The other week when I ask twitter what I should blog about, a number of people rather sensibly requested an update on The Copper Promise. I cheated slightly and wrote a short story set within the Copper Promise universe; a bit naughty, I know, but who can resist a tavern by the name of the Scurvy Lemon?

So this week, given the lack of curiously named alehouses around, I'll do a quick rundown of where everything is.

Part 2, currently titled Masks of Ruin, is in its third draft at this point, with everything almost where it's supposed to be; I'm affectionately thinking of Masks of Ruin as the "difficult child", but it's nothing years of therapy won't sort out. Part 3, nominally titled Prince of Wounds, is in its first draft, and given that this was the child who excelled at school, went on to be a handsome and sexy astronaut and eventually manned the first mission to Mars, I don't think it will need the severe editing-kick that Masks of Ruin needed. In short, Part 3 was a lot of fun to write.

So I'm currently on Chapter 3 of Part 4: titles being kicked around at the moment include God of Tides and Upon the Ashen Blade, but these are subject to sudden bouts of indecision. It's too early to tell yet whether Part 4 is going to be a dream to write, or a nightmare - I know it's going to be fairly complicated, as The Copper Promise has grown hugely from a quick little novella about dungeon crawling - but I will say this: normally at around the 60-70,000 word mark I start to get restless, a little twitchy, and I start to wonder about the next project. I want to be writing something fresh. Well, I'm over 100,000 words (argh!) on The Copper Promise, and it's still a world I never want to leave. I spy sequels on the horizon...

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A short story for you today, featuring Wydrin and Sebastian. It's short and quite silly, and I hope that it might make the wait for Part 2 a little less annoying (big thanks to everyone on Twitter who wanted to hear more about the Scurvy Lemon). If you've not read The Copper Promise and would like to know more about this pair of rogues, you can get a copy here. 

scurvy_lemon.doc Download this file

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I’ve been working very hard on The Copper Promise lately (no, really, stop laughing), typing away until my fingers are nothing more than shiny little nubbins, so consequently I haven’t come up with any interesting blog ideas lately. So in lieu of something good, I thought I would do one of those self indulgent posts about how I started writing.

I’ve always loved stories, of course. When I was very wee, I asked for a desk for Christmas, and the year after that I wanted a typewriter (gods, I have always loved having a desk). I wrote lots as a child and then tons at school, and then it tapered off somewhat and I got distracted by art college, with its poshery and paint and dodgy vodka in the union bar. I started writing seriously, I suppose you could say, on one random day in my early twenties.

I came home from work in a bad mood. This was back when I worked for a certain bookshop, and I know some people will say: “You worked in a bookshop! How could you possibly have had a bad day? You whinging numpty.” – believe me, it is possible to have a bad day, particularly when you’ve heard a lot of “Have you got that book? It was on that table last month and I can't remember what it was called or who it was by. Don't you know any of the books?" This happens more than you would believe… But, anyway, I was cheesed off, and I decided, in a desperate act of therapy, that I would sit down and write a scene that had been stuck in my head for some months. It involved a girl becoming a witch via a really rather nasty and brutal ritual, and once I’d written that I found that, a) I felt better, and b) I wanted to know how the girl came to be in that situation in the first place. Those were the seeds that became the book Bad Apple Bone (still the best title I’ve ever come up with, I think) and over the course of a couple of years, writing in fits and starts, I eventually finished it.

This was a big deal for me. I’d thought about writing books before, but I’d always considered it beyond my abilities – I wrote short stories, picture books, and essays, but not books. But I’d started one and finished it, which proved that actually, I did have the attention span for these things. After that I got involved in NaNoWriMo, where I wrote a short children’s book called Bird and Tower, and the next year I started writing a much longer book called Ink for Thieves… Somewhere along the way I realised two things; that writing books made me happy, and that I couldn’t stop. In fact, writing seemed to satisfy two very basic needs of my personality; the need to make things, and the need to control everything (Yes, writing is a control freak’s dream: “You will all do as I say! Dance my puppets, dance!).

And that’s how I came to be writing a sword and sorcery serial that’s getting longer and more complicated by the minute… I look back at the years when I wasn’t writing books and I worry that I lost time there, that I should have been working on it ever since I got my first typewriter and that little desk with all the stickers on it. But the important thing is, I got there in the end. And art college does get you access to some really cool libraries.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A short story for you, my little crickets, on this soggy grey Thursday.

(Note for the curious: technically this story is set in the same world as this one I recorded yonks ago for Dark Fiction Magazine, although you don't need to have heard that to get this. If you get me. You get me?)

Six_Months_Nineteen_Days_final.doc Download this file

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A while ago, my lovely friends Darren and Laura bought me a hardback, signed copy of Rivers of London. They reasoned that it looked to be exactly my cup of tea, and it was dedicated to a dear mutual friend of ours. It went on my to be read pile and then stayed there for a bit, because at the same time I got a kindle, and the whizzbang bit of tech was my new best friend.

            Well, just recently I decided that if I wasn’t going to shove the very lovely hardback into my handbag then I would bloody well get the ebook version and read that. The hardback remains pristine on a shelf... the point is, I recently finished Rivers of London and now I’m on to Moon Over Soho, and I’m very glad I got my finger out and read it, because these books are great.

            I’ve read genre books before set in modern London, and apart from the fabulous Neverwhere I’ve never really connected with them. They never really felt like my London, the London I grew up in and work in and live in now, the London I love right down to my toes. Arronovitch knows the city and loves it, and he writes it brilliantly. It probably helps that he’s writing about places I have a fondness for (Soho, Covent Garden, Holborn) but it’s about more than that; PC Grant is a modern Londoner in every sense, and his droll affection for the city, wary street sense and family strife are London all over. Plus, he’s an immensely likeable and genuinely funny character; add that to a sprinkling of geeky references (how can you not love a book that mentions Doctor Who and Fringe and Playstations?) and a cast of supporting characters that brighten the story rather than distracting from it, and you’ve got a pretty top series of books, in my opinion. 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Yesterday it was my lovely boyfriend’s 40^th birthday, so being wild and crazy party animals we decided to spend the afternoon moving sedately around the London Bridge area (very sedately, as I appear to have broken my foot in an argument with an oven – don’t ask) taking in the frenetic pace of the area and checking out a few historical pubs I’ve had my eye on. So in place of a proper blog post, here are a few thoughts on some of the places we visited.

The Old King’s Head

To be honest The Old King’s Head looks rather more exciting on the outside; it’s down a dodgy-looking alley and the sign has Henry VIII’s cheerfully inflated head on it, so you expect to walk into some backstreet dining hall revelry, where jesters hang from the oak beams and swarthy men eat entire chicken carcases with their hands. Alas, no, although it is still rather charmingly old fashioned and has some beautiful stained glass in the windows (a dragon, a lion and a whippet, I think).

The George

The George is an excitingly old place, and even has various notices from the National Trust telling you how it’s the last surviving galleried coaching inn, and Shakespeare and Dicken’s hung out there like writerly bros (not at the same time, sadly). In terms of actually sitting around and drinking, it is a weirdly uncomfortable place. It took us a little while just to get inside – you open a door onto a room full of people sitting and drinking, with no bar in sight and no doors to anywhere else – and you have to peer into a few windows before you figure the layout (we did our usual “It’s like the Crystal Maze/Krypton Factor!” bit). The seats were oddly high, so our feet dangled above the floor, and a small bottle of pear cider cost £4.50. Yikes.

The Barrow Boy and Banker

This one was cheating slightly, as we have a long and exciting history with the Barrow Boy; a huge pub, with an upstairs balcony area (off which we once infamously threw some plastic men with parachutes) and an enormous sweeping staircase. It's often heaving to the rafters but yesterday afternoon it was quiet so we ate lunch there, and thanks to it being Marty’s birthday we got a free drink! Can’t say fairer than that. Also, the fish pie is amazing.

The Tiger

Now this one isn’t in London Bridge at all, it’s in Camberwell, but it’s worth mentioning here for several reasons: a) it always smells of lovely food being cooked b) the staff watch Game of Thrones c) it’s decorated in a explosion-in-an-antiques-shop-with-a-load-of-tat-on-the-side fashion, which is exactly how I would decorate a pub, and d) it used to be the Silver Buckle, which was a terrifying place with bullet holes in the walls and drug addicts chewing the tables. Now it’s not, and that certainly deserves celebration. 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

After a wee winter holiday, Dark Fiction Magazine is back with us, bristling with awesome science-fiction stories. Launch your ears into the future and go have a listen (for free) here.

The reason that I’m posting about it on my blog (other than the fact it’s just great, obviously) is that this is the first episode where my partner Marty and I have steering the Ominous Ghost Ship that is Dark Fiction Magazine.

We’ve been involved in the past, with both writing and narration, so when Sharon Ring and Del Lakin-Smith, the awesome chaps that founded the place, decided to take more of a backseat in order to pursue their own projects, Marty and I sort of shuffled forward to take the helm. Marty likes twiddling about with audio stuff (I’m fairly sure that’s the correct technical term) and I like reading through lots and lots and lots of stories (no, honestly, I do) so it seemed like the perfect fit.

Getting our first episode out has been an interesting process, and a huge learning experience. There were times, when self-imposed deadline after self-imposed deadline whistled merrily past my ears, that I wondered, “What on earth are we doing? Do I not have enough stories to wrangle as it is? I think my head might fall off.” But in the end, seeing the episode go live and knowing those four science-fiction stories will be amusing/alarming/entertaining earholes all over the interwebs was a lovely feeling, and I look forward to doing it again soon. So big thanks to: Marty, who not only handled the audio side of things but also did all manner of technical web stuff I didn’t understand, to our fabulous narrators and subs reading teams, who did an ace job as ever, and to Del and Sharon for letting us play with their toys.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I expect it’s about time I gave you an update on The Copper Promise. Well, the main piece of new is: I have made An Important and Serious Decision. *cue ominous music*

Actually, it’s not quite that bad. Recently I have been editing Part 2 whilst planning and writing Part 3, and I have noticed that events in Part 3 have been influencing the previous part. In other words, decisions and events happening in Part 3 (and even, sometimes, part 4) have changed some aspects of Masks of Ruin. Writing is odd like that. It exists in a weird timey-wimey non-chronological mush, so that you are continually adjusting and updating your own timeline. Confusing, but also fun, in a cheerfully manic sort of way.

My decision is this: I won’t be releasing Masks of Ruin until I have finished Parts 3 and 4. Obviously, this wasn’t my original plan, but while The Copper Promise started out as a quick little dungeon-romp, it has actually grown into something else – something that I want to get absolutely right, because I think I love it a bit. Maybe a lot.

So, please bear with me, lovely people. I will be working my bums off for the next few months so that Wydrin and the gang can be back with us as soon as possible. Keelah se’lai!*

*obscure Mass Effect 3 reference (which was amazing, by the way)

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Recently I have been taking up space on other people's websites, talking about The Copper Promise and fantasy writing. It's been rather fun. First of all there's a guest post from me over at fellow writer Alan Baxter's blog, where I waffle on about the difficulties of writing fantasy in the short form. It features evil rabbits so I'm quite proud of it.

Secondly I did a wee email interview with the lovely Megs Glasscock, and you can read that over at her site, Nomad Chronicle. Poor Megs did a fabulous job of dealing with my wafflings, especially when I got overexcited about picking my favourite character, and I drop a few hints about The Copper Promise Part 2.

Speaking of which, The Copper Promise: Masks of Ruin is currently taking shape, and is starting to look like a whole, complete thing. More news when I have it. Back to the studio!

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

The other night I stayed up very late drinking more than one glass of wine, talking Mass Effect with the Black Dog Crew. Oh and for once they recorded it and there was a podcast at the end ;) You can listen to it here (please note that if you haven't played the first two games it may be somewhat spoilerific).

If you're a regular reader of the blog you'll know how much I adore Mass Effect, and I am so excited about Mass Effect 3 that I may have a wobbly geek-plosion before Friday. Bring it on!

Shepard is coming to save the Universe, and she's bringing her space hamster with her..... 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Last weekend it was my birthday, and my lovely boyfriend (who is frustratingly better at choosing presents than me) gave me a brilliant thing; a Lego mini-figure that looks like me. It has orange hair, a grumpy face, a sword and a blaster – all quite accurate, I think you’ll find. It seems to have revitalised a long dormant Lego obsession, and now I find myself trawling ebay for other Lego figures with swords and angry faces. I already have a few, thanks to the Knights and Castles set Marty bought me for Christmas last year, and now I’ve decided to build my own sell-sword gang, which my Lego figure can be in charge of.

See, Lego and I go way back. When I was very small, my Grandad kept a giant white bucket full of Lego for me in his shed (I look back on it now and I wonder what that white bucket was actually for. It was bigger than me at the time. Storing dead bodies?). In the summer I would drag it out of the shed and pour the contents over a blanket in the back garden, and spend many happy hours making stuff.

This being way back in the mists of time, the Lego was your bog standard multi-coloured brick stuff, with the occasional set of wheels or window frames. I didn’t have any mini-figures (apart from a few disembodied heads that made interesting gargoyles for my houses) so instead I made what I generously imagined were “penguins” out of some of the tinier pieces, and they populated my Lego world instead. I also stored my collection of toy cars in the big white bucket, so they would occasionally be drafted in as characters too – when I got really expansive, I would go and retrieve my plastic dinosaurs, and all Lego-hell would break loose.

Lego is a brilliant toy. I had no plans or instructions as a kid, so mostly I would end up making giant houses, although these houses were more like super-fantasy-castles; they would have turrets, dungeons, secret rooms, lawns on the roof, diving boards leading to nowhere, the Penguin Paddock… In short they were structurally unsound, and most days would end with the east wing falling off and knocking my lemonade over, but I can’t remember ever growing bored of it.

When I got a little bit older, my giant white bucket of Lego was given to my younger cousin, and I sulked about this for, approximately, seven years. I have no idea what happened to my well-loved toy cars, or the historically inaccurate plastic dinosaurs, and I can never reclaim those, but at least I will have my Lego army of mercenaries. Oh yes. The only question is, what shall I call them?

Ah, Lego, I loveded you. I loveded you!

Ps) Just as I finished writing this I got an email from ebay telling me I’d won a “Lego Mini-figure Series 4 Viking”. I did an air-punch.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

The writing of The Copper Promise part 2 continues pottering along on its own meandering course, so I thought today I’d do a little post about that other obsession of mine: videogames.

A great many hours have been spent in Skyrim recently. I shall briefly share the sort of info you traditionally have to bring up in any discussion of this game: I’m a female Nord with a leaning towards one-handed and two-handed weapons, destruction magic and conjuration. I’m also a werewolf, have been playing for approximately 95 hours and no, I’ve barely made a start on the main storyline yet.

Skyrim is an extraordinary game. What makes it so staggering, I think, is the sheer level of detail involved, and the real sense of exploration you get as you go wandering off around the map. You are frequently distracted from quests by mysterious looking paths that lead to secret dungeons, or you stumble across two mages having a tiff, and if you're not paying attention a dragon might swoop down on you from nowhere and chew on you for a bit. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time just making swords and enchanting them, and have now saved up enough coin to buy a big posh mansion in Solitude, which I'm gradually decorating…

It is, I realised the other day, the ultimate fantasy play-set. It’s like having a giant dollhouse, except the house is an entire land, and the dolls wear armour and have magical swords and go on adventures with werewolves and vampires. You can spend forever just accessorising, collecting spell books to go on your shelves, mucking about down the blacksmiths, crafting potions. And then if you feel like it you can pop out to kill the occasional dragon. In short, I love it. And how I wish I had an Unrelenting Force Shout of my very own…

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Back from another marvellous SFX Weekender; tired perhaps, reeling slightly from all this sudden snow business (it was mild in Prestatyn, despite my fears of freezing to death) but filled with the knowledge of a weekend well geeked.

Highlights for me included – getting a hug from a wookie (very cosy), singing along with Robert Rankin to Perfect Day, witnessing China Mieville shamelessly derailing everyone else on Just a Minute, listening to Brian Blessed describe chasing Ben Kingsley around an airport lounge, dancing like a fool to various funk tunes, meeting up with old friends and making new ones… too many great things to list, really. I think everyone who was there and heard it will agree that the Brian Blessed talk was a bit special; not only was he in fine, booming form, he was also delightfully rude and utterly joyous. It was, I think, genuinely life affirming to hear him talk with such passion about how we are all “children of stardust” and how human beings are destined to move out into the solar system. Or that could be the pint of wine I consumed while he was talking. Either way, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.

My favourite thing about the SFX Weekender, (and it was the same last year) was the sense of being at an event with thousands of people with a shared love for fantastical things. Not everything went according to plan, this is true, but the slightly grim aspect of Pontins itself only seemed to enhance this feeling; yes, our electricity ran out at 1.40am, and you have to keep whacking the button in the shower to make it work, and I had to queue for an hour for a handful of possibly the worst chips in existence… but at least we were doing it together. I was also reminded how much I love fiction, and how our favourite stories can become such important parts of our lives; beloved signposts on a wayward journey, if you will.

Geeks of the Weekender, I salute you, and I sincerely hope to see you all there next year.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

The Copper Promise started, in my mind at least, as My Small Self Publishing Experiment. The idea was to produce something longer than a short story that I could pop up on Amazon as an ebook – it would be written, edited, re-drafted, edited, edited some more, and then it would go out into the world and I would see how it would do. Originally this was going to be a horror novella, but that idea became The Snake House instead and was much too long in the end.

Well, in my usual tradition of making everything more complicated than it needs to be, My Small Self Publishing Experiment turned into a serial, and then a series of novellas, and then a series of fantasy novellas that will be, once they are all finished, as long as your average fantasy book. So the project wasn’t so Small anymore; in fact, it had become The Self Publishing Experiment That’s Going to Take Up About Six Months of my Life, Crikey, How Did That Happen?

And so, the first part has been out in the world for about a month, and part 2 is busy being poked into readiness for a release date hopefully at the end of February. And so far, it has been an almost entirely positive experience. Mostly the people who have read it seemed to have enjoyed Ghosts of the Citadel, and I’ve had some overwhelmingly lovely feedback, including blog posts and reviews that have made me very happy indeed. I’ve also received a tremendous amount of support from people (through buying it, spreading the word and general encouragement) which has been genuinely touching and confirms that the writing/reading community online is one of the best around.

One of my favourite parts of having a novella length work out there to read rather than a short story has been watching how people react to my characters – what sticks in their minds about them, which ones are popular with readers and why, and what they hope happens to Wydrin, Sebastian and Frith in the future. It’s exciting, and scary too, because beforehand these characters only really existed in my head and on tattered bits of paper, and now they exist in other people’s heads too, which is a strange and marvellous thing. And it is nice to know that I am no longer the only one who cares what happens to them.

Yeah, it’s been good. So thank you everyone. J And I’m looking forward to sending part two out into the world very soon.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I was talking to the lovely Ren Warom the other day about the potential mead-soaked mess that would be a night out with Wydrin – of all the characters I’ve written, she is the one I would most like a night on the town with. It would be dangerous, that’s for certain, and everyone would likely come home with a certain amount of memory loss, a pounding headache and several more tattoos than they had at the beginning of the evening, but it would be fun. So that got me thinking: which fantasy characters would I most like to share a tasty beverage with?

Tyrion Lannister

Charming, witty, and the cleverest character in a book series full of clever characters, Tyrion would be an excellent dinner companion (and it would have to be dinner as well – I could hardly resist the chance to try out one of the endless medieval banquets continually happening in A Song of Ice and Fire); not only is he funny and shrewd, he’d happily talk books all evening, and you know the wine would be the finest vintage imaginable. Just don’t mention his sister.

Nanny Ogg

Really, who wouldn’t want a drink with Nanny Ogg? (apart from her many daughters-in-law, perhaps). A woman of rude wisdom and deep earthy intelligence, you would certainly go home knowing a few more things than you did previously – mainly about who is doing what to whom, and whether her husband knows about it yet. I imagine drinking scrumpy with Nanny by the fireside, slowly getting sozzled and learning the words to various rude songs, before passing out in a rocking chair just before the sun comes up. A perfect evening.

Oghren

If you haven’t played Dragon Age: Origins you probably won’t be familiar with Oghren, which, believe me, is a shame. Think of him as a cross between Yosemite Sam, Gimli, and a vat of ale. When you first meet Oghren he is wandering Orzammar as an occasional angry drunk, although once convinced to join your quest and seek out darkspawn to destroy, he fully commits to the cause of drinking and shouting, and quickly becomes one of the more amusing companions to spend time with. In one memorable scene, you can talk to Oghren at the camp site while he apparently ingests alcohol through his skin until he finally shouts “ASSLESS CHAPS!” at you and falls over. I love him.

So tell me what characters you would most like to share an ale with? All genres welcome.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I thought that for my first post of the year I would do a bit of a round up of some of things I’ve learnt about the writing process. I’m not keen on those “These Are The Rules Of Writing, So Listen Up!” posts, so this certainly isn’t one – indeed, the stuff that I’ve come to know about my own way of writing may not apply to you at all – think of it as more of a “Hey chaps, here’s some points I think I should make a note of because you know I’ll only forget otherwise” post.

Write Every Day/Don’t Write Every Day

Yes, I shall start off by being very vague and indecisive! Write Every Day is one of those writing rules that gets bandied around quite a lot, and largely it does indeed make sense; the more you write, the better you get at it. However, I have come to realise that it’s just as important not to beat yourself up if you don’t manage it. Writers have lives too, with day jobs and families, relationships and birthdays and video games, and there are days when you just can’t do it. For example, I have found that I’m pretty terrible at writing at the weekends, but quite good at writing in the mornings before work. So I devote my mornings to stories, and don’t get all guilt laden on a Saturday when I’ve done nothing but sleep and eat toast and push goats off of mountains in Skyrim.

Your Muse is a Flighty Cow

Like every romantic idiot that wore a lot of black jumpers and stared moodily out a lot of windows as a teenager, I do love the idea of a muse; that a winsome, mysterious figure will tap me on the temple on a dreary afternoon and fill my bonce with the greatest idea there has ever been. It’s bollocks though, unfortunately, or at least, it is for me. It’s true that I’ve had the occasional idea drop fully formed into my brain while I’m having a shower or waiting for the bus, but mostly ideas come from thinking a lot, all the time, and writing bits of ideas down and herding them around until they actually work. The key is: don’t wait for your muse. She’s probably off gambolling in the woods somewhere anyway.

Finish It/Or, the 60,000 Word Wall of Pain

I’ve written six books and finished them. With every one of them, I got a sizable chunk of the way in (usually around the 60,000 word mark) and I suddenly found that I violently hated it. Hated everything about it. Hated the characters, didn’t know who they were or what they were doing. Didn’t know or care where the story was going. Worse than that, it was suddenly very clear that everything I’d written up to that point was a massive pile of fetid garbage. How could I have been so deluded to think it was worth writing in the first place? WHY?

This is the dangerous time. It is a demon of writing. The voice that tells you, always at least once during the writing of a book, that you’d be better off scraping the whole thing and starting again.

Do not listen to it. It will say, “Oh hey, what’s this other idea your flighty muse just appeared with? That’s a lot better than this one. Look at it, all shiny and new and not stinking of garbage. And I bet it would be twice as quick to write as well...”

Do not listen! Squash that demon, keep going, and finish. I have written six books, and in truth I probably only really like 3 of them, but everything I’ve ever written to completion has taught me loads and has been invaluable.

Do Not Let Them Taste the Unbaked Cake

Or, resist the temptation to send your first few chapters around to friends to gather their opinions. This is hard, because you might want to know if you’re heading in the right direction, or it might just be that you’re proud of something you’ve done and want to share it, but either way, it’s best not to. Your first draft should be a secret, private thing that only you ever see, so that you’re allowed to make huge mistakes, and the story is entirely yours. Other opinions so early on could change the flavours and make it taste funny.

Be Brave!

Because in the end, you can’t please everyone. It’s a terrifying thing, to share your work with the wider world and watch as it raises its eyebrows in a sceptical fashion, but we are word-warriors, book-wranglers, and story-smiths. We can do this. Tell your stories, listen to your characters, and when in doubt, add a three-page long fantasy banquet. That’s what I do (there's even a mini one in The Copper Promise, no honestly, go look...)

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Hello everyone! An extra special thing for you today (after weeks of putting up with me talking about the same thing every week) - a rather fabulous story from the awesome Emma J. Newman (@EmApocalyptic on twitter). I first met Emma at a launch for her short story collection, From Dark Places, and believe me, she writes stonking short stories. You're in for a treat. And so I will hand over to Emma...

This is the tenth in a year and a day of weekly short stories set in The Split Worlds. If you would like me to read it to you instead, you can listen here. You can find links to all the other stories, and the new ones as they are released here. 

His Black Heart

Carn Brea, Cornwall, 1861

Denzel listened to the booming pulse of the beam engine pumping the water out of Dolcoath mine. As he arrived for his shift in the pre-dawn darkness, the huge black engine house was only visible as an absence of stars.

"Mornin' y'Majesty," he muttered, doffed his hat. His fellow shift workers thought him strange, but it was only polite to greet the Queen of Cornish Mines properly. In the twenty years he worked there he'd never had an accident, because he paid the proper dues to the correct parties. He might doff his cap to the Bassett family if he saw their carriage, but he felt no respect for those getting fat off their labour. He respected the mine's solid beams and pumps, and the Buccas and the Knockers who kept him safe every shift in return for a morsel of food.

"How's your little'un Denzel?" Jack asked as they queued for their turn on the man engine.

"Better," he said, a smile slipping free. Tamsin's fever had broken just before he'd left the house, as he was putting his wrapped pasty into the pail he'd heard a thin "Da?" from the corner. It was the first time she'd spoken in two weeks. He gave her a little milk and kissed the damp black curls atop her head with tears in his eyes. He couldn't bear to lose another.

He lit Jack's helmet candle, his friend returned the favour and Denzel took his place on the wooden tread. As he always did when he grasped the handle, he silently thanked the man engine about to carry him into the deepest workings of the mine. His father had had to climb down hundreds of feet of ladders, reaching his pitch half exhausted before he'd even begun the shift. Now he and Jack and the others just had to stand and step on and off bits of wood in the right places. They'd all turn into lazy buggers if they weren't careful.

The air was warmer the lower they sank. Some said the deepest shafts were getting too close to hell and one day they'd blast their way into the devil's parlour. Denzel smirked at the thought. Old Nick wouldn't dare come through the hole if it happened; everyone knew he was too scared to come into Cornwall.

He worried about Tamsin, hoped the neighbour would take good care of her during his wife's shift at the mine. Then he realised he'd left his pail on the kitchen table, the pasty warm within it.

He swore and hit the handle. First time in twenty years he'd forgotten his lunch. As the spike of anger receded, it left worry behind. Was it a sign? Was Tamsin's recovery false? Would there be an accident today? What did it mean?

"Means you forgot your pail," he muttered to himself, trying to keep the fretfulness at bay.

When they finally reached the bottom, the air was thick with powder smoke from the last shift, he'd be coughing up black lumps by the end of the day. Down this deep, it took too long for the blasting fumes to clear, they couldn't afford to wait before starting the shift. The candles flickered in the gloom as they trudged their way through the tunnels. He peeled off his shirt when he got to his pitch, left in only his flannel trousers and boots, sweat rolling down his back already. He got to work, the air so thick with dust he could barely see the end of the drill steel, missing it a couple of times as he tried to hit it into the rock. He wiped a drip of sweat from his eyebrow and tried again, the hammer striking true and the steel driving into the rock, settling him. He worked through his lunch break, not wanting to stop and sit there, hungry and miserable. "Sorry," he called into the shadows down the tunnel, imagining the Knockers waiting for their tithe. "I forgot m'pail. I'm hungry too."

A chip flew up at his face from the next strike, it hit his helmet a couple of inches above his eyes. He set the hammer down, wondering if it was their revenge, and took off his helmet to check for damage. Embedded in the stump of clay holding his candle in place was a shard of 'black tin' ore. He pulled it out, finding it was shaped like a heart, like the one his wife had embroidered on the handkerchief she'd made him for Christmas.

The black heart was the size of his thumbnail, he decided to take it home for Tamsin to tuck under her pillow as she got better. This was a good sign, the tunnel giving him a gift, as if to reassure him all would be well.

The rockfall came without warning. No creaking joists, no tell-tale knocks, just a terrible roaring noise and then pain. The candle was snuffed out, it took him a few moments to work out he was on his back, a terrible pain radiating from the side of his head and weight pressing down on his legs. The gentle patter of falling dirt faded until he was left in the silent darkness.

He could still breathe, even though the air was foul. He could feel blood running down into his ear, if he hadn't taken his helmet off to pull out the heart, his head would have been better protected. He followed it back to the moment he forgot his pail. It had prevented him from tossing a pasty scrap to the Knockers, and in their anger, they'd failed to warn him about the fall.

He became aware of a sharp pain in the palm of his hand, discovered the heart had cut him as he'd clasped it tight in the fall. He traced it with his thumb, its surface slick with his blood and he knew he couldn't die down there, he couldn't leave his last child.

There was no prayer in him, his faith had left him a long time ago. How his wife still sang in church for a God who took three boys and two girls from them he'd never know. The Knockers were angry with him, the Buccas wouldn't grant a wish without food either. Who would help him?

The darkness pressed in, so complete he kept blinking to check if his eyes were open or shut. He wondered whether he'd fallen through to hell, the devil taking him for all the angry words he'd shouted at God over those tiny graves.

There was nothing to call upon, nothing to focus on other than the sharp edges of the black heart and his blood bathing it. "I swear," he whispered, "if I live to see the sky again, I'll mine more tin than any other bastard 'ere. I'll put every last drop of my body into this mine." He'd live to give his girl the best start in life he could. "I swear it."

The heart was warm, he fancied it pulsed with his own heartbeat as he slipped closer to the pit of sleep and death, but then a shout, a tumble of rocks a few feet away and then a chink of light fell onto his hand. "Denzel!" Jack shouted.

"Here," he croaked, gazing at the black heart in the sliver of candlelight. "I'll keep m'word," he whispered. And he knew he'd never forget his pail again.

---

Thanks for hosting Jennifer (I want to call you Senny…)! I hope you enjoyed the story. If you would like to find out more about the Split Worlds project, it's all here: www.splitworlds.com. If you would like to host a story over the coming year, either let me know in the comments or contact me through the Split Worlds site. Em x

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Hello all, hope you had an excellent Yule and all that. I'm spending today eating too much chocolate and playing Skyrim (death to all giant spiders!) but I thought I'd just pop up to point you in the direction of this rather lovely review of The Copper Promise. 

I am tremendously proud to be described as a "successor to the Pulp authors of the 1920s and 30s"; it's a part of fantasy I love dearly, and I hope I'm doing it justice. 

(and of course you can go and buy the first part of The Copper Promise over here, and secret invisible pixies will bless your bottom...)

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I hope you're all having a most excellent and joyous Christmas holiday, with the teeniest of hangovers and no sprouts (unless you like sprouts, in which case I hope everyone around the dinner table donates theirs to you).

And if you happen to be getting a Kindle for Christmas, I hope you might consider entering the universe of The Copper Promise for a bit of pulp fantasy action - it's here, and it wants to give your Kindle an xmas smooch.*

*apologies for the blatant plug, but the novelty of hearing people say "I've bought your book!" has yet to wear off. I doubt it will.  

Permalink | Leave a comment  »