I recently had the good fortune to review a couple of brilliant books for Starburst Magazine.
The first was The Forbidden Library by Django Wexler, a YA portal fantasy that really struck a chord with me. Click on the link below to see what I thought:
http://www.starburstmagazine.com/reviews/book-reviews-latest-literary-releases/8256-book-review-the-forbidden-library
The second was The Three by Sarah Lotz, which I devoured in a couple of days. The concept of it intrigued the 1990's Dean Koontz fan in me, but the book is utterly unique, thought-provoking and chilling. Again, the link is below:
http://www.starburstmagazine.com/reviews/book-reviews-latest-literary-releases/8257-book-review-the-three
It's difficult to condense thoughts and feelings into a few hundred words, suffice to say both books hooked me for different reasons. I haven't linked to reviews before, but I still feel the urge to SHOUT about these two.
Consider yourself shouted at, dear reader.
Sunday, 30 March 2014
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
History Lessons
History is fascinating.
I've learned that this week, simply by dipping my toe into the waters of research for no more than fifteen to twenty minutes. The sad thing - which I'll brush over, although I'm sure it's incredibly important - is that humanity doesn't seem to have learned too many lessons over that last couple of centuries. Wars are still fought for all the wrong reasons (is there a good one?), the divide between rich and poor is huge, and politicians are still, well... politicians, I guess.
A bfief aside: Tony Benn has died in the last week and, whatever may have been thought of him, I'll always remember him (albiet vaguely) as someone who stood up for what he believed and never swayed from it. His best quote? I'd go for "I left parliament so I could become a politician", which sums it all up quite nicely. Aside ends.
What's amazed me about my research is the discovery of what's happened over the last two-hundred years in the area where I live. It's steeped in history, both good and bad, most of which has come as a surprise. Bryan Talbot's Alice In Sunderland had much the same effect, making me feel sadly ignorant of the nearby world around me. I've known about the myths of dragons in these here parts, but to know that I may have walked on the same paths as Lewis Carroll is equally amazing.
Anyway, all this history has given me a world for my two characters - Adamson and Wood - to inhabit. That world ties in with a role-playing campaign I'm about to start, along with a completed short story set several decades later in the 1960's. And, while I'm still riding on the enthusiasm I encountered at Newcastle Film and Comic Con, if there's anyone in the know who would like to help me create a comic based on any of the above, I wouldn't be adverse to having a chat.
I'm ridiculously excited about all of this, and enjoying the writing too, in a way I haven't been since finishing my fantasy novel Requiem for the Grey Man. A couple of years of struggle, trying to come up with the next 'great' idea, have resulted in several starts, but nothing concrete, other that that short story I've just mentioned. I'm feeling good about this one.
I've learned that this week, simply by dipping my toe into the waters of research for no more than fifteen to twenty minutes. The sad thing - which I'll brush over, although I'm sure it's incredibly important - is that humanity doesn't seem to have learned too many lessons over that last couple of centuries. Wars are still fought for all the wrong reasons (is there a good one?), the divide between rich and poor is huge, and politicians are still, well... politicians, I guess.
A bfief aside: Tony Benn has died in the last week and, whatever may have been thought of him, I'll always remember him (albiet vaguely) as someone who stood up for what he believed and never swayed from it. His best quote? I'd go for "I left parliament so I could become a politician", which sums it all up quite nicely. Aside ends.
What's amazed me about my research is the discovery of what's happened over the last two-hundred years in the area where I live. It's steeped in history, both good and bad, most of which has come as a surprise. Bryan Talbot's Alice In Sunderland had much the same effect, making me feel sadly ignorant of the nearby world around me. I've known about the myths of dragons in these here parts, but to know that I may have walked on the same paths as Lewis Carroll is equally amazing.
Anyway, all this history has given me a world for my two characters - Adamson and Wood - to inhabit. That world ties in with a role-playing campaign I'm about to start, along with a completed short story set several decades later in the 1960's. And, while I'm still riding on the enthusiasm I encountered at Newcastle Film and Comic Con, if there's anyone in the know who would like to help me create a comic based on any of the above, I wouldn't be adverse to having a chat.
I'm ridiculously excited about all of this, and enjoying the writing too, in a way I haven't been since finishing my fantasy novel Requiem for the Grey Man. A couple of years of struggle, trying to come up with the next 'great' idea, have resulted in several starts, but nothing concrete, other that that short story I've just mentioned. I'm feeling good about this one.
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
A Story for Lent
I once likened a large gap betweeen blogs as having to blow the dust off an old book - for this one, you've had to travel across the world, outsmart some villains, then dig for it like buried treasure. Indiana Jones and Jack Colton, eat your heart out.
Anyway... hello. How are you? Good, I hope.
I've no excuse for not blogging for so long, other than to admit it's slipped my mind for many months while I've been plotting/throwing away various ideas for my next writing project. It's been tough, to be honest; there's been various crises of confidence, worries that I'm a pale imitation of those I admire, or simply just not good enough. Now, though, it all feels like it's coming together.
Lent has inspired me to get back to this blog. Traditionally a time of denial and absintence (I've given up chocolate and the multitude of biscuits I scoff on the sly), I've looked at it another way and given up... ahem... not just putting my backside in the chair and getting on with writing. This blog is part of the plan (after all, I managed the A to Z challenge last year) and, as well as my stories and - if it pays off - an original roleplaying campaign along side them, I've setup #40daystory on Twitter.
Basically, this involves me trying to tell a story in the format of a tweet a day over Lent (47 days including the Sundays), coming to it fresh every day, unplanned and quite raw. As I've no idea where it's going to go, it may turn out to be utter garbage, but it's an idea I've acted upon, whih is the whole point.
So, I'm back. This time, I intend to hang around a bit longer, and I'd be delighted if you joined me for the ride.
Anyway... hello. How are you? Good, I hope.
I've no excuse for not blogging for so long, other than to admit it's slipped my mind for many months while I've been plotting/throwing away various ideas for my next writing project. It's been tough, to be honest; there's been various crises of confidence, worries that I'm a pale imitation of those I admire, or simply just not good enough. Now, though, it all feels like it's coming together.
Lent has inspired me to get back to this blog. Traditionally a time of denial and absintence (I've given up chocolate and the multitude of biscuits I scoff on the sly), I've looked at it another way and given up... ahem... not just putting my backside in the chair and getting on with writing. This blog is part of the plan (after all, I managed the A to Z challenge last year) and, as well as my stories and - if it pays off - an original roleplaying campaign along side them, I've setup #40daystory on Twitter.
Basically, this involves me trying to tell a story in the format of a tweet a day over Lent (47 days including the Sundays), coming to it fresh every day, unplanned and quite raw. As I've no idea where it's going to go, it may turn out to be utter garbage, but it's an idea I've acted upon, whih is the whole point.
So, I'm back. This time, I intend to hang around a bit longer, and I'd be delighted if you joined me for the ride.
Friday, 30 August 2013
A Quick & Flippant Update
It's almost the end of August! How did that happen?
Anyway, I've finally risen from the ashes of writing self-doubt to bring you this, my brief guide to the last few months.
I got married on a beautiful sunny day in June. The now Mrs D looked lovely and we were surrounded by family and friends. I wore a waistcoat and a pocketwatch, which I'd like to do all the time. Seriously, it was a great day, and Midnight's delighted her owners have made honest people of each other.
Vegas ended. I mean ended, cancelled at the end of the first series. And yet Under The Dome seems to be a success - how does that work?
I purchased an ereader. (Shhh! Not so loud!) Have to admit, I'm impressed...
There's more, of course, but it's getting late. I'll blog again soon, I'm sure, hopefully before Christmas.
Thanks for passing by!
Anyway, I've finally risen from the ashes of writing self-doubt to bring you this, my brief guide to the last few months.
I got married on a beautiful sunny day in June. The now Mrs D looked lovely and we were surrounded by family and friends. I wore a waistcoat and a pocketwatch, which I'd like to do all the time. Seriously, it was a great day, and Midnight's delighted her owners have made honest people of each other.
Vegas ended. I mean ended, cancelled at the end of the first series. And yet Under The Dome seems to be a success - how does that work?
I purchased an ereader. (Shhh! Not so loud!) Have to admit, I'm impressed...
There's more, of course, but it's getting late. I'll blog again soon, I'm sure, hopefully before Christmas.
Thanks for passing by!
Sunday, 26 May 2013
May's Days
May's a hectic month. There's lots going on with the day job and the wedding plans are continuing apace (less than two weeks to go and there's still a few things to sort out, but that's ok, right? I'm sure it'll all fall into place eventually.), so there's little free time.
I've managed to squeeze some time to write every day, but in some cases it's been as little as a few words, sprinkled with some punctuation here and there to form a coherent sentence. I'm ok with that, given what's happening at the moment, but there's something thats got me frustrated.
I'm starting fresh. Creating new characters and new worlds. New worlds? Should I just set it in a near-mythical England, something where it's all forest and always raining, sort of a pre-Arthurian genre? Or do I populate a planet of my own creation with strange races, create a landscape that is purely my own, throwing a dragon in for good measure? That's my trouble - I'm happy with my main character's journey, but I don't know where he lives. There are pros and cons for both ideas, too many to put down here (trust me, I wrote a list) but my usual themes of self-sacrifice, redemption and the true meaning of courage are still there; they're universal, so can be applied anywhere.
Years ago, when I was more ill-disciplined than I am now, I'd find myself influenced by everything I watched and read. It's starting to get that way again, and it's annoying. Not just to me, I'd imagine; When I get this way become a surly, grumpy creature, head down and dragging my feet, like some miserable hulk. I don't want to be the next [insert favourite author name here] or write a story thats simply a rehash of something from a different genre (although I hear "Wagon Train in space" proved popular a few years ago...) or a combination of other successful things. I want to be original, write a story that appeals to me as a reader. I'd want it to be published, or course, but I'm a firm believer that you can't write for what you think that market wants to read. Write from the heart, the passion will shine through, and it will be good enough. All so very simple.
At the moment, my favourite TV series currently showing is Vegas. No sci-fi elements at all, so it should normally be something that falls into the 'worth a watch' category. Yet, it has great characters, whose actions are driving a superb plot. The actors are brilliant too (it's good to see Dennis Quaid back, seeing him always reminds me of Willis Davidge from Enemy Mine), working with excellent writing to create something very special. There isn't a character you can't identify with - or, dare I say, even sympathise with - which is what makes Vegas appeal to me. Yet, as good as those characters are, the world they inhabit influences them, for good or for ill. That's why it's so important I get my world right. Writing's hard, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy, and I'm not going to give up.
I've managed to squeeze some time to write every day, but in some cases it's been as little as a few words, sprinkled with some punctuation here and there to form a coherent sentence. I'm ok with that, given what's happening at the moment, but there's something thats got me frustrated.
I'm starting fresh. Creating new characters and new worlds. New worlds? Should I just set it in a near-mythical England, something where it's all forest and always raining, sort of a pre-Arthurian genre? Or do I populate a planet of my own creation with strange races, create a landscape that is purely my own, throwing a dragon in for good measure? That's my trouble - I'm happy with my main character's journey, but I don't know where he lives. There are pros and cons for both ideas, too many to put down here (trust me, I wrote a list) but my usual themes of self-sacrifice, redemption and the true meaning of courage are still there; they're universal, so can be applied anywhere.
Years ago, when I was more ill-disciplined than I am now, I'd find myself influenced by everything I watched and read. It's starting to get that way again, and it's annoying. Not just to me, I'd imagine; When I get this way become a surly, grumpy creature, head down and dragging my feet, like some miserable hulk. I don't want to be the next [insert favourite author name here] or write a story thats simply a rehash of something from a different genre (although I hear "Wagon Train in space" proved popular a few years ago...) or a combination of other successful things. I want to be original, write a story that appeals to me as a reader. I'd want it to be published, or course, but I'm a firm believer that you can't write for what you think that market wants to read. Write from the heart, the passion will shine through, and it will be good enough. All so very simple.
At the moment, my favourite TV series currently showing is Vegas. No sci-fi elements at all, so it should normally be something that falls into the 'worth a watch' category. Yet, it has great characters, whose actions are driving a superb plot. The actors are brilliant too (it's good to see Dennis Quaid back, seeing him always reminds me of Willis Davidge from Enemy Mine), working with excellent writing to create something very special. There isn't a character you can't identify with - or, dare I say, even sympathise with - which is what makes Vegas appeal to me. Yet, as good as those characters are, the world they inhabit influences them, for good or for ill. That's why it's so important I get my world right. Writing's hard, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy, and I'm not going to give up.
Monday, 6 May 2013
Harry
I was going to talk about this year's Free Comic Book Day, but...
When I first moved house eleven years ago, I was given a couple of small sofas for the conservatory from a work colleague. All I had to do was pick them up and get them home. Simple; I hired a van, got them on board, and drove home. I'd had help getting them on, but trying to get them off by myself? It wasn't happening.
I heard a voice ask if I wanted a hand, which I did, so I accepted. I was surprised to see it was the old man from two doors down, and was tempted not to bother him. Turns out he was stronger than I (not hard) despite touching his 70's. Anyway, between us we got the sofas out and put where they were meant to be. We shook hands, and he told me his name was Harry. I told him I was Alister, although he'd call me Alex ever since. For some reason, that never mattered.
Over the years, Harry did much for me. He'd keep an eye on things while I was working away, take in my parcels of books when I wasn't around, gave us some of his home-grown veg, even let the cat lounge in the warmth of his greenhouse and - I suspect - put a saucer of milk down for her. When my good lady came to live here, he'd talk to her across the fences and she found out more about him in a few short months than I did in the years before. He'd been a shepherd in his younger years, used to the outdoors; this, for me, explained his resilience. Harry, I thought, would live forever.
Sadly, he died on Thursday. His health had its ups and downs over the last couple of years - more downs, unfortunately - and in the early stages of last week he was being kept alive by drugs and machines. We knew something was wrong the weekend before, when his family were dismantling the greenhouse in his garden.
Harry's dead now, and while we'll all miss him, he will live forever in our hearts, minds and memories. Whatever beliefs you have, I hope you'll join me in hoping he's gone to a better place, reunited with his loved ones. Maybe he's even looking down, reading this as I type, wondering why I never corrected him when he called me Alex.
When I first moved house eleven years ago, I was given a couple of small sofas for the conservatory from a work colleague. All I had to do was pick them up and get them home. Simple; I hired a van, got them on board, and drove home. I'd had help getting them on, but trying to get them off by myself? It wasn't happening.
I heard a voice ask if I wanted a hand, which I did, so I accepted. I was surprised to see it was the old man from two doors down, and was tempted not to bother him. Turns out he was stronger than I (not hard) despite touching his 70's. Anyway, between us we got the sofas out and put where they were meant to be. We shook hands, and he told me his name was Harry. I told him I was Alister, although he'd call me Alex ever since. For some reason, that never mattered.
Over the years, Harry did much for me. He'd keep an eye on things while I was working away, take in my parcels of books when I wasn't around, gave us some of his home-grown veg, even let the cat lounge in the warmth of his greenhouse and - I suspect - put a saucer of milk down for her. When my good lady came to live here, he'd talk to her across the fences and she found out more about him in a few short months than I did in the years before. He'd been a shepherd in his younger years, used to the outdoors; this, for me, explained his resilience. Harry, I thought, would live forever.
Sadly, he died on Thursday. His health had its ups and downs over the last couple of years - more downs, unfortunately - and in the early stages of last week he was being kept alive by drugs and machines. We knew something was wrong the weekend before, when his family were dismantling the greenhouse in his garden.
Harry's dead now, and while we'll all miss him, he will live forever in our hearts, minds and memories. Whatever beliefs you have, I hope you'll join me in hoping he's gone to a better place, reunited with his loved ones. Maybe he's even looking down, reading this as I type, wondering why I never corrected him when he called me Alex.
Tuesday, 30 April 2013
Z is for Zakynthos
Or, if you prefer, Zante.
Five years ago, I took my first summer holiday abroad to that particular Greek island. Why, in thirty-seven years, had I never done so before? I can only shrug, say I didn't realise what I was missing, happy to stay closer to home, go out in the car, somewhere I could travel to and from in a day, return to my own bed each night. So, early one Sunday morning, bags packed, I was taken to the airport and jetted off to sunnier shores. Since then, I always think it's when that first breath of warm air hits you as the aeroplane doors open, that's the moment you realise you're on holiday.
My holiday on Zante was with a big group, including the lovely lady who is now my better half, so I wasn't stuck for company. Admittedly, it took a few days to learn to relax and enjoy sitting in the sun, often thinking I should be doing something, anything, except what I saw as lazing around. I took two books - both by Homer - hoping the golden sands and deep blue sea would help me appreciate those epic works. There's plenty to see on the island - including a rusted old shipwreck, viewed from above on what feels like a diver's board (it's more safer than that, of course) - the locals are extremely pleasant and helpful, while the food is absolutely fantastic.
I also found inspiration there, concocting the basis for a story that would become a novel. It's changed much since then, but it's finished and ready to go out into the big wide world in search of representation and, one day, publication. I've visited the other Ionian islands too, as well as Rhodes, but Zakynthos will always have a special place in my heart for many reasons, including the time I had traditional Sunday Lunch with a pint of Guinness while it was 35 degrees centigrade outside. Well, why not?
Five years ago, I took my first summer holiday abroad to that particular Greek island. Why, in thirty-seven years, had I never done so before? I can only shrug, say I didn't realise what I was missing, happy to stay closer to home, go out in the car, somewhere I could travel to and from in a day, return to my own bed each night. So, early one Sunday morning, bags packed, I was taken to the airport and jetted off to sunnier shores. Since then, I always think it's when that first breath of warm air hits you as the aeroplane doors open, that's the moment you realise you're on holiday.
My holiday on Zante was with a big group, including the lovely lady who is now my better half, so I wasn't stuck for company. Admittedly, it took a few days to learn to relax and enjoy sitting in the sun, often thinking I should be doing something, anything, except what I saw as lazing around. I took two books - both by Homer - hoping the golden sands and deep blue sea would help me appreciate those epic works. There's plenty to see on the island - including a rusted old shipwreck, viewed from above on what feels like a diver's board (it's more safer than that, of course) - the locals are extremely pleasant and helpful, while the food is absolutely fantastic.
I also found inspiration there, concocting the basis for a story that would become a novel. It's changed much since then, but it's finished and ready to go out into the big wide world in search of representation and, one day, publication. I've visited the other Ionian islands too, as well as Rhodes, but Zakynthos will always have a special place in my heart for many reasons, including the time I had traditional Sunday Lunch with a pint of Guinness while it was 35 degrees centigrade outside. Well, why not?
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