4/14/26
I was in Boston for a signing with Joe Hill, Chris Golden, Ron Malfi, Rebecca Rowland and a bunch of other fine folks last weekend, so when Artemis II returned to Earth last Friday, I watched it in my hotel room, on the bed with a pizza and some Bookers bourbon. My heart was in my throat the entire time, and when communication was restored and splashdown occurred, I genuinely pumped my first in the air one time and yelled “Fuck yeah” loud enough that the hipsters in the next room probably thought there was a football game happening. (For more on that absolutely Lynchian hotel, see here).
I’ve been a space junkie all my life. From the age of eight on, I knew I wanted to be either a DJ, a writer, or an astronaut when I grew up. I was lucky enough to become both a disc jockey and a writer of novels and comics and other things, but space has eluded me. I’d been struggling to find the words to sum up my equal parts fascination and dread throughout this entire mission, but Warren Ellis captured that feeling perfectly in his newsletter last Sunday. He said, in part:
I hated watching the Artemis II launch. Those goddamn SRBs scare the hell out of me. Solid Rocket Boosters, once lit, cannot be unlit, and there are very limited options for throttling them. Generally speaking, once they’re ignited, they don’t stop burninguntil they’re out of fuel. The Artemis Space Launch System uses extended SRBs. And once the fireworks are touched off, that’s that. And if you were around for the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, you’re never going to smile when you see SRBs. One of theSRBs developed a fault immediately post-launch, the burn from which collapsed the external fuel tank it was strapped to - and remained lit. The collapse of the tank rotated the SRB and it tore Challenger apart. And the damned SRBs KEPT GOING and eventuallyhad to be destroyed remotely.
My father-in-law is in his late Seventies and starting to deal with all the shit life throws you at that stage. He and I were talking about space travel a few weeks ago and he sighed and said, “I guess I won’t be around to see a human set foot on Mars.”
But hell, at 58, I’m not sure I will be either.
~
Women In Horror Year: Day 12
Hell Hath No Sorrow Like A Woman Haunted by RJ Joseph
The Black women in these tales are women we all know. The mothers, wives, business owners, creatives, and more, that we see in everyday life. They perform the impossible and hold all ends together.
Sometimes, they’re an open book, their stories written in the beloved lines of their faces and the varied bodies they wear with pride or weariness.
Other times, their secrets squirm beneath the surface, aching for release and discovery while beckoning others to lean in. They whisper the horror of their predicaments, closer to home than you realize.
These Black women are more than we know. They’re also victims, monsters…and often, a little of both.
RJ Joseph once told me that she used to voraciously read me, Wrath James White, and JF Gonzalez back in the day, which is a flattering thing to hear, particularly since she’s a far better writer than any of us were or are. Her voice is strong and her own, and her work is unique, in that she has carved out a space that is solely her own, occupying four compass points — Literary, Mainstream, Splatterpunk, and Extreme Horror. She often embodies all four of those things in the space of one story, and this collection is a perfect introduction to her work. Horror, when done right, has always been a malleable genre, reflecting the fears of the times, as well as the human condition, and RJ excels at that. She’s definitely one of my favorites among this new generation of writers. Currently available in paperback, eBook, and hardcover from Seventh Terrace Press.
