M.D.’s Comments (group member since Oct 05, 2014)

M.D.’s comments from the Net Work Book Club group.

I have just posted, on YouTube, a reading of an extract from one of my stories 'The Wall'
It's only 2 minutes long and takes place on the north side of the Roman Wall.
You can find it at: https://youtu.be/N_Zuswv5op0

"Reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock & Twilight Zone." Mystery & Misadventure: http://bit.ly/2ivCjAO
Special offer!

If you miss the M.R. James ghost stories on the BBC you might like to download a seasonal ghost story of mine. It's called 'Late Again' and has garnered a couple of awards. Anyway, if you'd like to read it you'll find it on my website. There is a possible downside: you'd have to subscribe to my mailing list, but once you have the story you could simply unsubscribe.
If you're curious, check it out at https://scribblingsofmdhall.com
Merry Christmas

Thanks J.B.

Hi,

After months – it seems like years – of preparation, I've finally got my website up and running: https://www.scribblingsofmdhall.com

Why "scribblings"? Well, "writings" seemed a tad arrogant, and it's how all my work starts ... maybe even ends!

It would be nice to hear what others think of it. Family and friends are not always objective.

Cheers,

Martin

One step at a time Pete, it may get no further.

Party ... Virtual party?

With virtual booze ... Getting virtually drunk?

Thanks

'Mystery and Misadventure – An Old Acquaintance' has reached the semi-finals in the Kindle Book Awards 2015.

There is a five minute podcast for 'Mystery and Misadventure – An Old Acquaintance', courtesy of 'Readers in the Know'.

You can find it:

On Readers in the know: http://www.readersintheknow.com/podca...

On iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/m...

Simon Denman reads an extract from 'The Book'. Despite the reference to three extracts, it is actually three sections of the same story ... Simon realised his mistake as soon as he began to read the second section, but by then it was too late to re-record.

Have a listen, he is very good.

Mystery and Misadventure – An Old Acquaintance has won the Prize Writer Competition 2015 in the category 'Horror and Ghost Stories'.
That's nice.

One of the tales to appear in the next volume of Mystery and Misadventure stories: 'A Reunion', has been short listed for the Writers' Village International Short Fiction Award Winter 2014. The story is entitled: 'Delayed', but will change for the collection.
It's nice to be recognised in a non-genre competition.

'Mystery and Misadventure - An Old Acquaintance' has today been selected as a finalist in the 'Prize Writer Competition – 2015' (bookbzz)

The following are my own limited and, undoubtedly, flawed opinions. As ever, it is dangerous to generalize – there will be many exceptions to a general rule. Nevertheless, I ride forward undeterred.

What has happened to the short story? Many of our great authors during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries – on both sides of the Atlantic – have used them to great effect. Not only that, they were not written to the exclusion of lengthier works.
Nowadays, the trend seems to be launching straight into novels, unless using the short story to enter competitions. Why is that, I wonder? Is it to respond to the market, or is it something more fundamental?
It isn't that we are better writers than those who came before, far from it. Perhaps we need to look at the reader ... and we are all readers. In a world where many of us look for the quick fix, whether in finance, food, career and so on, is this 'quick fix' the key to interest in novels?
How can that be? You might ask.
To find the answer we need to look at the popular novel. More often than not it starts with a hit … no slow burn for today’s reader – heaven forefend that we expect a reader to commit to fifty or a hundred pages for plots and characters to develop – I have lost count of the Amazon critics savaging a book which failed to get the action going within the first few pages.
What then do the readers crave? In keeping with the ‘quick fix’ they seek an incident – action would be too strong a word – within a few pages. Identify quickly with the hero/anti-hero, and thereafter have repeated ‘incidents’.
This paves the way for further books involving our intrepid … whoever. Within ten pages we all know – at least those of us who can count to twenty without taking our shoes and socks off – how the book will unfold. None of us are surprised when the predictable climax is reached and yet, we (the generic ‘we’) want more and queue for the next pastry-cut volume. This fits in perfectly with a lifestyle which craves the reassuring predictability that comes with attending the same coffee bar day after day ... The coffee tastes the same, the people are invariably the same, as it the decor. This is not a criticism, it is a confession ... My wife and I visit the same French restaurant almost every Saturday evening!
How does the short story fit into this scenario?
It doesn’t. The short story does not reward the attachment to a central protagonist; when it is over, it is over. The writer expects the reader to begin afresh with the next story, and there, in my humble opinion lies the problem. Other than the joy of the fifteen or twenty minute sojourn, the reader has nothing to show for his/her investment. The short story becomes a disposable commodity. What is worse, it may not even attain those questionable heights. With foreknowledge of the lack of return, many will not even glance at the delights out there.
Is this a bad thing? Who am I to say? Instead, I will simply wave the banner of the short story, in the hope that in a small way I will help people rediscover the pleasure of the compact … maybe on the bus, on the way to work, or over lunch after a particularly fraught morning; looking, albeit through a small window, into a world every bit as vivid and exciting as those occupied by its larger brethren.

From tomorrow (Sunday 30th November) until Friday 5th December, my book 'Mystery and Misadventure – An Old Acquaintance' is available on Kindle Countdown for 99p. Less than a cup of tea, or coffee if you prefer. Come to think of it, coffee might come in handy after you have read some of the stories. Some of the protagonists in these stories – victims would be too strong a word, or maybe not – will wish they had drunk enough coffee to keep themselves awake. But no one can stay awake forever, and the horrors lurking in the deep recesses of the mind are patient ... they know their time will come.

Hi,
From Saturday 22nd November until 28th November, my ebook: 'Mystery and Misadventure – An Old Acquaintance' is available on Countdown at 99c.
Using CreateSpace, the paperback will appear in the next couple of days. I will be using MatchBook to give the ebook away to anyone purchasing the paperback.
Martin

Hi Ron, nice to hear from you. I'll check him out. Thanks, Martin

Here's a thought for Halloween. When a ghost story is read is one thing. When it is set is altogether something different.

Darkness ... plodding horrors ... lonely roads ... derelict houses ... basements etc

All of these things are predictable. We expect to be scared by them. We know that when the lights are switched on, when we return to the world that is normal, the phantoms will melt away.

Now, imagine your protagonist. He has done something he shouldn't ... he has disturbed the resting place of something better left alone – the details aren't important. He gets into his open-topped sports car and sets off down idyllic county lanes. It is early afternoon on a mid-summer day. Only one side of the road has hedgerow; the other is open to a meadow. It is only three miles to the protagonist's home ... let's call him James. He has no need to hurry, there are no other vehicles on the road and he finds the constant swooping and diving of swallows almost hypnotic.

So it is, he doesn't pay much regard to the figure just at the edge of his vision, at least, not initially. After a couple of minutes he looks over to the meadow. There, running parallel to the road, but about a hundred yards away, is a figure dressed all in black. The figure is hazy, indistinct, but running at an astonishing speed. Despite the warmth of the soft breeze flowing over his windscreen, he feels a definite chill.

James accelerates, yet the figure keeps pace. He looks at the speedo – sixty! The figure is making no attempt to approach the car, because the car isn't the destination. Accelerator floored, the figure slowly loses ground, but does not slow.

Minutes later, the car slews to a halt on the gravel drive. James leaps out of the car, pausing only to look over his shoulder at the approaching figure. Impossibly, it is only a couple of hundred ... a hundred ... fifty yards ...

James just gets through the front door, slamming it shut behind him. The entire frame shudders under the force of something inhuman, something supernaturally strong, crashing into the door. The ancient oak holds, but only just.

No other attempt is made to enter, but the entire house is shrouded in an unnatural cold. He can sense a relentless hatred permeating the very air.

The sunlight streams through the side window, a window that could easily be smashed to gain entry. No sooner does he think of the window, than a figure appears at the leaded panes. Still in black, the figure is as indistinct as it was from a distance. It is impossible to tell whether the front or back of the figure is facing the window, until it turns and presents a face to the terror stricken man inside the room ...


There we are. I won't spoil it. I'm sure your imaginations can fill in the blanks. No slow zombie stagger, no shadows, but frighteningly quick terror on a warm summer day, in beautiful surroundings.

Here's a thought for Halloween. When a ghost story is read is one thing. When it is set is altogether something different.

Darkness ... plodding horrors ... lonely roads ... derelict houses ... basements etc

All of these things are predictable. We expect to be scared by them. We know that when the lights are switched on, when we return to the world that is normal, the phantoms will melt away.

Now, imagine your protagonist. He has done something he shouldn't ... he has disturbed the resting place of something better left alone – the details aren't important. He gets into his open-topped sports car and sets off down idyllic county lanes. It is early afternoon on a mid-summer day. Only one side of the road has hedgerow; the other is open to a meadow. It is only three miles to the protagonist's home ... let's call him James. He has no need to hurry, there are no other vehicles on the road and he finds the constant swooping and diving of swallows almost hypnotic.

So it is, he doesn't pay much regard to the figure just at the edge of his vision, at least, not initially. After a couple of minutes he looks over to the meadow. There, running parallel to the road, but about a hundred yards away, is a figure dressed all in black. The figure is hazy, indistinct, but running at an astonishing speed. Despite the warmth of the soft breeze flowing over his windscreen, James feels a definite chill.

He accelerates, yet the figure keeps pace. A glance at the speedo – sixty! The figure is making no attempt to approach the car, because the car isn't the destination. Accelerator floored, James glimpses, through his rear view mirror, the figure slowly losing ground ... but it does not slow.

Minutes later, the car slews to a halt on the gravel drive. James leaps out of the car, pausing only to look over his shoulder at the approaching figure. Impossibly, it is only a couple of hundred ... a hundred ... fifty yards ...

James just gets through the front door, slamming it shut behind him. The entire frame shudders under the force of something inhuman, something supernaturally strong, crashing into the door. The ancient oak holds, but only just.

No other attempt is made to enter, but the entire house is shrouded in an unnatural cold. He can sense a relentless hatred permeating the very air.

The sunlight streams through the side window, a window that could easily be smashed to gain entry. No sooner does he think of the window, than a figure appears at the leaded panes. Still in black, the figure is as indistinct as it was from a distance. It is impossible to tell whether the front or back of the figure is facing the window, until it turns and presents a face to the terror stricken man inside the room ...


There we are. I won't spoil it. I'm sure your imaginations can fill in the blanks. No slow zombie stagger, no shadows, but frighteningly quick terror on a warm summer day, in beautiful surroundings.

A couple of weeks ago I uploaded a 1,700 word short story to a competition. I found it fascinating. Why? I've entered and won competitions before, but only where the word count was a maximum of 5,000.
The exercise was fun, condensing a story into just a few pages ... how successful it will be is anyone's guess, but it's immaterial. For me, at least, it broke new ground and got me thinking laterally.
You won't be surprised to learn that this week I've entered two stories in a flash fiction competition limited to 500 words, and that was even more exhilarating. I wouldn't want to make a habit of only writing flash fiction – not a lot of room for character development, but it concentrates the mind wonderfully!

A couple of weeks ago I uploaded a 1,700 word short story to a competition. I found it fascinating. Why? I've entered and won competitions before, but only where the word count was a maximum of 5,000.
The exercise was fun, condensing a story into just a few pages ... how successful it will be is anyone's guess, but it's immaterial. For me, at least, it broke new ground and got me thinking laterally.
You won't be surprised to learn that this week I've entered two stories in a flash fiction competition limited to 500 words, and that was even more exhilarating. I wouldn't want to make a habit of only writing flash fiction – not a lot of room for character development, but it concentrates the mind wonderfully!