Revisiting Rick Hautala’s The Wildman brought back a lot of memories. Thinking back to those days of insanity, I feel a little sad and I also shake my head and laugh a little.
The year was 2008. It was a different industry at the time. Amazon released its Kindle reader a year or so beforehand, but their publishing platform hadn’t fully overtaken the system. Yet.
Publishers were specializing in signed, limited editions. Many of them weren’t grotesquely overproduced books as we see today. Nice books, relatively affordable, and we bought them direct from the publisher or perhaps from specialty online stores like Shocklines or Camelot Books.
Small press publishers came and went. Some did nice work, produced some lovely editions, and bowed out of the scene with few problems. Others got in over their heads and fled the scene, leaving hostility and owed money in their wake.
The biggest fiasco of them all was a startup company named Full Moon Press. Full Moon began with a lot of promise. In fact, there was too much promise.
Full Moon announced a completely preposterous list of titles to be published. Now, we’re talking about an untested publisher, with no track record. Dozens of books were announced. It was sheer lunacy.
I’ve never been directly involved in publishing, but all I’ve heard about is a whole lot of problems they face along the way. And Full Moon wasn't simply submitting a file to Amazon. I know that can be problematic, but not like trying to do it all on your own.
People were understandably dubious. Doubt was cast upon the publisher, but Full Moon responded with utter confidence. They’d done the research, had the proper resources. This was a can’t-miss venture.
People were laughing. Most of us didn’t think Full Moon had a chance in hell of honoring all the commitments it was making. Subterranean Press is the very model of how a small publisher should be run. The owner practically begged Full Moon to do a book and let the dust settle, then move on to one more. No, they were ready to go and failure was not an option.
Worse yet, Full Moon offered Lifetime Subscriptions to their books. These kinds of deals sound unbeatable, but there’s always been a lot of controversy surrounding them. Take one called Delirium Books. They were one of the most popular presses in the horror field. Delirium started up a side imprint called Dark Fuse. Many felt it was a way to avoid sending free books to all the Lifetime Subscribers.
Now, I don't believe for a minute Full Moon or Delirium set out to screw people. I think their intentions were absolutely honorable. Things got out of hand and, in Delirium’s case, I think they did what they felt they had to do in order to survive. The Lifetime Subscribers felt differently about it. And who could blame them?
I don’t know how many Lifetime Subs Full Moon sold, but I gather it was a lot. It should have been a nice bankroll to get on their feet. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but they went under fairly quickly.
It was a huge stink and, in some ways, a signpost for the downfall of the deluxe edition boom that occurred in the two-thousands.
I’m not sure how many books Full Moon actually delivered, but Hautala’s The Wildman was the first. All the books they had contracted were cancelled. I’m not sure how the legal chips fell, but it was a debacle.
It started off so well. The Wildman is as nice an edition as I ever saw in the small press arena. There were more elaborate productions, but The Wildman didn’t cost an arm and two legs. The book has a beautiful Alan M. Clark cover, textured endpapers, smyth-sewn binding, a tip-in sheet with signatures, and interior illustrations. In addition to the signed and limited edition, Full Moon offered a trade hardcover as well.
I bought The Wildman when it came out and I liked it well enough. I am trying to cut down on my collection, so I figured I’d read the book again, then sell it at one of my dealer tables.
The Wildman is exactly like a survival slasher movie, but instead of a sexy group of young adults partying and fighting off a slasher, it’s a group of nerdy middle aged guys.
They get together on an island off the coast of Maine for a reunion. It was once the site of a summer camp the boys stayed at every year. But you know the deal: A tragedy occurred in the past and now someone is killing the adult campers.
The Wildman isn’t a bad book, and it’s as good as anything Hautala ever published. Better than most of them, in fact. It’s still not much more than a decent little novel.
I’ve pledged to be absolutely honest in my writing. I’m forced to come to the unhappy conclusion that I’ve been loyal to the memory of Rick Hautala and to my unsophisticated past. Hautala was never a favorite, but I liked his books. I still feel a tremendous amount of affection toward them, but I don’t think I’ll be reading him again.
Decent little books can be enjoyable, but there I have more excellent ones on hand than I have time for.
I met Rick Huatala one time. He was a nice guy, and I’ll always be grateful to him for his part in the development of horror fiction. He was an important writer in the field. For a while, a decade or so, Hautala did well enough, selling mostly big, fat books to the shoddy little publishers. He never made the leap into the big time, and I honestly see why he didn’t. After the horror bust of the nineties, he seemed to have a hard time. He did some books here and there, and thanks to the small press he made some money. He was with Leisure Books for a little while, but I heard his collection, Bedbugs, was one of their biggest losers and they dropped him.
Rick Hautala struggled on, as I understand it, and he prematurely died in 2013. It would have been preventable if he had health insurance.
It’s a goddamn shame. Just like with Richard Laymon and Night in the Lonesome October, Hautala was showing greater promise with The Wildman and The Big Tree. Rick was one year younger than I am right now. He should have had fifteen or twenty good years to continue to improve his craft.
As they say, never say never. Perhaps one day I’ll be in the mood to revisit the past. I’ll want to take a walk through the Maine woods, not with Mr. King, but with Rick Hautala. I’ll be slowing down too and maybe his uncomplicated, boyish, sentimental fiction will be exactly what I need on a nostalgic day.
Written by Mark Sieber
The year was 2008. It was a different industry at the time. Amazon released its Kindle reader a year or so beforehand, but their publishing platform hadn’t fully overtaken the system. Yet.
Publishers were specializing in signed, limited editions. Many of them weren’t grotesquely overproduced books as we see today. Nice books, relatively affordable, and we bought them direct from the publisher or perhaps from specialty online stores like Shocklines or Camelot Books.
Small press publishers came and went. Some did nice work, produced some lovely editions, and bowed out of the scene with few problems. Others got in over their heads and fled the scene, leaving hostility and owed money in their wake.The biggest fiasco of them all was a startup company named Full Moon Press. Full Moon began with a lot of promise. In fact, there was too much promise.
Full Moon announced a completely preposterous list of titles to be published. Now, we’re talking about an untested publisher, with no track record. Dozens of books were announced. It was sheer lunacy.
I’ve never been directly involved in publishing, but all I’ve heard about is a whole lot of problems they face along the way. And Full Moon wasn't simply submitting a file to Amazon. I know that can be problematic, but not like trying to do it all on your own.
People were understandably dubious. Doubt was cast upon the publisher, but Full Moon responded with utter confidence. They’d done the research, had the proper resources. This was a can’t-miss venture.
People were laughing. Most of us didn’t think Full Moon had a chance in hell of honoring all the commitments it was making. Subterranean Press is the very model of how a small publisher should be run. The owner practically begged Full Moon to do a book and let the dust settle, then move on to one more. No, they were ready to go and failure was not an option.
Worse yet, Full Moon offered Lifetime Subscriptions to their books. These kinds of deals sound unbeatable, but there’s always been a lot of controversy surrounding them. Take one called Delirium Books. They were one of the most popular presses in the horror field. Delirium started up a side imprint called Dark Fuse. Many felt it was a way to avoid sending free books to all the Lifetime Subscribers.
Now, I don't believe for a minute Full Moon or Delirium set out to screw people. I think their intentions were absolutely honorable. Things got out of hand and, in Delirium’s case, I think they did what they felt they had to do in order to survive. The Lifetime Subscribers felt differently about it. And who could blame them?
I don’t know how many Lifetime Subs Full Moon sold, but I gather it was a lot. It should have been a nice bankroll to get on their feet. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but they went under fairly quickly.
It was a huge stink and, in some ways, a signpost for the downfall of the deluxe edition boom that occurred in the two-thousands.
I’m not sure how many books Full Moon actually delivered, but Hautala’s The Wildman was the first. All the books they had contracted were cancelled. I’m not sure how the legal chips fell, but it was a debacle.
It started off so well. The Wildman is as nice an edition as I ever saw in the small press arena. There were more elaborate productions, but The Wildman didn’t cost an arm and two legs. The book has a beautiful Alan M. Clark cover, textured endpapers, smyth-sewn binding, a tip-in sheet with signatures, and interior illustrations. In addition to the signed and limited edition, Full Moon offered a trade hardcover as well.
I bought The Wildman when it came out and I liked it well enough. I am trying to cut down on my collection, so I figured I’d read the book again, then sell it at one of my dealer tables.
The Wildman is exactly like a survival slasher movie, but instead of a sexy group of young adults partying and fighting off a slasher, it’s a group of nerdy middle aged guys.
They get together on an island off the coast of Maine for a reunion. It was once the site of a summer camp the boys stayed at every year. But you know the deal: A tragedy occurred in the past and now someone is killing the adult campers.
The Wildman isn’t a bad book, and it’s as good as anything Hautala ever published. Better than most of them, in fact. It’s still not much more than a decent little novel.
I’ve pledged to be absolutely honest in my writing. I’m forced to come to the unhappy conclusion that I’ve been loyal to the memory of Rick Hautala and to my unsophisticated past. Hautala was never a favorite, but I liked his books. I still feel a tremendous amount of affection toward them, but I don’t think I’ll be reading him again.
Decent little books can be enjoyable, but there I have more excellent ones on hand than I have time for.
I met Rick Huatala one time. He was a nice guy, and I’ll always be grateful to him for his part in the development of horror fiction. He was an important writer in the field. For a while, a decade or so, Hautala did well enough, selling mostly big, fat books to the shoddy little publishers. He never made the leap into the big time, and I honestly see why he didn’t. After the horror bust of the nineties, he seemed to have a hard time. He did some books here and there, and thanks to the small press he made some money. He was with Leisure Books for a little while, but I heard his collection, Bedbugs, was one of their biggest losers and they dropped him.
Rick Hautala struggled on, as I understand it, and he prematurely died in 2013. It would have been preventable if he had health insurance.
It’s a goddamn shame. Just like with Richard Laymon and Night in the Lonesome October, Hautala was showing greater promise with The Wildman and The Big Tree. Rick was one year younger than I am right now. He should have had fifteen or twenty good years to continue to improve his craft.
As they say, never say never. Perhaps one day I’ll be in the mood to revisit the past. I’ll want to take a walk through the Maine woods, not with Mr. King, but with Rick Hautala. I’ll be slowing down too and maybe his uncomplicated, boyish, sentimental fiction will be exactly what I need on a nostalgic day.
Written by Mark Sieber
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