Okay, I want to talk about something in particular this week. Only, in order to do that, I need to make confession before we go any further. Are you ready? This isn’t going to be easy for me.
Here goes nothing…
Well, this is troubling. I sat down with plenty of ideas for the weekly blog, but none of them are working. Every single one of them died after a paragraph or two in. Some were too lightweight to be worth your time. Others were just too dark and brooding to be read by anyone outside my own head. One in particular was too angry to live.
Read MoreFor the record, I’ve been struggling to express this idea since it hit me. This felt like a good place to thrash it out. Show my workings. I think that, whilst sometimes we will buy what we need, there is a more interesting relationship between us and buying what we want. I think, in some cases, what we’re actually chasing after is already in our head.
Read MoreNext's week blog comes damn near seven days early and it's come with anger in its heart and disbelief on its sleeve. Be warned, there are spoilers beyond this point. There are also some opinions, some facts and a dash of vitriol. Enjoy!
Read MoreGrowing up in the 80s, there was really no avoiding Stephen King. My parents never read horror, but his stories were everywhere. They were discussed on TV, they were whispered about on the playground. Carrie was already a palpable hit for both him and De Palma. The likes of Christine, Cujo and Firestarter were infamous. As was Thinner, sneakily written under that tissue paper thin alias he occasionally ducked behind. The Shinning was dividing people between preferring the book and the movie; an early precursor to so many comic book movie arguments that were waiting for us in the 21st century. As I grew up the names of his stories became the stuff of legend. Pet Cemetery, It, The Stand, Salem’s Lot.
Read More Back then, I’d only just started writing and self-publishing horror stories. I’d finished a few: The Low Road, The Narrow Doors and The Compressionist, but I was still finding my feet. At first, I didn’t even think about trying to make a story out of my nightmare. If I’m being honest, I just wanted it out of my brain.
It was only after a shower and a mug of coffee, that I realised I had to try and do something with it. I was trying to be a horror writer. It would be a shame to waste the fear jangling through my system. So, instead of distracting myself, I sat down and began to work with it.
Thinking about releasing something new has got me remembering the first novella I published with Kensington Gore Publishing. The Compressionist wasn’t the first horror story I wrote. No, that was The Low Road, back in the days of invisible self publishing. That was followed by The Narrow Doors, which came from attending a cremation and thinking about those patronising advice books they used to publish for girls decades before. Well, that and a first draft ending that freaked me out. The Compressionist found me wanting to try something different.
Read MoreI should warn you before we go any further that I’m about to share something that’s really going to annoy my wife.
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