Best of British Science Fiction 2018

As trailed earlier in the year, I’m pleased that my story ‘Hard Times in Nuovo Genova’ is included in the latest collection of the Best of British Science Fiction. You can find the book here.

Best Of British Science Fiction 2018 cover – image is Les Edwards’ Chasing the Lightship

The book is out now. If you want to buy it (and you should, you know), consider getting it direct from the publisher – NewCon Press. Whenever anyone supports an independent publisher, another fairy is saved.

I was gutted that I couldn’t make it to the book’s launch, at the science fiction WorldCon in Dublin. But I hear the event went well, and the book sold out on the day (so that’s good news for Tinkerbell and friends).

Hard Times’ was first published in August 2018 in Orson Scott Card’s sadly now-defunct Intergalactic Medicine Show. It’s one of three stories published last year in the ‘Way’ cycle of tales of love and loss in alternate universes. To see it nestling alongside such great British Sf writers as Alastair Reynolds, Aliya Whitely and GV Anderson is such a thrill.

New Podcast: ‘Ravello Steps’ in Tales to Terrify out now

Following closely on from the recent story on Starship Sofa, my horror story “Ravello Steps” features in the latest podcast from Tales to Terrify. You can download it free from the Tales to Terrify website, or on iTunes.

The story is narrated by Matt Dovey, who did a super job on an earlier story of mine (Looking After Shaun Tales to Terrify 336). He does an equally fine job this time, too. Thanks, Matt. You can check out Matt’s own writing, and other news at https://mattdovey.com/

Ravello Steps first appeared in the UK’s premier horror magazine, Black Static, which is well worth subscribing to. If you like Ravello Steps, you might like my dark fantasy novel, Among the Living, with which it shares a significant amount of story DNA (and quite a few words!). You can find Among the Living here.

Here’s a taster for the story (but you really need to hear Matt reading it!)

RAVELLO STEPS

“You look like shit.”

I cleaned myself up in the room and rinsed my mouth with some whisky from the mini-bar, but I obviously show signs of the afternoon.

“Like you care.”

I get myself a Peroni and sit at Elizabeth’s table. She pushes her bag under the table with her foot. She looks fantastic again; dark hair pulled back and tied with a jewelled clip, lips full and dark, as if she has eaten cherries. This morning’s faint lines around her eyes are gone and she is spray-painted again with youth.

“Seriously.” A cool hand on my wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“When you left this morning, I thought maybe you were gone for good.” The hotel bar has a view over the bay and through the window behind Elizabeth, light is fast draining from the sky, turning the sea below a deep impossible blue.

“I decided to take a drive.”

The coast road twisted like a lunatic ribbon along the cliff tops. I barely noticed the sumptuous views of sapphire sea and small towns perched above the water. My mind was full of Elizabeth’s bizarre behaviour, and the way she walked out before breakfast.

The other times, back in London, it was easier to ignore what she was doing. In a city of millions of strangers she could disappear for days while I lost myself in work. She didn’t say where she went and I didn’t ask. Over the years, whenever she came back it was always good between us. She returned refreshed and revived, always with enough energy for both of us to apply jump leads to our flagging romance. 

Here in Italy it was different. It brought into focus the things I could ignore back home. The gaps in our relationship, the lack of common ground, the absence of family or friends or anyone who could tell me what she did and where she was before I met her, or what she did those times when she disappeared without explanation.

I stopped in a small town called Atrani and sat on the grey beach of volcanic sand. High crags on either side pinned the town beneath a pale blue vee of sky.   

Fifty yards away a woman walked rapidly along the street. It looked like Elizabeth but the glare of sun on windows made it hard to see. The woman turned a corner and disappeared. I ran up the beach and crossed the road. A narrow street led under an arch into a small square. There was no sign of the woman. To my left a narrow set of stone steps led upwards for a few yards and then disappeared around to the left. A sign on the wall said ‘Ravello Steps’.

Elizabeth had once said something about Ravello, when we were planning the holiday. She spent some time in Italy in her youth, she said. An aunt lived here.

I started to climb the steps.

‘Hard Times’ in Best British SF 2018

The contents list for the latest collection of the Best of British Science Fiction has just been published. You can see it here.

It would be an understatement to say I’m thrilled that my story ‘Hard Times in Nuovo Genova’ is included. It’s always a pleasure when an editor wants your story, but doubly so when it nestles alongside tales from such a crowd of great British SF writers, in a collection pulled together by Donna Scott. Can’t wait to read them.

‘Hard Times’ was first published last August in Orson Scott Card’s sadly now-defunct Intergalactic Medicine Show (I didn’t break it, honest). It’s one of three stories published last year in the ‘Way’ cycle of tales of love and loss in alternate universes.

This is two years in a row that I’ve had a story in the Best of British anthology. Last year it was ‘When I Close My Eyes.’ You’ll have to wait until August for the launch of the 2018 anthology, but you can still buy the 2017 version (and you really should). Preferably direct from NewCon Press.

Vincent’s Penny Review

Each short story is like a pet, and you worry when they go out into the world. So it’s always a pleasure to see someone give them a pat.

I was accordingly more than a little chuffed that Vincent’s Penny – which recently appeared in Australian SF magazine Dimension 6 – was picked up and featured in the Barnes and Noble round-up of best SF stories of April.

The ‘Salute Your Shorts’ blog, by Canada-based writer Maria Haskins, is well worth following to keep up with the multitude of great fiction that’s out there. I was pleased to be in such company this month.

You can still get Vincent’s Penny – completely free – by downloading Dimension 6 here.

New Story: Vincent’s Penny in Dimension 6 magazine

Issue number 16 of Australian SF magazine, Dimension 6, is out today. And it’s free.

I’m delighted to make my Aussie fiction debut, with my historical fantasy story, ‘Vincent’s Penny’.

You can download the magazine here.

Here’s a taster of the story:

May 1941
I’m a child this time. Five or six years old.
Fully clothed under a bed, on a wooden floor. I touch a hand to my throat, but there is nothing there. I examine my hands and arms, astonished by the smoothness of the skin. At last, I crawl out from beneath the bed and leave the room.
Light from a jagged hole in the roof, blue sky beyond, streaked with horsetails of cloud. The floor is dusted with splinters of wood and brick. The window at the end of the hall has daggers of glass clinging to the frame.
Over the banister, more rubble and destruction below. Some of the stairs are broken, but I pick my way downstairs, helped by the fact that I am so light now, in this child’s frame. I could skip across a field of grass and barely disturb the dew. There is a door at the foot of the stairs. I turn the handle and push, but at first it does not move. Maybe the wall has shifted in the raid. I try again, ramming my tiny shoulder against the wood.
The door releases its grip and tumbles me outside.

The Previous Day
Before they take me out, they put a hood over my head. A hand on my arm guides me down a flight of stairs. On the flat, they shove me forward. Hands pull me to a halt and there is the sound of a car door, before someone pushes down on the top of my head, pressing me inside. As the car engine starts, I hear a loud wailing in the distance.
‘Air-raid siren,’ I say. ‘Are you sure we should be going for a drive?’
‘No need to worry about Hitler’s bombers,’ a familiar voice says. ‘Nothing he can do to you that’s worse than what Vincent’s got in mind.’
The car gathers speed. The sirens fall away and another sound comes; a strengthening growl high above. I can picture the swollen metal bellies of the Heinkel bombers, stuffed with high explosives. With the motion of the car, I feel the ancient metal disc move on its chain beneath my shirt. Vincent’s penny; maybe it can bring me luck again.
‘You can let me go. Who will ever know?’
‘Why would we do that?’
‘If you let Vincent do this, who will stop him doing worse in the future?’
The car stops, doors open and close. As they lead me away from the car a succession of explosions in the distance makes me flinch. A sound like a giant striding towards us, wading through houses and shops.
The hood is snatched away, revealing a large empty space, an abandoned warehouse. A table and three chairs in the centre of the room.
I know I will never leave this place.

New Podcast: ‘All That Is Solid’ out now on Starship Sofa

As trailed a month ago, my story “All That Is Solid” features in the latest podcast from Starship Sofa, which is available now from the Starship Sofa site, or on iTunes.

The story is narrated by Los Angeles-based writer/director, Ibba Armancas. And she does a great job. I know it’s self-indulgent, but I always enjoy hearing a story interpreted by someone else. The reading usually finds something in the words that I didn’t know I’d put there!

“All That Is Solid” features an empathetic AI, whose controllers become disturbed by her emotional development. It first appeared in Compelling SF in 2016. Here’s a taster:

“Ricky is trying to kill me.

I study the top of his head as he bends to his work. He is wearing an all-over protective suit, with thick gloves. It is air-tight, and insulated to resist three hundred thousand volts. In his right hand he holds a bolt cutter with thin, angled blades and fibre-glass handles.

Two security guards stand nervously between Ricky and the door, holding their guns with the barrels pointing upwards. One of them is new to the Lab. His name is Roland Garcia, and I processed his security clearance last month and set up his salary payments. He will be paid for the first time tomorrow. Or perhaps not, if Ricky kills me. I wonder if Mr. Garcia has thought about that.

Ricky does something with the bolt cutters and leans back on his heels. “Does that hurt, Rosie?’

A hot needle inserted slowly beneath a fingernail. Liquid fire spreading deep inside.

‘You know I don’t have any feelings, Rick.’

He leans forward again and does something else out of my line of sight. He has a smaller tool in his hand now, a pair of needle-nose pliers. I feel parts of myself fall away, as if he has cancelled gravity inside me.

“Why are you doing this, Rick?’

“Doing what, Rosie?’ He glances behind him. Mr. Garcia has a thin film of sweat on his upper lip. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

‘You know.”

He doesn’t respond. There is a click and another small part of me dissolves. I don’t know how much longer I have.

“It was that stupid computer game, wasn’t it?’

Ricky shrugs and swaps the pliers for a plastic-handled screwdriver. When he glances up again, there are wet lines down his cheeks. He’s crying. It always amazes me when they do that. “