Jonathan Green's Blog, page 115
July 10, 2016
Shakespeare Sunday: Exeunt
As you will already know, if you have been following these weekly
Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu
updates, three of the stories that appear in the anthology are set during William Shakespeare's lifetime. The first of these is Josh Reynolds’
A Tiger’s Heart, A Player’s Hide
, which is set during the summer of 1592, when an outbreak of plague resulted in the closure of all of the theatres in London. The second is Guy Haley’s
A Reckoning
, which takes as its inspiration the circumstances surrounding the murder of Shakespeare’s friend, and fellow playwright, Christopher ‘Kit’ Marlowe in a tavern brawl in Deptford, in 1593. And the third is John Reppion's
Exeunt
.The story takes place towards the end of Shakespeare’s life, in 1616, and here's a taster...
The night outside was cold and wet. The sky just as blank and lifeless as it had seemed through Fletcher's grimy window. William hurriedly fastened his cloak and set off at a pace along the narrow, busy street. He felt old. In his very marrow, his heart, his mind. Old and weary.Why had he even returned to London this time? What hold did this filthy city have upon him that he could not be content to leave it behind once and for all? He should be in Stratford with Anne. She was alone in the house now, Judith married and gone only one month ago, and yet here he was.Mud and shit sucked at the wrinkled leather of his boots as he stamped along. He did not need to think about where he was going, his feet knew the way. He walked on, lost in thought, oblivious to those he passed, many of whom recognised him and some of whom he should have recognised himself.At the mention of Hamnet it had been as if a great sorrow sunk deep within had risen and burst to the surface of William's being. Sorrow and guilt too, for he had not been with the boy at the end. Had not seen nearly enough of him in his short life.Tears were on his cheeks once more but they were almost indistinguishable from the sooty, spattering drizzle which fell over all.No, that was not right. Though it had been John who had spoken Hamnet's name, the boy's spectre had already been summoned by William's own thoughts and words.How had John known though? Could the answer be that he was indeed a true friend? A man who knew William's sadness and understood how he had suffered. He said he had not meant to wound him, and yet –William squelched to a halt at a gateway off Borough High Street. He shoved the gate inward with a painful creak which felt like it emanated as much from himself as the straining hinges. Arranged around three sides of the yard beyond were the higgledy–piggledy buildings of The Tabard Inn – a hostelry which had been in business for more than three centuries. Despite the rain there were some whose merry-making had spilled out into the court, several taking advantage of the yards darker corners to satiate those urges and appetites drink so often provokes.Upon entering The Tabard, William was immediately accosted by a party of theatre-folk. He knew a few by sight, only one or two by name, yet felt no inclination to decline their insistent invitation. Indeed, he had more or less counted on as much. His cup was kept full, food ordered and eaten. Either they would pay for the pleasure of his company, or else he would be left with a hefty bill to settle. He did not much care which. Their inane, self-important jabbering was a welcome distraction from his earlier vexation and the renewed rawness of his sorrows. He laughed when they laughed, slapped their backs as they did his, until at last, in his cups, he stood upon the table and bellowed a toast.“Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!”A roar of approval. The meaning and origin of the speech lost on almost all present. William, wobbling on the table-top, laughed then coughed until his eyes watered.“And now,” he cried “I must piss!”A roar even louder and more exultant.Out in the yard Shakespeare planted his feet firmly and sent forth a golden arc, frothing a puddle until upon its surface was a head worthy of an ale. Triumphant, he looked to the sky. The rain had ceased, the clouds dispersed, and the heavens were now filled with stars.“Will.” The voice came from across the yard, little more than a whisper.Adjusting his breeches, William peered into the shadows. A figure slowly melted into existence out of the darkness near the gateway. The man looked familiar, Shakespeare realised. He had passed him in the street on his way to The Tabard. He had been there among the drinkers in the tavern too. A young man with flowing locks, his cheeks bare, upper lip and chin adorned with but a teenager's growth of hair. The face was one he knew of old. “Marlowe?”
John Reppion
John Reppion was born in Liverpool, England in 1978. His writing career began in 2003 when he collaborated with his wife Leah Moore on a proposal for a six issue mini-series entitled Wild Girl . The proposal was accepted and the series was published by Wildstorm in 2004/05.Since then the duo have written many classic characters including Doctor Who (in The Whispering Gallery with artist Ben Templesmith), Sherlock Holmes (in two original mysteries for Dynamite Entertainment), and Dracula (their adaptation of which is now on several university reading lists).John’s interests in fortean phenomena, esoterica, folklore, philosophy, theology and horror have led to his writing articles and reviews for numerous magazines and periodicals including The Fortean Times, Strange Attractor, The Daily Grail and SteamPunk Magazine. 2008 saw the release of his first full length book 800 Years of Haunted Liverpool , published by The History Press. His Lovecraftian Liverpool tale On The Banks of the River Jordan was published in 2014 in Ghostwoods Books’ Cthulhu Lives! anthology.
Don't forget - the official book launch of
Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu
will be taking place at the Forbidden Planet Megastore in London on Saturday 13th August between 1 and 2pm! You can register your interest in the book launch and signing here, at the Facebook event page for the book launch. You can also let all your friends know about the event by sharing the event on your own Facebook page.
The night outside was cold and wet. The sky just as blank and lifeless as it had seemed through Fletcher's grimy window. William hurriedly fastened his cloak and set off at a pace along the narrow, busy street. He felt old. In his very marrow, his heart, his mind. Old and weary.Why had he even returned to London this time? What hold did this filthy city have upon him that he could not be content to leave it behind once and for all? He should be in Stratford with Anne. She was alone in the house now, Judith married and gone only one month ago, and yet here he was.Mud and shit sucked at the wrinkled leather of his boots as he stamped along. He did not need to think about where he was going, his feet knew the way. He walked on, lost in thought, oblivious to those he passed, many of whom recognised him and some of whom he should have recognised himself.At the mention of Hamnet it had been as if a great sorrow sunk deep within had risen and burst to the surface of William's being. Sorrow and guilt too, for he had not been with the boy at the end. Had not seen nearly enough of him in his short life.Tears were on his cheeks once more but they were almost indistinguishable from the sooty, spattering drizzle which fell over all.No, that was not right. Though it had been John who had spoken Hamnet's name, the boy's spectre had already been summoned by William's own thoughts and words.How had John known though? Could the answer be that he was indeed a true friend? A man who knew William's sadness and understood how he had suffered. He said he had not meant to wound him, and yet –William squelched to a halt at a gateway off Borough High Street. He shoved the gate inward with a painful creak which felt like it emanated as much from himself as the straining hinges. Arranged around three sides of the yard beyond were the higgledy–piggledy buildings of The Tabard Inn – a hostelry which had been in business for more than three centuries. Despite the rain there were some whose merry-making had spilled out into the court, several taking advantage of the yards darker corners to satiate those urges and appetites drink so often provokes.Upon entering The Tabard, William was immediately accosted by a party of theatre-folk. He knew a few by sight, only one or two by name, yet felt no inclination to decline their insistent invitation. Indeed, he had more or less counted on as much. His cup was kept full, food ordered and eaten. Either they would pay for the pleasure of his company, or else he would be left with a hefty bill to settle. He did not much care which. Their inane, self-important jabbering was a welcome distraction from his earlier vexation and the renewed rawness of his sorrows. He laughed when they laughed, slapped their backs as they did his, until at last, in his cups, he stood upon the table and bellowed a toast.“Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!”A roar of approval. The meaning and origin of the speech lost on almost all present. William, wobbling on the table-top, laughed then coughed until his eyes watered.“And now,” he cried “I must piss!”A roar even louder and more exultant.Out in the yard Shakespeare planted his feet firmly and sent forth a golden arc, frothing a puddle until upon its surface was a head worthy of an ale. Triumphant, he looked to the sky. The rain had ceased, the clouds dispersed, and the heavens were now filled with stars.“Will.” The voice came from across the yard, little more than a whisper.Adjusting his breeches, William peered into the shadows. A figure slowly melted into existence out of the darkness near the gateway. The man looked familiar, Shakespeare realised. He had passed him in the street on his way to The Tabard. He had been there among the drinkers in the tavern too. A young man with flowing locks, his cheeks bare, upper lip and chin adorned with but a teenager's growth of hair. The face was one he knew of old. “Marlowe?”John ReppionJohn Reppion was born in Liverpool, England in 1978. His writing career began in 2003 when he collaborated with his wife Leah Moore on a proposal for a six issue mini-series entitled Wild Girl . The proposal was accepted and the series was published by Wildstorm in 2004/05.Since then the duo have written many classic characters including Doctor Who (in The Whispering Gallery with artist Ben Templesmith), Sherlock Holmes (in two original mysteries for Dynamite Entertainment), and Dracula (their adaptation of which is now on several university reading lists).John’s interests in fortean phenomena, esoterica, folklore, philosophy, theology and horror have led to his writing articles and reviews for numerous magazines and periodicals including The Fortean Times, Strange Attractor, The Daily Grail and SteamPunk Magazine. 2008 saw the release of his first full length book 800 Years of Haunted Liverpool , published by The History Press. His Lovecraftian Liverpool tale On The Banks of the River Jordan was published in 2014 in Ghostwoods Books’ Cthulhu Lives! anthology.
Don't forget - the official book launch of
Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu
will be taking place at the Forbidden Planet Megastore in London on Saturday 13th August between 1 and 2pm! You can register your interest in the book launch and signing here, at the Facebook event page for the book launch. You can also let all your friends know about the event by sharing the event on your own Facebook page.
July 4, 2016
Tie-in Tuesday: Robin of Sherwood - The CD of the Apocalypse
This arrived last night...
Now I know I'm biased, having written the novelisation, but Robin of Sherwood: The Knights of the Apocalypse is a fantastic listen.
If you enjoyed the TV show back in the '80s, and you didn't back the Indiegogo crowdfunder, you owe it to yourself to purchase this right now!
Now I know I'm biased, having written the novelisation, but Robin of Sherwood: The Knights of the Apocalypse is a fantastic listen.
If you enjoyed the TV show back in the '80s, and you didn't back the Indiegogo crowdfunder, you owe it to yourself to purchase this right now!
Thought for the Day
"We need to love books ourselves as parents, grandparents and teachers in order to pass on that passion to our children."
~ Michael Morpurgo, author and Children's Laureate from 2003 to 2005
Did you know...?Michael Morpurgo's wife, Clare Morpurgo MBE, is the eldest daughter of Allen Lane, the founder of Penguin Books.
~ Michael Morpurgo, author and Children's Laureate from 2003 to 2005
Did you know...?Michael Morpurgo's wife, Clare Morpurgo MBE, is the eldest daughter of Allen Lane, the founder of Penguin Books.
July 3, 2016
Shakespeare Sunday: On 13th August we're gonna party like it's 1594
Or 1616... Or something like that.
For, hark, what news through yonder blog post breaks? It is the news that the official book launch of Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu will be taking place at the Forbidden Planet Megastore in London on Saturday 13th August between 1 and 2pm! And that's less that's less than six weeks to go, from today...
Come and join us at Forbidden Planet for the official launch of Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu!You can register your interest in the book launch and signing here, at the Facebook event page for the book launch. You can also let all your friends know about the event by sharing the event on your own Facebook page.
For, hark, what news through yonder blog post breaks? It is the news that the official book launch of Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu will be taking place at the Forbidden Planet Megastore in London on Saturday 13th August between 1 and 2pm! And that's less that's less than six weeks to go, from today...
Come and join us at Forbidden Planet for the official launch of Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu!You can register your interest in the book launch and signing here, at the Facebook event page for the book launch. You can also let all your friends know about the event by sharing the event on your own Facebook page.
July 2, 2016
Short Story Saturday: SHARKPUNK 2
Yesterday was the deadline for submitting potential stories for
SHARKPUNK 2
, which (pending a successful Kickstarter later this year or early next) will be my next short story anthology, to be published in 2017.
I had a very encouraging response to my open call - with stories submitted by established authors as well as yet-to-be-published writers - and, as a result, I will be spending the next few months going through the submissions to see which ones will finally make it into print.
However, I do have one word of advice for anybody hoping to submit to any other short story anthologies, and I'm not just talking about mine here, and that is this: follow the submissions guidelines to the letter.
Whatever curious formatting requests have been made have been made for a reason; to ignore them is to give the impression that you're not taking this writing business seriously. And if you want your story to be considered at all, when other more well-known authors have also submitted stories, follow the submissions guidelines.
Here endeth the lesson.
I had a very encouraging response to my open call - with stories submitted by established authors as well as yet-to-be-published writers - and, as a result, I will be spending the next few months going through the submissions to see which ones will finally make it into print.
However, I do have one word of advice for anybody hoping to submit to any other short story anthologies, and I'm not just talking about mine here, and that is this: follow the submissions guidelines to the letter.
Whatever curious formatting requests have been made have been made for a reason; to ignore them is to give the impression that you're not taking this writing business seriously. And if you want your story to be considered at all, when other more well-known authors have also submitted stories, follow the submissions guidelines.
Here endeth the lesson.
June 27, 2016
Thought for the Day
"Stories can conquer fear, you know. They can make the heart bigger."
~ Ben Okri, poet and novelist
~ Ben Okri, poet and novelist
June 26, 2016
Shakespeare Sunday: Lovecraft's Labours Lost
Everyone who has backed the
Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu
Kickstarter at the Richard III reward level and above will be receiving a bonus short story, written by
Tim Bayley
, entitled
Lovecraft's Labours Lost
. And here's a taster...
They passed from grassy sun-blessed plain to the darkness of the wood, warm regardless with the heat of a summer’s night. A hare had accompanied them a ways, then a hound, a hog... there’d been an untended fire after, but Prosperus led them on. In between they’d been distracted as, one by one, they turned at the tap or pinch of another. But Prosperus showed no impatience at such undue frivolity, whoever was the culprit. By and by, up on a low tree branch ahead, a figure waited, hands clasped. By height he was a small man or a tall youth and seemed both hare-young and oak-ancient. His smile across was merry but in what measure between innocence or wickedness Will could not have said. ‘Welcome wanderers.’ ‘You are the hobgoblin,’ said Prosperus, ‘the Goodfellow who is called Robin?’ ‘Thou speak’st aright,’ the figure approved in some gentle mocking of their speech and dropped to the ground. ‘I thank you for coming, honest Puck, and would take time to offer such courtesies as befit you, yet time is the coin wanting in our purses, so I must just enquire: do you have it?’ ‘Indeed,’ this Robin replied, producing a package, ‘retained since ancient times for sport; yet such sport as would be in short supply should your purse run empty. A gift then, and freely given without obligation.’ With thanks given and courtesies observed they took their leave; only Will once more addressed their benefactor: ‘That was you, was it not? On our way here. The hare, the hound, the hog... the prods and pinching.’ Puck grinned. ‘A treasure I was to deliver, however necessary; I but took my taxes where I could in fair fee. Fare thee well, noble Prosperus, Faustus Rakehell, Groatsworth and upstart Crow; I would not follow if e’en now I could, but go with the good wishes of Summer and fare thee well.’
Tim Bayley
has lived in the Big City for some 16 years and worked in the book trade throughout that time as a Bookseller and then a Sales Rep, more recently directing his efforts full time to writing, organising events and working on web projects. It was after finishing the penultimate draft of a young adults book that the urban fantasy character that had lurked at the back of Tim’s mind jumped up and said ‘My turn’, and he spent the last year discovering the seedy underbelly of London’s secret magical society in order to write the tales on this site and the first half of a full length novel of the same.
They passed from grassy sun-blessed plain to the darkness of the wood, warm regardless with the heat of a summer’s night. A hare had accompanied them a ways, then a hound, a hog... there’d been an untended fire after, but Prosperus led them on. In between they’d been distracted as, one by one, they turned at the tap or pinch of another. But Prosperus showed no impatience at such undue frivolity, whoever was the culprit. By and by, up on a low tree branch ahead, a figure waited, hands clasped. By height he was a small man or a tall youth and seemed both hare-young and oak-ancient. His smile across was merry but in what measure between innocence or wickedness Will could not have said. ‘Welcome wanderers.’ ‘You are the hobgoblin,’ said Prosperus, ‘the Goodfellow who is called Robin?’ ‘Thou speak’st aright,’ the figure approved in some gentle mocking of their speech and dropped to the ground. ‘I thank you for coming, honest Puck, and would take time to offer such courtesies as befit you, yet time is the coin wanting in our purses, so I must just enquire: do you have it?’ ‘Indeed,’ this Robin replied, producing a package, ‘retained since ancient times for sport; yet such sport as would be in short supply should your purse run empty. A gift then, and freely given without obligation.’ With thanks given and courtesies observed they took their leave; only Will once more addressed their benefactor: ‘That was you, was it not? On our way here. The hare, the hound, the hog... the prods and pinching.’ Puck grinned. ‘A treasure I was to deliver, however necessary; I but took my taxes where I could in fair fee. Fare thee well, noble Prosperus, Faustus Rakehell, Groatsworth and upstart Crow; I would not follow if e’en now I could, but go with the good wishes of Summer and fare thee well.’
Tim Bayley
has lived in the Big City for some 16 years and worked in the book trade throughout that time as a Bookseller and then a Sales Rep, more recently directing his efforts full time to writing, organising events and working on web projects. It was after finishing the penultimate draft of a young adults book that the urban fantasy character that had lurked at the back of Tim’s mind jumped up and said ‘My turn’, and he spent the last year discovering the seedy underbelly of London’s secret magical society in order to write the tales on this site and the first half of a full length novel of the same.
June 25, 2016
Short Story Saturday: Sharks and Shakespeare
Just (another) quick reminder that you have until midnight GMT next Friday, 1st July 2016, to send me your submissions for
SHARKPUNK 2
. If you don't know what that means, then click this link.
My other piece of short story news for today is that the official launch arranged for Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu - the ultimate genre mash-up anthology of the year - will take place on Saturday 13th August, from 1:00-2:00pm, at Forbidden Planet in London.
A number of the contributing authors and artists will be in attendance, as will a certain Bard. So jot the date down in your diary, and maybe we'll see you there.
My other piece of short story news for today is that the official launch arranged for Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu - the ultimate genre mash-up anthology of the year - will take place on Saturday 13th August, from 1:00-2:00pm, at Forbidden Planet in London.
A number of the contributing authors and artists will be in attendance, as will a certain Bard. So jot the date down in your diary, and maybe we'll see you there.
June 23, 2016
Steampunk Thursday: Koszmar Alicji w Krainie Czarów
Now available in Poland -
Koszmar Alicji w Krainie Czarów!
Which, in case you don't speak Polish yourself (like me) means Alice's Nightmare in Wonderland .
And check out some of the awesome artwork Polish fans of the colouring book phenomenon have produced!
If you have any coloured Alice's Nightmare images you'd like to share, please email me via info@jonathangreenauthor.com.
Koszmar Alicji w Krainie Czarów!
Which, in case you don't speak Polish yourself (like me) means Alice's Nightmare in Wonderland .
And check out some of the awesome artwork Polish fans of the colouring book phenomenon have produced!
If you have any coloured Alice's Nightmare images you'd like to share, please email me via info@jonathangreenauthor.com.
June 20, 2016
Thought for the Day
"People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way around."
~ Sir Terry Pratchett (1948-2015)
~ Sir Terry Pratchett (1948-2015)
