An Interview With Author, James Newman!!

Photo by Kim White

K.N. Lee: I'm pleased to introduce one of my mentors, author of Midnight Rain and Ugly As Sin, James Newman!

Where are you from?

     Hendersonville, North Carolina, in the foothills of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains.  Born and raised, and I don’t think I’d ever want to live anywhere else in the world.

What inspired you to write your first book?

     Dreams of wealth and fame.  But things don’t always turn out the way we expect them to, do they?

     I’m totally joking.  I just love a good story, always have, for as far back as I can remember.  I guess it was a natural progression that I would eventually want to make up my own.

Do you write full-time or part-time? How do you balance your writing life with your family/work life?

     Part-time.   And I’m cool with that, because I have a day job that I love.  As for balancing the writing life with work and family, it’s never easy.  I have a toddler running around these days, so it’s probably never been as difficult as it has the last few years.  But you just have to find the time to write whenever you can.  Excuses don’t cut it, because plenty of better writers than myself make time to hone their craft every single day.  And if I tried to tell you that I don’t have the time, my wife would call me on it.  She would accuse me of having plenty of free time to play on Facebook when I should be writing. 

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

     Well, I’ve heard that phrase -- “ugly as sin” – my whole life (no, not directed towards me, har-de-har-har), and it just worked so well for this one.  In the Prologue, the main character of my novel, a professional wrestler by the name of Nick Bullman, is horribly disfigured at the hands of two psychotic fans.  I love the double meaning there – “ugly” as it relates to poor Nick’s facial disfigurement and the way the public views him now, but also as it relates to the bad business he finds himself caught up in after he gets a phone call from his estranged daughter.

Do you always write horror, or do you experiment with other genres?

       Actually, most of what I’m writing these days isn’t really horror.  That’s true where my long-form work is concerned, anyway.  I do still lean towards horror when I’m writing short stories or novellas, but more and more when it comes to novels I find I’m gravitating towards stuff that’s more suspense/thriller-oriented, although usually with a streak of pitch-black humor running through it.

What are your favorite horror movies and books? Which influenced your writing the most?

     A few of my favorite books (not just in the horror genre but “dark fiction” in general):  Christine, The Shining, Psycho, Cage of Night by Ed Gorman, Lightning by Dean Koontz, The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum, The House Next Door by Anne Rivers-Siddons, Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, University and The Store by Bentley Little, Joe Lansdale’s Mucho Mojo and The Two-Bear Mambo . . . I could go on and on.

     Movies:  Invasion of the Body Snatchers ’78, The Exorcist, The Exorcist III: Legion, Return of the Living Dead, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, John Carpenter’s The Thing, David Cronenberg’s The Fly, Let the Right One In, Se7en, Requiem For a Dream.  I’m also a huge Star Wars nerd, a Dr. Who geek, and a Tarantino fanboy.  Oh, yeah . . . and I have a thing for movies about bank robbery.

     As much as I love to read, I’d almost say that books and movies have influenced me equally.  John Carpenter, in his prime, was one of my biggest inspirations.  I’ve always been a horror film fanatic.  As a matter of fact, 2014 will see the release of my first non-fiction project, a book called 666 Hair-Raising Horror Movie Trivia Questions!.  That’s gonna be a lot of fun.

K.N. Lee: Yes! I recall bonding over the film Let the Right One In. It’s one of the best horror movies I’ve ever seen. Good choices!

So what book are you reading now?
     I just started reading Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep for the second time (I’m so in love with this novel; it’s the best thing he’s done in twenty years, in my opinion).  I’m also finishing up a few single-author collections, such as Koontz’s Strange Highways, Brian Hodge’s Lies and Ugliness, and a re-read of Richard Chizmar’s Midnight Promises.

K.N. Lee: I’m buying Doctor Sleep today! Stephen King is incredible.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
     I’m ashamed to say I’m very much out of the loop with the “new blood” coming up.  Let me get back to you on that.

What are your current projects?
     I’ve slowly but surely started work on the follow-up to Ugly As Sin, a new “Nick Bullman” story.  There’s also a long-overdue collaboration that I’d like to jump into soon, a novella that I’ve been planning with a friend and fellow writer I admire a lot.

Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.
     My readers.  I was very lucky in that my first novel, Midnight Rain, was accepted by the first publisher I sent it to; it did well, and created a decent little fanbase for me that continues to grow with every new book.  So, at the risk of sounding like I’m kissing their butts, the folks who read my stuff and keep asking for more . . . they’re what keeps me going.  There’s no feeling like it, and it never gets old.

K.N. Lee: That’s not surprising at all. I enjoyed Midnight Rain!

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
     The desire to tinker with it just a little bit more is always there, even after it’s published, no doubt about it.  Some writers probably struggle with it more than others – I’d be willing to bet I’m one of the worst.  I agonize over every word, every sentence, every paragraph, until I finally say, “ENOUGH!  It’s DONE.  You have to STOP now.”  Sooner or later you have to tell yourself that your work is as good as it’s going to be, and you can’t afford to miss another deadline.  (laughs)

     By the time each it’s published, though . . . I’m usually 99% happy with it.  There’s some “distance” between myself and the work at that point, so I’m no longer overthinking things or second-guessing myself. 

     Much. 

Can you share a little of your current work with us?
     Why not.  Here’s a taste:

    

     Nick Bullman sat alone in his cell, breathing through his mouth so he didn’t have to smell the clogged-up toilet a few feet away, thinking on what he had done a few hours ago.

       He felt no regrets.  Would have done it all over again, if given the chance.

       In fact, as he recalled the look he’d seen on Darcy Devereaux’s face while his fists came down again and again like two meaty ball-peen hammers bludgeoning her husband’s skull . . .

       . . . he felt proud. 

       He knew that should have made him a little sick.  It should have turned his stomach more than the shitter full of putrid brown water left behind by the cell’s last tenant like a cruel gag gift.  But it didn’t.  He felt only a twisted sense of self-righteousness.

       What did that say about him as a human being?

       Nick didn’t know.

       All he knew was, he had to get out of here before Paulie “Pencil-Dick” Deveraux woke up in the hospital room.

       If he didn’t, if either Paulie or his wife talked to the boys in blue before he had a chance to do so himself, there wasn’t the slightest doubt in Nick Bullman’s mind . . .

       All three of them were fucking dead as Elvis.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
     Once upon a time, I would have told you that I struggle the most with creating realistic dialogue.  These days, though, I think dialogue is one of the things I do best.

     So, again, I’d have to say that I always find it difficult to stop tweaking, to decide that it’s time to let my “baby” out into the world ‘cause it’s as perfect as it’s gonna get.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work? 

     Joe R. Lansdale.  I’ve always loved his “voice”, which is not only real, it’s about as Southern as it gets.  I can relate to that, of course, even though Lansdale is from Texas and I’m from North Carolina.  I also admire how he can describe something horrible, yet somehow leave the reader laughing out loud even as he or she squirms with discomfort.

 

What was the hardest part of writing your book?
     With Ugly As Sin, I went into this book without an outline or anything remotely resembling an outline.  I’m usually a “plotter”, not a “pants-er”; at the very least I have a list of scenes that I plan to write (even if I do write them out of order, which I often do, I know what’s going to happen in every – or at least nearly every -- chapter).  This time, I didn’t do that.  For the most part I knew how Ugly As Sin was going to end, I knew who was behind the mystery, how it would all be resolved, all that stuff, but early on I decided I was gonna throw caution to the wind this time, and try flying by the seat of my pants as far as I how things would progress from point A to point Z.  It was scary, and although I don’t mind a little spontaneity – you’ve gotta have some, or it’s no fun – I’m not sure I’ll do that again.  This novel took me a lot longer to write than most.  I missed deadlines.  And I remembered along the way exactly why I need to have some sense of structure.  It’s just the way my brain works.  My version of an “outline” is not anything that’s set in stone by any means, but it’s at least a lighted path that keeps me from stumbling around in the dark, if you will.

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
     Don’t fly by the seat of your pants anymore, Newman, unless you want to finish one book every ten years.  Get yourself an outline, ‘cause that’s what works for you.

Do you have any advice for other writers?
     Have a thick skin.  Be professional.  Negative reviews are going to happen, and you should know that going into this.  I’ve seen folks who have been in this business for years -- people you’d think would be above such behavior -- act like complete infants because of a negative review.  No good can come of arguing with someone who gave you their honest opinion.

     My second bit of advice:  read your work aloud.  Multiple times.  You think it’s ready for publication after a draft or two?  It’s not.  Read it aloud, especially the dialogue, and you’ll find the stuff that still needs work.

K.N. Lee: I personally want to thank you for helping guide me in my early days of trying to become a published author. Your advice really helped me!

Now, is there anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
     Yes . . . THANK YOU.  I’ve been writing “seriously” for about 13 years now, and it still blows my mind that there are folks out there – folks who aren’t related to me! – who not only buy my work, who not only enjoy it, but then beg for more.  That’s awesome beyond words, man.  I wish I were more prolific, and could give you what you want more frequently.

What do you think about e-publishing versus technical publishing?

     I know, as a reader, I prefer a good, old-fashioned book.  I want to hold it, feel it, SMELL it!  I have no desire to read on a computer screen.  But that’s just me.  It’s the wave of the future, and if that’s what folks want then we’ve gotta give it to them.  It took me a while to dive into the e-publishing pool, I guess because of my own bias against reading fiction in that format.  From a business standpoint, that was extremely foolish on my part . . . royalties don’t lie!

K.N. Lee: You’re right. Royalties don’t lie! But, an old-fashioned paper back will never go out of style! So, we’re dying to know if you have an agent?

     Not at the moment.  And I’m cool with that. 

Quick Fire!

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

     Like I said, right here at home.  I love it here.

If you could have any super power, what would it be?

     To heal the sick and injured.  Imagine how cool that would be, and the smiles you could put on people’s faces.

Favorite food?

     When my wife cooks Mexican (fajitas, quesadillas, burritos, whatever that might be).  There is nothing finer on this Earth.

Favorite hobby?

     Hoops.  Despite a lifelong aversion to sports in general, I am a die-hard college basketball fan (go Tar Heels!!!).

Guilty pleasure?

     80s pop.  I love that stuff.  My favorite song from that era:  “Cruel Summer”, by Bananarama.

     No, I’m not kidding.

K.N. Lee: You’re not the only one, sir. That’s a great song!

Best movie you’ve seen this year?

     Well, it wasn’t a 2013 release, but one I saw recently that was just released domestically earlier this year was an Australian horror film called The Loved Ones.  Advertised as The Breakfast Club meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (believe it or not, that’s pretty fitting), it’s the scariest thing I’ve seen in years. 

     Movies featuring psychotic women usually strike a chord with me, though.

     What can I say.  You scare me.

K.N. Lee: Excellent! I cannot wait to see it!

Favorite book?

     Boy’s Life, by Robert R. McCammon.  At the risk of rambling on and on about it, I’ll only say this:  it’s PERFECT.  If you haven’t read it, folks, please remedy that as soon as you finish reading this interview. 

What could you not live without?

     My family.  My wife, Glenda, and our two sons, Jamie and Jacob.  They are my everything.

K.N. Lee: Thank you for sharing with us, James!

More on James Newman: 

 James Newman is the author of the novels MIDNIGHT RAIN and THE WICKED, and the short story collection PEOPLE ARE STRANGE. 2014 will see the release of the paperback and e-book editions of his novel ANIMOSITY, as well as a horror movie trivia book. By the time you read this interview, the paperback/e-book editions of his novel UGLY AS SIN should be available via Shock Totem Publications (www.shocktotem.com). James invites readers to keep up with him on Facebook, Twitter, and his official website, www.james-newman.com.

Tainted Warrior- A Fan-Fiction Series

Welcome to the first installment of Tainted Warrior, a fan-fiction series based on Alice in Wonderland. Check in for regular updates! I hope you enjoy Alice's twisted adventures into a darker version of Wonderland.

Tainted Warrior

K.N. Lee            

 “Doctor, I’ve been having those…” Alice paused. Her large blue eyes darted around the room. She feared that the walls would begin closing in at any moment. The ticking of the large wall clock taunted her when all she wanted was silence.

Dr. Stein cleared his throat and wiped the lenses of his glasses on his red tie. He put them back on and stared at the disheveled, manic, teen that sat in his brown, leather, chair.

“Please continue, Alice.”

She swallowed and wrung her white fingers until they turned red and raw. Her knee bounced and her eyelid twitched. Three years of counseling and she had made zero signs of progress.  

“I’ve been having those dreams again,” Alice blurted it out. She covered her face with her thin hands.

Alice tried to calm her breathing. She felt that the moment she spoke those words aloud, then the demons from her dreams would hear her and would come for her. 

She would have sobbed uncontrollably if Dr. Stein hadn’t left his seat to comfort her. He put a warm hand on her knobby shoulder.

“Calm down, Alice.” Dr.Stein’s voice was usually soothing, but not this time. He smoothed her long, messy, black hair and she started to catch her breath.

She looked at him as he knelt on one knee before her. He had friendly chestnut colored eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

Still, something was not right.

Alice felt the temperature of the room change and noticed something was different about Dr.Stein.  She tensed. Her eyes widened when she saw his curly, graying hair, start to sway as though a breeze swept through.

Dr. Stein’s gaze never faltered. He stared into hers with an unsettling intensity. Alice was certain that something was wrong.

There was a flicker of light behind his glasses and she was sure she saw a shadow reflecting on the lenses. She sucked in a breath and swirled around to catch whoever was behind her.

No one was there. Just the old fashioned wall papered wall. She wrapped her arms around herself and held tight, as though to keep the sudden chill of the room at bay.

“What is it Alice?” Dr.Stein’s soft voice grabbed her attention.

She shook her head.  “Nothing,” she whispered. She barely heard her own voice. Alice doubted that Dr. Stein had heard her response. Her eyes seemed to focus on his brown leather shoes. Her thoughts drifted to a place far from that room.

“Tell me about Wonderland, Alice.”

Alice shrieked at the mention of the place that haunted every second of her life. She pursed her lips and backed away from him. She climbed onto the headrest of the chair. She looked around and gasped as the shutters slammed closed. All sunlight was stolen from the small, cluttered, office.

Alice hesitated. She stared at the windows. The darkness made her hold her breath.

“Doctor?”

Dr. Stein didn’t answer.  He never even flinched.

“What’s happening?” Alice shouted as she tried to keep steady on the couch as the room began to shake. Her eyes widened as Dr. Stein stood with perfect balance, all while the books from his shelves fell onto the floor and his papers swirled around the room. He pulled a time piece from his pocket.

“You’re late, Alice,” he said as he tapped the face of the watch. “You’re late.”

“No,” she whispered. Her throat tightened with horror. Her fear rose as fast as her heart rate. She’d never forget the White Rabbit saying those words. How could Dr. Stein know those words?

“You’re late!” Dr.Stein’s voice echoed throughout the room as he lunged at her.  He grabbed her face and she screamed as loud as her voice would allow. 

Alice sucked in a breath as his hair caught fire.

The room became consumed with violent flames. She screamed and beat at his face with her fists. It was useless. Alice fought to remove his hands from her cheeks. 

He clutched at her tighter, as the flames traveled from his body to hers. The flames licked and burned her skin. She could smell dying flesh and the pain made her want to vomit. She was going mad.

Alice was already…mad.

“You’re late!”

Alice woke in the most violent manner. Her lungs were sore and burning from her screams. She was soaked in sweat. Her nightgown clung to her moist skin.

Her face was wet from a mixture of sweat and blood from ripping at her eyelids. Alice had been trying to pry her eyelids open with her ragged nails to free herself from her nightmare. The scars all over her face would never heal if she continued to relive that nightmare, night after night.

Alice sat upon the bottom bunk in the dark room she shared with three other orphans. Everything was calm, but she was fed up with this way of life. Her roommates had grown immune to her night terrors and had gotten used to sleeping with earplugs. 

Everyone called her crazy, loony, or… clinically insane. The authorities claimed that she had killed her family by setting their house on fire. She didn’t remember such a thing. She was glad she didn’t remember such a thing.

It was odd to think that she had actually done that. Alice remembered loving her parents and younger sister, but if the police said it was so, then it must be true. Besides, she was crazy, and this much she knew to be true. Who else spews tales of talking, vanishing, cats, and armies of playing cards who fought for a red queen that ruled in a fantastical world called ‘Wonderland?’

Alice was done.

She realized that she would never achieve sanity after all she had been through. She would end this tonight.

Not even Dr. Stein could help her now.

Alice leapt from her bed. The musty, old, floorboards creaked beneath her landing. The other girls never even stirred, they were peaceful in their slumber.

How she envied them.

She crossed the room and out the door. She raced down the thin hallways as though something, or someone, chased her. She heard the faint whispers coming from the walls, but she ignored them.

The blood rushed to Alice’s ears and her skin tightened with fear. The shadows danced and reached for her as she passed. She forced them from her mind.

Nothing could stop her now. She only hoped that the hallway would stay in place. They tended to get longer and longer to prevent her from reaching her destination. She would not fall for their tricks tonight.

Alice all but crashed into the bathroom. She was relieved that she had made it. She was nearly out of breath, but as determined as ever.

Wonderland would die with her. She turned the single bulb of light on and almost shrieked at her reflection. Her eyes were red. Her pale face was stained with blood. Her blue eyes were clouded with tears and blood as she stared at herself. She had once been a pretty girl, a good girl. How could all of this happen to her?

Alice became angry. She ground her teeth. Her blood boiled with untamed rage.

She punched the glass of the mirror.

The sound was loud and satisfying. The glass cracked along the center. A few shards fell into the rusty sink.

Alice grabbed a piece.Her chest heaved from her labored breaths. The pain of her life was too intense. She had no friends. She had no family. Alice didn’t remember what a hug felt like. She didn’t remember what love felt like.

She barely felt the sting of the glass as it cut her fingertips. She slit the soft, thin, flesh at the base of her wrist. To her surprise, the pain began to alleviate, as sure as the blood dripped into the sink.

A maniacal grin was brought to her face. A heavy weight was lifted. Her breaths finally slowed. She felt at peace.

Finally.

“Good girl Alice. I knew you were special,” someone whispered.

Alice’s head shot up and she gasped. She nearly crashed into the door as she backed away. She slipped on her spilled blood and grabbed the sink to catch her balance.

Alice stared back at the Cheshire cat who gazed at her from the cracked mirror. It made his orange face seem disfigured with his grin splattered across the broken glass.

“What do you want?” Alice snarled. Her brows were furrowed in malice. She lifted the bloody glass shard towards him. Seeing his face ignited something feral, and dangerous, within her.

The Cheshire cat eyed the weapon. His grin widened.

“Alisssss,” he hissed.  “You make me proud.”

She wobbled back. Her energy drained with the blood that puddled onto the dirty linoleum floor. She shook her head and tried to remain focused. The room spun.

“What do you want, Cat?”Her voice echoed down the broken glass corridor that appeared in the mirror. It was a dark hallway that seemed to go on forever.

He chuckled and gave her an irritating smirk. “You, Alice. I’ve always wanted, you.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“We want you back.”

She scoffed. “Why would I want to go back? That place was the end of me.”

“Where else would you go now girl?”

Alice stared at him and her lips pursed. She looked at her bleeding wrist. She couldn’t turn back now. She couldn’t collect her spilled blood and shove it back into her veins.

The deed was done. What could be worse than a rundown orphanage where they drugged her every morning?  It was a place where everyone looked at her like a worthless murderer. She looked past the Cheshire cat. 

Alice knew where that corridor of broken glass led.

“Come Alice,” he coaxed, reaching a paw through the looking glass.

Alice had nothing left to lose. She grabbed his paw with her bloody hand. He didn’t waste any time. He pulled her into the other side of the mirror.

Alice’s body was sucked from the bathroom. Every bone and muscle shrunk inward with the pull. Her body felt as though it was crushed by a heavy weight.

            “Much has changed in Wonderland,” The Cheshire cat whispered, but it was too late for her to turn back.

            “What do you mean, Cat?” Alice followed him. She looked down as her last drop of blood spilled onto the corridor of glass. She marveled as her blood turned the roadways bright red. It stretched like a bridge over the dark river.

Something wasn’t right.Wonderland had changed. Alice stared into the abysmal pool at her reflection. She wore a red dress with a black smock. White and black, stripped, stockings stretched upwards to her inner thighs. Her tattered sandals were replaced by sparkling red shoes.

            “Let’s just say,” the cat began. “You’re going to need that shard of glass on more than yourself this time.”

            Alice looked at the shard of glass. It had become a dagger of some sort. The blade had become crystallized, with a silver handle. She looked ahead. Her black hair swayed in the early dawn breeze of Wonderland. However, the sky was painted red, as was the ground, and the trees were absent of leaves. They were simply charred sticks and twisted twigs blackened and lifeless.

Alice gulped.

“This isn’t Wonderland, Cat. Where have you taken me?”

“Oh, but it is Alissss. It is what you’ve made it child.” His grin extended as he lifted his body higher into the air. Smoke began to surround his emaciated purple and gold body.

“This is your Wonderland.”