Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 79

The Guns of Retribution available again!

I blogged last week about the fact that I'm selling the last of the print run for my pulp Western, The Guns of Retribution. These were the books published back in September 2011 when Pulp Press put the book out, and I would love for them to go to good homes. The last of the print run arrived on my birthday this year, so it was as if Grey O'Donnell was sending me a greeting of his own! The book has had good reviews, and if you like pulp adventure tales, then you just might enjoy it. I'm happy to sign them if required, and they're available for just £4 plus shipping, which is a bargain considering the cover price of £7.99. Chances are there won't be another print run so if you do want a copy, then grab them while I still have them!





However, I'm also pleased to announce that The Guns of Retribution now has a new electronic home with Beat to a Pulp, and is once again available for the Kindle! You can buy it from Amazon US or Amazon UK (and no doubt your own homegrown Amazon retail site), although this time it features a slightly different cover. The fabulous illustration of Grey and the train robbery by the fantastic Alex Young are still present, but the rest of the design was put together by yours truly (with suggestions by Nerine Dorman and Carrie Clevenger). I've also managed to keep my tagline!



I'm really proud to be part of the Beat to a Pulp family, and you can check out their other books if you like your fiction pulp-y. I'm a particular fan of Heath Lowrance, but I'll always have a soft spot for Edward Grainger's Cash Laramie stories. Of course, I've now got new motivation to finish the sequel to The Guns of Retribution, a horror/pulp tale named To Kill A Dead Man, and there are plans for more stories too.



It's onwards and upwards from here, people!

#FridayFlash - Flowers on the Sill

Natasha had kept flowers on the windowsill in the front room for as long as I'd known her. She'd move the flowers around the house to suit her mood, but it was always the ones on the front room sill that gave the clues - acacia for friendship, or begonias for dark thoughts. She knew the plants needed specific environments in which to grow so she'd always move them back to their original spots after visitors had left. Those in the front room were her code, her secret way of telling us how she was.



Her husband didn't understand it, and he'd openly talk about replacing them with trash he'd bought on eBay. No matter how much he insisted, Natasha refused to give up on her flowers. Mike wouldn't give her a baby, so the way she saw it, he had to give her the flowers instead. It was her way of keeping a little control, but we all suspected he gave her more than the flowers, particularly the delicate purple or yellow blooms we sometimes saw on her arms. Eva asked about it once, but Natasha would always insist that she'd just fallen.



I went over one Tuesday, and the house felt different, quieter. There was less furniture and clutter, and none of Mike's knick-knacks that skated the fine line between kitsch and obscene. Interior design magazines lay on the coffee table instead of FHM and Maxim. I checked the windowsill, and saw a pair of plants I'd never seen before. They looked like bigger versions of Venus fly traps, only they were black, and swayed in a non-existent breeze. Something had stained the carpet under the sill.



Natasha and I exchanged idle chit-chat for ten minutes, until I couldn't stand the curiosity any longer.



"Natasha, where's Mike?"



"Gone." Natasha glanced at the new plants before staring at the floor.



"Do you want to talk about it?"



"He was here, and now he's not." Another glance at the swaying black flowers.



"Did you have a fight?"



"Would you like some more tea?"



Natasha stood up and disappeared off to the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a fresh pot of tea, and changed the subject to discuss a documentary we'd both watched the day before. I didn't like to ask about Mike any more so I mentally vowed to mention it to the girls when we next met up, and I talked to Natasha about Anne Boleyn instead.



There was a renewed fire in the way that she spoke, a determination to give her opinions instead of agreeing with me on all I said. We had a lively debate, full of laughs and thoughts we'd never thought to express before, and we eventually said our goodbyes about a lengthy assurance that she would be fine.



It was only when I got home and thought about it again that I realised the dark spots underneath the windowsill looked an awful lot like blood.

Buy The Guns of Retribution as a paperback

Back in September 2011, my first novella was published by Pulp Press as both a paperback and a Kindle e-book. The Guns of Retribution has since been described as "a fun read", an "an easily digestible page-turner", and "a joy, containing all the action and adventure of an old school western", while readers were warned that "you'll get to like the characters and sometimes Bad Things Happen to them". All high praise indeed! You can still read the reviews on Amazon.



For various reasons that I'm not going to go into, The Guns of Retribution is no longer available as a paperback from Amazon, and in anticipation of its re-release in electronic form, I'm offering up for sale the last of the print run! There might never be another one, so this is your chance to buy Guns on paper. I'll even sign it for you.



The cover price is £7.99, but I'm offering copies for £5 each, plus shipping. I've already worked out that for the UK, it'll cost £8. For the US, it'll be a total of $14.50. For Australia it'll be $15AUS, and it'll be $15CAN for Canada - email for other destinations.



If you're interested in buying one of the last few copies, just send me an email!

#FridayFlash - Contagion

The officers huddle in leaking tents, and the makeshift camp leans into the oncoming storm. The foot soldiers crowd around failing fires to warm their weary bones. Pharrigan, Lord of Rhyshire, stands outside his humble pavilion. His advisors scurry around him, offering him strategy and tactics, but few strategies can help a battalion of three hundred men defeat an army of almost two thousand. Lord Eddister's camp lies a mile to the north, in the shelter of the valley, while Pharrigan's men scrape out their meagre existence on the moor. The omens are ill-favoured.



A shout erupts from the edge of his camp, and he peers into the middle distance. Someone approaches, seated on horse back. The foot soldiers form a disorderly mob, but they fall back when the stranger reaches the edge of their defensive line.



Pharrigan stares in disbelief as he first sees the skeletal horse, with rags of flesh hanging from its bones, its hoofprints leaving black marks in the grass. Its rider hides beneath a tattered black hood, yet white hands grasp the reins of the gory charger. His soldiers cross themselves and lurch into one another in their haste to retreat.



The horse draws level with Pharrigan. He resolves to stand firm, but the scent of rotting meat sets his nerves on fire.



"You are the lord here?" The figure speaks with a woman's voice, firm yet frozen.



"I am."



"Good. I would discuss business with you."



The woman dismounts. Pharrigan clears the tent of his advisors, and invites her inside. She crosses the threshold and throws back her hood. Dark eyes burn in a pale face the colour of candlewax, and oozing sores cluster around her chapped lips. Blood matts her mane of black hair. Pharrigan struggles to suppress the stench of pestilence that hangs about her cloak. He remembers the tales of the Lady Contagion, memorised at the knee of his grandmother, but he never thought he would encounter the one they believed had passed into legend.



"You know of me." She does not ask a question, simply tells him the truth. He nods.



"The storm approaches, and it will not take prisoners among your men, so I shall be brief. You cannot win the coming battle, but you know of this."



Pharrigan nods again.



"I could ride through your enemy's camp and decimate its numbers."



Pharrigan gulps. He knows the tales of her power, and the awesome toll it takes when she comes to feed.



"Why would you do that for me?"



"I do not do it for you. I do it for myself. The side makes no difference to me, but their army is many, and would be a banquet to me."



"Why do you not do this then? Why do you seek my counsel?"



"I come to offer you a bargain. Reject my offer, and I will ride through your camp, feasting on your men until there is naught left but fodder for crows. Accept my offer, and I will ride thus through the camp of your enemy. Your men need not fight, and your battalion shall remain in tact."



"What is your offer?"



"There is one among your number who will make a worthy addition to my own honour guard. You will give me this man, to do with as I please, and the bargain shall be complete. This man will be mine, and your men will be spared."



Pharrigan winces. He does not wish to hand any of his men to the Lady Contagion, but if he does not, then he will hand all of them to her, if not to his enemy. What is the life of one man against the life of three hundred?



"Very well. Who is the man you seek?"



"You."



"Me? But why?"



"You will make a fine prize. Oh yes, I have heard tales of your valour, and your presence would be welcome among my guard. Do you accept my offer?"



Pharrigan hesitates. He does not wish to die, but he cannot leave three hundred good men to perish of plague if they need not do so.



He nods. The Lady Contagion smiles, and leans forward. She brushes her blue, chapped lips across his cheek, and bile rises in his throat. The sharp stench of death is intolerable at such close quarters, and the buzzing of flies fills his ears. She turns to leave, as if sensing his discomfort. The Lady raises her hood and leaves the tent. She is already mounted when Pharrigan recovers himself and rushes outside.



"You are leaving me?"



"Not for good. I will come for you when it is your time. I have marked you."



The skeletal horse wheels around and breaks into a gallop. The Lady Contagion rides through the camp and out across the moor, flying through the gathering darkness towards the valley where his enemy lies. In his mind's eye, Pharrigan sees her reach the camp. She rides among the sleeping soldiers, and stands by their roaring fire. She tears strips from her shadow, cast on the ground by the light of the flames. The Lady blows the tatters among the men, where small breezes carry her sickness through the air.



Pharrigan knows that the plague has reached their camp, as surely as he feels her poison gently take hold in his blood. He does not know if she has given him days, weeks, months, or even years - but he knows that Lord Eddister's men will be dead by dawn.



Original image by Alan Lewis. Edits by me.

[Interview] Nerine Dorman on Camdeboo Nights

Last week I reviewed Nerine Dorman's ace Camdeboo Nights , and today I'm welcoming her to my blog to talk about it further!



1) How would you sum up Camdeboo Nights in a single sentence?

Part road trip and monster mash-up, the story takes four teenagers on the ride of their lives.



2) It feels like a very 'personal' book. How much of yourself is in the story?

Interestingly enough, this is possibly the least personal of my novels. I did draw on some of my experiences, like being bullied at school. I was also touched on some of the results of bullying because at the time of writing, we'd had our "Ninja Killer" case. So there was that... But also my great love of the hamlet of Nieu Bethesda in the Karoo, in a part known as the Camdeboo. So, while vampires made wonderful villains in this tale, I also touched on African myths and mixed in a few strange ideas of my own.



3) Your other books tend towards first person P.O.V., but Camdeboo Nights is more of a head hop. What made you choose a different style of P.O.V.?

I'd recently read my first George RR Martin novel, and I wanted to experiment with telling one story from multiple points of view. Some may find this disorientating, but I decided to write each chapter from either one of the two primary characters (Helen and Trystan) and swapped out with the two secondary characters (Arwen and Etienne). This was immensely fun because no character has all the information, and it's wonderful watching them flounder around without being privy to all the important details. So, readers get to see what's happening while the characters remain in the dark.



4) Your stories are always very character-driven. Where did you get the ideas for the characters in Camdeboo Nights?

Trystan was my first. I'd always loved the idea of a vampire who was on the run from his kind holing up in the most obscure place he could find. And I had to give him something special, a quirk--and his is that he relates more to his 1947 Hudson Commodore, which he's kept in mint condition over the years, than he does to people.



Helen changes that. I don't want to say much about her for fear of spoiling some of the surprises, but she's got a good heart, and genuinely tries to keep it all together when everyone else around her is falling apart. Her parents are in the process of getting divorced. Her mother has a mental illness and her father is off gallivanting with a much-younger woman. Not an easy time.



Arwen and Etienne are almost comic relief. Arwen's parents were real eccentrics who named her after a character in The Lord of the Rings. Etienne is a little person who gives as good as he gets. Although he puts up with a lot of bullying, he doesn't let it affect him.



5) Will there be a follow-up?

At this point, no. I've got a bunch of projects on my plate that are going to keep me busy for a while, but I'm very keen to pick up the story 10 years from where it's at now. I have... Some ideas. But I need to let them ruminate for a while.



You can buy Camdeboo Nights from Amazon US, Amazon UK, and Kobo.





Bio: An editor and multi-published author, Nerine Dorman currently resides in Cape Town, South Africa, with her visual artist husband. Some of the publishers with whom she works include Lyrical Press, Dark Continents Publishing and eKhaya (an imprint of Random House Struik). She has been involved in the media industry for more than a decade, with a background in magazine and newspaper publishing, commercial fiction, and print production management within a below-the-line marketing environment. Her book reviews, as well as travel, entertainment and lifestyle editorial regularly appear in national newspapers. A few of her interests include music travel, history (with emphasis on Egypt), psychology, philosophy, magic and the natural world. You can stalk her on Twitter @nerinedorman.

#FridayFlash - Where Rock n Roll went to die

I found Nickel Springs by accident, tucked away in a valley a few miles from the interstate. By the looks of it, the twenty first century hadn't thought to stop by either - damn place looked like 1955 turned up and then never left. Ageing cars parked along Main Street, hand-painted adverts in the windows, ladies in circle skirts and curls gossiping in the street - the kind of thing you see at 50s revivals, not bold as brass in front of you.



I stopped at the pastel-coloured diner on the corner and a Lucille Ball lookalike served me lukewarm coffee and fries in a booth by the window. The cracks in the plastic seating kept catching my trousers.



I'd drunk half the coffee when I noticed a girl staring at me from a stool at the counter. She wore cute white socks and a dress covered in printed strawberries.



"Hey, sugar. You new in town?"



"Just passing through."



"Figured as much. No one ever comes here on purpose." She pouted and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.



"Place looks a bit forgotten." I took another mouthful of coffee and tried not to stare at her calves.



"Ain't no point decorating unless people are gonna stay."



She leaned across the aisle and snagged a limp fry from my plate.



"You got anything worth staying for?"



I tried to give her a meaningful look but she was too busy eyeballing the rest of my fries.



"We do, actually. And you're in luck."



"I am?"



"Sure y'are. Have any plans for this evening?"




* * *


I met her outside the diner just after sundown. She'd insisted we take her car, and she picked me up in a teal green Cadillac. We drove down Main Street, and off out of town. The road led through the woods, and I wished I knew where the hell we were going. When I thought about it, I didn't even know her name.



"Say, where are we going?" I glanced across but she kept her eyes on the road.



"You'll see." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.



She slowed for a corner and I caught the strains of Eddie Cochran in the cool night air.  I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Even the sight of her shapely calves couldn't distract me from feeling like this was all wrong. My mother always taught me never to ride in cars with strangers - and I'd met few people stranger than this girl.



The hedge alongside the road broke and she hooked a sharp left to make the turn. A rough track led down into an old drive-in, its abandoned screen blank as it gazed down on the assorted cars. I gawped to see a DeSoto Fireflite parked beside a Hudson Hornet.



"It's really something, huh?" She looked across at me and smiled.



The cloud cover broke and the full moon threw her light into the car. The girl beside me sat back in her seat - and I realised I could see the faded pattern of the leather through her.



"What the hell?"



I scrambled backwards and fumbled for the door handle. The girl just laughed.



"Oh, loosen up, sugar. It ain't that bad. Come on, looks like Buddy's about to start."



She gestured across the drive-in to a small stage in front of the screen. A young man with dark hair and thick-framed glasses was setting up. A crowd of youngsters, all dressed like my spectral driver, clustered near the singer.



She got out of the car and walked around to my door. She held it open, and gestured for me to join her. I looked through her, and could just about see the Dodge Lancer parked nearby. She scowled, and stalked off towards the stage. I hung back, watching as the singer strummed a familiar chord. The kids went mad, and started dancing in the moonlight.



I'd seen some crazy things in my time, but I gotta tell you, I never would have pegged the Danse Macabre to be a jive.



Original image by Carol M. Highsmith. Image edits by me.

[Book Review] Camdeboo Nights

Anyone who reads this blog will know I'm a big fan of South African wordmistress Nerine Dorman, and it's my pleasure to review one of her most recent offerings, Camdeboo Nights. Set in her native land, Dorman tells the tale of Helen Ashfield, a young woman trying to come to terms with the fact her parents are getting divorced, and she has to start a new school in a small town. If that wasn't bad enough, it seems Helen also has somewhat awesome powers, which bring her to the attention of Trystan, a runaway vampire. Separately, they'd probably have gone under the radar of the badass vampire enforcer, Mantis, but together, Helen becomes a target, bringing Trystan out into the open.



The way I've described it might make it sound a little like another human plus vampire series that I'm sure I don't need to name, but I can't stress enough how unlike said series Camdeboo Nights actually is. For one thing, Camdeboo Nights is told from several points of view, granting us access to Trystan and Helen, as well as Helen's friends Arwen and Etienne. Plus, Helen isn't a grating Mary Sue - she has issues with school bullies, and while she's a little more passive than I'd like, she doesn't spend her whole time mooning after Trystan. Helen has real problems to deal with, on top of her magical ones, and no matter what she does, she always does what she thinks is best. It's admirable.



As always with Dorman's books, one of the joys of reading is the world created in its pages. I've never been to South Africa but I always feel like I 'know' the country a little better once I've read one of Dorman's books, and the vistas of Camdeboo Nights are so far removed from anything I've ever encountered. Beyond the physical landscape, there's a real mythology and sense of 'history' to this story - Trystan's dealings with his vampire brethren have made him an outcast, so he's hardly a shining, flawless hero, and that makes him far more interesting as a result. Then there's Arwen, descended from a family of witches and seeking to tap into power of her own. She's prickly and strong-minded, and I really liked her. Her motives are sometimes shadowy or ambiguous, but again, it makes her more interesting to read.



Camdeboo Nights is a wonderful read, and I seemed to fly through it in no time at all, meaning the only question is...when is the next one coming out?



Four and a half blunt pencils out of five!



You can buy Camdeboo Nights from Amazon US, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

#FridayFlash - Holy War

In the years before the War, everyone thought they knew why architects installed angels on buildings. It was all about decoration. Especially the Victorians, they went mad over cherubs and anything else with wings. Covered their buildings and parks with the buggers. What no one realised is they weren't just stone copies - they were actual angels. I was there before the War, I heard the stories. My great-great-granddad, he was one of the architects. Knew all about them, how to capture an angel and encase it in stone.



But then there was a decree from somewhere, God knows where. Literally, really. Humanity was too far gone, and the world wasn't working like it was supposed to, so they broke free and started raining down hellfire and damnation on the evildoers. At first it was the real wrong ones, the ones that we all agreed needed punishment. But they soon ran out of those, and what do you do with a horde of rampaging angels, all hell bent on retribution and judgment?



We fought back, at first, but how do you fight a heavenly host? They went after anyone who'd had an impure thought, sweeping up kids who'd nicked a chocolate bar from a shop, or husbands who'd looked at their secretary's bum for more than a second. That was twenty years ago, and there are hardly any of us left. Of course, we're all full of anger at what they've done, so there's not a pure one among us. We learned early on that it wasn't safe in groups - it seemed to amplify any sinful thoughts, and they found us easily. Now we all hide out alone, trying to survive in an empty world.



I've been living in an old school for ten years, but I know I'm not alone now. I can hear them downstairs. Even when they've shed the stone, they're not quiet. They don't need to be. Who needs stealth when you've got a flaming sword of justice? The cherubs are the worse - their airborne attacks are a thing of legend now. People got sucked in by the cuteness, and mown down for it.



I don't know if anyone will ever find this, especially once I've blown up this place. It might not kill them but it'll certainly take the wind out of their sails, and remind them that humanity isn't going down without a fight.



Wishing you all the best,

Wilfred.

[Book Review] I Know You Know

It's a little known fact but I do actually enjoy reading thrillers. If someone manages to combine thrillers with a spot of the supernatural then all the better! I've been reading Helen Howell's blog for some time now, and she posts regular serials and flash fiction. In February, her first adult novella, I Know You Know, was published by Crooked Cat Books, and I decided to pick up a copy - a psychic who uncovers a serial killer? What could be better!



I Know You Know tells the story of Janice, a tarot card reader trying to eke out a quiet existence with the aid of her dead grandmother, who passes on her wisdom as a voice in Janice's ear. Janice encounters the rather odious Edgar Kipp, and during the reading the cards tell her that he's a serial killer. Naturally it's a bit of a curve ball for anyone to deal with, and Janice does her best to disguise what she's learned. Kipp realises she knows more than she's letting on, and so begins a cat and mouse game between them.



Told through a mixture of present tense and flashback, Helen weaves a story that genuinely had me wondering how things were going to turn out. Flashbacks help deepen an understanding of Kipp's psychology, while Janice's relationship with the voice of her grandmother helps to explain Janice's abilities. This could have descended into a police procedural but the police involvement is kept to a minimum, apart from a detective who thinks there might be some substance to Janice's story. Janice is quiet and wants to avoid trouble, but she's likeable in an unobtrusive sort of way - she's not an attention seeker at all, she just wants to get on with her life.



Novellas are always a quick read but I found I Know You Know to be a real page turner, and I really didn't anticipate the ending. The story gets going very quickly, and there could have been a danger that the segments told from Kipp's point of view might have somehow rationalised his actions, or tried to engender sympathy for him. Luckily they're handled in such a way that Kipp never becomes sympathetic - he just becomes more and more detestable.



I really enjoyed I Know You Know, and I'd recommend it if anyone's looking for a quick yet thrilling read.



Four blunt pencils out of five!





Bio: Helen is a fiction writer, who writes in several genres which include fantasy, noir, horror and humour. She has written several short stories, flash fictions and poems. Her work has appeared in both e-zines, anthologies and print publications. In July 2012 her debut novella, Jumping At Shadows, a fantasy fiction for 9 years- adults, was published as an e-book. In February 2013 her novella, I Know You Know, a psychic thriller for adults,  was published by Crooked Cat Publishing. She is a member of Friday Flash Dot Org. and is a regular participant in writing Friday Flash.



You can find I Know You Know at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Crooked Cat Books, or Smashwords.

A to Z - Zoolander

I was really tempted to choose Zombieland for my final entry, but I've already featured zombies and not much comedy, so I thought I'd go instead for something silly that features a cameo by David Bowie - the one and only Zoolander (2001).



Zoolander is named for Derek Zoolander (Ben Stiller), the egotistical and implausibly short male model who begins to question his career after he loses out on a modelling award to the equally egotistical Hansel (Owen Wilson). Thing is, he might be getting a bit old for modelling, but Derek is stupid enough to be a perfect candidate when an international fashion cartel need the Prime Minister of Malaysia assassinated to prevent his human rights laws affecting their sweat shop labour.



Where there's a conspiracy, there's a journalist, and Matilda Jeffries (Christine Taylor) is determined to clear Derek's name after she works out the plot to use male models as assassins. She doesn't just have to work around Derek's colossal stupidity - she also has to face Katinka (Milla Jovovich), an intimidating PA working for fashion designer, Mugatu (Will Ferrell). Can Derek resist his brainwashing and save the Malaysian Prime Minister, or will he be the killing machine he's been trained to be?



Zoolander is, in a word, silly. What other word could you use for a film that features a grizzled David Duchovny as a conspiracy theorist hand model, and a 'walk off' instead of a rumble? I think that's part of its charm - Derek and Hansel describe themselves as being "ridiculously good looking", and with all due respect to Stiller and Wilson (the latter of whom is cute in his own way but he's hardly Michael Fassbender), I think they know that they aren't. Still, in doing so, they expose the vapid and shallow side to male modelling, and make a good case for "looks aren't everything". None of the cast take it seriously, and send themselves up something chronic - yet they're not really make fun of themselves, more the stereotypes they portray. It's also perhaps one of the few films in which Will Ferrell is actually funny.



Zoolander also wins prizes with me for being eminently quotable. OK, so a lot of them don't work outside of context, but fellow fans will always get the reference. (Might explain why me saying "I think I got the black lung, pop" in a high voice after a coughing fit sometimes earns me weird looks). Orange mocha frappuccino, anyone?



I thought I'd end this post with my favourite scene, in which Hansel and Derek challenge each other to a walk off as they fight to prove who's the best male model, once and for all.