The Captain's Blog welcomes: B R Crichton
Today the "Captain's Blog" welcomes B R Crichton. Here is a little about him...
B R: I was born in Zimbabwe in 1975, and I was very lucky to be educated there when the government schools were still well funded. I was always a good creative writer, but never really considered it as a career until I was at college in Dundee after moving to Scotland in 2002. I wrote a book called 'The Gift of Chaos', which I will never publish. I have heard it said that every writer should put at least one book in the bin before writing a proper one, and that is what I have unintentionally done. It was a useful exercise in clearing my mind of clutter, and I learned a lot about planning and story structure.
Now I live in Blairgowrie, Perthshire, with my lovely wife Lesley, children Sandy and Laura, and a third due in July (Third and last. Separate beds from now on!). There are also two half-witted, but very lovable Rhodesian Ridgebacks to guard the ol' homestead.
Jon: So tell me a little about the book you've written?
B R: It's a Fantasy novel. I would definitely call it low fantasy; which I have heard described as 'non-rational events occurring in a rational setting'. I suppose what that means is, there is a great deal in that world that is very similar to our own, although there are elements of the story that could not occur in reality. Like most writers, I write what I would like to read. I have tried to avoid too much in depth world creation that is quite prevalent in the fantasy genre, and also avoided delving too much into the history of the world in an effort to explain its current state. I have kept the pace brisk throughout, so, although it covers a lot of ground, it does not get bogged down in peripheral events.
The Rage Within is a complete story in its own right. That is to say, it has an ending that can be seen as such. However, life goes on, even fictitious lives, and so I am working on the first of a three book sequel at the moment. Readers can choose whether or not to follow the characters beyond the end of this first book without feeling obliged to because of loose ends.
Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?
B R: "The Gods are dead. They are all but forgotten. One of their kind remains who has sworn to un-make all that his enemies created; but he has lost the ability to wield his power alone. He needs the anger of a mortal to unleash the destruction he craves, and Kellan Aemoran is more angry than most.
Having witnessed the murder of his family by a cruel Empire, Kellan is cast out into the world to fend for himself. A presence more powerful than anything seen since the age of the Gods has taken root in his soul, and is feeding on his rage.
With a band of mercenaries led by ‘Scurrilous’ Blunt, and an unlikely guide, Kellan must face his enemies in a land thrown into chaos; those enemies within as well as without. But he is a danger to all those he loves, and to save the world he must find a way to do the impossible…
Kill an immortal."
So there it is in a nutshell. Besides the protagonist, Kellan, I had a lot of fun with the mercenaries, and these are also important to the progression of the novel, and they have their own sub-plots within the main story. The people who have read it tell me that the mercenary leader, 'Scurrilous' Blunt was just an outlet for my own personality; and I find it hard to deny. For the majority of the book, the story unfolds in two parallel tales, one of Kellan's childhood, and the other his adulthood. This was a useful way to draw comparisons, and provide explanations for some of the events.
Jon: So would you describe your story as sword & sorcery, like Conan, or is it set in a contemporary "modern" world?
B R: Definitely more Conan, but not so much in the way of sorcery as such. I have avoided any overt magic, and have tried to be more subtle than magic wands and enchanted jewellery; not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted this book to be a little more grounded for reasons that become more apparent in the sequels. It is set in another world but has a very medieval feel to it.
Jon: How much did your life in Zimbabwe affect your writing, if at all?
B R: That's quite hard to answer since I have no idea what or if I would have written had I been brought up anywhere else. But, it must have had some sort of influence. Across much of Africa, the very worst of human excesses go on unchecked and in plain view, to a far greater degree than the UK, Western Europe or North America. The wealthiest Africans make Her Majesty look like a pauper, and the vast numbers of poor have no support whatsoever. Here in the UK, the worst our politicians can do is lie to us, and we have the ability to replace them. In many African countries today, the worst their leaders can do is declare them and enemy of the state, and have them, their family, village or tribe killed. It happens far more than is reported in our press. Despite all of this, it is a place of incredible energy and optimism, with the overwhelming majority of people simply trying to go about their lives like anywhere else. So perhaps that is the greatest influence; seeing the strength of the human spirit shine through against a backdrop of injustice and a legacy of hatred.
Jon: Was it a culture shock moving to Scotland?
B R: I had been to the UK a couple of times to visit my grandparents (My father was born just outside Dundee), so I knew what to expect. And yes, the weather in Zimbabwe is great. But you can have too much of a good thing; the temperature seldom drops below 20 degrees Celsius, and long before that the locals are reaching for their jumpers! Drought and water rationing are the by-products of all that sun though.
Jon: What made you move over here?
B R: Itchy feet. I really wanted to experience something new. Dundee was the obvious choice because of my family connections.
Jon: Anger seems to play a large part in your story. How much of that comes from you?
B R: Grrr! What are you saying? Probably more than I would like to admit. But then, it's a very human response to adversity; look for someone to blame and smite them! I'm more grumpy than angry though. Mostly.
Jon: If you could be an immortal god, what would you be the god of and what would be your special power?
B R: That's a tricky one. Perhaps the God of weather would be fun. I could favour those who please me with fine barbecue weather every weekend, but those who earn my wrath could have horizontal rain instead. (Just when they get the fire lit!) Either that or the God of something really trivial. That way, I wouldn't have to go in to work every day, and just go fishing instead.
Jon: So you're about to sit down to write. What three things must you have or do before touching the keyboard?
B R: Peace, a packet of Haribo Tangfastics or Starmix, and a good strong cup of tea!
Jon: If you had to compare your book to another work, be it a book, film, or TV show, what would that be?
B R: Mmmmm. Tough one. It's not easy comparing your work to something from an established talent without sounding cocky, but if Robert Jordan and Joe Abercrombie had a lovechild (and let's face it, that's a little unlikely), with David and Leigh Eddings as the Godparents, then that lovechild would probably write something like 'The Rage Within'.
Jon: What do you like to read? What's the best book you've read and the worst?
B R: Lately I've been reading a lot more Science Fiction than Fantasy. I avidly follow Neal Asher, Richard Morgan and Alastair Reynolds. The great Iain M Banks sadly died during this interview, but his novel 'Use of Weapons' is probably the one book I would recommend to someone if they were only going to read one Scifi book in their life. Peter Brett's Demon cycle has me hooked as well at the moment.
Best book? 'Use of Weapons' or if I'm allowed a series, 'The Dragonlance Chronicles', by Weis and Hickman; its what really got me into fantasy.
Worst book? I had to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' for my Higher English exam, and just couldn't get into it. It can't be a bad book, it's far too popular, but it just wasn't for me. Probably being told that I had to like it because it was a classic didn't help.
Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?
B R: Rowley Birkin QC from 'The Fast Show' could perhaps make an appearance in a village inn to lighten the atmosphere. Anyone who hasn't seen him should look him up on youtube; one of the best characters in television.
Jon: If there was a piece of music that would be suitable as the theme tune for your book, what is it!
B R: Ah. Beethoven's 9th Symphony. An epic piece with every emotion packed in, and an ending to blow your socks off.
Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?
B R: I didn't set out to change the world with this book. It was written to entertain; pure and simple.
Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Bruce's book...
Then Kellan heard voices from up the slope. They were searching for him. He rose quickly and ran again, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, listening for his pursuers. Suddenly he crashed into a pile of branches, sending him sprawling on the damp, rocky ground.
He slowly looked up, and to his horror saw feet, dangling not a hand's width from his face. Every fibre of his being urged him not to look up, to run blindly away, but before he could stop himself he had raised his head.
He screamed. Before him, hanging from a bough, was his father. Face swollen and purple, eyes glazed. And then, like hammer blows, one by one he saw the other five victims, scattered about the edges of the small clearing, tongues bulging from between purple lips. He scratched at his face, trying to erase the images, but his father’s lifeless eyes glared through his frantic hands.
Gagging on the bile that filled his throat, he tore himself away from that place and ran, stumbled, crawled across the stones and dust. Horrors clawed at his back no matter how quickly he went, always just a hair’s breadth from tearing him down and devouring his mind. The back of his neck burned as he plunged on down the mountainside, too terrified to look back. Then his terror was joined by something more powerful.
He felt something terrible rise within him; a horrifying, yet welcome release from the visions that filled his mind. Even as he stumbled on down the slope, he felt a furnace of rage start to burn in the pit of his belly, and a roaring in his ears cut out the sounds of snapping branches and stones sent tumbling down the steep slope. He felt no pain when he tumbled and skidded on the sharp rocks, was barely aware of his surroundings at all, only the volcano building in his core.
On he ran down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, only away. Away from the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s dangling corpse. Away from blood, and swollen faces; headless bodies; terror. Unaware of passing time or distance he plunged on, fuelled by anger, giving himself freely to it, offering his soul to the rage within so that it could scour those images from his mind. He did not care if his being was swept away with it, so long as it took those awful memories and gave him peace, or oblivion.
He fell; weightless in free-fall for blessed seconds before hitting the icy river. The shock smashed away the muzzy walls that had almost shut him from the world outside, forcing him back to reality. Rage shattered like glass, giving way once again to fear, and despair as the foaming waters whisked him down rapid after rapid, tossing him, plunging him, dragging him down before throwing him up for a brief staccato gasp of air, then on down the torrent.
Then into free-fall once more, the roar of the waterfall echoing round the steep sided valley, but in those moments in space, a calm fell upon him. A perfect stillness. Detached as he was from the world, those blessed seconds freed him from his pain, both from the overwhelming sense of loss he felt, and from the damage to his battered body. The world was an arm’s length away, and rushing beside him as he began the calm slide downwards. Here in this place, above the water with its icy needles, below the jagged peaks with stones that cut flesh, he was untouchable, and utterly, utterly safe. He was in the womb, wrapped in soft torpor, the only sound, that of his mother’s heart. It had time to beat twice.
Then into the depths once more.
This time with no more fight to give.
www.brcrichton.com
Jon: A big thank you to B R Crichton for spending the time to talk to me about his writing.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
B R: I was born in Zimbabwe in 1975, and I was very lucky to be educated there when the government schools were still well funded. I was always a good creative writer, but never really considered it as a career until I was at college in Dundee after moving to Scotland in 2002. I wrote a book called 'The Gift of Chaos', which I will never publish. I have heard it said that every writer should put at least one book in the bin before writing a proper one, and that is what I have unintentionally done. It was a useful exercise in clearing my mind of clutter, and I learned a lot about planning and story structure.
Now I live in Blairgowrie, Perthshire, with my lovely wife Lesley, children Sandy and Laura, and a third due in July (Third and last. Separate beds from now on!). There are also two half-witted, but very lovable Rhodesian Ridgebacks to guard the ol' homestead.
Jon: So tell me a little about the book you've written?
B R: It's a Fantasy novel. I would definitely call it low fantasy; which I have heard described as 'non-rational events occurring in a rational setting'. I suppose what that means is, there is a great deal in that world that is very similar to our own, although there are elements of the story that could not occur in reality. Like most writers, I write what I would like to read. I have tried to avoid too much in depth world creation that is quite prevalent in the fantasy genre, and also avoided delving too much into the history of the world in an effort to explain its current state. I have kept the pace brisk throughout, so, although it covers a lot of ground, it does not get bogged down in peripheral events.
The Rage Within is a complete story in its own right. That is to say, it has an ending that can be seen as such. However, life goes on, even fictitious lives, and so I am working on the first of a three book sequel at the moment. Readers can choose whether or not to follow the characters beyond the end of this first book without feeling obliged to because of loose ends.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?
B R: "The Gods are dead. They are all but forgotten. One of their kind remains who has sworn to un-make all that his enemies created; but he has lost the ability to wield his power alone. He needs the anger of a mortal to unleash the destruction he craves, and Kellan Aemoran is more angry than most.
Having witnessed the murder of his family by a cruel Empire, Kellan is cast out into the world to fend for himself. A presence more powerful than anything seen since the age of the Gods has taken root in his soul, and is feeding on his rage.
With a band of mercenaries led by ‘Scurrilous’ Blunt, and an unlikely guide, Kellan must face his enemies in a land thrown into chaos; those enemies within as well as without. But he is a danger to all those he loves, and to save the world he must find a way to do the impossible…
Kill an immortal."
So there it is in a nutshell. Besides the protagonist, Kellan, I had a lot of fun with the mercenaries, and these are also important to the progression of the novel, and they have their own sub-plots within the main story. The people who have read it tell me that the mercenary leader, 'Scurrilous' Blunt was just an outlet for my own personality; and I find it hard to deny. For the majority of the book, the story unfolds in two parallel tales, one of Kellan's childhood, and the other his adulthood. This was a useful way to draw comparisons, and provide explanations for some of the events.
Jon: So would you describe your story as sword & sorcery, like Conan, or is it set in a contemporary "modern" world?
B R: Definitely more Conan, but not so much in the way of sorcery as such. I have avoided any overt magic, and have tried to be more subtle than magic wands and enchanted jewellery; not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted this book to be a little more grounded for reasons that become more apparent in the sequels. It is set in another world but has a very medieval feel to it.
Jon: How much did your life in Zimbabwe affect your writing, if at all?
B R: That's quite hard to answer since I have no idea what or if I would have written had I been brought up anywhere else. But, it must have had some sort of influence. Across much of Africa, the very worst of human excesses go on unchecked and in plain view, to a far greater degree than the UK, Western Europe or North America. The wealthiest Africans make Her Majesty look like a pauper, and the vast numbers of poor have no support whatsoever. Here in the UK, the worst our politicians can do is lie to us, and we have the ability to replace them. In many African countries today, the worst their leaders can do is declare them and enemy of the state, and have them, their family, village or tribe killed. It happens far more than is reported in our press. Despite all of this, it is a place of incredible energy and optimism, with the overwhelming majority of people simply trying to go about their lives like anywhere else. So perhaps that is the greatest influence; seeing the strength of the human spirit shine through against a backdrop of injustice and a legacy of hatred.
Jon: Was it a culture shock moving to Scotland?
B R: I had been to the UK a couple of times to visit my grandparents (My father was born just outside Dundee), so I knew what to expect. And yes, the weather in Zimbabwe is great. But you can have too much of a good thing; the temperature seldom drops below 20 degrees Celsius, and long before that the locals are reaching for their jumpers! Drought and water rationing are the by-products of all that sun though.
Jon: What made you move over here?
B R: Itchy feet. I really wanted to experience something new. Dundee was the obvious choice because of my family connections.
Jon: Anger seems to play a large part in your story. How much of that comes from you?
B R: Grrr! What are you saying? Probably more than I would like to admit. But then, it's a very human response to adversity; look for someone to blame and smite them! I'm more grumpy than angry though. Mostly.
Jon: If you could be an immortal god, what would you be the god of and what would be your special power?
B R: That's a tricky one. Perhaps the God of weather would be fun. I could favour those who please me with fine barbecue weather every weekend, but those who earn my wrath could have horizontal rain instead. (Just when they get the fire lit!) Either that or the God of something really trivial. That way, I wouldn't have to go in to work every day, and just go fishing instead.
Jon: So you're about to sit down to write. What three things must you have or do before touching the keyboard?
B R: Peace, a packet of Haribo Tangfastics or Starmix, and a good strong cup of tea!
Jon: If you had to compare your book to another work, be it a book, film, or TV show, what would that be?
B R: Mmmmm. Tough one. It's not easy comparing your work to something from an established talent without sounding cocky, but if Robert Jordan and Joe Abercrombie had a lovechild (and let's face it, that's a little unlikely), with David and Leigh Eddings as the Godparents, then that lovechild would probably write something like 'The Rage Within'.
Jon: What do you like to read? What's the best book you've read and the worst?
B R: Lately I've been reading a lot more Science Fiction than Fantasy. I avidly follow Neal Asher, Richard Morgan and Alastair Reynolds. The great Iain M Banks sadly died during this interview, but his novel 'Use of Weapons' is probably the one book I would recommend to someone if they were only going to read one Scifi book in their life. Peter Brett's Demon cycle has me hooked as well at the moment.
Best book? 'Use of Weapons' or if I'm allowed a series, 'The Dragonlance Chronicles', by Weis and Hickman; its what really got me into fantasy.
Worst book? I had to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' for my Higher English exam, and just couldn't get into it. It can't be a bad book, it's far too popular, but it just wasn't for me. Probably being told that I had to like it because it was a classic didn't help.
Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?
B R: Rowley Birkin QC from 'The Fast Show' could perhaps make an appearance in a village inn to lighten the atmosphere. Anyone who hasn't seen him should look him up on youtube; one of the best characters in television.
Jon: If there was a piece of music that would be suitable as the theme tune for your book, what is it!
B R: Ah. Beethoven's 9th Symphony. An epic piece with every emotion packed in, and an ending to blow your socks off.
Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?
B R: I didn't set out to change the world with this book. It was written to entertain; pure and simple.
Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Bruce's book...
Then Kellan heard voices from up the slope. They were searching for him. He rose quickly and ran again, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, listening for his pursuers. Suddenly he crashed into a pile of branches, sending him sprawling on the damp, rocky ground.
He slowly looked up, and to his horror saw feet, dangling not a hand's width from his face. Every fibre of his being urged him not to look up, to run blindly away, but before he could stop himself he had raised his head.
He screamed. Before him, hanging from a bough, was his father. Face swollen and purple, eyes glazed. And then, like hammer blows, one by one he saw the other five victims, scattered about the edges of the small clearing, tongues bulging from between purple lips. He scratched at his face, trying to erase the images, but his father’s lifeless eyes glared through his frantic hands.
Gagging on the bile that filled his throat, he tore himself away from that place and ran, stumbled, crawled across the stones and dust. Horrors clawed at his back no matter how quickly he went, always just a hair’s breadth from tearing him down and devouring his mind. The back of his neck burned as he plunged on down the mountainside, too terrified to look back. Then his terror was joined by something more powerful.
He felt something terrible rise within him; a horrifying, yet welcome release from the visions that filled his mind. Even as he stumbled on down the slope, he felt a furnace of rage start to burn in the pit of his belly, and a roaring in his ears cut out the sounds of snapping branches and stones sent tumbling down the steep slope. He felt no pain when he tumbled and skidded on the sharp rocks, was barely aware of his surroundings at all, only the volcano building in his core.
On he ran down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, only away. Away from the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s dangling corpse. Away from blood, and swollen faces; headless bodies; terror. Unaware of passing time or distance he plunged on, fuelled by anger, giving himself freely to it, offering his soul to the rage within so that it could scour those images from his mind. He did not care if his being was swept away with it, so long as it took those awful memories and gave him peace, or oblivion.
He fell; weightless in free-fall for blessed seconds before hitting the icy river. The shock smashed away the muzzy walls that had almost shut him from the world outside, forcing him back to reality. Rage shattered like glass, giving way once again to fear, and despair as the foaming waters whisked him down rapid after rapid, tossing him, plunging him, dragging him down before throwing him up for a brief staccato gasp of air, then on down the torrent.
Then into free-fall once more, the roar of the waterfall echoing round the steep sided valley, but in those moments in space, a calm fell upon him. A perfect stillness. Detached as he was from the world, those blessed seconds freed him from his pain, both from the overwhelming sense of loss he felt, and from the damage to his battered body. The world was an arm’s length away, and rushing beside him as he began the calm slide downwards. Here in this place, above the water with its icy needles, below the jagged peaks with stones that cut flesh, he was untouchable, and utterly, utterly safe. He was in the womb, wrapped in soft torpor, the only sound, that of his mother’s heart. It had time to beat twice.
Then into the depths once more.
This time with no more fight to give.
www.brcrichton.com
Jon: A big thank you to B R Crichton for spending the time to talk to me about his writing.
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