Alex Laybourne's Blog, page 101

The Pond: Part 2

The next morning Dave woke with a heavy head and pulsating pain by his right temple. He felt hung-over, and as though he had not slept for days. He looked at the clock and startled. It was 10am, he had lost more than an hour of working time.

He dressed quickly, pulling on the first pair of trousers and shirt he saw in the cupboard and hurried downstairs.

"Why didn't you wake me?"  He demanded of Janelle. His voice was angry and it shocked her. Dave never got mad.

"I'm sorry, you looked so peaceful I thought I would let you sleep a little." Janelle stuttered, caught off guard both by Dave's angry voice, and his disheveled appearance.

Dave's eyes seemed to be supported on swollen purple pillows of flesh, he look as though he hadn't shaved in a week. His normally well-groomed hair flared around his head at all angles. It made him look quite mad.

"Yeah well I've got a lot to do today and… and…" Dave's face softened, "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well at all last night."  He took Janelle in his arms and held her tight. She he looked over her shoulder he saw Mrs Macabie's dead cat sitting on the window ledge, staring into the house.

"What do you say you and I go upstairs and start the day over?" He scooped his wife into his arms and marched up to the bedroom.

They made a passionate love and once they were finished Janelle found herself powerless to resist going to sleep.

"You were right. Now it's just us." Dave whispered to the decaying feline. The animal had stood and watched proceedings from the bedside table.

The animal gave a gurgled response and jumped to the floor. Dave followed, knowing where they were headed.

The pond was still empty of water, but the algae had not been deterred. It overflowed from the pit and had spread across the wall, which then gave way to the lowered patio area.

The cat brushed itself against Dave's leg, leaving behind putrid strips of flesh which stuck to Dave's jeans as if they were Velcro.

"I know,"  He looked down at the cat. He bent and scratched behind its ear, his fingernails grating against the exposed bone. "Let me just get the shovel and a pair of gloves." Dave turned and walked to the shed. He opened the door and grabbed the shovel. The handle was wet, and when he looked at it in the daylight he saw that the entire thing was covered in algae.

"What the fuck?" He asked himself. The cat sat by the pond and just stared, its dead eyes had turned milky yet their gaze burnt into Dave. "I'll have to clean it better next time."  He told the beast.

Forgetting his gloves Dave jumped into the pond, landing in a thick pool of algae. It was like looking at , and standing in, mucus. It remind Dave of a question from school.

If you were buried up to your neck in snot, and other people were throwing stones at you, would you duck? Standing there, he was no longer sure what his answer would be.

Time dissolved, and by the time he realized Janelle was standing above him, her shadow blocking the sun which had been beating down on his now shirtless – Where did my shirt go – back it was long past midday and the pit had descended even further.

"Honey, isn't that deep enough?"  The question made Dave jump. He spun around and look up at his wife.

He gave a nervous laugh and stumbled over his words like a man caught masturbating or watching a dirty movie while his wife slept."No, no, no, it's um… I need to get to the…um, source, yeah. I need to find out where this algae is coming from, otherwise we will have the same problem all over again." He paused, heart thundering in his chest, anxious to see if Janelle took the bait.

Again, he wasn't really lying to her, he did want to find the source, it was merely his motive that had changed.

"Ok, I guess you know best." She answered. There was something off about him today, and she wasn't sure how to handle it."Do you want to come up for lunch? I've opened a can of soup and got a bun in the over." She articulated the last few words, hoping that the message would be received.

"No thanks, I'm gonna keep working. This is one fuck of a job and I want to get down to it this weekend at the very least. "  He answered, not even looking up at his wife whose face was suddenly filling with tears.

She turned and walked away. Dave, who had resumed digging the moment he had given his answer did not even notice.

By the time that the church bell rang announcing that it was five o'clock  Dave came out of the pit with a look of complete exhaustion on his face. He looked at his watch aghast and ran inside. "Hey babe, I'm so sorry, I guess I just lost track of time." He kissed her gently. I'm gonna go wash up before dinner. I'm filthy." He kissed her again and ran up the stairs.

Once she heard the water running Janelle made her move. She crept, suddenly afraid that he might hear her and come down. She stood at the top of the pond and stared into it. It didn't look as thought Dave had made much progress in the afternoon, but as she stared and thick bubble rose up and burst. The spatters stained the bottom of her white trousers and made Janelle jump. She stifled the small scream that rose and hurried back inside. The water was already off in the shower. Janelle looked at the clock, to check on when she needed to put the oven on for dinner and was shocked to see she had been standing by the pond for almost twenty-five minutes.

She ran upstairs and changed her trousers. Unable to shake the guilty feeling that was gnawing away at her.

Dave ate his dinner, and polished off another three plates, including what his wife had left. Janelle watched him eat, the mixed emotions that were running through her body were too much for her. She hardly ate anything. Instead she sat and waited, hoping that the right time to break the news to Dave would just appear.

It didn't.

The following morning Dave was up before dawn, and when Janelle rose her husband's side of the bed was cold.

"Dave do you want any breakfast?"  Janelle called, but she got no answer. She was about to go outside but changed her direction at the last second and vomited into the sink. "Honey, do you want any…" She began to ask again. She took one step outside and her voice fell silent. The entire patio area was covered with a layer of algae. It looked as if someone had laid a sun-bleached layer of AstroTurf over their brick-weave. Janelle picked her way over to the pond, moving on tiptoes so as not to ruin her slippers

As she had expected Dave was standing in what had once been a pond. It was now at least three meters deep. He stood still. There was no shovel in his hands, or in the hole at all. Janelle saw it resting against the shed. It was almost covered with the algae and as she watched, it slowly consumed the remaining bit of the handle. A cold wind whistled through the garden and as Janelle took one more look at her husband she saw the Algae slowly working its way up his legs.

"Dave, honey, let's go inside and get something to eat. I have something I need to tell you. " Janelle asked. Dave turned and looked up at her, his face was pale, his eyes white. Janelle screamed and stepped backwards, slipping on the ice like surface she fell hard. Janelle heard more than felt the bone in her arm crack as she instinctively braced herself for the impact."Shit," She called as she scrambled to her feet. The image of her husbands drained face and white eyes floated before her, mixed with a hazy, swimming sensation and stars that speckled her vision.

"Janelle?"  She heard Dave call from the pit, only it wasn't his voice, not anymore.

Janelle turned and run, hugging her injured arm like a rugby player shielding the ball as he made a break for the Try line.

***

"You should have seen him Amanda. I've never seen anything so freaky in my life." Janelle spoke as she sipped at the awful, hospital cafeteria coffee. After leaving the house Janelle had driven to her friend Amanda and together they had gone to the hospital. Janelle had broken her wrist in two places when she fell, but thankfully the baby was alright.

"Well you are welcome to stay with me. You know that. Even if it's just tonight. Just to rest. You need to think about the baby too." Her best friend of fifteen years spoke.

"I know, and thank you for offering but I need to go check on him. Besides, I haven't even told him about the baby yet. That reminds me, please keep it to yourself. Just until Dave knows." Janelle knew her friend would keep the secret, but wanted to keep talking. If she stopped she thought about Dave, she saw those white eyes and the dead look to his skin. Her body erupted in a wave of goosebumps and she pushed the image away.

***

When Janelle got home Dave was still outside. At least, he was not inside, she checked, and although there were green footprints on the carpet going both up and down the stairs, the house itself was empty. Janelle refused to go out into the garden and so she cooked them both a meal, set the table and ended up eating it alone.

Eventually, just as it was getting dark Dave came inside. He didn't acknowledge his wife, or even glance a the cast that now adorned her wrist, in the place where her watch had been earlier that morning. He just walked upstairs, showered, and went to bed.

Unable to relax and afraid of climbing into bed with her husband Janelle remained on the sofa. After a time she got up and went to the computer. Her intention had been to send a few emails to some friends that she had been meaning to catch up with for some time. Yet as she passed the doorway into the kitchen she saw something reflected on the floor. She turned on the light and there it was. The algae was flowing into the kitchen, moving like a miniature floor. Yet the moment the light it it, it stopped, and even shrank back a little. Janelle wanted to scream, but couldn't. She wanted to turn and run, but found herself unable to. Instead she left the light in the kitchen on, and those in the living room and dining room too, just for good measure. She then sat behind the computer with an altogether different motive.

The first fifteen pages of search results yielded nothing. Only endless articles about pond maintenance, water purity and a rather strange site about sexual fetishes which Janelle closed without reading a word.

Janelle came close to giving up when her eyes came across a page from a newspaper dated thirty-five years ago. She clicked on it and was amazed to see that the picture, which had been a front page headline in the local newspaper the The Mayfield Comet, was their own home. She recognized it down to the tall oak that towered above the house from the back yard. She opened the article and began to read. It said that there had been a murder in the house. A husband had killed his wife and then himself. It said that the husband Earl Hubbard had been a breeder of Koi Carp and other ornamental fish – whatever that was – then one day, all of the fish died. Earl had been convinced that his wife had killed them to get back at him for having an affair he'd had when he was stationed in Vietnam. The article went on to say that the fish had died because of a rare pollutant in the water… An algae.

With a horrible cold feeling swelling in the pit of her stomach, right in the spot where her baby should have been preparing itself for life. Janelle read on and discovered that there had been a total of six mysterious murder suicides in the house over the three decades since the initial incident had occurred.

Each one followed the same pattern. A husband and wife, never with children, would move into the house. Within eight months they were dead. The bodies were always discovered in the garden. The woman submerged in the water, the husband beside his wife. A knife straight through the heart was always how the men had died. The couplers were found holding hands, staring at each other. As if in death they had forgiven one another.

Janelle felt her palms begin to sweat, her heart began to pound and her mouth was dry. She went to click the next article when the house fell into darkness. The power went out. A hand clamped over her mouth and Janelle was wrenched from the chair.

Halloween is Coming and The Pumpkin is Getting Fat…

Halloween is coming and the pumpkin is getting fat

Please put your scary ideas in this old man's hat,

If you haven't an idea, an inkling will do,

If you haven't got an inkling then I'll just scare you.

 

That's right. Halloween is on the way, and yes, it is my favorite of all the holidays. Even before I was a horror writer I loved the idea behind it. The history of the day …. (oh yes, there will be a post coming about that too.) the atmosphere that everybody creates, the carved pumpkins.

The only thing that bugs me is that growing up in the UK Halloween we never really celebrated. Sure I went trick or treating but for like 2 years and that was it. It just wasn't really done. It is getting more now but not to the extent of my American friends who, in my opinion celebrate this day the way it ought to be.

I have made a promise to myself that one day I will be in America for Halloween, I don't care if it is disappointing or not, I will be there. I have to be.

Why are you posting about Halloween in September? I hear you cry.

Well it was prompted by several things. One is that I was in the supermarket on Monday evening doing the weekly grocery shop and saw that there is already a space filled will all sort of Sinterklaas goodies. Sinterklaas is basically the Dutch Christmas. Sinterklaas is the real man who Santa was based on. A Turkish (nowadays he would be anyway) priest who became a legend. It is celebrated on December 5th. DECEMBER you heard me right. That got me thinking about planning and preparation, which in turn led me to thinking about my book promotion and the lack of progress I am making – my mind is a confusing place where all thoughts intertwine and stem from rather unusual tangents .

If I am honest I was not prepared for the promo work I have done. The book is ready, it is good and I am delighted with it. I however, was unprepared. I am notoriously bad at planning for the future. "Whenever I was asked those Where do you see yourself in X years"  questions at school I never had an answer. I gave one, but one people wanted to hear not what I really felt. Even now I would struggle to give an answer. I am sure that on a psychological level give an interesting insight into who I am but that is not a topic I am ready to delve into ha.

So I have decided that I am going to be proactive and announce that I am planning on going on an intense blog tour the week around Halloween. Providing people have space for me.

I am not very good at asking for things, I always think I am imposing and being rude, but please, if anybody is willing to host me and my guest posts which will be on a variety of themes, from Halloween itself, to my writing and other generally spooky and holiday appropriate topics then please leave me a comment with your details, or email me and I will be eternally grateful.

I will also be more than happy to guest host anybody who hosts me by return. My current trend is an interview, Guest post and Sample for my guest writers so you get maximum coverage on the blog, spread over the course of the week.

I am also busy thinking of something massive I can run on the day itself to boost my name and get sales up. Any ideas please jot them down on the back of a postcard and …. well leave it as a comment.

Thank you,

ROW80: Time Flies When You Are Having Fun

Wow. Can I just start by saying I cannot believe that it is already time for another update. Where have the last few days gone?

Since my last update things have not really changed. Let me rephrase that, productivity hasn't changed. I have been cranking out over 1000 words a day for well over a week now and am now 38,000 words into my next novel. I plan on it being around 100,000 words given the current ideas I have, so I am over a 30% of the way through and will be finished with it, rested and ready to start editing around Christmas time. If I can keep this pace up.

On the whole I am delighted not just with the progression of writing on a daily basis, but also with the way my thoughts and sub-plots are coming together for the road ahead. As I mentioned I am pretty much plotted out until the end of this novel, and have some great ideas for the third installment.

On the promotion front I am kind of starting to pull my hair as out as I flounder around pretending to know what I am doing.

I have done a small blog tour. It was only 5 stops but hey a tour is a tour right. So far, it hasn't actually generated any sales or hits on my blog above what I would normally receive. I am beginning to think that maybe people aren't that interested in an adult horror novel. Yet I will soldier on because I believe in myself and that is already half of the battle won. I have three reviews that should come in the week around Halloween so I am planning another push then to see what can happen. If there is still nothing then I will take a step back, analyze my methods and make whatever changes are necessary.

Mixing and Matching: It's Important to Keep Things Fresh

I was working on my novel the other day, when I got thinking about Genres, what it all means.

I make no attempt to disguise my desire to write full-time, but neither do I plan to stop being me along the way. I write because it is fun and because in essence I can do whatever I want with my characters. *Dance my little flying monkeys. Dance I say*

With this in mind I decided 'What the Hell' and charged off on a tangent. Well not really a tangent but rather off into a new genre mid novel. Why? Because I can. Simple right? I mean I am not jumping from horror to comedy or to a romantic scene on some moonlit beach, but rather I decided to try my hand at writing something different. Steampunk.

I had never heard of this genre before last month. I only stumbled upon it when I joined a writers group on Facebook. It had the word Horror in the title originally and so I went for it. Now it references simply Steampunk, but I have been allowed to remain and wanted to do something to feel as though I had earned my place amongst their ranks.

It just so happened that in my novel, the main group of characters that we follow, have been thrown into one of the many cities of Hell. This one an alternate universe located close to the center, and just beyond its outskirts lies the Castle of Avici, where they must rescue Richard. (Anyway enough of that). I thought what better place to try something than here. I have turned this city into a 4 story metropolis fill with clockwork elevators and, steam-powered cars and automobiles, and hybrid planes and machines that will function on both. The premise is simple, each layer is covered by a large skyscraper like building, each standing for one of the four horsemen. Therefore each level is a different theme. Pestilence, Famine, War and Death.

I am not completely sure how my journey into Steampunk will turn out, or if it will even be kept, as I do not wish of offend any other writers of this quite remarkable and intriguing genre, but I am interested to find out.

You may ask why I did this? It was not just because I could. No I have a method to my madness (…kind of). I was looking at my novels the other day and nearly all of them are horror, and the large majority of those are Stephen King. I also had the Kathy Reichs novels but had to leave them in England when I moved.  But this got me thinking, about genres and comfort zones. There is an incredible wealth of information out there. So many genres and untapped ideas or links between concepts that we may be missing because we are too closed off about what we are writing.,

I look at what a lot of people talk about and follow, and I notice that YA writers, read YA novels, and so they should, the same way I should be reading horror, digesting every morsel until it is seared into my brain. Yet sometimes it is good to pick up something completely different. To study it, to enjoy it, you never know what inspiration you may get.

I decided that if I were to introduce something in a totally different genre, with just enough changes (and luckily a setting that fits both perfectly) into my novel, I can maybe introduce people to something that ordinarily they would not normally read.

Take a moment to consider your genre, what other genres are there in close relation to it, yet different enough to be standalone. Would you consider writing a scene, a story, even a novel in that genre? If not why? Fear of not capturing it correctly? of the damage a bad book can do to a writers reputation? Or is it just an uncomfortable thought to write about something you do not know?

We are creatures of habit that much we all know, and this is no more evident that with people who read, but new habits can be formed, old ones broken or reshaped. So what is it that holds us back?

ROW80: A Week To Remember

What a week it has been. I cannot remember a week where I was more productive. I averaged over 1000 words a day not including the 1800 words I wrote on Friday. That was just on my novel. I also wrote blog posts on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday which were 1700, 500, 500 and 2300 words respectively, so I am sure you can understand why I feel so good about myself.

In terms of where I am at this very moment, I find myself in a sticky situation. I know where my characters are, but it is a new setting and one so vast I want to make sure I capture it correctly without spending too long on it and losing the pace of the novel.

I decided to throw in a little Steampunk section, which is where I am now, because I felt it fitted with the city and the image I had in my head. To be honest it is a cyberpunk city mixed with elements of steampunk. There is a reason I went into this line of genre, but that will be discussed in a blog post next week.

Trials and Tribulations is currently 35,500 words long and I am not sure what percentage I am at. I would say around a third, but it depends on what twists lie ahead. I have the basic plot fully lined up, but who knows what may crop op to divert me and them on their journey to the Castle of Avici.

In terms of the coming week, I am determined to get back to exercising. and that means my evenings once the kids are in bed will be taken up for approximately 30 – 45 mins. I am thinking three days a week and one weekend day, so not too much, and I normally only get a few hundred words written then anyway, but I am sure it will make a bigger dent than I plan for. However, I need to do something to get back into shape and I write in the mornings and at lunch, so it's not like I am abandoning the craft in any way.

Sales have been rather sad this week. In fact they were non-existent and my page on Smashwords was viewed less than 10 times all week. Yet I am not bothered. Ok… I am. It frustrates me because I want to write for a living, but I accept that it will take time and the chance of it happening are slim. I have sold several books on Amazon since the launch 1 month ago (approx). Not figures that are great, but I hope that a few of these sales will be reviewed, I have about 7 copies out with real reviewers so I am hoping that once these reviews come in things will pick up a bit. I have two or three penciled in for the week before Halloween which I think it is a great week for me to really push hard on the promo work.

Well that is about it for my week. I hope you all had a good week and thank you for reading.

The Pond: Part 1

"Honey,"  Janelle called to her husband Dave from the kitchen." The pond is covered with scum. I think you need to change the filter."  She added before he had answered.

"I just changed it the other week. Alright I'll have a look after the news."  He answered. He was sitting in the living room. The Sunday Times was open in his lap and he had a fresh brewed coffee in his left hand. Carefully balanced on the right arm of the chair he occupied was a plate of breakfast. Bacon, Eggs, toast and two half Tomatoes.

" I have to run over to Amanda's later anyway. If you need me to I can pick up a new filter from the Nurseries near her. It's more expensive but it's good quality." She called as she finished rinsing the last of the pans used to cook breakfast.

The couple had only moved into the house three months before. The pond was not really their sort of thing, but they had decided to keep it until they had enough money to reshape the back garden completely.

With his breakfast finished Dave set to work. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with the filter, but he cleaned it none the less. Not being an expert in pond management he removed the layer of algae that had formed, and then drained the pond by about one-third. Although truth be told he had no idea about how deep the pond was. Nor was he certain that any fish lived in it. With the pond refilled, the pump working perfectly and the water once again as clear as could be expected he went inside.

"That was a good job jobbed" He smiled at his wife, kissing her on the cheek as she put on her coat. "Say hi to Amanda for me."

"Will do. Now don't you do anything too strenuous this afternoon." Janelle joked as she walked away.

"Oh, would you mind grabbing a new pump? I think you're right, the cheap ones just don't cut the mustard. While you're there grab a couple of fish and some plants or something. If we're going to keep it for the time being, we may as well make it look good." Dave called from the door. Janelle waved in acknowledgement and drove away.

Janelle returned home later that afternoon with a new pump, several fish and a collection of plants for both in and around the water. They were busy in the garden until just after the sun had set.

The following week saw bad weather strike and a near perpetual rain meant that there was very little to the couples life other than work and sitting indoors. Housework was done, but living alone in a new house meant that it was pretty light work.

The following weekend, with the sun finally shining and the ground dry for the first time in days, Janelle was once again making breakfast, when she noticed the pond.

"Dave, honey, I though you said this new filter would keep the water clean."  She called.

"It should. Why?"  Dave asked. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Look for yourself" She pointed with the wooden spoon she was using to stir the pancake batter.

"What the…" Dave's voice trailed off as he walked out into the garden.

The pond was once again covered by a layer of dark green Algae. Bending over the pond Dave checked that the pump was still running. It was. As he leaned closer, a sudden splash in the water made him jump. One of the fish they had purchased just the week before sprang through the layer of scum and landed on the brick edging. It had easily tripled in size, his eyes swollen so that they were almost as large as the side of his head. Its body which had been a bright gold just seven-day previous was now a dark muddy brown. Large swellings the size golf balls protruded from either side of his flank, and the tail and been reduced to nothing more than a stump. The front fins flapped as the fish fought for air. It convulsed and with a strange noise which sounded almost like a cry is died. A foul-smelling rust colour liquid began to leak from the body. Dave stepped backwards, retching from the sight and smell of the fish and the strange metal taste in his mouth where spatters of Algae had covered him when the fish made its desperate bid for freedom.

"Dave, If everything alright?"  Janelle called.

"It's fine. Stay back though it doesn't smell too good out here." He called, not lying… not really at least.

Moving quickly so as to save his wife the sight Dave went into the shed, returned with an old box. Using the handle of a broken shovel he scooped the fish into it, sealed it shut and threw it in the large dustbin that they used for their garden waste.  With his appetite suddenly gone Dave felt an urge to get straight to work on the pond. Yet when Janelle called him to the breakfast table he went. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. Surprising himself and her he at two high stacks and pancakes, drank three coffees and still didn't feel full when it was all gone.

"You certainly have an appetite this morning." Janelle spoke as she sipped her coffee. Dave had taken the plates to the kitchen and was busy loading the dishwasher. "You'll want to rinse the pan out first, otherwise the machine gets clogged." Janelle offered.

" One of the fish was dead."  Dave said. There was no point lying. Not about that. I think there must be something wrong with the water in that pond. I think I'm just going to drain it completely and then fill it up fresh." He told her.

" Oh the poor thing. It was only in there a week."  Janelle spoke sadly. "Are the others ok?"  She asked.

"I hope so. I didn't see them so I guess they are doing fine." Dave offered. He was out of the door and busy with the pond before she had finished her coffee.

"Did I tell you that Mrs Macabie lost her cat. She came around yesterday asking if I had seen it. I told her no. He is 15 years old. She has had him since a kitten. Isn't that something." Janelle said absently.

Dave heard her, but had already begun to talk outside. "Shame." Was the only response Janelle heard.

The day passed and before he knew it Dave had emptied the pond by about three meters, and was still no closer to the bottom. He also hadn't found any of the fish.

He slept deeply that night, and when the alarm went off on Sunday morning he felt refreshed and strong. He ate another huge breakfast, washing it down with three cups of coffee and half a carton of Orange juice. Dave was back out working on the pond by 9am.

It was almost midday before Dave finally is the base of the pond. He was at least 6 feet below ground level when the final dregs of dirty water were removed. There was no sign of the fish, but after a few moments of prodding around in the sodden mud Dave made an interesting discovery.

"How's it going down there?"  Janelle called down to him. Dave jumped and pushed the small piled of mud back over his find.

"Good, it's going good. At least we know why the water was so bad. There's no lining nothing. Just a big hole in the ground." Dave called back up.

Even though he had drained the water the whole stank. The slimy, green algae stuck to the sides of the emptied pond and lined the base on which Dave stood.

"Lunch will be in about twenty minutes, so you had better be clean mister. You're not coming into the house looking like that. " Janelle pointed at her husband and that was what Dave saw it. His arms and the legs of his trousers were covered in slime.

With his wife back inside Dave quickly turned his attention back to his find. Scooping the mud to one side to once again reveal the semi decomposed feline skeleton. There was a collar around the neck of the animal, and Dave knew straight away whose cat it was. A sudden chill run through Dave. One the would normally have elicited a comment along the lines of…"Someone just walked over my grave" but today he thought no such thing. All of a sudden he couldn't get out of the whole quick enough. He felt as if the mud was pulling him down. As though the sides were closing in on him. He looked down. His body was green, covered in algae. Which was strange as he had been careful to keep as far away from it as possible.

Out of the hole, and freshly showered Dave felt much better, if not a little ashamed of himself. Still, he decided that the morning was enough time in the ground, and so put off any further progress to the next day.

"You've been quiet tonight." Janelle spoke as the couple prepared for bed.

"Sorry, I'm knackered. The damned pond is hard work. The previous owners really messed up when they built it. Makes me wonder if they were trying to hide something." Dave laughed. Nervously. It was true, he did want to know what was buried under the mud. He could feel it calling to him. He couldn't wait to get to bed because the sooner he slept, the sooner he could get back to work. He just felt so angry with himself for doing nothing all afternoon.

"Don't push yourself too hard baby." Janelle kissed him, and nuzzled her head into Dave's neck. She slid her legs over his, as her hand crept slowly down his torso. "You feel up for a bit of fun." She bit playfully on his earlobe.

He wasn't, but he didn't want to upset her, and so they made love. It was passionate, it was full and heavy, and at the end they both lay panting. "Where did that come from?" Janelle asked with a smile. But Dave didn't answer. He was already half asleep, with the call of the pond his lullaby.

Sleep came easily once again, only it was not the peaceful sleep of the night before. In his dreams Dave was trapped, he was surrounded on all four sides. He knew where he was. He was in the pond. Far above his head was a small circle of light. The moon. It was full, the smiling face glared down at him. The smile mocking him. The walls were wet with slime and reeked of decay. Dave felt something moving by his feet. He looked down. He worse his pyjamas, and stood up to his ankles in thick algae. He could feel his grabbing at him. It was alive and it wanted him. Dave looked around, he needed to get out, to escape, but the walls were slick. He tried to scale them, kicking and clawing, desperately searching for some form of purchase. He found it, rose a few feet and then fell back down. The mud and slime sucked him deeper, past his ankles. The was when he felt it. The bones of Mrs Macabie's cat.

Above him, dark clouds were beginning to gather, blocking out the moonlight. Dave found his world grow darker. He fought harder against the algae and furiously clawed his way back up and out of the pond When he finally pulled himself free he lay in the grass panting. Spent. His forearms and shoulder burned with lactic acid. His feet were numb with cold and his toes raw from the climb.

Dave pulled himself to his feet and looked down into the pond. Two yellow eyes were gazing back at him. He screamed and….

…. sat bolt upright in bed. This body was caked with sweat, his heart thundered in his chest. Swinging his feet from under the covers he got up and went into the bathroom. His mouth was bone dry.

The light of the bathroom was blinding at first, but Dave's eyes soon adjusted and that was when he saw it. His face was covered in slime. His hands his feet. His entire body was grimy and stained with the green algae. His feet throbbed and he saw the bloody stumps that had been his toes. The large one on each foot had had the skin scraped away on the tips. The nails hung half off.

Dave closed the bathroom door and went to turn on the shower. That was when he saw it, on the bed. Lying on his wifes chest, eyes half closed. Its vocal chords had been bitten through and so instead of the bassy purr of contentment a hiss like the sound of a leaking balloon was what filled the bedroom.

"Scat" Dave whispered. He swiped his hands through the air, but the animal just stared at him. Its body was stripped of flesh, the bones gleaming in the darkness. Clumps of wet meat hung to them, and the bloodied clumps of matted, water-logged fur dangled like dreadlocks from the animals undercarriage. Its jaw was broken and hung askew, the lips and cheeks had been stripped away. It rose to its feet, and melted lumps of fatty flesh remained behind, stuck to the bed sheet. The cat stretched, its back arching and then it jumped from the bed and walked away. Its tail was missing, but its intestine had replaced it. It dragged along the floor between the animals legs, leaving a glistening snail-like trail of decay behind it.

Dave woke screaming, clutching his blankets, blinded by terror. His body stiff with fear, his penis hard in his shorts and the call fo the pond ringing in his ears.

Picking A Fitting Name For Your Characters

Today I am guest posting over at the amazing blog of Marina Scott where I talk about naming characters and how it is something that needs our complete attention.

While I am not someone who readily believes in things like Astrology and the like, I have to admit that there are certainly a lot of indicators that a person's name shapes their character.

I remember the discussions and the baby name books my wife and I went through when we were expecting our first and second child. The third we had kind of already set because we both wanted a girl and had the name saved up for a while already, but the principle remained.

As writers, out characters are our children, and the name for them is even more important before for the most part our characters are adults, or at least at the age where their 'real life' character would have already been shaped, and so the name needs to be even more thought out.

I think I spent more time choosing the names of my characters than I did writing up and creating their Biographies.

Anyway, enough of my waffle on here. Please all come and join me for my waffle over .

Problematic Publications

I had seriously been entertaining the thought of writing a post that was not writing based or writing related in any way shape for form. However, recent developments have led me down a familiar path and so here I find myself about to write a post about…… writing. Yep! Well technically it is about publishing and not writing but I don't think that really counts.

Highway to Hell has been uploaded onto both Smashwords and Amazon.com and so far I am have X number of copies. X in this scenario is a real number, a positive number in fact. It is not necessarily a great number, nor the number I would like it to be, however, the fact remains that several people have actually invested their money in me for the name of entertainment.

However, the other day I was looking around on my Amazon page and I decided to check out the Look Inside option that Amazon have. To my absolute horror, the window that popped up was filled with bizarre font size and typeset changes that I had certainly not uploaded. (See image below)

Needless to say I am not best pleased by this. In fact you could say I was mortified. Had I really made such a mistake? I didn't think it possible.

So I checked the file I uploaded, I had it saved on my home and work PC and have checked them both extensively. There is no problem with them. The font is uniform throughout. I then checked the 'preview' on my Amazon Dashboard and that too was fine. I am at a loss.

To make things even more confusing, I checked the files I had uploaded onto smashwords. I downloaded the full versions, for both PDF and RTF. The PDF file is fine, perfect, as it should be. The RTF file however was the same as the Look Inside preview on Amazon.

I have a suspicion that if I check the free Kindle preview (which I will do tonight) there will be no problem. The same as if I were to download the .mobi file from smashwords.

I have this afternoon uploaded the file again to Amazon, having checked it from page 1 – 350. I will wait and see what that shows tomorrow once the upload has gone live before I take my investigation any further.

My main grievance is that anybody looking at my novel, half interested in spending the $2.99 is will cost to get it will almost certainly be put off should they view the 'Look Inside' preview rather than the Kindle delivered proof. This is costing me (potential) sales. Ok, maybe it isn't keeping me from conquering the world, but who knows how many customers I could have lost, not just for this novel but for all my future ones. It takes a long time to build a reputation but one mistake can bring it crumbling to the floor.

 

Had anybody else experienced this problem? If so, or if not but you happen to have an idea as to the cause and hopefully the resolution to this problem please let me know.

 

Thanks.

ROW80: Back on the Happy Trail

It is round-up time again, and for the second week in a row I have nothing but positive news to report.

I have managed to far exceed my target every day this week.

Monday: I wrote a blog post of approximately 1700 words and also an additional 1200 words on my novel

Tuesday: I managed a full 1100 words on my novel, and that was with no lunch break at work to write in, otherwise I would have broken the 1500 mark.

Wednesday (Today): I woke at 5am as usual and was writing by 05.15 and managed a whole 500 words before the kids woke up and I had to leave for work.  If things go as well tonight I should hit the 1000 word mark again today.

My plan would be to carry on at this pace, and with good luck and a fair wind I cannot see any reason why I shouldn't be able to keep it up. There will of course always be things that come along and derail us for a time, but they are dealt with on an ' Cross that bridge when I get to it' basis.

My new novel, the sequel to Highway to Hell is now at 31,000 words and I am just getting started. I tend to write way above my ideal word count, as I would rather be forced to destroy words than forced to add them. Although that being said I am not afraid of a high word count as long as it is justifiable and not meaningless waffle (like this portion of my post I hear some of you cry). All I have is the ball park figure of 100,000. If I come home too far under than I have done something wrong. Anything over is fine by me and will be addressed during the editing.

Sales for Highway to Hell have been slow, although not disappointing. I am delighted with every day I make and will never be disappointed with my work because I know it is the best I can do – or could do at that time, for we continually grow and improve as writers. I have not yet had any reviews come back, although I know that at least 4 reviews are on the way, from genuine review sites and book blogs, plus at least two promised reviews based on real purchases. Friends and family have yet to fully jump on the band wagon but are in rather short supply so too much cannot be expected.

I am thinking that once I get some reviews in and have an extra level of promotion that I can step up and use, sales will increase.  Assuming the reviews are positive.  Only time will tell and I have plenty of that. In the mean time I will just plod along, get the sequel finished and then I can rethink my strategies and adjust accordingly.

On a side note in relation to my popular post from Monday, I may have found a new weekly post that I can do, for the short-term at least. The Rugby World Cup is starting in a few days, and I love sport in all it's forms. I am playing in a (fun) pool competition guessing the scores and the spread, so maybe I can create a post comparing my (rather uneducated) predictions against the actual results. Something non-writer is that I hope could gather me some extra hits, some extra name recognition and even (ye-gads) some new friends. This could easily be then brought across to cover pretty much any sporting competition in the world.

 

I also had an interesting thought about setting up a writers group / session much to the same format as the wonderfully motivating ROW80 that sees writers sign up and chronicle their quest to find new non-writing related hobbies and past times. Not sure if it is even feasible, and I know I don't have the tech skills to manage it if it was, but my mind threw it out there on the drive to work this morning and I thought, why not jot it down. See what others think.

What's the worst that could happen………

This is Me

I know that last week I announced that I was going to be running a weekly post on Mondays discussing the lesser known and more interesting grammar rules that the English language has to offer. This was later expanded to allow me to travel down the road of Etymology. However, this is a reactionary post which kind of needs to be placed right away otherwise I will just look out of touch and also the moment may well have passed.

As you may have read in my ROW80 update on Saturday (Sunday) I mentioned a post written my friend  Kristen Lamb which led to a sleepless night, countless hours of soul-searching and some interesting self discoveries. Well, here I am. This is me broken into pieces and put back together again, and I will ask you all the soon to be famous (indie)Author question…

AM I STICKY?

To truly understand what I am talking about you will need to read Kristen's post, but the basic principle is that we shouldn't sell work to other writers, but to readers. Sounds simple right? That's what I thought, but then I went through my friends list and realized that almost all my social media contacts while being readers on some level , are in fact predominantly writers.

This then led me to the question of Who Am I? Since I decided to take my writing serious and myself as writer serious – which I was surprised to find really are two different concepts – I have worked hard to build up a circle of friends and acquaintances; name recognition and a platform for my work. Basically I have tried to approach every writing buzzword I could find. The success of that is neither here nor there with regards this post, but I am seeing constant progression so I read that as me doing the right thing.  But is that really me? Sure I am updating it, and I am not writing about things I don't believe in or would not back myself, because I am quite simply not ruthless enough (in a business sense) to do that.

As I sat back and stared at the screen, I asked, 'there's more to me than just this. Right?'

The rather unfortunate answer is no.. not anymore. Ok, I have my wife and children, but they do not form part of my writing world, simply because I want to keep them separate. That way, should I ever become as successful as I allow my dreams to portray I know that my private life is just that. Sure I may reference them from time to time but my kids are my kids, they are not just part of some business module I have been working on.

What else is there to the current me? Work…. oh yes the place I devote 40 hours (and as close to the exact figure as if physically possible) each and every week. No, that doesn't really help. It's a boring job that is simply a rather unfortunate necessity rather than something I do because I enjoy. Outside of work, traveling to work and writing time, all squeezed around playing with and raising the children, I am left with a number of rather small windows in which to do something. Factor in time spent with my wife and my rather drastic social abilities – by that I mean social in person, face to face – my options seem to be rather limited. What I am essentially looking for would apparently be a social activity that can be done alone, and doesn't take more than 30 minutes. (Anybody who reads that statement out loud please remove your minds from the gutter.)

This is not to say that I have no hobbies, I have. Over the years had plenty. I played golf from the age of 6 (1990) until I moved to the Netherlands in 2006, and I used to love – to the point of obsession… no not even to the point of (now that I think about it) but to the border and then straight on passed without even a glance in the rear-view mirror – going to the gym. Working out in any form. I would follow the supplement and training regimes, study the research articles, try all manner of supplements – all legal and natural -, training twice a day 6 days a week and once on Sunday. Of course I like reading and plan to one day read at the same rate I used to – once the children have grown up that is – and movies used to be a big part of my life. I loved watching movies. I was no master on the subject, I couldn't name directors off the top of my head or claim that the cinematography of one movie was better than another for any reason more in-depth than… it looked nicer, but hey-ho it turns out that everybody is not a critic.

Money was a big factor in my stopping several of these hobbies, namely the gym and golf, but having kids means sacrifices have to be made for financial reasons and matter of time, golf is a good 5 hours including travel etc, and to be enjoyed and worth the investment needs to be a regular event, and I have no qualms about stopping, for I know that one day I will play again. The thing that really struck me when I looked back was that each and every one of my hobbies, no matter how much it got me into the real world were always done alone. Gold, I would either play with my father and grandfather or alone, the gym I would go with my father, but ultimately we followed different training schedules and ideologies and so I would train alone. Reading and movie watching are kind of self-explanatory (until I met my now wife when she joined me for the movies but still, limit social opportunities arise from such an event) and writing, which has been a passion of mine since long before I consciously chose to become a writer is something I can only really do alone. I shut myself off when I am behind the screen and can lose track of time in such large chunks they would be recorded on a calendar rather than a stopwatch.

I am not for one second saying or even hinting that I should not have given up these hobbies for my family, but rather am cursing myself for not developing better social skills whilst doing them. I am sure there are a great many factors and elements of blame I could place. Being sent to an all girls school – there were 5 boys in the school all of them at least 1 year younger than me – from the ages of 8-11 (approx) to go straight into a predominantly male school from the ages of 11-16 I am sure played a part. Constant years of bullying and intimidation of the fat kid I am certain had some deep-seated lasting effect, as did that fact that I was sent to what were officially boarding schools – on average 60 minutes away on the bus but as a day student did not help, as the few friends I did develop did not live anywhere near me, and as I child friends far away were not really that much use. Yet, the only person to blame is myself.

I do not enjoy social interaction, I avoid it at all costs, but I am learning that sacrificing sleep and lunch breaks to write and promote my work is not enough. The real sacrifice to achieving my goals is to get out of my comfort zone, stand up and really challenge myself by getting out there and meeting people.

As Kristen – remember her, she is the great lady who I referenced at the start of this rant / lifestyle breakdown – said, if our list of social contacts is composed of nothing but writers, we are trying to achieve the impossible. To become a bestseller by selling to other writers, out competition, and granted writers read others writers work and are a very supportive bunch, a great deal of our time is spent either writing out own material or reading to study the genres we like, rather than reading for pleasure. (Another difference I am leaning about, and a nice idea for a post later in the week)

Non-writer friends, or readers are the people we need to be selling to. Those that will read for pleasure, and will recommend because they are as passionate about reading as we authors are about writing. The real question however lies in the answer. Non-writing friends. Where can I fiend non-writing friends. It would be handy if there were like personal adds in the paper. You know, you have Man seeks Woman, Woman seeks Man, Man seeks Man, ….Writer seeks Reader for companionship, expansions of writing knowledge, sound of board and all around point of social contact with the real world. GSOH a must.

Sadly however, this does not exist. The only way to make non-writer friends is to interact with people who are not writers. To develop interests outside of the writing world that I we shut ourselves in all too readily. The added bonus of having more friends away from the writing scene whether confessed readers or not, is that we will overhear conversations, we will see people and places, event and locations, we effectively be introduced to a whole and previously hidden world filled with potential characters, ploys, sub-plots, heroes and villains and all other wonderful goodies that will leave any writer salivating at the thought.

Who would have known that taking a step back from writing every now and then will actually mean you learn more about.  I know it won't be an easy road, and I am faced with the added tricky task of making real life friends in a Non-English speaking country, however maybe I can turn it around and develop my online network further and improve my social skills  in areas of general interest to myself before I let myself loose into the wild. The one thing I know is that I want to make my writing a success and I will not let something as silly as a social phobia (of sorts) stand in my way. If I can do it, we can all do it. So lets raise out glasses and salute those non-writers out there who will become out guides, our muses and hopefully out friends.