Shadow's Lost Soul Draft Complete

I am pleased to announce that the sequel to Wall's of Shadow is now provisionally complete. I am now reading through a hard copy to iron out any additional type-o's. This now gives me more time to concentrate on the third and final part of the trilogy and a few other projects. Exciting times.

I have received news from several agents, none of it good unfortunately. Anyway, onward and upward. This week I plan to send to another agent, so I shall be keeping my fingers crossed and you posted.

Shadow's Lost Soul and the Untitled

Owing to a financial drought I have made little progress in the way on contacting further literary agents. Instead I have been focusing my efforts of two texts, the sequel to Walls of Shadow, known as Shadow's Lost Soul and a book as yet to be titled. The former is currently running at 145,000 words with the intention of reaching a minimum of 170,000. The latter is only 15,000 words and the bare bones are being laid out and the characters giving sustenance, this book is to be relatively short at 150,000 words.

In addition to these pieces I am planning the third and final installment of the Shadow series. The third and final story will be the most complex in terms of character development but it is my intention to draw together the first two novels in a mighty climax and throw in a handful of devastating twists.

If anyone should like to read either Walls of Shadow or the draft Shadow's Lost Soul. Please drop me a line and I'll see what I can do.

I am fortnight I shall be sending more samples to agents, so fingers crossed! Finally, the next installment of How to Write Fantasy Fiction will shortly be added. Until then, kindest regards.

HOW TO WRITE FANTASY FICTION: LESSON 3 – LET THE STORY WANDER

Since my last post life has kept me very busy. However, with this in mind this has allowed me to take a break from writing, though my fingers have been itching to bash the keyboard. This does mean the ideas stopped flowing and characters die, instead, it has allowed me the time to analyse where my stories are going, who is being displaced out of character and what new ideas do I want to bring to the story.

As I begin writing a story I know the beginning and end. There also exists a rough skeleton of the internal animal which I flesh out as I write. I know of the key components of the story but characters tend to do what they want. I set them on a path and allow them to take each situation as it comes. At key points within the story I touch base with the characters and ensure they are headed in roughly the right direction.

For example, in one story I realised one character had a drink every time I wrote about him. Eventually, this became a part of the stories and he effectively became an alcoholic. This worked well as he was a key character and dysfunction is always a fun tool to play with. When he was imprisoned I had to consider how he last without a strong drink, this made for interestng writing!

A wandering story can follow paths that lead into a forest of dead ends and broken ravines. These are often a problem as on occasion I have painted myself into a corner. When this has happened I have moved away from that point of the story and taken up another path or character in the hope their story will rescue their comrade from their tricky situation.

Letting a story wander is fun. It adds new dimension, complexities and twists. I find it extremely difficult to actively write twists and plot turns. I rely on the wandering story and the characters to produce events and scenarios for me. This is my subconscious way of convoluting a plot. It may work for some but not for others. However you write, do not be afraid to allow you work to wander. Any writing that is done, even if not used, offers a wealth of experience and practice. You never know, a following a new path may lead you story to a new and fruitful end, better than that you originally intended.

HOW TO WRITE FANTASY FICTION: LESSON 2 - INSPIRATION

Inspiration for writing fiction is a peculiar entity. It can arise from the most mundane of incidents and events. One has to question what inspired books and movies such as the Butterfly Effect and Beaches, Predator and a Nightmare on Elmstreet, though I am sure the creative minds could relay the process perfectly if asked. Books and plays with linear and predictable plots need inspiration and a time consuming thought process.

When I write I take inspiration from everywhere and everything. Many ideas are written in a small notebook I keep and many are left unused and rejected. In saying that, otherS develop as I take time to consider what I have seen and heard.

For example, in autumn I was walking through a park. A small gust of wind picked up a small pile of leaves and sent them spinning across the grass. Initially I thought they were small brown birds. The idea then struck me. What if they were alive? What if at certain times of the year leaves took form and became dangerous? What if people became afraid in the autumn and hid from falling leaves that sought to dance and slice flesh?

Is this a good idea? Not particularly, but it is an idea.

The biggest problem I have found when writing fantasy fiction is finding new character and place names. I gave used many methods including anagrams of friends names, if you ever read Walls of Shadow try to find which names are anagrams! For one character in Walls of Shadow there is a sword-smith known as Hayman, initially I was stuck for a name for this character. Whilst driving through France I saw a giant man made from hay bales… he was a ‘hay man.’ PRESTO! Problem solved.

Therefore, for inspiration to write all one has to do is look and listen, observe and witness. Time should be taken to analyse what is happening about them and try to contextualise and interpret events. Write down every idea that comes to mind and let it fester and ferment. In time it may be instilled into a find brew or it may be through out with the other sludge. Either way, the creative mind is given a workout and allowed to develop. I am sure even Stephen King had his bad days. I know I do.

HOW TO WRITE FANTASY FICTION: LESSON 1 – READ BEFORE YOU WRITE

Though I am an amateur writer and not published I still enjoy writing fantasy fiction. I consider myself a successful writer as, although I am not particularly fluent (any observer would find a stack of grammatical errors with this post (all intentional of course)), I feel I am able to adequately put my thoughts to paper. With this in mind, I have begun to collate my thoughts of how I can complete writing a novel and why it is I enjoy continuing to write.

Firstly, for many years I have enjoyed reading. My tastes have shifted and drifted across genres as my bookcases and shelves can testify. The old adage of ‘walk before you can run’ runs true with writing. Reading and absorbing details, plots, characters and language has allowed me to adapt to a writing style I enjoy. Reading is a pleasure and a research tool. It teaches one the rules of fantasy, crime, sci-fi and horror stories which can be flexed and bent to suit the stories I aspire to write.

As I wander about my study I realise my tastes are varied. On the left I stumble upon a collection of James Herbert hardbacks and bent and twisted paperbacks I bought over a decade ago. This leans precariously against an even larger blood soaked pile of Richard Laymon’s novels. This is just the beginning, the journey takes me over my Jeffrey Deaver collection and I take a guilty look at my Patricia Cornwell books and other female crime authors. I proudly display my John Grisham, Michael Crichton, Robert Ludlum, Lee Child and Reginald Hill books beside these to reaffirm my masculinity.

My eye wanders past the contemporary texts and I catch my toe upon some dusty classics by Verne, Conan Doyle, Robert Howard and Rider Haggard. I always feel I should have read more and make a mental note too actually purchase the Time Machine and other classics on the scrap of paper I have wedged between these volumes.

If I turn even further I smirk as I approach my Terry Pratchett books. Hardback and paperback they are equally well read, the spines are testament to my enthusiasm. Annoyingly my Dead Koontz collection is fragmented and books stand all over the room, my obsessive behaviour now demands I rearrange them.

That done I stroll onwards and clamber over the hardback Lord of the Rings. I refrain from opening the text as I know I’ll get suck into the Alan Lee illustrations and never complete this post. Similarly, I demonstrate restraint as I set eyes on a broad picture book of British castles.

Finally, past my Trudi Canavan, Terry Goodkind and Robert Jordan books I land upon my mammoth pile of David Gemmell books. Directly above my desk they reside, hardbacks are wedged between paperbacks acting as thick book ends. There are two places set aside for the two books that are due to arrive by post tomorrow, one of which is a signed hardback copy of Troy (I’m really quite excited).

But it does not end there. An outdated copy of the BNF, anatomy texts and reams of clinical medicine stare back at me. They are a cruel reminder that in a few more minutes I need to hit the books. But this shows, that although I write primarily fantasy stories I read authors across genres. I could well post a list of every book I own, but then again this post is long enough and I have neither the energy nor compulsion to chronicle them all.

The lesson from lesson one is: If you want to write. Read. It has no bearing what you read, Mrs Frisby and the Rats of Nihm is pressed against American Psycho, so long as you do read. The more I read the stronger my writing becomes. Therefore, on that basis one day, maybe… my work may be good enough to reach someone else’s own bookcase.

SAMPLE: ROGUE ON THE ROCKS - Introducing Quake

The boots were ruined. Mud and grit had been driven into the soft fabric as he ran from the fat merchant. Burs were caught in once plush material and thorns had already torn the side of his left boot; a ragged gash flopped open like a gutted fish. Quake sighed deeply and lifted his right foot from the shallow river bank and examined the sole of his boot. The rich material was well and truly ruined.

Quake sighed and shook his head. He stepped forward several yards and leant forward cautiously. A thunderous roar of a raging beast called up to him, the icy spittle from its mouth moistened his anxious grin. The water tumbled down into a frothy broth within the deep pool far below the upper crest of the waterfall. The glacial waters made his toes ache. He wiggled them to return the flow of blood, he felt no change but sought comfort in the fact that his toes could still move. He scanned the vertical mossy bank of rock, without rope and adequate footwear he would not be able to make the climb without breaking his neck.

He stepped back as the chirping bark of dogs reached his ears. The yaps bounded from the thick trees and rolled across the wall of rock high on his left. In less than a minute they would be upon him. Quake doubted the merchant would be amongst the men pursuing him, he would have quit long ago. Maybe the exertion had killed him and the men were merely racing to applaud him on killing their hateful employer. Quake doubted this very much. Fat men with red faces always had a following of well paid loyal vagabonds.

There was no way he could return the way he had come for the forest would be thick with men and dogs. The dogs would know his scent from the sheets he had hastily thrown to the floor before spring away.

Why had he bedded the whore? He knew she was married and it was dangerous. But the offer was there! And she had gold by her bedside! At that exact moment in time Quake hated the one weak aspect of his personality: he could not refusal the entertainment of a lady. Well, a woman, no necessarily a lady. A woman boasting a stack of heavy gold coins could not be ignored. After al, he was not a fool.

He fingered the heavy pouch of gold hanging from his hip. The leather was reassuringly heavy and sealed tight. He also carried a cutlass hanging from his sash. The sword was worth double the value of the gold and once belonged to a champion warrior who fought for the Lords of Tantnovoy. Quake smiled, he had been lucky to swipe the blade from the dead man before he was seen. The temptation to sell the blade had always been great but he had resisted the second temptation of his life: gold.

The day had begun well. Quake had collected his pay, plus a little extra, from his latest ‘employer’ and he had bedded a fine young bored noble lady. But in these times ones luck tended to become swiftly soured. Perhaps it was time to move on? Quake suspected that time had come and gone long before the sun had stained the land with her fingers of burnished gold.

Quake turned and looked to the snowy peaks to the east, a glacier divided two great zeniths of the ancient monoliths and fed the water filing the winter sated river. Why had he come to a foreign land where he was more than content across the sea? He considered that boredom may have driven him from his home land but then he recollected the incident with perfect clarity. It was the faithful gold that had driven him and the threat of the gallows of course. That always warmed his heels when he was travelling.

The dogs barked again, they were getting closer. In the next few seconds there were decisions to make. ‘Jump or fight, fight or jump,’ he muttered.

The boots were as good as ruined, he accepted that, but they were not beyond repair. He could maybe get a handful of coppers for them if they were scrubbed up nicely. If he jumped he would lose them. He would also lose the gold. The pouch was heavy and would be heavier still when flooded with water.

The rogue was wearing lamb skin gloves and a coat of green wool embroidered with red kites and spiralling roses along the sleeves. The black leggings were tucked deep into the ruined boots, flecks of mud had sprayed up the inner thigh which now cooled and chilled his legs.

He drew his sword. This would also be lost if he was not careful. Could he fight? He was no fool with the blade by any means. Had he not won a number of duels against jealous husbands and vengeful ‘clients’?

He would not throw aside the sword if he made the jump, he would have to lose the gold. The blade could be easily held but the leather sack would likely split when he hit the water. Or would it fill and drag him down?

Quake considered his odds of survival against the men. There had to be at least a dozen armed men interspersed throughout the woods. Each with a dog, some may have bows or crossbows. He made a calculation in his head, Quake was apt at odds predictions, after all, one could not gamble if they did not have a firm understanding of the laws of chance.

The odds were not good. He considered his chance of survival if he jumped, these odds were no better.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and cursed aloud. In all the tales and fables the lovable rogue always survived and lived happily ever after. He was lovable; all the women told him so. More dogs barked and the deep rumble of male voices stirred within the cacophony.

To the north stood a wall of steel bristling, to the south a plunge into iced water and basement of spiked rocks. The first man appeared from deep within the bushes; he shouted and pointed toward Quake. The guard ran through the water, kicking white water in a wall of spray ahead of him. Another joined him, both carried swords, one led a scrawny grey and black flecked dog.
Thankfully, none carried a bow thus affording Quake at least another two seconds of life before he made the decision. He closed his eyes and nodded. The decision was made. He looked to the mountains and reached for at his hip. Both hands took hold; one held the gold the other the cutlass. The men were upon him.

He faced the men and held his prizes high above his head. Over their shoulder, to his surprise he spied the fat merchant. At his ample waist he held a wide crossbow, bolt cocked and ready.
Decision made. Quake took a single step and confronted his destiny, gold in one hand and cutlass in the other. The merchant stared in open mouth disbelief and fired the heavy bolt…

Agents, Business Cards and a Good Book.

I received my first feedback from literary agents this week!

Lesson Number 1: Check that the agency accepts the type of work I produce. One politely informed me that they do not deal with fantasy fiction.

Lesson Number 2: Check the dates on letters! I sent a batch of letters to several agents after realising the letters were incorrectly dated. This is probably not a big deal, but, it is something I shall learn from.

However, I did receive a letter requesting further information. In all honesty it was a generic letter sent to all authors outlining what work it accepted. Still, it was a thrill to find one of my SAE's on the mantle piece when I arrived home.

Today a stack of business cards arrived in the post. Below is a sample of the super glossy piece of card I am now throwing about indiscriminately.














Finally, I received my copy of 2009 Writers' and Artists' Yearbook today. I am now ploughing through the articles and picking up some good pointers (including how to use a blog!). It also includes details of all UK literary agents, therefore preventing the error of lesson number 1.

Therefore, Lesson Number 3: Grab hold of a copy of the above book! It seems to have worked for many others in the past.