Book one of a literary, occult- and myth themed urban fantasy series. I’ve been working on getting the first installment right for a decade now and think I’ve finally got it. If you’re looking for a new, unique read, check it out.
As I continue to research promotion for an indie book, put out by a small press in the fringes of revolutionary / transgressive urban fantasy, I am reminded just what a task the promotion process is. A group task, ultimately. And it is a process, an ongoing one. One you can definitely help with, if you’re motivated by the desire to get usual literature noticed (something other than werewolves and their lovers for urban fantasy! Something other than zombies or plagues for dystopian!) Something that presents various female characters from different background, and though it’s not a book about personal or identity politics, because it’s a book about how transgressive all identity is to politics, period, it’s bound to come up. As is the hate, both fictional and real.
Whatever your reason for getting involved, whatever mine have been for working on getting this thing right for a decade so I can move on to the rest of the trilogy, the time is come.
Contact me now for an Advance Reader Copy.
Release is 9-9 so you will have just over two months to read the book (it’s 300 pages), and write a quick review for Goodreads and Amazon.
I have an eARC (PDF or .mobi - the PDF has art!) Available for free. Contact me now.
There is additionally a print ARC available, at cost for most non-attached reviewers, or free for those that are able to write a full review for a web or print publication. (I wish I could make print ARCs available to all but there are financial realities.)
So please check it out http://www.PartyAtTheWorldsEnd.com and contact me by the end of June if you’re interested. (Include email for eARC or address if print ARC.) And if you’re unsure, I’ve already made the first chapter free. You’ll see links to it on that page.
Thanks again. -JC
eBook available for pre-order for $4 on Smashwords! (Will be released Sept 1.)
"A mad ride past the event horizon of sanity."
Lilith has returned. Or so she says.In her hand is a ticket to a party on the rooftops as the cities burn. This is the story of that party, and the pranksters that tried to outrun reality and got branded terrorists in the process.
So, kind of a last minute thing — but thanks to the very kind http://www.kristilynink.com/ (and her table partner not being able to make it), it seems likely I’m going to be sharing a table at Wizard World next week (19th - 21st). I’ll be making an early edition of Party At The World’s End…
This book has had such a long, convoluted production process that it seems easier to treat it as something new and just leave it at that. This is of course the case more often than not (look into the production backstory for most movies). But some people are bound to notice past editions, and some…
These are a few of my favorite thi— well not really. Except dragon*Con. (Which I may be doing!)
I want to try all the things this time out. I’ve done all the above, but I was rolling out four projects a year for years and none really got their just representation. I want to give Party at the…
“This is a brutal, darkly funny, and, above all, honest collection of short stories crafted especially for lovers of physical books. Illustration styles and even typeface are carefully matched to enrich the unique narrative experience of each tale. Words of Traitors is a work of art unlike anything you’ve read before.”
Recommended by Brian S., Powells.com
Note: Words of Traitors is a limited full color short story collection which includes several stories that have been since integrated (along with 404 Documents) into a single edition of Party At The World’s End to be released autumn 2014.
I’m trying to get from the content editing to copy editing stage of the first book in the Fallen Cycle series. It’s “literary” urban fantasy / magical realism novel. The website from the initial edition was http://www.PartyAtTheWorldsEnd.com (though I need to change a lot before the actual…
- some words for Party At The World’s End (via fallennation)
I heard Words of Traitors was picked as a featured short story anthology. More details when I have them. (It’s not at the URL above. That’s I believe last years.)
Good thing that although this book was a limited edition and I’ve since pulled it from Amazon, I have kept up distribution through bookstores for those that really want a “collectors copy.”
I’ve been working the past 6 months on editing, rewriting, and consolidating the related narratives in Words of Traitors, 404 Documents, and Fallen Nation into a single book. This will be book one of the Fallen Cycle when it is complete, and hopefully I’ll find a publisher interested in an ongoing series. It’s a long story why I decided to do this, but the main reason is these stories really are part of a single whole, it just took a long time to write out all that material and get a top-down view.
What this first book almost definitely WON’T have is all the color art that fills Words of Traitors, so that material will only be available to those that get the limited edition…
Who I Am & The Places I Am.
Where do you create? Do you live there or just visit sometimes? How important is creating art to your identity?
Pardon me if I have to cut a somewhat circumambulatory route to cut to the heart of this question, as the nature of such questions and answers are always labyrinths, and the process of hammering them into a straight line always takes something away.
The medium changes but this, the space and people and final transcript in the form of a book, a painting, an album, is what I am, first and foremost. the space I work and play are more or less the same, they are where I spend most of my time. If you haven’t read me or heard me or looked and asked how the pieces relate, you don’t know me—which is fine. You don’t need to. But if you wanted to, that’s where you would find me. And nowhere else. I don’t have children. I’m an artist.
And doing years of conventions I met many artists, writers, musicians that were really important to me — some have become acquaintances, some even collaborators. That is the most meaningful thing to me, creating a world or character with someone. Almost every project I’ve worked on has on some level been about the relationship of myself and those I was collaborating with.
And that means more to me than I ever could on my own. The times I’ve lost those kind of connections, that’s something I can’t really speak to here. Suffice it to say that I can’t read over half of the books, listen to the songs, without—at one point or another—crying. Or simply thinking of them and being unable to continue.
As this isn’t the only way art can be approached, I’ve done some thinking about where it might have originated. It has always been quite natural to me, which is generally a sign that something began early. When I was a child, my father and mother were divorced. I was 4. My mother was an art therapist, and she started taking me to a Psychodramatist with therapeutic experience. For many years that was my therapist. And the ideology of art therapy around it. That has always been a powerful, unspoken part of my work and why I do it.
But it goes far beyond that. Let’s talk a little about specific spaces and what we do with them.
Just out of college, I began working in a 2000 sq. foot space with friends—soon to be business partners—and that space, once a hunting lodge, became the first of several shared studios. “Orangeface.” I hadn’t at that point really found my voice, even to the extent that every project is about losing and rediscovering ones voice, alone or in chorus, you still build up a sort of toolkit, and at that point the only tools I had really were the approach of collage and a sort of burning sense that something would come of it all if I collected and reconfigured everything I encountered. That remains a part of the process, though again it shifts and adapts to the demands of each new space, each new person, each new project.
Later we teamed up with a group that had a 13,000 sq foot space on the base of the Hudson, and later, moved out to Southern California and converted half of the house we were living in into some kind of freakish project studio. More recently, I lived in a group apartment underground that you can see as the primary setting for Clark: A Gonzomentary. It was where we lived and worked together for a year or two. The place, the people, and the projects are one and the same in my mind. You can’t really separate them and expect to have the same thing.
That’s always been what you do with space—you convert it into something that you can work with. Many Americans with an excess of space seem to turn it into some into some kind of artless, heartless museum. I’ve never understood that. Space means you can help house an art movement. And most of my life that work has been a joint project. It was not only how I came to know myself but the only way I’ve really known to know others.
I can’t say if it’s temporary or the beginning of something different, but I no longer have an art work area—because we don’t have a place of our own right now. Hopefully sometime in the spring we will, although my heart tells me it will nevertheless remain somewhat different. The solitary process is something else. You have more freedom but you can’t really tell where the walls are. It’s disorienting, and it becomes much easier to wander in the labyrinth and get nowhere fast. More than finding the physical space, that means finding the right people to begin a new chapter, and that is never certain.
This is the fact that defines my life right now as “in transition.” I have a small corner carved out for myself, but I haven’t yet really figured out how to occupy it because my heart, mind, and body are all going different directions right now.
And that’s ok too. It’s just what Right Now is. My point is it is in my studio that I discover who I am and also where I am in that story. The most notable way an artist can define themselves sometimes is by not showing up.
I wanted to share with you the last place I did most of my art work, and this is it. (Pictures above.)
You can see less audio equipment in this setup because I’ve been doing that less. And removing some of to make room was like the final admission that it was a real decision. The guitars hung for years after my first divorce, mostly a reminder that until I made something new with someone new those instruments were nothing but an altar to the pain I was still holding on to. When I joined a new band it was a rebound relationship. Started to clear the air but ultimately I think too much of who I was when playing music is STILL somehow owned by my ex for it to be something that I’ve learned to reclaim.
All the same, music has brought me so much joy making it with certain people but it was all about those relationships and finally it caught up to me that I never found new people that could go to those spaces with me in a meaningful way.
I fled that for years — those abandoned guitars, the hundreds of hours running scales imagining getting back on the horse, again in front of an audience so it is REAL.
Instead, I wrapped up two final albums and that was it. Those albums were light hearted in a way but also deeply tinged with the relationships of those involved, again it was about us, and for instance when the percussionist OD’d in the bathtub and wrote a poem while blacked it, that became the lyrics to Eye of Set.
Close the chapter, turn the page. Next studio I’m hoping to have a “real” drawing table again and integrate it with my wacom.
It would be a long and possibly tedious task to unearth all the stories behind the making of all the projects I’ve collaborated on. But a few have come to mind and maybe you’ll find something interesting in the recollection also:
Join My Cult!, the first book I wrote, was defined by a circle of friends still asking who we were, still teens some of us. I made sure everyone involved in the scene contributed something even just by inspiring a character in the weird, intentional train wreck that was.
404 Documents, Bradley the Buyer lived with me in my then tiny studio space and we recorded and mixed the album that went hand in hand with the book we wrote together. My least known and maybe sometimes favorite book, because it cuts straight to the heart of his relationship with himself, and also my relationship with him at first - her first met me as this occult author, creator of Join My Cult, and I brought that mythos to him and his frustration and anger maybe had a new language to express itself in. But in the end, Adam, the protagonist of that book, gives up everything in his life, or has it ripped out, because those things were all false veneers. And it ends with him, like the protagonist in Pi, wise now but completely broken by the blunt force trauma of truth.
And that is exactly what happened to Bradley, the real man turned fiction turned man again, when he went into the hospital, trying to take out his eyes like Oedipus.
If you want to be my friend, or have some vindictive need to inflict pain, that’s how you’d do it. You would make art with me, and do it with everything you have and then I’ll give it all I have as well. And it will be awful, it will be glorious, it will be like the lead in the Kalavala, three ugly lies that all tell the truth. Sometimes I’m not even sure I’m alive without those things. I’m like a tube that dispenses paint.
And right now I’m having a hard time keeping on track, which is something completely new to me. Completely fresh. Like all new things it’s scary but maybe there will be growth on the other side of this. Maybe all this new self doubt and anxiety is the sharp edge that belies a new truth, waiting to be exposed.
I’ve been reaching out silently, feeling around in these spaces, because I don’t know what is next and really that means I don’t know WHO is next. What group of creatives? What muse or lover? What new physical challenge? that will be where I find it. And it will be, ultimately, where it is lost.
So this last space. It was supposed to be my Safe Place. I don’t mean that figuratively, I mean from trauma and my own growing sense of failure. The weight of that is so heavy some days you want to hang yourself just to lighten the load. But I didn’t. I came there at the request of my best friend. The one I said I trusted over everything else. You have all read Greek tragedy. You know where this is going.
Chronic pain and PTSD were my real collaborators when I worked at the little studio shown here, every piece defined and limited by nerve pain and mood swings. I learned to work with it. Like everything else I learned to make THAT a part of the piece. It’s all over Words of Traitors.
So he and I wrote the screenplay Fallen Nation: Babylon Burning. Planned it all out, broke up the scenes and got to work. Writing with him was always even more like architecture than any other collaborations. And that’s a good thing. We learn from working with others. That’s how it works. I don’t believe in the solitary artist is an island myth. I personally adapted the script we made, which was optioned but never made, into Fallen Nation: Party At The Worlds End, the book. But that book, as much as it is about other things for strangers, is at its heart about our relationship. All the strengths and weaknesses of us as people come out when we make a world together.
My stupid ass made that move 200 miles north most of all because I didn’t understand that we would never collaborate again. For most of the time it was because he made the commitment to be a father to many children and have more still and that is something that leaves no room for the impractical dreams of a failure.
I know, that isn’t how it was, I’m not a failure, and how needy of me to expect attention like that from a best friend. I am needy. I give all but I also ask it. I can do less but then we can’t make stories together. We can have coffee. And that seemed alright enough for a while. It was for me. Clearly wasn’t for something else.
At the end, I was pushed by circumstance into having a ptsd trigger event, where thankfully I maintained enough control to not hurt myself or anyone else. But after he called me “crazy,” and implied that when other people had written me off for that, they may have been right to do so.
So when I see this picture of my work space all I see is a 20 year long friendship that seems to be over and I don’t even know why.
The only thing I can do is make a new space and say: is there anyone else out there that wants to be my friend? If so, this is how we do it.
Not to paint it as a sunny scene. History shows one or both of us might go in a mental hospital afterward but that’s just the price of creating fictional worlds that aren’t meant to serve as an escape really.
Pans Labyrinth was an escape for the protagonist from HER trauma, but it is not for those tasked with creating it.
I’m at the point in my career now, with enough under my belt that I can look and see what the deal is. My task is to get harder, or at least not less soft, as I wait for the right time to bring the hammer down.