A Writing Journey

I’ve always felt the urge to write. I like to read, but I love to write.

I must have been a little bit confused, in school, when ‘English’ somehow morphed into the study of English Literature. All of a sudden, you didn’t get to write stories any more, but instead were required to study classic works. We got ‘Of Mice and Men’, ‘Julius Caesar’ and so on. I particularly remember an old English teacher who managed to take Macbeth – that exciting story of battles, betrayal, witches and madness – and make us pore over it in detail and at such great length that most of us came to detest it. His boundless enthusiasm for Shakespeare produced the opposite result, for years afterward!

At home, I was reading Robert Heinlein; Andre Norton; Isaac Asimov; Douglas Adams. Clearly, I was a bit of a science fiction nerd. It wasn’t exactly the golden age of sci-fi, but perhaps the golden age of musty, creaking, firetrap second-hand bookshops where a paperback novel might cost you fifty pence. I’ve kept almost all of ’em, too. I love books.

Who knows where reading might take you?

As English Language at school turned into something far more intellectual than hitherto, where one had to write discursive essays about some political or ethical matter, I lost my way a little bit. My heart just wasn’t in it… but I kept on writing, in my own time. A significant outlet for my efforts in my schooldays was computer adventure games: those funny little diversions where the player would enter terse instructions such as “north… examine box… open box… get all… wield hammer… smash window…”

From the outset, I didn’t just want to be a player: I wanted to make them, using tools like The Quill and then ST Adventure Creator. You’d need to devise descriptions for each location and each object, establish each bit of dialogue and so on. It was quite a tight format, if you wanted to say something amusing or dramatic every time. On the woeful Sinclair ZX Spectrum, the screen could only display thirty-two columns of characters and even that was quite hard to read on the portable TV that had to serve as a monitor, so brevity was key.

This was actually great R&R, in the nineteen eighties…

There was a time when you could tell if I’d liked a book because I’d start mapping it out, with a view to turning it into an interactive adventure. I was gutted when I learned that ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ already had an official adventure game – although Infocom made a better job of it than I would have. (If you’re a masochist, you can play the 30th anniversary Edition of the game here. Understand that it will kill you, many times.)

Later still, I got into MUD games: the more social, multi-user games of the early Internet. Once again, I found myself writing game zones: now with an audience of strangers rather than just distributing my programming efforts to friends in my home town. People sometimes ask where writers get their inspiration, but that’s the wrong question: the ideas are always there but the outlet for writing used to be pinched off almost to nothing. There was the predatory business model of the vanity press, where ‘publishers’ would take your money and leave you with fifty copies of a cheaply printed and badly-bound book to give away or keep under your bed, but I never wanted to do that.

Meanwhile, I wrote short stories: often brutally short ones of two or three thousand words. I’d read a scathing article about the ‘bloat’ then being seen in novels and it felt good to join the rebellion. While publishers played it safe and bankrolled multi-sequels of 700+ pages each, we rebels lamented the death of the novella. We didn’t realise it would come roaring back with the appearance of mobile ebook readers. The tyranny of economics has been swept away: no longer do publishers have to fret that novellas don’t justify the costs involved – and no longer do writers have to worry about publishers or retailers that won’t give them a try.

In June 2014, I ceased being a lurker on FictionMania and shared my first story. In 2017, another effort, ‘Into the Unknown’ prompted Chrissy to get in touch with me, inviting me to join the writers’ group now known as TransScripts. That’s where I met Katerina, Tanya, Anna and others – and where I first began to think I might dare to try doing this for, um, y’know… (whispers) money.

Eight books later, this is getting to be a habit.

The Color of Deception

We made it!

Amazon took their sweet time with my latest book, but it’s finally been released. I always like to be my first customer, to check that everything is as it should be, but it finally appeared overnight and there have already been sales. (Thank you!) That always prompts a nervous gulp.

I remember when I tried to sneak ‘Egyptology’ out. Reasoning that it had been years since I’d released a new title, I didn’t think anybody would notice if I quietly released a book and then re-read it (because typos are the Devil’s croutons) before I did any publicity – but sales started appearing on my Kindle dashboard almost at once.

Nowadays, I try to practice a little more quality assurance. Hard to believe, but here we are with my eighth book – or ninth if you count the collaboration, ‘Gamer Girl’, with the wonderful Chris Archer.

The Color of Deception (during development, known as ‘The Cod’ within the sprawling publishing empire that is TransScripts) is a Lovecraftian piece set in and around Arkham, Massachusetts during the Great Depression. Since it’s narrated by an American, I went with ‘Color’, and in fact used American English throughout. This despite the fact that Lovecraft himself wrote a story called ‘The Colour out of Space’.

Tsk. Authors, eh?

I hope you like my new novel. Read for free, if you’re the Kindle Unlimited kind… or get it the old-fashioned way, which will do somewhat more to keep Kermit in typewriter ribbons. Most of all, though, I just hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

There will be still more Lovecraftian intrigue in my next book, ‘In Cold Blood’.

Details Revealed

We’re getting closer to the release of my new book and I think it’s time to reveal the title. In fact, we can do better than that: here’s the prototype for the cover…

I already wrote something quite blurbish in the post titled (I kid you not) “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh…”, so grab your shotgun, invoke some protective wards and pop back to that one if you want to know what it’s about.

I think the title is suitably Lovecraftian. HPL wrote the wonderful short story, ‘The Colour Out of Space’, after all. (No prizes for guessing that the titular colour in my own story is a shade of blue.)

Want to see something from mine? Okay…

I’m keeping this account in the hope that it might prove useful, were something untoward to happen to me. Please bear in mind that these are the ramblings of a person already judged to be insane. Thus, if you find my story upsetting, throw it on the fire. Huddle close to the flames: warm yourself with my words and light the darkest corners of the room for a little while. Cherish your ignorance, just as we all do, in our little oasis of light amid the infinite unknown. Only the very strongest of us should attempt to peer out into the darkness – in case we should find something out there that chooses to meet our gaze.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

To my colleagues, I was Bartholomew McFadden, lecturer in ancient languages. Bart McFadden is no longer counted among the living, however, and I want to record what happened to him. ‘Missing’ is such an inadequate epitaph, don’t you think?

I hope you’ll enjoy your sojourn in Arkham, Massachusetts as much as I did. I suspect it’s just the first of many such trips in the years to come.

At Miskatonic University, they tend to do things a little bit differently…

Points of View

Nothing to do with reviews! This is about something I tried for the first time with ‘Limerence’. In my other stories, you follow the main character throughout, either in first person or third person.

I wasn’t very far into the tale of crossdressing naval architect David Ferndale and his stalker when I realised that I didn’t want to tell it in an omniscient ‘god mode’. I sensed that it’d be a lot more interesting to see all the anxieties and misconceptions of both parties.

Thus, I embarked on my first ‘multiple POV’ project, and I really enjoyed it. I don’t particularly like comic books (are we supposed to say ‘graphic novels’ now?) but one thing that’s intriguing about that format is the “thinks” bubble. Those cloudy-shaped ones that allow the creator to reveal a person’s motivation; their fears; their flaws. (Here’s a great little article about multiple POV, by the way.)

Unless you want to write in a way that grants the reader special knowledge, peeping into the heads of any character when it’s necessary in order to advance the story, you only get to report on the perceptions of one, influenced by what they see and hear of others. (Will Hollington in ‘Ground Rush‘, for example.) With ‘Limerence’ I chose to have two points of view, and a strict format: David gets the odd-numbered chapters while the troubled Amelia gets the even-numbered ones.

In effect, I got to take a second ‘bite’ at a scene, any time I wanted it – to show how differently each character perceived the moments they shared.

From Chapter Three

From Chapter Four

David emerged into a world washed clean by the rain and he took a moment to enjoy the distinctive, earthy smell in the air. The storm had blown itself out during the night and the new day looked to be set fair. It demanded another eight hours of work in his windowless office, but for now he could enjoy it. Amelia was there, reaching underneath his car for some reason. She looked embarrassed to be caught in a pose that had presented her bottom to him and she stood, fussing with her hair. “David! Er… hi.” He couldn’t help smiling – not least because of the view she’d presented him with, in her jodhpurs. “Good morning, Amelia. Have you lost something?” “It was a crisp packet. Not mine! I mean… the wind last night must’ve knocked somebody’s bin over, because there was rubbish everywhere. I’ve been picking it up.” Now David was the one who was embarrassed. “You really don’t have to pick up litter in my garden.”

Amelia did not have a good day. First, there had been that business of getting caught with her arse in the air, like a cat’s mating display – which would have been nice if it had worked, but past experience had shown that the Beloved was unlikely to be swayed by such things. Amelia had tried being flirty before. At least she’d picked up some of the litter from his garden. She liked to do little jobs for him. The habitual little frown that he wore was nothing but adorable, but she wanted to soothe it away if she could. If only she could prepare his packed lunches, or come in and mix him a cocktail in the evening so that he could relax while she did the washing-up, or something. Maybe offer herself to him for some sex, no strings attached. Shit. Of course there were strings attached. She wanted to be Mrs Amelia Ferndale, the mother of his children. How many would he want? Three. That’d be perfect: a strong, tall son, a beautiful daughter, slightly younger, and an adorable little baby that made them both smile, sharing a joke as he or she gurgled.

When you consider how many secrets and lies are festering beneath these interactions, the second point of view was not merely useful, but very valuable. I found that Amelia grew as a consequence: I became much more sympathetic toward her, despite the chaos that she brings.

Limerence got a small update yesterday, fixing a few small errors and also giving the book a new cover. The original showed Amelia peeping from concealment, whereas the new version shows her in full. I’d love to know what you think.

‘Limerence’ is available from Amazon, like all my other books – but you can also check out the free stories hosted here on WordPress.

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh…”

No: I haven’t broken another keyboard*. It’s just that I’ve been reading a lot of H.P. Lovecraft, lately. My next story is going to be a Lovecraftian one.

I’d been thinking about setting a story within the Cthuhlu Mythos for some time. It offers a rich, sinister backdrop and some fabulous potential for villains both home-grown and supernatural. Where better to be a damsel in distress than in the vicinity of Arkham in general and at Miskatonic University in particular?

Who knows what excitement you’ll discover at Miskatonic University!

When Bart McFadden, expert in ancient languages, attempts to save the life of his goddaughter, the result isn’t one he could have anticipated. Bargaining with the powerful, unearthly entity that absorbed her is only partially successful, resulting in a fusion of Bart’s memories and Matilda’s body.

Transformed against his will, Bart soon learns that any protests about his identity can only lead to him being judged insane. That’s a threat to everyone, because the monster is still there, biding its time in the ruins of the Blackwood Sanatorium. Bart knows he must defeat the thing – and for that he needs the resources of the library at Miskatonic University, which means Matilda will have to apply to become an undergraduate student…

A story with an H.P. Source.

There are parallels with ‘Egyptology‘, here, as we return to the world of Academia. Some people have asked me to write more about the adventures of Aisha Burnside, but I consider her to have reached her ‘happily ever after’. Matilda Hale, however, has plenty of trials still to come.

Dear diary, I’m worried about my roommate…

* Ah, yes… keyboard woes. In fact, I’m finding the keyboard on this little Framework laptop to be very good. After thirty-two years together, Apple and I have gone our separate ways. I wish I could say something nice, like “It isn’t you; it’s me…” but no: it’s all down to you, Apple.

Theft is not Homage

If you’ve read the message board at Fictionmania in recent weeks, you’re probably aware that there’s a thief in our community; maybe more than one. Stories that were shared free of charge are taken, given a new title and bogus author details, and sold to unsuspecting readers. Another facet of the same crime is where stories are being fed through an AI voice program to produce ‘audiobooks’ – again, with the title changed and the author not being credited, in the hope that they won’t discover that their work has been stolen and take action.

It’s been going on for years, and it’s horrible to rub shoulders (online) with the kind of person who’s pleased to note the obituary of an author, because that serves to identify another easy victim.

In my mind’s eye, our thief is a person in a developing country. For one thing, certain nations that I won’t name have a very different attitude to intellectual property rights. For another, it’s got to be the kind of person for whom ten or fifteen dollars is “good money.” Crime does pay… but it doesn’t pay very well.

Unless, of course, you do it at scale.

If it takes me between six and nine months to write a novel… how long does it take a thief to go online, find a suitable tale, download it and then put it up on Amazon’s self-publishing platform, KDP? With AI tools now available to create the cover, I think a person with no morals could easily steal several stories a day. More, if they don’t care about quality.

The really despicable thing, here, is that the big corporations are happy to turn a blind eye because they benefit from the crime. Amazon, for example, have done a lot to enrich me (and vice-versa) in recent years, but they don’t actually care about me at all. Consider: they get the same 30% cut from the sale of an e-book whether you buy it from a genuine author or from a thief: it benefits Amazon not to notice when stolen intellectual property is offered for sale and it benefits Google not to notice when they make ad revenue on YouTube content that’s stolen.

Some of the biggest brands in the world benefit from theft.

In most cases, theives aren’t stripping Digital Rights Management from an existing ebook (though that’s not unknown), but simply taking a story that’s available for free and making it appear to be something you haven’t read before, so as to trick you into paying for it. At most, the really sophisticated thieves do a search-and-replace to change the names of the characters, sometimes with confusingly inconsistent results.

The people who buy stolen stories are victims, too: paying for something that they could have had for free. “Let the buyer beware,” you might say; a fool and his money are soon partying… but it poisons the well for independent authors in general.

It had to happen sooner or later: a prolific thief chose one of my stories. ‘Door Candy’, which you can find on Fictionmania, was made into an audiobook and put on YouTube – no author identified – with the rather dorky title of ‘This Drug Made Me Time Travel – audiobook’.

My story, in its stolen form

The ‘Fem Stories’ channel consists of thousands of stolen works, so I needn’t feel either particularly honoured or victimised here: it’s simply theft conducted cynically and on an industrial scale. I wrote to the thief and the story was removed within hours. No apology or anything; just a bland acknowledgement.

A braver person than me might go through YouTube’s copyright infringement process, but that’s very clearly designed to facilitate theft and to make life hard for the victim: you have to supply your real name and postal address, while being told that in the event of a legal action, this could be shared with the other party. (My circumstances mirror those of David Ferndale in many ways: it would not go well for me, were I to reveal my identity… so Google/YouTube’s policy exposes me to considerable risk.)

Meanwhile, I (and people like me, such as ‘Tigger’ who has also recently discovered that a well-loved story was stolen), must continue to play ‘Whac-a-mole’ with the story thieves. But do you know what most rubbed me up the wrong way?

This comment on the stolen YouTube ‘audiobook’:

I am going to finish the story since this writer does not do part twos I will Martha is the happiest woman ever now and she’s also sad for the real Martha that passed away she gets married to Jamie legally and they become husband and wife Jamie, yes hired by another pharmaceutical company and produced a better drug than even Martha got, but this time there is no going back in the future it transforms someone into the person they want to be example. If a man wants to be a woman that’s exactly what happens with this medicine if a woman wants to be a man that’s exactly what happens with this medicine, Jamie becomes a famous pharmacist and gives everyone that is transgender their ultimate desire not only does it transform your body it gives you everything about that person want it example if a man wants to be a woman he has now functional ovaries and uterus he has. It’s just like a regular woman he gets bloating and cramps for the woman she gets erections and produces sperm to put inside a woman to impregnate them. They also have the ability of gaining the strength of a man and anything else that a man has they have it just like the woman gets so the whole world thanks Jamie and Martha for what they have given them to so many people, and made those people very very happy that is the second part in my opinion of this story. Also, I am a postop for 21 years, and I never had a relationship with a man or a woman and I know this would be an ultimate desire for me and I know another person that is FTM. She would love this to be real to for him

Things like this (if you know my story, you might begin to appreciate just how utterly bonkers this ‘sequel’ is) are why I try not to read the comments that people leave on my stories. Ugh! Did this person understand anything of what they just read or heard?

Funny thing is, ‘Door Candy’ is a rare exception to my personal rule that I don’t serialise. At just ten thousand words in length, the original story sees Matt trapped back in the 1950s, in the body of Martha and forced to take the slow route back to 2012… but I did write more, detailing the adventures of Matt as he struggles to adapt to his new life…

Screen grab from my manuscript for Door Candy 2

Here’s the real question: why the heck would I choose to share it on Fictionmania if some dickhead on Skid Row is promptly going to steal it from me and start trying to sell it to people?

This is why we can’t have nice things, folks…