COURTING DEMONS - IN PRINT!

Today I approved the print, proof copy of COURTING DEMONS - A COLLECTION OF DARK VERSE.

Published by my own imprint Ganglion Press at the request of those of you that don't own a Kindle, or have asked for a 'real' book, if I might be so kind, I spent a fair amount of time getting the book correctly formatted for print, and redesigning the cover before finally giving the go-ahead for distribution.

I held the proof copies in my hands for ages, and still haven't stopped stroking the cover with its beautiful demonic artwork by Loz Ranger.

And now - I'm so excited!!!! Such is the magic of CreateSpace that the book is already available to buy from:

• Amazon.co.uk - at £3.99, with free delivery (Super Saver)
• Amazon.com - at $4.99, FREE Super Saver Shipping (on orders over $25)

and will be coming soon to Amazon's other European platforms. Your comments and reviews would be very welcome but most of all I hope you enjoy these dark poems.

Listen to the Poems?

I'm considering reading and recording some of the poems for you to download, should you wish?

Thank you!

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Predictions and Poetry

The legacy of the weekly fiction Prediction challenge is that this week it has spawned bountiful fruit, in book form.

Firstly, I was absolutely delighted to receive through the post, a signed and dedicated, fully-illustrated booklet of Prediction contributor and artist Sandra Davies's extraordinary series:
The blacksmith's wife.

Such was the rolling, roiling emotion of this epic tale - packed with debauchery, manipulation and vice - that we were carried along on the journey with the characters as they battled between love and hate, passion and abuse.

How anyone could perpetuate such a story using only 100 words at a time, that had to include three words given by myself or Phil Ambler - well, it is a stunning skill.

Fans of The blacksmith's wife can buy a copy of Sandra's book from Lulu.com. And Sandra? Thank you for this wonderful gift. I shall treasure it.

~ * ~

The second pleasure of the week was to finally see William Davoll's unique poetry up on Amazon, as a Kindle ebook. I am conscious of the pain and experience that went into writing The Five Daughters of Spite, some of which made their way onto The Prediction in one form or another.

William has brought together fifty poems under the headings of Fear, Revenge, Betrayal, Injustice and Loss. Some will chill your soul, others make you laugh in dark appreciation. And then more will make you question your own moral responses or perhaps bring a tear to your eye.

William was kind enough to thank me in his opening acknowledgements; it was genuinely a pleasure.

Please support our writer friend, and poetry as a whole by downloading The Five Daughters of Spite ebook from Amazon. As they say, you won't regret it.

~*~

As a last nod to The Prediction; it is on the move again. Phil Ambler kindly took on the reigns from me last year and did a mighty fine job of posting the words from the old tome and judging the many posts from loyal and new 'Predictioneers.'

Phil's final judgement comes on Thursday 31 January - so rush on over, there's still time to enter! From Friday 1st Feb the tome will fall into the capable and talented hands of Colleen Foley over at http://predictionfiction.blogspot.co.uk. Do pay her a visit and perpetuate what has now become a tradition.

Thank you Phil; thank you Colleen! And the very best of luck and success to all Predictioneers.

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COURTING DEMONS - a Collection of Dark Verse

For a while now I've been collating my poetry - the darker pieces - into a collection. Finally, the Kindle book of thirty-two poems is available to download from Amazon. It's called COURTING DEMONS - a Collection of Dark Verse by Lily Childs.

COURTING DEMONS - a Collection of Dark Verse

You may recognise some of the poems from The Feardom, others have won competitions and still others were hiding in notebooks and folders. The book includes my notes on each of the poems.

The book is just 99p on Amazon.co.uk:

download Courting Demons here 

I have specified a price of $0.99 on Amazon.com but it is showing at $1.54 - still a bargain, I hope you agree!! Download, get a free sample or 'Look Inside' it on Amazon.com here.

The charming creature on the cover is a zinc etching called 'Venus', by Laurence Ranger. She's lovely.

Catching Up

Hello. Long time no ramble on about meself much. So, now February Femmes Fatales has died down for this year (it is SO on for 2012!) I've been trying to get back into a writing schedule.

I've subbed three horror stories, an historical mystical poem and an article this month. From those, so far one story and the article 'How to Write Horror' have been accepted. More news on these later this month.

I have two interviews coming up - very humbled.

I've made a huge decision - novel-wise - to put Dispirited to bed for a while, for a whole load of different reasons. However, I have a much bigger novel idea to focus on. I have the concept, but need to do a fair amount of research. Very excited.

I'm also considering publishing an e-book collection of dark verse, illustrated by Laurence Ranger to sell on Kindle. What do you think...? Would you buy it?

In the meantime, look out for Chris Allinotte's upcoming Madness in March over at The Leaky Pencil - starting on 13th March. Promises to be a "seriously unsettling" week - can't wait.

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Born Trippy

Trippy wears a top hat.

Tips it, flippy, floppy,

slipping back and forth

on greasy hair.

There’s nothing else,

no clothes, no skin –

tissue torn and muscles thin,

entrails surge and splay as

Trippy plays his game

upon the noisy stage.

Tap-shoes stuck

on bleeding stumps,

a grim and lush parade.

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Skull-Shaped Lover - Illustrated!

You've seen this before, but now it's back with a gorgeous photo-illustration courtesy of our friend - artist and Red Skies Press editor, Mark Anthony Crittenden. Wish I could say I'm the one in the undies, sadly she's just an aspiration (sucks tummy in).

Skull-Shaped Lover
Artwork by Mark Anthony Crittenden

Skull-Shaped Lover
by Lily Childs

There is more
than bright colours
in her wardrobe.
There’s the head
of a dead man too.
He peeks through flouncy blouses,
winking in pink,
smirking at blue.
She found him by the roadside,
detached, quite
non-chalant.
Grinning at passers-by,
spitting at them with lies
about how he got there -
laughing at their replies.
He prefers the dark, he says;
likes to laze in her
cotton and silk.
His milky eyes suck in
tints and hints of greens
and reds.
He licks the hanging fabrics,
bites off trailing threads.
And when she’s home
from the office,
kicked off her shoes,
fed, bathed and nude
he calls to her, sweetly
“Miss Suzie”
until her hands finger the door,
when she joins him
behind her dresses.
She strokes the tresses
of his cold, dead head,
kisses his mouth and then
tenderly, 

takes him to bed.

__________________________

Skull-Shaped Lover

Skull-Shaped Lover
by Lily Childs


There is more
than bright colours
in her wardrobe.
There’s the head
of a dead man too.
He peeks through flouncy blouses,
winking in pink,
smirking at blue.
She found him by the roadside,
detached, quite
non-chalant.
Grinning at passers-by,
spitting at them with lies
about how he got there -
laughing at their replies.
He prefers the dark, he says;
likes to laze in her
cotton and silk.
His milky eyes suck in
tints and hints of greens
and reds.
He licks the hanging fabrics,
bites off trailing threads.
And when she’s home
from the office,
kicked off her shoes,
fed, bathed and nude
he calls to her, sweetly
“Miss Suzie”
until her hands finger the door,
when she joins him
behind her dresses.
She strokes the tresses
of his cold, dead head,
kisses his mouth and then
tenderly, 

takes him to bed.

__________________________

Rest In Peace

I'm very touched that my poem 'Rest In Peace' has won Writing and Writers' News Magazine's monthly One Word Challenge on their online forum Talkback for December 2010. The theme was 'Peace'. I had several ideas for the challenge and particularly toyed with words about worthy Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo - but the poem wouldn't write itself. I guess, for once, I felt too emotional about it.

So I returned to the darkness, took a suck of a Grimm lozenge and spat out a character, Benjamin Spinks - who may well take on a life of his own if I don't rein him in.

Rest In Peace

Benjamin Spinks is the prick
to my finger,
his spindle - the weaver
of darkness and spite.
He lingers at noon
with a love declaration.
The door to my boudoir
is locked and shut tight.

At night when he croons
with a howl through the mist
I cry
“Leave me in peace!”
He laughs in my face, his voice
creeping tendrils from
outside the gate.
I am trapped by his cruelty.
A victim of hate.

I’ve no turret, no secret,
no fine golden thread.
I’ll be dead before morning,
his chains round my wrists.
He answered my prayer.
Five long days he’s been gone.
Not a drop of cold water,
no food’s touched my lips.

I whisper my last breath,
watch skin leave my bones.
Benjamin Spinks
has left me alone.

___________________________________________

Fallen Angel

Multiply my eyes
by millions.
Stick six sticks
into my sides.
Let me spit on flesh,
vermilion.
Herald me,
Lord of the Flies.

____________________

Deafening Hush - brief poetry

This was my entry to October's One Word (poetry) Challenge over at Writers' News and Writing magazine's online Forum Talkback. For non-Brits, WH Smith is a huge Stationers with branches in more or less every town in England.

The theme of the challenge was 'Silence.'

DEAFENING HUSH

I’m standing still in WH Smith.

All is numb.
All is quiet.
Staff chatter, making Os and Es
with empty mouths.
Eyes wide open
I stare around,
newspaper in hand –
my shuddering hand.
Crowds mill
hustling, bustling, shuffling
past me.
I’m in their way.
I don’t feel their elbows,
don’t see their looks,
can’t hear their tutts,
their complaints.
The world’s fallen silent.
All I can do
is stare at your face.
The front page.
You’re on the front page.
And I know
that you know
where I live.

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A Faded Poem

This week National Poetry Day saw a swarm of writing by all ages and abilities. Great stuff.

Over at Writing Magazine and Writers' News, members-only online forum Talkback (blimey - what a mouthful!) the editors launched an impromptu poetry comp on the theme of 'home'. Mine didn't win but was in good company with entries from Lee Hughes and Anthony Cowin.

After announcing the (very worthy) winner, ed, Jonathan Tefler said "There were other great ones too though, and I must admit I nearly had to wipe away a tear at LilyC's (but I'm just a sentimental old fool really)." Aw, cheers Jonathan!

My poem The One Thing was inspired that very same day after walking past a nursery school with glorious roses in its garden, deep pink leaves layered like skirts on the blooms. As I passed, a curly-locked girl came out, scratching and digging at her scalp...

THE ONE THING

She’s a skinny ballerina,
dancing, desperate with thrall.
Today she’s here,
tomorrow, and the next,
there’s an absence as
she fails to grace
her classroom chair.

Eight years old.
Darling of the corner shop,
Mummy’s money.
Grown-up girl does it all,
sweeps the floor,
washes dishes,
cares without care.

Teacher spots the crawling hair,
lice the size
of planets in
Delilah’s fine red curls,
Appalled, she sends her home.
The letter
says it all.

Breaking down the family door
they find the truth,
how she’s survived
on pizza,
squeezy cheese.
The washing up’s all done,
ironing, left creased.

With Mummy dressed in rose-pink satin,
curled up in cold
arms Delilah scratches
at her scalp.
Mummy gone, the nits -
one thing
she couldn’t do herself.

__________________________________

Her Metamorphosis

Garner the humour.

Pretty laughter rages

endlessly, brazenly

at my bitter expense.

Slavering dogs.

Society swigs from

its wine glasses, drunken

with bigoted zeal.

Yesterday’s favourite.

I’m numb and I’m no-one.

From this pale

moment, I slide.

Blatant backs

turning. Dismiss the

usurper, no longer

welcome. Faded star.

Paint me like

butterflies. All in

a day’s work I’m done

and I’m dusted.

Cocoon me gently.

All that you loved

in me, take and

preserve a while.

Slender worm slinks,

seeks refuge,

blindly seeks out what

she came for.

Back where I

started. Gartered and

innocent. There’s

no place like home.

Sanguinello

This little acrostic poem on the theme of 'Orange' just won me the poetry comp over at Writing Mag's online writers' forum Talkback:

SANGUINELLO

O pen my hesitant flesh, devour me.
R ip my pored skin with your nails.
A ngle your tongue to penetrate,
N o drop of juice left unsucked.
G rasp my orb lest I slip through your fingers,
E nding my life cased in dust.

_________________________________

Woe La Poxette

Doxy’s got the pox.
Poxy Doxy’s in the dock,
Face all lumpen
Dropping scabs
Of blackened blood
Onto the courtroom floor
Of hated Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s gonna drop.
Cocky Doxy’s got to hop,
Her legs deformed
And broken.
The noose awaits
Courtesy of last year’s
Lover, filthy Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s got the knock.
Stroppy Doxy’s got to stop
The hangman’s hand.
She shudders,
Kicks, dies screaming
Spitting out the curse at
Killer, vile Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s dumped on top.
Rotting doxies turn to slop.
In the courtroom
Blind man cries,
Cock collapsing
Balls of green erupt all
Over desperate Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s got a stump.
Poxy falls before he jumps
Off Tower Bridge
He drools for help
But no-one comes.
He begs for death, but death
Won’t entertain old Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s gone to pot.
Poxy lives a doxy’s lot
His body’s bare
Ravaged and scarred,
A limbless whore.
He sells his soul, condemned
To hell.

Poxy Judge Malcreed.

BWA update

I've added another couple of short stories to the Brit Writers' Awards now, making four. Plus a poetry collection 'Twist and Turn'.

2 days to go, and I'm working 12 hour days at the moment, with a fluey daughter and hubby... Ain't gonna get much more submitted, me thinks.
 
No news from A Darker Spirit so assume I haven't been shortlisted. Tant pis (that's French, like). Look forward to seeing what Tina publishes in the first issue though. All the best to her.

Fad

I build upon
My soft grotesque
Stomach in and
Belly out.
Rippling flab,
Fat flesh, stout.
Misconception,
Dissillusioned.
Slimming words
Fell from my mouth,
Losing weight.
Redundant tits,
Pointing south.

(c) Lily Childs November 2009
Original Artwork 'Tulip' in pen and ink by Laurence Ranger (c)

Poem

Falling Down

Today brings tumbles, trips
And stumbles.
Running ever late.
Limbs are tangled.
Knees get banged, all
At my child's school gate.
Tears are hers, and
Tears are mine and
This does not bode well.
Time to exorcise
My demons.
Damn them all to hell.
'Leave my body'. Clumsy
Imps. 'Be gone.'
'Don't pester me.'
Blame my tired eyes,
Insomnia.
It's the death of me.

(c) Lily Childs September 2009