A good start to the New Year. Fibs the short story I originally wrote for the Times Ghost Story Competition has been accepted for publication in the next issue of Estronomicon. I'm chuffed because I didn't hold out much hope for this one!

Read Full Post

This week I had the privilege of seeing the National Theatre's production of War Horse, adapted from the novel of the same name by former Children's Laureate, Michael Morpurgo. A theatrical tour de force, it tells the story of Joey, the beloved horse of young Devonshire lad, Albert Narracott. Without Albert's knowledge and against his wishes, Joey is sold to a Yeomanry Cavalry Division at the outbreak of the First World War. He is shipped to France to serve first the British and then, following the death of his rider, the Germans, before eventually ending up injured and alone in No Man's Land. Albert, though underage, follows his treasured animal out to France and searches for him through the muddy trenches and bloody years.

The puppetry that brings both Joey and a number of other horses to life is nothing short of incredible - it takes very little time to forget that there are three people operating each full-sized animal, controlling every twitch of their ears or toss of their mane, each flick of their tails or shudder of muscle – and the intense bond between man and animal is exquisitely portrayed and utterly believable. The haunting folk music and clever backdrop – which at one point is swallowed by the blood of the fallen – heighten the emotion and, together with the moments of violence and thunder, beautifully evoke and underline the terrible destruction and futility of the war.

Read Full Post

Mslexia, the magazine for women writers which I have found to be an invaluable resource since it began, several years ago, has highlighted The Short Review in its On the Net section, saying:

Created to make up for the lack of reviews currently allocated to the short story genre, this user-friendly site provides a much needed platform for original reviews of story collections and anthologies. New as well as classic collections are covered, giving those who aren't overly familiar with the genre recommendations with which to catch up. Reviews are written by short story writers with many including links to reviews by other publications, for quick, easy access to more opinions. The simple, clean design makes navigating your way around the site very easy and the "if you liked this you might also like' link attached to each review is a helpful addition. The browse feature also gives you several ways to search for something to read. Follow the links to the site's founder and editor Tania Hershman's blog for more reviews - and your chance to comment.

This is a wonderful endorsement and should, I hope, draw more people to The Short Review and give short story collections more exposure. Thank you, Mslexia!

Read Full Post

Have spent most of the day editing Chapter Five of The Gifting and I think I'm just about ready for another scene in Gathandria now. It's going off in some unexpected directions and I'm not sure I'm entirely in control of the beast, but hell that's always the case. I'm never entirely in control of the beast. At least it's giving me a lot of food for thought. Sometimes, I just have to let my obsessive need for control go and rely on instinct. I can sort the spiky bits out later. I hope ...

Read Full Post

Well, of all the things I thought I'd never do, going to Brownies, aged twenty-six, would probably have ranked quite high on the list.

I did last night though, to give a talk/workshop to help a group get their writers badges.

Read Full Post

I managed to get to my computer after the usual. Typed in the box where one should type when sending a flash to Bewildering Stories. The day got darker though night wasn't due for an hour or so but, switching on the lamp, ignoring two phone calls, I finished, pressed send and it wouldn't SEND! What a waste of time and energy. God, how I hate technology at times. There again, I'm Tipex clean nowadays though I still have that little tug of the heart when I remember my Smith Corona. Yes, the keys jammed. Agree, that when replacing ribbon, fingers would get covered in black which somehow transfered to the face. But she and I wrote our first stories together. She helped me succeed at times. She now lies in the garage as I couldn't allow her to be thrown out like a piece of garbage. And, if we have power cut, she's there waiting to help me out.

Me, it seems. My thanks to Vicky Bottrill for the questions. In another section of today's Ham and High, there's a snippet about our forthcoming Gaslit Vices event. Apparently, according to the reporter, A Gentle Axe was written by some guy called Wilson. Well, apart from getting my name wrong, the piece is factually correct in almost every detail.

There's also been another writer's life video, this time by my Writeword pal, Nik Perring. Nik says you should blame me if his turns out boring. I hardly think that's fair!

I thought I invented a new word the other night.

Read Full Post

Me, it seems. My thanks to Vicky Bottrill for the questions. In another section of today's Ham and High, there's a snippet about our forthcoming Gaslit Vices event. Apparently, according to the reporter, A Gentle Axe was written by some guy called Wilson. Well, apart from getting my name wrong, the piece is factually correct in almost every detail.

There's also been another writer's life video, this time by my Writeword pal, Nik Perring. Nik says you should blame me if his turns out boring. I hardly think that's fair!

I thought I invented a new word the other night.

Read Full Post

Whole worlds appear to be converging. The book is halfway done, & I’ve reached the place where the modern world setting flows into an alternative reality. Well, it was originally set underground, so it could be just about anywhere anyway – this world or any other. What this basically means is that I’m further along than I thought. All I need to do is write about four completely new chapters & the rest is more or less all rework.


Read Full Post

Supermum Lawyer Writes Debut Novel - shrieks the headline. And there's my photo grinning inanely, a copy of Damaged Goods clutched to my heart.
I sigh.
Most mothers are delighted to find time to juggle work and kids but supermum, Helen Black, wrote her habulous new novel...
I sigh.
I look around the train wreck I laughingly call home. The twins were up til 4am projectile vomiting with a force and intensity of which Linda Blair would be proud.
Qulits, carpets and curtains are splattered. The only things not covered in the contents of my childrens stomachs are the bowls I left seide their beds 'in case of emergency'.
I sip a cup of hot water ( we've run out of tea bags ) and wonder if other parents let their children play football in their PJs. In the living room.
Having scored a hat trick Twin 1 bounds towards me. He's clearly recovered and waves his get out of jail free card - a letter from the school nurse prohibiting the return of pupils to lessons within 24 hours of the last 'episode'.
The phone rings. It's my publicist, Kesh.
'The post want an interview,' she says.
'Great.'
'This morning,' she adds.
I survey the devestation. 'Great.'
I turn to the kids and solemly tell them that if they help me clear up they can eat ANYTHING they want for breakfast. Naturally they're fluent in the internationally recognised language of junk food and begin to take down the goal posts.
'Chuck everything in the didning room,'I bark.
And with the flexibility of autistics they fling anything that is not nailed down. Lego starships, dirty socks, a music stand, all hurtle through the air.
With similar accuarcy I throw myself in a (cold) shower.
The kids demand their reward.
I proffer a packet of raspberry crunch cookies and wonder if counts as one of the five a day.
Twin 2 shakes her head. 'Fluffernutter sandwiches.'
For the uninitiated thisis the food of kings. The King, in fact, as Elvis would not have lived as long as he did if he'd discovered these babies.
Plastic bread ( what else ) smothered in peanut butter and topped with a liberal amount of marshmallows.
As the journalist and photographer arrive my children scurry to their room, fists clamped around their coronary inducing prize.
'So tell me, Helen,' asks the nice lady from the newspaper, 'how did you get to be such a supermum?'