If my plans had worked, I would be looking forward to a relaxing weekend in Nottingham, and the chance to meet some of the best UK Sci-Fi writers of this era.
I would have liked to ask "What is it like writing within set boundaries? As most of my work is limited by my imagination.
However, plans and reality didn't mix and I am stuck here at home, with the prospect of the first of many upcoming hospital appointments on Monday, and the worry of what the blood test might
Against my better judgement-I swore I would never (!) write a story as a cop out-I enjoyed writing this story.
Against the odds of health problems and hospital appointments, I was only a day off my deadline.
The other time I did this was two years ago, when I promised some friends a special Mark Johnson story for my birthday-two days before the deadline and I hadn't started the story-yet I brought the story in on time :)
This will be my one and only zombie story, unless people wish a follow up. I set out to write this as a challenge to myself-to see if I could write the story, as I haven't read a zombie story, yet, but I intend to as I have Cherie Priest's book "Boneshaker" in my collection.
ZW should be for sale by tomorrow :)
Unfortunately, owing to family issues and health worries resulting in lost days; the proposed date of release for Zombie has been put a little.
However, on my Amazon & Kobo pages there are other ghost stories, all able to thrill and chill you.
Why not treat the family to a ghost story with a difference
Below is a comment from Emma Oram, the editor of Vintage Script magazine which refers to the e-book "To Elfenemre," which was on sale until yesterday.
The book now features as the opening to a much larger tome, the release date is unknown as the story combines 4 stories and joining them into one, will be like knitting spaghetti :)
Anyway, this is my personal take: Well, what a story! You certainly know how to tell a tale and the imagery is very striking, as is the sense of suspense. Keep up the good work!
This is the new opening to the story arc :-
The man sitting at the back of the Mondoria Arms held the children’s imagination as he told the story of an ancient legend, “A great fire from the sky will devour the city and the city shall be purged by the flames of Tallier’s Revenge, and as man flees the city, the denizens of the underworld shall feast upon the putrid waste of those who left.”
Bill Marsh and his friend Joe Pearson laughed as Joe said, “Those soothsayers never give up do they, Bill.”
Bill glanced at the children sitting on the floor by the dying fire and replied, “No, you’re right, Joe, I remember being scared by tales of fiery death when I was a little one, and yet here we are drinking, and they are still going on about Tallier’s Revenge.”
Mondoria sat in the bowl of the Drachenweld Hills and had grown wealthy over the years, the reason being it controlled the vital sea trade routes to the lands of the far North and the West. With wealth came the pleasures of the flesh and as the city grew in size, the more people it attracted and the more sinful it became, until Mondoria was only spoken of in hushed voices.
The once powerful Convent of the Church of St. Tallier stood on a rock outcrop in the centre of the town and even though the church had a tiny congregation the church remained large in city life.
Like Joe and Bill, many of the people treated the soothsayer’s visions as a joke; until one night which changed lives forever.
The night watchman Phillip Johnson looked aimlessly into the skies above, nothing more on his mind than going home at the end of his shift, when suddenly the sky flared to a brilliant red and the streets became clear as day. As he looked up he saw the tail of a comet travelling towards the city, “Look out, it’s coming!” he yelled.
The comet didn’t miss the convent by much as it smashed into the bakery, setting the flour alight and starting a series of fires. The wooden structured houses daubed with wattle were soon ablaze, and the town became a raging fire storm as the heat from the comet caused fires to jump across the tightly packed streets. This once prosperous city was now becoming nothing but a burning shell of its former glories.
“Where’s the town guard when we need them?” yelled Helena Jacks, the barmaid from the Mondoria Arms, as she stood looking at the looters running through the city.
Phillip Johnson replied, “They were sent to fight a big fire on the outskirts of the city,” as he desperately fought to contain a small fire. The only thing he had to hand was a small pail. When he saw the blaze spreading, he yelled, “Can we have more help? Forget the houses on Armour Street, they’re too much for us now, all we can do is try to stop new fires from flaring up.”
Bill Jones the smithy called to Phillip, “We can’t get the horses across from Trench Road and without the horses we’re not even containing the smaller fires. Is there a way we can divert the river, so we can use that water?”
Phillip called above the raging inferno, “Not in the time left and with the shortage of manpower.”
Fighting for breath in the searing heat, Bill yelled, “I heard the Sisters wasted no time in claiming Tallier saved them from his wrath, when the comet missed the convent,”
Tired and sweating, Bill replied, “To my way of thinking, the comet missing them was more damned luck than a sign of his good faith; the tail went through the bell tower without even scorching, I wish those flagellants would stop walking around whipping themselves and help fight these blazes; this isn’t their fault.”
Driven to exhaustion, but still trying to fight the number of fires which flared up, Phillip called out, “If they did, we would have twenty or thirty more men.”
Bill sighed as he looked around, “Not many, but every extra hand means a little less to worry about; I bet the Thrugs are going to feed well tonight!” He said, looking at the Thrugmen skulking in the shadows, with teeth drooling as they spied the human and animal carnage. Flesh is flesh to scavengers, burnt or not, meat is food to the horrible things.
Thrugmen had become a plague in recent months, the half formed creatures with long front teeth and bent backs, unfit to work and scorned by all, they dwell in sewers. Their origins were unclear, one of the most popular discussions about them, said they were a people of some distant land which had been conquered and brought to Mondoria were they were beaten and starved.
Phillip’s mind changed to more immediate problems when he saw horses speeding up the hill and out of the city, “I saw James Morrtor and his gang heading out to the hills, we know what they’re up to.”
Bill looked at him and said, “You can bet if Morrtor is involved, the plan will involve gangs and stealing, his late father John was one of the most feared bandits around for many years.”
Phillip asked a question, which many had asked but nobody had answered, “How did he die? I heard many tales of the day and every one different.”
Trying to remember what he had been told, Bill said, “Like many of his type, the more crime he did, the more invincible he thought he became. He lived to the limit. The day of his death, his rogues took on far more than his band had imagined. The Guard had been told he was planning a raid on the Kerranmore road; their man had told them when and where. From the time Morrtor and his men attacked the wagons, they were involved in an ambush. The real target had been rerouted. The train they attacked was full of men of the city. As they struggled to hold ground, the guard leader picked his time and came charging in as the bandits turned to run. Hardly any of them escaped the fight and those that did were hunted down and taken to Kerranmore to be flogged.”
Last year, I started to write an e-book entitled "I quit," the reason was a group of friends had found masses of "lending libraries," where people borrow from Amazon and "lend" the books to anybody they choose. The "lender" sees a small fee, but the author sees nothing.
One thing which nobody has cleared for me is how come books selling at more than ten times sell, when my e-books which cost nickels and dimes fail to sell, even when I slash prices to ridiculous levels.
I find myself back in the same state of mind, with no sales of new work this year and no sign of a change in the year to come-I ask myself, is there any point in continuing?
I have been told by a lot of people I am a good writer, yet the situation has never been backed by even a 10 sale month, to me, the worth of my work is shown by sales and the public ignore me, I used to care but the hurt goes too deep for feeling to matter as I reach the point of not wanting to write any more.
Despite the award shown above my work has consistently failed to sell, mainly because I tried for original ideas and didn't follow trends on try to milk the cash cow dry, like many did in 2012.
Among the many reasons for my abject failure is my inability to pay for publicity and my refusal to pat any egos to falsify sales figures.
I wanted my writing to live or die on its own value and it died with dignity-perhaps this idea should have remained a schoolboy's dream.
I am very sorry that I can't bring you scandal lovers any more bad tidings, other than I will be having some blood tests to see if I passed anything onto my children.
Over the last week, the reader figures have been exceptionally high because I was giving out exciting gossip-I am sad I can satisfy your desire for this, my life involves writing, writing and writing.
I was thinking of keeping this going to the end, if I had Fabry's disease, that would have meant another year on the blog, but I changed my m
Over the last few months I have cut myself off from most of the on line presence I once had.
To many of my friends this was a foolish act of denial, but I had grown disenchanted with the tawdry world out there, where it was not writing talent which counts; but whose ass you can lick or who much you can pay to push the book.
After my imposed exile, my opinon is hardened more, especially when I see the amount of fanfiction which garners sales, while good writers suffer.
With kindness I can never (!) repay-to my shame-Julia, my editor has enrolled me on a course to improve my writing style. Neither of us think I will have trouble on the course, it is my opinion the people who will struggle are those who write pages of details into stories to pad the count; my short, high action stories do not (!) get bogged down.
I am undertaking to write a Medieval story which has been on my mind for some time; I will not see the advances I made at the end, nor will I get to see the 10 e-book sales month, but I hope this course makes me a better writer for anybody who may pick one of my books at a later date.
I got a pleasant surprise today-Old Church Ghosts, which is my most popular story finally took a sale-but before I celebrated, I took a second look at the sales record to make certain it was not another victim of Amazon's buy, read and return policy.
With the approach of Halloween, why not treat yourself to a ghost story from this collection, some are so spooky they chill me and I knew what lay ahead ;)
Zombiewatch should be out for Halloween.
Most of the others are more spiritual, spirits lost on their travels seeking a way over the veil between life and the afterlife.
I have cut the prices on these books on Amazon, in a bid to get a few sales-they are worth far more than I ask, but you have the control :(
Chronicles book 1 was the award winner last October.
Chronicles book 2 is the book which took my editor, Julia, and I several months to prepare.
The Love of the Sea is my romantic ghost story which again took months to write and edit.
My asking price-less than the cost of a cup of coffee :(
Anybody who knows me will tell you-and it's been said often-"I don't publicise myself enough."
This is partly because I don't see in my work what others do and fail to appreciate its value as writing, and also I go by the axiom-"Self praise is no praise," which is why I prefer others to tell you my work is good and here are a few comments from the site at Stik.com.
Others can be found by checking the books on my Amazon page. https://authorcentral.amazon.com/gp/books?ie=UTF8&pn=irid27507100
I would like to thank everybody who took the time to recommend my work, it means a lot to me.
This page is for a general chat.