[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] As Far as the Eye Could See By Matthew S. Dent Jimmy and Maria emerged from the warmth of the train carriage and were almost immediately subsumed in a flurry of ivory flakes. ‘Jesus!’ Maria exclaimed. She wrapped her coat tighter around her as a gust of icy wind hit her blowing her plume of brilliant red hair out behind her. She quickly tucked it away in her hood. ‘It’s really picked up.’ Jimmy only grunted. What had been a charming shower of snow when they’d gotten on the train was now a full blown snowstorm. And getting worse. ‘How far is it to your parents’ house?’ Maria asked. ‘Fifteen minutes walk,’ he answered, and buried his chin deeper into his coat. The cold wind bit into his exposed face. ‘Come on.’ He looped his arm through hers as the train pulled away behind them. Its lights were quickly lost in the maelstrom of swirling flakes. ‘The sooner we get out of this, the better.’ Maria pulled her ticket out, squinting to check it was the right one, but putting it away when she saw no barriers. Leading her through the snow, Jimmy put his shoulder to the wind and pressed onwards. He wore a thick coat, over layers strategically arranged to keep out the cold. They didn’t seem at all effective. The wind found out every flaw in his thermal armour, and stopped it up with snow. He was shivering after only a few paces. Maria fared no better. Her clothing was designed for aesthetics rather than winter comfort- no more than you could expect from a fashion and design student. Her coat was thin, her shoes unsuited to wading through snow, and her gloves were not waterproof. Only her hood was an advantage. She hunched shivering in her boyfriend’s shadow as he pushed through the burgeoning blizzard. ‘The road’s too dangerous!’ Jimmy shouted, leading her from the barely visible road. ‘People take the road too fast anyway. In this visibility, we’ll get ourselves killed. It’s quicker to cut across the churchyard!’ The churchyard? Maria couldn’t see a church, but then she couldn’t see much of anything anymore. In the sea of white, Jimmy’s dark silhouette was her anchor and guide; she clung to him. Jimmy was worrying about the rest of the journey. His family home was still a fair walk away, and he hadn’t told Maria that the walk was fifteen minutes in fair weather. God only knew how long it would take in this mess. Movement to his left distracted him. Something had darted past him, something not white, not the snow, but dark and very much solid. Maria crashed into his back, and cried out. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. The tremor had worked its way into her voice, and he took his soon-to-be-fiancé into his arms, planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘Nothing,’ he said, shaking off his unease. It was just the snow playing tricks on him. What else could it have been? ‘Come on. We need to get home, before you freeze.’ ‘I’m going to look a state,’ Maria complained. She drew her white-gloved hand across her cheek, leaving a dirty stain of make-up on the finger. ‘What are your parents going to think of me.’ Despite himself, Jimmy laughed. ‘They’ll think you’re cold, wet and hungry. They’ll make you sit by the fire, give you a towel, and make you some supper. They’ll love you, hun.’ They pushed on, Jimmy leaning into the wind, and Maria clutching close to him. She thought of the promised fire, and of what supper she might be given. The seasonal flavours of mince pies and mulled wine crept into her mouth. She gripped Jimmy’s arm tightly. Jimmy had lowered his head, and thought only of getting through the storm. His thoughts had turned towards the pub in the village, unsure any longer whether they could make it up the hill. He kept his eyes fixed dead ahead, searching for fences, gateposts, anything solid. He ignored phantom spectres darting at the corners of his vision. ‘Hey!’ Maria exclaimed, and Jimmy felt her pull on his arm as she stopped. He had to squint through the storm to see her. She was only three feet from him at the most. The storm was getting worse. ‘Something pulled my hood back!’ He stepped closer, and saw that her hood, was indeed down. ‘The wind?’ ‘No! Something pulled it down. I felt it.’ ‘Maria, there’s nothing out here!’ Jimmy insisted. The cold was biting deep into him, sapping his strength. ‘How do you know? I can’t see **** in this snow. I’m not making this up! Look!’ She turned around, and presented her hood to him. He reached out and touched it, and noted that it seemed torn, almost shredded, before it was snatched out of his hand. And suddenly Maria wasn’t there anymore. ‘What the ****? Maria?’ He lurched forward, searching for her. He kicked at the snow, thinking she might have tripped and fallen, but there was no one there. The cold bit ever deeper into him, and panic rose through his stomach. ‘Maria!’ he shouted. ‘Maria! Where are you?’ He staggered into the snow, too late realising that he had lost all sense of direction. He had no idea which way led back to the station, and which way on to the village. Everything was just more snow. The storm rose around him. The merciless white maelstrom of nature brought to bear on him. The snow blinded and confused him, all the while assaulting him with wet, burning cold. And nowhere could he find Maria. He staggered on, hands reaching, searching for the feel of Maria’s more-money-than-sense coat, for the relieved embrace of his lost lover. But the snow was up to his thighs now. His jeans were soaked- why the hell had he worn jeans, of all things?- and his legs cried out in protest and agony. He saw the door only a step before he walked into it. A big, wooden thing, which he took a moment to identify as the church. He beat on it with gloved fists. Someone might be inside. Someone who could help him find Maria. A gust of wind, and perhaps something more solid, hit his side, and knocked him from his feet. He landed in the snow, and gasped from sudden cold and pain of it. Snow flooded into his mouth. He thrashed around, trying to tell up from down, but there no longer seemed any distinction between him and the snow. As the cold ate into the last warm molecules of him, and darkness closed in over him, his last thoughts were of the flame-haired beauty, lost in the snow. Maria… ### ‘Good morning, Mr Kilburn.’ Jimmy was warm. His eyes opened slowly, reluctantly. Had the painful, all-encompassing cold been nothing but a dream?and he wondered whether the lingering memories of painful cold had just been a dream. When he saw the aged face in front of him, he knew it hadn’t been. ‘Where am I?’ He sat up with a groan. The old man chuckled. Jimmy saw he was wearing a white dog collar and knew the answer before he said it. ‘St. Mary’s. I found you on the doorstep, freezing to death. You seem well enough for a good night’s sleep, though.’ ‘Where’s Maria?’ Jimmy asked, suddenly remembering her disappearance. The old vicar frowned. ‘There wasn’t anyone else with you.’ ‘She’s still out there then!’ Jimmy’s leapt out of the makeshift bed he was lying in, flinching slightly as his bare feet hit the cold floor. There was still some residual dampness in his clothes, but he didn’t care. He dashed towards the door. ‘Wait!’ the vicar shouted after him. ‘You can’t go out there dressed like that!’ Jimmy ignored him. Forcing the door open he threw himself into the outside world. The storm had blown itself out overnight, and everything was bright and clear now- but viciously cold. And there was a blanket of snow covering everything, almost two feet deep. The snow attacked Jimmy’s legs and bare feet, burning and freezing simultaneously, but he didn’t care. He had to find Maria. The vicar shouted at him from the doorway, but Jimmy could barely even hear him. There was nothing. No footprints, no bulges, no sign of her. Tears flowed down his cheeks with growing desperation, and his shivering was uncontrollable. He waded like the snow, no longer able to feel his feet, until they gave way beneath him and sent him sprawling facedown. He surfaced, churning up the fresh snow as he tried to find something with which to lever himself up. And then he stopped. In the tilled snow before him, something had been unearthed. A lone, white glove, a black smudge sullying one flat finger. And next to it, a soggy rail ticket, its orange edges wilting, even as it declared itself an “OFF-PEAK SINGLE; LONDON TO WARGRAVE”. And one corner of it was coloured with a dark red residue, on perfect snow stretching as far as the eye could see.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] The amount of writing I’ve been able to do lately has been distressingly negligible. I think it shows from the fact that it’s been over a week since I’ve updated this blog. It all comes down to distraction really. This time of year is always busy academically, but in the final year of a law degree it reaches the point of truly mental, I’ve discovered. I don’t make things easy on myself, I know. I have a tendency to procrastinate, and to bite of much more than I can swallow. The last few weeks I’ve had to knuckle down though. I’ve had 7,000 words worth of work to submit, as well as a presentation to do. To date I’ve done 3,500 words, and no presentation. Added to that, I’m hard at work researching and writing my dissertation (on the contemporary relevance of the Law of Treason, in case anyone’s interested), ever more deeply involved in Labour, and the Labour society at uni, and of course trying to keep up my writing. All under the shadow of “What am I going to do come June when I graduate?” Perhaps if I was snowed in, I'd have more time to devote to writing... I am still writing though, even if it is more slowly. I’ve recently finished the first drafts of a longish sci-fi short about dimensional rifts and military recruitment, and a short story about unicorns. No, I’m not joking. I’ve also been listening to a lot of fiction podcasts. There are so many great ones out there, but in particular I have to recommend Cast Macabre. It’s a relative newcomer, but has some very good little horror stories, and is lovingly produced by Barry Northern to a top quality standard. You should really take a look. So there’s a snapshot of my life at present. Plenty of distractions, little in the way of tangible productivity. I’ll be fighting with uni work until term finishes for Christmas (and then probably over Christmas too), but I have a few itching projects just waiting for a time window. Windows I intend to make over the Christmas. Of course, it could massively snow (again), and I could end up housebound in Brighton, with nothing but time to write. And thinking on it I’m not sure that would be a bad thing.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] So, earlier this week BSG spin-off series Caprica was cancelled. I’m not going to spend this blog entry moaning specifically about that, for two reasons. Firstly, I’m quite behind on the series, only a few episodes in, and thus haven’t decided whether it will meet it’s potential (but rest assured, the potential is there). Secondly, there are plenty of other people across the interwebs doing just that. No, my complaint here is a more general trend indicated in the cancellation; that of good sci-fi television being cut short without being given a real chance. Or worse, being positively brilliant. Firefly is the obvious example, but far from the only instance. I remember when I was growing up, the TV schedules were full of science-fiction. It wasn’t all good, but it was certainly there. The Star Trek Franchise was working its way through The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager (not to mention several films- some of them even good). The X-Files was giving us conspiracy theories and aliens being investigated by an FBI duo with a taste for sunflower seeds and interesting pronunciation of the English language. Babylon 5 was doing something, though quite what I’m not entirely sure, as I’ve never actually watched an episode. Stargate SG-1 was taking us to distant worlds through a bowl of jelly, with MacGyver as a tour guide. And there were myriads of smaller, lesser-known sci-fi shows floating around. Five seasons of Andromeda, with Kevin Sorbo whizzing about as Hercules in space, for Christ’s sake. And five seasons of pseudo-philosophical nonsense with Earth Final Conflict (both, incidentally, mining the last vestiges of the late Gene Roddenberry’s imagination). If even these more obscure things managed to prosper, hopefully it will give you a hint of how strong the genre used to do. Nowadays, they seem to struggle. Aside from the utter bollocks of Firefly’s cancellation (midway through one of the best first seasons I’ve ever seen from a TV series, of any genre), there are a host of similar cancellations littering the path. The demise of the mutated Stargate SG-1 and misguided spin-off Stargate Atlantis probably won’t be much mourned, but back in the 2003 outstanding Australian offering Farscape was given the chop too. Since then Dollhouse (Joss Whedon’s other sci-fi project) has been given its marching orders, lesser-known but still praise-worthy Denying Gravity was denied a second season, as was Flashforward (not a patch on the book, but still better than Lost by a wide margin). And that’s to say nothing of the countless great ideas which have undoubtedly been turned down. What I think this amounts to, in my opinion, is a shift in the perception of sci-fi. It just doesn’t seem to be cool any more. The only science-fiction series that I can think of to have run its full course rather than being prematurely cancelled is Caprica‘s parent show, Ronald D. Moore’s sterling remake of Battlestar Galactica. When you factor in the Sci-Fi channel’s bizzare and much-documented name change to SyFy, I think we have to accept that TV studios are not keen on the genre any more. The flagship genre representatives at the moment are X-Files lookalike Fringe (which is fantastic, and if they go anywhere near it with an axe I’m going to have to resort to violence), bold reinvention of the original franchise Stargate Universe, and the BBC’s reinvention of the Doctor Who franchise (which may be facing difficulties of a different sort, before too long). Of course, you have the V remake, but I think the less said about that diluted cat piss the better. Is there a deeper root to this downturn? Are people not dreaming of the future any more? Do we not look up at the stars and dream of what could be out there? If you look at real world events, such as Obama’s attitude towards NASA, you might think so. I don’t know the answer to that one, but my favourite television genre seems to be under siege at the moment. Hollywood has never gotten sci-fi. They’ve made token efforts, and sometimes done fairly well, but the extended possibilities of a TV series, of a long story arc, has always seemed the natural home of video science-fiction to me. If it’s going to be allowed to vanish from our screens, I fear not only for the genre, but for humanity’s approach to the future. Science-fiction is, to me at least, imagination incarnate. It is the ultimate “what if?”. And I think we really do need that. Maybe you disagree, but all I’m really saying here is give sci-fi a chance.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] (Corvus, 294pp, £12.99) "The Holy Machine" by Chris Beckett I bought this book for a few reasons, which should probably be made clear before I begin dissecting it. First amongst them, was the review of this UK release in Interzone #229, which gave a pretty glowing summary of it. Second, and related, was the quotation on the front, from the Interzone review of the US release, which gave an even-more-glowing summary. Third was the beautifully made cover (I actually looked this up, and it’s by designer Andy Vella, whose work is worth a look). And finally, when I read the first few paragraphs, in Waterstones Southend, I instantly recognised that this was a competent writer. And a competent writer, Beckett certainly is. The bio on the back flap proclaims this as his first novel, which is a hopeful state of affairs when you start off this good. Yeah, I enjoyed it a lot. It was a very well written story, with believable characters, a blisteringly exciting pace, and a wonderfully vibrant and intriguing world. Set in a future where the entire world (apparently) has turned religious fundamentalist (precisely which religion seems not to matter, as long as you’re verging on the psychotic with it), apart from one solitary city in the Balkans, which has become the refuge of atheism and science (for the first part of the book, at least, seemingly the same thing). Of course, in predictable fashion, it seems to be moving towards an atheist fundamentalist theocracy. But the story itself focuses on socially maladjusted main character George, and his relationship with sex-bot Lucy, who at the same time is becoming self-aware. The whole thing culminates in a madcap flight through the theo-pathic outlands, as the two try to outrun the various different parties who want to destroy them. The main advantage this story has is its pace. It keeps moving forward with such unrelenting action and excitement, that it becomes a difficult book to put down, even if there are rather important things you should be doing instead. And the pace also helps the plot, which if you give it any thought at all is rather predictable. But it scoops the reader up, and immerses them to such an extent that they don’t have time to see it coming (and don’t really care if they do). This really is storytelling at its very best. There are, however, things that I can criticise. And I’m going to. The first, and most obvious, is the central idea. That people would react against science, becoming ultra-religious and anti-scientific, seems ridiculously far-fetched. It doesn’t really help that Beckett doesn’t give a particularly strong reason for said theocratic revolution, it just sort of…happens. The whole story resting on this tenuous conceit is a bit risky, and with a lesser writer would probably collapse in on itself. As it is, if you can bring yourself to look past that, the story will carry you along, and the message that Beckett is trying to get across (namely, the dangers of restricting belief, in either direction), will make up for the stretch. But my biggest criticism, is that it’s just too short. The pace that I’ve mentioned before worked really well for telling the story, but there was so much that I felt I, as a reader, was missing. Beckett creates an endlessly fascinating world here, and it seems a real shame that he marches his readers through it at breakneck speed, with nary a chance for a look around. There were things mentioned in passing, happening elsewhere, that I would have liked to hear more about. And given that it was narrated in a past-tense first-person perspective, which a couple of times diverged to look at other sub-plots, I don’t really see why it couldn’t have done so more. But really, it’s a fairly petty complaint, that only speaks to the calibre of this book. It gets you so into it, that when it’s done you find yourself as the metaphorical Oliver Twist, meekly asking (or maybe clamouring) for more. I highly recommend this book, as an example of good storytelling, and good science fiction. It has a message, as well as a story, to tell, and whilst many will not agree with that message, it will make you thing. And what more do you want from a book?
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] This is a follow-up to my previous post on the subject, "The Art of Flashing". It’s not going to be a long piece, but I wanted to write it for several reasons. 1) The awesome title occurred to me only several days after the original flash fiction entry. 2) I do really like flash fiction. 3) I was contacted by Alan Presley, who asked me to pimp the Micro Award. Which I’m more than happy to do The Micro Award is for outstanding flash fiction, published in the previous year. It probably doesn’t sound frightfully interesting, but really literary awards are important for recognition of outstanding fiction, and are a massive deal in the industry. They showcase the very best of what’s going on, a snapshot of the top. And they often cause controversy and debate (for example, the Booker prize recently ignored genre fiction again, and rolled out the same bollocks in explanation of that. But that’s a different debate). But more than that, this award is an essential ingredient if flash is to be considered a genuine mode of literary art. I already made my feelings on flash fiction clear in my previous entry, and I have a lot of respect and admiration for the authors who can form a complete, engaging and satisfying story in only 500 words. The award has just been taken over by Alan Presley (previously having been run by Robert Laughlin), and is gathering momentum. And best of all, it’s open to all genres, recognising all equally. Which, if you’ve read my previous posts, you know is something I’m more than a little passionate about. If you’re interested in flash fiction, or in the award, you should definitely take a look at the Micro Award website. Also, while I’m plugging away, I’ll give the Escape Pod flash contest (yes, you have to register on their forum to see and vote on the stories, but at least it’s free) another nod. There are a lot of entries, so it’s gonna be going on for a while (and I’ll be flogging it on here until it’s a bloody mess of twitching organs). I have two stories in it, one of which is through to the quarter finals, and one of which is still in the first round. It’s still blind, and I’m still not going to say which are mine, but you should really read through all of them. There are brilliant examples of both flash fiction, and sci-fi in general, on there.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] The Tory(pion) and the Fox By Matthew S. Dent There is an ancient fable, told as a warning against excessive foolishness or trust. It tells that there was once a Liberal Democrat fox, called Nick, who lived on the opposition bank, of the river Parliament. One day he heard someone calling his name. Turning around, he saw a gathering of Tory scorpions. ‘Nick,’ they said. ‘Nick, please help us.’ ‘Help you?’ he asked, suspicious. All foxes knew that scorpions were not to be trusted- especially Tory scorpions. ‘We need to get to the other side of the river,’ the lead scorpion, called Dave, explained. ‘We need to get to the government bank, but there aren’t enough of us to get across.’ Nick looked over at the other bank. It was green and fertile, with food a plenty, and many comfortable places to sleep in the sun. Although he had always lived on the opposition bank, he had never stopped dreaming of one day making it to the government bank. ‘But I’m just a fox,’ he said. ‘There are too many obstacles. I could never manage to land on the other side.’ ‘We’ll help you,’ one of the scorpions, George, whispered to him. ‘If you take us across, we will let you stay.’ Nick considered this carefully. It was very tempting. No fox had set foot on the government bank in almost a hundred years. But he was still suspicious. ‘You’re scorpions,’ he said. ‘And Tories. Everyone knows what you’re like. You’ll sting me. and cut public services, lower taxes for the rich and neglect the poor.’ ‘No!’ Dave said, with a chuckle. ‘Why would we do that? We haven’t been on the other bank for thirteen years, because we did that. If we did it again, we’d drown too. Why would we do that?’ Nick thought on this long and hard. He considered it for several days, talking to the other animals, while the Tory scorpions grew impatient. Eventually he returned to them with the other foxes, to give them an answer. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘We’ll carry you across on our backs. But we want our pick of the best sleeping spots on the other side.’ ‘Certainly!’ Dave agreed, delighted. So the foxes began swimming across the river, with the Tory scorpions on their backs. The water was cold, and turgid. It took all of the foxes’ efforts to get across. But as they drew away from the opposition bank, and towards the government bank, the scorpions stung the foxes, on whose backs they rode. ‘But why?’ Nick asked. The Tories were slashing public spending, raising VAT, continuing Trident, cancelling essential economic projects, politicising the police and destroying the education system. As the water over his mouth and nose, he pleaded, ‘Why? You’ve drowned yourself too.’ Next to him, Vince Cable was sinking fast, as George stung him again and again. ‘Why?’ Dave laughed. ‘I’m a Tory. It’s in my nature.’ Is it an ancient fable? Perhaps not. But it might be one day. Wake up, Nick.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] When 3D first started rolling along and becoming the latest cinematic bandwagon, I was a bit uncertain. Avatar being the first 3D movie I saw probably didn’t help matters too much. But my opinion of it has, for a long while, been that it is nothing short of a gimmick, an excuse for cinemas to charge more for tickets, and for uninteresting and derivative films to be able to shout “Look at me! Look at me!”. In my defence, look at the titles we’ve seen with 3D so far: My Bloody Valentine, Final Destination 4, Clash of the Titans, and so forth. Scarcely innovative filmmaking. I’ll add that I haven’t seen Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, so I might be talking out of my arse completely and that may use 3D in a completely different way. But I doubt it. The thing about 3D is that I have yet to encounter a film where it’s actually incorporated into the plot, rather than being stuck on. If a film was to actually use the 3D element integrated into the plot (God knows how; I certainly don’t) then it might become the innovation that the film industry wants it to be. That hasn’t happened yet, and I’m still not completely sold on 3D, but I’m a little more positive about it. What happened? I saw Toy Story 3 the other day. Let me explain. When I saw Avatar in 3D, I was underwhelmed by it. And I mean in general- the story was so-so, the acting was fairly bland, and it was longer than my bladder was comfortable with. But aside from that, the 3D was a distraction from the film. I couldn’t follow the storyline as well, because every so often I caught myself stopping to admire the scenery. In the end, the film became more about the graphics than the story, which really should be a death knell for a film. And the most damning thing of all is that I’ve since seen it in 2D, and if anything it came across better. Watching Toy Story 3, however, it wasn’t quite like that. Maybe it’s because the story was stronger (it was outstanding), the characters more engaging, and the film as a whole more complex, but I didn’t feel that the fact it was in 3D lessened the experience, or detracted anything. It was simply there; and I was focused on the film for the whole duration. Now, this might just be that Toy Story 3 was a much better film than Avatar, but if I’d seen this first, I’d probably be a whole lot more optimistic about 3D. Now, don’t get me wrong here. Toy Story 3 was a great film, but I’m certain it would have been every bit as good as in 2D. The 3D graphics were still just as unnecessary, but here they were a neutral force. I was able to focus on the film, and enjoy the story (and, yes, tear up at the end) without having to stop every few minutes to think “OH MY GOD! IT’S IN 3D!”. 3D is still problematic, in my opinion. The glasses are a pain, and it has a tendency to cause headaches (Toy Story 3 didn’t, for some unknown reason, have the same disorientating effect on me that Avatar did), not to mention being exclusive of one-eyed audience members. But I suppose it not being a problem is the first step on the road to it being a good thing. It could, I think, be a great force for interactive entertainment, used with the right idea. Nintendo are going to be the first to use it with gaming, releasing the 3DS at some still-vague point in the future, but honestly I expect it will be another gimmick-fest, like its big brother the Wii. We may have to wait some time to see whether 3D can be the film revolution that the film industry are so desperate for us to see it as.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] So, I saw inception on Saturday. And I wrote a review on the way home. I was going to post it on here, when I’d edited it up on Sunday morning, and left a Facebook status to that extent. But, as they say, the best made plans of mice and men, often go awry. When I woke on Sunday, I found a Facebook message from Tony Lee (head honcho of Pigasus Press and DVD reviewer for TTA Press’ magazines), inviting me to instead submit the review to science-fiction magazine-website The Zone. So I did. So if any of you want to know how good Inception was, then please take a look at my newly-published review, on the site!
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] Flash fiction, that is. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’ve been writing a lot of flash fiction lately, for some reason. I’ve written three stories, in the last few days. I think it all started with the Campaign for Real Fear, for which my entry (Extra-Curricular) was regrettably not selected. But there was something fun about it. Trying to get a complete story in 500 words is a fun challenge. See, my writing evolution has gone a little in reverse. Instead of starting out small, and getting bigger, I began trying to write novels. Trying being the operative word. Until almost two years ago (Christ, it’s gone too quickly), I had never really been able to write short stories. There’s something difficult and challenging in staying inside a tighter word limitation, where you need to be free of the extraneous bumf that would be more permissable in a novel-length work. The thing about flash fiction rather than a short story, however, is that it’s much harder to get a complete story within 500 words. With a short story, I can quite happily fit a three- or even five-act story. But a piece of flash is more like a glimpse into the fictional world of the setting and characters; a peak through a window. You have to get the atmosphere right, with minimal description. You have to make your characters full and likeable (if that’s the intention) through only a few pieces of dialogue and action. You can’t waste words on chunks of exposition. Since becoming more “serious” about my writing two years ago, my writing style has changed drastically. I used to be cloyingly verbose, and after some loving criticism and advice from my beautiful Ashleigh, I ended up with a much more stripped down way of writing. I’m not sure it’s all a good thing, but I’m still learning and evolving, so I guess it doesn’t matter. But I do believe that you should only use as many words as absolutely necessary to get across what you’re trying to, so from that standpoint, really a good piece of flash fiction should be the pinnacle of good writing. That’s not to knock short stories and novels. I love writing short stories, and one day I am going to both edit my Spanish Civil War vampire novel (No, they don’t sparkle), and write more novels. But there’s something about a well crafted piece of flash that makes me feel warm and happy. I guess it’s the whole short and elegant aspect. To the point. No prevarication. And if you want to see examples of some of the finest flash fiction, then I’d recommend taking a look at the Escape Pod flash fiction contest. Aside from being a fantastic (free) weekly podcast of sci-fi stories, the lovely people at Escape Pod are currently in the voting stage of a flash fiction contest. You can find (and vote on) the entries at the Escape Artists Forums, but you have to register on the site (again, for free) to see the stories. They aren’t all fantastic, but there are some real gems in there. Yes, I have a couple of pieces in there. No, I won’t tell you which. See if you can figure it out. As for my recent produce? Well, if anyone wants to suggest any markets that publish flash (sci-fi and horror, specifically), I’d be very grateful. If I can’t find anywhere to sell them to, I may simply post them up here, for you lovely people to read.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] The Coalition government has today proposed introducing a graduate tax to fund higher education in this country, rather than the current system of loans that sees graduates leaving university with crippling amounts of debt. If this sounds at all familiar, it’s because it’s something that has been suggested many times, by many people- most recently by shadow secretary for education, Ed Balls. But let’s not dwell on that. After all, it’s surely a good thing if the government accepts it when the opposition has a good idea, surely? Anyway, that’s not my point here. My point here is the compromise that is inherent in any coalition, and in particular a coalition between such polar opposites as the Tories and the Lib Dems. Every achievement that one side makes is tempered by an achievement of the other. Or rather, every concession the Lib Dems manage is tempered by some crazy rubbish that I sincerely hope comes from the other side. Take the student finance, for example. Along with the graduate tax idea (which I welcome, as I did when Mr Balls suggested it), the announcement contains suggestions of all manner of things, including shortening degrees to two years. I’m not sure how many degrees this would actually apply to, but I can’t think of many where it would be a good idea. I’m a law student, about to go into my second year. Now, I know I didn’t really shout too much about it, but I had my exams a few months ago. And they were hard. The stress that I went through this year, and last year, is largely due to the massive quantity of “stuff” I have to learn and remember. It might not seem like it, but there really is a lot to learn in Law. And I’m not nearly arrogant enough to assume that other courses aren’t the same. My point is that the stress levels, and the amount of material covered is at the limits of what is manageable. If you reduce course duration to two years, one of two things will happen: either the rate of stress-related breakdowns will increase, or the standard of graduates will fall. Neither of which seems desirable. And that’s not to mention the potential for forming a two tiered education system, which seems to be something the Tories quite like the idea of. If both two and three-year courses are offered, at different prices, you’ll end up with those whose families happen to be rich enough to afford it getting the higher standard three-year education, and those whose families aren’t so well off having to settle for two-year “basics” degrees. Now, there’s already a divide between the education that the rich and the poor receive, under the current system. A graduate tax would do a lot to allieviate that, as money wouldn’t be the primary obstacle for students from a poorer background, but rather they would be judged on academic ability. A double standard of education based on wealth would destroy any benefit there, however. And it’s not just that it’s against the interests of social justice. It’s quite clearly against the interests of the country as a whole. What the public seems to misunderstand, and certain politicians are keen to encourage them to, is that students are not a drain on the taxpayer. They are an investment, by the country. Yes, it requires money from the taxpayers to educate them, but who gets the benefits? Who gets treated by the doctors trained at our universities? Who is defended by the lawyers? Who is going to rely on the graduates of the future? I’m not even going to answer that for you. It’s just galling that I’m forced to watch every sensible, liberal, progressive suggestion that is made by this coalition of contradictions, be checked by some conservative, reactionary nonsense. What our economy is going to need as it crawls out of recession is not less jobs, nor smart and capable people excluded from the education which would benefit them and the country, simply because they weren’t lucky enough to be born into money.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] Just a reminder that there is still a little over a day if you want to enter my werewolf anthology. To celebrate the release of the “Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets” anthology from Pill Hill Press, which includes my story “The Mystery of St. Mary’s Morgue”, I’m offering one lucky person the chance to win a copy. So be imaginative, and impress me! All you have to do, to win said anthology of 25 lupine stories, is comment on this blog post (or email me at matthewsdent[at]hotmail[dot]co[dot]uk), telling me why you think you should. I’ll choose my favourite as the winner once the competition closes, and they’ll get the lovely book that’s sat next to me as I write this. I’ll accept entries up to midnight on Sunday 11th July (and because of the number of times that time difference has wreaked havoc with me when submitting, I’m gonna just say that it’s open until midnight wherever YOU are), and all I ask if you win is that you give it a review on amazon. Oh, and it’s open to anyone, in any country. So no excuses for not entering.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] I was going to call this “Putting the Liberal in Libservative”, but after the deeply regressive budget the coalition have put forward, that seemed a little too oxymoronic. So this weekend, the coalition has announced the date for their AV referendum. 5th May 2011. It’s a big moment, because it’s the only meaningful concession that the Lib Dems got out of the Tories. It’s not what they wanted, but it’s not what the Tories wanted either. Everyone knows that the Lib Dems will campaign for AV, and the Tories will campaign against it, and really that facet of the issue isn’t that interesting. The importance of this announcement is that it’s Nick Clegg’s attempt to justify himself to his party and voters, after the travesty of the VAT hike he campaigned against, and then fell in line behind. Compromise is one thing, but VAT was the weapon of choice that the Lib Dems attacked the Tories with during the election. To support it now is not simply compromise, but a betrayal of principles, and the voters who listened and agreed to what they had said. But the Lib Dem frontbench hopes that this announcement will be a reminder that yes, they did get something out of the deal. They might have sold their souls, but at least they didn’t sell them for completely nothing. Right? Well, it’s still a very small concession. The Tories’ line is clear; they like first past the post. They’ll throw their full weight behind it, including the Ashcroft/Murdoch machine (and I don’t believe that DC will remain neutral in the campaign). The Lib Dem’s line on it, however, isn’t exactly harmonious. They want a much more radical electoral reform, and this is just a tiny step in the direction they want to go. I’m in favour of AV. I’m actually in favour of Single Transferable Vote, but that’s so complicated as to probably be impractical for the population to understand, without a few generations of quality political education in schools (another thing that I’m fairly passionate about the need for). But I don’t know whether it will pass or not. And on top of that, this could be a serious problem for the Labour Party. Whilst the Tories and the Lib Dems have their clear places on either side of the electoral reform line, Labour is bisected by it. Some want reform, some want to keep first past the post, which will make the whole issue vary precarious. It runs the risk of dividing the party on the campaign, particularly as the inclusion of the boundary changes the Tories want to make to keep Labour out in the future will be bound up in it. Even those who like the idea of AV are relucatant to support a measure which will also gerrymander the constitution. In my opinion, this is one of those now issues. Labour needs to debate openly and intensely their stance on the referendum, and make a collective decision where the party stands. And it needs to stick by that position, every man, woman and child. Because this might be the godsend Clegg is looking for. It might tear the only opposition apart, and allow him to get away with his betrayal of progressive politics. This is not a time for party squabbles, and the leadership contest so far has been conducted with such dignity and civility, it would be a real shame to lose that unity now. (And on an entirely unrelated note, don’t forget my Werewolf Anthology Competition! Only a week left, and still no entries. Come on people, I’ve got a copy of the anthology here, and I want to give it to someone for free!)
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] The anthology of werewolf stories “Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets” is now finally available from amazon.co.uk (after having been available on its US counterpart for some time already; due to the bureaucracy of online retailing)! It contains twenty-five short stories, all of which are werewolf-themed, and guaranteed to show you all the facets of the man-wolf legend you could imagine. It includes stories from yours truly (whose, excitingly, is the lead story of the anthology), as well as a plethora of other talented horror writers, including proflific short story author Lawrence R. Dagstine. The anthology is priced at £11.99, and for 25 stories, that’s not bad value. But to mark the occasion, I’m launching a little competition. The prize: a copy of the anthology (which will even be signed by my bloated ego!). If you want to win this handsome prize, simply post a comment on my external blog entry [sorry about this, but it doesn't notify me on here, and I don't want anyone to be missed] (or email me at matthewsdent[at]hotmail[dot]co[dot]uk) telling me why you think you should win. In two weeks time, I’ll pick my favourite to claim the prize. The competition is open to residents of any country that Royal Mail will deliver to, so I want to see plenty of entries and imaginative reasons as to why I should pick you. The only condition I place on it, is that if you win, once you’ve read it you review it on amazon (and on whatever else you like). But I don’t think that’s really such a hardship for you wonderful people, do you?
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] I mean it. This contains serious spoilers. In respect to the non-UK members, I've put this in spoiler tags, but you click at your own risk. Having said that, enjoy Spoiler So, Doctor Who. That stalwart of British TV, pride of the BBC. Since regenerating in 2005, it’s been one of the most popular TV programmes in Britain, and has received international acclaim. And the fundamental difference about the fifth series: Matt Smith. You have to sympathise with the guy. It’s a massive role, and he came to it from nowhere, and got a lot of stick from it. And yet, he’s been fantastic. The role of the Doctor has traditionally been a rocket to stardom (or for Paul McGann, a motorcycle to “what the hell was that?”), and those who do well at it deservedly meet with success. And Matt Smith has been great, I think. He’s proved himself worthy of the role, and played it with a spellbinding sense of humour, which is the fundamental requirement of the Doctor. Everything is going to **** all around him, and he’s still cracking jokes. What else is new? New companion. Amy Pond, played by Karen Gillan. And of her? She was pretty good. More independent than previous companions, and less doting on the Doctor. Or is it more? Maybe a bit of both. Obsessed with him, but not following him around like a helpless puppy, a la Rose Tyler and Martha Jones. But, good as she might be, she will always fall down next to the raw sex appeal of Bernard Cribbins! And the story? Well, it’s done the usual Doctor Who trick of meandering between “bloody brilliant” and “not worth bothering with”. I’ll do a quick summary of each. The Eleventh Hour introduced the new Doctor, Amy Pond, and the overarching story of the cracks and the Pandorica. The Beast Below was average as an episode, but an unusually strong social comment on ignorance over responsibility. The Victory of the Daleks was pretty crap, actually. The highlight of the craptasticality was the new “iPod” Daleks, hand designed by Apple, to rape a precious childhood treasure. The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone two parter was excellent, I thought. It brought back the best of the new villains, quantum-locked stone Weeping Angels, as well as fleshing out the overarching storyline of the cracks and what they mean. The Vampires of Venice was a “meh” episode. It wasn’t good, it wasn’t bad. Truthfully, it just felt like filler, even though I’m fairly sure it was supposed to expand the character of the new Doctor. Amy’s Choice was one of my favourites. Whereas the previous episode tried to expand the Doctor’s character, this one did. It showed the dark side of an ancient alien, and gave Amy Pond her first real characterisation, making her far and away the most real of the companions since the reboot. The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood two-parter was another blinder. The issue of protecting humanity was examined in the light of an old species, with just as much claim to Earth as humanity. And the seeds for the finale were sewn in the final moments. Vincent and the Doctor was actually a lot better than I expected. Every series they throw in a “historical celebrity” episode, and usually they’re pretty dire. This one was actually very good, largely because of a stellar performance by Tony Curran, and brilliant writing. The Lodger is the only one I haven’t seen (which I will rectify, eventually). But popular opinion seems unfavourable towards it. Along with some fairly severe criticism of James Corden, which I don’t really get… But whatever. And the finale two-parter: The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang. Which was the highlight of the whole series. The twist at the end of the first part was outstanding, I thought. It turned the idea of the Pandorica on its head, and whilst I’ve heard people claim they saw it coming, I’ll freely admit that I didn’t. The final scene, where the Doctor’s enemies drag him into his new prison was a cliffhanger worthy of the very best. The main problem was always going to be the resolution. Doctor Whohas a bad habit of flat resolutions: series 1 was alright, series 2 was quite good, series 3 was ****, series 4 was ****ter. But this time? It was right. It felt right, and it worked, with more twists than a country lane. But it worked. There wasn’t any bull****, cop-out psychic whatever. It was natural. And I loved it. Others won’t. But I did. So they can go sulk. It rounded off the story, but left enough open. And here’s the biggest (I think) spoiler: we may have an overarching storyline, over serieseses! Yeah, I’m a geek. And after watching the end of The Big Bang, I wouldn’t be anything else.
[Copied and pasted from my external blog. Please do take a look. I'm trying to update regularly, every few days or so] So, it’s happened. Chancellor of the Exchequer, The Right Honourable George Osborne (MP for Tatton), has stood at the dispatch box, and delivered his “emergency budget”. And despite some speculation in the press, pretty much everything that was feared has come to pass. Now, I know there are a lot of blogs on the budget already going up on the internet, and I’m going to endeavour to make sure this isn’t a knee-jerk reaction to the proposals. It won’t be a politically neutral one (anyone who knows me, will know that political neutrality is not one of my strong suits), but it won’t be indiscriminately critical. Because it isn’t entirely bad. There were gestures made, concessions given. The expansion of the Child Tax Credit is a good thing. The banks taxis a good thing. The declaration that we won’t join the Euro is a good thing (though puzzlingly unnecessary, since I don’t think anyone was seriously proposing joining). But what was given with one hand, has been taken away with the other. The Child Tax Credit expansion is countermanded by the child benefit freeze. The banks tax was countered by the cut in corporation tax which they will enjoy. And as I’ve already said, the Euro declaration was fairly meaningless on a grander scale. But the worst part is the VAT hike. David Cameron has been widely quoted today and in the previous few days, and I think I’ll jump on that particular bandwagon right now: “[VAT is] very regressive, it hits the poorest the hardest. It does, I absolutely promise you.” He was right. It does, and it will. The 2.5% rise will raise further revenue to cut the deficit, but at the expense of the poorest and most vulnerable sectors of society. A fair trade? Apparently it is, if you’re a Tory. Or a Lib Dem, for that matter. Throughout the delivery of his budget, Osborne was flanked by Nick Clegg and Danny Alexander, his Liberal Democrat scapegoats, and as Alistair Campbell said, they looked like nodding dogs- even despite looking slightly sick at the VAT announcement. The fact is, that this is their budget. They have supported it, and allowed it to happen, despite the fact that they specifically campaigned against a Tory VAT hike. How short the yellow memory is. The fact is, that cuts are necessary. The deficit does need to be cut down. There is a reason that we have it, and that reason is that we spent ourselves into debt to get ourselves out of recession. But that sacrifice will be rendered meaningless if overzealous cutting takes us right back into economic decline. Cuts must be counterbalanced with the growth of the economy, today downgraded from previous estimates in the wake of this new budget. Cuts will increase unemployment, which will lower tax income, and thus make the whole damn mess a whole lot worse. The real travesty of this budget to me, is that it was lauded as a “fair” budget. Everyone would share the pain. We were all in this together. It was awfully hard to take all of that seriously, when the budget was delivered by a government front bench crammed with millionaires, whom these new austerity measures won’t scratch. I will bear the burden of these measures, when I can’t find a job after university. Poor families will bear the burden of these measures, with less of the vital benefits they need, whilst being forced to pay more for everything due to the VAT hike. George Osborne has taken a 5% pay cut, that amounts to his pocket change. That is not fair, and that is not evenly shared pain. But hey, cider duty has been cut, so everyone can get drunk to celebrate not being able to afford anything else any more. (The full text of the budget is available on the HM Treasury Website)