Jonathon Fletcher's Blog: Captain's Blog, page 2
January 16, 2014
The Captain's Blog proudly presents: Tips on using Twitter to promote your book!
How to promote yourself as an author on Twitter…
I was asked recently by a good friend and fellow author on Twitter (hi Carol!) if I had any tips for promoting books on Twitter without pissing people off. No matter what you do, you are always bound to annoy someone. There is a very fine line between being purely social and being annoying by posting too many adverts, yes you spammers out there, listen up!
You can’t please all the people all of the time. Some people see Twitter as a purely social arena and some as a business opportunity. I see myself as being somewhere in-between the two. I hope that I’ve found the right balance and what follows is how I’ve done it. Some of this you will already know. Some of it will seem obvious. But it’s surprising how many people on Twitter don’t realise how to promote themselves effectively.
I am an author of the #MilitarySCI_FI #JosiahTrenchard novellas. I self publish on Amazon. I use Twitter as a way of meeting like minded people, for meeting potential readers, and for promoting my books. The rules below are methods I have learned or picked up from other people that seem to work for me. You may know better. I generally tweet from an iPad, so your screen controls may look different to mine, but the processes involved should be the same for everyone.
Rule 1: Twitter is a social network, treat it as such.
If you just tweet adverts at people 24/7, they will switch off and ignore or even un-follow you. The whole point of Twitter for an author is to be social and interesting while subtly trying to get potential customers interested in your product. You don’t want to be the Twitter equivalent of those morons who sidle up to you while you’re shopping in an electrical store and try to sell you a credit card now do you?
I try to tweet a few nice things to people, join into conversations and then throw in the odd advert in randomly between. I find that if you send out ten adverts in one go, or worse still use automatic software (grrr), people will scroll past your pages of tweets and simply ignore them. People are generally not stupid, they know if you are using software and will generally get bored of you really quickly if you send “contributed tweets”.
Interact. Be funny, be subtle, be whatever you like but be INVOLVED! I have met some lovely people on Twitter who are not even remotely interested in my books, but I still talk to them regularly because Twitter is a social network first and an advertising platform second.
Rule 2: Little and often.
If you just go onto Twitter once a day and throw out fifty tweets in an hour, most will be ignored. Go on every couple of hours through the day if you can and send one or two tweets. If you can’t manage that go on first thing in the morning and last thing at night, maybe lunch time too. Apart from hitting more people, you’ll catch users in other countries who have just woken up or are about to go to bed. I’m in the UK. Most of America is asleep when I tweet. If I’m on very early in the morning or late at night I will catch people at either end of their day in the USA. I’ve even been known to tweet in the middle of the night when I have to get up to pee! This is happening more often these days as middle age rolls on, but at least I get the occasional RT in return for my nocturnal wanderings.
Rule 3: Tweet a picture.
THIS IS IMPORTANT! A lot of people who are trying to promote themselves, particularly books, don’t use pictures and I really don’t know why? People generally prefer to work visually. I specifically look for tweets with pictures because I like to see what’s going on instead of reading through reams and reams of text. But this isn’t the main reason to use pictures.
My latest Twitter promotional picture...
If someone sees that you’ve RT’d them and they want to reciprocate, they’ll usually go to your home page and hit “View more Tweets”. If they then have to scroll through four screens of your RT’s of other people before they can find one tweet that is actually yours, they’ll usually get bored and move on. However, tweet a picture and they can immediately see your latest tweet in the pictures section of your Twitter home page and RT you more easily. Simples!
Please make sure your pictures are of good quality. There’s nothing worse than opening up the picture of an author’s book cover on an iPad screen to find it is blurry and pixelated. Authors, use pictures of your book covers. Don’t just rely on a link. If your cover is eye catching, people will stop to look. Think of Twitter like a book store full of other titles. Yours has to stand out!
Rule 4: Don’t just RT.
If all you do is RT other people and never tweet yourself, it becomes very frustrating for people trying to find a tweet of yours to RT back. Every time you have done eight to ten RT’s, throw in a promo tweet of your own or even just something social. This saves someone who wants to RT you back having to scroll through pages and pages of other people’s tweets to find yours. Use this in combination with rule three and you’ll make your tweets easier to find.
Rule 5: Always RT back. Always follow back.
This may seem simple, but if you want to get more followers and reach as many prospective customers as possible, always RT someone who has RT’d you. Do this one thing and you’ll see your re-tweets increase massively. Always follow back, unless you really don’t like the account that has followed you. Periodically check your followers to make sure they are still following and un-follow those who aren’t. Justunfollow.com is very useful for this and can be used unobtrusively.
Rule 6: Compose your tweets to look visually interesting.
If you bunch all your tweets together in a jumble of text they
are harder to read. #WTF #ThisMakesNoSense #Jumbled
But if you… Space them out!
They look much more inviting! :)
#NiceAndClear
Just
Don’t
Take
The
Piss!
Or
You
Will
Annoy
People!!!!!!!!
Rule 7: Use #hashtags.
Find out what hashtags other people are using that are promoting similar products to yours and use them. Don’t make up your own apart from one or two that might be specific to your product. Use several hashtags for each tweet. Don’t make up silly ones that no-one else is using, it’s a waste of time. Google what is trending today (there are several websites that do this) and if there’s a hashtag that’s appropriate, use it!
For example, for the Doctor Who 50th anniversary there was a hashtag #SaveTheDay which lots of Whovians were using. I was promoting a blog interview about my books which are #SCI_FI and therefore I used the tag line “Need a hero to #SaveTheDay ?” in my promos to catch #DoctorWho fans who were idly trawling through that Twitter hashtag and might be interested in my books.
Rule 8: Seek out your own kind.
I am a self proclaimed sci-fi nerd. My books are aimed at people just like me. So therefore I go out of my way to be nice to other nerds I find along the way, RT them and Follow back. I get involved in conversations about the latest Doctor Who episode or the new Star Trek film. This way I have built up a community of like-minded friends who are more likely to help me out when I have a promotion running. The science fiction fans on Twitter are awesome and I have made many good friends who I talk to regularly (waves)…
In order to make my tweets more appealing to “my own kind” I use phrases and quotes from sci-fi TV and films that they will recognise. People tune into these phrases and are more likely to look at your tweet. Similarly I use tag lines akin to “If you like #StarTrek then you might like my books!” This is perfectly legal and comparing your product to something that people already know is going to make them more likely to read your tweet.
Again, act sensibly. Don’t just find science fiction fans and tweet adverts for your space opera book directly at them, or worse, send a DM! I hate DM’s from people that I don’t know. If you receive a DM with a link, don’t click on it as a lot of them are spam and they’re trying to hack your account.
Rule 9: Use your “Favourites” as a tweet store.
If you are running a promotion, you will probably want to have several different tweets to send out during the course of the day. Not only is this important to keep it interesting, but Twitter will not let you send out the same tweet twice in a row unless at least a few of the characters are different.
Here’s what to do:
1) Compose your first promo tweet.
2) Send it
3) Favourite / Star it.
4) Repeat this process at least three to five times making each tweet slightly different.
5) You can now safely go back to your first tweet in your favourites list and copy and paste it into a brand new tweet.
6) All you should now have to do is delete your @ name from the beginning of the tweet (for example @JonGardener) and then press send.
This method means that you can easily send the same tweets again and again throughout the day without continually having to re-type them, as long as you work methodically through the list and don’t send them too often.
Rule 10: Be friendly; your friends are your greatest allies.
This brings me right back to Rule 1. Twitter is a social network. If you treat it purely as an advertising tool, you will not get anywhere. Your Twitter friends that you make along the way are your greatest asset. If you have 1000 followers then your tweets may reach all of them, but more likely will only reach a small percentage.
If you have a friend who has 20,000 followers and they will happily re-tweet your promos, you’ve just massively increased your audience. I’m not saying actively seek out people with large followings either. Just keep track of who your buddies are by creating “Lists” and send them direct tweets when you have a promotion running asking them (nicely and politely) to RT your stuff. For this to work you MUST be prepared to do the same for them whenever they ask. If you are friendly and polite, people are usually all too happy to help.
Rule 11: Use an eye-catching avatar.
No I’m not talking about that awful film by James Cameron starring the Blue Meanies! Your avatar is the picture that appears in the left hand side of your tweet and on your Twitter home page. Don’t use the standard egg, you’re just not trying and you might as well be a damned spam-bot. Don’t use anything that is copyrighted either or you might get sued!
If you’re insistent upon using a picture of yourself, make the picture eye-catching. Wear a hat or a bright red scarf, do something unusual! (Stops and re-reads that last sentence…) Keep it clean though people. Your partner might like to see your naked glory, but we don’t!
Even better, design your own logo. Mine is a bright red evil eye. Everyone can see it stand out in a list of “head and shoulder” pictures and when I changed it recently for Mowvember, some people complained that I was harder to find and my RT rate dropped like a stone! Most people know how to manipulate images on their computer these days. All I did was to take a picture of my own eye and crop it square. Then I changed the colour to bright red. If you can’t do it yourself then find a friend who can. Your avatar is the first thing that people look for when they’re scanning the list for your tweets. It’s vital to have a good one!
Rule 12: Connect, connect, connect.
Get a website. You can get a free one if you have a G-mail account. Have links on your website to what you’re trying to sell and a contacts page to other places people can find you, for example Goodreads, Pinterest, G-Mail, Amazon. Put the link to your website on your twitter home page and include it in tweets where appropriate. My website is a simple Google Sites one. It’s free, easy to design yourself and has my biog, contacts, links to my books and special treats for my readers that aren’t in the books. It has so much information on it that you simply can’t put onto Twitter alone. If you have a blog, link it up. If you have an Amazon author page, link it to twitter and a YouTube video trailer for your book. Link everything to everything else and make your web presence even bigger.
Rule 13: Treat this like any other job.
You are trying to sell books and make money. Therefore this is your job, not a hobby! I can’t emphasise this enough. If you want to make a success out of whatever you are promoting, you must treat it as you would any other job. Do the same thing at the same time each day and do it EVERY day!
I wake up and the first thing I do is RT anyone who has RT’d me overnight. Then I send out one or two promo tweets and maybe something like a good morning tweet. Then I go to the bathroom, get dressed, have breakfast, load the van (I’m a gardener). After all that I sit down at my PC and RT anyone that has RT’d my first morning’s tweets and then send out another couple of tweets.
Then I write for about an hour, every day without fail.
When it gets to 8:30am I check my tweets one last time, RT and throw out a couple more promos. Then I leave for work as a gardener. If I come home at lunch time, I RT people who have RT’d me, then (you guessed it) send out a couple of promos.
When I get home from work, the first thing I do is check Twitter and RT, then tweet. During the evening while my wife is watching “I’m a Z list celebrity, please humiliate me for as long as I get paid,” I RT and tweet. The last thing I do before I go to sleep is RT and then tweet.
Repeat each day…
This is a routine I try to stick to. It’s hard as I’m trying to become an author at the same time as being a gardener and doing the household chores. But if you don’t treat promoting yourself as if it was any other job, then you’re not going to succeed. Oh, and I write blogs too, when I can find the time…
Phew! That’s everything I can think of at the moment. Feel free to post comments on my blog or e-mail / Tweet me questions if you have any. You probably have some hints and tips yourself? The main thing is be social, be polite and have fun!
I wish you every success with your projects and I hope to see you around on Twitter.
Thanks for reading.
Jon.
I was asked recently by a good friend and fellow author on Twitter (hi Carol!) if I had any tips for promoting books on Twitter without pissing people off. No matter what you do, you are always bound to annoy someone. There is a very fine line between being purely social and being annoying by posting too many adverts, yes you spammers out there, listen up!
You can’t please all the people all of the time. Some people see Twitter as a purely social arena and some as a business opportunity. I see myself as being somewhere in-between the two. I hope that I’ve found the right balance and what follows is how I’ve done it. Some of this you will already know. Some of it will seem obvious. But it’s surprising how many people on Twitter don’t realise how to promote themselves effectively.
I am an author of the #MilitarySCI_FI #JosiahTrenchard novellas. I self publish on Amazon. I use Twitter as a way of meeting like minded people, for meeting potential readers, and for promoting my books. The rules below are methods I have learned or picked up from other people that seem to work for me. You may know better. I generally tweet from an iPad, so your screen controls may look different to mine, but the processes involved should be the same for everyone.
Rule 1: Twitter is a social network, treat it as such.
If you just tweet adverts at people 24/7, they will switch off and ignore or even un-follow you. The whole point of Twitter for an author is to be social and interesting while subtly trying to get potential customers interested in your product. You don’t want to be the Twitter equivalent of those morons who sidle up to you while you’re shopping in an electrical store and try to sell you a credit card now do you?
I try to tweet a few nice things to people, join into conversations and then throw in the odd advert in randomly between. I find that if you send out ten adverts in one go, or worse still use automatic software (grrr), people will scroll past your pages of tweets and simply ignore them. People are generally not stupid, they know if you are using software and will generally get bored of you really quickly if you send “contributed tweets”.
Interact. Be funny, be subtle, be whatever you like but be INVOLVED! I have met some lovely people on Twitter who are not even remotely interested in my books, but I still talk to them regularly because Twitter is a social network first and an advertising platform second.
Rule 2: Little and often.
If you just go onto Twitter once a day and throw out fifty tweets in an hour, most will be ignored. Go on every couple of hours through the day if you can and send one or two tweets. If you can’t manage that go on first thing in the morning and last thing at night, maybe lunch time too. Apart from hitting more people, you’ll catch users in other countries who have just woken up or are about to go to bed. I’m in the UK. Most of America is asleep when I tweet. If I’m on very early in the morning or late at night I will catch people at either end of their day in the USA. I’ve even been known to tweet in the middle of the night when I have to get up to pee! This is happening more often these days as middle age rolls on, but at least I get the occasional RT in return for my nocturnal wanderings.
Rule 3: Tweet a picture.
THIS IS IMPORTANT! A lot of people who are trying to promote themselves, particularly books, don’t use pictures and I really don’t know why? People generally prefer to work visually. I specifically look for tweets with pictures because I like to see what’s going on instead of reading through reams and reams of text. But this isn’t the main reason to use pictures.
My latest Twitter promotional picture...
If someone sees that you’ve RT’d them and they want to reciprocate, they’ll usually go to your home page and hit “View more Tweets”. If they then have to scroll through four screens of your RT’s of other people before they can find one tweet that is actually yours, they’ll usually get bored and move on. However, tweet a picture and they can immediately see your latest tweet in the pictures section of your Twitter home page and RT you more easily. Simples!
Please make sure your pictures are of good quality. There’s nothing worse than opening up the picture of an author’s book cover on an iPad screen to find it is blurry and pixelated. Authors, use pictures of your book covers. Don’t just rely on a link. If your cover is eye catching, people will stop to look. Think of Twitter like a book store full of other titles. Yours has to stand out!
Rule 4: Don’t just RT.
If all you do is RT other people and never tweet yourself, it becomes very frustrating for people trying to find a tweet of yours to RT back. Every time you have done eight to ten RT’s, throw in a promo tweet of your own or even just something social. This saves someone who wants to RT you back having to scroll through pages and pages of other people’s tweets to find yours. Use this in combination with rule three and you’ll make your tweets easier to find.
Rule 5: Always RT back. Always follow back.
This may seem simple, but if you want to get more followers and reach as many prospective customers as possible, always RT someone who has RT’d you. Do this one thing and you’ll see your re-tweets increase massively. Always follow back, unless you really don’t like the account that has followed you. Periodically check your followers to make sure they are still following and un-follow those who aren’t. Justunfollow.com is very useful for this and can be used unobtrusively.
Rule 6: Compose your tweets to look visually interesting.
If you bunch all your tweets together in a jumble of text they
are harder to read. #WTF #ThisMakesNoSense #Jumbled
But if you… Space them out!
They look much more inviting! :)
#NiceAndClear
Just
Don’t
Take
The
Piss!
Or
You
Will
Annoy
People!!!!!!!!
Rule 7: Use #hashtags.
Find out what hashtags other people are using that are promoting similar products to yours and use them. Don’t make up your own apart from one or two that might be specific to your product. Use several hashtags for each tweet. Don’t make up silly ones that no-one else is using, it’s a waste of time. Google what is trending today (there are several websites that do this) and if there’s a hashtag that’s appropriate, use it!
For example, for the Doctor Who 50th anniversary there was a hashtag #SaveTheDay which lots of Whovians were using. I was promoting a blog interview about my books which are #SCI_FI and therefore I used the tag line “Need a hero to #SaveTheDay ?” in my promos to catch #DoctorWho fans who were idly trawling through that Twitter hashtag and might be interested in my books.
Rule 8: Seek out your own kind.
I am a self proclaimed sci-fi nerd. My books are aimed at people just like me. So therefore I go out of my way to be nice to other nerds I find along the way, RT them and Follow back. I get involved in conversations about the latest Doctor Who episode or the new Star Trek film. This way I have built up a community of like-minded friends who are more likely to help me out when I have a promotion running. The science fiction fans on Twitter are awesome and I have made many good friends who I talk to regularly (waves)…
In order to make my tweets more appealing to “my own kind” I use phrases and quotes from sci-fi TV and films that they will recognise. People tune into these phrases and are more likely to look at your tweet. Similarly I use tag lines akin to “If you like #StarTrek then you might like my books!” This is perfectly legal and comparing your product to something that people already know is going to make them more likely to read your tweet.
Again, act sensibly. Don’t just find science fiction fans and tweet adverts for your space opera book directly at them, or worse, send a DM! I hate DM’s from people that I don’t know. If you receive a DM with a link, don’t click on it as a lot of them are spam and they’re trying to hack your account.
Rule 9: Use your “Favourites” as a tweet store.
If you are running a promotion, you will probably want to have several different tweets to send out during the course of the day. Not only is this important to keep it interesting, but Twitter will not let you send out the same tweet twice in a row unless at least a few of the characters are different.
Here’s what to do:
1) Compose your first promo tweet.
2) Send it
3) Favourite / Star it.
4) Repeat this process at least three to five times making each tweet slightly different.
5) You can now safely go back to your first tweet in your favourites list and copy and paste it into a brand new tweet.
6) All you should now have to do is delete your @ name from the beginning of the tweet (for example @JonGardener) and then press send.
This method means that you can easily send the same tweets again and again throughout the day without continually having to re-type them, as long as you work methodically through the list and don’t send them too often.
Rule 10: Be friendly; your friends are your greatest allies.
This brings me right back to Rule 1. Twitter is a social network. If you treat it purely as an advertising tool, you will not get anywhere. Your Twitter friends that you make along the way are your greatest asset. If you have 1000 followers then your tweets may reach all of them, but more likely will only reach a small percentage.
If you have a friend who has 20,000 followers and they will happily re-tweet your promos, you’ve just massively increased your audience. I’m not saying actively seek out people with large followings either. Just keep track of who your buddies are by creating “Lists” and send them direct tweets when you have a promotion running asking them (nicely and politely) to RT your stuff. For this to work you MUST be prepared to do the same for them whenever they ask. If you are friendly and polite, people are usually all too happy to help.
Rule 11: Use an eye-catching avatar.
No I’m not talking about that awful film by James Cameron starring the Blue Meanies! Your avatar is the picture that appears in the left hand side of your tweet and on your Twitter home page. Don’t use the standard egg, you’re just not trying and you might as well be a damned spam-bot. Don’t use anything that is copyrighted either or you might get sued!
If you’re insistent upon using a picture of yourself, make the picture eye-catching. Wear a hat or a bright red scarf, do something unusual! (Stops and re-reads that last sentence…) Keep it clean though people. Your partner might like to see your naked glory, but we don’t!
Even better, design your own logo. Mine is a bright red evil eye. Everyone can see it stand out in a list of “head and shoulder” pictures and when I changed it recently for Mowvember, some people complained that I was harder to find and my RT rate dropped like a stone! Most people know how to manipulate images on their computer these days. All I did was to take a picture of my own eye and crop it square. Then I changed the colour to bright red. If you can’t do it yourself then find a friend who can. Your avatar is the first thing that people look for when they’re scanning the list for your tweets. It’s vital to have a good one!
Rule 12: Connect, connect, connect.
Get a website. You can get a free one if you have a G-mail account. Have links on your website to what you’re trying to sell and a contacts page to other places people can find you, for example Goodreads, Pinterest, G-Mail, Amazon. Put the link to your website on your twitter home page and include it in tweets where appropriate. My website is a simple Google Sites one. It’s free, easy to design yourself and has my biog, contacts, links to my books and special treats for my readers that aren’t in the books. It has so much information on it that you simply can’t put onto Twitter alone. If you have a blog, link it up. If you have an Amazon author page, link it to twitter and a YouTube video trailer for your book. Link everything to everything else and make your web presence even bigger.
Rule 13: Treat this like any other job.
You are trying to sell books and make money. Therefore this is your job, not a hobby! I can’t emphasise this enough. If you want to make a success out of whatever you are promoting, you must treat it as you would any other job. Do the same thing at the same time each day and do it EVERY day!
I wake up and the first thing I do is RT anyone who has RT’d me overnight. Then I send out one or two promo tweets and maybe something like a good morning tweet. Then I go to the bathroom, get dressed, have breakfast, load the van (I’m a gardener). After all that I sit down at my PC and RT anyone that has RT’d my first morning’s tweets and then send out another couple of tweets.
Then I write for about an hour, every day without fail.
When it gets to 8:30am I check my tweets one last time, RT and throw out a couple more promos. Then I leave for work as a gardener. If I come home at lunch time, I RT people who have RT’d me, then (you guessed it) send out a couple of promos.
When I get home from work, the first thing I do is check Twitter and RT, then tweet. During the evening while my wife is watching “I’m a Z list celebrity, please humiliate me for as long as I get paid,” I RT and tweet. The last thing I do before I go to sleep is RT and then tweet.
Repeat each day…
This is a routine I try to stick to. It’s hard as I’m trying to become an author at the same time as being a gardener and doing the household chores. But if you don’t treat promoting yourself as if it was any other job, then you’re not going to succeed. Oh, and I write blogs too, when I can find the time…
Phew! That’s everything I can think of at the moment. Feel free to post comments on my blog or e-mail / Tweet me questions if you have any. You probably have some hints and tips yourself? The main thing is be social, be polite and have fun!
I wish you every success with your projects and I hope to see you around on Twitter.
Thanks for reading.
Jon.
November 17, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes DJ Bowman-Smith
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!
"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!
September 27, 2013
The Captain's Blog: Star Wars. A New Hope?
It's no secret that I am a massive Star Wars fan. Always have been, always will be. The collection of toys in my office will hold testament to that. It's always bothered me that the prequels are rubbish (and they are, I'll have no argument here!), but I could never work out the main reason why?
Sure, I could go in to the details why Jar Jar Binks should be hung from a crane and lowered slowly into a tank of Piranhas, I could talk about Lucas' directing talents (or lack of them!). I could even site the many reasons why you should never, EVER, try to explain the force with Midi-chlorians!
But I won't, not here...
The main reason why the prequels were rubbish is (prepares for outraged shouts and dissent)...
George Lucas grew old and raised children!
Before all the parents out there light the flaming torches and raise the lynch mob, let me explain myself. When Lucas made Star Wars he was in his early thirties. Film making was his passion and he was full of the spittle and rage of youth. Star Wars was his epic fantasy masterpiece that he had been toying with ideas for years. Making the film itself was a trauma and one of the most stressful experiences he would ever go through. However, the one thing he had in bucket-loads was passion. The first film was crafted out of blood sweat and tears. It was so hard for him that he gave the job of directing the first two sequels to other people, Irvin Kershner (Empire Strikes Back) and Richard Marquand (Return of the Jedi).
The Empire Strikes Back is arguably the best in the franchise, but that's mainly down to the director. There wouldn't have even been sequels without Star Wars. There also wouldn't have been the groundbreaking Industrial Light and Magic, Lucasfilm, Skywalker Sound, Skywalker Ranch, etc. etc. Star Wars was a baptism of fire for Lucas. It was extremely difficult to make and Lucas was never happy with the finished result (hence the awful remastered editions) but it was an instant hit and is regarded as a masterpiece. It was good because it was a labour of love!
The prequels were made when Lucas was in his mid fifties and had children, the first of which he adopted in his late thirties. By the time he directed Episode One - The Phantom Menace, he was comfortably middle aged, surrounded by a loving family, a massive personal empire and enough money to do whatever he liked! Lucas decided to direct the prequels himself, which was in my opinion his biggest mistake. I have seen Hayden Christensen in other films and it turns out he can actually act!
Lucas was too comfortable. He had the joy of raising children in his head and he decided to aim the prequels at a younger audience; hence Jar Jar replacing Chewbacca. Can you really imagine anyone saying "Let the Gungan win!"? Life had made him soft. He no longer had the hunger of youth or the burning ambition to make a piece of art. What we got were poorly directed, poorly acted, watered down versions of Star Wars intended for, let's face it, his own children! In essence, caring for his children had taken away his edge and changed his idea of what makes a good film.
Combine that with his almost god-like status, unlimited cash and the inability of any of his staff to say no to him, it was a recipe for disaster. If Lucas had employed popular science fiction directors like say, oh I don't know... J J Abrams, to direct the prequels, then I think the films would have been altogether different. I hold out a "new hope" that the brand new sequels will be darker, grittier and bring back the magic and power of the force. Mr Abrams, may the force be with you... Always!
Sure, I could go in to the details why Jar Jar Binks should be hung from a crane and lowered slowly into a tank of Piranhas, I could talk about Lucas' directing talents (or lack of them!). I could even site the many reasons why you should never, EVER, try to explain the force with Midi-chlorians!
But I won't, not here...
The main reason why the prequels were rubbish is (prepares for outraged shouts and dissent)...
George Lucas grew old and raised children!
Before all the parents out there light the flaming torches and raise the lynch mob, let me explain myself. When Lucas made Star Wars he was in his early thirties. Film making was his passion and he was full of the spittle and rage of youth. Star Wars was his epic fantasy masterpiece that he had been toying with ideas for years. Making the film itself was a trauma and one of the most stressful experiences he would ever go through. However, the one thing he had in bucket-loads was passion. The first film was crafted out of blood sweat and tears. It was so hard for him that he gave the job of directing the first two sequels to other people, Irvin Kershner (Empire Strikes Back) and Richard Marquand (Return of the Jedi).
The Empire Strikes Back is arguably the best in the franchise, but that's mainly down to the director. There wouldn't have even been sequels without Star Wars. There also wouldn't have been the groundbreaking Industrial Light and Magic, Lucasfilm, Skywalker Sound, Skywalker Ranch, etc. etc. Star Wars was a baptism of fire for Lucas. It was extremely difficult to make and Lucas was never happy with the finished result (hence the awful remastered editions) but it was an instant hit and is regarded as a masterpiece. It was good because it was a labour of love!
The prequels were made when Lucas was in his mid fifties and had children, the first of which he adopted in his late thirties. By the time he directed Episode One - The Phantom Menace, he was comfortably middle aged, surrounded by a loving family, a massive personal empire and enough money to do whatever he liked! Lucas decided to direct the prequels himself, which was in my opinion his biggest mistake. I have seen Hayden Christensen in other films and it turns out he can actually act!
Lucas was too comfortable. He had the joy of raising children in his head and he decided to aim the prequels at a younger audience; hence Jar Jar replacing Chewbacca. Can you really imagine anyone saying "Let the Gungan win!"? Life had made him soft. He no longer had the hunger of youth or the burning ambition to make a piece of art. What we got were poorly directed, poorly acted, watered down versions of Star Wars intended for, let's face it, his own children! In essence, caring for his children had taken away his edge and changed his idea of what makes a good film.
Combine that with his almost god-like status, unlimited cash and the inability of any of his staff to say no to him, it was a recipe for disaster. If Lucas had employed popular science fiction directors like say, oh I don't know... J J Abrams, to direct the prequels, then I think the films would have been altogether different. I hold out a "new hope" that the brand new sequels will be darker, grittier and bring back the magic and power of the force. Mr Abrams, may the force be with you... Always!
August 25, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes: Mason Myers, author of "Paulie"...
Today, the Captain's Blog welcomes Mason Myers, author of the horror story "Paulie"...
Here is the blurb...
"After the death of her husband's grandparents, Alice and her family inherit a century old farmhouse located on the outskirts of Pittsburg, New Hampshire. With the house paid off, and with plenty of room for her family to grow, it quickly outshines their small overpriced apartment in Brooklyn, New York. Alice thinks their new home is idealistic, but unnervingly isolated. What Alice doesn't know is that an unknown terror has risen just over the Canadian border, and the latest town to be overtaken by chaos and a nameless horror is only 30 miles away."
Jon: So, Mason. Tell us a little about yourself.
Mason: Where to begin? I'm originally from Claremont, New Hampshire. And after having moved more times than I care to remember, I finally found myself in North Carolina where I was fortunate enough to find my wife. Or did she find me?
I've always had an interest in writing. (Funny coming from someone who couldn't stand the idea of reading a book as a child). How I come up with my stories varies. They could come from a dream, a life experience, a random thought, or even a song I was listening to at the time. If pertaining to the genre, well that varies from story to story. (I know what you're thinking). "Story to story? But you only have one." And that is true. But no worries, I have more coming soon.
My interests include writing (of course), listening to music, reading, and my utmost favourite: spending time with my wife and little one.
Jon: Mason, what made you want to write in the horror genre?
Mason: Well to be honest, I'm not much of a fan of the horror genre. If you were to look at the books I have on my shelving unit, you would not see a single title under horror. I mostly read fantasy and sci-fi, which are the genres I wanted to write in for my first book. But as I grew more serious and sure that I did indeed plan to publish a story, I soon realised the time that I needed to set aside to get a full length novel done, which is hard when you are a full time stay at home dad. Also the fact that I would be an unknown author at the time didn't help the idea of writing a full length novel for my first story either. Which is where the idea for a short story came into play. The more I thought about what would be a good story to put my foot in the door of being an author, the more I liked the idea of it being a horror story. The fact that I grew up watching Goosebumps and Tales From The Crypt helped cement that idea firmly, for within a half hour's time, you could be pretty freaked out at the end of an episode.
Jon: How did you come up with the idea for Paulie!
Mason: I came up with the idea for Paulie based on the scary stories my mother and cousins would swap in the middle of the night whenever they came to visit, and the idea of being by yourself in the boonies of New Hampshire.
Jon: What was the best scary story that your mother and cousins told you?
Mason: The best scary story was a zombie romance story, where if the zombie walked into the sunlight he'd sparkle...
Jon: Did growing up in New Hampshire influence your writing of Paulie?
Mason: It didn't make a very big impact on it no. To be honest, I could have picked anywhere for the family to live. The only reason I picked New Hampshire when I wrote Paulie was because, honestly, my home state doesn't get picked on enough compared to New York, Washington DC or Los Angeles, just to name a few.
Jon: I agree. New York gets blown up far too many times in fiction. So what is your favourite horror or sci-fi set in small town USA and why?
Mason: Well, not sure book wise. All the sci-fi stories I read take place on alien worlds in far off galaxies. Movie wise thought, 30 Days of Night comes to mind right off the bat. Just the idea of being in a town where the sun doesn't rise for a month would drive me nuts, but add in the fact that the snow has closed me off to the rest of the world and vampires are running around eating everyone? That would have to be my favourite under those conditions.
Jon: So what really scares you and why? For me it's zombies, since my sister let me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was a kid. What is it for you?
Mason: Never been scared of zombies. When I was little I was terrified of clowns! Couldn't stand them (probably because I snuck down stairs one night while my parents were watching "IT") But my fear of clowns has passed over the years. What really scares me is paranormal horror. The thought of something that I can't see that is in my house with the intent of bringing nothing but pain and misery into my life scares the living hell out of me. I'm not afraid to admit that I walked out of "Paranormal Activity 2" when I went to see it with my wife (first and only one I have partly seen in the series). So yeah... Want to get a good scare out of me? Try and get me to watch a movie in that genre and you won't be disappointed, the main word being TRY.
Jon: If "Paulie" were to be made into a horror film, who would you cast in the main roles and why?
Mason: If it were to be made into a horror film that would be awesome and I would be most honoured. But to be honest I never really gave that idea much thought, despite some close friends of mine bringing it up every once in a while by saying something along the lines of, "Wouldn't it be awesome if your book became a horror movie?"
In which I would reply, "Yeah it would, but I'm not going to give it much thought until the day comes that production company likes my 'first' story enough to turn it into a full blown movie." As far as cast members. Think I'll leave that up to whomever wants to make the movie.
Jon: Do you have a short extract from Paulie that you would like to share with the readers?
Mason: Here is an extract for you...
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this special report. Two hours ago, the Governor-General of Canada declared martial law on the town of Coaticook after reports of widespread violence and disorder seemed to have taken hold of the entire population... Now we don't know the reason for what caused this violence to take place. The Prime Minister's office has not clarified the reason for it yet. But what is confirmed is that military forces have effectively sealed off Coaticook from anyone trying to leave or enter the town."
Alice was shocked after hearing the report. Not able to look away from the television, she asked to no one in particular, "This is some sort of prank right? Some new movie for Halloween?" Before anyone could reply the news anchor continued.
"We're going to take you to Shannon, who is at the scene now. Shannon." The news station was replaced by a young blonde woman, bundled up against the cold, as she stood behind several military humvees. The dull orange glow of fire could be seen past the vehicles as it lit up the night sky. Shouts and weapons fire could be heard in the distance. "What is the situation over there? Has anyone guessed as to the cause for this violent outbreak to start?"
"Well as you can see Harry, it is like a warzone over here. The Canadian Armed Forces arrived to what, could only be described as utter chaos. The populace of the town has seemed to have gone completely mad. There have been reports of military personnel being attacked on site. As for the cause of this violent outbreak, no one here is certain. We..." The reporter was interrupted as an explosion sounded, causing her to duck. A fireball rising into the sky past the humvees could be seen.
"Shannon, are you all right?" asked Harry as Shannon straightened up, glancing behind her as a soldier came running up.
"Get out of here! Now!" He shouted.
"Can you tell us what's going on? Wha..." An ear piercing warbling shriek erupted, causing Shannon to drop her microphone as she covered her ears. The camera pointed down towards the street as the sound of gun fire erupted. Shannon screamed out in terror before the feed was cut, bringing the news room back. Harry stared blankly at the camera having seen what had happened. His mouth hung open a little bit before he caught himself, shuffling his papers before an awkward look came to his face.
"We are having technical issues it seems. Please stay tuned and we will update you on this breaking story."
Jon: If you want to find out more about Mason or " Paulie" this is where to look...
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/mamyers217
A big thank you to Mason for spending the time to answer my questions and good luck with Paulie!
Here is the blurb...
"After the death of her husband's grandparents, Alice and her family inherit a century old farmhouse located on the outskirts of Pittsburg, New Hampshire. With the house paid off, and with plenty of room for her family to grow, it quickly outshines their small overpriced apartment in Brooklyn, New York. Alice thinks their new home is idealistic, but unnervingly isolated. What Alice doesn't know is that an unknown terror has risen just over the Canadian border, and the latest town to be overtaken by chaos and a nameless horror is only 30 miles away."
Jon: So, Mason. Tell us a little about yourself.
Mason: Where to begin? I'm originally from Claremont, New Hampshire. And after having moved more times than I care to remember, I finally found myself in North Carolina where I was fortunate enough to find my wife. Or did she find me?
I've always had an interest in writing. (Funny coming from someone who couldn't stand the idea of reading a book as a child). How I come up with my stories varies. They could come from a dream, a life experience, a random thought, or even a song I was listening to at the time. If pertaining to the genre, well that varies from story to story. (I know what you're thinking). "Story to story? But you only have one." And that is true. But no worries, I have more coming soon.
My interests include writing (of course), listening to music, reading, and my utmost favourite: spending time with my wife and little one.
Jon: Mason, what made you want to write in the horror genre?
Mason: Well to be honest, I'm not much of a fan of the horror genre. If you were to look at the books I have on my shelving unit, you would not see a single title under horror. I mostly read fantasy and sci-fi, which are the genres I wanted to write in for my first book. But as I grew more serious and sure that I did indeed plan to publish a story, I soon realised the time that I needed to set aside to get a full length novel done, which is hard when you are a full time stay at home dad. Also the fact that I would be an unknown author at the time didn't help the idea of writing a full length novel for my first story either. Which is where the idea for a short story came into play. The more I thought about what would be a good story to put my foot in the door of being an author, the more I liked the idea of it being a horror story. The fact that I grew up watching Goosebumps and Tales From The Crypt helped cement that idea firmly, for within a half hour's time, you could be pretty freaked out at the end of an episode.
Jon: How did you come up with the idea for Paulie!
Mason: I came up with the idea for Paulie based on the scary stories my mother and cousins would swap in the middle of the night whenever they came to visit, and the idea of being by yourself in the boonies of New Hampshire.
Jon: What was the best scary story that your mother and cousins told you?
Mason: The best scary story was a zombie romance story, where if the zombie walked into the sunlight he'd sparkle...
Jon: Did growing up in New Hampshire influence your writing of Paulie?
Mason: It didn't make a very big impact on it no. To be honest, I could have picked anywhere for the family to live. The only reason I picked New Hampshire when I wrote Paulie was because, honestly, my home state doesn't get picked on enough compared to New York, Washington DC or Los Angeles, just to name a few.
Jon: I agree. New York gets blown up far too many times in fiction. So what is your favourite horror or sci-fi set in small town USA and why?
Mason: Well, not sure book wise. All the sci-fi stories I read take place on alien worlds in far off galaxies. Movie wise thought, 30 Days of Night comes to mind right off the bat. Just the idea of being in a town where the sun doesn't rise for a month would drive me nuts, but add in the fact that the snow has closed me off to the rest of the world and vampires are running around eating everyone? That would have to be my favourite under those conditions.
Jon: So what really scares you and why? For me it's zombies, since my sister let me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was a kid. What is it for you?
Mason: Never been scared of zombies. When I was little I was terrified of clowns! Couldn't stand them (probably because I snuck down stairs one night while my parents were watching "IT") But my fear of clowns has passed over the years. What really scares me is paranormal horror. The thought of something that I can't see that is in my house with the intent of bringing nothing but pain and misery into my life scares the living hell out of me. I'm not afraid to admit that I walked out of "Paranormal Activity 2" when I went to see it with my wife (first and only one I have partly seen in the series). So yeah... Want to get a good scare out of me? Try and get me to watch a movie in that genre and you won't be disappointed, the main word being TRY.
Jon: If "Paulie" were to be made into a horror film, who would you cast in the main roles and why?
Mason: If it were to be made into a horror film that would be awesome and I would be most honoured. But to be honest I never really gave that idea much thought, despite some close friends of mine bringing it up every once in a while by saying something along the lines of, "Wouldn't it be awesome if your book became a horror movie?"
In which I would reply, "Yeah it would, but I'm not going to give it much thought until the day comes that production company likes my 'first' story enough to turn it into a full blown movie." As far as cast members. Think I'll leave that up to whomever wants to make the movie.
Jon: Do you have a short extract from Paulie that you would like to share with the readers?
Mason: Here is an extract for you...
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this special report. Two hours ago, the Governor-General of Canada declared martial law on the town of Coaticook after reports of widespread violence and disorder seemed to have taken hold of the entire population... Now we don't know the reason for what caused this violence to take place. The Prime Minister's office has not clarified the reason for it yet. But what is confirmed is that military forces have effectively sealed off Coaticook from anyone trying to leave or enter the town."
Alice was shocked after hearing the report. Not able to look away from the television, she asked to no one in particular, "This is some sort of prank right? Some new movie for Halloween?" Before anyone could reply the news anchor continued.
"We're going to take you to Shannon, who is at the scene now. Shannon." The news station was replaced by a young blonde woman, bundled up against the cold, as she stood behind several military humvees. The dull orange glow of fire could be seen past the vehicles as it lit up the night sky. Shouts and weapons fire could be heard in the distance. "What is the situation over there? Has anyone guessed as to the cause for this violent outbreak to start?"
"Well as you can see Harry, it is like a warzone over here. The Canadian Armed Forces arrived to what, could only be described as utter chaos. The populace of the town has seemed to have gone completely mad. There have been reports of military personnel being attacked on site. As for the cause of this violent outbreak, no one here is certain. We..." The reporter was interrupted as an explosion sounded, causing her to duck. A fireball rising into the sky past the humvees could be seen.
"Shannon, are you all right?" asked Harry as Shannon straightened up, glancing behind her as a soldier came running up.
"Get out of here! Now!" He shouted.
"Can you tell us what's going on? Wha..." An ear piercing warbling shriek erupted, causing Shannon to drop her microphone as she covered her ears. The camera pointed down towards the street as the sound of gun fire erupted. Shannon screamed out in terror before the feed was cut, bringing the news room back. Harry stared blankly at the camera having seen what had happened. His mouth hung open a little bit before he caught himself, shuffling his papers before an awkward look came to his face.
"We are having technical issues it seems. Please stay tuned and we will update you on this breaking story."
Jon: If you want to find out more about Mason or " Paulie" this is where to look...
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/mamyers217
A big thank you to Mason for spending the time to answer my questions and good luck with Paulie!
August 11, 2013
The Captain's Blog proudly presents: Free sample of Josiah Trenchard Part Four: Onamuji...
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...
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...
August 2, 2013
The Captain's Blog Welcomes: Mike Barclay
Today the Captain's Blog welcomes the wonderful Mike Barclay, director and principal designer of Thumbnail Design and also my brother in law...
Above: Left, Mike Barclay and right, Wai-Lum Sung from Thumbnail Design...
Jon: So Mike, tell us a little about yourself and Thumbnail Design?
Mike: I started freelancing as an illustrator back when I was 18, just as I started studying art & design at a college in a small backwater town in North East England called Peterlee. I progressed through the traditional route of A-level at college; Foundation Course, HND and Degree at Sunderland Uni; then straight into unemployment! Ahh the creative industries in North East, bless ‘em… (cue sideways wistful look to the sky). Luckily for me, I’d trained for it! Seriously though, I’d freelanced here and there all the way through my “education”, including a pivotal year or so back home in St. John’s, so when I arrived back in the UK I had a strong portfolio of work and an interesting CV that helped me get my first full-time gig as a graphic designer at a further education college up at the ‘top’ of County Durham in a place called Consett (shudders).
I bimbled along from job to job until I became a co-director of a small design agency in Durham. After almost four years of that I was itching for a change when I got the opportunity to work for a music magazine as the senior graphic designer. It was a dream job for me as I’ve always been obsessed with music (and cars and women – anything that ruins you and costs a fortune, but that's another story entirely!). Unfortunately, and despite some great work from an even greater team, the ‘management’ weren’t up to much and it went bust in just six months. Eek: another brief spell of unemployment, only this time with a mortgage to pay.
From there (i.e. rock bottom!) I entered the damp, dark and slightly demented world of local government as the senior graphic designer at an in-house design and print facility within Sunderland City Council. Fortunately for me, my liver and what was left of my sanity, government austerity measures meant that after seven years hard work they closed our department. I got pushed into another post sending work out to external suppliers that we should’ve been doing on the mothballed equipment in the room next to me, and so after nine months of doing a job which I didn't really like (and on principle, its ethos), I took a great severance package and left the council on a ray of sunshine, with the wind in my sails and shouting abuse and profanity at the management (several much needed lunchtime pints will do that to you). However I can now proclaim that, “I recently took severance from the council so my creativity, productivity and sobriety have increased dramatically!”
But as always, when I’m not in the design studio, most of my time is spent listening to, watching or playing music, but only when permitted by my fiancé. My dream would be for this to only be interrupted by frequent trips back home to Newfoundland, the Formula 1 season and ‘that call from the guys at NASA’ (I know, I know, but surely they need cleaners, right?!). Aside from that, I am an aspiring golfer and badminton player - of which the social aspects of both are the only highlights at the moment. As well as being a fully paid up member of the Brotherhood of the Grape and would easily walk over hot coals for red wine, my time as a designer has given me an appreciation for (sorry, I meant to say ‘a desperate need of’) Glenmorangie, most beers from the Jarrow Brewing Company and a keen friendship with a certain Captain Morgan…
Jon: You grew up in Newfoundland, what was life like there?
Mike: St. John’s is a great spot. It’s truly an amazing and beautiful place, and even though I spent my formative years there and undoubtedly have a rose-tinted view of those days, I have a lot of affection for the whole province especially after having returned regularly over the years to work and visit family and friends. On a good day, it looks all brand new and when the sun shines, it shines right through me… yeah, ok, that's a Great Big Sea lyric, but it sums it up. However, when the weather closes in… you’d best batten down the hatches and keep the shovel handy (until I moved to the UK I didn’t even know it could rain ‘down’ – I definitely don't miss the horizontal rain!). Good job the people are among the best in the world – friendly, generous, creative, professional, ugly as sin – oh hang on, that last bit’s just me… AND they have more pubs per square km than any other city in the world.
Jon: I know music is a big part of your life. Who are your top three musicians and why?
Mike: Jeez…I thought you said this was s’posed to be easy? Without being REALLY predictable, its extremely hard for me to pin it down to three I’m afraid, as there are so many different acts that ‘do it’ for me: Marillion, Ray Wilson, King Crimson, RPWL, Pink Floyd, Genesis, Porcupine Tree, Spock’s Beard, District 97…and that just covers Prog! Then there’s stuff from the likes of Stanley Clarke, Huey Lewis & the News, Miles Davis, Great Big Sea, Oscar Peterson, Midnight Oil, The Hip, Paul Simon, Caro Emerald, Tom Cochrane, Norah Jones, and on and on…
Ok, as you know fine well, it's the three members of The Police: Andy Summers, Stewart Copeland and Sting. Andy is the most versatile guitarist ever, both in playing and writing, with literally every album a classic. His new band, Circa Zero, sound absolutely amazing in the clips I’ve heard. It’s so exciting, the anticipation is killing me – like being 16 again (allegedly, anticipation is half the fun…). Then there’s Stewart: the best drummer / multi-instrumentalist on earth by a long way, and he writes a mean film score too. As for Sting, he may well write some of the best lyrics in popular music (listen to The Soul Cages album… stunning!), but his bass playing is outstanding (listen to the last Police live album – makes me want to through away my bass!). There’s just something about the three of them that works; a chemistry if you will. My life changed for the better when on my 35th birthday I finally got to see them live at Twickenham… followed 10 months later by two gigs back to back in Manchester! The bucket list had just got shorter.
Jon: You play the guitar. Which guitar do you lust after the most?
Mike: After all that, it’ll be no surprise that my favourite guitar is a carbon copy of Andy Summers’ 1963 Fender Telecaster Custom that I had made by a friend of mine who is a luthier based here in the North East. Its known as a ‘relic’, as its all beat up and customized to look exactly like the real thing. It is a truly beautiful thing that sounds amazing. But there are others on my ‘lottery wish list’: A David Gilmour strat (the red one from the 80s/90s Floyd tours), a blonde Gibson Chet Atkins nylon-strung acoustic, a Parker Fly (oh go on then, I’ll have one like Adrian Belew’s!)… There are a few basses too, but in my minds eye (shouldn’t that be ear?) I can hear people yawning so we’d best move on…
Jon: I also know that you have a love of the Delorean motor car that most people will recognise from the film "Back to the Future". What is so special about that car for you?
Mike: I saw a Delorean at a car show at Memorial Stadium in St John’s back in 81/82 (sponsored by Wacky Wheatley’s stereo store of all things!) and it just blew me away. Stunning from almost every angle and so damn shiny! Then the doors… It sparked off a life-long passion for the thing but also the work of the Italian designer Giorgetto Giugiaro. I’d really like to make the pilgrimage over to Dunmurry near Belfast in Northern Ireland to see the old factory and test track (now owned and occupied by wheel and component manufacturer Montupet). Together with Kennedy Space Centre, my Nerdvana (i.e. “Is that a raging nerd-on or are you just pleased to be here?”).
Jon: What gave you the impetus for setting up Thumbnail Design?
Mike: When the council started to slowly close our department a year or so before it finally shut down completely, I decided that I didn’t want a bunch of paper-pushing bureaucrats deciding that my career was over (pour me another drink and I’ll tell you what really think!). Shortly after that epiphany, I took a phone call from an old contact asking if I was interested in designing a new magazine they were going to produce:
www.randrlife.co.uk
The whole company was started off the back of that one phone call (our first job being the R&R logo).
Jon: What design project are you working on currently?
Mike: This week we’re working on a variety of projects, including a brochure and leaflet for a local undertaker (e.g. I have grave concern about the deadline but I’m dying to get it finished so I can go and celebrate and get out of my box…), a full marketing campaign for a new olive oil company and a website for a corporate gifts company, but there are two long-running projects I’m really excited about. The first one is the Hug-In-A-Bag Halloween Charity Ball. I created the ticket / poster artwork earlier in the year, but now the time has come to pass it across a whole event. This is great fun as we’ve got to get the mascot, a cute teddy bear named Hugo, to look evil! The second one is the campaign artwork for SCARF, Sunderland City of Adelaide Recovery Foundation:
http://www.cityofadelaide1864.co.uk/
They are trying to return the ‘City of Adelaide’ ship to Sunderland where she was built almost 150 years ago. As the oldest of only three composite clipper ships survive anywhere in the world, made out of iron and teak for those who care. Experts consider her to be more important to Britain’s maritime history than the newer Cutty Sark. My family has a history of shipbuilding in Sunderland over several generations, and with the Adelaide currently sitting on a slipway in Irvine, Scotland where I was born, I feel really connected to this project!
Jon: I understand you do a lot of charity work? Would you like to tell us about it?
Mike: Yes indeed, I’ve worked for a local cancer charity for seven years now and have recently accepted the offer to become a committee member for them. I’ve had quite a few friends and relatives be affected by cancer over the years, and have in recent years had my own cancer scare, so I jumped at the chance to be able to work directly with them. They produce pamper bags for people receiving cancer treatment in hospital. My involvement started with a request from a friend if I could help out with the design of a logo… It’s kinda gone cracked ever since with me designing everything they do. We’re designing a new site right now which will be launched at the ball in October, but please check out the old one at:
www.huginabag.co.uk/
I dunno, make a donation, follow them on Facebook, offer some fundraising ideas… Gawd, I’m not selling this charity lark to well… I’m not Geldof am I? Oh well, always remember: nice guys always finish lunch.
Jon: What plans do you have for the future?
Mike: Well, in essence, we’d just like to have more and more work: as MTV once said: “Too much is never enough”. Right now, we’re looking seriously at expanding the team: we currently we have four designers covering all disciplines, including freehand and digital illustration, logo and branding, leaflet / brochure / report / magazine production, ads and websites, and we’ve recently developed our digital side to incorporate eLearning. With the steady increase of enquiries that we’re now experiencing, we expect to be adding to the team by December this year. Who knows, next year, THE WORLD Muh huh huh!
Jon: If any indie authors out there want a book cover designing, what information do you need from them and what are the costs involved?
Mike: Here’s a short list of what we require from an author when designing their book cover:
1) The artwork size required. For example, Amazon Kindle is 1000px x 1600px at 300dpi, but if the cover is to be commercially printed, we’d need to know the exact dimensions in mm for the cover, including the spine and end flaps. When prodded hard enough, the publisher or printer will supply these print specifications (often referred to simply as ‘specs’).
2) All the text (copy) that you want to appear on the cover, so things like the title, authors preferred name, end flap descriptions etc. I know that sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised how many people forget things like this!
3) An idea of the overall theme / tone of the book and what style you want it designed in (i.e. photographic, illustrative, just text etc). If you’ve got an idea or brief you can send us, then that's even better!
Before considering the design, it pays to read up on contemporary thinking to make sure you get everything covered… such as:
http://www.theguardian.com/books/book...
Our pricing policy for book covers starts at £180. The author must provide implicit instructions or brief for us to follow (we will consult with the author before any work is undertaken to identify any issues or offer any alternative solutions). This includes one full set of design proofs followed by one full set of amends / alterations (further amends after that are charged at our hourly rate of £45/hr).
However, it’s important to remember that as a bespoke design service that encompasses a wide variety of disciplines and techniques, anything beyond ‘simple’ is reflected in the price. For example, a recently designed cover entitled ‘Going Solo’ cost £360, but that included 2 alternative options to choose from and had four sets of amends. Each cover is completely different so it’s impossible to have a price list. It really depends on what you want to achieve and what budget you have.
A 50% non-refundable deposit is payable by the client at the outset of any contract. This sum will be deducted from the final invoice and can be paid by cash, BACS or PayPal.
Jon: Where can people contact you?
Mike: As the brick-wrapped-letter-through-my-window approach is kinda frowned upon in these parts, and as it’s hard to find a reliable carrier pigeon, email is probably your best bet:
mike@thumbnail-design.co.uk
You can check out some assorted samples of our work at:
https://pinterest.com/thumbnaildesign...
Please keep checking for updates as we’ll be adding more samples once the drugs wear off…
Jon: A big thank you very much to Mike for spending the time to talk to the Captain's Blog...
Above: Left, Mike Barclay and right, Wai-Lum Sung from Thumbnail Design...
Jon: So Mike, tell us a little about yourself and Thumbnail Design?
Mike: I started freelancing as an illustrator back when I was 18, just as I started studying art & design at a college in a small backwater town in North East England called Peterlee. I progressed through the traditional route of A-level at college; Foundation Course, HND and Degree at Sunderland Uni; then straight into unemployment! Ahh the creative industries in North East, bless ‘em… (cue sideways wistful look to the sky). Luckily for me, I’d trained for it! Seriously though, I’d freelanced here and there all the way through my “education”, including a pivotal year or so back home in St. John’s, so when I arrived back in the UK I had a strong portfolio of work and an interesting CV that helped me get my first full-time gig as a graphic designer at a further education college up at the ‘top’ of County Durham in a place called Consett (shudders).
I bimbled along from job to job until I became a co-director of a small design agency in Durham. After almost four years of that I was itching for a change when I got the opportunity to work for a music magazine as the senior graphic designer. It was a dream job for me as I’ve always been obsessed with music (and cars and women – anything that ruins you and costs a fortune, but that's another story entirely!). Unfortunately, and despite some great work from an even greater team, the ‘management’ weren’t up to much and it went bust in just six months. Eek: another brief spell of unemployment, only this time with a mortgage to pay.
From there (i.e. rock bottom!) I entered the damp, dark and slightly demented world of local government as the senior graphic designer at an in-house design and print facility within Sunderland City Council. Fortunately for me, my liver and what was left of my sanity, government austerity measures meant that after seven years hard work they closed our department. I got pushed into another post sending work out to external suppliers that we should’ve been doing on the mothballed equipment in the room next to me, and so after nine months of doing a job which I didn't really like (and on principle, its ethos), I took a great severance package and left the council on a ray of sunshine, with the wind in my sails and shouting abuse and profanity at the management (several much needed lunchtime pints will do that to you). However I can now proclaim that, “I recently took severance from the council so my creativity, productivity and sobriety have increased dramatically!”
But as always, when I’m not in the design studio, most of my time is spent listening to, watching or playing music, but only when permitted by my fiancé. My dream would be for this to only be interrupted by frequent trips back home to Newfoundland, the Formula 1 season and ‘that call from the guys at NASA’ (I know, I know, but surely they need cleaners, right?!). Aside from that, I am an aspiring golfer and badminton player - of which the social aspects of both are the only highlights at the moment. As well as being a fully paid up member of the Brotherhood of the Grape and would easily walk over hot coals for red wine, my time as a designer has given me an appreciation for (sorry, I meant to say ‘a desperate need of’) Glenmorangie, most beers from the Jarrow Brewing Company and a keen friendship with a certain Captain Morgan…
Jon: You grew up in Newfoundland, what was life like there?
Mike: St. John’s is a great spot. It’s truly an amazing and beautiful place, and even though I spent my formative years there and undoubtedly have a rose-tinted view of those days, I have a lot of affection for the whole province especially after having returned regularly over the years to work and visit family and friends. On a good day, it looks all brand new and when the sun shines, it shines right through me… yeah, ok, that's a Great Big Sea lyric, but it sums it up. However, when the weather closes in… you’d best batten down the hatches and keep the shovel handy (until I moved to the UK I didn’t even know it could rain ‘down’ – I definitely don't miss the horizontal rain!). Good job the people are among the best in the world – friendly, generous, creative, professional, ugly as sin – oh hang on, that last bit’s just me… AND they have more pubs per square km than any other city in the world.
Jon: I know music is a big part of your life. Who are your top three musicians and why?
Mike: Jeez…I thought you said this was s’posed to be easy? Without being REALLY predictable, its extremely hard for me to pin it down to three I’m afraid, as there are so many different acts that ‘do it’ for me: Marillion, Ray Wilson, King Crimson, RPWL, Pink Floyd, Genesis, Porcupine Tree, Spock’s Beard, District 97…and that just covers Prog! Then there’s stuff from the likes of Stanley Clarke, Huey Lewis & the News, Miles Davis, Great Big Sea, Oscar Peterson, Midnight Oil, The Hip, Paul Simon, Caro Emerald, Tom Cochrane, Norah Jones, and on and on…
Ok, as you know fine well, it's the three members of The Police: Andy Summers, Stewart Copeland and Sting. Andy is the most versatile guitarist ever, both in playing and writing, with literally every album a classic. His new band, Circa Zero, sound absolutely amazing in the clips I’ve heard. It’s so exciting, the anticipation is killing me – like being 16 again (allegedly, anticipation is half the fun…). Then there’s Stewart: the best drummer / multi-instrumentalist on earth by a long way, and he writes a mean film score too. As for Sting, he may well write some of the best lyrics in popular music (listen to The Soul Cages album… stunning!), but his bass playing is outstanding (listen to the last Police live album – makes me want to through away my bass!). There’s just something about the three of them that works; a chemistry if you will. My life changed for the better when on my 35th birthday I finally got to see them live at Twickenham… followed 10 months later by two gigs back to back in Manchester! The bucket list had just got shorter.
Jon: You play the guitar. Which guitar do you lust after the most?
Mike: After all that, it’ll be no surprise that my favourite guitar is a carbon copy of Andy Summers’ 1963 Fender Telecaster Custom that I had made by a friend of mine who is a luthier based here in the North East. Its known as a ‘relic’, as its all beat up and customized to look exactly like the real thing. It is a truly beautiful thing that sounds amazing. But there are others on my ‘lottery wish list’: A David Gilmour strat (the red one from the 80s/90s Floyd tours), a blonde Gibson Chet Atkins nylon-strung acoustic, a Parker Fly (oh go on then, I’ll have one like Adrian Belew’s!)… There are a few basses too, but in my minds eye (shouldn’t that be ear?) I can hear people yawning so we’d best move on…
Jon: I also know that you have a love of the Delorean motor car that most people will recognise from the film "Back to the Future". What is so special about that car for you?
Mike: I saw a Delorean at a car show at Memorial Stadium in St John’s back in 81/82 (sponsored by Wacky Wheatley’s stereo store of all things!) and it just blew me away. Stunning from almost every angle and so damn shiny! Then the doors… It sparked off a life-long passion for the thing but also the work of the Italian designer Giorgetto Giugiaro. I’d really like to make the pilgrimage over to Dunmurry near Belfast in Northern Ireland to see the old factory and test track (now owned and occupied by wheel and component manufacturer Montupet). Together with Kennedy Space Centre, my Nerdvana (i.e. “Is that a raging nerd-on or are you just pleased to be here?”).
Jon: What gave you the impetus for setting up Thumbnail Design?
Mike: When the council started to slowly close our department a year or so before it finally shut down completely, I decided that I didn’t want a bunch of paper-pushing bureaucrats deciding that my career was over (pour me another drink and I’ll tell you what really think!). Shortly after that epiphany, I took a phone call from an old contact asking if I was interested in designing a new magazine they were going to produce:
www.randrlife.co.uk
The whole company was started off the back of that one phone call (our first job being the R&R logo).
Jon: What design project are you working on currently?
Mike: This week we’re working on a variety of projects, including a brochure and leaflet for a local undertaker (e.g. I have grave concern about the deadline but I’m dying to get it finished so I can go and celebrate and get out of my box…), a full marketing campaign for a new olive oil company and a website for a corporate gifts company, but there are two long-running projects I’m really excited about. The first one is the Hug-In-A-Bag Halloween Charity Ball. I created the ticket / poster artwork earlier in the year, but now the time has come to pass it across a whole event. This is great fun as we’ve got to get the mascot, a cute teddy bear named Hugo, to look evil! The second one is the campaign artwork for SCARF, Sunderland City of Adelaide Recovery Foundation:
http://www.cityofadelaide1864.co.uk/
They are trying to return the ‘City of Adelaide’ ship to Sunderland where she was built almost 150 years ago. As the oldest of only three composite clipper ships survive anywhere in the world, made out of iron and teak for those who care. Experts consider her to be more important to Britain’s maritime history than the newer Cutty Sark. My family has a history of shipbuilding in Sunderland over several generations, and with the Adelaide currently sitting on a slipway in Irvine, Scotland where I was born, I feel really connected to this project!
Jon: I understand you do a lot of charity work? Would you like to tell us about it?
Mike: Yes indeed, I’ve worked for a local cancer charity for seven years now and have recently accepted the offer to become a committee member for them. I’ve had quite a few friends and relatives be affected by cancer over the years, and have in recent years had my own cancer scare, so I jumped at the chance to be able to work directly with them. They produce pamper bags for people receiving cancer treatment in hospital. My involvement started with a request from a friend if I could help out with the design of a logo… It’s kinda gone cracked ever since with me designing everything they do. We’re designing a new site right now which will be launched at the ball in October, but please check out the old one at:
www.huginabag.co.uk/
I dunno, make a donation, follow them on Facebook, offer some fundraising ideas… Gawd, I’m not selling this charity lark to well… I’m not Geldof am I? Oh well, always remember: nice guys always finish lunch.
Jon: What plans do you have for the future?
Mike: Well, in essence, we’d just like to have more and more work: as MTV once said: “Too much is never enough”. Right now, we’re looking seriously at expanding the team: we currently we have four designers covering all disciplines, including freehand and digital illustration, logo and branding, leaflet / brochure / report / magazine production, ads and websites, and we’ve recently developed our digital side to incorporate eLearning. With the steady increase of enquiries that we’re now experiencing, we expect to be adding to the team by December this year. Who knows, next year, THE WORLD Muh huh huh!
Jon: If any indie authors out there want a book cover designing, what information do you need from them and what are the costs involved?
Mike: Here’s a short list of what we require from an author when designing their book cover:
1) The artwork size required. For example, Amazon Kindle is 1000px x 1600px at 300dpi, but if the cover is to be commercially printed, we’d need to know the exact dimensions in mm for the cover, including the spine and end flaps. When prodded hard enough, the publisher or printer will supply these print specifications (often referred to simply as ‘specs’).
2) All the text (copy) that you want to appear on the cover, so things like the title, authors preferred name, end flap descriptions etc. I know that sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised how many people forget things like this!
3) An idea of the overall theme / tone of the book and what style you want it designed in (i.e. photographic, illustrative, just text etc). If you’ve got an idea or brief you can send us, then that's even better!
Before considering the design, it pays to read up on contemporary thinking to make sure you get everything covered… such as:
http://www.theguardian.com/books/book...
Our pricing policy for book covers starts at £180. The author must provide implicit instructions or brief for us to follow (we will consult with the author before any work is undertaken to identify any issues or offer any alternative solutions). This includes one full set of design proofs followed by one full set of amends / alterations (further amends after that are charged at our hourly rate of £45/hr).
However, it’s important to remember that as a bespoke design service that encompasses a wide variety of disciplines and techniques, anything beyond ‘simple’ is reflected in the price. For example, a recently designed cover entitled ‘Going Solo’ cost £360, but that included 2 alternative options to choose from and had four sets of amends. Each cover is completely different so it’s impossible to have a price list. It really depends on what you want to achieve and what budget you have.
A 50% non-refundable deposit is payable by the client at the outset of any contract. This sum will be deducted from the final invoice and can be paid by cash, BACS or PayPal.
Jon: Where can people contact you?
Mike: As the brick-wrapped-letter-through-my-window approach is kinda frowned upon in these parts, and as it’s hard to find a reliable carrier pigeon, email is probably your best bet:
mike@thumbnail-design.co.uk
You can check out some assorted samples of our work at:
https://pinterest.com/thumbnaildesign...
Please keep checking for updates as we’ll be adding more samples once the drugs wear off…
Jon: A big thank you very much to Mike for spending the time to talk to the Captain's Blog...
July 8, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes Jenny Thomson...
Today the Captain's Blog welcomes Jenny Thomson, author of "Dead Bastards" and "Hell to Pay".
Jon: Tell us a little about yourself...
Jenny: I've been a freelance writer since I got my first piece published at 15, although I've had spells as a TV extra - I narrowly missed out on being an extra in World War Z when it was filming in Glasgow. I've been a big zombie fan since I watched the original Night of the Living Dead. Dead Bastards was published in December of last year and I've been overwhelmed with the response I've got. Zombie fans are fantastic. My crime thriller Hell To Pay was just published by Sassy Books and it's my first Die Hard for girls book. Like Dead Bastards, the book has a strong female character. I love The Walking Dead, but hate the way they've ruined most of the women characters by making it more about who they sleep with than fighting walkers.
Jon: Can you tell us what "Dead Bastards" is about?
Jenny: Glasgow couple Emma and Scott are in bed when there's a knock at the door. It's Scott's pal Archie and he looks like he's been mugged, but when he dies and comes back to life, they realise that the zombies are here. Teaming up with zombie expert Kenny, would be suicide bomber Doyle and Mustafa who works in the local shop, they have one goal. Just don't get bitten.
Jon: So what is it about zombies? I've been hooked on zombie films since my sister made me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was twelve and couldn't sleep for a month. What did it for you?
Jenny: I've been hooked on zombies since I first watched Night of the Living Dead. The way the movie's shot almost has a documentary feel about it and it's done in such a matter of fact way, you think, "Hey, this could happen."
Jon: So what makes your zombie story different from all the others?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is set in Glasgow and because it's not set in America there aren't many guns around, so people have to improvise when it comes to killing zombies. That makes it much tougher to survive. I have a strong female lead character, Emma, who can wield a baseball bat as good as any man. There's also a lot of dark humour and that's a very Scottish thing. Scots can stare into the bowels of hell and still find something to laugh about. I've also come up with a unique way that the zombie virus is transmitted that nobody, to my knowledge, has ever used before.
Jon: What's the most gruesome way that a zombie is dispatched in your book?
Jenny: At the start of the book, Scott hacks a zombie snowman to death with his axe. The body parts fly all over the shop because he can't see the man under the snow and has to keep on hitting him again and again to make sure he's finished him off. One of my characters, Mustafa, has to kill his own dad, who's a zombie, with a Samurai sword. In the movies, you see men doing it in one swoop, but Mustafa takes a few goes. It's always more gruesome when you have to kill a relative, but there's an element of absurdity about it too, because you think, "hey, is he ever going to hack this head off - it's so much easier in the movies." Throughout the book, I've tried to make things realistic. These people aren't killing machines, they've had no training. It's hard for them to kill anyone even when it's a case of kill or be killed. Eventually, though, they get to the stage where it's just routine and they've adapted to this new reality.
Jon: Is there anything different about your zombies, or are they the standard, shambling, moaning brain eaters?
Jenny: I've gone for the classic shambling zombies, although they can fairly shift when there's food walking by. To me it was important not to mess with the zombie genre because it's fine as it is. Because their brains are decaying or have completely decayed and have turned to mush, zombies shouldn't really be sprinting like Usain Bolt as the brain controls movement.
Jon: If you were caught up in a zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice?
Jenny: A gun if I could get one, but if not a chainsaw would be pretty cool. Watch all those zombie body parts fly off and blood everywhere. You'd definitely know that thing was dead. A katana like Michonne in The Walking Dead would also be cool - one swoop and the walker's headless or you could aim for the torso and split it in two. A scythe like the one they use to cut long grass would also be fantastic. Those things are sharp. Hey, I've thought of those things, a bit too much folk would say.
Jon: Are there any more books in the "Dead Bastards" series?
Jenny: For now Dead Bastards is a one off, but I might write another very different zombie book. If I can find the time. I'm writing the Die Hard for Girls revenge series of books. The first "Hell To Pay" is just out on paperback and it will be out on Kindle July 26th. The second is out next year. The next zombie book, that's just an idea at the moment, would be about a detective who goes from walled city to walled city investigating murders carried out by inhabitants. People live in these protected places because they haven't yet eradicated all the zombies and travel between them would be highly dangerous. The most common murder method used would be to throw someone out of these walled city so it's a case of death by zombie.
Jon: Do you have anything else that you want to tell your readers?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is a book with real people. They're not law enforcement or soldiers, so they react in a very realistic way to what's happening. The zombies in Dead Bastards are traditional Romero zombies and not the ones in the World War Z movie that zombie aficionados have been complaining about. I came up with the title for the book because in Scotland if the dead started to rise that’s what we’d probably call them. Well, you wouldn’t immediately think zombies if it was actually happening to you:) The castle in the book is real, although I've changed the name.
For writing tips, check out my blog at
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
I also have a dedicated zombie site at
http://deidbastards.blogspot.co.uk
and one for my Die Hard for Girls book at
http://diehardforgirls.weebly.com
The first book, Hell To Pay is out now in paperback and the follow up, Throwaways, is out next year.
If I'd to offer writers any advice it would be to write as many different things as possible, because you will face countless disappointments along the way. Hell to Pay, a revenge thriller, will be published by Sassy Books, on July 26th 2013 It's the first book in a series dubbed Die Hard for Girls. Read an excerpt here on my Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jenny-Thomson...
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
http://jennifer-thomson.blogspot.co.uk/
Jon: Thank you very much to Jenny for sharing her life and afterlife with the Captain's Blog... Keep that chainsaw handy folks, the apocalypse is coming for you!
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Tell us a little about yourself...
Jenny: I've been a freelance writer since I got my first piece published at 15, although I've had spells as a TV extra - I narrowly missed out on being an extra in World War Z when it was filming in Glasgow. I've been a big zombie fan since I watched the original Night of the Living Dead. Dead Bastards was published in December of last year and I've been overwhelmed with the response I've got. Zombie fans are fantastic. My crime thriller Hell To Pay was just published by Sassy Books and it's my first Die Hard for girls book. Like Dead Bastards, the book has a strong female character. I love The Walking Dead, but hate the way they've ruined most of the women characters by making it more about who they sleep with than fighting walkers.
Jon: Can you tell us what "Dead Bastards" is about?
Jenny: Glasgow couple Emma and Scott are in bed when there's a knock at the door. It's Scott's pal Archie and he looks like he's been mugged, but when he dies and comes back to life, they realise that the zombies are here. Teaming up with zombie expert Kenny, would be suicide bomber Doyle and Mustafa who works in the local shop, they have one goal. Just don't get bitten.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: So what is it about zombies? I've been hooked on zombie films since my sister made me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was twelve and couldn't sleep for a month. What did it for you?
Jenny: I've been hooked on zombies since I first watched Night of the Living Dead. The way the movie's shot almost has a documentary feel about it and it's done in such a matter of fact way, you think, "Hey, this could happen."
Jon: So what makes your zombie story different from all the others?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is set in Glasgow and because it's not set in America there aren't many guns around, so people have to improvise when it comes to killing zombies. That makes it much tougher to survive. I have a strong female lead character, Emma, who can wield a baseball bat as good as any man. There's also a lot of dark humour and that's a very Scottish thing. Scots can stare into the bowels of hell and still find something to laugh about. I've also come up with a unique way that the zombie virus is transmitted that nobody, to my knowledge, has ever used before.
Jon: What's the most gruesome way that a zombie is dispatched in your book?
Jenny: At the start of the book, Scott hacks a zombie snowman to death with his axe. The body parts fly all over the shop because he can't see the man under the snow and has to keep on hitting him again and again to make sure he's finished him off. One of my characters, Mustafa, has to kill his own dad, who's a zombie, with a Samurai sword. In the movies, you see men doing it in one swoop, but Mustafa takes a few goes. It's always more gruesome when you have to kill a relative, but there's an element of absurdity about it too, because you think, "hey, is he ever going to hack this head off - it's so much easier in the movies." Throughout the book, I've tried to make things realistic. These people aren't killing machines, they've had no training. It's hard for them to kill anyone even when it's a case of kill or be killed. Eventually, though, they get to the stage where it's just routine and they've adapted to this new reality.
Jon: Is there anything different about your zombies, or are they the standard, shambling, moaning brain eaters?
Jenny: I've gone for the classic shambling zombies, although they can fairly shift when there's food walking by. To me it was important not to mess with the zombie genre because it's fine as it is. Because their brains are decaying or have completely decayed and have turned to mush, zombies shouldn't really be sprinting like Usain Bolt as the brain controls movement.
Jon: If you were caught up in a zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice?
Jenny: A gun if I could get one, but if not a chainsaw would be pretty cool. Watch all those zombie body parts fly off and blood everywhere. You'd definitely know that thing was dead. A katana like Michonne in The Walking Dead would also be cool - one swoop and the walker's headless or you could aim for the torso and split it in two. A scythe like the one they use to cut long grass would also be fantastic. Those things are sharp. Hey, I've thought of those things, a bit too much folk would say.
Jon: Are there any more books in the "Dead Bastards" series?
Jenny: For now Dead Bastards is a one off, but I might write another very different zombie book. If I can find the time. I'm writing the Die Hard for Girls revenge series of books. The first "Hell To Pay" is just out on paperback and it will be out on Kindle July 26th. The second is out next year. The next zombie book, that's just an idea at the moment, would be about a detective who goes from walled city to walled city investigating murders carried out by inhabitants. People live in these protected places because they haven't yet eradicated all the zombies and travel between them would be highly dangerous. The most common murder method used would be to throw someone out of these walled city so it's a case of death by zombie.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Do you have anything else that you want to tell your readers?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is a book with real people. They're not law enforcement or soldiers, so they react in a very realistic way to what's happening. The zombies in Dead Bastards are traditional Romero zombies and not the ones in the World War Z movie that zombie aficionados have been complaining about. I came up with the title for the book because in Scotland if the dead started to rise that’s what we’d probably call them. Well, you wouldn’t immediately think zombies if it was actually happening to you:) The castle in the book is real, although I've changed the name.
For writing tips, check out my blog at
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
I also have a dedicated zombie site at
http://deidbastards.blogspot.co.uk
and one for my Die Hard for Girls book at
http://diehardforgirls.weebly.com
The first book, Hell To Pay is out now in paperback and the follow up, Throwaways, is out next year.
If I'd to offer writers any advice it would be to write as many different things as possible, because you will face countless disappointments along the way. Hell to Pay, a revenge thriller, will be published by Sassy Books, on July 26th 2013 It's the first book in a series dubbed Die Hard for Girls. Read an excerpt here on my Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jenny-Thomson...
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
http://jennifer-thomson.blogspot.co.uk/
Jon: Thank you very much to Jenny for sharing her life and afterlife with the Captain's Blog... Keep that chainsaw handy folks, the apocalypse is coming for you!
June 29, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes: Claudia Burgoa...
This week I have an extract for you from Claudia Burgoa's debut novel, "Where Life Takes You", which will be available at the end of July 2013...
Facing Connor hadn’t killed me. Confronting Lisa wouldn’t be a mortal blow either –only painful.
I got home fast, but didn’t go in for almost half hour. My purse had eaten the keycard to my floor. And I really didn’t want to ask the doorman to swipe his for me. Again. The landlord needed to change the system and implement a passcode. I would’ve bet my brain wouldn’t lost it in my purse or forgotten in the apartment.
When I opened my door, I heard a voice. Dan leaving a message.
“Pick up, you can make it… Run, princess,” he encouraged me like a little kid. “Bex, the outside camera caught your car entering the building a half hour ago. You swiped the elevator key five minutes ago. I timed my call… answer. And I think your cell ran out of battery again. Come on, Babe.”
“Don’t call me Babe,” I growled when I picked the receiver. “You make me sound like one of your cheap dates.”
“No, you’re not a cheap date, Bex. I didn’t mean to upset you, Bex. But you picked up the phone. Why weren’t you home? It’s Sunday.”
I vaguely explained my journal expedition, with Connor’s encounter excluded. I lied by omission but I hated worrying him. For the past few years, he’d been my best and only true friend. We’d became each other’s family. When he traveled –which was often– I missed him every moment. It wasn’t worth it upset him while he was away.
He asked me to grab my iPad so we could Facetime or Skype. Though I cherished those moments with him and loved to see him, but I declined. “I forgot to charge it yesterday, after our long conversation.” He accompanied me on the phone while I prepared myself a sandwich and pulled out some chocolate cookies from the jar. My fake yawns finally caught his attention and we said our goodbyes we didn’t lie to each other. Dan knew me so well the truth of how crappy I felt would come out.
“Good luck with your journal.” Dan’s reminder made me want to cry. “Are you sure you don’t want to connect? We can talk until you fall asleep.”
Goodnight, Dan”
*****
Dear Lisa,
Where shall I start? We never talked, yet I’m expected to communicate with you through a piece of paper and some ink. Will a simple letter give me closure? You ruined me
Funny thing, I saw Connor today. Remember him? He has a son, Ryan, who called me Aunt Becca. Cute little boy. You would’ve made sure to inform the boy we weren’t related wouldn’t you? Destroying my life was always your favorite hobby. I should’ve told everyone about your life. I wish for so many things, but there isn’t a magic lamp, a wishing well or a genie around to fix everything. It’s too late.
I have so many wishes, but perhaps I could undo the curse you cast over me with only one I wish your father never met my mother. Or if he did, that he’d dump her like my Dad did. Then he wouldn’t have brought you with him. Your brother wasn’t a problem, until your little finale. He’s few appearances were manageable –except the last one. Actually, he hated your father and couldn’t handle you. Wonder why?
You didn’t like Mom, yet within months of the wedding you became the daughter she’d always dreamt of. The one she took to the spa, went shopping with and did all those other MAD activities. The first summer was endurable, but after you took over the entire school, living with you became unbearable. You were the bombshell that hit Highlander High School by surprise. No one stood a chance, not even him.
In the beginning, Ian understood me, but slowly you took over and by the time I noticed, you’d infected him. Why did you snatch my life… my happy ending? I’m glad the martyr act dropped when your condition came to light. Mom might not talk to me, but everyone knew the real you at the end.
Are Satan and you best friends yet?
Rebecca Trent
http://www.claudiayburgoa.com/
Thanks to Claudia for sharing this marvellous extract from her forthcoming book...
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Facing Connor hadn’t killed me. Confronting Lisa wouldn’t be a mortal blow either –only painful.
I got home fast, but didn’t go in for almost half hour. My purse had eaten the keycard to my floor. And I really didn’t want to ask the doorman to swipe his for me. Again. The landlord needed to change the system and implement a passcode. I would’ve bet my brain wouldn’t lost it in my purse or forgotten in the apartment.
When I opened my door, I heard a voice. Dan leaving a message.
“Pick up, you can make it… Run, princess,” he encouraged me like a little kid. “Bex, the outside camera caught your car entering the building a half hour ago. You swiped the elevator key five minutes ago. I timed my call… answer. And I think your cell ran out of battery again. Come on, Babe.”
“Don’t call me Babe,” I growled when I picked the receiver. “You make me sound like one of your cheap dates.”
“No, you’re not a cheap date, Bex. I didn’t mean to upset you, Bex. But you picked up the phone. Why weren’t you home? It’s Sunday.”
I vaguely explained my journal expedition, with Connor’s encounter excluded. I lied by omission but I hated worrying him. For the past few years, he’d been my best and only true friend. We’d became each other’s family. When he traveled –which was often– I missed him every moment. It wasn’t worth it upset him while he was away.
He asked me to grab my iPad so we could Facetime or Skype. Though I cherished those moments with him and loved to see him, but I declined. “I forgot to charge it yesterday, after our long conversation.” He accompanied me on the phone while I prepared myself a sandwich and pulled out some chocolate cookies from the jar. My fake yawns finally caught his attention and we said our goodbyes we didn’t lie to each other. Dan knew me so well the truth of how crappy I felt would come out.
“Good luck with your journal.” Dan’s reminder made me want to cry. “Are you sure you don’t want to connect? We can talk until you fall asleep.”
Goodnight, Dan”
*****
Dear Lisa,
Where shall I start? We never talked, yet I’m expected to communicate with you through a piece of paper and some ink. Will a simple letter give me closure? You ruined me
Funny thing, I saw Connor today. Remember him? He has a son, Ryan, who called me Aunt Becca. Cute little boy. You would’ve made sure to inform the boy we weren’t related wouldn’t you? Destroying my life was always your favorite hobby. I should’ve told everyone about your life. I wish for so many things, but there isn’t a magic lamp, a wishing well or a genie around to fix everything. It’s too late.
I have so many wishes, but perhaps I could undo the curse you cast over me with only one I wish your father never met my mother. Or if he did, that he’d dump her like my Dad did. Then he wouldn’t have brought you with him. Your brother wasn’t a problem, until your little finale. He’s few appearances were manageable –except the last one. Actually, he hated your father and couldn’t handle you. Wonder why?
You didn’t like Mom, yet within months of the wedding you became the daughter she’d always dreamt of. The one she took to the spa, went shopping with and did all those other MAD activities. The first summer was endurable, but after you took over the entire school, living with you became unbearable. You were the bombshell that hit Highlander High School by surprise. No one stood a chance, not even him.
In the beginning, Ian understood me, but slowly you took over and by the time I noticed, you’d infected him. Why did you snatch my life… my happy ending? I’m glad the martyr act dropped when your condition came to light. Mom might not talk to me, but everyone knew the real you at the end.
Are Satan and you best friends yet?
Rebecca Trent
http://www.claudiayburgoa.com/
Thanks to Claudia for sharing this marvellous extract from her forthcoming book...
June 16, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes: B R Crichton
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.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
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.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
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.
June 1, 2013
The Captain's Blog welcomes Scarlett Flame...
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
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.
Captain's Blog
Random thoughts from a science fiction author...
- Jonathon Fletcher's profile
- 95 followers
