Looking Backward
(A
Foreword)
A Strategy of Presentation:
Traditionally, anthologies of a specific author's
work are a means of looking back over that author's career, and
Twilight Junction is no exception
in that regard. One difference between this and most other anthologies is
that none of the work anthologized herein has ever seen the light of day.
Initially unintended for public
dissemination, this volume was originally
conceived as an exclusive showcase of one
author's work, for agents and publishers. However, during the
formalization process, resistance to the prospect of releasing the book
formally in an extremely limited edition became harder and harder to
justify. At the point, creating this book became an experiment without
readily available precedent.
The "formalization process" refers to the
presentation of material in a sequence that doesn't just progress, but
evolves, but from what into what?
Resolving this question was the first hurtle. Is there a difference between
what a reader of thrilling fiction seeks for entertainment and a
businessperson looks for in the process of providing said "product" to its
intended audience? I felt, ultimately, yes ... and no. The consideration had
enough merit to produce a brief mental paralysis
concerning how to proceed. As the reader will find, the work in this
volume displays wide range, often blending genres, and it was this eclectic
aspect of the project which provoked a lingering hesitance over what to
present first, last and so on.
In an attempt to swiftly deconstruct, we begin with:
1.
A piece from a holiday thriller;
2.
The complete third part of a four-part novel, itself a psychological
thriller, in the sense that the main character suffers from hallucinatory
delusions;
3.
Excerpts from a comic thriller about writers;
4.
The prologue to the third book of a trilogy incorporating elements of
religion, evolution, mythology, and espionage--progressing in the nature of
(surprise!) a thriller. The character who operates as the trilogy's overall
protagonist is never formally introduced here, but alluded to in a second
excerpt from the same book called "To the Winds, the Witness," formally from
chapter 3.
5.
After that, a complete horror/western short story keeps us within the same
world of the trilogy, but actually prefaces
Lazarus Cane, the first book of
The Mosaic. As a standalone
piece, it hails from The Night Show,
Vol. IV.
6.
Another complete short story returns our feet to the ground, selected from
the forthcoming third collection of short stories from
The Night Show, in which
"writing" is inherent to every plot, and all the plots are (wait for it) ...
thrillers!
7.
From The Night Show, Vol. II, a
collection of short work inspired by the greatest conspiracy theories of the
twentieth century, comes a story in which memorabilia either proving or
disproving many famous conspiracy cases, (otherwise known as "missing
evidence"), is traded (or stolen) between members of an exclusive group of
collectors.
8.
Second from last is the first chapter of a novel set in a remote rural Texas
motel, in which a strange gallery of characters cross paths, each having
arrived for different reasons and unaware of the
others, yet destined to alter each other's futures.
9.
And finally, at the summit, we find the first complete volume of a six-part
novel thirty years in the making. It's a monster blended from the parts of
two prior attempts and then expanded.
In Risk We Trust is my effort to honor the great tradition of work by
such writers as Elmore Leonard, Raymond Chandler, and James Ellroy. In
league with Mosaic, I consider it
a cornerstone piece of my repertoire.
The Question Deepens:
Given suspense as a consistent ingredient, why start in one place as opposed
to others. No particular piece was written with a view toward making it
especially more engaging than the other animals in the stable. Can a
progression exist which remains true without quarter to its intention to
keep eyes from closing to the rest? When the show has a little something for
everybody, which project should open, and which should close?
There's a rule in the arts: always frontload the best material.
Unfortunately, it's hard to define "the best" when describing one's
children. Another concern: that a book meant for everyone is within spitting
distance of becoming a book meant for no one in particular. Such is not the
case with Twilight Junction, but
the reader cannot know this without taking the full ride. To this concern, I
can only say: when traveling through unconventional territory, there is
something to be said for suspending conventional wisdom. For my own piece of
mind, assurance lies in knowing that denizens of a thrilling story are
usually ready for anything, and will soon realize despite the unfamiliar
landscape that they have come to the right place.
The 15th
Anniversary cover of
The Great American Night
Question #2:
If the first question is which project to present first, the second
consideration begs the question: which excerpts from each project should be
used? One might expect a kind of highlights reel from a stable of
10 novels, 33 short stories (twice
that many if including unfinished work) from 4 collections (two of which are
in progress), and various screen/teleplays, but such is not the case. This
anthology represents work either finished or in imminent proximity to being
so, but it doesn't quite represent everything. The scripts are left out
entirely; likewise, all fourteen stories from the first volume of
The Night Show collection,
The Great American Night, which
was released in two printings, in 2002 and 2004. Four novels are left out,
as well: Primaland, released in a
limited edition in 2003, is not represented here, nor the first two books of
The Mosaic Trilogy,
Lazarus Cane and
Running the Infinite. Finally, a
fourth novel, The Truth Variations,
is currently undergoing major expansion (a la
Risk).
Besides, what is a "highlights reel" when talking about books? It's apparent that the so-called highlights of any story can only be appreciated once we, as readers, are invested in the characters. Speaking of fiction in general, the most powerful moments often appear as resolution to the story, but how can an anthology of work no one's read be a mere collection of endings? It can't. The same logic applies to putting forward a bunch of beginnings, sections which ultimately peter out and leave the reader unfulfilled. The effect might leave a reader feeling set adrift on a river that perpetually drops off into nothing.
This work represents the past twenty-nine years of my life, and the
longer I considered these questions, the more the project took on the
gravitas of walking backward through a mine field, minus the physical consequences
of a misstep. And yet there is definitely something to lose if the wrong
choice is made--the reader's faith. Thus, the challenge became choosing
excerpts that leave the reader wanting more, yet also feeling satisfied
they've had a lingering peek behind the curtain. Once the reader feels
confident that an "excerpt" can be illuminating and satisfying, an
anticipation can easily draw the reader to the next ride as inexorably as
one chapter leads to the next. It is, of course, valuable to remember that
these are not chapters in a novel, but chapters from an entire body of work.
In the two cases where
"inner sections" are included (Santa
and Flip City), the reader is
given enough context in a specific foreword to appreciate the view from the
window provided, through the eyes of characters never reduced to mere
vehicles of convenience for the purposes of isolating a thrilling moment or
two.
My characters,
in my attempts to build stories greater than the sum of their parts, often
inhabit a state of mind anathema to their surroundings. In the case of
Flip City, Billy Reynolds is
hardly a criminal, but his condition causes him to feel like a fugitive in a
society he perceives as normal, even though it seldom is. He feels rejected
by the world when the world is every bit as crazy as he is. During a long
catharsis, he slowly begins to realize this.
Likewise, Lee Hennessey (codenamed
Risk), upon returning home to
Port Haven on the run from his misadventures in New York City, learns that
people he hasn't seen in years have come to live inside a "corporate mafia"
state of mind as a result of events he initiated years earlier. It's a story
of a man fighting to exist with his own past, the memories of which have
bred monsters which now operate as his security from the forces seeking to
undo him over the fallout from the "New York Job." From his new perspective,
an assassin sees his own violent world for the first time with new eyes.
Clashes of intention among the like-minded, I've
found, seem to provide the best framework for stories that blow up in ways I
never expect.
Question #3:
The third consideration belongs solely to the reader.
Given that reading this foreword is akin to standing on the threshold of
work completely unknown at the
time of this writing, why should readers feel compelled to take a journey
through the creative output of someone they've never heard of, with only the
barest idea of what they're getting themselves into and frankly no reason to
take the trip in the first place? The combined features of suspense and a
singular voice are tenuous draws at best.
Not only might there be initial ambivalence toward
the work itself, but also toward the biography of the author, and
understandably so. Why should the reader care about the background of a
storyteller who's given them no reason to believe they'll even enjoy the
story(ies)? On the other hand, the reverse could make its argument as well.
I've decided to save the biography for later, in the
interests of dedicating the space to the projects themselves. I'm fine with
letting the work speak for me. Let it suffice to say no writer can do what
they do without drawing from their own biography. Therefore, let the work
itself be a kind of surrogate biography for the time being.
As stated earlier,
is the lover of suspense not also a fan of adventure and mystery? Nothing
heightens adventure more than the mystery of what might be found, felt or
mentally observed by the payoff. Fans of mystery and suspense are hardly a
group disinclined to face the unknown. I intend to see this as an advantage.
Twilight Junction
delivers the fruits of nearly three decades in personal pursuit of something
nearly unexplainable: the formulation of elements which make a perfect
story, if only in my opinion. These projects are like test tube babies that
never moved out of their father's house; not because they're lazy or
lacking, but because the creation of their DNA was a period of endless
consideration and, in some case, experimentation to achieve the right
balance.
Imagine the joy on the day these "children" reach
precisely the intended end result, all running for the door at the same
time, eager to find their audience. Nevertheless, like a Stooges routine,
the greater mass must cede to a first impression that gets through the door
before the others. Don't believe this means if Larry gets through first,
Moe, Curly, or Shemp won't steal the show.
Formal Introductions:
"Santa's Secret Weapon":
It should be specified that just because suspense
is a constant thread, it's often a symptom of a situation not technically
defined as a thriller (Savage Pursuit
of Serenity, Flip City Blues),
but such is not the case in Santa's
Secret Weapon, a holiday thriller set in Columbus, Ohio during
Christmas. Here, the challenge was to build a suspenseful plot that was also
dependent on Christmas' themes. A desire to "put things right" is
personified through the machinations of a killer who's convinced his
murderous sins in the name of country are forgiven as long as he always
leaves the scales balanced before vanishing once again.
"Flip City Blues":
The second offering is part three of a four-part
novel called Flip City Blues,
about a character suffering from hallucinatory delusions who finds himself
lost in a world which has always rejected him. Why Part 3, because it's the
best of the four? No.
Despite each part's intention to be enjoyed on its
own, or read out of order, the reason for previously publishing Part 1 ("The
Restless Age" from The Great American
Night) and Part 3 ("The Hostage"; here) is that "The Hostage" provides a
handy entrance to the story for new initiates to the exploits of Billy
Reynolds' wild journey-in-progress, while at the same time restarting the
story from the perspective of new characters, for those familiar with the
first part.
"The Savage Pursuit of Serenity":
Excerpts from the two previous novels establish a
tone abruptly reversed by three excerpts from a novel about five west coast
screenwriters left adrift by the passing of their benefactor (the infamous
"Slasher Bob"), whose failing Left Field film production company--with their
contracts--has been bequeathed to an oblivious new
benefactor from Nebraska. Max, a twenty-eight year old orphan, has
lived his life believing he would never truly know biological family ties,
until he gets a phone call from an attorney in Los Angeles, who informs him
his recently deceased uncle has left him everything. Max has no particular
affinity for what they're peddling, but each of the writers circle him like
vultures, anyway, all intent on convincing him their script should be the
next film produced with the last of what was in the till, that their idea
will save the company by providing a blockbuster.
Serenity
is a story that breeds suspenseful moments as each tries to undo the others
without making it obvious to the hapless protagonist. At its core, it's
about spotlighting those who maintain creative lives, highlighting the
eccentricities and self-condemnation often produced within creative people.
The element of suspense arrives from Max's dawning realization that he's at
the center of a game he's never even heard of, let alone played, and that
his fellow players are lunatics all trying to save their own hides.
"The Mosaic" (A Trilogy):
Next, we embark on one of the more ambitious projects
in the canon. It can't succinctly be unpacked, but the plots encompass
historical mystery, folklore, mythology, legend ... and espionage.
The Mosaic incorporates clashing
genres across all three books with a logic befitting the material: western
and science fiction (Running the
Infinite); horror and mythology (Lazarus
Cane); political history and the controversy between evolution and
religion (Godwin & Deville). An
example: the clashing principles of Christianity and Evolution leave a
pervasive sense that the origins of man emerge from a grayer history. What
don't we know about the origins of the human race? Such questions are but
drops in an ocean now chartered in
The Mosaic, but now a character exists to take us into the past or
future as far as we want to go, no matter how dangerous the answers we might
find in either direction.
From this trilogy, we begin with an excerpt from the
third book, Godwin & Deville, in
a place where science and religion once conspired to birth the first man,
giving forth a hybrid creature appropriately named "Adam" by its human and
alien creators. Our view of this genetic experiment-in-progress is provided
through the eyes of the first man, himself, during his daring escape from
the surgical theater in which his genetic structure has been altered. To
what end do these activities lead?
To the illumination that many time-honored guests
were present during this "creative process" as spectators, among them Mary
Wollstonecraft Shelley, H.G. Wells, Jules Verne and the enigmatic Charles
Darwin, among others.
Such an introduction to this trilogy should present
one burning question before any other: How is it possible, and who could
hope to engineer such a gathering in the first place, during a moment in
human history when we'd barely risen above the station of primates.
Those familiar with my two previous books might
recall a character with the technological ability to manipulate time travel
via Quantum Spatial Theory. For those unfamiliar, unwinding the mysteries of
"Malabar" is a process best begun in the proper context. He's a travel
agent, of sorts; an opportunist by proximity to knowledge that has fallen
into his lap. Some call him, at best, the loose screw in the system, the
trickster--at worst: the man behind the curtain with an unknown agenda.
Following a hasty evacuation from his father's home
during what might best be called a "corporate coup" in the year 4984, he has
since made vast fortunes selling access to the technology he managed to grab
during the course of his escape by delivering well-heeled tourists to
destinations thought long lost to the passage of time. Along the way, spies
have infiltrated his growing organization, carrying some of these secrets
home to their various governments. Events of the story take place in a
global atmosphere where all
world powers own pieces of a puzzle none fully know, relating to our origins
and untapped technological destiny. For his knowledge alone, the mysterious
figure known as "Malabar" is considered the Holy Grail of every intelligence
agency in the world.
The endeavors of those who've sought to acquire and
control various pieces of information have not always operated under a
purview toward the betterment of mankind. Malabar is very much a fugitive,
longing to repair his own past, while dodging the attempts by interested
parties to chase him down. For what he can do, he is the most sought after
company to keep in any century--past, present, or future.
"The Night Show"
Collection:
Malabar brings us to an interesting crossroads along
the path through this anthology, to a story that compliments the trilogy by
prefacing the first book, Lazarus
Cane, but also stands alone as a short story from the fourth volume of
The Night Show, titled
In the Parlance of Our Crimes.
"Natives" describes the realization of a group of
Rocky Mountain settlers, circa 1949, that they are not the only residents of
the surrounding wilderness. It's inclusion here provides a convenient segue
back to the short story collections: volumes collectively known as
The Night Show, in the tradition
of The Twilight Zone,
Alfred Hitchcock Presents, and
The Outer Limits.
The next two entries are representatives of Volumes 2 & 3, respectively
titled Signals from Noise and
Crackpot Visionaries. Each
volume's stories are inspired by a common theme.
Signals from Noise consists of
14 stories inspired by the greatest conspiracy theories of the
twentieth century. It's emissary to this
anthology is the complete manuscript for the first story, "The Collective
(part 1)," which begins the saga of a group of faceless players who acquire
and trade "memorabilia" from famous conspiracy cases. Any or all of these
lost artifacts are actual evidentiary elements gone missing from real cases,
knowledge of which is culled from nearly thirty years of studying the vastly
rewarding world of conspiracy research. More specifically, from the study of
dedicated scholars such as Robert Groden (JFK),
Richard Dolan (UFOs), and Jim
Marrs (Both), as well as a gallery of others listed in the appendix to this
anthology.
In Volume 3,
Crackpot Visionaries, the stories feature writers as protagonists and
their work as essential ingredients in tales ranging (and rearranging)
genres while somehow echoing similarities to their siblings, even across
volumes. The only parameters for Volume 4,
In the Parlance of Our Crimes,
were that each story incorporates horror and crime.
Crimes is an homage to the
masters I grew up admiring: Lovecraft, Barker, King and
Detroit's own Elmore Leonard.
Concluding three complete manuscripts from
The Night Show, we then return to
novel-length projects with excerpts from the two animals most different from
each other; the latter of which is thirty years in the making.
"Things That Never Happen":
The first excerpt is the
prologue from Things that Never
Happen, a fly-on-the-wall's view of six people who arrive in a desolate
Texas town to take up temporary residence at the Diamond in the Sand Motel.
Each is there for different reasons, yet their paths cross like elements in
a human Rube Goldberg machine. Only a waitress in the nearby diner--the
Oasis--holds the potential for seeing the connections, but does she realize
what she's seeing?
Things'
placement in this collection is to introduce an off-shoot series of novels
which exist under the same Night Show
umbrella as their shorter counterparts. While we're at it, so is
Flip City Blues, due to its first
part appearing in The Great American
Night.
"In Risk We Trust":
Lastly (which in earlier versions opened this
anthology), we come to a novel which I began somewhere around the age of 11
or 12. As of this writing, I'm forty-one, and the overall piece (in its
third incarnation) still undergoes light edits as of 2013. In print for the
first time, the vigilante society of
In Risk We Trust is finally represented here by
A Call to the Riled, the first
complete manuscript of six.
This whale of a journey began as one thing somewhere
around '85, but before its completion in 2013, its many permutations have
expanded the mythology of the main character far further than ever intended,
and there are still corners unexplored. Seeing as how I intended the first
version of Risk to be a practice
novel at the ripe old age of twelve, it's also a piece that's outlived most
of the relationships in my life. In many ways, it may be the defining moment
of this anthology, although Malabar's trilogy makes that assertion
debatable.
Finally, it appears an order has formed itself. The
time has come to stop speaking about the work and let the work speak for
itself or, in the case of this anthology, time to unbar the gates of the
amusement park and get out of the way.