Once upon a time

Today somebody asked how writers write. That's an easy answer and almost every writer will tell you a similar answer. One word at a time. Just write.

 He made some comment that, if he wrote a story, it would probably start Once upon a time as if that would be a bad thing. True enough; if i started my novel with Once Upon A Time, you'd probably think you were reading something by a five year old and wouldn't get past the first paragraph. So, what if i started with A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? It's basically the same sentence and, yes, it's from a sort of fairy tale. But it's also the opening line of something very special. Well, i think so.

If it works for you, start with once upon a time. That doesn't have to stay in the final version. I wrote a piece about a fireman attending an accident on the motorway. I'd probably written 500 words and it just wasn't working. it wasn't a story, it wasn't exciting and i didn't want to know what happened next. i kept going for a while then stopped, highlighted the first paragraph and pressed delete.

No better. The next paragraph went the same way. Once i'd deleted the third, i realised i have the start of the story, but hadn't been able to see it because it was hidden amongst all the rubbish. The start sometimes isn't at the start.

Joseph Grand, one of the characters in The Plague by Albert Camus is a writer. He is trying to write the perfect opening sentence and rewrites and revises it constantly , never actually getting on to the next sentence and never writing the book. Many people who want to write end up in a similar trap. There is a cure, although it's a bit extreme. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) sets the challenge of writing a fifty thousand word story in a month. Starting with a blank sheet on the 1st of November each year thousands of people try to get 1500 words a day down. It's not easy, particularly if you want to create a masterpiece from the start. However, NaNoWriMo's strap line is that it's all about quantity, not quality. Put words on the page and you can come back and polish, revise, edit, change, delete, add later on. Just Write.

Part of the charm (or not) of blogs is that they aren't thought through properly before typing begins - this one certainly isn't. It's a stream of consciousness, clunky and rambling. Unfortunately, when i run out of things to say, i just press the Publish button. So, what you get is the raw version of what i wanted to say. However, as i'm spending more time blogging and twittering and facebooking in the hope of raising awareness of my book (published on Kindle in February) than writing the sequel, i haven't got time to revise and polish etc etc. Sometimes i'm blogging at midnight, and it shows.

Publish and be damned (he said, out of context).

Live in the moment

A couple of days ago i posted the first half of a chapter written specially for this blog. i was very conscious that it was probably going to be read (presuming there are people out there and my stats page isn't recording me every time i visit my own blog) fairly shortly after it was written and before i had a chance to hone and polish it.

So it was written with the immediate future in mind and i'm not sure it benefited from that.

I also posted a prequel piece that i wrote as part of the creative writing course. At the time i thought it was pretty good and, as it was only 500 words, i'd tried to choose each one carefully. When i read it again (after i'd posted it) i didn't like it so much. i think i'd tried to be too detailed rather than leaving it to the readers' imagination.

So, never look forward, never look back. just write!

The book itself (Have i mentioned i've written a book and i'm going to publish on amazon kindle next month?) was never really meant to be read and that gave it a lot of freedom. When i read i tend to gloss over the descriptive parts and i've tried to do that in my own writing (although i know there are sections where i've failed miserably) as i can see the places that everything's happening in my head. i'd like to think that it moves apace, and that it's populated with characters that aren't two dimensional (apart from the very minor people, mentioned in passing who, obviously, are).

What can i conclude? i'm starting to worry that its all rubbish. Apart from the piece i posted under the title I don't just do science fiction. Only 100 words, each one lovingly selected and put in place. SPOILER ALERT. The original draft was over 200 words and i had to ditch more than half of it. i particularly miss the oak trees where the old man is buried but they added words without actually adding to the story.

100 word stories are a lot of fun, but not as satisfying as a whole novel and won't sell particularly well on Kindle - that's not hugely important, but it would be nice to break even although i'm fairly hopeful as the cover wasn't expensive. Cathy Helms from Avalon Graphics did a great job - don't know if she'll still drop by the blog now that i've paid the bill :-)

i've just had a quick read of another piece i did and i'm feeling more positive again.This was a re-imagining of the Snow White story and i still like it. I'll post that in the next day or so. i'd be interested in your comments.

Is there anybody out there?

The ink on this is still wet 1/4

I glanced away from the tactical screens to the station where Nonaka, my First Officer was monitoring the movement of the rest of the fleet. He looked up.

“A few minutes more, Admiral.”

We might not have a few minutes more. The Nemesis had disabled the leading two Vrgarr battleships, but the rest of their formation was closing rapidly and the heavy cruisers of the Church Militant were angling in behind us. Once they achieved a firing position they could turn the main drives into scrap and we would be finished. We were finished anyway, but my task was to hold the combined Vrgarr and Realm warships here whilst our fleets made their escape.

The damage control boards told a sorry tale. Three of the power plants were dark and red lights flashed in far too many critical sections. There were no commands I could give that would make a difference. I had to stand at the centre of the bridge and keep completely calm whilst my ship was blown apart around me. I could feel a tremor working its way down my arm; I clasped my hands together behind my back. The bridge crew were looking to me. If I showed fear, they might panic. I needed them at their posts for a little longer.

The deck was vibrating constantly, each shivver an explosion somewhere. The bridge itself was buried at the centre of the ship and safe from almost every enemy weapon. Screens went dark as power lines and information feeds were cut, but there were no explosions here.

“The fleet is clear.” Reported Nonaka. We had diverted the enemy's attention and now they were too far behind to catch the Imperial ships.

“Orders.” I didn't need to raise my voice. The microphone on my lapel picked up every word and transmitted it to the command crew. “All weapons, cease firing. Engineering; drives to zero, emergency shut down of reactors Two to seven.” One, Three and Eight were gone. Only number nine would be left functioning, providing a small power feed to keep the life support and other vital systems going. “Comms, signal the Vrgarr that we surrender.” I had never been in this position before. Many military units considered surrender a shameful act, but my role now was to protect the lives of my surviving crew.

“Sir?” Called the communications officer. “The Vrgarr commander requires you to eject the reactor core.” This was a standard demand. Without power we were no threat to them.

“Very good. Engineering, eject power cores Two, Four and Five.” The battle was over, but I wanted to keep two reactors intact in case number Nine failed. The Nemesis was an old ship and had been refitted with nine small reactors, spread across the ship, rather than the usual main plant and smaller reserve reactor. Our design meant that enemy ships often targeted the wrong part of the ship and we could take massive amounts of damage and continue fighting. But not today, and not against another eleven capital ships. The Vrgarr would not know until they boarded the ship, but that would not help them in future. The three sister ships also had nine reactors, but they were in different positions.

“Sir!” The second engineer called urgently. “Reactor Two won't eject and the core is going to go critical.”

We wouldn't have long. I looked at Nonaka. He nodded.

“Abandon ship. All hands abandon ship.”

Nobody on the bridge left their post. They would be the last to leave. They were needed to make sure that power was available to the escape pods and hatches. That the damage control teams cleared the right corridors, that the enemy knew we were launching escape craft and not mines or missiles. For the moment we were protected within the armoured shell of the bridge, but it wouldn't protect us if reactor two exploded.

There was little I could do myself but standing in the centre of the command ring was difficult. The tremor in my arm was back, and slightly stronger this time. The chances of us getting out were slim. Getting the crew off was a mammoth task. Judging from the damage control boards many would be dead already and we would lose many more as the injured were too slow to escape and the trapped were left behind.

The status board changed as escape craft left the ship. Every second that the engineers could control the reactor meant more lives saved.

“Admiral, we've done everything we can.” Said Nonaka.

I nodded. “Clear the bridge, make for the escape pods and may the blessing of the Emperor be with you.” I said.

A slight breeze ruffled papers as the massive hatch that sealed off the bridge opened. Somewhere the ship was venting air. It was probably leaking like a sieve. The bridge crew had emergency vacuum hoods which would protect them. They evacuated the compartment in an orderly manner, as they had been trained. They were frightened, but in control. I wasn't looking in his direction but I knew Nonaka hadn't moved.

“Lead them to the escape pods, please, Hiraku.”

“Yes, Sir. He didn't argue. I knew he wanted to stay, but I had given him a direct order. He gave a smart salute and turned towards the hatch, giving a short nod to Cavendish as he passed her. She hadn't moved since we had entered into battle. In her black Ultima armour she was taller than me and much more massive. As always she was completely calm and unmoved by the disaster that had befallen us. Behind her I could see three more of the Bad Girls, my personal bodyguards. The rest would be outside the bridge, waiting.

“It's time to go.” She said.

“You go.” I had to try.

“No.” Like the first officer, she wanted to stay at her post. Unlike him, my orders would make no difference. She had sworn to protect me or die in the attempt. I hadn't asked for that, but I had to respect her choice.

“I can't leave. There's a reason captains go down with their ships, you know.”

“Is it a good reason?”

I had a strong suspicion that, if I said no, she would pick me up and carry me to the escape pod. Even when not wearing power armour she was capable of lifting me with one hand.

“Yes. Yes, there is. We know too much.” I knew the position and intentions of each of the three Imperial Banner fleets in this sector. More importantly, I knew that the twelve Imperial Destroyers that had dispersed through the system whilst we held off the enemy ships were, in fact, large merchant ships with reprogrammed transmitters. The Vrgarr believed that a Banner Fleet was at large in this strategically vital system and would have to bring in a huge number of ships to protect the port and docks that orbited the gas giant. Moving those resources would create a gap that the actual fleets would use to force their way into enemy space where they could cause massive disruption to supply lines and manufacturing orbitals. The Nemesis had been sacrificed for that goal.

“If captains go down with their ships, then they won't be looking for you. Lose the stripes, they'll never know.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps. If they figure it out, there are other options.”

I didn't ask if she would be able to put a bullet through my head. She would do it without hesitation if necessary.

Acre moved closer. “Are we going to stand here until the reactor blows or are we going to go? As much as I like the thought of all the posthumous medals that they'll fasten to our memorial stones, I'd rather collect them in person.” Even Cavendish smiled at that.

“Very good. Where are the others?” I asked. There were four marines on the bridge.

The smile faded from Cavendish's face. “The others are with the bridge crew.” That made sense. In their power armour they could easily clear heavy debris from the path of the escaping crew. “Except Vincent.” She said.

“What happened to Vincent?”

“Gods on bicycles.” Muttered Acre. “Can't we talk about it on the way?”

“Vincent was taking casualties to the sick bay. She was there when it got hit.”

Ross, Cavendish's second in command, picked up her helmet. “There are engineers in reactor two, keeping it from melting so everybody gets off. If you don't go, they won't go.” She sealed the helmet to the locking ring on her armour.

“Is everybody determined to commit suicide today?” I asked

“I'm not.” said Acre. “Let's just bloody well go!”

This is the first half of a chapter that will appear in the second Echo book - OK, i know i haven't published book one yet, but it's coming soon. It's a flashback to an incident that is mentioned in passing in Echo. I've just finished writing it, so there are probably mistakes and bits of it are a little clunky, but i can tidy it up later.Nobody saw a word of Book one until the first draft was completely finished so I thought it might be fun to post bits of book two as i went along. Hope you like it. If you do, buy the book :-) 

Is this the right ballroom for Strictly Come Dancing?

The top rings on the sleeves of York’s greatcoat bore a lustre lost by the others. Although newly promoted, he carried himself with the assurance of a man who had borne the responsibility of command for some time.

He stood at the edge of a group of officers. They were absorbed with spending the night in revelry. York desperately wanted to be on the bridge of his ship. He was a warrior, not a courtier; the scars on his face were acquired in battle, not on the duelling fields.

The myriad coloured gowns swirled across the dance floor below the gallery, but he was focussed on two figures. Admiral Morton was working his way though the cream of society’s female aristocracy. The other subject of York’s attention had been more difficult to identify. York had been trained to look for patterns, gaps and weaknesses that could be exploited.  Despite that, it had taken a full fifteen minutes of study, before he was able to spot somebody whose behaviour was different. The young woman in the green ball gown had not danced, skilfully avoiding engagement with any officer who had tried to approach her.

Two officers stopped in front of him. He wasn’t a tall man and they blocked his view of the waltzing crowd. York could command a deck without raising his voice and, quietly, attracted their attention. Although they acknowledged his rank, it was his aura of authority that moved them on.

Beneath the gaiety, there was an undercurrent of fear. York was not afraid. His whole purpose was war.  The morning would see his ship setting out, part of a fleet that would engage the enemy within a week and he hungered for the visceral excitement of battle.

The temperature of the upper gallery was rising; York could feel beads of sweat beneath his close-cropped hair. He stepped towards the doors emphasising his limp and leaning on his cane to avoid being drawn into the dancing by any of the matrons that hunted for heroes. Morton was feted as a hero but, to York, his reputation was blackened by the fact he was an uninspired commander, employing strategies that resulted in huge numbers of casualties and an uncertain outcome. York championed different tactics, using sudden and overwhelming violence and was determined that it would be he who directed the strategy of the fleet. Morton would be dead by midnight, but not by York’s hand. This had been planned from the point when war became inevitable and, as much as he wanted to be on his ship, York had to be here to see the culmination of the plot unfold.

He walked along the terrace outside, undisturbed snow crunching beneath his polished boots. As he surveyed the formal gardens, the doors opened behind him and the woman in the green dress stepped out. For a moment he felt dismay. If his plan was uncovered, then there was every chance that she was here for him, not the Admiral.


Previously i posted the scene where York and Echo meet, on the castle terrace. After writing that scene i asked myself the question, why are they there? and got the answer - to kill somebody. That's what they do. So, although this scene is set before that one, it moves the story on.

This scene didn't actually make it into the book (but the murder gets referred to several times). Looking back at it (i've not read it for a while), it feels like i was trying too hard. This was a 500 word assignment and we spent a lot of time using as many different descriptive words as we could shoehorn into the limit. Writing 100,000 words is very different. I'm trying to get somewhere, at a reasonable pace, so there's a lot less description (you can make it up yourself) and the language is less flowery.

The green ball gown is a theme that runs through the book. I really have no idea why. I'm sure there was a reason originally but, like so many things, it's been lost (like car keys and several sets of glasses).

My name is, my name is, my name is

Names are difficult. i had to come up with a whole load to populate the book. Mostly for people but also for some places. If you're interested, this is where some of mine came from.

Gabriel York. York came first. I was starting to write and there was an article on the news about something that had happened in York. For his first name i wanted something that was completely unexpected and sort of out of character. i remembered a scene from the film Assassin where Gabriel Byrne stares down Bridget Fonda who's armed and angry as i remember. How cool was he.

The Admirals and the Marines. They're all named after streets near where i used to live.

I'm half way through writing this and i've just realised that, as hardly anybody has read the book, most of you won't know what the names were in the first place.

Places - the Sleeper Empire started on five planets where ships from earth arrived with tens of thousands of people in suspended animation. The planets took the names of the ships. There were six "Visionary" ships.

The Asimov, the Bradbury, the Heinlein, the Wells, (one i've forgotten, it's late) all founded worlds.Nobody wanted to get on the ship named after Philip K, and The Clarke was lost (although found again, but that's book two). For planets in book one, i thought of the characteristic then ran the phrase through Google translator and wrote down whatever sounded right.

There's no real science to it. i think i'll tweet and see how other people do it.

And so, i've talked about two main characters. One, who's been called York throughout the blog and one, who's picture was subject of the vote (which is now closed) but whose name i haven't yet used.

Here's a question. What was the name of the spy in the Len Deighton novels The Ipcress File and Billion Dollar Brain? In the films he was played by Michael Caine.



If you said Harry Palmer, go stand in the corner

In the books his name is never mentioned. Never. We know where he comes from, but not who he is. Originally i wanted to do something similar. In my head her name was Chorus - named after the narrator of several of Shakespeare's works  -but i was trying not to use it. A touch of mystery but, in the end it was just too clumsy and i gave up.

However, at the last minute, we changed it. In the first draft her sisters Echo and Legion (there are reasons for this) appear briefly. With a flick of the find and replace button, i swapped Echo and Chorus over. I think it suits her better.

I'm doing the final cut now (somebody else will do the final edit - worry not, professional writers) and the only thing that i worry about is the names. Particularly the one named after a Beatle.

I was 19 before i realised that the Beatles was spelt with an A

I don't just do science fiction

I’ve searched for years for the perfect house. Now, perhaps, I’ve found it.

I knew all along I’d never be able to afford a place that had all the elements that had I dreamed of. Such a sweet old man.  When I knocked on the front door and asked if he would consider selling it to me, he invited me in and gave me tea and biscuits. Unfortunately he had no intention of selling it and had bequeathed it to charity. As he showed me round the house he told a little about himself. He’d been born in this house, had lived here all his life and intended to die here.

It was the least I could do.

Blog or Tax Return?

Sorry, tax return. Tomorrow i'll post a prequel piece. Promise