Tim Kelly is from Ilkley in Yorkshire. He has lived and worked in Ireland, Scotland, Wales, England, Greece and Japan. He has taught at the universities of Lancaster, Sheffield, St Andrews and Warwick in the UK and Doshisha University in Japan. He is currently Associate Head of the School of Humanities at Coventry University and teaches poetry, short story writing and screenwriting. He writes poetry, drama and fiction. You can find out more about Tim on his website: http://timkellywriter.com
Tim Kelly in 60 seconds
When did you start writing?Home in Ilkley.
What do you love about Short Stories?What's not to love?
Do you write in other forms?Yes, I've written poetry, screenplays and a novel.
What distracts you from writing?Everything.
Outside of writing, what are your other passions?People.
What is your favourite book?Recently read 'Out' by Kirino Natsuo, but can you better Süskind's 'Perfume'?
Who are your favourite writers?Dostoevsky first did it for me, then Henry Miller and Yeats: I love Yeats the most.
Where is your dream location?I miss living in Greece and visit every year.
What one item would you put into Room 101?Capitalism?
Do you have any advice for new writers?It would be Beckett's from 'Worstward Ho': Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Work by Tim Kelly:
K-chik: the lock gave two distinct metallic clicks and we entered the holiday cottage. Outside the day was dying and a streak of orange pasted the horizon above the town. The cottage was nothing more than a tiny one-bedroomed terrace, but from the window lay the estuary, sparkling a rainbow of lights reflecting from the water-front restaurants, stretching out into the vast and darkening sea.
I don't believe in vampires
“So, you don’t believe in vampires?” I shrugged nonchalantly: did he really expect me to believe in vampires? This was the 21st century. “And do you believe in God?” The old man was getting tiresome. This job was going to be more tedious than I’d anticipated. “No I don’t believe in God and I don’t believe in vampires.” “Yet you seek them out?” He turned and patted one of the two bloodhounds sitting by his side. “I’m interested in contemporary cultural phenomena. I’m a journalist, doing a story on cult groups, hence my interest in your Primave Society, Mr Faust.” “I see.” I took out my notebook and pencil. “Does Primave have a meaning? Is there some Italian connection?” “All things have meaning, young man.” “And is Nero Faust a pseudonym? It’s not your real name, is it?” “Names are just convenient labels. And all names are chosen, the only question is by whom. Take your name, for example. A famous, dare I say, notorious one: Mr William Van Helsing.” “I inherited my name, Mr Faust. It’s useful: my editor lets me write about all things spooky, weird and wonderful.” “Yes, the name intrigued me and I must confess it is why I accepted your request: we do not in normal circumstances allow outsiders to partake in the gatherings of the Primave.” He paused a moment. “So, are you the grandchild of the famed Professor Abraham Van Helsing?” “Grandchild? A great, great, great grandchild, I think. He’s been dead a hundred years.” And then Nero Faust did something strange: he leant towards me and with a long fingernail moved the hair that hung down over my forehead to one side, and started at me intensely. “Yes, I see the resemblance...”
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