What got me writing?

The first memory I have of writing is me on the floor of our terraced house in Edinburgh back in the 80s, sat by the feet of my exhausted mum and dad who were sprawled out on the sofa. I was eager to show them my idea for a story, something to do with a castle and a magic door in a forest with magic fucking pixies and the likes. I was just a kid, and the idea was probably so awesome I couldn’t control my enthusiasm. My dad had come in from a shift down the Post office sorting rooms and really wasn’t up for the crayon drawings and the He-man adventures and the explanations. My mum had been on her feet all day and just wanted to chill with him. They were tired most nights, and I doubt they gave the stories more than the obligatory loving parental nod of approval. No big deal, we’ve all been there as parents.  But I loved the Danger Mouse cartoons and wanted to write my own spy stories and show them off, simple as that.

We spent our weekends down the park playing football and having picnics instead, so I soon forgot about the stories.

What book do I remember as a kid?

Hell, I have this one image in my head of a girl on a plane who falls asleep while staring out at the clouds as they pass by her window. When she wakes up, she is outside jumping about with some creepy-ass cloud king eating clouds like candy floss and having adventures in the sky. No idea what the book is or who it’s by, but the weird trippy images are etched up there. Other books locked away are more National Geographic—naked amazon warrior girls with spears, stories of the Pyramids, or the Antarctic adventurers. I loved trying to read and understand those.

The first real book that sticks in my head though is The Dark by James Herbert. I stole that paperback from my dad’s bedside table one night and took it away to show my mates the cover. When I read the story, or rather skipped through the pages, it scared the shit out of me—madness infecting folks in the night, infected folks killing innocent victims. I was way too young to read that one. Later I picked up The Rats, another James Herbert story, and that got me hooked on horror.

Favourite under-appreciated novel?

No idea. I enjoy some real crap, so my opinion is flawed in this field. I can say that I was bored to death with Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. Man, that was a terrible, predictable read.  So that is my least favourite over-appreciated book. Will that do?

How about Flashman? George Macdonald Fraser wrote some hilarious adventures that nobody talks about. They should be compulsory reading.

Who are my writing friends and how do they better my writing?

Ah, the name-dropping question…the trap. The one we all want…to have our name read out loud in someone else’s interview.

Well, if they are reading this now, they know who they are. If they are not reading this, they ain’t no friend of mine.

I will say that the first time I ever reached out to someone to tell them that their squeaky clean character would never exist in the real world, let alone lead a platoon of men in the army,  she laughed and told me, at her age, she would never use the foul language I’d suggested in any of her books. We chatted, and she explained a hell of a lot to me. It’s all about your audience, she informed me. So, I hope I’m learning something from each of the conversations I strike up with other writers. Judie helped me a lot.

Oh, and the chuckle brothers…they keep me sane on Messenger.

Does writing energise you, or exhaust you?

If I could, I’d keep going all night and forget about work the next day. When I hear that voice rasping behind my eyeballs, I’m off, like that fucking Freddie Mercury freight train running through my head…there’s no stopping me. I see scenes play out and try frantically to keep up with them as the projection man inside my head keeps turning the handle, I won’t stop until I get each shitty detail down just right, forgetting full stops and gasping for air as my sentences just keep getting longer and longer…burning through the sky, man!

My writing kryptonite?

Oh, that’s easy. My writing kryptonite is my writing. Ask anybody who has had the pleasure to edit my work and they will tell you I suck at the basics. Punctuation, grammar, POV. They all cause me pain. I never got me no good education, you see. I joined the Army at sixteen, forgot about the academics and just started earning the money, with the idea that one day I would love to be able to write something and see it published.  When I did finally get my hand on a pad and a pencil, I was nearly 30, but Amy, my daughter, came along and that halted that.

I was 40 when I tried again, managing to type up a massive fan boy story, before trying my own manuscript for a space opera. Boy, did that one get shot down in flames.

“Writing ability of a year 11,” was the verdict from one editor who skinned me for a grand.

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Don’t forget to thank Mr Seeger for all his patience, dude. He won’t be around as long as he thinks.

What does literary success look like to you?

One row of shelving in Dymocks, filled with my space opera novels, each marked with New Release, the cover indented with a shiny chrome spaceship and kicking ass with the words BRINGING SEXY BACK, SPACE COWBOY STYLE.

Or just a pile of them in a Salvation Army bargain bin, marked three for five dollars.

I’m not fussy.

What kind of research do you do?

None, until now. I’ve never needed to do too much because I make all this shit up in my head. Except spelling. I check up on spelling all the time. And grammar. Oh, and if somebody uses big words and I don’t understand why they used them.

Seriously though, I am writing something now that has used up so much time checking facts and details it halts the writing down to a snail’s pace. Research sux.

How many hours a day do I write?

No idea. I start typing and go on until my missus opens the door and tells me it’s late and we should watch another episode of Better Call Saul before she crashes for the night. Sometimes, I can lose a day if I’m in the zone and comfy.

What’s my day job?

Well, I can’t afford to give it up if that’s what you’re asking.

I work in the power industry, fitting telecommunication cabling to Substations around Western Australia. This means I’m on the road between sites, which gives me plenty of time to listen to audio books and imagine my next MC.

Have I ever Googled myself?

Sure, all the time. I’m four from the top now, below Greg Cunningham, Cardiff City player, and Gregg Cunningham, Republican Representative for Pennsylvania.

I’m changing my name to AAArdvark Gregg Cunningham, and I aim to be topping the search list by Christmas.

What would you give up to become a writer?

My boredom? My depression? My lack of social filter? Take your pick.

What inspires you?

My ‘what’ is my missus. She inspires me to keep going. Keep trying. Has done for years now.

Did you always want to be an author?

Jesus, how many questions are on this page, Dean?

Always? No! I just wanted to tell my stories, share them with like-minded individuals who would finish them and give me feedback. It was never a plan that I was going to set out to achieve. For now, I just want to look for great anthologies and try my luck submitting to them.

What is a little-known fact about you?

Okay, I’ll play my hand here.

As a soldier serving in Northern Ireland, I once received the General Office Commanding Commendation for my excellent work as an antenna rigger while touring Londonderry. Not bad, eh? Bet you didn’t see that one coming, eh? The plaque hangs on my wall in the front room, where I can show it off when I have guests around…or generally point out when I’m drunk.

In relation to your up-coming novelette—Wardenclyffe due out on 11th April;

What sparked the idea for the story?

Ah, Wardenclyffe, yeah. My soon-to-be-released first solo publication. Well, I have a few folks over on a chat site to thank for that.

We had a collaboration going years ago where we got together a rag tag list of characters, sending them all on an adventure, page by page, day by day. We conjured up a few blustering characters, one we called Swarley, and sent them on their way to ludicrous situations.

Years later, I found Swarley in an old chapter I was in the middle of writing and thought he needed to stretch his legs again. I gave him a new adventure, and a new sidekick, then sent them off to fight in another bloody battle.

He reminded me a little of Danger Mouse, with his trusty sidekick Penfold, mixed with the bounders from the Carry-On films of the sixties, and a sprinkling of the cavalier It Ain’t half Hot Mum English gentry of old. Movies like Journey to the Centre of the Earth and War of the Worlds, mixed with some modern-day Hollywood stories like Godzilla, inspired my idea at the time. Add a bit of fantasy and romance, then cook at Gas Mark 5 for half an hour, and BOOM!…

Reading this story is a bit like drinking a Mickey Finn—you’ll love it, but it will leave you punch drunk and confused with flashbacks to things you don’t quite understand (but you remember being feckin’ awesome) before someone steals your wallet to buy the next round.

What challenges did you encounter to finish this book?

I had to make this idea plausible, but keep it ridiculous at the same time. Adding factual historical characters from the period to alternate historical situations proved difficult, as I had to keep to them roughly in the same setting. Swarley became the connection to many of the famous faces, much like the character from a George Macdonald Fraser’s Flashman novel.

Why did I choose Wardenclyffe as a setting for the tale?

Nikola Tesla was an amazing inventor; his story is fascinating. Imagine if he actually got Wardenclyffe Tower site up and running! Imagine if he was able to fund transmitting power from that one transmission tower, across the Atlantic, to another. Free power over the airwaves. It’s already a forgotten story, his legacy nothing but a side note in history. The man was a genius who was robbed of all his work.

I just wanted to say…What If!

Which of the main characters do I relate mostly to in the book, and why?

Crikey, Chief!

The beast in the water, for sure! Sometimes you just wanna grab shit and rip it up; be that monster who fucks things up for the MC. A bit like when I’m writing a character’s demise and I just think, Fuck it. Let’s add more cannons…and sharks with frickin’ laser beams!

What’s your favourite scene?

The part where Swarley is giving out the orders and the Zeppelins are circling. That’s where we meet our American counterpart and the game is raised to the next level. I wanted a bit of fantasy inserted here, but also a little hat tip to another famous urban mythology I loved to read about. I don’t want to give too much away, because if you get it here, it will spoil the nod there.

I say give Wardenclyffe a go, you might be pleasantly surprised.

So, what’s next?

Ah, you know what’s next, you bugger! You set me the challenge, and it has cost me my hair!

I have been tasked with gathering a squad of fine authors to regale your audience with a tale of sabotage and horror. A squad who is willing to give up their sanity researching this very topical disturbance infecting the entire globe. A dirty Bakers Dozen, if you will.

Thirteen fine authors writing thirteen fine stories, where only the fortunate ones live to tell the tale. Man, this anthology is nuts; so many twisted minds at work at the same time, squabbling over who gets to use which sharp pointy tool in the garden shed to torture their main characters with.

But I’ve said too much already. I can divulge no more, Dean.

Anyway, my cab is here, I gotta go…meters running, and the cabbie looks pissed.

Laters.