COFFIN HOP 2013

That's right, boos and ghouls, it's COFFIN HOP time!!

What is COFFIN HOP, you ask? The quick answer is: we're a loose association of hundreds of horror authors and artists who get together for the week before Halloween (Oct 24-31) and throw a colossal online party with prizes, giveaways and all the crazy you could want leading up to All Hallow’s Eve. The participating blogs will be posting articles, interviews, contests, creative writing, art, and more every day of the hop. To get started, hit up the LINKY LIST and check out the fun to be had.

This year, we're taking COFFIN HOP to a whole new level. In addition to the week-long event, we're releasing a new anthology, the profits from which will be donated to LitWorld.org to help encourage children’s literacy throughout the world. 

Exclusive to this collection, COFFIN HOP: DEATH BY DRIVE-IN, are stories from C.W LaSart (Ad Nauseum), Red Tash (Troll or Derby, This Brilliant Darkness), Jessica McHugh (Rabbits in the Garden, Fear the Abyss), Dan Dillard (Demons and Other Inconveniences), Erik Gustafson (Fall Leaves and the Black Dragon) and many more.  Interior art by Nicolas Caesar! Foreword by Stink of Flesh director Scott S. Phillips! And check out that cover art from www.lizhowertonphotography.com.

NOW FOR THE SPOOKTACULAR PRIZES

Come on, you know that's why you stuck around. ;)

I have THREE PRIZES up for grabs. One lucky hopper will win an ebook copy of DEATH BY DRIVE-IN at the end of the hop just for commenting. That's all it takes. Just stop in and say hi. Tell me you dig the post. Tell me you hate the post. Tell me your mom held you too much (or not enough) when you were a baby. It doesn't matter. Just comment. I will pick one person at random to receive the ebook.

The next few prizes are a bit trickier. But that's because the prizes are 

AUTOGRAPHED PRINT COPIES of Jessica McHugh books. 

The first is a copy of my dystopian novel 

FROM THE HERALD'S WEARIED EYE. (Click the link for info)

The second is a LIMITED EDITION 1ST PRINTING of my bestselling novel 

RABBITS IN THE GARDEN. 

I have the only remaining copies of this book, so once they're gone, they're gone. 

And you can win one!

So HOW do you win one? Well, there are two ways. 

1. You can purchase my short story FOOD FOR THOUGHT for $0.99 and COMMENT with your order number. 

It should be a Dxx-xxxxxxx-xxxxxxxx number. 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FAASNUY

OR 

2. You can purchase my collection of ponderings, pictures, and writing prompts, VIRTUOSO AT MASTURBATION, & MORE McHUGHMOROUS MUSINGS, for $0.99 and COMMENT with your order number.

http://www.amazon.com/Virtuoso-Masturbation-More-McHughmorous-Musings-ebook/dp/B00E1JSDX2

THAT'S IT. I'm going to have lots of fun spooky excerpts coming up in the next few days, so make sure to stay close. Nab the short story or collection, save those purchase codes, and DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT!!

Don't forget to check out the LINKY LIST.

HAVE A GRAVE GREAT DAY!!

The Last Scrap (NaPoWriMo #4)

The Last Scrap

The Starship Calamity barrels on,
Her belly reeking from the bodies that decorate her deck.
Her operators travel the corridors as before,
Except they slide across the floor now,
Flopping through sudden stopping:
Once easily avoided obstacles interrupt
Tumbles toward further oblivion.
The Starship Calamity has a similar destination. 
Guideless space greets the craft as a friend,
But there is hunger in his handshake.
Through it all:
The scuffs,
The scratches,
The skirmishes that earned the Starship Calamity her name,
She is the last scrap
Of a suicide mission.
She is doomed to sail the sky
Until the universe decides
His own belly needs to reek. 

Shore Leave at the Big Top (NaPoWriMo #3)

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt suggested I write a sea shanty. I hope this serves! Even if it doesn't, I dig the rhythm. I'm pretty sure I'm going to become a sailor just so I can spread it around the world like a disease...you know, like sailors do... ;)

Shore Leave at the Big Top

(Hey-o, wey-o)
I got a pretty girl with her knickers down.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
Too damn bad she's a circus clown.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
But the pennies are pinched and the times are tight.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
So, a clown girl's all I can buy tonight.

Would you like a cuddle and a tumble and a sigh?
(I want a big red nose in front of my thighs!)
Would you like to barter off a garter when you lie?
(I want clown girls covering my face in pie!)


(Hey-o, wey-o)
I got a pretty girl with her knickers down.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
Too damn bad she's a circus clown.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
But the pennies are pinched and times are tight.
(Hey-o, wey-o)
So, a clown girl's all I can buy tonight.

(Shore leave at the big top will suit us right!)

Broke as Shit (NaPoWriMo #2)

As I'm typing this up, I now realize how appropriate it is that this poem is NaPoWriMo #2. Jeez, the first day I mention piss, and today I mention...well, you'll see. It must be all of the bizarro writing. My blog is starting to sound like a version of The Aristocrats joke.

Broke as Shit

From now on, my shit goes unpaid.
The lazy squeezes to consume the day
Waste only my time.
The smell of money is snuffed,
Leaving behind, Ramen and wine. 

There are no more pots to hide in,
No huge paychecks to pride in.
No more locks to hide logs on clocks.
Then again,
There are also no more obtrusive knocks.

Even poor, my seat will cool in summers,
Later, warm to ease my bummers,
I'll have no more questions on long digestions.
Now only
Long, luxurious Me-Time sessions. 

From now on, my shit goes unpaid.
Compensation can't come between companions,
Not two like us. 
A rowdy dream beats a whisper flush,
And the old days are down the drain.

It's a perfect fit that we're broke as shit. 

Paper Boats (NaPoWriMo #1)

HAPPY 2013 NAPOWRIMO!! Number 1, comin' at ya!

(Okay, that sounds like I'm going to pee on you. I won't. Not until you read my first NaPoWriMo poem, at least.)

Paper Boats

On a night river, the travelers release their paper boats.

Floating from dock-town desks, they seek to thicken souls over feet

And touch worlds beyond atlas edges.

That moment of disconnection—when paper is on its own—incites a frightful dance.

Although it was their intention, the travelers fear new docks,

Shaking in how raw their ships may seem.

How clumsy, how blistered,

How thin or desperate to sink.

In paper berths, they dispatch the pinkest pieces of their hearts—

To chum the water and wait.

Blood often calls the frenzy.

Tooth and tentacle can drag a vessel to its death,

But a tailwind can play the savior.

Once the craft has left its wake upon the world and returned to its dock-town,

The travelers know which libation to drink.

Wine tilts for praises.

Brine spills for razes,

And for both,

Travelers’ throats are again soaked in requests from a night river,

On which no paper boat has yet sailed in full mettle.

"Odds & Ends" this way wends

Hear ye Hear ye! Author Dustin LaValley and Artist Jody Rae Adams have put together a book that Raw Dog Screaming Press will release to readers for FREE!!

Pretty ballstothewallawesomesaucejones, right? (Just nod your head, and no one gets hurt.) So, without further ado, please enjoy the trailer for Odds and Ends, coming soon from Dustin LaValley and Raw Dog Screaming Press. 

* * *

Guns, Girls, and Tattoos: a book trailer for Odds and Ends
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7hG6DRXoF4

From the Back of the Book
Prepare to be ferried to an unfamiliar realm on the bony back of despair. Author Dustin LaValley takes us down face first with rapid-fire flash fiction in the form of Odds and Ends: An Assortment of Sorts. Already associated with the dark and bizarre, LaValley expands his repertoire to experiment with form and literary introspection. These harrowing meditations on the nature of the world--and the very purpose of humanity--not only provide chills, but strangely the effect of this read is vastly disproportionate to its length, leaving us with scars to contemplate for a long time to come.

Advance Praise
"Extraordinary. Hauntingly poignant." -Thomas Ligotti, author of My Work Is Not Yet Done

Official Author Links
On Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/dustinlavalleyauthor
Dust, In the Valleyhttp://dustinthevalley.tumblr.com/
On Twitter https://twitter.com/dustinlavalley

Malfunction (Brent Kelley's One Question Interview)

The following was written for Brent Kelley's blog. The author of "Chuggie & the Desecration of Stagwater" (which is awesome!) asked: You’re alone, cornered in a dark basement. Something horrible is upstairs looking for you, and it’s only a matter of time before it comes down those stairs. What is it?

What is it, indeed. >:) Please, enjoy my answer aka "Malfunction."

I'm afraid it will smell the gash on my leg. Even with a towel wrapped around the cut and half a bottle of Drakkar Noir soaking in, I've seen enough of the beast's talents to know the cologne won't be enough. If it had a normal sense of smell, I might have a chance. I might even have the courage to search the basement for an exit. Instead, I huddle deeper into a bulky mountain of toilet paper, my leg stinking of my first boy/girl party.

Truthfully, I don't have the energy for much else after running all the way from Denmore Labs. I'd hoped the beast would lose interest in me, maybe get distracted by a jogger, but it seems the technician who ran 10,000 volts through its body daily isn't an easy man to ignore. When I busted into a random house on Porter Street, I thought it might pass me by, even with the old lady screaming and smacking me with her knitting needles. But when I saw it through the curtains, its mammoth nose snorting at the trail of blood I'd left on the sidewalk, I knew it was over.

When the woman shouted, “Is that a cat on my stoop? I hate cats!” I was too busy searching for something to cover my wound to answer her. She would figure out soon enough that there are worse things in the world than having a cat on your stoop.

Any bloodthirsty animal would be enough to send someone diving into toilet paper, but this animal isn't just bloodthirsty. The mutagenic steroids administered by Denmore Labs for more than two years have transformed the tiger into a creature with the potential to be more cunning and deadly than the most talented assassins. It can be programmed to kill anyone in the world, and because of the mutations gifted by Doctor Denmore, a man I used to call a genius, this tiger can change its stripes. It can change its shape, its voice, and apparently, its allegiance. How the good doctor didn't see this coming, I will never understand. I can't call Denmore a genius anymore. I can't even call him tiger food; the beast shat him out back in the lab, in the very cage where it had spent the last two years becoming a monster.

The toilet paper isn't just a hiding place anymore. I need to use it now.

It snorts at the basement door, its claws clinking against the knob as it paws at the wood. It's only a matter of time. I didn't get a good look at the door before I locked myself in the basement, but I figure the beast will make short work of it, especially after seeing how easily it tore the lady of the house apart. I had ducked back into the living room to check on her, but the tiger had beat me to it. Her body was a used tissue in its fangs, ripping and spilling snotty innards onto her unfinished quilt. At that point, its claws saw no difference between the woman and her craft project. My doomed ass deserves no less.

The door splinters, and my stomach sinks. That's it, I'm as good as dead—and I smell like shit and Drakkar Noir. Yep. It's my first boy/girl party all over again.