I’ve noticed over the past several months that people assumed I wrote extreme horror. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I don’t. Admittedly, I’m not afraid to dip my toes into the gore now and then, if it serves the story. But story is the key word here and mine are very much character-driven. I’m more interested in writing (and reading) about a character’s reaction to the monster than the monster itself, whether that monster is fresh from the grave or living right next door. Otherwise the tale falls flat for me.
The reason for the confusion about my style became clear when readers began to say that the stories were much deeper and more thought-provoking than they’d previously assumed from the book’s former gory cover.
The saying goes, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” That’s probably true in almost all cases except for books.
Because a book cover is supposed to make a promise, and the old cover was breaking that promise. I should have known better. Anyway, I fixed it.
This cover is light-years better, because it offers a closer glimpse into what the stories inside are all about, and it tells you something of who I am as a writer: a lover of Harlan Ellison, Alfred Hitchcock, and Ray Bradbury; The Twilight Zone, Shirley Jackson, and Richard Matheson. And Robert McCammon. And Joe Lansdale. And so on and so on…