A collection of 13 ghost stories and strange tales – 10 have never seen the light of day before.
Tickety Boo Press are publishing our tenth collection. This will be published as hardback, paperback and ebook. The YouTube trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kipgZMjt2X8
There is a scratching at the door, but surely no-one is there. The house is empty, so the footsteps on the stairs must be in my imagination. The way that shadow just moved, like breathing, must be a trick of the light.
In thirteen new ghost stories and strange tales Maynard & Sims prove they are masters of subtle unease, shifting from reality to distorted nightmares with a few deft words, creating an atmosphere of dread with superb characterisation, pacing and plotting.
“Maynard Sims’ work is superbly detailed, and very well written.” British Fantasy Society.
“I wish Maynard & Sims were more prolific short story writers, because every collection they publish is a veritable feast for dark fiction lovers.” Mario Guslandi.
“Proof of what these much underrated writers are capable of producing when at their best.” Peter Tennant.
“Maynard and Sims revitalize the traditional thrills of haunted houses, ghosts, and witches by emphasizing the psychological turmoil of character’s minds.” Cemetery Dance.
DEATH’S SWEET ECHO Contents
ANOTHER BITE OF THE CHERRY
HOPING HE WOULDN’T BE TOO LATE
SWEET DECAY OF YOUTH
I HEAR HIS FOOTSTEPS DRAWING NEAR
AND IT GOES LIKE THIS
GUILT CASTS LONG SHADOWS
JUST THE WAY IT IS
THE WALTZER KING
ANOTHER BITE OF THE CHERRY was published by Hersham Horror as The Curse Of The Mummy in 2015
I HEAR HIS FOOTSTEPS DRAWING NEAR was published by Immediate Direction in the Midnight Street anthology Journeys Into Darkness in 2014
SILVER was published by Hersham Horror in the Dead Water anthology in 2014
All the other stories are unpublished
Total book word count is 82700 words The Amazon link for the ebook http://www.amazon.co.uk/Deaths-Sweet-Echo-Maynard-Sims-ebook/dp/B018YK61XM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449304185&sr=1-1&keywords=maynard+and+sims+death’s+sweet+echo
The publisher link for the hardcover http://shop.ticketyboopress.co.uk/index.php?id_product=81&controller=product
Excerpt from GLORIOUS DILAPIDATION
The house had stood there for as long as I could remember.
When I say it stood that might seem to suggest it was proud and erect, possibly rising majestically up from the ground on firm foundations, the walls straight and true, the roof attached strongly, and the overall ambience pleasing to the eye. It wasn’t like that, and never had been all the time I knew it.
These days it leaned in a forlorn almost wistful manner, as if it knew it had died but couldn’t find the heart to accept a fate so final.
It was Ruth’s idea to go back and visit it, while we were in the area. I’m not blaming her for what happened. I was as eager to see what had become of the old place as she was, though I wouldn’t have told her that. I was surprised she wanted to go back, after I had told her about the first time I went, but once she had voiced the suggestion it took hold in my mind and wouldn’t let go, so that I became even more immersed in the plans than she seemed to be. I did wonder if she had second thoughts, and had mentioned the house simply because we would be so near to it on our trip. I have to admit I probably didn’t give her much of a chance to back out once she had mentioned it, but it was her who brought it up initially, so all I really did was go along with her idea.
That needs to be understood. I didn’t have any wish before she spoke about it to go near the house ever again, not with someone else. Obviously if I could have known how things would turn out my enthusiasm would have stayed what it had been for years, mere curiosity about a childhood event that had happened a long, long time ago. Trouble is I have always been the same. Once an idea is planted in my mind I have to see it through to completion or I get left with an irritation deep inside that borders on obsession.
I know I was on the spectrum of obsessive compulsive behaviour when I was younger, certainly in my teens. The word “obsession” often describes something enjoyable, but in OCD the obsession is usually unpleasant and frightening, and it was for me. As a teenager I began to suspect that my brain didn’t seem to work in the same ways as my friends. They were casual and carefree about life in general but I never did feel that way. I always needed to know in advance where we were going, what we were doing and who was going. If when I got there the plans had changed I was totally unable to cope with this at all. I felt as if I was trapped and that I had been betrayed if things weren’t as they’d been planned. I would appear to the others to be sulking, but in truth my brain filled with thoughts, going over and over, about how the plan had been agreed, and I was completely unable to manage to adapt to the alterations. The negative thoughts were going round and round in a loop in my brain.
In the back of my father’s car when we were driving on long trips with my parents I’d find my thoughts continually looping, going over things again and again. I’d recite in my mind my books, and my records, and what order they were on the shelves. I’d list my clothes and where they were in the drawers. I’d even list in my mind my washing things and continually recall where they were in the bathroom. The listing went on and on. If someone tried to speak to me I was impatient because they’d disrupted the pattern, and I had to start over.
Now And Then?
One aspect for consideration when reading a supernatural tale is the circumstances under which the story was written. Should we involve ourselves in thoughts of what the writers’ life might have been like when they were toiling away at the PC, word processor, electric typewriter, manual typewriter, pen and ink, quill, cave wall, tablet of stone…? Do the life and times of writers present and past affect our enjoyment of a piece of fiction?
Clearly the influences on a writer, the minutia of their life, may have a great bearing on the style of their work. It can be of no little importance to wonder whether a change of life style would have meant a change in artistic direction. Was the writer married or single? Professional or amateur? Sad or happy? City, village; young, old; ill or in good health? Did they have all day to write or were they forced into writing in snatched moments? It is to no special advantage to have to spend all day at work then to come home and immediately place oneself in the frame of mind conducive to good writing. Even worse, horrors of responsibility; if there is a spouse who expects attention, concentration on conversation, help with washing up, children to entertain and put to bed.
There can be little doubt that the influences on the life of a writer such as Poe coloured his writing. No matter how great his natural tendency for the darker side of life, no matter how much a love of the night was born in him, the poverty and grief, which he knew, allowed his gift of eloquent woe to find its voice with deeper depths of agony and genius.
The life pattern of a modern person can be thought in itself to be alien to the emotive force of dark fiction. For the most part living in clean, bright, centrally heated homes, with human companionship so near, even through such devices as the telephone, e-mail, mobiles, pagers, Internet and more. It becomes increasingly difficult to grasp the feeling of ‘living your work’ that writers of old may have experienced. Perhaps it is over-romantic to imagine the writer of the past huddled over the light of a flickering candle in an otherwise darkened room. Alone with their imagination, with no electronic stimuli, no diversions from the mood of their creation, sheltered from outside influences. By living the horror of the ghost story mood, or the atmosphere of it, could the same be more easily transmitted to the written page? The writer of today must first think themselves into the mood of their fiction by, to a large extent, ignoring the normality of their surroundings, rather than being able to feed from, and upon it, as might be ideal.
Then there is television; the numbing of the senses, the intruding into imagination, the believing in the banal. Where does it provide the creative stimulus for the supernatural tale? It tells when it should cloak, it reveals when it should mask, it explains when it should be enticing. No extension of the creative framework here; rather a bland catch-all formula that drapes a cloud of easy viewing that batters at imagination and its defences until the wall crashes and true creation is lost.
Leaving the sterile atmosphere of modern life to one side, one of the least advantageous influences on today’s writers must be the media of film; cinema and admittedly to a lesser extent with regard to supernatural fiction, the demon television. To say that all the best stories were written before the advent of screen horror would be wholly inaccurate but it cannot be ignored that the ability to see on the screen that which previously could only have been imagined from the written word has an immense affect on the modern reader, and therefore by extension the modern writer.
To take just one example, that of the vampire story, one of the most basic, and finest of horror vehicles. No matter how subtle the writer is, once it becomes obvious we are reading a vampire story then the images conjured are invariably not those intended by the writer but those of Schreck, Lugosi, Lee, or whichever cinematic character the story reminds us of – even Twilight. The force behind the writing is diminished because the vital ingredient of imagination on the part of the reader has been dulled by memories of film, or worse of the circumstances under which we went to see the film. So the writer of a vampire story may today be faced with a reader who does not pale at thoughts of the blood-sucking monster but rather one whose mind is busy recalling the delights of sitting in the back row of the cinema.
The basic and still much respected ingredients of the genre have been over-exposed by the film world so that their power does not work so deeply on today’s audiences as they might have done a century ago. It might be offered that horror films have not only had an adverse affect on writing but also on the enjoyment of reading a good horror story. The words more often conjure cinematic images rather than the private images that they would have done previously.
The reader of The Seventeenth Hole At Duncaster today cannot experience the same atmosphere that the first reader knew in the 1920’s. Their lives are vastly different. Their knowledge is different; therefore their senses absorb the words differently and appreciate the meaning and the moods in different ways.
There is sometimes the temptation to consider works of old as being superior in some way, purely because they have the competency of longevity. Even allowing for the sentimental regard with which stories of the past are held today, there is a stylistic difference between them and their modern counterparts, and this cannot be ignored when discussing the influences on writing. While a story may have been effective in 1900 it may not satisfy today, may be inaccessible due to style, rather than content, because its message may already be over-familiar through cinema, television, and other works of fiction. What convinced a century ago now appears merely dated and mundane. Creaking doors, and draughty ghosts, do not convince us as modern readers. Where our ancestors dreaded their intrusion, we merely wait for the bigger terror, the higher fix of horror.
Each age has had its share of true horrors, the reality of which brings us to book when we worry about the fictional versions. Since the raw carnage of 1914-18 and World War Two we cannot look with the same concerned expression upon fictional fright. Add to that the daily horrors now so freely reported in an increasingly sensationalist media and we have a wall growing ever thicker through which the suspension of disbelief must break. The narrative drive must reach wrap speed these days before it engages a gear high enough for our attention to be provoked. So de-sensitised have we become to stories of children killing each other, to mindless violence, sex, drugs, corruption, infidelity and genocide, that the fictional terrors we create in our imaginations must be more subtle, more inventive than ever to jolt the reader out of their de-humanised veil of disbelief.
There are of course two ways to look at criticism. Many people would argue that art must live by today’s standards, so that a film made fifty years ago must stand up to the techniques of today before it can be considered valid. This seems too easy an option. It places no importance upon circumstance, and indeed it seems to ignore the influences, surrounding the making of the film, or the writing of the story if considering fiction. This is not to suggest that excuses should be made for the writer if the story was written under difficult circumstances. If a wife has just left a husband should we excuse a poor story written as a result? Hardly. But if a work of art was considered valid when it was first created then it cannot be accurate if thirty years later it is deemed poor if it does not affect a modern audience in the same way. Is the modern audience a keener critic because a few years have passed? We may have become familiar with the style or the theme, but that is not the fault or responsibility of the writer. The art has not changed, merely the opinions and sophistication of the audience. Their views and tastes have changed but the words written remain exactly the same. It can surely only be accurate to take historical perspective into account when reading an old story. If a story fails to ignite us today we must look for a better reason than merely to suggest it has lost its spark along the way.
Would it be wholly valid to explore the avenue of thought that an influence on writing today is the greater availability of fiction to the mass market? After all it is within everyone’s grasp today to buy a book on the Internet, or at any one of dwindling bookshops, or even to borrow it from the Public Library. This availability was not always the case. A second rate work of fiction today may well reach a far wider audience than a better book years ago simply because the distribution channels are so much more diverse these days. The Internet has increased this phenomenon with its ability to access fiction on the web sites as an addition to the printed page. The proliferation of self publishing has only added to the myriad of books available at far lower prices than used to be the case. Another medium available now but not previously is the talking tape where stories and novels can be abridged and spoken without the need even for the effort of lifting a book in leisure. Allowing for his distaste for the general public, and that it was not his intention to write for critical acclaim, it is interesting to ponder how the writing of H P Lovecraft might have altered if fed to a wider audience, and the difference it might have made if subject to a publishers deadlines.
Trends can sometimes be seen in current fiction that suggest a deliberate attempt to fool the voracious appetite of the reading public, sated as they are by these diverse images. Stories whose every intention is vagueness; over-explored themes deserted for stories of minimum plotline but maximum exploration of the mind of modern man. Then there are the stories of excess gore and sexual athletics. The intention of many modern stories seems to be to place Man as the monster, his way of life as the creator, and his mind as the catalyst that sparks the horror. To do this exclusively suggests that the writers believe the terrors of old are ineffective in today’s society and that new and less traditional horrors are required. New approaches are always welcome but we should not ignore the classical in the pursuit of the wholly different just for its own sake. The meaning behind the words should not always be so obscure as to leave the vagueness so clearly worked for as to give any feeling, emotion of atmosphere, no chance of survival as the puzzle develops.
Stories that are obvious are never satisfactory be they one day or one hundred years old. The converse is equally true in that stories that baffle to deceive are simply infuriating. From what viewpoint should a work of fiction be judged? Some good stories are poorly told, others well written but clichéd in plot. In all probability the only true way to judge a story is objectively and yet that disavows the emotional pull that should exist if a work of fiction is to engage our full attention. It is possibly because many critics take the subjective path that arguments about merit develop. The only true way is to read with a subjective eye whilst the objective mind can sort the poor craft from the well-meaning ideas. Merits to one are defects to another.
In terms of fiction the influences upon a writer are many and varied. This was always true and is more so today. The electronic stimuli, the modern stresses and pressures, the familiarity the reader has with themes and ideas, all conspire now to make the storywriter perform to their best if they are to emulate, let alone exceed, the writers of old. Because a story is decades old does not mean it should not be read and enjoyed today; though it should be treated with respect of age and not expected to perform as though a teenager in the prime of youth – make allowances for style, pace and even content – please.
A writer draws on many influences in the pursuance of their craft; their life style, their past, their aims when writing, their known audience, their publisher’s wishes. Our modern emphasis on bodily comforts seems to spare the writer of horror the chance to experience the terrors at first hand, and yet each day carries with it some new nightmare from which to draw ideas. Dark fiction remains now as then, a valid release valve from the horrors of the real world, and a reminder that despite modern sophistication of living we should never get too complacent.