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.

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.

A Writer's Tale

Bryan Smith's "Soultaker" (Leisure; 2009) has just hit the shelves and I'm enjoying it immensely; the opening chapter gets so much right about the birds and the bees. The author's "Depraved" will follow later in the year. I'm hanging out for that.

While reading "The Freakshow" (Leisure; 2007), also from Mr. Smith, my mind kept drifting back to a disturbing sequence from Richard Laymon's "The Woods Are Dark" (Warner Books; 1981). "Woods" was the late, great writer's second novel and it was butchered by its publisher.

Still, it had a strong impact on me.

From the first page:

Neala saw it, too. She hit the brakes. Her friend thrust a hand against the windshield as the car jerked to a stop. In front of them, the legless thing dragged itself over the road with powerful, hairy arms. "What the fuck is it?" Sherri muttered. Neala shook her head. Then it faced them.

***

It fumbled at an opening in its furry vest. A pocket? It pulled out a severed human hand, kissed its palm, and tossed it. The hand flipped toward Neala. She ducked her head, felt it in her hair, and knocked it aside. It fell into the gap between the bucket seats. The legless thing scuffled off the road and disappeared into the forest.

Isn't that great? The "legless thing"? The imagery that conjures! It's beautiful. The feelings it stirs! Ah, what delicious terror this is. What is it about a legless, misshapen sack of flesh and bone that spears us in the pleasure center? Why does the tossing of a severed hand at another human being seem so...right?

Laymon really nails it. He loved the freaky, the malformed, and the misunderstood. He shed tears for the denizens of the dark. When I read "The Wood Are Dark" for the first time, I felt like I was in the company of family.

The two books are very different, but they share a deep love for the grotesque and they're big on unspeakable monstrosities.

Clearly inspired by Todd Browning's "Freaks", Smith delights in imagining his freak-infested milieu, and his creations invite sympathy as much as horror. But they are driven by a force that distinguishes the story from others.

The cover art for Smith's book is slick and inviting. The size of Smith's name suggests that he's becoming a brand. His "Deathbringer" and "House of Blood" earn a byline, too.

Brian Keene, another writer from the Leisure stable, and one more established than Smith, has a quote on the cover.

It is not uncommon for authors from the same publishing stable to promote each others books.

As much as I enjoyed the subject matter of "The Freakshow", I felt it lacked contrast. It was "All Freaks, All The Time", and some of the weirdness just got overwhelming and repetitive. Still, I like Smith very much, and it's clear that he writes from a dark, bloody heart.

Contrast the reverential cover treatment Leisure gave Mr. Smith with the appalling presentation given Mr. Laymon.


It's important to note that Warner had recently made a killing with Laymon's "The Cellar", one amazing debut novel, so the author was deserving of some respect, right?

Wrong.

Laymon's name is much smaller than the title and you have to squint to read "author of The Cellar", which was a best seller. There's nothing there to grab your attention. The green foil doesn't help, either.

Just as unforgivable is the nonsensical, grammatically ridiculous blurb:

"Only fools stay in Barlow, the town the Devil built, when night falls and...The Woods Are Dark".

What clown wrote that?

Clearly, Warner had no idea how to sell this novel. They hired some hack to come up with a phrase that incorporated the title. It didn't have to make a jot of fuckin' sense.

And what the hell is that illustration buried between tree branches supposed to be?

Well, you have to flip the book over to find the answer to that.


Then there's this quote...

In Laymon's out-of-print autobiography, "A Writer's Tale" (Deadline Press; 1998), easily one of the most honest books on writing and publishing you will ever read, the author admits that the Hirschfeld quote didn't come from Hirschfeld at all; he'd never even read a Laymon novel.

Regarding the importance of cover art, Laymon had this to say:

Read this closely:

Well, the Warner Books cover of "The Woods Are Dark" did destroy the author's career (in America) for a very long time. Although publishers did release some of his books, the runs were short and publicity was minimal.

Luckily, he was embraced and treated with enormous respect and affection by British publishers in the decades to follow.

Recently, Leisure Books has been releasing US editions of the late author's extraordinary work, including a brand new edition of "The Woods Are Dark" that restores it to its original state.

It's nice to see that while Mr. Laymon is resting (or is that restless?) in pulp purgatory, the printing presses are not.