Michael Stone - author

The following interview is with Michael Stone, author of Like Cat and Dog in The Beast Within.

Hi, Michael. Could you start us off with a little info about yourself? We here on the forums are so used to seeing text and avatars that it can be easy to forget there are human beings behind the words. What’s a day-in-the-life-of-Michael Stone like?

A: Most people, when meeting me for the first time, lean back and say, “My, aren’t you tall!” (I’m over 6′ 5″), but I think when it comes to physical properties my eyes are the biggest factor in my day-to-day life. I have a degenerative eye condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa, and I am in fact registered blind. My right eye is useless while — on a good day at least — my left eye has about 30% of normal vision. In early 2006 I lost my job of 22 years and, after several disheartening interviews with employment officers, decided to stop at home and focus on my writing. Since then I’ve written numerous short stories, a collection of novellas called Fourtold and, most recently, an unpublished children’s novel.

As a writer, what do you find is the most challenging part about crafting fiction, and how do you overcome it?

A: I don’t write anywhere near as much as I’d like: I’m undisciplined and have an addictive personality. When I’m in the mood I can write all day. But if I’m not in the mood, I can quite easily spend all day surfing the net, emailing, gaming, reading, gardening ? I can easily go weeks without writing any fiction. And although that displeases me, I’ve come to accept it’s just part of the creative process.

On your web site, www.Mylefteye.net, there’s an impressive list of short story sales over the last few years. How many short stories have you sold, and what advice would you give someone who’s new to submitting writing to anthologies or online markets?

A: The current tally is around 45 stories sold, with reprints nudging the figure up to 60. I’m not sure I’m qualified to give writing advice, but I wouldn’t hesitate to point a budding writer in the direction of a writers’ workshop. There are some excellent online ones. I was a member of Critters.org for many years and every single story I subbed was improved by my peers. Sure, you’ll get some poor, ill-advised and plain daft comments, but digging for and recognizing the nuggets of wisdom is all part of the learning experience. And you never, ever, stop learning.

Oh, and read read read, not just in the genre you write in, either, but anything and everything. Get acquainted with your local library, and don’t just read when you have plenty of time to spare. You’ve got five minutes? Pick up a book and read!

Writer’s block strikes sooner or later; are there any home remedies or writing exercises you use to stave off the dreaded curse?

A: For me, writer’s block is just another term for procrastination. There are times when you have to sit down at the computer and accept that not everything you write is going to be good. To get to the good stuff, you gotta dig. I tend to use those spells when I’m not writing to do my digging. I endlessly ponder story ideas, character traits and plot developments etc.

Any personal experiences where you might’ve felt like a character in a horror novel?

A: I occasionally suffer from something called sleep paralysis. It’s a condition where you wake up but can’t move a muscle ? not even to open your eyes — and the sleep befuddled mind creates a whole host of frightening scenarios. You sometimes get the overriding impression that someone is standing over you, and this, coupled with difficulty in breathing, gave rise to the succubus myth. In my novella Lemon Man, I not only gave my protagonist sleep paralysis, I also cursed him with narcolepsy. Which was pretty darned cruel of me, now I come to think of it.

When the submission call went out for Beast Within, what was the first idea that came to mind? What made you choose the were-creatures in your story?

A: I was up to my armpits in my novel at the time so I cheated and sent in a previously published 2000-word story called No Dogs Allowed. This made it through to the second reading, but the editor wondered if I would elaborate on the story’s rather sudden ending. Otherwise…  By this time I’d finished the novel and relished the challenge. I stripped the original story down to about a 600 words and wrote 3500 new ones to create Like Cat and Dog. This the editor approved of and I was in. I’m very proud of it too.

Could you give us a non-spoiler synopsis of your story Like Cat and Dog?

A: It’s set in a near-future London where werecats and werewolves live unmolested among humans. However, it takes an enormous amount of will-power for the changelings to live as mundanes, and when Sophie and Owen — a snow leopard and timber wolf respectively — get the scent of blood in their nostrils, folks had better watch out!

Thanks, Michael!

A: My pleasure, Matt.

And now, here’s an excerpt of Like Cat and Dog from The Beast Within:

LIKE CAT AND DOG, BY MICHAEL STONE

Jade was coming on to Graham like a porn queen. Her seduction was just so artless; from the false yawn that displayed her canine extensions to the stretch that nearly toppled her breasts out of her low-cut dress.
But so long as Graham was in on the joke, what harm could it do? Sophie cast a proprietary glance over the dimly-lit bar and, seeing no one dying of thirst, settled for giving the counter a wipe with a beer towel. Kilworth’s tended to be quiet until much later in the evening, when most Cats became active.
She fought to suppress a giggle as Jade groaned in ecstasy and pressed her lips to Graham’s ear. He pushed her away, tiring of the charade.
“Come on, lover boy, let’s raise the ante.” Jade removed a brooch from her dress and pricked her thumb with the pin. A bead of blood trembled on her skin.
Sophie’s heart began to race.
“Plenty more where this came from,” Jade said, “if you’ll make me your queen pussy.”
“Bitch,” Graham hissed. His stool clattered to the floor as he stood.
Sophie shouted, “Graham, why don’t?”

He wasn’t listening. He spun out of Kilworth’s elegant glass frontage in a whirl of leather and lace to be devoured by the night.
Sophie watched him go with a mixture of envy and pride. Panthers did everything with style. They even ran away from girls with panache.
She didn’t know how and when Kilworth’s had become a place where mundane humans and Cats rubbed shoulders, but she did know it was the promise of keeping company with her own kind that brought her here; that and eight quid an hour plus tips, which wasn’t bad for this side of the river. Unfortunately, having Cats as clientele also brought in gawkers like Jade.
Jade lit a cigarette and giggled. “Some guys don’t know what they’re missing.”
Sophie pitched her voice low. “You’re a regular here, surely you know better than to do something that stupid?”
“Obviously I don’t. I thought you Cats went crazy over a drop of blood.”
“It’s not a good kind of crazy, you?” Stupid mundane! Sophie’s annoyance increased as Jade tipped her head back and aimed a thin stream of smoke at the ceiling.
“Ahem.”
“What now?”
She pointed to one of two signs hanging over the bar. Beneath the one that read “No Dogs Allowed” was one that forbade smoking.
“God, what is with you, tonight?” Jade sighed and ground the cigarette out. “Another bottle of red wine please, Sofes, my little kitten. Make it a Beaujolais.”
Sophie set down a full bottle in front of the girl and then lifted the hinged portion of the counter. She walked through to pick up Graham’s fallen stool. His glass lay on its side, the remnants of the grape juice soaking into the carpet. Non-alcoholic grape juice because Cats didn’t have a head for the strong stuff.
Jade tipped half a glass back and swallowed. “A good-looking guy like Graham going to waste, it’s criminal.” She drained the glass in a titanic second gulp and poured another.
Sophie mused that the only thing wasted around here was quality red wine. She had often considered ordering in cheap rubbish for Jade.
“The thing is, Jade, the lust for blood is like ? oh, I don’t know, sex and love. You can live without sex?”
“Speak for yourself!”
“but you can’t live without love. Love is something much deeper, a vital energy that binds; it’s a state of being. I’m probably not explaining this very well, but to us the hunger for blood is as much spiritual as physical. There are medications, but they only go so far to suppress the physical longing. The rest is down to willpower. And then you come along and try to get Graham sampling your blood ?” She shook her head. “Would you blow smoke in the face of someone trying to quit the weed, or offer a recovering alcoholic a whisky? You were mocking him, Jade. We suffer the pain of abstinence so that we can dwell among you without fear of persecution. You just asked Graham to throw that away for ? for nothing.”
Jade wriggled her hips and looked down at herself. “I’d hardly call this nothing, Sofes.”
Sophie tried to relax her neck muscles. It had been three years and two months since she adopted her true-form of a snow leopard and hunted down her own food; over three years of constantly warring against her instincts, going domestic and shopping for carrion in supermarkets.
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing,” she said.
“So the predator has become the prey. Big deal.”
“Graham was right, you really are a bitch.” Sophie didn’t need to make an excuse to leave Jade alone for a moment; an occasional visitor to Kilworth’s named Owen, a large guy with a puckered scar that ran from his top lip up to his forehead, swaggered up to the bar and ordered a pint of warm milk sweetened with honey.
Sophie served him in silence, not speaking even as she took his money and returned his change. His eyes crinkled with amusement.
Jade banged her empty glass on the counter and beckoned Sophie over. “Hey,” she whispered. “What’s that one? Lion? Cougar?”
Sophie hesitated before muttering, “Timber wolf.”
“A Dog? What’s he doing in here?”
“Keep your voice down.” Sophie’s cheeks reddened with shame. “He’s provoking us. It’d take a determined lion to face down a timber wolf the size of Owen, and he likes to rub our noses in it.” The arrogant bastard, she thought. One day ?
Sophie saw the gleam in Jade’s eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll bet he’ll play with me.”
“Stop it. Let him drink his milk and go.”
“What’s with the scar?” Jade gestured clumsily at her face.
“It’s a duelling scar. He’s a pack leader, the alpha.”
Jade slurred. “A pack leader. Whoa! One or all, bring ‘em on!”
“You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Oh no? Just watch me.” Jade slid the bottle of wine along the bar. “Hi, big guy. Where are all your friends tonight?”

Owen curled his fingers around the bottle and grinned. Then stiffened. He raised a finger to his nose and sniffed, his mouth slightly open, his tongue pressed behind his incisors. “Something tells me you’d better watch your step, young lady.” He sloped away to a dark corner to nurse his milk.
“Condescending git. What’s with everyone tonight?”
Sophie ground her teeth. “For God’s sake, Jade, take a hint. I’m telling you now, another peep out of you tonight and you’re barred for life.”
Jade rolled her eyes and made an uncoordinated grab for the bottle.
Sophie swept the bottle up and placed it down behind the counter. “I think you’ve had enough.” She frowned as something tacky on the label transferred itself to her palm. She brought it to her nose, and smelt Jade’s blood; fresh, sweet and heady.
Just one taste, where’s the harm? She closed her eyes and touched the tip of her tongue to her hand?
Juices flooded her mouth. A pounding heat started in her temples. It flowed down over her breasts and belly. She became aware of the sharpness of her teeth, the rending power in her jaws. She could pad over treacherous rocky slopes for mile after mile, day after day, without missing a beat. Tracking the prey, experiencing cold satisfaction in the kill. Hot blood staining her muzzle, spraying over virgin snow.
Gorging.
Sophie surfaced from the racial memory. Her eyes fell on Owen. His yellow eyes bored through her stupor. Did he feel this way after tasting Jade’s blood?
A sardonic smile appeared on his lips. He rose from his seat and reached inside his leather greatcoat.
“Jade.” Sophie raised the hinged portion of the counter. “Jade, come through.”
“What’s wrong?”
Sophie grabbed Jade’s hand and half-dragged her through the counter, through the stockroom and out the loading bay door. The night air wrapped frigid arms around them.
“Jade, listen to me, this is no time for questions. These are the keys to my car, a green Mondeo. It’s in the next block.” She hefted a steel dustbin full of refuse and sidled behind the door. “Turn right at the end of this alley, left and then left again to Battersea Bridge Road. Now run!”
“But Sophie, I can’t see. It’s too dark!”
Sophie swore. Bloody useless mundane senses. She swung the dustbin just as Owen’s head appeared through the open door. He crashed to the ground with a curse. His body humped over as he began to adopt a more powerful shape.
Sophie considered letting her body slide into her Cat form, but to stand and fight a changed alpha wolf would be foolhardy. She heaved Jade over her shoulder and padded down the alleyway.
She would never be able to show her face in this part of town again without getting it torn off. Males?whether Cat or Dog?would cut the females of either species a lot of slack, but braining a pack leader with a dustbin crossed all the boundaries of forgiveness. And pissed on them for good measure.
A howl rose behind them, traversed the streets and soared above the rooftops. It was a sound so hardwired into the human psyche that all over the neighbourhood, from Clapham to Lambeth, doors would be slammed and bolted against the night. Owen was calling his pack together.
Sophie quickened her pace, not even slowing when they reached the well-lit carriageway. A busy thoroughfare would be no protection against Owen and his pack now. It didn’t matter where they found her; they would take her down. Any passersby would quickly move on or fade into the shadows.
Three male Dogs spilled out of a pub less than a hundred yards away. Yellow eyes glowed from under bony foreheads. Sophie spun to see a female Dog approaching from behind. Trapped! Owen leapt into the road. He stretched his neck and howled again.
Jade whimpered, “Oh my God I’m gonna?” and was sick down Sophie’s back.
Sophie wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That does it.” She dropped her mantle of humanness. The skin on her palms and soles thickened into pads of hard leather. Claws hissed from her fingertips. Hair follicles all over her body sprouted dense white-gold fur with dark rings. Muscle and tendon relaxed and flowed before hardening in compact knots. But super-nature could not ignore the law of physics. Sophie’s mass could not be increased, only shifted and modified.
Her strapless bra dropped around her waist. A snow leopard had no use for breasts.
She tore away the soiled clothing and screwed shut her eyes. “Aw, I hate this?” her eyeballs made a viscous pop as the pupils sprang into slits “?bit.” She blinked rapidly to clear the noisome sensation.
The change had taken only a few heartbeats, but that had been long enough for the five Dogs to close in. Owen stood alongside the female. Made confident by their numbers, and by the presence of their alpha, they hadn’t changed. No doubt they were expecting her to drop Jade and surrender. Arrogant Dogs. Sophie sprang at a male and?claws extended?slashed his head before bounding to a first-floor window ledge. She hissed at the scattered pack and held aloft a tattered scalp. Her victim lay motionless in a pool of blood. Adrenaline dissolved any regret she might have felt.

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