Whew! Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?? Nah, it’s the man on fire himself burning down the joint, Master Wordsmith Blaze McRob!! Let the righteous fall to their knees, and the Killian’s flow freely while he sizzles up something yummy on the spit! Oh, dude! Your kilt is flapping in the in the breeze…
Hey, who let the Ghoul on Fire in?
Let’s meet Blaze McRob
This is my post for Meet The Damned, the brainchild of Nina D’Arcangela who believes our fans would like to know a little more about us. After reading my ditty, she might have second thoughts. (*Editorial comment: Nope!)
Unlike most people who get involved in the publishing business, I had it easy. My first book, handwritten on seventy-page college-ruled spiral notebooks, sold 8 1/2 million copies. Don’t go looking for it. It’s wrapped up nice and tidy between the covers of a book with someone else’s name and picture on it. You got it. I was a ghostwriter. I wrote 75 novels like that and only had one dud. It sold 150 copies and the publisher was furious. I returned the advance to them. I didn’t have to, but I felt it to be the right thing to do. Worked out well. A movie star bought the rights and it became a movie. I got 2% of the gross. Sweet deal.
So, I’ve never had to deal with a rejection slip, I’ve never received one. Not bragging. It was part of what I did. I received a lot of money for what I wrote, but I never spent a dime of it – long story. I set up trust-funds for my kids, and gave the rest away to charity. I have eight children ranging from the ages of five to thirty-nine. Even since leaving the Big Six (now the Big Five world) I have not received a rejection slip. Probably lucky there. Actually, it doesn’t matter much. I write for me anyway and am happy that enough folks like the tales I spin to buy them.
The good thing is that I now get to write whatever the hell I want. How great is that? No parameters for me. Most of my stories now are written in first person, present tense, which was unheard of when I ghosted. It’s becoming much more accepted now and at my age, I’m almost 67, I love having the protagonist, who is always me, in charge of the action. Some readers don’t like that style, but that’s okay. They can read someone else’s books.
I know what you’re thinking: I have an attitude. Not true. Art, and writing is certainly art, is subjective. No reader is going to like everything she/he reads.
Why do I write horror? I write about the Dark because it is the truth. Open your eyes and you will see that the spinning rock we live on is inhabited by some nasty creatures who have the nerve to call themselves humans. It’s my job to tell my readers about it, not by writing mamby-pamby puke pieces that make you gag, but by presenting true horror tales where the truth is spread around. No preaching. Simply good stories (I hope) with a message. Not everyone will get the message – I don’t beat anyone over the head with it – but it’s there. Some folks just enjoy the tales. Hey, that’s okay too. Escapism is a great thing. People have it tough in these times.
Personal stuff? I’m divorced and very happy to be so. My first three wives passed away, and the last one, she was pure evil. Guess you could say my marital experience hasn’t been a good one, but life happen. My children are well provided for, that’s what matters.
The bad things from my life find their way into my stories. My attitude is to write about the bad and try to keep the good inside. If I wrote fluffy-lamby tales, the evil from past experiences would fester and rob me of the good in my soul. Writing horror is my release.
Physically, I’m not the strongest. I have some issues I have to deal with, but mentally, I’m sharp as a tack. I write an average of 5,000 words a day. My mind is always working, even in my sleep. No writer’s block for me. I just found out when I was 62 that I’m Autistic. Not too surprising. I didn’t walk ’til I was almost three. However, I’m at a level where they label me to be a Savant. Personally, I hate labels. Let’s just say that my IQ is too high to be measured and I received my BS, Five Masters Degrees, and two PhD’s in Physics while I was working multiple jobs and cranking out novels. It took me four years to get all those degrees. My goal was to teach, but I stutter so bad that it was never going to happen. Oh well. I use that when I write too. I’m sure the stuttering is a part of the Autism. I guess you could say I write because I can’t talk.
So, what’s on my agenda? Plenty. I’m starting to publish some of the hundreds of short stories I’ve written over the years. Some will be stand alones, but others will be bundled into short and large collections. This is mainly to prepare the way for the 47 novels I have written which merely need editing. ’68 Buick, a Grim Reaper novel, comes out at the end of September; Mists Of Papoose Pond, an end days, Zombie, action, giant leeches, and more story, will come out in late November; Ghost No More,to be published in March, is another end days novel where the heroes are Autistic children called The Chosen Ones, and all the money goes to Autism Research for children; Quarter Moon Haunts, scheduled for release in May, is about ghosts, death, the evil ways of the mob and crooked cops, how to continue living though one is dead, and The Four Horsemen portrayed like you’ve never seen them before. Plus sequels to all of them.
Guess you can say I’m a busy boy. But I’m never too busy to ignore my friends in Pen Of The Damned. All our members are super people and great authors. All you have to do is visit our website and start reading. There’s not a one of us whose stories and dark poems you won’t enjoy.
I will close out with one thing I am very adamant about: Women In Horror. The official month to celebrate Women in Horror is February. And I’m sorry, but twenty-eight days just isn’t enough, I’m still writing posts praising great Women In Horror. The only time I miss a post is if I’m too sick to pen it that day; I think I have missed less than 14 total. To all you great women in this business, I salute you!
About Blaze McRob: Blaze McRob, writer of over seventy legacy published horror novels. I was a ghostwriter long before anyone had an idea we were lurking about. Through my adventures in the craft, I-or my author alter egos-have won virtually every award to be won. But awards mean little, don’t they? It is the reader we wish to enthrall, and our souls to purge. So now it is time for Blaze to write as Blaze, and time for previous recipients of my tales to write more of their own material. In addition to my dark novels, I write horror shorts, flash fiction, and poetry. Ah, the sweet rhymes of iambic pentameter intermixed with glorious free-style.
I am single and have eight children, my youngest only three years old. They are my life and the reason I fight the demons and the pain.
You can visit Blaze on his blog, Blaze McRob’s Tales of Horror, read his work on Pen of the Damned, find him at one of his two publishing companies where you’ll also find amazing books written by extremely talented authors, Angelic Knight Press or Visionary Press Cooperative, or the Ghoul himself just might be lurking on twitter @Wyoming_Bob or Facebook.
Read Blaze’s latest post on Pen of the Damned
Sad voices drift through the early morning air as the matriarch is laid to rest, joining her husband who passed some twenty years prior. The last of the old guard now gone, the younger ones must carry the family torch.
Though the aged are usually thought of as carrying a certain acridness of the tongue and a bitterness directed at those around them, such was not the case with Mrs. Bellows. Always a kind word for all; generous to a fault; willing to open her heart and home to friend and family alike. Everyone loved her.
Beneath the ground in his little dwelling of terror, the Ghoul can clearly hear the words of the two discordant twenty-somethings as they sit on a nearby tombstone. They are bitter as all hell.
“Old bitch provided for everyone else in the family but us,” one gripes.
“Not fair. Not right at all, Tom,” the other replies.
“Sucks the big one, George. The rest of them think everything will work out for us, but the stupid old bitch gave our share to our parents for us. Shit! You know that ain’t gonna pan out. Mom and Dad believe we’re a couple of losers. We won’t see a dime of that fucking money.”
“Nothing we can do about it,” the passive one mopes.
“Maybe there is.” Hearing arrogance in this one’s voice, the Ghoul pays closer attention.
“What do you mean?”