From Fan Fiction to Franchise: The Truth About the Book You Probably Won't (Definitely Should) Read.|

I am pleased to announce the arrival of The Woman in Black.

Click photo to buy the damn thing.

You need a spooky season read. You won’t admit it, but you do. This book has it all: an axe, pointless shouting, and a monster that refuses to die. Good choices, I guess. The writer seems to think he’s the next Stephen King, with an added dash of witch folklore for the Blair Witch crowd. Fine.

If you enjoy your horror with minimal hope and maximum stupidity, The Woman in Black is your book.

Or don’t read it. What do I care? Just stop whining about being bored and buy the damn thing.

…

Phew. Now that I got the corporate bullshit out of the way (or now that I know you guys are cool, haha!), I can express how I really feel.

Frustration.

Bloated.

Sitting with a half-chub.

The song playing is “Dance of the Clairvoyants” by Pearl Jam, from my YouTube Music Playlist titled ‘Whatever.’ The drink is Wild Turkey 101, neat.

Cheers.

…

Look, what can I say? This blog is not for the faint of heart. Even my own family won’t read my shit, and that’s fine. If you somehow managed to stomach the garbage I’ve recently published (and by some miracle are still with me), then kudos—keep on reading.

I began The Woman in Black back in 2011, maybe 2012. At that time, it was called The Night He Came Home, and it was a fan fiction of the movie Halloween. Then came the final year of college, and a lot of projects got put on hold. But where I’d like to start is in the year 2015. I was living on my own in Lake Jackson (The City of Enchantment) and working as an institutional parole officer. Not a bad job but definitely not a panty-dropping job. A goddamn security mall cop got more tail than me (looking at you, Paul Blart).

One day I was sent out to the Carol Young Medical Facility located in the middle of frickin’ nowhere. I parked my car and got out. I looked around and was like, “This place fucking sucks.” I briefly thought I’d park on the set of The Walking Dead—only with less hope of a quick death. I didn’t say that, but they know what’s up.

If you've read (or have started to read The Woman in Black), my arrival to the unit was similar to Natalie’s, with the exception of malevolent madness watching my every move, and the warden and a doctor waiting for me in the lobby. But the heavy stench of disinfectant and hospital layout were all there. If they had a psychiatric wing, I never visited it, and while we’re on the subject, I’ve never been on a psychiatric unit. I’ve interviewed offenders with severe cases of mental illness, but it’s something I would never glamorize in a novel. What you read in The Woman in Black is entirely fiction.

But it was on the drive home that I thought about changing the setting and characters for the fan-fiction novel. Similar to Danny, I took the longest of two routes home because it offered a more scenic view. It also helped me get into character, allowed me to think the way Danny would think if I were really a small-town deputy working a homicide. Later that night, I changed the title to The Night She Came Home; changed Dr. Loomis to Dr. Flowers, and finally, changed Michael Myers to Mary Rooney. I know it’s fiction, but there has to be some truth to a story; otherwise, what’s the point? By changing the characters and then the setting, it was easier for me to write. For instance, Texas does have a Woodlands, but it’s up north, near Huntsville, and nowhere near the coast. It’s also a town, not an actual woods. Could it be geographically accurate if I moved it down? I don’t know. Probably. I believe that’s a story for another day (look for a post called Something Wicked This Way Comes).

Now, my time in Lake Jackson was pretty much a blur. I’d go to work, come home, and write. At some point, I changed the novel’s title to The Woman in Black because I wanted to tie it to a future novel (at this point, I was already laying the groundwork for what I like to call: A Literary Universe). Fast forward to now, I was glad I made the change. Halloween, as you know, came out with three movies that were an absolute trainwreck. To be fair, Halloween (2018) was a golf clap. I just didn’t like that they were just rehashing the scenes from previous Halloween films—the gas station scene was a nod to Halloween 4, the bathroom scene was a nod to Halloween H20, the trick-or-treating scene was a nod to Halloween 2 which included the costumes of the two boys, the lady making a sandwich, and the chick on the phone. I even think, at some point, Mr. Elrod got a shout-out.

But that’s the thing about Hollywood timelines and franchises. Ever since Thanos snapped his fingers, everything has been a jumbled mesh. Reboots and remakes, sequels and prequels. Nothing seems original anymore. Although the movie Good Boy seems promising.

I can’t say The Woman in Black is an original piece, because it has elements from the movie that inspired me to write. I can say that it does contain elements not previously seen in the slasher genre.

I also can say that I’m not the only one. When I was perusing the horror aisle at my favorite Barnes and Noble in Austin, I noticed five horror books with the same ‘cabin retreat in the secluded woods and a mysterious stranger’ storyline. I’m not making excuses; I’m just saying don’t flood my inbox with the bullshit that The Woman in Black is a total ripoff of Halloween, because Jack Carr’s The Terminal List was a total ripoff of The Punisher, and look how well that worked for him: several book deals and a show on Amazon Prime.

The Woman in Black isn't some numbnut in a mask who needs a jump scare to feel important. There’s the witch folklore I mentioned, and I plan to expand on in future novels. Think less ‘knife enthusiast’ or ‘slasher-movie-walking-champion,’ and more ‘local urban legend that might actually be true.’

It’s also the first step to something greater. Think of it as Iron Man (the first movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe), or if you need a more current reference, James Gunn’s Superman.

All I ask is you give me the time to tell the story.

Or don’t. What do I care?

Focker, out.