In a virtual launch event on Friday, April 9 at 6 p.m. (MT), D & T Publishing unleashes MALINAE, the debut novella by biological horror author, Josh Schlossberg.
RSVP via Eventbrite for Zoom link.
Ward Ayers, physically disabled and confined to his Jersey Shore home, can only watch in dismay as his beloved wife Malina slips further and further into dementia. Until he uncovers the dark force behind Malina’s decline and must plumb the depths of sacrifice and selfishness to reclaim his wife and preserve humanity’s future.
The 1-hour event will feature:
–Josh Schlossberg reading a brief excerpt from MALINAE and sharing the real-life inspiration for his fictional work’s exploration of Alzheimer’s disease.
–D & T Publishing editor, Dawn Ellis Shea, relating her experiences working as a nurse with dementia patients.
–Huntington Potter, Ph.D., Director of University of Colorado Alzheimer’s and Cognition Center, offering hope in the form of the latest scientific progress towards a cure.
The event will conclude with Q&A.
MALINAE will be available as an e-book from Godless.com on April 9, and as print and e-book through Amazon on April 23.
For more information, please visit JoshsWorstNightmare.com or DandTpublishing.com.
by John Godey
LEAST DANGEROUS CREATURE YOU’LL
FIND IN CENTRAL PARK.
by Arthur Herzog
THIS BOOK WAS PUBLISHED
IN NINETEEN SEVENTY-EIGHT
ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE!
Over the last century, traditional publishing has brought us the most famous horror stories ever told. Big names such as Stephen King and Dean Koontz thrust horror’s tendrils into the minds of millions of Americans, popularizing the genre.
Fast forward to 2019, where small presses and indie publishing are now bringing us the lion’s share of horror fiction—including what I believe to be some of the best stuff ever written, in what many are calling a horror renaissance.
The reason is simple: Small presses have more freedom to publish unique and diverse voices, acquired tastes that might not appeal to a mainstream palate. While these conduits can sometimes be hit or miss, more often than not, they’re where you’ll find the most artful—and dangerous—writing out there. Giving free rein to authors is how a literary genre evolves.
Which is why I’m all shivers to announce that, this fall, Denver Horror Collective (of which I’m a founding member) will be publishing a horror fiction anthology of its own!
by Stephen Gregory
St. Martin’s Press (1988)
WHEN IT COMES TO BIRDS
ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S GOT NOTHING
ON THE CORMORANT.
A buck doesn’t get you much these days. But here’s a short list of products you can purchase on Amazon for $0.99!
1) Pineapple Shaped Bottle Opener
2) Makeup Brush
3) Mini Funnel
4) 2-ounce Plastic Spray Bottle
5) Silicone Oil Brush
6) LED Elephant
7) Multifunction Garlic Tool
8) Cosmetic Sponge
9) Glue Stick
10) My short story “Handgina” about a bitter young man shocked to find a part of the female anatomy growing out of the palm of his hand!
Pick up “Handgina” (cover art by The Rïpröck) for $0.99 for your Kindle or gift it to a friend (or frenemy)!
Hammers On Bone
by Cassandra Khaw
A TOUGH CASE FOR A
LOVECRAFTIAN PRIVATE EYE;
NOT YOUR GRANDPA’S NOIR.
My latest short story, “Handgina,” is now available on the evil Amazon for a mere 99 cents (cover art by the RïpRöck)!
A bitter man reeling from a breakup is convinced women have it easy compared to men. When a part of the female anatomy starts growing out of the palm of his hand, he faces a series of ordeals that help him see things from a new perspective.
Subscribe to Josh’s Worst Nightmare free monthly e-newsletter, where I–author Josh Schlossberg–survey the dark landscape of today’s biological horror fiction!
Read my flash fiction story, “Long Strange R.I.P.” in issue #5 of the Rock N’ Roll Horror Zine along with several other gnarly horror writers for a mere $4!
Here’s a teaser:
“Long time no see, Mr. Garcia.” Satan slouched on his throne of charred ribcages and femurs at the center of a vast dim obsidian hall. “Whatever can I do for you?”
The heavy-set, white-haired and bearded man—basically Santa Claus in glasses and a black T-shirt—stood with his feet planted wide on the ashy stone, sulfurous gases twining around his legs like friendly cats. “You know damn well why I’m here,” Jerry said.
“Written any new jingles?” Satan’s black lidless eyes oozed like tar as he scratched the mushroom head of the ghoul squatting to his side. “I still get a kick out of that one song. How does it go? ‘Set out running but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine.’”
“It’s gotta stop.”
“Is my singing that bad?” Satan flashed hundreds of tiny, immaculate teeth and the thing beside him tittered. “I forgot to congratulate you on the Hall of Fame induction. Quite the honor.”
“Leave Vince alone.” Jerry stuck out a trembling pointer finger, the finger beside it absent.
“Ah, yes, how is Mr. Welnick? Still tickling the ivories to your satisfaction?”
Jerry shook his head, spraying droplets of sweat that evaporated in mid-air. “You can’t keep killing them.”