More reviews

Ah, do I like having Google Alerts set up. I'd otherwise never find reviews such as this.

"THE LION OF KENT is a novella where passions and danger blend in to a beguiling and character driven read."

And I've made good progress on "State of Mind" by Libby Drew. This is actually fiction I'm reading just for fun. No reviewing or judging involved. Makes for a change. There is still stuff to read for judging and reviewing, and I'll get to that, but right now, just leaning back with a book is nice.

Talking about great books, my friend and co-writer soon has her own book out, called "Erekos", soon out from Candlemark & Gleam. I've seen the advanced readers/review copy (ARE), and it's beautiful. The prose is completely something else - it's one of my favourite books, a far cry from the cheap, mass-produced fantasy series that swamp the market. This is a wise book, a warm and affectionate book - if I'd have to compare it to anything, I'd compare it to Peter S Beagle's "The Last Unicorn".

I hope it sells a million, wins prizes, and that everybody reads it. The book deserves a huge audience, and I believe everybody should read it. Me, I'm getting the paper copy as soon as it's available and will probably give this as as birthday/Christmas present to my friends for years to come. Yes, it's that good.

Another review for "Deliverance"

Amora's Place liked "Deliverance" - thanks, Amora. :)

Review link here.

I'll try and get my 500 words in today and then call it an early night. (Because the last two weren't.) I've never been good at dealing with too little sleep. It's my way of getting hung over - working too hard, sleeping too little. I assume the traditional way is more fun. :)

I've read one of my source accounts for "Iron Cross" on the train today, so I feel a bit better about my research pile. Right now, pure fantasy is the way to go. I need to build up a critical mass of ideas and "energy" (for want of a better word) for Iron Cross. I'm not quite there yet. And Scorpion has been coming together beautifully.

First reviews and lots of travel

Reviews of Lion of Kent at Goodreads are doing good, - it's on track to be one of the highest-rated I've written/co-written. :)

I knew all the research of medieval boar-hunting would pay off...:)

Yesterday I got the galley of "First Blood", which all looks very solid. At this stage, it's all done and dusted, the main issues here are if the paragraphs look good. The galley stage is not really an editing stage, just a checking stage - are the pages in the right order, are the author names spelled right, that sort of thing. At work, when I do the galley, I end up knowing the magazine by heart... and you always, always miss something.

The secret project is moving apace. The lovers are reunited, now they only need to evade the crushing boot of the law. I'm not quite sure how they'll do that (especially since the law is personified by one of the coolest secondary characters... who wouldn't be stupid or do something without a reason). So, yeah, there's a 70-80k novel coming your way. And its first draft is 90-95% done.

I reckon it can all be wrapped up in the next 2 weeks or thereabouts, then needs editing and I need to finish writing the query and synopsis, which tends to take a week. I'll talk about it some more once it's done. There are some world-building details that need to be filled in, mainly some geography and technology.

Work is gearing up to be mad again - how I love the cyclical nature of magazine editorial work. Not. One relatively calm week, then progressively busy, until the last week is all mad dash and no sleep. But on the positive side, the Russian visa application was really quite straightforward.... compared to what they make my British colleagues go through, my application was fast and easy. I may keep that German citizenship - travel is uniformely easier than on a British passport. (And cheaper... I don't have to pay to enter Turkey, for example).

But right after the mad week I'll be in Moscow and help run a conference, which should be fun. And then Chicago in October. Wonder how many hoops they make me jump through to enter the US of A.

So, yeah, a couple big trips before the year's up. I do expect to catch up with my reading while at the airport/in the queues. I reckon I'll take WWII stuff and review stuff with me to Russia.

"Lion of Kent" - background blog posts

Today's the day that Carina Press blogs about "Lion of Kent" - there are fun entries over at Facebook, and three entries over at the official Carina blog.


Finding the Story in History talk about the inspiration of my professor - Professor H (I may have mentioned his book-buying habit).

Then Aiming for a Sense of Place - where Kate blogs about the locations, namely Medieval English castles here.

Finally, "The Lion of Kent" is some background on how it all happened.

Hope to see you there!

"Lion of Kent" is out

Today is the release date for "Lion of Kent".



Squire William Raven has only one goal—to finally receive his spurs and become a knight. When his lord, Sir Robert de Cantilou, returns from a five-year crusade in the Holy Land, William wants nothing more than to impress him.

After Sir Robert's return, noble guests arrive from France, bringing intrigue to the castle. William is oblivious to the politics, as he's distracted by nightly visits from a faceless lover—a man who pleasures him in the dark and then leaves—a man he soon discovers is none other than his master, Sir Robert.

But William can't ignore the scheming around him when he overhears a plot to murder Robert. He becomes intent on saving his lord and lover from those who would see him killed...

Find an excerpt and the buy link here.

During the day, there will be "favourite sentences" over at Carina Press's account on Facebook, and Carina Press's blog.

Would be great to see you there.

Killing the golden goose

So many things damage artists. Apart from the knocks that we - like everybody else - get in life, there are some specific knocks that we somehow have to deal with. How to do it, though, isn't covered by the booklet with the delivery of "Artistic Talent". In fact, there's no booklet at all. We get this enormous thing delivered, and barely know how to deal with it. Maybe but a table cloth over the box and a fruit bowl on top and ignore it?

Apart from the usual issues - balancing "life" and "real life", there''s the other stuff. Piracy is one of them. Just today I learnt that Paul Richmond, the brain/hand behind the covers for "Clean Slate" and "First Blood" is being bootlegged by some asshole in China, who claims the copyright for the paintings. Read the full story here. What stuff like that does to a writer or painter, I guess few people can imagine. Maybe if somebody broke into your house and sold your clothes to random strangers out of your front door - and no police to call, no efficient help.

That's what writers feel like who get pirated. Some people get so hurt by this that they simply don't open the door to strangers anymore. They stop publishing and keep stuff to themselves and their friends. Pirates/bootlegger have quite literally killed the goose that lays golden eggs.

Another story is rather more personal. There are writers out there - and usually the best of them - that cannot deal with "publicity". They cannot deal with the need to run around on blogs and get on the stage and talk about themselves. Entertain in any other way than to send stuff to a publisher and then retreat, somehow reaching deep inside and digging up that pulsing heart that is the beginning of every story.

Forcing these people on the stage is like forcing a 9 month pregnant woman to dance on the stage, with a theoretical 5 billion people watching. For eternity. Because nothing that's posted on the Internet ever goes away. Dance bitch. Because you want to sell those books, don't you? You feel uncomfortable? Well, that's too damn bad, we're sure there are others that will just kill their dogs to be allowed to dance.

It's those expectations - some spoken, some unspoken - that kill the story. Make the author aware of what they are doing - and suddenly their legs cross, they stumble. Above all, they stop loving what they are doing. And it freezes the story to death before it had any chance to live.

The audience, the expectation, the publisher, one's own terribly high expectations - they can kill stories by a thousand cuts. To write, writers need to skin part of their own souls, and then write with the blood, through clenched teeth. We do it because we must, and getting watched makes it all awkward and kills the love.

There's one book that died on me like that - it took my agent to say "awesome, I'll sell that for a five-figure sum", to kill the book. I was dead flat broke, unemployed, desperate for money and recognition, and that book could have solved every problem I had.

I wrote 35 pages. They were good pages. I ended up staring at the screen and hated the idea of writing a single sentence. I threw fits over it, shouted, hated, resented every unborn character, every unwritten line of dialogue, knowing I'd have to drag myself by my teeth through a book that I never grew to love because of those expectations.

That's when I stopped wanting to be a "real author". I cut the throats of almost all my literary ambitions. I didn't write much. When I wrote again, I decided I'll only ever write fluff. (Granted, it hasn't happened... but the serious books happen against my best intentions, by following the story rather than sitting down with any notion of "I R Noah Serious Rita!"). Fuck that. My agent kept telling me how talented I am, and in a way I know all all - unless I don't, and doubt everything I do - and that's great, but the expectations are really, really tough at times.

I'm now productive and happy because I'm telling my muse "know what, I'm just playing", and he writes his little black heart out. I'm not thinking of the audience. There IS NO AUDIENCE. All those people are my friends. Elaine, Audra, Lori, Marcie, Peter... not "the audience" and not "the lions I get tossed to."

I'm a people person. I deal with people one at a time. I can't deal with groups at all. Groups in my brain are scary, hostile, faceless. I need to break that word down into who and what it's composed of. I can't do it any other way.

That's how I can dance while carrying a story. I only ever see one face in the crowd. That's the one person I'm doing it for. It can be as many as four or five, but that's it. Then again, I'm not ignoring the others. A stranger is a friend you haven't met yet - I've gradually stepped away from my learned paranoia and decided I will not live in a way that allows the bullies from the early decades in my life to decide how I deal with people for the rest of my life.

But it happens, we lose a lot of fantastic writers and great stories because something kills the spark. It might be the violation of disrespect and ignorance, it might be that pressure to "perform" and be everything - writer, promoter, VIP. I just know that sometimes, it can wipe out the best of us. These issues never crop of with the mediocre and the plain bad. They take the best.

Four day weekend

It's a banking holiday in the UK. And I've taken the opportunity to add a Friday to that, so I'm looking down the right end of a four day weekend.

Today's also the day that my neighbour is moving. It's a little disturbing, since there's an ambulance right next to the moving van and the movers are standing around on the street, talking about the things 19-25 year old lads are talking about, and fiddle with their mobile phones. Let's hope she's okay.

I'm in a peculiar mood today - we visited the parents of our friend who died in April, just to check in on them, see how they are doing. They are over here from Spain, where they live most of the year. There's this notable absence - sitting in Chris's living room, talking to his parents. Sometimes, we're the sum of our losses.

Life's too short, really. It takes such a long time to become who we are, to do the things we were meant to do, that anything shorter than a hundred years isn't nearly enough and an insult to all the hard work we had to put in up to that point.

Being parentless, or should I say motherless, because my father only really contributed some pretty solid DNA, is likely different to be mourning a child. My mother had years that were outside my experience, and in some ways we were completely different. We had our fights like probably only two Taureans can fight.

High drama, snarls, seething accusations. Yet, in a strange way, I was always prepared to grow up very fast. I remember some astonishing insights as a small child, a confidence, clarity and strength that very often kept me in good stead. I grew up very fast as if part of me knew I wouldn't have many people to depend on in my life. Very likely I owe that to my mother, who was - working as she was, and falling desperately in love with one asshole after the other - largely absent, but never left any doubt that she loved me. I guess, apart from the gift of life, that's really the main thing I received. Self-sufficiency because there were precious few resources to back me up, and the feeling that I was loved unconditionally.

Even fourteen years later, there's this "wish she could see that", and I'll likely never lose that feeling. We do carry our dead around, sometimes as a burden, sometimes as a privilege.