Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 78

[Book Review] The Angel of Shadwell

Every now and then you come across a book and it's literally the title that makes you buy it. I came across The Angel of Shadwell by Jonathan Templar on Facebook (I think) and being a sucker for all things London, I downloaded a sample for my Kindle. I didn't even read all three chapters - I bought the whole thing after just a couple of 'pages'. To own the truth, I downloaded the full version and started reading on 11 June, and finished on 12 June. It's not the longest book but it's such an engaging read, it's easy to get sucked in.



I'd describe it as a steampunk crime caper, in which Inspector Noridel and the faithful Sergeant Crayford are set on the trail of a killer who tears the hearts from his victims. When an aristocrat is slain in such a way, things escalate and Noridel is fighting to keep his job amid scrutiny from those higher up the chain of command. Witnesses describe the killer as being an angel, so what exactly is Noridel chasing? It's not a complicated plot, but it's a compelling one, and that alone keeps you reading.




Some steampunk stories can sometimes feel like the steampunk elements have simply been 'bolted on' to satisfy a list of criteria (Cogs and brass? Check. Steam? Check. Automata? Check. Airships? Check.) but in The Angel of Shadwell, the elements are so integral to the plot that the story wouldn't work without them. Beyond that, Templar uses them in a wildly inventive way, and his cast of miscreants reminded me of the more restrained outpourings of China Mieville. Noridel and Crayford are both likeable protagonists, while the uneasy truce between Clock and Flesh (i.e. automatons and people) seems rife with possibilities that I hope Templar explores in the future.




All in all, it's a quick read, and highly enjoyable. Five blunt pencils out of five!




You can buy it from Amazon US and Amazon UK.

#FridayFlash - Sightseeing

The statue coughed twice, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Tendrils of ectoplasm snaked out of the statue's nose, and billowed into the display case. The cold fingers of phantasmic goo sought the key hole near the top of the glass, and oozed through the lock mechanism. The figure coalesced on the other side into that of a slender man with delicate hands.



He peered at the statue through the glass and shook his head. The artist was more of a mere craftsman, and simply hadn't managed to capture the boyish line of his jaw, or the laughing smile in his eyes. They'd dressed his statue in gaudy fabrics befitting a prince, conveniently ignoring his more simple attire in life.



Prince Aken-Aten stretched, imagining his joints popping as they did before he died, and looked around the room. He'd grown tired of exploring the Egyptian Gallery, filled as it was with familiar things. He wanted to see the world, and learn more of what happened after his death.



He walked away from the case and stuck his head into the corridor. Tableaux of stuffed animals lined the route, re-enacting scenes from the North African desert. Aken-Aten bowed before the noble lion, and marvelled at the cobra, rearing as it ready to strike. He followed the passage and the decor changed, turning from desert vista to lush jungle. Aken-Aten recognised the greenery but the animals were alien, covered in stripes, or shaped like hairy men.



The Prince spent the evening touring the Natural History gallery, teaching himself to read the strange symbols on the wall beside each display. He even visited the gift shop, marvelling at the small reproductions of the stuffed animals. He believed them to be toys, albeit ones very different from the wooden or bone games they had at his father's court. His sister would have loved the soft fur of the lion cub.



The sky beyond the windows grew pink, and Aken-Aten made his way through the museum to return to the Egyptian gallery. He allowed himself to dissipate, feeling his limbs grow long and his body expand, and his ectoplasm fingered a path through the key hole into the case. It forced itself up the nose of the statue, and turned its thoughts to sleep as the dawn broke.




* * *


Roland peered into the display case containing the funeral effects of Prince Aken-Aten. He stared at the statue in disbelief for a full five minutes, before turning to shout for his assistant.



"Mavis? Mavis? The statue's moved again!"




* * *


This flash was inspired by this news story!

[Review] World War Z

I’ll be honest, since I first started seeing trailers for World War Z, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see it – mainly because I really enjoyed the book and could see it was going to be nothing like it. In many ways, I think the biggest problem that the film faces is comparisons to the book, but having now seen it, I can say it seems like World War Z was inspired by the book, but is not an adaptation of it. In all honesty, there are more nods and references to The Zombie Survival Guide – if they’d thrown in some Zombieland style rules, they could have almost changed the title and gotten away with it. Of course the internet is aflame with condemnation but I don’t know how many of the people slagging it off have actually seen it.



Well I have, and I’m actually both surprised and relieved to say I really enjoyed it. I think popular culture has been groaning under the weight of the zombie-related bandwagon jumpers of late, and I think it was always going to be difficult to add yet another zombie film to the pile – particularly one starring Brad Pitt. Well I think Pitt has a broader range than he’s normally given credit for, and here he plays a former UN investigator, Gerry, who’s sent off to find the elusive Patient Zero in the hopes of creating a vaccine against the zombie virus.



It’s not easy for him. When we first meet Gerry, he’s trying to get his family out of Philadelphia (well, Glasgow masquerading as Philadelphia) and later he’s stuck in a Newark apartment building with zombies snapping at his heels. He’s sent off to South Korea, and then Israel, before ending up in Wales. Bit of a globe-trotter, our Gerry. But what I like about him as a protagonist is that a) he’s not stupid, and he even goes so far as to duct tape thick glossy magazines to his limbs as impromptu body armour and b) he notices things. You’d hope that an investigator would do that, but Gerry not only notices salient details among the carnage, he actually comes up with theories that are completely plausible. He doesn’t need to be told things, he works it out for himself – in essence, he becomes a proxy for the audience who are by now so well versed in zombie lore that they don’t need things to be spelled out.



For a zombie film, World War Z is surprisingly bloodless. If you want lingering close-ups of bloodied mouths and corpses being ripped apart then you’re better off with Zac Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead remake. Instead, World War Z derives its horror from the sheer spectacle of that many zombies in one place. They don’t run so much as they swarm, turning the traditional faceless mass into a wave that sweeps through any space. Imagine a plague of locusts stripping a space bare and you’ll get the idea. Despite the lesser amount of gore, it’s still a visceral film, and even contains moments of actual suspense. It also has a clever use of sound, riffing on the sections in The Zombie Survival Guide that counsel weapons like crowbars over guns as noise will simply attract more zombies. The quiet sections just serve to highlight how loud our world normally is.



I know there will still be a lot of people online bleating that “it’s nothing like the book”, and I’ve even seen a comparison to 28 Weeks Later (which is ridiculous as 28 Weeks Later was appalling) but all I can say is if you’ve read the book, try to go into it without expecting it to be the same. If it makes it easier, consider it as a film that just has the same name as the book – and try to spot the Zombie Survival Guide references instead!



4.5 out of 5!

#FridayFlash - The Invisible Man

I've been sitting on the bench in the churchyard for twenty minutes. I always choose this bench - it has a good view of the road so I can watch people coming and going, and for most of the day it's shaded by the bulk of the church behind me. It's a good place to sit and watch the world go by. I've been listening to the birds singing, and watching a young woman take photos of the headstones while her friend stands nearby. I can't hear what he's saying but she's laughing at whatever it is.



It takes me a few moments to realise the girl is coming over. She's not just headed in this direction - she's coming staight at me. Camera phone at the ready, she snaps several photos of me, all the while chattering to her friend about how the images need to go on Instagram, and how they'll make a brilliant photo prompt. I don't even know what a photo prompt is but it doesn't sound like anything I want to be a part of.



She keeps snapping and chatting, but she doesn't even realise she's looking right at me - all she sees is a battered pair of trainers in front of a bench. The girl jokes to her friend about meeting an invisible man and I flinch. She can't know how right she is. I don't find her jokes funny but people have no idea what it's like, trying to get through life without being seen. If it wasn't for self service check outs at the supermarket and automated tellers at the bank I'd be screwed.



Eventually she wanders off, but I can't leave until she's completely out of sight. I curse my decision to wear shoes today as they give me away, but really, would you walk barefoot around your local town centre?

#FridayFlash - Ok, Cupid

Keep telling yourself you're not going on a date, you're using your one-day free trial of a relationship. For that one afternoon or evening, whichever you choose, you've got a companion, someone to discuss life with in all its glory and banality, someone to make you feel like you're part of a greater whole. It's not going to cost you anything except time, and let's be honest, what else were you going to do with it? Watch TV soaps or buy another cat? So roll up, roll up, come on in, and find a one-day free trial that suits you!



But, er, I should take you aside and tell you something. You know, as a friend. I'm only telling you this because I like the look of you. It's a one-day free trial, but there's no limit to how many trials you can, you know, try. I've got some customers who live entirely on free trials. Trust me, you don't want to bother with one of those. Yes, you're right, there's no way of knowing by just looking at the packet which ones those are. Nor can you tell which ones will take up the low-cost introductory rate for an actual relationship, but then try to return the product when they find it's not for them. There's nothing I can do about those. It's what you might call an occupational hazard.



What I can offer you is a truly stunning array of free trials. There's someone to fit every taste and occasion. You're bound to find one you want to convert into a regular subscription, and you'll find my rates are very reasonable indeed. Of course, there's always the small print, but you can't get away from something like that! Ah, you don't seem like you're so keen any more. Does this all seem a little sordid to you? Well what would you rather I did? I could always skip around shooting people with arrows but wouldn't you rather choose who you sample, instead of letting me fix you up?



Oh, she's gone. I suppose dating does seem a little fraught these days. Ah, there's another customer! You'll have to excuse me...

#FridayFlash - Along the old Corpse Road

Tanya sits on a low wall at the bottom of her garden, and she's already swigging from a bottle by the time I reach her. She's picked the label off so I've no idea what it is but it's pink and smells like floor cleaner. She hands it to me before I've even sat down.



"What are we doing here?" I ask her. She sent me a text earlier telling me to get down here before it gets properly dark but wouldn't tell me why. I can't help thinking she just wants to get drunk and brag about the stuff she's done with Mickey Tunnock.



"Found out summat int'restin' today," she says. She's already slurring and her eyes have that glassy, faraway look.



"What?" I pretend to take a swig from the bottle but I keep my thumb over the neck. Tanya doesn't even notice.



"This 'ere, this bit o' road, it's a corpse road." Tanya gestures to the rocky path that runs along the bottom of the garden, disappearing off through the fields.



"A what?"



"Corpse road. People din't get buried at church, so they had to get carried along 'ere," says Tanya.



"That's a bit creepy."



I look along the path, and think of the number of times I've used it as a shortcut to get to Jake's house. Tanya fishes around in her inside pocket and pulls out a battered packet of cigarettes. She's probably pinched these from her dad along with the pink rubbish in the bottle.



"Found out from one of them church lot in the village. Figured they'd frighten me into behavin' or summat." Tanya smiles but it looks more like a leer.



"So why are we sat down here?" The air's getting cold and I've just realised the stones are slick with damp.



"Told Mickey 'n he said he already knew. But then, get this, he says that if we sit 'ere on a full moon, we'll see a ghost." Tanya wiggles her fingers and makes childish ghost noises. I roll my eyes.



"And you believe everything Mickey tells you?"



"Most of it." She giggles, no doubt remembering something filthy he's told her.



I pass back the bottle and she takes another swig. I look up at the sky and notice it's a full moon. I can't remember the names of the other phases but there's no mistaking this one. I doubt we'll see a ghost, although Tanya will be seeing all kinds of stuff if she keeps drinking that pink stuff.



When I look at Tanya again, she's slumped against the tree by the wall. She's snoring gently, her mouth open and her eyes flickering. I'm half tempted to take a photo to put on Instagram but I notice something more interesting. People are coming along the path towards us. There are only about six of them, and four of them are carrying a box. It's long and thin, but wider at the top end. There's no mistaking what that is. The two at the front walk with their heads bowed. What's really weird though is that I can see through them.



I consider waking Tanya but I'm scared that the noise she'll make will ruin the illusion, and the vision will go away. I know I should be scared, but I'm not. All I can think of is I need to take a photo or no one will believe me. I fumble with my phone but the camera app won't load. I jab at the icon several times, knowing the people are getting nearer, and when the app finally opens, all the screen shows is static.



I groan in annoyance, and look up in time to see the people drawing level with us. One of the figures at the front finally looks up, and she stares me full in the face. I stare back, unable to believe what I'm seeing. I fall backwards off the wall and hit the ground with a thump. Only one thing springs to mind before I pass out.



The girl who looked at me is my absolute reflection.





Image originally by Nigel Chadwick. Edits by me.

New Cover Reveal

I've had three self-published e-books available from Amazon for some time now; The First Tale , which collected the episodes of my web serial into one steampunk story, Checkmate and Other Stories , which collected the first fifteen stories that I'd had published online, and Dead Man's Hand , a trilogy of short stories which served as a prequel to my pulp Western, The Guns of Retribution .



Well Guns has a new cover thanks to its re-publication by Beat to a Pulp, and I've been working on putting together a second collection of the stories I've had published, and between the two, I decided to reformat Checkmate, and give it a new cover. The actual content hasn't changed at all, aside from being formatted in InDesign instead of Word, but it's got a brand new face! What do you think?



I'm hoping to stick to this sort of style for those books I put out myself, so The First Tale will be getting a facelift as well (it was published in 2010, after all!). This is part experiment, to see if a new cover helps to boost sales, and part of my own fascination with all things design-related.



Checkmate and Other Stories is still just 99c, or 77p, and is available from Amazon and Smashwords (so you'll be able to grab a copy if you don't have a Kindle). The next collection, Harbingers and Other Stories, will hopefully be out in October!

Bloody Parchment: The Root Cellar and Other Stories out now!

I've been quite excited about this for some time, but I've finally pleased to announce that I've got a story in the new Bloody Parchment collection, The Root Cellar and Other Stories! Isn't that a fabulous cover? I'm proud to be associated with anything that looks like the Bride of Frankenstein.



Edited by Nerine Dorman, the collection brings together entries from the South African HorrorFest Bloody Parchment short story competition, including the winning entry by Toby Bennett, and the runners up, Anna Reith and Chris Limb. The collection also features stories by Diane Awerbuck, Simon Dewar, Zane Marc Gentis, Stephen Hewitt, Benjamin Knox, Lee Mather, Glen Mehn, S.A. Partridge, and yours truly!



My story is named Protection, and tells the story of a werewolf family just trying to get by in a besieged society. Featuring a fight sequence and a shadowy small town run by mysterious priests, it's probably more in the vein of dark fantasy than straight out horror, but I really enjoyed writing it, inspired as I was by A Night on Bare Mountain by Mussorgsky. I hope everyone enjoys it!



You can now buy The Root Cellar and Other Stories here from Amazon!

#FridayFlash - The Oldest Trick

Emascula the Great prowled around the stage, brandishing the first sword for the audience. Stella climbed into the ornate lacquered box, smiling and waving as she settled herself in. Only her head and feet were visible, her body replaced by the black cabinet.



Emascula thrust the first sword into the box. Stella pulled an expression of surprise, and the audience gasped when she wiggled her feet. Emascula fetched a second sword from the basket beside the box, and thrust it into another slot. Again the audience gasped, and Stella continued to smile.



Four more swords were inserted, each at an angle to the previous blade. Stella's smile never wavered, and Emascula tired of the gasps of the audience. They gazed up at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief, as if they'd never seen this before. This was the eighty-second time he'd performed this trick, and he knew that illusionists besides himself used a similar approach. How could this be so new to them?



Bereft of swords, Emascula reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a wand. He waved it above the box, tapping the cabinet three times, and Stella squeaked. Emascula stifled a grimace, making a mental note to replace her as soon as possible. She couldn't sell the illusions, all she could do was smile and simper. He separated the two halves of the cabinet, spinning them around so that the audience could see Stella's head at one end, and her feet at the other. Swords protruded from both halves.



The audience gasped and cooed with delight, and Stella wiggled her feet to much applause. Emascula pushed the two halves of the box back together, and pulled the swords free, tossing them to the floor with a clatter. The last sword removed, he opened the box with a flourish. Stella clambered to her feet and posed, apparently unscathed. The audience erupted into applause and cheers, the deafening clamour rolling around the auditorium.



Emascula bowed and adopted his trademark final flourish, but sighed inwardly. These cretins were so easily fooled. Parting them from their money was the oldest trick in the book.

How to Write Something New

There would appear to be three major 'versus' debates going on in publishing these days. You've got Self-publishing versus Traditional Models, there's Work for Free versus Alternate Income Stream, and Pants versus Plotting. I'm not going into the first two, but the third is one with which I've wrestled for some time.



The key pros and cons of Pants versus Plotting are quite straightforward. Writing by the seat of your pants lets you enjoy the creative process, going where the story takes you, and essentially 'making it up as you go along', but you can end up with dozens of dead ends, characters you don't even need, or endings that just flat out don't work because they don't make sense when compared to the beginning.



By contrast, plotting allows you to map out the work before you start, so you never sit down to write without knowing where the story is going, and you can work out story kinks before you even finish the book/story - it's much easier to rearrange elements in an outline than it is in the finished piece. Unfortunately, it can feel restrictive, and remove some of the 'surprises' that pop up when you're pantsing.



For most of my works, I've used a combination of the two. I've known the major points of the beginning, middle and end, and my writing process has been simply joining the dots, making it up as I go along to get from A to B. It lets me keep an ending in mind, but gives me enough freedom to give my imagination room to gambol about.





I came across Story Engineering by Larry Brooks and while it's a fascinating book with a lot going for it, I got sucked into the mindset of "You must outline to the very last detail", and it completely derailed my creativity. I wrote The Necromancer's Apprentice using his method, but I only started to enjoy it when I'd finished my first draft, and went back to insert scenes that I felt would give the story life. I've got another novella I want to write, and I've fully outlined it, but I find I can't start it - weirdly enough, I know what needs to happen where, but I don't know where to start, and I have that ever present worry that I can't do the outline justice.



A while ago, I wrote a post on The Magic of 500, and I decided to revisit it to see if it would help. For a long time, I've been using the 750words.com website, and I suddenly realised that while I've thought I don't have much time to write, I've been putting in 15-20 minutes every day to write 750 words of crap. I worked out that by writing 750 words a day, a 30k word novella could be written in just forty days. So I could use those twenty minutes to do something productive, leaving my longer bouts of time free to edit The Necromancer's Apprentice. Interesting...



I wrote a Friday flash a couple of weeks ago called Contagion , and I had a few calls to turn it into a novella. I dashed out an idea for the beginning, middle and end, and just started writing. Earlier today it passed the 6.5k mark. It's going to need a lot of editing but the important thing is that I'm writing again. Aside from Friday flashes, I haven't written anything new in a long time.



So long may it continue...