Tim Lebbon – horror and dark fantasy author

My first ever comic MORTAL TERROR is out now! Written with Christopher Golden, artwork by Peter Bergting, colourist Chris O’Halloran, letterer Clem Robins.

You think you know about Dracula? Think again…

Available from all your usual comic retailers, or check out the Dark Horse site here.

Inkstone Books will be releasing a signed limited edition Hardcover of “Dawn of the Jedi – Into the Void” Copies can be requested from 4pm on Friday October 6th via their website. Click here for details.

Brutal Triathlon report, 8th September 2023

The Brutal has been voted the ‘World’s Toughest Triathlon’ by Triathlon 220 magazine, and never has a name so perfectly encapsulated the race it’s attached to. Because The Brutal is always brutal, and just because this past weekend had ‘good’ weather doesn’t mean this classic race, based in Llanberis and taking in the glorious views and shattering terrain of Snowdonia, was in any way easier. It was just differently brutal. Brutally brutal. It was … you get the drift.

I’d previously raced the Brutal Half in 2017 and 2022, and in 2018 I took on the full distance. That year was dubbed ‘the brutalist Brutal ever’ after a severe red weather warning meant that the mountain was closed. We had to run two more laps of the lake to get up to marathon distance, in the dark and with 40 mph winds and rain, and that was, er, character building.

So I’ve always wanted to return to tick the box –– race the classic Full Brutal triathlon, including Snowdon/Yr Wyddfa! And after this weekend, I think the title ‘most brutalist Brutal ever’ just might have been taken.

A few stats first (and later I’ll talk about some more eye-opening stats): the race consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 116 mile bike ride, and a 25 mile run (which culminates with an ascent and descent of Snowdon/Yr Wyddfa). To put this in perspective, the winner this year finished in 12:28, and he was the only finisher under 13 hours. The 333^rd finisher at Ironman Wales had that time this year. Most ironman races have a cut-off of 17 hours, but The Brutal is 21 hours.

So, it’s tough.

Me, Lyndon and Mike – Before

I had friends racing this weekend, which made it so much more enjoyable (I might use terms such as ‘enjoyable’, ‘fun’, or ‘delightful’ in this report, but they’re entirely subjective and relative –– as in, ‘doing that bike ride was enjoyable … compared to having your heels sanded with a cheese grater’, and I guess you have to be an endurance athlete to really understand what I’m getting at here). Mike and Charlie were doing the Half, Lyndon joined me on the Full, and Nathan Priest was taking on the mighty Double Brutal. Take those distances above and double them. Yep.

Friday consisted of driving up, finding our Air B&B, registering for the race, going to the briefing in the sauna* (*tent), finding out that my car had been scraped and dented outside our digs in a hit and run (I hope you can’t sleep at night, you selfish unthinking bastard, and that you damaged your parents’ car and they sent you to work at a local farm to pay for it and you have to shovel shit from cows that have fleas and a penchant for human flesh), carb loading, looking at the weather report, and staring at our kit bags for ten minutes at a time, all underscored by simmering panic and dread tinged with … yes, excitement. And fear. And another look at the weather forecast. More dread. And more staring at kits bags. I went to great efforts to hydrate properly for the day or two before the race, and that Friday night in bed I think I sweated it all out. Have I mentioned the heat? It was so hot!

The day of the race dawned warm and lovely, and Mike, Lydon and I negotiated our way through those awful 2 hours pre-race when you force yourself to eat, stare at your kit bags again for a while just in case someone’s unpacked them in the night and stolen your bike shoes, and then we walked down to the race base. It was really good having mates racing with me, as we managed a bit of banter. We swore a bit. Sweated a bit more.

Did I mention it was hot?

This race was my sixth ironman (I use the term as distance, not branding). And honestly, apart from my first ironman in 2013, this was the first I was actually wondering if I’d be able to finish. I did the half Brutal last year and found it staggeringly difficult, so for this one I had a plan that differed from my usual ‘start a race and eat a bit and see how it goes’.

This was all about nutrition. And with temperatures upward of 25 Centigrade and blazing sun and lots and lots of elevation (8000 feet on the bike, an eye-watering 4,500 feet on the run), it was even more about hydration. So this was my plan –– race slow, race smart, eat plenty of real food on the bike, and get those electrolytes and salt tabs into me! I was treating this more as an endurance event, not a race.

Spoiler alert –– it worked. But it wasn’t pretty.

The swim was quite warm (a different type of Brutal), with the usual choppy start of fists and feet, but I really enjoyed it. It was nice having a quick chat with Sean Conway before the swim (he of the amazing 105 ironmans in 105 days record), and I chuckled when he told me this was his first triathlon. And he meant it! The Brutal Double was actually his first organised event! What a legend.

Swim done in 1:20 (I could have gone faster, but remember the title of this report?), and chuffed that I’d managed a wee in my wetsuit whilst swimming, I hit transition and took my time getting ready for the bike. Drink. Food. Water (always with electrolyte tabs dropped in). The transition tent was a steam room. Just before I left, Lyndon came in from the swim. I skipped out onto the bike, and he took 7 miles to catch me. You’re slacking, mate!

The bike course is without doubt the most beautiful route I’ve ever ridden, and it’s one of many reasons why the Brutal has always been my favourite race since my first time here. The views take away some of the pain. Some of it. And today especially, they were amazing.

Did I mention that it was hot? Not just hot. It was steaming. I mean … fucking hot. And I stuck to my plan, taking it slow and spinning fast, drinking plenty and eating (flapjacks, jam and peanut butter wraps, cheese wraps, an occasional gel).

But what does the sun bring, do you think? Mozzies? Nah. Sunburn? Not too bad. Sweat? Plenty, of course. But worst of all … tourists. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m often a tourist myself, but when you’re on your third or fourth lap up over Pen-y-Pass, and the cars and buses are getting impatient and overtaking when they shouldn’t, and people are heading up the mountain dressed in flip-flops and cut-off tee shirt and wandering across the road like lost sheep having apparently forgotten that sometimes they should look both ways, it becomes problematic. I had a couple of near misses on the bike, the closest of which was a motorcyclist overtaking a car coming up Pen-y-Pass while I was descending. I only wish he could have heard what I called him. Pucking frick.

I finished the 4-lap bike in about 9 hours. Slowly … slowly … And for a while I passed and was passed by fellow competitor Julie, so many times that it became funny. And when the bike was over, I was feeling good! I actually paused a couple of times to take photos, stopped at every feed station to stock up on water/electrolyte drink, eat, and generally check I was feeling OK. I was dropping a salt tab every half an hour, and though I was sweating in exactly the same extreme way that a certain Prince doesn’t, I even managed a pee during the bike leg.

Off the bike, I saw Mike in transition. He’d just finished the half, but had a bit of a nightmare on the mountain with a rough spell (thanks to the great medics for helping him), and then taking a tumble and skinning his arm and cutting his head. Brutal scars, mate! He did a great race in such conditions, and I’m sure he’ll be back. Charlie had also finished the Half, his first ever triathlon. In at the deep end! Full next year?

Then I was out onto the run. Three laps around the lake before heading up the mountain, drinking loads, still eating. I’d done a full change for the bike, and did another one for the run, changing into my club tri-suit which is just so comfortable (sorry to anyone in the tent, but I was beyond caring). This was the bit I’d been worrying about … but that title again. Slowly, slowly, I jogged the flat side of the lake and walked up the hills on the other side, and I was feeling good!

On lap 2 I met Lyndon, who was on his lap 3. “Oh shit!” was his response, as he’d been hoping we could do the mountain leg together. But he’d come off the bike at least an hour ahead of me, so he had to head off and finish his race. Great bloke, top athlete. It grew dark pretty quickly on this lap, and I finished by the light of my phone torch. I also called my wife Tracey on one of the uphills whilst walking, and she informed me about how hot she’d been sitting in our friends’ garden drinking Pimms that afternoon. Bless her. I asked if she was OK and sent thoughts and prayers. To be fair she was worried about me, she knows I’m not great in the heat, but …

But I was feeling OK. I tried not to get ahead of myself, but I’d started to think, ‘I really think I can finish this.’ Remember, though, I still had the mountain portion to go. The three lake laps amounts to about 16 miles, with the mountain another 9 miles up and down. And I’d be doing it in the dark.

Lake laps completed, still feeling OK, I grabbed my mountain bag (water, food, various bits of survival kit in case something happened up there), and once the mountain leader Pouch (top bloke) gave me the OK, I was off. This was always going to be a walk up, not a run, and I kept a pretty good pace. I met quite a few people coming down and started to think, ‘Am I last?’ Then I met Lyndon on his descent, and he told me it was another hour to the top. Eech. So I kept going, one foot in front of the other (honestly, that’s pretty essential), and finally I reached the top of mountain.

Here, I took an extra ten minutes to go up to the trig point, turn off my head torch, and look around. And I’m not afraid to admit I had A Bit Of A Moment up there. It was still so warm at one in the morning that I wasn’t chilly even in a sweat-soaked tri suit. The views were stunning. The sky was clear, and I could see more stars than I’d ever been able to see anywhere before. It was peaceful, still, glorious, I was completely alone, and I said, “I’ve done it.” I laughed, and might have shed a tear. A moment I won’t forget.

Then it was the long walk down. I saw some bats, a mouse, some frogs, two drunk lads climbing the mountain in the dark (I wonder if one of them owns a dented car), and a few more athletes on their way up. Ah, so I wasn’t last. Not that I’d have minded if I was. I actually felt good enough to run some of the way down, and I finally crossed the line in a little over nineteen hours. It was so good to be done. I gathered my sweaty, smelly, frankly offensive kit, staggered back to the house. It was almost 3am, and I had a shower and some food and a few sips of beer before hitting the sack.

The next morning brought one of my favouirite parts of a race, The Discussion. Mike, Lyndon and I went to a great local cafe for breakfast and talked about our day, how bloody tough it had been, and how there’s ‘absolutely no way we’ll ever do it again, nope, you must be mad, and certainly not the Double’.

We’ll see, chaps.

I mainlined coffee all the way home. And to round it all off, Wales (just about) won the rugby, which I watched with a curry and some beer. And Tracey, of course, who after her hot-while-drinking-Pimms trauma still helped me unpack and sort my kit, despite not owning any protective breathing apparatus.

Now, a few more stats:

According to my sports watch I burned over 13,000 calories during the race, but I’m pretty sure I inhaled about 543,978 calories in flapjacks alone.

The lake laps and mountain consisted of 78,000 steps.

By my rough estimation I drank 18 litres of water throughout the day (about 32 pints).

I ate flapjacks, gels, Jelly Babies, pizza (cooked the day before and kept in transition for halfway through my bike ride … top tip!), cheese wraps, Haribou (thanks to someone else’s support team on the bike, thanks guys!), and some other bits and pieces.

The DNF rate for the Full Brutal was 23%.

I was 28^th out of 34 finishers, and I’m fine with that. I was delighted to find I was 2^nd in my age group, but Lyndon was 1^st (hats off mate), so I think there was just two of us. Still. Podium.

I had a different mindset for this race than any other I’ve ever done (including 5 ironmans and over a dozen halfs), because I just wanted to finish. My favourite saying is ‘If you think you can do something, or think you can’t, you’re probably right’, and I thought I could. Slowly … slowly … caught me The Brutal. I’m definitely built for endurance, not speed.

Big shout-out to the Brutal crew. Claire and Jim run the show, and they rock. And everyone involved, from the marshals to the transition crews, tech people and medics, and the massage guys (nice to see you again!), are all lovely, encouraging, positive. They say if you ever question human nature, do a triathlon. I say, do the Brutal. It’s been my favourite race for years, and this year just confirmed that even more.

Top job Lyndon, Mike, Charlie, and especially Nathan who was 3^rd in the Double! Bonkers but brilliant.

And to those great marshals who were constantly trying to talk me into doing the Double … I’ll never say never.

Me, Lyndon and Mike – After

A new novella from PS Publishing is now available, “My name is Rose, and I’m the last woman left alive. So begins this novella that follows Rose’s final day, but it is also the first day of a future that few could have imagined.”

John McNee interviewed Tim at Edge-lit about the novella and you can watch that interview here.

Tim has a story in the recent Cosmic Horror issue of Weird Tales, which you can order here.

It’s awards nomination season and Tim is up for two World Fantasy Awards. The first for best Collection for All Nightmare Long, and the second with Daniele Serra for Without Walls. You can find all the nominations here.

Whilst over at the British Fantasy Awards the Anthology “Isolation” which features a story by Tim is up for Best Anthology.

Finally a new horror novel “Among the Living” is due in February 2024, watch this space for more details.

The Festival, an illustrated novel co-written with Christopher Golden is out now featuring a rock show to die for! Click on the cover for more information along with ordering details.

Book pages have now been added for Without Walls, All Nightmare Long and Run Walk Crawl, click through for more information.

Tim is part of the narrative team working on Resurgance, a computer game. The first trailer for the game is available to watch here.

In other news Tim will have a brand new story, @home, in the forthcoming collection, Disintegration from PS Publishing. More details to follow.

Finally Dawn of the Jedi – Into the Void will be reissued in May with a new cover

Sixteen years ago today was my first day as a full-time writer! I can still remember sitting at my desk that first morning and starting work on the 30 Days of Night movie novelisation. Two days later I was sent the shooting script and I had to scrap my first 2 days’ work (a valuable early lesson!). It’s been so much fun, and I’ve now almost spent half my working life as a professional writer, with plenty more ups than downs.

Here’s a quick pic of the books I’ve had published since 2006.

Plenty more before that date, of course. And it’s likely I’ve missed a couple, because my shelves are about as organised as, well … me (and glancing through, yes, I forgot to include ’30 Days of Night’!) But it’s nice to look back and see how productive those 16 years have been, and these don’t include the screenplays and audio scripts, and lately the RESURGENCE game I’ve been working on.

I’m always grateful that I’m able to do what I love for a living, and thankful to each and every person who buys and reads my work. You keep reading, I’ll keep writing! There’s lots of exciting things to come. Now though, it’s time for me to head to the vicinity of Baffin Bay, where my intrepid heroes have encountered something horrible…

I’ve done the Half Brutal triathlon before, back in 2017, placing 29th out of 90 starters. And I did the Full in 2018 –– now known as the Brutalist Brutal Ever –– when a red weather warning shut Snowdon and I had to run two more laps of that lake in the dark, with a fading head torch, in 40mph winds and rain. I think they call it character building.

So I knew what I was letting myself in for doing the Half Brutal again this year, right? Well, yes. But being 5 years older, ten pounds heavier, and less fit with post-Covid loss of mojo meant that this was destined to be pretty much the hardest race I’ve ever done.

There’s definitely some advantages in revisiting a race you’ve done before, especially one like this. My Half Brutal of 2017 remains one of my favourite races out of a dozen halfs and five full-distance ironmans. The low-key organisation, cameraderie, Brutal Events’ desire to give you the best race experience, and that utterly stunning landscape made it a pleasure (if you set aside the pain for a while). So it was an easy choice to go back, and knowing the layout, the route, and what I was about to face meant I was pretty laid back about the whole thing. Pre-race butterflies, sure, but if you don’t get them you’re odd and possibly not quite human.

It’s funny how memories can fade. I’ll get back to that later.

My good mate Mike was coming up to support me, having signed up for the Half just a few weeks before and then coming down with Covid. He made the wise decision to defer––even though he was over the illness, this isn’t a race to take a chance with. So it was great having Mike take me to the start in the morning, help me carry my kit, and generally ease my nervousness. Top bloke.

This is going to be fine, I thought. Atmosphere in the transition tent I’d describe as nervous excitement, with a hint of rubber and chamois cream.

I’ve done this before, I thought. It’ll be fine.

That fading memory, again …

The Swim––following a minute’s silence for the Queen, who’d passed away just two days before, we entered the water … and it was like a bath. Lovely! Ah, I thought, a good omen, this is going to be easy. I finished the swim in 34 minutes, a great time for me. Note to self: only swimming once a week for two months before a race is obviously the way to go. If such lack of training translates into decent times across the board, I was probably going to win!

Onto The Bike––I’d planned on hitting about 1:50 for each 29 mile lap around the Snowdon, and the first lap I was spot on. There’s only one nasty steep hill, and the 3 mile climb up to Pen-y-Pass is just a long slow grind, with mind-bogglingly glorious views to distract you from any discomfort. The weather was perfect, sun peeking through the clouds, and I kept glancing up at Snowdon’s summit. Cloud-wrapped one minute, clear and exposed the next. I was looking forward to getting up there later in the day, trotting up like a frisky mountain goat, leaping from rock to rock and dodging past people out to climb for the day and acknowledging their impressed applause. Yep.

The second bike lap was five minutes slower, and I was feeling it in my legs, but I still enjoyed it. Apart from almost being taken out by a car overtaking another cyclist (not racing) who was climbing Pen-y-Pass from Llanberis side, while I was descending in the middle of my lane. Mostly drivers were pretty good, but it does seem common in the area to be overtaken on blind corners, so those racing all had to keep their wits about them. Brutal’s insistence on every cyclist wearing hi-viz was very wise.

Off the bike and onto The Run––and as usual I went out too fast, happy to be on two feet and jogging around the lake. A couple of miles in and the hills hit … and so did the cramps. And no, not the punk band. I necked down some crisps at the aid station, and though salted peanuts are the devil’s own food I had a couple of handfuls, sucking in the salt.

I jogged most of the mountain climb last time, I kept thinking. I’ll be fine. Ah, my poor faded memory.

Pain is like this. I always hated the dentist, but I got through my dislike of injections etc by trying to observe objectively, and regarding the pain as research (I write for a living so anything is research). And pain is something you don’t remember after it’s gone. It’s fleeting (okay, maybe not so fleeting, as DOMS always hangs around for a few days, but you get my drift). So yeah, the pain fades, as does the memory of pain.

As I finished the lake run and tried to inhale more salty food in transition, I was actually looking forward to the mountain. 9 miles up and down and I’d done it before. No problem.

I started out, and soon the problems began. My legs were weak and cramping, and that first steep climb up the tarmac path was tough. It all very quickly became tougher. I jogged maybe 200 metres in the first mile, then I decided to just slow to a power walk. This I did, but soon the ‘power’ bit of that phrase disappered. Then the ‘walk’ bit almost vanished too, as I found myself struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

I’ve done some tough races. I like them. I’m not particularly fast in any discipline (apart from post-race cake eating, perhaps), I’ll never chase a podium, so I like challenging myself with races like The Fan Dance, Ironman Wales, Blaenavon Triathlon. But I’ve never felt so tired, weak and pained as I did climbing Snowdon. I’ve also never DNF’d, but there was half an hour on that climb when I really started to wonder if I could do it. I was necking down flapjacks and gels, drinking water, but what got me through was what I love about these types of races, and the Brutal in particular––other competitors. I started climbing with a couple of other guys, and I’m not sure I’d have finished otherwise.

At last the top was in sight, and we had glorious views, and I suddenly felt better. I knew there was no way I wouldn’t finish now, so along with the other guys I started jogging back down. Weak legs meant I almost took a tumble three or four times, but I managed to stay on my feet. Yes, it was hurting almost as much on the way down, but we could see the lake now, and we knew the pain would end soon. And then we hit the tarmac and we were almost home.

What a great feeling. Mike was at the finish waiting for me (and he bought me two much-needed coffees, loaded with sugar), Brutal Claire gave me my medal, and somehow it was Job Done.

Anyone reading this, take note – they use the name Brutal Extreme Triathlons for a reason. This half-ironman took me 9 hours, and I still finished in the top half of the field. It is … Brutal. But it is amazing.

A few beers and a curry later, I completely failed to sleep through the night because of pains in my legs and Achilles and heels, but I was buzzing. And I kept reminding myself (as I did on that long painful run) that we do this stuff because we love it.

And as for that poor fading memory––yes, toughest race ever, and I went to some very dark places despite the sun being out all the way up that mountain … but I’m already thinking about confronting the Full Brutal once again next year.

I mean, I’ve done it before, after all. I’ll be fine.

‘Run Walk Crawl: Getting Fit In My Forties‘ available now from Amazon.

The Last Storm hits shelves and e-readers in the UK tomorrow (US fans will have to wait until July 19th). Tim has done an interview with Ginger Nuts of Horror about the book, which you can find here.

‘THE LAST STORM’ BOOK TRAILER – TIM LEBBON from Chris Crow on Vimeo.

Chillercon UK is in Scarborough from Thursday this week. Tim will be at the event, and PS Publishing will be launching not one, but two new titles from Tim.

The first is a new collection of short fiction, All Nightmare Long, featuring an introduction by Sarah Pinborough and cover art by Daniele Serra. Available to pre-order from PS Publishing as either an unsigned Jacketed Hardcover, or there is a limited edition of 100 signed copies.

Urban hauntings, dark rural myths, bizarre superheroes, mysterious hotels, quiet apocalypses and violent dystopias, disturbing futures and blood-drenched histories . . .all these nightmares and more provide the contents of All Nightmare Long, Tim Lebbon’s brand new collection of short fiction.

So close your eyes, calm your breathing, and don’t be afraid.

It’s only a dream

The second release is Without Walls, a supernatural illustrated story book, which is a collaboration with Daniele Serra. Available to pre-order from PS Publishing as either an unsigned Jacketed Hardcover, or there is a limited edition of 200 copies signed by Tim and Daniele.

Jasmine lives alone in the house. It’s her whole world. It caters for her every need.
The doors are locked, but that doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing outside.

One day, on the staircase, she meets another little girl who thinks the same. And Cassia will change her life forever.

A haunted house . . . two haunted girls . . . the diary of a lost boy.

Why is the house so keen to hide the truth from them?
And who, or what, is the ghost?

US readers you can pre-order the forthcoming novel, The Last Storm, with a signed book plate from Copper Dog Books. UK readers, watch this space.