Nerine Dorman's Blog, page 47

Guns & Romances author Matt R Jones

In the last of my series of interviews with Guns & Romances contributors (go get your copy now if you're in the mood for a selection of action-packed, lust-fuelled tales) I've got Matt R Jones stopping by for a few questions. 

Welcome, Matt. Tell us a little bit more about yourself.

My name is Matt R Jones, and I’m the author of the (R)Evolution By Night series, formerly known as the Hollywood Vampires series. I love vampires, horror, science fiction, comedy, monsters, and vintage genre films and comic books...I incorporate all of those things, and then some, into the (R)Evolution series. Because why shouldn’t a violent, bloody encounter between vampires and creatures from another dimension at least have a few moments of silliness?

Tell us more about your story and what you enjoyed about writing it.

“The Dance” has been a piece of unfinished business since 1997, having gone through several drafts and variations in the ensuing years, with each version getting just a little closer to the story I’d always envisioned it as. Having a chance to write this final, definitive version was immensely satisfying, and it finally felt like I put the damned story to bed.

“The Dance” is a peek into the relationship between the enigmatic vampire Wade (from the Unholy War duology) and the bright-eyed, playfully murderous vampiress known as Raven. This isn’t an origin story, and it’s not a final chapter, either, but one of a long series of brutally screwball run-ins between the two powerhouse immortals. Some couples argue over the bills, the thermostat, or where to put the washrag on the sink--it’s part of life, and part of the relationship, right? Wade and Raven, on the other hand, have been trying to kill one another since the waning days of the Roman Empire, and it’s an arrangement that works for them...though it could be argued it doesn’t work so well for anybody else in their general vicinity.

For this particular vignette, which takes place in a shit-hole bar on the bad side of Los Angeles, Raven has brought a new partner to their ongoing dance...an ancient, nigh-unstoppable creature from another dimension, which is simply out to kill everybody and everything it encounters because it’s colder than deep space and hungry as hell. Of course, she thinks it’s hilarious. She would. Wade begs to differ, and things are going to get ridiculously bloody, vicious, and explodey before all’s said and done.

Why do you think short fiction is important?

Not everybody has time to read a novel, and not everybody has the inclination to read a novel. Reading a novel is a pretty serious commitment, and even people who regularly read and love novels aren’t always in the market for 80 000 to 100 000 words...sometimes you just want to read something short and sweet. It’s fun to sit down and read something start to finish in a single sitting! Short fiction is a way for an author to present a complete, fully-realized story to the reader without asking for the massive time commitment.

There’s also the fact that not every story needs an entire novel to be told. Ray Bradbury was the master of presenting a whole world to the reader in just a few short pages, as were Richard Matheson and H.P. Lovecraft (though admittedly, Lovecraft’s short stories tended to run a bit long). People who complain about Stephen King’s monstrous tomes should really check out his short fiction, as King can totally kill in the short form.

A well-written short story is, in some ways, more satisfying than a full novel. Because the story’s shorter, everything is compressed...big events come faster, pacing is increased, resolution is reached swiftly, and the author is forced to build their world with a few well-crafted sentences or paragraphs  rather than spend page after page on exposition.

Working in the short form has the benefit of forcing an author to up their game and choose their words carefully, and even if an author’s strength is in telling monstrous, sprawling epics, there’s a lot to be learned from having a limited word-count and being economical while telling a tale.

Well-written short fiction is a win for both author and reader.

What is your favourite short story?

Probably either H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Whisperer In Darkness” or Ray Bradbury’s “The Million-Year Picnic.” “Whisperer” is a slow, fascinating build, laden with cosmic dread, and the way Lovecraft melded sci-fi elements with horror blew me away. “Picnic,” on the other hand is short and bittersweet...even though the world’s come to an end, Bradbury ensures you don’t mourn its loss, and leaves you with wistful hope for the future.

Have you got upcoming projects you'd like to talk about?

My Unholy War duology -- The Gathering Storm and Rage & Redemption -- are currently available in ebook form, and the paperbacks should be out within the next few months, so I’m looking forward to that. Both books are chock-full of vampiric action, adventure, and humor, and take place in the same universe as “The Dance,” and Wade is a notable character within, so if you’ve enjoyed “The Dance,” check 'em out.

I’ve also finished writing the first Unholy War follow-up novella, Fallen Star, which further mixes the combination of horror, sci-fi, and action found within “The Dance,” and I’ll be figuring out a release and all that good stuff for it in the near future, as well.

And I’ve got a big backlog of (R)Evolution By Night material that I’m looking to reissue over the next couple of years, as well, so there shouldn’t be any short of stuff from me to keep your eyes open for! So many stories, so little time...

Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert #review

Title: Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Author: Elizabeth Gilbert
Publisher: Riverhead Books, 2015

Anyone who knows me, will have a good idea of how I give books that have at some point or another been excessively popular with book clubs the side eye. For that very reason, I was mostly inclined to give anything by Elizabeth Gilbert a wide berth. I mean, if my mother had heard about Eat, Pray, Love all the way out in Swellendam then it was probably not a book I’d like to read (says she who makes a habit of often reading obscure fiction).

That being said, when a close friend whose opinion I value placed her copy of Big Magic in my hand and told me in no uncertain terms that I must read this book, that I *needed* to read this book, I paid attention. As it turned out, she was oh, so right. (She usually is, bless her little cotton socks.)

Though Big Magic is clearly aimed at writers, the advice that Gilbert offers from her own experiences in life and the publishing industry, can be applied to other forms of creativity. Essentially, and to sum up from what Gilbert has written, Big Magic is all about letting go of your fear to create and to understand why you create, and also gain an appreciation of how creativity functions. To paraphrase very loosely, Big Magic is your permission slip to go on and write those stories you’ve always wanted to, and to hell with whatever else anyone says or thinks.

What makes this book especially lovely is that it consists of short chapters, summing up base ideas almost as little lessons, which you can treat as such; really, this is the sort of book that you can keep a hard copy on your desk so that every time you feel down, or that you and your writing are worthless, you can pick the book up, open it any page, and find a little bit of inspiration.

It can be argued that much of what Gilbert writes is common sense, but sometimes it really, really helps to hear it from someone else.

Confessions of a Self-Published Author by Christine Porter

Today I hand over my blog to author Christine Porter, a fellow South African author. Welcome, Christine, and take it away!


I’m Christine Porter, and I’m a self-published author.

Four years ago, I would rather have lived on in unpublished obscurity than type those words. Self-publish? Heck no! That’s for people who are kidding themselves. People who lack the talent and skill to land a publisher.

Like many authors, I needed that pat on the back from a professional – someone whose job it is to recognise good writing – to know that my work was worth publishing. Writers tend to be solitary creatures riddled with self-doubt, and I believe many of us shy away from self-publishing because of it. If a publisher doesn’t want us, we must not be good enough.

My distaste for self-publishing is still shared by many, but with self-published books such as The Martian and The Hunger Games trilogy going as far as film adaptations, it’s certainly no longer a form of publishing that can be poo-pooed. Those titles – and many others – are well-written, well-edited and well-produced. They are a far cry from the vanity presses of a decade ago.

My own decision to self-publish came only after Peril Beyond the Waterfall was published electronically in 2011. I was suddenly shackled, not even free to market as I wished. The fact that there was no print version rankled a fair amount too.

I’m not slamming the publisher at all – they did everything that could be expected of a big publisher dealing with a completely unknown author in a completely unknown medium. The book actually sold. I was featured in a couple of publications and scraped in a review or two, but I’ve never been happy at the bottom of the priority list, so when I finally finished my second book, I knew the route I had to take.

I regained my rights from the publisher with very little fuss, and have reproduced and re-released the Peril Beyond the Waterfall that I wanted, with the cover I wanted, and the illustrations I wanted in print. I love this version of Peril. I resented the former.

The decision to self-publish spelled freedom. It’s been an absolute joy working on the project, and meeting like-minded writer types who have walked the same path. It’s far from easy. Every aspect of the book has to be considered, and you don’t have a publisher to think about things for you. You have to take ownership of the entire project and ensure that the quality is high, otherwise you really are no better than vanity-published.

I’m not sure I’m entirely past my distaste for self-publishing. I still feel it’s necessary that people know that I had a publisher, and chose self-publishing despite this. To me, it lends legitimacy. It must also be said that I would not have been able to self-publish four years ago. It takes a significant up-front financial investment, and back then I simply would not have been able to carry the costs. That is why publishers exist. That is where their value lies. In my case, though? I’m enjoying this independent ride much too much to stick my wrists back into the shackles any time soon.

My next title, Night of the Cologoro, is the first that I will be producing entirely independently. The experience I’ve gained and connections I’ve made help immensely. There’s a whole support structure that I didn’t have four years ago. It’s hard work. It really is. But I love it, and I’m excited, and I am going to make it work. Watch me.

Buy your copy of Peril Beyond the Waterfall at Ereads, Amazon, or in print.

La Mia Carne #indie film

Don't Film Yourself Having Sex by Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer #review

Title: Don’t Film Yourself Having Sex
Authors: Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2014

As the title of this book suggests, it’s full of very useful advice, and as authors Emma Sadleir and Tamsyn de Beer say, please never, ever, ever film yourself having sex. Just don’t do it. Don’t even let your partner tempt you as a way to spice up your kinky time.

To give a little background, Sadleir and De Beer are attorneys and their areas of expertise cover print and electronic media law – so basically, they really know their ins and outs with regard to the use of the internet and social media, and they’ve written this book to give Joe Public the low-down on how to survive the many pitfalls presented by the internet.

While many of us would hesitate to say or do nasty things to people to their face, social media and our many electronic devices, be they smartphones, tablets or computers, offer us the illusion of immunity.

Ask yourself this: how many times have you jumped on a self-righteous bandwagon when there’s been some sort of social justice issue becoming the flavour of the week? Have you stopped and thought about whether anything you’ve said or posted could possibly create serious backlash? You might lose your job or, even worse, tarnish your reputation. Once an event has gone viral on social media, it sticks. There’s no way to truly dislodge it, and its effects can ripple out and affect you for years afterwards.

Essentially, Sadleir and De Beer talk about how we communicate, and how our methods have changed so rapidly over the past few years. (They’ll even share some of those pesky abbreviations in a way that isn’t tl;dr.) Much of what they discuss is pretty darn serious, but they keep the tone of their cautionary tales light, and set out the sharing of the information in an often funny, tongue-in-cheek way that often had me laughing out loud. This is the sort of book you can buy your aged father or get your teenage daughter to read. And, in fact, I suggest you do. And omfg, please don’t ever joke on Twitter about planting a bomb at an airport. Just don’t go there.

Through the lens of Santu Mofokeng #photography

Santu Mofokeng’s series of photographs of black South Africans, Black Photo Album: Look at Me: 1890-1950 (1997) should be viewed within context in its role as the consolidation of an archive. As Mofokeng states: “These are images that urban black working- and middle-class families had commissioned, requested, or tacitly sanctioned. They are left behind by dead relatives, where they sometimes hang on obscure parlor walls in the townships. In some families they are coveted as treasures, displacing totems in discursive narratives about identity, lineage, and personality” (Cargo Collective). These images are drawn from a period which gave rise to apartheid and the disenfranchisement of black people in the country, as well as an erasure of their identity beyond the official, state-sanctioned information (Furstenberg 2002:60).

The images themselves are clearly posed, themselves creating an illusion through their careful poise and attention to detail, down to the choice in clothing and props selected, as expression of the subjects’ whims and, as Mofokeng states: “We see these images in the terms determined by the subjects themselves, for they have made them their own. They belong and circulate in the domain of the private. That is the position they occupied in the realm of the visual in the nineteenth century. It was never their intention to be hung in galleries as works of art” (Cargo Collective).

The people depicted in the photographs are ordinary, everyday people whose stories would have otherwise gone untold had the images not been preserved. The importance of these images is also worthwhile bearing into consideration, for as Mofokeng says, “Officially, black people were frequently depicted in the same visual language as the flora and fauna, represented as if in their natural habitat for the collector of natural history” (Cargo Collective). Compare these to photographs taken by William Roe (of which a selection is housed at the Graaff-Reinet Museum, Graaff-Reinet), and it becomes apparent that Mofokeng’s work fills a large gap in the photographic record that depicts black Africans in a similar fashion – snapshots of people’s lives that exist as a sort of time capsule that remembers where official history-makers of the time were apt to erase.

Something else that one must consider, specifically within the context of the time that this work was put together (1997) that a large body of the photography documenting black lives would have focused on events such as the violence in the townships. To bring out a body of work such as this, Mofokeng is showing a very different side to the public compared to what would, at the time, have been presented in the public eye, as stated by Furstenberg (2002:61): “Mofokeng positions his practice as an alternative to the collectivizing and dehumanizing operations of the archive and to the totalizing notions of identity constructed by the concepts of ‘Soweto’ and ‘townships’”.

The images themselves therefore offer viewers a degree of visual ambiguity precisely because they are taken out of context of the homes in which they initially hung. Their meaning, collected, changes, becoming rather a narrative discourse about a population segment, rather than purely portraits of family. Together, they establish a collective identity for those who were historically disenfranchised and disempowered due to apartheid. The images stand together to preserve memories that would have otherwise been swept under the rug or otherwise ignored, and also speak of a people who have made the trappings of European culture their own. By not being overtly political these images regrouped during recent years nonetheless communicate the effects of an oppressive regime without resorting to blatant imagery. Look at Me does exactly what the title suggests, offering the viewer the command to look, and not deny the past, and to remember and not be swept under the carpet.

 
Bibliography:
Furstenberg, L. 2002. Representing the Body Archivally in South African Photography. Art Journal 61(1), Spring:58-67.

Santu Mofokeng. Cargo Collective. September 12, 2015. <http://cargocollective.com/santumofokeng/black-photo-album>

The photographic activism of Zanele Muholi #southafrica

South Africa’s liberal constitution dates back to 1996 when “South Africa became the first and only country in the world to explicitly incorporate the rights of lesbians and gay men into its constitution by prohibiting, among other things, discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation” (Gunkel 2009:3) and, while on paper, these words appear progressive when compared to other parts of the world where lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and intersex (LGBTI) people suffer persecution, South Africa nonetheless remains a dangerous place for the LGBTI in an overwhelmingly hetero-normative society. This is borne out by the many violent crimes that have been perpetrated against those who are LGBTI, and perhaps especially the homophobic rape of black lesbians (Gunkel 2009:5).

Furthermore, when Arts and Culture Minister Lulu Xingwana (Cape Times, 2010) walked out of an exhibition where Zanele Muholi’s work, which illustrates black lesbians within an intimate setting, was being displayed, saying: “Our mandate is to promote social cohesion and nation-building. I left the exhibition because it expressed the very opposite of this. It was immoral, offensive and going against nation-building”, she sent a public message that echoed the nation’s entrenched homophobia among more conservative elements. Xingwana’s personal opinion stands in direct contradiction with the values laid down within the South African Constitution. That an individual, such as she, who maintains a socially influential position, could perpetuate such sentiments, illustrates the dichotomy between that which is prescribed and what is, ultimately, practised. It is within this context that photographer and visual activist Muholi’s artwork emerges, further explained when Makhubu writes: “The targeting of gay and lesbian individuals in townships is reflective of the aggressive denial of female power. Curative rape that is meant to ‘set [lesbians] straight’ shows that in society, lesbian women, gay men and transgender individuals are a threat to generally accepted yet iniquitous social constitutions (Makhubu 2012:521).

A selection of Muholi’s work on her page at Artsy, reveals a majority of black-and-white portraits of mostly black lesbians and individuals whose gender identity can be viewed as ambiguous, openly blending male and female attributes (Artsy 2015). Some, like the triptych Caitlin and I, Boston, USA, 2009 are in full colour. In most cases, focus is on the individual, with a simple or even abstract background. Where the subjects’ faces are visible, they are often staring directly, boldly towards the viewer, as if suggesting that they are present, undeniable, and very much part of society. Muholi herself states: “...it struck me that our struggle was in a way operating within a void, if people don’t see you, and by this I mean if they don’t connect to your personhood, they can easily violate you or look the other way if they are witnesses to violence against you” (Dlungwana 2015) and in that very manner, Muholi’s work aims to make visible that which has until quite recently, been considered taboo. Laws notwithstanding, a visual activist such as Muholi is a contributor in the on-going struggle to destigmatise and normalise the relationships and states of being of LGBTI people, to establish a shared narrative. In her work, as visual activist, Muholi stresses the importance of community, of collaboration: “Obviously, in telling any story you can’t just be the star of the tale, other people feature and their contribution and their own stories become part of the whole narrative, and so capturing images of lesbian and transgender men and women in South Africa as well as other parts of the continent and the Diaspora was an organic and practical development. You never act alone, not with things this important, you need community” (Dlungwana 2015).

Functions of photographs, for instance Caitlin and I, Boston, USA, 2009, serve to normalise LGBTI relationships within the public eye, especially within the context of a fine art gallery. We are faced with an image of two women who are intimately involved or who are, at least, at ease enough in each other’s presence to be naked, exposed. Commentary is not only delivered within the framework of gender, but also of race, of the coming together of black and white in a community post-apartheid and recovering from its restrictions on the mingling of different races. These women are free to love as they desire, and by their confidence jointly challenge anyone who would suggest otherwise. Their poses are relaxed, their expressions watchful, as if suggesting that they are comfortable being who they are and, as Muholi states, “people are seeing us, they are acknowledging that we exist, that we have a voice and will not be silenced and erased without a care” (Dlungwana 2015).

There is a frankness about Muholi’s work when viewing not only the postures of her subjects, but also in the way that she titles her photographs. Often, names are given and, as stated by Makhubu, “this provision of personal details asserts fearlessness, as if to declare: we are here, we are your neighbours, friends, your sons and daughters, your mentors and we will not budge – a sentiment that seems to permeate Muholi’s body of work” (Makhubu 2012:516). This removal of stigma, places the LGBTI individuals back in society, makes them an undeniable part of a community and family. Though atrocities have been committed against Muholi’s subjects, her work returns their dignity and works towards establishing a new legacy, a body of work that infiltrates the hetero-normative media that stands in contrast the assumption that “the stigmatising of queer sexuality is entwined with the assumption that people who are lesbian or gay are actually anatomically distinct” (Baderoon 2011, p. 391).

Muzi Khumalo IV, 2010, depicts a black youth who unashamedly makes eye contact with the viewer, staring directly at the lens. Careful grooming of his hair and the subtle use of make-up suggest the assimilation of traditionally feminine style. This blurring of the edges of traditional gender roles also suggests a fluidity of expression, and forces the viewer to ask, “Just what makes someone male/female?” Is it the clothes we wear? How we groom ourselves? By setting these blended expressions of presentations, we are no longer bound to tradition.

How viewers interpret Muholi’s work says much about their stances, as can be deduced from Xingwana’s response; however even such statements can open the door for further dialogue related to the subject. If a person feels discomforted by an image; if a person is forced to examine self to unpack why it is that an image causes a strong response, then Muholi has succeeded in her intention of initiating this discussion between the subject, who has allowed the photograph to be taken, and the viewer, who has entered the environment where the photograph has been displayed. In a sense, the photograph creates an unthreatening space in which this discussion can take place by this degree of separation. The photograph itself should also be viewed in a sense as a time capsule, a snapshot of a particular moment; and by equal measure its socio-historic context should be borne in mind while it is being viewed. Understandably, as time passes, and a larger body of works grows – and perhaps even references the work Muholi has accumulated – we may still see a shift in perception where LGBTI relationships have been normalised, where being presented with an interracial relationship in unabashed and honest nakedness will no longer result in a defamiliarisation for the viewer. Yet this can only occur if pioneering individuals such as Muholi create a visual foundation upon which others can build.

Bibliography:
Baderoon, G. 2011. “Gender within gender”: Zanele Muholi’s images of trans being and becoming. Feminist studies 37(2), Summer:390-416

Cape Times. Arts minister in lesbian art photo furore. IOL. n.p. 2010. September 10, 2015. <http://www.iol.co.za/lifestyle/arts-minister-in-lesbian-art-photo-furore-1.979074#.VfFjjyK0umx>

Dlungwana, P. Interview with Zanele Muholi. C&. n.p. 2015. September 10, 2015. <http://www.contemporaryand.com/blog/magazines/im-an-activist-first-being-a-photographer-allows-me-a-greater-and-more-influential-audience/>

Gunkel, H. 2009. Through the postcolonial eyes: images of gender and female sexuality in contemporary South Africa. Journal of Lesbian Studies. 13(1):77-87

Makhubu, N. 2012. Violence and the cultural logistics of pain: representations of sexuality in the work of Nicholas Hlobo and Zanele Muholi. Critical Arts: A South-North Journal of Cultural & Media Studies 25(4):504-524.

Zanele Muholi. Artsy. n.p. 2015. September 10, 2015. <https://www.artsy.net/artist/zanele-muholi/works>

Allegiance (River of Souls 3) by Beth Bernobich #fantasy

Title: Allegiance (River of Souls #3)
Author: Beth Bernobich
Publisher: Tor Books, 2013

My only regret with this trilogy is that I allowed far too much time to elapse between books while reading it; consequently, I feel that I missed out on a fair amount of the nuances, and had to play a spot of catch-up to figure out who was who, and who did what to whom. Yet it’s a sweet thing to encounter an author of Beth Bernobich’s calibre, whose ability to render tactile, authentic fantasy worlds leaves me breathless.

Not only am I drawn to her writing because of her solid worldbuilding, but also because she has created a society where there is less division between the roles played by men and women, and also a fluidity of sexuality. Women are soldiers, they can take on positions of power, and it doesn’t matter who you love. What else I adored was the fact that Bernobich breaks away from the Eurocentricism still prevalent in contemporary fantasy, to gift us with a saga that is distinctly Eastern in flavour without being heavy handed.

Allegiance is chockfull of political intrigue; it is, after all, a story that involves the derring do of masters in spycraft. There is a constant press of urgency, of being hunted down, which keeps up a relentless pace, and yet there are moments of tenderness, of subtle magic. Bernobich feeds in small details so that one can gain a vivid picture of the environment in but a few brushstrokes.

Central to the trilogy is the love between Ilse and Raul, as they fight hard to save their nation from impending war – and theirs is a particularly poignant romance, because their love is threatened at every turn. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little for them at the end. Each has an important role to play in the winding down of events that were set up in books one and two, and Ilse proves herself to be a canny heroine, constantly one step ahead of her enemies as she fights to save the man she loves.

For those who are looking for fantasy trilogy that features strong women, who know their minds, and aren’t afraid to go to the ends of the earth to save their world, this may well be the story for you. Bernobich’s writing is lush and textured, harking back to the measured pace of classic fantasy that begs you to hold onto the books so you can read them again to see what you missed the first time round.

The Keeper by Marguerite Poland #review

Title: The Keeper
Author: Marguerite Poland
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2014

Every once in a while there’s a South African author whose name should be on everyone’s lips – and Marguerite Poland deserves a spot in that sphere. Where to begin … Her writing is pure magic, pure and simple, and in The Keeper, she nests story within story, drawing readers into the claustrophobic, wind- and wave-swept world that is the island where the bulk of the tale plays out.

We begin with Hannes Harker, the lighthouse keeper, who has fallen and is severely injured while automating the last lighthouse on the South African coast that requires this. The era of lighthouse keepers is over, and Hannes has his own painful memories with regard to this ending.

While recovering in hospital, he begins to unburden himself to nursing sister Rika, who takes on the role of focaliser trying to make sense of the mystery. We plunge deep into the past, to the tragedy of why Hannes’s mother drowned herself in a well, and also into the near-past where we meet Aletta, Hannes’s estranged wife. The lighthouse presides over everything, both lightgiver and beacon, and brooding mistress.

People cope with the isolated existence on the island in different ways. Their motivations for living there differ wildly. For some it’s an all-consuming vocation, as it is for Hannes and his father before him. For others it’s a prison sentence, to be endured. Others make the best of it, and find their coping mechanisms. All are twisted in some way by this encapsulated environment, trapped even.

Symbols abound, from the macabre badge of office represented by the great rusty shark hook to the delicate lighthouse sculpture made from shells painstakingly collected by gentle hands. Make of these images what you will – they are enduring.

But it’s not so much the setting and the tragedies of the players strutting the dismal stage Poland has set up, but also her exquisite use of language. Birds abound, and for those of you who’ve read Taken Captive By Birds, you’ll understand those moments when she adds this typical signature throughout The Keeper. But then there’s also her understanding of environment, of the ocean’s mercurial moods, that paint in broad brush strokes the essence of the setting. I was instantly transported and enthralled.

Poland paints a story told not so much by what is shared, but also that which is left unsaid. The ending, much like real life, leaves pieces unfinished, conclusions untold, that hurt, give hope and also leave a delicious ambiguity.

The fact that The Keeper won the 2015 Nielsen Booksellers’ Choice award comes as no surprise. The tale haunts me, and has made its way to my Top Reads for 2015 shelf.

Guns & Romances author Ackley Lewis #interview

If you're yet to pick up a copy of Guns & Romances, an anthology featuring an eclectic selection of stories fuelled by gunpowder and lust, don't delay. You can pick up a copy at Amazon, Kobo or Smashwords, but for now, I welcome Guns & Romances author Ackley Lewis to my blog for a little Q&A.
Tell us more about your story and what you enjoyed about writing it.
'Gloria, A Love Story' is about a guy who is trying for 'normal' and buying into all the trappings that he thinks go with it: settling down, marriage, job, home, without really looking at the deeper reasons why he's doing it. He's so bound and determined to do the right thing and be the good guy, that he doesn't see 'wrong' when it's directly in front of him. Or rather that he does see it, and chooses to ignore it at his own peril.
I think the most enjoyable part of this story was writing the dialogue. There are only three characters in the story and two of them are pretty mouthy, so it's always fun to write a mouthy person's words. I'm fairly reserved in person so it can be quite freeing to write that way. I think it helps to balance out all those things I've personally wanted to say out loud but had to clamp down on. Repercussions are only fun to write about, not to experience.  
Why do you think short fiction is important? 
I think short fiction is a great way to 'nab' a reader. You have a relatively small window to not only map your story out, but to make it interesting as well. Novels are wonderful, of course, in that you have more time to build a story and establish characters, but short fiction is more 'wham bam', for lack of a better phrase (I'm really flexing my writing muscles here). With short fiction, you're saying 'I'm only here for a little while, but I'm going to make you listen.' It's challenging. I'm very new to all of this, but that's the first thing that struck me when writing short fiction. 

What is your favourite short story? 
So hard to narrow it down. It could be anything from Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven (which is a series of short stories interwoven into one story with connected characters, so I don't know if that counts), Richard Matheson's F--- (aka The Foodlegger) or 'Next of Kin' by David Sedaris, which is quite possibly one of the funniest stories I've ever read. My choices aren't all that obscure, but we love what we love, right? Anything that makes me laugh or throws a twist at me will win me over every time.  
Have you got upcoming projects you'd like to talk about?
I'm in the process of writing (and rewriting) a novella. It's tentatively titled The Monroes and it's about a family coming apart due to a supernatural occurrence from many decades before. Although if I keep reworking it, it might end up about a band of travelling aromatherapists who fight crime. The important thing is knowing when to stop.  
Follow Ackley on Twitter.