Jonathon Fletcher's Blog: Captain's Blog - Posts Tagged "fantasy"

Today the "Captain's Blog" welcomes Scarlett Flame, author of erotic stories and soon to be published on Amazon. Here is a little about her...

"My pen name is Scarlett Flame, and as well as writing my first novel I write a Blog under my pen name (don't forget it's two t's!) My Blog includes book reviews, band, hotel and restaurant reviews around the area of Manchester where I live. Music is a bit of a passion of mine, so I include information of venues and live music. If you follow me on twitter you will often find me playing at being a DJ.

Writing and reading are my two main passions. My interests include reading ,writing, especially the genres Paranormal Romance, Thrillers, Sci-fi and anything that involves fantastical beings. I also like going to the gym, especially weight training and Pilates!

Some of my favourite books are The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings Trilogy and books by authors such as Anne Rice and Dean Koontz (especially the Brother Odd Series)."

Jon: So tell me a little about the book that you're writing?

Scarlett: The working title of my first book is "The Prophecy Unfolds (Dragon Queen)". This is the first in a series of books and is an erotic paranormal romance set on a steampunk world called "Syros". In my book there are werewolves, dragons, dragon riders and many other paranormal characters.

Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?

Scarlett: The plot of my story involves our heroine Alex. Alex gets kidnapped and taken to a distant planet called Syros by three werewolves. There is a prophecy on this world and Alex is the hinge pin of the entire prophecy. Once on Syros, Alex continues to have numerous adventures (including many sexual and erotic ones) involving the fantastical creatures that exist there. Especially involving the werewolves, dragons and their dragon riders. As this is only the first in a series of books about Syros it is a continuing story.

Jon: Erotic, paranormal, romance, steampunk. That's a mix of genres isn't it? How is that going to work?

Yes indeed, this is a weird and wonderful mix of genres, until you dig into the sub genres. Paranormal romance frequently is accompanied by sexual exploits and erotic encounters. It is the very sexual natures of both werewolves and dragons and their riders and their animalistic natures that lead to this meld working so well.

Basically with the werewolves and dragons they are animals, and the dragon riders are bound to their dragons so they also pick up on these base urges too.

Jon: Tell me a little about the world of "Syros". Why are there so many fantastical creatures there?

Scarlett: Ah now then, the planet Syros has been linked to Earth for millennia via portals that exist on both planets. The animals on Syros are the animals we find in our legends and myths. They include (of course!) dragons, werewolves and enormous dragonflies that roam the planet (and many more mythical creatures as yet to be unveiled!) The legends we have exist because of "accidents" whereby some of these creatures of legend have slipped unnoticed through the portals. These have then been recaptured and returned to Syros, leaving only their sightings and no actual evidence of the creatures to verify their existence.

Jon: If you had to be one of your mythical creatures of Syros, which would you chose and why?

Scarlett: Now this is a hard question to answer as I love all my mythical beasts really! Yet, I have dreamt of being a werewolf and actually bitten someone on the shoulder (I was being kind and making them a werewolf too LOL) in my sleep! So a sexy werewolf, obviously mated to the Alpha of the pack and retaining my glorious auburn colouring. Then maybe I would magically get my six-pack back that I so desire too.

Jon: Do you find it hard (excuse the pun) to write erotica? I always become extremely self conscious and shy if I have to write anything to do with relationships. How do you overcome that?

Scarlett: Well, I have to be honest here (don't I?) I used to find it difficult, and used to write in secret in my bedroom when writing my erotic scenes. I also used to hide the fact that I was writing anything, let alone erotica for a long while! Then, I sort of came out of the closet and declared to family and friends that I write erotica. Although my mother has absolutely no clue. She would be mortified if she knew I wrote in this genre as she abhors it so much; and doesn't keep it a secret either. Every time we walk past a book rack holding racy books she makes a comment.

My writing has also evolved a lot recently (I have been told in a good way) due to some friends of mine who are on good old Twitter. My friends read my first short story and all said the same thing "It reads like a woman wrote it!" Ermm last time I checked I was a woman, but I realised what they were saying so asked if there were any words I could use to change that and between the three of them they let me have some naughty "boy" words to use. I then also took a look at other erotic authors use of words and voila! So to cut a long story short I did and having been doing so ever since. It was pretty liberating in a way as some are words I have never used before, or if I did it was in my head!

The friends are (I hope they don't mind me naming and shaming them) are Nate Smith (a screenwriter, producer, director from Perth), Gareth Young (Spartacus on Twitter) and of course my buddy Erotic Jake (writer of erotic stories and Blogger). I suppose I have to attribute my growing fan base down to these gorgeous guys. Thank you boys mwah!

Jon: I know that on Twitter you have two avatars. Why did you choose to "hide" behind Scarlett to write these stories?

Scarett: Not everybody knows that I have two avatars on Twitter but there is a good reason for this. Firstly, I was stalked a little and advised by a good author friend of mine to remain anonymous. So, I took his advice and between myself and four writer friends Scarlett was born (thanks, John, John, Becky, Sascha and Matt, you know who you are).

Secondly, as a nurse I don't believe it would be well received that I write in the erotica genre, so it is simpler to be a writer using a pen name. Although a number of individuals know me on both accounts, either because they "sussed" me out or when I took them into my confidence and "shared" my two avatars with them. A number of my friends locally where I live now also know my identity and follow my blog too.

Jon: Do you think that you'll ever reveal your true self to your readers or friends?

Scarlett: Yes, one day I hope to reveal all!! When I am published and I hope to make writing my full time occupation I will reveal my identity (but NEVER to my mother LOL).

Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?

Scarlett: Now this is the most difficult question yet Jon! Although, one of my favourite television programmes on is Teen Wolf, so, possibly one or more of those werewolves could turn up as guest stars and fight to become Alex's mate. My especial favourite for that privilege is big bad dark and smouldering wolf Derek Hale. This character is played by Tyler Lee Hoechin, who is a tall dark and handsome Adonis and 6 foot tall. I believe there would be *electricity* in the air between these two I can imagine lots of very sexy erotic scenes that could be written for these two characters. They would sizzle! I can't believe that I missed the opportunity to see the cast live recently in London. They were on stage doing a Q & A for their fans at the MCM Comic-Con the last week end of May in London.

Jon: So, you're writing a pretty steamy love scene... What music do you put on to get you in the mood?

Scarlett: This is another doozy Jon! Music wise there a few contenders. My top three (in no particular order) God I sounded like Dancing on Ice then!! Move closer by Phyllis Nelson, Riders on the Storm by the Doors and finally Smooth Operator by Sade. Love them all and they're all sexy in their own way too. Very mood inducing too. I used to like the song Sex by Paul Young too :)

Jon: What do you read for pleasure? What's the best book you ever read, and the worst?

Scarlett: For pleasure I read all sorts of books! Paranormal Romance (especially werewolves and vampires), Horror, Thrillers, fantasy, erotica all genres really! My favourite has got to be the Trilogy Lord of the Rings and the worse was one I downloaded was called Fifty Shades of Black and Blue It was horrendous and disgusting too!! Horrible book trying to ride on the shirttails of 50 Shades of Grey!! I deleted it from my kindle after a few pages really hated it. The writing was rubbish too.

Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?

I just thought that I would add I am currently writing a short story for Skelat.com, and this is a children's story. This will not be my only children's story as I already have an idea for a series of children's books I wish to pen, about a dragon called Duncan. My story for Skelat will introduce him to the world at large.

Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Scarlett's book...

My Exert from The prophecy Unfolds (Dragon Queen)

On that day I had been driving through the Snowdonia National Park where pine trees crowded either side of the road. I had spotted a little picnic area to one side, flanked by a small car park. It was beautiful sunny day and as I had brought along a packed lunch. I decided to park up and take advantage of the glorious weather. I parked my car and then realised that mine was the only car but thought no more about it. I had no problem eating here at the edge of the forest.

I retrieved my sandwich, carton of orange and the book I had just started and wandered over to the farthest table. From here I could watch the squirrels and birds as they searched amongst the bins for crumbs.

I'd sat there enjoying my book for about ten minutes when two things happened.. Firstly, I became aware that a hush had suddenly descended on the forest, and I could no longer hear the scampering of the squirrels or the birds singing. When I looked up I could no longer see any of them around the area they had occupied only a few minutes earlier.

The second thing was the sound I did hear. I can only compare that to the sound barrier being broken, a whoosh and a slight popping noise. Yet immediately after this, the birds and squirrels were back, chirping and moving through the grass once again.

I shrugged, went back to the page in my book and continued to eat. However, after a while a feeling of uneasiness descended on me. I raised my head to find myself being watched.

The watcher was a tall, broad -shouldered man with dirty blonde hair tied at the nape and vivid blue eyes. I estimated him to be about 25-30 years old. He was regarding me silently, and with intensity. His odd clothing caught my eye. Old fashioned garments, dark trousers laced up the front, a long-sleeved suede jacket of a similar material, and leather boots

I turned my head to look for any cars or vans on the car park, and jumped as I spotted two more men -one to my left and one I could see in my peripheral vision to the right.

The man on the left was dressed similar to the first, but had sandy hair and sea green eyes. In contrast he wasn't quite as broad, although equally tall (all three were over six foot tall) The last had dark hair to his shoulders that hung loose, and the most amazing violet eyes.

The appearance of these men with no noise and staring at me in rapt fascination, not uttering a word spooked me. My heart was beating so loud and fast I thought that I was having some kind of heart attack.

But the most unnerving thing of all was all three men looked familiar, a deja vu sort of moment. I had dreamt about these three men for so long. I knew immediately these were the shady characters from my dreams. Dreams that repeatedly haunted my sleep.

I decided that sitting still was stupid, so made a grab for my bag and shot through to the right, I then ran toward one of the many footpaths I had spotted earlier.

My flight or fight response gave me swift feet (or so I thought), but obviously not swift enough. Before I had got ten yards down the path two of the three had already moved and appeared in front of me. They moved so fast I could hardly believe my eyes. I turned to head back to where I'd come from. Hoping I could make it back to my car.

Fate once again took charge, I turned and ran straight into the third man, the blonde. It was like running into a brick wall, as he ensnared me in his very muscular arms. My heart stuttered and I thought I felt the zing of an electric current run through my body. I never claimed to be a particularly brave person and I started to hyperventilate, gasping, trying to catch my breath.

One of them began to stroke my hair, saying “Calm down Alex, calm down. Breath slowly we won't hurt you” but, at that point my knees gave way and I collapsed into darkness, terrified. How did that man know my name was Alex?

https://twitter.com/ScarlettFlame2

https://www.facebook.com/ScarlettFlam...

http://missscarlettflame.blogspot.co.uk/

Jon: A big thank you to Scarlett for spending the time to talk to me about her writing.

Today the "Captain's Blog" welcomes B R Crichton. Here is a little about him...



B R: I was born in Zimbabwe in 1975, and I was very lucky to be educated there when the government schools were still well funded. I was always a good creative writer, but never really considered it as a career until I was at college in Dundee after moving to Scotland in 2002. I wrote a book called 'The Gift of Chaos', which I will never publish. I have heard it said that every writer should put at least one book in the bin before writing a proper one, and that is what I have unintentionally done. It was a useful exercise in clearing my mind of clutter, and I learned a lot about planning and story structure.
Now I live in Blairgowrie, Perthshire, with my lovely wife Lesley, children Sandy and Laura, and a third due in July (Third and last. Separate beds from now on!). There are also two half-witted, but very lovable Rhodesian Ridgebacks to guard the ol' homestead.

Jon: So tell me a little about the book you've written?

B R: It's a Fantasy novel. I would definitely call it low fantasy; which I have heard described as 'non-rational events occurring in a rational setting'. I suppose what that means is, there is a great deal in that world that is very similar to our own, although there are elements of the story that could not occur in reality. Like most writers, I write what I would like to read. I have tried to avoid too much in depth world creation that is quite prevalent in the fantasy genre, and also avoided delving too much into the history of the world in an effort to explain its current state. I have kept the pace brisk throughout, so, although it covers a lot of ground, it does not get bogged down in peripheral events.

The Rage Within is a complete story in its own right. That is to say, it has an ending that can be seen as such. However, life goes on, even fictitious lives, and so I am working on the first of a three book sequel at the moment. Readers can choose whether or not to follow the characters beyond the end of this first book without feeling obliged to because of loose ends.



Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?

B R: "The Gods are dead. They are all but forgotten. One of their kind remains who has sworn to un-make all that his enemies created; but he has lost the ability to wield his power alone. He needs the anger of a mortal to unleash the destruction he craves, and Kellan Aemoran is more angry than most.

Having witnessed the murder of his family by a cruel Empire, Kellan is cast out into the world to fend for himself. A presence more powerful than anything seen since the age of the Gods has taken root in his soul, and is feeding on his rage.

With a band of mercenaries led by ‘Scurrilous’ Blunt, and an unlikely guide, Kellan must face his enemies in a land thrown into chaos; those enemies within as well as without. But he is a danger to all those he loves, and to save the world he must find a way to do the impossible…

Kill an immortal."

So there it is in a nutshell. Besides the protagonist, Kellan, I had a lot of fun with the mercenaries, and these are also important to the progression of the novel, and they have their own sub-plots within the main story. The people who have read it tell me that the mercenary leader, 'Scurrilous' Blunt was just an outlet for my own personality; and I find it hard to deny. For the majority of the book, the story unfolds in two parallel tales, one of Kellan's childhood, and the other his adulthood. This was a useful way to draw comparisons, and provide explanations for some of the events. 

Jon: So would you describe your story as sword & sorcery, like Conan, or is it set in a contemporary "modern" world?

B R: Definitely more Conan, but not so much in the way of sorcery as such. I have avoided any overt magic, and have tried to be more subtle than magic wands and enchanted jewellery; not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted this book to be a little more grounded for reasons that become more apparent in the sequels. It is set in another world but has a very medieval feel to it. 

Jon: How much did your life in Zimbabwe affect your writing, if at all?

B R: That's quite hard to answer since I have no idea what or if I would have written had I been brought up anywhere else. But, it must have had some sort of influence. Across much of Africa, the very worst of human excesses go on unchecked and in plain view, to a far greater degree than the UK, Western Europe or North America. The wealthiest Africans make Her Majesty look like a pauper, and the vast numbers of poor have no support whatsoever. Here in the UK, the worst our politicians can do is lie to us, and we have the ability to replace them. In many African countries today, the worst their leaders can do is declare them and enemy of the state, and have them, their family, village or tribe killed. It happens far more than is reported in our press. Despite all of this, it is a place of incredible energy and optimism, with the overwhelming majority of people simply trying to go about their lives like anywhere else. So perhaps that is the greatest influence; seeing the strength of the human spirit shine through against a backdrop of injustice and a legacy of hatred.

Jon: Was it a culture shock moving to Scotland?

B R: I had been to the UK a couple of times to visit my grandparents (My father was born just outside Dundee), so I knew what to expect. And yes, the weather in Zimbabwe is great. But you can have too much of a good thing; the temperature seldom drops below 20 degrees Celsius, and long before that the locals are reaching for their jumpers! Drought and water rationing are the by-products of all that sun though.

Jon: What made you move over here?

B R: Itchy feet. I really wanted to experience something new. Dundee was the obvious choice because of my family connections.

Jon: Anger seems to play a large part in your story. How much of that comes from you?

B R: Grrr! What are you saying? Probably more than I would like to admit. But then, it's a very human response to adversity; look for someone to blame and smite them! I'm more grumpy than angry though. Mostly.

Jon: If you could be an immortal god, what would you be the god of and what would be your special power?

B R: That's a tricky one. Perhaps the God of weather would be fun. I could favour those who please me with fine barbecue weather every weekend, but those who earn my wrath could have horizontal rain instead. (Just when they get the fire lit!) Either that or the God of something really trivial. That way, I wouldn't have to go in to work every day, and just go fishing instead.

Jon: So you're about to sit down to write. What three things must you have or do before touching the keyboard?

B R: Peace, a packet of Haribo Tangfastics or Starmix, and a good strong cup of tea!

Jon: If you had to compare your book to another work, be it a book, film, or TV show, what would that be?

B R: Mmmmm. Tough one. It's not easy comparing your work to something from an established talent without sounding cocky, but if Robert Jordan and Joe Abercrombie had a lovechild (and let's face it, that's a little unlikely), with David and Leigh Eddings as the Godparents, then that lovechild would probably write something like 'The Rage Within'.

Jon: What do you like to read? What's the best book you've read and the worst?

B R: Lately I've been reading a lot more Science Fiction than Fantasy. I avidly follow Neal Asher, Richard Morgan and Alastair Reynolds. The great Iain M Banks sadly died during this interview, but his novel 'Use of Weapons' is probably the one book I would recommend to someone if they were only going to read one Scifi book in their life. Peter Brett's Demon cycle has me hooked as well at the moment.

Best book? 'Use of Weapons' or if I'm allowed a series, 'The Dragonlance Chronicles', by Weis and Hickman; its what really got me into fantasy.

Worst book? I had to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' for my Higher English exam, and just couldn't get into it. It can't be a bad book, it's far too popular, but it just wasn't for me. Probably being told that I had to like it because it was a classic didn't help.

Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?

B R: Rowley Birkin QC from 'The Fast Show' could perhaps make an appearance in a village inn to lighten the atmosphere. Anyone who hasn't seen him should look him up on youtube; one of the best characters in television.

Jon: If there was a piece of music that would be suitable as the theme tune for your book, what is it!

B R: Ah. Beethoven's 9th Symphony. An epic piece with every emotion packed in, and an ending to blow your socks off.

Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?

B R: I didn't set out to change the world with this book. It was written to entertain; pure and simple.

Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Bruce's book...

Then Kellan heard voices from up the slope. They were searching for him. He rose quickly and ran again, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, listening for his pursuers. Suddenly he crashed into a pile of branches, sending him sprawling on the damp, rocky ground.
He slowly looked up, and to his horror saw feet, dangling not a hand's width from his face. Every fibre of his being urged him not to look up, to run blindly away, but before he could stop himself he had raised his head.
He screamed. Before him, hanging from a bough, was his father. Face swollen and purple, eyes glazed. And then, like hammer blows, one by one he saw the other five victims, scattered about the edges of the small clearing, tongues bulging from between purple lips. He scratched at his face, trying to erase the images, but his father’s lifeless eyes glared through his frantic hands.
Gagging on the bile that filled his throat, he tore himself away from that place and ran, stumbled, crawled across the stones and dust. Horrors clawed at his back no matter how quickly he went, always just a hair’s breadth from tearing him down and devouring his mind. The back of his neck burned as he plunged on down the mountainside, too terrified to look back. Then his terror was joined by something more powerful.
He felt something terrible rise within him; a horrifying, yet welcome release from the visions that filled his mind. Even as he stumbled on down the slope, he felt a furnace of rage start to burn in the pit of his belly, and a roaring in his ears cut out the sounds of snapping branches and stones sent tumbling down the steep slope. He felt no pain when he tumbled and skidded on the sharp rocks, was barely aware of his surroundings at all, only the volcano building in his core.
On he ran down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, only away. Away from the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s dangling corpse. Away from blood, and swollen faces; headless bodies; terror. Unaware of passing time or distance he plunged on, fuelled by anger, giving himself freely to it, offering his soul to the rage within so that it could scour those images from his mind. He did not care if his being was swept away with it, so long as it took those awful memories and gave him peace, or oblivion.
He fell; weightless in free-fall for blessed seconds before hitting the icy river. The shock smashed away the muzzy walls that had almost shut him from the world outside, forcing him back to reality. Rage shattered like glass, giving way once again to fear, and despair as the foaming waters whisked him down rapid after rapid, tossing him, plunging him, dragging him down before throwing him up for a brief staccato gasp of air, then on down the torrent.
Then into free-fall once more, the roar of the waterfall echoing round the steep sided valley, but in those moments in space, a calm fell upon him. A perfect stillness. Detached as he was from the world, those blessed seconds freed him from his pain, both from the overwhelming sense of loss he felt, and from the damage to his battered body. The world was an arm’s length away, and rushing beside him as he began the calm slide downwards. Here in this place, above the water with its icy needles, below the jagged peaks with stones that cut flesh, he was untouchable, and utterly, utterly safe. He was in the womb, wrapped in soft torpor, the only sound, that of his mother’s heart. It had time to beat twice.
Then into the depths once more.
This time with no more fight to give.

www.brcrichton.com

Jon: A big thank you to B R Crichton for spending the time to talk to me about his writing.

This is the Prologue and first chapter of my soon to be released fourth part in the Josiah Trenchard series. It pits the crew of the Might of Fortitude against savage space zombies and is due for release soon. I hope you enjoy this excerpt...



Prologue "Industrial Espionage"

The small holographic television screen in the corner of the laboratory, flashed up a breaking news report, making several of the white clad scientists look up from their work with mild interest. The Intergalactic News Network’s anchorman, Alexander Robertson, was talking excitedly over dramatic pictures of a smoking mountain.
‘…huge explosion has collapsed the top of the Olympus Mons volcano on Mars, where the reclusive scientist Farouk El-Baz’s high security laboratory was situated. El-Baz was renowned for some of the most advanced technological breakthroughs in recent history including the vaccine for the Rhinovirus, advances in cybernetic limb replacement and the design of the engines for the eagerly awaited “Kalpesh Vayu” star cruiser.’
Robertson looked into a different camera and cocked his head to one side.
‘Boy, would I like to get my hands on one of those puppies!’ he crowed.
‘Turn that rubbish off!’ snapped another scientist who chose that moment to walk into the room. He was clearly the boss. His voice was muffled by a thick rubber mask, which was stretched across his face. ‘Mr Nakamura is not paying us to watch television!’
As one, the Japanese scientists all turned for a moment and bowed respectfully to the three-dimensional holograph of the head of the corporation that was mounted on one wall. A small label at the bottom of the picture read “Proteus Pharmaceuticals Chairman - Akihito Nakamura”. On the wall above the picture was the logo of Proteus Pharmaceuticals, a three pronged trident painted in the style of Japanese lettering that was set on a yellow diamond surrounded by a red circle. The figure in the picture was an impeccably smart, ageing Japanese gentleman. He wore a dull grey tailored suit and an expression of restrained pride and calm superiority.
At that moment, an alarm began to blare loudly in the distance. All the scientists looked up with unease. Yellow warning lights began to flash on the ceiling of the laboratory and the floor shook violently as a distant explosion resonated through the rigid metal structure beneath them. The scientists stared at each other in shock and panic. One of them pulled his mask down and cried, ‘What do we do Sir?’
‘Save the samples!’ shouted the head scientist, scrabbling for a rack of glass vials filled with bright blue liquid that were standing on the desk top in front of him, ‘…and put your mask back on! Do you want to be infected?’
As the scientists tried desperately to stow the fragile samples into a cold storage safe, the door to the laboratory was suddenly wrenched off its pneumatic seals by another massive explosion. There was a brilliant flash of green light and debris flew in several directions as most of the scientists were thrown off their feet. A slender figure, clothed in black from head to toe and wearing a black facemask, burst through the door and levelled a small automatic pistol at the lead scientist. The man’s face drained of colour and he instinctively brought his arm up to cover his terrified face. With a click, the black figure strafed the room from left to right, cutting the unfortunate survivors of the explosion into two. Blood splashed onto the clean ceramic surfaces of the lab leaving patterns that resembled cherry blossom against a late spring snow.
When the firing stopped, the assassin thrust the smoking pistol into a large holster attached to its belt and made straight for the cold storage safe. It stepped carefully over the twitching corpses, white lab coats stained with crimson blood. Quickly, the black figure grabbed several vials and stored them carefully away in a pouch that was attached to their belt and then turned towards the door, ready to make good their escape.
The figure froze. Standing blocking the doorway were a dozen guards, armoured, helmeted, and carrying traditional Japanese Katana swords. This may have seemed strange for anyone who didn’t work for Nakamura. Not only was the boss a traditionalist, but also there was always something explosive in the laboratory that could be triggered by a stray bullet. Swords simply were more practical. The black figure dropped gloved hands to its sides and circled its head around tense shoulders, clicking the neck vertebrae into place one by one. After a short pause, the assassin politely nodded their masked face briefly before reaching up and around to a sheath tied to their back, pulling out a short Wakizashi sword. The figure lunged at the nearest guard, who parried and dove to the side. A second guard whirled his Katana through the air, to be met with a clang of sparks by the assassin’s flashing blade.
Wherever the assassin moved there was a ready blade waiting to meet its own. The combatants whirled and dodged in a sick parody of ballet, but the outcome was inevitable. The assassin was hopelessly outnumbered. With a sideways slice, the lead guard caught the assassin across the stomach, opening the flesh like a fishmonger filleting tuna. The black figure bent double in pain and then collapsed backwards onto the floor. One-by-one, the guards swiftly thrust their swords downwards, piercing every vital organ of the intruder. As the assassin haemorrhaged internally and coughed blood through the fibres of their black mask, the lead guard knelt and peered down into piercing green eyes that were narrowed and angry. Reaching forward, the guard grabbed the lightweight mask and ripped it off, to reveal the face of a young man with flowing locks of golden hair that cascaded to the floor only to soak up his own ebbing life-blood.
The guard grimaced and snarled at the dying man. ‘Mr Nakamura was very clear,’ he said with a hiss. ‘He will not sell Ōnamuji, nor will he allow it to be stolen!’
‘You fucking yellow son of a bitch!’ gurgled the man with the long golden hair and green eyes.
The guard smiled. ‘Racism will get you nowhere. You have failed!’
The dying man smiled as he coughed up the blood that was filling his lungs. He held up his right hand. One of the glass vials was gripped between his gloved fingers. The blue liquid within seemed to glow and shimmer.
The guard’s face fell. ‘You would not dare!’ he hissed through trembling lips.
‘Wouldn’t I,’ snarled the assassin. ‘I hold the power of life and death in my hands. That power elevates me above the gods!’
The guards all took a step backwards. ‘You’re insane!’ shouted the head guard who was beginning to panic.
‘Kutabare!’ growled the assassin, swearing in perfect Japanese.
The assassin closed his fingers abruptly, breaking the delicate glass vial and releasing the experimental Ōnamuji drug within. Instantly the liquid in the vial boiled away into the air and dispersed as a gas. The head guard jumped back, but it was too late. Infinitesimal particles of the gaseous drug spun through the air like dandelion seeds on a breeze and entered his lungs. He convulsed violently and screamed. Deep inside his brain a chemical reaction took place, accelerating faster than his body could cope. Suddenly, he blinked and his eyes became a deep glowing blue, the colour of shining sapphire. His skin softened and became translucent, revealing pumping blue veins beneath. Then his whole body took on a glow, almost as though his life force was shining through. Abruptly his face cleared and took on an expression of inhuman rage and aggression. He straightened up and turned suddenly towards his comrades, who were already backing, terrified, towards the door.
The guard snarled like an animal and leapt. In a second, he was upon them, biting, tearing and gnawing; a one man weapon of mass destruction. As the gas spread through the air, the remaining guards fell. As each inhaled, one by one they convulsed and rose a second later with eyes of flashing blue and waxen skin. As the alarm claxon sounded, the rampaging guards tore out into the corridor, smashing the bio-lock door to pieces and began to spread like a virus into the rest of the crippled ship.



Chapter 1 "S.O.S."

Extract from the Central Computer Network:

ccn.unitedworlds.co.ert/history/josia...

CAPTAIN JOSIAH TRENCHARD - THE FIXER:

Captain Trenchard and the crew of the Might of Fortitude had battled a vicious robotic weapon built by the Papaver Corporation (see Morgenstern), and then cut off the supply of deadly gas to the Insurgent terrorists. Trenchard had subsequently been promised by Admiral Fife that he would be sent back out into the Asteroid Belt to hunt down pirates once more. Unfortunately his eagerness to aid Captain Fisher, Jarvis and Kidd in tracking down pirate Captains Smiler, Raven and Harlequin, would have to wait. Trenchard’s reputation for going feet first into dangerous situations and kicking the enemy up the arse had spread beyond the military. He was becoming something of a minor celebrity, although his methods constantly gave his superiors cause to worry. Trenchard himself had become deeply concerned that one of his crew, A.S. Cox, had been imprisoned in a psychiatric institution and that another, Lieutenant Ellen Stofan, had been killed after being discovered as a double agent. The Might of Fortitude barely had time to re-supply after returning from Pazuzu, before a pressing emergency in the proximity of Saturn’s rings, drew Trenchard into a deadly struggle that would test his mettle to destruction, and beyond…

Trenchard was once again waiting pensively outside the conference room of the naval academy on the surface of the dwarf planet Cairn, where the United Worlds Space Navy’s main base was situated. It had been only a few days since their return from Pazuzu in the Sirius system, but Trenchard was eager to get back out into space again. The incident with Cox had deeply unsettled the crew and they needed a diversion.
The door to the conference room slid open and an elderly Japanese man in a grey suit exited the room at speed. He gave Trenchard a brief, but polite, bow from the waist as he passed. Then he rushed off down the corridor to be met by a worried looking middle aged Japanese man in a similar grey suit, and about a dozen armed guards. The guards were wearing a uniform that Trenchard didn’t recognise. He surmised that they must be some kind of private security. They were all wearing traditional Hachimaki headbands tied around their foreheads. Each was emblazoned with a trident symbol that Trenchard couldn’t quite make out.
Trenchard was pulled out from his introspection as his boss, Admiral Fife, appeared at the door looking stressed and beckoned him into the room. The conference room was long and had chairs arranged around an oval table and a huge holographic projector mounted on the far wall. A vast United Worlds flag bearing a yellow sun and several orbiting red planets hung from another wall, and opposite from that, the navy’s slogan “Honour, strength and unity!” was carved into the stone wall and picked out in gold leaf. Trenchard’s eyes hovered over the slogan. It had always meant a great deal to him. He was undoubtedly a man of honour. That didn’t always mean being polite or gentle, like a dashing knight of old. To Trenchard, honour was a crowbar that was used to beat off temptation and enabled you to stick to your own personal values. It was doing what was right, no matter what the consequences. Honour had been telling Captain Bird where to stick it when he had tempted Trenchard with mutiny. Strength he had plenty of, both physical and emotional. Unity, well that was another thing. He could do little about the state of the entire United Worlds which was being torn apart by a war against Insurgent terrorists. Neither could he watch over the entire Space Navy, where cracks were beginning to appear even now. All he could hope to do was keep his own crew working together effectively, something that he seemed to have done with reasonable success so far. The revelation that Lieutenant Stofan, one of his trusted troopers, had been a saboteur and traitorous double agent still stuck in his craw. It festered like a wound at the very heart of the crew’s morale.
Trenchard sat heavily on a chair and waited for Fife to start. Fife looked pensive as he settled into a chair, as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind.
‘Are you well Captain?’ asked Fife in his remarkably dour Scottish accent. ‘That thing with Ellen Stofan can’t have been easy.’
He was straight to the point as usual; there was no drama with Fife.
‘I’m as good as I can be,’ replied Trenchard. ‘Being that we had a traitor on board and Cox was hauled of to the mental asylum at Bedlam, I’m just dandy!’
‘Good,’ said Fife ignoring the obvious dig. Fife had been the one that allowed Cox to be taken to the high security prison, something that Trenchard hadn’t forgiven him for. Then taking a deep breath, Fife began, ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be back out in the asteroid belt just yet Captain. Subduing the pirates will have to wait for a while longer. A situation has arisen which requires urgent attention.’
‘What’s the mission? I assume it’s somebody else’s fuck up that I’m sorting out, as usual?’ asked Trenchard, as direct as Fife.
Fife grinned a mirthless grin and snorted. ‘This morning there was a general S.O.S. sent out from the science vessel SS Seishi. She’s owned by Proteus Pharmaceuticals. Technically she’s a long line gas miner, but she was recently purchased by Proteus and converted into a floating laboratory. She’s in a tight orbit between the surface of Saturn and its rings.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Nobody knows for sure. The scientists aboard were researching a number of top-secret drugs for Proteus, it’s possibly a biological outbreak of some kind, but it could be pirates, Insurgents, anything.’
Trenchard could smell a rat. He had developed a keen nose for bullshit, and it was screaming at him now, insisting that he was right in the middle of a field of diarrheic bulls that had just been given Vindaloo curry for lunch.
‘Why is the navy getting involved, surely Proteus has its own security vessels?’
‘Indeed they do, but we’ve received a personal plea for help from Akihito Nakamura, the head of Proteus. Do you have your zero gee sickness pills with you?’
Confused, Trenchard nodded and pulled the small bottle from his pocket. He always carried them. He hated zero gravity and the pills were the only thing that stopped him from constantly vomiting.
‘See the label?’ said Fife.
Trenchard studied the label. Printed on the side was the same trident logo that the guards in the corridor had worn on their headbands.
‘His company supplies a great deal of the medical equipment and drugs for the entire navy,’ explained Fife. ‘He could withhold supplies if he wanted to. It’s a very difficult political situation.’
‘But why is he asking for military help specifically, does he know something that we don’t?’
Fife took a deep breath.
‘One of his sons is on board that ship,’ said Fife. Then there was a long pause as he let this sink in to Trenchard’s mind. ‘Makoto Nakamura was touring the ship, inspecting her after the recent refit. Nakamura’s already lost a daughter, and that devastated him. He’s terrified that he’ll loose one of his sons. The request for help came directly to the office of Admiral Adisa and was passed down to me. I’ve just met Nakamura personally. He was very insistent that the Might of Fortitude carries out the mission. Apparently, word of your recent exploits is starting to spread. He’s convinced that you’re the best man for the job, the best chance of saving his son. It seems that you’ve made quite an impression on him… Fixer!’
Trenchard fumed. He hated the glib nickname that the I.N.N. anchorman Alexander Robertson had given him. He chose to ignore the comment and ploughed straight on.
‘Was that him that just left?’ asked Trenchard.
Fife nodded. ‘He came straight here from his meeting with Adisa at Star-spires with his other son Hitoshi. He’s very worried. He’s an old man now and he’s expecting to hand his company over to his two sons.’
‘I’ll try my best not to disappoint him.’
Fife slumped in his chair. ‘Thank you Jo,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know this isn’t what you wanted, especially after losing Stofan and Cox the way you did, but it’s important for the navy.’
Trenchard’s face became stony. ‘I didn’t lose them, they were taken from me,’ he said simply.
Fife looked nervous for a moment and then reached forwards to a control on the desktop. As he operated the control, the door to the room locked with a resounding click. Fife glowered at Trenchard for a long moment before finally speaking.
‘I know you’re pissed at me for what happened to Cox, but it was beyond my control. I’m on your side Jo believe me! I looked into that prototype Kalpesh Vayu star-ship for you,’ said Fife in a quiet voice.
Trenchard’s ears perked up. The Japanese assassin whom he had been tracking for a while now used that ship. She was linked to the Papaver Corporation, the Morgenstern and the gas attack in Paris. She most probably was responsible for killing Stofan and she definitely gave Trenchard the scar on his neck, a permanent reminder of her sinister dealings. She was behind a trail of death and destruction that spread across the entire United Worlds. He was desperate to find her.
‘The Vayu model has had a number of contributors including Farouk El-Baz, Kalpesh and… the Papaver Corporation.’
Trenchard tensed, this was exactly the sort of lead that he was after.
‘Papaver designed and built the computer systems for the Vayu. It’s the most advanced ship of its kind anywhere in the United Worlds,’ continued Fife. ‘It hasn’t gone into production yet because of a fault with the hatch seal. Kalpesh built only one working prototype. He gave it to Papaver as a personal gift.’
Trenchard chewed over the information for a moment.
‘So Papaver must have given the ship to her!’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ replied Fife. ‘She could have stolen it. Who knows? I tried to get an answer from Papaver directly, but he’s not replying to any of my messages.’
Trenchard sighed. ‘So it’s another dead end,’ he growled.
‘Unfortunately yes,’ said Fife. ‘I’m afraid the only way that you’ll ever catch her is to physically entrap her. She has the best ship in the United Worlds that has obviously been retro-fitted with stealth capabilities. She doesn’t appear on the Facial Recognition Database, or any other database for that matter, and she seems to be expert at concealing her activities.’
Trenchard grunted. ‘Thanks for checking anyway. I appreciate it,’ he said.
Fife nodded. ‘Whatever I can do to help. I’d quite like a word with her myself; find out what she’s been up to and why.’
‘Why don’t you ask Admiral Turner directly?’ said Trenchard, rather bluntly. ‘You and I both know that Turner’s had meetings with her!’
Trenchard had seen the assassin enter a meeting with Admiral Turner with his own eyes. The direct question took Fife off guard. He blinked and inhaled deeply before replying.
‘I cannot ask another Admiral of the fleet if she is involved with a freelance assassin without proof. High command would have me demoted for the accusation at best!’
Trenchard came to the end of his patience and made as if to stand. ‘Right. Well if that’s everything, I’d appreciate you unlocking the damned door?’
Fife raised his finger angrily. ‘I haven’t finished yet Captain!’ he snapped. ‘Sit down!’
Trenchard grumpily sat back down again.
‘There’s one more thing,’ Fife said with narrowed eyes, ‘…and I’m afraid you won’t like it.’
‘So what else is new,’ said Trenchard.
‘Nakamura’s insisted that you take one of his people on board, a specialist.’
‘A civilian?’ said Trenchard alarmed.
‘She’s one of Nakamura’s top scientists. She was directly involved in developing a lot of the drugs that they were testing aboard the Seishi. If anyone knows anything about what you could come up against on that ship, it will be her.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Eiko Yasui. She’s waiting for you in the combat training zone.’


Ellen’s Story: Six Months Previously…

Lieutenant Ellen Stofan walked briskly along a corridor inside the U.W.S.N. headquarters of Star-spires, heading for a meeting. She was nervous as hell and could feel the sweat dribbling down her shaven scalp underneath her helmet. She had been a perimeter guard here at Star-spires for nearly two years now and in all that time had never been summoned to a meeting with anyone higher up the chain of command than a Lieutenant Commander. Suddenly, out of the blue, Admiral Turner had summoned Stofan to her office, high up in the gothic spires of the building.
Stofan reached Admiral Turner’s office and stopped. She prepared herself mentally for a moment. God, she hoped that she hadn’t done something wrong. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong, but some of the top brass could be arseholes if you didn’t salute them properly. She reached out gingerly and pressed the door buzzer.
After a long moment, the heavy oak-panelled door swung open and she found herself facing a gaunt looking man. He was ranked as Commander and had thinning hair that was combed over a balding patch. His skin looked greasy and he had an unkind scowl on his brittle features.
‘Yes?’ said the Commander with a sneer.
Stofan looked up at him and saluted. ‘Lieutenant Ellen Stofan reporting as ordered Sir!’ she said curtly, snapping into a formal attention.
The Commander looked her up and down as if he were appraising a second hand car. ‘Ahh, yes,’ he said, his upper class accent only accentuating the disdain in his voice. ‘Come in. Admiral Turner is expecting you.’
The thin man stood aside and Stofan marched stiffly into the room, stopping a couple of feet before Admiral Turner’s desk. The man closed the door and stood behind Stofan, rather unnervingly a little too close for comfort. Stofan took in what she could see of the office from her strict attention posture. It was a large room; oak panelled and had a luxurious thick red carpet on the floor. There was one large window, a huge gothic arch that looked straight out across the courtyard below to the government buildings and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Admiral Turner was sat at a large oak desk with a built in touch screen computer and a holographic display. She was an older woman, maybe in her mid forties, and she had immaculately trimmed, short, slightly greying hair.
After a moment, Turner finished what she was doing and looked up at Stofan.
‘Lieutenant Stofan? Thank you for coming. You may stand at ease, and take off that helmet would you. It must be stifling under there.’
Stofan said a prompt, ‘Thank you Sir!’ and took off her helmet, holding it under her arm and relaxing her stance.
‘You’re probably wondering why I called you here?’ said Turner with a tight smile.
‘Yes Sir,’ replied Stofan.
Turner smiled, stood from her seat and moved over towards the arched window with her hands clasped behind her back.
‘You have an impressive service record Stofan,’ said Turner as she watched the distant waves. ‘You’re diligent, always obey orders and have advanced to the rank of Lieutenant remarkably quickly.’
Turner suddenly rounded on Stofan and stared deeply into her eyes.
‘You remind me somewhat of myself when I was a young officer.’
‘Thank-you Sir.’
Turner paused as if she was thinking about something difficult.
‘We need someone like you for a special assignment, one of the utmost danger and secrecy.’
Stofan reddened slightly. She had waited her whole life for this. Finally she had been noticed. She could almost smell the promotion.
‘What I’m going to ask you to do is vital for the future survival of the entire United Worlds Stofan, vital for the survival of our species. Do you understand?’
‘Yes Sir.’
Stofan didn’t quite understand, but she wasn’t going to argue with an Admiral.
‘If you agree to this, there is no going back. You will have nobody to turn to. You will be on your own.’
Stofan nodded.
Then Turner asked Stofan a question that took her completely off guard.
‘Is it true you have no dependents, no family, and no next of kin?’
Stofan wrinkled her forehead for a puzzled moment and then said, ‘Yes Sir. My family were killed when I was a teenager in an air-car accident. I was the only survivor. I have no close relatives. The navy is my home Sir.’
‘And there’s no-one waiting for you on the outside, no boyfriend, girlfriend?’
‘No Sir,’ said Stofan, growing more puzzled by the minute.
‘Good,’ said Turner and then nodded to the Commander who was standing directly behind Stofan. ‘Mabius!’
She felt Mabius’ breath on the back of her neck and then Stofan suddenly felt a slight prick at the base of her skull and then she blacked out.

Pain. Excruciating pain. There was a bright light somewhere above her. Stofan blinked her eyes and tried to focus. She was on some kind of bed or table, strapped down. Everything was white around her and she felt woozy, drugged. A face came into view, covered by a surgeon’s mask.
‘She’s responding nicely,’ said a voice with a thick French accent.
Another face loomed into view. Turner!
‘The chip’s in place?’ she asked.
The masked French man nodded.
‘Oui Madame. It is functioning perfectly.’
Turner looked satisfied.
‘Good. Knock her out.’
Stofan blacked out again.

Stofan suddenly felt cold; the sort of cold that you only get from a concrete floor.
Stofan grappled with consciousness like a greased pig. Slowly she became aware that she was lying in complete blackness on what felt like a bare concrete floor in a small room. She assumed it was small because there was no echo, but how could she tell? It was pitch black. She was freezing cold, shivering and felt like she was wearing something very thin and open at the back like a hospital gown? Her back and buttocks were pressed onto the cold floor.
Stofan struggled into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall and winced with pain. Something hurt like hell at the back of her head. She ran her hand over the spot and it felt wet and slippery. Bringing her hand in front of her face she smelled her fingers. They smelled tinny and metallic, like blood.
Suddenly a door opened and bright white light flooded into the room. The light stung her eyes and the pain in the back of her skull got worse. When her eyes had adjusted, she could make out a black figure standing silhouetted in the doorframe. The figure looked female and had her hands on her hips.
‘Lights!’ commanded a voice with just a hint of a Japanese accent.
The overhead lights blinked on and Stofan finally saw that she was in a cell of some kind. The woman at the door was dressed head to toe in black combat gear and had long dark brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked down at Stofan and smiled.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Like shit!’ croaked Stofan, looking up into the woman’s deep brown eyes.
‘You will do. You’ve had surgery.
‘Surgery!’ exploded Stofan. ‘What the fuck have you done to me?’
Suddenly Stofan’s energy returned and she jumped forwards at the woman. In a flash, the Japanese woman pulled a small device from her pocket and pressed a control. Instantly it was as if someone thrust a jagged knife into the back of Stofan’s skull and pushed it relentlessly behind her eyeballs.
Stofan collapsed in howling pain, cradling her head and yelling, ‘Please make it stop! Make it stop!’
The Japanese woman turned off the device and the pain subsided. She walked over to Stofan’s recumbent form and dropped onto her haunches, looking down with what resembled sympathy.
‘Look, I’d like to help you, but I can’t,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘They own you now, just like they own me. If you defy them there will be pain. If you don’t do what they want, there will be death... yours! They’ll ask you to do some horrible things. You will be forced to question your own morality.’
The Japanese woman drew closer to Stofan’s face. Stofan could feel her warm breath on her cheek.
‘I shouldn’t do this…’
The woman’s warm lips drew closer.
‘…but I can offer you a way out. This control,’ she said, indicating a large red button on the device, ‘is a kill switch. I can tell them that you jumped me and grabbed the device. If you press this, it will all be over. It will be painful, but at least it will be quick.’
The Japanese woman pressed the control device into Stofan’s shaking hands and then stood up.
‘Otherwise you’ll be slowly turned into a monster!’
When the Japanese woman spoke again it was almost a whisper.
‘Just like me…’
Stofan stared at the device in horror and then back up into the eyes of the Japanese woman.
‘I…. can’t!’ she said through tears and spittle.
The Japanese woman bent back down and retrieved the device. She walked back over towards the door and grabbed something, throwing it towards Stofan. It was a pile of black combat clothes, just like hers.
‘Don’t say that I didn’t warn you,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘You’re theirs now. They own your soul and there’s absolutely nothing that you can do about it.’
She turned to leave.
‘Get dressed. I have to take you home.’
‘Then what?’ asked Stofan in a quavering voice.
The assassin turned back and smiled. ‘Then you wait until your called to meet them,’ she said.

Part four is due to be released on Saturday 17th August 2013...

Jon: Today the Captain's Blog welcomes my good Twitter friend, D J Bowman-Smith. Here is a little about her...




"A few short years ago my nephew almost died from that terrible swine flu. He recovered and is now in the very best of health. But when it was all over I had (I think they call it mid-life crisis) a moment of, 'Am I doing what I want with my life?'

There is nothing like a brush with mortality to make one re-asses what really matters.

Anyway, I gave up teaching to write "Shoken Wars". I had started it a few years before and imagined, after a few books of notes that 'it' would fade away. But this is the story that will not lie down. The one I have to write. Book one, Fragile Peace is out now and I am (obsessed) busy with book two.

What else? Well I was a hairdresser when I was young and ran my own salon for some years and I have travelled a lot, as I used to work on the cruise liners, doing hair. Once computers came along I could manage my dyslexia and took a degree with the Open University and then trained as a teacher.

In amongst it all I have, and do work as an artist, taking on any commission that suits me. Recently I have painted a mural, designed a letterhead, painted a watercolour of sweet peas.

Paul and I have been married for twenty three years and we have two teenage daughters and a very fluffy cat called Milly who is transgendered... but that is probably another story.

Jon: Tell us about your book?




Bow: Fragile Peace, the first book of the Shoken Wars, begins the story of the Shoken King, his bonded protectors or Crystal Bearers and their enemies, the Sturgar.

War has not yet started, but it is coming. The Sturgar have gained strength and begun again their genocide of the lesser Shoken races.

An adult fantasy of intrigue, dark violence, friendship, romance, sex and bravery. Encompassing mythic beasts, ghosts, special powers and more.

Shoken Wars ~ a fight for power and survival.

Jon: Where did the original inspiration for Shoken Wars come from?

Bow: I have a funny feeling that you are not going to be the last person to ask me this question, which is a bit worrying, as I have absolutely no idea! All I can say is, at any given time I am running an imaginary world through my minds eye. When I began Shoken Wars I had two stories in my head. I decided to write a bit of each and see which one I liked best... I never did write any of the other one, although I still think about it. When you get right down to it, I'm probably just a day dreamer!

Jon: What, or who, is a Shoken?

Bow: Writing fantasy is a funny business and when I am in the 'zone' I imagine this new world I create to have different words for things. I try not to use too many as I don't want to overcomplicate things, for myself or the reader. So, the 'human like' people in my story, they are 'shoken' whilst the less 'human like' (and the bad guys) are the Sturgar. All of the Shoken races will have to unite against the Sturgar if they want to survive.

Jon: your cover art is very interesting. Why a face made from knives?

Bow: Well if I happen to be left alone with a bit of paper and something to make a mark with, what I draw is faces and knives. Which is odd, because I look like I would draw kittens and roses (and write romance)... but then, looks can be deceiving.

I think what I am trying to convey is that whatever the Shoken fight the Sturgar with, they are still fighting a losing battle. It's going to take cunning and knowledge of their weakness to win, not just weapons and it's going to take a long time.

Jon: Did hairdressing teach you anything that you have brought to your writing?

Bow: I think any job where you get to meet a lot of different people is good for writing. And I believe all writers are, ultimately, people watchers. And it is odd, folk often drop their barriers and open up when they are having there hair done. Certainly I have heard some pretty intimate stories.

But the main thing was the travel. I spent three years hairdressing on the cruise liners and have been around the world a few times. When I got home I couldn't find my way around my home town of Bournemouth, I was mare familiar with Shanghai and Hong Kong!

Jon: I know a lot of writers who are / were teachers. What do you think teacher training brings to being an author?

Bow: It is about all the people you meet, kids, parents, teachers, caretakers etc. but also, as a teacher, one is constantly having to expand ones knowledge base to meet the requirements of the curriculum and the children's needs. As a teacher you must become a lifelong learner and that is good for a writer... there is always something that needs to be found out or understood either for the writing itself or to support it. My next challenge (and I have no clue about this) is to make a YouTube trailer.

Jon: Tell us about some of the artwork that you have completed recently apart from your book covers. What do you like to do, why do you enjoy it?




Here I am (standing on the table) painting a mural in my house. I have done a few similar 'trophy heads' for people. I like to make each different even if people want a 'copy' of something they have seen in my home or someone else's. The antler on the right ended up with a bunch of keys hanging from it as a surprise for the client's partner as she is always losing them, (sadly I did not take a picture).

I enjoy this type of thing and love the freedom a nice big wall gives! It is important to think about how the light is falling in the room so that you add the shadows accordingly to give the trompe-l'oeil effect. At the moment I am working on some sketches to paint a mural of a ship's port hole in a client's kitchen. They are undecided whether they want to see through the port hole, at the moment the husband wants a mermaid but the wife, a tropical island! When they decide I will get to work!

In the summer I was asked to paint some sweet peas for a raffle for a charity ball that was raising money for the ECMO hospital in Leicester. Extra Corporeal Membrane Oxygenation (ECMO) is a machine that oxygenates the blood. They managed to raise £8000 which was great and I understand the money is going to go toward equipping another ambulance with an ECMO machine. So it was great to paint something to help raise money for charity.



The funny thing is, when I am painting I am always thinking about writing. I like to put some head phones on and let my mind drift off into my imagination as I work. I always keep a note book handy so I can write down anything that might come in useful.

Jon: Do you have a short excerpt from "Shoken Wars" for my readers?

Shoken Wars, Book one, Fragile Peace

Chapter 1

She was nothing. A tiny slip of a girl who barely reached his shoulder, and if politeness had not been ingrained from an early age, he would have laughed aloud at her audacity. Instead he stood his ground, blocking the entrance to the prisoner’s cell, and adopted a serious expression.

‘We requested one of the Lord’s protectors,’ he said.

The girl looked bored and walked away, for a moment he thought she was leaving, but she stopped at the foot of the steps and called up. The Warder came in a hurry and made a formal salute to her, she returned it casually.

‘I haven’t got time to argue with your man here,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry my Lady, he’s new,’ he said, still standing to attention with his right fist clenched over his heart. ‘Do as she asks.’

She came to stand beside him, indicating with a nod that he should open the door. He turned the key slowly, ‘I’m coming in with you,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’

It was a rude question, implying she outranked him. He studied her expressionless face as she peered through the bars of the door. She was just a girl, albeit one dressed in boy’s clothing and she was young. His face stretched into smile, partly from amusement, more from incredulity, surely she did not think she could go in and face one, alone and unarmed?

The lock clicked its last and the heavy door swung inward. Before he had the chance to stop her she had stepped inside and so he followed, bringing a torch from the wall and loosening his sword.

At first the cell seemed empty until he looked up and saw it, crouching in the rafters, like a man, almost. It watched them, the vertical slit pupils of its eyes made him uneasy and he held the flame higher so it turned away from the light. Even from this distance it seemed huge, menacing even as it was injured, and he felt unsafe in its presence.

‘Come on, you’ve seen it now. Time to go,’ he said, reaching out to help her through the door before it decided to jump down and kill them both. She slipped out of reach and moved to the back of the cell and running four strides leapt onto the rafter, lithe as a cat. He drew his broad-sword on a reflex as the Sturgar stood to face her.

They had thrashed it half to death, stripped and left it bound, or so they thought. Yet here it stood, free and seemingly none the worse for the beating, its smooth grey body rippling with muscle. The girl addressed it quietly, in a soft whispered breath.

‘How many of you came?’

The Sturgar glanced down at the open door and the soldier, then turned his attention back to the girl. She held something, two tiny blades that caught the light. He would have laughed if she had drawn such weapons on him but the Sturgar stepped back, watching her. She turned her hands over, the blades lay flat on her palms.

‘I can make your death swift or slow, the choice is yours. Either way you will tell me what I need to know,’ she breathed.

The Sturgar said nothing and was still, only the slight rhythmic twitch of its long tail showed it was agitated. The blades floated up and hung in the air of their own volition. It was captivating.

Then the blades moved. A sudden dart, one to its throat where it hovered, pricking the skin lightly. The Sturgar tried to bat it away with his hands, every time the metal touched him he was cut, and soon was bleeding freely. The other blade, had gone unnoticed, floating just below its navel and when this cut into him the Sturgar clutched his stomach and fell heavily, a massive writhing heap to the floor.

The girl jumped down, another blade her hand. Impassively she regarded the creatures agony for a moment then calmly sliced off its tail and kicked him onto his back with her foot. She held it up for him to see. It was grey, smooth and much longer than she was tall.

The Sturgar looked up at her and where it had made no noise, even when the soldiers had beaten it, now it cried, a soft high pitched whine, disconcerting and awful.

The girl knelt down, then coiled the tail like a rope and laid it on his chest. She must have stopped the movement of the blade that was inside him as the Sturgar ceased clawing at its stomach.

‘Tell me,’ she said, in her quiet, soft voice, ‘do the Sturgar still believe their god will think lesser of them if they arrive at death without a tail, like a little shoken?’

The Sturgar looked at her and hissed.

‘I think I shall keep yours. Hang it on my wall.’

Again the blades moved and the Sturgar writhed and cried until at last it let go its stomach and placed both hands over the severed tail. Silence for a moment, then it spoke.

‘Seven runners were sent.’ Its voice was barely audible.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Not here, we went across the Land. Many places.’

‘Why?’

‘To be the eyes of the Master. So he can learn about the softlings.’

‘Which Master?’

‘Mag’Sood.’

The girl nodded, reached over and slit the Sturgar’s throat, first one way and then the other, severing both jugular veins, then the blade that had been within him, pierced the skin below the rib cage and came to her waiting hand.

‘I asked for your name soldier,’ she said, and there was menace in her tone as she stepped over the pooling blood and came toward him.

‘Krebre,’ he said, realising he was still brandishing the broad sword and re-sheathed it, feeling like a fool. He saw her look over his uniform, taking in the years of service, rank and cohort and understood in that glance she knew just where to find him.

‘You will not speak of anything you have seen or heard,’ she said, moving toward the door and calling for the Warder.

The Warder came at a run; she ignored his salute. ‘Where was the Sturgar found?’

‘From the wall, shot by a young archer.’

Taking the torch from Krebre she knelt down and examined the body in detail. There was a wound to the shoulder from an arrow, but for a full grown male Sturgar it was nothing. She was surprised he had been hit, much less captured.

‘Why wasn’t he bound?’

‘He was my Lady, well bound,’ said the Warder.

‘With leather?’

‘Yes. We had no manacles big enough,’ the Warder looked about for the straps wanting to show her how strong they were.

‘He would have eaten them,’ she said and pulled back the Sturgar’s gums, revealing a double row of teeth. The gums were red and bleeding and now, placing her hand on his face, she knew. ‘He was sick,’ she said, ‘feel how hot his skin is.’

Neither reached down to touch the Sturgar.

‘No one would have been able to catch him otherwise,’ she said and knew it was the reason the Sturgar had not made any effort to fight.

‘The body needs to be burnt else the infection it carries might spread. Do it here in secret and if rumours begin, say it was only one of the Strick that was captured for stealing. Bring Patmore the Smith, he can be trusted. Have him take a look at the body and make some manacles that would fit.’

‘Will there be others?’ the Warder asked as he walked cautiously around the body as if not quite trusting that the Sturgar was dead.

‘Yes,’ she said, going to the door. ‘Sooner, or later they will come, and if you survive, you will think back, and know the shoken wars began here.’

Krebre took the torch she held out. ‘Do you want the tail?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Why give him another reason to hunt me down in the after life?’

Her smile lacked mirth and made him shiver.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragile-Peace...

Jon: A big thank you to Bow for joining me on the Captain's blog!