Biography

To understand the origin of my love for writing, first fasten your imaginary safety belt, take a deep heroic breath and then venture boldly into my colourful and distant past - preferably plied with plenty of tea to keep you going ...

My formative years were misspent in small-town England in the psychedelic '70s - back when summers were unending and the world seemed a much bigger but friendlier place. Flares and hula-hoops were hip, and we guzzled up the Earth's natural resources like there was no tomorrow. Holes in the Ozone Layer were mere pinpricks, the Greenhouse Effect was yet to be invented and every computer on the planet belonged to NASA. For us mere mortals there was no consumer-available hi-tech gizmos back then. No miniaturised gadgets to while away our hours, no internet to enslave our minds, no pressure to be the next stick-thin catwalk model or the latest dot com flash-in-the-pan. Everything was analogue, mechanical and Made in England. Things were either bolted together or spot-welded. Functionality over aesthetics. TV had 3 channels and laptops were places for cats to nap.

Those hazy days of summer were hot enough to fry eggs on car roofs and bubble the tar on the roads. They were also my proving ground.

Unlike today, where most of England's green and pleasant land has been bulldozed to make way for what seems an unnecessary housing boom, there was far more wild countryside on our doorsteps when I was an adventurous adolescent. Endless miles of overgrown fields, untamed woodlands and disused railway embankments (relics of our Victorian past). A rolling wilderness of streams, bogs and meadows, providing the lush and intricate backdrop for mock battles and pretend alien invasions, for me and my fearsome friends to enjoy.

Kids lack imagination these days. We were different back then. We were the dreamer generation. Explorers, adventurer's, heroes ... claiming uncharted realms for the Great British Empire, before rushing home for dinner and the latest episode of Space 1999. As kings of all we surveyed, we knew every blade of grass, every rock, every gully - intimately. In our world of swamps and broken railway tracks there was no hill too high to hike, no pond too deep to swim, no tree too tall to climb. This feral landscape was our world, uncluttered by parents and teachers - ours to conquer, to divide, to build on or to burn down at a whim. We owned it. We tamed it. We loved it. We were masters of all we could see, fleshing out our imaginations as we saw fit.

Making up crazy stories and acting them out on our green stage came natural to us. In amidst our explorations we tamed the land as Cowboys 'n' Injuns, or razed it to the ground in War, or protected it from bug-eyed monsters from Space. We shaped our world to fit in with whatever fantasy we played out - even conjuring up whole plays and storylines, dialogue and all. What was one day a tree, would the next day become a pirate ship, and the day after that a monstrous alien. No imagination was too small for us. We were the victorious ones. We were the future. We were unstoppable.

Like the song says, the summer seemed to last forever. Then hormones hit us hard and knocked the wind clean out of our sails. All of a sudden our sacred summers were over and the only thing most of us seemed interested in was the opposite sex.

As teenage years approached, reading fiction became my substitute for halcyon days lost. And writing it seemed a natural progression. Soon I found myself embarking upon my own literary adventures - exploring not only the curious realms of science fiction but also the darker back roads of horror.

As a result, my later teens saw me pen 2 juvenile manuscripts ...

The Well Of Magic ... a dark fantasy piece following a hero's plight for justice and personal vindication in a land ruled by magic and stalked by mythical creatures.

And Neurosedatus ... a collection of hard-hitting science fiction shorts, spanning futuristic warzones and not too distant alien encounters.

Leaner years followed as I entered the realms of the Grown-Ups, attended College, became employed, moved out and started my own family.

As the earth-movers concreted over my past playgrounds, I managed to string together 3 full-length science fiction manuscripts during the next decade - in between changing diapers and earning an honest crust ...

Hisk - a fast-paced adventure yarn of both spatial and personal discovery.

Orb - a lavish tale of exploration and the prequel to Hisk, set in the era of Great Human Expansion throughout the galaxy.

And Uth - a slightly witty action-adventure, unearthing the Origins of Man on a remote and forgotten Space Habitat.

A turnaround in my writing output came at the turn of the Century when one of my daughters had to produce an add-on scene for Willy Russell's masterpiece Educating Rita as part of her English Lit. Course. I took up the challenge on her behalf and created a piece which blew her English Tutor away. The unexpected praise encouraged me to write 3 whole new plays of my own ...

Opening Veins - the story of an oppressed daughter living with her overbearing Jewish mother.

Raging Hormones - a down-to-earth comedy of warring couples and clumsy infidelity.

And Spare Ribs - an alternate comedic slant on biblical Genesis ... which was snapped up by a UK Theatre Company and performed to great acclaim in 2002.

Spurred on by this success I turned my attentions to the silver screen and penned the screenplay Learn To Be Still - the story of a hard-sell city exec forced to deal with the grittier side of life after a disabling accident.

My latest work has seen me change tack again - this time penning a fast-paced crime thriller novel, which I consider my best work to date ...

The Undertaker -  follows a Police Detective's hunt for a slippery psychic serial killer.

The remainder of my future history is still be to be told, and hence as yet unwritten ...

Keith Houghton

2008

Presently, Keith lives in another small town in England with his partner, Lynn, and their scruffy Cairn terrier, Pepper. Their kids are all grown. Middle-age is swiftly advancing. And the music is beginning to

sound a little louder than he likes to remember.