F.G. Cottam's Blog, page 3
March 23, 2015
Out this week...
The Lazarus Prophecy is published in the UK and America as a physical book on Thursday of this week. I'm really pleased about this for two reasons. The first is that I'm old-fashioned enough to think a book hasn't really arrived until it manifests in three-dimensional form with wood-pulped pages bearing a black-inked font. The second is that publishers Bloomsbury Reader told me it would only be produced in physical form if it did sufficiently well as a download first.
The audiobook of The Memory of Trees came out last week and is outselling The Lazarus Prophecy audiobook pretty comfortably. I'm not really surprised by this. Nor does it bother me. Prophecy is a much more ambitious novel on an altogether bigger scale than Trees. But I think Trees is probably the most atmospheric story I've written and I'm really proud of The Forest of Mourning as a fictional location. Plus there's David Rintoul doing the reading. His past performances of my novels have left me stunned at just how much he brings to them.
I'll conclude on a technical note. Someone joked last week that the thorn bush at Gibbet Mourning in Trees had given him nightmares. I replied that it was a real challenge to describe. I won't resort to a thesaurus on principle - if I'm not familiar with the word, I can't expect the reader to be and so won't use it. But I'm not exactly an expert at botany. Consequently I almost ran out of adjectives describing that bush. A challenge, but a rewarding one, made so by the largely positive reaction from readers my thorny creation has so far provoked.
The audiobook of The Memory of Trees came out last week and is outselling The Lazarus Prophecy audiobook pretty comfortably. I'm not really surprised by this. Nor does it bother me. Prophecy is a much more ambitious novel on an altogether bigger scale than Trees. But I think Trees is probably the most atmospheric story I've written and I'm really proud of The Forest of Mourning as a fictional location. Plus there's David Rintoul doing the reading. His past performances of my novels have left me stunned at just how much he brings to them.
I'll conclude on a technical note. Someone joked last week that the thorn bush at Gibbet Mourning in Trees had given him nightmares. I replied that it was a real challenge to describe. I won't resort to a thesaurus on principle - if I'm not familiar with the word, I can't expect the reader to be and so won't use it. But I'm not exactly an expert at botany. Consequently I almost ran out of adjectives describing that bush. A challenge, but a rewarding one, made so by the largely positive reaction from readers my thorny creation has so far provoked.
February 27, 2015
In Full Leaf
The audiobook of The Memory of Trees comes out on March 17, read by David Rintoul. This gifted Scottish actor has now recorded five of my books and I've been really privileged to have him do it. To my mind he's absolutely the best there is.
He phoned me before recording Brodmaw Bay in which I'd written that the Bay's patriarch, Richard Penmarick, spoke with no trace of an accent. He said Richard would sound more sinister with just the faintest hint of a West Country burr. And how right he proved to be...
He also said he thought Bay was the best of the books (having already recorded The Magdalena Curse and The Waiting Room). Since then he's done The Colony and now Trees and I'd be intrigued to know if his opinion has changed. Or to put it more honestly, whether I've got better, which is every honest fiction writer's intention with every novel we begin.
Trees was written to a pre-determined length, because for production reasons, publisher Severn House limit their novels to 90, 000 words. I generally write just over 100, 000 word books, but didn't mind this. I like to give the reader value in terms of page volume but also enjoy the challenge of writing to length.
Recently I wrote a story for Kindle Single which has the title, An Absence of Natural Light. I decided at the outset it would be 100 pages or 25, 000 words long and it ended up at almost exactly that. The ability to write to a word count is probably the legacy of my past job as a features journalist. If you can write to length factually, you can certainly do it when you're making stuff up.
Anyway the 90, 000 words of The Memory of trees amounts to 9.5 hours of Mr. Rintoul's beautifully resonant speaking voice. I hope his recounting of my story diverts, entertains and delivers a chill to its listeners. It might also make some of you hesitant about taking a walk in the woods.
He phoned me before recording Brodmaw Bay in which I'd written that the Bay's patriarch, Richard Penmarick, spoke with no trace of an accent. He said Richard would sound more sinister with just the faintest hint of a West Country burr. And how right he proved to be...
He also said he thought Bay was the best of the books (having already recorded The Magdalena Curse and The Waiting Room). Since then he's done The Colony and now Trees and I'd be intrigued to know if his opinion has changed. Or to put it more honestly, whether I've got better, which is every honest fiction writer's intention with every novel we begin.
Trees was written to a pre-determined length, because for production reasons, publisher Severn House limit their novels to 90, 000 words. I generally write just over 100, 000 word books, but didn't mind this. I like to give the reader value in terms of page volume but also enjoy the challenge of writing to length.
Recently I wrote a story for Kindle Single which has the title, An Absence of Natural Light. I decided at the outset it would be 100 pages or 25, 000 words long and it ended up at almost exactly that. The ability to write to a word count is probably the legacy of my past job as a features journalist. If you can write to length factually, you can certainly do it when you're making stuff up.
Anyway the 90, 000 words of The Memory of trees amounts to 9.5 hours of Mr. Rintoul's beautifully resonant speaking voice. I hope his recounting of my story diverts, entertains and delivers a chill to its listeners. It might also make some of you hesitant about taking a walk in the woods.
October 26, 2014
Musings
Had a minor twitter-spat recently with an American fantasy writer whose tweets comprise uninvited tips for would-be novelists.
The particular, monotonously repeated tweet that annoyed me poured scorn on writers who use the adjective 'nice.' I told him he didn't need to tell us this quite so often and that 'nice' happened to be a favourite adjective of a pretty good writer named Ernest Hemingway.
He called me an asshole and blocked me. So highly do I value this man's opinion that I took this as a compliment.
The fact is that the only rule in fiction writing worth observing is that there are no rules. I don't personally care for magical realism and think steampunk a bit silly, but plenty of intelligent and dedicated readers love both those genres. So, just as pertinently, do plenty of gifted writers possessed of both imagination and integrity.
Hemingway used 'nice' a lot in the 1920s, writing about complex characters who craved simplicity, hoping most for what he termed, 'a clean, well-lighted place' in which to take refuge and escape the darkly contingent trauma of the Great War. In so doing, he created great stories in which to this reader (and I'm hardly alone), the vocabulary seems not just right, but perfect.
To suggest a fiction writer shouldn't use certain adjectives isn't just limiting and patronising, it's wrong. The fact that there are no rules is what liberates and inspires us when the page is blank, awaiting the adventure promised by that about to be born opening sentence.
The particular, monotonously repeated tweet that annoyed me poured scorn on writers who use the adjective 'nice.' I told him he didn't need to tell us this quite so often and that 'nice' happened to be a favourite adjective of a pretty good writer named Ernest Hemingway.
He called me an asshole and blocked me. So highly do I value this man's opinion that I took this as a compliment.
The fact is that the only rule in fiction writing worth observing is that there are no rules. I don't personally care for magical realism and think steampunk a bit silly, but plenty of intelligent and dedicated readers love both those genres. So, just as pertinently, do plenty of gifted writers possessed of both imagination and integrity.
Hemingway used 'nice' a lot in the 1920s, writing about complex characters who craved simplicity, hoping most for what he termed, 'a clean, well-lighted place' in which to take refuge and escape the darkly contingent trauma of the Great War. In so doing, he created great stories in which to this reader (and I'm hardly alone), the vocabulary seems not just right, but perfect.
To suggest a fiction writer shouldn't use certain adjectives isn't just limiting and patronising, it's wrong. The fact that there are no rules is what liberates and inspires us when the page is blank, awaiting the adventure promised by that about to be born opening sentence.
August 12, 2014
Completely Nuts (and Bolts)
When readers ask me questions, it's usually about the mechanics of writing, the methodology and routine. There is method (though sometimes it seems more like madness) and I can describe it.
I write on a laptop, tapping away with two fingers. I never learned to touch-type. I wrote on an iBook until its premature death late in 2007, when I was thankfully able to retrieve the half-finished Dark Echo Word document from its hard drive. My son lent me the old Compaq Presario which has served faithfully ever since. (You're not getting it back, Gabriel).
My chapters always average about 8,000 words and the novels just over 100,000 words in total, except for the books I did for Severn House, where for reasons to do with production costs, they limit manuscripts to 90,000 words. I think novels in the genre in which I write should give the reader 300-plus pages to read to deliver full value. It's just a personal opinion.
I write in the mornings and I write fast, with only two or three sentences of notes sketched out to keep me on track for each chapter. When I start a novel I'll do 2-3,000 words a day. However - and this is where the madness manifests - as the story progresses, I get up earlier and earlier and write more and more. Towards a novel's conclusion I'll be starting at 4.am and doing 4-5,000 words, stopping at around 2.pm and revising what I've written that day in the evening after a break from it intended to encourage a bit of objectivity.
Location doesn't much matter. I started The Memory of Trees in Brighton and finished it in Southport. I wrote The Colony in Shaftsbury. I started The Lazarus Prophecy in Southport and finished it in West London.
I don't do as much research as people think. There is quite a lot of history in my books, but I did my degree in history and the subject fascinates me. The stuff I put in the books tends to be stuff I knew already from reading about it for pleasure. That said, I did research the Antichrist - and the Whitechapel Murders - for Prophecy.
Is writing enjoyable? Yes; hugely so. But it's also very sedentary and I counterbalance the physical sloth with a lot of running. It keeps me fit and it's when problems with my plots tend to resolve themselves.
There's no master-plan (maybe I'd be more successful if there was). I just write the kind of books I'd like to read if someone else was writing them. That might be simplistic and it might be self-indulgent, but it's the only way I can retain any integrity.
I write on a laptop, tapping away with two fingers. I never learned to touch-type. I wrote on an iBook until its premature death late in 2007, when I was thankfully able to retrieve the half-finished Dark Echo Word document from its hard drive. My son lent me the old Compaq Presario which has served faithfully ever since. (You're not getting it back, Gabriel).
My chapters always average about 8,000 words and the novels just over 100,000 words in total, except for the books I did for Severn House, where for reasons to do with production costs, they limit manuscripts to 90,000 words. I think novels in the genre in which I write should give the reader 300-plus pages to read to deliver full value. It's just a personal opinion.
I write in the mornings and I write fast, with only two or three sentences of notes sketched out to keep me on track for each chapter. When I start a novel I'll do 2-3,000 words a day. However - and this is where the madness manifests - as the story progresses, I get up earlier and earlier and write more and more. Towards a novel's conclusion I'll be starting at 4.am and doing 4-5,000 words, stopping at around 2.pm and revising what I've written that day in the evening after a break from it intended to encourage a bit of objectivity.
Location doesn't much matter. I started The Memory of Trees in Brighton and finished it in Southport. I wrote The Colony in Shaftsbury. I started The Lazarus Prophecy in Southport and finished it in West London.
I don't do as much research as people think. There is quite a lot of history in my books, but I did my degree in history and the subject fascinates me. The stuff I put in the books tends to be stuff I knew already from reading about it for pleasure. That said, I did research the Antichrist - and the Whitechapel Murders - for Prophecy.
Is writing enjoyable? Yes; hugely so. But it's also very sedentary and I counterbalance the physical sloth with a lot of running. It keeps me fit and it's when problems with my plots tend to resolve themselves.
There's no master-plan (maybe I'd be more successful if there was). I just write the kind of books I'd like to read if someone else was writing them. That might be simplistic and it might be self-indulgent, but it's the only way I can retain any integrity.
July 29, 2014
When Your Number's Up
In total I've had twelve novels published, originated wholly by me. I did also write a novelization of a film a few years ago. But the story wasn't mine and the script I had to use as its source was thinner than a catwalk model in a Karl Lagerfeld fashion show.
The first four novels were published under the author name Francis Cottam. I've done eight subsequently as F.G. Cottam - which sounds slightly more sinister, in keeping with their paranormal subject matter. That was the logic in the name change. It seemed a good idea.
The point of all this, is that my next book, The Lazarus Prophecy, is number 13. It's not a number I've shied away from, some of my novels have comprised 13 chapters in total length and I've been quite relaxed about the fact. But there's no getting away from the unfortunate reputation this number has acquired through centuries of superstition.
I'm taking it to be a good and fitting omen. The Lazarus Prophecy is the novel I'm happiest with and I think it merits its sombre numerical distinction. It's the 13th novel and it's the ninth F.G.- again an encouraging figure because it features so prominently in the plot.
Nine is a number close to the heart of my character Edmund Caul. Read the book and you'll soon discover why. It's to do with numerology. It's to do with demonology also ...
Do I need any more signs, portents, statistics of unearthly significance? Not really. I'll settle for what I've totted up so far. The fact that The Lazarus Prophecy is published on September 9 is, in the end, just a neat and tidy coincidence; one that might even bring a smile to the pale, knowing face of Mr. Caul.
The first four novels were published under the author name Francis Cottam. I've done eight subsequently as F.G. Cottam - which sounds slightly more sinister, in keeping with their paranormal subject matter. That was the logic in the name change. It seemed a good idea.
The point of all this, is that my next book, The Lazarus Prophecy, is number 13. It's not a number I've shied away from, some of my novels have comprised 13 chapters in total length and I've been quite relaxed about the fact. But there's no getting away from the unfortunate reputation this number has acquired through centuries of superstition.
I'm taking it to be a good and fitting omen. The Lazarus Prophecy is the novel I'm happiest with and I think it merits its sombre numerical distinction. It's the 13th novel and it's the ninth F.G.- again an encouraging figure because it features so prominently in the plot.
Nine is a number close to the heart of my character Edmund Caul. Read the book and you'll soon discover why. It's to do with numerology. It's to do with demonology also ...
Do I need any more signs, portents, statistics of unearthly significance? Not really. I'll settle for what I've totted up so far. The fact that The Lazarus Prophecy is published on September 9 is, in the end, just a neat and tidy coincidence; one that might even bring a smile to the pale, knowing face of Mr. Caul.
July 3, 2014
Character building
Edmund Caul isn't absolutely sure of who he really is.
Superficially, he's like any other man, though he's unusually physically strong and quite strikingly good-looking.
What separates him, is sobering. He came into the world fully-formed. He absorbs rather than reflects light, so he can't be photographed. He's arrogant, gleefully devoid of remorse and fluent in languages already dead at the time when Christ was born. Oh, and he doesn't age, though he has matured during the time of his captivity, before his escape, when my story concerning him begins.
That story is told in The Lazarus Prophecy, published as a Bloomsbury Reader e-book and Audible audiobook on September 9.
There's no point, I don't think, unless at the outset, every novel you write is intended to be the best you've yet written. Sometimes you succeed in this and more often you fail, but it should always be the ambition.
Ultimately it's for the reader to decide whether I've succeeded or failed in making Prophecy the best of my paranormal thrillers. The deliberations on that verdict will begin in about ten weeks.
I'm sure of one thing, though. In Edmund Caul, the good people called upon to confront him face the scariest and most formidable antagonist I've so far managed to create. He gave me a few sleepless nights. I can only hope he'll do the same for some of you.
Superficially, he's like any other man, though he's unusually physically strong and quite strikingly good-looking.
What separates him, is sobering. He came into the world fully-formed. He absorbs rather than reflects light, so he can't be photographed. He's arrogant, gleefully devoid of remorse and fluent in languages already dead at the time when Christ was born. Oh, and he doesn't age, though he has matured during the time of his captivity, before his escape, when my story concerning him begins.
That story is told in The Lazarus Prophecy, published as a Bloomsbury Reader e-book and Audible audiobook on September 9.
There's no point, I don't think, unless at the outset, every novel you write is intended to be the best you've yet written. Sometimes you succeed in this and more often you fail, but it should always be the ambition.
Ultimately it's for the reader to decide whether I've succeeded or failed in making Prophecy the best of my paranormal thrillers. The deliberations on that verdict will begin in about ten weeks.
I'm sure of one thing, though. In Edmund Caul, the good people called upon to confront him face the scariest and most formidable antagonist I've so far managed to create. He gave me a few sleepless nights. I can only hope he'll do the same for some of you.
June 23, 2014
Don't Fear the Reaper
The grim fellow with the Goth wardrobe and the sharp scythe came calling for media mogul Felix Dennis yesterday after what the press inevitably termed a 'battle' with cancer.
I worked for Dennis publishing more than a decade ago. Felix rang me at my desk, having read my debut novel back when I was published as Francis rather than as F.G. and hadn't yet started writing scary stories. 'If I know anything,' he said; 'and I do - you won't be working for me for very much longer.'
That was true. After 12 months, he fired me.
Which isn't really the point. The point is that Felix Dennis had a passion for trees. During his lifetime he created a forest in which thousands of acres of native broadleaf English trees were planted. He used his wealth to transform the landscape around the area in which he lived. He changed its character in a fundamental way. He restored what was there before the clearances a thousand years ago.
In so doing, he became the inspiration for my character Saul Abercrombie in my novel, The Memory of Trees. That story started to take root in my mind shortly after the suits at Dennis handed me my P45. At first, all I had was an arboreal specialist staring at a stained glass depiction in a ruined church in a wilderness. But roots grow and strengthen and spread, and eventually I had the whole story.
Saul endures a grisly fate in The Memory of Trees. But that wasn't my revenge on Felix Dennis. It was just what the story - and his limitless hubris - seemed to require. I liked Felix. I think almost everyone who got to meet him did. And I'm grateful for the inspiration his woodland ambition provided me with.
I worked for Dennis publishing more than a decade ago. Felix rang me at my desk, having read my debut novel back when I was published as Francis rather than as F.G. and hadn't yet started writing scary stories. 'If I know anything,' he said; 'and I do - you won't be working for me for very much longer.'
That was true. After 12 months, he fired me.
Which isn't really the point. The point is that Felix Dennis had a passion for trees. During his lifetime he created a forest in which thousands of acres of native broadleaf English trees were planted. He used his wealth to transform the landscape around the area in which he lived. He changed its character in a fundamental way. He restored what was there before the clearances a thousand years ago.
In so doing, he became the inspiration for my character Saul Abercrombie in my novel, The Memory of Trees. That story started to take root in my mind shortly after the suits at Dennis handed me my P45. At first, all I had was an arboreal specialist staring at a stained glass depiction in a ruined church in a wilderness. But roots grow and strengthen and spread, and eventually I had the whole story.
Saul endures a grisly fate in The Memory of Trees. But that wasn't my revenge on Felix Dennis. It was just what the story - and his limitless hubris - seemed to require. I liked Felix. I think almost everyone who got to meet him did. And I'm grateful for the inspiration his woodland ambition provided me with.
March 29, 2014
welcome news
Good news isn't what you expect at 5.30 on a Friday afternoon, unless it comes with the welcome approach of beer o'clock or a promising weekend weather forecast.
But it was at 5.30 yesterday that I learned the people running Bloomsbury Reader (both in Britain and America) are very taken with The Lazarus Prophecy. They're going to publish it both here and there. This means it will be out not just on Kindle but on all the available e-reader platforms. I don't know when yet but I do know that this is a welcome breakthrough for a novel I finished as long ago as June of last year.
I've been keen to get it into the public domain because I honestly think this is the one that could attract a wider readership than I've so far achieved.
I read something recently by Wool author Hugh Howey to the effect that any book has a chance of becoming successful at any time. And he's right - they're not perishable goods with a limited shelf-life. I've always believed this deep down and never really been discouraged, while knowing that some novels naturally have a better chance than others.
In Edmund Caul, The Lazarus Prophecy has the most frightening villain I've created. He's a lot more sinister than Klaus Fischer or Harry Spalding or Patrick Ross. And I believe the section of the novel set in London in 1888 to be the strongest and most atmospheric piece of fiction I've written.
Prophecy will also come out as an audiobook. The Colony audiobook has done surprisingly well in America so I've high hopes for that too. And I sincerely hope the brilliant Scottish actor David Rintoul is the reader again. The job he did with The Colony, with its large and diverse cast of characters, was uncannily good.
But it was at 5.30 yesterday that I learned the people running Bloomsbury Reader (both in Britain and America) are very taken with The Lazarus Prophecy. They're going to publish it both here and there. This means it will be out not just on Kindle but on all the available e-reader platforms. I don't know when yet but I do know that this is a welcome breakthrough for a novel I finished as long ago as June of last year.
I've been keen to get it into the public domain because I honestly think this is the one that could attract a wider readership than I've so far achieved.
I read something recently by Wool author Hugh Howey to the effect that any book has a chance of becoming successful at any time. And he's right - they're not perishable goods with a limited shelf-life. I've always believed this deep down and never really been discouraged, while knowing that some novels naturally have a better chance than others.
In Edmund Caul, The Lazarus Prophecy has the most frightening villain I've created. He's a lot more sinister than Klaus Fischer or Harry Spalding or Patrick Ross. And I believe the section of the novel set in London in 1888 to be the strongest and most atmospheric piece of fiction I've written.
Prophecy will also come out as an audiobook. The Colony audiobook has done surprisingly well in America so I've high hopes for that too. And I sincerely hope the brilliant Scottish actor David Rintoul is the reader again. The job he did with The Colony, with its large and diverse cast of characters, was uncannily good.
December 22, 2013
Coming soon
The Most Holy Order of the Gospel of St John is a secret religious sect. It was established by Peter, the Apostle and first Pope, in the earliest days of Christianity. It exists only for one purpose. It combats the evil visited upon mankind in human guise and first warned of in the Lazarus Prophecy.
Lazarus was a sinner, judged and found wanting and the real miracle was not that Christ restored him to life, but that He returned him from hell. Lazarus came back though with a dire warning about Lucifer's plans for humanity.
Demons will visit the earth. They will undermine hope and destroy faith and bring chaos. The last of them - at the End of Days - will be the Devil's own progeny. And he will deliver the Apocalypse.
That's the basic set-up of the novel I finished writing in the summer and now plan to get up on Kindle at the beginning of the year. Though there's a lot more to it, obviously.
For one thing the Order isn't the formidable religious force it was when Peter set it up; it has shrunk and dwindled, sabotaged by Church reform in an age which sees devils only as metaphors for wickedness.
There's a serial killer loose in London police have dubbed The Scholar because of his habit of daubing blasphemous messages in ancient languages at the scenes of his crimes.
There's a far-right political group called The Knights of Excalibur, shrewd at manipulating an increasingly restless public mood.
And there's a link between The Scholar and a gambler named Edmund Caul who vanished from Victorian London as abruptly as he appeared there after a few memorably bloody months in 1888.
At the heart of the story there's the hard-pressed woman police detective leading the hunt to catch The Scholar. There's the young theologian she presses into assisting and there's a very reluctant psychic.
It's not for me to say whether this is a good novel, that will be for its readers to decide. I think, though, that it's the best I've done and it was certainly the one I've most enjoyed writing. The scale is large and the themes weighty and I liked the central characters (even the one you're very definitely not supposed to).
There isn't a Most Holy Order of The Gospel of St John, by the way, I made it up. Though to my ears, it sounds as though there could be.
The Lazarus Prophecy will appear as an Audible audiobook, available for download through Amazon, for those who prefer to listen to their fiction. I'll update with a release date as soon as I have one.
Lazarus was a sinner, judged and found wanting and the real miracle was not that Christ restored him to life, but that He returned him from hell. Lazarus came back though with a dire warning about Lucifer's plans for humanity.
Demons will visit the earth. They will undermine hope and destroy faith and bring chaos. The last of them - at the End of Days - will be the Devil's own progeny. And he will deliver the Apocalypse.
That's the basic set-up of the novel I finished writing in the summer and now plan to get up on Kindle at the beginning of the year. Though there's a lot more to it, obviously.
For one thing the Order isn't the formidable religious force it was when Peter set it up; it has shrunk and dwindled, sabotaged by Church reform in an age which sees devils only as metaphors for wickedness.
There's a serial killer loose in London police have dubbed The Scholar because of his habit of daubing blasphemous messages in ancient languages at the scenes of his crimes.
There's a far-right political group called The Knights of Excalibur, shrewd at manipulating an increasingly restless public mood.
And there's a link between The Scholar and a gambler named Edmund Caul who vanished from Victorian London as abruptly as he appeared there after a few memorably bloody months in 1888.
At the heart of the story there's the hard-pressed woman police detective leading the hunt to catch The Scholar. There's the young theologian she presses into assisting and there's a very reluctant psychic.
It's not for me to say whether this is a good novel, that will be for its readers to decide. I think, though, that it's the best I've done and it was certainly the one I've most enjoyed writing. The scale is large and the themes weighty and I liked the central characters (even the one you're very definitely not supposed to).
There isn't a Most Holy Order of The Gospel of St John, by the way, I made it up. Though to my ears, it sounds as though there could be.
The Lazarus Prophecy will appear as an Audible audiobook, available for download through Amazon, for those who prefer to listen to their fiction. I'll update with a release date as soon as I have one.
November 20, 2013
Magic Time
Alchemy, or its consequences, first appeared in my fiction nearly four years ago in my novel, The Waiting Room.
In that story a present-day researcher discovers a ritual intended to return the dead to life. She sources its use to an alchemist burned for witchcraft in 16th century Germany. She suspects it might be Norse and quite ancient in origin. Then she finds evidence of its use in the early 20th century to restore life to a young soldier killed on the Western Front in the Great War.
Maybe I was giving alchemy a bad name, as I was later accused by some of giving paganism a bad name in Brodmaw Bay. But writing The Waiting Room did make me ponder on the time before the likes of Isaac Newton and what historians call The Enlightenment.
That was when science and magic started to become clearly distinct from each other. Science became a discipline, alchemy became a subject for mischievous dabblers who insisted on a stubborn belief in the power of spells.
I started to wonder what would become of a world where there was no Enlightenment. It's a world like ours, except it did not turn its back on the potency of magic in favour or pure science. Instead, discoveries in chemistry and physics complemented alchemical discoveries, allowing alchemy to thrive.
That's an important premise in my novel The Summoning, which is published in January. It presents a shadow world, the mirror-image of ours, where powerful magic has been allowed ungoverned through centuries of experimentation.
That's had some awful consequences for the shadow world. Which is one reason it has designs on ours. It's also a source of frightening power, which makes those designs difficult to combat or prevent.
The Summoning is my Young Adult debut and I know some people really object to the whole Y A classification, thinking it quite patronising, arguing that a fictional story is aimed at anyone who chooses to read it.
Fair enough. This is a grown-up story. It's protagonists have some awfully grown-up challenges to face. But the principle characters are 19 years old. And The Summoning is a novel in search of a younger readership than I would usually write for. I hope it finds that readership and I sincerely hope they're not disappointed with what they discover.
It's also the first novel in what is planned as a trilogy - another departure from my stand-alone writing past. Some stories take a lot of telling and when the fate of the world is at stake, this particular writer needs the space to explore and describe that gigantic conflict.
In that story a present-day researcher discovers a ritual intended to return the dead to life. She sources its use to an alchemist burned for witchcraft in 16th century Germany. She suspects it might be Norse and quite ancient in origin. Then she finds evidence of its use in the early 20th century to restore life to a young soldier killed on the Western Front in the Great War.
Maybe I was giving alchemy a bad name, as I was later accused by some of giving paganism a bad name in Brodmaw Bay. But writing The Waiting Room did make me ponder on the time before the likes of Isaac Newton and what historians call The Enlightenment.
That was when science and magic started to become clearly distinct from each other. Science became a discipline, alchemy became a subject for mischievous dabblers who insisted on a stubborn belief in the power of spells.
I started to wonder what would become of a world where there was no Enlightenment. It's a world like ours, except it did not turn its back on the potency of magic in favour or pure science. Instead, discoveries in chemistry and physics complemented alchemical discoveries, allowing alchemy to thrive.
That's an important premise in my novel The Summoning, which is published in January. It presents a shadow world, the mirror-image of ours, where powerful magic has been allowed ungoverned through centuries of experimentation.
That's had some awful consequences for the shadow world. Which is one reason it has designs on ours. It's also a source of frightening power, which makes those designs difficult to combat or prevent.
The Summoning is my Young Adult debut and I know some people really object to the whole Y A classification, thinking it quite patronising, arguing that a fictional story is aimed at anyone who chooses to read it.
Fair enough. This is a grown-up story. It's protagonists have some awfully grown-up challenges to face. But the principle characters are 19 years old. And The Summoning is a novel in search of a younger readership than I would usually write for. I hope it finds that readership and I sincerely hope they're not disappointed with what they discover.
It's also the first novel in what is planned as a trilogy - another departure from my stand-alone writing past. Some stories take a lot of telling and when the fate of the world is at stake, this particular writer needs the space to explore and describe that gigantic conflict.
