I’m trying to remind myself these days that horror is a many splendoured thing. In fiction, that is. I’m not watching the news, smiling a slow snake smile and muttering the word ‘beautiful’ to myself. I’ll leave that to the people pulling the politician’s strings. Surely there must be someone watching the blossoming groundswell of chaos reaching far across the world today and congratulating themselves. Before turning to Hitler’s living brain (now safely implanted inside the body of a gaunt, pale, asthmatic gorilla) and offering a deeply worshipful high five.Read More
Maths has never been my strong suit. Hence the fact this isn’t The Blank Graph Paper. Still, for all my leaning on a calculator, I remember the basics. I know, for example, 19 + 7 = 26. Or, to put it another way:
It’s a week to my book launch!
I used to write after work. I’d get home from whatever office or shop I was working in, have something to eat and then try to write for an hour or two. It worked to an extent, but the finished result always felt sluggish. It suffered from a lack of energy as plot and characters became handy ciphers allowing me to moan about my day. Back then, I was very much one of those people who spent a lot of time talking about writing, instead of actually writing. Or, at least, writing happily.Read More
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?
Hey, Internet, it’s good to be back amongst you. After a couple of chaotic weeks and some incredibly painful days without any sort of signal that belongs in the 21st century, The Blank Page is up and running again. I’d call it 2.0, but let’s not fool ourselves. We’re in for more of the same here. The overly long posts and occasional reveries that don’t quite add up to a bigger pay cheque. Still, that’s hardly the attitude to start on. The Longs have moved finally moved house. Let’s begin there.Read More
I’ve been writing stories, in one form or another, since I was about six or seven. It’s hard to be sure exactly when I started. It’s all become a bit of a blur thanks to, well, getting old. I know I was definitely small enough that older relatives thought it was adorable. I guess it was at the age where it’s socially acceptable to patronise a child for trying to do something you associate with grown-ups.Read More