Gary McMahon

On Running

2012-02-10T20:15:00.001Z

In my early twenties I got the running bug. I got it so bad that I suppose I became addicted to the act of running - that feeling of your body skimming cross the earth, the wonderful, almost orgasmic sensation one gets at the end of a good, hard run. My weight dropped dramatically; at one point I was nine and a half stone (133 pounds). People worried about me because I was too skinny. But I was the fittest person I knew.

I kept running for several years, and then somehow I let it slide. Not completely. I kept going back to it, but only half heartedly. It was never quite the same as in those golden years in my mid twenties, and the bug never bit me in that way again.

But things change; and the more they change the more they stay the same, or at least return to a state we know so very well.

Right now, just a couple of months before I turn forty-three, I find myself four weeks into another running bug. I'm running four times a week - three times in my lunch break at work and on a Saturday morning. I've been suffering from a lot of stress these last few years, and running seems to be filling a void I never knew I had. Running is like writing: it takes commitment, dedication, will power. You have to keep grinding out the miles, no matter what. Just like writing a novel, when you have to keep on grinding out the words. Like writing, it's also something you have to do alone. There's no safety net; nobody's there to watch your back. You either run or you don't. You either write or you don't. In the final analysis, it really is as that simple.

One of the few regrets I have in life is that I never ran a marathon when I was fit enough to do so. I used to train with marathon runners, I took part in a lot of road races, and once I even ran a twenty-mile fell race across the cheviot hills. The latter is the toughest thing I've ever put myself through and I'm more proud of that than any other physical challenge I've done. But I never did run a marathon. Maybe this time I will, before it's too late to matter.

It's good to have goals. In running, in writing, in life. But you need to run fast and hard to achieve them. And sometimes actually reaching those goals isn't what's important after all. Sometimes simply having them to spur you on is what really matters.

Tales of the Weak & the Wounded

2012-02-07T21:18:00.000Z

I'm delighted to announce that my next book will be Tales of the Weak & the Wounded, a short story collection from the excellent (and award winning) U.S. publisher Dark Regions Press.

The book goes up for preorder on the publisher's website on 14th February, and to promote the event they're running a social media competition where you could win a copy of the signed and numbered hardback edition. Click the link for details:

Tales of the Weak & the Wounded Competition

Desert Island Horror Stories

2012-02-06T20:53:00.005Z

Again
by Ramsey Campbell

Let's be honest here: I could have picked any one of Ramsey Campbell's short stories for this list. He's that good. He's the best. Pretenders may come and go, but Campbell remains, striding across the genre like some mighty Colossus.

I chose Again for the simple reason that after all these years, it still makes me shudder. There's a nervy, queasy atmosphere to the tale that you just can't wash off, no matter how hard you try. I'd read Campbell's work before I came to this particular story, but this was the one where I knew he was my author - the exact moment when he stamped his mark upon me and I became an acolyte.

A young hiker spends a day on the Wirral Way, and on his travels he finds a house in which an old woman seems to be trapped. He tries to get inside to help her, and once he does...well, let's just say that's when the really fucking weird stuff starts.

This is Campbell stripped back, his prose laid bare. There are very few of his usual stylistic flourishes on display, and what we get instead is a story with the most hideous, greasy, horrific atmosphere you could ever imagine. And the ending...oh, that ending. It haunts me still; I often find myself thinking about it, and a strange, clutching nausea settles in my gut. I never want to read this story again, but I always do. Again. And again. And again.

(See the whole list here: Desert Island Horror Stories)

Nice Things

2012-01-28T15:05:00.005Z

Look what the nice postman delivered to me today.

Most people who know me realise that I'm not an awards kind of guy. In the past, I've heard people say that the only people who don't care about awards are those who don't win them, and, to be frank, I think that's utter bullshit. I don't write for awards, or to have my back slapped. I write because I must. It's who I am, what I do to survive in this insane world. I'd write even if nobody published me. I used to, in fact - back when I couldn't get a book deal even if I'd have threatened a publisher with a shotgun.

I do, however, understand that recognition from one's peers is gratifying on several levels, so when I won two of the brand new This is Horror Awards my initial sense of embarassment at being targeted for attention turned quickly into genuine gratitude. It would be churlish - and fucking self-centred - of me to say that receiving the above through the mail didn't make me smile and make me happy. It means that somebody somewhere gives a fuck about what I do, and in my opinion that's always worth celebrating.

So, thank you. Whoever voted for me, whoever sat down and read, and was moved by, my work. Thank you. Let's do it again next time.

I'd also like to take a moment to say that I hope these awards - just in their infancy - go on to become a permanent, and respected, part of the genre landscape. Michael Wilson and his This is Horror team are doing great things and trying so very fucking hard to promote a genre that's often misunderstood, always underestimated, and sometimes even purposefully disrespected by the mainstream.

More power to Michael, then. You'll be hearing a lot more from this talented guy in the future.

Musing

2012-01-24T18:52:00.001Z

Don't just sit there and wait for inspiration to come and find you. Hunt the fucker down and bludgeon it into submission, like the wild pig it is.

- Me, 2012

On Pushing

2012-01-19T20:54:00.002Z

This year I'm taking on a task that feels like it might be impossible. Or at least improbable.

I'm working on two novels simultaneously, and I hope to get a presentable draft of each done by May. That's four and a half months. Not a long time, by any stretch of the imagination.

The first novel is Beyond Here Lies Nothing, which is the third novel in my Concrete Grove series for Solaris. I've already made a good start on this and have outlined quite a few chapters ahead. This one I'm calling my Weeknight Book, because that's when I work on it; week nights.

The second book is The Quiet Room, which is an expansion of my acclaimed novella What They Hear in the Dark. This is my Weekend Book, because...well, you get the idea. I've done less on this one so far, but it's slowly starting to take shape.

I'm doing this because I want 2012 to be my year. I've put in a lot of work over the last four or five years to get where I am, and now I have to move up a gear if I want to make the most of the momentum I've managed to build. I'm swimming in the same waters as full-time writers, so I need to be proffesional and make my time count, I need to keep on pushing. Because ultimately that's all we can do in this life: push.

And I'd hate to get to the end of mine and think that I could've pushed just that little bit harder if only I'd tried...

Novella

2012-01-11T20:55:00.001Z

My second piece of good news for the day is that I've finally finished the first draft of my new novella, Reaping the Dark. I started this at the back end of last year and wanted to get it finished before New Year. Sadly, that didn't quite happen - but since when did these things ever go to plan?

This one's been commissioned by a publisher. I can't say too much about it yet - no contracts have been signed, and the publisher hasn't even seen the manusript - but I'm hoping that, all going well, this one might also see a 2012 release. Maybe near the end of the year, just in time for Christmas.

When I set out to write this story, the tone I had in mind was as if James Sallis had written a supernatural horror story. I hope I've managed to nail it, but even if the finished piece is slightly different to what I initially intended, I'm very proud of what I've created.

Anyway, here's a little teaser in the form of a possible back cover blurb:

A stoic getaway driver…

A drugs raid that ends in bloodshed…

A criminal hell-bent on revenge…

A secret order of occultists…

And a creature summoned from the darkest depths of nightmare…

Who will survive this long, dark night, and how will it change them? And what manner of being will be born from the chaos left behind?

If the old adage is true and we reap what we sow, then only evil can be unleashed by

Reaping the Dark

New Short Story Collection Due In 2012

2012-01-11T11:46:00.002Z

Coming in 2012 from Dark Regions Press

The sound of shuffling footsteps across the old cell floor…

A soft voice like a strange tune echoing along the empty corridors…

Dim lights in the windows of the abandoned asylum…

Discarded case files that flip open to reveal the dreams of broken minds…

Welcome to a place where the boundaries of fact and fiction meet.

Acclaimed author Gary McMahon raids the archives of a notorious derelict mental asylum called the Daleside Institute to bring you stories of madness, horror and emotional trauma. In locations as diverse as suburban Germany, the London Underground, an Italian seaside resort and the inhospitable polar icecap, you will meet damaged people with broken lives. Here are terrifying accounts of love, hate, death and madness…

These are the Tales of the Weak and the Wounded

.

The Wind

2012-01-04T20:06:00.003Z

I know from speaking to the staff at my son's before-and-after school club that young children get agitated when the wind blows. The staff live in terror of windy days; they say that the kids start climbing the walls. Animals are bothered by the wind, too. Cats and dogs go slightly crazy during blustery weather.

I live in a big old Victorian house. It stretches over four floors, including the converted roof space and the cellar. This week the wind has been insane. It's been blowing a hooligan. This evening I discovered that the wind is so strong it's been blowing sheets of rain against the front of the house, and the rain has been sluicing down the brickwork, pouring off the stone window sill and flooding into the cellar, causing water to pool on the floor. Something else that's going to need fixing in spring, along with the dodgy electrics and the leaky roof.

But the wind has a strange effect on me, too. Rather than wind me up, like those young kids and house pets, it often brings on a bout of my depression. I sit downstairs late at night and I listen to the walls and the windows being battered by the gales, and I hear the wind groaning and whistling through the gaps around the old wooden front door. Wheelybins are blown along the street. The telephone wires whip and thrum in the air between the houses. It terrifies my eight year-old son - tonight, he's sleeping in with us, for comfort - but it doesn't scare me. It makes me feel lost and empty, like sad music.

Maybe I'm scared that the wind will get inside the house and blow me away? Or that it'll get inside me. Sometimes I think that might be a good thing. It might lift me up and take me somewhere different, where the wind is a mournful goddess and the weather is always crazy...a place where anything can happen.

New year; same story

2012-01-03T13:09:00.000Z

So that was 2011? Weird old year, wasn't it? Let's see if 2012 can be even weirder...and, you know what - I bet it is.

I had a few high points last year along with several low points, but the best thing that happened regarding my writing was the publication of my novels Dead Bad Things and The Concrete Grove. The former seems to have slipped under a few people's radars (unless I missed the raft of reviews it generated), but the latter seemed to catch a lot of attention.

In 2012 I have several projects to work on. Regarding novels, I have a May deadline for Beyond Here Lies Nothing (the third Concrete Grove Novel) and no doubt there'll be proofs and copy edits to handle for Silent Voices (the second Concrete Grove novel) prior to its publication in the spring/summer. I'm also working on a novel for my agent to sell - The Quiet Room, which is an expansion of my highly acclaimed story What They Hear in the Dark which was published last year as a limited edition chapbook by Spectral Press.

I also have a major new short story collection coming out later this year titled Tales of the Weak & the Wounded (more news on this one soon) and have been working hard over Christmas to finish a crime/occult novella for the same U.S. publisher.

Other odds and sods include potentially a short film of one of my stories and several short fiction appearances.

All in all, it looks like I'll be busier than ever this year...

To finish, here's a photo of my favourite gifts from Santa this year.

Just so you know...

2011-12-29T11:52:00.000Z

I like Harry Palmer better than James Bond, prefer The Magnificent Seven to The Seven Samurai. There's only ever been one great version of Wages of Fear and it wasn't made in English. Depressing films make me happy. Sad songs make my soul soar. Extreme Cinema puts fire in my belly. I love the rain and the cold. I don't like the heat. I favour well-crafted prose over simple "storytelling"; I'll take failed ambition over succesful entertainment every time. I want to be disturbed rather than experience a cheap scare. Give me ambiguity over a neatly packaged ending. I like the good guys to wear black hats. Barton Fink is my favourite film by the Coens. The best version of Blade Runner is the one with Harrison Ford's voiceover. Frenzy is better than Psycho, but The Birds is better than both. Ingmar Bergman made horror films. So does David Lynch. Mona Lisa is the best film Bob Hoskins ever made. Tough Guys Don't Dance. I Am Legend. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.

Hearts

2011-12-24T11:43:00.000Z

"The heart makes dreams seem like ideas."
Daniel Woodrell - 'Winter's Bone'

Update

2011-12-21T19:54:00.002Z

Here's the last update before Christmas, when I shall be spending my time with family, eating and drinking like a decadant Westerner, and hopefully sneaking in a little writing when nobody's looking.

I've just signed the contract for a short story collection to be published in 2012. This one's major; 85,000 words of my fiction, with several tales original to the collection.

It's to be called Tales of the Weak & the Wounded.

I also have a few short story acceptances to report: Cinder Images will be published in the Darker Minds anthology; it sees me when I'm not looking will appear in Seasons in Carcosa; and I've had a crime story called Moving Out accepted by an anthology slated to be launched at the World Fantasy Convention 2013.

My story Remains appears in the current issue of Black Static, and in the same magazine you'll find stellar reviews of both Dead Bad Things and The Concrete Grove.

Finally, I hope you all have a great festive period, whatever your beliefs. I know I will. I'll fucking make sure of that.

Desert Island Horror Stories

2011-12-18T20:56:00.004Z

This week it's Sitting in the Corner, Whimpering Quietly by Dennis Etchison:

Desert Island Horror Stories

Blue Door

2011-12-13T23:24:00.002Z

It was a blue door. Just a blue wooden door. Somebody had dumped it out in the street, next to an old skip. It was leaning against a low garden wall, not quite in an upright position. I walked on over there, across the street, and stood before the door, staring at it. The paintwork was chipped; the handle and letterbox were rusted. Along the bottom edge of the door, it looked like someone had spent a lot of time kicking the crap out of the baseboard.

A blue door. Nothing unusual about that.

I went to work and forgot about the door.

But it was still there when I got back, later than usual after working a couple of hours overtime. I stood eating hot chips out of day-old newspaper and looked at the door again. I couldn't understand why I was so drawn to it. My fascination was confusing.

I finished my chips, balled up the wrapper, and pitched it into the skip. Good shot. Then, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stepped forward and kicked the door. Just once. The sound was answered by another, similar sound: a heavy rapping noise on the other side of the door.

I looked around. There was nobody about; the street was empty. The nearest streetlight flickered. I could hear traffic a few streets away. A house light went on suddenly, shocking me. Somebody opened their front door and started shouting for a cat or a dog or a stop-out kid - they yelled the name "Jude" over and over again.

I kicked the door a second time. Then I walked away.

When I got home I had a glass of whisky, watched a crappy American sitcom, and then went to bed. It took me ages to get to sleep. My mind was racing. I could still taste the grease from those chips on my teeth. For some reason I couldn't stop doing sums in my head - addition, subtraction, even simple fractions. Finally, thankfully, I fell into a light doze.

When I opened my eyes there was something different about my room. I peered into the darkness, trying to work it out. Everything looked the same, but something felt different. I reached out and turned on the lamp. I'm amazed I didn't spot it sooner, but it took me five or ten minutes to register what my mind had already grasped. It wasn't a big thing, but it was enough to make me realise that the world isn't as stable as we like to think.

When I'd gone to sleep my bedroom door had been white, just like the rest of the doors in my house. Now it was blue.

Desert Island Horror Stories

2011-12-11T23:15:00.000Z

This week I take a look at Apathetic Flesh by Darren O. Godfrey:

Desert Island Horror Stories

2011-12-04T21:03:00.001Z

This week it's Charles Bukowski's The Fiend:

Desert Island Horror Stories

Thin Men with Yellow Faces

2011-12-01T13:10:00.000Z

So my good friend Simon Bestwick and I are writing a story together. I thought of the title - Thin Men with Yellow Faces - and sent Simon some ideas and images. He then mulled it over and sent me an outline, introducing our main character and a proper plot. We started work on the tale yesterday and already have over a thousand words done. I think we're on to something here...we're in sympatico.

This could be fun. Scary fun.

Desert Island Horror Stories

2011-11-27T19:54:00.002Z

This week I consider Only Partly Here by Lucius Shepard:
http://www.garymcmahon.com/p/desert-island-horror-stories.html

Creativity is a Dark Road

2011-11-24T13:02:00.001Z

"They owned nothing: not the flat, the furniture, or even the pictures on the walls. Any records or information they needed was stored on an external hard drive, and the only physical things he required were his passport, a few clothes, his bag of twocking tools and the laptop in the spare bedroom. Everything else was losable, temporary, easily left behind."

- Driver C
"Reaping the Dark"

A lot of writers like to jump straight from one novel into the next. I'm not like that. I like to let the juices of one lengthy project run clear before embarking on another - so between novels I usually write a bunch of short stories and/or a novella.

This time, before I commence work on the third Concrete Grove novel, I'm writing a novella. The genesis of the idea came to me in the form of the following scribbled notes:

A botched drugs robbery. An opportunist getaway driver. An urban shaman using makeshift magic. A burnt-out travellers' site on the outskirts of a grim northern town. Kidnapping and torture. A supernatural creature called a Reaper

Last night I drafted a sketchy outline and wrote the prologue. I now have 2,000 words down and this one feels like a keeper. I hope so; I like my main character - Clark, the opportunist getaway driver - already. I'd miss him if this project died on me.

So, here I go again, writing my stuff, doing that strange thing I do. And I'm rather excited to see how this one turns out.

Remains

2011-11-19T11:32:00.000Z

Here's a sneak preview of the title spread for my story Remains, which will appear in Black Static issue 26.

"INBOX"

2011-11-12T11:32:00.000Z

Earl knew that he shouldn’t open the email; he’d been warned enough times by the IT people about viruses, and Trojan Horses. But still he couldn’t resist. His finger hovered over the plastic mouse, and in turn the cursor on the screen jittered over the message.

Smiling, he clicked it open. Just like he knew he would.

The sender was unknown, and the subject line read: Open this and you’ll get a Huge Johnson! There was no message inside, just a blank page.

Travelling home, he forgot about the incident. But when he opened his door the Huge Johnson was waiting for him in the hall. And it looked hungry.

"The Rest is Silence..."

2011-11-02T20:04:00.004Z

On Sunday evening I handed over the manuscript of Silent Voices to my publisher, Solaris. It felt good. It also felt shit. I wanted to hang onto the thing; I didn't want to let it go.

I'm now doing another proofread on my Kindle, after managing to leave the thing alone for a few days. I was cautious at first, wondering if I'd do my usual thing of finding my own work terrible when I re-read the novel. For some reason, when I proof my stories and novels all I ever see is the flaws.

This time, though, it's different. This time as well as seeing the flaws, I can also see the good stuff. The novel changed as I wrote it, evolving and becoming a meditation on several themes that are very interesting to me: northern gangsters, bare knuckle fighting, dysfunctional relationships, the myth of machismo/the Cult of the Hard Man, sacrifice and redemption. As I read this novel again it occurs to me that it's so much more than a horror story - and that's great; it's what I wanted it to be. I just hope that everyone else gets what I've done.

I'm currently making notes for the third novel in the series, Beyond Here Lies Nothing. Again, there are northern gansters, but this time they're joined by a bereft single mother, an alcoholic policeman with father issues, scarecrows with death-photos for faces, and a journalist who's trying to write a book about a true-life haunting from the 1970s.

Taken as a whole, these three books will form a triptych - a set of personal stories set against an epic backdrop. I hope this project works; I hope it sells; I hope to fuck that people like what I've done.

Halloween Reading

2011-11-01T18:16:00.001Z

(Photograph by Andy McGeechan)

So the event at Warwick Arts Centre in Coventry last night went really well - amazingly well, actually, with around 80 people turning up to listen to me, Adam Nevill and David Moody do our thing.

First Adam read an excerpt from his latest novel, "Ritual"; then David did a funny and gruesome little zombie story called "Muriel"; and finally I read a spooky, atmospheric tale called "Down" from the latest collection.

The Q&A with genre critic Michael Wilson was concise and interesting (I hope!) and the audience really got behind what we were doing (I heard a few gasps and even some nervous laughter during the appropriate parts of my story). We had a nice chat with a few interested (and interesting) people after the gig, and the vibe was incredibly positive.

A big thanks to the organisers, and to everyone who came along to see us. We had great fun.

Happy Halloween

2011-10-30T23:39:00.006Z

Tricktreat

Gary McMahon

It’s Halloween night on the Concrete Grove estate, and bored parents guide their painted children through the darkness held between the stifling tower blocks.

Trick or Treat; money or sweets. Bruce hates the fact that, despite branding him the local weirdo, these people still knock on his door and hold out their hands for offerings. For this night only, they cease their endless bullying and tormenting and come begging for whatever they can get.

He answers with a smile, pretending that he aches for their acceptance. “Treat!” he laughs, as he fills their Tesco carrier bags with chocolates, candies and crisps. “Treat!” he yells, waving as they tramp impatiently back along the narrow concrete walkway, heading for the next set of flats.

Then, closing the door on the mocking estate and cooing sweet lullabies to his beloved brood, he goes back to work before the next lot of bed-sheet ghosts and midget witches appear.

He selects only the finest of his internet-bought babies to add to the remaining treats: a lethal rainforest spider heat-sealed into a packet of cheese and onion crisps, a small poisonous centipede coaxed gently into a carefully hollowed-out Snickers bar, snake venom painstakingly injected into penny chews.

Oh how he laughs at what tricks these treats can hide.

Halloween Horror Night

2011-10-26T20:36:00.002+01:00

On Monday 31st October - that's Halloween to you and me - I'll be joining fellow authors Adam Nevill and David Moody for an evening of readings and discussion. The venue is Warwick Arts Centre in Coventry, and our host will be up-and-coming genre critic Michael Wilson.

I hope to see a few of you there.

Here's the link:

Halloween Horror Night

Reading Stories

2011-10-23T23:42:00.002+01:00

So I spent this evening reading a handful of my own stories aloud, trying to pick one for a public reading on Halloween. On Monday October 31st I'm appearing with Adam Nevill and David Moody at an event in Warwick Arts Centre. We're each doing a reading, which will be followed by a short Q&A.

I didn't want to read a novel extract because I prefer to read something in its entirity at these things; however, I only have a reading slot of around 15 minutes, so this means whatever story I chose had to be short. I hate choosing stories for public readings; I always get lost in my own thought process and worry to much about which tale to do.

Tonight I read out 3 or 4 tales and finally made a decision - the story I plan to read at the event is called "Down", and it's a traditional style spooky story about a group of schoolkids on an expedition to a local underground cave. Rather than read something experimental or psychologically disturbing, I thought I'd go with an old-school slow-burn scare. Hopefully it'll be perfect for Halloween...and hopefully it'll creep out the audience so much that they're terrified to walk home in the dark.

More Love For The Grove

2011-10-23T10:56:00.000+01:00

The Concrete Grove gets another glowing review here:

Concrete Grove Review

This Voice Is No Longer Silent

2011-10-18T22:00:00.000+01:00

So I've finally finished the first draft of Silent Voices for Solaris. My (slightly extended) deadline is the end of the month, which leaves me less than two weeks to edit the book into shape. It's a frightening prospect, but I have faith that I can manage the task. I always do; my work ethic gets me by.

Initially I'd expected the final draft to run to around 80,000 words - a short novel. This first draft is just under 97,000 words and when I edit I actually add to a novel rather than snipping stuff out, so I'm expecting the thing to come in at around the 100,000 words mark. That'll make it the longest piece of fiction I've ever written. Another scary prospect.

This has been the toughest book I've ever had to write. The nature of the beast meant that I wrote it organically, with no outlining, and during the sometimes gruelling process I was beset by writer's block, various health problems, and other less serious distractions. At one point I feared that I would fail, that I wouldn't get this one finished. But I continued to work at it, sitting down and writing often when sitting down and writing was the last thing I wanted to do. I've loved and hated this story, sometimes simultaneously. I've laughed and cried; I've raged and cajoled. It's been a real fucking trip.

And in less than a fortnight I shall be forced to hand the manuscript over to my publisher, where it'll begin the next phase of its existence. It's been so difficult, so very, very difficult, to get this written that I'm scared I might not want to let it go.

Here Comes the Rain...Again

2011-10-15T09:56:00.000+01:00

PRESS RELEASE

Anarchy Books is proud to present

RAIN DOGS...
by Gary McMahon.

This is the sixth release by Anarchy Books, alongside authors such as James Lovegrove, Andy Remic, Jeffrey Thomas and Vincent Holland-Keen.

The book is available in PDF, MOBI and EPUB formats for the low low price of £2.49 www.anarchy-books.com from 15th October 2011.

RAIN DOGS
by GARY McMAHON

Guy Renford is fresh out of prison. His life in ruins, he is estranged from his wife and daughter. So he returns to the Yorkshire town of Stonegrave to try and recover what he once held dear. But a presence is watching from behind the endless rainstorm, something that wants revenge... and has not come alone.

Rosie sees ghosts. She has since childhood These sorrowful visions of drowned schoolgirls are linked to a past she fled to America to escape. But you can never run from destiny, and something is calling Rosie back to rainy Stonegrave, the home of her worst nightmares...

Slowly, the lives of these two people are drawn together in a town cut off by floods, and at the height of the storm they will be forced to battle a relentless foe that uses the deluge as cover, stalking them from within a merciless onslaught of rain...

FOCUS ON -

• A CHILLING REVENGE STORY

• SOCIAL REALISM

• WEIRD MONSTERS

• SCARY URBAN FANTASY

IF YOU LIKE RAIN DOGS, TRY -

THE DARK by JAMES HERBERT

TWILIGHT EYES by DEAN KOONTZ

THE MIST by STEPHEN KING

RAIN DOGS is an EBOOK novel by GARY MACMAHON, whose fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies in the U.K. and U.S and has been reprinted in both THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST NEW HORROR and THE YEAR’S BEST FANTASY & HORROR. He is the British-Fantasy-Award-nominated author of Rough Cut, All Your Gods Are Dead, Dirty Prayers, How to Make Monsters, Rain Dogs, Different Skins, Pieces of Midnight, The Harm, Hungry Hearts, and has edited an anthology of original novelettes titled We Fade to Grey. Forthcoming are several reprints in “Best of” anthologies, a story in the mass market anthology THE END OF THE LINE, the novels Pretty Little Dead Things and Dead Bad Things from Angry Robot/Osprey and The Concrete Grove trilogy from Solaris. Gary's website can be found at: www.garymcmahon.com

RAIN DOGS can be purchased from www.anarchy-books.com for £2.49 in PDF, EBOOK and MOBI formats. Artwork by Vincent Holland-Keen.

"Here comes the rain again..."

"Rain Dogs was the first novel I ever had published. This new, slightly revised version, sees the story presented in my "author's favoured version", with some minor edits and the original final chapter reinstated."
- Gary McMahon

Rain Dogs Redux

2011-10-12T13:13:00.000+01:00

A few years ago I wrote my first novel, Rain Dogs. I'd never written one before, or even attempted one. Unlike most writers, I have no trunk novels; prior to writing Rain Dogs I'd only ever worked on short stories and novellas. At the time, it was a scary proposition.

Luckily, Guy Adams, who was then with an up-and-coming small press publishing outfit called Humdrumming, liked the cut of my jib, so after seeing the first couple of chapters he commissioned me to write the rest of the novel. It took me two years to complete. Back then, I was learning as I wrote. This was new territory; I was setting out into a darkness that I'd never experienced before.

Rain Dogs was finally published in 2008, in a beautiful dual-cover limited hardback edition. The book earned a handful of glowing reviews (including one from none other than Ellen Datlow) and was nominated for an award. Then, a few months after the book was released, Humdrumming sadly went into liquidation. I bought back the unsold copies (there were loads) and sold a lot of them privately, which meant I still got paid. I still have a box of them at home, tucked safely away towards my retirement plan. Ahem.

In effect, despite being well received, my "promising debut novel" wasn't given a chance in the marketplace.

I'm delighted, therefore, to annouce that a slightly re-edited version (including the reinstatement of the short final chapter, which was excised from the original edition) is being released on Saturday 15th October 2011 as an ebook through Andy Remic's wonderful Anarchy Books.

Check out the link here: Anarchy Books

Who said there was no sych thing as a second chance?

You Mean Some People Do This For Fun?

2011-10-11T23:29:00.001+01:00

Rant Alert!

I often get pissed off when I hear writers say "I only do this for fun," or "I write for my own entertainment" or "I'll give up writing when it stops being fun." These statements (especially the last one - which assumes we have a choice in the matter), along with a host of other ones just like them, mean nothing to me. I don't understand them. For fun, I watch football, go for a run, kick a ball about in the park with my son, get pissed with my mates, have sex, eat curry...and a host of other truly fun things.

I do not write for fun. I write for many other complex reasons - many of them possibly psychotic - but never for a bit of a laugh.

There's no fun to be had from sitting up until 2am in the morning wrestling with problems of grammar and syntax when the alarm's set to go off at 6:45 to wake me up in time for work. There's no enjoyment in agonising over that comma or that hyphen - are they in the right place? Should they even be there anyway? - for hours on end, until my eyesight begins to blur and I get a bastard of a headache that stays with me all the next day.

I've heard other writers say that writing isn't hard work, that it's easy and - yes - "fun". If that's the case, then I suggest you're not doing it properly. Writing a novel is fucking hard work. It's graft, like building a stone wall across an endless field, or hammering away at a hunk of granite to reveal the sculpture locked inside. You have to keep a whole world alive inside your head while you go about the rest of your day, pretending that you're really concentrating on what that other person's saying rather than developing the next plot point in your head, or speaking dialogue aloud as you cook the dinner or load the dishwasher... You have to sacrifice time with your family (or sleep) because you simply have to get that idea down on the page before it vanishes.

So, yeah, when I want to have fun I reach for a beer and a takeaway menu, or pick up the phone and arrange a night in the pub, or take my kid across the park. Writing's what I do because I have no choice. If I did have a choice, do you think I'd sit up all night in front of a computer screen just to get the next couple of chapters plotted out before I crawl into bed?

Would I hell.

Halloween Horror Night

2011-10-06T13:19:00.001+01:00

Along with fellow horror authors David Moody and Adam Nevill, I'll be reading from my work, answering questions, and signing books at Warwick Arts Centre during a special Halloween celebration of horror literature.

Details - incuding how to book a place - can be found here: Halloween Horror Night

Oooh, check out the snazzy PR image... ;-)

Come and See Us at FantasyCon this Weekend

2011-09-26T12:46:00.002+01:00

Our Other Selves

2011-09-24T11:22:00.000+01:00

Optical Elusion

Soon it will happen again.

You are wide awake in the night, listening in silent, rigid terror to the sloughing of the wind in the few trees scattered within the forest of concrete high-rises outside. Ancient boughs groan and creak, threatening to break and fall to earth. You can almost hear the sound of concrete stressing and fracturing beneath the weight of the elements.

You wait for the scream that hasn't arrived. Not yet.

The heat in your bedroom is unbearable, even though it is the dead of winter's night. The window is cranked open an inch, letting in an icy wind that somehow makes you sweat.

A sense of apprehension is carried in with it, as if the world waits with you.

The signs, the omens, are all there.

Soon it will happen.

Again.

Rising from sweat-soaked sheets, rubbing neck, throat, face with hot and clammy fingers, you walk to the mirror on the front of the dresser at the foot of the bed. Breathe mists before your face as you approach the glass, partially obscuring what you can hardly bear to look at.

You stand naked before the mirror, as you have done so many times before. And stare. And wait.

You cannot see your reflection in the glass, only that of the darkened room: bed, chair, cupboards and chest of drawers; pictures, ornaments and bric-a-brac.

Then, in the mirror, the wardrobe door nudges slowly open, darkness spilling out around your absent reflection as the image emerges from its hiding place.

You watch in numb, helpless fascination as your truant reflection steps daintily out of the nest of hanging clothes and into the room; you are rooted to the spot when it pads across the carpet, making no sound as it leaves by the door without even glancing in your direction.

A chill pierces your heart, cooling you, as at last you hear that imagined/remembered/predicted scream winding towards you through the litter-lined corridors of night.

Crumpling beneath the weight of your own helpless horror, you sink to your knees. Weep dryly into hands that are deadened from the memory of so many reflected atrocities, wet with so much reflected blood.

Then, unable to do anything more, you go back to bed. To wait for the return of your absentee image, your prowling reflected self.

Soon.
It will happen.
Again.

--------------------------------------------------

I wrote that when I was nineteen or twenty years old. I just came across the story in an old file, and thought it was kind of neat. The roots of my current fiction are there, plain as day, as are my lifelong preoccupations. It's interesting looking back on stuff that was written by a self you no longer recognise.

Like the main character's prowling reflection, I can sense the person I was then hanging around me now, lurking at the boundaries of my life. He knows where I live, but he chooses not to make himself known

I wonder what he thinks of the man I've become.

Dead Bad Things Review

2011-09-21T16:07:00.000+01:00

Starburst Magazine has given Dead Bad Things a cracking review. You can see it by clicking this link:

Dead Bad Good Review

"If you like your horror dark, disturbing, intense and oppressive then this will be right up your street. Just be warned. This is not your usual horror story."

Hummer

2011-09-20T20:55:00.001+01:00

"Brendan turned his head to follow the bird’s progress, and watched as it flew past Simon and Jane – both of them stepping back to allow it out of the room – and into the rest of the house. The movement of its wings was a small-scale miracle: so much fury and motion suggesting such calm and silence. The sight triggered a chain of detonations, submerged memories exploding at random inside Brendan’s head, but they went up in smoke before he could grab them."

- Silent Voices

FantasyCon Schedule

2011-09-19T12:51:00.000+01:00

So next weekend - 30th Sept to 2nd Oct - is FantasyCon 2011 down in Brighton. I'm attending the event, and here's my official schedule (the rest of the time I'll either be browsing in the dealer's room, attending other panels and readings, or just hanging around and chatting at the bar):

Friday 30th September:

4pm - Has Crossover Overtaken Genre? (Panel, moderated by Sarah Pinbrough)

8pm - Mass Book Signing Event.

9pm - PS Book Launch (I have a story in the Weird Western anthology Gutshot, edited by Conrad Williams).

10:30pm - Reading, Spectral Press (myself and Simon Kurt Unsworth, introduced by Simon Marshall Jones. I'll be readng from my Spectral Press chapbook What They Hear in the Dark).

Saturday 1st October:

2pm - Solaris Party (I'll be there to meet-and-greet and sign copies of The Concrete Grove).

8pm - Alt-Dead book launch (not 100% certain Ill make this one).

Sunday 2nd October:

10am - How to Market Your Novel (I'll be moderating this panel)

Shucking off the Fear

2011-09-16T09:08:00.001+01:00

This week I remembered exacty why it is that I write. I've been working on a relatively simple chapter - a man going to dinner at the house of some old friends, with all the mixed emotions something like that involves - and the magic happened. Something clicked.

The current novel has been something of a struggle. I've wrestled to shape my ideas into coherent sentences, ill health has dogged my attempts to finish, and at times it's felt as if I was simply grinding out the words to get from one scene to the next... But this week, out of the blue, I remembered that I write for me, I write to satisfy my creative urges. I don't write for money; I don't write for some idealised audience. I do what I do because I have to, to keep me from doing something even more stupid.

The key to all this was that I stopped what I was doing, sat down on the sofa, and re-read what I'd written, and all the stuff I'd been anxious about faded away. I was actually pleased with what I'd produced - I thought it was good and gripping and readable. That rarely happens when I read my own work.

Then I realised that for months I'd been working under the weight of a pointless fear: I was scared that the themes might bog down the story, and that there wasn't enough "horrory" stuff in there. This week, after my read-through, I thought: so what? This might not be the novel that people are expecting, but it's the novel I needed to write. It's about childhood hopes gone sour, the bitter taste of regret, and incorrect assumptions about what it takes to be a man.

After 70,000 words this novel has finally revealed it's purpose and shown me what it's all about. And instead of worrying whether or not I'll crash and burn I've simply started to enjoy the ride.

Dead Bad Things

2011-09-13T19:58:00.002+01:00

"He was sitting by the hole in the ground he’d just filled with soil, wondering how long it would take for the remains to begin to rot. Down there, beneath the packed earth, lay a small boy he’d taken from a street in Birmingham three days ago. A small, underfed boy with not much to say for himself; he was maybe three or four years old."

So today I received my author copies of Dead Bad Things - a big box of lovely books from those wonderful people at Angry Robot. And it really is lovely, the physical book: an absolute joy to behold.

This is the second novel in a series featuring my protagonist Thomas Usher (I won't use the word hero, because he's far from that). It's a direct sequel to Pretty Little Dead Things, and the two books together form what I now think of as Usher's origin story. Further books will focus on the relationships outlined in these first two stories, and we'll get to know Usher and the people that inhabit his world a lot better.

The Usher novels slot neatly, I suppose, into the supernatural detective sub-genre. Usher can commune with ghosts, after a fashion...but his ability has its limitations. He can see the ghosts, but he cannot understand them or hear what it is they say. So he fumbles around in a literal darkness, trying to absolve his own sins (either real or imagined) by trying to help. Often he simply makes things worse.

I'm very excited about this book. I think it's a huge step forward from the first one in terms of plotting and characterisation, and I'm praying to whatever dark entities might be listening that it's enough of a success to justify more books in the series. I already have a third one planned. It's called The Night I Died.

Writing the Blues

2011-09-10T15:56:00.004+01:00

"These stories are my Blues; they are the songs I sing when I’m all alone, staring at the screen and feeling the words flow through me and out of me."

The above is an extract from my forthcoming short story collection It Knows Where You Live. It nails down how I feel about the act of writing weird fiction - the fact that, to me, good horror fiction is like the Blues in the way it can tell us a lot about ourselves, riffing on certain established techniques and metaphors to cut through to some kind of inner truth about the human condition. Like an old man sitting on a wooden porch swing and plucking at his guitar, the best horror writers are creating their own form of the Blues.

The stories in It Knows Where You Live are all what could be termed as "Quiet Horror". There are no monsters here, very little blood is spilled, and the damage wrought in these tales is more emotional than physical. Theese tales are all about human connections and failures, broken relationships and chances not taken. The breakdown of what it is that defines us as people.

I believe there are less than 10 copies now remaining of this limited hardback, so if you'd like to sample my Blues get yourself along to Gray Friar Press and pre-order one now, before it's too late.

Night Musings

2011-09-09T00:49:00.002+01:00

It's after midnight again, and I'm sitting in my study surfing the Internet and watching the blackness outside my window. I'm not tired; I can't sleep. There's no use trying, not yet, because I know I'll just lie there next to my wife, staring into the darkness of the bedroom and listening to her breathing. I make a few purchases from Amazon - things I can do without but seem to offer me something that I think I might need at some point. I read a Rilke poem on a writer friend's website and feel a clenching sensation in my chest. I wonder how long a person can survive on five hours' sleep a night, and then I remember how I basically wrote myself into hospital last month. Nothing makes sense to me right now but these words, this process of writing down my thoughts.

Somewhere outside, a car engine growls. Lights go off in the house across the way. The black shape of a cat slinks along the top of a stone wall. My eyes hurt. I wish I could go to sleep.

It's after midnight. Again.

New Limited Edition Short Story Collection

2011-09-06T12:30:00.006+01:00

It Knows Where you Live

by Gary McMahon

The modern world is a place ripe with fears. The city, the suburbs, and even the fringes of the countryside: all present opportunities for unease. The way people act when they are together, or when they are alone; the beats, the pauses, and the words we use to communicate reveal a primal darkness at the heart of the modern human experience.

And whatever this darkness is, it knows where you live . . .

In these fifteen tales, acclaimed horror author Gary McMahon casts a light into the shadowy corners of contemporary life, and brings those fears to the page.

Click this link to preorder now from Gray Friar Press:

It Knows Where You Live

-----------------------------------

The origin of this book was an email conversation I had with Gary Fry, the man behind Gray Friar Press. We were having a bit of banter and I suddenly pitched him a short collection (around 50,000 words in total) of stories based around the theme of "modern unease". I didn't think he'd go for it but and he said yes. That was pretty cool; the quickest acceptance I've ever had. The man's a lunatic - but in a good way.

There are fifteen stories here, thirteen of which have never been published before. The majority of the tales were written specifically for this volume.

It Knows Where You Live will only ever be published in this format: it's a one-off project. No POD paperback, no ebook edition...just 100 affordable hardback copies, numbered, flat-signed, and each with an ominous little slogan hand-written in the front by me. There's an author's foreword, story notes in the back, and the cover was designed by Gary and myself - this involved lengthy emails, images sent back and forth, and even the occassional argument over which direction to take the design.

I think it worked out just fine.

The books are already selling fast. So if you'd like one, hit the above link and reserve a copy...before it's too late. Before it forgets where you live.

"When the man was finished he stood up and moved away from the bed. Katie’s body looked like a mistake, a messy little error. Her eyes bulged from her slackened features; her skin was the colour of moonlight."

IT KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE

'Gutshot' and 'Nowhere to Go'

2011-09-02T12:40:00.003+01:00

Up for pre-order on the PS Publishing site is Gutshot, the splendid editorial debut of Conrad Williams. This is something special: an anthology of weird western stories.

There are some terrific authors in thsis one, and alongside their tales is my offering "El Camino de Rojo".

Artwork by Caniglia.

Full ToC listed below:

Paul Meloy Carrion Cowboy

Alan Ryan Passage

James Lovegrove The Black Rider

Zander Shaw Blue Norther

Joel Lane Those Who Remember

Mark Morris Waiting for the Bullet

Gary McMahon El Camino de Rojo

Joe R. Lansdale The Bones that Walk

Peter Crowther & Rio Youers Splinters

Christopher Fowler The Boy Thug

Amanda Hemingway Ghosts

Simon Bestwick Kiss the Wolf

Stephen Volk White Butterflies

Gemma Files Some Kind of Light Shines from Your Face

Cat Sparks The Alabaster Child

Michael Moorcock The Ghost Warriors

Sarah Langan Beasts of Burden

Peter Atkins All Our Hearts are Ghosts

Thomas Tessier In the Sand Hills

Adam Nevill What God Hath Wrought?

Also, my friend Iain Rowan has dropped the price of the Kindle edition of his collection of crime stories Nowhere to Go; throughout September it'll cost you only 99c (or equivalent). A bargain. If you haven't read Iain, read him now: his work is heartfelt, compelling, and beautifully written.

Links:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

It knows where you live...and it's coming soon

2011-08-27T17:10:00.000+01:00

A short collection of modern horror stories by Gary McMahon,

coming in 2011...

Limited edition, affordable price.

It Knows Where You Live.

Nominated

2011-08-11T12:39:00.001+01:00

I was bemused and flattered to find The Concrete Grove on the long list for the Guardian's Not the Booker prize 2011 awards, and at the behest of my publisher I'm pimping the hell out of it.

The full long list can be found here:

Not-the-Booker Long List

To vote (and perhaps make a gritty little horror-fest win this respectable prize), go here:

Vote!

Voting seems to be a bit of a fart around, but if anyone is up for it, it would be nice to get at least one vote on the board.

Meanwhile, here's another cracking review of the book:

Pornikitsch Review

There's also an excellent review in the latest issue of Rue Morgue magazine.

Also, just in, is a tremendous review of Pretty Little Dead Things by Stanley Riiks. This might just be the best review I have ever had:

PLDT Review

"Never, in over twenty years of reading horror, have I been so intensely disturbed by a novel."

- Stanley Riiks (on Pretty Little Dead Things)

Urban Horror

2011-08-06T10:31:00.001+01:00

It Knows Where You Live: Discussing Urban Horror

WATERSTONE'S MANCHESTER DEANSGATE
Saturday, 13 August 2011, 7:00PM - 8:30PM

Horror legend Ramsey Campbell presents the absolute crème of contemporary urban horror talent for an open discussion of the genre, including readings from the authors. The panel includes Gary McMahon, Tom Fletcher, Conrad Williams & Joel Lane.

Further details:	0843 2908485

The Row

2011-08-04T10:23:00.000+01:00

"The row of houses always put me in mind of those sets from old Hollywood western films, the ones with a painted façade representing the buildings in a small town. Frames of timber and painted cardboard, all lined up along a dusty main street, with nothing behind the closed doors but cables, debris, and possibly an expanse of desert wasteland.

The street was like that. It had the feel of falseness, an ambiance of flimsy one-dimensional fakery being passed off as solid, three-dimensional reality."

(Copyright Gary McMahon 2011)

What I'm Doing

2011-08-02T11:27:00.001+01:00

Listening to:       The Sundays
Reading:             Koko by Peter Straub (re-read)
Watching:           The Wire/Cold Light of Day
Writing:              Silent Voices/Unnamed Thomas Usher novella

Bogeymen

2011-08-02T00:18:00.002+01:00

I've just watched a rather brilliant documentary called Cropsey. It starts off as an examination of the Statten Island urban legend known as Cropsey - the local neighbourhood bogeyman, a supposed homocidal escaped mental patient - and then develops into something much more terrifying that is based in fact.

Over the years, a lot of kids went missing from Statten Island, and a former staff member of the Willowbrook Mental Institution was blamed for at least one of them. Andre Rand was arrested and charged with the abduction and murder of a Down's Syndrome child, and the documentary delves into the story behind this terrible crime. Was Rand a lone killer, did he act with accomplices, or was he the puppet of a Satanic cult who used these kids in their rituals? The film looks at each of the urban myths and stories surrounding the case, theories elaborated upon by succesive generations of Statten Island citizens, and shows that the mythic Cropsey is still alive and kicking in the form of Andre Rand...because bogeymen, by nature, never die - even made-up ones.

We all have our own personal bogeymen, our scapegoats for the evil that men (and women) do, and sometimes story and reality can become so entwined that something even more terrifying is created. A lot of crime and horror fiction plays with this notion, and characters like Hannibal Lector are mixed up with real life killers so that the seperate identities blend, fusing together to form a whole that is part fact and part fiction. I find this cohesion between the myth and the reality fascinating, and, like the bogeymen of my youth, these figures walk the halls and corridoors of my mind, trying all the doors, peering out of the windows, and waiting to be heard...

A figure behind the trees...

2011-07-31T11:42:00.000+01:00

Here's an uncorrected, unedited preview from my current work-in-progress, Silent Voices:

~~~~~~

The boys fall quiet for a while, occupied by the simple task of sorting out wood. They discard ruined, shattered pieces of timber and form a pile of material that can be re-used. The sun moves slowly down through the sky, tracing the journey of day towards early evening. The sky seems to shimmer above the scene, like the underside of a distant body of water.

Brendan stops for a rest. He walks across to the nearest tree and sits down at the base of its trunk, retrieving a can of pop from his jacket, which lies creased on the ground nearby. He opens the tab and drinks deeply, his eyes closed and his head tilted upwards. His fringe falls back to reveal a forehead pocked with livid acne and absently he scratches his thigh with his free hand.

Brendan opens his eyes as he lowers the drink can, scanning the green expanse of Beacon Green beyond the line of the trees. He narrows his eyes, leaning forward with an intent look on his face. He licks his lips; stray droplets of pop making them sticky.

His eyes widen. He has seen something; an image that he believes does not belong here. He begins to stand but pauses part way to his feet, staring at a point beyond the trees.

Staring in wonder, he watches a tall, dark figure as it passes between the final row of trees, taking short, dainty strides – almost skipping along – and facing forward. The figure is wearing a long black overcoat that reaches down to its ankles. On its head is perched a strange black cap – like a flattened top hat, but with a wider brim. Beneath the hat there is a sort of black snood or cowl that falls down the back of the head, protecting the neck.

Brendan wants to call out to his friends, but something has robbed him of his voice. He crouches there, with one hand pressed flat against the base of the tree, supporting him, and the other still gripping the empty pop can, He watches the figure as it passes from tree to tree, visible for seconds at a time as it dances gaily between the broad trunks.

The figure is either hideously deformed or wearing some kind of mask. The bone-white face is pinched forward and outward to form a long beak with a sharpened end. The large, bulbous eyes look like swimming goggles, but with black frames and lenses.

The figure is terrifying. Fear has taken Brendan’s voice, and only when he realises this does he rediscover the ability to communicate.

(Silent Voices. Copyright Gary McMahon 2011)

A Belated Review

2011-07-29T13:48:00.000+01:00

A cracking review of PRETTY LITTLE DEAD THINGS has just gone online.

Spooky Reads Review

New Reviews

2011-07-25T13:07:00.001+01:00

Two splendid new reviews of The Concrete Grove have appeared online:

Andre Farant Review

Kamvision Review

And here's a nice complimentary review of Swallowed by the Cracks:

Barnes & Noble Review

A Bit of a Ramble Through my Head

2011-07-21T16:13:00.002+01:00

So I'm currently around 48,000 words into Silent Voices, the second novel set in my beloved Concrete Grove. It's a good feeling, mostly because at the 30,000-word mark I feared that the whole thing had stalled. But I put my head down, worked as hard as I could, and got the novel going again. Brute force combined with a belief in what little talent I might actually possess got me over the hump.

Today I had an idea for a novella featuring my character Thomas Usher - the reluctant psychic from my novels Pretty Little Dead Things and Dead Bad Things). I didn't ask for this idea to come along and disturb me; it gatecrashed the party, demanding to be heard. I outlined the novella during my lunch break, and plan to write it at the same time as the novel, using it to provide me with a breather from my hours spent in the Grove. I have no idea where I might send this when it's done, I'm not writing it with a market in mind. The story just wanted to be told.

Meanwhile, outside, the weather turns from bright, hot sun to dim skies, rain and heavy clouds. Summer in Yorkshire: the kind of weather that demands a horror story...

Work, work, work...it never stops round here.

2011-07-17T20:29:00.002+01:00

Saturday was Other Worlds 2 at Nottingham library, where me, Marc Gasgoine, Pete Crowther, Andy Remic and Gav Thorpe got to sit around and talk about writing and publishing.

What a great event. Everyone who turned up was keen and interested, Alex and his team did a bloody great job organising things, and we all had a ball. Between panels, I read from the forthcoming Thomas Usher novel Dead Bad Things, and it seemed to go down incredibly well...so well in fact that all the copies of my Angry Robot books there on the day were sold. This made me happy.

Speaking of Usher, as well as working on Silent Voices, the second novel in the Concrete Grove trilogy for Solaris, I've started pecking out tentative notes for a third Thomas Usher novel. I kind of like this opening:

"I used to wear black all the time: black suit, black shoes, even black socks. My only concession to non-black apparel was the occasional white shirt beneath my plain black jacket.

xxxx (SPOILER)xxx had been slowly introducing colour into my wardrobe. It was an uneasy fit, me and the colour spectrum, but at least she was trying. The only time it caused a real problem was when she bought me a Joe Bloggs flowery shirt. No self-respecting man should ever have flowers on his shirt. It just isn’t right, not in my world. As far as I’m concerned, even black flowers are a no-no."

The working title for this book is The Night I Died. I hope that title sticks; I like it a lot.

Reviewing the Grove

2011-07-14T22:13:00.002+01:00

There's another sensational, and gratfiying, review of The Concrete Grove up at Read Horror:

Read Horror Review

Other Worlds 2

2011-07-12T09:02:00.000+01:00

Alt.Fiction and Angry Robot Books present Other Worlds 2

Saturday 16th July, 10:30am-4:00pm

Nottingham Central Library, Cecil Roberts Room

Join Alt.Fiction and Angry Robot Books for a fantastic day of readings, panels and Q+As with some of the region’s finest science fiction, fantasy and horror talent.

Angry Robot editors Lee Harris and Marc Gascoigne will be joined by authors Peter Crowther, Gary McMahon, Andy Remic and Gav Thorpe as they explore the world of genre books and publishing.

Not to be missed for writers, readers and fans alike.

Alt.Fiction is a trading name of Writing East Midlands

Tickets £10 (plus 54p booking fee) including refreshments.

Death Rattles

2011-07-11T12:44:00.000+01:00

Do you remember? And were you afraid?

DEATH RATTLES

Back in the mid-80s, a UK genre television show was aired on Channel 4 that pushed the boundaries of accepted broadcasting standards. As far as can be established, only six episodes were ever shown, but hardly anybody can remember seeing them.

Official records offer scant information, and no recordings of the episodes seem to exist. Rumours abound about brief clips on Youtube and water-damaged master tapes found in a media vault, but nobody has stepped forward with anything more solid than hearsay.

But six authors do remember watching the series, and their imperfect recollections form the basis of the stories in this book . . . You'll almost certainly never get to see the show in its original form, so this may be your only chance to experience . . .

DEATH RATTLES

. . . the notorious lost TV series.

Contents

Rattling Cages: an Introduction by Stephen Volk

Episode 1: Scattered Ashes - John Llewellyn Probert

Episode 2: Seen And Not Heard - Gary Fry

Episode 3: Antlers - Thana Niveau

Episode 4: The Children of Moloch - Simon Bestwick

Episode 5: Cow Castle - Paul Finch

Episode 6: His Father's Son - Gary McMahon

UK £7.99 + £1.50 P&P / US $14 + $5 P&P

ORDER NOW

A Well-Timed Review

2011-07-07T23:23:00.000+01:00

Well-timed for publication day, here's a wonderful review of The Concrete Grove:

The Eloquent Page

A message from the Grove #4

2011-07-07T08:48:00.002+01:00

“Things happen here, things that aren’t meant to happen.”

-Monty Bright

THE CONCRETE GROVE

A message from the Grove #3

2011-07-06T08:57:00.000+01:00

“I don’t like it here. The closer you get to the centre, the weirder it feels.”

-Hailey Fraser

THE CONCRETE GROVE

Here be Monsters...

2011-07-05T10:03:00.002+01:00

...in The Concrete Grove:

A message from the Grove #2

2011-07-05T09:56:00.000+01:00

“And I do like it when they bleed...”

-Francis Boater

THE CONCRETE GROVE

A message from the Grove #1

2011-07-04T13:45:00.000+01:00

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

-Lana Fraser

THE CONCRETE GROVE

It knows where you live...

2011-07-04T12:29:00.000+01:00

Published 7th July by Solaris

Dead Bad Things

2011-07-02T17:30:00.000+01:00

ARCs are great. I love ARCs. Oh, yes. I heart ARCs.

Update

2011-06-29T13:10:00.000+01:00

So last weekend was Alt.fiction. This year I went as a punter - nobody asked me to do anything on an official basis, so I was free to drift around at will. I drank a lot, spoke to old friends and made new ones, and generally had a blast.

Monday, still a bit bleary-eyed and struggling to get back into the swing of the day job, I found out that Pretty Little Dead Things has been nominated for a BFS award in the category of Best Novel. I refuse to do anything as sad and desperate as canvassing votes, so I'll just say that the full list of nominees can be found here:

BFS Short List

In other news, I'm currently working on a crazy story that I was commissioned to write based on a series of comics; work continues on Silent Voices (the second Concrete Grove novel); and I'm also writing a screenplay.

Novel-wise, The Concrete Grove should be hitting the shops on July 7th and Dead Bad Things is due out from Angry Robot in September. Excited, me? Fuck, yes.

2011 is still being kind to me - which leads me to believe that 2012 will probably kick me in the teeth and run away giggling...

Fathers

2011-06-17T10:50:00.000+01:00

So, this Sunday (the 19th), in the UK, it's Father's Day.

I've always had a particularly uncomfortable relationship with this day. You see, my father was a cunt. The last time I saw him - when I was 16 years old - he was still a cunt. He died a cunt, too.

So, when I was young and all my schoolfriends would buy cards and presents for their fathers, I always felt mildly embarassed, and sometimes it even turned into a sensation of genuine discomfort. At best, I'd ignore Father's Day; at worst, I'd hate everyone who got to celebrate it while I was forced to pretend that it didn't bother me.

But now, all these years later, I love Father's Day. I have my own son. I'm not a cunt. My son loves me and I love him in return - so much, in fact, that I can almost understand what being a proper Dad means, and even lose, for the briefest of moments, my own lifelong bitterness at never having one.

Happy Father's Day.

Another Great Review

2011-06-16T09:19:00.000+01:00

Graeme's Fantasy Book Review seems to have enjoyed his time in The Concrete Grove:

Concrete Grove Review

The Concrete Grove - Another Splendid Review

2011-06-15T13:48:00.000+01:00

The Black Abyss calls the novel "...an outstanding mix of urban horror and dark fantasy, hints of King’s The Dark Tower series, hints of Holdstock’s pagan fantasy but above all the realisation of McMahon’s talents as the outstanding British horror writer of our times."

Wow, high praise indeed. You can read the review in full here:

The Concrete Grove Review

The book should be in the shops on July 7th.

Short Shockers #5

2011-06-11T16:56:00.001+01:00

The Song My Sister Sang, by Stephen Laws, first appeared in a terrific anthology called Redbrick Eden. This was back in 1998, long before I started writing seriously, and the book contained stories by a lot of writers I admired (and still do). But the one that blew me away - the one that made me think "fucking hell, this is what good horror fiction does best", was by fellow northeasterner Stephen Laws.

The story is told in flashback by a narrator called Dean. It's about the summer when an oil tanker ran aground on the northeast coast, smothering the beaches with crude oil that killed off a lot of local wildlife. Dean was one of the volunteers drafted in to rescue whatever animals they could. He is also a man still grieving (and still blaming himself for) the childhood death of his sister in the local abandoned swimming pool that sits empty and forboding on the same beach where he is sent to work.

Dean is forced to enter the swimming pool when he follows an oil-slicked gull that is sucked into the sluices. Inside, he finds the pool filled to the brim with thick, black oil, and of course the event that haunts him returns from the past to pollute the present.

The story is a masterclass in deeply emotional horror fiction. The sense of place is stunning, the prose heartfelt, meaningful and evocative, and the plot is beautifully structured. There's a descriptive passage where Dean sees what at first he thinks is a swan emerging from the oil in the swimming pool - this, of course, turns out to be something else entirely, but the image has stayed with me for 13 years.

The ending will break your heart. The last line is a killer. Quite simply, this is one of the best horror stories I've ever read. It went on to be reprinted in the tenth anniversary edition of The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror and won the British Fantasy Award. Well deserved. It's a belter of a tale - one of those special stories that made me realise what I wanted to do with my own fiction.

Reviews & Interviews & General Pimping of Books

2011-06-07T19:34:00.000+01:00

(Fig.1. A Pimp)

First up, here's a lovely insightful review of The Concrete Grove:

Spooky Reads

Next, here's a guest blog I did for my mate and fellow horror author Steve Lockley, wherein I witter on about my influences:

Early Influences

And finally here's another interview, this one quite substantial, with the excellent crime and horror writer Iain Rowan:

Interview

Fun Words For All The Family

2011-06-07T16:01:00.000+01:00

I like to make up new words, nonsense words. It amuses me.

A few years ago I started using the word "cobbist" to identify a person who likes to play the blame game.

It's derived from the acryonym COB - in turn derived from the phrase "culture of blame", which is my own bastardisation of the common phrase"blame culture".

My wife uses the phrase "cobbist" unconsciously all the time, because she likes it. Several of her workmates think it's real, and now use it in general conversation. People must look at them strangely.

My work here is done.

Guest Blog

2011-06-07T10:53:00.000+01:00

So I've been guest-blogging about my earyl influences over at my mate Steve Lockley's blog. Click the following link to have a read:

Guest Blog

Duty?

2011-06-05T13:35:00.001+01:00

Maybe it's just me, but whenever I find myself with an hour to kill in town, I always, always head straight to Waterstone's. I tell myself I'm just "going for a browse", but deep down, in the part of my heart that contains a tiny library, I know that's so much bullshit. I'm going to buy books. Never "a book"; always "some books".

You see, I've come to believe that it's my duty as a writer. If I leave a book shop without buying anything - or, more precisely, any things - I feel guilty. I have to pick up at least a couple of paperbacks before moving on.

On Friday evening I found myself with a spare hour or so after an appoitment in Leeds. I was due to meet my wife outside her work at 5:20, and it was 4:15. So I walked up to Waterstone's, just off the headrow. Just for a little browse. To kill some time. I spent around £35 - if I spent that kind of money on anything other than books I'd feel a bit bad, like a pendthrift, but spending it on books makes me feel good.

I bought the following:

Offspring by Jack Ketchum
Tokyo Year Zero by David Peace
Young Adam by Alexander Trocchi
Edgelands by Michael Symmons Roberts and Paul Farley

The latter of these titles I picked up on my way out the door. I saw the cover on a shelf, picked it up and read the blurb, and thought "That's exactly my kind of thing." There went another £12.99.

I left that shopping feeling happy. I sat in the sun outside my wife's office and read the first couple of chapters of Edgelands. And you know what? It's exactly my kind of thing.

Duty done. Books added to collection. Life improved by a fraction. Everybody's happy.

Short Shockers #4

2011-05-31T14:53:00.001+01:00

The Raft by Stephen King

Stephen King's Skeleton Crew is one of my very favourite short story collections. It was the first single-author collection that really blew me away, and it's pretty tough picking a favourite from the book. I think The Raft is the one I'll go with here, though, just because of the simplicity of the tale. (The Mist is a novella, so it doesn't count.)

Four college students (two girls; two boys) go swimming in a lake. They set off towards a raft at the centre of the lake, and once they get there it becomes apparent that...something is in the water. See: simplicity itself.

This story scared the shit out of me when I first read it, and King's smooth, chummy prose, combined with a brilliantly conveived monster and some superbly executed scenes of tension, still manage to thrill me. There was also a pretty decent film version in Creepshow 2.

Advance Copies!

2011-05-27T12:57:00.000+01:00

Just a little reminder that the Waterstone's in Deansgate, Manchester, is the ony shop in the world to offer for sale advance copies of my new novel, The Concrete Grove. The book isn't due out until July 7th, but that specific Waterstone's store has stock left over from last week's signing event. If you pop in or perhaps contact them, I'm sure they'd sort you out with a copy.

In other news, I've just completed work on the copy edits for Dead Bad Things, the second Thomas Usher novel. This one's out in September, and I promise you it's darker, more thrilling, and much, much weirder than Usher's first outing...

More Musings on the Nature of Genre Labels...

2011-05-22T15:40:00.001+01:00

I've copied this from my regular blog spot over at Dark Central Station...seemed to go down pretty well.

So yesterday I took part in an authors’ event in Waterstones, Manchester. It went pretty well – the small audience seemed very keen, and I even sold a few advance copies of my new book The Concrete Grove.

My literary hero, Ramsey Campbell, was in the audience. He sat right in front of me so I was aware of his critical gaze as I read…no pressure there, then! Then, during the Q&A session, Ramsey very rightly pulled me up about an offhand comment I made in a recent interview where I said that I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with being labelled a horror writer.

This, and my garbled answer to Ramsey’s question, got me thinking again about the use or otherwise of these labels and how they often put people off buying certain books rather than encouraging them to try something new.

Let em explain. I’m suspicious of marketing terms and labels, and to me that’s what this is all about: marketing. As a writer, I want to get my work to the widest audience possible, and I’m starting to think that genre labels are maybe counterproductive in this respect. Horror as a genre label was mangled in the 1980s, when a boom in horror novels led to a lot of crap being published under the horror heading. So what we have now is a perception problem – Joe Public sees horror as being all about slashers and serial killers and blood and guts. I spend a lot of time trying to convince people who claim not to like or read horror that (a) they’ve either already read horror without realising they’ve done so, or (b) they’d actually like it if they tried it. I’m usually right. I hear the phrase “Oh, so that’s horror?” a lot. Another one I hear is “That’s not horror. I read that so it can’t be horror.” A couple of people I know continue to insist that Stephen King doesn’t write horror, because they read Stephen King and they don’t read horror…

See what I mean?

It’s a perception problem.

I love horror. I am proud to write horror. Unfortunately a lot of people (including some who write it) simply don’t understand what the horror genre is, or what it can offer; they are unaware of the unlimited potential of the genre. Rather than seeing this potential they see (or even create) its boundaries.

It isn’t all blood and guts and hockey masks. Sometimes, it’s art, occasionally it’s great literature. Sometimes horror can even change your life. It certainly changed mine.

In the Flesh

2011-05-18T21:55:00.000+01:00

Look what arrived at Solaris HQ earlier today...and, my, don't they look just lovely?

The book isn't actually out until early July, but this Saturday, at the Deansgate Waterstones in Manchester, there'll be a limited number of advance copies for sale. After the panel I'm on (which starts at 2pm), I'll be around to sign books and have a chat. Then I believe we're off for drinks in the shop's cocktail bar.

Please come along if you're in the area. Even if you're not, simply run to me, charter a private boat or jet, or even crawl across broken glass. Show this starving author some love...

Guest Blog

2011-05-15T17:42:00.000+01:00

So today I'm trying something different, a guest blog from a writer called S.L. Schmitz. Check out what she has to say, and if you like her style go and buy her book...

WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW

S.L. Schmitz

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received as a writer was the following phrase: “Write what you know or believe.” Sounds easy, right? As a writer of the darker genres, I know that these things are worthy of my belief systems: there is life beyond the human life. There are ghosts caught in the world between the seen and unseen. There are unexplained phenomena, and there are more than three dimensions. I believe in forgotten gods, unremembered civilizations, and dark caverns that lead into the unknown. I believe in undecipherable languages, and museum artifacts which are not properly catalogued. I think that there is water on other planets, and I think that there are life forms which are not carbon-based. I want to believe in sea monsters and mysterious land creatures that are still alive and hidden. I also know that I want what is hidden to stay hidden; just because I believe in them does not mean I seek confirmation or proof.

So I am very careful to write about what I know and what I can justify, whether real or imagined. Are my stories too basic or common? Perhaps. But I want the reader to make an identification between the world I have created and the existing world; I try to use sentences which are long enough to communicate the story, but short enough to let the reader’s imagination fill in the blanks. I write, and then I edit. And then I edit again. And again. I am in awe of writers who can get their thoughts on paper with just one or two editorial passes – how do they do that? It takes me such a long time to write because I never stop trying to make it sound or feel better. I want the words on the page to touch on all 5 senses, and to roll off the tongue like a beloved song.

"Write what you know or believe” sounds so trite, but it has saved me many times from writing under false pretenses. I understand the worlds of heartbreak, desire, physical phenomena, and developmental disability, because these are the memories I have collected throughout my life. I have worked in the social services-type fields for years, and I believe that my knowledge of psychosis and adolescent angst have been invaluable in helping develop my characters. For instance, if you have never been in a mental hospital, you will have a very difficult time describing one accurately without a field trip and lots of research. There are many different kinds of Autism, people with Down’s Syndrome are not always cute, and having an obsessive-compulsive disorder is much more involved than just frequent hand-washing; in order to create dynamic characters it is vital to have a working knowledge of what the heck you are writing about. Examples of situations where I would have a difficult time with accuracy would be scenes involving mechanical or scientific equipment, factories, and foreign cultures of places I have never visited.

So I continue writing, and editing, and seeking out beta readers and fact checkers to help me improve what I am not an expert in. I write using the language I know and the words I am fluent in. I hope that others will be able to believe in the worlds that I create, and that my stories are written in the simplest form of complexity that I can achieve.

Let It Bleed is available in both E-book and soft cover through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords. S.L. Schmitz lives in North Carolina, and spends her days chasing a five-year old and keeping 4 felines happy. Please visit her website at www.thedeadgirl.com.

Eat My Shorts

2011-05-07T13:54:00.002+01:00

Short fiction is in my blood. My bones. When I dream, I dream in the short story format. Even when I'm busy as hell working on a novel, I'm constantly besieged by ideas for new short stories, and I can't get any peace until I write them.

Recently, when I was reading Laird Barron's Occultation, I was struck by the absolute quality of the short fiction being produced in the horror genre. I think the field is the healthiest it's been for some time because of this. Relatively new writers like Laird Barron, Rob Shearman, Paul Tremblay, Paul Meloy, Gemma Files, David Nickle, Simon Strantzas, and others, are producing work that I both covet and admire. Ramsey Campbell has never wavered from his course, so he's still coming up with the goods. Likewise Nicholas Royle, Tim lebbon, Steve Volk, Steve Duffy, Mark Morris, Michael Marshall Smith and Conrad Williams. Even Stephen King has rediscovered his form regarding short fiction.

There's a literary quality to the work of these guys - along with a long list of other writers I could spend all day talking about - that elevates the genre above the common tropes and themes and cheap shock tactics a lot of people once associated with horror fiction. Indie presses like Chizine, Gray Friar Press, PS, and countless heroic others are championing short literary horror fiction.

I'm excited about the short form; I've fallen in love with short stories all over again.

More on WHC 2011

2011-05-05T19:05:00.001+01:00

WHC2011 was a blast. The journey to Austin, Texas was long and tiring, but Jon Oliver - my editor at Solaris - made a great travelling companion. Free beer on the plane helped a lot. We didn't get to the hotel until after midning, just in time to catch last orders at the bar. Then Jon retired to bed while I made my way to a room party and stayed up until around 3AM.

The Friday was busy - I met a lot of great people and bought a few books (more than the one I'd intended). The launch for SWALLOWED BY THE CRACKS went very well (thanks to John and Martela for organising it!), and I think the audience enjoyed my reading. S.G. Browne, my fellow contributor did a hilarious turn and the short skit he did at the end was sick in all the right ways. I had a lot of compliments afterwards, which kind of made up for the nerves I experienced prior to the event.

Night-time: Mexican food, beer, and another room party.

Saturday was just as hectic, and I moderated a panel on "Commonwealth Horror". We were meant to discuss the differences, if any between UK, US and Canadian horror fiction but probably veered wildly off topic. My fellow panelists, Brett Alexander Savory, John Probert, Simon Clark and Simon Strantzas were superb. I probably alienated evryone with my dodgy northern accent. Then came the mass signing, where I actually got to sign some books. My God, they like me! Well, a handful did at any rate...

Night-time: the biggest BBQ meal ever - a vertitable meatapocalypse; fun and giggles in biker bars on 6th Street (a Black Sabbath tribute band in 'The Dirty Dog' being the highlight); more beers back at the hotel; yet another hot and sweaty room party.

On Sunday morning we said a sad farewell to old friends and new, and began our long trek home. A 24-hour journey there, the same back. Next time I'm going for a week instead of a couple of days (who's crazy idea was that, then?)

Personal highlights of the Con: meeting Peter Straub (thanks to my mate Simon Strantzas), and having a pint and a chat with Jack Ketchum. Two of my literary heroes.

WHC 2011

2011-05-04T13:17:00.000+01:00

So that was Austin, Texas. Well, I had a blast. The World Horror Convention was superb. I met a lot of good people, put some faces to names, and generally hung out with some terrific, funny, wise and witty folks.

My reading and panel went well, and I got to have a chat with Peter Straub and have a pint with Jack Ketchum. A lot of meat was eaten; many beers were quaffed. The good times rolled.

World Horror Convention, 2011

2011-04-26T13:20:00.001+01:00

From Thursday 28th April I'll be in Auston, Texas for a few days attending the World Horror Convention, 2011.

Here's my official programme for the event:

Reading – Dark Arts Books Author Showcase Featuring Gary McMahon and S.G. Browne

1:00 – 2:00 PM, Friday April 29 – Robertson

Join host John Everson as Dark Arts Books presents readings from their latest anthology, SWALLOWED BY THE CRACKS.

Commonwealth Horror

3:00 PM Saturday, April 30 - Dezavala

Simon Stranzas, Brett Savory, Allyson Bird, Gary McMahon (m), Simon Clark

Does horror from the nations of the Commonwealth of Nations—Great Britain, Canada, Australia, etc. —read differently from horror from the US, or other parts of the world? Is there such a thing as a Commonwealth aesthetic, and if so, what is it? Do the non-Anglophone members of the Commonwealth such as Cyprus or Jamaica have a commonwealth aesthetic?

MASS SIGNING!

7:30 - 10:00 PM Saturday, April 30 - Phoenix Central

The rest of the time I'll be either in the bar or popping in and out of panels, so please, if you see me, come up and say hello. You could even buy me a drink, if you like. I don't bite. Honest.

Dead Bad Things

2011-04-18T12:44:00.002+01:00

Thomas Usher, a reluctant psychic, has gone off the radar in London, hiding from the fall-out of a previous case involving a missing young girl and several hanged strippers. Before long, and as if to confirm that he can never truly hide from the dead, Usher starts receiving messages - a clockwork voice on the phone, a Rwandan psychic who hears voices, hellish visions in a derelict riverside warehouse. Usher slowly realises that the answers to these riddles, and perhaps to the questions he has never dared ask about his personal history, will only be revealed if he returns home to Leeds...

Sarah Doherty is a police constable in Leeds. She and her partner - who is also her lover - are drawn into a nightmare when they find the mutilated body of a young boy. Is there some kind of serial killer operating on their patch, or do these grim discoveries point to something even worse - something from Sarah's own past, and involving her emotionally damaged family?

Trevor Dove is a disgraced showman, a flamboyant theatrical medium once exposed as a fraud by Thomas Usher. But the truth is, Dove did once possess a genuine ability to talk with the dead, and when he meets the Pilgrim - a shadowy figure from Thomas Usher's tragic past - he begins to rediscover his gift and unearth secrets that will place his very soul in peril. Driven by a thirst for revenge, he is fated to bring together Usher, Doherty and the Pilgrim in a confrontation that will undermine the fabric of reality.

DEAD BAD THINGS - coming from Angry Robot

September 2011.

Beautiful Monsters

2011-04-14T23:06:00.000+01:00

So last night I finally got to see the film Monsters, and my God was it worth the wait. A lot of the Roland Emmerich/ Micheal Bay crowd seemed to dislike this film, because it's slow and it it's a love story and there are only a couple of brief monster-related action sequences included in the entire running time. Basically, these are the exact reasons why I loved it.

Six years ago a U.S. space probe crash-landed in Mexico and soon after strange new lifeforms began to emerge from the jungles. An electrified wall was built, quarantining half of the country, and those people remaining inside the infected zone were left to scratch by, eking out an existence in a war zone.

A photographer is tasked with guiding his boss's daughter to safety after a creature attacks the place she is staying, and they are forced to journey through the infected zone to safety. Along the way they find out a lot about the monsters, each other, and finally about themselves. Ultimately, the presence of the monsters changes their lives, perhaps even making them better people. There's a subtext of illegal immigration and border control here, but underneath that the monsters represent everything that is strange and beautiful about life - they are change; they are evolution, both of the world and the people in it. These monsters are anything but monstrous as they struggle to make contact in a hostile environment.

Quite frankly, Monsters is brilliant, and I urge everyone to see it.

Taking Stock

2011-04-06T11:38:00.005+01:00

I have two mass market novels coming out this year.

Now there's a sentence I thought I'd never get to write. Two years ago, if you'd have told me I'd be in the position I am now, I'd have laughed in your face and edged slowly and carefully away from the mad person you clearly were.

But the proofreaders at Angry Robot are working diligently on Dead Bad Things (due out in September), and the copyeditors at Solaris are carefully picking through The Concrete Grove (due out in July) with their finest toothcombs. I feel privileged that this is happening. Far better writers than I struggle to sell one book to a mass market publisher, but here's me with a couple of them coming out before Christmas.

But rather that rest on my laurels (whatever the hell they are), I have work to do. I have other books to write. I've just started writing Silent Voices, the second in the Concrete Grove series of novels. I'm also outlining a SF/crime/horror novel for submission and working on The Quiet Room - my slightly mainstream Bad Place novel. Oh, and let's not forget the ongoing edits for The End, my short apocalyptic novel due out later in the year from Newcon Press. Then there are the short stories I'm writing. Always the short stories.

Meet the Author

2011-04-04T19:54:00.003+01:00

Well, not really. But click on the link to this neat new horror blog and find out some useless but hopefully diverting facts about me and my tastes in fiction:

Read Horror

Swallowed by the Cracks - Preorder Now!

2011-03-28T19:34:00.014+01:00

Follow the link to Dark Arts Books and you can pre-order this volume now. It won't be available on Amazon until May, and the official launch isn't until the end of April.

Four stories of mine appear alongside cracking tales by Michael Marshall Smith, Lee Thomas and S.G. Browne - very fine writers one and all.

My stories are are follows:

Creep - a woman spends her entire life feeling as if something bad is going to happen. Maybe she's right. Tonight she'll find out the truth.

The Ghost in You - an emotionally powerful novelette about the ghosts that live inside us all, and the weird powers that dwell behind them.

A Night Unburdened - a pizza delivery boy gets more - and less - than he bargained for when he visits an old schoolteacher he once had a crush on.

My Name is Natasha Putkin - a trapped young woman reaches out to us all in a series of missives written from somewhere deep inside her personal darkness.

Swallowed By The Cracks

2011-03-17T12:29:00.010Z

I've been waiting for ages to announce this, and now, finally, is the time. Swallowed By The Cracks will be published by Dark Arts Books and launched at the World Horror Convention in Austin Texas in April 2011.

The book contains stories by: Lee Thomas S.G. Browne Gary McMahon Michael Marshall Smith.

While I'm obviously delighted to be involved in a project featuring such talented authors, the real point of excitement for me is that I'll be sharing pages with Michael Marshall Smith, who's been a literary hero of mine ever since I first started to read his short stories in the early 1990s.

This book will represent a real career high-point for me, and I can't wait to attend the launch in Texas.

Available to pre-order now: Dark Arts Books

Untitled

2011-03-16T20:15:00.003Z

You people scare me.

With your large hands and your tiny voices, and the way you sway from side to side when there's no wind. The tacks in your pockets and the rubber shavings in your hair. The way you stand and watch me in the rain.

You people scare me.

When I can't go to the bathroom without you getting in there first and filling the bath with ashes. The way you move so stiffly, like a tinpot puppet. The way you always sleep with your eyes wide open. When you wear a black pinstripe suit in the shower.

You people scare me.

With your bills and your circulars, and your ballot forms pushed through little slits in big black boxes. All the counting. And the numbers. The singing. That small mole on the side of your neck that looks so much like a comma. The colour of your teeth. The shape of your head. The smell of your palms. The sound of your footsteps as you run across the rooftops.

You people scare me.

You do.

You scare me all the time.

So now it's my turn to scare you.

Shattering The Myth

2011-03-14T17:59:00.002Z

Writing isn't a transcendental, mystical experience - it isn't about a feeling of magic when the words miraculously appear on the page. Writing is fucking hard work. Years of fucking hard work. Decades of it.

Writing is getting up early for the day job after editing your latest novel well into the wee small hours. Writing is squeezing in a few hundred words on your lunch break while your workmates are trying to bug you with trite comments about last night's TV. Writing is sitting at the dining room table working on a chapter while your wife tries to talk to you, and sitting with you laptop on your knees while your kid plays at your feet. Writing is sitting in front of a computer long after midnight, when you really should be sleeping.

Writing is like making a cabinet or putting up a shelf. Everything has an order, a sequence, and it's important that the right parts go in the right places. Writing is making sure you don't lose the screws or misplace the screwdriver. Writing is all about learning a craft that might just produce art.

Writing is what you do when you don't know how to not write.

Signing Books

2011-03-13T15:20:00.006Z

My friend and agent Sharon Ring took this photo at the signing in Watertones, Leeds, yesterday. The woman has talent: she made me look thin.

The signing was great fun, and seemed to go pretty well - and of course the delightful company I was in made it all more than worthwhile.

Left to right: Andy Remic, Justina Robinson, Adrian Tchaikovsky, and little old me on the end.

Many thanks to TOR/ Angry Robot and Waterstones for organising the event.

Signing Books

2011-03-10T11:05:00.002Z

Just to remind anyone who's interested, I'll be signing copies of Pretty Little Dead Things at a multi-author signing at Waterstones in Leeds this Saturday (12th March) between 11am and 2pm.

Come along and make this token horror writer look popular as he sits trembling between groovy SF writers like Jappo Rem, Justina LA Robson, and Adrian Tchaikovsky.

In the Skin - Now on Kindle

2011-03-08T23:56:00.003Z

Possibly the darkest thing I've ever written is now available on the Kindle.

In the Skin is an acclaimed 14,000-word novelette about madness, paranoia and perception. This one's toxic; I can barely read it without getting upset, and never want to get that dark again.

Here are the links:

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com

Ebookery

2011-03-05T15:10:00.003Z

So I'm trying out a little experiment.

I've formatted and converted a novella of mine, In the Skin (originally published in paperback by, and still available from, Screaming Dreams as part of a two-novella collection), to Kindle format and plan to sell it on Amazon. Just to see what happens - to see how many copies it actually sells.

If the experiment is a success, I'll make more of my work available this way - back catalogue stuff, and probably some brand new, unpublished work. But it all depends on how this one flies.

Let's do it.

Research

2011-02-27T19:19:00.002Z

So this weekend my wife and I went to the gorgeous little village of Corbridge, in beautiful Northumberland, where I did some wandering around the roman ruins of Hadrian's Wall in the name of research for The Concrete Grove.

I hadn't been up there since I was about fourteen, on a school trip, and the visit was a revelation. It reminded me why Northumberland is my favourite part of the country, and why the area has such a pull on me - both emotionally and creatively. The place is rich in storytelling material, and it's all just waiting to be picked up and worked into pieces of fiction.

I'll be heading back up there regularly over the next year or so, to top up the Concrete Grove idea well and pick up some of those bits of inspiration that lie scattered on the ground like unearthed relics.

I Saw Her That One Time

2011-02-23T20:03:00.004Z

I saw her that one time. It was on a rush hour Metro train, from Gateshead to Monument. She was wearing a long black skirt and shin-high apocalypse boots, a tight black T-Shirt with a dark green parka thrown over the top. There was a single red ruby piercing in her right - or was it the left? - nostril, catching the cruel light from the ceiling fittings. Her skin was pale, apart from the dark circles painted around her large green eyes. Her lips were bright red.

I watched her over my battered copy of Kerouac as she ate her Monster Munch crisps; she took them from the packet one at a time, taking a tiny, delicate bite from each yellow shape until it was gone. Only then did she reach for another. It was 8:30am - I always did like a woman who ate crisps for breakfast.

All too soon it was my stop, so I stood up, placed my book in my bag, and got off the train.

I stood on the platform and watched the grubby yellow shuttle depart, catching sight of her again through the scarmy window. She glanced up and smiled, but not at me. It was just a casual gesture - a rogue expression that crossed her face in a flash. She didn't even notice I was there. Her eyes stared right through me.

I saw her that one time, but one time was enough.

Signing Event in Leeds

2011-02-23T16:32:00.003Z

I'll be signing copies of Pretty Little Dead Things in Watertones, Leeds on Saturday March 12th between 11am and 2pm. This is a cross-publisher event, which will bring together myself, fellow Angry Roboteer Andy Remic, Justina Robson and Adrian Tchaikovsky to smile, scribble and pimp our wares...be good to see anyone who feels like popping along.

Further details can be found here: Leeds Signing

Tim Lebbon Ate My Hamster

2011-02-22T12:41:00.005Z

Well, he didn't. Not really. This is just a post to say that there's nothing much worth posting about and I couldn't think of a title.

This weekend I'm off up to Northumberland on a combined romantic weekend with the wife and research trip for the novel. I haven't been to places like Hadrian's Wall and Holy Island since I was about 14, so I need to refresh my memory - take a few notes, shoot a few snaps - to help me with the final edits for The Concrete Grove. I'm really looking forward to the trip; it's a beautiful part of the world.

If I don't come back, the Roman ghosts will have got me. Or the local mythical worm. Or something.

In the meantime, tell Lebbon I want my hamster back.

Gary McMahon

On Running

Tales of the Weak & the Wounded

Desert Island Horror Stories

Nice Things

Musing

On Pushing

Novella

New Short Story Collection Due In 2012

The Wind

New year; same story

Just so you know...

Hearts

Update

Desert Island Horror Stories

Blue Door

Desert Island Horror Stories

Desert Island Horror Stories

Thin Men with Yellow Faces

Desert Island Horror Stories

Creativity is a Dark Road

Remains

"INBOX"

"The Rest is Silence..."

Halloween Reading

Happy Halloween

Halloween Horror Night

Reading Stories

More Love For The Grove

This Voice Is No Longer Silent

Here Comes the Rain...Again

Rain Dogs Redux

You Mean Some People Do This For Fun?

Halloween Horror Night

Come and See Us at FantasyCon this Weekend

Our Other Selves

Dead Bad Things Review

Hummer

FantasyCon Schedule

Shucking off the Fear

Dead Bad Things

Writing the Blues

Night Musings

New Limited Edition Short Story Collection

'Gutshot' and 'Nowhere to Go'

It knows where you live...and it's coming soon

Nominated

Urban Horror

WATERSTONE'S MANCHESTER DEANSGATESaturday, 13 August 2011, 7:00PM - 8:30PM

The Row

What I'm Doing

Bogeymen

A figure behind the trees...

A Belated Review

New Reviews

A Bit of a Ramble Through my Head

Work, work, work...it never stops round here.

Reviewing the Grove

Other Worlds 2

Death Rattles

A Well-Timed Review

A message from the Grove #4

A message from the Grove #3

Here be Monsters...

A message from the Grove #2

A message from the Grove #1

It knows where you live...

Dead Bad Things

Update

Fathers

Another Great Review

The Concrete Grove - Another Splendid Review

Short Shockers #5

Reviews & Interviews & General Pimping of Books

Fun Words For All The Family

Guest Blog

Duty?

Short Shockers #4

Advance Copies!

More Musings on the Nature of Genre Labels...

WATERSTONE'S MANCHESTER DEANSGATE
Saturday, 13 August 2011, 7:00PM - 8:30PM