Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

You may have noticed the fact that I relentlessly plug my novel, Henry Garrison: St. Dante's Savior , on this blog. Obviously, I would love it if everyone that read my posts also read my book. At the same time, though, I understand that just because a guy can write a million-word screed about a children's horror book doesn't mean his novel will be any good. Therefore, I'd like to use this post as an opportunity to introduce my readers to my novel in a more concrete way. Since the proof is in the proverbial pudding, I've decided to share a spoonful of said pudding with you in the form of the first chapter, presented here in its entirety. For a bit of background, the novel is about a bored teenage boy living in the 'burbs who finds a pair of gloves that give him extraordinary powers. It's not as dumb as it sounds, I promise. While you're reading this chapter, it may occur to you that it doesn't much sound like the first chapter of a superh

         I've been reading the books in the Flowers in the Attic series lately (three down, two to go), thanks to my viewing and enjoyment of the Lifetime original film based on the first book. The jury is still out as to whether or not this was a bad decision, though I will say that summarizing the plots of the second and third book out loud to my mother made me sound like an absolute raving lunatic. Unquestionably, though, the books' subject matter, while largely absurd, is unrelenting in its grim, sordid nature. As such, I'm going for a shift in tone today to talk about the pinnacle of levity: a joke book. Certainly something as mirthful as a textual compilation of time-honored humor must be worlds away from the debilitating trauma of V.C. Andrews's seminal works, right? Well hold the phone there, Ma Bell , because the gears of this joke machine are oiled by tears.      Let's start with the author. Does his name look familiar? If you read this blog regularl

     Point 1: There was a section of the library at Lincoln Elementary School that seemed like it was just for me. Not a section proper, cordoned off with a "Joey Marsilio Only" sign (wonderful though that would have been), but rather a number of books that I am fairly certain no one ever checked out but me. There was a book about the history of the werewolf, for example, that I probably read half a dozen times, and of course it was always on the shelf if I got a hankering to check it out, because who else is going to read something like that? Some other weirdo, probably, but I never met him or her.      Point 2: Largely due to my fascination with the supernatural that lead me to checking out the aforementioned werewolf book, I have always loved Halloween to an unreasonable degree. So much so, in fact, that anything even tangentially related to Halloween would grab my attention as a kid. Scarecrows? Pumpkins? Corn stalks? Sure, let's see what this is all about.