Sarah Pinborough

If you’re thinking about making a career as a writer, you may find you have to mix up what you write.

Over at Mark Chadbourn’s blog there is a recording of a panel from last week’s brilliant Fantasycon that covers this subject. Take a listen…

http://www.jackofravens.com/

I’m just back from a fabulous Fantasycon where I was lucky enough to win Best Novella for The Language of Dying available from PS Publishing at

http://store.pspublishing.co.uk/acatalog/info_284.html

Here’s the vid of me (with red wine mouth…) winning…

AKA “WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING???”

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ was the echo to every decision I ever made up until I was about 28. Scrap that – I got married at 28. “What the fuck am I doing”, was very much the bridesmaid at that particular Vegas do. Let’s make it 30.

Yep, I lived my life to the tune of that phrase for a long time. I cruised from one completely-not-thought-out adventure to the next. I was the despair of my family. Most of those decisions resulted in a – emotional distress for me, and b –   a fair amount of financial distress for my parents. But I have to say, living your life that way totally negates the DULL. Nothing that ever comes with a ‘what the fuck am I doing’ tag, is ever boring.

I’m tired of being bored.

It’s been a funny old year, all things considered – good stuff, bad stuff and stuff that concentrates the mind. One thing I’ve realised is that I miss the woman who wasn’t scared of the world. She used to be me – before responsibilities, expectations, and this-is-the-way-life-is-done-dontyaknow-so-get-on-with-it kicked in. I’ve also realised life is short. Right now, I’m in a good place – work is going well, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time, and I’ve got an inkling that the world is my oyster. What better time to try and grab that woman back?

So – I’ve taken a small step.

I’ve put my house on the market. Admittedly, in this climate that does not mean I’m going anywhere soon, but the plan is to sell up, stick some money in the bank or Premium Bonds (more chance of a return – still a bit grown-up) and then rent in London. The fabulous ex-@elliottbeth is moving to LA to make movies so maybe in a while I’ll go and stay with her. Me in LA. Now there’s a thought.

I’m looking forward to being free. Broke maybe, but free.

Let’s get this straight. I am not that crazy 18/19/20 . . .30 year old any more. I like to think my ‘what the fuck am I doing’ is tempered with a little more savvy than then. I intend to hedge my bets better than I ever did then. But still –  I saw my mother turn vaguely green and reach for a cigar when I told her my plans, and I felt a small glow of excitement inside. Gotta be risky, I thought. I haven’t seen her look like that in YEARS.

When the For Sale sign went up outside I felt a small twinge of panic. I have good friends here. This house has been good to me. I’ve been SAFE here.

I’m bored of safe.

And my friends will still be here. They’re good like that. A little bit of panic is never such a bad thing. It makes you feel alive. And who says we have to live any such way anyway?

Hopefully soon (ish) I’ll be able to say I’ve sold and am heading to the big city. Now that the decision is made my feet are itchy. I just want to get on with it. Maybe it will work and maybe it won’t but whatever happens it’ll be an adventure.

But, lovely people –  if in a year’s time you see me huddled in a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge scribbling out a book on a soggy Tesco receipt . . .chuck a McDonald’s my way…things may not have gone according to my not-very-well-thought-out-plan. 😉

SP x

New interview up at Fangoria…

http://www.fangoria.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1393:sarah-pinboroughs-worlds-of-darkness&catid=36:demo-articles&Itemid=56&utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter

Buy it. Skip past the boring news and sport stuff. Find the far more interesting book section. Look for this summer’s recommended reads by Lisa Tuttle. See A Matter of Blood there…;-)

That’s what I’ll be doing anyway…

Big smiles!

added note: Apparently they sometimes do the reading list over 2 or 3 weeks…so if not this Saturday, DEFO one or two afterwards…;-)

(Okay Calf, I give in. This one’s for you…)

Last week I was going into London to ‘do lunch’ (like you do…) and as I rocked up onto the platform at Milton Keynes there were two train options. On my left was the 11.41 (oh yeah, I know the times…I am one step away from a kagool and a notebook) that only had two stops until Euston. On my right was the 11.47 – the slow train – that had about ten. I looked from one to the other and then got a cappuccino and thought some more. Which one to get? In the end I asked how long the slow train took and the ticket man told me an hour and ten minutes. If I took that one, I’d be late for my meeting.

I clearly must have looked miserable with this realisation because he grinned and said, “Don’t worry, love. (note – he didn’t actually say ‘love’ – I just made that bit up. Artistic license) the 11.41 will get you there in no time.”

I looked at him as if he were mad and said. “But I don’t want to get there in no time. I like the journey.” After that, to be fair, it was his turn to look at me as if I was mad. And maybe I am a bit, because it was with a heavy heart that I got onto the 45 minute train feeling slightly cheated.

You see, I’ve come to realise that I love trains. Not in a make, model and serial number kind of way (dear god, if that ever happens just give me a gentle shove over the platform edge), but I love the whole business of travelling on them. Not only is there the thinking time they allow just staring out of the window as the country rushes by, but there’s a great sense of purpose to them. People are ‘going places’ on trains and there’s an excitement about that. Most people are aimless. They drift through life as if it almost doesn’t matter. I like things that have a purpose – that are headed somewhere. Trains are the epitome of that.

When I was a kid and we’d go up to Edinburgh to visit the relatives, I loved standing in the draughty chill of Waverley Station watching the platforms while waiting to be told which one was ours.  I liked watching the people. Everyone was doing something, going somewhere – every passenger was a story. Everyone had a purpose, whether dragging suitcases or children or simply carrying a briefcase. The air hums with energy in train stations, a kind you just can’t get anywhere else.

Clocks. There’s another thing. Clocks are big in train stations because time is important there. Knowing exactly what time it is is imperative at a station. Sometimes I think we all need train station clocks standing in the middle of our houses just to remind us of how time is passing and we need to make the most of every moment. I have one of those clocks in my head – a huge white face with those roman numerals stabbed at by relentless iron hands. Sometimes I’m sure I can hear it ticking, and it often lacks the optimism of the station clocks. Station clocks smile. I’m going to try to make mine smile too from now on. The world is too full of wonderful things for negativity.

Now I know there is an argument that airports have the same vibe as train stations. Not for me. Number one – travelling by plane always holds that fear of falling to one’s smashed up death from 32,000 feet. (Note: Not exploding or dying – but FALLING. Takes a long time to fall from 32, 000 feet. That’s several minutes thinking time that I can do without.) Number two: there is just too much stress. Passport control, did you pack your own bag (like I’d tell you if I didn’t??), body search..waiting. And then just strap in and sit there – no trees, no stops, no people on phones to listen to. Just an awful lot of impatience.

There’s no impatience on a train – not for me. I know I’m going somewhere – I have a purpose – and if I take the slow train I get to look out at all the stations and see who’s getting on and off. Check out the new faces. Listen to their chat and imagine their lives. Look out the window again and put the faces to the houses. Think about stuff some more and let all the fields drift into one. All the while knowing that I’m  getting where I want to go, but I’m not missing anything as I go.

Some people are fast train people. Maybe that’s how they live their lives too. Get on and only  have one stop before the end of the line.  Not for me. I’m well aware of that big clock ticking away at the station, but I’m determined to enjoy the journey. There’s the odd breakdown on the way that frustrates, but you know the engine will get going again. Rain will turn to sunshine as you pull in somewhere and someone interesting gets on just before the doors shut.

I’m going back into town on Thursday to go drinking/eating with a crime writer..(I have a worrying feeling they drink as much as the horror crew…). This time I think I’ll leave home early enough to get the slow train and enjoy the ride.

SP x

…says a lot of interesting things about being a writer and also outs me as the anti-tweeter to the stars..;-)

http://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/2010/06/neil-gaiman-the-prospect-interview/

and in book news I’m pleased that A Matter of Blood has been sold into Germany…not that I can speak German..and what exactly is ‘A Matter of Blood’ when translated?

Big thanks to Catherine Rogers for organising such a great event and making everything so easy for us.

A great day that was much needed catching up with great friends. Here’s a few of them…

Tim Lebbon, Mark Morris and Juliet McKenna….

I don't know what Tim was whispering....

I was leading him astray....

Me and Jasper Kent….

Me and Mark Chadbourn…

we write genre fiction and must wear black..

Me and great chum (and surprising football hooligan…) Mark Morris…

He does the smiling, I do the pouting...

The horror panel..after 2 hours drinking. Sigh.

And me..

Doing what I do...looking scruffy and drinking wine..

I wish I’d taken more, but you all know how these things are…

And now to work..

SP x

This year’s British Fantasy Awards shortlists have been announced.

I’m very happy that The Language of Dying is up for Best Novella, and The Confessor’s Tale is up for Best short Story.

The full list can be seen here:

http://www.britishfantasysociety.org/