By Jim Mcleod 
Scares That Cares: Authorcon V – Trip Report
Because I was attending with Stephen Kozenewski (author and publisher of my latest novella Millionaires Day), I got the gold standard STC experience, and that started with our arrival on the Wednesday evening, a whole 24 hours before the ‘Spirited Giving’ pre-show started on Thursday. We ended up with a 4 hour drive, and we delighfully chatted shit the entire way, stopping only to secure hogies from WaWas – hogies, I was assured, that were markedly superior to those served by rival firm Sheets, whom I surmised derived their name from some Klan connection).
It was a smart move; we got situated, secured a ground-floor room in the hotel, and got to hang out with some other early joiners in the hotel bar. Before making the trip, we’d visited a liquor store; I think the initial intention had been to run some version of the ‘mystery shot’ offer I’d incorporated into the UK launch of Millionare’s Day, but it soon became apparent that, actually, as I’d forgotten the hip flasks, it would probably make more sense to just drink it, so over the next five nights, we did exactly that.
My memory is that it was that first night that I made the acquaintance of SA Bradley, among others; the subject of the movies of Ken Russell came up, and, as you may imagine, my ears were veritably pricked. Within a few minutes, the conversation had also taken in Verhoveen, Oliver Stone’s Imperial Phase, and Bradley and I were sharing cinematic battle scars – his, an ill-advised childhood encounter with Don’t Look Now, mine Russell’s Tommy – and I knew I’d met a kindred spirit.
This was confirmed the following morning, when we exchanged books (his, Screaming For Pleasure, mine My Life In Horror Vol 1). We’d come to speak again a few times over the weekend, but it was apparent that first night that I’d made a friend.
Thursday evening was Spirited Giving, but before that, Stephen introduced me to the most diamond of geezers – the incomparable Wile E. Young. Stephen and I interrupted his unpacking, and the three of us hung out and talked solidly for over three hours, about anything and everything. Wile E. has this incredible gift for putting people at their ease; within minutes, I knew I’d made another friend.
The Spirited Giving event featured live readings from a gaggle of talented writers, and culminated in a live reading of The Midnight Society – yes, that Midnight Society – starring Brian Keene, Laurel Hightower, Todd Keisling, Wile E Young and Stephen Kozenewski, each playing the Midnight Society versions of themselves.
Bitter Corella, the genderfluid genius behind The Midnight Society, had produced a script especially for the evening, and I was able to sit in on the table read with the cast before the show (full disclosure; because Bitter was running late, I ended up covering their part at the table read, which was an utterly surreal experience – there was a mortifying moment when I mispronounced Todd’s surname, which he was very gracious about, and I’ll admit to a sneaky sense of relief when Bitter made the same error on stage).
It was an incredible experience, and the perfect introduction to Scares That Care.
Afterwards, a few of us lingered in the theatre, bottles of liquor materialised, conversations turned to cons past, and glasses were raised to absent friends.
And then Adam Cesare walked in.
Now, I’ve been a fan of Adams going back a long way. My memory is that it was a short story in Splatterpunk Zine 5 or 6 (So Bad, maybe?) that first got my attention. Whatever it was, I tore through the indie novellas he was producing at the time (The Summer Job, The First One You Expect, Tribesmen, Video Night – hell, I even sprung for the Shock Totem limited edition print edition of Zero Lives Remaining and I REGRET NOTHING).
I had him pegged early as one of the most likely to succeed out of that crop of indie horror writers, if things broke right; he had the work ethic, but far more importantly, he had the talent. Adam is the platonic ideal of a horror fan; endlessly enthusiastic, able to find redemptive readings in the shlockiest material, but most of all, a fan to his core. All of that enthusiasm comes out in his own work, alongside an intelligence and empathy that allow him to rework some of the more problematic tropes of the genre, whilst still loudly and proudly celebrating the genre he’s such a champion for.
I was absolutely thrilled when he landed a mainstream publishing deal, and I’ve followed the blockbuster success of Clown In A Cornfield with glee – it really is like seeing one of us make it, in the right way, and for the right reasons. And I knew he was a guest of honour, and I’d figured I might get a chance to sidle up to his table at some point over the weekend and get him to sign a copy of Clown In A Cornfield for my kid.
I was not expecting him to walk into the Thursday night gathering, pull up a chair, excitedly call out my name, then proceed to an immediate geek-out session about Bruce Springsteen.
It was insanely cool. We hung, we chatted, we drank, we laughed, and I tried to play it cool while my inner horror geek turned cartwheels and capered and gibbered.
Never meet your heroes? Whoever gave you that advice needs better heroes, man. My lot? They’re awesome.
Friday: Festivities kicked off at 3pm, leaving me with… well, not a morning to kill, actually, because following Thursday night’s escapades, I slept through as much of it as possible, but certainly a few hours over lunch. So it was a delight to meet with a couple of Writeopolis regulars who took me out to lunch and for a wander around Colonial Williamsburg, which is… aww, just click on the link, it’s too bizarre to explain.
The food was excellent but the company was even better, and by the time I returned to the hotel for the pre-show briefing and the opening of the dealers room, I felt relaxed and welcome and ready to meet some people, which was handy, as that’s what the rest of the day comprised of. It’s all a bit of a blur, but I know I signed a bunch of books that were sold, got to try out my pitches on a bunch of people, and once the dealer’s room was closed, the real con business of drinking whiskey/bourbon/moonshine and jawing with incredible people began. And once more, Stephen, Wile E. and I were the last attendees standing.
Saturday was The Big Day, for a couple of reasons; first, it was the only day the dealer’s room would be open for a full set of business hours, 10am – 6pm, and secondly, I had two panels (Podcasting 101 and Writing Non-Fiction) and my reading, with only a 30 minute gap between the first two, the reading happening an hour after the Writing Non-Fiction panel concluded. Stephen and Wile E were also pretty busy, so there was a lot of tag teaming at the tables, covering for each other where possible.
The panels went well. I had the foresight to record the panel on Podcasting (which Patreon backers can find here, and which one of the other participants has since kindly added it to Spotify), and the non-fiction panel was a delight, really digging deep into how non-fiction is structured, similarities with fiction (‘It’s always all about narrative’ said one of the participants), and the value of the form in the current world, including a call to arms not to forget about answering Why (or not to forget about trying to, at least).
And the reading was brilliant; I read the final My Life In Horror essay, covering That Hellbound Train (the first short horror story I can remember reading). It was a repeat performance of my reading at FCon last year, and, as then, I dedicated the reading to my dad, who I know would have loved the event and the fact of my attendance. It felt like an appropriate way to honour him, and I got some really kind feedback from the people who attended.
My reading was paired with Justin Lutz, who I’d met the previous evening and whose ear I fear I rather bent with stories about Bruce Springsteen, my father, and related concerns. He was excellent company that night, and gave a brilliant, intense reading from his novella, Give Unto Us. It was so good I snagged a copy before I left.
The Scares That Care main event for the evening was the gross-out contest. This is a legendary event that’s been run at various cons down the years. The principal rule is that what happens and is said in gross-out stays in gross-out. So all I’ll say about it is that there was an incredible sense of community (alongside the very US culture of roasting/ball busting), a lot of high-energy performances, and it did make me wish we had something like this in the UK.
Saturday night became Sunday morning. And after the last of the other drunken revellers had turned in, and Stephen and I had toasted the dawn of a new day, we passed Brian Keene getting up as we were heading back for a couple of precious hours’ sleep before the final day.
So we naturally sat with him for a while and filled him in on the previous evening’s shenanigans while he drank his morning coffee. It was a small moment, but for me a vital one; it really brought home to me how welcome I’d been made to feel, how accepted, part of a community/family of people that I’m thousands of miles away from for most of the time, but who nonetheless recognise a fellow misfit. It was magic.
Sunday was mainly spent in the dealer’s room, as the event slowly wrapped up. I finally got to do a circuit of the room, chatting with Gemma Amor, snagging books from Laurel Hightower and getting Adam Ceasre to sign a copy of Clown In A Cornfield for my kid (also scoring my only selfie of the weekend).
Then it was the sad job of loading the unsold books back into Stephen’s car, saying goodbye to the people heading straight off, followed by the far more cheerful occasion of having a meal with Wile E. and Stephen, before a final night of hanging out and drinking with the Sunday night crowd.
In a lot of ways, it was a very similar experience to being at a UK con; which is to say, inspiring, life-affirming, a chance to connect with a tribe of people who take on this fundamentally solitary pursuit, and to share our passion, frustrations, hopes and (of course) fears.
In another way, it was totally different.
Because it makes what’s going on right now in the US (even more) personal.
I know horror skews left/liberal, for the simple reason that every once in a while, Conservatives decide Horror is the reason their kids don’t like them anymore, and our books get burned for a week or two. And I know that I will have encountered conservatives over the course of the weekend who just didn’t talk politics with me, obviously.
But with everyone who did bring up the subject – I’d made a policy decision not to broach it, so any political conversations I did end up in were instigated by the other person – the response was universal; ‘We’re so sorry, we’re so embarrassed, did you have any trouble getting here, it’s so scary, it’s so nuts, does everybody hate us now?’
And it’s fucking heartbreaking.
Because I already knew this, but; the map is not the territory, and the government is not the people. And I got to meet some of the most open, generous, welcoming folk I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering. I’ve made lifelong friends just from this one trip. People I now carry in my heart.
And I don’t know when, or even if, I’m going to see any of them again.
And I hate how that feels.
So I really need the world to start to become a less crappy, terrifying, terrified place, please. Because I want to see my new friends again, and right now, it’s not safe for me to do so – it wasn’t safe this time, and next time, until things radically change, it’ll be even less so (unless I just stop writing entirely about the things that I care about and that scare me, which, yeah, no).
To my new Scares That Care family: I love you. Thanks for making me so welcome. Please, please, please, continue doing what you’re doing. Your defiance matters. Your support for those life has delt a a shitty hand to matters. Your very existence serves as a rebuke to those who seek to divide us as a community of humans who have far more in common than in opposition, and from whom our diversity and differences are strengths, not weaknesses.
Compassion is not, despite what some may say, a weakness, still less a ‘mind virus’; rather, it’s the most potent antidote we have to the poison of hatred and division. Which is, of course, precisely why it’s so hated and feared by the hungry ghosts currently prepared to burn down the entire planet, asl long as they die with the most toys.
And please, do what you can to turn the tide. And let me know what I can do to usefully help.
Because I’m missing you already. And I want to come back.
KP
26/4/25
Further Reading
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The passionate team behind The Ginger Nuts of Horror delivers thoughtful critiques and recommendations that delve into the nuances of storytelling, character development, and atmospheric tension. Whether you’re looking for hidden gems to stream on a dark and stormy night or want to explore the work of up-and-coming horror filmmakers, this page is packed with content that will ignite your imagination and keep you on the edge of your seat.
So grab your favorite horror-themed snacks, settle into a cozy spot, and immerse yourself in the chilling world of horror literature and film. Head over to The Ginger Nuts of Horror and embark on a journey through the eerie and the extraordinary it’s an adventure you won’t soon forget!
Claire Fitzpatrick