The Woman Beyond the Attic – Book Review

I recall the moment in my high school math class (my least favorite subject) when I spotted a classmate with a paperback copy of Flowers in the Attic stashed under her desk. I began to see the book floating around the halls and whispered about in the girls’ locker room—something about child abuse, incest with a brother. Beyond intrigued, I immediately bought a copy from one of those revolving racks in the drugstore. I read it in one day and never forgot it. It wasn’t just the unsavory sex that kept me riveted. The subject of family secrets, a mother and grandmother doing horrible things to children, was something rarely–if ever–discussed at that time. The gothic melodrama catapulted to the top of the bestseller list, threatening to topple Stephen King from his throne. And who can forget the cover!

When King accused VC Andrews of writing bad prose in his book On Writing, I doubt if it was just professional jealousy at work. If I’m being generous to Mr. King, I believe he meant that she is a bad writer in the same way Margaret Keane is a “bad” artist. I’m sure their popularity drove the cognoscenti of both art and literary worlds mad, but still, as Warhol quipped about Keane’s art, “If it were bad, so many people wouldn’t like it.”

We don’t expect ” good ” literature when we read VC Andrews or the many series penned by her ghostwriter Andrew Neiderman after her death. But we do expect to be entertained in the way only connoisseurs of the genre understand. And what is the genre exactly? Well, that’s been debated, but in Neiderman’s new VC Andrews biography, The Woman Beyond the Attic, he asserts that she created her own genre. I agree. And what a fun genre it is—a bit of romance, but no syrupy happy endings, a lot of sex and suffering. In other words, it’s like life, for many women especially, the keepers of family secrets. 

Neiderman’s The Woman Beyond the Attic delves into VC Andews’ life and exposes some secrets along the way, including her mysterious illness, relationship with her mother, and the impact of her work. 

Although I suspect many fans won’t be satisfied, I found it a thoroughly enjoyable read. Below is my video where I discuss the book in more detail. 

 

 

New Release!

Writing Goals

One of my goals for 2022 is to release new fiction (a short story, novel, novella, anthology, or collection) every month. So far, I’m right on target. I even began a month early with Served Cold, the second horrortube anthology, which was released in December.

Speaking of Served Cold, here is a guest blog post I wrote for horror author Nicholas Kaufmann’s blog, in which I examine what’s scary about producing an anthology. It’s a bit tongue in cheek, but not completely. Writing is general, can be pretty scary.

Scares, of mostly the internal kind, are what I explore in Women in Trouble, a new collection of female-themed horror. Some stories have been previously published, but there are quite a few new pieces included. It’s been out about a week. If you enjoy psychological horror, as well as a few supernatural chills, please check it out. Here is an excerpt from the foreword written by fellow horrortuber, Lydia Peever.

Trouble transcends the traditionally feminine here—be it physical, psychological, or perceived—and brings us to a more modern stage but with roots in timeless sensibility. This is the signature of Saint Claire.

Below is a video where I discuss Women in Trouble, and other new projects coming in 2022.

I’m going to keep this post short today because I’m currently editing my next release, a young adult paranormal romance. If you’d like a sneak peek, the first book in the series is currently on Kindle Vella and doing quite well on that site. If any other writers are trying out Vella, I’d love to hear what you think of it so far. Please leave a comment and we can compare notes.

P.S. To receive a free digital copy of all my new releases, including Women in Trouble, consider becoming a patron.

 

A Holiday Gift For You!

I wrote this Christmas werewolf story expressly for my friends and fans. You may download it for free HERE, for read it on my blog. 

My Uncle Buck is crude and annoying, not to mention smelly, but when he turns into a werewolf during a Christmas Eve snowstorm, things really get weird. With our parents caught in the snowstorm, will my kid sister and I survive the night?

A Holiday Gift of Horror

Book Cover design by Premade Book Covers. All rights reserved @RSaintClaire 2021

 

Dear Friends,

I wrote this holiday horror story to share with you this holiday season . You may read it here it is entirety, or download it for free to read on you Kindle or other device. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas season!

XOXO

Regina

 

 

 

 

HO HOW HOWL

by R. Saint Claire

“Uncle Buck smells, and he’s weird,” whispered Carrie beneath the covers. My kid sister clung to me for warmth the way six-year-olds who still act like babies sometimes do. But I had just melted away into a very cloudy dream starring Mark Batters from my fourth-grade class and resented the intrusion greatly.

“Shut up,” I said, facing the wall to emphasize my point. But when she started blubbering about how mean I am, I rolled back.  “Okay. He smells. So what?”

“I used the bathroom after him today.” Carrie’s little face puckered. “Pewee.”

I tucked the blanket under her chin. Her light brown hair had been washed that night; she smelled of strawberries. I wished I had her hair. Mine was dark, like Dad’s, and wiry, and cut too short for my taste, but whatever. “He’ll be gone soon.”

“But why is he here?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

“So?”

“Don’t you remember last year when he fell off the roof while pretending he was Santa Claus?”

I recalled waking up to what sounded like the house shaking, followed by my mother screaming, and then a string of curses from my dad, including the really bad word.

Uncle Buck was Dad’s older brother, the black sheep of the family, I suppose. He worked at a garage in Philly—the grease under his fingernails was legendary—but he liked to hunt in the country, which is why he used to come to our house almost every weekend. Mom put her foot down after the incident when he hung a deer he’d shot on our lamppost, and every dog within miles came during the night and tore it down. We awoke to pieces of deer strewn all over the front yard, which not only made Mom cry, but was super gross. I could never eat venison after that.

Dad admitted Uncle Buck was irresponsible with his shotguns and his beagle, Schmoke—weird name for a dog—who snapped at me once when I tried to pet him. But every Christmas, Dad would get sentimental. Also Schmoke had just died.

“Buck has no place else to go,” said Dad to Mom.  I suppose their Christian spirits won out because here he was again, taking up the entire sofa with his legs spread, watching football games when it was time for our favorite cartoons. Mom would set down a plate of food and a cold beer for him, and he wouldn’t even say thank you. Also, he smoked cigars. Outside the house, at least, but the smell lingered around the door, making me gag every time I stepped outside.

Yeah, Uncle Buck pretty much sucked.

“Why does he have to ruin Christmas?” moaned Carrie, her lament hovering ghostlike below the shadowy ceiling.

“I’ll talk to Dad about it.”

“Promise?” Her arms circled my waist. She was nice and warm, so I allowed her to stay there.

“Promise. Now go to sleep.”

Continue reading “A Holiday Gift of Horror” →