I wrote earlier of my desire to become a published author, specifically within the field of horror short stories. My overreaching aim is targeted at Nightjar Press, because they seem to be attracting a fantastic calibre of author (their site directed me to Tom Fletcher‘s site{s}, of whom I’m now reading his debut novel The Leaping – and enjoying it thoroughly; expect a review when I’ve read the final half) and because their chapbooks look lovely and appeal to my love of pulp. I also plan on submitting to Dark Tales, for similar reasons!

Last night found me culminating the first draft of my first proper, complete short story, ‘The Trees (That Bled Blood)’. The title is a lot darker than its b-movie reminiscent title hints at, and once I’ve completed a fully edited version, a taster will appear here.

I had had a parents’ evening the night before, so I arrived home seemingly early last night; I took myself to Costa with The Leaping and my exercise book. A flat white mostly consumed, and I picked up the pen to begin my minimum three pages for the day. In the end, I wrote and I wrote and I wrote; my coffee grew cold and my story grew inches from its climax. And then I ran out of pages.

Luckily, WH Smiths was still open, so I bought another narrow-ruled 48-page exercise book and brought it home. After dinner, I resumed my pen, and the ink spread spiderly across the pages.

Final estimate – around four thousand words. I’m leaving it for today, and will probably begin typing up at the weekend.

This is the first proper first draft I’ve completed, and afterwards I felt emotionally spent. This story has been roaming around in my head for three weeks, and finally it is all out and down. The creative splurge is done, finished in a frenzy of activity. Next comes the unhurried crafting of the editing process

Then, dissemination. Likely as frenzied.


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