No way, look who got some fan-art!

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Guess who got some fan art? This guy. This guy right here. Oh look, it’s everyone’s favorite rockabilly vampire hunter, Alex Rains, chilling out with his katana and a classic car, probably thinking about all the vampires he’s going to kill.

I still haven’t gotten over the thrill of seeing stuff that previously only existed in my head, only now it’s outside of my head. It’s in someone else’s head. Well that sounds kind of weird, but you get the idea.

This was drawn up by my good friend John-Thomas Pryor after reading some stuff on my blog, including the this free preview of The Devil’s Mouth

Check out John’s instagram, where he showcases the many really cool things he makes. And of course, look out for the full version of The Devil’s mouth, which will be available on the Kindle store later this month.

Shatnered

“So, I wrote a blog post yesterday,” I said, “sort of a comedy erotica thing. It was just a generic love scene where I replaced all the dirty words with made up words like ‘wangdoodle’ or ‘pickle-pocket.'”

We were at a round metal table outside a Starbucks in a generic California strip-mall. There was a Noah’s bagels on one side, and an empty space that used to be a book store on the other. I pulled my croissant apart while Rachel sat down across from me, setting down her cup of coffee.

“Yeah, I read it,” said Rachel. “It was hilarious. Kind of hot though. Really weird.”

I smiled and shrugged. “Hilarious, kind of hot, really weird. Just like me.”

She snorted over her coffee and rolled her eyes. “Weird, anyway.”

I sipped at my grande Pike’s Place roast. “So, yeah. It was just this goofball thing I wrote. But it was really popular. It got more than twice as many views as any of my other posts. I’m not really sure how to feel about that.”

“Maybe you’ve got a gift for writing erotica.”

“I know, right? Maybe I should just go all in and write erotica for a living.”

Rachel smiled. “But it has to be comedy erotica.”

“I’m not sure if I could keep that up,” I said. I paused for a bite of croissant. “No pun intended. I mean, it’s kind of a one-trick pony. How many gibberish words can I make up to describe sex acts? But what if that’s all people want? What if I try to write something else, and people are just like, ‘when are you going to write more of that funny sex stuff?'”

“Oh my god,” said Rachel, her face deadpan, “what if you got Shatnered?”

“Shatnered? Is that a sex word I made up?”

“No, I mean like William Shatner.”

I cocked my head. “I don’t follow.” I raised one eyebrow. “Am I going to have to start…talking with overly…long dramatic pauses?”

Rachel rolled her eyes again. “What I mean is, what do you think of when you think of William Shatner?”

“Star Trek, I guess.”

She rapped her fist on the table. “Exactly. He hasn’t been in a Star Trek movie in twenty years. He’s an accomplished producer, writer and director. He’s had literally hundreds of roles throughout a successful fifty-year career. And yet, what’s the first thing people think when they hear William Shatner? James T. Kirk.”

“So, I’m going to be the comedy sex guy? No matter what I do, no matter what I accomplish, when people hear ‘Matt Kincade’ twenty years from now, they’re going to think, ‘Oh, he’s that guy who writes the weird comedy sex stuff with made up words?’ That’s my future?”

She nodded sadly. “‘Fraid so.”

I stared down at my coffee cup. “Jesus. That’s terrifying. How can I stop this?”

“You can’t. Many have tried. Shatner. Mark Hamill. Sean Connery. Leonard Nimoy. It happened to all of them. I mean, it’ll be great, at first. You’ll be famous. You’ll have nubile college girls wanting you to sign their cleavage, giggling and asking you to squibble their jibbles or whatever. You’ll be on top of the world. There’ll be money, women, drugs, you name it.” Rachel sipped her coffee. “But then, it’ll get old. You’ll want to move on to other things. Only the world won’t let you. Pretty soon, you’ll cringe every time you see someone approach you in the street with a pen and a notebook. You’ll probably scream at some fan who interrupts you while you’re trying to have a nice dinner with your family. You’ll flip over a table, throw a bottle of champagne at the wall. Somebody will call the cops.”

“My god.”

“Oh yeah, it’s bad.” Rachel made a sympathetic face. “And that’s the start of your downward spiral. Your cocaine habit will get out of control. You’ll spend all your famous author money on hookers. You’ll wind up living in your car, offering to schlibble dibbles for five dollars so you can buy a crack rock.”

“I always wondered what rock bottom was going to look like for me.”

“Well, that’s it. You can’t get any lower. Then you’ll have your moment of clarity. You’ll probably find Jesus. You’ll accept your place in life as the comedy sex writer guy. You’ll start accepting appearances on television shows, parodying yourself. You’ll realize that some people would do anything for the fame that you’ve spent years running from. You’ll start to understand that everything your fans do, they do out of love. You’ll find balance. You’ll find peace. Are you going to finish that croissant?”

“You know what? You can have it. Suddenly I’m not hungry.”

 

 

Unbridled Florp-a love scene written with made-up words

A little while ago, I had a conversation with my good friend about the difficulty of writing love scenes. I said that word selection was tough, because the choice was often between the overly clinical or the overly juvenile. She said, “Well, luckily you can just make up your own words.”

I responded, “You fool, you have no idea what you’ve done, giving me a crazy idea like that.

And so I present a passionate love scene, populated with nouns and verbs (and a few adjectives) of my creation. I apologize in advance.

Please, read no further unless you have a filthy mind and a twisted sense of humor.

Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m actually posting this.

Continue reading

Use this one weird trick to make Garth Nix’s Abhorsen series even better

Sabriel_Book_CoverIf there was any damned justice in the world, The Abhorsen Series by Garth Nix would be as well known as Harry Potter. Young protagonist learning about their magical birthright? Check. Creepy semi-dead bad guy? Check. Expansive magical world built as solidly as a brick house? Check. Fun, exciting plot that starts out simple, then is revealed to actually be really complex and convoluted, yet the author still manages to steer the ship true and bring it all home in a really satisfying way? Check. YA fiction that’s still deep, engaging and layered enough to be enjoyed even by the most cynical of adults? Check. And of course, bonus points for numerous bad-ass female protagonists. Imagine Hermione Granger, if it was her destiny to defeat the living dead with an enchanted sword and bells.

And yet, don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a Harry Potter knock-off. Sabriel, Lirael, Abhorsen, and the recently published Clariel inhabit their own unique world, with their own unique characters and plotlines.. In the kingdom of Ancelstierre, they don’t believe in silly things like magic. They have cars, electricity, and guns. But at the southern border of Ancelstierre runs The Wall, and past that the Old Kingdom, where—since the kingdom fell—magical creatures, sorcerers, and the living dead run amok. Also, modern things like electricity and guns don’t work so well south of The Wall.

LiraelEnter Sabriel, a teenage girl in a boarding school in Ancelstierre who finds out she is the daughter of the Abhorsen, a necromancer whose job is to make sure the dead stay dead. His powers include the ability to travel into the land of the dead and to bind and command the dead with a set of magical bells, each one of which has its own powers and its own dangers.

Through magical channels, Sabriel’s father informs her that he is trapped deep in the land of the dead, and sends her his set of bells and his sword, informing her that she is heir to the mantle of the Abhorsen and she must set things right.

Well, that’s all you really need to know. The world of charter magic and free magic, necromancers, charter marks and free magic elementals, only gets better and better as the series goes on.

334643If I could kidnap Guillermo Del Toro, tie him to a bed in a cabin in the woods, and break his legs with a sledge hammer in order to make him create a movie of my choice, I’d make him direct adaptations of these books. Probably starring Hugo Weaving in one role or another. And Tim Curry as the voice of The Mogget, a powerful free magic creature trapped in the form of a cynical talking cat.

Oh wait, but I was here to tell you about that one weird trick.

Okay, so I’d already read these books and enjoyed them immensely. But then, reading the author’s biography, I realized that Garth Nix is Australian. Which means that all of his characters likely have Australian accents. I read the books again, keeping that in mind.

The books instantly got ten times better. Unicorns flew overhead, vomiting candy rainbows. Dogs danced with cats and sang showtunes. Water turned into wine. Budweiser turned into Erdinger Weissbier.

I was finally reading this work as it was meant to be read. Not “the Abhorsen,” “thee Eebhoahsin!”

“Oi dewnt undahsteend,” Sabriel whispered. She couldn’t face Mogget’s eyes anymore. “Oi dewnt knew…oi dewnt knew eenough. Abewt anytheeng. Thee Auld Keengdom, Chahtah mageek, Not eveen me ewn fathah.”

Go ahead and try it. You can thank me later.

Does anybody have thoughts about ebook conversion services?

Hi there! I’ve been researching ebook conversion services, and frankly I’m a little bewildered. There are just way too many choices, and a baffling variety of prices. If any other self-published authors out there have advice or recommendations about which services to use or not use, that would be super cool.

I’ve had limited success converting files on my own, but it seems like I always find some kind of embarrassing formatting error five minutes after I upload my manuscript, then I have to go back and upload it again. For my latest project, I’ve decided it might be worth my while to seek professional help.

So, yeah. Anybody had any experience with converting files for kindle, smashwords, or createspace? Any amusing anecdotes? Sage advice? Horror stories? no

 

Books that stole my heart, part 3: The Tomb, by F. Paul Wilson

It was just one of those random drug-store bookshelf finds. I needed something to read on my lunch break to avoid talking to my co-workers. I rifled through the paperback rack, back when regular stores still sold paperbacks.

Fourteen Stephen King novels, (read ’em) three Michael Connelly, (read ’em) two Lee Childs (read ’em) twenty-seven romance novels featuring shirtless cowboys, a dog-eared copy of Chicken Soup for the Teenager’s Soul, four Dean Koontz, six Robert Patterson, and…hello, what’s this?

The Tomb? Who the heck is F. Paul Wilson?

thetombThat was my introduction to F. Paul Wilson and the world of Repairman Jack. Sixteen books later, I guess you could say I’m a fan. I suppose I should also mention Midnight Mass, F. Paul Wilson’s excellent book about a vampire apocalypse, with which I am also in love. But that’ll have to wait for another blog post.

Repairman Jack, the protagonist of The Tomb and its fifteen sequels, is a fixer. But he doesn’t fix appliances. He fixes situations, the kind of situations people can’t take to the police. If you need stolen property recovered, if you need someone found, if you need bones broken, he’s your guy…as long as it’s for the right reasons. See, Jack isn’t just another thug. He’s a good guy. He’s got a code.

Officially, Jack doesn’t exist. He doesn’t have a social security number. He doesn’t pay taxes. He doesn’t even have a last name. He’s a modern day ghost, living off the grid in the heart of New York City.

Maybe Jack would just be another hard-ass, just another criminal, if not for Gia, his girlfriend, and her young daughter Vickie, whom Jack loves with all his heart, and will do anything to protect.

Oh yes, and did I mention the monsters? Somehow, Jack always manages to get tangled up in something supernatural. Strange monsters. Warp-holes to hell dimensions. Men in Black. Ancient organizations. Mysterious women who know more than they should. As the books progress, Jack finds out that he’s a part of a conflict bigger and more ancient than he could have imagined. It’s wonderful, coherent supernatural world-building, and I can never wait to find out what happens next.

Don’t get me wrong. F. Paul Wilson isn’t Cormac McCarthy or John Steinbeck. The Tomb isn’t a work of staggering genius. It’s just good, pulpy fun, which most of the time is all I’m looking for. They’re fast-paced, action-filled books with a loveable protagonist, plenty of plot twists, and plenty of fist-pump moments. For example, there’s always that moment when you’re like, Uh-oh bad guys, you shouldn’t have messed with Vicky and Gia. Now Jack is going to have to get medieval on your asses. And then he does. And you’re like, fist-pump!  Jack is a badass, always wins the fights, and he’s the master of elaborate revenge plans that somehow always seem to work out perfectly. His inevitable victory might be boring, if not for the elaborate schemes he comes up with, and Wilson’s skill at making you really dislike the bad guys, so you really enjoy it when they get what’s coming to them.

Repairman Jack books are some of my go-to reads, books I can come back to again and again. They’re just fun. I can never find them at the used book store, because people don’t get rid of them.

I just now realized that I haven’t really mentioned the plot of The Tomb at all. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. It’s good fun. Go read it.

F. Paul Wilson and the Repairman Jack series is just the sort of thing that might inspire a young author to try his hand at writing a fun, fast-paced, genre-bending action horror thriller with a supernatural twist…oh wait. That’s me.

 

 

Short Story-The God Seed

By Matt Kincade

 

Our people’s history began when the God-Seed fell.

Before that, time was a wheel, endless cycles, uncountable, none different from the last.

Then, in the third moon of the birthing season, it happened. The God-Seed came out of the sky.

 It began as a new star. Then it grew brighter and brighter until it was a fire in the sky. A great roaring sound filled the air. We cowered in terror, believing that our destruction was at hand.

It fell with a crash, and all of the land shook. When the dust had settled, there stood the God-seed. We had no words for what it was. A tree? A mountain? It stood, stuck in the earth, towering over the plains, made of a strange, hard material. Our stone axes shattered upon it.

The tribes gathered from all corners of the land to observe this strange new phenomenon, to decide what should be done.

Even as we gathered, the God-Seed began to change. It sprouted things like the leaves of a tree, but hard and reflective. And roots, that travelled across the ground away from it. Each of these roots began to swell, to grow, and a bulb appeared on it’s end. The bulb grew larger and larger, until it was larger than the largest of our roundhouses. Still it grew. Segments of it became transparent like water, and we could see strange things happening inside.

There was another world inside the god-seed. Strange grasses grew. Lakes appeared, and bizarre creatures flickered below the surface. We build huge scaffolds leaning against the structure so we could see inside, but still, our best tools wouldn’t leave a scratch on it’s surface.

Something grew that looked like a door, but we could not open it, nor would it burn. A strange thing appeared next to the door, a cluster of nine square knobs, and above it a glowing rectangle with these strange symbols: ENTER ACCESS CODE

The greatest scholars from all over our world gathered at the god seed. They discovered many, many more of the strange symbols, mapped out every inch of the thing. They catalogued every group of symbols. ATMOSPHERIC SENSOR PACKAGE, GAS VENT 3B, ANTENNA CLUSTER.

The elders stayed up late, sitting around the campfire, smoking Djatt out of long pipes and scratching the strange symbols in the dirt, debating their meaning long into the night. A city grew up around the god-seed.

Inside it was another world, green, lush, teeming with life. An oasis in the middle of our hot, dry land. Two legged things strutted around, pecking at the fertile earth with their hard, pointed mouths.

One day the scholar Kanak, a young male from the far continent, arrived. He sat for many hours, smoking Djatt, observing the symbols, running his hand softly over the keypad. He went out into the desert for a day and a night. When he returned, without a word, he pushed four of the strange knobs. The knobs lit up. There was a whistle like the call of a Knarud, and the door slid open. Cool, wet air poured out.

It was a bounty as we had never known. We knew then that it was truly a gift from the gods. We had solved the riddle and proved ourselves worthy. The God-Seed was large enough to fit all of us within. There were plants and animals there, more delicious than we could have imagined. Enough fresh water to fill an ocean. We thrived in that place. Our scholars long having studied the God’s symbols, soon mastered the knowledge machines found within the god-seed. From there we learned of math, of astronomy, of medicine, of Shakespeare and Homer. We learned the history of the mythical creator beings, the humans.

And then one day another star appeared in the sky. Was it another God-Seed? The gods themselves, come to reveal greater knowledge and greater truths? We huddled inside the God-Seed, deep in prayer, awaiting whatever bounty the gods might bestow.

High above planet XR-44211, the colony ship Sojourner flickered out of foldspace and entered a high orbit. Fresh from twenty years of cryosleep, captain Brillan, her long auburn hair still wet from her first shower in decades, stepped onto the Sojourner’s spartan bridge. Her dark-blue uniform was crisp and freshly ironed, and her knee high boots polished to a mirror shine. She returned the officer’s salutes and stepped up to the window. XR-44211 turned slowly outside the viewing window, a broad marbled sphere of reds and oranges and yellows, with wisps of white clouds roiling across its surface.

“There it is,” she said, “our new home. Not much to look at, is it?”

“It has what we need.” said the tech officer. “The hab modules arrived safely, and have fully deployed. Once we get settled in, we can start the terraforming— wait a minute.”

“What is it?”

“We’re getting some strange signals from habitat five. It looks like…it looks like the door seal is broken. We’ve got a bit of an infestation.”

“Do we have a visual?”

“Just a second,” said the tech officer. He hit a button and the viewscreen filled with video of hordes of furry six-legged creatures running amok in the habitat, chewing the corn, slaughtering the chickens, plucking the Tilapia from the lake, lounging on the genetically engineered carbon-sequestering grass.

Brillan made a disgusted face. “God, what a mess.”

The tech officer tapped a few more buttons. “Sensors indicate they’re carbon based, largely water-based chemistry, standard oxygen-carbon dioxide respiration cycle. Not that much different from Earth fauna.”

“Okay,” said Captain Brillan, “Let’s get ’em out of there. Let’s try piping a broad spectrum nerve poison through the fire suppression system.”

The tech officer hit a few more buttons. “I can do that.”

Deep in prayer, we waited for the will of the gods to be revealed to us. When the water began to fall from the sky, we wondered, what new gift will our benevolent gods bestow upon us?

I got my new cover proofs, and I’m super excited

I might have mentioned once or twice that my upcoming novel, The Devil’s Mouth, is creeping ever closer to publication. Okay, I might have mentioned it more than once or twice.

The blog experts (blogsperts? blogthorities?) tell me that I should maintain a 1:10 ratio of self-promotion versus other content, so that my blog is entertaining and informative and doesn’t seem like a blatant commercial. But dammit, I’m really really excited, so I just have to break the rules.

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This is what I’ve got so far. Pretty cool, right? I love the Fear-And-Loathing vibe, and I think the tone fits just right, conveying the pulpy action vibe, letting you know that it’s certainly not YA fiction, but it’s not all that damned serious, either. It lets you know right up front that it’s about a guy in a cowboy hat who kills vampires with a samurai sword, and if that’s not your bag, you should probably go and read some other book. It’s a strange and pretty cool experience to see my own bizarre imagination interpreted through somebody else’s eyes.

All the stuff on the back cover is filler, so don’t bother reading all that. Just marvel in the glory. Marvel, I say! Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00021]

I’ve been working with Jake Clark at http://www.jcalebdesign.com to put a cover together, and he’s been an absolute joy to work with. If anybody out there reading this is looking for a cover designer, I’d highly recommend checking him out.

What do you guys think? Questions, comments? Shameless flattery? Leave a comment down below!

Donald Trump is an American Monster

In eastern spiritual traditions, a Tulpa is a thought-form, a physical manifestation of an individual’s will, of their thoughts and desires. A being created and made real through sheer willpower and mental discipline. According to legends, these creations have a way of taking on lives of their own, seeking their own goals, becoming more than their creators ever imagined or wanted.

While I don’t know if such things really exist, I do believe that thoughts have power. That our desires and our focus can affect the world around us, perhaps in ways that we never anticipated.

Which brings me back to Donald Trump. The Donald is our American Tulpa. He’s the monster we’ve been conjuring up all these years. Decades of bigotry, xenophobia, race-baiting, dog-whistle politics, politics of division and fear and hatred of convenient enemies.

For fifty years, American conservatives have been bending their willpower towards the creation of this creature, breathing life into it one hateful, bitter thought at a time. These damned Mexicans, stealing our jobs… ought to just build a wall…welfare queens…lazy immigrants…anchor babies…I don’t want any blacks in this neighborhood…it’s their fault, rather smoke crack and do drive-bys then go out and get a job…damned liberals…socialists…somebody ought to just get rid of them all somehow…

And maybe one by one, these ugly thoughts, released into the world, find each other. Infused with the bitterness and the fear of their creators they coalesce, drawing strength from each other, gaining substance, becoming visible, becoming alive. Until one day, these thoughts become something more than thoughts. They become aware. They become flesh. They become real. They become a living, breathing man with his own thoughts and his own desires and his own agenda.

Of course, in a realistic sense, this is all crazy talk. But on a spiritual level, it’s frighteningly true. I can hardly blame Donald Trump. He’s exactly what we’ve been asking for this whole time. He’s the genie’s wish granted, the one that makes you sorry you ever wished for it in the first place.

He’s our monster, America. He’s doing nothing more than holding up a mirror to our own ugliness. He’s exactly what we wished for. But there’s still time to put the genie back in the bottle. Please.

And if not, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Holy crap somebody actually left a (good) review of my book

So, a year or two ago, I decided I’d like to publish something. Anything. Just for the sake of having something out there. Just for the sake of actually finishing something. I had a novella, We Only Come Out At Night, that I’d written years and years ago and never really done much with. I dusted it off and gave it a read. It wasn’t as bad as I’d remembered. So I polished it up, made a cover, and published it—with high hopes— on Amazon Kindle.

WeOnlyComeOutAtNight I didn’t know anything about promotion. About Search Engine Optimization. About Kindle algorithms or keywords or categories or advertising or any of that stuff. I just wanted to publish a book. And so I did. I sent my baby out into the world.

You can probably guess what happened next. Of course, my book quickly and unceremoniously sank to the bottom of the Kindle Sea, like a mobster wearing cement shoes. And there it stayed, drowned under millions and millions of slightly less unsuccessful books, while the giants of the sea, the Kings and Rowlings and Koontzes, swam by far overhead.

Through Kindle’s free promotions I managed to give away fifty or sixty copies; I even sold three or four. But nobody felt strongly enough about it to actually leave a review, good or bad. This left me feeling strangely neutral about my work. I mean, it’s not good enough for anybody to say good things, but at least it’s not bad enough for people to say bad things, right? After a few weeks of obsessively checking my Kindle reports, I sort of gave up and forgot about it. I moved on to other things.

I don’t think it’s a bad book, per se, or I wouldn’t have published it. But I never expected it to be a blockbuster. It doesn’t exactly fit neatly into a genre. It’s kind of a sad, tragic little story. Sort of Romeo and Juliet meets The Outsiders, but with vampires. It isn’t even 20,000 words. It’s kind of angsty teen vampire fiction, and isn’t really representative of where I’m at today as a writer. And yet, I’m pretty fond of it. It’s got a special little place in my heart. So I keep hoping that someday it’ll maybe get some traction, maybe someday I’ll find out that someone wasn’t angry that they spent ninety-nine cents to read it. Someday.

Imagine my surprise when I returned from vacation, and just for shits and giggles, took a look at my Amazon sales report. I sold a book! Not only that, but that person actually read the book! And they liked it! They liked it so much they left a good review! Oh, happy day.

Witty, adventurous, and heart-wrenching, this book hooked me and wouldn’t let go! The descriptive writing had me visualizing every pleasant and disturbing moment, and everything in between. Cant wait to see what else Kincade has in store!

Omg omg omg author boner.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, you sold one book. You got one good review. That’s not really much to get excited about. To you I say: Shut up. Don’t you fucking ruin this for me.

So hey, if Sydney Katzen enjoyed it, maybe you might too. It’s less than that cup of coffee you bought this morning, and you can probably read it in an afternoon. And maybe, just maybe, you might leave a review and make my day.

Of course this doesn’t apply just to me. All you aspiring authors out there probably already know this, but for the rest of you who buy ebooks, the single biggest factor that determines kindle rankings, that decides whether a book shows up in searches so people can buy it and the author can make the monies, or whether a book gets sent down to the depths of Kindle hell, is reader reviews. So if you like a book, the best thing you can do for that author is simply leave a review.

You can find We Only Come Out At Night on the Kindle Store