The Return of David Boyer

Two years ago I'd never heard of this scofflaw. Then he sent a story to Dark Valentine called "Bugs." It was a very good story--creepy, atmospheric, dark. I accepted it.  One minute after the issue dropped I knew more about David Boyer than I ever wanted to know. My colleagues and I were horrified by the thought that we'd unknowingly published a plagiarized story.  We sent emails to Mr. Boyer who was shocked, SHOCKED that we would even bring up the P word, which actually we didn't in those first communications. As we got more information, our feelings of betrayal grew.  And so did the number of questions.  Would someone really go to all this trouble to rip off a story for $10?  Really? 
We were never able to prove the story didn't belong to Boyer. We reached out to as many blogs as we could, directing readers to the story in hopes of finding out the true author. We copyscaped the story and didn't find a single sentence match. In the absence of proof, we felt we could not simply remove the story, so we left it in. To this date no one else has come forward to claim the piece. So, apparently  he got away with this one.  But a couple of writers he's victimized are not going to let him get away with it. Read Brian Keene's blog today to find out about the legal action they want to take against him. The wheels of justice grind slowly ... but they grind exceeding fine.

Movie Night

Maybe I'm overthinking this, but I am troubled by the trailer for War Horse.  I  know it's more a boy-and-his-horse movie than it is a war movie and therefore a "triumph of the human spirit" kind of a film, but it looks like grim scenes of the trenches are juxtaposed against moments of staggering beauty and a sort of magical realism/mythic undertone. (The ads describe it as an epic adventure.)

There's something about this trailer I find troublesome.
War should not be beautiful.  That's part of the package that's been sold to young men (and now women) for years, part of what Stephen Crane scathingly portrayed in The Red Badge of Courage. Journalist/screenwriter/combat veteran  William Broyles, Jr. wrote an essay for Esquire's November 1984 issue called "Why Men Love War" that covers the subject pretty well. But I once did an enormous reading project involving hundreds of memoirs written by Vietnam vets (and if you haven't read Michael Herr's Dispatches, do so) and almost every single one described combat as being ... like in the movies. It's disingenuous to pretend there's not a connection.
What do you think?

Trailer for One for the Money

The first book in Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, One for the Money, is one of the funniest books I've ever read.  I loved it. It's been in development as a movie for a looooong time.  And now the trailer is here.  I like Katherine Heigl. I like Daniel Sunjata (although my heart was set on Dwayne Johnson as Ranger). What do you think?

It's Banned Book Week--Buy Some Bling

Best banned book quote I've read lately comes courtesy of @Beatitudes on Twitter:  "Books cannot be killed by fire," Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Over on Etsy, an artisan using the handle Pi-Hole has created this banned book bracelet. It's $40 and you can get it here.

On the same site, at Cobweb Corner, you can also get a cool "I read banned books" bracelet for $32.

Carolyn Forsman, who specializes in "conversation piece" jewelry created two different "banned books" bracelets for the American Library Association's Office of Intellectual Freedom. Her bracelets cost $24 or two for $40. Be sure to check out her other goodies. Her bug bracelet is just the thing to wear on Halloween; or to pick up for your favorite Goth for Christmas.  (Yes, it's coming.)

Toxic Tidbit: Birds of a Feather

Here's another story from Toxic Reality, my upcoming story collection.  Birds of a Feather is my foray into the Lovecraftian world.

Birds of a Feather

Algernon didn’t really understand his wife’s fondness for birds. She had come into their marriage with a parrot that had belonged to her grandmama and it had lived in a cage in the drawing room where it had moulted and shed and screeched and squawked. Algernon had loathed the parrot. One day when his wife was out making calls, Algernon had poured a dose of Godfrey’s Cordial down its feathered throat and that had been the end of the feathered nuisance.

Eleanor had been quite upset but as the bird had no mark on him, she could only accept the explanation that it had died of natural causes. If she had noticed the marks on his hand where the bird had pecked him (pecked him quite hard in fact), she had not mentioned it.

Algernon had suggested that Eleanor have the infernal thing stuffed if she missed it so much but his suggestion had been met with a stony glare and a glacial silence. Algernon had often told Eleanor that sulking did not suit her. Unlike a beautiful woman whose allure was only enhanced by a pout, a sullen expression simply magnified an ugly woman’s unappealing looks.

Toxic Reality...The Cover

Here's the cover. Designed by Joy Sillesen of StonyHill Productions, published by Dark Valentine Press. The core image was a photo of an oil spill taken by photographer Valeriy Kirsanov.

I am angry with my friend

She's not so much my friend as a good friend of several of my friends, but we share an orbit and I care about her. Last week she dropped out of sight. She stopped answering her phone; she stopped answering emails; she stopped posting on Facebook.
She went dark. I wouldn't have thought anything about that because when I'm busy, I don't tweet or update or post either. But here's the thing. The last status update she left on Facebook before pulling the plug was a stark, two-word message:  Goodbye everybody.
A frantic Facebook-fueled search ensued with people sharing information--where they last saw her, where she might have gone, who she might be with. Her sisters were all contacted and it was clear they had no idea where their little sister was.
They posted pleas for their sister to call them. Their kids posted pleas for their aunt to get in touch. No response. Radio silence. And the clock was ticking. People drove up and down streets looking for her car. People contacted a coffee shop where she was known to hang out. There was talk of posters and flyers and news stories on patch.com. (My over-burdened  NoHoNoir editor was ready to step up with an article, even though he is insanely busy.)