Welcome to the March 2025 issue of my newsletter, “News from the Crypt,” and please visit Carter’s Crypt, devoted to my horror, fantasy, and paranormal romance work, especially focusing on vampires and shapeshifting beasties. If you have a particular fondness for vampires, check out the chronology of my series in the link labeled “Vanishing Breed Vampire Universe.”
Also, check out the multi-author Alien Romances Blog
To subscribe to this monthly newsletter, please e-mail me at MLCVamp@aol.com, and I will add you to the list.
For other web links of possible interest, please scroll to the end.
On February 24, N. N. Light’s Book Heaven featured my vampire romance SEALED IN BLOOD:
The excerpt below from SEALED IN BLOOD features the vampire hero’s sister, whom the hero and heroine are trying to find and rescue from a con artist cult leader who mistakenly believes she can convert him into a vampire.
This month I’m interviewing mystery and thriller author Arthur Coburn.
*****
Interview with Arthur Coburn:
What inspired you to become a writer?
My mother regaling me with tales of her life as a girl in the early 1900s.
The dramatic school assemblies I used to run.
The junior year school play in which I played the lead.
Listing to 40s radio dramas like The Great Gildersleeve, Allen’s Ally, The Fat Man, The Green Hornet, Amos ‘n’ Andy, The Falcon, The Whistler, The Lone Ranger and Sky King
As a young boy I created dramas in our living room – turning a card table on end, painting and putting up background scenery, writing lines, suspending my teddy bears on strings and reciting their lines. For 2 cents a head tickets to neighborhood kids and parents.
Being read to my mother and father.
Seeing my father perform plays in the local drama club.
I was an only child and I made up companions to have adventures with – Tagly and the little guys.
I was president to my junior class and put on comedy acts with my friend, Jack.
Putting on magic shows.
Going to the circus when it came to town
What genres do you work in?
I write mystery/thrillers.
Though I wrote a couple of short stories for Sisters in Crime that were more general – one about a house in Venice, CA on the canals; and one about a woman who remembers being abused by her uncle while he was teaching her to play golf.
I wrote an international novel about a film editor in Poland who gets involved with gypsies, Nazis and film crew people
I’m currently writing a sequel to my published novel Murder in Concrete that involves U.S. history: the amazing women pilots in WII – the WASP; the story includes threads of Nazi plots in the US in the 1930s and 1940s; and a small section about a death camp in Poland and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial located in Colleville-sur-Mer, France.
Do you outline, “wing it,” or something in between?
I’m basically a Pantser, though I sometimes have notions of segments or elements I want to flesh out – or pursue – I may have an idea of how I plan to end the story – though sometimes the ending changes as I revise the manuscript. Years ago, I took a course from a smart Princeton grad, named John Truby, who had developed a comprehensive outline of the steps of a novel. It made total sense but I found when I wrote to the outline my story was mechanical; I was doing it by the numbers. Only by letting my unconscious tell me what to write next, do I create organic moments and stories.
I write fiction the way learn a to speak language (the way I’ve worked on French and Italian). I plunge ahead, not worrying about mistakes, knowing that I’ll improve and correct my dialogue skills as I practice.
I play the piano the same way – my sight reading ability is negligible. I just sit down and let my fingers find melodies and chords – either jazz style or classical. I do make mistakes, but I like discovering melodies and rhythms and chords in an ad hoc way.
What have been the major influences on your work (favorite authors or whatever)?
I’ve been influenced by working and living in foreign countries. I studied Italian, and I’ve worked on films in Italy and lived there for month. I lived and worked in Poland, where we filmed in Auschwitz Birkenau. I studied Polish for the trip. Also lived and worked in Halifax, and also in Morocco where I marveled at culture and Arabic/French language.
I’ve also done film editing in Arizona, in Los Angeles, and Skagit County in Washington. I’ve done biking trips in both Normandie and Provence. Other cultures and attitudes influenced how I think about the world.
I’ve been influenced by teachers – took a course from Tod Goldberg at UCLA – by Lynn Neri, and several courses by John Truby. I took a week-long course from Damon Suede – still have his notes.
Years ago, I read all the Agatha Christie Novels. I’ve read lots of Daniel Woodrell: Here are a couple of passages of his I love: (if I could write like this I’d quit and just savor my own prose)
REE DOLLY stood at break of day on her cold front steps and smelled coming flurries and saw meat. Meat hung from trees across the creek. The carcasses hung pale of flesh with a fatty gleam from low limbs of saplings in the side yards. Snow clouds had replaced the horizon, capped the valley darkly, and chafing wind blew so the hung meat twirled from jigging branches. Ree, brunette and sixteen, with milk skin and abrupt green eyes, stood bare-armed in a fluttering yellowed dress, face to the wind, her cheeks reddening as if smacked and smacked again. She stood tall in combat boots, scarce at the waist but plenty through the arms and shoulders, a body made for loping after needs. She smelled the frosty wet in the looming clouds, thought of her shadowed kitchen and lean cupboard, looked to the scant woodpile, shuddered.
I also love Bob Dugoni’s spare and to-the-point prose. And Donna Tart’s long novels. I’m in the process of reading and enjoying the grace of Alcott’s dialogue in Little Women, the complex emotions in Jane Austen’s novels; and the powerful scenes of Martin Cruz Smith’s The Siberian Dilemma.
Films have influenced my writing, too. I am a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, through which I get to watch dozens of foreign movies (from France, Norway, Palestine, Germany, Italy, Thailand and a score of other countries). Plus, regular US films. British crime series shows also influence me, including Vera, and Inspector Linley.
In the non-fiction realm, I loved a biography called Tomboy Bride: A Woman’s Personal Account of Life in Mining Camps of the West. I love Robert Frost’s Haiku-like poetry.
How has your career in the film industry influenced your work as a novelist? Did you find the transition between the two fields difficult?
Working with images in film conditioned me to “see” places and people. I’m pleased with my ability to do that. I also learned about pacing from film editing. Learned I need to alternate fast and slow written scenes with quick and slow sentences, plus single words.
I got the chance to write a couple of scenes for Triumph of the Spirit, directed by Robert M. Young. And I suggested a couple of script ideas for Sam Rami when I was editing and he was directing Spiderman
From my work as a film editor, I learned you have to go over and over and over your material to make it as good as it can be.
One of my final stages of writing is to play my writing back to me from Word; that helps me to hear mistakes and also to see how the flow and pacing works.
I found the transition between film and novel writing a pleasant one – novel writing is different because you are creating rather than manipulating stories. I like being able to make up things and not always finding myself working with someone else’s material.
What would you say are the principal differences between writing screenplays and writing prose fiction?
I haven’t written a screenplay in ages, but I recall you need to fill in lots more material in a novel. Screen plays are a kind of shorthand way of writing.
What is your latest or next-forthcoming book?
My novel in progress, currently out for feedback, is a follow-up to Murder in Concrete. It has the same protagonist, Charlie, a nineteen-year-old girl, still living with her old PTSD issues, including suspicions. She sometimes imagines things that are not there.
She is pulled into a mystery about what happened to her now deceased Grandma Lottie’s best friend, from a letter written forty-plus years earlier than the 1987 time of the novel.
There are two time threads: one starting in 1936, and one in 1987. The threads intersect and interact partway through the novel. There are lots of planes and Nazis and bits of history.
I’m toying with possible titles, including “Hot Planes and Valiant Women.”
What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
READ….WRITE… LET YOUR INNER WISDOM TAKE CHARGE… REWRITE…PLAY YOUR MATERIAL BACK SO YOU CAN HEAR HOW IT SOUNDS
What is the URL of your website? What about other internet presence?
Arthur Coburn Website
Instagram: @arthurcoburnauthor
Facebook: Facebook
*****
Some Books I’ve Read Lately:
SHE WALKS THESE HILLS, by Sharyn McCrumb. I’ve read this 1994 book, one of my favorites of McCrumb’s Appalachian “Ballad” novels, multiple times. I bought this trade paperback edition to get the auxiliary material collected in it. McCrumb’s new introduction delves into the inspiration, sources, and themes of the novel. The major and most prominent theme is “journeys.” The other, less obvious, is “diminishing” (e.g., the fading of traditional mountain culture). The story weaves together several plotlines: In the colonial era, when Tennessee was still the frontier, a young woman was kidnapped by Shawnees who had massacred most of her family. Months later, she escaped and trekked home for hundreds of miles through the wilderness, only to meet a tragic end upon her return. In the present, a history professor obsessed with her story decides to retrace the final part of her route, even though he has never camped or hiked before in his life. Meanwhile, an old farmer named Harm Sorley, sentenced to life for murder over thirty years earlier, escapes from prison. Suffering from brain damage that makes him unable to form or retain new memories, he doesn’t even remember his crime, thinks he’s still a young man, and sets out through the woods to find his way home, where he expects his wife and little daughter to be waiting. His wife, who divorced him long ago, married a pompous, uptight man who assumes she and her daughter (now a budding geologist) should be grateful for the secure suburban life he has bestowed on them. Another storyline involves a discontented young “hillbilly” mother living in poverty among the relatives of her neglectful, sometimes abusive husband. When her baby disappears, she claims the escaped convict must have snatched him. Continuing characters Sheriff Arrowood, Deputy LeDonne, and Martha, the dispatcher, investigate the crimes. Martha persuades the Sheriff to give her a chance at becoming a deputy, a change that stresses her romantic relationship with LeDonne. Yet another important character, a late-night radio host known as “Hank the Yank,” becomes curious about Harm’s long-ago murder case and digs into it on his own, convinced there’s more to the killing than official records reveal. The ill-prepared history professor, naturally, gets hopelessly lost in the forest, where he runs into Harm, the mother of the allegedly kidnapped baby, and eventually the ghost of the eighteenth-century woman whose journey he’s trying to replicate. At the climax, McCrumb brilliantly weaves all these threads together. Nora Bonesteel, an elderly woman with the “Sight” – a keeper of local history and lore who appears in most of the books — plays a vital role at that point. The Acknowledgments section includes a brief bibliography of historical sources. In addition, a collection of essays by McCrumb follows the text of the novel. She discusses the geography of the Appalachian mountain range, the “Serpentine Chain” that connects them to the mountains of the British Isles along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge; the transmission of folk music, customs, and tales from the Old World to the New; the functions of storytelling (define a people, describe a place, record history, transmit cultural values, entertain); magic in nature, including beliefs in fairy folk and other supernatural beings; the tradition of quilting; the Sight, as in premonitions and extrasensory perception; the “Other World” of faerie; and “Once Upon a Time, It Was Now,” about the past and present of the region and how Appalachia is perceived by outsiders. This edition of SHE WALKS THESE HILLS, signed by the author, can be purchased only on her website, http://www.sharynmccrumb.com. If you haven’t read the book before, consider springing for this trade paperback to get the fascinating bonus material.
WITCHCRAFT FOR WAYWARD GIRLS, by Grady Hendrix. The mundane content of this novel, set in 1970 (aside from the epilogue), struck me as more harrowing than the supernatural component. It takes place in a home for unwed mothers, where they live in the months before giving birth, almost always surrendering their babies for adoption. Hundreds of those institutions existed in the United States between World War II and the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision. As a teenager in the 1960s, I was vaguely aware of them. Until reading Hendrix’s novel, I had no idea they’d survived into the early 1970s. The protagonist arrives at the Wellwood House, many miles from home, with little idea of what to expect. Her father, who drops her off and slips away without saying goodbye, treats her coldly, his only positive statements consisting of the assurance that she’ll be able to have the baby and return to her normal life, forgetting about the entire episode. Only that way can she erase the shame she has inflicted on her family. As was usually the case with such girls, everybody except close family has been told she’s spending the time in a distant city for some non-pregnancy-related purpose. Although the staff members at Wellwood House, including the head (Miss Wellwood) and the institution’s doctor, treat the girls brusquely and often contemptuously, the place isn’t portrayed as a hellhole like a Dickensian workhouse. Nevertheless, the treatment of the inmates is chillingly dehumanizing. Any questioning of rules or even requests for information are quashed as “disrespect.” They’re assigned pseudonyms, forbidden to use their real names or discuss their backgrounds with each other. The protagonist is renamed Fern. The girls are lied to, told they won’t feel anything during labor because they’ll be unconscious throughout. They receive no preparation for childbirth, no explanation of the procedures involved. The staff claims, probably sincerely from their viewpoint, to be doing what’s best for the inmates and the babies. It soon becomes clear, though, that the pregnant girls are treated as breeders of infants for “deserving” couples who – unlike the birth mothers – have the capacity to become good parents. If a girl insists she wants to keep the baby, she runs into a Catch 22: Asking to rear her own child, despite her age, single status, and lack of resources, proves she’s neurotic and therefore unfit for motherhood. Immediately after delivery, they’re pressured to sign documents they don’t understand and often haven’t been allowed to read. As Fern says decades later, the newborn infants aren’t “surrendered”; they’re taken. The institution’s regimen is strict, sometimes harshly arbitrary. For instance, when one inmate repeatedly violates her salt restriction, the doctor removes salt from the menu altogether. He enforces highly restrictive weight-gain limits – which I recall vividly from my own first two pregnancies, standards now recognized as not only unrealistic but hazardous to health. Yet, ironically from today’s perspective, the girls aren’t forbidden to smoke. In accordance with the tendency of that period to dismiss morning sickness as psychosomatic, he withholds medication for a patient’s debilitating nausea. Everything changes when the bookmobile librarian, Miss Parcae (a name any fan of classical mythology will recognize as ominous), surreptitiously lends Fern a book titled HOW TO BE A GROOVY WITCH. At first Fern and her companions don’t take the guidebook seriously. When they experiment with a spell to inflict their friend’s uncontrollable vomiting on the doctor, though, it succeeds beyond their wildest imaginings. Spontaneous, inexplicable changes happen to the manual, turning its spells stronger and darker. A gruesome body-horror revenge on Miss Wellwood confirms that the magic is both real and dangerous. But can it have any significant impact beyond petty retribution? Can magic change the system confining and oppressing the girls? For instance, is there any way they can save the youngest member of their group and her unborn baby from being handed over to the clergyman who’s been raping her for years? As always, magic has a price. Miss Parcae and her coven have plans for Fern that violate her free will even more than the coercive “surrender” of her child. The sociopolitical background of 1970, the heartrending personal plights of the individual girls, and the mind-blowing magic weave together to create a deeply emotional story. I wouldn’t exactly say this novel has a happy ending; some losses and scars can’t be healed. The promise to unwed mothers of getting on with their lives, as if pregnancy and birth form a minor episode easily relegated to the past, proves to be another lie. Fern’s epilogue set fifty-four years later, though, provides a satisfying resolution with a sense of peace attained at last. An afterword by the author adds historical context along with his personal angle on the issues with which the story grapples. In my opinion, Hendrix’s THE SOUTHERN BOOK CLUB’S GUIDE TO SLAYING VAMPIRES is one of the best vampire novels in recent years, and this new book is equally gripping and horrifying.
THE GIRLS WHO WENT AWAY, by Ann Fessler. This 2006 nonfiction book was one of Hendrix’s principal sources for WITCHCRAFT FOR WAYWARD GIRLS. Reading Fessler’s meticulously researched work immediately after Hendrix’s novel reveals how much historical reality he drew upon. Each chapter alternates historical and sociological background information by the author with retrospective first-person narratives by women who “went away” to homes for unwed mothers – run by the National Florence Crittenton Mission and the Roman Catholic Church, among other institutions – and surrendered their babies for adoption. In the framing introduction and conclusion, Fessler lends a further personal touch to the topic with her perspective on her own experience as an adoptee from that period. I was surprised to learn that originally most institutions for single, pregnant girls and women focused on giving them resources and skills to rear their children themselves. A radical shift occurred during the 1940s, after which residents of homes for unwed mothers were automatically expected to give up their newborns for adoption. Interestingly, Black families and communities, rather than routinely sending pregnant girls to “homes,” more often provided support to help young mothers keep their infants. In the post-World-War II institutions, as portrayed in Hendrix’s novel, the inmates were shamed, assumed to be neurotic and/or sexually promiscuous. Little or nothing, of course, was said to condemn the boys and men co-responsible for the pregnancies. Some of the young women eventually went on to marry the fathers of their children. Most, at least in Fessler’s sample population, did not. A few, interviewed decades later, reported their stays in the “homes” as positive experiences and were in fact glad to surrender their babies to married couples, who could give children stable families, and move on with their lives. Most, however, did not feel that way. The loss of their babies, often perceived as forced upon them, resulted in lifelong trauma, even if hidden. Often their “shameful” past was concealed from the children they later bore within marriage and even from some of the women’s husbands. Although I grew up in that era, I still found it hard, while reading this book, to wrap my head around the lengths to which families went to conceal their daughters’ “disgrace.” From a contemporary perspective, I can’t help looking back and thinking, “Good grief, why on Earth did they care?” Of course, for an unmarried teenager, dealing with pregnancy and motherhood would have been (as it still is) a terribly difficult plight. But to act as if having it revealed would practically be a fate worse than death? In short, every facet of Hendrix’s story except the supernatural element is based on true history within living memory. Fessler’s book would make fascinating reading for anyone interested in that history from a sociological or personal perspective.
THE SECRET LIFE OF THE UNIVERSE, by astrobiologist Nathalie A. Cabrol. The author, director of the Carl Sagan Center at the SETI Institute, has worked on multiple unmanned space exploration programs. Reflections on her own experiences in that field enhance her in-depth analysis of the subject. Published in 2023, the book contains information about discoveries nearly as up-to-date as a reader could hope for. After two introductory chapters about Earth and the origins of living organisms here, she lays out the basic conditions for life as we know it — mainly a temperature range where liquid water exists, the presence of certain vital elements, and particular levels of gravity and atmospheric pressure. Ideal geological and meteorological conditions also contribute to the probability that life could develop and survive. Detailed analyses of Venus and Mars explore whether living creatures, if only on the microbial level, could exist there. Other possibilities are some of Jupiter’s and Saturn’s moons, since organic molecules and liquid water have been discovered on them. More surprisingly, Cabrol proposes possible environments for organic evolution on dwarf planets and even Mercury and our moon. Later chapters plunge into more speculative discussions of life that might exist on planets of other stars. She delves into the Drake formula (how statistically likely are extrasolar biospheres, intelligence, and civilizations?) and the Fermi Paradox (if other advanced civilizations exist in the universe, where is everybody?). Of course, the problem with determining the likelihood of some of the factors involved is that we have a sample of only one, our own world. There’s a chapter on the active search for life throughout the galaxy, especially the SETI project. The author also considers the broad issues of the definition of life and whether artificial intelligence could qualify. In my opinion, however, the question of “What is life?” would have fit better at the beginning than the end. I also wonder why terrestrial “extremophile” organisms aren’t covered in depth instead of being hardly mentioned. Their evolution and survival in conditions that would kill most creatures would shed further light on environments that might support life on other planets. The endnotes direct the reader to the resources the author drew upon. Her treatment of the various topics is so extensive and deep, however, even sometimes getting rather technical with discussions of organic and inorganic chemistry, that a writer wanting to use this work as background for creating alien lifeforms would hardly need to look elsewhere.
For my recommendations of “must read” classic and modern vampire fiction, explore the Realm of the Vampires:
Realm of the Vampires
*****
Excerpt from SEALED IN BLOOD:
No light seeped through the locked shutters–the sole comfort of Laura’s imprisonment. Nevertheless, she knew when day sank to dusk. When her part of the earth turned away from the sun, her heartbeat and respiration quickened, stirring the sluggish blood in her veins. Her frozen limbs thawed to mere chill, and she awoke.
Woke to stomach-wrenching hunger and burning thirst. She uncurled herself from the sheepskin rug and stumbled to the bathroom. Several times, she refilled and drained the plastic cup. The tepid water soothed her throat momentarily, with no promise of true quenching. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Why hadn’t Don removed that, if he no longer trusted her with glass? And what did he think she could do with broken glass that her own teeth and claws couldn’t manage?
She raked fingers through her tangled red hair. Finding the comb and brush to groom herself seemed like too much trouble in her low-energy condition. Her mouth tasted like a slaughterhouse floor. She’d used up the tube of toothpaste several days ago, and she wouldn’t stoop to ask Don for anything.
Dragging herself back into the bedroom, she huddled on the coffin lid. Her amusement at Don’s bizarre notion of furniture had long since worn out; she thought of the thing as simply a convenient seat.
The idea of rooting in the closet for a book she hadn’t read didn’t inspire her. Hugging her cramp-racked stomach, she felt herself drifting into a half-doze. How could she be drowsy after a full day of sleep? She gave her tousled head an irritable shake. How long had she been locked in here, anyway, with no proper nourishment and no companion besides her jailer? She began counting on her fingers–
The scrape of the key snapped her awake. Damn, she’d fallen asleep again! She sprang to her feet, feeling the hair bristle at the back of her neck.
Don stepped through the door, leveling the revolver at her.
That gun again–as if his fear of her weren’t obvious enough without it. Not only did he stink of fear, it shouted in the way he clutched the silver cross at his throat. She looked forward to disabusing him of that superstition by ripping the thing off his neck–but not as long as he had the .38 pointed at her breast.
“How’d you sleep today, Laura? Enjoying your reducing diet?” His voice quavered with anger as well as fear.
“Must you come bothering me like this every night? If you aren’t going to let me out, just stay away.”
“That’s no way to talk to your host–and I’ve got news you’ll want to hear.”
“I doubt it.” Fixing her eyes on his, she strove to draw him in, seduce him with her gaze.
Well-practiced at this game, he stubbornly stared at her chest instead. “That sneaky little son of a bitch–” He sounded hoarse with the effort of stifling his anger. “The pictures–I was right about them.”
In spite of herself, Laura pricked up her ears at this remark. “Brewster?”
“You got it. I trusted him, the little snake!” Don’s aura smoldered with resentment. Still, to Laura’s disappointment, he didn’t forget to avoid her eyes. “He had one of those miniature cameras, it looks like. Anyway, like the paper said, he claimed he had photos of a winged alien. Had to be you at the Sabbat–what else?
Laura felt a twinge of alarm. “You aren’t sure? Didn’t you get the prints?”
“Hell, I tried,” Don said with an acid grin. “Somebody else got there before me.”
At that, her stomach churned with more than hunger. “Someone else has them? Who?”
“I think I know. I’ll get them back, don’t worry. Think I wouldn’t take good care of my prize monster?”
She gritted her teeth to hold back the retort that leaped to mind; she couldn’t let him goad her.
He went on. “I have to go easy, though. When I leaned on Brewster to find out where the pictures were, he put up a fight, and things got out of hand.”
It took a second for his meaning to penetrate Laura’s abused brain. “You killed him!”
He shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. It was an accident, and I heard the cops chalked it up to a burglary.”
Her heart racing, she said, “You can’t be sure they’ll stick to that.” Did this development necessarily threaten her? In a way it offered hope, for if Don were arrested, she’d be found and liberated. On the other hand, Don’s exposure might carry the risk of someone else learning her secret.
His right hand trembled; no doubt his fingers ached from gripping the hilt of the gun. “I didn’t really come down here to talk about that. You know what I’m here for. Have you changed your mind?”
“The answer is the same as last night and the night before,” she said. “It won’t change. What you’re asking for just isn’t possible.” Wouldn’t he ever believe that simple truth? Perhaps she should pretend to give in, go along with his delusion. Maybe that piece of trickery would win her freedom. She couldn’t shift position too abruptly, though. “Why not forget about it and start up the Black Masses again? Your friends must be wondering what’s happened.”
-end-
*****
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“Beast” wishes until next time—
Margaret L. Carter