William P. Haynes began writing for publication in 1988 centering his aim at the post-beat-movement of that time. During those years, he published many chapbooks of poetry, one softbound entitled FATED VISIONS and met a few of the beat writers that helped to inspire his work, Alan Ginsberg and Gregory Corso are the two that stand out most vividly. He continued to write and publish for the small press for over nine years. THE KEROUAC CONNECTION and BLUE JACKET PRESS in Japan are just two of the publications he wrote for. In the mid-nineties he turned his attention to the authors who had influenced him as a child, H. P. Lovecraft and Poe. While he still submitted work to the small press, he also began writing his first novel. The genre he set it in is horror but the content is heavily influenced by all of the writers and styles that affected him growing up. A collection of his work mainly published overseas will be released. His first novel: The Curse of Mesphisto's Seed was released in October of 2004 and received excellent reviews.
William is currently working on his next work of fiction, The Shaman and The Rose
My name is Trey and I'm a fly. I'm going to tell you a tale about a feast, a banquet I attended many years ago. As any fly worth his or her salt will tell you some of the finest eating is at outdoor concerts. This one was at Downing Stadium in New York. To be honest my tastes run more to the Classics but rock n' roll has it merits. For me its the garbage, the debris left after it's finished. Another plus for this concert was the location. It was close to the East river where many a fly has deemed to dine. I have a cousin who goes there just to ride the rats. I had dined fine at Woodstock and Downing promised to be even bigger. Now I'm just a fly on the wall, an unwanted spectator but these losers aren't dumping the trash, they're burning it. They've even managed to set the asphalt running track on fire. What a waste of fine cooking! So I decide to hang around and buzz down toward the river. Great, just great, some of these deadbeats have made their way to the water. Might be a bonus here, looks like these two are about to get into a fight. Think I'll buzz closer for a look-see. That's why I remember this one and the kid probably don't. He looked like he was sixteen and his eyes were in fly jargon; stoned immaculate. Happens to us flies a lot in the summer when there's too many beer bottles in the garbage can. Being a city fly I knew the kid had had it. The other dude was bigger and armed with a baseball bat. For a fly, I'm pretty good at picking the winner in a situation like this. Boy was this fly wrong. The kid got him in the East River and from that point on I don't think the bat helped any. Right away I knew this was worth the flight in from Jersey. I had just about buzzed off when the kid made it out of the water. An ambulance came and I hitched myself a free ride with the kid. No fly is wild about hospital food but I was curious if the kid was going to make it. I did what I do best. I made like a fly on the wall. I have to admit I counted the kid out a few times before he finally revived. I buzzed over a little bit closer to listen. A doctor was asking the kid if he knew his name. The kid didn't answer. Then he asked him what one plus one was. No answer to that one either. I flew closer and landed on the hospital bed. I looked at the kid's eyes and knew. He never did make it out of that river.
