An author is murdered in the street, leaving the book he was writing arguably unfinished. Then a succesion of lies about him appear in the newapapers, vilifying his life. But does it really matter if they are lies? Isn't it an author's work of more significance than any day-to-day details of his life? Value, naturally enough, cannot answer this question; it is for you the reader to decide. But hasn't everyone who ever knew anything about what value actually is been lied about and vilified, whether by now they are dead or alive? And what is it that is really happening in a situation where a hotch-poch of lies has somehow become much more 'valuable' than anything reeking of the objective truth?
Mike Driver lives in Yorkshire, England. His publication history consists of 40 published short stories scattered across print magazines, online titles and anthologies around the horror fiction globe.
His latest fiction can be found in the February 2016 issue of Trysts of Fate and in the forthcoming anthology Haunted by the Past from Tacitus Publishing.
His debut novel “Fall, Leaves, Fall” is available on Kindle alongside his two short story collections, Box of Bones and Midnight's Gate. The second book in the Cletherwood Trilogy will be available in mid-2016.