Hello readers! Thanks to all of you who have downloaded my book so far on Smashwords. Let’s keep the momentum going, shall we? From December 25th until January 1st, the Vampire Eirik is free on Smashwords. Click the link on the cover and get your free copy now!
Hail reader!
Following on from my previous post (“Publishing Woes and Other News”) I have some good news for you all: Fallen Love is coming out in December. This was not an easy decision to make, but I think it is the right one, and I hope you’re all as excited as I am to read my new book. It’s been a long time in the making.
Self-publishing isn’t cheap, of course—I am trying to get it done on a €1500 budget, which is basically shoestring. This is without considering the money I’ve paid for editing over the past couple of years, which comes out to about €850. The biggest expense (developmental editing, easily costing €2000 on its own) had to go. Even so, I have high hopes for this book, not least because of the awesome cover and my helpful marketing advisor.
Ah yes, the cover. I shall be revealing that very soon—I have one more little detail to finalise with my designer, which is why I am not showing it to you in this post. The new blog design, however, should give you a clue about the colour scheme and thematic elements.
I can, however, reveal the blurb, which you can also read on the page named Fallen Love, up top:
There are many kinds of monster that walk the Earth. Some are ugly. Some speak beautiful words through forked tongues. Some possess the grace of angels, and the hearts of demons...
Upperclassman Conall is rich, impeccably dressed, and set for a prestigious career in the Party hierarchy. He doesn’t lack for anything—except, maybe, love.
When he finds Mark, alone, abandoned and hurt, he doesn’t expect one act of kindness to alter the course of his life forever. For Mark is more than just beautiful; he has the spirit of a warrior, and his heart is divine. He has the power to save Ireland from the tyranny of the Party—or to to condemn it to something far worse.
Fallen Love is packed full of magical action, futuristic technology, and diverse characters. Demons and unscrupulous politicians face off against witches and ordinary, determined humans. If you like romance that’s dark and funny at the same time, this is the story for you!
What readers have said...
★★★★★ “This was an incredible story and I will be waiting for the next book in the series.” —Teresa, aka Fallen Angel.
Stay tuned for more updates! And before I forget to add, the publication date is set for 23 December. But if things go well, I may move it a bit earlier, so hope for the best!
Hello readers! Alex has been mighty busy these past days (weeks?) for the reasons he has already mentioned: university, journalism, essay writing, and of course, Fallen Love. He will update you on the latest events soon. Until then, why not read this guest post by Molly Fennig—the second guest post ever published here on the Magical Realm—and also my own review on her website. Happy reading!
Guest post by Molly Fennig, teen author of the YA thriller INSOMNUS and blogger for mollyfennig.com.
I picked up Tess Wakefield’s debut novel Purple Hearts in a bookstore in Wisconsin, in part because she was a Minnesota author, just like I am, and in part because I loved the cover with the converse shoes and work boots underneath a teal background with a white title (as much as it is frowned upon to judge books by covers as a metaphor, I firmly believe there’s a reason the metaphor exists, especially when there’s not much else that can be considered when choosing a book).
The other reason I bought Purple Hearts was because I was intrigued by the blurb. I spend a long time picking up book after book, carefully setting it back because the backs promised a Girl who meets A Boy who is Not Like Any Other Boy or stories that seemed similarly cliché. Purple Hearts, on the other hand, is about a girl, Cassie, who marries a soldier for his health insurance and they must “set aside their differences to make it look like a real marriage… unless, somewhere along the way, it becomes one…”
Although it’s easy to see where the story might go, the way in which the story unfolds and the choices the characters make are not cut-and-dry, creating a book that is hard to put down. The dilemmas are realistic, as are the solutions, and the plot is character-driven, as it should be.
One of the first things that pulled me into this book was the writing style. Part of me kept reading because the plot was compelling for sure, but an equally large part of me kept reading because I wanted to keep experiencing the wonder that is Tess Wakefield’s writing. The dialogue is realistic. The characters are complex. The figurative language is beautiful. If her writing contained nutritional value, I would happily eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day of the week.
This was also a book with one of the most successful uses of multiple points of view, where the narrator switches each chapter. Part of this is due to Wakefield having created strong characters that are not too much alike and both have similar, although maybe not exactly equal, narrating power. The chapters are short, keeping the pace of the book fast, and the switch between the points of view is amazingly effortless for the reader.
(Spoilers): In terms of what I would have changed in the book, I had a little trouble believing Luke wouldn’t have any more problems with his drug dealer just having beaten him up, especially since I’m sure Johnno has other people he could recruit to help get back at Luke. I’m okay with it, especially since I can’t think of a better solution except maybe calling the cops, but it made me have less faith in his decision-making abilities.
Also, I loved the ending, but I also think it could’ve been longer, at least so I (selfishly) could’ve experienced just a little more of Wakefield’s writing. It did feel make the story feel complete and cohesive, which I loved. Also, the ending was realistic and fitting without being too predictable, a feat for which I thoroughly commend Wakefield.
All in all, I think adults and young adults alike would love this book, especially those who like romance that isn’t too cliché or cheesy and who like rounded characters, great writing, and a unique premise. I can’t wait to read what Wakefield writes next.
If you liked this post, check out my blog for writing tips, book reviews and more, mollyfennig.com, and check out my book, INSOMNUS, on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Hail readers!
It has been a while since I last updated the Magical Realm, though I do hope you have taken notice of some of the essays I’ve bumped up. Largely, my blogging efforts have been sidelined to work on the Ark; but now that I have collaborated with my editor, and await more from her, I can find enough time to blog.
And what will I be blogging about? Well; that’s easy enough to guess. Editing! Here I will detail my experiences so far with my editor, and what it has meant for me and the Ark.
First off, you have to understand exactly what I’ve hired my editor to do and at what stage I am with the Ark.
Now: I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying to the Magical Realm over the past couple of weeks, but I can tell you that the Ark—my Sci-Fi novel come LGBT romance extraordinaire—is 2/3 finished. Due to various reasons (writing style, voice of narrators, and more besides) I decided to pause work and revise the Ark under the watchful eye of an editor.
I hired my editor to do three things, basically:
The one thing I have not hired my editor to do is, well, edit. She does not actually re-write my prose or make edits to the text proper. And why, do you ask? Well; editing is time-consuming. And therefore expensive.
Hiring the editor to perform an editorial assessment with commentary, however, is cheaper and still gives me the valuable perspective of a 3rd party and an expert in the field. The only caveat is that I have to do the edits myself. Then again, that’s no bad thing—because it’s my book, my writing style, and I’m the person best placed to maintain my voice and vision throughout.
All of this, however, does involve a little work. (‘But Alex!’ you cry; ‘surely writing a book is a lot of work anyway?’ And you’d be right.)
Writing query letters is hard. But the basic layout is fairly straightforward:
Now, that’s a lot of stuff to squeeze into a page (or close to it). And it’s not easy—you have to be both precise and informative without being overly verbose; your prose has to capture the interest, and only in a few paragraphs.
So far, my editor has proven rather helpful. For example: initially, my query letter did not have anything on why the Ark would appeal to market demands. The layout was awry, with no clear structure. There was no reference to other successful authors. And most importantly: the editor re-wrote my meat.
Of course I ended up re-writing it myself. My voice is pretty unique. However, it did give me a much needed shove in the right direction; and that led to what I feel is a stronger piece of text.
The editor was also helpful in perfecting some of my prose. My hook, for example, did not initially half-rhyme the way it does.
The editor has given me plenty to think about. So far, she has raised:
This led me to re-write the prologue. Then, I re-wrote the first scene of chapter one and made quite a few edits to the rest of the chapter. I also removed the technical notes; pertinent information is now being kept in footnotes.
As you can see, revising a book is a hell of a lot of work. But I can tell you one thing: it’s easier with an editor. An editor can tell you what works, and what doesn’t; and, once you’ve revised the prose, they can offer feedback and tips.
Also, unless you happen to be extremely experienced and able at writing query letters, I would strongly recommend you hire an editor for help with your query. This service is far cheaper than editorial work on your book (indeed my editor was kind enough to offer it for free under the price I paid for editorial assessment) and is very useful for getting your query letter right.
And good query letter = much better chance of representation.
Anyway, that’s it for now folks. I’ll post updates once I’ve done more work with the editor. And, sorry to break it to you, but my usual regime of poetry/essays will be put on hold for a while. Don’t complain; there’s a huge backlist of older essays here on this blog.
And of course, you could always take a look at my finished books—the Necromancer and the Sandman.
Now, goodbye. There’s more to be done...
Hail readers!
Though I have, alas, not written recently here on the Magical Realm—and of what I have written, much has been concerned with politics—I shall now rectify this with a piece on (drum roll please…) the Ark.
In particular, I will release a hitherto unseen chapter of the Ark. It is actually the beginning to part two; nevertheless it requires little context to understand, and a great deal may be said about it. So without further ado…
You can read the PDF here. That is perhaps easiest, but you can also read it here on the Magical Realm—along with my commentary:
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kaylin
Wings. Dark against the sky; whispering in a wind that brings the faint odour of death and immolation. Wings, everywhere. A terrible sound they make; a sound beyond words, a sound beyond sound. They make a terrible absence of sound, as if the very ether of being were torn into nothingness.
The world is bleak. The ruins of civilisation lie scattered: a burning
house there, or the faint ruins of a city. He lies there. Him, and his lover. They hold hands; they look around, lost and forlorn. And then, suddenly, a great laugh echoes across the world.It seems to have no place, and yet it is everywhere. It is in the
corpses that lie strewn across their feet, the final rebellion of humanity. It is in the corpses long buried and forgotten in some timeless struggle. It is in the very dust of the Earth, the very air we breathe; and it is in that terrible emptiness. From there it originates.Then gold-white light erupts, and the vision is over.
Now! Some context. As the first chapter in part two, chapter eleven introduces us to the raison d’être of the Ark: the cause of the Earth’s demise, and the struggle of our two protagonists to escape.
What we read here is a vision of Kaylin’s. I shan’t say too much of her, except to say that she is a prophet. By this I mean not a charlatan and purveyor of fanciful lies, but a person genuinely capable of seeing into the future. Her visions are remarkably accurate, but ultimately contingent; they can and do change.
Kaylin also knows the two protagonists by acquaintance (though the protagonists themselves know nothing of her true nature) and happens to be on a quest to save the world. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier, eh?
Anyway: the vision details the destruction of the Earth. But there is more to this chapter…
I BLINK. The boy in front—the boy from the vision—looks faintly perplexed. Casey, was his name? He looks at me with dark blue eyes, concerned. I plaster I smile; bright it is, brighter than the sun that streams in through the windows.
I’ve gotten very good at concealing my visions. I had to be: no one trusted a mad woman who saw things. Not unless they knew how my visions always came true. Not unless they knew of how I had won the lottery twice, and then a third pseudonymously. If they did, they would fear me; and rightly so.
We talked of idle things, then. The boy seemed happy enough to help, but he was taciturn, all in all. I didn’t blame him. I’d seen those dinosaurs—I didn’t want to get caught by them without my armour and weaponry. And I’ve been trained.
Eventually, he leaves. I look at him, and my mind is filled with worry.
I did not know when the vision would come true—I’d had a sense of it, but no more. It could be in ten years. It could be in one; but it would be soon, relatively speaking. Silently, I cursed.
I passed through the rest of the day, dealing with the teachers—God, they could be such fools—before walking out of New Aloysius. Being a headteacher could occasionally prove to be some work, but, well: a good cover was necessary. And being an ordinary teacher would have taken up even more of my time.
The sky above is blue and bright. I see the remnants of that darkness, and feel the faintest hint of cold fear.
I needed to plan.
This scene is concerned primarily with introductions into Kaylin and her character. It is also, of course, important in that our dear Kaylin actually meets one of the protagonists for the first time. It is one of those moments which neither consider particularly noteworthy or important, but which fundamentally alters their lives in ways neither can foresee.
MY MERCEDES responds smoothly and silently. It is a modest thing, really. It has leather seats, autopilot, climate control—hardly luxuries, in the general scheme of things. There were Ferraris that could reach a hundred miles an hour faster than an ordinary car might reach thirty. This? This was just a modestly sized, modestly priced, modest car for a modest lady.
I pull into the driveway, the gravel protesting faintly underneath. Located in a small patch of woods, my house appears unremarkable: it is built with a flat zinc roof, cedar cladding, and dark steel windows. Modernistic, yes; but not the playpad of a billionaire.
And I was a billionaire. I’d won the lottery three times, and never made a mistake in the stock market. Seeing the future is a burden I’d want few to bear, but it’s not without its perks.
Inside, the furniture was plush leather; a fireplace lay cold, surrounded by finely cut glass and stone. I’d designed it myself; and I’d been lying if I said I wasn’t proud.
Still, I had more to worry about than my décor.
I walk to my living room, remove the rug—an elegant bear is sewn across the face—and pop open a trapdoor. Down the rabbit hole I go. The stairs are sheer and vertical, the metal hard and cold. When I reach steady ground, white-blue lights spring to life.
I keep a number of things here. Firstly, there’s a suit of armour—they’re worth a small fortune, but they can stop quite a few bullets, shrapnel and ex-plosions—along with a spare. There are weapons. A few rifles, a hand-held rocket launcher, and some grenades. I even keep a few knives around; their use was more aesthetic than practical, but then I’ve always been fond of a good show.
Then there’s the cash. I keep a million here, but no more. I wasn’t stupid.
Finally, the place is home to a computer.
It is unremarkable: three monitors, a keyboard and mouse. I was very traditional. You wouldn’t find me with tablets and holograms; a good 8K monitor did the trick for me. Although, I did have one or two extra tricks.
I had a projector, and of course: my tactical table. It was a substantial table, all covered by an enormous screen. I place my iris above the scanner, and then my finger over the fingerprint scanner. The screen bursts to life.
A world map is shown; my operations are highlighted by green dots. I have quite a number, in most of the world. I was nothing if not thorough.
I make my way to the computer, enter a password (interesting fact: I could usually discern a password just by standing in front the screen) and pull up my contacts. I had access to senior diplomats, generals, programmers, and even a few politicians. I had access to some of the greatest scientific minds the world has seen; I knew engineers, chemists, physicists—you name it.
But right now, I needed some information. I needed to know when the bastards thought the damn ship would set sail.
I needed to know, because those two kids had to be on it. When the Ark left, it would take them; away from Earth, and away from Armageddon.
The thought brought a grim smile to my face.
The rest of the chapter provides fascinating details about Kaylin, and a certain dash of excitement. The world will come to an end—unless she can stop it.
If you care to read more, keep following. I’ll be releasing more posts on a similar vein. But now, I must leave you; the Ark, after all, does not write itself.
As hitherto mentioned, yours truly is engaged in writing the Ark. It is a substantial endeavour, as any novel inevitably is—particularly one that falls into three genres: Sci-Fi, fantasy, and romance.
However, none of this is to say that I have forgotten my duties here on the Magical Realm—as some of my readers have already reminded me. Thus, the topic of this post is one concerning the writing process. Having completed the first part of the novel—entitled Love—and being occupied with the second part (Life) I feel it necessary to address the topic which I’ve covered previously, albeit with updated and extended detail.
To put it far fewer words: I’m going to talk a little about sex.
In my previous polemic on the matter, I wrote of how sex was a powerfully taboo subject to discuss—in books, and outside of them. I’ve already covered some of the causes; our society’s contradictory attitude being one (we seem unable to speak of it, and yet able to speak only of it) along with, perhaps, a natural human aversion to discussing deeply personal matters.
However, today I am not concerned with this; today, my concern is rather more simple: how to write sex.
It is already an open secret that the Ark contains a sex scene (which is currently under hot debate by various readers). Why? Well, the answer to that is something I’ve already hinted at: sex is an important part of romantic relationships. It can make or break a relationship. And of course—it provides an excellent opportunity to explore the character’s thoughts and relations.
On a purely literary perspective, sex is an important key aspect. Any romance novel worth its salt will feature some form of sex; for without it, such tales would be deeply dissatisfying and incomplete.
But how, oh how, is one to write them?
A truth of all writing is that it is often concerned with what I call the shadows of things. Consider the following analogy: suppose you were a conductor in an orchestra. What do you do? Do you attempt to manhandle and strong-arm the musicians; do you force the melody from their lips and their instruments?
Of course not. What you do is direct—you are there to guide them to the melody you know, but ultimately they achieve it through their own powers.
Writing is much like that. A writer cannot attempt to photographically imprint the tale on the reader’s mind; that is the purlieu of the film medium. What a writer does is create the shadows of things, and allow the reader to imagine the rest.
Take the example of character description. One can attempt to describe every minute detail; every blemish, the exact colour of their hair, their precise height and build and bearing—and any half-competent writer can do this just fine.
But a master writer knows better. A master writer can create a more vivid picture using a flash of green eye, a touch of white dress; a contour of a strong shoulder.
And so, you ask: are sex scenes much the same? As is often the case, my answer is cryptic: yes and no.
Writing a sex scene ultimately requires one to strike a particular balance. Too little detail and the characters’ true relationship will remain obscured; too much and you may not capture the true essence of their relationship at all. And that’s not even jumping into the murky matter of ‘Oh, but what would the readers want…?’
Allow me to put it unkindly: a writer’s primary concern is not for their readers’ sensibilities. It is for their tale. There, shoot me.
Anyway: let us get back to the matter at heart. How much detail is too little or too much? The answer to that ultimately depends somewhat on the tale itself. In my previous novel, the Necromancer, a high level of detail for a number of scenes gave it a particular quality—a phantasmagoria of Winter magic and the dark whisper of the Necromancer’s dead:
He sits in his throne room. Its floor is black marble, polished by the blood of the fallen: it reflects the Necromancer’s face, emblazoning it in horror. Windows stretching high unto the ceiling fill the room with grey, monotonous light.
At the centre, lies the throne.
Carved from trees long extinct, adorned by gargoyles in vicious form, the throne is pale compared to the being that rests on top.
But sex, alas, is a tricky matter. Attempt to describe everything the characters feel, and elucidate on the precise anatomical details of their intercourse, and, well—you may end up lecturing the reader on the workings of the human anatomy. But fail to give the reader some juicy details, and… disappointment will inevitably follow.
You may be able to guess that this question is one I have not yet found an answer to. Or, rather, I know the principle but may not, perhaps, have the practice in order.
Anyway: I must leave you now. I hope the above has been informative and fascinating. Now I need take my own advice; the Ark doesn’t write itself, after all…
PS: I have decided to release one more chapter of the Ark, along with an edited draft. Keep following.
Hail readers! You may have observed that I have written a great deal on politics (and political economy) as of late; these concerns are however secondary to the point of this blog, which lies with literary matters. It is also fortuitous that a matter in the Ark has come up which merits attention. In complex terms, it concerns the nature of the characters and the merits of intellectualism.
In simpler terms: the protagonists are not ordinary teenagers. They live in a world that is on the brink of collapse, and yet on the apogee of human development. Their language, mannerisms and intellect is at once both typically teenage and vastly beyond the purlieu of many adults. They are also typically bourgeois characters.
‘But Alex: shouldn’t teenagers be more like the ordinary, and less like the creations of an armchair philosopher?’ you ask.
And that would be the crux of the question, dear reader. But allow me to make a case for the armchair philosopher.
Ordinary characters appear to be in vogue, in some literary circles. There appears to be a belief that, the more ordinary the character, the better readers are able to relate to relate to them and the more they will empathise.
This is rubbish.
Empathising with a character is an act dependent upon a writer’s ability to instil emotion and portray characters vividly; believing that a more ordinary character will permit a closer connection is, to be frank, lazy writing. The whole point of a novel is not to be ordinary; not to be trapped in the same taedium vitae and mediocrity that befalls so many.
The power in a novel, the magic, lies with characters that are both extraordinary—and in whose shoes you may walk in. It is the writer that brings the reader into the characters’ mind; it is the writer that makes their struggles their own, and their emotions felt as truly as one’s own.
But nor is this to say that a character must be made into something that they are not; that they ought be exaggerated or subject to the vagaries of market calculations. A character is a character is a character, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein. Some characters are ordinary; others extraordinary. A good novel (usually) has both.
The Ark, as I have said, also happens to be what is known as a ‘bourgeois novel’. It does not follow ordinary people. Conall, for example, is the son a of Minister; Casey’s uncle is an astrophysicist. Not only are they not-ordinary, but so too do they belong to a particular social class.
A great many an essay has been written on the matter of social class. Certainly, the 19th century Marxist account—of the workers (the proletariat), and the owners of capital (the bourgeoisie) as two distinct entities in contradiction—is one that struggles to fit today’s, or 22nd century Cork’s, ideas of class. The capitalists still exist: Casey’s mother is the owner of a major corporation.
The workers still exist. They are the people who work in supermarkets, as cleaners, or even lollipop ladies.
But many people seem to be somewhere in between. Casey’s uncle is a researcher; what of him? What of the teachers, or the programmers, or any of the other professional classes? Are they petit bourgeoisie? Evidently not—for Casey’s uncle is hired by a university, not being himself an owner of capital.
But Casey and Conall belong to what may be termed ‘the modern bourgeoisie’. These are the intellectuals, firstly and foremostly: teachers, researchers, engineers; those involved in professional and mentally complex work. They are also present in wealth, yes, but while wealth may be correlated—it is not the defining factor.
To employ a modern example: Nigel Farage is a very rich man. So is Donald Trump. But they do not make up the bourgeois, or—more accurately, I should say—the aristocratic class. Not only do the lack intelligence (both emotionally and technically, if not financially) but they also lack other features of the aristocrat: manners, charisma, eloquence—even such things as honour, or loyalty.
Perhaps I ought call the bourgeois novel the aristocrat’s novel. Yes: that would be more fitting, I believe.
Conall and Casey are aristocrats. They are not ordinary, not people you might bump into on the streets. And that’s okay. Good novels require extraordinary characters; and ordinary characters are not necessarily more relatable, or more valuable artistically.
Now, I must leave you. Chapter Six is a-written; the Ark has now over 100 pages; and I have a rather important plot point to address…
If you’ve been wondering ‘What of the Ark?’ allow me to alleviate your fears; the Ark—my upcoming novel, details of which may be found on the Upcoming page—is still very much under work. I have been occupied with certain important aspects of the plot; thus, my efforts in other areas were put on the backburner.
Additionally, I was busy with cleaning this accursed computer of mine. The amount of dust, dirt and grime that has accrued over the year is quite simply remarkable—the entire CPU heatsink was filled with it, likewise the ATX fan and the GPU fan. After two hours’ laborious efforts, I have been able to get it in a passable state.
Such matters aside, today’s post is concerned with an essay of mine. Previously submitted to the RES, I am now able to release it to you. It is about Greece—as the title implies—and, specifically: it examines the causes behind Greece’s economic situation, and offers some tentative solutions.
I base my conclusions primarily on empirical data, though I also peruse the macroeconomic theories of Marx and Smith; for a strong theoretical grounding is required in order to draw meaningful conclusions. My arguments are... unconventional, according to a teacher—but I believe the reason of my words and the evidence presented ought make for cogent reading.
Now—back to writing...
Mr Stargazer is pleased to announce that a prologue—beginning in medias res, for the purpose of drawing inquisitive minds—along with the first chapter have now been written. This, as you can discern, is significant; for not only do the greatest of journeys begin with the smallest of steps, but so too is this a taste of things to come.
Before Mr Stargazer elaborates on the specifics (concerning writing style, character voice, world-building and so on), it is recommended that you, dear reader, ought take a look...
Once you’ve done so, please consider giving Mr Stargazer some feedback. The latter is valuable for the still burgeoning writer—as even the more arrogant souls will admit—and it may allow him to improve upon his creation. Additionally, allow Mr Stargazer to delve into the specifics; he is ever so vain, is monsieur Stargazer, and you may learn a thing or two besides.
You are looking at the beginning of the Ark. This may change; such is the fickle heart of a writer. Regardless, it is an important step. And it begins with a prologue, set towards the end of this grand tale.
I shan’t hint too much of it, for there is yet much unknown and much that ought remain unknown. What I will say: it is indeed what it appears to be. Our protagonists—one Conall Danann and another Casey Kearney—are at Ground Zero: a facility where the Ark hovers directly above, on the edge of space.
The exact means by which it is kept there are complex; ordinarily, such an object would be in a rapid free fall (likely exceeding 20,000mph) and would soon crash into some unfortunate corner of the world. Thankfully, the Ark’s ‘engines’—which are in fact powerful generators of an artificial gravity, and warp space to keep it stationary—prevent this.
Regardless, our protagonists are there to fulfil a simple goal: getting on the Ark. I shan’t say how they achieve this, of course—that would be much too simple.
What I will say: the writing style is a formal one, as befits both the nature of the character (a charming young poet) and the inclinations of its creator. Nevertheless, it is not devoid of informality, even slang; ‘bajanxed’ is one such example. I attempt to carry both fluency (a point on which the Necromancer was criticised, owing to its tendency to sudden expositionism and superfluousness) but also detail. Do I succeed? That will be for my readers to decide.
I will also admit to being disused to first-person narration; the matter being made particularly difficult due to Conall’s disturbing similarites with my own nature. He, a poet, and yet an erudite reader, presents a number of challenges: his vocabulary is remarkably vivid, complex, and vast; and yet he is young, not yet embroiled in archaisms, nor immune to informal expression. Combining the two is easier said than done, alas.
In the first chapter, I concern myself firstly with introducing to you the peculiarities and wonders of this New World. Some aspects are really quite extraordinary: the Earth is constantly in a state of summer over the northern hemisphere, for example, but in a state of winter over the southern equivalent. Moreover, night and day can become off-kilter—days can last ages; nights can grip the world for long stretches, bringing all manner of troubles.
Other aspects intend to be humorous. The Sunshine! lamps, and their peculiarities—the yellow light, the incredible brightness, but also their tendency to vary in output unpredictably—are one such example. The latter is caused by a still developing production process, which results in substantial variation between the exact quantity and quality of the materials in use.
Whether this is indeed humorous is not within my ability to determine; hence my call for feedback.
With the various fascinating history, and detail, aside, I must address the most important matter of them all: Conall, and Casey.
Conall meets Casey in a twist of Fate, by fortuitous happenstance. And yet, there is an ease of communication between them; they seem to know one another’s mind, to mirror subtle messages of body language, and to achieve a kind of symbiosis.
That, at least, is the theory.
Aside from that, I do not neglect the physical aspects of attraction. Though the matter itself merits complex discussion concerning human sexuality, and various philosophical deliberations on normative versus descriptive elements of sexuality—on construed paragons, inherent desires, and so forth—I will bypass it all to present one simple message: they are teenagers. Sex is awesome. What’s not to love?
Most of all, I aim to instil a sense of desire—of hope, of wonder at human existence. Do I succeed? Once more, a question beyond my remit.
The Ark is as yet inchoate. I have a great deal more yet to write; and numerous difficulties of plot, narration, and characterisation are yet to be addressed. But, for all that, I hope you are as drawn to this tale as I am. I sense potential, excitement, possibility. Do you?
