I AM PLEASED TO WELCOME AUTHOR
Paul Bridgeman
I have loved ghost stories from a very early age and by the time I was nine or ten years old I was scaring my brothers with bedtime stories of my own! I always wrote other stories but only really showed my brothers as I was too shy and worried that people would laugh. I was delighted to find creative writing an escape from daily life in my teens. I would often use my artistic skills to illustrate and even create cartoon strips of my stories. However, for many years my pleasure in art and storytelling was mainly shared with close relatives and lovers. I worked for both big soft drinks companies of certain colas and at Westminster, which meant that I have been lucky enough to travel all around the world, which does inform some of my stories, however most of my stories are based in Wales, which is my home country and the place I love best. I lived in Thailand for many years where I worked at Rayong University, teaching Business English. I learned to speak, read and write Thai and to cook their delicious food and to perform their unique massage. The culture of Thailand also sparked my art and writing like never before and I sold my art to clients in Thailand, Japan and the USA. When I returned to Wales I had a successful exhibition of surrealist art called “Genius? Genius!” and I decided to take a course in Art, Design and Illustration which lead to a Batchelor of Arts with honours in General Illustration. This was followed by an ignition of my passion for art and writing again and I began to write and paint with abandon. I was invited to exhibit at New Designers 2012, the most prestigious and largest illustration exhibition in Europe. I was very proud of this and my work received good attention, I even signed autographs, which felt surreal.! A few years ago, I met author David Owain Hughes (Look him up!) and he introduced me to Ravenwood Publishers and the lovely Kitty. It still took a huge nagging session from my Mother Rose and my husband Damian to make me offer up my stories for publication. To tell the truth I had forgotten about sending the stories out at all. So, when I received the email from Kitty offering publication I almost gave Damian a heart attack with the noise I made. When I told him and my Mother they almost deafened me right back! Imagine my delight when I found that other people liked my stories. I sometime wonder where all these dark, spooky and kinky stories come from, I am just glad that they do come to me I hope that you will enjoy my stories and check in with me now and again. I will put up descriptions of my stories and maybe even excerpts of them, I will share my own artwork for characters in my books on my blogg at https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4515075547090432167#allposts and also keep you up on gossip and future publications. I really hope we will become friends and then I want to thrill and scare you all to death Mwaahaha Love to you all Paul Bridgeman.
BANTER – STUFF ABOUT YOU
Q: Tell me one thing
that your spouse does that really endears him/her to you. One thing that annoys
you. These can be tiny little things, actually the smaller the better.
A: Asking me
questions when I am reading
Q: Did you like
school when you were a child?
A: No, not at all!!
Except English and Art
Q: Snack of choice –
chips, pretzels, popcorn, or cookies, cake, candy? Or maybe you’re a healthy
snacker - fruit, yogurt, nuts, raisins?
A: A great big
synthetic cream donut, I think you call them Long Johns in the States Yummy
Q: Have you ever been
too embarrassed to promote any certain titles to friends or family?
A: No, I am lucky to have very broad minded friends.
Even my Mum reads my books and when somebody told me my book was “Fifty Shades
of Grey with Psychos” I re-read my book and was horrified that my Mum was
reading it in Greece, I had forgotten how raunchy it is and my Mum is old
fashioned gulp! So, Yes once
Q: Favorite color?
A: Variations of Blue
BOOKS – ABOUT THE CRAFT
Q: Which of your own
releases was your particular favorite?
A: When You Walk by
Night, which is a story in my Horror Anthology also called When You Walk by
Night
Q: How do you handle
a writer's block?
A: I go and read, or
maybe sleep and repeat . . .
Q: Do you write
longhand first, or does it go straight into the computer?
A: I have a notebook
at all times ideas longhand, actual writing straight to computer
Q: Are you a sit down
and play it by ear kind of writer, or do you need a structured guideline, or
maybe a little of both?
A: I usually know the
beginning and end of a story, but once you are working you can go somewhere
totally different so I don’t like to follow a plan, unless the story is very
much clear and set in my mind.
Q: When crafting the
story do you go from beginning to end, or do you jump around writing the scenes
that are pushing themselves forward in your brain?
A: Yes, I do occasionally write this way, sometimes a better idea jumps up and you have got
to follow it
Q: Do you always know
how a story will end when you begin writing it?
A: No, not always
BOOKS - NOW LETS PROMOTE – STRUT YOUR STUFF
Q: What are you
working on now? Would you like to share anything about it?
A: I am working on a
full length novel called “Bringing Them Back”, I can’t say anything about it
because it isn’t finished, but my trusted friends and family that read for me
are all nagging me for more, so it’s on the right track and writing it feels so
good! I’ll tell you about it when it’s due out
Q: Do you have a new
book coming out soon? Tell us about it.
A: “On Your Way Home”
is my next Book. It’s the story of a young boy who moves back to his parents
village and is horrified to find that the road home from his friends house has
no street lights. As he walks up the lane he begins to feel a pull in his
stomach and the hairs on his neck stand up. A feeling of horror is emanating
from a side road and he tries to resist, but in the end the fear wins and he
runs the whole mile home. That night he wakes to find a figure standing in the
corner of his bedroom, a total absence of features,but red glowing eyes glare
at him and from that moment the battle lines are drawn, but can a Twelve year
old boy beat an ancient evil? Out next year! Lol
Q: How can we find
you? Do you have a web page, FaceBook page or any buy links?
A: I do. Here are the links.
AUTHOR LINKS: Twitter @NightwalkerPaul
https://www.facebook.com/paul.bridgeman.14
Web Site https://www.passionillustrated.co.uk
BLURB
Who has not had to walk home alone at night and felt that sense of unseen company? Who has not found particular areas to be charged with menace and to hold a bounty of nameless terror. The place that gives us the heebee geebees may not even be dark, or it could be an alley on a well lit road that is dark. A stand of trees that by day is pleasant and inviting, at night is home to watching horrors and serial killers. Perhaps an empty swing park where the swings sometimes sway on a windless night. Our own footsteps echoing back to our ears? The triggers real or imagined are endless for this fear. Imagine then a full mile of country lane, without street lights with lanes leading off into dark woods. Yes, even in these modern times there are roads like this. Roads with high hedges just waiting to rustle in a breeze. The only light provided by stars or on fortunate nights a bright moon. Imagine then the horror for a teenager who had always lived in the city, for whom the countryside is strange enough without being there alone, in the dark.
EXCERPT from On Your Way Home
Warning Adult Language
James had moved to the country bare weeks before, the village they had moved to was beautiful, surrounded by mountains and rolling hills, but as so often is the case it was uninspiring and joyless for a bored teenager. The sky was often low and grey and rains that blew in from the sea could lash and freeze your face in seconds and send you rushing to your destination soaked and cold. Welcome to Wales.
It might have been better for James if there had been kids in his age group, but he fell into a gap in the village and the only young adults his age were a year older or a year younger. It was months before he had made any friends, he had to fight the boys before they befriended him and the girls would tease him unmercifully should he encounter a group of them. At least now he was back at school he had made some friends, they were down in the next village. James felt some relief while he was there, they had a chip shop and four shops and three pubs and a green with a bench, where a lot of kids his age hung out, even better it was only a mile down the lanes to Kyles’ house.
James was naturally funny, so he soon fell in with a clique who liked his impersonations and funny voices. Any diversions in Pen-Y-Cae were happy ones. The walk home was okay too, until October when the clocks went back. It wasn’t every day he could afford the bus and eventually the day came when he had to walk. The idea didn’t bother him too much. He felt confident until he turned into the last stretch of road that lead home and realised that the lights ran out at the end of the street. He had never noticed this before and It was as if the cold wind of premonition washed over him, he actually stopped walking as the realisation hit him. Reaching into his pocket he took out his cigarettes, he only had two left, but whether to have it before or after the walk. “What the fuck!” he growled Swchartzeneger style and lit the cigarette and began to walk.
It really wasn’t too bad at first the diminishing light from the last street making things visible, but just over the first rise of the lane the light disappeared. James had to stand still for almost five minutes to get even rudimentary shapes and vision. Still, he sensibly realised that the fear he felt was simply the fear of falling or hurting himself in the dark and walked on. Without knowing it he had started to sing as he walked up the lane. His eyes roved everywhere and despite trying to stop and tell himself to chill out he spoke and his voice sounded dry and scared.
Suddenly the air chilled, James looked behind himself and then around but it was useless. Whatever eyesight he had been granted just wasn’t enough, he hesitated and then walked on. Something, a rabbit perhaps rustled the undergrowth and made his heart pound for a moment. The cold was getting deeper, but seemed to come in waves. Up ahead there seemed to be a darker point within the darkness. As James approached it his eyes adjusted enough to see it was a lane turning off from the main road to Pen-Y-Cae, all the same he crossed the road from right to left. The cold was emanating from that place. As he passed he felt a pull down low in his stomach, as if something had linked to him, pulling him towards the inky black lane across the road. There was a cough from beside him, he jumped and turned to see the vacant features of a cow. Before he could rationalise this his feet picked up and he ran up the road until he fell. He barked his shins and fell into the hedgerow scratching his face as he did so and tearing a hole in the knee of his jeans . His Mum would have a shit fit when she saw them, money doesn’t grow on trees. He stood up and went cold to his core, the feeling of being watched was insanely real. He looked around and called out “Who’s there?” The silence seemed to mock him as if the person were enjoying that he couldn’t see them. Turning he ran again until he got home. The hairs on his neck were standing up, he shuddered and went inside.
He gave his Mum a kiss on the cheek “Hello Babe. Did you get the bus?” she asked. He thought about lying but admitted he had walked. “Now I don’t want you walking home in the dark, those lanes are fatal, cars can’t see you Babe”, she looked genuinely worried and he almost wished he had lied. “What have you done to your jeans James? You know money is short!” she glared at him. “Sorry Mam , I heard a noise in the lanes and ran, I couldn’t see and I fell over” he said. His Mum smiled “Made you jump did it Love?” she asked. He laughed “Just a bit” A shadow passed over her face, “Well just be careful when you are walking home, there have been so many youngsters die on that road”. “Hungry then Road Runner?” she asked tousling his hair and laughing. He nodded and within minutes the taste of cheese on toast and a cup of tea made his fears in the lane seem both remote and silly. He wondered whether all Mums knew how to make you feel this good or was it just his?
When he went to bed that night he fell into a deep dream of darkness, like falling through a vast starless space. It was relaxing, nothing like the darkness of the lanes just peaceful drifting weightlessness and a feeling of safety. As he moved he began to hear a noise. A high pitched broken tone, almost like Morse code, in fact almost exactly like it. With each noise a broken silver line appeared, bright in itself, but not shedding light and once it appeared it moved across his vision. As the tones became longer, the line solidified and he wondered what it was. The line now stretched across the whole horizon of this black place and a voice said, “Touch it!” and although he didn’t seem to have a body in this place James reached up to touch the line of light with his mind.
As his mental fingers touched the line he was grasped and yanked violently out of his body. He flew towards the wall so fast that he jerked awake! What the fuck! He was terrified. He was soaked with cold sweat, even his hair was drenched, he pulled it out of his eyes and stood up. He hoped that he hadn’t screamed out loud and the fact that he couldn’t hear anyone coming suggested his hope was good. His breath froze in his throat in the frigid bedroom air and his heart leapt! At the door to his bedroom stood a silent figure all in black. It was wearing a cape with a hood, it would have seemed ridiculous in a film, but this was no film and he was wide awake, the feeling of power that emanated from this figure was indisputable James began to shudder with fear. He felt that same pull in his guts as he had in the lane. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them the figure was gone. He sighed with relief and went to the bathroom to get a drink and more urgently take a piss.
When he returned to bed, he was unable to sleep. He picked up the book he had bought from a charity shop last week. It was called “The Fog” and was by James Herbert, more from a need to be distracted than actual interest in reading he read until he was tired again. The book had gripped him and supplied the necessary fatigue to allow him to sleep again. He felt ashamed of being so traumatised by a piss-dream, closing his eyes he slept until his Mum woke him.
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