51 books like The Graveyard Shift

I’ve always loved both horror and comedy. So imagine my delight discovering the two could be blended together into a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. Movies such as Ghostbusters, Army of Darkness, and Big Trouble in Little China are perfect examples. In each, you have a potentially terrifying situation, coupled with characters who are too full of themselves to play the victim – yet not quite competent enough to be the hero either. It’s inspired me to spend countless hours behind my computer crafting my own horrific worlds, coupled with characters who simply refuse to take it seriously. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

I’ve always loved both horror and comedy. So imagine my delight discovering the two could be blended together into a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. Movies such as Ghostbusters, Army of Darkness, and Big Trouble in Little China are perfect examples. In each, you have a potentially terrifying situation, coupled with characters who are too full of themselves to play the victim – yet not quite competent enough to be the hero either. It’s inspired me to spend countless hours behind my computer crafting my own horrific worlds, coupled with characters who simply refuse to take it seriously. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

I’ve always loved both horror and comedy. So imagine my delight discovering the two could be blended together into a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. Movies such as Ghostbusters, Army of Darkness, and Big Trouble in Little China are perfect examples. In each, you have a potentially terrifying situation, coupled with characters who are too full of themselves to play the victim – yet not quite competent enough to be the hero either. It’s inspired me to spend countless hours behind my computer crafting my own horrific worlds, coupled with characters who simply refuse to take it seriously. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Growing up in a Spanish-speaking household, there was a saying: “Dime con quién andas y te diré quién eres.” That is, the company you keep says a lot about you. The sense of belonging that comes from being a part of a group is something we have chased since we were kids. I remember the close-knit friends’ group I joined in the eighth grade, and the core four of us are still best friends to this day (just about 25 years later!). I’m fascinated by what those strong bonds can make you do–including leading you to bend or break your moral compass. 

I write about flawed characters as a reflex. I’m more interested in exploring the journey of an alcoholic monster hunter with literal and figurative demons than a white knight. Throughout my life, I’ve seen the effects of substance abuse up close, and while difficult, it helped me find the humanity in flaws. I choose to write about those flaws with a humorous bend, because life is far too long to go through without jokes. As a result, I gravitate towards pithy antiheroes and dark comedy. To feel a character’s pain is human, to laugh in the midst of their darkest moments is divine.

Since I was young, I’ve suffered from Major Depressive Disorder, coupled with chronic pain that surfaced when I was in middle school. Being in constant pain—mental and physical—obviously drains the spirit. I found no hope whatsoever in phrases such as, “It gets better.” When you have chronic pain, that statement means nothing, because you know it won’t. These books, however, offered me something that I hadn’t encountered before: someone acknowledging that, although it may never get better, there is still something for me here, whatever form it takes. These books do not shame depressives, they console (and even commiserate) with them, and I hope you find them as fulfilling as I have.

I’m a kid that grew up during the Blockbuster era. I spent a lot of time in the horror and sci-fi section, going aisle by aisle renting everything they had. Monsters were like vital nutrients to me, but it wasn’t just the monsters themselves that I found appealing. It was what they taught us about ourselves. So many good stories use monsters as a tool to tell interesting and poignant stories about humanity. Doesn’t matter if it’s a walking undead creature or an otherwordly cosmic destroyer, monsters reflect people, and I try to embody that sentiment in my own work.

I wouldn't call myself a cosmic horror expert, but I've read quite a few of the expected authors--Dunsany, Machen, Lovecraft, Blackwood, Howard, etc--and I've written novels and short fiction in the genre and have been asked to panel and talk about it for years at professional events. How can a fictional narrative contain villains so powerful that human beings have no way to understand, let alone resist them? I like exploring that impossibility in my own writing, and I feel compelled to subvert its historical legacy of colonialism and racism where I can. It is not a genre that needs reclaiming but rewriting, and it is rife with possibilities. 

I believe that H.P. Lovecraft, only now appreciated at his full stature, has spawned a whole generation of equally brilliant writers who make modern weird horror the most vibrant, confrontational, and relevant of all current genres. He looms over today’s literature and pop culture like Cthulhu looms over the sea, and his heirs include some of the best writers of their generation. As a much-travelled Scottish writer, I’ve needed tools to tackle the chaotic, disorienting contemporary experience, as well as the darkest, most imaginative strains of my own Celtic legacy. Lovecraftian horror—through HPL’s explicit mythos or simply his implicit sensibility—served up the palette I needed to do that. 

I believe that H.P. Lovecraft, only now appreciated at his full stature, has spawned a whole generation of equally brilliant writers who make modern weird horror the most vibrant, confrontational, and relevant of all current genres. He looms over today’s literature and pop culture like Cthulhu looms over the sea, and his heirs include some of the best writers of their generation. As a much-travelled Scottish writer, I’ve needed tools to tackle the chaotic, disorienting contemporary experience, as well as the darkest, most imaginative strains of my own Celtic legacy. Lovecraftian horror—through HPL’s explicit mythos or simply his implicit sensibility—served up the palette I needed to do that.