Luke Walker's Blog: https://lukewalkerwriter.wordpress.com, page 33

A new interview

The very nice Sara Jayne Townsend has interviewed me. Have a read here for my thoughts on writing, publishing, fear and 'Set.

Turning it around

I read a report last week that said a quarter of the UK's adult population had read a book less than twice in the last six months. Pretty depressing for a writer to hear that, right? After all, I write to be read as do a lot of other writers (not all do, it has to be said. Some simply write for the pleasure of writing). If that many people in my country don't have time or aren't making time for reading a book, then that's not great news for me.

Or is it potential?

At the same time, I've been struggling with a short story over the last couple of weeks. It's a decent idea, or so I think, but I've been having a nightmare judging whether or not it's any good. I had an idea which might have improved it, but it also would have increased the length and possibly maybe made it baggier instead of the tight, creepy story I wanted. So I passed it on to a writer friend who pointed out of a couple of issues (ones which are easy to fix, thankfully), said they liked a particular point which I also really liked and, in a brief comment, gave me an idea which might take this story from a decent idea to a great horror tale. It's all up to me, of course. If I get it wrong, then the story loses. But if I get this right...

Two seemingly unrelated issues which, at first glance, appear to be problems. People aren't reading. I'm writing as are countless others. If more people follow those twelve million and don't make time for a good story, I'm screwed. And one of my short stories which could have gone down the toilet because I coudn't judge its value without some help. So, problems or potential? There are a  lot of people out there who I or any other writer could snag with something we've written. Twelve million people who might see my name somewhere or see the front cover of a book they've never heard of and be interested enough to pick it up. They may not, of course. Plenty of them may not, but some might. If I turn this story into something special, if I ensure everything I write is something special, then they might.

All writers have to do is turn things around.

Female characters in horror films and fiction

I've done a guest blog post for Diane Dooley. Have a gander here for my thoughts on women in horror films and fiction as victims or survivors.

Publication date change for 'Set

Just a quick one to say the publication date for 'Set has been put back a couple of weeks. It should now see the light of day towards the end of March rather than the first week of it.

Thank you.

As you were.

The Death of Grass - book review

I have to admit to only having had a vague idea of The Death of Grass until I came across it online. It sounded interesting and I've always liked a decent tale of the apocalypse so I gave it a go.

A brief rundown of the plot is that a virus is working its way around the world and destroying all grasses as it goes. This has a knock on effect of destroying much of our food stocks, leading to global panic, famine and chaos. In the middle of this, John Custance takes his wife, their two children and his friend Roger (as well as Roger's small family) across country to his brother's farm which can be fortified against the millions of hungry people who will do anything to survive.

The most interesting part of the story is Custance's change from `normal' civilised man to the leader of a growing group of desperate people. By a certain point, all of Custance's actions are for the good of the group; any aspect of life before the virus is long gone. This gets rid of the idea that the English are somehow better, more moral and more organised than the rest of the world and the author seems to enjoy shoving this idea far away while contrasting it with the early scenes of casual racism towards the behaviour of other nationalities in how they deal with the virus before it reaches Britain. In the same way that the children in Lord of the Flies lose their supposed British decency and become the savages mocked by the British, Custance does the same. Killing for food, kidnap of the child of the murder victims and subsequent forced marriage of the child to a member of Custance's party, leaving a school full of children to certain death - Custance sanctions this and more quite easily. And that's part of the problem for me. The descent not only happens quickly (although I can understand given the desperate situation) but without much thought or debate. Unless the author's intention was to show that we are capable of these actions with very little warning, it all seems too rushed. Another problem is how the author treats the female characters. Scenes from their viewpoints would have given the story much more balance and a more interesting angle. As it is, they exist to either flirt with Custance, be raped, make food and put the kettle on. A viewpoint of its time or simply a flaw in the novel?

The Death of Grass is definitely worth reading and is definitely entertaining. I wouldn't go as far as to call it a classic along the lines of Lord of the Flies, but it's a great piece of British writing that gives a very British view of the end of how some of us still see ourselves.

A piece about 'Set

'Set draws closer to publication. I've got about six weeks to go which feels very odd to say since it was accepted last summer. While I'll obviously have more to talk about the book the closer we get to release date, I thought it would be a good time to go over a few points.

First off, the title. 'Set is the name of a place in the story. It's a contraction of Sunset which is the halfway point between life and death, between our world and Heaven and Hell. You die and you go to Sunset where a loved one will meet you, give you chance to catch your breath (or not. You are dead after all) before you go on to your final destination. 'Set looks more or less like the normal world except it's at a permanent point of sunset. You know those few minutes before day drops into night? That's 'Set.

Second, yes, the angels and demons work together in my book. That's because they're not enemies as you might expect. And Hell is not the place of eternal punishment as you also might expect...apart from a particular section which we won't go into just yet. That's for another book and for someone who will do anything to stay out of that place.

Third, 'Set isn't a sequel to The Red Girl. You might find the odd connection between the two, but they're not part of the same story.

That's it for now. I'll be blogging more stuff about 'Set over the next month here and in one or two other places. For now, I can't wait for you to meet Xaphan, Afriel and Emma. I think you're going to get along.

Stay away from Cheriour, though. He's got issues. And a big sword.

The Red Girl - a year on

So, it's been a year since my first book was published. In that time, I've written a couple of other books, had another accepted for publication, come up with a few short stories and planned more fiction. And in the last few weeks, I've been thinking about how to mark a year since The Red Girl was published. Looking back through the book and the original draft, the answer seemed pretty obvious - going back to the heart of the story.

Which leads me to this. The story below was orginally three chapters cut from the published version of The Red Girl for length and pacing issues. I've reworked those chapters into the form of a story which hopefully gives a bit more depth to Geri Paulson and which will hopefully lead people who haven't read my book into giving it a go. Anyway, I hope you like this little snapshot of Geri and what forms some of the background to the heart of her story.

GERI PAULSON
LUKE WALKER
Part One: Child

She’s in her bed, arms around herself and she can’t stop watching the shadow grow in front of her window. It moves millimetre by millimetre over the carpet towards the wall. Eventually, she knows it’ll reach the wall and slide over the paper towards the ledge, then the glass and when it’s on the glass, night will be here.

She can’t move and more than that, she doesn’t want to. If she remains utterly still, then nothing happens and nothing will have happened. That’ll be the best thing in the world.

Sweat slides in narrow trickles from her neck down her back; her t-shirt sticks to her skin and there’s no need for a duvet, not in August. Even so, she makes no move to pull off the bed covers. In the dark and heat and stink of her bed, she’s safe.

She watches the shadows and the red light of sunset. Lying here perfectly still, it’s easy to picture her window open wider than it is, open fully to let in the warmth here at the end of the day; easy to think of herself climbing up to the ledge, dangling her feet and legs over the edge into the space of air and jumping down to the bushes at the front of the house. She did that once before a few months ago. Easter holidays. The house empty, sunshine doing its best to break through the clouds, and Stu and Andy laughing, calling to her, telling her to come out and she’d jumped right down to the bushes without wondering if the impact would hurt. Easy to remember that just as it’s easy to picture the shocked circle of Andy’s face as she launched and flew into the deep green of the bushes, laughing all the way down.

She could do that again. Launch, fly and drop. Then run to the road, run to the pavements and grass and run all the way into the centre of Dalry where she’d never been by herself. She could walk through the little sidestreets, take shortcuts through the old part of the city she knew only vaguely and run from those little streets and squat buildings into the wild and secret spaces of the fields and trees in the Meadows.

Be in there.

Be in the secret places where there were no shadows and no creeping sunset trickling into her bedroom.
She could be away from this bedroom and its dark and heat and stink. All it would take was one quick movement of the duvet thrown back. Do that and run to the window and jump. Leave this all here behind her, be rid of it, be someone else without this dark and heat and stink.

She remains utterly still, eyes on the growing shadows, and she thinks of the heat of the ending summer, of jumping from her window, of Andy’s face as she flew down to the ground.

Part Two: Girl

She’s at the pub half an hour after finishing with Will. She’s drunk her first drink two minutes later and she’s studying the crowds thirty seconds after that.

Busy tonight. Christmas is long gone; the feel good time of the week between it and the end of the year is gone with it. Now it’s the beginning of February. Last week’s snow is dirty slush and there’s been no sun in a fortnight.

So what, though? So fucking what? This is about her. This is her night, tonight, and who cares about the cold or the snow or Will’s face when she made the mistake of looking back from his front door?

What matters is here in the pub with the heat and the bodies and the noise. She gets another drink and knows she’s only being served so quickly because she’s leaning over the bar, exposing her cleavage. And so what about that, as well? Like it matters.

Pain stabs her stomach and she breathes it out. Karen’s face fills her head and there’s a dizzying moment of vertigo at the thought of her friend. It tells her to leave, to get away from the pubs in the centre of town and get back to the quiet and peace of her streets in Dalry’s suburbs. Get back there and get to Karen’s. They can talk about Will; they can play some music, drink some wine and maybe she’ll cry and maybe she won’t. Maybe Karen’s dad will give her a lift home at some point gone midnight and he’ll tell her to take care like he always does, then maybe she’ll wake up in the morning, ready for a Sunday of nothing at all.

Maybe.

Fuck maybe.

Another face lives in her head. Mick. Big Mick. Fat Mick. He’ll understand. He’s a good guy. He’ll know the right things to say. He always does. She can call him and go round and talk to him and –

She cuts the thought off before it can develop. Ending it with Will was bad enough. She can’t think of Mick that way. All she’ll achieve by getting in the middle of two friends is to make a bad situation even worse.

She turns in a slow, lazy circle and surveys the crowd of Saturday night drinkers.

There, at the end of the bar. Three men, all at least ten years older than her. All are laughing and one is looking at her.

She holds his gaze for just long enough, then leans over the bar again. The barman is with her despite the other people who’ve been waiting for minutes. She orders two bottles of Foster’s Ice, grips them by the neck and turns back to the man at the end of the bar. He speaks to his two friends and advances to her, sliding through people as if they’re made of air.

Her chest is too tight and the sensation is as uncomfortable as it is welcome.

Sunset. She hammers at the thought and image until it’s dead.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.”

He speaks over the noise of the drinkers and music. She misses what he says and he leans closer to her to repeat himself.

“I know it’s a really bad opening, but can I buy you a drink?”

He’s smiling, showing even teeth. The gel on his hair and the mint on his breath merge into one unpleasant scent. 

“No. I can buy you one.”

She hands him the bottle; he takes hold of it below her hand still gripping the neck.

“I’m Dave.”

She smiles and doesn’t say her name. She taps her bottle against his and sips, not looking from his eyes.

Somewhere in her past, shadows grow towards a window while twilight winds down to night. She’s under the covers, deep in the dark and heat and stink while sweat covers her back.

“Who are your friends?” she says and any thoughts of Karen, of Mick, of Will and of the sweat on her back are buried below her question.

This is her night and she’s in control. The morning and all that it means is faraway. Shame and regret are nothing now she’s in charge.

She tightens her grip on Dave’s hand and moves ahead of him to lead him back to his friends, and for those few steps, she can ignore the wish Mick was here instead of this man and his friends; the wish she could talk to Mick and laugh with him and use his help to find a way of undoing this night.

Part Three: Woman

She stands utterly still despite the wind. It’s much stronger up here in the car park than down on the street. Down there, it’s all about the shops and the Christmas lights, the crowds and the streetlights on already. Up here, there’s the darkness; there are the secrets in the car park, and there’s the cold she won’t let lay a finger on her.

Up here, she’s untouchable.

Her fingers brush against her coat and squeeze the material. She presses harder to feel the weight of her fleece below the coat. Below that, her t-shirt. Below that, her skin, her flesh and blood. The only thing that the wind can touch is her coat and that’s all right. The rest of her belongs to her.

The wind changes direction to blow into her face, making her eyes water. Her vision blurs as she attempts to focus upon the Christmas lights below, and despite her watering eyes, she doesn’t blink. She welcomes the blurring. Easier to not see, easier to think of below like something off a Christmas card. Streets filled with snow and people hurrying to their homes as night closes in and all is right because it’s Christmas.

Briefly, the sensation of laughter fills her throat and mouth before falling apart. And isn’t that how it should be? Isn’t that all right?

Yes. This is just how it should be because this is the only way things can be made right. She made mistakes. She held it all inside when she should have let it go. If she’d done that, if she’d let it go all that time before, she wouldn’t now be standing here on the edge of the car park.

Everything would be all right. Everything would be exactly as it should be.

She can fix it, though. Even now, fifteen years later, it’s not too late.

She giggles, aware she’s crying but not caring, not giving a shit.

Not too late. Not true. It’s much too late in one respect. In the most important respect.

But still, she can make it as right as it ever will be. One little step. Just one step and all will be as it should be.

Karen’s face comes to her out of nowhere, Karen from a week before when she last saw her.

Tell me what’s wrong, Karen said.

Talk to me, Karen said.

She didn’t tell Karen what was wrong.

She didn’t talk to Karen.

And now Karen’s a week behind. She’s back there and this is above the world, above the Christmas streets.

She stares straight down.

Her breathing slows.

Stops.

She closes her eyes.

There’s no darkness now. Only light. She welcomes it as she would an old friend. It bathes her. It blows away all shadows and her name comes from the other side of the light.

One little step and the light is her friend.

One step.

The snow filled streets, the winking lights, the traffic, the shops and the people finishing their shopping in the middle of the Christmas card below all welcome her on the way down.

Patience young Padawan

I blogged a while back about how much of the waiting game is involved in writing and publishing and, after checking my records on my current submissions, I'm thinking about this again.

This is not a business for the impatient or for people with a hightened sense of entitlement (old fart rant - these days, that seems to be most people). If you're getting into writing and think that when it comes to publishing, you'll get what you want when you want it, you're in for a nasty surprise. The business moves slooowwwwlllllyyyy and that's at least partly down to the number of people involved. If you take into consideration the number of writers who think they've got a story to tell plus those who are already established, then think about the agents and editors on the other side and what they've got going on, you can see why this industry doesn't speed along. A lot of beginner writers, a lot of people trying to break into the publishing world and not enough time or money to go round.

But that's just how it is. All the writer can do is focus on producing their best quality work and researching possible markets. That's it. Everything else (such as pissing and moaning about it) is just a distraction from the important stuff - writing your story down and polishing it until it shines.

With that in mind, I've got a story I'm subbing today to a particular publisher. Their site states their turnaround can be as much as nine months. I know plenty of people who wouldn't understand why it takes so long to read a story, or even just the first page, before making a decision, but I do. And if you're reading this and you're serious about your writing, hopefully you understand, too.

Q&A - Alex Scarrow

To start 2013 off with a bang, I'm very happy to have a Q&A with one of my favourite adult thriller and YA authors...

Alex Scarrow, author of the TimeRiders series, thrillers including Last Light and The Candle Man, and now The Legend of Ellie Quinn. So, let's get started.



LW: You made your name as a writer of adult thrillers such as A Thousand Suns and Last Light, but the seventh book in your YA series TimeRiders series is soon to be published and your latest book, The Legend of Ellie Quinn, is also YA. Was there a precise situation or moment where you decided to write YA or was it an area you always fancied writing in?

AS: I always wanted to write for teens, mainly because the teen market is more responsive to original ideas than the grown up market, which can be quite set in its ways.

LW: What's Ellie Quinn all about?

AS: ELLIE QUIN is the big thing I'm working on right now (as well as the last two books for TimeRiders). Actually, if I may, I'd like to encourage TimeRiders fans to give my new series, ELLIE QUIN, a go. It's very similar to TimeRiders in terms of pace, big ideas, strong likeable characters. It's about a very ordinary girl who yearns to escape a boring rural existence on a remote agricultural planet. But soon becomes embroiled in a universe-spanning conspiracy. She finds herself on the run through this madcap, colourful, vibrant universe full of really fun ideas. For instance....pets you can grow from seeds, nail varnish that when it dries you can watch TV on your finger, genetically engineered labourers with four arms, weird fortune telling aliens, soda pops that change flavour all the time, plants with a cabby attitude!....lotsa fun stuff in a big, big, universe. The series has just been launched on Amazon. You can download it as an ebook or order (soon) a printed version from Amazon. If you're interested in learning more about it go to Ellie Quinn



LW: Conspiracies often come up in your work meaning your protagonists have more than what appear to be the more obvious problems to deal with. Is this something you consciously write about or does it come with your plots?

AS: I think you have to have ONE BIG IDEA behind a story, that's what gets people to crack open the cover and give it a go. Once the reader has been hooked into the book, it really then is all about the characters. So the big idea is what lures them in, but it's the believability, likeability of the characters that keeps them there...that, and wanting to know how the BIG IDEA pays off in the end.

LW: With not starting off as a writer, was there a catalyst for you getting into fiction?

AS: I've always been a storyteller in one way or another. Game design for example was one way of telling a story, even song writing is a form of story telling. My migration to books though came when I got fed up being in the computer games business. I had too much team management BS to put up with and fancied doing something creative which was basically me and no one else...and of course writing is the ultimate solo creative pursuit.

LW: Your brother Simon is also a writer. Do you discuss your work with him when it's in progess?

AS: Simon and I hook up regularly and talk about our various projects, but we haven't yet co-written a novel. It's something we'd both like to do in the long run but we're both so busy with our respective series that there's just no time. Maybe one day :-)

LW: The seventh TimeRiders book is on its way - how many will there be and can you give us any hints as to what's coming for Liam, Maddie and Sal?

AS: The Pirate Kings (TimeRiders 7) is out in Feb 2013, and there are two more after that. I'm afraid there'll be no hints at all! All I can say is that book 7 is a really fun romp through the Golden Age of Piracy with a few satricial nods to Jack Sparrow.

LW: Overall, Last Light and After Light were quite pessimistic about human nature. Can you see the world heading the way it does in your books?

AS: Truth is I AM a pessimist. I don't see a great future for mankind. One way or another the maths of the situation ahead of us is not good; an exploding global population and dwindling resources...that's a receipe for disaster on a monumental scale. And yes...that gloom percolates into all my writing, even the escapist stuff like TimeRiders. Seriously...I'm the guy you want to avoid talking to at parties.

LW: What's your writing process like - are you an outliner or more into making it up as you go? Do you come up with a polished first draft or edit it once the first draft is written?

AS: I'm a meticulous planner. With complex plotlines you REALLY do have to know how it all ends before you even start, otherwise you'll end up in knots. Maybe one day I'll try writing something that's light on plot and will allow me to make it up as I go along. Hmmm...actually maybe not. Those kind of books bug me.

LW: Any advice for beginner writers? Should they aim to get an agent or try publishers directly?

AS: Always look for an agent first. Publishers really do not look at unsolicited manuscripts any more. They only look at ones that have come from agents. And if you can't land yourself an agent...you can always try self-publishing on something like the Kindle.

LW: What's next in your writing world? Can we expect more YA or will you be heading back into adult fiction?

AS: Oh yes. I'm planning another series for Puffin Books. Nothing I can tell you about just yet...except of course, that it will have a BIG IDEA behind it like TimeRiders.

2012 - goodbye to all that (and good riddance)

Warning. The following contains grumpiness.

Christmas is done and 2012 is on its way out. It's funny - I had my first book published this year and signed a contract for a second (not to forget getting word on having a short story published next year) and I've written a couple of what might be my best books, but I'll still be glad to see the back of this year. Almost everything outside my writing has been a bag of shit, frankly. What with family illness, our house being worth precisely bog all compared to when we bought five years ago, the same money worries everyone else in the world has got and ending the year with a vet bill big enough to put us in debt, I'll be glad when 2012 is over.

In writing-related news, I'm getting stuck into the edits for The Mirror of The Nameless which means it should hopefully be ready for a couple of readers by the end of January; I'm still hoping to hear back re a couple of older submissions, and without mentioning any names, I should have a Q&A with one of my favourite thriller/YA writers coming up at some point soon.

So, goodbye 2012. You gave me my first published book, but I'll still be glad when you're done. You've been a big pain in the arse.