It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, and I owe you an explanation. The truth is, I burned myself out. Between April and August I wrote six novels—three Grindhouse Horror books and a few others under different names—plus nine short stories I’m currently shopping around. Looks impressive, but it left me fried.
The good news is the third Grindhouse Horror book, The Millfield Terror, is still on its way. It should be out on October 28, and advance copies are available to anyone who wants to read it and drop an honest review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. This one’s a mean little eco-horror story about giant centipedes tearing people to bits. It’s gory, yeah, but underneath all the mandibles and entrails is a warning about what happens when people keep screwing with their environment.
It might also be the last Grindhouse Horror book of 2025. I don’t know yet. I hate saying that, but the burnout is real. I don’t want to keep churning out these stories just for the sake of filling a release schedule. They deserve more than that.
I’m not done writing, though. Far from it. Right now I’m working on something different—more experimental, more unhinged. Think those old Dell Abyss paperbacks: new weird, body horror, dream logic. At the center of it all is a twisted love story, buried in flesh and fluids. It’s a different kind of horror story, and I want to have it out before the year’s over.
Thanks for hanging in there while I get my head back on straight. More soon.