Black Sunday

Recently, I have treated myself to a number of Arrow Video classic horror flicks on blu ray. I watched the magnificent 'Black Sunday' yesterday, a monochrome gothic classic that looks absolutely beautiful, and still remains genuinely disturbing to this day.

Barbara Steele really was the ultimate scream queen; she was absolutely mesmerising as the vengeful undead witch, and the innocent Katya.

Thoroughly inspiring stuff!

Finding my voice

It's proving even harder than I thought, but I think I'm starting to find my voice again. This story will require heavy editing, but to get to the point where I've atually finished a story, regardless of how good it may or may not be, would mean so much to me.

Onwards and upwards.

Has anyone been reading these posts? I don't suppose they have, but it helps me to write down my thoughts.

One step at a time

Well, I'm back on the horse again.

I have to say that writing fiction after a few years of almost total inactivity is proving harder than I expected. The words come slowly, the ideas are starting to come, but they're not bursting onto the page in the way they were when I was becoming prolific.

I guess exercising the mind in a creative fashion is much like physical exercise in the sense that it takes time to build up. Just try blasting out a set of press ups after not doing them for a few years. At first, you'll only be able to do a few, they'll be hard, and you'll ache afterwards. But keep at it, and you'll get stronger and faster. It will, I hope, work that way with my writing.

I've planned out the first story of my comeback (see my recent posts), and have begun, tentatively, to write it. It's daunting, but exciting. I'm going to finish this story by Halloween. Whether it turns out to be any good remains to be seen, but finishing a short story after everything I have had to contend with. When it's finished more will come. Lots more.

Ain't got no time for your video nasty/catch, catch the horror train...

....freeze frame gonna drive you insane!

Growing up in the 80s, I was a child when the video nasty scandal shook Britain. I was told by some of my elders, and to a greater extent the media, that on no account was I to watch any of the ghastly horror flicks that were circulating at the time.

Trash! Filth! Sick! Satanists! Destroyers of public morality!

Of course, like any child, the whole ridiculous uproar just made me want to watch them all the more. They fascinated me, and the more illicit they became, the more I wanted to acquire them.

I always remember going to a video rental store with my parents, where I was permitted to rent a couple of movies most friday nights. Mostly PG rated films, or if I was very lucky 15 certificates. But in a seperate enclave, with a handwritten sign above the doorway reading 'Over 18s only', there was the horror section. I would glance furtively through that doorway, scared but unable to help myself. The names of the movies, the terrifying cover artwork, the sense of the forbidden. It's something I'll never forget.

The store was called Rolph's.

And all these years later, it has inspired my to base a short story there. It's been a long time since I wrote anything, and it has taken a great deal of courage to do this. I have been extremely unwell for a long time and unable to write. But I'm back and feeling better than I have for a good few years.

I hope you will like my story when it's finished, and that you too will feel a little of the illicit chill I experienced all those years ago.

Veteran of 1000 Psychic Wars

I've been away a long time.

I've walked through fire.

I've stared into the abyss.

I've lived enshrouded by a fog of woe and lamentation; bereft of hope, robbed of belief and inspiration.

But I'm fucking back.

When writing a scary story becomes a nightmare - fight on or quit

I've been working on one particular short story for months now. Months. I've written 7000 words, and I'm still nowhere near a satisfying conclusion. I'm not even sure if the conclusion I have planned is very satisfying. I don't think it is. I'm not even sure the beginning or the end are very good either.

What I thought was an idea that promised so much dark wonder is turning into a nightmare. For all the wrong reasons.

I now find myself in the kind of position all writers, and, I suspect artists of all kinds experience. I have a decision to make. Do I fight on and try and salvage something worthwhile from the jumbled mess I've spent countless hours of my time on, or do I cut my losses, accept the idea was never going to work, and spend my time on something fresh and new that will work?

If I give up, does that make me a quitter or a pragmatist? After all, you can't polish a turd. Or can you?

All I can do is follow my gut. It's time to bail on this flawed tale, as infuriating as that feels. It could've been a contender, but it wasn't to be. Would a painter carry on with a picture where their brush had slipped, or they'd applied the wrong colour? No, they'd tear that fucker up and start again.

Time to create something new. And that is why we do this.

Tonight's Star Prize - 100 words of primetime tv terror! A National Treasure returns.....

Tonight’s Star Prize

He didn’t look like he did on TV. He smiled, but it wasn’t the charming, cheeky smile of Saturday night tea time. It was fierce, leering. His eyes burned, wet and bulging as he reached for me.

Said I’d won tonight’s star prize, just like on the telly. He laughed then.

Forty years ago now, but I never forgot that night. Ever. He died last week, it was in all the papers. “National Treasure Dies”. I was glad when I read it, smiled.

But that night he came back to me. His hand, cold and white, reached under the covers.