Andy Livingstone's Blog
November 21, 2018
A map! A map! My kingdom for a map!
Earlier this year, reader Jack Mosely asked about the possibility of there being a map of the world within the Seeds of Destiny books. I explained at the time that I'm am not the artiest, but I'd give it a go.
Well, since then I've managed to discover the map that Brann himself put together as he wandered (or was dragged) around various new places. It was hard for a boy from a small village to get his head round where he was and how each location fitted into an overall picture, so he took in explanations and pierced together more localised maps that he came across to put together something that gave him a better idea.
I have done my best to represent it in this medium and of course, Brann is not a cartographer, so our best efforts might not exactly represent precise locations or scales, and may include some inaccuracies if Brann has misunderstood something, but it should give you an idea of where he has been.
Naturally, as Brann's journeys continue and he visits new places or, at least, becomes aware of them, he will add to it and I'll update it here.
So here it is!
Well, since then I've managed to discover the map that Brann himself put together as he wandered (or was dragged) around various new places. It was hard for a boy from a small village to get his head round where he was and how each location fitted into an overall picture, so he took in explanations and pierced together more localised maps that he came across to put together something that gave him a better idea.
I have done my best to represent it in this medium and of course, Brann is not a cartographer, so our best efforts might not exactly represent precise locations or scales, and may include some inaccuracies if Brann has misunderstood something, but it should give you an idea of where he has been.
Naturally, as Brann's journeys continue and he visits new places or, at least, becomes aware of them, he will add to it and I'll update it here.
So here it is!
September 10, 2018
Is real really real?
When I first started writing Hero Born, it was a step into the dark in many respects. Although I had decades of writing as a journalist behind me, I had never written a novel before, so I had to discover how I would do that; I had never created a world before, so I explored the places I was creating through the eyes of my character, Brann; and I had never attempted to form people before, so I was devising how I would do that from scratch.
There was so much I didn't know (there still is - in fact, the more you work at it, the more you realise you have to work out), but one thing that I did know was how I wanted my world and my characters to be. I had grown up loving fantasy, losing myself in the books of Tolkien, Eddings, Feist, et al, but I had also spent those years reading thrillers, from Forsyth to Fleming to le Carré, plus any of great or lesser renown in either genre whose book took my fancy. The result was that, when I started making my own stories, they were a mixture: they were fantasy, but leading with realism (no magic, mythical races or fabled creatures) and driven by a theme of adventure.
But it is this aspect of "realism" that is the tricky bit. What exactly is real? For example, one reader criticised the attitudes of adults in one part of Hero Born, allowing untried youths to venture forth unaided into danger. They even compared my characters' attitudes, detrimentally of course, to the philosophies of Sun Tzu. But does that make my characters less real, or more? Do all military commanders make decisions or hold attitudes worthy of the great Chinese strategist? Would that reader have found it unrealistic for generals to send young men forth to die in their swathes due to outdated tactics being used against modern weapons, and then to repeat the mistake relentlessly; would they have been disbelieving that troops would be send in scarlet tunics to fight some of the best sharpshooters in the world, setting them up like targets at a funfair shooting gallery; would they have scoffed at the credibility of a society routinely producing the hardiest offspring by leaving new-born babies considered weak, small or in any way deformed exposed to the elements to die. And yet the First World War, the Boer War and the Spartan, Roman and Norse cultures (among others) have given us examples of these instances from our own history. Likewise, rites of passage - formal or ad hoc - vary enormously from one culture and one time and even one individual to another.
What I am trying to say is that, as readers or authors, we cannot decide what would be real or implausible in another culture in other times based on our own values and views. Nor can we expect every warrior chief, actual or fictional, to follow the principles of one of the most influential military thinkers of our own history. Nor, when we can look at any busy high street and see one parent on a pavement refusing to let go of their child's hand for a split-second and another letting their toddler trail unseen behind them, can we assume that everyone views parenthood the same way; we may disagree with what some fictional characters do, but we cannot say no one would do the same.
If this sounds like an author's get-out clause, then that's because it is, for it precludes us from criticism of what we have our characters do and say. But it is a get-out clause based on the simple inescapable fact that we are all, as individuals, groups or entire societies, capable of more differences in opinion, outlook and approach than we can even imagine. A get-out clause can be a genuine reason for addressing an opposing view.
And as far as authors go, especially fantasy authors, it is most definitely a case of "My world, my rules, my reality". The trick as an author, however, is to make that reality believable within the confines of their book, and in my view that is all about making the views of a character consistent with him or herself and with the environment within which they are trying to survive.
Whether you achieve that can only really be discovered when your work is exposed to the opinions of the world of readers and, when that happens, it is also helpful to remember that, when one of them has a different view from you on whether or not it is believable, then that difference of opinion is just an example of reality.
Stay real, folks! Stay different!
There was so much I didn't know (there still is - in fact, the more you work at it, the more you realise you have to work out), but one thing that I did know was how I wanted my world and my characters to be. I had grown up loving fantasy, losing myself in the books of Tolkien, Eddings, Feist, et al, but I had also spent those years reading thrillers, from Forsyth to Fleming to le Carré, plus any of great or lesser renown in either genre whose book took my fancy. The result was that, when I started making my own stories, they were a mixture: they were fantasy, but leading with realism (no magic, mythical races or fabled creatures) and driven by a theme of adventure.
But it is this aspect of "realism" that is the tricky bit. What exactly is real? For example, one reader criticised the attitudes of adults in one part of Hero Born, allowing untried youths to venture forth unaided into danger. They even compared my characters' attitudes, detrimentally of course, to the philosophies of Sun Tzu. But does that make my characters less real, or more? Do all military commanders make decisions or hold attitudes worthy of the great Chinese strategist? Would that reader have found it unrealistic for generals to send young men forth to die in their swathes due to outdated tactics being used against modern weapons, and then to repeat the mistake relentlessly; would they have been disbelieving that troops would be send in scarlet tunics to fight some of the best sharpshooters in the world, setting them up like targets at a funfair shooting gallery; would they have scoffed at the credibility of a society routinely producing the hardiest offspring by leaving new-born babies considered weak, small or in any way deformed exposed to the elements to die. And yet the First World War, the Boer War and the Spartan, Roman and Norse cultures (among others) have given us examples of these instances from our own history. Likewise, rites of passage - formal or ad hoc - vary enormously from one culture and one time and even one individual to another.
What I am trying to say is that, as readers or authors, we cannot decide what would be real or implausible in another culture in other times based on our own values and views. Nor can we expect every warrior chief, actual or fictional, to follow the principles of one of the most influential military thinkers of our own history. Nor, when we can look at any busy high street and see one parent on a pavement refusing to let go of their child's hand for a split-second and another letting their toddler trail unseen behind them, can we assume that everyone views parenthood the same way; we may disagree with what some fictional characters do, but we cannot say no one would do the same.
If this sounds like an author's get-out clause, then that's because it is, for it precludes us from criticism of what we have our characters do and say. But it is a get-out clause based on the simple inescapable fact that we are all, as individuals, groups or entire societies, capable of more differences in opinion, outlook and approach than we can even imagine. A get-out clause can be a genuine reason for addressing an opposing view.
And as far as authors go, especially fantasy authors, it is most definitely a case of "My world, my rules, my reality". The trick as an author, however, is to make that reality believable within the confines of their book, and in my view that is all about making the views of a character consistent with him or herself and with the environment within which they are trying to survive.
Whether you achieve that can only really be discovered when your work is exposed to the opinions of the world of readers and, when that happens, it is also helpful to remember that, when one of them has a different view from you on whether or not it is believable, then that difference of opinion is just an example of reality.
Stay real, folks! Stay different!
December 2, 2016
What makes a hero...?
I'll be the first to admit that I have been remiss in blogging here thanks to having been tied up with battering out Hero Risen, but now that the manuscript is off to Voyager, here, to get the ball rolling again, is a wee story I wrote for the Voyager blog a while back when they asked me to look at defining a hero...
‘So,’ Grakk said, ‘why would you want to be a hero?’
The others stared at him through the warm tavern light, the fire in the yawning hearth casting flickering light and shifting shadows in equal measure across the busy room. The scarred and weather-toughened faces of the sailors and dockers who filled the rough benches were lit also by the occasional lantern, but the smaller lights were overwhelmed in most parts by the snapping and cracking flames of the main fire. Some faces laughed, some scowled, some chatted and argued and expounded while some were silent, watching or listening or dozing, but all of them did so with the same hard look from the same hard eyes.
Brann liked it here. There was no pretence, no second-guessing; all was on the surface. If a man here thought you were an arse, he told you you were an arse. If he liked you, he didn’t tell you you were an arse.
Konall swept his length of pale blond hair back from his astonished face. He looked at Hakon. ‘The tribesman seems to have taken leave of his senses. Would you explain the obvious?’
The big boy shrugged. ‘Everyone knows. A hero is guaranteed a place at the feast table of the gods. Who wouldn’t want that?’
‘Me.’
Their heads turned to Gerens, and the darkness in his eyes looked back at them. The boy said, ‘Better to live your life longer than to invite an early departure on the say of a priest who makes promises while seeking your coin for a god he never sees.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Brann, ‘but a hero inspires. Without a hero, we can be overwhelmed by despair.’
Grakk shook his head with a smile at a pleasant girl who had stopped by their table to offer soup from a cauldron-shaped pot. ‘All good points, young friends. But what would you say is a hero?’
Any reply was cut short by a commotion. A burly docker at the end of a bench, a twisted scar pulling one corner of his mouth into a permanent and sardonic smile, was bending the wrist of a boy. The lad, no more than a dozen years of age, had served a platter of meat to their table and a spot of dripped grease was the perfect excuse for a spot of rough bullying. The boy was silently determined to show no weakness, but his pallor was fading fast.
Brann was already on his feet as Grakk reached to halt Gerens from following. A nod to Konall saw him do the same with Hakon. ‘One alone may avoid what too many may provoke.’
The one alone proved not to be Brann, however. The girl with the soup pot was at the table in two swift strides, her language base enough to register with the man’s awareness.
His laugh was contemptuous.
She set her pot on the table to strike his face hard, uncaring that both of her arms were less than half the girth of one of his.
His snarl was primal.
He rose, dropping the knife intended for the meat and grasping instead her neck. The boy’s wrist was twisted viciously to double him over and the fingers tightened on her throat. Each breath became more desperate than the last but with each gasp the defiance burned hotter in her eyes. She sank her teeth into his wrist but he seemed as aware of the pain as the floor was of the blood falling upon it.
Brann’s quickening movements became more of a drunken stagger as he passed those starting to become aware that something was amiss. He closed on the table and lurched against the back of a huge sailor to one side. Rebounding as the man turned, he fell against the table, his flailing arm knocking the pot of hot soup over the man’s legs. Brann pushed himself up from the table with a mumbled apology and made to stagger away. The soup should, Brann reasoned, see the struggling pair released as the man’s attention was dragged to his scalded lap.
It half worked. The girl was held fast but the boy was flung to the floor as the thick muscles of the docker’s shoulder swung the back of his calloused hand instead into the side of Brann’s head, knocking him from his feet. Three sailors and two dockers had seen enough to join the girl’s cause and were met by the bellowing oaf’s half-dozen companions as the bar-room weapons of fists, knees and foreheads crunched into bodies. The rage of the lout who had started it still sought release, and he grabbed a broad knife from his belt and made to thrust underhand at the girl’s belly.
The girl’s foot halted his movement, kicking with all her might up between his legs. He lurched forward, dropping her, gasping and retching, his hands slapping onto the tabletop, spilling the blade before him. He was between Brann and the dagger, but the knife from platter was closer and the boy grabbed it and drove it down through the back of his hand, pinning it to the table. In the moment before the scream could burst from the man, Brann grabbed the handle of the pot and swung it hard, dregs of soup spraying, into the side of his head. The thick metal hit with a dull ring, and the thick head thumped senseless on the table.
The other patrons, more eager for a full night of drinking than for the limited entertainment of a brawl, had separated the combatants. Two men levered free the knife and carried the unconscious oaf into the night, while the others joined erstwhile opponents in reflecting upon, with laughter and replenished flagons, the finer points of the mighty battle. Brann shook his head at the sight and, unnoticed, started back to their table as a young sailor with admiring words helped the girl ease the servant boy to his feet. She smiled, straightened her hair, and retreated to the kitchens.
‘Your question, Grakk?’ Hakon said, before Brann had returned. ‘I think you have your answer.’
Grakk smiled. ‘In your opinion, him or her?’
‘In my opinion, both.’
Konall turned a frosty gaze his way. ‘Right or wrong, whatever you may say to her, please do not ever tell him that.’
Grakk smiled. ‘He wouldn’t believe you anyway.’
‘So,’ Grakk said, ‘why would you want to be a hero?’
The others stared at him through the warm tavern light, the fire in the yawning hearth casting flickering light and shifting shadows in equal measure across the busy room. The scarred and weather-toughened faces of the sailors and dockers who filled the rough benches were lit also by the occasional lantern, but the smaller lights were overwhelmed in most parts by the snapping and cracking flames of the main fire. Some faces laughed, some scowled, some chatted and argued and expounded while some were silent, watching or listening or dozing, but all of them did so with the same hard look from the same hard eyes.
Brann liked it here. There was no pretence, no second-guessing; all was on the surface. If a man here thought you were an arse, he told you you were an arse. If he liked you, he didn’t tell you you were an arse.
Konall swept his length of pale blond hair back from his astonished face. He looked at Hakon. ‘The tribesman seems to have taken leave of his senses. Would you explain the obvious?’
The big boy shrugged. ‘Everyone knows. A hero is guaranteed a place at the feast table of the gods. Who wouldn’t want that?’
‘Me.’
Their heads turned to Gerens, and the darkness in his eyes looked back at them. The boy said, ‘Better to live your life longer than to invite an early departure on the say of a priest who makes promises while seeking your coin for a god he never sees.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Brann, ‘but a hero inspires. Without a hero, we can be overwhelmed by despair.’
Grakk shook his head with a smile at a pleasant girl who had stopped by their table to offer soup from a cauldron-shaped pot. ‘All good points, young friends. But what would you say is a hero?’
Any reply was cut short by a commotion. A burly docker at the end of a bench, a twisted scar pulling one corner of his mouth into a permanent and sardonic smile, was bending the wrist of a boy. The lad, no more than a dozen years of age, had served a platter of meat to their table and a spot of dripped grease was the perfect excuse for a spot of rough bullying. The boy was silently determined to show no weakness, but his pallor was fading fast.
Brann was already on his feet as Grakk reached to halt Gerens from following. A nod to Konall saw him do the same with Hakon. ‘One alone may avoid what too many may provoke.’
The one alone proved not to be Brann, however. The girl with the soup pot was at the table in two swift strides, her language base enough to register with the man’s awareness.
His laugh was contemptuous.
She set her pot on the table to strike his face hard, uncaring that both of her arms were less than half the girth of one of his.
His snarl was primal.
He rose, dropping the knife intended for the meat and grasping instead her neck. The boy’s wrist was twisted viciously to double him over and the fingers tightened on her throat. Each breath became more desperate than the last but with each gasp the defiance burned hotter in her eyes. She sank her teeth into his wrist but he seemed as aware of the pain as the floor was of the blood falling upon it.
Brann’s quickening movements became more of a drunken stagger as he passed those starting to become aware that something was amiss. He closed on the table and lurched against the back of a huge sailor to one side. Rebounding as the man turned, he fell against the table, his flailing arm knocking the pot of hot soup over the man’s legs. Brann pushed himself up from the table with a mumbled apology and made to stagger away. The soup should, Brann reasoned, see the struggling pair released as the man’s attention was dragged to his scalded lap.
It half worked. The girl was held fast but the boy was flung to the floor as the thick muscles of the docker’s shoulder swung the back of his calloused hand instead into the side of Brann’s head, knocking him from his feet. Three sailors and two dockers had seen enough to join the girl’s cause and were met by the bellowing oaf’s half-dozen companions as the bar-room weapons of fists, knees and foreheads crunched into bodies. The rage of the lout who had started it still sought release, and he grabbed a broad knife from his belt and made to thrust underhand at the girl’s belly.
The girl’s foot halted his movement, kicking with all her might up between his legs. He lurched forward, dropping her, gasping and retching, his hands slapping onto the tabletop, spilling the blade before him. He was between Brann and the dagger, but the knife from platter was closer and the boy grabbed it and drove it down through the back of his hand, pinning it to the table. In the moment before the scream could burst from the man, Brann grabbed the handle of the pot and swung it hard, dregs of soup spraying, into the side of his head. The thick metal hit with a dull ring, and the thick head thumped senseless on the table.
The other patrons, more eager for a full night of drinking than for the limited entertainment of a brawl, had separated the combatants. Two men levered free the knife and carried the unconscious oaf into the night, while the others joined erstwhile opponents in reflecting upon, with laughter and replenished flagons, the finer points of the mighty battle. Brann shook his head at the sight and, unnoticed, started back to their table as a young sailor with admiring words helped the girl ease the servant boy to his feet. She smiled, straightened her hair, and retreated to the kitchens.
‘Your question, Grakk?’ Hakon said, before Brann had returned. ‘I think you have your answer.’
Grakk smiled. ‘In your opinion, him or her?’
‘In my opinion, both.’
Konall turned a frosty gaze his way. ‘Right or wrong, whatever you may say to her, please do not ever tell him that.’
Grakk smiled. ‘He wouldn’t believe you anyway.’
January 29, 2016
The words that drive me on
When I do author talks, people often ask me where I get the inspiration from. The basic answer is: “Anywhere and everywhere.”
There are two types of inspiration for me: inspiration that sparks ideas for plot, characters or settings; and inspiration that drives me on, fires my enthusiasm to write.
The first can be anything, from a chance remark to a picture, from a line in a song to the look of a landscape feature or building. The second tends to come from the work of certain songwriters, whether it be a turn of phrase or the entirety of the lyrics; people whose craft and mastery I could never hope to match but who just make the English language so evocative and finely tuned that it seems like the most natural thing in the world.
A very few people cover both aspects for me. And by far the chief amongst those is Kris Kristofferson.
This week I had the privilege of seeing him live. It was not for the first time, and every time has been magical. I just love his words; the strike deep within me. At times stunningly simple, at others so evocative that a picture is painted instantly in your head.
Of course, his words work so much better when you hear them from the man himself, in that gravelly voice, as laid-back and worn as it could only be through having lived the life he sings about, and they lose a bit in the written form. I admit that this sounds a strange statement from someone like me who creates most comfortably in that same written form, but words always work best in the medium for which they were put together, and he writes his to be sung. However, anyone who has heard me sing will thank me for not trying to work out how to insert sound files of my own renditions into this blog.
They are still great, the words, in whatever form you find them. Consider the way he can capture the image of a person in just a few words, such as:
He’s wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
or
He's traded in tomorrow for today
And there’s the best description I’ve known of a hung-over morning, alone in the world…
Well I woke up Sunday mornin', with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt,
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more, for dessert,
Then I fumbled through my closet, for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt,
And I shaved my face and combed my hair and, stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
You can almost feel the declaration of love in:
Wakin' in the mornin' to the feelin' of her fingers on my skin,
Wipin' out the traces of the people and the places that I've been,
Teachin' me that yesterday was something that I never thought of trying,
Talkin' of tomorrow and the money, love and time we had to spend.
or
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine,
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
Blowin' soft against the window,
And make believe you love me one more time,
For the good times.
There is the acceptance and pain of reality in:
And I cursed the sun for risin',
'Cause the worst, Lord, was yet to come,
'Cause this morning, she's just leavin'
But, come sundown, she'll be gone.
Though there’s optimism in:
It's hard to keep believing when you know you've been deceived,
To face a lie and dare to try again,
But there's nothing like a woman with a spell of make-believe
To make a new believer of a man.
And a plea to be allowed to remain optimistic:
Never's just the echo of forever,
Lonesome as a love that might have been,
Let me go on lovin' and believin' 'til it's over,
Please don't tell me how the story ends.
And, goddammit, there’s just loving someone:
You're the biggest gamble that I've ever tried to win,
Maybe more than I can stand to lose,
But girl I never thought I'd ever feel this good again,
More than I could dream of coming true,
I'll take any chance I can with you.
and…
Maybe what you see is what you got and what you wanted,
Take me at my word that it’s the best that I can be,
I will go down trying hard to teach you how to trust me
And I’ll love you ‘til it happens, darling, or eternity.
and even…
You were young enough to dream,
I was old enough to learn something new,
I'm so glad I got to dance with you
For a moment of forever.
Come whatever happens now
Ain't it nice to know that dreams still come true?
I'm so glad that I was close to you
For a moment of forever.
There’s straightforward philosophy:
If a cheated man's a loser
And a cheater never wins,
And if beggars can't be choosers
'Til they're weak and wealthy men,
And the old keep gettin' older,
And the young must do the same,
And it's never gettin' better,
Who's to bless, and who's to blame?
There will be bigger fans than me of the man, who will know even better lines than these, and there will be many who feel that so-and-so captures things better, but it’s all about what works for you, and this is what works for me.
I’ll finish with one more that works for me. Although it’s about a singer-songwriter, it is still the best description I can ever think of seeing of why writers write. Here it is, in its entirety:
It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row,
And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold,
To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul,
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar,
My thirsty wanted whiskey, my hungry needed beans,
But it'd been a month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream,
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar,
Actually, I guess you'd could call it a Tavern,
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor,
Friendly shadows,
I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar,
And in the mirror, I could see him checkin' me and my guitar,
An' he turned and said, "Come up here boy, and show us what you are,"
I said, "I'm dry",
He bought me a beer,
He nodded at my guitar and said, "It's a tough life, ain't it?"
I just looked at him, he said, "You ain't makin' any money, are you?"
I said, "You've been readin' my mail,"
He just smiled and said, "Let me see that guitar,
I've got something you oughta hear", then he laid it on me.
"If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen
To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear?
And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about
Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?"
There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind
Who were crucified for what they tried to show,
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time
'Cause the truth remains that no-one wants to know.
Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door,
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.
You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him,
I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing,
Then I stole his song.
And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen
To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear,
And I guess I'll die explainin' how the things that they complain about
Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care.
I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same,
But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul,
And if I never have a nickle, I won't ever die ashamed,
'Cause I don't believe that no-one wants to know.
There are two types of inspiration for me: inspiration that sparks ideas for plot, characters or settings; and inspiration that drives me on, fires my enthusiasm to write.
The first can be anything, from a chance remark to a picture, from a line in a song to the look of a landscape feature or building. The second tends to come from the work of certain songwriters, whether it be a turn of phrase or the entirety of the lyrics; people whose craft and mastery I could never hope to match but who just make the English language so evocative and finely tuned that it seems like the most natural thing in the world.
A very few people cover both aspects for me. And by far the chief amongst those is Kris Kristofferson.
This week I had the privilege of seeing him live. It was not for the first time, and every time has been magical. I just love his words; the strike deep within me. At times stunningly simple, at others so evocative that a picture is painted instantly in your head.
Of course, his words work so much better when you hear them from the man himself, in that gravelly voice, as laid-back and worn as it could only be through having lived the life he sings about, and they lose a bit in the written form. I admit that this sounds a strange statement from someone like me who creates most comfortably in that same written form, but words always work best in the medium for which they were put together, and he writes his to be sung. However, anyone who has heard me sing will thank me for not trying to work out how to insert sound files of my own renditions into this blog.
They are still great, the words, in whatever form you find them. Consider the way he can capture the image of a person in just a few words, such as:
He’s wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
or
He's traded in tomorrow for today
And there’s the best description I’ve known of a hung-over morning, alone in the world…
Well I woke up Sunday mornin', with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt,
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more, for dessert,
Then I fumbled through my closet, for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt,
And I shaved my face and combed my hair and, stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
You can almost feel the declaration of love in:
Wakin' in the mornin' to the feelin' of her fingers on my skin,
Wipin' out the traces of the people and the places that I've been,
Teachin' me that yesterday was something that I never thought of trying,
Talkin' of tomorrow and the money, love and time we had to spend.
or
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine,
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
Blowin' soft against the window,
And make believe you love me one more time,
For the good times.
There is the acceptance and pain of reality in:
And I cursed the sun for risin',
'Cause the worst, Lord, was yet to come,
'Cause this morning, she's just leavin'
But, come sundown, she'll be gone.
Though there’s optimism in:
It's hard to keep believing when you know you've been deceived,
To face a lie and dare to try again,
But there's nothing like a woman with a spell of make-believe
To make a new believer of a man.
And a plea to be allowed to remain optimistic:
Never's just the echo of forever,
Lonesome as a love that might have been,
Let me go on lovin' and believin' 'til it's over,
Please don't tell me how the story ends.
And, goddammit, there’s just loving someone:
You're the biggest gamble that I've ever tried to win,
Maybe more than I can stand to lose,
But girl I never thought I'd ever feel this good again,
More than I could dream of coming true,
I'll take any chance I can with you.
and…
Maybe what you see is what you got and what you wanted,
Take me at my word that it’s the best that I can be,
I will go down trying hard to teach you how to trust me
And I’ll love you ‘til it happens, darling, or eternity.
and even…
You were young enough to dream,
I was old enough to learn something new,
I'm so glad I got to dance with you
For a moment of forever.
Come whatever happens now
Ain't it nice to know that dreams still come true?
I'm so glad that I was close to you
For a moment of forever.
There’s straightforward philosophy:
If a cheated man's a loser
And a cheater never wins,
And if beggars can't be choosers
'Til they're weak and wealthy men,
And the old keep gettin' older,
And the young must do the same,
And it's never gettin' better,
Who's to bless, and who's to blame?
There will be bigger fans than me of the man, who will know even better lines than these, and there will be many who feel that so-and-so captures things better, but it’s all about what works for you, and this is what works for me.
I’ll finish with one more that works for me. Although it’s about a singer-songwriter, it is still the best description I can ever think of seeing of why writers write. Here it is, in its entirety:
It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row,
And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold,
To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul,
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar,
My thirsty wanted whiskey, my hungry needed beans,
But it'd been a month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream,
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar,
Actually, I guess you'd could call it a Tavern,
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor,
Friendly shadows,
I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar,
And in the mirror, I could see him checkin' me and my guitar,
An' he turned and said, "Come up here boy, and show us what you are,"
I said, "I'm dry",
He bought me a beer,
He nodded at my guitar and said, "It's a tough life, ain't it?"
I just looked at him, he said, "You ain't makin' any money, are you?"
I said, "You've been readin' my mail,"
He just smiled and said, "Let me see that guitar,
I've got something you oughta hear", then he laid it on me.
"If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen
To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear?
And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about
Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?"
There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind
Who were crucified for what they tried to show,
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time
'Cause the truth remains that no-one wants to know.
Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door,
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.
You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him,
I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing,
Then I stole his song.
And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen
To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear,
And I guess I'll die explainin' how the things that they complain about
Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care.
I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same,
But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul,
And if I never have a nickle, I won't ever die ashamed,
'Cause I don't believe that no-one wants to know.
August 7, 2015
Talking books: Jack and Andy, the interview
As part of HarperVoyager's week-long celebration of its digital-first authors, #VirtualVoyager, Jack Colman (of The Rule fame) and I were invited to interview each other. It was fascinating and a lot of fun finding out about each other - and here's what we found...
JC: Andy, you've signed a multi-book deal with a major publisher. You've made it, haven't you? Has your life changed in any way?
AL: Ha ha, I don't think "made it" is quite the right term, but it's a nice thought! It's a wonderful opportunity, though, and one that many writers go their whole life without being offered, so it is exciting. It is a door that's opened onto the publishing world and, initially, it is a great learning experience, about how publishing works and about how my own writing can improve. The biggest change to my life is how busy it has made it - trying to juggle family life, a full-time job and the writing obligations (not just writing the next book but trying to keep promoting the current one) is hard but when you have dreamt of doing this sort of thing then there is huge enjoyment in it, too. How about you, Jack? How are you finding life with a big publisher and the time-management that's involved? And what's the most unexpected good thing that's happened since you signed with Voyager?
JC: Hang on a minute, is that one question or three? I’ve only got five in total for you! It’s great to be able to claim affiliation with a well-known publisher and piggy back on the famous books they produce, though, as you might have sensed from my opening question, it has led my mates to presume I’ve made about a million pounds and am currently in tense negotiations with Spielberg. The most unexpected good thing is probably just the reception of family and friends who have picked up the book with the intention of finding something to take the mick about and have actually come away having genuinely liked it. I’d never shown it to anyone before so I didn’t know what to expect. As for time management, my word count has fallen dramatically, mainly because I spend most of my time agonising over the precise wording of tweets I’m about to send to my 100-odd followers. You, Andy, in contrast, are a man with ten times that number. What tips have you got for people (basically, me) on self-promotion, and do you think your background in reporting/PR has been a help in that department?
AL: I know what you mean, Jack. If I sold a book for every time I've heard "You'll have made your fortune, then" or "That'll be you giving up your job", I'd be at the top of all the bestseller charts! As far as Twitter is concerned, I actually joined it initially to try to push an epic poem that I self-published a few years ago, hence my strange Twitter-name, @Markethaven. I built up the following I have by following a whole lot of people in the hope that they would follow me back. About half of them did, so in a fit of pique I promptly unfollowed those who didn't and kept those who had been good enough to follow me. It did build up a reasonable following but was no value at all in selling books, in that I think it only sold to about four people – and two of those were my mum. My teenage sons try to get me onto various things like Instagram and Periscope, but I find that to do widespread social media properly I would need to spend an amount of time on it that I don't have. I try, but I'm maybe just not that good at it. As you say, my background is in newspapers and PR, and the advice I can give on that front is: local newspapers love a local story and are always on the look-out for a well-written good-news article they can use 'as is' or adapt; look at their style and try to write your press release the way they write their own articles; if you can, include a picture as it will give the 'paper more options (eg many work to at least rough templates for page-design and the space they have available on a page may be for words and a pic); don't make your press release too long – about 350-400 words max; accompany your press release with a friendly email, introducing yourself, telling them how to contact you if they want more info and remembering that they have no obligation to cover your story (in other words, don't make the mistake of being too bullish, more along the lines of "I hope this is of interest for your next edition"); and, if they do cover you, follow it up (not too frequently – you don't want to put them off!) with updates or further developments. As well as the local Press, think also of magazines for Former Pupils, in-house newsletters at places you have worked, etc.
Now, just one question in return this time! I can't help notice that your background, Jack, is incredibly varied and interesting. Moving away from the promotion side and towards the writing aspect, how useful was the wide range of your experiences in creating such a real novel as The Rule, one that is so evocative of the period but personal at the same time?
JC: What a charmer. There’s the PR skills coming in again. The short answer is: I have no idea. I’d like to think I could have written The Rule the same way no matter what my background. I read a lot of books as a kid, and I think I learnt from them how to write the kind of stuff I wanted. Nevertheless, I think it is useful for an author to experience as much in life as possible. I don’t know if my background is that varied and interesting, but I do try to do a lot of things and meet a lot of characters from different walks of life (although rarely do I come across a murderous Viking). Do enough of that and the stories start to write themselves in your head before you even take out the pen. Speaking of taking out the pen (tenuous link: achieved), you mentioned earlier an epic poem you’d written previously. How many other novels, complete or incomplete, do you have lying under the bed from before Hero Born? Or did you simply nail it first time?
AL: No previous novels, although I did have four short children's books published (about 25 years ago, yikes!) by a small publishing firm set up, ironically, by two former employees of Harper Collins. Tragically for the children of this world, the four tales of Sidney Squirrel and his friends are now out of print, although I notice that David Walliams only made his foray into children's books after this competition was out of the way. As far as Hero Born is concerned, it was my first novel and, four weeks ago, the only attempt I had made at writing one. That's not to say I nailed it at all – after every rejection, I rewrote something/added something/changed a character before I sent it out again and over the period of nearly 10 years before the obviously perceptive Natasha Bardon at Voyager spotted it, that amounts to a fair amount of changes! In fact, it could in itself possibly be classed as an incomplete novel because the whole story was originally going to be in one book – it was only once I started writing it that I realised that my lack of novel-writing experience had deceived me and that I would need three books to cover it. Although I was desperate to get on with the next part of the story that was in my head, I made a pact with myself not to start it until someone took on this first book, in case I got too carried away with writing the second book and lost interest in pushing the first one. Consequently, I am only writing the sequel now! What about you? Have you written fiction previously and when did you start on The Rule?
JC: Once, when I was 16. It was called Rise of the Norseman and it was glorious. In fact, the first agent I ever contacted (when I was nineteen) agreed that it was pretty decent (unless I just fell for the stock rejection email, again) but after um-ing and ah-ing for a couple of days he decided it wasn’t quite at the required level and suggested I have a go at another one. I wrote The Rule the same year, during uni. Persistence is the name of the game. Speaking of names (tenuous link level: expert), you spend 10 years writing Hero Born, and then you pick up A Game of Thrones and realise George Martin has blatantly stolen the name of your lead character. How did you come up with Brann’s name, and did you consider changing it in response?
AL: I know - I couldn't believe it when I started reading A Game of Thrones and saw that! However, when I was young I loved reading mythology of all types, but one of my favourites was the tales about Celtic hero Finn MacCool. I always said I would pay homage if I ever wrote a book and didn't want to call my own hero after the main character, Finn himself, so I settled on naming him after Finn's favourite, faithful and magnificent dog, Bran – albeit I added an extra 'n' because I felt it made it that wee bit different, more like a name and less reminiscent of a cereal! When I saw that GRRM had used a similar name for one of his characters (even though his is really officially called Brandon, I hasten to add), I did consider changing it, but I had lived with the name Brann in my head for my hero since I was about 12 and then had invested so much in writing about him in this book that that was who he was to me. It was a bit like if my brother, Gordon, changed his name to Colin – when I pictured him, he would still be Gordon to me. Which is a long way of saying that it didn't take me long to decide to be loyal to 'my' Brann. I suppose that, in the fantasy world, there are so many characters in so many books that similar names will crop up. After all, in GoT there is also a Bron while Joe Abercrombie has Brand in Half the World; there's Jon (Snow) and David Gemmell's Jon (Shannow); Samwise (Lord of the Rings) and Samwell (GoT); Raymond E Feist's Borric ConDoin and GRRM's Beric Dondarrion. There are probably many more that people with greater knowledge of fantasy than I have could come up with, but of the ones I know they may have similar names but they all very strongly have their own characters. I have to hope that my Brann's character is good enough for him to come to have his own identity for readers as much as he does for me. I know the names in The Rule are Norse-based, but in general did you find pressure to be accurate to Norse culture? I suppose I'm asking: did you research it or use your imagination?
JC: I’m no historian (I don’t even have a GCSE in the subject) but, as I mention in my HarperVoyager blog post this week, I think a certain authenticity is very important in a story. If you’re writing pure fantasy in a purely fantastical world then, fair enough, go mental. But if you’re using a specific historical period, and you know that some readers are likely to pick up the book purely because they are interested in that period, then it doesn’t feel fair to take liberties with what you include. So I was careful, when writing about day-to-day life, to be reasonably loyal to the Viking age. (This is where the historical boffs start queuing up to point out all the places I screwed this up, but at least no one Snapchats Gunnarr to warn him of the impending threat.) Having said that, I think it’s important sometimes to resist the tyranny of the historical busybody, as the fact is there are some areas where no one knows the truth for certain. Some people write books about history, essentially packaging up historical facts into a story format. I was always clear from the start that The Rule is a story set in history, not a story about history. In that sense, historical elements are no more than part of the background, and – dare I say it? – Wikipedia was enough to do the job.
Final one from me, Andy: you’re a big football hooligan, er, fan. Which player, past or present, do you think has what it takes to be a character in one of your books?
AL: Ohhhh, that's a great question! From my own club, Motherwell, I immediately think over the decades I have followed them to the lightning-fast, rapier-like, tenacious and clinical Willie Pettigrew and the irrepressively enthusiastic physicality of Luc Nijholt, or two players, Graeme Forbes and Colin O'Neill, fans' favourites from separate decades but sharing the same nickname: Psycho (enough said!). Widening my scope to world football, there is the "you can knock me down as many times as you like but I'll still take the ball round you and your mates and stick it in the net" attitude of Messi and the brutally effective style and all-round physical athleticism of Ronaldo, but the more I think about it and the more I picture the world of my books, there really is one contender who stands out from all the others. Skill, strength, panache, charisma, showmanship, savagely effective and, on occasion, capable of being effectively savage, and with a sense of humour: it can only be Cantona.
As that was such a good question, I'll try to come back in a similar(-ish) vein: when Peter Jackson makes the film of The Rule, who would you see as playing Gunnarr, Kelda, Olaf and Hákon?
JC: Well, me and Pete have only held preliminary discussions so far, but as things stand I’m actually planning to take on all four roles myself, shot in a single take with a strong focus on interpretive dance. However, in the spirit of this interview (and in case I do my hip between now and then) let’s have a think… You know what, I don’t actually know many actors. Gunnarr needs to be a straightforward type, no American accent, perhaps a genuine Scandinavian actor from the small screen. Except I don’t know any genuine Scandinavian actors from the small screen, so I’ll have to say Tom Hardy or a young Sean Bean. Olaf can be Brian Cox (the actor, not the physicist) or a resurrected Philip Seymour Hoffman. James McAvoy would probably make a decent job of Hákon. As for Kelda, someone endearing and unaffected. Carey Mulligan could probably pull it off.
Now, if that hasn't whetted your appetite to the extent that you can't resist rushing off and buying our books, I don't know what will.
JC: Andy, you've signed a multi-book deal with a major publisher. You've made it, haven't you? Has your life changed in any way?
AL: Ha ha, I don't think "made it" is quite the right term, but it's a nice thought! It's a wonderful opportunity, though, and one that many writers go their whole life without being offered, so it is exciting. It is a door that's opened onto the publishing world and, initially, it is a great learning experience, about how publishing works and about how my own writing can improve. The biggest change to my life is how busy it has made it - trying to juggle family life, a full-time job and the writing obligations (not just writing the next book but trying to keep promoting the current one) is hard but when you have dreamt of doing this sort of thing then there is huge enjoyment in it, too. How about you, Jack? How are you finding life with a big publisher and the time-management that's involved? And what's the most unexpected good thing that's happened since you signed with Voyager?
JC: Hang on a minute, is that one question or three? I’ve only got five in total for you! It’s great to be able to claim affiliation with a well-known publisher and piggy back on the famous books they produce, though, as you might have sensed from my opening question, it has led my mates to presume I’ve made about a million pounds and am currently in tense negotiations with Spielberg. The most unexpected good thing is probably just the reception of family and friends who have picked up the book with the intention of finding something to take the mick about and have actually come away having genuinely liked it. I’d never shown it to anyone before so I didn’t know what to expect. As for time management, my word count has fallen dramatically, mainly because I spend most of my time agonising over the precise wording of tweets I’m about to send to my 100-odd followers. You, Andy, in contrast, are a man with ten times that number. What tips have you got for people (basically, me) on self-promotion, and do you think your background in reporting/PR has been a help in that department?
AL: I know what you mean, Jack. If I sold a book for every time I've heard "You'll have made your fortune, then" or "That'll be you giving up your job", I'd be at the top of all the bestseller charts! As far as Twitter is concerned, I actually joined it initially to try to push an epic poem that I self-published a few years ago, hence my strange Twitter-name, @Markethaven. I built up the following I have by following a whole lot of people in the hope that they would follow me back. About half of them did, so in a fit of pique I promptly unfollowed those who didn't and kept those who had been good enough to follow me. It did build up a reasonable following but was no value at all in selling books, in that I think it only sold to about four people – and two of those were my mum. My teenage sons try to get me onto various things like Instagram and Periscope, but I find that to do widespread social media properly I would need to spend an amount of time on it that I don't have. I try, but I'm maybe just not that good at it. As you say, my background is in newspapers and PR, and the advice I can give on that front is: local newspapers love a local story and are always on the look-out for a well-written good-news article they can use 'as is' or adapt; look at their style and try to write your press release the way they write their own articles; if you can, include a picture as it will give the 'paper more options (eg many work to at least rough templates for page-design and the space they have available on a page may be for words and a pic); don't make your press release too long – about 350-400 words max; accompany your press release with a friendly email, introducing yourself, telling them how to contact you if they want more info and remembering that they have no obligation to cover your story (in other words, don't make the mistake of being too bullish, more along the lines of "I hope this is of interest for your next edition"); and, if they do cover you, follow it up (not too frequently – you don't want to put them off!) with updates or further developments. As well as the local Press, think also of magazines for Former Pupils, in-house newsletters at places you have worked, etc.
Now, just one question in return this time! I can't help notice that your background, Jack, is incredibly varied and interesting. Moving away from the promotion side and towards the writing aspect, how useful was the wide range of your experiences in creating such a real novel as The Rule, one that is so evocative of the period but personal at the same time?
JC: What a charmer. There’s the PR skills coming in again. The short answer is: I have no idea. I’d like to think I could have written The Rule the same way no matter what my background. I read a lot of books as a kid, and I think I learnt from them how to write the kind of stuff I wanted. Nevertheless, I think it is useful for an author to experience as much in life as possible. I don’t know if my background is that varied and interesting, but I do try to do a lot of things and meet a lot of characters from different walks of life (although rarely do I come across a murderous Viking). Do enough of that and the stories start to write themselves in your head before you even take out the pen. Speaking of taking out the pen (tenuous link: achieved), you mentioned earlier an epic poem you’d written previously. How many other novels, complete or incomplete, do you have lying under the bed from before Hero Born? Or did you simply nail it first time?
AL: No previous novels, although I did have four short children's books published (about 25 years ago, yikes!) by a small publishing firm set up, ironically, by two former employees of Harper Collins. Tragically for the children of this world, the four tales of Sidney Squirrel and his friends are now out of print, although I notice that David Walliams only made his foray into children's books after this competition was out of the way. As far as Hero Born is concerned, it was my first novel and, four weeks ago, the only attempt I had made at writing one. That's not to say I nailed it at all – after every rejection, I rewrote something/added something/changed a character before I sent it out again and over the period of nearly 10 years before the obviously perceptive Natasha Bardon at Voyager spotted it, that amounts to a fair amount of changes! In fact, it could in itself possibly be classed as an incomplete novel because the whole story was originally going to be in one book – it was only once I started writing it that I realised that my lack of novel-writing experience had deceived me and that I would need three books to cover it. Although I was desperate to get on with the next part of the story that was in my head, I made a pact with myself not to start it until someone took on this first book, in case I got too carried away with writing the second book and lost interest in pushing the first one. Consequently, I am only writing the sequel now! What about you? Have you written fiction previously and when did you start on The Rule?
JC: Once, when I was 16. It was called Rise of the Norseman and it was glorious. In fact, the first agent I ever contacted (when I was nineteen) agreed that it was pretty decent (unless I just fell for the stock rejection email, again) but after um-ing and ah-ing for a couple of days he decided it wasn’t quite at the required level and suggested I have a go at another one. I wrote The Rule the same year, during uni. Persistence is the name of the game. Speaking of names (tenuous link level: expert), you spend 10 years writing Hero Born, and then you pick up A Game of Thrones and realise George Martin has blatantly stolen the name of your lead character. How did you come up with Brann’s name, and did you consider changing it in response?
AL: I know - I couldn't believe it when I started reading A Game of Thrones and saw that! However, when I was young I loved reading mythology of all types, but one of my favourites was the tales about Celtic hero Finn MacCool. I always said I would pay homage if I ever wrote a book and didn't want to call my own hero after the main character, Finn himself, so I settled on naming him after Finn's favourite, faithful and magnificent dog, Bran – albeit I added an extra 'n' because I felt it made it that wee bit different, more like a name and less reminiscent of a cereal! When I saw that GRRM had used a similar name for one of his characters (even though his is really officially called Brandon, I hasten to add), I did consider changing it, but I had lived with the name Brann in my head for my hero since I was about 12 and then had invested so much in writing about him in this book that that was who he was to me. It was a bit like if my brother, Gordon, changed his name to Colin – when I pictured him, he would still be Gordon to me. Which is a long way of saying that it didn't take me long to decide to be loyal to 'my' Brann. I suppose that, in the fantasy world, there are so many characters in so many books that similar names will crop up. After all, in GoT there is also a Bron while Joe Abercrombie has Brand in Half the World; there's Jon (Snow) and David Gemmell's Jon (Shannow); Samwise (Lord of the Rings) and Samwell (GoT); Raymond E Feist's Borric ConDoin and GRRM's Beric Dondarrion. There are probably many more that people with greater knowledge of fantasy than I have could come up with, but of the ones I know they may have similar names but they all very strongly have their own characters. I have to hope that my Brann's character is good enough for him to come to have his own identity for readers as much as he does for me. I know the names in The Rule are Norse-based, but in general did you find pressure to be accurate to Norse culture? I suppose I'm asking: did you research it or use your imagination?
JC: I’m no historian (I don’t even have a GCSE in the subject) but, as I mention in my HarperVoyager blog post this week, I think a certain authenticity is very important in a story. If you’re writing pure fantasy in a purely fantastical world then, fair enough, go mental. But if you’re using a specific historical period, and you know that some readers are likely to pick up the book purely because they are interested in that period, then it doesn’t feel fair to take liberties with what you include. So I was careful, when writing about day-to-day life, to be reasonably loyal to the Viking age. (This is where the historical boffs start queuing up to point out all the places I screwed this up, but at least no one Snapchats Gunnarr to warn him of the impending threat.) Having said that, I think it’s important sometimes to resist the tyranny of the historical busybody, as the fact is there are some areas where no one knows the truth for certain. Some people write books about history, essentially packaging up historical facts into a story format. I was always clear from the start that The Rule is a story set in history, not a story about history. In that sense, historical elements are no more than part of the background, and – dare I say it? – Wikipedia was enough to do the job.
Final one from me, Andy: you’re a big football hooligan, er, fan. Which player, past or present, do you think has what it takes to be a character in one of your books?
AL: Ohhhh, that's a great question! From my own club, Motherwell, I immediately think over the decades I have followed them to the lightning-fast, rapier-like, tenacious and clinical Willie Pettigrew and the irrepressively enthusiastic physicality of Luc Nijholt, or two players, Graeme Forbes and Colin O'Neill, fans' favourites from separate decades but sharing the same nickname: Psycho (enough said!). Widening my scope to world football, there is the "you can knock me down as many times as you like but I'll still take the ball round you and your mates and stick it in the net" attitude of Messi and the brutally effective style and all-round physical athleticism of Ronaldo, but the more I think about it and the more I picture the world of my books, there really is one contender who stands out from all the others. Skill, strength, panache, charisma, showmanship, savagely effective and, on occasion, capable of being effectively savage, and with a sense of humour: it can only be Cantona.
As that was such a good question, I'll try to come back in a similar(-ish) vein: when Peter Jackson makes the film of The Rule, who would you see as playing Gunnarr, Kelda, Olaf and Hákon?
JC: Well, me and Pete have only held preliminary discussions so far, but as things stand I’m actually planning to take on all four roles myself, shot in a single take with a strong focus on interpretive dance. However, in the spirit of this interview (and in case I do my hip between now and then) let’s have a think… You know what, I don’t actually know many actors. Gunnarr needs to be a straightforward type, no American accent, perhaps a genuine Scandinavian actor from the small screen. Except I don’t know any genuine Scandinavian actors from the small screen, so I’ll have to say Tom Hardy or a young Sean Bean. Olaf can be Brian Cox (the actor, not the physicist) or a resurrected Philip Seymour Hoffman. James McAvoy would probably make a decent job of Hákon. As for Kelda, someone endearing and unaffected. Carey Mulligan could probably pull it off.
Now, if that hasn't whetted your appetite to the extent that you can't resist rushing off and buying our books, I don't know what will.
February 20, 2015
Do judge a book by its cover
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know as an author I'm supposed to say that it's what's on the pages of a book that counts, not the design on the front, and ultimately of course that's the basic truth. But it is also a fact that most people will see the cover before they read a single word so, like it or not, people do judge books by their covers.
Which is why I am delighted that the cover for Hero Born is an absolute cracker, and far exceeds my hopes. The finishing touches are still being put to it and you lot won't be able to clap eyes on it until the start of April, so you'll just have to take my word for it in the meantime - but since my expectations are high as a result of being biased about what I think my book deserves, there is some validity in my opinion.
In the meantime, however, I can feed any interest in book covers that I may have stirred in you by letting you see the designs, revealed just this week, of five of my fellow new authors at Voyager: Jack Colman, Laura Liddell Nolen, Ingrid Seymour and, from the US office, Kelley Grant and Liana Brooks. Feast yer eyes...
In Helvik a single rule governs the people: ‘No person of Helvik may kill another person of Helvik. Any person who breaks this rule is no longer a person of Helvik.’Gunnarr remembers a time before the rule, when blood feuds and petty rivalries led to endless death. In the days since, an uneasy peace has fallen over the town, and Gunnarr has made himself the man to enforce it.
When an innocent friend suffers from a breach of the rule, Gunnarr rushes to deal retribution. Too late, he discovers that what appeared a mindless act was actually something far more sinister. And now he has left his unborn child and family unprotected, just when they need him most.
A vast host of warriors is at the gates of Helvik, and with Gunnarr gone, nothing and no one stands against them…
THE RULE will be released in ebook on 26th March and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Jack on twitter @_JackColman
There's a meteor headed for Earth, and there's only one way to survive...
Sixteen-year-old Char has a criminal record, a short temper, and some of the worst luck out there, so her chances of getting a place on the Ark, one of the five massive bioships designed to protect earth’s survivors, are low to none. Only the select few will be saved – like her mom, dad, and brother – all of whom have long since turned their backs on Char.
As a giant meteor spells imminent destruction for her home planet, Char must use all the tricks of the trade to swindle her way into outer space, where she hopes to reunite with her family, regardless of whether or they actually ever want to see her again, or not . . .
THE ARK will be released in ebook on 26th March and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Laura on twitter @LauraLLNolen
Sixteen-year-old Marci Guerrero is one of the best teen hackers in Seattle. But, she’d give up all her talents to know she isn’t crazy . . .
Marci feels possessed by shadowy spectres that take control of her body and make her do crazy things. While spying on the clandestine group known as IgNiTe, she is confronted by their mysterious leader, James McCray. His presence stirs the spectres inside her brain into a maddening frenzy. Her symptoms and ability to control them don’t go unnoticed by James, who soon recruits her. Marci starts to realise that half the world’s population is infected with sentient parasites, which bind themselves to the human brain.
Now Marci wishes she was crazy, because the truth is worse . . .
IGNITE THE SHADOWS will be released in ebook on 23rd April and can be pre-ordered here . Follow Ingrid on twitter @Ingrid_Seymour
”It frightens me, knowing the One has called up two such strong individuals. It means that there are troubled times in our future, and you must prepare yourselves.”
The Temple at Illian is the crown jewel of life in the Northern Territory. There, pledges are paired with feli, the giant sacred cats of the One god, and are instructed to serve the One’s four capricious deities. Yet Sulis, a young woman from the Southern Desert, has a different perspective – one that just might be considered heresy, but that is catching on rather quickly…
Sulis’s twin Kadar, meanwhile, is part of a different sort of revolution. When Kadar falls in love with a woman from a Forsaken caste, he finds he’s willing to risk anything to get these people to freedom. But with Sulis drawing a dangerous level of attention from the deities, and war about to break out on two fronts, change may not come as easily as either twin had hoped.
DESERT RISING will be released in ebook on 21st April and can be pre-ordered here . Follow Kelley on twitter @kgrantwrites
A body is found in the Alabama wilderness. The question is: is it a human corpse … or is it just a piece of discarded property?
Agent Samantha Rose has been exiled to a backwater assignment for the Commonwealth Bureau of Investigation, a death knell for her career. But then Sam catches a break—a murder—that could give her the boost she needs to get her life back on track. There's a snag, though: the body is a clone, and technically that means it's not a homicide. And yet, something about the body raises questions, not only for her, but for coroner Linsey Mackenzie. The more they dig, the more they realize nothing about this case is what it seems … and for Sam, nothing about Mac is what it seems, either.
This case might be the way out for her, but that way could be in a bodybag.
THE DAY BEFORE will be released in ebook on 28th April and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Ingrid on twitter @LianaBrooks
Which is why I am delighted that the cover for Hero Born is an absolute cracker, and far exceeds my hopes. The finishing touches are still being put to it and you lot won't be able to clap eyes on it until the start of April, so you'll just have to take my word for it in the meantime - but since my expectations are high as a result of being biased about what I think my book deserves, there is some validity in my opinion.
In the meantime, however, I can feed any interest in book covers that I may have stirred in you by letting you see the designs, revealed just this week, of five of my fellow new authors at Voyager: Jack Colman, Laura Liddell Nolen, Ingrid Seymour and, from the US office, Kelley Grant and Liana Brooks. Feast yer eyes...
In Helvik a single rule governs the people: ‘No person of Helvik may kill another person of Helvik. Any person who breaks this rule is no longer a person of Helvik.’Gunnarr remembers a time before the rule, when blood feuds and petty rivalries led to endless death. In the days since, an uneasy peace has fallen over the town, and Gunnarr has made himself the man to enforce it.When an innocent friend suffers from a breach of the rule, Gunnarr rushes to deal retribution. Too late, he discovers that what appeared a mindless act was actually something far more sinister. And now he has left his unborn child and family unprotected, just when they need him most.
A vast host of warriors is at the gates of Helvik, and with Gunnarr gone, nothing and no one stands against them…
THE RULE will be released in ebook on 26th March and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Jack on twitter @_JackColman
There's a meteor headed for Earth, and there's only one way to survive...Sixteen-year-old Char has a criminal record, a short temper, and some of the worst luck out there, so her chances of getting a place on the Ark, one of the five massive bioships designed to protect earth’s survivors, are low to none. Only the select few will be saved – like her mom, dad, and brother – all of whom have long since turned their backs on Char.
As a giant meteor spells imminent destruction for her home planet, Char must use all the tricks of the trade to swindle her way into outer space, where she hopes to reunite with her family, regardless of whether or they actually ever want to see her again, or not . . .
THE ARK will be released in ebook on 26th March and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Laura on twitter @LauraLLNolen
Sixteen-year-old Marci Guerrero is one of the best teen hackers in Seattle. But, she’d give up all her talents to know she isn’t crazy . . .Marci feels possessed by shadowy spectres that take control of her body and make her do crazy things. While spying on the clandestine group known as IgNiTe, she is confronted by their mysterious leader, James McCray. His presence stirs the spectres inside her brain into a maddening frenzy. Her symptoms and ability to control them don’t go unnoticed by James, who soon recruits her. Marci starts to realise that half the world’s population is infected with sentient parasites, which bind themselves to the human brain.
Now Marci wishes she was crazy, because the truth is worse . . .
IGNITE THE SHADOWS will be released in ebook on 23rd April and can be pre-ordered here . Follow Ingrid on twitter @Ingrid_Seymour
”It frightens me, knowing the One has called up two such strong individuals. It means that there are troubled times in our future, and you must prepare yourselves.”The Temple at Illian is the crown jewel of life in the Northern Territory. There, pledges are paired with feli, the giant sacred cats of the One god, and are instructed to serve the One’s four capricious deities. Yet Sulis, a young woman from the Southern Desert, has a different perspective – one that just might be considered heresy, but that is catching on rather quickly…
Sulis’s twin Kadar, meanwhile, is part of a different sort of revolution. When Kadar falls in love with a woman from a Forsaken caste, he finds he’s willing to risk anything to get these people to freedom. But with Sulis drawing a dangerous level of attention from the deities, and war about to break out on two fronts, change may not come as easily as either twin had hoped.
DESERT RISING will be released in ebook on 21st April and can be pre-ordered here . Follow Kelley on twitter @kgrantwrites
A body is found in the Alabama wilderness. The question is: is it a human corpse … or is it just a piece of discarded property?Agent Samantha Rose has been exiled to a backwater assignment for the Commonwealth Bureau of Investigation, a death knell for her career. But then Sam catches a break—a murder—that could give her the boost she needs to get her life back on track. There's a snag, though: the body is a clone, and technically that means it's not a homicide. And yet, something about the body raises questions, not only for her, but for coroner Linsey Mackenzie. The more they dig, the more they realize nothing about this case is what it seems … and for Sam, nothing about Mac is what it seems, either.
This case might be the way out for her, but that way could be in a bodybag.
THE DAY BEFORE will be released in ebook on 28th April and can be pre-ordered here. Follow Ingrid on twitter @LianaBrooks
February 7, 2015
A Date with Destiny... or Marcella... or Gail... or Charlotte...
So, it's February, Valentine's Day is approaching and lovers young and old are preparing to exchange romantic tokens and words of sweetness. Well, if they have someone to share it with, that is. Some of us need a little helping hand to find that someone special - take Brann and Konall, two young lads from my forthcoming HarperVoyager book, Hero Born (available from all good ebook-sellers from April, don't you know). Replete with life, hopes, energy and boyish exuberance but not, alas, female companionship. So it's up to you to nudge them in the right direction. Several of my fellow Harper Voyager authors have noticed that they, too, have characters suffering from this predicament, so we are asking your help to pair up our love-lorn souls. We have asked our characters to fill out dating profiles to let you match-make to your (and hopefully their) heart's content - just check out what my two say and then visit the websites of the others (details below) and, when you have found a compatible pair, leave a comment with your choice on the two relevant blogs.
Such fun couldn't be bettered, could it? Well, actually, it could. Everyone who comments is placed in a draw, with each of us offering prizes of a variety only new and penniless authors can devise. In my case, I will send the lucky winner a signed copy of one of the pages of my handwritten first draft of Hero Born, and will retain the winner's details and will send on a signed print of the cover when it is released and Hero Born merchandise when it has been produced; others are offering anything from free books to chocolate.
In fact, dagnabbit, I'll just go wild and offer you two chances to win. If you sign up for my email news, I'll run a prize draw draw for the same set of prizes (those already on the list will be automatically entered.
So, without further ado, I'll leave my characters to put together their dating profiles.
BRANN
AGE:
Brann: 15
Konall: He's 4. He's maybe 15 in years, but he's 4.
JOB/CAREER:
Brann: Apprentice miller, galley slave, page, swashbuckling adventurer.
Konall: Pest.
WHAT YOU DO FOR FUN:
Brann: Stay alive. And buckle swashes, as dashing adventurers do.
Konall: He takes great delight in irritating people. In particular, me.
GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT:
Brann: Staying alive. I seem to be really good at it.
Konall: Staying alive. The gods alone know how he has managed it.
IF YOU WERE AN ANIMAL, YOU'D BE:
Brann: A mighty lion. Magnificent, powerful, majestic and fearsome.
Konall: Dead, skinned and lying in front of a fireplace. A nursery fireplace, as his slayer would have been a toddler.
FAVOURITE POSSESSION:
Brann: A sword. Any sword. I tried them recently and found I'm quite good with them.
Konall: His fingers. He is lucky still to have any of them left after he is allowed a sharp weapon. On that score, probably his toes as well. Maybe his legs. His life, really.
FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD MEMORY:
Brann: Anything involving my brother.
Konall: He's still a child. A small one.
WHO WAS YOUR CHILDHOOD HERO?
Brann: My brother.
Konall: He's still a child. So probably me.
WHAT'S YOUR PERFECT HOLIDAY?
Brann: Not a sea cruise: been there, done that. Thinking of heading south for the sun sometime.
Konall: His whole life is a holiday, in his own simple world where he thinks he knows better than me.
EVER BEEN IN A FIGHT OR PRISON?
Brann: Fights, yeah, a few recently. Does slavery count as a prison?
Konall: An asylum would probably be more appropriate.
GREATEST FEAR:
Brann: Never seeing my family again.
Konall: Having to face the world without me.
WHAT DID YOUR PARENTS DO?
Brann: Father: miller; Mother: miller's wife.
Konall: Bring him into the world. Their greatest folly.
KONALL
AGE:
Konall: I'm 16.
Brann: 70. He was born that age.
JOB/CAREER:
Konall: Heir to Ragnarr, Lord of Ravensrest.
Brann: Professional know-it-all. Professional bore.
WHAT YOU DO FOR FUN:
Konall: Hunt, learn statecraft, prepare to rule, train in all warrior skills.
Brann: Fun? FUN?? Him? Oh, now that's funny.
GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT:
Konall: Too many to mention.
Brann: All in his head. And yes, it is big enough to hold them all.
IF YOU WERE AN ANIMAL, YOU'D BE:
Konall: A bear. The creature that embodies the soul of my people.
Brann: A boar. But not spelt that way.
FAVOURITE POSSESSION:
Konall: My duty.
Brann: HIs hair.
FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD MEMORY:
Konall: Winning the annual weapons tournament for 12-year-olds. When I was 8.
Brann: He was a child? Ever? Seriously?
WHO WAS YOUR CHILDHOOD HERO?
Konall: I don't have heroes. I am a hero to others.
Brann: That one is true. Well, if you spell "others" h-i-m-s-e-l-f.
WHAT'S YOUR PERFECT HOLIDAY?
Konall: I don't go on holidays. I raid.
Brann: He shouldn't be allowed out of the house, to be honest.
EVER BEEN IN A FIGHT OR PRISON?
Konall: Of course. And of course not.
Brann: He would cause a fight in an empty room.
GREATEST FEAR:
Konall: If you suggest again that I feel fear, I'll show you what it feels like.
Brann: If you suggest again he has any feelings at all, I'll probably die laughing.
WHAT DID YOUR PARENTS DO?
Konall: Rule.
Brann: Not enough in the discipline department.
So there are my boys. Now go to the following blogs and find them a date. Please. They really need one.
A.F.E. Smith (author of DARKHAVEN, coming July 2015)
Katherine Harbour (author of THORN JACK, available now)
Nancy K. Wallace (author of AMONG WOLVES, coming May 2015)
Ingrid Seymour (author of IGNITE THE SHADOWS, coming April 2015)
Brooke Johnson (author of THE BRASS GIANT, coming May 2015)
Jack Heckel (author of ONCE UPON A RHYME and HAPPILY NEVER AFTER, available now)
Bishop O'Connell (author of THE STOLEN, available now)
Terry Newman (author of DETECTIVE STRONGOAK AND THE CASE OF THE DEAD ELF, available now)
John Ayliff (author of BELT THREE, coming June 2015)
Lexie Dunne (author of SUPERHEROES ANONYMOUS, available now)
Laura Liddell Nolen (author of THE ARK, coming March 2015)
Christi Whitney (author of GREY, coming April 2015)
Graeme Talboys (author of STEALING INTO WINTER, coming July 2015)
Alison Stine (author of SUPERVISION, coming April 2015)
January 28, 2015
It's all about me...
I'm very inspiring, don't you know? You didn't? Well, I have a certificate to prove it, thanks to fellow author Lexie Dunne. See for yourself: 
So that's that settled then.
Anyway, the point of this is that Lexie had selected me and several others (although I know for a fact that she only mentioned them to be polite and to allow them to bask in the glow of my magnificence through being mentioned alongside my name*) as being recipients of this award, with the obligation being for me to list seven facts about me and then nominate blogger friends who are likewise contractually obliged to do the same.
[*Not actually true]
So, without further ado...
1. I took to reading so eagerly that, in Primary 1, I was in a reading group all of my own, several books ahead of the rest of the class. I cling to this as my greatest competitive achievement, despite the fact that reading is not generally considered to be an area of competition. However, as the rest of my sporting life has been characterised by abject failure and, at best, complete mediocrity, born of relentless concentration on flair without the technique to make it possible and regardless of the boundless enthusiasm I have put into it, you will understand my clinging to the reading-group thing. And my determined blindness to the fact that reading is not a sport.
2. I am passionate about football (the real type – you know, the one with the round ball and no armour) and, specifically, Motherwell FC, a club that had my dad as chairman twice (once to guide it and once to rescue it), while one of my sons is currently in the final stages of trying to become a full-time player with the club. Due to the fact that I am not skilled at rescuing football clubs and that my sporting ability is at the level described above, I have restricted myself to being a supporter. My two sons also support Motherwell thanks to the effects of brainwashing since birth, as does my wife thanks to having been worn down by a husband and two sons. As part of this passion, tattooed somewhere on my body is the Motherwell FC crest, unlike my wife and sons. I mean they have no crest tattooed on them, not that the Motherwell crest is unlike them. Although it is unlike them. Oh, sod it, you know what I mean. I hope.
3. I will eat just about anything, hence the waistline, but could blissfully survive every single day on nothing but strawberries and steak, though not on the same plate. There is a large list of other foodstuffs that I really like (hence the waistline), but these two are way out on their own. Fortunately for the sake of variety in my diet, neither my bank balance nor my lifestyle will allow a pure steak-strawberry diet, much to the chagrin of the beef and fruit farmer of Lanarkshire who would otherwise be millionaires.
4. I am a dedicated believer in the totally-true fact, which I first brought to the world a couple of years ago, that calories don’t count on a Friday. Hence the waistline.
5. As a young journalist, I once had to take part in a circus performance, playing football (the real type – you know, the one with the round ball and no armour) with the clowns (no change in my playing style there, then) and then had to lie down while an elephant walked over the top of me. A bit reminiscent of a date I had in my late teens where I also acted like a clown and then had to lie down while... Yes. You are indeed guessing the rest. Anyway in the circus scenario, it was an experience that is still vivid in my head to this day. Not so much for the paralysing terror I felt, but more for the fact that I was left feeling there was one really intelligent participant involved, and it wasn't the one with the two legs. The elephant looked right into my eyes as it approached, and it couldn't have been more like a kindly knowing look if it had been given by Mike's grandmother in Suits. She (the elephant, not Mike's grandmother) knew exactly what she was doing and stepped over me quite deliberately and carefully with all four legs (let's face it, three out of four wouldn't have really been an acceptable pass rate in this test). She even started to brush against me with the third leg, instantly froze (at which point I was so relieved that my bladder was as paralysed as the rest of me) and slowly lifted that leg high enough to clear me perfectly. It left an indelible impression on me (maybe not the best expression given the consequences of Nelly getting it wrong, but never mind), and particularly so since I can walk across the kitchen and trip over a biscuit crumb. I don't think the elephant would have come out of it so well if she had been the one lying down. Which could also be said for that date in my late teens.
6. I adore films, and have done so since I was a small child (which maybe isn’t the greatest indicator of time as my wife says that I am still a small child). However, there are only eight films that I have watched several times: The Princess Bride, The 13th Warrior, The Dirty Dozen, The Graduate and, despite the fact that they don’t begin with “The”, Ronin, Mad Max, Love, Actually and Kelly's Heroes. I have varied tastes.
7. I died when I was seven. Bad asthma attack, turned blue, stopped breathing, heart stopped in the doc’s car on the way to the hospital (he couldn’t wait for the ambulance), followed by several weeks in the hospital with oxygen tubes up my nose. They did re-start my heart and get me breathing again, which, looking back over the 40 years since then, proved to be a helpful move. I have no knowledge of seeing my life flash before my eyes or of approaching a bright light – this was possibly because I was unconscious or could have been because seven years flashed too quickly and I had my eyes shut. Sorry, I can’t therefore comment from any personal experience on the validity of the films Ghost and Flatliners. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if this experience qualifies scientifically as ‘dying’, but it the dramatic effect is helped when you begin a paragraph with those six words. And my teenage sons are willing to testify that I have truly been brain dead ever since. Or maybe I am actually a ghost, which would explain a lot.
So there you have it, my seven facts. You'll notice that I didn't say "seven interesting facts" - if that's what you want, you'd better take yourself off to these fascinating gems of writers, not that I am hereby nominating them:
Laura Liddell Nolen
Carrie Bailey
Clare Wilson
Bethanne Patrick
So that's that settled then. Anyway, the point of this is that Lexie had selected me and several others (although I know for a fact that she only mentioned them to be polite and to allow them to bask in the glow of my magnificence through being mentioned alongside my name*) as being recipients of this award, with the obligation being for me to list seven facts about me and then nominate blogger friends who are likewise contractually obliged to do the same.
[*Not actually true]
So, without further ado...
1. I took to reading so eagerly that, in Primary 1, I was in a reading group all of my own, several books ahead of the rest of the class. I cling to this as my greatest competitive achievement, despite the fact that reading is not generally considered to be an area of competition. However, as the rest of my sporting life has been characterised by abject failure and, at best, complete mediocrity, born of relentless concentration on flair without the technique to make it possible and regardless of the boundless enthusiasm I have put into it, you will understand my clinging to the reading-group thing. And my determined blindness to the fact that reading is not a sport.
2. I am passionate about football (the real type – you know, the one with the round ball and no armour) and, specifically, Motherwell FC, a club that had my dad as chairman twice (once to guide it and once to rescue it), while one of my sons is currently in the final stages of trying to become a full-time player with the club. Due to the fact that I am not skilled at rescuing football clubs and that my sporting ability is at the level described above, I have restricted myself to being a supporter. My two sons also support Motherwell thanks to the effects of brainwashing since birth, as does my wife thanks to having been worn down by a husband and two sons. As part of this passion, tattooed somewhere on my body is the Motherwell FC crest, unlike my wife and sons. I mean they have no crest tattooed on them, not that the Motherwell crest is unlike them. Although it is unlike them. Oh, sod it, you know what I mean. I hope.
3. I will eat just about anything, hence the waistline, but could blissfully survive every single day on nothing but strawberries and steak, though not on the same plate. There is a large list of other foodstuffs that I really like (hence the waistline), but these two are way out on their own. Fortunately for the sake of variety in my diet, neither my bank balance nor my lifestyle will allow a pure steak-strawberry diet, much to the chagrin of the beef and fruit farmer of Lanarkshire who would otherwise be millionaires.
4. I am a dedicated believer in the totally-true fact, which I first brought to the world a couple of years ago, that calories don’t count on a Friday. Hence the waistline.
5. As a young journalist, I once had to take part in a circus performance, playing football (the real type – you know, the one with the round ball and no armour) with the clowns (no change in my playing style there, then) and then had to lie down while an elephant walked over the top of me. A bit reminiscent of a date I had in my late teens where I also acted like a clown and then had to lie down while... Yes. You are indeed guessing the rest. Anyway in the circus scenario, it was an experience that is still vivid in my head to this day. Not so much for the paralysing terror I felt, but more for the fact that I was left feeling there was one really intelligent participant involved, and it wasn't the one with the two legs. The elephant looked right into my eyes as it approached, and it couldn't have been more like a kindly knowing look if it had been given by Mike's grandmother in Suits. She (the elephant, not Mike's grandmother) knew exactly what she was doing and stepped over me quite deliberately and carefully with all four legs (let's face it, three out of four wouldn't have really been an acceptable pass rate in this test). She even started to brush against me with the third leg, instantly froze (at which point I was so relieved that my bladder was as paralysed as the rest of me) and slowly lifted that leg high enough to clear me perfectly. It left an indelible impression on me (maybe not the best expression given the consequences of Nelly getting it wrong, but never mind), and particularly so since I can walk across the kitchen and trip over a biscuit crumb. I don't think the elephant would have come out of it so well if she had been the one lying down. Which could also be said for that date in my late teens.
6. I adore films, and have done so since I was a small child (which maybe isn’t the greatest indicator of time as my wife says that I am still a small child). However, there are only eight films that I have watched several times: The Princess Bride, The 13th Warrior, The Dirty Dozen, The Graduate and, despite the fact that they don’t begin with “The”, Ronin, Mad Max, Love, Actually and Kelly's Heroes. I have varied tastes.
7. I died when I was seven. Bad asthma attack, turned blue, stopped breathing, heart stopped in the doc’s car on the way to the hospital (he couldn’t wait for the ambulance), followed by several weeks in the hospital with oxygen tubes up my nose. They did re-start my heart and get me breathing again, which, looking back over the 40 years since then, proved to be a helpful move. I have no knowledge of seeing my life flash before my eyes or of approaching a bright light – this was possibly because I was unconscious or could have been because seven years flashed too quickly and I had my eyes shut. Sorry, I can’t therefore comment from any personal experience on the validity of the films Ghost and Flatliners. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if this experience qualifies scientifically as ‘dying’, but it the dramatic effect is helped when you begin a paragraph with those six words. And my teenage sons are willing to testify that I have truly been brain dead ever since. Or maybe I am actually a ghost, which would explain a lot.
So there you have it, my seven facts. You'll notice that I didn't say "seven interesting facts" - if that's what you want, you'd better take yourself off to these fascinating gems of writers, not that I am hereby nominating them:
Laura Liddell Nolen
Carrie Bailey
Clare Wilson
Bethanne Patrick
November 12, 2014
It's the little things...
Having your book taken on by a "Big 5" publisher is a whirlwind of frantic excitement, right? Right???? Well, actually, no.
It is of course a brilliant feeling, and one I hope, of course, will last for many decades to come. it is also an honour, and an opportunity I never thought would come my way. Like many other things, however, it is also a very long-drawn-out process, with large periods of nothingness. That's where the anti-climax hits, doubts start to gnaw at the edge of your consciousness and having an imagination becomes a curse: what if they've lost interest in my book; what if this whole digital-first-venture-for-new-authors thing isn't working out for them; what if they don't have enough pairs of hands to handle all the work and rush my book out unprepared; what if they just keep pushing back the date and it never gets published...
Then you give yourself a kick up the arse (which is necessary, but embarrassing if your kids catch you doing it) and knock yourself back to real life. The reality is that publishers are extremely busy people, and the bigger the publisher, the bigger the authors they are working with. They are also a business, and time must be spent most where the biggest earning potential lies. It's fair enough - if I ever hit the dizzy heights of best-sellerdom, I'd think it strange if a brand-new author received the same marketing support and prioritised attention as i did, so i can't find it any less strange when I am that brand-new author.
So I have to wait my turn, and fit into their schedule. I remind myself occasionally (the occasion being "every morning", to be honest) how brilliant it is to be in their schedule, but as I said, there are still the periods of radio silence that do stretch a bit. And that is where the little things come in.
These are the things that seem trivial, or a courtesy, or a comment in passing to those who dish them out, but mean so much in keeping a new author's spirits up.
Like being asked to speak to the Rotary Club of Hamilton about my experience in being offered a publishing contract.
Like being approached after that talk by a man who revealed himself to be a big fantasy fan and who said my storyline reminded him of one of my heroes, David Gemmell (oh, the experience of being mentioned in the same breath).
Like the old friend who I hadn't seen for years who turns out to be another big fantasy fan, saw a story about me in the local paper, looked up my website and became the very first person to sign up for my mailing list.
Like the local press who have been so supportive.
Like the email I received from Voyager that was short and to the point but had such a lovely tone that it brightened up an otherwise dark morning.
Like the people who stop in a corridor at work to ask about my book.
Like my wife, who is anything but a fantasy fan and who is as brutally honest as only a spouse can be, reading the synopses for books 2 and 3 and saying she really, really liked them.
Like superstar Bernard Cornwell finding the time and understanding, when he would have a million other things to do, to reply to my email seeking advice on agents with courtesy and care.
Like my colleague and friend who took care of my photography needs with such willingness, expertise and patience.
Like my family members who, out of the blue, contact me to say they can't wait for the book to come out.
Like so many others who did or said something that they thought was run-of-the mill but which meant so much to me.
I know, I know, this sounds like an Oscars acceptance speech or the acknowledgements page in a book, but while I am grateful for all of this, it is not so much in the grand scheme of things but more for the specific way they all picked up my spirits and kept me going in those moments. And probably without realising they were doing so.
For being a writer can be a nerve-wracking experience. Like, I guess, anyone in a creative field, you just do what you think is good and then put it out there for others to directly judge whether they like it or not - and you have no idea until they do judge it which way they are going to go.
So if the overall journey is a rollercoaster ride, it is these little things that keep you in your seat. And I really am grateful to all the people who have, in this way, kept me buckled in!
It is of course a brilliant feeling, and one I hope, of course, will last for many decades to come. it is also an honour, and an opportunity I never thought would come my way. Like many other things, however, it is also a very long-drawn-out process, with large periods of nothingness. That's where the anti-climax hits, doubts start to gnaw at the edge of your consciousness and having an imagination becomes a curse: what if they've lost interest in my book; what if this whole digital-first-venture-for-new-authors thing isn't working out for them; what if they don't have enough pairs of hands to handle all the work and rush my book out unprepared; what if they just keep pushing back the date and it never gets published...
Then you give yourself a kick up the arse (which is necessary, but embarrassing if your kids catch you doing it) and knock yourself back to real life. The reality is that publishers are extremely busy people, and the bigger the publisher, the bigger the authors they are working with. They are also a business, and time must be spent most where the biggest earning potential lies. It's fair enough - if I ever hit the dizzy heights of best-sellerdom, I'd think it strange if a brand-new author received the same marketing support and prioritised attention as i did, so i can't find it any less strange when I am that brand-new author.
So I have to wait my turn, and fit into their schedule. I remind myself occasionally (the occasion being "every morning", to be honest) how brilliant it is to be in their schedule, but as I said, there are still the periods of radio silence that do stretch a bit. And that is where the little things come in.
These are the things that seem trivial, or a courtesy, or a comment in passing to those who dish them out, but mean so much in keeping a new author's spirits up.
Like being asked to speak to the Rotary Club of Hamilton about my experience in being offered a publishing contract.
Like being approached after that talk by a man who revealed himself to be a big fantasy fan and who said my storyline reminded him of one of my heroes, David Gemmell (oh, the experience of being mentioned in the same breath).
Like the old friend who I hadn't seen for years who turns out to be another big fantasy fan, saw a story about me in the local paper, looked up my website and became the very first person to sign up for my mailing list.
Like the local press who have been so supportive.
Like the email I received from Voyager that was short and to the point but had such a lovely tone that it brightened up an otherwise dark morning.
Like the people who stop in a corridor at work to ask about my book.
Like my wife, who is anything but a fantasy fan and who is as brutally honest as only a spouse can be, reading the synopses for books 2 and 3 and saying she really, really liked them.
Like superstar Bernard Cornwell finding the time and understanding, when he would have a million other things to do, to reply to my email seeking advice on agents with courtesy and care.
Like my colleague and friend who took care of my photography needs with such willingness, expertise and patience.
Like my family members who, out of the blue, contact me to say they can't wait for the book to come out.
Like so many others who did or said something that they thought was run-of-the mill but which meant so much to me.
I know, I know, this sounds like an Oscars acceptance speech or the acknowledgements page in a book, but while I am grateful for all of this, it is not so much in the grand scheme of things but more for the specific way they all picked up my spirits and kept me going in those moments. And probably without realising they were doing so.
For being a writer can be a nerve-wracking experience. Like, I guess, anyone in a creative field, you just do what you think is good and then put it out there for others to directly judge whether they like it or not - and you have no idea until they do judge it which way they are going to go.
So if the overall journey is a rollercoaster ride, it is these little things that keep you in your seat. And I really am grateful to all the people who have, in this way, kept me buckled in!
August 26, 2014
Officially official
Sorry it's been quiet on the information front for a while, but my approach is only to tell you news on here when there is actually news to tell. And now there is!
The publication of Hero Born is now totally official, with Harper Voyager having issued a press release announcing the signing of me and 14 other new authors to their UK office. You can read it here on The Bookseller website.
As part of this, I have a new publication date. The e-Book will be published on 15th January, 2015, and will be able to be pre-ordered prior to then - I'll let you know as soon as I hear this is operational. I'm delighted with this date, as it gives reasonable time for Voyager to sculpt my scribblings into a masterpiece, and it also enables anyone not currently possessing a Kindle or one of the many other excellent e-readers to add one to their list for Santa.
As far as I can see (though I am just grasping at wisps of information here) I will be the third of the Voyager UK authors to be published, with Jeff Pearce and Terry Newman having their books released in December, and the first of 2015... no pressure then!
The others in our authors' support group (see the last blog post) will be published in rapid succession over following months, so I'll keep you posted on those as they are coming up. In the meantime, though, I feel it would really support them all if my book proved to be a massive success to a previously unimagined and actually fairly impressive extent, so in the interest of helping others, I would urge you to spread the word about Hero Born and, when the time comes, help to get those ebooks flying off the virtual-reality shelves.
The publication of Hero Born is now totally official, with Harper Voyager having issued a press release announcing the signing of me and 14 other new authors to their UK office. You can read it here on The Bookseller website.
As part of this, I have a new publication date. The e-Book will be published on 15th January, 2015, and will be able to be pre-ordered prior to then - I'll let you know as soon as I hear this is operational. I'm delighted with this date, as it gives reasonable time for Voyager to sculpt my scribblings into a masterpiece, and it also enables anyone not currently possessing a Kindle or one of the many other excellent e-readers to add one to their list for Santa.
As far as I can see (though I am just grasping at wisps of information here) I will be the third of the Voyager UK authors to be published, with Jeff Pearce and Terry Newman having their books released in December, and the first of 2015... no pressure then!
The others in our authors' support group (see the last blog post) will be published in rapid succession over following months, so I'll keep you posted on those as they are coming up. In the meantime, though, I feel it would really support them all if my book proved to be a massive success to a previously unimagined and actually fairly impressive extent, so in the interest of helping others, I would urge you to spread the word about Hero Born and, when the time comes, help to get those ebooks flying off the virtual-reality shelves.
