Bizarro Fiction is the confluence of everyday situations and horror turned strange. Charles W. Jones writes stories that fit into the horror, suspense/thriller categories. However, that is not all there is to his writing. Bizarro Fiction stories have a strong darkness in them, and don’t forget strangeness. Some have gore, while others hold to suspense. The one thing all the stories have in common is darkness, taking ordinary events to a different level.
WRITING WHAT I SEE BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE
WHAT IS BIZARRO FICTION?
SMALL TOWN BOY.
Charles W. Jones grew up in the small town Shoshoni, WY, and he managed to break free from its grasp with his soul intact. Growing up in a small town scared him to death most of the time. It’s very dark at night – really dark. To top it off, it is full of ghosts; well, that’s what Charles thought when he was kid. Turns out it was just the constant wind blowing dirt and tumbleweeds. Two of Charles’ novels are set in Shoshoni, Dreamwalker: The Second Plain and HOME A Novel.
Music has always been a great contributor to Charles’ life, by means of not only entertainment, but personal soundtrack. When he writes, he listens to different types of music to set the mood of the scene he is writing. Eurythmics will always be at the top of his playlist, but many other bands and genres occupy his mind.
There isn’t a part of the horror genre Charles doesn’t like. He likes it creepy, filled with suspense, or even brutal with intense torture scenes. His favorite horror movies have always been the slasher movies; give him the gore. Clive Barker is Charles’ greatest influence, but is also inspired by Lewis Carroll, Stephen King, and Frank Beddor. Real life is a large contributor to his writing, where he finds beauty in the most unexpected places.
Charles is always thinking of the next story. Characters and places come to him, and he works out who and where they are. Or, he is reading something unexpected. His favorite authors aren’t the only thing he picks, he reads books which aren’t within his genre to keep ideas flowing.
I think if I were a serial killer, I would collect the faces of my victims. After I removed the face, I'd put it on a mannequin to let it dry or mummify, if you will. Then I'd wear it to my next kill. I don't know who my "selected" would be, or if I'd have one. I'll have to think about that further.
“You know, I was just thinking about how long it’s been since a Deuce dropped in on me. Ha-ha-he-he-ho-ho-har, a deuce dropped, oh, this is the funniest stuff.”
He picked up the pace, hoping he could out run whatever was stalking him in the darkness. Soon it seemed the pursuit ceased and he slowed to a trot. His hysteria did not cease though...
In his peripheral vision, a dark shadow swirled. He turned quickly to meet what was there, but it moved with him, never allowing him to lay eyes on it.
She saw his demeanor was not his normal joviality. He appeared tense. His eyes were dark. The puffiness of his full lips was taught, making the red grease paint crack. The Clown shook as though he were detoxing. She swallowed hard.
His full, pink lips, hiding perfect white teeth, made anyone want them upon their lips to take the pleasure, all the while knowing it lacked the power to return the favor with millions of kisses.
The coldness of his statement swirled around her. Alexis smiled without knowing why. She wasn’t happy at what they had told her, but she didn’t know what she felt, maybe numb.
BEAUTY IS ALL AROUND YOU, ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN
TALKING ABOUT MY BOOKS AND OTHER STRANGE THINGS
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