“Let’s summon a succubus, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

You’re the fuck-up!”

My Deadite Press debut is now available, in this gooshy novel of dirty intentions gone wrong. It’s Weird Science by way of Edward Lee, when a group of guys attempt an arcane ritual to get the sexy demon chick of their dreams. They get … well … something, all right … but not what they were hoping for.


Speaking of Edward Lee, he himself had this to say:

Get a big witch’s cauldron, add a cup of Breakfast Club, a copy of the Grimorium Verum, then pour in a bathtub full of semen and start stirring, and there’s your synopsis of Spermjackers from Hell.  Morgan continues to kick ass in the field of irredeemable, wincing, hilarious, outrageous gross-out horror, setting the bar higher each time.  Seriously, there’s more SPERM in this book than there are old people in Florida.  If you don’t like extreme fiction, then go read Winnie the Pooh, but if you do, consider this essential reading.

–Edward Lee, author of WHITE TRASH GOTHIC and THE BIGHEAD

Featuring cover art and bonus, uh, ‘splash page’ illustration by Jim Agpalza, this book is not safe for work, probably not safe for sanity, inappropriate on just about every level, and now it can be yours!

Order it on Amazon today!

Just In Case

As I’m counting down the hours, about to undergo surgery, I’ve done my best to make sure my various affairs are in order … just in case. I’ve made arrangements for my cats and my literary estate and my stuff … just in case. I’ve said some private goodbyes and thank-yous … just in case.

But it’s never enough, is it? I keep thinking of more people who’ve meant so much to me over the course of my life, who’ve been dear friends and loved ones, who’ve helped me along my way and been there and let me be there for them, who’ve enriched my life and given me joy. Some of whom I’ve not seen in years or still never met in person but who are as dear to me as could be.

You know who you are. If you’re thinking I might mean you, I do. It’d take too long to do an individual list, and I’d hate to accidentally omit anyone. So, keeping it broad strokes.

To my parents and siblings, my nieces and nephews, my aunts and uncles and cousins and the whole extended bunch of you, for the beach house trips and holiday dice game and all those signature Fourths of July, and for the whole new generation of tinkerpotters carrying the legacy on …

To my ex-husbands and even the ex-laws who may’ve been glad to see the last of me …

To my Gargoyles clan, brought together by our shared love and fandom, from way back when the internet still seemed so new, through conventions and kerfuffles, you art-goddesses and writers, everyone from the show, the youngsters who tell me they grew up on my twisted fanfics (egads) …

To my GURPSers and gamers, through so many sessions and campaigns, so many maps and battlemats, so many rolls of the dice and even the crash-and-burns …

To my teachers, the ones who taught me in school and the ones I’ve learned from later even without setting foot in one of their classrooms …

To the neighbors and coworkers and classmates I’ve also been blessed to be able to call friends …

To my fellow heroes and villains, my ficbuddies and RP-guys who’ve given me some of the most passionate and intense imaginary relationships ever, to the good devs but not to those bastards who took it away; our city and our islands, a world I’ll never forget …

To my loved and loving kitties, and all their predecessors, feline or canine or other, the pets who’ve been a delight and shared so much affection …

To my BFFs, through hell and high water …

To the authors whose words have shaped my mind, often in such wonderful and demented ways, some of whom I’ve been privileged to meet and go giddy over …

To the editors and publishers who’ve given me the opportunity to share my stories, to the readers and reviewers, the literary track at so many conventions, the message boards, to the mentors who guided me whether they knew it or not, and the writers who for some reason have let me mentor them, to everyone who’s ever sent me a submission or something to review …

To the bizarros and extreme horror community, where I was always meant to belong and only wish like mad that I’d found you all sooner …

To my amazing daughter, and by extension her own friends and teachers and theater folk over the years, who’ve helped her become the sarcastic, talented, punster force of nature of whom I’m so incredibly proud …

My families.

I love you.

You’re the world to me.

Thank you for that, and for everything.

Now, I’d much rather be doing this in some big award acceptance speech, but, for now, let’s go with this. What I wanted and needed to say. Not necessarily as a goodbye, just, you know, just in case. I’m certainly planning and hoping to still be around so you have to put up with me for many years yet to come.

But, yeah … just in case.

You’re the best kind of wonderful crazy, and I love you.

See you on the other side, one way or another.

— Christine

Go Ahead and Be An Ass

When my daughter was little, certain relatives used to complain how she didn’t seem to like them very much. Now, clearly, the expectation was, as parents, her father and I would somehow fix it. Would force her to like them, as was our duty and their due.

Evidently, “huh, well, have you tried being more likable?” wasn’t the right answer.

Except, you know what? It was.

It may not have been the most polite or diplomatic answer, it was not the answer they wanted. But it WAS right, and true.

They felt entitled to have her feel and behave toward them in a particular way, regardless of their own attitudes and behavior. Whether they’d earned it or not, they felt they deserved it, were owed it.

Because, reasons. Because, family.

Because, bullshit. You can’t dictate, command, or demand those things from another person.

So, the “don’t be an ass” thing? It’s advice. Advice. A suggestion. It’s not a rule, not an order, not a law.

You might think that something so simple and basic would be, well, simple and basic, kind of obvious. I mean, duh, right? Not something to draw a lot of protest and pushback and backlash. Who would argue with something so fundamental?

Asses, mostly.

Asses for whom assdom is a lifestyle choice, who maybe have little else going for them, little else to hold onto. Who revel in their assdom and are all too glad to lash out at any perceived attack, slight, or threat upon it.

Honestly, why should you have to examine your own attitudes and behavior when it’s everyone else’s reactions that are the real issue? All these intolerant-against-assdom so-called liberal cuck virtue-signaling snowflakes buzzword whatever?

If you’re happy being an ass, if it’s working for you, if it’s getting you the results you want, then by all means, carry on. Nobody’s stopping you. Nobody CAN stop you. There’s no Ass Police, no legal or governmental authorities.

Drawback: there’s also no law saying other people have to put up with it; they can’t be forced to socialize with you, work with you, interact with you on a personal or business level. And, brace yourself because this may be a shock, it isn’t even censorship!

“But but but free speech!” Absolutely. Go ahead and say anything you want, knock yourself out.

“But but but free speech and everybody HAS to listen to meeee!” Bzzt. Nope. Everybody gets to decide for themselves if they want to or not.

“But but but free speech and nobody can say anything back or criticize me!” Bzzt. Nope again. Two-way street there, chumley.

“But but but you’re bullying meeee!” Bzzt. Third strike; on Family Feud we’d kick it over to the other team now.

Bonus round: Bullying is different, and you know it. But “mocking” doesn’t play as well into the persecutory victimhood ideation as well, does it?

Okay, now we’re getting into some upper-division assdom, the really pro levels, the asses who might build their entire identities around such perceived injustices.

Going back to the basic premise, if you want to be liked, try being more likable. Instead of, y’know, railing against everyone else for only liking the likable people.

It’s like when the creepy dude complains about girls finding him creepy, and someone suggests he maybe not do (creepything), and he sulks because girls should just stop thinking (creepything) is creepy.

Hey, it’s advice; all anybody can do is offer suggestions. You gotta do what works for you.

Maybe you don’t want to change your behavior. Maybe you’re deeply invested in your assdom, maybe it really IS all you have to define yourself and hold onto.

Ask yourself, though … IS it working for you? IS it getting you the results you want? What results DO you want?

If the results you want involve clippetyclopping along being an ass, hey, go for it. Not that you need my or anybody else’s permission. Remember, it’s not a rule, not a law. Just advice.

If the results you want involve clippetyclopping along being an ass without any social consequence or repercussion, well, that’s where you’re going to clippetyclop your way right into a wall, because of that whole matter of others being able to make their own decisions and stuff having consequences.

You have every right to be an ass. Others have every right not to like you for being one. Which still won’t stop you, if you’re a really dug-in, dedicated, and determined ass.

I believe in you.

Pre-surgery book sale!

CHRISTINE MORGAN horror novels $8 each!

BLACK ROSES — demon dream lover incubus smut!

GIFTED CHILDREN — science experiment spooky kids!

CHANGELING MOON — warring secret shapeshifters!

TELL NO TALES — reality show on haunted pirate island!
HIS BLOOD — let’s bring back vampire Jesus!

HORNED ONES — show cave, cave-in, cave monsters!

Signed copies! Personalized on request!

Act now; quantities limited!

Free shipping (US only)!

Buy 3 and get a bonus free copy of the first FOSSIL LAKE!

Message me on Facebook or email at christinemariemorgan@gmail.com to order, question, haggle, or whatever!

And please share; surgery looming, need money, could also use some shelf space! Thanks!

James Lowder’s ‘The Corpse’ Stories

In the shadowy underworld of Prohibition-era Chicago, where mobsters run rampant and crime bosses rule the roost, one mysterious vigilante will stand against them. They call him the Corpse, and whether he’s living or dead, man or monster, nobody seems to know.

He appears and disappears like a specter, he leaves grave worms as a calling card, and those who’ve seen him — and survived to tell the tale — report that his tattered cloak and bullet-riddled clothing cover a cadaverous form, his face pallid, his eyes haunted as the eyes of the damned.

His solitary dark crusade against the forces of evil unfolds through several stories by acclaimed editor (and no slouch of an author either) James Lowder.

“King of the Frozen Men” — short story in Sojourn 2

“Orphans of the Air” — short story in Peel Back the Skin

“The Crooked Smile Killers” — novelette in Genius Loci

“The Night Chicago Died” — illustrated novelette in Pulp Zombies

I recently read them all back-to-back, and can say with certainty that these need to be a collection, especially as I’m told there are more stories on the way. They hit all the right notes for me, great characters and action, the wonderful sense of historical accuracy, the angst and pathos, the rough justice of the street.

Moody and broody, atmospheric and gritty, hearkening back to the classic pulps and cliffhangers … if Daredevil had been made like an old-timey radio drama or black-and-white serial, it would be this.

Review — Apologies to the Cat’s Meat Man

I got an early look at this one, and now it’s available for you to experience!


Title: Apologies to the Cat’s Meat Man

Author: Alan M. Clark

Publisher: IFD Publishing

Website: http://www.ifdpublishing.com

Back in August, appropriately enough, I read and reviewed another in the author’s victims-of-Jack-the-Ripper series, A Brutal Chill in August. It blew me away, historical fiction done right, so you’d better believe I was ready for more!

Oh, and if you’re one of those brats saying yeah but they all must be the same because of how they ended, like someone I knew once refused to watch La Bamba because it’d have the same ending as The Buddy Holly Story, well, *raspberries* to you; that’s totally not the point and you know it!

These were real people. With their very own real lives, pasts, hopes, fears, dreams, and feelings. Different people. Individuals with their own stories, who deserve to be remembered as something other than statistics.

Sure, on the surface, there might be similarities between Annie Chapman in this book and Polly Nichols in Brutal Chill – both were underprivileged women of their time, struggling to get by in a difficult world. They had their flaws and weaknesses, they made their mistakes.

In Annie’s case, she was plagued by what we might call ‘being a sensitive soul.’ It’s hard enough even these days to be squeamish and easily upset, in a world with modern hygiene and conveniences. She had troubled relationships with her family and friends, and with alcohol as so many did and still do.

The real horrors of this book have nothing to do with the Ripper and his knife. They have to do with futility and hopelessness, the devastating legacy of realizing you’re becoming just like a loved/hated parent, the desperation, the loss of control.

For me, the most harrowing scenes by far, still haunting me even now as I write this, have to do with the move-along policies directed at the city’s legions of homeless. Not allowed to rest more than a few minutes in any given spot, hundreds take to the streets in an unending, plodding, circular trudge through the long hours of the night. It’s a cruel purgatory, and I couldn’t help thinking that too many places in this day and age still haven’t come very far, in terms of how society treats its least fortunate.

Once again, Clark’s skill shows through in terms of bringing the era and setting and characters to vivid life. Not a feel-good read, not a fun read, but another powerful one, and a stirring memorial for a woman who was more than a mark on a killer’s scoresheet.


Review — Confessions of an English Psychopath

Title: Confessions of an English Psychopath

Author: Jack Strange

Website: https://www.amazon.com/Jack-Strange/e/B01F9Q50RM

That moment when you contact the author to ask who he’d cast as the main character, so as to better help get a mental picture and audible voice in your head … and the author comes back with the answer “Jude Law” and your brain goes *whoof* and your glasses fog up …

Nor does it hurt that the premise is a bit like that absolutely delightful Kingsmen: The Secret Service movie, done with similar British-style cuttingly polite wit. It’s brisk and clever, hilarious even as it’s reprehensible — the guy’s a serial killer, after all, a psychopath just like it says right there in the title.

A psychopath recruited and trained by a clandestine agency to carry out discreet ‘cleaning’ missions; well, naturally he’s a natural. But, one problem with people like that is, they have this thing about rules and authority not applying to them. An operative like Lawrence Odd may be among the best in the department, but he’s also going to push, or outright ignore, boundaries.

Locked doors and secret files within the agency office? Oh, that just won’t do. Company policies against fraternizing socially after hours? As if that’s any reason not to strike up a relationship with an attractive co-worker. As far as Lawrence is concerned, even those who technically may be the boss of him aren’t, well, the boss of him.

The first-person conversational POV really puts the reader right there in his head, which is simultaneously fascinating and uncomfortable. He’s a bad guy, he’s fundamentally bent on some deep human and empathic level, yet, you kinda gotta like him and feel sorry for and root for him. Beyond his surface charm and arrogance, he has an almost childlike bewilderment, as if sincerely perplexed why others just don’t understand.

Times like these are when the bad-guys-vs.-worse-guys thing comes in handy. When Lawrence goes rogue, he has reasons. There’s a certain guilty-pleasure quality to it all, and when you also get to envision Jude Law in the role? *whoof*

Book Review: Behind Her Eyes


Title: Behind Her Eyes

Author: Sarah Pinborough

Publisher: Flatiron Books

Website: http://www.flatironbooks.com

I picked up this book at one of the author’s recent Portland appearances. Knew very little of it beforehand, but I’d been most favorably impressed by everything else of hers I’d read, and people were saying good things, and the whole growing breakthrough best-seller take the world by storm buzz. Besides, signed copy, I’m often a sucker for a signed copy!

Anyway, so, there I was at the reading, and during the Q/A someone mentioned the ending in a “no spoilers but holy wow that ending!” kind of way, which further intrigued me. I dove right in and was instantly engaged, instantly immersed.

The story’s about secrets, and obsession, and love, and betrayal. Louise is recently divorced, doing the working-mom / shared-custody juggling act, which leaves her little time for herself or a social life. When she does meet an interesting guy, he then turns out to be not only married but her new boss, making extra awkwardness all around. To step it up even further, Louise then finds herself becoming friends with his wife … without letting on to either that she knows the other … and the more she gets to know them, the more enmeshed she becomes, the more thoroughly entangled in their the complex turbulence of their marriage.

A situation like this could have the makings of a light-hearted farce or rom-com, one of those hilarious Shakespearean cases of mistaken identities and misunderstandings, where after some tribulations, everything sorts itself out and works out okay. It could, but, this is not that situation. This is a situation of pain, torment, temptation, agonizing choices, troubled pasts, and slowly-unveiling threats of physical danger.

Fascinating stuff, intense human drama, even without the other less-normal elements … the characters are presented so well, so multi-faceted and true … I’d find myself believing and sympathizing with one, then another, then having distrust and second-guessing, then chastising, then rooting for, then wanting to smack them … around and around, just like real people, nothing one-dimensional here.

I was also rolling along feeling fairly smug and pleased with myself because I thought I’d figured it out, I thought I knew what was going on. Oh, pride before the fall! THAT ENDING was a wallop, a rug-pulled-out-from-under. Not an utter shock of an out-of-nowhere blindside; all the clues really had been there … but the way they fit together … it was like one of those optical illusions where you know there’s something, but you don’t see it, but you know it’s there, and then something CLICKS in your brain and THERE IT IS.

Wow. I mean, wow. I mean, I had to drop a note to the author just ALL-CAPS HOLY *BLEEP* to get it out of my system before attempting a serious review. Yet, here I am doing that serious review and I’m still ALL-CAPS HOLY *BLEEP*. My head is full of thunderclap fireworks, just all concussive sonic boom and flash-dazzle afterimages, even now a few days later.

Other reviewers have said, and I add my voice to theirs, READ THIS NOW. NOW NOW NOW. Don’t let anybody spoil it for you. Not only is the read itself a remarkable experience of building and deepening psychological terror, not only is it a vivid and inescapable drawing-in to the twisted dark complexities of emotion and relationships …

THAT ENDING! That wallop! That moment where suddenly, and, as the kids say, you just can’t even. I just couldn’t even. I still can’t even. I mean, I read a lot; I reviewed 120 books last year; I’ve been a reader all my life; I sometimes feel like I’m getting old and jaded … and still. Still. Wow.

I literally (in the literal sense!) had to put it down when I was done and just go walk around for a while, my mind full of those thunderclap fireworks. I was speechless. I was awestruck. If anybody had been there to try and talk to me at that time, all I could’ve done was blink and shake my head and mutely gawp like a goldfish.

Basically, yeah, every good thing anybody’s been saying about this book? Truth. More than worthy of its spot on the best-seller lists. I know it’s only February, but for this NOT to be the best book I read all year, someone is going to have to come up with something pretty damn amazing. The bar has been set way high. Way, way high. Because … wow. Just wow. Thunderclap fireworks, rocked to the core. Wow.