Ken Preston's Blog, page 4

Avengers: Endgame

Are we ready to talk about Avengers: Endgame, yet?

Are we?

Spoilers abound, people, spoilers abound.

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Right, let’s start with this: It’s been about two weeks since I watched it. When I left the cinema with Thing One and Thing Two, I only had one word to describe what I had just seen.

Perfect.

And right at that moment it was perfect. A perfect ending to ten years of MCU films, a perfect ending to Tony Stark’s character arc, and to Steve Rogers’ too.

I left the cinema with that bittersweet feeling of happiness and sadness, satisfied and content with the story I had seen unfold.

Now it’s two weeks later, I’ve had time to let it settle in, I’ve had time to ruminate on it and noodle around the edges of the plot (especially the time-travel elements) in my head.

Do I still think it is perfect?

Well, yes actually, I do.

And I know not everyone agrees with me.

(Quite often I think nobody agrees with me!)

Let’s discuss some of the negative points first, the ones that others have brought up.

1. Captain Marvel was let down big time by the Russo brothers in Avengers: Endgame.

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Here we were all thinking that she was going to be a pivotal part of the story, that she would be the one to bring everyone back and defeat Thanos. Instead, she had a great moment at the beginning rescuing Tony Stark, she made a brief appearance sometime in the middle of the film and then she was part of the humongous, multi-character battle at the climax.

Couldn’t she have done more?

Wasn’t it lazy writing to have her attending other matters on other planets for most of the screen time?

No, I don’t think so.

I love Captain Marvel and I think we’re going to see a lot more of her, and a lot more of what she is capable of, in the next phase of Marvel movies. But, stop and think about it for a minute. From the finish of Captain Marvel, set in 1993, to the beginning of Avengers: Endgame, set presumably in 2019/2024, we haven’t seen her ONCE! I’m guessing she’s been pretty busy out there in distant galaxies sorting out other problems. So, with Thanos losing his head not long after the snap and the infinity stones destroyed, what was she going to do? Mope around in Captain America’s support group? There just wasn’t a whole lot for her to do.

Also, and more importantly, Captain Marvel is a newcomer to the MCU. And Endgame wasn’t about newcomers, it was about the old guard. The old guard passing on and making way for the new superheroes. That’s why she couldn’t hog the screen for this Avengers outing, because we weren’t as invested in her character as we were in Tony Stark’s and Steve Rogers’ and Thor’s characters.

2. Did Avengers: Endgame fat-shame Thor?

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There are elements of the online community who think so. And yes, I laughed (along with the rest of the packed cinema audience) at Thor’s first appearance in New Asgard, overweight, a bumbling mess and drunk.

But the mood quickly turned, didn’t it, when Smart Hulk mentioned Thanos? Didn’t you see the tears in Thor’s eyes? Didn’t you hear the desperation in his voice as he pleaded with Smart Hulk to never mention Thanos’ name again? The mood shifted like that — snaps fingers (See what I did there?)

And as for the insult thrown at Thor by Rocket Raccoon, well, Rocket’s mean to everyone.

Read this for an in-depth article on this subject here – https://www.slashfilm.com/avengers-endgame-fat-shaming-thor-is-not-a-thing/

3. The time travel plot makes no sense.

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Seriously, this response to Avengers: Endgame truly baffles me. Like, name me a time travel movie that ever made sense! I mean, come on! If you’re going to criticise a film properly you’ve got to do better than tell me the time travel elements don’t hang together.

4. Hawkeye is a bit crap.

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Let me tell you, I LOVE Hawkeye. I always have, back in the comics and now in the movies. And I think Jeremy Renner plays him great. Yes, in terms of superpowers he’s one of the weaker Avengers, and he always seems to be on the margins, doesn’t he? But that is how he is in the comics, that’s all part of his character and his story.

I love his speech to Wanda in Avengers: Age of Ultron, part motivational speech, part nod to the audience at the ridiculousness of his character.

This city is flying and we’re fighting an army of robots. And I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense.

But what about the good things in Endgame?

Seriously?

You need me to list them?

I can’t there, are too many.

A few of my favourite moments:

Captain Marvel rescuing Tony Stark. Just wonderfully, beautifully done.
Hawkeye losing his family. A quiet, utterly heartbreaking moment.
The whole time travel episode back in 2012’s Avengers Assemble, which also managed to reference Captain America: Winter Soldier, gave us a battle between two Captain Americas, let us see Robert Redford one last time, and the ‘Hail Hydra’ moment.
That moment between Peter Parker and Tony Stark.
Steve Rogers’ happy ending.
Thor and Guardians of the Galaxy. Please, please, please let this be true for Volume Three!

I could go on.

I’m going to stop.

What about you?

What are your favourite moments from Avengers: Endgame?

Or do you disagree with what I’ve said?

Sock it to me in the comments, superhero nerds!

If you enjoy reading my posts I would be really very happy if you could spare a moment to buy me a cup of coffee. I do actually spend this money on coffee. I drink so damn much of the stuff it’s ridiculous.

Thank you for reading.

The Frighteners: An Interview with Peter Laws

 

Today I have an absolute treat for you, an interview with the wonderful Peter Laws, novelist, horror enthusiast, ordained Reverend, and generally all round nice chap.[image error]

All right, let’s start with an obvious question: What’s a church minister doing writing horror novels?

You might not be surprised to hear that I get that question, a lot. I do understand the confusion, too. There’s a view that says: “a church pastor ought to be ‘nice’ and avoid horrible books and 18 certificate films. They certainly shouldn’t be producing new material which adds to the morbid corruption of the world!” Yet this all comes from an assumption that macabre stories are bad for us, or something to be avoided. I simply don’t agree. I think human beings, and even the Bible itself, has long used the shocking and creepy to help us explore what it means to be human. So if God can do it, it’s not a surprise to find humans do it to, if indeed they are made in the image of God, you’d expect that.

Plus, I’ve been a fan of horror way before I ever set foot in a church. It’s just part of who I am. It’s part of the personality of millions of other people across the world. Fans of the dark side can feel like there’s something wrong with them, but I want to say there really isn’t. That was the entire point of my non-fiction book, where I travelled in Transylvania, Rome and the UK meeting folks who love scary things, like I do. The point of that book was to say that being intrigued by the shadows is perfectly natural – even for a church minister.

 

I love your attitude of inclusion, which came through very strongly in The Frighteners, that no one should feel excluded or ostracised due to their lifestyle or even hobbies. Is this something you have experienced with your love of horror and your Christian faith?

I’ve found that Christians in general have been surprisingly open minded about my love of horror. There are very few people who have told me that my writing scary novels or enjoying horror is wrong. However, there are people who have had a problem with it. Some have told me that I’m helping the devil warp young minds. I’ve had some people think I might have a demon in me – but then that person was dead against Harry Potter! So yes, there has been criticism from some, but not many.

I’ve had more Christians struggle with the ideology of my novels, which are written from the perspective of the main character, Matt Hunter. He’s an ex-vicar turned atheist academic. He’s very open about his distrust of Christianity, and since he’s the hero in the books, the stories come from his perspective. I see no problem in me, a Christian, writing a book that offers an atheistic view of the world. It’s more interesting too, at least for me, to explore both sides of the argument. But yeah, some Christians have not been impressed with how badly the church can come across in the books, ha ha. When the first book starts with an evangelical serial killer who thinks it’s kind and loving to baptise people and murder them straight after, to fast track them to heaven, it can raise a few eyebrows in congregations. But most have been totally fine with it.

About thirty years ago I was a faithful church member and believer in God. The church had a, mostly, positive impact on my life but I was criticized for my love of horror literature and film and told it was bad for me. Consequently I went for many years avoiding all things horror related (and I’m still playing catch up on what I missed!) Christianity seems to have moved on now in its censorial attitudes along with, thankfully, attitudes towards LGBT issues, but do you still get criticism for being a Christian who is also a fan of horror? And if so, what is your response?

I can well believe that you were criticised in the past, for your love of horror. I first became a Christian in my early 20s, and I remember being told that my interests (which include the paranormal) were incompatible with my faith. In fact, I went cold turkey from horror for a while, which was a challenge. But during that time, I started to reassess the genre and simply felt that it was the only one to take the supernatural seriously. It was the only one that was willing to talk about themes like life after death or objective good and evil. Ironically, it was also one of the few genres in which the clergy were heroes (The Exorcist, for example). So I soon realised that people who dismissed horror were often doing so because it wasn’t their personal taste.

Yes, The Exorcist, a film notorious at one time in Christian circles, is mostly made up of people standing around in chilly rooms discussing matters of faith! And one of the priests is played by a real priest, not an actor, and he has a major role in the film. Once you stand back and look at these arguments against horror it so often comes down to a person arguing from that point of personal taste rather than reasoned thought.

Thankfully times are changing, and people are becoming more nuanced in their views.

I think the Internet has helped with that, more than we know (though it has also simultaneously caused the opposite in some – a fixing on singular views). But yes, the last few decades has seen an openness in Christianity to challenge long held ideas (LGBT issues included). Some see that revising of theology terrible, and just a pandering to society. But it’s often a move toward understanding the original Biblical languages better and also being more inclusive and therefore Christ-like – who, after all, is the very hub of what Christianity is supposed to be. It’s exciting for me to see that even horror fans (who may have been seen as degenerates at one point) are starting to be welcomed to.

Unleashed is a terrific book and I flew through it while reading it on holiday. And I love Matt Hunter too. His crisis of faith very much mirrored how I felt, and sometimes still do, about the contradiction between Christianity’s belief in God’s love and the horrors we see in the world. I’m a big fan of Lawrence Block’s series of crime novels about Matt Scudder, an ex-cop who gradually turned from a drunk alcoholic to a sober one as the series moved on. As the Matt Hunter series progresses, will we perhaps see Hunter gradually return to his faith, or perhaps move on in some other way?

I’m so glad you enjoyed Unleashed. I really enjoyed writing that, and it’s a special book to me. It also gave me the creeps – and so I’m always delighted to hear when others find it scary too. I’ve had people say they couldn’t finish it, because they were too scared. That made my day, ha ha. As for Matt Hunter, I don’t really have a set trajectory for his character and I certainly don’t plan on making these books a kind of evangelical ruse, so that by book ten he renounces the error of his ways and comes back to church! Don’t get me wrong, if the story goes there, then you never know. But I have no plans to do that. What I do want is for him to have more exposure to the supernatural – so that his purely rational view of the world is at least challenged. But he’s the type of guy who can find a reason for everything. Which can be both a great skill and also an avoidance technique.

I jumped in to the Matt Hunter series, by mistake, in the second book and there are references to events in the first one. This didn’t spoil my enjoyment at all as the stories seem to very self-contained, but is there an overarching plot line to the series?

I want the books to stand alone – almost like old episodic TV shows that I used to enjoy as a kid. Watch something like Knight Rider or Columbo or The Love Boat (yeah, I’m, watching reruns of that at the moment) and each show is its own story. However, I do want to have some overarching development going on. For example, I’m writing the fourth novel at the moment, and I’m possibly going to explore what effect all the trauma from the first three books might have on Matt’s psyche.

We are both fans of the 1976 horror movie Grizzly. I can remember seeing it at my local cinema as a youngster with my friends, and it was a pretty riotous experience in a packed screening with lots of horrified laughter and screams. The year before that I had seen Jaws, which had a profound effect on me, especially at the end when the audience rose to its feet and cheered as the shark exploded. Are there any horror movies you have seen where there was a significant element of audience reaction?

I really enjoy that collective reaction to films, especially when the horror isn’t particularly serious. For example, my Grandad took me to see Friday the 13th Part IV when I was in my early teens (I somehow got in). It was a midnight showing, and there was that buzz of the crowd – so when people were killed on screen, people would squeal, or shout at the screen. That’s always fun. Another time, I was at a press screening in London for the Evil Dead remake (I write a horror movie column for the print magazine, The Fortean Times) – and I was fascinated when a cinema full of journalists broke into cheers and applause at a very shocking chainsaw to the head scene.

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I wrote about that moment in The Frighteners. Mind you, I do watch the majority of films at home these days, which is great in the age of 4K UHD, Dolby Atmos Sound etc. And sometimes I prefer to be just me, when watching more thoughtful or serious horror.

Oh, and yes I do love Grizzly. In fact, I’m a big fan of any of those retro – nature goes mad – films.

What’s your favourite horror movie, and why?

When I speak at events or festivals I get asked this a lot, and it’s impossible to answer fully, as I have so many favourites. But if you’re asking for some core horror movies for me, they would be The Changeling, Salem’s Lot, Dawn of the Dead, The Amityville Horror, The Brood and Evilspeak (a video nasty slasher, which most seem to think is crap, but I have a big soft spot for it). They all come from a similar era, when I was first discovering horror. I think that often becomes the seminal, memorable stage for horror fans. Or any fan, I guess.

What’s your favourite horror novel, and why?

I love Pet Sematary by Stephen King.

That’s a fantastic book, and a lot of the horror for me came from the non-supernatural elements involving the parents losing their child, and then there is that very final line which still sends a chill through me!

Absolutely, that really got to me. And also Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, which made me cry in parts. It’s not a novel, but I’m a sucker for The Shadow Over Innsmouth by HP Lovecraft. I also love old retro horror paperbacks. The Howling trilogy by Gary Brandner was great fun. I wrote complete original soundtracks to those books in my twenties. I did the same for my own books too, and people even buy those albums too, would you believe! My score to Purged got nominated for a Reel Music award, which kind of blew my mind. But yeah, I always wanted to be a film composer – so my books give me a slight excuse.

How many Matt Hunter books do you think you will write? I can see the potential for many more books.

I’d like to keep going as long as people read them, but I guess it’s like going on a book to book basis. I also have ideas for non Matt Hunter books, which I just need the time to explore. My non-fiction publisher want me to do another non-fiction too. So lots of potential, but it’s just making sure I have the time.

Lawrence Block has been writing Matt Scudder novels since the 1970s, and Scudder has aged at the same rate as Block which means he is in his late seventies now. Do you intend to do the same with Hunter, or will he be timeless like James Bond?

You know what, I’ve never really thought about that. At the moment, I do refer to the passing of time in the books. So perhaps Matt will simply age naturally. The good thing is that Matt is about ten years younger than me, so who knows, perhaps if I reach 100 I can vicariously live out the dream of getting in and out of a chair without help, through a 90 year old Matt.

The first two novels I wrote (neither of which will ever be published as they were ‘practice runs’) were very personal and dealt with a crisis of faith, which I was going through at the time. I certainly don’t get the feeling that this is the case with the Matt Hunter novels, but are there elements of faith issues you have faced in these books?

The phrase ‘crisis of faith’ is an interesting one, because it’s often applied to situations to which it is too strong a label. If one thinks that faith (let say, in a God) must be 100% certain at all times, then yes, when doubts come it can feel like a crisis. Especially if those doubts last a long time. However, this is a misunderstanding of what faith is.

Faith is, by definition, not 100% certainty. Faith is trust in a particular way of viewing the world. And sometimes we doubt it and sometimes we don’t. I have atheist friends who sometimes doubt their atheism, for example. We simply don’t have every single box ticked in our understanding, and so faith has this ebb and flow to it. That’s not only normal and to be expected, it can also be valuable. It can help us see things from other perspectives, and can make out belief deeper and more profound.

It saddens me to think that there are folks giving up on any sort of religious faith, because they think they aren’t allowed to doubt or question it. To think that is to succumb to dualistic thinking, which to me, is more human than divine. Sometimes life, and faith, is this fascinating sense of paradox – and that’s where the beauty often lies. Like in the life of a horror fan, for example, where there is both light and darkness. Having 100% of one or the other is simply unworkable. Instead, life is the place where those two things somehow work together. Faith has a natural up and down flow, and we all live by it. From the atheist who puts their trust in purely rational, material world or the passenger getting on a cruise ship or commuter train. We live on a basis of trusting others and objects to do what we hope, but when we think about it, it’d be false to rule out space for doubt.

Doubt, I think, can be a friend to faith, and a sign of spiritual maturity.

But dualistic thinkers assume that faith is having all the answers, and so when that doesn’t happen they give up.

By the way, maybe those two novels might come out one day! Have faith.

Do you have any other stories you want to tell that don’t involve Matt Hunter?

Yes. In fact I have a full psychological thriller novel which I wrote a few years ago. My agent has suggested I should adapt that and offer it to publishers, alongside the Matt Hunter stuff. I’d love to work in screenplays too, exploring other stories and non-fiction. But for now, Matt Hunter is the core of my fiction work, which I’m fine with. When I finish this interview, I’ll be straight back into Matt Hunter 4. He’s dealing with demonic possession in this one. Ha ha.

Thank you, Peter, for a fascinating chat about faith, horror, literature and movies, some of my favourite things to talk about. And I look forward to reading more of your books.

For more information on Peter Laws and his books please do visit –

https://www.peterlaws.co.uk/

You can buy the first Matt Hunter book, Purged, here –

 

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AMAZON UK

AMAZON US

And you can buy The Frighteners here –

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AMAZON UK

AMAZON US

Peter has a Youtube channel here:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgZZklJNcUEZplFDboNho6g

And you can find him on Twitter and Facebook

Twitter: @revpeterlaws

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/peterlawsauthor/

If you enjoy reading my posts I would be really very happy if you could spare a moment to buy me a cup of coffee. I do actually spend this money on coffee. I drink so damn much of the stuff it’s ridiculous.

Thank you for reading.

Novels I refuse to publish and a special offer

When someone asks an author how long they have been writing for, the answer is always always.

Wait, that doesn’t sound right, does it?

What I’m trying to say is, authors always answer the question, always.

Hang on, is that clear?

That reminds me of this rather mystifying sentence:

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

Yes, that is an actual grammatically correct sentence.

But wait, I’m not here today to discuss linguistics. I’m here to talk about writing.

Have you ever tried writing a novel? It’s difficult. I’ve written sixteen of them now, and I still quake with fear and apprehension whenever I begin writing a new book.

No matter how many novels I succeed in writing, there is always that feeling at the start of a new book that this will be the time I fail. This will be the time I crash and burn and never pick up a pen again. Or tap at a keyboard. You know what I mean.

And I have failed at writing many novels. If you are a long time follower of this blog (and thank you, I appreciate it) you will have read the excerpts from some of my abandoned novels here, here, and here, along with a rash promise to complete them one day.

But are there any others?

And if so, will I ever finish them?

And if not, why not?

And why do Police police Police police police police Police police?

To answer the first question, yes there are. I can think of two in particular, and no, I will never finish them.

Well, I seem to have answered two questions already, so I might as well crack on and answer the third. But don’t you even dare to think about asking me to address the final question. Just don’t.

Way back in time, and I’m talking long enough ago that there were no mobile phones and our rooftops were being invaded by satellite dishes, I wrote and completed my very first novel. Called, The End of Time it dealt with, yes you guessed it, the end of the world. Now, the world wasn’t ending because of out of control climate change, and there wasn’t a nuclear war or a zombie outbreak.

Nope. The world was ending because Jesus was about to return.

And everyone was waiting for it to happen.

I took the concept of the second coming seriously and populated my novel with men and women having a crisis of faith while the world slowly ground to a halt around them.

It doesn’t much sound like a laugh a minute, does it? And believe me it isn’t.

But I was very proud of it at the time, and I still am in a weird way, but even back then I knew there was no good reason at all to send it to a publisher or an agent.

It wasn’t good enough.

I decided to write a second novel.

Part of the reason for writing The End of Time had been to work through my own spiritual existential crisis, but that hadn’t worked so I decided to leap back into the world of Christianity once more. And private detective novels.

My second novel, Caught in a Cruel Net, had a Baptist minister looking for his missing teenage daughter in 1980s Birmingham whilst, yes you guessed it, going through a crisis of faith. I like this one just as much as The End of Time, maybe even a little more because it took me a lot less time to write and it is a better book.

A friend read it and complimented me on it, and told me he hadn’t seen the twist coming, which was very gratifying.

Again, I knew I couldn’t send this to a publisher. But I was learning, and I was maturing as a writer.

So I started writing my third book.

That one ended up being published as Caxton Tempest at the End of the World.

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I’d finally worked through my issues with Christianity enough that I didn’t need to put spiritual matters front and centre in my narrative. In fact, this time I simply wanted to write a rip-roaring adventure, a supernatural thriller through the seedier elements of London and beyond.

And I succeeded. Caxton Tempest at the End of the World takes in elements of the Sherlock Holmes books, Oliver Twist and Dracula, along with a cowboy, a master of the martial arts, demons, underground tunnels and graveyards plus secret societies and a zombie-like thug by the name of Marlow Crimps.

Excerpt:

Chapter Nine

The Fallen Angel

The tall, stooped figure stood in the open doorway, holding the oil lamp out in front of him, casting its yellow light across the room.

That was the first thing that Jim ever remembered about him, this tall, skeletal, bent over figure, holding the dirty oil lamp. The second impression Jim had of him was his long, blackened fingernails and his bony, crooked hands. The next was his clothing; shabby, grey shirt and trousers, stained with dried blood and hanging loosely from his gaunt frame.

The bile only rose in the back of Jim’s throat, threatening to choke him with disgust and fear and utter loathing, when he finally saw the man’s face. The haggard, pallid features, the thin wisps of hair trailing across his head, the skin stretched taut over the skull, and threaded with fine, blue veins.

The man’s sunken, hollow eyes glittered with baleful pleasure when he saw the two frightened boys standing before him.

“Aaaahhhh,” he whispered, as he took a few steps towards the brothers, casting the flickering yellow light of the oil lamp over them, to see them better with.

Jim squeezed George’s hand hard, keeping a tight hold on him.

Just let him come a few steps nearer, thought Jim, just a few steps nearer, and then we’ll run round him, and out the door. Just a bit closer, just a bit . . .

As if reading his mind, the man reached out a gnarled hand and pushed the door shut behind him. And then he whipped his head round at the sound of grunting and squealing as a dark shape scurried past them.

He looked back at the two boys and said, “You’ve been naughty boys, haven’t you? Meddling where you shouldn’t, no doubt, as naughty boys are wont to do.”

The man lifted the glass of the lamp and blew out the light. In the sudden gloom Jim just about saw the man squatting on the floor, and scratching his long fingernails on the filthy carpet.

Suddenly, with much squealing and grunting the thing from the shadows leapt at the man’s hand, but in a flash he had pinned it to the floor, and then lifted it high as he stood up. The thing wriggled and squirmed violently in his hand, but he held on tight.

“You’ve been fortunate indeed,” whispered the man. “Devil’s imps don’t usually leave their prey so long before killing them. But this little one is out of practice. Too long boxed up in a cramped old trunk, eh my pretty?”

Snarling and grunting, the thing sunk its teeth into the man’s hand.

“Aaaahhhh, yessss, bite away my pretty, do your worst, before I pack you away again.” He reached out a dirty hand and gently stroked its head.

The man walked past the brothers to the fallen trunk, and, kneeling down, placed the squirming, struggling devil’s imp back into his prison.

Still holding on tight to George’s hand, Jim took a step toward the closed door.

Before he could take another the man had turned on the spot, an arm outstretched to point at him.

“Stay right where you are!” he hissed. “I haven’t finished with you two boys yet.”

He turned back to the trunk, making sure to fasten it securely.

“Wh . . . who are you?” Jim said.

Slowly the man rose to his feet, his back to the two brothers.

“My name is Murmur,” he said. He turned slowly and looked at Jim, and then George, his gaze lingering over each of them. His tongue snaked out of his mouth and wet his thin lips. “And now, my lovely little creatures, it is my turn to ask, who are you?”

“My name’s Jim, an’ this is George, my brother. It were my idea to break into your house, Mister, not George’s. If’n you’re gonna call the peelers . . .”

“Sshhhh . . .” Murmur said, waving his long, bony fingers at the boys. “Nobody’s calling the police, oh no.”

George tugged fitfully at Jim’s hand.

Jim swallowed hard, even though his mouth was as dry as parchment. Despite the cool of the room he was sweating profusely.

Murmur shuffled closer to them, reaching out a hand and stroking Jim’s cheek with one of his long, dirty fingernails.

“Such handsome little boys,” he whispered. “Such beautiful, fair skin, such delicate features.”

Jim’s flesh flinched involuntarily at each touch of the old man’s fingers. The stench of death lifted from the man’s dry, cracked skin and filled Jim’s nostrils. His stomach turned over as he struggled to keep his breathing under control.

Murmur reached out another hand, sliding it around the back of George’s head, slipping his skeletal fingers through his tousled hair. Slowly, inexorably, he began to draw the young boy’s head toward him. In a display of pleasurable anticipation, he bared his teeth and sucked in his breath, bubbles of spit glistening on his withdrawn lips.

“I . . . I saw you today,” Jim said, in a desperate bid to distract the old man. “I saw you . . . with Inspector Behrends.”

Murmur turned to Jim and dropped his hand, suddenly ignoring George, who staggered backwards and sat on the floor with a thump.

He stayed where he was, his eyes unfocused and glassy.

“What do you know about Behrends?” Murmur hissed, drawing closer now to Jim.

“I . . . I saw you with him,” Jim repeated, a tremor creeping into his voice.

“Yesss, yesss, you already told me that, you pathetic dribble of snot. Tell me what else you know, quick before I scoop out your innards and chew on your guts.”

Jim felt that at any moment now he would lose control of his bladder, a final humiliation to suffer before this thing killed him and ate him. He closed his eyes for a second, blotting out the hideous features that were now only inches from him, but unable to ignore the freezing, stinking breath that blew across his face.

“I know he’s investigating a murder, that he needs help and he asked Caxton Tempest.”

“Caxton Tempest, eh? And what do you know about Tempest my pretty little thing?”

Jim struggled hard to think, to come up with something to say just to keep this monstrosity distracted until he could think of a way to escape.

“Well come on then, my handsome little creature,” Murmur hissed, crouching like a giant, black spider over Jim and reaching a clawed hand out to stroke Jim’s cheek. “Tell me what you know before I suck your eyeballs out of your skull.”

“I don’t know,” Jim whispered, “I just know that he helps the coppers sometimes, an’ that he’s worried about these murders, said it were serious.”

Murmur pulled back, and Jim coughed and gasped for air, grateful to be free of the man’s stinking breath.

 

I hope you enjoyed reading that little snippet from Caxton Tempest. If you fancy reading the rest well, Caxton Tempest at the End of the World is currently discounted for the next four days.

Get it now before it goes back up to its normal price.

AMAZON

KOBO

OTHER STORES

The post Novels I refuse to publish and a special offer appeared first on Ken Preston.

Get Out

Being the busy sort of fellow that I am, I don’t get out much to see new films anymore. I suppose that’s why I talk so much here on my blog about older films, like this one (the best film ever made) and this one (not quite the best film ever made).

But every now and again I do try and catch up, and recently I even went for a double bill of films I had been meaning to watch for some time.

I watched Free Fire second, but I’m going to tell you about that one first. Why? Well, because it isn’t very good, that’s why.

I’m a big fan of the director and writer team (and husband and wife), Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump. They are producing some great work and don’t seem particularly constrained by genre or audience expectations. So I had high hopes for this.

Initially all looked good. Set in the 1970s, the film was full of fantastic visuals, the wide collars, the shaggy hair, the beards, the grungy warehouse setting. And then there was the snappy dialogue. Within half an hour the expected shootout began, as tensions between the two sides of an arms weapon deal had been quickly rising. And then that was it for the next hour.

A shootout.

It was as though Wheatley and Jump had taken inspiration from Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, but decided to extend the final few minutes into an entire feature. I quickly grew tired of the shooting and crawling and hiding and more shooting, but stuck with the film anyway. Mark Kermode gave Free Fire and much better review and said it was best seen in a cinema with a crowd.

I can understand how that might work, and if I ever have the opportunity I may well give Free Fire another chance.

Much, much better was Jordan Peele’s directorial debut, Get Out.

From the awkwardness of the early scenes where pretty, white girl Rose takes Chris, her black boyfriend, home to meet the parents, to the unsettling and cringe inducing party of the middle and the gore soaked violence of the film’s ending, Get Out knows exactly what it’s doing and how to unnerve its audience.

It’s been a long time since I have been so caught up in a film that I found myself shouting at the screen, ‘Leave, just go, now! Get out, quick!’

Get Out works so brilliantly on two different levels. On the one hand there is the horror of white privilege and faux liberalism — ‘I would have voted for Obama for a third term if I could,’ says Rose’s father to Chris — and then there is the other horror, the one of blood and hypnotism and creepy basements.

Get Out uses the horror film tradition of jump scares and creepy music well and manages to inject some much needed humour into the mix too. Ultimately though, it’s that seam of awkward navigation of race relations that runs through Get Out which makes this story truly horrifying.

Oh, and the sound of silver spoons tapped against bone china teacups.

But wait just one minute!

I came across this and I couldn’t resist showing it to you. Get Out recut as a trailer for a comedy.

This trailer only works if you’ve actually seen the film.

If you enjoy reading my posts I would be really very happy if you could spare a moment to buy me a cup of coffee. I do actually spend this money on coffee. I drink so damn much of the stuff it’s ridiculous.

Thank you for reading.

Nothing Lasts Forever

Some days I feel like I want things to last forever. You know how it is, that day when you feel particularly happy or loved, or accomplished. When you’re on top of the world and surrounded by the best people in your life. If I could only capture this moment and bottle it, we think.

But nothing lasts forever, does it?

I suppose I’m thinking like this after seeing the images of Notre-Dame Cathedral succumbing to the flames.

Isn’t it amazing how hard we try and keep our past alive? Not just as countries and societies, (President Macron has already pledged to rebuild Notre-Dame, and money has poured in from rich philanthropists) but as individuals too. The past just seems so much more comforting and safer than the future, or even the present. And that’s despite all the statistical evidence that tells us we are safer and surrounded by more comfort than at any other time in history.

To be honest, I don’t look at the past and wish it was the present. I don’t particularly have any regrets. I made the decisions I did at the time because they seemed like the best decisions back then. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but completely useless also. How can I regret what I did (or didn’t do) back then, when what matters is what I do right now?

Sometimes, yes, we need a push.

I know I do.

And sometimes I could have done with a push when I was younger. I could have done with some encouragement to step out of my comfort zone. To create more often, and consume a little less. And yet I am here right now, in this present moment, and I am happier than I have ever been.

Sure, I have concerns, and life isn’t perfect. And I do worry about the future a little, especially for Thing One and Thing Two. Global warming, plastic pollution, overpopulation, and how they will navigate their way through an increasingly complicated, fast-paced world. I shouldn’t worry too much though. They were born into a complicated, fast-paced world and they relish it. Me? I was born long enough ago that I can remember the rag and bone man on his horse and cart, and black and white televisions that only received two channels. And I’m coping all right.

Actually, I’m not just simply coping.

I’m thriving.

I’m writing, publishing, teaching, public speaking, trail running, I have an amazing family and I am surrounded by wonderful, brilliant, creative, giving people.

Wow.

I feel the need to pause for a moment and give thanks.

Who to? A higher power? Life? The planet?

I don’t think that matters too much.

I think it’s more important to be, simply, grateful.

And, let’s not forget, nothing lasts forever.

It’s important to keep that in mind too.

To focus on living in the moment.

To say, ‘This is my moment, and I am going to pause, even if ever so briefly, and take that moment to look around and appreciate it.’

After all, this all we have, isn’t it?

The moment.

Today, this week, I encourage you to take a moment or two and look at the wonderful, positive, loving elements in your life. Your friends, family, your creative pursuits, the ways in which you serve others.

Take a moment.

And say thank you.

Yes, that lovely donate button is back again.

As always, I am simply putting this here for you to make up your own mind. You never know, if you donate the cost of a cup of coffee to me it might even make you smile.

I know it will make me smile.

Whatever you decide, try and smile anyway.

Love you.

The post Nothing Lasts Forever appeared first on Ken Preston.

What’s scary when you’re twelve years old?

Thing Two has been nagging me for months now to let him watch a scary film, or read a scary book.

He’s twelve.

I really want to help him out here.

Obviously.

I’m the author of four novels of vampire horror and one collection of short stories. I’m a huge fan of Stephen King and at one time I was an obsessive over James Herbert. By the time I read Fluke, I’d read everything he’d ever written and so I had to wait impatiently for his next book. I don’t know how long it took him to write those books, but it only took me an couple of afternoons to read them and then I was waiting again.

And films? Hell yes. I’ve been traumatised by The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Evil Dead, The Beyond and almost countless others, many of which I’ve forgotten about now.

So yes, I do want to help him out and find him something that will scare him silly.

Except, I don’t.

Because I don’t want to traumatise him.

And, I have to admit, I don’t want to wind up in big trouble with Mrs Preston if it all goes horribly wrong (or right, depending on your point of view), and he’s so terrified he has to sleep with the lights on and starts wetting the bed.

You can see that I’m trying to walk a tightrope here.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that I let him read my copy of Misery.

He was disappointed.

Let’s clarify that. He loved the book, enjoyed it immensely. But it didn’t scare him. Not one bit.

We watched the film next with Thing One and Mrs Preston.

Thing One and Thing Two enjoyed the film, but I can’t say the same for Mrs Preston as she left halfway through.

It was all getting a little intense for her.

Thing Two said the book was much better.

But neither of them scared him.

I’ve talked to him about Salem’s Lot and The Shining, and how scary they are but I’m not letting him read either of those just yet.

Now here’s the kicker: He said to me,

‘I don’t understand how a book can scare you. A film yes, because it can use jump scares and music. But a book is just words on a page.’

Damn it.

What am I going to do?

I want to see him scared silly reading a truly terrifying book or watching a horror film, but I don’t want to upset him. I can still remember reading The Shining and being terrified of bathroom mirrors for years after.

Perhaps I’m worrying unnecessarily. Kids these days are so much more sophisticated than my generation were. When I think of the bucket loads of blood he has seen shed on TV already, I’m amazed he’s not a cannibal serial killer.

Except, that’s not true, because I know there is no evidence for a causal link between fictional violence and the real thing.

And he knows the difference between screen violence and real violence.

So I’m racking my brains for a scary film to watch with him.

The Evil Dead? Hmm, no, I’m not ready to let him see that, just yet. Besides, he might just wind up laughing at the special effects.

Manhunter? A bit eighties, might fall flat.

Cannibal Holocaust? Don’t be silly.

What about books?

The Fog? No, no, no, no. Not when I think about that scene in the school gym involving the headmaster, his pupils and a pair of garden shears.

Salem’s Lot? I don’t know. Maybe.

What should I do?

Any suggestions?

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Impostor Syndrome Strikes Again!

You’d have thought I would have beaten it into submission by now. And I mean seriously beaten it into submission, so that it’s left lying in a curled up ball on the ground, whimpering for me to stop, making a tearful promise never to return.

But no.

It’s back.

Yes, I’m talking about my good friend, and possibly yours too, Impostor Syndrome.

He likes to follow me around, and give me a little nudge in the back whenever I least expect it. I can actually be in the middle of celebrating a success when up he slopes up, gives me that nudge to remind me he’s still here, and then starts whispering his devious, twisted little lies in my ear.

And quite often I let him.

Sometimes having Impostor Syndrome around can be comforting. He doesn’t actually demand anything of me, to be honest, and if I listen to his lies long enough I can find myself wallowing in a comfortable slump of inaction. Collapsed in my chair and believing myself to be nowhere near as good at what I do as I originally believed is a great way of giving myself permission to shirk from the difficult tasks that lie ahead.

Because it’s hard work writing a novel. It’s like attempting to round up a pack of kittens and then expecting them to line up in formation.

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No, actually.

It’s a little more difficult than that.

But I do it. Each and every time I am convinced this will be the time that I fail, and sometimes I do. And yet I have managed to write and publish thirteen (soon to be fourteen) novels.

Still Impostor Syndrome turns up and mocks me. Makes me feel inadequate. Has me believing that the work isn’t good enough, that really I am a failure. Of course I am. And it’s only a matter of time before everybody else realises that too.

Did you know there are five different types of Impostor Syndrome?

The Perfectionist

The Superwoman / Superman

The Natural Genius

The Soloist

The Expert

It turns out I’m the Expert. I never really believe that I ever know enough. When I see that job advert, I have to tick every single box there is before I can even remotely start thinking about applying for it. I’m always looking at courses and training too. Earlier this week I spent far too much time on the Open University website browsing through all their courses and degrees. Obviously I looked at the MA in Creative Writing, but I also looked at The History of Science and Technology and Business Management.

And don’t ever please tell me that I’m an expert on something, or even that I am very knowledgeable. I’ll probably run a mile in the belief that I have to get away before you find me out for the fraud that I am.

I could be wrong, but I have the feeling that anyone involved in the creative fields is probably more prone to Impostor Syndrome than other areas of work. We sit alone for many hours a day working on something that nobody actually asked us to work on and then we have to go out and present it to the world at large for judgement.

That’s just crazy.

There are strategies for beating Impostor Syndrome.

I think I only have the one.

And that is to keep stepping out of my comfort zone.

I have to do the things that I am scared of doing.

I have to show up, when all I want to do is hide.

I’m not saying that this banishes Impostor Syndrome, because it doesn’t.

But if I keep doing, and if I keep showing up, I stay in the groove.

I can turn my back on Impostor Syndrome, and I have the strength to resist his lies.

It’s never going to be easy.

But at least it’s achievable.

Take that, Impostor Syndrome! (Again)

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Yes, that lovely donate button is back again.

As always, I am simply putting this here for you to make up your own mind. You never know, if you donate the cost of a cup of coffee to me it might even make you smile.

I know it will make me smile.

Whatever you decide, try and smile anyway.

Love you.

The post Impostor Syndrome Strikes Again! appeared first on Ken Preston.

I’m Not Talking About Brexit Today

After last week’s rambling post about, well, me I suppose, I’m going to try and rein myself in a little today.

Although the post is going to be about me again.

It’s my blog, I can write about me as much as I like.

Will there still be anybody here to read it? I don’t know.

Whether you live in the UK, or the US, or elsewhere, I’m sure you’re aware that there is this thing called Brexit happening right now. It’s doing my head in, to be honest. It’s distracting me, not just from my work but from my life.

So, instead of getting all political and starting to rant, let me tell you that I visited a school on Tuesday morning, and spoke at the assembly followed by running four mini creative writing workshops with the different year groups.

And I had the best time ever.

I varied the activities I ran with each group, but the basic plan was similar: a warm up exercise followed by a main writing exercise and then giving two or three pupils the opportunity to stand at the front and read their stories out to the rest of us.

One girl wrote a gruesome tale about Blackbeard and his pirates hiding behind a secret panel on their ship as a siren attempted to lure them onto the rocks where they would crash. I can’t remember how it happened now, but the story finished with Blackbeard getting shot in the head and his brains exploding all over the deck of his ship.

Fantastic.

Another student wrote about a special pair of glasses through which he could see a ghost. But when he took them off, even though he couldn’t see the ghost anymore, he knew it was still there!

I told him I’m pinching that idea.

One boy approached me at the end of a session and told me he hadn’t wanted to read his story out in front of all his class friends, but could he read it to me? So I bowed my head and stood and listened while he read his story to me and when he had finished we both looked up and there were a couple of his friends who’d listened to the story too.

And immediately told him how much they loved it.

At lunchtime I stayed behind to sell a few books, and some of the children hung around so they could chat with me about their favourite books, and about reading in general.

Days like this are the best. I feel alive and I feel connected and I feel like I am part of something bigger, something with value.

I’m feeling all tingly just thinking about it now.

And today I had an email from a teacher at the school, telling me the children are asking when I am going back to visit them again.

Yes, I’m smiling about that as well.

I was going to tell you more. I was going to tell you a story I related to the pupils in assembly about how I struggled to read when I was at primary school, and that my earliest memories of school were of being made to sit at the back of the class where the teacher could forget about me.

But I’ve decided I’m not going to talk about that today.

Because, even despite Brexit, I’m actually feeling very good right now.

Positive and happy, and aware that it’s great when we can connect with other people, especially young people.

And that lovely things can happen in those moments of connection.

That we are at our best when we give something of ourselves and share it with others.

Anyway, here’s a cute picture of a kitten and a puppy.

I hope it makes you smile.

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Yes, that lovely donate button is back again.

As always, I am simply putting this here for you to make up your own mind. You never know, if you donate the cost of a cup of coffee to me it might even make you smile.

I know it will make me smile.

Whatever you decide, try and smile anyway.

Love you.

The post I’m Not Talking About Brexit Today appeared first on Ken Preston.

The Frighteners

It all started because I bribed the kids.

I’m not suggesting bribery as a recommended way of bringing up children, by the way. And I don’t do it very often.

Still.

Sometimes, needs must and all that.

Actually, let’s backtrack just a little bit. It all started because Thing One had grown out of his trainers, and needed a new pair. I’ve been telling him since he was this high (you now need to picture me holding a hand about waist high) that he should stop growing. He’s fifteen now, taller than Mrs Preston and almost as tall as me, and I’m over six feet tall.

Anyway, as I was saying (I’m afraid it’s looking like it might be one of those posts) Thing One needed new trainers and Mrs Preston was away for the day, so it fell to me to rouse the troops, lecture them on the importance of following orders without complaining, and organise them into the car and off to our nearest shopping centre, or shopping mall for my American friends.

When the lecture failed, that’s when I resorted to bribery.

You see, Thing One had pretty much resigned himself to going shopping for new trainers, even though he would have preferred staying at home and thrashing his electric guitar to death along to Metallica.

But no, Thing Two, he needed bribing. He had absolutely no reason whatsoever to go to Merry Hill. He didn’t need new trainers, he was just having to tag along because I couldn’t leave him at home alone.

‘Look,’ I said, in the most reasonable voice I could muster, ‘if you come along with us, after we’ve bought the trainers you can go to Waterstones and choose a book, and I will buy it for you.’

That was it, he was in.

How cool is it, that I could bribe him with the promise of a new book?

Of course that meant I had to offer Thing One a similar deal. His involved visiting HMV so he could stock up on some more thrash metal, because, you know, his ears aren’t bleeding enough just yet.

The trainers were bought, thrash metal was stocked up on, and we headed for Waterstones.

And that’s where I saw it.

Now come on, who wouldn’t buy a book with that title on its cover?

The Frighteners.

I liked the skull design too.

And then I turned it over and read the blurb, and that was it, the deal was signed, sealed and delivered.

Which reminds me of a terrible visual pun from the Peter Weller film, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension, but I’m not going there right now, otherwise this post is going to turn into War and Peace.

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The blurb for The Frighteners starts like this —

Peter Laws is an ordained Reverend – he’s supposed to be a ‘professional nice person’. So, why does he spend his spare time watching gruesome horror films, shooting zombies and writing crime novels?

Like I said, the deal was done.

I HAD to have this book.

But I still opened it up to take a look inside, and I read the dedication, and if the deal hadn’t already been done, well this would have finished me off.

But wait, I’ll come back to the dedication later.

Why was this book acting like the world’s most powerful magnet, and me the iron filings?

I’ve already talked about the title and the cover, but it wasn’t just that.

It was the content.

And the fact that it spoke to an internal conflict I still carry to this day, even though I shouldn’t.

You see, I used to be a Born Again Christian. A fully fledged member of a church, baptised as an adult, a regular at prayer meetings, the full caboodle and then some. So I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Christians do not like horror. In fact, Christians believe that horror films and books are doorways into possession by evil spirits. Or, at the very least, their corrosive message eats away at the brains and moral fibre of those who consume this material until they reach the point where they go out and murder innocent people, slavishly emulating the horrors witnessed in the films, read about in the books, or participated in within the computer games.

You can see the conflict, can’t you?

Despite having not attended a church service regularly since 2003, I still have that niggling feeling deep in the recesses of my mind that I should not be reading or watching anything horror related.

And yes, this really is me talking, Ken Preston, author of the Joe Coffin novels.

That conflict was brought to the surface once more as I stood in Waterstones, holding a copy (soon to be mine!) of The Frighteners in my hands.

Of course I started reading it as soon as I arrived home.

I would have read it earlier than that, but reading books whilst driving is still frowned upon in the UK.

Peter Laws is a full on horror fan.

And he’s a Baptist minister.

You can book him to come and preach at your church.

Or, you can book him to come and talk all things horror related at your convention.

Talk about conflict!

Now look, you lot, before I go any further I’m going to get something out of the way. I may not be a regular at the local church anymore, and I certainly no longer believe in an interventionist God (pay attention out there, that doesn’t mean to say I don’t believe in God) but I’m not into the whole Christian bashing thing, ridiculing them for their ‘ridiculous beliefs’ and their ‘old-fashioned values’.

To be honest, I’m not into trashing any groups, no matter their cultural/political/religious beliefs or sexual/gender identities.

I’m not trying to be cool and trendy here, and down with the kids.

(Did I just say down with the kids? Apologies, I will try harder to cut out the Dad-speak.)

What I am is a live and let live kind of person. We are all on the same journey here, from birth to death, and we all deal with it in our own ways.

Can’t we just leave it at that and let everyone get on with living their own lives?

So, I may well air a few (minor) grievances I have about the church culture I was involved in, but seriously, these people took me in when I was in a bad way, they befriended me at a stage of my life where I was taking far more than I was giving, and they looked after me.

And they didn’t have to.

And (final point here) I am still friends with some of these people, and still respect them.

Anyway, on with the review.

Peter Laws is a man who loves his horror. Whether it’s watching horror films, shooting zombies in computer games, listening to the soundtracks to Dario Argento movies while he works, or even visiting Transylvania, going on werewolf hunts in Hull or staying in a haunted hotel, this is a man who loves his horror.

And yet he’s a Baptist minister.

Now I know I’ve repeated that nugget of information a fair few times, but that’s not for you. It’s for me.

Because, despite having read the book, I’m still trying to get my head around this fact.

And I have to keep resisting the urge to email him and say,

‘Look, as a Christian and church minister do you really think you should be consuming all this horror related media? It’s not good for you. Think about your spiritual life. And what about the message you’re sending to other Christians? Oh, wait, you already did that. You wrote a book. In fact, that’s why I’m emailing you…’

All this while I am plotting the next gore soaked, violent and foul mouthed Joe Coffin book.

Talk about conflict.

Maybe I should see a psychiatrist.

Or a vicar.

Now there’s a thought. I could book Peter Laws to come and pray for me and cast out those demons which are compelling me to watch and read all this horror rubbish.

No, wait.

That wouldn’t work, would it?

Do you know that I didn’t read a Stephen King book for twenty years?

Twenty years!

He was (and still is, I’ve been busy catching up) one of my favourite authors. I became a Christian whilst living in Stourbridge and studying Fine Art. The first break from college we had after that important event in my life I returned home to Lancashire, opened up my wardrobe where I kept all my books and threw out all my James Herbert and Stephen King books. I think there were some Guy N Smith in there too. And maybe some Shaun Hutson.

It was a long time ago.

And I stopped watching horror films.

I still haven’t seen The Silence of the Lambs.

Or David Cronenberg’s remake of The Fly.

And yes, I know I could watch them now, but I tried that with a couple of other films and it just wasn’t the same. I remember when Blue Velvet came out, and I was desperate to see that film. But I couldn’t. Because I was a nice Christian and I didn’t watch those sorts of films anymore. A year or two ago a friend lent me his DVD. I tried watching it, but I gave up halfway through. I just hated it. But I’m sure if I had seen it at the time of its release, I would have loved it.

That’s just one example of the internal conflict I was struggling with back then. I knew I must not watch or read these things. That horror novels and horror films would corrupt me. But I still wanted to.

I was like a drug addict, permanently stuck in the first few days of withdrawal.

After that first summer break, back when I first handed over my soul to Jesus, I returned to the West Midlands homeless. Okay, technically I wasn’t homeless as I had a home I could return to in Lancashire. But my Fine Art degree course was in the West Midlands and that was where I needed to be, but that also happened to be where I had no home to go to.

A couple from the church took me in until I found somewhere to live (which happened about two weeks later). They let me sleep under their roof, and they fed me and generally looked after me, and they never took a penny off me. They did it with a good heart, because they wanted to help.

People are brilliant like this.

But here’s what I remember.

(Grievance airing time. I know, I know, I just need to grow up.)

I returned one afternoon to find the man of the house watching a video (VHS, this is how long ago this was).

Can you guess what it was?

Cronenberg’s The Fly!

And this was one of the same people (there were quite a few of them, horror was a hot topic amongst Christians back then) who had lectured me about watching horror films!

Yes, two exclamation points in a row, which surely indicates how passionate I still feel about this particular encounter.

All right, I’m going to take a moment to calm down here.

It’s not often I get this worked up about something.

Except Brexit, of course.

Damn, I mentioned the B-word.

Yes, I do realise this is supposed to be a review of Peter Laws’ book, The Frighteners.

And all I’ve done so far is talk about myself.

Dammit. I knew this would happen.

Because I’ve been through my own darkness. A darkness of the mind and the soul where it feels like there is no escape. Where I looked at the possibility of my own death and pondered on how that might actually be a good thing.

And I’ve seen dead bodies. I’ve met with people close to death, and others who were in so much pain they would have welcomed death.

It’s a mystery, isn’t it, what lies on the other side of that experience?

A frightening, wonderful mystery.

I think that is what The Frighteners is about, ultimately. Our own death (because that’s the thing folks, nobody gets out of this alive, chortle, chortle) and how we are possibly using horror as a way of dealing with that.

I was supposed to be reviewing The Frighteners for you, but I feel like I’ve rambled on too long as it is. So I will just say this instead: The Frighteners is a fascinating book, written well by a man in the most unusual position of straddling two seemingly incompatible worlds. It combines well researched details with personal anecdotes and opinion, and you should go and buy it and read it.

And that dedication I mentioned at the beginning?

It’s to his children who are probably too young to read The Frighteners. He distills the message of the book down to nine words for them:

Be who you want to be, okay? Be you.

Now that’s certainly a message I have no conflict with.

One last thing, in case you were wondering. Thing Two left Waterstones without a book. He couldn’t find anything he wanted to buy. Later that evening he was complaining he had nothing to read and began pestering me to let him read something a little more ‘adult’.

Something perhaps a little scary.

In particular, maybe I could let him read one of my Stephen King books?

He’s twelve.

So what did I do?

I gave him Misery.

A week later he’d finished it.

And he absolutely loved it.

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Wait a second!

What’s this?

A donation button?

Well, yes it is.

I do realise that nobody forces me to write a blog post every week. I do realise that I could stop writing it tomorrow, or even today, if I so wished. But I’m not about to. Because I enjoy it.

But do you realise that I have posted an article every week for the last nineteen months, and only missed two weeks? That’s a lot of articles you could go back and read if you had a desire to do so. They are all there, waiting for you, completely free.

And they always will be.

But us writers, we need coffee. Like, lots of coffee.

Coffee is the magic sauce that keeps those words flowing.

So if you feel like donating a penny or two to keep me in coffee, I won’t say no.

I’ll say thank you.

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10 Horror Movies in GIFs

Can you name all ten horror movies on this list, from the GIFs?

(Hint: Not all of them might contain a scene from the film itself)

1.

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5.

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6.

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8.

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10.

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Did you get them all?

Post your answers in the comments and then reward yourself with a GIf of Jaws, the entire movie!

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