July 2012 Bestsellers lists

Quiet Houses, by critically acclaimed British writer Simon Kurt Unsworth, has been simmering away on our Top Five lists for the last couple of months, and in July it appears to have reached full boil, topping both our e-book and paperback bestsellers lists for the month. Andy Taylor’s e-book short story collection The Drunk and The Dead and Sylvia Shults’ literary mash-up The Taming of the Werewolf make their debut appearance on the e-book list, an occurrence that I attribute to their smiling faces having been front and centre on Dark Continents’ dealer’s table at FandomFest early in the month.

Top Five Bestselling e-books for July 2012

1. Quiet Houses by Simon Kurt Unsworth
2. Phobophobia edited by Dean M. Drinkel
3. The Taming of the Werewolf by Sylvia Shults
4. Inkarna by Nerine Dorman
5. The Drunk and the Dead by Andy Taylor *

(* = from the Darkness and Dismay series)

After being eclipsed in May by new releases, horror short story readers’ favourite, Phobophobia, reasserts itself on both charts. An interesting development is seeing The Caretakers in the top five paperbacks alongside more recently released titles. The Caretakers, by Dark Continents’ founding member Adrian Chamberlin, was one of the titles with which we launched the company over a year ago. What with electronic and POD publishing, we are no longer constrained to the old model of publishing, which limited many titles to a limited print run and brief shelf life. Now, high quality novels can remain available to readers indefinitely.

Top Five Bestselling Paperbacks for July 2012

1. Quiet Houses by Simon Kurt Unsworth
2. Snareville II: Circles by David Youngquist
3. Inkarna by Nerine Dorman
4. Phobophobia edited by Dean M. Drinkel
5. The Caretakers by Adrian Chamberlin

 

 

The long and winding road to FantasyCon

BY: Simon Kurt Unsworth

Part 1: Before

I’m writing this sitting on a train to Brighton, and I don’t want to be.

It’s a strange feeling, this negativity, because I ought to be excited; I’m going to Brighton because that’s where the British Fantasy Convention is being held, and FCon is an event at which I always have fun. I eat too much, drink too much and catch up with people who I don’t see often enough, whom I admire and whose friendship is a pleasure to me. More importantly, FCon is where my second book, Quiet Houses, is being launched, and I’m very very proud indeed of Quiet Houses and can’t wait for it to be available. I’ve put a lot of work into it, and early reviews have been extremely positive, and I’m excited about it. I’m also involved in the launch of the 22nd volume of Stephen Jones’ Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, and set to do a reading in support of the Spectral Press, both things I like doing immensely. Practically, the train journey is a good time to catch up on some writing; I have to proof my story ‘Q is for Qiqirn’ for Dean Drinkel’s Phobias anthology and I have a new scene to write for the opening chapters of my novel in the hope that an editor I’m meeting this weekend will like it and take me on as a client. So, why don’t I want to be here?

There are a few reasons, I suppose. The first is money – I haven’t got much, and I don’t enjoy being somewhere and worrying about whether I can afford another drink or whether the meal I’m eating is going to be more than the cash I have in my pocket. Perhaps worse, FCon might as well be subtitled ‘Temptation Alley’ because of the sheer amount of things for sale all of which I want! Books, DVDs, artwork, possibly people’s souls, all are available in the nooks and crannies of the hotel if only you know where to look and have the means of purchase. Which I don’t.

The second reason is that I’m not feeling particularly well. For the first time in ten years (except for planned absences for hospital stays), I’ve been off work for a couple of weeks; it’s nothing I can put my finger on, nothing serious, I’m simply weary, absolutely exhausted for some reason, and find myself unable to concentrate or do anything without feeling dreadful afterwards (although, secretly, I’m also terribly excited that my doctor’s sick note reads ‘Lethargy – Viral?’ in the ‘nature of illness’ section. Lethargy! Marvellous!!). Travelling, tiresome at the best of times, seems all the harder now and getting to the station this morning was hard work despite the unexpected and unseasonal sun and warmth.

Both of those are irritants, though, not enough to stop me looking forward to the coming weekend, so what, you might legitimately ask, is my problem? Simple: this is one of those rare moments I’m able to share some element of writing and what it leads to with other people, and the person I want to share it with isn’t here. Let me explain: writing, contrary to what some authors say, is not hard work. It’s difficult, to be sure, can be complex and tiring and frustrating and time-consuming, but it’s not physically damaging (unless you accidentally stab yourself in the eye with a pencil) or dangerous (unless you write something unpleasant an author who’s bigger than you. People’s lives do not depend on what we write, yet some authors talk about writing as though it’s akin to brain surgery or mining or bare knuckle fighting, and you know what? It’s not, and they need to get a sense of perspective about what they’re doing. It is, though, a mostly solitary occupation; not lonely, exactly, but internal and closed in. I spend more time inside my own head than anywhere else, in places that no one else can follow me, and you know what? That’s fine. Honestly.

What that means, though, is that on the rare occasions when I can share the experiences, it feels important to do it with the person who probably most deserves to be there. My wife, Wendy, puts up with my moods, with my clattering around the house muttering to myself about story details, with my swearing and with pimping my good reviews upon her, so it seems only fair that she gets to join in the few good bits that are available to her. She puts up with me, supports me and keeps me sane. She comes to my readings, and was at the launch of my first book, Lost Places. Hell, she took the cover photograph that Jason van Hollander then used to create his startling, beautiful cover image. Those of you who were there will remember the cake she made to celebrate the launch; those of you who weren’t will have to settle for imagination and jealousy. My second book is a big deal for me and I wish I could share its emergence into the world with Wendy, because she’s been, in lots of ways, as important in its creation as I have. However, finances and childcare have prevented her coming with me.

So, I’m not in the best frame of mind for Brighton, not really. Right now, it feels like a chore rather than something to be excited about. Oh, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it when I get there, and that it’ll all go smoothly, but at this point I feel old and tired and I miss my wife and son. I know, I know; I should stop moaning, think positively and basically cheer the fuck up, but I’m can’t. Well, okay, I won’t; for now, I’m going to wallow, in the hope that all my sourness is wallowed out by the time I hit Brighton. Call it gathering myself, if you want to put a more positive spin on it; call it whatever you like, but it’s something I need to do. FCon is fun, yes, but it’s also work, a public performance lasting two days or so, where I represent my writing and Dark Continents Publishing, and I need to be able to give a good account of myself. I have to have my game face on every time I leave my room.

We’re approaching London, and then it’s an hour to Brighton. Enough time to drag myself together? I think so. I know myself well enough to know that these moods tends to be short-lived, and that they’re curable with good company and beer and pizza, all of which I know FCon can provide. Already, I can feel a little bead of excitement, twisting and turning and growing inside me. Do I wish Wendy was here, that I had more money, that I felt better? Yes. Will I enjoy this, be able to feel pride at what I’m achieving with my writing? I hope so. Watch this space.

Part 2: After

So, it’s all over. I’m on a train back from Brighton, and the first question is, do I feel any better? And the answer is, Yes and No.

No because I’m still feeling lousy, although not as lousy as I did. The weariness is still with me, so much so that I thought I might fall asleep before my reading on Friday night, and I had to go for a sleep on Saturday afternoon – and no, it wasn’t alcohol assisted. I have missed my wife and son, and still wish they could both have been with me, and I’m looking forward to seeing them later. There’s wine chilling and I’m looking forward to slumping on the sofa and having a drink and a hug.

It’s Yes, of course, because I have had an absolute whale of a time, despite my initial misgivings. I think I always knew I would, and yes yes yes I know I was being a moaning arse on the way down, but there’s always that worry, isn’t there? Would my mood not lift? Would I feel too ill to really enjoy it? Would anyone buy the damned the book or come to the damned reading? These little uncertainties come with me everywhere I go, as much a part of me as my breathing or my taste in shirts or my grouchiness. This might be horrible, this might the time that it all goes to shit. Well, it might.

…but it’s never like that, not at FCon anyway, and it starts before I even get there because I met with the impressively tattooed Simon Marshall-Jones and his wife, the equally impressively tattooed Liz, on the train out of London. Simon is the brains behind the relatively new Spectral Press, and is publishing my chapbook ‘Rough Music’ next year and a full collection of my stories in 2013, so it was good to catch up with him. Within minutes of the getting to the hotel, I’d met up with Gary and Emily McMahon, DCP’s Adrian Chamberlain (and, it has to be said, sneaked in to the dealers room and checked out Quiet Houses, but more on that later!), Ray Russell and too many other people to mention. What it’s easy to forget (or, perhaps more accurately, what I sometimes forget) when you only see them once a year is that this is a community of people who are, in general, incredibly supportive, smart, witty and fundamentally damned nice. Going to FCon feels, in a weird way that I’ve not been able to completely down, like going to a second home, finding myself in a space where I feel safe and trusted and welcomed and wanted. Lovely.

Friday was the harder of the days, because my reading (shared with Gary McMahon and introduced by Simon Marshall-Jones) wasn’t until half ten in the evening, so I had to stay awake and sober for that, which I did. Before then, I was interviewed by Peter Bell for the Impossible Podcast, which was fun (note to self: don’t bother moving your hands about when being interviewed for radio of podcast, no one can see you and they just be confused by the sound of your shirtsleeves flapping). In a surprisingly full room, Gary read part of his new novel, and it’s as bleak and brilliant as his work always is, and then (assisted by the guest voice of Emily McMahon) I read my story ‘Borough Station’. We had a good crowd, who laughed and groaned in all the right places, and it all seemed to go down well. I signed a copy of Lost Places that someone had bought along specially, which was really nice, and then it was off to the bar and then a relatively early night and sleep.

The first thing I had to do ‘officially’ on Saturday was the signing for the Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 22, but before then I sold the very first copy of Quiet Houses at just after 10 in the morning! Quiet Houses has turned better than I could have hoped; it’s a really nice looking book, and the cover certainly seems to be catching people’s eyes and going down well. I managed to spend some time with Mistress of Ceremonies Sarah Pinborough (the sweariest woman I’ve ever met, which is saying something, but entirely lovely as well as being a great Mistress of Ceremonies), Adam Neville (who was being very nice about my writing without me prompting him) and loads of others. FCon is a continual blur, wandering from room to room and knowing people everywhere; here a Mark West, there a Simon Bestwick, here a Roy Gray, there a Steve Volk, and Oh look, there’s Rob Shearman and Tim Lebbon. It’s impossible to keep track of who you’ve spoken to or what you’ve said, and I know I’ll get home later and wish I’d had more time with this person or that, but it’s fun anyway pinballing from friend to friend and knowing that, just for one weekend everyone’s in the same boat.

The Mammoth signing was as much fun as they always are; we’re fed wine and sign books – what more can we ask for? I was wedged between Thana Niveau and Vinnie Chong, a spit away from Joel lane and Ramsey Campbell, in the same line as Kim Newman, Mark Morris and the great Stephen Jones (who also gave me cheques). What’s not to like?

And then we come to the launch.

We always knew we had a hard job, as we were up against the launch of Jo Fletcher’s new imprint for Quercus, but despite that, we did pretty well I think. People came, and they bought. The free wine was pretty rough, the cake was good and we made a good impression of ourselves, I think. Dave Jeffery (who’s small and slight in real life, and a really nice guy) and I both introduced our books briefly, and then we sat and tried to look like we knew what we were doing, and mostly I’m pretty sure we got away with it. Peter Mark May’s Alt.Dead launched alongside us and that seemed to sell well, so we were all happy by the end. I have two books out now; it’s official, and I like it.

Afterwards, I had the enormous pleasure of watching the world-shatteringly good Teattro Proberto (Lord and Lady Probert’s theatrical company) perform the entirety of the 1970s horror movie Blood on Satan’s Claw as a pantomime and, a little later, their take on the 1960s movie Corruption. I laughed so hard that it made my eyes hurt, and I may never be the same again. John Probert is a man whose sartorial elegance runs ahead of my own, and was one of the first people I spoke to at my first FCon 3 years ago; he and Ray Russell and Reggie Oliver were my FCon welcoming committee in 2008, and I genuinely can’t imagine a nicer group of men or a better way to start my FCon life than drinking in a bar with them. I didn’t watch much of the burlesque, although I may never forget the look of joy on Graham Joyce’s face as he intoned the words, “Contra-directional tassle movement! Amazing!”

And then there was the disco. Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m not really a dancer – I tend to dance like a goth with its arse on fire, a situation made worse by the fact that I wear cowboy boots, which aren’t what you’d call boogying shoes. However, within minutes of getting in there, Sarah Pinborough (who’s small and blond but impossible to refuse to when she’s decided something needs to happen!) had dragged me onto the dance floor and, if I’m honest, I stayed there most of the evening. I can honestly say I’ve not danced that much in years, mostly because every time I tried to slope off to the side for a quiet drink, some bugger would drag me back onto the floor. I finally quit at about 2, but I’m told it went on until after 3. Rio Youers, spinning the wheels of steel alongside Guy Adams, was a cheesily impressive DJ, and I can only hope that FCon turns the disco into a tradition because it massive fun.

And now it’s back home, and I’m a bit down about that because I know it’s at least a year before it all happens again (in Corby, if you’re interested; I’m hoping to go because I think my PS collection may launch there and besides, it’ll be fun, and I think curiously important for me to be there, because there’s a weird sort of grounding to be had at places like FCon). I’ll miss the sheer cheerful chaos of it all, of being able to walk from one room to another and see 10 people on the journey that you know and another 10 that you don’t and speak to all of them, of being, for just a couple of days, in a place where you can share the stupidities and irritations and joys of writing with people who not only understand but live them as well. Of being among friends, able to share their good news and successes and commiserate their frustrations and share your own. Would I want to do FCon every weekend? No, but once a year is good, a healthy shucking off of our responsibilities and real lives for a weekend, a place to recharge and vent and grin and stagger and eat and like and love and sell and buy and sign and boast and let the guards down. And drink, let’s not forget drink.

So, after all of my grousing and worrying on the way down, was it worth it? Yes, absolutely; I met old friends I don’t see often enough and made new ones I want to see again, I’ve sold books and signed books, bought a few books (not many, though, I promise), won some books in the raffle, eaten fish and chips, danced until I was breathless, talked to an agent, shaken the hand of the man who wrote and then directed Oktober, been asked to contribute to an anthology and attend a ghost story telling weekend, been complimented and given out compliments, drunk beer and overpriced coke, slept in, told stories, heard stories. This is FCon in all its mad glory and you know what? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall – Do We Have An Identifying Image At All?

By: Simon Kurt Unsworth

I’ve been thinking a lot about image recently; specifically, my image, and Dark Continents Publishing’s image.

In the first of these blogs, a couple of weeks ago, our head honcho (big Dave Youngquist) spoke about being able to recognise the various stylings of the DCP authors, how we have different voices, and I started to think about whether there were similar recognisable images that we all had, and whether we need to have a ‘DCP image’. Clearly, we all have physical characteristics (I’m tall, blond and not that thin, John Prescott is thin like a whippet, John Irvine has long hair; biology, man, biology), but image is about more than that. Isn’t it? Well, we have a company logo – a sort of dark bat/devil thing – and a house style for our books, with the cover printed on the first page in black and white with no text, so that’s our image, isn’t it: sort of batlike and with repeated monochrome imagery?

Well, no.

In some of the photos from our launch, at the World Horror Convention, most of the DCP dudes and dudettes are wearing DCP T shirts. I have one myself, in a rather fetching grey. So, our image is that we wear batlike things upon our chests, yes?

No. Truthfully, the shape of the T shirt isn’t right on me for some reason and besides, I have a preference for cowboy boots, jeans and Jesus-wept-that’s-garish shirts, and I tend to wear them at all opportunities – personally, I think Joe Brown’s shirts are the best in the world, and I’m waiting for them to sponsor me. I won’t wear a DCP T shirt at my signings, not because I don’t like them but because my own image, one honed over 39 years of wearing all sorts of clothes before finding a style I was comfortable with, tends to the garish and flowery and Americana-influenced. And besides, DCP is more than T shirts.

So what is our image? We’re a mix of male and female so it’s not gender based (we’re probably better than most at giving women good representation within a field that’s been traditionally male-dominated, actually), we’re multinational (with members in the USA, the UK and Australia) so it’s not geographical. We’re a range of ages, so it’s not about that kind of demography, and we write all sorts of things with the dark fiction field – poetry, novels, short stories and novellas, and from classical ghost stories to zombie apocalypse fictions to werewolf tales to recipes (no, really) so it’s not that either.

Perhaps we don’t have an image, then, or even need one? A man who claimed to be a publisher and I once had a discussion about image, and he stated that all the authors he signed would be required to wear black suit jackets and white shirts and that he wasn’t having any ‘hats and bloody sunglasses’ (a kind of mafia writers gig, was his aim, I think). At the time, I argued that the company didn’t need its authors to wear a uniform, that the writing itself was all that mattered, and that I would continue to wear my flowery shirts and cowboy boots and hats and if he didn’t like it, tough. He and I parted company soon after this discussion. So, we don’t need an image and we’re not going to bother with one, right? Well, I’m not sure this is entirely the correct approach. Being part of DCP is about being a part of something specific, a co-operative designed to support authors and to give them greater control over how their material is distributed and presented. DCP commits to treating me well, but I, in return, commit to being professional and to ensuring that not only to I produce the best ‘product’ possible, but I present the best image possible for that product, for DCP’s other products and for DCP itself. After all, every DCP sale benefits me, not just the sales of my own book. Hey, maybe that’s it! DCP’s image is a kind of lefty, utopian ideal, yes, a sort of horror-loving hippy commune?

No. We’re realists: this is a tough time to be writing and printing and selling, especially if you’re trying to exercise quality control, and decisions by committee are always harder than decisions by one person, with a real danger that they end up watered down or a kind of bastard compromise with which no one’s happy. We’re in this to produce and distribute good works, to gain a reputation for quality and to make money.

I’m confused now, are you? I’ve managed to state fairly well what our image isn’t: we’re not universally aiming at males or females, not solely poets or novelists, not identical T shirt wearers or yanks or limeys or kiwis or aussies. Hell, I sometimes wonder if we’re all even completely human. So what is it then? An image defined in negative, by what we’re not? Again, no. The answer to our image lies in something I mentioned earlier: horror-loving.

If we have an image, it’s this: we’re horror lovers, in all of its guises. We’re passionate about zombies, about ghosts, about supernatural beings and about human frailties and grotesques. We love to be scared and to scare, we love to unnerve and creep out and to have our nerves jangled and to feel our skin crawling. We believe absolutely, while we read about them, in the worlds our reading describes, we write about places both familiar and new and we populate those places with the things you really, really don’t want to meet. We love horror.

We love horror. It’s our image and our raise d’etre, and it’s why I’m writing this now. If you love horror, then you’ve found a good place to visit. Stick around, we’re mostly friendly, except when we try to scare you or when someone tries to argue horror isn’t literature. Me, I write ghost stories and I wear genuinely unsavoury shirts and snakeskin boots and I’ll hold my hand up now and say that I’m a part of DCP because I love horror and they love horror, and I’m proud to say it loudly and in public.

Why? I have an image to uphold, of course.

Back to Blogging!

2011 has been a great year for the Dark Continents Publishing Company!

In April at the World Horror Convention in Austin, Texas Dark Continents was proud to hold the official Launch Party for thirteen debut books! The DCP Vice President Tracie McBride came all the way from Australia to join in on the celebration and help promote her novel, Ghosts Can Bleed. We celebrated by hosting a Bat Cruise Launch Party at sunset on beautiful Lady Bird Lake in downtown Austin. Our guests were treated to a buffet supper and open bar, a special Audio Sample Presentation of our entire line of books read by the talented voice narrator, Wayne June, as well as a fantastic view of the famous Austin Bats as they left their caves for the evening. Three special cruise guests each won a lifetime membership guarantee of one free copy of all future Dark Continents publications, so long as they keep in touch and let us know where to mail the books!

In other exciting news, author Dave Jeffery’s novel Necropolis Rising Kindle version has enjoyed remarkable success in the UK, where it reached #1 in the Amazon Horror chart. Since this time the novel has maintained a top-ten presence in the Amazon Occult chart, where as of this writing it is currently #8.

 

David M. Youngquist, Sylvia Shults, and John Prescott participated in a whirlwind book signing tour in Illinois this June, stopping at three bookstores in two days. Many people turned out for the signings, and many books were sold. But, most exciting of all, Barnes and Noble and Waldens (so sorry to see you go, Walden’s!) have begun displaying our titles as end caps. End caps  are the equivalent of the Holy Grail for authors – having books we have loved and nurtured majestically displayed at the end of a row. Nirvana!

John Prescott’s PRAY novel made it into the top 100 Horror Novels in the Amazon US Kindle ratings in July, and we’re expecting  a bigger reception for the second novel in the series, HELL, set to debut on Black Friday November 25, 2011.

Sylvia Shults continues to do research on her as-yet unnamed novel about the Bartonville, Illinois Asylum for the Incurable Insane, a very haunted and very cool old abandoned place. Sylvia and S.L. Schmitz spent a wonderful afternoon on the grounds of the asylum, taking photographs of the graveyards and the main building in preparation for her research!  

John Irvine and his wife, Maureen Irvine, are in New Zealand enjoying all of that LOTR’s scenery and working on two joint collections called Collected Haibun and Echoes of Exotic Places. Maureen’s novel (set in Greece) is called Bitter Olives, and is slated for DCP’s 2012 new imprint collection. If you can’t wait to sink your teeth into the next Irvine publication, you simply must check out the gourmet short stories, poetry and recipes (yes- recipes!) in Blood Curry, featuring that most unique of ingrediants; fresh animal blood!

Also in July, the newest edition of the DCP Book Catalog became available for distribution. Additional books now added to the collection include S.L. Schmitz’s dark and mysterious Let It Bleed; the upcoming launches for John Prescott’s HELL and Snareville II, the chilling sequel to David M. Younquist’s fast-paced zombie thriller, as well as Phobophobia, an anthology of short stories about the secret world of human fears and phobias edited by Dean M. Drinkel.

Dark Continents Publishing will host an official launch party of several new publications at the British Fantasy Society’s FantasyCon in Brighton on Saturday October 1, 2011 at 8:00pm. Huzzah! Simon Kurt Unsworth will be debuting his highly anticipated Quiet Houses novel, and Dave Jeffery’s haunting new collection of short stories Campfire Chillers. Adrian Chamberlin will be there as well, with his excellent novel The Caretakers, and if all things go as planned DCP’s President David M. Younquist will be journeying from the USA to join in on the fun.

On a more somber note, we were sad to lose Serenity J. Banks from the Core Board of Directors, but welcomed Julia Messina as our new Senior Editor and member of the Senior Board. Serenity will now participate as a Junior Board Member – looking for a good vampire novel? Check out her novel The Left Hand.

Over the next six months, stay tuned for more blog posts as the madcap Dark Continents Authors travel to such places as the FantasyCon in Brighton and Archon 35 in  St. Louis, MO. There will be updates on bookings, podcasts, interviews, author appearances, blogging, and a VERY BIG Press Release announcing some VERY BIG author news…. So stay tuned, “LIKE” us on Facebook, and sign up to receive blog updates!

We are Dark Continents Publishing…. Horror Just Got Scarier