David Guymer's Blog - Posts Tagged "guy-haley"

This has been a week of important firsts for me. It’s already seen the release of my story, Plan B, in the anthology, Drainpipes for Strikeposts, featuring eight stories of bone-crushing mayhem from the galaxy’s favourite sport, Dreadball. Published by Mantic Games, this little short has the privilege of being the first story I’ve sold to anyone but Black Library. Strike one to the Veer-myn!



Alas, it doesn't seem to be on Goodreads, but you can get your gloves on it at Mantic Digital here: https://www.manticdigital.com/product...

Fittingly then, this was the week I’ve also managed to do something else that’s escaped me ever since I started writing for money, and that’s write something entirely speculatively and then send it off to a magazine. I haven’t done that since I wrote Tilean’s Talisman for the Black Library open submission window in 2012. I’ve always told people it’s because my schedule is ridiculously slammed and it is (job, toddler, novels with tight deadlines), but a couple of weeks ago I had a bit of a mini-revelation. I managed to write a 5000 word story for Age of Sigmar in one day, because I had to, and it made me realize that the only thing I was lacking to get a story of similar length done was the promise of a pay cheque and a deadline. Of course, there wasn’t a lot I could do about the first part of that, but I tried to address the second as best I could essentially by telling everyone I could (including the editor of the magazine in question, who I’m at least on e-mailing terms with) that I was writing the thing. I figured that if people were expecting a story then I’d feel obliged to produce one, and it seems to have worked.

Strike two!

4000 words of grimdark adventure on the high sea, and set in a world I hope to be able to develop into more shorts and novels one day, was dispatched to Grimdark Magazine this morning. It may pass, it may not, that’s sort of what you have to expect if you want to be a writer, but either way I’m glad I finally wrote it. Hopefully, next time I see a week or two of daylight in my writing schedule with Black Library, I’ll know exactly what to do with it.

This month, with a great push from the numberless soldiers of Black Library command, saw the release of Dan Abnett’s I Am Slaughter, the first in a 12 month, 12 book series, The Beast Arises (http://www.blacklibrary.com/the-beast...)

Although only books 1-5 have been officially announced, if you were to pop over to Amazon you’d learn pretty quickly that I’ve written The Beast Arises 6: Echoes of the Long War, and have thus been lucky enough to read books 1-5 quite some time ago. Reading books well ahead of their release is something of a perk of the gig, but not being able to tell anyone about it (except in the most obtuse and annoying of codes) or update my ‘currently reading’ status on Goodreads is a definite downside. As an author, being a functioning social media addict is something of a given.

So, it was with long overdue satisfaction that I finally got to stamp my 5-star seal of approval on the first book and be about my way.






At least until I started to receive a couple of comments on my Facebook profile suggesting that perhaps I should be rating this book, or others like it, at all. Now, there was nothing impolite or inappropriate about these comments, and the guys in question are good fans, and it got me honestly thinking about how I, as a writer, review books.

Here, for instance, is a 4-star review of Guy Haley’s Baneblade left by Gav Thorpe:

“A thoroughly enjoyable read. A great blend of 40k madness with a more traditional sci-fi approach that doesn't feel laboured, in some ways more reminsicent of Rogue Trader days with its bizarre but slightly hard-sci-fi-ish world. The story trots along nicely, the setting is wonderfully evoked and the pay-off whilst not a shocker is nicely done.

One star dropped because there was just a couple of chapters around the midway mark that dragged a bit, particularly with the back story, and the ending was a bit too drawn out for my liking without quite concluding a couple of the sub-plots (felt more like an epilogue than a final chapter). Aside from this, overall really good pacing, cool characterisation and some moments that had me really, really gritting my teeth and hoping things were going to turn out differently...”

Well in favour, then, clearly, but with a few minus points picked out, just the same. It certainly sounds like Gav’s honest opinion.

I’m not in the habit of writing reviews, myself. In fact the first I did was for Blaise Maximillian: Bitter Defeat by Matthew Sylvester. It was self-published and he needed the reviews to boost its profile (bonus plug here).






I’m a geek though, and I like to rate things.

I’ve long had something of an unstated code that if I wasn’t totally taken with a book written by somebody I know, then I just wouldn’t rate it at all. It’s impolite, mainly. You wouldn’t go around giving public two-star ratings on the performance of the people around you. Even if you wanted to. The reviews I do give, however, are always honest. A 5-star is a 5-star. A 4-star is a 4-star. And to be completely honest, I do tend to like more stuff than I dislike.

But I’m still wondering if there’s a way I could or should be doing this better. I still haven’t really adapted to the semi-public status of published author. Should I be rating Black Library works at all? Or at least series like The Beast Arises in which I have a stake? I gave a rating to Gotrek & Felix: the Anthology, for instance, on the basis that there were nine other great stories in it on top of mine – was that wrong?

I don’t know, but I’m hoping for a few comments on what you think is right and what you, as readers, would like to see.

Next weekend (September 23rd - 25th, I'll be taking the short drive from my East Yorkshire homelands to Fantasycon by the Sea in Scarborough. As the website explains: "Fantasycon comes to Scarborough. Celebrating the fantastic, the horrific and the awe inspiring in literature, image and film. Every year Fantasycon offers readers and writers the opportunity to come together to discover, learn and discuss fantastic fiction in all its forms. Three days of panels, talks, workshops and socialising. Bringing together the best in writing, publishing and reading. Fantasycon prides itself on its friendly members. Every year we welcome hundreds of first timers. But you are only a first timer once. Come along, meet like minded people and get the opportunity to network in the bar."

There are more writers, publishers, and agents in attending than I can pretend to know, including, as guest of honour, one of my all time favourite authors, Scott Lynch. The hotel is probably filling up fast but there are still tickets available.


Finalist for the David Gemmell Legend Award

I've made it something of a rolling New Year's resolution to attend more of this kind of event, speak to people, put my name and face out there, but I've been too busy (edit: lazy) and socially awkward to get myself down to Nineworlds or Edgelit this year or last. This time out though I have the excuse of having to represent my novel, Gotrek & Felix: Slayer, in the David Gemmell Legend Award. The awards ceremony is on the Saturday night and is free entry even for people not attending the rest of Fantasycon. Scarborough's along way from anywhere, but if you're around you should come. There's a bar.

Other than that, I'm still going to be kept pretty busy:

Saturday 24th
10:30-12:30 - A signing at GW: Scarborough with my fellow Black Library attendees, Guy Haley, Gav Thorpe, and Laurie Goulding

19:00-21:00 - The Gemmell Awards Ceremony

Sunday 25th
11:00-12:00 - An Extended reading with Black Library, Gav, Guy, Laurie and I will be giving readings and doing a brief Q&A on our current works in progress. So keep your twitter feeds updated for some tasty reveals!

14:00-15:00 - A Little's Enough, a seminar on what makes a great short story

I'm also bringing my 2 1/2 year old daughter, Rosie, along, in the hope of influencing her reading tastes early. And my girlfriend too, in the vain hope of convincing her that I have a real job. Anyone that sees us, please help me out by demonstrating how popular and in demand I am!

See you in a week!

It's been a while since I last wrote something for my blog. I've been pretty busy the last couple months, finishing up on my current (month overdue...) novel, EYE OF MEDUSA, and, of course, the Fantasycon weekend just passed.

I'm happy to say that as of yesterday Eye of Medusa is consigned to Laurie Goulding's inbox, and I'm finally free to turn a little love this way.

I've been itching to put down a few words on Fantasycon. It's the first big event of this sort that I've been to, despite promising myself to go to at least two a year for several years, and I took the plunge at the deep, carnivore-infested end by getting myself involved in numerous events throughout the weekend.

This is what editors are for

Alongside my cooler and more grizzled Black Library battle-brothers Gav Thorpe, Guy Haley, and Laurie Goulding I participated in the first live reading I've ever done. Unless you count reading Peepo! to my daughter, which really wasn't as great preparation as I thought it was.

I read the first scene from Eye of the Medusa, which was doubly nerve-wracking as my editor, Laurie, sat right there next to me, hadn't even seen it himself. It went ok, considering, but nothing exposes waffle and filler like reading your work out to an audience. Much chopping and scribbling out was carried out later that evening!


Gav Thorpe, Guy Haley, me, and Laurie Goulding

This is clearly what writing groups are for, and if the one I'm nominally a member of didn't meet on a day when I have parenting duty then I might actually start attending. Maybe I should set up my own?

Any Howden-based writers out there?

I also learned a lot from my fellow readers to take with me for next time, Guy, Laurie and Gav (Reading fromShadowsword, Slaughter at Giant's Coffin, and Corax, respectively) all used brilliant action-packed scenes. It didn't take me long after the session to realise which scene I SHOULD have used.

The Michael Bay of the short story

I also took part in my first ever panel, titled A Little's Enough, discussing the art of short story writing.


Emma Cosh, Lynda Clark, George Sandison (Chair), Ruth Booth, and me

Now I've written a lot of short stories, I know how to write a short story, but it's fair to say that I've never given great thought to the exact mechanisms of the process. It was a bit of culture shock then to find myself sat alongside three incredibly articulate, literate, and broadly read women (all women, as if to properly hammer home my neanderthal thinking) talking about stories I didn't know by writers I'd never heard of who do clever things like tell stories from the point of view of the protagonist's favourite hat. And then there was me, at the end, trying to decide whether bronze really is better than stone and thinking, I write about people that stuff happens to, preferably with a car chase and an explosion.

Let's say I grew into it. I started to find my groove after about fifteen minutes. I mean I do make a living from this, I can't be THAT bad at it.

Let's also say that I learned a lot, and I'll definitely be tuning into Emma's Storylogical podcast. She was dazzlingly insightful, and you could tell that she has a real enthusiasm for talking about short stories.

How many people can say they've lost the Gemmell Award twice?

Obviously the main event for me, and the only reason I was there at all despite that promise I was talking about earlier, was the Gemmell Award ceremony on the Saturday night.

I was the only Legend finalist present for the night, but I got to meet three of the Morningstar finalists, Peter Newman, Stephen Aryan and Lucy Hounsom. They were all lovely people and Lucy gets extra credit for driving all the way from the south-west coast to Scarborough and for coming dressed as Daenerys Targaryen. It's no surprise that these sort of awards matter so much more to the debutants that the Morningstar was set up to celebrate (I did consider attending as Felix Jaeger, briefly, but bottled it...). The Legend, alas, went to Mark Lawrence and The Liar's Key, which also took the Ravenheart for best cover, and which I will now forever remember alongside Brian McClellan and Promise of Blood who took the Morningstar overHeadtaker in 2014.

Being great books doesn't make it ok!

But it wasn't all bad

So I was a bit disappointed that night, I'm very proud of Gotrek & Felix: Slayer and Black Library did everything they could have done to mobilise the vote. But, I met Black Library newcomer Justin Hill for the first, Laurie and I had a good chat about upcoming projects and, bolstered by free wine, I managed to exchange a handful of awkward words with one of my absolute favourite authors, Scott Lynch.

Why are successful authors so charismatic in person? Tell me this!

But the highlight of the weekend for me was a chance meeting with Marie O'Regan, who I hadn't realised was going to be there beforehand. I've written before about how I took a correspondence writing course with Writers' News before I got published, for which Marie was my mentor, and sold my first story to Black Library shortly after. I've wanted to thank her for a long time and finally got the chance, which completely erased any Gemmell Award disappointment from my mind when I went to bed that night. As I said to her, I already knew most of what she told me, but I needed someone else to say it, and I doubt I'd be where I am now without her.

In Summary

Exhausting. I caught a horrible cold. It was good to get back to writing my book and be reminded of my place in the Great Author Hierarchy.

But I'll definitely do it again.

Nineworlds perhaps? EdgeLit? Or maybe Novacon, Birmingham?

SHARKPUNK 2, a second anthology of killer shark stories, (to quote the Facebook page) is coming to Kickstarter today, to be published in 2017 by Snowbooks.

My story here, The Taste of Blood, is only my second to find a home outside of Black Library (after Plan B, which I wrote for Mantic Games' Drainpipes for Strike Posts last year) and the first that isn't part of someone else's universe.

Unless someone has IP rights to 1st Millennium Northern Europe...

Here's an excerpt.

"Oddi’s chicken bones rattled across the deck, the tilt and yaw of the longship causing them to skitter apart, tumbling and sliding towards the gunwale until they lost momentum and stopped. I watched the old seer crouch over them, prodding at a bone here and there, his lips creaking wordlessly as if to describe for his own mind what his fingers saw. His frosted-white eyes groped upwards for the sun, squinting in vexation.

“What do the gods tell you?” I asked.

Oddi had been seer to my father and before his blindness karl to my grandfather. Never in all those years had he given me or anyone else cause to doubt the strength of the gods or his skill at interpreting their words.

He shifted one of the bones a thumb’s width across the deck, then frowned over the new arrangement. “They don’t speak clearly. We are a long way from their home.”

The men that had joined me at the stern of the ship for the casting murmured their unease. Dann, Asbjorne, Hari the Finn; even my son, Thorvald Thorvaldsson, reached up to touch the silver hammer that Oddi had made for him when he had been a boy and that he now wore on a cord around his neck. I hissed at them all to be quiet, but as much for Oddi himself: the seer should know better than to talk of gods so carelessly.

“Bring me the Christian,” he said after a moment’s frowning thought.

The karls looked at each other, mentally drawing lots, then Hari gave a grunt and turned away, stomping between the rows of heaving oarsmen.

The sea here was said to be endless; the winds were cold and harsh and the waves high. Some of the rowers persevered with a rowing song, singing out the rhythm of the oars. On the ends of the benches where it was driest men took their moment’s rest, heads hanging, hair and beards bedraggling over their thighs. No one bothered Hari with a welcome. He was called ‘the Finn’ for obvious reasons, but my karls had plenty of names for him that they wisely kept for themselves. Hari the Beast, Hari the Mad, and Hari Redbeard were just three of the less insulting I’d overheard.

His forked beard was not even red, but that wasn’t how he’d earned the name.

A cross-spar had been set across the mast at about chest height. Hari stopped there, grunted for a moment with the knotted ropes wrapped around it, and then returned shortly afterwards with a thin, naked man lumped over one shoulder.

He was an Irishman, from a village several days sail further north along the west coast mainland. Over that time, he’d been sunburnt and salt-lashed until there was little left but a mange of hair that wasn’t red, crusted, and weeping.

“Where is the monastery?” I asked in Irish as he curled up into a ball at my feet. I held up my hand to prevent Asbjorne from thumping a boot into his kidney. The Irishman didn’t answer, but then I hadn’t expected him to. The question had already been put to him in more unfriendly conditions than this.

“Lift him,” said Oddi. Asbjorne and Dann each took an arm and hauled him up to his knees. “His arm.” The seer gestured with an open hand into the sea mist that sprayed in from the crash of waves against the side. With the other he drew a knife. The Irishman stiffened and tried to fight, but five days bound naked to a mast had a way of drawing the fight from a man. He moaned as Dann slowly drew out his arm over the rushing water.

“Please. I don’t know. I don’t know where it is. I swear I don’t. I don’t. Argh –”

He squawked like a startled hen as Oddi cut the knife into his wrist, gave a sharp twist, and then withdrew the blade. Blood slicked the Irishman’s wrist almost as soon as the blade was out. It trickled into the water and immediately began to disperse. The seer peered over, and despite his blindness appeared to be studying the spilt blood as the ocean and its hidden demons drank it all. I felt a prickle at the sides of my face as I watched it disappear, transfixed by it.

To this day I remember how my heart seemed to pause as I waited for it to give the seer the water’s answer. It’s clear to me in hindsight that the ocean gained a taste for blood that day.

The Irishman wept and prayed to his Christ as my karls let him retreat back into his curl on the deck.

“The Christian’s blood flees that way.” Oddi pointed confidently with his knife in a direction that was just a hand’s span to the left of our current heading.

“To our silver,” I smiled.

“You will find no joy in Sceilig Mhór’s meagre wealth,” said the Irishman. “It is easier to pass a camel through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to enter Heaven.”

“What’s a camel?” grunted Hari, to which the others laughed.

I laughed too, although not because I knew what a camel was or cared. I laughed because I had a sword in my hand, two longships full of sworn karls, and wore ten years of stolen silver on my arm. I laughed because I didn’t know then what fear was.

Hari looked at us all, nonplussed.

“The Devil will have you!” the Christian hissed Asbjorne and Dann bent to pick him back up. “Go to the monastery of Sceilig Mhór and He will have you!”

“Give him another day on his cross,” I laughed.

“You will find the Christ’s people there,” said Oddi as the man was dragged away, as certain as sky above a man’s head. “And their silver.”

And I didn’t doubt it."

The anthology features tales from fellow Black Library stalwarts Gav Thorpe, David Annandale, Josh Reynolds, and Guy Haley, as well as many others.

Check out the Facebook page or follow Sharkpunk on Twitter at @Sharkpunked and @Snowbooks.

Or go one better and support the anthology on Kickstarter

My first ever Blood Bowl story, and my first skaven tale in too too long is out today and is called, of course (see blog header), A Last Sniff of Glory.

When I was asked to write this I was just closing down Eye of Medusa, running a little over deadline, but I said 'yes please!' before I'd even thought about it.

It's Blood Bowl.

I've often said that writing Gotrek & Felix: Kinslayer felt to me like a farewell tour of the Old World. Writing this felt like coming home again. Visiting Skavenblight, Sylvania, seeing all my stuff still there, it was a blast, and that's without even getting started on the rare chance to be a little bit more tounge-in-cheek than the average Warhammer story will let you get away with.

I haven't enjoyed writing a story this much since my debut novel, Headtaker. And it didn't even make me miss my deadline (Total War: Warhammer did that, but that's another story...). I think I wrote the whole thing in about a day and a half, and I can't remember any other time I've been able to convince words to come out without so little fight.

READ IT BECAUSE

"David Guymer returns to the skaven (his first Warhammer love) – but in Blood Bowl! Just how is an ageing Star Player going to keep himself at his peak with all the newcomers snapping at his heels?"

Damn it. Even blacklibrary.com know I love my skaven. Their spies are everywhere...

And if you enjoy this, then why not check out another story of fantastical sporting mayhem that I wrote for Mantic Games' Dreadball Xtreme last year. The anthology, Drainpipes for Strike Posts, also features Guy Haley and Greg Smith and a host of other great stories by top authors. You can get it here https://www.manticdigital.com/product.... I don't get any royalties for that one, so go buy it happy in the knowledge that I'm pushing it on the pure altruism of wanting people to enjoy good stories.