Richard Dee's Blog, page 98

1066 Turned Upside Down

A cast of nine authors, Helen Hollick, Joanna Barnden, Anna Belfrage, Annie Whitehead, Glynn Holloway, Richard Dee, Carol Mcgrath Eliza Redgold and Alison Morton have collaborated on a book dealing with the “What If’s” of 1066, the year of the Battle of Hastings and the possible outcomes of those changes.

The result is a book of eleven stories, to be released in September,

 

more information will be available soon.

Tales from Norlandia, Part 4

Here is the third vignette for The Rocks of Aserol. It concerns a character that may or may not be in the novel. If you want to know more, you will have to wait and see.

 

Grace.

 

Grace Fallowfield walked slowly down the High Road, her curls rippling in the light breeze. It was a warm summer’s day and all around her the shops and stalls were full of the bounty of the fields and seas. To her left was a low wall and beyond it the sands of the bathing beach. There were a few brave souls frolicking in the sea, Grace was not keen on the idea of sea bathing, despite the exhortations of popular magazines as to its health giving qualities. Her mother reckoned that it would do her no good and so far she had kept her health without it.

Grace was happy, for today was the first at her new employment; gone was the drudgery of washing clothes in the steam-filled laundry by the High-Top Local. The place had been a form of purgatory for her, the huge copper tubs full of scalding water and lye. The steam-driven mangles were a constant threat to squash fingers and on her breaks (which were few) emerging into daylight the coal dust from the power generators of the Local stuck to her sweat-soaked clothes and made her look and feel permanently dirty.

Her brother had got her the job in the hotel. He drove an Exo for the mine and came home covered in dust himself, on him it had never seemed like dirt though, just a natural thing, after all, he had followed their father and most of the family into the mine. And Grace had been used to seeing her family arrive home from the mine with blackened faces and clothing since she had been a little girl.

She turned right into Military Crescent, away from the sea and up a small incline. The houses here were grand and had walled gardens with enormous wrought iron gates. Many had small gatehouses manned by servants, mostly those crippled by warfare. The wages were small but the work gave them dignity. Also folk, in general, were grateful for the servicemen’s sacrifice and looked after the veterans. They all spoke to Grace as she passed and she chatted with them, exchanging comments about the weather or other trivialities.

At the top of Military Crescent, there was a Local, with a queue of coal lorries outside. The chimneys of the Local and the lorries combined to set a pall of dust in the air, reminding Grace of her previous situation; smiling to herself at the thought of her escape from the dust clouds she strode on.

Ahead of her was a terrace of grand facade, curving away in both directions. At the apex were a flight of steps and a door bearing the words ‘Provincial Hotel.’ This was her destination and she crossed the road to it.

The door was opened by a porter. Grace stood back, thinking that someone was emerging. “Come on in, lass,” said the man in a kindly voice. “I won’t hold it open for you all day.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Grace replied. “I’m unused to such politeness.”

The porter looked at her attire and saw a pretty girl in a well-used dress and shoes. He noted the absence of gloves or hat. “I think you are suited to this place,” he remarked dryly, “for it has lost whatever grandeur it once had, but you add to its beauty.”

Grace was flustered, she did not understand, was he complimenting her or merely teasing her. “I have to see Miss Faith,” she said, “about a position.”

“Ahh,” said the man, “then we are to be colleagues.” He bowed slightly and offered his hand. “I am Maloney.”

Grace took it in hers; unsure how to respond. In a panic she saw that his left arm was missing below the elbow, the sleeve pinned up. He must be a war invalid. “Honoured,” she stammered, “Grace Fallowfield at yours.”

“Better get in,” Maloney advised in that soft kindly voice, “or your employment will be over before it’s begun. Miss Faith’s office is behind the desk.”

Thanking him, Grace moved into the building. The plaster was peeling on the walls and the carpet clean though threadbare. It had the same pattern as the one in her home.

She found the office and knocked. A voice that would not be out of place on a parade ground bade her enter.

Miss Faith was a large lady of middle years, she peered at Grace over half glasses, her expression stern.

“Yes?”

“Good day,” said Grace nervously. “I’m Grace Fallowfield, for the job.”

“Ahh yes, the recommendation, well then my dear, can you serve at table and make beds?”

“I can,” replied Grace, “and I can work a speaker and write a neat ledger.”

“Very good, these skills will all be useful if we employ you,” her eyes narrowed, “and can you keep away from menfolk? We have no fraternising here; your predecessor learnt that the hard way.”

Grace was unsure what she meant but nodded. Looking at Miss Faith she imagined that she had no problem with ‘menfolk’.

“Very well then, we will get you a uniform, you start after the Sabbath.”

The proof has arrived.

I’ve been looking at it all weekend,

The paperback has arrived. It’s beautiful. And to see my name and logo on the front page as well. After all the work it’s quite a feeling.

Another new project

I said before that I get ideas from the strangest places, well now and for the second time, an idea for a novel has come from an external source. First, it was my editor who suggested a sequel to The Rocks of Aserol. Now a reviewer has suggested a prequel to Ribbonworld.

Initially, it seemed like a bad idea, after all, I would have to fit it in with what I have already said. That often restricts the story because you can’t contradict what you’ve already written. Trouble is, the more I thought about it the more I could see the possibilities. After all, if you tell ten people the same story and a week later ask them to repeat it you will get ten slightly different versions. So as long as its about the same it will be OK.

So I can reveal now that there will be a prequel to Ribbonworld. The working title is “The Lost Princess,” but it will just have to wait its turn on the list of things that I have to do.

Another Ribbonworld review

This one was from Goodreads. See it (and the rest) at https://goo.gl/LGWF3N

May 21, 2016Teshka rated it, it was amazing  ·  review of another edition
Recommends it for: Any Science Fiction fan.
Recommended to Teshka by: Bookshop owner.


 So I walked into town having read ‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry’, which was OK but I needed to get back on home turf. Sci Fi. Recently I had read a couple of Sci Fi books but struggled through their complexities. ‘Surface Detail’ by Iain M Banks and award winning ‘Ancillary Justice’ by Ann Leckie. I took to neither. Being down on my luck and low on cash I popped into Newton Abbot Market thinking I could pick up a book for a pound. Nothing took my fancy.

The lady of the shop said she had some new books from an author who lived in nearby Brixham, a port known for it’s grizzly fishermen and hardcore twitchers. Not exactly science fiction central. I read the blurb and thought for a few moments. It was half price at £4, much more than I intended to pay but half price. Should I take a gamble and risk the 4 quid, or leave it and try somewhere else? Time was short so I gambled.

Miles Goram’s brief was to write a hotel review on a distant planet, Reevis. However soon after arrival he finds himself at the centre of a murder mystery as the man he has planned to meet is dead in his bathroom. The story centres on Miles attempts to find out what has happened and getting the review written. In so doing he explores the planet. The author, Richard Dee, paints a convincing picture of Ribbonworld which shares something in common with Radole, an Isaac Asimov construction if memory serves me in ‘Foundation and Empire’. A world of 2 halves. One side always facing the sun and one away. So one side is ice and the other fire. This leaves a ribbon of barely inhabitable land around it’s longitudinal axis. This is where the action takes place. Ribbonworld has been built by a large corporation, Balcom. It seems they may be implicated in the murder. The action rolls along at a pace with twists and turns along the way which keep the reader engaged and needing to know how it turns out. I found myself empathising with the wronged man, Miles Goram as he sought to find out the truth and put his own demons to bed.

I have to say I really enjoyed this romp around Reevis. The planet is well realised, the characters believable, and the story would sit well in the crime section of the bookshop. The book has to some extent restored my faith in Science Fiction being a more accessible read than the aforementioned award winners. It is also relatively short which suits my busy lifestyle as I do not get a lot of time to read. I would certainly recommend it and will be looking out for more Richard Dee.

Seventy-five square miles of Pluto.

Flash Fiction for Saturday. I know its a day early. Enjoy!

My grandfather gave me the deeds at my twenty-first birthday party, he said it was a family joke, apparently back in the nineteen-nineties selling land on other planets had been all the rage. Someone had got it for his grandfather as a present.

In flowery language, the yellowing paper solemnly attested that the holder, Vincent Crabbe, his heirs, and assigns; having paid the registry fee was entitled to the full rights and benefits of ownership of a plot of land on the planet known as Pluto, in perpetuity. There then followed a map of the planet, really only a circle with the words ‘North Pole’ on a dot in the middle. A rectangle showed the extent of the plot, its corners marked with latitude and longitude. Then there were a lot of official looking signatures and stamps.

“Look at the other side girl,” said my grandfather, his breath wheezing. He had spent years in the modified atmosphere of the early spaceships. That had been his life’s work. And it was going to be mine as well.

I turned the creased document over and there was a list of my forebears, with the words, “passed to my heir” and a date after each one.

“There,” he pointed with shaking fingers, the bottom line had my name, ‘Byrne Crabbe,’ and today’s date. “Now it’s yours, and maybe one day you’ll go there.”

“Thanks, Gramps,” I hugged his frail body, “But why didn’t you give it to Dad?”

“I tried,” he laughed, “He didn’t want it, said I was a silly old fool for keeping hold of it.” He shrugged, “Maybe I was, but I always wondered, ‘what if.’”

That was the last time I saw him. But I kept the deeds safe. There just might be a ‘what if.’

You could be forgiven for wondering what I would do with land on Pluto. What I could do with it.

We lived in an age of expansion, we had just colonised Venus, something that created little interest after all the excitement of the Moon and Mars. Space exploration was becoming routine.

I had never heard about the deed before, nobody in my family had ever mentioned it. Yes, it was coincidental, with the way things were turning out, but surely it was just a curiosity. And like one of those songs that you can’t get out of your head, the possible implications of it got me wondering if anyone had ever exercised their “rights” on any of those other places.

I had a look on the web, sure enough, there had been claims by the owners of land certificates on all the settled bodies, but they had all failed. And the main reason was simple enough, there was no way that the person or company selling the certificates had ever been to the place to claim ownership. There was no explorer planting a flag on a beach and claiming the lands for anyone. And if that was the case on those three bodies, then my land on Pluto would be bound to be part of the same deal.

Except for one tiny thing; there was a flaw in the argument that I could exploit. As I said before, I chose a career in space and in one of those twists of fate; I was chosen to be the navigator on the first manned mission to Pluto. And because of my research, I also knew where I could buy the company that had issued the land certificate all those years ago. Even though it was nearly two hundred years old ‘The Pluto Land Agency’ still existed.

It was run by two brothers, who might have once lived well off the money made in the past by selling an asset they had never really owned. Now they were broke and open to my suggestion.

I first wrote, then went to see them in the gaps in my training and they agreed to my plan, lawyers were consulted, papers were drawn up and deposited and I acquired a directorship in the company. It cost me a bit, hopefully it would be worth it.

The next ten years passed quickly, well for me they did because I was asleep for a lot of it, and when I wasn’t I was quite busy. After all, you don’t just land on a planet; you have to pick your spot. But eventually, we awoke in orbit above Pluto’s rocky, barren surface. The sun was so far away it seemed irrelevant.

We would be here for a while; we had a prefabricated dome with us in which we would try to grow food and manufacture oxygen from plants. We had enough supplies to last us and more had been sent on ahead to keep us alive until the next group of settlers arrived. There would be regular deliveries as well, a rocket had been sent every six months since we had departed and they were presently strung out behind us; following our route. I was excited to be here; after all, I had a dream to fulfil.

The touchdown was perfect, right where I had planned it.

After we were safe and secure on the surface, we prepared to send a message to Earth. We had a lot of work coming up, building the dome and getting settled in. It would take four and a half hours for my words and video to get back, but a lot less than that for their effect to be felt. The transmitter’s red light came on.

“Hello to everyone on Earth from Pluto,” I said, “this is Byrne Crabbe.” I planted the flag I had brought with me in the soil. Beside me, Commander Dawlish muttered, “That’s not the official flag.” And indeed, it wasn’t. In fact, it was the flag of the Pluto Land Agency that I had hidden on board ten years ago.

I continued, “On behalf of the Pluto Land Agency, hereafter called ‘the company,’ I claim ownership of this planet for the benefit of the company and its investors.”

Dawlish was really getting agitated now and took control of the transmission. “I’m not sure what our Navigator means,” he said and closed the link down.

I wondered how that would be received on Earth, and how the follow-up would go down. What would be the reaction when the Pluto Land Company started submitting claims for landing charges and ground rent for the settlement? And that would be just the start. Then there were all the descendants of the other investors to consider.

“What are you saying Crabbe,” he blustered; “you can’t claim ownership of a planet by sticking a flag in the ground and saying a few words.”

“Cook once did it with a continent, Sir,” I replied, “and anyhow, we’re parked on my land.”

A new review

I have another 4-star review for Ribbonworld. You can see it on Amazon here, or on the reviewers blog here.

As far as I am concerned, this is the best bit:-

“this novel is so much more than the sum of its parts—a page-turner of the highest order! Richard Dee masterfully blends together elements of sci-fi, corporate thriller, and romantic fiction.”

You can get a copy here

Proof

The proof of the paperback version of The Rocks of Aserol has arrived and in the end, the whole Ingram thing was easy. No doubt that was due to the work put in by my team, Helen Baggott on Edit, Lin White on Format and Cathy Helms on Graphics. Between them, they made the process so simple and I can’t thank them enough. You can reach their websites by clicking on their names and if you’re in the market for experts with patience and skill, I would recommend them to you. Just say I sent you!

So now I have looked through the proof and it seems OK. I have ordered a print copy for a final run-through before I set up distribution, just to be sure.

Hopefully, you are also enjoying the Flash Fiction teasers for the book, another will be posted everywhere on June 1st so don’t miss that.

Also, I am in negotiation for a new venture which I am really excited about. No clues yet, if it all comes together I will tell you soon.

And another, unrelated Flash will be posted here on Sunday 22nd May. It’s called “Seventy-five square miles of Pluto.”

Tales From Norlandia, Part 3

Here is the second of the Flash Fiction teasers for The Rocks of Aserol.

 

“With the coming of the Rail-Ryde, Aserol has turned from a provincial backwater supporting the nearby naval base into an important source of Norlandian wealth. The first edition of the Ryde company’s handbook for travellers describes the town, no doubt in the hope of enticing the new craze of ‘touring,’ and we repeat it here.”

 

 

 Aserol.

 

Aserol is situated at the southern tip of the continent of Norlandia. It fronts onto the bay of Southcape and occupies the level ground at the base of the Amexian hills. These are heavily wooded and contain the large coal deposits currently mined by Waster Mining and Metals.

This company, which is the largest local employer after the Navy, has three shafts in its workings, a beltway carries coal direct to the Rail yards. The logs cleared in the building of the mines, factories and other facilities are used to shore the mine shafts and in other endeavours. In addition to its mines the company smelts local ferrous ores and makes steel. It has a clockwork maker and laboratories on site, working under the auspices of the Ministry of Coal.

Wild beast abound in the virgin forests, wild swine, cervines and ursines provide sport for the hunter and clear streams have many good sized piscine’s for the angler.

The cliffs on the eastern end of the promenade are steep and have the lighthouse of King Oscar on the top. Underneath, a wide sandy beach affords safe water bathing.

The population is steadily increasing with the development of commerce and trading links. There are many surrounding villages and small townships, each with its own character. The harbour of Aserol is available to ships of all sizes; there are coal loading facilities and a large fisher basin. Most popular species of piscine and various crustaceans are caught in numbers for local consumption and now for transport in iced boxes to the metropolis. Additionally, agriculture thrives on the lower slopes of the hills. Fruits, vegetables and animals are grown and herded.

There is a naval base five miles distant with its own branch of the Rail.

The power generators (referred to as Locals in popular speech) produce steam for the populace’s domestic needs and for local industries, which are mainly ship building and repair, chandlery and related to mining. Facilities exist to recharge clockworks of every size. Coal powder is available for mobiles.

There is brewing and wine making, using produce grown in the vicinity. The quality of these wines and ales is among the best available.

The advent of the Rail has not diminished the seaborne trade but rather enhanced it; produce from sea and land can now be in the capital in hours instead of days.

There are several hotels and guest houses, where reasonable rates are charged for rooms and meals of good quality. Among the best are the Waterfront Hotel and the Aserol Grand, this last one is owned by the Rail-Ryde company. For those on a more modest budget the Provincial is adequate. Many establishements cater for the discerning diner and sell food and drink of the highest quality, a list is supplied in appendix ii. There are also more informal dining facilities and coffee saloons scattered throughout the town.

A promenade pier is a recent construction, this enables persons to walk out over the ocean and take refreshments suspended over the waves.

The town is generally peaceful, with the proximity of the naval base it has not been subject to raids from the sea and the locals are mostly law abiding. It would be better for the traveller not to attend some of the ale houses frequented by the workers, such establishments as the Drogans Rest are notorious for parting the unsuspecting from their money. More salubrious establishments on the sea road and promenade cater for the traveller in safety. In summer there are band shows in the evening on the promenade, many establishments have their own bands and competition between them is fierce.

The priests of Bal hold regular devotions in their cloisters and are available for petitions and blessings to all-comers. Aserol is more observant of religion than the capital and strictly keeps all the festivals and offering days.

Drogans are regularly sighted in the area but attacks are rare. A good system of netting is in place and watchtowers and balloons are manned and ready. In recent years there have been no reported adult fatalities from Drogan attacks, although ovine’s and small bovine’s are sometimes taken.

The climate is agreeable, being some five scale points warmer than the average temperatures in the capital for most of the year. In winter this figure rises to seven making it an ideal place for a tour in the colder months for those from the North. Invalids and convalescents also report on the climate’s beneficial effects.

Contact your nearest Rail-Ryde offices for details and prices. Mobiles of all types can be transported to Aserol in safety on our services.

The full Monty

And here is the full cover,

I now have everything I need to publish the ebook and paperback. So I intend to attack the mighty fortress that is Ingram over the next few days. Wish me luck!!!