I finally get to do this: make an eligible awards blog post.
First, I’m up for the John W. Campbell award for Best New Writer. This is a not-Hugo presented at WorldCon in August. Members of the previous, current, and following year’s WorldCon are allowed to nominate their choices.
I had two novels published in 2018 (pictured above). They are:
Both of these novels are eligible for the 2019 Philip K. Dick, Hugo, and Nebula awards. Smoke Eaters is also eligible for the World Fantasy awards.
My short story, Torches and Pitchforks for Sale was published in the anthology, Infinite Dysmorphia, from Kristell Ink/Grimbold Press in the UK.
I also have a story coming out in an upcoming Amazing Stories called A Swift Drop; Two Bits, but I’m not sure if it will make the cut-off.
And I also have a podcast! Cosmic Dragon can be found on this site, as well as all podcast feed sources. I interview SFF authors and generally act like a fool for public consumption. The Hugos have a Best Fancast category for which this applies.
If you enjoy my work, I would love your nomination for any of these and other awards, such as the Reddit Fantasy Stabby and the Kitschie.
I couldn’t ask for better readers and I’m wishing you a fantastic 2019.
You asked for it, and here it is. The following is a chapter that didn’t make it into the final version of DAUGHTERS OF FORGOTTEN LIGHT. It takes place between the time DOFL land at the shipping port and when they free all of the captive shippees. This is unedited and contains SPOILERS for those who haven’t read the book yet. Enjoy.
One soldier blew a huge pink bubble with his gum.
The other one popped it with her finger. “Try to act professional.”
Their steps squeaked as they left the holding room, and the male soldier tucked the gum back into his mouth. “What’s to be professional about? It’s just a bunch of shipees. I don’t see why we don’t just kill them now and be done with it.”
“Because it has to be done humanely.”
The man began another bubble when two rang shots flew into each soldier, flinging them into the wall.
One of the balls returned to Hurley Girly’s rang as she clomped from around the corner. “What do you think, girls? That was pretty humane wasn’t it?”
“I aimed for the head.” Dipity shrugged.
Sarah moved along the wall and peered into the holding room. The few shipees she saw waited in their cells, doors closed. The guards numbered just over a dozen.
Lena rubbed her chin when Sarah told her what she saw. “I’m going to let all of you vote on what we do next.” She nodded to the two former O.C. girls. “That includes you two. We can leave our cyclones here and go in with stealth and sneakiness, or we can ride or die.”
“Ride or die,” came the unanimous chorus of lowered voices.
Lena smiled. “You girls were never ones for the quiet shit. And Pao? Ride with Hurley Girly and try to be careful with that new rang you have.”
Now where’s the fun in that? Sarah mocked a salute to her gang’s head.
Lena pointed to Dipity. “Grab a key card off one of those soldiers. And you can lead us in.”
“You sure?” Dipity wrinkled her brow. She’d never led the cavalcade before. Always comfortable in the back.
“Why the hell not?” Lena said. “We’ll break up when we get in there. Don’t shoot any shipees. The more of them we have on our side, the easier it’s going to be overthrowing the assholes who sent us away. Ready?”
Dipity grabbed a key card from the soldier with bubblegum all over his face and hopped onto her cyclone. She raised a fist then zipped toward the door. Sarah held onto Hurley Girly, as they jolted into full speed. Dipity was one brave mother, going from zero to crazy in two seconds flat toward a solid object. If the key card didn’t work at the speed she traveled, she’d crash right into the door. Sarah would have chickened out and veered off course, if not shot her rang in the hope that the multitude of shots would go through.
But the doors opened just before Dipity got there, and every soldier in the holding room turned to see them blast through. Three soldiers on the second floor aimed their rifles. Hurley Girly broke off from the group and ramped the stairs. Sarah didn’t feel so much as a bump.
“Shipees, get down!” Sarah yelled as she raised her rang.
The lights flew from her weapon in a scattered mess, taking out each soldier in their path with a shot to the head or chest. The other shots flew around the holding room like loose, rabid birds.
Hurley Girly had to duck to avoid getting hit with one. “Damn it, Pao.”
They neared a soldier who hadn’t noticed them zooming toward him. As he turned to aim his rifle, Hurley Girly plowed into his side with her cyclone, sending him over the railing. They stopped to make sure he didn’t get up after landing on his head.
Now that would be a miracle, Sarah thought.
From this vantage, Sarah took in the glorious surroundings, below and above. Rang shots flew with fury, bouncing off walls and the ceiling where a gaping hole had been covered with clear tarp. Soldiers cried out and bled from wounds that didn’t fully cauterize from the balls of light.
Sarah never felt so much power, or if it wasn’t power, it definitely felt like the complete absence of fear. She wasn’t stupid enough to think it could last, but damn it, she could bask in it for a few seconds.
On the ground floor, Dipity roared past a soldier and smashed his face in with her speeding fist. Another one shot at her, but she dodged it in time for the laser to graze her shoulder. With blood trickling down her large arm, she sped for her attacker and shot a rang shot into his crotch. The soldier dropped and Dipity kept her momentum, driving her cyclone right over him.
The shipees stared from their cells, faces and hands smudged against the clear glass. They were as safe as they could be, but their faces showed an eagerness to join in on the fun.
The holding door opened and another fifty soldiers stormed in with hands filled with rifles. A laser turret followed behind. The turret rolled on chain-link wheels, like one of the tanks outside, its gun barrel just as intimidating.
Sarah searched the holding room for the control box that opened all the cell doors. She’d seen it before she’d been shipped, but her memory was shit anyway, and the sudden wave of panic didn’t help at all.
The box hung from a wall on the ground floor, a hundred feet away from the invading soldiers.
Jumping from the cyclone, Sarah sped round to the stairs on the other side.
“Hey!” Hurley Girly shouted. “Where are you going, dipshit?”
Sarah skimmed over the steps like a runaway sled. She landed just a few feet from Dipity.
“Throw me the key card,” Sarah held out her hand.
Dipity pulled the card from her jacket and threw. When Sarah caught it, the soldiers shot at every inch of the holding room. Sarah hopped onto Dipity’s cyclone and, keeping as low as they could, they zipped for cover behind the stairs.
“Your arm okay?” Sarah nodded to Dipity’s bleeding hole.
“Not for much longer if we don’t get to that box over there.” The control box couldn’t have been more than twenty-five feet away, but it lay right in the soldier’s line of sight.
“Use your rang on those soldiers,” Dipity said.
“I will! But I have to have a straight arm, and it burns every time I shoot it.”
“Quit being a turd and light those fuckers up.”
Sarah took a big breath and extended her arm around the front of Dipity’s cyclone. A laser flew past, nearly destroying her rang and what arm she had left. She pulled back quickly and leaned against the bike. A high-pitched whine built up where the soldiers had taken their position. Something spun faster and faster.
“It’s that turret warming up.” Dipity’s dark skin had lost some color. She gripped her injured arm as blood poured steadily between her fingers. She’d lied. Her injury was worse than she’d let on. She needed help, and quick.
Sarah brought her rang around again and fired. Her stump burned hotter and hotter the more the energy balls poured into the holding room. But she kept it shooting. She worried where the other Daughters were and if any of the rang shots were to find one of them in the back, but she kept her arm straight.
When the heat became too much to bear, she fell back behind her cyclone and cradled her rang arm, wanting to rip the gun away, but knowing it would have been a mistake.
“I think you got ‘em,” Dipity said.
Sarah poked her head out. Many of the soldiers lay dead. The others must have scattered when she fired. The turret lay on its side, but was very much still intact, and spinning its barrel.
Then it fired.
Sarah jumped back as the turret lasers racked the wall near the cell control box. The line of fire moved with every shot, pushed by the vibration of the overturned turret. The lasers moved toward the controls inch by inch. In seconds, the box would be destroyed, and the shipees would be stuck in their cells.
With a quick jump, Sarah got onto Dipity’s cyclone.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dipity stared at her with wide eyes.
“The only thing I can.” She rode out from behind the stairs, using her elbow for the left handlebar.
I must be a fucking idiot.
The turret lasers continued their barrage as Sarah rode to the side of them. When they got inches from her boot, she locked her bike into full speed, and jumped from the seat. When the floor caught her, Sarah tucked her body as best she could, but every place her body hit hurt like being punched by a porcelain fist.
The lasers tore into the cyclone as it sped toward the turret.
Just a little further.
The cyclone wobbled, slowed by the laser fire. The blazing wheels kept spinning.
The cyclone slammed into the turret, a symphony of shattering glass and twisting metal. For a moment, everything got quiet. Then the cyclone exploded in a concussion of hot, blue light.
Sarah covered her head and rolled toward the far wall. The tremendous heat slapped her back, and she smelled burned hair. When the noise died, she pushed herself up. The turret and the cyclone smoldered in a black mess, and a soldier on the railing above shot his rifle. Sarah jumped and rolled, ignoring her swollen joints as she ran for the control box. With a slide of the key card and the push of a couple buttons, the cells opened.
Sarah looked back to Dipity, heaving breath. “That wasn’t that hard.”
“Now what?” Dipity shook her head. “The shipees don’t have guns.”
The soldier above screamed and landed with a splat beside the stairs.
“No,” Sarah said. “But there are a lot of them.”
The noise that came next was a mash of screams and lasers. By the time Sarah and Dipity crawled out of their hiding spot, all the soldiers had been thrown over the railing or blasted with a rang gun. One brave shipee was finishing off a soldier with tiny hands around the neck.
A few floors up, Lena stood in the middle of three dozen shipees, breathing like she’d run a marathon. “I swear, Pao. You don’t how to keep a cyclone do you?”
“Everybody okay?” Sarah helped Dipity up the last step.
“Minus a few shipees and one of our newest Daughters.”
The remaining O.C. girl broke through the crowd with a reserved hatred across her face. Sarah’s guts twisted, but she tried to ignore it. She didn’t even know the dead girl’s name.
Lena looked around the floor. “Hurley Girly is around here somewhere. Probably flirting with some shipees on the other end of the holding room. Yep, there she is.”
“Dipity needs her arm bandaged.” Sarah held up Dipity’s arm before the big woman yanked it back.
“I’ll be all right,” Dipity said.
Sarah looked around at all the shipees. Bruises and sweat covered them as they caugh their breath. Bloody, some of them. But in Sarah’s experience, that always fueled the fire to fight.
“How’d you girl’s like to get out of here?” Lena yelled.
The shipees within earshot hollered approval and shook their arms high. The ones farther away, who probably hadn’t heard it, joined in as well. A contagious, electric excitement filled the holding room. The hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck tingled.
“Who are you?” one of the shipees held her hand up. Poor thing still acted like she attended grade school.
“My name is Lena Horowitz. And we’re from Oubliette. They tried to take us out, but the bastards just gave us a good way to come here and kick ass. So, how’d you like to get a little revenge on the cocksuckers who were going to kill you?”
The shipees roared with delight.
“Okay,” Lena continued. “Shipees, gather all the laser rifles in this port. Make sure every girl has one.”
Explosions racked the walls from outside.
“What in hell was that?” Hurley Girly broke away from the crowd around her.
Lena quickly twirled a finger in the air. “Get those guns. All of you. Now, now, now!”
The shipees scattered, spreading the word to those who hadn’t been close enough to hear.
“What’s going on out there?” Sarah tapped Lena’s arm.
Lena snapped her head around. “Do you not remember those big ass tanks?”
Les Miserables is one of my favorite musicals, and I've always wanted to record a cover of The Confrontation, performing both Javert's and Valjean's parts. Well, here it is. Enjoy.
Halloween is almost here and that means horror is at its apex! Speaking of apex, D.W. Gillespie's new book released earlier this month from Sirens Call Publications, and has a very interesting monster lurking in the Smoky Mountains...
- The Interview -
SG - I'll get the tough question out of the way. The monster in your book is called Apex and uses one's fears against them. How is this different from Stephen King's iconic clown and what influences did you pull from?
DWG - You know, it's funny, but that hasn't even come up before, even though you do make a good point. In blurb form, it might sound remarkably similar. In the context of the book, Apex is very different from Pennywise. Apex has much more of sci-fi inspiration to him, but not in a Lovecraftian, unknowable sort of way. By the end of the book there really aren't any questions as to what he is.
As far as influences, I don't want to give too much of away because there's a bit of a mystery to the story and specific examples might spoil things. I'll just say this...within the first 30 pages or so, you'll think you know what's going on, but you really don't.
SG - What can you tell us about Apex?
DWG - Apex has the ability to see into people's minds and use that against them. He can't shapeshift or anything like that, so he has to be creative about how he uses that ability. In one of my favorite scenes, he looks into the mind of Laura, one of the main characters in the novel, and he sees her deep hatred for her elderly, abusive father. I won't spoil how he uses that information against her, but it makes for a tense, deeply disturbing scene.
SG - You live in Tennessee and set the book in the Smoky Mountains, what is it about this setting that drew you to write about it?
DWG - It's a beautiful area, and it just fit the story perfectly. Anyone that's ever been to Gatlinburg knows how picturesque the mountains are. Originally, Still Dark grew out of a single dream I had, this weird, impossible vision of a crocodile swimming under a frozen lake. I woke up, jotted it down, and the next day, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I've been to the mountains a lot throughout my life, but only once while it was snowing. It stuck with me though, and once the actual story started to form around that dream, I knew it had to be in that area.
SG - Favorite scenes you can talk about?
DWG - The aforementioned croc under ice is a good one, just because it's so implausible and weird. At that point in the early parts of the book, you're just thinking, "How the hell can any of this make sense?"
A bit later, a similar scene takes place in a massive indoor aquarium. Picture this: a giant, darkened room, no electricity, the sound of lapping water, the smell of blood, and over everything, the distance screams from dying people. Among the many horrors in that scene, one of my favorites is the giant squid peering out from the red water. I love that scene so much, I knew it had to make the cover.
SG - How long have you been writing and what do you love about horror fiction?
DWG - Longer than I'd like to admit. Actually, there's a few answers. I have school projects from 3rd grade about me shooting Frankenstein with a shotgun, which technically counts as horror. The better answer is since around 2002. That was when I took a creative writing class and realized I had at least a little something to work with. The past 6 years or so have been the best. That was around the time I took a good long look at what I was doing and realized I just wasn't putting my all into it. Since then, I've had one small little success after another.
As for horror, well, it just comes naturally for some reason. I can't quite explain why, but that's where my mind drifts. I do have some other novels waiting in the wings, including a full blown sci-fi and even a dark fantasy. I imagine I'll be branching out some, but it will almost all have that dark edge to it. People always look at horror writers and think they must be sickos to dream up all that nastiness. I just think it's healthy to have a connection to the slightly darker side of life. I'm honestly one of the most normal, boring people I know. Maybe all that horror helps keep me grounded.
SG - Best piece of writing advice you've learned so far?
DWG - Resilience. Tenacity. Whatever you want to call it. The ability to get told no a thousand times and still press on. At this point in my career, that's probably been more valuable than all the How To blogs I've ever read.
From the cover:
When a thunderous explosion rocks an idyllic cabin resort in the Great Smoky Mountains, animals and humans alike begin to act strange. Jim, along with his wife Laura and son, Sam, are cut off from the outside world, but they soon realize the true nightmare is just beginning…
Deep in the snow-covered woods, something is waiting. The creature calls itself Apex, and it’s a traveler. Reading the minds of those around it, Apex brings the terrifying fears hidden in the human psyche to life with a singular purpose: to kill any that stand in its way.
Locked in a fight for their lives, Jim and his family must uncover the truth behind Apex, and stop the creature from wreaking a horrifying fate upon the rest of the world!
Buy now at Amazon
That's right, folks. Angry Robot Books is publishing my novel, SMOKE EATERS in March of 2018. Below, I've linked some posts that will tell you a little bit more about the book and how I've always wanted to write for Angry Robot.
Clicky-clicky ---> Fantasy Faction Deal Announcement
Clicky-clicky ---> Angry Robot Announcement
I'm no guru, and I hate having to start an article this way, but let me get this across: this is all just my whackadoo opinion.
So, if you're a new writer, you might have asked yourself, or other writers, what you should start out writing. Should you jump head first into novels, or should you start with short stories?
Well, it depends. Also, it doesn't matter.
Because, as a new writer, everything you write at this time will be practice. I'm not saying you won't be able to sell any of this practice. I certainly sold some of my crap to small publishers back in the day. But you're at a point where freedom is infinite and you can do whatever the fuck you want.
This is a time where you're going to learn about yourself as a writer. You might find you suck at novels and excel at the shorts. Or vice versa.
Ray Bradbury had always suggested writers start out with short stories. So, being a fan of Ray-ray, I started writing short stories. I was also deathly afraid of writing a novel.
"You mean I have to write a query and a synopsis if I want to get a novel published? Forget that!"
Thing is, everyone who read my short stories said the same thing: "This feels like it should be a novel."
Now, I'm not saying I'm bad at writing short stories (I just recently sold one for an anthology called HOLDING ON BY OUR FINGERTIPS) but through my practice, I discovered I'm naturally a novel-length storyteller. And not even a big novel. I've never written anything over 90k.
I've heard people say that short stories are harder to write than novels.
I think they're right.
Novels give you room to run, to explore shit.
Short stories have to be sharp and to the point.
On the flip side, more people read novels, just a fact. While there are many more short story markets out there today, thanks to the internet, it's still tough as balls to get in to semi-pro and professional markets. Hell, it's tough to get in to token markets that give you nothing more than your name on a web page.
That's not to say novels are easier to sell. And though I'd like to say that there are far fewer people out there with finished novels versus finished short stories, I'm sure I'd be wrong. I used to read slush for an online horror magazine and, holy shit are there a lot of people out there writing. And, holy shit there are a lot of people out there who write out their revenge fantasies.
Whatever gets you through the day, Charlie.
Many of the award-winning short story writers out there write nothing but short stories. Same goes for novelists. Then, there are those crazy folks who write both and can do no goddamned wrong.
The best advice I can give to any of you out there who don't know where to start is this:
Go with your gut, and write both short stories AND novels. If people tell you that every short story you write feels like a novel, try expanding it. You'll figure out what you fit best with.
Try without giving a damn if you fail. You'll only grow through experimentation and falling on your ass a few times.
Perseverance, y'all. Perseverance.
Till next time, I'm out.