It was December 1988: George Bush had just defeated Michael Dukakis in the Presidential Election. Pitcher Orel Hershiser and the Los Angeles Dodgers had beaten the Oakland A’s in five games to win the World Series. People were waiting in line at movie theaters to watch Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. Tom Clancy’s The Cardinal of the Kremlin and Anne Rice’s The Queen of the Damned were atop the bestseller lists. The most acclaimed genre books of the year were Thomas Harris’s The Silence of the Lambs and Peter Straub’s Koko.

I was 22 years old. And I decided to publish a magazine named Cemetery Dance.

 

 

At the time, I was studying journalism at the University of Maryland and selling short stories of a dark nature to any publication that would accept them. Some of these publications were professional and impressive. Many others, not so much. So—inspired by the brilliance of David Silva’s one-man magazine The Horror Show—I asked myself the question that has been responsible for most all of my crazier ideas: why not?

Why not dive right in and publish a magazine that showcased both seasoned pros and talented newcomers?

Why not publish the type of genre-blurring dark fiction I preferred to read and write myself: horror, suspense, crime.

Why not publish fiction alongside interviews and book reviews and genre commentary?

Why not open up to story submissions during summer break and schedule the premiere issue six months later in December?

Why not try to create something truly special?

The idea that I had no experience, no money, no business plan never really entered into the equation.

Dreams are for the courageous and the foolish. Cowards need not apply.

Why the hell not?

Did I mention I was 22 years old?

 

 

The premiere issue of Cemetery Dance was only 48 pages in length. It contained a dozen short stories, a dozen poems, an interview with David Silva, and cover and interior artwork by Bill Caughron. I should mention that Bill was my college roommate and childhood friend and the only guy I knew at the time who could draw. I can still remember him drawing interior spot illustrations right on the laser-printed pages of designed text. He drew the front cover sitting at our dining room table while I hurled darts over his head at a dartboard, nervously checking his progress every few minutes. I can also remember Bill and I hitting the PRINT button in the University of Maryland computer lab and running out of the room. You see, there was a very large sign posted above the printer that clearly stated: do not print more than 10 pages at a time. Laser printers were fairly slow back in those days, so suffice to say we were not very popular with the other students when we returned an hour later to collect our 96 pages. That’s right; we printed two copies. We were no dummies.

 

 

That first issue may have only run 48 pages, but it represented thousands of hours of work. Writing and mailing query letters. Making phone calls. Reading stories. Rejecting stories. Begging for stories. Trying to sell advertisements. Paying for advertisements in other publications to try to raise funds for printing. Designing interior pages. There was no guidebook. No roadmap except what existed inside my head. Almost everything came from instinct and imagination and passion. And making and learning from mistakes along the way.

Thankfully, I had Dave Silva to help me avoid some of those mistakes; he answered questions at all times of the day and night; he was a friend and a mentor. Encouraging me. Believing in me.

Still…for every success, there seemed to be a failure. Sometimes two or three. But I rarely felt discouraged or had doubts. I was having the time of my young life, and I sensed there was…something here. Maybe something special. I just had to keep working at it. I just had to keep believing.

The first issue was released right on time in December, and I remember we already had most of the second issue in the can. And R.C. Matheson lined up to feature in the third issue.

It was never a question of whether we would continue.

It was never a question of success or failure.

From the very beginning, it just was.

Why not, right?

 

 

When I realized that we were coming up on 25 years since that premiere issue was published I knew I wanted to do…something.

Something personal to mark the anniversary and the long journey we had all made together.

So much had happened in those 25 years: the magazine had spawned a hardcover book imprint…and trade paperbacks…and comics…and t-shirts…and electronic books…and cool things still to come.

And so much had happened in real life, too: marriage, two amazing children, the loss of my oldest sister, cancer, cancer again a year later, the loss of my parents.

In other words…life happened.

And, somehow, Cemetery Dance was there to witness all of it.

To be a part of all of it.

 

 

The book you hold in your hands is very personal to me.

In a way, it’s my own little celebration party 25 years later.

There is a reason it’s a small book. I wanted to include only the handful of writers who, in my mind, were as responsible for Cemetery Dance existing today as I am myself.

I won’t go into each individual writer. They know why they are here.

A few authors couldn’t make it because of their schedules—I only decided to put this together two weeks ago; why not, right?—although they each said they wanted to.

And, sadly, still another handful are missing. I wish Dave Silva were alive to appear in these pages. The same goes for Charlie Grant and Rick Hautala and Bill Relling. They all believed in me during those early days, and their faith meant so much.

 

 

It’s December 2013: I owe such a debt of gratitude to each and every person who ever lent their talents to the magazine; to an amazing full-time staff and a slew of part-timers; and to the wonderful readers who kept asking for more. I have no way to repay you other than to continue doing what I have been doing these past 25 years. I hope it’s enough.

Now, turn down the lights, flip the page, take my hand, and start the dance…