HELLO, INTERNET. I'm currently being swamped by a tidal wave of creative juices, so here I am to share a bit of info on those things! No, you don't have to thank me; all part of the service.
A few months ago, I started teaching myself how to code video games using GAMEMAKER. I made a start on quite a few ideas/prototypes, but when my external hard drive crashed it took a bunch of my game files with it. SAD FACE. So this last week I got back on that particular horse and have been working on SPACE REX 2 (pictured above) and THE END (pictured below).
The former has you controlling a disembodied tyrannosaur bonce unleashing cosmic energy roars in order to obliterate asteroids. Rex is mad, you see, since a gigantic space rock destroyed his friends, family and well, entire species. Help him get his revenge! But watch out for the cosmic horrors hiding/controlling some of the asteroids, oh noooooooooooooooo!
The latter sees a lass trying to make it across a city during an invasion by inter-dimensional horrors. When she sees them, she goes nuts and explode-mutates into one! It'll be peppered with little chunks of (semi-random) flavour-text-as-encounters, because why not.
I'm also working on what might be another novel, this time featuring the return of my favourite character/creation, private investigator Jack Green. I wrote a ton of stuff featuring him and his exploits uncovering eldritch terrors, but never made them widely available (even though they've been read by quite a few people by this point), so I'm seriously considering dipping my toes into the murky waters of self-publishing. I figure a bunch of my writer chums do well this way, so why not give it a go? His adventures actually pave the way for a whole bunch of stories I have had published, so they'd tie a load of things together, which (all modesty aside) I reckon would be pretty cool.
I'm also still in the process of trying to find a home for my apocalyptic sci-fi/horror/doomed love/metaphysical/Greek tragedy redux novel, which, when I put it like that, probably explains why I haven't found a home for it yet. COMPLEXITY!
And last but not least, I'm also working on some new music, like THIS! -->
Hello, Internet. I was offline but now I'm not. So what have I been up to in the interim?
WRITING.
Glorious, glorious writing.
The one major upside to having no internet to distract me is that I could focus on writing almost all day, every day, for nearly a month. The downside is that it hampered research efforts and lead to a lot of ADD EXTRA DETAIL HERE reminders in my text. Extra details which I am now working on, hurray!
But what have you actually been writing, Wayne?
A novel! A bloody novel! Or maybe a lengthy novella. I'm near the end of it, so we'll see. I started writing a short story a looongggg time ago based on the 'myth' of Oedipus, who killed his father and married his mum then sexed her up. All I could find, way back when, was essays on it, and in my ignorance didn't realise there were technically three plays that formed an unofficial trilogy in the tale of Oedipus. But this last month, I managed to pick up a real-life book, with all three plays in, complete with its own fascinating notes.
Sophocles was a Greek dramatist, a contemporary of Aeschylus and Euripedes. He created the legend of Oedipus in Antigone, then provided the foundations in his most-known piece Oedipus Rex/King Oedipus, before allowing a tragic death in Oedipus At Colonus - though having no purposeful narrative link, save the character of Oedipus (they were not written as a true trilogy) they are rearranged by many into a chronology befitting the events in each play. Namely: Oedipus Rex, Oedipus At Colonus and Antigone (she is one of his daughters).
Although pretty much every translation/dramatisation takes some liberties with the language used (the nuances of Greek theatre are notoriously difficult to adequately translate into other languages), there is still a lot of excellent, raw material to play with (sorry, terrible pun, sorry). I enjoyed reading through all three plays and noting tons of lines, from simple declarations such as
O Holy Ones of awful aspect
to provocative statements such as
We have only a little time to please the living / but all eternity to love the dead
all of which are filtering into the novel in some way, shape or form. However, at some point in the past, before I picked up a copy of the Theban Plays (as they're collectively known), I ran out of steam with the story. I had an interesting setting (a suicidal town on the crossroads of time) and main character (a man, a wanderer, with a heavy past and desire to reach a particular future) but no real aim. Where was the man going? Why? What was the point of it all?
So it faded away, to join the ranks of many, many half-finished high-concept, but empty-plotted, stories.
Then, a year or so ago, I started writing a new story, about a man, also traversing a world ruled by 'new gods', who encounters a priest. This story was to be about apotheosis, a lovely old word that effectively refers to a person becoming a god. The traveller was the main character from my short published story Of Buried Truths (still available to read online HERE), a piece that many (myself included) felt like it needed/deserved some kind of sequel. This was to be that sequel.
But, once again, I had some strong concepts but didn't really know what to do with them. So it faltered and faded.
Then, a few months ago, when I was re-reading unfinished stories, seeing if there were any worth continuing ( a regular practice of mine inspired by my chum Jim musing on the idea of creative momentum) I suddenly realised these two separate stories could very easily exist in the same world. And if they did, why? How about if the man from the Oedipus-influenced story was after the man in the Truths sequel? But! What if that man became a female character...my mind was grinding along and a wider, deeper narrative took shape. One that takes the Theban Plays as its basis, without directly following or copying the events (so the main character isn't looking to kill his father, and isn't inadvertently related to his own wife) and applies ideas taken from quantum physics: time and space anomalies, alternate realities, duplication of the mind...
One idea I always like to touch on in my work is the fact that our world is governed by fundamental laws. Gravity keeps us on the ground, time moves forward, etc. What if something happened to utterly destroy or warp those laws? Could we, as a species, comprehend it? What if time became fluid, if geography grew fractured - everything remains in the same place, but the way you get there changes...? Heady stuff. And exciting.
So here I am, merging two separate narratives together into one plot, that examines time as a recursive wave, reality in a state of decoherence and the present as a state of existence that remains constant. All tied up with references (overt and otherwise) to ancient Greek tragedy.
I LOVE IT and I'm excited to get it finished and into other people's eyeballs. I'd like to try and shop it around once it gets to that point, see if I can bank on my old luck in finding a publisher. Otherwise, I may...may...try the self-publishing route. UNGH. Who knows? Life is full of mysteries.
I've just realised I didn't post about this exciting and intriguing THING on here yet. The rest of the internetz has heard about it, but not you, you lonely, lovable little corner. WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?!
For reasons that will become apparent once you point your eyeballs at the above link, you've been granted control of the world famous Dr. Quincy, M.E. Use your wits and his gruff, no-nonsense attitude to solve MURDERS in a 'choose your own adventure' style. It's a DEMO so isn't finished, but there's a cigarette break's worth of sleuthing to do so far, so dig in. It is absolutely medically and scientifically accurate.
The other fun facts? I'm in Texas and I'm about to get married. Hurray for me. I'm filling my time in-between America adventures by submitting stories and accidentally eating nuts (I'm allergic). Hurray x 2.
I recently met a bunch
of new people and once they found out I was a writer, they asked
“Have you written anything I'd have heard of?”
How the hell do you
respond to this?
I've been asked
variations of this over the last few years, and I typically end up
trying to explain that yes, I am published, no I'm not
self-published, yes the books I'm in are widely available, no they're
not my books they're anthologies...but I have compiled and edited
anthologies and novels. Yes, these are widely available, no you
probably haven't heard of the writers/publishers unless you run in
those circles. Every conversation ends the same, where I relent to
succinct self-promotion and tell them to “Google Wayne Goodchild. I
should be the top result, or near the top.”
Likewise, if people
ever ask me if I've written/published a novel, I say no, because
although I've written a full one (that I shop around every so often
and have received legitimate decent feedback on) and I'm actively
working on another, the fact remains absolutely anyone in the world
can and probably has at some point 'worked on a novel'. You don't
need to be an actual writer to have written one. I know a few people
who think of themselves as writers (or used to) without ever actually
getting published. It's like saying you're an artist but never
showing anyone your paintings – maybe you're really good, but if
you don't do anything with your work, you're just full of hot air.
Speaking of hot air,
I've run out of steam (ooo, nice segue!) in recent years regarding
writing. I started taking it seriously in the first place because I
found myself unemployed and with a ton of time on my hands. I chose
to make productive use of this time by hammering away at stories to,
hopefully, sell. Now, six years later I have a sizeable number of
publication credits under my belt and, although I won't feel like it
until I've had either my own work published or paid pro rates, I'm a
professional writer. NAME DROP ALERT: when I attended the book
signing for Phobophobia in London at the end of 2011, I told Jonathan
Green I didn't feel like a professional writer and couldn't believe
my luck that I was in a book alongside such writers as himself, Simon
Kurt Unsworth and William Meikle. Jonathan very kindly pointed out
that they're classed as professional writers, so if I'm in a book with
them, it stands to reason I must be too.
Anyway, I've always had
a fear of losing momentum. And I have/did. In communication with
other writers, I know this is a common occurrence, and it has less to
do with writers block and more to do with life getting in the way.
I'm unemployed again and close to getting married, and at this moment
in time have no idea what country I'll be living in by the end of
this year, so naturally my focus is all shot to pieces. However, I'm
taking great pains to use my free time and channel recent
experiences/problems into writing. It is and always has been a very
cathartic experience for me, as I'm sure it is for other
writers/artists/etc. I've always maintained that if I can't create
I'll die, metaphysically speaking. It's why you'll likely never find
me in an office job (if I can help it).
So what ARE you working
on, Wayne? Well, I'm glad you asked. Two main things, right now: an
ostensibly 'sci-fi' novel that is actually every single genre at once
and a 'sci-fi' novella that starts as an absurd satire before
morphing into something a hell of a lot more sinister. The novel is
some way references pretty much everything I've had published before,
and the novella will be the final story in a short story collection.
This collection could be my first attempt at dipping my toes in the
murky waters of self-publishing, but only because most of the stories
have been previously/legitimately published (by independent presses
that have unfortunately folded). All the stories will be in some way
tweaked and likely bookended by a few brand new ones. It'll also be
presented chronologically, with stories starting in the 1860s and
ending in the latter half of this century. Someone pointed out to me
that my 'speciality' seems to be 'small town horror', plus
unrelentingly bleak endings. The collection will have both of these
in abundance. Yippee!
I'm suddenly aware I'm
still holding her hand. Her beauty is hypnotising me again. “What
are you?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper again.
She does a fine
impression of a coquettish youth, all smiles and coy looks. I figured
her to be Temptation but I'm starting to believe she might be Chaos.
She leads me down
several streets, past numerous old buildings and new businesses.
People hang from windows and lay in alleys, throats constricted and
wrists slit.
LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL THING! It's the cover to the latest anthology I'm in! Yes, I'm still writing! Other things have taken precedence in the last year but I'm still churning out weird fiction. My story is called 'Dredge' and is about a park ranger, his family, and the realisation that something ancient and monstrous has been awakened deep in the ocean. It's kind of erotic but also disgusting. And yes, Lovecraftian. I mean, why the hell not? You can get your metaphorical mitts on the e-book version now, and the print version will be coming out sooooooooooon!
The City's night was alive with the sounds of violence. As
Harry Cash walked the rain-slick streets, he was soaked in the noise of society as it
revelled in the unbridled optimism birthed by the end of the war. The door had
been opened for reckless hedonism, and it covered everything like a dirty blanket.
Quiffs and drugstore cowboys littered the streets; human detritus caught in the
wind of change, free to roam the night. Drunks spilled out of clubs and bars,
the signs above the doors buzzing and popping with coloured electricity. This
was his New York, drenched in neon, with red like blood and the green of
disease. The sick thing was, Hope was a cancer eating The City alive, but no
one realised it. A steady drizzle couldn't dampen people's spirits; instead, it
only served to give the pavement the appearance of having bled black blood. The
roar of traffic became the growl of a gargantuan shadow moving behind the
nearby buildings. Always on the periphery. Usually always.
Fellow author and READ THE END FIRST contributor Gregory Norris has put together a nice little post on his blog from a bunch of us what gone done wrote some thing for the book, detailing our inspirations and ideas for the stories. HAVE A READ!
Keep it down, will you? Some of us are trying to write. nb. This post contains lyrical waxing and personal statements, which some viewers may find offensively boring.*
First things first, for those out of the loop: A Glitch in the Continuum and Attack of the Fifty Foot Book are no more. Basically, a mixture of cold feet between the publisher and some authors have caused these anthologies to breathe their last. It's no one's fault, really. Just one of those things. And in working on 'this side of the fence' I've come to understand just how mercurial the small press can be. I'd like to be able to resurrect these anthos in the future (because I think they both had really cool concepts, if I do say so myself) but we'll have to wait and see. In any case, I hope to be able to edit/compile other anthologies, for whichever publisher, but this is something I'm going to concentrate on after I'm all sorted.
"Sorted"? Yes, I'm moving house! What?
Living the highly profitable* lifestyle of a published writer allows me to make my abode in such a place as a damp-riddled maisonette. Every morning, I get a breath of bracing cold air thanks to the highly effective* double-glazing, and feel the invigoration of the same cold temperature once I leave my bed thanks to the equally effective insulation. Sets me up for the day ahead!
But, I can't live in this sort of luxury forever, and so I'm moving, somewhere really downmarket. A semi-detached house, with central heating. How the mighty have fallen! Please, don't cry for my awful circumstances. I get to share them with my platonic wife. She likes to remind me that I need to finish washing her pots. It's a fun thing we do. She also likes to tell me how to pack boxes, because moving house repeatedly over the last few years has not given me this rare and useful life skill. None of these things in any way wind me up and kill any writing buzz I might have had.*
But seriously. I've been struggling to write lately, for these reasons, and because I hate the idea of starting a new story when I have a shitload of unfinished ones stuck on a broken USB stick. I have duplicates of some of these stories, but they're 'unedited' and I can't face re-doing all the changes because I intend to get the USB stick (hopefully) fixed. In the meantime, I'm trying to work on a few stories, including a pulp/horror/superhero piece that is currently stuck somewhere in the Fifties, but I might move to modern times, and a prequel story to yet another story that hasn't been published.
I do like to link a lot of my stories together - and was only really able to do this once I stopped writing things where everybody dies hahaha I'd like to think that, after I've been going for a few more years and picked up more of a readership, constant readers will start to notice references to other stories, or events, or maybe even the inclusion of previously-used characters. I know it's a little obvious to cite Stephen King as an influence, but when I was a teen I read his stuff religiously, a bit like how I am nowadays with Bentley Little. I thought his Dark Tower saga was so good I didn't want to finish reading it. So I stopped halfway through the last book. The way he weaves a multitude of his stories into that world is brilliant, and though I wouldn't want to do something on a similar scale, I do like the idea of there being this 'place' that incorporates elements/characters/what-have-you from existing realities/stories.
And on that non-ending, let's call it a night. Some of us have boxes to badly pack and other people's pots to wash.*
Greetings, scumbags! I've been remarkably quiet on here as of late, and for that I apologise. Now shut up and read my words you bastards.
As as often the case with me, I tend to pile a lot of my energy into several creative ventures at once, causing one or two to slide into the background a bit. But, I guess it's not really at any sort of expense since the stuff I do focus on turns out effing awesome. This is the point where I plug my band again, and then ask you to consider supporting us by purchasing our CD. We're called Handsome Bastards and don't really sound like anyone else, and I feel confident in saying that because my musical taste is both impeccable and all-encompassing. You can pick up a copy of the TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM ep here for A VERY SMALL AMOUNT OF MONEY. We use this money to fund orphanages in Africa. Fund them buying their cocaine, that is. What, you didn't know that's how those places operate? You haven't lived, my friend.
I've also been doing stuff with my arts education collective, Tinpot. Please take a moment to check out our Facebook page and 'like' us! If you don't, I'll know you secretly hate children.
And back to the business in hand, namely WRITING. I've got three main things to work on at the moment; a sort-of sci-fi script (which is being polished), a short story in which a very surreal and grotesque apocalypse comes to Scunthorpe (yes, I finally get a chance to decimate my hometown), and a short story about a sinister funfair.
The script is for a friend, that I may or may not be at liberty to discuss openly. I probably am, but I'd like to create some air of mystery.
The apocalypse story is for THIS BOOK which I was invited to write for. I'm always very honoured and thankful when this happens, and especially so when the other authors involved are reeeaaalllllly cool people *crawly crawly bum lick*.
The funfair story is for THIS SUBMISSION CALL. I don't think I've plugged Evil Jester Press yet, which is borderline criminal of me. It's run by Charles Day, a lovely chap I've met online (not like that, you perverts) who writes beguilingly innocent horror (I mean, in the style, not that it all ends up being a baddie in a monster mask like in Scooby Doo or anything). I'm chuffed to bits this venture's got off the ground running, and hope it continues. I certainly don't think it hurts having people like my editing chum Bill Tucker onboard to help compile anthos ;) Not that I'm assuming my story will be easily picked up for this particular anthology! Although I hope so, because it's already moving along at a cracking pace and has a very strange reason for the sinister stuff that happens. There's also a lot of real darkness involved (like the insinuation of rape, and the bleakness of living in a town that's inexorably dying from lack of jobs) that I think adds something extra to proceedings. I had success with a circus horror story already [ buy this to find out what it's like ;) ] so if lightning can strike twice in this particular sub-genre, I'll be pretty chuffed.
I think that's the main stuff for now. KEEP TUNED FOR MORE SEXCITING UPDATES????
A brief review of Alienology has appeared online --> HERE! and now, if you're one of those complete weirdoes who hate paper, you can get the antho as an 'e-book' --> HERE!
I'm going to try and use today to finish writing, or nearly finish, a short story called WOUNDS, which is all about a former mental patient who returns home with news that something rotten's lurking beneath the civilised veneer of the town - but is it? Or is he still deluded? Clue: he's not. I'm going for a Lovecraft vibe (what a surprise!) but I think I'm going to nail it with this one - lots of creepy instances that something isn't right, but hopefully no one will guess what until the end ;)
Well, I will do this ^ if my computer doesn't crash. Last night it told me 'A kernal thread terminated while holding a mutex'. I can safely say I've never heard that one before. Hmmm.
Good golly! BACONOLOGY is now available! My story's called SISTERS OF BACON, is set in the 20's, and is about people turning into pigs. Every other story in the anthology is about bacon. WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?
Get it now, or be condemned as a poncho-wearing vegan!
Just rocketed a bunch of stories off via email to various markets. Some of which were previously rejected (but nicely, and typically because they didn't quite fit whichever place) but I haven't given up hope on them yet, by gum! They include The Future Is What We Say It Is (a politics-heavy sci-fi piece, which're two things I don't really write about much), Black Mountain (a Lovecraftian 'unseen horror' piece, which I do like writing, but this time I actually kept the 'monster' off-screen), Papa Crow (one of my fav and best-received [by my peers] pieces, but still homeless) and Fresh Meat for The City (a quite frankly bizarre mash of Lovecraft and noir that was initially written for an anthology that's never taken off the ground).
I'd like to tweak and send more off but it's getting close to my bedtime, I want cake, and I now have my Xbox back online and Sky Go is calling me with all its wonderful on demand films and programs.
Like some kind of idiot, I've completely forgotten to plug two things I'm in/involved with. So here they are! -->
COLLABTHOLOGY: KINDLE OF THE DEAD is a taster/promo Kindle book thing (e-book! that's it) brought to YOU by the chumps I'm writing Collaboration of the Dead with (to recap, there're a whole bunch of writers who're doing a couple of chapters - in a random order - to write a zombie novel, and so far it's looking ACE). This e-book contains the first 5 chapters, plus a ton of short horror stories by collab (and non-collab) writers. Get it HERE! Unfortunately, I was too busy to get a story sorted for inclusion, but I did make the nifty logo ;)
TALES FROM THE VOID is now available to buy HERE! And here's a juicy excerpt from my story in it, 'MIDNIGHT IN A SMALL TOWN': ------------------- Reggie Jones had suffered the double indignity of premature grey hair, and early-onset male pattern baldness, reducing his once-lustrous curls to a ponytail and a ring of hair around the top of his ears. To the casual onlooker, it would appear that Reggie Jones had realized he could still grow some hair and thought, 'Do you know what? I'm going to make the most of it'. As a style, it was as unsuitable as calling a middle-class white boy from California 'Reginald'.
Small, round glasses constantly roosted on the edge of his nose, giving him an air of 'casual librarian', whilst a scruffy shirt and trousers hid both his paunch and meticulous desire for neatness and order. Since he was by no means an unattractive man, Reggie knew his occupation wrong-footed many female acquaintances. Reggie Jones was the county coroner, and he loved his job.
“I can't wait to see this deer!” He grinned at Earl. “But why's it here?”
Earl strode towards his friend, and then shook his hand. “I didn't have any room at the surgery, and I wanted to keep it in as complete a condition as possible for you to examine,” Earl explained, leading Reggie around the back of Hannon's Family Butchers. “Bill had plenty of room in his meat locker, and I reasoned that as long as I kept the deer covered up, there wouldn't be any risk of contamination.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No. I just said me and the boys needed somewhere to store our kill from this morning for a couple of hours, and he didn't mind.”
“What didn't I mind?” Bill stood by the open back door, the remnants of a hand-rolled cigarette in his mouth.
“Just telling Reggie what a pal you are, Bill--letting me store some meat here.”
“Hey, no problem.” Bill spat the cigarette out and crushed it underfoot, and then lead the two other men inside. “Say, Earl, you've got the be the only vet I know who likes killing animals as much as saving 'em.” Bill chuckled, unlocking the large door to the cold storage.
“How many vets do you know?”
“Just you,” the butcher said, grinning. He swung the door open and flicked a switch.
Harsh fluorescents buzzed into life and bathed hanging slabs of meat in light, their surfaces caked in red frost. The deer--safely wrapped in a green, plastic bodybag--hung at the back of the walk-in refrigerator, surrounded by empty hooks.
“Give me a hand pulling it down, Earl,” Jones said, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. Earl stepped closer, and together the two men grabbed the bag. It immediately sprang to life--wicked, black hooks slicing out from inside of the bag, revealing both a tumorous growth and the dead eyes of the deer itself.
“Fuck!” Bill pinballed off slabs of meat as he staggered backwards out of the meat locker.
“I thought you said it was dead!” Jones shouted at Earl, fighting the animal's kicking legs whilst simultaneously trying to dodge insectile claws which slashed through the bag.
“It was! You can see the bullet hole where Hank put one through its brain! Dammit--” Earl let go of the struggling corpse, then dashed from the room.
He returned a moment later with his hunting rifle--to find Jones standing back and watching the creature as it buckled and writhed, bleating tonelessly and shrilly.
Earl aimed at the beast's head and fired a single, devastating shot. Pieces of the animal's skull exploded through the back of the bodybag, showering blood and bone across the back wall of the meat locker. Jones held his hands up to his ears and swore profusely.
As the animal continued to jerk and scream, Earl realized he'd shot the wrong part. He raised the rifle and fired directly into the black mass inside of its body. The deer and the black organism jerked once, twice--and then slumped inside the remains of the bodybag, fully dead once more.
“Christ on a bike!” Jones half-laughed. “I have never seen anything like that before in my life!” Making noises of relief, he tried to lift the carcass off the hook. Earl slung his gun over his shoulder and helped his friend, mindful of the black liquid that oozed inside the tattered bag.
They lifted the body together and carried it out of the shop via the back door. Bill followed them, his face pale. Wringing his hands, he said, “What was that? What happened?”
“I had to kill it again,” Earl said, lifting up and locking the back panel to the pick-up.
“Why the hell--”
“Oh, and you might want to wear gloves next time you go in the fridge,” Jones added, sliding into the truck's passenger seat. “It made a bit of a mess.”
Hello, oiks. I know you all struggle to function without irregular updates from yours truly, so get on your knees in supplication because HERE COMES INFO!
I'm currently editing ATTACK OF THE 50FT BOOK. It's an anthology filled with giant monster stories, for those of you who've been living under a rock in a cave on Saturn with your eyes stitched shut and wax in your ears. I've also started work on the cover, which should look pretty cool indeed.
The artist I've contracted for the cover to A GLITCH IN THE CONTINUUM (stories about time travel/alternate reality, that all involve something going tits up) recently provided me with rough sketch ideas and they're EXCELLENT. I can't wait to reveal the finished product! I'm also working on formatting this book right now, too.
Editing should start soon for THROUGH THE WORMHOLE, an antho I'm putting together with my chum and partner in rhyme BILL TUCKER - this one's stuffed with weird sci-fi that ranges from the goofy to the grotesque!
And finally, in the anthology department, I'm just waiting for the ISBNs for NO MORE HEROES, a shared universe superhero antho me and Bill put together. This one's been delayed by a few months now, so it'll be good to finally get it out there in the big wide world.
As much as I enjoy putting anthologies together (and getting an insight into the publishing business in the process) I'm rather looking forward to getting these ones out the way purely because I haven't had much time to concentrate on my own writing, and I hate the idea of losing any forward momentum (I don't think that's going to happen, but there's always that little fear).
I've been very lucky in that the last few stories I've written and had accepted were for invite-only publications, something of which I'm extremely proud - I've only being getting stuff accepted/subbing stuff since Feb '09, so to be at this 'level' already gives me a bit of a big head ;). I can actually feel myself getting better at writing, as nuts as that sounds. Of course, it helps that I've found a brilliant support network of other writers, and I'm always finding more. Too many to name, in all honesty, but you could start by checking out the blogs to the other people who follow me over there --> as well as clicking on a few of the links (not least Cafe Doom and the other writer blogs). [As an aside, I definitely could do with linking to some other cool writing places such as SHOCK TOTEM but I'll leave all that for the near-future]. As naff as it sounds, I don't think I'd be where I am without a lot of the help and support of the writers I've met online (and in some cases, in real-honest-to-goodness-flesh), so thanks. You know who you are, you chumps!
In other news, every time I go in Blockbuster to rent a DVD whoever serves me actively tries to make me change my mind. I could understand if I was picking up SyFy Originals or Asylum knock-offs, but the last few films were THE LAST EXORCISM, BURIED and MONSTERS. The Last Exorcism was genuinely creepy, though I think it blows its load at the end (I like the ending but it doesn't exactly flow. But then maybe that's the point...); Buried was excellent, ballsy and deeply claustrophobic even when watching it on a household telly in a well-lit room; Monsters was good, well-shot, but overall underwhelming. Perhaps due to the "shoestring" budget, more than likely to do with the script, which felt a bit obvious.
I do, however, firmly believe that what the director/vfx artist/jack-of-all-trades Gareth Edwards has created is one hell of a calling card of his talents, and a clear indication that you don't need $squillions to make an effective film. You can arguably make a better film, but then that's pretty obvious. In any case, with all three films, the staff at Blockbuster proved themsleves to be grossly uneducated. You can have an opinion, but when you're calling something like Monsters "shocking" (as in 'shockingly bad') you need to get some sense in that coconut of yours, sunshine.
Last but not least, I'm steadily beavering away on an aforementioned 'phobia' story, that should be pretty cool once it's done and dusted - I'm linking it to/setting in the same universe as my Jonny Cave stories, which makes me feel stupidly giddy for no apparent reason. I'm also working on a million other stories, including a few that mess with the idea of alternate realities (hint: they don't actually exist as 'alternates') and one that is taking its time to scramble out my brainpan but is very strange indeed, and involves killer bird creatures and British daytime TV.
And that's ya lot! I've been Wayne Goodchild's fingers, typing his thoughts onto your screen. And you've been your eyes, reading them. Well done, you.
I would like to publicly apologise for insinuating that whatever Wayne Goodchild tells me to write is a waste of time and unimportant. Wayne Goodchild is the most important human I know, next to Willy, the little boy who accompanies me on my adventures. What? He does. That's not some weird alien rabbit slang, you pervert.
Wayne Goodchild has a special way of treating animals, even mutant ones like me. You can find out more about this particular personality quirk when this book comes out:
His story is called DR DOLITTLE, HE AIN'T and it's quite frankly the most absurd thing he's ever written. That's not my opinion, I hasten to add, but Wayne Goodchild's himself. A man gets stranded in a desert diner, clearly on the run from something...but what? When this antho comes out, you'll know! OH BOY, WILL YOU! Hint: it involves animals.
Mind you, I'm currently on the run myself - from EVIL TOADS!
That's a joke, because *guffaw* get this *snigger* Complex is the name of the evil toad computer I always fight! HA HA HA! Anyway, let me get serious for a moment.
Wayne Goodchild informs me he's very busy at the moment, editing and some other boring human stuff I really can't be bothered to repeat here. Something about losing work, and having time to write or YAWN BORING WAYNE. An interesting thing he did come out with is that his latest Jonny Cave story owes a debt to John Carpenter's film In The Mouth of Madness (which is one of my favourite films, alongside Bunny Girls On Top) and that his phobia story, which is about Xanthophobia (the fear of yellow) takes place in the same universe as Jonny Cave, but in modern times. That's actually quite exciting. I do enjoy writers who link their stories together. Mind you, I prefer linking up awesome hand-to-hand combat techniques when I'm fighting EVIL TOADS!
Whilst I'm hiding out from the evil Complex, let me clue you Earthlings in on what my chum Rev. Wayne Austin Goodchild is up to!
A new Jonny Cave story, involving an insight into what might be lurking under the streets of New Bedlam... A story about Xanthophobia - the fear of YELLOW! Editing A GLITCH IN THE CONTINUUM Sending out notifications for ATTACK OF THE 50FT BOOK Reading for THROUGH THE WORMHOLE Moving house! I'm reliably informed he spent a lot of money on a bed recently. I wouldn't mind sleeping in a proper bed - the bunks on my spaceship, The Righteous Indignation, are VERY uncomfortable. Mind you, there's precious little time for sleep when the universe is under threat from EVIL TOADS!
I'm MOVVVIIINNNGGG!!!!! I mean, I'm always moving because I have use of my legs, but what I mean is 'I'm moving house'. I'll be online in spits and spats for a while, but DON'T FRET! You can still access super duper tasty Rev. Austin goodness in its various forms in my absence:
My very short Lovecraftian piece OF BURIED TRUTHS will appear on Eschatology at the end of this month.
The second part of the Jonny Cave adventure DIONYSUS RISING should appear in New Bedlam this month too.
Previously on Jonny Cave... A travelling theatre troupe have rolled into town, and their latest performance is having a decidedly weird effect on all those who watch it. After the only other preacher in New Bedlam cuts his wrists and tries to drink the blood, and Jonny's companion Laura Paris gets impossibly, uncharacteristically, drunk, Jonny decides to take direct action and confront the head of the theatre group...
What else? I think that's it for now. My band, Phyliss, have some songs online if you fancy a listen [http://www.myspace.com/phylisswilldestroyyou] and my other band, Handsome Bastards, may or may not have some songs online soon, too [http://www.myspace.com/realbastards].
Ta ta, kiddies! KEEP WATCHING THE SKKKKKKIIIIIIIEEESSS!!!!
I talked about 'deleted scenes' a while ago, and here's my latest one. It's the original start to something I've almost finished working on, a sort-of superhero story about a vigilante who goes around beating up drunks and lowlifes in a small American town:
The man, inebriated to the point of violence, roughly dragged an attractive young lady into an alleyway.She tried to scream and cry for help but he kept slapping her into silence.“Shut up,” he snarled.“You owe me this.”
“Please…” She was barely out of her teens, dressed for summer despite the cold, brunette and petite.“Please let me go; I promise I won’t tell anyone!”
The man – himself somewhere in his thirties and with a face that was no stranger to violence – shoved her to the dirty ground and started to undo his belt buckle.“Make one more sound and I’ll kill you.”
Despite slurring half the sentence, the threat had the desired effect on the girl, who scooted back against the wall and tried not to allow the sounds of her crying to spill out into actual words.As the man leered closer she choked out: “No…”
The man’s eyes flared with rage and he grabbed a handful of her hair.“What did I just say?”
“Leave her alone.” The voice that came from the nearby shadows wasn’t deep or menacing, yet had enough force behind it to cause the man to let go of the girl.
“Who’s there?” He squinted into the darkness.“I’ll give you five seconds to f---”
The words died on his lips as someone – or something – stepped from the shadows.It was of average height and build, but covered entirely in black: black boots, black jeans, black long-sleeved top, black gloves…but the thing that made the drunk question if it was human or not was the weird head.Again, it was black but had gaps in it, a bit like a skull, but its shape was more snout-like, more…reptilian.
Remembering he was filled with alcohol (so impervious to everything) the man pushed the girl against the wall and turned to face the stranger. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“I might go easy on you,” it said, “if you let the girl go.”
“Fuck off, weirdo.” The drunk laughed to himself and returned his attention to the girl.
She uttered a shriek when the drunk cursed loudly and stumbled backwards.The man…creature…whatever he or it was…lunged for the drunk and proceeded to pummel him with its fists whilst shouting.She flinched with every hit, but couldn’t look away.
Eventually, the stranger stood up and staggered away from the drunk.He turned to the girl and said, “Have you got a phone?”
“Yes…”
“Call the police.I’ll watch over you until they arrive.Don’t worry -- you’re safe now.”
She scrambled to her feet and took a step closer to him.She could see that his ‘face’ was actually some sort of mask/helmet, under which he wore a balaclava.“Who are you?”
The stranger started to walk back into the shadows.“They call me…The Night Lizard!”
This is a little too goofy, plus the girl then describes all this in a police interview, so I've started the story with that instead. A little oddly, for a story about a costumed nutcase, he doesn't appear that often in it. With The Inexorable Rise of The Night Lizard I want to examine what it might be like if some normal guy dressed up like a superhero and existed in a 'real world' situation...whoa hang on a minute!
Yes, I know the obvious reference point is KICK-ASS (which I really enjoyed) not to mention similar films such as Defendor and the one starring the guy from The Rocker (I think it's called The Crimson Bolt), but this is that old chestnut of having come up with the idea ages ago, plus it's only a surface similarity...KICK-ASS was still comic booky (in that the hero gets a 'superpower' of dulled pain response from all his beatings, and the other characters act and fell like comic book characters - not making any kind of point, just saying). The Night Lizard is operating in a sleepy little town. What's the point of his existence? If a real superhero (or costumed vigilante) existed, there'd be no point in him hanging around some place where drunkenness is the only real 'crime'...yet The Night Lizard has to protect such a town. Why? Well hopefully the actual story will get picked up somewhere and you'll be able to find out that our plucky hero is both mentally disturbed (not in an obvious way) and headed down a decidedly non-comic booky path ;) oooooo!
