Monday, 9th of July

The week has been subdued, but also quite unnerving. Each night now we’ve had the same dream – The Manor as a God given sanctuary appearing over a hill. In the morning I wake up feeling safe, as if the walls are protecting me and nothing can harm me here, but then the realisation comes of what that means to the rest of the world if we’re the last bolthole. Nothing has happened yet, when I saw it Saturday the TV was still talking about Barclays, Libor and Andy Murray – while we sat together and talked about the end of the world. But surely there’s a way we can still warn people what’s about to happen. Surely there’s some chance we can make a difference.
For now Dexter Phillips doesn’t feel the same and is cutting off our internet access and removing our televison and radio to keep the world out – to “allow us to get used to what’s about to happen’. Everyone is going along with it for now, but there is a dark mood amongst us.

I will blog again when I get chance.

Monday, 2nd of July

The same dream two nights in a row for all of us. Again we all woke up having seen visions of The Manor appearing over the hill as a haven, a sanctuary. Once more this caused a buzz of excitement around the dining room in the morning. As having spent the last few weeks discussing the same dreams we’ve all endured for months on end, this is something exciting.
Only Dexter Phillips was unperturbed, only he retained his calm. Finally Elvina/Denise asked why – and his reply was astonishing.

Apparently he’s been having this very dream for months, seeing this house as a sanctuary – and that was one of the reasons why he brought us here to Wales. He has determined that London is not safe (indeed no cities are), that it’s tainted. As he explained this to us, he even pointed to me and said that the same thing is in my book, a sense of London as a place filled with danger and fear. That’s why he wanted us to leave. Not that we could all be together in the country necessarily, but so we could all be safe from London.

We are the chosen ones he told us, and so we have to be together and protected away from those in the towns and cities.

Thursday, 17th of May

Dexter Phillips tells me he has managed to get hold of a copy of my book, express delivery from Amazon. Elvina/Denise also has a copy. He says that he hasn’t read too much of the way into it yet, but he thinks he can see signs of the dreams already there. In some of my imagery, in the descriptions, he claims to see the beginnings of what is now happening to us. I told him that I wrote it two or so years ago now, before this began, it surely couldn’t be possible for him to see hints there.
There was a pause on the phone and then his voice raised slightly – both gently and determinedly. He asked if I seriously imagined that this has only just started happening. Did I not realise that this is something that has stretched back for millions of years? If this is the end of the world, then its roots are not new. Its roots would, undoubtedly be there at the beginning, and so what we are now tapping into is ancient.

Actually speechless, I just nodded numbly.

Thursday, 12th of April

A most gratifying review of my novel by the kind people at Spinetinglers: 

"Tell me about your devil..."

Hell's Secrets - Spinetinglers Review

Mark Anthony hates his life. He hates his job, he’s not overly keen on his flat and he’s not even sure he likes his friends anymore. Then out of the blue he receives an email that changes everything.

It sounds simple enough – all he has to do is take credit for a book that someone else has written. The only fly in the ointment is that the book was actually written by Giles White, a somewhat strange individual Mark knew from university. The two had a tense acquaintanceship in those days, which had ended with Giles spitting in Mark’s face and taking off into the night. Surely there had to be an ulterior motive for such an offer? Why, of all the people, in all world, did Giles want Mark to get the glory for his work?

Despite his better judgement Mark agrees to Giles’ offer and takes on the identity of M.J Anthony, author of Hell’s Secrets. To begin with everything goes swimmingly, the book is a massive hit, he bags himself a new girlfriend and he has movie producers practically beating down his door to buy the rights to his bestseller. And then the shit rather spectacularly hits the fan, as Mark’s life, and the lives of those closest to him begin to spiral out of control…

Hell’s Secrets had me hooked right from the get-go. The chapters are short and snappy, which is perfect for the tale being told, and helps to create the uneasy tension which is woven so brilliantly throughout the story. Giles White is so fabulously creepy that you can’t wait to get to bottom of what is driving him, and you can’t help but feel sorry for Mark, who seems to be descending further and further into madness with the turn of every page.

Hell’s Secrets is another wonderful offering from F.R Jameson, which firmly cements him as one of horror’s most exciting authors.

I’m of course very happy with that, and I feel like it could be the start of a good period for me.

Thursday, 5th of April

I’ve received a very positive review of my novel from the nice people at Spinetinglers (which I will post here when it’s published). At the moment it’s one of the few things in my life that I’m feeling positive about. There’s something odd in that as it’s a novel about the publication of a book which looks to be the central character’s salvation. But of course, that salvation proves ephemeral.

Maybe I shouldn’t rely solely on my novel’s existence for good feeling.

But please do buy a copy.

Monday, 26th of March

Things I should try to improve this year:
1. My love life (although that seems to be going well, fingers crossed)
2. My book sales (well, I am trying).
3. My job.

I think Louise sees that last one as the root of all my problems – my general malaise in the world of work intruding into the rest of my life (and my dreams). But I’m not sure I buy her thesis, as I’m not overly ambitious career wise and happy to plod along. My job is something I do, not something I am. I did try to explain this to her tonight, but I think I failed. After all, I have told her I’m unhappy there and so one can’t blame her if she thinks I shouldn’t put up with unhappiness.

What else could I possibly do though? I’ve been in this job years now and still have no idea what else I could try.

Saturday, 10th of March

I went out for dinner last night with a former flatmate (Catherine) and a loud, Australian friend of hers (Pippa) who I’d never met before.
Catherine has never made any bones about not reading the kind of stuff I write, but this Pippa nearly recoiled in revulsion when told it fell into the ‘horror’ category, (I prefer ‘supernatural thriller’ myself, but I accept that that’s splitting hairs.) So over starter, main course and dessert I was peppered with questions about why on earth I would write that kind of stuff (answer: I’ve always done it); where I get my ideas from (sometimes they are things that happen, sometimes they just come to me); and whether my parents are proud of what I do (of course they are – what kind of question is that?)

The question which stayed most in my mind though was: “Do you ever frighten yourself?”

My answer, given with only the hint of a smile: “Frequently”

Sunday, 26th of February

A nice, peaceful weekend spent with Julie. I feel – the word I’m going for is happy. Maybe things are turning around for me, perhaps this year is going to be good after all. If only I could sell more copies of my book....

Wednesday, 22nd of February

My colleagues were asking about my book today, which is odd as normally we don’t have that much in the way of chat. But they showed an interest and posed a few questions, and I roused myself from my normal stupor to tell them a little bit about it. I said that it’s basically about a man who is unhappy in his life, and has an incredible offer put to him by an old acquaintance – and from there follows paranoia, fear and terror. I kept a smile on my face as I described it, as basically a conversation like that might lead to a sale (visit my website, you can find out more information about it there (grins warmly)), but basically as I was speaking I was thinking how close that description was to my own life. I’m a dissatisfied man in my Thirties, I have paranoia and frequent fearful and terrifying dreams. The only thing I haven’t had yet is the wonderful offer, as far as I can see my life is just going to keep plodding along with no chance of a change. (For whatever reason, I seem truly incapable of altering my own life).
So far, so like my book.

Except I know how my book ends.

February the 14th - addendum

After typing all that, I feel I have to try and cheer up before I see Julie. This has to be a good night.

Tuesday, 14th of February

Before I go out for the night, I thought I’d share that today I received the first review of my book from someone I know. Rather predictably it came from my mother. Although it isn’t a genre she likes (supernatural thrillers is what I write, of course) she told me she enjoyed it. Although it concerned her somewhat that the main character seemed so close to me and yet seemed so miserable (pretty bloody depressed, actually) in the opening stages of the book. She was distressed in case that’s how I felt; in case I ever reached such lows of morale or depths of despondency. I told her that at the time I wrote it I did feel really down, but I’ve felt much better since then.
In no way did I let onto her that once again I seem to have descended down the hill. But before, when I was depressed, I was simply low – I was never, ever frightened. There were no dreams to torment me. Back then I just felt as if life was giving me a kicking, now it seems as if the whole universe has taken it upon itself to destroy me. But I didn’t tell my mother this (how could I?) – I just reassured her that I was low when I wrote that book, but feel much better now.

The other thing she found really distressing, she told me, was the ending. And I can see her point there. But who knows what can lead to a distressing ending? I am typing these words now and have literally no idea how good or bad the ending will be. That’s life though, who knows what tricks fate has in store for us? Who can tell when those tricks will be played?

Monday, 13th of February

Things I would like to achieve this year.

1. Make things work with Alison.
2. Try and make the newly published novel successful.
3. Find out what my dreams really mean and what I can do to stop them.

The reason I didn’t go to see Louise tonight (I told her I had a migraine) was that I knew she would dismiss number 3 out of hand. She would want me to discuss other things – my job, for instance (she clearly finds it baffling that I’m so set on continuing in a job I hate), and the general drift of my life.

She would not countenance my dreams being any part of the discussion.

But – regardless of what happens with Alison, or with the book, (or even the fucking job) – I cannot conceive of me ever being happy again as long as these dreams continue.

January the 20th, 2012

I feel I should actually tell you something about my novel.
It’s about a bloke who’s contacted by an old university acquaintance with an amazing offer, and when he accepts it – as is traditional in Faustian pact tales  - his life all goes horribly wrong. At its core it’s about a man who really isn’t very happy with his life, who is looking around desperately for some way to change it and when it comes leaps at the chance with both hands, then has to deal with the horrible consequences. When I wrote it I wasn’t particularly thinking of myself. I was more looking around at some of my friends who’d reached their thirties and just seemed so unhappy with their lot. They didn’t have that dream job they’d promised themselves, their ideal lover was not between the sheets with them each night, and the beautiful children they’d envisaged were as far away as ever, All they had – as far as they were concerned – was shit, and it clearly depressed them. At the time I thought I was happy; that my life – although nowhere near perfect – was often quite fun.

How things change.

Now I feel so fed-up, am just disappointed with it all. And now I look at this book I wrote a little while back, about a dissatisfied man who recklessly grabs a chance to change things, and know I would seize any ludicrous proposal offered to me with both my hands.

Somehow I’ve written my autobiography before I had even lived it.

January the 12th, 2012

Good news!
I’ve heard from my publisher and all systems are go! My novel is now ready, copies are winging their way to me in the post and it should show up on Amazon – and no doubt other booksellers – this evening. Hoorah! It’s superb news, and after the shitty year I’ve had so far it is more than welcome. I’m glad, but feel I should actually be more excited than I am.

My happiness is nowhere near cartwheel proportions, I haven’t sung or whistled with glee. In fact I haven’t even told anyone yet.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’ve become a colder person over time, perhaps the various worries I have in my life have robbed me of the ability to really derive joy from anything. I feel like I should be bouncing up and down – isn’t that what normal people do when they have a book published? – but although I feel somewhat uplifted, that sense of joy seems to be lacking to me. I’m happy, but want to feel happier and yet somehow that feeling eludes me.

No dreams last night, thank god! Although I can’t believe the universe has started to take pity on me.