Julie Morrigan
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Mr Steelgrave's Friday Fiction

16/11/2012

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Leon Steelgrave is one of my favourite writers so it’s always a pleasure when he stops by. And since he has news of both recent new publications and a free book offer, this seemed like the ideal time to catch up.

JM: You’ve had a very busy year by anyone’s standards, having published three novels and two short story collections via Amazon KDP. Working in chronological order, they are White Vampyre, the first in the Europa City trilogy; A Pauper’s Shroud, a crime novel set in Inverness; short story collections More Stories About Sex, Drugs and Violence, and Phantasmagoria; and most recently Though Your Sins Be Scarlet, the second Europa City novel. (The links above are to my reviews of the books, although I still have a couple to catch up on.) Can you provide some background to the individual stories in More Stories About Sex, Drugs and Violence?


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LS: More Stories About Sex, Drugs and Violence comprises thirteen stories written over a sixteen year period that covers almost every aspect of my writing. I’ve tried to provide some insight into them below without giving too much away.

Predator/Prey
The use of the second person in the narrative is a direct homage to those old adventure game books that originated in the eighties, where you navigated through the book by turning to various numbered sections. Depending on your choices, you either won or died!

In line with the choice of the second person was the decision to write in as gender neutral a voice as possible. Despite being the oldest story in the collection, having been written in 1996, it holds up remarkably well.

The Dog Trainer

The setting and much of the early dialogue relating to dog psychology are lifted directly from a session I had with a dog trainer after re-homing a dog that turned out to be aggressive. Somewhere during the process I started to wonder what would happen if you applied the same process to a human.

Salvation
The concept behind this story started as something of a joke, someone setting out to commit every specific type of murder, and swiftly turned far more serious. Is it too fantastical?

Death & Taxes
A reproduction of the composition piece I wrote for my English O Grade. Proof, were it needed, that my humour has always been black. For those that may be interested, I received a B.

Charlie Says
For want of better term, a more literary examination of the concept behind White Vampyre. I later attempted to turn it into a novel with no success.  Some of the material from that failed attempt was then used in a second failed attempt to turn Tracks, another story in this collection, into a novel. One of these days I will complete a novel about Aberdeen lowlifes based on my time in the city. Honest.

Leda
One of several pieces in this collection originally written for a competition.  In this instance the brief was a modern updating of a myth. I chose Leda and the swan from Greek mythology. Didn’t win.

Carbon
Inspired by an advert for a company offering to turn human cremation ashes into diamond via an industrial process. The character of Wayne swiftly took on a life of his own, becoming far more unpleasant than anything I’d first imagined. Had a different twist when I first conceived it. This one works better.

Two Minutes
Another competition piece and the only flash fiction in this collection — 500 words on the subject of time. I suspect the racist language at the beginning may have queered this with the judges. I considered removing it for the submission but it is entirely justified for the character and self-censorship is a slippery slope for any writer.

The Mythographer
This one arrived out of nowhere, starting with the title which sounds like something J G Ballard might have used. Any resemblance to an ex member of The Libertines is entirely coincidental.

Down The Rabbit Hole
The most light-hearted story in the collection. Besides the obvious references to Alice In Wonderland, The Wizard Of Oz and 70’s British Children’s television, there are a number of references to Tori Amos lyrics in the text. I do this sort of thing far too often for my own good.

Tracks
Another story that seemed to arrive almost fully formed. This one manages to feature all three of the collection’s title themes along with a generous helping of black humour. I like to think it attempts to make some serious points along the way.

Another Nail In My Coffin
In large part inspired by the excellent charity anthology Off The Record, where each story was inspired by a classic song. The title comes from Nail In My Coffin from The Kills' Blood Pressures album. The two, however, have little else in common.

The Killing Of Joe Fly
Competition — the body in the library. Hard-boiled detective fiction with a twist. Also didn’t win.

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JM: You have just published a sequel to your first novel White Vampyre, titled Though Your Sins Be Scarlet. Can you tell us how this continues the story of Kurt Brecht, Lady Methedrine and the rest of the citizens of Europa City?

LS: There’s a theory that trilogies normally conform to one of two patterns; either Up/Down/Up or Down/Up/Down. I think I may be attempting to break the mould with Down/Down/Down! Though Your Sins Be Scarlet is a more introspective book than White Vampyre  If the first was a headlong rush of hedonistic delight, then the second is the day’s dawning afterward, when your skin is crawling and you finally have a chance to take stock of what you’ve done. It’s definitely the come down after the high.

A number of minor characters from the first book come to the fore in the sequel as the consequences of Kurt’s actions are felt by friends and foes alike. There are also glimpses of the past that help to explain how the various characters arrived at their present place in life. If I have one concern about the novel it is whether readers will be disappointed by the fact Kurt and Lady Methedrine play a smaller role than in the previous novel. I like to think I’ve compensated for this by strengthening the supporting cast, particularly Duval, Slinky and the Damocles Assassin.


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JM: What else have you been working on?

LS: I completed the revised draft of my WWI novel and that’s currently undergoing the submission process. It’s a book I’m very proud of, although it is not necessarily a Leon Steelgrave book.

Next was the second short story collection, Phantasmagoria, which is more fantasy based.

I’m currently working on a story for the Neil Gunn writing competition (if you haven’t read any of his work go out and buy one of his books now), after which I intend writing a novella, Marlow, which explores the nature of reality and personality; how people’s perceptions of a person can vary quite drastically according to their interactions and perceptions.  Much like the WWI novel, this probably won’t come out as a Leon Steelgrave book and I hope readers won’t be too disappointed by the delay.  I have spent most of this year revising older manuscripts and now have the itch to produce something brand spanking new.  With any luck the initial draft will come together quite quickly.

Once that’s out of the way, I’ll be resuming work on the final part of the Lady Methedrine/Kurt Brecht trilogy — The Violet Hour. I hope to put it out towards the end of next year. That will be all from Europa City for the time being, although it’s a setting I will certainly return to, both before and after the events of White Vampyre.

Looking beyond even that, there’s the possibility of a Norse based fantasy novel that I rather got tired of writing and brought to something of a premature ending. I really need to see it through to its rightful conclusion. I also need to revise The Disciples — a vampire trilogy set in the Goth scene of the 1980s. If I slavishly applied myself, I could probably put about a book every three to four months right now with the material cluttering up my hard drive, although much of the above is in need of serious revision.

JM: Good news for readers is that for today only, More Stories About Drugs, Sex & Violence, Phantasmagoria and Though Your Sins Be Scarlet are free from Amazon. From the point of view of this reader, if you don’t have them, you should treat yourself to at least one. And since White Vampyre and A Pauper's Shroud are just 77p/99c at the moment, there's no reason not to pick up the full set.

Leon Steelgrave's books are available from Amazon in the UK and the US.

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Bad Times

13/11/2012

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I had a rush of blood to the head the other day and decided it would be a good idea to gather all my crime fiction short stories together and publish them in one collection. The result is Bad Times, comprising Gone Bad, Show No Mercy, and Wired.


If you fancy a taster from the collection, I've reprinted Behind Blue Eyes below. (It's also in the charity anthology Off The Record, along with many other excellent stories.)


Massive thanks to Steven Miscandlon for another fantastic cover. Check out his book cover design portfolio.


Bad Times is available now from Amazon in the UK and the US. 

Behind Blue Eyes

‘It was a mistake, Mac. I’m sorry …’

Bob was on his knees, hands tied behind his back, head bowed. His voice was muffled by the hood. The rope was cutting into his wrists, the skin abraded, but for all it was painful, it was the least of his worries.


Mac sighed audibly, almost theatrically. ‘What am I to do, Bob? What choice have you left me with?’


‘Mac, please. It’s my Ruby Wedding next month. Me and Jeanie. And we’re going to be grandparents soon—’


‘You should have thought of that before you stole from me.’


‘It was only a few hundred quid.’


‘It was thousands. You’d been at it for months.’


‘I needed the money.’


Gambling debts. Mac knew. ‘You should have come to me if you were in trouble. Haven’t I always seen you right?’


‘I know, Mac, I know. And I wish I had. If I could turn the clock back … I was going to pay it back, though. Every penny.’


‘You know as well as I do that once you start down that road, you don’t stop. You never pay it back. It only ends when you get caught.’


‘I was desperate.’


Mac could imagine how Bob must have felt. Trapped. Scared. Caught between a rock and a hard place, his bookie at his back chasing him for money, this confrontation with Mac always just a step ahead. Inevitable.


‘You should have come to me,’ Mac repeated.


Bob was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the hood or the fact that it was summer. It was freezing in the warehouse, kneeling on concrete, the wind blowing in off the river robbing the night of any heat it might have held.


He knew he’d been stupid, but he and Mac went back, right back to school days. Fifty years they’d been friends. He and Jeanie were godparents to all three of Mac and Marjorie’s kids. He’d kept Mac’s secrets, covered for him with Marjorie when he was playing away from home, given him an alibi whenever the coppers were breathing down his neck so close that he’d needed one. Fifty years watching each other’s backs. You didn’t throw that away over a bit of money. And it wasn’t like Mac couldn’t afford it.


Bob figured he was just trying to teach him a lesson, to scare him into never doing anything like it again. And he wouldn’t. He’d get help. There was an organisation, Gamblers Anonymous, like AA but for folk addicted to betting. For Bob, it was the dogs. He’d had one good win and it had been his downfall. After that he was always chasing the next one, always believing it would turn around, telling himself that after one more good win he’d stop. The trouble was, to get a good win, he had to put on a good bet, and his money had run out.


Mac would probably let Big Liam finish what he’d started when he punched Bob to the floor in the club, dragged him outside and threw him in the back of the van, then tied his hands and put that stinking bag over his head. It had only been lifted once since: to let him see that Mac was waiting for him when they got to the warehouse.


Mac might let Liam break something, make sure the message got across loud and clear to anyone else with designs on his millions: not even family get away with it. Bob shuffled on the concrete floor, the cold seeping into his old knee joints. He’d suffer for this. The arthritis was biting at him anyway and this would just make things worse. He heard Mac moving around behind him, stamping his feet and rubbing his gloved hands together. He couldn’t hear Big Liam, but he knew he was there, standing still and solid as a rock.


Liam didn’t say much. Liam listened. And obeyed.


‘You bloody fool,’ said Mac.


‘I’m sorry,’ said Bob.


‘Sorry doesn’t do it, not for this. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.’


Bob heard the sorrow in Mac’s voice, and the determination, and adrenaline surged through his veins. Realisation hit him hard as fear wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed, robbed him of breath and stopped his tongue.


‘I can’t let it go, Bob, you must see that. You betrayed me.’ Mac walked over to where Liam was standing, the footsteps heading away from Bob. Then he came back and stood behind him. ‘It’ll be quick and clean,’ said Mac, ‘and I’ll do it myself. That’s the best I can do.’


‘Mac, no!’ Bob struggled to accept it. His childhood friend. He had never truly believed, not deep down, that it would ever come to this. ‘I’ll pay back every penny, with interest. I’ll sell the house. You can have it all, everything I own.’ He was tripping over the words in his haste to get them all out, to find the ones that would change Mac’s mind before it was too late.
‘Not good enough.’


Bob felt the barrel of the gun touch the back of his head and he whimpered. A small part of him still hoped Mac was just trying to scare him. He felt his bladder give and the fear was tinged with shame.


‘It’s not personal, Bob, you know that. I’ll miss you myself. But I can’t have people thinking I’m an easy touch or that I’ve gone soft.’


‘Mac—’


‘I’ll take care of Jeanie,’ said Mac, as the shot from the gun echoed through the warehouse. Bob crumpled to the floor and Mac put a second round in his head. The silence that followed was deafening.


Without speaking, Mac handed the gun to Big Liam and they walked out of the old warehouse. He nodded and Liam jumped in the van to drive back to the club. Mac’s driver stood by the rear door of the car and he opened it when he saw his boss approaching. Mac slumped in the back seat and the driver shut the door and climbed into the front.


‘Back to the club?’ he asked, watching Mac in the rear view mirror. Mac nodded and he fired the engine.


In the back of the car, Mac pushed the button to raise the screen between him and the driver. Opening a small cabinet, he took out a cut crystal glass and a flask and poured himself a scotch, then sat back in the seat, the leather soft as butter, cradling his form. As the car was guided expertly through the darkened streets, Mac brooded. No one knew what it was like to be him. No one understood the responsibility, the loneliness. The darkness inside.


Back at the club, the car door was opened for him and Mac stepped out into the night air. Liam at his back, he walked into the club, up the stairs and into the bar. His men waited. He looked at them through blue eyes as cold as ice, taking in each face, seeing the respect, the fear.


‘Bob has retired from the firm,’ he said. ‘Someone organise flowers for Jeanie.’

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    Julie Morrigan

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