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Interview Overview

In this episode of The Writer’s Chair, Daniel Willcocks welcomes back Tim Lebbon to talk about his latest novel The Secret Lives of the Dead, how it began life as a “crime novel” before revealing its true horror bones, and why friendships and in-person conventions still matter more than ever for writers.

Along the way, Tim shares behind-the-scenes stories from the Titans of Terror UK tour with Christopher Golden, offers grounded advice for new writers dealing with impostor syndrome, digs into his process as a lifelong “panser”, and chats candidly about the changing reality of social media for authors.

Plus: mugs, a very large Labrador, and a quickfire round with some great book recommendations.

Interview Transcription

Daniel Willcocks:

Welcome back, wordsmiths and story seekers. I’m your host, Daniel Willcocks, broadcasting from the shadowy halls of Devil’s Rock HQ. Tonight, I’m thrilled to share the writer’s chair with the legendary harbinger from the southern British valleys — Tim Lebbon. Hey, Tim.

Tim Lebbon:

Hey Dan, great to see you again.

Daniel:

Great to see you too. Tim Lebbon is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling horror, thriller, and fantasy writer from a small village in South Wales. He’s written over fifty novels, dozens of novellas, and hundreds of short stories, along with tie-in novels for Alien, Predator, Hellboy, Star Wars, Firefly, and now Halo.

His novel The Silence was adapted into a Netflix film starring Kiernan Shipka and Stanley Tucci. When he’s not writing, Tim can often be found swimming, biking, or running triathlons — activities that found their way into his nonfiction book Run, Walk, Crawl: Getting Fit in My 40s.

And if that introduction sounds familiar, Tim, it’s because I used almost the exact same one when we last spoke in 2022 — minus the Halo bit. You said you loved it, so I thought I’d bring it back.

Tim:

Cool — right, okay. It was great. The only correction is that it’s over fifty novels now. Hopefully it’ll keep climbing. But yeah, great intro, mate. Thanks for having me on again — always a pleasure.

Daniel:

I’ll have to update it again next time. It’ll be fifty-five before we know it.

Daniel:

It’s always fun talking to you. I don’t like the fact that it’s been three and a half years since we last sat down properly — that was on my old podcast, Activated Authors. I’ll link that in the show notes for anyone who wants to revisit it.

Back then, we talked about tie-ins, novellas, and what it’s like being a working writer. Today, we will get onto The Secret Lives of the Dead, but first I have a very important question:

Do you have any new mugs?

Mugs, Dogs, and the Realities of Zoom Interviews

Tim:

Right… yes. I do. My mug radiator is still going strong — but before that, can you hear a squeaking noise? That’s my dog’s squeaky toy.

Daniel:

Yeah, I can hear it — but feel free to introduce the little pup.

Tim:

Right, first the mug. This is the Titans of Terror tour mug. Christopher Golden and I toured the UK this year. We had a load of merch — and nobody bought it.

Well… a few people bought t-shirts, actually, which was cool. The squeaking’s stopped now — he’s got bored of his toy. You might see him wander in.

Daniel:

I love that.

(laughter)

Daniel:

For anyone watching on YouTube, you might see a large puppy popping in and out.

Tim:

He doesn’t look like a puppy — he’s ten months old and already about thirty kilos. He’s a big lad and almost fully grown, though technically still not one yet. So you might expect a cute little pup, but what you’ll actually see is a large dog.

Daniel:

Just an absolute teenager. Why did you go for a lab, if you don’t mind me asking?

Choosing a Labrador

Tim:

We lost our previous dog almost four years ago. My wife and I had been toying with the idea of getting another one. I was away at the time — I occasionally head down to West Wales to a friend’s place on the coast. She lets us use the house, and it’s honestly perfect: a proper writer’s retreat. I sit there and write for a week and it’s brilliant.

While I was down there, my wife rang and said there was a litter of labs in the village, owned by a friend of ours. So within an hour and a half, we’d decided we were getting a dog. It was pure happenstance.

His dad is a fox-red lab — I initially said chocolate, but fox-red. We did a bit of research and figured they’d be easier than our previous dog.

Daniel:

Nice.

Tim:

Our last dog was a Weimaraner–Vizsla cross. Gorgeous, but hard work. Full of energy, feisty, relentless. We’re still fit enough to walk dogs for miles and strong enough to hold them back, but we figured a lab might be a bit calmer.

Not sure that’s actually true yet.

Daniel:

From what I understand, it takes a year or two for them to calm down.

Tim:

Yeah. He’s great off-lead, to be fair. I walk him every morning before I start work — rain or shine, which is lovely. But whenever we meet people and he jumps up or starts playing with their dogs, everyone says, “You’ve got another year yet.”

And we’re like, “Oh… thanks.”

From Mugs to Touring: Titans of Terror

Daniel:

Always reassuring. But peeling that back and getting into the writing — you mentioned the Titans of Terror mug. I loved the artwork. I saw the tour dates and really wanted to catch you somewhere along the way, but it didn’t work out. How was the tour?

Tim:

It was great. Chris and his wife Connie were over for four weeks, touring England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. Chris rang me and said, “We’re coming over — let’s do a tour.”

At that point, The Secret Lives of the Dead was out for me, and Chris’s new book Nightbirds had just been released by Titan. And despite being fifty-odd novels into my career, I’d never been on a proper book tour.

Publishers had never sent me on tour, and I’d never organised one myself. Titan were actually going to send me out for Eden in June 2020… but, well, we all know why that didn’t happen.

So we arranged it ourselves. Titan helped financially and set up the signings, which was brilliant.

Daniel:

No more needs to be said.

Tim:

We signed in Edinburgh, York, almost Oxford — that one didn’t happen — London, Bristol, and Abergavenny, which is my local bookshop.

It was fantastic. Two weeks on the road with Chris and Connie, meeting old friends, making new ones, selling books. Some events were busier than others, but we had an absolute blast.

We timed the first signing to coincide with Edinburgh because — judging by your hoodie — Frank Turner’s Lost Evenings festival was on.

So we emailed Frank Turner, cheekily asked if he had tickets, and he did. We went to the final night, had a brilliant time, and he still carved out ten minutes after four days of shows to say hello. He was exhausted, but genuinely lovely.

Daniel:

He’s got so much to give, that guy.

Community, Collaboration, and Showing Up

Daniel Willcocks:

You did — yeah, fantastic. I haven’t been on a book tour yet, but I’m very much looking forward to that day. You mentioned Christopher Golden earlier, and one thing I’ve noticed as a fan — and as a bit of a spy in your orbit — is how strong that relationship is. You champion each other’s books, you collaborate, and you seem to exist in each other’s creative space.

It got me thinking about where I’m at in my own writing journey. I’m trying to get more involved in the community, networking, meeting people in person — especially after COVID turned everything digital. My life’s been very online for the last four years.

You seem to be at a lot of the events I’ve attended — the few I’ve managed to get to. You’re at fairs, cons, tours. How important is it for you to be out there with people in the community, talking books and talking horror?

Why Conventions Matter

Tim Lebbon:

I’d love to do it more than I do, honestly. Next year marks thirty years since my first novel was published, which is fucking terrifying — but also something I’m proud of. And this year marks twenty years of making a living from writing, which is another thing to celebrate.

I’ve made so many friends through writing — my best friends, really. Chris is one of my closest. I only get to see him every three or four years, which is sad. With the state of the world now, it might be a while before I see him again. So yeah, it’s really important to me.

The British Fantasy Convention is usually my go-to — I’ve seen you there a couple of times. Did I go last year? I can’t even remember.

Daniel:

It was Worldcon last year — British Fantasy piggybacked on that.

Tim:

That’s right. I missed it because we’d just done two weeks on tour. Then I did London Comic-Con — Titan wanted me there. But I didn’t have it in me to do Brighton the following weekend as well. I had major FOMO though — Gemma Amor was there posting all these great photos, and American friends I hadn’t seen in years were there.

I wish I’d gone, but I was also comfortable with the decision not to.

The Reality of Events and Travel

Tim:

I love writing events. Edge-Lit is one of my favourites — I was a guest there last year and it’s always a fantastic weekend. I go to as many as I feasibly can, but train fares aren’t cheap. Sometimes your way gets paid, sometimes it doesn’t.

I wish there was more of a local community around where I am. There’s a bit happening in Bristol, but it’s still awkward — Bristol’s an hour away, Bath’s an hour and a half, and it never quite works time-wise. But I love catching up with writing friends.

I’ve got a lot of American friends too. Twenty years ago, I used to go to World Horror, World Fantasy — all those US conventions. I’d go to two or three a year, and I genuinely don’t know how I afforded it back then. But I wouldn’t be writing now if I hadn’t gone. Absolutely no doubt about that.

My first American deal was done at three in the morning at a room party. Those parties were legendary — a bath full of beer and ice, dozens of people packed into a suite.

There was one convention in a six-floor hotel where the suites were at the ends of each wing. Two parties per floor. You’d start at the top and literally tumble down the stairs over eight hours, hitting seven or eight parties. It was incredible.

I still see those friends infrequently now, but when I do, it’s like no time has passed. Brian Keene is a good mate of mine — I might only see him every five years, but when we meet, it’s like yesterday.

That was a long-winded way of saying: I really love writing events.

Saying Yes to the Experience

Daniel:

No, it’s perfect. It really champions the idea of going to things, even if you’re nervous or shy. I went to StokerCon in 2023 with Gemma, Neil McRobert, Ali Wilkes, and a few others.

Tim:

I remember — I tapped you on the shoulder and said, “Hey, you’ve got a Frank Turner t-shirt on.” That was Chinacon, wasn’t it?

Daniel:

Chillicon — 2021 or 2022, in Scarborough. We’d spoken online before that — I think I gave you a Vellum discount code at one point — and then we bonded over Frank Turner.

Tim:

That’s right, yeah.

Daniel:

Then at StokerCon in Pittsburgh, a small group of us went over from the UK. On the final night, Brian Keene ushered a load of people into a hotel room filled with booze. It was brilliant.

Tim:

Whiskey. Yeah. I heard a lot about that con from Gemma — wish I’d gone. Wasn’t that the one where your flight got cancelled and you had to stay another night?

Daniel:

Yeah, but it weirdly worked out nicely. Catriona Ward hosted us for a meal on the waterfront the next day. I’d never really spoken to her properly before — she’s lovely.

That’s the thing: those spontaneous moments. I’ve never gone to a convention with a checklist of things I must achieve. I just show up, talk to people, see what happens. Stories and friendships come out of that.

Impostor Syndrome and Finding Your Place

Tim:

Exactly. Going to conventions with a rigid agenda — I must meet this editor, I must talk to this person — doesn’t work. If you’re scanning the room for someone more important, people clock it.

You go, you have a good time. Some of the most exciting deals I’ve ever done happened at room parties.

Daniel:

I think it just comes down to being a decent human in those moments. You mentioned earlier that you probably wouldn’t be writing if it wasn’t for those friendships and events. For newer writers — especially those intimidated by calling themselves horror writers or meeting established authors — what advice would you give to help them integrate into the community?

Tim:

First thing: impostor syndrome doesn’t go away. I get it all the time. I’m halfway through a novel right now thinking, What the fuck am I doing?

I don’t feel old, but I’m very aware I’ve been in the industry a long time — thirty years since my first novel next year. But even back then, we had message boards and online spaces. Now it’s social media — rapidly becoming anti-social media — but you can still be part of a community if you’re careful.

Be kind. Be positive. Don’t get dragged into the bullshit. But face-to-face still matters most.

It’s the analogue way. I’m back to vinyl. I use Kindle for blurbs and research, but my life’s drifted back towards analogue. You can be part of a digital community — Facebook groups, Instagram, TikTok — though I’ve never touched TikTok.

Nothing beats sitting down with someone and having a drink. Online disagreements spiral instantly; in person, you’d laugh and agree to disagree.

So I’d say: go to conventions. British Fantasy Con. StokerCon. World Fantasy if you can. Most cons now have welcoming tracks for first-timers. They’ll pair you with someone experienced, show you around.

And honestly? I’ve almost never regretted walking up to someone at a bar and saying, “I loved your book. I’m Tim. Fancy a drink?” Friendships come from that.

Daniel:

I’ll add this for anyone new: horror writers are lovely people. You hear about cattiness in other genres, but despite how dark the work is, I’ve yet to meet a horror author I didn’t get on with.

Finding Your Tribe

Tim:

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I agree. I think part of it is finding a tribe. We all grew up liking different things, watching different things — often different from the people around us. Even in high school, the guys I was close to were all horror fans and heavy metal fans.

It’s the same with music. If you go to a heavy metal gig, I don’t think I’ve ever seen trouble. Everyone’s so welcoming. The more violent the mosh pit, the nicer people are.

I went to an IDLES gig last summer with my family. Big fan — my wife, my son, my daughter, and my daughter’s boyfriend too. By song two, he and I were in the mosh pit. You’re never too old to mosh. I take my glasses off, give them to my wife, hand over my pint and say, “See you in ten minutes.”

It was rough. I came back covered in sweat, dust and blood — got hit in the head with a plastic glass — but it was the best time. You fall down and people pick you up.

And it’s the same in the horror writing community. You fall down, you hit a rough patch, and people pick you up. Even now, me and Chris — we’ve both had periods where deals fall apart, pitches get ghosted. That still happens all the time. We’re there for each other privately, but horror writers are there for each other publicly too.

Absolutely, without a doubt, the best people I’ve met are horror writers. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because we get it out on the page.

Horror as Catharsis

Daniel:

I think that’s it. The page is the therapist for horror writers. You get it all out of your head and all that’s left is niceness. That’s a cute quote, isn’t it?

Tim:

Yeah. I think it’s true a lot of the time. I don’t usually write consciously thinking, this is cathartic, but sometimes I do. Early in my career, I bumped off loads of school bullies. They’ve all been killed many times now, so I can’t really do that anymore.

Most of the time it’s not conscious, but it almost certainly is cathartic. Same with autobiography — I don’t sit down thinking I’m writing about my life, but I go back and read things and realise, that was me at that point, or that’s me and my wife. It can be a bit scary.

Introducing The Secret Lives of the Dead

Daniel:

That’s a nice segue into your new book, The Secret Lives of the Dead, which came out at the end of last year. For a bit of context, would you mind giving an elevator pitch — what the book’s about and where it came from?

Tim:

Where it came from first: I decided I wanted to write a crime novel. I wrote the first few chapters and sent them to my agent. He said, “Tim, it’s terrific — but it’s a horror novel.” I said, “No, Howard, it’s crime.” He said, “No, it’s horror.”

Howard’s very wise. He’s one of the main reasons I’m still writing, and we’ve been together over twenty years now. He’s a dear friend.

So that made me rethink what I was writing — and it did become a horror novel.

Elevator pitch… I’d rather read the whole book to you than try to write back-cover copy, but: a group of three friends decide to burgle a local abandoned country house. One of them has ulterior motives, which becomes clear fairly early on.

While they’re there, another person turns up — Lem — who’s a bit of a mean bastard. He may be responsible for the death of one of their fathers. And it’s all wound up in an ancient witch’s curse.

The curse isn’t foregrounded, but it’s very much the spine of the novel. It becomes a chase story, a revenge story. There’s nastiness in it. It started as crime, but the supernatural came to the fore — even though there’s ambiguity about it.

I hate elevator pitches.

I think it’s a folk-horror family love-story revenge thriller.

Writing Against Expectation

Daniel:

It feels very different to your previous books. The Silence, Eden, The Last Storm, Among the Living — those all had climate threads running through them. That feels largely absent here. How conscious were you of writing something different?

Tim:

The three books before this — Eden, The Last Storm and Among the Living — were a loose, unconnected trilogy with climate change as the backdrop.

I wanted to try something different, not because I’m bored of climate fiction — I’ll absolutely write more — but partly for creative reasons and partly for commercial ones. When you make a living from writing, you do have to think about sales, even if you’d love to just write whatever you want all the time.

So yeah, it was a conscious decision. And it ended up being very different.

Character, POV, and Tension

Daniel:

What really stood out for me as a reader was the humanity. The supernatural and the curse are there, the family legacy is there — but front and centre is the relationship between Jodie, Bibi and Matt.

The dynamics between them, contrasted with Lem — who’s terrifying, frankly — really worked for me. He’s a tank of a human being. There’s a real sense of inevitability to him.

The ending landed in roughly the territory I expected, but not how I expected to get there. The journey felt earned.

I also really enjoyed the POV switching. I know there’s a lot of advice saying stick to one POV, but I love head-hopping when it’s done well. It deepens emotional connection. Things matter more when you understand everyone involved — especially when people start falling through floors in abandoned manor houses.

Tim:

Yeah. I was really pleased with them.

POV, Tense, and Letting the Story Choose the Form

Tim:

Yeah. Yeah, right — you kind of have to. I’m not sure I’ve ever written a novel from just one point of view. The story tells you how to write it, I think, with stuff like that.

I’ve written novels with first person and third person points of view, and that can work really well. Sometimes it doesn’t, but when it does, it really does. I think the writer who introduced me to that was Mike Marshall Smith — I can’t remember which book, but I remember reading it and thinking, wow, first person for one character, third person for another. Or present tense and past tense, which I use in The Secret Lives of the Dead.

You still can’t be omnipotent — I try not to be, because it just doesn’t work. You have to write from different characters’ points of view, especially with the kind of relationship dynamic you’ve got between the three characters in Secret Lives of the Dead. With Jodie particularly, it’s important to see her from the inside and the outside.

Pacing, Slow Reveal, and Plotter vs Panzer

Daniel:

Yeah. And you don’t give too much away too quickly — there’s a nice slow reveal of what’s going on.

Last time we spoke, you described yourself as more of a pantser than a plotter. How does that unfold in your head? Do you start kind of blank-ish with the characters and see what happens, or are they dots you connect along the way?

Draft One as the Trunk, Edits as the Branches

Tim:

It’s different for every book. For this one, it was quite difficult.

With Secret Lives of the Dead, it was hard because there are lots of elements — present stuff and past stuff happening at the same time, and different characters’ points of view. That took a lot of work.

The initial draft came out fairly quickly, as it usually does, but then there was a lot of work to weave the narratives through each other like tree roots. It’s almost like the first draft was the trunk, and then I had to go back and build the branches, make it work, and make it all tie together.

And I liked what you said about the ending — because I didn’t know what was going to happen at the end of that book. Even when I was getting close to the end, even after I finished it, I wasn’t quite sure.

I went back and tweaked the ending several times to reflect what I wanted the outcome to be — without spoilers. That was really interesting.

Finding the Core Mid-Book

Tim:

The one I’m working on now — I’d half-written it, then left it last year to do some other work. I’m back to it now, rereading and thinking about what happens.

I’m planning it more than I usually do, because there are still things floating around. I still haven’t really got the core of the book in my head — but I think today I just found it. I think I realised what’s going to happen.

And Keith Rosson mentioned something like this on social media the other day — forty thousand words and months into a book, and he finally finds a plot point that makes everything clear. That happens a lot. Sometimes it doesn’t happen until you’re almost at the end, and then you go back and rewrite with that in mind.

So I’m still a pantser, really — but I’m learning the value of knowing roughly where you’re going.

The 0.5 Draft and Pressure-Free First Passes

Daniel:

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I used to coach authors a few years ago, and we always had the plotters vs pantsers debate — and what a first draft actually is.

I found a few writers who had success with what they called a “0.5 draft”. It’s basically still a first draft, but psychologically it strips away the pressure of it needing to be “good enough” to count as a first draft.

For pantsers — you, and me included — that first draft is my outline. It’s my plan. And then the rest happens in the edits.

Different Writers, Different “Plans”

Tim:

Yeah, I hear you. There’s a blurry line between a plan and a first draft.

William Hussey — Bill Hussey — posted something today about planning. He shared photos of the notes for his book: forty pages of notes spread out on the floor. And I thought, holy shit, that’s almost a first draft for me.

It just shows how people work differently.

The current book I’m working on is called The Skin of His Teeth. I don’t want to say too much about it because I still don’t understand it yet. But I’m making notes today — I’m at about eight or nine pages, single-spaced, working through characters, plot, mythology.

Bill’s got forty or fifty pages of notes for a novel. I’ll have eight or nine, then I dive in. That probably makes it harder for me in rewrites and edits, but that’s always where the real work is.

You finish the first draft — whatever you call it, 0.5 draft, long plan, first draft — you get the story down beginning to end. Then the real work begins.

Drafts, Passes, and What “Editing” Actually Means

Daniel:

Yeah, absolutely.

How many main layers of edits would you say you put on a work before you’re ready to hand it over and say it’s near finished?

Tim:

It depends — but I do fewer drafts than I used to.

I also think different writers define “drafts” differently. My good mate Adam Nevill — he’ll do nineteen drafts of a novel, for instance. But one of those drafts might just be a character pass. I’m not speaking for Adam specifically, but you know what I mean.

If you count all those kinds of passes, I’m probably doing a dozen drafts of a novel — but not rewrite A to Z every time. Even the second draft is often just going through. I leave notes to myself as I write: “research this”, “revise” — usually in red. Then I go back, search for “revise”, and rewrite when I hit those notes.

Sometimes I don’t want to be held up. If I’m stuck halfway through a chapter and I know I need to research something — like knee surgery in the eighteenth century — I don’t want to lose days going down that rabbit hole. So I just write “research this” and keep moving.

And again, some writers might call draft three or draft five something like: making sure each chapter ending feeds into the next one.

It’s not always massive surgery each time. It becomes less and less as you go through. I’ll do God knows how many reads of a novel before I send it off.

The Halo novel, for instance — I don’t know how many times I read through that because there’s so much lore you have to follow.

Daniel:

Until you’re sick of it and your eyes hurt. That’s the rule.

Tim:

Exactly. And it depends on the project. Novels take more attention. I’ll write a novella, read through it, tweak it, and send it off. Short stories are similar.

Novels are a different beast. By definition they usually need to be more complex, deeper in places.

Novella vs Novel as a First Book

Daniel:

On that note — I want to pick your brain. You’ve written across the spectrum: short stories, novellas, novels.

Someone in the Devil’s Rock community asked the other day — Brennan — they’re a new writer, haven’t written their first novel yet, and they’re wondering whether they should start with a novella and then work up to a novel.

Do you have any strong opinions on novella vs novel when it comes to writing that first book — especially thinking about what the market might take versus what readers want?

Novellas, Markets, and Emotional Focus

Tim:

So — I cut my teeth on short stories, then moved to novellas, and then novels. I still write all three. I’ve got several short stories coming out soon, and another novella in the pipeline.

I don’t have any really strong opinions either way. The main practical difference is the market. If you write a novella, you’re mostly looking at indie presses. If you write a novel, you can potentially aim at the big four or five publishers.

It’s difficult to sell a novella into the mainstream unless it’s part of an anthology or a collection. Sometimes an editor will take a longer piece if it’s exceptional and they know you, but even then, if they’re looking for 6,000-word stories and you give them 12,000, you’re potentially knocking someone else out of a slot.

Why Novellas Work (For Me)

Tim:

For me, novellas are much faster to write. I can write one in a week. And honestly, I think some of my best work has been in novellas — I’m not entirely sure why.

Actually, I do know why. I found a note to myself in the novel I’m working on now. It just said: write this like a novella. That felt quite telling.

I think my novellas are often more emotionally powerful. When I’m writing a novel, I’m thinking more about plot and structure. When I’m writing a novella, I’m thinking about feel and emotion.

That might be wrong — but it’s just how I work. I’ve always said if I could make a living writing novellas, I’d be very, very happy.

---

Reader Experience and Big Books

Daniel:

It works.

There’s obviously a huge advantage in that novellas are shorter and easier to manage. But I also love the experience of diving into a big novel. Fever House was the first properly big novel I’d read in a while, and I loved sinking into it.

Tim:

Yeah. Terrific book. Keith’s just too good. I want to be him when I grow up. He’s a lovely guy as well.

He blurbed The Secret Lives of the Dead, actually — I’m pretty sure it’s on the cover or inside. I met him at Comic-Con, had a quick chat, then met him again in Bath at a signing with Eric LaRocca. They were touring together. Lovely bloke.

Daniel:

I really need to get Keith on this podcast.

From Horror to Halo

Daniel:

You mentioned earlier the Halo novel you’ve been working hard on. Before we wrap up, can you tell us a bit about that? For Halo fans listening, what should they be excited about?

Tim:

I’m trying to remember how much I’m allowed to say.

It’s tied to the anniversary of the original Halo — either the twentieth or twenty-fifth anniversary of Halo: Combat Evolved. The novel takes place during the four-day Battle of Halo.

When I was asked to write it, I’d played Halo, but I wasn’t a massive fan. I’ve definitely become one since.

The book follows Sergeant Marvin Mobuto, who’s mentioned in passing in the first game. He’s not really a character there — he’s a corpse. The Master Chief finds him. So this novel tells his story.

It’s got a bit of a Dirty Dozen feel. Most of the characters are prisoners, for various reasons. It’s a space-horror novel.

I’m writing it for Simon & Schuster in the States, through Gallery Books. The editor is Ed Schlesinger, who I’ve worked with before — I wrote a 30 Days of Night novel for him years ago, and a story for the Stephen King anthology End of the World as We Know It.

Ed asked me to do this because it’s space horror, and he knows I can do that from Alien, Predator, Firefly, all that stuff.

Immersing in a Universe

Tim:

I said yes immediately — but then asked for research. Novels, comics, gameplay. I went on YouTube and watched full playthroughs of the games.

I had to immerse myself in Halo lore — and I hadn’t realised just how vast it is. Novels, novellas, comics… then they sent me the Halo encyclopaedia. Four hundred pages. Species, worlds, science, weapons, armour, societies, religions — it’s overwhelming.

I did my best to write something that’s recognisably Halo. I handed it in just over a week ago, and now I’m in that horrible waiting period where you think, has he read it yet?

I think it’s fast, action-heavy, and hopefully what they wanted — but time will tell.

Tie-In Writing and “Fake It Till You Make It”

Daniel:

Fake it till you make it.

Tim:

Exactly. I’m a working writer. When opportunities come up, I do my best to make them work.

When Titan asked me to write Firefly, they said, are you a fan? I said yes — which was true, but I hadn’t watched it in years. So I went back and immersed myself completely. Loved it. The book won an award and was well received.

Same with Conan. I’d read a lot of it when I was younger, but not recently. Titan asked me to write a novel, so I bought a beautiful leather-bound edition of all the stories and reread them. They still held up. It was great fun.

What’s interesting is realising just how big the fan bases are. Halo more than almost anything else I’ve done — except maybe Star Wars. I didn’t realise how enormous it was.

The first Halo novel sold close to a million copies. That’s insane. I’m not expecting that, but these books hit bestseller lists. So… bring it on.

Reception, Criticism, and Perspective

Daniel:

Wow.

Fingers crossed. Yeah, absolutely.

Tim:

I like the reception sometimes. It’s been called the worst Conan novel ever and the best Conan novel since Robert E. Howard — so I’m quite happy with that really. My dog is lying down rolling around now.

Daniel:

I don’t understand cats. I’m sorry. I don’t get you.

For people not on YouTube, the cat just attacked me. Hi. You’re fine.

For anyone who wants to find out more about tie-in writing, we spoke at length about that last time, so I’ll link that in the show notes. But unfortunately, we are getting close to the end of our time.

Tim:

Yeah.

It feels like we’ve been talking ten minutes.

Acknowledging Time (and Friendship)

Daniel:

I know — they fly by. And hopefully it won’t be another three years before we speak again.

I do have one final question, and then a quick-fire round. Ten questions, thrown at you fast. They’re kind questions. Nothing scary, I promise.

Tim:

God. Alright. You’re not testing me on my own novels, are you? Because I’ll fail.

Daniel:

Same. I write something and it just disappears from my head immediately.

---

Underappreciated Horror Authors

Daniel:

Which horror authors do you think aren’t receiving the attention they deserve? I like to use this section to spotlight writers who are brilliant but maybe not getting the same attention as some of the bigger names.

Tim:

I would have said Keith Rosson a few months ago, but he’s getting the attention he deserves now.

I think Gemma Amor is going to absolutely rock it. She’s terrific — not just her writing, but her professionalism and attitude. She’s focused.

Ray Cluley is another one. He’s a fantastic short story writer down in West Wales. I wish he’d write novels — or more novels. He’s brilliant.

Daniel:

I should have prepared you for that one.

Quickfire Round

Daniel:

Alright — are you ready?

Tim:

Let’s do it.

Daniel:

What scares you more: the supernatural or real people?

Tim:

Real people.

Daniel:

Tea or coffee?

Tim:

Coffee.

Daniel:

If you had to survive one of your own stories, which would you choose?

Tim:

The Silence. That would be a lot of fun.

Daniel:

One book you wish you’d written?

Tim:

Coffin Moon by Keith Rosson. It’s already my novel of the year and we’re only halfway through January.

Daniel:

One superstition you secretly believe in?

Tim:

I don’t think I believe in any anymore. I used to do stupid things like thinking if I threw a bit of paper in the bin successfully I’d get a book deal. I don’t do that now.

Actually — one writer superstition: I really don’t like talking about works in progress. When you explain them out loud, they always sound terrible.

Daniel:

They always do.

Tim:

Exactly. You dream in fire, but you work in clay. That’s an Arthur Machen quote. The idea in your head is perfect — writing it means destroying that perfection.

Reading Habits and Cake

Daniel:

Dog-ear pages or bookmarks?

Tim:

Bookmarks. How dare you.

Daniel:

Go-to writing snack?

Tim:

Cake. I’m quite renowned for liking cake. There’s a great café near me — excellent coffee and cake.

Daniel:

Bonus question: favourite cake?

Tim:

All of them. But probably a good Victoria sponge — or a blueberry flapjack.

Horror Taste and Recommendations

Daniel:

Favourite season?

Tim:

Autumn.

Daniel:

Monster seen or unseen?

Tim:

Unseen.

Daniel:

One book recommendation, excluding your own?

Tim:

Adam Nevill’s The Ritual. The setting, the woodland, the atmosphere — it really scared me.

And they got the monster right in the film, which almost never happens.

Daniel:

That’s in my top five of all time. Absolute classic.

Where to Find Tim

Daniel:

Final question — where can listeners find you?

Tim:

My website is www.timlebbon.net. I’m on Facebook and BlueSky. I still technically have X, but don’t really use it. Instagram is mostly dog pictures.

Honestly, I’m much less inclined to engage with social media the older I get. It’s better for your mental health.

Daniel:

Same. I’ve stepped back from consuming social media entirely.

Tim:

It helps. Especially these days — the news alone can be overwhelming.

Daniel:

We shouldn’t know about this many people dying every day. I don’t need that information.

Lemmy, Lem, and the Weight of Bad News

Daniel:

No.

Tim:

No, I know. Especially if it’s… you know — so quickly back to The Secret Lives of the Dead: Lem, the main guy, is named after Lemmy from Motörhead. One of my heroes. Motörhead are one of my favourite bands. I saw them a dozen times.

I remember my wife nudging me awake — I think it was ten years ago he died — “Lemmy’s dead.” And I was like, “What?” But a little part of me thought, how could he not be? Because, you know… the guy…

Daniel:

Yeah.

Tim:

The guy was a walking chemist. Drank and smoked. What a life, you know?

So yeah, I agree with you. But you can’t avoid it, unfortunately. And I do find myself, with the whole social media thing, just falling down… well, doom-scrolling is a horrible term, but it happens.

I tend to try and “positive scroll”. I keep reading the news until I read something positive. I mean, I saw today — you know — the four astronauts came back from the space station because one of them is ill. So they brought the whole team back. Two Americans, a Japanese guy, and a Russian cosmonaut. All being there together.

It’s almost like they can teach us how to get on with each other — these astronauts. And from the beginning of what’s been happening for the last few years, I’ve held a ray of hope knowing there’s still a bunch of different nationalities working together on the space station, still being there together, you know.

I actually subscribed to a magazine called Positive News. I think it’s four times a year, and they do a website, and it is literally what it says on the cover. It’s really well produced. Just a magazine full of good news from around the world.

Because I still maintain — I still struggle — but I still maintain most people are decent and good. Kind. The majority of people. It’s just the minority who get the power and abuse it.

So hats off to you for being off socials. I really wish I could. I kid myself that I need to be on there because of what I do, but I’ve got nothing to promote at the moment. I’ve got nothing to pitch and promote. I’ve not posted an awful lot since Christmas. I do still look around and see what’s going on.

Daniel:

The good news is there if you seek it.

How nice.

I think it’s hard. We’re writers at the core. We don’t want to spend our time pushing and pushing and pushing, but there’s a kind of necessary evil to social media. It would be really interesting to do a panel with horror authors about the horrors of social media, and discover how people use it.

Tim:

Yeah, it really would.

I mean, I just feel that I have to… promote. The publisher does a certain amount, but it’s on you to spread the news. But then I don’t know. I honestly don’t know how much good it does, compared to the time you spend pimping your stuff on social media.

A couple of novels ago — The Last Storm — I spent a huge amount of time and effort spreading the word and blitzing social media with blurbs. I got terrific blurbs for that book.

It really didn’t sell very well. And I do wonder if I’d done nothing, how much worse the sales figures would be.

Where Sales Actually Come From

Daniel:

Yeah. I found the same. I started looking at where my sales were coming from — we can carry on the interview for a little bit longer.

I looked into my social media activity and what was actually converting into sales, as much as I could track it. Because that’s half the battle — you can’t always fully track what’s coming from social platforms.

Most of my sales tended to come from manual news promotions I was running, or through my mailing list. Social media was more like… a trickle. It’s okay for discovery, but you’re constantly battling paid algorithms and people with far more money than you.

It used to be: if people followed me, they would see my content. And now that’s not a guarantee. The overlords are just going for whatever holds your attention longest, which is where doom-scrolling comes from.

I’m fifteen days into — probably longer, actually, I started before New Year — but I’ve just… as I say, I have apps that let me post, but they’re independent of the platforms. So I’m not on the platforms, getting lured into stuff. And I’ve gotten more done. Not necessarily writing, but life stuff.

Tim:

Yeah. There’s that as well — you spend so much time.

So many people I know — friends and family — spend an awful lot of time on Instagram or Facebook, and Reels, and they’re absolutely there to keep you visiting. I’ve seen documentaries — they’re designed for it.

And for writers… a few years ago, Facebook and Twitter used to be really effective promotional tools. Really not anymore.

You post a blurb card about your latest book and you have three people liking it and one person sharing it. You post a picture of your dog and you get hundreds of likes and loads of comments.

It’s the algorithm showing other people.

I’ve thought about it a lot lately. And I wish I could police myself more — just once in the morning, once in the evening. That’s all. You’re not going to miss anything. You absolutely will not miss anything. You’d get so much more work done.

You’ve inspired me. I’m going to try and police myself.

I took a month off a while back — a few years ago — and loved it. Raved about it to friends. I had a month off social media, nothing happened. I didn’t miss anything. Felt better, mental health better. And like you say, you save hours a day.

People spend hours a day looking at screens — not in the way we are now, because we’re chatting and it’s nice — but looking at…

I used to — don’t anymore — I used to find myself reading personal posts from people I don’t know. And think: it doesn’t… we’re not…

Daniel:

Yep. That’s my killer. Early days, you’d go on Instagram and it was: here’s a person I follow. It used to be chronological, so you could catch up with who you were following.

Now I’m hard pressed to scroll and find someone I actually know. It’s all influencers and dancers and people selling this and that. It’s not what it used to be, sadly.

Considering it’s social media, it’s become like everything else: eventually it matures into a commerce tool for the people that own it.

Tim:

Yeah. Twitter used to be a good… yeah.

More than anything, I still look at Facebook because — yes, the algorithm shows you stuff — but you can also find people you’re following, and it’s keeping up with mates.

Yeah. I wish I could dump it. And I probably should.

Closing

Daniel:

On that positive note, I want to say thank you, Tim, for joining me on the podcast this week. It’s been an absolute pleasure to catch up.

And especially a big thank you to you, the listeners, for tuning in.

Before you dash off, if you’re craving deeper conversation, writing advice, or just fancy hanging out with fellow readers and storytellers, join me in the Devil’s Rock community on Discord.

I’m on a mission to build the largest online space for fans of horror and dark fiction — a home where writers and readers connect, create, and thrive together. It’s free, open to all, and always crackling with inspiration.

So if you’re ready to pull up a virtual chair, head on over to devilsrockbooks.com/podcast for the invite link.

Until next time, my friends: write bravely and dream dark.

Thanks again, Tim.

Tim:

Pleasure to catch up again, Dan. Really good. Thanks for having me.