Come Play in Punktown: Miskatonic River Press Adapts the Famed CyberCraft Horror World of Jeffrey Thomas into New Role-Playing Game

Punktown RPG cover art by Mariusz Gandzel

One of the exciting powers wielded by writers of fantastical fiction is the atoms-up creation of worlds insider their minds - actualizing "real estate," as I call it, usually when grumbling that the story I am working on has too much of it, which makes the fabricating of each square foot all the more time consuming. Those writers who set their tales in modern, contemporary, and/or familiar settings don't need to constitute much real estate at all, as it has already been shaped and realized by that helpful imp called Reality. Even Lovecraftian writers aren't burdened with carving much ariable land out of the wilderness, as a slightly built man from Providence - and many of his inspired disciples - have done much of the heavy lifting for us.

But those who peer into the blackness, wave their magic quill, and bring navigable conjure real estate from the formless void are doing real, strenuous work, which also carries with it a high threshold for reward. Being a Creator of Place gives the scribe total control over the physics, laws, and makeup of everything inside that new sphere of metaphysical existence.  They are God of this Place, and that is heady stuff.

Renowned author (and one of my favorite living horror writers) Jeffrey Thomas has played God, and birthed forth a dark, dangerous place of neverending possibility and infinite pain called Punktown.  To crib his official bio, Thomas is a prolific writer of science fiction and horror, best known for his stories set in the nightmarish future city called Punktown, such as the novel Deadstock (Solaris Books) and the collection Punktown (Ministry of Whimsy Press), from which a story was reprinted in St. Martin's The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror #14. He has been a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award (Best First Novel) for Monstrocity, and a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Deadstock.

For decades, Thomas has penned novels and short stories of futuristic horror set in the far flung megalopolis Punktown, amassing a history tome filled with dread and cover-wrapped in blood, splayed out under a cold cosmos populated by Elder Gods and chugging space freighters. Punktown is a Weird fiction classic, and now - thanks to the inspired minds at Miskatonic River Press - you, dear reader, have been invited to walk the dingy streets, mix amongst the indigenous Chooms, hard scrabble human immigrants, and a murderous mix of alien races, mutants, clones, and sentient machines.  This is Lovecraftian Cyberpunk (or CyberCraft, as I call it ).  This is Sci-Fi Noir.  This is the real estate of Punktown, and now you're allowed inside, to do as you will, and certainly as you must.

Indeed, Punktown is now set to roll out as a Role-Playing Game.  Now, it can be your turn to play God, making note to mind your Elders, by picking up Punktown: An RPG Setting for Call of Cthulhu and BRP.

Miskatonic River Press, in their infinite wisdom, recently selected Thomas' Punktown universe as one of their newest settings, writing Punktown: An RPG Setting for Call of Cthulhu and BRP for the famed BRP system, allowing Call of Cthulhu players and keepers to play in Punktown, as the game was created to be completely and seamlessly compatible with Call of Cthulhu and Chaosium's many other game settings.

A Kickstarter is up and running to help fund this fantastic project.  Fans of RPGs, CoC, and of Jeffrey's Thomas' exceptional fiction can click here and pledge a little to make this happen.  Much like NPR and Public Television, you need to pay a little up front to get the good stuff in the end.  You've gotta' back what you love.  This is no different.  Funding this project via Kickstarter will cast a ballot for quality, and bring a new CyberCraft world into the gaming universe.

To provide a bit of context and background on the project, we may as well go straight to the horrorist's mouth, so to speak.  For those who missed it, Thomas answers all the questions you might have in his recent addition to the winding cybersnake The Next Big Thing, published last week on his Punktalk (Confessions of a Punktowner) website:

(1) What is the working title of your next book?

Right now the publisher, Miskatonic River Press, is calling it: Punktown: An RPG Setting for Call of Cthulhu® and BRP. Because that just about says it right there. The book will a role-playing game guide based on my dark future world of Punktown, which is the setting of many of my novels and short stories. The game will be compatible with the Call of Cthulhu® and BRP systems.


(2) Where did the idea come from for the book?

It was suggested to me by Michael Tresca — author of the nonfiction book The Evolution of Fantasy Role-Playing Games and the novel The Well of Stars, among others — that my milieu of Punktown would make a great setting for a role-playing game. He started constructing a set of “core rules” based on his extensive reading of my Punktown material, devoting chapters to game mastering, character types, powers, weapons and technology, aliens and creatures, etc. All the aspects of Punktown that make my stories set there so varied: now at a gamer’s disposal. Once we had these core rules to present, Mike took them to Tom Lynch, president of Miskatonic River Press, and Tom was sold on the project. Tom then invited writers Brian M. Sammons and Glynn Barrass onboard, based on their experience with gaming and their enthusiasm for Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, to write game scenarios for the book.


(3) What genre does your book fall under?

My Punktown stories are a fusion of science fiction, horror, noir, pretty much any genre or subgenre that strikes my fancy. They’ve been variously described as cyberpunk and New Weird, but when I write one I don’t think in terms of genre…I’m just going to take another trip to Punktown. And incidentally, I’ve always written each Punktown story — whether short story or novel — so that it could exist on its own, without a reader having to catch up on any other Punktown story first. I’ve even utilized the Cthulhu Mythos in some of my Punktown stories, most notably in my novels Deadstock and Monstrocity, so gamers are going to be able to play Call of Cthulhu® -type scenarios in a refreshing new setting…a dystopian far future setting. But they can also leave the Mythos out entirely if they’d rather. The possibilities — and dangers — in the city of Punktown are endless.


(4) What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Besides having inspired the game’s setting and monitoring all material to make sure it’s consistent with the Punktown universe, my own contribution to the book is two original short stories…included as an introduction to the game’s world through the creator’s eyes. It’s hard for me to imagine who might play the characters from those stories — particularly since one story’s protagonist is Jeremy Stake, the private eye hero of my novels Deadstock and Blue War. Stake is a mutant with the ability to change his appearance at will (and sometimes even against his will). In his natural state, he has an oddly bland, android-like face. But I suppose if I had to pick an actor to play him, it would be Ryan Gosling. Thirty years ago I would have said Christopher Walken.


(5) What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

This book offers the foundation for an entire role-playing game compatible with the Call of Cthulhu® and BRP game systems, set in the nightmarish future city of Punktown, but will also appeal to non-gamers with its new fiction and a core set of rules that can serve as a kind of fanciful encyclopedia from another world.


(6) Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Neither. As I say, the publisher is Miskatonic River Press, and I don’t have an agent. I’ve only ever self-published one book, my collection Aaaiiieee!!! in its original incarnation (an expanded hardcover edition was later released by Delirium Books). For me, self-publishing isn’t nearly as rewarding as having a publisher invest money, time, and faith in my work. But to fund this book, the publisher feels the best approach is to use a Kickstarter campaign, to make the book the very best product it can be. The Kickstarter for the project, which closes on December 19th, can be found here: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1799183063/punktown-an-rpg-setting-for-call-of-cthulhu-and-br


(7) How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

The project has been ongoing for a couple of years now, and it’s still underway. At this writing I’ve finished one and a half of my two tales, and the book’s game scenarios still need to be written by the book’s other contributors. But the core rules of the book, as I said before, are complete at a meaty 37,000 words.


(8) What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Punktown is sometimes compared to China Mieville’s New Crobuzon (Perdido Street Station) and Jeff VanderMeer’s city of Ambergris (Finch), and I suppose there’s a superficial resemblance. Those settings also combine elements of science fiction, fantasy, and horror, but in such a fusion that the borders and limitations of genre dissolve. I’d call their work fantastical or imaginative fiction, if I had to label it at all. Same with my Punktown work.


(9) Who or what inspired you to write this book?

As I say, the idea to turn Punktown into a game setting was Michael Tresca’s. Thanks, Mike!


(10) What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest? 

Artwork! There are going to be interior illustrations…there’s even talk of a map of Punktown (I’ve never tried to map out my city before!)…and the cover — ohh, the cover! I’ve been watching it develop, in stages, at the hands of Polish artist Mariusz Gandzel, and even though he’s only just begun laying in color the thing is looking magnificent. It’s a wraparound cover, very exciting in composition, and I think it’s worth the price of the book itself!
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Tis the season to give.  The added bonus is when you pledge funds to Punktown The Role-Playing Game, you not only support dark fiction writing, small press, and RPGs, but you are pre-ordering a gift to be delivered after all of the holiday bows and ribbons are put away and forgotten til next year.

Check out the Kickstarter page, watch the vid, then shake out those pockets and back this puppy.

And besides, do you really want to let down this dude below?  Who knows what Tom Lynch is going to do with that gun...

Story Excerpt: "Free Fireworks", Published in 'Horror for the Holidays', Edited by Scott David Aniolowski for Miskatonic River Press

As we sally forth into the heated months while still lurching from the shadow of Memorial Day - summer's unofficial launch party - we now look forward to the next holiday on the docket, which has always been one of my favorites.  Independence Day.  The 4th of July.  The Night of Lost Fingers.

Hot on the heels of my acceptance into Dead But Dreaming 2 for Miskatonic River Press, renowned editor and writer Scott David Aniolowski put out the call for submissions for MRP's follow up anthology, titled Horror for the Holidays.

I batted around a few ideas like a brainless kitten sparring with a semi-sentient ball of string, until I struck upon a setting in a near future world that reflected much of the horrors that are currently loosed upon this tired planet, while adding in a healthy dose of what could happen if the stars align just right (which, in turn, would be so very wrong).  The result was the story "Free Fireworks," which I am excerpting below.  What I've provided gives nothing away, but also might foster the impression that this is just a war story.  I've set it up to be a bit more than that, but to say anything further would spoil the fun.

Please note that contrary to the understandable misconceptions of some, Horror for the Holidays is NOT just Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa stories, but covers a full raft of those special days created to bring us such comfort and joy, as the ToC shows:

Horror for the Holidays

Table of Contents

Introduction by Scott David Aniolowski

TALES OF ROSH CHODESH

The Tomb of Oscar Wilde by W.H. Pugmire

TALES OF VALENTINE’S DAY

Love and Darkness by Oscar Rios

Be Mine by Brian Sammons

TALES OF PASSOVER

Cthulhu Mhy’os by Lois H. Gresh

TALES OF EASTER

And the Angels Sing by Cody Goodfellow

The Last Communion of Allyn Hill by Pete Rawlik

Mrs. Spriggs’ Easter Attire by Joseph S. Pulver Sr. and Tara VanFlower

Seasons of Sacrifice and Resurrection by Adrian Tchaikovsky

TALES OF MOTHER’S DAY

Mother’s Night by Ann K. Schwader

TALES OF THE FOURTH OF JULY

Free Fireworks by T.E. Grau

Doc Corman’s Haunted Palace One Fourth of July by Don Webb

TALES OF VJ DAY

Translator by James Robert Smith

TALES OF HALLOWEEN

Hallowe’en in a Suburb by H.P. Lovecraft

Moonday by Will Murray

The Trick by Ramsey Campbell

TALES OF THE DAY OF THE DEAD

El Dia De Los Muertos by Kevin Ross

TALES OF GUY FAWKES NIGHT

Treason and Plot by William Meikle

TALES OF REMEMBERANCE DAY

The Dreaming Dead by Joshua Reynolds

TALES OF THANKSGIVING

Entrée by Donald R. Burleson

TALES OF YULE

Keeping Festival by Mollie Burleson

Wassail by Tom Lynch

TALES OF CHRISTMAS

Krampusnacht by Joshua Reynolds

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elise by Thomas Ligotti

Letters to Santa by Scott David Aniolowski

Keeping Christmas by Michael G. Szymanski

The Nativity of the Avatar by Robert M. Price

There are some BIG names in there, folks.  And it isn't often that you can pick up an anthology that lines up Ligotti with Campbell, Lovecraft with Price, Pugmire with Goodfellow.  This is a rich, deep, varied collection of horror and Mythos tales that truly belongs on the shelf of any full realized Weird Fictionista.

Give the excerpt a read if you're keen, and if you enjoy it just a bit more than a kick in shorts, please pick up the complete version of the story  in Horror for the Holidays, available directly through the Miskatonic River Press mothership, or via the industry-consuming creeps at Amazon.com.

Free Fireworks

by T.E. Grau

(Excerpt)

The sun was setting, finally, and the cicadas took up their song.  The daylight hours of July 4^th seem to last an eternity, adding anticipation to that moment when the night sky first goes from dead to alive, thrilling and frightening in equal measure.

From the rooftop of their apartment building, William took a deep breath, and caught a waft of countryside air, blowing in from the west, pushed on by the sunset.  For a brief moment, he could smell the honeysuckle, flavored with fresh tilled loam of the farm where he grew up, where he used to run through the wooded creek beds and crawl through culverts, playing war.  It was mid summer now, and the crops would have been growing so quickly you could hear the corn stalks creaking and popping in the fields as they thickened and reached up toward the hazy sun.  The beans needed to be walked, and the hogs were fattening in the mud, looking for a low spot in the fence.  The bailers would be out, scooping up the first cutting of fragrant alfalfa drying in the fields, exposing a hidden civilization of earwigs and clicking beetles that gathered under the hot wetness beneath.  William closed his eyes and took another breath, hoping to uncover more memories, but this time only smelled smoke.  A neighbor had just lit up one of those ridiculous cone fountains on the far side of the roof.  Children danced around the guttering sparks like wild Indians; like the heathens we all once were.  Jacob got up from his contemplation of a late-lingering Junebug and joined in.

William frowned.  He had grown to hate the smell of smoke, of burning things, which now filled him with horror when it was such a pleasant experience in his youth.  He hated that he was an expert in smoke, noticing the nuanced differences of chemicals and wood, rubber and flesh.  He hated the things he had done while other things burned.  He missed the smell of burning trash on the farm, when the sharp pungence of combusting plastic was just a Kool Whip container dripping into the coals, when the odor of burning hair and muscle was just the calcine remains of a bird shot squirrel.  

Down below, a muffled hush swept the Square, nudging William from his reverie, as the mournful strains of “Taps” began.  This was the lament of the widows and the heartbroken left behind.  William looked back at the door leading to the roof.  He fetched Jacob and brought him close, listening to the song begat during the Civil War – the first Civil War – but made so common the last few years that it became an Independence Day hymn.  It was written by a youth from the North, who ran away from his family to attend music school in the South.  There, he wrote a simple, mournful tune.  That young man died on the field of battle, fighting for the Confederacy, and the song was discovered in the pocket of the bloodied corpse by his shocked father, who was an officer in the Union Army.  The officer asked his superiors if the Union band could play it for his dead son.  They refused his request, as they’d be damned if their band would play a tribute to the enemy.  He pleaded, and was finally offered a single bugle.  The grieving father gave the song to the bugler, who played the funeral dirge to the lone body who had written it.  “Taps.”

William looked down at Jacob, who was watching the veterans’ parade with right hand raised to brow in a stiff salute practiced for so many hours in front of the mirror.  His grandfather, who fought, killed, and died a little in the haunted jungles of Vietnam, would have been proud.  William smiled sadly, wishing that Jacob would run away to music school, to leave this city and this war and this grim and uncertain future behind, but Jacob would have nowhere to run.  Music schools were the stuff of fairy tales these days.  Music was the drum beat of battle and schools were now campuses of war.

            The battalion band took over, playing John Phillips Sousa as the parade proceeded through the Square.  A shout went up, and grew.  Men saluted.  Women threw flowers and blew kisses.  Children watched with wide eyes.  It was a celebration of those who survived and sacrificed so much to keep this country free. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in that sweet hue of magic hour blue, the first volley of organized fireworks launched into the air, exploding in bellowing showers of multicolored sparks taking on fantastical shapes… Flowers, sunbursts, fiery spirals like the flash of galaxies.  Jacob jumped up and down, clapping his hands and trying to whistle through his fingers like his father taught him.  Somewhere in their apartment, William could almost hear the dissonant sax music rising in volume.  Abigail needed to be up here, but she just couldn’t.  William understood that, as best he could. 

            The fireworks continued, unleashing burning glory in the sky.  Brief, fiery sketches thrilled the crowd.  The Square cheered each glimmering salvo.  Bellowed like Vikings.  People were drunk now, forgetting their fear in the haze of liquid hope.  William watched the burning patterns branding the darkness reflected in Jacob’s eyes.  He picked up his son, so he could get a better look.  

William heard a sound behind him, and turned.  Abigail stood in the roof access doorway, holding a lit sparkler in her hand, a tired, bleary smile on her face.  He set Jacob down and went to her; took her pale face in his hands and kissed her deeply, like they used to kiss when every second mattered before the porch light came on.  He looked into her bloodshot eyes, and pressed his forehead against hers.  “Thank you,” he said.  Her soft hand against his face told him everything he needed to know.  She held up the sparkler as it fizzled to a red, glowing stick, then frowned, pouting like a little girl.  William laughed and kissed her again, sometimes feeling as much her father as her husband.  He took her by the hand and walked her to the edge of the building to their son.  Jacob’s eyes lit up, but he said nothing as he hugged her tight around the waist.  William put an arm around his wife, and brought his son in close between them.  For the first time in a long time, it all felt right.  The way it was supposed to be.  The way it once was.  The All-American family, enjoying the 4^th of July under a dying sunset, with fire in the sky and without a thought for tomorrow.

Just then, a boom much lower and louder than the others shook the cobblestones.  The parade stopped abruptly, the band’s trumpeter trailing off like a deflating balloon.  Fireworks continued to fly, as the fuses were already lit, but no one was watching anymore. Murmuring silence choked the Square.  Abigail looked at William, whose face told her everything she needed to know.  Another muffled blast sounded, and another.  Triangulation.  The citywide PA system croaked to life.  Orders chattered into the night.  Sirens wailed.  Abigail fell to her knees and wept.  William looked down at her, as if it was happening in slow motion. 

A plume of black smoke billowed up from the Old City marketplace, four blocks over from the Square.  The throaty belch of a heavy machine gun fire chewed through the din.  Screams littered the Square, as the crowd scattered, grouped, rallied. 

God damn them…  On our holiday.  Just like last time.

Jacob looked down for Abigail, but she was gone.  His stomach turned.  He didn’t want to gear up and head out like this.  William took a deep breath and turned to the roof door.  A hand stopped him.  It was Abigail, holding Jacob in front of her.  She blinked away tears and smiled, laughing in spite of herself.  He walked to her and she kissed him, whispering into his ear.  William smiled, gripping the small of her back, re-etching the familiar curve into his memory.  He then hugged Jacob and looked into his son’s eyes.  William wanted to say that he loved him, but he did it so rarely, that he was worried that the boy would take it as a final goodbye.  So he just nodded.  Jacob nodded back.

And then, only two stood on the rooftop, and William was gone.  White smoke drifted over the Square.  Black smoke rose beyond.  Abigail closed her eyes. 

***

William strode quickly onto the street, wearing starchy fatigues, a modified M-240 in his hand and a heavy pack slung over his shoulder.  He blinked a few times, trying to orient himself to the frantic commotion of the Square after dressing in the silent apartment.  All around him, fellow soldiers, male and female, young and old, kissed their loved ones goodbye, while others emerged grim faced from apartment blocks still littered with bottles and trappings of the party that hid them from the outside world just hours before.  A banner of red, white and blue dangled limply from the awning of a shuttered storefront.  Under it, an old man leaned on a cane and looked up for the stars of his youth.  He didn’t move, only stared.  William looked up at the roof, where he knew Abigail and Jacob were watching, and waved.

Another explosion two neighborhoods over shook the ground and shot red-gutted smoke into the sky.  Infiltrators.  Spies gone active.  Peace had made security soft.  Made all of them soft, William thought, adjusting the tight Kevlar vest under his jacket that always fit him so loosely before.  He was adding inches, while the city was giving them away.  Give them an inch, they’ll blow up a mile.  Gunfire ripped into the night, sending everyone but the soldiers scurrying for doorways.  The man under the striped banner was gone.

William jammed a receiver into his ear and a walkie talkie to his mouth, as he jogged toward the outer wall ringing Old City, receiving intel and barking orders.  He had to man his post. 

***

The walkway cresting the wall was crowded with crouching troopers, weapons bristling outward like deadly whiskers, just like the days of castles and keeps that thrilled William’s childhood.  A teenage private, still a bit woozy after fear burned off most of his drunk, lit up a cigarette.  William shot a glare in his direction.  The kid blanched and quickly stamped out the smoke under heavy boot tread.  William shook his head.  A glowing cherry earned you a sniper’s bullet exiting the back of your mouth.  Some of these guys need more training, more time.  There was never enough time anymore.

William returned his gaze down his scope, scanning the frustrating darkness below.  He knew they were out there.  Knew they were watching, praying to the empty sky.  He could smell them.  Smell their smoke.  Exhaust, campfires, dank Turkish cigarettes… What were they waiting for? 

It had been hours since the last of the suicide attacks rattled the city and dawn was on the creep.  Insurgent recon was lacking, as they leveled a recently emptied ammo dump and part of the Old City prison, freeing two spies awaiting trial just long enough for proper justice to be rendered with the gavel fall of hollow points.  Their slapdash Trojan horse failed to open up the enemy from the inside.  Terrorists didn’t win many battles.  They just wore you down until you gave up and lowered your head.  But tonight, there would be no ‘wearing down’.  This would be to the death, and whatever waited beyond. 

William’s earpiece crackled to life.  Air support was on its way, but they were coming in from the nearest base in the Rockies, a good thousand miles away.  William tested the breeze, hoping to find a westerly tailwind.  Nothing.  Everything was still.  Quiet, within and without.  The holiday was over.  The Air Force would be late.

He looked up to the queer stars arranged in new constellations that knew not nor cared not what was happening below.  He didn’t think he’d ever get used to them, even after all he’d seen.  A shooting star carved through a patch of grayish black with a dim trail of stratospheric sparks.  Free fireworks. 

A commotion went up from the troops manning the west section of the wall.  Dots of light appeared on the hilltop about a mile outside Old City, on the grounds of what used to be a high school.  William looked through his scope as the sun groaned through the pre-dawn, dimly lightening the sky and giving the first glimpse of what was waiting in the dark.  

Short Story Review: "Transmission" from 'Dead But Dreaming 2' Gets a Horror World Hug

This is going to be a quickie, as I slowly reconstitute myself after being blended into a fine, worthless paste this last week by the rigors of the rat race combined with a nasty microbial assault, but I wanted to give a shout to Horror World - "Horror's #1 community on the web" - for the kind words printed about "Transmission" in their review of Dead But Dreaming 2, published just today on their hugely popular site by horror critic and author Dave Simms.

I get a mention as a standout, along with fellow scribes Cody Goodfellow, Brian Sammons, Rick Hautala, Darrell Schweitzer, and the Mayor of Lovecraftiana W.H. Pugmire.  Esteemed company, to say the least, and proof that my ever-expanding pool of critic bribery is paying off in spades.

I'd paste up a pull quote (as much to add space to a relatively tiny post as to peacock around a little bit in my own living room), but the admonishing tone at the bottom of the page scared the hell out of me.  Please click on through to the review and read for yourself, as clicks do everyone good.

As I've noted in the past, I'm overjoyed by the reaction "Transmission" has generated, from casual readers, to critics, to colleagues, to scholars.  It was my first finished piece of Lovecraftian fiction - and really, my first ever completed short story written for submission - so the fact that it has been enjoyed and well received makes me feel lucky and blessed beyond compare.  It helped launch me onto the path where I now teeter, and for that, I'll always been thankful for MRP kingpin Tom Lynch and International Man of Mystery (and Call of Cthulhu legend) Kevin Ross for taking a chance on some overly excited dickweed panting into his shoes in Los Angeles.

Dead But Dreaming 2 can be ordered through Amazon for the sissies, or through the Miskatonic River Press mothership website for the true lads and lasses composed of fine essential salts and strong moral fiber (or, indeed, "fibre" for my friends in Canada, the UK, and other places around the globe still struggling with proper spelling).

Coming Soon to The Cosmicomicon:  A prance down my bloodstream, and a review of Simon Strantza's Nightingale Songs.

Publishing News: 'Horror For The Holidays' Now Available For Pre-Order from Miskatonic River Press, Just in Time for the... Well, You Know

Greetings once again, gentle readers.  I come to you inside the cozy bunker, deeply and happily entrenched in the wonderful womb of the holiday season, which at Grau Haus stretches from All Hallows Eve until the bleary dawn of New Years Day.

The holidays are a special time, aren't they?

Easter.  Armenian Christmas.  Hallowmas.  All Souls Day.  Lantern Festival.  Tomb Sweeping Day.  Children's Day.  Ascension Day.  Ash Wednesday.  Pentecost.  Boxing Day.   (yes, I've done my hasty goddamn research)

Holidays, these.  Sacred, all...

In a normal, well ordered universe, holidays are a lovely event.  A time for celebration, mirth, warmth.  Laughter and breathless anecdotes weaving through the pleasant tinkling of tiny glasses and clanking brown bottles.  A lighted hearth, a backyard barbeque, a laden table surrounded by family, friends, and other loved ones.  Shared times of collective goodness, all bound up in that all-important element of stolid TRADITION.

These are our holidays.  They bring us a sense of stability and security.  A normalcy in an increasingly confusing world.

But, to be frank, in the realm of The Weird, this won't do.  Won't do at all. 

Much like Hitchcock sought to bring horror to the mundane and everyday occurrences (such as innocuous flock of birds, or an innocent shower), so too do the writers of The Weird seek to undermine even the most blessed and innocent holiday.  We want to bring Horror to your Holidays.  And I think we have.

As we approach the Christmas, Hanuka, Kwanza, and a variety of other Christ/Santa/Father Christmas/Winter Grandfather holiday celebrations, it only seems fitting that Miskatonic River Press release their long await anthology, Horror for the Holidays, edited by renowned editor/writer and caretaker of The House of Secrets Scott David Aniolowski, which is now available for pre-order here.  MRP Head Tentacle Tom Lynch just shared that print runs start early next week. So let's move those appendages, okay squids?

Take a gander at this impressive, recently released table of contents, and shudder at the collection of award winning and critically acclaimed scribes who have chosen to thumb their noses and other pointy bits at holiday conventions:

Horror for the Holidays
Table of Contents
Introduction by Scott David Aniolowski

TALES OF ROSH CHODESH
The Tomb of Oscar Wilde by W.H. Pugmire

TALES OF VALENTINE’S DAY
Love and Darkness by Oscar Rios
Be Mine by Brian Sammons

TALES OF PASSOVER
Cthulhu Mhy’os by Lois H. Gresh

TALES OF EASTER
And the Angels Sing by Cody Goodfellow
The Last Communion of Allyn Hill by Pete Rawlik
Mrs. Spriggs’ Easter Attire by Joseph S. Pulver Sr. and Tara VanFlower
Seasons of Sacrifice and Resurrection by Adrian Tchaikovsky

TALES OF MOTHER’S DAY
Mother’s Night by Ann K. Schwader

TALES OF THE FOURTH OF JULY
Free Fireworks by T.E. Grau
Doc Corman’s Haunted Palace One Fourth of July by Don Webb

TALES OF VJ DAY
Translator by James Robert Smith

TALES OF HALLOWEEN
Hallowe’en in a Suburb by H.P. Lovecraft
Moonday by Will Murray
The Trick by Ramsey Campbell

TALES OF THE DAY OF THE DEAD
El Dia De Los Muertos by Kevin Ross

TALES OF GUY FAWKES NIGHT
Treason and Plot by William Meikle

TALES OF REMEMBERANCE DAY
The Dreaming Dead by Joshua Reynolds

TALES OF THANKSGIVING
Entrée by Donald R. Burleson

TALES OF YULE
Keeping Festival by Mollie Burleson
Wassail by Tom Lynch

TALES OF CHRISTMAS
Krampusnacht by Joshua Reynolds
The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elise by Thomas Ligotti
Letters to Santa by Scott David Aniolowski
Keeping Christmas by Michael G. Szymanski
The Nativity of the Avatar by Robert M. Price

As noted above, my humble contribution centers around the 4th of July, and gives what I hope is a new take on Independence Day.  I'd love to provide more detail, but I fear it would give something away.  Instead, pick up the tome, and dive in head first.  Trust that it'll be suitably Odd and hopefully more than a bit shocking.  It's what We do, you see...

In "Free Fireworks," I imagine it will look something like the above, and possibly the below, with a little added twist...

Happy Holidays, Weirdlings.  Make it a bit brighter by bringing home some sacred Darkness, as it's all about the Balance.

"Transmission" Gets Some Love from Two 'Craftian Giants

As any regular reader of The Cosmicomicon knows by now, my story "Transmission" was published in the acclaimed anthology Dead But Dreaming 2 from Miskatonic River Press.  That's the news already in circulation.

What's more recent is the reception "Transmission" has received, which has honestly blown me away and humbled me in identical measure.  As I've shared on various platforms and shouted conversations, "Transmission" was the very first short story I ever penned since I dashed off some overly long and breathless heroic fantasy tale in my Honors English class my senior year of high school (which received an "A+++" and a note from my teacher encouraging me to pursuing prose writing, which I promptly ignored as I focused instead on God awful psychedelic poetry, music journalism, a humor/satire column, and finally a Lost Decade of screenwriting).

Since the release of Dead But Dreaming 2, friends, peers, and reviewers have responded favorably to "Transmission", which has lately included some of the biggest names in Lovecraftiana, most notably HPL scholar, critic, editor, and High Priest S. T. Joshi, as well as the Eldritch Queen of Lovecraftian Horror W.H. Pugmire.

Just today, a hastily scrawled note was slipped under my electronic door, containing a forthcoming review of "Transmission" (and I assume Dead But Dreaming 2) by none other than Mr. Joshi himself, who wrote:

"T. E. Grau’s 'Transmission' effectively utilises the remoteness of the parched Southwest to evoke horror—a horror that comes from the chilling and potentially cataclysmic messages heard on a radio transmission." - S. T. Joshi

Impressing Joshi, even in the slightest, is a major accomplishment, as not only is he the Kingpin of Lovecraftian academia and critique, but he's also a notoriously tough editor and discriminating reader, known far and wide for his strong opinions on the state of modern Lovecraftian fiction, and the quality of the many, many books he has compiled.  That he even noticed my story is a coup.  Drawing a positive mention is a feat I would never have dared contemplate.

Weeks prior, W.H. Pugmire, arguably the most acclaimed and sought-after pure Lovecraftian scribe working today, posted a review of Dead But Dreaming 2 at the amazon.com site, which included this lovely note about "Transmission":

"It astonishes me that 'Transmission' is T. E. Grau's first published story. He is off to a brilliant beginning. He has been working for a decade as a screenwriter in Hollywood, but that is a very different kind of writing than the short story form. This is one of the creepiest stories in the book, superbly told." - W.H. Pugmire

It might seem crass to share reviews of one's own story, but I really couldn't keep my yapper shut about this.  I'm so incredibly thankful, and feel blessed and lucky (or blessedly lucky) to have received such a warm reception for my writing, especially coming from two Cyclopean Big Wigs such as S. T. Joshi and W.H. Pugmire.  They're the swirling yin and yang of the HPL Omniverse, and I somehow managed to please both of them.  Oneness has been achieved.

The positive cosmic hum continues, and I'm lulled to contentment by the song it plays.  Thanks to ALL who have read and supported my work, and continue to do so, as more of my stories leak out into the candlelight.  I'm indebted beyond words.  It's the juice that makes the squeeze totally worthwhile.

Be a Good Weirdling: Vote for Miskatonic River Press and Yog-Sothoth.com for 2011 ENnie Awards

As steamy July melts into sweltering August, we are now on the cusp of the annual Gen Con EN World RPG Awards (aka the "ENnie Awards"), which are described by their official website as "an annual fan-based celebration of excellence in tabletop roleplaying gaming," giving "game designers, writers and artists the recognition they deserve. It is a peoples’ choice award, and the final winners are voted upon online by the gaming public."

What does this mean to you?  A whole hell of a lot, actually, as Miskatonic River Press - the publishing motherland of Dead But Dreaming 2, as well as several exciting, upcoming projects including Horror for the Holidays (edited by Scott David Aniolowski), W.H. Pugmire's The Strange Dark One: Tales of Nyarlathotep, and Dissecting Cthulhu (edited by S.T. Joshi); in addition to a whole slew of fantastic Call of Cthulhu RGP scenarios, monographs, and supplements - is up for an ENnie Award for Fans' Favorite Publisher.

Also of interest to all good readers, writers, and gamers of a decidedly Lovecraftian bent is the fact that Yog-Sothoth.com  - which is THE meeting and discussion spot for CoC and the works of H.P. Lovecraft on the Internets - is up for an ENnie in the category of Best Podcast.

Follow this link to the ENnies Award Voting Booth and cast your gleeful ballot for MRP and YSDC in their respective categories.  Also, feel free to vote in other categories if you see a favorite or familiar name.  This is democracy in action, folks.  Don't spit in the face of freedom.  Puppies die and terrorists win every time an opportunity to vote is shunned. 

The awards will be presented (hopefully to Tom Lynch of MRP and Paul "of Cthulhu" Maclean of YSDC) at a packed and breathless ceremony held on Friday, August 5th at 6:30 pm in the 500 Ballroom of Gen Con Indy.  

So, as the blerg title suggests, please be a good Weirdling, and vote for the community website and the independent publisher that mean so much to me, to The Cosmicomicon, and to Lovecraftian gaming and fiction in general. These are OUR hubs, OUR platforms and champions, and we need to adorn them accordingly with the shiniest finery on the market. 
 

Publishing News: "Free Fireworks" accepted for publication in 'Horror for the Holidays' anthology by Miskatonic River Press

This morning I received the wonderful news that my story "Free Fireworks" was accepted for publication in the anthology Horror for the Holidays, edited by Scott David Aniolowski, which will be published by this fall by Miskatonic River Press:

"When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail,
And black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the specters’ holiday – then is the ghosts’ high noon!"

-- Sir William Schwenck Gilbert, Raddigore, Act 1

Holidays. Special days of commemoration and celebration. Feasts and festivities. Remembrance and revelry. But what dark things lurk just out of sight, in the shadows of those celebrated days? Forces beyond our comprehension, yearning to burst into our warm and comforting world and tear asunder those things we hold most dear. As the wheel of the year turns and we embrace our favorite occasions, let us not forget that beyond the light is a darkness, and in that darkness something stirs. Some nameless thing that brings us Horror for the Holidays!

Much like Dead But Dreaming 2 editor Kevin Ross, Scott is a well known and widely respected editor and writer of Call of Cthulhu RPG monographs, supplements, and source books, as well as Mythos short fiction (appearing with me and my proud compatriots in DBD2).  He had some very kind words to say about my story, which thrills me to no end.  I honestly can't wait to see what Scott has put together, as once again, some pretty damn big names are lining up to get into this twisted collective.

What an exciting last few months it has been 'round these bloody parts!  I owe much to the good folks at Miskatonic River Press, and look forward to working with them for a long, long time.  And from some rumblings issuing up from the catacombs, there might be more news in this department coming soon.

Keep your eyes pealed, and keep watching this space, when not watching the other.
 

Book Review: Dead But Dreaming 2, by Alex Lugo

As most of you not living under a piece of rusted sheet metal or inside a Rapture shelter now know, Dead But Dreaming 2 thundered out onto the streets last Friday, and Alex Lugo, living in such close proximity to the home office of Miskatonic River Press, was one of the first individuals on the planet to receive his copy.

Fittingly, and just days later, Alex - being the voracious consumer of all manner of weird, speculative, and Lovecraftian fiction that he is - had not just read the anthology from cover to cover, but had also written up a review for publication here at The Cosmicomicon.

Big thanks to Alex (who had previously reviewed Jeffrey Thomas' novel Thought Forms in early May) for his review, and just know that although it might not seem that way, I IN NO WAY bribed him with filthy lucre, bauble, or trinket to write such lovely things about my story "Transmission."  Either he's totally cracked, or possessed of exceptionally refined literary taste.  I'm not certain which is true, and dare not contemplate...  Instead, I'll just be grateful and humbled.

____________________________________________________________________________

Review of Dead but Dreaming 2

By Alex Lugo

     

     Dead but Dreaming 2 is the second installment in a series of wonderful, Lovecraftian anthologies published by Miskatonic River Press. The first Dead but Dreaming was a cult hit, considered by many to be the finest collection of Lovecraftian and Cthulhu Mythos tales ever published. Knowing that, you can probably assume that Dead but Dreaming 2 has quite a lot of expectation to live up to, and it does.  But, I'm very happy to report that it delivers on every single promise, and then some. Within the pages of this eldritch tome are 22 tales written by the modern masters of horror. Each story is a take on Lovecraftian themes, and each one is executed with impressive craftmanship. Honestly, there wasn't one piece in this collection that I disliked. Every single story evoked the power and the horror of Lovecraft’s mind bending realms, while also shining with originality.

     If you're new to Lovecraftian and Cthulhu Mythos fiction, you may think it is impossible for a Lovecraftian tale to be original. Is it not just mere pastiche? Not at all! If one simply copies Lovecraft’s prose and clichés, the story will fail miserably.  Conversely, a good writer of Lovecraftian or Cthulhu Mythos fiction must be extremely original so that his or her own ideas and style can shine through the master's shadow - ergo the reader sees more of the author’s voice than Lovecraft’s, but can still feel the vibe of the gentleman from Providence. Because of this delicate balancing act of tribute and discovery, I believe that the great modern writers of Lovecraftian fiction are actually more original than most of their fiction writing peers because they have to achieve a goal that is somehow familiar but not just another pastiche. It is because of this that Dead but Dreaming 2 is so great, because each tale is an exceptional, unique take on Lovecraftiana, and as such, the book overflows with impressive originality. Although I enjoyed every single story, three really tickled my fancy.

 

     First off is "Your Ivory Hollow" by ye queen of eldritch horror, W.H. Pugmire. The tale is a semi-sequel to Robert Bloch’s "The Skull of the Marquis de Sade", and in the span of six pages, you become one of the pivotal characters in the story. Like the style of Lovecraft’s "Pickman’s Model", the speaker addresses you like you are an integral part of the unfolding story. This makes the tale more engrossing, and ultimately scarier. In only a half dozen pages, you will read of strange magick, infernal gems, suicide-inducing poetry, and utmost - insanity. Pugmire’s work never fails to amaze and enthrall me. His writing is like a paradox, as his tales both mystify and horrify the reader.

      My second favorite story, although not in order of best to least best, is "Father’s Day" by Brian M. Sammons. This was my first time reading a tale from Mr. Sammons, and I am confident it shall not be my last. The story introduces the reader to a strange, nameless boy brought up by his mother, who one day decides to venture to Innsmouth, Massachusetts (the setting for Lovecraft’s epic tale "The Shadow over Innsmouth") to find his father.  I will not spoil anything, but if you are familiar with Innsmouth’s abhorrent secret, you should get the gist of the boy’s situation. The tale is a sad mini-epic, and you will find yourself sympathetic towards a very strange boy who is far more than just "weird".

 

     Last, but not in any way least, is "Transmission" by T.E. Grau, proprietor of the unholy Cosmicomicon! This is T.E. Grau’s first tale published in print, and I can assure that there is much more to come! The story begins with a man wandering west to California. He does not look for fortune or fame, but simply a greater meaning to his shiftless, vagabond life. While driving in the deserts of Nevada, the main character picks up a radio transmission of what seems to be just another stupid religious fanatic crowding the AM dial. Yes, he is a religious fanatic, but quite the opposite of stupid. He is a messenger of the Meaning, something for which the main character has desperately sought, but the meaning of the Message, transmitted out into the desert night, is too horrifying and cosmic to even describe. The tale starts off with a rough and tumble prose style, which then becomes more mysterious, and, towards the conclusion, morphs into a tale of extremely well crafted atmospherics that is both mesmerizing and terrifying. The story ends with a twist that nobody will see coming. I can rightfully say that T.E. Grau is a strong force in weird fiction, and he has only just begun. Hear me and listen: T.E. Grau is THE one to watch!

      Dead but Dreaming 2 is an extraordinary anthology of fantastic, original Lovecraftian fiction. Within these pages you will find masterpieces of the weird tale from writers such as the incredible Donn Webb, and the remarkable Joseph S. Pulver Sr.

     If you have any level of interest in Lovecraft and weird fiction, this is the book for you. ____________________________________________________________________________

Publishing News: Dead But Dreaming 2 Shipping This Week, Last Chance to Pre-Order for Free Limited Edition Pugmire Bookmark

A raven arrived on my window ledge just minutes ago, carrying word that Dead But Dreaming 2 is shipping internationally at the end of this very week.

This means that while we all know that you're going to buy this book, it would behoove (if not behoof, for my Midwestern readers) you to PRE-ORDER the book, like, TODAY, as in doing so, you not only get the book via the first wave of shipping, but you also receive this limited edition bookmark, hand signed in something dark and viscous by the right Queen of Eldritch Horror, W. H. Pugmire.

As you can see, the bookmark features Pugmire's actual signature (not a stamp), as well as a sneak peek at his debut tome with Miskatonic River Press, The Strange Dark One: Tales of Nyarlathotep, featuring cover and interior art by acclaimed writer, artist, publisher and Cosmicomicon guest blogger, Jeffrey Thomas.  More on this in the coming days, once the furor around DBD2 has calmed a little...  Track Pugmire's numerous Lovecraftian and Mythos projects, videos, and blog postings at his A View From Sesqua Valley.
 
A copy of the original, unsigned Dead But Dreaming recently sold for $150 on eBay (and signed editions have gone for well over $250), showing the demand for this collectors item made scarce and valuable due to the quality of the writing containing within, selected and edited by Keith "Doc" Herber and Kevin Ross.  What will Dead But Dreaming 2 - again edited by Ross, albeit solo, after the tragic passing of Doc just two years ago - be worth a decade from now?  Punch your ticket and find out, you curious cuttlefish.

As for the bookmark, it's sure to be an instant collectors item once the pre-order period is completed, so don't be snookered by indecision.  Buy the book today, and get a snazzy, limited edition bookmark to hold your page while you shiver under your covers between Dead But Dreaming 2 stories.  

There's no shame in being afraid.  There is in losing your place.
 

Publishing News: DBD2 - Now Live, In Colo[u]r, and Splayed Across a Sheaf of Dead Trees

I'll let the pictures tell the tale..

Dead But Dreaming 2 is shipping in a week (or so).  More from my brainpan when it arrives, and I recover, with the aid of smelling salts, "essential salts," and maybe even a dash or two of garlic and onion salts.

DON'T MISS THIS BOOK!!  I'm sensing that the first run could could go very quickly, based on the buzz from the street, and amid the swirling and unquiet ether...

 

Publishing News: Dead But Dreaming 2 Just Weeks Away From Worldwide Release

 

Misktonic River Press announced today that Dead But Dreaming 2 - the much anticipated follow up to the critically hailed Dead But Dreaming (now considered a collectors item in the genre) - is just weeks away from hitting the streets.

A deciphered smoke signal from MRP Brass reads as such:

Currently awaiting proofs for Dead But Dreaming 2 from the printer. We're mere weeks away from shipping the book out!

Herein are 22 tales of Lovecraftian horror from the modern masters of Cthulhu Mythos fiction: Scott David Aniolowski, David Annandale, Donald R. Burleson, Cody Goodfellow, John Goodrich, T.E. Grau, Rick Hautala, Walt Jarvis, Erik T. Johnson, William Meikle, Will Murray, Daniel W. Powell, Wilum Pugmire, Joseph S. Pulver Sr, Pete Rawlik, Kevin Ross, Brian Sammons, Darrell Schweitzer, Adrian Tchaikovsky, Michael Tice, and Don Webb.

Folks, I'm telling you.  This is one of THE anthologies - Lovecraftian or otherwise - of 2011, and beyond.  The talent pool assembled is wickedly deep and monstrously dark, orchestrated by editor Kevin Ross, who isn't one to go for the obviously slithery, nor fall for repeated use of the word "eldtritch."   This is Mythos fiction all grown up.

Don't miss out.  Get Dead But Dreaming 2 when - or BEFORE! - the rest of the world does, lest you have to do the sad Charlie Brown walk all the way home for the remainder of your silly, ill-spent life...

Give a hoot.  Buy good books.

Dead But Dreaming 2 News: Get a Little Slice of Pugmire via MRP Pre-Order and LeZ Contest

 

From the ebony tower of Miskatonic River Press:  

In an effort to cross-promote our growing fiction line, all who pre-order Dead But Dreaming 2 will get a full-color trifold bookmark signed by none other than the Queen of Eldritch Horror, Wilum Hopfrong Pugmire (one of the authors in DBD2), promoting his upcoming book from MRP: The Strange Dark One, Tales of Nyarlathotep.

(also announced through Google Groups [alt.horror.cthulhu])

 

On the heels of this proclamation, founder Mike Davis and the good folks at his Lovecraft eZine have just announced a contest to win a free copy of Dead But Dreaming 2, as well as the above-mentioned signed bookmark from the acclaimed Lovecraftian W.H. Pugmire, creator of legend-haunted Sesqua Valley:   

Time for another drawing!  Most of you are probably familiar with the first Dead But Dreaming book, called by many the finest Lovecraft anthology to see print in a long time.  Personally, I agree — the stories are first-rate.  If you are a Lovecraftian, Dead But Dreaming is a must own.

Anyway, Kevin Ross is releasing Dead But Dreaming 2, and I’ve just purchased a copy for one lucky winner!  And not only does the winner of this drawing get a free copy of the book, you'll also receive a color bookmark signed by the awesome W.H. Pugmire!

You heard the lads.  Head over to the Miskatonic River Press website and pre-order DBD2, then mosey on by the LeZ to "Like" the hell out of it, and sign up for the contest.  

Even if you already have a copy of Dead But Dreaming 2 reserved and on the way, you can give the extra one as an incredibly thoughtful and tasteful gift, or use it as a projectile to knock over the display of Snooki "books" (you think I'm gonna link that ridiculous waste of dead wood, you're sadly mistaken) at your local lit purveyor.  You'll be a hero to many.