Chad, and especially his debut novel, Secrets of the Weird is also a perfect read for our current times. From Goodreads:
"Trixie loathed her penis." That shocking revelation begins the emotional and personally horrifying quest for self-realization in a truly messed up world.
Secrets of the Weird has been likened to the David Lynch's groundbreaking series Twin Peaks, but only if horror master Clive Barker and dark fantasist Neil Gaiman had teamed up to create that iconic 90s cultural masterpiece.
It's here, within the dark tapestry of Sweetville, where a new designer drug offers the enticing yet dangerous promise of salvation through physical transformation as it makes the rounds of the community of club kids, neo-Nazis, drag queens, prostitutes and punks who populate the city's sin-drenched streets. Its chewable hearts and candied lips threaten to change the lives of those in the city's underground in terrible ways. And on her seemingly herculean struggle to once and for all become the woman she was born to be, Trixie is the ideal candidate to accept its treacherous bargain.
With Sweet Candy poised to ignite the tenuous powder keg that is life, love and lust in Sweetville, could the arrival of the mysterious back-alley surgeon Julius Kast and his cult of peculiar specters be the final spark that lights the fuse?
Take an unforgettable journey with Trixie and a cast of outsiders in Secrets of the Weird, a novel that's equal parts irreverent social commentary, dark fantasy and horrifying reality for a counterculture society where frequently dangerous, often deviant and always dark secrets will be revealed.
Proudly presented by Grey Matter Press, the multiple Bram Stoker Award-nominated independent publisher.
Grey Matter Press: Where Dark Thoughts ThriveThis is a violent and erotic book, yes, but it is also extremely thought provoking. Stroup will take you completely out of your everyday world, yes, but after you close the book, you cannot help but think about the book within the context of your own life. And even though this book came out just over a year ago, it is even more important to read RIGHT THIS MINUTE.
You can find out more about Stroup around the web:
- https://www.facebook.com/ChadStroupWriter
- http://subvertbia.blogspot.com/
- www.linkedin.com/pub/chad-stroup/3b/451/23/
Now here is Chad on Why he loves horror.
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Blame my mother.
My earliest memories of horror are from the ripe age of two, when I stayed up much later than the average toddler to watch all the old Universal monster movies, likely in innocent awe (Creature from the Black Lagoon is still my favorite of the bunch). My mother was a fan of horror movies (or, as she referred to them, “scary shows”), and when my father went to bed, she’d keep me up with her to watch the black and white classics. I never had nightmares from watching the films, and even when my own imagination occasionally did spawn dark dreams, I figured out quickly they were make-believe.
Sometimes, though, the monsters were able to claw just deep enough under my skin to haunt me. Take Gollum from The Hobbit (the Rankin/Bass animated version), which was probably the first thing that truly terrified me in my young life. I used to have one of those little storybooks that came with a 7” record narrating the scene where Gollum tries to fool Bilbo with riddles, and anytime Gollum’s voice crept out of the speakers I peeled out of the room in hysterics. Once I conquered my initial fear of this strange creature (I’m lying…I never completely got over it), I started to think about what he did during the long, lonely times before Bilbo had come around, what his life was like deep down below. How lonely and pitiful it must have been. That got to me, like real bad. Should I have been thinking about this stuff when kindergarten was on the horizon? Probably not. But there it was.
And things only got worse from there.
By age five I was already skipping with glee over to the local newsstand to read the latest issue of Fangoria, and I was probably devouring horror novels and short stories by some fly-by-night author named King by the time I was seven or eight (hey, I started reading when I was three, and I had to go somewhere from The Poky Little Puppy, didn’t I?). Then came comic books illustrated by the late, great Bernie Wrightson. Then the legendary Gore Shriek series. I looked forward to each new dark thrill while most kids my age were still desperately trying to wean themselves off their own thumbs.
In my pre-teen years I discovered Clive Barker via Cabal and the Books of Blood, and the game hadn’t just changed, it had completely mutated. From there I found Splatterpunk—David J. Schow, John Skipp, Poppy Z. Brite, et al. The visionaries who continued to kindle my love for the genre over the years and eventually inspired me to jaggedly carve my own path. Splatterpunk is a much misunderstood genre, but one that, when approached properly, has as much brain and heart as it does guts. Fitting that my first semi-pro short story sale was in an anthology that dared to inject new life into Splatterpunk (Splatterlands, Grey Matter Press, 2013).
For me horror has never been primarily about the fear aspect. Sure, I crave the thrill like any other fan, and some films and works of literature have frightened me to my very core (albeit rarely these days…can you say “desensitized”?). More often than not, this fear possessed me with a sense of sickening glee. An adrenaline rush. But that wasn’t my main attraction to the genre. If I had to pinpoint it, I think it was horror’s weird sense of wonder that won me over. The sense that things weren’t quite right. Happy endings weren’t always a guarantee, and sometimes life was left in disarray for whoever remained at the end of the story. The appeal goes deeper than a body count or how many gallons of blood are spilled on the page or on the screen. It’s about raw, feral emotion. But many people don’t get this. To them, horror is the bastard son of literature and film, a quality I equally reject and embrace.
Which brings me to another major factor involved in my love for horror. I believe I was destined to be attracted to art hung on the fringes of society. I didn’t fit anywhere else. Square pegs. Round holes. You know the deal. My tastes in film and fiction have always skewed toward
the dark side, much like my lifelong love for outsider music has never wavered. A match made in the darkest, sulphur-drenched sewers of Hades. I wouldn’t be the same person I am today had the wicked side of art not hunted me down and demanded I pay attention.
It should come as no surprise, then, that I prefer to bring a rebellious attitude to horror, both as a fan and a creator. Like all rules, I believe genre is meant to be bent and often broken, and I’ve always felt the top shelf horror is certainly not that which confines itself to blatant misogyny, violence without repercussions, and cheap jump scares. I would have given up a long time ago if that was all that the genre offered. Horror is a versatile tool when authors know how to use it without simply following the instructions. It can be used to create a foundation, but at some point the other devices in the toolbox can become useful as well. Horror should be weird, should make you feel uncomfortable in ways you can’t quite describe. There are so many terrible things in life to observe, consume, and regurgitate in unique ways, so there’s no need for endless pastiche, reimagining, or flat-out plagiarism. It’s perfectly fine to wear your influences on your sleeve as long as you’re willing to rip off the shirt and bare your soul and your unique vision to the world. The writers and filmmakers I respect most are those who are not afraid to take these types of chances. And, yes, I realize I’ve been referencing films just as much as books, but I firmly believe every great film begins with a great writer.
I crave horror fiction today because I’m still hoping for words on a page to rip my face off. And sometimes they do. Not necessarily because of the violence they convey or a mind-bending plot twist. The most important things I look for in dark fiction are unforgettable characters and vivid language that allows a story to be told in a way no other author can tell it. These two elements ensure a short story or novel will stick with me for years to come. If a story is all plot and no heart, I’ll probably forget about it by the next day. This is not to say a wonderfully woven plot lacks weight. But life does not take place in three neat acts, and most experiences are never tied up neatly before moving on to the next stage of life. Fiction should attempt to reflect that on some level, and horror fiction especially deserves to be a little messy. Horror should demand the reader be sucked into the hell that takes over the characters’ lives, whatever that hell might be. Whether likeable or unlikeable, those who inhabit a story just need to matter. Characters should go through significant changes from the first line to the last, and the reader should wonder if these characters will ever have a shot at being okay again (here’s a hint: probably not). And while it takes skill to use interesting language without it getting in the way of a story, I still yearn for those times when I can just pause on a sentence that makes my jaw go limp and lets the words gnaw into my flesh and lay thousands of pulsating eggs.
That’s not too much to ask, is it?
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In addition to my debut novel Secrets of the Weird (Grey Matter Press), please check out my recent and upcoming releases: My brand new novel Sexy Leper (Bizarro Pulp Press), my limited comic series Hag (American Gothic Press), and my latest shorts appearing in Lost Films and Chiral Mad 4 (a collaboration with Kristopher Triana), all of which will hopefully be released by the time you read this.
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