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New Pulp-Fiction is a Blood Bath

J. R. Parks’s new book blends horror and comedy

San Jose, CA (Vocus) October 19, 2010

The line between creepy and drop-dead hilarious is surprisingly thin. Think about it: screams ofsound pretty close to howls of laughter. And who among us hasn’t been scared out of our wits by our slightly-deranged friend who loves a good practical joke. Your gasp of shock quickly disintegrates into a fit of giggles as soon as you realize you’ve been pranked. Yep, fear and joy – however hard it is to admit – are different sides of the same coin, and never is this fact more apparent than inuproarious novel, .

Bucky Dennis, an ex-high school football star, Vietnam veteran and divorced father of two, is about to find himself in a blood bath as every matter of demonic beastie, creature, monster and ghoul congregate in his town of Verney, Mississippi to conduct every manner of evil. The slack-jawed, “bayou bubba” Bucky Dennis is America’s great hope for a devil-free future.

Reminiscent of the cultish wit offlicks, Parks writes with a funny bone bigger than most. He’s that classmate who always spoke in witty entendres. You know, the one who always made you feel a little sub-par when it took you a second to come up with an equally amusing response (and by “equally” we mean “never quite there”). Parks also has another thing going for him – an effortless Southern charm. Forgetting for a moment that he was born in California, Parks raps poetically on a staple of gothic literature – . “Southern Gothic is the slow cooked, bloody-nosed mistress that gets even with a pick ax and a .44,” he writes on his website. “Ultimately, she’s the American genre that isn’t afraid to wade knee-deep through murky water. She climbs out onto perfectly sturdy tree limbs and starts sawing at the knot. Southern Gothic lets us get damn personal with the anti-hero and experience the hero’s journey from a profoundly flawed place.”

The Gospel of Bucky Dennis offers a sticky plate-full of screams, thrills, and laughs, with a side order of tongue-in-cheek cleverness dripping from the side. It’s a dish not to be missed.

About the AuthorBorn at 11:11 a.m. on the 22nd of September in the hot, dry town of Mission Viejo, California, J. R. Parks was weaned on monster flicks, ghost stories, wizards and lightsabers. He’s seen Jaws over a hundred times, can’t get enough of Clive Barker’s mad scratching, and dreamt, from the beginning, of the day he’d take pen to paper and show those monsters what for.

Visit him at .

Parks is a member of the Horror Writer’s Association (HWA).


J. R. ParksAuthorHive408.844.4808Email Information

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