Paris, November 2015.

This post is a bit of a diversion from the usual (although I will mention that I've just put the finishing touches to a new short story "Macrocosm, Microcosm, Macrocosm, Microcosm, let's call the whole thing off").

One year ago today, Tara and I were in Paris. We were on the second leg of our holiday which had seen us in Amsterdam earlier in the week, and we were about to spend a day at Disneyland Paris.  We'd been there before for our honeymoon, so it seemed rude not to pay a visit to Mickey and his friends whilst we were in the area.

After an exhausting day of rollercoasters and junk food, we decided to get off a few stops before our hotel and find somewhere for a drink. A short distance away from the Republica Metro Station, we stumbled into Flann O' Brien's Irish Bar (you can take the girl out of Ireland, etc.).

Having been out of the house all day, our phones had run completely out of charge - especially with the sheer number of photographs we'd taken. We got given free bags of Tayto crisps by the landlord solely thanks to Tara's Irish Heritage ,had a few pints and watched the football.

The whole night is described far better than I could manage in my wife's blog. To cut a long story short, this was the evening of the Paris attacks. The evening when three suicide bombers struck outside the Stade De France, when hundreds of people were killed or injured at the Eagles of Death Metal gig at the Bataclan, and when there were mass shootings and a suicide bomb at cafés and restaurants in the area we'd been in.

We found out what was going on at a bar nearer the hotel. The streets were chaos, sirens blaring and nobody sure what was going on. We got back to our room as soon as the news started breaking, stuck our phones on charge and switched them on.

At my most miserable, whenever I'm feeling low or useless or unwanted - something we all experience from time to time - I remember that night. Literally hundreds of SMS and Facebook messages and missed phone calls, all from friends - some of whom I haven't really spoken to for years - checking that we were okay. Friends had rung the pub we were at, just to check that we were fine. We were lucky, many weren't.

Not really writing related, but something that is pertinent on today of all days. I'd never felt as loved. And you, in turn, are loved back. Thanks x

Tales to Terrify - 83

I'm pleased beyond words to let you know that my story "83" is featured in the 250th edition of the Tales to Terrify Podcast.

"83" is one of the stories from "Scenes of Mild Peril", my next anthology of short stories. It's a particular favourite of mine, and is definitely not one for the squeamish (or, for that matter, anybody having a job interview in the immediate future). Listen to it by clicking here. Enjoy!

Tales to Terrify is a Hugo nominated weekly horror podcast that's been going since January 2012. Some notable authors featured on it include Christoper Fowler, Steven King, Joe R Lansdale, Stephen Volk and Kim Newman.

If you've found your way through to here via Tales to Terrify and you like what you've heard, why not follow me on Facebook and Twitter? Cheers!

Forever and Ever, Armageddon - buy it here!

I have a handful of copies of "Forever and Ever, Armageddon" left over from my panel at The Big Comfy Literature festival.  It's usually £4.99 but for a limited period only I'll only charge £4.50 for a signed copy (which will include UK postage - for anywhere outside the UK, drop me an email).

Pop me £4.50 via this handy paypal link and in the notes mention who you'd like it made out to - if anybody at all - and I'll do the rest!

In the words of Marvin Gaye, "What's going on?"*

To start with, I had a brilliant last week at the Big Comfy Literature Festival last weekend in which I shared a local author panel with the talented (and infinitely more presentable) authors Elizabeth Earle and Kelly Hadley-Price. This was great fun, made even more pleasant thanks to cake and Prosecco (thanks, Elizabeth!).  I caught a number of other events there - the highlights being a talk by Kate Riordan and a performance of "Not tiggerdy Boo tonight", a play written by fellow Coventry Writer Group author Margaret Egrot.  Another highlight was an absolutely fascinating talk about the history of the Memorial park by local historian and writer Trevor Harkin.  Thanks to Michael from the Big Comfy Bookshop for both organising it and for having me!

Local Author Panel - Elizabeth, Kelly, Muggins.

"Did I accidentally leave a fork in the knife drawer? Bother."

I'm a mere couple of thousand words away from finishing Recreant, but after a (blessed) long absence the Black Dog is back with an absolute vengeance this week so my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone. Normal service will hopefully soon be resumed!

Not this black dog.

So, you'll hopefully forgive me a bit of self indulgence. I received my copy of 47-16 (or to give it the fancy highfalutin full title 47-16: Short Fiction and Poetry Inspired by David Bowie) this week. My story "Saviour Machine" is the opening story. The tireless editor Chris Thompson has put together a beautiful piece of work that I'm very proud to be a part of, an eclectic mix of styles and authors - and a very worthy tribute to the great man.

Now comes the self-indulgent bit... It was only when I was putting it on the bookshelf when I realised quite how far I've come in just a few short years. From my first submitted short story "The Shadow Cast by the World" being accepted for the first volume of Fear's Accomplice, I've built up quite a reasonable body of work - and it's hopefully only the start..!  And there are more coming up that aren't even in the photo below.

Books of all shapes and sizes - look at 'em!

So, thanks for sticking with me and buying and reading my stuff. And if you're extra-special reviewing it as well. Hopefully you'll enjoy Recreant - when I've finally finished the bloody thing.  Sooner rather than later, hopefully!

Next time :)

                                                                                                                                                  

* Released by Marvin Gaye in 1971, the year I was born. Coincidence? Yeah. Yeah it is.

Recreant

This local author finished a book of short stories. What Happens Next Will Surprise You.

It's been a little while since I've posted on here, so thought it only right to correct that. Truth is that after quite a drought, I've had an incredibly productive couple of months so wanted to have something to tell you about first!

Firstly, Scenes of Mild Peril - my next short story collection - is very nearly complete. Just working on the final edits and I'll be organising a release date for it. I'm incredibly happy with how it's turned out and I think it contains some of my strongest work - I'm really excited for this one.

Secondly, my first novel - Version Control - is now complete and I'm in the process of trying to find a home for it.. More information to be released if - and when - there is any.

Thirdly, I'm just working on the final chapters of my new science fiction novella "Recreant". I've kept relatively quiet about this one because the aforementioned drought nearly put paid to it, but it's turned out to be something I'm very happy with.  It's also going down very well with the beta readers, which is always reassuring.  I'll do a separate post about this when I've finished the first draft.  40,000 words down with 10,000 to go.!

Last (but most definitely far from least) The Big Comfy Bookshop is having a literature festival on the 9th, 10th and 11th of September. I'm on a panel of local writers with Elizabeth Earle and Kerry Hadley-Pryce on Saturday the 10th, and it'd be great if you could come along. I'll hopefully have some copies of Scenes of Mild Peril to flog to you :) For those of you on the mystical book of faces, here's a handy link.

Next time!

Quantum Leapt

Farage skipped down the corridor with a spring in his step, the disgruntled booing of European parliament delegates fading into the distance now. Taking a few looks around himself to make sure he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into the gent’s toilets, undoing his tie as he did so. That felt so much better.

Confident that he was alone, he let out a sigh of relief that he’d been holding deep inside for the past seventeen years. He threw some water over his face, took a deep breath, and waited. And waited.

And waited.

“Why hasn’t it happened yet?” he muttered, staring down at his hands. His Nigel Farage hands. “I got the UK out of the European Union, just as I was supposed to. I’m supposed to have…”

“There’s been a problem, Sam”, came a guilty voice from behind him.

Nigel span round to be confronted by his old friend Al, dressed in a shirt far more garish than any he’d worn previously.

“What do you mean, a problem? I’ve been stuck here for nearly two decades now, and you assured me that…”

“Hey, don’t blame me, Sam! I’m just the guy who passes on the information.” He angrily slapped the handset that he used to communicate with the hybrid super-computer Ziggy against his side. It beeped noisily in complaint.

“I think there’s been what Ziggy called a hyper-quantum catastrophe. Turns out that doing this ushers in something of a second dark age.”

Al squinted at the results on the handheld device and shook his head, sorrowfully.

"It’s not looking good, Sam.”

“Jesus, Al. Why didn’t you tell me? If the experts had warned me about this, I would have done something different! I’d have done anything to avoid this! Can you not bring me back and we’ll try again?”

“I’m afraid not, Sam. All knock on effects from the dark age. I don’t have long - just me being here is a paradox that’ll shortly resolve itself. The finances that would have been used to fund the quantum accelerator in the New Mexico lab went on building a wall. You’re stuck here – best just get on as best you can.”

Farage looked down at his feet, despondent.  “Oh boy.”