Welcome to Reverend Wayne Austin Goodchild's official blog. Not that there's an unofficial one...

Click WAYNE GOODCHILD IS HAUNTED to go to his Facebook page! There's good stuff on it! Honest!

...all work on here is copyright wayne goodchild, unless otherwise stated, you cheeky monkeys...

Sunday, 28 June 2009


And here we are:


Stories wanted!


Does every writer wonder if they're good enough? Does even Stephen King have off days? I reckon so.

Should rejection be taken personally? I don't think so. Unless it is personal, if you know what I mean.

What about when you know a piece is exactly right for a publication? Every writer, no matter what level, must feel like that for a lot of the stuff they send off, which makes it tricky to gauge. What about if you also know your writing's decent? I'm being hypothetical, here. Honest.

Everybody at some point must have been told by somebody worthwhile (ie not their mum) that 'yes, you can write' or maybe even 'yes, you can write to a decent standard' or even that elusive 'yes, you can write to an extremely high level', so then it just becomes a case of playing the waiting game to find out just who else shares Whoever's opinion.

And if only everybody shared the same opinion.

But that'd be boring wouldn't it? Of course it would. You need to work for something to earn it. Sure, it's intensely frustrating when other people can't see how amazing you are, but then, it's allllll subjective.

What's the point of all this, apart from something that veers dangerously close to the persona of a tortured artist? I've been wondering how viable setting up an online magazine would be. Not as a vanity project - I don't think anyone would take you seriously if you said 'oh yes I have had twenty stories published in Scumbag Magazine' and then they check and see 'Bobby Bigballs' is not only the person who sent them the story but runs the aforementioned Scumbag zine. Quality control, where are you?

The only thing stopping me is that I'd be doing it entirely on my own, and, although I 'technically' have a lot of free time, I'd rather have a couple of other folks on board to help read through story submissions - not to mention spread the word.

My parents have only really given me one true piece of advice, which is 'if you don't give it a try, you'll never know'. So here goes.

If anyone reads through all that dirge and makes it this far, or just just jumps straight to the punchline, and fancies helping out, let me know! It'd help if you know a bit about writing, or at least the English language, in an academic sense. You don't need to be a teacher or anything, but if you can spot a Swiftism a mile away and know what a past participle is, that's a big help.


Saturday, 27 June 2009


What-ho, old beans!

New piece of art up on http://potato-art.blogspot.com/ that 'compliments' a short story entitled Grease Paint and Monkey Brains.

Also sent off a new piece called The Colouring Book of the Dead, which is pretty self-explanatory, really.

Currently reading Blood Music by Greg Bear, and it's sneaky as it manages to actually be two stories in one - the main plot follows a scientist as he injects himself with an experimental cell structure that ends up being intelligent and, well, it's mind-bending to say the least. And then, half-way through, the story, it becomes about the end of the world. Sort-of. I'll stick a review up soon. It's very, very intelligent.

Also, since the King of Pop has exploded, I've uploaded the KNIVES OF DEATH "tribute" song 'KNIVES OF DEATH INVENTED GLOBAL WARMING' to our MYSPACE. RIP you goofy white bastard.

What else? There is nothing else! Now the current series of Supernatural has finished my life is empty. And I'm never up early enough to watch Quincy repeats on ITV.

Goodchild - AWAY!

Thursday, 25 June 2009


Watched Transformers 2 tonight. With my mum. Enjoyed it. And my mum thought the 'Autobot twins' were gay. True story.


Tuesday, 23 June 2009


Hey there pop-pickers, I've finally followed up on my threat a week or so ago to link to some artwork, and here it is!


I've put my latest work on there, including:
- and -
- and -
PhotobucketMISTER PAWS

Soon, I'll stick up some poster designs, including:
- and -

If you get asked for a password, put: skulls4hands


Monday, 22 June 2009


AAARRGGHHH Summer's here and the bugs are out in force. They keep following me around - at this rate people are going to think I'm Pig Pen from Peanuts. I'm not.

And hay fever. Not that I worship the sun, but it's always nice to be able to sit outside and read a good book. Or bad book, if you're some kind of literary masochist.

Speaking of which, I'm working my way through 'Ugly Stories For Beautiful People', by James Burr. It's quite different, although has a hint of Will Self about it - strange modern parables about relationships, that tend to involve a bad pun as a punchline. I like it, and a review will be forthcoming.

I'm working on yet another story, called Grease Paint and Monkey Brains. 5 points to whoever tells me which band's song it's named after. As part of the writing process, I've made a complimentary poster relating to events in the piece, and I'll stick it up here once I'm 100% happy with it.

In the meantime, have yet more gif art:

Friday, 19 June 2009


My laptop is screaming CRITICAL BATTERY! I'M GOING TO DIE, WAYNE! at me, so QUCKLYQUICKLYQUICKLY head on over to:


where my piece DONKEY PICNIC has found it's home!



Wrote a very short story this morning, entitled 'THE EVENT or GOODBYE, CRUEL WORLD' and submitted it to a site that does weird fiction, so, as always, fingers crossed. I've sort-of decided on using the idea that, when colours are continuously described in something I've written, this means the piece revolves around a dream or fever or something like that. THE EVENT or GOODBYE, CRUEL WORLD is one of these, and a few other things are out there in the ether with a similar style...

I don't know whether it's because I'm literally churning stories out (I've managed to write at least 20 stories of varying length in the last few months) but I've got this feeling akin to 'throw enough shit at the wall, see what sticks'. Not that my work's shit; that's a rather unfortunate comparison but I can't think of a less crass version.

Anyway, I've submitted about 10 pieces in this last month, and the wait is killing me. Part of me hopes that by sending so much stuff out there, surely some of it will get published...the whole point is to get my name out there with my short stories, so if/when I next send off my actual novel (after hearing back from the places it's currently gone to) I can go 'ah but you see, my name's out so people will have heard of me'. That's partly why I'm going to try and get some other things I've written published [hence the "poetry" remark yesterday].

Enough of that: here's some gif art to keep you happy:

Thursday, 18 June 2009


And why not?

You are Alex Mercer, and you're really angry. And practically indestructible. And in possession of devastating superpowers, such as life-draining tendrils, limb blades and the ability to hoof it vertically up a skyscraper whilst holding a tank, only to then lob it at a helicopter and nosedive fifty storeys into the pavement.

And why is Alex pissed off? Because he woke up in a morgue as two scientists were about to start his autopsy. Whoops. Oh, and the military want to kill him because his body is now host to an experimental virus. Ooof!

Told/played in flashback, PROTOTYPE's story might be pretty standard superhero fare but it's at least presented in an interesting way. 18 days from the start of the game, Alex is stood on a rooftop chatting to a masked soldier, who's evidently one of Alex's only allies. Nice bit of mystery. Until his identity's revealed during a misson before it's revealed in a cut scene. Clumsy!

Playing as Alex, you can also consume anyone in the game, and absorb their memories/abilities (eg absorb a tank driver and you can then drive tanks) and regain health, which is a nice touch. Plus, littered around the city are 'Web of Intrigue' targets. These are people who hold the key to the secret of the virus in their memories, and as you eat them up you start finding out more about it and your involvement in it. These memories are presented in a snazzy mixed-media format, and look very nice. Although, once again, the Web isn't particularly useful as a story or plot device since, during the normal missions, you start to find out everything anyway. Clumsy x 2!

All the action takes place in that mainstay of comics and video games: New York! Although this is both a remarkably small version of NY, and an ugly one. If you took this version of New York home and said "Parents, meet my new wife" you'd get dropped from their will for having such extremely low standards that you married the equivalent of an Eastern European peasant woman.

So, sure, like it's protagonist, PROTOTYPE has its problems. But also like it's protagonist, it doesn't give a shit. That, my friends, is why the game is AMAZING.

Alex is hard. Really bastard hard. And his only real goal is to find who did this to him and to kill them. This means you can sprint through the streets, hacking and pummeling enemies with complete impunity. Everyone's out to get you so why should you show any pity? PROTOTYPE plays an awful lot like HULK: ULTIMATE DSTRUCTION crossed with the Venom bits from ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN. Alex has the rage and sheer power of the big green goon, mixed with the symbiote abilities and sociapathic tendencies of the latter.

And I don't think the Venom angle is just my opinion - DC comics have recently started publishing a short run of a PROTOTYPE comic. Could it be they saw how popular Spider-Man's nemesis is and finally got the chance to market their own version? I reckon so.

Anyway. There aren't many games out there that allow you to do everything you see in the intro movie (which also doubles as the game's trailer) and for that alone it gets two thumbs up. It gets an extra thumb for being completely and utterly mental. It loses a thumb for occasional crap game design and f-word generating levels of frustration. It gets half a thumb back for letting you replay the game with all the powers you just finished it with, making it even more insane. Overall score: Top banana!


Just a brief update, really. I'm waiting to hear back from various 'zines as to the fate of several short stories, but in the meantime I'm working on what's turning into a frankly disturbing erotic horror story about converging realities. I'm not normally into 'erotica' [not my cup of tea, thanks] but it suits the story so in it goes. Mind you, I have read a lot of Richard Laymon.

The nature of 2 realities co-existing in the same reality whilst maintinaing their own identities and then splitting back into two separate realities that occupy the same reality also helps make the story a bit weird, and we'll see how many heads it makes pop when/if it gets published by anybody. Fingers crossed!

In more concrete news, the next issue of SIX LITTLE THINGS is online this weekend. I got a sneak preview at the finished issue and, honestly, most of the other stories/pieces in it are excellent [I think my personal favourite is a piece by Amir Kenan], whilst the artwork is ace - really trippy and strangely organic.

I think I might try and see if I can turn some lyrics into "poems", as, after all, that's probably the most pretentious thing I can do hahhaahah oh dear

Seriously, I think the world needs to read the delights of 'Unfeasible Climax feat. Aqua Dad'.

Wednesday, 10 June 2009


Finished off a few more short stories, that have been sent off/will be sent off, so fingers crossed:

The Ville - Two brothers discover the secret that lies beneath a local beauty spot.

Weather Report - Summer gets cancelled when a most unusual storm hits the country.

Wax On / Wax Off - After being inspired by The Karate Kid, a man sets out to become an unstoppable killing machine, using nothing except the sheer force of his will.

Bob The Piano - A bullied young man gets advice from a talking brick.

And I've also updated QUIET, PLEASE! with a review of a Loren D Estleman Western.


Friday, 5 June 2009


A bit of extra pimpage here kiddies. Tony Smth is the chap behind FLASHES IN THE DARK and has now also got his own wonderfully-named site up and running: WRITING FOR PEANUTS. If you've already cheked out FITD, or even if you haven't, have a gander at that and WFP, which has updates and details on all manner of Tony Smith-shaped gubbins.

And on a personal note, I'll stick some of my "art" on here after the weekend, and I've added a brief update to TABLE 42.

AND after the weekend I'll have some more reviews sorted for the QUIET! sites [linked at the foot of the page] - if I remember enough of it/it's worth reviewing, I'll write about DRAG ME TO HELL, since I'm off to see that. Otherwise, I'll be doing a sort-of comparison between The Mist novella and The Mist film.

Up, up, and across!

Thursday, 4 June 2009


Hot diggity!

SIX LITTLE THINGS is an online literary magazine of short prose, and in the not-too-distant future I shall be joining its list of contributors!

As mentioned below, I've written a few "experimental" pieces, and DONKEY PICNIC is one of 'em. That's the treat your eyes can devour in the next issue of Six Little Things, so keep 'em peeled on their website and/or this one for updates!

Woop?! YES!

Wednesday, 3 June 2009


Since the manuscript is out there doing the rounds, I didn't think it'd hurt to include an excerpt from my 'horror noir/urban fantasy/supernatural thriller' [delete as applicable] cyclical novel, This Village Never Dreams.

Cyclical, in that the format involves 7 seperate stories that are all told from the same point of view, involve the same/recurring characters, but are spaced far enough apart that, were the novel to be wrote in a typical manner, it'd end up sprawling and full of 'x number of months later' chapter breaks.

Anyway, here you go. It's the first part to the second story, 'Kilgren', and I've picked this as an excerpt as something happens straight away, and it also acts as a good example of the book's tone:

“You have to help me,” he said. “I’m a dead man.”

I was about to make some crack about how he certainly didn’t look well, but something told me he probably wouldn’t appreciate it; his sunken eyes were wide and blood-tinged, his short dark hair slicked back by the sweat that covered his pale face. His lips were so dark they were practically black. Equally dark veins stretched up from underneath his open shirt collar and branched along his neck. He used the hand that wasn’t propping him against the doorframe to roll up a jacket sleeve, exposing a similarly-veined forearm. He then readjusted his already loose-fitting tie and walked unsteadily into the office. No, he did not look well at all.

He’d introduced himself, rather curtly, as Jonathan Myers, said he believed that I was the only person that could help him. I offered him the chair facing me across my desk, which he fell into, trembling, arms on thighs and head bowed. I began to ask him what he wanted help with, when he interrupted me with a throaty cough, swore under his breath, then fixed me with those sickly eyes.

“They’ve got to me. That’s the only explanation for what’s wrong with me.”

“Who are ‘they’ and what is wrong with you?”

“The company I work for and I don’t know, not exactly. Well, I do, but…” he groaned and shook his head, holding it briefly in a black-veined hand. “Mr. Green,” he began again.

“Jack.” I prompted. Nodding drunkenly, he continued:

“I work for Hadley Pharmaceuticals. Or more precisely, I work for a man called Macallister Jones, who runs a subsidiary of Hadley. I’m part of a team that’s been charged with developing drugs for a number of childhood ailments. At least, that’s what I thought.” He punctuated this sentence with another throaty cough, this time expelling a small trickle of blood the colour of his lips. He wiped it away, eyes staring at the stain on the back of his hand. “Oh God, it’s started…” he slowly returned his gaze to me. “It’s started.” He repeated, voice rising as he himself rose from his chair. “Mr. Myers?” I asked, starting to move around my chair to help him.

“Someone on the team had heard of you for whatever reason,” he explained shakily, taking deep breaths. “told us you would believe what was happening.”

“What is happening, Mr. Myers?” I asked, standing facing him. He answered me with another cough, accompanied by a larger dribble of blood from his mouth and visible shakes along his right arm. “Noooo…” he moaned, looking at his hands. I blinked rapidly – it almost seemed as if the dark veins were spreading. “Jack, Hadley are con-” he blurted out quickly, before bending over and garbling the rest of the sentence. I reached over for the phone on my desk, ready to call an ambulance. He staggered over and knocked it from my hand, spitting out: “they can’t do anything for me now”, the ‘now’ elongating into a strangled cry of pain. Blood vomited from his mouth onto his shirt and jacket, and I was somewhat disturbed to notice it had the consistency of runny tar. Myers steadily gained an upright position, using the chair to balance himself.

Breathing deeply, eyes once again fixed on mine, he repeated “Hadley are-“ before his jaw suddenly cracked open, leaving a jagged tear down and across his left cheek as it hung loose, still working to speak. More dark blood streamed from his mouth as he bubbled words at me, his eyes pleading. Without realising I had backed up behind my desk. The tear in his cheek made a wet ripping sound as it stretched to meet his shirt collar, dark veins now covering the entire left-hand side of Myers’ face. He stumbled forwards and somehow managed to shout what sounded like “Kilgren” at me before his chest split open and his head and shoulders peeled back like a grotesque fruit, revealing a nest of blackish tentacles where his ribcage and internal organs should have been. Below these writhing horrors, the legs began to convulse forwards, Myers’ arms twitching hideously behind them. My throat dried up and my eyes began to water, but I still managed to grab my handgun from the desk drawer and unload several bullets into the twitching bastard as it spasmed towards me.

With a disgustingly squelchy crunch, the thing that had been Jonathan Myers jumped at me. Having no desire to grapple the thing, I dived to the left, allowing it to smash through my large office window and plummet through the dense fog outside, hitting the ground several storeys below with a definite ‘crack’. Wiping sweat from my forehead and glass from my shoulders, I swallowed noisily and leant out the broken window. As expected, the fog hid the ground from my sight so, reloading my pistol, I quickly jogged down the stairs and rushed outside. Shards of window were strewn across the empty car park, along with a few small pieces of wood, but the thing had completely disappeared; there wasn’t even a trace of blood on the glass. Jonathan Myers had been right. I was the sort of person to come to for this sort of thing.

"I don't know much about art, but I know what I like."

Hello, world.

I'm going to see about linking/displaying some of my "art" on here. I like creating collages in the digital medium, with a strong horror/weird element. My main work so far has taken the form of gig posters and CD covers (since I was heavily involved in organising gigs/a club night up until Christmas) and, should anyone see my work and quite like it, I'm happy to create similar work (posters/CD covers) for free, as it would help me build up yet another part of my overall portfolio.

Over and out!

Tuesday, 2 June 2009


Apparently, ending a word with 'z' instead of 's' makes it 'urban', as in '50 Cent'. Hmmm.

Finished another short story, entitled 'Weather Report', about a most unusual storm. Also started on a script which I'm going to send to the BBC, so fingers crossed for that one.

Last week, my younger brother and I decided to make the most of the lovely weather and took a walk to a place called Ashby Ville. Basically, it's a massive lake, the depth of which no-one is entirely clear on. We saw a massive fish (bear with me) and other wildlife, which made us wonder about the actual history of the place.

It's common knowledge that a lot of (young) people have drowned in the Ville, partly due to the sudden drop several metres from the shore, and partly due to the 'strangle weed', that grows in the water and wraps itself around your limbs, dragging you under.

This gave me an idea for another story, but that's not what this little story is about: in our research into the Ville, we actually discovered that it used to be a quarry. We then asked our dad about it, and he said the sides of the lake used to be huge, and there were paths down towards the water (which was nowhere near as high up as it is today).

This got me thinking. Scunthorpe is an "industrial garden town" and is really only known because of the huge steelworks that dominate one side of town, but after talking with my dad a bit more,he told me loads of stuff about Scunthorpe's history that I had no idea about (such as how there used to be a POW camp near our house, and how there's still evidence outside my uncle's house from when a tank was pulled out of the nearby beck [stream]).

Once I've sorted all my current work, I'm going to see if I can't put together a documentary on Scunthorpe's Secret History. I think it could actually be really interesting (there're even ruins pertaining to the Knights Templar near where I live as well, so that's cool) and *hopefully* could be used to re-establish interest in local history for kids. I don't know. Maybe. We'll see!