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Post by dem bones on May 26, 2013 10:54:46 GMT
Claus Caspenskiold "His oppression abounds, his type is doing the rounds, He is a scum-egg; a horrid trendy wretch .. (With hideous luck - he'll absorb all your talk)" - Mark E. Smith C.r.e.e.p.THEM. The FANS. The scalp-hunting, sycophantic, back-slapping, back-stabbing, psychic sponges. The obsessively elitist, anal retentive lit bores and their pulp equivalent, EVIL EYE ever alert for the next bandwagon. Obsessive hangers on, culture vultures, plagiarists, cyber locusts. Ruthless social-climbers, glory seekers all, trampling one another for a rung on the ladder - if you don't recognise yourself among that lot, you're either not trying hard enough or ..... you're me. Illustration from Der Orchideengarten, "the world's first fantasy magazine," 1919-1921 Stock up on the slug repellent, here come the slimy fansSome crossover with the Don't Go To The Horror Convention cracker is inevitable. Remember, we're talking slimy fans IN FICTION. It's not an exercise in "Tom/ Dick/ Harriet who goes to BlahBlahCon is a right wanker" bitching otherwise we'll be here forever. Chances are, Tom/ Dick/ Harriet don't think much of you, either, and everybody is a THEM is to somebody else. To get us started .... Henry Slesar - Prez: (Charles L. Grant [ed.] Terrors, 1982). Louise has worshiped Leonie for the past 16 years, ever since she saw her in something called Sing On A Rainbow. At the age of fourteen, Louise began a Leonie fan club. Now aged thirty, after years of fawning letters, she's threatening to do herself in if the soap star won't meet her. Against her better judgement, Leonie agrees to a rendezvous. Anon - I Was Terrified Of My Best Friend: ( Shout Spooky Stories, 1997). Lisa Stanhope idolizes Lindy, cloning her down to the finest detail. Loathsome Lisa even ingratiates herself among Lindy's small circle of confidantes. It's gone beyond the merely irritating into the realms of the downright creepy. Peter Hammill - Audi: ( Killers, Angels, Refugees, Charisma, 1974) Published as fiction, but to all intents and purposes, an open letter to his fans, Audi is an epic moan, documenting every low light of the nightmare German tour that did for his band, Van Der Graaf Generator. 'Dorothy', who invades the dressing room in Mannheim and demands he give her, first his home address, then a baby, is prime slime. Michael Avallone - The Man who Thought He Was Poe: ( Tales of the Frightened, August 1957; Sam Moskowitz [ed], A Man Called Poe, Sphere, 1980). Lancelot Canning, Poe obsessive, drives reader and, fatally, wife around the bend with his insufferable posturing. Karl E. Wagner - The Slug: (Ellen Datlow [ed]. A Whisper of Blood, Morrow, 1991). Meet Casper Crowley, quintessential hanger-on, psychic sponge, SLIME. Typical that perhaps my all-time least loved horror anthology should include one absolute belter. Davis Grubb - The Brown Recluse: (Charles L. Grant [ed.] Shadows 3, 1982). Ms. Ellen Lathrop, of the Bakers Street Irregular (Virginia chapter), has designs on the Holmesian equivalent of a world fantasy award, and she'll cut down any bastard stands in her way. Johnny Mains - Head Soup: ( Aklonomicon, 2012: if you're logged in, you can read it HERE). Slimy horror fan Matthew Jolks' of Sliced zine tracks down his latest "greatest British Horror Writer ever," the alll-but forgotten Peter Van Basel, and arranges an interview. Fame at last! This will make the world and Stephen Jones sit up and take notice, etc. John Llewellyn Probert - Two For Dinner: (Charles Black [ed], Fifth Black Book of Horror (Mortbury Press, 2009)Genteel sadist Marcus Randall devises Pan Horror/ Chetwynd-Hayes-inspired comeuppance for the randy piano tutor who's been having it off with his wife. Any more? Answer: Yes, lots!
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Post by dem bones on Sept 21, 2013 17:26:26 GMT
Best New Horror 17 already provided us with a Don't Go To The Horror Convention classic in Joe Hill's archly named Best New Horror, now, from the same collection, a Slimy Fans outing with a slight twist in that the heroine escapes before she becomes as one with the massed ranks of THEM. Liz Williams - All Fish And Dracula: Halloween, and Katya, eighteen, travels to Whitby with fellow students Julian, 22, and his sullen girlfriend, Lily, for her very first Goth Weekend. With luck, come Monday Katya will be dishy Damien's official new girlfriend, but first she'd best extricate herself from travelling companions who have already become a pain, him being such a smug know-it-all and her perpetually whining and pouting about nothing. Likewise, Julian has the hump with Katya because her vegan lifestyle is no mere fashion accessory, she is mercifully devoid of 'vampire' pretensions, and knows more than him about the North Sea and how it has been over-fished. Perhaps the ghosts of the cod and mackerel populations have had enough because, from the first night, the lace and crushed velvet brigade come under attack from bat-like flying fish. When Lily dies as a result of savage throat wounds, Julian cravenly delegates all responsibility to Katya, who can't be all that sorry when he too meets a grisly end. By close of the weekend, Katya has dropped that extra 'a' from her name and pulled on a pair of jeans in place of her Fairy Gothmother frippery. Damien has lost his appeal. No more Anubis Dusk & The Deadmen gigs for her!
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Post by dem bones on Sept 18, 2014 7:22:36 GMT
Lisa Morton – The Death of Splatter: "The splatterest and punkest of the Splatterpunks." Lee Denny wears Deathrealm magazine's endorsement as a badge of honour. Convention regular Lee, 28, is the author of misogynist torture porn titles Stumpfuckers, Slit Thing and sci-fi departure, Wire Mistress featuring celebrated serial killers Jed Kunkel and 'the Geek'. Claudia, who likes her fiction as she likes her bad sex action - brutal - rightly suspects he's only playing at evil and sets him a horrific challenge. But the real slimy fans in the story are the denim 'n leather acne farms who attend Denny's signing session at a local SF book-store. Even he despises them. 'When asked about the preceding story," write the editors of Dark Terrors #6, "Morton replied "I think I'd better keep my mouth shut on this one!"
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Post by dem bones on Oct 19, 2016 5:41:53 GMT
A ghastly doom sought out an author who tried to capture a weird atmosphere by writing his story in a cemetery.
OK, so this one is a borderline case at best, as the 'fan' in question is perfectly justified in his actions. Also, nothing to suggest he's sweet on horror fiction, though he takes a keen interest in how his kind are depicted.
Eando Binder - In A Graveyard: (Weird Tales, Oct. 1935). Kent Dawson, packs typewriter, paper, flashlight, fags, and heads over to dilapidated Rosedale Cemetery. Kent is struggling to complete his latest horror story, a generic Dracula rip-off, and hopes that, by using a grave as his writing desk, he will absorb its eerie atmosphere into the text. The experiment works. All of a sudden he has a potential classic on his hands ("The Vampire's fiery eyes, coal-hot in a dead white face, bored through the bushes ...", etc.) Suddenly, he looks up from his work to find two glowing orbs glaring at him from behind the nearest mouldering tombstone!
Dawson continues banging away at the keys but the something keeps knocking away the torch. Lucky for him, a kindly passing stranger offers to hold it still for him while he types. What is he writing about? The undead? Gosh, how exciting!
The good Samaritan, who gives his name as John Allen Kilarney, even offers friendly constructive criticism.
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Post by bobby on Oct 19, 2016 23:24:47 GMT
"Neither Brute Nor Human" by Karl Edward Wagner (Masters of Darkness, edited by Dennis Etchison, 1986) A bestselling horror writer literally has the life sucked out of him by his fans.
(This was one of Karl Edward Wagner's stories that really stuck in my head, along with "More Sinned Against".)
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Post by dem bones on Oct 20, 2016 8:42:05 GMT
"Neither Brute Nor Human" by Karl Edward Wagner ( Masters of Darkness, edited by Dennis Etchison, 1986) A bestselling horror writer literally has the life sucked out of him by his fans. (This was one of Karl Edward Wagner's stories that really stuck in my head, along with "More Sinned Against".) Oh yes. As previously included in our public spirited Don't Go To The Horror Convention imaginary anthology, but agreed, it would be equally at home in this one.
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Post by helrunar on Nov 27, 2016 22:00:31 GMT
This one does sound like fun... the Weird Tales entry from '35. Is Eando Binder a pseudonym? Sounds like it, but then I thought the same thing about Ardath somebody or other, and was duly corrected.
I think this is a lovely thread!
cheers, H.
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Post by mcannon on Nov 28, 2016 3:58:56 GMT
This one does sound like fun... the Weird Tales entry from '35. Is Eando Binder a pseudonym? Sounds like it, but then I thought the same thing about Ardath somebody or other, and was duly corrected. I think this is a lovely thread! cheers, H. "Eando" was brothers Earl and Otto Binder. They wrote a lot of pulp fiction together - particularly science fiction and a third brother Jack, was a pulp and comics artist. Otto was also a major comic book writer from the 1940s through to the '60s, first at Fawcett on the Captain Marvel line of books, and later for DC on their Superman-related titles. Among other things, he co-created Supergirl. In his later years, he also wrote a lot of books on UFOs. Mark
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Post by dem bones on Nov 28, 2016 19:05:30 GMT
This one does sound like fun... the Weird Tales entry from '35. Is Eando Binder a pseudonym? Sounds like it, but then I thought the same thing about Ardath somebody or other, and was duly corrected. I think this is a lovely thread! cheers, H. "Eando" was brothers Earl and Otto Binder. They wrote a lot of pulp fiction together - particularly science fiction and a third brother Jack, was a pulp and comics artist. Otto was also a major comic book writer from the 1940s through to the '60s, first at Fawcett on the Captain Marvel line of books, and later for DC on their Superman-related titles. Among other things, he co-created Supergirl. In his later years, he also wrote a lot of books on UFOs. Mark Here's an example of Jack's work for Weird Tales. Needless to say, there is nothing remotely slimy about Jirel or her creator. Jack Binder (C.L. Moore, Jirel Meets Magic, Weird Tales, July 1935)
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Post by helrunar on Nov 28, 2016 22:11:21 GMT
Jirel! There's a name from the distant past to conjure with!
cheers, H.
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Post by bobby on Nov 30, 2016 1:46:13 GMT
This one does sound like fun... the Weird Tales entry from '35. Is Eando Binder a pseudonym? Sounds like it, but then I thought the same thing about Ardath somebody or other, and was duly corrected. I think this is a lovely thread! cheers, H. "Eando" was brothers Earl and Otto Binder. They wrote a lot of pulp fiction together - particularly science fiction and a third brother Jack, was a pulp and comics artist. Otto was also a major comic book writer from the 1940s through to the '60s, first at Fawcett on the Captain Marvel line of books, and later for DC on their Superman-related titles. Among other things, he co-created Supergirl. In his later years, he also wrote a lot of books on UFOs. Mark Otto Binder also wrote for EC toward the end of the "New Trend" titles. While he was there adaptations of 4 "Eando Binder" stories (3 of them Adam Link stories) appeared in Weird Science-Fantasy. I'm assuming the Comics Code is what put an end to these adaptations.
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Post by dem bones on Mar 26, 2017 10:18:50 GMT
"Mr Christian Rex, if I may call you that, and I feel I can, you are my favourite author and greatest fan. Some people say you are too morbid and depressing but I disagree ..."Dennis Etchison - Talking In The Dark (Charles E. Grant [ed.], Shadows 7, 1984: Karl E. Wagner [ed.] Years Best Horror XIII, 1985). Victor Ripon is desperate to become a famous best-selling horror author but there's one thing holds him back - a crippling lack of talent (tell me about it). Victor's novel in progress, Please, Please, Sorry, Thank You, has run out of steam, and sometimes he feels like chucking it in altogether. Then, a flash of inspiration! He'll write his hero, Christian Rex ( The Silvering, Moon Over The Crest, The Edge & Co), invite him over to explain "where do you get your ideas from?" .... Could be that Victor has made this thread under false pretences. Whining, needy, psychic sponge he may be, but loneliness and desperation can do terrible things to the worst of us. Besides, Christian Rex is a nasty piece of work. An evil gnome of a man, hideously deformed and sore at entire world about it. Moral of the story. Authors are proper horrible fuckers. Don't write them and NEVER let one into your your home.
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Post by dem bones on May 9, 2018 8:45:46 GMT
Artist uncredited, Weird Tales, May 1940. Robert Bloch - The Ghost-Writer: ( Weird Tales, May 1940: Bogey Men, Pyramid, 1963). The fantasy community is in mourning following the death of Luther Hawkins, the Salem-based farmer, horror author and showbiz demonologist-with-a-heart-of-gold. Despite his carefully cultivated public image, Hawkins was a pleasant bloke, generous with his time, happy to answer fan mail. Which is how he fell into the manipulative clutches of Stephen Ayres, a conniving wannabe author who would ultimately burn him over and over. Hawkins it was who cleaned-up Ayres' manuscripts, offered advice, dropped his name to influential editors, and generally stage-managed his rise to minor fame as the writer of competent, if unspectacular novels, whereupon Ayres showed his true colours, slating his mentor in public as a talentless hack and, most hurtful of all, phoney occultist. It just goes to show you what a Saintly guy Luther was, that, knowing his end was near, he bequeathed this ghastly ingrate that most precious of his worldly possession, his typewriter. Stephen Ayres' subsequent work is so brilliant you might almost suspect it were written by someone good - and you'd be right. As Ayres eventually confides in Bloch, the typewriter is possessed, unseen fingers transcribing "stories written from the grave, thoughts from a brain already rotting under the worms!" Don't know what the guy is moaning about. He's earning a fortune, his reputation is established, and all from another man's work. But Luther isn't done with him yet. Moral of the story. Fans are proper horrible fuckers. Don't write them and NEVER let one into your your life.
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Post by dem bones on Mar 6, 2019 20:44:30 GMT
Bob Randall - The Fan (Magnum, 1978: originally Martin Secker & Warburg, 1977) Chris Moore Blurb: A dazzlingly suspenseful shocker of love, hate and fear, The Fan unfolds its horrifying story by letting the reader in on the private correspondence of a famous movie star. Little did glamorous Sally Ross imagine that amongst the pile of letters dealt with by her tough secretary Bella there were many from one who signed himself Douglas Breen, the Fan. Nor did Bella realize that behind the calm, polite phrases of the Fan's letters lurked the crazed mind of a psychopath - a deadly killer for whom overwhelming love could turn overnight into violence and terrifying hate. A voyeurs dream, this one, told entirely in private correspondence to and from Sally Ross and her entourage over January to June 1976. The first letter from Douglas Breen arrives when Sally, fifty, a fading Hollywood superstar, is rehearsing a new stage show, So I Bit Him, which requires her to perform acrobatics inadvisable for a person of her years and vices. To date Breen voluminous output has received just the one reply, and that from Sally's feisty PA, Bella Goldman. Breen, a twenty-five year old with a history of psychiatric problems, is not one to be mugged off with the obligatory form letter and signed photo. He is, after all, Sally's greatest fan and, he's confident, soon-to-be lover. This Goldman woman - not only a Jew but a lesbian if he is any judge - will have to go! "I fear your secretary needs a sharp talking to and a reprimand. Doesn't she know the relationship between a star, such as yourself, and a true fan, such as myself, is sacrosanct?" Bella who, of course, intercepts Sally's crank mail, responds with a curt "go bother Ethel Merman." Breen is briefly employed as a sales assistant in a record store which isn't quite how he tells it to the outside world. As far as an ex-college acquaintance is aware, Doug is "a big wheel in the record company Sally Ross records for." When a colleague at the store accuses him of looking up her skirt, Breen demands her dismissal. The manager, sick of the sight of the pompous creep, gives him his cards. Sally is on the friendliest terms with ex-husband Jake Burman, a producer at Continental Studios. Burman has recently remarried. Heidi, wife MK II, is half his age. Not to be outdone, the superstar takes up with a toy boy, dear, sweet, gold-digging David. Bella makes clear her dislike of "Donny Osmond," causing a rift with Sally just when - if only they knew it - the two need each other most. Breen takes to stalking the enemy - e.g., Bella - eventually carving her face open in what the Police initially believe is an everyday New York mugging. She survives, but we sense Sally's greatest fan is merely warming up. 100 pages in and loving it. Seems to me the main players - with possible exception of Jake (though it's early days) - are a thoroughly unpleasant lot, which might work against it for some readers. The Fan is all about the letters, and Breen's increasingly queasy outpourings have such a ring of authenticity about them you both dread and massively look forward to the next. "I will be there soon, Sally, my darling, to taste of that nectar I hold so dear." Don't even ask. [TBC: File under .... Topical]
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Post by dem bones on Mar 7, 2019 12:06:25 GMT
Completed The Fan overnight. As chance would have it, p.100 is a fair cut off point in terms of running commentary (have no intention of blowing how it ultimately plays out). You'll have gathered that it takes little to send Douglas Breen into meltdown, and, if the infatuated version is unnerving, the anguished, consumed-by-hate model is full-on terrifying. "I want, more than life itself, to love you again," agonises our stalker, within hours of wondering in print how his former Goddess would like to be fucked by a meat skewer (the blurb plays fair for the most part, but "calm, polite" is how I'd describe Breen's prolific output). A Gothic Romance and we'd be rooting for Sally ... but this ain't a Gothic Romance.
Despite a fondness for horror/ supernatural fiction, it's only very occasionally I hit on a story or novel that scares me. Am not suggesting this particular title would work the same nasty magic on everyone - we all got different anxieties, hurts, experiences, neuroses, wretched memories & what have you. - but, for all that it is often hilarious, The Fan achieved just that in 242 brisk pages.
What if life ain't over when it's over?
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