Music And Writing.

I always used to stress about finding the best music to listen to while writing. I know what you're thinking; "Craig, if that's all you're stressing about, your life must be pretty good." Well, it's one of the many things I stress about. You don't know my life.

Ahem. Anyway.

I finally figured out it's not what I listen to that's the important part, but what it is I'm writing at that time. The music has to match the mood of whatever I'm writing. If I'm writing a fight scene, I'm listening to death metal and heavy ass rap music (think Heaven Shall Burn, old school G Unit, Job For A Cowboy, Cassidy).

If I'm writing a sexy scene, which are rare, I know, I need to listen to something slow and methodical (The Weeknd, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey).

Sometimes I'll listen to instrumental music, which is good for pretty much every occasion (Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Disasterpiece.

I've also found that the only two bands I can listen to no matter WHAT I'm writing are Bring Me The Horizon and The Arctic Monkeys, which probably has a lot to do with them being my favorite bands.

Ironically, I found that I write the fastest when I'm not listening to any music at all. But where the hell's the fun in that?

The Necessity Of It.

One day, I would like to be writing for a pretty sizable audience. People who love what I put out and demand that I keep doing it. Hell, even a few death threats and stalkers would be super neat!

Right now, of course, it's almost like I'm writing for myself. A lot of the stuff I've published has been read, of course, but I choose to think that those people are fans of the publication instead of fans of Craig Steven. I get a few messages from people telling me they love my writing and look forward to my next release (thanks to those of you who no doubt know who you are). For the most part, though, since my first short story was published a little over two years ago, while my name has gained some stock, and possibly notoriety, the progress I've made professionally has felt minimal (though it is there, I promise).

Sometimes people ask me why I do what I do. Why I write when the chances of my name being of the household variety are slim to none.

Because I have to.

I know a lot of writers can empathize with this feeling. Writing isn't something I just shrugged and thought I could do on a whim to make a quick buck (LMAO at people thinking writing and quick buck should be ANYWHERE in the same paragraph together, let alone sentence (not counting the two sentences that preceded this one)). My head is full of stories that need to be told, ideas that need to be fleshed out, characters who threaten to come squirming violently out of my ears, nostrils and other orifices of my body (eww) if I don't do something with them.

I hope a lot of people read my books and short stories in the future. I've gained some steam, I'm looking for an agent for my first book, Speak Of The Devil, and I'm constantly sending short stories to different publishers. If I don't make it in the writing world, no one could ever say it's for lack of trying.

And if I don't get there, sure, it'll be a damn shame. But I could never stop writing. I've gotten down in the dumps before after a few different strings of rejection, I've almost let my life get in the way a few times, and, put quite simply, there have been times when I wanted to do nothing more than give up and live my life without sitting in front of a keyboard ever again.

But that's not a choice I'm allowed to make. I'm a writer. It's not in my DNA or anything, but I was born to do this. No matter who reads what I write, I have to write it. It's that simple.

So to those few of who have read my work and found it enjoyable, good news; I'm not going to stop any time soon. Even if you're the only ones who will ever be on the lookout for it, it will be there. So sit back and watch me try to add members to your ranks as I type my goddamn fingers off.

What Made Me Fall In Love With Horror?

A couple months ago, I wrote a blog post where I asked myself a question (I'm such a loser, lmao). The question was, "What made me fall in love literature?" This time, I'm going to answer another question; what made me fall in love with horror?

Well, as a kid, I owned literally every Goosebumps book. There was a great little used book store in town called Tom's Book Nook, which has long since been shut down, and he sold paperbacks for a quarter and hardbacks for a buck (Jesus Christ, do I wish that place were still around?). And this guy always had Goosebumps in stock. I remember the first cover that grabbed me, too; A Night In Terror Tower. I saw it, wanted it, persuaded my mom to get it for me, and read it that night. After that, I set a goal of reading at least one of those books a day, sometimes two. They really instilled terror in me.

Honestly, though, I think cinema had just as much, if not more, to do with me being a horror writer today. I was probably seven or eight when my uncle Scottie (Rest In Peace) set me down on his huge recliner and turned on It to keep me occupied while the adults drank and talked about adult things on the porch. That really fucked me up. Then, maybe a year later, I'd stayed up much later on a Saturday night than I had any right to. That was when we didn't have cable, and so I had to be content in watching MadTV. After that, Fox would always play their special Saturday late night flick, and what else should come on but Candyman? I think I found every possible excuse to not use the restroom that night and for most of the next day before my bladder threatened to release in my pants. I forget how old I was when I went to see Jeepers Creepers in theatres. I mean, I could just do the math and look up what year it came out and figure it out from there, but to hell with that. Anyway, that movie scared the bejesus out of me. My bed was situated right next to a window, and the first thing I did when I got back home was situate my bed so it was nowhere near ANY windows.

As a teenager, my love for scary things only developed. I always scanned the TV guide (back when those were still relevant) for anything that sounded halfway scary. I read a lot of Creepy Pasta online, and soon, I stumbled across Lovecraft, Poe, and King and I fell in love.

Somewhere down the line, I got it in my head that I would really love to scare people the way those books and movies scared me. And here I am, nearly a quarter of a century old, doing just that. If I hadn't saw that one book cover in Tom's Book Nook, if my uncle hadn't thought to turn on It in lieu of anything that might be appropriate for children, if I hadn't stayed up late that one Saturday night... who knows what I'd be doing with my life? Probably selling used vacuums or something. Or worse, writing romance.

There you go. You know a little bit more about me than you did before. Have a good day.

Speak Of The Devil Synopsis!

As most of you know, I've been working on Speak Of The Devil for nearly four years. Now that it's in the hands of some prospective agents, I finally had to write a synopsis for it. So, for all of you who have asked me what my book was about just for me to beat around the bush about the subject, here you go!

Shane could make the argument that his life was just as bland as any teenager’s. He hung out with his friends, went to school, and played video games all night long. Nothing too exciting until a demon tried murdering him during a school day in October. At first he attributes it to a freak occurrence he might have just imagined, but as the attacks begin piling up, he isn’t so sure.

He’s not alone, however. A man as mysterious and deadly as the creatures who attacked him has sworn to protect Shane, no matter the cost. As days go by and his enemies grow bolder, more allies pour in from the woodwork, people Shane never knew existed who lived in places he never imagined could be real.

Faced with challenges much too stressful for someone his age, and with what seems like a whole world of responsibility on his shoulders, Shane asks only one question; why me?

There you go! Would you read it?

Who am I kidding? Of course you would.

Another Short Story Accepted For Publication.

Good news, folks. My short story "Hotline Bling" has been picked up for publication for an anthology titled "Final Masquerade," coming soon from Lycan Valley Press. It's also tied for the biggest payday I've yet to receive, so plus one for that, too.

"Alex works as a volunteer at the suicide prevention hotline. He likes to think he's pretty decent at talking people down from the ledge. Soon, though, the pressures of the job get to him, and he begins to wonder what would happen if he forces his callers to take the other way down..."

Keep an eye on this one, folks. It's up there with some of my favorite stories I've written. And it's one for one, as far as publishers go. So it can't be all bad.

Until next time.

Why I Deactivated My Facebook Account, And Why It's For The Best.

I've written a lot of words in my life. Hundreds of thousands. Of course, while this might seem like a high number, it pales in comparison to what I might have written were it not for the vindication a popular online presence brought me.

I used to care more about getting a lot of likes on a status as compared to crafting the perfect sentence.

I used to care more about people commenting on my selfies, telling me how silly I am (depending on the pose and the context of the photo, of course) and how gorgeous my smile (and my eyes, let's be honest) is as compared to caring whether or not my plot lined up.

I used to follow posts pertaining to dramatic situations religiously, seeing who burned who, who wanted to fight who, who was fucking whose baby's mama rather than creating situations like this for my characters (or maybe, hopefully, something a little bit classier).

When I should have been writing, I was checking Facebook, staring at the same memes over and over.

When I should have been reading, I was checking Facebook, scrolling down my news feed mindlessly even though I'd read everything on there a few times already.

When I was dropping a deuce, I was checking Facebook instead of reading one of the many books downloaded to my Amazon Kindle app or playing my Gameboy Advanced Emulator (TMI; I know. Don't care, though!)

I didn't want to write a huge blog post about this, so I'll just end with this. Facebook is the ultimate roadblock to production. You, the reader, might disagree with me. But go back to the last couple of days. Think about how much time you've spent looking at the screen of your phone, tablet, or laptop, reading a bunch of shit that, in hindsight, you would admit to not giving a shit about. I'm not saying everyone is addicted to the self-centered vindication and the feeling of socialization (albeit falsified) apps like this can bring.

But I know I was. What can I say? I'm a born attention whore. I love the spotlight. But in order to make my writing shine, to ascertain a routine with no outside distractions, to force myself to focus on the hobby that means the most to me, I've given up the spotlight so that I could better huddle in my lonely corner, cut off from the rest of the civilization, pounding away at a book none of you will read, anyway.

Until next time, folks.

Future's cover art; I want it.

What Made Me Fall In Love With Literature?

When I was a kid, I remember reading Captain Underpants. Like, almost nothing but Captain Underpants. This was back before my fascination with Goosebumps started, and my first real love, as far literature as literature was concerned, was the Captain Underpants series. I loved them so much that I would write my own Captain Underpants adventures on loose-leaf, though those pages were less filled with great dialogue and amazing characters and focused a lot more on my shitty renditions of Captain Underpants fighting the bad guy. These drawings were not pretty, and I'm afraid that right now, given the chance to re-do them, they wouldn't look much better at all. Much as I've always tried to train myself to the craft, I could never actually draw. That part of the artistry spectrum escaped me, I guess. I can write, at least. I take some solace in that.

I always look back on my old Captain Underpants manuscripts (Not literally, because my mom has them locked away somewhere for safe keeping), and though they were abysmal, I was only about six years old, and think that if it weren't for those very books, I might not have become a writer at all.

Of course, I know that isn't true; it wasn't very long, age 8 or 9 maybe, when I stumbled across a Goosebumps book in the local used book store called Tom's Book Nook (long since gone, unfortunately). Goosebumps evolved into Mercedes Lackey, Lackey to King and many others, to Poe, Lovecraft, Blackwood. I'm a fan of many writers and even more books, but those old, comic-book style misadventures of an undercover superhero in his tighty whities who posed as a school principal during the day; those were the first books I fell in love with. Silly as it might seem now, dedicating my days to watching cartoons like Pokemon and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, playing outside with my kid brother, and reading those books were some of the best days of my life.

"Stay The Course" finished!

Not that that name sounds familiar to anyone. It's a short story two days in the making. I've written it for my upcoming serial killer-themed collection, Wolves At The Door. It's not the first story I've written for this collection, but I think it might be the star. A short synopsis (fuck, I hate writing these):

When Edward came back from a hunting expedition in the Himalayas, he brought back a lot more than the experience and the memories that came along with it. An itching craving followed him back home, a hunger he tries to satisfy as often as possible. It's just a matter of how willingly he can coax the pray to come home with him.

Yeah, like I said, I hate writing those things. But you get the gist. Good deal. Now I'm going to edit my novella, Secrets To The Grave. Until next time. Have a good night.

Looking Ahead.

So, I'm still pretty deep into the Iconoclast Saga. Part three is nearly finished, and I wanna say the series so far will equal out to about 30,000 words. I'll be releasing them as Kindle singles until the whole thing is finished, in which case I'm going to shell out for super professional cover art and offer the whole saga as an enormous omnibus. That's exciting.

Secrets To The Grave, my 28,000 word novella, is still in the editing process. It's exactly 100 pages along on Google Docs, and I'm on page 10. When I'm finished with that, I'll be sending it to my beta readers (volunteer now if you're interested) and after giving it another once over myself, I'll be publishing that. Look forward to it. Personally, I love it.

Also, my editor SHOULD be getting my full-length novel, To Claim Hell (Working title) back to me before the month is out. I've got plans for that one, as well, though I've been slacking on writing the sequel. Maybe if/when a deal is in place it'll be just the right kick in the ass I need to get productive with it.

Thanks for reading, guys. Until next time.