Simon Bestwick's Blog

Cate Gardner's Guest Blog: Costume Department

2012-01-27T16:32:00.000-08:00

The ever-reigning Cate Gardner gets bloody everywhere, or so it seems. Most recently, onto my blog, with this latest guest post. Without further ado, I'll get out of her way, before she sets one of the Horsewomen of the Apocalypse on me...

Thank you to Simon for allowing me to invade his blog so that I can celebrate the release of my book, Theatre of Curious Acts. I shall have to buy him a drink next time we meet.

The following is a true account of Alfred Gillespie's brief time as the sole employee of the Costume Department at the Theatre of Curious Acts. Although, as the supporting artiste ate Mr. Gillespie, we only have theatre manager Mr. Folk's word that this is a true and honest account. We must also trust that Mr. Folk didn't instruct the dragon to consume the man.

Stitching the seven-thousandth dragon scale onto the back of the puppet, Alfred wished he hadn't claimed he had a gammy leg to the fellow from the War Office. He also wished he'd heeded the man's warning, 'Liars never prosper or walk in straight lines again.' Alfred may not have had a gammy leg in 1916 but he did now.

Threading another scale, Alfred commenced sewing scale number seven-thousand and one. The dragon puppet twitched. Scales shimmered. Sometimes, Alfred thought the dragon was alive. Desperate for a pee, he put down the needle. He hadn't left backstage in… well, he couldn't recall. A knock at the door startled him and left a wet patch on his inner leg.

(Mr. Folk claims it wasn't him at the door but as he was the only one in the building at the time even he doesn't believe it wasn't him)

The dragon sniffed Alfred's leg. Alfred considered that an odd thing for a puppet to do. As the door flew open, the dragon bit Alfred Gillespie in half leaving his left arm and left leg dangling from a ragged torso. He never saw who opened the door or if in fact, anyone was there at all.

Mr. Folk and his wife are said to have identified the mostly-eaten man from the remaining portion of his nametag. That is, 'pie'.

Apart from the left arm, from the elbow to the wrist, Mr. Folk fed the rest of the man to the dragon. As they were living through times of austerity, Mr. Folk and his wife Sybil enjoyed the arm roasted with lashings of gravy.

Waste not, want not and all that rot.

More of the Folk's dastardly doings are hidden in the shadow as the page turns of Theatre of Curious Acts, available at all good online bookstores. More information is available at www.categardner.net.

SFX Weekender!

2012-01-27T00:05:00.000-08:00

Hello...

I'll be at the SFX Weekender in Pontins Prestatyn Sands Holiday Park next week, courtesy of those lovely people at Solaris Books.

Next weekend, of course, is also the official launch date of The Faceless, so if you're dying to get hold of a signed copy then you know where to come.

And if you have an urge to hear me talking (more) shit (than usual), I'm on a panel on Saturday 3rd February at 3pm: "We're all doomed! Is the path to humanity's salvation revealed in science fiction?" I don't know that much about science fiction, although I have a couple of WIPs that creep over its borders (probably into its toxic wastelands, knowing me) but I have done the odd apocalypse in my time. Will I find anything remotely useful. relevant or interesting to say? You'll have to come to the panel to find out...

After that, from 4pm onwards, I'll be signing copies, alongside my Solaris stablemate Gareth L. Powell, from 4pm on the Saturday.

The rest of the time, I'll be in the bar, or pottering around. Come say hello.

At Midnight, All The Agents...

2012-01-17T12:45:00.000-08:00

..well, actually it's more like 9.00pm here in Lancashire, and there's only one agent.

Yup. I'm extremely pleased to announce that I'm now represented by the one, the only, and the deeply funky Sharon Ring.

Very, very happy about this.

The official press release is here.

Thank y'all for your attention.

First Review of The Faceless

2012-01-13T06:20:00.000-08:00

Back from Leeds and a great time at Alison Littlewood's book launch. Her first novel, A Cold Season, marks the beginning of a three-bo0k deal from Jo Fletcher Books. It was great fun, celebrating a well-deserved success for Ali, and a chance to meet up again with some good friends. And to sample Ferg- Ali's partner's- very fine collection of single malt whiskies (hic.)

Anyway, I came back home to another nice thing: the first review of The Faceless.

Graeme's Fantasy Book Review brought out the first review of Tide Of Souls (not counting Amazon); seems only fitting he should do the same for The Faceless! Anyway, he rather likes it:

'A good horror novel will leave you shocked or scared at what you find on each page and secretly glad that you can put the book down, at its end, and return to your normal everyday life. An excellent horror novel though, well... An excellent horror novel will leave you feeling strangely hollow to begin with as what you read demands all your mental space and will swiftly vacate any pretence you had of getting back to normality. That done, the excellent horror novel will move in; making you feel horribly uncomfortable while it settles in. It might be days, or even weeks, before it moves on and you won’t be able to get those deeply unsettling images out of your mind in the meantime. ‘The Faceless’ is an excellent horror novel and this is exactly what it has been doing to me since I read it. It will happen to you as well and that’s why you should give it a go.'

So a big thanks to Graeme Flory. Off now to do various necessary bits and bobs around the house and neighbourhood. There may be occasional squeeage.

Have a most excellent weekend, dudes and dudettes.

The full review is here.

A Hazy Shade Of Winter...

2012-01-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

...is out on ebook from those lovely people at Ash-Tree.

There has been squeeage. There may be even more.

You can buy it direct from the Ash-Tree website here, and it will, in due course, be available from Amazon as well.

I am very pleased about this.

Tomorrow I am off to Leeds, where Alison Littlewood is launching her new novel, A Cold Season: (here's the book trailer, directed by Mark West)

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I'll see my old buddy Gary McMahon, Simon Marshall-Jones, Emma Audsley and Shaun Hamilton of The Horrifically Horrifying Horror Blog, and many, many more. Oh, and I will be signing contracts with my new agent. Of whom more shortly.

Here's another song to end the bloggage on. Trust me, it's very appropriate. But you'll have to read the collection to the end to learn why.

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Look Around, Leaves Are Brown, And The Sky...

2012-01-07T10:52:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, I posted about what a dizzyingly great start to the year I'd had. But nagging away at the back of my head was the strange conviction that I'd missed something out. It didn't seem likely- I mean check out the bloggage in question. If that's not enough to make anyone very happy, then I don't know what is.

But yup, there was something. This:

A Hazy Shade Of Winter was my first book; my first collection of short stories, published by Chris and Barbara Roden's excellent Ash-Tree Press imprint over in Canada, all the way back in August 2004, with this bloody gorgeous cover by Paul Lowe.

Jesus. Nearly eight years now. Like all Ash-Tree books, it's a beauty to hold and to behold. It garnered some good reviews, and the title story, best of all, was picked by Ellen Datlow for The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror #18.

At £28.00, though, the collection might well have been outside the pain threshold of some readers. So I'm delighted to announce that A Hazy Shade Of Winter is now being released by Ash-Tree as an ebook. A lot of their back catalogue is be reissued in this way- I've already been filling up my Christmas Kindle with collections by Steve Duffy, Reggie Oliver and A.M. Burrage- and as of yesterday they also reissued Joel Lane's brilliant first collection, The Earth Wire (take note: no lover of weird fiction should be without it.)

It should be out shortly- believe me, I'll be telling the world and his dog when it is- but anyroad, that's the other piece of good news I had to share, and I wanted to give a shout-out to Chris and Barbara for giving the book what'll hopefully be a new lease of life.

Now, of course, there's only one song to end on. But which version? Well, heretical though it may be, I always liked this one best...

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And A Dizzy New Year

2012-01-05T13:14:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everybody, and welcome to 2012.

The year has got off to a fairly exciting start. The last few days have brought a blizzard of good things- so many it's actually almost scary.

In a week or so, I should be signing contracts with my new agent (full details after the event.)

I've also been invited to contribute to a couple of new anthologies, including a big one in the US.

Matthew Fryer at Welcome to the Hellforge listed Angels Of The Silences as one of his top 10 genre reads of 2011. Alongside Where The Heart Is and End Of The Line, both of which I appeared in. Which is lovely as I'm very fond of them all, but Angels in particular.

My story 'The Churn' will still be appearing in a forthcoming issue of Black Static magazine.

My author copies of The Faceless still look gorgeous.

But over and above all that...

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from the wonderful Ellen Datlow in New York, informing me that she was taking 'The Moraine' (from Terror Tales of the Lake District) for Best Horror of the Year 4. Alongside stories by Peter Straub and Stephen King.

This was rather good news (Stephen King! STEPHEN FRAKKING KING!!)

Fast forward to earlier this week, when a further email arrived, this time imparting the information that 'Dermot' (from Black Static #24) had also been selected. So I will have two stories in Best Horror of the Year. Alongside Peter Straub. And Stephen frakking King. And many more besides (see the full TOC here.)

In addition, a new novel is underway, and next Monday, all being well, I start the first stage of my training as a counsellor.

In other news, I now have a Kindle. And I rather like it. Much is happening in these early days of 2012, and it's good. I'm hoping this will set the tone for the year. 2011 was a bittersweet affair, a very tough year in places, but out of it, good things have come. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me- online or otherwise- for the journey, and onwards and upwards. Sod the Mayan prophecy; here's hoping 2012 is a great year for all of us.

This Is Horror 2011. Plus, Squee.

2011-12-28T14:30:00.000-08:00

The very nice This Is Horror website are doing awards. You can pop over there and vote. Purely by coincidence, Angels of the Silences is on the Best Chapbook shortlist. On the other hand, so is Nowhere Hall by the ever-reigning Cate, who's also nominated for Best Collection for Strange Men In Pinstripe Suits. So there. Go and take a look. It's a lovely website anyway.

In other news, my author's copies of The Faceless arrived today. I have been drooling. My digi-cam is on the fritz, else there would be pictures. Anyways, me is happy. Hope you are too.

Last Post

2011-12-24T02:26:00.000-08:00

... before Christmas, anyway.

It's been a funny old year, but you've probably heard enough about that from me. Have a happy Christmas, Yule, Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Diwali or whatever.

The year looks set to go out on a high note here, anyway. I received some very good news earlier this week, but can't disclose it just it. Watch this space for details.

Meanwhile, I got the news on Thursday that my story 'The Churn' will appear in a forthcoming issue of Black Static. So thanks to Andy Cox for that particular early Christmas present!

There are only two really good Christmas songs- that is, Christmas songs you can listen to all the year round. Here's one:

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And here's the other:

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Merry Christmas.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho...

2011-12-11T15:39:00.001-08:00

Well, today has been the last day of my rather long absence from my day job. Almost four months in all.

In a bizarre way, I think it's actually been one of the best things that's happened to me in a while. 2011's been a funny year; on the surface, things looked pretty good, and they should have been. I have good friends, I finally got a second novel commissioned... on the surface, stuff seemed good. But wasn't. I've been unhappy for some time, I think. The time off has given me a breathing space, a time to take stock, reflect and think about what I really want to do.

Writing, of course, remains a big part of it. I've written elsewhere about how I'm changing my approach to writing to make it less of a bloody ordeal and more of something fun, enjoyable, exciting, exhilarating... the way it used to be. In many ways, it's less of a new approach than an old one- going back to my roots.

Tomorrow, I start back. It's a phased return to work, so I won't be flung back in at the deep end. My employers have been pretty damn decent about it all, I have to say.

In a way, it's almost welcome, even though one of the conclusions I came to was that I'm going to have to change careers. (Me and the rat race are not made for each other. We never have been, but the bills have to be paid. I just lacked the gumption and self-confidence to believe I could do more.) Writing The Faceless gave me structure and a routine while I was off work. With that finished, it got harder to maintain that routine, and that's not a good thing. That way lies not going to bed till 4am and staying in bed till 1 in the afternoon. For me, that tends to mean nothing gets done, and I hate that.

I'll be going back for now, and I'll do my job to the best of my ability. But I'll also be studying part time for a counselling qualification. Oh, and writing. I think I finally know how to rewrite The Song Of The Sibyl into publishable form. And after that, there's a new novel or two to write.

And I'm going to have some fun as well. Another thing I realised this year: I've been putting my life on hold, letting work and writing consume my whole life. And that is not the way things are supposed to be.

So 2011 has been a funny year, a mixed bag- but one, I hope, that finally started to make things right again. I'm hoping that 2012- as long as that Mayan calendar bullshit is just that- will be a year where I'll build on what I learned here, and go on to new and better things.

Thanks to everyone who's listened to me moan and bitch, or given support or advice. It's been greatly appreciated.

So- tomorrow, back to work. Wish me luck!

The 'Orrifically 'Orrifying 'Orror Blog

2011-12-05T07:19:00.001-08:00

I've been interviewed by the very nice Mr Shaun Hamilton for his and Emma Audsley's The Horrifically Horrifying Horror Blog. I witter at great length about numerous things, including, of course, The Faceless. Feel free to go and have a shufti...

Thin Men with Yellow Faces

2011-12-01T05:16:00.000-08:00

My friend Gary McMahon and I are writing a story together!

It be called 'Thin Men with Yellow Faces' and so far there be just over 1,000 words to it. And I be talking like a pirate for no reason. Yaaaarrrr!

Ahem.

Gary suggested the collaboration and came up with the title, plus various notes; we batted ideas back and forth and I roughed out an outline to work from. We've each written a chunk; the ball's back in my court now.

Watch this space...

Shot Guts, Getting Stoked and Missing Faces

2011-11-26T08:37:00.000-08:00

So, last night I was in Liverpool, for another of their Waterstones' Twisted Tales events, this time promoting Conrad Williams' rather excellent anthology Gutshot.

All great fun, not least because I got a chance to hook up with some good friends. First off was Gary McMahon, on his first trip to Liverpool; we repaired to the Caffe Nero opposite the bookshop, where we met Joel Lane and, of course, the Awesomeness that is The Ever-Reigning Cate. Then the event itself, with readings by Joel, Gary and the very nice and very funny Amanda Hemingway. Following which I was invited to join the panel for a Q&A session. I babbled. A lot. Sorry, everyone else.

Very nice Lebanese meal (yum!) with Ramsey and Jenny Campbell among others, before me and Gary ran for the taxi (well, Gary ran- I had to be pushed in a wheelbarrow) to catch the train home.

All in all, a great evening.

On the 'other nice things' front, I've had a couple of recommendations for the HWA Stoker Awards- my stories 'Dermot' from Black Static #25 and 'The Moraine' from Paul Finch's editing debut Terror Tales Of The Lake District have each received one. Of course this doesn't mean they'll make the shortlist- the list of recommendations is very long- but it's still nice.

And finally, following on from Mark West's great teaser trailer, the lovely Anna Taborska has put up the book trailer for The Faceless. I think it's a stunning piece of work and am really chuffed about it, to say the least. So here it is...

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I'm Not Here

2011-11-04T11:36:00.000-07:00

Instead, I'm over there, at Un:Bound, where I talk about Blake's 7 and what I learned from that last ever episode. If you're too young/American to remember Blake's 7, you'll have to go over to Un:Bound to read my guest post and find out what it was, won't you? And if you're not, you should go and read it anyway. Just saying.

Thanks to the lovely Adele Wearing for letting me play in her sandpit.

Er, as it were.

Happy Halloween Everybody

2011-10-31T11:23:00.000-07:00

Have a lovely time and stay safe.

Me, I'm staying in and having a bit of a movie marathon, I reckon. Just had a bit of a shopping spree in Manchester and seem to have accidentally bought From Beyond The Grave on DVD, along with John Carpenter's The Ward and, indeed, a John Carpenter box set.

If you're looking for some suitable reading matter for Halloween, of course, allow me to point you in the direction of Estronomicon's Halloween issue, which is now up on t'internet and includes my story 'The Psalm'.

And my first movie tonight, will, I think, be... this one.

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Goodnight out there... whatever you are. :)

All A Bit Random: Halloween, Books and Stuff, Estronomicon, Love for The Moraine and Where The Chuff Is That New Website Of Yours?

2011-10-29T12:31:00.000-07:00

Hello again... just a few odds and sods this time.

Last night was Twisted Tales night up in Liverpool, with Nicholas Royle, Lisa Tuttle and Adam Nevill all reading; I got to sip latte alongside The Awesomeness That Is Cate Gardner and stuff my face with tapas afterwards. Also bagged myself a copy of House Of Fear, Jonathan Oliver's new anthology from Solaris Books. I've read four of the stories so far, all of which have been very high quality indeed.

I was hoping to be getting the new website up and running over this weekend, but my lovely friends Mike and Rachel (who got me the domain as a late birthday present, bless 'em both) are laid up with horrible colds, so I didn't get to see them for the planned tutorial. Sorry. But the new site will arise in the near(ish) future.

In the meantime... Halloween is fast approaching, so how better to fill the days than by catching up on some horror reading? Just finished Gary McMahon's new Gray Friar collection It Knows Where You Live (bleak and brilliant, as you'd expect); before that it was Simon Kurt Unsworth's superb Quiet Houses. And now I'm back to randomly dipping in and out of the aforementioned House Of Fear, and Terror Tales Of The Lake District.

Speaking of which- Anthony Watson over at Dark Musings has posted a review of it, in which he says of 'The Moraine': 'It's tense, scary and exciting, another excellent story from one of my current favourite authors.' Funnily enough, Anthony's one of my current favourite reviewers. :)

Meanwhile, if you're looking for some spooky reading matter, you could do far worse than to pop over to the Screaming Dreams website on Halloween, when the latest issue of Steve Upham's e-zine Estronomicon becomes available. Among its delights will be a story of mine called 'The Psalm', set in the Lancashire countryside.

Anyway, if I don't blog again before Halloween, have a wonderfully spooky time!

Lessons, Liverpool, Loss of Face and Learning to Cope

2011-10-27T13:44:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally finished work on The Faceless on the morning of Saturday 15th October- completing the last few edits with virtually minutes to spare before scooting off to Barmouth for a week of unwinding, as well as visiting my late gran's grave to pay my respects. Nearly five ruddy months of rewriting... but we'll come back to that.

Here's a funny thing. Part of the plot of The Faceless is based on the story of the Accrington Pals, who were wiped out on the first day of the Battle of the Somme: 1st July, 1916. As you can imagine, this and related subjects have been on my mind a lot over the course of the year as I pulled this monster together. But at last, so I thought, I could forget all about it.

The second day of my hols, I climbed Dinas Oleu, the range of hills overlooking Barmouth, but went in a different direction from my usual route, climbing a peak I hadn't gone for before. The main thing that marked it out was the Welsh flag flapping atop it.

After a couple of hours of climbing, I reached the summit....

To find this, and set into it...

...was this plaque.

Some subjects have a habit of following you around.

Anyway; the break was very welcome, but it's fair to say I hadn't expected the work of writing the damn book to go on quite this long. I made a hell of a lot of excess work for myself on The Faceless; it was a pretty big, complicated tale with a lot going on and I outlined the novel only sketchily. Result? A first draft of 160,000 words and a HUGE amount of rewriting to turn the whole mess into something readable.

So for the next one, I'm going to remember the lessons learned earlier this year from writing The Sight and The Children Of Moloch; outlining each story in advance resulted in a first draft that was very close to the finished product and needed very little work. Outlining each chapter as if it were a story might have the same effect on the next book. Hope so anyway: an ounce of preparation, with any luck, should beat a pound of rewriting. We'll see.

But that'll have to wait, as today the book came back from Jon Oliver at Solaris, with various edits. There's work to be done, and in the next week I'll be embarking on the next wave of rewrites... but on the whole, da boss is pleased. Which is nice.

It's been a funny few months. Since mid-August, I've been signed off work (in a call centre) with stress. One day I just couldn't seem to hack dealing with the customers. Looking back, there were a few days' warning of it, but on the whole it seemed very sudden. I always thought of this as something that affected other people, and of course when you hear someone's off with stress there's a tendency to wonder if they're swinging the lead. I'm less likely to do that now. Thanks to all the friends who sent kind words and thoughts, or lent me their ear. It's been appreciated. Had my first counselling session today, and I think it went well; I'm hoping to be back to work in the next month, but the whole episode's made me stop and think and take stock. There may well be some changes in the not too distant future...

Speaking of changes, a proper websitey thing is being put together, which means this blog's days are likely numbered. Thanks to all of you nice folks for reading it over the past three years; I'll still blog, of course, on the website when it's up.

Tomorrow I'm off to Liverpool to attend a Twisted Tales event at Waterstone's Liverpool One, and for coffee with the ever-reigning Cate (TM). So, onwards and upwards...

Me & An American Biohazard...

2011-10-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

Gardner Goldsmith of Liberty Conspiracy interviewed me for his podcast back at Fantasycon in Brighton, earlier this month. Here's that interview now- I start gabbing at around 6 minute 30 seconds and finally shut up around the 42 minute mark... When not cackling insanely or gabbling too fast for anyone to understand, I can be heard talking about various things I've written ('Dermot', Angels Of The Silences, Tide Of Souls and The Faceless) and stuff that's influenced me along the way (can't believe I forgot to mention Ray Bradbury and Richard Matheson...)

Facing It

2011-10-18T02:29:00.000-07:00

Well, The Faceless is at last complete and has winged its way to Jon Oliver over at Solaris Books. Meanwhile, I'm here in Barmouth, North Wales, trying to relax a little and rest up...

In the meantime, though, that nice Mark West fellow has made a teaser trailer for the novel. Whet your appetites here...

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Fantasycon 2011: Brighton Rocked

2011-10-06T04:11:00.000-07:00

Be warned: this will be a huge blog post. Once I started, I honestly didn't know where to stop... So ensure you have a stiff one to hand (or even a drink.)

I’ll be totally honest here; when I first heard the 2011 Fantasycon was happening in Brighton, I was not a happy bunny. It was fun for World Horror, but that was a big international event. Say what you like about the Britannia Hotel in Nottingham (and many have), at least it was central. Brighton is a looooooooooong way to go if you’re a Manc. Even when Sarah Pinborough pointed out that publishers and agents wouldn’t make the trek to Nottingham, but would to Brighton, I wasn’t convinced.

So, was my mind changed?

Read on…

It went something like this:

Thursday 29th September. The Con doesn’t start till tomorrow, but see that thing above about it being a looooooooooong way to go. So- the epic journey commences- Swinton to Manchester by bus, Manchester to London Euston by train, Euston to Victoria by Tube and finally a train to Victoria to Brighton. After a brief spell of giddiness at the sheer frenetic vastness that is the capitol, it was pretty plain sailing. Arrive at Brighton, decide to walk from the train station to the hotel. A cab would be a silly extravagance, after all.

Did I mention that the Con managed to coincide with a fairly sizzling mini-heatwave? Well, I have now. Am also humping a well-stuffed backpack and a shoulderbag. And am wearing dark clothes. Feel free to quote the words ‘Serious Tactical Error’ at any time, people…

Arrive (approximately one stone lighter and quite possibly in the early stages of dehydration) at the Strawberry Fields guesthouse, a nice and highly-recommended little place if you’re ever visiting Brighton. Not only do they do breakfast in your room, but they have these seriously cute pillows:

Yes, I was tempted to nick one. No, I didn’t. Yes, Evil Me wishes I had.

Anyway! On to the Royal Albion Hotel, home of the Con. Boozing follows with the likes of Gary McMahon, Rio Youers, Mark Morris, Steve Jones, Mandy Slater and Sarah Pinborough. (Bit dizzying to find myself in such exalted company. :D ) Everyone else goes to freshen up. Potter round and end up helping the host of organisers fill up the last few goody bags. A drink or two with TTA Press’s Roy Gray, plus Paul and Audrey Campbell. Then further boozing- alcohol blurs the recollection here, but I get to meet Sandra Norval, who’s on her first Con. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s lucky- this will be one to remember.

Anyway, a good time is had by all. And so to bed.

Five hours’ sleep.

Friday 30th September
Up bright and early. Breakfast in bed arrives at 8.00 am. Virtuously decide on a brisk hour-long walk- sweat those toxins out! Better still- a walk on the beach! Why not?

Well, as I discover the beach a) appears to have been built on a 45 degree slope and b) is made entirely of loose pebbles which swallow the unwary walker’s feet up to the ankles. Bollocks to that. Scramble back to terra firma. It ends up being a half-hour walk, but ah well. At least some exercise was taken.

Head to the Albion feeling virtuous. Nose around the dealer’s room in the basement although it’s not officially open yet. Am lassooed by Pete Crowther, proprietor of PS Publishing, and given a stack of cover-sheets to sign for the limited edition of Gutshot. Scribble industriously. Escape to the ground floor and find my way to the first panel on ‘Small Press Publishing’. Had planned to stay for the next two- ‘Maintaining Your Web Presence’, chaired by the lovely Adele Wearing, and one on ‘Making A Living As A Writer’- but have almost been boiled to death by the end of the first panel. Apologise to Adele with much batting of eyelashes and seek out something cold and wet. Catch up, among others, with the equally lovely Anna Taborska, writer and film-maker (and maker of the forthcoming book-trailer for The Faceless.)

Later: attend Rio Youers’ reading and finally get to hear some of the boy’s prose. Oh, he’s good, folks; he’s very very good. Read him! Then on to the PS launch, which includes Gutshot. Sit between Pete Atkins and Conrad Williams sweating like Gary Glitter on a schoolbus and quenching a burning thirst with glasses of white wine. Am vaguely aware this may not be a good idea. Am pathetically grateful when a carafe of water appears. Find myself giving Graham Joyce an autograph. Dazedly think that this should be the other way round. Join Mark West, post-signing, in singing the praises of Graham’s novel The Silent Land. (Which is, like pretty much everything Graham Joyce writes, exceptionally good.) Graham takes the praise with his customary grace and good humour.

Curry with Sandra Norval, Jonathan Green and another chap whose name I shamefully can’t remember.

Back upstairs to the reading room for a succession of readings: Simon Kurt Unsworth, Gary McMahon, Joel Lane and (Lord) John Llewellyn Probert. In temperatures approaching that of the sunward side of Mercury. Morituri te salutant.

Somehow survive. To the bar. Further debauchery, the memory of which is mercifully blurred.

Four hours’ sleep.

Saturday 1st October
White rabbits!

No walk today. My morning exercise consists of intensive groaning and high-speed coffee consumption. Totter to hotel later than intended but sadly miss Reggie Oliver’s reading. Potter round the dealer’s room and am surprised to find I seem to own some new books by the end of it. However did that happen?

Solaris are giving away free books! But before I can join the queue, I bump into the ebullient (and insanely tall) Gardner Goldsmith, singing the praises of ‘Dermot’ in Black Static 24. By the time I remember the Solaris book giveaway, there’s almost nothing left. An object lesson on the price of vanity…

Shortly thereafter sleep deprivation starts to take its toll. Veg out on the sofa, much to the amusement of Gary Cole-Wilkin, John Travis and Soozy Marjoram, who swiftly immortalises the event on camera and posts it on Facebook.

Back to the hotel for a couple of hours’ unconsciousness. Rise and walk, feeling hungry. However, back at the Albion, nearly everyone I know has already decamped in search of an eatery.

Wander the streets of Brighton in search of a Chinese restaurant, or maybe that nice Indonesian restaurant we went to at World Horror last year… after half an hour, on the brink of giving up and heading or Harry Ramsden’s I find myself outside the Indonesian place. (It’s called Warung Tujuh, if you’re ever in Brighton.) Which goes to show something or other, I’m not sure what…

Back to the hotel to read from The Faceless and Angels of the Silences. Pretty good turnout considering it’s 9.30 pm. on a Saturday.

Then on to the Regency Lounge to witness Lord and Lady Probert’s ‘Teatro Proberto’ presenting Blood On Satan’s Claw- The Panto, followed by a reprise of their 20-minute version of the Peter Cushing classic(?!) Corruption.

Then follows the burlesque. Attractive young lady with not much on alternately conceals and reveals her curves with a big black pair of feathery things (my descriptive powers are getting taxed here.) Not sure how well it fits in with the Con as a whole, but hey. Then a fairly terrifying male performer appears in an act that culminates in him disembowelling and eating a (toy) rabbit (with very realistic internal organs) onstage. And garlanding himself with rabbit innards. Before collapsing, apparently dead, and being dragged off to the strains of Bright Eyes by Art Garfunkel. (Another childhood memory desecrated.) The crazy train leaves from ‘O….K,’ passes through ‘What the…’ and ends its journey at ‘Sod this for a game of conkers, I’ll be in the bar.’

It takes a couple of stiff drinks and a pint or two of Diet Coke with Sandra N. to get over that one. As a result I miss the panel on 'How To Scare Your Readers' (a description of that bloody burlesque would’ve done it.) Get up to go to Ramsey Campbell’s midnight reading, then discover the chap I’m squeezing past is Stephen Gallagher. Who’s actually heard of me. Chit-chat follows. Midnight reading also missed. Bugger.

Ah well- on to the disco!

This is a new development, but one of the highlights of the convention. FCon’s excellent Mistress of Ceremonies, Sarah ‘Potty Mouth’ Pinborough, intros our DJs, Rio Youers and Guy Adams, and the games begin. It’s actually enormous fun; only sorry not to have caught Year’s Best Horror editor Steve Jones getting down on the dancefloor, or Gary McMahon’s rendition of the funky chicken, on camera, but here’s Joel Lane boogying away with Lord and Lady Probert. This may be the first time I’ve seen Lord P with his tie loosened…

The disco ends amid much cheering and rejoicing. Sarah reminds the congregation that ‘What happens at the Fantasycon disco… stays on the Fantasycon disco.’ Surely she means ‘…ends up all over Facebook come Sunday afternoon’?

Three and a half hours sleep.

Sunday 2nd October
Awake, pack, head back to the Albion for the last time, this time early enough to catch the day’s first reading, from the lovely Ali Littlewood. Interviewed by Gardner Goldsmith for his podcast- Lord alone knows what they’ll make of that across the Pond. A last raid on the dealer’s room. The rest is hugs and goodbyes.

The odyssey back to the rainy North begins. A cab to the station this time; not making the same mistake twice. Sit next to a pleasant Norwegian student on the train home and the weekend gets rounded off with a chat about the brilliant Norwegian horror film Cold Prey.

All in all, it is, truly, the best Fantasycon I’ve been to, ever. Full stop. However…

I left before the British Fantasy Awards were presented. There’s already been a lot said about it and I wasn’t there, so I’ll direct interested parties to Steve Jones’ comment on the whole business here. There are questions to answer and be addressed.

I’ll put my hands in the air and freely admit I was utterly, utterly wrong about the location for this year’s Con. It played a big part in its record turnout of over five hundred people, plus representation from the big publishers, which I haven’t seen at FCon in a while. We need more conventions like this year’s.

I’ve heard that some have said the Awards debacle soured the whole Con for them. I really hope that’s not true. It was a truly brilliant weekend on so many levels.

I’d love to list all the ace and funky people I met for the first time or got to catch up with, but I’d end up missing someone out. You all know who you are.

Finally, a big shout-out to those brave, busy, red-shirted folks who helped organise everything and ran about making everything else happen on the ground: Marie O’Regan, Paul Kane, Martin Roberts, Helen Hopley, Jenny Barber, Pixie Pants and anyone else I’ve left out.

FCon Minus Two...

2011-09-27T23:22:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow I shall be setting off for the distant land of Brighton. Fantasycon doesn't actually start till Friday, but given the Con is at the opposite end of the country, I'm heading down the day before. Coming back on Sunday, probably with a badly pounded wallet.

See you on the flipside...

My Fantasycon Schedule

2011-09-19T06:08:00.001-07:00

Just over a week now to Fantasycon 2011 down in Brighton, which will be cool- a chance to meet up with various writing friends and quite probably getting a tad trolleyed with them.

So, here's my schedule. No, I won't be spending the whole time in the bar...

Friday 30th September
9pm- PS Book Launch. Among other things this will include Conrad Williams' Weird Western anthology Gutshot, which I'm, somewhere...

Saturday 1st October
9.30pm- Reading in Room 134. Possibly an excerpt from The Faceless, if you fancy a sneak preview...

The rest of the time- if I'm not in the dealer's room or the curry house- I probably will be in the bar.

So now you know.

Terror Tales Of The Lake District

2011-09-18T06:44:00.000-07:00

Paul Finch is, as anyone who's read his fiction can testify, one of the finest British writers currently working in the field. And the emphasis is on the British here- his writing is rooted solidly not only in the landscape and terrain of the British Isles and in modern everyday life there, but also in its rich and varied traditions and folklore. If you don't believe me, just hunt down one of his many fine collections (just go on Amazon and stick his name in; I'm not doing everything for you here.)

He's also now a very fine editor, with his first anthology, TERROR TALES OF THE LAKE DISTRICT, coming out from those nice folks at Gray Friar Press. It's the first in (hopefully) a series of regionally-themed horror stories, and has (as you can see) some very fine artwork from Steve Upham of Screaming Dreams. Numerous stories by both well-established and up-and-coming names are interspersed with accounts of the region's various eerie legends. Among other tales, you'll find my story, 'The Moraine'.

Just to whet your appetite a bit more, here's the TOC in full:

Little Mag’s Barrow by Adam L.G. Nevill
The Mad Clown of Muncaster
The Coniston Star Mystery by Simon Clark
The Croglin Vampire
Devils of Lakeland by Paul Finch
The Mumps Hall Murders
The Moraine by Simon Bestwick
The Tawny Boy
The Claife Crier by Carole Johnstone
The Monster of Renwick
Jewels in the Dust by Peter Crowther
The Devil’s Hole
Above the World by Ramsey Campbell
Nightmares of Burnmoor
The Jilted Bride of Windermere by Gary Fry
The Horror at Carlisle Castle
Walk the Last Mile by Steven Savile
The Poltergeist of Walla Crag
Framed by Peter Bell
Fiend’s Fell
Night of the Crone by Anna Taborska
The Tortured Souls of Lord’s Rake
Along Life’s Trail by Gary McMahon
The Black Hound of Shap
Striding Edge by Reggie Oliver

As you can see, there's a really stellar line-up here, and I'm delighted to be included. TERROR TALES OF THE LAKE DISTRICT is now available to pre-order from Gray Friar Press

Namechecked by a Legend!

2011-09-12T05:39:00.000-07:00

The great Ramsey Campbell is interviewed by Adam Nevill right about here. It's a substantial and insightful interview and well worth a look, but also my name pops briefly up in it (in a good way.)

Ramsey's a writer I admire greatly; I can't think of another living author (and precious few dead ones) who've done as much as he has to promote horror as a branch of literature, worthy of seriousw consideration. Getting namechecked alongside the likes of Joel Lane and that disreputable Gary McMahon fellow is a boost- coming from this particular writer, it's already made my week.

Gawddamnit, pardner... I been Gutshot!

2011-09-02T04:18:00.000-07:00

Conrad Williams' editorial debut, Gutshot, an anthology of Weird Western stories, is now available for pre-order from PS Publishing.

The anthology will be launched at Fantasycon at the end of this month, and features cover art by Caniglia as well as fantastic stories by.... well, check out the TOC below.

Oh, and I'm in it too, with a story called Kiss The Wolf. But don't let that put you off.

That TOC in full:

Paul Meloy Carrion Cowboy

Alan Ryan Passage

James Lovegrove The Black Rider

Zander Shaw Blue Norther

Joel Lane Those Who Remember

Mark Morris Waiting for the Bullet

Gary McMahon El Camino de Rojo

Joe R. Lansdale The Bones that Walk

Peter Crowther & Rio Youers Splinters

Christopher Fowler The Boy Thug

Amanda Hemingway Ghosts

Simon Bestwick Kiss the Wolf

Stephen Volk White Butterflies

Gemma Files Some Kind of Light Shines from Your Face

Cat Sparks The Alabaster Child

Michael Moorcock The Ghost Warriors

Sarah Langan Beasts of Burden

Peter Atkins All Our Hearts are Ghosts

Thomas Tessier In the Sand Hills

Adam Nevill What God Hath Wrought?

Loving Angels 2: No Exaggeration

2011-09-01T04:48:00.000-07:00

More love for Angels of the Silences has been found, this time over at Terry Gates-Grimwood's website The Exaggerated Press.

Terry says: 'Angels of the Silences is short, sharp and for me, immensely touching. The two girls are complete, three-dimensional, recognisable... A compelling, intelligent and affecting story... Angels of the Silences is one of those brief but startling works that we stumble upon very now and then. Read it and I dare you not to be moved.'

That's certainly brightened up my day, anyway. Incidentally, did I mention that as well as the chapbook (for a mere three of your English pounds), you can also buy Angels as an ebook for one pound only? Well, now I have.

I wish I could claim credit for the title, but sadly I cannot tell a lie: it's from a Counting Crows song. This one, to be precise. Rock on!

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Loving Angels

2011-08-29T01:50:00.000-07:00

No, I haven't suddenly become a Robbie Williams fan- sorry, Cate... :-)

That nice Theresa Derwin over at Terror Tree has been reviewing again, this time Angels Of The Silences. And she rather liked it, too! As you can see.

Funny, beautifully written and poignant, Angels of the Silences is a fantastic chapbook that demonstrates Bestwick’s skill as a writer... Good things really do come in small packages. Try this now.

Certainly made my weekend. Thanks Theresa!

Best of Tomes of the Dead Vol 2- More Love for Tide of Souls

2011-08-19T16:54:00.000-07:00

Teresa Derwin over at Terror-Tree has reviewed Abaddon's new omnibus edition of Tomes of the Dead, which squeezes me between the covers (oo-er missus) with Gary McMahon and Jasper Bark. Or at least packs Tide of Souls together with Gary's novel Hungry Hearts and Jasper's The Way of the Barefoot Zombie.

Of the collection as a whole, Teresa says it 'contains three of the most satisfying zombie novels I’ve seen in a while' and 'represents some of the best horror writers today and indeed, three fine examples of classic zombie fiction. More importantly they are particularly diverse so the reader won’t become bored having three books in one on the same theme as they are so intrinsically different. This collection is a must for zombie fans and is great value for money.'

Of Tide of Souls in particular, she says 'With a great grasp of regional dialogue, Bestwick delivers a genuinely creepy zombie story.'

Which is nice. You can read the full review and check out Teresa's website here.

Black Static 24

2011-08-19T11:27:00.000-07:00

This was awaiting me when I got home from work the other day. Columns by Stephen Volk, Chris Fowler and Mike O'Driscoll, book reviews by Peter Tennant and fiction! Fiction by Tim Lees (excellent) with more by Simon McCaffery, K Harding Stalter and RAMSEY CAMPBELL! Oh, and me. Yup, I'm in there with a short story called 'Dermot'. It's a bleak, nasty little tale and I like it a lot. Feel free to check it out. The magazine as a whole is, as always, well worth your time.

Blood and Feathers by Lou Morgan

2011-08-17T02:48:00.001-07:00

Lou Morgan is a really lovely lady- writer and interviewer and all-round good egg. I say she's really lovely not because she's reviewed my work, or interviewed me, or done anything career-boosting or anything like that, but just because I've met her at a couple of conventions and she's a genuine sweetie.

So I'm very, very happy for Lou today, because she's announced her novel Blood and Feathers has been bought by Solaris Books for publication next year.

Big congrats and hugs to Lou.

In other news, I'm eagerly awaiting my copy of Nowhere Hall by the ever-reigning Cate. There shall be bloggage when it arrives, oh yes there shall...

A Blast From The Past

2011-07-11T05:16:00.000-07:00

Anyone remember a TV series called Death Rattles?

If not, don't worry- you're in good company. Written by controversial playwright and scriptwriter Dennis Shapiro, Death Rattles was a short-lived and decidedly near-the-knuckle horror anthology series from the mid-80s, broadcast in the early days of Channel 4. It caused a fairly big stir at the time- there was pretty graphic nudity, gore, sex and violence and to cap it all it was all shot in the bleak, gritty style you'd more associate with a Ken Loach or Alan Clarke film than with the usually-cheesy effects of genre TV. I heard it actually caused questions to be raised in the House of Commons... but nobody remembers it now (proof that today's headlines are tomorrow's fish-and-chip wrappers- or they were then, anyway.)

I never got to see it at the time, however- it was way past my bedtime for a start (I was barely out of primary school when the bloody thing hit the airwaves.) Years later, though, I got to see some grainy home video recordings a horror-loving mate of mine had picked up at a car-boot sale, and was blown away.

Sadly my friend lost his video copies before we could watch the rest of the series (or I could get a copy for myself) and when I tried to buy it on video or DVD, I found it'd never been released commercially. No chance of it, either, as some dipstick apparently wiped all the master tapes shortly after release.

Fast forward to Fantasycon in Nottingham last year- there were a bunch of us, propping up the bar in the Shitannia Hotel (OK, slouched around one of the tables on chairs and couches, we were beyond standing by then) and up came the subject of classic genre shows. Gary Fry and Stephen Volk were leading the discussion- and then someone mentioned Death Rattles. I'd like to say it was me... so I will. :-)

Turned out a lot of well-known horror writers had never even heard of it, but a good half-dozen of us had. Most had seen the original run, although a couple of us- myself and the expatriate US writer Thana Niveau- had caught it through less orthodox channels. (I was quite chuffed to discover I was the baby of the group.)

With the original series lost forever, Gary Fry came up with the idea of trying to recreate the stories as best we could from memory (the original scripts, even, being unobtainable.) So I got the chance to do justice to The Children Of Moloch, which is still, for me, one of the most disturbing and distressing pieces of television- genre or otherwise- I've ever seen.

Anyway, Gary's Death Rattles anthology is out now, with stories from me, Gary McMahon, Paul Finch, John L Probert, Thana Niveau and Gary Fry himself, plus an introduction from Stephen Volk, and all for a mere £7.99/$14.00 plus P&P. Go on and treat yourself- if you dare (bwahahahahahaha!)

Pick Up Your Pens 2011

2011-06-23T23:34:00.000-07:00

Well, last weekend saw me at the Pick Up Your Pens young writer's festival in Sheffield, which also meant getting to see my friend, the utterly brilliant Vicky Morris, once again.

It was a real blast, and a great deal of fun. I ran a workshop- on making monsters, naturally- and got do a one on one session with an incredibly talented young writer who'd come all the way from North Wales, as well as meeting some great writers- hi there Julia Bell and Adam Lowe- hearing some great spoken word work and working with some ace young people. Followed by chilling with a nice South Indian meal (must get that recipe for chili tilapia) and a brisk walk around the Peak District with Vic the next day

Big thanks to Matt Black and Maire McCarthy for inviting me along, and special thanks to Vicky- not just for asking me, but for the truly massive amount of hard work she put in to helping make the festival happen. A lot of work goes on behind the scenes of these events, often seriously underappreciated. Big thanks to all, and let's do this again sometime!

Ginger Nuts

2011-06-20T00:48:00.000-07:00

Whew! The last week's been a somewhat hectic affair. I'll tell you all about it another time. For the moment, though, let me draw your attention to Jim McLeod's rather excellent Ginger Nuts Of Horror blog, where I'm being interviewed about various writerly things... go and have a look, you know you want to. There's even a sneak preview of the cover for The Faceless.

R101

2011-06-10T03:59:00.001-07:00

Apropos of nothing, I love airships.

They just have a grace and beauty that aeroplanes, for me, simply lack. And, I suppose, a certain kind of old-world charm.

Britain's airship industry ended with the crash of the R101 at Beauvais, France. R101 was a magnificent sight but a sadly flawed design. According to one anecdote, the crew spent the night before the final flight saying goodbye to their friends and telling their sons to look after their families, because they knew the R101 was too flawed to reach its intended destination of Karachi.

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R101 was one of two competing airship designs- the other being the R100, built by the Vickers corporation and designed by Sir Barnes Wallis. The engineering team also included Nevil Shute Norway, better known as the novelist Nevil Shute. R101 was built by the Air Ministry at Cardington, Bedford. This was at the time of Ramsay MacDonald's second Labour government, and so it became a political issue- state enterprise versus private.

Shute was very critical of the R101 and its designers, but later admitted many of his criticisms were unfair: the R100 was planned as a safe, conservative design, while the R101's brief was to push the limits of the existing technology. But the ship's designers were working effectively in a goldfish bowl, which created its own pressures- when the R100 team discovered that petrol engines would be more effective than diesel (less power, but also less weight) they were quietly replaced. The R101 team couldn't because of the outcry over wasting public money.

Political pressures meant the flight to Karachi had to go ahead, come what may. The R101 was granted a Certificate of Airworthiness despite the Inspector's misgivings, and the final flight took place. The R101 left Cardington at 6.24pm on 4th October, 1930, but struggled to maintain altitude throughout the flight. Just past Beauvais the airship went into a dive, briefly recovered, then dived again, crashing headlong into a hillside at Allonne on the morning of 5th October.

The flammable hydrogen gas used for buoyancy ignited, and of the R101's 55 passengers and crew only seven men escaped: Engineer Arthur Bell, Engineer Joseph Binks, Engineer Alf Cook, Wireless Operator Arthur Disley, Foreman Engineer Harry Leech, Engineer Victor Savory and Rigger Samuel Church. Sadly Samuel Church later died in hospital from his injuries, only hours before the arrival of his parents and fiancee.

Britain cancelled its airship programme shortly thereafter, with the R100 eventually broken up for scrap.

Maybe airships will make a comeback. They're still around in one form or another, and the emergence of the new hybrid air vehicles are a blend of airship, plane and hovercraft. You never know.

Anyway, here's the R101 on its final flight. The music is called 'Final Flight', by Ian Hubball, aka Marbury. If anyone knows where the track can be downloaded, please let me know because I love it!

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Short and Sweet

2011-06-05T12:14:00.000-07:00

The last week's seen me writing a couple of short stories. This is interesting, because I've struggled with producing short fiction in the last couple of years.

The main thing has been the novels. As in the factor that's changed my working method, not just the projects that've taken up most of my time. I still love the short form for the intensity it offers, the focus, not to mention that it's a lot easier to take chances in a story- if you try something experimental in a short piece and it doesn't work, it's a waste of far less time, energy and work than if you do it in a novel. Much of what's best in horror is in the short form; one of the key things that pulled me back into working in the field was Nick Royle's anthology Darklands, a collation of short stories that showed the range and variety horror- good horror- could actually compass. The other, funnily enough, was Shaun Hutson, but we won't go into that...

When I started writing properly- i.e. producing work on a regular basis and sending it out- I wrote short fiction, at a rate of one story a week. Not writing every day, but mulling over the various story ideas I had and picking which one seemed ripe, then sitting down at a computer and writing it in a single sitting. Two or three if it was a long story.

Now of course you can't write a novel that way, not unless you're Philip K. Dick and off your dingers on benzedrine (not for me, thanks- as Chef once said, there's a time and place for everything, and it's called college.) That's a whole different ballgame, one that's about dailiness (to use Julia Cameron's phrase) and putting in a regular, sustainable measure of work each day. Difficult to mesh that with short-story writing, because by the time I write a novel, enough notes and a rough outline have been written that the writing can start straight away. Short stories were more intuitive, inspired, a place where I could still work on inspiration and fly blind. And I'd never written outlines for shorter work.

In the past couple of years, I've written a handful of short stories, usually for specific markets. It was difficult each time, and I was having to deal with the idea that maybe the short story part of me was running down.

But I have a deadline here- as well as The Faceless, I have to write a couple of stories involving some of the novel's characters, plus another for an anthology. And so...

I've started outlining. Just an A4 page of scribbled notes, mostly bullet-points, and then to work. And boy, has it made a difference.

One new story called The Sight was started on the 1st of June, and finished the next day. The same day I wrote the start of a new story, The Children Of Moloch, which is now just over half-finished. The outline is not your enemy if you're a writer; it's one of your best friends. You can even start writing without it and rough one out as you get a grip on what you're doing. But it reminds you roughly what you have to do, and it takes off the pressure to hold all then details in your head. Or to try and get everything done in one go.

I'll have to get back to the novel in the next week or so- there is a lot to do if I'm to to get The Faceless delivered for its September deadline- but it's just a very, very good feeling to be writing short fiction again, and to know the machine's not broken.

One last thing: music always serves as a good accompaniment to writing, but I couldn't find anything on my laptop that suited Children Of Moloch. And then I dug out a CD that I'd bought a couple of years ago and completely forgotten about: Two Suns by Bat For Lashes. It's a rich and beautiful album that I heartily recommend to you, good reader. Plus the music fits Children like a glove.

This track, particularly, seems to click with the story, so what better tune to play us out with? Till next time...

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Interview at Read Horror with Jonathan Oliver

2011-06-01T14:32:00.000-07:00

That nice Mr Jonathan Oliver, Commissioning Editor of Abaddon and Solaris Books, is being interviewed here at Read Horror, where he says much that is true and worthy, not to mention nice. Tide of Souls gets a mention, as does The Faceless. So do please check it out.

Busy busy busy... Ooh! Good news!

2011-05-23T23:25:00.000-07:00

Hello folks. Did you miss me?

It's been a busy few weeks- The Faceless has been taking up a great deal of my time, not that I begrudge it. Anyway, I finished the first draft a week or so back (11 minutes into Friday the 13th- how cool/apt/worrying is that?) But of course, that means the real work is just beginning, as the process of rewrites sets in... but I'll blog more about that soon.

In the meantime, two pieces of good news! Black Static have accepted my short story, 'Dermot'. Don't know yet which issue it'll appeared in, but I'll let you know. I'm still buzzing off the acceptance...

Also worthy of mention is that I now have a chapbook forthcoming from Simon Marshall-Jones' very fine venture Spectral Press: Cold Havens will contain two short stories of mine, 'Comfort Your Dead' and 'The Climb'. Release date, again, TBC. Rest assured you'll know when I do. Me, I'm looking forward to September, when the ever-reigning Cate's Nowhere Hall is released. Spectral are producing some fantastic quality work, both in terms of the fiction and its presentation, and all at very affordable prices. If you like your horror and your dark fiction, they're well worth a look.

Right, well, can't faff about on t'internet all morning. These novels won't rewrite themselves...

Artemis 81

2011-05-22T03:53:00.000-07:00

So, there's this film I watched a couple of weeks ago now...

David Rudkin is a playwright whose work I discovered at university and came to admire greatly. His first play, Afore Night Come, begins as a sort of rustic comedy but darkens steadily as the anxieties and frustrations of the characters- a group of agricultural workers in an orchard in the Black Country- rise to the surface and find a focus in one of the outsiders among their party, culminating in an act of ritual violence. The climax of the play- even on the page- is a powerful, dread-laden affair that stays long in the mind. Later plays like The Sons Of Light and The Triumph Of Death show him to be one of Britain's finest dramatists.

However, Rudkin has also produced an acclaimed body of work for the small and silver screens over the years. Among other projects, he adapted M.R. James' 'The Ash Tree' for the BBC. His play Penda's Fen is often cited as one of the best examples of the BBC's Play For Today series, not to mention a fine example of horror in the best sense. Sadly, I was only a month old when it came out, so it was past my bedtime and I missed it- and, thus far, it hasn't been brought out on DVD.

Artemis 81, on the other hand, has. So I eagerly snapped up a copy on DVD, to finally get to see Rudkin's work in performance...

Directed by Alastair Reid and running at about three hours, Artemis 81 is really like nothing I've seen before. I mean that in an entirely good way, incidentally. I'll try to give you some idea of what it's like.

Gideon Harlax (Hywel Bennett) is a commercially successful but emotionally detached writer of supernatural fiction. He finds material in a spate of mysterious suicides afflicting passengers who travelled on a particular North Sea ferry. Meanwhile, on an alien world with two moons, two 'angels'- Helith (Sting) and Asreal (Roland Curram) prepare to go down upon the Earth- Helith to prevent its destruction, Asrealare to precipitate it.

Also travelling on the ill-fated ferry are Gwen Meredith (Dinah Stabb), the woman who loves Gideon, even though he's unable to fully connect with her, and the organist Albrecht von Drachenfels (Daniel O'Herlihy.) Through a series of cryptic clues, von Drachenfels reveals to Gideon that he is being forced to play an unwilling part in Asrael's plans, which could lead to the destruction of the entire world. Gideon is the only person who can prevent its fruition, but to do so he has to come alive emotionally; he has already been warned he's 'dead inside'.

And then an explosion knocks Gideon out and sends him, accompanied by Helith, on an odyssey through a decaying, nightmarish city that may be a city of the dead, and into an underground complex where... but no. I don't want to spoil this for viewers, and what I've mentioned so far is just scratching the surface.

Is this a perfect film? Not quite; there are speeches in it that clang somewhat; you could get away with them in a more stylised setting, but in what's framed as a realistic scene they verge on the cod-poetic. There's a clumsy and unnecessary aside near the end where Gideon addresses us directly, which no-one's done previously in the entire film- but this is brief, and if there are lapses into the pretentious, then the overall achievement of the film more than compensates for them.

The performances are all round superb; this might be the best performance I've seen from Hywel Bennett, Sting is excellent in an almost 'man who fell to earth' type role, Curram is a truly chilling angel of death, and in his earthbound guise appears to be channelling Lugosi's Dracula. Daniel O'Herlihy gives a frankly magisterial performance as von Drachenfels- tormented, dignified, compassionate, a hugely gifted man trapped in an intolerable situation and trying to find an honourable way out of it. Throw this into a storyline that mixes the mythic and the science-fictional, not to mention a visually brilliant and deeply moving homage to Hitchcock's Vertigo, and you have Artemis 81; at times frustrating, but never less than intriguing, fiercely intelligent, and ultimately satisfying.

I'd certainly recommend this to anyone who likes their horror intelligent and who's not afraid of a challenge. Like all the best horror- like all the best genre material- it has genuine weight and heft as art. If you like the sound of it, you can buy it here.

Claude Choules, 1901-2011

2011-05-04T23:44:00.000-07:00

Claude Stanley Choules, the last known combat veteran of the First World War, has died at the age of 110.

And so ends an era; World War One, at least as far as its battles are concerned, has now passed out of living memory.

R.I.P Claude, and all the other men who suffered through that ugly, pointless war. The ones who came back, and the ones who didn't.

RI.P.

Happy Easter Monday, Folks

2011-04-25T04:36:00.000-07:00

Have chocolate, play in the sunshine, spend time with the people you care about, and be happy.

You've got to enjoy it while it's still there to be enjoyed.

Just saying.

Elisabeth Sladen RIP

2011-04-19T14:04:00.000-07:00

Truly saddened today to learn that the actress Elisabeth Sladen, who played the character of Sarah Jane Smith in Dr Who (and the more recent spin-off, The Sarah-Jane Adventures) passed away today, at the age of 63. I never met her, but she's described by all accounts as a genuinely nice and gracious lady. Rest In Peace, Elisabeth, and condolences to your loved ones.

Arr, Jim Lad!!

2011-04-16T06:34:00.001-07:00

Here's that extract from Dark Smile's live show, Pirate Radio, that I told you about. Mercifully out of focus, but hopefully funny nonetheless. I'm the bulbous figure with the bald patch and the kazoo, sited, aptly enough, on the far left. If you listen, you'll even hear the cameraman call someone an 'arsehole' under his breath for walking through the shot.

Enjoy!

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News, Kazoos and Interviews

2011-04-15T02:19:00.000-07:00

Hello. Back again. I'm being interviewed quite soon, I'll let you know when sand where. The main reason I mention this is because 'interview' rhymes with 'kazoo', and tonight I will be playing the kazoo before a live audience.

Basically, as some of you folks may have noticed, I work with a company called Dark Smile Productions. I'm one of the Board and as well as writing numerous scripts for it, I've also acted (or overacted) in various shows and directed a few. Tonight, I'm doing all three, and playing kazoo into the bargain.

We started out recording what were, effectively, radio plays, although usually without a radio station to broadcast them on. We've tried flogging them on CD, but with very little success- put simply, unless you've got an existing franchise like Dr Who or Blake's 7, there isn't that much of an audience, and it's very hard to find one.

So, we started to change our approach, producing animations and working on material for a live show (think the Goons with more knob jokes.) The live show is called Pirate Radio, co-written by me and Richard Delafield, and tonight we'll be performing a ten-minute extract at Studio Salford, The King's Arms, Bloom Street, Salford, as part of their Embryo showcase. It starts at 8pm, and I believe we're on around 8.30.

Probably left it too late for anyone to do anything about this, but if you are in the Manchester area and have nothing better to do, they do great real ale and some decent single malt whisky. Oh, and did I mention that I'm playing the kazoo?

The plan is to video tonight's performance, so hopefully I'll be able to post it here soon. All the best, anyway!

Here's our latest animation, by the way... and make sure you watch till the end!

Over The Wire And Into The Darkness...

2011-04-07T16:48:00.001-07:00

Yup, the threshold has been crossed. The 100,000 word mark has been broken. And, in the Bad Place, all Hell is a-breaking loose.

In the process, the first of the story's main characters fell- dead, dying, badly wounded? Who ca n tell?- and another character leapt into the breach to protect them, ready to sacrifice themself for someone dear to them, even though it's probably hopeless. Even though I knew it was coming, and it was still a wrench, because by now it's like watching it happen to someone you know.

I tend to listen to music while I work. The writing soundtrack to The Faceless has so far included Ladytron's Witching Hour, Azam Ali's Portals Of Grace, Dark Sanctuary's Les Memoires Blessees and, most recently, Lisa Gerrard's The Silver Tree. This track was playing while I wrote the above scene. Pure coincidence, but it fitted perfectly.

Standing At The Threshold

2011-04-06T13:38:00.000-07:00

Bit of a portentous title, but as regards The Faceless, it's also true, in more ways than one.

The current word count on the infernal beast that is to be my second published novel (crosses fingers, knocks on wood and eyes the heavens for signs and portents) stands at 99,229. Since I aim with my 1st drafts for a rate of 2500 words a day, tomorrow- all being well- should take me over that first threshold, the 100,000 word mark. Which feels a bit momentous, but probably only because I'm here making a big thing of it on my blog.

It's rattling along at a fair old rate, although this is first draft- the months between finishing this and having to hand in the completed manuscript will be taken up with some fairly intensive research and rewriting. Hell, at times this is the easy part.

Not in the last week though. Which- bejazus- brings me to the oither threshold. Basically- without wanting to spoil anything- there is a place in this novel. A Bad Place. A very, very Bad Place. Much of the book revolves around getting a disparate bunch of characters to go there. Once they are there... stuff happens. Not particularly nice stuff. Scary stuff, even. Who'd've thought.

Now, Chapter 21 was the bit where, having wrangled various characters together, they ended up in the Bad Place. Which as well as being Bad, is also rather Big. And my notes for this chapter were, basically, 'They go there, wander around, and stuff happens.'

Result? Chapter 21 is probably the single most humongous chapter in the book to date. It felt like it went on forever; at times I wondered what the hell the point of it was, and if it would ever be over. But today, I finished it. And wrote a scene where I scared the hell out of myself in the process.

Now the fun starts, with the bad stuff happening. Hopefully, it should be fairly plain sailing from here. Hopefully. But there's no way of being sure, because from this point on, all the rules that seemed established in the preceding chapters go out of the window...

So now you know a bit more about The Faceless, because you know you wanted to. There'll be a proper press release in the not-too-distant future, and hopefully there'll be a book trailer.

Stay tuned.

Till next time!

God Help Us, I Now Tweet

2011-03-29T00:06:00.000-07:00

Don't even ask... yep, I now have a Twitter account. The scary thing is, it has the potential to become enormously addictive, which is fine if you're Stephen Fry and a full-time genius, but not so good if you already have a day job and you're trying to write a novel here.

Still, it's kind of fun. Being an absolute techno-spastic, I still haven't managed to put a 'follow me on Twitter' button on here, or found a way to get it to feed to my Facebook page. I will, eventually, I promise.

In the meantime, if you want to find me, it's @GevaudanShoal on Twitter.

The Faceless

2011-03-19T03:15:00.000-07:00

...is the title of my next novel.

I.e. the one I'm working on at the minute, due out from Solaris Books next year. Finally, after much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I figured out what to call the damned thing. So all that now remains is the writing.

At the moment, I'm about 60,000 words into the novel, having just finished Chapter 15. I'm estimating a grand total of 35 chapters (well, 34 and an epilogue), which makes the first draft length likely to be around 140,000 words. But my first drafts are always overlong and the final version should be under 100,000. So, getting close to the halfway mark.

More soon. In the meantime, if you were wondering what it was called- well, now you know.

Have a fun weekend!

An Auction For Japan

2011-03-19T03:00:00.000-07:00

The earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan last week is one of the worst natural disasters we've seen in many years, with or without the spectre of the crisis at the Fukushima nuclear plant. We've seen terrifying illustrations of just how devastatingly powerful Nature itself is- and how flimsy anything we can make or do is against it- heartbreaking levels of human suffering and also truly awe-inspiring levels of courage and sacrifice, particularly in the case of the 'Fukushima 50', the 300 volunteers- soldiers, firefighters and nuclear workers- operating in shifts of 50, who are exposing themselves to deadly danger and high levels of radiation to prevent an even worse disaster. There's a very good chance these people will not be coming back alive; even if they survive the immediate crisis, 20 or 30 minutes' worth of work under these conditions will expose them to more radiation than a typical nuclear facility worker would encounter in their entire career. They know this, but they still do what they have to.

Puts your own problems into some kind of perspective, doesn't it?

There's very little any of us here, as individuals, can do. However, there are some things, which may help at least a little, which brings me to the point of this blog post.

Johnny Mains over at Occasionally Horrific is auctioning off some of his rather impressive collection of horror memorabilia to raise money for the victims of the disaster. If you weren't already aware of this and would like to take part, just click the link above. All proceeds will go to the British Red Cross.

Loss of Separation by Conrad Williams

2011-03-18T18:12:00.001-07:00

It was about time that I wrote something about someone else, so having finished this novel recently, here goes:

I’ll admit it- I was looking forward to this one. Conrad Williams has been around for a while now, and there isn’t another author quite like him in the horror genre right now, blending the visionary and poetic with the visceral on the one hand and the language of technical precision on the other. It’s like a mid-air collision between Clive Barker and J.G. Ballard had taken place, creating a grotesque, impacted-together hybrid that still manages to fly…

Which is more or less the opening image of Loss Of Separation, if you replace ‘Clive Barker and J.G. Ballard’ with ‘Boeing 777 and 747’. The nightmarish image of Flight Z, flown by a dead captain and with its passengers burning alive inside it, haunts the dreams of Conrad’s protagonist, Paul Roan. As well it might; Paul quit his job as an airline pilot after a ‘loss of separation’ occurred- i.e. when he came perilously close to a mid-air collision. Paul decamped to the Suffolk town of Southwick with his girlfriend Tamara to start a new life, only to be almost killed in a hit and run accident that put him in a coma for six months. He woke to find Tamara gone, no-one knows where. Ruth, a nurse from the hospital, takes him under her wing, but she has her own damage to consider; she’s pregnant as a result of rape.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk treat Paul as a sin-eater, bringing him things to burn- mementoes of the things they can’t live with anymore. But Southwick has secrets; disappearances and murdered children. With the help of Amy, a young woman who, like Paul, has narrowly cheated death by accident, Paul starts uncovering them, and in doing so he finds out that Tamara might not, as he thought, have deserted him…

As you can see, there’s a lot going on here. There always is in Conrad’s work. But while in the past, in novels like The Unblemished, London Revenant or Decay Inevitable, there was so much going on that some aspects inevitably didn’t get the development they deserved, here the different elements are perfectly balanced and controlled, as in his BFA-winning 2009 novel, One (and if you’ve not read that yet, you really ought to.) And while there is no shortage of imagery both simultaneously beautiful and horrific, Loss is also Conrad’s most low-key novel to date. This is a powerful, slow-burning book that relies far more on suggestion, reticence and characterisation than his previous works, without ever losing its uncompromising modernity. This is the work of a writer at the top of his form, and not afraid to shift gears and move away from what people might have come to expect him. Paul is also a departure; Conrad’s protagonists may not be Hollywood action heroes, but they’re usually fairly handy, enough to run a reasonable distance or deliver a decent punch. Paul is physically as well as mentally scarred, made deeply aware of his own fragility by recent experiences, suffering from chronic pain and wondering if he’ll ever manage to function and have a life again.

As ever, the aforementioned characterisation is beautifully delivered, and the prose, as in One, has a perfectly-balanced synthesis between poetic language and narrative flow. It’s well-nigh impossible not to be moved by Paul’s plight, and Loss contains scenes that are genuinely disturbing as well (there’s one sequence in particular on a North Sea crossing which might well put you off ferries for life.)

All in all, this is a sterling performance from a writer who continues to go from strength to strength. If you’re a Conrad Williams virgin, this is a damn good place to break your duck; if you’ve read and enjoyed his previous works, then I guarantee you will not be disappointed. Buckle up and prepare for take-off; Flight Z is about to depart…

Dark Fiction: The Loving Of Ghosts

2011-03-16T16:03:00.000-07:00

Hello. If you'd just like to direct your attention here, to Dark Fiction Magazine, you can hear me reading my short story The Loving Of Ghosts, from Pictures Of The Dark. Nice little sampler if you're considering buying the book. And I'm sharing space with Paul Finch too, which is always good...

RIP Nicholas Courtney

2011-02-23T14:11:00.000-08:00

The actor Nicholas Courtney, best known for playing the character of the Brigadier in Doctor Who, died yesterday at the age of 81.

The 'Brig'- or to give him his full name and title, Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart- appeared mostly in the Jon Pertwee era of the show, which was slightly before my time- but I grew up reading the novelisations of the series, and so he was a character I was always very much aware of as an integral part of the show. Tall, lean, dapper and clipped, with his neat moustache and no-nonsense manner, he was a perfect foil to the often eccentric Doctor- who of course hated violence and was loath to pick up a weapon of any kind even when necessary. And while the Doctor was often scathing about the shortcomings of the military mind, the Brigadier was one of the better examples of it- an ultimately honourable, chivalrous and decent man, quite prepared to put his life on the line for the world (but particularly, one suspects, for Britain) and always, first and foremost, a gentleman.

Courtney's first role in the series was alongside the First Doctor, William Hartnell, as Space Security agent Bret Vyon in The Dalek Master Plan, way back in 1965. The character of Colonel (later Brigadier) Lethbridge-Stewart was to first appear in The Web Of Fear, starring the Second Doctor, Patrick Troughton. Subsequently, the Brigadier would appear alongside all the 'classic' Doctors, with the exception of the Sixth, Colin Baker. He was almost killed off in the Sylvester McCoy adventure, Battlefield, but the producer, John Nathan-Turner, decided against it and the Brig got to retire to the country.

Ironically, Morgaine, the villainness in Battlefield- and presumably the most likely candidate for finishing the Brigadier off- was played by Jean Marsh, who had also appeared in The Dalek Master Plan as Bret Vyon's sister, Sara Kingdom. Vyon was executed by Sara, who thought he'd turned traitor. History nearly repeated itself there...

Lethbridge-Stewart was name-checked several times in the revived series, but his character never quite reappeared, although he did make a return appearance in the spin-off The Sarah-Jane Adventures, which starred Elisabeth Sladen as Sarah-Jane Smith, another popular character from the original series.

The Brigadier was a well-loved character, and it's quite touching to note that Courtney's name is trending heavily on the old interweb today, even with the New Zealand earthquake and the upheaval in Libya ongoing. It says a lot about the affection both Courtney and the character he was most famed for were held in. Many fans wrote in to pay tribute to the man, whose reputation seems to have been- like his character- that of a perfect gentleman, and of a truly nice guy.

It's understandable; I, for one, can't help but feel a genuine sense of loss.

One rather nice suggestion I've heard is that the BBC should rebroadcast one of the classic Who adventures featuring the Brigadier- The Daemons, anyone? Inferno?- as a tribute to the actor. If you think that's a good idea, you might want to visit the Beeb's website and inform them.

William Nicholas Stone Courtney, 16.12.1929-22.2.2011

Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart: Stand easy. Parade, fall out.

Angels and Namings

2011-02-09T01:00:00.000-08:00

Well, Angels Of The Silences appears to be out and about at last! My author's copies are shipping (not that ships are likely to be involved, unless there's worse flooding in Wales than I thought) from Pendragon Press down in Maesteg, so if you've ordered a copy, you ought to be getting a mailboxful of salty Bestwick goodness this week. Um, that sounded wrong, didn't it? Sorry.

And yes, there's the new novel, currently underway, which is to be published by Solaris Books. The reason the last blog posting was rather bashful about it is very simple- not modesty on my part (stop laughing at the back there) but because, well, embarrassingly...

...I have no idea what it's going to be called.

Which does not mean, for the record, that I'm helplessly waiting for a crowd of marketing bods from the publishers to decide what the title should be based on pie-charts, statistics and god alone knows what else. Thankfully, Solaris don't have much truck with that kind of daftness. They know their business onions, obviously- and thank goodness for that- but first and foremost they're actually interested in books- you know, those papery things what you read.

The problem is I don't have a title, and this is now getting silly.

All I can do at the minute is keep plugging away and hope that something leaps out at me. I suspect when I do find the right title, I'll immediately slap myself on the forehead and wonder how I missed it. Hope so, anyway.

Because, of course, I can't keep the publisher waiting all bloody year to know what they're going to advertise the damned thing as. 'This new book by Simon Bestwick' doesn't exactly trip off the tongue.

Ah well. In a pinch, I can always rename the main character 'Katie' and insist the book's about the emotional cost of her survival in the face of the events that unfold. Then they can call it Katie's Price. If they print the 's' in very, very small font it should shift millions of copies.

Twisted Tales, Liverpool and Other Stuff

2011-01-30T14:36:00.000-08:00

So, Friday saw me catching the train to Liverpool to meet with the ever-reigning Cate at Cafe Nero in Liverpool One. No, not to swap state secrets or foil a dastardly terrorist plot- we're doing that next weekend- but for a cup of coffee prior to the Twisted Tales event at Waterstone's. Ally Bird and Joel Lane joined us as well, and Cate (despite what she says on her blog) managed not to turn into a complete gibbering wreck. We'll get her through this year's Fantasycon yet...

No photographs of that historic meeting exist, sadly, because I still can't find a camera that can capture the awesomeness that is Cate without melting. You'll just have to buy her story collection to get an idea. It's really good- see? I'm also proud to announce that I persuaded Cate to sign her first ever autographs, as well. Yay me. I made history ;-)
Anyroad, there are some photos from Twisted Tales and its drunken aftermath, I'm pleased to state. It's sort of like Jackanory, but with horror writers. Present this evening were Joel (pictured above reading from his tale Winter Journey), the lovely Ali Littlewood (doing her first ever public reading and acquitting herself admirably) and Conrad Williams. All three read cracking little horror stories. The event was a lot of fun and also in attendance were the likes of Roy Gray of TTA Press, Dark Fiction editor and agent Sharon Ring and Ramsey and Jenny Campbell (which was particularly handy as I managed to snag a copy of Ramsey's latest novel, The Seven Days Of Cain, and so got it signed.)

Over here we have Conrad Williams, looking a little bit demonic. But Liverpool will do that to you- joking!

Afterwards, we sloped off for a drink or two and ended up in the Cavern. Beatles tribute bands a-go-go...

Over to the left, Ali Littlewood and her equally nice partner Fergus...

Over here, Roy Gray and Ally Bird...

And dear god, what the hell is this hideous apparition?! Oh- it's me. Ahem. Move along please, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing to see here.

In other news, I do have a rather ace announcement to make. Solaris Books have commissioned a new novel from yours truly, which is due to hit the bookshelves in February or March 2012. The title? Still TBC, but watch this space for an announcement. There shall be more anon.

Hope you have enjoyed all this. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming. Unfortunately this means it's Monday tomorrow and you have to go back to work. It's not my fault.

Guest Blogger- WAAAAAAYNE... SIMMONS!!

2011-01-27T13:19:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together and 'give it up big-style' for horror author Wayne Simmons!

Handsome devil, isn't he? You can thank Lee 'Goatboy' Hartnup for that rather fetching shot.

Here's how he tells it:

Belfast born, Wayne Simmons, has been loitering with intent around the horror genre for some years. Having scribbled reviews and interviews for various zines, Wayne released his debut horror novel, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS in 2008. The book was received well by both fans of the genre and reviewers alike.

An extended version of DDG has just been released through Snowbooks.

Wayne released his bestselling zombie apocalyptic horror novel, FLU, through Snowbooks in April 2010. In what little spare time he has left, Wayne enjoys running, getting tattooed and listening to all manner of unseemly screeches on his BOOM-BOOM Box… Meet Wayne online at www.waynesimmons.org

A quick word about Flu.

As is so often the case, the real test isn't the originality of the premise, but the originality of what the author does with it, and what Wayne does with Flu is really bloody good.

In his SF novel Sacrifice Of Fools, Ian McDonald dropped the well-worn 'the aliens have landed' trope into Belfast, with its recently-troubled past and convoluted politics. In-depth characterisation and the willingness to explore the possibilities of both the premise and the setting make it a superb novel, a stand-out. Wayne, in Flu, gives the 'zombie apocalypse' trope the same kick.

It's about time the horror genre boasted a 'new wave' comparable to the one SF developed in the '60s, when authors like Moorcock, Ballard, Aldiss and M. John Harrison took the toys and tools the genre offered and allied them with a thoroughly modern sensibility and set of concerns. Of course, there've been writers doing that in the horror field for a long time now- Ramsey Campbell is the obvious one, and more recently authors like Nick Royle and Joel Lane. But Royle's fiction is more likely to be found on the general fiction shelf, and Lane's horror output- like much of the best work in the field- tends to manifest itself in shorter fiction. What's been long overdue is novel-length, cutting edge horror that can strive for commercial appeal. The emergence of writers like Conrad Williams, Gary McMahon and Joseph D'Lacey suggest that this might be upon us now. If it is, Wayne Simmons is a part of that wave. 'Scuse me while I grab my surfboard...

Anyway, enough pimping from me. I'm off to grab my copy of the new extended version of Drop Dead Gorgeous. Meanwhile: Heeeeeeeeeeeere's Wayne...

The train

A great body of my writing, recently, has taken place on the train. This very blogpost, I’ll have you know, was born on the train, conceived by the union of a red biro pen and spiral notebook. And it’s a great way to maximise time – I still work 9-5 (4 days per week) and try to enjoy life with my ghoulfiend and Jack Russell Terrier (aka my family), so every second is precious.

But there’s something else about the train. It’s full of people and when you write character-based fiction, as I try to do, people-watching becomes more than just a sneaky past-time: it’s a vital part of the writing process. Not that these lovely folks beside me know any of that, of course (except, maybe, that one guy opposite with his arms folded, who seems to be getting more and more paranoid each time I rest my pen, look around the train, then start to write again).

When I write, I try to flesh out my characters until I feel like I’m creating actual people, alive in real life. This can be quite a surreal process. It’s like I’m living two lives, one where I interact with the people in my real life and then another where I enter another world, populated by another cast of characters – many of whom I begin to form an actual attachment to. I may sound insane, now, but this is when I write best; when the world I’m writing about and the characters that populate it seem as real as all of these people on the train.

My apocalyptic horror novel, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, begins on a train. Two of the main protagonists, sixteen year old dreamer, Caz Donaldson, and the boy of her dreams,Tim Adamson, clash eyes on the train, just as their fellow passengers, and everyone around them, fall dead. As the story progresses, Caz and Tim make their way towards the train station, where they meet surly tattoo artist, Star. Later, before the hit really hits the fan, our (anti)heroes wonder what it was that drew them to this place...

But it’s obvious, right?

Train stations, bus stations – these are places that attract the disenfranchised. Places where people wait and plan and anticipate, where people are en-route but not quite there yet, not quite where they want to be. It’s a place where it’s okay to feel displaced. And DROP DEAD GORGEOUS is very much a novel about feeling displaced...

So next time you see a guy with a notebook and pen on the bus or the train, maybe best to dip your head, busy yourself in that book or phone (or kindle?) of yours - lest you find yourself written into his story, perhaps one of the many, many victims of an apocalyptic horror novel...

Coming Soon...

2011-01-25T14:05:00.000-08:00

Had to check my spelling there. Nearly typed 'Coming Son', although that might have increased my site traffic...

Happy New Year! by the way. Two previous posts into 2011 and I completely forgot to say it. Ah well, said it now, and it's still January. The 25th! Jesus, that's nearly 1/12th of the way through the year already. Christ. Talk about yer intimations of mortality, guv.

Anyroad...

Very soon now, some good news. Can't talk about it publicly as yet, but in the next few days all shall be revealed. I will try to restrain myself to wooting, but cannot promise, in spite of all best efforts to the contrary, not to squee. And there shall almost certainly be a happy dance.

Ahem. To resume abnormal service...

With a little less mystery, there will be a guest blogger on this site in a couple of days' time. Thursday night, to be precise, ensure you are a-watchin' of this space...

Who'll be here? Ah, that would be telling. A boy's got to have a few secrets.

Till then.

Come All Ye Kindlers...

2011-01-23T05:49:00.000-08:00

...and users of suchlike newfangled gadgets. The decidedly ace and way-cool Jenni Hill of Abaddon Books informs me that the ebook edition of Tide of Souls is now available for US and UK readers to buy!

So now you know.

WSAHD!

(Must stop doing that.)

Angels Of The Silences is unleashed...

2011-01-13T13:18:00.000-08:00

...well, almost. It's now about to go to print, as a tasty little chapbook from that nice Mr Chris Teague's Pendragon Press. A mere three of your English pounds, or whatever that translates to in dollars, euros, yuan, yen, galactic groats, Martian money, Cthuloid cash or (insert currency unit of your preference here.) Fan, dabi, and not forgetting dozi.

So, what's it all about, Alfie? Well, without revealing too much (i.e. nothing you won't learn on the first page) here's the publisher's blurb:

Emily and Biff are seventeen and best friends. They have also been dead for nine months.

Compared to certain stuff I've written, such as The School House or The Narrows , Angels is almost cuddly. Almost. Or as close to it as you can get. And, as you can see, it also has a truly stonking cover by Mr Neil Williams.

Come on- what else can you get for three quid that's this much fun? (Don't answer that.)

Pendragon are also doing an offer whereby if you order a copy of the limited hardback of We Fade to Grey (which features the aforesaid The Narrows- selected by Ellen Datlow for The Best Horror Of The Year, shortlisted for the British Fantasy Award... I've probably banged on about that so much you probably know this better than me by now :D ) then you will receive a copy gratis. So there you go.

WSAHD!

Here Goes The Year That Was, or something like that.

2010-12-31T11:06:00.000-08:00

So, 2010 is about to slip away. The year I completed The Song Of The Sybil (but not the year of finding a publisher for it) and generally doing a lot of work that hasn't yet paid off. Also the year that Jilly's, aka Rockworld, my favourite club since I was teenager, closed down.

Worst of all, 2010 was the year of my grandmother dying, and the year I couldn't spend Christmas with my family because of the dreaded lurgey. My gran was one hell of a lady, and I will miss her profoundly. But she was a tough, determined woman, and she'd give me the flea of all fleas in the ear if I got mopey. So, may as well acknowledge that 2010 had a few things to recommend it. A few of them were:

The World Horror Con in Brighton, where I got to meet not a few writing heroes of my misspent yoof. In particular, I got to meet the lovely Roberta Lannes, who is now a good friend to boot.

Getting to finally meet the ever-reigning Cate (not to mention living to tell the tale after looking on such awesomeness) and getting to read her first story collection.

Other friends made this year include the writer and film-maker Anna Taborska and a tough, warm-hearted Sheffield lass by the name of Vicky Morris- a tiny dynamo of energy, creativity and good humour on a mission to get young folk writing. Thanks for kicking my arse, Vic.

Christ, I even had a date this year. Miracles happen.

Seriously, there's a point to all this. Goodbye to the loved ones who've gone away; you will be remembered. To the friends and family who made this year worthwhile: thank you.

Have a great New Year's Eve tonight, however you choose to celebrate it, and may 2011 be a happier and more joyful year for all of you- and us.

And so, to play us out... if you're from my generation, this choice will make sense. Air guitar optional.

Bah humbug

2010-12-24T00:34:00.000-08:00

No, seriously, a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my blog-readers. Have a great one.

I've managed to catch the bloody flu, so it won't be much of a Christmas at this end. Still, I'll survive. But really, December 2010 has to count as one of the crappiest months I've had in a long time. Ah well.

Peace, love and all of that, peeps. Have a good one.

Ratty's Christmas Speech

2010-12-19T08:12:00.000-08:00

'Remember' by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

2010-12-16T12:09:00.000-08:00

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

-Thank you to my friend Roberta Lannes for sending me this poem.

Dorothy Ann Smith, 1915-2010

2010-12-12T23:35:00.000-08:00

On Thursday night I got home from work. I work late, so it was after 9.00 pm. I had dinner, faffed around on the internet for a while, as you do. Remembered I owed my neighbour for the housework (I'm rubbish at it and never have time, so for £20 a fortnight she stops the place turning into a slum), so went to the bank, paid her, chatted for a while, went home. It's now 10.30 pm. and I remembered I hadn't checked the answering machine on my landline. There's a message from my Mum asking me to call. I did. I don't normally call my parents that late at night, but this time I did. Not sure why. Maybe it was because my Welsh grandmother had gone into hospital earlier in the week after a fall.

Anyway, I spoke to my Dad. "I've got some sad news, love," he said.

This is what I wrote on my Facebook profile later that night:

‘Simon Bestwick’s beloved grandmother, Dorothy Ann Smith, died peacefully in her sleep this afternoon. I have had to wait for a minute after typing that last sentence, because typing it is the most painful thing I’ve done in a very long time. She was a brave, funny, strong, determined and lovely woman who was widowed in the Second World War and then again a few years later, and who raised my father and his stepbrother on her own.

I loved her dearly, and am devastated to know she isn't there any more. She was 95 years old, and had had a good innings. But right now, that doesn't seem to help. Rest in peace, Nanw.'

(Nanw is Welsh for 'Mum', basically. We always called her that because that was what Dad called her.)

Why was I posting on Facebook? Part of this whole 'wear your heart on your sleeve, wash your laundry in public' culture that we've got nowadays? Hardly. Simple fact was, by the time I thought of actually speaking to anyone, it was half-eleven. My neighbour's lights were off, as were those of another friend across the road (who would later tell me off for not getting him out of bed under the circumstances. ) I rang one of the few friends I know who'd be a) up at that hour and b) wouldn't consider it an imposition. Got his answerphone, left a message. I've got at least one other friend I'd consider calling at that time, but she's just had a baby...

So I was alone in the house, and basically climbing the walls between crying jags. And if you're tut-tutting because you don't think that's manly, or something, then fuck off.

But that's not what this is about.

This blog is about two things really. One, to thank the people who helped me get through that night and the days since. All the people who posted on Facebook or messaged me privately- thank you. A small kindness can mean a great deal at times like that. Thanks to Joel, who rang me at one in the morning, and to Vicky, who rang at two in the morning. Just- thanks, really.

And the other? Because she was my grandmother, and I loved her dearly. We were close, and she was a great lady. She had her faults, of course- in her later years she could be grumpy, and she was always stubborn as a mule. But she was funny, and kind, and full of good stories. And she deserves to be remembered. And because, as Harlan Ellison once put it, 'no-one should be sent down in the dark with too few words.'

Priceless

2010-12-06T13:42:00.000-08:00

TV licence: a hundred and something quid a year.
TV: Easily obtainable from a charity shop.
Radio: Even easier and cheaper to obtain.
Hearing the Culture Secretary called 'Jeremy C*nt' on national radio to a breakfast audience of millions: Priceless.
There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's the BBC.

Strange Men In Pinstripe Suits by Cate Gardner

2010-11-28T11:51:00.000-08:00

Figured it was long overdue for me to talk about something other than myself again, so here goes:

Point of interest- I've been familiar with the ever-reigning Cate's (TM) work for a good thirteen years now, and have not only spoken to her a couple of times on the phone but actually got to meet her recently. Back in the late '90s both Cate and her fiction had a bit of a Gothy thing going on, but in 2010 that's a thing of the past. These days the scariest thing about Cate Gardner is that she doesn't look scary, or strange. She just looks... nice. And- dare I say it?- normal. You could pass her in a crowd and never guess who just walked by.

Thankfully, though, Cate is not normal. I say 'thankfully' because... well, have you seen what counts as 'normal' behaviour these days? Watching X-Factor? Regarding Simon Cowell as a personage of importance, rather than an emissary of the Antichrist? Giving a toss what Cheryl Cole thinks about... er... anything?

Nope, Cate's no more normal than I am, and thank goodness for that. Quite understandably, she spends as little time as possible in a world where that kind of behaviour is considered acceptable or even (god help us) mandatory. Wherever possible, she resides in Cate-land. Now, I have no more idea than you do where exactly Cate-land is, but I can hazard a guess at what it's like. It's a world where robots are lovesick (or wage war with fairies in a greenhouse.) It's a world where you have (and may well need) zombie decapitation insurance. A world where serial killers relax on the bed of the local canal between victims, and breakfast on a bucket of crabs.

It's also a world, funnily enough, with rather a lot of strange men. In pinstripe suits.

But you probably guessed that.

How can I describe Cate Gardner's work? Well, the short answer is that I can't. She isn't really quite like anyone else. Her stories often have the feel of strange, dark little fairy-tales. Perhaps there's a little touch of Angela Carter there, then? Hm... not exactly. There's a quirky, inky-dark humour that darts through her tales that isn't quite like anything Carter ever did- I defy any reader to finish The Sulphurous Clouds of Lucifer Matches, for example, without a ripe, rich chuckle- and a deceptive easygoing lightness of touch that recalls Rob Shearman (which I can assure you is high praise indeed as far as I'm concerned.)

But quirky, humourous, even whimsical though the stories can be, they're not all light. The endings of Parasol Dance With The Chalkstripe Man and Other Side Of Nowhere are anything but twee; they're fiercely bleak. Burying Sam, a clever and typically Cate-ish- by which I mean idiosyncratic and not quite like anyone else- take on the zombie theme, grows more poignant with each reading. And it's only a page and a half long. But then again, the opening story, Dandelion Fluff, isn't even half a page in length, and yet it's another piece that packs a sting; one, again, that deepens with successive encounters.

Now there's one of the notable characteristics of Cate's fiction; brevity. The longest of the 24 stories in this book is about 14 pages long. There are others of 10, 11, 12 pages, but most are far shorter. Black Heart Balloon is 3 pages; Opheliac a mere 4. Both are little wonders of dark wit and bizarre invention that pull you through the looking glass into a darker world than anything Lewis Carroll envisaged.

Another defining feature is a child's-eye view of the world, but one that never escapes into naivety or refuses to grow up. A quality, perhaps, of innocence. The protagonists of The Graveyard Of Dead Vehicles and The Sulphurous Clouds Of Lucifer Matches (did I mention she's great with titles too?) negotiate hostile worlds with difficulty, seeking ways to emerge with their integrity intact. In the first, the protagonist needs to recapture a childlike belief in magic and reject the nullifying logic of a nightmarishly prosaic world; in the second, the protagonist is a child who uses guile and wit to win through, in the best traditions of fairy stories everywhere.

That quality of innocence is fundamental to Cate's work. If there's an overriding theme to Strange Men In Pinstripe Suits then it's the struggle to preserve it in a grim, inimical world. It's a struggle to do so; it would be so easy to let that quality be extinguished for the sake of an easy ride, a quiet life. But do so, and you're lost forever.

Perhaps these stories come, simply, from a fundamentally gentle soul, dramatising its own struggle to preserve itself. Perhaps they're intended as survival guides or the rest of us. Or perhaps they're just a collection of- literally- wonderful short stories that are like nothing else you're likely to have read this year. Whatever the truth of the matter, we have Cate Gardner and Aaron Polson of (aptly) Strange Publications to thank for giving these funny, touching and magical tales what they deserve- a home more permanent and enduring than the various magazines and websites they have graced.

For, as Cate Gardner knows so well, some things are more than worth the struggle to preserve.

In case you hadn't got the message already, I loved this book. Get yourself a copy. In fact, with Christmas coming up, it might be worth ordering a few.

Woot and Squee!

2010-11-22T01:02:00.000-08:00

Just had a bit of nice news, which is always good on a Monday morning and better still following a six-day week: my short story 'Salvaje' is to be published in a forthcoming edition of Charles Black's The Black Book Of Horror series. (Edited for update: just heard this morning that it will appear in the Ninth Black Book of Horror. Woot, squee and happy dance!)

The Black Books hark back to the good old days of the Pan Books of horror- in the best sense. The stories tend to the more gruesome end of the horror, but they're usually worth reading. 'Salvaje' features a character I hope to write about again, but I'm saying no more than that. It's a story I'm fond of, so it's good to see it find a home at last.

Damn, I went and squeed again. I really must stop that.

Armistice Day

2010-11-11T02:15:00.000-08:00

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye,
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
-Siegfried Sassoon.

Drop Everything. Read This. Seriously.

2010-11-08T22:54:00.000-08:00

Something that my friend Joel posted this morning on the Ramsey Campbell messageboard as part of a discussion. It's something that deserves being very widely read, before it's too late.

Let's put a few current facts together and see what they suggest in combination.

1. The Government has announced that a million public sector jobs are to be axed.
2. The Government has also announced that a high proportion of people on disability benefit will be reclassified as unemployed, quite regardless of their chances of finding work.
3. Now the Government has announced that people who have been unemployed for a long time will be... not trained, not helped to find work, not given even temporary jobs, but rather forced to do unpaid work that corresponds to the most basic of public sector manual jobs.
4. The DSS estimates the annual cost of benefit fraud to be £1.1 billion. The Inland Revenue estimates the annual cost of tax evasion to be £40 billion.
5. The Government is cutting back staffing levels heavily in the DSS and the Inland Revenue, showing that neither helping people find work nor catching tax evaders is a priority. Catching benefit fraudsters is, however, such a priority that David Cameron has announced that private sector bounty hunters will be hired to track them down.
6. The Chief Executive of the Tory-controlled Birmingham City Council has notified 26,000 employees that they may or may not be made redundant – but their current contracts are null and void, and they will not even be considered for re-engagement unless they sign new contracts that radically diminish their terms and conditions – effectively casualising the Council workforce.
7. Kenneth Clarke, current Justice Secretary and onetime Home Secretary, famously commented that a very high level of unemployment was "a price worth paying" to break the trade unions.

What these facts show in combination is a minority Conservative Government, propped up by LibDem quislings, trying to do as much damage to our public services, the people who provide them and the people who receive them as possible. This is open war on the rights and living standards of the non-rich. It will greatly increase the crime rate, the suicide rate and the mortality rate among the non-rich. It will create a gangster economy of vicious profiteering, with every area of the public sector – most especially healthcare – being carved up into franchises.

The Government has said that the NHS budget is "ring-fenced". However, it will have to be spread much thinner to cover the community healthcare being cut out of the social services budget. Over the next few years there will be a wholesale shift from the NHS budget being used mostly to train and pay NHS staff to the same budget being used mostly to pay private sector health providers... who, as New Labour's Independent Sector Treatment Programme proved, are a lot more expensive than their NHS counterparts. They are also a lot less accountable, because they refuse to disclose their clinical and financial performance data on the grounds that it is "commercially sensitive".

The question is not when the ConDem Government will stop destroying everything that is decent about our society. The question is whether anyone will stop them. It has to happen soon. By the time of the next general election, the damage done to our social fabric and to millions of lives will be irreversible.

This is war.

The End Of The Line- The Guardian Review!

2010-11-06T01:24:00.000-07:00

Wotcher folks. Just a quick one, this. The End Of The Line has been reviewed for today's Guardian by Eric Brown . It's a short review, in which only four stories are name-checked. These are Stephen Volk's 'In The Colosseum' (one of the most savage and disturbing stories I've read this year), Nicholas Royle's 'The Lure' (a subtle and elliptical psycholoigical... chiller? Thriller? I don't know what to call it, but it's great), Paul Meloy's magnificent 'Bullroarer' (further proof, were it needed, that Meloy is one of the finest, most original and idiosyncratic short story writers working in the field right now)... and 'The Sons Of The City'.

To say that I am delighted would be a dramatic understatement. But I won't say it... no, I won't...

Must... hold... back...

No, it's no use:

SQUEE!

Ahem. Sorry about that.

We now return you to what is laughingly called reality. Unfortunately this includes David C*ntmoron being Prime Minister and Simon Cowell existing. Sorry. It's not my fault.

Happy Halloween, Folks!

2010-10-31T08:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I'll be staying in, turning the lights off, and watching as many horror movies as I can. Have a good 'un, folks!

Cut This, You Bastards

2010-10-25T02:59:00.000-07:00

One week on from the spending review, and I'm still too angry to write anything about it that doesn't involve the words 'hang the bastards from lampposts'. I will, eventually. (The writing, not the hanging from lampposts. Obviously. I've got a bone in my leg, or something.) In the meantime, though, here's a nice little fuck-you to David C*ntmoron, Gideon Osborne, Nick 'Judas' Clegg and the whole damn jackal-pack of greedy, vicious, right-wing millionaire scumbags and their plans to destroy our public services, create mass unemployment and generally crucify the rest of us for the bankers' gambling debts:

La Lotta Continua!

There Is Nothing Wrong With Your Internet Browser...

2010-10-07T03:16:00.001-07:00

...but I'm not here.

Today, I'm over there. At that nice Mr Simon Marshall-Jones' blog. Being very grumpy about chavs and reality TV and other signs of the impending cultural apocalypse. However, I also reveal why Julie Burchill actually serves a useful function, so you might find that interesting. Warning: there are rude words.

New Model Army

2010-10-03T07:27:00.000-07:00

Never Again was launched at the Fantasycon on Saturday 18th September, and I'm glad to say it went very well. Plenty of copies shifted, and plenty of good publicity for this anthology, which deserves to sell widely and well- both for its content, and for its cause.

The Quietus picked the anthology as its Book of the Day on October 1st. Joel and Ally are hoping to get Amnesty International to make it available in their online shop. But the proudest moment of all...

I make no bones about it: New Model Army are, quite simply, my favourite band in the world. Their blend of musical excellence, powerful lyrics, politics, emotional commitment and love of nature (among many other traits) has meant a hell of a lot to me over the years, ever since some saintly soul first played the Thunder And Consolation album to me. They're the best- a great band with guts and integrity who've ploughed their own furrow and gone their own way over a career spanning thirty years and whose latest album, Today Is A Good Day, is as good as anything they've ever done.

New Model Army have listed Never Again on their website, here.

This is- purely personally- a very proud moment.

So if you get the chance to buy this anthology, it is well worth buying. And if New Model Army are playing your town, it's worth going to see them, especially if you've never seen it. I think you owe it to yourself.

Warning: Epically Long Post

2010-09-20T06:12:00.000-07:00

Every year I mean to blog about the fun I've had at Fantasycon, and every year I fail to. But not this time! No, this year, finally, there is a Bestwick blog about the event. Assuming you ever wanted the thing in the first place, or felt its lack in your daily life...

Anyway, off we go. Be warned, this is a long one, so you may want to have a cup of tea/coffee/Pepsi Max/whisky/other beverage of choice* (*delete as applicable) to hand...

Well, wow. That was a fun and hectic couple of days.

Arrived later than usual- just shy of six pm., courtesy of a lift from Paul and Cath Finch- with 30 mins to spare till a reading. Tottered round the bar greeting, handshaking/hugging familiar faces and uttering forlorn and desperate pleas for attendees.

A dozen people (at least!) showed up- cheers to Ally Bird, John Travis, Joel Lane, Lord John and Lady Kate Probert, Caroline Callaghan, Gary Cole-Wilkin and the lovely Soozy Marjoram, the fabulously talented artist Daniele Serra and David 'Diamond Dai' Price (and anyone else I've missed out.) Especially good to see David, who I've known for many years, as he suffered a major heart attack earlier this year. Happily he seems to have recovered and back to his usual (if slimmer!) ebullient self, although he was bemoaning his enforced abstinence from good ale. Here's to many more FCons, Dave!

The main event at the reading was 'Pax Deorum', written back in 2000, but dusted off and rewritten. A number of people thought it must have been written specially, given that the Con coincided with the Papal visit. (Ah well, at least the horrid little man is on his way back to Rome now.) For the curious- well, if I say it's a 'vengeful ghost' story of sorts you'll understand.

The Friday night panel ('Get Real') went down very well and was a lot of fun, with much discussion of the Gray Friar Press anthology Never Again, which was launched on Saturday. Sadly this meant missing the heavy metal karaoke competition being organised by Abaddon Books. But as Joel Lane commented elsewhere today, 'The things I missed would make up a second great weekend in themselves'...

Had to weave my way to my hotel afterwards- but more of that anon.

Saturday- to the dealer's room to moon over titles but resist the temptation to buy... then a marathon signing event! First the Solaris anthology The End Of The Line, and then Never Again. One word of warnng to anyone about to do something like that- you'd never believe that signing your own name repeatedly for two hours could be that knackering! But it's better than no-one turning up, especially given the latter book's cause. And it also meant I got to meet Alison Littlewood, who was sat next to me (her first signing!), who's an incredibly nice lady.

The End Of The Line doesn't get its official release until November, but will be well worth getting. The copies that Abaddon/Solaris' Jon Oliver brought with him sold out at warp speed, so even the authors have to wait till next week to read it!

My old friend John B. Ford turned up as well, but we only got to speak briefly. I haven't seen him in years, but him and his wonderful late wife, Lynne- still sadly missed by all who knew her- were always good friends to me. Here's hoping we get to meet and catch up at much greater length soon.

Managed to make the fabled FCon Curry, organised by the lovely Soozy (amazed to discover she's not a teacher- organising a group of writers must be very like riding herd on a class of rowdy teenagers. Especially male writers...) which was great fun. Stayed in the bar during the awards ceremony but was delighted to hear of so many worthy winners- Conrad Williams' stunning and compelling One took Best Novel, Sarah Pinborough's The Language Of Dying (an emotionally wrenching and beautifully written piece) Best Novella and Rob Shearman's deceptively light-toned Love Songs For The Shy And Cynical Best Collection. Lots of other highly-deserving winners, of course, but these were all ones which I'd read, loved and rooted for.

Midnight brought the dual delights of John Llewellyn (aka Lord) Probert reading 'His Beautiful Hands', Oscar Cook's contribution to the original Pan Book Of Horror, which was re-released at the Con, and the sight of Simon Kurt Unsworth passed out, utterly spackered on god knows how much booze. Even moaning into his ear pretending to be Satan didn't wake him up (always a sign someone's far gone.) Finally revived him with Joel Lane's help and watched him wander off toward the Park Plaza Hotel.

And then Sunday. Woke up to find a note from my liver on the pillow beside me, saying it was leaving and going to an abused livers' home. Luckily it didn't get far before I caught up with it and talked it into coming home...

And then the farewells, the hangovers... and Bestwick on the rampage in the dealers' room as what money remained in the small budget could now be blown. Meant banning myself from even looking at the PS Publishing table, sadly, but I'll be seeking out Ramsey Campbell's The Seven Days Of Cain, Gary Fry's The House Of Canted Steps and Rio Youers' End Times as soon as the pursestrings allow. All aboard the Finchmobile and back up to the wastelands of the north through increasingly torrential rain.

All in all, a terrific weekend. Got to meet back up with lovely people like: Ally Bird, John Travis, John Probert, Thana Niveau, Joel Lane, Gary and Emily McMahon, Jon Oliver, David Moore, Mick and Debbie Curtis, Gcw and Soozy, Charlie Black, Johnny Mains, Anna Taborska (one of the nicest and sweetest people you'll ever meet), Conrad Williams, Nina Allen, David Rix, Gary Fry, Wayne and Nadia Mook... I'll stop there because there must be loads more and any attempt at a full list would miss somebody out.

If you write horror or SF or fantasy or just-plain-odd fiction or just enjoy reading it and you've not been to FCon before- really, it's worth going. No-one's going to give you a hard time over your appearance (and this is coming from a guy who until recently was regularly told he looked like Ron Jeremy) and it's as friendly, welcoming and accepting a crowd of people as you could ever wish to meet.

My one regret is that there's no Award for 'Best Dressed'- but then Lord and Lady Probert would win it every year. Hell, there wouldn't even be a shortlist.

A couple of special thank-yous need to be said, because this Con very nearly didn't happen. The payroll department where I work screwed up (or mis-spoke, if you prefer) so that the overtime I'd worked specifically to provide a Fantasycon fund won't go through till next month, followed by a certain not-to-be-named-here hotel in Nottingham cocking up my booking. ('We can still book you in for the Con weekend, but the price will now be over £200') Fool that I am, I hadn't booked into the Britannia but into a different, nearby hotel, and there weren't any places left at the Britannia. So thank you to Sarah Pinborough who came to the rescue on Facebook with calming words and helpful advice- and also to everyone else who posted (within minutes of my initial deranged post.)

Secondly, all at the Jurys Inn Hotel, Nottingham. Not that close to the convention hotel but close enough to be within drunken staggering range: it's a very nice place to stay again, with cheap rates and, best of all, friendly and extremely helpful staff. So a big thanks to everyone there, especially Hilary and Michaela on the front desk! If you need a place to stay in Nottingham, I can heartily recommend the Jurys Inn.

And now I'll shut up.

Fantasycon 2010!!!

2010-09-17T02:44:00.000-07:00

Today's the day! I shall be arriving in Nottingham this afternoon, despite the combined efforts of the payroll department and a certain Nottingham hotel (who shall remain nameless here) to balls it up.

Budget or no budget, it's time for a weekend of meeting up with friends I haven't seen in a long time, drooling over books I can't afford to buy, and getting rather drunk. Oh, and there possibly might be curry too.

Have a great weekend, whether you'll be there or not!

My Gran

2010-09-15T01:02:00.001-07:00

My grandmother, Lillian Iris Gillespie, is 100 years old today.

Off to see her later this morning. This is a woman who's lived through two world wars and the Great Depression (plus the current one.) Quite something, really. Her dad- my Irish great-grandfather, was the chief groom to the Earl of Stamford at Dunham Massey; apparently his skill with horses was remarkable. A genuine 'horse whisperer'. His skills saved my gran's life when she was a baby; she caught double pneumonia and he used a poultice on her that he used to treat sick foals (this was in the days before antibiotics.) If not for him, and the skills he had, she wouldn't have lived to grow up, meet my grandfather, raise my mother... and I wouldn't be here. One of those little stories which makes you a little awed by just how much chance, how many random factors, come together to make you who you are.

My great-grandfather was also in the Territorial Army- my Gran was actually born in an Army barracks in Liverpool- and fought at Ypres, losing an arm and possibly also being gassed (he died of throat cancer in 1945.) One of these days I really need to find out more about his family, the Lynams (and yes, I am apparently distantly related to Desmond of that ilk!)

Both of my grandmothers are still alive. It's only in the last few years that I've realised how incredibly rare that is, and how lucky I am. My Welsh gran will be 100 in another five years. I hope I'll get to go to another party like today's.

Happy Birthday Nana.

My Fantasycon Timetable...

2010-09-14T02:44:00.000-07:00

If you're attending Fantasycon this year, and you want to know what to attend/avoid, here's my itinerary...

Friday night (17th September)
6.30 pm. I shall be reading... and I've only just realised I'll be the first one up for the whole Con! Eek! So please show up and make a scared man a bit more relaxed. Currently planning to read an excerpt from the new novel I'm writing plus a short story.

Also on Friday night:

10.30pm. I'll be on the panel 'Get Real: Looking at how weird fiction can often be the best tool to address issues in the world around us.' Co-starring with: Joel Lane, Simon Kurt Unsworth, Lisa Tuttle, Stephen Volk and Allen Ashley. I'm truly not worthy.

Edited to add...

Saturday (18th September)
1.00pm. Launch for the Solaris Books anthology The End Of The Line, edited by Jonathon Oliver and featuring my story 'The Sons Of The City'. Co-starring with Ramsey Campbell, Joel Lane, Paul Meloy, Rebecca Levene and many, many more. It's gonna be a good 'un, this.

2.00pm. Launch for Never Again, edited by Allyson Bird and Joel Lane and featuring my story 'Malachi'. Also involving Ramsey Campbell, Joe R. Lansdale, Rob Shearman, Tony Richards, Lisa Tuttle, Nina Allan, Rosanne Rabinowitz, Kaaron Warren and Thana Niveau- among many other authors.

Sadly Chris Teague at Pendragon Press tells me that Angels Of The Silences won't be ready for the Con. That's a pity, but what the hell, it'll be out sooner or later anyway. Thanks anyway to Chris for publishing that little tale.

And once that's out of the way, I'll just have fun. Including forays to the Metal Karaoke that's also going on...

See you all there!

In Praise of Johann Hari

2010-09-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

It really can't be said enough times what a vile, abominable, hateful little gobshite Josef Twatzinger is. So here's someone else saying it very eloquently.

I have mucho respect for Johann Hari. He's one of the few people who backed the Iraq war on left-wing grounds that I genuinely believe acted in good faith. He'd actually been to that country and seen what an appalling regime Saddam Hussein's was. But, more importantly, he went back there after the war and he realised that he'd been wrong. And he said so, publicly.

Hari is an intelligent and very witty guy. In addition, he is deeply eloquent and passionate in his beliefs, but can also marshall an impressive array of evidence, as well as rhetoric, to prove his points. You'll find evidence galore on his website. So go check it out.

Oh, and as for Twatzinger- am I the only one who thinks he looks like the Emperor from Return Of The Jedi gussied up for Mardi Gras?

And does anyone else ever associate the words 'The cold dead eyes of a killer' with him?

The prosecution rests, m'lud.

Taking Stock; a long and self-indulgent post

2010-09-03T23:34:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy week, what with a job interview to prep for and Angels Of The Silences to proofread (that one has to be finished today- luckily the brave and awesome chap that is Chris Teague of Pendragon Press knows no fear when it comes to cutting things a bit fine), but writing-wise things are on a bit of a pause.

I've put aside a half-finished novella and a new raft of changes to The Song Of The Sibyl to help put together a comedy series pitch for Radio Two, and after that found myself at a loose end. Whereupon the thought of new story collections came to mind. After all, there were a good few tales lying about loose, after thirteen years in the game. (Jesus, that pulls me up short every time I write it. Where the hell does the time go?)

So this meant (ulp) it was time to make an inventory of the uncollected stuff.

You have to picture: there are three computers in chez Bestwick- my laptop, the trusty and nifty little Netbook I'm writing this blog post on and my old desktop. If they were members of the cast of Dad's Army (pause while American readers google that one) the Netbook would be Private Walker (the spiv and wideboy who always got results), the laptop would be Corporal Jones (determined and thinking he was the bee's knees but prone to malfunctiong- that's what you get with Windows pigging Vista) and the desktop would be Private Godfrey (the doddery old one who looked like a strong breeze would knock him over.) The main reason it's still around is that it can still handle floppy disks and there might still be some useful stuff on some of them. Oh, and because that's where a lot of the old material is.

And so, the trawl began. Exporting stories, novelettes, novellas, nearly all unpublished, onto the pen-drive. Quality control was not a factor, just getting them all into one place.

That Protestant Work Ethic thing is securely embedded in the Bestwick brain, if noting else. When I started writing properly, in 1997, I aimed for a story a week. There are 26 stories listed from that year on the inventory. That doesn't include the completed novel, the two unfinished ones and the 20,000 word novella from that year, plus half a dozen lost stories (mercifully, in the case of several that spring to mind) and the ones that need retyping.

Most of the ones from that year and 1998 were published somewhere, but many of those that followed are yet to see print; back at the end of the '90s (I refuse to write 'the turn of the century', except that I just did) the small press scene imploded, losing a lot of markets. My brain seized up at the prospect of actually trying to work out how to post stuff outside the UK and the internet left me decidedly confused. And shortly thereafter there was a several years-long phase of hating nearly everything I wrote. The reasons for that are long and complicated and for another time, but a lot of stories were written and then thrown aside, convinced they were rubbish. There are thirty-odd unpublished stories from 2001 alone, and nearly as many from 2000. Those were two of the years I had the least confidence as a writer, and kept churning out tales in an effort to feel proud of one of them (thanks to Chris and Barbara Roden at Ash-Tree Press/All Hallows Magazine, who were one of the few markets I placed stories with at the time- that boost to the confidence was very welcome)

2002 saw twenty-odd so-far uncollected stories written, but after that short-story production slacked off. Longer projects beckoned, forays into script-writing, a number of novels that are damn well going to stay in their bottom drawer.

But anyway- the final count?

Over a hundred and ninety.

I'm not saying this to brag (well, OK, maybe a bit.) But it did come as a bit of a shock. And that's not counting another dozen to twenty that only exist in hard copy form and need typing up or scanning. Plus some only written in longhand that still haven't been typed up. Oh, and a couple of short novels that might be worth trying to place...

Obviously, there are a lot of stories here that don't merit publication; they're in the bottom drawer for a bloody good reason, and there they shall stay. But even so... there should be enough material for four or five other collections there. It's quite a sobering thought to see that much stuff accumulated.

One reason for writing: a kind of insurance policy against oblivion. A light that glows in the long darkness after your own's gone out (Christ, that's pretentious. But it's also true, so I'll let it stand.) There's a substantial amount of insurance there.

But bloody hell, 190+ stories? After thirteen years?

God, I feel old.

And so now back to Angels Of The Silences. And prepping for the job interview. And the meeting later today. I used to have a life...

Happy Birthday Ray Bradbury!

2010-08-22T00:42:00.000-07:00

Yup- today, Sunday 22nd August 2010, is the great Ray Bradbury's 90th birthday.

Thank you, sir, for all the wonderful books and stories you've given the world, and that brightened (or possibly darkened?) my childhood.

That's all, really.

Enjoy the rest of the weekend, folks.

Back From The 'Pool...

2010-08-20T14:09:00.000-07:00

Ventured forth to the city of Liverpool today, which was great fun. As a native Manc, of course, I'm supposed to disparage our coastal neighbour (although we're guaranteed to close ranks against sneery southerners making disparaging comments- like the dicks who wrote for Private Eye when I bothered looking at it back in the early '90s) but in fact it's a lovely city (the bits I saw were, anyway.) And of course my family have a connection with it- my great-grandfather, Richard Lynam, lived there when he came over from Dublin, and my grandmother was born in the army barracks off Tramway Road (I think) in 1910. She's still alive, as well, which means there'll be a very special birthday party next month.

Anyway, despite my choosing to wear a black shirt (in that weather, decking myself out in the most heat-absorbent colour going might not have been the best idea- knew I should have worn a Man U t-shirt instead) it was a very nice afternoon. Two reasons for the visit:

One, Mr Conrad Williams was signing copies of his new crime novel, Blonde On A Stick, at Waterstone's Liverpool One. Nice to chat to Conrad, as always. The book, incidentally, is a belter and is highly recommended. Watch this space for a more detailed commentary in the near future.

Reason Two- cooler still!- was that I got to go for a cup of tea and a strawberry frappe with the ever-reigning Cate Gardner (yes, I know I've called her that before; I thinking of making it her official title.) Sadly, despite my taking my digital camera with me, no photographs exist of this historic meeting, as I was informed that the sheer glamour and awesomeness that is Cate was of such intensity that mortal sight could not bear it (indeed, I had to wear sunglasses throughout the encounter.)

But seriously, it was very nice to meet at last- given that I've known her, on and off, for about thirteen years, via correspondence, the wonders of the internet and a couple of phone calls! God bless modern technology, eh?

So, anyway, a very nice day. Just wanted to share. ;-)

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled weekend.

Even Ruder Than The One About The Pope

2010-08-18T15:37:00.000-07:00

...but a lot more respectful towards its subject.

Now, one of my favourite authors is the great, the one and only, Ray Bradbury. There is no-one like him. I've been reading his stories since I was a little boy, and they're still great. 'The Scythe' is probably still my all-time favourite, but there are so many others to choose from. 'The Next In Line', 'The Fog Horn', 'The Veldt', 'A Sound Of Thunder', 'The Fox And The Forest'... and so many, many more. Never mind the novels, like 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' or the classic 'Fahrenheit 451'.

I love Ray Bradbury. Well, not so much the man himself- I've never met him, though I'm sure he's a nice bloke- but his work, which I revere.

I doubt even I'm quite as passionate about him as Rachel Bloom is, though. This video is brilliant. And extremely funny. But also extremely rude. In addition, gentlemen with dicky tickers may want to seek medical advice before playing it.

I just hope when I'm pushing 90 (and Bradbury hits the big 9-0 on Sunday, folks, the 22nd August) a woman as gorgeous as Rachel Bloom dedicates a song to the idea of jumping my bones....

Now I think I need to go and have a lie down.

The bloke with the dragon tattoo....

2010-08-16T13:51:00.000-07:00

There's a nice little feature on the forthcoming Gray Friar Press anthology Never Again, over on the very nice Mr Simon Marshall-Jones' blog. Includes a wee bit of waffle from yours truly. Why not pop on over and have a peep?

(Oh, and on the subject of tattoos- if you've not seen The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, go check it out. It's a belter. Superb performances all round, especially from Noomi Rapace. The books by Stieg Larsson are very good too.)

In Memory Of Sophie Lancaster

2010-08-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

Today- Wednesday, 11th August, about to pass off into history and be gone- is the third anniversary of the murder of Sophie Lancaster.

I never knew Sophie in life; the accounts I've read describe a bright, intelligent and compassionate young woman. What is also sticks in my memory is that she died trying to protect the man she loved.

For those who missed the story (some non-UK readers may have) Sophie Lancaster and her partner, Robert Maltby, were Goths. That was their crime, if you can call being different a crime. Unfortunately, there are no shortage of people who seem to.

The couple entered a park in Bacup, Lancashire, where they were followed by a group of teenagers, who subsequently attacked Robert. He was knocked to the ground. They turned their attention to Sophie when she tried to protect him by cradling him in her arms. The attackers kicked her in the head, jumped and and down on her head. When the police arrived, they were initially unable to tell which of the victims was male and which female due to the extent of the beating.

Both victims were in coma from the attack. Robert Maltby recovered over the fortnight following the attack; Sophie Lancaster never did. On 24th August 2007, her life support was switched off.

She was 20 years old.

Twenty.

Two attackers- Brendan Harris and Ryan Herbert- were convicted of the murder, and three others- Joseph and Danny Hulme, and Daniel Mallett- of grievous bodily harm. What brave boys they were, kicking and stamping a defenceless girl to death.

Harris and Herbert were sentenced to life imprisonment. Herbert won a reduction in his sentence; why, exactly, no-one is sure.

Understand me; I do not believe in capital punishment. Or at least I do my best not to. Intellectually I know it solves nothing and does not belong in an enlightened or humane society.

But I have a deep hatred of bullies; I have no nuanced or understanding reaction to it. It won't come as a surprise to any readers if I tell you I suffered years of bullying when younger. I don't say that for sympathy but by way of explanation. Malice, the deliberate intention to cause suffering, pain, humiliation- to me, it's unforgivable and whether the setting is a playground or international politics the reaction is the same- I want the people responsible dead. Slowly and painfully if possible.

And no, I'm not proud of that. But that's the way it is. I wish I could reach beyond that and feel something better than hatred. But I can't. What I can do is try to act in a better way than that. Our better emotions, our compassion, temper our rationality, but it's our reason, sometimes, that has to overrule our cruellest and ugliest impulses. Because if you know the world you want to live in, if there are standards and values you want to uphold- then you have to live by them, even when it's difficult. That's what I hope separates me from people- and dear god, how I hate to use that term to describe them- like Ryan Herbert and Brendan Harris.

Sophie's mum, Sylvia Lancaster, set up the Sophie Lancaster Foundation. Also known just as S.O.P.H.I.E.- Stamp Out Prejudice, Hatred and Intolerance Everywhere. If you would like to make a donation, or to help in any other way, please click the above link.

Rest in peace, Sophie. You aren't forgotten.

Angels Of The Silences

2010-08-08T03:24:00.001-07:00

I'm delighted to announce that my novella, Angels Of The Silences, will be published by Chris Teague's brilliant Pendragon Press this September. I.e. next month. Crikey! Full details and cover will follow in the fullness of time, but I believe the cover price will be a mere three of your English pounds.

It should be out just in time for Fantasycon, then. In fact that's probably where it'll be launched. So if you want a signed copy you know where you need to be on the weekend of 17th to 19th of September. There's still time to register and enter the wonderful world of FCon for the first time. That's not addressed to anyone in particular, honest. And certainly not Cate. Noo, not at all. ;-)

Very, Very Rude Indeed, So Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

2010-08-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

The following categories of people should not click the link below.

-Those of a sensitive and easily offended disposition

-People who don't like bad language

-Catholics, unless you lack the moral dishonesty required to exculpate your church and its doctrine of all wrongdoing by accusing critics of religious intolerance every time they quote an inconvenient fact.

For the rest of you- enjoy this:

Just to clarify (although it's not likely to impact on Benedict XVI's apologists) I have no problem with people believing in God (or gods or goddesses, for that matter) as long as they don't hurt other people.

Nor am I blind to the fact that children have suffered abuse outside the Catholic Church, in schools and care homes and other secular organisations; and I'm also fully aware that many such organisations were more concerned with their reputations at the time than with the interests of the children. But they haven't:

-Kept on covering for the bastards responsible up into the present day;
-Ordered their bishops not to report abuse cases to the police on pain of excommunication (and that's the current Pope, as in the Pontiff Formerly Known As Joseph Ratzinger, personally)
-Only agreed to co-operate with the Ryan Report into child abuse in Ireland if no priests were named and no-one was prosecuted.

(If this doesn't amount to covering for paedophiles, then please tell me how.)

And I haven't even mentioned the Pope's (and the Church's) loathsome attitudes towards homosexuals ('an intrinsic moral evil', according to Joseph Fritzl- sorry, Ratzinger), AIDS in Africa (apparently condoms don't stop its spread but make it worse, which goes beyond 'beliefs I might not agree with but are basically harmless' and into the territory of 'outright lies that could/will/may already have cost the lives of thousands, if not millions of people') and women- Twatzinger has compared ordaining women as priests with sexual abuse of children, and demands the criminalisation of abortion even for the victims of rape, or women whose health will not survive pregnancy. In Brazil last year, the government allowed a rare legal abortion in the case of a 9 year old girl who was pregnant with twins after being raped by her stepfather. The Church's response was to excommunicate the doctors who'd carried out the procedure, and the girl's mother. Not the stepfather, you note. He's a naughty boy, but he can still go to church and might not go to hell if he dies, as long as he's confessed. Now if you can defend that... actually, don't bother. I don't want to know you.

And when this malignant little bigot, this loathsome little reptile, comes to Britain this year, the cost of protecting him will, I'm told, be of the order of £12 million. Can you think of better things to spend that money on? I know I can.

Quote Of The Week

2010-07-19T01:12:00.000-07:00

This might become a regular (or semi-regular) feature here, who knows? All I do know is that I found this on the blog of Natalie L Sin (an online friend of the ever-reigning Cate) and found it deeply worth sharing for its profound philosophical truth. Well, OK- because it made me laugh:

'If you keep your crush a secret, you don't get to be a pissy little ass-hat when she picks someone else. I don't care if he is your brother, the lady made her choice. Sack up, drawn your sorrows in junk food and masturbation, and hold your head high to lust another day.'

We will now return you to your regularly scheduled Monday. Sorry about that.

This And That

2010-07-13T15:02:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been an odd few weeks since I last posted here. Among other things, I've watched someone I've known for a number of years, who I'd had quite a lot of respect for, savage one of my closest friends, in the most vicious, dishonest and cowardly terms, in a public forum. It probably goes without saying that I will have nothing more to do with said person, who's managed to sink to such a depth that I'd need a bathyscaphe to find him if I wanted to. Which I don't.

Meanwhile, The Song Of The Sibyl was turned down by the second publisher I sent it to. Funnily enough, though, that actually comes as a relief, as the process of rewriting the fekking thing was turning into the kind of marathon session that might very well have lasted the rest of my life.

Now, however, I can put that novel aside and start a new one- a decision I made a while back. Two full chapters have been completed along with part of a third, and a general outline just needs some tidying up. By next week I should be ready to rock again...

Where The Heart Is Reviewed

2010-06-20T01:25:00.001-07:00

The first review of Where The Heart Is is now up. It's reviewed by the inimitable Des Lewis here. He has good things to say about the anthology, including 'Winter's End.' At least, I think so... Des has such an idiosyncratic view of the world it's sometimes hard to tell! 'Winter's End' is reviewed on the second 'page', for anyone who wants to see.

Never Again

2010-06-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

I've been accepted for a few anthologies this year, but none I'm prouder to be included in than this:

Never Again is an attempt to voice the collective revulsion of writers in the weird fiction genre against political attitudes that stifle compassion and deny our collective human inheritance. The imagination is crucial to an understanding both of human diversity and of common ground. Weird fiction is often stigmatised as a reactionary and ignorant genre - we know better. The anthology will be published by Gray Friar Press in September 2010, and edited by Allyson Bird and Joel Lane.

It will be a mixture of original stories and reprints from Ramsey Campbell, Lisa Tuttle and Joe R. Lansdale amongst others. Never Again is a non-profit initiative aimed at promoting awareness of these issues among readers and writers of weird fiction. The editors, authors/artist and publisher will receive no fees for this work. Any profits made from sales will be donated to anti-racist or human rights organizations, e.g. The Sophie Lancaster Foundation.

The Sophie Lancaster case was one of the most revolting crimes I've ever encountered, and there are few things that fill me with greater loathing than fascism or racism. Or homophobia, for that matter. Prejudice and hatred based on ethnicity or sexuality is contemptible and pathetic. The political organisations that attempt to exploit those impulses and gain power from them- such as the BNP under the repulsive bigot Nick Griffin- are the vilest of the vile and must be defeated.

I'm delighted to announce that my story 'Malachi'- first published in my collection A Hazy Shade Of Winter- is to be included in Never Again. I hope you'll buy the anthology, because the money you spend on it will go to as just and worthy a cause as you could hope to find.

A Short Silly Post For Cate Gardner

2010-06-13T04:53:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post to tell the world what the rest of us already know about what happens wherever Cate goes:

Thank you for your attention.

Shameless Pluggage #2: The End Of The Line

2010-06-10T22:49:00.000-07:00

Back again, this time to let you know about The End Of The Line, another anthology I'll be popping up in down the line (as it were). This one comes to you courtesy of those fine people at Solaris Books and discerning editor Jonathan Oliver.

An anthology of Underground horror.

In deep tunnels something stirs, borne on a warm breath of wind, reeking of diesel and blood. The spaces between stations hold secrets too terrible for the upper world to comprehend and the steel lines sing with the songs of the dead.

Jonathan Oliver has collected together some of the very best in new horror writing in an themed anthology of stories set on, and around, the Underground, the Metro and other places deep below.

My story 'The Sons Of The City' will be in there alongside stories from Gary McMahon, Adam Nevill, Joel Lane, Mark Morris, Christopher Fowler, Stephen Volk, Al Ewing and many more besides, including the great Ramsey Campbell.

Due for release November 15th 2010, and all for £7.99. What else can you get for that kind of money that'll give you that much pleasure? Er... don't answer that. (Especially not with 'the new Dan Brown book', or I'll have to hunt you down and kill you.)

Available for pre-order here.

Shameless Pluggage #1: Where The Heart Is

2010-06-10T01:32:00.000-07:00

First up is this nice little anthology from Gray Friar Press, those lovely people who also brought you Pictures Of The Dark. Hint hint.

Take an alternative tour of Great Britain . . .

Writers are often told to write about what they know best . . . and what do they know better than their own homes? In this anthology, 19 fine authors of dark fiction reveal some of the less palatable elements of their native environments.

My story 'Winter's End' appears herein, alongside work by Stephen Volk, Rhys Hughes, Gary McMahon, Joel Lane, Paul Finch, Gary Fry, D F Lewis, Andrew Hook, Allen Ashley, Stuart Young, Simon Kurt Unsworth, Carole Johnstone, Michelle James, Stephen Bacon, John Travis, Mark Patrick Lynch, Mark West, Mike O'Driscoll

Edited by that very nice chap, Gary Fry.

In stock and shipping now.

Where The Heart Is is available to buy here.

Yeah, I'm back

2010-06-10T01:26:00.000-07:00

Hello there. Just to let you know I've not dropped dead. Just been snowed under with work- two stories to proofread, another one to write and then amend, and of course that bloody novel ain't gonna write itself. Oh, yes, and there's that day job...

Anyway. Another reason is that there were various things to blog about and I couldn't decide what to do first- projects to plug, the novel to waffle on and pontificate about, and no, Cate, I haven't forgotten I promised to tell all (well, most- OK, some) about WHC in Brighton, even if it is two months on. We get there in the end...

More shortly.

A Brief Moment Of Pure Geekiness

2010-04-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

Having finally watched the Dr Who episode with the Daleks in WW2 last night, on iPlayer, I'd just like to say that the new design is, to put it politely, godawful.

Hunchbacked. Daleks. They look like the latest variant of the Toyota Aygo. No, no, and NO. Whichever donkey-tromboning prat thought this one up needs shooting, and quite urgently. It is the Windows Vista of Dalek design; misconceived and truly naff. Please reboot. Please.

Houses On The Borderland

2010-04-17T01:02:00.001-07:00

This is just a quick one, as I try to shake off the melancholia of both Rockworld and, a few days later, the inimitable Pete Steele of Type O Negative going west in the same week (c'mon, Death, couldn't you have taken Robbie Williams instead? Or how about Simon Cowell? Better yet- Michael Bay. Please take that soulless void of directing non-talent. And then flush. Don't forget to spray air-freshener)...

Ahem. Sorry. I said this would be quick, didn't I?

Some of you might remember the BFS anthology Houses On The Borderland, which came out back in 2008. It included some damn good stories from some damn good writers- Allen Ashley, Paul Finch, David A. Riley and Gary Fry- and also a novella of mine called The School House. All in all a very strong line-up of fiction, plus I don't think I've made any secret of the fact that this novella was, and is, very close to my heart, possibly one of the most personal things I've ever written, so it was a crying shame that the anthology seemed to sink without trace. As Oscar Wilde said, there's only one thing worse than being talked about, and that's not being talked about.

All of which is a long-winded preamble to the following: two reviews of Houses On The Borderland have just come out, one on Tales From The Black Abyss and another over at Hellnotes. Cheers to both Colin Leslie and Mario Guslandi for their kind words.

If any of the above piques your interest, you can buy the anthology here. It's always worth supporting the fine organisation that is the BFS.

And that's it from me. Have a nice weekend. Over and out!

Rockworld Mon Amour

2010-04-13T12:42:00.001-07:00

Something I love died today.

Not someone, not a living creature- at least not a thing with body organs or hair or warm blood. But something I loved, nonetheless.

Jilly's, aka Rockworld, has closed its doors for the last time.

That might not mean a great deal to many of you; if you don't live in Manchester, it probably means nothing at all. But if you do...

Rockworld was the place to go when I was a teenager. It was where you went to hear heavy metal, goth (that's the real stuff like the Sisters Of Mercy, Fields Of The Nephilim et al, not faux-shocking mummy's-boy poseurs like Marilyn fucking Manson), hard rock, and in more recent years, new wave and 80s alternative. You know- all the stuff that never got played at the parties everyone else went to, or on Radio One. Or Galaxy bloody 102 (or Chav FM as I always called it)

Rockworld was a place to go for people who had a mind of their own, who didn't run wholly with the herd, and were looking for the like-minded. Like the New Model Army song says: 'looking for family, looking for tribe.' And a lot of them found it. Two of my friends getting married this year met in Rockworld. Countless friendships and- erm- romances came out of there. And even at its busiest and most heaving, you want to know how many fights I saw in all my years going there?

None. Zilch. Nada.

It was somewhere to go where you knew you could have a fun and varied night out- three and in later years four rooms, each playing something different. But I guess it wasn't enough for some people. There just weren't enough people going in there. And that, to me, is one of the saddest things of all.

It genuinely feels like a bereavement- something is gone and leaves a hole, an absence behind. The loss is sometimes too vast to feel, and so it hits you over and over again every few seconds as something makes you re-register that it's gone. There's no way of making it leave; all you can do, if you're lucky, is forget about it for a few minutes. And then something reminds you and it's back all over again. It hurts, and the hurt won't go away. Eventually it'll fade a little. The hole will heal up, but there'll always be a scar.

That's OK, though, because without the scar you might forget it was ever there. And that would be the worst of all.

I thought I'd have more to say about this, and maybe one day I will. In the end though, all I've got to say boils down to this:

Something I loved died today.

So here's a song for everyone who ever went there, and everyone who, even just for one night, felt like they were home. In Rockworld, Mon Amour.

Best Horror Of The Year #2- Recommended Reading

2010-04-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

The lovely Ms Ellen Datlow of New York, New York has published her Honourable Mentions list over on LiveJournal. Worth perusing in full if you're looking for some pointers of what to read in horror...

But if you're too lazy to bother, here's the bit you really wanted to know about ;)

Bestwick, Simon “Drop Dead Gorgeous,” Pictures of the Dark.
Bestwick, Simon “Never Say Goodbye,” Pictures of the Dark.
Bestwick, Simon “The Proving Ground,” Ibid.
Bestwick, Simon “Jindivik,” Ibid.
Bestwick, Simon “Red Light,” Ibid.
Bestwick, Simon “The Hours of the Dead,” Ibid.
Bestwick, Simon “The Loving of Ghosts,” Ibid.
Bestwick, Simon “The Suicide Chairs,” Apparitions.
Bestwick, Simon“ From Those Dark Waters, Where Lost Bones Lie,” Ibid.

Very, very happy with this.

We know return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

A Short Blog About (Re)Writing

2010-04-04T04:28:00.000-07:00

No, I haven't forgotten about the WHC stuff, don't worry. I'll be sticking the next load up at some point, honestly. I'm just a tad busy right now. But not so busy as not to tell you about it.

A couple of my fellow writers, Gary McMahon and Conrad Williams, are blogging about their works-in-progress, and the rather wonderful Cate Gardner (who will soon have her first collection out, guys, so keep your eyes open for it) does so on a regular basis. So might as well jump on the bandwagon...

Somebody once said that writing is rewriting. He or she was right, at least when it comes to novels. You might remember The Song Of The Sibyl, first draft of which was completed back in February. Rewriting is now underway. Here's how it works- at least for this author.

Hunter S. Thompson once said that good writing is all about taking notes. A certain number of notes, musings, bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, have to be jotted down before the story you're telling comes to life and you know how to write the first lines. Next, generally- once the first chapter or two has been roughed out- comes the outline, the plan, i.e. your attempt to con yourself into believing that you have an idea, however vague, of what the hell you're doing and more to the point, where the hell all this is going.

Once that's done, most of the work tends to be showing up- you just write the next right thing and carry on, crossing off the points on the outline one by one. And along the way, you're taking more notes. About stuff that's to happen later on- all the really interesting stuff that's not in the outline, because you didn't know anything about it till you got your characters acting and reacting and talking to each other. Some writers claim not to like writing but to love having written. Never understood that. The actual process of writing, of feeling all these unknown elements flow through you and create something new and (hopefully) vital and interesting, is a blast. Like exercise, maybe- at first you have to force yourself to do it, but once you're underway it's just great and you get used to it, hate doing without it.

Other notes are about things you need to check up on. You know, boring stuff like research. I used to hate that. Now it's interesting. Generally, do the bare minimum before you start, or don't do any at all and wing it. Apart from anything else, once you've finished you'll have a much better idea of what actually needs to be researched. The first draft is the raw material, the framework. The second draft is where salvation lies; the second draft is where you fix things. And you'll find lots of things to fix.

As well as research, there are additional characters who pop up and then vanish, whose little stories need finishing. There are passages where you're telling people what's happened, rather than showing it. There are recurring themes, little subplots that spring into being and have been imperfectly realised, because you can't focus on everything at once in first draft- you have to keep forging ahead and lay the basic framework of the novel- and again, they have to be made complete.

This one's a case in point. Basically, it's got pretty massive, major things happening. Another apocalypse, in a nutshell. And there's chaos, and madness, and suffering and death. All that stuff. It's pretty big and epic. And it's all seen through the eyes of one character, who has a lot of psychological problems to begin with and who also, as the novel progresses, sees ghosts, has visions and generally has quite a few episodes where the reality of what she's experiencing is, well, open to question. All that and, of course, there are other characters in the story, each with their own agendas, their own missions, obsessions, wants.

So on the one hand there's one story, but on the other it's made up of a multitude of others, each of which has to be got just right. This means more and more notes- notes about what needs doing, and how. At first a blizzard of random scribblings, they then get typed up and start getting sorted into order, under different headings. And then, finally, each separate section needs to be looked at and the changes broken down into a series of concrete, specific steps.

There are now 42 pages of notes on The Song Of The Sibyl, and the things that need to be done. It's grown steadily over the last week, not shrunk. But now the first of the changes are being put into place. Please god, let them start to shrink now.

Once that's done, here's still the task of visiting a lot of the locations used in the novel and getting things... just right. Oh, and then, finally, the task of going through the manuscript- which was 171,151 words in first draft, is now a couple of thousand words longer and will be god alone knows how long when all of this is done- and cutting, cutting, cutting. The most famous of White & Strunk's rules- 'omit needless words'. You don't realise how many words you can do without until you get to this point. Alan Garner, of course, is the king of that.

All this has to be done, bear in mind, while still holding down a day job.

So if you run into me and I look a bit tired, dazed and like I might not be quite all there (in the sense of living wholly in the same world as you) hopefully, by now, you should have some idea why.

So much for this being a short blog...

Have a happy Easter, everybody.

Well, There's A Big Fekking Surprise

2010-03-31T07:51:00.001-07:00

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/21/20100331/tuk-policeman-cleared-of-g20-assault-6323e80.html

Goodness. A policeman assaults a member of the public- an unarmed woman, smacking her across the face and whacking her with a riot baton, and he's cleared of assault. What a shock that wasn't.

Oh, and the first fuckwitted brainwashed prick to post on here that 'these protesters bring it on themselves by protesting/being unwashed communists/whatever'... can just fuck off. Fuck right off the planet and keep on fucking.

No- wait. First, google 'Second World War' and remind yourselves exactly what so many soldiers from this country died for. Google 'trade unions' as well, 'Tolpuddle Martyrs' in particular, because you're probably the same dickheads talking bullshit about the BA strikes, just to remind yourself how many rights and freedoms that you have that are owed to them.

And then fuck off.

WHC 2010- Part The First

2010-03-29T11:15:00.000-07:00

Right, here it begins. I made a promise to the lovely Cate Gardner (yes, that's her over there) to blog about World Horror 2010, and I always keep my promises, especially to women who have Colin Firth chained up in their basements. Thusly and heretofore, the first instalment:

The convention started on Thursday 25th, but the preamble to it was pretty entertaining too, so I thought I'd shoehorn that in and all. So, here goes...

Wednesday 24th
The calm before the storm, the day before the Con.

Finish work at 12.30 and head for home with plans to carefully pack stuff and get the house reasonably tidy for soon-to-be new housemate who’ll be moving stuff in over the coming weekend. Fail miserably and veg out in front of the internet connection for several hours, throwing everything together at the last minute and dashing for Swinton train station. Catch the train with literally seconds to spare and buy return ticket to Leeds- home of the lovely Gary and Emily McMahon, with whom Your Humble Author is hitching a ride- changing at Salford Crescent and then at Oxford Road. Once in Leeds, all that’s required is a simple phone call to Gary who’ll pick me up at the station. Simple as clockwork and smooth as glass.

Yeah, right.

At Salford Crescent the unwelcome discovery is made that the mobile phone has been left back at Castle Bestwick.

Oh shit.

Too late, though, to turn back now. We are now committed to the path.

The plan was to work on the rewrite notes for The Song Of The Sibyl en route. No soap as succession of anxiety attacks ensue. In the train carriage are mobiles, mobiles everywhere, nor any one to call on. Fail to work up the nerve to ask a fellow passenger for the loan of theirs. Doesn’t help that I can’t remember Gary’s home or mobile numbers beyond the first four or five digits.

Don’t panic. Remain calm.

Thank god Leeds train station has a payphone. But still no memory of Gary’s phone number. Whose phone do I still remember? Calls follow to: Joel Lane (answering machine), Paul Finch (doesn’t have Gary’s number but will try and find Gary Fry of Gray Friar Press’ number as he’s good mates with Gary Mc- are you getting confused yet? Imagine what it was like at this end) and then Bernard, my neighbour back in Swinton (sheer desperation is kicking in by now) who got on with Gary last time he was up my way and became friends with him on Facebook…

Finally another call to Joel gets through and, just as all hope is about to be abandoned he finds Gary’s number. All three mates are automatically owed a pint.

Ring Gary, who’s been ringing my mobile in the growing conviction that he’ll have to pay half the parking fees when he gets to Brighton rather than only a third (private joke). He hoots with laugher and informs me that my life is a cross between a tragedy and a farce.

Thanks, mate. I think.

Back to Gary’s for corned beef sandwiches, coffee, and a late-night viewing of the brilliant Harlan Ellison documentary Dreams With Sharp Teeth. Brilliant stuff, with both of us nodding along and uttering heartfelt agreements with virtually everyone of the great man’s pronouncements on creativity, writing, and life in general. We are, truly, not worthy.

And so to bed. Tomorrow, the Con begins.

And may God have mercy on our souls...

Next instalment as soon as I have the time and energy.