David Brian's Blog - Posts Tagged "dark-albion"
Everything Happens For A Reason... Or does it? Inspired by an Extraordinary Gentleman!
Some folks are quick to tell you that everything in life happens for a reason, but does it really?
I guess we'll never know. But one thing I do believe; if you are lucky enough that events don't kill you, they can make you stronger.
Just before Christmas 2009, I was enjoying myself at a social function in Northampton. It was only my third night out for quite some time - for reasons I'll get to shortly - and it was to prove quite inspirational.
One of the other attendees was Alan Moore - author of V For Vendetta, Watchmen, and a multitude of other great works.
I walked into the kitchen to grab a coffee, and found Alan deep in conversation with a somewhat obsessive gentleman (who should have been old enough to know better!).
For the sake of this blog post I'll refer to the other guy as Pete. Anyhow, when I say they were having a conversation, what I actually mean is 'Pete' was telling Alan how they'd known each other for years, considered him a friend, and that this was the fourth time they'd actually had a conversation since meeting in the kitchen at Sue's back in ninety-seven.
I poured myself a black coffee, and grinned at Alan's desperate attempts to remove himself from the conversation. My grins turned to grimaces as Pete offered up a 'useful' suggestion to Alan Moore: "I think you should consider opening your own book shop. You wouldn't then need to rely on outlets such as Amazon. It's a great idea. You'd make loads more money!"
Wow! Even I squirmed. Though not as much as Alan.
Now, contrary to the reports of some media sources, Alan Moore is neither reclusive nor grumpy. He has strong opinions on a number of subjects, but generally I have only ever observed him being affable.
Anyhow, getting back to persistent Pete. Alan, noting my presence, used me as a prop to lever himself away from this overzealous admirer. He told Pete that he "needed to speak to me privately", and then added "maybe we'll get a chance to catch up later". They didn't.
I spent the next thirty minutes chatting with Alan, talking about all things Northampton, and never once touching on the written word - Like Alan, my mother was also a product of The Boroughs area of town - known as 'The Burrows' because of the rows of small terraced houses and narrow streets. I too was born in this area, and yet, thanks to the drive of parents who knew the meaning of 'tough times', by the time I was nine years old my family were mortgage free, and living in a two-hundred year old, detached cottage - this was some achievement, as my father hailed from Cotton End, another less than affluent part of town.
Perhaps strangely for a conversation not involving books, it was sharing a cup of coffee with Alan Moore convinced me that I needed to go for the dream.
He is that sort of a bloke. He'll convince you that if you want something it can be achieved.
And at this particular point I desperately needed to prove something to myself.
A few years prior to the events of that night, I was running my own electrical contracting business, my children were still young, though no longer babes in arms, and I had been mortgage free since nineteen ninety-seven. Life was looking very good.
And then the wheels fell off!
I was working on a new build estate towards the edge of town, and had just wrapped up the first-fixing in a cul-de-sac of executive homes. My cousin, who is a builder, happened to be working on the same site. He was a man down, and asked me if I'd mind helping board a ceiling so he could get away on time. I'd finished for the day, and so I agreed to help.
And that is when disaster struck.
The two of us were standing on a scaffold rig, and as we hoisted the board up to the ceiling, everything went weird.
I hit the ground with a considerable 'thump', but that was the least of my worries.
Have you ever woken up and found that you've been sleeping on your arm for hours; only then to find that the limb has become little more than a useless, limp thing, and irritated by unbearable pins and needles.
Imagine that scenario, and then imagine the pins and needles are a couple of hundred times worse than you've ever experienced before. Then imagine that the sensation isn't just confined to one limb, but instead it starts in your tongue and runs down through your neck, chest, arms, and on down through your legs to your toes.
Honestly, I thought I was on my way out.
It took several hours before the hospital confirmed their initial diagnosis. I had somehow managed to rupture two discs in my neck.
I was told that without surgery I would spend the rest of my days in a wheelchair. Even with surgery there was a seven percent chance of ending up paraplegic, or worse.
Seven percent, not bad odds, right?
Except it doesn't seem that way when you are actually faced with them.
I had always considered myself a fighter. I spent a dozen or so of my younger years doing my best for the local boxing club - my mother still claims years of punching peoples fists with my face helped to cause the problem in my neck. She may well be right, but, as well as giving me a face fit for radio, it also helped give me the resolve I needed right then.
Even after a mostly successful surgery, I was laid up for almost two years. For a while it would take two people to move me from the bed to a chair. It was tough on everyone.
But I have a great family, and a good circle of friends.
It took some hard work, but we got there in the end. It wasn't all good news. During the surgery they damaged my spinal chord, and this has left me with heavy legs and (what I can only describe as) an awful toothache sensation down the entire right side of my body. Neither can I make a fist with my left hand.
But, all in all, I'm a lucky boy!
If you met me today (and some of you have), you wouldn't even realize there had ever been a problem.
So, about that conversation with Alan Moore. I guess that, without even realizing it, I was looking for a new direction in my life. My days of running up and down ladders was over, and the paperwork side of the job was boring me to tears.
I had always enjoyed writing stories. I'd had a few minor things published, and his words of encouragement, about life in general, gave me the spur to try my hand at something I had only ever dabbled with before.
I had amassed a few tales down the years, and some of these early writings I later set in print as Dark Albion, and shortly after that Kaleen Rae. There are some good stories in those books, although I don't doubt my writing has improved since those early scriblings.
Just over a week ago The Cthulhu Child, and Carmilla: The Wolves of Styria, both topped charts on Amazon U.K. A large part of that success is down to the book lovers on Goodreads. Thank you for your support, it is always appreciated.
I've said it before, success is only ever relative, but given the road I have traveled in recent years, I honestly feel blessed. I am in a good place. Thank you, my friends.
I guess we'll never know. But one thing I do believe; if you are lucky enough that events don't kill you, they can make you stronger.
Just before Christmas 2009, I was enjoying myself at a social function in Northampton. It was only my third night out for quite some time - for reasons I'll get to shortly - and it was to prove quite inspirational.
One of the other attendees was Alan Moore - author of V For Vendetta, Watchmen, and a multitude of other great works.
I walked into the kitchen to grab a coffee, and found Alan deep in conversation with a somewhat obsessive gentleman (who should have been old enough to know better!).
For the sake of this blog post I'll refer to the other guy as Pete. Anyhow, when I say they were having a conversation, what I actually mean is 'Pete' was telling Alan how they'd known each other for years, considered him a friend, and that this was the fourth time they'd actually had a conversation since meeting in the kitchen at Sue's back in ninety-seven.
I poured myself a black coffee, and grinned at Alan's desperate attempts to remove himself from the conversation. My grins turned to grimaces as Pete offered up a 'useful' suggestion to Alan Moore: "I think you should consider opening your own book shop. You wouldn't then need to rely on outlets such as Amazon. It's a great idea. You'd make loads more money!"
Wow! Even I squirmed. Though not as much as Alan.
Now, contrary to the reports of some media sources, Alan Moore is neither reclusive nor grumpy. He has strong opinions on a number of subjects, but generally I have only ever observed him being affable.
Anyhow, getting back to persistent Pete. Alan, noting my presence, used me as a prop to lever himself away from this overzealous admirer. He told Pete that he "needed to speak to me privately", and then added "maybe we'll get a chance to catch up later". They didn't.
I spent the next thirty minutes chatting with Alan, talking about all things Northampton, and never once touching on the written word - Like Alan, my mother was also a product of The Boroughs area of town - known as 'The Burrows' because of the rows of small terraced houses and narrow streets. I too was born in this area, and yet, thanks to the drive of parents who knew the meaning of 'tough times', by the time I was nine years old my family were mortgage free, and living in a two-hundred year old, detached cottage - this was some achievement, as my father hailed from Cotton End, another less than affluent part of town.
Perhaps strangely for a conversation not involving books, it was sharing a cup of coffee with Alan Moore convinced me that I needed to go for the dream.
He is that sort of a bloke. He'll convince you that if you want something it can be achieved.
And at this particular point I desperately needed to prove something to myself.
A few years prior to the events of that night, I was running my own electrical contracting business, my children were still young, though no longer babes in arms, and I had been mortgage free since nineteen ninety-seven. Life was looking very good.
And then the wheels fell off!
I was working on a new build estate towards the edge of town, and had just wrapped up the first-fixing in a cul-de-sac of executive homes. My cousin, who is a builder, happened to be working on the same site. He was a man down, and asked me if I'd mind helping board a ceiling so he could get away on time. I'd finished for the day, and so I agreed to help.
And that is when disaster struck.
The two of us were standing on a scaffold rig, and as we hoisted the board up to the ceiling, everything went weird.
I hit the ground with a considerable 'thump', but that was the least of my worries.
Have you ever woken up and found that you've been sleeping on your arm for hours; only then to find that the limb has become little more than a useless, limp thing, and irritated by unbearable pins and needles.
Imagine that scenario, and then imagine the pins and needles are a couple of hundred times worse than you've ever experienced before. Then imagine that the sensation isn't just confined to one limb, but instead it starts in your tongue and runs down through your neck, chest, arms, and on down through your legs to your toes.
Honestly, I thought I was on my way out.
It took several hours before the hospital confirmed their initial diagnosis. I had somehow managed to rupture two discs in my neck.
I was told that without surgery I would spend the rest of my days in a wheelchair. Even with surgery there was a seven percent chance of ending up paraplegic, or worse.
Seven percent, not bad odds, right?
Except it doesn't seem that way when you are actually faced with them.
I had always considered myself a fighter. I spent a dozen or so of my younger years doing my best for the local boxing club - my mother still claims years of punching peoples fists with my face helped to cause the problem in my neck. She may well be right, but, as well as giving me a face fit for radio, it also helped give me the resolve I needed right then.
Even after a mostly successful surgery, I was laid up for almost two years. For a while it would take two people to move me from the bed to a chair. It was tough on everyone.
But I have a great family, and a good circle of friends.
It took some hard work, but we got there in the end. It wasn't all good news. During the surgery they damaged my spinal chord, and this has left me with heavy legs and (what I can only describe as) an awful toothache sensation down the entire right side of my body. Neither can I make a fist with my left hand.
But, all in all, I'm a lucky boy!
If you met me today (and some of you have), you wouldn't even realize there had ever been a problem.
So, about that conversation with Alan Moore. I guess that, without even realizing it, I was looking for a new direction in my life. My days of running up and down ladders was over, and the paperwork side of the job was boring me to tears.
I had always enjoyed writing stories. I'd had a few minor things published, and his words of encouragement, about life in general, gave me the spur to try my hand at something I had only ever dabbled with before.
I had amassed a few tales down the years, and some of these early writings I later set in print as Dark Albion, and shortly after that Kaleen Rae. There are some good stories in those books, although I don't doubt my writing has improved since those early scriblings.
Just over a week ago The Cthulhu Child, and Carmilla: The Wolves of Styria, both topped charts on Amazon U.K. A large part of that success is down to the book lovers on Goodreads. Thank you for your support, it is always appreciated.
I've said it before, success is only ever relative, but given the road I have traveled in recent years, I honestly feel blessed. I am in a good place. Thank you, my friends.
