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A writer’s life: One day you get a jpeg in an email for the Japanese version of your book, Good Night, Zombie, from the “Scary Tales” series.

You didn’t know anything about it. Not a clue.

And you just think, wow, that’s so cool. But my name should be bigger.

Is my name even on this thing?

For reference, here’s the English-market version, featuring art by Iacopo Bruno. A different approach, for sure.

Uh-huh, yes, you are correct. It is that time again, where I share with you a letter from a fan, along with my answer.

Past visitors might notice that I changed the furniture around, bought new drapes. This blog got its start back in 2008 and it was time for a new look. Some tweaks may still be in order.

Here’s a letter from Natalie, who was kind enough to include art work, which always makes my day.

I replied:

Dear Natalie:

Thanks for your letter and, most especially, your brilliant artwork. I recognized the scene immediately, from when Jigsaw, Ralphie, and Mila pull a prank on Ralphie’s brother, Justin.

“I can make this bucket of water stick like magic to the ceiling. Want to see?”

It’s cool that you make ghost traps, too. Have you ever caught one? That would be pretty awesome. Or terrifying, I’m not sure.

The simple question — “What if?” — is so important for a writer. What if a girl named Natalie set a ghost trap . . . and it worked? Imagine that. What happens next?

Since you like “spooky and action stories,” you might want to check out my new series, SCARY TALES, which should be just perfect for readers who are ready to move beyond Jigsaw Jones. The stories are not hard to read, but I should warn you that there are some thrills and chills and creepy parts. Not everybody likes that stuff, while other people –- such as my daughter, Maggie –- can’t get enough. The creepier, the better! Maggie helped inspire the main character in SCARY TALES #2: I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM.

Each book is different, new characters, new settings, but each one promises to make your heart beat faster. Boom, boom, boom. Don’t they look great?

The fourth book in the “Scary Tales” Series, NIGHTMARELAND, is due to come out in June, 2104. The fifth book, THE ONE-EYED DOLL, comes out in October, in time for Halloween.

Be well, and keep reading!

Your friend,

James Preller

Okay, gather round, people, nice and tight. Here’s one from a proud mother in Indiana . . .

My 2nd grader 8 yr old is hooked and In love with Scary Tales.  I found Home Sweet Horror, and she begged to stay up late to finish it.  Seeing this enthusiasm I was able to reserve I Scream, You Scream.  This was history in one afternoon/night.   Together we read the peak into Good Night, Zombie.    Oh NOoooooo, We can not find it anywhere!!   What is wrong with these libraries???   Ha ha, I’m just saying Thank you for a truly appropriate scary tale for kids.  Natalie loves bugs, frogs, rides and gross scary things…she now loves you

Thank you for that kind letter. The Irish call it “flowers for the living,” that you don’t have to wait for someone to die before saying nice things to or about him. I’m saying that I appreciate this did not come in the form of a eulogy.

I’m glad that Natalie has enjoyed the Scary Tales books so far. I have already completed #4 (Nightmareland) and #5 (The One-Eyed Doll), which will come out this June and October, I think.

It’s funny. I have two boys and a girl. The boys never cared from scary anything, but my daughter, Maggie, can’t get enough. She loves that stomach-churning, heart-pounding sensation. Maggie is the one who first told me about the urban myth of “Bloody Mary,” which I used in Home Sweet Horror.

My best to Natalie!

JP

P.S. The art is by Iacopo Bruno from the upcoming title, Nightmareland.

Here we go, folks. It’s time for Fan Mail Wednesday — and it’s actually Wednesday, a first for the entire staff here at Jamespreller.com!

I’m reaching into the big box of letters . . . ah, here’s one from Seth in Iowa!

Dear James Preller,

Hello, my name is Seth. I am a fourth grade student in Iowa. Our class is writing letters to our favorite authors. I chose you. You write Scary Tales. What do you do when you get stuck? Also, what book are you writing now? Here are some suggestions; Scary Tales: Slenderman’s Eye because it is really scary. My favorite book is Good Night Zombie. It is captivating! You keep me into the book and the characters. I liked your book because it’s scary and fun to read. What book did you make and like the most? I obviously like GOOD NIGHT ZOMBIE!!! It’s really scary. You also give me courage to read your books. You give me the chills when I read the books. You inspire me to read and write. Thank you for writing stuff like scary books!

Sincerely,

Seth

For starters, apologies to the artists, Iacopo Bruno (SCARY TALES #3: Good Night, Zombie) and Greg Ruth (A Pirate’s Guide to Recess).

The art represented below might make them sick to the heart; I can only guess. The shots below were taken from the books via my iPhone. The quality of the original artwork is in no way reflected here. But as far as I’m concerned, these crude snaps serve the conversation. Also: I’m going with what I’ve got.

The art immediately below comes from a spread late in the book, Good Night, Zombie. It’s an exciting moment of peril and temporary escape, of dead hands reaching, clawing. I love it. And I’m grateful for the design here, which breaks away from the usual layout of the book, with the art leaking across the gutter, where for a moment the chapter book takes on more of a picture book aesthetic.

“Up, up, up!” Carter cried.

The picture below is a detail of a larger piece of art from my most recent picture book, A Pirate’s Guide to Recess.

To me, as an ex-kid who became a published author, the moment depicted here feels like the story of my imaginal life. I was that boy. Dreaming things, imaginary games, battling monsters or tough pitchers, walking the plank or ducking for cover. Bombs exploding, tacklers approaching. Inside my private skull, it was one “Yikes!” moment after another.

And when I ran, the life of my imagination trailed after me. Stomping in heavy boots.

That’s what I tried to get at with this book — what I hoped to celebrate — and it is a personal thing. The stuff of dreams. It’s amazing that an artist I’ve never met helped bring it vividly to life.

Thank you, Greg Ruth.

And for the zombies, and all the great art in the Scary Tales books, thank you, Iacopo Bruno. I can’t wait to see what you do with Scary Tales #4: Nightmareland.

There are so many great things about being an author. What a life, truly. Blessed, blessed, blessed.

I first published in 1986, and I’ve been involved in a lot of books over those years. Some of them good ones, too! One thing that I never get tired of — or, I hope, never fail to appreciate — is the day when that big box of author copies arrives in the mail.

Oh, goodie!

I’ve seen a couple of advance copies, held them, leafed through the pages. But a box of books is a wonderful thing. A stack! My kingdom for more shelves!

I’ll mail a signed copy to the first five people who email me at: [email protected]. Please put “Good Night, Zombie” in the subject heading. You’ll need to include your mailing address and, if you wish, a name to whom I can inscribe it. Not the worst holiday gift in the world, though my preference when it comes to book-giving is to pick a random Tuesday, so the book doesn’t have to compete with the Xbox or new socks or whatever.

For a minute there, I wasn’t sure.

I didn’t know.

I was not exactly confident that we would make it out alive.

The hordes kept shuffling toward us out of the darkness, closer and closer they crept . . .

Art by Iacopo Bruno, from Good Night Zombie (Scary Tales #3), by James Preller.

Well, okay.

Let’s backtrack a minute.

I was in Austin, Texas, on a Saturday night, scheduled for a reading in the Texas State Cemetery with R.L. Stine. A creepy literature crawl in a graveyard. What mad genius, I wondered, devises such things?

I met Bob in his 15th-floor hotel room — yes, he lets me call him “Bob,” a name that no one under the age of seven actually bears anymore, they’re all named “Brendan” and “Colby” and “Luke.” We sat and chatted for half an hour or so, the old days at Scholastic, our experiences with school visits, this and that and whatnot. Time passed amiably. At seven, we were driven to the cemetery where we were to meet, we had been led to believe, a representative from the Texas Book Festival.

She never showed up. Oh well. The crowd sure did.

Austin is not just good beer and great music. It’s also a town that loves books.

Forty-five minutes ahead of schedule, hundreds of R.L. Stine fans had already gathered amidst a sea of tombstones. It was an incredible vision. Many sat under the high flood lights, but others sat on the edges, and waited patiently in the graveyard’s deeper, darker, gloomier pastures.

My task was to serve as the opening act, like a lone slice of cucumber on a plate. Bob was the hearty main course and the reason they came, so ravenous. By 8:00, it was time to get the show started. I spoke, elicited a laugh or two, told them that the scariest thing I ever encountered was kids who didn’t like books (because they grew up and voted, and sometimes even got elected to Congress). I read the “Bloody Mary” section from Home Sweet Horror, the creepiest part of the first book in my SCARY TALES series. I had the sense to keep it brief, with no intention of messing with Texas. Next I had the pleasure, the honor, to introduce the beloved author, R.L. Stine.

Beloved? Revered? Idolized? Worshiped? Words fail me. What I witnessed was that deep connection between reader and book. I saw what it was all about. The power of the word.

The crowd, I mean to say, went a little bananas.

They love him, you see. On a deep and profound level, the books of R.L. Stine had impacted these people — and they were there to see the man, to shake his hand, to thank him, to tell him what those stories meant to their lives.

The first books they ever really, really loved.

Goosebumps. Fear Street. The most trusted name in book-learnin’: R.L. Stine.

After the reading, it was time for us to sign. They don’t really do lines in Texas, unless, I guess, it’s for dancing. Somebody should have brought a fiddle. Fortunately a couple of good-natured cops came by restore order (at the end, after thank you’s, they even asked us both to sign a few books for ‘em, which we gratefully did).

Of course, R.L. was the star attraction. I mostly sat nearby, making sure Bob had water, a Sharpie, a small flashlight to see, and, sure, I even signed a few books of my own, basking in that borrowed light. I took a few lousy snapshots, which you see here.

The entire night was a revelation and a confirmation. The power of story. The impact of books. And how lucky I was to do this job, to be in this place, to share in these moments.

Near 10:00, the last of the line had finally wound down. Time to go.

We headed to the car through the big iron gate, which swung shut behind us with a clang.

Bob smiled. “It was a good night,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “It was.”

And I thanked R.L. Stine — Bob, my friend — for the gift of letting me share a small part of it. And to see again what it can mean to write a book, and for that book to be read, and for it to be loved by someone, by anyone, somewhere, anywhere.

It’s a beautiful thing. Even in a graveyard. Even at night. Especially with R.L. Stine.