EasterCon 2011: RandomCon

In the early 1990s, we used to save up for months to go to EasterCon.

A pack of us, crammed in the back of a van, laden with re-enactment gear and scrounged-together dressing-up kit (the word ‘cosplay’ hadn’t been invented). We’d rent a room between us, two in the bed and six on the floor; we’d sneak out to the local corner shop and come back laden with cheap food and salty snackage and two-litre bottles of bad white cider.

And it was awesome.

I remember attending Writers’ Workshops, wide-eyed and wanting to learn everything, participating in the Masquerade (the immortal comment, ‘S&M rubbish, 8/10’ has stuck in my mind ever since) and falling flat on my face when a picture of my mate and I in full (brief?) costume appeared in centre spread of Starburst magazine. I think it was Issue 5.

This year’s EasterCon, then, was rather a landmark event.

I’ve grown out of my costumes (sadly sideways) and these days the van is packed with books and not people. I’m still not quite over the novelty of having a room to myself, never mind the engorging breakfast… and the use of swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna and steam was verging on surreal.

Not as surreal, though, as the deluge of congratulations and questions that followed the announcement of my deal with Titan Books.

The wide-eyed twenty-something that attended those Writers’ Workshops is not really that far in the past – and the realisation that sometimes these things do come true is still a little overwhelming. It’s magical, it’s scary, it’s not quite solid. There’s a part of me that still expects to wake up with my mates all snoring round me.

Slotted in with all of this were other moments of bizarre comedy – moderating a panel with the Guest of Hono(u)r and a line up of fantastic authors, being asked to attend a Con event as an author in my own right (which I didn’t) and seeing my name in print for the first time… it all added up to blow my little mind.

Though that might’ve been the (cringe) Johnnie Walker…

Back to the point though. Thanks to the ludicrous overpricing of the hotel, Alex and I resorted to sneaking carrier bags of provisions into the building. Between gasping in horror at the bar prices, and counting out our pocket-change like skint and errant kids, the irony of this wasn’t lost on either of us.

While ‘Illustrious’ could well have been renamed ‘RandomCon’, the humour of it all did reveal one core truth. Seems time goes in a circle – no matter who you are, where you go, or how your life changes, it’s all comes back to where it started.

And to who you started it with.

Book Deal Announcement!!

From the Titan Books website - as I'm still kinda speechless...

Titan Launches Original SFF Initiative with First Time Author

In the week preceding key science fiction and fantasy convention, EasterCon, Titan Books are delighted to announce the acquisition of worldwide rights to a fantastic debut fantasy novel and its sequel by first time writer, Danie Ware.

In searching for fresh talent to kick-start Titan’s new SFF enterprise, editor Cath Trechman unearthed exactly the kind of inventive manuscript she is looking for from within the Titan Entertainment group itself: a fantasy story written by historical combat enthusiast Danie Ware. As the publicist and event organiser for Titan sister company and cult entertainment retailer Forbidden Planet, Danie is already known and respected by many in the SFF community and has been writing epic fantasy at every opportunity her busy work schedule allows.

The currently untitled novel following Ecko, a cybernetics-enhanced warrior, is scheduled for publication in 2012. Cath Trechman says “Danie has created an extraordinary fantasy world, filled with rich, vibrant characters, and a story that is thrilling, compelling and wonderfully unpredictable. We at Titan feel very lucky to have found such a remarkable talent so close to home.”

(Ummm - Squeeee?!)

Flash Fiction: The Sixty

A shout of thanks to artist Andy Bigwood, who asked me to contribute a piece of flash fiction for his forthcoming title The Sixty.  Launching at EasterCon, containing no less then forty authors who each add a thought to one of Andy's superb illustrations, The Sixty is a collection of science fiction and fantasy art illuminating brave new worlds, dark realities and fantastic realms.

Andy was recently shortlisted for the BSFA Award for best artwork for his cover for Conflicts. You can see some of his artwork on his deviantART page - and you can check out The Sixty, here.

And in case you have any doubts:

Gorgeous juxtapositions of the nearly familiar and the oddly alien - of textured other-world terrains and the strange beings that belong there, even if they're us. City architecture merged with airships or deep space, forming poignant gestalts that always work. Inspired stories in a book of images. Everything combines to produce art that is new, lustrous and haunting.
- John Meaney, Author of the ‘Ragnarok’ Trilogy

Andy's beautiful, unique artwork, blended with gems of fiction by exciting contemporary writers, creates a most original dream world. It's a treasure trove, a box of gorgeous delights that you'll want to dip into constantly. Just curl up by the fire and lose yourself!
- Freda Warrington, Author of ‘Elfland’ and ‘Midsummer Night’

Andy Bigwood has created a wide and varied range of images and has brought them together with an impressive collection of fiction. His passion for his work shines throughout and the whole book is a treasure-trove of creative minds.
- Anne Sudworth, Fine Artist

Privileged to be a part of the project - thanks, Andy!

A Touch of Anarchy

...or possibly a touch of madness!

The ever project-driven Andy Remic is launching a radical, multi-media new imprint called Anarchy Books - and I'm delighted alarmed to have been asked to contribute. In a literary event horizon sure to damage reality as we know it, the anthology 'Vivisepulture' will be impact in .pdf, ebook and MOBI formats. And yes, it's absolutely heaving with deviance. From the press release: -

"Weird tales of twisted imagination by Neal Asher, Lauren Beukes, Eric Brown, Ian Graham, Vincent Holland-Keen, James Lovegrove, George Mann, Gary McMahon, Stan Nicholls, Andy Remic, Jordan Reyne, Ian Sales, Steven Savile, Wayne Simmons, Jeffrey Thomas, Danie Ware, Ian Watson, Ian Whates, Conrad Williams, and artwork by Vinny Chong."

Anarchy Books is out of the darkness, sticking its greasy tentacles where other imprints dare not go. Look out for Andy's own SERIAL KILLERS INCORPORATED, complete with music album provided by th3 m1ss1ng (featuring Jon Bodan from Atlanta's Halcyon Way) and short film shot and chopped by Grunge Films, plus, a little later in the year, his SF novel SIM. There's also SF/horror novel MONSTROCITY by Jeffrey Thomas, then horror novel RAIN DOGS by Gary McMahon.

My own anthological (is that a word?) contribution is called 'Disturbed' - it seemed appropriate.

Frankly, it's all enough to put you off your lunch - but hey, it's a little corner of ANARCHY.

Finally, there's ANARCHY in the UK!

Who Owns A Book?

Yesterday’s signing – and the conversation that followed in both staffroom and pub – has made me ask myself a question.

Who really owns a book?

It it's written by the Author, represented by the Agent, bought by the Publisher, polished by the Editor - and then Printed (one way or another), promoted by the Publicist, reviewed by the Bloggers, featured in the Press, sold by the Bookstore, bought by the Public and promoted all over again… breathe, dammit... whose is it, really? What if you add digital publishing and certain online retailers to this cycle and it becomes more complex still? (Or less, depending upon which side of the till you’re standing. Charlie Stross put this one better than I ever could).

And that's not forgetting the self-published authors; the cover artists, and blurb-writers, the fan-bases and bloody, bloody Facebook… everything folds in together and the list goes ever on.

Eventually, with fortune and planning, the whole thing comes full circle – and the Author comes in to talk to the Public. As a friend of mine used to say, 'Everybody wins'.

But does that answer the question?

The face of publishing is changing. We’ve glimpsed it in the darkness – where new hopefuls or talented artisan writers are treated like monkeys, given peanuts for selling soul and talent to organ-grinders who want only profit… and the backlash has been substantial. I'm sure we all remember a certain gentleman in Frey Flannel.

I’m always reassured that the moment one faction steps in and demands sole ownership, the fight rises to topple their monopoly.

Watching Joe talking about and reading from ‘The Heroes’ yesterday – watching the responses of and questions from his fans – has made me realise something. Not about fighting (though we talked about that too) but about the real owners of a book.

Who owns a book? The characters. That's where the passion is; if the cycles turns properly, then they live in the hearts of minds of everyone, Author to Public, all the way round. (It's when they don’t that it seems to go tits up). To coin a popular phrase – it's character driven, the whole damn thing.

And that's how it should be.

Witness: -

With thanks to Joe, his Heroes, Gollancz - and the team at FP Bristol.

Who're You Calling A Quitter?!

There’s only one piece of advice to give a writer:

Put arse in chair; get on with it (variation in chair and choice of toolage may apply).

But when do you give up? How many years does it take before the ‘day job’ becomes the ‘career’? Before you eventually grow bored or distracted? Do you eventually tire of firing your passions and seeing them flare and fade, of throwing yourself at the page and sliding to the floor?

How long can your obsession survive when your alarm cuts through it at seven every morning?

At thirty (thereabouts), I quit. I didn’t mean to. I had two completed novels and umpteen other, smaller projects that I’d waved randomly at the industry from a safe distance… and equally randomly at long-suffering friends, a little closer to home. Yet somehow I’d never quite broken beyond those boundaries and my attention…

…eventually…

…wavered.

It took a long break before my arse went back in that bloody chair.

So – today is a minor victory. It’s taken a little longer than the Writer’s Workshops of my early twenties reckoned, but hey, that’s what quitting did for me.

Find 'Cure', my first ever paid-for piece of short fiction here, on Hub Fiction. (Thank you Alasdair for the invitation and publication).

The moral of this story?

Never Give Up, Never Surrender.



The picture is Rodney Matthews' 'Terrestrial Voyager'. Read the bloody story, already, and you'll get why it's here, okay?

My '15 Books' List

Stephen Donaldson ‘The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant’

Two people have ever rendered me speechless when they’ve guested at FP… and the other one was Ray Harryhausen. I was 14 when I fell in love with Land, and (while Covenant remains an irritating twat), that love has never, ever left me… and distils to my own writing to this day.


Eugene O’Neill ‘The Iceman Cometh’

I love the play – and the moral dichotomy. When the Iceman breaks the fabricated reality of the rather lost cast of characters… does he do the right thing? It cuts very close to the bone, and I still don’t know the answer.



Douglas Adams ‘Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency’

Oh my GODS the continuity!! Simply the most finely wrought, beautifully convoluted timeline… I love the Hitchhiker series as much as the next (wo)man, but this… is a thing of beauty.


Kurt Vonnegut ‘Galapagos’

In VIth form, my English teacher recommended this as his favourite book ever. He wasn’t wrong. Again, the gloriously wrought timeline – plus Vonnegut’s dry sense of humour shown in true shrewd, sharp style with the wonderfully bizarre cast.



Michael Marshall Smith ‘Only Forward’

I think I embarrassed MMS when I told him how much I enjoyed this book. It’s absolutely off-the-wall, clever, insightful and breakneck downhill. And it has cats.


John Milton ‘Paradise Lost’

I know, its cheesy – but I can’t do this without adding at least one Major English Work and I love it. It big, it’s bold, it’s ludicrously OTT… but as allegorical works go, it’s the fucking Daddy.


Peter Mathiessen ‘The Snow Leopard’

A tale about discovery – about going looking for one thing and finding completely something else. The only religious text you’ll ever need.



Tony Ballantyne ‘Twisted Metal’

It’s DIFFERENT. It’s new, it’s brutal, it’s vicious; it takes no prisoners. It’s almost a concept book - no-one has ever written robots like this. My absolutely top book of last year; it absolutely blew me away. If you haven’t read it – why not??


Tom Stoppard ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead’

Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads.


William Golding ‘The Lord of the Flies’

Another core text – but with good reason. The boys’ descent into brutality is drawn in both blood and pity; and the scene of the dead man in the parachute haunts me to this day. There are echoes of Golding's voice in David Moody's 'Hater' - another book I really enjoyed.



Lord Dunsany ‘The Kind of Elfland’s Daughter’

Much as I love LOTR, its presence is too predictable - and this was written in the 1920’s. It’s simple, it’s beautiful; it’s elegant, the imagery is massively powerful and absolutely sincere. A fontspring for the genre.


T. H. White ‘The Once and Future King’

Add to this one ‘Le Morte d’Arthur’ and ‘The Mists of Avalon’ and several more besides… I went through a phase of being smitten with the whole thing. I guess there’s always been a part of me that’d like to believe it has its feet in the truth. Saxon, maybe?


Robert Holdstock ‘Mythago Wood’

My copy of Mythago Wood was pressed into my hands by Rob Holdstock in person – shocked when I ‘fessed that I’d never read it. I promised him solemnly that I would – but hadn’t started it when he died a month or so later. I’m sorry I never got the chance to tell him how dream-woven, poignant and lovely the story really is.


Andy Remic ‘War Machine’

An odd choice to close – but absolutely belongs in this list. War Machine was my Pivot Book, the one that made me realise that I ‘could do this’. It was the book that started me writing again (seriously) after an eight-year drought. One day, I will blog about this properly...



Apologies - this was only posted here because Nick tagged me to 'fess up and Facebook's being an arse. Because of my job, I made a professional choice: I DON'T write book reviews!

New Tricks!

There are (ironically really) a thousand and one different websites that will tell you how a short story differs from a novel.

In keeping with the theme, it can be distilled down to one word: -

Focus.

Narrative format, single incident, character that reveals itself at a critical point in the storyline… I’m sure we’ve all studied this stuff.

The point is: this is where your close analysis kicks in - you don’t have room to fuck about. All that artsy scenic description and character motivation and exploration and development and yadda yadda… sod all of that, get to the point.

So – I will.

The guys at GeekPlanet have been kind enough to host my short story, ‘Valkyrie’, here.

This is completely new – not only the story itself, but the fact that it’s read aloud – a creative venture that’s been fun to undertake. It’s a very short short story, hearkening back to my wannabe-warrior-maiden days in the Vike… and hence seemed to lend itself to an oral (aural?) tradition.

Music is courtesy of Thumpermonkey and my despicably talented friend Mike Woodman – check out the full album here.

Oh - and forgive (enjoy?) the polished public school tones…

…some things you just never grow out of.

Save The Words

Language is organic.

In an accelerating age of instant communication, word and sentence structure adapt faster than ever, almost too fast for us to keep track. Abbreviations more suitable to text and IM creep steadily into everyday use; looking deeper, this change is led by a younger generation. As our education system prioritises new criteria, so our language changes with each passing year. Love it or hate it, it’s inevitable.

When my son acquires his first mobile, I doubt I’ll even understand his text messages.

And I’m sure that’s part of the point.

Yet the ghost of my English teacher haunts me still. Bless Jock Craig, that man taught a wonder and joy in the versatility and beauty of our language that has never left me. Despite his stern humour, he had a passion for his craft that infected all of us. From Beowulf to Chaucer to Milton to modernity, I defy any Ardinian taught by Jock to have come away texting lolcat.

In a week that’s seen the demise of the printed Oxford English Dictionary – is the traditional edifice of our language crumbling? Whither its remnant now?


Well, apparently, it’s here.

This is Save The Words. A site where you can show your love of the depth and richness – and downright bloody stupidity – of the English language by ‘adopting’ a word and promising to use it in day-to-day conversation.

Here are some of my favourites: -

Snobographer – one who writes about snobs
Perantique – very old or ancient
Vadosity – shallow body of water that can be crossed by wading
Quadragintireme – vessel with forty pairs of oars
Lubency – willingness, pleasure

The list goes ever on – it’s mesmeric and compelling.

If you choose to adopt a word, the site will tell you that 90% of everything we write is communicated by only 7,000 words – and I’m guessing that’s not including txtspk. Here is Oxford taking up the challenge, adapting with the times and bringing our language full-circle – using the very digital technology that’s causing the change to ride it and move with it.

Go on: adopt a word. Tell a friend, opt into the word-a-day email. Pick up your own word-banner and make sure it’s seen and heard.

No-one says you can’t like lolcats. But take a moment to think about where they came from.

So... what IS the most dangerous thing in the Universe?!

You’re a writer, right? And you’re stuck?

When you ask Google – or Jeeves – a question, you’ll get an answer. It’ll be dry, it’ll be humourless, but (assuming you’ve asked the question correctly) you’ll get what you were after.

When you ask Twitter a question, THIS is what happens…

@Danacea Cub Question du Jour: Mummy, What’s the most dangerous thing in the Universe?

Replies received went as follows: -

@Becca_Masters in all honesty it’s probably humans!!!
@Steve_G A collision between matter and anti-matter? That should keep ‘em quiet for a while :)
@RyanMacG Mums :P
@daphneblake eating too much candy and watching Hannah Montana
@ALRutter Boredom
@bobcatrock my inner-hippy immediately said “a closed mind!”
@pandermoanium gossip
@garenewing the Universe itself!
@justinpickard – Sharks with laser beams? Or a supernova? Though the second answer, when explained, might cause more problems that it solves
@SamSykesSwears Desire
@frandowdsofa Mummies
@Big_Jim religion. Or Galactus. Your choice.
@ALRutter Religion
@destroytheearth “Questions, so shhh!”
@Entorien Seriously? The Human Race. Non-seriously? The Cookie Monster.
@Entorien Or if you’re feeling really deep and thoughtful, and your Cub’s as smart as he sounds… ignorance ;-p
@sennydreadful Spiders. Yeah, I know that mostly they’re harmless, but that’s just because they haven’t revealed their plans yet.
@neilbeynon A big red button marked Do Not Press
@mrdomrocks [shortened version from Twitlonger] People.
@davecl42 Black hole? Gamma Ray burst? Dalek??
@Shockwave A woman locked out of a 95% off shoe sale
@Faithful_Shadow The teen says pissed off mum
@stephenjsweeney Cheese
@x_richard_x Daleks, cybermen, a woman scorned?
@ghostfinder Anti-matter!
@talithabee A curious mind
@Faithful_Shadow my vote goes for black holes
@Rhiarti Stupidity
@beaki gamma rays
@brendajos tell him girls that aren’t mummy
@leighjohnston Quasar?
@kevmceigh Simon Cowell
@dracona1031 I’m not sure Daleks count any more, now that they come in Fisher Price colors…
@Herne politicians

@Von_Cheam Chinese-built motorcycles

This list has omitted those of you with protected streams, the debate between @ghostfinder and @davecl42 about the nature of Quasars, and the venn diagram overlapping Religion and Desire as outlined by @SamSykesSwears… just an extra level of involvement to put a blue bird on your shoulder.

But… you’re a writer, right? And you’re stuck? That’s over thirty answers to a single tweeted question – all creative, all with a sense of humour, all with insight and each with a personal slant. That’s fodder for fucking days.

The most dangerous thing in the Universe? Is bloody Twitter.

I was going to thank people in my twitterstream, but you’re all too cool *laughing!*

So - who's going to pick a favourite?!

Writing and Twitter: The Case for the Opposition

So – the validation thing.

I have this theory (stone me if you will): the point at which you stop needing validation is the point at which you’ve learned to write like yourself (not like Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk or Dan fucking Brown). Don’t get me wrong – we all need feedback, positive or negative, that’s how we learn – but thirsting for constant reassurance means you’re still seeking your own voice… and your own feet. As you’re finding these things, and becoming secure in them, that need will thin and fade.

Those authors who have success as their feedback seem to forget this – they, too, started somewhere.

I’ve blogged before about Twitter as a distraction (and Gods fucking KNOW it can be!) but the Case for the Opposition is that Twitter can provide three things (other than helping you market your title, we got that one already): -

Support and reassurance: we all have to take those first steps.

A smack round the head: as well as being a distraction, Twitter can be a motivation. Whether you gain your necessary arse-kick from stating what you’re going to do, or from a friend’s booted foot, that doesn’t really matter. Perversely, Twitter can be good for actually making you work.

Research: neatly bringing me to where I was going.

While the Great Prophet Google goes almost all the way to making research easy, there are times it genuinely can’t help you. So, when you find yourself asking a question, a question that’s so spectacularly simple, so downright fucking dumb, a question that’s so ridiculous that you didn’t even know that you didn’t know...

…you ask Twitter.

And Lo! Where the Great Prophet fails, the Little Blue Bird offers up the answer.

So – this blog is a thank you to all those people who answered the idiot query ‘Do you open your glove compartment with the same key as you open your car?’ It’s also a thank you to Lloyd Davis over at Perfect Path for chipping in with his busking experience – and a shout out to all those people who make Twitter, not about pointless validation, but about help that actually matters.

Twitter can be like the bottom of the bird-cage – what you get out of it depends entirely…

…you know what I’m saying.

Bullshit and Artistry

The saying goes: that a short story is to a novel what a sniper rifle is to a shotgun. It’s a precision instrument – there’s no room to fuck about if you want to do the job properly. You can’t just paint the target and hope… you need to know exactly where you’re aiming, and how you’re going to get there.

Having just finished the first short story I’ve written in (cough!) far too many years – and prayed my trigger mechanism isn’t too rusty – it’s kind of led to something else…

Sticking with the analogy: is urban fantasy to epic fantasy what using a weapon is to just noising about it? It has to be real – you have to know exactly what you’re doing because people will bloody-well notice if you’re a bullshit artist.

If you’re an epic fantasy writer, you can make all sorts of cool shit up – a home, a battlefield, a drinking den, an historical date, a stupidly-oversized sword – as long as it’s a socio-cultural fit, you’re away.


Then you come to writing something set in London.

After a bit, it dawns on your little brain that you can’t make that shit up any more. If your characters have a home – you need to know where it is, you need to know what it looks like, you need to know where the closest Tube station is and what the streets are like at two in the morning. Are there pubs or clubs in the area – what time do they shut? Where (if you want to get really anal) do your characters go to get a pint of milk on a hungover Sunday morning?

Hrmmm….


With all this crap in my head, this afternoon I’ve been up in Camden. Not shopping, not even in the Market itself a lot of the time – but ranging that little bit wider. I’ve been on manoeuvres: the side streets, the backstreets, the suburbs, the churches and the tiny, forgotten parks. The normal places, the places that the tourists never go; the places that the cool guys with the facial piercings have no interest in… because no-one can see them hanging there.


What we see in any city – any place – is largely what we’re looking for. When you take a step back from yourself and what’s expected of you, and you go out looking for something new, it’s amazing what you’ll find.

The pen, it seems, it truly the mightiest weapon of all - it makes us aware. But I'm guessing we knew that...

The Joy of Six

It’s taken me almost three months to add a further chapter to the rewrite of Khamsin – rather tragic, when I share that it’s beginning was written almost a year ago.

But it’s completed at last – an exploration of culture shock to bridge a chasm between two classic expressions of genre.

This one’s for anyone who’s tried to secure creative time against the demands of home, family and work. It’s for everyone who clings to a dream that ‘one day’ they will return to their chosen art – and it’s for everyone who’s woken up and gone ‘fuck it’ and dug their paintbrush out of the attic anyway.

It’s for the people who have helped me rediscover my confidence in this – particularly Mousewords, Teeg, and IAmKat. And it’s for words of encouragement from some unexpected sources.

My average word-count is worse than piss-poor.

But my imagination is awake and firing once more; images tumble, plot-lines weave, conversations develop. All I lack is time.

Learning how to write again is painful and an absolute pleasure... and I know that the more I persevere, the easier it will become.

The new chapter can be found here.

Biting the Bullet

There are a dozen reasons why it’s taken me nearly 20 years to do this, and another dozen to explain why I’m doing it now – but they’re both long stories and this is kind of a long story already.

Its working title is – has always been – Khamsin.

It’s a novel about culture shock – about a strange person, in a strange place, asking for an agenda that no-one has to give.

It’s a novel about the implacable strength of blind faith – about believing you’re right when the rest of the world knows you’re wrong.

It’s a novel about microcosm and memory – about how who you are is made up from everything you’ve been.

More than anything, it’s a novel about passion – about how it can drive you screaming round the edges of insanity… and about what happens when you lose it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s genre fiction and while I harbour boundary-pushing ambitions, I have a long way to go. Again.

The link is here.

If you’d like the explanation, you’ll find it in the footnote.

This has been an advertising post on behalf of Danacea’s Daydreaming. Normal geek service will resume after Salute on Saturday.

Thangkya.