Rob Burton; fellow Brit and man with a very interesting and fulfilling life! Extremely interesting bloke and somewhat of an excellent author.. In Mediations on Murder, his first novel, we see notes of Ian Rankin and maybe a smidge of Val McDermid, added with a deep supernatural and remarkably interesting historical angle...Watch Charlie Simpson's descent into madness unfold as you hold the book; helpless....
So, when Rob approached me, suggesting a matual interview, I leapt at the chance to know more about this newish face on the Scottish Crime Writing scene, even though he lives in China..
Where in the world are you?
I’m in Nanjing, China. I have been here 6 years teaching English. My hometown is Plymouth, England, the ‘home’ of the Pilgrim Fathers.
Where in the world would you like to be?
Right at this moment as it’s snowing anywhere warm would do. I have visited Thailand and Vietnam recently and its very nice there. We all have this vision of sitting on the beach with our laptops writing – right?
Books – buy links:
Meditations on Murder
UK Amazon Link - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B074WQQ1PM
US Amazon Link - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074WQQ1PM
Website link: www.rob-burton.co.uk
Blog Link: www.rob-burton.co.uk/amuse-bouche
Social Media (Please provide links & handles):
www.facebook.com/robburtonauthor
www.twitter.com/trebornotrub
www.instagram.com/trebornotrub
Favourite book:
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig (who has recently passed away). I first bought this book in Holland where I was living and working. It was probably around the mid 70’s so the book had just come out. I cannot count how many times I have passed this book on never to get it back. Fortunately, it can often be found in Charity Shops, car boot sales and second-hand book stores which are all my favourite shopping places.
Favourite snack when writing: I am really trying to lose a bit of weight. I sit on my arse too much writing. When I am sat writing pistachios are my nibble of choice. And here in China they are cheap enough to eat much too many. The positive thing about China is their taste in snacks does not really resonate with the Western palate. So I pass on the chicken feet and the cucumber flavoured crisps/chips.
What do you write on?
I write on my trusty Macbook. I have a love/hate relationship with it. I had spent all my professional life using PC’s but when I knew I was coming to China I decided I needed something more robust. So as I had some redundancy money and I could still get the academic discount I went for the MacBook Pro 13inch in 2011. I am still using it. Here in China I have upgraded it to a SSD and 8GB of ram. Had a new touchpad and keypad. All done very cheaply while you wait. But it still irritates me. I know Steve Jobs wanted us all to learn the secret clicks and combinations – but I can’t be arsed to do that. It does what I want it to do and that’s enough.
I use Word 2008 and for editing support I use Prowritingaid which I find much better than Grammarly.
Where do you write?
I have the small corner of a two seater sofa of which the dog and the girlfriend have the majority of the space. I also get to write in my office at the school here in China where I teach English in the two office hours I have to do every day as part of my contract.
What are your current projects?
At the moment my novella The Castle of the Red-Haired Maidens is out with the editor. This is the back-story to Nye the 12th Century Scottish ghost who is a main character in my novel Meditations on Murder. In that book she tells us she was horribly murdered – the novella covers that incident.
I am also writing the second novel of the series with Charlie Simpson. (I wanted him to be a pretty ordinary man facing extraordinary circumstances – hence the boring name) I am about 50% through it atm. The Twelfth Rune is set in Cornwall and uses Cornish myths and legends to drive the story as Charlie has to pit his wits against Modred the arch Arthurian villain to rescue some lost religious artefacts and, of course, save the world again. (Is that too much of a spoiler?)
I also earn some spare cash doing some writing and proofreading for Nanjing University and an English Training school. The translation department sends me English translations of works and I have to check the English. Recently I proofed a book about Karl Marx (still popular here of course) and am working on a book about the various translations of the Chinese classic Dao De Jing by Laozi . (I am hopeless at proofreading my own stuff of course.)
Can you share a little of your current work with us (no more than 1000 words)?
I wanted to get back to Annie, back to my cottage in Mount’s Bay, back to my books and leisurely coffees at Myghal’s place, although now his cover had been blown, maybe that was a thing of the past too.
My phone buzzed under the table. I pulled it out of my pocket and swiped it on. I noticed there was no signal. I checked my watch. Time had stopped too. So why did the phone buzz? There was no obvious announcement on the screen. I scrolled through looking at the apps seeing if they had an indication of a message. My Nye app was glowing green.
Nye, the ghost from 12th century Scotland who had haunted me in London when all I wanted to do was kill my girlfriend who had run off with my best mate. Nye, who had given me the hypersphere so we could do away with the ghastly red caps and lead me into a murderer’s den so we could save Annie from a gruesome death at his hands.
Was she here? Arriving like the 7th Cavalry to save the day? I took in a big sniff hoping to smell the familiar tarry smell of a good malt whisky that usually indicated she was around.
Nothing.
I pressed the app. This usually meant that she would appear in person, as it were, or at least show up on the screen for some face time.
Nothing.
Modred was watching me carefully.
“Hey, Chas.”
“Charlie.” I countered.
“How’s the food daddy o, bust a gut yet?”
“Fine, fine.” I pushed the plates away from me. “Lets get down to business. But first,” I pointed at the speakers “can you turn that shite off.”
Modred scowled a little but clapped his hands. Immediately the music stopped, and the flailing watusi zombie dancers skipped out of sight.
Sitting back, he clasped his arms behind his head in another macho manspreading cliché bullshit position. He smirked and nodded his head.
“The situation Charlie, my boy, is you have something that I want. And in return, I can give you something that you want.”
“What’s that?” I countered.
“Your life dude.” He clicked his fingers.
“But you don’t have it yet so how can you return it?
“Are you so sure? You are currently in the company of the dead. Death is all around you.”
“Death is a fact of life” I shot back nonchalantly, but not feeling at all nonchalant. We seemed to have entered into some sort of Socratic argument.
“Do you not fear death?”
“Why should I fear death? I do not know enough about death to fear it.”
“And yet you are here in the presence of death.” He gestured with his hands at himself and then to Tregeagle who gave his gravedigger smile.
“Maybe,” I argued, “that it is you who knows little enough about death because here you are still wandering the mortal plane.”
“’Tis the vindictiveness of thy miserable priests for causing I such pain and toil.” Tregeagle spat across the table.
“Ye mortals fear death as the raindrop fears the sun. ‘Tis but a moments work for both to be gone. Damn your priests and damn this game.” He rose from his seat like a pocketknife unfolding, all sharp angles and blades. His shirtfront flounced in an act of mutiny against the jagged movements of his body.
“Hold, Jan. Hold,” Modred stared down the table at me. His eyes returned to the golden glow of the beast that was surely within. “Let us play longer.”
There, I was being toyed with.
My hand was in my pocket holding my phone. I was willing it to buzz so the green light would envelop me for all to be well. I wanted to rest my brow once again against the pillow of Nye’s breasts as she hummed a simple tune.
“Tell me mortal.” Modred’s voice had hardened. “Why you are so sure about not fearing death?”
I turned so I could look Modred straight into his golden eyes.
“I know I shall die, maybe today at your hand, perhaps not. Maybe I will live until the Crown is forced to acknowledge my singular existence through the medium of a congratulatory telegram upon reaching my centenary, who knows? But you, and you.” I pointed my finger at Tregeagle. “You, the dead, know nothing. What have you got in your death? What rewards have you accrued? Nothing. You are barely remembered, and for the most part, you are forgotten.”
Modred stood, eyes blazing, fists clenched, and knuckles down on the table.
“Human, you are finished; you will give me what I seek. You will kneel at my feet and give up the stone.”
It was my turn to grin.
“Such is death, and you live in this hell or some other hell like place where your immortality is an unhappy, endless, striving for what? You know what?” I stood, and ripped my shirt open. I bared my sagging chest at him.
“Do your worst you evil cunt, because no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death.”
In my pocket, my phone burped.
In the hall, the stereo switched on.
Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Meet the new boss
Same as the old boss
On a loop, around, and around, and around…
Why did you write that? What inspired it?
My first novel was set in modern day London. This time the story is set in Cornwall. I know a lot about Cornwall as my PhD is about Cornish Identity, so I followed the old adage of write what you know. In this novel I use a lot of the myths and legends of Cornwall and intertwine Arthurian legends, many of which are also set in Cornwall. It’s a bit of a Dan Brown romp is The Twelfth Rune.
Do you have any advice for other writers?
Write like a Bastard.
Who is your favourite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
My favourite author is James Lee Burke. And in particular his detective series featuring Dave Robicheaux. I find Burke to be a very atmospheric writer. His stories do not seem to be hurried; they are well paced and draw the reader in. Also he answers his fan emails *blush*
Which author do you most resemble?
Hank Moody in Californication – minus the girls but heavy on the Jim Beam. In 2011, my first time in China, I was seriously depressed. The teaching was bad and I’d been in an RTA where I had been knocked out and my friend on the back of my scooter had broken his leg. I think I was suffering from PTSD. I wanted out of China. The last teacher in my apartment had left the full series of Californication on DVD. I watched all of them matching Hank drink for drink. We bonded over the cheap Jim Beam I could by very cheaply here. BTW I no longer resemble Hank Moody. I’m on the Gin now dontcha know.
Can you tell us a writerly joke?
If Moses were alive today he’d come down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments and spend the next five years trying to get them published. - Anonymous
Anything else on your mind?
Many young writers ask on the Facebook writer’s page that they want to start writing but they don’t know how or what to write. My advice is travel. See the world, have some adventures. Live life.
“You look at where you're going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you've been and a pattern seems to emerge.” ― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values
The Twelth Rune, Rob's next intriguing read is coming soon...Thank you, Rob; that was a complete pleasure!
Comments