Monday, January 20, 2014

My interview with Timothy C Hobbs



Hey, folks. Today I get the pleasure of interviewing the very kind and talented Timothy C. Hobbs. Sit back and relax as you learn everything you wanted to know about him, or rather everything I wanted to know.
http://www.amazon.com/Smell-Ginger-Timothy-C-Hobbs-ebook/dp/B0097HI65S/
 


JJ: When did you start writing?

TCH: I started writing in the sixth grade after reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula for the first time.


JJ: What was the first story you remember writing?

TCH: After reading Dracula. I wrote a short story entitled The Vampire of England. The vampire’s name was Alucard, which is Dracula backwards. More imitative than original, but it started my love of writing.

JJ: What genre is your most preferred?

TCH: Horror and supernatural.

JJ: What challenges you the most in your writing?

TCH: Finishing the project. I have so many half or partial completed works it makes me crazy.

JJ: What is your favorite thing about being an author?

TCH: Bringing my characters to life and allowing them to meld with the landscapes I’ve thrown them in.

JJ: What do you like least about being an author?

TCH: Editing. Probably the most important aspect of writing, but the least enjoyable.

JJ: How many books do you currently have available?

TCH: I have four novels, Veils, The Pumpkin Seed, Music Box Sonata, and Maiden Fair, one novella, The Smell of Ginger, and one short story collection, Mothertrucker and Other Stories.

JJ: What projects are you currently working on?

TCH: I am editing a second collection of short stories, researching my next Once Upon a Time in Texas fairy tale reimagining, and working on a werewolf novel I started back in the late 1990’s.

JJ: Do you have any books coming out soon?

TCH: I have a collection of flash and short fiction, In the Blink of a Wicked Eye, due out this year from Sirens Call Publications, and a novel, Down in the Hollow There, to be published November 2014 by Angelic Knight Press.

JJ: Which book, or series, is your favorite?

TCH: My favorite horror novel is The Werewolf of Paris by Guy Endore.

JJ: Who are some of your favorite authors?

TCH: Guy Endore
Richard Matheson
Ray Bradbury
Charles Beaumont
Robert Bloch
Anne Rice
Bram Stoker
Robert Aikman
Ernest Hemingway
William Faulkner
W. Somerset Maugham
Vladimir Nabokov
Sherman Alexie
Thomas Hardy
Joseph Conrad

JJ: Which book(s) inspire you the most?

TCH: Dracula, Interview With the Vampire, The Werewolf of Paris, and The Modern Library’s Great Tales of Terror and the Supernatural edited by Phyllis Cerf Wagner and Herbert Wise, originally published in 1944. The latter being what I consider the handbook for any budding or seasoned writer of horror and the supernatural.

JJ: Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what band(s) do you play?

TCH: I sometimes listen to moody classical music, but most of the time I like silence around me.

JJ: Any hobbies?
TCH: Abstract and impressionistic painting. I also sing 50’s and 60’s rock and roll.

JJ: Tell us some more about yourself including your website and where we can find you on social media sites:

TCH: I don’t have a blog, but I am on Twitter, Visionary Press’ blog, and I have an author’s page at Amazon.com. My Twitter address is TimothyHobbs@TimothyHobbs8.
http://www.amazon.com/Pumpkin-Seed-Timothy-C-Hobbs-ebook/dp/B00B8X6BMY/


JJ: Care to share a bit of one of your books with us?

TCH: I’d love to. Here is an excerpt form my novel The Pumpkin Seed. The scene begins after Dr. Charles Russell has been bitten by his future vampire mentor Dr. Peter Lockley.


* * * *

I awoke to a strange bubbling noise. The pain in my head and
neck was excruciating. I was no longer restrained and could move my arms and legs. I stirred slowly as any attempt to reposition myself resulted in more pain.
I had been placed, ironically enough, in a blood donor chair.

Through nausea, I raised my head. Around me was a large laboratory. Lined against the walls were rows of aquarium tanks. It was the constant murmur of their water pumps I had heard before. The dim light in the room came from the bulbs inside the tanks. And there was something else in them.
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. In the semidarkness, it appeared that each tank held two to three developing human embryos.

“Your eyes do not deceive you, Dr. Russell.” Lockley’s voice
came from the darkness. “What you see is very real.” He walked out of the shadows and stood in front of one of the tanks. “Don’t they look delicious?” he asked, tapping on the glass and pointing like a gourmet peering at a prospective lobster.

A strange urge rushed through me. For a dreadful instant, they did look luscious, so much so that I drooled.
My body shook and a flood of repulsion swept over me as I
realized I wanted to eat those things in the tanks. I tried to speak but my throat was sore and swollen. I touched it with my hand and felt a gash surrounded by puffy tissue from the bite. I managed to whisper, “What is happening to me?”

Lockley turned from the tank and smiled, the light from the
aquarium reflecting on his slightly prominent canines. He knew I had seen his teeth. “That’s right,” he said, his smile fading.

I tried to respond but a strong spasm seized my larynx. The agony of it was so intense I thought I would pass out again. I lay my head back and fought the spinning motion of vertigo.

“It would be better for you to remain silent,” Lockley said. “The
swelling in your throat is from the virus I introduced into your system. It is a cousin to the Rabies strain but not a killer. In fact, it is more of a resurrector.”

Virus? Rabies? What had this bastard done to me?
He approached and I made an attempt to turn my head away from him. He grabbed my face before I could, forcing me to look directly into his.

“You’ve been here for three days. That might be hard to believe, but it is a fact,” he said and released his hold. Too exhausted and ill to resist I could only gaze at him. He seemed pleased at my weakened state and actually patted my hand. “A captive audience,” he almost laughed. “How nice.”

Lockley moved to the tanks and stood with his back to me. He
clasped his hands in contemplation behind him. “I spared you for two reasons,” he said. “One is Maria. It’s not love in the sense you understand it, but you will learn soon enough what she desires. The other is something I sensed when I was drinking from you.” He turned and licked his lips. “By the way, your blood was exquisite. It has been ages since I have feasted on the blood of such a healthy young male as you, Dr.
Russell.”

His words made my body tingle with pain. I had the perverse
notion I wanted him to drink from me again. The sounds in the room became exaggerated. His voice and the bubbling tanks assaulted my eardrums. When I opened my eyes, the dim room light had turned into a blinding sun. All my sensations – smell, touch, hearing, sight, and taste - were exaggerated. I thrashed in the chair and my body shook violently.
Calm descended when I stopped breathing. My diaphragm would not move. My lungs screamed for air. I was dying.
I could feel what urine and feces remained in my body soil my
underwear. I sensed myself fading away with Lockley’s voice.
Then, oblivion swallowed me.

* * *

When I awoke, I was in my bed at home.
I felt wretched. Every muscle screamed with protest when I
moved. My mouth was dry and raw. My head hurt beyond reason.

The sun was just setting, and a purple twilight extended pastel
fingers through the partially opened bedroom blinds.
I had been stripped of my clothing. My body was hot and
clammy. I craved water to soothe the dryness in my throat. Gingerly, I got out of bed and made my way toward the bathroom. As I passed the dresser mirror, I gasped at the reflection confronting me. My hair had grown in length and was a mass of tangles. When I reached to touch it, I saw long fingernails that curled like animal claws. To avoid scratching my skin, I carefully parted the hair away from my face and was relieved to find my features haggard but unchanged. I thought it odd that I had no beard. With the abundance of hair on my head, I had expected to find a grisly face. The smoothness
made it appear as if I had just shaved.

I then did what anyone would reflexively do when looking in a mirror – I smiled. My upper canines were missing. What remained in their place were black gaping holes. I moved my tongue over and around the empty sockets and felt protrusions of new teeth working their way in.
The tips were sharp and rigid. The moment I touched them the gums around the developing teeth began to ache.

A parched throat, still mad for a drink of water, moved me away from the mirror toward the bathroom. I felt unusually light as I walked. Examining my body, I found the paunch around my waist had disappeared. Indeed, all the body muscles were tight against me like I possessed no residual fat.

Just as I was about to walk through the bathroom door, I slipped on something wet and sticky. A horrid stench made my stomach roll and my eyes water. To the side of the door was a silhouette of something on the floor. I flicked on the bathroom light to see through the falling gloom of evening. The decaying body of a large pig lay on the floor in front of me.

The animal’s body was ravaged with bite marks. Around the room were piles of dried feces and crystallized splotches of urine the pig had expelled trying to escape.
Fighting the odor, I moved closer for a better look at the carcass. I turned the head toward me and was met with a glassy condemning stare from the wide eyes. As I ran my fingers around the neck, I felt something stuck under the bloated skin and removed what looked like two thorny
objects. When I examined them closer, a feeling of despair and revulsion overwhelmed me.
They were not thorns.
They were my missing teeth.

I just made it to the toilet before vomiting a large mass of clotted blood. Dizziness struck me. I hugged the toilet afraid I would fly into space. As swiftly as it had arrived, the spinning sensation abated, and, like a dog, I consumed the blood I had vomited. It was a reflex action. No thought of the repulsive act occurred to me. My body needed nourishment and could not afford to have the undigested mass flushed away.

When I had finished, I scrambled back to the bedroom. The stink was no longer abhorrent. It was enticing and luxurious. I fell on the corpse and gorged myself. Rotten juices and tissue gas exploded into my searching mouth. My lips and chin were sticky with gore. I tore and ate until I lay swollen by the dead animal. Then, I slipped into a sated dreamless sleep.


JJ: I'd like to thank Timothy for answering these questions and giving us such a fantastic excerpt. I can't wait to read more. If you'd like to read more of his work you can click on either of the pictures to be taken to the Amazon page for them or you can view his Amazon Author Page by clicking HERE.

4 comments:

  1. Thanks so much for the great Q&A, Jaime!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I had no idea Timothy and I share so many likes. I also paint Impressionist art and love Hemingway's great tales.

    Great interview and questions and answers, Jaime and Tim!

    Blaze McRob

    ReplyDelete

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