Wednesday, 28 September 2011

"Blood Tears" update



It seems that small publishers are having problems with a certain book-chain which means a delay in the publication of my debut crime novel.

Put it in your diaries, people ...

July 1st, 2012

We're currently talking cover designs (not the above image) and final edits so it's all coming together. At frickin' last.

We're also hoping that advance copies will be made available for those events I've committed to - so some lucky people will get in there first.

In the meantime, I've been busy as a wee bee on another very different project. Which will mean a new publication direction for me. It's all VERY exciting, but I don't want to say too much until details are finalised.

Don't worry, my MCN friends (all three of you) will be the first to know.

Laters,

M

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Review - The Sparrow Conundrum by Bill Kirton




The Sparrow Conundrum by Bill Kirton

The blurby bit -

Chris Machin isn’t his name, at least not to the bottom feeders in Aberdeen squabbling over North Sea oil and gas contracts. Chris has a code name, and when his garden explodes, The Sparrow takes flight, plunging everyone involved into chaos and violence.

A sociopathic cop and an interfering ex-girlfriend don’t exactly make for clarity of thinking, not when the one fancies a bit of violence to add spice to an arrest. The ex adds other, more interesting dimensions to Chris’ already complicated life.

The bodies pile up—some whole, some in fragments—and two wrestlers join the fray. A road trip seems just the solution but then so do Inverness, a fishing trawler and a Russian factory ship as the players face … The Sparrow Conundrum.


The review -

The Sparrow Conundrum is a laugh-a-paragraph comic crime caper set against the backdrop of the oil industry in Aberdeen. A full range of funny-bone tickling is on offer for the discerning reader; from a grin sparked by a witty comment, to a chuckle ... to a hefty belly-laugh when a delightful set piece reaches its hilarious conclusion.

The characters that Bill Kirton serves up in The Sparrow Conundrum are a continuous delight throughout the book. My favourites were the sociopathic detective Lodgedale and the crime boss Eagle who surely had his head turned by a gang of bullies at a private school.

Kirton is a master of the comic. His scenes are carefully orchestrated for maximum laughs and his language carefully chosen to tickle.

If you like a change from the normal mystery/ thriller fare and you don’t take your crime fiction too seriously you owe it to yourself to get a copy of The-Sparrow-Conundrum. Hiaasen, Bateman and Moore should be looking over their shoulder, 'cos Kirton has arrived.

(The above link takes you to Amazon - it should be noted there are plenty of other ways to buy this -bloody good - book)


Monday, 19 September 2011

The Stranger You Seek - Amanda Kyle Williams






What have I been reading recently, I hear you ask? Sit back and I’ll tell you.

Sitting comfortably? Cast your peepers over this...

The Stranger You Seek by Amanda Kyle Williams

 The blurb goes thus -
“In the sweltering heat of an Atlanta summer a killer is pushing the city to breaking point, preying on the unsuspecting and writing taunting letters to the media which promise more death.

Desperate to stop the Wishbone Killer before another victim is murdered, A.P.D. lieutenant Aaron Rauser turns to the one person he knows can penetrate a deranged mind, ex–FBI profiler Keye Street.

Keye was a rising young star at the Bureau until addiction derailed her career and her life. Now sober and fighting to stay so, Keye picks up jobs where she can get them: catching adulterers, serving subpoenas, chasing down bailjumpers and dodging the occasional bullet.

With multiple victims, little to go on and an entire police force looking for direction, the last thing Keye wants is to be pulled into the firestorm of Atlanta’s worst nightmare.

And then it suddenly becomes clear that the hunter has become the hunted - and the stranger she seeks is far closer than she ever dared imagine.”

My take on it?

This was the Fresh Blood read over at Crimesquad.com last month and deservedly so. Serial killers are (to borrow the cliché) ten-a-penny in crime fiction and it takes something a little bit special to grab and hold my attention. The Stranger You Seek has got “special” in bucketloads.

Keye Street is my new favourite character and it’s her voice that takes us through this cracking read.  She is spunky, sparky (he feverishly seeks another word beginning with “sp”) and (goes for) sassy. (I didn’t get the “p” in there. So sue me.)

Aspiring writers who are struggling with the concept of “voice” should read this book and they’ll receive the message loud and clear. The author uses this to great effect not only giving the reader everything they would be looking for in such a novel, but with added warmth and wit. And this (despite the tension and body count) makes The Stranger You Seek such a joy to read. 

I will admit to quick roll of the eyes when I realised Keye was a recovering alcholic, but this well-worn device never felt tired thanks to the zip Williams injects into her writing.

REALLY looking forward to see what Amanda Kyle Williams comes up with next. She’s a rising star people – get her book on your shelf now so you can brag to your mates that you were one of the first to spot her.


Monday, 12 September 2011

Random Acts of Kindness





It was my birthday last week – and that’s my excuse for not blogging for a wee while – and YES, it took me all week to celebrate.

Anywho, on the afternoon of my birthday I was sat sitting in my car in a queue for fuel. The petrol station was VERY busy.

As busy as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest.

And if you know me, you’ll know that I hate waiting in queues.

Eventually, after much huffing and drumming of fingers on the steering wheel, there was just one car between me and some diesel satisfaction. A young woman climbed out of her car and filled up. (Haven’t you noticed that everyone in front of you fills their tank, while in the other queues they are only topping up with about ten pounds worth? What’s that all about?)

At last, she moved as if to pull the nozzle out of her car. Nothing happened. She pulled again. The nozzle didn’t move. The girl blew hair out of her eyes, shifted her grip and pulled some more. Nothing.

C’mon, missus – I mumbled.

Her handbag was over her shoulder. She adjusted it – pulled some more. No movement. She shook it about. Nothing.

She looked over at me and made a small grimace of apology.

I smiled back and muttered – awfurfucksake.

She adjusted her handbag again, pushed her fringe away from her eyeline, took a deep breath and PULLED. Nada, zip, zilch. She pulled, pulled and PULLED. With the same result.

I caught myself about to swear again and gave myself a lecture. What was I getting annoyed about? She wasn’t doing this deliberately. I didn’t have to be anywhere in a hurry –  and the poor woman was getting really flustered. I’m always telling the wee fella “its nice to be nice”. Time to live up to the lecture, Mikey-boy.

Then I wondered if I should offer to help. Maybe she was a rampant feminist and would knee me in the danglies and tell me to go do myself. Maybe she would dislodge it just as I walked up and I would end up looking like an eejit. Or maybe I would end up struggling just as much as she was.

While I indulged in my pointless internal debate she was still tugging at it, so I got out of the car and walked towards her.

Want me to try, I asked?

Oh yes please, she answered.

The nozzle was fully inserted into the – don’t know what to call it – fuel-hole? I went through the same pantomime she had been performing with the inevitable result. It was well and truly stuck.

It’s really stuck, innit? I said helpfully. I pulled some more. It’s a really tight fit – I continued – your hole is awfy tight.

Realising what I had just said, I coughed and fought down a blush.

I gave the nozzle a wee jiggle (I give good jiggle) and I could see that the curved pipe inside her fuel-(ahem) hole had a row of ridges on the underside and one of these was getting caught in a lip inside her - , no, I’m not going there.

I twisted the nozzle and jiggled some more (see above) and the handle moved out of her car as smoothly as  if it had been coated in lube. (I’m at a bad age, let me go with this.)

Men and their hoses, eh?

Back in my car, feeling pleased with myself I waited for the woman to pay and move her car so I could drive mine into position. After paying and before she sat in her own car, she approached mine. I rolled down the window. She handed me a bar of chocolate – a yorkie bar – that’s for being a big strong man, she said grinning her thanks.

Ten minutes later and I was still smiling at this turn of events as I parked in a car park in town. I had birthday money melting in my wallet and I HAD to spend it. The car park is one of those where you pay at the machine; it prints a voucher and you display it prominently in your car. As I walked to the machine a young man moved towards me.

He asked me -you about to buy a ticket?

Aye.

Here ye go – he handed me his. I just bought this a minute ago and then I got a text saying I needed to be somewhere, you might as well have it – he smiled.

Well, you have this - I offered the man the pound coin I was about to slip into the machine.

Nah, you’re alright mate, he said and walked away with a wave.



See. Perform an act of kindness and it come right back atcha.


Saturday, 3 September 2011

Down These Green Streets - A review




The super-talented writer and all round nice guy, John Connolly was in my local bookshop yesterday so I popped in for a blether. 

This reminded me of a book I reviewed for Crimesquad recently - and here it is ...

Down These Green Streets: Irish crime writing in the 21st Century edited by Declan Burke

Synopsis

A generation of Irish crime writers has emerged onto the international stage in the last decade, among them John Connolly, Tana French, Eoin McNamee, Gene Kerrigan, Arlene Hunt, Alan Glynn, Declan Hughes, Jane Casey and Ken Bruen. Down These Green Streets: Irish crime writing in the 21st Century charts the evolution of the Irish crime novel since the inception of the Irish state through a series of essays, interviews, personal testimonies and short stories, offering the writers’ perspective on Irish crime writing in fiction, non-fiction, film and theatre.

Review

John Connolly was my introduction to Irish crime fiction some ten years ago – my gateway drug if you will, and he offers a fascinating essay detailing among other things, why he chose to set his novels in the US. Adrian McKinty and Brian McGilloway offer views from the north and the impact of the troubles on their desire to write. Declan Hughes talks about  Irish identity and links with America. Ken Bruen in “The Houston Room” has delivered a short story which will be an emotional punch in the gut to devotees of the genre.

There is however, more ...much more.

Throughout this process Declan Burke displays himself to be a very generous fellow indeed. A writer with talent to match anyone in the book, with his only contribution to the collection (introduction aside) he gives John Banville an opportunity to answer his critics who have accused him of literary snobbery. As a follower of his excellent blog,  Crime Always Pays. I know Declan to be an articulate and thoughtful advocate of the genre and I would have enjoyed some of his own thoughts to be included in the book (but then that’s the problem with being the editor).

Down these Green Streets is not a book to gallop through. It’s one to savour and ponder the points raised by some of the keenest minds writing in fiction today. It is in turns discursive, instructive and entertaining and is never less than fascinating. This needs to be in every crime writing fan’s library, regardless of the hue of their preferences. The Scandinavians need to have a good look at their royalty statements; the Irish are here! 

To buy (and you know you wanna) simply go HERE

Amazon also have availability, but they're getting too powerful for my liking. Spread your cash around, people.

Laters

Friday, 19 August 2011

Go on, go on, go on ...

Read this, you'll love it ...




Proof of Life by Karen Campbell

Here be the review wot I wrote for the good peeps over at crimesquad.com -

Synopsis
“The girl in the foyer could not hear them, could not possibly have heard Anna, or know that she was there through two thick doors, but her pale neck flexed and her head came up, longer and higher as her profile turned , as her face took form to stare directly at the camera.

And Anna's life, her future, froze.”


Chief Inspector Anna Cameron is a woman with everything to lose. Her life is finally back on track, but the mistakes she made in the past are about to come back to haunt her.

When a body is discovered in a Glasgow canal, the death proves to have an unexpected link to something Anna wants desperately to forget. As Glasgow pulses with the threat of terrorist attack and growing civil discontent, she realises everything she holds dear is at risk.


What did I make of it?

Verisimilitude is a very big word – and this book, and all the work of Karen Campbell just sings of it. You want to really know how a police investigation is carried out? Look no further than Ms Campbell if it is this kind of detail that sends your boat into a spin.

As well as all that detail you’ll get as fine a stylist as you’ll read this side of a poetry collection. Pick a page, any page and you’ll find an arresting phrase (pun intended) or a sentence that makes you go "ahhh". 

And then there’s the actual investigation, the need to know that carries the reader forward, and again with 
this element of fiction Karen Campbell comes up trumps. Simply said, she offers everything this reviewer looks for in a novel.

In Proof of Life we have multiple points of view, each invested with care and attention, each crucial to the story and each moving it on with delicious reveals at just the right point. And on this occasion Campbell works the successful trope of the detective and her loved ones being at risk, because of something she did in her past, providing a full-circle link to the first book in the series.

There’s an element to the story that I’m dying to talk about, but that would spoil it for you – I may just have to accost a total stranger in the street and demand they listen to me. Suffice to say when I finished the book and set it to the side, I said one word out loud...

... WOW!

Saturday, 6 August 2011

More Impressions from Harrogate Crime Festival 2011



Given that my debut novel BLOOD TEARS will be released next May (2012) I was especially interested in the author sessions at Harrogate Crime Writing Festival.  How would I answer that, was the thought that ran through my head several times a day.

One session homed in on the subject of violence against women in fiction. Why we read it and why writers write about it. In the past I’ve heard opponents of this argue there is misogyny at work here.  This is too facile an answer and doesn’t account for the fact that women write roughly the same amount of books as men, read 70% of fiction and make up 85% of the publishing industry. If women really thought this was a form of misogyny would they read/ write/ publish it? Don’t think so.

A prime facet of reader interest in thriller/ crime fiction is tension and my own theory is that this issue raises the stakes. If the subject is male I don’t care quite so much. Harsh but true. If the potential victim is female or a child then my anxiety levels are raised so much higher.

Val McDermid spoke eloquently about it and explained her view that women live with the threat of violence all of their lives. She said that women are warned from a young age to not walk alone in certain areas, to be aware of how they dress, or behave – and these warning have a strong impact – and one of the side effects of this is to enjoy the violence in novels. It’s a vicarious fear and thrill when on the page. A woman may not be able to feel safe walking home in the dark, but she can read about it in the safety of her bedroom.

In another session Tess Gerritson words chimed with my own opinion. She said that she polled her readers for their views on this subject. She was amazed by the response. Her readers told her they don’t want to read about male victims of violence because they simply didn’t care.



That same evening I had talked myself out at the bar. Thinking it was around 11pm, I checked someone’s watch to see that it was gone 2am. How the feck did that happen? I said my goodbyes (I know, I’m a wimp) and set off on the half mile walk to my hotel. This was around about the time I regretted wearing a brand new pair of shoes. Which is what you do, innit? Wear new shoes when you are going to be on your feet for a good chunk of eighteen hours a day for three days. I had a bruise on one heel and a blister on the other as I negotiated the narrow, poorly-lit, tree-lined streets.

Around the first corner and a young man was energetically emptying the contents of his stomach over a hedge while his girlfriend rubbed his back.  I gave them a wide berth, in my strange double limp while offering the woman a smile of sympathy. She shook her head slowly and mouthed the word “wanker”.

Did she mean me, I wondered as I turned the next corner into another quiet, dimly lit street that swung round in a slow stretch to the left.  Just ahead of me was a young woman, tight jeans, strappy top, clutching a handbag to her side.

The way she tightened her grip on her bag and held it tightly to her side reminded of Val McDermid’s comments earlier. A young woman was ahead of me in the dark, alone in a quiet side street. I stopped walking as if I’d walked into a wall. I was the guy. I was the potential threat to this girl. How could I re-assure her I only wanted to peel off my shoes and get into my bed?

I started to hum. Loudly. Music is cool right? I was making noise. I couldn’t possibly be planning to run up and attack her. I stopped. I sounded deranged. I began to walk again. In a tip-toe. Now she would be worrying I’d gone silent, so I walked with a heavy tread. Which really hurt my blister, so I slowed down. Heavy and slow, that was how to do it. Right?

At this point she crossed the road. Jeez, I was freaking her out.  Should I shout a hello? Would that be friendly and non-threatening? I picked up my pace and placed my feet on the ground, leading with the ball of my feet. 

Quiet and fast that would be better, no?

I was drawing level with her now and gave myself a mental shake. I’d been in this situation plenty of times and I usually just minded my own business and forgot about the other person. So, I picked the pace up more, trying to disguise my limp which I’m sure made me look like I had taken a dump in my trousers.

As I kicked off my shoes in my hotel room a memory of a writers’ event at my local writers club popped into my head. A visiting CID detective informed us that statistically a young man is much, much more likely to be a victim of a violent crime (from other young men). So ladies, I would always be fully aware of safety concerns, but if there is a lone male behind you on a quiet street it is very possible he is going through the same pantomime I was.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

Impressions from Harrogate Crime Writing Festival #2

.

A week or so has now passed since my visit to the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival and several highlights have stuck in the old grey matter.

As you may, or may not know, the people who attend the event are a happy mix of readers, writers, reviewers, press, publishers and agents. And unlike most other literary events I’ve been to, everyone mingles. Authors aren’t ushered off to a private space and only allowed out to go on stage to speak – if they want to they can hide in the “green room” – but most of them hit the bar with the crowd.

So, you end up speaking to a real cross section of the book public. Which is great fun.

If someone I met was unknown to me I hit upon a strategy of asking them in what capacity they were attending. 

This was not without its problems. I came unstuck a couple of times when the “stranger” in front of me turned out to be a pretty famous author (eeeek). No names, no pack-drill. What happens in Harrogate stays in Harrogate, and all that shit.

Let’s call one of them Stephen. ‘Cos that’s his name. His other name is Leather and I’ve been reading and enjoying his thrillers for over 20 years. Anywho, I was sitting chatting with MATT HILTON (great writer, and a man who is so nice I wanted him to adopt me) and he introduced me to this guy. I totally missed the name because of the hum of chatter all around me. I nodded, pretending to hear. As you do. When you're a frickin' numpty. Stephen laughed and said, you’ve never heard of me, have you?

When Stephen’s attention was deflected by someone else, I asked Matt – who’s he? When he told me I was mortified. I apologised later and explained that not only was I aware of him but I’d read a lot of his stuff over the years. Happily, Stephen doesn’t take himself too seriously and we ended up going for lunch the next day – and he even sneaked off and paid the bill before I could. How nice is that?

What’s extra clever about him is his commercial acumen. Many writers shy away from the business end of the business, but he is very much aware of it and was in the forefront of the e-revolution. He could see that e-books were going to be the next big thing and he positioned himself at the tail end of last year to cash in on the Christmas rush. I’m not sure of his sales figures in total, but he told me that he’s currently selling around 400 books a day. How about them apples?

I also caught up with the man with the coolest name in crime fiction, and the biggest hair - Stav Sherez, the author of The Black Monastery. It’s not often that I get feedback from authors about the reviews I write for their books, but Stav sought me out to tell me how much he appreciated mine. He took time to say that out of all his reviews, mine was the one that really “got” the book. How cool is that? Go  HERE  for my review over on crimesquad.com. And then go buy the paperback. It is that good.

(LATE POST - I just received an email from Stav to say that The Black Monastery is now available on kindle for the knockdown price of .99p. Crazy good value. Go KINDLE if you have one and you have 99p to spare.)

There's more. But I need to go and lie down after all that memory work.

Laters!

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Impressions from Harrogate Crime Writing Festival #1


Apologies go out to my three regular readers – like you care – about the bloggy silence from May Contain Nuts. It’s down to a mixture of sunshine, busy-ness and a serious case of getting my sloth on.

I’m also just back from the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival.  Did I have a good time? Hell, yeah!

Here’s an example of my good time. I arrived a good few hours before the first event of the weekend – which was the prize-giving for the Theakston Crime Novel of the Year award (Lee Child won) and a Lifetime Achievement Award was to be presented to P.D.James – and I got chatting to old friends at the bar over a glass (or two)of the old laughing juice. Anywho, time marched on and I was enjoying myself way too much and it kinda slipped my mind to go inside the conference hall. #hangsheadinshame

The next day I was up and about surprisingly early. All things considered. And ate heartily of the breakfast buffet.
There were some fascinating panels and speakers throughout the weekend. One that surprised me was Penned In, with a group of writers who had all spent time in prison. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this one as I don’t really like True Crime. There is a danger of sensationalising and glamourising criminals and I don’t like the idea of these people profiting from their crimes.

Their crimes ranged from perjury to murder and what interested me was the redemptive power of the written word for each of the men speaking. Each of them were changed by their experiences and their ability to place words on the page were a huge part in this growth.  Gave me lots of food for thought. If you can come away from an event and you’ve learned something, or gained an insight – you can’t ask for much more, can you?

Another panel I enjoyed included Denise Mina (I could listen to her talking all day long – intelligent and witty) and Craig Robertson, the author of Random and Snapshot.

Craig has a similar hairstyle to me (the billiard ball look), he is about the same height and has a Scottish accent so I wasn’t THAT surprised when three separate people approached me after the event to tell me I had spoken very well. How they thought I managed to change out of a grey suit into jeans and a t-shirt and grow a goatee in the space of 10 minutes is anybody’s guess.

Bald men. We all look the same clearly.


(This is not me. This is Craig.)

The quiz on Saturday is always fiercely contested, but any team with me in it can consider itself seriously hampered. My contribution was nothing short of pathetic. The only answer I knew was Ian Rankin’s twitter name. But thanks to Russel D. Mclean, Chris Simmons and Cathi Unsworth and her partner, Mike we came in a respectable 5th.

The last event of the festival had Mark Billingham on stage interviewing Dennis Lehane. I’ve read pretty much everything that Mr Lehane has written so I was keen to hear what he had to say. He was composed, polished and humourous and an absolute delight to listen to.

Then it was out to the lawn for a coffee and a chat with the other crimesquad guys before heading north and real life.

#sighs

Monday, 18 July 2011

An Interview with Tana French

To celebrate the release of Faithful Place, its talented author, Tana French has succumbed to the charms of Crimesquad.com and here is an interview I carried out on their behalf.





MM - Congrats on all the various awards that have come your way since you first became published. Are you aware of your audience or high expectations this may bring to subsequent books?


TF - Thank you very much :-). I don’t think I can afford to think about audience expectations. For one thing, it would take up too much time and focus – I’ve never read online reviews, for example, because if I start getting into them then I’ll never get the next book done! The book I’m currently writing always takes priority; the ones I’ve finished are the audience’s property now, not mine.

More importantly, though, I think focusing on audience expectations is pointless, because there’s no such thing as ‘the audience’. There are individual readers, with a huge variety of tastes. The thing one reader loves most about my books is probably the same thing that another reader hates. There’s no way I can write anything that will fit all of those tastes. All I can do is write the best book I can manage, and keep my fingers crossed.

MM - Faithful Place has universal themes (family, home and loyalty) displayed against the backdrop of a very small locale - was this juxtaposition a deliberate ploy on your part?


TF - I think a small, tight-knit place is often the best setting to explore big themes. That’s where the crucial questions become intensified, distilled. That’s also why I think murder mystery is one of the best genres in which to explore those big themes: the characters are quite literally dealing with life and death, they’re dealing with the most crucial questions of morality and humanity, so the stakes are raised sky-high and any other issue they’re dealing with becomes intensified by the context.


MM - Your bio reads that you spent much of your childhood travelling - has this impacted on your ability to have a “Faithful Place” of your own?


TF - I think my international-brat childhood played a big part in shaping Faithful Place. You’re always fascinated by what’s alien and inaccessible to you, and I’ve always been fascinated by people and places whose roots go deep – people who are part of a centuries-old, tight-knit community where every relationship is shaped by generations’ worth of interaction and knowledge. That’s not something I’ll ever have, and that’s the world where Faithful Place is set: the Liberties, an inner-city neighbourhood that’s one of Dublin’s oldest.

    At the same time, though, Dublin is the nearest thing I’ve got to a home. I’ve lived here since 1990; it’s the only city I know inside out, all the accents, all the short cuts, the sense of humour and the best pubs. In a lot of ways Faithful Place is a love song to Dublin, with all its flaws.


MM - Your bio also reads that you are an actress. How does this impact on your writings?


TF - I definitely write like an actor. Writing first-person, which is what I do, is a lot like acting: you’re seeing the whole story through one character’s eyes, through his or her preconceptions and illusions and biases, and trying to bring the audience into that character’s world. A lot of readers have told me that they end up feeling like the characters are real people, close friends whom they know inside-out; it’s the best compliment I can get.


MM - One of the many things that intrigued me about Faithful Place was how your main character, Frank had distanced himself from his family while being paradoxically highly loyal to them. This is of course the kind of inner tension that creates effective drama in a novel. Was this part of the plan, or did you discover this aspect of him through the journey of writing the book?


TF - Frank’s distanced himself from his family because he believes it’s their fault that his first love, Rosie Daly, dumped him. On the night when Frank and Rosie were meant to run away to London together, back when they were nineteen, Rosie never showed – and Frank figured it was because of his alcoholic father, nutcase mother, and generally dysfunctional family. Twenty-two years later, when the book begins, he hasn’t been home since. He thinks he’s completely cut himself off from Faithful Place, the street where he grew up.

But when Rosie’s suitcase is found in an abandoned house, it starts to look like she might not have dumped him at all. That reshapes Frank’s whole view of his past – and he’s forced to confront the fact that getting your family and your home out of your system may not be as simple as he wanted to believe. No matter how far you run, those things shape you, in one way or another. Frank’s spent years trying his best to convince himself that he’s got no ties to his family, but those ties are still absolutely real.

I had the basic premise – the suitcase forcing Frank to come home – before I started, but the rest developed along the way. I never have a real plan. I’m wildly jealous of writers who have the whole book outlined before they start the actual writing. I can’t work that way – I have to figure out who the characters are, by writing them, before I know what they’d do. So I usually start with a narrator and a very basic premise, and just dive in and hope to God there’s a book in there somewhere.


MM - In my view what gives extra interest to your books is your tactic of “almost” writing a serial while choosing a new character’s viewpoint for each outing – was that deliberate?


TF - God, no, I’m nowhere near that organised. But when I started thinking about writing a second book, I realised that what I’m interested in writing about is the big turning point in a narrator’s life – the case that changes him or her, for good. And most of us only have a few of those huge crossroads in our lives. So I figured either I could keep dumping the same poor narrator into more and more immense life-changing situations, or I could go down the usual series route of following the main character through smaller ups and downs – which I love reading, but wasn’t particularly interested in writing – or I could switch narrator every time. So I’ve ended up writing a chain of linked books, which I like. It means I get to do something new each time, because each narrator’s voice and perspective is a bit different.


MM - You have an engaging lyrical style of writing. Happy accident or is this something you worked on? Could you also tell us about your writing influences?


TF - I just work on writing as well as I possibly can – I’ve never had a specific style in mind. I’ve always loved books where words become a rich, sensuous pleasure, though. I can still remember being about six and falling in love with words when my father read me The Wind in the Willows: ‘He had never seen a river before, that sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal…’ I love Mary Renault’s rhythms, the purity of image in T.H. White’s Once and Future King, the perfect control and beauty of the language in National Velvet – I’ve got too many influences to name. I think maybe everything you read influences you. Even something really terrible can make you realise: Oh, OK, that’s why that didn’t work, I’ll keep that in mind.


MM- What’s next for you? (This question has the sub-text of asking if we will ever see Rob – from In The Woods – again?)

TF - I’ve just handed in my fourth book. It’s called Broken Harbour, and the narrator is Scorcher Kennedy, Frank’s old friend/rival from Faithful Place. He’s investigating the brutal murders of a young family in one of the half-abandoned ghost estates that litter Ireland – but did the danger come from outside the house or inside?  I’d love to come back to Rob from In the Woods someday – I loved writing him. Who knows…


My review of Faithful Place can be found HERE and copies of this excellent novel can be purchased in all the usual places.  Go on, what you waiting for? Buy a copy already.

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Paranoid much?






I need to know how to kill someone without it becoming immediately apparent.

There, I’ve said it.

Eventually, suspicions will be raised and the police called to investigate. You can relax, people this is a plot device and not something more nefarious. But how do I find this kind of stuff out? You try an internet search with the words – killing methods.  Or, making enquiries at the local cop shop or library while using a sentence like the one I began this post with.

And don’t they keep an eye on these kinds of things? Isn’t there a team of eager beavers employed by M15/ FBI/ Mossad/ CIA/ News International  trawling search engines for just this kind of dangerous enquiry?
And what if I wanted to research terrorist stuff, or paedophilia?

They’d be knocking on my door quicker than you could say News of the World Phone Hackers. And I’d be in hand-cuffs and hauled off to the local council run underground bunker for a spot of water-boarding.

I’m remembering news headlines from a few years back (2003?)when Pete Townshend of The Who was brought before the beaks when his name was found on a list of people using their credit card details to download pornographic images of children. 

He was cleared but put on the child offenders’ registry for 5 years.
Townshend later explained he was sexually abused as a child and, in preparation of a possible autobiography, he was researching how easily child pornography can be accessed online, in order to argue that Internet service providers need to become more vigilant. “It must be time to do something more concrete to stop the proliferation of questionable pornography that seems so readily and openly facilitated by the Internet,” he later wrote about the experience.

He’s since been reviled across the globe but continues to protest his innocence. I’m content to go with the authorities on this one given that they presumably have all the facts, but my thought was - all that heartache in the name of research?

Incredibly naive, don’tcha think?

So good people, what research projects have you embarked on that has you looking over your shoulders?

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

Blue Valentine





I got the blues. Well, I had them and it lasted till the morning after I watched this excellent movie. Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling are outstanding in this heartfelt piece of filming. They each fully commit to their roles and completely convince you about the part they play in this story about the end of a relationship.

WARNING – don’t watch on a first/second date, unless you’re a dude and you’re trying to impress your new lady friend with your “sensitivity”. Nah, even then don’t do it. In fact couples should only watch it if they have a certain level of maturity.

The film moves back and forward –beautifully timed, linked and edited BTW – between the beginning of the end of the relationship and the actual beginning. The seeds are sown in the early parts of the movie – we see 

Dean is a good guy; kind and thoughtful with a good sense of humour. Cindy is the nurturing type, looking after her grandmother, accepting perfunctory sex from an earlier boyfriend (who makes her pregnant) and we also get to see the boorish behaviour of her father at home which perhaps explains why she accepts the asshole boyfriend.

Dean and Cindy meet. They fall in love and then the movie splices back to the deterioration of their marriage and your emotions get all in a tangle. Sure, the reason they got hitched was flawed, but they loved each other didn’t they? How could a couple with such potential end in this way?

Who’s to blame? No one. Both of them. You get to decide. (And I’m wondering what the gender divide is on this one.)

There are several scenes that time will show us rank amongst the most iconic moments in cinema history. A couple in particular spring immediately to mind. Dean and Cindy are in front of a shop. Dean is singing in a goofy, Elvis voice and Cindy is dancing to his tune in her best early level tap dance. This is a heart-warming moment, full of charm. If it doesn’t make you smile you need to crack open your ribs with those thingies you see on E.R and check if there’s a heart beating inside you.

Another scene demonstrates how far they have fallen. Dean rents a room in a motel. They need to spend more time together. We see them in the shower. Cindy gives Dean the cold shoulder. Later on she invites him to join her on the floor. We can see her self-loathing, her cringe from his touch and she eggs him on to violence, demanding punishment as an act of love. Dean refuses. He’s not that guy. He can’t and won’t hit her.

This is a brave movie filled with uncomfortable moments and heightened by award-winning performances (if they didn’t, they should have) from the 2 main leads. It avoids the well-trodden tropes of Hollywood – the man is not a violent addict/ drunk spending all hours at work, the woman is not a ball-busting harridan/ addict/ drunk/ reformed prostitute. We don’t get fed the usual three act format (you know, #1 -guy wins girl - #2 guy loses girl - #3 guy wins girl back) instead we are treated to a fly on the wall examination of a couple who have simply fallen out of love. Shit happens and there isn’t always a pat reason for it and that is perhaps the bravest thing of all for this moviemaker to demonstrate.

Definitely not a picker-uper – more for when you feel the need to reflect or to get the old grey matter working. Or when you want to watch two talented actors do what they do best.

Saturday, 2 July 2011

book review - Denise Mina

There's a new load of reviews just been posted over at CRIMESQUAD and here's one wot I wrote about Denise Mina's latest - End of the Wasp Season.




What's it all about ...?

When notorious millionaire banker Lars Anderson hangs himself from the old oak tree in front of his Kent mansion his death attracts little sympathy. One less shark is little loss to a world nursing a financial hangover. But the legacy of a life time of self-serving is widespread, the carnage most acute among those he ought to be protecting: his family. He leaves behind two deeply damaged children and a broken wife.

Meanwhile, in a wealthy suburb of Glasgow, a young woman is found savagely murdered in her home. The genteel community is stunned by what appears a vicious, random attack. When DS Alex Morrow, heavily pregnant with twins, is called in to investigate, she soon discovers that behind the murder lurks a tangled web of lies. A web that will spiral through the local community, through Scotland and ultimately right back to a swinging rope hundreds of miles away.


What did I make of it ...?

This is the second book in which Denise Mina brings us the character of DS Morrow and for me is the one where she really gets into her groove with this individual. I use the word “individual” deliberately because Morrow is so well drawn she feels like a real person. Next time I’m up in Glasgow I fully expect to bump into her.

It’s in the depiction of her characters where Mina excels. A little slice of description, an action, some carefully crafted dialogue and they take flesh before your eyes. Adding heft to this is her ability to record the interaction between her characters: to demonstrate their finely nuanced behaviour.

End of the Wasp Season is ostensibly a police procedural, but Denise Mina’s talent takes it beyond any perceived limitations of that sub-genre into a multi-layered human drama. With a dollop of violence and generous helping of mystery to keep us crime addicts happy. As a reader you know pretty much from the off “who-dunnit” but that’s not the point of this excellent novel. This is people-watching on an intimate and at times uncomfortable level.

And it’s this ability to draw her characters that makes you care. Mina enlists your sympathy even for the suspected killer, despite the fact he’s spoiled rotten and given every advantage in life. Real life is never that straightforward. We life in a world of contrast, a rainbow of gray if you will, and few writers highlight that as well as Denise Mina does.

If you prefer a read chock full of red-herrings and the chance to deduce who the bad-guy is, this is not the book for you.  I can also understand if readers who are new to Denise Mina feel the pace lags in places.  For me, however, End of the Wasp Season is a vibrant, thought-provoking read and one that is an excellent addition to this talented author’s oeuvre.

Thursday, 30 June 2011

Trash Talk



During an If You Can’t Beat Them Join Them moment, the May Contain Nuts team (that would be me) decided to offer you some celebrity gossip. For “gossip” read “any old shit”. For “celebrity” read “who are they again?” (I would provide photos to help with the old identification thing but I really can’t be arsed.)


Shocking news backstage from the U.K. X-Factor auditions. Gary Barlow aka Gazza, aka the used to be chubby one, aka the one who knows how to wring every last £ from a pop song ... has said that there is actually very little real talent out there. Britain gasps with shock and has a sit down with a wee cup of tea and some custard creams. Nonetheless, his “spokesperson”added, we will still manage to find a bunch of girls who can’t sing and bring them together and try to persuade the nation they are The Next Big Thing. They’ll also probably find a bolshy lass from a council estate, a yoof who’s working his way through an asbo and a novelty act with big hair and two left feet that Louie will offer a record deal (particularly if they are from the oul’ country).


Gwyneth Paltrow, actress, gleeful singer(ish) and fashion designer (of a sort) has dinner with business mogul Sir Philip Green. Apparently they talked about all kinds of stuff.  And ate and drank stuff. In the photos taken by a very helpful waiter – and sold to the tabloids for a week’s wage – Sir Philip is looking very tanned. Gwyneth not so much.


Harry Windsor, just in case you is not totally up to date, he is like, 2nd in line to the, like, king-hat thingy. Oops, MCN is forgetting Charles. Anywho, Harry Ginger, son of Princess Di (there, our circulation figs go through da roof) is dating a (get this) underwear model. Ooooh. Granny Liz says – we are not amused. One needs to sow one’s oats, but puhleeze not with a gel who takes her clothes orf in public. Florence Double Barrel Name, aforementioned underwear model, has links to the aristocracy, which is nice, but all things considered that won’t get her an invite to Braemar for drinkies of a winter’s evening.


In other news, Katie Price wants implants in her bum. A “source” close to the celeb says she’s worried that if her giant tits spontaneously deflate she’ll be left with a figure like a boy. Peter Andre is totally considering botox (try a paper bag mate), Cheryl Cole has gone blonde and is retiring from showbiz (wait, no she isn’t. Oh yes she is. Oh no she isn’t.) And in a piece of news in which we get to celebrate our inner bitch when we really should be leaving this troubled celeb alone, reports say that Amy Winehouse managed to get through an entire song. She’s hoping she can bring the bathroom mirror and hairbrush on stage with her for the next gig.


And finally there are a whole host of celebrity birthdays today but due to a lack of verification (don’t these people make this shit up?) we’re not going to publish them. We wouldn’t want to be accused of inaccuracy.

Right, I'm off to have my tongue surgically removed from the inside of my cheek.

Until next time ...

Sunday, 26 June 2011

#amreading - Beautiful, Naked and Dead by Josh Stallings




Moses McGuire is depressed, hard drinking, ex-con, and ex-military, and he’s on the edge of suicide. When he gets an urgent phone call from the one woman in the world he considers his only true friend, Kelly, a waitress at Club Xtasy in East L.A., the "titty bar" where Moses works as a doorman, Mo puts all thoughts of doing himself in on the back burner.

Kelly is in some kind of trouble and needs Mo's help. But Mo, being as damaged as he is, and trying hard to overcompensate by playing pseudo daddy-hero to the women at the strip club he sees as lost little girls, bungles the one time that his heroism really matters. Instead of running straight to Kelly when he realizes she's not at the club, he stalls, has a few drinks and allows one of the other dancers to give him a quickie lap dance.

By the time he gets there, he finds that he’s too late. She’s been brutally tortured before being murdered. Moses manages to pull his self together and decides to track down the scumbags responsible for killing her. He sells his motorcycle, buys an old Crown Victoria, and a goes on a road trip - a no holds barred, take no prisoners, kill em' all, rampage.

Did I like it?

Lemme give you a hell yeah! Loved it. This excellent stuff, right out of the top drawer. It’s hard to believe that Josh Stallings hasn’t been picked up by one of the major publishers. He writes like a dream, his action is tense and unpredictable and his characters utterly convincing.

This is visceral stuff, not for the faint of heart and an indication of the talent that the mainstream publishing houses are losing out on while digital grows in strength.

Fans of noir fiction take note. Josh Stallings is one to watch out for and he deserves a huge audience. Get yourself onto to his site and buy a copy of his book. Like, NOW. £2.83 for a kindle copy is ridiculously cheap. What you waiting for? Get over there already.




Josh Stallings is your average ex-criminal, ex-taxi driver, ex-club bouncer, film making, script writing, award winning trailer editing, punk.   Over his time in Hollywood he wrote and edited the feature film “The Ice Runner,” a Russian/American co-production. “Kinda Cute for a White-Boy” an independent feature he directed and co-wrote with novelist Tad Williams, won best picture at the Savanah International Film Festival. He also wrote “Ground Zero Texas,” a best selling Sony video game with Edward Neumeier (writer of RoboCop).   His first novel BEAUTIFUL, NAKED & DEAD is garnering great notice from readers and reviewers alike.   OUT THERE BAD (Moses #2) will be published early summer.  He is currently working on the third Moses McGuire novel.  He lives in Los Angeles with his wife Erika, his bullmastiff Nelson, Lucy the lab pit mix and Riddle the cat.

You can read more about Josh Stallings at his website HERE!!!