Steve Conoboy wrote approximately 73 dillion words before deciding which ones to publish. He's still not sure they're in the correct order, and wishes they'd sort themselves out. He was once seen by a ghost, has bitten a werewolf, and one time he was invited in by a vampire but declined the offer. Spectres would invade the home he shares with his partner in North East England, but they're too scared of the kids and cats.
Prologue : My parents met. (Prologues are never much use.)
Chapter One: I am born. The world blinks.
Chapter Two: I toddle. I am introduced to the works of Richard Scarry. The illustrations burn themselves into my tiny mind. This is followed by an intense interest in Winnie the Pooh and the Radio Times.
Chapter Three: Beanos and Dandys and tape recorders enter my life. I read the comic strips aloud, record these performances. Leads to writing my own stories, which are mostly about spaceships or murderous snakes.
Chapter Four: Santa brings a Commodore 64. Writing is forgotten.
Chapter Five: Teenage nerdism strikes. Dragonlance Chronicles are read. An attempt is made to copy them. Results are dreadful.
Chapter Six: Off to university to study ancient history and archaeology. Hat and whip not received. Compaints about this are ignored. University mostly a waste of time, apart from hours spent writing apocalyptic horror-comedy on 386 PC. It’s great.
Chapter Seven: Apocalyptic horror-comedy sent out to literary agents. None are interested. Novel not great. Mostly a waste of time.
Chapter Eight: A long period filled with much writing and many submissions and plenty of rejection letters. Decide I can’t stand prologues as they’re never much use.
Chapter Nine: Short stories accepted by Polluto, Voluted Tales and Kzine. Prompts a vigorous interest in Kindle Direct Publishing. First release is Macadamian Pliers, YA horror with an emphasis on creepy, spooky and other ooky things.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Books by Steve Conoboy
Macadamian Pliers seems pleasant enough. After all, the Raines shouldn’t judge him because of his stitched shut eye, that twist of a smile, the strange angles he’s made of. He’s sold them a beautiful house… and he’ll send them screaming from it if it’s the last thing he does