Writing is often romanticized as a constant flow of ideas, sitting at the desk, fingers flying across the keyboard. But in reality, inspiration doesn’t strike continually, and even the most prolific writers find creativity fades when they push too hard. For writers to stay inspired, they need downtime. They need deliberate pauses in the routine where ideas can recharge, perspectives can shift, and the mind can wander.

The Case for Rest

When we work without pause, our creative reserves run low. Some recent commentary notes that downtime is an essential part of the writer’s toolkit. Writers who schedule rest, hobbies, walks, or even idle time report coming back to the page with fresh energy and sharper insight. Research shows that when the brain is allowed to drop out of active focus and enter its “default mode network,” it processes ideas quietly in the background. This is often where breakthroughs happen.

How Downtime Fuels Creativity

• Space for incubation: You may think writing is about effort alone, but often ideas don’t fully mature in the moment of writing. Giving yourself a break allows your mind to connect dots unconsciously and let ideas germinate.

• Avoiding burnout: Constant work dulls sensitivity. Once you’re tired, words lose their nuance and the rhythm of writing falters. Downtime protects the quality of the work by preserving your energy.

• Different modes of thinking: Active writing taps into focused thinking; downtime invites diffuse thinking. Both are necessary. The focused mode gets the work done; the downtime mode inspires the work.

• Perspective shift: Whether in nature, doing something completely unrelated, or just uncluttering your day, being away from the desk allows you to return and see your writing with fresh eyes. You may spot themes or connections you couldn’t while immersed.

If anyone's curious, let me set the record straight: I’m not parting with the Gunsmoke & Grit posts anytime soon. Life threw a couple of curveballs my way last month—too many reviews of non-Western books and a persistent flu bug that refused to take a hike. But fear not, those days are behind me. My goal is to serve up a fresh Western fiction review every Saturday for the foreseeable future. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, it’s time to talk about today’s review: These Men Chose Hell, penned by William W. Johnstone and J.A. Johnstone. Or, let’s be honest, likely a ghostwriter or a cabal of ghostwriters who conjured this tale from the ether. It’s a sequel to Fort Misery, and I must say, it reads as if it were penned by a different hand altogether. As I traverse the shadows of my mind, the prose felt just a touch off, like an old photograph that’s been left too long in the sun. Maybe it’s just me.

Fort Misery—the name alone evokes an image of grim determination. Here, the lowliest dregs of the U.S. Army stand guard against a hellscape of lawless desert, facing off against the most sadistic scourges of the Wild West. It’s a brutal truth: sometimes, it takes a bad man with a gun to confront another. These aren’t your classic “good guys.” Instead, they’re a ragtag band of deserters, thieves, mutineers, and the like, none of whom are exactly examples of virtue. Condemned soldiers in an overstretched army, their choices are grim: death by hanging or serving their time in this hell on earth. They chose hell. Nestled at the far reaches of the Yuma Desert, Fort Grierson attracts trouble like a moth to a flame. Daily skirmishes with marauding Apaches and gunslinging outlaws are the norm, and the men fortifying the place are barely better. Hence, the notorious nickname: Fort Misery. When a gaggle of professors arrives at the fort, all hell breaks loose. The men of Fort Misery must uncover the lurking menace before they all end up meeting a grisly fate...

Welcome to the Book Blogger Hop!

This Week's Prompt:

Have you ever been haunted by a book's plot or character?

My Answer:

No, I can't say I've ever been literally haunted by a book. However, there have certainly been books that have stolen my sleep. Some of them fall into the horror genre, though not because they sent shivers down my spine—rather, they ensnared my mind with their tales, refusing to let go. 

When that happens, I find myself tiptoeing out of bed, the comforter still tangled around my legs, as I sneak back to the comforting glow of my reading nook. The pages beckon me, whispering secrets and cliffhangers, daring me to find out what comes next. Like a moth drawn to the flickering light, I continue reading, caught in the gripping grip of a story that won’t let me rest until dawn. In the end, perhaps I’ve been haunted after all—by the thrill of gripping stories that still echo long after the last page is turned.

〜B.J. Burgess

Where to begin... where to begin? It seems like everyone, from your next-door neighbor to your grandmother, has at least heard of The Amityville Horror. And let's be honest, most people know deep down that it’s mostly a fabricated tale. Still, you have those die-hard believers who swear by wild conspiracies insisting that George and Kathleen Lutz’s paranormal claims are as real as the morning coffee. Sorry to rain on the ghost parade, but the sad truth for these enthusiasts is that the haunting was about as genuine as a three-dollar bill! The infamous duo, Ed and Lorraine Warren, swooped in and helped spin a yarn that convinced the world a house at 112 Ocean Avenue was swimming in malevolent spirits!

Despite all the nonsense, my fascination with the Amityville legend began at a tender age. It started with a spine-chilling watch of the 1979 film The Amityville Horror, which was enough to send me into a quest for the truth. I scavenged my local library for Jay Anson's book and checked it out more than a couple of times, like some eager little ghostbuster. Fast-forward thirty-odd years later, I found myself buying the 2019 paperback reprint. 

The Amityville Horror story goes as this: In 1974, a horrific incident occurred at 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville, New York, where a young man named Ronald DeFeo Jr. murdered his parents and four siblings in their home. A year later, the Lutz family moved into the same house, unaware of its grim history. Shortly after moving in, they began to experience a series of unusual and disturbing phenomena, including strange noises, cold spots, and a pervasive sense of dread.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I thought I had saved the best for last in my Midnight Horror marathon: The Houses October Built 2. It's a DVD I've clung to for far too long without actually watching. I should note that I've never seen the first film, although I've certainly heard a fair share of both praise and scorn surrounding it. After admiring the hauntingly cool cover art, I figured the sequel would make for a fitting Halloween treat. Little did I know, I was dead wrong.

Co-written and directed by Bobby Roe, the premise is as follows: recovering from the traumas of being kidnapped the previous Halloween by the ominous Blue Skeleton—a group that takes "extreme haunt" to absurd new depths—five friends decide to confront their fears head-on. They hit the road once again to explore haunted house attractions, but as they set off, the signs of the Blue Skeleton's return loom ominously overhead, and a fresh terror begins to unfold...

And yet, here we are: this movie is a catastrophic flop! Though I might lack the context of the first installment, I am well aware of basic plot. For some unfathomable reason, the filmmakers chose to toss the original lore out the window and serve us a bland, uninspired sequel that swaps fright for hokey “extreme haunts” where the only thing scary is how fake the scares feel. No hauntings, no killings—just a sad riff on what could have been a haunting ride, with the filmmakers trying to cash in on the modest success of the first film.

I do my utmost to resist the siren song of hyped-up books, especially those shoved into the limelight by pampered social media influencers and the infamous BookTokkers. If someone pipes up with, "They're not being paid," I just roll my eyes. Let's be real: in one way or another, many of these "recommendations" come with a paycheck—it's hard to believe that most of these influencers have actually read the very tomes they peddle. Now, I’m not here to dis on reviewers or book bloggers—at least, in my experience, we're not cashing in directly. Of course, we might manage to snag an ARC or two along the way, enticing little previews that dangle like forbidden fruit. But let’s be clear – my opinions aren’t for sale, not now, not ever. If I'm not enamored with a book, I won't bite my tongue or sugarcoat the truth. I’ll be as blunt as an axe in a horror flick, ready to carve out the honesty you crave. After all, a shoe might fit a prince, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to feel good on everyone’s foot!

So, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? Today’s entry into the 31 Reads of Terror is Immortal Dark by Tigest Girma, a book that flaunts a cover so breathtakingly gorgeous it might just lure you in with its beauty alone. There was a deluge of buzz surrounding this book upon its release last year, which ultimately led me to shell out my hard-earned cash for a copy. Like a treasure lost in an unkempt attic, it joined a pile of other unread tomes until, in a fit of guilt, I wiped off the dust and forced myself to read it for today's post.

The plot? Well, imagine a mash-up of The Cruel Prince and Ninth House woven into a dangerously romantic dark academia fantasy. Here’s the hook: a lost heiress must infiltrate a shadowy society while cozying up to the very vampire she suspects of murdering her family and abducting her sister. Intrigued? Don’t be too quick to jump in.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I’m still reeling from the hot mess that is Killers Within. Picture this: an Irish horror film that’s less horror and more crime drama for a good hour before it decides to throw in some snake vampires that feel like a bad homage to From Dusk Till Dawn. Honestly, I’m left asking myself—why on Earth did I actually buy this DVD? The cover art is an eyesore, and the back description is a dazzling display of nothingness. But, in a moment of self-inflicted pain, I needed something to fill my midnight horror slot and thought, “Why not torture myself a little more?”

Written and directed by the duo of Paul Bushe and Brian O’Neill, the film stars a cast of actors likely basking in the glow of fame back in Ireland, but I can’t be bothered to remember their names. The plot kicks off with police officer Amanda Doyle, whose son is being held hostage by a ruthless gang. In a desperate attempt to save her child, she teams up with her ex-husband and a few allies to kidnap a wealthy banker and his unsuspecting family for ransom. But this isn't just any ordinary family—no, as the tale unfolds, it twists intriguingly enough to show that the tables have turned: the hunters have become the hunted. It’s a harrowing fight for survival in which it truly becomes kill or be killed.

There are countless gimmicky books out there, and many of them delve into the realm of vampires, such as A People's History of the Vampire Uprising by Raymond A. Villareal. I stumbled upon this title at a Dollar Tree three years ago—never heard of the author or the book before that fateful encounter. I couldn't resist the cover, so I took a chance on it—don’t judge me; it's a little quirk of mine. So, there it sat on my shelf like a crypt collecting dust, until I finally pried it from its resting place, read the darn thing, and now here I am, crafting this review. Spoiler alert: this book is destined to be packed away and donated, most likely to haunt someone else's bookshelf.

The plot kicks off with a little mystery. It starts when the body of a young woman is discovered in an Arizona border town, presumed to be an illegal immigrant. In a twist that would leave even the most seasoned detective scratching their head, the corpse walks right out of the morgue. Enter our young CDC investigator, called in to help the bewildered local police. For her, this bizarre incident isn’t just a puzzling enigma; it’s a challenge that shatters her understanding of medicine.

As more bodies roll into the morgue—each one meeting a gruesome end due to a strange disease that solidifies their blood—they too disappear without a trace. It becomes a frantic race against the clock as the CDC, the FBI, and the US government scramble to confront what seems impossible: an epidemic of vampirism set to sweep across not just the United States, but the world!

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Where do I begin this tale of cinematic woe? Tonight's Midnight Horror pick, Predator's World, is a work of such questionable merit that it feels less like horror and more like a softcore adult monster spoof gone awry. Judging by its DVD cover, I anticipated a gloriously cheesy B-sci-fi flick. But oh, how I was mistaken! Instead, I found myself ensnared in a bizarre realm of racy antics, brought to life by former adult star Bree Olson, whose name graces the cover alongside YouTuber Shawn C. Phillips. This seemed to promise something intriguing, but even Phillips, appearing as a hologram in two brief, forgettable scenes, couldn't salvage this sinking ship.

The film, penned by Cameron T. James and helmed by director Jeff Leroy, spins a tale as follows: the TITAN 1C space cruiser—ostensibly the most luxurious star-liner ever crafted—collides with a meteor shower, forcing several survivors into a desperate escape pod. Alas, their plight takes a dire turn when they land on a planet teeming with bloodthirsty aliens, who take their sweet time hunting them down, one hapless soul at a time. Any chance of salvation hinges on their ability to cobble together tech from the remnants of their crash. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place!

When did escape rooms make their grand debut, and what sparked their meteoric rise in popularity? Since their inception, the concept has permeated our cultural consciousness, giving rise to a plethora of books and films featuring escape room plots. Take The Escape Room by Megan Goldin, for instance—a title that blatantly gives away its premise, yet somehow, I managed to overlook that little detail. I’ll admit it: I snagged this book from Dollar Tree based solely on its cover, completely ignoring the blurb. In my warped imagination, I envisioned a tale of someone stepping into a forbidden room within a decrepit mansion or an ancient castle. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t have been more wrong. Lesson learned, folks: read the blurb before you buy.

Here’s my version of the blurb for reference. Picture this: in the cutthroat world of finance, Vincent, Jules, Sylvie, and Sam are the crème de la crème, masters of the boardroom, reveling in a lifestyle of lavish excess—their success as intoxicating as champagne on New Year’s Eve. But remember, every indulgence comes at a price.

Invited to a team-building escape room challenge, the fiercely competitive group squeezes into an elevator of a high-rise, buzzing with anticipation. But when the lights flicker and the doors stubbornly refuse to open, they soon realize they’ve stepped into a sinister contest: a deadly game of survival of the fittest.

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♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Here I am, cutting it close once again... No excuses this time. I watched the film right on schedule, but then, well, I just got lazy. So, here I sit with today’s Midnight Horror pick: the Mexican flick Here Comes the Devil, a title that I’m sure every horror aficionado has already added to their watchlist. Released back in 2012 and available on free streaming sites, this one had been lurking in the shadows of my mind until I finally gave in and watched it last night.

Written and directed by Adrián García Bogliano, the film spins a chilling tale centered around a couple’s son and daughter, who disappear without a trace on a desolate, cave-riddled mountainside. When the kids suddenly reappear after a night gone awry, they're not quite the same; a haunting change in their demeanor raises alarm bells for their parents. In a gripping twist, the worried mother and father delve into local legends, only to discover that their children might have become prey to something far more sinister—an inescapable evil that seems to have shadowed them home.

Now, if you take a gander at the DVD cover, you might think you’re in for some gory zombie escapade—but let me tell you, I was dead wrong. Instead, what unfolded was a bizarre concoction of revenge and doppelgänger melodrama, peppered with a handful of unsettling scenes. The film opens with a blurry to focused shot of two women making love, an opening that is, unfortunately, fleeting—these characters are short-lived, serving merely to establish a legend with shock value rather than any real depth.

The real meat of the story kicks off when the kids go missing while Dad is busy “playing” a rather dubious game with Mom in the car—yes, that actually happens. After a night filled with suspense, when the children mysteriously reappear, they begin to exhibit strange, erratic behavior that leads the parents down a dark path of suspicion. Believing a local miscreant might be to blame, they take matters into their own hands in a gruesome scene that could crawl right out of your nightmares. And speaking of discomfort, the couple decides to shower together afterward to scrub away the remnants of their little… adventure. Fair warning: there’s a hefty dose of uncomfortable nudity in this film, just in case that wasn’t on your bingo card.

You know, it would really save a lot of us a headache if publishers would make it clear on the cover when a book is the third installment in a series. I’ve found myself in this frustrating situation far too many times—like that one time I stumbled upon Wendi Corsi Staub's The Butcher's Daughter at Dollar General, picking it for a mere $3, probably more than a year or two ago. I remembered reading a few of her books ages ago and figured, “Why not?” I’m cursed with this habit of picking up series midway through, whether it’s book two or three. It’s almost a talent, if you consider my knack for blind optimism in picking these up.

Now, while The Butcher's Daughter can somewhat stand alone, there are enough subplots lurking in the shadows from the previous books—trust me, I can feel them crawling at the back of my mind, silently judging my choice to jump in at this point. Nevertheless, I managed to fill in the gaps as best I could and devoured the book in a single sitting, which, for me, is a feat akin to a marathon runner breaking the tape at the finish line—if only that marathon hadn’t felt a bit more like trudging through molasses.

The story revolves around Amelia Crenshaw, an investigative genealogist who has made a career out of piecing together the scattered fragments of her clients' family histories while her own remains a puzzle wrapped in layers of mystery. In a bizarre twist, she suspects the key to unraveling her birth parents' identities might be locked in a connection to a stranger who hires her to locate his long-lost daughter. Just when she thinks she’s in for a straightforward genealogical adventure, she’s blindsided by a deadly threat that ramps up the stakes in ways she couldn’t have anticipated.

Then there’s NYPD Detective Stockton Barnes, a man who walked away from his own child in what he believed to be her best interest. As he and Amelia race against time to uncover the truth, they stumble into dangerous territory where someone else has already made a move, and she’s a femme fatale with a vendetta. Their shared history uncovers a lineage entwined with one of history's most notorious killers—which, let’s face it, is just a little too on the nose, don’t you think? The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree, and in this case, it rolls down a hill into a pit of trouble.