Ginger Nuts of Horror
Well, it's this time of the year, a time when we all look back at the year that has just gone, and wonder, what the hell have I done with my life this last year. It's been a funny year, made some great friends, met some great authors, got a lot of great books, and got a signed photo from the beautiful Barbie Wilde. And yet it's also been a year of let downs, and disappointments. I have learned the hard way that not all is what it seems in the world of horror. From getting sent threatening emails because I refuse to review your book (you really don't know me if you think that's going to work), to dealing with so called professionals who flip the lid when you don't publish their blog tour post, because they never sent you it in the first place. To my ever diminishing bank balance, for which I place the blame directly at the feet of Simon Marshall Jones of Spectral Press, and Ellie Wixon at Blackwells Edinburgh. STOP publishing so many great books, and stop stocking so many great books, seriously folks I can't go into her book shop and not spend a vast sum of money, she is temptress of the first order.
Does all human passion, all memory, all imagination come merely from the chemistry in our brains, like the movements of a clock follow from the arrangement of its cogs and wheels? Are we just clockwork dolls? Or is there an organizing principle at work, something we can ask for answers to the important questions of existence... something that might answer?
Dave Burns has asked.
Now he, and his friends, might not live long enough to understand the reply.