Goodbye, 2018, Hello 2019...

I love this picture far too much not to use it again.

So... whew. It's really strange to think another year's passed already. But it has, and now we're nearing the end of the first day of 2019.

364 of them to go.

Some people are dismissive about New Year's Resolutions. I'm not: this is the perfect time to look back on what you've achieved, and look ahead to where you want to be.

I wrote a novel this year, and a play, and several short stories. I saw another novel into print, plus a mini-collection and (with Penny Jones) a chapbook. I saw a novelette published by Tor.com; I saw my fiction published in major anthologies, reprinted in The Best of the Best Horror of the Year.

Cate and I celebrated our second year of marriage, and our sixth year together.

I got to see Laura Mauro win a totally unexpected (on her part) and hugely well-deserved award for Looking For Laika.

I helped start up something new: Shock Against Racism, raising money to combat racism and the far-right.

I discovered a new sense of purpose in my writing, one I thought I'd lost.

So, for 2019, what do I want to strive for? Where do I want to be?

I still want the dusk. I still want to be able to earn my living doing what I love. Time is short, for all of us. God alone knows what the next year will bring, for the world at large and for the UK in particular. I want that time to count, to be spent doing the stuff I care about and that I was put here to do.

I'm still hoping against hope that we'll find a way to halt the national insanity that is Brexit before this deranged suicide cult screws us for decades to come. (Even if we do, there'll still be divisions, but you know what? Maybe, just maybe, it's exposed the hatred and ugly-mindedness that's festered so long in our country. We can't be in denial about those things any more. And yes, I know that not every Leave voter did so out of bigotry, but don't tell me that there isn't a sewer of racism, small-minded, mean-spirited spite and cruelty running through our public life and our national culture. Maybe, now it's publicly on display, we can hope to recognise it and drain it. Crazily optimistic? Yes, but you've got have some hope.)

I want to see a change of government too. So I'm going to try and be more politically active in both those causes in the coming year.

This year, I'm going to write the final book in the Black Road series. I'm going to rewrite the one I drafted in 2018, and try to complete, or at least begin, another book after that. I want to start learning how to draw. I want to lose more weight and become fitter and healthier. I want to find more ways to turning what I love to account, so I can spend all my time doing it.

One step I've taken in that direction is to launch a Patreon account. Among other things, I'll be serialising a novel, The Mancunian Candidate, there for my supporters to read. There's a free sample available to read, to whet your appetite.

Let's hope we can get through 2019, that the things we fear don't happen and that the things we hope for do. Let's hope we're all still here at the end of 2019, and that things are better for us than they were at the start.

Good luck, everybody.

See you soon.

Nice Things of the Week Saturday 17th June Part Two: First Anniversary, Death By Water and Tor.com...

And on a more personal note...


Last month, the ever-reignng Cate and I celebrated our first year of marriage. My anniversary present to her was a weekend away in Barmouth, in a lovely 17th century cottage. The other night my parents came over and Dad got talking about his childhood in Barmouth. We showed him a picture of the place where we stayed... and it only turned out to be my great-grandparents' old home.


Also, a couple of sales.

My short story 'The Tarn' will be published in The Beauty of Death 2: Death By Water, due out from Independent Legions Publishing this autumn. The TOC is still being finalised, but thus far includes Ramsey Campbell, Peter Straub, Adam Nevill, Lucy Snyder and many more.

Last and MOST DEFINITELY NOT least... (can we have a drum roll and maybe a fanfare please, maestro...)

My novelette Breakwater has been acquired by the mighty Ellen Datlow for Tor.com and will be published in 2018!

TOR. DOT. COM.

There are really no words to describe how delighted I am about this.

Many thanks (again!) to Ellen, and to all at Tor.

The Day After

Sometimes all you can really do is take one small step, make one small gesture. It's nothing, it's pathetic, nowhere near enough. But it isn't worthless. Because it is a start.

I managed to squeeze out about 500 words yesterday, in between staring in horror at social media and raging in impotent fury while my blood pressure climbed to danger levels. This morning - stepped away from it and listened to some soothing music while picturing peaceful seashore and lakes (yes, really - it actually helped) then started writing again - two scenes of a chapter, then a quick spell on Facebook, rinse and repeat as needed.

Words so far: 750 and climbing. And in a minute or so, I'll add more to the count.

Writing has always been my life-line, what has helped me make sense of and function in this world. It wasn't yesterday's awful news that stopped me writing yesterday: it was whipping my own rage and sorrow to non-stop hysterical fever-pitch on social media.

Tonight, we're seeing some friends. There will be good company. There will be time with my beautiful wife. And in between then, I will carry on writing this novel, getting it finished as soon as I can to as high a standard as I'm capable of. Apart from anything else, I have that cover to live up to.

The worst elements of the political right in Britain have won a victory. (And I know not everyone voted Leave for right-wing/racist reasons, but nonethless the result has redounded to the advantage of those people.) These snakes have fucked up many good things and will despoil far more before we're able to put an end to their evil, but we will. I hope. I'm trying to believe that we're better than I fear.

In the meantime, today, the one victory I can deny them is this: I will write. I will continue to create. It is not enough. It is very little. But it's the one thing I can stop them taking away at this moment.

The Reapers in the Black Road embody all I hate and despise: authoritarianism and selfishness, cruelty and contempt towards the powerless. They're what happens when you give people like Gove, Farage, IDS and Theresa May guns and absolute power. In the world I've created, at least, they will be fought. And with luck, they will be destroyed.

May the same befall they and all their kind in real life too.

ETA: Final word count: 3,277

The work goes on.

Things of the Week: 26th May 2016

So this week has principally been about Getting Back Into The Groove.


Cate had another week off work after the honeymoon, allowing us to relax a little... and to get on with stuff like writing thank you notes (a lot of them!) and, among other things, buying a new bed! (Our existing one is a cheapo model with a knackered mattress.) Thanks to all the people whose gifts have made that possible.

Cate and I both decided recently to work together at losing weight and getting into better physical shape; that was after I was referred for a talk on bariatric surgery (aka weight-loss surgery) at the end of March. We both came away with a strong 'HELL NO' attitude to it, but if anything it made us more committed to living healthier lives. And it's been working. A couple of years ago, I was 24 stone (that's 336 pounds, to US readers) and had managed to drop to about 23, but my weight was stuck around there. By the time we got married, I was down to 22 stone.

Then came the honeymoon, and there was a lot of going out for meals and eating that extremely nice ice cream they do in Barmouth. By the time we got home, we'd both some - but by no means all - of the weight back on.

Initially I tried to go straight back to counting calories, keeping to 1800 or less a day. Didn't work; I kept getting hungry between meals, craving sweets and treats. So I indulged myself. A little. Not as much. But bit by bit, I've eased myself back into my old routine.

Today, I weighed myself, and for the first time in years, I'm under 22 stone. Okay, 21 stone, 13 and a quarter pounds, but psychologically speaking, that's a big milestone. Next target - 21 stone and less than ten pounds. Then less than 21 and a half stone. And so on. Baby steps. They work.

They work with the writing, too. While I'm still able to write full-time, I need to make every day count. That means not only Devil's Highway and the remaining Black Road novels, but short stories and a couple of other WIPs that I'm struggling to find time to work on, not to mention the 'admin' side of things - everything from finding writing markets for stories and submitting them, to putting together a list of my short stories for my agent, doing something about a tribute anthology I inherited, booking tickets for a show, applying for grants and bursaries, writing some spec non-fiction articles... all the little bits of stuff that need doing but keep getting put off because of the big tasks.

That meant working out a schedule for the day that would let me do all those things. But, like the dieting, you can't just impose a whole new regime at once - not least because I have to type up Devil's Highway from the dictated recordings in order to rewrite it, and that's a big job, still ongoing. But bit by bit, I'm getting there. Baby steps again. And the work is getting done.

Albeit slowly, and not without stress. Just this morning, I found the end of one chapter missing. I know I recorded it, but the file isn't where it's supposed to be. It might be on the old laptop, if I can get the damned thing running again. If not... well, I'll try not to panic. Get it typed up, then write in any missing bits. One problem at a time.

But as, piece by piece, the story materialises in concrete form, I find I'm getting excited about it again, remembering why Helen and Gevaudan and the rest got my interest in the first place. My only worry is how little time I've left myself to get everything fixed and ready. All hands to the pump.

I got in touch with my agent on my return; he's reading Black Mountain and enjoying it, which is good news! He'll have some notes soon, and hopefully a way forward for Mynydd Du to rise once more. In addition, I need to put together a full listing of all my short fiction for him... (see 'Admin') My Dad's reading Black Mountain too, mainly to make sure I haven't screwed up monumentally with my Welsh. Apparently he's enjoying it as well, though, even though he's not particularly a horror fan...

The final piece of news is a sadder one: Gary Fry today announced that, after over a decade, he is closing down Gray Friar Press.  Gary is, and has been from the word go, a class act. I have him to thank for publishing two of my story collections, Pictures Of The Dark and The Condemned, and it was also down to him that my short story 'The Moraine' first saw print (later to be reprinted in Ellen Datlow's Best Horror Of The Year.

 I'm just one of numerous authors given a break and a start by Gary. He's also been an absolute model of how to run a small press: when the printing firm Biddles went into administration, making it cost-ineffective to proceed with the hardback of The Condemned, he promptly refunded those who'd pre-ordered it, offered them copies of the paperback and also provided them with a PDF of the additional story the hardback should have included. On top of that, he took the hit caused by the money lost, while still paying me the full royalties owing for the book.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done.

Gray Friar has been a solid bulwark of the UK small press, and it's very sad to see it go. Here's to Gary and all he does in the future.

And on that note.... have a good weekend, folks.

Things of the Last Two Weeks (Part One): 19th May 2016

Well, I'm back. Sorry the blog's been a tad quiet, and for the absence of The Lowdown. It returns tomorrow, all being well.

Still, there's a pretty good excuse for the long hush: Cate and I finally got married on Saturday 7th May this year. The following Monday we were off on our honeymoon to Barmouth, which we got back from a couple of days ago.

Cate mentioned a friend of hers saying 'I needed a holiday to get over the holiday!' and in the best possible way, I think I know what they meant. Returning to normality is a slow process after a week or so like that.

We were told to enjoy every moment of our wedding day, as it all went by so fast. And it did. And at the same time, it seemed to last forever - again, in the nicest possible way. My face hurt from all the smiling. Family and friends were there, and a lot of writers. God knows how many horror stories we've inspired. One day I'll have to write about it myself - make sure it's all immortalised in prose.

We took a moment, too, to remember Cate's Mum Pauline, and Joel Lane, who would have been our

best man: special thanks to Bernard, who did that job on the day, and to the one and only John Llewellyn Probert for reading a short extract from one of Joel's works. I could go on and on about all the different people who made the day so special, like our bridesmaids Amy and Becky, or... but I'm going to stop there now, because I'll end up leaving someone off! But thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who came. It was a special day.

The honeymoon was lovely too - on past trips to Barmouth we've been cursed with some grotty weather, but that week was glorious. I'm tanned several shades darker than I was before - or at least my face and forearms are! So we walked along the beach, spent a lot of times in the beautiful cafes on the Quay, like Davy Jones' Locker and The Anchor, spent even more time in various gift shops (Cate) and second hand bookshops (both of us), and spent most evenings in the restaurants - The Captain's Table and (again) The Anchor being two particular standouts. If you're ever in Barmouth, those are both great places to eat.

They're even naming drinks after my stuff now....

We made a couple of day trips, to Porthmadog and Bala, and on the second actually found a bottle of liqueur called Black Mountain, aka Mynydd Du!

The day before we left, we went to St Mary's Church at Llanaber, where my gran is buried, to pay our respects and put some flowers on the grave. Daft, I know, but I find myself talking to her, even though she isn't there. She worried, I think, in her last years, that I was never going to get married or settle down with anyone. I wish she and Cate could have met - they'd have loved one another to bits.

We walked back from Llanaber, over the railway tracks and down the full length of the prom, which, be assured, is a bloody long way, especially in hot weather. Luckily, the Quay also boasts an ice-cream parlour called Knickerbocker's, which was a pretty good motivator. On the way there, we actually bumped into the registrar who'd married us, who was spending the weekend on the coast...!

So, a lovely day and a lovely honeymoon. And I'm a very happy man. Hopefully Cate's an equally happy lady. I love her very much and hope for many happy, healthy and prosperous years with her.

Here's some music, because for some bizarre reason this seems to be the song that sums up the whole thing for me. (Cate will probably think otherwise, but even the happiest marriage has the odd disagreement.) ;)

 Peace and love to all,

Simon x

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Things Of The Week: 3rd May 2016

Paul Pinn

Well, only another four days until I'm a married man. People keep asking me if I'm excited, but I'm not, particularly. Not yet. Things like this tend not to really start kicking in for me until the day itself. At which point I will become a gibbering wreck.

The project I mentioned went off to a writer friend who'd done a lot more work in that vein... and came back with multiple footnotes and, basically, instructions to fix the hell out of this. Which is fine, and as it should be. Obviously (like most writers) I would have preferred something along the lines of 'OMG YOU ARE A GENIUS AND I AM NOT WORTHY'... but you have to earn such things. Maybe I will, or (more likely) a 'yep, this is okay.'

Writing is a constant learning curve, and different forms of it - plays, screenplays, poems, novels - all have different rules and disciplines. It took a lot of hard work and failed attempts to make the jump from writing short fiction to writing novels that didn't gargle donkey balls. Likewise this. There will be failures, problems to fix, lessons to learn...

And that will be good. You have to get outside the comfort zone to do anything worth while.

On a related note, I've been recovering my short story mojo over the last few days. Partly that's to do with the short story 'And Ashes In Her Hair' written for a project in memory of Joel Lane; it may also be to do with a recent interview I did with Graham Masterton (the first part of which will be online later today) on, among other things, the writing process. Anyway, I was approaching the deadline for a story I'd been asked for, so I buckled down and wrote it. I've been heavily focused on planning out my work before writing it over the last year or so - it's been a very useful discipline with regard to novel-writing - but I think it's actually become counter-productive with short stories (although it has helped in the past.) So I dived in. And wrote an 8,000 word story over Friday and Saturday. Then a 3,000 word story on Sunday.  And, this morning, a 2,700 word story.

There was sadder news this week though; I learned yesterday that the author Paul Pinn, who
produced some of the best horror fiction of the 1990s, usually in the small press of that period, passed away earlier this year from cancer. Paul was an incredibly nice guy and a hugely talented writer; I'll be producing a fuller tribute to him soon. In the meantime, let me commend his first story collection, Scattered Remains, to your attention.