I love to read books, edit books for authors, and participate in the wonderful blog tours for smaller authors who are still working on getting into the mainstream! I also tutor S Korean students online while being a single mom to my 12 year old daughter with Williams syndrome :) Perfect life!
Grey Skies by William Becker Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Toguri finds himself burying the body of a nun in Boone, North
Carolina. As the skies darken and it begins to storm, he is forced to
shove the corpse into his trunk and take it home for the night,
unaware of the torment that playing God will bestow upon him.
Hell with two bonus short stories: The White Shade, an ultra-violent
look into the mind of a mass shooter, and The Black Box, a
psychedelic dive into weird horror.
I came close enough, I grabbed one of the wooden planks and hoisted
myself into the next room. Gazing around, this room immediately
seemed fairly ‘cozy.’ The entire room was constructed from the
worn wooden planks that were around the edge of the hole. Several
feet across from the entrance to the tunnel was a lamp whose shade
had turned an ancient shade of brown, filling the room with the
orange light that I had seen from the underground, signalling that I
had returned to civilization, or at least somewhere with working
the most important feature of the room was a red velvet couch right
next to the map, on which sat my familiar friend, the homeless man. A
blank, soulless expression covered his face, his eyes unblinking in
his focus, or lack thereof.
was the first time I had seen him in clear lighting, and the black
spots on his face resembled a growth or a scab, seeming to extend and
pile up over the top of his skin like mold. It was truly disgusting.
slowly moved to a wooden door near the couch, waiting for him to stop
me, but he stared off in the distance, as if he was watching
something behind me. I took another step towards the door when my
foot planted down on top of something with a gentle crunch, and
seemed to stick to the sole of my shoe as I bent down to examine in;
hundreds of black specks scurried away from my feet. Each of these
specks hurried past me in a large pack, then crawled underneath the
couch where the man was sitting, disappearing from sight. My body
locked up and I was forced to cringe when I realized that these
specks were baby spiders, and I had just stepped on a large sac.
step on those,”
the man muttered, his voice sounding hazy and distant, as if the two
of us were miles apart.
I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.
stomp the eggs,”
he replied. His eyes were still locked on something behind me. I
glared back, half expecting something to be standing there.
I like them, and they like the cold.”
watched several of the baby spiders move through the holes in his
clothes, crawling into them and creating tiny bulges beneath the
fabric. I shuddered, and then his head began to turn. It was a
painfully slow motion that seemed to last decades, until finally, his
eyes rested on me.
finally free, you know.”
was a ticking noise, as if the second hand on a clock was moving,
then the orange glow of the lamp was replaced with darkness. The
light had been turned off. I wasn’t sure how the man had turned it
off, or if the light had simply given out, but despite this, more
light leaked into the room from the cracks in the wooden door leading
outside, giving a dimmed view of the man on the couch. I glanced back
to the floor to see that dozens of the eggs had appeared all across
the ground. Had I not seem them earlier? They were a milky white
color and about the size of baseballs. A handful of the eggs seemed
to wriggle every few seconds, as if they were about to hatch. The
light reflected off of them, giving them a shiny appearance in the
looked around, shrugged, then decided it was time to leave. I tiptoed
to the door in a state of horrified confusion, leaving the man and
his eggs behind.
Becker is an 18-year-old horror author with a mind for weirder sides
of the universe. With an emphasis on complex and layered storylines
that tug harshly on the reader to search for deeper meanings in the
vein of Silent Hill and David Lynch, Becker is a force to be reckoned
within the horror world. His works are constantly unfathomable,
throwing terror into places never before seen, while also providing
compelling storylines that transcend the predictable jumpscares of
the popular modern horror.
first novel, WEEPING OF THE CAVERNS, was written when he was 14.
After eight months of writing, editing, and revising, the story
arrived soon after his 15th birthday. During the writing sessions for
his debut novel, he also wrote an ultra-controversial short story
known as THE WHITE SHADE that focused on the horrors of a shooting.
Living in a modern climate, it was impossible for THE WHITE SHADE to
see the light of day. Following a psychedelic stint that consisted of
bingeing David Lynch movies, weird art, and considering the depth of
the allegory of the cave wall, he returned to writing with a second
story, THE BLACK BOX, and soon after, his second novel, GREY SKIES.
Do you prefer to write in silence or
with noise? Why?
I can do either. For most of my high
school career, I wrote completely in silence, but with Grey Skies,
both with writing and editing, I locked myself in a dark room and
blasted experimental music. Setting a mood for your writing can
really elevate whatever you are doing, especially when it comes to
Pen or type writer or computer?
Typewriters just aren’t practical. I
get it if you are a beanie-wearing hipster who frequents coffee shops
and you want to hold on to your Instagram Aesthetic, but writing with
a typewriter is so obnoxious that I couldn’t imagine any sensible
person doing it. As for pen, my handwriting is disgusting. If you saw
it, you’d be repulsed by how awful it is. Every teacher I’ve ever
had has commented on how bad it is. I get that I’m supposed to be a
writer and what not, so I should have good handwriting, but that’ll
Advice they would give new authors?
Don’t write bad
Execution and grammar are
Bad execution and grammar are
never ever considered just your “style.”
Describe your writing style.
It is more of a blend than most
people. I’m not out here dedicating entire pages to metaphors,
flowery language, and literary poetry, which is nice and all in the
right place, but I can’t stomach writing super simple sentences,
ala Mitch Albom. My writing blends simple, blunt, and easy to read
sentences, with more complex moments that are used to service the
literature, so that it never becomes completely overwhelming.
What makes a good story?
A story that you have fun reading and
that makes you think. A great story should be fun to read and should
also provoke the reader. Good stories do one or the other.
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
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