Someone Thinks Lurk is Worth $500 (and a quick update on publishing stuff)


No, seriously. A vendor on Amazon is selling my first novel, Lurk, which is now out of print, for five whole Benjamins. The book’s first publisher, Forsaken and its parent, Booktrope went under back in June, and I have yet to find a new home for this weird little story about obsession and despair in a haunted college party house.

The book isn’t for sale right now, except if you want to buy a few leftover author copies from yours truly, so I can only imagine this is some weird algorithm thing that happens with Amazon’s vendors when an OOP book finds its way into their online store. The book sold all right for the few short months it was on the market, and got a decent number of reviews for an indie horror novel, but I really can’t wrap my head around there being any sort of high demand for it. Barely anyone outside of my personal friends and family who read it even know the thing exists.

I want to get Lurk back on the market ASAP, but I’m not sure which avenue I’m going to pursue yet. I am seeking representation for the book.

As always, if you’re interested in reading Lurk, I’m happy to send you an electronic copy in exchange for an honest review. I’m also looking for beta readers for my next novel, a dark fantasy set in Eastern Europe.

Either way, if you are the Amazon vendor in question and you happen to read this, I’ve got a better idea: send me the $500.


I visited Auschwitz today
Under a coal sky
And myriad
Autumn leaves.


I visited Auschwitz today
Under a coal sky
And myriad
Autumn leaves.

I lived in Krakow for two years
Before getting up the nerve.

The concrete rooms
Stank of evil
Watchtowers stood
In defiance of time.

Each barbed wire fence
A shadow of our worst selves.

Nationalism and racism
Are powerful drugs,
Destroying compassion,
Changing our compasses.

But I saw no well-intentioned roads there,
Only sorrow and a multitude of names.

I wondered what it felt like
Being forced to march
Towards a wall
Or into a concrete room.

But what I should fear instead,
Is not that I will be marched somewhere,

But that someday,
I could be the one
Forcing others to march.

Mieczyslaw Koscielniak, “Roll Call at Auschwitz,” 1944