…I went up Arthur’s Seat today instead of writing a post. My bad. There are some photos on Flickr you can look at if you want.
I’ve now had a whole lot of horror story suggestions which are all fermenting away in the back of my brain (although I still don’t have 31 so am happy to take more – just leave a comment) and last night I decided to put a little bit of research in to speed that process along a bit. Whilst some story ideas spring to mind fully formed without provocation, others need more help.
The first comment I had was from the enigmatic stranger behind 1 Story A Week, who fears being infected with a virus that makes his own flesh the only thing he can eat. I think that’s a pretty logical thing to be afraid of, if a bit unlikely. Anyhoo, the first search term I put into Google was ‘infected with a flesh eating virus’ and most of the results discussed a condition called necrotizing fasciitis.
Continue reading “What Are You Afraid Of?”
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Not long after I started writing this I realised it was not going to be a traditional horror story. But on the plus side, it’s quite short.
Nobody ever had anything nice to say about Batty McShay. But there again, Batty McShay didn’t have anything nice to say about anyone either, and they do say that you ought to lead by example.
The example Batty set was not a great one. She ate her food in an obnoxious sort of a way, chewing with her mouth wide open and never cleaning her teeth after. She sat and pleated her leg hair when you were trying to tell her something, or sometimes she just fell asleep then and there and would claim later on it was your fault for having such a monotonous voice. She had a necklace made out of garlic and onions which she wore only when visiting quiet places full of people too polite to tell her to go away – mainly libraries and monasteries. And she always took a pad of post-it notes wherever she went so that she could make ‘kick me’ signs to plant on people’s backs.
There were several reasons why Batty was the way she was, but the main one was probably the fact that her dead father lived in the attic and sang her jingoistic songs of the old times at the top of his voice. That sort of thing will drive anyone to distraction if it goes on for long enough, and the old duffer had been dead for twenty years.
Continue reading “The Other McShay”
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Short story the first. On Sunday I went to St Andrews to convene with my family on the grounds that birthdays were had by my dad and my brother and it was a good middle ground on which to meet. After lunch we went for a drink at the Whey Pat, whereon I was entranced by the mad design skills of the Real Ale Society (there’s a university society for everything you can imagine at St Andrews because it’s not the most happening of places, so one’s own entertainment must be made). This story was inspired by their poster. Oh, and the word ‘nephrop’ means lobster in Latin.
Continue reading “The Nephrop”
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September zipped by pretty quick, didn’t it? That must mean my ninth book is finished.
Well, finished is a strong word to use. I’ve certainly stopped writing it for the time being. I ended up with a word count of 21, 203 which is OK I guess, although a lot of the content was pretty un-good. I’m not saying that to be modest, by the way, I am saying it because it’s true – there’s some real nonsense in there. It didn’t help that I only really came up with a story that might work last Wednesday, with two days to go. Perhaps there is something to be said for forward planning after all…
Anyway, let us draw a gauzy curtain over that because now it is October which can only mean one thing – horror. How could I choose any other genre for the month of Samhuinn?
Continue reading “I’ll Write You A Story”
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I’ve had some weird spam in my time, which stands to reason when you have as many blogs as I do. But I’ve never had anything particularly cheeky before. Till now!
‘Vacation International Travel’ left me a comment yesterday which I found a little hard to take. It was left on the post about the Mills and Boon writing competition, where I mentioned they are opening their arms to new romance writers, and shared the first chapter of last year’s NaNoWriMo effort (a romance of sorts entitled The Single Mum’s Aristocratic Library Assistant).
I’m all in favour of constructive criticism on my work, but when it comes from a bot it feels a little harsh. It was pretty long as well, so I have deconstructed it as follows:
Continue reading “Constructive Criticism”
12 Books in 12 Months 