Tag Archive 'poetry'

Jun 02 2016

Interview with Deborah Walker (and Kedra Crich)

Published by under Interview

Deborah Walker

Today, we have an interview with two people — at least to incarnations of the same individual. A little over six years ago, Deborah Walker decided to throw sensible advice to the wind, quit her day job, and, as she puts it, “give this writing malarkey a try.” She hasn’t look back since. Translated into more than a dozen languages, her stories have graced the pages of a number of prominent magazines, journals and anthologies, such as Fantastic Stories of the Imagination, Nature’s Futures, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet and The Year’s Best S. 

Kelda Crich sprung from the mind of Deborah Walker and is now out in the open lurking through the streets of London, exploring strange things in the city’s medical museums. Kelda’s poems have appeared in Nameless, Cthulhu Haiku II, Transitions and Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet.

Both writers were gracious enough to discuss with me their work, and their thoughts about writing in general.

So, taking that leap, quitting your day job and plunging into a career as a writer must have been daunting for you. What made you decide to do that?

I’d vaguely thought before that it might be something that I’d be good at, but every time I tried to write something my first draft was very weak. I didn’t realize that was often the case. But, I decided I wanted to have a real stab at it. At the time I remember thinking that if I managed to get one thing published in the first year, I’d be quite pleased. I managed to get something published, and I’m still at it.

Why Speculative Fiction?

Because I love the strange and offbeat. Because that’s the way my mind turns. Because I’m not sure how non spec writers actually do it.

Who’s your favorite writer?

For short stories: Philip K. Dick, D.H. Lawrence, H.P. Lovecraft, Ursula K. le Guin, Tanith Lee, Al Reynolds, Robert Silverberg, Liz Williams, Scott Wolven, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Eudora Welty.

How did you come up with your stories?

My process is quite usual I think, I do a lot of research. My usual process of creation begins with the initial idea, the seed.  Then, I then copied swathes of Wikipedia about the initial idea: changelings in this case, into my working document.

Without any idea of the story I just start to write, reading the research as I go and deleting it as I read.

The research leads me onto more ideas for the story. I always add a new element. In the case on one of my recent stories, it was worm biology and Mythos and nuns, which led to more research being copied into the working document, and sparked off new ideas.

I love, love, love Wikipedia. For instance, before I started writing I didn’t know much about changelings but Wikipedia has over 4000 words on them.

What projects are you working on now?

I’m always working on shorts stories. I’m on a bit of a competition binge at the moment, looking for short story competitions that are free to enter. I like the challenge of a prompt. I’ve also got a novella on the back burner, but I keep getting distracted by the allure short stories.

You can check out Deborah Walker’s blog and extensive bibliography here.

For Kelda Krich’s Horror blog go here (if you dare).

No responses yet

Jun 06 2014

Tying the Knot

Published by under poetry

She had smooth lines

Gliding asymmetrically

Angling and spinning


A curved symmetry

Of smoothness aligned.


He was edged in

A curve

Breaking sharply


Hardened folds

Of sharp distinctions


Their threads

Twisted and



A knotted weave of

Of limits



No responses yet

Apr 19 2013

Broken Vessels

Published by under poetry

They fell like Rain

Drops of Truth

Full of Life and Promise


The untilled ground was

A Hard Packed Crust


They just Beaded

And ran off


Deep Dark

Pools of Despair

That were


With Shards of

Broken Vessels

No responses yet

Mar 15 2013

The Bookmark

Published by under poetry

I left a bookmark

On your page

And was surprised

To find

Since my last visit

The plot had shifted


I marked my place

And skipped ahead

A little

Turn of a page or two

But upon my return

All the story lines had tangled


I had put it down

It’s true

I got busy with,

Oh, I’m not sure what, but

I just always expected

I could pick up

In that same place

Where I left off


Couldn’t you

Have found a way

To suspend time and space

Like the bookmark

I had left for you.

No responses yet

Oct 25 2012

The Sigh

Published by under poetry,Uncategorized

The old man

In the dark grey coat

Looked at

The overcast sky

Heaved a sigh

And rocked back

On the faded green

Park bench

To provide


For the climb

To his feet


He sighed

It wasn’t a sigh of grief

Or of pain.

Not of satisfaction

Or contentment

But of

And preparation


The old man

In the dark grey coat

Planted his

Crooked feet

Heaved a sigh

And rocked forward

On the faded green

Park bench

And stood


Not quite erect

Not quite bent.


He sighed

It wasn’t a sigh of bitterness

Or of fatigue

Not of weariness

Or hopelessness

But of reminiscence

And remembrance


The old man in the grey coat

Straightened his

Sagging shoulders

Heaved a sigh

And turned towards

The faded brown


That led towards

A place that

Was once called


And sighed.

No responses yet

Oct 18 2012

Does She Work

Published by under poetry,Uncategorized

“Does she work?”


The pretty teller

As she


A packaged smile


Came with all the


And Files

She slid


The counter.


“Does she work?”

He thought


Dishes piled


And the line

Of clothes

Never ending

And the way

She always

Spoke a little

Too loudly

Even when

There wasn’t

The reverberating


Of children in

The background.


“Does she work?”

She asked

Standing in

The sterile room

With florescent glare

Her temperature controlled

Along with the air

By the hushed

Tones of



Her ear.


“Does she work?”

The question stuck

Like mud

On the freshly painted

Walls of the foyer

That she scrubbed


Only to


An artist’s rendition

Of the Metro

In greens and reds

And so much


Swept under

The carpet.


“Does she work?”

She asked.


“No,” he answered

And, knew

It was a lie.

No responses yet

Sep 14 2012

Lazy Dogs With A Toothless Grin

Published by under poetry,Uncategorized

Lazy dogs with a toothless grin

Bound and gagged to a chained linked fin

They growl and scowl and foul the air

But they don’t really care

As long as they gets their three meals square

No responses yet

Aug 10 2012

I am a Wet Rag

Published by under poetry

I am a wet rag

Dripping with sweat

And tears squeezed

From the bottomless depths of the Deep

Twisted into tight knots that

Bunch and cluster

And clump upon each other into

A tangle of damp seething compacted

Tensions –

Wearied and spent.

No responses yet

Jul 31 2012

A Mother’s Understanding

Published by under poetry

No one really understands me

Except maybe Mom.


She does,

Or, did.


Probably not anymore

Now that she’s passed on

Passed away, as they say.

Passed on, far away.


We spent a lot of time


During those seven years

If she actually understood


Buried under that thick coat of

Calcified Brain Disease –

Alzheimer’s, they would whisper.


My Dad thought so.

He was convinced.


That beneath that

Veneer of a nearly blank stare

His wife was still




Of course he had to.

It was the only way

That he could understand.

Cope in

His new role of

Trying to comprehend





Even when








No one really understands me.

But I guess that’s to be expected.


Since I’m not

Who I was


Not who I thought I was


Not even a shadow

With its boy in tow.


I once was a boy with

A mother



Shielded within that protective coat of

A Mother’s Love

Encouragements, she would whisper.


She always thought so

She was convinced


That beneath that

Imperfect exterior

Was the heart

Of a Hero’s



Of course she would always say

That no matter what I did

Or, who I became

She would

Always love me

Even if sometimes

She might not like






Even when










No one really understands me

And that needs to just be



Even if I

Don’t like it










No responses yet

Jul 26 2012

If Stones Could Speak – Don’t Cry For Me Am Yisrael

Published by under poetry,Uncategorized

Don’t Cry Form Me Am Yisrael


I’m Tired of the Tears


Not that I think

That they’re insincere

Not Fully


Don’t cry for me Am Yisrael

The Truth

Is the Presence has

Never left you at all

It was just the Booth


Don’t cry for your loss

The Promise,

He has kept.

It is you, that refuse to close
The distance
Don’t cry for me Am Yisrael

No guilt

There is only one thing left

Truth to tell

And, that’s to rebuild.

No responses yet

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