High Moor 3 is done! Release on 27th October 2015. And some early reviews

•October 12, 2015 • 5 Comments

And here is the finished cover in all its glory

Hi Guys – no need to check your calendar. It’s not April and I have finally put High Moor 3 to bed. I got the last edits back this morning, build the ebook and paperbacks and the ebook is sitting on Amazon for pre-order right now.


When I find five minutes I will endeavour to bore you all rigid over the coming weeks with blog posts, interviews and the like, but in the meantime I thought I’d point you in the direction of some early reviews to whet your appetite.

First review bragging rights went to the wonderful Gingernuts of Horror website, who said, among other things:

Blood Moon is darker and bloodier than the previous books in the series. The werewolves are more vicious than ever, and Reynolds does not hold back the violence in this book, so if that kind of thing bothers you, beware. However, there is a bit of humour thrown in to break up the violence and tension, and Reynolds demonstrates that he can write more than gore and brutal death scenes.”



Then the awesome Horror Maiden herself, the lovely Angela Crawford, had this to say…

“This action packed thrill ride is filled with enough chills and terror, along with an astronomical body count, to please any horror lover out there. The characters are fantastically written and believable.”



And then Stormblade Productions got in on the act, with this great review.

Due to the brutality of Blood Moon it has taken the top spot for the best Werewolf novel I’ve ever read. Fact. “The unfortunate soldier’s torso fell twenty feet to the bloodstained ground, trailing intestines behind it like the streamers on a kite.” Lines like this gave me such a visual that it had to have that spot.



I’ll keep posting them as they come in. Sorry for the wait. Hope it was worth it.

A Different Kind of Horror – UPDATE!

•September 9, 2015 • Leave a Comment


#AuthorLipsyncBattles – You know it makes no kind of sense :D

Originally posted on Horror Reviews for You:

Hey everyone,

With all the utter crap going around on the social media sites these days, I wanted to bring you something fun and in most cases, more terrifying than anything these guys could ever write.

A couple days ago, Matt Shaw challenged horror authors to a lip sync battle using the hashtag #AuthorLipsyncBattles. He called out specific authors by name, but invited any horror author who wants to participate. A few authors have taken him up on his challenge. There are no rules. Simply choose a song and lip sync in the most entertaining way possible.

These are the entries so far.

Matt Shaw – 1

Matt Shaw – 2

Matt Shaw – 3 (language warning on this one)

Jack Rollins

Graeme Reynolds

Shaun Hupp – 1

Shaun Hupp – 2

Chris Barnes (Narrator)

Luke Smitherd

Glenn Rolfe

If you want a good laugh, check out these videos. More…

View original 74 more words

Recent, Decent Werewolf Movies you probably missed

•September 3, 2015 • 5 Comments

The cinematic werewolf is one of those monsters that is done, with a few noteable exceptions, incredibly badly. The fact that the werewolf transformation effects seem to have peaked over thirty years ago with American Werewolf in London is, quite frankly, depressing and while there was a flurry of great movies in the early 2000’s (Ginger Snaps Trilogy and Dog Soldiers), the majority of films featuring everyone’s favourite cursed, hairy beast have been somewhere between crap and absolutely god-awful.

However, all is not lost. Over the last couple of years there have been a few absolutely fantastic werewolf films that may have slipped under your radar. And I thought it was about time that I shared a few of my more recent favourites, for those of you who are looking for a change from the classics.

Wer (2013)

When an American family are slaughtered on a camping trip to rural France, the police initially suspect a bear or similar wild animal is responsible. It doesn’t take long for them to launch a murder investigation, however, and arrest a hirstute giant of a man called Talan Gwynek for the atrocities. An American human rights lawyer takes on the case for Talan’s defense as things are not quite adding up – chief among them being the fact that her client is suffering from a debilitating disease that should it be proven, would mean he could not possibly have committed the murders.

To say any more would do the film a disservice. Suffice to say that something that starts out looking very much like a legal drama quickly turns into a very effective, almost realistic take on the werewolf legend. The action in the later half of the film is quite brutal and the transformation scenes are subtle enough to retain the initial realism while being more than enough to show that this really is a werewolf that they are dealing with. Things get a little overdone towards the final act, but this remains a thoroughly enjoyable take on the werewolf legend, with a bit of pseudo science thrown in for good measure and enough carnage to satisfy any horror gore hound. 8/10

Attack of the Werewolves (Game of Werewolves) (2011)

Tomas is an unsucessful writer who is invited to return to his childhood home to collect an award. Despite warnings from his mother he returns to his home town, only to find that perhaps the locals were not quite as forthcoming about the reasons for his invite as they could have been. He is, infact, there to end a curse that was placed upon the village over a century ago. No prizes for guessing what the curse entailed…

I love this film. Despite the fact that it’s in Spanish, the comedy comes across extremely well, with plenty of laugh out loud moments among the carnage. The practical effects are surprisingly good and it walks that very difficult line between comedy and horror with a confidence that few films manage.

I realise that subtitles films are not everyone’s cup of tea, but I strongly recommend you check this movie out. It’s hilarious, well plotted, well acted and doesn’t shy away from the blood letting. 8/10

When Animals Dream (2014)

16 Year Old Marie is going through some changes. She spends her time in a small Danish fishing village with her father, alternatively helping to care for her wheelchair bound mother and working at the local fish processing factory. She is mostly shunned by the townsfolk, who treat her with something between contempt and fear. However when it becomes apparent that she may be suffering from the same illness as her mother, the people in the town feel that they have to take action.

This film is gorgeous. From the bleak setting, to the washed out colour scheme and the absolutely pitch perfect acting, this film blew me away. Despite it being subtitled, the dialogue is minimal, with most of the work being done through action and body language. I probably could have followed the story with the subtitles turned off, such is the quality of the performances.

When Animals Dream is, in tone if nothing else, the werewolf equivalent of Let The Right One In, but in many ways I actually think this is the better film. The theme of a young girl going through change and having the strength to make her own decisions about her life are possibly a little heavy handed at times, but its a riveting, melancholy and minimalist piece of film making and deserves to be considered a classic. Probably the best film I have seen this year in any genre. 9/10

Howl (2015)

Joe is a young ticket collector for a rail company who, having just been passed up for promotion, agrees to work the late night shift to give him a chance of spending time with Ellen, an attractive colleague who is also working the same shift. When the train hits something while passing through a forest and the driver goes missing, Joe has to rally the passengers to survive the night as they come under attack by something in the woods.

I really enjoyed Howl. The beginning especially does a great job of building tension, even if its a little slow to start off with. There is a palpable sense of dread among the passengers, especially after an ill fated attempt to walk to the next station reveals what exactly happened to the driver. The attacks are fast, brutal and utterly vicious.

That’s not to say that Howl does not have its problems. Some of the characters, especially the token city boy wanker and annoying teenager, are perhaps overdone. A few of them do some amazingly stupid things (lets go off by myself into the woods, with a torch, when you know the place is crawling with werewolves, because you heard a noise… yeah…) and far too many of the deaths happen off camera. While this builds suspense early on, I found it becoming annoying as the movie progressed. Also, in the later scenes the werewolves, quite frankly, spend too much time pissing about and posturing in front of their prey, which, given the fast, brutal initial attacks, also irritated me a bit.

That said, Howl is a decent addition to this list. When it works, it really does work. The comedy elements are well done, with a few laugh out loud moments, and it has enough suspense and scares for me to forgive its shortcomings. 7/10

Flash Fiction – The Nowhere Man

•March 14, 2015 • 1 Comment

Been a little while since I did anything on here. My apologies. It’s actually been a while since I got a writing groove on but tonight (which watching a dumb rom com) I had the urge to get something done. So – movie was paused and I rattled this out. It might be shit, but at least its a story. Feel free to let me know what you think.

The Nowhere Man by Graeme Reynolds

The old man sat alone in the bar and watched the people around him going about their lives. A young couple, sitting at the table across from him spoke to each other in whispers, intent only on each other.  The girl’s clothes and makeup were immaculate, despite the hour. Seven in the evening, which meant that she’d gone straight home from work and gotten herself ready. Her eyes shone as her partner, a good-looking man with a carefully dishevelled appearance, spoke to her in a low voice. The old man watched as the strings of their lives streamed out into the future, intersecting with other bright blue lines of possibly in bright bomb-bursts that created new lines of life in trails of orange, green and scarlet, each extending off into their own infinite possibilities.

He smiled to himself.  A small, sad expression.  Gratified to witness the potential futures unfolding before the young couple that contrasted the fading, lonely line of his own existence – stretching out for a few short years until it faded to nothing. His own line brushed against others; a brief brightening that created a few vague, quickly forgotten interactions on the futures of those that he came into contact with. A smile. A couple of choice words, or a phrase uttered in passing conversation that would be remembered at some point in the future, without the person remembering where they had heard those words before, or who had spoken them. Small, meaningless intersections with other lives that had little effect beyond the immediate future.

It had not always been that way. In his youth, the man’s life had been filled with possibilities. A spider web of interactions that had affected the lives of those around him. Chance introductions between acquaintances that had blossomed into love, marriage and children that blazed their own bright lines upon the future. Random meetings and discussions that had erupted in a cascade of potential futures, where the world had belonged to him and those he met. All of that was in the past now, though. He’d made a decision, years ago, that the small bubble of reality that he’d created with her would be enough. That he needed nothing else. He’d moved away from those who knew and loved him, holding their shared reality close as they chased a dream. Until that dream had faded and he found himself alone in a prison of his own making, the interactions with others reduced to little more than fleeting illumination along a progressively darker future.

He sighed and made his way to the bar for another drink. Another small dose of oblivion to numb his breaking heart and pass the empty hours. To dim the awareness of the lives extending around him. He smiled at the young girl behind the bar, aware of the shy, veiled glance that she gave to her colleague and the intertwining dance of the lifelines – a dance that in seven or eight months would have another partner – the child in her stomach hardly the size of a pea at this stage but already colouring their combined futures with an incandescent golden glow.

The shove came from behind. Unintentional but still with sufficient force to make him stagger, sloshing the contents of his glass across his shirt. A young man in grey tracksuit bottoms and a faded baseball cap, stumbling forward and forcing his way to the bar. He did not even apologise. Hardly even seemed aware of the contact. The barmaid frowned at him and shook her head. “Go home, Billy. You’ve had too many. I’m not serving you.”

Billy snarled, and the vinegar stench of his unwashed clothing assailed the man’s nostrils. A few slurred insults hurled before he staggered off towards the exit, watched by the barmaid and her partner, who now stood beside her with his arms folded.

The man saw the lifeline of the drunk stream out before him. A diseased, sickly thing, filled with undirected anger and bitterness tainting it and everything it came into contact with. An intersection with the young couple in the corner. Three lines coming together in a dark eruption. Only one line continuing on.

The door to the bar slammed against the wall as the drunk left. The young couple in the corner’s hands touch. They smile and finish their drinks, then retrieve their jackets from the chair beside them.

The man was barely aware of the barmaids voice as he stepped away from the bar, leaving a crumpled ten pound note behind him. The possibilities drained away before him – his vision narrowing until only a single path remained. One last choice. One last mark he could leave on the world.

He reached the door at the same time as the young couple. He smiled at the woman, then said “Is that your mobile phone underneath the table?”. They paused, instinctively patting their pockets. That second was all the time he needed. All the time he had left.

The man stepped from the pub into the dark car park. Felt, rather than saw the glare of the headlights. The pain was agonising, but mercifully brief as the car impacted his body, shattering bone until fragments carved their way through nerve and muscle. For the briefest of moments he was flying – all pain forgotten – defying gravity until it regained its hold and drew him close once more in a final crushing embrace.

The young couple stood at the door to the bar, their lifelines blazing. The drunk leaving his car, slurring “I never saw him. He just came out of nowhere.”

As the light faded from his eyes and his body grew cold, the man smiled then breathed his last.

Guest Blog by William Holloway. The Thing in the Basement – HP Lovecraft and Racism

•January 14, 2015 • 4 Comments

hpl_portraitBeing a worthy young man, it was an inevitability that you would come into your inheritance, as you hail from a historic family that traced it’s origins in New England all the way back to Roanoke. You receive a letter from an executor telling that your long lost uncle, a thin gaunt New England eccentric,  has disappeared, leaving his estate in Providence to you. You’ve never met him, but your grandmother always said he looked just like you, he spoke just like you, before crossing herself and looking away. You had always chalked this up to mere superstition…

Ah, Providence! Both timely and temporal, of rain swept streets and fog enshrouded boulevards, gambrel roofed homes and witch haunted memory! You set out at once to inspect this new addition to your portfolio, and are instantly charmed by it. It feels like home, it feels like a part of you went missing and has been returned by an act of providence. The library is sumptuous, the tomes both byzantine and welcoming. You’ve only heard darkly veiled whispers of the the Necronomicon, Cultes Des Ghoules, De Vermiis Mystiris, The Incendium Malificarum, and Pecul Numeritor, having spent time as a professor of letters at Miskatonic University.

But now, all of this is yours, a whole world to explore.

It feels right. It feels like home.

But then…the horror in the basement!  Aberrant, ruggose, a thing that should not be! It appears to be a column, but the angles are wrong. It is vulgar, unsightly, evocative of dark aeons best left forgotten to the sands of time. Why has such singular beauty been marred by such hideous blemish? What madness drove the former inhabitant, that thin gaunt New England eccentric, to force it where it need not be?

Yet the next day, the executor cables you with news of monumental import. The column, the heinous eidolon can be removed, and the the shadows and peaks of fog enshrouded Providence can once again dream beneath the black stars of infinity in something like peace.

What, you might ask, is our good narrator going on about?

Essentially, this column, this eidolon, this thing in the basement is not a load bearing structure. In fact it has nothing to do with the house other than that the builder put it there, seemingly out of spite for himself and everyone else. The thin gaunt New England eccentric is none other that HP Lovecraft, and you, the buyer are really reading one of his stories.

What then, you ask is this pillar, this eidolon of terrible angles and nameless meaning?

Well, it does have a name. That name is racism.

But the moral of this story, a story now being told by the reader to the author, is that this pillar is not essential to the story, this house shall not fall, but rather continue to dream its dreams into the minds of others for untold aeons.

HP, you say, “This racism has nothing to do with the story. We could just name the cat Bob. Those swarthy hordes in the Horror at Red Hook could just be anyone we currently find alien, exotic, threatening. or just plain suspect. Perhaps Furries?  Perhaps suspicious types who dress up as colonial era philosophers and debate the rights of man in witch haunted Providence?”

So, HP asks, “This racism, as you call it, is not part of the essential nature of the thing?”

No, you answer, it is not.

Now that we’ve gone meta with our parable, we can discuss the real heart of the matter: The Lovecraft Problem. Howard Philips Lovecraft was a writer of no mean proportion, only what he did with that writing was a shame and a caution and an eldritch horror. He was a racist, a real racist. He believed, as many did at the time, that race was the primary determinant of individual and group characteristics. This is not subjective racism, that he was a racist is not in debate. No my dear readers, Lovecraft’s racism was real, actual racism.

To a man of today, it’s jarring. There you are reading this fascinating wordsmith and you come across it, and are launched out of an engrossing tale and straight into the fact of it. It’s racist. It really is.

But you keep reading, you shake your head, and you finish the story. That story was awesome, but that completely unnecessary addition well nigh ruined it. But you keep reading his stories anyways, in fact you read all of them. You become one of the cult, one of those people referred to as Lovecraftians. There’s one on every bus. They’ve got tentacle tattoos and funny taste in just about everything.

Then someone reads an article to you from a highbrow and sophisticated arbiter of nothing such as The New York Review of Constipated Snobbery. It says Lovecraft sucks. You ignore it until you hear that word. The R word. Racist.

You ask yourself; How did I do it? How did I file away that nasty nugget of truth about this man, how did I reconcile this?

It is here that your dear narrator must step in and make a confession. I really had to think about it. How exactly did I square this circle? And here, ladies and gentlemen is my answer: Lovecraft’s Racism is not essential to his prose, to his monsters, or to his universe. If you removed it, it’s essence would remain intact.

His monsters, his universe, were created by a a horrifying childhood and a terrible and precocious vulnerability. The swarthies in The Horror at Red Hook, the name of the cat in The Rats in the Walls, and a few other examples that slip my mind, are not why you read Lovecraft or why I read Lovecraft. As I said, you could engage in a bit of cut and paste and make those baddies from The Horror at Red Hook into Furries, hell you could turn them into Lovecraftians and the story would still work. Yes, Lovecraft’s intentions were racist. But the story itself doesn’t actually hinge on race.

The cat? Call him Bob and read on.

Is this dismissive? Yes, that’s the point. If you’re going to be a reader rooted in the present day, you can’t really read Lovecraft and not find some means to reconcile yourself with his racism. Granted, its harder with Lovecraft. His racism wasn’t merely the institutional racism of the day, it was especially bitter and spiteful.

How dare I say this isn’t important?

OK, you wanna watch me say it again? It isn’t important. He was a racist and he snuck it into his writing, but it isn’t essential to his writing, none of his stories hinge on race. Yes, there are people who analyze and interpret and have very important sounding titles, ironic glasses, and a turtleneck. They are professor blah blah of blah blah blah and they are here to make a fuss. In other words they are engaging in the time honored tradition of rent seeking.  But ask yourself; what’s worse, you living with the fact that an author you like was also a racist or being a rent seeking twat? You liking a guy that was scared of his own shadow and consequently scared of everything else, or being one of the multitude currently preening and polishing their halos?

Are they shouting from the mountaintops that Mahatma Ghandi was a racist? Are they going to retire their Che Guevera shirts because he was a racist and a war criminal?

Somehow I doubt it.

In short, buy the old house in Providence. It’s got an ugly past and a gross thing in the basement, but you’ll survive with your sanity and soul intact. (maybe)

William Holloway is a horror novelist from the Great State of Texas. His first novella, aptly titled Death in Texas, was written in 1998 and correctly presaged the zombie apocalypse hysteria that swept the zeitgeist of the 2000’s. It has since been lost to time, but rumors of it’s existence abound.

More than a decade later he put pen to paper and began his cosmic horror series, titled The Singularity Cycle. The first novel was titled The Immortal Body and was self published in 2012. Not many people read it, but those that did saw something unseen in cosmic horror…

The Immortal Body, and it’s follow up, titled Song of the Death God, have been acquired by British Horror Maven Graeme Reynold’s Horrific Tales Publishing along with his standalone novel entitled Lucky’s Girl.


Hyphen Hate? When Amazon went to war against punctuation.

•December 14, 2014 • 132 Comments

10520828_935072746511716_41317665270618143_nThis is a really strange blog post to have to write, simply because the situation is absurd. It would be comedic, really, if the situation was not costing me money and resulted in one of my best-selling books being unavailable in the run up to the busiest time of the year.

Let me tell you a little story.

I was sitting in front of my computer on Friday night, as is often the case, talking to friends on Facebook, randomly browsing things that seemed interesting and, in this particular case, attending the launch party for Chantal Noordeloos’s latest Coyote book, when I had an email notification arrive in my inbox from Kindle Direct Publishing.

The email was titled rather ominously as
Kindle Quality Notice: High Moor 2: Moonstruck – B00BVC7MKW

Now – Moonstruck has been out for around 18 months now. It’s done well for itself and, at the time of writing has around 123 reviews on Amazon.com, the overwhelming majority of which are four and five stars. Even the few people that have not liked the book have not had a go at the editing – and for good reason – I spent well over £1000 on getting that book edited, using the best editors I could find. I was more than happy with the product, so was bemused by this email. When I clicked on it to take a look inside my confusion grew.

Apparently Amazon had received a complaint from a reader about the fact that some of the words in the book were hyphenated. And when they ran an automated spell check against the manuscript they found that over 100 words in the 90,000 word novel contained that dreaded little line. This, apparently “significantly impacts the readability of your book” and, as a result “We have suppressed the book because of the combined impact to customers.”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. This had to be a wind-up. Surely. An automated mistake, generated because some fucking clueless moron had a little moan over something they didn’t understand.

So, chuckling to myself, I sent back a response pointing out that the use of a hyphen to join two words together was perfectly valid in the English language and included a handy link to the Oxford English Dictionaries definition page which described its usage.

That, I felt, should have been the end of the matter. A fuck up was made. I explained the fuck up. Fuck up goes away.

Does it fuck.

The next day I got a response from Kindle Direct Publishing. It was signed by a Melania G – which is either the name of the particular automated response bot I was directed to, or the person reading from a script in a call center, which amounts to about the same thing.

You can read the response below…

Hello Graeme,

Thanks for contacting us and giving me the opportunity to help you. I will be more than glad to assist you with your inquiry.

As quality issues with your book negatively affect the reading experience, we have removed your title from sale until these issues are corrected. Books with serious errors that are not corrected after 60 days will have their product detail pages removed from the website. Your book will still appear in your Bookshelf, and you can update it and resubmit it at any time.

Once you correct hyphenated words, please republish your book and make it available for sale.

Erm – what the actual fuck? Are we now considering hyphenated words to be unacceptable? Are there people out there so fucking mind-bogglingly stupid that the inclusion of a – between two words confuses them enough to be torn from the story and ruin the reading experience so much that they felt obliged to write to Amazon and complain?

What’s next? Will we start getting penalized for using words of more than two syllables? Is the semi-colon also headed for extinction? Is J.K Rowling going to have to take down Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince until she sorts out the blatant hyphenation in the title? Is Cormac McCarthy going to have to go and put in punctuation to The Road?

OK – clearly I am being a bit sarcastic here, and what is happening here is style enforcement by automation. And in some respects I have to applaud Amazon for at least trying to address the sea of utter fucking garbage that is available on Kindle. Do they need to do something about the quality of the ebooks on their device? Oh yes. Absolutely no question about it. However I really would have to question whether their time would be better spent looking at the 10 page automatically generated “books” that are flooding the kindle store to game the Kindle Unlimited algorithms, or the impending tidal wave of Nanowrimo first drafts that are about to hit us, than waging war on a professionally edited novel that had the gall to use hyphens to join words together.

If I was a suspicious sort, I may even wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that I unchecked the “automatically renew this book’s enrollment in Kindle Select” tickbox a few days earlier.

I am fairly confident that if I manage to speak to someone who is not reading from a script or is an email autoresponder, that this situation will be sorted out quite quickly. However, with over £1000 worth of paid advertising coming up over the Christmas period, I really can’t afford to have one of my top selling titles out of circulation, and so I will, reluctantly, start preparing a version of the book with all the hyphens removed.

And then some clever bastard will probably complain to Amazon about the lack of hyphenation and it will get taken down again.

So please, Amazon, in the unlikely event that you are listening – quality control is a good thing. However you should not take the word of some random fuck-wit that something is wrong. You are screwing with peoples livelihoods here, and you owe it to everyone involved to look at these issues on a case-by-case basis.


UPDATE: The book is now back on sale. Common sense seems to have prevailed :)

Guest Blog – A Fan Letter to Readers from Chantal Noordeloos

•November 18, 2014 • 3 Comments

10806387_10152456496371088_3290938985989135879_nNot since Romeo and Juliette has there been a romance so great as that between a writer and a reader.

*coughs* ehm… okay, that’s utter nonsense, sorry about that. I went for a nice dramatic opening… artistic license and all that.

First of all, I don’t think Romeo and Juliette are all that romantic. They were very young, barely knew each other, and if my memory serves me correct, Romeo was trying to get it on with some other bird first. Also… it resulted in unnecessary death, which sounds rather foolish to me.

But I digress. What I’m trying to say, in my own rather clumsy manner, is that readers are very important to the author. We’re always telling each other that we need to write for ourselves, but we don’t really… we write for an imaginative audience.

I have recently released my first full length novel. A horror book called Angel Manor, through Horrific Tales Publishing. This meant I had to do that which I dread most: get my book noticed. It really got me to think about readers, and how absolutely vital they are to writers; we can’t live without them. The same way that readers can’t be readers without writers, writers are really not worth much without readers.

Finding an audience is a challenge for us. Unless we’ve broken through and have made our claim to fame, the writers have an ongoing quest to search for the holy grail: their readers.

We’re a funny lot, authors, most of us (not me) are introverts who prefer to stay well away from the public eye. Yet at the same time, we want our books to be read by millions. Not just for the money, mind you. Though getting paid for… you know… work… is quite pleasant. We really want readers because they breathe life into our stories and our worlds. A story is a flat entity until it gets an audience. Look at what the readers of Harry Potter have done. Without his public, he wouldn’t be what he is today. There would be no theme parks, no movies, no merchandise, nothing. Just words on a page that no one has read.

That wasn’t JK Rowling who created the hype. If we writers had that power, all our books would have their own theme parks *sits back and fantasizes about Coyote world* and movies. It’s the fans that make all this magic happen. Their combined love for a book can move mountains.

We writers dream about readers. We talk to them in our work, hope to seduce them, lure them into our realities, and we want them to love us. We have a bit of an exhibitionistic streak in us. Not that we’ll end up flashing people our naughty parts (some might, but most of us prefer to stay fully dressed), but we like to ‘flash’ our minds. One could argue that that’s a naughty part too *cheeky grin*.

Angel Manor Front CoverUnfortunately not all readers are kind to us. There are a good many Trolls out there who would quite happily destroy the career of a budding author, for whatever reason. We fear those readers. Writers whisper about them, the way children will talk about the monster under the bed. All of us know that not every reader can like your work, and we’re prepared for the one and two star reviews, they are a part of life. But on occasion you get that one star review that makes no sense, or that is just spiteful. One of my author friends has been openly attacked for having a racist character in his horror book.

Just because we write bad characters, doesn’t mean we’re bad people. It’s painful to be called names by strangers. Most of us take it to heart; we’re often extremely sensitive souls, we creative weirdos.

Authors thrive on reviews, they get us through the darker parts of the creative process. Writing can be a lonely process, and a review can make you feel very loved, or at the very least noticed. Plus they are vital, they actually help us make more sales. The best way to help us build our careers is to talk about us, recommend our work. This is what keeps us sold and keeps us sane. Luckily most readers understand this. It’s difficult to get people to write reviews, so when they do, we tend to be very grateful. I have to admit, there have been a few reviews that have made me cry happy tears. In fact, whenever I’m feeling a bit blue, I read those again. It’s like reading a love letter. They are a testimony of my words touching another human soul out there, and it’s magical.

So, in light of all these wonderful readers, I want to write a little fan letter. I know it’s usually the reader who writes to the writer, but I thought I would mix it up a little.

Dear reader,

I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I started writing. Though we’ve never met, I actually feel very close to you. We share something, an understanding of the world I created in my books. That’s pretty special to me.

Your kind / honest review has really made an impact on me, and I was thrilled to read it. I love that you made the time to give me your opinion on my work. That was pretty awesome.

I have to admit, I think about you a lot. Know that whatever I write, it’s all for you. I long for your approval. Nothing makes me happier than you smiling, crying, or gasping with horror when you read my work. If my words can reach you, can make you think or just provide you with some pleasant entertainment… I feel more fulfilled.

Thank you for existing, dear reader. You are so very special to me, and I feel a deep admiration for you.

With love,





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