H.B. Lyne's Blog, page 4

Metamorphosis

I am fascinated by amazing transformations. This spring, me and my boys have been growing caterpillars and watching their incredible life cycle. We now have four butterflies. Their journey from caterpillar to butterfly is something most adults take for granted, but seeing it happen right in front of us has given me the chance to reflect on the process.

I was talking to my six year old about it this morning, about how incredible it is and musing on what the tiny creatures know and understand about their existence. A female butterfly lays her eggs and flies away, she doesn’t stick around to nurture her young. When the tiny caterpillar hatches from its egg, all it knows is its current form. It has no idea, I presume, of where it came from. It sees the butterflies in the hedgerow, but does it comprehend that they are the same species? Does it have any clue what lies in store? When it diligently enters its chrysalis phase, does it have the slightest idea why it is doing it or what will happen?

Inside the little shell, the caterpillar decomposes and is rebuilt from the liquid, becoming, arguably, an entirely new life form, with nothing in common with the caterpillar that came before it. When the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, is it in awe of its own transformation? Or does it simply accept itself?

I can well imagine it confused by its new body. They don’t fly immediately, they crawl around their habitat, adjusting to the enormous wings on their backs. They are also very still for the better part of a day. It must be hard work, totally breaking down and then rebuilding itself in the short space of a couple of weeks! They seem to be resting on emergence, with no interest in food or exploration. They cling close to their shed chrysalis and wait for their wings to harden.

The butterfly is the ultimate example of a creature fulfilling its potential. Whether the caterpillar knows it or not, it is destined to transform from tiny crawling eating machine, to glorious, colourful nectar gatherer! Nature is packed with these examples, of course, but how often do we stop to consider them with child-like wonder?

Humans don’t undergo anything quite so dramatic, but then, am I just taking our own life cycle for granted? I have sometimes wondered what it might be like for a human foetus. All they know is the uterus, for all they know, birth is death. The point at which they must be expelled from their mother’s body may seem like the end, when to those of us waiting eagerly skin-side, it is just the beginning.

As a maternity care campaigner and birth trauma peer supporter, I have dedicated countless hours to researching birth, and literally held women who have been crushed by their birth experiences. My own traumatic birth was over six years ago now and I am finally coming to appreciate that it was my metamorphosis. Before it I was just potential. If I had the amazing and empowering birth experience that I dreamed of, and was able to have the second time around, then I would not have been on the incredible journey that I was led on as a result of that first birth.

Would I take a life without trauma? Probably, yes! But given that I cannot undo what happened, I have to frame it in a way that I can live with. As a result of that experience, I have become so much more educated, I have made some incredible friends, and I have been a part of making birth better for other women. It also meant that I had a truly incredible second birth, that paved the way for some serious improvements for others. I’m a totally different person to the one who went into labour 6 years ago, and a vastly better one!

Do caterpillars/butterflies find their metamorphosis traumatic, I wonder?

Echoes of the Past is about shape shifters, who often live as normal humans until their radical transformation. My beloved Stalker is totally unprepared for what happens to her and she is certainly left shocked by the change when it happens. Seeds of Autumn explores this metamorphosis and the emotional aftermath. Ariana/Stalker must try to work out how to integrate her new life into her old one, something she doesn’t master in the one book, even by the end of the third book this is an ongoing struggle for her. No longer able to live a human life, she now knows that lurking beneath her skin is a terrifying beast, and that everything prior to her first change was just potential, she was always meant to be a shifter.

I don’t expect anyone reading this to have discovered such a literal inner demon, but if you have undergone a transformative life event, I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

Don’t forget, you can now subscribe to my mailing list to keep up to date with all the latest book news. Sign up today and receive a free digital copy of my short story, The Storm Riders’ Vigil.

Filed under: Lifestyle Tagged: Amazon, birth, butterflies, caterpillars, Change, chrysalis, cocoon, Echoes of the Past, metamorphosis, potential, Seeds of Autumn, transformation

My Love-Hate Relationship With Healthy Living

I have a bizarre relationship with fitness. Or maybe it’s actually more common than I think! But it seems bizarre to me, totally illogical.

I’m a total nerd, I research stuff. A lot. When I develop an interest in something I tend to go for total immersion and try and take in as much information on it as I can find. So when I started hearing about paleo eating (I won’t use the word diet, too many connotations) I devoured information on it. It all makes total sense! I’m well versed in all the dos and don’ts, foods that break the rules, foods that bend them etc. A massive part of me wants to go for it, and at times I do start down the path of cutting things out with a view to easing into it. I’m generally dairy free anyway, due to wee one’s intolerance, but I’ll dabble with cutting down on bread and sweet things, though am yet to pass the three week mark.

These times are very often paired with a surge of enthusiasm for working out. I absolutely love getting hot and sweaty, pushing my body to do more than it normally does. I don’t do vanity work outs. When I come out of the gym you can tell I’ve worked hard; messed up hair, a sheen of sweat, face the colour of rhubarb. So what? I don’t go there to impress anyone, I go to improve my body. For years I was a steadfast treadmill runner, and I still am. But two years ago I discovered intervals.

Again with the immersion, I did my research and discovered that high intensity interval training (HIIT) is far more efficient than spending long tedious hours doing the same thing. While doing steady-rate cardio does burn more calories during the workout than HIIT, the latter produces more of the hormone that triggers your metabolic rate to pick up, meaning that in the 24 hours after the workout, you burn more calories.

I only get three hours a week to exercise. That’s it. Between my kids and my writing, and a little R&R, I get just three hours a week to work on my fitness. So I can’t afford to end up in a situation where I have to run for an hour and a half, or two hours solid, three times a week in order to see the results I want. I have to make those three hours count, make them as efficient as possible.

Plus, intervals make running on a treadmill more interesting! It’s a greater challenge, to push myself really hard for 90 seconds, then bring it down for a minute, then sprint the hell out of that machine for 20 seconds. Mixing it up takes away the monotony. I never really liked running on a treadmill before, I just did it because the other machines in the gym intimidated me. But now I actually enjoy it. I still hate running outdoors, especially in cold weather. It makes my throat and lungs really sore and is just sheer misery. Exercise shouldn’t be torture! It should be challenging, but fun. Otherwise, what’s the point in doing it? Doing something that makes you miserable will only make it harder to stick at it.

The other exercise that I discovered I liked, just a year ago, was lifting with free weights. I refused to even contemplate the free weights for years. I didn’t want to set foot in the room with all the big blokes, watching me, judging me, laughing at me. I thought that women who lifted ended up looking like beefcakes, which might be fine for them, but that wasn’t a look I was going for.

My ex-husband got really into lifting, he even bought his own rack to lift in the garage, and started competing. He immersed himself in it and made some attempts to get me to give it a try. But I refused. I held out for a long time…. until I couldn’t any more! Not because of his nagging (he didn’t nag), but because I wasn’t going to the gym, and I couldn’t keep pretending that the weight wasn’t creeping on. So, having soaked up an awful lot of information from him talking at me at some length over the previous year and a half, I decided to step up to the bar.

What I really like about lifting is the measurable progress. It might not show in the number on the scales particularly quickly, or in the waistline at first, but by increasing the amount of weight you lift a little at regular intervals, you can see how much stronger you’re getting.

When I first started I struggled to even unrack the empty, 20kg bar on my shoulders, never mind squat with it. But within 5 weeks I had doubled my work weight on squats to 40kg. I saw slower but still measurable progress with my benchpress, and it gave me such a buzz to post my stats to my fitness-minded friends on social media.

It turns out that female powerlifters look like this:

Staci @ Nerd Fitness

Not this:

When my ex moved out he took his weights with him and I allowed several months to slip by without exercise. But now I’m back at the gym and have even taken to deadlifting, which I hadn’t tried before. I walk into the weights room with my head up and crack on, ignoring the posers doing bicep curls in front of the mirror (pur-lease). It’s rare that I see another woman in there, but I don’t let that intimidate me. A few sessions with a personal trainer ensured that I was confident in using the equipment. I’m still running intervals too.

But here comes the bizarre part…. despite knowing what I want to do, despite enjoying a good workout and wanting to eat clean, despite talking the talk on social media all the time when friends ask food and fitness questions, I find it really, really hard to actually walk the walk. I bitch and moan. I complain that I have so little child-free time, I really should spend it all doing something that has a hope of one day resulting in me earning a living! I would rather write than cook, or work out. Ugh, cooking. Why did that thought have to intrude? I don’t want to cook. I hate cooking. I am actually perfectly able to convince myself that ordering a take away would be the healthy option!! Afterall, a chicken burger comes loaded with fresh salad from my favourite place to order from. If I cooked the food I have in I wouldn’t end up eating anything green!

But when I get off my backside, and go to the gym I always come away feeling good. Always. Even if I find myself with no energy and unable to stick it out for more than ten minutes, I’m always glad I turned up and tried. I haven’t got there with food yet, that’s a more tricky aspect, and probably deserves its own post. On which note, I leave you, in order to go forage for grub.

I love hearing from you, so leave a comment with your diet and fitness woes, or success stories. Did you hate cooking but found a way to conquer the kitchen? Please leave me your tips!

Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter in order to keep up to date with all the latest book launch news.

Filed under: Lifestyle Tagged: diet, exercise, fitness, food, gym, health, HIIT, paleo, powerlifting, running, weights

Shifting Gear

I wear several hats; writer, mother, political campaigner. There are others, but right now those three are the most important in my life. Juggling those hats is quite a circus act. Whenever I switch from one to another, it’s rather like changing gears. It takes a little time to adjust, sometimes hours. Not that it takes me hours to change gear when driving, that would be worrying.

It’s especially difficult going from one of my child-free guises to mother mode. I have two boys, aged six and three. They are pretty full on, as most small children are. So walking into a room, fresh from a morning immersed in the Echoes universe, to be hit full force by two bundles of chaos, both pretending to be groaning, shambling zombies, intent upon biting me, requires a bit of an adjustment.

I’m gradually learning to embrace the noise and mayhem that accompanies my children, though I wish someone had better prepared me for it. I always knew that parenting would be challenging, but it’s the relentlessness of it that I was ill prepared for. Once I realised that writing was my calling and that it was what I was going to strive to earn a living doing, it became apparent that I would need support to make it happen.

Fortunately my family have been nothing but supportive, and I have lots of help with the kids. When the house goes quiet, it’s time for me to turn my attention away from jig saw puzzles, Lego and Harry Potter, just some of the current favourites, and towards shifters, demons and beautiful fae.

Again, there is that period of adjustment. There is the requirement to check up on my social media accounts, respond to emails, and do any ad hoc tasks connected with my work. I have to get these things out of the way before I can tune in to writing, or editing. My mind requires retuning, like an analogue radio.

I don’t always manage to be very efficient at this stage! Certain websites are very distracting and I am prone to procrastination. I can often be found chuntering to myself that I really should be shutting down my web browser now…. twenty minutes later I’m still “just checking Facebook”.

What doesn’t help is that most of my campaigning goes on online too, so there is always the temptation to delve into that world with my time. An extra few groups, forums and instant messages need to be checked or sent, which turns into getting engrossed in a debate.

But usually, once I’ve got a few things out of the way and am settled down into calm, creative mode, I’m away. Once I’m in my writing world, its very difficult for me to tear myself away. I’ve been working out how many words an hour I need to type in order to meet my deadlines, and how many hours per week. It’s no mean feet. As a self-publishing author, my deadlines are self-imposed. But I think it’s important for me personally, to have those targets and to do my best to meet them.

It’s especially important right now, because I’m preparing to run a crowdfunder to pay for getting Tides of Spring finished and published. So I have tasks to complete on a timeline in order for it to all run smoothly. I have my editor booked already, even though I have only just finished the first draft, because great editors tend to be booked up for months. So I know that my revisions need to be done by a certain date, and the crowdfunder needs to complete before my editor finishes the job, so that I can pay her!

I’ve never worked like this before, not since I was studying for my degree anyway, and had assignment deadlines. So it’s an exciting development. This new sense of professionalism is driving me forward in a new way and I’m optimistic that this marks a new chapter in my career.

I really look forward to sharing Tides of Spring with so many readers who I know are looking forward to the next instalment in the Echoes of the Past saga. My crowdfunder needs to be a success in order for me to get this book out to people, so I urge readers and supporters to subscribe to my mailing list and keep an eye on the blog and social media for announcements. More will be revealed very soon!

Thanks for reading and supporting me on this journey.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Star Trek Saw the Future, And It’s Here!

I’m a self confessed nerd. I love sci-fi, super heroes, zombies, and technology. Gimme all da stuffs. I’m currently lamenting the premature demise of my Blu-Ray player and researching a replacement. It has to have all the right toys. So I was thinking about technology and the way that popular sci-fi, such as Star Trek, has predicted, or could it be that it has inspired the development of new technologies.

So I decided to compile a list of some of the tech that Star Trek has depicted in the past that now exists.

1. Sliding doors!

It’s THE classic example. When Star Trek first aired in 1966 the sliding doors of the Enterprise were manned by stage hands on set because automatic sliding doors didn’t exist yet. But the doors in Star Trek seem to also have some sort of telepathic link with people, as they never open when someone walks past in the corridor outside the room, or close on two people having a conversation across the threshold. A Japanese company has developed a more intelligent sliding door that responds the the size of party approaching, and even the speed at which someone approaches them! I look forward to seeing these intelligent sliding doors appearing in shopping centres worldwide!

2. Tablets

Today we take for granted our iPads, Kindle Fires and so on. But they are a relatively new technology. Apple’s first serious attempt at a tablet computer was the Apple Newton in 1993. But the first touch screen tablets that we would recognise today only hit the market in 2010. Star Trek have been using data pads since The Next Generation began in 1987. The beautiful thing about this example is that we have already far surpassed the technology portrayed in Trek. TNG was set in the year 2364 and onwards (mostly, they time travelled a bit!), yet their data pads seemed to be quite limited in function, with separate pads required for different projects. It makes me wonder what the future of this technology might look like. Where will we really be in 2364? Will information be directly downloaded into a microchip inserted in our brains? Eek!

3. Communicators

I got so excited when I got my first “flippy phone” in about 2004! FINALLY I held in my hands some tech reminiscent of something from Star Trek. It was a glorious day for me. It was the Samsung S300, and I still think it’s the most beautiful phone I’ve ever owned. Sigh.

Anyway, where was I?

Star Trek led the way with mobile communication devices and it took us over thirty years to really catch up. But now that we have we’re zooming ahead. We’re even perfectly used to the combined technology of comms devices and data pads, with smart phones being an every day item that millions of people already own. We also have Bluetooth. Remember Uhura’s earpiece? Not quite as widespread an application of the technology, but it exists.

We haven’t quite got to the com badges seen in TNG onwards, but we can’t be far off them. Our phones can be used to track our location, a common use of this kit seen in Trek. It’s also at the whim of the environment, as in Trek. “The away team’s lost on the planet, Captain, a severe weather system is interfering with the comms channel.” Yep, sounds familiar!

Another related technology is the good old video call. We all remember the crew of the Original Series seeing aliens and alien worlds on their enormous view screen. Throughout the evolution of the franchise, this technology has remained a staple means of communication. Today we think nothing of Skyping a friend on the other side of the planet, or conference calls that incorporate video communication with absent colleagues.

4. Portable Memory Devices

Probably not one that most people would think of, but way back in the Original Series the crew used disks that resembled 3.5 inch floppy disks. It’s already the case that an entire generation of young computer users will have no idea what I just said! My parents ran a shareware business from home when I was growing up, and I spent many an hour sat in front of (now very dated) desk top computers copying disks for them.

The Next Gen had their isolinear chips that were closer to USB sticks or SD cards. The Enterprise seemed to rely on a huge number of these devices for the smooth running of its systems. (Can I get an enraged “Wesley!”) Though it’s unclear exactly what they do, but they seem to contain information or software. Given that we can buy SD cards today that can hold 512GB of data, it’s easy to imagine similar storage devices in the future that would power vast star ships.

5. Replicators

Yes, seriously. 3D printing is the beginning of replicator technology, as seen in TNG onwards. Go to a hole in the wall and order your favourite drink, and it materialises in front of you. It’s a technology in its infancy, we’re a far cry from being able to feed all the world’s hungry with this technology, but give it time. In Grey’s Anatomy they’ve shown 3D printing being used to create working body parts for transplants, and I honestly believe that’s where the development of this tech will flourish first.

6. Voice Activated Interactive Artificial Intelligence!!!

This is the one that struck me the other day and really prompted me to write this blog. Voice activation isn’t especially new, but it’s finally entering the mass market for everyday application. We now have hardware that we can talk to, and that talks back! And it’s widely commercially available in the form of the latest smart phones. Owners of iPhones can ask Siri to complete tasks for them and report back its findings, Microsoft phones now have the gorgeous Cortana, named after the AI in flagship Xbox game, Halo.

Our computers are getting there too, with Google now supporting voice input for searches. But Star Trek saw it coming decades ago. The fabulous Majel Barrett voiced Star Fleet computers from the beginning until her death in 2008. The crews of later Enterprise models, Voyager and DS9 had the opportunity to ask the computer to perform complex tasks, such as programming the holodeck and analysing data. It won’t be long before we can do this in real life. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to discover some lab geeks somewhere in the world already doing just that.

Other sci-fi creations have predicted technological advancements too, some more advanced than others. Self-driving cars, as seen in Minority Report will very soon be commonplace, they can park themselves these days and we’ve had cruise control for ages. Getting us from A to B is the next logical step. I give the boffins a decade to get us there. Jules Verne first saw us launching ourselves into space and exploring the depths in submarines, long before we could do either. And I just discovered that a vehicle closely resembling the hoverbikes from Endor in Star Wars could be available to buy from as early as 2016!!!

So, my wish list for emerging technologies based on Star Trek includes: holodecks (of course!), transporters (duh), and interplanetary travel (obviously!).

I love to hear from you, so leave a comment if there’s a sci-fi technology you’d love to see realised, or your favourite from the many, many more out there already that I didn’t have time to cover here!

Don’t forget, you subscribe to my mailing list you will receive a free copy of my short story, The Storm Riders’ Vigil.

Filed under: Popular Entertainment, Technology Tagged: 3D print, AI, cell phone, computers, Cortana, future technology, hoverbike, ipad, Jules Verne, Minority Report, mobile phones, sci-fi, self-drive cars, Siri, smart phones, space exploration, Star Trek, Star Wars, tablet computers, technology

Plots and Plans

First of all, massive apologies for being so quiet. It’s been a crazy couple of months. I am thrilled to say that I have completed the first draft of book three in the Echoes of the Past series, Tides of Spring. Getting the last few chapters written was one of the hardest periods of my writing journey so far. They may never see the light of day, of course, as I have revisions to do, and who knows what will stay and what will go? It’s hard to say why I found it so hard to finish this draft. I had a really good run coming up towards the end, and I thought it would be a few days of productivity before I finished. But I stalled terribly, was crippled with writers’ block, and agonised over the details.

Part of what held me up may have been because of the actions of my heroes. I rarely use that word to describe the main characters in the series. Because to me they are not typical heroes. I usually call them protagonists, a useful word that covers the most flawed of central characters. Stalker-of-Night’s-Shadow is about as flawed as they come. She’s arrogant, reckless, and maddeningly impulsive. She keeps secrets, makes mistakes, and lets her heart rule her head. She neglects her responsibilities and her friends. But her heart is generally in the right place, she’s capable, independent and a fierce combatant. Stalker isn’t the only one with flaws. The rest of the pack have their issues too; from run of the mill pride, to post traumatic stress disorder.

Towards the end of Tides of Spring, having been through some pretty difficult events, they make some tough calls. I, as the writer, had to make them on their behalf. I parted with a character that I very much enjoyed writing too.

I wasn’t consciously aware of this while writing, but since finishing the draft, I realised that there is next to no hope of a film production company wanting the rights for Echoes of the Past (come on, all authors have that dream!), because the protagonists are too flawed, too complex, and at times, too dark. Sometimes it’s debatable whether they’re the good guys or the bad guys. I mean, it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? From the point of view of the Witches of Fenwick, the shifters of Caerton are breaking some of the most fundamental laws of their kind, and sitting on a throne they aren’t entitled to. They destroy nature too. Shock. Gasp.

But, there is an alternative option for adaptation…. as I reblogged from Kristen Lamb earlier, the hottest drama can be found on the small screen, rather than the big one. Some of my favourite TV series of recent years are packed full of dark, complex protagonists. Take Dexter as the prime example. The central character is a serial killer, for crying out loud. But we root for him, we desperately hope for him not to get caught. Hell, in the last season I was desperate for him to get a happy ending with Hannah… I recently binged on House of Cards. It could well be argued that Kevin Spacey’s fantastic portrayal of Francis Underwood is one TV’s best depictions of a sociopath. The Walking Dead features a group who have crossed the line of morality a number of times in their quest to survive. Television is a fantastic medium to explore the darker sides of humanity. There is time. Time to build suspense, delve deeper into the characters and their motivations. Time to build a relationship between the viewer and the protagonist, so that we are with them on their journey into darkness.

Of course, books do that too. That’s where I want to take my readers, into the darkness. In Tides of Spring we travel to some of the most inspiring places, and then into the pits of emotional hell. I love my characters, I’ve been living with them for years and been inside Stalker’s skin. I don’t like putting them through these things, but I love creating drama! Getting some of that drama onto the page was hard work.

Getting to the end was mainly a relief.

So now I’m in my ritual rest phase. Though I’ve yet to actually rest during this phase of any book! In order to be able to enter revisions with fresh eyes I take some time away from the manuscript. With Seeds of Autumn I started writing Ghosts of Winter during this rest phase, then with Winter I started writing Tides of Spring. I’m breaking this streak now, and instead of beginning the next book I’m working on some other areas of my author life…

The first announcement I have is that I now have a mailing list. You can subscribe here, or in the link in the right hand menu of this page. You’ll get a free PDF of the short story The Storm Riders’ Vigil when you subscribe.

Last, but by no means least, I am really excited to announce that I will be running a crowdfunding campaign to raise the funds I need to give Tides of Spring the professional treatment before publishing it. I’ve got some really special perks lined up; from signed copies of the book, to the opportunity to name a character in the next book. So get your thinking caps on for that one! Subscribers to my mailing list will be the first to receive updates in the build up to the launch of the campaign too, so that’s another reason to subscribe ;)

Filed under: Book News, Popular Entertainment Tagged: book news, crowdfunder, dark fantasy, Dexter, Echoes of the Past, House of Cards, indiegogo, Kevin Spacey, kickstarter, killers, mailing list, new book, newsletter, pubslush, The Walking Dead, Tides of Spring, tv drama, writing

Series and Psychopaths—The Author Sadist & Why Audiences LOVE the Pain

Holly:

A great insight.

Originally posted on Kristen Lamb's Blog:

Mads Mikkelsen in “Hannibal”

Hubby and I are now careening through Hannibal, which is some of the most amazing writing I’ve ever seen. I would have never believed any actor could even rival Anthony Hopkins’ portrayal of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, but…? Mads Mikkelsen might actually be better. I don’t know if I have ever felt so conflicted about a character. Hannibal is a stone-cold killer, but then I catch myself rooting for him?

Wait…no, he’s the BAD GUY. Right?

I’m so confused *head desk*

Yet, this series is such a prime example of why series are superlative storytelling. Instead of containing a character like Lecter to 90-120 minutes, we now have what no movie can offer…TIME. This allows for a layering, a depth, an exploration we always craved, even if we weren’t entirely aware of it at the time.

I find it harder to make snap judgements (like I do…

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Filed under: Uncategorized

Imbolc – Festival of Light

In honour of Imbolc, the festival celebrating the very first signs of spring, here’s a little taster from the beginning of Tides of Spring, which takes place on this day.

The Lightning Lords walked quickly through the tunnel, which was wide enough for them to walk two abreast. Stalker felt the moment when they crossed the veil in between worlds, straight through with no choice in the matter. In Hepethia, the hidden realm of shifter kind, the tunnel opened up suddenly into a vast cavern lit with more of the brightly coloured torches and a million sparkling fairy lights wrapped around the many crystalline stalactites that clung to the ceiling. All of Hepethia was made of these incredible crystal structures and this cavern shone in a rainbow of colours.

The cave was filled with shifters, approximately sixty altogether. They were assembled roughly by pack, each adorned with costumes representing their uniqueness, though there was some intermingling going on already.

There was a collective intake of breath at the sight and Stalker grinned at her pack mates, pride swelling in her chest.

‘Greetings,’ a deep voice said from just beside them. Stalker knew it at once and turned to give First Strike a warm smile. He was topless, but was wearing a heavy, ornate gold cross around his neck on a thick chain. ‘Welcome to the Danegeld.’

Filed under: New Material Tagged: Danegeld, Echoes of the Past, festival, Imbolc, Tides of Spring, Vikings

New Short Story

I’m very happy to unveil the latest short story from the Echoes in the Past series. It is set ten years prior to the events in the main series and is intended to shed some light (and shade) on the history of the ever so enigmatic Father Ash. There are no significant spoilers in this offering, it can be read before or after Ghosts of Winter. I hope you enjoy it! If you like what you read, the rest of the series can be purchased on Kindle or in print from Amazon.

From the Ashes

The boy was dead weight on Father Ash’s arm. Boy. He was in his late thirties with two children of his own, but he was still a boy to Father Ash. He raised his hand to knock on the black door, but before his knuckles touched the shining new paint, the door was flung wide. Flames-First-Guardian filled the doorway, his face as unreadable as ever. He held the door wide, and stood back for Father Ash to drag the limp body inside. The hall was dark but a light was on in the kitchen, and Father Ash made straight for it.

‘Thanks for doing this,’ he said softly over his burdened shoulder. Flames shut the door and followed down the hall.

‘Is he…?’

‘Unconscious,’ Father Ash replied hastily. He dropped the boy into a chair, and let his head fall forward and thump onto the table. Flames approached, and peered closely at the unshaven face.

‘Drugged?’

‘Yes, I thought that was best.’

‘Are you absolutely certain?’

‘Yes,’ Father Ash replied, his shoulders sinking. Suddenly the gravity of the situation seemed overwhelming. ‘His name has changed.’

‘His name changed?’

Father Ash nodded wearily.

‘Spirals-of-Bright-Agony.’

Flames looked at him, his eyes narrowed. He swept out of the room, and returned a moment later with his tattoo kit. Father Ash caught his wrist and glared at him, his ancient eyes boring into his best friend’s.

‘I have to, you know that,’ Flames said, his voice soft and kind. Father Ash grudgingly released Flames’ arm. He watched, his mind racing, trying to formulate a plan, as Flames tattooed a rough spiral on the back of the boy’s neck. He ran his hand over his neat, grey beard and took a shaking breath. ‘Do you still want to store his soul?’ Flames’ asked tentatively.

‘Yes,’ he replied without hesitation.

‘There are candles in that drawer.’ Flames jerked his head towards one of the kitchen units. Father Ash went to it, and scooped out a handful of thick, black candles. He placed them around the kitchen, then lit them, his hands shaking. The buzzing of the tattoo needle stopped, drawing Father Ash’s attention. The boy stirred slightly as Flames moved away from him. Father Ash went to him and looked down. How had this happened? The choice that lay ahead of him now was excruciating, it was no choice really. He was a Hunter, and the boy was Spiral Hand, with a glowing name on his spirit for anyone who could read it, which was probably every other alpha in Caerton. Not to mention the fact that he had gone completely insane. He couldn’t be hidden, he would have to be killed, and it was his job to do it.

Flames placed a brass dish full of incense on the table in front of the boy, and the gentle smoke filled the air quickly. Father Ash stepped back to the door into the hallway, anxious not to become intoxicated. Flames placed a rectangular canvas on a frame on the table, and some oil paints, his movements quick and precise, well practised. Father Ash realised that his friend was holding his breath. When everything was set up, Flames retreated to the doorway and placed an arm around Father Ash’s shoulders. He stiffened at the awkward gesture. Affection had never been natural for either of them. Flames removed his arm and cleared his throat.

The boy stirred again and this time his eyes fluttered open. They were red and dilated, and watered profusely when he blinked. He began to sit up, looking around at his surroundings. His gaze settled on the two odd shifters in the doorway.

‘Father?’ he croaked.

‘I’m here,’ Father Ash replied and took a step forward. Flames thrust his arm across his chest and stopped him. Father Ash glanced at him, frustration leaping into his throat in the form of a low growl.

‘The incense, it’ll put him into a trance. You don’t want to get too close.’

Spirals-of-Bright-Agony stared across the room, his eyes glazed and unfocused. He turned to look at the blank canvas in front of him and slowly lifted his hand to pick up the brush. He gently dipped it into some red paint, and pressed it to the canvas. Very slowly, he began to make marks, first in red, then green and yellow. Circles at first, and then spirals. His pace began to increase, he used his fingers as well as the brush, smudging and blurring the colours.

Father Ash watched in awe. He thought, just for an instant, that he could see energy passing from Spirals’ body into the painting, rather like heat haze. He worked in a frenzy, paint splattered his clothes and smeared on his face from him wiping his hands across it. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck, and he muttered continuously under his breath. Father Ash had never seen him like this, it was deeply unsettling, and he struggled to stay back.

The boy tossed the brush down and slumped back in the chair. Flames moved forwards and scooped up the incense. He took it to the sink and ran water over it to snuff out the burning embers. Father Ash dashed to the boy and checked him over. He was staring down at the table, his face unrecognisable under the paint and strange, sour expression.

Father Ash glanced at the painting. It was a cacophony of colour and dizzying spirals. Just one brief glance was enough to make his head spin. He roughly hoisted the boy up out of the chair and marched him to the back door. Flames opened it and they filed out into the back garden. The sky was black and pricked with stars, but even the small garden with its high walls was not private enough for what must be done. Father Ash stepped across the veil, willing himself and his prisoner into the shifter realm of Hepethia. The world lurched and spun around them, when it came back into focus the garden looked much the same, it had brick walls and the ground was completely paved. The sky above was a rich, velvety purple and there were so many stars that it was almost possible to make out the galaxy around them.

He shoved the boy into the centre of the garden, and he stumbled. Father Ash wiped his sweating palms on his crisp, grey trousers, and then reached over his shoulder to grasp the axe on his back. It was hidden in the world of humans, blended to his body to hide it from human eyes, but in Hepethia it regained its physical form. He slid it from its sheath, and gripped the hilt.

‘Why?’ he moaned, more to himself than anyone else.

Flames stepped across the veil, and stood silently by the door into the house.

‘Father?’ the boy whimpered, looking up at him. He really wasn’t a boy, he hadn’t been for a long time. Father Ash sniffed hard, and angrily swiped a tear from his cheek. He lifted his chest and took a deep breath.

‘Michael,’ Father Ash replied. He hadn’t used that name for the boy in over twenty years, it was the human name given to him by his mother.

‘Are you going to kill me, Father?’ The boy straightened up and smirked, no longer a simpering wretch.

‘You know I have to,’ Father Ash replied.

‘No,’ his son replied nonchalantly. ‘You have a choice. We could leave the city together.’

Father Ash allowed a small smile to creep onto his lips.

‘Slips-Through-Starlight, now known as Spirals-of-Bright-Agony, you have been found to be a member of the Spiral Hand. You know the sentence. Do you have any last words?’

A raven cawed overhead and landed lightly on the wall. It bobbed its head and watched over the proceedings. Father Ash acknowledged its presence with a slight nod, but didn’t allow himself to be distracted.

‘Everything I am today, I owe to you, Father.’ He smirked again and took a lazy step towards him. ‘Whatever you do tonight, execute me, or let me go, it will be sewing chaos and fear, it will be doing the work of the Spiral Hand.’

Father Ash cast a cautious eye towards Flames-First-Guardian, who wore a grim expression.

‘Kneel,’ he barked, pointing to the ground in front of him. Spirals-of-Bright-Agony’s smirk vanished and he flinched.

Flames took a step towards them, Father Ash held up his hand to stop him. He didn’t think restraint was necessary just yet. The boy’s face was frozen, there was fear in his eyes. He had really thought Father Ash would let him go, but he couldn’t do that. Whatever else he was, he was a Hunter. ‘Kneel,’ he said again.

Flames moved forward, and with a wave of his hand a large crystal erupted from the ground, bursting up from between the paving slabs. Father Ash grabbed Spirals roughly by the neck of his jacket and shoved him to his knees.

‘You can’t actually be serious?’ the boy cried, his frightened eyes imploring. Flames stepped closer and pushed Spirals down against the crystal. ‘Father?!’

Father Ash raised the axe. He looked at his son’s terrified face and faltered. Lightning flashed overhead, and he looked up to see thick clouds spiralling and obscuring the beautiful stars. ‘Tell Maisie to be strong if she changes,’ Spirals blurted out, his voice distorted by his cheek pressing against the crystal. ‘She’s just a kid.’ His voice fell quiet, mournful.

Father Ash let his axe drop to his side, and he knelt down beside his son.

‘I will. I really don’t have a choice in this. You know that.’

Spirals acknowledged him by closing his eyes for a moment. Father Ash stood and raised his axe again, it felt so heavy, despite his supernatural strength. He sucked back a sob that threatened to escape, and heaved a sigh of resolve. ‘I return you to the tender arms of Artemis.’ He swung the axe down, hitting his mark cleanly. There was a sickening thunk as the head hit the ground. He wiped his axe on the back of Spirals’ jacket and sheathed it on his back.

‘Are you all right?’ Flames asked cautiously.

‘Fine,’ he replied stiffly. ‘We should bury him.’

Flames knelt on the ground and placed his hands on the paving. The ground opened up in front of him, slabs disappeared, the crystal sank back into the earth, and Spirals’ body dropped with it to the ground. Father Ash closed his eyes. Too much confusion cluttered his mind, grief and rage warred within him. When he opened his eyes, there was a hole in the middle of the garden with a wooden box inside. Without a word, he and Flames gently lifted the body into the grave. He carefully retrieved the head and placed it respectfully in the centre of his son’s chest.

‘I can protect his bones here,’ Flames said quietly. The raven on the wall cawed again and took flight. Father Ash watched it go, knowing that it would report back to the others. He swallowed against a painful lump in his throat. They closed the coffin, and buried it by hand, only shaping Hepethia for the final touches, to conceal the grave. They left a square of earth uncovered and repaired the paving around it.

They crossed the veil and went into the kitchen. Flames poured them both a shot of whiskey and they toasted silently. Father Ash noticed a box on the table where the painting had been. ‘Don’t open it,’ Flames said sharply.

‘Why?’

‘It absorbed his madness, nothing else.’

Father Ash nodded solemnly.

‘Okay. I’ll have to go before the others, I don’t know what their judgement will be. Will you look after it for me, please?’

‘Of course.’

Father Ash finished his drink and put the glass down on the worktop. He looked down and saw that his neat suit was covered in blood and dirt. He sighed.

‘Thank you, for everything.’

‘No problem. Good luck with the elders.’

Father Ash snorted and strode down the hall. As he reached the door he shifted form, his human limbs and body shrank away, his clothes disappeared and were replaced with fur. In place of the distinguished man was a grey cat, and he rubbed himself against the door. Flames opened it for him, and he trotted out without a backward glance.

***

‘I wondered when I would see you two,’ Father Ash said, casually opening his front door wide and striding away from it to put his coffee cup down on the table in the centre of the grand foyer. His shoes clipped on the marble floor and echoed around the cavernous space. The two visitors entered slowly and he could sense their apprehension. He smirked and went to the closet at the back of the hall to retrieve a jacket. As he slid it on, he turned to look at the awkward-looking shifters at the door. He sighed. ‘I’m coming willingly, as you can see. First Strike, you know me, I’m not going to try anything.’

‘I know, Alpha,’ First Strike replied, shifting his weight. He was six feet five inches of sheer muscle, one of Odin’s fiercest warriors, and a most valued member of Father Ash’s own pack, The Hand of God. Mjolnir beside him held a hand out, indicating for Father Ash to leave the manor ahead of them. Father Ash nodded and strode out through the door. There was a sleek black car waiting at the bottom of the grand steps, and he went to it. First Strike locked the house, and Mjolnir jogged quickly down the steps and opened the back door of the car before Father Ash could. He was always a gentleman, but Father Ash had seen him in combat and knew that a deadly fighter was concealed behind that gentle demeanour.

It was a crisp winter morning, the sky was blue and the car sped away from Fenstoke Lodge. Father Ash watched his home out of the window, knowing he may never see it again.

Mjolnir drove the car, First Strike sat in the back beside his Alpha, neither speaking or even looking at each other. The elders had sent two of the strongest shifters in Caerton to escort him, but it was a token gesture, if they had really believed him to be a flight risk, they would have sent six.

They arrived on the territory of The Watch. The car pulled up at the back of the museum, the three of them got out, and Father Ash straightened his shirt and jacket. First Strike and Mjolnir flanked him and they filed into the back entrance of the museum. It was usually fairly quiet mid-week, but Father Ash could hear people bustling about somewhere beyond the back passageway that they entered. Mjolnir led the way to a stair case leading down into the belly of one of Caerton’s oldest buildings.

Half way down the dark staircase, he felt the veil ripple, and was forced across it in Mjolnir’s wake. The stairs ended abruptly and the light was blinding. It took several seconds for his eyesight to adjust. He had been here a dozen times before, but never on the receiving end of judgement. It was a courtroom unlike any in the human world. The floor was smooth, clear quartz, the walls dazzling white, and blazing sunlight filled the space, even though there was a solid roof overhead. Stone benches lined the room on all sides and straight ahead of the stone steps from which they had entered was a dais with a crystalline judge’s bench, long enough for six people to sit behind.

Many of Caerton’s shifters were gathered on the benches, chattering earnestly amongst themselves. He caught sight of the rest of his pack, gathered together to the right of the dais. Crimson was enigmatic, her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed as she watched him. Sentinel-of-the-Steps sat beside her whispering frantically, but she didn’t react to anything he said. The others watched him silently. If he didn’t come out of this with an acquittal, it would very likely be Crimson that would take his place as Alpha of The Hand of God. First Strike gave him a pat on the back and they exchanged grave looks, then his pack mate left him in the centre of the court to join the rest of their pack. Mjolnir remained by his side.

His fellow elders sat behind the bench. Follows-the-Rain sat in the centre, her watery grey eyes looked tired. Either side of her were Theodore Harris and Red Scythe, both looking serious and determined. Ragged Edge sat beside his brother-in-arms, his grizzled old face betrayed him, Father Ash could tell he would rather be anywhere else. On the opposite end, an empty seat between him and Theodore, was Fortune, sat with his elbows on the bench and his hands over his eyes.

The empty seat would be his, if this were any other trial. He had long thought that he ought to sit in Theodore’s place, joint centre with Follows-the-Rain. He was older than Theodore, and certainly played a more central role in protecting Careton, but the tradition was that the Head Hunter could not take a central seat on the judging council.

It was rare that all of the city’s elders gathered like this, cooperation had never been their strong suit. Most crimes of their kind were dealt with in-pack. Sometimes it was considered wise for the city’s shifters to gather to discuss some imminent threat to all of them. Spiral Hand were not usually granted a trial, it was a Hunt, and execution upon capture was the usual course of action. Once in a blue moon, however, the council gathered here like this, if a case were not clear cut or if the suspect was, as in this case, a member of the council themselves.

Amongst the shifters were dozens of fae and demons, many were allies of the shifters in attendance, but others were eager spectators. Ravens and black birds perched on a beam over the dais, there as messengers of the court, and on a raised crystal seat behind the council of shifters was a figure in a black gown and iron mask, Chief Justicar, a demon of judgement and justice who presided over all matters of supernatural law in Caerton.

Follows-the-Rain banged a gavel on the crystalline bench, the sound echoed around the chamber like a bell.

‘Order! Order!’ she cried out in her clear voice, and the courtroom fell silent. ‘We are gathered here today to determine the guilt, or innocence of the accused. Father Ash, you were accused a month ago, by a member of this court, of membership of the Spiral Hand.’

Father Ash still didn’t know who had brought the charges, there was little transparency in shifter justice. He watched the council carefully now, but read nothing in any of their faces. His gut told him it had been Theodore, their rivalry went back decades, but he doubted he would ever have proof. ‘You pleaded your innocence, and since then a thorough investigation has been undertaken. I gather that new evidence has come to light in the last twenty-four hours. We will hear it now.’

Father Ash took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. Flames-First-Guardian stood up from his seat to the left of the dais. Fortune finally uncovered his face and watched his pack mate descend the steps. He looked worried, Father Ash noted, his face was pale and clammy. Shadow’s Step and Speaks-with-Stone were sat where Flames had risen from, and also watched him nervously. The Blue Moon had always been good to Father Ash, Flames in particular had long been his friend and ally. They were two of a rapidly diminishing pool of Scroll Keepers, Caerton’s record keepers, and as such, shared almost all of the information they gathered. They would spend hours together in the Scroll Archive; making notes; recording stories of the deeds of fellow shifters; logging births, deaths and marriages. At times, though he was not a Hunter himself, Flames would assist Father Ash, as he had done the previous night.

Flames strode into the circle and gave Father Ash a reassuring nod before turning to face the council.

‘Late last night, the real Spiral Hand was uncovered. Father Ash brought him to me and we executed traditional justice. An envoy of the court bore witness.’ He indicated the ravens over the heads of the elders, and they all looked up. One of the ravens bobbed its head and cawed loudly. It ruffled its feathers and a few of them drifted to the floor.

‘He speaks the truth,’ came a voice out of the croak. A collective gasp rippled around the courtroom, and chatter instantly broke out. Follows-the-Rain banged her gavel again, which she had to do so several times before the crowd fell to order.

‘Who was it?’ Theodore’s voice called out over the remaining whispers. Silence fell, and Father Ash could feel all of the held breaths in the room.

‘Slips-Through-Starlight,’ Flames replied, a slight break in his voice. The courtroom erupted again. Follows-the-Rain turned to Red Scythe, and the two of them whispered to each other, unheard amidst the sea of noise. Father Ash felt his palms sweating, and his collar suddenly felt too tight. He was determined not to show any sign of discomfort, so he forced himself to ignore the sensations. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, and locked eyes with Theodore, whose eyes were narrowed to slits as he studied Father Ash.

Fortune did not looked shocked, Father Ash guessed that Flames had told him in advance what had happened. Perhaps it was Fortune that had informed the others of a turn of events.

‘Is this true?’ Red Scythe shouted over the din. Grudgingly, the crowd grew quiet, to await Father Ash’s reply.

‘It is,’ he said, his voice holding steady. ‘I met with my son last night, and found that his true name had changed. He was no longer Slips-Through-Starlight, his name was Spirals-of-Bright-Agony. He was ranting and raving about Ragnarok, his mind lost to the chaos he served. I sought out a witness and performed my duty.’

‘You executed your own son?’ Theodore asked, his voice laced with scepticism.

‘I did,’ Father Ash replied. This time his voice did crack, and he allowed himself to loosen his collar. It wouldn’t hurt at this point for the court to see some emotion. There was more outcry around the court. Some of the demons looked positively gleeful at this news. Crimson and the rest of his pack gawked at him. His son had been one of their own, and this was the first they were hearing of both his betrayal and execution. He gave them an apologetic look, but it didn’t seem to soothe them.

‘Order! Order!’ Follows-the-Rain cried out. She was barely maintaining control of this session and everyone knew it. She was old, and although she was still respected, many of the younger shifters had doubts about her sanity. She was Alpha of the Storm Riders, who had long been keeping to themselves up there on the coast, different from the rest of Caerton’s shifters. Yet she had sat in the centre of the council of elders for decades and her wisdom and insight was second to none.

‘You could have brought him before us, which would have been more compelling. If we could have seen him for ourselves, ascertained the change in his true name and seen his madness, it might have made for a stronger case.’ Theodore spoke with his hand to his face, his long index finger caressing his cheek.

‘I wasn’t thinking of clearing my name,’ Father Ash replied. ‘I was doing my job. He was my son. What I had to do was incredibly difficult, and I knew that I couldn’t waiver. It had to be dealt with swiftly. How do I know that had I not killed him, had I kept him alive to bring before you, you wouldn’t have held that against me too?’

‘With all due respect,’ Fortune spoke up, addressing the elders to his left. ‘Father Ash’s actions speak volumes about his commitment to his role as Hunter. In my view, he has fully exonerated himself.’

‘I agree,’ said Red Scythe. Father Ash allowed himself to hope.

‘I must most strongly object,’ Theodore said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a ruse, and a poor one at that. Even if his son was truly Spiral Hand, he is tainted by association. How do we know he didn’t indoctrinate his own son? As far as I am concerned, he is guilty.’

‘There’s no proof,’ Ragged Edge said, an edge of frustration to his voice. ‘Only speculation. We have not had one shred of compelling evidence that Father Ash is Spiral Hand, only hearsay and scaremongering.’

Follows-the-Rain listened to her colleagues attentively. Technically, all voices on the council were equal, but everyone knew that it really always came down to her vote. Chief Justicar rose from his seat and floated down onto the gleaming floor. He bobbed across it towards Father Ash, who tried not to flinch as the tentacled demon approached. He set his jaw and waited for what he suspected was coming. The demon stopped two inches from him and snarled in his face. He sniffed hard, sucking in the air between them. He smelled rancid and Father Ash wrinkled his nose and leaned his head away from him. The demon clucked his tongue and slipped away from him, gliding back up to his seat.

‘He’s guilty of something,’ the Chief Justicar called out, his voice booming over all of the hushed chatter in the court. ‘He reeks of it. But guilty of what, I cannot say.’ Father Ash closed his eyes and waited. His chest felt tight and he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples.

‘In light of this new evidence and lack of any conclusive proof,’ Follows-the-Rain spoke, her voice soft but engaging. Silence fell. ‘I cannot rule a guilty verdict.’ The room erupted in noise, some cheers, but a lot of objections. Father Ash looked around to try and pick out the friendly and unfriendly reactions, but it was all happening too fast. ‘HOWEVER!’ The lead elder’s voice boomed out. ‘Due to the delicate nature of this case, and the genuine ambiguity over the accused’s loyalty, I am ordering you into exile, Father Ash, effective immediately. You will not be permitted to return to your pack, you will be accompanied to the city limits, and are forbidden to return within your lifetime. Do you understand?’

The reaction from the assembly was deafening. Father Ash could hear roaring in his ears, like holding a shell to them. He felt panic and devastation clawing at his chest and throat. A lifetime’s work and dedication obliterated in an instant. Friends turning their backs on him, enemies smirking down on him.

Thunder rose from within and the beast took control. His body shuddered and instantly transformed into a horrifying Agrius beast; half man, half bear. He roared, and the courtroom chatter descended into chaos and screaming.

He blinked as his senses returned to normal, there was no screaming, he was standing in his smart suit, perfectly calm amid a sea of jumbled voices. He allowed himself that moment to imagine what he would like to do, then took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket.

‘I do,’ he replied, his voice cool as ice. He turned and headed back towards the stairs, Mjolnir at his side. He didn’t spare anyone a parting glance, it was too great a risk. He accepted the judgement with the grace and poise for which he was well known. He knew where to go, he had a plan, he always had a plan.

Filed under: New Material Tagged: Echoes of the Past, Father Ash, new material, shapeshifter, short story

Ghosts of Winter in Print and News Roundup!

Great news folks, you can now buy Ghosts of Winter in print from Amazon and there is still time to get a copy in the UK  before Christmas! Amazon’s print on demand service is remarkably quick and efficient, and if you’re a Prime member you will receive your copy in just 2 days – one to print and one to ship.

In other news, I have been featured today on The Story Reading Ape, so do hop on over to have a read and give your support to a fab blog and platform for indie authors.

I’m also answering questions on Goodreads for the month of December, because this month isn’t busy enough! So if you have a burning question about me or my books, please visit my profile there and put your question in the “Ask the Author” field!

Thanks for reading.

Filed under: Book News Tagged: Amazon, Ask the Author, Ghosts of Winter, Goodreads, Story Reading Ape

Shock and Awe

The title of this post refers to the dubious US military tactic of imposing “this overwhelming level of Shock and Awe against an adversary on an immediate or sufficiently timely basis to paralyze its will to carry on”, in other words, bomb the shit out of the enemy until they’re too scared to fight. Nice.

Well, in a way, and to a lesser extent, really good horror and action fiction do this too. The audience is constantly afraid for the wellbeing of the heroes, never sure who is going to survive and who isn’t, and character losses feel almost as devastating as if they were real friends. The balance has to be right though, there has to be hope too, a reason to keep reading or watching. We don’t want to paralyse our audience and have them give up on our stories because they are too bleak.

I’m writing this in the wake of the mid-season finale of The Walking Dead, season 5. Don’t worry, no spoilers. This is my absolute favourite show on TV at the moment, but I have to confess, I nearly gave up on it in season 3. It was just too depressing, with not quite enough hope. I stuck with it though, and I’m glad I did. Season 5 has been similar and before the latest episode I was willing for something to go right for our protagonists for once. But the show is predictably grim, and I had little hope of things turning out well. The post credits sequence of the latest episode gave me what I felt was lacking in series 3… hope, a reason to keep watching, despite how devastated I felt as the credits rolled.

I strive for that level of connection with my readers, to move them. Echoes of the Past is undoubtedly a dark series, my characters go through hell, and hopefully take the reader with them. I want my readers to feel as though no character is safe from harm, they are fallible people with weaknesses, and live lives that are truly dangerous. When they go into battle against mighty demons, I want my readers to be afraid that someone might not come out of it alive.

Reactions to the Red Wedding

Perhaps the master, or demon, of this sort of writing is George R. R. Martin. When you read A Song of Ice and Fire you know that even the mightiest hero is not safe, not immune to the force of the plot. This is a risk, of course, leading readers to form attachments to characters and then mercilessly killing them off, often in quite senseless ways. Readers, or viewers, may never forgive you, but for the ones that do, or who stick with your story regardless, it makes for true immersion and a wonderful experience.

If I can one day stir my readers to reactions like those pictured left, I will be a very happy author ;)

I love to hear from you. What book, film or TV show has the sort of hold on you that you have literally cried at a pivotal moment in the story?

Filed under: Craft, Popular Entertainment Tagged: Character death, Echoes of the Past, Game of Thrones, George R R Martin, immersion, Red Wedding, Song of Ice and Fire, Storytelling, The Walking Dead