Showing posts with label Richard Laymon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard Laymon. Show all posts

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Dick Laymon Told To Lay off The Rough Stuff


Richard Laymon, one of my favorite writers (and horror writers) of all time, a writer whose sensibilities and subject matter resonated with me from the moment I opened his first published novel, THE CELLAR, also wrote one of the greatest non-fiction books on writing and publishing of all time: A WRITER'S TALE.

These scanned pages (below) are a mere sample of the 350 pages of raw wisdom, pain, and truth (always truth!) found within this now hard-to-find book tome that is worth its weight in literary gold.

Before his death, Mr. Laymon's experiences with American publishers (one in particular: Warner Books) were pretty terrible, and one badly mismarketed book (THE WOODS ARE DARK) sealed his fate, resulting in the withdrawal of marketing support for years and the trashing of his reputation in US publishing circles. In the book, he documents the gory ups and downs of his entire career in painstaking detail, the likes of which I've never read before.


In the scan below, the writer details a terrible situation in which his US agent, Jay Garon, withheld money owed to him for up to two years (!)

Fortunately, a month later, he received a tremendous break courtesy of Dean Koontz, who emerges smelling like roses from this book. 

Fortunately, English publishers were kinder to Dick Laymon, and his reputation was rescued somewhat by publisher Hodder Headline.

A fascinating piece (scanned here) involves Mr. Laymon's young adult suspense novel, MY SECRET ADMIRER, a book that was to be his first and last for Scholastic, despite healthy sales.


Throughout the book, he offers tips on writing, cautions about publishers, lists his favorite horror and non-horror writers, goes into graphic detail about how he was marginalized, and provides shitloads of wisdom about a mostly indifferent publishing world where the good guys are few but still out there. The trick is finding them.

Some Laymon novels such as the excellent QUAKE are still barely published in the US , which is a tragedy, and the recent campaign to reprint earlier novels and others not published at all Stateside went down in flames when Leisure's horror line crashed recently.


This scan from the book (below) is especially interesting to me. Dick Laymon discusses a book he never completed to final draft  called Lo Down, a rape/revenge novel. 

The author writes, "The book was a little too nasty."

Mr. Laymon thought it too nasty (hard to comprehend!), or was he expressing the concerns of others?

"I'd been advised to back away from the rough stuff," he says. Advised by whom? Publishers? Friends? Family?


So, are we to infer that everything he wrote after he wrote the above was an example of him backing away from the "rough stuff"?  I'd like to know what Dick Laymon's definition of "rough stuff" was.

I sense the "rough stuff" was probably sexual violence-oriented, but I can't say for sure. What else could it be?  


I've read pretty much everything Mr. Laymon ever published in the UK and the US, and would say my favorites are THE CELLAR, THE WOODS ARE DARK (the unabridged version), QUAKE, ENDLESS NIGHT, FLESH, OUT ARE THE LIGHTS, ALL HALLOW'S EVE, SAVAGE, FUNLAND, ISLAND, BITE, INTO THE FIRE, BEWARE!, and ONE RAINY NIGHT. 




Critics of Laymon criticize the raw sexual content in his work, some thinking it goes too far (THE CELLAR often a target) and crosses sacred boundaries. Bullshit! I reject these criticisms and feel that few writers have written as honestly about the euphoria of human lust and its good and bad consequences as Laymon. In all his books, Laymon wrote with great honesty, never caring if he offended those who wear their sensitivity like a badge of honor.


A WRITER'S TALE needs to be reprinted. Mr. Laymon ripped his soul open to write it.


This beast of a book, a tribute to the writer from professionals and non-professionals courtesy of Cemetery Dance, is a treasure trove of short stories inspired by him, unpublished works from him, and passionate remembrances of him.

Contributors include Tom Piccirilli, Gary Brandner, Steve Gerlach, John Pelan, Ann Laymon, Adam Pepper, Dan D'Auria, Richard Chizmar, Bentley Little, Brian Keene, Ryan Harding, Norman Partridge, and daughter Kelly Laymon.

The impression the book leaves you with is Dick Laymon was a magnificent, generous, encouraging, hard working human being who inspired everybody he came into contact with.

RIP.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

In Deepest Laymon Country




On my way out of Northern California, I took a detour that led me to the door of this extremely troubling house.

I answered its call, and found myself sucked into its musky dark. Not unlike embracing a stranger.

I'm no believer in ghosts, but the house was oppressive, perhaps a once active venue for the horrors of bodily trespass, the murder of the young, and pure exclamations of hate.

Though truly unnerved by the house's rancid history, its bleak repose fascinated me, and made me its consenting prisoner. The light here was arrested at the slanted walls, denied its penetrative power. When I finally departed, several thorned vines tore at my coat and attempted to stop me from driving away.

For a moment, I was part of its residual hurt, and the thing welcomed my morbid fascination.

The images smart now within me like little blows to the head. The pleasure was worth the pain. I can't deny that.




I've driven thousands of miles and haunted lost towns for decades in search of gold like this. Nothing but reckless sexual abandon can come close to the bittersweet beauty of this. Like the whistles of the long dead in sunless woods, these places pierce the psyche, reminding us that time takes it all from us, so use it wisely, because you're dead and banished long time. 




Richard Laymon, the wonderful scribe who knew these places, and traveled these roads often, felt close on this journey.

I thought of Barlow, where The Woods Are Dark is set, as I wet my shoes in the soggy surroundings of this House of Hate. I thought of The Cellar also, and its villain's journey through darkest California where vile, natural deeds trailed him like permanent exhaust.




I'm alive in these places. Alive with the irreverent dead.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Sit Right Back and You'll Hear A Tale...

Brian Keene's latest, Castaways (Leisure, '09), is a very entertaining read in the hardcore tradition.

Echoing reality TV, Series 7, Punishment Park, and Battle Royale, its greatest debt (stylistically) is to Richard Laymon.

Smith In The Vein of Laymon

On the back cover of Bryan Smith's Queen of Blood (Leisure, '08), the sequel to House of Blood (Leisure, 2005) Michael Laimo (Fires Rising) is quoted as saying that Smith's work is "In the vein of Bentley Little and Ed Lee."

I know Little's work very well (The Mailman is my favorite)...
and I've read pretty much everything by Lee (The Big Head always comes up trumps!)
...but if we're talking veins that criss-cross (and run parallel at times), I'd pair Smith with Richard Laymon.

Smith's Queen of Blood is salacious B-movie horror. Stylistically, it's vivid and not as spare as Laymon's work (whose is?) , but it revels in the filthy accouterments of modern horror. It's written by a horror fan for horror fans.

This exchange, from p. 234, would have brought a smile to Laymon's dial:

Dream eyed her up and down, a mocking glint in her eyes. "I'd tell you not to get your panties in a knot, but you're not wearing any, are you?"

The younger black-haired girl cackled. "Yeah, that's some robe, baby. Shit, it's like she's the female Hugh Hefner and this is the house of horrors version of the Playboy Mansion."


Of interest to me recently is the illustrative and tonal similarities in the horror cover art of these two fine writers.

Even the angling of the houses is the same.

It's also fair to say that a low angle on any house is inherently more dramatic.

These are iconic, Haunted House images.

This cover art impalement is to be loudly applauded; I'm sure it sent the book bolting off the shelves.

This head-on illustration of the Queen of Blood house suggests something more realistic and sinister to me -- not necessarily a supernatural presence.

Looking at this for the first time, I imagined acts of bestiality, child molestation, cruelty to animals, and incest occurring behind these walls.

After reading the book, I realized I was off the mark.

Still, caressing the imagination is what a good cover illustration does.
The above two covers are like brothers. Both are big on red, and boast lurid, carnival-style graphics and storylines inspired by the midway.
Mr. Smith's Deathbringer is not only a great piece of horror writing, it sports a brilliant cover illustration.

The fish-eye angle on the walking dead is perfect, as is the ashen, bluish tone.

When I first set eyes on this book, I didn't even need to read the back cover.

My only thought was: That's fuckin' fantastic!

My reaction to Deathbringer mirrored my reaction to Laymon's Resurrection Dreams (Onyx, '89).

After reading "The Dead Are Rising - To Live and Lust Again", I knew this was a must-have proposition.


But what intensified my eagerness to get stuck into the book immediately was the illustration.

There was something nasty and sexy and nihilistic about it.

It created questions and inspired an internal dialog.

For starters: Where was that skinless bastard from a Zebra Books novel going?
Had he just performed reverse necrophilia?

Why was this babe with an Adrienne Barbeau haircut looking kinda longlingly at the guy?

Had he just given her something that the living could not?

Or was she half considering a walk on the wild side with him -- and his calcium-ridden kind?

Whatever he was doing, and wherever Laymon was going with this, I wanted to be part it.

Smith's Soultaker (Leisure, '09), his latest, is the horror writer's answer to Tom Leykis.

It sounds a warning to men of all ages about the pitfalls of the fair sex.

It does so with excellent characterization, some deliciously repulsive sexual interplay, and a pace that doesn't let up.


The art associated with a writer does define the writer to a large extent; it's the first port of call for the curious reader.

Luckily for Bryan Smith , his cover art is consistent with his growing oeuvre.

from Laymon 's Nightshow (New English Library, '84)

Ruby Jean Jensen's Chain Letter (Zebra Books, '87)