Digging Graves

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Bulldog 2: And Dead Mouths Open

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John-J Anderson

John-J is an author whose work slices deep into the human condition, blending horror, poetry, and raw lived experience. He is the five-star-reviewed mind behind Organ, a visceral journey into biological horror; Digging Graves, a haunting collection of poetry and short stories drawn from his real-life years working as a gravedigger; and Bulldog: Too Many Monsters, a dystopian military horror that blurs the line between the brutal and the surreal.

With over 42 countries stamped into his passport, John-J draws on a global palette of cultures, myths, and human encounters to inform his storytelling. A committed vegan and full-time animal rescuer, he spends his days rehabilitating and rehoming stray and abused dogs—compassion that stands in stark contrast to the darkness he explores in his fiction.

Whether excavating fear or unearthing truth, John-J writes with a voice forged from soil, blood, and hard-earned empathy.

The Bell Doesn't Toll For Me - Just Yet.

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On a bright and sunny Monday afternoon, I got the phone call from the dermatology department in Bishops Stortford Hospital and was told that I DO NOT have cancer.

Take a little moment for me to celebrate that. 

It was a high chance of being anything sinister but as you swirl through weeks of surgery, stitches, recovery, letters with words like "cancer" and "fast track plan", dermatology check ups, blood tests and sleepless nights. It becomes something of an unwelcome guest at the party. But, I won, it wasn't anything life changing. 

Fuck cancer. 

I got lucky, this could have been a horrible bout with one of the easier to treat cancers out there in the wild world of woeful worries. This whole thing however has given me a kick in the metaphorical backside. As my first major health scare of my life, this has been a bit of a wake up call that I could really become hindered by some ghoulish affliction at a moments notice. 

Its time to kick into gear and become what the great stoics longed for; strong of mind, stable of composure and above all strong of body to enact those dreams I seek to fulfil. 

So, what now?

Now we get back to fucking word! 

The Bulldog sequel, And Dead Mouths Open, is nearly complete. I know I have said that before but this time, as I stare at the final cliff-notes for the last chapter, I can safely say that "yes, it is almost done".  The sequel has been one of the toughest pieces to write, it was a lot of dropping it and picking it back up that left me lingering with the idea of whether it was truly worth pursuing. 

Now its gruesome horrifying head is almost birthed into the world, the book has become some of my best writing. The last third of the book has been really fun to write, scary, impactful and fully ready to shit the beds across the nation of readers generous enough to support an indie writer. 

I don't have any socials, so keep your eyes on Amazon, Goodreads or this spunky little blog for updates on its release.

Shall I seize the means of control.

Elsewhere, I am seeking the simple pleasures of diving into the literary world once more. I have just finished The Shining, absolutely loved it and missed the Overlook hotel as soon as I left it, and have now started reading Frankenstein for the first time as an adult. 

Alongside some ongoing readings of Letters by Seneca and Meditations by Aurelius. I am finding time to read again, it feels amazing. Meditative.

Angel is doing great, slowing down a tad but I am factoring in the weather and her previous weight issues into this. She is just as loving and playful as ever, but her jumping has become somewhat more reserved for moments of sporadic day time clambering up to the window to keep the birds at bay.

Other than that? 

I think we are done. 

I don't have cancer, I am almost finished with the Bulldog Sequel and have taken back my short uninterrupted free time that was formally distracted by my phone/TV/PlayStation. 

If you want to celebrate with me, maybe buy one of my books and leave me a review. Get something in my way of momentum for the insidious and hideously ever-present algorithm to snatch me into the carts across the world.

Stay salty and dry, you filthy mushrooms.




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