The Mystery of the Somerton Man and Why my OCD Slows my Writing

So April's just around the corner--hopefully with some warm weather in tow--and my next story scheduled for publication is coming along with it. The story, called TAMAM SHUD, will be published by Padwolf Publishing as part of their anthology Lucky 13.

When the editor contacted me a year ago, I was invited to write a Mystery/Noir story for them. "What, me? Mystery? But... but I write horror..." I said. To myself, of course. There was no way in freaking hell that I'd reject this opportunity, right? I mean, this was only the second time a venue asked me for a story! My short answer to them was "When do you need it for?"

And so began my struggle to find a non-paranormal story worth telling. Now, I like to have nuggets of historical facts in all of my stories. If you do it right, the combination of fact and fiction lends itself to a "Blair Witch Project effect" where the reader starts to wonder what came out of the writer's mind, and what did actually happen. And that's a lot of fun, but very hard to pull off. And time-consuming.

I jumped into two week-long, fifteen-hours-a-day internet search for just the perfect mystery that tickled my fancy. By day four I was exhausted and stressed out of my mind.

Then, when I was about to lose my faith, I found a blog about The Mystery of the Somerton Man. Angels sang in a chorus, and a ray of heavenly sun touched my screen. Considered one of the biggest mysteries of the last century, it has inspired volumes of books, blogs, and millions of house-bound sleuths. And because I know what kind of a creepy-stuff-lover you are, here are the facts to that story.

Also known as the Tamam Shud Case, it began at 6:30 in the morning of December 1st, 1948 in Somerton Beach, Australia. Police were called after the body of a man was found lying on the beach under a street lamp. The dead man was wearing a dress shirt, black suit pants, no jacket, and neither his shoes or socks had any sand on them.

Did I tell you he was found on a beach? And I don't mean on the edge of the beach where you sit to smoke a cigarette and enjoy the view, but way inside the beach where you go to work on your tan. Wearing work clothes.

But it gets better...

Police found no wallet or ID, only a used bus ticket and an unused train ticket. While the forensic team worked on the autopsy, police went to that train station and retrieved a single piece of luggage the man had left in consign. No luck finding a person to identify him.

Upon their return, police learned that all of the tags from the man's clothes had been previously cut. There were no signs of a violent death or any other apparent cause for the man to stop breathing. The only clue found was a piece of paper hidden inside a secret pocket on the man's trousers. It said TAMAM SHUD, which is Persian and means "Finished" or "Ended". Inside the suitcase they found the missing jacket, yet again with the tags removed and no means of identification.

Eventually investigators found out the piece of paper was actually from a very rare copy of an old Persian book of poems called The Rubaiyat by Omar Kahyyam. The rest of the book was found on the back seat of a car. The car owner didn't even know the book was there. He had driven around the beach area on the evening before, searching for a friends house. Inside the book, a note was scribbled. In code. No one has ever been able to decipher it.

Think you can crack it? Fame can be yours!

But what was the cause of death? Well poisoning, maybe. A half digested pastry was found on the man's stomach, but when tested for every poison known to man, the lab came back with a resounding "Heck if we know."

And now you see why this creepy and baffling mystery was the perfect inspiration for my first Mystery/Noir tale.

If like me you have to know everything there is to this case, follow the link. There's plenty more mysteries I didn't write here. Maybe later you can share with me your theories...

Fifth Annual Women in Horror Month - Forerunners

A year ago I learned that February was the month dedicated to celebrate women in the horror genre, particularly in literature horror writers (don't want to lose my readership to the old argument of horror not being considered "Literature"). I was thrilled with the idea, but too late to participate in any meaningful way. This year, however, I managed to get my act together and submit a flash fiction that The Sirens Call accepted and published as part of their issue #13, which features only women. I'll leave here a link to download the eZine, free of charge. You're welcome.

But back to the subject. I've also been reading related articles everywhere they pop and I have to say, it's a mixed bag. At best I found innumerable lists that pretend to highlight the best of the best, only to repeat the same well-known names. At worst these articles/blogs are downright patronizing. Men trying their best to be humble and bring recognition to the many contributions talented female writers have made to the genre; instead they come off sounding like: "C'mon guys, these gals deserve it. They may not understand horror like we do--because women can't do horrible things--but they kinda bring other cool scary stuff you haven't read before. I swear!"

It's sad really. Another sad trope is how often Mary Shelly is called "The Mother of Horror." While I love the romantic appeal of calling us Shelly's Daughters, what these people are doing in fact is erasing a century of female names from history. I'm here to correct that.

In other posts I've talked about Gothic literature being the origin of what would eventually be known as Horror. "The Castle of Oranto" by Horace Walpole was the first novel ever published that dealt with ghosts and the supernatural in a plot that aimed at terrifying the reader. Soon the critics deemed these kind of stories unworthy of educated minds. And then came Clara Reeve, whose novel "The Old English Baron" (1778) attempted to legitimize the genre by modernizing the style, eliminating the over temperamental characters and bringing rational thinking to the plot.

But my favorite of the True Mothers of Horror is Ann Radcliffe. She managed the impossible: To make the critics recognize that creepy plots could turn into Literary master pieces when apt writers were given the task. She introduced the brooding Gothic villain before Lord Byron (and the Byronic hero) was even born! She was so widely popular that imitators rose from every corner of the world. Better yet, she created a technique known as "The Explained Supernatural" where every apparent preternatural event in the story is finally explained by natural, man-made, or scientific events. Sounds familiar? All Scooby Doo lovers out there owe a big debt to a female horror writer born in 1764.

Mary Shelly wrote the most influential novel to modern lovers of the genre, that much is true, but she would've never achieved fame had there not been a Clara Reeve or an Ann Radcliffe. So the next time you hear someone going on about how the women of today are building on top of Shelly's shoulders, or how the horror genre is an "Old Boy's Club," I trust you will you tell them right.

Celebrate Women in Horror this February!
The Sirens Call Issue #13 - Women in Horror - Second Annual Edition.

The Origin of Fear: Darkness

As a horror writer, what makes us tick is at the very core of what fascinates me. I constantly read and think about where our fears come from and why. So thinking of a new theme for this week's post, I came up with the idea of a new series; one dedicated to ponder on the most common fears of humanity. I got right to work, researching on the internet and my own psychology books. What I found perplexed me.

As it turns out, fears can be divided in two groups, depending on the stage in life when we develop them.

Innate fears are those ingrained in our DNA through evolution. These don't depend on our experiences to develop, they simply do. Though general consensus says there are only two innate fears, debate still rages on. I'd say there are three, but I'll go into it a little later.

Now, the rest of our fears we learn. We develop them as a consequence of our experiences. Clearly this category's list can go on for miles.

INNATE FEARS

Babies are fragile little creatures without knowledge of consequences and without fear, aren't they? Mostly. In reality, the only thing babies fear from the moment of birth is loud noises. Ever tried to rock a baby to sleep while watching an action-packed flick with the volume on? Good luck with that!

The second--and most perplexing--innate fear is the fear of falling. It's important to note that fearing falling and fearing heights are two different things, though closely related. The first one is developed at the crawling stage and height isn't a factor, since crawling babies have no concept of hight. The second is more prevalent among adults and is directly proportional to the degree of separation from the floor: The farther away, the more acute the reaction is.

As an innate fear, I call this a perplexing one because younger babies are known to be fearless. Both my daughters used to throw themselves off the bed laughing, sure that daddy or mommy would be there to catch them. Then, one day, they simply stopped. And my kids are not the only ones. Study after study has come to the same conclusion: About a month or two into the crawling stage, the infant will become wary of falling.

"Because he/she fell, thus learning that falling hurts," you may say. In an uncontrolled environment like a house, there is no way of debating this observation. It'd be like the chicken-egg argument. However, being under a controlled environment like that of a psychological study, things are different. And like I said, there are hundreds of studies dedicated to the subject. The fear of falling will kick in regardless of the experiences of the infant.

Why? Well, that's the million-dollar question. No one really knows, but it is believed that as the brain matures, the secretion of fear-specific hormones is triggered. As we grow old and learn to rationalize our fear, we become in control. But it never goes away.

The third fear I'd add to the list would be the fear of darkness. Going by the same rules: Between the age of four and six, children develop a natural fear of darkness. No matter what their individual experiences are, 99% of children will show a wariness to the dark. It can be a full-on panic, or a simple desire to keep a night light on. We all went through it, then--some of us--got over it.

Fearing the dark is an evolutionary fear. Back when humans lived in caves, the dark was not to be taken lightly. Even today, in those far away places where electricity hasn't reached (camping anyone?), the dark offers real dangers. In a time when our only weapons were rocks, and giving the fact that we have poor night sight, confronting a predator was out of the question. Those who stayed away from the dark survived. Their genes passed on to the next generation. Centuries later, that knowledge is still in us. Then we grow old and realize we control the dark with the flip of a switch, and there's no wild animal outside the locked door. Besides, your boyfriend's a black belt.

So the next time a kid next to you throws a fit because he doesn't want to be left in the dark, take a deep breath and think of how proud his Cro-Magnon ancestors would be. Then repeat: Prison-orange is not my color. Prison-orange is not my color. Prison-orange is not my color.

David Lynch's "Rabbits" and Other Creepy Places Where Inspiration Hides

Well, long time no see! I'm back after a long, creative hiatus, and I've missed you so much!!

2013 was a special year for me as I dared out of my comfort zone, wrote more, and published more. On the opposite side of the spectrum, I didn't blog as often, didn't read as much, and I stopped reviewing books altogether. However, I must say it was a very rewarding year, albeit an exhausting one. By December I was pretty burned out, and that's why I stayed away for so long. Now that 2014 has begun, I'm ready to reassume my position at the head of this blog. Good thing my boss likes me and didn't fire my lazy-blogging-ass!

These days I'm struggling to round up an idea for a new story I want to submit by June. I know, it seems like an awful long time, but between first draft and final draft anything can happen. Better safe than sorry, don't they say? So this story I'm planning has as central theme the fear of death (Necrophobia). My unnamed-as-of-yet main character suffers of Existential Death Anxiety, which cripples his ability to lead a somewhat normal life. Doing research about the disease, I found out an astounding study carried out by the University of British Columbia that asserts the use of acetaminophen (tylenol) can help reduce anxiety caused by an existential crisis.

I swear it's totally legit. Apparently the same areas of our brain that process pain are also involved during anxiety attacks, therefore treating these areas has a direct effect on our levels of anxiety. The study is quite interesting and if you're ticked by the idea, follow this link down the rabbit hole.

"Sure, thanks," you say, "but what on earth has David Lynch to do with all of this?" Well, it turns out that the study used one of Lynch's productions called "Rabbits" as a way to trigger existential anxiety over the test subjects. I kid you not.

For those of you unfamiliar with Lynch's work, he is one of the most bizarre, complex cineasts ever. A few of his famously surreal movies are "Ereaserhead," "Mullholand Drive," and "Twin Peaks." Now, the work used for the study is described by Lynch himself as an eight-episode-long sitcom that follows three humanoid rabbits in what can only be described as their life... nonsensical as it sounds. Lynch's tagline is equally inadequate to portray the series' quirkiness, but he's the creator so he must know what he means; here you have it: "In a nameless city deluged by continuous rain... three rabbits live with a fearful mystery."

I'll do my best to put into words the images and feelings this 11 minute episode left me with. "Rabbits" is the strangest, creepiest thing I've seen since Bunuel's "Un Chien Andalou." Mind you, there's nothing really scary about it; there are no monsters under the beds, spilling of blood or guts, no one hiding behind a door waiting to jump out screaming "boo!" It still has a dreadful atmosphere that has caused nightmares in a few and, based on some scientist's opinion at British Columbia, a fair dose of existential anxiety. I leave it here so you can see for yourself.



Trippy, huh?

For me, the strangest was the dialogue. I guess because I'm a wordsmith obsessed over the perfect word to convey an emotion, these non sequiturs lines baffled me. I mean, they've gotta mean something, right? Then there are the canned laughs at the most inappropriate moments, and applause whenever a character enters the box set. It is just a surreal experience like no other. And like internet always does, this piece of unexpected imagery pulled me down a deep black hole that sucked down all the productive hours of my morning. Down I went, this time searching for meaning...

As it turns outs, Lynch's works have a tendency to show different representations of hell; hell on earth, literal hell, the experience of hell, a life of hell... you get the drift. So, one interpretation of the whole sitcom is that the three rabbits are people trapped in purgatory on their way to be reincarnated as rabbits. They are dealing with their own failings in life, which put them where they are. That would explain the unconnected dialogue and the demonic voice to which they don't react. They are used to the environment. At some point, the door to the living room opens by itself and we hear a woman scream. A newly arrived soul discovering the tortuous place these three call home? Once more, the characters seem unfazed.

I find this interpretation to be the most interesting amidst the many floating on the internet, but it certainly leaves unexplained areas. If you have your own theory after watching the short, or if you have watched the whole series or are a Lynch fan, please share your ideas. The possibilities fascinate me.

My warmest wishes for you and your loved ones on this 2014. May it prove to be the best yet. =)

Spooky Images to Spark the Imagination

As a horror lover, I'm fascinated by the idea of ghosts coexisting with us. The shadow I just caught moving on my peripheral vision, was it my imagination? A ghost maybe? That unnatural sound that echoed through the house at midnight, the dog barking when no one's around... During my teenage years my answer to every one of those questions would've been a ghost.

These days my desire to experience a paranormal event is nonexistent, but my interest in them hasn't decreased. Videos and pictures hold a special place in my heart. A few hours of indulging can leave me hiding under my bed in fetal position. But I'm no fool, I know some of those--too many--are fakes. A few times, though, the evidence shines with the possibility of truth.

I've visited several reputedly haunted places, only once in the company of ghost hunters, yet I have never managed to capture a ghostly image, nor I have been there when someone else does. Maybe someday I will. I hope not. For a horror writer, I'm quite a scaredy-cat.

Here I share with you my favorite pictures, the ones that gave me shivers; maybe tonight I'll have nightmares. No big monsters here, nor blood or gore. It is subtlety that makes these pics so unnerving.

This is a picture of a burning building. The girl you see there supposedly died in it. 

I don't really know the story behind this, but it is the image I'll remember the next time I go camping. *shivers*

A car accident on the Philippines where several people died. This picture was reputedly taken by one of the witnesses and only later the 'thing' under the bridge was discovered. A demon?

This one doesn't need a backstory. It's freaky as hell no matter what.

And this is why I won't get into a coffin until I actually need one.

So, what do you think? If you have a ghostly experience of your own or a pic that has troubled you some, please share. In the meantime, have sweet dreams!

IWSG December

Well, hello there insecure writer fellow! Hope December finds you well and your fingers tired of bangin' that keyboard. Lately, I haven't been as riddled with insecurities since I've been blessed to a very positive second half of the year. Oh, I know they're there, waiting to jump on me at the first sight of trouble. But I'll have you, then. Right?  =)

Anyway, so I'm considering to start actively searching for an agent. It is a big endeavor. Oh, you see? My insecurities just flashed me a big smile from the dark corner, over there. (Shoo! Go away, now! She whispers.)

I know some of you have agents and I'm wondering how's your experience been. I don't mean if you get along with your agent, which I think is a basic, but in your experience getting published. Has having an agent opened doors for you? Does it make it any easier to get published? Would you recommend an already traditionally published author to get an agent as the next step? I'm just very curious about the whole thing, so just tell me about your experiences. Why you love your agent, or why you hate him/her. I'd like to hear the good and the bad, that way I won't expect rainbows when there will be storms.

As always, thanks to Alex Cavanaugh for making all this possible. Check the IWSG list of participating blogs here, or like their Facebook page.

Have a great Holiday Season, gang, and kick 2013 off in the best way possible. See ya in 2014!!

Being Thankful

Source: Forgotten Love by Marcus Quigmire

Death affects me very deeply. I know, who is left without tears upon the death of someone close, right? It's human nature. You may shed tears, you may carry the scars on the inside, but we are all affected by the loss of life.

And then, there's me. . .

When I was in high school, a girl I disliked very much came to school crying. A friend of hers had died the previous night in an accident. I overheard her telling the story and I cried with her. We became close friends after that. That's the kind of person I am, I take death too hard. My family never shares those kinds of news with me unless they're right there to see me through. But just as I become depressed and saddened, I find a way to ease my pain. I like to pay some form of tribute to the deceased; then, with time, the sadness fades.

Death has twice changed me profoundly, affecting the way I live my life, but I won't go into details; at least not today. Today, I want to share with you a third occurrence that, in similar fashion to my high school story, has brought me a present.

About three years ago, I received news of the passing of a close uncle. He'd been sick for a very long time so it wasn't a surprise, maybe even a blessing. As always, I was left with a profound melancholy. As a way to work through the dark moments, and because I hadn't been able to say goodbye, I wrote a piece of flash fiction. Three paragraphs that acknowledged his suffering, a small token that said: I won't forget. When the pain went away, I worked on the piece. I edited and added details, some fictional, but always thinking of him. The story is called IN THE END. Today I signed a contract with Dark Moon Books; the story will be part of Dark Moon Digest, issue 14.

I am very happy, also thankful. I can't stop thinking this comes from him. My promise stands; I won't forget, his memory won't fade away. And now, he lives on in a piece of paper within the infinite confines of the written word.