In ten days time my novel The Dead Ways is published. Rather appropriately given the plot, it’s been a long road to get to this point with a few setbacks along the way, but I’m really excited to know that I’ll soon be able to walk into a bookshop and see it standing proud on the shelves!
Recently, I’ve read quite a few articles about books having soundtracks, whether this is a film-style soundtrack with sound effects that stay in synch with your reading, playlists the leading characters would make, or just some perfect tunes that fit the latest book you’re reading.
So to celebrate the imminent publication of The Dead Ways I wanted to share you the soundtrack behind its creation. These aren’t the songs that I necessarily would recommend you pull up on your iPod when you turn to page one. They’re not the tunes that the hero Scott has running in his head as he races to stop the sinister conspiracy that lies behind the Dead Ways. Rather, these are the tracks that in some way inspired me when I was writing the book: a misheard lyric in a song that sneaked its way into a scene, moods that certain tracks created that I tried to capture on the page, even plot ideas that somehow sprang out of the songs themselves. As much as the books I read for research, the places I visited from stone circles to the Palace of Westminster, these songs wove their way into The Dead Ways.
I’ve posted a playlist for The Dead Ways up on Spotify, so click on this link if you want to listen to the soundtrack that inspired the book. I'd love to know the tunes that soundtrack your book - whether this is one you're writing, reading or maybe even editing! Let me know your inspirational tunes in the comments below.
Finally, of all the artists in The Dead Ways playlist, Julian Cope has two songs included to reflect the wellspring of inspiration he gave me. Not only his music, but also his wonderful book The Modern Antiquarian about the ancient standing stones and Neolithic sites scattered across the British Isles. This book was my trusty gazetteer as I traipsed across windswept stone circles and crawled inside creepy dolmens searching for the gates that would unlock the Dead Ways. Searching YouTube today I found the video at the top of this blogpost for his song Promised Land and thought this would make the perfect trailer for the book. Except perhaps for the demonic cat that pops up at the end...
Actually, I doubt it was to the day, but I couldn’t resist the Sergeant Pepper’s reference, even though it doesn’t scan. Anyway, it was twenty-two years ago when I made the fateful decision to bunk off school and go along to a book signing by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean instead.
I was fourteen years old, just starting my GCSEs at a rather bleak comprehensive school in Salford. This was the kind of school where the P.E. teacher forced you to do press-ups in an icy puddle at the start of every lesson, Woodwork and Metalwork were mainly concerned with the production of concealed armaments, and Chemistry lessons a constant battle for control of the gas taps between the kids who wanted to blow up the Science block and those of us who wanted to live. It wasn’t the kind of school where authors popped in to chat about their latest books and reveal the secrets of the writing life. To me the idea of meeting a writer was as strange and exotic as the idea of meeting an astronaut (another childhood ambition, as yet sadly unfulfilled).
It wasn’t that I didn’t know about authors; my brain was full to bursting with their names. I was the Incredible Book Eating Boy before Oliver Jeffers had even drawn him, devouring the shelves of my local library. J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Susan Cooper, John Wyndham, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Cormier, Ursula Le Guin. With every book I took out, a new favourite author could be discovered and I’d then eagerly seek out everything that they had written.
As well as books I loved comics, a passion born from my paper round. As I waited for the newsagent to load up my delivery bag, I flicked through old DC and Marvel comics on a spinner at the back of the shop, the worlds of these four-colour heroes a welcome escape from the slate-grey streets. Then when Saturday came around, I’d spend every penny of my wages on these comic books: Batman, Detective Comics, Daredevil, 2000AD. That newsagent must’ve loved me!
After a while though, I’d finally depleted his stock of comics and had to look further afield for a fresh source. I’d seen an advertisement in the pages of 2000AD for a comic shop called Odyssey 7 in Manchester. So one Saturday morning, leaving the paper shop with my wages in my pocket for a change, I jumped on the bus into town to search out this shop. Trudging down Oxford Road, I turned into the shopping precinct at Manchester University and entered an Aladdin’s Cave.
Odyssey 7 didn’t just have a single spinner filled with comics; it had boxes of them running down the central aisle of the shop. Flicking through them, I could see comics about every superhero I had ever heard of and dozens more that I hadn’t. Along the walls were posters, magazines, and on a section of shelves filled with large, glossy books, something called graphic novels. That’s where I discovered Violent Cases.
I can’t remember what initially drew me to this book. Maybe it was the illicit promise of the title that appealed to my teenage mind. But when I picked it up and started to flick through the pages, I was entranced. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was like nothing I had ever read before. In black-and-white and without a superhero in sight, it was a story about childhood told in the most remarkable way. This wasn’t a comic book, this was something else. Leaving behind the handful of Batman comics I’d already picked up, I took the book to the counter and bought my first graphic novel.
Over the next week I must have read Violent Cases more than a dozen times, each time finding some new detail to obsess over. For those who haven’t yet read it, I won’t give away too much, but something in this story sang to me. Its depiction of the narrator’s memories of his childhood: a fuzzy and confusing world, where adults lied and the threat of violence was never far from the surface, fascinated and troubled me at the same time.
The next Saturday I was standing at the counter of Odyssey 7 again, and, using the same logic that had served me so well in the library, asked if they had any more books by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. The man at the counter pointed me in the direction of a couple of new comic books, Black Orchid and the first issue of something called The Sandman, and then he told me something that changed my life.
“They’re coming in to do a signing next week.”
I looked up at the poster in the shop window. Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean would be signing copies of Violent Cases, the book that had blown my mind, next Friday afternoon. It was incredible – here was a chance to meet a real live author and a fantastic artist too. There was only one problem. The only way I’d be able to get to the signing in time would be to bunk off school at lunchtime. I think the time of the signing was 2pm, enough time I reasoned to get the bus into town, get my new favourite author to sign my books (I’d now bought the first issues of both Black Orchid and The Sandman as well) and still get home before my mum got back from work. That way I could pretend that I’d been in school all day, just like normal.
That was the plan. When Friday arrived, I sneaked out of school as the lunchtime bell rang and caught the bus into town. But arriving at Odyssey 7 just before two in the afternoon, I discovered my plan’s first flaw. Outside the store a queue snaked across the shopping precinct and out onto Oxford Road. (Remember, this was a signing for his very first book – Lord knows what kind of monstrous wyrm a Neil Gaiman signing queue looks like nowadays!) Joining the back of the queue I slowly started to worry. With the speed the queue was moving at, there was no way I’d get back home in time to pretend I’d been in school all day. If I stayed put, I was going to be in trouble. Big trouble.
Standing around me in the queue were trench-coated university students, their comic books and graphic novels tucked under their arms. I was still wearing my school uniform, my copy of Violent Cases, Black Orchid and The Sandman shoved in the depths of my school bag. This was the only chance I’d ever have to meet the extraordinary people who had created these stories. I stayed in the line
Eventually, sometime after four I think, I made it inside the shop, the remnants of the queue now snaking around the central aisle and back up to the counter where two guys were seated, patiently signing each book that was thrust in front of them. They didn’t look much older than students themselves, but the face of one of them was strangely familiar. From my bag, I dug out my copy of Violent Cases and turned to the first page. There, staring out at me in black and white was the same face. This was Neil Gaiman.
It’s funny, I’m trying to remember now what happened next, but my memories are turning out to be as fragmentary as those of the narrator of Violent Cases. I don’t really remember getting to the front of the queue, can’t recall what I said when I handed over my books to Neil and Dave to be signed. But when I finally stepped out of the comic shop and started walking back to the bus station and the inevitable mountain of trouble I was in, I remember thinking one thing: I wanted to be a writer.
Fast forward twenty-two years. Neil Gaiman is now one of the most famous authors on the planet. He’s written a mountain of books that I love: Coraline, Stardust, The Wolves in the Walls, American Gods, The Graveyard Book; not to mention all his comics and graphic novels, film screenplays and TV scripts (including possibly my favourite-ever episode of Doctor Who). Dave McKean is an award-winning artist, author and filmmaker.
As for me, well, at the end of this week my novel The Dead Ways is published, whilst early next year sees the publication of Twelve Minutes to Midnight. Two very different books, but both the realisation of a childhood dream. And on the 29th October at Octavia’s Bookshop in Cirencester, I’ve got my first signing session.
Unfortunately, it’s on a Saturday, so I’m not going to present any school-age children with the same moral dilemma I faced. But there will be ghostly happenings, a fancy-dress competition in the queue, and prizes for the reader wearing the spookiest outfit. I can’t wait.
When I finally got confirmation of the event, I tweeted about how twenty-two years after I’d skipped school to go along to a book signing by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean, I finally had my own to announce. And then to my utter astonishment, Neil Gaiman replied!
“That makes me so proud! And so old!”
With a grin as wide as the Joker’s on my face, I tweeted back to try and thank him in 140 characters or less for all the inspiration he’d given me and, more importantly, finally let him know how much trouble he’d indirectly got me in. (I was grounded for a month for bunking off school!) Then a few minutes later, his reply popped up.
“You did the right thing.”
And I know he’s right. That day twenty-two years ago, was the first time I believed it was possible to become a writer. An outlandish dream sparked into life as I stood in front of the counter in that Manchester comic shop and met Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. The day that changed my life.
What sounds do you hear when you think of Halloween? The howl of the wind through the trees? The ominous creak of a footstep on the stair of an empty house? The distant cackle of a witch or the low moan of a zombie? Well, it's time to add the rustle of pages to this haunting melody.
All Hallow's Read is the wonderful invention of Neil Gaiman. The idea is that in the week of Halloween or on All Hallow's Eve itself, you give someone a scary book. You can find out more information about this venerable tradition here and here.
What I love best about this idea is that everyone can get involved, from the youngest reader to the eldest. You don't even have to buy a book to give away if you can't afford to – just take a look at the dark and cobwebbed corners of your bookshelves where the scary books huddle and pick one to give away. Maybe there's a book there that you were too frightened to finish, so why don't you set it free on Halloween to scare somebody else instead?
In that spirit (cue uncanny music and supernatural sfx - whoo-whoooh!), here's a list of some of the scariest reads that are lurking on my shelves, waiting to pounce on any unwary readers this All Hallow's Read...
Spooky picture books
Room on the Broom by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler
A cautionary tale about a witch flying her broomstick one blustery Halloween night...
Funnybones by Janey and Allen Ahlberg
"On a dark dark hill, there was a dark dark town. In the dark dark town there was a dark dark street."
The Wolves in the Walls by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean
Because, as we all now know, if the wolves come out of the walls, it’s all over...
Creepy stories for older children
The Gates by John Connolly
Stephen King meets Monty Python says the Amazon review and I wouldn’t argue with that!
Coraline by Neil Gaiman
The book that single-handedly increased reported cases of koumpounophobia to epidemic levels. Buttons for eyes..
The Dead Ways by Christopher Edge
A fast-paced and frightening supernatural conspiracy thriller... What do you mean I can’t mention my own book? It’s my blog!
The Ghost Stories of M.R. James
An unnerving collection of tales from the original master of the macabre.
The Casebook of Carnacki the Ghost Finder by William Hope Hodgson
Everyone knows about Sherlock Holmes, but Thomas Carnacki was the only detective brave enough to investigate the supernatural mysteries that lurked beneath the gaslight.
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
A dark and twisted tale that’s even more frightening than you might remember.
The stories that scarred my childhood
Weaveworld by Clive Barker
Never go looking for a book on your older brother’s bookcase, unless you’re prepared for what you might find...
It by Stephen King
This great article by Xan Brooks explains why.
The House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski
Original, astonishing and oh, so scary, this is the only book that has ever made me measure the inside and outside of my wardrobe just to make sure...
Heart-shaped Box by Joe Hill
A confession: for a long time, I was literally too frightened to finish this book. Read it late at night if you dare.
So these are some of the books I’m planning to give away this All Hallow’s Read. Let me know which scary stories you’d recommend in the comments below or tweet these using the hashtag #AllHallowsRead.
Remember, this new tradition is the perfect opportunity to remind people that the most entertaining nightmares won’t be found in a horror film or late-night TV show, but are the ones that swim from the depths of our minds as we turn the pages of a well-crafted tale...
Spread the word.