Derek Landy's Blog, page 15

Happy New Year

Another year over, and what a year it was.

2012 saw me jetting around the world yet again, meeting lots of lovely Minions, some of which laughed, some of which blathered, some of which stared, and some of which hyperventilated and cried tears of unbridled joy. I expected nothing less.

It saw another Skulduggery book reach number one in the Bestseller chart, despite a few bookshops releasing it early and risking my wrath (which is terrible and frightening. Honest it us. You can ask anyone).

It was also a year of writing and looming deadlines. I started the year without a single word of KOTW written, but within three months or so I had a finished manuscript that is probably my favourite of anything I've produced so far. Then The Maleficent Seven turned out to be 20,000 words longer than I had anticipated, so when November came I was still writing the damn thing, instead of starting Book 8 like I'd planned. The good news, of course, is that TMS turned out to be a whole heap of fun, and I have a feeling you'll like it when it's released in... in... oh God, when is it released? March? I think?

The whole thing started, by the way, because of the speed you lot raced through Deathbringer. After a year of hyping yourselves up and building excitement, the book was released and suddenly you had another year to wait for the next one. And for some reason I began to feel guilty about that, so I decided  to release something small between KOTW and Book 8, and Tanith's little adventure was born.

Book 8 is progressing well, you'll be happy to know. 25,000 words so far, which is roughly a fifth of KOTW. I don't know how long the new one will end up being, but it'll PROBABLY be fairly substantial. There's a whole lot of war to get through, after all.

Of course, while 2012 brought with it great surprises and good news, it also provided no news at all on the movie front... at least no news that I can talk about. I've been writing the script myself (and it is AWESOME) and I'd have liked to be able to announce some kind of film deal before the end of the year. But things move slowly in Hollywood, and things move even slower because I'm extra-cautious after what happened with Warner Bros (still awesome people, by the way). So just be patient, and eventually I'll have something to say. Good things come to those who wait.

(Well actually, good things come to those who work really hard to make those things happen, but whatever.)

But as the year draws to a close, I like to remember the things that I've enjoyed.

2012, after all, brought us these guys


 And this lot...


And this...


... this...


... this...


... that...


Oooh and this slice of awesomeness...


And it brought us Haywire...


... and so more of Gina Carano...


... which is ALWAYS a good thing...


And it had Ronda Rousey defending her Strikeforce title...


AND moving to the UFC...


And 2012 gave us Michelle Jenneke, for which I am eternally grateful...


... and my dear beloved Jenna...


Further words about Jenna, I think, need not be spoken.



And so, as we wave goodbye to 2012 and welcome 2013 with open arms, I thank you for all your support. And I'm not just talking about the Minions who comment on this Blog, or the Minions who populate the Forums or the Facebook page or Skuldpedia or the Roarhaven page, or the Minions who obsess about Skulduggery on tumblr or have set up their own websites, and I'm not just talking about the astonishing artists and writers who frequent deviantART and those nutters who follow me on Twitter EVEN THOUGH I NEVER TWEET...

... I'm also thanking YOU, the many silent Minions out there who read this Blog but don't comment. Whenever I talk about how proud I am of the Skulduggery readers, I don't just mean the readers I know. I mean you, too.

So, thank you for everything, and I hope you all have an amazing 2013.

Christmas, 2012

Ah, Christmas...

Every year, my family tell me they don't know WHAT they're going to get me, and every year we have a great big laugh about it. But every year I think ah, THIS is the year. This is the year when they DO know what to get me, but they're all PRETENDING they don't. They're all conspiring with each other, pooling their money and resources, going that extra mile to get me the thing that will make me happy, whatever it may be. It's all a surprise, I think to myself. It's all a wonderful surprise and on Christmas Day when I've handed them their really really expensive gifts and I'm standing to one side while they ooh and ahh and laugh and hug, they're suddenly going to turn around and say Derek, surprise! We have what you've always wanted!

And then they show me a parcel beneath the tree and I fall to my knees, and with trembling hands I slowly tear the paper and lo... the most perfect present ever in the history of the world. And I am happy.

This year my mother got me a dart board.

She got me a dart board because, obviously, she knows how much I secretly love darts. She has cleverly read between the lines during each of our many conversations throughout the year- conversations in which darts have not been mentioned one single time- and she figured out that what I really wanted for Christmas, the thing that will finally make my life complete, is a great big dart board.

Mother, I think it is safe to say you have excelled yourself this year. Well done.

My brother and sisters, meanwhile, all got together and arranged an aircraft simulation lesson- where you sit in a cockpit thingy and take off and land a plane without actually, you know, being IN a plane. Well, they ALMOST did that. What they ACTUALLY did was hand me a piece of paper with all this written down. They got me a SUGGESTION for Christmas.

Now, to you, this mightn't sound that bad. You might be thinking hey, they didn't know if Derek would be interested in this, so they suggested it, and if he seemed agreeable, they'd go off and book it. And this, dear Minion, would a reasonable thing for you to think.

Unless you remember a few years ago where my sisters told me that what they were going to do for me that Christmas was renovate my bathroom. Oh wow, said I. A bathroom renovation, just what I've always wanted. A bathroom renovation as done by two pregnant women with no prior history of bathroom renovations, nor indeed any relevant knowledge of said undertaking. I just couldn't get any luckier.

And if you remember that, you may also remember that they never actually got around to doing it.

And you may also remember that last year, in some feeble attempt to make up for it, they got me a bath mat and towel. For Christmas. Between the two of them.



It wasn't all terrible disappointment and quiet tears when no one was looking, because today was also the day of Doctor Who and The Snowmen!

I'm not entirely sure who the villain was or what the logic was, and I thought Richard E Grant could have been used SO much better, but it was fast and funny and Matt Smith is great and Jenna Louise Coleman is... is...

Jenna Louise Coleman is just so PRETTY.

I know, I know, I have a history with Amy Pond. We were close. We were even in love, for a while. But times change. People change. They move on. I've moved on. I love Amy, I do, and she will always have a special place in my heart...

But Jenna Louise Coleman is just so PRETTY.


I... I think I love Jenna Louise Coleman. I think THAT is what I got for Christmas.

God (or whatever random deity you might acknowledge) bless us, every one.

It was Christmas Eve, babe...

... in the drunk tank, an old man said to me, won't see another one, and then they sang a song, the rare old Mountain Dew, I turned my face away, and dreamed about you...


I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas and you have lots of laughs and get the biggest smiles when people open the presents you've given them. And for those of you who don't celebrate Christmas... hey, it's a day off school, right?


Oh, and Skulduggery was very happy to hear that the Americans kept up their side of the bargain. Nice going, fellas.

Twits...?

Wayyyyyyy too busy to write a proper Blog thingy- you'll be happy to know that I am 13,320 words into Book 8- but can I just ask why I have so many Twitter followers?

I DON'T TWEET ANYTHING. 


I don't even know how to re-tweet. Or do anything.

I also only follow two people- Gina Carano, who rarely tweets, and Ronda Rousey, who only stops tweeting when she's asleep.

In fact, on the run-up to her UFC debut in February, Ronda and her mum have organised this cool "feed the hungry" competition. Basically, you log on, answer some questions, and for every answer you get right, the advertisers on the site donate 10 grains of rice to the World Food Program. It's free, it's fun, you're helping people AND you're proving how much smarter you are than your fellow Minions.

How could you resist?

Go to Ronda's mum's blog (her mum is a Judo blackbelt... how cool is that?), follow the link and try your luck.

http://drannmaria.blogspot.com

Also, for all you Twitter people, could you take a picture of the Ronda Rousey mention in chapter 52 of KOTW and send it to her? I would, but I haven't a clue how. My genius lies in other areas. Like cookies.



And on an unrelated note...

Big congratulations to Em and Chase.

The Button

This story- which I had intended to be REALLY REALLY short and funny and quirky- eventually became a little longer. And a lot less funny. But this is it.

And it will come down at midnight, Irish time, on the 22nd...



Somewhere in the distance, a train rattled on its tracks.
Liam sat in his kitchen with the curtains drawn, the lamp on the table casting its searing eye over his handiwork. It was the size of a shoebox, and wooden. Heavy. Inside were things he did not, could not, understand. There were gears and levers and finely balanced cogs and symbols painstakingly etched into it all. He didn’t know what they meant, didn’t know what they were for, but he had seen them in his head for as long as he could remember. Transferring those symbols to metal and wood, after all these years, was... well, it was wonderful. It was a relief. It was like he’d been tense his whole life, every muscle knotted and his teeth gritted and his eyes screwed shut, and now suddenly he was relaxing, and a strange sort of euphoric calm spread through him.
He took a screwdriver from the junkyard of tools on the table and fixed the lid in place. His hands were covered in nicks and cuts. He had run out of plasters days ago. Some of the cuts still stung. There were particular gears and symbols that required blood. He didn’t know why- he just knew that they did. He saw it in his head. He always had. This device, this box, these designs, these gears and levers and symbols- they had always been a part of who he was. This was all he thought about. It was why he didn’t finish school. It was why he couldn’t hold a job. It was why Cathy had left him. This device had ruined any chance he’d ever had at happiness- but here it was, finished. A wooden box with a big red button on its lid.
Liam straightened his back. Vertebrae cracked. How long had he been sitting hunched over like that? How long had he been sitting here? He became suddenly aware of how full his bladder was, and how empty his stomach. He needed to go for a walk. He needed fresh air. Was it even daytime? The curtains were closed and everywhere but the table was in darkness. It was night. But what night? Was it still the weekend?
There was something over by the door, a shape in the gloom. Like a man, standing very still. Liam squinted at it, then turned his head, looked at it out of the corner of his eye. No matter how he viewed the thing, this coat or this shadow or whatever it was, it still looked like a man. A tall man. In a hat.

Liam frowned at it.
“Hello Liam,” said the man.
A bolt of fear and fright shot from Liam’s belly to his chest, but his body remained still. Would his legs even work if he tried to jump up? He’d been sitting here for so long he doubted it.
Liam’s mouth was dry. How long had it been since he’d taken a drink of water? His voice cracked. The question he asked was not who are you or what do you want, two questions he felt needed answers, but rather, “How long have you been standing there?”
“Just a few minutes,” said the man. He had a reassuring voice. It was smooth. “You didn’t hear me come in. You were otherwise occupied. What is that you’ve got there?”
“You can’t have it,” said Liam. “If you want to rob me, rob me. I have a little money somewhere. But you can’t have this.”
“I’m not here to rob you,” said the man. “What happens if you press that button, Liam?”
The pressure on his bladder, the dryness of his mouth, the emptiness of his belly, and now a headache, rising slowly from the heat that was stinging his skin and making him sweat. He felt sick. He was sick. He needed to lie down.
“I don’t know,” said Liam.
The tall man in the hat moved his head ever so slightly. “You don’t know what it does? But you made it, didn’t you?”
Liam nodded.
“How did you know what to do?”
“I’ve always known,” said Liam. “My whole life, I’ve known. I had these images in my head. But I couldn’t see them clear enough until... sorry, what date is it?”
“The twenty-first,” said the tall man. “Four days before Christmas.”
Liam frowned. “That can’t be right. It was the eighth just... just a few days ago.”
“Time got away from you,” said another voice in the gloom, somewhere over by the window. It was a girl’s voice.
“Who are you?” Liam asked at last.
“No one in particular,” said the man. “We have a job to do, that’s all. We help people.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You may not,” said the girl, “but everyone else does.” She walked forward a bit, until the peripheral glow from the lamp could pick out her features. She was pretty, with dark hair. Wearing black. Seventeen or eighteen, no older. “What does the button do?” she asked.
“I told you,” said Liam. “I don’t know.”
“Then why is your finger on it?”
He looked down. There it was, his finger, resting on the big red button like it had no intention of ever moving. He frowned. He couldn’t remember putting it there and yet... yet it seemed there could be no other possible place he could put it. On the button is where his finger belonged.
“I’m sorry,” Liam said, “I’m not feeling well.”
“Liam Delaney,” said the man, “take your finger off the button.”

And Liam almost did it. Without thinking, his finger raised a fraction of an inch before the weight of his obligation forced it back down again.
Obligation? What obligation? What the hell was going on?
“How did you do that?” he asked the man. “How did you make me do that?”
The man made a sound, like a dissatisfied grunt, and it was the girl who spoke. “How did you disobey? Did you take a name?”
“What?” said Liam. “What do you mean?”
“How did you disobey?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, do you understand? I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here.”
“They’re saying the world will end,” said the girl.
This stopped Liam for a moment. “What?”
“They’re saying the world will end,” the girl repeated. “Did you hear that?”
“Are you... are you talking about that Mayan thing? What about it? The Mayan calendar ends on the 21st of December. So what? It’s a calendar. They ran out of room or they stopped calculating or a new cycle begins again or something... I’m sorry, what does that have to do with anything? It’s nonsense.”
“Do you know what a Sensitive is, Liam?” the girl asked. “It’s a psychic. You believe in psychics?”
“No,” said Liam. “I don’t believe in astrology either, or tarot cards, or palm reading.”
The girl nodded. “Palm reading is silly. So is astrology. Most tarot card readers haven’t a clue what they’re doing. I met one once who assured me I had a happy life ahead of me- so she’s pretty obviously an idiot. But psychics have been predicting the end of the world, Liam, to coincide with the end of the Mayan calendar.”
“So?”
“So we think the end of the world starts here,” said the man.
Liam frowned. “In Ireland? You think the end of the world starts here in this country?”
“Actually I think it starts here in this kitchen.”
Liam blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can be, but rarely am.”
“And, what? You think this button kicks it all off?” Liam said, almost laughing. “You think that’s what I’ve been making? This is a box of gears and junk and things that don’t make sense! There is not a single computer chip or piece of technology in it. It’s not connected to anything. I don’t know what will happen when I push the button but whatever happens will happen in this box and this box alone. It’s not going to set off a chain reaction or it’s not going to explode or it’s not going to detonate nuclear warheads or... It’s just a silly box.”
“A silly box that has been in your head for your entire life,” said the man.
“But now it’s out,” said Liam. “It’s not in my head anymore. It’s gone. I don’t have to... I don’t have to think about it anymore.”
“How’s your mother, Liam?”
The smile faded from Liam’s face.
“She’s doing well, from what I gather,” the man continued. “Responding to the treatment. She still draws on the wall, of course. Strange symbols. Strange designs. Gears and levers and a big red button.”
“My mother is ill.”
The man nodded his head in the shadows. “Like her father before her. And his father before him. Stretching back through the generations. And all of you with this design on your minds. This box. That button. But you, Liam, you’re the only one who saw it clearly enough to construct it.”
“I’ve broken the cycle,” said Liam. “I’m not going to end up in an asylum like the rest of them. I’ve done it. I’ve made it. Now I get to have a normal life. Now that my duty is almost done, I get to be free of it.”
“What duty?” asked the girl.
The headache was getting worse. He was getting hotter. He probably had a fever. “Did I say duty? I don’t know. That’s not the word I meant to use.”
“But it’s the one you used,” said the man. “Do you have a duty, Liam? Is that what it feels like?”
“I’m not sure I... I...”
“That box has cursed your bloodline for hundreds of years,” the man said. “Maybe more. You were compelled to construct it, weren’t you? You didn’t have a choice. You may not even have been fully aware of what you were doing. You have a duty to that box, don’t you Liam?”
Liam nodded. “An obligation,” he whispered.
“An obligation to that box. Why is your finger on the button, Liam? Is that part of your obligation? Once you build it, you set it off?”
Something broke in Liam’s heart, and tears came to his eyes. “I have to press it,” he said, his face crumpling. “I just have to press it once and it’ll all be over. I’ll be able to walk away and never think about it again.”
“Pressing that button will hurt a lot of people.”
“It’s just a box,” Liam sobbed.
“It’s more than a box.”
“It’s just a box, I’m telling you. It doesn’t do anything. I’m not a scientist or an engineer. I’m just a man. I’m just ordinary. I wouldn’t know how to build anything that would hurt people. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to be able to walk away.”
There was a sound outside. A car pulling up. A line of light swept in through the crack in the curtains and brushed by the man’s jaw. It looked like his skin was white as chalk, or he was wearing a mask or something.
“Be right back,” said the man, and slipped out through the door.
“Who’s out there?” Liam asked.
“Some people,” said the girl. “There’s been a race to find you. We got here first.”
“What do they want?”
There was a cry from outside, and a sudden light like a bursting flame and then it was gone again.
“They want the box,” said the girl. “They want to sell it, or use it, or worship it. I don’t know. Some of these people just don’t make any sense to me. You look tired.”
“I feel sick.”
Outside there was another sound. Loud. Abrupt.
“Was that a gunshot?” asked Liam.
“It was,” said the girl.
“Aren’t you scared?”
“You’ve got your finger on a button that will end the world,” the girl said. “Why should I be scared of guns that aren’t even aimed at me?”
“I’m not going to end the world.”
“You’ve got your finger on the button.”
“I can barely work out how to make a call on my own phone- why do you think I know how to destroy the planet? This is ridiculous. Please leave me alone.”
“I wish we could. But if we do, you’ll press that button, and you’ll kill us all. You’ll kill my friends and my parents and my little sister. I can’t let you do that, Liam.”
“I won’t be hurting anyone. The box doesn’t do anything. It’s just a stupid box with a stupid button, but it’s been in my head for my entire life, like a constant whine in my ear. All I have to do to be rid of it is just press the thing. That’s all. Easy as that. I’ll press it, no one will get hurt, the world won’t end, and I won’t have to listen to that whine anymore. I won’t have to dream about gears and symbols. I’ll be able to close my eyes and not see how one cog fits into the other. I’ll be able to live in the kind of peace that my mother never could. You don’t... you don’t know. You don’t know what it was like, seeing her... seeing what happened to her. Seeing how bad it got. When I was ten years old she sat me down, she told me these dreams I had would only get worse. She told me they’d consume my life, like they were consuming hers. This is my chance to escape that madness. Please, just leave me alone. This is the only chance I’ll ever have.”
“It isn’t madness you’re suffering from,” said the girl. “My friend, the friend that’s out there right now fighting on your front lawn, told me what you are. You’re a conduit for an idea, an idea that was planted centuries ago. It’s grown inside the minds of your ancestors, been added to, been improved... and here tonight, it’s finally ready. You’re not mad, Liam. Your mother isn’t mad. You’re just open to a stream of information that the rest of us aren’t.”
“So who planted it?” Liam asked. “This idea you’re talking about. Whose idea was it? The Mayans?”
“The Maya people just foresaw the end,” said the man from beside the door. Liam hadn’t even heard him come back in. “They had nothing to do with this. We don’t know who started it. We don’t even know if ending the world was what was originally intended. All we know is that our Sensitives had visions of a man in a dark room, building a box, and when he pressed the button everything just... ended.”
“Then how did you know it was me?”
“They heard a train in the distance.”
“That’s it? That’s all?”
“That narrowed it down,” said the man. “A few other hints. A few other clues. Why haven’t you pushed the button?”
“Why haven’t I...? But you don’t want me to.”
“That’s not why you haven’t pushed it. Your finger’s on it. There’s nothing stopping you. Why haven’t you?”
“I don’t... I’m not sure.”
“It’s because you know that that isn’t just a silly box and that isn’t just a silly button. You believe us, don’t you?”
“No, I... Oh God. I don’t know.”
“Will you give us the box, Liam?”
“What will happen then?”
“We’ll take it somewhere safe,” said the girl. “We can’t dismantle it and we can’t destroy it- something might go wrong. But we’ll take care of it. We’ll hide it away where no one will ever find it.”
“It won’t be used to hurt anyone,” the man said. “I promise.”

“And me?” said Liam. “What will happen to me?”
The man hesitated. “I won’t lie to you. You’ll probably always feel that urge to push the button. That won’t go away. You’ll have to live with it for the rest of your life.”
“But I’m so close. I’m so close to leaving it behind.”
“We’re asking you to make a sacrifice,” the girl said. “We’re asking you to continue living with this so that the rest of the world can continue living. Please, Liam.”
More tears now, but they came silently. Liam lifted his finger from the button, and with his other hand he pushed the box slowly across the table. The girl came forward to take it. She wore a black ring, Liam noticed. For a moment it seemed to play with the shadows, and then the girl was lifting the box and stepping back, taking great care.
The last remaining dregs of strength drained from Liam’s body. He was exhausted, confused, scared, and all he wanted to do was lunge across the table and push that big red button before the girl took it away.
“Thank you,” said the man, and Liam just nodded.
The man looked down at something- a pocketwatch?- and opened the door. “Two hours until midnight,” he said. “Should be loads of time.”
“Loads of time for what?” Liam asked, even though he knew the man hadn’t been speaking to him.
The girl walked slowly out, taking the box with her. Liam forced himself to remain where he was.
“There’s a woman who believes the souls of all her dead lovers are trapped in the centre of the Earth,” said the man. “She wants to crack the world open to free them.”
Liam frowned. “Can she do it?”
“Yes. So we have to stop her before she kills us all.”
“But... but didn’t your psychics say that I’dbe responsible for the end of the world?”
“Some of them did, yes. And some others said that she would. We’ve averted eight potential apocalypses already today, and she’ll be our last. Once midnight comes, we can relax. Then we just have to hope the Americans don’t mess up.”
“The Americans?”
“A day can last 49 hours around the world,” said the man, walking out and leaving Liam sitting there at his kitchen table. “A lot can happen in a day.”

The End Is Nigh

How are we all?

Are we all nervous? Terrified, even? Are we all dreading December 21st, the last day on Earth as predicted by the Mayans? Although, as Jon Stewart pointed out on The Daily Show, the Mayans haven't exactly got the best track record as far as predicting the end of civilisations go... to wit, the Mayans...

But I digress.

So how will you be spending the last day on Earth? Will you be surrounded by loved ones? Will you be sobbing into a tub of ice cream? Will you, in fact, forget all about the end of the world because you still haven't got your Christmas shopping done?

Or will you be reading a very special end-of-the-world short story as posted on this very Blog- a short story that will ONLY be available on the 21st and 22nd before being taken down-  in which Skulduggery and Valkyrie track down the cause of the world's destruction and do their very best to avert it? A short story called "The Button"?

Hmm? Is THAT what you'll be doing?

The Maleficent Seven

BOOM!

IN YOUR FACE!!

Ladies and gentlemen and Minions of dubious gender, I give you the cover- with text and without- to The Maleficent Seven.

Rejoice, puny humans, for the ArtGod Percival has delivered his most brain-smashing cover yet.


And the world is a happy place.

Molly's Blog Post

Okay FINE, so we're all waiting for the Tanith cover... It's looking like a Friday reveal right now- so long as we suffer no more delays. Believe me, once you see it you'll know it's been worth the wait. Tom's best cover. Ever.


Speaking of awesome covers, take a look at these.


Isn't that brilliant? There is literally nothing about this cover that I do not love. And there's more!


I know Suz Korb is a Blog-reader and she's commented a few times, but just take a look at these books she's written. And the titles! Pulpy, trashy, and so much FUN.


You know that old saying, never judge a book by its cover? That's not always applicable. People who judge my books by Tom's covers know exactly what they're getting- awesomeness on a page. And if a writer has enough taste to approve these covers, as Ms Korb obviously does, then that bodes very well for what's inside. From what I know, they're all available online.



Okay, I didn't actually intend to show all of these covers, but once I started I just couldn't stop.



This Blog post, by the way, is for a girl called Molly, who I met today in Forbidden Planet in Dublin. There I was, perusing the shelves, building up the stack of comics in my hand, and then I hear a "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?" from right beside me. I turn, and there stands a fifteen-year old in a really odd hat. 
She was, as you can imagine, overjoyed at meeting me. We talked about her nonsensical love of all things Transformers (except the movies- she has issues with the movies) and her appreciation of Batman and how she never could get into Wonder Woman. That led to a conversation about lassoes, and then to a conversation about lassoing horses, and then to a conversation about how cowboys don't lasso horses, they just run after them when they want to catch them. Bless her, she has a small brain. 
So this is a Blog post for Molly. Happy birthday Molly. 


I've been watching some movies lately. I saw The Amazing Spider-Man last week. Not as bad as I'd been led to believe. I quite enjoyed it, in fact. Andrew Garfield didn't have to cry NEARLY as much as Tobey Maguire, and of course Emma Stone is just divine. I could watch her in anything.

The Dark Knight Rises is out now, of course, but I'd already seen that in the cinema. Not perfect, and some of the story just refuses to make any kind of sense, but a fitting end to the trilogy. I am in awe of Christopher Nolan's ability to generate atmosphere, and then use that atmosphere to make the audience dread what is about to happen.

I've been playing games as well. Just finished Hitman: Absolution. Awesome stuff. I want to play it again and not fire a single shot. Now that's a challenge...

I had been playing the new Assassin's Creed game, but got bored.

Dishonored, however, is a game that did not bore me. The thought and the imagination that went into building that world is staggering. Loved it.

Basically, I've been fitting as much as possible into the last few weeks because I think I've started Book 8... It's all very random at the moment, very casual, just writing a few bits and pieces, a few scenes here and there... but yeah... I think I've actually started. I had a look at the plot a few days ago, to remind myself of what's in store. I've already got it planned out to a degree- I did that a week or two after finishing KOTW- and wow. A LOT happens in this book. Like, SERIOUSLY. It's going to take a lot of planning on my part. War is like that. Complicated. Got to remember who's on who's side and where they are and when certain things take place and who's around when certain people DIE HORRIBLY.

Be warned. There will be horror. There will be slaughter. There will be betrayal and hatred and love and there WILL be blood.

Tanith Cover REVEALED!

I hope you're all as thrilled with Tom Percival's artwork as I am!
Let's say no more about it!
(Other than to say, perhaps, that this may not be the FINAL artwork, and that maybe the art department need a FEW more days to tweak the colours, and that maybe, possibly, this piece might not even be by the hand of Mr Percival.)
(But let's face it, it's hard to tell the difference, right?)

And The Award Goes To...

The Irish Book Awards were held last night in Dublin and the last Artemis Fowl book beat out KOTW to emerge triumphant, giving Eoin Colfer a much deserved win. He went on the make the funniest speech of the evening while wearing the most dashing cravat I've ever seen on a real life person. Big congratulations to Eoin.

A few other people also won for, like, other categories- including Katie Taylor in the Best Sports Book. I really really really wanted to meet her and she was RIGHT THERE in front of me but then I was called away for a photo, and then there were a few people who wanted napkins signed, and when I looked around again she was gone. Dammit. I always thought she looked so petite on screen, but in person she is physically IMPRESSIVE. Here she is with Cecelia Ahern- one of my top two favourite writer-type-people that I know.


It was a fun night- it always is- but very well behaved and restrained when compared to last year. Ah, last year... what fond, fond memories I have...

My editor Nick came over for it, so we were chatting about the Tanith novella and he reckons it needs only the barest of edits. What does that mean for you guys? It basically means it'll stay at around the 54,000 word mark and I won't have to cut anything out. Apart from, apparently, all those mentions of Tanith in a bikini. I sincerely don't see the problem. It's not like I have her running around nekkid or anything.

Ooh, maybe I should...