Have you ever got that feeling, on a skiing holiday after reading Neil Gaiman and listening to early Rush, where you just know you need to try and write a story in the style of Gaiman just to see if you can?


No? Well you probably had to be there, and barring you spying on me in quite voyeuristic way, you weren’t.


This story came about just like that. Well, from that and a feeling I have always had that the sheer speed and grace you see in a really good skier is somehow slightly... inhuman. A Little too graceful. It's the way they move, if you watch them comming down the mountainside. Like hunting hawks. Like cheetahs, dodging from side to side but always keeping their eyes on the prize. There’s something very slightly predatory about the way good skiers move, and that thought came to me mid steak fondue and Rush song, and impregnated me with this story. I hope you like it.


I also had no intention of it being in the Neil Gaiman writing style, but as soon as I finished it, I realised that in a way it was. Sorry Neil.

Fly By Night.

Tags: Fly By Night