Artists listen up--Zero2illo has a deal for you!

I'm not an artist but my mother and sister were and some of my best friends are and I know how tough it is in the freelance art world. Zero2Illo is a site/blog that was started by a graphic artist to chart his own work/success and has grown into a supportive social network. Their current mission statement is: to enable and empower more creative entrepreneurs and illustrators to earn a living from their creative skills.

Right now (and through Wednesday, Zero2Illo is offering an amazing sale on tools for artists who want to expand their freelance careers. They're offering a bunch of books bundled for only $47. Check out the sale. And consider joining the community. We're all in this together, right?

Care for a Monday serving of dark fiction?

Head on over to Dark Valentine Magazine and your craving will be satisfied. There's a new story up called "Mother Mine" that is just chilling. April Grey is a new contributor to the magazine but I hope to see a lot more of her. Laura Neubert did the evocative illustration. She contributed several illustrations for our Fall Fiction Frenzy. Here's the link. And hey--be careful out there.

Oh Canada

Yes, it's another Canadian writing contest. This one is sponsored by above&beyond, Canada's Arctic Journal. Enter with 1000 words about life in Canada's Yukon, Northern Territories, Nunavut, or Nunavik. Words can be fiction or non-fiction. Check out the details on the Circumpolar Blog.

Bring on the Zombie Apocalypse--in French

This is a bad-ass zombie film from France, where they know how to do bad-ass.

You probably didn't get a chance to see this in the theater--I don't think it even played here--but it's now out on dvd. Here's the review from Bloody Disgusting. Here's the review from FEARnet. (They didn't like it as much as I did.)

NoHo Noir--And it's really Noir this week

This week's adventures of the residents of North Hollywood and Toluca Lake, California continue with "Lucky Lady." Here our luckless wannabe screenwriter Christo and his roommate Ash stumble into the path of a crazy homeless woman and veer into disaster.

The illustration is by Mark Satchwill, who as always, manages to capture the characters and the heart of the story. Here's the beginning of the story:

Vardan hated the homeless people who used his gas station as a rest stop. If they bought something, he couldn’t refuse them the right to use the bathroom, but if he saw one coming, he could usually head them off by hanging an “out of order” sign he kept under the counter just for that purpose.

The old lady, though, she was sly. She’d approach from his blind side, slipping through the entrance behind someone coming in to pay for gas. She always seemed to have enough pennies to buy a pack of gum or a roll of mints, and then she would ask for the bathroom key. She’d usually ask in front of someone, as if daring him to deny her permission in front of witnesses.

She’d snatch the key with her filthy hands and then disappear for a long time. When she emerged, the whole interior of the station smelled like a stable for hours, no matter how much Lysol he sprayed.

Vardan’s Unocal

10xxx Magnolia Blvd.

North Hollywood, CA 91601

4:53 p.m.

Today the old lady had been in the crapper so long Vardan thought she might have died in there. He was thinking about banging on the door to roust her when the two boys came in.

They weren’t really boys he saw as the shorter one started foraging for junk food. They just had that formless look that so many Americans had. What was the expression? Half-cooked? Half-baked. They looked half-baked, doughy and soft.

The nerd headed for the lottery ticket machine in the back of the store. He took a long time deciding which game to choose. Vardan didn’t understand gambling. He worked too hard for his money to throw any of it away. But that was Americans for you, he thought. Always looking for the easy way.

Vardan had come to California with a stolen Visa card, the address of his cousin in Glendale and ten words of English, all but one of them profane. He was big and strong and mean and his cousin always needed guys like him. Vardan had done okay for himself but nothing had been handed to him.

The guy with the junk food piled it all on the counter and then did a last recon of the candy display to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Over by the lotto machine, the nerd was staring at the ticket it had just spit out.

“Oh my God, Christo,” he said. “I won …”

He held out the ticket for his friend to see and that’s when the old lady finally came out of the bathroom, trailed by a stench so potent Vardan could taste it. She took one look at the nerd with the lottery ticket in his hand and went off.

“Give me that,” she yelled, grabbing for it. The nerd recoiled and put up his arms to defend himself. “I put money in the machine and that’s my ticket,” the old lady screeched. She flailed at the nerd with her small, bony fists.

The guy at the counter looked at Vardan. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

Read the rest of it here.

For Cormac and Nicole--

This is a story inspired by Cormac and Nicole's "Icarus Flight to Perfection" fiction challenge. Hope you like it:

Up Close and Personal

They always get sloppy. Always.

It’s just not possible to be vigilant all the time, to remain hyper-aware, to sleep with one eye open. There’s always a place where even the most paranoid feel safe. If they go there, I will find them. And if I find them, there will be blood.

I will kill them quietly and efficiently. I will use a knife and I will leave the weapon behind. It is the way I sign my masterpieces. Yes, I consider myself an artist. Where Rembrandt painted with oils and pigments, I paint in blood and pain.

When my prey is frightened, his aura changes color. Rage changes the color too, and so does despair. By the time I am finished with my work, I will have seen the whole spectrum of human emotion spilled out onto my canvas. Pain is a sunset color, an amalgam of orange and pink seldom seen in the physical world, except perhaps in the petals of a perfect rose.

The pain is important, but so is the blood. When it first flows, it is shockingly hot, spilling across my flesh with the heat of a summer sun. As it chills and thickens, I rub it into my skin as it if were some exotic lotion. As it dries, it leaves pigment behind, the stain of life ended. Blood. I revel in it. I wallow in it. I immerse myself in it.

The only way to get that quantity of blood is to use a knife. And that’s why I don’t own a gun.

New Author Page Up at Night Owl Reviews

Night Owl Reviews is offering a terrific link exchange for authors who want to promote their books and who doesn't? Check out my author page here. The link goes straight to the Kindle store where you can purchase Just Another Day in Paradise for $3.99.

As long as you're over there, check out their free reads.