Andrew Wille

The Book of Death

I’ve waited a long time to claim this one; lurking in shadows at each sniff of her foetid breath, or a glimpse that would transpire to be a rag in a tree. One day she would err, I knew it. Until now though, the loathsome hag had remained one move ahead, vanishing into the night before I reached the aftermath of her latest c…[Read more]

Never Judge a Book

No, sir, we don’t hold property any more. Not since 1 October. Yes, you did just miss out. Yes, if it was a gold bar we probably would look after it and if you ever find one of those on a park bench then don’t hesitate to come straight here. But this is a book. Well, look after it but leave us the details and we’ll conta…[Read more]

That’s a cracking idea, Sea!

Aargh, spoiler!

It was so lovely to catch up with you @giselle 😊😊 Thank you for cheering me on. Hope the edits are going well xx

Two bits of advice ‘freed’ me up wrt location, because I usually start with somewhere I know then make adjustments as necessary. Reading a disclaimer along the lines of “geographical liberties have been taken” I much appreciated.
Also, Eimear McBride said when she wrote of Camden, she did it from a 5 year old memory of the place and never…[Read more]

“if it doesn’t advance the plot or reveal something about character, don’t prolong it.” – excellent advice! Thanks Jane.

For severe violence done well I’d look at Malcolm Mackay, Ray Banks, Stuart Neville’s ‘The Twelve’. Benjamin Myers ‘Turning Blue’ had me commenting ‘Stomach-churning details precisely told’, or Sarah Hilary. Denise Mina might be good, but I cannot remember which is the most violent.

I’d agree with you Jane, ‘less is more’ works for violent scenes much as it does for sex scenes, though I suppose you’d have to work harder so as to bring something fresh for the readers’ mind to work on.
Those long, graphic scenes can be effective, up to a point but can tun as many off as they do on, so go with your gut feeling.

Earth and smoke and iron

It were an odd one and no mistake. She were odd. Educated; not from round here. ‘Otherworldly’ some might say.
She lugged it in, wrapped up in brown paper, tied with string. Knots sealed with blobs of scarlet wax.
‘You’ll ‘after tell me what’s in it, lass –‘
‘A coat. An army one. That’s what’s the smell –‘
I sniffed. A…[Read more]