New Short Story: Ragged Flesh

A jolt shot up Charlie’s spine like a lightning bolt. A spell of dizziness made him stumble a little, standing there holding his exposed penis. He had pulled over to take a piss. Vast horizons of Nevada desert surrounded him

“Whoa!” he whispered. “What the hell? There’s no way! What the hell?” Chills scattered over his shoulders like a swarm of pricking ice-cold fingers.

Despite vehement denial, it was happening. The flaccid corpse of a deer slid across the desert ground before his very eyes, moving over rocks and sage brush, as if pulled by some invisible string. It stopped. Jerked one way, and then back the other way, like two invisible forces playing tug of war.

His wife Carol called from the car: “Charlie! Stop playing with yourself. Let’s get the show going again.”

Charlie waved his hand. “Carol, come see this!”

She groaned. The Subaru’s passenger door slammed shut and she rustled her feet through the sandy rocks of the bar pit. She mumbled as she walked over. Charlie never took his eyes off the deer.

“Charlie, put your junk away,” Carol said.

“Oh!” He quickly stuffed his junk back in his pants and zipped and buttoned up. Then he pointed at the deer. “Do you see that?”

“Yeah. I smell it, too. Someone probably hit the poor thing. Can we get out of here?” She stood there with her hands on her hips, dressed in a white and brown checkered blouse, jeans shorts, and a white sunhat.

The deer corpse shuffled back and forth. “Look! See it moving like that?”

Carol removed her hands from her hips, facing the direction of the corpse. Her body visibly tensed. “Is it still alive?”

 “I watched it get dragged.”

Carol stepped toward it.

“Careful,” Charlie said.

She ignored him, and soon Charlie reluctantly followed, taking a few steps closer. He was a thin, wiry man who spent most of his time in the basement on his computer, working out finances for a company. When he wasn’t working, he spent much of his time watching docuseries or listening to news podcasts while either enjoying green tea in the backyard or walking the same routine route. Charlie loved his order, but hated chaos. He hid inside the shell of comfortable familiarity like a threatened turtle. It was his wife that demanded the road trip, protesting about it for months until Charlie finally couldn’t resist the nagging. Once the trip started, she was pulling him along like an overexcited dog on a leash. His hesitancy at times nearly choked her.

They both now stood over the deer corpse on the edge of a small hill. Both their faces were scrunched expressions of uneasiness and disgust. The blank, dead eye of the deer stared up at them like a black crater. Its tongue amusingly poked out of its mouth, almost in a bizarre and teasing manner.

The limp body writhed back and forth in small, spasmodic jerks.

“What’s moving it like that?” Charlie asked.

Then the center of its abdomen bulged. Carol gasped. Charlie’s eyes widened, and his heart pounded wildly. The fur-covered flesh of the deer’s midsection bulged and rippled, and a short moment later, the flesh ripped open, gushing blood and fluids. Carol gasped and Charlie moaned. Both of them stepped backwards as a swarm of strange multi-legged creatures emerged from the ragged hole in the deer’s flesh.

Carol leaned closer. “What are they? Ants?”

Dozens of them clambered all over the body, some of them burrowing back inside at different sections. Rapid clicking sounds that reminded Charlie oddly of Rice Krispies in milk emanated from these new creatures as they busily swarmed about, devouring the deer’s body. They did look a lot like ants, but some of them were larger, reaching the size of a tennis ball. Others were more the size of a silver dollar with large round abdomens. Their bodies were a fierce red color, and they were covered with patches of wiry, sharp black hair that almost resembled Velcro. The big ones had rows of black eyes. To his mind they had to be spiders, but they swarmed like a large ant colony.

“Unbelievable!” Carol said. “They’re devouring it. Just look at ‘em Charlie! Isn’t that just…wild?” She stepped closer, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“Don’t get too close, Carol.” Charlie reached out, as if to grab her, but she was out of reach.

“I gotta get video of this, Charlie. I swear. We’ve found a new species.” She hovered around the corpse, leaning forward in an attempt to keep some distance between them and her feet. She recorded the stunning scene with her phone camera.

A small line of them crawled toward her. The moment carried out before Charlie in slow motion.

“Carol! Watch your feet!” He fruitlessly reached for her, but it was too late. Four of them crawled up her bare leg. Carol jumped back, shaking and dancing. She shrieked and dropped her phone. She ran back toward the Subaru but tripped into the sand and rocks along the way.

Writhing and shrieking, she slapped at her legs. Charlie ran over to her aid.

“Are they off me?” She said, whimpering.

“I think so.” He searched around, gritting his teeth with tense apprehension. He saw one that had been crushed into the sand. Its red body like a smooshed cherry. Fluids bubbled from its mangled body like black acid.

Charlie took Carol’s hand and pulled her up. “Let’s get to the car.” She was still hurting. During the short hike up the embankment, she winced and hissed in pain, gripping his shoulder as she limped along.

“I dropped my phone back there,” she said.

“I’ve still got mine. I don’t want to go back there and mess with those freaking things.”

He helped her into the passenger seat, holding her arm as she settled into place. As he hurried to the other side of the car, he mumbled to himself, “I think I can go the rest of my life without another road trip.”

A preacher clamored on the radio when he climbed into the driver’s seat: And we shall go forth and as the Lord has stated…we shall multiply and replenish the earth—

Charlie turned off the radio. Then he cranked the air conditioner to full blast and maneuvered the Subaru back on the highway.

“We’re all good now, Carol. We’ll be just fine.”

He took a deep breath and thought: That was just a little strange turbulence, a little bizarre scare. Now we can find a little motel, get a pleasant meal and maybe be back home tomorrow. Haha. This experience will surely make for some great stories later, a fun story to tell at the neighborhood party Carol liked to hold every summer.

While he told himself these things, his body language said different. He gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands. The muscles in the back of his neck had stiffened to the point of aching. Carol didn’t look well at all, either. She leaned back in her seat, head turning side to side as she moaned. Her face was pale, and a sheen of sweat drenched her face.

“How you doin’ sweetie? We’ll find some place to stop and rest.”

“I feel sick,” she said, her voice husky and hoarse. “And I just realized one of them got me.”

He glanced over and saw where she moved her hand. Blood smeared across her skin. There was a puckered hole in the flesh of her thigh.

“Oh, shit,” Charlie muttered through clenched teeth. “It looks like one of them burrowed into your leg. Did one of them burrow into your leg?”

“Pull over,” Carol said.

“What?”

“Pull over! Now!”

He veered off to the side and stopped. Carol opened the door, leaned out, and vomited. Charlie flinched as his wife blew chunks. He tried to comfort her, patting her on the back, feeling the muscles between her shoulder blades flex with each heave. He glanced to the glimmering mirage on the highway. A crow landed in the center of the road, briefly looking at them before taking flight once again. The scene seemed to foreshadow a dark, bad omen.

Carol collapsed back into her seat, looking worse. Her face was white as milk and a string of slobber dangled from her lips. Her body trembled.

“Carol?”

She mumbled incoherently.

“Carol, honey?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head, body convulsing. “I’m calling 9-1-1.” He fished his phone from his pocket with adrenaline-surged fumbling hands. A familiar sound startled him enough that he flinched, flinging his phone in the air where it landed in the footwell by Carol’s feet. Snapping and crackling.

He nearly reached over to try to grab his phone, but a wave of red bodies burst from Carol’s open mouth like a fountain spouting red. Crimson legs, armored with coarse black spiny hairs, propelled these creatures all over her face and down her neck, some of them viciously burrowing back into her flesh, creating more ragged, puckered holes.

Charlie gazed in paralyzed horror. A bizarre thought flickered in his mind among a string of other thoughts that were just exclamatory static: My God dear you’re a spouting volcano!

Paralysis broke. Charlie rammed his shoulder into the side of the door and grabbed for the lever. The door pounded open, and he tumbled face-first into the gravel. Gasping and whimpering, he stumbled to his feet and hurried away from the car. When he turned around, he got a new unpleasant surprise: the spiders—hundreds, maybe thousands—had overtaken the interior of the car. Carol was no longer visible; she was concealed by the swarming red blanket.

Charlie hopelessly yelled her name anyway. He reached toward the car, wanting desperately to do something, but there was nothing to do. Even his phone was lost at this point, covered up in the swarm.

Horror and anguish swelled inside Charlie. He clenched the sides of his head with both hands and screamed.


Charlie marched along the lone highway under the oppressive summer heat like a mystified zombie. His face was pale with shock. At times the corner of his jaw spasmed, the result of tense panic that had exploded throughout his body. Parading through his mind were the course of events that led up to this tragic moment: Carol stumbling into the bar pit…if only he had prevented her from even getting close to them! He vividly imagined himself stopping her, gripping her by the shoulders and escorting her to the car before any of this could happen. Storms of different emotions worked through him. At times he was merely lost in a disorienting cloud of dejection and shock. Other times the cloud was ripped away with another white-hot flash of panic. Sometimes this was accompanied by the shattering thunder of anger. Before leaving the car, he had yelled obscenities at them, even hurling a pair of rocks at the windshield, wanting so badly to fight.

 Large oval stains of sweat drenched the front and back of his shirt by the time a new sight appeared on the horizon that caused both a feeling of hope to spring inside him as well as greater dejection—a small town. Madly, he thought maybe there was still time; perhaps he could still get help. He was also tormented by the reality of how close they had been to civilization.

An old wooden sign riddled with pocketknife graffiti labeled the town as White Mountain Falls. Most of it was made up of trailers. There were a few old houses scattered about like so many scabs. White Mountain Falls could be a ghost town for all he knew. Regardless, he needed to try something. Perhaps someone had a phone he could use to notify the police that these weird creatures were spreading, multiplying like some pandemic disease. The words of that preacher echoed in his mind as he stood before the leaning wood fence that bordered the first house: And we shall multiply and replenish the earth as the Lord has stated…

Charlie gulped, a chill ran through him. Those words didn’t feel as hopeful in the context of his situation. Perhaps these things were multiplying and replenishing the Lord’s wrath.

He walked along the patchy yellow grass toward the front door. It was a scuffed up old thing with a brass knob. There was a knocker bolted on the front. Charlie flipped the knocker a few times, waiting. No one came. And then he heard it, muffled behind the door—a vigorous, rapid popping. His stomach turned to ice. No…It couldn’t be. They couldn’t have already spread this far…

Charlie opened the door. The sound of cracking and popping boomed in volume, blasting from the shadows of the house. Charlie stepped through the doorway where thousands of them swarmed. Their hairy bodies shifted, scrambling in waves over walls, the floor, chairs, and other house items. Charlie stared in sickened horror, mouth hanging open, as a severed hand bumped and flowed across the floor in the entryway, guided by their crawling bodies. The hand almost weirdly looked like a body crowd-surfing through a concert audience.

Charlie stumbled dizzily backwards, heart slamming in his chest. He shook his head in denial. It couldn’t be. He didn’t want to believe his eyes. But as hordes of them poured out of the doorway into the thinning patches of grass, he couldn’t deny it. There was no escape. Soon they would spread to every city, every town, and human existence would be swallowed up by their monstrous frenzy.

He yelled for help, but no help came. Pain, like fire, spread up his legs and body as a red swarm of a new species engulfed him.   

A New Story From DeathGroundWriter!

Our first love never leaves us. Our first love will always have a piece of our heart. This story was inspired by the myth that when a cat crosses a grave, the corpse will rise as a vampire. It’s also a tragic love story.

Check out my latest horror tale on my channel DeathGroundReviews!

A New Story From DeathGroundWriter!

Hear a strange rustling sound within the walls of a nearby building? Are items around your house mysteriously going missing? Yep, that could be a sign of one of them. What are they? Folks around town call them the Night People.

You can find this tale about the horrors of revenge on my YouTube channel DeathGroundReviews!

Working Title: Love Bites

I completed the rough draft of a new story! I am very excited.

So the rough draft of this story turned out far better than I expected it would. The plan: Allow it to rest for a couple weeks, and then it will rise for the revision process. In the featured image are the first lines of the story. This is a love story, a love story that turns in a very tragic direction. It’s also a story about how we relate experiences to one another, and how people respond to them. In other words, it’s a story about storytelling. The working title for this story was “Love Bites.” However, that sounds a bit gimmicky. Maybe I’ll change it to “A Piece of My Heart.” But that sounds so pretentious. I don’t know. Such decisions can be saved for the revisions.

My Thoughts on “Fear,” by L. Ron Hubbard

First of all, I’m absolutely stunned by how prolific a writer Mr. Hubbard was. The man published 250 novels, novelettes, short stories, and screenplays in every major genre. I thought that might be a Guinness World Record or something. I googled to see who the most prolific author is, and it turns out to be a Brazilian author named Ryoki Inoue, with 1,075 books published under many pseudonyms. Still, 250 is impressive. It takes me nearly a month or more just to complete a short story. Mr. Hubbard could probably write several in a week.

This novel often gets the label of being the first modern thriller. As I was reading it, it kept bringing to mind movies like The Machinist, Memento, and Shutter Island. This novel definitely provides a surprising twist in the ending. You’ll feel a sadness for the main character Professor Jim Lowry.

The plot: Professor Jim Lowry is a man who denounces phenomena like demons, spirits, and the supernatural. He has traveled the world in his profession, investigated many obscure locations and experienced a wide variety of cultures and religions. To him, it’s all superstition: man’s way of explaining the unexplainable until efforts of material science find a true explanation. Then one day, after having a drink with his friend Tommy Williams (who, by the way, half-jokingly warns him that all his denunciation of the supernatural will antagonize the demons, motivating a vengeful return of them to ruin his life), he abruptly wakes up having lost his hat as well as the memory of the past four hours. Lowry is now on a quest to find those four hours, and during his quest is haunted by strange experiences. A shadowy phantom stalks him, only allowing him a brief glimpse in the corner of his eye. When he tries to eat dinner with Tommy and his wife Mary, his plate annoyingly and mysteriously moves, and he can’t be certain, but it looks like fangs are pointing out between the lips of his friend and wife, though when he looks directly at them, he doesn’t see fangs at all. These are just a couple of the strange happenings he experiences. I don’t want to spoil all the fun for you.

What did I enjoy about the novel? First and foremost, I had a blast falling into this twisting, strange labyrinth with Lowry. After each bizarre occurrence, I read with anticipation for what would come next. How much weirder would it get? It was fascinating seeing Lowry’s original belief system (his denunciation of the supernatural) begin to crack and give way as he encounters each new absurd event. I enjoyed the dialogue as well. Every conversation crackled with life, and felt like a genuine exchange between two people. Now, I don’t think Fear is known for its exceptional dialogue or anything like that, but it worked well for me.

What to learn from one of the weaker elements of the novel: if you can achieve the writing goal you have set for your story without certain scenes, go ahead and delete them. Author Nancy Kress once stated in her book Beginnings, Middles, and Ends that a scene must accomplish at least two of three things: advance the plot, deepen characterizations, or fill in back story. This novel is a tad bit overwritten. There were certainly scenes that distracted and slowed the pace down too much, and I found myself skimming some of the material.

Overall, I give L. Ron Hubbard’s novel Fear a 4/5 rating. You’ll have a thrilling good time in this bizarre funhouse of a story.

DeathGroundWriter Spotlight: Interview with Author Kateri Stanley

Kateri Stanley graduated from The Open University with a degree in Arts and Humanities and worked for the National Health Service for 8 years. When she’s not writing stories, you can find her binge-watching films, creating playlists for her projects and dabbling in the occasional video game. She currently resides in the West Midlands, United Kingdom with her partner and their two cats, George and Maxine.

Tell us a bit about your fiction. What does it mean to you, and why do you think readers will love it?

Kateri: I’m a big lover of dark fiction, no matter what the genre, whether its sci-fi, horror, thriller, mystery, drama, fantasy, romance, you name it.

My debut novel, Forgive Me (published by indie press house, darkstroke books) is about an investigative journalist called Stripe McLachlan who is hired by Isaac Payne to write an article for his online business. Stripe has had a troubled upbringing as her father was killed by the axe murderer the media labelled “The Night Scrawler”, a monster who was never found. Usually, her projects delve into more uncomfortable, questionable topics, but there’s a deep, almost hauntingly familiar pull about her new client that intrigues her. As she learns more about Isaac, Stripe digs up fresh secrets about the murders, arousing her suspicions. After an awkward confrontation, she wakes up in Isaac’s bed — with a chain around her ankle.
My fiction is like another lifeline, it’s tied to my mental health. As my Mom has said before, “she needs to write or she’ll end up in a mental hospital.” Ha, very true Mom. 🙂
I hope my work gives readers an experience something they haven’t seen before but most importantly, I hope they can get lost in my characters and the story and forget about the troubles and stresses of their day. I know it’s cheesy to say, but it’s true.

Do you remember the first moment the horror/sci-fi genre attracted you?

Kateri: The power of film introduced me to the worlds of horror and sci-fi. I’ve been going to the cinema ever since I was a kid. I remember watching The Fifth Element when I was five years old, utterly besotted with the interior of the cinema as the ceiling looked like it there were tyre tracks painted across it. I also remember being fascinated with Milla Jovovich’s orange hair in the movie. 🙂

What is your creative process?

Kateri: It comes in different stages and not always in the same order. Normally an idea (it could be a situation, a scene, a character etc) springs up on me and I let it stew in my mind for a while. Characters and the story build up and if I think it has potential, I plot it out. Before I start to write a project, I normally have a general idea of what is going to happen in the story and how it will end. I plot several chapters and then I write them out and I repeat this process. Sometimes things will happen, a character will do or say something I didn’t see coming. I love it when that happens, it keeps me on my toes and it means the characters are coming out of their shells. I always write to music and I keep a list of the songs for each project. I find having something playing my ears really helps me get into the zone especially when it comes to a handling a delicate scenario like an emotionally charged scene.

What are some of your favorite books and movies?

Kateri: I have an ever-growing list of books and movies I love so I can’t pick favourites.  But if I had to choose I adore Hannibal by Thomas Harris and the movie, The Crow starring the late and beautiful, Brandon Lee.

If you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Kateri: The power of levitation would be great. I’d make a mug of tea sitting in the office and have it floating up the stairs to my desk.

Any new projects we can see from you in the future? 

Kateri: The audiobook of my debut novel, Forgive Me is being recorded right this second. My wonderful producer/narrator, Zack Kirchner is working really hard and we’re aiming for a Halloween release. 
I recently completed my second novel, a supernatural mystery/thriller called From the Deep. I’m currently putting the feelers out for it, hoping it will be out sometime in 2022.I’ve also made a start on Book no.3 which will be a dark supernatural drama with historical and religious elements.

Learn more about Kateri Stanley:

Website: https://www.kateristanley.com/

Facebook: Kateri Stanley

Instagram: sal_writes

Twitter: @sal_writes

Find her books on Amazon!

DeathGroundWriter Spotlight: Interview With Author Shawn Burgess

Shawn Burgess is a dark fiction author, avid horror fan, and Halloween junkie. He has a BA in English from the University of Florida and focused on literature for his postgraduate studies at the University of North Florida. His stories often blend two or more of his preferred genres: thriller, mystery, horror, crime/police procedural, urban fantasy, and suspense.

In his fictional worlds, realistic characters collide with the strange, unusual, and sometimes frightening. Ghosts of Grief Hollow, the sequel to his Amazon international best-selling debut novel, The Tear Collector, is due out in late 2021.

Tell us a bit about your fiction. What does it mean to you, and why do you think readers will love it?

I’m a dark fiction writer with a tendency to blend several genres, so my stories may not always fit neatly into one box. I like to tell complex tales with fairly large casts—perhaps partly because of my propensity for ushering many of them to tragic and sudden ends. I’m a big believer in having at least some relatable main characters that readers may readily identify and empathize with. I’m also intending to ground a reader in a realistic feeling world before things really go sideways so that they’ll maintain a level of suspension of disbelief. You’ll uncover more about my characters through their dialogue, actions, interactions, and behaviors than anything I’ll ever outright tell you in a story, which is my preference for both characterization and pacing.

Looking at the bigger picture, I love the strange, unusual, and terrifying. The supernatural, paranormal, and the occult. Ordinary, every-day people confronted with the most extraordinary of circumstances and phenomena. It’s in those moments and all the ones leading up to it, that we really discover who these characters truly are. Despite modern society’s technological advances, there exists that kernel of doubt, the sense that we as human beings can’t possibly understand everything that coinhabits the Earth with us—and that’s where I like to play most as a writer—amidst all that fear and wonderment.

To me, fiction is pure, unadulterated freedom. I can go anywhere on the page, within the confines of my own story, of course, but the possibilities are truly boundless. I write with one overarching goal, to tell a compelling story that will hopefully entertain and thrill most readers.

If you like action, adventure, mystery, suspense, and horror with memorable characters, I believe you will enjoy my fiction. Like twists and turns as well? We’re probably reading from the same sheet of music in terms of taste for what we like to read and what I like to write.

Do you remember the first moment the horror/sci-fi genre attracted you?

My parents were part of an organization that built haunted houses for their biggest charity fundraising event each year. I was exposed to it at an early age. My father also had a love for Halloween and would build a home haunt to entertain and scare kids and parents alike. I naturally gravitated to these creepy things and found enjoyment in them.

Allowing yourself to get scared by putting yourself in these situations while knowing you’re not actually going to be harmed is exhilarating, fun, and reminds us we’re alive. It’s why Halloween has become a multi-billion-dollar holiday, and why events like Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights seem to print money every year.

As I got older, I found that same enjoyment in books and movies. It was a natural extension of the things I already enjoyed, and my writing would quickly follow in the same path.

My copy of The Tear Collector! You can find it on Amazon!


What’s your creative process?

With my debut novel The Tear Collector, I began with three characters in a dialogue exchange. From that small scene, I got a very clear picture of who each character was. I built the rest of the novel around it. I mostly wrote it on airplanes at 30,000 feet and in hotel rooms while traveling for work. My soon-to-be-released sequel, Ghosts of Grief Hollow, was written during the pandemic. I started with an idea for how I wanted it to start and end, plus a few key scenes, and wrote it from about 10PM-2AM each night over the course of about five months, so it was really quite different for me as far as the execution of it.

As it relates to the creative process itself, I’m rather flexible, depending on the demands of the project. I don’t really have any set writing rituals I keep. I have a notebook of novel ideas and choose whatever sounds like the most fun for me to write. I don’t work from outlines but do tend to plot in my head quite a bit further into the manuscript than wherever I’m currently working in it. I always leave room to take enticing opportunities when they present themselves, and I’m not necessarily married to an ending I’ve selected at the onset. This rough structure works for me and likely leads to the books having more unexpected twists and turns.

What are some of your favorite books and movies?

There are so many fabulous books and movies I love. I’ll start with some books, but I’m going to give more of the love to some indie and smaller press authors because they’re fantastic and they don’t necessarily garner the attention of the King’s and Koontz’s of the world.

One of my recent favorite books was Ross Jeffery’s cosmic horror novel Tome. This is probably the most high-profile book I’ll talk about in regards to indies since it was nominated for a Stoker Award. Jeffery’s writing is terrific, and I was gripped throughout, even as some truly horrifying things were happening on the page. Think the old HBO prison series Oz meets cosmic horror and you have a recipe for an excellent read.

The Navajo Nightmare coauthored by Steve Stred and David Sodergren was a splatterpunk Western that was really a lot of fun. A supernatural tale of revenge about a gunslinger trying to make an honest go of it, and being dragged back into his old life and worse. It’s a true blood fest, but a really compelling read.

There’s a new novella coming out by indie author Dan Soule called The Jam that I got an opportunity to get an early look at, and I absolutely loved it. It was really a fun and unpredictable story.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention a few others, Dawn Hosmer’s Bits & Pieces, Angelique Jordonna’s Dani, Charly Cox’s All His Pretty Girls, Jotham Austin’s Will You Still Love Me if I Become Someone Else? and Barlow Adams’ Appalachian Alchemy—all of them excellent reads.

As far as big presses go, Chasing the Boogeyman by Richard Chizmar was a recent favorite that I tore through, and I thought Ring Shout by P. Djeli Clark was fantastic.

Some of my favorite movies are The Silence of the Lambs (also loved the book), Seven, The Lost Boys, Better Off Dead, The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, A Quiet Place II, Get Out, Pumpkinhead, Beetlejuice, Jaws, John Carpenter’s The Thing, Jeepers Creepers, The Prophesy with Christopher Walken, and In the Mouth of Madness, just to name a few.

If you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Superpowers are a slippery slope. As a dark fiction and horror writer, I imagine them in the wrong hands being used for very nefarious purposes. Take the thriller, The Invisible Man—no good can come from that. For my own superpower, I’d choose the ability to miraculously heal other people, at the cost of years taken off my own life each time the power was used. Every superpower needs some type of built-in guardrail. Otherwise, I could heal the countless masses, leading to an explosion of the Earth’s population, scarcity of resources, and most likely, my subsequent murder.

What advice do you have for the novice writer?

Write and read as much as you can. Fill up notebooks, even if you know it’s with stories and scribblings that will likely never be published. The more you practice, the better you will become. In my eyes, the most important thing about writing is having fun. If you’re having fun with your story, it’s much more likely to connect with a potential audience. If it feels like a chore, you’re probably writing the wrong story, or perhaps approaching it in the wrong way. Never put too much pressure on yourself. That’s not to say don’t be driven to accomplish your writing goals but remember that writing is only one part of this amazing life we’ve been given. Make sure you live it to the fullest.

What are your plans for the future? 

Right now, I’m just enjoying life with my wonderful wife and two amazing sons while writing on novels in the evening. In the next few months, my second novel Ghosts of Grief Hollow is set to release. I immersed myself wholly into this project during the pandemic. I’m really thrilled with how it turned out and can’t wait to share it with readers. In addition, I’m picking back up on a novel project I paused in order to write GoGH. It’s pretty different than The Tear Collector and one I hope readers will thoroughly enjoy. Other than that, I plan to continue putting out novels as frequently as I can write, revise, and edit them. Ideally, I’d love to see one of more them ultimately translated into film, which is also a medium I love.

Learn more about Shawn Burgess:

Website: shawnburgessauthor.com

Twitter: @ShawnBinjax

Instagram: shawnbinjax

Find his books on Amazon!