Thomas Brown's Blog, page 9

Robertson Davies

Wolf Song

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

The babies are coming. They’re coming and Friedrich is not there. After everything they have been through; the heartache, the treatments, he is not going to miss this moment. He puts his foot down on the accelerator. The sigh of warm air from the heater blows against his face. He drives fast through the snow-flecked night.

The road seems endless. A stretch of black tarmac and black ice and black night. Eventually he sees lights. Not the moon, which is full, swollen in the sky, but other lights. City lights. He navigates the icy side-streets as only an expectant father can. Two minutes now and he’ll be home and everything will be all right. He has waited for this day for so long. He has wept at the thought of this day coming, and at the thought of it not coming, when it seemed that way. Her blood, his…

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Meet the Damned: Tyr Kieran

Originally posted on The Road to Nowhere...:

What have we here? It seems Tyr Kieran has shed his mild demeanor, gone beyond mere darkness into the inky black other to drag us deep within his own psyche while thrashing his tail a bit.  “Your dinner is in the oven!” Mmm-mmmh – a great flick, and one that for the past few years this particular deviant has brought to mind. I may have to reassess that particular association; I do believe something a bit more sinister is called for in Master Kieran’s case. Shall we trespass on his hallowed ground, learn more about his fascination with horror? After you, damnlings…

Darkness Unleashed

Tyr Kieran

It’s difficult to determine whether the darkness was always there, or if a series of events and influences conjured it into being. Am I a tortured soul hanging on to sanity with an ever loosening grip? No… at least I don’t think so. Have…

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Dissections 3

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

DISSECTIONS 3

Dried Glue

Your frown seems longer in the shadows

and your eyes flutter like the autumn leaves

that seek solace at my feet

between us the empty shell of something once we’d born

my fingers so clumsy

trying to glue it back.

Laughter fades in the rearview

a ghost of broken promise all that remains in the street

seemingly typical when you wish to be lost in a crowd

and closed signs stop you at doors.

It’s okay, we’ll talk, won’t we?

Of times when the air rushed through our hair

the open road a cherished child.

We played favorites, didn’t we?

Always the same marker until we reached a place our own

but today your eyes signal a storm on the horizon

and your lips flutter like the autumn leaves

that seek compassion at my feet.

We held that empty shell of something once, didn’t we?

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All These Voices

Thomas Brown:

This week it is my turn to share a little writing with Pen of the Damned and our readers. I have written a story about a man who feels out of sorts with the rest of the world; a man who at once feels as though he understands more and less than everyone else; a man who has nothing and wants for nothing else, except perhaps a little peace and quiet. I’m not sure enjoy is the right word, but I hope someone finds it an affecting read.

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

The sound of the tape slides soothingly into Nicholas’ ears. Not the music itself, although that is certainly pleasant, but the mechanical whir of the reels as the tape’s innards wind through the machine. He doubts if he could write so well without the quiet whirring. He doubts if he could write at all with the noise of the world at his window and under the soles of his feet.

The pub beneath his bedsit is busy tonight. Voices slice through the floorboards as though the wooden planks do not exist. He might be sitting at the bar himself, submerged in the chorus of cries and thoughtless laughter: the White Ship on stormy, booze-wracked seas. Pouring a glass of wine he sits back in his chair and drinks.

Sometimes he can make out word-for-word the different conversations at the bar. Drunkenness seems only to increase people’s volume, as though…

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Almond Press: ‘Broken Worlds’

Absolutely delighted.  ‘The Sad Man’ is a story close to my heart and I can’t wait to share it with readers. Congratulations to everyone who was short-listed, I’m looking forward to getting my hands on the finished anthology and losing myself in the rest of the collection. From Almond Press:

We are delighted to announce the winning stories of the ‘Broken Worlds’ short story competition, and a very creative competition it has been. This year’s winning story is by Thomas Brown. Thomas has not gone unnoticed in our previous competitions, but his entry this time around, ‘The Sad Man’, is a story that truly captivated our imagination, a brilliant and darkly escalating creation. Let us all offer our sincere congratulations!

We were looking for stories which made us see things a little differently, for writing that enabled us to transcend the ordinary and be transported elsewhere, and for characters who would remain in our minds afterwards. The 25 writers chosen for the shortlist have crafted works that offer a great deal of reading pleasure to the dark and dystopian mind. We look forward to sharing their work with you.

We would like to thank all who entered and commiserate with those who were not placed. Please keep writing, and we look forward to reading your stories in the future.

Here are the shortlisted stories for ‘Broken Worlds’. We also like to share with you the cover art for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

Broken Worlds – Tales of Dystopia

Winner:

The Sad Man – by Thomas Brown

Vision of Paradise – by Clare Banks

The Deepening Well – by Sam Hurcom

The Paperboy – by Gemma L Thompson

The Farm – by George Vernon

Dreg Town – by Steph Minns

It Was the Best of Times – by Konstantine Paradias

Urbanova – by Christian Cook

Carved in Ice – by Doxa J. Zannou

Watch – by Miles Gatrell

Water Rats – by Terry Holland

Pioneer – by Joe Saxon

Leadership Gene – by Francis Beckett

Equity Lamp – Adam “Bucho” Rodenberger

Graduate Scheme – by Holly Seddon

Silva’s Plague – by Ian Green

Meat is Murder – by David Turnbull

Machinations – by Shira Hereld

The Last Canvas – by Paul Dawson

Screens – by Alix Owen

The Rebel’s Daughter – by Virginia Ballesty

The Insects – by Gavin Bryce

The Secret Rooms – by Claire Smith

The Architect – by Gavin Haran

3AM Job – by Mark Schultz

Cover art by Daniel Tyka

 

Damned Words 8

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

Nothing Lives
Jon Olson

Reflections in windows tease and haunt, showing what was, and what is no longer. Do not look at the glass! Damn, too late. Reflected before me is a tree. Its trunk, branches, and leaves, all on display. I want it to be real. I roam these empty streets. Searching, hoping, and praying to find someone; something; anything. People, animals, and plants are all gone. Concrete, steel and glass remain. I call out and listen, but only my echo replies. This city is dead; nothing lives. The sky is grey; no sun or clouds. Life has abandoned this place; abandoned me.

In Everything




Zack Kullis

They watch and wait in everything. I can feel their hungry eyes and thrusting glares, pulling for the acknowledgement that would seal my fate. Stupid therapist called it Pareidolia.

Demons, creatures, faces and things of terror live in almost everything…

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And Those Who Were Seen Dancing…

Book Prize Finalist

“A beautifully crafted, evocative tale of what lies beneath. An elegant, poetic style enhances the dramatic contrast between the civilised veneer and the darker passions below.”

As many of you may already know, at the end of May the finalists for The People’s Book Prize 2013-2014 were announced – and I was overjoyed to learn that LYNNWOOD was among them. The next week seemed to pass in a haze. Each day became a blur beneath the mixture of excitement and anxiety, a mad rush for last-minute support and preparations for the awards dinner in London. I honestly did not know what to expect.

“Eerie. Simply eerie… This book took me aback – well written, freshly conceived, and brilliant for its genre.”

The event itself did nothing to break the spell. I remember standing in the Stationers’ Hall in the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral, surrounded by two dozen other finalists and their guests. There were the anticipated moments: conversations about books – those we had written and those that we enjoyed to read – the introductions, the growing tightness of the bow-tie at my neck. And there were unexpected turns, which led me from a video interview to a nearby pub with a G&T. I met with the Sparkling Books team in a hall that would have looked quite at home at King’s Landing and we sat down to dinner before the award winners were revealed. There was pork belly and wine enough to fill even me, then we were asked to stand with our respective books.

I’m not used to being the centre of attention, and I still find it difficult to get my head around the idea of rewarding something as inherently subjective as art. The real reward is in the completion of the work, the cathartic feeling of having created something honest and personal and expressive, of having lived and died over the course of the writing process. And yet, as I stood there with my book, I was reminded that I did so because my readers had voted for me.

“LYNNWOOD is a gem. Although it is described as a horror, I would say that it is not entirely typical of this genre. The woodcraft is exceptional. The story is strange, dark and unsettling, but very beautifully crafted.”

I didn’t win the prize, but that’s okay because what meant the most to me were the comments and responses left by these readers. People had read my book and lived LYNNWOOD and listened to what it was telling them, and it was this support that had made me a finalist. We spend out lives looking for meaning, connections, trying to make sense of the world and our places in it. I write for the same reason. Knowing that there are other people out there who for two-hundred pages glimpsed the world through my eyes and saw something they recognised means more to me than anything else. So to everyone who made the night possible, from my readers to Anna and the Sparkling Books team and the organisers of The People’s Book Prize, thank you for everything.

 

Stalkers

Thomas Brown:

Dark, disturbing prose from Magenta Nero at Pen of the Damned:

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

There is a cruelty unfolding in me I didn’t know existed. The click of my heels on the pavement echoes down the street, turning heads. I wear higher heels now, shorter skirts. I no longer stick to the safety of busy streets. I tempt fate and wander into the gloom of alleyways where the losers of the city huddle and sleep. The drunken, the homeless, the pickpockets. Petty criminals with petty ambitions. I stroll through their lairs of garbage. Bleary, poisoned eyes watch me pass, staring at me in disbelief.

“Stupid bitch,” they growl at me and they lift their bottles to dying lips. I tread holes in their cardboard beds with my stilettos and kick over their little cups of change. There is nothing they can do, they can barely climb to their feet. I hear the breaking of glass and the retching cough of sickness as I…

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