Writing for dummies

I always considered myself a keen writer. But I had never written anything.

Nothing substantial, at least. Whenever someone compliments my use of words in passing, whether it be in an instant messenger at work or a birthday card, I always tend to bring up an old fact about myself: I got an A* at school in my creative writing module in English class!

It was about the only prideful thing I could latch onto, in regards to my status as an author. Over the years, I've written dribs and drabs of muddied ideas and fan fictions, but never anything worthy of reading. Sure, the writing was strong - perhaps too strong and overtly descriptive, admittedly - but it was short. Nothing happens. An idea, an image, one scene; normally then followed by some painfully boring dialogue, which is my usual cue to abandon the work and shelve it for another day (that never comes).

The only piece of tangible, finished work that I can be proud of today is a screenplay for a short film. It was a university project (extra-curricular, so at least that suggests some modicum of self-motivation), where we were challenged with creating a short film within 48 hours, using a specific brief and required prop. I recall the brief was simple: include the line "Put it away before somebody sees," and include the prop of a bucket. Naturally, my mind immediately jumped to an old man on the brink of committing suicide (and literally kicking the bucket), who is so woefully alone after his wife has passed that he sees no point in carrying on. As he's standing there, the rope around his neck, his grandson calls him and announces he is about to make a surprise visit. Suddenly he has someone who cares for him, and his life has meaning! He hangs up, mutters to himself, "Put it away before somebody sees!" then in his haste to hide his attempt to end his life, he gives himself a heart attack. He tragically curls around the bucket on the floor, noose still swaying above him, dead on the floor. Then, the grandson knocks.

The woeful old man in 'For Arthur' collapses after successfully failing to kick the bucket.

I suppose I've always had a penchant for the macabre; the tragedy of death, and the folly of man. How the passing of our lives may seem so big to those of us that walk the Earth, but so infinitesimally irrelevant in the grand etchings of the cosmos that it is almost laughable.

A keen writer, with a strong affixation on death and comedy. Now I needed to write something about one, the other, or both.

I'd been deliberating writing a fully fledged novel for many years now. I suppose that's why I wrote so many half-assed ideas and single scenes over time; an inert craving to craft a story but not quite the will to see it through. In 2025, in the final quarter of the year, the itch was insatiable. It filled my every waking moment. Even writing simple yes or no replies in my text messages became expressions of my aching writers soul. "I dare say," became yes, "Regretfully not," became no. I became a Victorian responding to their dearly cherished pen pal. With this constant urge in the front of my mind, I sought out an idea. Horror, or comedy, I thought. Perhaps both, but that could come later - after I'd attained some more experience. I set myself the task of reading some of the most quintessential horrors that I had yet to indulge in.

I had already embarked on this gothic journey some time ago, as is my natural proclivity to horror as a broader genre. Stoker's 'Dracula', Lovecraft's 'At The Mountains of Madness', King's 'The Shining', to name a small handful. Classics and contemporary alike. I realised that the list was abhorrently short, so I began my journey with Susan Hill's 'The Woman In Black'.

I was roughly half way through 'The Woman In Black' when it occurred. I was enthralled by the brief interactions that the protagonist - Arthur, a young and naïve solicitor from foggy London - had with the mysterious namesake of the book, Jennet Humfrye. From her first appearance in the graveyard I was gripped, when her arrival is met with the fretful stares of silent children. Her ghostly visage struck further terror in me when Arthur reaches Eel Marsh House (a brilliantly cold and slimy name for this haunted and dilapidated house), this time met with the horrifying sounds of desperate pleading voices and a whinnying horse being sucked into the marsh. Arthur's inability to see this event struck real intrigue with me; what was surely a disturbing sight become all the more terrifying in that it was marred from sight by the thick veil of fog.

When a dream becomes a tangible path in reality.

I went to bed after reading and was plunged into a paralysing nightmare. The combination of my rampant desire to find an inspiring story to write, combined with the stark imprint that 'The Woman In Black' was having on my fragile psyche, resulted in a gloriously scary dream. A house share in London, much like my own situation, where I was living with others unwillingly but necessarily (finances are a constant shadow for a young professional living in the city); my forever partner laying beside me, whom I must protect and be brave for (which inevitably leads to the necessity for me to confront any horrors that cross our path); and a mysterious and terrible tenant that haunts our every waking moment. I laid in my bed, and this ghost-like entity who was our housemate had entered our room. She loomed over us, breathing heavily, grinning wider than any human could. It was sheer uncanny horror. It was perfect. I woke up, turned on the light, and sought my partner for comfort - such was the fear that I carried from the dream and into the real world. Then I was filled with ravenous and inspired energy. I manically began jotting down every memory of the nightmare I could latch onto into a dream journal.

The girl from my dream, starring in 'The Girl of Grey House'

This nightmare became the basis for 'The Girl of Grey House'. Since then, the book has formed and evolved into something new, fresh, and in my opinion, quietly thought-provoking. It perfectly sums up my experiences of house sharing in London, as well as diving deep into the frankly neurotic tendencies and proclivities of my mind.

'The Girl of Grey House' is currently written in it's first draft stage, and is undergoing the first round of editing. I am incredibly excited to release my first, full-fledged novel. I hope that anyone that happens across it finds it as gripping to read as it has been for me to write.

Until next time,

J. P. Harrison