Saturday, 31 August 2013

A Poem a Day (36): Under a blood red moon

Last weekend I went camping at Cromer with some friends and visited an animal sanctuary. It was brilliant. We went on to the beach at night time and the stars were out and the moon was red, and I had to write about it. I've just gone over the poem and changed some bits, and come up with this. Thanks :)

Under a blood red moon

Layer upon layer of silken swirls
They slide like tiny white spider webs,
Shifting like lace, delicate but wild;
Fingers spreading, gripping the shore
Seeking to touch my sinking toes
Here in the dark where silence reigns;
Cotton wool balls of rolling surf
Drive, heaving the sand into piles.

Something glistens beneath the rush
Of these chill waves, plunging near;
The eye of the sombre sea beckons,
Its breath eerily warm in its iciness,
Scooping, dipping, surging forth.
A blood red moon hangs in the sky,
Watching, whispering to the waves
Breaking in the roar of this embrace

Hugging the shore, it searches wide
For its silent partner on the beach,
I, standing on the edge alone.
My shadow enters the waves,
My second self lost in the surf;
It reawakens the life of the sea
Ebbs and flows returning without me,
Leaving but a kiss upon the sand

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Friday, 30 August 2013

RIP: Seamus Heaney

Sad to hear about the passing of a great poet today, Seamus Heaney, at the age of 74. If only I could write one line as great as his, I'd be a happy girl. In commemoration I'd like to introduce those who don't know his writing to this poem of his called Digging. Enjoy. 

Digging by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb 
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound 
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.


Thursday, 29 August 2013

FREE book today! The Sea Inside

Hi everyone! I have a free gift for you today!

My ebook, The Sea Inside, is free on Amazon - all countries.

It is a fantasy adventure set in various worlds and times, starring a strong heroine called Jayne, who must endure many trials and tribulations to find herself and her heart's desire.

Amazon links:

Book 1 in the Cerulean Songs series. 

Time is all we have; it flows – it cannot stop.

Jayne wakes up in hospital following a terrible accident, which changes her life as she knew it. While struggling to recover, she is visited by a mysterious woman who offers her a gift. To the girl’s astonishment, she finds herself on a journey, on both the physical and mental plane. It brings her to the mystical realm of Entyre, where life is very different and power lies with the creatures of the deep. While the threads of time keep flowing, Jayne must decide what is real, who to trust, and regain her inner strength in order to find herself and her true destiny.

Jayne concentrated on getting better. The dark mood that she had found herself in grew steadily lighter and she pushed her memories of the blue city to the back of her mind, dismissing them as dreams, which would gradually fade with time. That was her hope, for while she slept her mind wove images of the sea, accompanied by the echo of the whales and a tall man whose hair was the colour of the darkest waves. He was always there, not far away it seemed, thus was the lucidity of her sleeping life.

Some reviews...
Nickie Storey, author of the Grimsley Hollow series: “A delicious brew of invention, enchantment and refreshing characters, Vickie Johnstone has a firm grasp on the fantasy genre. I can’t wait to read more of her work!”

Greta Burroughs, author of the Wee People series: “Strange worlds, interesting characters, suspense and a surprise ending – what more can you ask for? This book has it all and more.”

Jennifer Thomas: “A gripping and fascinating mythical adventure that is beautifully described. There is suspense, fear and emotion throughout the entire novel that makes you want to keep turning the page.”

DW Davis: "Your heart will break, soar, break and soar again as Jayne faces trials and tribulations, experiences love and loss, and learns what really matters to her above all things in both worlds." 

KJ Dahlen: "I couldn't put it down until I reached the end." 

A big thank you to Maja Dražić for the beautiful cover photograph.

Hope you enjoy the book if you pick it up :)

Wednesday, 28 August 2013

#WW WOW Wednesday: S. L. Wallace

WOW Wednesday is a new thing for, ahem, Wednesdays! Coinciding with 
Writer Wednesday (#WW) on twitter. My second guest is S. L. Wallace whose books 
include Price of a Bounty, Canvas Skies and Heart of Humanity
Today, you can grab her newest book, Retrospection, for just 99c
What's it all about, I hear you ask? Well, read on to find out...


What if there is more to reality than you ever imagined?

When Claire wakes up in the hospital, she discovers a stranger in her room who only she can see and hear. Learning Jhidhai's secrets will take her on a journey through both time and space. But Claire has secrets of her own — secrets that will lead her toward a destination she would never have imagined. Set in Chicago 2001, as well as in numerous historic time periods, the paranormal meets the historical in a seamless blend of action, wonder and excitement.

Where you can buy it

About the Author

S.L. Wallace is an upper elementary Montessori teacher and lifelong writer, who is a descendant of the famous William Wallace. Like him, she believes in freedom and independence. Unlike him, she fights her battles with the pen. S.L. has a quirky family and prefers quirky friends. If you see her out and about, she is likely looking for some fun.

Fun Facts
  • S.L. Wallace is an upper elementary Montessori teacher, teaching students in grades 4-6, all in the same classroom.
  • She enjoys playing volleyball, even though she isn’t very good at it.
  • Plants in her care rarely survive, but kids and animals thrive.

Other books by S.L. Wallace

 Price of a Bounty

In a world divided by class warfare, the Maddock siblings must decide who to trust and where their loyalties lie

Keira Maddock lives in a dark future in which the Elite have everything and everyone else suffers. She is a survivor. Out of necessity she has become a skilled seductress, thief and bounty hunter  a Freelancer. When a typical job goes awry, it changes everything. Alliances are formed, long kept secrets are revealed and lives are forever changed. 

In book one of the Reliance on Citizens trilogy, S.L. Wallace introduces a world divided, in which not everyone is whom he seems to be. In a seamless blend of action, sci-fi, romance and political suspense, we are encouraged to consider the bonds that makes us human.

Price of a Bounty LitFlix  

Where you can buy it

Canvas Skies

The class divide must be closed, and Keira, Guy and Aimee are determined to make that happen

Greed. Power. Class division. Resistance.

The Terenian government has worked hard to divide the haves from the have-nots. Guy Bensen, Elite bachelor of the year, wants a better life for everyone. Thief/hired killer Keira Maddock hungers for equality. Together, they might be able to change society.

Meanwhile, due to tragic events caused by the Divide, Keira's younger sister, April, has left her baby in the realm across the sea. Now she returns to Terene. With the arrival of two very different men, her life becomes complicated. In order to be safe, April must hide her identity. In order to live, she must open her heart.

In book two of the Reliance on Citizens trilogy, S.L. Wallace delves deeper into political intrigue as we examine the bonds that make us human, blending the genres of action, sci-fi, romance and political suspense.

Canvas Skies Litflix:

Where you can buy it

Heart of Humanity

What will it take for a broken society to be repaired? Eleven-year-old Noah is about to find out

The laws of Terene may have changed, but that doesn't mean the hearts and minds of its people have. 

Life in the peaceful and technologically advanced realm of Mediterra is all eleven-year-old diabetic Noah can remember and all his sister, Nadine, has ever known. With a new President of Mediterra, however, the family is forced to leave. Scott Maddock has decided to move his family back to his homeland of Terene where life has supposedly changed for the better. Being dropped into the heart of a prejudiced society and becoming the target of the baddest bully at school, Noah isn't so sure. How far will they go to stand up for what is right?

In book three of the Reliance on Citizens trilogy, S.L. Wallace takes a look at equality, bullying and prejudice while seamlessly blending the genres of action, sci-fi and political suspense.

Heart of Humanity Litflix

Where you can buy it


 Thanks for reading!
Have a groovy day!

A Poem a Day (35): Rose & 3 haiku


The lady wanders wearily through this world
So cold
Waiting between the echoes of silence
Says a few words to no one in particular
Rain caresses down
Her palms rise to touch the chilled glass
Pressing her nose against the windowpane
Blowing warm life
Her fingers trace curling patterns in the haze
Distilled in the light refracted from the moon
Making its starlight crossing
Strangers stroll past, lost in their indifference
Shadows sketched in outline without form
Toes tapping
An escape of life happening in the moment
Shielded, the Fool will never be compromised
She stretches up
Reaching beyond herself to the unfathomable
The unthinkable self that steps into itself
So she is one
Pure of heart and design, watching the world weave

3 haiku


Amid the morn rush
Inside spills the numbing crush;
This dance with strangers


Trills the wren so light
Flutters, flits her little tail,
Bewitch, twitch and gone


On this moonlit stroll
Wrapt, hand-in-hand, noticing
Nothing but greatness

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Thanks for reading! :) 

Friday, 23 August 2013

A Poem a Day (34): Abyss

Not sure what I was thinking about here. I dreamed of zombies last night, so maybe that explains it! I was imagining something in the sewers... what could it be? I leave it up to you! :)


Into the abyss
It dives, writhing,
Rising on the tides
Hurtling forth;
An arch of triumph
Splits the rain
Surging in, scattering

Anonymous feet rush,
Splashing through,
So oblivious now
To the starkness,
The empty rawness
Of the world below

Patiently, it waits
Down in the depths
Of endless dark
Beneath the streets;
Scaled and coiled,
Ready to spring...

Copyright Vickie Johnstone

Thursday, 22 August 2013

A Poem a Day (33) - Disparate Worlds

Here is a poem I wrote last night. I was about to nod off to sleep and started thinking about a woman sitting under a tree, watching a rainbow that seemed to contain all her hopes.

Disparate Worlds

She sits below the leap of the rainbow rising
While he hesitates alone in the drizzling rain

She wanders between the lines so tightly drawn,
Fielding the shadows fleeting beyond her vision;
Without a care in the world, she loves to dance
In the midst of faces, colours and the happening

He knows from whence the echoes slither and slide,
Creating from this clay these forms in his fertile mind;
Watering the tiny seedlings in order for them to grow,
Springing into the giants of which he seeks to preach

Under the boughs she carves her old name anew,
Muttering small nothings that echo on the breeze,
Her every word uplifted on the autumnal leaves;
Their reds suit her, tangling in her escaping hair

Where he follows, he seeks to own her privacy,
Relishing the fit of his boot in her peaceful steps;
While she sits, idly wishing on an idle dream,
He frowns, conjuring a whole secret life for her

Where she exists the fullest is in her imaginings,
Skipping down a hillside littered with musical notes;
Fresh dew speckled on a bluebell nods her way,
The slightest touch fearing to destroy its symmetry

A black beetle scuttling where the gutter waters swirl,
Ploughing through, so chaotic, snapping and bending,
He seeks to slice her confidence, on a par with his,
Watching while she sleeps, so unaware and trusting

In this waking life she steps far inside these mirrors,
Seeking the way that eels beyond this dimmed reality;
One of her creation, designed when she was needful,
Yet now the rainbow soars, she desires to be free

The man hesitates in the rain, stumbling in the darkness;
In contrast, she glides beneath the waking of a dream

Copyright Vickie Johnstone

Wednesday, 21 August 2013

#WW WOW Wednesday: G Mitchell Baker

WOW Wednesday is a new thing for, ahem, Wednesdays! Coinciding with 
Writer Wednesday (#WW) on twitter. My first guest is G Mitchell Baker whose books include the Lethal Believers Series and The Involvement of Emerson
Today, I'm spotlighting book two in his dark fantasy series, called Lethal Believers: DVM. What's it all about, I hear you ask? Well, read on to find out...

Lethal Believers: DVM

“DVM is hurting animals. Danta continued to battle Mantid Tranquil. He is empowered by Lamia, the myth in search of rehabilitation,to defend The Innocents.”

Lethal Believers: DVM is the second novel in the 
Lethal Believers Series, as a year later, Danta, protector of The Innocents, considers Lamia’s invitation to collaborate. The myth in search of rehabilitation wants the company of her stoic enabler. Their worlds continue to merge as Kagan and Evan Brancher experience the loss of their champion horse, Random, by the scourge of Mantid Tranquil. With Mantid losing control of DVM, worlds collide and there is more collaboration to protect in response.  

Can ‘The Innocents’ be protected, and will their determination and mythology be enough to make a positive difference in this chaotic world? Are The Innocents learning enough to ultimately prevail against Mantid Tranquil, or will Danta and Lamia collaborate and continue to rope in the corrupted members of the insolent organization?

Book 3 in the series, Lethal Believers: Cave Ravens, is now with Master Koda Select Publishing and scheduled for release in 2014.

About G Mitchell Baker

Now living in the Deep South, G. Mitchell Baker has also enjoyed spending time out west, from the south west United States to western Canada. Having practised law for more than twenty years, Baker enjoys researching and writing projects that draw him into many genres, including contemporary fiction, science fiction, and paranormal, metaphysical, and visionary works of fiction. In addition, as a writer of feature-length screenplays, he likes adapting his novels into screenplays and vice versa.

Baker has been fortunate to compete at the highest levels in sports such as baseball and karate. This spirit has led to him also striving to compete at the highest levels to entertain his readership. Moreover, it is in this spirit that Baker invites you to visit and revisit his ‘Anything But a Tired Barn’ author site, and to become familiar with his current and ongoing projects.  

Book links

Lethal Believers: The Innocents

Lethal Believers: DVM

The Involvement of Emerson

 Thanks for reading - look out for a new WOW writer next week!! :)

Monday, 19 August 2013

Poems on the theme of Twisted... please vote on your favourite...

Hi! I entered a poem for Uvi Poznansky's competition - the theme is twisted - and she posted it. I made it up especially. It's about the ghosts of memory and madness. 

There are 20 entries and today is the day of voting. I wrote a new poem on her theme of twisted. If you fancy, head over for a read and to vote on your favourite. Cheers :)

I love the way Uvi mixes her art and writing. Her website is lovely if you haven't seen it.

Here is my entry -

These twisted paths we tread

She slides between these walls
one foot, two feet, a hand and two
this is the space in which she lives
breathes, empties all that she is

she knows, where the eye seeks to spy
through circles drilled into the walls
the hidden, they watch, scratching idly
starving for love, the thing she lost

the ones she forgot were left behind 
they hide now like ghosts in the leaves
rustling they leap upon the breeze
echoes of the past haunting mirrors

the scribe knows, he laughs sometimes
knowing all the things he does
it only makes him fail, too self-absorbed
to comprehend what she really is

the ghosts they circle inside these walls
pushing their fingers through the paper
seeking to caress the curls of her hair
twisting, she knows they linger

inside, watching where the beetle runs
trailing all his miniscule unlived lives 
between the pages of a book unseen
she lived it, breathed it, all that ripples

thus she dances here alone, casting
rainbow dust upon the bleakest grey 
the steel that rusts in crusts of red
rosebud offerings to the elements

laughter so raw covers an ache so deep
like a monster it yearns to spring
inside, where the waiting ends
inside, where the spiral grows

there’s a twist in the passage that eels
a malevolent darkness screams 
opening the chasm that yawns awake
stealing tomorrow for its own sake

it twists, but nothing can touch her,
lost as she is in the echoes of her past

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Saturday, 17 August 2013

Ninja kitty

My cat, Mog, has turned into a ninja this week... after being pretty lethargic lately, she pounced, chased and killed a spiddy in the week, and today she was eyeballing a moth while making those wiggles that kitties do. My cat doesn't hunt birds or furries... just insects. Yep, it's weird. Speedy moth got eyeballed and tracked by moving kitty head and kitty went to pounce but realised little moth was on top of precarious pile of stuff. I guess it looked too scary cos ninja cat then simply observed... and gave up.

Wednesday, 14 August 2013

A Poem a Day (32) - eternal jewels

A poem for Wednesday...

Eternal jewels

A song is sung in the summer sun
the bluebells nodding like a wave
of water shimmering, swaying on
echoes of light dive off their heads

the grass so green, the lowing lingers
blowing through the rustling leaves
seeping so slowly the sap propels
the spirits upwards towards the clouds

hovering where the birds climb the air
slinking to dark places only snails dare
they come, the ants, stalking the trail
eeling their way between fallen boughs

we stand, lifted, watching these things
in a spell woven, we scoop up petals
that open wide in our hands like oysters
hiding their pearls from the outside world

we can see, we can smell, treasure them
these eternal jewels that hide beneath
the summer sun she casts it all aglow
everything gels in this sumptuous glade

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Cat ate your tongue? Reading and writing horror

“Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places" - HP Lovecraft

Ah, wondering what to write about today in between thinking about my current project, which is a book starring those lovely, beautiful, graceful things we all know as zombies, I thought, well, that could be a cool subject!

The world lost a great writer in June with the death of Richard Matheson, aged 87. I knew he wrote I am Legend (1954), but didn’t realise quite how prolific he was. When I read the list, I thought, mmm, what have I been doing all my life? Sitting on my butt watching TV or something?

I remember one of my English teachers at Secondary School telling our class that we should write what we know. I always thought that was kind of boring. I mean, who wants to read about my childhood or what I ate for dinner last night, and how I needed to de-flea my cat (she didn’t really, so I’m making her look bad). I always thought it was more fun to write about what I don’t know.

Sometimes you learn things. Like yesterday, I was writing a scene and wanted someone to throw a grenade in a space the length of a train carriage. On Googling grenades, I discovered it’s not really going to work without blowing up everyone, including your main characters. End of book. I know many films don’t really go in for realism – cue men in their 60s who smoke a lot, running from a tank, throwing a grenade in close proximity with no apparent danger and shooting one-handed with a machine gun, before leaping on a motorbike and carrying on shooting said gun. Gung-ho, but really? 

Aiming for realism and creating stuff that a reader can believe and get sucked into, well that’s a challenge. And in horror, I think it’s a massive one. You’ve gotta scare the pants off the reader, who is just dying to be scared. And if it’s not scary they’re gonna laugh, like I giggled most of the way through World War Z, which was about as thrilling as my bag of almonds.

I always loved zombies. Well, let’s alter that slightly. Zombies always scared the crap out of me. I was watching scary films, graduating gradually from Hammer House of Horror with Christopher Lee vamping it up since the age of 11, which might explain a lot. Anyway, I’m kind of immune to horror films now, but the thing that always scared me was zombies. But, hey, they’re just so not realistic. Out of all the scary things you see in horror films, they’re probably the least likely to happen. You’re more likely to bump into a blood-sucking werewolf on his day off from the zoo. But zombies kick butt. I’m totally addicted to The Walking Dead and frequently yell at the screen, and this girl was spooked playing Resident Evil on her PlayStation. The music went boom boom, the perspective changed, heavy breathing filled the air and I froze, too scared to move my little guy around the corner. 

It is this kind of fear, suspense, sense of dread and grab-you-by-the-nuts thrills that we seek to achieve in writing horror. And it doesn’t come easy. The reader needs to believe it is happening to begin with to even think of being scared. So how do you make things that are implausible seem as likely to walk up to your door and ring the bell as the Avon Lady?

I’d like to write a scary book, but I’m not sure if it’s in me, but I’m giving it a go. The last time I tried to write a horror – also about zombies – it turned into a comedy called Day of the Living Pizza (homage to Night of the Living Dead), but it was okay because it was written for a ten-year-old boy. It was also a story for charity (included in The Gage Project, published by Inknbeans Press), and that’s another subject altogether – how writing something for a charitable cause can really inspire you and get you writing. I wrote Pizza in a couple of days because the incentive was there. And it was a lot of fun. I think any procrastinators (like me) out there will get that!

Anyway, back to scary... Horror isn’t normally the genre I pick when reading a book nowadays, but I read a lot of them as a teenager. I loved – and still do – Stephen King (well, who doesn’t?). Thrills are the thing I’m looking for and scary descriptions, and suspense that slowly builds until you just want it all over as the suspense is literally killing you or some of the characters, as the case may be. The Shining is one of those great horror books, including a scene that freaked me (if I say bath, you’ll know) and I loved many others – Carrie, Christine, Salem’s Lot, Pet Cemetary, Cujo (so sad), Misery and The Stand. Actually, listing them is making me want to read them. IT is also on my to-read list.

I think it’s hard to write endings. You watch so many films where the ending is an anti-climax, but I never thought that with King’s books. Keeping the reader hooked and giving them a slam-dunk ending is genius. When you can sit back and say “Well, I didn’t see that coming”, you know you’ve read a good one.

Back to Richard Matheson, I was astonished to find that he also wrote The Shrinking Man, Hell House, What Dreams May Come, Bid Time Return (filmed as Somewhere in Time, which made me cry), A Stir of Echoes and Duel (also wrote the screenplay). On top of that he penned TV episodes of The Twilight Zone and wrote the scripts for The Devil Rides Out and The Raven, amongst others. Looking at his books, they cross genres – horror, thriller, romance, supernatural, etc. That’s just cool as I’ve heard people say you should stick to one genre when writing. Where’s the fun in that?

But what is horror fiction?
It is intended to scare or startle the reader and create a feeling of horror or terror. The atmosphere is usually eerie and frightening, and it doesn’t have to be supernatural. The origins of the genre lie in the gothic horror stories/poetry of the 18th century and the publication of Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole in 1764. The novel included elements of the supernatural and it was popular. Wikipedia notes that “a significant amount of horror fiction of this era was written by women and marketed at a female audience, a typical scenario being a resourceful female protagonist menaced in a gloomy castle”. That surprised me.

Common themes in horror:
Madness, ghosts, vampires, zombies, werewolves, cruelty, a protagonist who is cast out of society, the idea of having a double, good versus evil, disgust, satire of society, thrills, build up of suspense through heavily detailed passages, female victim common, disfigurement of self as parallel to personality inside or contrasting it, sexual aggression and a feeling of dread.

Little history:
The Gothic tradition blossomed into horror literature in the 19th century. Books you may have read include Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886), Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). I read all of these in my teens and at college, and Dracula is the only book that contains a scene that ever made me jump (I won’t give it away!).  Not all of these writers stuck to the horror genre in their writing.

In the 20th century, horror took off with many cheap periodicals around. Tod Robbins wrote horror fiction for mainstream pulps such as All-Story Magazine. Other publications included Weird Tales and Unknown Worlds. HP Lovecraft was prolific and his novel Cthulhu Mythos “pioneered cosmic horror” while MR James “is credited with redefining the ghost story” (Wikipedia quotes). EC Comics published series such as Tales from the Crypt. HP Lovecraft wrote about the idea of the living dead in Cool Air (1925), In the Vault (1926) and The Outsider (1926). Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend (1954) would also influence the zombie genre.

Contemporary horror embraces in such novelists as Stephen King (IT/Pet Semetary), Brian Lumley (Vampire World/Necroscope), James Herbert (The Rats/The Fog), Dean Koontz (Watchers/Midnight), Clive Barker (Books of Blood/Damnation Game), Ramsey Campbell (The Hungry Moon/Obsession) and Peter Straub (Mr X/The Throat). Obviously, there are many more, but I’d be here all day! 

Other notable novels off the top of my head:
The Woman in Black by Susan Hill – I love this; much scarier than the film and a much better ending.
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty
Perfume by Patrick Suskind; really got under my skin and great writing style.
Return of the Living Dead by John Russo
Ring by Koji Suzuki
Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist
Watchers by Dean Kootz

I love poetry so I’m including gothic for its imagery:
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
La Belle Dame sans Merci and On a Dream by John Keats (love him)
I would add Dante’s 14th century poem Divine Comedy with its journey through hell
TS Eliot’s The Wasteland or Ash Wednesday (love him too)

Excerpt from Ash Wednesday, so you can see what I mean by terrific imagery and build-up:

“At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitful face of hope and of despair.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.”
(TS Eliot)

A few quotes from two horror writers:
HP Lovecraft:
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

“The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.”

“Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.”

Stephen King:
“Death is when the monsters get you” – Salem’s Lot.

From On Writing:
“If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write.”

 “Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.”

“When asked ‘How do you write?’ I invariably answer, ‘One word at a time’, and the answer is invariably dismissed. But that is all it is. It sounds too simple to be true, but consider the Great Wall of China, if you will: one stone at a time, man. That’s all. One stone at a time. But I’ve read you can see that motherfucker from space without a telescope.”

“You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.”