I just checked out the blog of my old mate Johnny Elvis. He managed to wangle himself an invitation to the Hammer House of Horror fiftieth anversary.
A great score for a horror writer I'm sure you'll agree. But to top the invite, he took along his tape recorder and interviewed all sorts of Hammer celebs from back in the sixties and seventies.
What a lad!!!
Click over to All Things Horror and check it out.
ffox
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Breaking News
The Cost of Loyalty is now available from Fictionwise.
But sadly, The Gateway has been withdrawn and will not now achieve its Wild Child Publishing release date.
The decision to withdraw it was solely mine and was due to pressure of work. I owe gratitude to WCP and their editor Karen Frontain for their help and support in bringing the book to its current state and my apologies to them for my inability to complete the job.
Hopefully, the book will appear at some stage in the future, when I have the time to complete it.
ffox
But sadly, The Gateway has been withdrawn and will not now achieve its Wild Child Publishing release date.
The decision to withdraw it was solely mine and was due to pressure of work. I owe gratitude to WCP and their editor Karen Frontain for their help and support in bringing the book to its current state and my apologies to them for my inability to complete the job.
Hopefully, the book will appear at some stage in the future, when I have the time to complete it.
ffox
Monday, July 02, 2007
Freya's Bower Festval Weekend - 7th/8th July
Fancy a little fun this coming weekend?
Log on to the Freya’s Bower Festival Weekend. Anytime during the 7th 8th July EST (around five hours behind BST).
The address is http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freyasbower_authorchat/
You’ll need to be over eighteen and you’ll need a Yahoo account (set one up as you go in if you don’t already have one.)
FB Authors will be popping in and out all weekend just to answer your questions and set up fun competitions.
Some authors will actually visit in the persona of their fictional characters.
If you’re a writers and you’re considering epublishing. Go along and chat to authors who actually do it.
Log on to the Freya’s Bower Festival Weekend. Anytime during the 7th 8th July EST (around five hours behind BST).
The address is http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freyasbower_authorchat/
You’ll need to be over eighteen and you’ll need a Yahoo account (set one up as you go in if you don’t already have one.)
FB Authors will be popping in and out all weekend just to answer your questions and set up fun competitions.
Some authors will actually visit in the persona of their fictional characters.
If you’re a writers and you’re considering epublishing. Go along and chat to authors who actually do it.
The Gateway
It's been a heavy month on the work in progress with lots of sections to re-write.
All coming towards a finish now with the early August publishing date looking more likely as each day passes.
Come back soon for another excerpt.
ffox
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Gateway is Coming
My Wild Child editor, K M Frontain tells me that she'll return the book to me before the end of next week.
This superb cover has been provided, courtesy of Covervan, and Wild child have given the book a 'coming soon' date of early August.
Here's a short extract -
The Gateway.
Jon spun a kitchen chair away from the table and sat astride it, arms across the back. Cliff lifted some greasy crockery from the table. The smell of the congealed remnants of food was unpleasant and the touch of the cold grease on the plate edges turned his stomach. He picked them up with finger tips, like they were diseased, and dropped them in the already overfull sink.
Jon looked around the tired old kitchen, his gaze coming to rest on the window. The broken blind hung askew. Anyone passing along the access balcony would only have to duck to be able to see right in. “Where’s ya mam?” he asked.
“Bingo. C’mon. Don’t muck about. Show me.”
Jon stood and crossed to the window. He fiddled with the blind for a moment until satisfied there was enough privacy.
He turned with a big grin on his face, the glare of the unshaded kitchen light threw deep shadows under his eyes. Slowly he lifted the left side of his coat and revealed the handle. It looked old and worn, as if it had seen lots of use. Only the handle and part of the trigger guard were visible and Cliff wanted to see more. He wanted very much to see more, but he stood there, transfixed. “It’s not real,” he said, but his words lacked conviction.
“It soddin’ is, mate.” Jon grasped the handle and pulled the gun from his waistband.
“Shit. Where’d you get it?” Cliff wanted to touch, but dared not ask.
Jon held it casually in his hand and it reflected the light of the bare bulb that hung from the kitchen ceiling. He laughed. “Rolled this old Irish geezer. Had it in his pocket, he did. Probably IRA.”
“What you gonna do with it?”
“Protection, innit? Nobody gonna mess me about while I got this.” He waved the barrel vaguely in Cliff’s direction.
Cliff was awestruck. He was looking down the barrel of a gun. True, it was Jon who was holding it, Jon was his mate and he wouldn’t pull the trigger, would he? What if he squeezed it by accident? Cliff moved around the table and waved the gun away from him.
Jon spotted his reflection in the dirty mirror and struck a pose.
“Shit, man,” said Cliff. “We could do lots with that. Let’s hit the Texaco, make some dosh.”
Jon’s response was quick. “Piss off. We’d be caught, you idiot.”
“Nah. Be in and out in a minute. That tart on the till there’d give us the cash straight off,” Cliff persisted.
Jon looked worried. “Yeah. An’ then tell the cops where we live, you prat. You ’ent got a soddin’ clue what you’re on about.”
“You’re scared,” sneered Cliff, “I bet it’s not even loaded.”
Jon didn’t answer.
“It’s not, is it? There’s no bullets, is there?”
Jon started to put the gun back in his waistband. Cliff laughed. The idea that the gun had no bullets seemed hilarious, like a scene in a comedy movie. His laughter stopped abruptly. It dawned on him it didn’t matter. The look of the thing was what mattered. Wave that under the nose of some city prat, he thought. Ask for his wallet and whaddya know, you got cash.
Cliff held out his hand and demanded, “Lemme see.”
Jon hesitated and Cliff’s voice took on a harder edge. “Com’on pillock. I’m your mate, lemme see.”
Slowly Jon pulled out the weapon and handed it over.
It felt heavy, far heavier than Cliff thought it would. He remembered toy guns from when he was a kid, always light, always ready to break. In those days the toys fed his fantasies, but never fulfilled his dreams. With this in his hand, he could be powerful. It felt good, but he didn’t waste time with pretence. It was a tool, a means to an end. He was going places. This was a gateway, a way out.
He turned it over in his hand and found the different mechanisms. The safety: he moved it off and on. The magazine release: he pressed it and the clip jolted out from the handle.
Carefully Cliff drew the magazine out. The lead tipped bullets, all seven of them, glisten under the kitchen light.
“Shit man!” His voice was awed. “It’s loaded. It’s bloody loaded.”
They began to laugh.
Jon spun a kitchen chair away from the table and sat astride it, arms across the back. Cliff lifted some greasy crockery from the table. The smell of the congealed remnants of food was unpleasant and the touch of the cold grease on the plate edges turned his stomach. He picked them up with finger tips, like they were diseased, and dropped them in the already overfull sink.
Jon looked around the tired old kitchen, his gaze coming to rest on the window. The broken blind hung askew. Anyone passing along the access balcony would only have to duck to be able to see right in. “Where’s ya mam?” he asked.
“Bingo. C’mon. Don’t muck about. Show me.”
Jon stood and crossed to the window. He fiddled with the blind for a moment until satisfied there was enough privacy.
He turned with a big grin on his face, the glare of the unshaded kitchen light threw deep shadows under his eyes. Slowly he lifted the left side of his coat and revealed the handle. It looked old and worn, as if it had seen lots of use. Only the handle and part of the trigger guard were visible and Cliff wanted to see more. He wanted very much to see more, but he stood there, transfixed. “It’s not real,” he said, but his words lacked conviction.
“It soddin’ is, mate.” Jon grasped the handle and pulled the gun from his waistband.
“Shit. Where’d you get it?” Cliff wanted to touch, but dared not ask.
Jon held it casually in his hand and it reflected the light of the bare bulb that hung from the kitchen ceiling. He laughed. “Rolled this old Irish geezer. Had it in his pocket, he did. Probably IRA.”
“What you gonna do with it?”
“Protection, innit? Nobody gonna mess me about while I got this.” He waved the barrel vaguely in Cliff’s direction.
Cliff was awestruck. He was looking down the barrel of a gun. True, it was Jon who was holding it, Jon was his mate and he wouldn’t pull the trigger, would he? What if he squeezed it by accident? Cliff moved around the table and waved the gun away from him.
Jon spotted his reflection in the dirty mirror and struck a pose.
“Shit, man,” said Cliff. “We could do lots with that. Let’s hit the Texaco, make some dosh.”
Jon’s response was quick. “Piss off. We’d be caught, you idiot.”
“Nah. Be in and out in a minute. That tart on the till there’d give us the cash straight off,” Cliff persisted.
Jon looked worried. “Yeah. An’ then tell the cops where we live, you prat. You ’ent got a soddin’ clue what you’re on about.”
“You’re scared,” sneered Cliff, “I bet it’s not even loaded.”
Jon didn’t answer.
“It’s not, is it? There’s no bullets, is there?”
Jon started to put the gun back in his waistband. Cliff laughed. The idea that the gun had no bullets seemed hilarious, like a scene in a comedy movie. His laughter stopped abruptly. It dawned on him it didn’t matter. The look of the thing was what mattered. Wave that under the nose of some city prat, he thought. Ask for his wallet and whaddya know, you got cash.
Cliff held out his hand and demanded, “Lemme see.”
Jon hesitated and Cliff’s voice took on a harder edge. “Com’on pillock. I’m your mate, lemme see.”
Slowly Jon pulled out the weapon and handed it over.
It felt heavy, far heavier than Cliff thought it would. He remembered toy guns from when he was a kid, always light, always ready to break. In those days the toys fed his fantasies, but never fulfilled his dreams. With this in his hand, he could be powerful. It felt good, but he didn’t waste time with pretence. It was a tool, a means to an end. He was going places. This was a gateway, a way out.
He turned it over in his hand and found the different mechanisms. The safety: he moved it off and on. The magazine release: he pressed it and the clip jolted out from the handle.
Carefully Cliff drew the magazine out. The lead tipped bullets, all seven of them, glisten under the kitchen light.
“Shit man!” His voice was awed. “It’s loaded. It’s bloody loaded.”
They began to laugh.
...more extracts to come between now and release date.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Moving Forward
My editor at Wild Child, Karen Frontain, made a brilliant post on her blog last Friday. I put the link up on my writer's workshop site, Critters Bar, under the title - A Must Read for Every Aspiring Writer.
I'm going to copy the whole string here because I think it's very relevant to any writer who wishes to rise above the 'playing at it' stage.
Karen wrote -
Words are tools like hammers and nails
So I'm in a garage, underneath a car and working on an engine.
I reach for a torque wrench, can't find it. I ask you for one. You give me a regular old wrench because the torque wrench isn't what I need. I rush out from beneath the car and bellow at you for patronising me. How dare you tell me what tools to use?
You blink at me, wonder why I’m all upset, know for a fact that a torque wrench will likely bust the nut I’m intending to tighten, because a torque wrench isn’t what is needed for that nut. It’s a basic fact of car fix-it. Why am I all hyped up when all you did was help me out?What has this to do with writing?
I’ll tell you. Words are tools. They are governed by their own laws, physics for syntax. Grammar, in other words.
The better sorts of word engineers know their shortcuts, know when a rule can bend, but there are these other engineers, the ones who think they know, the ones that pull a snit when they are shown they don't.
The ones that think they know give you hell when you discuss basics. The building is about to collapse or the car is about to drop the engine out the bottom, but this sort of person isn’t interested in that “minor” detail. He’s insulted because you didn’t hand him the fancy torque wrench. He’s insulted because you told him the nails in his building are missing or rusted. He’s pissed because a gaping hole in one side of the ship is letting in water. Doesn’t the rest of the ship look perfect enough to cover the gap?
The story, if it were a boat, is about to sink. The car won’t run. The building will be a crumbling ruin after the first reviewer stomps through on inspection.
If an editor isn’t going to tell you how it is, who will? Why do writers think that because they are a form of artist, the tools of the trade don’t require the same amount of thoughtful discussion as a building plan?
Hey, are you wondering why I’m blogging this in particular? Because I’ve been stupid. Yep. Stupid. I pulled a snit three years or more back. I apologized after, but some people hold grudges. I learned from that.
Don’t pull a snit. Don’t hold a grudge. I decided, after learning from my snit, I definitely didn’t want to be like the people that hold a grudge. Grudge people, they must think they’re perfect, never made a mistake in the past, never will make one in the future. Poor things. Recipe for miserable. Think you’re perfect, screw up and try to cover your tracks. Easier to apologize, toss your grudges, stop pulling snits. Tracks can't be covered. Not really, not on the internet. Get accustomed to being permanently embarrased, or learn from it, shrug it off, move on.
Back to writing. Treat the tools of the trade as what they are: tools. Logical discussion works. Ranting won’t.
But what’s this have to do with now? I’m an editor now. And I’ve seen snits. Boy, I’ve seen snits. Whoppers. Designed to make a person feel really miserable. Designed to drill a hole straight to the core and tear out the soul of the miserable evil, stupid editor that said the truth. Stupid editor. No editor should say the truth. Words are not tools. They’re purely art and subject to the fancies of the artist, and plot holes exist to make a reader appreciate nuances of…
Hell, no.
Sorry, but this editor will tell the truth. If the plot hole sinks the boat, it sinks the boat. If the grammar rules were bent such that the craftsmanship failed, then the craftsmanship failed. The building is collapsing, I intend to tell the author, because you know what? I care how it turns out. I care, and this means I have to be honest. I’m not interested in the author’s short-term gratification. It’s the long haul that interests me. Will the boat float for years? Will it? If a reviewer can destroy the structure with a few paragraphs of scoffing, then I haven’t done my job. And I care that I’ve done my job.
What should you expect from a decent editor?The truth. Logical discussion of plot and grammatical structure. If you aren’t prepared for that, you shouldn’t be submitting your story to a publisher yet. Go back to the crit group and get massacred until you can tell the difference between fawning, destructive criticism, or real help.
I don't care how long you've been writing. I don't. I care about what I see in the manuscript before me. The manuscript is the only proof you can give me that you know anything about the tools of the trade. If you understand I've been assigned to assist with the craftsmanship, then we'll get on fine. You're still the keeper of the overall design; I'm just there to make certain all the support structures are in place. Building inspection is a must. No decent engineer would go without a building inspector, so don't think you should do the same for a manuscript. Whatever the craft, an inspector is a must for longterm success.
Know what? I find that refreshing.
Karen's link is - http://www.kmfrontain.blogspot.com/
Tarot Test.
I took the tarot test. It seems that I'm the sun....
You are The Sun
Happiness, Content, Joy.
The meanings for the Sun are fairly simple and consistent.
Young, healthy, new, fresh. The brain is working, things that were muddled come clear, everything falls into place, and everything seems to go your way.
The Sun is ruled by the Sun, of course. This is the light that comes after the long dark night, Apollo to the Moon's Diana. A positive card, it promises you your day in the sun. Glory, gain, triumph, pleasure, truth, success. As the moon symbolized inspiration from the unconscious, from dreams, this card symbolizes discoveries made fully consciousness and wide awake. You have an understanding and enjoyment of science and math, beautifully constructed music, carefully reasoned philosophy. It is a card of intellect, clarity of mind, and feelings of youthful energy.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
On The Fiction Front
The Gateway goes back to Karen this week - I'd ask you to wish me luck but after reading my editors post I don't think luck has much to do with it. ;-)
Sunday, April 01, 2007
ffox Technical Writing - Blog Launch
For the first time since the beginning of the year I've had a moment to consider my direction.
I'm now very active on LinkedIn. This is an online networking site with around nine million members. While the site is for business there are a substantial number of writers contributing and copywriters, technical writers, journalists and advertising writers are all very welcome. Anyone out there in blogland interested - just post on this thread and I'll get you a LinkedIn invitation.
I've also joined Guru.com and I'm actively searching for freelance writing gigs. Keeping this low profile at the moment as I have lots to do already for existing clients. The same applies to this one - if anyone out there wants to learn how or why - post on this thread.
A further push on the technical writing front - I've launched a business blog (there's a link over to the right).
Fictionwise - The Gateway is nearing completion of first revision, following Karen Frontain's edit, it will be returning to her soon.
I'm now very active on LinkedIn. This is an online networking site with around nine million members. While the site is for business there are a substantial number of writers contributing and copywriters, technical writers, journalists and advertising writers are all very welcome. Anyone out there in blogland interested - just post on this thread and I'll get you a LinkedIn invitation.
I've also joined Guru.com and I'm actively searching for freelance writing gigs. Keeping this low profile at the moment as I have lots to do already for existing clients. The same applies to this one - if anyone out there wants to learn how or why - post on this thread.
A further push on the technical writing front - I've launched a business blog (there's a link over to the right).
Fictionwise - The Gateway is nearing completion of first revision, following Karen Frontain's edit, it will be returning to her soon.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Happening Stuff.
The Gateway - my work in progress. This is, er, progressing!!.
My editor at Wild Child, Karen Frontain (bless her), reviewed the first full draft.
She didn't exactly shoot me but...
I was affronted, of course I was, and made various comments by email. Karen (cool lady) responded with a long and detailed explanation on where I had gone wrong (there were a huge number of issues).
So, now I have lots of work to do, but already I can see it improving. It will be ready later this year.
They said -
Rob and Johnny are serving in the Vietnam war. Stuck in a filthy trench with rats for company, the pair discuss Johnny’s girlfriend, Georgie, to take their minds from the harsh reality they have been living.
Thoughts of back home do nothing for Johnny, as Georgie is serving with the Red Cross. They met on camp. Though they haven’t been to the movies or done the conventional courtship, they are a close couple.
A new assignment of soldiers arrives, and Johnny hears news that the place where Georgie works has suffered terrible losses. Unable to stay put, Johnny asks Rob to cover for him and he drives out to check if his girlfriend is okay.
Sad. Utterly sad. I cried my eyes out at one point.
Rob, worried when his friend doesn’t return, finds himself in trouble with the Major. Johnny’s jeep has been found abandoned, and Rob decides he must go and find his friend.
Turning up at the same small shack as Johnny had, Rob finds out just where his friend has gone. His encounter with the woman had me on the edge of my seat. The story ends on a poignant note.
My editor at Wild Child, Karen Frontain (bless her), reviewed the first full draft.
She didn't exactly shoot me but...
I was affronted, of course I was, and made various comments by email. Karen (cool lady) responded with a long and detailed explanation on where I had gone wrong (there were a huge number of issues).
So, now I have lots of work to do, but already I can see it improving. It will be ready later this year.
They said -
REVIEW:
Rob and Johnny are serving in the Vietnam war. Stuck in a filthy trench with rats for company, the pair discuss Johnny’s girlfriend, Georgie, to take their minds from the harsh reality they have been living.
Thoughts of back home do nothing for Johnny, as Georgie is serving with the Red Cross. They met on camp. Though they haven’t been to the movies or done the conventional courtship, they are a close couple.
A new assignment of soldiers arrives, and Johnny hears news that the place where Georgie works has suffered terrible losses. Unable to stay put, Johnny asks Rob to cover for him and he drives out to check if his girlfriend is okay.
Sad. Utterly sad. I cried my eyes out at one point.
Johnny, while returning back to his camp, has an accident and stumbles to a small house/shack.
A woman lets him in… Again, at the end of this scene the tears started again when Johnny gets to go to see a movie… Damn you, Mr. Foxx!
Rob, worried when his friend doesn’t return, finds himself in trouble with the Major. Johnny’s jeep has been found abandoned, and Rob decides he must go and find his friend.
Turning up at the same small shack as Johnny had, Rob finds out just where his friend has gone. His encounter with the woman had me on the edge of my seat. The story ends on a poignant note.
Favourite line:
That was when he cried.
That was when he cried.
Oh, me too! Pass me the tissues, please!
What an excellent read. I enjoyed this story very much. I learned something new about Vietnam and what it was like. The knowledge/research of this time is very prevalent while reading—an author who has taken the time to get the facts correct is refreshing.
Any more in the works, Mr. Foxx?
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