It all started with a ghost...

Welcome. Let me tell you a little ghost story.

Welcome to my Substack. Yeah, I know, you already get enough emails and there are a million newsletters out there, so thanks for reading. Trust me, I understand why these things aren’t as awesome as we want to think they are, but social media makes me think about radiated mutants cooking rats over a fire in a post-apocalyptic landscape more and more every day, so…here we are. In all honesty, there are a lot of newsletters I enjoy—Brian Keene, William Boyle, Alexandra Naughton, and Andy Davidson all come to mind—and I love the way they allow you more space to talk about the things you love. In any case, in this is a space I’ll talk about the usual—books, photography, publishing, art, etc—and share stories from the road, thoughts on movies and books that are too long for Twitter, and occasional thoughts on publishing/marketing/navigating this tire fire we’re all in. Let’s get started!

I want to kick things off in style: with a ghost story. I was invited to the LA Times Festival of Books and then I had to go to NYC to the Edgars banquet because I’d been nominated (yay!). Because airlines are weird as hell, it was cheaper for me to go to LA and then fly from LA to NYC and stay there two extra days than it was for me to fly from LA to Austin, wait two days, and then fly from Austin to NYC. NYC is expensive no matter where you stay, but LA has a lot of cheap places. I went online and got a very cheap motel, the Full Moon Inn on S. Figueroa. If you know LA, you know S. Figueroa is one of those streets that has nice parts and parts that aren’t so nice. This motel is in the part that’s not so nice. That’s fine by me. I’ve stayed in some really bad places throughout the years. I’m talking no water, stained sheets, doors that won’t close, fresh blood in the bathroom, loud noises at all hours, drugs in the parking lot, fights, etcetera. I don’t mind. The only thing that actually makes me change places—or at least ask for a different room, which has only happened once—is bed bugs. In any case, this place was bad, but it was only for two nights.

They gave me room 105. I walked in and tried to turn on the AC to cool the room a bit and minimize the cigarette smell. The AC didn't work. I had to use a chair that was next to the door to hold the AC’s cable against the wall to get it to turn on. As I worked on getting the AC going, I realized I was getting in a bad mood. Stuff like this happens all the time when you stay in the cheapest places, so I never get angry. This time was different. I wanted…violence. And I felt sad for some reason. I’d been traveling all day and hadn’t eaten anything, so I walked to Tam’s Burgers #34, which sits on the corner of S. Figueroa and W. Manchester Ave., and got a burger convinced that would improve my mood. As I walked back to the motel, I felt fine. I was in LA for a book thing and then I was going to NYC, one of my favorite places in the world. I was happy. I came back to the room to shower and noticed the dirty tub, mold on the walls, etc. I got sad again. Sure, the room was dark, smelly, and dirty, but there had to be something more. We all have bad days, and we’re not always able to identify what’s bothering us, so I tried to ignore it, checked my email, and watched some TV. I eventually went to bed. I was woken up by someone trying to get into the room. I got outta bed, turned on the light, and was about to say something when they stopped rattling the door. I looked at my phone. I was 2:30am. I left the light on and sat on the bed in case they tried the door again. That’s when I heard the voice of a little girl, crying and saying “Daddy! Daddy!” The thing is, the voice sounded like it was coming from under the bed.

We could joke about hearing “Daddy!” in a motel, but hearing that voice so damn close messed me up. I tried to look under the bed, but the mattress sat on a black metallic thing, so I couldn’t. I don’t want to make this thing too long, so here’s the main point: every time I was outside the room, which was almost all day on Sunday, I was fine and felt normal, but when I was in the room, I felt angry, sad, wanted to pick a fight with someone…and felt like I wasn’t alone. Yeah, there was something in that room. I heard it and felt it. If I’m being honest, feeling it was worse. I shared the whole ordeal on Twitter and author Chris Sorenson nailed my feelings with the small addition he made to the photo I took a minute before I got the hell outta there (almost an hour before I had to leave):

Anyway, I’ll start talking books and movies next week because this is already too long and I’m sure you have other things to do. Photography, however, is a different story. I took a lot of photos in NYC. If you want to see them, head over to my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gabino_iglesias/

Also, the hardcover of The Devil Takes You Home is, for some bizarre reason, cheaper than the paperback on Amazon right now: https://www.amazon.com/Devil-Takes-You-Home-Novel/dp/0316426911

Last but not least, thanks again for being here. I hope to turn this into a fun thing. As of right now, I plan on sending the newsletter out at some point during Sunday morning because that’s what Brian Keene does and I’ve learned a lot from him. Anyway, if you’re a writer, I hope the words are flowing. If you’re a reader (all writers are also readers!), I hope you’re reading some amazing stuff. Oh, and tell your friends about this little thing. More soon. Stay awesome and have a wonderful week.