Bryony Pearce's Blog, page 2

The Sci Fi Weekender

Although the science fiction weekender only lasted a couple of days, it appears to have had a profound effect on me. It is amazing how quickly seeing strange character juxtapositions, wonderful costumes and face paint becomes normalised. I’m actually finding it odd that there are no xenomorphs, stormtroopers, superheroes, clocked and corserted figures hanging around in my peripheral vision.

I am missing talking to people who actually nod and understand when I refer to Dan Simmon’s Hyperion, the works of HP Lovecraft, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Chronicles of Riddick. I am missing people who think it is as much as a travesty as I do that Firefly was cancelled, who are happy to discuss my theory that UFOs are actually time travellers from the future rather than aliens, people who let themselves be themselves no matter what.
I am missing the people who recommended graphic novels, who discussed literature and film and who smiled and laughed all weekend. I am missing the people who saw someone who had never been to a con before, who was alone (because their husband had done his back in and couldn’t face driving the kids up to meet them) and who therefore gave up their time to talk, keep me company and make me feel welcome.
I am missing all those people who danced equally enthusiastically to Jump Around, RESPECT and the Monkeys (?), while watching fire eaters and wearing heavy costumes.
I am missing the endless stimulation afforded by events which ranged from a one man band, to a fantastic hypnotist / illusionist (www.theempathist.com) to the hilarious The Festival of the Spoken Nerd (http://festivalofthespokennerd.com), from film to three man plays, from interviews with fascinating guests to panels with up to five.
I am missing discussions with other authors, I am missing my new friends. Perhaps I am missing the freedom to really be myself without worrying that I will get that look, you know, the one we geeks are very familiar with, the one says ‘get back in your box’.

So, to the details. I arrived at the Hafan Y Mor Haven holiday park on Friday morning after a three hour drive and the first thing I saw were two people dressed in quite astonishing Lord of the Rings outfits. This was my first experience of the fabulous juxtaposition of the weird and wonderful with the everyday. They allowed me to take a photo of them in front of reception (one of many I’m sure they tolerated over the weekend) and in fact, later came second in the costume competition (beaten, shockingly to me, by a guy in full Warhammer gear).

I checked in and was ridiculously excited to see that my pack came from just behind Rene Auberjonois’! I bought a Winchester Brothers t-shirt (I was starting to worry that I was looking way too ‘normal’) and proceeded to get my bearings.

Luckily for me, with my legendarily poor sense of direction, everything was close to everything else and my room was a short walk from the centre of the action.

I was enjoying just walking and people-watching so much that I missed the Dr Who interviews and the Writing Horror panel.

But I did make the Writing into Known Universes panel with Debbie Bennett and Dez Skinn, where they discussed the highs and pitfalls of writing in existing universes (e.g. Dr Who).

As someone who has every single Buffy book, I found it particularly interesting to find out how much leeway the fiction writers have and what they think of fanfic. This is where I met my first friend – the lovely Kevin, who dressed as Dracula for the ball on Saturday night and who made sure I was never lonely – thank you Kevin. If you’re reading this, sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

I had a mooch around the stalls, bought far too many books and badges and seriously considered buying a corset before deciding that it probably wouldn’t wear too well in Bollington.

I then went to watch an interview with Lewis Macleod Star Wars Sebulba and mimic genius.

It turns out that my artist’s badge and black wristband was the equivalent of a VIP pass, so I got to go right to the front row and caught every nuance of his performance. He was touching and hilarious, mimicking everyone from Brian Blessed to Barack Obama for a rapt audience.

The next thing I saw was ‘Zombie Science’, by theoretical Zombieologist, Dr Austin (http://www.zombiescience.co.uk). He gave us a hilarious and yet somehow scientific view on whether or not zombieism could ever exist. He concluded that a prion disease was the most likely vector, reminded us to remove the zombie’s head in case of an attack and gave audience members the chance to try a tennis racket crossbow and feather duster as potential weapons.

I even managed to fit in a movie: ‘The Search for Simon’, a funny British indie film about a character who has been searching for his brother for thirty years, believing that he was abducted by aliens (http://www.thesearchforsimon.com).

Although torn between partying the night away and working, I did then head back to my apartment where I prepped for my own panels the next day. I was nervous about talking to a room full of people who would already be experts with their own strong opinions on the things I was going to talk about.

On Saturday morning I wrote for a couple of hours and lost track of time. Then my mythologically poor sense of direction kicked in, causing me to almost turn up to my first panel late, and in my pyjamas. I made it though, fully dressed and with my hair brushed (sort of) and teeth cleaned, thank goodness.

My first panel was ‘So you think you can write’ with Gareth Powell, Fiona Moore, and Debbie Bennet. I needn’t have worried. The moderators on each panel were fantastic, asking incisive questions, making sure everyone got a turn to talk and keeping things moving along. Each panel felt like a fascinating chat with experts and the audiences were lovely and attentive.

What I found surreal and wonderful was that every so often I would look out and see something so out of place that I would literally lose my train of thought and my jaw would drop: a xenomorph watching a panel, a minion tottering by, characters from Total Recall getting a drink at the bar, a dalek attempting to get a drink at the bar (he was never served, whoever was inside forgot to take into account that the barman was unable to see how old they were and that he would therefore need ID). Judges Dredd and Anderson looking at keyrings, aliens on stilts, tiny little Princess Leias and Meridas playing near the signing booths.

My second panel of the day was ‘It’s all Portal to Me: Fantasy Writing the Myths Exploded’ with David Tallerman, Paul Lewis, Gareth Powell and Danie Ware. We discussed ideas as diverse as ‘can fantasy be literary?’ (yes, of course) to ‘is fantasy reactionary’ (not necessarily, although restoration of a ‘good’ status quo is often central to the trope) to ‘can fantasy be issues fiction’ (yes – see Kathleen Duey’s Skin Hunger and Sacred Scars) to ‘must it always have sword fights?’ (not necessarily).

My third panel was ‘Does Crime Pay’ with Debbie Bennett, Sara Jane Townsend, Gareth Powell and Paul Lewis. During this session, among other things, we talked about whether Crime was ‘the new black’ in publishing (it certainly seems to be huge and we agreed that there was a never ending fascination with death and puzzle solving which would make it perennially popular), whether you could earn more money writing crime than other genres (certainly some people can, but that is true of any genre, surely), whether it had changed over the years (I maintain that there is a movement towards increasingly detailed forensic writing – more gore, more loving description of the murder, more fetishisation of the death, more detailed views of the corpse) , whether crime writing was harder than sci-fi writing (in some ways I think it is, mainly because you have to strike a very difficult balance between giving out clues and not making it too obvious, but then any book with a twist must strike the same balance – the reader shouldn’t see it coming, but on a reread should be able to find the pointers that it is).

I then got a rest and a quick sandwich. During the course of my panels my resolve had been slowly corroded and cosplay so normalised that I marched over to the stall selling the corsets, bought one and put it on for my last panel at 5pm. I had been ‘sci fi weekendered’

I caught the end of ‘Just a Minute’ starring some of my new author friends, watched most of the interview with Graeme McTavish, who was incredibly gracious and headed for my last panel ‘What makes science fiction sci fi’. I was feeling pretty chilled out about the panels now and looking forward to an interesting discussion. Gareth Powell, Jonathan Green, Sara Jane Townsend, Simon Clark and I talked about what sci-fi was. Some beautiful descriptions from my fellows authors included ‘the sound the brain makes when it looks at the world in a particular way’. We talked about our favourite science fiction, recommended books (Hyperion and City’s Son from me) and talked about the difference between Sci fi and SF. It was loads of fun.

I had planned to see How I Live Now, but I was completely absorbed in the cosplay competition, people had made so much effort. So I stopped in the arena, ate a pizza, clapped A LOT, then went to Festival of the Spoken Nerd. Running for the front row I found myself laughing until my sides hurt, and wishing my husband could see them (spreadsheets are totally his thing). Then I watched a one hour play, Suspended in Space and then the cosplay final. I was considering heading back to my room to change for the masquerade ball, but it all seemed a lot of effort and I was, after all, wearing my new corset, so when I got chatting to Ian Stone, hypnotist, magician and all around amazing guy, I decided not to leave. Okay, I was probably going to be the most boringly dressed at the ball, okay I had a leather dress and mask that I wasn’t going to have a chance to wear, but I was having real fun.

Then, one of my best, and most unexpected, nights ever. Ian introduced me to Alan Mitchell, a writer who co-authored Third World War with Pat Mills (among many other things). He was absolutely fascinating, he told me his theories about the future, we talked about writing, about the world and about 2000AD (obviously). Then we went for a dance, and Ian asked if I was going backstage. It hadn’t occurred to me for one moment that my artist’s badge would allow me to do that or that I would be welcome back there (I forgot for a moment how nice everyone was).
Ian led me to the back of the stage and then, with a flourish like a magician (which he is, so that makes sense) pulling off a trick, he introduced me to ‘Glen’. For a moment, I didn’t click, then I realised who he was: Glen Fabry, a prolific and hugely talented artist who, in his enormous portfolio, has 2000AD’s Slaine which he drew for 12 (I think it was) years.

Now, I don’t think I’ve discussed before here how important 2000AD was to me. My dad and I read every single issue, every week, without fail for years. I loved Slaine, Dredd, ABC Warriors, Nemesis, Strontium Dog and Universal Soldier (I remember being utterly disappointed by the film with Van Damme, because I was expecting 2000AD’s Universal Soldier and didn’t get it). My writing, which is visual and dialogue heavy has been inevitably influenced by my immersion in the 2000AD worlds, and the stories opened out the possibilities science fiction so that now everything I write has those elements. Some of the stories and artwork have stayed with me for life.
I admit that I probably squealed. Glen took it very well and happily talked to me for ages, despite the fact that he probably had many more interesting people to talk to and that he probably has fans gushing over him all the time. What a guy!
I was introduced to so many great guys backstage, and was having such a great time that I didn’t even notice the whole place go quiet. It had got to 330am without my even noticing it.
Now, you’d think I would go to bed at that point and it would be the end of it. No I managed to stay out with Ian and my new (dare I say it?) friends till 720am! Ian did some wonderful tricks (from hynotist’s tricks like heating and cooling my hand, to a time travel trick where I wrote a word on a piece of paper and he produced a note from his pocket with my word on it), read my Tarot and told me all about his new show that he is planning – based on Faust. It sounds amazing. The audience to Ian’s show is going to be shocked, blown away and incidentally cured of phobias. Watch this space for more on Ian’s new show.
It was only when I saw that it was light, realised that the clocks had gone forward and remembered that I had a three hour drive to cope with that I had the heart attack.

So now I’m home, doing washing up and wishing I had a xenomorph in the back garden. Did I wear my corset on the school run this morning? No.

But I did wear it out to lunch on Mother’s Day. Watch out Bollington, the real me has been unleashed.

I’ve written a really long post – sorry, I’ve just been so overwhelmed by how much I’ve enjoyed my weekend. If you want to book tickets for SF6 this is the site to go to.
http://www.scifiweekender.com/

Geek the fuck up, people!

Word counts and other bad habits

So, I’ve developed a terrible new bad writing habit.  The word-count.

I’ve never been one of those writers who counts words.  When someone says to me, ‘how many words do you write in a day?’ I tend to look blankly at them, or raise an eyebrow.  I don’t count words.  I have writing goals.  I’d like to finish that tricky scene, or the end of that chapter.  Perhaps tie off the character arc.  I do not do word count.

Part of it is the way that I write.  I don’t have a rigid schedule.  I have children instead.  I write as and when I can.  Sometimes I manage no more than a sentence in a day, sometimes less.  I’ve been known to leave the document open with the words ‘main character gets in the shit’ as the total sum of what I wrote that day, simply to remind me what I was thinking about for the next time I open the work.

But then I had this deadline given to me.  I have to write a whole, entire book by the end of June and suddenly word count becomes important. No, an obsession.

I have, Arnold Rimmer-like, created a timetable which is getting updated on an almost daily basis according to what I have or have not achieved.  It is colour coded.

I have a certain number of chapters to complete per week, according to my other commitments, the children’s school holidays and so on.  Chapters are roughly ten pages long, I cannot plan a word count per chapter.  I don’t know why I am obsessed with word count and not completed chapter headings.  I just am. 

I know that the book is due to be around 90,000 words.  Each word I add brings me one satisfying step closer to meeting my deadline.

It isn’t as if I’m not enjoying the writing.  I’m very much enjoying it.  I am now setting my alarm for 6am, rising, working for two hours (generally going over the writing from the day before), sorting the kids out and doing the school run.  Then I run errands or go to the gym for two hours.  Then I write again until three, when I have to pick the kids up and start the evening round of clubs, activities, tea, bath, bed. 

This schedule is working well for me.  I find that I can achieve a lot in the time before the kids wake up, when the daylight is pinkening the sky around the window-frame in the study.  For that two hours I have no responsibility to anyone but myself and the characters.  No-one else is up and on Facebook or Twitter, so I have no impulse to check social media.  I don’t even make myself a cup of tea, I get straight down to writing.  So I have developed some good habits. 

As the day goes on though, I begin to check my word count.  By three I’ve probably checked it five or ten times.

At three I close off my chapter and nod my head, happy that I’ve added another three thousand words or thereabouts.  I go to collect the kids from school.  I worry that next week I won’t be able to make the same word count.

I’ll be fine.  I do not miss deadlines.  Never have.  But when I have one I panic like Arnold Rimmer until the end is in sight.

34,990 words so far!

 

Extract from Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers (abridged), by Grant Naylor.

In fact, it was now possible for Rimmer to revise solidly for three months and not learn anything at all.

The first week of study, he would always devote to the construction of a revision timetable. Weeks of patient effort would be spent planning, designing and creating a revision schedule which, when finished, were minor works of art.

Every hour of every day was subdivided into different study periods, each labelled in his lovely, tiny copperplate hand; then painted over in watercolours, a different colour for each subject, the colours gradually becoming bolder and more urgent shades as the exam time approached. The effect was as if a myriad tiny rainbows had splintered and sprinkled across the poster-sized sheet of creamwove card.

The only problem was this: because the timetables often took seven or eight weeks, and sometimes more, to complete, by the time Rimmer had finished them the exam was almost on him. He’d then have to cram three months of astronavigation revision into a single week. Gripped by an almost deranging panic, he’d then decide to sacrifice the first two days of that final week to the making of another timetable. This time for someone who had to pack three months of revision into five days.

Because five days now had to accommodate three months’ work, the first thing that had to go was sleep. To prepare for an unrelenting twenty-four hours a day sleep-free schedule, Rimmer would spend the whole of the first remaining day in bed – to be extra, ultra fresh, so he would be able to squeeze three whole months of revision into four short days.

Within an hour of getting up the next morning, he would feel inexplicably exhausted, and start early on his supply of Go-Double-Plus caffeine tablets. By lunchtime he’d overdose, and have to make the journey down to the ship’s medical unit for a sedative to help him calm down. The sedative usually sent him off to sleep, and he’d wake up the following morning with only three days left, and an anxiety that was so crippling he could scarcely move. A month of revision to be crammed into each day.

At this point he would start smoking. A lifelong nonsmoker, he’d become a forty-a-day man. He’d spend the whole day pacing up and down his room, smoking three or four cigarettes at a time, stopping occasionally to stare at the titles in his bookcase, not knowing which one to read first, and popping twice the recommended dosage of dogworming tablets, which he erroneously believed to contain amphetamine.

Realising he was getting nowhere, he’d try to get rid of his soul-bending tension by treating himself to an evening in one of Red Dwarf’s quieter bars. There he would sit, in the plastic oak-beamed ‘Happy Astro’ pub, nursing a small beer, grimly trying to be light-hearted and totally relaxed. Two small beers and three hours of stomach-knotting relaxation later, he would go back to his bunk and spend half the night awake, praying to a God he didn’t believe in for a miracle that couldn’t happen.

Two days to go, and ravaged by the combination of anxiety, nicotine, caffeine tablets, alcohol he wasn’t used to, dog-worming pills, and overall exhaustion, he would sleep in till mid-afternoon.

After a long scream, he would rationalize that the day was a total write-off, and the rest of the afternoon would be spent shopping for the three best alarm clocks money could buy. This would often take five or six hours, and he would arrive back at his sleeping quarters exhausted, but knowing he was fully prepared for the final day’s revision before his exam.

Waking at four-thirty in the morning, after exercising, showering and breakfasting, he would sit down to prepare a final, final revision timetable, which would condense three months of revision into twelve short hours. This done, he would give up and go back to bed. Maybe he didn’t know a single thing about astronavigation, but at least he’d be fresh for the exam the next day.

Which is why Rimmer failed exams.

Which is why he’d received nine ‘F’s for fail and two ‘X’s for unclassified. The first ‘X’ he’d achieved when he’d actually managed to get hold of some real amphetamines, gone into spasm and collapsed two minutes into the exam; and the second when anxiety got so much the better of him his subconscious forced him to deny his own existence, and he had written ‘I am a fish’ five hundred times on every single answer sheet. He’d even gone out for extra paper. What was more shocking than anything was that he’d thought he’d done quite well.

 

My next steps

Hi

I’ve been quiet again, I know. Apologies.  I have been trying to work out my next steps and now that I have them I would love to share my journey with you all.

I have written in the past about how impossible it is for the average writer to live off their earnings (from writing).  At the end of last year, with my youngest in Reception, and slim prospects of being able to write a sequel to The Weight of Souls, I decided that something had to change; either I had to get a full time job or I had to find a way of making some money out of doing what I love – writing.

My first step was to get my WIPs finished.  My agent now had two books ready to go out to publishers – Wavefunction and Windrunner’s Daughter.  More on that later.

I have been to a number of school visits recently at which I asked how many children actually enjoyed reading.  The show of hands at these groups disappointed me – it seems that the number of children willing to admit that they dislike reading – to an AUTHOR of all people – is increasing.  Simultaneously, my friend’s little boy, who had been dragged to reading kicking and screaming and hated it for years, suddenly developed a love of fiction.  Why?  He discovered Beast Quest.

This made me interested in ‘series fiction’ as something that obviously inspires a love of reading in reluctant readers, especially boys.  Speaking to my agent, I discovered that Stripes was seeking an author to bring a Young Adult story idea to life.  I resolved to apply.

Junk Pirates was a departure from my usual female-led dark paranormal thriller.  An adventure on the high-seas, it was set in a post-apocalyptic world drowning in the waste or ‘junk’ of previous generations but otherwise suffering from a lack of resources … and it had a male protagonist. Or, in other words, was aimed primarily at teenaged boys.

The last book I had written, Wavefunction, had a male protagonist, so I was comfortable with the idea of writing from a boy’s perspective.  Furthermore, Wavefunction was written in third-person, the POV that Stripes wanted for Junk Pirates.  Two coincidences that made me instantly comfortable with the Junk Pirates POV despite my previous publishing history.

I threw myself into the application, writing the first few chapters and hoping that my style was something that Stripes liked.

They did.

In December I met with the editor who had given birth to the concept and she asked me to write some more: revisions to my early chapters, a full synopsis and extracts from later in the story. By this point I was absorbed in Toby’s world, half in love with Toby, Bric, Barnaby, Polly and the other characters that populated this junk filled future.  I would have been devastated to lose the chance to write Toby’s complete story.

Luckily, Stripes liked my work and I was given the commission to write Junk Pirates one and two.  Phoenix Rising comes out in September 2015.  I am so excited at writing in this new way, at the same time I am nervous: I am bringing someone else’s vision to life and I hope that I can do it justice.

I now am in the unique position (for me) of having to write a complete novel to a deadline.  I’ll keep you updated with how it all goes.

And of course I now have both Wavefunction and Windrunner in the background, in the hope that someone wants to bring these stories to the world.

This year I intend to work as never before.  I already have several school visits, festivals and events lined up.  I want to make a career out of doing what I love, I want to write the best book possible for Stripes and I want to be able to carry on doing this for a long time.

I hope you’re with me!

In honour of Halloween … part two. My favourite ghost story, or an essay on Stephen King

My top three ghost stories are Turn of the Screw by Henry James, Maybe This Time by Jenny Crusie and Stephen King’s IT.  My all time favourite though, is IT.

When I was a teenager I was somewhat obsessed with the supernatural.  I had books about real hauntings and devoured ghost stories.  What I discovered is that, to me, the most terrifying literary spirits are those that prey on children.  For me, as for Pennywise, it seemed true that the fear of children added ‘salt’.

As a child I would allow myself the most delicious thrill of vicarious terror, reading books like The Shining and IT late into the night.  Now that I am a mother whose literal nightmares all surround something happening to the children, I find that the concept of an entity that lives on the fear of little ones remains particularly chilling.  Children are innocent.  Most of us are hard-wired to protect them.  Only a monster would hurt a child, and sadly not all monsters are supernatural.

King understands this and he populates his novels with heroic children; ordinary youngsters who stand and fight evil, endangering them as he forces them to grow through each story arc in ways that no child ever should (in a particularly uncomfortable twist, the eleven year old Beverley saves her friends from IT by having sex with each of them).

Although The Shining is King’s best known ghost story, (“Here’s Johnny”) for me IT has the edge.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a victimised child in The Shining, Danny, but he is not alone.  Danny has moved to the Overlook hotel with his parents.  Although he ends up hunted by the one person he should be able to count on to protect him (his father), his mother retains her sanity and fights to escape with him.  Furthermore, this child is neither ordinary nor powerless.  He has ‘the shining’ and is able to call for help using his mind.  This enables Halloran to come and help save him and his mother from the Overlook.   

The gang of Losers in IT are truly alone, cut off completely from the adults who are supposed to help them.

“Eddie discovered one of his childhood’s great truths. Grownups are the real monsters, he thought.”

 

“I started after him…and the clown looked back. I saw Its eyes, and all at once I understood who It was.”

“Who was it, Don?” Harold Gardner asked softly.

“It was Derry,” Don Hagarty said. “It was this town.”

 

The grown ups do not see IT, they live in state of blindness and complicity, unable to believe the children, let alone help them.

Pennywise the Clown (the face of the monster in IT, not strictly a ghost, but an entity, however, that draws me into a discussion on what a ghost actually is, so I won’t go further down that rabbit hole), has stayed with me longer than that of the ghosts from the Overlook because Pennywise preys on ordinary, powerless children, much like the ghosts in Turn of the Screw.

“In regard to Griffin’s ghost, or whatever it was … its appearing first to the little boy, at so tender an age, adds a particular touch. … If the child gives the effect another turn of the screw, what do you say to two children – ?”

Pennywise himself makes the children insane with terror before he kills them.

They float,’ it growled, ‘they float, Georgie, and when you’re down here with me, you’ll float, too–’

King has created a bogeyman in Pennywise that has given nightmares and coulrophobia (fear of clowns) to a generation.

But it is not simply King’s ability to create a terrifying monster that makes his book my favourite (above Turn of the Screw for heaven’s sake) it is his prose.  There is a misconception that horror writers are the B-movie equivalent of the literary world, pulp fiction authors, not ‘literary’.  That makes me angry.  For King in particular this simply is not true.  He writes beautiful, elegant prose, stunning in its simplicity.  He can produce description that reaches into the human heart and squeezes it.  He is unbendingly honest, offering up observations about his own emotions for the consumption of his readers (he once said that The Shining was partially inspired by his occasional, suppressed violent feelings towards his own children).

“Maybe there aren’t any such things as good friends or bad friends – maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you’re hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they’re always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that’s what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.”

Moreover, it is the chills that King gives the reader rather than the gore that won me over.  I love the way that King’s whole oeuvre is interconnected, I love the way his bad guys stay with you for years afterwards.

This is what King has to say about terror …

“The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it’s when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead waking up and walking around, it’s when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It’s when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there’s nothing there…”

So when I decided to write a ghost story, was I influenced by my favourite?  There is no point prevaricating, the answer is a resounding yes.  Although the ghosts that I write about are not evil (they are all murder victims), the influence of King on The Weight of Souls is transparent.  In fact anyone who reads my novel will swiftly notice what my editor has called ‘an incredibly creepy clown’ (he was even creepier in the first draft).

When I had to come up with the most terrifying apparition I could for the first ghost Taylor ever sees, my mind handed me a clown.  It wasn’t until I had written the scene that I realised how heavily influenced he was by Pennywise and King’s definition of ‘terror’: Taylor can tell that the clown is following her, she sees his balloons floating wherever she goes, she hears his giant clown shoes behind her ‘flap-slap’ but when she spins around, there is nothing there.

Still, I kept him, my shadow of Pennywise, as tribute to King and how he made me feel as a teenager.  King terrified me, not only with the stories that he told, but by the way he told them.  I so wanted to be a novelist and King’s writing both intimidated me and showed me how to write.  ‘I want to write like that’ I thought.

In honour of Halloween

In honour of Halloween, I am putting up some posts I wrote for bloggers during my Weight of Souls tour.  In the first I give you my own real life paranormal encounter – including photos!

It may surprise you, given my career of choice, that I am logical and fairly scientific in my approach to many things (I did maths and biology at A-level as well as English literature, somehow my brain finds comfort in both).  I like to think that I am quite open minded.  I will listen to both sides of a debate.  I have even been known to change my opinion if presented with sufficiently compelling evidence.  A belief in ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night doesn’t fit well with the way that I think, it makes me uncomfortable to consider the possibility.

And yet …

As a teenager I was obsessed with ghost stories, I had books about real life hauntings, I loved to visit haunted places.  I wanted an encounter of my own.

I struggled a little with how that all fit in with my Catholicism then decided that God moves in mysterious ways and I didn’t know everything.  It was possible that there were some spirits that stuck around for a while after death before heading to their final destination.  And of course the Catholic church has no problem with Demonic presences.

Then I grew up a bit.  Decided that perhaps these real life hauntings were not spirits, but more like footprints left in sand; the residue of a strong emotional experience replaying to sensitive minds.  Or perhaps, I thought after being exposed to certain scientific theories on space and time, they occur at thin places, where folds in space-time allow people to occasionally see through to something happening simultaneously but in a different time.

And yet …

I won’t touch a Ouija board.  I simply cannot bring myself to go near the things.  There was a short craze in sixth form.  For a while I observed the groups and entertained myself by working out who was doing the pushing.  Then I was banished from the room for bringing ‘negative energy’ so I hung out by myself until the sessions were over.

The Ouija board thing ended when one of the boys was ‘contacted’ by his dead father.  I still wonder, to this day, who, out of all our friends, would have been so cruel? 

Then I went to university.  I read English literature at Corpus Christi College Cambridge, one of the older colleges in the university.  The oldest, Peterhouse, was founded in 1284, Corpus Christi was founded in 1352. 

Corpus itself has an Old Court and a New Court.  This is new court.

My first year room was in New Court at the top of I staircase above the library.  In third year it was opposite the chapel (the photo above shows the view from my room).

Go through a corridor to the left of the picture above and you come to Old Court.  During the day it was gorgeous (that’s me with my tongue out in the middle)

 

At night it was terrifying.

In the nineties the staircases in Old Court had no bathrooms; if you wanted a shower, or to use the toilet, you had to put on your bunny slippers, cross the courtyard and go to the shower blocks.  At night the courtyard was pitch dark and always covered with a lowering mist.  Talk about atmosphere.

I never lived in Old Court, but my boyfriend did and so did some of my friends.

Several of them claimed to have seen and experienced things.  I never did.

Then one night …

I had snuck my boyfriend into my room in New Court (it’s okay because we’re married now) and we were sleeping.  I woke up, a bit disoriented, and there was an old woman leaning over Andy.

Initially I thought it was what I call a ‘leftover dream image’.  You know when you’re awake, but your brain hasn’t quite caught up yet and for a second your dream seems to bleed into real life (or is that just me?) …  So I blinked a few times.  She was still there, resolutely refusing to fade, fingers stretching out to touch his sleeping face.   I was fully awake by this point, so I reached to touch her.  My hand went through her shoulder.

I screamed my head off.

When I opened my eyes again Andy was freaking out and she was gone.

I still don’t believe that what I saw was just a dream.  I know I was awake, very awake.

Somehow I remained sceptical …

Andy’s third year room was in R staircase, in old court.  He rarely slept there and I rarely went in.  It was always cold and, frankly, creepy (and not in a ‘dirty socks’ sort of way).  My friend Jo, who claimed psychic tendencies, point blank refused to go near R staircase.  Despite the weight of good looking boys on R (and Jo did like good looking boys), she never went past the steps.

I didn’t think much of it, until Graduation.

It was our very last day in college and of course we were all taking photographs of everything we could; we didn’t know when we would be back to this place that held so many happy memories.

It was only when I got my photographs developed that I saw it.  Andy’s room.  Glowing.  Here is one of the the photographs.

The sun, in case you are thinking it, is more or less above the building you see, not opposite.  There is nothing available to reflect across and none of the adjacent windows have caught the same reflection, if reflection it is.  Only Andy’s room.  It doesn’t matter which angle you take the picture from, that glow remains right there.

Does that mean that Andy’s creepy, cold room had always housed a non-corporeal presence?

Ask me if I believe in ghosts and I will dither.  It doesn’t sit comfortably with the way that I think to admit that actually yes, I do think that there is something out there.  Do the dead walk? Is it something else: a hole in space-time, a footprint in the sand?  I don’t know.

Call it what you like, but I suppose I do believe in ghosts.

Happy Halloween!

What a month

First things first, the winner of my GREAT BIG COMPETITION is Petra Nordin Andersson, from Sweden.  Thanks to everyone who took the time and effort to enter.  I hope you enjoyed following my blog tour.  Do stay in touch.

The great big competition was set to commemorate the launch of my second novel, The Weight of Souls, which was published early this month by Strange Chemistry.  

In fact I had two launch parties.  The first one was in London, at Forbidden Planet.  I met up with my publisher, publicist and a few writer (and one baker) friends in advance for what was billed as lunch, but which, given insane temperatures, ended up being ice-cream!  Then on to Forbidden Planet.  I was so excited about going to FP for my launch.  They have hosted such luminaries as Iain Banks and Neil Gaiman, so I felt as if I was treading in their footsteps.  I’m hoping it is auspicious.

I signed a few books in the back room.

Then out to the main area where we said a few words, then started signing books.  There was even a queue.  And, as promised, cake!

We all had such a lovely time, friends who I hadn’t seen in years came for the launch, I met up with my sister and sister-in-law and a couple of my children’s god parents.  It was a really special evening – and afterwards we all went for cocktails, which ended the night beautifully.

My second launch party occurred because I don’t actually live anywhere near London and I wanted to celebrate with a  bookshop local to me and with my friends who could not make it to the big smoke.  I had cake again and wine at the wonderful indie bookshop Simply Books Bramhall (here I am with the co-owner, Andrew Cant, photo taken by Charlotte Palazzo).

I did a reading and a signing and again the weather was baking hot.  Afterwards we went for a much more informal after party, hosted by the wonderful Jane Christopher who hired a bouncy castle, gazebos and decorated with balloons and fairy lights.  The kids stayed up much too late and we all had too much wine.  It was awesome.

The book itself came out in America on the 6th (I would have loved a US launch … maybe when I get rich and famous) and it came out in Hardback, which is so exciting to me.  A friend of mine in America has seen it ‘in the wild’ and sent pictures, which made me very happy indeed.

To top off a fantastic month, I have just returned from a wonderful two week holiday in Turkey.  Having never been there before I am definitely planning on going back.  It is a stunning country with friendly people, lovely food and an awe-inspiring history.  Next time I’m going to visit Ephesus.

 

So, it has been a wonderful month.  In a few days Riley will be starting school for the first time (I’m going to miss him SO much), I will be joining a gym (I have a lot of cake and wine to work off), I will be planning a whole lot of school visits, and I will be working on my next novel.  In the meantime, I have a couple of quiet days left.  My son wants me to play a game in which I am ‘the wicked witch’ apparently I have to try and eat him and his sister.  

Pass the salt. 

The Weight of Souls: A Very BIG Competition

To commemorate my upcoming blog tour and the launch of The Weight of Souls, I am running a competition.   So, most importantly, prizes first.

One Weight of Souls postcard, signed.

One signed copy of my first novel, the now ‘out of print’, Angel’s Fury.

One signed copy of The Weight of Souls.

And if that isn’t enough …

One Ouija board necklace on a silver chain

One hand made ghost charm for mobile phones, key-rings etc.

This competition is international.

All you have to do is follow my blog tour (which you were going to do anyway … right?)

And to prove that you have done the hard work, I have a list of questions.  The answers can be found in a few different blog posts (and I very kindly tell you which blog post contains the answer to each question).

To enter, at the end of the blog tour simply send me an email with the answers to each question and I will pick a lucky winner from those who send in all the correct answers.

Booky Ramblings of  a Neurotic Mum, 25th July

Among my ten favourite films one stands out.  It really doesn’t fit in with the others.  What is it?

Death Books and Tea, 27th July

What character did I want to avoid imitating when I wrote Taylor?

Words are Inner Music, 28th July

Name one of the strands of research I did for The Weight of Souls

Uncorked Thoughts, 29th July

What was the average survival rate of someone working on the tomb of Tutankhamen?

Book Angel, 31st July

What is Taylor and Justin’s love song?

Daisy Chain Books Reviews, 1st Aug

Where specifically, in London, did I live?

And Then I Read a Book, 2nd Aug

How did I walk around the playroom when I was doing my research?

Escapism From Reality, 3rd Aug

Which college, in which university did I go to?

Serendipity Reviews, 4th Aug

Who would I cast as Pete in the Weight of Souls film?

Sons of Corax, 5th Aug

What does Tamsin’s name mean?

Manga Maniac Café, 6th Aug

In my opinion, what three words best describe Taylor?

Fantasy Ink, 7th Aug

What time does my alarm go off?

Cuts of Paper, 9th Aug

Why is Anubis black?

One Page Reviews, 11th Aug

When Taylor first appeared to me as a character, what was she holding?

Winged Reviews, 12th Aug

What is my favourite ghost story?

The email address to which you need to send your entry is as follows: admin@bryonypearce.co.uk

Please title your email ‘Weight of Souls Competition’

Thank you and Good Luck.

A wonderful gift

This has been a really exciting week for me.

First of all, look what arrived in the post:

What I find particularly interesting about the Weight of Souls ARC is that is looks just like the finished version.  My Angel’s Fury ARCs looked like this:

It’s such a lovely looking book, I’m really pleased with it and I think it’ll look great on shelves.

While I was just getting over how much I loved my new book, I went along to the Cheshire Schools Book Award where I had been shortlisted for Angel’s Fury along with a fantastic list of other authors.  The other nominees were Jon Mayhew, Harriet Goodwin, Simon Mayo, Philippa Gregory, Moira Young and Frank Cottrell Boyce.

To be honest it was a little strange going along for an award for one book, when the second one was so much top of mind.  In fact I was so convinced that Angel’s Fury was ‘over’ that I had no expectations from the award.  I figured I was going along to provide ten minutes of filler time, then clap politely for Moira Young!

The ceremony was held in Rudheath and there must have been almost 200 students from Cheshire Schools there.  They were a lovely lot, listening attentively when I spoke, asking great questions (I really should be more prepared for the one about my own favourite author, my mind always goes blank when that one comes up and I sound like an ill-read oik every time – so apologies for that) and laughing at the right places.

The ELS had worked so hard putting together a lovely evening.  And Jon Mayhew and I were bowled over by how much effort had gone into choosing the books and voting for them.

When they announced the winners I was so pleased to hear Jon’s name come up, but even more pleased, and extremely shocked to hear my own name come first.

Jon’s ‘gracious loser’ face

It was a wonderful feeling to know that people are still reading and enjoying my first book, even if my publishers have moved on from it and I have gone onto something else.

It is a reminder that my words may always be out there, touching people, after I am not.

Thank you Cheshire Schools for the gift you have given me this week.  I am eternally grateful.

The waiting game

The publishing industry is the worst choice for someone of my particular personality.  Occasionally I curse my decision to go for my dream. 

So what is it about my personality that makes publishing a poor fit?

I am a control freak and in fact possibly the world’s least patient individual.

And publishing … well to say it moves slowly is the understatement of the year so far.

First of all there is the length of time it takes to write a book.  When I start to write I have the whole story in my head ready to go and a desperation to get it out and onto paper, but really there are only so many hours for writing in a day, especially with kids.  At least I can control this part myself, but I am always impatient to get to the final chapter.

Once the first draft is polished (which involves more waiting – stepping back, re-reading, editing etc.) it goes to my agent.  She has been known to read a draft and get back to me in a couple of hours, but other times she can take literally months.  There is no way to speed things along, it is now in someone else’s hands.  This is the time that the control freak in me starts to panic and I go quietly insane. 

Then, of course, there is the rewrite, the second wait for agent approval, then, hopefully, it goes to publishers.  This is probably the worst bit.  Some publishers will get back in days, others months, some never at all. 

This is the point at which I am obsessively checking my email every two minutes.  

Finally someone in a publishing house might express an interest, but the waiting isn’t over, oh no.  They have to pass the manuscript onto someone else, then they have to approve, then it has to go to acquisitions, a meeting which only seems to occur once a month. 

Eventually the publisher decides to go for it.  Then you have to wait for contracts to be signed off.  Again, could take months.

It still isn’t over even then.  Next it’s waiting for edits.  Exactly what changes are the publishing house going to want?  Big ones?  Small ones?  More agonising months follow.

You get the edits, you make the changes, you go through the whole process waiting for your cover, waiting for copy-edits, proofreading etc. (this can take up to two years, and meanwhile your family and friends are making snide comments about how long it all takes, and do you really have a book deal and when are they going to see your work in the shops). Finally publication day approaches and ARCs go out to reviewers.

Next to waiting for publisher feedback this is the worst wait of all.  You know your agent liked the book, you know your editor liked the book (at least when they bought it), but what about the rest of the world?  What if everyone hates it.  What if your editor’s instincts were wrong and it hits completely the wrong note at the wrong time…

This is where I am now, waiting for reviews to start coming in.  I’m going slightly mad, snapping at the kids and grumping at Andy.  There is no way to make things go faster, to influence the reviews, to make people like my book.  I can only sit here … and … wait.

However, two lovely reviewers have given me a sneak peak, by emailing me and telling me they loved the book. 

I am so relieved and happy I can’t tell you. 

So what is the cure for the waiting?  What can you, as a writer, do to make the dead time go easier?  Well, I know what I do … I write another book. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Book Piracy. It’s a crime.

You know when you go to the cinema and that screen comes up warning you against illegally recording the film?  Well every single time the screen lists the penalties, you know what goes through my mind?  A rapist wouldn’t get that sort of sentence!

It makes me mad.  But maybe that’s just me.

Out of interest I found out the penalties for downloading a movie illegally from the Internet.

Upon conviction in the Crown court the maximum term of incarceration in the UK for physical copyright infringement is 10 years and/or an “unlimited” fine.

Last year the average sentence for rape in the UK was 8 years.

It doesn’t seem right.

Not that I’m saying that piracy is OK.  I’M NOT.

I don’t think I’ve ever watched a pirated film in my life.  I don’t illegally download movies or music from the Internet.  This is not because I’m worried about a conviction (although perhaps I should be http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/news/5578912/Single-mother-given-1.2m-fine-for-illegal-downloads.html) but it is because I know that if I’m getting something for free that should be paying for, then it’s stealing.  And I don’t steal.

When I was a kid I once walked half a mile back to a sweet shop because I’d accidentally taken two penny sweets (they were stuck together) and I’d only paid for one.  I felt that I had to go and give the shopkeeper the extra penny.

Part of me thinks I should be illegally downloading, just to thumb my nose at the idiots who think it is worse for a bloke to video a film while watching it than it is for him to rape.

Part of me thinks what’s the problem?  According to Forbes, Steven Spielberg’s worth is at $3 billion.  In addition to raking it in at the box office, every year he pockets 2% of the gross box office receipts from Universal’s theme park in Orlando ($30m).  If I downloaded his latest film illegally then I’d be taking the equivalent of a few of the pennies he drops down the sofa and never bothers retrieving.

I can see why people download movies illegally.

BUT … it isn’t Speilberg who gets impacted by piracy is it?  The fact is, if sales of the product no longer bring in money, studios have to save money elsewhere.  Who gets impacted by piracy?  The staff members who don’t get hired next time, the production assistant who has to do the job of three people because the studio has to cut costs, the editing team who have to produce a lower quality product because of budget cuts.

I still don’t think the penalties should be as stiff as they are, but I think we do need to stop this insidious culture of thinking that theft is OK if it’s done over the Internet.

This hit home this week when I was stolen from, when I found that Angel’s Fury was available as a free download on the Internet..

The gestation of ebooks has created an environment where suddenly we can have ‘book piracy’.

Again, I understand why.

Often I go on school visits and students complain about the cost of buying a book (the same students who would happily pay the same for two cups of coffee in a Starbucks, go figure) and of course, to an extent, writers suffer from the Speilberg problem.

Many readers (especially young readers) imagine that all authors are as rich as JK Rowling.  They think we receive £6.98 from the sale of each £6.99 book.  Often I get asked in school visits how rich I am.  When I tell students the truth about my income (I do try and be truthful in school visits, although I don’t like to put them off a writing life) they are often horrified.

A quick and dirty bit of (non-statistically valid, there are 32 responses) research among adults gave me the following information:

40% of people think that writers earn more per print book than they actually do (some think writers earn 40%).

Over one third think writers of the average book you can find in Waterstones (excluding the outstanding cases such as Rowling, EL James etc) earn an average of £25k per year.  A small minority think we earn up to £50k.

77% of respondents have downloaded free music from the Internet, 53% have downloaded films, almost one quarter, books.

One third would consider downloading a free book (although some of these may be imagining freebies offered in good faith by a publisher).

The fact is, however, that I earn less than 10% of the sale of each book.  My average annual earning since getting my first contract as a writer in 2009 has been less than £2000.

Books downloaded for free take money from my pocket.

But it isn’t just the pennies I’m missing (although I do miss them) what people who download books for free also do not realise is that authors depend on something called Nielsen to tell their publisher how many books they have sold.  The publisher uses Nielsen to tell them whether or not to do another print run of a book, whether or not to commission a sequel.  Whether or not the author is worth keeping on.

Every book downloaded for free from illegal sites is a book that does not appear on Nielsen.

If the Nielsen ranking says low book sales, then the author’s career is jeopardised.

One of the reasons for the slow sales (and consequent decision not to reprint Angel’s Fury) may well be the number of illegal download sites I have discovered my book appearing on (I have so far had it removed from three).

I have no idea how many copies of Angel’s Fury were read for free from these sites.  It might have been five or six, it might have been five or six hundred.  If those books had been bought they would have been added to my sales figures.  Angel’s Fury could have been going to another print run.

There is a lot of might there, but that’s the frustrating point.  I don’t know.

I don’t think there should be stiff penalties for people who download books for free – I understand why they do it after all.  And, in the end, how is it really different from borrowing the book from a friend?

But I DO think there should be stiff penalties for the owners of these sites.  They should pay PLR just as libraries do, but they do not.  They know what they are doing.  They are ripping authors off, destroying careers and potentially ruining lives.