Paypal Says: "It's not us, it's the banks!" Just who is trying to censor what we read?

I received this email from Mark Coker, the founder of Smashwords, concerning the recent, onerous censorship demands placed on Smashwords and other ebook vendors by Paypal. Interestingly, Paypal has extended the deadline by which the artistic works they've forbidden must be removed from Smashwords. They also claim that they are being forced into this by credit card companies and banks. You know how I feel about censorship. I'll let you read what Smashwords sent me.


Mr. Coker writes:

I'm writing to give you an update on where things stand. We are extending the
deadline (previously set for tonight) for Smashwords authors/publishers/agents
to voluntarily remove certain content (erotica featuring themes of rape, bestiality,
incest) from Smashwords . I'll communicate the new deadline in a future email
once I gain new information.

I had another call with PayPal this morning. Our conversation is continuing
with them as I seek to achieve a less onerous, more sensible result.

There's a sliver of hope that I might be able to obtain a more positive, less
restrictive outcome than I communicated on Friday, yet it's unlikely we'll achieve
the true result I want (no censorship) in the near term. Today, PayPal hinted
at a more relaxed definition of prohibited content as, according to them [I'm
paraphrasing], "books for which rape, bestiality and incest are the major theme.
If rape, bestiality and incest are incidental plot points, then that content
might be allowable."

This represents a significant clarification in our ongoing attempt to delineate
the gray areas and push back the onerous, unfair and restrictive definitions
as they now stand. It's an opening, but it's not the final word from PayPal.
Our friends at PayPal are trying their their best to help Smashwords authors
and publishers.

This potential relaxation doesn't solve the broader issue of censorship. I think
if a writer wants to write fiction around the theme of [anything], I think they
should be able to write it if it's legal.

Today's progress, while encouraging, also opens up new gray area. How does one
judge whether the taboo subjects are incidental instances or major themes? Where
does one draw the line? The PayPal rep and I agreed our discussion will continue,
and they assured me our PayPal services will not be cut off as we both work in
good faith to advance the discussions.

A lot of people have been attacking Smashwords for my decision to comply with
PayPal's requirements. They're pointing their arrows at the wrong target, and
they're not helping their cause. We're working to effect positive long term
change for the entire Smashwords community, and that includes all our erotica
authors and readers. This change is possible only if we work together toward
a common goal. When people spread lies that this is all part of a Smashwords
plot to dispose of "icky books" (their words, not mine), or try to portray our
actions as some sexist attack against against women, or worse attacks I won't
repeat here, they're wrong. Despite the ugliness shown to me and Smashwords
over the weekend, I'm still working to protect these very people who attack us.
The attackers don't understand what we're doing on their behalf behind the scenes,
and even if they did understand I don't expect them to agree with our approach.
I'd rather work with PayPal in good faith than martyr the entire Smashwords
community upon the stake of this impending deadline.

This is only the first chapter in this battle. Even if we fail in the short
term we survive to fight another day. Regardless of the near term outcome, we
will continue to engage to effect positive change with your help.

Over the weekend, many Smashwords authors and publishers demanded we abandon
PayPal and find a new payment processor. It's not so simple, and it doesn't
solve the greater problem hanging over everyone's head. PayPal is trying to
implement the requirements of credit card companies, banks and credit unions.
This is where it's all originating. These same requirements will eventually
rain down upon every other payment processor. PayPal is trying to maintain their
relationships with the credit card companies and banks, just as we want to maintain
our relationship with PayPal. People who argue PayPal is the evil villain and
we should drop them are missing the bigger picture. Should we give up on accepting
credit cards forever? The answer is no. This goes beyond PayPal. Imagine the
implications if credit card companies start going after the major ebook retailers
who sell erotica?

My objective is for PayPal and Smashwords to pull the credit card companies into
a more open discussion about these issues. I want all financial institutions
to reevaluate their policies. I want the banks to change or clarify their policies
toward something more enlightened. I want PayPal to loosen their policies. We
need financial institutions to get out of the business of telling writers what
they can write and what readers can read. Without this much-needed debate, the
slippery slope gets more slippery for all indies.

Indie authors are the biggest publishers of erotica. Already, one retailer/distributor,
Bookstrand, decided to drop all indies from their store. I can only assume
they decided the angry authors were more trouble than they were worth. Our business
is all about serving indie authors, so even if some segments of our author community
are shooting arrows at us, we still want to help them work through this. The
campaign at hand goes beyond erotica authors. It's an indie issue. Indies are
breaking the boundaries previously set by large traditional publishers. This
boundary-breaking scares people. We should welcome the debate about what a "good
book" should look like. I think a good book is anything legal that readers want
to read, even if I don't want to read it myself.

This campaign represents an incredible long shot. To move this forward, I need
your help. Even if you don't publish in the categories directly impacted by
this crackdown, this campaign matters to you.

What can you do to move things forward? First, direct your attention where it
matters most. Contact your credit card company or congressperson and tell them
you want financial services companies out of the business of censoring what writers
and readers are free to imagine with fiction. Blog about it. Tweet about it.
Contact your favorite blogger and encourage them to raise awareness. Start
petitions and tell financial institutions you want their censors out of your
head. Contact the media. The media, with your urging, has the power to shine
a bright light on the dangerous slipperly slope of censorship by financial institutions.


If the media (both traditional and social) calls on credit card companies and
banks to honestly answer these simple questions, then they'll either be compelled
to acknowledge the absurdity of their policies or they'll be compelled to rewrite
their policies. This troublesome tide can shift if financial institutions are
forced to answer why they're prohibiting legal fiction.

I realize my message to you today cannot possibly answer all the questions you
may have. Know that we're working for all authors, even those likely to suffer
from whatever ultimate changes we implement in the near term. We all want censors
off our backs and out of our heads, and if that's not the result we achieve,
then we'll at least work to get you more clearly defined rules. Bear with us.

I will post this message in the Smashwords Press room at http://www.smashwords.com/press
so it's archived.

Thanks,
Mark Coker
Founder
Smashwords

Paypal Wants to Censor What You Read!

I just got this email from Smashwords:

Dear Smashwords Authors, Publishers and Literary Agents,

This email is being sent to all authors, publishers and agents who have published
erotica at Smashwords. We will also post this message to Site Updates and the
Press Room.

According to our records, you pubish 0 erotica-categorized title(s) out of 0
title(s) now live in the Smashwords system. This message may or may not pertain
to you.

Today we are modifying our Terms of Service to clarify our policies regarding
erotic fiction that contains bestiality, rape and incest. If you write in any
of these categories, please carefully read the instructions below and remove
such content from Smashwords. If you don’t write in these categories, you can
disregard this message.

On Saturday, February 18, PayPal’s enforcement division contacted Smashwords
with an ultimatum. As with the other ebook retailers affected by this enforcement,
PayPal gave us only a few days to achieve compliance otherwise they threatened
to deactivate our PayPal services. I've had multiple conversations with PayPal
over the last several days to better understand their requirements. Their team
has been helpful, forthcoming and supportive of the Smashwords mission. I appreciate
their willingness to engage in dialogue. Although they have tried their best
to delineate their policies, gray areas remain.

Their hot buttons are bestiality, rape-for-titillation, incest and underage erotica.

The underage erotica is not a problem for us. We already have some of the industry’s
strictest policies prohibiting underage characters (we don’t even allow non-participating
minors to appear in erotica), and our vetting team is always on the lookout for
"barely legal" content where supposed adults are placed in underage situations.

The other three areas of bestiality, rape and incest were less well-defined in
our Terms of Service (https://www.smashwords.com/about/tos) before today. I’ll
tackle these one-by-one below, and I'll provide you a summary of the changes
that will go into effect immediately.

*Incest:* Until now, we didn’t have a policy prohibiting incest between consenting
adults, or its non-biological variation commonly known as "Pseudo-incest." Neither
did our retailer partners. We’ve noticed a surge of PI books over the last few
months, and many of them have "Daddy" in the title. I wouldn't be surprised
if the surge in "Daddy" titles prompted PayPal to pursue this purge (I don't
know). PI usually explores sexual relations between consenting adult stepchildren
with their step parents, or between step-siblings. Effectively immediately,
we no longer allow incest of any variety in erotica.

Like many writers, censorship of any form greatly concerns me. It is with some
reluctance that I have made the decision to prohibit incest-themed erotica at
Smashwords. Regardless of your opinion on incest, it’s a slippery slope when
we allow others to control what we think and write. Fiction is fantasy. It’s
not real. It unfolds in our imagination. I’ve always believed fiction writers
and readers should have the freedom to explore diverse topics and situations
in the privacy of their own mind. From an imagination perspective, erotica is
little different from a literary novel that puts us inside the mind of farm animals
(1984), or a thriller novel that puts us inside the mind of a terrorist, or a
horror novel that puts us inside the mind of an axe-murderer or their victim.
All fiction takes us somewhere. We read fiction to be moved, and to feel.
Sometimes we want to feel touched, moved, or disturbed. A reader should have
the right to feel moved however they desire to be moved.

Incest, however, carries thorny baggage. The legality of incest is murky. It
creates a potential legal liability for Smashwords as our business and our books
become more present in more jurisdictions around the world. Anything that threatens
Smashwords directly threatens our ability to serve the greater interests of all
Smashwords authors, publishers, retailers and customers who rely upon us as the
world’s leading distributor of indie ebooks. The business considerations compel
me to not fall on the sword for incest. I realize this is an imperfect decision.
The slippery slope is dangerous, but I believe this imperfect decision is in
the best interest of the community we serve.

*Bestiality:* Until now, we didn’t have a stated policy regarding bestiality.
I like animals. Call me old fashioned or hypocritical (I’m not a vegetarian),
but I don’t want to be a party to anyone enjoying animals for sexual gratification,
for the same reason we’ve never allowed pedophilia books. I don’t want to publish
it, sell it, or distribute it. The TOS is now modified to reflect this. Note
this does not apply to shape-shifters common in paranormal romance provided the
were-creature characters are getting it on in their human form. Sorry I need
to clarify it that way, but we don’t want to see bestiality erotica masquerading
as paranormal romance.

*Rape:* Although our Terms of Service prohibits books that advocate violence
against others, we did not specifically identify rape. This was an oversight
on our part. Now we have clarified the policy. We do not want books that contain
rape for the purpose of titillation. At Smashwords, rape has no longer has a
place in erotica. It has no place anywhere else if the purpose is to titillate.
Non-consensual BDSM - or any other form of non-consensual violence against another
person - is prohibited.

*NEXT STEPS:* If you have titles at Smashwords that are now expressly forbidden,
by the end of day Monday (Feb 27), please click to your Dashboard and click UNPUBLISH then click ARCHIVE. This will also cause our automated systems 

to remove the titles from retail distribution.

DO NOT try to hide or obfuscate violating content by changing book titles, book
descriptions and tags. If we discover such shenanigans, said authors/publishers
will risk account deletion and forfeiture of any accrued earnings, per our Terms
of Service.

We take violations of the TOS seriously, because such violations jeopardize the
opportunities for your fellow authors.

We do not want to see PayPal clamp down further against erotica. We think our
authors should be allowed to publish erotica. Erotica, despite the attacks it
faces from moralists, is a category worthy of protection. Erotica allows readers
to safely explore aspects of sexuality that they might never want to explore
in the real world.

The moralists forget that we humans are all sexual creatures, and the biggest
sex organ is the brain. If it were not the case, none of us would be here.
Erotica authors are facing discrimination, plain and simple. Topics that are
perfectly acceptable in mainstream fiction are verboten in erotica. That’s not
fair. Our decisions today are imperfect. Please, act responsibly, don’t try
to game the system or publish content that pushes the limits of legality. Help
us continue to help indie authors around the world to continue to publish and
distribute with freedom.

*THINGS TO AVOID:* Avoid using words such as 'bestiality,' 'rape,' 'incest,'
'underage,' or 'barely legal' in book titles, book descriptions or keyword tags,
otherwise Smashwords may conclude you’re violating the Terms of Service, or trying
to push the limits. If you’re writing non-erotic works, and any of these words
are necessary, then you’re okay.

On Tuesday (Feb 28) we will begin removing content that we deem in violation.
When we remove a title, you will receive an email notifying you of such, and
that email will append this letter along with instructions on how to notify us
if we made an error. I promise you, we will make mistakes, so please work with
us, take a deep breath and honor us with your patience.

If you believe we removed something in error, please click "Comments/questions,"
mention the title we removed, provide the hyperlink to said title, and provide
your *calm* reasoning for why we should reconsider.

Our support team is backlogged, so it may take several days for them to respond.
As we mention in the Terms of Service, we reserve the right to remove anything
for any reason. That said, we will also try to make our decisions with care
and prudence.

You might wonder if Smashwords should simply switch to a different payment provider.
It’s not so easy. PayPal is designed into the wiring of the Smashwords platform.
They run the credit card processing for our retail store, and they’re how we
pay our authors and publishers. PayPal is also an extremely popular, trusted
payment option for our customers. It is not feasible for us to simply switch
to another provider, should such a suitable provider even exist, especially with
so few days notice.

Please note our Terms of Service is subject to additional modifications as we
work to bring Smashwords into compliance with PayPal requirements. Let’s hope
today’s actions mark the limit of the slippery slope.

Significant gray area remain. Erotica is still permitted, though if authors
try to push the limits of what’s permitted, we risk further clamping down. Please
be responsible. Don’t go there. If you’re going to push the limits, push the
limits of great writing, not the limits of legality.

Thank you for assisting our compliance efforts on such short notice. We know
these decisions will be upsetting to some of our authors and publishers, and
for that we apologize. We do believe, however, that these decisions will place
us on a stronger footing to represent the best interests all indie authors and
publishers from here forward.

Best wishes,

Mark Coker
Founder
Smashwords

......................................................................................

ROD SAYS:-----

I do not have erotica on smashwords, but I am always concerned about censorship-- of any form. I  do not condone nor do I engage in child pornography or bestiality, but fiction is not real. It is fantasy. By Paypal's standards, erotic works like The 120 Days of Sodom would be banned. The Story of O. Even mainstream fantasy novels like Anne Rice's The Wolf Gift would be banned, due to a pseudo-bestiality sex scene between a human female and a werewolf. The biggest problem I have is that Paypal is not a legal entity. It is a payment processing company and has no legal or moral jurisdiction to deem what is or is not acceptable for the public to read. What's next? Is Comcast going to tell you what you can and cannot read online? Is your electric company going to tell you you can only watch TV before 10 PM because you should get plenty of sleep? The point is, every attempt at control or censorship is an attempt to take away your rights as a free human being to live your life as you see fit. This payment processing company has no more right to control your fantasy life than it has to dictate what you eat, where you work, or how often you have sex. I understand that some subject matter in erotica is going to be illegal, but Paypal is demanding that anything remotely similar to the subjects they don't like are also forbidden. Does this ban on all forms of bestiality include non-human sex, like Kirk getting jiggy with a green alien chick from Zoltana IV? What about a werewolf and a vampire doing it? Or-- and I am guilty of putting this in a book-- sex with zombies? That's technically necrophilia. Hell, their ban on incest-type stories include forms of sexual activity that are actually legal in real life-- like step-relatives or cousins. THEY'RE EVEN TRYING TO BAN SPECIFIC WORDS!!! I'm not saying any of this is cool or something I would want to do in real life, but censorship is such a slippery slope, and once you let someone push you down that slide, you don't stop til you hit the rocks at the bottom.

Please send Paypal an email and tell them you don't need them to approve the stories you read.

Short Preview of The Oldest Living Vampire In Love

This excerpt is from a work in progress...

Vesuvius

December 29

1

I felt the music penetrate my flesh even before I entered the building, the thump of its bass like a second heartbeat. They call it “techno”, but it has a primal quality that belies its modern appellation. It conjures memories of my people’s ritual chants, the drumming of bare palms on hollow logs, men and women shouting as they leap and spin around a roaring fire, their bodies moist with sweat, their faces tilted to the heavens in ecstasy.

I closed my iridescent eyes to drink in the music.

As a vampire, television and cinema are an irritant. My thoughts fly faster than a mortal human’s thoughts, and so I am aware of each shuttering still image. They twitch in my consciousness like a lizard impaled on a thorn. It taxes my patience, those glowing images. They whirl like life itself for your human eyes, but for me they are still images, ticking steadily through my consciousness.

But music… Ah, music! Music has the power to seduce me. A world without music would be a world without color, a world without dreams.

But I am not here tonight simply to enjoy the music, as attractive as the idea might be. No. I’ve come to this place for a much more malevolent purpose, and that is to feed on the lifeblood of an evil man. And so I opened my eyes and stepped up to the red velvet rope and waited for the doorman to admit me.

The bouncer was a veritable Goliath, arms thicker than my thighs, chest twice the breadth of my own. He had a shaved head and artfully groomed facial hair and wore an electronic listening device in one ear. It looked like a plastic insect feeding from his ear canal.

I had to wrench my eyes from the throbbing blue vein in his ox-like neck. The hunger was burning in my guts, squeezing my intestines between its taloned claws. Young men and women pressed up behind me, drunken and loud, eager like me to gain entrance to this place. Innocent souls, they were ignorant of the very real danger they had stumbled upon tonight. They unwittingly rubbed their plump, sweaty bodies against me, making me squeeze my fingers into fists for fear of turning and ripping their throats out.

I have lost control of myself more than I care to recall over the ages. I have devoured entire tribes in the hot red grip of my bloodlust. Some vampires can easily move among our human prey, putting aside the bloodthirst without too much difficulty, but not I. I have always been far too easily tempted, prone to bouts of savagery despite my gentler nature.

   

For a moment, I felt like I was drowning in a sea of human smells: their salty human sweat and sex pheromones, and the coppery scent of human blood sluicing through all that soft, succulent flesh. I wanted to bite them, rend open their throats and suck them dry—

Get a grip on yourself!

The bouncer finally deigned to notice me. “Name?” he asked in German.

“Vallessi,” I replied. The name I use in these modern times is Vallessi. Gaspar Vallessi.

He consulted a clipboard, began to shake his head.

Impatient, I hissed, “Let me enter!”

“Sorry, friend. You’re not on the list.”

 I was a little surprised that he refused me entrance to the nightclub, as I had pitched my voice to influence his mind. It is a trivial skill. Any vampire can master it, if that’s something that they care to do. It only takes a few of your mortal lifespans to get the hang of it.

He should have obeyed me without thought. Instead, he crossed his ridiculously muscular arms and scowled down at me like I was a child plucking at the hem of his shirt.

I realized then that the music coming from inside the club had interfered with my carefully pitched tonalities, so I adjusted the frequency of my voice to accommodate the bass thumps pulsing through the steel doors—a bit trickier—and gave it another try.

“Step aside, you oaf. Let me pass!” I demanded.

The man’s eyes fluttered. For a moment he looked confused, then he unhooked the velvet rope with a blank expression and gestured for me to proceed.

I slipped through the door, feeling a little guilty at the enjoyment I had derived from manipulating his mind. The temptation to abuse one’s preternatural abilities is powerful, but it is a danger I strive to resist. I need only remind myself of the Dark Ages, when the Catholics very nearly drove my kind to extinction, and I am duly chastised.

I passed though a short antechamber decorated in the Roman style. Small alcoves, spaced evenly between faux marble pillars, were ornamented with reproductions of Pompeiian art—most of it quite scandalous; the Pompeiians were a very open-minded and sensual people.

Plaster casts of Mount Vesuvius’s victims curled on the floor below, their bodies contorted in their last agonized moments. Juxtaposed against the sexually explicit murals painted on the walls, it was a tacky display. But that was just my opinion, being present when the volcano erupted.

The lights in the corridor throbbed in time to the music as I strode forward. I passed a group of giggling young women. A couple of them gave me a quick, appraising glance. Then I pressed through an interior door, and the music swallowed me whole, like a whale swallowing a fisherman.

2

Vesuvius. What an apt appellation!

Inside, techno pulsed loudly enough to damage human eardrums. Patterns of light rippled across the ceiling and walls, flashing red, orange, purple. Young humans threw their sweaty bodies about the dance floor or mingled together at the bar or the tables, hoping to find a mate to accompany them home for the night... Or, at the least, a momentary distraction from an otherwise mundane existence: a fight, a thrilling bit of gossip, the flash of an attractive stranger’s eye from across the crowded chamber.

They waved plastic sticks filled with luminous fluid, sketching the air with serpentine streaks of pastel light. They snorted coca powder up their noses and poured alcoholic beverages down their gullets.

It reminded me of the Bacchanal-- or any of Rome’s countless drunken festivals, actually.

You humans... Always yearning for distraction. I don’t know how you can find your lives that tedious. They are so brief.

So very, very brief.

Of course, all things are relative. To me, your lives are like fleeting sparks. They rise up from the fire, twirling  like little stars, to flash for a moment in incandescent glory before dying away, lost to the winds of eternity.

And this club--! This seething nightclub, these celebrants-- so tame in comparison to the sights I have seen in my lifetime. I, who witnessed the gladiatorial games of Rome in its heyday, who can recount the pantheon of Haman, a country-- and the gods its people worshipped, which they called the Vitae-- lost now to time but for my undying memories. I marched in the Bacchanalia, and watched in wonder and disbelief as the Bacchae, the crazed female worshippers of the Roman god of wine, tore their clothes from their bodies and ran wild through the streets, raping the men and the boys… even the dogs!

My name in this modern era is Gaspar Valessi, and I am the oldest living creature on this planet. I estimate my age at 30,000 years, although I could be off by a millennia or two. For a creature as old as I am, there is no accurate stick to measure the span of my existence. I was old when Homo Sapiens shared this world with other extinct thinking beings. I was married to a Neanderthal woman. I warmed my cheeks by the light of civilization’s first sunrise.

Do you know who I am?

You, beautiful one, you press your body against mine as I cut through the thrashing crowd, smiling with your blood-colored lips, arching your breasts toward me, so full and soft to the touch.  Don’t you feel the lifeless chill that emanates from my flesh? Don’t you see the strange luster of my skin, or notice its unnatural inflexibility? Do you not know how you tempt the monster inside me? You run your fingers across the front of my trousers, laughing at your own audacity, thinking that I will be shocked by your forwardness.

You have no idea!

If you knew the thoughts that burned through my mind at your touch, like falling stars streaking across a blackened sky, you would run screaming from this place. Join a convent. Dedicate your life to Christ.

I seize you by the throat. My grip is cold steel. Irresistible. I push you down on the floor as you struggle in vain to pull my fingers from around your neck, your eyes bulging, your bloody lips splitting open to loose sudden screams of shock and terror. I tear open the front of my trousers, releasing my totem like a beast from its cage, and then I rip away your garments, sweep them from your flesh as if they were made of tissue. I penetrate you, make you cry out, and then, even as you claw at my back, trying to force me off you, I penetrate you again, my fangs hooking into your flesh as savagely as my cock hooks into your sex, fucking you, feeding on you, until you’re as cold and lifeless as I am.

I would never do such a thing, of course. Not to someone as innocent as you. Not unless I was starved for blood. But your youth, your beauty… it tempts me. It tempts the monster that dwells within me. Fills my mind with terrible thoughts.

Yes, that’s right. You’ve guessed my secret.

I am the vampire Gon.

No ordinary vampire, I am the Most Ancient One. The ghost god of the blood drinkers. For many thousands of years I have kept my identity a secret, but loneliness has driven me to publish my memoirs, to reveal myself to the human world, if only in the disguise of gothic fiction.

Others of my kind have taken notice, as well. Have I told you that? I have gotten very angry electronic mail from some of them. They are surprised by my revelations, and filled with self-righteous indignation at my reckless disregard for our secrets.

Bah! I do not fear them—not even the eldest!

My kind are far too few to have any real society. We have no laws for me to break. And even if there were a multitude, who would carry out my punishment? Who among my brothers and sisters would have the strength to challenge me?

Do you hear me, my immortal brethren? Gon has set up house in Belgium. I have cleared the entire city of Liege, destroying all the young ones who did not have the good sense to flee. This city is off limits to all of you, save those I love or made immortal. You throw away your life if any of you should venture into my territory!

My race is most rare, and yet I am singular. The eldest. The most powerful.

Indestructible, they whisper, in whatever dark crypts those self-righteous demons choose to haunt, and they are correct.

Many have tried to kill me, even my own vampire children, yet I am still here, the hoary grandfather of a deathless race.

But I don’t like to brag.

Of course, I must appear to you, mortal child, like any other human male, early middle-age, handsome, long haired and bearded. You have not guessed my secret yet, have you, little one? You see me here in this club, my white flesh disguised by cosmetics… just another 30-year-old “dude”, too old by your standards to be in this thundering place. I should be home with my wife and my children, you reason. You think you play a game, torturing some prosaic family man who has not the good sense to retire from this sport.

I could-- I should-- kill you for your presumptuousness.

No!

Damn this hunger! It is so hard to maintain my self-control in this place, with so many warm bodies writhing against me. All this hot, blood-filled flesh, squirming against me from every side.

You play with fire, little girl! The way you place your hand on my shoulder, the way you lean your face into mine, your silky hair-- smelling oh so clean and fine-- a swirling dark cloud around my face.

Your succulent lips part. You mean to speak.

I smile at you suddenly, baring my fangs.

Surprise! Fear!

I see the blood drain from your cheeks, your eyes grow wide, even as your body shrinks instinctively away from me. Your hands rise. Your lips part to shout, and then I use my preternatural speed to flit through the crowd away from you, vanishing from sight, leaving you shaken, and with the unspoken admonition:

Careful, little butterfly! The world is full of spiders!

3

It had been five days since my last feeding: the pornographer and sadist Hans Loen. 

Now there was a meal fit for a vampire king! Betrayed by his associate, who I’ve been holding captive in my penthouse suite, he was a giant of a man, well over six feet tall. Vigorous. Full of hot, delectable blood. And beautiful, too, despite the injury that had claimed his right eye and scarred the flesh of his face.

In his form could be found the ultimate romantic expression, handsome prince and furious beast, all wrapped up in a single mouthwatering package. Body of an Adonis, face of a Frankenstein’s Monster. I have to confess, he was lying in pieces when I was through with him.

Oh, spare me your rebukes, you guardians of propriety, you waggers of fingers! The man was as much a monster as me. A deceiver. A child rapist. Delivered by his business partner, who is even more repugnant, morally, than Hans himself, if you can imagine that! Right to my door, just like you mortals order out for pizza.

I have made many moral capitulations throughout my unimaginably long life, driven as I am by this thirst for human blood, but perhaps I can win your sympathy by assuring you of this: I feed only on the wicked.

At least, I try to.

Oh, like any human addict, I have my slips. Just this previous August, I had gone to the Monos Gallery to take in a new showing. Local artist, lovely paintings. Reminded me of Cezanne. As I glided through the galleries, drinking in the sights, I was approached by an ethereal beauty, an art critic who wrote for one of the local newspapers.

She engaged me in conversation, and we talked at length about art. Her specialty was modern art.  I, of course, impressed her with my knowledge of the classics. Would you expect anything else? After all, I was present.

She seemed quite taken with me, laughing at all my little jokes, nodding at my insights, stroking my chest and shoulders. She couldn’t keep her hands off me, and my desire for her swelled with every passing moment.

I knew I should withdraw. Flee from her presence, lest I poison her with the venom of my vile desires, but I was too fascinated by her—by her beauty and her intellect. I could not resist her graces. How can a man be rude to such an erudite admirer?

Before I was even aware of her intentions, she had swept me into a deserted stairwell, piercing my soul with a quiver of compliments, whispering that she had nearly fainted at the sight of me, she was completely enamored with me and that I must take her now, right here in this filthy stairwell like an animal, she wanted me so badly!

I covered her in passionate kisses, her head falling back in delight, her tiny warm fingers tangling in my hair. The flesh of her neck, rashing with goosebumps at the touch of my tongue, so soft, so warm, and I thought: Just a little drink, as I press myself inside of her.

Yes, vampires can make love! The Strix, the black blood which animates us, has no quarrel with our cocks. Sex with us is dangerous for mortals, and not always pleasant if we—in our passion—let slip the reins of our true strength, but it can be done, and she wouldn’t even realize I had fed from her, if I took the utmost care!

All vampires must learn this trick, if they wish to go undetected by mortals: bring the black blood into your mouth, slather it on the wound after drinking your fill. Just a drop, mind you, and the wounds stitch right up. And my teeth are so very, very sharp! She would think it a lovebite. In the throes of passion, even little pains can be a pleasure when delivered by an amorous lover.

“Yes! Now, Gaspar, I must have you inside me!” my beautiful art critic whispered in my ear, and so I slid myself inside her, and then I slid myself inside her.

She latched onto me as I fastened onto her, and I lost myself in the pulsing red pleasure of feeding and fucking. We could hear the low murmur of the art show attendees just beyond the door. I think it enflamed her knowing we could be caught at any moment, her reputation sullied. She wrapped her legs around me as I held her in my arms, filling her, draining her.

It was only after the penultimate moment that I realized she was dead. Cold, pale, limp inside my encircling arms. A lifeless China doll, arms flopping at her sides, the legs she’d clamped around my hips only moments before swinging flaccidly around.

Just one little drink, I’d promised, before granting myself license to indulge. I’m sure no small number of alcoholics have thought that very thing.

I made off with her body to a nearby wilderness, ashamed, furious with myself, and buried her in a lovely, remote location. I’m sure she would have appreciated the beauty of her final resting place, though not the untimeliness of her demise.

Still warm with her blood, I proclaimed: Never again! Never again will I feed from the innocent!

Though I’m sure every addict has sworn off their weaknesses in just such a manner, as well.

As I said, I try to feed only on the wicked, and such was my aim on this night.

I don’t ordinarily hunt in nightclubs such as this. This garish gathering place is favored more by those with a mind for mating than the morally deficient or the black hearted thief. My shadow most often falls on those who haunt back alleys and dimly lit riverside bars, the irredeemable, the insane. And don’t think I prey only on the lower class, as I’ve been known to take a corrupt lord or lady as well… though it’s become much trickier to steal them from their gilded halls in this modern age. There are just so many damned security cameras now!

Here, in this nightclub called Vesuvius, I feel as if I’m drowning in a sea of horny, innocent children. There are a few blackguards to be found. They’re easy enough to spot. That one standing by the bar, plying a female with drinks—he’s no stranger to a prison cell. I can tell by the stocky muscularity of his figure, the way he constantly peeks over his shoulder. And that woman there? She’s a professional thief. See how she appraises the men who come to court her? She doesn’t look them in the eye, but assesses what they wear: their clothes, their jewels, the timepieces on their wrists.

But I’m not hunting just any generic villain tonight. I have a target, a very specific victim in mind, and I’ve been assured he’ll be somewhere in this club this evening.

Thinking about him makes the hunger leap and snap inside my stomach. I salivate as I press my way through the bounding mob. The music, the smells, it makes my mind reel. I slip between the revelers like a lion through high savannah grass. I feel alive, rooted in the here and now, vital and relevant. I so often feel unanchored, like flotsam drifting in time’s slow tides.

All this hot bloody flesh pressing in around me, it threatens to distract. But I ignore them. Even if they were all great villains, I would stalk my singular prey with no less intent.

You know how it is when you have a taste for something in particular.

Nothing else will do!

The Walking Dead: "Nebraska"

The Walking Dead is a love/hate thing for me, alternating between horrific brilliance and lame contrivance, and the latest episode, "Nebraska", is no exception to the rule. The strength of the show lies in its ensemble cast, which-- with a couple exceptions-- encompass a large group of flawed and fully-fleshed out characters. Problem is, the show's writers keep making these characters do extremely stupid things in order to generate tension, which makes it a little hard to feel sympathy for them. Instead, you find yourself shouting, "Aw, come on!" at the television.

The most recent episode, for example, features a bit where Lori goes zooming off in a car, chasing her husband Rick into town. This in itself is a bit out of character for Lori. She's always been a very cautious woman, choosing to hang back most of the time while everyone else is doing the fighting. So there she is, driving down the road, and for some reason she decides to pull out a road map and peruse it at full speed. Well of course, a walker conveniently stumbles out into the road at that exact time and place, and she hits the creature, suddenly accelerates to what look to be about 190 miles an hour, and does a Dukes of Hazzard-style jump over a grassy knoll on the side of the road. She ends up rolling the car over and getting pinned inside it.

Say it with me:

"Oh, come on!"

If the show was like that all the time, I'd give up on it. Fortunately, toward the end of the episode, there is a brilliant scene where Rick and company confront a couple of scouts from an alternate band of roving survivors, and it becomes evident pretty quick that these new survivors are not the kind and decent folk that our heroes are. One of the scouts actually pees on the floor of the bar like an animal, asking Rick if his group has any "cooze". I can easily imagine such a confrontation occurring in a post-apocalyptic setting, and it doesn't feel contrived at all.

In the final analysis, "Nebraska" was a decent start for the second half of The Walking Dead's second season. It had its high points and low points, but I feel more confident now that this season will end on a much better note than the seemingly endless hunt for Sophia that spoiled the first half of this season.

The Good: Carol's reaction to the death of her child, well acted and understated. Shane's surprisingly tender sympathy toward the bereaved mother-- don't trust him, Carol! The tense showdown in the bar.

The Bad: Shane's ridiculous temper tantrums. It's becoming tiresome. Not enough screen time for some of the "smaller" characters. Shane, Rick and Lori are just not that interesting, guys! Let's see more of Carol, Daryl and T-Dog.

The Ugly: Lori playing Dukes of Hazzard while running to fetch her husband from a bar. Hilarious... but I don't think it was intended to be funny. Also, it was pretty sexist (chasing after her husband, women can't drive, damsel in distress).

Final Grade: B-

"I'm just going to shoot you while pretending to pour myself a drink..."

Write Up on Horror Blog U Wanted 2 C

Horror blog U Wanted 2 C gave me a nice write up late last year. I didn't catch it at the time, but I thought it was really well written so I wanted to post it here. It's always nice when someone "gets" what you're trying to do, and the free publicity is nice, too! Check out their blog for horror movie and book reviews. It's good stuff. Thanks, U Wanted 2 C!

http://uwanted2c.com/2011/08/09/weekly-spotlight-horrorfantasy-writer-rod-redux/

Rod Redux’s horror and fantasy work as described on his Amazon page:  “The novels of Rod Redux are challenging, subversive and fantastical, merging genres and pushing the boundaries of propriety and good taste.”

I can agree with that.

When I first came across Mr. Redux’s name while searching out a good zombie book, two things struck me:  first, I honestly thought that the name “Rod Redux” had to be a pseudonym (a weird one at that) and second, due to my impression of his name, his books would be very cheesy.  However, instead of just moving on I found a book by him called Mort and read some of the reviews of it listed on Amazon.

At the time, I had been in a zombie book rut — it seemed like no matter which book I purchased I was being let down again and again.  The reviews of Mort on Amazon didn’t help all that much either, as some were good and some were bad.  I am well aware that reviews are all highly subjective and therefore in my mind, suspect.  This is important to me because after all, these books ain’t free.  Against the cynical voice in my head telling me not to, I went ahead and purchased the book.  Man, am I glad I didn’t listen to that negative little pissant voice.

Every once in a while, a book or film comes along that changes your mindset about a genre in such a way that it can never be switched back to its original setting.  This is what happened to me with Mort.  With Mort, Mr. Redux takes a done-to-death (ha ha) sub-genre (zombies) and instead of cheapening or exploiting it, actually manages to enhance it.  It’s not just that he added some twists to the mix (he did), but he was able to combine those twists with characters and a plot that were deep enough to not only keep you interested, but to make you feel involved.  I’m not saying that Mort is Shakespeare or that it’s going to change the world but that doesn’t mean it’s not still one heck of a great zombie book.

After being so pleased with Mort, I decided to check out some of Mr. Redux’s other offerings.  Next on my list was The Oldest Living Vampire Tells All — I wasn’t expecting much.  But again, my initial impression was proved wrong.  It’s an interesting book with a very unique main character.  Suffice it to say that after book number two, I went on and read his other books.  Not all of them had the impact on me that Mort did, but not one of them let me down.  He really is an author you just shouldn’t miss.

Here is a list of his current work, with my ratings:

• Mort  5/5
• The Oldest Living Vampire Tells All  5/5
• The Oldest Living Vampire On The Prowl 5/5
• Menace of Club Mephistopheles  4/5
• Hole:  A Ghost Story  4/5
• Indian Summer  5/5

Mr. Redux is currently working on a new novel, House of Dead Trees, and you can read an excerpthere.  He is also planning on a sequel to Mort, which this zombie fan ain’t gonna miss.

UPDATE 8/19/11:  On a whim, I decided to search around a bit about the sequel to Mort and foundthis, which indicates he is not writing a sequel.  However, I know I saw somewhere that he said he was after the date of the link above and will post it as soon as I find it again.  Maybe his mom convinced him to write a sequel?  Just keepin ya in the loop!

SIDE NOTE THAT HAS (ALMOST) NO BEARING ON THIS REVIEW:  I have seen a lot of horror book reviews that complain about the amount of sex and harsh language contained within them.  Here is my bottom line on this subject:  if the sex and language is even slightly pertinent to the story, I could care less if they are having orgies on Mars while screaming “Fuck Me Harder Beltran!” every other sentence.  It’s a HORROR book people; it is supposed to push boundaries.  If you don’t like that, there are plenty of books written in the same genre that leave all of that out.  To be fair however, some authors do like to add extra curse words and detailed sex scenes for no apparent reason and I agree it gets annoying, but only because it can take away from the story.  But even if they do that though, there is something you can do to make it go away right quick – flip the page.  You might just enjoy the book in spite of it.