Behind the Words: Silma Hill

Halloween seems the right time to revisit my 2015 novel Silma Hill. It’s an odd book for me (in a good way) because it’s not the kind of thing I’d ever written before or have ever really returned to since. Gothic horror, mystery, historical fantasy fiction, whatever genre it sits most comfortably, I’d never have predicted this as my second novel.

I’d got book deal for First Time Solo and gone through the torturous edits with Rodge Glass (torturous because of how much had to be done, not because of working with Rodge) and I was burnt out. I also knew I needed a follow up. But what?

In the meantime I’d visited the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh and been taken by the Ballachulish figure, a statue found in a pete bog in Aberdeenshire. I wrote a couple of small things about it, including a piece of Twitter fiction that caught the attention of Jeff Sanders, an archeologist connected to the museum who sent me a PDF of the original find report. That sparked something in my imagination and pieces fell into place. The statue, the idea of a minister whose interest lay outside religion, the uncovering of a pagan icon that unleashes forces on a village. Burns, Stevenson, James Roberston, James Hogg, all these writers who dealt with supernatural Scotland had seeped into my imagination and it all came out here in a fever of writing.

I had a draft in a few weeks and set about editing it, but it was never going to be my next book. I was thinking of a sequel to First Time Solo, and what was becoming Silma Hill was a holiday, writing something fun, something that didn’t matter, something that was never going to get published. That lack of pressure, it allowed me to write more freely than ever before.

I showed what I had to a couple of friends. They loved it. Told me to stop messing about and finish it properly, that it was good enough to be something other than a holiday. It went from one act, to two, then three. I showed it to my agent, then my publisher and got a two book deal off the back of it.

Some people love it. Some hate it. It’s still my most popular book on Goodreads, but it also gets the most vitriolic reviews. It’s not a proper horror book. It doesn’t have a proper ending (I don’t do closure, never have, never will). I never explain myself and this infuriates people. I don’t care, I have a lot of fondness for this. I was in the thrall of Stevenson growing up and this is the closest I’ll ever get to something like Kidnapped or Treasure Island. It’s an outlier, my weird kid, and I love it for that.

There’s a prequel in my mind, the story of Trent, how he goes from Edinburgh street rat to gentleman scientist, a sea voyage where he makes his fortune. I have it all plotted out. Silma Hill wasn’t a big seller, is out of print, only available as an e-book, so publishers are hesitant. Too many stories, too little time. One day.