Blowing Bubbles

To Pull a Child from a Woman

2012-01-15T00:18:00.000Z

I have a story published online right now. "To Pull a Child from a Woman" is the featured story at Darker.

The story is a reprint, having been published first in 2007 by the UK magazine Sein und Werden, and again in 2010 in Sam's Dot's anthology Sideshow 2.

I like this story—I think it has a lot of depth to it. It tells of the lowly clown Hobo and his yearning for a mother's love. The fact that it's now seen three publications suggests to me editors like it, too.

The link to the story is here: Darker should you wish to take a look.

Season's Greetings

2011-12-24T18:51:00.000Z

Here's wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Reviews are like buses...

2011-12-19T17:55:00.000Z

Two reviews of Burying Brian have surfaced online this week. The first is on my own website, where Peter Tennant and Andy Cox have kindly given me permission to reproduce in full the March Brian review published in Black Static issue twenty-two.

To read this click on my website link below and select What's New, and then the link to the review itself.

www.stevenpirie.com

The second review is from Shock Totem 4, written by Robert Duperre and made available on Rob's blog the "Journal of Always".

Journal of Always

It's always a thrill to read a positive review, and my thanks go out to both Rob and Peter for their continued support.

Brian is all ones and noughts

2011-11-05T18:08:00.001Z

I'm happy to report that Burying Brian is now available in a variety of e-formats priced at $6.00 from Smashwords.

smashwords.com
Also available here is my critically acclaimed first novel, Digging up Donald, along with a free-to-download chapbook, Mrs Mathews is Afraid of Cricket Bats, which I think is a reasonable sample of what you can expect from Donald and Brian.

Thank you so much if you should choose to stop by.

Shock Totem Burying Brian Review

2011-10-23T10:13:00.003+01:00

There's a rather stunning review of Burying Brian to be found in issue four of Shock Totem.

Reviewer Robert Duperre says:

"The Prose Pirie uses is clever, never dull, and brings about a sense of poignancy that does what the best literature is supposed to do—make you think."

and…

"Burying Brian is the best book I've read in a long time…"

I've known Rob online for some time now. Indeed, I'm a fan of his own no-nonsense style of writing in his blossoming trilogy The Rift

And it's not the first time Rob has offered assistance in building my writing career. Back in 2004, when I'd just had Digging up Donald published, Rob and his now wife Jessica Torrant helped place Donald in an arts festival in which they were involved.

It's a feature of the writing community that there are nice people like Rob and Jessica around who are selfless in the willingness to help out.

So, thank you so much, Rob, for the review and your continued support.

A break

2011-09-18T20:46:00.000+01:00

I've not been in the mood for writing, so I took a break. I'm not one of those people who have to write every day or they wallow in guilt - when it stops being fun I'll pack it in!

But, I'm back, somewhat recharged and ready to dip the toe once more.

Michael Goins please stand up

2011-07-20T18:42:00.000+01:00

As a bit of fun, I put up both page 99s of Burying Brian and Digging up Donald on "page99.com".

page99

The site's remit is:

"For decades, readers have used the Page 99 Test to judge the writing of a book before buying it. That's the idea here... but with a twist.

Here, published and unpublished writers share their page 99s with readers like you. And you get to rate their writing (without knowing if it's published or who the author is). It's fast. Fun. Addictive."

In truth it is fun. But from a critique point of view it's all a little futile. People commenting seem to think landing on page 99 should make perfect sense, despite the fact that 98 pages have gone before and who-knows-how-many pages are still to go. It's a bit like walking in on the middle of a film and expecting to pick up at once all that's going on. Personally, I'd judge a book on its opening and not its page 99.

It does make for some interesting comments, though. I got my share of 'I love it' and such like, but the real fun comments are the snarky ones.

For instance, Of Burying Brian, "michael goins" writes:

"FORMAT IS INCORRECT. Why? Why write if you aren't going to at least learn a few very, very fundamental things? One of the #1 rules in writing is not to have similar names and you violated it what is supposed to be page 99 but is obviously the beginning. Three are lawyers, but one is a tax collector, one is a bank manager, and one a town councillor. HOw are any lawyers??? Terrible. Choppy sentences, terrible format, bad dialogue, telling and not showing. Lots of work to be done here and some of it involves learning how to write fiction."

He seems to have decided I've not posted a page 99 at all but the beginning. I'd hack my hands off rather than pass either page 99 as a beginning! He then goes on to add a further comment:

"Not PUBLISHED but self–published. Definitely not the same thing."

Which, as both books are published by Storm Constantine's Immanion Press, to which I have no association whatsoever except being one of their authors, the comment is not actually true. Possibly Mr Goins has simply decided it's self published because he believes it to be so bad.

Then, "AdamL" writes:

"All a bit Terry Pratchett for my tastes. Generally well–written and easy to read, but the stuff about the horseman needing a good house – "Can’t go raining death and destruction on humanity from any old hovel now can we?" – is fairly obvious, the kind of thing I used to write when I was 14 and obsessed with Douglas Adams. The biscuit factory line contains too much exposition to work as a punchline, and it's an obvious joke anyway, sorry. You obviously have an imagination, but try to find your own voice and your own take on things."

"Pinkiepup2" bemoans: "I does not make sense so far."

But don't worry, because Pinkiepup1 will have the answers. :-)

And things don't get better for Digging up Donald. Again, Mr Goins is in good voice telling me:

"Doubles not singles when doing dialogue. What the heck is a "brow?" Father wouldn't be capped. "taleteller’s breath and paused a yarn–spinner’s pause." – too cutesy. Why is the dialogue in the first paragraph split into two paragraphs? Opening and closing of quotation marks is poorly done. This is a laundry listing of information all told in a run rather that being revealed with action. Too little here to know if I'd red it, but most likely not, even when it is actually ready to be read. DIalogue is stilted."

The good thing with all this is that if I have confidence in just one thing about me it would be my ability to write. Oh, I know for sure I'll hit and miss with readers--what writer doesn't?--and I have no issues whatsoever handling criticism. But it concerns me a little that a more novice writer, who is less thick skinned perhaps, might be wise to stay away from page99. Or maybe not.

I've no idea who Michael Goins is, or if he's in the habit of Googling himself, but if he does and he lands on this Blog I'd love him to say hello.

Michael Goins, please stand up.

Fables from the Fountain

2011-07-09T14:54:00.001+01:00

I reviewed "Fables from the Fountain" for the "The Future Fire". An anthology edited by Ian Whates, Fables is written in homage to Arthur C Clarke's "Tales from the White hart", and features eighteen tall, often pun-like science fiction stories from eighteen authors including Ian Watson, Stephen Baxter, and Neil Gaiman.

Each story takes place in the mythical London pub called, not surprisingly, The Fountain. The book is most definitely worth a read.

My review can be read here: The Future Fire

And Fables from the Fountain may be purchased here at amazon.co.uk or amazon.com

Music, and why not...?

2011-07-08T18:05:00.000+01:00

This is the background music I selected when I looked after the now defunct Whispers of Wickedness Myspace page. It's very atmospheric, particularly at the start and well worth a listen to.

This is Conquistador, Part 1, by Juno Reactor. Part 2 is also up on YouTube.

For you, Tommy, the war is over

2011-06-28T08:48:00.000+01:00

Well, my war story came back rejected, which is a shame as I thought it a decent piece of writing. Still, such is life. Perhaps they did want Rambo after all. I'll be interested to read the published anthology to see what kind of 'different protagonists' they were looking for.

I'm doing some decorating, so if you want me I'm the one up the ladder.

If at first you don't succeed...

2011-06-19T08:54:00.000+01:00

I also submitted another short story to an anthology today, a story that's been bounced back to me more times than a very bouncy thing. And I can't quite put my finger on why—the story itself is a personal favourite, with lots of hidden depth and character development, and an ending I think refreshingly real for a fantasy tale. But do editors like it? Not yet. :-)

It's worked its way down all the appropriate pro markets until now I'm almost giving it away to the 'token payment' Johns.

I suppose all writers have at least one story that bemuses them in their ability to place it somewhere. This is submission number twenty-five for this story. Twenty-fifth time lucky, perhaps?

There may be eye strain ahead...

2011-06-12T15:36:00.001+01:00

I submitted a short story today. Nothing unusual in that, you might say, but in actual fact I haven't submitted much of late. Why? I don't know, really, I just seem to go through such lean patches where not much takes my fancy.

I like writing stuff fresh for a particular project rather than merely recycling old stories hoping to hit an acceptance. This story was written for the Weird War anthology.

Weird War Anthology

I liked their comment about wanting stories featuring unusual protagonists. It inspired me to write a story pretty much with no obvious protagonist. Instead it centres around a British street in world war II, and brings the war to the inhabitants of that street, sometimes brutally, sometimes subtly, but always dispassionately. The result is a story with no heroes but lots of victims, and mirrors how I tend to see warfare anyway. I'm gambling this will elevate it from the slush pile. Of course, the gamble, as always, is that it might run totally flat with the editors. If they want Rambo characters then I'm done for. Time will tell.

I'm also psyching myself up to review an anthology which came to me as a PDF file. Had I paid more attention at the time I'd have not taken the review on, as the thought of reading 240 or so PDF pages on a screen fills me with dread. Coming fresh from reading 30k words or so from Shock Totem's bi-monthly flash competition, I anticipate eye strain ahead.

All out of love

2011-06-11T11:29:00.000+01:00

I think I've fallen out of love with blogging. I mean, does anybody actually read the thing anyway? And if not, then surely it's just a load of old blather.

Birthday...

2011-04-22T17:28:00.000+01:00

It's my birthday - I'm fifty today. And it's odd, because I still feel about sixteen in my head.

I didn't want a fuss, so a quiet day is in order; a few beers and a meal planned with the family is all it takes.

This is Mary's Moon and Black Static issue 22

2011-04-17T11:44:00.002+01:00

Black Static issue 22 is now available.

In this issue is my story "This is Mary's Moon", the 'sister story' (in that it grew from the same seed before going its own way) to my tale "The Spring Heel", published in Haunted Legends anthology and itself gathering favourable reviews.

The artwork, by Dave Senecal and shown above, is rather special.

Also included is Pete Tennant's fabulous review of Burying Brian, in which Pete says such nice things as: "…the gentle humour that informs this work, the self-mocking way the characters have about them and the beguiling prose with which Pirie captures their actions and attitudes." and "…you marvel at Pirie's ingenuity and his ability to continually find some phrasing that will put a smile on the most curmudgeonly of faces…"

And as if that's not enough of me, there's also an interview in which I discuss amongst other things the battle of the sexes. If you want to know who won, and the fight was dirty I can say, then you need to buy Black Static 22.

It's available at: Black Static

Burying Brian Amazon review

2011-04-04T15:13:00.000+01:00

Well, a rather spiffing customer review of Burying Brian has surfaced at Amazon.com.

The review can be read here: Amazon.com

How long?

2011-04-03T19:25:00.000+01:00

Dear me, is it really that long since I wrote anything in here?

Tut, I say; tut and procrastination.

The biggest news on the writing front is that not only does the next (hopefully) issue of Black Static include a short story of mine named "This is Mary's Moon", but it also carries an interview with me, and has a review of Burying Brian.

Even jokingly I'd never dare suggest to them they rename it the Steven Pirie edition. :-)

Burying Brian, the first review

2011-02-18T20:36:00.000Z

My first review for Burying Brian has surfaced on the Internet over at Future Fire.

Future Fire

I don't like to comment too much on reviews, either about my writing or when I'm writing them for other people—it's odd but I like to feel a reviewer is a protected species; should never be questioned even if the news is bad.

I will say it's wonderful to get a non-horror-reader/non-British perspective on my writing—very illuminating.

Thanks to Carey for the review, and to Djibril at the Future Fire for hosting it…

Mrs Mathews is Afraid of Cricket Bats

2011-02-16T19:45:00.001Z

Well, let's be honest, there's rampant self-promotion afoot all over the Internet. And here's my bit. :-)

I've compiled a short chapbook—four short, humorous stories—and made it available for free download at Smashwords.com. Of course by making it free I hope to be read by as many people as possible, and then those people will be so taken by my writing skills, my blistering imagination, and my utter humility, that they'll be sure to look in on my novels Digging up Donald (itself available on Smashwords for a veritable pittance of cash) and Burying Brian.

That's the plan, anyway. Of course the exact opposite may occur, and folk might run screaming from Smashwords, vowing never again to download a suspicious looking ebook from that Pirie fellow. It's a chance I have to take.

It's called Mrs Mathews is Afraid of Cricket Bats. This is the cover:

It can be downloaded here: Mrs Mathews is Afraid of Cricket Bats

Go on, it's free. I've already downloaded it, and I haven't even got a Kindle or anything.

Pretty Little Dead Things

2011-02-06T09:08:00.001Z

I was wandering the shelves of Waterstones in Liverpool, as one does, when I spotted "Pretty Little Dead Things", by Gary McMahon. I had read and enjoyed some of McMahon's short fiction down the years, and I'm always happy to support a small press author's push for greater things, so I bought a copy.

Overall it's an excellent read. Thomas Usher, following the tragic death of his family, finds he has the 'gift' of being able to contact the dead. Or rather the dead may contact him, for Usher's lack of control at such contact is a large part of the book's charm. Set loosely in Leeds, it's a grim story throughout, as Usher's battle with his own inner demons is nicely paralleled to those external ones bent on destroying the world.

McMahon displays great skill in weaving Usher's emotions into a story that's something of a page-turner at times. If I have a criticism then it's with the ending. Usher is spirited off to 'other places' for the final showdown, and events become somewhat surreal. I'd have thought given Leeds, or indeed any northern city, has enough nooks and dark corners for a final showdown between good and evil without resorting to such devices, the story could end where it is staged—sometimes painfully close to reality.

But that's not to detract from what is a very enjoyable book. And good luck to McMahon in breaking through into 'bricks and mortar' book stores!

You can buy Pretty Little Dead Things at Amazon.co.uk

And here at Amazon.com

Shock Totem Issue 3

2011-01-15T14:25:00.000Z

Issue three of Shock Totem is now available for purchase. In this issue is my short story "Ruth Across the Sea", which won the magazine's 2010 Flash Fiction Contest.

I've spoken before of how highly I regard this publication. You should pick up a copy of Shock Totem and see for yourself what all the fuss is about.

The Bride Stripped Bare

2011-01-09T09:11:00.006Z

I'm about three quarters through reading the single author anthology of short stories "The Bride Stripped Bare", by Rachel Kendall.

If ever there was a book that 'pulls no punches' in its stories, then this is it. No subject would appear taboo for Kendal, and what results is a fascinating journey through humanity's darker side.

But if these stories are difficult, they're told with such brutal honesty, and with such assurance by Kendall, that the reader simply can't 'walk away'. It's like this dark underbelly exists and so simply has to be witnessed. It's life stripped bare.

The Bride Stripped Bare is published by Doghorn Press

The Reject

2011-01-08T08:32:00.000Z

I received my first rejection of the year. It was a sad one as it was for an anthology I was really keen to be in, and sad in that I wrote the story from scratch especially for that anthology. Still, I can rewrite it for a more general market without too much heartache, so all's not lost.

But who'd be a writer, eh, rejected as we are? :-)

We all love a good google

2011-01-04T18:01:00.003Z

I googled myself. All writers do this, even if like masturbation they tend to do it when no-one's looking (or maybe some writers do it loud and proud, what do I know?).

It's far too soon for any reaction to Burying Brian, but I found many reviews relating to Haunted Legends, and my story "The Spring Heel" therein. Perhaps I should also mention the anthology has been nominated for the Black Quill awards and was deemed anthology of the year by the Chicago Sun Times. Which is all jolly nice.

Of "The Spring heel", jawasreadtoo.com says:

Steven Pirie’s “The Spring Heel” (a Spring-Heeled Jack tale) is a fascinating reclamation where the legendary figure once rumored to haunt the streets of Victorian-era England (romanticized in the extreme by Pirie’s desperate protagonist) turns savior for a woman eager to escape the reality of her world.

Black Abyss says:

The Spring Heel by Steven Pirie is set in Liverpool and introduces us to Ruth a homeless prostitute and the mysterious Spring Heeled Jack. It’s a deeply emotional story which brings the traditional legend, kicking and screaming, into a modern world of drugs, violence and tragedy.

Of course, not all reviewers heaped glowing praise on my story. Some pretty much ignored it, and others were lukewarm.

From Sffworld

The remaining tales, including… "The Spring Heel" by Steven Pirie… tend to walk the line between the two genres, generally channeling local legends through the psyches of the stories' central characters. While I found these meldings to be interesting, the psychological element tended to dominate the narrative so much they were virtually indistinguishable from many of the ghost stories.

Skulls in the Stars didn't mention me at all. Which is perfectly fine, of course.

Read All Over says:

Anthologies are also hard to review because it’s hard to give full attention to every single story in a collection. Because, while I really enjoyed this entire anthology, there were definitely some I loved more than others:

The Spring Heel by Steven Pirie — from the title one can see that this is a tale about the English legend, The Spring Heeled Jack. I loved how this story was both eerie but had me almost rooting, in a way, for Jack.

From the Apex Book Company

The Spring Heel by Steven Pirie – This is the retelling of Spring Heel Jack as told through the experiences of Ruth, a down-on-her-luck prostitute. She fears seeing the Spring Heel means death or worse for her. In the end, joining the creature supposed to be the devil results in the most unexpected of things. This story is told well enough to make it timeless. It could be set in the modern day as well as London in the 1800s. I finished the story with a smile on my face.

Ten things you should know about sheep

2011-01-03T13:43:00.001Z

I'm going to write a story about a shepherd. But, in the meantime, here's ten things everyone should know about sheep:

1 Sheep are of the Kingdom Animalia, Phylum Cordata, Order Ungulata with Sub-order Artiodactyla. They are of the Family Bovidae with Sub-family Caprinac, of the Genus Ovis and Species Ovis-Aries. Basically, this means they are alive.

2 One of the most famous sheep (which, ironically, wasn’t alive) was a sock puppet called Lamb Chop, wielded by deceased comedienne Shari Lewis. It is unique as being the singly most unfunny sheep in existence.

3 Farmers like to ‘dip’ sheep regularly. This involves fully immersing the animal in a bath of antiseptic and detergent liquid, and not what you’re thinking.

4 Calling a sheep ‘Lamb Chop’ or ‘Mint Sauce’ is paramount to animal cruelty. As is turning them into socks.

5 Sheep don’t shrink in the rain.

6 A sheep dog is not a sheep, rather it is a dog used by farmers to bully sheep into pens and things. Dog sheep, however, are sheep of easy virtue, used by farmers once the dogs have bullied them into pens and things.

7 However, sheep may shrink if tumble dried.

8 Another famous sheep was Dolly the Sheep. This was the first animal ever cloned, and so marked a momentous advance in bio-molecular sciences. Dolly died after a particularly violent dipping by a farmer in 2002, and was served to the queen with sauté potatoes.

9 Some sheep are good at clinging to precarious, mountain crags and rocky outcrops. Those that aren’t are dead.

10 Sheep dislike being carted off for slaughter. Many are heard to utter, ‘Bah!’ when so carted.

Look at these writerly muscles

2011-01-03T11:17:00.000Z

I did something today I've never done before as a writer—withdrew stories from a (supposedly) pending publication.

'Why did you do that, Steve?' I hear you ask, all aghast.

Well, the stories (four flash pieces) were accepted back in 2007, and since then communication with publication's editors has been, shall we say, somewhat sporadic. Despite claims that the publication will happen, surely there's only so long a writer should wait before dismissing the sale and moving on.

And it's not as if I'm an impatient bloke in that respect—I've waited to see a story placed many times in the past. Maybe I just wanted to flex a writerly muscle. Maybe I'm growing up as a writer. Perish that thought, eh?

Writers read, don't they?

2011-01-02T15:16:00.001Z

It struck me yesterday I'm not reading as much as I used to. The last time I stopped reading it was because I needed glasses. You'd think that would be an obvious one, really, not being able to see the words and all, but it surprised me back then how long I went before I realised the problem was physical. It was only when my arm wasn't long enough to hold the book that it dawned. A swift visit to the Optician's, and behold, the world was back in focus.

I suppose I could need a new prescription, but this time it feels less physical and more a question of setting time aside for reading.

So, I'm going to promise myself I'll read at least a book a month. I'm not a slow reader, but often I force myself to read slowly to immerse myself in the story. And it's so hard these days to read purely for pleasure and not study the writing and language itself. But I reckon a book a month shouldn't be a problem.

So, where to start? Shall I go high-brow or slum it? Literary or genre? Comedic or 'serious'?

I have book tokens, so these words are loaded.

Is this it, then?

2011-01-01T10:50:00.003Z

So, this is 2011, is it? It's a bit damp. And not much looks different when I look out my window. Possibly that's because my curtains are closed, and should I open them I'll find the world has shifted sideways.

There didn't seem quite so many fireworks at midnight this year. Maybe people have got no money to buy them.

Still, we're off to the football soon. It's an away game, and even though it's not too far for us to travel, I do like the little trips for the football.

Here's hoping you're not too hung over this morning.

Happy New Year

2010-12-31T16:03:00.001Z

Well, have a splendid New Year, everyone.

May all your wishes come true!

Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T21:16:00.002Z

I wish you all a merry Christmas and that all you hope for in the New Year is yours.

Share a shopper's misery

2010-12-19T09:31:00.001Z

I love giving gifts. But I hate Christmas shopping. I mean hate with a vengeance.

In truth, I suppose I dislike shopping in general. Whenever I'm in town for a shop, it's very much a military operation:

11:02 Arrive Marks and Spencer's
11:03 Commence Operation Shopping List One
11:07 Shove Past Old Lady to Check Out
11:09

Yet Ann, my other half, loves shopping. She, along with her sister, can plan entire days wandering here and there looking at stuff they spent entire days just the weekend before wandering here and there looking at in the same shops.

And she takes on this sinister personality when shopping. Ordinarily, Ann's this mild-mannered, courteous person who wouldn't say boo to a goose, as the saying goes. But when in the shopping theatre, she'll mud-wrestle her own grandma to get to that elusive bit of stuff that wasn't there when wandering last weekend.

But worst, of course, are those marital, "let's go shopping together days; we can have lunch.". Is there any worse torture for husband-kind? Because we can't say "No thanks," as there lies madness, and we really don't want to be dragged around looking at stuff on hangers in shops that smell like an explosion in a perfume factory.

The shops are full of us victims. We nod almost imperceptibly, and share a moment's masculine misery. I think there should be little man-crèches in shops where we can all gather while the women ponder of size 12 or 14 and does their bum look big today.

But I have a plan. Last time, there was this three-year-old, and he was playing up, and his mother said: "If you don't behave, I'm not bringing you again." It was one of those Eureka moments.

If you're in town today, and you see a grown man misbehaving, do come and say hello, now, won't you?

Burying Brian is here!

2010-12-14T17:58:00.002Z

My new novel, Burying Brian, is now published by Immanion Press. And I'm happy as, well, happy can be!

It's been a long time coming—the first novel, Digging up Donald, was published way back in2004, and the gap is a reflection of how much more difficult it felt to produce the 'right' follow up to Donald.

Donald received some wonderful criticism. There were many glowing reviews, and in all the time the book 'drew interest' I saw only one negative-ish report bemoaning it wasn't that particular reader's cup of tea (and even that review held more good comments than bad!).

Because of Donald's reception, I've felt more pressure to 'produce' with Burying Brian. Of course, whether I've done so successfully is now at the whim of the reading public. And I'll maintain to my dying day that humour is by far the most difficult sub genre in which to write.

Brian has taken six years to write. Oh, I took lots of breaks in that time—more than I should have, probably—so it's not six 'solid' years in the making. In my excuse I'll say that if I wasn't writing I was certainly thinking about the project (if, like with Donald before it, I claimed thought time as well as physical writing time then I doubt I'd ever be able to suggest how many hours the project has taken).

But I'm happy with it. I like to think there's enough clever humour in there compared to Donald, and the style of writing is very concurrent. Like Donald, Brian is a gentle comedy, written almost as if in simpler times. But hopefully it still has enough edge to be relevant today.

I need to thank Storm Constantine and all at Immanion Press for being patient with me. I hope for their sakes if not my own that the novel is a success.

More information, including a preview of the opening thirty pages or so, may be found on my website www.stevenpirie.com

Brian also has his own Blog here: Burying Brian

There you may ask him questions, poke him cruelly in the ribs, or stroke his ego until his spine goes soggy.

Advent Calendar

2010-12-13T07:26:00.001Z

Peter Tennant and all the nice elves over at TTA Press are running the now annual Advent Calendar, in which during December a story a day is recommended for viewing (and encouraged for discussion in the TTA Forum).

I'm happy to say my story "Sixty Seconds of Christmas in a Victorian London Alleyway" has been selected for 'day 13'.

The Advent Calendar may be found here:

Advent Calendar

Side Show 2

2010-12-03T18:33:00.004Z

I received my author copies of "Side Show 2: Tales of the Big Top and the Bizarre", published by Sam's Dot. It contains my story: "To Pull a Child From a Woman", which I think is one of the best stories I've ever written.

The tale is of the lowly Hobo and his fear of the Clown Master, Whiteface. But it's also about love, and loss, and longing, and how ultimately simple Hobo yearns for nothing more than the basic thing in life most of us take for granted—a mother's love.

Sam's Dot Publishing

Side Show 2

Ah...ah...ah...chooo!

2010-12-02T10:58:00.003Z

Don't you just hate the 'flu?

I've been invaded by one of these beasties below. I suspect this is actual size, but I'm no molecular biologist.

It's all very suspicious, but I was reading Cate Gardner's anthology Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits at the time, and mere seconds later Cate reports on Facebook she's feeling poorly herself. Very dodgy. I shall need to mention this in my forthcoming review of said anthology for the Future Fire. "The stories are great, but they will make you ill."

Of course, I've dealt with all this like a man. Which means my wife comes up twice an hour to lift my arm so I might mop my fevered brow. Still, I was excused Hoovering fatigues, so it's not all bad. But why isn't Night Nurse drowsy any more? The drowsy was the best bit.

I think I'm 'on the mend'. But I'm weak as a kitten, bless me. And there's no truth in the rumour that this is mere 'man-flu'. Anyone who says so is in danger of a foppish pelting with a damp handkerchief.

Burying Brian is (almost) here

2010-11-20T09:30:00.003Z

This is the cover for my new novel, Burying Brian, which will be available from some time in December. The artwork is by Lucas Swann.

Click on the picture for a bigger image...

Bull Spec Issue 3

2010-11-15T09:17:00.002Z

I should like to thank Samuel Montgomery-Blinn, Editor and Publisher of Bull Spec magazine. Why? Well, he sent me a free Bull Spec issue #3. I like people who send me free stuff :-)

I haven't read it all yet, though I picked it up just to 'glance' through the stories and ended up reading most of the fiction section. Such is Bull Spec's eye for a good story it makes the magazine something of a page-turner.

Bull Spec

Krakow

2010-11-14T09:44:00.006Z

Well, we went to Poland. And, perhaps more surprisingly, we managed to get back home again. And I spoke Polish—actual Polish—and people understood me; I was even complimented on my Polish—what a thrill that was (I'm a man of simple pleasures).

We flew into Krakow. It's a city in flux somewhat. On one hand, it's a beautiful city blessed with many churches and buildings of fine architecture. But on the other it's also reinventing itself as a vibrant city, of nightclubs and bars and restaurants, and in some ways there's a battle going on between this old and new façade. It made for an eclectic bunch of visitors—young groups on stag and hen weekends alongside mature tourists all cameras and city guides.

It was cold—minus one degree in the evenings, but still hardy souls were to be seen sitting drinking chilled beer under parasols at the pavement cafes along the Rynek or Main Square. Ann and me, well, we're made of lesser stuff, so we drank our beer inside in the warmth.

I'd certainly recommend visiting Krakow. The food was cheap, the beer was cheap, and the majority of people friendly to a fault. Most spoke some English, and even those that didn't still managed to maintain a dignified patience during the ensuing pointing and arm-waving.

There were pockets of poor customer service we were generally warned about before we left. These were remnants of the communist age—the railway station was a somewhat daunting, unfriendly place, with little information and few official people around to ask for help—where wages were poor and paid no matter the attitude of the employee to the task in hand. We also had problems buying paper tissues in a chemist shop, but I suppose even pharmacy workers can have a bad day.

But overall, if you've any thoughts of going somewhere different, you should consider Krakow.

Haunted Legends is published

2010-10-03T08:24:00.004+01:00

I received my author copies of Haunted Legends anthology including my story "The Spring Heel". The guidelines requested tales with a new spin on well known local legends. You might guess my story is loosely based on the Spring Heel Jack legend; a fleeting Victorian character who, with his long, spindly legs, was said to be able to leap buildings.

Haunted Legends

Amazon.com

I've not had time to read the stories yet, but it does look a rather special anthology.

Burying Brian update

2010-10-02T12:38:00.003+01:00

I had hoped that the new novel, Burying Brian, would be out by now. The original plan was for a launch at Fantasycon in September. But, a delay in the production of the cover artwork has done for that notion, and it would seem I'll need to be patient for a little while longer. Everything else is in place and ready to go, so hopefully the delay won't be too long.

Lucas Swann is providing the cover this time. Musician and artist, I've not met Lucas, but it would seem he is an energetic, extroverted character, and I'm intrigued to see what he will come up with. If you compare his picture at the link below with mine, it's clear we're likely a world away from each other personality wise. But that's part of the fun of this publishing lark in that I get to glimpse into the worlds of people far more vibrant and alive than I'll ever be!

Lucas Swann

Uninvited Music

It should be an interesting ride.

Having said that, I met Anne Sudworth not so long ago, and despite a similarly (dare I say) daunting exterior she turned out to be the nicest, most down-to-earth person you'd care to meet.

Anne Sudworth

Bull Spec Review

2010-09-28T21:34:00.004+01:00

I reviewed a nice publication called Bull Spec over at Future Fire.

The review is here if you'd care to take a look.

Missing... but still in action.

2010-09-26T07:51:00.001+01:00

It's been a very busy month or two. Any free time I've found has been spent writing and editing the 'wife's birthday project' which has blossomed into a 140 page book documenting her family history. It's done and dusted and now with the printer.

A year ago I was a novice genealogist. Now I feel like a seasoned professional. I poked in nooks and fiddled about in crannies, and it has amazed me how much there is to find out there, how much of a footprint we leave behind.

Now it's done I shall move back to fiction writing, probably refreshed by the non-fiction break.

Anyways, I just thought I'd say…

A jolt of reality

2010-08-24T20:59:00.001+01:00

Part of my day job these days sees me in contact with the University of Liverpool.

This last week has been "Clearing", arguably the busiest administrative week of the university year, in which students who having discovered they haven't quite got the A-Level grades they'd anticipated scramble for ever fewer numbers of places on alternative courses.

This year, and last to a slightly lesser extent, the media hype around government cutbacks resulting in even fewer courses on offer seemed to make applicants even more frantic and frenzied. Within moments of telephone lines opening there was a surge of callers like I'd never seen before, and those elevated levels lasted throughout much of Clearing itself.

So, what's my point? Well, it saddens me that so many young people are turned away from the system. Yes, there is the argument that these students have performed poorly against their A-Level expectations, but then we all know exams can sometimes be tricky beasts, and performance on the day is not always directly related to work put in during the academic year or indeed an absolute indicator of student ability.

And in many ways these people are political pawns. Labour, a mere two years ago set out a vision of 50% of young people given access to Higher Education (which I guess would mean a university place for everyone who wanted one given Higher Education is never going to be the right option for all). Last year Labour reneged on that and cuts began. This year, the new Tory/Liberal mismatch government will go even further.

The children of all the Tory MPs will get in, as will those of all their rich friends. And in the meantime I had to listen to the deflated sighs last week as many young people were told they had no place. Welcome to the real world; check all compassion at the door.

(I should point out I don't work directly for the University of Liverpool, and so any moans and gripes above are purely mine alone).

High Class Romany

2010-08-22T09:04:00.007+01:00

Another cruise liner berthed in Liverpool this week (outside Cate's office window – did I mention Cate is a magnet to the rich and famous?).

This one is "The World", and it's curious as it's actually a floating residential block. It houses 165 residential 'units': 106 Apartments, 19 Studio Apartments, and 40 Studios, all owned by the ship's residents, some of whom live permanently on board and spend their lives sailing the globe, and others who join the ship as per a holiday home.

What an unusual life that must be—truly they are citizens of the world, though it wouldn't do to sleep walk.

Of course, one has to be stinking rich to join the community (residents must be worth at least two million pounds) and the apartments themselves cost multi million pounds to buy. And I don't suppose they have gardens (unless there're little private coral reefs under the hull), though that boat (picture below) hooked to the side is surely the equivalent of a car in the garage.

Is it just me, or are people going to bang their heads on that suspended life boat/car boat? Seems a bit much to ask the rich and famous to duck their heads when walking the deck; or is it the rich and famous can afford people to do their ducking for them?

And these guys would probably welcome sea level rises by global warming, because then they can sail into even more worldly nooks and crannies, maybe even straight onto our land-lubber high streets to buy their Gucci swimming costumes (professional shoppers: please feel free to tell me Gucci don't do swimming costumes).

An odd lifestyle, but an intersting one I'd suspect.

The Fall by Robert Duperre

2010-08-10T14:00:00.005+01:00

The Fall by Robert Duperre
Illustrated by Jesse David Young
Trade Paperback, 337 pages
$15.99 Amazon.com
$2.99 Kindle

A debut novel by Robert J. Duperre, The Fall is the first book of a projected four part series called The Rift.

During the exploration of a hidden Mayan cave, an ancient curse is released. It takes the form of a virus—diagnosed as ‘rodent ‘flu’, but its effect on those infected is more devastating than anything seen before. Insanity, cannibalism, death; all are symptomatic of this ‘flu. There’s panic, and anarchy, and civilisation is on the brink of collapse.

It’s set against this backdrop that Duperre tells the story of Josh and Kyra, who, together with a raft of lesser characters, are forced to fight for their survival, against their own personal demons as well as those quite literally set against them by the rodent ‘flu.

There’s powerful writing here. Duperre doesn’t shun away from the hack-and-slash when it’s needed, but The Fall is much more than a horror flick. His characters are torn inside as well, and such internal angst adds depth and realism where some horror novels seem to rely upon shock alone. Josh must kill his beloved sister, for example, when she is struck down with the virus, and Duperre has him do so with restraint and poise and humanity, despite the fact that Josh has witnessed the horrors this same sister in her insanity has levied upon their parents. There are internalised debates, too—how much would you save others in such a situation as this, and how much do you save yourself?

Add to this that there’s a surreal thread building; that there’s a gathering force of evil; that the dead will walk; that Josh is visited by a vague-talking, ethereal woman who we can perhaps guess is some balancing force of good; that between them we have hints that Josh is more than he perceives himself to be, and it’s clear the Fall has a nice balance of intrigue to keep things moving along into subsequent volumes.

In this opening to the series, the seriousness of the situation is gradually expressed and increased. The book ends with the decision to leave, and we are left waiting for the next instalment to see what and to where this journey will lead.

With the added bonus of some excellent illustration, this is a strong opening to the series indeed.

Visit The Rift Online here

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

2010-08-08T09:59:00.004+01:00

We watched the film "The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas" last night. Made in 2006, it tells the wartime story of a friendship between a German boy, the son of an extermination camp Commandant, and a Jewish boy who is a captive of that camp.

Of course, like all good films, there's so much more than that going on, and the film explores the conflicts of such a time in a refreshingly non-preachy way. The Germans are not all monsters. The mechanics of what went on is not presented judgementally and in gory detail. In fact, for swathes of the film the camp is something of a minor character; a nagging "extra" lurking at the peripheral.

Without wishing to spoil things for those who've not seen it, it's one of the few films I think I've seen with a less than happy ending. With that in mind, the ending shocked me a little. Yet, thinking about it later, it's the perfect ending—the only ending that could be sensible.

If you've not seen the film you should dig it out—even if you find the subject matter a little un-nerving (or especially so, perhaps). As an exercise in story telling it's worth the entrance fee alone.

All excited...

2010-08-04T09:41:00.001+01:00

I booked my flights to Poland. I booked my hotel in Poland. And now I feel all excited, because it's not just an idea any more, it's real.

I won't say when I'm going, because if I do there might be a small crowd of house burglars helping me into my airport taxi.

I've tried Polish food and it's awful, so unless I end up living in McDonald's I might even come back a few pounds lighter!

A Storm in a Port

2010-07-30T19:54:00.003+01:00

As boats go, it's pretty impressive.

The days of the big liners in the Mersey are gone, now. Ship building is a pale shadow of what it was, and containerships have concentrated activity to the humungous container ports, that of nearby Seaforth, but to the detriment of the docks as a whole. When I was young the docks thrived with activity.

So, when the cruise liners do pay a visit, it's a bit special these days.

This is the Queen Victoria. She's in Liverpool to commemorate 170 years of Cunard operating services from the Mersey. Their first ship, RMS Britannia, set sail for America on July 4th, 1840. For its day, I suspect it was every bit as grand as this vessel.

Stormy skies, and the Liverpool skyline, make a fitting backdrop.

Murky Depths Issue 13

2010-07-24T14:29:00.003+01:00

I've received my contributor copies of Murky Depths Issue 13, and whilst I've not had time to read it yet it looks to be another superb offering from Terry Martin and his team.

Amongst the table of contents, apart from my offering, "The Goodship Hyperdrive", a humorous tale of love and lust and deeply esoteric physics, is an exclusive comic from the master of mirth himself Robert Rankin.

Murky Depths may be purchased: Here

Milo and other humans

2010-07-14T21:32:00.001+01:00

There's an amazing demonstration of computer/human interaction on the BBC website today. It deals with Milo, a computer generated human, and how lifelike interacting with him can be. Take a look; it's well worth the visit to play the video:

Milo

To be honest, it seems both awesome and at the same time a little unsettling. I mean, do I want to interact on that level with my computer? If I empathise so much with this boy how will I feel about switching him off? Will it be like pulling the plug on a loved one, and not a vegetative, comatose loved one at that?

And given that the woman in the demonstration clearly reacts to Milo's mood, how can I be sure my Milo won't start playing guilt trips on me and manipulating me? I could become a slave to my computer generated human. And then I'd have to question which one of us is the artificial intelligence.

How long before Milo can switch himself on? I could come home from work to find Milo tapping his fingers impatiently.

It's a bit scary where it might end, no?

Throwing carpet slippers at ravens

2010-07-04T21:06:00.002+01:00

I'm excited in that in the next few months I've three publications that will be loosed upon the unwary world.

There's the Haunted Legends I mention below in September, and before then I've a story due in Issue 13 of Murky Depths. Then, again in September, Burying Brian, my second novel will surface. After a fairly sparse patch of new publications it's nice to see things happening again.

I need to get submitting again, too, and writing some new stuff. Hopefully seeing Brian in particular will spur me on to a period of renewed productivity.

I've gone with a very short (half a page) prologue with Brian. It's odd, because in general I'm not that fond of prologues. But I wanted to introduce a portent early on in the form of a visiting raven.

Of course, in keeping with the tone of the novel I thought it best my protagonist should throw a carpet slipper at it.

And finishing Brian made me realise once more how in love I am with writing humour.

Barry J House

2010-07-03T22:09:00.002+01:00

I'm sad to hear an e-friend of mine and fellow writer Barry J House has passed away.

Barry J House

Although we'd lost touch to some extent lately, I talked to Barry a good deal during the Whispers of Wickedness days, and he came over as a thoroughly nice bloke.

My thoughts are with his wife and two sons.

What a load of rubbish...

2010-06-27T19:13:00.003+01:00

They went out like lions, but mewed like kittens. I'm speaking, of course, about the awful displays of the England World Cup football team.

Where was the passion? Where was the skill? Where was the English stiff upper lip in the face of adversity? And I went all jingoistic, waving my flag and everything. Now my flag is limp, and I'm all jingo-ed out.

For shame.

Haunted Legends

2010-06-22T19:52:00.001+01:00

I've just received the cover image for the Haunted Legends anthology, in which I have a story called The Spring Heel, to be published by Tor in the first week of September.

It looks rather nice, does it not?

The Rightful Hair

2010-06-15T18:13:00.002+01:00

Well, I wanted to give Mercedes' words star billing, so I've avoided posting any other blog entries since. But, like all good things, there comes a time to move on. I wish Mercedes well—she's a really nice person, and she deserves all the success she can achieve.

I've been working on the 'Wife's family tree' project this week. I took a week-long subscription to an online archive of nineteenth century newspapers, and I've been having a ball reading what some of the barn-pots and simpletons of old got up to.

Not that the wife's ancestors are barn-pots and simpletons, of course; rogues, perhaps, but by and large loveable ones.

Here's one I particularly loved:

LIVERPOOL POLICE COURT
MONDAY, MAY 29.

NOT THE RIGHTFUL HAIR--Mary Judge, a fish-hawker, was charged on remand with seriously assaulting Alexander May and Mary Cheers. On the night of the 20th instant, the prisoner was selling fish in Kitchen Street, and, in consequence of a remark by Mrs Cheers, picked up a brick and struck her on the head. May went to call a police-officer, and the prisoner followed him and struck him on the head with another brick, inflicting serious injuries. In defence, the prisoner said the prosecutor assaulted her; and she produced a bundle of hair as having been pulled from her head by him. The hair was, however, not of the same colour as that on her head. She was committed to hard labour for two months.

Liverpool Mercury, 30th May, 1871

I love daft people like this.

An Audience with Mercedes M. Yardley

2010-06-05T09:44:00.008+01:00

I braved Stilettos to interview writer and all round good egg Mercedes M. Yardley.

This is what the deadly wordswoman had to say:

Steven Pirie: Tell us who Mercedes M Yardley is.

Mercedes M. Yardley: I'm the girl next door in heels and red lipstick. I wear poisonous flowers in my hair, bake muffins, and write about dead girls.

SP: Of course, that answer could be viewed as somewhat flippant, or it might point to some deep internal struggles—a power struggle between the orthodox, sweet, girl-next-door Mercedes, and the Mercedes desperate to explore life's dark side. Humour, after all, is one way of vindicating ourselves.

Is there anything in that? Do you feel as a young mother there's any kind of internal conflict in you writing dark fiction? Do you think as a woman it's harder to be generally accepted (in your social circles and in your writing circles) as a writer of 'dead girls', more so than were you a man?

MMY: Mmm, you caught me. Most people go through their lives not knowing exactly who they are so it’s a difficult question to answer. Who is Mercedes M. Yardley? Does it really all boil down to “she’s a girl”? No, of course it doesn’t. People are fathomless. But that’s the surface of it: she’s a girl.

There’s definitely a disconnect between my different circles. I think of it as Real Life and Writing Life. I’m the same in both worlds; I don’t have a persona. The Mercedes who goes grocery shopping with a toddler is the same Mercedes who writes about murder. But the people in my life tend to divide themselves into one camp or the other. Somebody from Real Life approached me the other day and asked how I can write the things I do. I think it disturbed him that I’m a woman writing dark fiction. He couldn’t picture it because I’m an optimistic person. At the same time, I’m very much aware of the darkness, and it’s very much aware of me.

SP: When did you begin writing? Have you always written dark stuff? Do you see any changes in your style or content as your writing talent matures?

MMY: I was always wild about books. When I misbehaved, my parents would punish me by taking my books away. Apparently I misbehaved enough that I was forced to write my own stories. I’ve been writing to entertain myself for a while, but I just started submitting for publication in the last three years.

There was always a little bit of darkness in my work. I think it’s because I was so sensitive. I constantly brought home stray animals. My parents had to turn off the news because I’d cry whenever I saw people suffering on TV. When you’re that gentle, the world is filled with horror. You always see delicate things being broken.

My outlook has changed now that I’m older. Yes, there’s still tragedy and horror, but now I see the strength of humankind. There’s much more beauty and hope to my work. I’ve lost the bleakness, and I’m happy about that.

SP: You have a gift of understating your horror. For example, in your story "Evanescent"

Evanescent

we have essentially a love story but for three words, and those three words turn the tone of the story completely around. Is that something you set out to achieve at the outset or is that something that naturally evolves into your writing?

That it seems effortless is testament to your skill, but like a duck, I'm guessing all the work is done below the waterline—tell us how you work—are you a planner or a free-writer? Are you a compulsive editor? Do you know before you start where these little subtleties will appear?

MMY: Oh, I’m definitely not a planner. I tried outlining once and it was a disaster. I’m also extremely pressed for time, so I’m only able to work in fits and starts. I’ll sit at the computer and think, “All right, I have ten minutes to write. Let’s go!” I’ll type as fast as I can for my ten minutes and then I have to be done. Maybe I’ll have 20 minutes the next time, so I’ll read a paragraph or two to catch myself up, and I start again. I actually do very little editing. I think the insane typing within a tight time frame helps me to be more honest. I don’t have time to hesitate and search for just the right word. I’m forced to bleed everything onto the page in seconds. I’ve heard that writers write to find what their current obsessions are. Sometimes I’m surprised at what I see on the page. Sometimes I’m pleased. Other times...not so much.

SP: Ten minutes here and there? I'm surprised your stories are not terribly disjointed!

You've been open and vocal elsewhere about your young son's Williams Syndrome, and I know you're currently writing a non-fiction book about that condition. How difficult is that to do given you've likely a lot of emotion invested in that? How does it compare to your writing of fiction—do you feel more of a responsibility to get that project "just so"?

MMY: You hit the nail right on the head, Sev. It’s a tremendous amount of pressure. We’ve had some gruelling experiences with Niko. Emergency room visits. Kidney failure. A bizarre genetic syndrome that nobody had ever heard of. It’s immensely painful to open up that baggage and come face to face with it, especially since my family worked so hard to put the negative emotion behind us.

But at the same time, it’s a book that I feel needs to be written. When Niko was diagnosed, I couldn’t find a single book written by a Williams Syndrome parent. I searched the Internet and all I could find was technical jargon written by doctors and scientists. I was flooded with complex information that I couldn’t wrap my head around. I wanted a book that said, “Hey, my kid doesn’t sit still. He doesn’t sleep. This is how we coped, and this is what we should have looked out for.” To my knowledge, that book still doesn’t exist. I’m writing the book that I wish somebody had handed to me.

SP: Tell us about your experiences slush reading for Shock Totem. Has working from the other side of the "writing fence" taught you anything (apart from all slush readers eventually sit in the corner and twitch a lot)?

MMY: Oh, the twitching! I wear sunglasses to hide the constant spasms of my right eye.

Just kidding. Kinda.

Shock Totem is an amazing experience for me. I met the guys when I sold them a short story and then started hanging around the forum. Later on they asked me to join the magazine, and it has been very, very cool. Yes, it’s different being on the other side of the fence. It feels like an accelerated learning curve. I had no idea how much work really goes into a magazine. I thought you sent in a story, the editor waved a magic wand and WHAM! Literary Magazine! I definitely have more respect for the time and effort that goes into creating something like this.

I learned not to take rejection personally. You hear “It’s a matter of taste” so much that the words lose their potency, but it’s really true. Say you send in a story I’m wild over. I want to marry it and have its little story babies, but Nick hates it because there aren’t enough exploding heads or whatever. Does that mean it’s a bad story? Not at all; it’s simply that matter of taste. That’s helped me when it comes to my own rejected work. It’s easier to move on.

But maybe one of the most important things is that I feel part of a writing community. The Shock Totem forum is absolutely phenomenal. Like I said, I joined the forum long before I was ever on staff. It’s a friendly place with people that I have really grown to love. There are some sharks out in the writing waters, and it’s fantastic to have people who will haul you back into the boat if you need it.

Mmm, sharks.

SP: Sharks are just tiddlers with attitude. :-)

We know about the Williams Syndrome book, but what else (if anything) are you working on at the moment? Where do you see your writing career going in the short term and the long term? I believe you're courting agents—any news on that?

MMY: My main focus is finishing the Williams project, but every now and then I take a break and work on my demon novel. This novel has been a bit of a dalliance for me; I work on it when I really “should” be working on something else. I’m also working on a short story collection.

I’m taking my writing career one step at a time. Right now my short term goals are to 1) raise my rank in the SFWA from Associate to Active and 2) Find the right agent. The agent search goes slowly but I’m getting some wonderful advice and experience. Long term, I’d like to see myself stretch and grow. I want to continue to write pieces that I’m proud of, but perhaps tackle some of the ideas that seem a bit ambitious right now. I’ll always be writing, though. You can be certain of that.

SP: Thank you, Mercedes, for talking to me. Now, a final word of wisdom?

MMY: Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t do something. They don’t know what they’re talking about. But be gracious when you prove them wrong. I find that cookies tend to soften the blow. ;)

Thanks, my friend. It was a pleasure.

There's no rational murder.

2010-06-03T22:12:00.001+01:00

It's hard to reconcile how Derrick Bird—a nice, quiet, pleasant man according to all who seemingly knew him—could take a hunting rifle and kill twelve people in Cumbria, over a period of several hours in which surely thoughts of sanity must have returned. I mean, if the red mist had descended, there surely must have been a point in that time during which he thought: "What am I doing?"

His early victims were targeted, the subjects of arguments and squabbles, people known to bird—his twin brother and the family solicitor, a fellow taxi driver. But then he went off shooting folk apparently at random.

Why on earth would anyone do that? I mean, okay I can understand someone 'losing it' perhaps and attacking those he feels he has a grievance against, but why then go after innocent people?

Some of the witness stories are quite harrowing. The fifteen-year-old girl who 'ducked' at the right moment and was then pursued by the killer but managed to escape. She felt the bullet pass her ponytail. There was the young family who had the gun pointed at them but whose terror somehow sent Bird on his way.

Now that's real horror.

Not tonight; I have a headache...

2010-06-02T20:07:00.003+01:00

My prostitute story came back rejected startlingly fast. I thought it might be a little too "raw" for the particular market, and I was right.

So, anybody want to buy a prostitute story? One careful owner... :-)

The fastest rejection I ever received was from the now defunct (I think) NFG magazine. Email submission to email rejection took all of seven minutes. The best rejection was addressed to me but clearly described someone else's story. I didn't have the heart to write back and say so. I did often wonder, though, if someone else received an acceptance for my story.

I once pulled a story when a market that had seemed dead to my update queries suddenly came back with an acceptance. Assuming no answer meant no sale, I'd subbed the story out elsewhere, and when I pulled it from this 'current' market I was told it was (pinches fingers) this close to a sale. The 'current' market was a pro-zine. The market I pulled it for was way below. How daft am I, eh? The pro market could have said: "No, leave it with us, we might buy." But they didn't. Maybe they thought I needed a lesson, not that I'd done anything wrong.

Still, I console myself with the thought "a sale's a sale".

The N+7 Machine

2010-05-31T17:58:00.005+01:00

I love the "N+7" machine. Several blog posts below, I posted a rather tame poem about iron men, and I thought it would be fun to squirt said poem through the "N+7" machine.

Here is the original:

Of what do Iron Men think,
when staring silently out to sea?
As the tide turns, and the waters rise,
and the mud grips ever tighter to their feet.
Do they sail to Another Place,
where iron lungs don't leak and burn?

And here is the result (it's odd, but in all the text I've shoved through so far I always seem to prefer the N+5 output, and this is what's shown below):

Of what do Irrelevancy Mandarins think,
when staring silently out to seagull?
As the tiff turns, and the watermarks rissole,
and the muffin groans ever tighter to their foothills.
Do they salaam to Another Plagiarist,
where irrelevancy lushes doodle't leap and burrow?

The "N+7" machine can be found here:

N+7 Machine

Why not put some of your own text in and see what comes out?

I learned of the N+7 machine whilst reading Rhys Hughes' blog,

The Spoons That Are My Ears

It seems right and proper to say so.

A fine day out...

2010-05-31T09:29:00.007+01:00

We braved the weather and were rewarded with 'not a bad day for it', and took a drive into South Yorkshire. Our destination was Holmfirth, a small town set deep in the countryside and home to the long-running (actually, longest running) television sit-com "The Last of the Summer Wine".

I'm a big fan of the television show—it's the kind of gentle comedy I like to explore in my own writing. It's sad that many of the characters who made the show what it is have died off in real life. The show goes on with new characters, and it remains in my opinion still pretty good, but the old ones are tough acts to follow.

We took coffee in Sid and Ivy's café. It's more or less as it appears in the show, although unlike in the show it was packed with tourists. I felt foolish in selecting a sticky bun only to be told it was for display only. Well, it looked real enough, and it was probably in keeping with the show.

The town itself is rather small. We walked around it, twice, and barely broke sweat, but of course its quaint charm is that it's not the city.

We went up on to the "moors" for lunch, and found a Coach House serving overpriced food that was tasty yet overall disappointing. Still, it's a gamble when one doesn't know the area, I suppose.

This was Saddleworth Moor, backdrop to the infamous Moors Murders of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley. Such a bleak place, it's easy to see how bones can lie here undiscovered and brooding. I want to come back here at night, to experience this place in darkness. I imagine it's an eerie place to be in the dark.

So, there's no great message in this post. It's just a day out. And why not, eh? Sometimes, simple days out are what the soul needs.

Rain, rain, go away...

2010-05-29T13:44:00.007+01:00

It's a bank holiday weekend in England. It was sunny and warm last week, but now it's rainy and cold. Oh, how the Gods of Weather do mock us Englishmen (and women). Oh, how they wave their danglies derisively in our very faces.

A God about to lift his skirt and
wave his danglies, yesterday.

But do we complain? Do our stiff upper lips waver one instant? Of course; but the Gods don't listen.

Bastards.

Still, never mind, there's always the summer.

Snail Mail Rules

2010-05-25T18:21:00.001+01:00

I sent off a short story submission today. Nothing unusual in that, Stevie boy, I hear you say. But this was a real, paper submission, in an envelope and with stamps on and everything.

I can't remember the last time I did that. Everything's electronic these days—push-of-a-button-easy—or so I thought.

But, I liked it. It felt like a real submission; like the old days of International Reply Coupons and Air-mail stickers. Mind you, the post office had closed down, and the other post office has double yellow lines and a permanently grumpy Traffic Warden who patrols troll-like up and down outside. And there was a large queue of old ladies out for a bit of a chat and a stamp or two, so that rather slowed things down.

Still, it's oddly satisfying to hand over a real letter, particularly if it's headed to some foreign land. It feels more of a journey, more of an adventure.

Bizarro ate my Hovercraft

2010-05-23T09:50:00.001+01:00

I wrote some Bizarro fiction. Basically, it would seem to be fiction in which the rules of coherence are pretty much relaxed. Things can happen seemingly for the sake of things happening. Amazing events can be, because there's no great pressure to explain them within the story.

I think this lack of regimentation is probably why I've never attempted Bizarro before—although it has been suggested to me that all speculative fiction is to a degree Bizarro by its fantastical nature. I can relate to that, to some extent, but I think it's a sin to think speculative fiction should be exempt from many of the rules of writing that make fiction at the very least readable. I like writing with rules in mind; it keeps me from slipping away too far into the bizarre—a charge I'd levy at much of the Bizarro fiction I've read.

But, that said, I enjoyed the freedom in writing this piece. I'm going to send it to Pedestal Magazine's Bizarro Fiction Edition and see what happens. It might not be Bizarro enough, or it might stand out because all the other submissions are Bizarro extremis.

We shall see.

I am Masked

2010-05-21T21:01:00.003+01:00

Over at Mercedes' blog, I'm a "Mysterious Writer in a Mask".

Actually, I'm more of an idiot in a post box, but there you go.

A Broken Laptop

Thanks to Mercedes for having me over...

Steve the Pole

2010-05-16T20:01:00.000+01:00

I finished lesson thirty of my thirty lesson Polish language audio course. I averaged a lesson a week, I think.

Does this mean you're supercharged with Slovak enunciations? I hear you ask.

Well, I can certainly speak more Polish now than when I started. But what a fiendishly difficult language Polish is to learn. I can ask for things like where the bathroom is, and order drinkies like a native; I can book a hotel room and find my way around the railway station. But it strikes me to be anywhere near conversational in such a language would need total immersion probably forever. It's a language dreamed up by someone during one of life's more fluid lunchtimes.

I should have known that when the guide said of grammar: Don't worry if you have to stick to the nominative case—the Poles will understand you and make exceptions for you as a foreigner— because it's not like the Poles themselves speak all the various cases correctly anyway.

I should have said: hang on, if they don't, then what chance have I?

I'm not a natural when it comes to learning languages, which is odd really as I do consider myself to have a love of words and how they're strung together (isn't that a definition of writer, after all?). But one thing this exercise has done is to have given me a renewed respect for my mother tongue.

Having seen first hand what the Poles may do, I'll never abuse English again.

Well, hardly.

A Very Odd Brain

2010-05-14T08:57:00.000+01:00

I received a Facebook comment today that I have a 'very odd brain'. And I love it. It was from Wendy Darling who was commenting on how much she'd enjoyed reading my novel Digging up Donald. I think writers of comic works probably do need an odd brain.

I loved also that Wendy spoke of Storm Constantine's words when pressing the book on Wendy—'(She) kept saying: "You have to read it, I can't describe!"'. It's really gratifying that someone with Storm's track record in publishing would think like that of my work.

I dip back into reading Donald myself from time to time, which is odd as I rarely re-read anything else I've written. Maybe it's that I have a great fondness for the lad. Or maybe it's I'm a closet narcissist. And I always get a thrill when someone passes comment on it—good or bad. So thank you, Wendy, for brightening my day.

Of What Do Iron Men Think?

2010-05-12T19:18:00.006+01:00

Of what do Iron Men think,
when staring silently out to sea?

This is a most unusual work of art. He is made from cast iron, and is one of an installation of one hundred such iron men fixed five hundred metres apart into the sands of Crosby beach, about ten miles to the north of Liverpool. When the tide is low, they stand like sentinels against the receding sea. Twice daily, when the tide rises, they drown without fuss or cry.

Of what do Iron Men think,
when staring silently out to sea?
As the tide turns, and the waters rise,
and the mud grips ever tighter to their feet.

The installation, the work of Antony Gormley, is called "Another Place". The men are made from casts of Gormley's own body. They stare towards America. Previously, they'd been exhibited in Germany, Norway, and Belgium, and were due to be relocated to New York. That will not now happen, and the work will remain permanently in Crosby.

Of what do Iron Men think,
when staring silently out to sea?
As the tide turns, and the waters rise,
and the mud grips ever tighter to their feet.
Do they sail to Another Place,
where iron lungs don't leak and burn?

There were "someone's trapped and drowning" calls when they first went in. And shipping needed buoys to warn of them just submerged. Three were moved as they upset birds breeding nearby. And the curious thing is they look different at different times, as if storms and calm seas affect them in unseen ways.

Of what do Iron Men think?

There's a story for me in there somewhere.

A Tale of Two... erm, A Prostitute

2010-05-10T15:52:00.001+01:00

I wrote a story about a prostitute specifically with submitting to a forthcoming anthology in mind. It's done and dusted and duly polished, but I have a dilemma. The guidelines say (paraphrased) "…despite the prostitution theme, I'm not looking for pornography or erotica".

I'd argue that whilst I've pulled no punches with this story it's neither of those (unless it's a particularly weird form of erotica :-)

I'm toying with the idea of saying this in the cover letter. And my dilemma is I've never felt the need to justify the content of a story before, nor actually suggest in a cover letter that the story might be rejected as possibly too brutal, too risqué.

I'll probably just send it as normal and allow it to stand or fall at the Editor's whim. But it's been an interesting thought as to how I, as a writer, relate to the content of my own stories.

A well hung parliament

2010-05-09T12:46:00.001+01:00

What a strange week in politics.

No one I voted for "got in"—either in the national or local elections. Maybe I'm a jinx. Maybe I'm bribe material—how much for me to vote for your opponent—guaranteed non-election for him or her, squire?

Or maybe as politically savvy I'm something of a nonce.

It feels deeply dissatisfying, a hung parliament. Hung parliaments always produce toothless governments. And there's something disquieting about the sudden accord each of the major parties have for the ever-third-choice Liberal Democrats. It's all rather smarmy, this toadying, even by politicians' standards.

And then a part of me wonders if this was not meant to be. I was, and remain, deeply suspicious of the Conservatives, particular in the speed and depth of cuts they'd likely impart upon us as they try and restore some semblance of normality to the country's coffers. It worried me that the first three years or so of a majority Conservative government would see cutbacks on a scale ruthless and unprecedented.

But now, if they secure a working, minority government, I see another election surely within a year. And in that year the Conservatives would have undertaken some particularly unpopular policy making. But now, given they will need to keep the electorate as sweet as they can for this early re-election, perhaps it will rein them in a little. Or maybe it won't.

And what an opportunity this is for the Liberal Democrats to force home their ever popular chestnut of Proportional Representation. Ironically, given the Liberal Democrat's overall poor performance this time out, they might snatch the greatest victory they thought they'd never see, that of voting reform.

And in the meantime the financial markets wobble and dance.

A strange week in politics indeed.

Size Matters

2010-04-25T18:53:00.003+01:00

Well, actually quantity matters. According to last week's New Scientist, it's not quality of content that makes for a successful Blog but quantity.

People, it seems, will visit a prolific blogger more regularly over a, shall we say, more selective blogger even if they feel that the prolific blogger is talking tosh.

I wonder what this means for Life, the Universe, and Everything?

Promiscuous Women can cause Earthquakes

2010-04-20T19:16:00.004+01:00

I read this on the BBC news website, so it has to be true, doesn't it?

It seems an Iranian cleric has suggested promiscuity amongst women is to blame for earthquakes. He said:

"Many women who do not dress modestly
lead young men astray and spread adultery
in society which increases earthquakes."

And I thought it was tectonic plate nonsense.

I wonder what causes a tornado.

Brian is Go

2010-03-15T20:58:00.001Z

The good news is Burying Brian has been edited, the cover artist commissioned, and we're full steam ahead for a sooner rather than later release date.

It's taken me a long time to produce this second novel—longer than the first one, old Donald, first published in 2004. I think there are a number of reasons for this. Having Donald so well received—the critics were indeed kind to me—if anything added pressure to make Brian just as good.

I think because short stories tend to be singular, self-standing entities, there's much more freedom to swap styles and even genres between one story and another. But because Brian continues in the same 'universe' as Donald, I felt keen to maintain 'tone', and 'style', and 'voice'. It meant such care took time.

Also, I'd argue with anyone that humour is by far the most difficult sub genre in which to write. It's so easy to force humour, and when so forced its 'forcedness' waves and shouts from the page.

Many comedians will talk about timing. It's not just about what's said, but how it's delivered. And this is true for comedic writing too. I'll spend far more time over sentence structure when writing humour than when writing 'serious' stuff. The rhythm of a sentence is very much akin to timing. The punch line must come at the right moment, and must indeed have punch (as there're fewer visuals and mannerisms the joke can fall back upon).

Having reread Brian as part of the final editing process (Immanion Press are good enough to involve the author at the last before the book is committed) I can say I'm very happy with the result. I think Brian is stronger than Donald, possibly because I've learned as a writer in that time.

I'm not one to blow my own trumpet (though I'm sure as a writer I should do so), but I feel good in myself that I've done well with this novel.

So, we go again. Fingers crossed.

Mr Abershaw's Happening Day

2010-03-01T18:01:00.007Z

I notice Gabriel Strange has posted the short film Mr Abershaw's Happening Day to You Tube.

So, what's all that about? I hear you ask.

Well, the script for the film is my short story "Digging Up Donald", the same short story that subsequently grew into the novel "Digging Up Donald".

I think the film captures the tone of the work very well. And what a thrill to see one's words cross media, as it were. The film lasts about fifteen minutes, and is posted in two parts.

Part One

Part Two

It would be wonderful if you took a look, and even more so if you posted your thoughts.

A New Year

2010-01-06T17:25:00.002Z

So, is everyone back and raring to go at the new decade?

No, me neither :-) I always find this time of year a bit depressing.

There's chaos in Liverpool right now. We've had about six inches of snow, and when that happens the world ends. The Town Council scratch their collective heads and wonder just where they put the grit lorries. Oh, and did anybody actually order in some grit?

It took me two and a half hours to do what usually is a twenty minute drive yesterday. I couldn't get the car up a hill, and had to go back down and try my luck on a different hill, and these hills are main trunk routes out of town. It's disconcerting going sideways up a hill.

The bus company bailed out. It got to three p.m. and they didn't like the roads one bit, so they did the decent, honourable, heroic thing and went home. Of course, they were lucky, because at least they had buses to go home in; not like the thousands of people they left behind at their work. The schools have closed. It's a good job we don't live in Canada or our children would go uneducated.

Still, there you go, Happy New Year and whatnot...

Now, where's my shovel...?

Christmas Cheer

2009-12-24T14:35:00.002Z

Is it really twelve days since I last posted here? Christmas time is a bit of a blur, no?

Anyway, I wish you all a Merry Christmas. And, if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I wish you a Merry Non-Christmas instead.

Relatively Relative

2009-12-12T14:01:00.001Z

I discovered a distant, elderly relative in the Ukraine. At least I think I have, if she's still alive.

It felt odd writing a letter to her. I was told the Poles/Ukrainians like 'care' in a letter, as if I should write it asking how's the cat?—or how's the woman next door's burst boil? But how do you create a 'cosy' letter to what is effectively a total stranger, and across cultures at that?

And it felt odd writing to a woman who might have passed away.

Of course, if that's the case, I'm hoping she's left family behind, and they might get in touch and help with my search for the Michalczyk family tree. Or maybe they'll think who's this barn-pot Englishman with his daft obsession with the past, and barely glance up from their Wodka?

I have to say I'm very impressed with Google's translator. I joined a Polish online forum a while back, and one of the regulars on that forum kindly translated a draft of my letter for me. I ran it through Google to see how the translation back into English held up, and it was near perfect. It gave me confidence to add to my original letter using Google's Polish.

Now I wait to see if there's any reply. I included an email address—I wonder if there's Internet in rural Ukraine? Not that I'd expect my octogenarian relative to be using it (although, having said that, my dad is 85 and he's just had broadband installed—he's the oldest net-head in town :-).

This Weekend...

2009-12-11T20:06:00.001Z

This weekend, I shall write something.

Since finishing Burying Brian, I've been sitting smug-faced with feet up and enjoying, so I tell myself, a well earned rest. But it's time to write something again—a short story, perhaps; I have one or two anthologies in mind that I think I'd like to try for.

This weekend, we'll put up the Christmas tree and adorn the house with lights. I love it when we're lit up. It feels like the magic of Christmas is not so far away then.

I'm on twenty-four-hour call for the day job this week, too. I hate call with a passion; it rarely feels like I'm not working, even if there are no calls.

But, such is life. I'm off now to write…

The Fine Art of Tribal Warfare

2009-12-06T21:16:00.003Z

14:00

We're off to the football match, James and me. It's Everton versus Tottenham Hotspur—they're fourth in the league, we're sixteenth, and we're not in the best of form right now, so in theory we should lose.

But, it's a funny game, so who knows what might happen?

When you think about it, it's an odd thing following sport. I mean, we do get rather fanatical about it, but really it's celebrating someone else's achievement—the eleven often petulant millionaires kicking the ball about on the pitch. But there is some strange emotional attachment that's really hard to put into words. If you're not 'into' sports, and so you've never felt it, I don't think I could ever really explain it to you. But it's real and almost palpable.

For ninety minutes, we kick every ball with those highly-coiffeured an pampered individuals; we feel every ounce of pain; we offer threats and the loan of spectacles to the referee. Maybe it's a tribal thing, a throwback to a more primitive age. But, if so, why do I feel it?—I have no other Neanderthal tendencies—I hardly ever drag the wife around by the hair and hunt bison wearing nought but a loincloth. Perhaps it's more of a 'club' mentality. Maybe we all just need to belong.

And I saw that emotional thing dawn in James. The first half-dozen games I took him to he spent more time engrossed by the antics of the crowd rather than the game. But at one match I saw an abrupt change in him. He suddenly took a greater interest in the game itself. He felt it in himself—even at that tender age—because he actually turned to me and said: 'Daddy, I can see what you see in this.'

And we smiled and shared a nodding, father-and-son moment.

Now, he's a walking encyclopaedia of all things Everton. In fact, not just of Everton but of all things Football. He puts me to shame with his knowledge.

16:00

We're at the match. Oh, I'm relating this later, of course, as not even I am daft enough to sit in a football ground tapping away on a laptop. I'd probably be labelled a dangerous intellectual, if I did, and be made to stand at the back. It's cold, and wet, and I'm wondering what we're doing here, particularly as the game is being shown live on television. But that's what sports fans do, brave the elements.

James has a hotdog, and I've got a pie of dubious content. The theme tune blares—Z cars—and crowd roars and the teams enter the pitch. This is why we come, as we stand proud on the eve of battle, our hotdogs and dubious pies raised aloft in salutation. 'No prisoners!' is the cry, or something like that, and we take our seats and await the contest unfold. More warfare should be conducted sitting down. It's hard to invade Poland on a seat. Spurs kick off. Everton can't get the ball back. Some things never change.

19:30

We've been to the match. It finished 2 – 2. It was all very exciting, with the Everton goalkeeper making a last minute penalty save, and Everton coming back from being 2 – 0 down. It was a bad tempered affair, which of course makes it all the better. But no one got hurt (apart from one player who was taken off on a stretcher), and with a tied game the spoils were shared, which is more than can be said for most tribal warfare. And we'll do it all again in a couple of weeks time.

Come on you Blues!

Polish Polish Everywhere

2009-12-01T18:37:00.000Z

Well, my learning of Polish is coming along nicely. I'm about six weeks into my audio course, and I'm pleased with the way things are going. I had a week off with 'flu last week, mainly because I could barely speak English never mind Polish.

It's certainly a tough language to learn. There are plenty of sounds pretty much alien to English, and while it's not too bad with practice and repetition to make these sounds in individual words, I find the hardest part is rolling words into one another in the same sentence. That rather adds another dimension to the alien feeling and certainly ties the tongue in knots. But it's all good fun.

The grammar is tough, too, given that different words are used for the same meaning but in different situations (for example, 'something to eat', and, 'something to drink' each use a different word for 'something'). So, I have to learn multiple words and learn where specifically they're used.

But it feels like a challenge, and I think should I reach any conversational level in Polish it will be an achievement.

I need to get a text book, now, too. While I love the audio book, it's teaching me to speak Polish but not read it, and reading it is going to be essential to building my vocabulary beyond that of the audio course.

Do widzenia

Donald the e-book

2009-11-26T13:01:00.010Z

Well, it looks hopeful that my new novel, Burying Brian, will see publication by Immanion Press. Indeed, that likelihood has offered a stay of execution for my first novel, Digging up Donald.

Donald was due to be taken 'out of print', but with Brian's emergence it's been decided that Donald will remain available as a print edition for the time being. The thinking is that should a reader of Brian enjoy that book, he or she might think to pick up a copy of Donald too. I'm happy old Donald is hanging in there; I've a soft spot for the lad.

Talking of Digging up Donald—the book has now been made available as an e-book, and can be downloaded in a variety of formats sure to be compatible with any e-book reader. The price to download is a meagre five US dollars, and it may be bought at smashwords.com.

Smashwords.com

And to celebrate, Donald now has its own Blog.

Donald's Blog
Why not pop over and say hello, make a comment, ask a question, or even hurl abuse?

Necrotic Tissue Issue 8

2009-11-25T10:35:00.007Z

I finished reading Necrotic Tissue issue 8, and what a treat it was. They're doing good things over there at NT HQ—nice to see a publication strengthening its position while in the current economic climate many others are consolidating their efforts.

It's a digest sized publication, 112 pages, perfect bound with a glossy, colour cover and black and white interior. Cover price for a single issue is $5.95, while a four issue subscription will cost $20. Obviously, postage costs depend upon your place on the planet.

The stories are of a high quality—though, of course, I'm far too modest to suggest my own story is included in that comment—a mixture of short story and micro fiction. Obviously, all the tales are dark in tone, though some employ humorous undertones just to let the reader know not to take them too seriously.

I particularly enjoyed 'Send in the Clowns', by Bruce Cooper, an 'End-Times' tale with its little gems of imagery like: '…as the clowns came up the hill, a pyramid of them aboard a tiny car like a Shriner would drive in a parade…' and '…beaten to death with an oversized bowling pin. The clown kept hitting him over and over again, stopping only to honk the horn on his hip between blows'. There's an abundance of such fine writing throughout.

The issue's opening tale, 'Ellie Elemental', by David Dunwoody, while written in a totally different style to 'Send in the Clowns', is also a fine read. In the 'Strange Death of Henry Wattle', Jim Kelly takes an outrageous premise and somehow makes a respectable, dare I say it, believable tale. I've never seen the devil summoned in such an anatomical manner!

I like the little interspersions of micro fiction amongst the meatier stories. It means there's always time to get something from Necrotic Tissue, be it a stolen moment or a more relaxed reading session. Natalie L.Sin's 'The Hoarder', for example, is short in length but has so much understated story behind it that it lingers in the mind longer than such a flash tale should.

All the stories in this issue have merit. There are too many for me to comment on all of them, but I hope my picking out some favourites has whetted your appetite enough for you to want to explore the rest.

The Necrotic Tissue website is here

Those Murky Depths

2009-11-22T14:15:00.006Z

I'm happy to report Murky Depths magazine has accepted for publication my short story 'The Goodship Hyperdrive'. I'm rather fond of this story. It's a gentle comedy; a tale of sexual tensions set against emerging interstellar transportation gone wrong.

This will be my second appearance in Murky Depths. My first story, 'The Loveship Guide to Seduction in Zero Gravity', was well received by reviewers, and went on to be reprinted in 'Galaxies' magazine, a much respected French publication.

Murky Depths is well worth your attention. Its proprietor, Terry Martin, works tirelessly in its production. Why not support the small press and follow the link to pick up an issue, or, better still, a subscription?

Murky Depths

Struck down again

2009-11-20T20:28:00.003Z

It's only weeks since I had the most God-awful cold, an lo I have another one. How many bloody cold viruses circulate at any one time?

I sound like Barry White. I want to go to bed. Except, when I do I can't sleep what with all the coughing and hacking and general unpleasantness. The waste basket is overflowing with soggy tissues. Steve is not a well bunny.

Still, could be worse, eh?

Heads Between Legs

2009-11-14T10:13:00.021Z

Your own legs, please.

It's back and ready to go, and once more the universe is in grave peril of imploding up its own black hole.

I'm talking, of course, of the newly repaired Large Hadron Collider, or LHC as it's affectionately known, that most humungous of doomsday machines built deep underground at CERN in Switzerland.

I wonder if the media hype surrounding the switch on will be as intense this time around. Last time, the media interest was almost insatiable, as we watched the CERN scientists don their eye goggles and lead underwear, as they shoved a thumb against the big green 'on' button (it has to be green, surely?) and we all sat back wondering if the world would still be here come lunch time.

And there was a whir, and possibly a whine, and someone tossed in a Hadron and someone else lit some blue touch paper. And then there was a fizz, and a damp plop, and yet someone else made a leap for the big red 'off' button.

A CERN scientist searching
for the big green 'on'
button, yesterday.

It's all in search of the Higgs boson, don't you know. As bosons go, it's the kiddie. It's even been christened the God Particle. So, there's no megalomania there, then.

"Yes, yes, Steve…" I hear you mutter, "We're not all as stunningly clever as you, so just what is a boson, anyway?".

"Oh, stop," I say, all bashful and so such…

Bosons are 'force mediators'. When two particles interact, they do so by passing a boson to each other. Two Neutrons feel the love for each other in the 'Strong Nuclear Force' by exchanging a Gluon. Electromagnetism is mediated by photons. And Higgs… well, that's predicted by Physics' love with symmetry, and if/when found will be shown to mediate matter's fixation with 'mass'. And where would we be without mass?

The problem with particle physics is that each layer of symmetry requires more massive particles, and more massive particles require ever higher energies to detect. The accelerators have to be bigger and better each time to probe ever deeper. And now, given that the LHC is one mean machine, there is a theoretical possibility that the LHC might have enough oomph to create a black hole. And a black hole on the tabletop could do one of two things: it could fizzle out, or it could consume the solar system. Hence the call of the Doom-mongers.

Of course, said Doom-mongers don't mention that incoming cosmic rays collide daily with particles in the upper atmosphere at far higher energies than can be coaxed from the LHC, and so far the solar system has remained conspicuously absent of black holes.

It has made for some interesting conspiracy theories, though. Several scientists have suggested the breakdown of the LHC was not accidental, and rather it was engineered by a future bent of self-preservation. The future, it seems, can not, and will not, allow the machine to work. It's a pity the future didn't intervene sooner, before we'd spent billions on the thing. Typical, eh?

The latest glitch was apparently caused by a 'bird from the future' dropping a bit of baguette into a surface substation and causing a power outage (I kid you not).

A bird from
the future, yesterday.

Add to all that accusations that at least one CERN employee had links to terrorist cells, and surely this soap opera really is stranger than fiction. I shall be watching events with interest, with head between the knees, of course.

Brian is Buried at Last

2009-11-06T17:41:00.001Z

Well, it's taken me five years to write, but my second novel, Burying Brian, is now done. It's thoroughly edited, with just a few minor retouches still required before it's ready to go. It weighs in finally at a little under 90, 000 words.

I've spoken to Storm Constantine, and she tells me Immanion Press are still keen to look at it. So, I'll send it on to them probably Sunday, and then it's fingers crossed while I wait.

I'm thinking I might do something 'grittier' for a next project. Humour is so hard to write properly, and I reckon I can produce a gritty story in a fraction of the time it's taken me with Brian (and with Digging up Donald before it). I've had more success in placing such stories in big markets recently, so perhaps the same will be true for such a novel length project. We'll see.

Before then I want to craft some more short stories. I love writing shorts; I find doing so very satisfying.

Na-no-no-thanks

2009-11-01T11:07:00.000Z

I feel the world all a clatter to madly tapping keyboards. It's NaNoWriMo, and for those of you for whom that means nothing, November is now traditionally National Novel Writing Month—Na-no-wri-mo.

All around the globe, writers and would-be writers are foregoing all other bodily functions and doing nothing but tapping out their novels on their keyboards. Children are going unfed, laundry unwashed, husbands and wives neglected, and all in the name of literary outpouring. It's 50,000 words by month's end, or abject failure and having to stand at the back when the NaNoWriMo certificates are given out. Size matters—there are no hurrahs for 25,000 word dinky ones. Well, no official ones anyway.

While I have respect for the commitment of those taking part, it all feels rather manufactured to me. It feels like such regimented scheduling could easily descend to drudgery where surely any form of creativity should be fun and, dare I say it, spontaneous. It seems the emphasis is on quantity rather than quality. 'Get it written and fix it later' seems to be the mantra.

That's why it's not for me. Don't get me wrong, anything that encourages a writer to actually write (because believe me there are times when doing anything is better than writing) should be applauded. But I wonder whether the right way is to promote a better overall writing habit than to all line up on November the first and leg it as one into the distance. Could it be that some people are actually put off writing because they try this blunt approach and fall along the way?

I suppose there'll be lots of blog entries proclaiming word counts. "I'm at 10k, and I only started three minutes ago." :-) I wonder how many Bloggers will go further and let us know what their state of mind is during this marathon (and will they even have time to do so)? I'd be interested to know whether they can bring themselves to write even a shopping list come December first.

What's in a name?

2009-10-31T10:04:00.020Z

Why is it that women's hair salons lend themselves so easily to clever, play-on-word names? Is it a kind of statement of artistry, that if we can think of a spiffing name like this we can do wonders with your fringe? Is it a strictly British thing, or is this true the world over?

I mean, butcher's shops are so often called...

...not Mincing Malcom's, or Who's For The Chop?, or From Hare to Eternity.

You know what you're getting in Allan's butcher shop--good honest pork, nothing more, nothing less. The pedant in me loves it that the placing of the apostrophe is bang-on. It makes me want to applaud Allan's sausages. I want to laud Allan's liver. Am I alone in flinching whenever I see the 'Grocer's apostrophe'? Do you blanch at such punctuation abuse? Anyway, that's probably for another post.

Fish shops are called "Bob's Fishmonger" or something, not Your Plaice or Mine?, or In Cod We Trust.

But women's hair salons strive for names like...

I Googled, and found loads of wonderfully named salons locally.

I like Hair Razors in Newton-le-willows, and the delicious Hair World. There's Q'Dos in Toxteth, cudos on that name, and Cut and Dried, and Hair 2 Dye 4, which I guess appeals to the Twitter, texting generation. There's Mane Attraction, and A Cut Above, and Million Hairs... the list just goes on and on.

I'm intrigued by Woman More Than Nails Ltd in Bebbington. What can that mean? Is it a play on some quote I'm not aware of? It seems a strange combination of words to be not deliberate. It's an existential statement--we are women, and we are more than nails. They'll be after the vote next.

And what about Envy Hair and Beauty, in Birkenhead? Do the women all hiss at each other as they go in? Cardinal sin and curlers all under the one roof? A potent mix, I should think. But not to worry, women, because after such sinful encounters, Hair Angels can be your salvation.

And speaking of good names...

The concept of Beds and Beauty is surely a male creation. Never mind all that romancing rot, this shop is every man's one-stop route to procreation--beauty to bed with ne're a hint of roses in between :-)

Thinking about this afterwards, I guess 'Beds' is the Sun-bed-set parlance for 'Sun Beds'. Or, given there's not much room on the sign to get 'Sun Beds' in, it's simply truncated. All of which is much more mundane than what goes on in my furtive mind behind those closed shutters.

Of course, 'Hair 2000' next door is probably not the best of names. What woman wants a 2000 do? Surely she'll want the 2009 version? Or, if she's the sharp-suited go-getter, she may even want the 2010 style now. A lot's happened since the year 2000--the towers have fallen, the markets have collapsed, a black president in the White House--so that has to be reflected in hair styles, right?

Ugly Ben's? Did someone name this shop without Ben knowing? Did he commission his sign writers and leave them to it? Maybe it was originally simply "Ben's...", but Ben didn't pay his sign writer, and said sign writer popped back in the night with his ladders and paint pots and the smirk of revenge on his lips.

This picture was taken on a Sunday. Clearly Ben doesn't open Sundays. Possibly he's busy beautifying himself for the week ahead. Perhaps he's out hunting down his sign writer, with a number three mallet and a re-cycled Queen Anne chair leg held aloft. Or maybe he's busy over at Beds and Beauty.

Of course, Ben has it sorted. The naming of his shop is an instant hook. People passing by on buses won't fail to do a double take at the name. As a writer, it's probably this 'notice' aspect that interests me in shop fronts. A writer, after all, is in the same 'hook' business.

I should change my name to Ugly Steve.

What do you mean you totally agree?

87K and Counting

2009-10-30T18:08:00.006Z

Burying Brian now tops 87,000 words, and the finishing line is so close I can almost smell the cigars and brandy. The ending is planned and all but written, and I've one scene to write that I skipped over for various reasons.

I do think I'll need to edit the last 10k or so more than usual. This 10k has been produced very rapidly compared to my usual snail's pace. I was typing so fast at times I all but tangled up the old fingers.

Then, I'm hoping Immanion Press will still be interested in it. Storm Constantine did say she would look at it, but that was now some time ago. I've been remiss in not pushing myself as hard as I should have in creating Donald 2. I hope it doesn't cost me dearly.

In my defence, I still maintain humour is the hardest subgenre to write in. And there's a certain 'gentle tone' to Digging up Donald that I was desperate to reproduce in Burying Brian. Whether I've succeeded will no doubt be judged by others.

Assuming they get the chance to read it, of course.

Poland...Ukraine...Ukraine...Poland...

2009-10-25T09:54:00.000Z

Well, I'm back on Polish! My research now tells me my father-in-law was born in the town of Tarnow in South East Poland. So that's where we're back heading.

I'm sad in some ways, because while Russian looks that much more daunting at the start, with the Cyrillic alphabet and all, I've thoroughly enjoyed battling with it. So much so, I toyed with the idea of learning both languages at once.

Everyone I spoke to advised me against doing that. You'll end up speaking some odd hybrid of the two, they told me. And that makes perfect sense.

But I think I'd like to return to Russian later. Maybe after my trip, or when I feel good enough about the Polish side that I think I can safely compartmentalise both in my brain.

Of Camp Statues

2009-10-18T12:04:00.003+01:00

This has to be the most camp statue I've ever seen. Approaching it from its right, it looks all rather heroic and steeped with derring-do. But when one gets round the front, one realises it's really just some bloke and his sword loitering about waiting for a boyfriend with a beard fetish and a love of metallic tights to show up.

In truth, I rather like the idea of gay warriors. Warfare would be less brutal, I should think, were it a requirement that all the participants be gay. There'd be a bit more hair pulled out, I suppose, and some hurtful fashion comments tossed in, but not so many soldiers coming home in boxes. I think I should write a story about a gay army. I wonder if I can make it humorous without resorting to worn stereotypes and tired homophobic stuff.

The statue stands outside the rejuvenated Palm House in Sefton Park, one of Liverpool's oldest and grandest public parks. I'm not entirely sure whose statue it is. The name is written on the plinth that forms part of the statue proper, but I can't make it out in the photo, and rather foolishly didn't take notes. If I pop back there at some point I'll edit in the identity.

Digging up the Past

2009-10-17T19:05:00.006+01:00

So, I've begun researching the family tree. I signed up with an ancestry site, which doesn't quite let me view birth, death and marriage certificates, but rather tells me what reference number they are and thus allows me to order them from the Government Records Office.

I ordered a birth certificate, which duly came, but which was also followed by a second one for someone totally unrelated to us down in Dorset. Maybe it was buy-one-get-one-free. Maybe it was just typical governmental bureaucracy and wastage. I'd send it on, but it was addressed to me as if I'd actually ordered it. Unless, of course, the government knows of some hitherto hidden cousin of mine from Dorset, and is doing me a favour by pre-empting my next search. (Taps nose...) Governments know that sort of thing, you know.

The ancestor site also lets me search various censuses. I'm amused that one of the columns households were required to fill in is 'Lunatic?' I've yet to find anyone who has actually put 'yes' in there. Are lunatics generally aware of their lunacy? Maybe some lunatics wear their affliction with pride: "Yes, Lunatic, that's me; fifty years, man and boy".

Searching these things is not as straightforward as I imagined it to be. It's amazing how many people with like names lived close by to each other, so it takes a level of concentration to try and hit one's target. That, and there's the rather restrictive 'hundred years' rule, whereby any census cannot be made public until one hundred years have passed. Presumably, it's to allow lunatic old Aunt Doris to peg it before the world at large learns how she talks to her teapots.

And I haven't even started yet on the Polish/Ukrainian side, so help me.

Autumnal Colours

2009-10-13T18:25:00.007+01:00

Autumnal Colours
Sefton Park, Liverpool

I love this time of year.

Very silly, indeed...

2009-10-12T21:18:00.004+01:00

It gets worse. My research suggests my trip will more likely be to the Ukraine, and from what I can gather I should instead be learning Russian.

So, now I must forget my two-dozen words of Polish I've so far mastered, and go for Russian instead. And these Russians don't even have an alphabet I recognise!

Oh, foolish me.

Still, I like a challenge.

I'm a very silly boy...

2009-10-11T09:29:00.002+01:00

I'm a very silly boy, because I've decided I want to learn Polish.

It's not a whim, as such, because a whim like this would surely go beyond mere silliness and would be bordering on insanity. The men in white coats hover beyond my windows as I type.

It's a strange tongue. It's not content with twenty-six letters for an alphabet, for a start. There are all these other combination letters with their own sounds, and letters with squares above them, or tails below, and letters seemingly there only to trick a poor sap like me in that they look like 'W' but are spoken like 'V'. Twice I've almost bitten my own gums twisting my lips to get these odd pronunciations. Dislocated jaw?—hah! I tweak the nose of Dislocated Jaw.

Why am I doing this? Well, I want to go to Poland next year, and I have this odd, unwritten, personal rule that in order to visit somewhere I have to know the basics of the language. I'm not planning on being able to discuss the Reunification of Europe with the natives, but I simply love the thought of asking for this and that, ordering beer and being able to find my way about; mundane stuff like that. Part of it is a kind of respect thing.

But hey, the visit Poland idea is secret, so you've not read that, right?

My wife's father is (was) Polish, and his roots are shrouded in mystery. What little I do know seems somewhat tragic—deaths in child birth, deaths in fire, and persecution and exile by the Nazis. My secret is I want to find these roots as a birthday present to my wife. My trip is to be a surprise trip. So no telling, okay? My wife is a technophobe, so I've more chance of actually learning Polish than she has of landing on this Blog.

I have a year to do this… reckon I'll succeed?

We'll see, and in the meantime…

Do widzenia…

82K and Counting

2009-10-07T11:40:00.002+01:00

Burying Brian is fast approaching the finish line. It's now at 82,000 words and counting.

Over the last few years I've written mostly 'gritty' stuff. But until embracing Brian once more, I don't think I'd realised how much I've missed writing humour. It's a challenge, after all, because I'd argue fiercely it's the hardest branch of writing to 'get right'. And it's certainly the kind of writing that entertains me the most in its creation.

Whilst chasing an agent, after the completion of Digging up Donald, it was frustrating to be told time and time again that humour 'doesn't sell', this despite the bookstores being full with Terry Pratchett, Robert Rankin, Douglas Adams, etc. I know they are the big boys, but surely they're also selling the humour subgenre as well as their names.

I once was up for winning a major competition, only to be told (and I paraphrase) that: 'A well-crafted literary tale will always win out over a well-crafted humour piece, particularly if the humour is also a genre work.'

They went on to say: 'But don't give up. The world needs more humour writers.'

Cue the sound of Steve's head banging on wall.

Still, I persevere, and what will be will be.

78K and Counting

2009-10-04T12:00:00.003+01:00

Well, I'm now at just over 78,000 words with the second novel Burying Brian. I reckon the story has about another 5,000 to 10,000 words to see it completed.

It will be shorter than the first novel, Digging up Donald, which weighed in at 100,000 words or thereabouts. Not that it's a problem; a story should be as long as it needs to be in the telling.

So, I've put 8,000 words into it in three days, which has to be something of a record for me. And the nice thing is they feel like good words.

Writers reading this blog will know what I mean by that—there're words: writing sessions that feel forced, when the writer knows what's there will need throwing, or at least major revision, and there are sessions that feel more or less right from the outset.

I've three more days leave from work, and I plan to keep pushing on with the story. Hopefully, soon, I'll be able to announce completion. And that kind of announcement always feels like an achievement in itself.

This afternoon I'm off to the football. I think I've earned it.

A Brief History of Here 4

2009-10-03T12:21:00.045+01:00

There's a gem of a cemetery, one I'd no idea previously existed, to the rear of the Anglican cathedral. Named St James' Gardens, it's a former quarry site which became Liverpool's main cemetery in 1825 and is now listed as a public park. Of course, these days there are bigger, more modern sprawls to home the dead. But this cemetery has real character.

It's below ground level, for a start, hidden away almost and which possibly explains why I'd not discovered it before, accessed at one end by a tunnel and ramp.

I love the thought of a tunnel leading to a graveyard. It adds a sense of journey, of mystery. And that the ramp is itself lined with graves gives the odd experience of having to walk over buried bones just to get into the place.

There's food in that for a horror writer surely.

Beyond the tunnel, there's the Dead's Council. It's a curious circle of graves that in my mind becomes a meeting place.

Here, the dead might decide if they'll permit me further into their domain, or whether they'll rise up shrieking and send me running homeward.

Maybe on occasion they decide to keep the living who stray here. Perhaps the dead howl as the tunnel slams shut. Perhaps that's when they feed.

I really should Photoshop this picture. The green grass and daylight doesn't do it justice. It should be dark and misty, streaked with ghosts, and monks lurking, stooped against a squall of rain.

Some of the tombs appear older than 1825. And in truth that only adds to the charm of the place. These two flank the Oratory, formerly a mortuary chapel for the cemetery. The inscriptions are so worn and chipped I've no idea whose bones are laid here.

There are some notable graves, though; William Huskisson (1770-1830), for example, Member of Parliament for Liverpool in 1823. He has the rather dubious honour of being the first man ever killed by a steam locomotive.

I suppose it takes someone as self-absorbed as a politician to fail to notice a 100 tonne lump of metal rumbling, hissing and steaming towards him. Still, I'm sure it was an unusual demise, particularly in those times.

Even in daylight, there are places here permanently dark and shadowy.

I imagine the dead would walk here all day long, never mind waiting for the decency of witching hour. There are ghosts; look closely through the gloom under the branches.

And what had these people done in life to be denied the sun even to warm their headstones in death?

This surely is a sinners' patch; of murderers, and cut-throats, and black-cloaked vagabonds.

And these old trees growing outward horizontally from the bank, again lined with graves, must make an eerie sight on wintry nights. They could hang careless interlopers like me from those limbs.

It's an atmospheric stroll indeed. But a word of warning should you visit Liverpool and look for St James' Gardens—there are some dodgy characters down here, living I mean, not dead. The Red Light District is close by, and my reverie was disturbed by a woman clearly of disputable honour leading some fresh-faced boy to the slaughter. I was also approached for a cigarette by some character whose pupils couldn't safely dilate further.

Maybe the dead don't mind this—I suppose you get your entertainment where you can when dead—but it is something to be wary of. And it's a shame, because otherwise the place is secluded and peaceful.

Apart from the wail of ghosts, of course.

Twitter Update

2009-09-30T08:50:00.002+01:00

I think my Twitter follower got bored and went home. Does it look desperate to run after one's stalker and ask why they've stopped? :-)

Steve and the World, Sitting in a Tree...

2009-09-29T09:02:00.002+01:00

I joined Twitter. I’m the newest bird tweeting away in the Twitter tree.

I didn’t really want to join. I was Googling the web looking for someone I’d lost touch with several years ago, and lo I found a person who seemed to be her twittering away. And it was her, and considering she lives in Florida, it just shows how parochial the world is these days.

But what a strange thing this Twitter is. I’d not joined more than two minutes and already I had a ‘follower’. It made me feel like Jesus. :-) It also felt uncomfortably like someone was stalking me. Who was this complete stranger poised who-knows-where on the edge of their seat all excited and waiting for me to ‘tweet’ something? I was all flustered, as if I should say something memorable. “Take me to your leader”, or something.

And the lexicon? It’s texting gone mad. It’s all c u l8r, and r u ok, as folk desperately try to condense messages into the 149 or whatever characters allowed. As a word purist, it breaks my heart to see the English language bastardised like this. But given its popularity with the young—I was watching a young girl text at the football match the other day, well you do when you support Everton, and her fingers were an absolute blur on the phone’s keypad—maybe we’ll evolve into a race who actually communicate like this in the real world. If so, I think I’ll give up and go back simian.

So, I don’t know if I’ll use Twitter much—it’s already served the purpose I had for it—but if you want to tweet at me, my user name is escapee3. Who knows, maybe you’ll convert me?

Bird bath, anyone?

Necrotic Tissue

2009-09-26T19:15:00.009+01:00

My story "Ruth's Dying Breath in the Night" is now published by Necrotic Tissue. My contributor copy arived today and it looks good. I'll post more about this issue when I've had time to read it all.

In the meantime, if you wish to pick up a copy you should go: here