We are incredibly pleased to announce that on Saturday September 22 we will celebrate the launch of our second chapbook Thin Men with Yellow Faces by Gary McMahon and Simon Bestwick with a very special event.
The launch event will be taking place at MadLab in Manchester from
6:30pm and will run through to approximately 8:15pm. Of course, no This
Is Horror event is complete without a host and it brings me great
pleasure to inform you that our very own award-winning author, Jasper
Bark will be curating proceedings.
If you’d like to join us for what promises to be a very special evening of horror literature in Manchester then you can buy tickets for just £3 here.
Gary and I will be in the company of Conrad Williams and Ramsey Campbell, which as you can imagine is a rather proud moment...
Full details at This Is Horror.
Author and Scriptwriter
'Among the most important writers of contemporary British horror.' -Ramsey Campbell
Wednesday 29 August 2012
Monday 13 August 2012
Flying
I've kept putting off updating this blog, but I think this is a damn good reason. I could just say that the ever-reigning Cate has said this better than I ever could, but that'd be cheating. So here goes.
I am no longer single. Over a decade of flying solo has come to an end. Symptoms include memory loss, inability to perform simple tasks, staring off into the distance as if on drugs, grinning like an idiot and a constant urge to catch a train to Liverpool.
It's like the benign cousin of grief; grief has a way of hitting you all over again, as you realise who or what you've lost. This is different, happy instead of sad; it's like every few minutes I realise who I've gained. I keep expecting it to turn out to be a dream or a misunderstanding, or wondering what I did right and how I could have lucked into this.
The bottom line? Yesterday I changed my Facebook relationship status to read '...in a relationship with Cate Gardner.'
I can't remember the last time I felt this happy, and I don't think I could feel happier if I tried.
I may not be flying solo anymore, but I still feel like I'm flying.
I am no longer single. Over a decade of flying solo has come to an end. Symptoms include memory loss, inability to perform simple tasks, staring off into the distance as if on drugs, grinning like an idiot and a constant urge to catch a train to Liverpool.
It's like the benign cousin of grief; grief has a way of hitting you all over again, as you realise who or what you've lost. This is different, happy instead of sad; it's like every few minutes I realise who I've gained. I keep expecting it to turn out to be a dream or a misunderstanding, or wondering what I did right and how I could have lucked into this.
The bottom line? Yesterday I changed my Facebook relationship status to read '...in a relationship with Cate Gardner.'
I can't remember the last time I felt this happy, and I don't think I could feel happier if I tried.
I may not be flying solo anymore, but I still feel like I'm flying.
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