L.G. Surgeson's Blog, page 7
February 14, 2015
The Al Rahiri Dinner – extract from Rattatat a new Aberddu Adventure
The Al Rahiri Dinner had been much discussed. This was hardly surprising as The Al Rahiri Dinner had been discussed at length. This was hardly a surprise as the Al Rahiris themselves were generally much discussed. They had arrived in the District, direct from Arabi about eighteen months previously. The wife had spoken very little common then and even though there was no ‘Aberddu’ way as such, it was very obvious to the other residents of the Merchants Quarter that whichever way the Al Rahiris did things it was most definitely not the Aberddu way. It wasn’t that people were openly hostile to them, they were in general very polite and helpful but it was clear that whilst they had come from a great range of Western nations that lived in the same climates and had the same kinds of clothing and diet they were strangely uncomfortable in the presence of people of equal wealth and standing who were so very far from home.
The wife didn’t wear a corset. In fact both of them dressed in loose-fitting silks dyed opulently. They had food specially imported for them. In the summer – at first at least- they had no worn shoes. Having arrived in August, when the sun beat down on the city the building held the warmth well and they were comfortable. Some of the more ample matrons had suggested, not exactly unkindly, that when they were first met with the western winter they would return to Arabi on the first caravan going East. None of their husbands bothered listening to them, or they would have discovered that getting a caravan back East would have been both easy and pointless as Mr Al Rahiri pretty much had the monopoly on East-West import into Aberddu and out across the sea to Aragon and Nortrol.
It was a strange kind of polite ignorance that kept the Al Rahiris at arm’s length. No one knew what they ate or what kind of hours they kept. No one was even sure that they’d be able to get the wife to understand them. Whilst they were highly intrigued by the couple, they were not prepared to accept them into their homes with undue haste as more than anything they feared it may lead to nothing more than an uncomfortable and embarrassed silence.
It had taken six months for what Mulligan had started to think of as the Metcalfe Gang to invite them anywhere, and it was Metcalfe herself that plucked up the courage after running into Mrs Al Rahiri, whose name it turn out was Jali, at the Weavers and Dyers Guild perusing the same newly arrived batch of muslins and silks. After that, when Metcalfe had discovered that in fact Jali, and her husband Kaseem drank tea and were prepared to keep local hours and ate normal food, they were invited more freely to social events, although they were by no means part of the ‘usual crowd’ as Maurice Fortescue had swiftly become.
February 6, 2015
The Rise of the Indie Author
We are, as I type, in the midst of a publishing revolution and therefore a reading and writing revolution. The invention of the e-Book has blown open the closed-shop exclusive, it’s not what you know it’s who you know, hope you get lucky world of traditional hardback publishing. Blogging has been challenging it for some time, with eloquent and erudite writers able to express themselves freely – in all senses. Readers are now able to access uncensored, unedited content – with mixed blessings but that is the price of freedom. We, as readers and writers have freedom at last to write and read things that truly inspire us even if they are ‘not commercial’. We can seek out themes and push limits of fiction and journalism without the ‘right people’ having their final ‘red pen to correct and censor our views’ say on the matter. Of course, it’s a double-edged sword and much of this free content is puerile, poorly written, derivative or dull – but (apart from poorly written) these are grossly subjective qualities. Sure, Indie authors are more prone to textual error due to the fact they are less likely to have been able to get professional proof-readers – but people who buy first editions will tell you that spelling and grammar errors occur frequently in popular commercial fiction too. However, freedom means we take the rough with the smooth and this sudden tide of writers will carry on its waves the kind of artistry that may well have been overlooked by publishing houses seeking the next million-seller.
As readers and writers we need excercise our freedom – download indie author content, read and talk about it. Post about it on social media, tell colleagues and friends – recommend e-books in the same way we recommend favourite novels. We need to stick together – without readers writers know that they are little more than diarists. Without new writers, readers are left looking at the back of the corn flakes packet wondering whether they can be bothered to reread Catcher In The Rye. This is the biggest revolution in fiction since the invention of the mass market paperback. We need to take the initiative and make e-books and indie authors popular and important – by talking about them.
To this end, and as a first step reblog this post and see if we can start a tide of positive awareness of indie authors.
January 30, 2015
DO YOU DOWNLOAD FREE KINDLE EBOOKS?
It’s great if you do. Indie authors like me who put their books out for free are glad that you do, it spreads out work around to new readers which is what we need. However, if you’ve downloaded a free book,
there is something that you really should consider as part of a slightly fairer exchange.
If you read something you’ve downloaded for free and you enjoy it then do a little something in return for the author, any of the following would make them very happy:
1. Rate and review their work on Amazon or Good Reads
2. Share the link to their book on Facebook or Twitter
3. Make a personal recommendation on your blog, twitter, facebook, staff room noticeboard, the wall of your garage… wherever.
4. Like them on Facebook and let them know you their work, or follow their blog.
The above will take you about 5-10 minutes, just a fraction of time it took you to read their book and a tiny portion of the time it took to write.
Most of all – pass this message on. Indie e-book authors need your help to keep writing/publishing – they often aren’t backed by anyone and have no budget for advertising or marketing. If you enjoy free indie e-books help the writers – spread the word.
January 10, 2015
Extract from Rattatat
Rattatat – the newest Aberddu Chronicle, currently in progress.
“What about her teeth?” was all the Mulligan could manage.
“What about them?” retorted Luce with definite affront in voice.
“Well look at them,” returned Mulligan, “she can’t go parading around the Merchant’s District with a mouth like that.” Luce was just about to open her mouth to give Mulligan some very choice instructions when Clara cleared her throat and said,
“No problem gov,” Mulligan just looked at her, so she carried on. “Aint no problem at all, there’s a chap down the black market he’ll do ‘em for two florins, one and an ‘alf if he’s down on his luck and outta cider.” Mulligan didn’t understand. He was too busy staring at Clara hoping for more explanation to see Luce giving him a filthy look. When further information wasn’t forth coming and Mulligan realised, yet again, that he was the only one who didn’t understand he said,
December 24, 2014
OUT NOW
At last! Summer of Fire prequel to the Aberddu Adventures is available to buy on Kindle…
TELL THE WORLD!
Summer of Fire (Aberddu Adventures Prequel)
December 13, 2014
A little trailer
Coming Soon…. The Series Prequel
SUMMER OF FIRE
September 2, 2014
August 5, 2014
Ballentini’s Caravan (sneak peek 2 – The Fireborn Road)
Mr Ballentini was as unprepossessing as the tavern in which he had arranged to meet the adventurers. The name Ballentini had conjured a certain image in Derek’s mind of a large ebullient man with massive flaring nostrils and a rich, resonant voice. He had hoped for the fumes of inexpensive liquor on his breath as his voluminous chortle echoed around the room. Instead of a picturesque bonviveur, Derek was now sitting opposite the dullest man he had ever encountered. Mr Horace Ballentini was gaunt, but not to the point of being interesting and he had one of the biggest noses Derek had encountered in a long time. Apart from that, he was completely average in appearance – short light brown hair, mildly weather-beaten skin, hazel eyes and a slightly miserable mouth. On top of this complete lack of distinction, he also had the most monotonous voice Derek had ever heard. In fact, Derek was struggling not to fall asleep just listening to him detailing the terms of travel.
Morwenna and Iona, who had a tendency to act like naughty school girls when given half the chance, were sitting either side of him snorting into their mugs of ale. Derek had given up trying to silence them with school-masterly type glares because they only made things worse. Luckily, it appeared that Horace Ballentini was completely oblivious to their rudeness. He just continued to explain the caveats under which the caravan would not protect them from flood, fire, bandits, demons and acts of assorted deities.
The Mages, Adarius and Reet were sitting at a separate table a little way away because there had been no other space. Bobang was sitting on a stool with one foot balanced delicately on top of the other so that as little of himself was in contact with the floor as possible and a look on his flabby face that suggested he was only putting his buttocks in contact with the seat because he didn’t want to waste the magic of conjuring himself a shelf to sit on. He had left the construct outside the tavern guarding everyone’s bags. Bert was teaching Reet how to play a game that was apparently very big in Alendria. As it wasn’t dissimilar from draughts, Reet was winning and Bert was taking this in good spirits. Adarius was looking on at the whole affair with the same gently bemused expression he had been wearing since they left Aberddu. He had at least put his coin back into his shirt pocket. Tollie and Sylas, who were somewhat subdued from their earlier escapades, had decided it was probably more politic if they sequestered themselves in a nook by the fireplace, hoods pulled well up, faces down. They still hadn’t let on about what had led to the incident with the militia.
Derek gathered them all together half an hour later and with a lack-lustre smile opened his mouth to explain the arrangements.
“Now, the plan is this,” he said, but that was as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted by Bobang, who let out an effected snort and said in a voice clearly used to its own way,
“I hope you’re not about to suggest that we spend the night here.” It might have been possible to fill a word with more disdain that he had put into ‘here’ but it would have taken quite some effort and possibly a funnel. Derek, who had a well-deserved reputation as one of the most even-tempered Guild Masters in Adventuring history, produced an irked snort and closed his eyes.
“Funnily enough Professor,” he said quietly with a satisfied half-smile, “I wasn’t.”
Two hours later, as Iona cracked the reigns of her wagon and gently easied the cart out into the caravan, she was still chuckling under her breath. Bobang was wearing the same sour scowl that had slipped over his features sometime earlier, when Derek had explained that they wouldn’t be spending the night anywhere. Or at least, anywhere that contained a bed, a fireplace or even a privy. Apparently, the caravan need to leave post-haste, so they were going to have to travel over-night to make up some miles. He was even less pleased when he had discovered that they would be travelling with the livestock.
Tollie, Sylas, Derek and Iona had volunteered to take turns driving and the others had been offered seats in the lap of luxury – amongst the sheep and goats. Reet and Adarius had climbed into the back of Derek’s cart without a word. Morwenna had let out a joyful squeal, clapped Bert soundly on the back, said cheerfully,
“Sheep, excellent! Better than chickens believe me Berty,” hiked up her skirt and scrambled into Iona’s cart. “Come on, give me your hand.” Bert, who seemed to be treating the whole trip as a delightful cultural exchange, held out both hands and with little dignity crawled into the cart with Morwenna’s help. She installed in one corner, and he adjusted his hat. Morwenna turned back to Bobang and said,
“Come on then, prof. You’re next.”
July 29, 2014
The Fireborn Road: Chapter 1 (a sneak peak)
The ballroom glowed with soft, golden light from the thousand floating glass lanterns that hovered, in a complex pattern a few feet from the ornately vaulted ceiling. Dozens of mirrors around the walls and ceiling reflected the magical light, amplifying it and enfolding everyone in a rich, warm blanket. Along the whole length of the room a white clothed table groaned with the weight of delicacies piled high on silver salvers and arranged around the centre piece of the whole roasted boar. Fresh white roses, the Queen’s favourite, stood amongst the food in exquisite designs. Liveried footmen with blank expressions were poised with bottles of the finest vintages and cordials of exotic fruits. A twenty seven piece orchestra, composed of some of the most gifted musicians in all Albion, played a lively reel. The music swelled and tumbled carrying the dancers with it as they spun and trotted through the intricate steps of the set. The women, bejewelled and pink faced in their tightly corseted fine silks, smiled demurely at the dashing military captains and the elegantly suited politicians whose arms they graced. The young queen, a vision in eau de nil, charmed her partners with her beauty, warmth and wit. It was a perfect tableau of the restrained and civilised opulence of Royal Albion.
From his place at one end of the gargantuan buffet table, Derek watched with lacklustre attention. He could just about see Iona in the centre of the crowded floor, paying polite attention to a tall and handsome Colonel, who in spite of his apparent poise continued to tread on her feet. He yawned languidly, without covering his mouth and reached out for a small pastry thing that looked quite tasty. As the light of the chandeliers twinkled and glinted from the black jet fluting on Iona’s hair piece, he shoved the whole thing into his mouth and chewed vigorously. He could tell from the fixed smile on Iona’s face that the gentleman with whom she was dancing was both an ungainly dancer and a bore. The little fold of a grimace that appeared momentarily on her otherwise serene countenance every time he trod on her foot was perhaps the most entertaining part of the evening so far. In fact, all the amusement he had garnered from this ridiculous occasion had been from watching Iona parading herself around as though she had been born Albion nobility and everyone else falling for it.
Lady Iona, the Dowager Duchess of Pringle was quite a name amongst minor Albion nobility and the diplomatic corps. Little was known publicly in Albion of Iona’s beginnings, and as far as Derek, who knew the whole sordid tale could tell, this was very much to her credit. She had been an adventurer of no significant standing when she had married the guildmaster, a renegade Albion Duke, Dakarn Pringle III and that far her credentials were unimpeachable. The fact that she clearly knew how to dress and behave had never been questioned by the aristocracy. They were not aware how she had come by her stunning grasp on Albion etiquette and how it differed from social convention in other countries. They had not spent enough time with her to find out that she could be surprisingly violent and extremely blunt.
It was only when the stories of her exploits during the Summer of Fire and the following years had begun to filter through the court had she become a source of intrigue in her own right. The foolish women of the Queen’s court were enamoured with the romance of a brave and elegant widow who set aside her grief and the comforts of her rank in the pursuit of Justice, and Iona did not disappoint them. At one point, she had become a tea-parlour heroine and would have remained so had she been prepared to make house calls. The fact that Iona had never set eyes on her Dukedom, nor experienced the so-called comforts of a noble life was so far beside the point it was not considered. Certainly, none of the fawning politicians and simpering débutantes who sought her attentions realised that she was nothing more than a grubby parvenu from the Elven Territories with one eye on Frisia and one hand in the pocket of anyone who could buy her a controlling share of Aberddu. The Dowager Duchess of Pringle was a construction that the Bard’s Guild would have been proud of, a real piece of performance art and one Derek never tired of watching.
July 23, 2014
The Winter That Follows: An Aberddu Adventure
A very nice man wrote a very nice thing about The Winter That Follows
Originally posted on Musings on fiction related stuff:
The Winter That Follows: An Aberddu Adventure is an excellent background to the other tales in the series. The characters are rich and deep, and give the feeling of having lived. Also it was nice to see a little more of the rich world in which these tales are set. I look forward to the next in the series.
The Aberddu Adventures series by LG Surgeson is a fun and interesting fantasy world adventure story of the old school. With brave adventures and evil so and so’s.
