When a writer writes writerly thoughts...

I’ve not written a great deal during the last six months or so. I’ve not felt in the writing mood, for some reason. And I’m comfortable with taking a break. I’m not one of those writers who worry about things like Writer’s Block, or who’re so obsessive they have to write daily or they feel guilty. For me it’s a fun thing, and I hope it always remains so.

But, I wrote six thousands words over the last two days, starting and finishing a short story I had in mind to submit to an anthology opening in January.

A complete story in two days is pretty good going for me. I’m the kind of writer who edits continually as I write, and so while what comes out at the end is usually reasonably polished, it does mean the process of writing can be somewhat slow.

It’s good to be back writing, too, if I’m honest. There’s a nice feeling when a project comes together, a real sense of creativity that’s more that the act of writing alone. We can all write, after all, but I don’t think we can all create. It’s why when told we’ve all a novel in us, most of ‘us’ fail completely to squeeze it out.

I’m about ten thousand or so words away from finishing my second novel, Burying Brian. It’s stalled, because it’s dark humour and in truth incredibly difficult to get right. You can’t rush humour in writing, not without it often seeming forced. Also, endings are critical in that there has to be a denouement and there hasn’t to be any loose ends, so the scope for humour becomes muted as the need to focus and maintain pace increases.

But, with my newly returned short story prowess, I’m determined to push on and get it done. If nothing else, I want to write something gritty for a next novel length project, and I can’t even contemplate that without having Brian done and dusted. I won’t let myself start something else while that’s not complete.

Watch this space.

Fantasy Con and Mr Abershaw's Happening Day

If you're off to the British Fantasy Society's FantasyCon in September, you might want to look in on the Short Film Showcase.

If you do, you will no doubt see Mr Abershaw's Happening Day, which is a brief film by Gabriel Strange of my short story 'Digging up Donald'; the very same story that eventually grew into my novel, erm, Digging up Donald.

If you do see it, I'd love to hear your opinions. And if you don't see it, make some opinions up, if you want. :-)

Fantasy Con is at the Britannia Hotel, Nottingham, September 18th through 20th.

More Spain

of Montserrat and Religious Epiphanies

The monastery set high upon the mountains at Montserrat is a spectacular place. At a height of over four thousand feet the views are panoramic.


The monastery is reached by electric train, not a funicular as such, which is surprising given the gradient.

There's also a cable car, but not to be ridden by the faint of heart, we were told.

We took the train. :-)


The rock formations are truly stunning. The rocks are sedimentary, which itself is pretty amazing given they're now at such a height. The awesome power of Plate Tectonics is not to be underestimated.


But there were others there in search of greater powers.

We queued for an hour to see the 'Black Madonna'. It's a wooden statue, probably of the Egyptian Goddess Isis and child, adopted by Christianity as one of its own. Second hand Icons aren't above us, apparently.

Touching the Madonna's finger is said to bestow health and happiness and who-knows-what.

How this is achieved by merely touching a statue isn't quite explained in the guide book. But there was no shortage of folk willing to give it a go. Even the finger's paint is worn away. Surely no self-respecting miraculous visitation would allow its paint to peel? It does make me wonder how it repairs broken hearts and souls when it can't wave a paint brush about. Perhaps on a cosmic scale paint doesn't matter.

The legend is that the monks found the Madonna already on the mountainside. But when they tried to remove it to put it in their monastery it wouldn't budge. So, they had to build a new monastery around it. Which I guess makes as much sense as your average religion requires.

I took no photographs of the Madonna - the monks respectfully ask that no pictures are taken within the Basillica. Lots of people did snap away. Perhaps it takes an atheist to really respect a religion. Perhaps religion is wasted on the faithful.


In my mind, if there is power in such places as this it doesn't lie in the furniture.

Behind the Madonna is a small chapel. Very few miracle seekers either noticed it or were interested in it. But to me it was a gem, a small oasis of peace amongst the bustling line to the front. Here was a place to truly ponder higher powers, while staring up at the back of the Madonna's head, in a stillness that so often may only be found in church pews.

I had an aunt who died of cancer. She was deeply spiritual, and she died with great dignity. If there is anything to be said for organised religion surely it's in the little personal battles, the little personal spaces in tucked-away chapels, not in the crowds shuffling to see a largely uninspiring clump of wood.


We sat through the public service. Usually the choir, the Escolania, sings prayers, but the boys were away on holidays. So much for religious temperance. Instead, guest choirs and preachers are brought in to do the honours.

A single priest sang hymns and prayers, repeating each in several different languages.

I'd have preferred just the one delivery in Latin. It's not that it makes much sense to me anyway. But it was an experience, one that should you find yourself in northern Spain, you should take for yourself.

Amen.

Steve Does Spain

I went to Spain.

We've never done the package holiday thing. When we've been away in the past it's always been an independent affair. We've tended to book our own flights and accomodation, and travelled to places with lots to see and do. So, in truth, the thought of being almost locked to an hotel and sitting around a swimming pool all day scared me a little.



But I have to say how easy it was to fall into the ultra relaxed mode that makes such an idea as sitting about all day seem wonderful.

Having said that, the centre of Salou was only ten minutes' walk away, and we took excursions to Barcelona and Montserrat. So there was some variety in the week. Barcelona is a beautiful city; the only shame was that we had so little time to see it. Maybe next time.

Anyway, the batteries are recharged, and here we go...

Haunted Legend

Ellen Datlow has released the table of contents for the upcoming Haunted Legends anthology to be published by Tor. It seems I've joined a rather tasty list of authors involved in the project.

My story, The Spring Heel, is based (surprisingly :-) on the Spring Heeled Jack legend - the long-legged, rather spindley character who was reportedly seen regularly on dark nights leaping about the streets of Liverpool (amongst other places).

Table of Contents:

Knickerbocker Holiday Richard Bowes

That Girl Kaaron Warren

Akbar Kit Reed

The Spring Heel Steven Pirie

As Red as Red Caitlín R. Kiernan

Tin Cans Ekaterina Sedia

Shoebox Train Wreck John Mantooth

15 Panels Depicting the Sadness of the Baku & the Jotai Catherynne M. Valente

La Llorona Carolyn Turgeon

Face Like a Monkey Carrie Laben

Down Atsion Road Jeffrey Ford

Return to Mariabronn Gary A. Braunbeck

Following Double-Face Woman Erzebet YellowBoy

Oaks Park M.K. Hobson

For Those in Peril on the Sea Stephen Dedman

The Foxes Lily Hoang

The Redfield Girls Laird Barron

Between Heaven and Hull Pat Cadigan

Chucky Comes to Liverpool Ramsey Campbell

The Folding Man Joe R. Lansdale

No More Whispers

Alas, Whispers of Wickedness is no more.

For those who've no idea what I'm talking about, Whispers of Wickedness was a print magazine, a fiction writers' website, and a discussion forum conceived by the enigmatic, and somewhat philanthropic, "D".


It attracted its share of superb writers--Peter Tennant, Rhys Hughes, Steve Redwood, and many more too numerous to mention.


The forum was the friendliest place I've ever encountered on the Web. I can say with all honesty I've never seen even the hint of a flame war in its hallowed halls.


I slush read for Whispers for a while, and that, along with the company I kept, taught me a great deal about my own writing.


So, thank you D, and Pete, and all who made Whispers the pleasure it surely was.

Maudlin, mawkish, moody

Interesting times.

I think we have to admit that’s certainly the case right now.

I don’t know if society has changed, or perhaps it’s a consequence of 24-hour global news coverage, but everything seems to be deemed a crisis these days.

And in truth I feel it more myself. Since becoming a parent (albeit some time ago now) I’ve noticed I’m more of a worrier. Before, where I’d laugh at scaremongers and their agendas, I find myself worrying what, in the absence of extended families, would happen to my son should swine ‘flu, or bird ‘flu, or meteorites, or global warming, or middle eastern nuclear powers, or collapsing civilisation through dying economies really come to pass. Maybe that’s just what all parents do—worry so their children don’t have to.

I’ve always told myself: “Don’t concern yourself about things over which you have no control”, and it’s worked well in the past. But these days it seems hard to live by that rule. These days the ante seems raised.

Sorry for the tone of this post, but I think I’ve been in an odd mood for some weeks now. I need to do more writing. In writing I can explore and ratify such feelings, and the effect is so often cathartic.