In Laymon's Terms

Robert Freese

AVE YOU EVER been inspired by a book? It is a power certain books have. The words within, seemingly chosen by the author especially for you, strike a chord and really talk to you. As you read further, your juices begin to flow and you suddenly find yourself challenged and the words stick with you, swirl around in your head a while until you too are creating. You are setting goals and striving to achieve them.

For me, Dick Laymon’s A Writer’s Tale was an incredible inspiration and a significant guidebook in my development as a writer.

Part autobiography, part writer’s guide, A Writer’s Tale was no self-indulgent memoirs collection, or stuffy, condescending “Writing for Dummies” how-to guide cranked out to prey upon the dollars of fans and aspiring writers. For the Laymon fan it offered everything you could possibly ever want to know about Richard Laymon, man and author, and for the aspiring writer it offered a plethora of useful info and a straight-faced look at the rigorous road all writers eventually travel.

A Writer’s Tale offered some of the most useful chapters on writing I had ever read. For example, I used to think rejection letters were just a way editors tried to break the spirits of hopeful writers. It was Dick who explained why rejection letters were so essential, calling them the “receipts you get in the mail each time you paid your dues.” That is brilliant and incredibly uplifting to a writer who has kept his dues paid-in-full for some time.

Dick related the wisdom he had accumulated over his career with a humorous candor and sly wink. It was less a reading experience and more of a sit down with a friend to listen to a tale or two. The chapters dedicated to writing were the chapters that most made an impression on me, and I gleaned a little more knowledge each time I read them.

After a while, I found myself going to the book from time to time, just to find a couple encouraging words to serve as the inspiration needed to help me through whatever project I was working.

After referring back to A Writer’s Tale enough times, I suddenly realized the profound effect that book had on me. It dawned on me that if its words had such an influence on me, there was a good chance other people could also benefit from them. I got the idea that I needed to help spread the word about A Writer’s Tale, to let other writers know about it. I was excited, and I became wildly determined to get the word out.

I had been writing video movie reviews for various publications for some time so I figured the best way to help generate some attention to A Writer’s Tale was to try my hand at a book review.

I looked around at all the magazines that focused on horror entertainment (flicks, TV, and books) to find a suitable pulpit to do my lauding. Of all the magazines I considered, trying to find one in which Dick’s name would be familiar to the readership only made sense. Only one had a huge, worldwide readership that would reach tens of thousands of readers. Hundreds of fans who had turned horror pros had grown up reading the magazine, so I knew the review would get to the people I intended it to reach. Unfortunately, there was a bucket of bad blood between the magazine I chose and Dick Laymon.

I felt that a positive review for A Writer’s Tale in Fangoria magazine would definitely bring the book the attention it deserved. I thought those who would benefit the most from the book would read the review, then decide for themselves whether or not they wanted to pick up a copy. I felt that if I could just do that, make these good people aware of this wonderful book, then my job would be done.

All I could think of was the effect A Writer’s Tale might have. When I was a kid, Fangoria had touted makeup effects wizard Tom Savini’s similar autobiography/splatter effects “how-to” book Grande Illusions. Within months of Fangoria’s praise of Savini’s book, dozens of little gory independent horror flicks with spectacular splatter effects were popping up all over the place, and the filmmakers were all citing Savini’s book as their inspiration to finally make a splatter movie of their own.

I felt (and still feel) that A Writer’s Tale could have had the same effect on aspiring writers in the horror field, both in fiction and screenwriting.

It all made perfect sense to me. Get a great review for A Writer’s Tale in Fangoria, the most read horror magazine in existence, and the people who would utilize the book most would more than likely find it there.

But Dick and Fangoria were not the best of friends. I had that “hurdle” of hostility Fangoria seemingly felt toward Dick Laymon to overcome. Plus, I’m not completely stupid. I read A Writer’s Tale cover to cover, and I was well aware of the chapter dealing with critics in general, and Fangoria critics in particular. That chapter reprinted Dick’s article “The Lizzie Borden Syndrome Or Vicious Hacks With A Lust For Chopping Other People’s Wood, Fiction, And Necks”. The piece had caused quite a stir when it originally appeared in the horror newsletter Afraid in April 1993.

In the article Dick vented on some of the harsh criticism dealt to his work, especially from the Fangoria reviewers, and shed some light onto why his work may have been so viciously handled.

It was safe to assume that Fangoria had been made aware of Dick’s article at some point. To my thinking, I felt that their printing a positive review for A Writer’s Tale could serve as an overdue hatchet burying, an attempt to mop up some of the bad blood that had spilled over the years.

Surely, I convinced myself, a magazine that prided itself on helping aspiring fans break into the horror biz would not allow some sour sentiments to keep this wonderful book from being discovered by the people it would do the most good.

Man, was I wrong.

Because I was wrong, I will now admit my ulterior motive.

Betting that no one on the Fangoria staff had read A Writer’s Tale, I thought there was a good chance they would not know the book contained a reprint of “The Lizzie Borden Syndrome.” How funny it would be, I thought, to get a great review of a book into Fangoria—written by an author they did not support—in which a chapter of the hailed book was dedicated to attacking and trash talking Fangoria magazine!

For me, there was something wonderfully Andy Kaufman-esque about getting the review published in Fangoria. My intentions were honorable, if not a little misguided. It just seemed funny to me and a bit clever. Cleverly sinister, in fact. The prospect of my plan coming together made me feel like a James Bond villain. I did not see where it would hurt anyone. Besides, it was a joke only a handful of people would get. But it was worth it for just that handful.

Determined to achieve my goal, I got busy writing the review. I am no book reviewer, but the short write-up I concocted said what I wanted it to say, and I felt it would do the job it was conceived to do.

Then I sent it off and waited for a response. Months later, my response arrived.

From the biggest horror magazine in the world, you would expect a fancy rejection letter. Maybe blood-red rivulets dripping from the top of the page, maybe a decapitated head or plucked out eyeball in one of the bottom corners. Or maybe a bloody knife or machete encompassing the letterhead.

Well, the Fangoria rejection letter fell way short of my expectations. Actually, it was no more than a crappy, grainy form letter, photocopied off-center and devoid totally of any personality.

For that completely impersonal touch, the letter began with “Dear,” but no one bothered to fill in the blank. No “Dear Robert” or “Dear Writer” or even “Dear Dweeboid”. Simply “Dear”.

The form letter that followed was short and sweet. And under thirty-five words. It ended with a heart-tugging, “Sincerely, THE EDITORS”. In bold print like that, I imagined a godlike editing committee sitting at a long wooden table in the Fangoria office, laying down judgments and deciding the fate of freelance submissions from early in the morning to very late at night.

Folded over the rejection letter was my two-page review. This, I have found, is common practice for many editors, returning the submitted manuscript.

Although disappointed, I felt pretty good for trying. That was the whole point of A Writer’s Tale to begin with, to try. To persist and prevail.

Before filing the rejection letter away and stamping “Paid” on this particular due, I noticed something not at all common in the getting-a-rejection-letter business. It was something totally uncalled for and completely insulting. To my horror, the two-page review for A Writer’s Tale that I had submitted to Fangoria had been returned to me mutilated!

That’s right friends, you read that correctly—mutilated! It was carved like a paper turkey, sliced like a virgin sacrifice, and slashed like the victim of an unstable madman.

A third of the way down, both pages of the manuscript were slit nearly from side to side. It was with a crazed surgeon’s precision that the review was cut, left dangling with barely an inch of margin keeping the pages connected.

Never had anything like this ever happened to me. I’m sure that at some time I had submitted something so wretched it deserved to be cut up, but it had never happened. I’m sure editors face the urge to chop up submitted manuscripts and return them to the writer all the time, but out of courtesy they do not act upon this urge, regardless of how scissor-worthy a particular submission may be.

At first, I did not know how to take this. Was this an attack on me, on my review? Was my write-up that horrible? Or was it an underhanded attack on Dick? Did they really despise his work and efforts that much? Surely these Fangoria guys did not hold that kind of psychotic grudge against someone just for expressing their opinion? (Maybe watching tons of horror movies all the time really can warp your mind!) Or, maybe it was a warning. But warning me of what? Warning me that there was to be no happy book reviews in Fangoria magazine?

I read what I had submitted to Fangoria a couple times, but could never pinpoint what THE EDITORS found so disturbing that their only reaction was to slice my manuscript nearly in half.

In a matter of minutes I went from shocked to scared to amused to pretty darn mad.

Who were these guys to cut up my manuscript? Was their magazine so conceited they would not accept favorable reviews on books written by authors they did not support? If it is like that, fine. But what was this cutting up stuff?

I sent a fresh copy to David Silva at Hellnotes. I had hoped he might have been able to use it, so then I could be vindicated a bit over the Fangoria mutilation. While Dave could not use the review, he offered his honest thoughts, but was also unable to find the reason for the mutilation.

Figuring I would just learn from the experience, I made a copy of the mutilated review (the paper slashed open like the jugular of a Friday the 13^th victim) and sent it to Dick with a letter detailing my efforts to spread the word.

In our correspondence I found that Dick was highly amused by the situation. He commented that it would seem that I was not too well-liked by the Fangoria folks either. So it ended up being a joke for two guys instead of ten or eleven. It was still worth it.

Honestly, I believe the manuscript mutilation of my A Writer’s Tale review could have simply been a mistake. Maybe someone was cutting an envelope open with a razor knife and my manuscript was underneath. It happens. But whoever did it never bothered to write “Sorry” or “Oops” on the cut pages to let me know it was nothing more than an accident, that it was nothing personal.

Since no attempt or effort was made to let me know it was just an accident, it is more fun to imagine THE EDITORS at Fangoria attacking my review with shiny scalpels and twisted grins.

I hope that one day A Writer’s Tale gets the attention it deserves, and is discovered by the battalions of aspiring writers it was written for and dedicated to.

Thanks, Dick, for a wonderful book that has helped many a mile down my own rigorous road. And thanks Fangoria, for a great story to tell.