Friday Flash (1)

I tend to stay away from short stories or flash fiction, but here is something that I thought was going to form a complete book, but which, I think, works better as a short story. (Though, who knows, maybe in the future...)

It's timing may be a little off, given some recent events in the UK, but as it is not based on them, nor inspired by them, I make no apologies. Any similarities to any person are entirely coincidental.

So, without further ado:

A Very Ordinary Killer

The trouble with most killers is that they want to get caught. They'd never admit it, but it's their vanity which leads to their capture. That desire for infamy, to be acknowledged, to see their crimes featured on TV all linked together, perhaps even to acquire a snappy nickname such as The Romney Ripper or The Cambridge Cannibal, all these things are the weaknesses of your common serial killer. On top of those failures, most serial killers stick to the same tried and trusted methods of finishing with their victims – their modus operandi – and their victims often fall into the same categories, be that just by gender or by some other selection criteria – prostitutes seem to have been the most fashionable victims recently.

Some killers even take delight in leaving clues to their existence, little taunts to the examining officers, perhaps obvious enough for the casual plod to pick up, or more subtle, the sort of thing that's only going to be detected by the forensic team after detailed examination of the scene. Some even revisit the scene of the crime – perhaps while the investigation is in its earliest stages, when the place is crawling with police – getting some kind of thrill by being so close to those who are doing their best to catch them.

Finally, it has to be said, most serial killers are psychopaths. That might be stating the obvious, but it's an important fact.

Because none of the above apply to me.

I kill because I enjoy it. And I'll never get caught because I don't let my vanity get in the way: I don't leave clues that taunt the police; I don't have a modus operandi; I don't discriminate when selecting my prey (male, female, young, old: they're all the same to me); I never return to the scene of a crime and there's never anything to link me to it in the first place.

And, of course, I'm not a psychopath.

I'm just an ordinary guy with a slightly unusual hobby. It's not really that far removed from those who enjoy fishing, or fox-hunting, or pheasant shooting, or like to conceal themselves in hides in the woods waiting for an unsuspecting deer to wander into their sights. Sure, some of those are frowned upon by certain members of society, the goody-goodies who refuse to allow anyone to indulge in a sport that doesn't fit their narrow criteria of acceptable. Those who enjoy hunting often claim that they are performing a service, keeping populations down, taking out the weakest of any pack, subscribing to Darwin's theory of Natural Selection: if that fish was stupid enough to take the maggot off my hook then it doesn't deserve to live. I could claim the same thing, I suppose, but then that would sound like I'm trying to justify my actions, and that might lead you to think that I'm a psychopath after all, because surely only a psychopath would attempt to put murder in the same league as fishing. So I won't. I won't attempt to justify myself to you, because I don't have to. I've already told you: I kill because I enjoy it. No further justification necessary. Case closed.

Besides, who among us can claim to have no so-called vices? We all have skeletons in our closet, sneaky little thrills that we enjoy when we think nobody is looking: the wife who hides chocolate out of sight of the children and her husband; the husband with his pornography addiction; the man with a penchant for prostitutes; the vegetarian who can't get enough bacon. Small, perhaps, but secret thrills nonetheless, things that they'd be ashamed to admit, that they are terrified of having exposed because of what others will think of them. And why? Why should the opinion of anybody else matter? So you like bacon? Go ahead and eat it! You like porn? Go, get yourself off. It's nobody's business but your own.

I just happen to like killing people. It's my thing, my dirty little secret. I like the moment where they take their last breath and I see the light go out in their eyes – assuming I get to see it, because that depends on what method I use. I like the thrill of the hunt, stalking my prey – but only when I plan it like that, because other times I just love choosing a victim at random, someone who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (for them, that is – right place, right time for me). I like the blood, when I spill it; I like the feel of the knife on flesh, or the sound of the gunshot, or the silence as they slip away, starved of oxygen, with the rope tight around their neck.

There's so much to enjoy, really, I'm quite amazed it's never really taken off as an acceptable past-time. There are so many different personalities out there: you get those who resign themselves to their fate and die with dignity (I'm very fair like that, if that's how they are then I'll accept it and finish them off quickly and cleanly); then you get those who will plead and beg and offer you anything, absolutely anything, if you'll let them go. It's shocking what depths they'll plumb in their desperate attempts to survive. The most surprising are those that seemed, on the surface, to be so normal, so straight-laced, so respectable. The things they offer would certainly not be repeatable in front of your grandmother. Money and possessions are the favourites, but a surprising number will offer sexual favours – and that goes for the men as well as the women. And, of course, every single one will promise faithfully that they'll keep the secret, they'll never reveal my crime to anybody, will never speak to the police, will forget it every happened and carry on with their lives as before. Utter rubbish, of course, but it's moot anyway: I never let anybody go. Never. Once I have them, their fate is sealed, they are as good as dead.

The only variables are how and when. There is no if.

Not that I'm averse to taking up their offers. I've amassed a good few quid over the years, mainly in small sums as anything too big would arouse suspicion. I've been offered houses and cars too, but I never take those for the same reason. And as for the sexual favours? Yeah, I've taken a few of those too, mainly from the women though there have been a couple of men. You have to be careful, though: always use a condom, can't afford to leave any evidence behind; never take oral sex – though that's a very common offer, but is fraught with danger, an open-invitation for them to inflict serious damage, probably give them time to escape too. There have been plenty who I'm pretty sure would have gone through with it, perhaps even enjoyed it, and I know I would have too, but it's too risky. So, straight-forward sex, or maybe a bit of hand relief, is all I allow. Sometimes they even seem to enjoy it, too; maybe they think there's a better chance of being spared if they do. I don't make unreasonable demands – they don't have to look at me, don't have to try to enjoy it, don't have to kiss me – but if they offer it, I'll probably take it; I am a man, after all. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't, if you were in the same position.

So, I suppose you're wondering how I got into it? When did I start killing, why, how, where? Those are the questions I'm going to answer. I'm going to let you get inside my head, to see what I see and feel what I feel. Then you'll understand.

And then you're going to die.

The Waiting Game

Everybody - at least everybody in the publishing world - knows about waiting.

For many, the worst is when they submit their queries to agents and have to wait for a response - often a rejection, but eventually (at least that's the aim) a request for partial, full or an offer of representation.

Then comes the wait once your agent submits your MS to publishers. And, believe me, that's can be a long wait, and something that you have no control over. It might be a week, a month or a year before you hear anything - if you hear anything at all. It's a wait I don't think you can ever get used to, but you have to accept that it's just the way the business works.

But there's another wait: the wait for feedback from those much closer. At the moment, that means waiting for the beta-readers to comment on the latest MS. Is it worse than the other waits? Probably not, but it is difficult, because this is the first time you'll hear any comments on the viability of the work. I'm sure most writers are wracked with fear that everything they produce is garbage, and we are fragile souls, so we need (I mean, really need) that feedback.

You can't rush it, of course. These are, in the main, people who are doing you a favour. They're not being paid - except for being given a free book - so when they say "I'm reading something else, I'll get to it next" or "I'm away this weekend, I'll look at it next week" or "I had the kids last night, didn't get a chance to read it" there's nothing you can do except smile sweetly and mutter with as much conviction as you can muster "That's okay, no rush" while dying slowly inside from a terminally neglected ego.

I doubt it will ever get better. When (not if, you understand) something gets published with the Marshall Buckley name on the cover, I'm sure the wait for reader feedback (and, hopefully, reviews) will be just as tortuous. I suppose this is just practice for those times.

And We're Done

As in, the completion of the first draft of the current book, known as LMS (interestingly, I'm still of a mind that its working title isn't right for it, but I haven't come up with anything better).

I had a target of 80,000 words. I tend to lose count close to the end, so the target is a very loose thing. The book will be as long as it needs to be. That this one finished at 80,118, so close to target, was quite a shock.

Now it goes to edit and review. I've written before about my process for this as it's a little unothodox and probably much quicker than for most. Because the book is reviewed and corrected chapter by chapter as its written, there isn't a massive rewrite about to take place.

Unless, of course, my other beta readers find massive holes or (perish the thought) think it simply isn't very good.

Tonight will be a quick run through using Word's spelling and grammar checker, then off it goes to beta readers (2 electronically, one will receive a printed, bound copy which I'll put together tomorrow). I won't look at it again unless I receive corrections by email. Once they've all finished, sent corrections and any comments, I'll sit down and read it through for the first time, making any more corrections along the way.

Assuming all is well, it will be sent to our agent before the end of the month - that's about 3 weeks to go from first draft to final. Not bad, eh?

The biggest question now, of course, is 'What next?"

Just popped by...

...to say I'm still here, working hard on 'LMS' which, if you look at the progress bar on the right, is shockingly close to completion.

It's been a bit of a struggle this one: started off well, lots of ideas, raced through the first half and then some. Then it all started to fall apart. Well, not exactly. I just got a bit bogged down, and couldn't quite see the road ahead. This happened for a while on the last book (BROKEN) too, so I wasn't too concerned, but it is irritating.

There are times when you wonder how something you enjoy so much can make you feel so fed up.

And then comes the moment where you see where it needs to go, like a little ray of light pointing the way, and all is forgiven.

So, it's nearly there. I'm writing the crucial, final scenes right now, and then all that's left is the ending. Both of them.

Yes. Two endings, but only one will make the final draft. I'm just not sure which one, yet.

Long Silences

I apologise for the extended radio silence. It's sometimes difficult to think of what to post here, especially when concentrating on writing the actual book.

It's been a productive month, mainly. LMS is coming along nicely after a periods of uncertainty, which I think it much the norm at about this point. It's not as if there is any doubt over the potential that the book has, but it continues to evolve and, as yet, the ending has yet to be determined. There are still the six (or so) options I've alluded to previously, though it probably comes down to a choice of two serious possibilities. At the moment I'm keeping an open mind (though I obviously favour one - but Chris favours the other).

I've been thoroughly transfixed by the impact of the volcano eruption in Iceland and the effects on European air-travel. As I write, UK air-space is still closed, along with much of the near continent, but the airlines are now disputing the necessity of this action. I can see both sides - and I've read the account of BA9 over Jakarta in 1982 (the website www.ericmoody.com is currently over limit, can't imagine why, but I urge you to read it!), but the airlines are claiming their test flights are experiencing no issues.

Frankly, I'm just happy that I have no plans to fly anywhere anytime soon.

The travel chaos has had an unfortunate effect on the London Book Fair. In all honestly this year is the first time I've even been aware of the fair. Somewhat selfishly, though, the absences could work in my favour. My agent (amongst others) suddenly finds herself with more free time than expected, and some of that could well be used to harass (nicely) those editors who are still reviewing THE LONG SECOND and BROKEN.

Every cloud, and all that. Including volcanic ash clouds, apparently.

Anyone for Cake?

Today, 16th March, is my birthday. More specifically, it's my official birthday.

Marshall Buckley's birth actually came as a surprise. No advanced warning, no expanding waist-line, no visits to ante-natal clinics. One day: nothing: the next: Hello World. It was not, in truth, a difficult birth. Surprising, yes; difficult, no.

Like many newborns, Marshall Buckley went for some weeks without a name. Of course, many were tried but they didn't seem to fit very well. Often, the comment was made that "there is no rush", but over time, the lack of a name began to prove problematic.

It wasn't until nearly 2 months later - 8th May to be precise - that the name was agreed upon and Marshall Buckley finally assumed his new identity.

Marshall Buckley is one year old today.

For those of you that are new to the story, that's not a mistake. I really did mean one year old.

Because (of course!) Marshall Buckley, the author, is really a combined entity. Two become one, if you like. My biography would probably read:
Marshall Buckley lives in the UK and Canada and is married (twice!) with five children, four dogs and three cats.

Is this any clearer yet?

It's been an interesting year. What started out as a very vague post on Facebook, something along the lines of "I have an idea for a book. Would anyone like to help me write it?" turned into a 115,000 words novel in 8 weeks. Just a few weeks later the offer of representation came, from Lora Fountain, and contracts were signed in September.

Meanwhile, the sequel was written (85,000 words) and sent to Lora. Both are currently under submission with a number of publishers both in the UK and abroad.

The third book in the series was started, and put on hold. A fourth book was started, and also put on hold, and a fifth book (the current WIP) currently stands at 40,000 words.

Of course, all that's missing is that elusive publishing contract. But hopes are high, and these things take time. You can be sure that any news will be shared here.

For now, please join me in my birthday celebrations. Here's to more, much more, of the same!

World Book Day & TIMERIDERS

As this week was World Book Day I felt somewhat obliged to visit my local bookstore and purchase a couple of books. Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be any independent stores near where I work so I had to settle for a visit to Waterstones. I don't have anything against them, but I would have liked to have supported an independent.

Unusually, for me, I didn't have any specific titles I was looking for - well, except one. My shop visit coincided with the release of the short story collection 100 Stories for Haiti and I figured that was a suitable purchase for World Book Day. Unfortunately, not only did the store not have any in stock, they could not even find it on their own system (which was a little odd as I found it on their website when I returned to my office). So, that remains on my "to buy" list - and I urge you to do the same.

The titles I did pick up were not really my usual fare, and I feel slightly guilty that two of the three were so well known that they did not really need my support. Nonetheless, I do feel that I should read WOLF HALL by Hilary Mantel and THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by Steig Larsson, if only to understand why they are rated so highly. I've not started WOLF HALL yet, my wife has snagged that (much more her thing), but I have started DRAGON TATTOO.

I have to admit, had someone given it to me, I probably would not have persevered beyond the first few pages. To me, it starts rather slowly and rather dully. Only when the key character - Lisbeth - is introduced does it seem to pick up. But it's really too early to pass judgement at this stage.

My final selection was one I certainly would not usually have read - TIMERIDERS by Alex Scarrow. It's a YA novel, of which I have been reading too many recently, but its subject matter is worthy of attention as (and I'm not giving anything away here) time travel does feature in my first book - THE LONG SECOND - so I was interested to see how Alex handled what can be a tricky subject, not least dealing with the infamous Time Travel Paradox. (Again, I'm giving nothing away by saying that he deals with it by ignoring it. Nothing wrong with that, frankly).

But the real reason I wanted to pick up the book was in recognition for the way he handled himself recently when the book was criticised on another blog I regularly read - Catherine's "Reading Whilst Writing". Cat, in fairness, simply stated that "it wasn't turning out to be very enjoyable" and had put it to one side for future reading. Hardly scathing criticism, but there have been numerous occasions recently where authors have embarrassed themselves by reacting badly to any criticism. When Alex responded, I was expecting another car-crash moment - but was astonished to see how well he handled Cat's comments, showing real maturity and reason in his response. For that reason alone I, and many others, vowed to buy his book.

And my verdict? I really enjoyed it. I admit, I'm closer the the likely target audience (being male) than Cat, though sadly I'm a long way from being YA myself, and that may have made all the difference. Or, it could have been the whole time-travel connection. Regardless, I have little to criticise, certainly nothing worth mentioning here (except, perhaps, that I would probably have ended it a few pages earlier, but that's just me!). There were, in fact, at least a couple of genuinely unexpected twists - and for those, I salute you, Alex.

I thoroughly recommend TIMERIDERS (and that is something I say very rarely).

In other news, the current WIP is progressing nicely. I've revised the target word-count down a little, to 80,000, which puts it about 50% complete. If it goes longer, that's fine. The only difficulty? The ending. There are currently six or seven possible endings, all of which are very feasible even at this stage. I have a feeling this one is going to surprise me...