The fog of indecision

With Storm on the Cathe now "out there" and my attempts to format the text for paperback temporarily abandoned (at least until my medication kicks in and I come out of therapy!) I find myself a little stumped over what to do next.

I have ideas for Lydia and Elaine of course but my instinct is to take a break and let those ideas mature a bit before I start on them.  I also have a half-started Science Fiction thriller and another fantasy story floating around, plus a rediscovered children's first draft I should probably do something with.

I can't settle to any of them.  My brain refuses to set aside some so that I can concentrate on one fully.  It seems to be flitting all over the place in a most irritating manner.  It means when I do find time, or the inclination, to sit and write I can't focus and produce anything worthwhile.  It's not so much "Writer's Block" as "Writer's Overload".

Unless someone out there can give me any better advice the best I can do for now is to work on whichever seems best at the time and hope that at some point I will suddenly find the groove, so to speak, and set off purposefully down one track.  When that happens you can expect more coherent updates on this blog.

Endings and Beginnings

This is the title of the final chapter of the book.  Stories, like life, don't have a fixed end or beginning in my experience.  In the case of my narrative, we jump into Lydia and Elaine's lives at a certain point.  That point isn't necessarily the very first in the series of events that culminate on the night of the Storm but it is "a" beginning from which we can follow them.

Certainly, the point at which the book ends is only "an" ending.  Not only because, as an author, it would be unwise to write myself into a narrative cul-de-sac on my first outing!  Storm on the Cathe is about events that will have a profound impact on the direction of the characters' lives.  The immediate may resolve but as with any crisis in life, at the point of resolution (be it happy or painful) new paths and possibilities open up.

It should not really have come as such a surprise to find that completing the story and publishing it in e-book form isn't the end of my journey.  I have new anxieties and tasks to occupy me.  Listings and profiles to "tweak", profiles to create and download stats to become slightly obsessed over! This blog won't end with publication either.  There is more I'd like to discuss and share about the world and the characters.

Another beginning, which I await with some trepidation, is feedback.  Over 200 people now have copies of Storm on the Cathe when only a few days ago only close friends and family had read it.  At some point (hopefully!) star ratings and comments will follow.  I'm not going to pretend that I don't care about what people say about the way the story is written. Or even how well I have succeeded in crafting something people will enjoy.  Oddly though, what I am really anxious about is how the characters fare.

Lydia and Elaine have been part of my imagination for many years.  What I am most nervous and excited about as I await feedback is how they have been received.  In a sense, in publishing the story, it is they who have begun a journey.  All I can do now is wish them "Fair winds and safe return".

Editing Pains

There is a memorable pub brawl in Robert Rankin's Book "The Brentford Triangle" in which the unfortunate barkeep is grabbed and lifted towards the counter bringing his more tender parts into contact with a beer spout.  In a book replete with wonderful quotes, the phrase "Arrgh!" Wailed Neville as his cobblers smote the beer engine... always brings a smile to my face (tinged with a slight wince of sympathy pain).

The current editing process calls this particular image to mind as I battle to work and re-work a couple of sections of the book that stubbornly refuse to comply and just seem right.  Furthermore, in an act of unforgivable self-doubt and stupidity, I undertook a major editing session without the proper precautions and now have to un-pick and reinstate a substantial section of book manually because actually it was a lot better before I started fiddling with it.  Aaargh indeed!

So as my April publishing deadline slips unceremoniously away to be replaced with a less specific "soon" please be assured that, like the hapless Neville, I will not be deserting my post but will keep at it - painful though it may be.

It's all getting a bit real!

As the excellent Seth Godin has often blogged, the brain will come up with a lot of reasons not to do something but it should not be listened to!  Storm on the Cathe is now finished insofar as plotting and drafting is concerned.  So all that stands between my story and the reading public at this point in time is me.

Which is why my brain has been working overtime with worry and nagging self-doubt.  It's no small thing to launch my story and characters into the e-book world, knowing that once discovered it can be reviewed and criticised for all to see.  Unpublished, the story is "safe".  It's been read by a few friends who have said kind and encouraging things about it but if they hated it, they'd be far too nice to tell me.

So why, my brain asks, should I risk public humiliation by sending it "out there" into the scary world?  At this point I could all too easily retreat from the goal I set myself over a year ago for no better reason than the fear of what some people, who I'll most likely never meet, might feel/say about my work.  On this occasion, though, I don't think I will.

Mindful of the ease with which I could "wimp out" I have taken the precaution of telling lots of people that the book is finished and will be published soon.  I've created a situation where NOT seeing it through an unacceptable outcome.  I have sent it away to some friends and family to be independently proof-read before publication, however, as a necessary concession to my nerves.  Not because I need some more people to tell me I should e-publish but because I want it to be as good as it can be when I do.

After the hours of work, I have come to feel that the story and the characters deserve to be "out there" and I should not worry too much about what comes afterwards. The achievement and satisfaction is in the doing of it and if just one reader stumbles across Storm on the Cathe and feels it was an enjoyable use of their time to read it, then I would feel it was worthwhile.

So folks, you read it here!  Storm on the Cathe WILL be available on Kindle sometime in April 2013.  For me, this is both exciting and terrifying, but it IS going to happen!

Extract from Chapter 9

The girls are summoned to the manor at Forngarth where they are met by the formidable family matriarch Eleanor D'Shan:

A high door, gilded with gold, opened on the left a short distance from the bottom of the stairs.  Eleanor D’Shan came through to welcome her young guests.

        She was dressed in a rich black dress, well decorated with white lace-the only concession allowed to a widow-and a simple silver necklace with a sapphire pendant.  Her hair was silver and worn long which was unusual for a lady of her years.  Although frail and requiring an ebony cane, the old lady’s back was straight and her eyes sharp and intelligent.  Her voice, too, was strong and full of authority.

        “Elaine, Lydia, welcome to Math Forngarth.  I trust you are both well?”

        “Very, thank you Grandma,” Elaine replied with a slight bob.

        “Quite well, Great Aunt, thank you.”  Lydia’s curtsey was more practiced and earned her a slight nod from the elderly matriarch.

        “Do come through, dears.  Tea is ready and I can’t stand for too long in draughts.  The doctor tells me that warmth and rest are important in one of my years, though what he knows about being my age I can’t imagine!  In my youth it was fresh air that was the thing, but I do find standing tires me.”  The grand old lady chattered on as she led the girls into the drawing room whose tall windows looked out onto sweeping lawns.  The waters of Carras Sound glistened in the distance beyond the green sweep of the downs.

        Tea was set out for them. A silver tea service and china plates bearing light sandwiches and cake.  “Do the honours, Elaine dear,” the old lady ordered, settling herself gently into a high backed chair and setting her cane next to it.  Elaine hesitated.

        “Grandma, wasn’t that Tristan we just saw?”

        “It was.  Nasty young man he’s turned into I must say!”

        “Great Aunt, you must be careful!” Lydia exclaimed.  “He’s dangerous.”

        “Do hurry up with the tea, dear,” Eleanor rebuked Elaine mildly.  She waited until the tea had been poured and they each had a plate with two bread triangles.  “Dangerous?” she said eventually as if there had been no pause in the conversation.  “Well, I suppose he is to some.”

        “No, really, Grandma, Lydia’s right,” Elaine said, carefully swallowing her mouthful first.  “He has the Gift.”

        “He’s a D’Shan isn’t he?”  The old lady brushed a couple of crumbs absent mindedly from her lap.  “Of course he has the Gift.  He’s turned to the bad, that young man.  Thinks he has all the power in the world!  Humph!  He thought to get his hands on this place.  He won’t be back, though, I soon told him what I thought of him.”  Eleanor saw the girl’s horrified expressions.  “Don’t look so alarmed, children!  Elaine, do you think you are the first to have the Gift in our family?  Where did you think it came from?  Not your mother or your father!  The Gift often skips the odd generation.”

        “You have the Gift too?” Elaine exclaimed.

        “Of course I have! I’ve never troubled much with it, though.  Not my thing.  I’d been expecting Tristan ever since Master Berant came to see me on his way up to that school of yours a month or so ago.”

        “You know Master Berant?” Lydia managed to ask first.

        “Since he was a boy,” Eleanor replied.  “He used to put in for stores at Whellan.  Many’s the time we fitted him out with provisions and cordage; sails and the like.  He was for ever off on some journey or another.  Oh yes, we go back aways; I had quite a chat with him.  I can’t say as I approve of the way the Mageblades terrify the wits out of young and old alike, whatever their reasons might be, as if the Gift was something to be afraid of!  I told him so!  I said that I didn’t expect him to come it the high and mighty over my granddaughter, what with us being old friends.”  The two girls gaped.

        “That’s why he didn’t let them take me!”  Elaine said.

        “You’ll go yourself, in your own time, like I told him,” the old lady stated firmly.

        “He said his was the harder course to steer.  Do you know what he meant by that?” Elaine asked.  Eleanor D’Shan chuckled as she helped herself to a slice of cake before passing the plate round to the girls.

        “He talks in riddles, doesn’t he?  It makes him seem clever and mysterious, so he reckons!  He means, dear, that you can go to the Navigator’s Guild on Forath for the first part of your training.”

        “The Navigators!”  Elaine’s whole face lit up with excitement.  “I never realised!”

        “Why, dear, what do you think the Navigators and Weatherworkers are but Sea Mages?  Master Berant himself is a member of both Guilds; one of their most powerful members I should imagine, though like most men he lacks basic sense.  He should stand up to those fools at the Kerun Dur and I told him so!”  The thought of Master Berant being given a sound ticking off by Eleanor D’Shan brought a smile to both girls’ faces which they quickly smothered.  “I hear your father’s in a spot of trouble,” Eleanor continued suddenly, turning to face Lydia.  “Always was a weak fool, your father, and now what’s to come of this I can’t tell.”  Lydia shifted awkwardly, embarrassed at the brutal frankness of her Great Aunt’s words.

        The elder Mrs D’Shan stared hard at Lydia for a moment, as if thinking deeply, though Lydia got the distinct impression that she was being appraised by the shrewd old lady in front of her.  “I shall think about what’s for the best,” Eleanor said eventually.  “The last thing you need is a hasty and ill considered marriage, which is no doubt what your mother is presently planning on Thirnmar.  The D’Shan’s are strongest when they marry for love, not money or position.  Your father would have done well to remember that, although he undoubtedly does care for your mother.

        Now, unless girls are very much changed from when I was young, you both have good appetites and there is plenty of cake and more tea in the pot.”

Chapter 6 Excerpt

Lydia recoiled from his grasp.

“Tristan?”  It was both a question and a gasp of fear.

“Did you not recognise me?  I am hurt!”  Tristan spoke lightly, as if in jest, yet every word carried a dark threat underneath.  “I suppose I have changed; as have you!  I am come into my power, cousin.  I am Kashan Eed, a “dark mage” as some simple fools would have it.  The King has still not seen fit to install a mage on Fain-Arn, I find.  Well, his loss is to be my gain.  I am back, cousin, and this time I intend to stay.  Good news, don’t you think?”  Lydia nodded weakly, taking another step back.

“We should be getting back.”  Elaine spoke for the first time.

“No doubt you should,” Tristan replied.  “But fool though he was, poor Mr Groth was not wrong.  You are valuable and I have need of you.  Perhaps my father can be persuaded to step aside without his weak heart giving out on him.  No, my dear girls, you will be coming with me.”

“No, Tristan!”  Lydia turned and ran to her horse, suddenly desperately afraid.

“Cousin!  You could not resist the bewitchment of a fool.  Do you think I cannot make you do as I command?”  Tristan waved a hand and the two horses reared in panic and fled.  Elaine and Lydia huddled fearfully together.

“We will not go with you!” Elaine said, her voice trembled but a sudden resolve burned within her.  Enough was enough.

“Brave words from your friend, Lydia.”  Tristan smiled thinly.  “Very well, let us see how strong you are!”

The enchantment, which was of an altogether darker sort than the one Groth had used, struck Elaine without warning like a physical force that dropped her to her knees.  The emotions it stirred within her were a mixture of fear and despair.  It was as though Tristan were inside her head, willing her to give in to a desire for a sleep from which there would be no awakening.  Dark forms lurked, the half-visions of the dreams that would haunt her and yet was that not preferable to the terrible weight of the struggle?

Elaine fought him.  She fought the drowsiness; refusing to give in though the torture of the effort was like nothing she had ever experienced.  Every fibre of her being rebelled against it, drawing on a strength she had not known she possessed but of which she knew she had little left.  The struggle lasted what seemed a lifetime, though it was perhaps as little as thirty seconds when:

“Enough!”  A stern voice broke the enchantment abruptly.  Elaine collapsed against her cousin, gasping for breath.  Lydia held her tightly and looked up to see the last man she had expected.  The Mageblade who had saved them at the school stood before them once again, dressed now in a pale blue robe and clasping a slender staff tipped with white horn.  His blue eyes were locked on Tristan and a terrible rage and strength emanated from him.

Chapter 5 excerpt

Lydia finally decided to go into Elaine’s room after about twenty minutes and looked out of the window to see what her cousin was up to.  She was utterly amazed to see Elaine working on a musket and chatting to one of the soldiers as though she had known him for years.  She saw Elaine sight the gun in a professional manner before handing it to a soldier and picking up another.
        It dawned on Lydia that just as there was much of her own life that was outside Elaine’s experience, so there was much about her cousin’s life that she did not know.  Up until now Lydia had, for all her genuine friendship, felt some degree of superiority over her cousin.  She knew that Elaine’s family was very poor and that Elaine would be very lucky indeed ever to be much better off than her parents.
        Watching her now, Lydia wondered for the first time whether or not it might be Elaine who had the better deal.  She was relaxed and chatting to a rather good looking young man in a manner which Lydia would certainly never be allowed to do.  She was also doing something useful.  Elaine’s hands, though useless at tapestry, were amazingly skilled at practical tasks.  The repairs to SKYLARK could not have been carried out much better by the most expensive of Perth Cathe’s shipwrights.  Elaine could mend sails, tackle carpentry, make nets and, so it seemed, repair guns.
        The thought occurred to Lydia that her cousin’s horizons in life might be broader than her own whatever material hardship it might contain. To Elaine, the school and all its irritations were just an unpleasant interlude. For Lydia, the school’s regime and lessons represented the rest of her life; a life of etiquette, marriage and unproductive use of her time. And babies, of course.  Her thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of the front door as Captain Skelder strode out into the yard.
        The soldier with Elaine hastily hurried across to join his officer.  They exchanged words briefly before Captain Skelder returned into the house.  A flurry of orders followed which saw one soldier mount up and leave at the gallop.  Shortly afterwards Elaine slipped away from the yard to rejoin Lydia.
        “You managed to tear yourself away then!”  Lydia was shocked to hear the bitterness in her voice.  “Sorry, Elaine, don’t mind me. I’m just being a grump today.”
        “I didn’t mean to be so long, I just sort of got chatting,” Elaine said, dismissing the tension with a smile.  “I’ve found out heaps.  I think that the sergeant quite likes me.  I guess he’d have been for it if those muskets hadn’t been fixed.”
        “I couldn’t help noticing how well you two were getting along,” Lydia remarked mischievously. “Rather handsome isn’t he?  Married?”
“Lydia!  Honestly!” Elaine blushed as intended.  “He’s a nice chap but not my type at all.”
“Well, what is your type?  You’ve never said.  I’d have thought a handsome young army sergeant would be ideal.  You seem to have a fair bit in common – guns for instance.  What could be better?”  Elaine picked up a pillow and buffeted her cousin with it.
        “Leave it out would you? I’m not thinking of marrying just yet, alright?  When I do, which won’t be for a while, I’ll start worrying about what type of man to find.  ‘Sides, he’s engaged to someone over Pathmeet way.  He told me.”
“Oh, you did discuss it then?  Ow!”  Lydia received another energetic whack.  “OK, I’ll drop the subject…. for now.  What did you find out then?”  Elaine replaced the pillow and sat down on the bed.
“Loads.  They’re setting up an ambush to catch some smugglers.  An informant – I’m guessing Mr Creep - has told your father there’s going to be a landing tonight a few miles south of here.  The militia are going to be waiting for them.  Captain Skelder has sent one of his men to Perth Calran to get HMS Hunter to come down. She’s moved up there from Perth Cathe I gather.  Anyway, it all sounds very serious!”