Rat's Tale

The sound of footsteps woke him. Not the noise they made on the linoleum of the hospital corridor outside his room, but the rhythm – the way they stopped, there was a dull thud and then they started again, closer to his door now.

He was a light sleeper. He always had been; the instinct for self-preservation was far stronger than the need to rest, but since the shooting, it had been worse and despite the armed guard outside his door, he still didn’t feel safe in the private hospital room. Too many people wanted him silenced for him to feel safe anywhere in this country now.

That dull thud. Exactly the noise a body might make as it fell off a chair onto the floor. An armed guard’s body perhaps?

Fuck.

He was wide awake now – as wide awake as he could be, with the cocktail of antibiotics, painkillers and whatever else they kept giving him at regular intervals. Eyes still closed, he heard an almost imperceptible squeak as the door to his room opened.

Lenny turned over in bed, yawning, letting his eyelids flicker open briefly to see a dark silhouette against the light from the corridor. The door swung shut silently. He listened for the sounds of movement, breathing, anything to give him a clue about who was in the room and where they were.

There was no way he could run, no chance of being a match for anybody physically. It was less than four weeks since he’d been shot and he’d only recently lost the Frankenstein line of staples snaking down his side. There was still a long and messy scar. With his right arm in plaster from palm to bicep, more bruises than he could count only just fading from his face and body and he was in no position to fight off an attacker.

And I don’t think he’s come for a chat.

Secrets

2013 has been an odd year. It's the year I've finally found my feet as a writer - come out and been proud of what I do, even if what I write isn't to everybody's taste. It's also a year in which I've made contact with a lot of old friends.

Facebook - for all its issues and reputation - is a marvellous tool. I browse around groups and pages, find a thread and pull ... and suddenly there are people I haven't spoken to in over 25 years. Friends from university, girlfriends, boyfriends - and I rummage through their photos online (doesn't everybody do this?) and I realise that I wouldn't recognise some of these people if I walked past them on the street. These are men and women I was close to for many years, some of whom shared huge parts of my life. And I wonder how I look to them now. Have I changed as much as they have?

Anybody who reads the Daily Mail will have heard of their columnist Liz Jones. Over the years, she's recorded her life, warts and all, in the back of one of the colour supplements. It's a diary of sorts, detailing everything, and often in far more detail than can be considered decent - especially when she's talking about friends, boyfriends and lovers. Rarely names - but sometimes scandal gets out.

How far can you go with that, I wonder? Everybody blogs these days; celebrities and nonentities alike enjoy recording their lives and dreams for all the world to see. Can you blog about real people, like Liz Jones does? Record their achievements and failings in black and white forever? It doesn't seem decent to me. Sometimes I think I'd like to write about events in my life that have made me who I am, but that might involve other people and is it fair to them? What if I inadvertently revealed secrets they've kept for years?

And what of photographs? Copyright of photos belongs to the photographer, but can you post pictures online of other people without their permission? Let's say I wanted to write about some (entirely fictional) person I shared a flat with in my youth. Would that infringe their privacy? I really have no idea where free speech ends. And so I say nothing, simply write about me and keep anything else as pure fiction ...

Picking Those Literary Scabs!

It's like picking a scab. You think it's healing, the wound is clean and you know you should leave it alone and forget about it, but you just can't resist picking at the edges, opening it up and making it bleed. Just because.

So it is with writing. When I wrote Hamelin's Child, it was a one off story. It was complete in and of itself with no loose ends to tie up. Everything got resolved one way or another. But when I self-published, people - fans! - started emailing me to ask what happened next. Friends who'd read it wanted to know what life was going to throw at poor Michael next, so I wrote a second book Paying The Piper. And then a third Calling The Tune.

And now it really is over. There is no more. Michael's story is told - rather satisfactorily, if I do say so myself... The ebooks and paperbacks are out and selling well. I'm doing a good deal locally with gift wrapped paperback sets at a discount. And I should be moving on and finishing some other projects.

Except...

I just can't resist picking at that scab...

And it's not Michael anymore. Now it's Lenny's turn. My bad-boy needs to tell his own story. We got a glimpse of it in Calling The Tune, but he needs his own space to talk.

It won't be a novel, I don't think. Maybe a novella. Probably ebook only unless I can find a way to make a paperback viable at short length. It's tentatively titled Rat's Tale and my brain is once again in overdrive.

Watch this space...

On Shopping With Men....

One for the girls - I've noticed recently that there is a distinct difference between going to the shops and going shopping. The first implies a quick trip with the express purpose of buying something - toiletries, perhaps? But something specific. The second is more general - a browse around clothes shops or looking for Christmas presents.

For the first, you may take a man along; for the latter, you go alone or with girlfriends.

Now I'm not sexist, really I'm not, but if I go into town with my husband in tow, he'll trail around behind me looking like a bored toddler. I can't browse clothes, weigh up the merits of leggings or jeans or try on underwear in M&S. After ten minutes I feel guilty and I'm trying to persuade him to go and look in man-shops. But he's not interested in clothes and B&Q isn't within walking distance.

There are dozens (and I'm not exaggerating) of empty shops in our town centre - possibly due to the fact that they keep knocking things down and "redeveloping". Which in planning-speak means: yes, we're going to give you another supermarket. We have Tesco, Aldi, Lidl, Sainsburys, a large co-op that used to be Somerfields and a brand new Waitrose. And they've just promised us an Asda. In a small market town. Can you tell how excited I am?

But I digress. Why doesn't some bright spark open up one of these empty shops as a man-creche? Think how useful it'd be with Christmas coming up. You'd need a few comfy sofas and a tea machine (a bar with beer for the ones who aren't driving). Food of sorts - cheese and onion pasties and bacon sandwiches would probably be fine. Chuck some lads mags and Maplin catalogues on a coffee table. Add a large television with Sky Sports and playstation or two in the corner. Maybe some flat-pack furniture for them to play with.

They'd be happy. We'd be happy. And everybody wins!

I'm opinionated!

I've just been chatting on facebook and the conversation turned to the matter of opinions. Somewhat tongue-in-cheek, I wrote I also find it particularly important to have opinions on subjects I know absolutely nothing about. 

It got me thinking. Because it's true, isn't it? Not just in my case. I admit I'm frequently far too opinionated, that I'm sure I know everybody else's mind as well as I know my own and that I'm sure I'm right most - well, probably all - of the time. I'm also sure that I drive my family mad, as I hate to admit I'm wrong and I'll do anything to avoid giving in. I think my daughter has inherited my stubborn gene and I hope it will serve her as well as it has done me!

So yes, I'm opinionated. And yes, I'll often argue a point that I don't even agree with just for the sake of a good debate. Sometimes it's rather fun. I remember many long alcohol-fuelled debates as a student, when somebody would eventually say: you don't really believe that, do you? And I'd say: no - not in the slightest, but I just fancied arguing with you. And they'd shake their heads at me in amazement. Or it might have been disgust. Or pity.

But having an opinion on a subject we know nothing about? Isn't that what we do as writers? You might argue (because we're all about arguing on this post - oh, yes we are...) that writers are supposed to research their topics, to write what you know, but you can only take that so far. If you are writing from the point of view of a character who doesn't know, isn't it far more convincing if you don't know either? And isn't any kind of writing having an opinion on something? Be it modern times, politics, whatever - a lot of writing is the author's own opinions disguised as fiction. Or not disguised at all in a factual article or deliberate opinion-piece.

It's a bit like voting isn't it? I've always been a firm believer in the need to vote - to express an opinion. If you don't vote when you have a choice, if you let apathy get the better of you or simply don't like the choices on offer, do you really have a right to complain at the outcome?

Far better to have an opinion on everything. Even the things you know nothing about.

The Indie Ebook Watershed? (part 2)

Last month I blogged about the scandal that hit the ebook market when UK high street retailer WH Smith fielded numerous complaints about books of a more - shall we say - adventurous nature appearing alongside kiddie books on their website. Their search engines were not filtering out adult content or indeed even flagging such content as appropriate for over 18s only. WH Smith's slightly knee-jerk reaction was to take its online store down completely while the matter was investigated.

you'd be surprised what else comes up in a search...

 

WH Smith gets its ebook feed from the Kobo store, as do many other online retailers of ebooks. In response to complaints from WH Smith, Kobo in turn pulled all "independently-published" ebooks from its virtual shelves. Don't ask me how it defined independently-published - anybody can set up a publishing company or imprint with little or no financial outlay. Only the taxmen in their various guises need to know the true legal entity of a business.

So. Fast-forward a few weeks. My ebooks are once again listed with Kobo (at least some of them are - my new release hasn't yet appeared there but I'm confident it will in time). They've not yet reappeared on WH Smith's shelves and I doubt they will. But is this the end of the story? I don't think so.

Online stores do deals with different ebook suppliers. Like Kobo, Barnes & Noble/Nook Press ebooks go out to small online stores throughout the world. For instance, here's one of my books in the Indigo ebook store. Indigo is a Canadian company with physical stores across the country.

And don't forget physical books. I have three paperbacks now, published via CreateSpace. This is US-only and frankly nobody ever buys books from the CreateSpace site itself - they buy via Amazon or via one of the many sites that CreateSpace distributes too across the world via its Expanded Distribution option. This optional extra distribution used to cost an extra $25 - now it's free - and I've actually sold more print books via Barnes & Noble than I have on Amazon itself.

So what's wrong with that? Well - I have no idea where my books are being sold. Google alerts doesn't seem to help here (you all have Google Alerts set up, don't you? Authors and non-authors alike, it's invaluable for knowing who's talking about you...). So I was surprised to find my paperbacks being sold on UK site Fishpond. No, I'd never heard of it either. Quite why anybody would even consider buying a UK book priced in dollars and shipped via the US, when they could buy it from Amazon.co.uk is beyond me - but what is disturbing is the description:   

black & white illustrations and Age Range: 15+ years.

Yes, really.

For the purposes of anyone who has not read my books, my thrillers are very dark, very graphic and absolutely in no way are suitable for under 18s. Oh, and there are no illustrations.

I have no idea where this information is coming from. It's not in my meta-data from CreateSpace, so who tagged my books and why? There's no "look-inside" feature, and I'd be horrified if people thought it might actually have illustrations and be suitable for mid-teenagers. I could possibly understand all books defaulting to an age-range (even if it's clearly the wrong one, and there is nothing that suggests it's a child or YA book), but to state it has illustrations? How? Why?

I've contacted Fishpond and they are looking at the my issue and hopefully amending the description. But what will happen if I change my book, re-upload and CreateSpace pushes a fresh copy out to all its satellite sites? And what else is out there that I know nothing about? How can I control  how my books are presented to the public?

Answer - I can't. And that's why I think this ebook watershed has only just begun.

Calling the Tune is Now Available to Buy!

Aaaand it's out. Calling the Tune is now available in paperback and ebook at amazon.co.uk, amazon.com and smashwords. Other e-retail sites will follow as soon as they are approved. Cover design by the awesomely talented JT Lindroos who has designed all the covers in this series.

"Don’t believe what they say: money can buy everything – and I have lots of it.” 

It’s Eddie’s trial and Michael is reliving events he’d rather forget. Giving evidence means he can’t hide, and there are still people looking for him and old debts to be repaid. It was never going to be easy.

Face to face with the man who raped him, Michael runs from court, but he’s not alone. Close behind him is trainee reporter Becky, and the story she wants will make or break her career after a telephone call sends Michael running for his life.

But running away never solved a problem. Michael realises he has to face his demons head-on if he's ever going to move on with his life – and now he's on a collision course with his worst nightmare. 

Following on from Hamelin's Child and Paying the Piper, this novel contains adult material.