I had written a novel. By now I’d written many, but this one… this one was special. After a multiple of drafts, revisions, amendments and rewrites, I thought it now fit for revealing. I would post it in instalments. That’s how Charles Dickens began, and I didn’t want to go the traditional route (my health at the time wouldn’t stand it).
That was back in November 2012, the ‘novel’ comprised the five books of The Spinner’s Game (posted as Feast Fables).
Since then I have posted other novel-length stories in instalment form.
- Roots of Rookeri. An off-world fantasy.
- Chronicles of Mideer. A secondary-world fantasy.
And the Asaric Tales – which will follow The Spinner’s Game series into e-publication:
- Learning to Fly. Another time-slip mythical fantasy. Publication date: 1st April 2021
- The Hare & The Adder: Hegrissa & Alsalda. Mythic fantasy.
- King’s Wife. Mythic fantasy.
- Can of Worms. A time-slip mythical fantasy.
For a shy child with a speech problem, the written word came as a release, enabling me to express myself without being asked, ‘Eh? What did you say? Say again?’ I wrote my first ‘proper’ story when I was nine. A gothic offering to scare my friends. Since then, I don’t remember a day when I haven’t been busy writing. Novels. The short story form doesn’t appeal. Although over the past year I have posted several micro-fictions.
In my early teens I visited Grimes Graves, the Neolithic flint mines in Norfolk. The following summer, I visited Stonehenge in Wiltshire. Thence began a life-long interest in the archaeology of prehistory. The study of myths and legends seemed a natural progression, so too linguistics (despite my inability to pronounce the words).
During my later teens I formed a desire to ‘boldly go’, to take the road less travelled, to explore. But failing to gain a place on the Space Programme 😊 I turned my sights inward, to the givens of the human species: i.e. psychology, anthropology, spirituality, and combined with the love of archaeology, I ventured far into the past.
My writing reflects the treasure I found there. And what is treasure if not shared?
It’s said a writer writes best in his/her most-read genre. Well, I cut my teeth on Michael Moorcock before moving on to the sci-fi giants in which genre I encountered the sci-fi/fantasy writer Orson Scott Card under whose spell for a while I fell.
Robert Jordan enticed me away and showed me I wasn’t a freak with my attention to fabrics and garments. And more recently there has been Patrick Rothfuss.
Between Moorcock and Rothfuss there have been many others – as they say, too many to mention. Yet I will pay homage to Jean Auel who set her novels even deeper in prehistory than my own. Frank Yerby, who enchanted me with his tangled plots. Then let’s not forget Anne Rice and her vampires. And the Gentleman Bastards of Scott Lynch… But I must stop somewhere.
Resident in Norfolk where my roots dig deep, my regular rambles into the surrounding countryside provide balance to the cerebral… and ample subjects for my camera. You’ll find a few of those photos posted here, along with micro-fiction and poetry.
Keep reading, keep following, keep liking.
I thank you