Sunday, April 20, 2014

Two New Projects!

I am hard at work on two radically different writing projects. The first is one that is near and dear to my heart. One of the most amazing artists of this generation, my good friend, Norm Maxwell, has decided to put together a coffee table book of his art. I will be adding poetry and essays inspired by his work to the book. As one of his oldest fans, it is an extreme honor to do this.

The combination of art and verse can best be described as urban surrealism. The themes of race, poverty, religion, and politics will be familiar to my readers, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. This is a Norm Maxwell book, not a Wrath James White book. It is a look into the heart and mind of this extraordinary artist. My words are merely narration. I am there as a tour guide, a finger pointing the way.

The second project is an erotic novel that takes place in the real world of BDSM. Not an eccentric millionaire with a mansion and a yacht and a chateau in the country, but two, recently divorced people who meet on the internet and together explore the limits of pain and pleasure. The tentative title is "Pain Slut" and it is a collaboration with the lovely Bailey Hunter. Unlike my previous works, the perversity and depravity are reaI and consensual. This is not a horror novel. This book is meant strictly to titillate and to dispel some of the fanciful myths about BDSM (like that every "Dom" is exorbitant wealthy and every sub is a slave and is into humiliation as well as pain.) It promises to be as cum-soaked as my other writings are blood-soaked. I am sure my fans will enjoy it and hopefully it will attract some new readers to my work.

Okay, time to get back to writing. 

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Back On My Horse

So, I took some hard hits in 2013. Truth be told, I have been suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune since 2009, but it all came to a head with my divorce last year. Following the divorce, I found it impossible to write for many months. This is behind me now. I am now armed with the love of a good woman and my slave-driving muse has returned. In other words: "I'm Back!"

I have two collections headed your way this year: Horrible Gods: The Little Black Book of Atheist Horror Stories coming soon from Sinister Grin Books and a very special new collection called Something Terrible featuring a very special collaborator. Both  projects are very near and dear to me. I am truly excited to see them in print. And what about novels?

This year I will finally finish Miles of Hell. I have no publisher lined up for it yet. But my main goal is to get it completed. Still hoping for a mass-market deal for this one. 

I also have plans for my own unique spin on the redneck horror/ serial killer in the woods story. Here's the catch, there are no mutant rednecks in it and I am debating if there will even be woods. I was going to write this as a novella, but I have an idea for it that will probably only work as a longer piece.  This is one that will require a lot of research and maybe even some travel, depending upon whether or not I decide to go with the location I have in mind. 

Anyway, I'm writing. I'm in love. I'm about to purchase a new house.  If all goes well, I will be moving into this little fixer-upper next weekend. I am now working out as often as I like and have my pre-marriage body back, for the most part. I can finally, after nearly five years of struggling and suffering, say that life is pretty good. 

Monday, September 30, 2013

Must Love Horror

Well, another relationship has come to an end. My wife of seven years and I are calling it quits. Irreconcilable differences. Some might say: "Well, duh! You guys were as different as night and day!" And you would be absolutely correct. So, I have decided to try something new this time. I am going to look for someone who is actually compatible with me. I'm going to stick to my guns and wait until I find someone who fits all my needs, and who I compliment as well, before getting serious with anyone again.

So, you might ask, what would such a woman be like? There are ten distinct and sometimes conflicting facets to my personality and I am looking for the woman who has the same or similar traits.

1.) I am a creative person who loves art, literature, and music and my life revolves quite a bit around my writing, which is extreme, and brutal, and horrific, and sexual. Whoever I am with should love art and literature and horror as much as I do. That means foreign films (Subtitles? Oh no!) That means art museums and art galleries and poetry readings and horror conventions and small press horror novels. Oh, and it would be nice if she loved Hip-hop and Reggae and Blues and old Motown and Soul and Funk and Punk and Hardcore and Goth and Alternative Music in general and Classical and Prince. Yes, she must love His Royal Badness.

2.) I am a father who loves his three children. Emotionally and financially, their needs come first. If a woman is jealous of my kids, well, she won't last long.

3.) I am athletic and I enjoy working out and living healthy, be that running, biking, weight lifting, or skipping fried food and red meat in favor of a kale salad. I don't smoke or use drugs or drink excessively and I am not interested in anyone who does. I watch fights religiously. I hang out with fighters because I was a fighter. Again, if she can't handle that, we probably won't get along very well.

4.) I work in a very corporate environment and I work a lot. I do not have a 9 to 5 job, more like 7am  to 5 or 6 or 7pm and sometimes weekends. There are things my job requires me to do (company functions etc.) that sometimes involve bringing my significant other along. Whoever I end up with needs to be able to function in that environment as well. She should be as comfortable in an evening gown as in a tank top and shorts.

5.) I am a momma's boy. I call my grandmother every weekend and my mother as often as I can. If momma needs me, I am there. When I can afford it, I lavish gifts upon them because they helped make me who I am and they will be and have been there when others have come and gone. They deserve it. If a woman is jealous about my relationship with my mom or grandmom, that is something I just could not tolerate.

6.) I am a sex addict. I am a recovering sex addict, but a sex addict nonetheless. That's part of who I am and will always be. So, if you are sexually inhibited, if you only like sex once a week or once a month and only in one or two positions, avoid me. Seriously, please, save us both the frustration. I am also a glutton for affection. I like to kiss and cuddle A LOT. I want to be that couple that makes other couples sick because we are always kissing and hugging and complimenting each other and because we have great sex damned-near everyday.

7.) I am from the streets. I grew up in Philadelphia. In a ghetto. I fought on the streets A LOT. I am not a pacifist by any means. Some of my friends growing up were absolute criminals, but they were still my friends. Can you hang with that? Oh, but here's the thing, I do not carry my "street cred" on my sleeve like a badge. It's a fact, but I do not glorify it. I don't dress or act like a hoodlum and am not interested in anyone who does. I do not speak slang as a rule. "English, mutherfucker! Do you speak it?"

8.) I am an Atheist. I am not interested in anyone who still believes in fairy tales. I mean, that's cute. We can be friends, but this is a wish list and my wish is for someone a bit more rational. Agnostic? Okay. Bible thumper? No way!

9.) I am calm and reasonable and loving. Children yell and scream at each other. Adults should be perfectly capable of using a little thing called logic to work through disagreements. In other words, I am just not interested in people with severe emotional problems. I feel for you and sympathize, but I just can't have that in my life right now. Bi-polar, manic depressive, OCD, ADD, whatever the issue, I just can't have it in my life. I like to laugh and joke. I am not interested in someone who is sad and miserable all the time. I want someone I can laugh with. I'm also not impressed by women who pride themselves on being a "bitch" and wear that word like a badge of honor. It is easy to be mean and disagreeable. Being nice is harder. I want a woman who is sweet and loving and nurturing. If that's you then hit me up!

10.) And last, but certainly not least, I am a goddamn liberal and proud of it. Someone once said, "If you weren't a liberal when you were young then you have no heart and if you aren't a conservative when you are older then you have no mind." I agree with the first part of that. The social issues that are trod under foot by the Republican Party are so significant that, in my opinion, you have to be one selfish, heartless, sonofabitch to vote Republican. I am looking for someone loving and sensitive. I don't care if you call yourself a "Fiscal Conservative". If you are willing to vote against gay rights and other civil rights legislation, assistance for the poor, women's rights, immigration, environmental conservation, and a slew of other important issues just to pad your wallet, then I am not interested.

Early on in my life, I decided that I was just too complex (weird) to ever find an absolute match so, if a woman could relate to at least four or five of those ten things, than that was good enough. Turns out, I was wrong. It wasn't good enough. This is an all or nothing proposition. Every last one of those things I listed is a major part of me and will become a big deal over time.This time, they have to be non-negotiable.

Notice I haven't listed any physical characteristics yet? That's because those are the only things that I am flexible on. Do I have a wish list in that regard? Damn straight I do, but if a woman meets all the above criteria, the rest of this list hardly matters. But since you asked...

I like large breasts, thick hips and thighs, and big round asses. I like women that look undeniably female. I'm not saying they have to be chubby, but curvaceous. I am not very attracted to stick figures. But, as I said, the mind is far more important than the body. If we are emotionally and intellectually compatible then you will probably be one sexy motherfucker to me. That said, I would prefer that your voluptuous bosoms are not sitting atop an equally voluminous stomach. I would prefer it, but it isn't a deal breaker. If you like to work out and eat healthy, we can work on that stomach. And if it's there to stay, that's cool too, as long as you have those ten personality traits, I doubt I'd even notice after a while and I may even come to love that belly.

What else do I like? I have a soft spot for dimples, pretty smiles, big, beautiful eyes, smooth skin, wide noses, and soft hands. I like jogging in the park, bike rides at sunset, gourmet meals, cuddling in bed and watching horror movies, discussing a good book, going to a lecture on atheism, charity runs and bike races, taking the kids to the movies or out for ice cream, taking the dogs for a walk in the park, bubble baths, shopping, going to fights, outdoor food festivals, romantic evenings at home, deep, passionate kissing and deep, passionate sex. Know anyone like that?

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Fetish (First Published July 2006)

As I listen to women and men worry and complain again and again about some minor flaw or blemish that they feel has some major impact on their desirability even while being embraced by the man or woman who loves them, I am forced to wonder why their perceived flaws do not negatively impact their attractiveness to those who love them? If they are as unnatractive as they perceive themselves to be then why are their lovers attracted to them? The answer however lies directly in the question itself. It is precisely because they are loved that their physical flaws go unnoticed. In myself I have noticed an even more bizarre phenomenon. When I am in love with a woman I am apt to focus only on her most desirable features often to the point of obsession and sometimes even the very feature I may have once seen as a flaw becomes the focal point of my obsession. It becomes a sort of fetish object.

My very first serious girlfriend had enormous breasts. She was a 40D as I recall. For years afterward women with large breasts became an obsession and it often mattered very little what the rest of them looked like. All I could see were their breasts. I remember a woman saying to me one day, "I don't know what you see in me. I'm so fat!" I looked at her and became dimly aware that she was in fact quite large. I had never noticed it before that moment and found that it still mattered very little to me. All that mattered was that she had perhaps the largest breasts I had ever seen. Not an unusual fetish as these things go but then I am just getting started.

The next woman I fell in love with was completely opposite, small breasts, large ass, and a slight belly. That ass and that belly became my fetish objects. Her ass was her best feature and so it was not surprising that I would obsess over it, but her paunch was something she was personally ashamed of. As I fell deeper in love with her I began to see her belly as every bit as sexy as that calypigian. I would kiss and rub her belly obsessed with the smoothness and roundness of it. To me it was just another curve and as such was every bit as sexually stimulating as my first girlfriend's breasts. To take it even further, after we broke up I sought out women with similar little bellies. My love for her had turned her belly into a fetish object.

The next woman I fell in love with had neither large breasts nor a large ass. What she did have was size. She was five foot eleven inches tall with broad shoulders and a strong almost masculine jaw. She was intimidating to say the least. People would tell me that she was atleast as intimidating as I was. After her I became obsessed with strong amazonian women. I use to say that I wanted women with "scars on their knuckles". While most men I knew were fantasizing about "lipstick lesbians" I was going after the butchest women I could find. My friends began to give me curious looks wondering why all the women I dated looked like men. This lasted right up until I dated a female bodybuilder who was so muscular I eventually got grossed out by it.

One of my longest lasting love affairs was with a woman with unusually large hips. Rubbing, biting, or just grabbing her hips was gauranteed to get me instantly arroused. As she struggled to lose weight in an attempt to conform to the American media's standard of beauty, I would lay awake at night fantasizing about those hips. I am still obsessed with women with large hips. Even thinking about them now causes that familiar stirring in the loins. When my wife got pregnant and her hips began to widen I couldn't have been more delighted.

I have been obsessed with short women, tall women, slender women and chubby women at one time or another. I have been obsessed with everything from a woman's eyes to her walk to her voice. Love has the power to turn almost anything into an object of obsession.

My first wife had a wide nose and that became my fetish object. When I decided to date my current wife her nose was one of the deciding factors. She too has a wide nose. She hates it but to me it is one of the most beautiful things about her. I could kiss and bite her nose forever. She also has the most perfect nipples I've ever seen. When she talks about breast feeding causing her breasts to sag I look at them and all I can see are those gorgeous nipples and her breasts still look beautiful to me.

I look at my wife and I see her wide nose, her little belly, her hips widened by pregnancy, her perfect nipples, and my newest fetish... the longest most curvaceous legs you've ever seen, and she just looks gorgeous to me. That's what real love does, at least for me. It not only blinds me to little physical imperfections but it even turns those little imperfections into objects of worship. It narrows my focus to only those things about my inamorata that are beautiful so that I can see nothing else but her perfect breasts or lips or eyes or ass or legs or nose.

My wife often jokes with me about how odd my aesthetic appreciation for women is. "You like ugly girls," as she puts it. The truth is that I have never loved an ugly woman. I have dated women who fit the modern standards of beauty yet if I was not in love with them it was not unusual for me to leave a woman who looked like a model for a short chubby girl with wide hips and a big ass who makes me laugh all the time. In every woman there is something beautiful and in the woman I love I can see only that beauty. And if someone claims to love you and they can't look past your weight or your small breasts or your skinny legs then they don't really love you.

I hate turning on a talk show and hearing some idiot complaigning about his wife's weight or how she needs a boob job or how he wishes she looked more like some model or actress. That is not love. When you really love someone they become your ideal. They become flawless in your eyes. If your man isn't attracted to you anymore because your body has changed as you have gotten older or after you have born him children then I suggest to you that you are with the wrong man. The problem is not with you. True, it is in a man's nature to resent changes in the women we love. We often see you as perfect when we met you and take it as some sort of betrayal everytime you stray even slightly from how you looked or acted on the day we first said, "I love you." Women always want you to change and men never want you to change. It is who we are. But love mediates that. When you love your woman deeply enough you incorporate each fluctuation in her body weight or age into a new aesthetic. You want to grow old with her, as I want to grow old with my wife, and every new ripple and wrinkle only adds to her beauty.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

My Life As A Blerd

Many of you know me as an athlete as well as a writer. Though I started lifting weights when I was twelve, being an athlete was a fairly late development in my life. Before that, I was just a big gangly kid who read horror novels and comic books and wrote poems. I was an awkward kid. I had growing pains that kept me from running track or being much use on a basketball court or a football field. Besides, I had only a rudimentary understanding of those games and even less interest in them. I was shy, so I was often teased, despite (and often because of) my freakish size, six-two by the age of twelve and six five by the time I was fourteen. As a kid, I was the guy who'd rather read a horror novel or watch Creature Double Feature than watch a basketball game, who'd rather watch Star Trek than the Super Bowl, whose breath could be taken away by a Renaissance painting, but was bored to tears by baseball. I was the kid who left the party early because there were drugs and alcohol there, preferring to spend the evening curled up with a Stephen King novel. I was more excited by the latest issue of Discovery Magazine than Sports Illustrated. I watched PBS and listened to NPR. I didn't play Dungeons and Dragons, but my best friends did. I collected comic books. I dreamed of owning a telescope and a science kit and wanted to build my own robot. I cried while listening to Prince songs. I couldn't rap or breakdance or dance like Micheal Jackson, but I spent hours in front of the mirror trying my best. But I could barely pull off a decent two step with a twist until I was damned near twenty. I could kick ass, but other than that, I was a nerd. And I still am. Living in Texas these last few years has hammered that fact home.

I'm a writer, an artsy-fartsy liberal. I don't hunt or fish or have any desire to own a pick-up truck or build anything with power tools. I still don't get the attraction of Sunday night football or spending a day drinking beer on the back porch or the couch. I'd still rather read a book or watch a horror movie. I love boxing and MMA and being an ex-fighter keeps me from having my man card challenged, but I still get the looks.

People are still surprised that a guy my size never played basketball or football in high school. I went to Creative and Performing Arts High School where I learned to write poetry and angst-ridden Existentialist prose instead of how to slam-dunk or tackle a quarterback. I grew up in the ghetto during one of the most violent decades in history, but I was never a gangster. I didn't use or sell drugs. I didn't carry a gun. I fought for fun, and because you had to fight to survive, but I never killed anyone. I did what I had to do, but I didn't glorify it. I was the good kid.

Growing up in Philadelphia as a young, Black, male who wasn't interested in sports, who read Tolkien, Asimov, King, McCammon, Barker, Nova, Scientific American, every Marvel comic I could get my hands on, wrote poetry and short stories while dreaming of getting published in magazines like Cemetery Dance, Twilight Zone, and Night Cry, watched horror movies and Kung Fu flicks obsessively, and listened to Prince like it was a religion, I could not have been more different from my peers if I'd had a dick growing out of my forehead. I was an outsider and I still am.

When they hear that I am going to a horror convention, my co-workers snicker and ask me if there will be people in vampire costumes there, equating KillerCon with news clips they've seen of ComiCon and DragonCon. They invite me to spend a weekend with them at "the deer lease" hunting, and I politely decline. Frankly, I'd rather be dipped in shit. They ask me if I'm playing in the company softball, golf, or fishing tournaments, and again, I politely decline. I'm just not that kind of guy. They talk about spending the weekend working on their truck or the new high-caliber assault rifle they spent half their paycheck on and I talk about the new limited edition Jack Ketchum or Ed Lee novel I picked up to blank stares. That's cool. I'm used to it. It's all lovely. I know who I am and I am comfortable with it. I am the former US Heavyweight  Muay Thai Kickboxing Champion. I trained the former UFC Heavyweight Champion. I am the writer of The Resurrectionist, Succulent Prey, Yaccub's Curse, Pure Hate, and a dozen other novels and novellas. I have run marathons, acted in action films, been a runway model, dated runway models, and read poetry in the nude. I am the husband of Christie White, the father of Sultan, Isis, and Nala, the son of Floretta White, and I am a nerd. I am a Black nerd, a Blerd, and I'm damned proud of it. I wouldn't have it any other way. Word to the motherfucker.

Friday, December 21, 2012

To The Death

So, I have an update on my zombie novel, now a zombie novella. Severed Press has picked up the novella and will be publishing it next year. I am currently doing a complete rewrite, adding fast zombies and increasing the ferocity of the kills. This is going to be one bloody book. I've already gotten through the first 25,000 words of what will end up being around 35,000 words and it is quite a nasty piece of work. Here's a brief synopsis:

In a village in Uganda, The Lord's Revolutionary Militia decimates an entire town and buries the bodies in a mass grave. Two days later, a ranger squad enters the same town and are attacked by hundreds of undead corpses, infected by a strange purple fungus. General Nwosu, leader of the Lord's Revolutionary Militia, with advice from a strange red-haired businessman named Bill Vlad, devices a plan to use the "dead ones" to take over all of Uganda. 

In San Francisco, Elgin Washington finds the body of former MMA legend, Hollister McCoy, in a dumpster. His body is badly decayed and covered in an unidentified purple fungus. His neck is broken and there is a gunshot wound in his forehead. Both wounds were delivered postmortem and there is evidence that Hollister's brain was still active at the time, several days after the rest of his body had begun to decompose.

Agent Emmanuel Stern was with the ranger squad in Uganda when they were overrun by hundreds of the living dead. He barely escaped with his life. Half their squad was decimated, killed by living corpses reanimated by a purple mold spore that had taken over their entire central nervous system. Days later, while preparing to return to Uganda amid reports that a local warlord was using the fungus to create an undead army, Agent Stern receives word that a corpse has turned up in America, in a major city, covered in an unknown purple fungus.

Tyler Payne has an anger problem. He used to deal with it by fighting on the streets and getting himself arrested. Then he found mixed-martial arts and his world changed. Now he had a legal outlet for his aggression and he did quite well, quickly rising through the ranks of the fight world. But when Tyler's anger began to ebb, he lost his edge. He began to lose. When a shady underground fight promoter named Bill Vlad invites him to fight in his "Terror Combat League" making more money than Tyler ever dreamed, he jumps at the opportunity. Soon he finds himself battling undead former martial-arts icons. Fighting the dead brings out Tyler's old killer instinct. After a few successful bouts, Vlad offers Tyler the fight of a lifetime, $750,000 dollars to fight Lester Broad, the former World Heavyweight Champion, a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound monster who knows no fear, feels no pain, and has only one drive... hunger!

To The Death
by Wrath James White

Coming 2013 from Severed Press!

Sunday, December 09, 2012

400 Days of Oppression

More than five years ago, I began working on a novel about interracial relationships and the struggles of mixing cultures that have have been historically in conflict. I have stopped and started this manuscript many times, not because I couldn't think of how to finish it, but because I couldn't imagine who would publish it. It is is one fucked up story and doesn't fit neatly into any one genre. It is too erotic to be horror or a thriller, despite many horrific elements, and doesn't have the requisite body count. Yet it is far too twisted and disturbing and lacks the typical formula for a true erotica novel. Too intelligent and thought-provoking. But I knew I had to write it. This was my chance to let out a lot of different thoughts and emotions on the subject. My very first relationship was with an Italian girl back in 1984 and the heartbreak I went through back then as a result of all the prejudice and bigotry we faced left some serious scars. I came through it all right, eventually, but imagining how all that adversity at such a young age might have warped and twisted me, what a monster I might have become, intrigued the hell out of me. I had to put that to paper. In walks Blood Bound Books.

When Blood Bound Books came to me with the proposal to publish one of my novels, I knew I had to pitch 400 Days. My wife had been bugging me to finish it for years. In a way, it was both of our stories, because she was just now getting used to the stares, the naked hatred and prejudice directed at her from those who disapprove of our relationship. I'd had more than 25 years to get over it and learn to ignore it. Even the day to day prejudice a Black man faces in this country is so normal to me now that I barely notice it anymore. My wife, on the other hand, is continually shocked and appalled when some security guard follows me around a department store for fear that I might steal something or when someone makes an off-color remark. I had to write it for her. I knew my readers would love it too. 

Sure, some of my readers just want my typical gore-fest, and I've got a lot of wet stuff coming up for them next year to satisfy their thirst for carnage, but a lot of them also read me for my fucked-up perspective on the world and whatever insights into the human condition there are to be gleaned from it. And, of course, there are those who read me because I can write one hell of a sex scene and they are going to go ape-shit for this novel because, what it lacks in twisted violence, it makes up for in twisted sex. I just couldn't find a publisher with the balls to handle it. Well, that's how I looked at it anyway. The reality was that cross-genre novels can be a bitch to promote and in a touchy publishing environment, taking a risk on an unknown product can be... well ... risky. But Blood Bound Books went nuts for the idea. So, what was my idea?  

The idea was to take the controversial topic of interracial romance and lay it out raw and bleeding for all to see and to make it even more controversial by adding a few sexual taboos and stirring up some of the most contentious racial issues. So, I wrote a story about an interracial couple that is heavily into bondage, domination, and S&M, who decide to try an experiment. If she can go through the entire Black experience in America, one day for every year suffered by African Americans, Kenyatta, a black man and, most importantly, the man she loves, will marry her. Kenyatta, a master manipulator, convinces her that this is the only way she could ever really relate to what life is like for Black people and the only way she could ever really understand him. And so she agrees.

The oppression of African Americans lasted 400 years, from the beginnings of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade through the Civil Rights movement, Natasha only has to last 400 days. If she can make it, Kenyatta will marry her. But if she can't, if she uses the safe word, a word so reprehensible she couldn't imagine herself ever uttering it aloud, the experiment will end and their relationship will be over.  

As members of The Society of "O", the nation's second oldest BDSM community, Natasha and Kenyatta had experimented with bondage and domination before, but the depths of pain and humiliation she will undergo over the course of the next year, will go far beyond the safe and sane. The "simulations" Kenyatta devises will test both the limit's of racial guilt and the power of Natasha's love. 

This book is designed to be both intensely erotic and profoundly though-provoking while at the same time being thoroughly fucked up. No matter what side you fall on, on issues of race, you will find something to love and something to hate in the pages of this book. It will stir your passions one way or another. You fuckers are gonna love it.

Coming 2013 from Blood Bound Books.