The Sirens Call E-Zine

I'm delighted to announce that the first issue of the Sirens Call E-Zine is out now; and to celebrate its release, you can download it for free for a limited time only, or pick up your first year's subscription for the special rate of just $6. How can you possibly resist? Head on over to our website to check it out.

And if you need any further persuasion, here's a teaser excerpt from a short story of mine that's included, Shades of Grey.

   Eden paused only to impulsively pick up the diary before she wandered over to the dust-covered mirror that sat on her grandmother’s beautifully carved dressing table. With a heavy sigh, she straddled the stool in front of it and leaned forwards to wipe the worst of the dust away.

   The locket had nestled itself into the curve of her cleavage, the metal unnaturally cold against her skin. She glanced down uneasily as she touched it again; convinced, for just a moment, that she had felt it faintly pulsing. It stayed still under her hand, though, and Eden supposed that it must have simply been the racing of her heart that she had felt.

   A sudden gust of wind through the open window wrenched away her attention, for it had blown open the diary where it lay in front of her.  An irrational feeling of unease built inside her as she fingered the musty pages and flicked through them as her eyes darted across the page. Seeing nothing of interest, she closed it again with another low and miserable sigh.

   She shivered as the chilled air flooded into the little room. Eden made to rise from the stool and shut the window, but before she could do so the locket twitched again; this time, there could be no doubt about it, for she had seen the movement in the hazy reflection.

   Unable to stifle a gasp of fear, she frantically tried to wrench the locket free of her neck, but the delicate chain that it hung around proved surprisingly sturdy. It refused to give way.

   The locket was still gently twitching against her breasts, almost as if it was impatient for something. Blood rushed through her veins and brought a stinging flush to her skin as her head rolled to the side.

   Eden ceased trying to break the clasp and instead, of their own accord, her fingers moved to caress the locket and try to push it open. The cold metal was stiff and unyielding. The locket seemed to have become stuck shut over time, but she could not stop her fingers from desperately working at it and trying with all their might to force the two halves apart. Finally, it gave way and sprung open to fall back against her chest.

   The locket was empty. Eden slumped down into the stool with a burst of disappointment and gave a shaky laugh, unsure what it was that she had even expected to find. Clearly, her mind, strained by the loss of her beloved grandmother, had allowed her vivid imagination to run away with itself. She reached up to wipe away the solitary tear that had been clinging to her eyelashes; but as she did so, she realised that something was very wrong.

   The colours in the room were fading away. All that was left were shades of grey; the only things in the room with any colour remaining were Eden herself and the golden locket. Even the clothes that she wore were paling in front of her, the red shirt already dulled and lacking entirely in colour. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them hard in case it was some strange trick of the light, but when she warily re-opened them, it was still the same.

   Eden stared at the reflection of her terrified face, her blue eyes round and wide with fear. Nothing seemed out of place in the room that was reflected behind her – nothing out of the ordinary at all, nothing but the utter lack of any colour or life.

  The reflection she saw told her very clearly that nobody was in the room with her. She was entirely alone in the colourless room– so why was it that she could now feel a pair of arms snaking possessively around her waist, embracing her and drawing her back into the heat of another body?

To read the conclusion, just download your free copy of the e-zine.

Kate ;)

How to improve your writing - part two

Today I'll be talking about a writing sin that I'm painfully aware that i'm guilty of - passive writing. It's such an ingrained habit of mine that it often slips in without me even realising that I'm doing it; I can sit down and knock out 2000 words, then look back over it and screech like the legendary banshee when I see that 90% of it is written in the passive voice.

But what is passive writing? Simple: "It was - he/she was - they were -" are all examples of the passive voice. In fiction writing, it's generally discouraged. George Orwell spoke vehemently against it in his 1946 essay "Politics and the English Language", and if he's against it then I'm more than willing to fall into line behind him.

Once you know what it is, it's easy to find and correct it in your work. For example...

He was twirling his beard as he spoke like a caricature of a Disney villain.

Becomes...


He twirled his beard as he spoke; the perfect caricature of a Disney villain.


Do you see how much more impact the latter phrase has in comparison to the former?


Authors have a responsibility to make their prose as strong as possible. Writing in the passive voice definitively weakens the text; and as such, we all owe it to our readers to do everything we can to eliminate it from our work. The key to improving as a writer is to be able to objectively recognise your weaknesses and work on correcting them, and that's why I painstakingly go through every first draft of a story I write and remove as many instances of passive writing as I possibly can. I recommend that you do the same.

Kate.

100 Horrors

Delighted to announce that a story of mine is included in the debut anthology release from Cruentus Libri Press. Released on February 20th, I'm sure you'll agree with me that the cover art looks fantastic.

Flash fiction is a real soft spot of mine, and all the stories featured in 100 Horrors are just 100 words or less. I find myself in some great company amongst the other horror authors featured, so I feel sure already that this little gem is going to be well worth your time reading.

Kate.

Who do you write for?

This is a quick straw poll for all the authors out there, I guess.

I have a dilemma. There's a fully fleshed out story that's been buzzing around my head for months now, but I've hesitated to dive in and get it down on the page. I know exactly why I've held back, and I'm slightly ashamed to admit that the reason is fear.

Fear of other people's reactions.

It's not the now normal fear of dislike that I always feel when I launch a story out into the big, scary world - no, this is far more specific. You see, the main cast of the story in my head are vampires. And there we have the main sticking point. Vampires are perhaps the most maligned paranormal creatures out there at the moment, due in most part to the romanticising of the sub-genre by Meyer and her like. I'll confess to a brief dabble in that area in the past, but I find myself really resenting the way that one of the darkest creatures ever created has been corrupted by popular culture to the extent that they aren't even feared any more.

No, my vampires don't sparkle, and nor do they avoid drinking the blood of the precious humans. They are ruthless, self-serving and wholly representative of the highs of the 19th century literature that first breathed life into them - but can they find a home in this cynical world that so openly scorns and mocks all things vampiric? Do I potentially waste hundreds of hours of my precious writing time in crafting a story that I may decide never to show to the light of day, or do I try to forget a tale that is so vivid in my mind that it feels like an ever-present companion in my unconscious mind?

I suppose it all boils down to the question of who I write for. Do I write for the benefit of those who might read my words, or do I simply write for the love of it? Those of you who know me well no doubt realise exactly what my scant hours of selfish scribbling are going to be devoted to over the coming months... and maybe, one day, "Lament of the Songbird" will boldly go forth to reclaim the genre once more ;)

Kate.

My Old Friend

So, I realised today that it's been a while since I posted any fiction; and to rectify that, here's a little story that was conceived at 4am a few nights ago.


My Old Friend

I knew him so very well.

Him...I suppose that’s a little strange, isn’t it, to have attributed such a strong and developed personality to something that is entirely intangible; and even, to some, incomprehensible. But when he had been my constant and relentless companion for so many years, he had a very real and unshakeable presence in my consciousness.

He was always there. Sometimes – maybe even for months at a time – he’d lurk almost unnoticed right in the furthest recesses of my head. More often than not, though, he was right there at the front consuming all of me. Every thought, every desire, every breath...it was all about him.

And I hated him. Oh, how I hated him! He made me resent myself, you see – resent what I had become because of him. I no longer even recognised the person I was. I was a stranger, even to myself; and this new person wasn’t someone I wanted to be.

I knew that I had to rid myself of him; to purge myself of his toxic presence and his noxious embrace. He was suffocating. Have you ever felt like that? You must have done, at some moment in your life. The best way I can describe it is to think of the most terrible panic and fear you’ve ever felt. Remember how it constricts your chest, how it churns your stomach and lifts you high on the black wings of terror as you fight even to breathe? That’s how I felt living with him.

Is it any wonder that I couldn’t take it any longer?

I’m not sharing this with you as retribution, or even as a plea for understanding or compassion. Don’t think that, because it simply isn’t so. I’m just stating it how it is, so that if you find yourself being slowly but surely gnawed away at by someone like him, maybe you won’t make the same mistake I did.

The problem was that nothing I did seemed to get rid of him. I could hide him away and pretend even to myself that he didn’t even exist, but if I ever let my guard down for just a moment, he would be back; and each time he returned, he was somehow stronger and more possessive than ever before.

Enough was enough. I knew that he was never going to go away of his own accord. I had to take matters into my own hands – and in through the storm cloud of misery that had descended upon my sleep-deprived and tormented mind, I could see only one solution.

It was all so easy.

One little pill, two little pills.

Three little pills, four little pills.

Five little pills, six little pills.

And on I went until the little jar’s contents had all danced along my tongue and down my waiting throat.

So easy.

Next, the bottle of bourbon on the worktop joined the party. I had to be sure; I hadn’t come this far only for him to defeat me now. Then all I had to do was wait.

But it didn’t go down like I had expected it to. I expected to feel nothing but relief as my life slipped away from me, relief to be freed of the shackles of his possession – but instead, I realised what a terrible mistake I had made.

I’d never seen it before. Too eaten up by all that he was, I’d never even stopped to dream of a life without him. All I thought of was getting rid of him – not living without him.

I knew in that moment why people fought so hard to cling onto life with all that they were.

Too late.

Gone.

Bonus points to anyone who knows the song that the title is a nod towards...

Kate.

We want to hear from you...

I know that I've got some wonderfully talented authors amongst my readers here. If you haven't already, then please drop by and check out Sirens Call Publications. We're open now for submissions in general and for three specific products that I'm really excited about;

Childhood Nightmares

UNDER THE BED

They haunt us all. Those whispered tales of monsters hiding under the bed, or of the demons lurking in the shadowy corner where we dare not glance for fear that seeing them will make them all too real. Oh, how the innocent landscape of a child’s imagination lends fertile soil to horrors ready to be sown on the slightest of sounds; the tales and the terror they wreak on our youthful minds never quite leaves us.

Reach into the forgotten recesses of your twisted mind. Share with us the tales of nightmares that can only thrive in the hidden corners of a child’s imaginings; the bogeyman under the bed, the outlandishly fiendish clown perched upon a rocker, the slight murmur of sound coming from the closet… did you close the door completely? Explore the myriad terrors that only a child can twist from nothing into some ‘thing’ in the span of a single rapid breath.

Do you dare delve into your own memories for inspiration? Perhaps you’ll start sleeping with the lights on again... Tell us, who is Under the Bed?

Submission guidelines;

Deadline for submissions - Monday, January 30th, 2012.

4000 - 10,000 words.

50% royalties to be divided between all contributing authors.

TWISTED REALITIES: OF MYTH AND MONSTROSITY

What if the worlds of horror and mythology collided; what skeletons might come tumbling out of that particular closet? Open up your mind to the possibilities of reimaged tales or the consequences of unleashing a mythological creature into today’s world. What would happen if Medusa were let loose in NYC? What would the world of mythology be like if Zeus had a penchant for torture and murder? Perhaps the Fey world holds you captivated; but you imagine the benign faerie folk to instead be frighteningly devious creatures that only exist in the darker, more sinister walks of life...

Spin us a tale that will scare the reader but still maintain that magical twist from the stories of an age gone by. All mythology is open to interpretation; Greek, Roman, Fey, Chinese, Christian, plus the countless others not mentioned. Your only limitation is the one you place on yourself. 

* *Stories containing overt sexual content, incestuous behavior and/or extreme bestiality will be immediately disqualified from consideration.

Submission guidelines;

Deadline for submissions - Monday, February 13th, 2012.

4000 - 10,000 words.

50% royalties to be divided between all contributing authors.

And the SIRENS CALL E-ZINE

This bi-monthly publication is exposure only for contributing authors, but don't let that put you off! We're looking for flash fiction, short stories (1000-5000 words), literary reviews, teasers for your novels (stand-alone scenes would work best here), artwork or interviews. Previously published work will be accepted provided that you hold the rights to it.

If you have something you think could be placed in any of the above, then please email submissions@sirenscallpublications.com

Kate.

How to improve your writing - part one.

One of the hardest things for any writer to do is to view their work objectively and see where it can be improved. The best option, of course, is to have your manuscript professionally edited before publication, but I'm fully aware that the cost of doing can be prohibitive for many self-pubbed authors.

As an editor, I see many basic issues that crop up again and again in manuscripts from different authors across all the genres.

Now, I'm a fervent believer in indie publishing and taking the power back from the Big Six. In order for the indie and self-publishers to do so, we owe it to each other and the readers to ensure that the work we put out there is of the highest possible quality. Though I can't offer up my services for free to all and sundry, especially now that Sirens Call Publications is keeping me so busy, I can share with you now and again a few little tips and ways to improve what you've written.

Today, I'll be going over speech tags.

Not only are they one of the most overused literary devices, but they're often dressed up to the nines to the extent that they become so ornate that they detract from the story being told.

Speech tags are the words used to label which character has spoken. It can be as basic as "he said" or it can also be used to carry the emotions and thoughts of your character at that point in the tale.

However, in my opinion, a good 90% of speech tags that crop up in first drafts are unnecessary.

My two top tips for how to reduce the necessity for speech tags in your work;

• Ensure that each character has a well-developed and unique voice. The way that they speak and the tone of their words should identify them as the speaker. If all your characters sound alike to the reader, then they don't have a strong enough identity and the reader won't connect with them.
• Show what your character is doing as they speak instead if you need to break up a long block of dialogue. Their actions will convey the tone of their speech far more vividly than a speech tag. For example, your character runs a hand through their hair and leaps to their feet to pace back and forth. The reader knows, then, that they're becoming agitated without you having to write "he said in agitation" after your dialogue. Far neater and doesn't distract from the flow of the writing.

Where you absolutely must use them, try and stick to 'he said/she said'. Phrases like uttered, retorted, breathed etc. sound artificial and detract from the dialogue being spoken. Keep it clean and keep it to a minimum and you'll allow the strength of your dialogue to shine through.

Your dialogue should be what carries the plot. Excess and elaborate speech tags will drag it down and interrupt the flow - instead, keep it crisp and fast-paced. Your readers will thank you for it.

Kate.