Patterns of Chaos – New Limited Hardcover Omnibus

PATTERNS OF CHAOS, a signed limited edition hardcover collecting my novellas EXTINCTION PEAK, MANIA, SAINT SADIST, and the never-before-published SKULL FOREST is now available from Thunderstorm Books.

A brother and sister embark on a perilous journey across a wasteland overrun by dinosaurs to rob the mountain home of a corrupt California senator. But the home isn’t empty…

When the faces of their missing friends appear in an eerie painting, teenagers Nathaniel Ernest Brown and Haley descend into dark places to set things right. But the creature who took their friends is waiting…

A controversial film director plans to adapt a cursed screenplay and attracts the ire of a vengeful ghost. But she’s not the only one in Hollywood who wants him dead…

Pregnant with her father’s child, nineteen-year-old Courtney escapes her abusive home and finds shelter at the homestead of an earth-worshipping cult. But the congregants aren’t what they seem…

PATTERNS OF CHAOS collects four novellas by Lucas Mangum, including the Splatterpunk Award-nominated SAINT SADIST and the never-before published SKULL FOREST. 

You can grab it right here.

Revisions

The new episode of White Trash Occultism will go up late. Last week got away from me, and it required some additional edits. I’d initially wanted to stick to a weekly schedule, with a new episode every Tuesday, but I think bi-weekly is more realistic, even if we record weekly. That said, I’m eager to get it up there because I think we hit our stride this episode. It feels like it’s found its tone. That’s not to say it won’t evolve further as we continue to record new episodes (we’re recording episode 3 tonight). I think art is a perpetually a work in progress. Even completed works are really just part of a larger work, even if that larger work is the artist him/her/them self.

That philosophy is a huge part of why I’m releasing ONE AND ONLY on my blog a little bit at a time. To show that progress in real time. This book is a distillation of my interests into a singular work. It’s horror, it’s a tragic love story, it’s littered with occult themes, and one of the characters is a pro wrestler working for an indie promotion. Of course, I have other interests beyond these things, but I don’t know, I’m having a moment right now. Not so much an identity crisis as it is a strong desire to give my small audience a statement of purpose.

I don’t think it’s possible for artists just starting out to do this. None of us emerge fully formed. It involves self-exploration, failure, living, and practice. And even after you’ve found the thing you do, that doesn’t mean the discovery process is over. Your inspiration, your ability, will ebb and flow. It’s not something we want to admit. We want to believe we can become an art factory, an operational flesh facility generating a perfect product over and over until the grave eats us. It’s just not the way it is. There is no perfect product, first of all, and machines break down, they get rusty, they need maintenance and repairs. Sometimes, the standard of quality slips (remember Windows Vista). Even that is part of the process. All of it is.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I ended a collaboration over the weekend. The person in question is a bit of a perfectionist. I am not. Their way isn’t wrong. It just isn’t how I do things. Besides, with a new baby on the way in less than a month, I just don’t trust myself to keep up with them. Sure, it was an opportunity I closed the door on. Sure, I probably could have addressed my concerns with this person sooner. But I am imperfect.

I also found out that soon we’ll have to put down Jack, a cat who was our first baby and who we had to rehome with my father-in-law. I wrote about him here. I hate that we had to rehome him. I hate that shit got here. But life is imperfect.

Life is full of moments we wish we could revise. An artist’s backlist is full of works they wish they could fix with their newly refined skills.

But you can’t go back. You can only move forward, refining as you go.

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.

Extinction Peak-A Novel of Dinosaur Horror

I’m about to make what will likely be one of my final passes on Extinction Peak, my dinosaur horror novel. Some of my work comes from my subconscious and flows rather easily. This book was not one of them. I wrote the first draft almost five years ago. The version that exists today has only the title in common with that old draft.

Weirdly, this book will likely be more fun to read than some of my other titles. It relies heavily on world-building and action, not symbology and style. That’s not to say it lacks depth. If you’re looking for it, my thesis will present itself. That’s all I’ll say about that for now.

Jeff Burk made it official the Monday after Killer Con, so I’ll announce it here: Extinction Peak is set for publication in 2020 by his new press Section 31 Productions.

Blood and Brimstone, Chapter 13 – Free Serial Novel

When she finished sessions for the day, she gathered all her notes and her laptop. She flipped to the first page of her legal pad so it would sit more comfortably in her bag. The symbol Katie sketched that morning caught her eye and made her pause. She studied the image, its curves and angles, the herd of animal impressions spiraling toward its center. There was something undeniably captivating about it, though she was sure she had never seen it before. She traced the angles with her index and middle fingers. The paper hissed at her touch.

Having studied the occult during college, she had a hard time believing she didn’t recognize the symbol. She thought of Dr. Carlyle, the professor who she interviewed for her thesis, and wondered if he would know something about the symbol. A part of her wanted to let it go, but she was worried about Katie.

Every once in a while, in her profession, a client came around who she felt connected to. Something deeper than a patient-therapist relationship existed between them. The first time it happened, she fell in love with a patient named Arthur. She had just graduated and Arthur was close to her age. When they spoke, it reminded her of good music, each instrument a complement to the other, shifting between each voice in perfect time. After one particularly passionate session, he kissed her, and she let him. She even returned his affections. Realizing her error, she recommended him to a colleague and told him they couldn’t see each other personally, or professionally, because it just wasn’t right. Six months later, he committed suicide. Hanged himself in the foyer of his parents’s house.

While Ruthanne had no romantic feelings for Katie, she did think of the young woman as a friend. She had a personal investment in Katie’s recovery. Because of this, she had no qualms going above and beyond to figure out ways to help. She would never let Katie go, not like she let Arthur go. Sometimes a therapist lost a patient, but she refused to lose another she cared for this deeply, especially not when a possible answer lay before her. If she could find out more about the symbol, she might better understand what Katie was going through.

Ruthanne reopened her laptop and looked up Dr. Carlyle’s phone number. She dialed, not expecting him to answer. On the third ring, he picked up.

“Dr. Carlyle? It’s Ruthanne. Ruthanne Weiss.”

“Ruthanne, well, hello. How are you this evening?”

“I’m okay. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could look at something for me. Can I scan it to you?”

“Sure, you still have my email?”

She read it back to him.

“That’s the one.”

“Great, I’ll send it right over.”

“What are you sending me?”

“It’s a symbol one of my patients drew. I… don’t recognize it, but I thought you might.”

“Still chasing spirits, I see.”

“Did you ever stop?”

“No, I don’t suppose I have. Go ahead and send me the image.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“So long, old friend.”

They hung up and she went to the office scanner, typed in his email, and sent the sketch of the symbol. She waited, sitting still for the first fifteen minutes, and then she started pacing. When he didn’t call back a half hour later, she tried calling him. No answer.

It’s okay. Just give him time. Maybe he’ll call tomorrow.

She took the sheet from the scanner and stared again at the symbol. It hypnotized her, until she made herself stuff the paper into her bag, and finally left the office.