Recently I ran across an article. It was “10 books that scared Stephen King,” or something similar.
Naturally I had to look.
Most of it looked very ho-hum, but two books caught my eye. One I’m still on the waiting list at the library, but the other was available.
Bad Country by C.B. McKenzie.
I’m not sure why it was listed as “scary” as it didn’t scare me, but it was a heck of a mystery debut.
I’ve been working on a self-published anthology of crime fiction, some of which has been previously published.
The problem? Some of the places they published are out of business and my electronic versions are long-gone. I’ve been doing a lot of typing.
I started writing fiction when I was about 13 years old.
To this day, I remember a story I’d written. It was a vampire story (in hindsight I should’ve stuck with those!), and admittedly not very good. Still, at all of 13 or 14-years-old, I sent it to the magazine Amazing Stories.
I received a deserved rejection, but with it was a detailed, specific, four-page critique from the editor. It was the first time someone I did not know took my writing seriously and it fed me for years.