Tag Archives: writing

9 Apr 2014 · 2:07 pm

You who? You what? You where? You… eh?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been nominated by the peerless Irish Farmarette a.k.a. Lorna Sixsmith, author of Would You Marry a Farmer, and general Irish mover and shaker, to answer four questions and introduce you to three more authors you might like. I have chosen people with new books due out or out not so long ago. I am particularly impressed that I have managed to pick an Englishman, a Welshman and a Scotsman after being nominated by an Irish woman. There has to be a good joke in there somewhere – but I’ve also added Yorkshire woman to liven things up. Kath won’t be able to answer the questions – because hers isn’t that kind of blog – but as I loved her book she gets a mention anyway. We go from rookie author to seasoned best seller and the stages in between with this lot via four of my favourite blogs.

Right, let’s get started. Here are my answers.

1. What are you working on?

Two things at the moment. First the final tweaks and polishes to the last two books in the K’Barthan Trilogy but also a completely new thing provisionally titled Space Dustmen. I also have a novel sketched out which needs writing up: Saving The World Is Not For Girls, so I’m tinkering with that, too.

However, my seems to require something totally new – and at the same time complicated perhaps it misses the sophistication of a world as fully developed as K’Barth was by the time I was done – and is being pretty insistent. So I suspect I will also trundle off into space with Driff and his fellow space refuse collectors. It’s all very strange but you know how it is, don’t fight it, go with the flow. So I am.

Yeh… that’s three things isn’t it and I said two. Well, I did tell you I couldn’t count.

2. How does your work differ from other stuff in your genre?

Sometimes I’m not sure it has a genre. Well it’s a bit of a mash up but so are a lot of things. It’s probably the only work of petrolpunk, mwah ha hhaargh! Yeh! I made up my own genre for it because I’m not full of myself or anything (snortle). I do tend to find that a line repeated in several reviews of Few Are Chosen, the first book in the K’Barthan Trilogy is, “there is nothing else like this book”. Which is kind of cool. But basically, it’s a humorous science fiction fantasy action adventure with romantic elements in books 2 and 4 – not squelchy bits romance, just a bit of snog action – but there is a love theme… and I’m digging a hole here. Stop.

3. Why do you write what you do?

Because I can’t help it. I know…. but that’s the truth.

4. How does your writing process work?

A very good question. Do you know, I’m not 100% certain. I build worlds in my brain. I always have, and once I’ve exorcised one onto paper I find others are quick to appear in its place. Hence the difficulty I mentioned with the what I’m working on question. I’ve dumped K’Barth for now, so I contain the Huurg Quadrant along with the Threeps, their political and moral system and the viewpoint of a student in London. However, what was three lines of dialogue and a picture of an aeroplane is rapidly coming upon the rails and threatening to turn into my next book. Ahead of the one that’s pretty much already there.

Alright, seriously, the actual process? It goes like this:

I have an idea. I hear a song or read a science article and that idea starts to ferment quietly in my mind.
It gathers momentum and the idea becomes a little more than an idea. I start writing stuff down.
The political system emerges. There is usually something standing in the hero or heroine’s way and it’s usually a slimy no-good politician.
The characters begin to have names and personalities and I begin to understand the dynamics between them.
I start to get the major scenes and I write them up.
By this time, I’m absolutely agog to find out what happens next. So I start trying to work out how to connect them all together and why they connect. This is the point where there will be lots of angst filled posts on here if it goes wrong, because if it does, it’s like watching a film that’s really caught your interest and then, just as it gets exciting, being told that you won’t be able to find out what happens for 6 months.There is often a point, where I have to stop for some time, at about a third of the way in, to let the any plot problems my subconscious mind has forgotten to tell my conscious mind about to resolve themselves.Alternatively, I write several things different ways and end up having to bin about 80,000 words. I did that while writing One Man: No Plan and Looking For Trouble and binned at least 80,000 words; probably more in the region of 120,000. In short I have to sweat blood to whip it into some sort of shape – frankly it’s like having a terrible attack of ~~constipation~~ er hem, I’m so sorry, “that bloated feeling”. You take some sennacot, sit down with a novel, heave and strain, go puce and then… There’s a bit of a Eureka moment, and, splash! It’s done.

OK now it’s time to single out three other ~~victi~~– lovely people to answer these questions. In no particular order, here they are:

Jim Webster standing in front of a hedge he made earlier.

Jim Webster.

Farmer, churchwarden, maverick.

That’s the best biog I’ve ever seen. But you may wish to know more, so here’s the longer version.

Jim Webster was born in Barrow in Furness on the 24th March 1956, the same day that Devon Loch fell at the Grand National and Dick Francis turned his attention to writing. With a teacher for a mother and a farmer for a father, Jim was thus able to read before going to school, could drive a tractor by the age of eight and was feeding calves somewhat earlier than that. Since then, he’s farmed, written freelance and acted as a consultant, sometimes managing to do all three in the same day. Jim is happily married since 1985; his wife Brenda and he have three daughters scattered about Northern England. He is immoderately proud of the fact that he has no CV, having been self-employed his entire life.

Jim writes a tip top blog about whatever pops into his head. His books are mostly fantasy, his current series based around the Land of the Three Seas, which are just ace. Don’t take my word for it. Find out for yourself here’s his amazon page.

However, Jim also writes science fiction and his first major release in this respect is Justice 4.1 the Tsarina Sector. If you’ve been paying attention you’ll have noticed he popped in here for a chat about it during his blog tour. Basically, I can’t give Jim enough plugs because I love his books. So do have a look next week to read his answers to the questions. Jim’s fantastic blog is here and the Tsarina Sector Facebook page is here. It’s also for sale on Amazon UK here and US here.

Will Macmillan Jones. Don’t worry, he’s not chained to those railings.

Will Macmillan Jones

Will Macmillan Jones lives in Wales, a lovely green verdant land with a rich cultural heritage. He does his best to support this heritage by yelling loud encouragement at the TV when Wales plays international rugby. Having been an accountant for much of his working life, he now writes in a desperate attempt to avoid terminal atrophy of his brain. A fifty something lover of blues, rock and jazz, he has achieved a lifetime ambition by extending his bookcases to fill an entire wall of his home office.

Will is best known, or is he notorious, for authoring the renowned Banned Underground Series, which I have thoroughly enjoyed, myself – think Spike Milligan writes fantasy and you’re nearly there. However, he has recently unleashed his inner 8 year old with Snort and Wobbles which you can find on Amazon here or if you’re in the good ol U.S. of A, here. In addition, he writes horror. More on that story, soon but it’s not out yet so I have to keep it under my hat.

Will blogs about a whole plethora of vaguely connected stuff – rather the way I do – and you can find his blog here.

Seumas Gallacher

Seumas Gallacher – genuine kilted man.

To quote his biography – Seumas Gallacher escaped from the world of finance five years ago, after a career spanning three continents and five decades.

As the self-professed ‘oldest computer Jurassic on the planet’ his headlong immersion into the dizzy world of eBook publishing opened his eyes, mind, and pleasure to the joys of self-publishing. As a former businessman, he rapidly understood the concept of a writer’s need to ‘build the platform’, and from a standing start began to develop a social networking outreach, which now tops 15,000 direct contacts.

He writes crime thrillers and the first two, the Violin Man’s Legacy and Vengeance Wears Black are impressively big hitters with more than 75,000 downloads to date. This, he tells us cheerfully, “blew his mind”. He released the third in what has become the ‘Jack Calder’ series, Savage Payback, late in 2013 and is working on the fourth, Killer City.

His blog is an absolute hoot and I highly recommend it. As well as being funny it’s wise, witty and peppered with some very pointy-brained advice. And it’s also written the way he talks, which is in Rab C Nesbitt-ese because he’s from Govan. You can find Savage Payback on Amazon here and on the US store here. Seumas has just released a book of advice; Self Publishing Steps to Successful Sales, which explains how he went from net virgin to social media guru and seller of many thousands of ebooks in double quick time. You can find his blog with information about the rest of his books and links to buy them, too here.

Kath Middleton – KATH ok, Googlebots? Not Kate.

Kath Middleton, indie author and serious butt kicker for quality independent publishing

Epic reviewer, kicker of monumental butt for quality independent fiction and now author in her own right. Kath is an Amazon top 1,000 reviewer, chicken mother, stone polisher and gardener she even breeds tomatoes…. oh yeh, and she writes books.

Seriously, I kid you not there’s not much she doesn’t do. Her official biography goes like this:

Kath Middleton is no stranger to the writing world, having had several of her short stories published in anthologies and many of her drabbles published online and in ‘Beyond 100 Drabbles’, a collaborative book alongside author Jonathan Hill. ‘Ravenfold’ is Kath’s first foray into longer fiction, a book which she describes as mediaeval noir. Her many hobbies and interests include reading, gardening, geology, archaeology, patchwork and quilting, and keeping chickens. And, of course, she continues to write. Watch this space!

In the few moments of spare time she has, she also keeps a blog, Ignite Books where you can find out what she’s reading. She has an eye for a good book which is handy. She won’t be able to answer the questions because she doesn’t write that kind of blog but I’m nominating her anyway because I want to give her book a plug.

Ravenfold. Kath Middleton’s debut novella.

Kath’s book is Ravenfold is the story of Fourteen year old Romelda Bolt who lives at a time when a woman is a man’s property. Her parents, promised wealth by a local lord three times her age, marry her off. A brutal and bullying relationship is born…

Go and find it, now. You won’t be disappointed. It’s on Amazon UK here and on Amazon US here.

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Filed under About My Writing, General Wittering

Tagged as author blog, M T McGuire, writers, writing

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 an author with children, author blog, author blogs, author parent, full time mum writing, humour, K'Barthan Series, M T McGuire, McMini, writer, writer mom, writer mum, writer parent, writers, writing

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:

Apple USA:

Kindle:
Amazon.co.uk Here
Amazon.com Here
Barnes & Noble Here
Kobo Here
Every format you care to name from Smashwords Here

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Filed under General Wittering

Tagged as an author with children, author blog, author blogs, dementia, M T McGuire, McMini, moaning on and on and on, writers, writing

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!

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25 Jan 2014 · 5:39 pm

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

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?

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).

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30 Dec 2013 · 1:39 pm

You see a meal…

I see Bacon Man!

Look at his lovely bacony jumpsuit. He is probably called Elvis. I bet Lady Ga Ga is jealous.

The difference between originality and insanity is usually a matter of perception. But who’d be a writer? Who’d choose a career that you actually have to pay to do? Only an authorholic.

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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?

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21 Aug 2013 · 9:17 am

The Awesome Indies Grand Opening Party; 26 top reads at just 99 cents each, plus 5 days of partying! Oh… yeh… and you can win a kindle paperwhite.

Hello everyone, as you may have twigged from the sidebar, Few Are Chosen, K’Barthan Trilogy: Part 1 has the Awesome Indies Seal of Approval and The Wrong Stuff, K’Barthan Trilogy: Part 2 is Awesome Indies Approved but not sealed – because you can only have one Seal per series. Anyway, Awesome Indies is having a bit of a relaunch. A bit, a Hooooooge one! So for the next few days, I’m going to be featuring a series of posts from the site pointing you to lots of excellent books, competitions and, hopefully, showing you around. This is the first, the rest will come without preamble!

You’re invited to the Awesome Indies Grand Opening Party—a sale of 26 top reads at just 99 cents each, plus 5 days of fun. See the new website, meet the authors, join them for games, giveaways and giggles and be in the draw to win the latest generation Kindle.

Awesome Indies has found a way to take the risk out of buying indie. If it’s Awesome Indies Approved (AIA), a qualified publishing industry professional has determined that it’s as good as anything produced by the mainstream. Readers need no longer wonder if that book is really worth downloading. If a book is listed on the Awesome Indies, then it’s worth your time.

Click on the banner, or this link, to visit the Awesome Indies to browse the huge 99c sale and learn what you have to do to be in the draw for a Kindle Paperwhite.

Redline it but don’t pop it.

For a long time now, I’ve been thinking that I should explain why it takes me so effing long to write each one of my books and today I’ve been galvanised into it by reading this cracker of a post, here. As well as why it takes me so long to write a book this also brings me onto a subject dear to any writer’s heart; mojo management.

Basically, the premise is that a lot of people are a bit wishy-washy about art and not ‘forcing’ it and use the ‘don’t force it’ line as an excuse to give up and be lazy. He talks about how mood alters your perception and how you can write stuff you think is rubbish only to find, the next day, that it’s not so bad (unfortunately, in my world that process also works in reverse, but I digress).

Now, I get exactly what this fellow means, especially the bit about writing stuff that looks crap and then finding that it’s not so bad. I find reading the first draft of a scene incredibly depressing but I shut my eyes to it and edit. And then somehow, if I put in enough work, it becomes magically transformed and when I read it and think,

“Blimey, I can’t believe I wrote that.” I know it’s time to move onto the next scene.

However, for what it’s worth, I think most of the people talking about not forcing art are actually talking about burning out.

Burn out is way different. Burn out is dangerous. Let me explain.

OK, so, I’m a stay at home Mum with a very lively little 5 year old, elderly parents who aren’t too well and who live a long way away and as the result of a recent traffic accident I currently have to snarf painkillers like smarties. So my life right now features three things in sensurround; worry, constant interruption (welcomed but constant nonetheless) and chemicals.

Hmm… so as you can guess, none of these things are conducive to quality writing outside school hours and none of them make for a lively brain. The chemicals are temporary, so the background is usually just the two things; Mumzilladom and worry about my folks – I’m definitely not the dutiful daughter I always assumed I’d be, which is kind of grim face on.

What I mean is that in anyone’s life there’s a lot going on. Add the odd curve ball, traffic accident at the moment but things like family deaths, organising a surprise party or something like that and it’s easy to find that the heart, not to mention the diary, is too full to create. In my case that’s usually at the point where my mind is so fucking knackered it can’t be arsed to wander.

Trust me on this, I’ve been there and hit the wall and at that point if you don’t step back, you’re going to end up mental. This is not about laziness or procrastination or refusing to start in case we fail, this is about capacity. That’s the point when it’s almost physically painful to write – not at the end of the day, we all feel like that then – but at the beginning.

That’s when you’re in danger of losing the love, of becoming a slave to the addiction as opposed to in love with your characters and addicted to the process. When this happens to me, the only cure is to stop everything, rest my mind and spend a few days/weeks/months, however long it takes putting stuff back in until my mojo returns. It’s entirely natural so if this happens to anyone else, don’t worry, the mojo will return you just have to be patient and wait.

So the big trick, for supreme mojo-management, is never reaching that can’t be arsed to wander point; knowing when to stop spewing out words. There is no option, in times of impending burn out but to sit back and reset.

There’s no harm in redlining your mojo occasionally, except that… hang on… where is the red bit? Oh for heaven’s sake! Trust me to have a car with no red bit. Alright, look, just try to imagine it in OK?

So for me, never getting burn out means writing a bit less but giving it more welly when I do. It’s worth it because when I can’t write, I miss it. There’s no harm redlining your mojo occasionally to, erm, de-carb your chambers (phnark) just don’t keep it there. Burn out is why it’s good plan to have more than one project on the go. Burn out is deeply unpleasant because it leaves you desperate to create, but unable to.

However, burn out should not be confused with laziness. Writing, painting, any art is the most fantastic fun, more than fun, it’s a drug, but it’s also bloody hard work. And frankly, if it isn’t, I suspect you’re doing it wrong.

There are days when writing my book feels like weeing a full sized house brick, except that there are days when I think pissing a housebrick would be easier. What I’m trying to say is that I have never done anything so hard in my entire life. But I can’t let it go. Right now, I’m not writing, but that’s because it’s the holidays and trying to write now is the fastest short cut to burn out there is. I know my limitations and that, I’m afraid, is why I take two, whole, sodding years to write a book. I know, it’s shocking isn’t it?!

Please be patient, K’Barthan three is nearly there but it may well be next April before I can release it.

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7 Jul 2013 · 9:36 am

Real life is not like films…

Talking about thinking coolly in a crisis, in this post reminded me of an instance where that very much didn’t happen.

Yeh, so you know in films where some bloke runs in and shouts, “They’re beating up thingwot, come and help” and everyone gets up and runs with him to the rescue? Yeh well that doesn’t happen in real life. What they do in real life is ask you about fifty million pointless questions interspersed with the phrase ‘calm down’ while you shout, repeatedly, “Will you just come the f**k with me to rescue so and so?”

Here’s how I learned that this scenario is in absolutely no way, whatsoever, based on fact….

One Saturday night, aged about 18, I was walking home with a boyfriend and about 100 yards from our house he was attacked. We knew his assailant had 10 friends round the corner because we’d walked through them. I thought about kicking the bloke in the nuts but he looked pretty beefy and able to take down both of us. I wondered whether to knock on the door of a nearby house but I knew they wouldn’t dare let us in. So I hit on a cunning plan. I would go and get reinforcements. My own house was 100 yards away containing my dad a 6ft 2 ex rower and my brother, a well built 6ft 4.

So I ran to my house as fast as I could; speed was of the essence. I was calm until I tried to unlock the door. Lots of adrenaline = shaky hands. Did it but the thing that made it hard was not my shaky hands. It was the key my parents had left in the other side. Yes, they’d locked us out, and left the key in, making it impossible for us to get in. Except that by some miracle, I managed to get my key into the lock – yay! But it dropped out and jammed under the door meaning it opened about five inches and wedged fast.

I try to pull it closed again but it’s wedged fast. I ring the bell.

Dad and brother come to the door, taking their time.

“Quick! come with me, X is getting beaten up. Please come and help him,” I say. Imagine a voice of urgency here and a slightly shaky demeanour but I still had a handle on the panic. I push at the door. Trying to move it but it’s wedged fast.

“Calm down, we’ll get this open,” Dad gets down and sees the problem at once. “You’ve jammed the key underneath it.”

Why was it even in there? Yes, I thought that.

“Forget about the key. Come out of the back door, X is getting beaten up. NOW. I came home for your help.” The tone of my voice has gone up and the decibels have increased.

“Why would I want to come out of the back? It’s alright, it’ll be open in a minute. What’s the hurry?”

“They’re beating up X. Please come and help.” (Screaming).

“There nearly got it. Where’s X?” asks Dad.

“For fuck’s sake! Why d’you think I’m in this state? He’s getting beaten up!”

“What?” asks Bro.

“Beaten up, attacked just down there.” I point.

“OK calm down, come inside and tell us all about it,” says Bro.

“I can’t come in and fucking calm down. X is just down the road being beaten to a pulp and he needs our help.”

“Ah that’s got it,” says Dad. “We’ll have this door open in a jiffy.”

They opened the door then. The porridge-headed smeckers. Just as X turned up looking reproachful.

“Oh hello X. What happened to you?”

X throws me a look as if to say “you didn’t fucking tell them?”