Cover reveal!

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I've been buzzing about my forthcoming novella, The Necromancer's Apprentice, for a while, and now I can finally reveal the cover! Only it's not here - it's over on Dark Continents Publishing's blog, along with my post in which I discuss my influences and the world building of the story. If you want to see the cover, and read my post, then click here. The cover is beautiful, and I'm so grateful to Daniël Hugo and Carmen Begley for their fantastic work on it.

If that's whetted your appetite, you can check out my visual influences on my Pinterest board, and read some of my Friday flashes set in the same universe.

Blurb

Though Jyximus Faire lives in a crumbling tenement in the Underground City, he escapes the squalor daily to attend lessons in magic and sorcery at the prestigious Academy in the City Above.

But the pace isn’t fast enough for Jyx. He wants to learn everything—and he wants to learn it now. Then the dread necromancer general Eufame Delsenza sets her sights on Jyx; she needs a new apprentice, and Jyx fits the bill. When she tasks him with helping to prepare royal mummies for an all-important procession, he realises this might be a chance of a lifetime.

Will Jyx’s impatience lead to him taking his education into his own inexperienced hands, and can a necromancer’s apprentice really learn to raise the dead—and control them?

#FridayFlash - The Shadow Cabinet

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Image by Krappweis. Edits by me.

Prime Minister Etherington sat at his desk, staring at the reports laid out before him. The words swam before his eyes, with particular phrases leering at him. “Possible conspiracy”…. “grave threat to the nation”…. “utmost importance”…. “imminent danger”… “I have no idea what to make of all of this. Can any of it be substantiated?” he asked.

“Of course, sir. We’ve triple checked all of it before we even brought it to you. Loughborough thought it was just rumour but sadly not,” replied the short man standing near the door. He held a bowler hat in one hand, and a battered briefcase in the other.

“So what do we do?” asked the Prime Minister.

“That was rather what we were hoping you might be able to answer, sir,” replied the short man.

“It’s been so long since we had to deal with conspiracies and whatnot. My great-uncle would have known what to do,” said the Prime Minister. He looked up at the portrait of Finnigan Etherington above the fireplace.

“I do not wish to sound trite but unfortunately he is no longer here. We need to know what to do about all of this. I’ve asked Dundridge to come up here to advise.”

“Dundridge? I don’t recognise the name.”

“He’s the Head of the Secret Service, sir. He keeps himself possibly too secret, but if it’s anyone’s job to sort this out, it’s his.” The short man deposited his briefcase on the floor.

A triple knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” called the Prime Minister.

The door opened, and a tall, thin man entered. He wore a long black trenchcoat and a black fedora.

“Ah, Dundridge! I’ve been explaining the situation to the Prime Minister,” said the short man.

“Damned shame, sir, damned shame. I’ve had men on this for some time now and all they can give me is bad news,” said Dundridge. His voice barely rose above a whisper, and the Prime Minister could see why he’d work so well in the Secret Service.

“So what do I do? Mackleworth here tells me that you’re the man to give advice on this,” said the Prime Minister.

“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, sir, and this thing is bigger than we can perhaps realise. I think there’s only one thing you can do.”

“Which is?”

“Consult the Shadow Cabinet.”

The Prime Minister gulped at the mention of the name. As far as anyone knew, the Shadow Cabinet had existed long before Parliament – possibly long before the nation itself. No one would dare doubt their loyalty, but they might question their methods.

“I really don’t want to bother them, Dundridge.”

“You might have to, sir.”

“There are reasons we don’t involve the Shadow Cabinet in decisions. Their assistance always comes with a price. Remember what happened to Heartstone?"

The short man shuddered.

“But still, sir, this is bigger than any of us. None of us are equipped to put down a conspiracy of this size. The Shadow Cabinet are, sir,” said Dundridge.

The Prime Minister looked at the reports on his desk and nodded. He didn’t want to admit it, but Dundridge was right. Perhaps their price would be reasonable this time given the severity of the threat.

He left Dundridge and the short man in his office, and made his way through the House of Parliament to an old door at the far end of the building. This part of the House was at least two centuries older than his own wing, and it existed in a twilight of shadow and silence.

The Prime Minister knocked on the door. A few moments passed, and it swung inwards without a creak. He straightened his tie and entered.

He found himself in a large wood-panelled chamber, with ancient tapestries covering the walls, and straw strewn across the stone floor. Fires blazed in iron wall braziers, casting flickering shadows around the room.

“Prime Minister Etherington. I do not think we have seen you for at least a year.” A deep voice sounded from the far end of the room.

The Prime Minister inched into the chamber, until a long table became visible in the low light. Five shadowy figures sat at the table, and the Prime Minister gulped. The Shadow Cabinet was comprised of seven – where were the other two?

“I apologise for my absence, things have been rather hectic.”

“Indeed, and with the current state of affairs I imagine they will only get more hectic.”

“Well that is why I’m here.” The Prime Minister explained everything that he’d been told that morning, though he got the feeling he was telling the Shadow Cabinet things that they already knew.

“This is indeed a difficult situation, Prime Minister, but it is not without resolution in the favour of our great nation,” said the shadow with the deep voice.

“It’s not?”

“We can solve this problem with little trouble to ourselves.”

“And…er…your price?”

“We will name our price when we have solved the problem.”

The Prime Minister frowned. What a risk to take! Would the price be too high? He thought again of the reports on his desk and sighed. He couldn’t solve this himself – there was simply no other way.

“Very well.” He heard himself saying the words before he’d even realised he agreed to their terms.

“Excellent. Expect a resolution within 48 hours.”

The shadow held out its hand, a dark stain against the air around it. The Prime Minister held out his own, and the shake sealed the deal. He withdrew his hand as quickly as he could, eager to get some warmth back into his skin, and he hurried out of the stone room.

As he headed back to his office, he glanced down at his palm. Either some residue had been left by the Chairman of the Shadow Cabinet….or he had blood on his hands.

NaNoReMo 2014

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NaNoReMo is almost upon us again, with the aim being that throughout the month of February, you read a classic novel. Your definition of 'classic' may differ from mine, and people are choosing all sorts for their monthly read, but I think the spirit of the venture is such that as long as you're reading something, then that's the main point to be taken from it all.

Last year, I chose Horace Walpole's The Castle of Otranto, which I largely hated for one reason or another, and while the temptation to read another Gothic classic was indeed a strong one (indeed I have yet to start Ann Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho), this year I shall be reading Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. My only real familiarity with the novel is through its 2002 movie adaptation, starring Jim Cavieziel and Guy Pearce, and Stephen Fry's version, The Stars' Tennis Balls. My other half and I had been discussing it just after Christmas, and after discovering it free through Project Gutenberg, I decided it was high time I actually read the novel.

I'm aware that it's not the shortest book in Christendom, and that February has only 28 days, but I shall endeavour to read as much of it as I can. Wish me luck!

#FridayFlash - The Visitor

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Soft white flakes float from the clear sky. They settle across cracked roofs, in blocked gutters, and between the cobblestones in the narrow lane. The door to the parish church stands ajar, and carols drift out into the cold night air. Only devoted worshippers venture abroad as most souls seek the refuge of the family hearth.

A solitary figure trudges down the lane, pulling the cloak of close-woven sadness tighter around her neck. Her feet drag along the slick cobbles. The gaslights flicker as she passes, and even the shadows weep, feeling a sudden wave of despair. She peers left and right at the lop-sided buildings that line the forgotten street. Frost glitters on naked beams and icicles hang from rotten eaves.

The figure stops at a cramped dwelling opposite the remains of a milliner’s shop. Light spills out of the window, painting the snow with a golden glow. The figure wipes the bottom pane of glass with her sleeve and peers inside. A family gather around a roaring fire, basking in the warmth of the crackling flames. The father sits in a rocking chair, a toddler on his knee. He leads the family in a raucous song that ends with the clinking of glasses and the exchange of well wishes. The figure sidles along the front of the house to the door, but the handle does not budge. She swears at the lock.

The figure turns away from the happy household. She flicks her cloak, sending ripples of melancholy down the lane. A scavenging alley cat howls in the shadows. The figure stops at the next house. As before, she wipes a sooty layer of frost from the window and peers inside. No fire blazes in the grate of this house. No carols are sung, and no bonhomie warms her face through the glass.

Instead, she spies a lonely figure, hunched over a writing desk. A single candle burns, casting flickering shadows across the cramped writing. The nib of the pen scratches across the paper. The writer looks up, gazing at the wall between herself and the happy family. Envy and misery chase each other across her pale face. The cloaked figure clasps her hands together, as something blossoms in the cavern where her heart should be. She feels a surge of kinship towards this writer.

The figure reaches for the handle, and finds the door unlocked. It opens easily at her touch. She casts off her cloak of sorrow and steps inside. The writer looks up, and smiles. She will welcome anyone on this lonely Christmas Day, even Melancholy herself.

* * *

I'm not well so this is a repost!

#FridayFlash - Wake Me

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I see the man on the subway every morning, always slumped in the same seat, his chin resting on his chest as he snores. A cardboard sign hangs around his neck, the string entangled with his faded tie, with the words 'Wake me at the end of the line' written in a childish but legible hand. It's confusing because the Red Line is circular - unless you count 8th Street West where trains go in or out of service, there is no end of the line. I sometimes wonder if that's why I see him every morning - maybe he never gets off the train. Maybe he lives here.

He's the only reason most of us talk to each other. We exchange theories as to who he is, or what could be at the end of the line that he needs to wake up for. Weirdly, none of us are brave enough to wake him early, though everyone claims to know someone who tried. One of my fellow commuters, a marketing rep named Dan, suspects he's trying to become an urban legend. We nickname him The Snooze.

Months pass and he keeps sleeping on the train, dozing through the rattles and clatter of the morning commute. We keep theorising about him, and the morning commute begins something to savour; for some of us, it's the only kind word we'll have all day. Every evening I hitch a lift with Sally from sales, but I sometimes consider catching the train. Maybe he'll still be there.

Today it all changes. The Snooze still sleeps on the train, dressed in black instead of his usual threadbare tweed. He wears a smart trilby instead of his battered fedora. The sign is still cardboard, but instead of scrawl, elegant calligraphy spells out the words 'Wake me at the end of it all'. I can't stop staring at the sign, and I notice it earns more attention from my fellow passengers. We're all still staring at it when the ominous rumbling starts. It's the last thing we see when darkness swallows our carriage.

I reach out a trembling hand to wake him.

Original image by Keeper182. Edits by me.

#BookReview - Cobweb Empire

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Back in October I reviewed Vera Nazarian's Cobweb Bride, the first in a trilogy set in an imaginary pocket of Europe during the Renaissance. I absolutely loved book one, awarding it four blunt pencils, and managed to get my mitts on Cobweb Empire, its follow-up. I've had book two on my Kindle for some time, but I'll admit, the release of the final book, Cobweb Forest, gave me the kick up the bum that I needed to read it.

As with book one, Cobweb Empire tells the story of Percy Ayren, the ordinary village girl from northern Lethe, only now Percy isn't so ordinary. During book one, death stopped entirely while the Reaper searched for his Cobweb Bride, and the dead were forced to keep going in whatever state they were in at the point of 'death'. By book two, things are getting worse, and entire sections of the world are simply disappearing. After an audience with the Reaper, Percy's now been granted the ability to give the dead a final ending, reuniting their broken bodies with their souls. In a world where no one can die, such an ability is obviously highly prized, and many people see the value in having Percy in their custody. Trouble is, Percy needs to be elsewhere, still tasked with finding the Cobweb Bride, so off she goes, accompanied by handsome knight Sir Beltain Chidair, to find her.

While Percy's having adventures throughout both the Realm and the Domain, a host of other characters are also exploring the extensive world created by Nazarian, be they the terrifying Sovereign of the Domain, hell bent on conquering the Realm, or the dandyish duo, Lady Amaryllis and Lord Nathan, held captive in a northern dungeon. There is plenty going on to keep the narrative ticking along at a smart pace, and being book two, Cobweb Empire has the luxury of being able to hit the ground running. Having read the Kindle version, I think I read at least 20% of it in one go.

As ever, the characterisation is spot on (although I'm not sure that eyes need to be constantly described as being 'liquid'), and it's easy to root for Percy. Grial the witch makes more of an appearance in this book, and she's a wonderful character who reminds me a lot of Mrs Weasley from Harry Potter. I was pleased to get to know Lady Amaryllis more - she was a little stereotypical in book one but she shows real wit and ingenuity in book two, as does Nazarian herself. The world she has created is an extraordinary one, packed with inventive details. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

It won't make much sense if you haven't read book one, but I'd highly recommend that you buy both and read them back to back. It also baffles me why Hollywood keeps making remakes when it could be adapting something like this for the big screen. Hopefully HBO might take the hint!

Four blunt pencils!

You can buy Cobweb Empire from Amazon for both Kindle and paperback, or for other e-readers from Smashwords.

Post-Christmas Grind: Getting Back into Your Writing Routine

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No matter how good your intentions, sticking to a well-honed writing routine over Christmas is virtually impossible. Putting aside all of the time commitments involved in buying and wrapping presents, visiting friends and family, and preparing all that food, even if you do manage to sneak in some writing time, you’ll no doubt be met with cries of “Oh you’re not writing, are you? But it’s Christmas.”

Writers are lucky in that their chosen line of work is not only fun, it also offers a high degree of escapism, but sadly, many non-writers still think we’re chained to our laptops. Of course, the problem you face after any interruption to a routine is finding a way back into it. Christmas offers a particularly large interruption due to the length of time it seems to last, and the fact that you’ll be trying to get back into other routines, not just those involving writing. Still, it must be done, so here are five suggestions of things you can do to get back into the swing of things!

Write ANYTHING for Ten Minutes

Yes, this one is fairly self-explanatory. Choose anything as a prompt, or just simply write about what you got for Christmas. It doesn’t matter what you’re writing, just make sure it’s constant for ten minutes. Don’t worry about what you’re writing, just write without pauses. Use a timer, or a website like Write or Die to keep you on track. It’s amazing how much simply writing to get the words out will get you back into the habit of writing.

Use a Current Project As a Prompt

If you’re in the middle of a longer project, try writing a flash or short story about a character other than the protagonist. If you don’t have something on the go, write about a character from a story you’ve already finished.

Use Movies to Inspire You

Chances are, you may have watched some great movies over the Christmas period. Write a missing scene, prologue or ending from a movie of your choice. Prose is fine, though if you want to write it in screenplay format that could keep you on your toes! It’s always beneficial to try writing in a different form to the one you’re used to.

Revisit Old Ideas

If you keep a notebook (and you should), flick through and browse those ideas you’ve jotted down in the past years. If none of them strike you as being good fodder for a flash, short story or even a novel, then choose a sentence at random and those that as a prompt for a story, poem or even a blog post.

Let the World Inspire You

Re-read something you’ve actually finished. Remember why you wrote it, and how much you enjoyed finishing it. Go for a walk and let your brain absorb everything around you – you might even do this just before you go out to check out the sales. Get back to your writing area feeling refreshed and ready to write!

Make sure you make a concerted effort to get back into your writing routine, but don’t push yourself too hard or your brain will rebel against you. Try one (or all, if you’re feeling brave) of these suggestions and see how it goes. We're two weeks into 2014 and it would be a good way to establish a routine for the coming year if you got back into one now!