Last chance for doodles!

I’m blown away by the enthusiasm surrounding Danse Macabre’s recent release in paperback. So many of you supported me by buying and sharing – and you ROCK!

More, a whole bunch of you were even willing to pay more for a signed, personalised copy. A trend soon developed of unique and increasingly elaborate doodles (or, as one Anindita nicknamed them, ‘Loodles’!), and seeing them pop up on social media has been hella fun.

Here’s the thing: I’m no artist. And while I’m pretty chuffed with how some of those doodles turned out, the fact is that they took me aaaaaaaages (up to an hour each for some of them!). Given that I’m aiming to have the first draft of my novel completed by March, I’m having to carefully consider my other commitments, and cut down on those I just don’t have the time for any more.

So! You can still grab a doodled copy of Danse Macabre as long as you place your order before the end of December. Once that clock ticks over into 2017, that’s it. Window closed.

You can order your personalised copy here, or buy a bog-standard one from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

Either way – thank you, and happy new year!

Self-published authors & the SPFBO: revitalising SFF

Note: For an updated version of this article, visit Fantasy-Faction.

Self-published authors get a lot of flak.

Even armed with a bargepole, many readers won’t touch them. These readers will assure you that indie books are unprofessional; that they’re inherently inferior and therefore not ‘proper’ books.

Yarnsworld #1 and #2 by Benedict Patrick

… and yet some self-published authors produce work that’s MORE professional-looking than the stuff you find in bookstores! (Image: the Yarnsworld series by Benedict Patrick)

Admittedly, it’s not too hard to find examples of substandard writing amongst the masses and masses of self-published works. Perhaps readers have simply had their fill of lazy prose and sloppy formatting and are wary of encountering more.

Or maybe it’s not the books that are the problem. We’ve all come across the ubiquitous indie author who takes the ‘stuck record’ approach to self-promotion. You know the one, whose constant passive-aggressive ‘BUY MY BOOK’ posts soon become so irritating that we have no choice but to issue the offending author with a cease-and-desist before gouging out our own eyes and/or unfollowing them on social media.

Whatever the reason, indie books – particularly within SFF – have garnered a reputation for being second-rate, amateur and inconsistent . . . a reputation which is (for the most part) unfair and undeserved.

‘Success stories’

Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of Michael J. Sullivan? Or Anthony Ryan? Both authors’ hugely popular fantasy debuts – The Crown Conspiracy and Blood Song, respectively – began life as (you guessed it!) self-published novels. Now, they’re practically household names.

Ryan, Sullivan

Anthony Ryan and Michael J. Sullivan both began as self-published authors before finding mainstream success

Inspiring, without a doubt. But in terms of popular opinion, such accomplishments have done surprisingly little to change attitudes towards indie authors. Using Ryan or Sullivan as the benchmark for measuring ‘success’ suggests that the singular goal of self-publishing is to become one of the ‘lucky few’ who eventually get picked up by traditional houses; in other words, it reinforces the idea that self-publishing is merely the means to an end.

But do all indie authors want the same thing?

300 authors, 10 blogs, 1 winner:

the great Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off


While every author is unique, many share similar goals. Most prominent amongst these is the desire to be noticed.

SPFBO2 Banner by Matt Howerter

design by Matt Howerter

In February 2015, author Mark Lawrence (The Broken Empire, The Red Queen’s War) took to his blog to ponder the problem of self-promotion, observing that:

“…as a new author, particularly a self-published one, it is desperately hard to be heard. It’s a signal-to-noise problem. Who knows how many Name of the Winds or [fill in your favourite] are lost to us because they just couldn’t be seen? None? A hundred?”

He was right; moreover, plenty of voices agreed with him, and before long well-respected bloggers were clamouring to help him find a frequency on which some of the more deserving voices could finally be heard.

273 writers responded to the call for self-published authors. That’s 273 writers who submitted manuscripts to the contest. These were promptly split between ten participating bloggers, who spent the next six months wading through their ‘slush pile’ in the manner of a literary agent. Samples that failed to shine were soon cast aside, and eventually each blog was left with only one.

The SPFBO Final Ten (2015)

#SPFBO 2015: the final ten

Round Two kicked off as soon as the final ten were announced. Each blogger proceeded to read and review all finalists in full, eventually assigning each novel a rating out of 10. As you might already have guessed, the entry with the highest score at the end was declared the winner.

And the grand prize? Well, as Mark Lawrence announced at the start:

“There’s no other prize. The winner will get the publicity of being the winner, plus the bonus of being reviewed on the blogs of 10 highly respected fantasy bloggers.

“Frankly you can’t buy better publicity than that.”

The end of the beginning

Voila! The first step towards changing attitudes was complete. While the inaugural SPFBO didn’t exactly break down the barrier between indies and their potential readers, there’s no denying that it was a step in the right direction. The process gave a leg-up over the barrier for a handful of hidden gems, making them more visible while also filtering out less polished books.

In the end, 273 books were whittled down to one winner, and the title went to The Thief Who Pulled on Trouble’s Braids. The author, Michael McClung, landed a publishing deal with Ragnarok along the way, and is now preparing for ‘Rok’s impending release of the fourth Amra Thetys book, The Thief Who Wasn’t There.

In an example of a different kind of success, close runner-up Ben Galley has since continued to advance a professional and prolific self-publishing career that began over seven years ago. Galley not only provides ‘Shelf Help’ sessions for aspiring indies, but also spends an inexhaustible amount of time writing fiction, promoting his work and building momentum for the release of his eighth novel,  The Heart of Stone.

The Heart of Stone by Ben GalleyBloodrush by Ben GalleyThe Written by Ben Galley

SPFBO 2: 2016

Confession time: I had very little personal interest in the SPFBO when it began. I admired the concept and the mind behind it, of course, but initially dismissed the contest itself as a publicity ploy. Here, I thought, was a token gesture of indulgence, the same sort that spurs celebrities to adopt baby gorillas.

You know what? I’m ashamed of my former cynicism snobbery (let’s call it what it is, folks); and I couldn’t have been more wrong.

In March this year the process began again. This time around, my own involvement as part of Fantasy-Faction’s judging team has changed my perspective even more. The positivity, enthusiasm and professionalism of the entrants in our group swiftly banished any lingering reservations I may have had, as did the overall quality of the entries submitted.

In fact, several bloggers were so impressed by their batch of books that Lawrence hosted a cover contest during the early stages of the competition.

SPFBO Cover Contest 2016

Looks aren’t everything; but they do speak volumes about the amount of pride an indie author has in his or her own work. Though we know it’s shallow, most of us do judge a book by its cover. When our first glance shows us an attractive design and professional layout it makes the world of difference.

The Dragon's Blade by Michael R Miller

Sure, it’s what’s inside that really counts . . . but let’s face it, nobody would voluntarily show up for a job interview without first combing their hair and stepping into something smart. First impressions are crucial.

But even if you do everything right, what happens when somebody else shows up? Somebody who’s also done everything right?

On Ascension

Back in July, Jared at Pornokitsch was torn between two books for his finalist. He spoke so highly of both that Mark Lawrence himself was inspired to read the eventual runner-up, and was so impressed by the book that he now goes out of his way to make sure others recognise the author’s talent.Senlin Ascends by Josiah Bancroft

The author in question is Josiah Bancroft. The book is Senlin Ascends. Chances are that many of you have already heard of it; earlier this year, The Wertzone described Senlin Ascends as “SFF’s first genuinely evocative work of self-published literature” and suggested that it “may mark a serious turning-point in the field.” Lawrence’s baby gorilla has grown swiftly indeed, and now ascends the tower a la King Kong in New York. Bring on the bi-planes!

Though none have become quite as well-known as Mr. Bancroft (yet!) there are a host of other SPFBO entrants now fighting for pre-eminence on many a reading list. Authors such as Ruth Nestvold, Benedict Patrick, Daniel Potter, L. Penelope, Michael R. Miller, David Benem, Moses Siregar III, Blair MacGregor, Rob J. Hayes, T.A. Miles, Timandra Whitecastle, Tyler Sehn, Amy Rose Davis . . . talented folks one and all, who might not have reached the final but have earned a place on the SFF community’s radar nonetheless.

If these guys are so good (you might be wondering) then why are they self-published at all?

‘Can’t get published’

Just last month, a thread about this topic sparked a host of detailed and thoughtful responses from readers on r/Fantasy. The main issue of debate was around the barriers faced by indie authors, with most commenters agreeing that quality and discoverability are two major ones. Some suggested that the ‘good’ self-published books stand out by virtue of the author having invested in professional cover design, formatting and editing. But others argued that there are too many poor-quality products for sale on the internet to even bother looking. Why, they asked, should readers waste their time sifting for talent amongst those who ‘couldn’t even get published’?

Put it this way: if an author is struggling to find a publisher, does that mean their work is crap?

A lot of people will say ‘yes!’ (and in many cases, they’re probably right). Realistically, though, traditional publishing houses turn down manuscripts for all sorts of reasons. We’ve all heard how books like Carrie, Harry Potter, Dune, Dubliners, and even The Diary of Anne Frank received multiple rejections before finally finding success. Examples like these – along with Blood Song et al. – are proof that what G.R. Matthews refers to as the ‘snob factor’ is, in many cases, unjustified.

The Stone Road by G.R. Matthews Black Cross by J.P. Ashman Lady of the Helm by T.O. Munro

Clearly, not all books that ‘can’t get published’ are objectively inferior. But here’s what some folks are still struggling to understand: ‘going indie’ is more and more frequently becoming a first choice rather than a last resort.

‘Going indie’

Believe it or not, plenty of writers balk at the thought of handing over their intellectual property to someone else.

Michael McClung (winner of the inaugural SPFBO) spoke recently about the drawbacks of switching from indie to traditional, and observed that the benefit of reaching a wider audience can come at the cost of frustrating and unforeseen delays. Traditional publishing, he says, can be incredibly stressful for an author who is not prepared to cede control over the entire process to somebody else.Ragnarok Covers: The Amra Thetys series by Michael McClung

Perhaps this is why so many authors cite a determination to retain control over one’s own work (and agenda) as a motivation for choosing self-publishing. For some this is a purely artistic choice; for others, it comes down to practicality or expedience. Regardless of merit, every author’s reasons are unique, be it J.P. Ashman’s commitment to producing a full-length epic or T.O. Munro’s freedom to set his own deadlines in keeping with a busy day job.

Then there are the ‘hybrids’. Some authors travel both paths at various times to suit their changing needs. An example of this might be an author whose novels are trad-pubbed, but whose short stories require a different platform or be lost to obscurity. Or perhaps someone whose books have been trad-pubbed in some countries but not in others.

The Mirror's Truth by Michael R. FletcherAnd this approach supports authors who, for whatever reason, have been let down by traditional publishing. Michael R. Fletcher’s first Manifest Delusions novel, Beyond Redemption, was bought and published by Harper Voyager in 2015. The book was a critical success, but a commercial disappointment. When HV declined to publish the sequel, The Mirror’s Truth, Fletcher decided to switch to indie. Likewise, author Joel Minty is going to great lengths to prepare himself for self-publishing after falling victim to the collapse of Realmwalker Publishing Group – just days before his debut, Purge of Ashes, was set to be released.

Like so many others, these authors turned to self-publishing out of necessity; a necessity born of the determination to deliver to their readers what they promised.

The ‘Great Divide’

But readers shouldn’t presume that every self-published author has already tried – or even desired – to be traditionally published. Just like everything else in life, the pros and cons of each approach are entirely subjective depending on the author’s individual goals and definitions of ‘success’.

Moreover, the reflexive dichotomy of traditional ‘versus’ self is both divisive and demeaning. To borrow the words of author Blair MacGregor:

“Dichotomy is easy.  But conversation isn’t all that challenging, either.  The longer we permit “versus” to dominate, the greater the disservice we do to talented writers.”

MacGregor goes on to suggest that people seem less interested in talking about self-publishing than they are in debating its worth.

MacGregor’s contemporaries have also drawn attention to this issue: Timandra Whitecastle – whose grimdark debut Touch of Iron aims to redefine ‘strong’ female characters – recently expressed similar views about the frustrations caused by those who insist upon such a divide. When making the decision about which approach to take, says Whitecastle, she found little value in objectively comparing the two, and focused instead on which methods would best facilitate her creative desire to “break the mold.”

The Blood-Tainted Winter by T.L. GreylockSword and Chant by Blair MacGregorA Touch of Iron by Timandra Whitecastle

Dismiss the dichotomy;

break the mold

This is where the Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off comes in. The SPFBO breaks down these barriers by encouraging readers to treat self-published books just like they would any other kind.

Book looks interesting? Check it out.

Like the sample? Buy the book.

Enjoy the book? Tell your mates; leave a review. After all, the SPFBO aims to recognise and reward talented, hardworking authors with honest feedback and well-deserved exposure. As I mentioned earlier, the greatest prize on offer here is increased discoverability . . . a prize which thousands of less-known writers covet dearly.

SPFBO2 (Banner design by James Cormier)

design by James Cormier

A great many of this year’s entries fell at the very first hurdle, cast aside after just a few pages. But after six months of indecision, the participating blogs have selected their finalists, and round two has begun! And here’s the most exciting part: in a contest largely hinging on judges’ personal tastes, it’s anyone’s game.

Standards continue to rise as more and more authors set their sights on the SPFBO. Indie authors are working harder and longer, pushing themselves to the absolute limits of capability, and it is they – along with those who follow, support and promote initiatives like the SPFBO – who help keep this genre fresh and dynamic. Everybody wins!

Finally, any indie authors still choosing to operate under a half-arsed mentality of, ‘eh, I’ll just publish it through Amazon’, will inevitably get pushed to the bottom of the pile as those who are serious about making things work will continue to hike to the top – egged on by readers, peers and other like-minded artists within this incredibly supportive community.

If you’re following the SPFBO final then let us know about any entries that have caught your fancy! Join in on social media and weigh in with your own opinions using the hashtag #SPFBO.

Oh! And check out this year’s final ten:

SPFBO 2016: the Final Ten!

SPFBO 2016: the Final Ten!

Procrastination Pitfalls & Beating the Block

A few months ago, self-published author and amigo of mine J.P. Ashman wrote an article about how to deal with writer’s block. Well, I say *he* wrote it; in truth he put together a bunch of responses from some fantastic authors (including Mark Lawrence, Lucy Hounsom, Conn Iggulden and Ben Galley) that gave a lot of insight into the VERY different things that inspire them to write.
Illustration from Black Martlet by J.P. Ashman

Awesomely, Ashman – author of Black Cross, which is a dark but highly entertaining yarn – sought my input on the subject too. Here’s my response, for what it’s worth:


“I can be easily distracted. Hell, it took me eight attempts just to finish writing this. There’s a ridiculous amount of stuff in our everyday lives that has been designed to distract us. But I don’t just mean video games, or TV, or social media, or household pets, or shiny things, or passing butterflies, or—where was I?

“Not sure. Anyway, I’m easily distracted, and this is a serious obstacle to someone who’s trying to write a novel, i.e. wrangle hordes of protagonists and slot events correctly into overlapping timelines (which sometimes feels as though I’m playing ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’). Any time I reach a bit of a creative bump, I find myself heading down to the taskbar and bringing up Facebook. Or Twitter. Or email. Since this totally kills my productivity I have to set myself a realistic limit. Say . . . I’m allowed to check Facebook three more times this evening. Knowing I’ve limited myself makes me think twice about reflexively logging in when the going gets tough, and is really helping me kick the habit of floating around in a pointless cycle of procrastination.

“And speaking of the ‘P’ word . . . I frequently waste hours of my life inventing convoluted family histories for obscure characters who I’ll then eliminate from the story altogether the following day. I linger over phrasing (“MUST think of the perfect adjective before I can move on with this sentence!”) and I dither over pithy details like the spelling of characters’ names (“Cailoh? Kailo? Cylo?”). Over time I’ve become much more aware of this, and am gradually forcing myself to change my habits. Can’t think of a word? That’s okay, I’ll just write ‘Something’ and continue with the sentence. Not sure what my character is actually called? Just put [???] instead of their name and come back to it later.

“It hardly needs to be said that different things will work for different people. Many writers claim that going for a walk, or a run, or a workout, really helps to get their creative juices flowing. Not for me. Physical exercise just annoys me and throws me completely out of sync, as do noise and other people. On the other hand, a weekend indoors with the curtains closed and a blanket round me is a sure-fire way of helping me to focus; it was a while before I realised that coming home from work in the late afternoon and sitting straight down to type was well-intentioned, but just not working for me. More recently I’ve been setting my wake-up alarm for 5.30am (two hours early) and bashing some words out before work each day: once I’ve showered and breakfasted it’s amazing how switched on my brain is in these early hours! But as I said, the thing that helps me most is when I’m able to dedicate an entire day to just sitting down with my work in progress and taking my own sweet time with it. No deadline, no pressure: just me and my story and all the time in the world. Last weekend I wrote nearly 8,000 words . . . not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

“Basically I’m saying that by treating writing as a fun, non-compulsory hobby – an activity that’s impulsive, not scheduled – I enjoy it more, and as a result I’m much more productive. All the advice you see on writing blogs says you have to “treat it like a job”, and that’s fine if you have your own publisher and actual deadlines to meet. But I tried that on more than one occasion (NaNo is a prime example), and you know what? I began to resent writing. Because it had become a chore. Something I had to do. And that, for me, is the key to overcoming writer’s block. Mind gone blank? Motivation fled? That’s fine. I’ll sit back. Close the laptop; make a nice cup of tea, maybe. Put on a fun video game, if I feel like it. And remind myself: I don’t have to write this book. I can just abandon it now, and there’ll be no repercussions whatsoever. No pressure, yeah? Yeah.

“And every single time I’ll find myself back at the keyboard within the hour, because I’ve remembered that I really, really want to write it. Yes, it’s essentially using reverse psychology on my own brain. But it works.”

The other authors each had something different to say, and I’d highly recommend checking out the original article over on Ashman’s site. And his books, of course!

Black Cross (First Tale of the Black Powder Wars) by J.P. Ashman

Working Hard or Hardly Working?

Picture the scene. It’s 2011. I’m 22. I’ve finally graduated from full-time education. After gaining my Masters and PGCE – simultaneously! – I’m ready to burst onto the real world scene and have a go at this ‘adult’ thing everyone keeps going on about. I’ve got it made! Right? Right?!

Well, it turned out there were far more fresh-faced, newly-qualified English teachers than there are vacancies. Since I still needed to make a pesky little thing called ‘living’ I ventured back into the wonderful world of retail, taking a job at a local discount book store. I won’t tell you which one. (It was this one.)

I worked there for around eighteen months, until the store was closed early in 2013 (joining about 70% of all the other businesses in Rochdale town centre). In the weeks prior to closing the business was on its arse, and me and my co-worker would often find ourselves standing behind the till in an empty shop with literally *nothing* to do.

One afternoon I was so bored I wrote a short story about a typical day at work, changing mine and my colleagues’ names for anonymity and fun. Quite by accident I recently unearthed the notebook in which it was scrawled, and thought I’d post it on here for my own amusement and that of anyone else who’s worked in a similar environment.

It was Monday morning. It was 8.55. Laurel loitered in the back office along with Imry and Alibar, waiting for Wembley to arrive at the discount bookstore where they all worked. She never arrived until 9.00 at the earliest, and this made Alibar cross.

Alibar (the manager) was often cross with Wembley (the assistant manager); indeed, Alibar would regularly state that she was going to ‘say something’ to Wembley.

But she never did.

            Laurel and Imry wondered what Alibar would say when they told her that the store had only taken £47 on Sunday. They decided to let her find out for herself, and escaped out front to put the tills in and open up.

            Wembley arrived at 9.02. The hairdryer had broken; the taxi was late; her tummy was poorly; and the shop she normally used to cut through into the shopping centre hadn’t opened on time.

            And she’d been to the doctors. And a funeral.

            “See you in a minute!” Wembley waved and headed towards the back.

            “See you in an hour,” grumbled Laurel and Imry. But they weren’t bitter. Nope.

Not at all.

            While Alibar and Wembley did Important Things in the back, Laurel and Imry spent a busy hour looking through the pictures in the tattoo books. (This had been their favourite pastime ever since they’d sold the last of the children’s plastic golf sets.)

            A loud voice from outside announced that Madny had arrived for her shift. Madny headed towards the back, then a few minutes later Alibar emerged bearing a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. She informed Laurel and Imry that Madny was having her breakfast, and that Wembley was having her second breakfast. Alibar and Imry then left Laurel all alone while they went for a cheeky smoke.

            Laurel didn’t like being left alone. It was during these times that the weirdos always chose to enter the shop.

Laurel didn’t like it when the weirdos entered the shop.

            Right on cue, weirdo #1 wandered through the door. This particular weirdo was a regular, one whom Laurel and the team referred to as ‘Tuit’ (for long and complicated reasons that are probably best left unexplained).

            Luckily, Tuit didn’t spend much time in the shop, and left without even noticing Laurel. This was most likely due to the fact that Laurel crept around the store after him, hiding behind tables to make sure she wouldn’t be spotted.

            All the best sales assistants know that every customer has a blind spot.

            All the worst sales assistants take advantage of the blind spot every time.


By the time Alibar and Imry returned, Wembley and Madny had finished their breakfasts, and all the staff congregated around the till area.

            “There’s loads to do today, girls,” said Wembley, leaning heavily on the counter.

            “Really busy day ahead,” agreed Alibar, sipping coffee.

            The real jobs were delegated once the brews were drunk. As Madny and Alibar strode around with armfuls of books, Laurel and Imry printed some stickers and did their best to try and look busy. Meanwhile, Wembley ignored the actual joblist and disappeared once more into the back, where she placed a couple of phone calls to her husband and two daughters.

            She re-emerged later dragging a cage piled high with Christmas decorations, England flags, Easter cards and other shite. Alibar tutted and shook her head disapprovingly, but only when she thought Wembley wasn’t looking.

            As Laurel and Imry painstakingly put price stickers onto the new books, Tuit entered the shop a second time and headed straight for the ‘Sale’ section. After a while he headed towards the till.

            Laurel had visions of him showing her his latest piece of ‘art’, or presenting his Star Trek coin collection again. Overwhelmed with flashbacks from the trauma of previous encounters, a panicked Laurel dropped to the floor behind the counter, preventing Imry from employing her usual fag break escape tactics.

            Laurel silently congratulated herself on her quick thinking as she listened to Imry having to endure Tuit’s tale about how he had spotted a book that morning, but didn’t have the money to pay for it.

The book was 59p.

Tuit went on to explain that he had rummaged around in phone boxes to come up with 14p, but that he’d have to pay the remainder on his card.

            The freak, thought Laurel.


After lunch, Wembley left early as she was owed some time. Wembley always had time owed, especially when the weather was nice.

Madny finished her shift early in the afternoon, which left Laurel, Imry and Alibar on their own again. Alibar had to do some paperwork in the back, and so once again Laurel and Imry had to find something to pass the time that didn’t actually involve doing any work.

This was becoming more and more difficult, since they had already completed both versions of ‘Where’s the Meerkat?’ from cover to cover, along with the childrens’ versions involving fairies and dinosaurs. They had also looked at the pictures in most of the cookery books at least twice, and had seen every page of the tattoo book that very morning.

So they decided to begin a colouring book. An inspired choice, since it passed the time, but was not intellectually demanding in any way: in other words, it was the perfect hobby for Laurel and Imry.

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Customers were generally well-behaved, since most of them were pensioners. One particularly ancient specimen began a delightful conversation with Laurel, which went like this:

Laurel: “Hi! Can I help you?”

OAP: “Yes, I’m looking for a book.”

Laurel: “Well, you’ve come to the right place! What’s it called?”

OAP: “I don’t know the title, but it’s set in London . . .”

Laurel: “. . .”

OAP: “. . . and I think it might be purple. Or red.”

Laurel: “. . .”


In the dead hour before closing time, Laurel wrote a crap story about her adventures at work.


Fast, Hard and Satisfying: 3 Reasons Every Writer Needs a Fling With Flash Fiction

Back in March, Agnes ‘the Mighty’ Meszaros organised a flash fiction writing contest over on That Thorn Guy. The rules were simple: to enter, you just needed to compose a 300-word piece that contained the words ‘life’ and ‘death’. The overall winner would receive a signed ARC of ‘The Wheel of Osheim’ by Mark Lawrence, and all shortlisted contestants would be provided with feedback from the judges.

Wheel of OsheimSeeing as I’m ridiculously excited about the upcoming WoO, and seeing as the judges were all frickin’ AWESOME (Mark Lawrence, Sarah Chorn, John Gwynne, Peter Newman, T.O. Munro, David Jackson) my heart was suddenly all a-flutter with the need to create something awesome enough to impress them.

So that’s what I did. My humble story (which I’ll post further down) actually managed to make the shortlist. And as if that wasn’t exciting enough, look at the comments it received:


I won’t lie: I clapped my hands together like a little girl (well, alright, more like a performing sealion) when I read this feedback. How. Freaking. Amazing. Right?

Right! And not only did I write a Good Thing™, but I also discovered three New Things™ in the process:

1) 300 words is not a lot. Yeah, it sounds obvious. But seriously, I never even considered how easy it is to hit 300 words, and I’d gone way over before I even realised. Since I don’t write professionally, the last time I ever had to worry about word count limits was at university five years ago. Back then it was a chore. Now it’s a challenge, and a fun one at that. Even better, it challenged me to *show* something using as few words as possible, and forced me to rethink (and re-rethink, and re-re-rethink) every. Single. Word.

2) 300 words is more than enough. As far as I can tell, flash fiction isn’t meant to tell a story from beginning to end. It’s not a novel, or a novella, or even a short story. A good flash fic is (to me) a snapshot into a bigger world; a moment in time, something that is self-contained yet also part of a whole. It’s a camera flash in a dark room that leaves us blinking, illuminating certain details while leaving others in shadow and showing the reader just enough to let them fill in the gaps.

3) 300 words is *unbelievably* refreshing. Knowing this had to be such a short piece was strangely freeing. Despite the length restriction – or perhaps because of it – I felt confident enough to experiment with a less familiar style (first person narrative), setting (contemporary) and tone (humorous) because I knew that this wasn’t some long, involved project I’d have to commit myself to. I knew I had nothing to lose by trying; and I even found that writing something short and different left me full of renewed enthusiasm for my main WIP. Result!

I can say for sure that I’ll be turning to flash fic in the future: to remind myself of the importance of each and every word I write; to explore some of the existing characters and settings from my WIP; or simply as a palate cleansing exercise whenever that bastard writer’s block comes knocking.

Finally, I’ll leave you with my WoO contest entry:

‘Life’s shit, and then you die.’

‘LIFE’S SHIT, AND THEN YOU DIE’. That’s what’s carved on granny’s gravestone. Dear, sweet old granny. I miss her.

She’s not actually dead yet, just . . . organised; but she will be soon. Dead, I mean.

Properly dead.

Not like me.

I stare morosely at the headstone: ‘Life’s shit, and then you die’. Not entirely true, in my experience. My life rocked: my girlfriend was hot, my school grades weren’t too dreadful, and my weekend job was . . . eh. On second thoughts, the less said about that the better.

Whatever. Life was good. Life was fun. Life was MINE.

Death, on the other hand, is a fucking drag.

I kick the loose dirt beside the grave, feeling myself scowling.

(Then again, I’m always scowling these days. That’s DIY embalming for you.)

So I scowl, and I kick, and I grumble. Or at least I would grumble if I still possessed a functioning set of vocal chords. As it is, a pathetically hoarse sort of moan is the best I can manage. It harmonises nicely with the cold wind that shivers the crispy orange leaves like a sigh.

(I’m assuming the wind is cold. I can’t actually feel it, you understand.)

Above me one, then two, then thousands of tiny, irritating birds strike up a chorus. My shoulders slump. Bedtime. I moan one last time before sitting down and rolling sullenly into the empty grave.

Don’t worry, granny. I’ll keep it warm for you.

I lie on the familiar bed of damp earth, absently reaching up to brush a rogue maggot away from the twin holes that puncture my crusty jugular. Then, hands tucked behind my head, I stare at the lightening sky far, far above.

Life’s great. Death’s shit.

And undeath’s even shitter.

(I’d love to go back and change that last line to ‘And undeath’s shittest of all’…)

Here are the comments made by Mark Lawrence and T.O. Munro:

FeedbackWhat d’you mean, I already posted them above? What’s your point? Well, there’s no need to be like *that*. This is one of the coolest things that’s ever happened to me, so quit naysaying and let me have my moment, damn you.