A fragment of 'Eventide'.

   I'm now over 50,000 words into the new novel.  Here lies a snippet:

  

   The next few pictures were distant and close-up shots of the murder scene.  It was a captured terror, a collage of the impossible made possible.  Hal winced as he clicked through each picture, the next seemingly more gruesome than the last and festooned with enough violescent horror to deform reason itself.  He did not even know why he was looking at the things.  This should have been Phil's job; he wanted them taken, and he should have been there to choose which one was more newsworthy than the last.  This was news, after all, an informative and educating medium in which the world was introduced and reintroduced to the darkness and mayhem of humanity on a daily basis.  What was only previously told in stories was now real and spattered across papers and television screens for the world to see, for New Wood to see.  Hal wanted to be a photographer plain and simple.  He wanted to freeze moments of happiness and natural beauty rather than endorse moments of death and misdeed.  How could this be deemed a career?  He shook his head with disgust both for himself and the means by which he now lived.  This was not how he had planned things.

   He leaned into the screen after clicking on the next picture of the man they had seen kneeling by the car.  He appeared normal enough; he was still a bald man in his fifties and still wore spectacles.  There was nothing terribly out of the ordinary about him aside from the contraption he was clutching in his left hand.

   Hal double-clicked and zoomed in: "Looks metallic," he whispered to himself as he enlarged the picture a little more.  "That's blood," he added with surprise as he moved the pointer over the man's hand.

   At that magnification the blood appeared as a crimson coverlet over his fingers and, as for the device itself from which the blood seemed to emanate, it was shaped like a starfish that hugged the hand and wrist with a mutated grip.  Hal zoomed in further until the computer pixels enlarged into unsightly blocks, but he was still able to discern the shape of the thing.  It appeared as a glistening glove that seized its wearer with inbound claws to pinch and pierce the skin.  Hal could also now plainly see a small but discernible antenna hanging from the base of the contraption, which had burrowed beneath the flesh and infiltrated the vein.

   "That can't be," Hal said as his eyes moved from the antenna and back to the minute pools of blood on the ground.  He pursued the trail of dark pixelated puddles at the man's feet, which led to the victim's car door.

   Hal's lips parted involuntarily and invited a drifting draught into his mouth.  Suddenly the residual taste of coffee on his palate was erased and forgotten.  He swallowed cool dry air as his tongue kissed the roof of his mouth and remained stuck there while he formed the only feasible and yet still unfeasible conclusion; the man was injecting himself with the victim's blood...

Eventide (New Novel)

   At the moment I'm taking a break from the 'Words to the Wise' Saga.  I'm currently working on a new novel, 'Eventide', which should be out soon (ish... probably very ish).  Here lies the blurb.  It may well change in the future, of course, because I'm a fussy wretch:
 

   As the newly discovered planet Eventide approaches the Earth at an accelerating rate, humanity is thrown into a state of uncertainty.  Many believe the apocalypse has arrived, and many are celebrating the planet's approach with a sense of discovery and unbridled festivity.  Meanwhile, in the small historic town of New Wood, a fresh and unfathomable menace breeds and spills into an innocent community unprepared for events that will soon forge a startling link between Eventide and the Earth itself.

 

   There, blurb done.  Now all I have to do is finish writing the novel.  I'll probably post a few pages in the near future.

2012 Indie Book Award

   I've just discovered that Book Three of my 'Words to the Wise' Saga has won an award on the 'Goodreads' site for 'Best Horror' and I'm really pleased.  Special thanks to all who voted for me, and congratulations to all the other winners and runners-up.

Words to the Wise: Book Three (Sirrenvaag: Part One)

Well here it is.  I've finally managed to publish the third book!  Just a few things, though, before I go: 
   
1. Made the curry.
2. Still waiting to hear from the Czech Republic about the 'h' recommendation.  It doesn't look good, though.
3. I managed to remove a plastic finger from a child's doll.  I've stuck it to my own hand.  The child wasn't happy about the toy.  The child cried.  I ran.
4. It was published a little later than expected, but it's published all the same.
5. The man in the moon... mooned.
6. Scrapped the old 'to do' list.
7. Made another list and then scrapped it.
8. Didn't grow up.
9. Grew up and made this list.
10.  I'm still eating the curry I made in point one.  What do you think I am, a pig?!

Things to do

1. Make a curry.
2. Inform the Czech Republic that the 'z' is wholly unnecessary.  Use a 'h' instead.
3. Grow an extra finger so that I can hold larger cups.
4. Publish Book Three (part one) of the 'Words to the Wise' saga on September 28th.
5. Tell the man in the moon to find a hobby.
6. Scrap this 'to do' list.
7. Make another list.
8. Stop making childish lists and grow up!
9. Grow up and make another list.
10. Make another curry.

Cornelius Harker: Fugitive

   For these past few weeks I've been hugging the shadows, occasionally leaning out into a looming wilderness of breeding menace in which resides both the impossible and improbable.  They found me! The Wordshippers are pursuing me as though I were a cross-breed of monster and man.  They discovered my penchant for paragraph pounding, you see; they observed me from their linguistic niches and remained silent, brooding and vengeful... until now.  Already I'm 140,000 words into the editing of 'Sirrenvaag'. I've cut, sliced and pummelled my way through the text; I've waged war upon the page, trodden upon the larynx of language and struck the syllable with precision.  Consequently I've incurred the wrath of these baleful booksters.  

   However, and in my favour, The Wordshippers are remarkably stupid for beings whose lives have been dedicated to preserving the written word.  Last Tuesday one of them tracked me down during the pre-dawn hours and began booming its accusations before drawing its quill-shaped sword.  It stood ready to strike.  I said: "Look, a Giraffe wearing a lumberjack shirt!" As it turned around I simply hid behind a tree until it left.

   The hunt for Harker continues...

Cornelius Harker: Sentence Slayer

   They scream, they cry, they bleed inky blackness from their wounds.  All around me are the fallen, the once hopeful band of warrior words that strolled across plains of page and punctuation with mettle and cheer.  They imagined themselves as saviours, as deliverers of description; they once thought as all words think, that they alone are the product of genius, the footnote to reflection and the messengers of mind and soul.  They mocked me, they chided, they sauntered about the pages of 'Sirrenvaag' as though they themselves had fashioned its eerie milieu.  They were obviously too big for their boots, so I've taught them a lesson. I edited, hacked and slashed until they whimpered and apologised.  They even got together and baked me a cake, which was nice... not enough icing, though. 

   I'm now taking a break for a week; I'm off on holiday!  At least the words will be left in peace for a short time.  Upon my return, however, there will be fury, there will be chaos; the heavens will split and then, well, I'll probably just edit some more.

   I shall return, ladies and gentlemen.