Anthony Roberts Biography

I wrote and illustrated my first short story when I was 6 years old. It was a speculative fiction piece about a boy genius who built a robot that produced hot dogs on demand. Life was bliss until the robot lost its mechanical mind and started spewing hot dogs everywhere. The town was soon awash in condiments. People were drowning in pools of ketchup and mustard. And then robot exploded and the town was saved. 

I was a chubby kid who loved hot dogs.

After my mother passed away, I was sorting through her keepsakes, and there at the bottom of a mouldy cardboard box was “The Hot Dog Machine". All six hand-written pages of it, ‘words and pictures by Roby Roberts”. 

She never threw it away and I love her for that.

I’ve always written stories but never pursued writing with vigour until I turned 50. Some men buy Harleys, I wrote my first novel. 

I grew up in the Middle East as an American expat kid. I was in high school in Tehran, Iran at the time of the Islamic revolution. In 1978, my parents' marriage fell apart, my father--a raging alcoholic--shared his bedroom with a ghost, and I saw a UFO in the Alborz mountains while high on hashish. 

Intuition told me there might be a story in all that. 

I self-published the novel "Sons of the Great Satan" (I wish I hadn’t but I was eager to share it with friends and family). It sold surprisingly well and the reviews were positive. I’ve written a sequel titled “Sins of the Great Satan”, which now sits in the cloud waiting for its day to shine.

I'm currently seeking representation for my third novel, "One Little Indian Girl", a work of dark fiction that reimagines the nightmarish reality of the Trail of Tears through a horror lens. Dedicated to a beloved ancestor who survived the Trail, this novel blends historical fact with speculative elements to explore systemic violence and the cost of endurance. "One Little Indian Girl" will appeal to fans of Stephen Graham Jones, Victor Lasalle, and it aligns well with "The Hunger" by Alma Katsu.

As to my thoughts on writing, I’m drawn to speculative and dark fiction. I grew up reading the giants: Poe, Wells, Lovecraft, Bradbury, Matheson, Ellison, Jackson, Le Guin, Herbert, Rice, and of course, Stephen King. I still read and reread them. They are my literary Aunties and Uncles whose macabre and fantastical tales continue to inspire me.

It’s almost midnight and the candle at my desk is fluttering low. I hear footsteps coming down the hallway but I’m the only one home. The footsteps stop outside of my door. The candle light flickers then sputters out.

I am alone.

In the darkness.

Waiting.

Infernally yours,

Anthony