the weather calms down

And this is the weather calmed down . . .

Hythe Bay, near Folkestone

Waves arriving

Martello Towers looking pretty secure

the beardy one

 

When everything's done, with hindsight playing its part, the human need to find patterns and to put meaning into the ineffable, you look for signs and see things that aren't there.

Reading the final SF novel of Iain M Banks, The Hydrogen Sonata, with its transcendence maguffin, and then his final mainstream book, The Quarry (as Iain Banks), in which one of the main characters is dying of cancer, you could be forgiven for thinking that Banks's subconscious had some inkling that he wasn't well long before the doctors found what was ailing him. Maybe that was the case. For all that Banks heavily pre-planned his novels, that creative spark – what we happily call inspiration – comes from somewhere indefinable. And yet we all have it to some extent. However we express it, or chose not to, somewhere inside we often know ourselves better than we would sometimes care to.

But I'm talking with hindsight, trying to find a pattern and meaning to help explain why Iain (M) Banks is no longer here.

Maybe as he said in his final televised interview, it's just bad luck.

I was going to chat a bit about Banks's work here, but frankly bigger and better brains than I possess have done so  elsewhere, and done it better than I could have done. I doubt there's anything of worth that I could add to their thoughts. I'll just content myself by saying that with his too-soon death his final works contain a poignancy as well as all the dazzling pyrotechnics of an astounding imagination and talent.

I was lucky enough to meet Banks a few times. Mostly at book events, but once at a magazine rack, where we both reached for the latest New Scientist at the same time and started chatting. Banks was open, friendly, and possessed no airs that I could detect. He was as happy to talk books and “stuff” at the magazine rack as he was at book signings and readings. So many others have said something similar, and it's not something to forget: with a healthy air of self-deprecation and a strong sense of humour, he was that rarest and most honourable of things - a nice guy. Sometimes you can't say fairer than that.

Cheers, Iain.

stealing history

Should you be interested, my jiggy mainstreamy short story "Stealing History" is included in the latest issue of Paul Sutherland's excellent Dream Catcher literary arts journal.

Dream Catcher's been hit in recent years by the closure of Borders and by the collapse of the Arts Council budget, but it's made it through the rough period and hopefully will continue to grow stronger under the Stairwell Books imprint. As an outlet for poetry and prose in the UK, it's a real gem. Try a copy if you don't believe me.

My story's in Issue 27. You can get a copy by clicking here.

This is how my tale begins:

 

In the middle of summer, with the temperature in the low thirties C and the sky so bright it seemed to be an extension of the sun's corona, my girlfriend Misheru told me I didn't share enough of my past with her.

‘You know all about me. But whenever I try to learn more about you, you always change the subject.’

‘That can’t be true.’

She eased her head slowly from side to side. ‘I used to think you were a really great listener, that you wanted to know about what it was like growing up in Kobe. I had this stupid idea you enjoyed hearing about what happened to my family during the quake, and what I found when I went back there. But now I just wonder if all the time you've been keeping quiet and nodding through my stories just so you can have an easy life. So that you don’t have to tell me about yourself, rather than caring about anything I have to say.’

‘No, Mish. That’s not how it is. I like learning about you.’

'Then why so evasive when it comes to sharing? We've been together over nine months. How come you don't tell me things?'

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. ‘What do you want to know?’ 

‘The little things, things you don't share with anyone. Give me some soul archaeology. I already worked out the basics. Your star sign and whose books you like to read, your favourite films. Tell me something you wouldn’t think of mentioning at a job interview.’

She removed her sunglasses and I saw that she was serious. I was surprised.

‘You've really been thinking about this, haven't you?’

‘It's what I want to know.’

'Okay.'

the reviews are in

So here are some things that've been said about a coupla things some of my pieces have been in. In other words, folks, the Reviews are in.

About Midnight Echo 9, edited by Geoff Brown, Horror Addicts said this. Good Reads gathered a few reviews together here. And Frank Errington said this.

About Horror Without Victims, edited by DF Lewis, Matthew Fryer said this. Frank Errington said this. The Kind of Face You Hate created this sort of maybe review. A Mad Man With a Blog said this. And The Future Fire was not impressed and says so, at length, here.

A few new reviews of my novellette/novella/long short story - how-so-ever you want to categorize/categorise it - What I Wouldn't Give, have been posted on amazon here in the UK and here in the USA. (And if anyone can tell me why the price of the eBook keeps fluctuating between a dollar and a dollar-fifteen in the US, I'd be most impressed, because I'm not the one who's changing the price.)

Of course, when it comes to reviews, if you believe the good, then you must believe the bad. And if you believe the bad, then you must believe the good. Why is it, though, that I always find myself agreeing more with the bad reviews of my work than I do the good?

Anyway, it's nice to be read, even if you're not always loved.