![\"banner](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/10\/CD-GenFreeFiction.jpg?resize=830%2C120&ssl=1\")
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CEMETERY DANCE: <\/b>Tell us what we can expect in the new novel.<\/strong><\/p>\n NORMAN PRENTISS: <\/b>Like the first book in the series, it\u2019s a quirky mix of horror and fantasy and queer romance, with a present-day story of one father narrating these adventures to his daughter because her other father died when she was four years old. The stories, fantastical as they are, keep the father alive for her. Dad Jack has a different kind of presence in this sequel, and the adventures in the past here focus on haunted places that amplify Jack\u2019s limited supernatural ability: he can project images into his partner\u2019s mind\u2026but the images have to be grotesque distortions of reality instead of something comforting or pleasant. (Maybe that\u2019s a metaphor for someone who lives with a horror writer?). The places they visit include an amusement park ride, a strange theater, a house that selects particular victims to haunt, and a cheesy concrete-pillar replica of Stonehenge.<\/span><\/p>\n How did you make all these pieces fit together?<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0That\u2019s part of the challenge! The adventures themselves are fun to write, but they have to build towards a larger purpose. The frame story with their daughter Celia gets more attention here, and connects the adventures and the two fathers together. I worked really hard to make these elements flow into each other, especially to get the right tone: dark and sarcastic and a bit romantic, too.<\/span><\/p>\n Speaking of tone, sometimes starting a novel doesn\u2019t go as smoothly as I hope. The first adventure I planned for the book was 80% written when I realized it wasn\u2019t a good fit for the material that would follow. Unfortunately, it was also turning out to be one of the longer adventures\u2026which meant I\u2019d put a lot of time into it. The setup is funny, about a roadside dinosaur attraction, but the comic elements got a bit stronger than I expected. Even a bit goofy in spots, ha! It broke my heart, but I had to remove it from the book.<\/span><\/p>\n I think I can guess what happened to it.<\/strong><\/p>\n Yep! I\u2019ve been working to finish those opening scenes\u2026also adding a bit about the concept of the series so the story will stand on its own — though I hope the story will show enough of Jack and Shawn\u2019s world to encourage people to buy the new book (and maybe seek out the first book in the series, too). It\u2019s ready to show now: \u201cThe Canyon of Terrible Lizards,\u201d a 7- or 8-part serial novella for free reading here at Cemetery Dance Online. In future installments, I\u2019ll try to add some comments at the end about the writing process. The plan is to release two installments a week, so keep checking back for new material!<\/span><\/p>\n I hope people enjoy the Other Father series, and have some fun with these terrible lizards.<\/span><\/p>\n #<\/b><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re ahead of schedule,\u201d Dad Shawn said. \u201cNeed a break?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n They\u2019d hit a quiet patch in the drive to her grandparents\u2019 house. Celia was reading from her <\/span>Sherlock Holmes Omnibus,<\/span><\/i> her third time through the Blue Carbuncle adventure. Sunlight flashed the page and the jostling car made lines of type weave together, and she already knew the mystery\u2019s solution. \u201cI\u2019d rather keep going.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou sure?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Celia realized she must have unconsciously shielded her eyes or rubbed at her temples, signaling a headache. She didn\u2019t want to complain about the long drive, because it was the only way her two fathers could be together. \u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d she said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou weren\u2019t tempted by that billboard announcing \u2018The World\u2019s Biggest Wicker Basket\u2019?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She hadn\u2019t noticed it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBecause that\u2019s the kind of thing your Other Father might have stopped for. Especially if he\u2019d heard a rumor that midnight wind through those unnatural basket strands, if you listen at midnight, in the right frame of mind, will reveal secrets of dark magic.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Celia closed her book, offered her own embellishments. \u201cGiant footsteps once led toward the basket, with no footsteps leading away. Authorities tried to suppress that detail.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cVery good, Celia. It\u2019s the giant\u2019s voice people hear, instead of the wind. He wants someone to let him out.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n It was fun to tell fanciful stories with her father, but her parents\u2019 lives, and now her own, were odder than any fiction she could concoct. In their years after college, her two fathers had driven across the country seeking curiosities to feature in Dad Jack\u2019s proposed collection of travel essays. They found more than they bargained for, monsters and haunted places and homophobia, and Dad Jack\u2019s supernatural ability — projecting ghastly and disturbing images into his partner\u2019s mind — made the adventures more exciting. More preposterous, too.<\/span><\/p>\n Preposterous or not, Celia believed those adventures as Dad Shawn recounted them to her. Those stories were her best connection to a father she barely remembered: Dad Jack had died when she was only four years old. Gone, but not forgotten.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n And not entirely gone, as it turned out. Celia later stumbled upon Dad Jack\u2019s spirit in her grandparents\u2019 home, and was thus able to reunite her two fathers after many years. But like most long-distance relationships, there were complications. Travel logistics, schedule conflicts, her grandparents unaware that their dead son haunted the guest bedroom — that sort of thing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cJack wouldn\u2019t stop for signs promising homemade jam or \u2018The World\u2019s Best Ice Cream,\u2019\u201d Dad Shawn said. \u201cHe\u2019d zip past arrows pointing to a presidential library or a Revolutionary War battlefield. But a goofy faded drawing of a haunted hospital or a concrete Stonehenge replica, and he\u2019d slow the car, jerk the wheel toward the exit ramp, and I might as well have thrown my carefully annotated maps out the window of our VW Beetle. No point arguing with him.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Celia noticed that her headache had disappeared. From the tone of her father\u2019s voice, she knew he was building up to an adventure.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sherlock could wait. She hadn\u2019t heard this one before.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThis one time we drove past a billboard with dinosaurs on it,\u201d Dad Shawn began. \u201cCartoon dinosaurs, all faded green with long necks or tiny arms, and infantile versions of the scientific names: BRONTY and REX, like they were family pets instead of massive, extinct reptiles.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c \u2018Oh, please,\u2019 I said. \u2018It\u2019s probably just a gas station with a snake cage.\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c \u2018I wanna.\u2019 \u201d His imitation of Dad Jack\u2019s voice was higher than his own, a slightly mischievous lilt that contrasted with Dad Shawn\u2019s usual pragmatic tone.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI think he expected to find actual dinosaurs there,\u201d her father said. \u201cMaybe we did.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n #<\/span><\/p>\n As was often the case with places your Other Father took me (Dad Shawn continued), my initial impressions weren\u2019t positive. The dimly-lit interior was slightly larger than the typical roadside gas station, but only one convenience-store aisle extended past the front entrance. The rest of the floor space was dedicated to waist-high enclosures formed by chicken fence and crooked wooden slats.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Whatever lurked or slithered in these amateur exhibits hadn\u2019t been washed in a while. The smell coming off the open-top cages reminded me of a prize pig exhibit at the county fair, but with no ventilation. From a distance all I could distinguish were moss-covered branches, brown leafy weeds, and mats of dry grass. I wouldn\u2019t be surprised to learn some of the attractions had died from neglect, their reptile corpses decaying into liquid, heat bubbles bursting occasional fetid sprays into the stale air.<\/span><\/p>\n The proprietor was nowhere in sight.<\/span><\/p>\n Despite the obscure location and unimpressive publicity, another couple had arrived ahead of us, and they peered with exaggerated interest into one of the enclosures. \u201cI don\u2019t see anything, sweetie,\u201d the man said to his female companion. \u201cOh, there\u2019s the bullfrog.\u201d\u00a0 He pointed down into a caged-off section of floor.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a rock, Kenneth.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Jack waited at the unoccupied counter, his wallet out.\u00a0 A hand-lettered sign beside the register read, \u201cReptile Zoo — FREE.\u201d\u00a0 Beneath that, another line listed the \u201cDinosaur Safari\u201d cost at ten dollars per person.\u00a0 A lot of money in those days, especially for a roadside attraction in an out-of-the way, unkempt gas station.\u00a0 As a point of reference, a day\u2019s pass to Disneyland would have been only $16.50 back then, and Walt\u2019s park would be a lot cleaner and brighter. Another hand-lettered sign, this time star-stickered on the register itself, promised a possible solution to the steep admission price: \u201cASK US HOW YOU CAN WIN A FREE TICKET FOR THE DINOSAUR SAFARI!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Behind me, the man said, \u201cI think I found the snake, honey.\u201d\u00a0 I heard the click and pop of a flash camera.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou just took a picture of a branch, Kenneth.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I shifted from one foot to the other, wishing there\u2019d been a counter bell to summon the proprietor.\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s check out of the reptile zoo while we wait,\u201d I suggested.\u00a0 The free portion of the attraction would be so disappointing that Jack might decide to skip the main event, saving us twenty bucks.<\/span><\/p>\n Before Jack could respond, a swirling rumble sounded from the back of the store.\u00a0 The flush got louder as the bathroom door opened, and an older man emerged.\u00a0 He adjusted his suspenders as he hobbled towards the counter, and he seemed to be muttering under his breath.\u00a0 <\/span>Hold your horses, be right there, can\u2019t be two places at once<\/span><\/i> — or whatever the Loveable Gramps character might say during TV\u2019s family hour.\u00a0 That, or <\/span>Had to finish my afternoon plop-plops<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As he lifted the hinged section of the counter and slid his large belly past to get behind the register, I noticed his lower jaw was still moving.\u00a0 Chewing gum instead of muttering, I decided — though I didn\u2019t rule out the possibility of tobacco chaw, and a sling-shot spit into a tin bucket before our \u201csafari\u201d was underway.<\/span><\/p>\n The other couple rushed forward like the bus was pulling out of the station.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThey were here first,\u201d I told Jack.<\/span><\/p>\n He snorted. \u201cSize of this crowd, I don\u2019t think it matters.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The couple\u2019s movements became mechanical. They\u2019d been at one of the back exhibits, and in this dimly lit store I hadn\u2019t gotten a good look at what they were wearing\u2026but they now seemed as if they\u2019d chosen matching outfits designed for the type of authentic safari experience we <\/span>knew<\/span><\/i> we weren\u2019t going to have. Their image shimmered as they got closer, the man\u2019s blond hair forming a plastic blond coif, perfectly combed, and the woman\u2019s hair growing long and wire-straight. Their faces blended into the texture of glazed rubber, features frozen in a painted mask. When they stood behind us in line, they assumed a stiff pose, their limbs limited to seven points of articulation.<\/span><\/p>\n Jack had overheard as much as I did, the wife or girlfriend referring to her partner as Kenneth, whereas he addressed her only with affectionate nicknames. Jack had decided her name should be Barbara.<\/span><\/p>\n These life-size versions next to me weren\u2019t the picture-perfect toys little girls used to wish for at Christmas. Jack\u2019s images, which he was able to project into my mind alone, were unfortunately limited to gruesome distortions of reality. So instead of mind-conditions dolls fresh from factory-sealed packages, his rendition of full-size Barb and Kenneth looked more like well-worn toys abandoned in a box at the back of a garage.<\/span><\/p>\n Toys that had been played with by a psychopathic child.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n By the time Jack\u2019s cruel imagination was finished, Kenneth\u2019s head looked like it had been flattened under a rock, or crushed in a vice during a CIA interrogation.\u00a0 One of his legs extended beneath his khaki safari shorts, the plastic foot missing where it had lost a battle with the family dog or with the grinding blades of a pencil sharpener.\u00a0 The girl-doll\u2019s left and right arms had been torn from their sockets and transposed, and her frizzy flowing hair had been burned on the right side, the painted blush of that cheek melted off — possibly from a staged accident as Barb\u2019s Dream Convertible sailed off the dining room table and exploded.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the deal for the free ticket?\u201d Ken\u2019s closed-mouth smile didn\u2019t move while he spoke. Instead of Barbie\u2019s happy boyfriend, he looked like someone grimacing to hide pain.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, you have to earn it,\u201d the shopkeeper replied.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I elbowed Jack, gave my own polite Ken-doll smile in appreciation of his visual joke. Sometimes a quiet acknowledgment was necessary, to make the image go away.<\/span><\/p>\n Ken\u2019s natural image faded into view, like a department store manikin coming to life. Docksider shoes replaced or covered the gnawed-off plastic foot. He had mousse in his hair, though, which maintained the firm pattern of the manikin\u2019s painted dome. Barb\u2019s hair tightened to a shorter crop, the burn faded from her cheek, and each of her arms now hung from the proper socket.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe challenge is at the back.\u201d The shopkeeper lifted the counter gate and headed that way, not checking to see if we followed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOooh, a challenge.\u201d Ken rubbed his hands together in an excited gesture I remembered from frat parties. Usually before an event that involved beer, cups and quarters, cans of cat food, beer, handstands or other absurd physical stunts.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou won\u2019t win,\u201d the proprietor said over his shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhy,\u201d Jack said. \u201cIs it rigged?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The old man stopped to contemplate an answer. When we\u2019d walked past various cages, I had the same experience as the other couple, unable to locate a living creature inside any of the enclosures. But in the cage we now paused beside, I saw my first reptile of the day: a bright green chameleon, stubbornly refusing to blend with its drab, dry surroundings.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI guess it <\/span>is<\/span><\/i> rigged,\u201d the shopkeeper finally admitted.\u00a0 \u201cBy human nature.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n We reached the back wall of the store, and the man reached for the edge of a dark green curtain. I hadn\u2019t expected a window here, because no outside light shone through the fabric. Upon closer inspection, I realized the covering wasn\u2019t a curtain, but a blanket draped from several hooks in the wall.\u00a0 The shopkeeper whipped the blanket a few times until it jumped the hooks and fell to the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n![\"cover](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/hauntedattractions.jpg?resize=333%2C500&ssl=1\")
Haunted Attractions with your Other Father <\/span><\/i><\/a>by Norman Prentiss is the sequel to his <\/span>Odd Adventures with your Other Father<\/a>, <\/span><\/i>and continues the horror\/fantasy road trip adventures of Jack and Shawn as they fight monsters and homophobia in the ’80s. Since CD is publishing the new novel (with an e-book version now on sale at Amazon for 0.99!<\/a>), we thought we\u2019d catch up with the author to hear a little bit about the new book, and learn why he\u2019s serializing a novella-length adventure for free. (Keep reading after this brief interview to begin the free story!)<\/span><\/p>\nThe Canyon of Terrible Lizards, Part 1
\n<\/b>(A Haunted Attraction with your Other Father)
\n<\/span>By Norman Prentiss<\/span><\/span><\/h4>\n![\"billboard](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/thingsign.jpg?resize=600%2C400&ssl=1\")
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