Character Blog Hop

I've been invited to introduce one of my characters by Paula Lofting. 

I would like to introduce you to the fictional Commander Rendroc Kaziviere. When he first appeared before me on the page he seemed a predictable baddie, but he told me more about himself and I gradually began to respect and then like him. He is one of the main protagonists in my Flint & Steel, Fire & Shadow fantasy series. His is an alternative world where creatures fantastical and prehistoric live beside modern animals and where magic is real. The technology of the time is of the late medieval to Renaissance period, but with a twist. Alongside armies with pike and matchlock muskets, naval ships are powered by huge clockwork engines. it’s a bit similar to the genre “steampunk” , but I prefer the term “clockpunk” to describe this world!


 

I first introduced Kaziviere in my debut The Sun Shard, he is a commander in the Taleeli Empire; the power that holds sway over The Summerlands. The Summerlands were an area peopled tribes of men and Flint Folk (Neanderthals). For centuries these peoples had shared the Summerlands and resisted the incursions of the Taleeli’s - a warlike people from the Island of Cyria to the south. The Summerlanders successfully remained independent until the Empire discovered their “black powder alchemy” and inflicted a terrible defeat upon them some two and a half centuries previously. The victors had actively exiled the Flint Folk (whose religion and magic the Taleeli's despised), driving them over the Hailthorn Mountains to the cold lands in the far north . The Empire was now looking to embark on a campaign far overseas to the south and uses its Northern Holdings (the Summerlands) as a source of wealth, materials and levies for its armies and fleets. War between Taleel and its rival, the age old empire of Acaross to the east, is almost a certainty.



The Sun Shard followed the story of newly recruited levies who found themselves under the command of Kaziviere. Kaziviere is first seen as a handsome yet cruel and aloof man. He looks down upon the Summerlands and its peoples and is keen for his tour in the Northern Holdings to end so he can return south to proper soldiering. He kills a captured Flinter priest and cuts the tongue out of a levy who dared question him and threaten mutiny. However during a skirmish and later on in exposing treason we find that Kaziviere is a very capable commander with a profound sense of honour and responsibility to those he commands. Unwittingly he has been used as tool of this treason, which causes him to question his self righteousness and beliefs. During a battle on the streets of the provincial capital Kaziviere’s life is saved by two of his Summerlander levies, including the one who’s tongue he removed. Without realising it, he becomes highly protective of the Summerlands and its peoples, as without their help, and loyalty to him personally, the treachery would have prevailed. He falls in love with the northern woman, Tamzine, who aided him. Her love helps him come to terms with the changing situation, but in his heart he carries a heavy burden of guilt over the cruelty he once casually dispensed to those he once thought below him.

In a final showdown it is only the love he carries for Tamzine that proves to be a stronger magic than that which threatens to consume all around him. He casts down the living god of Acaross - the Messiah of Shadows - into the well of souls (a magical portal) but in doing so is transported far from the Summerlands.

There's is much more of course and that can be found within the pages of The Sun Shard.

In my sequel - The Dead Gods - several threads take the story further; as the war clouds are gathering an expedition is launched to try to find out where Kaziviere has gone. We find Kaziviere alone, with only vague memories of what he once was, on the far fringes of the empire of Acaross, enslaved and now fighting for his survival in a gladiatorial ring. It is only the vague memory of Tamzine, who's name has now become his word of power, that keeps him alive. His memory gradually returns and he learns more of the nature of,  his now mortal enemy, the Messiah of Shadows. He must find a way back; to warn Taleel of the forces they face, to help his new found friend and fellow slave, Nurarna, and of course to be reunited with Tamzine.

 

The Dead Gods is currently being edited and will hopefully be released this summer. Some excerpts, background information and concept art can be found at my Facebook author page: Flint & Steel, Fire & Shadow

The Sun Shard - Prologue

 

 Early Winter…

 

Dayvin Claypit, Gesith of the Gewichas, shivered under his bearskin cloak, his aging bones feeling the cold as a light flurry of snowflakes fluttered in the air like fine, downy feathers. The horse’s hooves clattered on the stones of the Great North Road. He looked northwest, his eyes cast over the undulating hills towards the distant Hailthorn mountains; their summits hidden under the thickening, snow heavy clouds. He hoped his summons with the Earl wouldn’t take too long as he didn’t relish returning home in the teeth of a snow storm. Winter was fast approaching, yet spring would be lacking in its usual feelings of hope and renewal. He returned to looking straight ahead; before him stood the fortified town of Oakenbridge, capital of the Gewichas.

The town straddled the deep chasm cut by the Tusk River cascading from the Hailthorns. It took its name from the wondrous, living bridge formed by four massive and ancient oaks, two each end; their branches arched and intertwined, strengthened with hoops of bronze and steel. Around each end of the bridge, behind a tall palisade were the houses and shops of the inhabitants of Oakenbridge.

Dayvin was greeted by guards at the eastern gate, who let him through without question. Gesith Claypit had served in the Earl’s service for longer years than he cared to remember. He took the familiar road through the town to the Earl’s residence. Under the Eastern tree, joined to appear as it almost grown from it, was the great hall and palace of Earl Stormhelm. It was part of the ancient tree; the entrance went through an enormous barbican formed from a hollowed root. It was adjoined by rooms of brick and timber. Each year another course of bricks were added as the tree grew ever bigger. The difference in size was noted by Dayvin, as he swung out of the saddle.

Out of the gateway a figure stalked through the slush and mud to greet him, with an almost catlike grace. “Greetings Dayvin, it is good to see you.”

Dayvin turned and smiled upon hearing the voice of his old comrade, the Earl’s sword master. “Clessor, my friend, it has been too long.” Both men grabbed each other’s forearms in greeting, before giving each other a bear hug.

Clessor drew back and regarded his old comrade. “You look well. How long has it been since you left the hearth troop?”

“It’s been around five years since I swapped the sword for the plough and left the O‘bridge.”
“Has it really been that long? And the family; are they all well?”

Dayvin’s face dropped, his ready smile gone. “They are well, Clessor, but…”

The Sword Master nodded in understanding. “Your eldest son, Jonas has been drawn for next year’s muster, hasn’t he? I heard it was the case. What of your daughter, Tamzine? I remember her as a tomboy, insisting on learning sword play from me!”

“Jonas and many other sons of the Gewichas,” Dayvin answered sagely, “Tamzine is well, she still trades some sword strokes with me, now and again. What is the Earl’s summons about Clessor, do you know?”

Clessor patted his friend on the back. “He will tell you soon enough. Come, let’s go see him. He has a warm fire and mulled cider. Another year gone and another winter comes, eh?” He said, squinting up at the swirling snow.

The two friends walked through the gateway into the great hollow wood passage, the gates shut behind them against the winter’s onset. Inside the living passage all was warm. Sacred symbols were drawn on the inside. Lanterns were lit but placed on the floor so as not to scorch the sacred wood. Steps were cut up into the hollow trunk to living quarters high above the arch formed by the two eastern trees. Clessor led his friend through a guarded gateway to the right. Here was the great hall part tree part building. A great fire burned in the central fire pit, over which pots of bubbling stew were being tended. Dayvin saw the figure of the Earl warming his hands, staring into the fire, his great grey wolf cloak around his shoulders.

“Gesith Claypit is here, my Lord.” Clessor announced as the two friends drew near.

The Earl turned, his face looked more drawn, lined and world weary than Dayvin remembered; his once blonde hair was now almost as white as snow.

“My Lord.” Dayvin said, kneeling before his Earl.

Earl Stormhelm reached down and took Dayvin’s shoulders, drawing him back up in a standing position. “Welcome back to Oakenbridge, Gesith Claypit… you look older than I remember; I don’t want you hurting those aged knees!” The Earl’s face began to crack a smile and he drew Dayvin into an embrace. “It is good to see you loyal friend. What has kept you from Oakenbridge?”

Dayvin smiled back. “The usual, my Lord. Raising crops and children”

Lord Stormhelm smiled sadly. “Ah yes children, they make us don’t they? It wasn’t so long ago that your daughter and mine played together in the branches of this very tree.” As he spoke he filled a mug of hot, spiced cider and passed it to Dayvin.

“I remember it well, my Lord.” Dayvin said, nodding his thanks.

“Our children were free of care, Dayvin. Alas that is not the fate of their fathers,” the Earl said, filling two more mugs and passing one to Clessor, “Come sit with me ,both of you, that we may talk.”

The Earl led the way to a small alcove and parked himself upon a stool, bidding the other two to do likewise. The Earl took a long draught of his cider before wiping his hand across his mouth.

“Well my friends, next year the Empire comes to take its muster, all lots have been drawn. Your son is to be called to the banners, I hear Dayvin.”

“Jonas, yes his name has been drawn. His mother and I worry greatly. All the talk is of Acaross again. Does Taleel plan another campaign on southern shores?”

The Earl nodded. “When I answered the Dominar’s summons in spring, to be given his demands, it was the talk on the streets of Northport. But be hopeful Dayvin; you and Clessor served under the banners ten years ago and you both came home.”

Dayvin gave a knowing sideways glance to Clessor. “We were fortunate my Lord; both Dayvin and I, being seasoned warriors, served as marines in the fleet. In the panic of the evacuation from Tahlinjin many auxiliaries were sacrificed to make space for the Imperial regulars on whatever ships were still available after the disaster.”

Clessor saw the Earl’s face drop and quickly interjected. “The Empire of Taleel is nothing but stubbornly thorough; if they plan to attack Acaross once more they will have learnt from their mistakes at the Straits of Tahlinjin. We Summerlanders, now Imperial subjects in their Northern Holdings, know this all too well.”

The Earl nodded but had a faraway look in his eyes. “That we do, that we do…” His meditation ended, his eyes looked deep into those of his companions. “I can tell you friends that the demands I received from this Dominar Sligo appalled me. The tributes in foodstuffs we have to yield next year are bad enough to cause real hardship next winter and their hunger for young men for their army is insatiable… and not just young men.”

Dayvin looked over his mug. “What do you mean, Lord?”

The Earl’s hands tightened around the handle of his mug and his voice trembled slightly with anger. “This… Sligo requires a tribute of young women too, and not just the flowers of the Gewichas, but also of the Turanesci, the Fraisons, the Irminsulus and others; all to serve in his household.”

“Serve? In his household?” Dayvin said, realising the implication, “The loathsome Taleeli dog!”

“Indeed, Dayvin, all the Summerlander delegations protested vehemently. We were told in no uncertain terms that defiance would lead to our destruction. The Empire has a large force gathering at Northport with which to impose its will and gather tribute and levies. As an instigator of the protest I was singled out and must part with my most precious possession; my daughter is to be held by the Dominar as a hostage…”

Dayvin looked dumbfounded. “Keeli?  He is demanding Keeli, but what of the treaties between your house and Taleel?”

The Earl sighed. “I was assured that Keeli’s honour as an Earl’s daughter would be respected, but…” He looked up again with a fierce look in his eyes. “I know this manner of man that is called Sligo, he is a lecherous whoremonger: I trust him not. The thought of this toad of a man pawing our womenfolk, and my Keeli, is too much to bear.”

Dayvin laid his hand on his sword hilt. “My lord, I am your loyal Gesith, my sword is forever yours to command. If you plan a revolt, our destruction matters not. I will sacrifice my life and all I have for the honour of the Gewichas.”

The Earl smiled at Dayvin in appreciation and pride but he had tears in his eyes. “I will not cause the destruction of my people if I can help it, but the request I have for you is a terrible thing, especially as your son has been selected for the muster. I am ashamed to ask it of you.”

“My Lord?” Dayvin looked confused, unused to seeing the Earl looking so humbled. He felt Clessor rest his hand on his arm and turned towards his old friend.

Clessor spoke barely above a whisper. “What we ask of you Dayvin is this, that Tamzine accompany her old friend Keeli to Northport to act in secret as a guardian for our Lord’s daughter.”

“Guardian?” Dayvin looked at the floor. He raised his mug with trembling hands and drank deeply as he contemplated the Earl’s request.

Clessor continued. “As I said when you arrived I remember Tamzine having no small skill with a sword. I take it she still does?”

“Indeed,” Dayvin nodded, “She will best me, one of these days.”

“If agreed, I will train her myself,” Clessor said, “In all manner of weapons and also unarmed combat. She will best you, and me, when I am done with her. She will be our eyes in the Dominar’s household and an agent of the Earl’s vengeance if required.”

The Earl reached over to his Gesith. “Please Dayvin, consider this. I will be in your family’s debt, a debt I can never hope to repay.”

Dayvin had tears in his eyes seeing his Lord’s humility. “Please my Lord, there will never be a debt, you are my liege. All that I, and my family, have is because of you. My wife will shed tears afresh but the decision is Tamzine’s to make.”

“Will she say yes do you think?”

Dayvin smiled sadly. “I’ve long known Tamzine is more shieldmaiden than wife and mother; the local boys who have tried their luck bear blackeyes from her tender touch. She yearns for adventure, more so than Jonas if the truth be told. Going to Northport with her old friend Keeli? I can’t see her saying no…”

“Thank you Dayvin,” the Earl said solemnly, “You don’t want my debt but you will have it anyway, I will sleep easier knowing Keeli will have a friend beside her.”

Dayvin turned to Clessor. “You will train her well?”

“You may count on it,” the Sword master smiled fiercely; “When I am done she will be lethal.”

** This is a prologue I've just written for The Sun Shard, currently available  at Amazon. Oh and keep your eyes out for Book 2 - The Dead Gods - coming soon. ***

The Sun Shard - Excerpt

*** In a shameless bit of self promotion of my Flint & Steel, Fire & Shadow fantasy series, I hope you enjoy the following excerpt. ***

He was Kress Startooth of the Flint Folk, war cleric, bush priest, but before that he had been a hunter and warrior of great renown. He mouthed a silent prayer to his gods, the Great Mother and the All-Father, to impel his enemies, “Come on, follow the path before you”.

The soldier got his way, almost shoving the scout auxiliary ahead of him to continue, threatening him by placing his palm on his sword pommel. They would have to climb the steep deer path; the soldier would find it hard going under the sun in that heavy armour, the watcher above mused.

Kress prepared himself; he took off his cloak and bag, loosened his steel knife in its sheath and unhooked his flint axe from his belt. He risked another look down the escarpment edge. They were climbing the path towards him, but would take some time to reach his position. He crept back from the edge and sat down behind some waist high rocks set away from the escarpment edge. He took a swig of water from his gourd and reached in his bag for some dried meat and a hard crust of bread. He would need energy for the coming fight. Using the water in his mouth he worked at the meat and bread and chewed slowly to release as much nourishment as possible. He took his time, breathed deeply and cleared his head. He took in every detail of his surroundings. He would need to spell weave the air, the grass and the earth of this place. When he was done he wrapped his bag and gourd in his cloak and hid them between some rocks.

Kress grasped his flint axe in his right hand and with his left clasped the Sun Shard. He quietly prayed, “Great Mother Earth shield me, protect your own. All-Father Sun, blind my enemies, guide my axe, grant me the strength in my arms as I used to have.”

Once again he sang softly in an ancient tongue that spoke of grass and earth; the rocks and air. The Sun Shard flickered as he gestured about himself reshaping this small corner of the world. He sat atop one of the rocks. He stopped his song. The light in the crystal faded. There was a moments silence and stillness before the buzzing of insects and song of birds filled the noiseless vacuum.

The hunters were getting closer, Kress could hear they were still discussing the situation. He first heard the younger voice, that of the scout. “Captain Tollend, we should go back down and find the Commander, our quarry is close, I’m sure of it”.

The Captain replied in the gruff voice of a veteran, “Go back and tell the Commander what exactly? That once again we have chased shades? The track split you said, the second time you told the Commander that. I tell you boy, I’m sick of this bollocks. You’ve had us going around in circles. I’m amazed the Commander let you drag me along this fool’s errand. If it was me I’d have broken one of your legs for leading us this merry dance, aye, and left you for the mountain lions. You saw how the tracks took off at speed going back down the valley. He made a break for it. The main force have probably caught the old bastard already and are having some fun with him.”

“Captain, those tracks seemed too obvious. This is a Flint Father we’re tracking. Those other tracks were out of character. I don’t like this. These tracks lead up here but we ought to see him climbing up that exposed ridge by now”.

“Flint Father you say? That’s heresy. Don’t ever let Commander Kaziviere hear you say that lad. He’s a savage, nothing more. You northern filth are all half breed bastards yourselves. Maybe you shits have forgotten the lessons we taught you long ago? You know nothing of the real world, but you will when we march south. You’ll serve your Emperor boy. If you’re lucky you’ll survive your first battle you snot nose shit.”

The two figures crested the hill onto the grassy plateau. The scout squatted down on his haunches and ran his fingers over the grass.

“Captain, the tracks stop here, they just disappear!”

 The scout looked troubled and pushed back his helm to cool down, his fair fringe plastered on his forehead. His eyes were glued to the ground looking for signs. The burly soldier looked around at the virgin, un-trampled grass and spat thick phlegm in disgust. He was breathing deeply from the exertion of the climb. He span around at the scout who was still attempting to read the signs in the grasses. “Why you little goat fucker, where is he then? There’s bugger all here. We’ve climbed this hill for nothing, you bastard. Right then, I need a piss. You either find them tracks again or think very carefully about what you say next, sunshine. If it isn’t good enough, then I will leave you crippled for the lions. I’ll tell the commander you fell off the mountain.”

“Captain, you saw the footprints on the path back there as clearly as I did.”

The soldier was about to bark out an insult in reply and then thought better of it. He knew this tracker was highly skilled, much better than he was himself, although he would never admit that to the world outside his mind.

The soldier stomped to a stand of rocks. He leant his matchlock musket against one and took his helmet off and threw it to the ground. He was sweating profusely after that pointless climb. He had to blink as it ran into his eyes. He undid his drawstring and pulled down his breeches. He let out a sigh of relief as his stream of urine splashed against the rocks.

He was barely aware as a boulder to his side seemed to shimmer, rise up and take a man shape. What was moments before air, rock and lichen, congealed into flesh. He hardly had time to mouth a surprise as a wicked flint axe, wielded by a sinewy arm, slammed into his face. His jaw broke and fell slack. His left eye and cheek exploded in a welter of blood, bone and torn tissue. He barely gurgled as a sharp steel knife slashed out his throat and he fell backwards onto the sward, his stream of urine still flowing like a fountain in a palace courtyard in Taleel.

Kress sprang over the fallen soldier. He uttered no war cry. He needed shock and surprise. He thrilled at the kill; it had been fast and perfectly executed. He ran towards the auxiliary who hadn’t fully registered what had just happened. Kress swung back his arm for a deadly blow, his axe leaving an arc of gore in the air. The auxiliary raised his head from his reading of the ground, his mouth agape in surprise. Kress swung his axe; he looked into the blue eyes of his victim, set in sharp features, which shone fearfully as death approached. The world suddenly seemed to still, as the boundaries of the waking and dream worlds blurred and became one. Kress instantly recognised the scout’s features as the Sun Shard flashed brightly.

** Now if you enjoyed that excerpt then you'd like to know that The Sun Shard is currently available at a promotional rate of 0.99p! Its available here at  Amazon.  Oh and keep your eyes out for Book 2 - The Dead Gods - coming soon. ***

My Writing Process - Blog Tour

Louise E Rule has tagged me in Blog Hop, whereby we discuss our different writing processes. I know Louise through the modern miracle of social media that is facebook. Louise is a reviewer and an Admin in the Review Blog, which I have the pleasure to be a member of. In addition Louise is the author of the autobiographical Future Confronted, a heart rending, but ultimately life affirming, account of a deeply emotive subject.  Louise is currently embarking on a work of historical fiction. You can learn more by visiting last weeks' Blog Hop Here.
So now, picking up the baton, I will attempt to answer the questions we have all been posed during this fascinating blog tour.





1. What am I working on?

I'm currently working on a Flint and Steel, Fire and Shadow sequel to my debut novel The Sun Shard. At present my WIP has the working title of The Dead Gods, but this may well change. It takes off where The Sun Shard left off in a fantasy world, where the prehistoric, modern and mythical freely mix. Whereas its predecessor was a boys' own rollicking yarn, recounting a story spanning a few weeks, in my WIP I'm attempting to introduce more background information, both in the characters' history and the technology and political structure of the different cultures I'm attempting to describe.
In the second half of The Sun Shard I had to switch from one POV arena to another but managed to keep them in chronological order (mostly!). I had two different expeditions journeying to the ultimate showdown with the enemy, one by land and the other by sea. In my WIP I now have more threads from the very start but this means that I have more scope to describe different lands and peoples as well as the sheer pleasure of creating and introducing new characters, both good and bad, or maybe even a bit of both.
I have also had a piece of flash fiction accepted for Felinity a Steampunk anthology, which is due to be published by Kristell Ink soon.



2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

My F&S,F&S is a different fantasy setting; not the usual high fantasy of Elves and Dwarfs, or even straight forward sword and shield action. Instead, the dominant civilisations are roughly comparable to our C17th period in history but the available technology has been taken to greater degree of sophistication. So in this universe ships can be powered both by sail and with huge clockwork engines. Battles are fought with both flint axes and matchlock muskets. While the science of black powder alchemy rubs shoulders with the magical and mythical. Oh and I almost forgot to mention the mammoths, which are ridden to battle by Neanderthals, or the Flint Folk as there are known.
It could be described as Clockpunk, a sub genre of Steampunk, but I like to think that it cuts its own path. So far I'm over 20 chapters in but even now I can see at least one more book taking shape, after this one, before the story is fully told.
I recently experimented a little and wrote 3 chapters as a father recounting his peoples' history to his daughter. I think it worked really well and neatly concluded that story thread.

3. Why do I write what I do?

The simple answer would be because no one else does. There's a saying that everyone has at least one novel in them and I've always wanted to write since my teens. But life got in the way, as it tends to do, and it remained as a teenage whim. I wrote a little poetry for my own amusement but that was it as far as creative writing was concerned. On FB I got to know a lady called Paula Lofting through a mutual interest in Pre Norman conquest history. Paula was in the process of writing her first novel on this subject Sons of the Wolf and I found the whole writing process she was going through both fascinating and inspirational. When her book was published I read it twice and thoroughly enjoyed it. Her experience of writing reminded me of that whim I once had. Later I took up reading GRR Martin's Song of Ice & Fire series and my love of fantasy was refired by his brutal realism. Like many of his readers I was in limbo awaiting the next instalment, while the Game of Thrones TV series continually catches up rapidly. I had devoured his fantasy world and needed something to fill the void it left, but what?
I know it sounds corny in the extreme, but my own writing began with a dream. I awoke with a vivid image in my mind; a scene that featured in The Sun Shard and around which the whole story developed. I discussed it with a work colleague ( a very talented artist in his own right) and he told me, in no uncertain terms, to get on with putting it to paper.  I started writing and I found it satisfied my hunger created by Mr Martin! Time that I once used to spend playing computer games was now spent writing. I couldn't stop, I became frustrated when I wasn't working on the story. It seemed to almost write itself in fact, unfolding on the screen in front of me. I was just the one tapping the keys! Writing is a reward in itself; the perfect escape from the reality of the humdrum 9-5.


4. How does my writing process work?

I think its true that if you spend too much time in the planning, the writing just won't happen. Personally the more I write, the more I immerse myself in my universe and the more ideas come my way. I have a rough plan where the story cycle is going, its the filling in the blanks that I thoroughly enjoy. There is nothing better than when the words just flow. Sometimes it's like I can't write them down fast enough. I love the process of creating characters, giving them little quirks and foibles, and inventing names that have cultural similarities amongst particular tribes and peoples. I love my characters, but sometimes the story demands that they die (sometimes quite brutally!), which can be genuinely upsetting!
I've been told that I describe landscapes and scenes quite well. I try to show the reader what I see and write, in what I like to call a cinematic style. I like to think my mind's eye is a camera and I pan from the distance onto a given scene. I suppose it is a tad unsophisticated but the more I write the more I learn.
I tend to write whenever the opportunity arises, mainly in the evening when the kids are in bed. If I can I will write a little during my lunch break at work. Most of my email traffic are segments of chapters sent to myself from different computers! I usually aim to produce a chapter of 4-5k words a week. I do like slotting in a larger chapter occasionally when certain events in the book are reaching a conclusion (such as a battle) before picking up the pieces and continuing with the story.
I wrote primarily for my own enjoyment and for that of a few friends, but after failing to find an interested publisher, I was encouraged to self publish on Amazon, and in the main its been a good experience. Using fantasy pages on FB I advertised and ran promotions, to get my name out there and see what people thought of my story. That people downloaded it was a humbling experience, but that it got positive reviews and people genuinely looked forward to a sequel was amazing. It proved quite popular in the US, although with the size of the target audience the term is somewhat relative!
Although set in a fantasy world, some elements demanded research, such as nautical terminology and the use of matchlock muskets. As well as lists of characters, I had to create a chart to ensure that the tide times and phases of the moon were correct with the chronology and location of different characters. Such details may have gone unnoticed by the reader but to ignore it seemed like cheating!
The Sun Shard does need a re-edit, before I again embark on trying once more for the Grail-like quest of finding a publisher.
But in the meantime my characters demand that their futures are written. I'm sure its the same with all writers, but it still amazes me how real your characters become. Considering they are merely the products of the firing of the imaginer's synapses; I know their appearence, their mannerisms and accents, even their future hopes. Isn't writing fun?


Now its time to pass the baton, and you're in for a treat. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce the esteemed Glenn Scrimshaw, whose blog can be found in this galactic quadrant; over to you Glenn.


Hello, I'm Glenn Scrimshaw and I class myself as a drunken storyteller due to the fact that I use the whisky writing method. I write what is hopefully comedy Sci-Fi and fantasy and I'm as surprised as anyone that not only did I get published but people seem to like my daft little stories.