J.G Clay was born to write horror. He came into the world on the 31st October, 1973. To those of you who have no idea what that mean, 31st October is famously, (or infamously depending on your take on things), known as Halloween night, the night when thing go bump in the dark, the dead wander about a bit, children get lots of sweets, and Michael Myers come home to slaughter a load of promiscuous teens. To add more fun into the mix, it was also a full moon that night. Karma was definitely calling him to the horror path.
A keen sci-fi fan as a child, in the days when “Doctor Who” was most definitely uncool, and reading ‘Judge Dredd’ was seen as a bit odd. J.G discovered the dark delights of Stephen King, Clive Barker, James Herbert and Ramsay Campbell, writers who he still hero worships to this day. Throw liberal parents into the mix who allowed him to watch the horror greats of the Seventies and Eighties from the pioneers of brilliant cinematic horror such as John Carpenter, George A. Romero, Dario Argento and the brilliantly disturbed and slightly disgusting Lucio Fulci and you have a cocktail for either a psychopath, or an author who knows how to play in the Dark.
J.G takes his influences firmly by the throat, throws in a bit of the sci-fi that he loves, memories and themes of growing up in in the UK as the son of immigrants, pop culture references drawn from his four decades of existence, and churns this toxic brew up to produce a cinematic stylish horror that leaps from the page, grabs you by the face and injects you with chills, thrills and a few laughs along the way. Personality wise, J.G is a curious sort. He’s a genial chap with a Scorpio edge. Imagine if you will the intellectual bent of Stephen King, crossed with the maverick edge of John Carpenter, then gently mix in the brash no nonsense confidence of Noel Gallagher, coupled with the humbleness of an ordinary working class British lad, and you have Clay.