Five years ago I found myself doing what I usually do: working on a new story. GLASS HOUSE was shaping up to be a new novel length story. I was a few chapters in when the windows of my own world shattered.
My brother called and told me my father passed away unexpectedly. I went back home to Norwalk, Connecticut and did all the things one does during such events.
His loss was my losing my first and most important audience. It’s always been his voice in my head when I’ve finished projects and found myself looking for feedback. He was critical. He made me work hard. When he liked something? I knew I was more than likely good to go.
I returned to GLASS HOUSE and so the story did what stories do … it told itself. The novel became a novella. I found myself typing ‘the end’ much sooner than expected. I knew it was right. I knew it was done.
It split my beta reading group down the middle. I wasn’t sure what I had. I still don’t. It doesn’t fit neatly into the horror genre, where I’m primarily known. It doesn’t fit into any one thing. It’s spiritual. It’s metaphysical. It’s horror. It’s funny and bittersweet. It’s searching for answers.
I’ve debated sending it out for consideration to publishers but was always weary. I didn’t want to change it. I didn’t want it scrutinised as a product. Pretentious as it sounds, I want and need GLASS HOUSE to stand as it was made.
By the way? Some in my beta group believed it was autobiographical to a fault. It is not. Like all of my work, I employ some elements of life experiences, but they’re not necessarily the ones anyone would expect. Mostly, I did my best to exorcise and capture the strange floating feeling of grief and maybe offer a little hope of a life lived beyond, one not better, but different and changed and ever moving forward.
I felt the five year anniversary of my Dad’s loss is a good time to release GLASS HOUSE in his honor and memory. Sometimes it feels like just a moment ago. Sometimes? A lifetime.
Thanks for reading.
A housesitting job at the Glass House unlocks lost memories and forgotten regrets.
The house was see through, and so became the things that dwelled inside . . . This is not a dark ride.
Come to a place where the dead are still alive.
Told through poetry, lyrics and prose, GLASS HOUSE is an expressive and experimental exploration of grief and memory from author John Palisano, Bram Stoker Award winning author of GHOST HEART, NERVES and DUST OF THE DEAD as well as numerous short stories.