Salt City Sinner

  In two previous posts at Madness Heart Press (“Cops, God, and Stephen King,” posted in one chunk here ), I delved into my long history as a Stephen King fan and touched on a few of the misgivings I’ve had about his recent forays into vaguely horror-adjacent detective fiction, especially his stories featuring the irredeemable Holly Gibney. Holly is, in fact, the name of subject of his newest novel (due on September 5 th ). When I wrote those posts about King and cops/PIs, his cuddly relationship with murderous police officers and self-appointed snoops struck me as a (forgive the pun) novel development. Having now revisited some of King’s 1980s-1990s oeuvre, I now believe that this has been the case all along.

  Roy Hazelwood and the Rise of Mind-Reading Police Wizards   Most of what people think they know about so-called “forensic science” is bullshit, and that fact leads to terrible law enforcement outcomes.

  The very stupidest piece of common wisdom regarding religion is a hard pick to make. There are many worthy contenders. For my money, “there are no atheists in foxholes” may be the winner. 

  Stephen King once said that there are three levels of horror: “The Gross-Out,” “Horror,” and “Terror.” Another, perhaps more accessible way to frame these would be to describe them as body horror, traditional horror, and existential horror. However, all of these types of horror rely upon a common theme, one articulated best by the person who I believe crafts the best horror prose in the history of English literature: Thomas Ligotti .

  I’ve finished writing a new novel (stay tuned for details) in which the massacre at Jonestown in November 1978 plays a pivotal role. Both to research it and because the phenomenon interests me, I’ve read more than a few books on cults and cultic ideology over the last year.

Humans tell stories constantly: to ourselves, about ourselves, and about the world. Collectively, the stories we tell and are told make up culture. It is thus worth noting which stories we choose to tell and, vitally, how closely those stories map the real, material world.

  (Titled with  apologies to Max Cannon ) Stand just about anywhere in the Salt Lake Valley and cast your gaze up at the Wasatch Mountains. You will be greeted by a series of sedimentary shelves that mark the feet of the mountains like rings in a bathtub, or the shadow left on the concrete by a puddle when it dries. When the light hits the Wasatch at just the right angle it’s a beautiful sight, a rich layer cake of color and texture. The Wasatch Mountains are only one of the innumerable natural wonders of my home state.