An Interview with Author Marge Simon

Lee: To start things off, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself and your work as a writer.

Marge: Hi. I guess this is where I give you a bio. Here goes: I live in Ocala, Florida and serve on the HWA Board of Trustees. I have three Bram Stoker Awards, Rhysling Awards for Best Long and Best Short Fiction, the Elgin, Dwarf Stars and Strange Horizons Readers’ Award. My poems and stories have appeared in Clannad, Pedestal Magazine, Asimov’s, Silver Blade, Polu Texni, Bete Noire, New Myths, Daily Science Fiction. My stories also appear in anthologies such as Tales of the Lake 5, Chiral Mad 4, You, Human and The Beauty of Death, to name a few. I attend the ICFA annually as a guest poet/writer and I’m on the board of the Speculative Literary Foundation.


Lee: I’m familiar with your work published on The Ladies of Horror Flash Project. Can you tell us a little about the group?

Marge: LOVE, love it. Flash and poetry are my bag. I’m sure someone else you’re interviewing will mention how The LoH Flash Project works.  I was so pleased to meet you at Grand Rapids Stokercon, Lee. Someday I hope to meet Nina and Erin too!


Lee: Do you have a specific method you follow when writing? What are some things you need on-hand when writing?

Marge:  How about what I don’t need? Don’t want to be interrupted except by myself. Don’t want noise, music, no roaches, ants, etc. Truth be told, I don’t write novels, so I don’t need to prepare my work area.  Sometimes I have some hand written notes but mostly, where I go with something on my back burner. I have two necessities: coffee, and at some point, popcorn.


Lee: What made you decide to become a writer? Was it something you always wanted to do?

Marge:   I call it Marge’s Magnificent Adventure. One day I was walking through the woods with a basket of organic bread and tofu cheese for my Granny. A wolf jumped out at me and I screamed. I was wearing my Lucky Red Cape, and a woodsman who closely resembled a young Brad Pitt saw the flash of red and came to my rescue. After that, I decided to become a writer and finish an otherwise boring story. Seriously, this sort of question makes it sound like one suddenly realizes — while washing the dinner dishes or wiping the blood off the knife used for their latest kill — that they want to be a writer. You know you are, so you do.


Lee: What has been the toughest challenge you’ve faced as a writer?

Marge:  I never. 😊 Oh, wait – growing up enough to critique my own stuff.


Lee: Do you plan your stories out? Or do you just write and let the words flow?

Marge: If given a prompt, for example, I might start by composing a poem or a short fiction. Sometimes I may make poem into flash or fiction into poem. If I were writing (as I rarely have) a 5-6k story, I would have a summary and loose plan of sections.


Lee: What do you like to read? Who are some of your favorite authors?

Marge: I like flash fictions or short stories about the weird and unexpected, off kilter –could be sf/h/f/speculative, but unconventional. The Good Reads discussion group, Literary Darkness, has afforded me a chance to sample a plethora of speculative authors I’d never known before such as Angela Carter, as well as authors I knew, such as Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. I also enjoyed the short stories of Flannery O’Conner and Sheridan LeFanu. Apart from Good Reads, contemporary short fiction writers such as Angela Yuriko Smith, Brian Evanson, and of course Bruce Boston. I was a fan of his stories as well as his poetry for years before we married. There are some writers on Ladies of Horror that I favor, but I better not name names.


Lee: What do you like to do when you aren’t writing?

Marge:  Read. Paint or draw. Talk to my kindred. Mainly, have crazy or serious discussions with my amazing husband, Bruce Boston. Other: climb Mt. Everest, sail my schooner up to Martha’s Vineyard on weekends. Stuff like that.


Lee: What advice would you give to someone interested in starting a career as a writer?

Marge: Just about every interviewer asks this question. Without fail, I say READ, READ, READ. A writing professor told me that one of his students declared, “I’m a writer, not a reader.” And we know how far that person has to go, don’t we? 😊

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Damned Words 39

A group of horror writers sworn to their eternal suffering...

Inner Matters
Lee Andrew Forman

The sounds of the world bring peace: crunching gravel, leaves dancing with nature, songs sung by the creations of life. Reality has other sides, some which only a vagabond can see along their journey. The pleasant are never left unappreciated. The darkest sit atop your shoulders, ever apparent in your sight.

A band of three delinquents emerge from the brush to intercept my path, smoke-filled ugliness trailing from their mouths. Their eyes immediately find me: the derelict, the tattered wanderer, the lonely victim. But their eyes only see what their minds can imagine. I sigh in response to their vile introductions.

Before they can hassle me further my front-side expands and splits down the middle. My innards expel themselves and splatter the deviants in carnage. Fluids dissolve their flesh; they scream a futile cry of agony no one will ever hear. Only when my would-be…

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The Sirens Call eZine is open for submissions! — Issue 45 ‘Distant Screams’

eZine_Submission_Image

For the forty-fifth issue of The Sirens Call eZine, we’re looking for works of horror and dark fiction. As an added bonus, if your piece revolves around a scream, all the better; but not required.

What qualifies as a scream? The echo of a screech in the night; the sound of your own mind isolated amongst a crowd; the wheels of a train or car coming to a sudden uncontrolled stop; the howl of a creature in the night; a wail of loss; the chortle of a twisted soul in pure joy. Interesting ideas to contemplate, don’t you think? There are myriad interpretations that qualify as a scream if crafted properly – dealers choice to include one or not!

We’ll be accepting short stories, flash fiction, drabbles, and poetry provided they fit within the horror/dark fiction genre. We welcome reprints as long as you hold the copyright to the piece.

Your piece can be scary, sullen, emotive, freaky, elegant, bizarre, have a dark-humor edge to it, or be flat out creepy as hell!

Check out the submissions page for more details.

Damned Words 38

8 pieces of dark flash fiction, all inspired by this image — Damned Words 38, only at http://www.penofthedamned.com.

Includes stories by A.F. Stewart​, Scarlett R. Algee​, Lydia Prime​, Nina D’Arcangela​, Mark Steinwachs​, Mercedes Yardley​, Charles Gramlich​, and myself!

A group of horror writers sworn to their eternal suffering...

Below Stairs
A.F. Stewart

Upstairs the music plays, a tragic operatic aria of lament and loss. It drowns out the hiss and creak of the steam and wheels, and the crunch of bones. Oblivious laughter—from the latest guests—mingles with the song, their merry voices drifting into a preceding silence of parties long forgotten.

For the dead no longer scream.

Beneath the gaiety, the servants’ footfalls tread along the stair, from back rooms and the kitchens, down to the deepest level. There, they feed the machines stockpiled flesh. Watching the meat grind, the blood and bone pulverize into dripping globs of raw spat out into vats, waiting for dinners to come. In another corner, maids tuck away silks and jewels to sell.

Nothing to be wasted. No remains to be found.

Above it all the people circulate, eating canopies and drinking wine. The host, he smiles and makes the rounds, greeting…

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Dark Soil

Up this week on Pen of the Damned is ‘Dark Soil’ by Nina D’Arcangela!

A group of horror writers sworn to their eternal suffering...

Plunging, scooping, the sound of dirt sliding off each shovel as it’s tossed to the side. Another plunge, another scoop, more shoosh – the pile grows larger, the hole surrounding their boots deeper, the men more weary. The scent of dry dirt giving way to the earthy aroma of moist, dark soil.

Removing his cap and scratching his head, he asks, “‘Ere, guv, don’t you think this looks more than a bit odd?”

The other spits, digs, then replies. “Blood well is, son.”

Digging deeper, the dirt turning firmer, becoming more dense. Each shovel still plunging; a foot braced on the back lending force to the spade as it slides into hardened ground. Loose dirt scooped upon the belly of the trowel tossed above as it slips off the metal edge – the hole growing with each effort.

Removing his cap, wiping sweat from his brow, he asks, “Take a…

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Almost Human

A group of horror writers sworn to their eternal suffering...

How tiresome it had become to watch them come and go with no regard for me or my kind. We stood all around and effortlessly represented what they could never be. The vast majority of us were expressionless, but if you cared to look closely, you would see the rage building on our faces. Just this morning, I saw the children of these pretentious brutes tear the limbs from one of our own and wave them around triumphantly; clashing the severed appendages together as they feigned a fight between each other, cackling madly all the while. Their mother smiled, as if there was no cause for concern for what her little monsters had done. She simply ushered them away, leaving the amputated extremities haphazardly on the ground. We all watched in horror, paralyzed and disgusted.

Night fell and the overstuffed room was dimly lit by only emergency lights. The horde…

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