonald is the avowed all-time favorite author of Dean Koontz). James Roy Daley has put a lot of words under his belt, and knows how to write.

He also knows how to captivate.

Secondly, let's talk story. Violence and tragedy erupt like an Independence day cannonade on page one. The story pauses to take a deep breath for but a few pages to establish character and setting, and then disaster bellows out for the remainder of the book. Like the train wreck that it is, how can you not keep reading? One terrible thing after another happens "seemingly" randomly to the innocents within. Does it seem gratuitous? Of course it does, that's why we read such books. Does it seemed depraved? Why yes, I'm glad you asked. Can people really do such terrible things to each other? They could, if given the proper motivation. But what sort of terrible impossible thing could motivate people to such lunacy? Read the book and you will find out. But how, you ask in shocked disbelief, could people THINK such things and DO such things to one another? I don't know, but when Daley takes us inside the heads of the characters in The Dead Parade, it all makes perfect sense. Their actions seem so perfectly suitable and sensible, as if we would all do the exact same thing in their shoes. Daley has such a deft hand when it comes to evoking the inner-minds of madmen, I have to wonder: did he write the manuscript with a two-inch pencil nub while straight-jacketed and chained to a wall? I'm going to guess yes.

If you like terror and horror, buy this book. Now.

If not, recommend it to your friends who do.

As an aside, I couldn't help but notice a similarity between the beast depicted on the two different covers of The Dead Parade and the infamous Zuni Fetish Warrior from Karen Black's magnum acting opus Trilogy of Terror. I have a life-sized statue of the Zuni doll from said film sitting in my office behind me right now, staring at my back. It glares at me malevolently, and when I'm not looking at it, I hear it creeping closer. I'm pretty sure that my copy of The Dead Parade has brought the previously inanimate doll to life. If you read James Roy Daley's The Dead Parade you will understand exactly why. I wonder if this was a conscious nod by Daley to "The" Trilogy? I hope so. He certainly earned a place on the podium directly adjacent.

BUY IT NOW:

James Roy Daley's

The Dead Parade

Available on Amazon.com

Jet City Comic Show 2012

I had the good fortune to attend the Jet City Comic Show last weekend in Seattle, Washington at the Seattle Exhibition Hall. My friend, author James Shipman, was kind enough to share his booth space with me.

James Shipman and David Hudnut, best-selling authors in attendance at the Jet City Comic Show

James is the author of the brilliant new comedy fantasy novel Willie Washer's Local No.38. I have read the book and can attest that it's truly funny. I got a lot of laughs out of reading it, and I know that if you like fantasy novels and a good laugh, his book will do the trick.

Unboxing posters of LifeBringer by David Hudnut

If you've ever been to the Jet City Comic Show, or the Seattle Exhibition Hall, then you will remember how much the space is reminiscent of several 1970s era low budget sci-fi movies. The moment I walked in the front door, I was thinking about both versions of THX 1138, a scene from the original Death Race 2000 in a similarly white and linoleum covered industrial space, and every other episode of either the Six Million Dollar Man or The Bionic Woman. To me, you couldn't pick a better space for a comic convention.

A new addition for me at the show was selling a print of one of my digital fantasy paintings, shown on the left. I was pleasantly  surprised at the response it got from people. I will definitely be selling more prints at future shows, and if anyone has any specific requests for prints from my past art which you can find on my art website at https://www.hudnutart.com/ please let me know.

A high point of the show was when I learned that Kibiri Foxx, a Brigade CO of the Outer Rim Brigade http://outer-rim-brigade.com/, was a big fan of my new horror novel Night Walk. You can see him posing with my book.

Kibiri Foxx loves horror novel Night Walk

For those of you who don't know, it is my understanding that Kibiri Foxx is Boba Fett's older, hipper brother. Long before Boba Fett was cool, Kibiri Foxx was traveling the galaxy, making mayhem wherever he went, and generally paving the way for future generations of bounty hunters like his little brother Boba. I think you'll all agree that Kibiri is 1,000 times cooler than his li'l bro Boba, who is after all, named after a tapioca tea drink that requires kiddie-sized drinking straws to suck up the boba balls. And seriously, who wants to suck Boba Fett's balls through a drinking straw?

I don't.

Kibiri also told me that he tried to get Boba Fett to read my book, but Boba was too scared. Want a wimp.

Another show attendee I met was Lilith Faire, a regular contributor at Geek News Network  and fiction writer in her own right. Check out her ongoing story Book of Souls at her blog. It is dark, grandly Lovecraftian, and creepy as hell. Lilith proves that books really are dangerous, and that she's a writer brimming with fantastic ideas, one to keep your eye on.

While we chatted, I took a moment to draw a sketch of Lilith in a freshly minted copy of Night Walk. I think you will agree that Lilith is a dangerous and witchy woman capable of casting all manner of elaborate eldritch magicks to satisfy her every whim. Do not mess with her or else you might find your soul eternally lost in a dark extra-dimensional abyss. Your mind will be torn asunder by the loneliness and sensory deprivation. The only thing you will be aware of is your own eternal pain, and Lilith's taunting evil laughter.

Author & Columnist Lilith Fiare with her new copy of Night Walk

During the show, I talked to a lot of people, and a common theme was a love of zombies. We can all thank The Walking Dead for bringing some much needed love to the world of zombie fandom. 

I decided to draw sketches of zombies for some of my new readers who purchased Night Walk at the show, in honor of zombies everywhere. You can see some satisfied zombie lovers in the photo below.

By the end of the day I was wiped out from selling copies of the horrifically frightening Night Walk to the hordes of rabid fans. 

Satisfied Night Walk customers & zombie lovers

I had a great time, and look forward to attending the show next year. In the mean time, if you want to purchase a copy of Night Walk, it's available on the Kindle for a bargain at $2.99.

It will scare you to death, or should I say it will scare you to undeath, because I will wager that if you read the book all the way to the end, you will in fact turn into a zombie. For some, I know this is a deterrent, but for most of you, it will be a bonus.

Buy Night Walk Now only $2.99 on Kindle at Amazon

Real Pictures of Heaven

The infinite tower of paperback heaven

I spent some time in Heaven today. And I mean capital "H" Heaven. Look at that photo above. It almost looks like the Tower of Babel. But it's really a giant tower of paperback books. And we're talking genre paperbacks. The good stuff. Yeah, you readers know what I'm talking about. From James Patterson to Nora Roberts, Stephen King to Dean Koontz, John Jakes to Jeffrey Archer. S. M. Stirling to Bruce Sterling, Debbie Macomber to Danielle Steel. All in one palatial place:

Escape Fiction in Salem, Oregon

Escape Fiction in Salem, Oregon. And I was there. I am a changed man.

Escape Fiction is a magical place that transcends the boundaries of space and time, much like Doctor Who's TARDIS, in several ways.

First, it is larger on the inside than it appears on the outside. I think this is due to the many science fiction and fantasy novels on hand in the store at all times.

The magic inside such books is likely responsible for the warping of space that allows Escape Fiction to defy the normal laws of physics.

Inside the Book Maze

Second, Escape Fiction is also a genuine Maze of Books. I think this is what Jorge Luis Borges had in mind when he envisioned heaven. For all we know, Jorge's spirit may in fact reside inside the winding halls of Escape Fiction. I guarantee that if you have never been to Escape Fiction before, and you explore it without a map, you are likely to get lost. I certainly did. It's better than any hedge maze I've ever been in, and it's even better than the hedge maze in the climactic scene in Stanley Kubrick's film The Shining. The difference is that unlike Jack Nicholson's character Jack Torrance, we all want to be in Escape Fiction's maze of books. Some of you readers, like myself, would be happy to live there forever and ever.

Maria and Scott, proprietors

I don't know if the owners of Escape Fiction, Maria and Scott, would actually want you to move in, but they certainly want you to enjoy the endless ocean of literary peace and comfort that their store provides, seven days a week.

Thirdly, Escape Fiction is a cathedral to the book. It celebrates the physical book, and it asks that we bow our heads reverently in respect for that which came before the eBook.

I have spent many an afternoon lost in Escape Fiction's wilderness of paperbacks, traveling through time along the spines of books I have seen in used bookstores since I was a kid.

I can't explain why used bookstores have this effect on me; I remember seeing many of the books contained in them previously as new books in chain bookstores over the years.

The Big Kahuna: Stephen King

And yet, when I see those same titles wearing cracked spines, sporting yellowing pages and tattered covers, the books somehow become better. There, I've said it. Used books are better. Maybe it's because you know that another human being has worked their way through the pages before you, as if that previous owner is saying "This book is a safe road to travel, friend. I hope you will enjoy it as have I."

Maybe I'm romanticizing. Maybe I'm not.

But the used book is still alive and well in America.

Kindles, iPads, Nooks and their ilk cannot kill the used book. The used book is fighting back and Escape Fiction leads the charge. So the next time you feel assaulted by the threat of the electronic book, head on down to Escape Fiction. You will be safe from ones and zeroes during your stay inside their Hallowed Halls.

Lastly, Escape Fiction is a magical domain of unprecedented proportion for the simple fact that they now stock my newest novel Night Walk.

Night Walk on sale now at Escape Fiction

You can see a fresh copy of Night Walk in the photo to the left. Maria was kind enough to place it there, in a position of prominence, at the front register. Where else would I, as a new author, find such support for my work? Not in a chain store.

I am very grateful to Maria and Scott for their willingness to support a local author like myself. Thanks guys! And I'm not the only local author with my book in their store.

You will note also that Night Walk is placed next to a fire extinguisher. I believe Maria put it there in case my book bursts spontaneously into flame. Night Walk is, after all, an intense, thrilling book which contains high-octane and extremely volatile story content. So placing Night Walk next to a fire extinguisher makes logical sense. It's the safe thing to do.

Smart move, Maria.

Some of you may be raising your hands now to protest: "But Night Walk is not a used book! How can you even consider selling it through a used bookstore?"

A quiet place to delve into good, old books.

The answer is simple: because Escape Fiction also stocks a good selection of new books. The popular kind: thrillers, science fiction & fantasy. Books with lots of zombies and vampires in them. J.D. Robb, Stephen King, Sandra Brown. The storytellers. Books we all like to read.

Remember, every used book is first born as a new book. It takes a dedicated, loving reader like yourself to properly rear and raise a new book until it is fully used, and ready to go out into the world so that it can enter the hands of another faithful book lover. I want my book to begin life in the hands of this sort of caring, loving reader; the kind of reader who frequents used bookstores, the kind of reader who shops at Escape Fiction.

That's why Escape Fiction is the perfect place from which to send my novel Night Walk out into the world.

The next time you are in Salem, Oregon, and need to go to Book Church, stop by Escape Fiction and pay Maria and Scott a visit. Tell them I sent you.

Escape Fiction Books

3240 Triangle Dr. S.E.

Salem, OR 97302

503-588-5865

The TARDIS of used bookstores, Escape Fiction. Bigger on the inside than it appears on the outside.

Merchandising Madness!!!

Me and my split personalities.

Good and evil go so well together, don't you think?

There I am, all ready to sell my books: Night Walk, which I wrote and is very evil, and Owie Cadabra's Verbal First Aid, which I illustrated, and is very good.

The print edition of Night Walk was the big seller yesterday. I think in general, people tend to prefer horror over happiness. Just look at the evening news if you don't believe me.

But I did manage to sell Owie Cadabra's Verbal First Aid as well. Some people, it turns out, do have heart.

Note that Mr. Evil Clown was in attendance. He's such a follower, or should I say stalker.

For you writers out there, if I learned one lesson yesterday it was that you can never do too much advertising. I wish I had done more, but it was a balancing act between how much time and money I spent vs. return on investment (ROI for you business-types). In hindsight, a little more "I" would have been a good idea. You sell, you learn. Next time, I'll buy a 30-second Super Bowl commercial spot.

NIGHT WALK Arriveth!

Another satisfied reader of NIGHT WALK. Now available as a physical book

Everybody knows Gargoyles are Luddites. And that means Gargoyles hate ebooks. They will only read physical books. Something about loyalty to their old pal Gutenberg and his antiquated printing press. So I give them what they want. Who am I to deny a Gargoyle what his or her monstrous self demands? Look how content this particular Book Gargoyle is! He just finished reading a physical copy of my new novel Night Walk. I would say his smile alone was worth the effort of providing the guy with a physical paper book to read.

Night Walk is a scary-as-hell novel about a suburban family terrorized by gang-bangers, with a Twilight Zone twist. Book Gargoyle LOVED it! His review:

"I'm a gargoyle, and I like scary books. Night Walk is very scary. It was SO scary, I would only read it during the daytime. Also, at night, I was busy scaring people at the cathedral were I work. Anyway, I haven't been so scared as I was while reading Night Walk since I was a kid during the Spanish Inquisition. Those were scary times indeed. Night Walk brought back that centuries-old terror as if it was the coming of the 1512 apocalypse! (btw, you guys can stop worrying about the 2012 apocalypse, it's just a hoax). Anyway, read Night Walk if you want to be scared! You'll love it!"

---The Book Gargoyle

Night Walk by David Hudnut

now available as a physical book

NIGHT WALK now on Kindle!

NIGHT WALK now available on Kindle

NIGHT WALK
NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE!

Do you like a good scare?

I know I do. Ever since I first read Salem's Lot by Stephen King, I've loved the horror genre above all others.

Night Walk is my first foray into true horror territory. It's an intense, hard-hitting book. If you want to read something that will make your jaw drop, look no further. If you want to read something that you will forget about after a good night's rest, I suggest you move on. Because, after you finish reading Night Walk, you won't be getting a good night's rest for a long, long time.

Night Walk is over 400 pages of high-octane terror.

Buy "NIGHT WALK" now

Only $4.99

Violent Violet Volkswagen

Violent Violet Volkswagen

Have you read The Shining by Stephen King? It's a great book if you haven't.

Recently I re-read it. The first time I read The Shining was years and years ago. I've seen the movie more times than I've read the book, but I love both equally. I've always found it strange that Stephen King didn't like Stanley Kubrick's version. I think Kubrick's version of The Shining is one of the top ten cinematic masterpieces of all time, in my opinion. But then again, I haven't had someone make a movie out of one of my books (yet) so I don't know how I'll feel about it when it does happen.

Anyway, one thing's for sure: the movie is not the book. I take them as separate entities.

One of the things you'll find in the book version of The Shining is the "Violent Violet Volkswagen."
The "Violent Violet Volkswagen" is a toy model kit that Wendy Torrance buys for her son Danny. Jack Torrance is supposed to put it together for Danny when Danny is able to read the entire first Dick and Jane book, as a reward. The "Violent Violet Volkswagen" does not appear in the movie version.

In the book, the model kit is described in the following paragraph:

"Jack took the box from his son. It was a model car, one of the Big Daddy Roth caricatures that Danny had expressed an admiration for in the past. This one was the Violent Violet Volkswagen and the picture on the box showed a huge purple VW with long '59 Cadillac Coupe de Ville taillights burning up a dirt track. The VW had a sunroof, and poking up through it, clawed hands on the wheel down below, was a gigantic warty monster with popping bloodshot eyes, a maniacal grin, and a gigantic English racing cap turned around backward."

-Stephen King, The Shining, p. 130

When I read The Shining all those years ago, I assumed the "Violent Violet Volkswagen" was a real thing. I knew who "Big Daddy" Ed Roth was, and had seen his art around. I always liked his art quite a bit. I seem to recall that model kits featuring such monstrosities as those of "Big Daddy" Ed Roth probably existed, so OF COURSE the one Stephen King mentioned in The Shining HAD to be real, didn't it? And was I going to check the internet to make sure? Nobody had the internet in those days. Yeah, of course the "Violent Violet Volkswagen" was real.

Apparently not.

When I re-read The Shining only a few months ago, I had to look up the "Violent Violet Volkswagen" on Google and see it for myself. Yes, model kits of such dragster-driving monsters by "Big Daddy" Ed Roth DO exist. But the "Violent Violet Volkswagen"? Not that I could find. But I really wanted to see it! I mean, how cool would that be? Very cool!!!

So, the only option I had was to illustrate the darn thing myself. The image above is inspired by the deliciously ridiculous creations of "Big Daddy" Ed Roth, as art directed by Stephen King. I made sure to give it that vintage "yellowed pulp-paper" look, to increase the nostalgia factor to maximum. Don't you love the poor registration of the cyan and magenta plates? So retro.

Now you too can enjoy the "Violent Violet Volkswagen."

Sorry, no model kits available (that I know of).

My thanks to the late "Big Daddy" Ed Roth for making such awesome art for so many years. And equal thanks to Stephen King for doing the same.

NIGHT WALK Cometh

That guy looks PISSED!

People often ask me where I get my ideas from. See that guy in the picture above? I get my ideas from him.

That is a photo of him from the last time I went to visit him. It's pretty hot where he lives. He usually isn't happy to see me. He was like "Aww man, you again?" What would you expect? He doesn't exactly like giving me his ideas. But he doesn't really have a choice. We struck a bargain, you see, a long, long time ago.  But that's is another story...

The latest batch of ideas my friend gave me worked their way into my debut novel NIGHT WALK. As you can imagine, NIGHT WALK is as scary as my pal who gave me the ideas that went into the book. So, if you want to lie awake at night, scared out of your mind, staring at the ceiling while you feel your heart thudding in your chest because of what you read in my novel, then check out NIGHT WALK. It will make you think twice about reading scary books ever again.

Oh, and if you want to meet my buddy in the photo above, let me know. I'll arrange a meeting. He'll be very glad to see you...very glad indeed...

Origins: Salem's Lot by Stephen King

THE book

That's it. Right there in that photo. That's the actual physical book that started it all. That's my totem.

Salem's Lot by Stephen King.

The book that made me want to be a writer more than any other book I had read prior to it.

That's a photo of the very first horror novel I ever bought as a teenager. I took the photo today. I have kept that book for all these years. How could i ever get rid of it?

Salem's Lot kicked my ass.

When I read it, I decided it was the best book ever written. It certainly was the best book I ever read. And I thought I had read some good books up to that point.

Wrong.

The writing of Stephen King did something that no other book had done to me before: it made me believe everything in the book was real. As in, it very possibly could have happened.

You see, I had been a big fan of fantasy novels, Dungeons & Dragons, and comic books up to that point. Anything that was magical or super-human did it for me. But I always knew there were no dragons or wizards or superheroes roaming around the streets of suburbia. Or anywhere else in the world. Not really. No matter how badly I wanted it to be true.

For some reason, everything in Salem's Lot seemed so darned plausible to my teen-aged mind. All the characters were down to earth. They had to drive cars to get from place to place instead of teleporting of leaping over tall buildings. They ate dinner together, they fell in love. They swindled, betrayed, over-promised, and struggled just like real,people. And at the beginning of the novel, there wasn't anything magical about Salem's Lot at all. It was just Regularville, U.S.A. No wizards, no superheroes.

With true genius, Stephen King ever so slowly hinted that strange forces were coming to Salem's Lot. Evil forces. And it took him half the book before any character or even the narrator actually uttered the word "vampire." Because everybody knows there's no such thing as vampires...until the evidence in front of you becomes incontrovertible.

In Salem's Lot, the characters, and me, became convinced that real, actual vampires had come to the Lot. Not Saturday matinee monster movie vampires in black and white. The real thing. And they were evil as hell.

I imagined that if such amazingly strange things could happen in Salem's Lot, they could possibly be happening in my own home town, right under my nose...at least I hoped they were.

Salem's Lot taught me that magical things seem more believable, more actual, in stories that are set in the familiar, everyday world that we all know. Fantasy novels set in strange, faraway places are so alien, they're obviously fake. I mean, the only place I've ever been on this planet that even remotely resembles Xanth is Disneyland. We all know Disneyland is pretty awesome. But it ain't Xanth.

Salem's Lot, on the other hand...hell, I grew up there. You probably did too.

The other thing Salem's Lot did, besides enchanting my fertile young mind with the possibility of the impossible, was make me dream of writing books just like it. Even if I didn't have the skill back then to pull off such a feat. As a teenager, I could barely write four pages, let alone four hundred.

Well, now I'm all grown up, and have managed to write my own fat book about the possibility of the impossible, right in the heart of Suburbia. You may have heard of my novel. It's called NIGHT Walk.

Several of my friends have finished reading NIGHT Walk and they have all raved about it.

Like Salem's Lot, NIGHT Walk deals with weird-ass shit happening to everyday-people in suburbia. Twilight Zone comes to suburbia. My favorite genre.

NIGHT Walk will be officially released this summer.

In the meantime, if you want to dive in and read NIGHT Walk NOW, drop me an email:

davidhudnut AT gmail DOT com.

I'll send you some sample chapters.

And by the way, what's your totem book? Or totem object? What got YOU going, that you still keep with you? Share a comment, if you like.

Copying Evil Clowns

Everybody loves Evil Clowns. Don't they?

I sure do. I thoroughly enjoyed reading Stephen King's IT as a teenager. Evil Clowns have never been scarier. I wonder how many nightmares the fictional Pennywise has induced?

The other top infamous Evil Clown of the 20th century, is of course DC Comics' JOKER. How can you go wrong there? Who doesn't love Ceser Romero, Jack Nicholson and the late Heath Ledger as Batman's psychopathic arch-enemy?

What I didn't know is that the Joker was inspired by the character of Gwynplaine, played by Conrad Veldt, in the 1928 silent movie The Man Who Laughs, based on the novel of the same name by Victor Hugo. Gwynplaine's father, a nobleman, offends King James II, and is put to death in an iron maiden. The King orders his surgeon Hardquannone to then permanently disfigure the face of young Gwynplaine, so that the boy will "laugh forever at his fool of a father."

If you look at images of Conrad Veldt in the Gwynplaine makeup, the resemblance to the Joker is clear. This is a reminder that all good artistic ideas are merely regurgitations, slightly altered, of previous good ideas.

Which leads me to an aphorism of mine, which is merely derivative of another great artist, but my spin nonetheless:

"If you choose to consciously avoid copying the Greats, you will unconsciously end up copying the Not-so-Greats."

-David Hudnut, c. 2010