Cem Bilici Author

Cem Bilici - author of horror, steampunk and other awesomeness

Author: Cem Bilici (page 1 of 3)

Writer’s Tears

We all suffer from it. We dread it but it is also our constant companion, like that old T-shirt you’ve had since 1993 and has as much of your skin cells in it as your body. Writer’s tears.

We fight with it, say we hate it, but if you don’t suffer the dark, how will you know the light?

Stephen King says his writing is the equivalent of junk food. I myself am partial to a burger, fries and cola, part of the reason why I have been overweight for some years, but that’s another issue for another post.

I recently self-published my first novel, and it is definitely not going to win any chef’s hats. I know that and am perfectly comfortable with it. Now.

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Ward – Live on Amazon

Howdy folks.

The time has come. The planets and stars have aligned, the great conjunction is upon us!

That or Ward has finally hit the Amazon virtual shelves.

Give you a hint, despite however much Trump may resemble a Skeksis in body and spirit, it’s the second one.

Not much more I can say about this to be honest. No fanfare. No party. It’s taken me this long to get here I’m just relieved. I’ll figure something out in a bit.

So, for now, have a nice day and…

Oh, yeah.


Ramblings of a Madman

So there I was, drying my daughters hair after bathing her and thinking about aliens — as you do.

And it struck me!

No, she didn’t steal the dryer from me ninja style and swing it into my head like a flail. I had an epiphany.

No… not the guitar. Having one of those would cause all kinds of a different kind of havoc, namely to your junk. *BOOM TISH* Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week folks. Tip your waiters.


No! We’re not here to talk CBT… this time.

Mrw GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

Back to the aliens. THEY ARE ALREADY HERE!

Hear me out. I’m not talking talking about extra terrestrials or molemen or reptilians, or Mexicans/Syrians/etc, nor the giant Oompa-Loompa who ate five other Oompa-Loompa’s, absorbing them like Cell from Dragon Ball Z to increase his power to over 9,000.

No, none of those. But they are here. All around us everyday. And people are shit-their-pants scared.


This is the only thing I can think of to explain the state of the world we’re in at present. Alien ideas are invading the Earth and people are losing their ever-fucking-loving minds!

And what, ladies and gents, happens when the aliens invade the Earth?


Wait, no, that was The Fly remake.

People start shooting and things go boom.

Pretty sure things are going boom right now, and I’m not talking about terrorism or anything like that. And we seem to be in the unfortunate type of invasion movie where people don’t start working together until the shit has well and truly hit, clogged, and baked on the overheating fan, then caught fire when it spontaneously combusts.

All I hope is that we get it together before we change genres altogether and end up in The Walking Dead. Coz, mate, stuff and thangs ain’t going to cut the mustard.

Anyway, I’m done. That’s it. Shoo, go away. What? You want Jeff Goldblum? Fine, here.


What more is there to say?
Oh, you want more...? Fine!
So I had to ink up the image of Stacey for the new cover of Ward. Tattoos play a pretty big part in the world, but Stacey had tatts before she got into things, though they are definitely form over function.
I knew in my mind that she would have a few, a sleeve and her shoulder at least. What I didn't know was what form they would take. I knew they wouldn't be tribal, but that's about it. Then I was listening to Dead Robots' Society (I think) and Terry Mixon (again, I think) spoke about a book series where each cover had different tattoos on the cover character pertaining to events in the book. I thought that was a pretty cool idea so I stole that, though the artwork is barely visible.
Part of that is because I just don't trust my artistic ability not to look too shit that people won't even consider buying the damn book when it's out. I think it's sufficient to at least avoid that in most part. Another reason is I just don't have the time to do more on it. Lastly, it was also a stylistic choice, which serendipitously aided my design -- or lack thereof.
But then when I finished, I was pretty happy with it. I mean, it's definitely not going to win me any awards and I shouldn't give up my day job, but I think I'm allowed to be a little proud.
So here she is, folks.
It's pretty rough, I know, but at the size it will be when printed it won't make too much of a difference, especially when all the darkness and stuff is layered on, like so:
A bit of a shame, regardless of the shoddiness of my work.
Oh well, maybe in book 2?

Ward – Stacey Trampler Series: Book One

It’s finally finished, folks. My novel, Ward — formerly Ward of the South — book one in the Stacey Trampler series, is done!

It’s taken me just over three years to get here. Not because it’s a doorstop of a novel, not because it took me a long time to write, not even because I’m a lazy bastard. No, it was because — and get this — I was not happy with the way it was and not happy with my skill level, or lack thereof.

I taught myself as I went, writing and re-writing, both the novel, other novels and short stories. That’s not as impressive as it sounds. English is my first language and I am not without education. OK, I don’t have a university degree or anything, but I finished high school (barely). I have even undertaken some further education, having tried to go to university three times and not finished for various reasons or another, mostly being money and having family commitments and being a “mature age” student.

So, no, not like I taught myself to read and write. Unless you ask my mum, then I’m a fuckin’ genius, but that’s a whoooole other story.

No, basically what I did was the equivalent of going to <INSERT BIG BRAND HARDWARE CHAIN NAME HERE> bought a few tools and watched a shit-tonne of YouTube on how to build a… THING.

Over time, I built some other THINGS and refined my skillset. Then, rinse and repeat. And every time I added a new tool to my Bat-Writer-Belt, I went back and reworked my original THING. Sure, in real life this would cause no end of issues and/or deaths. Or at the least serious injury and litigation.

All I can say is, it’s a good thing you don’t need to take out public liability cover on books!

Or do you?

How should I know, I’m not a lawyer.

Anyway, six drafts later, here we are. Finally, finally, FINAL-FUCKING-LY!

It was a blast, it was hell, it was bliss, and it was peeled ginger in my anus… Yeah, that last one, too. But the work doesn’t stop there. After three years I feel I am at a level where I can confidently continue to do this to an acceptable level. Acceptable to everyone? Hells no.

But fuck everyone.

Nothing can be for everyone. Not even the food of the gods, peanut butter, is for everyone, as unimaginable as that is. I can hold my head high and walk naked into the world with my junk and gut swinging freely and proclaim:

This is my THING! I made it. Behold it and weep, mortals!

That’s a powerful feeling. Warts and all, I am baring it to all that can see without shame.

The book, not my junk. I still have to get THAT looked at.

Because it’s not just about this one novel. It’s not just about Ward. It’s not even just about the four to follow Ward in the series.

It’s about all the others. It’s about finishing my draft steampunk novel, my 3/4 finished paranormal thriller, my YA dark-ish fantasy, my mystery novel. Hell, my fucking dinosaur zombies on the fucking Love Boat horror-erotica novel if I so fucking wish. Because right this fucking moment…





At least until the next road bump/block/kill sets the festering boils of doubt and imposterism a poppin’.



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