Angela Slatter's Blog, page 18

Alan Baxter: The Roo

So, as part of trying to be kinder to my poor neglected blog I’m re-starting the interview series.

First cab off the rank is the inimitable Alan Baxter, who’s recently released a most excellent horror novella in the tradition of Cujo, Razorback and Rogue. A bit of gruesome fun, it’s fast-paced and essential reading for all potential tourists to Australia.

What do new readers need to know about Alan Baxter?

I’m a writer of horror and dark fantasy, and my writing was recently described as a “Clive Barker and Neil Gaiman cocktail, with a shot of Jack Ketchum thrown in”, and apart from being completely flattered by such a stellar comparison, I will now always use it when people ask what my writing is like! I have a back catalogue of several novels (standalone and series) and more than 80 short stories, the best of which are collected into, so far, two collections.

What inspired The Roo?

Quite frankly, absolute insanity.

It began with a bizarre situation that unfolded on Twitter. There was a news article going around with the headline: ‘Australian Town Terrorised By Muscular Kangaroo Attacking People And Eating Gardens’. A more Australian story is hard to find. Then author Charles R Rutledge tweeted that it sounded “like something Zebra Books would have published back in the day”. So Kealan Patrick Burke (superb author and excellent cover designer) mocked up a brilliant old school horror novel cover in response. Several of us started joking about how a cover that cool really should be on an actual book. One thing led to another, and as I was the Aussie in the conversation, people started saying I should be the one to write it. I’d been planning to write an outback horror story addressing themes of domestic violence, with a supernatural monster at the core of the yarn, but I hadn’t quite cooked that idea yet. So I decided I could use this story, which in my mind was a novella. I thought it would be a really fun creature feature. But surely, the whole concept was just nonsense. A bit of a joke. Then people kept hassling me to write it. I even got a few private messages along the lines of, “Dude, please, you have to do this!” Terrible enablers, all of them. They were actually fucking serious. So I wrote it.

Can you remember the first thing you read that made you think you wanted to become a storyteller?

I had a handful of books that I read over and over as a kid – things like Charlotte’s Web, Stig of the Dump, Danny the Champion of the World, stuff like that – and I always wondered if I could ever create something that got so deeply into other people as those books got into me. I think my love of storytelling started back then. As I got older and started reading Barker, King, Dahls’ short fiction for adults, and so on, I decided I would try it too. I didn’t take writing seriously as a career until my late 20s though. But I think I’ve always had a storyteller’s heart, I used to make stuff up all the time.

Which books are you looking forward to reading in 2020?

Oh, there’s a bunch on my radar, actually. I’m really excited about the new Stephen Graham Jones book, The Only Good Indians. I absolutely love his stuff and can’t wait for that. I want to read the new Sarah Pinborough too, Dead To Her. I haven’t got to that one yet. The new Coleridge book by Laird Barron as well, but I’m not sure when that’s out. Corey J White has a book called Repo Virtual coming soon and I think that looks great. Argh, there’s so much good stuff!

What’s next for Alan Baxter?

Well, any day now there should be an announcement about a new novella coming sometime in the middle of the year. I had a novella out in 2018 called Manifest Recall that was really well received. People kept telling me they wanted more of Eli Carver’s story. Well, watch out for an announcement soon.

Alan Baxter is a British-Australian author who writes horror, supernatural thrillers, and dark fantasy, liberally mixed with crime and noir. He rides a motorcycle and loves his dog. He also teaches Kung Fu. He lives among dairy paddocks on the beautiful south coast of NSW, Australia, with his wife, son, dog, and a lizard. Read extracts from his novels, a novella, and short stories at his website – www.warriorscribe.com – or find him on Twitter @AlanBaxter and Facebook, and feel free to tell him what you think. About anything.

Chatting with Lian Hearn

Last night I had the absolute pleasure of chatting with Lian Hearn at Brisbane Square Library. We talked about the writing life, process, and her last two novels, the Children of the Otori series, Orphan Warriors and Sibling Assassins.

And, due to the magic of technology, the whole thing was livestreamed and recorded, so you can listen to Lian being delightful and erudite and watch me making dorky faces and horribly paraphrasing quotes (because I am why we cannot have nice things).

Go here. Or rather, please go here, it’s not an order or a demand. You can go here if you so choose.

Cursed!

This lovely thing arrived in the mail the other day not long after I saw this review of it at Publishers Weekly. All in all, a good day.

Thanks to Marie O’Regan and Paul Kane for taking my story.

Cursed is out on 3 March, 2020.

New Collection: The Heart is a Mirror for Sinner and Other Stories

My new collection from PS Publishing is available for pre-order! The Heart is a Mirror for Sinners and Other Stories has 14 stories (12 reprints and two new), and an Introduction from the marvellous Mr Kim Newman.

The ToC:

Tin Soldier
Egyptian Revival Neither
Time Nor Tears
No Good Deed
The Little Mermaid, in Passing
But for an L
Ripper
Better Angels
The Heart is a Mirror for Sinners
Our Lady of Wicker Bridge
Reading Off the Curriculum
Change Management
Lavinia’s Wood
Finnegan’s Field

Praise for The Heart is a Mirror for Sinners and Other Stories:

‘Slatter’s dark fantasies have a bright, burning core of understanding and insight.’ ~ M.R. Carey, author of The Girl with All the Gifts and The Boy on the Bridge

‘Angela Slatter’s stories are horrific, mysterious, whimsical, and mischievous. Beautifully written, full of humanity and intelligence, her stories are both timely and timeless in their concerns. This is an essential collection from one of our best.’ ~ Paul Tremblay, author of A Head Full of Ghosts and The Cabin at the End of the World

‘Angela has a rare talent for drawing the reader into her world, with a lyrical, almost fairytale quality to her writing that also shows a sardonic wit to delight the reader. This collection showcases some of her best stories—you need to read it.’ ~ Marie O’Regan, author of Bury Them Deep, editor of Phantoms and The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women

‘Angela Slatter’s prose is both eloquent and elegant, which is no mean feat. By turns beautiful and chilling in equal measure, her stories feature characters who live and breathe and leap off the page, while the plots themselves are wholly unique. This book is a gem and you should treasure it as such.’ ~ Paul Kane, bestselling and award-winning author of Sherlock Holmes and the Servants of Hell, Monsters, and Before

Women in Horror Month

Art by Kathleen Jennings

Good morning from my Terribly Neglected Blog.

For Women in Horror Month here are a couple of useful links. Firstly Kat Clay has compiled a list of horror stories by Australian writers (who just happen to be female). Go here.

And another lovely list of horror writers who also happen to be female from Gwendolyn Kiste at Tor’s Nightfire site.

Time Moves Differently Here

Art by Kathleen Jennings

The thing about writing a book is that it takes so long. And this is not a complaint, merely an observation. This is my personal experience.

Bookering, bookerisation, bookification …

From the first tiny spark that you breathe life into to that moment when you’re seeing it on shelves … it takes quite a while.

Firstly you’ve got to think about it.

Then you’ve got to start writing it.

Then you’ve got to finish it.

Then you’ve got to edit it.

Then you have to find a publisher who likes it.

Then someone else has to edit it.

Then you’ve got to re-edit it while setting aside your ego, insecurity, doubts, insanity and periodic urges to shout “You maniacs, you blew it all up!” whilst shaking your fist at the sky.

Then you send it back to the publisher.

And maybe they send it back again.

And then you go over this thing again – this thing that was your most beautiful and favoured child, but which you’re starting to suspect is instead a changeling left lying in the cradle by trolls or fairy folk just to fuck with you – and then you send it back again.

And then, maybe it doesn’t come back again.

Because just maybe it’s ready … or as close as it’s ever going to be in this world and the next.

So then you’re on to looking at cover designs (if you’re lucky you get asked which artists you’d like, and if you’re not lucky then oftentimes you’re really not lucky).

And then you’ve got to ask people you admire to say nice things about your book for the cover quotes (and that’s a special circle of Hell right there, sadly neglected by Dante).

And then you’ve got to write (if you haven’t done it prophetically back in the Beginning of All Things) a jacket summary for the book, to make either a novel or a bunch of disparate stories look enticing. Sometimes that feels very much like you’re putting lipstick and a peignoir on a rather large show pig.

And then you’re almost there and your publisher says “We’re almost there!”

Then you realise you need to update your bio, and as you’ve been doing this gig for longer and longer, your bio gets longer and longer, but you’ve got to Sophie’s Choice your favourite babies … and suddenly achievements that felt like a lightning strike seven years ago suddenly look a bit cobwebby and you feel unutterably sad (but you’ll probably utter it anyway coz writer) … and then you ruthlessly rework your bio with a sense of nostalgia that makes you a little ill …

And then you’ve got to find your author photo, which in my case is 12 years old and I actually look like 72 chipmunks in a trench coat nowadays, and I know I need to replace it but I’ll still go with the old photo for a while longer (read: deathbed) …

Here’s another thing:

The above doesn’t mention the stuff in life that will throw you off course: love, death, day job, time spent with pets, partners and offspring, breakups and breakdowns, roof cave-ins (actual and metaphorical), bushfires, heavy snowfalls, floods, writer’s block.

The above doesn’t even factor in the delays that are out of your control: happenings in the life of your editor/publisher that throw them off course. Anything from pet surgery to bankruptcy, from broken limbs to scandals of all hues.

But then one day, it’s ready. And then everything’s urgent. So you have to put aside the new book you’re working on and go back to thinking about the old one, which has become a bit like the kid you fondly sent off to boarding school or put on a tramp steamer for a trip around the world some time ago … and suddenly they demand your attention again.

And again, this is not a complaint.

This is a summary of how it happens for me, every time. This is something new and hopeful writers (who’ve not yet developed a thousand-yard stare) can read and take pointers from to help them manage their expectations. They’ll need it if they keep on this thorny, burning, chocolate-strewn, whisk(e)y-flooded path.

It’s different for other writers, of course it is.

But this can give you some idea of what it might be like.

My point?

It’s a long game.

It takes patience.

A thick skin.

A warm coat and heavy boots for those terrible Russian winters of the soul.

A doomsday prepper-level stash of chocolate and whisk(e)y to help you get by.

And all this was spawned because my next collection is almost ready and is demanding my attention. And I had to rewrite my bio. And look at that ancient author photo and say “Yeah, one more year”. And thank Past Me who had already written a summary two years ago. And be grateful that I also sought out author quotes two years ago so my soul isn’t burning with that particular shame today at least. And be so darned grateful that when I work with PS Publishing they ask me who I want as a cover artist and they listen and that Daniele Serra did the most beautiful illustrations based on my novella Ripper.

Anyhoo, that’s just my day so far.

May your path be strewn with good things as well as bad, and eighteenth-century fainting couches at reasonable intervals along the way for dramatic sighing and crying, general pausing and power naps.

Cover art by Daniele Serra

So if your instinct is to bitterly say “Well, at least your books are published”, then can I suggest that you don’t read any further? The door is over there, don’t let it hit you on the way out. This post isn’t meant for you.

The Dark Issue 56

A lovely way to start the year is with a reprint in The Dark, issue 56! My story “No Good Deed” (a tale set in the world of the Sourdough and Bitterwood mosaic collections) is alongside wonderful work by Clara Madrigano, Ray Cluley and Steve Rasnic Tem.

Go here!

Isobel hesitates outside the grand door to the chamber she’d thought to share with Adolphus. It’s a work of art, with carven figures of Adam and Lilith standing in front of a tree, a cat at the base, a piece of fruit in transit between First Man and First Woman so one cannot tell if she offers to he, or otherwise.

Her recent exertions have drained what little strength she had, and the food she’d found in the main kitchen (all servants asleep, the odour of stale mead rising from them like swamp gas) sits heavily in a stomach shrunk so very small by a denial not hers. The polished wooden floorboards of the gallery are cold beneath her thin feet—so thin! Never so slender all her life. A little starvation will do wonders, she thinks. As she moved through the house, she’d caught sight of herself in more than one filigreed mirror and seen all the changes etched upon her: silver traceries in the dishevelled dark hair, face terribly narrow—who’d have known those fine cheekbones had lain beneath all that fat?—mouth still a cupid’s-bow pout and nose pert, but the eyes are sunken deep and, she’d almost swear to it, their colour changed from light green to deepest black as if night resides in them. The dress balloons around her new form, so much wasted fabric one might make a ship’s sail from the excess.

How long before the plumpness returns? Before her cheeks have apples, the lines in her face are smoothed out? She can smell again, now, but all she can discern is the scent of her own body, unwashed for so long. A bath, she thinks longingly, then draws her attention back to where it needs to be: the door.

Or, rather, what lies behind it.

THE BEST OF SHIMMER

I’m absolutely delighted to say that I’ve got a story in this lovely tome, THE BEST OF SHIMMER, coming in 2020.

As “The Little Match Girl” was my first real sale when I started writing, I’m so happy she’s reprinted in this anthology.

ToC:

Flying and Falling, by Kuzhali Manickavel

Little Match Girl, by Angela Slatter

Skeletonbaby Magic, by Kathy Watts

King of Sand and Stormy Seas by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

The Crow’s Caw, by Amal El-Mohtar

Juana and the Dancing Bear, by n.a. bourke

Birds and Burin, by Daniel A. Rabuzzi

The Shape of Her Sorrow, by Joy Marchand

Seek Him I’th’Other Place Yourself, by Josh Storey

Five Letters from New Laverne, by Monica Byrne

Gutted, by Lisa Hannett

Some Letters for Ove Lindström, by Karin Tidbeck

Gödel Apparition Fugue, by Craig DeLancey

Food My Father Feeds Me, Love My Husband Shows Me, by A. A. Balaskovits

Ordinary Souls, by K.M. Szpara

In Light of Recent Events I Have Reconsidered The Wisdom of Your Space Elevator, by Helena Bell

Like Feather, Like Bone, by Kristi DeMeester

We Were Never Alone In Space, by Carmen Maria Machado

The Earth and Everything Under, by K.M. Ferebee

A Whisper in the Weld, by Alix E. Harrow

The Half Dark Promise, by Malon Edwards

Dharmas, by Vajra Chandrasekera

Come My Love and I’ll Tell You a Tale, by Sunny Moraine

Serein, by Cat Hellisen

The Law of the Conservation of Hair, by Rachael K. Jones

Palingenesis, by Megan Arkenberg

Red Mask, by Jessica May Lin

All the Colors You Thought Were Kings, by Arkady Martine

Painted Grassy Mire, by Nicasio Andres Reed

Only Their Shining Beauty Was Left, by Fran Wilde

Itself at the Heart of Things, by Andrea Corbin

The Creeping Influences, by Sonya Taaffe

Hare’s Breath, by Maria Haskins

The Weight of Sentience, by Naru Dames Sundar

Black Fanged Thing, by Sam Rebelein

The Triumphant Ward of the Railroad and the Sea by Sara Saab

Faint Voices, Increasingly Desperate, by Anya Johanna DeNiro

Rapture, by Meg Elison

Lake Mouth, by Casey Hannan

From the Void, by Sarah Gailey

The Time Traveler’s Husband, by A. C. Wise

Rust and Bone, by Mary Robinette Kowal

Ghosts of Bari, by Wren Wallis

Ladies of the Fright: Witches!!

Art by Kathleen Jennings as always, from Flight.

Over Halloween I had a chat with the delightful and delovely Lisa Quigley and Mackenzie Kiera, the Ladies of the Fright! About witches (or my “witch work”). Me, sounding very Australian – in the background you can hear grumbling dogs, in both Brisbane and New York.

“Show me your witches and I’ll show you how you how you feel about your women.” Pam Grossman

We talk fairy tales, witchy stuff, a potted history of witches, that witches weren’t always unjustified in what they did, and we discuss in depth the magnificent “These Deathless Bones” by Cassandra Khaw … and my recommended reading list is below.

Go here!

Witches Book Recommendations

Fiction

Emma Donoghue’s Kissing the Witch

Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber

Anne Rice’s The Witching Hour

Tanith Lee’s The Blood of Roses and The Flat Earth Series

Lisa L. Hannett’s Bluegrass Symphony

Naomi Novik’s Uprooted

https://bookriot.com/2017/04/18/100-must-read-books-witches/

Non-fiction:

Marina Warner’s From the Beast to the Blonde

Stacy Schiff’s The Witches: Salem 1692

Elizabeth Lynn Linton’s Witch Stories (you can get this on Project Gutenberg)

Authors to look out for:

Angie Rega

Suzanne J. Willis

Shauna O’Meara

Leife Shallcross

Kirstyn McDermott – argh! How could I forget this one? https://www.tor.com/2018/09/05/triquetra-kirstyn-mcdermott/

Nin Harris

Silvia Morena-Garcia

Tonya Liburd

Maria Lewis

Vida Cruz

Theodora Goss

Maria Haskins

Gwendolyn Kiste

Karen Runge

Scribbles

In between a million other things, I’m trying to make sure I keep writing my own things … they make me feel happy, grounded when the world is a bit topsy-turvy (like now, end of year, moving house, deadlines, etc). So here is my current scribble, untitled (but let’s call it “Nest” for the moment), but I think it might be the Welsh ghost story I’ve been wanting to write for some time … Plus a bit of Kathleen Jennings art as eye candy …

White fox by Kathleen Jennings (not a puppy)

“Nest”

Nest’s father used to tell her that her mother had been stolen away by the fairies. That Aderyn had gone looking for mushrooms either too early one morning or too late one afternoon. Owain wasn’t entirely clear, only certain that his wife been taken through either daylight or twilight gate.

By the time Nest had grown old enough to question him about it Owain himself was gone; not physically, but mentally. He wandered in his thoughts, so that he didn’t spend many hours in the cottage nestled into the crook of the hill. He’d tell his daughter he was roaming even while she could see him in front of her, firmly settled in the worn old armchair, a cast-off from somewhere. Owain would have slept there, too, if Nest hadn’t stubbornly sent him to his bed every night, no matter how exhausted she was herself. He forgot to feed himself much of the time, but would obediently open his mouth if Nest or Mrs Collins the neighbour sat before him with spoon and bowl. And some days he did leave the house, some days he slipped out the door ? before his daughter began to stay home and take in spinning so she could keep a watchful eye on him ? and wander the valleys and peaks. Once, Owain disappeared for two entire days; Nest all but lost hope of finding him again, but she couldn’t deny that spark of relief at the idea of being freed of her watch. But Daffyd Morgan found him, didn’t he, and brought him home again; Owain strangely silent about where he’d been for once.

Any road, Aderyn was gone before Nest had anything more than cloudy memories of a narrow pretty face, dark eyes, blacker than black hair, and a red birthmark running up the side of her throat.