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Horror

How I Know My Son Will Be A Horror Writer, Pt. 2

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I’ve mentioned that my son (who is now 3) is destined to be the next great horror writer. This week, he took another step down the road of the macabre.

A few nights ago, I took up more than my share of the available parking area in our driveway. I’m sure I was in a hurry and was planning to move the car before my wife and son got home. But I didn’t. So, when Cindy and Squish got home after a hard day at work and the babysitter, they had to wedge into the driveway in a catawampus fashion that (if we decorated our yard in such a way) would have meant certain death for garden gnomes and pink flamingos.

I came outside, apologized, and offered to move the cars.

To which Squish replied, “Daddy, you park like a bo-bo head!”

Hmmm. I wonder where he heard that.

Anyway, that was good for a chuckle, and I think that might have been Squish’s plan. Make ‘em laugh, take ‘em off guard, then hit them with the pants-wetting zinger.

The next day, I picked Squish up from the sitter. On the drive home, he called to me from the back seat.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Squish?” I asked, checking the review to see that he was smiling happily.

“Don’t park like a bo-bo head,” he said.

“I won’t” I assured him.

“If you park like a bo-bo head, I’ll be mad.”

“Okay, buddy.”

“If you park like a bo-bo head, I’ll be very mad.”

“I get the picture,” I said (and I promise there wasn’t a hint of annoyance in my voice).

“If you park like a bo-bo head,” Squish then said, “I will turn into a SPIDER!”

It’s said that a great horror writer can give you nightmares. Congrats, Squish, that little conversation did the trick!

Crooked Hills Update

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There’s been a bit of movement around my middle reader horror novel Crooked Hills. Last week, ARCs of the first book went out to reviewers, and another big batch of review copies are shipping in the next week or so. Whenever a new project hits the street (even in the early stages), I grow tense with worry over what people will think. A couple of early reviews have come in, though, and so far they’ve been positive.

Crooked Hills combines all the best aspects of classic children’s mystery books with paranormal chills and adventure.  Think “The Hardy Boys meet Supernatural“.  The characters are well-drawn and sympathetic and the action is fast-paced and fun.  Charlie’s voice is spot on, mixing a sense of fear and trepidation with youthful excitement and an old-fashioned “gee whiz” factor.  Even more impressive is Bunn’s ability to depict genuinely scary antagonists while still keeping the book readable by a young audience.  This book really is the total package.” 

— FROM  SERIAL DISTRACTIONS

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear from the get-go: This is not a “kiddie” book. Author Cullen Bunn doesn’t talk down to the readers, doesn’t dumb thing down for lower grade levels. To the contrary, he tells a tight story with good detail, excellent plot, and does it without pandering. Sure, the characters are easily relatable to the nine-to-fourteen market, but that’s because that’s who they are. Far from mollycoddling, Bunn puts the readers in the dark and leaves them there without so much as a match for light, then he pounds on the door to give them a thrill. And it works well enough that even the parents of the children who read this book (and the ones that come after it) will enjoy them.”
— FROM DREAD CENTRAL

In addition, the Earwig Press website just went through a major redesign, and it now features a ton of information on the series. Please give it a look when you have a chance.

It’s been a long road to this book’s publication, and I couldn’t be happier that it ended up with Earwig Press. They’ve been nothing but enthusiastic and supportive, and that’s exactly what I wanted from a publisher. I’m already busily plotting out the next book in the series, and I’m really ratcheting up the fright factor on this one!

How I Know My Son Will Be A Horror Writer

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A while back, my son and I made up a game where we would hide from various imaginary monsters. We would get a blanket or sheet, sit on the floor, and listen closely to sounds that weren’t there.

“I hear something outside!” I would say.

“What?” Squish would ask.

“A robot!” I’d shriek, and we’d both dive under the blanket until the threat was gone.

And we’d do this over and over and over again. Squish always had too much fun with it to want to stop.

Over the past months, the game has evolved, with Squish usually choosing the monsters from which we flee. Robot (and his meaner brother, bad robot), pirate, bad choo choo, spider, shark, bad puppy, monster, bad monkey–all of these villains and more attacked without success during our game. We became very skilled at hiding from these creatures.

This morning, the game changed again.

“I hear sumpin,” Squish said.

“What do you hear?” I asked, feigning fright.

“I hear… BAD CHOO CHOO!”

We screamed and giggled and jumped under the covers.

“Daddy?” Squish said. “Where are you?”

He couldn’t see me in the darkness beneath the blanket.

“I’m right here beside you,” I told him, repeating words I had said many times.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Squish?”

As we hid there in the darkness, with silence closing in around us, my son said to me:

I’M the bad choo choo!”

And he jumped at me with a fierce growl.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so proud.