I have a mortal enemy – He’s called procrastination.

So, in just the last day or so my wonderful Muse has decided to make a reappearance (I think he’s been on a long extended vacation). Brilliant news because I’ve been struggling to write more than a couple hundred words a day.

Unfortunately, with the reappearance of my Muse comes my mortal enemy and the enemy of any writer. Procrastination.

I know what you’re probably thinking. Isn’t writing this blog a form of procrastination? Shouldn’t I be busy scribbling away wrapping up the glorious and thrilling conclusion to the sequel to THE LAST KNIGHT?

Well yes. Exactly.

But it’s tricky see, because I’m not just wasting time. (Honest! I swear I’m not).

The social media are essential to my marketing. I don’t have some huge, wealthy publisher to pay for my marketing. I have to do it all myself and the cheapest, easiest form of marketing is social media. So you see, when I’m on Facebook it’s work. No. Seriously, it is. Stop laughing.

And then there’s Twitter. Oh Twitter how I both loathe and love you. It should be so easy to just throw out a few tweets, a few #hashtags. A little witty comment here or there. But I’m a writer – I LIKE words – and 140 characters does not give me nearly enough words!

Of course, there is also this blog, which mocks me when I don’t post often enough.

And whilst I’m engaging in these fun and thrilling activities my Muse is tapping his foot and getting impatient, threatening to take another long vacation if I don’t get my act together.

So I better go and get writing. I’ve got a great scene to write about…wait, can’t tell you. Spoilers! You’ll just have to read the book. One day. If my Muse doesn’t quit on me before then.

 

Coming Soon: The Last Knight sequel has a title at last – Woo hoo. THE LAST KNIGHT is getting a new sexy cover – Woo Hoo.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I hope you don’t mind me sharing the eulogy below with the world.

But you see I’m proud of it in a strange way. It was the hardest, most difficult thing I ever had to write, and I sometimes wondered if it was worth the tears and the pain – or whether I should have let someone else write it.  But when it came down to it – I knew it had to be me.

This was the last thing I would do for you, and it had to be the best that I could do. I had to make you proud.

And now I’m sharing it with the world because the internet is the best way I know of to make something permanent. As long as the internet exists – this post will exist. A strange, cybernetic monument to you. And I know you would have liked that – considering how much you loved computers.

I want the world to be able to see the man that I knew. I want people from all over the world to be able to read this and see a little glimpse of an incredible father, and a wonderful man who is desperately missed.

I want this out there because I don’t ever want to forget you.

So this is it, Dad. My tribute to you. It may not be the most perfect thing I’ve ever written – I doubt it’s particularly grammatically correct – but it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. The most honest thing I’ve ever written.

David George Dorrington  1947-2014

JRR Tolkien once said, through the wise words of Bilbo Baggins:

‘It’s a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.’

And he was right. It takes a brave person to let life take you where it will, into new situations and uncertain territory.

Dad was never afraid though. He had no fear of stepping onto the road and letting it sweep him away. In doing so he carried us along with him. Dad never shied away from a road or path others would turn aside from. When he met mum, a woman with a young child, he didn’t hesititate. He took the road, and took the woman and child into his heart.

I never thought of Tracie as my half-sister, because Dad never did. Because he never thought of her as anything other than his own. It was the way Dad was.

When his road diverged and he had a choice - stay in the UK or go to a far off country so different from the one he grew up in - he made the kind of choice he always made - the brave one.

He packed up his bags, his wife, and three small children and took the hard road - but the more exciting one.

Later when that same road led him back into Kuwait just before the Iraqi Invasion it became the toughest, most rocky road our family ever faced. But Dad faced it head on. And Dad, being Dad, didn’t just look out for himself. Instead he chose to help others. He opened his home to other men who needed a place to hide, and kept them safe too.

I was too young back then to know much of what was going on - or to remember it, but I know Dad was brave and selfless, helping others get out of the country, even when it meant he didn’t get out himself.

After the war Dad’s road diverged again. Most of the expats we’d known chose not to return to Kuwait, but Dad chose the other path. He chose to go back into Kuwait - back into a country badly damaged by war - in order to make a difference.

I’ve seen the pictures - of a sky back with smoke from oil fires - of people’s homes looted and vandalised - of a church senselessly ransacked.

Dad was there, he packed up people’s precious memories, he opened his home to anyone who needed a place to relax, or even a sneaky beer, he rebuilt the church and got it running again. He did what a lot of people couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

Yet after all that, Dad still wasn’t afraid of what life would throw at him. He followed his road to Cyprus, Bahrain, back to the UK, and out to Abu Dhabi. It even took him to Kenya for a while. Sometimes we went with him, other times he went it alone, but I know that we, his family, were never far from his thoughts.

Through all these places Dad had a few hobbies and passions that stayed with him.

He was a Scout Leader - he’d been a Scout himself as a boy. He was Skip to his Scouts - and it seems is still an inspiration at 3^rd High Wycombe Scorpion scouts, where, ‘what would skip do’ has been known to be asked - even 30 years later.

He loved the stage. From serious plays to pantomime and he made a fine Zena warrior princess. The only time I got to shout at him with repercussions was when I played his Grand daughter in The Weekend - I was fifteen and it was the highlight of my year.

He was passionate about his darts and his rugby - playing the former and watching the latter, but both with a beer in his hand.

A lot of people upon hearing he was into his campanology could only imagine what that was - but he was a bell ringer from his teens - and anytime he was back in the UK he took the chance to go and ring some bells. It was the last thing he did, and I know it made him happy.

But above all else, what Dad loved more than anything else, was people. Dad was a larger than life, soul of the party kind of man - because he loved people.

He loved to talk to them, didn’t matter what colour, race or creed, Dad could talk to them all. It was one of the things that made him so special - his ability to open his heart up to anyone. I’ve lost track of the number of ‘adoptive’ kids he and Mum have had over the years. It’s only surpassed by the number of adoptive animals he and mum opened their homes and hearts to.

Over his life Dad has been many things to many people. Son, brother, Uncle, Godfather and friend - but above all - a husband and a father.

Over the years, as a family, our lives have all diverged, and we have taken our own roads. For Jo and Tracie it was families of their own here in the UK. For Ian it was a life in Cyprus with a wife and a dog. For me it was a life in the sun a thousand miles away.

But no matter how far away our roads took us we always knew Mum and Dad were there, just as they have been our whole lives. I, for one, knew I could always look back and see what it was I was looking for, because I’ve always known if I could have a relationship half as good as Mum and Dad’s, then I would be an incredibly lucky person.

Like most girls, my Dad has been the yard stick against which all men are measured, and I feel sorry for them. Because it’s a very tough act to measure up to.

One day my life may lead into marriage and a family of my own, and I can only hope I’ll be able to give them what Mum and Dad gave me.

Dad and I had a conversation once, and he told me he worried he’d made the wrong choice. Had he done the right thing in taking us all with him on his road, or would it have been better to have stayed in one place, put down roots and never let the road sweep us away? I told him straight that he was crazy. I told him he’d done exactly the right thing. I had a childhood i would never forget - and along the way Dad inspired a love of new places and new things - a love of people and a love of books. Much of what I am - including being a writer - I owe to Dad. Because he always dreamed - he always loved, and he was always ready to let the road sweep him away.

Now Dad’s road has taken him in a new direction - away from us.

And it’s a road we can’t follow - not just yet. But I know he’ll be watching us - from far down the road - watching our lives taking us to new places and new experiences. He’ll be watching his children, grandchildren and great grand-children - as excited as we are to see what direction our lives take.

And one day, a long time from now, our roads will take us down the same path and he’ll be there. With a thousand new stories to tell.

After all -

‘Still round the corner there may wait,

A new road or secret gate,

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day shall come at last when I,

Shall take the hidden paths that run,

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.’

 

I miss you, Dad.

"I'm fine"

“I’m fine.”

Two little words (or three if you’re being fastidious) yet somehow it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

“I’m fine.”

It’s the answer to most questions I’m asked these days and part of me wonders – if I keep saying it long enough will it become true?

At what point after losing someone you love – someone you can never replace – do the words “I’m fine” stop being a lie and finally become reality? A month? Six months? A year?

At this point I find it hard to imagine there ever being a time when I can say the words “I’m fine” without lying. Because it seems that there will always be this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that nothing will ever be quite ‘fine’ again.

Some people have told me not to tell the lie. “When people ask you how you’re doing, just tell them the truth,” they say.

I can picture the conversation now.

“How are you doing?” Someone asks.

“Well…” I reply. “Since you asked…actually…”

And three hours later their face is a fixed grimace of horror, and they swear a vow to never ask me how I’m doing again.

The truth is, it’s not something I can share with people around me. I’m not going to say nobody understands what I’m going through. Because that would be a lie too – I’m not the first person to lose a father far too young and unexpectedly and I won’t be the last. It is true though that we all grieve in our own ways – so the way I’m feeling isn’t something anyone else can quite understand – not fully.

My normal routine for heart-break and sadness is to let it all out on paper. My books are where the “I’m fine” lie ends and the truth pours out. It’s where I lay bare my feelings, and rant against the unfairness of the world.

For some reason this time I’m struggling. The “I’m fine” lie is even translating to the page where I play it safe and stick to the easy parts of what I’m writing. My characters are currently living in happy la-la land populated by unicorns and puppies because I can’t face writing anything real. Yes, I know what people are thinking – I write fantasy filled with knights and dragons and fey folk, none of it is real – but the emotions of my characters, those are real because they come from somewhere inside me, and right now I can’t bring myself to make them feel pain. I’ve got far too much of my own to deal with.

So I guess for now I’ll stick with “I’m fine.” I’ll keep repeating the lie in person and on paper and I guess that one day – without even realising it – I won’t be lying anymore.

One day I will be fine. Well. Fine-ish anyway.

The Realisation of a Dream

So firstly, I do need to admit that I have been incredibly lazy when it comes to this blog recently! Real life got completely in the way, what with going back to work after a long break, moving house and getting the paperback version of The Last Knight out there. But now I am back, and I do plan on trying to write a little more often on here.

But this post has one purpose and one purpose only. To talk about an event that happened on the 30th of October.

What happened, in a nutshell, was that one of my childhood dreams came true.

When I first started writing, back in my very early teenage years, I decided I wanted to be an author. The way that you do when you're a kid and you don't really understand the work, or the logistics, involved. I just decided that one day I would have a published book, it would be made into a blockbuster movie, and I would hold signing sessions where people would queue for hours to get my autograph.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking, I like to dream big.

For the next 18 years of my life I worked towards that goal though. Not in a particularly determined or focused way for much of the time, but I wrote. A lot. I wrote all the time. I wrote a 20,000 word novel when I was about 15 that I was insanely proud of. It will never see the light of day, but it was a start. When I was 20 I finished writing my second novel. It was the opposite. It was a nearly 200,000 word homage/ripoff of every fantasy writer I'd ever read and loved. But it was far better written. I was growing as a writer with every word I put on paper.

At 24 I finished a third novel. One I was proud of. Really proud of. It was good. It was just too late. Twilight had gotten there first and flooded the market with books about vampires and werewolves. No one would touch Chasing Freedom.

Then at 28 I finished my fourth novel. The Last Knight. A book I was so proud of. A book I wanted to see published.

For two years I worked on it, I edited it to within an inch of it's life and I shipped it around to every Literary Agent I could find. Then I started to think about self-publishing, and the freedom it would give me to do what I wanted. Anyone who has read my blog knows the rest. The Last Knight went on sale June 30th 2013.

Childhood dream #1 achieved.

The blockbuster movie is still a long way off, but on the 30th of October I achieved Childhood dream #3. I held a book signing. And people came...and got their books signed. And I felt on top of the world.

I did a book reading that people seemed to love. I didn't break down and cry like a baby in public (I feel this should be noted because it was one hell of an achievement!).

I did something that I had been dreaming about for 18 years. It does not get better than that!

The Crippling Self-Doubt of a Writer

All right, I'll admit it. Not exactly the most positive of titles for a thread post, but one that I feel is right for what I want to write about today.

It's something few writers talk about, but something that I think almost all of us feel at one point or another. Even the most self-confident writer out there - the one who can stand up and tell the world 'I've written the best book the world has ever seen' - no doubt still has moments when they wondered if they're really good enough.

I know I do. I'm fairly positive at the moment. I might have self-published my own book (which if you listen to some circles is the ultimate delusion of the bad writer) but I've had steady sales and (so far) only positive reviews, even the ones that were critical were still positive in the overall tone (3 out of five stars is a win to me).

But I still have moments when I look at what I've written, ( or I take part in a pitch competition) and think 'why am I doing this. I'm not good at this'. When a sentence just won't come right or a character is sounding like they're made of cardboard. Or when I can't figure out how to pitch my book in just 140 characters and still make people see what makes it different.

Those are the moments when I lose faith. Those are the moments when I wonder why I dedicate this huge chunk of my time (and it is an insanely huge chunk) to something that in all honesty I might not actually be that good at. All that time when I could be doing something else spent scribbling away or spent online searching for ways to promote my book. Time that could be spent with my boyfriend, or my family and friends. Time walking the dog or riding a bike. Time learning something new, or doing other old hobbies that have dropped by the wayside.

Then I remember, and this is the key bit, I remember why I write. I remember why I cry and scream and drive myself round the bend trying to find just the right word. Why I lose myself in a world populated by figments of my own imagination.

I do it because I don't know how to do anything else. Whether I'm any good or not, I am a writer. It's part of who I am. I don't write for money,or for fame, or even for good reviews. I write because I don't know how not to write. I might go weeks, even months when I haven't put pen to paper, but the stories are always there, the words fighting to get out, the characters begging for their story to be told.

OK, so I can't figure out how to write a 140 character pitch. Who cares. OK so my book has only sold just under 300 copies so far. Means nothing. I will write the sequel, and I will write different book, and another one, and another one. Because I have to. If I didn't I would go crazy.

I have my moments of crippling self-doubt, but I come out of the other side because no matter what happens, I am a writer. It's not a hobby, it's not something I do. It's something I am.

So to my writer friends who might read this, who might go through the same moments of doubt, I can only tell you what gets me through. I write because I love it, and nothing we love can be worthless or bad.

It's Been Far Too Long

Alright, I admit it. I'm terrible for letting life get in the way of blogging. I swore to myself that I wouldn't let it go too long between posts but the truth is that was never a promise I was going to keep.

And honestly? I don't want to. Because if the choice comes down to writing anther few thousand words of a novel or posting a new blog post, the choice with ultimately be the novel. Writing my novels and my stories will always come first.

Shamefully this time around the long absence hasn't been down to writing. Quite simply I've been too busy.

Somehow grown-up life has finally caught up to me. The job got very busy at the end of our season, and when I wasn't working for my day job I was working on getting the paperback ready to be published. I've also discovered that my previously single lifestyle left me a lot more time for this kind of thing, now I'm juggling other demands on my time (although I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate being just another 'demand on my time'). All of that combined with a trip home to finally meet my six-month old nephew has meant that I have neglegted this blog in a terrible way.

However there is some good to report.

The Last Knight is now available in paperback. And looks amazing! The cover looked great on line but I love it even more in hard copy. The colours are amazing.

Sales have not been crazy or overwhelming but steady as ever. I may near be the next J.K Rowling, but I continue to get positive feedback that is incredibly encouraging.

The as yet untitled sequel is still being worked on, but I have high, and possibly optimistic hopes of having it ready in time for Christmas.

In other parts of my life not related to writing, I have signed up to another year on the tiny island paradise I currently call home. I have a kind of love/hate relationship with the island, love because it truly is a remarkable place to live, and hate because it keeps me so far away from friends and family whom I love. Yet it is also the place that allowed me the time and freedom to finish editing and publish my first novel; I'm hoping it can do the same thing for the second novel.

So there you have it, perhaps not the most exciting of blog posts, but hopefully the start of my return to this particular blog.

So until next time TTFN

Post-Publication Blues

All right. So I admit it. After all the stress and craziness over getting The Last Knight published I got kind of lazy. I had put so much time and energy into getting the book ready to go, and doing the blog tour and all the rest of it that when it was over I was a little lost. I honestly didn’t really know what to do with myself.

And this blog suffered as a result. I don’t think I could face trying to put down in words exactly what it was like to finally have my book out there.

I’m still not sure that I can find the words. It’s been a rollercoaster of a ride but it’s been worth it.

So what’s happening with the book now? Well, it’s not been an overnight bestseller (like that was going to happen anywhere but in my dreams) but it has been better than I expected. I honestly just expected my family and friends to buy it. That hasn’t been the case. It’s not sold a huge number of copies, but it is steady progress.

And most importantly people are enjoying it. A current 4.5 star rating on goodreads.com. Positive, encouraging reviews. And people I know reading it and telling me that they can’t put it down. What better comment is there than that?

But the question that’s been plaguing me for the past couple of weeks is ‘what now’? Where do I go from here?

Well the first big news is that I am going to be releasing The Last Knight as a paperback. E-readers are great, but not everyone has one and I want to make the book as available as I can. Plus there is the pure vanity side of it that I just really want to hold a copy in my hands. It’s a longer, slightly more involved process than the e-book publishing was, but I am still hoping to have it on sale by the end of the summer.

The second news is that I am knuckling down and working on the sequel. I’d always half planned on writing a second book – I love Lance and Cara too much not to tell more of their story. Plus anyone who’s read the book knows the ending isn’t exactly a happily-ever-after. I don’t have an exact publication date just yet – but the hope is to have it out sometime around Christmas, or the new year.

I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has helped or supported me over the last few months. I couldn’t have done it without you. I’d like to say that I’ll stop talking about the book so much now – but you know that’s not going to happen.

For now, Lance and Cara are waiting, I have their next story to tell.