|“Nightmares are commonplace in my profession…”
Alone in a crumbling manor, an aging undertaker recounts a horrifying episode from the early days of his career.
When an unspeakable monster trespasses the border between life and death, the undertaker finds himself in a fierce struggle to save the village he has sworn to serve — even if it means sacrificing his own family and faith in the process.
From the reviews…
“Camp’s storytelling is at times reminiscent of the great macabre masters such as Poe, creating a mythology that is both philosophically engaging and original. This book is a poetic outlier, and transcends many of the trite conventions found in so many of its contemporary monster or horror genre counterparts with deeper themes including explorations of love, faith, and alienation.”
“This story is more haunting, and I have many questions for the author that I hope will be answered in later books. The idea of solitude in a small town is not completely lost on me, and the fact of this story taking place in the past, perhaps the far past, is something that really draws my attention. Hooray for T.M. Camp! Please write more for us to read and listen to.”
“Told in the first person, it hints and suggests the evil to come, letting you gather the evidence for the ending of the tale. I thought this well written. Mr. Camp is able to evoke good pictures in your mind with his words. The story and the characters were intriguing.”
“I’m highly impressed with the writing… You can see that he has a confidence in his own writing… I would read another book by this author without question. The level is very high.”
My wife wrote this eulogy for her grandfather, Kensinger Jones. She read it at his memorial service last month.
Since the service, people who knew and loved Ken have been asking for a copy (including me).
I think it’s lovely.
Grandpa was a lot of things.
He was Grandpa, he was a conservationist, a farmer, a boy scout, an ad-man, a teacher, a father, a husband, a faithful friend to so many, and of course, a writer.
He liked writing poems. He liked poems that rhymed. He would write an original poem every year for my birthday card and every year for Christmas cards (and Grandma helped too, I know).
He wrote much more, of course. Books and radio plays and essays and articles…
Writing has life. Everything written is a creation. Every letter is a seed that has been planted in a row.
Everything about Grandpa was full of life. His personality, his writing, and his land. He planted trees, he planted flowers, he planted memories in that land. He wrote some of the best chapters of my childhood.
Knowing that the place where he walked, where he worked, where he wrote… The place that he looked out across every day and said the blessing “Lord we thank you for this day, we thank you for the beauty that surround us…”
Knowing that that place will be preserved and protected… It’s as if we know our childhood will be protected, too. And what kinder gift, what better story, could ever possibly be written?
Every blade of grass is a noun
every flower is an adjective
every field is a paragraph
every tree is a line of poetry
And people will be reading the story of the land, as Grandpa and Grandma wrote it together, for generations to come.
March 10, 2015