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Black Hare Valley: Chapter 1 “May Day”

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment
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Chapter One – May Day
1

Wednesday 1st May 1996

Jesse Archer checks his watch again

Ten minutes late now. Jesus fucking Christ. He growls at the back of his throat and jams his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. It’s starting to rain, the wind driving a miserable drizzle up the alley towards him. He turns his head, lowering his face and tucking his dark hair behind his ears.

‘Come on,’ he mutters to the wall. ‘God’s sake…’

The alley suddenly fills with leaves ripped violently from the trees in the park. Jesse looks up to see a great gust of them sailing over the roofs of the shops. They spiral and twist and dance around him and it feels like they, like the whole goddamn town, are laughing at him: Jesse Archer, youngest of the renowned Archer boys, waiting in an alley for his so-called friends; Jesse Archer, who didn’t bring a coat because it was sunny half an hour ago, but of course, the weather had to turn on a pin (as Mayor Sumner was so fond of saying) because this town hates his guts and always has done; Jesse Archer, whose mother went full psycho five years ago and hasn’t been seen since.

Jesse kicks the wall. It’s the only way to dispel some of the hot anger filling up his chest. He tries to imagine why Steven and Dominic might be late. Unfortunately, there could be endless reasons. With Steven – short, skinny, acne-faced and sneering – it could be anything. He might have had to help his dad with a cleaning job. Steven Davies doesn’t have a mum either – she ran off when he was only six when she, according to him, also went full psycho. In Steven’s opinion, that’s what this town does to you. There is no evidence to support this, however, and Jesse thinks it’s just classic Steven bullshit. If you’ve got a problem, Steven always has one ten times bigger.

Jesse also has to consider that it might be deliberate. That Steven might just be sitting at home in his flat above Jesse’s, feet up on the coffee table, with a big fat smile on his face. Steven is a wind-up merchant. In all honesty, he’s a bit of a prick, and Jesse wonders on a daily basis why he bothers with him.

Habit and history, he thinks now, turning from the red brick wall and skulking down to the end of the alley. Dominic – chubby, shaven-headed, pasty-faced – could be late for any reason too. He’s forgotten entirely, or he can’t tell the time. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Dominic Robeson is the chunky greasy bone Steven and Jesse fight over. A trio is never even. Three is always a crowd when both boys want to be the leader. The rivalry between Jesse and Steven is an undercurrent that thrums beneath them at all times, threatening to explode and driving almost every bad decision, stupid prank and minor crime they commit.

This was Jesse’s idea, so of course Steven would want to sabotage it.

Bored, Jesse peers out of the alley and looks up and down Town Road. To his immediate right are the school playing fields and car park, and beyond them, the target for today, Black Hare Valley Secondary School.

Shivering in his ripped jeans, Green Day t-shirt and checked flannel shirt, Jesse leaves the safety of the alley and turns left. He rounds the corner, whistling casually as he strides past the newsagents. It’s okay, he thinks, I’ll give them five more minutes, then I’ll do it myself. Fuck those losers. Another bloom of anger tightens his chest when he pictures Steven again, probably sitting at home laughing like a bastard. Jesse decides there and then that if they don’t show up, he’s done with them for good.

That’s it, he tells himself, move on. Fuck them. He’s been feeling restless in the trio for so long – he just needs one decent excuse to bin their useless arses. For a long time Jesse didn’t think he had any other options when it came to friends. His family’s reputation has stained him since birth; he’s the type of boy parents warn their children not to hang out with. But that’s changed lately, he remembers with a secret smile.

2

Jesse pushes through the door to the chemist out of habit. He’s not really thinking as he shoulders his way inside the shop, where one of the three strip lights is always flickering. It’s too easy in here, not much of a challenge. The intermittent expanding and retracting of light from one strip gives the place a disjointed, out of sync feeling, like anything could happen, but nothing ever will. The narrow aisles and dusty shelves and Mr Martin with his thick lenses and slight hunchback, leaning forward with his poor eyesight fixed perpetually on the floor; it all feels as stale and awful as the rest of the town does to Jesse.

And Nathan Cotton; at seventeen he is two years older than Jesse, but still has the nervous need to be accepted by anyone and everyone. He’s sitting at the till in shadows, blond head lowered, lips moving slowly as he gazes into his lap.

Unseen, Jesse reaches out for anything. Throat sweets, why not? They taste good. Ibuprofen? Maybe he can sell them. An electric toothbrush. The items vanish one by one up his sleeve, into pockets, like magic they vanish into thin air.

He smiles at his own skills as he approaches the till. He tips his head, about to say hi to Nathan, but Nathan is too fixated on whatever he has spread out on his lap, and still hasn’t noticed him. Jesse inches closer, his eyes scanning the shelves below the till, then lifting to focus on the items behind. The decent painkillers: co-codamol, Sudafed, Nyquil. Maybe he can distract Nathan, lure him out, slip around and nab some of the decent stuff, the stuff Nathan has to hold up for Mr Martin to nod at from the back. Stuff Nathan cannot legally hand over himself.

Curiosity distracts him – what the hell is Nathan staring at? Jesse slams his hands down on the counter and leans over whip fast, making Nathan jerk back in fear, sending the magazine skittering to the floor, but not before Jesse catches sight of bare backsides, oiled torsos and erect penises.

So, it is true, he thinks and stores the information away for later. Nathan, red-faced, forces a sick smile, jumps up, and smooths down the white apron he has to wear.

‘Hi, Jesse!’

‘There’s a rat back there,’ Jesse tells him, jerking a thumb over one shoulder. ‘In the corner by the door. Just saw it go under the shelves. Thought I better let you know.’

‘Oh no! Oh my goodness! Thanks!’ Nathan kicks his magazine under the counter and rushes out to look for the fictional rat.

‘No problem.’ Jesse leans over and swipes three packs of co-codamol. He stuffs them in his pockets and heads for the door. ‘Seeya later!’

Outside, the rain is worse. Jesse swears, drops his head and pulls his shirt across his chest. It has a hole in one elbow and too many buttons are missing to do it up. A hand-me-down from his brothers, it was too big for him six months ago, but a sudden growth spurt is sending Jesse towards the skies.

 He scuttles back to the mouth of the alley, all good cheer from his successful theft now evaporates in the rain and he returns to his ever present conviction that Black Hare Valley hates him.

He stops for a moment, bereft. They’re still not here. Fuck those clowns. He’ll do it better without them. He’s not abandoning this plan, not for anything. It’s because Steven knows how much he wants to do it, that’s why he’s not turned up. He knows how much this means to Jesse.

His shoulders drop, he exhales his disappointment and heads right towards the playing fields, finding an odd type of comfort in the knowledge that he was right all along: the only person he can ever rely on is himself.

3

The school gates are locked. There is no school today because of the May Day celebrations. Jesse is sure that most other places on earth celebrate May Day on the first Monday in May, but not this town. May Day is huge in Black Hare Valley, and he’s not exactly sure why. The mayor and her cronies insist on celebrating it on the first of May, whatever day that falls on. It’s tradition, the old folks all say, as if that means anything. It means nothing to Jesse.

A day off school is a gift though, and he intends to make the most of it, as the wind and rain pick up force to batter him harder. He feels like the weather knows his plan, his intention. But it always feels like that in this town, he reflects bitterly, it always feels like whatever you do and wherever you go, you are watched.

The school sits on the horizon, on the other side of the damp green fields – grey, squat, ugly and listlessly waiting to devour him again. Although maybe it feeds on him more than it devours him. Jesse shudders just looking at it. He feels the fear tighten his muscles, even his skin. His scalp seems to clench under his hair as he follows the fence along until he reaches the hedging that surrounds the car park.

The town knows, he thinks, the town watches.

He thinks of Mayor Sumner up on Hill Fort Farm – the highest point of the valley – her inscrutable gaze cast relentlessly down on her town; the one she likes to remind everyone has been connected to her family for endless generations.

Thinking about Mayor Sumner makes his stomach feel weak, like a gurgling washing machine full of milky water and a sputtering, dying engine. Jesse shakes himself like a dog and finds the gap in the fence, the one he made himself with pliers at the end of last week when his final altercation with the headmaster, Mr Bishop, forced him to make the promise he now must keep.

Jesse squeezes through, his breath now clogged and thick in his throat. A stray cut wire snatches at his neck and gouges his skin just for fun. He hisses in pain and swats it away. Putting two fingers to his neck, he feels the tacky blood and curses. If Steven and Dominic were here, one of them would have held the wire back for him, but no, he has to do everything by himself. Well that’s it, he thinks viciously, never again, I don’t need them anymore anyway.

Jesse creeps around the edge of the car park, wondering why he didn’t plan to do this after dark. Still, there is no CCTV, he knows this for a fact. He doesn’t need a mask or a hood. He just needs not to be seen. Although, in truth, the reckless side of him laughs at this because what does it even matter? If he’s caught, if they know it was him, what can he lose? He has nothing in this town. And he hates them all.

Jesse reaches the school and scuttles over to the boys’ toilets on the ground floor. One window, one smash and he’ll be in. The science block is next door. Game on.

He flattens himself against the wall and scans the area, just in case. Nothing. No one. The cluster of silver birch trees that surround the car park and the ginormous horse chestnut that stands adjacent to the building prevent him from being overlooked. Without the green leafy trees, he would be visible to the houses on School Lane and possibly even the top windows of the bookshop and home improvement shop on Black Hare Road.

Remembering the bookshop, he thinks of Paddy Finnis and his resolve solidifies. It wasn’t just Jesse Mr Bishop humiliated last Friday, it was Paddy Finnis too. Short, frail, bespectacled Paddy, whose gentle father owns the only bookshop in Black Hare Valley.

The Magic Of Books: Second hand and rare books, bought and sold. Jesse feels shame when he recalls the books he has stolen from Paddy’s father over the years. He still has them all stashed in an old suitcase under his bed and he’d feel a different kind of shame if his older brothers or so-called friends ever came across them.

Jesse faces the window, pulls his cuff over his fist and punches the glass hard and fast, just the way his brothers taught him. He feels watched, he feels hated and hateful but he won’t stop now and he’ll tell himself he’s doing it for Paddy.

He’ll go there after to tell him, and just imagining this brings the flicker of a smile to Jesse’s normally hostile face. He will sneak around to the back and hide under the gnarled old apple tree. He’ll whistle up to Paddy who’ll be in his treehouse reading about stars and planets. They’ll sit together and smell the smoke of a burning school. We’ll never have to go there again, he’ll say. His mind wanders for a moment longer… What will Paddy think? Will he be happy? Proud?

Jesse reaches in and unlatches the window. He throws it open and hoists himself quickly inside. Five minutes and it’ll be done. School will be over. Mr Bishop will be out of a job. He smiles and wishes he could give himself a high-five.

Jesse leaves the toilets and enters the corridor. The school reeks of floor cleaner, old furniture and humiliation. The building holds the ghosts of shrunken souls, damaged and flayed, belittled and berated, never set free, forever clogging up the corridors with memories.

His family have stained this school like they’ve stained everything else, he thinks with satisfaction. His brothers names are still scratched and scrawled across doors in the toilets and on wooden desks in the classrooms. In rare moments of sobriety his father Nick has regaled him with wild tales from his own schooldays. Being expelled at aged fourteen is something he is supposedly still proud of.

Jesse opens the door to the first science lab and scans the room quickly. Wooden desks and stools, Bunsen burners and test tubes, goggles and vials. Smeared windows, creaking floors. He creeps in and closes the door behind him.

He turns to the water and gas valves on the wall beside the door. He flicks the gas lever down to open then hurries over to the nearest desk and leans over to the smaller valves used for the Bunsen burners. Jesse turns one on then moves on to the next. A loud hissing begins to follow his progress so he pulls his shirt across his mouth and nose and once they are all on, he dashes back to the door and tugs the box of matches out of his pocket.

It’s happening, it’s really happening! Excitement floods him and his face breaks into a huge smile. Breathing hard, his eyes watering, Jesse backs out of the lab and prepares to strike the match.

It’s then that the heavy hand lands on his shoulder and Jesse lets out the loudest scream of his life.

‘Don’t even think about it.’

Shit.

4

Jesse freezes.

The match falls to the floor unlit. The stench from the lab is now overpowering but not as overpowering as Sergeant Aaron Mayfield. The fifty-four-year-old is as fit as a man twenty years younger. The hand on Jesse’s shoulder becomes a claw. The claw digs into his flesh while the other one yanks his left arm up behind his back.

Jesse gasps. He’s suddenly spinning towards the opposite wall and he turns his face just in time to avoid a broken nose. His other arm is wrenched back and a pair of cold metal cuffs are snapped efficiently over his wrists.

A black boot shoots between his feet to kick them apart, spreading his legs in a dramatic fashion that makes Jesse suspect Mayfield has watched far too many American cop movies in his spare time.

A bristly cheek scrapes against his own and a voice laced with delight hisses into his ear.

‘Do. Not. Move.’

Jesse holds his breath and waits.

Sergeant Mayfield backs off briskly and Jesse hears him stomping into the science lab and flinging open windows. The hissing noise stops. Sergeant Mayfield comes back out into the corridor and presses his police baton into the small of Jesse’s back. Jesse inhales.

‘Vindictive little scrote,’ Sergeant Mayfield says, adding pressure to the baton. There is mirth in his voice. Sergeant Mayfield enjoys a joke and a tease and despite the insults, Jesse knows he enjoys his company. He turns the baton in a slow circle and then moves it up a little higher to prod a knob on Jesse’s spine.

Jesse keeps quiet. There is no point saying a word. He knows exactly what will happen next and in a strange kind of way he is almost relieved. A part of him pictures the explosion he’d hoped for, the flames and the smoke and the destruction of the school and a heavy layer of shame settles in his belly like sludge.

He should have known. Sergeant Mayfield has saved the school and probably him too. Maybe he had known – he had felt the eyes of the town watching him and Mayfield is even more of a voyeur than Mayor Sumner is.

Jesse hisses when the baton prods another bump in his spine.

‘I’ve been watching you all day, filthy little bugger. Nasty little stain. Why do you hate this town so much, eh? Why do you just want to destroy? And on today, of all days? This day means something to the people of this town, but you wouldn’t understand that, would you?’

Jesse doesn’t answer. The baton jabs at the next bump in the ladder of his spine. Sergeant Mayfield growls a little. He reminds Jesse of a bored cat playing with an injured mouse. He knows he has to give him something.

‘Just bored.’

Sergeant Mayfield likes and appreciates that answer. He turns Jesse around and beams at him as if he has pleased him somehow. His hair is short, neat and as white as snow. His moustache is thick, drooping down either side of his mouth. His eyes are bright, startlingly blue and surrounded by deep laughter lines. He laughs at Jesse now. His broad, muscular chest pushes forward as his head drops back a little. Then he places the baton under Jesse’s chin and forces his head up.

‘Ahh, bored were you? Well, now. Let’s see if we can do something about that.’

Keeping the baton under Jesse’s chin, Mayfield leans towards him, his fierce blue eyes drilling into Jesse’s. Jesse wants to hide from the dancing malice in those restless eyes but he cannot even breathe.

‘Come on then,’ he says softly. ‘Let’s be having you. Me and you have got work to do.’

Sergeant Mayfield lowers the baton, takes Jesse by the elbow and marches him out of the school. He carefully locks the doors behind him and leads Jesse over to his police car which is parked in the car park. Jesse feels a stab of anger towards Steven and Dominic. If they’d come like they were supposed to, one of them would have acted as lookout… He makes a silent promise to himself to ditch them for good, to never trust them again. He thinks about Paddy and wonders if there is any chance…

‘Bored,’ Mayfield sighs to himself, shaking his head as he opens the passenger door and shoves Jesse inside. ‘I’ll give you bored.’

Jesse stays silent as the door slams on him and Sergeant Mayfield strolls casually around to the other side. He feels fear and a sense of defeat mixed with relief. It’s out of his hands now and sometimes he appreciates that about Mayfield. Game over. In a sense, he’s lost as usual and everything is as it should be.

The other door slams and the car rocks as Mayfield’s substantial girth weighs the right side down. He chuckles and drums the palms of his hands against the steering wheel.

‘Well, now,’ he says, not looking at Jesse. ‘Did you really think you’d get away with it?’

The anger at his friends seeps out of him. He just feels tired and defeated. ‘No,’ he says and it’s the truth. Somehow he had known.

‘Nothing gets past me, you know,’ says Mayfield. ‘I’m the eyes and ears of this town, you know.’

Jesse does know.

‘And Mayor Sumner up on the hill, she’s the brain, isn’t she, eh?’

Jesse finds his gaze drawn that way, up and to the left of town, to Hill Fort Farm and to generations of watching and guarding.

‘And the Vicar Roberts, he’s the heart, isn’t he?’

And again, Jesse feels the pull. To the left this time, beyond the row of shops where he stole from Martin’s Chemist, beyond the park to Saint Marks church on the other side. He breathes in. And out.

‘And everyone else,’ says Mayfield in his cheery tone. ‘They’re the bones, aren’t they? The support system. The lungs and the blood and the oxygen and the rest. But you.’ His tone hardens. His eyes flick to the left and narrow to icy slits. He uses the baton to poke Jesse’s shoulder. ‘You. You’re the arsehole of the town, Jesse Archer. You’re the hole through which steaming shit flows and stinks. You’re the diseased bowels and cancerous colon. You’re the prolapsed anus and the itchy burning piles. You’re bowel cancer. That’s you and your contribution. Right?’

Jesse has no option but to nod. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Why not?’

‘Just like your brothers, and your father. Family of criminals and swines. It’s never been any different.’

‘Okay.’

Sergeant Mayfield ignites the engine. ‘Well. We better keep you busy and out of trouble. We better find you a job to do, eh?’

‘Okay.’

The car rolls out of the car park and Jesse holds his breath, wondering who the target will be.

5

Who else is on Mayfield’s radar?

They turn left onto School Lane, then left again onto Black Hare Road. The rain patters against the windscreen, gentler now, like Mayfield’s liver spotted hands and their loose, drowsy hold on the wheel.

To Jesse’s horror they pull up outside the bookshop. His mouth opens and then closes silently. Does Mayfield know? About him and Paddy? No, he can’t do. No one knows.

Mayfield reaches for him, shifts him to access the cuffs and unlocks them with the key. Jesse brings his hands in front of him and rubs his wrists. His heart is beating frantically inside his chest as he prays to god it’s the shop next door Mayfield wants to target.

‘Hand it all over, Jesse.’

Jesse digs into his pockets and one by one places the stolen goods on the dashboard.

‘Good for nothing, lying, cheating, vandalising cancerous stain…’

Jesse waits.

Mayfield opens the glove compartment and takes out a small device. A camera. Jesse sometimes wonders where he gets them from. He’s never seen cameras like them in the home improvement shop or the garage or anywhere else in town. Maybe Mayfield leaves the town and purchases them somewhere more sophisticated than stuck-in-the-dark-ages Black Hare Valley.

But the thought seems preposterous. No one ever leaves Black Hare Valley. Not least of all Sergeant Aaron Mayfield. His roots go far too deep.

He passes the camera to Jesse who reluctantly slips it into jeans pocket. His face feels tight, his jaw clenched painfully, his forehead frozen in a deep, troubled frown as he stares ahead and asks, ‘Where?’

‘Bookshop,’ Mayfield replies with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Somewhere discreet. Maybe upstairs. Or the staff room. And not a word, remember.’ He jostles Jesse until he looks at him. Mayfield puts a thick finger to his lips. ‘Shh. Our little secret.’

Jesse’s stomach nosedives. He looks at the bookshop and thinks, why? Why them? He is close to asking, what did they do to get on your radar? Does Sumner know about this? Of course she does, she must…

Maybe Mayfield can sense the questions building because he clamps a hand down on Jesse’s arm and holds it tight.

‘Trying to blow up the school…’ He shakes his head sadly, his tone dripping with disappointment. ‘That’s got to be the lowest of the low, even for you. That’s a one way ticket to juvenile jail. The end of the line. Unless I do you a favour and you do one for me.’

Jesse nods quickly and opens the car door. He has no choice and they both know it.

‘I’m always watching, Jesse,’ Sergeant Mayfield reminds him as he climbs out of the car. ‘Remember that.’

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of Chapter One – May Day. Please also let me know if you would prefer shorter chapters. They are quite long and I could split each in half. What do you think of the characters introduced so far??

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Two – The New Kid In Town

How To Support The Author In Your Life

~ ChanAtkins ~ 4 Comments

You know an author. A writer. One of those weird, probably quite awkward and introverted people who like to make up stories for a living. This author you know would absolutely love it if you were a fan of their books, if you read them, reviewed them, recommended or raved about them. Of course, they would, who wouldn’t? But let’s face it; that’s highly unrealistic and there are many reasons why an author’s close friends and family don’t do this. If you like this person though, there are other ways you can support them – but first lets get some common assumptions about authors out of the way.

One of the reasons you might think you can’t be of any help to them, is because of the assumption that they are making an actual living out of writing books. Unless they are one of those famous authors that everyone has heard of, and whose books get made into TV shows and movies, then you can almost certainly guarantee that they have an actual job. A proper job to pay the bills because there is no way in hell that selling their books pays the bills. The average annual wage of an author who has given up the day job is about £11,000, so you can see why so many carry on to work in various jobs to make ends meet.

You might also think they have a budget for marketing and advertising their books, because obviously, these things don’t come for free. In reality though, even traditionally published authors don’t get much help marketing their books. They have to do the bulk of it themselves, any way they can, just like indie authors do. And chances are, they don’t have any budget for this. Chances are, if they do fork out for paid adverts, blog tours, social media blasts, etc, they are doing it with money they really don’t have. Once they have paid for editing, proofreading and front covers, the indie author is already well out of pocket. Authors are not rich. Never have been.

All that aside, you can help support the author in your life in several, easy cost-free ways.

You don’t have to buy their book, read or review it – though obviously they would be over the moon if you did! It might not be your genre. You might not be much of a reader. You might not have time to read. You might be worried your author friend/relative is not very good – and it would be awkward if you discovered that by reading their book. You might think its all a silly waste of time. Either way, I’ll say it again, you don’t have to read their book just because you know them and it appears that this is generally the case with most authors. Since I started my own publishing journey back in 2013 I have constantly been told by other authors that their friends and family don’t support their writing. If I ask what they mean by this, I’ll be told a number of things; some writers have brutal people in their lives who tell them to their face that writing books is a waste of time, so they know full well not to count on these for any support when they are promoting a new book. But usually it’s simply that the friends and relatives don’t notice it or talk about it. They change the subject if the author mentions their books. They neglect to like, comment or share any of the authors posts. It’s a bizarre phenomenon and I never truly realised how many authors it effects until I started digging. I used to think it was just me but now I know it’s a bigger issue and it fascinates me.

Because let me tell you, if this author you know is your friend and/or your relative, they have noticed your lack of support and without a doubt it bothers them. They wrestle with it. Are they too in your face? Are they posting about their book too much? Are they annoying you? Have you read their work and scoffed at it? Do you secretly hate them? They will be thinking this!

To conclude, you don’t have to read or like their books. They probably write in a totally different genre to the one you read in, but you could really make a difference to their self-confidence, their reach, their visibility and yes maybe even their pocket if you supported them in other, smaller ways:

  • Like their posts – it helps them reach more people. It only takes a second to click ‘like’ and it will mean so much to them.
  • Comment on their posts – even a thumbs up or well done will be much appreciated and again, it will help the post reach more people.
  • Share the post! – Probably the most helpful thing you can do apart from reading and reviewing their books. You might not want to read it, but people you know might like it, or people they know! Share the post and see how far it can go. You could be making a huge difference and they will be forever grateful and less likely to give up on their dream.
  • Follow their page or other social media platforms -You could just follow one and again, the odd like, share or comment will help their page reach more possible readers.
  • Read and review the book – This need not cost you anything either. If money is really tight but you would still like to support your friend or relative, you could request a review copy for free and I can guarantee they will be delighted to gift it to you, especially if you leave a review afterwards. Or again, you could share pictures or links for the book to help them reach more readers.
  • Ask them about their book – the easiest and cheapest thing to do to support them. Authors love talking about the worlds and the characters they have created, so why not let them indulge from time to time? It might even be interesting!

So, there you have it. Easy, cheap or free ways to support the author in your life. I can promise you it will mean everything to them to know they can rely on your support. Writers tend to be quite insecure people and as we have already discussed, there is very little in way of financial reward, so to know your close friends and family are ready to jump in and help push your book when it’s released is just the best feeling ever.

Indie Author of the Month – Mick Williams

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

Hi everyone!

I hope you are all doing well. I have not blogged myself for a while due to all the guest posts I was lucky enough to receive for the pandemic collection. More on that another day! I’ve also neglected to highlight any indie authors lately too, but I’m putting that right today with a special interview. Mick Williams is an author I’ve followed for some time on social media and recently I had the pleasure of reading his latest book, Final Clearance. Mick must be the most versatile author I have come across, with romantic comedies, mysteries, action and adventure and more all under his belt. He is well worth checking out for that reason alone. You are sure to find something that appeals to you. Here he tells us all about his new book, (a dark comedy about a serial killer with a heart) his writing process, proudest moments and what to expect from him next! Enjoy!

1. You seem to be a very versatile author – what genres have you written in so far?

I think I’ve covered most of them! Some of my books seem to be a combination of genres, which makes it difficult to categorise, so it’s probably easier to say that I haven’t tackled historical drama, auto-biography or, as my sister would say, witty-woo stories!! Everything else is probably in at least one of my books. Every one of them has a sprinkle of romance, tons of action and humour and a strong female character.

2. Is there any genre you wouldn’t consider trying and if so, why not?

Yep – witty woo. My Mum reads my books and I’d never dare show my face if she read something overly racy in one of them. I think I’m still her little angel. All of my books have at least a sprinkling of romance in them, and some of my characters might get sexy ideas, but I tend to steer away from being graphic with that stuff and let the readers use their imagination. They probably have a much better time that way, anyway.

3. What comes to you first, the characters or the plot?

This has worked both ways (and a few others, too). For A Reason to Grieve, I had the Doris character in mind from the get-go and wanted to work her into the story. She’s still one of my favourite characters. The Old Farts Club is based on a group of men I saw sitting in a fast-food restaurant one morning: a group of military veterans ranging from men well into their sixties, to a forty-something. They had to have a story (Exodus) and have now become their own series! Location is also something that gives me ideas. The forest in Whatever it Takes is here in Kentucky and loads of the scenes in Exodus came from a trip to Jamaica.

4. Do you imagine what audience would like your book before or after you write it?

Honestly, neither! Writing in different genres is probably holding me back, in that I’m not able to promote myself in one particular area, but all of my books have plenty of action, twists, comedy and a touch of romance. I’d like to think that the people that read my books now come to expect that but, truthfully, I write what comes to mind and hope that people like it.

5. Where did the idea for Final Clearance come from?

I got tired of reading ‘write what you know’ and finally considered what I know! I’ve worked and trained in retail and customer service for decades and thought about that. Then, I saw a video of an obnoxious woman berating and insulting a store worker who, fearing for her job, just stood there and took the abuse. Chances are that the same meeting in a bar or a car park would have resulted in the woman getting a bloody nose! Brody takes it a step further (well, a few steps!) but it served to set him up as a conflicted good guy who can’t stand bad guys and resolves to do something about it. Going back to question three, I bought a sofa in a store like Brody’s, and the location for the end of the book is about a mile from where I live.

6. How did you come up with a complex character like Brody Coulson?

Bit by bit! I didn’t want a stereotypical ‘nice guy turned evil’ kind of character. Brody is just a regular man working a job he doesn’t enjoy, whose patience runs out and he impulsively does something bad. To balance his bad deeds, I needed him to be a caring soul too, which is where Javier and Anita come in. I’d like to think we’re all trying to ‘do our part’ for the people around us, and I thought it would be fun to have a character that would do that – only to extremes. How would he justify murder, and how would he go from killing someone to going home to babysit a ten-year old?

7. What is the hardest part of writing a book for you?

Finding the time – I don’t know how you do it! I still work a full-time job and have a family, so it’s a hard balancing act to accommodate everything. The only way I manage it is to create time and write when I can, which is not conducive to continuity!! There are times I have to re-read what I’ve previously written before I can get going again. I also go back and forth between completely outlining a story and just writing to see what happens, and I spend way too much time procrastinating and trying to decide what to do! I think (or at least hope) that I’ve managed to get my stories told either way with some degree of success.

8. What is the easiest part of writing a book?

The Words. Once I manage to sit and write, the words normally come easily. Some days I can hammer out a couple of chapters and actually have them make sense.

9. What methods do you employ to market your books?

Not enough. Marketing is my downfall. Every time I complete another book, I tell myself that this will be the one I promote properly – blog tours, interviews, signings (at least in the ‘old world’), ad campaigns, emails. Then, I sit down and write the next one instead. Book number eight is with my publisher as I type this, and I’ve just released Final Clearance, and it seems as if I’m releasing them into the ether since, if I don’t let people know they’re there, no one is going to read them. It’s a frustrating vicious circle, and the part of this whole writing malarky that I don’t particularly enjoy. I have an author website (www.mickwilliamsauthor.com) which my much more talented son takes care of. I intend to start a blog on it to give readers something new to look at, and I promise I’ll get to it. After this. Or the next thing! I also have a Facebook page (also Mick Williams author) which I don’t interact with anywhere often as I should, and I also have an Instagram page which has the wrong name on it! I’ve given up with Twitter since, in the few months I had it, it got hacked four times.

10. Where do your ideas usually come from?

Everywhere. I have too many ideas and too little time. As I mentioned earlier, a location can be enough to give me an idea, or an overheard conversation. I read Wired magazine and generally get a few ideas out of every one of those. The most unusual event to give me a solid idea was a dream. I once woke at around three in the morning, fresh from a dream, and jotted down almost the entire plot for Callie’s Eyes – I even had her name and her family. If that could happen once every few months, I’d be able to retire and just write!

11. Do you suffer from writer’s block and if so, how do you tackle it?

Not writer’s block, as such, but I do sometimes reach a point in a scene where I’m not sure where to go next. When this happens, I either save my progress so far and attempt a different scene that I can add later or, if the sun is shining, I’ll go for a walk and mull it over. That’s helped me a few times. And back when I was young and healthy, way back, I’ve gone to the gym and done the same thing. It’s weird how stepping aside to do something else will let my mind wander and get me back to where I need to be.

12. Are you inspired by any particular books, films or TV shows?

To my detriment, yes. I’ve watched plenty of TV where something will happen that triggers an idea that I want to write RIGHT NOW, and I have to fight the urge and just make a note that I may get back to in the future (although it never seems to burn as bright by then). Reading books, to me, is writer homework. I love to read, and it’s another time sapping habit that takes away from the writing time. I’ve read Stephen King’s books since I was a teenager, and love all but one of his stories (I tried and tried to get into Delores Claiborne), but I find that, when I sit to write, his voice is still in my head and I end up writing in his style. I don’t realise it until I read back what I’ve written, and it’s glaringly obvious and I have to go back and rewrite it!

13. What are you working on next?

Two things at the moment, both sequels. My best reviewed book is A Reason to Grieve. It was my first story and I love the characters. I didn’t write it with a view to making it a series, but the characters have never left me so I’m about halfway through A Reason to Breathe, which picks up a few months after the first book ended. One of these days, I’m hoping to add a third, A Reason to Leave, to round out the story and give the characters some closure.

I’m also a few thousand words into the next Old Farts Club story. The first, Exodus, was well received and the second, Dark Target, is with my publisher right now awaiting edits. The third will be another stand-alone story with the same group of characters, and I have a vague outline for number four in that series that I keep dipping into. As I said – not enough time!

14. Do you have a favourite character from your books, if so who and why?

I’ve already mentioned Doris from A Reason to Grieve. As much as I love her, I think all the characters in that book are likeable; probably why I’m going back to them. The banter between them still makes me smile.

The same can be said for the guys in The Old Farts Club. I think that, by the time I reach the end of a book, I get to love all my characters. It’s like they’re my children, but I’m sharing them with the world – if that’s not too weird!

Callie from Callie’s Eyes is a lovely person, and I really enjoyed the chemistry between Cory and Ashley in Whatever it Takes. Hope and Charlie from Hope’s Game are two characters that really intrigue me, and that book was left with an open ending that will be revisited in the future. And Paul and Sabrina from A Guy Walks into a Bar also fascinate me, so much so that I have an idea for A Girl Walks into a Bar which will bring them back against some old adversaries. Again, I just enjoy the chemistry they share, it’s infectious and a lot of fun.

And then there are Brody and Javier from Final Clearance – they’re like my new-borns! They’re only a few months old, so they’re still dear to me. That being said, I THINK their story is told. But, you never know.

15. What’s been your proudest writing moment so far?

I’m fortunate to have a few.

Collaborating with my dear friend, Craig Ostrouchow, on a book (Hope’s Game) and releasing something I’m very proud of that did justice to a vision he created.

Winning the Imadjinn Best Thriller Novel award for Exodus- my first award, that sits by my laptop to remind me that I really can do this!

And every time I open the box of a set of new books. The thrill of seeing months of work formed into an actual book that other people can read never gets old.

If my answers have intrigued you, please stop by on Facebook, or at my website http://www.mickwilliamsauthor.com and say hello! If you mention this interview, I’ll be honoured to send you a free e-book version of either A Reason to Grieve or Callie’s Eyes.

For news and incredibly infrequent and non-rambling emails (see above answer on marketing!) sign up on the contact page, it really would be lovely to hear from you.

And thank you, Chantelle, for giving me this opportunity – it’s been fun!

A huge thank you to Mick Williams for agreeing to the interview! His links are below if you are interested in his books and as he mentioned above, if you contact him and mention reading this interview, he’ll send you a free ebook!

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https://www.facebook.com/mickwilliamsauthor/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/13254873.Mick_Williams

How Not To Annoy A Writer

~ ChanAtkins ~ Leave a comment

It can’t be easy having a writer in your life. They can be rather self-absorbed, perhaps even obsessive at times. They may appear to be living in a constant daydream. They may stay up late at night, drinking coffee and pounding the keyboard. They may get a little agitated when they don’t get time to write and they can be hell to live with if the dreaded writer’s block strikes. But if your friend or relative is a writer, there are lots of things you can do to make life a little easier for them. Here are some things you should definitely avoid doing if you don’t want to annoy the writer in your life.

  1. Don’t buy their book if you have no intention of ever reading it. This will only cause them to writhe in anxious frustration for months on end, as they battle with the urge to constantly ask you if you have read it or not. If you buy their book, please do read it. Anything else is torture for them!
  2. Don’t read their book if you have no intention of reviewing it. Reviews are fuel for writers. Reviews make their day, their month, their year, so please know when you tell a writer you have finally read their precious book, they are now going to expect you to leave a review for it somewhere. Writers can get rather obsessed with waiting for reviews, so please don’t leave them hanging. Just a short ‘it was good’ will keep them happy.
  3. Don’t ignore their successes, no matter how minor. Success is different for different writers. Some will have their eyes set on huge publishing deals, huge advances and after that, world fame. Others are just excited to have finished writing their book! Success means different things to them, so please don’t ignore their little milestones. Whether it is finally starting to write, finishing a project, getting a publishing contract or taking the self-publishing route, please know that it is a huge deal for them and they would love for you to be excited for them.
  4. If their book is not for you, please tell them early on. It is always best to be honest to avoid the writer hanging on in nervous anticipation, wondering if their family member or friend or workmate will read their book. If it is really not for you, not something you would ever read in a million years, please put them out of their misery as soon as possible and tell them this. They will get it over it, I promise, and you won’t have to put up with them hinting and sighing in your direction every time you announce you need a new book to read.
  5. If you haven’t read their work (for whatever reason) please don’t expect them to not be just a little bit hurt every time you ask for reading recommendations. They really, really want to yell; ‘my book!’ every time you do this, but they don’t want to put you in an awkward position.
  6. Avoid certain hurtful phrases such as; ‘writing is not a real job,’ ‘anyone can write a book,’ ‘I wish I had time to sit and write a book all day,’ and so on. To a writer, their writing is their world. You may not understand it, but it’s part of what makes them who they are, and the world would be a very dull place if it were not full of writers.
  7. Remember that their writing time is precious to them. Perhaps they have a day job and can only write in the evening or at the weekend. Perhaps they can survive on the money they make from writing, or perhaps they are retired and devote as much time as they can to their craft. Whatever time a writer has to work on their book, it is incredibly precious to them and they ought to guard it fiercely. Writers need time, space and peace to get things done. If you can allow them this, they will be much happier and calmer, and they will not annoy you so much in return.

If you follow these simple rules, I can guarantee any writers you know will be incredibly grateful and in the long-run they will be far less annoying to know!