The Writer’s Fear of Publication

When the shop went live with my little book of nonsense, there was a distinct moment of regret. I wished – for a moment, maybe more – that I’d kept my mouth shut, my journal shut, my mac shut. The Writer’s Fear of Publication. Stupid to think it would do anything but embarrass me…

A big thank you to my lovely friends who immediately bought copies, and by so doing reassured me that it wasn’t all that silly an idea. And to those who have given me the thumbs up. A special thanks to Mark for his very generous support, and to Rob for a great review, a bit of which I reproduce here, in a slightly boastful way, to encourage the doubters to try out Festival of Martyrs…

Take a trip past the yellow sodium glare, through the darkness into the hills. It’s an experience you won’t regret and you can enter the village safely in the knowledge that, unlike the author, you get to leave when you’re ready. As a reader I wanted to return.

Thought provoking, amusing, strange, evocative, entertaining, disturbing.

22 short stories and an angry poem.

A fine debut.

Littoral

Coastal resorts are like dark places in houses, the places where the natural byproduct of life, the detritus of utility, finds sanctuary from the broom, the brush, the vacuum. People on the fringes of society, the forgotten people, end up dead, institutionalised, or trapped in coastal resorts. They drift in the gentle breezes and buffeting storms of their own unfixed, indeterminate destinies. Eventually they reach the coast, like so much flotsam, and drawn to the coloured lights of resorts they stop, caught, because the sea won't let them drift any further, and they can't turn back.