Hardcover artist Nuno Moreira was kind enough to write about the novel, so it’s only sensible we share it here. Thanks, Nuno! https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/delilah-my-woman-book-project-nuno-moreira
A note from M. F. Sullivan: This was originally written as a comment for for reddit.com/r/serialkillers, but I thought we’d get some mileage out of it here. Introducing our first ever guest post with our on-staff serial killer expert, the artist Richard Vasko. I have no real explanation as to what brings me here, my situation being what it is, and all, but I do have books to discuss with
Two short Susan stories that make one nice, upsetting pair. Click here to read them at Fictionaut.
At thirty-one, there came a December afternoon when Susan found herself draped in a stiff wooden chair, staring into her glass of straight whiskey and trying very hard to find a way to kill her husband. The dining room she inhabited was dusty because they hadn’t entertained in a month at least and she just couldn’t manage to give a damn. She couldn’t give a damn about anything anymore. It was all so tedious and she just wanted it to stop, would do anything for it to stop.
Hybristophilia is a concept which has been gaining interest for some time, particularly from a literary standpoint. A hybristophile is best described as some who loves their partner because of a serious crime, often violent in nature. When we think of the word, we think of Myra Hindley, or Ted Bundy’s legion of fan-girls. Crazy women, we think. Lunatics! What woman would write to someone like that, let alone participate!
I’m pleased to announce the unveiling of the cover for DELILAH, MY WOMAN, as well as a new sample you can read before you subscribe to the e-mail newsletter. Please be sure to sign up for updates. I promise I won’t flood your inbox, but surely you want to know when you can finally meet Richard, just the way Delilah did. Click the cover below to subscribe, and get to
Brilliant article I just had to share. Very fascinating story.
We’ve all got dreams, but especially writers. Even if they don’t directly entertain them, or they’ve buried them, or they’re cynics or realists or whatever reason they have–even they have a private space in the very back corner of the brain, home of the What-If. Sometimes they catch the What-If behind them in the mirror while they shave. Sometimes the What-If drifts beside the bus or train window. Sometimes the
In Act II, Chapter 11, if you put on the overture of Wagner’s Tannhäuser right when a particular character does, it perfectly matches the text as background music through the end of the chapter. Pretty pleased to have discovered this in editing. I feel like, novels being literary works and relying so much on description, the ones that enrich us most are ones which cite their sources, as it were.