Bio

Clay Vermulm is a podcast host, author, and amateur adventurer from the realm of the Pacific Northwest. He enjoys writing about death, and taking long walks to Mordor. His recent accolades include a finalist placing in the Rick D. Moranis Short Story Competition, publication of his first novella, Crevasse, courtesy of City Stone Publishing, and multiple independently published shorts on Wattpad, Simily, Radish, and Kindlevella.

Interview

Tell us about yourself. Where are you from?

My journey began in equal parts due to a lack of friends, and being born on a farm in Cut Bank, Montana. As a farmer born, I knew I had three options. I would A) become a fabled hero of the realm, B) become an artist of some sort, or C) become a farmer. Naturally, I took option B, options A and C being excruciatingly difficult.

What first got you into writing?

It was always the vessel for expression which stood out most to me. I have lots of big ideas but I am not a very good team player. Writing is the only place I can tell any type of story I want and no one else needs to be involved. On top of that, I love words.

I know you write fiction, have you ever thought about writing a nonfiction book? Why or why not?

Not as such. I have thought about writing a historical fiction which is very founded in verifiable truth. I haven't much interest in non-fiction writing, though I do love reading it.

What are your writing goals?

Make a living on fiction. That's it. I'll write even if I never make money at it, for the love of it, but if we're talking about goals, I'd definitely like to quite my day job.

What is one of the things you are most thankful for as a writer?

Readers and editors. Can't choose between the two, after all, a good reader is vital to the developmental edit and editors are professional readers. Without readers, we'd only have ourselves to write books for and the community around literature is a wonderful thing to be a part of. Had we no editors, well, we'd surely have less readers because our writing wouldn't be half as good.

What's the most interesting book you've ever read?

Another tie between The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski.

What book are you currently reading?

Many. The Sinister Soup podcast keeps me having a long TBR list each year. My latest projects have been My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones, Republic of Thieves by Stephen Lynch, Immortal by Matthew J. Stenning, and The Institue by Stephen King.

Who are your favorite authors?

George R. R. Martin, Stephen Lynch, Douglas Adams, Christopher Moore, Stephen Graham Jones, Patrick Rothfuss, Joe Lansdale, and Stephen King.

What would your 8-year-old self think and say about you today?

He'd probably tell me it was time to get a real job. Thirty-one-year-old me hasn't figured it out yet.

What do you like to do when you are not writing?

I do a variety of outdoor activities, [ranging] from surfing and skiing to kayaking and rock climbing. I also love a good board game and the occasional video game. Like to stay active either physically or mentally.

Where can we learn more about you?

My Web site. Join the newsletter for updates on content and even frequent blurbs about what's happening in my life, if you're into that sort of thing.

Tell us about your latest book. What do you hope readers take away from it?

My latest book is a novella about two of my favorite things, supernatural creatures and mountain climbing. Crevasse is a tale of preparedness vs. risk, respect vs. ambition, and the dangers inherent with adventuring in the backcountry.

Who is the perfect reader for your book? (Please do not say "everyone.")

People of any age who love monsters and adventure. People who like to shiver, whether that's from the frigid setting of the novel, or the chilling events occurring around the characters.

What inspired the idea for the story?

I heard about the death of a climber I was a big fan of (RIP David Lama). It got me thinking about the futility of taking on immense natural power (like the ocean or an avalanche prone mountain). Yet, we do it. We climb Everest and surf Waimaia Bay. We do it for all different reasons. I wanted to explore that idea from three different perspectives, the enthusiastic, dedicated athlete (Greg), the new adventurer searching for a fresh frontier (Quinn), and the jaded veteran of a dangerous game (Ellie).

How did you come up with the title for your book?

I wanted to depict silent lurking terror along with the cold jagged quality of an alpine winter. I couldn't think of a better single word for that task than Crevasse.

Give us an insight into your main character. What does he/she do that is so special?

All three of my POV characters (Ellie, Quinn, and Greg) essentially split the role of protagonist amongst them.

If your book were made into a movie, which actors would play your characters?

Greg: Emile Hirsch
Quinn: Linda Cardellini (Freaks and Geeks age)
Ellie: Rhea Seehorn

What is the most important thing that people do not know about your subject/genre that they need to know?

One of the main over-arching ideas behind Crevasse is the indomitable and uncaring power of the natural world. I hope to impart a respect for the "wild places" of the world with this novella by demonstrating the cost of going into those places unprepared. More importantly, I hope that this story also shows that the natural world is a rugged place where even the most prepared and respectful can fall prey to the treacherous landscapes found on high mountain peaks, across open oceans, and in other hostile environments. Finally, I wish to impart the idea that, despite those inherent dangers, these places are worth seeking out and lives lived amongst them are worth those risks, but still, they demand the requisite training, practice, respect, and stewardship that our world deserves.

Please share a short excerpt from your book.

Travis reached the top just as the sun reached its zenith. The route took him about seven hours, excluding the five-hour approach. The cloud cover, which had overcast the majority of the morning, was burning off, revealing the mist-veiled valley and sweeping ranges around him.

He removed his cell phone from his pack and pushed the power button, hoping the cold hadn't frozen the components. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pissed off his sponsors by failing to document a notable ascent. At the back of his mind, he heard his publicist chiding him. "VIDEOS, Jayden. People want VID … E… OS. You've heard of a little thing called TikTok, right? Or do you not get cell service amongst your rocks?" For a first ascent on the south face of Inspiration, I guess I better take a damn picture.

The phone finally powered up, and he turned the video on. "Hey Jan," Travis said into his iPhone 5 camera. Keeping that shitty phone for nearly a decade was another thing both Miranda and Jan hounded him endlessly about. "No service up here, but it seems like I can still take one of those videos you're always going on about." He flashed his most winning grin.

"I'm here on top of Mount Inspiration. Yee-haw!" he shouted in exultation as he panned the camera around to show the Picket Massif to the east and west and the Cascades stretching toward the northern and southern horizons.

"And I got here by climbing that." He angled the camera over the edge, leaning out over the dizzying heights, seemingly without a care in the world, to show the sheer ice, rock, and snow face he'd just ascended. He returned the camera's focus to his face, so the pinnacle of Mt. Inspiration was visible over his left shoulder. "I'm naming this route Miranda's Nightmare. Love you, baby."

Again, he flashed a winning grin, panned around one more time, this time keeping his bearded face in the frame as he let out an echoing, lupine howl up to the midday sun. "Now, I just gotta get down." He arched his eyebrows at the lens and then angled his camera to the relatively low-angle ridge line of his descent path. "Wish me luck," he said and stopped recording.

That'd have to do for Jan. TikTok videos were capped at ten seconds, so the way he saw it, he'd just created two weeks of content. Enough to collect a paycheck, right? Besides, accomplishing the climbs was his real goal. The interviews with Rock and Ice and Outside were what would put his name into the hat for a Reel Rock documentary, not his fucking TikTok.

With a sigh of relief, Travis turned his phone off and stored it back in the depths of his pack, where it would be happily forgotten. He drew out the rope, harness, and figure-eight belay device. He sat down, geared up, then stood to sling the rope over his shoulder and begin the slow plod down the snowfield. The rocky ridge line arched like the spines of some colossal slumbering dinosaur, weaving downward toward the valley floor.

Hiking down the increasingly steep slope, Travis sunk to his knees in the deep snow with every step, forcing him to pull his feet nearly to his chest for the next stride. By the time he reached the granite spires of the ridge line, where he could use the sparse gear he'd packed for a rappel, his core and thighs were aching as if he'd run a marathon. He took a few moments to breathe the spring air; CO2 puffed out in wispy clouds. He let the thin, biting-cold oxygen fill his lungs before continuing his journey.

He twisted a large ice screw into a thick plate of ice, secured his 120-meter static line to it, and ran each side of the rope through his figure-eight. Using a small line of cordelette, he created a backup prussic knot in case something should cause him to lose hold with his brake hand. After testing the security of his system, he stepped over the edge and dropped toward the waiting glacier. Travis hit snow at the bottom of the wall, about a quarter-mile to the east of where he'd begun his climb. As he pulled and coiled his rope, he surveyed the glacial traverse that awaited him. Glaciers were the parts of the mountains nobody ever talked about. Even mountaineers didn't usually bother warning others about the dangers of glaciers because, until you've been on one, it doesn't compute.

When inexperienced eyes look out over a glacier, they see a relatively flat plain with some icy ridges and rises that protrude from the snow. Compared to a sheer mountain face, two thousand feet above the safety of solid ground, a glacier doesn't look particularly impressive or intimidating. What inexperienced eyes don't see is that glaciers are peaks between the mountains under the snow, often descending thousands of feet. Tucked beneath the more prominent features of the surrounding mountains, the glaciers hide, silently waiting to swallow the unwary.

When Travis looked out over a glacial field, he felt a bit nervous. A small part of him worried about the high probability of happenstance. He knew many a skilled mountaineer had fallen into a crevasse or been in a glacial valley due to a crushing avalanche. No matter how good an alpinist, there was little to nothing they could do in those situations.

He packed everything into his bag, strapped on his mountaineering boots and crampons once more, and pulled out his collapsible trekking poles. With another deep breath, he headed out. Just as he reached the ice's edge, he stopped.

A large, lumbering black shape on all fours, with a noticeable limp, was standing in the middle of the glacier. As Travis stared, it seemed to notice him. It turned toward him, standing up on its two hind legs as if to gain a better view.

A bear? This time of year, bears could be seriously bad news, as they would be ravenous from hibernation. Travis didn't know a hell of a lot about bears. He'd seen a few in his years among the mountains, but he'd never had any close or frightening encounters. Too small for a grizzly, it looked like a black bear, but it was still larger than he was comfortable with. He looked down the valley, trying to focus on his destination. Just get moving, it'll take off, he assured himself as he crunched out onto the hard ice of the glacier. Trying not to think about the bear, he prodded the ground before him with his trekking poles, taking each step deliberately where he found solid ice.

The Terror had always been a relatively crevasse-heavy glacier, but with rising temperatures over recent years, the ice had begun to melt at faster rates. Like a still patch of river has fast-moving currents and undertows hiding beneath, a snowy glacier often belies treacherous six-hundred-foot canyons that terminate in caverns of broken ice and sub-arctic pools. Travis knew that what felt like a solid patch of ground could sometimes be a cornice no thicker than an inch, only still in place because no idiot had come along to walk across it for centuries. If you happen to be said idiot, well, you might be going for the last big ride.

Prod, step, prod, prod, step, and so it went as he made his sluggish way across the glacier, all the while keeping his eye on the hulking black bear that still hadn't moved. The very fact unsettled Travis. He started to wonder if it was one of those life-size decoy animals people put in their fields. It'd be a hell of a job to hike that out here just for a prank that no one's likely to see. I guess people do weirder things. But he had seen it moving before, hadn't he?

Thoughts of crazy people and hungry black bears fresh from hibernation continued to loop through his head as he drew nearer to Washington's largest land-based predator. He'd had enough wilderness training to know the general rule of thumb for a brown bear or grizzly was to play dead and hope it loses interest; for a black bear, get big and scare it off. This was a principal he'd heard from experts but never needed to put into practice, thank God. Any other time he'd seen a black bear in the wild, it had been from a way off, and as soon as it saw him, the animal would move. Of course, most of those other times, the bear had been in a more populated area. So, why is this damn thing still here? Maybe this guy isn't as used to seeing people. Maybe he doesn't know how dangerous we can be.

To punctuate that thought, Travis stowed a trekking pole, reached over his shoulder, and snagged one of his ice axes. Holding the wickedly curved, razor-sharp instrument gave him a sense of security. Though he had no idea how effective his axe would be against his ursine opponent, he would make it pay if it wanted him for dinner. As a lover of fantasy fiction, he had always harbored a secret desire to go down fighting with axes high against some seemingly unbeatable foe. Upon nearing the bear, the world melted away.

All he heard was his heavy breathing, the clicking of his crampons, and the crunching of his trekking pole as it plunged through the snow to hit solid ice. On his last prod, the most crucial connecting-with-solid-ice sound was chillingly absent. He stopped and took a deep breath. He poked to the right, the left, searching for solid ice on which he could move forward.

The bear was still there, frozen as a statue, now only two hundred yards to his right. He prodded farther left. Finding a bit of ice, he took a cautious step in that direction before being forced to stop again. As he searched a path before him, he realized he was all but surrounded by a hidden gap beneath the snow. Shit. Had he stepped onto one of the thin cornices he'd just been thinking about? His gut clenched as the reality of having no control over what was beneath sunk in. The difference between him making it out of these mountains and plummeting into an icy chasm to his death sat upon the balance of this ice shelf of indeterminable stability.

Travis took a few deep breaths, focusing on what he could control. He had footing beneath him, solid ice behind. One step after another and he'd be back on track. He took a few steps backward, scouting the left edge of the cornice, though continued to find nothing but loose snow which crumbled into the open air below it. The mountaineer glanced again at the bear, at the direction he'd be forced to walk in. Well, I hope Yogi isn't feeling feisty over there.

Yogi certainly didn't look feisty. He looked dead. I'm convinced I saw that damn thing moving before. Travis wasn't sure which was more intimidating. Reluctantly, he started walking toward the creature, maintaining his attention to footing. The path to his right began to solidify. Why did you have to stop right there, you creepy bastard?

Two hundred yards became one hundred. As he neared the beast, he was startled to realize that its muzzle and underbelly were splotched and stained with a reddish brown. The bear also had a large portion of his face missing on the left side. A gleaming white section of jaw and broken teeth was visible through tears in its greenish, rotting flesh.

One hundred yards became fifty. The creature seemed to stare at him with unblinking black eyes. Or were they staring through him? Maybe this thing really was dead, implausible as that seemed with it sitting tall on its haunches. Maybe it had passed from the realm of the living before his eyes.

Just as he was finishing that thought, it cocked its head.

"Please, don't …" a woman's voice begged. The timbre was weak, exhausted, desperate, as it trailed off like a fading echo. The voice paralyzed him. Bile rose in his throat. He would have dropped his axe, were it not tethered to his wrist. He was only reminded of its existence when it swung down and poked into his leg with its sharp point, causing him to flinch back to reality.

"Please don't …." The creature repeated as it dropped to all fours and faced him. No exhalations puffed forth from the partially decayed jaws of the monster, yet it made deep huffing noises as it stalked toward him. Its heavy paws sank deep into the powder, generating alarming creaks in the ice below.

"Hey!" Travis shouted, holding his axe and pole above his head. He waved them and extended his arms to make himself look larger. The neon red of his jacket flashed brightly in the sun. "Get back! Stay back!"

"Please, don't .…" The bear continued forward with that slight tilt of its head, dead eyes surrounded by mangy, flaking skin, and fur coated in what Travis was now sure was dry blood. Oh, fuck, he thought as the bear turned its slow stalk into an increasingly quick lumber, closing the distance between them faster than he thought was possible.

Frantic, Travis didn't think. He just reacted. Axe held high, he waited until the bear was a foot away and swung where he estimated the creature's head would end. It still plowed into him, hurling him back onto the snow and ice with a sickening crunch. Vision swimming, Travis tried to gasp, but could get no air into his empty lungs with the terrible weight of the creature atop him. The beast, luckily, was not gnashing him with tooth and claw. It was not rending his flesh from his bones or smashing his rib cage into splinters with its two tons of muscle. It wasn't moving at all.

Travis heaved and shoved and squirmed his way free from the bear's girth after an arduous struggle. By the time he emerged from beneath the reeking creature, he was forced to lie in the snow, panting before he could gather the energy to stand and consider whatever the hell was going on. Did that just happen? He realized it had indeed. Somehow, he didn't even seem to have broken anything. Holy shit. I actually did that.

His one strike had connected absolutely perfectly with the center of the bear's skull. The axe had sunk so deep, even after several straining, wrenching attempts to remove his trusty tool: he was forced to leave it embedded between the beast's eyes. As his adrenaline ebbed, he began to grasp the disturbing reality. None of this makes any sense. In all his years up here, he'd never seen a bear, not once. Even stranger was the fact that no heat steamed off the newly made corpse. It lay there, stiff and still. Already, it seemed as if it had been dead for days, especially with its appearance of decay.

Despairing at the loss of an axe that had carried him up countless summits, Travis was, nonetheless, itching to get as far from this strange creature as he could. He turned and started following the bear's tracks across the snow toward the far edge of the glacier at a fast clip. Still cautious, Travis prodded for crevasses and took mindful steps, but the assurance that his forward path had already been tested by a fully grown bear allowed him to move with more speed and confidence.

As he blinked tears from his eyes and his breathing stabilized, the red haze of adrenaline faded. Five hundred feet, and I'll be off this damn glacier. Free and clear. He set the goal firmly in his mind and focused his vision forward. Until .…

"Please don't …."

Travis froze. Cold sweat burst from every one of his pores as he slowly turned around. The bear was standing on two legs. This time, it approached in an impossibly fast, bipedal sprint, with the axe jutting from its head. As it picked up greater speed, it dropped to all fours and loped. Travis screamed, turned, and took off in a desperate dash, still following the tracks. Without realizing, he'd dropped his trekking pole into the snow.

Unfortunately for the seasoned mountaineer, there was no preparing for a circumstance like this, no matter how experienced he was. The tracks didn't lead to the edge of the glacier. Instead, they led to a yawning crevasse. He didn't see the gaping, icy blue canyon stretching down into the depths of the glacier and spanning at least twenty feet across until it was too late. Suddenly, he was leaping for all he was worth, but such maneuvers only work in movies. His hands weren't remotely strong enough to arrest the velocity of a fully committed plummet toward the earth.

Travis barely had a chance to scream as he vanished into the blue void below.

What role does research play in your writing? Do you have any research resources you recommend?

For this particular book, my main source of research was experience in the mountains myself and the literature of both great mountaineers and great horror writers of the genre. The Freedom of the Hills was a constant companion for mountaineering knowledge while writing this book, as was The Top 100 Climbs of the Northern Cascades by Fred Becky. It was in that book where I learned of the Southern Pickett range, where the novella is set.

Do you aim for a set number of words/pages per day? Do you write every day, five days a week …?

I write six days per week with Fridays off (those are the most grueling of my day job week, so I take them off from writing). Every day I set a timer and write for one hour but I also enforce a 1,200-word-per-day limit, so if in one hour I don't meet that, I make sure to write until I do. Usually, one hour is good for at least 1,500 words these days.

Do you have an area set aside for writing?

Not really. I float around, though I tend to have a few regular haunts, my chair by the bookshelf and my couch in the living room being the primary locations of creative outlet.

What does your writing process look like? Do you outline and plan your story or do you just sit down and write? Why?

Over a few years of trial and error I've developed my own hybrid of pantsing and planning that suits me very well. I tend to write in a three act structure, so I write the first act completely off the cuff, allowing for that free-form creation of my world and characters. After Act 1, I stop and back track. I polish the first act, outline characters more fully, plot out the second and third acts and clean up the first part of the story so that I have a clear foundation to build the rest on. It works very well for me!

What comes first, plot or characters? Why?

Characters, always. Characters are the heart of the story. There is no horror or suspense if you don't care about who the characters are, and so developing them is paramount to creating a thrilling and engaging horror novel. The plot and setting are fun, but at the end of the day, they are mere decorations compared to the characters moving throughout the world.

What is your most interesting writing quirk?

I like to do lots of inter-mind conversations because that's how dialogue works in my head. I've also been accused of writing "poetically," if that counts.

How important are names to you in your books? Do you choose the names based on liking the way it sounds or the meaning? Do you have any name-choosing resources you recommend?

It depends on the story. Usually I just pick a name and go for it, but in fantasy especially, names have a bit mores symbolical relevance to the themes and plot.

What software do you use to write? Or do you prefer to write longhand or dictate your work? Why?

I'm one of those terrible people that just uses plain old Pages. I've tried Scrivener but figuring it out seemed like a hell of a hassle when I already understand the more basic word processing software that I've used forever. I also write on a Mac, so Pages is relatively seamless in terms of conversion, linking, and device fluidity. I like that about it.

How long (on average) does it take you to write a book?

The first draft of my current novel took about four months, but I did a fair amount of back tracking and rewriting towards the end.

How do you celebrate when you finish writing a book?

I go out for a drink with my fiancee, we take a nice hike somewhere new, and then we come home and play games together.

In your opinion, what's the measure of a successful writer?

A writer who finishes their projects and loves what they do. If you manage those two things, you're successful in my book.

What is the best advice you could give other writers about writing?

Never stop and do the work. Thinking about it, dreaming about it, talking about it … those are great, but they aren't writing. You have to commit to putting in the time and you have to keep on going, no matter how hard it gets. If you really want to be a writer, it will all be worth it in the end.

What's your favorite and least favorite part of publishing?

Marketing. I love creating content but I'm not great at selling my stuff, at least not yet.

What is the best advice you could give other writers about publishing?

Just like the writing itself, you have to put in the work. I'd also say you have to find something you can love about it. There's lots of fun to be had in the publishing process, whether that be outreach and connection, creating the marketing content to sell yourself and your work, or querying and submitting. I've found moments of joy in all those, even thought they are tough and time consuming. I encourage authors to go in with a positive mind set and try to enjoy the entire process.

How do you market or promote your books (e.g. social media, e-mail, blog tours, etc.)?

My primary form of promotion is just immersion in the writing community. I host a podcast that is all about reviewing books and interviewing fellow authors. I attend conferences and groups, and I chat with peers on social media.

What strategies have demonstrated the most success for you?

The podcast has been my best method of connecting to my community. I've met some of my favorite writing peers that way.

What is your best marketing tip?

Find someone who is far better at marketing than me, and ask them this exact same question :).

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