The Deadfolk Post

Did I say “fund my enormous appetite for cocaine” there? Ah, it’s that old devil called self-sabotage again. What I meant, of course, was “look after my family”.

Since this is my last day on the blog, allow me a little indulgence. I am now going to blather for a short while about Deadfolk, my debut novel (which is out in the USA and Canada on September 15th, folks). Being a good trainee blogger, I’m going to tie this in with the “Jim Thompson is a god, and therefore untouchable” backchat going on in the comments (which I quite agree with, BTW).

I have long been a devotee of the man JT. Discovering his books was like when you’re a kid and you make friends with this older boy who “knows stuff”. He’s way cooler than anyone else, he seems to know more than all adults do, he’s subversive, and ultimately he gets into trouble for it. So naturally Thompson’s novels had an influence on me as a writer.

I find it hard to remember the origins of anything I write. You have the initial idea, and at that moment you might understand exactly where it’s coming from. But then you run with it, developing it and turning it into something bigger, something else. And after you’ve finished with it, the story is a thing in its own right, independent of its roots. No matter how many times you ask it, it won’t tell you exactly where it came from. But I know (because I wrote it down in my little red book – ha ha) that one impetus behind Deadfolk was the insane desire to do something like Pop 1280, but set in England.

I think the key to seeing a job through – especially in writing fiction – is to force yourself to forget how bad an idea it might be and just plough on with it. Because at some point (in my case, as soon as I started writing) the initial reasoning disappears and the thing takes on a life of its own. Other ideas – obsessions which have long been lurking in your subconscious, biding their time – come clamouring to the surface, demanding to get in on the act. By the end the first chapter, this book I was writing was “my take on English small town life”. Then about halfway through it became “an attempt to subvert lad culture”. Or whatever. But it doesn’t really matter how you describe it – the thing just is what it is. And it’s not me who calls the shots anyway.

It’s the characters.

In the case of Deadfolk, the shot-caller was one Royston Blake, Head Doorman of Hoppers Wine Bar & Bistro. He’s a major player in the small town of Mangel, a place that no one can leave (and no one dare suggest such a thing anyway). Hoppers is the hub of Mangel, and Blake guards the door there. It’s Blake who says who gets in and who stays out in the cold.

And for that he needs authority.

A lot of that comes from his hulking frame, but it’s also about reputation. It’s about what people have seen you do and, more importantly, what they’ve heard about you. Rumours are the lifeblood of a town like Mangel. But what if the rumours turn bad? How does it affect someone like Blakey if the talk is less than flattering? What if the rumour doing the rounds is that he’s lost his nerve?

And who started the rumour anyway?

So that’s the setup of Deadfolk. Looking at it, I can safely say that Jim Thompson comparisons need not apply. The great man might have inspired it, but ultimately it came from somewhere else entirely. Where?

Search me.