Eye. See. U.

Copyright Wikipedia Creative Commons

Over on Goodreads I was recently asked the following question (and as the response was a lengthy one, I've decided to post it here on this blog too):

Where did you get the idea for your most recent book?

Some time ago, I had a spate of fairly vivid dreams, ones that go beyond the realms of being ‘interesting’, through the curtain into ‘disturbing.’ I would dream that I was walking down a city road, overshadowed by tall office blocks of no interest, but for a few streets down where there was this office tower crowned by a giant eye. 

We’re not talking an ‘eye of Sauron’ here - I think I could deal with an eye wreathed in flame - but a giant crow’s eye, yellow, black, blood-shot, and the size of an airship, blinking rapidly, and swiveling smoothly atop of a concrete and glass perch.

Swiveling smoothly to look at me, that is.

Imagine being followed by this giant eye, all the way down the street. You don’t know why it’s looking at you, as you are largely anonymous among all those other souls, but you know it is. 

You duck into a cafe, to peek through the window, only to find that gigantic yellow eye staring back at you, blinking, and fixed in your direction. You don’t know its intention, but you suspect it wishes to harm you. Not out devilment, not because it’s evil in any way, but because it is curious about you, and hungry for you. You are only a maggot to this all-seeing eye. Something to be swallowed and not thought of again.

You are just food…

Initially, I woke up in a sweat, a little overwhelmed by the experience. When it happened again, I wondered if this was a reoccurring nightmare. But after a while, despite several nights of disturbed sleep, I started looking for the eye-tower in my dreams, like a child would seek out the scariest ride in the theme-park.

I realised this wasn’t a healthy thing to do. I had to deal with it, and exorcise it from my dreams. So I dealt with it the only way I knew. I wrote about it. 

I took it out of the city and put it in a valley. I turned it from an office block to a mountainous tree, with a fleshy, root-twisted trunk. I allowed the eye-mountain to move. To hunt. 

I allowed it to hunt a particularly unpleasant person.

And I gave the eye-mountain a voice, and a name: The Unghar.

But The Unghar didn’t have a story.

What it did have was a companion piece of short fiction at that time, concerning the fate of an obnoxious city-trader who wakes up from having a bath, only to discover his bathroom has been torn from his apartment, sent spinning across the stars, and is spinning to oblivion to the center of a far-away sun. 

I thought the two ideas were connected in some way: two people, not particular nice, been thrown into unusual, and potentially catastrophic circumstances far from Earth. When I thought about this further, I wondered if these two people were neighbours, and if they were neighbours, how did they both get sent across the stars to fend for their lives? Was it who they were? Or where they lived? Or something they did?

In the end, I settled on the place. What happened to them was a consequence of where they lived, and I sent these two individuals to their doom, but not alone. No, they went with their apartments too. Their stranded rooms.

And so that’s what I’ve been writing: an epic dark fantasy/science fiction about a Victorian house that has separated from reality, has splintered its occupants across the universe, depositing them on alien worlds, and sometimes in the vacuum of space, while inside their apartments. 

Of course, there’s more to it than that, and as with a book of this size, it’s been heavily influenced by my own childhood, various artists, writers, music and films.

But that’s how it kicked off, the big bang as it were. All the other pieces are like dust and light, converging on the nucleus of the story, and one that is fully formed, even has a life of its own.

One that no longer resides in my dreams, or my nightmares.

Embrace me or… die, Robot

If you’re reading this now, the chances are you know something of this whole social-media thing. Chances are you are either a dabbler or an embracer of the on-line drip-feed of information and inspiration. 

Personally, I flit between dabbling and embracing. And I know enough about what engages me, and others, and what turns me off. It’s a pity that more 'embracers' don’t.

As a writer I’m here to engage readers, entertain if I can, inform if I’m in the mood, or just shoot the breeze. And Twitter is a great way to shoot things. And you know, it’s not a bad place for publicity either.

But here’s the thing.

When I meet a person for the first time, or I chat to someone as I might on a windswept Sheffield street, or over a pint in the local, you know what I don’t do?

Well, I don’t tell them to buy my book.

Nor do I quote parts of it and then tell them to buy my book.

And I don’t read aloud what others have typed on Twitter in the hope that they’ll keep listening to me and not speak to someone else.

So why do writers think this is a good thing on social media, Twitter being the main culprit?

Sure, I get a few followers, not loads which means I can pretty much keep on top of those who are following me, or follow me so I follow them, and then drop me - in that ludicrous game of cat-and-mouse that some Twitterisers think is acceptable.

These days I'm pretty picky about who I follow back. I don’t mean I follow back only published authors, filmmakers and celebs either. Who I follow depends on the content of their tweets not who they are.

I always look at content first, cos it’s king. Always has been. Always will be. You can spot a Twitter account swollen by a robot from a mile off. They’re the ones that have 80% re-tweets and 20% of actually something to say. And you know, most of what is re-tweeted was boring and irrelevant the first time around.

The second thing that turns off are the constant, repetitive tweets about their books, constant quotes, and constant pressure to buy them. It’s not necessary people. If you have a website, or the book has just come out, or the book is on offer, by all means, Tweet about it to the heavens. But when someone is just talking about themselves all the time, ‘me-me-me-me’ can get pretty lame.

Shame.

And finally there’s those who don’t Robot and don’t Lame. But they re-tweet all the same. Sometimes that’s all they do. Which is BAD. Because when you spend all your time re-tweeting it means you’ve got nothing to say. And if you’ve got nothing to say, won’t the books be the same?

*

I’ve been around long enough using social media (blogging, websites, twitter etc) to learn that what you put out on the Internet reflects what you put out between the covers. It reflects your creativity, maybe sense of humour, and world-view. The lot. That’s why when the trolls are outed, the tweeters of immoral politics routed, and all that is murky on the world-wide-web have been laid bare, it has scuppered the careers of authors (some high-profile) who didn’t think-through what they were putting into pixels.

It matters. Don’t believe it doesn’t.

So, the next time you feel the need to enlist the help of a robot to boost followers who couldn’t care less about your content, while alienating those who might, think again what you embrace.

And what you might lose.

The Beauty by Aliya Whiteley - A Review

As promised in my earlier post, here are the first of a few independent press reviews of books I've enjoyed in the last 12 months or so, kicking off with Aliya Whiteley's The Beauty:

picture copyright Aliya Whiteley, Unsung Stories

Aliya Whiteley’s novella, The Beauty, effectively condenses enough disturbing, yet beguiling material into its 99 pages that many novelists would find difficult to fit into a novel of 300 pages. Her knack is using a setting that is faintly familiar to those with a fascination with apocalyptic fiction, but throws a more unique, utterly sublime and horrific catastrophe at the reader.

It is a catastrophe that strikes to the very heart of men's fears (women's also, I suspect). But it's a credit to the author's strength they do not labour over the catastrophe, instead she draws the reader into the aftermath via a narrator (who may or may not be reliable due to a penchant of re-writing history or fantasising what others would deem as horrible).

But that’s okay, because like any good storyteller, we’re taken in and are utterly convinced by this likeable narrator, Nate, who leads us on a journey down the darkest paths through the woods. A place where even vegetable matter may prove to be the downfall and resurrection of man. And here lies the disturbing element; the story is about what it takes to survive. Not as an individual, but as a race, a twisted Edenist vision where humanity must begin again, but at what cost to the flesh? 
What cost to the soul?

To tell you more about the story would be to deconstruct a book that is more ideas and experience than plot, where each idea should remain a surprise, if a disconcerting one. This is a story I arrived at without any inkling as to what might happen, and so, in the finest tradition of weird fiction, I preserve this for other readers. You don’t need to know much more about the darkness in these pages, just be prepared for them.

The Beauty is a strange, wonderful, discomforting-at-times, delight. It is as convincing as it is beguiling, and if there is only one criticism, the end comes too early, and you wonder if there are more stories to tell. But as Nate seems reluctant to tell them, (and after what the characters go through, you’ll understand why) it seems fitting the story is picked up by another, or left untold as the future feels so uncertain...

Recommended.

"It's not my paddling pool" feat. Goodreads

copyright Goodreads.com

Well, due in no small part to two friends (Debra Malpass and David Budd) I am now on Goodreads. Debra and David are duelling over the Internet with their reading prowess, or rather how many books they can read in any given time. For someone with limited time such as me - the number of books they get through is overwhelming as it is impressive. 

These two devour books. Over hours or days. 

In comparison I read books over weeks (months if I'm honest) with two or three on the go, but making little head-way with any. 

And you know, I used to read more. 

I used to be a 20 a year man, which is not so bad given that every waking hour is torn between being a father, a husband, a disability employment consultant, and a novelist. 

The latter takes up every shred of time not given over to the first three responsibilities (although, I will at some point hope to dwindle that down to two responsibilities and the writing). 

Finding time to read is, well, nearly futile.

But then, I ask myself, "what is a writer who does not read?" Writers must read, just as a footballer must train or watch football. We become better by learning the skills shown by others. With that in mind, knowing I cannot improve my craft by writing alone, I've gone back to the training field. And who better to train with than other marathon readers who will get me reading miles when I was at best, making short sprints.

Goodreads will do that. Goodreads encourages reading because, shit, it's their business to. And like a personal trainer (or trainers with Debra and David alongside me) it will encourage me to read more. And you know, I love to read. I just need to carve out a time when I can, when I'll enjoy it, create a routine to stick to as I have with my writing, and not feel so apologetic doing so.

And there are benefits in doing so. Because other than the love of reading and improving my own writing, I can reach out to more readers. I'm now an author on Goodreads, and this blog is on there too (albeit crazily formatted - not my fault guys, if you are reading this there). You can even contact me on my profile page - ask an author a question or two, preferably about the writing, but hell, if it's entertaining enough I'll answer anything!

And then there's the reviews.

Now, I dislike rating anything by stars. It's a nonsense, even though I have done so on Goodreads (you can't get reading recommendations without stars, apparently). I'd rather use emoticons, because a person can read a shrug or a grin or a grimace better than they can read your rationale over giving 5 stars, rather than 4. But hey, it's what they do. Amazon does it too, and although their reviewing system is for shit, it appears to work for most people.

So, I guess that leaves the reviews themselves, but I'm reminded by something I posted way back in 2008:

"I don’t often review books on this blog. I guess music and films are different because it’s not my paddling pool and I don’t feel bad peeing in it once in a while. But I don’t like to criticise fellow writers nor do I feel that comfortable hailing them from the mountain-top (though I will do a little pimping now and again)."

Not much has changed since then. I still feel the same way, and besides a very short test-review on a Stephen King collection, I'll be keeping to that ethos of reviewing only independent press publications, self-published books and ones so rare no one has ever heard of them (but should). The major publishers have a legion of readers who will give you their opinion for a moment of your time (and critics who will do likewise to keep their opinions valid in that overwhelming sea of opinion that is the Internet), so really, do you need mine?

And that's about it...

Other than to say, I've replicated my three reviews of books over on Goodreads, those being the two Gareth L. Powell books, and How to Write Tales of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror originally written for this blog.

Coming up, I have a review of Aliya Whiteley's The Beauty to post, and the promised review of Paul Meloy's Islington Crocodiles, one that I promised eons ago, half wrote, but I reckon I can write a better review. It'll give me the chance to revisit that fantastic collection and do it justice.

You'll be able to read both of those reviews here. 

But you can also read them on Goodreads too once they're up.

... Just watch this space, and that space too, folks.

An Unexpected Pleasure

For those who missed it last Friday, while I was editing the current book, Aliya Whiteley and I had an impromptu chat/interview over Twitter. This wasn’t planned, in fact I recall it started because I wanted – needed – to be distracted by the non-creative, functional blitzing of draft 5 of ‘Stranded Rooms’.  And I threw out the statement: @MFWC ‘So here I am, on my pre-sub draft of current book. At no other time during a project am I as accessible. That kinda means, I don’t mind distractions. It’s the mundane task of correcting grammar, style and continuity.’

And that’s when Aliya called in…

~

copyright Aliya Whiteley, Unlikely Stories.org

For those who don’t know (and you should, you know), Aliya Whiteley is the author of several books, and numerous short stories, that transcend genre. To call her a horror writer, a fantasist, SF author, literary writer and anything else, would be a disservice. Aliya is a writer who tells great stories, and whatever genre those stories fall into..? Well that’s just great if they do. But if it doesn’t, that’s great too. It really doesn’t matter, (other than to the publicist who gets the odd pang of a headache whenever an ‘Aliya Whiteley’ book falls on their desk.)

Yeah, Aliya is a great writer. Let’s leave it at that, because like I said before, you should know. You should pick up either The Beauty, or Witchcraft in the Harem, and just as you might take a lover’s hand while you step under the ivy covered arch into that place you can’t really see from afar, you really won’t expect this.

As I didn’t:

@AliyaWhiteley: …Hello! *waves*

@MFWC: Hello right back at ya - glued to the laptop too? Writing perchance?

@AliyaWhiteley: Yep, scribbling away as ever. Default setting. I hope the editing goes well - it's my least favourite bit.

@MFWC: It’s usually my least fave too, but this time it’s been quite enjoyable. What are you working on? Can you divulge?

@AliyaWhiteley: Just finished the edits on the new novella, coming out May. Historical fiction/SF crossover - I loved writing it. What about you?

@MFWC: That sounds very cool. And as ever, the kinda thing I want to read. I want to know more! Tell you what, I’ll ask 5 questions about the new book. Is that ok?

@AliyaWhiteley: Okay, go... ;)

@MFWC: (in the tone of Comic-book Guy)… Question the first: What’s the title of the new book?

@AliyaWhiteley: It's called 'The Arrival of Missives' and it took me ages to come up with that. At one point I mooted 'Of Rocks and Responsibility' ;)

@MFWC: Hahaha - I love that second title. That’s great.

@AliyaWhiteley: If it was an Austen mashup it would have won, but it's not quite that era...

@MFWC: Having said that, ‘The Arrival of Missives’ is a damn fine one too. And it’s so intriguing. Ok, Question 2 (cos I’m very intrigued now), who is your main character?

@AliyaWhiteley: I love her, she's called Shirley Fearn and she's a precocious teenager who's in love with her mysterious schoolmaster. Who limps.

@MFWC: Ok, as this is SF too, (and I might point out, ‘Aliya Whiteley’ SF) I can see this heading to unlikely places... Question 3, without giving too much away, what’s the backstory to the schoolmaster, and his limp?

@AliyaWhiteley: Well, this is 1920 and he's been in the wars. In one war in particular. And the experience has... um... changed him. Somewhat.

@MFWC: Yep, that’s it. Well hooked now. I could dig further, but that’ll be too many spoilers, so…To question 4: with this story, which came first, the idea or the love of the genres?

@AliyaWhiteley: Shirley's voice came first and then I tied her DH Lawrence. I've always wanted to write something Lawrence-ish....

...but hist fic is scary, so I had to find the courage to take a crack at it. The plot then went where it wanted (my plots always do).

   

@MFWC: DH Lawrence SF? When CAN I buy this? Yeah I know what you mean with hist fic. It’s like walking amongst barbed wire and landmines whilst listening to heavy metal. Too many traps. And way too many distractions. With my first hist fic books I got buried by the research.

   

@AliyaWhiteley: Great description! Yep.

@MFWC: Question 5 then: having written in the historical fiction genre do you think you’ll go there again?

   

@AliyaWhiteley: I would, I feel braver about it. But it's not my thing. I don't think I have a thing. A genre. I just go wherever it takes me.

@MFWC: That’s what I love about your writing. When you pick up an Aliya Whiteley story, you only know that it will be great.

   

@AliyaWhiteley: Aw, thank you. Happy to have being great as my thing, then. ;) I see you have managed to neatly sidestep the question of what you're working on! Is it still in the secret stages?

@MFWC: Not entirely - but if you want you can ask some questions...

@AliyaWhiteley: Goodie! 1. What's the title of your current project?

@MFWC: Well, it’s a working title, but it’s a working title that hasn’t gone away for nearly two years: ‘Stranded Rooms.'

@AliyaWhiteley: I like that. 2. I'm guessing genre fiction, am I right? SF/F/Horror?

@MFWC: Yeah, all three genres really. It’s a present day setting, but it goes everywhere (literally).

@AliyaWhiteley: Intriguing! 3. Tell me something about your main character(s)...

   

@MFWC: There are two. He’s a foppish, wayward guy in his 20’s who’s become a little lost... He ends up in an old shared industrialist’s mansion called Thunderclap House. The second character, Alex, has a complex history, a little enigmatic, but she has a very strong character. When I set out to write it, Edward was the only main character. Now, it looks like Alex is the one driving the story forward.

 @AliyaWhiteley: I like the way the story can surprise you in the writing sometimes. And Thunderclap House is a most excellent name.

@MFWC: Ha, yeah, and this story has really surprised me. I suppose in some ways it is autobiographical. Thunderclap House is based on a place Sarah and I lived in ten years ago. An old steel baron’s mansion.

           

@AliyaWhiteley: Wow, sounds like a good place for a writer to live in! To let it sink into your bones...

@MFWC: Lol. The damp did! But yeah, it was fantastic. The rooms were cavernous. But it was so cold. Most of the time I was huddled over the computer with three jumpers and thermos. I was writing The Secret War then.

@AliyaWhiteley: And I always thought your great imagination provided that authentic Napoleonic feeling of soldiering on through dire conditions!

           

@MFWC: Ha, yes. Well the damp helps. I came close to getting trench foot too while living there!

   

@AliyaWhiteley: 4. To what extent does this novel have a message? Do you ever write with a message in mind, or is that the subconscious bit?

@MFWC: I think there are two things going on with the message. I want people to have fun with my stories so I don’t labour a message. But there are definitely messages in this about craving adventure, going out and doing things with your lives... There’s a character in this story that has agoraphobia but is in denial, for instance. During the day-job I meet people - too many actually - who have not fulfilled their potential for numerous reasons. It’s sad. I suppose this book is about that. Through catastrophic accident, they become more important than they ever expected.

@AliyaWhiteley: I want to read it! It sounds driven. 5. Now you're at the end of it, are you happy with it? (Are you ever happy with a book? :))

   

@MFWC: I’m never happy with the book. Even when it’s published, I want to do another draft! But with this one, I’m the happiest I’ve been. Which is unusual considering the size: at the moment it stands at 700 pages.

   

@AliyaWhiteley: Wowie!

           

@MFWC: It’s a little overwhelming when I look at the page count. Like looking at a mountain or one of the ‘Unghar’ in the story.

   

@AliyaWhiteley: I want to know what an Unghar is.

           

@MFWC: Thats 6 questions...

           

@AliyaWhiteley: I knew you'd say that! Well then, I will just have to wait until I can read it...

           

@MFWC: Ok, just this once, think of an ‘Unghar' as a cycloptic ‘Treebeard’ the size of a mountain, who likes squishing people.

@AliyaWhiteley: This sounds like my kind of story.

@MFWC: I hope so! It was so much fun to write. I could be as bonkers as I wanted to. The worlds in this book are utterly mad.

@AliyaWhiteley: Right then, back to it, we must get together in person some time! Will hassle the MNWers for a lunch date.

           

@MFWC: Sounds good. And thank you - this was a lot of fun. Should do it again!

@AliyaWhiteley: And I'm sure it's been excellent research for something... ;)

@MFWC:;)

So there you are… this wasn’t planned, nor was it expected, but I feel better for it. It reinvigorated the reasons for writing, which can be as important as the writing itself sometimes. It can also be very surprising. I didn't think about messages too much while writing the current book. So it just goes to show, you really don't know what is around the next page… much like reading AliyaWhiteley’s work, I might add!

Footnote: I did do my writing for the day, if my editor is reading this. I managed to drill through twenty thousand words, and that’s with a half hour chat being conducted on-line over Twitter. I guess not all social networking is a ‘dead-letter’ distraction for the writer.

Some of it… Well, hell, some of it can be the match that lights a fire, you know?