new cover for Murder Vision

Love this new cover for Murder Vision.

Here’s a quote from a great review by book blogger Jennifer Moss:

Chock full so suspense, this story by Jem Fox is definitely worth the five stars I gave it. Between a serial killer, Katelyn's nightmares and her relationship with her best friend Blake, Jem takes you on a ride that you are not soon to forget.

And a quote from the book:

Possibly the moment when I was standing in my serial killer evil twin’s murder house in the middle of the afternoon in my pink Victoria’s Secret bra — just possibly — that was the low point of my life up to that moment. Of course, the day was still young.

forget yourself for awhile

Nostalgia for the good old days of disconnection would not just be pointless, it would be hypocritical and ungrateful. But the very magic of the new machines, the efficiency and elegance with which they serve us, obscures what isn’t being served: everything that matters. What Facebook has revealed about human nature — and this is not a minor revelation — is that a connection is not the same thing as a bond, and that instant and total connection is no salvation, no ticket to a happier, better world or a more liberated version of humanity. Solitude used to be good for self-reflection and self-reinvention. But now we are left thinking about who we are all the time, without ever really thinking about who we are. Facebook denies us a pleasure whose profundity we had underestimated: the chance to forget about ourselves for a while, the chance to disconnect. — Is Facebook Making Us Lonely? (The Atlantic)

teen authors get no respect

In this article in the New York Times, grown-ups wax on about why teens maybe shouldn’t be publishing their work on venues like Amazon:

The mothers and fathers who foot the bill say they are simply trying to encourage their children, in the same way that other parents buy gear for a promising lacrosse player or ship a Broadway aspirant off to theater camp. 

But others see the blurring of the line between publishing and self-publishing as a lost opportunity to teach children about adversity and perseverance.

Hmm. I thought writing was the ultimate way to teach someone about adversity and perseverance. And:

“What’s next?” asked the novelist Tom Robbins. “Kiddie architects, juvenile dentists, 11-year-old rocket scientists? Any parent who thinks that the crafting of engrossing, meaningful, publishable fiction requires less talent and experience than designing a house, extracting a wisdom tooth, or supervising a lunar probe is, frankly, delusional.”

Hey, Tom, if someone under the age of 20 wants to publish their work on Amazon and make a few bucks, it’s not rocket science. They may not be working at the level of Tolstoy or Hemingway, but imagine how far they might go in 10 or 20 years. Everybody starts somewhere. Who are you to decide where the starting block is?

We don’t tell kids who start their own lawn-mowing business, “Who the hell do you think you are, Donald Trump?” We don’t tell kids to stay away from organizing bake sales — they’re no Paula Deen, after all. Listen kiddies, take time, learn your craft, develop diabetes, then get back to us later, after we’re retired and you’re no longer cutting into our royalties.

Hey, look! A kiddie architect!

And here are some famous teen authors. And a few more. And they didn’t even mention Joyce Maynard. Or Jodi Picoult’s latest coauthor, her 16-year-old daughter. Or check out Stephen King’s great book On Writing where he talks about how he starting writing and sending out stories to magazines when he was a teen.

Take-away: Don’t let anyone stop you from writing and publishing just because they think you’re too young (or, for that matter, too old). Or too female, or too interested in vampires/orcs/zombies/romance/fantasy/sci-fi/politics/shark romance. Or too shy, too spelling-challenged, too introverted, too fan-ficcy. Embrace what you are, including your age, and start making your life happen.

Age is nothing compared to ability, tenaciousness, and the willingness to work hard.

The best way to predict the future is to create it. — Peter Drucker

Diary of a Teenage Serial Killer

My book Diary of a Teenage Serial Killer is now available on Amazon.

Here’s the blurb:

Raised by her father to be a remorseless killer, Darla is trying to reboot her life as a college freshman in a bland Midwestern town.

When a lowlife at her cafeteria job tries to molest her, she's not surprised. When he takes another try and brings a friend, she's not unprepared. But the more she shakes them off, the harder they come back, until Darla's working her way up the org chart of an unsavory local business selling homemade porn cast with unwilling teenagers.

Darla just wants to be left alone, the same way her daddy wanted to be left alone. She's trying to make a normal life where no one needs to die.

But just like they wouldn't let her daddy alone, they can't seem to let Darla alone either. And just like her daddy, Darla has skills she can bring to bear on a difficult situation.

And here’s a little sample:

My father said you had to have a good reason to kill a person. But he always had a reason.

He taught me about the world we live in, you and me. He told me the priests and the Cub Scout leaders are pedophiles, the rich people are consumed with greed, every salesman has his hand in your pocket, and the only thing a boy wants from you, Darla, is to use your body to satisfy his animal urges.

He told me everybody lies.

We studied syllogisms in school. Philosophy 101: Logic. Everybody lies. My father is part of everybody. Therefore, my father lies.

The only thing was, I spent 15 years with him and I never could tell when he was lying.

See it on Amazon.

Murder Vision

My book Murder Vision is now available on Amazon.

Here’s the blurb:

The newspapers call him the Blue Valley Killer. I call him my own personal nightmare.

He takes his victims right under our noses, blinking them out of existence as they're walking down the sidewalk or getting the mail. Then they're found dead a couple of weeks later. He doesn't kill them right away. Sick bastard. He's killed four girls in the last 18 months: two college co-eds and two high-school students. He just keeps coming back for more.

At 17 and living in the center of the Valley, I'm smack dab in the middle of this psycho's demographic.

At this point, it's hard to believe he can snag another victim. Every girl I know between the ages of 12 and 20 goes nowhere without at least three friends and a six-pack of mace. Every parent in four counties has their daughters on 24/7 lockdown.

Even the college campuses -- of which there are two in the dead zone -- are like ghost towns after dusk. Free rides by crisis counselors, escorts from frat guys doing community service -- no girl has to walk alone after dark in the Valley.

How much does it suck to have a serial killer named after your pretty little slice of New England countryside? Evidently a lot, since they're thinking about changing our name after they catch the guy. No one wants to buy Blue Valley t-shirts or Blue Valley keychains when they conjure up CSI morgue footage instead of fall foliage. Well, nobody you'd want to babysit your kids.

I'm not the sort of girl who jumps every time a door squeaks. I don't think the boogeyman lives under my bed, and the monsters in my closet don't scare me. I think of teen slasher flicks as comedies.

So you tell me: Why is it that every time this creep gets down to his dirty business, my brain starts broadcasting 24/7 murdervision?

See it on Amazon

seven things you don't know about me

1. My hair parts naturally on the right but when I’m in Australia, it parts naturally on the left.

2. I lost the fifth-grade spelling bee on the word “professional”.

3. I have never spelled it wrong since.

4. I spelled it with two f’s. I still remember my teacher’s extremely pained look.

5. She wanted me to win. It was obvious.

6. I’ve never actually been to Australia.

7. I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

toby, part II

Possible alternate or further endings to this story:

Ending #1:

Two days later, Kevin, another kid from the neighborhood, told me that Mr. Harbaugh had paid him to feed Toby while they were on vacation. “He didn’t thank me or pay me or anything!” I’d already spent the five dollars. I patted his shoulder consolingly.

Ending #2:

There was no Kevin. Toby lived on toilet water. That is all.

Ending #3:

Kevin was hired to feed Toby but didn’t do it. Sharing more with Kevin Spacey than just his first name, he had starved Toby while giving triple rations to the Shannons’ dog Mitzy, who was found bloated and unable to fit through her pet door to relieve herself. Later, there was a terrible scene involving Mrs. Starkweather’s cat and a very small cardboard box.