Self Publishing

I'm not against self-publishing. How could I be having dabbled in it myself? I think it has a place. It's allowing some fantastic writers to get their work out there who may never have done so through traditional methods (though I happen to believe these writers would have made a breakthrough eventually, they're too good not to have done) and its allowing independent publishing ho...

uses to spring up without the need for huge overheads or up front capital (which will lead to some success stories I'm certain).

It's just that as I've spent time on the many sites out there devoted to this new phenomenon I've found myself feeling uncomfortable and depressed time and time again. Why?

I started writing when I was 16. I started submitting to publications when I was 24. I didn't really get a publishing credit(other than the University Newspaper) until I was in my early thirties. But I got lots of rejection slips and I drafted stories thirty or forty times because I'd learned they get better when they're re-drafted. It meant that when I was really published I'd put in years and years of groundwork to get there. I'd sweated and cried and beat the door down with my bare, bloody fists and earned the right to say I was a published writer. It meant something.

What I think I'm seeing in the work of some is the development of their craft, their early work, being laid bare and thrown out there for the rest of the world to purchase (or get for free), read and quite often pour scorn over long before it's ready.

I want to shout at them that they're not there yet, that they need to put the hours, weeks, months, years in, the hard graft, not release three/four/five novels in a year. I want to shake them and tell them they'll be better off for it.

I wonder if they'd listen...

The Knowledge - Stories behind the stories, 'A Covering of Leaves'

I wrote ‘A Covering of Leaves’ after reading an interview (with Stephen King I think…) in which he explained how after 9-11 the New York authorities continually came across vehicles owned by people who had died in the attacks. These cars were found abandoned in parking lots and at kerb edges around the city and, I surmised, more often than not, in the car parks of subway stations in the suburbs. Thinking about this I started to imagine family members collecting these vehicles in the aftermath of a catastrophic event. But what of those vehicles owned by victims who did not have any family? How long would those cars sit gathering parking tickets and suffering the casual onslaught of seasonal weather?

The story idea came pretty quickly after that, suggesting as some have said before, that stories exist to be discovered by writers. Initially Webster’s journey took him into the home of the victim, where he discovered the loss she had already suffered, the remnants of a failed marriage etc. I chose to omit these scenes in later edits as I tried to get to the crux of the story.

The leaf fall soon took on metaphorical qualities, becoming a veil that Webster has to sweep away in order to discover the next part of his life journey, but it also served a narrative function, being the initial cause of the loss he endured.

I did not expect to be writing a story about a car that mourns its deceased owner and a man who is already mourning the loss of his wife but that’s the story that emerged. And I think ‘A Covering of Leaves’ is essentially about that, about mourning and managing in the aftermath of the death of a loved one, or not managing, in seeking some sort of path back to the place where there was happiness and togetherness, however unusual the route a person might take to reach that place.

When it Began...

I did something frightening today. I clambered up into the attic and recovered a box packed tight with loose pages of writing spanning the best part of 20 years between 1985 and 2005 when I moved into my latest home.

I resisted the temptation to read most of the stuff in there, suffice to say I knew it wouldn't be very good, but I did find the writing exercises I carried out whilst a student at UKC in 1995. It was the second year of my degree and I was studying a module called 'Professional Writing' with Professor Roger Hardy. I'm not even certain it was an English course, though it must have been. I seem to remember Hardy being an ICT Professor. He was a 'big' American (or Canadian, I don't remember) who had devised a course using what was pretty new technology to me at the time. Each week we received an e-mail from him explaining a task and directing us to two other members of the seminar group. Our job was to write a piece of fiction and send it to our respective partners before the deadline. In return, we'd receive work to critique from other members. And so it went on, through twenty weeks or more, writing to deadline, receiving feedback, writing to deadline again. At the end of it all we had to write an extended piece of fiction. All very familiar these days but at the time it was very new and very exciting to an undergraduate who harboured dreams of writing a novel one day (accomplished) and living of their art (nowhere near accomplished).

I remember going to see Roger Hardy in his office shortly before my second year ended. I remember telling him I wanted to become a writer. I'm sure he'd heard it all before. He was very encouraging, in his own offbeat fashion. He sent me on my way with some sage advice. Go to lots of publishing parties was one thing he told me, with a wry grin on his face. That was never going to be the world I inhabited. I was born on a council estate in the most boring town in England (official). The other thing he told me was to keep writing and keep sending stuff in. If I was lucky, I might just crack the resolve of some editor someplace and get myself a break. I seem to remember him saying this with a tone that spoke the wisdom of ages, with a sigh perhaps, with an air of resignation. But I did as he suggested and ten years later, after thousands of hours sat in front of computer screens drafting and re-drafting my writing, after thousands of hours spent obsessing about writing, after thousands of hours desperately seeking a voice and a story and a way in I finally did get a foot in the door. I sent a copy of my novel to a London publisher. They sent a message back. They liked it.

Six months later it was on the shelves in Waterstones and being reviewed in the Broadsheets. For a few brief moments I allowed myself to bask in the wonder of it all. Then I started the process all over again.

Good old Roger. Good old 'Professional Writing'.     

Shadows and Tall Trees - Issue 3

Just received a copy of the latest issue of this superb little publication from Undertow Books. The editor, Michael Kelly, is creating something quite special here, I feel. Expertly produced and presented, an example of what a horror publication of this type should 'feel' like when you pull it out of the envelope. Another great selection of tight, quiet horror stories in this issue, stories that unsettle and cause the reader to think beyond the parameters of the ordinary. Issue 2 contained a story 'Back Amongst the Shy Trees' by Steve Rasnic Tem that any writer of horror ought to aspire to. 

Visit the Undertow Books website if you get the opportunity...

Dreams of Duality - Red Skies Press

My story 'The Grey Place' is featured in this anthology from Red Skies Press. I wrote the story a while ago so am really pleased to see it finally find a home. It's funny how stories do that, linger for a while until some editor somewhere takes a liking to them...

I have to say I preferred the original cover with the cats but the editor opted for this one instead. Still impressive and I think I understand why...

I've just received news of another short story acceptance, one I have to keep under my hat for a while but one I am very, very pleased with. 

Henry Miller - Work Schedule 1932-33

I love this. A writer making rules for himself that are useful to us all. I wonder if it was a New Year's Resolution. If so, curiously similar to my own...

Night Terrors II

Here is the cover to Night Terrors II, a new collection from Blood Bound Books that contains amongst its pages my short tale 'The Boy in the Well', inspired, in part by a Robert Frost poem...

Thrilled to be included...