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Sheer Horror #1
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Marie Johnstone
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Jul 22, 2003 23:32 PDT
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
S H E E R H O R R O R #1 AUG 2003
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
~ Fiction to Haunt you Forever ~
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
By subscription only with compliments from:
Marie Johnstone
=> Contact me: mailto:marie.jo-@ntlworld.com
=> Archive http://www.topica.com/lists/sheerhorror/read
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W h a t' s i n S t o r e
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
=> Writing Tip
=> Sheer Fiction
=> List Info
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W r i t i n g T i p
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
RAISE THE DEAD!
Horror markets, especially those for new and
unpublished writers, are a fast dying breed. So how do
you claw your way out of obscurity and near-extinction?
Here's a few tips to promote your work:
SMALL PACKAGES. 'Think Big' is what people tend to
believe. As a new writer, however, it's best to
actually think small - at least to start off with.
Saves a whole lot of frustration and disappointment
anyway. Start by looking for not-for-profit or amateur
markets which target the readership you're after
capturing. You'll build a bigger fanbase by placing
your work with a specialist horror zine rather than a
general fiction market which has a larger, yet
untargeted, membership.
LIVE AND LEARN. Many of today's best known writers
started off small, earning little or nothing for their
early works. Want to make it in the horror field? Then
you need to be read - and by as wide a web as possible.
Gaining a reputation, even in the small press, will
certainly help your credibility when you want to get
that blockbuster novel published.
TANGLED WEB. Get yourself some kind of web presence.
A www. site can help advertise your work, but *even
better* is some kind of email list to entice and grow
your very own loyal readership.
EGO TRIP. Ezine editors are always on the look-out for
good quality articles and also fiction, to a lesser
degree, to enrich their own publications. Short, easy-
to-digest, pieces are normally favoured over long. Your
*payment* comes in the form of a short blurb at the
end: to promote you, your fiction, list or website.
END OF DAYS? Bottom line? Don't wait for things to come
to you - they rarely do. If you want your work to be
seen, I've given you a few ideas on how to start.
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
WANT to progress as a Horror Writer? Unearth writing
tips and fantastic, original new horror fiction with
the Sheer Horror ezine. Where horror's no longer dead!
*** Sheer Horror ~ Fiction to Haunt you Forever ***
* Join NOW: mailto:sheerhorror-@topica.com
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
You may publish this tip in your ezine and/or website
as long as the above resource box is left intact.
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S h e e r F i c t i o n
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Out with the Old
by Marie Johnstone
There to confront her as she entered the house was the
familiar chintz-style paper. Its former lustre had
faded over the years, edges breaking free from the
hardened glue which had yellowed to a deep antique-
gold. Kara let the door close behind her with a soft
click; this wasn't going to be as easy as she had
thought.
She pinched at a corner of paper and slowly peeled
it away from the wall. The glue's hold on the wallpaper
had long since gone and it came away with ease. Her
nails scratched for further loose ends, ripping through
the drooping carnations with an eager hunger, exposing
the arsenic yellow paintwork beneath. A thin smile of
satisfaction played across her face as the thin strips
fell discarded to the flecked terrazzo floor.
Walking up the stairs, her heels dug into the
wooden treads and her fingers stretched, stroking the
banister's warm length. Her lips twisted into a thin
smile. The house had been neglected for quite some
time, wasted on someone who was merely marking time,
but now, with the previous owner safely out of the way,
it was finally about to realise its true potential.
Kara continued to paint the hallway while loosely
gripping the mobile phone with her spare hand. She was
amazed by the transformation she'd already made. She
was starting to lose herself to the rhythm of the brush
as the loaded tip swept steadily up and down, trailing
a line of pure white over the surface of the wall. In
the background she could faintly hear the tinny drone
of Mark's voice.
"Gran feels that you pressurised her over the move
to Clarenbridge. Apparently you fed her some scare
stories about old women living alone and," he paused.
"Are you even listening?"
"Uh-huh," Kara murmured, standing back briefly to
admire her work.
"It seems nice there, more like a decent hotel
than an old people's home, but Gran really misses the
house, mainly the reminders of Granddad. I think she'd
be better off if she moved back - and you'd be there
now to look after her."
The paintbrush fell as she clenched the phone
tightly with both hands. "She can't come back." Kara
struggled to keep the rising panic from her voice. Get
a grip she told herself. Don't blow it now. "Mark,
sweetheart, your Grandmother's been ill for a long
time. You weren't the one who found her slumped in her
armchair, smiling vacantly at the TV, as dribble ran
down her face." She paused deliberately for effect.
"And those moleskin slippers I bought her last
Christmas, well let's just say that you don't want to
know what they were covered in." Kara managed to force
out a plausible half sob.
"Why didn't you tell me that sooner?" Her son's
voice was edged with sympathy. "I'll talk to gran, see
if I can convince her that it's for the best."
Kara's grip relaxed. "Thanks for being so
understanding, darling." She was on the verge of
smiling in relief until she noticed the thick gobbet of
paint spattered over her newly scrubbed floor.
It was almost midday; sunlight bled through the sheer
voile which adorned the bedroom window. Ignoring the
weariness she felt, Kara hurried out of bed and pulled
on yesterday's crumpled heap of clothes. Why hadn't the
damn alarm gone off? There was so much left to do and
she wouldn't be able to start until she'd got some more
paint. The walls in this house just sucked the colour
right in and she never quite achieved the Brilliant
White that was promised on the tin.
Grabbing hold of her car keys, she swept out of
the room and started down the stairs. She was halfway
down when she noticed it. Kara leant back against the
wall for support. The keys dug into her palm as her
hands tightened and clenched.
She wandered down the remaining steps to stand
directly before the wall that she'd finished painting
only the night before. Tentatively, she reached out
with both hands and pressed them hard against the
surface, no longer trusting her mind to her eyes. Her
touch met with the dry warmth of paper, not the cool
surface texture of paint that she was hoping for.
Kara tore at the paper with her nails. She'd have
this paper ripped to shreds and burnt to a cinder
before the day was over. Tears of anger and frustration
rolled down her face as she searched blindly for a weak
spot where she could claw her way in.
Deep, bitter lines pulled at the corners of her mouth
as she twisted the ring off her finger; it was the only
thing left of any worth after over 20 years of
marriage. It fell discarded onto the floor and circled
round before settling next to an empty wine bottle.
Kara tried to pull her wasted body up, but she managed
only a few inches before slumping back down, exhausted.
She was propped up by the foot of the staircase
where she stared vacantly at the newly whitewashed
wall. The faint crackling of the fire could be heard
from the front room and a reddish glow from the open
door cast odd, capering shadows across the bare room.
Kara's stomach churned over with hunger from not
eating all day and the tension in her head grew. Her
eyes remained wide open focusing on her work ahead. The
wall was a masterpiece - a perfect blank canvas for her
to start over, make her own mark. A fat droplet of
dribble gathered at the corner of her mouth; it welled
up before oozing down her chin and falling onto the
front of her paint spattered T-shirt.
"No blinking, Kara. No blinking". She repeated
this over to herself. If she lost concentration, even
briefly, the paper would have a chance to come back and
Kara couldn't allow that to happen. She grinned at the
thought of the tired old paper burning away. Her mother
had been reluctant to change a single thing since her
father had died, but now the house ... it belonged to
her.
Copyright İ 2003 Marie Johnstone. All Rights Reserved
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
WANT to progress as a Horror Writer? Unearth writing
tips and fantastic, original new horror fiction with
the Sheer Horror ezine. Where horror's no longer dead!
*** Sheer Horror ~ Fiction to Haunt you Forever ***
* Join NOW: mailto:sheerhorror-@topica.com
_______________________________________________________
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
You may publish my fiction in your ezine and/or website
as long as the above resource box is left intact.
_______________________________________________________
L i s t I n f o
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
=> JOIN. If this ezine has been passed on to you and
you'd like to subscribe, please send a blank email to:
sheerhorror-@topica.com
Link: mailto:sheerhorror-@topica.com
=> LEAVE. If this ezine is no longer to your taste,
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=> CONTACT: mailto:marie.jo-@ntlworld.com
Copyright İ 2003 Marie Johnstone. All Rights Reserved
PSST! PASS iT ON! If you like Sheer Horror, please
recommend it. Hit that forward button NOW.
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ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
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