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I’m going to try something a little different this week. I want to have a little more fun with these premade covers other than just showing them off. Sometimes an image alone can spur a writer into a story concept, and when I get feedback like that on social media, it always brightens up my day a bit. Makes ya feel like you’re doing something right, you know? So in that spirit, I’m going to riff on each piece briefly, I guess in a way to remember what it was like when I was still actively writing fiction. Maybe it’s a way to brush up on those skills, a little practice alongside the art.
I tend to cycle through skills – going from writing, music, and art to prevent creative blocks and to keep things fresh and exciting. I will admit, though, art was my first passion, and I find myself being drawn to it with more frequency. I feel at home there (especially when I’m playing with horror). There’s also a great challenge, and a difference, in creating art for art’s sake and creating a book cover. I’ll have to save that for another time.
I think anyone who has been publishing, either by traditional means or by the self-publishing route, can agree that writing is time consuming and difficult work. For me, making covers is a less labor intensive way to play with story elements in a much more speedy manner (plus it keeps me connected to a thriving community of storytellers, which is a great form of entertainment in itself). It scratches that writer brain itch. You know the one.
The voice that goes, “Ah, this would be a good prompt for a story.”
“I saw her in The Between. It was a glimpse, the curtains withdrawn revealed a lover. I knew her, but how? From where? We were made of smoke, nebulae, the ink of space outlining the stars that filled our form. We were dead. We were lovely. I did not want to come back.”
The visuals were already kicking in. He looked over the writhing mass of bodies and grinned. A wave of euphoria. The tickle of electricity. Fractals pulsated across his vision. He spotted a woman in the crowd. Her eyes reflected like an animal’s, orbs of light buried in the silhouette of a face. She appeared to be staring right at him, dancing for him. Her movements were set aside, as if the crowd parted for her. They moved at a different speed, but she – she was fluid. Highlighted.
Anne tugged at his shirt, pulling him from the trance.
“This shit is fire,” he yelled over the music. “What did you call it?”
She squinted. “What did you take?”
Steven laughed and shrugged, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know, whatever you gave me!”
“I haven’t even got it yet! What are you talking about?”
“It’s real. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the miracles.”
“C’mon. We’re not twelve anymore. I’m not falling for it.”
“She’s right. I’ve seen it, too.”
Mary’s friends paused. She expected to see that glint in their eyes, that bit of glee when they were up to something. She’d been gone five years, and nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Small towns were like that.
Except, that glance wasn’t mischief. It was fear.
“The road between worlds is littered with bones. A place dreams can die if they linger too long.”
Three friends disappear walking home from a county fair without a trace. Stranger still, three separate voice mails are left on each of their parent’s phones. Voice messages that are all sent at the exact same time, saying the exact same message.
“We have something to show you.”
But the sound that comes next…
his house’s ass
I’ve got nothing on this one. I have failed. The torch is now yours to carry. I misspelled “y’all” on the cover. All is lost but I’m for hire.
This piece actually began as a picture of the Nicholas Day, author of Grind Your Bones To Dust and co-owner of Rooster Republic, but don’t tell anyone.
See ya next week!
Don Noble is an artist and writer for Rooster Republic Press. He is the author of Beer Run of the Dead and Scary Fucking Stories, an animator, and is still pretty new to twitter. You can find him at-