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(pronounced Ko-Hane)
Dan is the Bram Stoker-nominated author of Plague of Darkness, Solomon’s Grave, and the critically-acclaimed Margaret's Ark. Writing as G. Daniel Gunn, he released Destroyer of Worlds and the novella (written with L.L.Soares) Nightmare in Greasepaint (Samhain Publishing),. His short stories have appeared in Cemetery Dance, Shroud Magazine, Apex Digest and many more. He and his family live in New England.

Friday, July 14, 2017


My review and analysis of the classic (and largely unknown yet influential) science fiction film IT! THE TERROR FROM BEYOND SPACE (1958) is now up at Cinema Knife Fight. Check it out, let me know what you think! 

Monday, July 03, 2017

50 Years With Rolled up Socks, or Three Strikes and I'm Out

Joe Keohane - my father, not my brother nor his son nor his son, it's a popular name in my clan - made an historic decision earlier this year. Fifty (might be fifty-one) years ago, when my oldest brother Joe was a kid, Dad did what most Dads are arm-twisted into doing: coach his little league baseball team. He also coached my younger brothers on the same team. Dad's team was the major league Twins (to educate: there's Pee-Wees, what we call the Instructional or Farm league these days, then the minor league, then majors, then beyond to the more advanced levels of baseball existence). When Joe graduated from the majors, Dad stayed with the team, coaching the following year. And the following. Fifty years later, nearing 89 years old, with baseball registration dwindling in town and the league's need to reduce the number of teams, Dad voluntarily stepped down from coaching.

He was a great coach, taking his team to the championship at least twenty times, if not more.

He wasn't an overly-aggressive coach, sitting quietly on the side by the dugout and - after having quit smoking decades before - sucking on rocks to keep himself focused (never swallowed any, as far as I know). He was a good teacher, rolling up hundreds of socks over the years into balls for batting practice (allowed the boys to swing hard without worrying about chasing balls all over the place), never bothering with memorizing signals - when Dad wanted one of his players to steal a base, he'd simply shout, "Steal!" Usually worked (never hurt that the normally quiet coach was suddenly yelling, throwing everyone off-focus, except his runner).

He loved coaching. You could tell. And he did this for so long, he eventually coached the sons of former players (and if I'm not mistaken an occasional grandson).

As an aside, I never made it to the majors. I dropped out of little league after my second year of Pee-Wees. With a perfect batting average (I never got a hit... well, that's philosophically not true, but I'll save that story for another time), baseball and I did not mix. Actually, sports and I did not mix (again, for another time).

In many ways, sports was how Dad related to and spent time with his kids. He wasn't just a coach for baseball, but also hockey with my uncle and godfather Ed Sullivan, and my brother, and my cousin after that.

But the annual summer run around the diamond was his specialty. And I only went to one game. I was eight (I'm always eight in my memories), no, probably younger, like four, sitting on the hill behind right field as the game progressed. Dad had to watch me, and I don't think I was allowed in the dugout for some reason (probably because I was four). I was bored, then scared, as the sun suddenly dropped below the horizon and I knew the darkness was going to swallow me whole. I'd be lost forever. I started crying and calling Dad and running over to him. There was a game on, and it took him quite some time to calm me down and explain that the sun had not set, but simply went behind a cloud. The sun came out soon after. I was not lost, but that strangely traumatic moment has been etched in my mind for four and a half decades.

In truth, Dad probably wasn't angry, he just has this deep, booming voice that my insecurity always interpreted as angry. Children with low self-esteem tend to miss the smiles on others.

I never went to another game, and likely was kept away so I wouldn't run onto the field (I might have done something like that, the memory is a little fuzzy). Around the end of college, nearly twenty years later, I told myself I would go to a game as an adult, really see what Dad did in these games, cheer the team on. Support him. Then it was after graduation, then marriage, and kids of my own, Cat's In the Cradle and all that. There was always something distracting me, making me lose track of time - until one day, last year, I remembered, wait! I want to go to Dad's game. I emailed him, and he explained that the season always ended before summer started. A fact I should probably have already known.

Oh. shoot. OK. Next year.

Three strikes, my son, my son. Hearing Dad announce his retirement was bittersweet. So proud of him, always have been. Hell, a few years back they even named the field on which he'd coached for half a century after him. It's called Joe Keohane Field now. I tell everyone about this, and make it a point to drive by when I'm in town so I can see the sign. But I knew: I waited too long. This isn't the only time I've put something off only to find, eventually, it's too late. Will the fact that my only memory of seeing Dad coach in fifty years is of me crying when I thought the sun had disappeared, change how the universe is spinning? No, only mine. Likely, when I'm dead, Jesus will sit me down in the movie theater of judgment, show this gap in the reel of my life and shake his head. 'Really?' he might say.

But, in the end, I have my words. I have this little universe of letters which I put together now and then to make something new, and though I never connected with Dad with a ball or bat or skate (dropped out of hockey camp, too), I can this way, With words. I regret, and always will, never focusing outside of my little world long enough to step back onto your field more often, Dad, but I've always, always been so proud of what you have done. You're a hero in many ways, to many people, not the least of which being me.

Looking forward to seeing what you do next.

Friday, June 30, 2017

Review for Transformers: The Last Knight (2017) Now Showing at Cinema Knife Fight

My review of the newly-released TRANSFORMERS: THE LAST KNIGHT (2017) is now showing at Cinema Knife Fight. Heck, even the review was a bit chaotic, trying to cover as much as possible. Because one thing I can say, there's a lot of stuff happening in this one. Not all bad, mind you, but.... anyway, see what I have to say here. Don't usually pan many films, but this one, as I say early, was a train wreck. Not all bad, but... see what I have to say and if you agree.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

My Little Dance With Death

Ok, so maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but maybe it was depending on whom you ask. A could of weeks back I was feeling run down and feverish. But my wife Linda had been sick with the flu that Sunday so I figured I just had a touch of that. By Tuesday night I was fighting a pretty bad fever. Oddly enough, I didn't know how high it was until I finally took my temp on Wednesday. 104. Not good. By Thursday I was in the ER with daughter Audrey, and after a few hours they sent me home with Motrin and instructions to alternate that and Tylenol every four hours. The fact that I'd had 104 temp for a few days - and had been bitten by three ticks in the last couple of months - apparently wasn't a concern. The biggest problem being that most everyone at home, and at church, had also been sick a few days back. But they got better, and I wasn't.

Two days later I'm back in the ER with Linda and my three-year-old son. For two days I'd popped my pills and fought the fever. Every four hours the temp would drop to 101, then roar up to 104, once cresting 105. Until the thermometer died. Then I was just guessing based on how I felt. By Saturday I had curled up, seeing my world only as a melting sliver of ice getting smaller and smaller. Accepting the worsening condition as only someone in the delirium of fever can.

Honestly, with no doubt, if I lived alone I would be dead now. The fever and, as we learned later my nearly depleted white cell and platelet counts, would have triggered a seizure or heart attack. At least, that what the infectious disease specialist that was brought in told me.

Thankfully I don't live alone so I was back in the ER on Saturday with Linda and little Elias. The young 'un couldn't handle being calm that long, so Linda left​ with him and a couple of awesome dudes from church took shifts sitting with me in the ER, then eventually the hospital room when I was finally admitted. The way I got admitted, after hanging in the ER hallway bed for an hour or two, was to ask a nurse to take my temp when it felt the fever had returned. She did and said three words which in that moment were music to my ears: 'Holy shit, 104!" It got everyone's attention, especially after I reiterated that this had been happening for days.

The reminder of my past tick bites prompted them to schedule me on dioxicyclene (or whatever the antibiotic was called).

That night, an hour or so after finally getting a pill and having taken my Motrin, I was delirious with a 104 fever, and it was getting worse. My world was only one remaining speck of hot ice. I was babbling to myself, deciding that the only way to ride this out with any sanity was to talk out loud. The nurse took my temp, didn't say anything but looked pretty worried (I assume it had passed 104 at that point). She gave me Tylenol (two hours early), not seeing what else to do. A little while later, I'm assuming when the Tylenol and antibiotic teamed up, the fever broke completely for the first time in almost a week.

Broke so bad they had to change my clothes and sheets because I'd sweat the fever out so much.

So: long term fever, lowered white cell count resulting in a compromised immune system, platelet count in basement, so no ability to heal, lowered potassium so no energy and lowered something else so something else bad happened.

Jump to end: I had contracted Anaplasmosis, one of three ticks borne diseases common in this area (the most common is Lyme disease though Anaplasmosis is gaining traction).

Basically this disease knocks out your defenses, then moves in and does its best to kill you. This puppy almost did, apparently.

Over next few days they kept an IV in to resolve my severe dehydration, and the antibiotics kept the Anaplasmosis at bay. When my blood counts we're almost back to normal that Tuesday I was sent home.

The thing that struck me when my brain wasn't so fried was, during that time of fever, how helpless I felt. Helpless in that I didn't consider that things were getting so bad I needed to take charge of the situation and get it corrected. I simply accepted every diminished state I found myself in and ran with it. I meant it when I said that if I had lived alone I might easily have died. But others, like my wife and daughter, and some great friends from church, took control of things for me. Special shout out to Dave Kane and Steve Hutchins, who took turns sitting with me in the ER and beyond, and Sue Walker who kept harranging her contacts in the ER to make sure I got admitted! Times like this, I consider it a good thing to have friends and family around. If you isolate yourself too much, you always at the mercy of your own perspective. When that perspective gets messed up, without other people to see the truth around you, you can wander down some pretty dark roads.

Major life lesson, that, and not just around this specific situation. There are times when being entirely alone is a good thing, for a short time, recharge and reboot, connenct with God, sit in silence. But in life, overall, make sure you have people who love and care about you nearby. They're there for a reason.

Tuesday, June 06, 2017

Glimpsing Behind The ALIEN Curtain

My analysis of Ridley Scott's evolving origin story of the Alien films, with his recent PROMETHEUS (2012) and ALIEN: COVENANT (2017), is now showing at Cinema Knife Fight. I am way too passionate about this damned franchise, always have been. And I see the direction Scott is going, and it is clever, but it makes me... well, I say it much better in long form. Click Here to read it!

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Sharon Public Library Turns Their Local Author Spotlight on Me!
Hilary Umbreit of the Sharon Public Library recently interviewed me as part of their monthly Local Author Spotlight. It was a lot of fun and I don't think I did too badly with this one. I enjoyed the back and forth with Hilary and the final interview can be found here:

Thursday, April 13, 2017

5K Autism Walk with team Knights of Noah Ren April 29th!

Hi, I'll be doing the 2016 5K Run/Walk (and yes, I'll be running/walking) for Autism Acceptance with team Knights of Noah Ren! If you'd like to make a donation of any kind, please follow the link and donate directly to the team!

Our friends' son Noah was diagnosed with Autism in 2011. Over the last 6 years, they have had their trials and tribulations, but continue to push forward with the resources that are available to their family. However, there are more families out there that need more services and the providers need more monetarial support to do their jobs effectively.

Their family thanks you for taking the time to consider either joining us in the running of the 5K or for donating to a great cause. Thank you for being a part of their lives and helping them thrive each and every day.

To donate, visit the team's page here: