Samhane by Daniel I Russell Wild Child Publishing There is a lot wrong in the town of Samhane. Specialist exterminator, Brian Rathbone and his son have been called in to sort out some of the special problems that have been plaguing the town for decades. Problems that only a select few understand fully. People disappearing, murders, strange noises. Donald Patterson, is also heading to Samhane in a frantic bid to save his wife from the clutches of a truly evil and repugnant man known as Demon. I’m not going to give away any plot points in this review, but Daniel manages to meld the tradition monster type horror, with some real extreme, and I hate this term, torture horror. Demon performs some truly sickening acts throughout this novel. I personally have never been a fan of this type of horror; I find the works of folks like Ed Lee to be far too over the top, being sickening only for the sake of it. So it came as a pleasant surprise that I actually enjoyed these passages. They didn’t feel as though they were just included for sake of titillation and there weren’t a sense of them being shoe horned in. The two styles of horror writing flow together with great confidence. The writing feels much more assured than you would expect from such a fresh new talent. A fast paced story that manages to be both horrific and fun is maintained through to the final climatic battle, which will if you are like me bring a smile to the faces of any old school first person shooter fans. The overriding impression I got of Samhane was one of this place is the evil and psychotic twin of Royston Vasey. It’s like the League of Gentleman decide to get truly sick in the head. There is great set of characters populating the town of Samhane, from the frantic aspiring author Donald Patterson searching for his wife, Chuckles the clown, who triumphantly carries on the tradition of chilling clowns. Walter , the ex soldier best friend of Donald, who despite having a dark secret I found to be sympathetic and rather likable. The father and son exterminators Brian and Sam Rathbone the main protagonist of the story have been called in by the mayor to sort out the problems of the town. I loved the father and son dynamics portrayed here. Brian clearly loves his son and is full of the common worries that a parent faces, but add to this the added concerns of how do you keep your son safe at night while at the same time training him to become a hunter. I enjoyed how Brian came across as an everyman, he’s not some super cool monster battler like Buffy or the Supernatural brothers, there is no support network of watchers or hunters for him, it’s just him and his son. No long lost mythical weapons of power, just him and a baseball bat for his final showdown. He could be the guy next door. I loved how Brian makes his son read Stephen King novels as a means to learning the ways to kill the monsters, it was a nice touch. If I have one quibble with the story is that I would have liked more of a history of Brian, how he trained himself to be a hunter after the events that caused him to turn to this way of life. I truly lapped this book up. I have less and less time for reading these days, so really like it when I discover a new author that does it for me. This is right up there with The Kult by Shaun Jeffrey, November Mourns by Tom Piccirilli and The Valley by Willie Meikle for my top reads of the year so far. Jim McCleod, British Horror Novels.
View attachment 3498 We have a FREE chapbook and competition that runs to the end of August over at http://danielirussell.com Did we mention this was FREE? Thanks for stopping by. - admin@danielirussell.com
I'm not that good at forums (as Torana said today). But to do my part with helping developing writers, my new website www.danielirussell.com is soon going to be posting articles on writing (previously published at Dred magazine) which some may find interesting and hopefully, insightful. That is if my editor at Necrotic Tissue doesn't want them printing in the mag first. There's also the usual stuff: blog, biography, bibliography, store, etc. We're also going to give away a free chapbook download (hopefully next week when the cover's done) absolutely free. Please stop by and sign the guest book. Show my admin he's doing a good job! lol.
Yes, yes, I know I'm slack. Super busy here at Manji Towers, and I'm awaiting a few things that I wanted to blog about this week. So, expect (hopefully) a normal post next weekend, including a review of Shaun Jeffrey's The Kult, the first in a series of discussions about foreign markets (including an interview with a top German writer!) and the latest developments of Necrotic Tissue magazine, as we'll be back into a new reading period. Which reminds me...if you haven't already, check out the interview of Necrotic Tissue Chief Editor R. Scott McCoy on The Odd Minds radio show at (visit blog for link) . He talks of the magazine, the Malpractice anthology, his own great works...and yours truly even gets a mention at the end. Thanks Scott! In closing, in apology for me being so weak this week (that's some bad hat, Harry), have some more free fiction: There lies horror in the losing of a limb. Aside from the searing pain, loss of blood and crunch of bone, one loses a part of themself. But what if there's more to lose in the treatment? Which is the more horrific? The loss of a limb...or the gaining of a new one? Ladies and Gentlemen...I give you... PROSTHETICS www.daniel-i-russell.blogspot.com
This week's highlights: IS IT A BIRD? IS IT A PLANE? NO, IT'S...AMAZON? Beware publishers! Amazon has a cavalry! It busts heads and takes names! WHO SAID YOU NEED TOE SKIN TO BE A GREAT WRITER? I don't want to be writing this blog. Why? Because I want to get back to the sofa and read on! A RECKLESS MISSUSE OF THE WRITTEN WORD Bring on the filth! HAS ANYONE SEEN THE WALKIN' DUDE? "Now you believe me that I can feel it moving! I'm not crazy!" For the full article, swing over to www.daniel-i-russell.blogspot.com.
Thought I'd better post a blog just to inform you, dear friends and readers, that I'm still alive...just. It's been an exhausting, yet at times rewarding few weeks. In the writing world, there's been an exciting sale to Malpractice: Anthology of Bedside Terror, and I'd like to thank Scott, Nate and Paige for accepting it. For those of you that have had the pleasure of reading Necrotic Tissue, you'll know the quality of the ezine. Now imagine that in print! I can't wait. Release date will be February 2009 at the latest. The story is called 'Prosthetics', a prequel to my short story, 'Dr Sally's Pleasure Chair'. After the frustration of that story (the goriest thing I ever wrote...so far!) of selling it to two seperate publications, only to have them fold before press, its nice to have to the origins of Dr Sally Bowman out there for all to see. And speaking of Dr Sally... Samhane. Some of you may be aware of the delays this book has gone through (not blaming anyone, This is publishing!) but I believe things are going to be moving on this soon. Fingers crossed for a Halloween release date (Samhane for Samhain anyone?). I'll keep you posted. Just to remind you that copies of the e-antho Weirdly 2: Eldritch are still selling well and are available at www.wildchildpublishing.com. It's been received well and was alot of fun to work on. Please, check it out! My current project, 'Fear of the Dark' is nearing the end of the first draft. Its made the transition from novella to short novel. I dont think this is a good or bad thing. It just happens. It's quite an odd little story, actually. I wanted to try a few things out to challenge my writing. For example, can I set an entire novel to play in one night? Can I keep it in one point of view? Can I make all my characters bad guys? I still think it reads well, and not like a writing exercise! I aim to get this finished before my holiday in November (not that you care, but now I've written it, it has to be done!). Anything more to add? Erm...for thriller fans, Shutterbug is available from www.wildchildpublishing.com too. Check out the reviews on my page. Oh, and dependant on the comments left here (haha! I'm optimistic!) I may post a new, blood-splattered Samhane sample, just to keep your appetities wet! If you want to see one, just ask!
WARNING! Adult content! I've done some **** jobs in my time, and none were worse than working the night shift at a petrol station back in Wigan. (Mind you, I was once in a scat film, and that was a **** job, and I had to give a few… Sorry about that last comment. Don't want to leave you with a sour taste in your mouth). Besides petrol, the second most popular product was cigarettes, especially on Christmas day. If I had a pound for every guy that came in moaning, 'thank god you're open! The family are doing my ****ing nut in!' I would have had about…well about £15. I could have got that Metallica CD I wanted. That's how much they cost in 1998, kids. We didn't have any play.com, and Amazon only sold books! Books! Behind the ever popular cigarettes were the condoms. Now a lot of people talk about condoms, and it's an easy area to poke fun (and they are used to poke a fun area), but we must discuss the matter with seriousness and dignity, as nodders, or rubber johnnies save lives and prevent teenage pregnancy. Personally, I prefer the term bag, as in mate, she looks a bit rough. Better double-bag it… Hey, fellas. Ever, when you were about 14 or 15, put one on just for practise, and thought to hell with it and had a wank too? I didn't. But friends of mine did. Anyway, back to work. We had two types of customer that bought condoms from the petrol station. There was the normal guy, who would rather die than by condoms from another human being, but the prospect of sex makes us do crazy things at times, does it not? These guys would creep up to the counter: "Yes? Can I help you?" "…s, please…" "Excuse me?" "…oms, please…" "Sorry, you'll have to speak up." "Condoms!" they'd hiss, eyes darting around. "Ah!" I would say, nice and loudly. "CONDOMS! Why didn't you say! Yes we have CONDOMS, sir! All kind of CONDOM! We have flavoured CONDOMS, ribbed CONDOMS, and other…sir?" I'd look up and he'd be on the other side of the forecourt, diving into his car. The other type of customer was worse. They'd stroll in, bold as brass with a big-breasted blonde girl on their arm. "CONDOMS!" they would declare. "You do sell them, don't you?" "Yes," I'd say. "Unless the rows and rows behind me are some kind of mirage." "Well, I'll have some. What's the largest you sell?" A roll of the eyes. "They are all the same size, sir." "Right then. And how many in a pack?" "Twelve is the biggest pack we sell." "Only twelve?" Yes, only twelve. Mind you, looking at the blonde on his arm, who could blame him? The lucky bastard. I didn't know there was such a selection of condom until I started work. There were flavoured ones – fruit flavours mostly. I tried to convince my girlfriend that they count towards one of your five a day, but she called me a bull****ter. Actually, I lost my virginity using a chocolate flavoured condom. I still get a nostalgic thrill every time I eat a twix. We also sold ribbed—and I am yet to meet a woman who can actually feel the ribs. Ribs? Is that the right word?—and coloured. A friend of mine went on a tour of Europe a few years ago and stayed with about 8 other people in a hostel. He awoke in the middle of the night in complete darkness. He spied a tiny flashing green light in the corner and awoke the girl the next bed. "What's that?" he asked. The light went out, but after a minute of silence, resumed its flashing. "Weird," she said. The light went out again. Tired and puzzled, they went back to sleep, and didn't think of the strange light until morning, when they found a used, luminous green condom in the bin between two beds in the corner. Another job, and another type of condom, was found thanks to Ladbrokes. They had a promotion to raise the profile of men's heath, checking your balls for lumps and all that. I don't think there's a danger of testicular cancer sneaking up on anyone. Most men know their balls better then they know their wives, as hours of pocket snooker will testify. In this promotion, packs were supplied to the male customers, enclosing leaflets and a free condom from Durex. My manager and I did the decent thing and gave out the packs…sans condom, of course. At the end of the day we had filled a binbag hidden under the desk. These were revolutionary condoms at the time, called Profecta. Heard of them? They contain an analgesic in the lube which numbs the penis slightly, making you last longer. I managed to use three of them back to back before I felt the effects. I couldn't feel anything from the waist down for about an hour. At least I fared better than my flat mate. He couldn't even get one on before he lost all feelings in his fingers… The latest condom I've seen was from a machine in some toilets in Southport. They claimed to increase girth, length and rigidity. I bought one and all that came out the machine was a length of lead piping, sealed at one end. Two old women were sat outside their care home one afternoon, Edith, aged 90, and Gladys, erm, 91 (I don't know why I'm giving them ages. They're fictional, and their ages are not a crucial plot point). They were both enjoying a cigarette when it started to rain. Edith, not wanting to get her fag wet, removed a condom from her pocket, tore off the end and rolled it onto her Marlborough. Gladys thought this a brilliant idea and the next day went to the chemist (or petrol station if it was Christmas Day) and asked for a pack of condoms. "What kind of condom would you like?" asked the confused attendant, as Gladys was both old and decrepit. "Don't care," said Gladys, "as long as it fits a Camel." You can have that one. Finally, in researching a few tidbits for this, I came across an article on Wikipedia on used condom fetish. Think about that for a second. A used condom fetish. It does, unfortunately, involve an individual seeking out used and discarded condoms to wank in, eat or insert into their anus. And to think, I was eating a pie at the time. But good old Wikipedia doesn't just give you the facts, it gives you tips too! These are 100% genuine and copied directly from the site. Most persons with a used condom fetish obtain their used condoms by searching, or "condom hunting", areas where people engage in public sex in places like a parking lot, lovers lane, truck stop, alley, adult theater, or a gay bath house. This sounds like it might be fun for the kids. Better than collecting Yu-Gi-Oh cards, or whatever they're into now. Might even be a scouts badge one day, with homours for finding a black French Tickler. And a gay bath house? Never heard of one of them. I bet they're spotless. Wikipedia goes on, and this bit cracked me up: A condom fetish is also satisfied by "condom swapping", which is the act of making arrangements with another person to pick up, drop off, or deliver a used condom to the willing recipient. Condom swapping is generally best done locally since most delivery and postal companies will not accept a used condom for delivery. Really? Well, there's a disappointment, what with Christmas coming up. Bloody Royal Mail and they're conformist ways! I have a vision of slapping on one the scales. First class, sir? It certainly was, mate! So remember, always wear a condom! After all, you don't know where she's been…
WARNING! Adult content! There are no ladies left anymore. It's true. But I don't mean to cause offence to any females reading this (and I know you sometimes do. Your husband might have allowed you to use the internet. Maybe it's your birthday). It dawned on me this week, after having to politely discuss periods (made me see red), urethras (which was taking the piss), riding thongs (or should that be chewing?) and thrush (which was quite a burning topic) with female co-workers. Why would we, as gentlemen, remain chivalrous when faced with such crudity? Thinking of arguing? That you might know an actual lady? Right. Here's a system. Who is the only real lady still alive to this day? That's right, the ultimate Doley, the Queen. She lives on benefits, has many inbred kids and her husband complains about foreigners coming and talking all our jobs. Dole scum, obviously. But still, a purebred lady. Fellas, if you think your girlfriend/wife is indeed a true lady, always think, would the Queen do this? For example, you are stood together at the checkouts in Aldi, and an elderly man asks your girlfriend if he can go ahead of you. After all, you have an entire weeks shopping, and Mr Flatcap only has a loaf. Your girlfriend politely allows the frail old codger to go ahead, filling you both with the warm fuzzy feeling of doing what's right. Would the Queen do this? The Queen? In Aldi? **** off… Okay, maybe that was a bad example, for a true lady is polite at all times. Then again, I once knew a girl back at Maxime's Rock Nights in Wigan. She shagged three separate men in the toilets, despite her bad feelings. When asked why she did it, she simply said "well, it would've been rude not to." Hmm. So maybe politeness isn't the way forward. But while we're on the subject, I find spitting very inpolite. Most men do. Just a tip, girls. THE 'SECRET' PLACE I had a conversation with a woman (again, I won't say lady) the other day about the correct and polite term for what I call a secret place. I like to refer to it as a secret place. It should be akin to a spot on the beach where you shared your first kiss, you know, something romantic where only the two of you know. The response I got was 'gammon hanger'. I'm all for the alternative descriptions, normally used by men who have precious little experience with such things, for example: wizard's sleeve, clown's pocket and my own favourite, bean in a spam purse. But gammon hanger? Again, this is another example of how there are no real women left in the real world. What would the Queen do, I hear you ask? "Philip, pass the cream please. One's gammon hanger is stinging like a bitch …". Like the readers of my book, I'm not buying it. Another thing about the gammon…secret place. It's joined the ranks of topics that women brag about, alongside money, clothes, how fast they can iron, etc. Nothing is too taboo in this day and age, including the most intimate details of one's talents when it comes to that oh so sacred of areas. I overheard three women sat at a bar the other night, discussing, well, I say discussing, more pitting their vaginas against each other. One said you could fit four fingers up her. Jesus, I thought. The next one, a whole fist! Wow! The third just laughed and slid down her bar stool. Actually, a friend of mine met a girl who would have them all licked (which really creates a wonderful image). He slept with a girl, and she didn't feel a thing. Like flying a jumbo jet into the Grand Canyon, apparently. So he went in with his fist, just wanting a response. Nothing. So he climbs on the bed and sticks his foot up there. Finally, she starts to moan and writhe. He ends up knee deep, thrusting in and out. She finally has a wailing orgasm, and he went home. Week later, he notices a kind of rash on his leg, so went to the doctor. The doc ran some tests and eventually sat my friend down. "Turns out," said the doctor, "that you have a case of herpes on your leg." My friend was quite taken back, as you can imagine. "Amazing," he said. "Is that the strangest case you've ever come across, doc?" "It would have been," said the doctor, "but I had a girl in this morning with Athlete's ****."