Grant's illustrious career includes drabbles featured in Eerie River's upcoming anthology of myth and legends "Forgotten Ones"
Grant Hinton is the wifi password to the world of horror. His technological knowledge mixed with the grasp of the human condition results in devastatingly chilling results. Not only that, this bestselling author is hauntingly gifted in all things to raise the hairs on the back of your neck, all the ways to quickening your heartbeat, and leave you with a lesson that stays long after your eyes have left his words.
There are great things on the horizon coming ahead, stay tuned for more soul gripping content.
Grant Hinton - horror author, writing advocate, teacher and family man.
Have you always written, or was there a catalyst that prompted you to begin this journey?
I had a spat of writing poetry in school and got published at 13. After that, I never thought about writing again until I was 28. I was sat in a hotel room in Waikiki, Hawaii. I don’t know where the idea came from or the compulsion to write it but I grabbed the closest piece of paper and started writing. It was a dungeon scene between an evil sorcerer and a captive elf. I didn’t know what I was doing back then, so that single chapter got edited several thousand times. Each time I would go to write I would re-read, change a few things and then progress the story. I still have it somewhere. It’s around 23k words (unedited) and should be a heroic fantasy. One day I might dust it off and write it with the skill set I now have.
What is your favourite genre to read?
I read a broad range of fiction and non-fiction. It was my goal in 2019 to read an hour a day of anything I could get my hands on, I can happily say I smashed that goal, but if I was pushed to narrow that down to one genre I would say epic fantasy.
Do you remember the first piece of writing shared publicly? What were people’s reactions, but more importantly, how did you react getting it out there?
Other than my poetry, the first story was on Reddit’s r/Writingprompts. I think I have it somewhere, hold on.
Grant takes a key from around his neck. While Michelle studies the elaborate wallpaper of a garden scene to his left, Grant places the key in the perfectly concealed lock masquerading as the stem of an apple. The wall pops opens. Inside are numerous dusty tomes. Grant selects a thin one at the bottom, the resulting avalanche sends a shower of dust into the room. Both Grant and Michelle cough as the dust clears.
Ah, here we go.
(Writing Prompt) Jesus, you're the worst roommate.
"Oh my god, JESUS! Where are my car keys?" My anger clearly on the surface for all to see as I shift the sofa cushion up and away. Furry things greet my searching hand, I make a mental note to wash my hands. All I find are clumps of hair and a couple of rice crispy's that have escaped from the breakfast bowl.
"Hey man, don't take my father’s name in vain," drools Jesus. He lounges in a battered armchair near the TV. The screen playing the fresh prince of Belair. His long hair covers his modesty as he isn't wearing anything but his 2000-year-old loin cloth.
"Jesus, you're the worst roommate. I mean, look? Why do you have to keep hiding thing? Last week, you parted the water at the local park and hid my car inside.”
Jesus’s face puffs to red as he barely suppresses his laughter.
"I think we need to talk. It's all well and good that you help people out and all that but seriously! Paul is passed out in the corner again; Matthew has locked himself in the toilet again...”
Jesus rolls up on to his sandaled feet and walks over to the fridge. A fridge magnet with a picture of Jesus on it swings passed him as he opens the door. It reads; "I had followers before Twitter." He fills a large glass with cold water and returns the jug back to the fridge.
"...you have people coming over all hours during the night begging you to cure them..."
Jesus rolls his eyes and removes a strand of hair out of his face, plopping back into the armchair he slowly stirs the water in the glass with a finger.
"...Annnd, you've never paid me a dime in rent."
"Hold on," Jesus raises a wobbly finger. The water swells and starts to turn red.
"I did cure you of that little problem, hiccups, you know, "downstairs."
I can feel the embarrassment colouring my cheeks.
"Um...yeah, well, um, yeah thanks for that but anyway you’re drunk again."
"In my defence, hiccup, I can't help it, it just turns to wine.”
The living room slams open and in walks Judas.
"And don't get me started on this guy," I shout.
What is your workspace like? What kind of atmosphere do you need to write?
I have a nice desk with a mac, but truth be told, I achieve most of my writing on my phone. It’s easy, and I can type faster. I really only use the computer for bigger tasks. As for the atmosphere, that depends. I can get in the mood, psychologically, anywhere, and in those moments I can pump out a few thousand words. It has to silences though, or background noise, that’s why I don’t write to any music that has lyrics in them. It’s detracting and influential.