Drinks with Dylan.

5th Avenue is alive with Christmas shoppers. We join the crowds and head uptown after a NY breakfast of eggs, bacon and home fries. Passing through Macy’s (which takes a couple of hours) we join the throng of people moving from store to store. All the names are here and we make it is as far as Abercrombie & Fitch, where they play music so loud you feel more like you are in a night club than a shop. It’s dark, thumping, hot and sweaty with frantic shoppers desperate to buy a piece of Americana. I think I prefer John Lewis.
Dinner that night is back at the White Horse which is becoming a bit of a local. Madame Vin has researched the bar and found out that this was the place that Dylan Thomas drank himself to death. It seems to have had a rich and colourful past and though now nothing more than a good local it still feels as if some of its liberal disestablishment past is written into the walls.

Retail Therapy and Monsters

Awoke very early as my body clock asserts that it is time to get going but the clock tells me it is only six in the morning. Whereas yesterday had been golden with sun today is muggy, grey and foggy. Not really having the clothes for that sort of thing I sweat around the stores of Fifth Avenue, but Madame Vin is very happy with all of her purchases. I buy some more jumpers and head back to the apartment to drop them off before heading uptown. I want to see Beowulf, the Neil Gaiman co-written animation at the Imax and in 3D. Last year we saw Superman in 3D in San Francisco, but this film is something else. The whole film is 3D and the world of 5th century Norse lands open up on a screen three storeys high. Swords, axes, arrows, dragons and Angelena Jolie’s breasts fly from the screen, causing you to duck or grab depending on what affronts you.
The movie is good, the story lengthened and added to from the original. Though the accents are all over the place (I’ve come to kill ur mawnster!) and the horses waddle rather than run, the action is none stop and thoroughly enjoyable. Perhaps have hit on a new vein of entertainment in the rewriting of 5th century myths.
After the movie we return to the Meat Packing district and dine at Nero’s which is great food but so dark inside I nearly eat my neighbours’ meal by mistake. Finish the evening at the White Horse with a pint of Samuel Adams.

Hello New York!

Travelled to upstate New Jersey, the route passing through an industrial scarred land, populate by blast furnaces and large corporate buildings interspersed with wasteland given back to nature.
About thirty minutes out of New York you hit the wooded hills of Harriman State Park, now a riot of auburn and russet as the trees desperately try to hold on to the last of their leaves.
We are visiting Woodbury Common, a Mecca amongst Mecca’s for discount shopping. It is the ultimate American dream with row upon row of shops selling high end goods at knock down prices. It is also a very good place to purchase socks, which I did, along with a jumper.
That evening, back in Greenwich Village, drained of all commercial industry we went to a great bar on Bleeker St. that served ale including Speckled Hen which Madame Vin dabbled in. Had pizza at John’s, an old dive that apparently serves some of the best pizza in NY.

'The Missing', is to be Published!

Well some good news was had very recently when I received an email from Libros International. They have decided to publish 'The Missing', so hopefully it will be hitting a book shop near you soon. No publication date has been set as of yet and I'll update you when I find out more information.

It's early days yet, with contracts and marketing details to sort out but it has made me feel all beam-ey and twinkle eyed. I always knew it was a good story, I just had to put in enough work to make it seem real and and get the flow of the story correct. If nothing else it's given me the confidence to crack on with the new work.

I'm in New York next week, hitting the sales and making use of their dollars which are worth so little in real money. I'll post photos and a run down on what we did when I get back.

It's alive, alive!

It’s been a quiet last few weeks but that means I’ve been able to get plenty of writing done and have already reached the 200 page mark. The book and the story have been growing in all directions and to have generated a life of its own. What started life in my mind as a small children’s book with several illustrations has now become something more complex, darker and yet far more interesting. That’s the great thing about writing; you never quite know where a story is going to take you until you put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). I still hope to have the first draft done by Christmas but what with visits from family and New York looming that might be a tall order.

The other good thing about it being so quiet is that I’ve managed to knock a few books off the reading pile.

In the Night Room – Thinner than ‘The Black House’ and having lost his writing partner this is Peter Straub’s work that deals with some of the same themes. In the novel Willy Patrick’s life has become a dream come true, she has just won a prestigious writing award and is about to marry a handsome rich man, following the murder of her first husband and daughter. But problems arise because Willy starts to hear her daughter calling for her in the night.
At the same time Tim Underhill, another writer is haunted by the death of his sister many years earlier and he has started to receive emails from people who should be dead. Then he meets Willy Patrick, which is strange because she is the character he has created for his new novel.
The idea of writing and the relationship a writer has with his creations has been done before, but Straub colours it dark and mysterious. His writing style is quick and furious, and though the story takes several pages to get going it’s a thrill of a ride, where even the reader is unsure as to what is real and what is not. He also uses some excellent typography devices within the structure of the novel.

The Big Over Easy – I haven’t read a Jasper Fforde for several years but once again he had taken something that at first sounds ill suited to a novel and turned it on its head with hilarious results.
Nursery celebrity Humpty Stuyesant Van Dumpty III, is found shattered at the foot of his wall with all evidence pointing at his ex-wife. Detective Jack Spratt and his new assistant are not so sure she’s responsible and start to investigate while getting on the nerves of the rest of the Reading Police Department.
Many authors have tried to ape (Orangutan-ed?) Pratchett’s satirical style and nearly always failed. Fforde manages something similar but retains his own voice, ideas and humour.

Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War – What a fantasy novel should be. No rehashing of old ideas or treading the ground of all that has gone before, but an original and entertainingly dark world created to exist alongside our own. This is book 2 and Candy Quackenbush’s (great name) adventures continue in the Abarat, a world made up of many islands, each stuck at an hour of the day. Christopher Carrion, has sent his henchmen to capture her, but why? Why are they so concerned about a girl from Chickentown and what hill happen when the world she comes from learns about the existence of Abarat. Also the book is wonderfully illustrated in Barker’s bold style. If you can make sure you get a hard back copy.

****
My only other request this week is that if you get the chance click on the below link and help feed the world.

http://www.freerice.com

Even if they don’t hold true to their statement, you’ll learn lots of nice new words so that you can hold your own when next in conversation with Stephen Fry.

****

Read this week:
In the Night Room by Peter Straub
The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde
Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War by Clive Barker

Jack

I was clearing out my metaphysical drawers (hard drive) and found an old short story that hasn't been published anywhere. So I've put it up here. It needs some work, but you get the idea. Enjoy.

Jack

By Adam J. Shardlow


Tobias Small had never accepted that the creature completely owned him. Free will, strength and determination, plus his abounding belief in the power of the Lord, had helped him remain liberated. But the chance to resume the persona for one night, while at the same time bringing a solution to his daughter’s financial circumstances was more than he could resist. Every other avenue had been considered, his thoughts keeping him awake late into the night, while his prayers remaining unanswered. He knew he had no choice.
The creature would once again be unleashed, initiating an evening of panic and mischief. Again the dark muttering in the street of a creature foul and ancient would haunt him and the realisation of what he had done would cause him anguish and a desire to be penitent.
It was time for Springheel Jack to return.
Though the name was still spoken of with due reverence, it was becoming less and less likely to tumble from trembling lips. Instead it had become a story to frighten small children tucked up in bed, a fable of times gone by.
He had kept the monstrous suit, hidden behind a sliding panel in his room, well oiled and maintained; the skin had been repaired when necessary and kept supple. The tightly sprung boots were sound while the mask, with its daemonic grin and painted horns looked as new as the day it had been created from the skull of some lesser creature.
Sometimes at night, from the safety of his bed he could hear the mask calling him, mocking him, daring him to once more wear the outlandish costume and resume the mayhem. But he had been strong and refused to let the devilish creature take full reign and allow wicked thoughts to manifest themselves in his mind.
He was not evil or malicious; in truth he had created Springheel as a way of getting even, a response to all the cruel practical jokes played on him by those who were meant to be his friends. As a scholarship boy at school he had always been treated as an inferior, those with money deemed him nothing more than a servant. They would taunt him with names such as ‘Small Change’ or ‘Small Pockets’, forever mocking his impoverished circumstances.
Standing at the back of church one Sunday, listening to the ranting of the God fearing priest, the idea of Springheel had lurched fully formed into his imagination as if placed their by God himself. Now he knew the idea must have come from the Devil. Born for retribution, Jack was a creature of the night that played on superstitions and fears.
Shrouded in darkness Springheel would launch himself from the rooftops into the path of an unsuspecting witness. He would choose a daughter of his now adult school friends. Landing by her side, the creature would make a great play of screaming and snorting, flexing long bone claws and rolling globulous eyes. Hysterical at the sight of this denizen of hell, the girl would more often than not faint leaving the creature to take a token of appreciation and as witnesses arrived on the scene the monster would leap high into the fog and disappear accompanied only by the sound of malevolent laughter.
The following morning Tobias Small would hide his face in shame and wince at the cries of the barrow boys who hollered the dramatic headlines, ‘The Devil is among us’ or ‘A Daemon in Aldwych’. He knew it was sin, but felt powerless to stop. As Jack he felt more alive and more powerful than those who had once dared to taunt him but at the same time he felt wretched for those he scared and humiliated.
As time wore on he discovered that Jack had only to put in an appearance every few months to keep the stories alive, which grew in stature and detail, until his exploits became penny fictions and Springheel Jack was turned into a mythical apparition, forever on the hunt for the souls of the defenceless.
Lucy, his daughter, had come to him recently with a young looking man in tow to request permission to marry. The boy had spoken nervously of his love for the girl, and his plans for the future. Coming from a good family the marriage seemed suitable but a dowry of some kind would be expected and Small knew he had little to give. Lucy’s heart was set on the union and he hated to think that he might disappoint his only daughter.
He had thought long and hard on the issue and it was late at night, just before sleep claimed him that he once more heard the voice of Jack. The creature reminded him that it was perfectly able to get into the houses of the rich, and in return for a night of mischief, money or goods could be found to pay for the wedding. For Small, the chance to revive the daemon became irresistible.

***

He wore the suit under his work clothes and walked to the house. He did not wish to be spotted too early and risk a hue and cry. Small had selected his target carefully; a wealthy American doctor by the name of John Chalice had a practise in Belgravia. He spent a good portion of his time abroad, travelling Europe with his property locked tight but empty. It would be little trouble to Springheel to fashion entry through a skylight and under the cover of darkness search the doctor’s house for loot.
Later, having completed the crime, Springheel would dance between the chimneys pots and roof tops, while Small would await the morning headlines with dread.
In a small park where the tall trees shivered in the breeze, Small removed his outer garments and retrieved from his bag the long fingered claws, the short cape shaped into the wings of a bat and the mask of the daemon. Hidden from prying eyes, he placed each item reverently upon himself and Springheel Jack was released.
***
It stood for a moment, a night prowler tasting the air, deep ruby eyes open wide, nostril flared while sniffing. Content that it was alone, it moved with an outlandish grace into the open where it bends slowly, its hideous countenance turned to the sky. It took two tiny steps as if testing the ground and then launched itself free of the earth. Air rushed past the creature, arms out for balance, cloak stretched tight like rodent wings, it fires upwards in a parabola, legs bent as if a hawk coming in for the kill.
Reaching the zenith it alters position, aiming for a rooftop, a small alteration and it lands. Silhouetted against the night sky the creature freezes into position, its shadow takes on that of an ancient gargoyle that looks out on the brick and stone of the great city.
It moves now, carefully inching its way up the roof line towards a small set of windows that are dark within. It dances with cat like precision, tentatively testing each roof tile for fault before placing weight upon it. Between the windows sill one talon is slipped, the lock snapped apart. It opens the window carefully and with a final look behind, the creature of the night slips inside.
It was darker within. Rough floorboards under foot and dust in the air. It smells dry, unused and empty, an attic room. Moving forward the wood creaks underfoot, unaccustomed to the weight. If anyone is in the house they would hear the sound, but all is quiet.
The creature traces the trap door in the floor, it is pushed open and Springheel peers down into the gloom. It sits on the rim and swings down landing on all fours with feet splayed. It smells down here. Sniffing at the air the creature can detect a definite fetid reek. Perhaps something has died while the doctor was away, a rat or a pigeon that got locked inside.
Eyes adjust and Springheel spies four doors - four rooms to look through. The first contains nothing of importance, a guest room perhaps. The bed is unmade, the furniture covered with dust sheets, the wardrobe empty.
The second is also a bedroom, a man’s room, unfussy, neat. The good doctor is a bachelor and it shows. The bed has a single dip in the middle, the scent is male. Again nothing to take, the only decoration being a poor painting and a carriage clock, while a few dusty medical manuals stand next to the bed.
The third room is more interesting. It's smaller, a study. A desk with papers and a library of books. The smell is stronger in here; it’s a putrid organic stench. There is a small fireplace in the corner; perhaps it comes from within. With no time to check the creature moves to the desk and looks through the drawers, eyes alight on a silver cigarette case; it disappears into a hidden pocket.
A sound. Springheel turns slowly, conscious of its own beating heart. The noise came from behind it, small and indistinct yet audible. It turns, senses alert. All is quiet again. It can wait, it’s good at waiting. It had sounded like footfall and perhaps a muffled exclamation.
Now it stands and moves forward. There is a curtain at the far end of the study, deep red, the colour evident even in the dark. It pulls the curtain to one side to reveal another door.
What treasure must the doctor hide in the concealed room beyond? It places a hand on the door knob but then hesitates; the sound came from this room. Should it enter? Should it risk being seen? But it needs the money and this desire drives the beast onwards. It presses the handle down and enters.
The smell makes the creature gag, a wave of nausea forcing it to hold an arm to its face. It wants to be sick. In the darkness, a windowless room scrubbed bare something evil, something dead lurks.
All senses dictate that it should leave this room, turn and flee, return to the night but at the same time the hidden makes it curious.
The smell is making it hard to breath and it is hot inside the mask, but the creature has no desire to be seen in its true form. It must remain an enigma.
There is a lamp on the desk, it returns and it picks it up and takes out a strike. It flares, the light burns at the retina and leaves dancing scars. The lamp gutters but then takes, there is not much oil left.
It enters the room and turns up the light. Bare brick and stone floors, no windows to let in light – a secret place, hidden from prying eyes. There is a clinical feel to the room, a place of surgery. A tray on the side contains knives, scalpel and saws. They are stained pink, a long blond hair it attached to a blade, it moves in the breeze from the open door.
There is a trolley in the room, something covered with a sheet stained black and brown. There is no sense in looking but something makes the creature take a tentative step forward, and then another and another until it stands within an arms length.
It checks behind and decides to risk a peek, just quickly and then it will vanish back into the night with its spoils.
It lifts the sheet, higher, higher and then pulls.
The creature shrinks back from the horror. A body, once female lays open, slit from abdomen to chest; the head pushed back, the neck arched while the face is set in a mask of agony, a scream etched into eyes and the open mouth. Naked, mutilated, treated like a base carcass, strips of skin removed from belly and thighs, incisions across breasts that ooze dark clotted blood.
It is too much, what terror has been uncovered, what perversity? The body moves. An intake of air, a gasp that erupts in spittle and blood. The girl lives, she knows someone is present, someone who might be able to help. She thrashes, her body making an involuntary spasm, the last dance of those sliced open and left to die slowly. Eyes blink and breath rattles in her throat, eyes pleading for any death.
As it watches, transfixed with disgust the creature is grabbed from behind. Strong arms lift the lithe daemon from the floor as a fist is punched deep into its side, forcing all the air from it. A scalpel is waved in front of its face and then held close to its throat as the girl begins to slow. Old wounds have reopened and pumped livid blood across the floor, skin gapes wide and innards are revealed, they snake out accompanied by a breathy scream. The girl falls back as death claims her.
***
The mask is ripped from him as an arm spins Tobias round and a giant fist slams into his face, his own blood erupts now, it splutters from his nose and enters his mouth. He is pushed into a wall and falls to the floor. Still winded he vomits copiously, adding to the slaughterhouse stench. Tears sting his eyes as he looks up at his tormentor.
The doctor stares down at the revealed daemon and is unimpressed. He pushes at him with his foot moving the man from side to side. He smiles and speaks in a voice that is quiet but firm.
"A man in a pitiful suit with a sheep skull for a mask. Is this the creature that women talk of in hushed tones? Is this the horror that stalks the city of London? I thought you would be so much more, but I see nothing more than a cheap parlour trick."
Tobias Small looks up into the eyes of the doctor and sees his own fear reflected back. He is scarred, horrified by this evil that preys on the innocent.
The monster laughs out loud, a howl of pleasure.
"What was there to be scared of? Springheel Jack - an old man hiding in the dark. It's pathetic. This great city deserves something far better, the greatest place on Earth, the heart of the Empire and the best we can come up with, to keep the shits and whores down, is you?"
He comes closer. Small can smell the stench of death on him, his walking cloak, the weave of the wool splattered with drying blood. The doctor wields the scalpel with a practised hand.
"I plan to do so much better. When they speak my name they will truly know fear, I will become something altogether evil, something straight from hell."
The man bends and Small feels the blade sting at the thin skin of his neck and knows that the doctor will replace Springheel and bring a red death to the city.
"I like the name though. Can I borrow it?"
Before Small can even answer the blade cuts deep into his flesh.
A new Jack is born.

Man cold

Finally, this time I'm definitely, surely, must be over my cold. It seems to have dragged on for an inordinately long time and has been both draining and sleep destroying and no its not just a 'Man cold,' but a real snot inducing, sore throat making, headache crippling cold. Madam Vin is still ill and walking around the flat sneezing and coughing but I've been to the gym, wrote several new pages of the 'Gap' project, sent off three book reviews and two short stories to a couple of magazines and feel great.

If England win tonight, everything in the world will be just fine and dandy.

Population Explosion

Feeling unwell all weekend. I believe PC Benny and Madam Vin left more than a feeling of bonhomie after the visit last week. No need to worry though, as it allows me time to write, sit inside, read and watch games of rugby where I shout and make my sore throat even worse.

Just a few quick notes...Congratulations to my erstwhile colleague, Hampton, whose lovely and no doubt extremely tired wife gave birth to twins this weekend. I would like to welcome to the world Ava Mirabelle and Miles Dylan, please wipe your feet on entering, don't drop litter and always remember keep a clean handkerchief about your person (I feel that might be some musical influences in the names but haven't asked yet).

Also well done to an old friend who recently joined Facebook and had a daughter in July called Jessica Rose Swift.

The world keeps on getting bigger so I guess we better add on some kind of extension.

To celebrate here are some fire works from the closing night of the festival.



****

Due to being so ill over the weekend I was able to read the new Pratchett which aptly enough is set in the world of banking. Pratchett brings back the character of Moist Von Lipwig (a wonderful name) to take over the affairs of a bank that has a small dog as its chairman and a shady Medici style family in the background.

Expect the usual bunch of golems (one of which thinks it's a she), Igors, werewolves and the Watch. The best character is still Vetinari who I believe is based on Sir Walsingham (who has managed to crop in the new novel) and his ability to maneuver all the other characters around the chess board of life without ever breaking a sweat.

This story is not as good as the last Lipwig novel, but it feels like Pratchett is gearing up for something big in the world of Ankh Morpork and that this novel was necessary to get the spades in the ground (pun - you'll have to read the book).

****

Read this week:
Making Money by Terry Pratchett
Loving Mephistopheles by Miranda Miller

A Breather

Working away at the new novel right now so I haven't had much time to blog. The next few weeks should be nice and clear which means I can get plenty written before Christmas with only a weeks hiatus when I go to New York in November.

Stephen Fry has started blogging recently so if you want a long read pop over to his web site as he tends to have lots of insightful comments about a whole wealth of things that I have little experience of.

****

Read this week:
Scales by Anthony G. Williams
Hellblazer: Black Flowers by Mike Carey et al
Hellblazer: Reasons to be Cheerful by Mike Carey et al
The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean

Gathering Pace

The new work is gathering pace. The book is currently at the stage where it grows organically to the point that I don't even know exactly in which direction it will go. It's almost as if the story has a life of its own and its great fun making connections and realising what the story is all about. I'm hoping to have a first draft finished by Christmas that will be full of inaccuracies and errors where characters change shape, size, sides, and species but the back bone of the story will be complete.

*****

Finished the last John Connolly novel which leaves the character in an isolated and vulnerable state. In this book, more than the others, you realise what a troubled and deeply flawed character he is and that even though the story is told from Parker's point of view, as if he is a hero, he might in truth be no better than the troubled people who feel his wrath. You understand now why his relationships with others are at best dysfunctional and why he has isolated himself up on the Maine coast. There is now great ambiguity in the books that I look forward to seeing how Connolly will resolve. Fortunately he's working on a new book.

Read this week:
The Unquiet by John Connolly

Slipped Through the Net

I'm reading a novel at the moment that I have been asked to review and I have to say it is probably one of the worse books that I've ever come across. This creates for me a dilemma in that I feel I should review the book honestly but at the same time I find myself as an unpublished writer of novels assuming that this is how people will react to my own work.

The book in question (which I won't name) is full of clichéd characters, a premise that is seriously flawed, the language is poor and the pace almost lethargic. It's just not a very good book and I'm sure any amount of clever editing would not have helped. But the book has made it into print. The publishers are classed as independent, which if you don't know the publishing world, means small print runs and selling (in the main) via the Internet. Now there are some excellent works that get published by the independents, work that is perhaps niche and would not see the light of day without them, but even by their standards this work is dire and that makes me worry that some publishers will give this part of the industry a bad name by putting out works of a substandard nature. My work, 'The Missing', if it gets published, will probably get taken up by the independents and it concerns me to be tarred with the same brush. All I can hope is that similar to the big publishing houses not every book that comes out can be deemed successful or even 'good'. Perhaps this is one of those that slipped through the net.

Edinburgh's Alive

So much has been going on in Edinburgh I know not where to start. I'll try a quick run down which won't be any particular order.

Went to see...

1. A version of Faust based on the Marlowe play, which was amateurish but enlivened by one member of the cast who had an amazing jutting jaw line and boggling eyes and added much humour in to the show.
2. Loose Ends from radio 4 fame, which I haven't listened to for some time but is still erudite and amusing and able to introduce its listeners (or a viewer as I was) to things they wouldn't normally get to hear (see). The episode I saw is still available on the BBC website.
3. A review of the writing genre Fantasy which was useful and as always attended by a strange group of individuals (I thought them strange and no doubt they thought me equally as so).
4. Another version of Faust but based on Mann's play which was different but nicely gothic and German.
5. And finally and probably best...Stardust the film, which is funny and serious and gorgeous looking and flawed in places but still a lot better than I would have hoped.

****

I've been reading Un Lun Dun by China Mieville who produces work that I'm not sure if I like or not. His short story collection was excellent, Iron Council confused me in places and his new work, which is for children, seems somewhat laboured. The ideas are imaginative but seem forced as if he was trying to hard. Some of the language is confusing and his use of the term 'innit' to make the children seem hip, worryingly bad. But I liked the idea.

****

Read this week:

Un Lun Dun by China Mieville

Brooklyn is Not Expanding

The Edinburgh Festival is now in full swing and I have been fortunate enough to visit a couple of excellent pieces this weekend in the company of Madame Vin and Van the Man who was visiting from that Midlands metropolis, Nottingham.

Natasha Wood: Rolling with Laughter - I'm always wary about seeing or reading something by a friend. What happens if I don't like it or think it ill conceived? How do you hide your initial thoughts and come up with something true but non-inflammable? Fortunately I don't have to do this with Tash's play because it is excellent. It was well written, displaying both great wit and deep pathos, it zipped along as fast as Tash in her wheelchair and not once did it fall foul of political correctness.
Most people when faced with a character as forthright as Tash often clam up, unsure about how to react or whether they should even laugh along with the jokes, but the audience at 'Rolling...' soon felt comfortable enough to guffaw, chuckle and dare I saw splutter saliva on the bald man sitting on the front row.

Simon Amstell: No self - Amstell is known better to me as 'that guy with the big hair off 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks'', but he is also a successful comedian in his own right. This is gentle humour, not eyes watering but enough charm, wit and intelligence to last the hour without any embarrassing silences. His humour is based around the basic philosophical questions of the self and what a selfish society we have become.

*****

"I am greatly relieved that universe is finally explainable. I was beginning to think it was me." WA - Mere Anarchy

"I awoke on Friday, and because the universe is expanding it took me longer than normal to find my robe."
WA - Mere Anarchy

I've been reading the new Woody Allen collection 'Mere Anarchy', his first new collection in 25 years. Now as any of you will know I am a huge Woody Allen fan - in fact the reason I write has probably more to do with him than any other influence. As a child growing up in a village in the Midlands I would squirrel myself away watching movies on a small portable TV and VHS video player I had installed in my bedroom. I love film...I lived for film but up to that point I only ever watched Hollywood movies. Then my Mum introduced me to WA films and I fell in love. For the first time I realised it was possible to be funny and entertaining but also clever and intelligent and a little bit different. WA's film spoke about writers, literature, European films, art - and I wanted to know about all of them. Through WA's work I begin to read and eventually to write.
That said his new work is (and I hate having to say this) okay...that's it...it's just alright. Like his last set of films there are some amusing bits, some clever ideas and one or two laugh out loud lines but nothing that has blown me away. Perhaps I've changed, perhaps WA has changed, after all I've been watching and reading his work for 20 years and he's been creating for nearly 50 years. You can't expect every piece of work to be amazing so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I still think he's a genius and one of the best film makers I'm ever likely to experience.

Read this week:
Mere Anarchy by woody Allen

God's Waiting Room

So much to do and so little time. I just don't know how you're meant to fit everything into one life as I currently feel as if I'm living at least two.

Went to see PC Benny passing out (not literally) down in sunny, candyfloss imbued Paignton. He looked very smart or done up in his uniform and had even shaved for once. I had visions of being a PC down in Devon as being something of a laid back affair, akin to driving around small country lanes and tracking down the odd cream tea crime. How mistaken I was, at it seems Paignton is a hot bed of tattooed thugs wearing stretch lycra, fuelled by cheap lager and all day breakfasts...and that's just the women.

Due to some last minute hitch we ended up staying in a B&B...or what we thought was a B&B. It seemed that instead we had stumbled upon God's waiting room and it was full too capacity of old dears sipping tea and exchanging pleasantries such as how much dribble had leaked out of them during the night. It seems that God himself is a rough diamond from the East end of London with penchant for poodles. The world's religions are probably not to keen on promoting this new bit of information and will have to rewrite a lot of hymns to include rhyming slang.

********

'The White Road' is a pivotal book in the saga of Charlie 'Bird' Parker allowing him to put many of his ghosts behind him while setting him up as a better formed character for the coming stories. The book itself is personally the weakest in story but acts more as a repositioning of all the characters for what comes later and allows the character of Louise and Angel to be become less stereotyped.

Everytime I read about Louis I think of the actor Ving Rhames. If they ever film any of these books surely he's a contender for the role.

'Signal to Noise' is an early Gaiman / McKean work which rather than them dealing with the more fantastical elements they dwell on the ideas of death and creation. At times it does have a slight 'straight out of art college' feel to the story, student angst etc but its still a beautifully presented piece of work that feels like a historical piece now that the millenium is behind us.

Read this week:
Signal to Noise by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean
The White Road by John Connolly

The holiday is over

Madame Vin and I have returned from France feeling culturally enriched and rested, even though I had a cold for the last five days of the holiday. To be honest the holiday was good and though we didn't see every chateau / vineyard / museum / French country town we hoped to it was at least restful and we even got some sun which I can prove as most of my skin is now flaking off causing me to look like a sufferer of rare skin disease.

Highlights included a private tour around the vineyard of Domaine Salvert which was informative and ended with a great tasting, the Abbye de Fontevraud and our hotel in Paris which was cool (apart from the fire alarm at six am).

Photos can be seen in the following location: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10492&l=6dd90&id=633081765

One picture I'll show here demonstrates that direct web names don't always work when using languages other than English. I'm not sure the company Fee du Scrap had this in mind...

While I was away I was able to do a bit of reading. 'Porn' by Irvine Welsh is funny and sad at the same time. The numerous voices, some written in dialect, give character and depth to those involved. The central story concerns the character Sick Boy who must team up with his old friend Renton who is hiding out in Amsterdam after ripping all his friends off at the end of 'Trainspotting'. What Sick Boy doesn't tell his old friend is that Begbie has been released from prison is now looking to get even with Renton.

The added fascination for me in this book is that it is set in and around Leith and Edinburgh, with the student flat just up the road from mine in Tollcross. That and the fact that Begbie is one evil bastard.

The second book was another in the Charlie 'Bird' Parker novels 'Dark Hollow' with Bird getting pulled in to a thirty year old mystery involving the disappearance of woman up in the snow filled town of Dark Hollow. As always the snappy dialect between Bird and his friends Louis and Angel is great and the bad guy wonderfully evil. Though there is less of a supernatural element to this book the dark undercurrent of souls desperate for peace and revenge is still a powerful undercurrent.

****

Now that holidays are complete I'm starting work on a new piece of fiction which I hope to complete a first draft off by Christmas. It's a dark tale about brothers, war and loss. I'll enlighten you more as I write.

I also have the festival to contend with plus visits away to see PC Benny graduate and visits from Van the Man and the Father figure.

August does not look like a quiet month.

Read this week:
Porn by Irvine Welsh
Dark Hollow by John Connolly

Immediate Departure Expected

Off to France early tomorrow morning so thought I would get a quick post in before departing.

As we move towards summer all the listings start to be printed for the Edinburgh Festival. This gets exciting and expensive, plus it becomes a serious problem in arranging ones diary to see everything you want to (I've already had one clash because the premiere of Neil Gaiman's Stardust is on the same day I had bought tickets to the opening of the comedy gala!).

So far I've managed to get tickets to the following events:

1. Rolling With Laughter - A friend of ours who disappeared off the radar to the US is returning with her own one woman show about her own life which considering Madam Vin has known her for over fifteen years will no doubt be slightly surreal.
2. Fantasy Writing -Fantasy author Deborah J Miller discusses the pros and cons of being a genre author
3. Loose Ends - Of BBC Radio 4 fame.
4. Stardust - On which I think I've spoken before.
5. Daywatch - The follow up to Nightwatch, as I believe you can never get enough Russian vampires.

****
Read 'The Court of the Air' by Stephen Hunt. This is fantasy set in a mechanised Victorian world of vast air ships, robotic life forms run on steam, old gods and new political voices. It takes some getting into and at times it feels like too many ideas running around for their own good. I think there are probably at least a couple of books in here. I looked it up on the Internet and found this flash animation, which at least is a novel way of advertising.

I've got about three books to get through in the next ten days so plan to concentrate on doing a bit of reading in between visits to vine yards and restaurants. When I return I plan to get on with the new novel with gusto.

Read this week:
The Court of the Air by Stephen Hunt

A Rain Soaked Wonderland

As the UK is experiencing one long monsoon and with little let up in the rain I've turned my attention to reading and working my way through a few books I've had on my shelf for a while. It's either that or learn to cultivate rice on the terrace behind my flat.

Alice In Sunderland - An Entertainment by Bryan Talbot is exquisite. A comic full of interesting information that is enhanced by the artwork. The story in an unashamed ode to Sunderland (a city I've never been to), and to the relationship that Lewis Carroll had with the area. We learn of the hero's, villains, myths and history of the place, all of which is interwoven into Talbot's own Wonderland, including a white rabbit mask presenter.

It's the art work that stands out though. Using digital imagery as well as more traditional methods his work is outstanding. See this page for example http://www.bryan-talbot.com/alice/alice_page28.html. He reminds me a little of the great Dave McKean, though their styles are uniquely their own.

Read this week:
Alice in Sunderland: An Entertainment by Bryan Talbot

Course Improvements

Spent the end of the week with several visits to Glasgow attending a course to improve my skills for the work place. Apart from the early start (from me) I quite enjoy these courses, the work all makes sense and you don't have any of the pressures on you of 'real' work.

Just finished writing a synopsis for 'The Missing', which is one of my least favourite parts of writing. Summing up a novel in as few a paragraphs as possible while still trying to make the book sound exciting. It's awkward and tiring work, but at least it's finished. Also have written three reviews which have been sent off to the BFS.

****

We have a new member to our household (at least for the next week). Her name is Missy and she is currently hiding under the bed. I'll try and get a photo of her but she's a little bit shy.



She'll be staying with us until her owner returns from his holiday. Wish I hadn't bothered doing that as the Canon utility I'm using just kicked me out of Explorer resulting in a restart. When Madame Vin (previously Lady H but this is a much better moniker) and I are both using the wireless connection we have all sorts of adventures.

****

Just finished reading the second Hellblazer. 'Dangerous Habits' is better than the first as it gives Constantine a more human aspect. He is dieing, and only in death does one get to understand the fragility of their lives. That something as mundane as cancer could kill a hero who has fought of the hordes of hell is one reason that these books work so well for me. Constantine is fragile and eventually even he cannot escape a force of nature. Only in playing the devil's advocate and perhaps putting his soul in even more danger that before can he possibly hope to beat something as deadly as the disease.

Read this week:

Hellblazer: Dangerous Habits by Garth Ennis

Deastock (proof copy) by Jeffrey Thomas

A Taste of Something Wonderful

Went with Madame Vin to the Channel 4 Taste festival on Saturday where much fun was had by all. Met up with Kanga-Roux and Uncle Brian and much drink was consumed in the form of Leffe beer and wines from the Bordeaux region.

To keep stomachs from growling and moaning much marvelous food was eaten and a raw oyster was consumed.

The evening was finished off in several local inns and headaches were experienced the following day.

*****

Started reading the Hellblazer series. I've read some of these before but this time I'm determined to read them in order. It's a dark cry of a story from the bowels of the 1980's with Thatcher in full flight. The stories of the first collection 'Original Sins' are all concerned with greed in one form or another. Whether as yuppies and their need for money or drug users need for a poison.

John Constantine comes across as a haunted figure both physically in the guise of dead friends who visit him, and mentally in a past that is catching up with him. He's a wise cracking Bogart of the 80's, but one who is feeling the desperation of the city he loves.

Neither the demons nor organised religion come off as successful refugees for the empty souls that plague the period. They are both as bad as each other and both see Constantine as the enemy.

Read this week:
Hellblazer: Original Sins by Jamie Delano

Advice for crazed megalomaniacs

I’ve been out of the loop for a while as I’ve started on a new project and I’ve been bedding it in for the last few weeks, but it’s now up and running and beginning to take shape (to mix metaphors). I’ve also been reading (lots) as I’m doing some reviews for the British Fantasy Society which I assume will either be up on the website or in the magazine ‘Dark Horizons’ they produce. I’ll let you know more when I’ve written them and submitted.

On my personal reading list I’ve just finished ‘The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters’ by G. W. Dahlquist. This is a beautifully presented book (UK Hardback) with white boards and luminous transparent blue jacket. The story consists of Miss Temple, Cardinal Chang and Dr. Svenson as they come up against a cabal of sinister individuals who hold bizarre and slightly kinky parties to which are invited the best of society. Set in an imaginary Victorian city (part London, part Paris) the idea has much of ‘The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen’ about it, with science, technology and art combining to create an altered world, similar but at the same time different to the Victorian period of the history books.

The characters are finally crafted. With the three principles all taking the part of the hero this could have been tiresome, but they work together and their individual stories combine nicely. The bad guys (and gals) are also stimulating though their inability to kill the irksome trio is as infuriating as Bond’s nemeses (hint to mad crazed megalomaniacs – check they’re dead first!).

I think the only issue I would have with the story is that Mr. Dahlquist, spends just a little too much time dwelling on ripped female undergarments and a heroine who has to stop to have a quick fumble at regular intervals. This smacks of adolescent wish fulfilment and slows down the story at times.

******

I’ve just heard some good news with regards ‘The Missing’, but I’m keeping it under my hat for the moment. I’ll report it here when things are a little more concrete.

******

I hope you like the new colour scheme and layout of the blog. I’ve put up links to my current short stories (while they are still available) and I’ll add links to some of my journo pieces soon.

Read this week:
‘The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters’ by G. W. Dahlquist
Farthing Issue 5 by various