Katherine Vick's Blog, page 10

The Perfect Place to Write

A friend asked me lately – what’s the perfect place to write? And I found that an interesting question. It certainly isn’t one that any two people are likely to give the same answer to. Everyone has their own preferences and their own ideals – as is typical with life, everyone is different. For example – ignoring for a moment current world circumstances, I can’t imagine writing in a busy coffee shop. I would imagine most of us have seen – or indeed, some of you may have been – that person sat in the corner on the big, comfy leather chair with the laptop and the rapidly cooling cappuccino, beavering away at the keyboard to create their latest epic. And it seems to have worked for JK Rowling.
But I know it wouldn’t work for me as I am, quite simply, too easily distracted. Every noise, every hiss of steam, every bubble of laughter, slam of the door, clink of the cup – I’d be looking up, looking over, looking around and distraction for me, when I write, is fatal. It jolts my mind out of the concentrated state of the place and character I am trying to create and once my mind wanders off, it’s very hard to drag the blighter back to what it is supposed to be concentrating on. I can’t even write with music on, at least not music with words, as I just end up listening/singing along to the song rather than what I am supposed to be doing. My brain takes a perverse delight in finding ways to inhibit my focus.
That is the reason that public spaces in general wouldn’t suit me. Even my local library, much as I enjoy spending lunch hours there quietly reading a book, isn’t a place I could write in. There are too many crying children, too many people on phones, too many tapping computers and whirring printers, too many Job Centre interviews and general back and forth in there. Libraries are no longer places of silence. And so distractions abound.
Now I do love to imagine myself writing in the great outdoors. I love being in beautiful places and spending time soaking them up and surely that would be a fine time to stretch one’s writing muscles? Seated by a shining lake with a backdrop of rolling hills perhaps or a peaceful, sandy beach with the sea lapping at my toes or a lonely mountainside with a stunning panorama – all of those are places where I am happy and relaxed and surely the words would flow. But the trouble is, much as I love this idea in my heart, my head is quick to point out the realities of wind and weather – notebooks tugged by breezes and laptops soaked by rain, the uncomfortable positions I would almost certainly have to adopt to practically work there and, of course, the view. I know me. I’d be looking at the prettiness rather than concentrating on what I was supposed to be doing. Rather than writing in such places, I’d prefer to just be inthen.
So where does that leave me? I’ve often wondered, if life and money were no object, the kind of writing space I would create for myself. I picture a Hogwartesque book-lined study most often, with a big picture window and stunning view, replica swords hanging over the roaring fireplace and a huge, wooden desk and large, cosy chair. I even know the location of the house I’d like to put it in. But... I’m not rich. Unless you, dear readers, all suddenly go out on mad The Disposable spending sprees, I’m unlikely to ever be either. So I know in my heart, I’m not likely to ever get much beyond my current writing space – a dinky converted spare bedroom, piled high with books and camping equipment and with a view of trees out of the window.
And you know what? It works for me. I can concentrate here – as long as my neighbours keep it down – or gaze out the window at the swaying trees when inspiration fails me and I’m trying to scoop it back. I can reach the thesaurus. It’s not far to the loo. I have biscuits. All is well.
So I suppose what I’m stumbling around trying to say is – the perfect place to write is wherever works for you. Outdoors or indoors, public or private, vast or minute, write wherever the writing wants you to. Wherever it's going well. Wherever the words just come. Perfect is where writing happens.

It's Nice to Be Liked...

Darcia Helle, Top 100 Amazon reviewer, likes my book!

Taking a Long, Hard Look

As anyone who has read my work must realise, I have very strong views on life being fair. It really matters to me that everyone has the same opportunities and chances in life, that no one be pushed down or denied on the grounds of their birth and social standing like my Disposables are, or discriminated against for the way they look or chose to live, like Dullard. I think that everyone deserves a fair shot at living or getting themselves the life they want, regardless of who they are.
But the world itself doesn’t help there. Because, she says as she dusts off her old cultural studies brain cells from her long ago Geography degree, the culture in which one grows up materially affects what every person within it considers “normal”. Viewpoints on what is acceptable and what isn’t, on what society should be and, more importantly, everyone’s place in it are ingrained into its inhabitants from a very young age without most people even realising. And so it can be that persons in one culture may accept and consider as a normal part of society something which those raised in a different culture would find abhorrent. A society makes its own rules and layers them into its people, encouraging them not to think twice. It makes its idea of normal into instinct. And those mass instincts can then suppress and impede the lives of those at the wrong end of them.
Such are the ponderings novels are made of. But one of the many reasons I created this story was because I think it matters so much to get people thinking about exactly what their society is. To, just like Fodder and his friends, highlight the injustices that hide under the banner of “just the way things are” and bring them out of the shadows. To encourage everyone to take a step back and have a long, hard look at the world around them and how it shapes both their lives and those of others. Normal can be pervasive – it’s not always easy to look past it or even know it’s there.  And it can be very hard to let go of feelings and instincts people have lived with all their lives. I know I struggle sometimes. It’s the comfort of the familiar versus the fear of the unknown. What will the new shape of life be if it isn’t the one we know? And where will we fit into it?
I do think it is important to be gentle with these people. Some will never change their minds, that’s just a fact of life, what they feel they know is too powerful , too much a part of who they are for them to let go of and they will never see anything outside the cocoon in which they were raised. But most – I think they can take that long, hard look if they are given the chance to. If they are coaxed, educated, helped to see their world as it looks from another’s perspective , they can see things differently. It won’t be comfortable for many, but I hope so much more will try.  
Letting someone realise for themselves what is unjust in the world around them and making a conscious decision to move past it is the most powerful lesson in the world. It’s never going to be easy. But it will always be worthwhile.

The Joys of the Self-Promoting Introvert

I think it’s fair to say – marketing? Not my strong suit.
I’m doing my best. Honestly, I am. If anyone out there is actually reading this, it’s possible I’m not even doing too badly. But the trouble is, I’m just too me for it.
I’m British. Old School British. Not for me the desperate yearning to wander round in a bikini on Love Island (trust me, it would be deeply traumatic for all concerned!) or to warble forth upon some TV talent fest with all eyes fixed upon me, trying to decide if I will sink back into obscurity or grace the pages of the gossip magazines forever more. No, I’m British in the sense that jumping up and down and shouting “Look at me and the wonderful thing I’ve created!” fills me with a deep and existential embarrassment to the fullest extent of my soul. It’s like a spiritual cringe. I just can’t praise my own work. It feels wrong at a fundamental level to be so horribly immodest as to suggest that something I’ve made might not be too bad. Oh, I can joke about it, make self-deprecating remarks about my glorious work or daft comments about its magnificence but I would curl up in a ball and hide if I thought anyone expected me to mean it.
And that’s not to mention feeling the burn of the eyes of my nation upon me. One must not boast. One must not be pushy or harass. Be polite and don’t assume anyone has to care. It is the way things should be done.
Unless you’re on X-Factor...
And then there’s the fact that marketing means having to talk to strangers. Now, there’s probably plenty of nice folks out there thinking – what’s wrong with talking to strangers? And you know what – I envy you, you lucky blighters. It must be wonderful to go through life not weighed down with a diabolical dread every time you are required to hold any manner of contact with another unfamiliar human being. It’s like a special kind of torture. My brain – with whom I don’t always get on – takes a particular delight in pointing out that I’m probably being annoying or that no one will be interested in hearing from me or that I’m being a nuisance and I shouldn’t impose. It’s not a fantastic incentive to start a conversation about your book.
And then, of course, there is the joyful prospect of failure. I know I’m rubbish at this sort of thing. I know I find it horribly tough. So what if I completely cock it up? I know it’s possible. I hope I won’t. But one of the joys of an anxious disposition is that little poke just to remind you that you might.
And so, I’m sure you can understand why I find it a bit difficult at times to throw myself into book promotion activities with gusto and verve. Ever tried to big yourself up on social media while curled up in a jittery ball of insecurity and embarrassment, sucking your thumb and rocking? It’s tricky, let me tell you. The typing alone...
So all in all, that makes trying to run around and persuade people to buy one’s book a bit of an awkward experience. And I’m being honest with all of you about it in the hope you will understand and forgive me for my lack of competence at it. This isn’t a great play for sympathy, never fear. I just wanted anyone who reads this to understand and maybe, if they have the same feelings and the same difficulties in their own lives, to know that they aren’t the only ones.
And also to know - as I’ve said, I’m still doing my best. I’m taking lots of deep breaths. I’m telling myself it’s for the greater good. Whether it’s all worth it is for the future to decide. But hard as I find it sometimes, I have to try. Some things are too important not to.
So if you are in the same leaky, anxious boat as me, I hope you’ll give it a try too.  Maybe it’ll be worth it for all of us.

Inside The Royal Palace - The Realm in Lockdown

A bit of silliness to toss out at the world today. I’m afraid this is what happens when I start pondering how two of my characters in particular would cope if the Royal Palace of The Realm happened to go into a lockdown situation. Please forgive me for stealing a line from the BBC’s 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice too, but it just fitted too beautifully in both word and sentiment. I blame the BBC for repeating it. ;)
******************
KNOCK KNOCK.
“Hello sir, no need to open the door. It’s Pious the Priest here, just checking in on behalf of the Officious Courtiers to see how you are coping in this unprecedented isolation?”
“No need to call me sir, honestly! And coping? You know, I really am absolutely fine. In fact – well, I hate to say so, given the dreadful situation and all but... This has actually been a bit of a godsend! I’ve got so much done! I mean, all those rock samples, I was so behind on cataloguing them and now, everything’s neatly sorted and put away...”
“That’s good, sir. Now...”
“I finished my stratigraphy diagrams of the geology of those caves in the Most Savage Mountains, which really is absolutely fascinating to observe, given the way the different layers of rock contribute to make those really jagged peaks...”
“How nice, sir. But...”
”And  I’ve caught up on so much reading and had a proper go through of my notes, which is just marvellous.  I’m having ideas that would never have occurred otherwise! Not to mention...”
“All very well, sir, but if you’ll permit me to ask something?”
“Oh goodness yes, you don’t need to listen to be rambling away! Do carry on.”
“How are you doing, sir? Is there anything more you need?”
“Well... of course, I do feel rather sad that I can’t go into the mountains at the moment or practice my sword-smithing down at the forge but... well, I suppose I don’t need those things, do I? I mean one has to make the best of things, doesn’t one?”
“Well, indeed, sir. But I was referring to more practical things. Do you have everything you need to get by in your chambers? Are the meals the Servants are delivering sufficient?”
“Ah, yes, I meant to say – you know I feel that since I have a perfectly good cauldron and fireplace right here, that it’s a dreadful imposition to still expect the Servants to trouble themselves going down to the kitchens for me. Some firewood and a supply of ingredients are really all I need. If it’s safe, I would even be quite happy to go and collect them myself so as not to put them to any trouble...”
“That’s what they are there for, sir.”
“Yes, but still... Surely they have as much right to stay safe as the rest of us! I mean...”
“It’s a nice thought, sir, but since your Royal brethren are still requesting their services, it wouldn’t make much difference to them missing one door out.”
“Oh, well. Still, ask them, won’t you? If it would help?”
“If you say so, sir. Now, one final matter? How are you managing in isolation? Are you missing your Family?”
“Well, it’s an awful shame not to be able to catch up with Mother and Uncle Primp...”
“I was referring more to the Royal Family at large, sir, and the Palace’s regular social gatherings?”
“Oh. Those. Well, you know me, Pious. I find I can bear the solitude very cheerfully.”
“I’m sure you can, sir. Keep safe.”
“Yes, of course. And you too!”
******************
KNOCK KNOCK.
“Hello madam, no need to open the door. It’s Pious the Priest here, just checking in...”
DOOR SLAMS OPEN.
“This is unacceptable, do you hear me? How is anyone supposed to live like this? I want my Maid back in here right now, or I will make your life a living hell, do you understand? Have you seen my hair?”
“I can now, madam. Perhaps if you could close the door? The precautions, you understand...”
DOOR SLAMS SHUT.
“Thank you, madam. Now, as to your Maid - I’m sure you understand in these difficult times...”
“Difficult times? What do you know about difficult? I am having to do every single thing for myself! I’m brushing my own hair! Dressing myself! I have to carry those dreadful, mucky cauldrons inside my own chambers and serve my own food like some kind of... of peasant! I dropped my best silk handkerchief under the bed yesterday and actually had to bend down and retrieve it from that awful spot with no help whatsoever. And it’s filthy under there, who’s going to clean that up? I demand you send back my Maid! Now!”
“I’m sorry, madam, that really isn’t possible. As the Servants live in their own quarters, she isn’t a part of your household...”
DOOR SLAMS OPEN.
“Not a part of my household? What do you think this building is? This entire Palace is my household and she’s a part of it. Send her back immediately!”
“This building has seven hundred rooms, madam. It’s a little bigfor one household. And... the door?”
DOOR SLAMS SHUT.
“Now madam, I’ve been asked to check on whether or not you have everything you need to get by in your chambers...”
“I need my MAID!”
“And that your meals from the Servants are sufficient...”
“That cauldron slop! How am I expected to eat without a properly set up banqueting hall? Where’s the silverware? The goblets? The dribbling candlesticks? The Servants to bring me whatever I need? It’s totally unreasonable!”
“And how you are coping without seeing your Family?”
“I worry more for them. I shudder to think how much they must be yearning for my company by now. My poor parents, how they must be suffering without me....”
“I saw them earlier, madam. They seemed in quite good spirits.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your parents, madam. I thought you’d like to know. They are coping quite well.”
“Wait. They aren’t pining for me? They aren’t rending their garments and sobbing in desperate want of my company?”
“Ummm... not that I could see, madam.”
DOOR SLAMS OPEN.
“How dare you? You come down here, refuse to return my Maid, expect me to dirty my fingernails like some common wench and eat slop from a cauldron and now you have the gall to tell me my family isn’t even writhing in grievous pain at my absence? That was all that was keeping me going, the thought that they missed me more than they could bear and you, you’ve destroyed that beautiful picture! This is intolerable behaviour. I’ve half a mind to call the Palace Guard!”
“The Guard have been furloughed, madam. But if there is any more we can do to help you to look after yourself or cope better in isolation...”
DOOR IS SLAMMED SHUT AGAIN.
“Very well, madam. Keep... safe.”
“BEGONE, WRETCH!”
“Yes, madam. Whatever you say, madam....”

Lessons Learned In Lockdown

Over the course of the last week, as an exercise in sanity maintenance (never easy at the best of times), I have taken to scribbling down observations about life and the world as it stands within reach of me at the moment in a conveniently placed notebook. I sincerely doubt they make a drop of sense but I thought I’d share them anyway. Just cos...
One of the children who plays in a nearby garden makes a noise that sounds like an ailing peacock has mated with the sound effects cartridge of a 1980s computer game. I find this disconcerting.
I have a dripping tap in my flat. I swear it’s getting faster.
The kindness of strangers can prevent scurvy. Or so it seems to someone who is currently dependent on the lovely people from her local corner shop to deliver her milk and vegetables.
I like birdsong. It’s nice to hear that normal life is going about its business for someone. Though that song thrush does sound disconcertingly like a fire alarm.
Working from home on one’s own dining table is a strange experience. Dinner is cramped. And careful. I’m not sure work would appreciate me returning a laptop garnished with casserole.
Even under current conditions, I still have more books than I can hope to read. Possibly ever.
That tap is speeding up. I’d put money on it. Either that or it’s making fun of me.
My smoke alarm lets off little chirps when the power goes out. I learned this in the pitch black at 4am this morning. It also gives off a triumphant and loud beebeep when the power comes back. To judge by the sudden increase in footsteps and doors slamming from the surrounding flats, I suspect my neighbours have learned this too. I believe they will have appreciated it as much as I did.
It is becoming increasing difficult to think of stimulating and interesting conversation to share when on the phone to family members. My repertoire of witty life experiences has been on the wane of late. It’s like dredging a puddle with a colander.
When spending a lot of time alone, hearing your letter box clatter is weirdly exciting. It’s like a handshake from the outside world.
Why fireworks, honestly? Just clap, you try hards...
My recently acquired settee and I have become very close lately. I sense the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
You know, once you hear a dripping tap, it’s very, very hard to stop hearing it again. It’s like audio water torture.
I’ve missed smelling the first scent of Spring. Perhaps this is just me. But there’s a moment every year when, for some reason you can’t even put your finger on, you sniff the air and realise Spring is on its way. It’s nothing in particular and I never know it until it happens but it always makes me smile when it does. While I’m sad I haven’t had that moment this year though, I have enjoyed watching the green creep into the trees behind my home, working its way up covering branch to branch with leaves as it reaches for the sky. Every day is something brand new.
Working from home has its good and bad sides. On the one hand, biscuits are readily available. On the other hand, biscuits are readily available.
It’s ridiculous how tiring it is to just stay at home. I’m starting to wonder if commutes were designed as a stimulant.
I miss going outside. A lot.
My neighbour’s dog barks like Scooby-doo. I can’t remember if they have a camper van.
It’s amazing how many major film and TV stars show up disconcertingly young when one is living off DVDs one bought in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Mark Ruffalo and Ryan Phillippe have shown up in the last two episodes of Due South alone. Jason Clarke and Ben Mendelsohn both appeared under heavy alien disguise in Farscape too. My ancient DVD collection is like an episode of “Before They Were Famous.”
I really, really, really want a TARDIS. Preferably with David Tennant in it.
The time has come. For the sake of my sanity, I need to shift that ruddy tap over the plughole. Do excuse me.
I CAN STILL HEAR IT. There’s no escape...
[PS – the odd thing was, it turns out I wasn’t imagining the tap getting faster or louder. It happend they were doing water works in my area and they’d increased pipe pressure as a prelude to them turning my water off altogether! Luckily it came back a few hours later but, hey, at least I haven’t going completely bonkers... Well. Yet. ;p]

Some Ponderings on Being Home Alone

It’s a strange thing, to spend a long time on your own.
I’ll be frank – as a socially awkward introvert, it’s something I actually enjoy in normal life. I’m a nervous ball of performance anxiety in the company of other humans. When I do find the courage to speak, my ability to insert my foot into my mouth and wiggle it around is fairly legendary amongst those who know me and when I’m by myself, I can say or do whatever stupid thing I like and keep the embarrassment personal instead of public. It takes the pressure off.
And I like being at home. It’s my comfortable place, where I can relax surrounded by things I love and take a deep breath away from the outside world. My home is my little me cocoon where I can curl up and shut everything out for a while. It’s where I hibernate from life.
But the key words there are – for a while. Because it’s ever so odd that so often in life I’ve wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow contentedly in my own space indefinitely but as soon as I don’t have a choice in the matter, I feel a mighty urge to get out and see other people. It’s ridiculous by my standards, but it’s true. Perhaps it’s the simple contrast of needing to be reminded of their existence other than figures on the television, the sound of children playing in nearby back gardens and the disembodied voices of some distant neighbours having an almighty row about something or other late at night and keeping me awake for hours (I’d say I’m not bitter but... I’d be lying...). Or perhaps I’m more sociable than I realised. Perhaps.
But... life is what it is right now. I’m having little sparks of social interaction, by phone and Skype and online and occasional deliveries of necessary goods. And, it’s strange to say, but in looking around my home itself, I’ve come to realise that, in some special way, I’m surrounded by pieces of people that I love and reminders of the world how it should be that can take me into wonderful places and memories without ever leaving home.
There’s the table and bureau I inherited from my grandparents that remind me of wonderful childhood times spent in their home, granddad teaching my brother and I about garden birds, the smell of grandma’s roast dinners, playing Jack Attack on the Commodore 16. There’s the photo of my lovely nieces taken on my special rock in the Lake District that I’ve visited and had my picture taken on every time I’ve ever been there. My brother took that especially for me and had it framed to remind me of my favourite spot. There’s the comfy, familiar little settee that sat in my parents’ home for years (given to me kindly because I couldn’t afford a new one) that I can snuggle into and think of mum and dad. There’s the Harry Potter wand and assorted other charming gifts my best friend gave me – not to mention the door stop rock I picked up on a Welsh beach for the university house I shared with her and still use on my front door today, taking me back to younger, more carefree times.
Then there’s my unintended amaryllis collection, two gifts from two aunts that have split and spread into a lovely green windowsill jungle of five. My favourite childhood books still live sentimentally on my shelf (good old Dragons, Giants and Witches) reminding me of happy adventures when young, with the odd but pleasant sight of my own book now alongside them. My heaps of camping gear aren’t precisely a pretty vista but they remind me of the fun had at various medieval re-enactments. All of these things tell me what my life is and the people in it who matter, even if we are all a little socially distanced right now.
So I think what I’m trying to say is – even if you are alone in your homes right now, your life is all around you. Have a look at the things that fill it, find those happy recollections and let them replay in your head and you won’t be alone because the people who helped make those memories are always there for you within them or beyond. And then all you have to do is smile.

On The Matter of Maps

First rule of fantasy writing – always start with a map.



Now, I admit that may seem a bit of an odd concept given the nature of the book I’ve written and the fact that the landscape of my world is, by its very nature, of no fixed abode.  But the fact of the matter is, that rule still has to apply for one simple reason – I wouldn’t have a clue where my characters were or needed to go without one. And if I’m confused – what chance does any reader stand?
The above began life as a pencil scribble on a handy piece of A4 paper, created quite messily and on the hop as the story developed. The fact it looks so shiny today is entirely due to the efforts of my good friend Kerry, who kindly applied her skills in Paint to said scribble and made it look thus.
I love a good map. I grew up around them, did a degree that heavily involved them and I take an absurd amount of pleasure inventing my own. I openly admit I’d be rubbish at creating a real one ala the good old Ordnance Survey – I did my time at university stood in a boggy Welsh valley with a surveying pole and tape measure and am quite happy never to go back – but I enjoy looking at ones that already exist, because they contain the potential of a place. A good map is often all you need for a good holiday – if you know how to read the contours and colours and symbols, you can find the places of beauty, places of interest and history, fascinating little roads or sweeping vistas and things you wouldn’t even notice or know were there, with barely any other research. A map is the key to unlocking a place. It tells you its possibilities.
And it’s the same when it comes to a fantasy map. Looking at that can tell you a great deal about the story you are about to read. If there are open farmlands or cosy, hilly corners – that’s where you’ll find the good guys, the simple homely folk from which humble origin many a Boy of Destiny has sprung. Dramatic big cities by sweeping rivers or castles balanced on lonely upthrusts of land will house the Royal or Noble elite. Open grasslands breed sturdy horse folk with swish ponytails. Ruined, ancient cities in creepy, tangled forests will inevitably invoke an attack by unpleasant beasties. And of course any craggy, vicious, almost impassable mountains will be home to the fastnesses of evil. Throw in a big volcano and a desiccated wasteland and you know an enormous figure in black armour will be bestriding to crush his cowering enemies not too far away.
And in this way, the map creates the story almost as much as the story creates the map. It’s a symbiosis in its own way. In drawing the map, the writer wants to use as much of the landscape as they can, which in itself creates directions of travel, incidents and adventures. The geography of a place, even a fictional one, breeds the idea of the kind of people who would live there and how those people in turn would react to the appearance of a Merry Band. Landscape creates culture. Maps define landscape. When it comes to creating a good story - maps matter.
I would say that of course. I’m a bit obsessed by them. Heck, it took me three years to get that geography degree and I really feel I ought to be using it for something. But take it from me – a map is a darned good guidebook to reality and fiction. And it’s always worth exploring.

It's... Here!

The Disposable by Katherine Vick, now available to purchase in paperback and e-book form from all good Amazon websites. :)

For the paperback:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1951471024/
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1951471024/

For the e-book:


https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0854QDX5D
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0854QDX5D


The Narrative Must Be ObeyedEveryone in the Taskmaster’s Realm knows how the story goes: the boy of destiny goes on a quest, defeats the dark lord, and gets the swooning princess. It’s a great story, if you happen to be a knight or a wizard or a hero. But it’s pretty odious if you’re Ordinary: a barmaid who has to inflate her bosom and have her backside pinched, a homely prince who can’t buckle his swash because his face doesn’t fit, or a soldier who gets killed over and over and over again just to progress the plot.Fodder of Humble Village is one of those soldiers, and, frankly, he’s sick and tired of getting speared, decapitated, and disembowelled twice a day so the good guys can look glorious. In fact, he’s not going to take it anymore.No matter what The Narrative tries to make him do.


"Weird (in a good way), maniacally funny, and so, so clever. I honestly didn't want it to end and can't wait for Book 2."
​- Kerry C. Nicholls
"Katherine Vick brings us the funniest and most original fantasy adventure novel I've read in years. I loved every page, and cannot wait to read more."
​- Mark Tolley

An Interview with Fodder

In honour of publication day - a little insight into my main character. Though do forgive him, he's not very verbose... ;p

1. What was your life like growing up in Humble Village?
Well... it was Ordinary. I did my bit as an Urchin, scampered about In Narrative when it needed me, messed about with my mates like Flirt and Shoulders when it didn’t. And then I joined the Disposables. It was what it was. Nothing bad but nothing special – just as it was supposed to be.
2. Tell us about the event that started the rebellion, from your point of view.
That’s a tricky one, really. It was hard to define, I’d just... had enough. I don’t even know where that feeling came from, it just kind of crept up on me. I was angry at life in a way I’d never really been before. And then suddenly I was free and doing things I shouldn’t have been able to. Something just...changed.
3. If you had the choice, what kind of character would you want to play?
Ah, you see, that’s just it. I’m not bothered about playing anyone in particular. It’s having the choice that’s the thing. I’d just like to have a say in where my life goes next. I’ll decide where that is when I get there.
4. What was it like hauling Pleasance across The Realm?
Ask Shoulders – he did most of the heavy lifting! Probably the politest term would be an experience.  A more honest term would be a pain in the ruddy arse! Gods, that girl has a pair of lungs...
5. Do you believe there was a childhood cause for Shoulders's rebellion, or is this a sudden change?
Ummm... if you mean why did Shoulders come with me...  Technically, he would say he didn’t, I dragged him into it! And he’s my mate and he didn’t want to drop me in it with Strut. I feel a bit guilty about that to be honest. I mean, Flirt, I could have seen that coming, she’s never been happy with her lot since we were kids but Shoulders, he never wanted a big life upheaval. Probably if it wasn’t for Clank and the head thing, he would have happily stayed home. I’m not sure he believes in a cause but I don’t think he’d mind some revenge!
6. How do you feel about a Principal character like Prince Dullard joining your cause?
The more the merrier! Dullard’s a decent bloke considering he grew up in the Palace and to be honest, like I said to him, he’s good for the heavy thinking. I’m no philosopher or academic, that’s for sure and it’s good to have another ideas man to take the pressure off me. Plus, he’s a not a bad princess wrangler, which takes the pressure off Shoulders. And that helps us all!