CHEAT SEASON

“Some rivers just scare you,“ Johnny said. “There's one in West Virginia, the Cheat. I've run more difficult water, but there's something about the Cheat that I'm really afraid of. I can't explain it." (Kane 130)

 It must be the water in my blood.

After a long winter, it warms and flows a little faster, remembering its ancient course over jagged sandstone ledges through wild mountain canyons. It manifests itself in my dreams first. A rush. A sensation of falling. Suffocating panic. And I haven't been on the Cheat River in fifteen years.

A wave at Decision flipping a fifteen foot raft longways.

Upper Coliseum Rapid being altered by high water during the winter of 1993-1994.

A swim at that same rapid that I'll only tell you about if you buy me a drink. 


"Mike Duff! Your drysuit is frozen."


A dozen waterfalls plunging down the canyon walls at High Falls Rapid after a heavy rain. 

The undercut at Teardrop. 

Big Nasty. 


That the water in my blood remembers is no surprise. That I still dream of walking down the sandy path to the put-in... That I still dreams of paddling like my life depended on it... That I dream of fighting to surface for air that's always too far away and wake up still holding my breath... That's how I know the river will be in my blood forever. 

Kane, Joe. "ROARING THROUGH Earth's Deepest Canyon." National Geographic. Jan 1993: 130. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. .

SFFS: Snippet from HELLBENDER

My third snippet for Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday is taken from my Appalachian dark fantasy novel, HELLBENDER (Raw Dog Screaming Press).

Description: Alex must've been desperate if she came to me for help.

I could protect her from bullets and knives and the wild mountains themselves, but not the dark Appalachian magic I barely believed in.

The only way to save the woman I loved was to head home and end the hundred-year blood feud between her family and mine. I'd kill every last Lewis and bury every last witch in the coal-dusted soil of West Virginia, even if that meant facing them all again in hell.

This is a tale of star-crossed lovers and civil revenge by uncivil hands, written in blood that is barely thicker than water.

Let Raw Dog Screaming Press author Jason Jack Miller take you to a place where love is forever even when death isn't, where magic doesn't have to be seen to be believed, where a song might be the only thing that saves your soul.

MURDER BALLADS AND WHISKEY is a unique blend of dark fiction, urban fantasy and horror. It's Appalachian Gothic, Alt.Magical.Realism, Hillbilly Horror. It's AMERICAN GODS meets JUSTIFIED. TRUE BLOOD with witches. It's Johnny Cash with a fistful of copperheads singing the devil right back to hell.

     Ben laid on the gas, pushing the truck until it began to rattle. The windshield, the doors, they all shook with the ferocity of a steam train. This path, not built for trucks, shook the rubber off the tires and the paint off the body. Now grinning, Ben turned his hat, a crazy engineer bound for the siding with fire in his belly and steam in his head. He laughed at cautions and kicked the brake pedal clean off.
     This train was rolling; momentum and a cargo of rage barreled along behind us. Ben kept his hand off the brake and I just kept shoveling coal in. Thunder shouted our arrival through the canyon, lightning guided us through crossings. The torrent of rain hit the hood, now radiating with the heat of a thousand horses. The dime-sized drops turned into a trail of steam that followed us down the track like a specter of all those who’d plied this canyon before us.

Check out other author snippets at the official site: Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday

How Self-Publishing Got Me a Book Deal

Originally posted at TennesseeHicks.com on December 10, 2011.

This is the blog post where I’m supposed to call out all the people who said I was stupid. That self-publishing was a waste of time. That there’s no respectability in it. That I’m dooming myself to a life of obscurity in a permanent bargain bin.

But they’re not going to read this post anyway. They’re all either too busy Tweeting self-satisfied Tweets or ignoring altogether what’s happening out there in the real publishing world.

So I’m going to talk to the young (new) writers. Writers who know the recent sting of a form rejection. The ones who see people achieving self-published success, but don’t know if they have the stomach for it.

Here’s the thing—I didn’t fantasize about being a self-published writer any more than I fantasized about being a high school science teacher. I used to know how to dream big—astronaut, forest ranger, Stephen King. Apparently I just couldn’t execute, otherwise I would’ve found an agent who would’ve found me a big book deal, right? So I could just write books and solve crime like Richard Castle instead of being my own publisher, cover artist, publicist, typesetter and marketer.

The thing is, I did fantasize about being a writer. But writing endless queries and trying to sort out who accepts simultaneous submissions and why this person wants this, but don’t dare send that to this other person or she’ll blast you for it on her blog, wasn’t doing it for me. It sucked the fun out of every single thing I’d worked on since 1998. I just wanted to be a plain old writer—somebody who gets to write and release the stories that he loves. Somebody who gets to live and breathe to create. I knew that submitting was part of the process, but it was killing me.

It’s ironic, I suppose, because self-publishing made writing fun again. For the first time in years I went to bed with stories in my head. I didn’t have to think about markets, which agents had gone to which houses. Self-publishing let me see myself in the day-to-day of the craft. It let me talk to readers and gave me the encouragement to keep going. Yeah, I had to format my own book. So what? I didn’t query Raw Dog Screaming Press. I sent them a finished product that had been well-formatted and proofed. I didn’t sell them on an idea. I showed them. And all those hours I spent tweaking fonts and spacing and cover art became an asset to my career, not a detriment.

Yeah, I made my first cover on my own. So what? The experience of creating my own cover let me identify the key elements I knew I needed for THE DEVIL AND PRESTON BLACK. And once I figured that out I ended up at the best print shop in America, hands down—Hatch Show Print of Nashville, Tennessee. I spent hours talking to Jim Sherraden and Brad Vetter about thumbnails and color palettes and fonts. They’ve done posters for Johnny Cash, The White Stripes, Wilco and Dwight D. Eisenhower. Surely they could manage something for my little eBook. And you know what? The cover sells books. It’s not a cookie-cutter book cover created by an art department for an anonymous piece of work. It’s art. I don’t doubt for a second the cover is a direct result of my decision to publish on my own.

You know, ‘those’ writers are going to tell you there’s no respect in it. In my opinion, the industry’s shooting itself in the foot as far as respectability goes. But Barnes and Noble and Borders (oops, my bad) devoted a lot of space to books I didn’t respect. Sorry, Snooki. From self-publishing I learned that you go out and find respect, you don’t wait for it to trickle down to you.

‘Those’ writers are going to tell you that maybe your book “just sucks.” Yeah, I heard that after I decided to self-publish even though I was pretty sure my book didn’t. Not a single one of my rejection letters said my book (or I) sucked. They said stuff like, “…the writing is good but we don’t know how to sell it; This isn’t right for us; Send me a dozen jelly donuts next and I’ll read more than five pages.”

I know how to read, and I know that “…don’t know how to sell it” is not the same thing as “maybe your book just sucks.”

So, maybe I was just stupid. Right? Just like ‘they’ said.

But did anybody actually call me stupid? It had to be implied, right? Why else would I spend hundreds of hours doing something without pay or promise of publication if I wasn’t?

Doesn’t matter (nobody called me that) because Joe Strummer said, “You’ve got to be slightly stupid” to make it. And Joe didn’t chase the flavor-of-the-month like some of the kids taking up shelf space in a Barnes and Noble. I’m looking at you Snooki, Lauren Conrad, Nicole Richie and 50 Cent. Joe Strummer chased passion. And anybody who’s going to spend thousands of hours embarrassing themselves, losing respect and credibility learns one thing by doing it themselves. They learn whether or not they love it, and if they’re willing to fight for it, even if it means going against the grain and being the unpopular kid.

And THAT’S how I got my deal. By bleeding for it. By hustling. By losing sleep and popping ibuprofen and swallowing a little pride. By taking a risk even though it meant career suicide. In other words, I got my deal by being a little stupid.

And if I had it all to do over again I wouldn’t change a single thing.

(Note: The book was the best query letter I'd ever written. Writers, it ain't 2002 anymore.)

Jason Jack Miller’s Thirty (One) Essentials (With no apologies to Jack Kerouac.)

Find your soul mate. Marry her.

Life is rated in miles traveled rather than dollars earned.

Never be afraid to call off work.

Rob from Peter to pay Paul always. Especially when food or travel is involved.

You can never have too many guitars.

Never apologize for liking what you like.

Have a favorite hiking trail. And a second, and a third, and so on.

Summer chores (in order of importance): write, play guitar and drink bourbon on the porch, go to the mountains to swim, nap with the wife and the cat, cut grass.

Never choose cities over mountains or beaches. Never choose mountains over cities or beaches. Never choose beaches over mountains or cities.

Passports go bad if you don’t use them.

Music must always be playing in the background.

Eat sushi, Mexican food, cheeseburgers, pizza, and Indian food regularly for balance.

Bikes are meant to be ridden, not admired.

Never buy cheap alcohol.

Read the books you buy.

Star parties all summer long.

Love and torture the cat with equal enthusiasm.

Find a new band, a new writer, and a new restaurant every month.

Never settle for mediocre Chinese take-out.

Not finishing a hike is fine as long as you promise right then and there to finish it the next time.

Know how to change a bike tube and use a chain tool.

John said, “All you need is love,” but he was the only person on earth able to live without The Beatles. You need to know why they are the greatest if you don’t already.

No matter what local delight a back road gas station has for sale in a basket on a counter, buy it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a moon pie or boiled peanuts.

Learn the differences between black, green and oolong, and have a favorite.

It is perfectly acceptable to go out for ice cream every night of the week between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

Attend at least one life-changing concert per year.

Memorize quotes from movies and TV shows.

Favorite hats and t-shirts must never be thrown away. They must either disappear or disintegrate.

Know the people at your favorite restaurants on a first name basis.

The letters should be wearing off of your computer’s keyboard.

Don’t stop the carnival.

My soul mate is much more succinct, and needs only one essential: “Beauty, love, and art. A little house, many books, cherished friends and family. Good food, unique experiences, daily delights, and appreciating them all.”

Happy birthday, Johnny Cash!

From THE DEVIL AND PRESTON BLACK:

...when a local cop showed up he asked Stu, "What are you hanging around here for?" and Stu said, quoting Johnny Cash, "For whatever's about to go down, that's what for."

Country Style, USA is a series of 15-minute radio and film programs produced by the US Army as a recruiting aid from 1957 to 1960 featuring top American country music artists. Each year 13 episides were produced in Nashville, Tennessee and distributed to local radio and TV stations.

Johnny Cash and the original Tennessee Two, Luther Perkins and Marshall Grant.

These are vintage radio broadcast transcription discs (at times you can “hear” the vinyl which adds flavor). The sound quality is amazing.

Country Style USA is from 1958, Guest Star is from 1959.


Download the show at SUGARMEGS.


1) Country Style USA Intro
2) Hey Porter
3) I Walk The Line
4) “Join The Reserve For Youth Training Program” spot
5) Rock Island Line (Johnny says they haven’t recorded it yet)
6) So Doggone Lonesome
7) Country Style USA Outro
8) Country Style USA Intro
9) Folsom Prison Blues
10) Cry Cry Cry
11) “Reserve For Youth Training Program” spot
12) I Was There When It Happened
13) Get Rhythm (“Our latest release on Sun”)
14) Country Style USA Outro
15) Guest Star Intro
16) Country Boy
17) Chat w/ Johnny
18) Don’t Take Your Guns To Town
19) Johnny Cash “Buy Savings Bonds” spot
20) Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
21) Guest Star Outro

THE MUSIC AND PRESTON BLACK: Allman Brothers Band, Cow Palace, San Francisco 12-31-73

A weird choice, I know, but I got to get Southern fried for the next few weeks. South of Louisville, south of Nashville. I got to get down to the home of the blues. I got to walk the walk that old Robert Johnson did before he had them hellhounds on his trail. I'm talking 'bout the Delta. The Motherland. The navel of the earth.

Over the next few weeks I got to be Johnny Cash kicking out the lights of the Grand Old Opry. I got to be Duane Allman screaming through Macon on his bike. I got to be on my knees at the intersection of 49 and 61 to see what the devil can do for me.

I'm talking 'bout black-eye peas and greens and cornbread and a pint glass filled to the tippity top with a corn liquor. Slide guitars and mudbugs.

I'm talking about the next installment of Preston Black's little journey. And I can't wait to see what the fuck happens.

Set the mood with a little Allman Brothers from Sugarmegs.

Allman Brothers Band
Cow Palace, San Francisco 12-31-73

101-Intro
102-Wasted Words
103-Done Somebody Wrong
104-One Way Out
105-Stormy Monday
106-Midnight Rider
107-Blue Sky
108-In Memory of Elizabeth Reed
201-Countdown To Midnight
202-Statesboro Blues
203-Southbound
204-Interlude
205-Come And Go Blues
206-Ramblin Man
207-Trouble No More
208-Jessica
209-Les Brers In A Minor Pt 1
210-Drum Solo
211-Les Brers In A Minor Pt 2
212-Les Brers In A Minor Pt 3
213-Whipping Post
214-Linda Lou - Mary Lou
215-You Upset Me - Hideaway Jam
216-Bo Diddley

THE MUSIC AND PRESTON BLACK: Led Zeppelin, Pacific Coliseum, Vancouver, BC, Canada, March 21, 1970

     I bought a slide, an old Coricidin bottle like Duane Allman used. But when I tried to get into Elmore James and Muddy Waters, I ended up with a bunch of CDs I never listened to more than once or twice. Being a white kid growing up in a patch house on the outskirts of Morgantown, West Virginia, the blues may as well have been N.W.A. or Public Enemy. I thought Jeff'd steered me wrong.

     So I started hitting record stores like Charlie Watts hit Mick Jagger after that 5am wake-up call. I knew my personal thread through the music went deeper, and I was more than just an orphan who'd been passed around like a bottle of Boone's. Music made me all too keenly aware that I could be more than my guidance counselors ever expected me to be. I had my own roots and didn't have to buy into somebody else's past or culture to feel complete. I didn't know nothing about my mom or dad, but I knew I was conceived to Led Zeppelin III and I knew when I finally kicked it, I'd kick with a guitar in my hands.

Download the show at Sugarmegs. 

Led Zeppelin
"Mudslide" (Pre-bootleg source) [The Diagrams Of Led Zeppelin Vol.44]
Pacific Coliseum, Vancouver, BC, Canada March 21, 1970

Perhaps the earliest Led Zeppelin bootleg to be produced was the forty minute soundboard fragment from the first show of their fifth tour of north America: a very cool listen.
 
01 Heartbreaker
02 Organ Improv./Thank You
03 What Is & What Should Never Be
04 Communication Breakdown/Ramble On
05 We're Gonna Groove
06 Since I've Been Loving You
07 Whole Lotta Love (middle cut)

THE MUSIC AND JASON JACK MILLER: Eddie Vedder, University Of California Berkeley, Zellerbach Auditorium, Berkeley, CA, April 7, 2008 (aka 2012, I'm trying not to hate you.)

So, there was about a minute way back in January when I thought I'd put together a post about my 2012 spiritual mentor/guru, kind of like I did with Joe Strummer about this time last year. Having somebody to 'emulate' felt kind of nice, like I could follow a path somebody else laid down since it sometimes felt like I was doing this in the dark. I wrote a little about Strummer's independence, especially during his time with the 101ers, when they had to use improvised mic stands and speaker cabinets because they were flat broke and how that didn't let that stop them from playing.

Don't get me wrong, I have many personal acquaintances from Seton Hill and Pennwriters who have gone down a path to publication, and I'm not trying to paint myself as a maverick, or whatever. But this is the first time I'VE done it. When I formatted my eBook there wasn't anybody to consult because nobody I knew was really doing eBooks. When it came time to get a real book cover I didn't have anybody to discuss it with because that's the kind of thing a publisher takes care of, not the writer.

So knowing that guys like Strummer made mistakes on their path made me feel like the mistakes I made were okay too.

This year I was leaning toward Eddie Vedder as a guy to 'emulate.' Pearl Jam has been around for 20 years, and they did a lot of crazy things that were motivated by a strong personal ethos. They fought Ticketmaster (and lost) and tried to organize their own shows at non-Ticketmaster venues. They ended up being a band that put their fans first, and built a very loyal following by doing so. I guess ultimately I liked that they worked hard, and that it paid off in a way that let them pursue the music they wanted to pursue.

But in the end, this is really just a post about how shitty my year has been so far. On January 3 a kid flew around a blind corner and nailed us, putting our car up on a guardrail and causing a lot of body damage. Then the following Monday my doctor called and said I had polyps in my gallbladder and I'm going to have to have that plucked out. Spent the remainder of the month in pain, afraid everything I ate was going to make me sick. 

So, Eddie, what do you say? How do I tackle this one?

On June 30, 2000, Pearl Jam was playing the Roskilde Festival in Denmark. Nine fans were crushed or suffocated as the crowd surged toward the stage. The band cancelled the rest of its European Tour and retreated to America. A few months later they started a North American tour, prompting Vedder to say that "...playing, facing crowds, being together—it enabled us to start processing it."(Not that my situation is comparable, by any means.)

But it was good advice. So I'm back in the new book. Tallying a new word count. Reading and researching like I haven't done in years.

Download the show at Sugarmegs.

Eddie Vedder
University Of California Berkeley, Zellerbach Auditorium, Berkeley, CA, April 7, 2008


Walking The Cow-(Daniel Johnston)
Around The Bend
I Am Mine
Dead Man Walking
I’m Open
Man Of The Hour
Setting Forth
Guaranteed
No Ceiling
Far Behind
Rise
Millworker (James Taylor)
Goodbye
Satellite
Drifting
You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away (Lennon, McCartney)
Here’s To The State (Phil Ochs)
Trouble (Cat Stevens)
If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out (Cat Stevens)
Parting Ways
Forever Young (Bob Dylan)
Porch
Society With Jerry Hannan (Jerry Hannan)
Growin’ Up (Bruce Springsteen)
Lukin
No More
Arc
Hard Sun With Liam Finn, Ej And Jerry Hannan (Gordon Peterson)

My second snippet for Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday is taken from my Appalachian dark fantasy novel, THE DEVIL AND PRESTON BLACK (Raw Dog Screaming Press).

Description:Preston Black has a nasty habit of falling in love with the wrong type of woman. But girls who don't play nice are the least of his problems. This handsome bar band guitarist isn't washed-up, but he's about to be. He's broke, he's tired of playing covers and he's obsessed with the Curse of 27.

He's about to add 'deal with the devil' to his list.

Lucky for Preston, he has help. Like the angelic beauty who picks him up when he's down. And the university professor who helps him sort through old Appalachian hexes and curses to find the song that may be his only shot at redemption. And when things get real bad, he has the ghost of John Lennon to remind him that "nothing is real."

Let Raw Dog Screaming Press author Jason Jack Miller take you to a place where love is forever even when death isn't, where magic doesn't have to be seen to be believed, where a song might be the only thing that saves your soul.

MURDER BALLADS AND WHISKEY is a unique blend of dark fiction, urban fantasy and horror. It's Appalachian Gothic, Alt.Magical.Realism, Hillbilly Horror. It's AMERICAN GODS meets JUSTIFIED. TRUE BLOOD with witches. It's Johnny Cash with a fistful of copperheads singing the devil right back to hell.

     Most people didn't have to dig as deep as me to find something they recognized in an old record or song.

     And digging deeper was pretty much what I was doing the day I found my LP misplaced behind Blizzard of Oz. On my way to return it to the BLUEGRASS section the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen stepped out of the stacks. She smiled. I smiled back. She asked what I had in my hand. On the album cover a bunch of anonymous pickers sat in front of an old log cabin. The back of the record said Uncle Mason's Front Porch: Best of the Blackwater Sessions.

And on the track list, between "Pretty Polly" and "Hangman's Reel" was a song called "The Sad Ballad of Preston Black," written by E. Black.

     I knew right then and there that if I could ever find the man who'd written that song, I'd have found my dad. 

Check out other author snippets at the official site: Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday

SFFS: Snippet from Hellbender #1

My first snippet for Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday is taken from my Appalachian dark fantasy novel, Hellbender (Raw Dog Screaming Press).

Description:There are some strange things happening at the edge of reality where love is forever even when death isn’t and where magic doesn’t have to be seen to be believed.

Henry Collins' quiet life is changed forever the day he buries his little sister.

Her death forces him to enter a strange world whose very existence he spent his whole life denying--a dark wilderness where the old magic thrives--a place far darker and deadlier than the Appalachia he grew up in. To avenge his sister Henry must slip past the boundaries of logic and reason to a place where the only reality is survival. He won't be able to come home until his life is no longer simple, his heart no longer kind.

This is a tale of star-crossed lovers and civil revenge by uncivil hands, written in blood that is barely thicker than water.

--

If I could’ve carried her by myself, I would have. But just the weight of the pine and spruce box was more than I could bear alone. The linens that covered her body and her clothes, the last she’d ever wear, made her heavier. The coins that covered her eyes added a few ounces more.

I could’ve carried her, by herself, forever.

January wasn’t a kind time for a burial, but we don’t get to choose. Old Christmas hid the sun behind a flat grey wall of clouds. January has a way of taking a person's optimism and crushing it beneath its bony heel.

I’d take June, when long days kept wayward pessimism at bay for just a few hours more, when blackberry blossoms spilt over old stone fences while young rabbits got fat and lazy. I’d take Solstice over Old Christmas any day.

--

Check out other author snippets at the official site: Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday

(BAD) LOVE IS IN THE AIR! Get THE DEVIL AND PRESTON BLACK free for your Kindle for some Valentine's Day reading. Promotion starts today.