The title of the post says it in a nutshell, folks. Its former title was BURNING GIRL. Its current, official title is BONE MUSIC: A BURNING GIRL NOVEL. If I explain what the new title means, I’ll be giving away too much about the story, so let me just say this. I wrote this book because of a scary movie that shall remain nameless. A scary movie I never saw because it just sounded too damn scary.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about suspense, thrills and chills. I love gothic atmosphere and dark, edgy storylines where unsympathetic characters are forced to make desperate choices that may or may not place them on the path to redemption. And I love monster stories, so long as they don’t turn into a lot of gross-out body horror. But I can’t do torture, folks. That’s all I’m saying. I just can’t do it. And a few years ago, it was all the rage at the box office. Back in that blood-soaked era, I was having a chat with a friend about the most recent issue of Fangoria* magazine – no, autocorrect, not Sangria Magazine! Fangoria Magazine! He’d read it; I hadn’t, and the issue had an article about this super disturbing new horror movie that was coming down the pike, and as soon as my friend described one of the movie’s pivotal scenes I….could…NOT…get…the…SCENE…out…of…my…HEAD!
I hadn’t actually watched THE SCENE, mind you. Just the description of it, secondhand even, was enough to plague me for days. Make that weeks. Make that months. Everyone in my life was so sick of hearing me talk about how disturbed I was by THIS SCENE that they started recommending various treatments, like immersion therapy – “Maybe you should go see the movie the second it comes out,” Eric Shaw Quinn advised, “because the version you’re imagining is probably far worse than the actual scene” – and heroin*. (* No one actually recommended this. I just thought I could use a laugh line here.
Look! Laughter. On a line!
My obsession with THE SCENE became so bad that during a drive from L.A. to Palm Springs, I found myself imagining my own version of it on a ceaseless tape loop. And then I remembered a little story from my childhood. I remembered how my mother and my aunt had watched a movie called HARVEST HOME. My aunt was so disturbed by the ending, she could only cope with her feelings over it by imagining a sequel in which the most abused character comes back and gets revenge against the entire town that almost killed him. I thought, presto. That’s it. So suddenly, somewhere around Banning, I think – Banning is almost to Palm Springs in case you’re wondering how long it took for sanity to kick in – I began to extend the bloody little scene that kept playing in my head. My female victim, held captive, bound, forced to watch as she’s prepped for a terrible end, suddenly and quietly began to develop superhero strength. Silently she slipped free of her restraints, and at the pivotal moment, just when her sadistic would-be torturer prepared to go to work on her, she kicked the living shit out of him. And I mean the LIVING shit out of him. Not the dead shit. The only shit that matters is the living shit…when you’re dealing with serial killers.
And that’s how BONE MUSIC was born. Today, I’m proud to say the book will be published in February 2018 by Thomas & Mercer at Amazon Publishing. The source of my heroine’s superhuman strength is fodder for later blog entries on the topic. (I’ve got some promo time to fill between now and when the book comes out.) Suffice it to say, if you’re reaching your limit of films, books and TV shows that keep shoving the gruesome murder of women in your face for shock value, BONE MUSIC will feed your inner shit kicker.