Seán O'Connor's Blog, page 4
February 10, 2020
SPLATTERPUNK AWARD NOMINATION
Greetings,I woke up to the news that I am now a 2-time Splatterpunk Award nominee. I am humbled by this news and I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to vote for Weeping Season. And a MASSIVE congratulations to all of those nominated. Best-selling authors and Splatterpunk Award founders Wrath James White and Brian Keene are proud to announce the nominees for the 2020 Splatterpunk Awards, honoring superior achievement for works published in 2019 in the sub-genres of Splatterpunk and Extreme Horror. The nominees are recommended by readers, fans and peers. The nominees are as follows.BEST NOVEL 1. Carnivorous Lunar Activities by Max Booth III (Cinestate/Fangoria) 2. Killer Lake by W.D. Gagliani and David Benton (Deadite Press) 3. Reception by Kenzie Jennings (Death’s Head Press) 4. Lakehouse Infernal by Christine Morgan (Deadite Press) 5. Merciless by Bryan Smith (Grindhouse Press) 6. Toxic Love by Kristopher Triana (Blood Bound Books) 7. They Kill by Tim Waggoner (Flame Tree Press)BEST NOVELLA 1. White Trash Gothic Part 2 by Edward Lee (Section 31 Productions) 2. Saint Sadist by Lucas Mangum (Grindhouse Press)3. Weeping Season by Seán O’Connor (Uafás Press) 4. How Much To..? by Matt Shaw (Self-Published) 5. One For the Road by Wesley Southard (Deadite Press) 6. Paradise, Maine by Jackson R. Thomas (Alien Agenda Publishing)BEST SHORT STORY 1. “Breaking the Waters” by Donyae Coles (from Pseudopod) 2. “Angelbait” by Ryan Harding (from The Big Book of Blasphemy, Necro Publications) 3. “Censered” by Christine Morgan (from And Hell Followed, Death’s Head Press) 4. “Shoulder Pain” by Chandler Morrison (from Macabre Museum Magazine) 5. “Param” by Susan Snyder (from Trigger Warning: Body Horror, Madness Heart Press) 6. “Norwegian Woods” by Jeremy Wagner (from The Big Book of Blasphemy, Necro Publications)BEST COLLECTION 1. Dead Sea Chronicles by Tim Curran (Bloodshot Books) 2. Various States of Decay by Matt Hayward (Poltergeist Press) 3. Dawn of the Living Impaired, and Other Messed-Up Zombie Stories by Christine Morgan (Death’s Head Press) 4. This Is A Horror Book by Charles Austin Muir (Clash Books) 5. Dirty Rotten Hippies and Other Stories by Bryan Smith (Grindhouse Press) 6. Resisting Madness by Wesley Southard (Death’s Head Press)BEST ANTHOLOGY 1. And Hell Followed, edited by Jarod Barbee and Patrick C. Harrison III (Death’s Head Press) 2. The Big Book of Blasphemy, edited by Regina Mitchell and David G. Barnett (Necro Publications) 3. Dig Two Graves, edited by Jarod Barbee and Patrick C. Harrison III (Death’s Head Press) 4. Midnight In The Graveyard, edited by Kenneth W. Cain (Silver Shamrock Publishing) 5. The New Flesh: A Literary Tribute to David Cronenberg, edited by Sam Richard and Brendan Vidito (Weirdpunk Books) 6. Polish Extreme, edited by Edward Lee & Karolina Kaczkowska (Necro Publications)A panel of judges composed of professionals, critics and scholars in the field will now begin the process of reading each nominated work, and selecting a winner for each category. Winners will be announced at KillerCon, taking place in Austin, Texas this August 7th through the 9th. In addition to the winners, author and editor Edward Lee will receive the annual J.F. Gonzalez Lifetime Achievement Award honoring his significant contributions to the sub-genres of Splatterpunk and Extreme Horror. Previous recipients are David J. Schow and David G. Barnett.
February 6, 2020
THE INTERNATIONAL DUBLIN WRITERS' FESTIVAL
I'm proud to announce that I'll be on panel discussing all things Irish Horror Fiction at this years International Dublin Writers' FestivalEarly bird tickets are available now. Joining me on the panel will be Irish horror writers, Chris Rush, Emma Ennis and my partner in crime, Matt Hayward.For more information on the event, please visit:https://internationaldublinwritersfestival.com/
January 21, 2020
WEEPING SEASON | REVIEWED BY HELL NOTES
Weeping Season has received a very positive review by Ray Palen for Hell Notes."I often wonder what it would be like to go back in time and say, ‘I reviewed/just read the debut title from author Stephen King…or Dean R. Koontz…or Ramsey Campbell…or Peter Straub…or Anne Rice’…The opportunity to be there from ground zero with a work from a writer bound for stardom in their field is a great feather in the cap of a reader or reviewer—the chance to claim you were there from the start. That is exactly how I felt while reading Weeping Season."You can read Ray's full ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️review HERE
December 29, 2019
WEEPING SEASON - AN EXCERPT
To celebrate the release of Weeping Season under the new Uafás Press imprint, I've uploaded an excerpt / sample chapter for all to consume... Enjoy and Happy New Year!
CHAPTER ONEA man awoke to hysterical screams. Cold dirt pressed against his cheek as he blinked to clear his vision. When he lifted his head and looked up, an awning of pine branches swayed overhead. He grappled to catch his bearings as he pushed up to sit, stiff all over, hard shivers running through him. Then it dawned on him that he was naked and covered in muck, his body as cold as the freezing surface he sat on. When he went to move, pain shot up his left leg, bringing his attention to a manacle around his ankle, a solid-looking chain running from it to a thick pine tree that soared up to the heavens. A short distance away, a young girl howled and battled against the heavy steel that secured her to another tree. Her cries echoed through his head as he tried to focus, continuing to blink away the blurred edges of his vision. What was going on? Where the hell were they? Acknowledging her distress, he went to stand but couldn’t find the strength to complete the action, collapsing to the ground, drained of energy, with every part of him in pain.Water, he needed water. His tongue and throat were parched. He licked his lips, or tried to, wincing at the resulting sting. Both were chapped and bone dry. Black clay was embedded beneath his fingernails, which came as no surprise considering the dirt that covered him. He tried to call to the girl, but no words came, just a racking cough that tore through his chest and head. The chill from the frozen ground was too much and he pressed his fists into the dirt and forced himself up – his weak arms barely carrying his bodyweight.“Hey,” he called to her, glad to be able to vocalise.She didn’t seem to hear him, continuing with her struggle.“Hey, what’s going on?” he shouted, looking around, his voice hollow across the forest floor.This time she stopped and turned to him.“I thought you were…dead.” Her voiced sounded as dry and tortured as his. “I was calling to you for ages.”He took another look around. “Where are we?”She didn’t answer, returning to her efforts to break loose from her bonds.He watched her struggle. She was so petite, he supposed she couldn’t have been much older than her mid-twenties, but to his eyes she was like a girl of fifteen or sixteen, which made his looking at her naked body feel somewhat inappropriate. He figured he was old enough to be her father. Before he looked away, he noticed her head had been shaved and she had the figure eight tattooed in black just above the hairline at the back. From where he stood, it looked fresh, with dried blood on and around it.What was going on? This was such a crazy situation. The chain that held him to the tree was thick and made of heavy steel. His legs trembled, barely able to hold him, but the ground was too cold to sit or lie on. Dense forest lay in every direction, with weak light filtering through tiny gaps in the canopy. No sun to melt the frost. How had they got here? The girl started crying again as she pulled at her chain.“Hey now. Calm down for a second.”She ignored him, struggling on until she ran out of energy and slumped against the tree in defeat. While wiping tears from her filthy face, she kept muttering the same words to herself: “Why is this happening to me?”“What’s your name?” he asked. “Come on, talk to me here.”“I don’t know my name,” she barked back. “I don’t know anything.”It was at that point it dawned on him that he didn’t know his own name, either. He searched, scanning every thought or visual that came to him, realising with a growing horror that he didn’t know anything from before wakening to her screams.Everything before was blank. But how? What could have happened? There had to be a rational explanation. They couldn’t have just appeared here out of nowhere. It wasn’t possible. Was it?“What can you remember?” he asked her, making a conscious effort to keep the panic out of his voice. “Come on, think about it. You have to remember something.”“Nothing.” She slapped her bald head with both hands, growling out her frustration. “Fucking nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!”“Ok, ok, I hear you. I’m the same.” He tensed his legs against the continuous shaking, rubbing his upper arms in an effort to heat himself up. No joy – no heat and no memory. He rubbed his head. “What the…?” His was shaved, too – prickly against his palms. Was that how he always had it? The back of his head was different, though, the skin stiff. Scabbed?“I see they shaved your head, too,” the girl said, watching him.“Who did?”“Oh, I dunno, let me see… How about the people who locked us to these trees?”“Yeah, ok.” He ran his fingers over the back of his head again. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”“I thought you were dead when you wouldn’t wake up.”He shook his head. “No, Number Eight, I’m very much alive. I do, however, appreciate your concern. Thank you very much.”Ignoring his sarcasm, she snapped to life, her blue eyes glaring at him. “Why’d you call me that?”“Well, since you can’t remember your name, I figured I’d address you by your tattoo.”She dragged herself to her feet and stared at him, her brows furrowed, then embarked on a rapid search of her body, “What? What tattoo?” Even through the dirt, it was clear to see that her arms and legs were free of any ink.“Here.” He swivelled and revealed the back of his head to her. When he turned back, she was running both hands over her scalp, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.“What number am I?” he asked.“What the fuck! I mean, why would anyone do that?”All he could do was shrug. “Hey, please… My number?”“Seven. You’re Number Seven.”He didn’t reply. Someone did this to them – placed them here, naked, chained, and tattooed. He checked his bound ankle. Unless they figured out a way of unlocking the bonds, they’d freeze to death before night came. They agreed they must at least work together to release themselves. But their options were slim, with nothing around heavy enough to break the lock. Any physical attempt would be in vain, as was obvious from the girl’s wasted efforts.“There must be a way out. A key or something?” He looked around. “It’s either, get out of here or wait for someone to come along.” An exchanged glance confirmed they didn’t want to wait around for that.Each moved about within their range in the cold dirt, searching around their respective tree, stopping every few minutes to rub arms and legs to fend off the chill.“It’s fucking useless,” she shouted, giving up and sitting with her back against the tree. “There’s nothing here.” She sobbed into the nook of her arm.The man kept looking. If he didn’t, he feared his growing desperation would overwhelm him. How in the hell were they to get out of this? The girl wasn’t much help, looking even more physically and mentally drained than him. He continued with his deliberations, but caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked to see her getting to her feet. Was she going to start searching again?“Hey!” she shouted, nearly dancing on the spot as she looked over to his tree, “Up there. Look!”“Huh?” He looked up, catching the smell of something fowl on the slight breeze.“There!” She jabbed a finger. “I think it’s a key.”“What? Where…?”“Right there,” She jabbed again, “I think… Yes, it’s tied to that branch.”Then he saw it. His stomach lurched as his gaze locked on the silvery key, tied to a branch with a black string. He looked at the girl, her eyes gleaming with excitement, then back at the key. How the fuck am I supposed to get up there?“Climb up and get it,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.“Are you for real?” He held out his hands. “Look at me, I’m doing well to be able to stand.”“Don’t be stupid, Mister Seven, there’s no other option. We’ll fucking freeze to death if we don’t get out of here.”She was right, of course. Someone had carved the number seven into his head and left him here to die. He sat back on the dirt to regain some much-needed strength. Number Eight encouraged him over the next while, and they discussed how to actually get up the tree. Well, there wasn’t much to discuss, with his only option being to physically climb the thing.His first attempt ended in failure and he fell back to the ground in frustration. Number Eight rallied him on. He had to establish a technique to get his weak body up the damn thing. On the second attempt, he did better, but the bark bit into his skin, chaffing his arms and legs, forcing him to abandon and regroup. His third attempt went better – he managed to figure out a method by wrapping his arms and legs right round the trunk. Inch by inch he thrust his way upward, with every point of contact aching from the sharp bark digging into his flesh.Number Eight shouted encouragement from below.The chain hung like a dead weight from his ankle, but he had no choice except to keep going. With every painful shift up, he closed the distance to the first branch, giving the chain a flick to gain slack as he progressed. He almost punched the air when he reached it, but thought better. No way would he be able to do all this again if he fell. The climb had exhausted him. He grabbed hold of the branch with one hand and took a long moment to catch his breath, shaking stinging sweat from his eyes.“Come on, you’re nearly there.”“Hey, I’m up here, aren’t I? Just…give me a minute.”He took a few deep breaths and got his second hand onto the branch, then pulled himself up with all his might. Number Eight whooped and clapped, but he thought better of joining in. Still a bit to go, and the effort had drained him again. He needed water, and food. The girl signalled a thumbs-up – a job well done, so far. Panting, and a little lightheaded, he returned the gesture and prepared to move again, his arms quivering as he lay outstretched along the tree’s limb. The branch bent when he moved but it held his weight. It didn’t help that the chain dragged at him from below. He inched forward, but the branch bowed some more and he wrapped his arms and legs tighter – the fear of falling holding him in place. So close. The key was just out of reach. If only…“Pull the chain up,” the girl shouted.He did as she advised, swinging it closer with his leg until he caught hold of it. The clunky chunk of steel caught in the bark every step of the way. However, his efforts paid off when he hauled up enough to take most of the slack off. He balanced himself, like a snake, and snatched at the key, this time managing to knock it loose. The valuable piece of silver plummeted to the forest floor.This time he joined in with the celebratory whoops from below, even punching the air, but it was short-lived – something rattled behind him, and it was too late by the time he realised he’d let go of the chain. The weight of it dragged him from the branch, and he barely had time to cry out before crashing to the frozen ground below.The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and he didn’t have time to register the pain as he gagged for breath, coughing and retching, his parched tongue out in his desperation to take some air in.“Are you all right, Mister?” the girl shouted through his fog. “Number Seven!”Her voice pulled him out of his panic and anchored him to the moment, the transition settling enough to enable him to draw in life-enhancing breaths.“Seven?”“Yeah…ok,” he choked out. “I… I’m…” He took a few moments to gather himself and shake off the dizziness. “I’m ok.” But even with his lungs back in working order, his body burned from exhaustion – the impact had knocked every ounce of energy out of him.“Control your breathing. Count to ten.”He shook his head, almost smiling. If I count to one hundred, I’ll still be fucked. When he’d caught his breath and checked that his limbs were in relatively good working order, he tried the key in the lock. It went in but wouldn’t turn. “Fuck! It’s the wrong key.”“What? But…” She frowned, her gaze darting from left to right, obviously working it through her head. “Give it here. Let me try it in mine.”He looked at the key, then at her, then back at the key. No, there had to be a way. He tried the lock again, even angling the key, but it didn’t work. Fuck!“Come on, Seven, throw it to me.”He rubbed at the pain in his back. “And what if it works for you? How do I know you’ll stay?”“Are you serious, Mister? What am I gonna do, run through the fucking forest on my own?”“Hey, I didn’t—”“Give me the key and I can help find yours.”He sighed and tossed the key over. The sound of her manacle unlocking was unmistakable and ground into his head. What if she takes off? What the hell am I going to do here on my own?The girl removed the manacle and scrambled up with a yelp of joy, wiggling her foot with a childish delight, as if she’d never moved it before.Then she stopped, like she realised she shouldn’t be celebrating in front of him. She was right – he was happy for her, but where did it leave him? Why should she be free and not him? And why had his key released her lock and not his? She walked over to him and looked around, scanning the ground and the branches. He’d already done so, and knew that without another key, it was useless – he wasn’t going anywhere.“Please don’t leave me,” he said, averting his gaze from her nakedness. “There has to be another key around here somewhere. That one was clearly a test for us – some sort of task to complete.”She looked around. “Maybe I should go get help?”“Don’t be…naive. Whoever went to this much effort isn’t going to let us get up and walk out of here that easily. Take a look around, there has to be another key.”She shrugged and scrambled around the nearby trees. All that surrounded them seemed to be untouched nature, with nothing out of place. He caught her glancing his way, her bottom lip turning white between her teeth. It didn’t look good. What was she thinking? Was she going to head off to look for help? Or maybe just run, and keep running until she found someone. What about him? Then she shook her head, as if forcing something out of it, and turned back to him.“Listen, Seven, if you were supposed to get my key, then it seems logical that I’m supposed to find yours.”His silent relief that she’d stayed was palpable. Best not to show it. Vulnerable enough being naked in front of each other. Naked and filthy, and starving. Damn, what he wouldn’t do to eat right now.“Are you listening to me?” she snapped.“Yes, of course. All we can do is search. You continue with the outer reaches and I’ll work around my tree.”“But we’ve already searched. I mean, where else can it be?”He was just about to answer along the lines of not knowing, when he noticed a patch of dirt near her tree – a different colour to the surface around it. “Over there, look.” He pointed. “There’s a bit of a mound there, different to the rest.”She looked along his arm and finger and ran over. Using her fingers, she clawed away at the clay and dug into the earth, then squealed with delight when she retrieved a silver key.“Yes!” he roared, tears of relief brimming in his eyes. “Quick, Eight, quick, bring it over.”She sprinted over and unlocked the manacle around his ankle. He groaned when it fell off, grimacing at the sting from the flayed flesh where the steel had cut in.However, he didn’t care. They were free from their shackles, and that’s what counted. Time to get out of this nightmare.If you enjoyed this excerpt and would like to find out Seven and Eight's fate... eBook and Paperback copies are available to buy now from Amazon.
CHAPTER ONEA man awoke to hysterical screams. Cold dirt pressed against his cheek as he blinked to clear his vision. When he lifted his head and looked up, an awning of pine branches swayed overhead. He grappled to catch his bearings as he pushed up to sit, stiff all over, hard shivers running through him. Then it dawned on him that he was naked and covered in muck, his body as cold as the freezing surface he sat on. When he went to move, pain shot up his left leg, bringing his attention to a manacle around his ankle, a solid-looking chain running from it to a thick pine tree that soared up to the heavens. A short distance away, a young girl howled and battled against the heavy steel that secured her to another tree. Her cries echoed through his head as he tried to focus, continuing to blink away the blurred edges of his vision. What was going on? Where the hell were they? Acknowledging her distress, he went to stand but couldn’t find the strength to complete the action, collapsing to the ground, drained of energy, with every part of him in pain.Water, he needed water. His tongue and throat were parched. He licked his lips, or tried to, wincing at the resulting sting. Both were chapped and bone dry. Black clay was embedded beneath his fingernails, which came as no surprise considering the dirt that covered him. He tried to call to the girl, but no words came, just a racking cough that tore through his chest and head. The chill from the frozen ground was too much and he pressed his fists into the dirt and forced himself up – his weak arms barely carrying his bodyweight.“Hey,” he called to her, glad to be able to vocalise.She didn’t seem to hear him, continuing with her struggle.“Hey, what’s going on?” he shouted, looking around, his voice hollow across the forest floor.This time she stopped and turned to him.“I thought you were…dead.” Her voiced sounded as dry and tortured as his. “I was calling to you for ages.”He took another look around. “Where are we?”She didn’t answer, returning to her efforts to break loose from her bonds.He watched her struggle. She was so petite, he supposed she couldn’t have been much older than her mid-twenties, but to his eyes she was like a girl of fifteen or sixteen, which made his looking at her naked body feel somewhat inappropriate. He figured he was old enough to be her father. Before he looked away, he noticed her head had been shaved and she had the figure eight tattooed in black just above the hairline at the back. From where he stood, it looked fresh, with dried blood on and around it.What was going on? This was such a crazy situation. The chain that held him to the tree was thick and made of heavy steel. His legs trembled, barely able to hold him, but the ground was too cold to sit or lie on. Dense forest lay in every direction, with weak light filtering through tiny gaps in the canopy. No sun to melt the frost. How had they got here? The girl started crying again as she pulled at her chain.“Hey now. Calm down for a second.”She ignored him, struggling on until she ran out of energy and slumped against the tree in defeat. While wiping tears from her filthy face, she kept muttering the same words to herself: “Why is this happening to me?”“What’s your name?” he asked. “Come on, talk to me here.”“I don’t know my name,” she barked back. “I don’t know anything.”It was at that point it dawned on him that he didn’t know his own name, either. He searched, scanning every thought or visual that came to him, realising with a growing horror that he didn’t know anything from before wakening to her screams.Everything before was blank. But how? What could have happened? There had to be a rational explanation. They couldn’t have just appeared here out of nowhere. It wasn’t possible. Was it?“What can you remember?” he asked her, making a conscious effort to keep the panic out of his voice. “Come on, think about it. You have to remember something.”“Nothing.” She slapped her bald head with both hands, growling out her frustration. “Fucking nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!”“Ok, ok, I hear you. I’m the same.” He tensed his legs against the continuous shaking, rubbing his upper arms in an effort to heat himself up. No joy – no heat and no memory. He rubbed his head. “What the…?” His was shaved, too – prickly against his palms. Was that how he always had it? The back of his head was different, though, the skin stiff. Scabbed?“I see they shaved your head, too,” the girl said, watching him.“Who did?”“Oh, I dunno, let me see… How about the people who locked us to these trees?”“Yeah, ok.” He ran his fingers over the back of his head again. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”“I thought you were dead when you wouldn’t wake up.”He shook his head. “No, Number Eight, I’m very much alive. I do, however, appreciate your concern. Thank you very much.”Ignoring his sarcasm, she snapped to life, her blue eyes glaring at him. “Why’d you call me that?”“Well, since you can’t remember your name, I figured I’d address you by your tattoo.”She dragged herself to her feet and stared at him, her brows furrowed, then embarked on a rapid search of her body, “What? What tattoo?” Even through the dirt, it was clear to see that her arms and legs were free of any ink.“Here.” He swivelled and revealed the back of his head to her. When he turned back, she was running both hands over her scalp, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.“What number am I?” he asked.“What the fuck! I mean, why would anyone do that?”All he could do was shrug. “Hey, please… My number?”“Seven. You’re Number Seven.”He didn’t reply. Someone did this to them – placed them here, naked, chained, and tattooed. He checked his bound ankle. Unless they figured out a way of unlocking the bonds, they’d freeze to death before night came. They agreed they must at least work together to release themselves. But their options were slim, with nothing around heavy enough to break the lock. Any physical attempt would be in vain, as was obvious from the girl’s wasted efforts.“There must be a way out. A key or something?” He looked around. “It’s either, get out of here or wait for someone to come along.” An exchanged glance confirmed they didn’t want to wait around for that.Each moved about within their range in the cold dirt, searching around their respective tree, stopping every few minutes to rub arms and legs to fend off the chill.“It’s fucking useless,” she shouted, giving up and sitting with her back against the tree. “There’s nothing here.” She sobbed into the nook of her arm.The man kept looking. If he didn’t, he feared his growing desperation would overwhelm him. How in the hell were they to get out of this? The girl wasn’t much help, looking even more physically and mentally drained than him. He continued with his deliberations, but caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked to see her getting to her feet. Was she going to start searching again?“Hey!” she shouted, nearly dancing on the spot as she looked over to his tree, “Up there. Look!”“Huh?” He looked up, catching the smell of something fowl on the slight breeze.“There!” She jabbed a finger. “I think it’s a key.”“What? Where…?”“Right there,” She jabbed again, “I think… Yes, it’s tied to that branch.”Then he saw it. His stomach lurched as his gaze locked on the silvery key, tied to a branch with a black string. He looked at the girl, her eyes gleaming with excitement, then back at the key. How the fuck am I supposed to get up there?“Climb up and get it,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.“Are you for real?” He held out his hands. “Look at me, I’m doing well to be able to stand.”“Don’t be stupid, Mister Seven, there’s no other option. We’ll fucking freeze to death if we don’t get out of here.”She was right, of course. Someone had carved the number seven into his head and left him here to die. He sat back on the dirt to regain some much-needed strength. Number Eight encouraged him over the next while, and they discussed how to actually get up the tree. Well, there wasn’t much to discuss, with his only option being to physically climb the thing.His first attempt ended in failure and he fell back to the ground in frustration. Number Eight rallied him on. He had to establish a technique to get his weak body up the damn thing. On the second attempt, he did better, but the bark bit into his skin, chaffing his arms and legs, forcing him to abandon and regroup. His third attempt went better – he managed to figure out a method by wrapping his arms and legs right round the trunk. Inch by inch he thrust his way upward, with every point of contact aching from the sharp bark digging into his flesh.Number Eight shouted encouragement from below.The chain hung like a dead weight from his ankle, but he had no choice except to keep going. With every painful shift up, he closed the distance to the first branch, giving the chain a flick to gain slack as he progressed. He almost punched the air when he reached it, but thought better. No way would he be able to do all this again if he fell. The climb had exhausted him. He grabbed hold of the branch with one hand and took a long moment to catch his breath, shaking stinging sweat from his eyes.“Come on, you’re nearly there.”“Hey, I’m up here, aren’t I? Just…give me a minute.”He took a few deep breaths and got his second hand onto the branch, then pulled himself up with all his might. Number Eight whooped and clapped, but he thought better of joining in. Still a bit to go, and the effort had drained him again. He needed water, and food. The girl signalled a thumbs-up – a job well done, so far. Panting, and a little lightheaded, he returned the gesture and prepared to move again, his arms quivering as he lay outstretched along the tree’s limb. The branch bent when he moved but it held his weight. It didn’t help that the chain dragged at him from below. He inched forward, but the branch bowed some more and he wrapped his arms and legs tighter – the fear of falling holding him in place. So close. The key was just out of reach. If only…“Pull the chain up,” the girl shouted.He did as she advised, swinging it closer with his leg until he caught hold of it. The clunky chunk of steel caught in the bark every step of the way. However, his efforts paid off when he hauled up enough to take most of the slack off. He balanced himself, like a snake, and snatched at the key, this time managing to knock it loose. The valuable piece of silver plummeted to the forest floor.This time he joined in with the celebratory whoops from below, even punching the air, but it was short-lived – something rattled behind him, and it was too late by the time he realised he’d let go of the chain. The weight of it dragged him from the branch, and he barely had time to cry out before crashing to the frozen ground below.The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and he didn’t have time to register the pain as he gagged for breath, coughing and retching, his parched tongue out in his desperation to take some air in.“Are you all right, Mister?” the girl shouted through his fog. “Number Seven!”Her voice pulled him out of his panic and anchored him to the moment, the transition settling enough to enable him to draw in life-enhancing breaths.“Seven?”“Yeah…ok,” he choked out. “I… I’m…” He took a few moments to gather himself and shake off the dizziness. “I’m ok.” But even with his lungs back in working order, his body burned from exhaustion – the impact had knocked every ounce of energy out of him.“Control your breathing. Count to ten.”He shook his head, almost smiling. If I count to one hundred, I’ll still be fucked. When he’d caught his breath and checked that his limbs were in relatively good working order, he tried the key in the lock. It went in but wouldn’t turn. “Fuck! It’s the wrong key.”“What? But…” She frowned, her gaze darting from left to right, obviously working it through her head. “Give it here. Let me try it in mine.”He looked at the key, then at her, then back at the key. No, there had to be a way. He tried the lock again, even angling the key, but it didn’t work. Fuck!“Come on, Seven, throw it to me.”He rubbed at the pain in his back. “And what if it works for you? How do I know you’ll stay?”“Are you serious, Mister? What am I gonna do, run through the fucking forest on my own?”“Hey, I didn’t—”“Give me the key and I can help find yours.”He sighed and tossed the key over. The sound of her manacle unlocking was unmistakable and ground into his head. What if she takes off? What the hell am I going to do here on my own?The girl removed the manacle and scrambled up with a yelp of joy, wiggling her foot with a childish delight, as if she’d never moved it before.Then she stopped, like she realised she shouldn’t be celebrating in front of him. She was right – he was happy for her, but where did it leave him? Why should she be free and not him? And why had his key released her lock and not his? She walked over to him and looked around, scanning the ground and the branches. He’d already done so, and knew that without another key, it was useless – he wasn’t going anywhere.“Please don’t leave me,” he said, averting his gaze from her nakedness. “There has to be another key around here somewhere. That one was clearly a test for us – some sort of task to complete.”She looked around. “Maybe I should go get help?”“Don’t be…naive. Whoever went to this much effort isn’t going to let us get up and walk out of here that easily. Take a look around, there has to be another key.”She shrugged and scrambled around the nearby trees. All that surrounded them seemed to be untouched nature, with nothing out of place. He caught her glancing his way, her bottom lip turning white between her teeth. It didn’t look good. What was she thinking? Was she going to head off to look for help? Or maybe just run, and keep running until she found someone. What about him? Then she shook her head, as if forcing something out of it, and turned back to him.“Listen, Seven, if you were supposed to get my key, then it seems logical that I’m supposed to find yours.”His silent relief that she’d stayed was palpable. Best not to show it. Vulnerable enough being naked in front of each other. Naked and filthy, and starving. Damn, what he wouldn’t do to eat right now.“Are you listening to me?” she snapped.“Yes, of course. All we can do is search. You continue with the outer reaches and I’ll work around my tree.”“But we’ve already searched. I mean, where else can it be?”He was just about to answer along the lines of not knowing, when he noticed a patch of dirt near her tree – a different colour to the surface around it. “Over there, look.” He pointed. “There’s a bit of a mound there, different to the rest.”She looked along his arm and finger and ran over. Using her fingers, she clawed away at the clay and dug into the earth, then squealed with delight when she retrieved a silver key.“Yes!” he roared, tears of relief brimming in his eyes. “Quick, Eight, quick, bring it over.”She sprinted over and unlocked the manacle around his ankle. He groaned when it fell off, grimacing at the sting from the flayed flesh where the steel had cut in.However, he didn’t care. They were free from their shackles, and that’s what counted. Time to get out of this nightmare.If you enjoyed this excerpt and would like to find out Seven and Eight's fate... eBook and Paperback copies are available to buy now from Amazon.
December 21, 2019
DANCING IN FIRELIGHT
Greetings,On this, the day of the solstice, I sit here reflecting and enjoying the longest night of the year. So, light the fires, dance, sing, feast and celebrate midwinter with reverence and join me for the rebirth of the sun...As a writer, this has been my busiest year to date with some highs and lows that tested my resolve and ability to keep working at this game. I can only speak from my own experiences and for the purpose of this article, I will share some insights with you...UAFÁS PRESSFirst of all, I'm no longer a Matador / Troubadour author. Instead, I've decided to become an independent author (Or Indie Writer, if you will...) who will now be publishing my work under my own imprint; Uafás Press. For me, the small press scene has become somewhat volatile, with many negative stories surfacing recently. And it seems from these stories, that it is the writer who suffers the most... If you haven't been following the ChiZine fiasco, I urge you to Google it now. In addition to that story, many of my friends and colleagues have experienced similar treatment with various other small press within the Horror Fiction community and from learning about their blight, I've decided that I simply do not trust anyone else with my intellectual property at this time.
Now – in my experience – I didn't have anything near the ChiZine level of shit happen to me, and of course there are some great small press out there like Bloodshot Books, Lovecraft eZine Press and Poltergeist Press. But I was with a publisher who was happy to print my stories, charge me for the privilege and then leave me swinging in the wind with no promotion and delayed royalty payments with vague excuses. I cannot work that way and ties were broken and the rights to my stories have been reverted back to me. The decision to go indie is what suits me best right now. And so I'm happy to announce – WEEPING SEASON – will be re-published by Uafás Press on December 31st. Paperback and Kindle editions will be available from all Amazon marketplaces.2020NEW DECADE, NEW BOOKSDOWN BELOWUafás PressA NovelEaster 2020When a young woman goes missing near the sleepy Icelandic village of Vík, police inspector John Briggs wants to cancel the Northern Lights Festival after his sole witness describes the kidnapper as a “Shadow”. However, police commissioner Kári Ingason overrules him, fearing the loss of tourist revenue will cripple the village. Scientist Rakel Atladóttir and her peculiar assistant Rúnar offer to help Briggs investigate the disappearance, plunging the trio into a fight for survival, with the fate of humanity in jeopardy against a malevolent cosmic horror…UNDER THE BLACK SUNUafás PressA CollectionHalloween 2020A collection of four short novellas ranging from creepy horror to powerful explorations of the human mind, including Black Gemini – which was recently included in the Nameless Reveries chapbook alongside Tim Lebbon and Matt Hayward.The Hungry Heart is a story about a young girl who is infatuated with the older man next door. However, her dream crush has a lust that she will never be able to quench — unless she acquires a similar appetite…In Black Gemini, a boy stumbles upon a dark family secret beneath the garden shed. A secret his father would do anything to keep buried...Thirteen Years of Grief is a creepy tale of loss and suffering in which a train driver struggles to overcome haunting visions of his dearly departed...In Aerials, strange antennas dot the landscape from out of nowhere and a techie’s sister has been found dead, trusting her into a race against time to discover the truth before lies become fact...UPCOMING EVENTSReadings, Talks & PanelsSTOKERCONApril 16th - 20th 2020The Grand HotelScarboroughUKTHE INTERNATIONAL DUBLIN WRITERS FESTIVALJune 19th - 21st 2020Academy Plaza HotelDublinIrelandThat's about it for now from my dark corner of the world wide web... Sign up for my newsletter and keep an eye my social media accounts for future giveaways (I plan to run a Goodreads giveaway early next year). Until then... the dancing in firelight continues... Seán.
December 8, 2019
INTRODUCING... UAFÁS PRESS
It's been a shitty end to the year and as of today, I am no longer an author with Troubadour Publishing. The book deal I had in place has come to an end and this has left me in that dreaded place writers don't want to find themselves in at any point in their careers -- a realm of lonesome purgatory with no publisher, agent and no books on the market...Welcome to a world of creative downtroddenHowever, from within this void -- thankfully -- the rights to my books have been reverted to me, leaving me with something to build on. A small body of creative work and some deep questions I need to ask myself after only two years in this writing game:What have I learnt?What do I want from writing? And cue the old classic interview question; where do you see yourself in five years?Let the soul searching begin...I've always been a firm believer in DIY when it comes to being creative. It's a philosophy that I stand behind and support. And it is one I will apply to my own creative efforts, especially my writing.You see, writing is one of those gigs where it doesn't matter if you're Stephen King or an unknown scribbler who has just penned his or her first short story. You can't buy your way to the top or take short cuts to get there. You only get there by working hard on the blank page in front of you, doing the grind, all the while you keep aiming to improve your craft with every word typed.Sounds good, right? A proven formula for success, surely!?Well, what the fuck do I know...Turns out there is a lot more to this writing game than just publishing some books and living the creative dream. There is a dark side to this game, an ugly underbelly, filled with humans who -- in my opinion -- are worth less than the dirt currently stuck in the grooves of my shoe. A brood of bloodsuckers who want to take everything from you and give absolutely nothing back.In my limited exposure to this industry, I've learnt that I only want limited exposure to said industry -- in fact, make that, very limited. Turns out dealing with these leeches have made me realize that I value my own time a lot more than spending hours and days emailing, calling and following up with these entities who exist on the other side of the electronic barrier we use to communicate. Faceless golem who promise the world, then take the heart out of yours for nothing more than monitory gain.It's time cut out the cancer and re-prioritize what I want from my writing and work towards what is best for me. Cause if I can do that, that means the craft improves, and the better the craft, better books for readers. By embracing my inner introvert, things will happen, I'm sure of it. Worlds will be created. And I invite you to come along and meet and experience these places and those who inhabit them.And that's the overall goal...WRITE FOR MEPUBLISH FOR YOUSo, dear reader, welcome to the world of Uafás Press -- an imprint I've created for the sole purpose of publishing my work to a professional standard, which grants publishing independence that I hope gives you a better reading experience... I currently have no books on the marketplace, but that is going to change very soon...
November 1, 2019
AN EVENING OF HORROR
November 1st, 2019 and the UK is still in the EU (for now!), but for the world of Horror, we had a mini-brexit of our own as one Welshman did leave this island after an incredible week for readers and writers of Horror Fiction here in Dublin.Last Wednesday saw the official launch of the Horror Writers AssociationIreland Chapter with a very special author event. We teamed up with theArtist Podcast and the oldest bookstore in Ireland; Hodges Figgis to bring you an Evening of Horror...The evening began with a short introduction and reading from Weeping Season by yours truly. This was followed by Matt Hayward reading the opening chapter from his latest novel A Penny For Your Thoughts (Co-wrote with Robert Ford).
After the crowd was warmed up, the main event began with our guest of honor, Tim Lebbon sitting down in conversation with David Merriman. In a very engaging discussion, Lebbon provided insights to his career as a Horror writer, his recent success with his novel The Silence being adapted for Netflix and writing for franchises such as Alien and Star Wars, with the event wrapping up with a Q&A with the audience.
For those who missed the event, fear not, as it was recorded for the Artist Podcast and will appear online shortly.
In addition to the event, a limited edition chapbook, Nameless Reveries, was available for free for all who attended. It features three short Horror tales by Tim Lebbon, Matt Hayward and Seán O'Connor. If you are interested, there are a few copies leftover, feel free to get in touch about getting one.A huge thanks goes to Stephen & Lucy in Hodges Figgis for hosting the event. David Merriman, Matt Hayward, Tim Lebbon and everyone who came along to a great evening.
More updates on HWA Ireland will be announced in the coming weeks.
October 15, 2019
WEEPING SEASON | REVIEWED BY TEAM REDMON READS
Weeping Season received a great ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ review fromTeam Redmon Reads"It feels extremely cinematic and reads like a blockbuster film. O'Connor dangles the central mystery just out of reach through most of the book. Perhaps the highest praise I can give to this book is that it has a great ending that lives up to it's exceptional premise."Read Matt's full review HERE
September 17, 2019
NAMELESS REVERIES | COVER REVEAL
We have 50 free, signed, limited edition chapbooks to give away next month.First come, first served at “An Evening with Tim Lebbon” — 30th October in Hodges Figgis, Dublin, 6:30pm.Containing the short stories:SKIN & BONE by Tim LebbonFATHER'S DAY by Matt HaywardBLACK GEMINI by Seán O'Connor
WEEPING SEASON | REVIEWED BY CHARLOTTE ZANG
Weeping Season received a great ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ review fromAuthor, Charlotte Zang"Weeping Season is nail biting, adrenaline pumping, twisted horror at its most darkly delicious apex."Read Charlotte's full review HERE
