Welcome Anthony! If you haven't checked out Anthony's madness, he can be found lurking around his website here. You can also join his Schizo Squad.
Without further...ahem, here's Tony!
First and foremost, all thanks and praise to E. for letting me stop by today.
I like music. (And BAM, we’re off and running!)
I need musical accompaniment to almost everything I do, save those few tasks that don’t allow it (like brain surgery and checkers). When I cook, the first thing I do is set up the computer’s music player to produce a solid wall of sound between myself and the stove. I listen to Tool while making stews, Ben Harper for Mexican, Bitter Ruin for pasta. Each meal is a soundtrack that plays over my tongue like naughty salsa dancers.
I won’t even attempt chores without music playing, and you can forget yard work if my MP3 player isn’t on hand. I need that escape to keep from thinking too deeply about how many animals pissed in the pile of leaves I’m elbow deep in.
Similarly, I require a constant pulse of music while I write. Like my meals, each story has its own soundtrack: a collection of songs that both inspire and inform the fictional world I create. If my food’s soundtrack is like a naughty salsa dancer, then my fiction’s soundtrack is like a bot fly larvae burrowing deep into my brain. It munches away on all the good bits, leaving me drooling, cross eyed, and typing up some of the strangest shit you’ve ever read.
When I’m writing, the right song will plop me down on a mostly abandoned hiking trail that leads to a place called Moon Hill. There, I can scribble, scribble, scribble until I end up with a flower growing from a rotted deer carcass, or a mystery container called “the forever box.”
And yet, I’ve spoken with other writers who can’t write while music plays. I can understand. Sometimes, if it’s not the right fit, the music can become distracting. I’ll find myself singing along to some earwig of a song instead of writing, and that’s never fun. Time to hit “next” on the old playlist.
I’ll bet if you listen closely while reading Welcome to Moon Hill, you can even hear what I was listening to when I wrote it.
My soundtrack to insanity.
Moon Hill is a forgotten place that few purposely visit, and even less leave. Once you arrive, the deep dark of the forest creeps into your mind and will not relent. Strange flowers that grow from deer carcasses, murderous lunatics, talking ravens, wriggling parasites that induce eruptive confessions, and demons of every variety: they all live here too.
Even so, the residents of Moon Hill can feel, beyond the fear and distress, that this land is special and they are lucky to live here. Most everyone feels that way right up until the day they come a little too close to the magic of this place. When dusk's light leaks through their carefully locked doors and rips holes in their minds.
Then, they pray for release.
--Welcome to Moon Hill.