A Black Beast and a Bigfoot

I don’t usually do local sightings, unless they happen to be on my doorstep such as last year’s Knole Park panther. There are some dedicated researchers out there such as Neil Arnold who have been doing it for longer, and do it far better than I. What I usually try to tap into is what draws us to such stories in the first place, preferring to fictionalise the fun rather than poke it, which seems to be how the vast majority of news outlets treat them.

But in a week that has seen both a black cat and a bigfoot reported through the Kent and now wider press, it would seem almost negligent of a blog named black beasts and boogeymen to ignore completely. So with that in mind, I dusted off the old investigator kit, strapped on the walking boots and made my way…to the phone.

On Wednesday 11th November, Paul Turk was making his rounds as a delivery driver in the small village of Ryarsh in Kent when he came across a large black cat, apparently crossing the road. The animal stopped and watched him approach. Mr Turk was able to pull up and observe the cat until it moved away and disappeared into the brush. Before continuing to his next stop, Mr Turk spoke to another driver at the scene about what he had just witnessed. When he did arrive at his next delivery, Offham County Primary School, he spoke to members of staff and contacted Kent Police whilst they reached out to the other nearby schools of Ryarsh Primary and Trottiscliffe Primary. Both chose to text parents to report the sighting.

I have deliberately chosen not to quote Mr Turk, police or school representatives as it is hard to gauge if the witnesses have been misquoted or misrepresented, which is all too often the norm. I have reached out to all parties and may update this post if I am able to. But these are essentially the facts of the case. No looming of the beast, no panic stricken witness. No picture of a yawning melanistic leopard or jaguar, essentially baring its fangs. I have to say it brought back memories of the panic that gripped Penge when another alleged big cat hit the streets of Sydenham, my home back then, in 2005.

When I was writing the blurb to my book Shadow Beast, I deliberately set the scene with a similar encounter of a lorry driver on a remote road. There is something classic about it that echoes what we expect from an urban myth, which is possibly why the story has been picked up with such glee in true tabloid style.

What is unfortunate about such treatment is that despite there being some 2,000 such reported sightings a year, it has the potential to not only dismiss them completely but to also discourage witnesses coming forward. This may seem strange coming from a novelist, but why not embrace the excitement we feel when drawn to these stories and explore the truth. Imagine what we might discover. I have spoken to many conservative, professional people who have experienced something they cannot explain, or even scared and unsettled them. In some cases, a little education goes a long way. In the absence of physical evidence, we often only have witness testimony. And whilst it isn’t wrong to question and query, unless it is obvious it is a hoax or publicity stunt, I think it’s best to offer appropriate forum and analysis rather than judgement. Even in cases of mistaken identity, people often need to talk about what they have experienced and to investigate what they have seen. Discovering they are not alone can be a great source of comfort and affirmation.

At the same time, some stories do need to be treated with a shovel full of salt. Take the other creature to hit the news this week, a bigfoot supposedly spotted in the Angmering Park Estate near Arundel in West Sussex. Whereas undoubtedly the witness did see something large, hunched over and generally black in the undergrowth that scared her dog, it has been quickly dismissed as a father playing hide and seek with his daughter. The picture taken by the witness is typically ‘blobsquatch’ and unidentifiable. At first glance, I thought I saw traits of what is a widely available fancy dress gorilla suit, but I’m just as happy to accept the parental explanation. What’s worse is that I suspect that it wasn’t the witness who approached news outlets, but the local interest group who she reported it to, who no doubt saw an opportunity for some publicity to mention their own spate of recent big cat sightings.

It may be hard to say with certainty what we expect from our press and authorities when people do report such sightings. If it takes the BBC Natural History unit two years to find snow leopards, then Kent Police have little chance by turning up on a whim for instance. And before we suggest launching helicopters and thermal image cams, bear in mind that they have to share a chopper with their neighbour Essex, and running costs are around £2 million a year.

And I don’t say this to ridicule the witness. Only a few weeks ago whilst walking round Groombridge, I decided to entertain my friend and her sons with some Bigfoot calls. The one thing we weren’t expecting was a response. Now it was without a doubt another human being larking about like I was, but it still made us look over our shoulders whilst we made a sharp exit. Sometimes the monster in the woods is more about perspective and the person in front of it!

*UPDATE*

It has now been revealed that the Sussex Bigfoot sighting was in fact a PR stunt, carried out by Bigfoot Communications, a PR firm based in Rustington, and was indeed a man in a widely available fancy dress gorilla suit!

The Daughters of the Darkness – Prologue

As I edge past the 74,000 word mark on the upcoming sequel to Shadow Beast, it is becoming clear that unfortunately, despite my best efforts, The Daughters of the Darkness may well not hit the shelves before Christmas as planned. The one thing I definitely learnt though in launching Shadow Beast was not to rush. I will continue working away, editing, proofing and amending until things are ready to go. Please bear with me, it won’t be much longer I promise!

In the meantime, travel back with me seven years to Tsavo, Kenya, the historic home of the infamous man-eaters known as The Ghost and The Darkness.

If you haven’t read Shadow Beast, there are no real spoilers here apart from the historical event from Thomas Walker’s past it depicts, which I don’t think will upset the story for you a great deal. Hopefully it will leave you thirsty for more! But for now, in relatively raw form, may I present the prologue to The Daughters of the Darkness.

TSAVO, KENYA, EAST AFRICA – SEVEN YEARS AGO

Amanda Walker woke with a start, sitting up in her sleeping bag and instinctively reaching for the Gurkha Kukri blade she always kept under her pillow. For a few seconds she sat completely still, trying to ascertain what had woken her. Her first thought was that a snake had decided to curl up in or near the sleeping bag. It wouldn’t be the first time. When she couldn’t detect any movement, she relaxed a little and began to listen.

The door of the canvas tent was still tied shut. There was a soft breeze and she could hear the song of crickets carried on it. Then she heard it. Soft murmurs, coming from outside. She looked over at her husband Thomas. Even in his slumber he looked exhausted. She turned up the collar of his shirt to cover the insect bites on his neck. He had fallen asleep in his clothes almost as soon as he had returned from the day of tracking. She smiled to herself and affectionately ran her fingers through his hair. She decided to let him sleep. She could sense it was still dark outside and he had another long day ahead of him. They had heard the man-eaters calling close to the camp during the day.

She pulled the mosquito net up and crawled to the door flap of the tent. She undid the top tie whilst yawning silently and peered out. She could see the camp’s outbuildings across the way, but no lights were on in the windows. Nothing seemed to be stirring. Then she heard the murmur again. Standing on the veranda of one of the buildings was a little boy. His skin was incredibly dark, showing up the blue and mauve tones of the night sky above him. He was completely naked and held his hand over his mouth. He seemed to be crying.

As Amanda undid the tent flap completely, the boy immediately noticed her. As she watched him streak out of the camp, she realised straight away he wasn’t one of the children that lived with the hired help and staff. He moved with absolute silence, his feet hardly touching the bare earth as he ran. The moon was full and cast a bathing light onto the day scorched ground. Amanda couldn’t help her curiosity and stepped out of the tent, taking a few steps in the direction the boy was headed. She hesitated. She knew Thomas would be angry if he knew she had left the tent during the night. All the better reason to let him sleep she decided.

She had also fallen asleep in her clothes, sporting nothing more than a khaki vest top and a pair of bush shorts. She began to follow the little boy. The red dust began to stick to her bare feet and the ground was still warm from the baking heat of the day. She crossed the road that led into the camp and stood for a moment as she looked out over the long grass that stretched out in front of her. Thomas really would be angry at the thought of her going into the grass without a gun or an escort. But she could see the path the boy had taken and now she was growing concerned. She had already imagined the possibility the boy was from a local village, where maybe the man-eaters had attacked. What if he came for help? Amanda thought. She pushed on into the long grass.

She moved carefully and quietly, pushing the brush aside and listening intently with every step. She could barely see over the top, so instead she crouched and followed the path the boy had made, peering ahead.

“Kito,” she whispered softly, “kito?”

The Swahili word was often used affectionately by mothers to children. The literal translation meant ‘precious one’. Amanda had considered the boy was so young that he may never have met a white person, and her appearance may have startled him. If he heard her speaking softly and in Swahili, he might stop running.

The moon was directly above her, making her long blonde hair look silver in the strange light. Somehow it made her feel alone and exposed, and she shivered with the cold she suddenly felt. Instinct overrode her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she reached the abrupt end of the trail. The boy had seemingly disappeared into thin air. The tall grass ahead of her swayed silently in the wind, moving back and forth as if caught in the breath of some invisible giant beast. She crouched, spinning on her heels to face the direction she had come from. She began to tremble as she closed her eyes and listened as the crickets stopped singing one by one until there was silence.

For a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. She gritted her teeth and blinked, peering out into the grass around her. At first, she didn’t see anything. Then a pair of amber eyes flashed somewhere in the black undergrowth, then another. More eyes, like burning coals in the darkness, appeared over to her left. Even in her fear, she was amazed at the pride’s ability to work together in silence and in the gloom. She could feel them closing in on her. She estimated them to be no more than twenty yards away and they were obviously hunting. She was in no doubt what, or rather who, the prey was.

She decided she had only one chance. The camp was three hundred yards ahead of her, beyond the long grass and across the road. She leapt upwards, her bare feet tearing into the ground violently as she sprinted through the grass. The greenery around her seemed to ripple with tawny coloured flashes of flesh. The lions began to call to each other quietly, emitting little coughs and grunts that came from both sides. She knew they were verging in on her, attracted by her flight and the noise she made as she ran. Her muscles burned as she willed herself faster.

She could now see the road and she felt a momentary swell of relief. She was going to make it. She knew the lions would at least hesitate before they broke cover, giving her the few seconds she needed to make it into the camp. She decided anyhow that she was close enough to start screaming and raise the alarm. She opened her mouth just as the silhouette passed in front of her. She found herself suddenly stunned and winded as she was knocked to the ground. A large, pale coloured paw pushed her face into the dust, stifling the scream that waited to burst from her lungs. It had been the perfect ambush. The big female had always been behind her, waiting for the rest of the pride to drive Amanda into her waiting jaws.

The animal snarled at the unwelcome human scent of the still squirming prey. It opened its mouth wide and bit deep into the back of Amanda’s neck. She kicked out a few times in her violent death throws as she asphyxiated, then her body went limp as her windpipe was crushed and the nerves at the top of the spinal cord were cut off. As the big female began to feed, the other members of the pride drew close, waiting their turn to feast.

Shadow Beast is out now in paperback and on Kindle.

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Wolf’s Bane

An acrid odour gripped the room. The scent of death and decay were ripe, but darkness offered a shroud for the unspeakable horrors within. Quelling an intense sense of rising panic, Marcus fought to keep his nerve, his hands shaking as he shone his old torch into the impending gloom. The odour was getting worse, not of damp or mould, but a scent so vile that his stomach churned. Old floorboards groaned as he moved cautiously, testing to see whether it would hold his weight. Spiders scuttled in every direction as he probed deeper into a room that repelled him on every level.

The light from the torch began to fade, the beam failing to reach deep into the corners, but enough to send the fattest of rats scurrying from the invading light. Sweat dripped a trail down his neck. He felt chilled to the core and suddenly, with the last flash of light from his torch, his vision fixed, he stumbled backwards, fear gagging his reflexes. His strangled scream became a whimper as his weight took him off keel. He fell, hands outstretched, eyes enormous, his head splitting open like a shell on contact with the floor. His blood began to drip through the gaps between the floorboards to the room below. Darkness consumed him.

The creature knew this room. The overpowering saturation of scents made it giddy and it licked its lips with hungered excitement. It sniffed at the fresh blood on the floor, recognised its source and moved past, heading towards the ramshackle door at the back that led onto the moors. This room within the old shack held trophies, but no fresh meat.

The night air was cool. The breeze was light, but carried the information it needed. It loped along low to the ground, following Marcus’s musk, a blend of cheap aftershave, sweat and grime. It growled in frustration when it reached his car at the top of a track. It clawed its way round the metallic shell and stopped at the back. It investigated the tracks the tyres had left in the dry dust of the August heat. Its night vision was perfectly adapted, seeing the world in sepia tones of brown and gold. It began to follow the tracks and as it rounded the bend, frightened a deer that hadn’t heard its approach. For a moment it gave chase with a few excited bounds, then control returned and it headed back to the trail as it suppressed the predatory instinct. Tonight was about a far greater hunt.

At the foot of the trail the creature found the main road and became more wary than before. But its mind was set. It noticed the turn the tyres had made into the trail and smelt the rubber as it had bit into the tarmac. The direction from which Marcus had come was clear. It stepped across the empty road and worked its way into the grassy verge, disappearing from sight altogether. Its movement looked little more than a gust of wind at a casual glance.

The creature stopped and took a big sniff, raising its snout high into the air. Marcus had travelled with the window open. It raised its lips in a terrible grin, exposing streaked yellow fangs and ghostly pink gums. It knew it was close.

It entered the small town as the full moon broke from behind a bank of clouds. It crossed a park, now following instinct as much as scent in these surroundings that seemed so alien yet somehow familiar. It froze as a nearby yelp caught its attention. It had been so set on its mission it hadn’t noticed the golden retriever until it was nearly on top of it. It sprang silently onto the big yellow dog, burying its teeth in its throat and yanking its head back to break its neck. It left the body behind a flower bed, growling with gruff pleasure as it heard the elderly owner calling for the canine.

It found its way to a quiet cul-de-sac. At its end sat a large house with an impressive fir tree in the centre of the front lawn. It kept to the shadows as it approached. It somehow knew this was its destination. It reached up into the fir tree with its clawed hands and lifted itself into the dense foliage. It climbed upwards until it found a branch that would support it and give a good view of the house.

Marcus had been here. His scent saturated the place, just like at the shack. It saw the open window and focused on it. A lighter scent, honey like and wrapped in soft tones of fruit and flowers wafted towards it. Saliva pooled in its mouth and dripped from its jaws as the plan formed. The muscles in its legs tightened like coiled springs. It sprang from the tree and barrelled through the open window, knocking the curtains aside and landing clumsily on the bed. The little girl squirmed underneath it, waking from a peaceful dream into a very real nightmare of fur and fangs. The scream was muffled by a heavy blow from the creature’s pounding limbs. It scooped her up and flung her over its shoulder. A light appeared below the door and it heard footsteps coming along the corridor.

This was brazen, and a new experience for the creature. It had never been inside a home before. It savoured the vision it had of the girl’s mother finding it in all its glory, her child clenched within its claws. But this was not the reckoning it sought, though it had killed people before. Marcus knew that, that’s why he had come to the shack finally. The favour was simply being repaid. Death was coming, but tonight was not the time and this was not the place.

The creature climbed from the window and jumped down to the lawn, hitting the ground running. It ran on two legs well enough but wasn’t as fast as when on all fours. It also risked being seen, but it almost welcomed the trail of breadcrumbs any such sighting would leave. It would have to be cunning, patient and above all perfectly placed if Marcus was to be lead to the discovery the creature desired.

It reached the outskirts of the town without incident, almost disappointed. As it crossed the open country, it took longer and faster strides now that there was less chance of an encounter with a human. The glow on the horizon let it know that its time was short as the inky blackness of the night began to fade. The blood red colour of the heather in this eerie light seemed to welcome and beckon the creature back to the moor.

It reached the shack and slipped inside. It dropped the girl against a kicked-in doorframe. It slashed her arm with a surgical swipe of its claws. The blood flowed onto her white and pink bed clothes, but it ignored this and let it soak the thin material. It turned and sat on the bare wood with its back facing her. It positioned itself in the mirror, adjusting its position so that it could see the girl behind it clearly. Now it waited.

It was the same mirror that Marcus had seen when he stumbled his way through the shack. It was the same one that had reflected his fading flashlight. It was the same one he had caught his reflection in as the change had begun. The creature ran its claws down the scar of the already healed wound from where the fall had split the skull. Finding the house would have been easier if the creature could access Marcus’s memories, but the creature and he were as separate as night was from day. It was only in the few moments of dawn and dusk, when night and day were one that the creature had become aware of Marcus. The human was less aware, less instinctive, less primal, but his arrival at the shack could only mean he suspected. The change was coming and the creature’s conscience began to fade, but it grinned a terrible smile one more time as it glimpsed the human emerging from beneath. He would see everything. Coming to the shack had been a mistake for Marcus, but at least he would no longer live a life of doubt. Werewolves did exist, and he was one.

If you like what you’ve read, why not take a look at Shadow Beast, an even better read for Halloween!

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Books to Bark About

Well it’s National Dog Day, and as a reader I have always been pulled in by stories that featured canine characters, whether good or bad. The Call of the Wild has already featured on this blog as one of my favourite books of all time, so some of you will already know I’m a little barking about this kind of thing. So much so, that now I’m a writer, you’ll always be able to find a dog in my own stories. So in order to truly bring these two things together, let’s look at some of the literary canines that leap off my bookshelf.

The Call of the Wild is my comfort book. The one I turn to when I need to feel warm and cosy on the inside, especially if it’s the opposite outside. This book is basically apple pie to me. Well, at least when there’s no apple pie.

The main character in Call of the Wild is Buck, a cross between a St Bernard and a sheepdog. I’ve always imagined him as looking something a little like a modern-day leonberger.

Buck is kidnapped from his comfortable home and sold to a trader, finding himself in the barren and unforgiving landscape of the North during the gold rush. He finds adversaries in dogs and people alike, with his trials eventually awakening something primal in his spirit, but not before he bonds with a man who shows him true love. Torn between instinct and loyalty, Buck moonlights between two worlds until tragedy intervenes and makes the choice for him.

Thor. And I don’t mean the guy with the hammer. I mean a German Shepherd, a loyal family dog at the centre of Wayne Smith’s novel of the same name.

Thor is very protective of his family, and in the past it has landed him and them in trouble. But when something supernatural and savage enters their world, it is first only Thor who can see it. Although his human pack are unaware of his taste for wild rabbit, it soon becomes clear that he is not the only blood thirsty predator in their midst. As the threat draws closer, Thor sets out to protect them at all costs.

Eventually made into the film ‘Bad Moon’, which was also pretty good!

No list of anphropomorphic tales would be complete without at least one Richard Adams novel, so enter the Plague Dogs. The story of Rowf and Snitter, an old black labrador and a fox terrier who escape from a research laboratory, is something really quite special.

Adams’s unique story telling style forces us to see the dogs in the story as people and the humans as animals, something made abundantly clear when we discover what Rowf and Snitter have been exposed to.

Not exactly a feel good story, but still somehow a beautiful one.

Fang and Fluffy. Two of the best misnamed dogs in all literature. Fang is a coward, who runs away at the first sign of danger despite being a Neapolitan Mastiff, whilst Fluffy is a three-headed, ferocious cerberus of gigantic size! And both are encountered within the pages of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

Both are also owned by Hagrid, the half-giant grounds keeper with a penchant for dangerous animals.

Hagrid is my kind of guy!

And of course, not all doggy characters are good guys. In Cujo, the master of horror himself Stephen King takes the breed of dog known for saving lives and outstanding loyalty, the St Bernard, and turns it into 200lbs of terror.

When Cujo is bitten by a rabid bat, he too soon falls victim to the disease with no cure. As his senses and sanity are ravaged by the deadly virus, so Cujo turns on the inhabitants of a sleepy, backwater town with similarly savage results.

Arguably the most famous canine villain of all time though can be found within the pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles. The large and deadly dog is never fully identified beyond being of ‘mastiff’ type, but that doesn’t stop it killing two people during the course of the story.

The tale was in fact based on legends Sir Arthur heard whilst staying on Dartmoor, centred around a phantom squire and his pack of hellhounds, said to be heard baying when the moon was full and the night was clear.

Sherlock Holmes and a creature feature. What’s not to like!

I could of course mention many more. From the rough collie of Lassie Come Home, Pongo and Missus of 101 Dalmatians, Montmorency of Three Men In a Boat, Toto of Wizard of Oz, or even the haphazard Afghan pup what-a-mess, dogs are a firm favourite when it comes to books, and certainly in my library at least.

So it shouldn’t really be a surprise to find not one, but several dogs in my own book, Shadow Beast. The first and most prominent is Meg, a three-legged Border Collie who lives with Thomas Walker, my protagonist. Like most dogs, Meg has probably helped her owner stay sane and been there for him in moments of loneliness. She also saves his life later on in the story. You’ll also find a team of fearsome hunting dogs, and a pack of hounds to boot. But don’t be alarmed if you’re not a dog person, there’s also a cat in it too 😉 And it’s a big one.

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Remember the Self in Self Publishing

There is an awful lot of advice out there in the world of self-publishing. Facebook forums, blogs (erm…like this one), e-zine articles, you name it, some self-proclaimed, self-published guru will have called shotgun on the advice column. Some of course is legitimately helpful. But elsewhere, things can get a little out of hand and over analytical. It’s perfectly acceptable to have discussions about which font to use for your paperback, (something from the Helvetica family, or in my case Palatino Linotype), or your ebook (Georgia, but don’t beat yourself up too much as readers can select their preferred font and size anyway), but if you’re hung up on say whether to put the ISBN-10 or 13 first in the layout, we need to talk.

I’ll give you a recent example from a Facebook forum I’m part of. A well-meaning contributor did a little bashing into those who, in her opinion, mistakenly put their acknowledgements at the beginning of their books. Poor old readers just don’t have the time to read acknowledgements, and they are unwelcome as the personal ego trip they clearly are. I’m just going to come out and say it. Poppycock. Acknowledgements are traditionally found at the front of a book. I can go to any on my shelf, flip through the first front pages and you know what I’ll find. Acknowledgements. I’d think it rather odd to discover them at the back. And let’s face it. If you’ve self-published, many friends and family will have probably helped and contributed in their own way somehow. Do they deserve to be slotted into the back like an afterthought? No. And they’re probably going to be the first people to read your book too. But that’s not to say it’s fine to do the full Gwyneth Paltrow. Keep it short and sweet. Like most things in this post, you’ll be fine if you apply healthy doses of common sense and scepticism.

There are things you need to do. Your book will be remarkably better off having been professionally edited and designed. I completely understand that cost is the biggest issue you probably face as a self-published author, but your book will do better if it has benefited from a good structural edit, a copy edit, proof-read and the bonus of an expertly designed cover. I will go into more detail about the whole process in a future post, but the point I want to get across today is that ultimately, it is your choice.

Let’s face it, if you’ve gone down the self-publishing route, it’s probably because you were struggling to get noticed by a traditional publisher or agent in the first place. I’m no exception. My book, Shadow Beast, sat on the ‘maybe’ pile for two well known agencies for so long that in the end I gave up and did it myself. I am very proud of it, and I think it’s a great story. More to the point, so do the many readers who have left five star reviews and compared it to Jurassic Park, and demanded it be made into a film to boot. I’m very lucky that the book has been so well received that within six months of pressing the big red button, I can now say it is my main source of income. But it wasn’t guaranteed.

You are completely free to give up the day job and commit to being a self-published author, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You may have noticed quite an uproar of late over the changes to how Amazon pays authors for their ‘unlimited’ service. This premium library allows paying subscribers to borrow your book, but whereas until recently you were paid a set fee for each download, authors are now paid on the number of pages read. Suddenly, many saw a drop in their payments from Amazon and cried foul. But lets be clear, actual sales were completely unaffected! The unlimited service was meant to be an add on, not your main source of income. But the problem is…there’s an awful lot of dross out there. Certain genres, such as erotica for instance, are flooded by poorly written, novella length guff. And the problem for Amazon was that most readers, quite rightly, were giving up after a few pages. If you’re work was short and…well, shite, you were reaping a reward regardless. But that’s not how the world works honey.

Most people who write, do so because it is something they love and ultimately, need, to do. And this should always be your starting point. Self publishing opens up a world that allows you to hold a book you have written in your hand, or can download to your Kindle. It gives you massive creative freedom, putting you in charge of what you write and how you present it. But you’re not guaranteed an income, a new life as an author or ultimately, any success at all. You need to be happy with that as a possibility, and be happy to just write for yourself. I still wish you every success though of course! And the thing is, if you write for yourself…it becomes less important what others say, and you become less inhibited by their barrages of advice and what they think.

There are lots of things you can do to aid your book, and there is good advice out there. Price it competitively, and be realistic for instance. I don’t care if your opus is over 800 pages long and it took you a decade to write, I don’t know you and I am not going to pay book store prices for it. When you have Stephen King’s loyal following and captive audience, you can get away with it perhaps, but until then, I’ll pay via check, made out to reality thanks very much.

On the flip side of the coin advice wise though, be aware that sometimes people just want you to pay for stuff. Again as an example, I recently took a ‘free’ review of my book’s Amazon profile from the forum I mentioned. When I initially joined, I was praised for the professional cover of my book, which they said they loved. Six months later though, things had changed and a new cover was recommended, and they just happened to offer such a service! As I browsed the examples, I noticed the large type stating ‘images courtesy of Shutterstock’ on virtually every single one, and on checking the covers on Amazon, found it wasn’t just due to being a mock-up. Needless to say, I much preferred what I already had and thought it far better conceived too.

The point is, I was able to make that decision. It’s my baby and I’m in charge. It’s all down to me. There will be pros and cons to everything I decide, and the repercussions and rewards are equally felt by me. Self publishing is one of the few worlds where it really can be all about you. But if you don’t cater for readers at all, don’t give it your best, and don’t do your work justice, then you might not get a great deal out of it. My advice when it comes to advice is the same I give for writing generally. Find balance, find confidence and find your own voice, and you’re off to a good start.

A Dreamy Midsummer’s Night

On what was already promising to be a rather balmy late spring eve, I found myself on the lovely country estate of Squerryes Court in Westerham, Kent, awaiting a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The family motto inscribed over the entrance reads ‘licet esse beatis’, meaning permit oneself to be joyful. And there was certainly no lack of opportunity, with the lawn beside the lake adorned with festive food and drink options. It was also my first opportunity to sample Squerryes sparkling wine which although I am no connoisseur, I found very light, refreshing and wonderfully tasty. It was the perfect drop for the event, and I will definitely be seeking out bottles of Squerryes from now on whenever I might fancy a permit to be joyful!

The Courtyard of Westerham were on hand to ply the punters with pulled pork baguettes that were superb, and The Black Cab Coffee Co made sure none of us would be lulled into a lie down, no matter how good the faerie lullabies.

The house itself was also the perfect backdrop for the event, something I have to admit I wasn’t sure of at first. That said, I could definitely imagine it lending itself perfectly to The Importance of Being Ernest or even The Sound of Music. Maybe something for the future! But with A Midsummer Night’s Dream’s woodland setting, I was struggling to imagine how the 18th century Georgian manor would fit. But what I hadn’t counted on was how the incredible cast would immerse us deep into the thicket no matter what, and how nature would lend a little helping hand too.

The cast really was something special, with National Theatre, RSC and other accolades too many to mention among their back catalogue. And if that doesn’t impress some of the younger members of the household, you can mention that Abby Ford, who plays Hermia, has a blink and you’ll miss it part in Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban as the maid who is roared at by an unruly guest in the leaky cauldron! Her take on Hermia however is certainly not to be missed, as her zings towards both Tom McCall’s Lysander and Samuel Collings’s Demetrius delivered some of the highest hilarity of the evening, as did the laments of Nicola Kavanagh’s Helena.

To take on the role of faerie king Oberon, presence is a must, and Paul Mcewan provides it aplenty. He oozed with the confident power-hungry self righteousness you’d expect from the dark ruler of faerieland. And Tim Treloar’s Bottom threatened to bring the house down on several occasions with his brilliant braying of some of Shakespeare’s most classic comic lines.

Puck is one of my favourite characters in both literature and mythology. Also known as Robin Goodfellow, he is identified in the play as a mischievous sprite, but his origins are heavily hobgoblin based. I have always found it interesting that tales of puck-like creatures are widespread across the ancient world, from our own homely hobgoblin, to the more dangerous Pukwudgie of Native American legend. Makes you wonder what really might be in the woods doesn’t it?

Safe on stage though, James Cooney depicted a gregarious and greatly likeable Goodfellow, showing some affable athletics in the process. As I say though, this is a strong cast and I could make good mention of each and all, but suffice to say there is no weak link in this chain.

It could have been the magic of the sunset against the red brick house, or maybe even the bubbly, but having not heard or read Shakespeare for some years, it was wonderful to be immersed again into the rich language and also to be reminded of the playwright’s sense of humour. The bard was clearly mindful of a sense of parody, with the ‘play within a play’ of Pyramus and Thisbe not just resembling his own work of Romeo and Juliet, but also alluding to what he recognised as its cliched themes. There is also a later reference to the sisters three of Macbeth.

What really helped the performance become more magical and alive though were the sounds surrounding us. As twilight beckoned, things definitely took on a more ethereal nature. As Puck wove spells of mischief on stage, another trickster sang to us from the sidelines. A song thrush, repeating his mimicked cries of other birds in triplicate from the trees, chose to do so just as Puck was beckoning Lysander and Demetrius in the same way by throwing his voice. Moorhens cried warnings from the lake behind as Oberon felt pity and regret for his deeds. The coincidental calls of nature from all around seemed perfectly placed and timed throughout. Perhaps there really was some magic afoot. Either way, the production was enchanting, and the end applause so constant and heartfelt I’m sure any number of faeries would have snapped back into life right there and then. The last performances are today, so if you still haven’t seen it, your time is short!

I on the other hand can look forward to another weekend at Squerryes for the upcoming celebration, where I will be signing and selling freshly pressed copies of Shadow Beast on Friday and Saturday.

And for those of you who might not believe in a little bit of orchestrated magic and manipulation, I’ll just end with this. As I made my way back to the car and joined the throng of vehicles waiting to exit the estate, I found myself admiring a slightly beaten up, original blue mini. The owner gave me a knowing wink and nod, and as I looked away I noticed the model name on the side, sprite. Needless to say, by the time I looked back, the car had disappeared into the inky night and the road was clear. Rather apt wouldn’t you say?

Indie Roar

As the author of a book named Shadow Beast with a marauding big cat at its heart, I couldn’t really resist the ten day ‘Indie Roar’ challenge set by The Notebook Blogairy. Today’s challenge (Day 9) is to champion five favourite independently published books. Although I am still relatively new to both independent publishing and reading, I can already thoroughly recommend it. You will find stories you never knew were out there, and writing as good as anywhere. The true strength of the indie writer is being able to write what they want – so there are no limits. Whatever you are looking for, its almost certainly out there. And if it isn’t…maybe you should write it! These guys did!

1. Dead Men Should Know Better by Dominic Canty

This is the debut novel of my friend Dominic Canty, and as a truly rip-roaring read, it thoroughly deserves its place on this list. The narrative follows Bristo Trabant, a geek from MI6’s IT department, as he is catapulted into the world of international espionage, armed only with the trusty ‘Beginner’s Guide to being a Secret Agent’ for comfort.

Along the way we meet talking sharks, life-saving water pistols and encounter funny takes on the cliched staples of deadly card games and car chases.

Although not widely available at the moment, it’s worth tracking down and waiting for. Book two is currently being researched and written as we speak! You can find out more about Dominic and the book here.

http://www.dominiccanty.com

2. The Miryan Heir: Journey of the Marked by Rebecca P. McCray

This is my current read, but I am already hooked! This brilliant Young Adult fantasy boasts wonderfully colourful characters, all with their own intriguing back story and background. As they and the rest of the story comes together, you realise you are on a blade and ray-gun wielding thrill ride.

The visual depictions alone would make this a wonderful mini-series or movie. The vivid accounts of the different alien races, the blue, werewolf-like graelith henchmen and the even darker villains are all too easily etched into the imagination with each turn of the page.

Again, book two is on its way. You can find out more about Rebecca and the book here.

http://www.rebeccamccray.com

3. Rogue Justice by William Neal

I discovered this book after watching the moving documentary Blackfish. Neal unashamedly put the positive campaigning of the Blackfish brigade to good use, and was clearly inspired by a love of the ocean and its creatures.

Invoking native American legends, up to date scientific research and delivering a real sense of just desserts on the corporate bad guys, it is the embodiment of wish fulfillment for many animal advocates.

As an author who also picked a fiery, green-eyed redhead for his heroine, I can say I genuinely enjoyed this ocean going, legend seeking adventure.

4. Cryptid by Eric Penz

This book is vividly written, with gripping narratives and characters alike. It is well named too, as it explores the legend behind what is arguably the world’s most notorious cryptid, or as-yet-undiscovered creature. Penz has clearly done his research, and as somebody with a similarly themed story up his sleeve, I am glad to say the direction he takes the story is new and refreshing, and luckily different from what I have planned!

We find strong female characters, conspiracy and of course a cryptid in the new author’s edition of the book. Another great read!

Find out more about Eric and the book here

http://www.ericpenz.com/cryptid

5. Menagerie by E. Stuart Marlowe

This tale again centres on cryptids, but this time they are even more fantastical than our legends. As we track down the terrifying creatures through the eyes of a tracker and hunter building the world’s strangest zoo, dealing with problem creatures all over the world, we also encounter activism and good intentions that spell disaster for a small town that really harbours monsters.

I really loved this book, my only gripe being that with the world of cryptozoology so rich in imaginative inspiration, I would have loved to read about some of the great monsters of myth rather than the fictional fantasies here. But at the end of the day, the monsters are no less real or scary!

And okay, last but not least, I have to mention my own book. I am really proud of Shadow Beast. It represents years of hard work, and good and bad times gotten through whilst I wrote it. I am humbled and chuffed by the lovely reviews it is getting and the success it is having. I have fabulous support from friends and family, who have been there from the beginning. But I have also had amazing support from a huge community of independent authors like those above who have helped promote and praise the book further. And this is what Indie Roar is all about, championing the amazing efforts of indie authors everywhere! So if you have a book in you, join us. If you want to read ‘off the reservation’ then find us. Either way, you won’t be disappointed!

Nessie & The Surgeon’s Photograph

Like me, you may have been tickled by today’s Google Doodle, which features three little-grey men, pedaling an underwater craft, topped by one of the most infamous images of the Loch Ness Monster. Known as the surgeon’s photograph, it quickly gained notoriety, first as definitive proof that the monster existed, and then in the late 70’s as an exposed hoax.

It was on this date in 1934 that the surgeon’s photograph was published in The Daily Mail. But Google isn’t just celebrating the fact that 81 years ago the nation was gripped by Nessie-fever. They’re celebrating their own endorsement of the famous cryptid, as the vast expanse of Loch Ness is now accessible on Street View. They’ve even added a Nessie-shaped peg-man to help you navigate your way through the images.

Of course, no Nessie-nonsense would be complete without a sighting of the beastie, and in keeping with that tradition, The Daily Telegraph has spotted ‘something’ lurking on the surface of the Street View images. (image courtesy of Google).

I will remind you that today, when both Google and The Telegraph have chosen to go public with the images and story, is the anniversary of probably the most infamous monster hoax of its time, and one that The Telegraph itself exposed in 1975.

Having spent some of my childhood on the shores of Loch Ness, it is already a very special place to me. The landscape is haunting, eerie and just the kind of country you’d expect to find monsters. I remember taking an interest in a man who was on a constant vigil of the water, ever ready to take that definitive photograph. I was in awe that he’d practically given up his ‘normal’ life to go monster hunting. I was fascinated by such a prospect.

I can only presume some thirty years later he is still there, with a somewhat arthritic finger hovering over the shutter. I do know that he has now been joined by many others, camped out semi-permanently and with ever-growing gadgetry at their disposal. There is even a permanent webcam fixed in a spotter’s hot-spot above the water at Urquhart Castle.

The Loch Ness Monster is a strange cryptid for me, in that it is probably the one I have the most love for, and is certainly the one I want to be there the most. But in my heart, I have a hard time accepting it. The facts are just stacked against it.

In it’s favor, the Loch is nearly 23 miles long and between 1 and 1.5 miles wide. It’s also an impressive 754 feet deep, and holds more water than the rest of the lakes in England, Scotland and Wales put together. So there is certainly space for a monster, and it would easily be hidden by the dark, peaty waters. But that’s where the problems start too.

When light can’t penetrate water, photosynthesis becomes impossible. At around six feet deep in Loch Ness (and I know from personal experience), light disappears, and there is nothing more than pitch darkness. It’s similar to swimming in oxtail soup. That makes it terrifying, (but potentially tasty), and very easy to imagine that something large may be looming just a few feet away. But in reality, it means that the amount of life the loch can actually support is very limited. There is no bed of lake grass at the bottom, only a thick layer of yet more peat. The water is very cold and very dark, not exactly hospitable.

The loch does have a good population of arctic char, who are especially adapted for the frigid, dark depths and found themselves a permanent resident after the last ice age. Migratory salmon and sea-trout also pass through its waters. It is also a well-known location for eels, as well as the more humble brown trout. But populations of these fish are kept relatively low by the natural barriers of the environment, which makes feeding a population of carnivores somewhat difficult.

The loch is connected to the sea by the River Ness and the adjoining Loch Dochfour, but navigating it is not straight-forward, with a weir and central Inverness to get through first. But that hasn’t stopped the odd seal, sturgeon and other oddities occasionally turning up. So in theory at least, the dwindling diet of the monsters could be refreshed from time to time by new arrivals.

Some have suggested that Nessie is also migratory, although it seems odd that nobody has noticed what has been reported as a 30 foot long, 6 foot high creature splashing through the shallows of the River Ness and the canals of Inverness town on an annual basis if so.

Or should I say creatures, as surely a legend that goes back 1500 years to the times of St. Columba, if based on truth, revolves around a breeding group of animals? It has been estimated that for there to be a viable population, there would need to be approximately thirty of them.

And what exactly are they? If there’s thirty of them, surely they can’t be reptiles or mammals – as hopefully one of the shore-hugging monster-spotters would have had the good luck to see at least one of them come up for air.

So that leaves fish. And with sightings on both land and in the water, pretty much only one species might fit the bill. Perhaps we’re dealing with some kind of giant, unknown eel. This is something explored in Steve Alten’s book The Loch, one of the better novels based on the legend. Well, at least until I have a crack at it at some point!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Loch-Steve-Alten/dp/076536302X

So the odds are stacked against it, but as Google are showing, the legend lives on. And with every investigation and exploration, no matter how definitive the results, there is always a lingering, unanswered quantity. Be it the mysterious, unidentified large masses discovered in Operation Deepscan, never to be found again, or the image now circulating street view, the case is never completely closed. I therefore can’t say for sure if something serpentine (or otherwise) lurks in Loch Ness, but just like Fox Mulder, I want to believe.

World Book Day 2015

It’s World Book Day! Children up and down the country went scurrying to school this morning dressed as their favourite literary character, or the character their parents could make a costume for easiest at least! Books should be championed for many reasons, and making school a bit more fun is definitely one of them.

To celebrate, I thought I’d share what were, and still are, some of my favourite books from my childhood. Many have had a lasting and direct influence on me, shaping my stories as a writer and stirring my imagination even now. Here, in no particular order, are my top five.

1. The Call of the Wild

That said, The Call of the Wild is probably my all time favourite book! It’s my version of a literary security blanket. Whenever I’m feeling lost, down or unsure, I can pick up The Call of the Wild and be swept away to the harsh environment of the Yukon and the backdrop of the gold rush.

Journeying with Buck, the St. Bernard/German Shepherd cross, from his place at the feet of a country judge, through his kidnap and hardship as a sled dog, to his incredible feats and love for a man that leads to his savage transition to a pack leader of wild wolves is spellbinding throughout. I remember shouting for Buck as he breaks out the 1,000lb sled from the ice. He also defends his beloved Thornton with a roar, not a bark or growl!

I always identify with Buck’s longing to be amongst the woods, answering the call within that speaks to his spirit.

“But especially, he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called – called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.”

2. Danny the Champion of the World

As with many others, Roald Dahl books were an integral part of my childhood. Danny the Champion of the World is my absolute favourite though. I’m sure that a part of Danny’s dad is somewhere to be found in the character of Stubbs the poacher in my own book Shadow Beast.

This book is all about old school adventure, from the midnight drive to rescue his dad from a pit trap, to living in a gypsy caravan. Danny and his dad work on cars and share stories about the stars and the wildlife around them. Their relationship is wonderful, soul restoring and an example of how things should be. I also remember the wise words about people who don’t smile with their eyes not being genuine.

“I was glad my father was an eye-smiler. It meant he never gave me a fake smile because it’s impossible to make your eyes twinkle if you aren’t feeling twinkly yourself.”

“When you grow up and have children of your own, do please remember something important. A stodgy parent is no fun at all! What a child wants – and DESERVES – is a parent who is SPARKY!”

3. Lion Adventure

The Willard Price books have just been relaunched, with the son and daughter of respective brothers Hal and Roger Hunt taking up the ‘adventure’ business. The new spin is all about conservation and wildlife preservation, and is a welcome new update.

But before then, Hal and Roger as teenagers, roamed the globe for their father’s animal collection business and they had no shortage of close encounters with some of the world’s most dangerous, including man.

In Lion Adventure, the two brothers are up against a scheming tribal chief and a pride of man-eating lions. This is classic boy’s brigade stuff and I loved all of the animal based adventures. Again, there is probably a little bit of Hal Hunt in my own character of Thomas Walker, the former big game hunter turned conservationist.

“It seemed a wild thing to do – lie out in lion country waiting to be attacked by a man-eater. But Hal was not wild. He was a steady nineteen-year-old, six feet tall, with the strength and brains of a man. He had thought it over carefully. This had seemed the best way to go at it.”

4. The Hobbit

There are two characters that I was always drawn to in The Hobbit. The first was Beorn, the incredible bear-man and shapeshifter. I thought he was one of the fiercest and most interesting of the characters, preferring the company of animals and distrusting men and dwarves intensely. I was in awe of his strength and pure presence. In the writing he comes across as a mountain of a man, so I have to say I was more than a little disappointed with his downsized role in the films.

The other character was Smaug, the sharp tongued dragon himself! I’ve always liked dragons and the red fire-drake from the north was one of the best.

“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”

“There are no safe parts in this part of the world. Remember you are over the edge of the wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.”

I think again I could identify with the ‘Tookish’ part that awakened in Bilbo, that made him want to go on an adventure. I also have fond memories of this book because I wanted more than anything to take it with me on my first ever school camp away from home. I couldn’t get it in time and remember being driven to tears. The camp was in Cumbria, as was my grandfather at the time, and on my free day he came to collect me and we visited a bookshop so I could get the book I wanted so badly! I’ve also always wanted a writing retreat just like Bag End. I wonder if I’ll ever build it? One day!

5. The Siege of White Deer Park

The series of books following the adventures of the animals of Farthing Wood was one I read avidly as a child. Everything from death to friendship and sacrifice is explored through the bonds of the animals forced to flee their home, who find refuge in the nature reserve of White Deer Park.

When a mysterious creature arrives and begins to stalk and kill the park’s inhabitants, the band of friends must do all they can to protect one another from falling prey to it.

I loved wildlife and I loved monsters, so this book felt like it had been written just for me. And clearly, when the mysterious animal turned out to be a giant cat that has stalked the land without being discovered by humans, I was thrilled. It must have stayed with me is all I can say, with big cats now being a favourite subject and of course the creature at the centre of my own book, Shadow Beast.

“From what you say, Fox” Badger wheezed, “it sounds as if some animal or other is planning to use the Park as a sort of larder.”

It doesn’t seem fair to list my favourite books without mentioning my very own (what do you mean I already have?!). I love having my name on a book that sits on my shelf, and on the shelf of my local bookshop, and has now been read on at least three continents that I know of! It combines my love of adventure, the wild, and wildlife perfectly, and I love being able to share it with people. I look forward to exploring its world further too!

Writing and publishing my very own book was first put in motion by an excellent English teacher who told me I could write and that my stories were good. And that’s one of the reasons I support World Book Day, because the combination of an inspiring teacher and books is an unbeatable one!

http://hyperurl.co/fuuugp

Fearlaith Mor – The Big Grey Man

Sorry ladies, there’s a man out there called Grey who’s even bigger and badder than that Christian fella. He’s definitely tall, dark, and probably the strong silent type at a guess and he seems to also have a bit of a mean streak, but that’s probably where the analogies end. Unfortunately, you also won’t find him in a Manhattan penthouse or driving sports cars. In fact there’s only one place in the world you may encounter him, and that’s on the lonely and desolate landscape surrounding the mountain of Ben Macdhui, in the Cairngorms of Scotland.

The legend of the Big Grey Man, or Fearlaith Mor as the entity is referred to locally, has been known in the area for centuries, but entered popular folklore when a Professor Norman Collie told a blood-chilling tale in 1889 of his experience on the mountain. Although a professional scientist and chemist, his true vocation was mountaineering and climbing. He climbed the Canadian Rockies, naming 30 of their peaks in the process and was involved in an ill-fated Himalayan expedition to break the yet unclaimed 8,000 metre high Nanga Parbat. With a keen analytical mind, a thirst for adventure and being a pipe smoker and confirmed bachelor, it isn’t surprising that it has been suggested that Collie was the likely inspiration behind Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. The point of all this is simply to say Collie was an experienced climber and not prone to superstition or ghost stories. Which makes his tale all the stranger.

“I was taking a short rest on a familiar path, safe and secure in the knowledge that I would soon be back to my comfortable lodgings and in front of a roaring fire, when I thought I heard something else, distant and away in the mist. It caused me no undue concern, and having caught my breath I began to move on.

I was returning from a cairn on the summit in a mist when I began to again think I heard something else than merely the noise of my own footsteps. Every few steps I took would be followed by a crunch of snow from behind, as if someone was walking behind me, but taking steps three or four times the size of my own.

I told myself this was nonsense, and stopped several times to peer behind me into the mist but saw nothing. As I walked on, the eerie crunch would sound again soon after. At the third occurrence I was seized with terror and took to my heels, staggering blindly for four or five miles nearly down to Rothiemurchus Forest. Whatever you make of it I do not know, but there is something very queer about that place, and I will not go back there again by myself.

Ever since, there have been reports and tales of strange occurrences in the area. Most witnesses describe being gripped with a sense of sheer terror, or of being chased and followed by something with evil intent. Another key component to encounters is the sound of unseen thudding footsteps coming up from behind. One writer fled from the aforementioned Rothiemurchus Forest, chased not only by her perplexed husband, but also by something she could only sense as evil and intent on doing her harm. She describes crossing some kind of invisible boundary within the forest and knowing she was safe, whereas seconds before she knew she had been in considerable danger. The Corrour Bothy, a remote hut that offers shelter to climbers and hikers is another place where the slamming of doors and a sense of dread and terror has sent many an occupier back out into the weather.

The Big Grey Man though is rarely, if ever seen. There are many reports of a shadowy figure obscured by the mist or fog, but very few come face to face with it. That said, one group of climbers described getting a glimpse of an immense humanoid that had sent an entire deer herd and other denizens of the mountain running down a slope at them in terror, a hint at which they were only too happy to take up on. Another described a horrible, giant face grinning at him from the cover of some rocks. He fled in terror as seems the precedent, but when he eventually returned to the place and measured the outcrop, he realised the figure must have been standing behind a particular rock, making it nearly 10 metres tall, which had been his original estimate!

Many have suggested that the Big Grey Man is actually a rare atmospheric phenomena known as a broken spectre. This is where the low winter sun can distort your own shadow through gaps in the clouds, projecting it onto layers of mist below, and there are a few places within the Big Grey Man’s territory that this strange spectacle can be seen, most notably Lurcher’s Crag. The effect is often accompanied by a ‘glorie’, or rainbow halo. The only issue with this explanation is that it occurs below you, not above as seems to be the case for most encounters of Fearlaith Mor.

It seems that given the sense of dread, the need to flee from a place in terror and the unseen presence of the entity, the Big Grey Man is more likely something supernatural than a physical beast. A powerful and malevolent guardian spirit of the land, in this case the mountain of Ben Macdhui.

What the Big Grey Man most certainly isn’t though, is Britain’s version of Bigfoot, despite what the show Finding Bigfoot tried to suggest in it’s recent UK special. We do seem to have genuine sightings of hairy hominids, with intriguing recent cases in North Yorkshire for instance, but they have nothing to do with this seemingly tulpa-like entity. Please take note, as I have come across far too many blogs and articles suggesting otherwise! After all, it sounds like the last thing we need to do is piss this thing off further!

I have always been drawn to the legend of Fearlaith Mor, and do one day plan to scale Ben Macdhui to investigate the place for myself. I could be one of the many who encounter nothing but breathtaking Scottish scenery and a beautiful natural wilderness. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a spiritual sentry of unnatural wildness…

Cover image produced with kind permission from Monstrum Athenaeum. http://monstrumathenaeum.org/