Killers AND demons. Why, Julie, why? Why did you create such a ghastly sounding website?
I’ll tell you why.
The killers part comes from my obsession with serial killers. I’m absolutely fascinated with such dark, twisted minds, and have been for a long time. I’ve been watching Criminal Minds for years, and I squeal with delight when an endless stream of re-runs appears on TV allowing me a full day of binging on murder while the rain pelts against the window. When I’m cooking dinner or my latest French pastry creation, I love to put Forensic Files on in the background and pick up tidbits of gruesome acts and how DNA, fibres, or stupidly left paper trails lead the authorities to the killer.
I love to problem solve. I love investigations, and poking holes in the fictitious, or real ones, that I watch with eagerness. As for the killers, well, it scares me to death what real people are capable of. This particular type of killer – the serial killer – the kind of person who cannot be completely and accurately psychologically diagnosed, and who becomes so obsessed with a dark fantasy that he or she must play it out over and over – like some sort of horror flick – until it is perfect, fascinates the part of my brain that can’t look away. I can’t help wanting to figure out why someone can murder dozens of people and do unspeakable things to the bodies. I can’t help wanting to understand why it happens and why it’s so difficult to stop, to prevent, to nip in the bud. It’s terrifying. Just like you, I have my favourite genres of movies and books – and scary shit just happens to be right on top.
When you completely tap into your inner energy, your true being, things just flow. You know that feeling? No resistance. Just flow. Your energy is good. It vibrates in a warm, happy way that attracts other people.
The last couple of years have been a wild ride as I ventured down the path to writing my first novel, which turned out to be an 80s Heavy Metal Serial Killer Thriller. Yes. When I first starting writing it, characters and scenes materialized within me. And I doubted a lot of it. I thought it was just too weird. I wasn’t sure if I should write this book. It seems funny to recall those thoughts now. A lot has happened between then and now. I met a lot of really cool, interesting, supportive people. And guess what? They’ve made me realize that I am weird – and that’s just fine. The people that were already in my life also supported me every step of the way – both my writing and my weirdness.
So, on this particular day, in all my inner glam demon glory, my energy shone and I floated along my path of to-do items – all in the name of launching a Serial Killer Thriller infused with criminal profiling, ritualistic murder scenes, heavy metal, and everything 80s. Thus, it is fitting that the launch will be a spectacular 80s party. 80s clothes. 80s hair. 80s music. Glam. Rock. Metal. It will be a blast.
As I swirled along on the 80s vortex, my first stop took me to Melodiya Records. This place is COOL. You need to check it out! On the hunt for a couple of cassettes that I still have’t found…I found one of them.
I promised you a journey back to the time of 80s heavy rock, big hair and tight pants.
I promised you a murder case driven by re-enactments of a dark fantasy and ritual.
I promised to sweep you away to another time and another world.
It’s almost time to deliver the full package, the 80s Heavy Metal Infused Serial Killer Thriller, in it’s entirety.
To satisfy your desire, for the time being, here is a chilling snippet from the first murder scene. The scene in which Detective Mahoney is yanked from his morning sunny side ups onto a dark path. A path that would take him spiralling down to the vortex of underground heavy metal, death and doom.
In fact, I might be picking up boxes of my book – the first in a horrifying dark crime series, a day or two ahead of schedule. So, by tomorrow I might be loading down my Subaru and hauling these babies home. Yes. I am terrified but excited!
And that is exactly how I want you to feel when you read it!!
Remember a time when you had to walk across the street and knock on the door to talk to your friend?
Remember a time when you tied up the only phone line in your house all night, every night, until your parents got you a separate line?
Remember a time when you would pick up the telephone only to hear the crackling noise of the dial up Internet followed by your dad demanding to know who ruined his connection?
Remember a time when you laid in bed at night listening to the top ten at ten on AM radio?
Remember a time when finding the start of your favorite song required a series of skillful button pushes …. rewind, stop, play, stop, fast forward, stop, play, stop, rewind, stop, play, stop, rewind, stop, play…aaaaaah.
Crunch. Crunch. Harold stepped along the makeshift trail of wood chips in his brand new hiking boots. Joy scanned the tall, tan tree trunks and took a deep breath, letting the scent of the forest infuse her soul. Crackle. Harold’s clean blue boot snapped a small branch in two. His perfect untarnished boots conquered every stone, branch, twig, and any other obstacles with ease as he walked briskly up the trail. Crack. Crunch. Crack. Joy lengthed her stride to keep pace. She looked down at her shabby brown boots caked in old mud. Not as nice as Harold’s. He always got what he wanted.
She had climbed many peaks towing behind Harold. This one was different. They were in a part of the world new to them. This forest was different. A woody smell replaced the scent of citrus she was accustomed it. It was calming, like the sandstone beads on her mantra necklace. She pictured the necklace resting in her hands as she meditated and washed away every bit of irritating Harold.
Her feet sunk into the soft dirt trail. The sunlight seeped through openings in the trees. A glimmer caught her eye. She paused and looked up. Shiny strands of silk stretched tight, forming a hexagonal pattern. A web. Her stomach tingled. No spider. Her heart sank. Patience. It’ll take hours to reach the top.
Harold was way ahead. She skipped along to catch up. The shiny web remained in her mind. A web was such an intricately woven creation. It took time, effort, and skill to create. Just like the web of lies that Harold had woven through the five years of marital bliss she had shared with him. Bastard.Not to worry. Karma’s a bitch.