The Unpublished Masses? Or Undiscovered Brilliance?

As a member of five or six sites tailored to writers and their wares, I’ve come to a very unsettling conclusion. There are obviously many factors that would need to come into play for an unpublished author to become a published author. I’ve seen many fellow writers fail with fantastic books. Books that I’d buy over some of the one’s force fed to us by the big three any day of the week. Since I don’t know why this is, I’m just going to allow you to sample some of the genius I’ve been lucky enough to read for free.

Keep in mind these are just my opinions and have not been researched, just mused upon by yours namely. Here, I’ll name a few unpublished authors (most of whom have been actively seeking representation for their work) who, in my opinion, range from excellent to brilliant and are listed in no particular order. There are many more, but for my purpose here, I’ll name but a few.

Up first is a very nice guy with a great book:

Steve Tee- (okay, this is my favourite–no secret with anyone who knows me–and he’s not even published. Yet).

His book is titled ‘Hell’s Angel’, and it literally blew me right out of my high top Converse All-stars. If there was/is a master of the modern horror story, it’s this man (and I don’t even know his full last name).

“I shall tear down the obscene edifices of religion. And if humanity should suffer by my hand, so be it; for Mine is the kingdom.”

In the eyes of Jeremiah Corns, humanity are flesh and blood puppets wandering creation as grotesques, twisted and moulded by the avaricious hands of organised religion.
Cursed with the stigmata and bearing resentment only an abandoned child could know, he resolves to rid mankind of their gods.

Set in a future world ruled by theocratic governments, Jeremiah’s story unfolds in the form of vignettes and newspaper articles, along with verses from the final chapter in the turbulent chronicle of mankind, The Third Testament.

Here is a piece of what I’m talking about. This is a tidbit Steve gave me to place here. This is just a taste of Jeremiah Corn:

Rainwater, dripping from ice-cold iron railings, trickled tentatively towards a bloated gutter. Jeremy stopped by a Dumpster of corpses to light a Cool Mist filter-tipped.
The air smelled of rotten meat.
Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he beheld, from his elevated position atop the stone mound, Damascus Gate and the bloodied path of Via Dolorosa; the setting sun pushing tendrils of crimson towards Mount Zion; the musty aroma of an impatient Garden Tomb assailing his olfactory system.
They had promised him fresh water, that he might quench his thirst.
He inhaled, deeply. The patter of rain on garbage kept time with the pounding of hammers.
Sometimes, during quiet moments alone – harps, hushed and forlorn, waiting in the wings – he heard the discordant, dolorous tones of steel on steel; nails being driven through flesh and bone.
“Immanuel! My Arse!”
Jeremy made his way across the street, stepping over a pregnant young girl. Her clothes were ragged and filthy, her auburn hair matted against the remains of her skull. The odour of her skin would linger with him for days.
For a moment, he recalled being cradled in loving arms, snuggled against a warm lactating breast, his cherubic features held in a proud father’s loving gaze.
The ghosts of a thousand dead cities tugged on his sleeve and clawed at his flesh, demanding, always demanding.
Another rain-slick street of corpses beckoned to him through the smoggy gloom.
His thirst remained unquenched; perhaps, even, unquenchable. And sometimes, just sometimes, everything made perfect sense.

The way Steve Tee blends this tale together is mesmerizing. After my first visit with ‘Hell’s Angel’, I sat smiling like an idiot at my computer screen for about ten minutes. [At the conclusion of reading a portion of a novel on the site where I found this book, Authonomy, the reader is given the opportunity to comment on what they've read; share their views, mention any errors, logic issues, punctuation & grammar, what-have-you.] I stared at the empty comment box, believing myself unworthy of even saying ‘thanks for sharing’. I felt that I’d just gush praises, and that’s not what I do. But in all honesty, I was numb. Numb because a novel like that even sits beside mine in a slush pile. I was saddened and elated all at the same time. Saddened for one simple reason: if his book isn’t fit for general cunsumption, how does that bode for my own tale about a cannibal and the whore he’s smitten with? I still don’t know the answer to that. I haven’t sent a query letter away yet.

I was elated because I had the opportunity to read great books, share ideas, and converse with some very fine minds about everything from dirty jokes to punctuation and common grammar issues inherent with advanced and novice writers.

As an addendum here, I’ll check with any author I mention on this page and see if they mind me posting a few snippets of their story up here. I’ll talk to Steve tomorrow. I’m sure he won’t mind, so some of his should be here by tomorrow afternoon.

Until then, don’t take candy from strangers.

Later today–that’s tomorrow for some, and yesterday for others–I’ll be delving into the mind of another great writer, Richard Daybell, and also take a peek at a few choice snippets from his book ‘Voodoo Love Song’.