Iain Rowan's Blog, page 12

If you like classic ghost stories and chilling and macabr...

If you like classic ghost stories and chilling and macabre fiction, you'll love the magazine Supernatural Tales.

Editor David Longhorn has been producing it for over ten years, and it's recently published its nineteenth issue.

This one's the first to come out as an ebook, as well as in print.

ST's published the work of excellent authors like Gary McMahon, Mike Kelly, Joel Lane, Gary Fry, Michael Chislett, Steve Duffy, Chico Kidd, Reggie Oliver, Simon Strantzas and many others. (Disclosure, I'm one of the many others).

Adminstrivia

Couple of quick updates.

I've finally got around to setting up a proper mailing list. Sign up if you want very occasional emails about new books, price changes, freebies or other news about my writing. Sign-up form is at the top of the sidebar, over to the right there.


(edit: just found out that MailChimp requires you to show your home address to everyone subscribing. Bollocks to that. Link removed, back to the Olde Mailing List. Link in the Get In Touch box in the sidebar).

I've also started a list of links of stuff I read regularly, and interesting places to go. Again, check the sidebar. Regular readers, if you think I've missed something (or even worse, that I've missed you), then drop me a line.

Stories from Nowhere To Go #1 - A Walk In The Park

To go along with this month's promotion of Nowhere To Go, throughout September  I'm going to write a little about the eleven stories that make up the collection.

I've written a number of stories that grow out of a place, rather than an idea. A Walk In The Park and Nowhere To Go in this collection are both stories like that, as are the stories The Circular Path and Through The Window in my collection of weird/horror stories, Ice Age. A disused chapel, an empty rented house with an open window, part of a wood where the birds seem to suddenly hush and the silence is that of something terrible about to happen, the image comes first, and then the character and plot come out of that.

In the case of A Walk In The Park, the place was where I spent a lot of my life between eleven and eighteen. When I was eleven we moved to a small village in the Kent countryside, at the start of a long lane through the woods. If you followed the lane, the houses stopped after twenty yards, and the trees started. The lane ran under a disused railway viaduct, and past a small pumping station that to an eleven year old was a mysterious, blank-faced, humming place.



If you kept following it along the road for a couple of miles - and I did, a lot, because roaming the countryside on foot or on bike was how I spent a lot of my time - you passed a house set back from the road. The walls were topped with barbed wire, there was a security camera, and two Dobermans prowled the yard, going batshit crazy whenever you passed. Not your average house round those parts. Village rumour has it that the person who lived there was something to do with the Great Train Robbery. To this day, I have no idea whether this was true or not.

A Walk In The Park came from wondering who might live in a house like that, and who might want to pay them a visit. The characters came very quickly, and with them the plot. Not Dobermans though, in my story. Something different.

Mason's typical of the sort of character that I find interesting to write about. In the story, a London crime boss has brought in a hitman from Newcastle to pay a visit to an old acquaintance who is now hiding out in the Kent countryside. Mason's given the job of driving him down, keeping him company, and keeping him happy. I could have made him the boss' right hand man, his enforcer, a seasoned hard man himself.  Nah. Far more interesting to make him the gang's accountant.

"My job," Smith said. "So my rules. You stick it somewhere safe. You keep it there. You don't mess with it, you don't play around with it, you just keep it there in case I need a backup and ask you for it. You understand?"
"Sure, whatever you say. It's your operation."
"That it is. And one more thing." Smith still hadn't moved his face away. Mason could smell the coffee on his breath.
"What?"
"You point it near me--anywhere near me--and I'll kill you. You understand?"
Mason swallowed. "Yes."
Mason thought about just leaving the gun in the car, but he didn't want Smith to think that he was afraid, so he got out of the car and leaned in the back door. He pulled the gun from under the seat and put it into his jacket pocket, trying to handle it as if it were something that he did every day. When he turned back, Smith was standing by the side of the road, as motionless and dark as one of the trees, holding his gun down at the side of one leg. In the darkness, it looked as if he was pointing an accusing finger at the ground.
At first as they walked down the road the silence pressed in on Mason like a weight. After a few moments though, he realised that it was not silent at all. He could hear skittering in the undergrowth to the side, rustlings in the trees as if their footsteps were disturbing whatever was sleeping there. From a little way off into the woods came a noise somewhere between a grunt and a cough that made him jump; he looked at Smith to see if the other man had seen but the killer was walking ahead now, with cautious, quiet steps. They had reached the house.
The two men slunk across the road and into the shadow of the fence. Mason noticed that when they moved, Smith held his gun up high to the side of his head, as if he were listening to it, like people do in films. He loves all this, Mason thought. I bet he's got a bookshelf full of books about special forces. They waited at the fence, peering into the darkness of the garden, listening.
"What you reckon then?" Mason whispered. "Dog?"
Smith took hold of the fence, rattled it gently, waited. Then shook his head. "Would come running," he muttered.
"Might be in the house."
Smith just held the pistol up, then pointed it into the darkness and mimed a shot. Mason looked away. Killing a man was one thing, that was business, but killing a dog was just cruel. He'd always had a dog when he was little. He remembered how he'd cried when his red setter Rusty, as dumb as a plank but his best friend in the whole world, had run into the path of a delivery van. Smith climbed over the fence and into the garden, and Mason followed him. As he went over, the fence creaked, and to Mason it sounded like a tree falling. They hesitated for a moment, but no lights came on in the house, no doors opened.
Smith waved towards the side of the house. They were going to go in round the back. The two of them stepped cautiously through the shadows, following the edge of the garden around the house, walking silent on the soft grass.

Crossing Paths

Crossing Paths is where photographer Niall Macdiarmid posts his street portrait photography.
It's the best example of this sort of thing that I've seen. The range of characters that Niall manages to find, from the cool to the ah, different, is fantastic, and the portraits look fantastic, really letting the person shine through.
Well worth a visit. The new site's only got a few photos on at the moment (it's moved from its previous location where there were more), but it's updated regularly.

Ebook pricing

A typically thoughtful post on ebook pricing over at Keith Brooke's blog.

"What concerns me is trying to find a model that rewards the writers and encourages good writers to write, rather than making it harder for that to happen."

flash fiction - Got My Dancing Shoes On

Left, left, right back and right and back and slide, slide, left, and stamp. No, no, should have been right. Fuck it.
I kicked the rail on the side of the game, then looked around to see if the old sod or one of his gimpy sons had seen me do it. The three of them gave me the creeps. They all looked like they come from the fifties, quiffs and that, like Elvis, and stank of cigarette smoke and oil. They didn't like kids thumping the machines in the arcade, and I was barred from too many of the others to risk getting thrown out of this one.
The man was leaning against an Addams Family pinball machine, watching me. I didn't know how long he had been standing there.
"Good dancer," he said.
"Done better," I said. And I had. When I was really giving it some, I was top of the high scores. And if someone else beat me then I'd find the money from somewhere to stay on the machine until I beat them.
"You must practice a lot," he said.
I ignored him. Blokes that hung around the kids in the arcades, well. Some of them were just simple, kids themselves in grown-up bodies. Others, they were grown up all right, and they wanted grown-up things.
"Got very quick feet," he said.
"The best," I said. "You a pervert, then?"
He went red, looked quickly around to see if anyone had heard. "No, no, I'm not." Meant nothing, but at least he knew that if he was, I had him made.
"Give us a quid then."
He thought about it for a moment, and then fished in his pocket and held out a coin. I went to take it and he pulled it back so I couldn't get it. Here we go, I thought. But he surprised me.
"It's for the dance game," he said. "You can't take it and spend it on whatever. I want to see you put it in the game."
"Whatever turns you on," I said. Not like I could do much else with just a pound, is it.
So I danced, and he watched. Most likely got his kicks from it, but at least I got to dance. And I was good. Got in the rhythm, got in the trance, when I'm dancing like that there's nothing else in the world. And in my world, that's a good thing.
I danced, he watched, and every so often he handed over some more money.
"I think that's enough," he said in the end.
I pulled a face. If I got in the high score top ten one more time, it would just be my name, over and over.
"Tell you what," he said. "Instead, I'll buy you a coffee, and we'll sit down and have a little chat."
You know what happens when you hit one of the machines too hard, or tilt it? Alarm goes off, loud as anything, and the old man or one of his sons comes over and kicks you out. Bar you from the arcade, if you do it enough. Anyway, my alarm went off, just like that. Coffee and a chat? Not a chance.
"See you," I said, and I jumped off the game and walked away.
"No," he said, "Please, wait."
But I was away down past the slot machines and the air hockey tables, and through the big glass doors that opened out on to the empty night.
A little further down the road, I found a ciggy lying on the pavement, only half smoked. I picked it up, and fished about in my pocket for my lighter. Then there were footsteps behind me, and I turned around quick because I knew who they would belong to.
He held his hands up, look, I'm no harm, me. Smiled, even. "It's ok. I just want to talk to you."
"Aye, that's what they all say." I'd seen kids from the arcades go off with men like him before. We all knew the score. I'd done some things to get more money for the machine, I tell you, but I hadn't done that. Had thought about it, once, but I robbed a few quid off these younger kids instead.
He took one step closer, and another. "Look, all I'm asking—" he said, and then he didn't say anything else because I kicked him hard in the balls and he went down on the pavement like someone had folded him up.
I looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching, but the street was empty. Round here, chances are they'd have turned and walked off anyway.
"Fucking pervert," I said, and then I kicked him. Only meant to do it a couple of times, but then I felt the rhythm and I followed it, Left, left, right back and right and back and slide, slide, right, and stamp.
Fair out of breath when I was done. Not as much as he was, mind.
Went through his pockets. Found thirty quid in cash, some plastic I could sell for fifty a card, a picture of some woman with a nose twice as big as it should have been, and a load of leaflets about Jesus and some shelter place for kids on the street. Looks like he wasn't a pervert after all. Ah well. How's a girl supposed to know?
I stopped off at a corner shop, bought a litre of vodka and sixty Lamberts, got a bus into town, and headed for the arcade by the bus station. Wasn't barred from there either. Got my dancing shoes on tonight.

September offer on short crime fiction collection

In a literally unrepeatable, never to be seen again, one time only offer[1], you can get the same eleven acclaimed crime stories in my collection Nowhere To Go for only one third of the usual price. Throughout September, Nowhere To Go is down from the usual price of $2.99 to just 99c/86p at Amazon.



Eleven stories originally published in magazines like Hitchcocks and Ellery Queen's. A collection that includes a story that won the Derringer Award for Best Short Story, and a story that ended up as the start of a novel shortlisted for the UK Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger award.



Look out for posts here throughout September on each of the stories in the collection: what the inspiration was behind each story, what I learned from writing them, what's happened to the stories since original publication, violence in the bucolic Kent countryside, why not to get stuck beside me during a bank robbery, and how to avoid some of the all-time classic con tricks.



Nowhere To Go, just 99c/86p throughout September. Get it while it's hot.



Here's what some kind people have said:

"During the five years that I published Hardluck Stories, One Step Closer and Moth were two of my favorite stories. I loved the nuances and true heartfelt emotion that Iain filled his stories with, and Iain quickly became a must read author for me--everything I read of Iain's had this tragic, and sometimes, horrific beauty filling it, and was guaranteed to be something special."

(Dave Zeltserman, author of Outsourced, and Washington Post best books of year Small Crimes and Pariah)

"A short story writer of the highest calibre."

(Allan Guthrie, author of Top Ten Kindle Bestseller Bye Bye Baby, winner of Theakston's Crime Novel of the Year)

"Iain Rowan is both a meticulous and a passionate writer, and these stories showcase his ample talent wonderfully well. You owe it to yourself to discover Rowan's fiction if you haven't already had the pleasure."

(Jeff Vandermeer, author of Finch, Shriek:An Afterword, City of Saints and Madmen; two-time winner of the World Fantasy Award)

"Iain Rowan's stories never fail to surprise and delight, and just when you think you know what will happen next, you realize how much you've been caught unaware."

(Sarah Weinman, writer, critic, reviewer, columnist for the Los Angeles Times and News Editor for Publishers Marketplace)

[1] literally not meant literally

Cover to cover

James Everington has picked out five of his favourite cover versions over at his blog (some excellent choices there too), which has prompted me to shamelessly plagiarise. So, without further ado:



Johnny Cash - Hurt



Obvious choice is obvious. All about the performance, the resignation, the truth.







Patti Smith - Gloria



Just the way she snarls and sneers her way through the opening lines of Van Morrison's song would do me, but then Patti and the band spin off into a clattering racket of goodness.







Dinosaur Jr - Just Like Heaven



I love the original, which is a song that immediately reminds of a couple of particular months in my life, but I also like this cover version, which slacks and meanders its way through the song in typical Dinosaur Jr fashion, but then decides for no reason at all to drop into a mad shouty bit, and then shortly after decides for no good reason at all to simply stop.







Talking Heads - Take Me To The River



Can't embed this one, but well worth including. A great song, covered by a fantastic band, filmed for one of the best films of a band in concert ever, and featuring That Suit.



The Wedding Present - Come Up And See Me (Make Me Smile)



Start. Play it as fast as you fucking can. Stop. Excellent.

Writers Talk About Writing - Nick Quantrill

(next up in the series of interviews, Nick Quantrill. Once you've finished reading what Nick's got to say, why not read the whole series?)

Nick Quantrill is a crime writer from Hull, a largely ignored city on the north east of England. Some would say its reputation is well deserved, but he chooses to ignore this. He lives, works and will probably die there. It's home...

We're in a lift, I'm someone important (come on, pretend), you've got thirty seconds (tall building, slow lift) to tell me about your latest book.


Seeing as we're the only two people in here..."The Late Greats" is my second Joe Geraghty novel. Joe is employed by a reforming 1990s band to act as sort of minder/general dogsbody.

It goes wrong pretty quickly when the front-man of the band, Greg Tasker, disappears. As Geraghty races against time to find him and digs deeper into Tasker's life, the more he questions the nature of success and what really constitutes happiness. As Geraghty's own situation starts to change, these are questions that he could equally apply to himself.






Uh-oh. Not sure lifts are meant to stop suddenly between floors like this. Guess we've got a bit more time. Ignore the flickering lights and creaking sounds above us. Would you like to tell me about other books or stories that you have available?

The first Geraghty novel, "Broken Dreams", is available now (Amazon UK | US for Kindle, UK | US in paperback). Although the novels stand alone, I hope readers can see some growth and change in Geraghty. "Broken Dreams" is more specifically about Hull, as the story links to the decline of the city's fishing industry and looks at its current regeneration. I keep my hand in with short stories which can be found in all the usual online and print places.
 


Please stop repeatedly pressing the emergency button. The comment about building a ladder of bones to reach the ceiling hatch and get out of here was just blue-skies thinking. So, what are you working on now?

Sorry about that...I'm only slightly scared now. If we ever get out of here, it'll be back to work on the third Geraghty novel. I don't want to reveal too much, but Geraghty's brother finds himself in the middle of an operation to smuggle cigarettes into the country through Hull Docks. With nowhere else to turn, the problem soon becomes Geraghy's problem. I'm starting to think about what comes after that. It may be more Geraghty, it may be something different. I'm always working on short stories and there are one or two interesting things bubbling away in the background. Ask me again in a few months...

Your website is called Hull Crime Fiction, Broken Dreams is set in Hull, and you've been made Writer-In-Residence at Hull Kingston Rovers. By any chance, is sense of place important to you in your writing? If so, why?

Very much so. To me, crime fiction is about the real world. It's a fantastic way to look at contemporary society and issues. That's something which fascinates me, so it seemed the most obvious thing in the world to me to write about my city. The great advantage of this is that I know the place intimately. I've lived here all my life. I can make sense of what I see and feel, but it does of course bring challenges. I try not to be complacent or judgmental about the city, but sometimes it's necessary to take a hard look at it, and that's not always well received.




Joe Geraghty, your lead character in Broken Dreams, is a PI. Do you find it a challenge to break fresh ground with a PI protag, and how do you think you've done so?

I think the key to this was that I didn't think too deeply about it. Prior to "Broken Dreams" I wrote a police procedural novel which didn't really work. The lesson from it was that I needed to be able to side step the realities of the job and have a character that could move about with freedom. A PI seemed perfect. I've read Chandler and Hamett, but truth be told, I've never been a big reader of American noir, past or present. It felt like I was coming to the idea with little more than the standard preconceptions of the genre. I researched a little about the realities of being a British PI and took it from there. I knew I wanted Geraghty to be a normal guy who's trying to make a living and isn't a superman. If he gets hit, he goes down. If Geraghty is seen as being a bit different to the usual PI, it's probably more through my ignorance than judgment.





What pushes your buttons in crime fiction? Conversely, what bugs you?

I'm a fan of location. I love Graham Hurley's DI Faraday series which is set in Portsmouth (me too, Ed.) and I think Lee Child is very underrated in respect of bringing the different terrains of America to life. I suppose I always want the complete package to run alongside that – character, plot dialogue and pace. The vast majority of what I read is crime fiction, but I read widely in the genre. What bugs me is overly descriptive writing. I want to feel places and characters through their actions. I don't care what colour their toothbrush is. There's more than a little truth in Elmore Leonard's "Ten Rules of Writing."





Tell me, as a writer in residence at Hull Kingston Rovers, do you have to live in a little cupboard under the stands? I will be very disappointed if the answer's no. Tell us a bit more about what this all involves, how you got into it, and how it's been received.

Sadly, Health and Safety expressly stopped me from living under the stands at Craven Park...it's a shame. I wanted to give Geraghty a sporting background, and although football has always been my game, I realised I could say more about Hull by drawing on the rugby league rivalry which divides the city in two. My publisher, Caffeine Nights, are very proactive and approached the club to see if they'd stock "Broken Dreams" in the club shop. Somehow, that conversation ended up with me being appointed the club's first ever 'Writer in Residence'. I've been given me a regular slot in the programme, and as I'm predominantly a fiction writer, I've created a set of short stories which revolve around notable games and players. I think of it as being a warmer version of "The Damned United". Alongside that, I've gone into local schools with the club to help kids with creative writing lessons. It's been brilliant so far. The supporters seem to enjoy the stories and the response from the children and the schools has been heartening.



Print publishing is a doomed but still predatory dinosaur rotting from the feet up. Ebook publishing is the vomiting out of the world's slushpiles onto the market. In the ongoing war of words and hyperbole, where's the happy medium to be found? Where do you think the publishing business is heading over the next few years, and what are you doing to be ready for it?

There's a hot potato...I think the happy medium is found with independent publishers like Caffeine Nights. Paperbacks aren't ever going to go away, even if our choice is being restricted by a handful of major retailers. Switched on publishers know there's still a market if you promote efficiently, but only a fool turns away from the possibilities ebooks offer. I'm pleased my publisher embraces both formats and retains an open mind. I've always had friends in bands who've self-released records, so I've got a fondness for the DIY ethic. The obvious proviso attached to self-publishing, be it ebook or paperback, is that the product needs to be as good as it can be. I don't know what you do about poorly written and presented ebooks, though. There are plenty out there and it's a shame if they put people off searching for the good stuff that is most definitely available. I don't foresee a massive change to things over the next few years. I think the committed reader will still buy in bookshops and the casual reader will pick up their holiday reads in the supermarket. I don't think we'll see a major shift until the price of an ebook is much more reasonable. Why should the ebook version retail at the same price as the hardback or paperback? It's nonsense.



Do you do much promotion for your books? What do you think is the most effective thing you've done?

I think it's difficult to balance it against the time you need to write, but it's a reality, so I do as much as I can. The obvious thing is to try to use the time wisely. I do as much as I possibly can in the real world and am lucky to have the support of my publisher. I've done book signings, library talks, literature festivals, spoken word nights in pubs, community fairs, radio, television, newspapers – you name it, I try avoid saying no to any offer. Online, I try to take advantage of interview and blog opportunities, but more importantly just network and feel part of a community. I think the key to online promotion is to set the boundaries you are comfortable with. I try to promote things I've genuinely enjoyed and not bombard people with repeated adverts for my own books. In terms of effectiveness, it's been the lucky breaks which have paid off the most. The Hull KR position and being included in the "Mammoth Book of Best British Crime" alongside the top names in crime writing have really helped raised my profile. It's all interlinked and it all comes together to create an overall picture.



Are you 'out' as a writer of fiction with work colleagues/family, and if so, what reaction did you get?


I'm most definitely out and proud these days, but it wasn't always so. Before I was published I told very few people that I was writing. I suppose it was part shyness (something you need to get over pretty quickly...) and part I felt I hadn't earned the right to call myself a 'writer' until I had something to show for it. It only really became common knowledge when I signed the publishing deal with Caffeine Nights. The reaction has been very positive. At first, everyone wanted to know all about it. After a while, people forget or just don't care too much, and that's fair enough. Writing is a major thing to me, but to other people I'm a father, husband, son, brother, friend, workmate etc.




Gibbons or tigers? (NB this question is to help me in compiling my List of People Who Are Wrong).

Easy – tigers. I was born in the Chinese year of the tiger and I'm a massive Hull City fan. No jokes about pussycats, please...

Writers talk about writing - Nigel Bird

(Once you've finished reading what Nigel's got to say, check out the whole series of interviews here.)

Nigel Bird is a teacher in Scotland. That's how he makes enough money to support his family, including his three lovely little darlings. He is also the author of two collections 'Beat On The Brat' (Amazon UK | US) and 'Dirty Old Town' (Amazon UK | US) and is the co-editor of the recently released PULP INK (Amazon UK |US). He was fortunate to be the winner of the WGI competition in 2010 and was a nominee for Spinetingler's Best Story Online award category.





We're in a lift, I'm someone important (come on, pretend), you've got thirty seconds (tall building, slow lift) to tell me about your latest book.

You claustrophobic? Good. So, I've just put out this collection. It's dark. It deals with some of the taboo subjects of the writing world and that means it's a challenge. Not that it's bad. The work is written to tell tales that will get you thinking. Whatever happens, you'll be moved in some way or another and they'll stay with you for days. There's a huge variation of subject material- the ripple-effect of a film crew making a movie in a mountain community; an imaginary scenario set in Queens about the inspiration behind the Ramones song Beat On The Brat (with a clown and a baseball bat); a long poem and a haiku triptych about serial killing; a modern take on the Robert The Bruce legend; Milgram's most famous experiment; a paedophile returning home for his mother's funeral and a comedy piece about a bounty hunter and his bounty. The title story was the winner of the Watery Grave Invitational in 2010 and was also nominated for the Spinetingler Award category 'Best Story Online'. The remainder have mostly been published in other respected places, though the 5th place story from this year's WGI is making its debut. It's good. And remember the catch line for the previous collection, 'Dirty Old Town, that 'even the white bits are black'? This is like that, but charred.

Uh-oh. Not sure lifts are meant to stop suddenly between floors like this. Guess we've got a bit more time. Ignore the flickering lights and creaking sounds above us. Would you like to tell me about other books or stories that you have available?

I've just released an amazing collection of shorts along with Chris Rhatigan (co-editor and the man behind Death By Killing) in collaboration with Needle Publishing.

The stimulus for each writer was a song title or a line from the movie Pulp Fiction. It's likely to the strongest pulp/noir/crime collection of the year as far as I'm concerned and the stories in there connect like the pieces of one bizarre and ground-breaking jigsaw.

It's called PULP INK (UK | US) and it's super cool. It will be the book that defines you in 2011/12 – did you read it or did you not?

Please stop repeatedly pressing the emergency button. The comment about building a ladder of bones to reach the ceiling hatch and get out of here was just blue-skies thinking. So, what are you working on now?

Other than trying to get people to hear of those fantastic creations, I'm coming to the end of a novel. Teacher noir is what it is. The first draft's been tough. The edit will be a whole heap of effort.





As well as writing, you're an editor too - Pulp Ink is an anthology packed full of stories from a really good line-up of writers. How do you find being on the other side of the fence? Any more similar projects planned?

At first being an editor felt more like being a collector of stories. In part that was due to the talent we were working with.

It soon became clear that the job involved was much more than that.

It took Chris and I a while, but as soon as we came across things that weren't working for us we'd have a quick discussion and pass on our suggestions and comments. That was really interesting.

When working with writers of this calibre it wasn't easy pressing the send button on messages about possible alterations. As it turned out, everyone responded with grace and appreciation for the thoughts, which just goes to show how dedicated they are to the craft.

We were also in the position of advising on stories where the writer had got a little lost – easily done when there are no maps – and that was really interesting, too.

After that, the issues around covers, pricing, release dates, publicity, collecting blurbs etc have all been fascinating and rather time-consuming. Thankfully, we had the expert support of the multi-talented Chris Weddle to help us through our sticky patches and, needless to say, we're extremely grateful to him for his support.

Chris and I worked through the whole process by email contact alone. It was only when the book was available that we spoke. He was exactly the wonderful guy I'd imagined him to be. As a partner for such a project, he was perfect and I believe we thrived on each other's ideas and energies.

It's been such a good experience that I'd love to do it again next year. We've pencilled it in, though not in any shape. It may be that part or all of it works through open submissions and we're also unsure of theme/no theme.

Above all, it's the final product that matters. Anyone reading the collection will know just how well everything fell into place in the end. As I said before, there won't be many better collections out this year.

The best way to reflect upon it is to imagine a couple of enthusiastic guys punching way above their weight. They managed to get in a couple of quick, hard and lucky blows and have since put on a pound or two.

For anyone thinking of going into such a project, I'd point out that once it's begun there's no turning back. It's a great ride, but it's long hours and graft so don't start if you don't have stamina and reserves of energy hidden somewhere.

What really does it for you when it comes to crime fiction?

It's not something I can easily distil. I need an emotional connection. I like it when things lend themselves to the imagery of an old black and white B movie. Lean, well-muscled prose with poetry in there is what I love. Quips and dashes of humour help.

Conversely, what bugs you?

The more I read, the less patience I have for static scenes. Back-story that's been crow-barred in when we didn't need it in the first place or when it could have been introduced as an action or a phrase rather than a couple of pages that interfere with the flow. Hand in hand with that is exposition in dialogue, which I've had to improve on myself. Another thing is the repetition of plot and difficulties at every step where a writer seems to be determined that the reader is going to understand what's happening.





You're working on your novel - how have you found the transition from (prolific) short story writer to working on a longer piece of fiction?

In all truth, I feel out of my depth with novel writing. It's got something to do with my memory and the ability to hold such a widely-scoping thing in view at any one time.

I'm trying a new approach this time around, writing and continuing without any edits. I'm also going for first person/present tense and focussing on one period of time only.

The transition parts in a novel are parts I find awkward. When I'm reading, I love that cliff-hanger ending to chapters which means I simply have to carry on. Unfortunately my natural inclination is to round things off. When I try to signpost interesting events which are about to occur, it doesn't seem to work for me.

You might suggest I look at the work of writers I admire and see how they do it. I've tried, believe me, but I might as well be watching someone perform close magic and hoping to see the invisible wires and up the sleeves.

The way I'm trying to do it is to keep a lot of simmering pots on the go at once and work at it so that any readers will be keen to know what's happening in those pots when they lift the lids. Hopefully what's in them will smell enticing.





Can you remember what made you sit down to write your first book or story?

If I don't include keeping diaries or writing long letters to friends, I think the first pieces of writing were poetry. They were an outlet for depression and pain at a particularly difficult point in life some 20 years ago. Once I'd done the first, I never managed to stop.

Print publishing is a doomed but still predatory dinosaur rotting from the feet up. Ebook publishing is the vomiting out of the world's slushpiles onto the market. In the ongoing war of words and hyperbole, where's the happy medium to be found? Where do you think the publishing business is heading over the next few years, and what are you doing to be ready for it?

I believe that tree and e books can exist together, though I'm sure that the vast majority of books will be in the e-format in a few years. I'd suspect that there will be limited releases of books, as hard-backs and paper backs. In a number of specialist areas, tree books will continue – young children's books, books for collectors, books requiring lots of photographs of fine quality etc.

For me, I'd like to think the bookshop and library experience that I hope survives. It's not going to be easy for them. In terms of what I'm going to do to prepare for the e book revolution, I guess I've got a lot less to do than those guys.

I'd like to see bookshops working more like the independent booksellers of yester year. They're making a comeback and I hope it continues. Community based events, individual advice, human contact, readings for children, readers' groups and author events would be all well-housed in a great store.

Do you do much promotion for your books? What do you think is the most effective thing you've done?

I do far too much promotion, yet at the same time it can never be enough.

It's too much because it sucks up writing and reading time. It's too little because you can always do more.

There hasn't been a major kick from anything I've done as far as I can tell. The sales I have seem to be more the drip effect than opening flood gates.

It's amazing to look at sales figures on days when interviews or postings go live. Even an interview with a huge hit rate can have almost no difference. Other times it might be a simple Tweet that drives things for a small spike in sales. When I was away and offline in the summer, for the 3 weeks I did no promotion I sold copies of Dirty Old Town at the same 3 per day average that I achieve when I spend a couple of hours a night working on pushing it forward.

I'll be interested in looking at other interviews here to steal ideas.

Gibbons or tigers? (NB this question is to help me in compiling my List of People Who Are Wrong).

Tigbons.

What could you buy with your e-book sales thus far?

Well, having sold nearly 700 copies of Dirty Old Town and 30 of Beat On The Brat, I'm yet to see any money.

If I could average it out, I'd be able to purchase a cup of tea in a cheap café most days.

If I could lump it together, it will have paid for my Kindle but not quite for the 3G (whatever that really is).

Fortunately, I've been paid for individual stories by some publishers and I've still got the teaching job to rely on. Regardless, my dream of becoming a full time writer remains firmly in place.

Meticulous research is both enjoyable and important / what's the point in writing fiction if you can't just make stuff up - discuss.

Research for me is the occasional enter-press on a Google search. My general approach is that if I need to know something, I make it up.

Thanks Nigel!