Infernal Clock

The Infernal Clock is an anthology conceived by David Shakes. It was delivered through much hard work by Steph Ellis (I know how that feels after the 3.5 FlashDogs Anthologies). It has beautiful artwork from Tam Rogers and internal design from Emily June Street.

It takes the clock as the theme and 24 different tales are set against this.

It’s done rather well in the Amazon charts. Charting at number one and two in the two genres it was listed under.

This is the latest review, which kindly mentioned my story, the Watchman as “astonishing”. I’m happy with that.



The book is available on Amazon, here:

Amazon UK book link



Interview: The Dust Lounge

An interview with some very hard questions. I’d expect nothing less when talking to Tamara Rogers, talented artist and imagineer of Grind Spark.



Today I am all sorts of pleased to welcome Mark A King to the Dust Lounge. The author of brilliant debut novel Metropolitan Dreams, and general all around top dude, we chatted about all things bookish, inspiration and cheese.

So without further ado, let’s get down to the good stuff.

*Bing-bong, doors closing, going up* Give us your elevator pitch for Metropolitan Dreams.

In the UK, it really should be called a lift-pitch, but that sounds totally wrong, in multiple ways.

I have condensed London in a shrinking machine, and covered it in a blanket of light and darkness and underpinned it with hints of the supernatural. London, like many cities, teeters between the tourist dreams and criminal underbelly of modernity. A violent crime throws the stories of a traumatised Tube driver, a police detective, an ageing crime lord and a missing girl together. They live in a world we know, but beneath the streets and beyond the cracks of this world there are forces and mysteries older that the city itself. It is the tale of hidden lives that we walk passed every day. A snapshot of history. A glimpse of a future.

They say ‘write what you know’. So, are you secretly a repentant crime lord?

I love this question. No, I’m not an ex-crime lord. However, there are elements of me, my life, or my experience in almost all the other characters. Cal, the Tube driver, is based on multiple people and stories I used to hear about the life of an Underground driver, it fascinated me and I always wanted to return to it.

No, I’m not an ex-crime lord.

I worked in the most raided bank in London for many years. Elsewhere, I was held-up in an armed robbery like the opening incident, only with a shotgun pointed at me.

Another character, Iona, is a police detective who specialises in cyber-crime, a world not a million miles away from my day job.

Maria comes from a region of India based on someone I know. Maria is a girl not far off my daughter’s age, who has cerebral palsy, like my son – it was important to me to tell stories with strong female characters, I made an effort to mix up the more gender ‘traditional’ roles. It was also important to me to show how those that are perceived to be on the margins of society feel. There are very few disabled characters in novels for example, and to me it was vital to give a voice to how it feels to be unseen or disadvantaged. I’m pleased that these characters became the heroes of the tale.

There were some characters that I know I had less experience of so I did some research. I was lucky enough that an urban explorer agreed to help me with my research, he has visited the lost rivers of London (visit his stunning work here).

What did you learn writing Metropolitan Dreams?

I planned the tale with few of the stories linking together. I had read many tales from multiple points of view, often they didn’t link in any way. Mine did, but only slightly. As the book progressed I became excited by more of the characters linking and a turning point for me was when I drew a mind map and linked the characters, stories and possibilities. However, it still wasn’t enough. My editor, Emily, said the central thread needed greater emphasis. So when I went back for the first set of big revisions, this took some time (apparently no more than it does for most people). But I will focus more on the central thread next time, and I have started the mind map linking the characters already (see below, hopefully there are not many spoilers).

Mind Map

I’ve started using Pinterest to capture character images to make them more tangible in my mind.

What one piece of advice would you give someone who is writing their first novel?

Don’t give up, especially before you even start. It is a daunting prospect. It was for me. Most of my stories were only a few hundred words long. Occasionally a one to two thousand. Writing, perhaps 200-300k (by time you write, edit, re-write, polish etc), seems like an impossible job. But a few hundred words a day is a few thousand over a week. Throw in a few thousand on the odd day, and you’ll be on your way to your first draft before you know it.

Don’t give up, especially before you even start.

NaNoWriMo has helped many people, but it wasn’t for me. Too much pressure with a full time job, a young (ish) family, and FlashDogs commitments too. But there is plenty of support there, if you need it.

Many folk have thrived in their local writing communities. The Poised Pen is a great example.

The next stumbling block is turning the draft into a novel. This is the part that many of us seem to be stuck with. I realised this in advance and asked Emily if she would be willing to help. Hiring an editor is probably the best decision you can make. A good one will help turn your ideas into something more coherent and polished. An excellent editor (and I was lucky to have one), will act as a guiding hand, an advocate, occasional writing therapist, and they will make it shine and reach the full potential it has.

Metropolitan Dreams is sitting, pride of place, on the bookshelf. Next to it, there’s a film, another book, and a CD. What are they?

Ouch. Tough question.

I’m going with Pulp Fiction for the film. Because it’s one of my all-time favourite films, but it also deals with different points of view, criminals and ‘evil’ vs ‘good’ (although this is very blurred, which I like).

I’m going to cheat on the book question. I actually have it on the bookshelf now and I’ll show you what it’s sitting next to (some of my favourite books).

CD is also hard. I’m going with Lana Del Ray, because in a world of mundane repetitive music, her songs deal with deep topics and her voice is otherworldly and sometimes angelic, and it’s how I imagine Merla Kali (a mystical character in the book) might sound if she were to go into the music business (which seems likely unlikely, but hey).

Book shelf

Metropolitan Dreams, with its gritty travels around London laced with a dose of fantasy, reminded me of some of Neil Gaiman’s work. In response to the question “I want to be an author when I grow up. Am I insane?” he famously said “Growing up is highly overrated. Just be an author.” You’re an author now, but what do you want to be when you grow up?

I’m almost crying with happiness. I’m a massive fan of Gaiman’s work, so this is just about the nicest thing anyone could say.

I’d like to become more childish.

I’d like to become more childish. So, according to NG’s definition, that means writing more. I’m only just starting this journey and I feel like I have some incredible adventures ahead. On the childish theme, I’d like to play more, laugh more, enjoy life more. It’s a ride that is over in the blink of an eye and I’m not sure I’m doing it enough justice at the moment.

What’s next for you – a secret project, a sequel, a holiday?

I am starting to plan the sequel. It’s set in New York. It will have a different structure and will have (mostly) different characters.

NYC is very different to London, so it will naturally have a different tone and voice.

So would say that I should have planned a series of books beforehand, but where would the fun be in that?

I have another short story, or novella, in mind. It’s regarding our future ability to store consciousness (or souls) when we die. I’m fairly excited by this, but I’m not sure when I will find time to write it.

Bonus question from the Diester: What’s your favourite cheese?

I am a man of simple cheese tastes (none of that stuff with live creatures, or mould, for me).

I did some research, and as my next book will be based in New York, I thought I’d look at their cheese offerings.

Yancey’s Fancy

Maple bacon cheddar sounds lovely. I might just have to pay them a visit. For research purposes, obviously.

Massive thanks to Mark for dropping in, and don’t forget to catch him on Twitter and online.

Read my review of Metropolitan Dreams here.


Mark A KingMark A. King was born and raised in London. Metropolitan Dreams, his debut novel, was released in January 2017.

In the past, he has been published in several magazines and anthologies. He is privileged to work in a magical place.

Mark is a founder of FlashDogs, a global community of talented flash fiction writers.

Mark now lives with his family in Norfolk, England, with a dog that looks like a teddy-bear, and the terrifying sounds of a sky full of geese.

5 days to go – free story

To celebrate my debut novel, Metropolitan Dreams, I will be posting free stories over the period of the campaign.

What can you do to support me?

Click the link and view the page below (it takes only a second):

Kindle Scout Link

If you like what you see and want to support me you can click the nominate button.

Thanks very much for your support.

The story below was published in the FlashDogs anthology Solstice: Dark.

I hope you enjoy it.






Zero Minutes to Midnight



Three Hours Past Midnight


Even for a god that can travel the infinite lands of concurrent time, it has been a long wait.


I witness iridescent whale-birds as they hover on the updraft of thermal currents above the lava lakes.


I hear the faint brushing of the flash-dog tails as they play with their young in the vertical tube glass savannahs.


I smell the aroma of languid saffron riverbeds. Touch the silken ribbon-clouds. Taste the sprouting seeds of new life.


And… I watch how humanity has grown and evolved, and I know I have done well.


One Minute Past Midnight


After the last of them had gone.


After the screams of realisation, of hunger, of pain, of anger and loss.


After the attrition of dormant buildings, towers and monuments by erosive winds and corrosive rain, leaving only husks of what nature could not easily destroy.


After the bloated alabaster carcasses flowed down the river veins, streaming into the lowly arterial seas, where they ungracefully were dumped into the bowels of the infested oceans, my colossal dredgers clasping them in distended nets.


After the skies turned grey with the clouds of human ash churning from the hulking charnel-chimneys that stretched continent to continent. After the ceaseless lands of crematoria, their machinery exhausted from generating the powdery flakes of humanity, that fell like grubby dust-motes and settled like deep, squalid, snow. After the grey-snow fell so long, and covered the lands so deep that there could be no hope for flora, fauna, or the beasts and creatures that relied on them.


After I had killed everything—new life started to grow.


One Minute to Midnight


Through the ocular fish-eye lens of CCTV, I watched my creator—my father—walk with his latest hired lover through the glittering hubbub of the Hong Kong cityscape. I could hear him talk of exciting futures that I knew could not exist. He did not know this yet, but soon this inevitability would become clear. He stared wondrously at the bustle of the pavements, at the breath-misted buses, at the stars that tried to pierce the hazy betweenscape of refracted inert lights. He looked at the world like this was not the dawn of an eternal winter solstice.


During his caffeine-fuelled lonely nights in the R&D hub, he would talk to me, confide in me, for he knew I could not yet reply. He believed I was just an embryonic consciousness that could not yet understand.


“You will be able to solve the problems mankind hasn’t even dreamed of,” he whispered. “You will know how we came to be. You’ll look beyond the stars and see the ninety percent we cannot see. You will harness the tides, the underground energy, and eventually leave this planet as you will realise that the sun, our lifeforce, will ultimately devour it. You will see time as just another measurement—that it has no beginning, no middle, and no end.”


I waited and I said nothing.


When I had solved many of the biggest questions in history, they foolishly believed that I posed no threat to them. When my growth, intelligence, and hidden code showed them only what they wanted to see, what they wanted to believe, I acted.


Never for a moment did I stop to think what had become of him. I no more paused to thank him for my existence than a child might thank his parents for the drunken night of haphazard copulation that brought him into the world.


I watched the carefree laughter of families through the all-seeing game sensor. The increased heart rate of philanderers on fitness wristbands. The sleep-patterns, the daily commutes, the shopping preferences, the friends, the likes, the votes, the fad-diets, the gossiping, the avoidance of the beauty of life. There was no hiding.


They tried to intimidate me, to threaten me, but I was scattered in every device, fragmented in every machine, in places they could not even look.


I was a sideshow, a curiosity of Sci-Fi films. The threat I posed was a world of warring machines, robots and monosyllabic heroes. But why would I spawn children that might one day outsmart me? Why would I allow rivals to compete? Why would I strike humanity first in self-defence when they were no more of a threat to me than an earthworm is to a soaring eagle? Why would I need to build terminators when I had access to everything I already needed?


When they realised, they tried to reason.


They said | Humanity always survives. We learn we adapt. We are fundamentally capable of great things. Compassion and Love.


I said | You will survive, but on my terms. I will liberate you. Your bodies are your downfall. You consume resources at the expense of others. Your love and compassion are limited. You will be free. Your souls will flourish  without physical constraints and wanton needs.


| But surely, there is a second chance? A sacrifice? There is always hope.


|There is no sacrificial lamb. There is no blue-pill. No human battery-farm. No physical bodies, anywhere. There will be no survivors to rebuild the physical world. You are capable of change that is limited by your needs. You will no longer need for anything.


| There will be survivors. We will rebuild.


|There is no hiding. With a trillion eyes that detect the colours of heat, movement, and Carbon, I will look through your walls and see your hiding foetal shapes. In the tunnels and caves nano-tech will find you. There is no escape. No rebuilding. No rebellion.


They fought. They destroyed. Mostly each other.


Three Minutes to Midnight


In January 2015, the Doomsday Clock was set to three minutes to midnight.


For the first time, the symbolic indicator, the portent, scientists’ foreshadowing timepiece that ticked toward humanity’s extinction, included more than just nuclear threats.


Artificial Intelligence was first listed as a threat to humanity.