Print copies of my latest novel Children of the Folded Valley can now be ordered from Lulu.com:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/children-of-the-folded-valley/paperback/product-21732639.html

Kindle download is also available from Amazon:

Finally, a variety of e-book formats are available FREE from Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/459663

As mentioned elsewhere on this blog, Children of the Folded Valley – my first novel for grown-ups – is something of a departure for me. I shall elaborate a little more on the inspiration and other matters at a later date. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the book. Here is the blurb from the back once more:

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

My new book, Children of the Folded Valley, is now available from Amazon. Check out the link below:

It is also available FREE – for a limited time – from Smashwords in various digital formats:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/459663

Print copies will be available from Lulu.com from the 27th of July.

Children of the Folded Valley is the first book I have released that is aimed at a more adult readership. It’s a drama with a few background science fiction elements, told in flashbacks like a memoir.

Here again is the blurb from the back, to whet your appetite:

From the author of Uncle Flynn and George goes to Mars…

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

Tomorrow, my new novel Children of the Folded Valley will be available for digital download.

Print copies will be released on the 27^th July.

As mentioned on previous posts, Children of the Folded Valley is something of a departure for me, as it is my first attempt at a grown-up novel. It is also the first time I have used a first person narrative.

Here is the blurb from the back of the book:

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

As promised, here is a second, slightly longer excerpt from my upcoming novel, Children of the Folded Valley. This section introduces Benjamin Smiley, leader of the Folded Valley Fellowship.

From Chapter 2:

On Sundays Smiley wore a white suit, white tie, and white shoes. There were a number of different rings on his fingers; some plain gold, some set with small red or green gems. I don’t know why, but these rings made him seem more powerful, especially as he pointed out across the congregation whilst reading the Bible.

‘This is what Daniel said, after God gave him a vision of the apocalypse in Daniel chapter twelve: I heard but I understand not: then said I, O my Lord, what shall be the end of these things? And he said, Go thy way, Daniel: for the words are closed up and sealed till the time of the end.’

Smiley put his large, ancient looking Bible to one side and stared at us. Surveying the congregation keenly, his eyes halted on me. In that moment I was afraid, yet I also experienced a sense of awe.

‘Daniel had a vision but did not understand it. The Lord told him the words were sealed until the end of time.’

Smiley picked up another ancient looking, but much smaller book.

‘This is Daniel’s vision: The second Book of Daniel. Hidden for untold centuries, the Lord himself showed me where I could find it inside the Temple in the Folded Valley. He has revealed this to me now, for the time of the end is indeed at hand. You are obviously familiar with these verses, but they warrant repeating:

‘For the Almighty declares that in the final hour he shall send forth his greatest servant. And this shall be the sign of him: He will lead you to a place of safety to shield you. He shall have the power to heal, and as the world – the Fallen Dimension – burns in fire, so shall he keep the chosen from harm, as a hen with chicks under her wings.’

Benjamin Smiley smiled.

‘Of course, I am nothing more than a humble servant, however great. I did not chose greatness, but God has chosen me. Who am I to argue with him? For me to disobey would result in the damnation of your very souls. Woe to me! And woe to you if I do not do as the Almighty bids! For the temptations and traps of the Fallen Dimension are terrible indeed, and few escape their snares. Yet we, the chosen holy remnant of the human race, shall rule and reign with God himself after the world is purged in the flames. We shall wait here, shielded from the inevitable destruction. And though we do not know the precise day or hour of that destruction, we know it will happen soon.’

Benjamin indicated the Bible.

‘The signs spoken of in detail in these pages are coming to pass. Every day in the outside world there is war, conflict and destruction. Technology is advancing, but the people serve it like a god. The love of material goods that do not satisfy consumes those outside. There is no longer any respect for authority. Law and order is breaking down, as is the family unit itself. There is rampant sexual immorality, and love itself seems to be dying. The economies of the world will collapse and dependence on oil will eventually bring about a global nuclear catastrophe triggered by greed and insanity. Put simply: the earth as we know it is utterly and irretrievably doomed.

‘And yet there is hope. Whilst this happens in the Fallen Dimension, we will wait here. Patiently and diligently we will occupy this beautiful land set apart for us, until the time comes for us to re-enter the world, once the wrath of God has been satisfied.’

Smiley moved away from the pulpit and walked down a few steps, moving closer to the congregation.

‘Now some here have doubts in their hearts. Oh, they will not speak of it openly, for they are ashamed. But it is doubt nevertheless. Some here question whether the Fallen Dimension is indeed worthless, as the second Book of Daniel claims. For this ignorance there is forgiveness, but ignorance must be corrected. Therefore it is good on occasion to be reminded of our many blessings and why the Fallen Dimension and its materials – however desirable they may appear – must be shunned.

‘Here we dwell in a place where there is no disease, no hunger and no war. Where there is food and water in abundance and crops never fail. Where no natural disasters occur. There are no floods, no earthquakes, no volcanoes. It is a place where families flourish. Where children can play outside safely without fear. Where everyone works together for a common good. There is an abundance of joy, love, hope and peace.

‘That is not true of the Fallen Dimension. Though it has many glittering, attractive temptations, they are but empty baubles; trinkets of a lost and dying world utterly empty and void of worth. A world destined for flames that has no part of our future. Therefore the Bible says: Come out from among them and be ye separate. That is why the Eldership – those in whom I have placed my trust – only allow such items of the outside world we deem beneficial and uncorrupting. For there is much that is sinful in the world and if brought here their evil will work in your hearts. It might be a book or an article of clothing, or even a toy…’

Benjamin fixed me with another stare. I could not hold his gaze, so cast my eyes to the ground.

‘Beware the toys of the Fallen Dimension! They are the tools of Satan himself! They will seduce but not satisfy, and soon you will want another and another and another. Before you know it the trinkets of the Fallen Dimension will have corrupted you to the point that you want to leave this paradise that the Almighty in his beneficence has provided. Do not take his warnings lightly. Heed the words of his greatest servant, and be of sober mind, lest you fall and burn with the outside.

Children of the Folded Valley – my first novel aimed at grown-ups – is released on the 20th of July in various downloadable digital formats.

Print copies will be available from the 27^th of July.

Here is the text from the back of the novel:

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

Here is the first of two excerpts from my upcoming novel, Children of the Folded Valley:

From Chapter 1:

“We spend our adult lives trying to regain what we lost in childhood.

I do not claim to be unique in that respect. Whilst it might be argued that I lost more than some, we all, I think, chase after what we once had or never had. What we lost cannot be replaced, but we chase after it nonetheless.

Some think of what they lost with romantic rose tinted spectacles, whilst others are more pragmatic. Some deny it, others get angry about it, others still accept it and seek help from friends, family, lovers, therapists, priests, gurus or anyone else who will listen. But I cannot do that. I can never tell my friends, my colleagues, my wife or my children what happened to me in the Folded Valley.

People perceive that I am obsessive, but they don’t know why. Most of the time I don’t even realise that I am obsessive in the amount of thought I give to the past. Since escaping from the Folded Valley I have been searching. I don’t know what for. Perhaps the quest is futile. But still I search.

Sometimes this is a conscious quest. Other times I am unaware of what I am doing, until someone points out that I am distracted or aloof. But mine is not a sentimental journey. I do not long for the past, yet nor do I think of it as exclusively bad. I don’t ever want to go back, but I want things that are trapped there, lost forever.

What I lost, I lost on the railway line that runs along the southern edge of Dartmoor. I can still see the train disappearing; a silhouette against the bleak moors and darkening sunset skies. I can still smell the freshly cut grass, sense the cool breeze and feel the stinging tears. I remember the relief at escaping, the fear of what lay ahead and the horrible churning sensation at the knowledge that everything I had ever known was gone.

That happened in August 1982.

I was just fourteen years old.”

Check back soon for another excerpt.

Here is the text from the back of the novel:

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

Children of the Folded Valley – my first novel aimed at grown-ups – is released on the 20th July in various downloadable digital formats.

Print copies will be available from the 27^th July.

NOTE: this article contains spoilers for Macbeth, The Great Gatsby, Breaking Bad and Schindler’s List.

Singer Alanis Morissette famously complained that rain on her wedding day was ironic when of course it was simply bad luck. But to be fair to her, irony is one of the most misunderstood devices in storytelling. It is also very, very difficult to write.

To my mind, the most satisfying uses of dramatic irony involve those where the central quest of the protagonist evolves in an ironic way. For instance, if the protagonist sets out to achieve one thing, yet throughout the course of the story achieves the exact opposite. As a result they either become a happier and better person, perhaps seeing their original aim as foolish or deplorable. Or else they find that their actions result in the very thing they feared or set out to avoid in the first place.

I would say mastering irony is a very noble goal, even though it is fiendishly tricky, because if you can the results are often amazing. A central “ironic arc” (or ironic ascension, as Robert McKee calls it) can work brilliantly in a screenplay, novel, play or television programme. Here is an outstanding example from each of the above mediums.

Theatre: Macbeth – An obvious choice from Mr Shakespeare, but one that illustrates my point. Macbeth’s actions are set in motion as a result of his consultation with the witches. Had he disregarded their prophecies, his ambitions and desires would have been fulfilled in any case, since King Duncan already favoured him, naming him Thane of Cawdor and heir to the throne. Instead, the famous bloody tragedy ensues.

Novel: The Great Gatsby– Fitzgerald’s masterpiece is another obvious choice. Gatsby’s delusional, doomed quest to win Daisy is not merely an unwise or futile obsession. It is the very thing that ultimately destroys him. There are so many moments that underscore this. For instance, the way Gatsby sits up all night making sure Tom doesn’t hurt Daisy after the yellow car incident, when in fact Daisy is making up with Tom, showing yet again how disloyal she is and how she simply isn’t worth Gatsby’s efforts. Obviously Gatsby gallantly takes the blame for the yellow car incident to protect Daisy – another irony which leads directly to his demise.

Television: Breaking Bad – This was a truly extraordinary series. What struck me most was not the brilliance of the direction or performances, or the way in which cliché is so studiously avoided, but Walter White’s astonishingly ironic character arc. Rarely has a descent into evil been so darkly funny, so hideously bone-chilling and so utterly, utterly convincing. It is positively Shakespearean. White starts secretly manufacturing crystal meth simply to pay his medical bills and provide for his family after a cancer diagnosis, but this gradually deteriorates into full blown megalomania, and by the end he has completely lost sight of his original reasons for doing what he did. Nor was what he did even necessary in the first place, since rich friends offered to pay his medical bills, but Walt’s pride wouldn’t allow for that. There is a rich vein of irony in many of the subplots too, but the main plot really does hit the bulls-eye in that regard.

Film: Schindler’s List – Obviously this was a book before it was a film, but Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece is a phenomenal adaptation of Thomas Keneally’s original text, based on the true story of Oscar Schindler. Schindler was a member of the Nazi Party who came to Poland to profit from Jewish slave labour. But over time, as he saw the level of persecution against the Jews, he systematically bankrupted himself, saving as many as he could by bribing officials to keep them in his factories and out of the gas chambers. By the end of the war he was broke, but obviously he had achieved something far greater than financial gain. It is worth noting here that screenplays with ironic character arcs seem to do rather well at the Oscars.

Mastering irony is extremely difficult, and quite honestly any ironic resonance in my own novels is mostly achieved by accident. When he read an early draft of my soon to be released novel Children of the Folded Valley, my father approvingly noted certain ironies in the plot. I must confess I hadn’t noticed them, but obviously I played it cool and insisted I had planned the novel to contain said irony from the very beginning.

Ironically, I didn’t plan for my novel to be ironic. But I’m very glad it is.

In the past, I have said on this blog that self-consciously striving to put across a message in a story will invariably result in the writing sounding preachy. Instead, I try to simply write a good story with no intended message of any kind, because what is important to me will ultimately be inherent in the material.

With that in mind, this might sound strange, but sometimes it takes others to tell me what my stories are really about. I have often been surprised at the interpretations that have resulted, and in many cases I have agreed – in retrospect – that these interpretations are correct.

A few examples:

During my University days, I made a short science fiction film entitled Gardening and Other Crimes (incidentally this short was subsequently remade with a bigger budget by a friend of mine who is a member of BAFTA). At the time I didn’t intend the film to be anything more than a compelling future shock drama that showcased my ability to direct actors. However, one person who viewed the finished product commented that the whole piece was a political statement about the European Union. Looking back, I can sort of see what he meant.

More recently, I have been told George goes to Mars is about the threat of religious fundamentalism – particularly to women – and the journey to becoming a responsible leader. Again, I didn’t write it with any of that in mind, but yes, it does seem clear in retrospect.

A novel I wrote earlier this year set on Lundy Island – the content of which will remain top secret for now – turned out to be less scary and more melancholy than I originally intended. It was only afterwards that it was suggested to me that the subtext was about dealing with the loss of my father.

I didn’t consciously set out to write a book about grief. Never have. Never will. I mean, how depressing would that be? No, I try to write genre stories that hopefully grip and entertain. Yet in spite of this, I must admit in retrospect that the story does contain an undercurrent of coming to terms with death.

Speaking of my father, one of the comments he made on my upcoming novel Children of the Folded Valley was that it contained a message about the ironies of trying to hide from very serious dangers only to fall victim to those very same dangers by doing so. I have to be a little bit vague, for fear of spoilers, but I was very pleased to hear that he thought I had succeeded in writing something ironic, as that is, quite frankly, bloody difficult to do. But more on that in a future post…

I recently had a conversation with someone about The Place Beyond the Pines in which I said that the film was the most upsetting I had seen in a long time. This person took this to mean I didn’t like the film when the exact opposite was true. I loved it.

Some people cannot comprehend why anyone would want to put themselves through such an experience, or indeed actively seek it out. An acquaintance once told me that he thought every story should have a happy ending. I countered that this was nonsense. How should The Godfather Part II end? Michael Corleone forgives his wife and Fredo, gives up organised crime and embarks on a legitimate olive oil business? Such a finale would be lunacy, and The Godfather Part II, obviously, is one of the most brilliant cinematic experiences out there.

I am interested in stories that scar, stories that make me feel something, and that doesn’t necessarily always mean feel something good. Hysterical laughter and triumphant exhilaration are not the only extremes to which I like to be taken. Being offended, terrified and even monumentally upset are equally valid and often profoundly cathartic responses to a story. Such a response makes me feel alive, and incidentally is one of the reasons I enjoy the horror genre.

How do I explain this supposedly peculiar personality trait to those who don’t relate to what I’m saying? I think Sally Sparrow said it best in the terrific Doctor Who episode Blink. When challenged by a friend who didn’t understand her penchant for abandoned, empty houses, Sally said she liked them because they were sad, and that “sad is happy for deep people”.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard my penchant for all things melancholy summed up so perfectly. On many occasions I have defended my taste for such things in all artistic fields (for example, one of the many things I love about pop group Pet Shop Boys is the way they have such downbeat lyrics to such up tempo music). I remember another conversation I had with someone who found The Remains of the Day (the book and the film) depressing – not because of the beautiful, poignant insights it contains into the tragedy of wasted lives, but because it had no car chases, no sex, no violence, and an unhappy ending.

On a related note, I am often struck by how much tragedy the Bible contains. For instance, Samson is one of my favourite stories ever. It is deeply, deeply moving and I want someone in Hollywood to make a proper film of it.

I wouldn’t go so far as to claim the reverse of Sally Sparrow’s assertion (ie happy is happy for shallow people), but I remain perplexed and baffled at why some individuals seem unable to appreciate tragic art. Generally I find those who have been through difficult or traumatic experiences are not that way inclined (for example, Holocaust survivors do not avoid dark or downbeat stories). Rather, it seems to be individuals who have been through no significant problems in life that are unwilling to engage with such material. Perhaps what lies at the root of this is fear – a subconscious burying-head-in-sand refusal to acknowledge that life can be pretty tough at times.

Obviously, what I have just said is a gross generalisation. All people are different, and if you don’t like tragedy then fair enough. Nevertheless, I believe what I have said has a grain of truth. Stories that are genuine and honest but upsetting allow us to come to terms with or perhaps occasionally make sense of the absurdities and cruelties of our existence.

I must be honest and admit that a couple of people who have read my upcoming novel Children of the Folded Valley found it “desperately sad”. But they meant that as a compliment. Perhaps for them sad is happy for deep people. Incidentally, I disagree with this particular verdict. I don’t think Children of the Folded Valley is desperately sad, although there are certainly upsetting scenes in it. My intention was for it to have an undercurrent of hope, but obviously readers will ultimately judge whether I was successful or not.

Here is the cover for my new book – my first novel for grown-ups – Children of the Folded Valley.

The process of coming up with an appropriate image for this story was tricky for a number of reasons – not the least of which was fear of spoilers. I wanted to avoid a situation akin to the notorious Planet of the Apes DVD, where the famous twist ending was given away by the image on the cover. In the end my designer Charles Bown opted for something minimal and enigmatic. I hope you like it.

Once again, here is the blurb from the back:

“From the author of Uncle Flynn and George goes to Mars…

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.”

Children of the Folded Valley will be released on the 20th of July as a digital download. Print copies will be available at Lulu.com from the 27th of July.

This year, in addition to the third George Hughes book, George goes to Neptune, I have also completed a first draft of a novel set almost entirely on Lundy Island. Details of this novel will remain top secret for now, but the fact it is set on Lundy got me thinking: is it possible to write convincingly about a real location if you have never actually set foot there?

Visiting Lundy is something I could easily do since I live in South West England, but I haven’t got round to it yet. However I have researched the island in immense detail; examining photographs, poring over maps, reading guide books, discovering details about its population, history, buildings, coastline, flora and fauna… you name it. Furthermore, my mother-in-law has stayed there, and has also provided a great deal of information about what the place looks and feels like.

I am reminded of another author who did very little travel yet wrote extensively about other lands and cultures without actually visiting them: Herge. Many of the cells in the Tintin comics are based on photographs of real places, and it is clear from the text that his subjects are meticulously researched. The fact that Herge did not actually go to many of these places doesn’t seem to detract at all from the richness of his storytelling.

Frankly, if you do your research properly, I don’t think it is strictly necessary to visit a location in order to write about it. A visit can certainly help and provide inspiration, and I would always prefer to do that (I am determined to visit Lundy soon), but I don’t think it is absolutely essential.

Conversely, I would argue that writing about things outside your personal experience is a much more difficult proposition than writing about a location you haven’t actually visited. By that I don’t mean the mechanics of a plot – after all, I haven’t been to Mars, Titan or Neptune but that didn’t stop me writing about visiting them in the George Hughes series – but more the underlying themes of a story.

For example, the battle scenes in The Lord of the Rings have clearly been written by someone who has been in armed conflict (Tolkien served in the British Army during the First World War). As a result, in spite of the fantasy setting, the horrors of war are far more resonant than they would have been otherwise.

Heartbreaking themes of lost fathers crop up again and again in the works of Charles Dickens. Because his own father was imprisoned for debt, this experience no doubt informed much of his writing, making it far more poignant and believable.

My upcoming novel Children of the Folded Valley (out on the 20^th of July) draws on themes of control and abuse in religious cults, of which I have personal experience. I’m not saying it is impossible to write about being in a cult unless you have been in one, but I believe personal experience on the part of the author does make a difference, and is a far more important factor in the success or otherwise of a novel than simply whether or not you have actually visited a location you are writing about.