John Grisham, Family Secrets, and the new short story trend

When I logged on to Amazon (on the customer-facing side) today, I noticed a new John Grisham short story, “The Law Student.” The short story is a standalone prequel to one of Grisham’s novels. “The Law Student” is about 5,000 words long.

This seems to be a trend in New York publishing of late: novelists publishing short stories that are either based completely in standalone narratives, or are lead-ins to novel-length works.

I’m personally a fan of short stories, both as a reader and as a writer. I recently finished reading a Tom Clancy doorstopper of a novel from the 1980s: Red Storm Rising. Published in 1987 and weighing in at 725 pages, Red Storm Rising was the perfect thick-spined novel for the mall bookstore era. But Red Storm Rising was also at least two hundred pages too long.

There are many perfectly serviceable story ideas that simply don’t require or justify those massive lengths. Consider, for example, my horror tale Family Secrets. This one came to just under 16,000 words. Technically speaking, Family Secrets is a novelette. You might also call it a “long” short story.

Family Secrets is a very gripping story at 16,000 words, if I may say so myself. I would not, however, have wanted to expand the story to a typical 60,000-word novel length. Family Secrets is based on a nightmare I had back in April. Stories based on dreams, even horror stories, are seldom the stuff of full-length novels.

Needless to say, short stories should be priced appropriately. This is a rule that I always follow. I also place most of my fiction in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program, where you can read it for free.

-ET

Dark crime saga set in 1982!

The latest installment of DEADLY BYWAYS is now available on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited.

Victim Number Eight (Deadly Byways Book 4)

Amazon book description:

The Bywayman has taken another victim.

A Saturday night in January 1982.

The teenage Sharon Asher was supposed to be going on a date.

Instead, her date is murdered at a lonely gas station—and Sharon disappears into the night.

Detective Will Hayworth knows exactly what that means.

Sharon is the eighth person believed to have fallen victim to the mysterious predator stalking the back roads of southwest Ohio. The police have a description of the killer. They have a composite sketch. They even have a possible suspect.

There is only one problem.

They are looking for the wrong man.

While the investigation follows a false trail, Sharon awakens in an underground prison beneath a remote barn. Another captive is already there. And the man holding them has developed a system for keeping his secrets buried.

But Sharon isn’t willing to become just another missing-person photograph.

As the police struggle to find a killer who has spent years hiding in plain sight, Sharon begins looking for a way out.

And inside the killer’s own home, someone else is beginning to realize that something is terribly wrong.

Victim Number Eight is the fourth novel in the Deadly Byways series—a psychological crime thriller set in early-1980s Ohio, where the most dangerous man on the road may be the one no one suspects.

**View VICTIM NUMBER EIGHT on Amazon**

Indie publishing has an originality problem

(And that’s why indie authors have to spend so much money on Facebook ads—and worry endlessly about AI)

The other day I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I came upon an ad for an indie-published military science fiction series.

The ad was slickly produced with AI video that was only available to movie studios a few short years ago. The ad promised tales of drone swarms, planets in peril, and gritty space marines!

Hoo-rah!

I was curious. And so I exited Facebook and did a little research on the author using Google. I also searched for his books on Amazon.

He was the author of a five-book space marine saga.

Hoo-rah!

As soon as I returned to Facebook, Meta’s algorithm continued to show me ads from this same author.

But that wasn’t all. Meta also had now identified me as someone interested in space marine stories (hoo-rah!)—probably because of my Googling and my searches on Amazon.

For the rest of the day I was served more ads for indie-authored space marine sagas. They all had the same exact tropes.

A planet in peril!

Terrifying aliens!

Drone swarms!

Space marines!

Hoo-rah!

But no discussion of mind-numbing sameness in indie publishing would be complete without mentioning the romance field. Indie romance authors now write almost exclusively in hyper-focused niches: hockey romance, billionaire romance, enemies to lovers, cowboy billionaire romance, etc. (And that’s without delving into the really weird, hyper-focused romance niches, which I don’t care to mention here.)

There is an indie author who openly copies the Jack Reacher novels. I mean—openly copies them to the point of borderline plagiarism. The hero of these novels behaves exactly like Jack Reacher, all the way down to Reacher’s famous black coffee habit.

Indie publishing was supposed to provide room for creative freedom and literary diversity. (I mean that word in its best, truest sense.) But then the indie author “gurus” convinced indie authors to pick a narrow lane, and mass-produce the same kinds of books written by other authors working in that same lane.

This has made most of indie publishing both tiresome and mediocre. The market is filled with “me-too” offerings that capitalize on prefabbed packages of tropes.

This must bore the bejesus out of readers. I mean—seriously—how many books of the exact same kind does the market really need?

It has also made indie authors highly dependent on an increasingly complex, ridiculously expensive PPC ad ecosystem. Most authors working inside constricted trope lanes have little space to differentiate themselves. They must therefore rely on the brute force of high-bid, pay-per-click advertising. Many indie authors are spending more than half their revenues on Meta and Amazon ads. Some indie authors are outright underwater because of high ad spends.

That path is not for me. Whether you like my stories or not, each one of them is mine. I would never write by committee with “beta readers” (one of indie publishing’s most ridiculous concepts). Nor would I ever want to churn out repetitive stories to a trope standard. If I’d wanted to march in lockstep with a specific, clannish little group, I would have stayed in the corporate world.

But there’s another problem with the lemming-like approach so common in indie author circles. Many indie authors are fretting about the threat from AI: software penning novels—whiz bang!—with a handful of prompts.

The best way to yield literature to soulless AI is to make each story a soulless, standardized product. Yet that’s exactly what so many indie authors are doing nowadays.

-ET

Dean Wesley Smith’s ‘Advanced Writing into the Dark’

There are very few indie author gurus whom I would consider worth quoting. The indie author commentariat has declined even further in recent years, since the indie publishing field has been swamped with pornographic romance novels.

Dean Wesley Smith is one of the exceptions. He got his start in trad publishing in the last century; and he tends to view the indie author guru orthodoxy with even more disdain than I do.

For example, Smith has coined the term “review begging”. This refers to the practice of indie authors doing backflips, somersaults, and mass giveaways in order to solicit as many random reader reviews and ratings as they can.

Smith is also an ardent proponent of discovery writing, which he has codified into a process he calls “Writing into the Dark.” (Smith considers the more common term “pantsing” to be a little too cutesy; so do I.) He’s put decades of thought into the art and process of discovery writing. Even if you are a dedicated outliner (as a fiction writer), you owe it to yourself to at least give Smith a hearing.

**View ADVANCED WRITING INTO THE DARK on Amazon**

I recently purchased and read Dean Wesley Smith’s Advanced Writing into the Dark. This book was a follow-up to his 2015 title, Writing into the Dark.

Overall, Advanced Writing into the Dark is a worthwhile read, but the title is a bit of a misnomer. While there is some new content, much of the book simply restates what was contained in Writing into the Dark. Advanced Writing into the Dark would have been more properly labeled a second/revised edition.

I admire Dean Wesley Smith for his vast experience in the publishing industry and his original ideas. He is not always adept at organizing those ideas, or—in this case—labeling them.

That said, I’m mostly content with this minor purchase. (I used some of my accumulated Amazon points.) Advanced Writing into the Dark could have been a bit more advanced, but it’s still a good edition to every fiction writer’s library—even if you already own the 2015 edition.

-ET

Why dinosaur encounters scare us so much 

I recently produced a story for my YouTube channel called “Ohiosaurus Rex.” This very short piece depicts a married couple’s encounter with a dinosaur during a drive through the Ohio countryside. I explain this unusual event with a time slip.

Then, lo and behold, I find that Warner Brothers Entertainment had a similar idea. A new movie called The End of Oak Street, starring Anne Hathaway, is about dinosaurs invading the suburbs.

No hard feelings. I didn’t plagiarize Warner Brothers and they didn’t plagiarize me. The idea of modern-day humans coming face-to-face with giant carnivorous reptiles has been a universal story concept since dinosaurs were first discovered more than one hundred years ago. This is the basis for the entire Jurassic Park franchise. But maybe Michael Crichton got the idea from Land of the Lost, a TV series I remember from my childhood.

No one owns the idea of “dinosaurs versus humans.” Every creator leaves their unique stamp on the idea. The End of Oak Street promises to be a very good movie, based on the online clip. And it will be a very different movie from any of the Jurassic Park films.

Why do dinosaurs fascinate and scare us so much? They tap into a primeval fear, that of being prey. Modern humans are at the top of the food chain. Yes, we may become prey in very specific and rare instances when we encounter polar bears, great white sharks, or Nile crocodiles. Those are predicaments that most of us can easily avoid.

But what about a giant reptile that crashes through a fence? There is nothing quite like that anywhere on Earth—nor has there been, since the dawn of humankind.

I’m looking forward to seeing The End of Oak Street. I would also speculate that I’ll be returning to dinosaur stories myself. There are just too many possibilities to pass up, where dinosaurs and humans are concerned.

-ET

‘The Bywayman: Book 3 of Deadly Byways’ is now available

Today marks the release of The Bywayman, the third novel in my Deadly Byways series of crime thrillers set in southwestern Ohio in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

If you’ve been following the series, you know the basic idea behind Deadly Byways.

This is an ongoing story about crimes that unfold along the secondary roads, small towns, suburbs, and forgotten places of an earlier Ohio—the world before cell phones, GPS, security cameras, and the other technologies that now make it much more difficult to simply disappear.

And in The Bywayman, people are disappearing.

Three missing people—and almost nothing to connect them

A young hardware store clerk vanishes.

Then a jealous boyfriend disappears.

Then a college student goes missing, leaving her abandoned car beside an Ohio highway.

Detective Will Hayworth suspects that these disappearances are connected. The problem is proving it.

There are no bodies. There is no obvious common suspect. There isn’t even much physical evidence.

All Hayworth really has is a pattern—and the growing conviction that someone is hunting people along the roads outside Dayton.

Then the case changes.

A fourteen-year-old girl named Theresa Chapman narrowly escapes an attempted abduction on a lonely country road.

Suddenly, the police have something they have never had before.

A living witness.

Theresa can describe the man who tried to abduct her. She can describe his vehicle. She can work with a police artist to create a composite sketch.

For the first time, the predator has a face.

The local media gives him a name:

The Bywayman.

And the hunt begins.

But what if the police are hunting the wrong man?

That’s where The Bywayman becomes more than a straightforward serial-killer story.

One of the ideas that interested me while writing this novel was the enormous importance of information in a criminal investigation—and what happens when that information is unreliable.

A detective can be intelligent, experienced, and completely sincere. But every investigation depends upon what witnesses tell the police, what physical evidence appears to show, and what conclusions investigators draw from those facts.

Change one crucial piece of information, and you can change the entire direction of an investigation.

That idea lies at the heart of The Bywayman.

Will Hayworth knows that someone is out there.

The reader knows that someone is out there.

But knowing that a predator exists and knowing who that predator actually is are two very different things.

Sometimes a bad lead is worse than no lead at all.

A thriller set in the Ohio of the late 1970s

The historical setting is an important part of the Deadly Byways series.

The Bywayman takes place in 1979.

This isn’t the distant past, but it is a very different world from the one we inhabit today.

A teenager could leave a party and find herself walking down a dark two-lane road with no way to summon an Uber—or even call her parents without first finding a telephone.

A stranded motorist couldn’t pull out a smartphone and immediately summon roadside assistance.

There were no location-sharing apps. No text messages. No Ring doorbells recording everyone who approached a house. No ubiquitous digital trail documenting where everyone had been.

If you were alone on a country road at night, you really were alone.

And hitchhiking, while already recognized as potentially dangerous, was still something ordinary people did.

That combination makes the period particularly interesting for crime fiction.

The world was modern enough to be recognizable—but still isolated enough for people to vanish.

The roads themselves are part of the story.

I’ve lived in southwestern Ohio for most of my life, and I’ve always been fascinated by the contrast between the metropolitan areas and what lies just beyond them.

Drive a relatively short distance outside Cincinnati or Dayton, and the landscape changes.

The subdivisions give way to two-lane highways.

The highways pass through woods, farmland, and little communities.

There are stretches where houses are far apart and the road ahead disappears into darkness.

Today those places are less isolated than they once were, because almost everyone carries a communications and navigation device in their pocket.

In 1979, however, a breakdown on one of those roads could leave you genuinely stranded.

And a stranger who stopped to offer assistance might be exactly what he appeared to be.

Or he might not.

That uncertainty is part of the DNA of the Deadly Byways series.

The third installment of Deadly Byways

The Bywayman follows The Dungeon and The Bridge as the third novel in the series.

Although each book has its own major storyline, characters and events carry across the series, creating a larger narrative of crime and investigation in late-1970s and early-1980s Ohio.

With The Bywayman, that larger picture continues to expand.

Detective Will Hayworth is trying to understand a series of disappearances with very little evidence.

A frightened teenage girl becomes the most important witness in the investigation.

And somewhere outside Dayton, a predator is watching the police search for him.

He knows what they’re looking for.

More importantly, he knows they’re looking for the wrong thing.

The Bywayman (Deadly Byways Book 3) is available now on Amazon Kindle and is included with Kindle Unlimited.

**View THE DEADLY BYWAYS series on Amazon***

“The Door-to-Door Man”: a short story set in the age of “stranger danger”

It’s an ordinary spring afternoon in suburban Cincinnati, 1980.

Eighteen-year-old Michelle Blevins is home with her younger brother when a stranger rings the doorbell.

The stranger is wearing a blazer, tie, and aviator sunglasses. He says he represents a local law firm. He says Michelle’s parents are in trouble.

And he really wants to come inside.

That’s the setup for “The Door-to-Door Man,” my latest original short story for YouTube.

Those of us who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s will remember that this was the era of “stranger danger.”

In some ways, the world was considerably less connected than it is today. There were no cell phones, doorbell cameras, GPS trackers, or Internet searches. If a stranger appeared at your front door, you couldn’t pull out your phone and immediately find out who he was.

At the same time, people were becoming increasingly aware that the world wasn’t necessarily as safe as they had once imagined.

Serial killers, violent crime, and mysterious disappearances regularly made the news. Parents warned their children about strangers. And yet it was still perfectly normal for unfamiliar people—salesmen, repairmen, deliverymen, religious solicitors, and others—to simply walk up to your house and ring the doorbell.

That combination provides the backdrop for “The Door-to-Door Man.”

I’ve been experimenting with writing very short fiction specifically for YouTube: complete stories that can be read or listened to in a single sitting, accompanied by atmospheric visuals.

“The Door-to-Door Man” is one of these stories. It’s a tale of suspense rather than supernatural horror. There are no ghosts, monsters, or paranormal forces here. Just an ordinary young woman, an ordinary suburban house—and a stranger at the door who may not be what he claims to be.

You can watch and listen to the complete story in the video accompanying this post.

If you enjoy “The Door-to-Door Man”…

You might also want to check out my DEADLY BYWAYS series.

Deadly Byways consists of six novels set in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Like “The Door-to-Door Man,” these stories explore the darker side of an era that many of us remember with nostalgia—but which had plenty of dangers and shadows of its own.

The books are available on Amazon and can also be read through Kindle Unlimited.

If you enjoy suspense stories about ordinary people confronting extraordinary dangers—especially stories set against the backdrop of America several decades ago—DEADLY BYWAYS may be for you.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy “The Door-to-Door Man.”

And remember: be careful who you open your front door to.

-ET

Seth Godin, “the Amazon tax”, and pay-per-click battles to the death

Seth Godin has written an uncharacteristically scathing piece on the Hobbesian state of Amazon advertising. His basic thesis is that Amazon’s reliance on PPC ad revenue has created some perverse incentives.

The company used to focus on delivering the optimal product listings to consumers at the lowest prices. All of this was powered by Amazon’s internal search engine.

This process is known as organic discovery, and it benefited both buyers and sellers.

Organic discovery still exists to a certain extent on Amazon. But now there is something more nefarious and complicated in the mix. Amazon now makes about a billion dollars per week from search ads. PPC (pay-per-click) ads litter every available space on Amazon, including the top of your search results. Because these ads are now so plentiful and prominent on Amazon, anyone who sells there must engage in PPC advertising.

This of course includes new entrants to a particular market, but not only new entrants. Established players must also now invest substantially in defensive advertising on the platform.

Consumers don’t benefit from this excessive ad competition. On the contrary, they end up paying higher prices (because sellers must now recoup high ad costs in product pricing), as well as more limited and shoddier product lines. This is what Seth Godin calls “the Amazon tax”. “Amazon,” declares Godin, “is stealing from the customers they said they were here to serve.” Make of that what you will.

***

I’m an author/publisher. I therefore can’t really comment about how this might affect the electric snow blower market on Amazon. I can, however, say something about its effects on the book market. Continue reading “Seth Godin, “the Amazon tax”, and pay-per-click battles to the death”

Online book reviews and ratings: take them with a large grain of salt

About a decade ago, I read a review of Mary Miller’s 2014 novel, The Last Days of California, in a print magazine. The reviewer, a book critic whom I knew by name and trusted, highly recommended Miller’s novel.

I was skeptical. The Last Days of California is a teenage girl’s coming-of-age story. I was a middle-aged man. Not long before that, a young woman in my social circle had recommended John Green’s emotional teen novel The Fault in Our Stars. Against my better judgment, I had purchased The Fault in Our Stars and tried to read it. I was unable to finish—not because The Fault in Our Stars was a bad book, but simply because I was the wrong reader for it.

Nevertheless, I ordered The Last Days of California from Amazon. The book promised to be not only a coming-of-age story, but also a story about the dynamics of 21st-century family life with a little bit of the culture wars mixed in. I was intrigued.

I’m glad I took a chance on The Last Days of California. It turned out to be a wonderful story, even though this is the kind of book I rarely read. (My personal reading tastes veer more toward Michael Connelly and Lee Child.)

But the collective readership of Amazon and Goodreads does not agree with me—at least not the ones who are leaving ratings and reviews. At the time of this writing, The Last Days of California has a 3.5 cumulative average on Amazon and a 3.4 cumulative average on Goodreads.

If I had consulted the online peanut gallery, I would have skipped Mary Miller’s book entirely. Fortunately, by 2014 I already knew the truth about mass online review venues like Amazon and Goodreads.

The Last Days of California, by Mary Miller (Amazon product page, 8/25/2026)

In 2012, it was discovered that John Locke, a bestselling indie author famous for his Donovan Creed series, purchased reviews from review farms. He personally compensated some other reviewers.

Black hat practices like that are harder to carry out in 2026. (There was a widespread backlash over the John Locke scandal, and Amazon took some steps to penalize outright review scammers.)

But gray hat practices persist in the publishing industry. Major publishers and imprints retain lists of friendly reader-reviewers, who can always be counted on to give a particular author a 5-star review. Indie authors are not far behind. Most know better than to specifically compensate for reviews, but there are still indie authors who will raffle iPads for their reader-reviewers. That sends a message—and broadcasts certain incentives. Continue reading “Online book reviews and ratings: take them with a large grain of salt”

The University of Cincinnati and my fiction

I attended the University of Cincinnati between the summer of 1987 and the early summer of 1991, and it is there that I earned my degree in economics. I arrived at UC in a circuitous fashion, and against my better judgment.

I started at Northern Kentucky University in the fall of 1986. NKU was just across the river from where my parents lived. (I was a commuter student throughout my college years.)

NKU provided an extremely pleasant educational experience—at least in those days. NKU had small classes, attentive professors, and a comfortable suburban/semi-rural environment. Oh, and parking was a breeze, too—no small matter when you’re a commuter student.

And of course, I was too foolish to know a good situation when I had it.

I can partly blame the 1980s. Those were placid, commonsense times, especially when compared to the chaotic cesspool that is the American culture of today.

A common trope in teen movies of the 1980s is the bored suburban/small-town teen whose life is so calm and satisfactory that he spends the first part of the movie waiting around for something exciting to happen. You can observe this trope in Risky Business, The Last American Virgin, Footloose, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

As a student at Northern Kentucky University in the 1986-87 academic year, I knew that the University of Cincinnati was an edgier, more tumultuous environment.

To begin with, UC was more than three times as large as NKU. UC was located in the inner city. UC was more “diverse.” (This was not a term that we used in the 1980s, but we understood the concept.)

UC—in the words of one of my friends—was also “a pain in the ass.” The daily commute was twice as long. Parking was a nightmare. Classes were frequently large, and so overenrolled that you might not get in.

I found the inner-city environment to be wretched rather than stimulating. On my drive home in the afternoons, I occasionally passed streetwalkers and drug deals in progress. The area around UC—both then and now—is a high-crime area. The campus itself was safe enough, but students were sometimes assaulted and robbed in the off-campus perimeter.

I briefly contemplated a return to NKU. But by the time I realized that I had made a mistake in coming to UC, I was already stuck there.

This was because of the way that NKU and UC allotted credits. At that time, NKU was on a semester system and UC was on a quarter system. As a result, NKU credits had a high exchange rate when transferred to UC’s system; but when transferring in the opposite direction, you would invariably lose credits.

So I finished my degree at the University of Cincinnati. The experience was far from a total loss, and not only because I earned a four-year degree. At the age of nineteen, I really had spent all of my life in sheltered, suburban, and (let’s be blunt about this) all-white environments. My years at the University of Cincinnati taught me to thrive beyond those confines—a skill that would serve me well in future years, when I entered some much rougher environments.

My time at UC also gave me a sense of gratitude—for the many unearned blessings that had been given to me by a mere accident of birth. These realizations brought both maturity and humility.

Looking back on it all almost 40 years later, I regard my years at UC as beneficial ones. I was there between the ages of 19 and 22. These are the young-adult formative years. It should not be surprising, then, that the University of Cincinnati shows up in my fiction. Below are the major and cameo appearances of the University of Cincinnati in my novels and short stories:

No Sure Thing

Set in 1988, this young adult novel includes many scenes on or around the UC campus of the late 1980s. While I have taken some liberties regarding professors’ names, etc., No Sure Thing provides an authentic look at the UC of the late Reagan era.

The Woman in Crosley Tower

This dark fantasy/light horror parallel worlds novella is set on the University of Cincinnati campus in the summer of 1987. In this story, one of the university’s actual buildings is the heart of the supernatural setting.

Eleven Miles of Night

This horror novel is set in 2013 and is not primarily about the University of Cincinnati. Two UC students, however, are major characters. There are multiple scenes set on campus.

Hay Moon and Other Stories

At least one story in my first short story collection, “Gaia Cried Out,” takes place partly on the UC campus.

***

I am not nostalgic about the University of Cincinnati in the conventional sense. I do not attend alumni events. Nor do I attend UC’s football or basketball games.

The university is, however, often my go-to location when I need a campus setting, especially one set in the 1980s. Thirty-five years have passed since I was last a student at the University of Cincinnati, and I’m still writing about it. UC will probably appear again in future stories.

-ET

When every other email is a scam

This morning I received an email from a co-chair of Warner Bros. Entertainment. In the subject line of the email, she informed me that she wanted to option the movie rights to one of my books.

The immediate problem? The book won’t be released for another month. It is currently listed on Amazon as a preorder. I haven’t sent out review or ARC copies. Nor do I use so-called “beta readers.” So unless the co-chair of Warner Bros. Entertainment somehow gained access to my personal files, there is no way she could have read the book in question.

The email also came from a Gmail account. Gmail accounts have unfortunately become synonymous with this kind of scam email in recent years. I say “unfortunately” because in the past, Gmail was regarded as one of the more reputable email services.

Scam emails are nothing new on the internet, of course. As far back as the late 1990s, many of us would receive scam emails claiming to represent the Nigerian lottery. All we had to do was forward our banking information so that the lottery officials in Lagos could deposit the amount that we’d won. So easy!

But AI enables internet scammers to personalize their messages. Authors—most of whom have their contact information online—have become salient targets. A scammer can set up an AI agent that scrapes book descriptions from the internet. Then the same AI can craft and send emails that seem semi-legitimate.

I was (very) briefly fooled by one such scam earlier this year. I received a Gmail message from an author in one of the genres in which I write. He claimed to have read one of my books and greatly admired it. In this case the book had been out for a while and found some readership. That was the first element of believability.

The scammer also did not purport to be Stephen King, John Grisham, or another celebrity author well known to the general public. The impersonated author had received some media attention in the United Kingdom, but would generally be unknown to American audiences or people who are not avid readers.

The email, moreover, seemed genuine. The content of the message suggested that its originator had indeed read one of my books and was at least familiar with the basics of the theme and plot.

What did I do? I replied. I thanked the author for having read my book and taking the time to send me an email. I made a vague promise to check out one of his books. I assumed that would be the end of the matter.

But then I received a reply only hours later. The slightly famous author wanted to know details about my writing process. How did I come up with my brilliant ideas, and develop them so beautifully?

At this point, my built-in BS detector went off. On a hunch, I checked the author’s website. The author maintained a blog and his most recent post indicated that someone had been impersonating him and sending out fake emails in his name. So that was that.

When authors are targeted, such frauds are usually long plays. The aim is to gain trust, and then convince the dupe to spend a large sum of money on a specious PR agency or promotional scam—which will inevitably be based in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, or South Asia.

How many authors are fooled by such scams? Well, I replied to one such email once. Spend a week in any writing forum on Facebook, and you’ll spot a post by at least one individual who declares—breathlessly and not nearly dubiously enough—that John Grisham or Stephen King has emailed them to ask them what they’re working on. I suspect that most would-be victims smell a rat before sending money. But phishing scams in general still have a success rate of 2.7 to 5 percent, according to recent statistics.

Once again, it is important to keep in mind how AI has changed the nature of scamming. It is no longer necessary for tricksters to rely on lowest-common-denominator contrivances like overseas lottery claims. A clever scammer can now personalize a phishing scam for each one of us. And with AI, he can do that at scale.

This new landscape of online fraud has affected my behavior. I don’t give my personal email address out to anyone new anymore under any circumstances. When I absolutely must give out an email address as a consumer, I use one of several throwaway accounts that I have developed and set up solely for such purposes.

The email address on my author website likewise is a throwaway account that I use as a buffer. If I determine that an email sent to this account is legitimate, I will then reply via my regular author email address. (Note: I did not reach this stage of trust with the aforementioned scammer who claimed to be the British author.)

And I haven’t even mentioned the most pernicious email scam of all. There are millions of AI agents on the internet that are trying to break into our personal email accounts every minute of every day. Their aim is to use our email accounts to gain access to our banking information. Or—in lieu of that—to use our email accounts to send out more scam emails to more unwary souls.

Which brings us to email marketing. During the initial internet boom of twenty-five years ago, an entire cottage industry developed around email marketing. The B2B and B2C online marketing spaces are filled with claims that email marketing is still just as profitable as it was in 2001 or 2005.

The writing and publishing world is filled with vendors and consultants whose business models are based on email marketing. “Build your mailing list!” they declare, as they attempt to sell you a system for luring potential readers through a labyrinthine email funnel.

If you’re selling or marketing anything legitimately, an email list is probably still worth having and maintaining. But it’s also important to realize that the online environment has changed since 2001 or 2005. I know many adults who have eliminated email entirely, relying instead on their smartphones and text messages (game-changing innovations that did not exist in 2001 or 2005) for all online communications.

When every other email message is a scam, we’re all just a lot more wary of email.

-ET

The expanding 12 Hours of Halloween story world

When I published 12 Hours of Halloween, I thought of it as a standalone novel.

Over time, however, I realized that the setting itself had far more stories to tell.

Halloween in suburban Cincinnati during the Gen X era provides a unique backdrop for supernatural fiction. Kids still roamed neighborhoods after dark without cell phones. Parents gave them a little more freedom. Familiar streets, parks, and neighborhoods became places of mystery once the sun went down.

That world is simply too rich to leave behind after a single novel.

My newest story, The Gold Coin and the Crow, expands that universe.

Like 12 Hours of Halloween, it takes place on Halloween night in 1980. It features a different cast of characters and tells a completely standalone story, so you can read it whether you’ve already read the novel or not.

The story begins with what seems like a simple trick-or-treat stop. A strange homeowner has no candy to offer, but he does have something far more tempting: nineteenth-century gold coins scattered throughout his backyard.

There is only one catch.

You have to get past the crow.

From there, the story becomes an increasingly strange journey into the supernatural, filled with the nostalgic atmosphere of suburban Halloween nights, childhood curiosity, and the unsettling feeling that the ordinary world may not be quite as ordinary as it appears.

If you enjoyed the mood, setting, and Gen X nostalgia of 12 Hours of Halloween, I think you’ll feel right at home in The Gold Coin and the Crow.

This is also just the beginning.

My goal is to continue expanding the 12 Hours of Halloween story world with additional tales set during different Halloween seasons, following different characters, and exploring new supernatural mysteries—all while returning to the same familiar world of autumn nights, suburban neighborhoods, and the strange things that sometimes happen when the barriers between worlds grow thin.

Because some things can only happen on Halloween.

**View THE GOLD COIN AND THE CROW on Amazon**

Kindle Unlimited, and going where the readers are

There is a cashier at a nearby grocery store where I regularly shop. She is an avid reader of my books.

This woman (I’ll call her Beverly) is probably in her mid-forties. Like me, she has spent most of her life in Ohio.

Beverly subscribes to Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program, and she reads most of my books through KU.

The other day, I asked Beverly if she did much reading on non-Amazon platforms such as Apple Books, Google Play, Barnes & Noble, or Kobo.

Beverly gave me a perplexed look.

“Why?” she asked, honestly surprised by the question. (She had never even heard of Kobo—or, at best, was only vaguely aware that it existed.)

I grew up in an era when the retail book market was wonderfully distributed and diverse. We had Waldenbooks and B. Dalton in the local mall. There were independent bookstores throughout the eastern Cincinnati suburbs where I lived. There were also at least two bookstores serving the University of Cincinnati, which I attended in the late 1980s.

When the brick-and-mortar superstores Borders and Barnes & Noble came to Cincinnati in the 1990s, the retail book market consolidated somewhat—but not all that much. There were still no online book sales, and the market was large enough to support multiple retailers.

That’s the way I prefer things to be. But as is so often the case in the twenty-first century, I find myself out of step with the times.

A few months ago, I took a handful of my ebook titles wide, meaning that I removed them from Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program (which requires exclusivity) and made them available through Google Play, Apple Books, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble.

This past week, I decided to remove those books from wide distribution and place them back into Kindle Unlimited. That decision was based on sales data, as well as further analysis of broader market trends. One factor was the overwhelming cost competitiveness of Amazon’s Kindle devices.

As a result, seven of my titles will be returning to Kindle Unlimited. This process should be complete by the end of the month. It is taking longer than I expected because several of Kobo’s international bookseller partners have been slow to delist the titles, and I cannot enroll them in Kindle Unlimited until they have been fully removed from those sites.

These are the titles that will be returning to KU over the coming weeks. You can find all of them on my Amazon author page:

  • The Consultant
  • No Sure Thing
  • 12 Hours of Halloween
  • Revolutionary Ghosts
  • Hay Moon and Other Stories
  • Eleven Miles of Night
  • Involuntary Deeds

-ET

A disappearance in Crosley Tower

The Woman in Crosley Tower is a new title for preorder in my Uncanny Ohio series. It’s a novella of about 24,000 words. The novella will be released on June 26, 2026.

This horror/dark fantasy story is based on a single question: What would happen if a woman disappeared inside a building in the University of Cincinnati during the summer of 1987, and emerged 39 years later?

There is a lot more to it than that, of course. This is a story for fans of parallel world stories, and tales of liminal zones (like the “backrooms” urban legend). And since much of the story is set in 1987, there is also a generous portion of Gen X nostalgia, an element which is rapidly becoming part of my “brand”.

I’ll have some more posts about The Woman in Crosley Tower in the days and weeks ahead. For now, here is the Amazon pre-order link.

The Woman in Crosley Tower will be initially released in digital-only format (Kindle). For those of you who like to read on paper (and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, of course!) the title will be released in a combined volume with several other Uncanny Ohio titles later in the summer/fall.

Also, The Woman in Crosley Tower will be in Kindle Unlimited, at least for the foreseeable future. So you can read it there if you’re a Kindle Unlimited subscriber.

-ET

1986, Stephen King, and youthful disappointment

In the mid-1980s, I became a rabid fan of Stephen King. My fandom started with a random confluence of events, as so many things do.

My sophomore year of high school, I had a job manning the checkout desk at my school’s library during my study hall period. So I had plenty of exposure to books. One day, I happened across a paperback copy of Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot.

The novel had been made into a two-part television miniseries five years earlier (1979). I had seen the miniseries, and it had creeped me out. I remembered enough about the miniseries to know what the novel would be about, but not enough to ruin the book for me.

I was instantly hooked. I blazed through ‘Salem’s Lot in only a few days. After that, I checked out every book in the school library that was written by Stephen King.

When I exhausted the school library shelves, I turned to the Waldenbooks and B. Dalton stores at the local mall. This was in the mid-1980s. By this time, Carrie, The Shining, Cujo, and Christine were already published.  Rose Madder, The Green Mile, and 11/22/63 were still years in the future.

Teenagers are natural-born fanatics. During those years, I was a fanatic of Stephen King’s work in the same way that I was a fanatic of the music of Rush and Led Zeppelin. During the remainder of my high school years, I read Stephen King’s novels and short story collections with a dogged, joyful determination. I wanted to read everything he had written to that time. (And given Stephen King’s prolificness as a writer, there was a lot to read even then, in the mid-1980s).

By the time I graduated from high school in the spring of 1986, my dedicated reading had more or less caught up with Stephen King’s prolific writing. But a few months later, Stephen King had a new novel out, and it was widely billed as the writer’s magnum opus.

I looked forward to the book weeks before it came out.

The “it” I’m talking about is It, Stephen King’s mammoth horror epic. The book was released on September 15, 1986. I purchased my copy that very same day. I know this, because I preordered the book from the B. Dalton’s at my local shopping mall.

I remember starting the book while on a break at my university library. (I attended Northern Kentucky University in the fall of 1986.) To say that I was in an anticipatory mood would be a gross understatement. Here was 1,138 pages of new fiction from my  favorite author.

Original hardcover dust jacket for It, 1986

What followed was one of my first experiences in youthful disillusionment (Many more were to follow, of course; but those are other episodes for other essays). It dragged. The novel contained too many subplots, too much padding, and a long, saggy middle.

What I loved about Cujo, Carrie, and the short stories in Night Shift were King’s fast pacing, narrative discipline, and literary economy. Most of these early works were written when Stephen King was still establishing himself as a writer, and was therefore subject to marketplace competition.

By 1986, though, Stephen King was already a celebrity writer. His short story “Trucks” had been made into a movie that summer, Maximum Overdrive. King was frequently interviewed, and widely known as “the Master of the Macabre”. He had even done a television commercial for American Express. In 1986, American pop culture was still characterized by scarcity and monolithic names. In popular fiction, King was one of those monoliths, alongside big names like Danielle Steel and Tom Clancy.

Stephen King on the cover of Time magazine, 1986

No discussion of It would be complete without mentioning the book’s controversial sex scene—what amounts to an orgy among its adolescent characters.

As a mature adult in 2026, I am supposed to get in a high dudgeon about the potential exploitation issues involved here. Back in 1986, very few adults did. There were some raised eyebrows, sure; but no public outcry greeted It, not even among members of the religious right. They were too busy lobbying to get Playboy and Penthouse banned from 7-Eleven.

But there was another factor in play for me, at the time. Keep in mind that in the fall of 1986, I was barely 18 years old myself, and only a few months out of high school. I was much closer in age to the members of the Losers Club than to the novel’s middle-aged author. Did my youthful age place me adjacent to something exploitive? Was I somehow a victim in all of this, too? Teenagers of the 1980s were not programmed to ask such questions.

Even at that age, though, I sensed that something was odd about this scene in It. I remember wondering if, perhaps, Stephen King had been drunk or high while writing this scene. (In light of King’s subsequent revelations about his substance abuse struggles during this period, my speculations may not have been too far from the mark.)

The sex scene involving the adolescent members of The Losers Club may or may not have been exploitative. It was, however, inappropriate and unnecessary, and definitely jarred me out of the story.

Forty years after the publication of It, Stephen King is still writing novels and I am still a fan.

Nowadays, however, I tend to read his work more selectively. King’s novellas and short stories are as engaging for me as ever. I often skip his longer, doorstop-size novels. I struggled to get through The Outsider, 11/22/63, and Fairy Tale.

Likewise, my early, teenage attempts at writing fiction were thinly disguised attempts at imitating Stephen King. But after all these years, and so many books of my own, I don’t sense much of King’s influences in my own work anymore. (I will, however, forever admire the stories in his first collection, the aforementioned Night Shift (1978). Every one of those stories is a gem.)

Stephen King is now almost 80, and I’m, well…a lot older, too. I hope King has many more years of writing ahead of him. I can’t promise to read all of his novels, but I’ll always show up for his short story collections.

-ET