Tag Archives: author blogs

20 Jun 2014 · 1:44 pm

What do you see, you people looking at me?

As many of you probably know, there’s a little bit, in WordPress, that tells you what people typed into their search engines to get to your  blog. I’ve just been looking at fellow Gumbee Writers’ Guild author, Jim Webster’s latest post about the absurd things people type to get to his – apparently it’s a big favourite with people looking for Marks & Spencers knickers.

Boringly, most of the people who come here have either typed a variant of “why do so few UK agents handle sci-fi and fantasy” into their search engine and come up with this post or they’re actually looking for me. Or at least, they were. After reading Jim’s post I had a quick look at my stats and this is what I found.

the beebatron cbbeis, the beebatron tardis
Excellent. Yes, random person, I can confirm that I, too, have noticed that the Beebatron which was on CBeebies a while back, was the old 1970s Tardis control console. Did you also notice that it then went on to be come Riff the dog’s mixing desk in Carrie and David’s pop shop.

Second: snurd, phn erotcia ah ah ah oh

Yeeeeeees. That one’s a bit of a worry.

The word “snurd” didn’t mean anything when I came up with the concept but I have checked the Urban Dictionary since and discovered that “snurd” is also a contraction of “snotty little turd”. Which, in itself, is quite interesting.

Tangental Hint: the Urban Dictionary is kind of like Rogers’ Profanisaurus – only a bit more serious. However, if you write any kind of spec fic it’s always worth checking it out before you name anyone or anything. You don’t want to discover that your hero’s monika is also the slang term for one of those loud honk-like farts that sounds as if someone’s dragging a table across the floor of the room above. I didn’t know about the Urban Dictionary when I started out.  That’s why I have a race of bad guys called the slang term for a fellow who has one ball that hangs considerably lower than the other.

So there you have it. The Urban Dictionary: gold. Now then, where was I? Ah yes…

What all this illustrates to me is two things: First, what we write on the web can be taken very differently to the way in which it is meant. Second, it’s going to be there for a very long time.  Your views my change, your outlook may mellow but that rabid rant you posted in 2008 will be with you always. This thought crystallised further when I opened my second blog alert this morning and found this article about whether or not agents google the writers who query them: short answer, they do.

Today’s advice, then. Think twice before you speak on the net, especially if you’re an author. Think extremely hard before you make any flippant remarks at anyone else’s expense or anything that might paint you as mean or vacuous or prejudiced. Remember, if you’re prone to bitch about publishers and agents, that if you ever want to work with them one day, they’re going to check you out. They’re going to read everything you’re saying now. So think, my lovely peps. Otherwise, hitting that ‘post’ button, or publishing that book, could constitute several high-calibre rounds to the foot.

15 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

3 Apr 2014 · 12:05 pm

Even More McMini

Oh deary me, another one of those weeks, I foolishly volunteered to do a blog meme, thinking I could easily rustle up three victi er hem sorry, three nominees to pass it on to. I have two happily queued up and ready but can I find a third one? No. I have four but two who will break the chain. Even worse, it’s only as I answer the questions that I realise I’ve actually done something very similar before.

Note to self. No memes. No blog chains. Nada. Zilch. Ever again. Why adding a few million links to a blog post should take so long I don’t know but it does. Also, as I’m facing a couple of weeks sans internet, I’ve been scheduling some posts to appear in my electronic absence. Unfortunately, this means I’ve spent all week working on my blog without actually posting anything.

Chaos Fairies 1: Efficiency 0

Never mind, onwards and upwards. I thought I would share some of the latest gems from McMini, so here they are.

On April Fool’s day…
We went to the park. Wisely, because the lavatories are at the opposite end to the swings, we went to the bogs first.

“Mummy I need a poo,” said McMini.
“Oh dear, do you? Alright, hang on and I’ll come in with you.”
McMini stood in front of the loo with his hands behind his head.
“Shouldn’t you sit down for a poo?”
“No. I’m only having a wee.”
“Might I suggest that you hold it and aim it for greater accuracy.”
“Oh no Mummy, I much prefer doing it like this, and it’s alright I don’t need a poo. It’s April False day remember? I was just falsing you.”

I put him straight, on both counts.

On his reading assignments…
“Mummy I wish I didn’t have to read a book every night, they are terribly long.”
“Yes, they are but a lot of them are quite fun and you read them very well. Anyway, you don’t remember to change your book every night do you? So technically, you don’t read one every night.”
“True…”
“So what happens if you fail to read your book?”
“We have to sit with one of the big year olds and read it the next day. And it’s always the same big year old.”
“You don’t like that, then?”
“No.”
I laughed at this and told him that I thought ‘big year olds’ was brilliant. I kept forgetting it and asking him to remind me.
“Oh Mummy you really are a porridge brain,” he rolled his eyes. “Come on, say it after me, Big. Year. Olds.”
“Big year olds. Right.”
“Got it?”
“Got it.”

On biology…
I told him he was getting much taller and that I couldn’t believe he grew inside my tummy. He stopped for a moment in shocked silence.

“Mummy, I didn’t grow inside your tummy. I am a boy. I grew inside Daddy’s tummy.”
“No, it takes a man and a lady to make a baby but everyone, girls and boys, grows inside the Mummy.”
“Oh. Are you certain Mummy?”
“Very.”
“So did I just grow?”
“No, Daddy helped.”
“How?”
“Well, men and ladies are made to fit together. The lady’s bits go in and the man’s bits go out like putting a plug into a socket. Then they have a very special cuddle and it makes a baby.”
“Can I have a special cuddle Mummy?”
“Not with me sunshine and certainly not yet. Special cuddles are only for grown ups.”

This was the point where half of me was standing outside myself, looking at what was going on, thinking “holy shit how did I get into this?” The key with these, is to offer enough information to shut them up without them a) getting more interested or b) saying or doing anything weird at school. I think I got away with it but I am beginning to understand why they used to feed kids all that bollocks about storks.

In church…
Loudly, during a particularly quiet, prayerful bit.

“Mummy, I have just done a fart and I can smell it and it’s a really stinky one.”
“Would you like to nip out and have a poo?”
“No, it’s OK, Mummy, I am fine.”
A few seconds later.
“Actually Mummy, I do need a poo.”
There was giggling from the other members of the congregation as we walked out.

At the Altar Rail…
After a lot of lively chat to me about robots and lego StarWars figures I told him he must try to be a little quieter now because people around us were trying to pray.

“Why don’t you try saying a couple of prayers? I’m going to.”
McMini screwed his eyes tight shut and buried his head on his hands. I knew he was really concentrating because only his legs were wriggling. After about 10 seconds he looked up.
“Mummy, I am having a lovely chat with God.”
“Good stuff little one. You carry on.”

Another at the alter rail conversation:

“Mummy, you’re not going to die soon, are you?”
“I hope not. I will at some stage because everyone does but hopefully not yet.”
“Are Annie and Poppa and Gramma and Pappa going to die soon?”
“Not for a while yet, I hope.”
“But they will die before I do?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Where do we go to get new Grandparents to replace them?”
“Well… it doesn’t work like that. They’re relatives, so when they die, there’s no-one to replace them.”
“Oh…”

Later that day….

“Mummy Annie laid* you. Who laid Annie?”
“Annie’s Mum, my Granny [name redacted].”
“Oh… who laid her?”
“I think my great, great Granny’s name was ….”
Long thoughtful silence.
“I see….”

On Manners….
While Enthusiastically Eating a Jaffa Cake, also in Church.

“Mummy look! I am ripping it like a dinosaur.”

Still in Church, still in a quiet bit…

“Look!” McMini held up a picture he’d drawn. “he is a baddy cowboy.” McMini then coloured his eyes in brown. “See? He has brown fire coming out of his eyes!”
“Brown Fire sounds like a euphemism for something else.”
“No it’s not brown fire Mummy. It’s pooh. He has pooh coming out of his eyes in big brown pooy streams.”
“Ah…” I replied as the people in the pew behind started giggling. What else could I say?

On school…

A sweet, friendly guest asked him, “Are you at school?”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy school?”
“Oh yes,” he said with enthusiasm.
“What’s your favourite lesson?”
“Lunch time.”

On history…
McMini told McOther a long and complicated story about a little girl called Frank who had hidden in a house under a bed from an evil soldier called Hitme. We later discovered that one of his friends had been to Holland over the holidays where she had visited Anne Frank’s house and told McMini all about it.

On cleanliness…
When I was trying to hurry him up going to bed – which takes a sod of a long time, believe me…

“Please will you stay here and play some more, Mummy?”
“I wish I could but I can’t. I have to go and cook your Dad’s tea and have a shower.”
“You don’t need a shower Mummy, you’re very fragrant as you are.”

In Church…
As the Gospel was read from the middle of the aisle, McMini moved over to where the bloke with the incense thingummy (the thurither) was swinging the incense container (the thurible). Slowly but surely he held out his biscuit, kippering it gently over the smoke. Needless to say the thurither (try saying that with your mouth full) started swinging it a bit further in McMini’s direction. Finally, wee man shuffled back to me, kippered gingernut triumphantly in hand.

“Mummy that incense smells delicious!” he said.

* Like an egg as in gave birth to.

24 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

25 Feb 2014 · 12:16 pm

Castles in the Sky. Feet in the…

Well hello everyone. I have been working hard at my blog all week but scheduled stuff all primed and ready to go automatically. I realise I haven’t actually said anything to anyone for ages. So here’s the thing: Few Are Chosen is now Perma Free! Oh yes, and although I’ve done very little about it, a couple of sites seem to have picked it up. Some people have even read it, and bought the second book. Booyacka! Thank you my lovelies!

So that’s the good news. Let’s celebrate with a joke from McMini.

“Mummy, tell me a knock knock joke.”
“OK. Knock knock.”
“I’m not in.”

Which got a guffaw from his Dad… which is more than my jokes ever do.

So why the meh?

Well, I know I’ve been dangerously detached for a while – worry about my folks – but suppose it came to a head last night. I forgot to cook supper. No laughing at the back! Yes, I am that out of it, that disengaged with real life. Seriously, though, how the fuck does a 45 year old adult forget to cook sodding tea? I’m so disconnected from the world around me that I am, frankly, a little bit scared to drive a car. It’s as if time’s stretched out and slowed down. I pull off a roundabout, there’s nothing next to me but by the time I’ve indicated and started to pull into the inside lane there is. I take too long looking in one direction at a junction and when I look back the other I’m riding my bike into the path of an oncoming car, with my boy on the back. My thoughts move slowly, as if they’re struggling through cotton wool. That is… not normal.

Then there’s my writing. K’Barthan 3 and 4 came back from the editor the other day. Like the curate’s egg it was good in parts. He also drew my attention to how dark it was, seriously hideously dark, dystopian misery lit dark. And it occurred to me, as I read it back, that I am not very happy, and lack the stamina to be continually worried long term without… repercussions.This whole disengagement with life would bear that out, of course.

Looking at the text, I could easily spot the bits I wrote in the months after my Brother in Law’s death, or when my Dad was extra sick, even without knowing which ones they were, because those are the bits where my characters really suffer.

In life there is always ambient background worry. I imagine it as a glass – apparently this is the psychologist’s favourite metaphor, I didn’t know that but there we go. Perhaps they use it because it works for most people. So the amount of liquid shit in the glass determines how much extra liquid shit you can take. Unfortunately, with my Dad’s trip to hospital, the ambient worry situation seems to have intensified and the shit is spewing out of the glass and turning the area around it into something more like the Somerset levels… or Datchett.

And while my subconscious is busy going arooogah and calling an all stations alert to pump the brown stinky back into the glass it switches itself off. That’s useful for avoiding any more crappy negative bollocks from spewing into the brain but does effect some essential functions…. like, making supper, remembering to pick up McMini from school, or going to pick him up when someone else is. Yes, believe me, I have phone alerts for everything. They beep when I have to do stuff and when they beep, I do it, before I forget… which takes about 3 seconds.

So there it is. I’ve sort of worked out what’s going on.

I’m a bit down. And I want a holiday from myself.

You may well be wondering why. I have the most lovely McOther and McMini I could hope for, a lovely extended family, top mates… a lot to be happy about. And I do. Let me try and explain.

My Maternal Grandfather, knew exactly when he was going to die, to the point when he said a very final farewell to me on the last occasion we met. Nothing was really said. He took my hand in both of his, looked straight into my face and said, “goodbye darling.” I knew, at once, that he was trying to tell me that this was the last time we would meet. I also knew that he realised I’d understood. Indeed, I’d say it’s the only time in my entire life I’ve ever picked up something subtle like a message without words. He didn’t say goodbye to the others like that but then, he saw them again, which, presumably, is why he said such a final goodbye to me.

My Mum was 80 a few months ago. She told me, gently, that her father didn’t survive to see 81 and I had a horrible feeling that she was telling me she thinks she mightn’t be around for long. And I think this is the root of it all. That my parents are knocking on, and soon they won’t be here. And I want their last years to be happy, and for life to be kind to them, and while I think they are happy, I know they are struggling.

So I suppose I’m just scared. Scared that Mum has the same prescience as my Grandfather had, and missing her in some stupidly weird and bizarre way; mourning her while she’s still here. It’s probably quite common and it seems to be a perfectly logical coping mechanism, if a trifle inconvenient right now. Or maybe I’m just sad. Sad that a lot of the person I knew as my Dad has gone, sad at how hard that must be for Mum, sad that I can’t help.

I suppose Dad’s recent trip to hospital brought that into sharper focus. Along with the fact that I’m in my 40s and it seems that every time I catch up with someone I’ve not seen for a while, they tell me they have cancer. The Grim Reaper seems to be terribly busy in my life right now which gives everything, even the happy bits, a rather crepuscular tone. Not my cup of tea. I’m fed up with squinting through the murk.

In some ways it’s a good thing. It makes me constantly evaluate what I have and appreciate it. But it also makes me aware at how easily it could all go wrong. It’s a bit like standing at the entrance to a long dark tunnel and being too frightened to go in, even though you know you’ll come out the other side. Or maybe it’s like being in the middle of a field waiting for a thunderstorm in which I will run a high chance of being struck by lightening. I don’t want to live this bit. I want to fast forward to the other side when I’ve finished the books and whatever will be has… well… been. But that’s not an option on the path of life. I have always believed in living the moment, but I’m doing so with a ferocity that’s slightly worrying. And for the first time in some years, I don’t want to look forwards. I don’t want to see it. I just want to keep my head down, or occasionally glance sideways, and put one foot in front of an other, creep slowly onwards until it’s done.

Having always believed that, if you pay too much attention to the pebbles on the path of life you’ve only yourself to blame if you end up walking into a tree, I’m beginning to understand how people end up obsessed with the pebbles. Because sometimes, looking at the big stuff is a bit much. So they bite off little pebble sized chunks, and then when things calm down again, they are stuck in the habit.

And what does this have to do with writing? Well, nothing much really, other than that as somebody who has all this other stuff going on, I find I write at the speed glaciers move. And like life, when the future gets scary, I just plod on putting one word next to another, day after day, until it gets easier again.

There is something else I’ve discovered, too, about jokes. I don’t actually work the jokes in. My technique with comedy has always been to be myself and when people laugh, pretend it was deliberate. I’ve no idea what makes people laugh or not, just that they do. Except that now I seem to be exorcising the darkness in my writing, keeping the glass of shit half full and draining my crap flooded mind by spewing it onto the page. And it’s changed.

It’s not so hard to go back and lighten it, in fact, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s yet another delay, it would be very diverting entertainment. It’s interesting that suddenly, I need to, though. I hope this new Poe style me doesn’t last too long, but if it does, I have a project I can spew it into… I think… although I won’t be able to call it Space Dustmen.

So there we go. K’Barthan 3 and 4 will not be out in April the way I said, more like June or July… and if there’s any more grief it may be some years.

If you want to read something to cheer you up after that terrible bout of moaning, Few Are Chosen, K’Barthan Trilogy: Part 1 is  a lot funnier than this post. AND it’s now absolutely free, everywhere. Here’s where you can go get it.

Where to Download the ebook of Few Are Chosen:

Apple UK:

Few Are Chosen - M T McGuire
Apple USA:
Few Are Chosen - M T McGuire
Kindle:
Amazon.co.uk Here
Amazon.com Here
Barnes & Noble Here
Kobo Here
Every format you care to name from Smashwords Here

30 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

20 Feb 2014 · 9:21 am

Box 010: Number 11, C. E. Martin

Well hello, and after a bit of a hiatus, welcome, once again, to Box 010; a bit of light whimsy which is, in no way, inspired by the popular BBC programme Room 101. Here’s now it works. Every two weeks, except in the holidays when I turn into Mumzilla and everything goes a bit mental, my special guest will pop in and then present us with five things they would like to see consigned to the dustbin of existence. This week’s special guest is C. E. Martin. He writes paranormal military thrillers, now there’s a genre mash up. Nice. He has written the Stone Soldiers Series. The first book is called Mythical and you can find more details about it at the bottom of the page.  You can find more about Stone Soldiers on his website here.

Hello C. E. from me M T. So, before you launch into your cathartic rant, would you like to tell us a bit about yourself?

Hi, yes I would. I reside in the midwest with my wife and two daughters.

After serving four years in the USAF, I returned to the midwest in 1994. Toiling by day as a civil servant, I enjoy reading classic pulp novels and watching B Movies in spare time.

Oh you are a man after my own heart. I love B Movies. So, what else do you do when you’re not writing.

I lurk around the internet or on Xbox Live–when my kids let me have the TV.

I can just about manage Lego StarWars on my phone so that’s impressed me straight up. Right then, let’s get onto your rant. What is the first thing that you would like to see wiped from the face of history?

Easy. My first item is Hippies. Here in America, hippies radically changed society with their free love, drugs and romanticized communism. Personally, I think they are the root of many of our society’s problems. Especially now that they’re old and gray and fill my tv with their old age sex drug ads. Egads you nasty old dopers, I don’t want to know what you do in your private lives or that you need drugs to do it. Go in the forest and hug a tree or something.

Ooooo controversy! And that bit about aged sex dopers fills my mind with horrible images. Phnark. OK, onto your second item.

My second item is fraudumentaries. I’m talking about stuff like Animal Planet’s mermaid show (Mermaids: the Body Found) or Discovery’s giant shark special. Dammit, stop trying to trick people into believing your fiction is real. You’re not Orson Wells and this isn’t War of the Worlds.

Woah! Sounds completely barking. We used to have a newspaper like that called the Sunday Sport. Luckily nobody took it seriously though. Onwards and upwards then. That is THING 3?

My third bugbear is Romance/erotica Novels. First off, why is it so terrible for men to read Playboy but women can read novel after novel about heaving bosoms and long-haired Fabio wannabes? I call Fifty Shades of Hypocracy on that one. Secondly, Romance/erotica is a HUGE portion of the book market. If those books didn’t exist, readers might have to turn to something else… Like paranormal military thrillers (which I happen to write).

Mwah ha hahargh! You and me both! Actually I enjoy Romance but without the squelchy bits – I think they call that cosy. Erotica is a bit hard for me (phnar phnar). I tried to write a proper sex scene once and it was one of the funniest pieces of writing I’ve ever done… but in so not the right way. Phnark. 

My fourth item is low fat foods. Okay, people, if you want to lose weight get off the couch and get some self-control. I am so sick of accidentally buying food with a bunch of low-fat chemicals in them that tastes like crap. Give me some real fat with some real flavor. Chemicals belong in a lab.

Tell me about it.  I, too would rather just eat less of the full fat version. I’m not too excited about forms of pretend sugar either. Right then, what is your fifth and final item?

My fifth item is American versions of British TV shows. When I was growing up we loved Benny Hill, Monty Python and the Avengers. What happened? Why do popular British shows now have to be remade for America? We speak the same darn language! And name one American remake that’s half as good as the BBC original. Everyone else in the world watches Top Gear. Why does the USA need their own, far less entertaining version? Top Gear even comes to America once a year!

C. E. Martin. Thank you very much for joining me today. Now it’s time to vote. You can find more information about the first book in the Stone Soldiers Series, Mythical – along with details of where you can stalk C. E. Martin on the interweb below the poll. Join us next week when we find out how many of C. E. Martin’s pet hates you have voted into the black hole of existence for ever.

Mythical, Stone Soldiers Series #1

Colonel Mark Kenslir is the last of the Cold War supersoldiers–and he’s just come back from the dead.

Sent to Arizona to hunt a heart-devouring shapeshifter, Colonel Kenslir and his team of supernatural-smashing soldiers thought it was just another mission. But instead of stopping the monster’s murderous rampage, Kenslir and his stone soldiers became the latest victims in a trail of carnage blazed across the southwest.

Suffering from partial amnesia, with no weapons and no support, Kenslir must rely on two reluctant teens to help him remember his past, complete his final mission and avenge his men.

You can stalk C. E. Martin on the internet in the following places:

Http://www.StoneSoldiers.info
Http://www.facebook.com/CEMartin.Author
@troglodad
http://www.amazon.com/C.E.-Martin/e/B0089W99VC/

4 Comments

Filed under Box 010

Tagged as , , , ,

11 Feb 2014 · 12:00 am

Book Blog Chain. Yes, I’ve been tagged.

I was invited to participate in this blog chain by the lovely Jo Robinson. Sporadically connected to the internet at the moment, Jo lives in Africa with her husband, four birds, some chickens, and a dog. That’s a serious menagerie. I follow her blog because it’s completely random and I enjoy that… then again I suppose I would, after all look at this mess I call ‘home’.

Here’s a little bit about her latest book, Shadow People.

Cover of Shadow People, by Jo Robinson

After Natalie and Gabe discover a hidden room, they are hurled across time and space, and find themselves on Lapillus, a beautiful world made up of precious gems. But they soon realise that Lapillus is home to an ancient evil when they are attacked by the demonic wraiths of the Nefandus.

They find themselves thrown together with a group of beings vastly different to them in this lifetime, but closely connected through the aeons. They realise that the prophesies of all have come to fruition, and that without their intervention the fate of the universe is at stake.

With the guidance of the angelic Gluri and the help of the mysterious sentient spacecraft, the Vimana, the race is on to find out what the Nefandus want, and prevent evil from winning the battle of all time.

The rules of this tag are to answer the following four writing questions, and then tag three other authors. Next week, February 17, 2014, these three authors will answer the same questions and tag three others, and so the chain continues to grow larger. It will also give you something to read in  my absence as it is half term and I will be morphing into Mumzilla and entertaining McMini. This will enable readers to get to know more authors and their books. It will also allow everyone to get to know these authors a little better.

Questions:

1. What are you currently working on?

The third and fourth books in the K’Barthan Trilogy. Right now it feels as if I will be working on these for THE REST OF MY LIFE gah it’s the #slowwriter in  me. On the up side. Book 4 is fixed it’s just Book 3 that’s bust. I think… we shall see. It’s a pain because I’ll have to delay the launch but there we go, such is life. I’d rather release my best work late than go off half cock.

2. How does your work differ from others in the same genre?

Mmm, well… if you want the honest answer to this one, I don’t really know. However, what I do know is that many, many of the tens of people who I have forced, at gunpoint, to read it a) like it and b) come up with comments along the lines of “this is not like any other book I’ve ever read,” and such. Between you and me, I actually think it’s a rather hackneyed stab at the standard messianic plot – tweaked to add interest and weirdness – but luckily, no-one else seems to have noticed. Pinning down a genre is difficult; I would class the K’Barthan Trilogy (which is what it’s called) as a humorous science fiction fantasy adventure, with also features a dash of squelchy bit-free romance (just kissing) in books 2 and 4.

3. Why do you write what you do?

Because when I sit down and pick up a pen that’s what comes out. Some people can follow what’s trending and say, “ooo look, erotica and vampire books are selling well, I’ll write one of those,” and clean up. They are gods. I’m not one of them. I am mortal and hotwired into a different plane of existence to them, or anyone else really. Ho hum.

4. How does your writing process work?

Oh. I’m not sure. Which puts me in the pantser camp, I believe. Usually I will be listening to music and I’ll see pictures in my head. I’ll wonder what they are and I’ll think about then. Or I’ll read something and an idea will form and start to grow. Next, I’ll get a couple of lines of dialogue maybe. Perhaps the characters are arguing. Why? What’s the cause of the emotional tension? Then I’ll write that scene, and usually, after a little while, I’ll write another one and gradually the characters and the plot will form, the world they live in will slide into focus and I’ll have something approaching a book. By that point I usually have all the major scenes. Then I write the minor scenes which link them all up.

My nominations…

This was so hard but I think I have sorted it out now. So, without more ado, here we go.

On Dark Shores: The Lady by J A Clement

J A Clement was one of the first people I ‘met’ when I started writing and has been a cyber buddy ever since. We loved each other’s books and she was the one who pointed out, with extreme tact, that my first effort to produce a book needed editing – which it did – and who gave me the name of an excellent editor. He still edits my books – phnark, I bet he’s cursing her. Reading On Dark Shores had me on tenterhooks all the way through. I loved this book, because it’s so well written, tense and gripping. J A Clement is another #slowwriter but all her books are worth the wait. She probably won’t have time to do this but I couldn’t ignore her because this is the one that sort of started it all for me. I’ve been reading mostly independently published fiction ever since. JAC has a blog with news and views and posts about upcoming releases… and you can find it here.

On Dark Shores by J A Clement

Trapped in fear and poverty after the death of her parents, the thief Nereia will go to desperate lengths to protect her beautiful younger sister from the brutality of Copeland the moneylender. No-one has dared to attempt escape before; the whole of Scarlock trembles in his grasp. Only Nereia’s cunning and some unlooked-for help give her hope….

In a country still recovering from war, events are stirring, and the little harbour-town will not remain obscure for long; but in Scarlock, right now, Mr Copeland is coming to call – and this time he’s not taking no for an answer…

Dead Man Riding East by Jim Webster

This is the second book that follows the fortune of Benor Dorfinngil, an ageing lothario who lives in the Land of the Three Seas a made up world from Jim’s warped mind. I loved the first book – Swords for a Dead Lady but I suppose I’d got to know Benor over the course of that one, so in this book he felt like journeying with an old friend. I read it in one sitting. Jim has a new book out, soon. A sci-fi whodunnit, I believe. So I’m hoping to persuade him to do a guest spot here when he promotes it on a blog tour. In the meantime, you can read about it – among other things – on his blog, here. Like Jo, Jim has also sporadically connected to the internet recently but I hope he has been readmitted from the outer darkness into the realms of pixelated light. Sorry…

Dead Man Riding East by Jim Webster

Dead Man Riding East is a fantasy adventure where the unintended theft of a tyrant’s concubine, followed by the inadvertent acquisition of a wife, leads to revenge, the fall of dynasties and over exposure to the world of high fashion. Such are the further adventures of Benor Dorfinngil.

The Satnav of Doom and The Banned Underground Series, generally, by Will Macmillan Jones

This is a great series to read if you want to follow one writer’s development. The books are flights of Milliganesque whimsy but, possibly against the author’s wishes, there are deeper undercurrents encroaching in places. Will is another cyber buddy from my early forays into the world of the internet, a top man. The Banned books took me a while to get into and they are marmite, you like them, or you don’t. If you’re anything like me, you’ll also love watching the writing getting defter and sleeker as the series progresses. He writes a cracking blog, too.

The Satnav of Doom by Will Macmillan Jones

Abandon all hope all ye who go looking for The SatNav of Doom

Once again, the Dark Lord has a cunning plan. And once again someone else is going to have to carry it out for him: that’s what henchmen are for, isn’t it? To hench? Oh, and to be sent on the risky missions…

Not that this one should be risky. What could be easier than secretly inserting computer spyware into a laptop, using a Banned Underground gig as a diversion? The Tax Office probably does it all the time. But the Tax Office is not normally being chased for an unpaid credit card bill for a huge round of drinks. (That’s the politicians. And the henchmen, of course.)

And it isn’t just any laptop the Dark Lord wants to spy on either. The Government is struggling to find the way out of the Recession without a road map, and what better aid than a SatNav linked to a computer? If the Dark Lord can get inside information on future economic policy, maybe he can clean up and buy a new Mercedes.

Then there is a mystery: where did the time-travelling SatNav come from in the first place? What if the original owner wants it back?

Magic, mayhem and macro-economic policy collide in the latest surreal instalment of the acclaimed comic fantasy series, The Banned Underground.

Scratch, by Danny Gillan

This book is one that I’ve added as an extra because I suspect Danny will break the chain… Danny doesn’t know me all that well, we pass, like ships in the night on Facebook and places like that. Also he’s quite busy with a lot of other stuff; like the excellent magazine, Words With Jam (which I highly recommend, by the way). He doesn’t blog that often and I’d bet my bottom dollar he doesn’t read my blog. But his books are awesome and this one is just a cracker. I absolutely loved it. Think Nick Hornby, for a parallel. It’s funny, poignant, witty and uplifting all at once. Just wonderful.

Scratch, by Danny Gillan

An unexpected reminder of his past prompts Jim Cooper, a 33 year-old Glaswegian call centre worker, to make a big decision. He’s going back to adulthood ground-zero – no job, no debt, no, er, home, and starting again. Maybe this time he can do it right and get the girl. The fact that the girl is already married and living in another country and her Bruce Lee obsessed dad apparently wants to turn Jim into his latest pet are only two of the obstacles he faces.

Given Jim’s forward planning skills don’t extend beyond praying and having panic attacks, it isn’t surprising that he soon finds himself living with his parents and working for minimum wage, in the same pub he worked in when he was 18. What is unexpected is Paula Fraser walking through the pub’s door for the first time in 12 years.
What’s even more surprising is that Paula admits she still loves Jim. But yes, she’s married, and no, she won’t cheat on her husband. She’ll tell him the marriage is over. Soon. When the time is right. As soon as her husband’s sick grandfather gets better – or fatally worse.

And so, Jim and Paula embark on the tricky business of not having an affair, and not telling anyone they know that they’re not having an affair. As Jim reflects, ‘If not being physically intimate with her in any way and denying to everyone we knew that anything was going on between us was the best way to prove I loved her, then that’s what I would do.’

Scratch is an un-sanitised, emotionally honest and hilariously candid story about what it is to grow up as opposed to simply change age, as told by a man who doesn’t know what any of those words mean.

There we go. Just in time (there’s still an hour of Feb 10th left). I hope you all enjoy my recommendations!

7 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

25 Jan 2014 · 5:39 pm

Fed up with eating snail and tortoise dust? Join us the #slowwriters.

IMG00151-20101226-1112

I know this isn’t a glacier. It isn’t even an iceberg. It’s mini icebergs, in the Tweed but it’s the closest I can get.

Ah I was all fired up to write this post, but now I’ve labrynthitis, sinusitis and a temperature and everything’s a bit meh. Then again, that’s probably as good a time as any.

The received wisdom about indie publishing is that if you want to earn money you need to write lots and lots of books. Fast. Or you have to be all over the internet like a rash, but a good rash; a warm snuggley comfort blanket, perhaps, rather than a rash. But you have to be there, working on your soft sell marketing techniques 24/7 so that your book sales soar. Alas, it looks like this is true and it’s only the people with the kind of sales skills that Satan, himself would envy and also time, and lots of it, who make a living from self publishing fiction. And the reason that makes me feel a bit meh?

Well, I am a stay at home mum. I will never have the kind of time required to make it out of the self published pond slime. And if I had the remotest skill at selling anything, I’d have scored myself a trad deal by now because the way forward is hybrid. Even though I am cynical and old enough to know that life is never fair, I am pissed off that indie publishing is not the level playing field I hoped. Hence the meh.

However, I did feel better after reading this fabulous article on Chuck Wendig’s blog  in which he talks about how long it takes to become a writer. The basic gist being ‘a sod of a long time’. This quote, in particular, I loved:

‘I have been referred to at times as an overnight success, which is true as long as you define “overnight” as “a pube’s width shy of 20 years.”’

The basic gist of his post was that it takes as long as it takes. And I know he’s right, or I wouldn’t have started on this writing malarky. I want to do it, I have to do it and if I can only do it at a speed that makes glaciers look fast so be it. Sure my ‘overnight’ may be 50 years but it’s better than looking back and thinking ‘what if?’ than never having tried at all. Nine years on, I’m sitting here with 4 books under my belt (although I did make my first attempt at the first one when I was 20). I sell less and less of the two that are published each month but I can’t help living in hope. Such is the hopeless optimism of the artist!

Commenting on another post on Chuck Wendig’s blog I encountered two other stay at home Mums who felt exactly the same way as I did. I got chatting on twitter with one of them, Megan Haskell and we came up with the idea of #slowwriters. A support group for people who are ideas rich and time poor, or for people who take a long time to write a book – because not everyone can churn out a book in a month. Sometimes, quality cannot be rushed.

So, if you’re gnashing your teeth with frustration as the snails and tortoises disappear over the horizon, if you sometimes think that there may be fossils that are formed in less time that it takes you to write a book, take heart. Here’s how Megan described #slowwriters – because she does it much better than I can.

‘We’re time-poor, idea-rich individuals with responsibilities that can’t be pushed aside or down-prioritized. As such, we’ve come up with a brilliant, albeit unformed plan. We’re going to create a support group for slow writers, individuals who feel frustrated with their glacial progress and need someone to point out that progress is progress, even if it’s only inches a year.’

Or that, as Chuck Wendig put it, ‘it takes as long as it takes’.

If you are a writer with other commitments, duties, things you cannot put aside that mean your writing only happens slowly you might feel this way too. Would you be interested in taking part in a group like that?

Image048

Because I am really grown up and a very grown up and mature mother and because I can: my lad, as the Baldy Man (that’s my hair).

25 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

26 Dec 2013 · 11:25 am

Excellent books at knock down prices

Just a quickie. Awesome indies is doing another promotion – it’s well worth checking out. You can find it here.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blimey!, General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , ,

2 Dec 2013 · 7:23 pm

Aw bollocks it’s the Chaos Fairies! Never mind here’s another gem from McMini.

Multo pissed offo con ultimo gizmo, con action grumpo. I dropped my iPad today and smashed it to bits. Arse, that’ll teach me to eyebomb our garage door with McMini for a laugh and then try to take pictures of it.

Wankpots! Wankpots! Wankpots! Bloody Chaos Fairies.

Needless to say I dropped it from about 3 feet and am almost certain that it was my spanner fingered attempts to catch it that were responsible since they simply involved me batting it up into the air so it went higher up and came down on one corner as opposed to its back. Then again, if these things are the all purpose take everywhere items the makers and adverts would have us believe then maybe they should try making them a bit more sodding robust. Probably.

IMG_0891

On the upside, the screen works so I won’t have to spend £110 (urrrgh MT’s knees go a bit wobbly) on a new screen straight away. There’s a shop who’ll fix it quite near and they will do it while you wait (2hrs) and I might even be able to get McOther to pick it up – said shop is about a mile from where he works.

Oh and our garage door looked like Nigel Mansel for a few moments – until I removed the eyes in disgust.

And another positive, I managed to do 35,000 words, or thereabouts for NaNoWriMo, which, considering I wrote nothing at weekends or the week before last and very little last week either is making me feel… smug.

So to cheer us up, another couple of conversations from McMini.

His godfather is recovering from a shoulder up and suggested we draw him a card.

“My shoulder hurted a lot once but once I had got home it went away. He will feel a lot better when he gets home.”

And on the subject of marriage, overheard by his Dad.

“I’m going to marry my Mum when I grow up.”
“You can’t do that,” said McCousin, “your Mum is already married to your Dad.”
“Yeh but he’s old. He’ll die before long and then I’ll marry her.”

I’m not quite sure how to take that.

And this evening as we’re going to bed.

“Eugh! I’ve just smelled my trousers and they smell absolutely stinky.”
“Oh dear, what wee and poo stinky?” 
“No. They smell like fried socks.”

So… a mixed bag.

Oh and if you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last two weeks, well, for the first one I was baking a cake – more on that story, later.

In the second week I was catching up with all the things I was supposed to be doing when I was making the cake instead. Then I was hanging with the in laws and McMini. There’s not much going to happen this week either, phnark but I do hope to get the K’Barthan Trilogy done by Christmas.

13 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , ,

1 Sep 2013 · 9:17 am

Here’s to embracing my inner tortoise. Hello Mr Hare, would you like to try some Mogadon?

Hello and today it’s time for a rant. It’s the end of August. Tomorrow it’s back to zero sales, the brown band of shame will be mocking me from my KDP reports page. I’ve long since abandoned hope of selling a single book anywhere but Amazon – despite my best efforts.

You know, I believe you can make your own luck. Except that I also know that, in reality, the only thing you can control in your life is the way you react to what happens. But I think that if you can delude yourself you are in control, you’ll probably make a better fist of it.

On to my books, or significant lack thereof. One of the many things I’m doing wrong, not writing a book every month. Instead, I’d like to share my frustration, if I may, at my complete inability to do… well… anything. Because if the Not Very Good Club of Great Britain hadn’t become so successful that it was no longer not very good any more and had to shut own, I’d put forward my online bookselling skills as my reason to join.

You see, my books have stopped selling. For the last two months I’ve made one sale. Thank you, whoever you are. Obviously, this is my fault but the more I read around to see what I can do to improve, the more obvious it becomes that the thing you need in self publishing, on top of talent, in abundance, is time. So that’s me fucked. I seldom have 2 hours a day to write, let along to do social media.

Time, for me, is up there with unicorn shit.

So, writing a book takes a long time. Seriously though, I’m particularly short of time at the moment, there’s been no social networking, I’ve not sorted any reviews and the sales free months do point to a correlation between doing those things and er… not. Oh dear, so, interfacing with my readers. Mmm… there’s a box left un-ticked.

While we’re at it. Another piece of frequently given advice. Write what sells. So that’s vampire novels, erotica and thrillers.

Oh bollocks. Double jeapordy – a quote from the Constant Gardener there (check me, I’m highbrow). The fact is I can make more money writing corporate puff so if I want to write something I’m not really fired up to write, I’ll write web copy, thank you very much.

So… what can I learn by picking through the twisted girders and dust that comrpise the Ground Zero of my literary aspirations?

Thing 1: Don’t start with a trilogy, not right off the blocks. Trilogies are really hard to write because basically, what you’re looking at is a 400,000 word book. That’s like telling your cookery teacher, at your first lesson, that you won’t cook jam tarts, you’ll cook that thing with the smoke and the iPod to listen to that Heston Blumental serves.

It’s hard to keep track of who has done what, when and to whom, in a book, especially when it’s 400,000 words long. If you are bringing up a small child at the same time – which, as anyone who has attempted it knows – is the equivalent of having your brains stirred, constantly with a giant wooden spoon, it’s monumentally stupid. The more you have to remember, the longer it takes to get back into it again when you stop. Which I have to. A lot.

The secret then, is to write lots of shorter stories. If I hadn’t published the first one in blind panic, afraid that I’d be last to market, that’s what I’d have done. Ah. Never mind. It’s a good plan. One I fully intend to exploit when I finish this wretched trilogy. So, my own advice, write short things and for the love of God, if you must write a trilogy out of the gate and don’t publish ANY of it until it’s FINISHED. yes, I published my first book in 2010. I should have been publishing it next year.

Write a series if you must, but go for stand alone books. Trust me on this one, Aunty MT has well and truly stuffed this up so that you don’t have to.

Then there’s the working hard thing. The fact is, I am a stay at home Mum and I write… well, actually I write because I can’t not. That’s why I call myself an authorholic; because it’s like a bad crack habit. If I worked at it like a job, 9 – 5 it would probably take me a bout 6 months to write each book, which is lucky because doing the Mum thing I have much less time than that. So to find the ‘six months’ required takes me about 2 years. Not feasible for a publisher then.

Even so, it seems sensible to do something with the crap I spew out, and so I get it professionally edited, get ritzy covers done and then I publish it myself. I hope to succeed, no, scratch that, I hope to write a book that is so good it will succeed on its own merits. Hey, I actually KNOW I’ve written a decent book but heaven knows, though I give it my all, I’m piss poor at selling the bloody thing. Let’s qualify that, I can sell it to random strangers on the street, at social events, signings etc but online? Nah.

Which brings me neatly onto the social networking aspect. OK I have a smart phone now so Twitter is easier but bloody hell. How do these people do it? Write a well conceived, sensibly thought out blog post every day while being a full time carer or a full time parent and publish books on top. Jeez. I’m in awe. I’m floored. Hats off folks you deserve to succeed. I just… I mean… how  is it possible?

There is a way around social networking hell. Skim, drop in the odd post, queue up lots of blog posts when you have the time. Put a timer on it – an hour, morning and evening, say and hey that’s a couple of hours left to write. However, I still find that exploiting social media (sod exploiting it, it exploits me, let’s be realistic, I’m just talking about getting the ruddy stuff to work) takes hours longer than it should. Hours. A commodity I do not have. Me, I’ve done it all wrong. I’ve made friends on line and now I spend my time talking to them. Hmm….

Having had my rant, I have to say, I’m at peace with my choice. But sometimes I feel slightly put upon, as if I am being judged for trying to write and sell my own books and have a life at the same time. But I have family and sometimes there are crises, or people are ill and they need me. Then there’s the annoying fact that I need more than 4 hours sleep a night and just… don’t have the time to pack everything into my day. But I can’t give it up. I know hard work is the answer but not at the expense of the people I love. And I know that, sure as eggs are eggs, while I strive to succeed, I am competing with people who have probably written a better book than I, who have the whole sodding day and… well… let’s say my stuff is less likely to make it big.

I’m an ex marketing manager, I know how to promote stuff and I’d say I’m quite placid and relaxed but, sometimes, even I find it hard to take the realisation that even if I cracked it with a really good novel, the difference between success and failure is, above everything, to do with the time I do not have.

So, let’s cling to the belief that I’ll manage to buck the trend; prove to the world that you can succeed in slow motion. Because lord knows that’s the only possible chance I have. I don’t begrudge anyone their success. I appreciate how hard they must have worked for it, but the fact that I do what I do in a very short day, and everything stops in school holidays, doesn’t make me any less committed, or serious. Although it might make me a bit more frustrated.

The fact is, you can set yourself deadlines but if Real Life gets too hectic you have to re-evaluate; the deadlines have to give.

Here’s to embracing my inner tortoise. Hello Mr Hare, would you like to try a Mogadon?

14 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , ,

28 Jul 2013 · 10:00 am

That’s genius mate.

Those of you daft enough to follow my occasional ramblings on facebook will recall that I posted this article the other day.

Basically, it asks are creative people nuts? And the answer is pretty much, yes. Here’s how.

Everyone’s brain filters the stimuli around it, everyone’s brain dumps a truckload of stuff so it can make sense of what’s going on around it without overloading. However, if you’re creative a) your brain doesn’t dump as much stuff and b) it tends to dump the wrong things even if, c) you’re a genius, and you can deal with more information than the average Joe and process the whole lot at once – because that’s still going to make you seen odd to the rest of us normals who can’t keep up.

You knew this though, right? I did, my brain always dumps the wrong stuff and flags up the weird or funny shit. That’s how it managed to gloss over the very important sight of a big green car bearing down on me the other day, which is how I rode my bike happily into its path, bending the bike, and myself, and possibly the car – although I haven’t confirmed that yet – and thoroughly alarming both my son, on the back, the poor woman at the wheel.

Where was I? Ah yes. Scientific American. So I read this article and by the end of it, despite the car experience I had convinced myself, that I’m a fully paid up category c genius. The evidence is incontravertible. I can’t remember my own name without cue cards and can’t be trusted to boil a kettle. Add having to remember stuff like when sports day is, when dress down/dress up days are, when stuff has to be taken into school and when not and… well you get the picture. And if you don’t believe me, here’s the proof.

There’s me wishing I could chalk it up to the painkillers. But now I know it’s genius, mwah ha ha haahargh! Whatever it is, it’s endemic to being M T McGuire.

Last night I got into my pjs early and McOther came home and said, “Aren’t you going out?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes…”
“I thought Thursdays was metal detecting club night.”
“What? Is it Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“Bollocks! I am going out,” glance at watch, “and, I’m going to be late.”
So I leap up as fast as a person with two knackered knees and a walking stick can and run upstairs. Donk-thump, donk-thump, donk-thump (repeat 30 times) to get dressed again. Once finished it’s thump-donk, thump-donk (ad nauseam) I hear, as I come back down again.
Now I creep, as fast as my borrowed knees will allow, to my car. Brilliant! That only took ten minutes.
I unlock and…
“Ah.”
I’ve parked it a bit close to the other one, mainly so McMini doesn’t twat the door into the wall when he gets out. But now I’m having trouble getting in, and I’m late. Nothing worse than a small gap a large arse and a late woman with a limp, it’s a recipe for disaster. I put my stick onto the roof and siddle into the gap. Brilliant. Got it. As I make to lower myself into the seat, there’s a strange ripping sound.
“Bollocks! The special pocket knob.”
Half in, half out, I freeze but it’s too late.
The door of a Lotus Elise latches onto a sticky outy bit of metal (don’t ask me it’s proper name) on the bodywork. Over the years I’ve removed the back pockets of enough pairs of trousers in just this situation to have given it a name. This tiem it’s worse though. This time it’s more than a pocket. When I put my hand behind me I feel – yeek – arse. It’s more than the pocket.
“Bloody hell!” I get back out and it’s donk-thump, donk-thump, donk-thump back to the house.
Never mind, it could be worse. There’s a pair of trousers hanging on the laundry airer and they’re only slightly damp. I slip them on, ignoring the fact that they will probably fall down without a belt because the belt’s upstairs and I really do need to get to this meeting before it actually ends. So, back to the car, donk-thump, donk-thump, and off we go with a loud kerboing, which I ignore.

It’s only when I reach the club and haven’t got my stick that I realise the big kerboing was it doinking off the back of the car as I drove off, having left it on the roof.

Never mind. I was only half an hour late.

You see? Incontrovertible proof. Next time I do something monumentally stupid and McOther adopts his ‘strained expression’ I can reassure him that I’m not a dippy twonk at all. I’m a Genius.

Now all I have to do is find out what at. Mwah ha hahargh.

2 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as , , , , , ,