Book Review of Until the Sun by Chandler Morrison

Until the Sun

Until the Sun by Chandler Morrison

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Chandler Morrison’s Until the Sun is full of pain, beauty, and some of the best prose I’ve read all year. His words evoke a wide range of emotions: Horror yes, but also joy, sadness, longing and bleak cynicism, often on the same page. If this is the new bar, the rest of us need to work a lot harder.



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Free E-Books

Hi, gang! I just wanted to let everyone know my Richard Laymon tribute story Cruel Summer, my dark thriller Long Night at Jade’s Diner, and my cursed screenplay novella Mania are all FREE on Kindle this week.

Call it a Halloween present.


In other news, it’s Monday and I’m tired. My brother-in-law makes very good, but very strong margaritas. Nonetheless, I’ve got words to write and customers to assist.

On the agenda, I want to get at least another 5,000 words on Pandemonium before I kick it back to Ryan, and I need to do revisions on a top-secret film project (more on that when I can talk about it).

In the background, I’ll have Cannibal Terror on. Halloween’s almost here, gang, and I can’t be more excited.

Tag Team Writing

As I write this, I’m getting ready to chat with critic and filmmaker Scout Tafoya about a project we hope to collaborate on. We haven’t properly worked together since 2013 when we wrote and he filmed the psychosexal alien thriller Epigenesis, which is currently under submission at various festivals. I always learn so much when he and I talk. We are both critical of some of the pretensions present in this wave of “elevated” horror. His films, while not for everybody, have a naturalism and a humanism that I long to see whenever I go to the movies. Also, his video essays are must-see content. I’m excited to see what we come up with together.

Speaking of collaborations, I’m nearly 30,000 words into a novel co-written by myself and extreme horror luminary Ryan Harding. It’s a tribute of sorts to the insane Demons franchise, set during an underground pro-wrestling show.

Actually, a lot of what I have in the works are collaborative projects. Co-writing a book can be a disaster. Sometimes there’s a styles clash, other times one partner takes the project more seriously than the other. Any number of things can go wrong. But when you’ve got a clear, mutual vision, man, it can be like lightning in a bottle. I plan to write more about collaborating sometime soon. Just not sure if I want to do it here or on my Patreon page.

Speaking of, I’ve posted 25 more pages of Blood and Brimstone, the sequel to Flesh and Fire. You can access them for as little as a dollar right here. Being back in this world is almost like collaborating with myself. There’s a lot of distance between me and this project’s initial inception. I think it will lead to some tighter writing, since I’m less attached to passages I may have to end up cutting. We’ve got 50-ish pages left of Blood and Brimstone, then I’ll start a new serial novel for patrons. I’m thinking it will be a novelization of my yet to be filmed paranormal thriller Seedlings. With the screenplay written, I’ve already got the bones for a novel. I just need to give it some muscles and skin.


Last night I watched the low-budget video nasty Invasion of the Blood Farmers for the first time. It had quite a charm to it. I’d recommend to fans of ultra cheap, campy horror movies.

I’m currently reading To Wallow in Ash and Other Sorrows by Sam Richard, a writer who I’m proud to call a contemporary.


That’s it for now, gang. As always, you can follow me on Twitter @RealLucasMangum.

Friday, Mid-October, Mumps

It’s Friday morning on October 18th. This past Tuesday, my dentist told me the discomfort I feel on the right side of my mouth is a minor case of mumps. Despite getting an MMR vaccine as a child, I still managed to contract the virus. How weird is that? I wonder how it happened. I also wonder why my dentist didn’t find this alarming. She said I just had to take ibuprofen for the pain and get lots of rest until the virus ran its course.

Also, I have to watch my little one for symptoms. That’s a little more alarming. But she said mumps aren’t fatal so long as the symptoms are treated.

I also learned that my state has the highest rate of mumps diagnoses in the U.S. The more you know!

Anyway, in better news, I’m pleased to announce my cyberpunk cosmic horror crossover Gods of the Dark Web will get the audio book treatment by the ultra-talented Sean Duregger. You can expect this release sometime next year. I heard his audition for the book and got excited immediately. I’m glad my publisher at Crossroad Press felt the same way. There’s something powerful about hearing a gifted performer read your stuff. I hope all my writer friends get to experience it one day.

A couple crazy things happened related to Saint Sadist over the last few weeks. First, someone on Goodreads shelved it as Young Adult Fiction. Whatever you say. Wish it was making that YA money. The other thing that happened was less amusing. Someone on Reddit posted the opening chapter and went on to accuse me of child pornography. Others called me a misogynist, which is unfortunate.

While that latter development was just the work of some jerks on the internet, this sort of thing can really impact sales. I’m not a big Hollywood conglomerate. Your think-piece can do real damage to my livelihood. In fact it has. Sales have been in the toilet since, so thanks for that.

Of course, I have a day job, so you know, whatever. I will say one more thing though: pornography is written specifically with titillation in mind. I certainly wasn’t titillated while writing the scene in question. If you found it titillating, that may say more about you than it does me. Just a thought.

Anyway, it’s been an interesting year as far as “problematic” art goes. I’ve lots of thoughts, though I think my buddy Scout Tafoya summed it up nicely when he said (to paraphrase), if you can’t pan a work without turning into Tipper Gore, maybe you have no business being a critic.

I think there’s something to that. I also have complicated feelings on the matter. Like, do I really need to defend Quentin Tarantino from a think-piece he probably didn’t even read? Pretty sure he was a millionaire before some armchair activist took him to task for his portrayal of Bruce Lee. Pretty sure he’s still a millionaire now, some months after the fact. It’s when such outrage targets the working-class folk that I get irritated.

Saint Sadist did, however, get a wonderful review from Lisa over at Bibliophiliatemplum, which I genuinely appreciate. She’s been a hell of a supporter these last fourteen months. I’m glad to have her in my corner.

The last bit of information I’d like to relay is I’ve begun the process of revamping my Patreon page. For just a buck a month, you can expect new serial novels and stories exclusive to the platform, film and book analyses, and writing advice essays. Less fanciness, more focus. I’ll still post chapters of Blood and Brimstone here until it’s finished, but any other fiction I post to that page will not be published anywhere else for at least another year.

I know asking for money is taboo, even when you need it–indeed, I had a friend take shots at me on Twitter over this–but there it is. I will continue to post here, though you should expect these entries to be more informal and personal. For fiction and criticism, I’ve got to charge a little. The goal is to do two posts daily, one here and one there, but I’m sure it will more realistically become a weekly affair. We’ll see.

Anyway, sorry if some of this came out as a rant. I’ve been holding a lot in lately.

Hope the rest of you out there are okay. Keep on keeping on.

Night in the Lonesome October

I’ve been reflective lately.

Yeah, you say, what else is new?

Hear me out.

Ten months ago, I grudgingly returned to social media. I’m not proud. I definitely did it to sell books, but something else happened. I made some new friends. That was pretty cool. And yeah, I did sell some books, which was also pretty cool.

But I still saw a lot of the ugly things that drove me away in the first place. Hypocrisy, petty arguments, dismissive comments, and manufactured outrage.

Then I got tired, frustrated and depressed.

Back in June, I restarted The Mangum Show podcast. Recorded a ton of content. Paid for a logo. The works.

Unfortunately, I ran into some technology roadblocks. Skype recordings are inconsistent in terms of quality. I can’t seem to figure out editing in Audacity. Then my MP3 converter just decided to stop working.

I got tired, frustrated and depressed.

Marketing yourself, man. I’ve done a lot of it this year. Even paid for some ads, which produced mixed results.

Through these last ten months, I’ve learned a lot.

I’ve learned videos get the most attention on this site. As a result, you should expect more videos.

I’ve learned social media is STILL toxic for me. I won’t be deleting my accounts again, but I do plan on cutting back my time on there significantly.

I’m working full-time again, so time is more precious than ever. I want to spend it on things that are worthwhile.

Videos that bring more visitors to this site. Patreon-exclusive content. The Mangum Show will continue, too, albeit in a different format. Plus, writing, writing and more writing.

This is probably not a particularly organized blog entry, so much as it’s me thinking aloud. If you’re still here, thanks for indulging me.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering: this October, I’m reading lots of Richard Laymon and Bryan Smith instead of watching the same movies over and over again.

Blood and Brimstone, Chapter 14 – Free Serial Novel

The Devil was waiting for Windom in the clearing beside the highway, some twelve miles outside of the Tennessee town of Yester Castle. In the blue-gray dusk, the magma bubbling under the Devil’s cracked skin glowed hot and bright, but it was the stink of meat hanging from his cape that drew Windom’s attention.

Windom turned off the highway and met the Devil thirteen paces into the field. The Devil’s lips spread. Windom couldn’t quite call the expression a grin.

“Windom,” the Devil said, voice distorted like wasps lived in his voice box, “I see you’ve once again emerged victorious. When will they learn?”

“When they’re all dead, I reckon.”

“And I reckon there will always be others. Men such as yourself are too dangerous to be kept alive and anyone on earth who meets you learns that all too quickly.”

“I find out who keeps putting out these hits, could take him out and just hide for a while, catch a breather.”

“I’ve never seen you as the type to want to catch a breather.”

“All this running and killing gets old, all I’m saying.”

The not quite smile of the Devil widened. Eyes narrowed into slits. A gnarled claw rose from beneath the cape, stroked his chin. Gave the illusion of considering something, but Windom guessed Old Meat and Magma had already made up his mind about whatever was on his mind.

“Perhaps a side job would provide a nice diversion for the time being. The ones trying to kill you could be…placated…for now.”

“Wish you would do that more often.”

“Then what hold would I have on you.”

If the Devil was to be believed, Windom was one of his sons. Didn’t matter much to Windom. He’d grown up never knowing his father. All he knew was that he’d been born with the abilities to draw deadly powers from symbols that just appeared in his mind, to confuse people to the point where they would remember nothing of their interactions with him, and he didn’t seem to age much. He could be one-hundred-seventy, could be one-eighty. He’d stopped counting at ninety-nine, and he didn’t look much older than forty-five. Didn’t hurt much either.

Windom snorted. “What’s the job?”

The Devil reached over to the side of his cape and unhooked a dripping strip of meat. With his other hand, he caressed Windom’s cheek, slipped a finger inside Windom’s mouth and pried open Windom’s jaws. He held out the meat and placed it on Windom’s tongue. The blood trickled over Windom’s palette, sweet and buttery, a kick of spice, hint of bitterness. Old Meat and Magma used a killer marinade. Windom closed his eyes, closed his mouth and let the meat dissolve.

As the juices leaked into his cheeks and gums, a symbol burned in his mind’s eye. Angry red flames encircled each line. Animals danced in a spiral: a hawk; a wolf; a lion; a fish; an octopus. They moved, disappearing into the symbol’s center and reemerging at its edges. The symbol grew in size and brightness until it blinded him. He gagged on sulfur and vomited light. The light split into two wormy appendages and collected into twin orbs of flame. The orbs became square-shaped; the lights dimmed, revealing levitating books with rugged, parchment covers. One bore the fiery symbol. The other was titled The Cosmic Heart. Windom’s job, his mission revealed itself to him as he dwelt on the tomes.