Posts in 2018
Here comes the Fluff

This is it, people.  This is not a drill.  The second novel is out.  Which is crazy.  I’ve managed to write another one.  Three decades on this planet, two novels published.  That’s not bad when you consider the whole first decade and some of the second was spent primarily being forced to learn things in various classrooms.  
   “So, where did this new novel come from,” I hear you ask.  “And what’s with the pink rabbit?”
   I guess it’s time I properly introduced you to Fluff.

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Stampede

WARNING: The following blog was written by a sleep deprived horror writer.  There will be rambling and a certain lack of sense.  Also, there may be some typos and errors.  If you do find any, then cherish them.  Think of them like seeing the brushstrokes that make up the painting.  Apparently there are other typos on this website, but the exhausted author would like to point out this is all free.

MESSAGE ENDS

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The Old Man and The Cinema

I’ve always loved the cinema.  It started with the first movie I ever went to see.  My dad took me to the grand old, art deco Odeon that used to sit in central Leicester to watch the newly re-issued Jungle Book.  It blew me away.  The deep reaching perspective of Kipling’s jungle in the credits.  The moody atmosphere that seemed to lurk in the opening few scenes and the sheer, wild delight that took its place until a certain tiger cornered a boy amongst dying trees, the flames spread and I was made to believe a heroic slob of a bear had died.

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Normal Service

Sit down.  The show’s about to start.
   What’s that?  How am I? 
   We probably don’t have time for that.  I’m still rewriting the new novel.  Taking it apart.  Clearing out the problems and the pretentious ideas.  Rebuilding it into something that will hopefully attract more readers and sell better. 
   I mean, you’ve got to get your kicks somewhere, right? 

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How Little He Knows for Sure

 Last week the rewrite behaved itself.  Motivation was up.  Momentum was on my side.  Things went well.  This week, almost predictably, not so much.  The rewrite has turned on me.  Causing the Unwelcome Catholic in my head to say that’s what I get for feeling good about myself.  It’s been a week of steeper slopes and stupid problems.  
   So long motivation and momentum.  Hello, frustration, my old friend.

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Halfway Out of the Dark

Things are getting hectic, they always do at this time of year.  It’s like being trapped on a merry go round that refuses to slow down.  Every time we ask someone to apply the brakes, it only accelerates.  Sure, there are festive lights and catchy tunes circling around us, but this close to the event horizon of Christmas Day it all starts to get out of hand.  The music deafens us.  The motion makes us feel ill.  The horses under us start to leer and grin as it all lurches past our control. 
   There are cards to write, presents to deliver.  There’s food to hunt and gather, sometimes against shoppers who are racing against the exact same clock as us to the exact same shelf for the exact same final box of stuffing.  The season of goodwill can get pretty nasty down a supermarket aisle.

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