There may be spoilers ahead, so we recommend you read Daniel’s The Bell in the Bog before joining us for the below.

Q1. How did you come up with the idea for this story? 

The image came first: a pristine new-build sitting in a landscape that still feels ancient. I’ve always been drawn to that clash, the confidence of modern architecture against something much older and less willing to be reshaped.

There’s been a lot of development near where I live, and you can feel the strain it puts on the landscape with wildlife shifts and the blurring of old boundaries. I started wondering what would happen if the land didn’t just absorb that change, but pushed back.

From there it became a story about ownership. We assume buying a house means the ground is ours. But peat bogs preserve what they take and hold history in a way that almost feels intentional. The bell felt like it was buried for a reason that modernity assumes it has the right to dig up.

Q2. As a fellow Scot, I love the inclusion of Scots dialect that rings off the page – how important is this to you? And how much Scottish is too much?

The Scots in the story isn’t there simply for texture. It helps mark a difference in perspective. Richard is in awe of the Highland landscape, but he doesn’t really engage with the people or history that shaped it. He admires it aesthetically, while the locals inhabit it.

The dialect reinforces that subtle divide. It carries continuity and shared understanding, and Richard can hear it without fully grasping what it means. The gap is important to the story.

In terms of how much is too much, I’m conscious of balance. I want the rhythm and flavour of Scottish speech feel natural and grounded, but not so dense that it pulls readers out of the story. It should suggest voice, not require translation.

Q3. I love how this feels almost like Cosmic horror – is that what you were shooting for?  

I wasn’t consciously trying to write cosmic horror in a Lovecraftian sense (despite being a huge fan of his work), but I was interested in resistance and scale. I wanted the land to feel sentient, but not in a human way. Not good or evil. Just operating on a timescale and logic far beyond us.

In the story, the bog isn’t a villain. It’s an ancient mechanism that continues whether we’re there or not. The bell hints that this isn’t the first time something has needed to be contained. I like the idea that it began as a human object and was gradually absorbed into something older. By digging it up, Richard doesn’t unleash anything new. He simply becomes part of a system that was already in place.

If that reads as cosmic horror, I’m happy with that. What unsettles me most isn’t a monster. It’s the idea that we aren’t as central or as in control as we think.

Q4. How much of your time do you spend writing short stories versus other projects?

I’ve been writing for a long time, but it’s only fairly recently that I’ve started to share my work. Joining a local writers’ group was a big part of that, along with having trusted readers to look at the work while it’s still rough. Having regular feedback and accountability helped me take the writing more seriously and trust it enough to submit.

At the moment, short fiction is my main focus. I’m drawn to the precision of it, especially in horror, where atmosphere and ideas can land hard in a small space. I’m also working on a novel that explores some similar themes to The Bell in the Bog, but short stories feel like the right form for me just now. They keep me sharp.

Q5. What other works do you have on the go? Anything you’d like to promote?

I’m currently working on a novel that explores similar themes of land, legacy and contemporary life. It’s still in its early days, but it’s a project I’m really excited about.

Alongside that, I’m continuing to write short fiction. I don’t always set out to write horror, but I’m often pulled in that direction because the themes I’m drawn to tend to take me there.

I’ve been fortunate to have other short fiction published recently, with more due out later this year.