7/2/26

My blood pressure spiked yesterday. First time in two years. I’d forgotten just how much I loathed those specific headaches that come with the rise. Not sure what set it off. The heat, perhaps. It’s like trying to breathe soup out there. Or maybe stress? Dad’s blood is being examined by the Mayo Clinic to look for weird tick-borne diseases, and Grandma is making her escape from rehab today against the urging of everyone involved, and I have seven short stories and a comic script all due before the end of July, and a kid heading off to college in a month, and a bunch of bills coming due at a time when book sales are beginning to dip due to the economy, so I’m not sure what I’d be stressed about.

Anyway, Mary (rightfully) made me stay home, rather than going to see W.D. Miller last night. If you’re reading this, brother, my sincere apologies. Hope it was a good show. I’ll catch you in Lexington in August, hopefully.

This morning, I felt a little better, so I took my daily hike before the sun came up, because hiking three miles through the oven that’s expected later today is just stupid). And I decided during that walk through the woods that all I’m going to do today is sit in my office, in the AC, and type. I’m going to ignore all email, phone calls, and text messages, unless you’re family or one of my closest, closest, closest friends (someone like Chris, Koz, Laurel, or Malfi). Or one of my lawyers, I guess.

~

Speaking of my lawyers, one bit of good news yesterday is that the collective A.I. agents fear me. So, I have that going for me.

~

Women In Horror Year: Day 71

Carrion Harvest by Morgan Sylvia

Hardcover - Apple - Spotify - Amazon Music

“I have known three mothers, and I have had three deaths.”

So begins the harrowing tale of a young girl’s journey from innocence to madness. When her mother marries an ambitious genetic scientist, she is wrenched from her simple but familiar life on the coast of Maine and thrust into an elite world of wealth and power. As her stepfather’s influence grows, she realizes that his experiments are not as benevolent as he claims … and that he serves a force far darker than simple greed. After a catastrophic disaster at his lab unleashes a devastating power that leaves cities burning and transforms the land into an apocalyptic hellscape, she must fight to save both her own humanity and the handful of survivors that remain.

The esteemed Jay Wilburn, before his death, proclaimed via his column at LitReactor, that John Urbancik was America’s greatest living short story writer. John’s fans responded with “What took you so long”, but given that John has always been something of a cult writer, with an underground status — the writer that other writers read — the rest of the public were like “Who?”.

Jay passed away not long after. I don’t know if Jay ever read Morgan Sylvia or not, but I strongly suspect he would have loved her prose. Much like John Urbancik, Morgan’s stuff flows more like poetry than it does fiction. For example:

‘My memories of my father are cracked and faded. I recall a weathered, bearded face above soft plaid flannel shirts, the smell of leather and sandalwood and tobacco. Silly jokes, silly dances, silly songs. I know he was a Bruins fan, and that he that he liked fishing, hockey, and motorcycles, in that order, but I can no longer remember his face or his voice. He taught me how to ride a bike and dig for clams, helped me build sandcastles at the beach, told me bedtime stories about princesses and dragons. And then he was gone.’

See what I mean? It flows like a stream, with a rhythm and cadence that lulls the reader, painting a picture word by word, sentence by sentence. She never rushes, unless the story calls for it. And she always delivers. It’s a style I’ve always admired and envied. I enjoy reading it, but I can’t write it. The few times I’ve tried, my attempts have come off as pale imitation. But I do love reading it. And I reading loved this novella. Part coming-of-age story and part environmental horror, it’s like a cross between Skipp & Spector’s The Bridge with King’s It or my own Ghoul. Carrion Harvest is beautifully written, with real characters and thus, real heartbreak when the bad things happen. And bad things do indeed happen.

I read this in print when Thunderstorm Books released a signed limited edition hardcover. That is long sold out, but Camelot Books (a reputable dealer who’ve been around as long as I have, and whom I trust) has a few copies available. The novella is also available in audio (which Morgan’s stuff is very well suited for), via Realm Media, as part of season 11 of Undertow. Listen via Apple, Spotify, and Amazon Music. Note that you’ll need to go to Season 11, rather than the current season. That season is subtitled Trio of Nightmares, and Carrion Harvest takes up several episodes in the second half of the season.

Move over, Urbancik. You’ve got a contender.