Beguiling darkness: Tethered

In the distant past before the lost years and the breaking of the world, in a younger less cynical time, I was sent a manuscript to read. This was about four years ( three atrocious prime ministers and one pandemic) ago and no one knew what was about to happen. Which is to say a lot. So one hopes that the writer of the manuscript in question will forgive me if I admit I had more or less forgotten everything about it by last month when I was asked if I wanted an ARC copy of the final novel.

The only things I really remembered were being impressed with the authors style, the darkness of the setting, finding myself drawn in by the involving central character and wanting to know where the story was going to go. So of course I said yes, I would love to an ARC copy. I then went back and read the notes I’d sent for the author back in 2020.

Between the earlier draft novel I was sent in 2020 and this ARC a whole lot of revision and some whole sale changes have been undertaken to the manuscript. Well its been four years, or maybe a life time, its hard to tell some days… All of which is good, because nothing about this book has been rushed, there has been some major cutting along the way, the latter half of the book in particular is heavily revised, as is the part played in the narrative by the supporting cast.

One character a minor but notable villain, doesn’t die where I am sure I remember her dying in the original draft, indeed it is unclear if she dies at all now (though quite possibly she does). As I quite like the character in question, who is equally complex in her own nasty way, that rather pleased me, as she stands to return in a bigger role in another novel with luck.

This is a book littered with strong female characters who very defiantly have their own agency as well as their own flaws, it would have been easy for one of them to draw the spot light off the main character. One of the minor flaws of the early draft was that the main characters ‘friend’ Beth had a habit of overshadowing her at times. Beth could carry another novel in her own right, strong, darkly humoured, honourable, unflappable yet with a certain vulnerability and a sentimental streak, she is moved to do what needs to be done and whats right, rather than whats easy, or whats legal… She is a wonderfully well rounded character that could easily sit at the centre of all this, yet in this final version of this novel she remains firmly stage right and best supporting actress through out and never upstages Evie who carry the novel throughout.

That is a hard trick to pull off as a writer. To balance such a strong set of characters and make sure the lead remains firmly the lead is hard. Generally a writer ends up watering down the other characters, something you could not accuse JA Wood of doing here. Nothing has been watered down. Only polished and improved in the four intervening years since I last read of Evie’s world.

But lets leave Evie to one side for a moment and talk about the world which she inhabits. It is a dark and beguiling place. You get the sense that at the heart of this world is a civilisation in decline. Parts of the great city she inhabits are rundown, abandoned or over run with criminal gangs. A whole ward of the city was once powered by strange devices run on ‘ebony’ a dark essence drawn from the aetheric plane. The Ebony ward is not alone in its sense of decay and decline, whatever Ebony actually the taping of the aetheric plain for power is in part responsible for the slow breaking down of society. There was a war, a catastrophic war at some time in the past, and the world is what survived. Some people have powers, chimeric powers, that cause some to label them demons. To control and contain them they are tethered by priest of a complex religion of ten gods , the ten travellers, using a strange substance called taroais that is lethal to chimera, binding them and their powers, which also slowly kills them. And this is the progressive nation…

This is part steam punk, or perhaps diesel punk, part urban fantasy, part dark fantasy and a whole lot of fascinating. Not least because the writer doesn’t make the mistake of explaining the world too deeply, so the readers perception and the writers vision may not be entirely the same, but it entices you further in with snippets here and there. We get the names of a couple of the ten gods and only the vaguest idea what each god is for, yet even this is done with a delicate hand. Evie, we aren’t quite told, has ten studs in her ear, one for each god. While she is not overtly pious she has a habit of touching these much like one might touch a crucifix of a anhk. It subtleties like that which make the characters and the world seem alive and vibrant through the writing without it been forced. We get hints of the worlds history, hints of other nations and hints as to the true nature of chimera. But there is a careful vagueness, and much left to the imagination and it is all the better for it. It leaves you wanting more, while keeping the story flowing.

But back to the characters themselves, if Beth has several layers of complexity, Evie has so many more. A recovering addict, leading a double life, hiding the truth about herself and in deep with the seedier side of society and gangsters forcing her to pay off her debts by making illegal devices for them. The rift between her and Beth haunts her and she is forced to sink or swim and is starting to drown, and all this is before she blackmailed into ‘acquiring’ an object from a second criminal gang, by a woman who knows she is a pulse chimera and how much damage that secret could do both her and her parents. From there things only get more complicated and dangerous for Evie, everything she loves is under threat and she is far from blameless, at least in her eyes, as her Blackmailer is part of a dark conspiracy of rich and powerful people who seek to rid the world of all chimera.

This is a fabulous ride of a novel, through a dark gritty fantasy landscape, with strong characters, betrayals, surprises, shocks, a whole world of imagination to explore and wonder at. There will I am sure be more to come, and I was delighted to go back to it and see how much what had been a good book when I read the early draft four year ago has been revise and polished into something so much more than it was.

J.A.Woods Tethered will be out soon. Its take a few years to write, but is none the worse for that. This is among the best pure adventure I have read in what seems like an age, it rich, dark and leaves you wanting to read more. I can not recommend it enough.

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A writers solstice

I have always been fond of the above quote. It comes form Stephen King’s memoir/guide to the craft of writing, On Writing . A book I recommend to anyone looking to progress in the craft. It is also a quote I have been singularly failing at of late having read far less than I would like and barely written two words since about February.

As far as writing is concerned this is not especially unusual, I very much run through peeks and troughs with the craft as many writers do. It is slight more unusual to find I have read very little (in my terms) in the first six months of this year, though not entirely unprecedented. I do most of my reading at night, and sometimes mental exhaustion sets in more than others.

My to read pile is rather larger than normal, and I have been struggling to be enthralled by much of what I have read of late. Generally this is less to do with what I am reading and more to do with my state of mind.

In essence I have fallen out of good habits, in terms of writing and reading, and fallen into bad ones., but today is the summer solstice, this seems a good time to reflect on one of the most important aspects of my life, my sense of self, and who I wish to be and restructure my mindset. In short another Stephen King quote comes to mind…

With that in mind I am determined to make myself go to bed a little earlier each evening to make time for reading. I don’t just read in bed, but it has always been my habit to do so. I need to reinvigorate that habit.

I am also going to make time to write, another good habit I have let fall away of late. My goal is is always to write 500 words a day on whatever my current WIP is. The reason for that is if you can make yourself write 500 words you will find more often than not you will write a 1000 or more. But you have to put pen to paper first, or finger to keyboard at any rate.

Writing is and always has been my passion. I do not need to write to be happy, but not writing makes me unhappy. I need to feed that passion, and stock the fires. It was a hard winter, and a strange spring. But the sun is rising over the hedge and it is time for a summer…. It is time for tall cold drinks with fruit in them, and furious tapping at the keys…

In any regard Happy Solstice for those who follow the many pathways of past wisdom

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Friday Flashbacks… 1

As this blogs been around the block a few times, (754 posts over the last 8 years or so…) , I’ve decided it would be nice to dig out some old post that regular readers may never have come across at the time, So I’m starting a new regular feature for Fridays, digging up obscure gems from the blogs past that still entertain me… (or rehashing rubbish if you prefer…)

This first Friday Flashback was originally posted as Philosophical Notes…in November 2018

Music features a lot in my novel Passing Place, music and my love of lyrics, which I often find have a certain philosophical leaning. Of course, they were not always written with a philosophical mindset I am sure. But on occasion, one finds little nuggets of philosophy in the strangest of places. Mainly though this list of quazi-philosophical uttering started out from a throwaway witticism my twitter account… So if your looking for some fine insights into the human condition, this may not be the list for you, but hey if a couple of these make you smile, well then, like the philosopher Jagger once stated…

You can’t always get what you want

but as he goes on to say…

Sometimes,

if you try real hard,

you might get what you need

: Jagger

Leave the knight of Dartford on one side. According to the American Blue collar philosopher Springsteen…

We are alive

And though our bodies lie alone here in the dark

Our spirits rise

To carry the fire and light the spark

: Springsteen

Make of that what you will…

Meanwhile, worthy of consideration is the work of a trio of philosophers Felder/Henley&Frey:

‘Some dance to remember, some dance to forget’

(you/they) ‘but you just can’t kill the beast’

:Felder/Henley&Frey

While back in the 80’s with vitriolic splendour Peters asked of man’s perspicacity to hide when dark clouds loom…

All cards are marked, all fates will collide

The truth is the truth or the truth is surely a lie

Get back in your shelter if you can’t come down off the fence

:Peters

There may be more of this to come…

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By St Elmo’s Bowels

Occasionally, on a morning at work, with my coffee, when it quiet and there is no major crisis to deal with I have too much time on my hands… Then Jessica Law (or someone else, but it is nearly always her or Nimue) makes some vague, mostly irreverent, statement on the internet, such as commenting on using a nice if not especially uncommon phase like ‘Christ on a Bike!’ and because I have too much time on my hands this sort of thing happens…

 “By St Elmo’s Bowels!”

I would not be surprised to learn that Jessica Law knew, aside being the well known patron saint of sailors, famously lending his name to ‘st elmo’s fire’ , the electrical discharges you can get off a mast in a storm, and by extension the 80’s movie with Rob Lowe in it that never quite managed to be the next ‘The Breakfast Club’ (even Angie MacDowell could not save it) and the irritatingly catchy theme song by John Parr I had on 12inch for some reason because the 7″ single wasn’t cringy enough… St Elmo is also the patron saint of abdominal pain.

He became the patron saint of sailors, despite never having set foot on as much as a row boat let alone a ship, because he preached and continued to preach in a violent thunderstorm and lightning struck the ground nears him several times, reputedly. Which is very rock and roll for a 3rd century Italian cleric…

Speaking of roll, he was also placed in a barrel with spikes in it and rolled down all seven hills of Rome, yet survived, reputedly because an angel saved him… You would have thought a better angel would be the one that stopped him being put in a barrel full of spikes to begin with but you know what angels are like…

In any regard his patronage of abdominal pain came about because his final martyrdom was at the order of the Emperor Maximian, who had Elmo’s abdomen slit open and his intestines wound around a windlass.

One can not help feeling making St Elmo patron saint of abdominal pain was a bit literal minded of Pope Gregory ‘the Great’, who had a dark sense of humour apparently, but the whole lightening bolts thing is cool. Much cooler than the 80’s movie and anything John Parr ever sang…

This is exactly the kind of thing I would expect Jessica to know and come out with , hence I would not be surprised were she to utter the exclamation “By St Elmo’s bowels!”

Which I think she should , as often as possible…

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Alternative thoughts

Despite all human accomplishments Human civilisation owes its existence to a six inch layer of top soil and precipitation.

Plants are actually farming humanity. They feed us with oxygen, so they can get the carbon dioxide they require. Then when we are no longer of use to them we decompose in the ground so they can consume us.

A Hippopotamus runs faster on land the an average human. Hippos also swim faster than the average human. This is why the modern triathlon has a bicycle stage, its the only way we stand a chance.

All the instruments humanity have constructed to search for intelligent life, point away from the earth.

Venus is the only planet named for a goddess, it is also the only one that spins clockwise.

Despite Lions not being native England, the national animal of England is in fact a Lion, the Scots consider this to be a classic example of the arrogance of the English, deciding to make an animal that has never been native to your shores as your national animal…

The national animal of Scotland is a unicorn…

It is illegal in Switzerland to own one guinea pig, because guinea-pigs are social animals and get lonely you are required by law to have at least two.

Sloths can hold their breath longer than dolphins…

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The Men in Dark Tweed #9

The Men in Dark Tweed were created on a whim while I was working on my current WIP novel, a Victorian Urban Fantasy entitled ’Lucifer Mandrake and the Hanoverian Proxy’ The new, somewhat nefarious Home Secretary sets up a plain clothes division of the young Metropolitan Police Force, reporting directly to him. They are a somewhat sinister group, because basically the main antagonist needed a bunch of shadow thugs…

They are however unerringly polite about it all…

The Men in Dark Tweed have made a leap to a short story of their own that will appear in a forth coming anthology. Also now there are badges (because I could) which while available at any event I am working, I will also be selling here if anyone is mad enough to want one because frankly the blog needs to pay for itself somehow and I don’t want more adverts on it… Besides people like badges.

Men In Dark Tweed Pin Badge

Men in dark tweed badges, because this blog has to be paid for in some way or other… £2 + £1 P&P (uk only) Will also ship beyond these islands if someone is mad enough to want one

£3.00

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Friday Things…

‘No matter how short you may be, you are always tall enough to reach the ground.’

Yesterday i voted, I did this despite the fact I was voting for two things I fundamentally disagree with.

The first of these was for the local Police and Crime commissioner. A bureaucratic position created by the government so they could pass the blame on issues that look bad to them politically, ergo general policing and crime issues, back in 2012. In the 12 years since the various Police and crime commissioners around the UK have successfully achieved their mandate. Which is to say, done nothing, but taken the blame away from central government. What they have not done is in any way lower crime figures or improved the life of UK citizens.

The second post I was asked to vote on was for Tees-valley Mayor. Regional Mayors are a great boon, in that they give the government another layer of bureaucracy to blame. So successful have these regional mayors been that the number of regions with mayors has been expanded this election cycle… My local regional mayor has ‘allegedly’ committed several acts of fraud and ripped off the local tax payers to the tune of half a billion, having sold 500 million’s worth of land for threepence to a couple of his mates (guess which party he stood for).

These two bureaucratic positions, both 100k+ salaried positions at that, which are a layer of local governance we never needed that only costs us money and achieves very little aside fire-walling the UK governments from local issues. They did not exist until very recently and they have not made anyone’s life better, I doubt they ever will because salaried bureaucratic positions become about getting reelected to that same position, rather than achieving anything meaningful very quickly.

Dispute knowing all this, I voted yesterday. More in hope than expectation…

In any regard, here is a sloth hugging a tree

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Harvey’s not dead/Men in Dark Tweed

Over the last several years I have been involved in the Harvey Duckman Anthologies project. First as a writer, occasionally a mentor and then latterly as part of the editorial staff . I have spoken of it here more than once. It was a grand enterprise, an outlet for new writers and established ones alike. I say was, because it is no more and for one I morn its passing…

The reasons Harvey Duckman has gone by the wayside are many. The project proved to be flawed when inclusive innocence came up against entitled idiocy, as such things are apt to do. I am not going to go into the whys and wherefores, but a few malcontents ruined what was conceived in, and mostly achieved, wonderfulness. Lessons have been learned and the business model has basically lost money from the word, and was a labour of love for Gillie Hatton has ended. Because its hard to love something that keeps kicking you when you’re down. The thirteen volumes of Harvey Duckman Presents will go out of print for ever at the end of the month.

We raise a glass and salute its passing…

This is however not the end for Harvey, a new Harvey has being born form the ashes, a new Harvey with a new business model. A new Harvey that has the potential to be greater than ever before. You can find out about it here….

https://harvey-duckman-is-alive.ghost.io/

The new Harvey is a community site on Ghost, for writers and readers. It will have short stories , author interviews, writing tips and publishing advice as well as a monthly flash fiction ebook anyone can contribute to as well as read. Please check it out if you are a writer, or a reader, or a want to be writer, of genre fiction.

As part of all this there will also be a New style Harvey paperback coming out quarterly, each focused on its own sub-genre, the first of which will be a Steampunk collection that is being curated in part by me. So I can promise I know the quality of every story that has been accepted, with many new to Harvey authors and its going to be splendid…

This has however put me in a bit of a hole… I have not written a short steampunk story for quite a while and old Hannibal is still on hiatus while I write another novel, so I don’t want to don the old ‘Ins and Outs’ club tie and go back to the smoking room to listen to him tell me stories. I need to write something else suitable for a steampunk collection… If only I had a suitable inkwell from which to draw… Some collection of shadowy individuals that fit into the genre… Oh well, I am sure something will come to me if I stare into the void long enough…

The thing in the Thames with the tentacles was not the problem.

Admittedly, a mass of writhing uncanny, disturbing, pseudopods and slick slimy appendages apt to explode from the waters of the old father was far from ideal. All the less so when having done so it wrapped those tentacles around a Hanson and wrenched the cab, its poor occupants, driver and both horses from the recently completed Tower bridge, down into the waters never to be seen again. That it was fair to say was as near as damn the definition of ‘far from ideal’.

But it was not ‘The Problem’.    

“The Problem”, Mr Chapman considered, “is what to do about the witnesses.”

This was the third confirmed attack on Londoners by the enormous night squid which has taken up residence in the Thames. Chapman had noted previously they should ‘thank god every evensong’ that it was a giant Night Squid. The semi-nocturnal creature kept to the dark depths throughout the day and would only break surface under cover of darkness. A more obtrusive cephalopod, one given to making it presence known in daylight, would have proved far more problematic for the ministry to handle, as Chapman had assured his masters in Whitehall. “In the case of monstrous aquatic incursions, darkness is our friend.”

Luckily this was London. City of a hundred thousand chimneys. The furnaces that powered the cities heart with the ever burning coal bless it with the predictable nightly fogs so enamored by drunks, doxies, and the occasional blade wielding maniac that hunted them both. The pea soups of London hid many horrors from the public, which was one of the reasons The Ministry had scuttled clean air bills every time they came before parliament.   

One of the reasons…

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Men in Dark Tweed 8

The Men in Dark Tweed were created on a whim while I was working on my current WIP novel, a Victorian Urban Fantasy entitled ’Lucifer Mandrake and the Hanoverian Proxy’ The new, somewhat nefarious Home Secretary sets up a plain clothes division of the young Metropolitan Police Force, reporting directly to him. They are a somewhat sinister group, because basically the main antagonist needed a bunch of shadow thugs…

They are however unerringly polite about it all…

That said, there is a line, this may stray across it…

For those who may be interested all the art work I have used for these were drawn by Sidney Paget for long out of print Sherlock Holmes editions and/or the original strand magazine illustrations.

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Forgotten forests

The nexus of my identity is not external to me.

This was a hard lesson, long to be learned, over many years and to an extent still unlearned. Coming to the realisation that what makes you you, and understanding that the sense of identity you’ve been grasping towards, can not be found external to yourself is both a fundamental to the human experience, and an ethereal concept that is counter intuitive to all the imperatives of being a member of humanity.

We are, and ever were, social animals. We can not survive alone. A individual can not hunt a mammoth. No man can stand guard to himself while he sleeps. To be a human alone is to perish. Only through community does mankind survive. A fact as true today as it was at the end of the last great ice age. Even the antisocial butterfly must have those they flutter around. We are not meant to be alone in this. Whatever this is.

Thus a dichotomy persists. All our ancestral instincts drive us to form social groupings for our protection and well-being. Yet the nexus of our identities, that which drives us to be individuals and to understand ourselves becomes easily dependent upon others. Many welcome that sense of co-dependence. Welcome being part of the greater whole, But in doing so they risk losing their individual identity.I speak here from bitter experience, I have sought identity from external nexi in the past. I have been a husband, father, lover, rock upon a shatter shore shielding those I love from the breakers driven upon us by the storm. I have been all those things, and often lost myself within those roles. The irony being that in doing so I fail in my own eyes to truly embrace what I sought to be. I say this without regret. Only with the knowledge I have often failed to be that which I wished to be, and in all things this has been when I have let my own identity be taken by the collective. I have become defined by the role I have taken and lost myself in the process.

But through all this. Through all the trails and tribulations of life. I have come to know this. Happiness can not be gained by becoming other than I am to suit the needs of those other than myself and while for a time I can find contentment in setting aside my need for meaning, and find meaning in the role of being part of the collective we. Ultimately this is fleeting, the dark clouds will return, the need to be an identity beyond the nexi of others will return. The need to be my own self and to search within myself for meaning. And thus…

The nexus of my identity is not external to me.

Ghost of the Lost Forrest is a new book by Nimue Brown, it is a book about identity and the search for identity. It holds joy and pain within its grasp. Its protagonist searches for identity in all the places you might expect, and is confused much of the time. He does foolish things, some more foolish than others. He misunderstands much of what is going on around him. Then his search turns inward.

I am normally, as you may be aware if your a regular reader, I am quite good at reviews. Or at least I find things to say that sum up my opinion in a relatable way and why I think others should read that book. I’ve struggled to do so with this one. So much so that I went back and read it again. Not that this was a chore, it is a wonderful book, and enlightening read, and profoundly personal in ways I suspect I would not be alone in discovering.

It is that last bit that has me struggling with this review, the profound personal impact of some of the aspects and segments of this book. I am not saying they would be the same for you. Indeed I highly suspect that the sections that resonated most with me will not resonate in the same way with others. While other sections will find people to resonate with that were of a more passive grace to me, at least in that regard.

Will this book profoundly influence you, and impact upon your thoughts? Perhaps…

Will it echo your own experiences, your own personal journeys, and cause you to perhaps consider things anew? Maybe…

Will you enjoy it? undoubtedly

What I can also say for sure is it will give you a window into a sub-culture, an idea of a conceptualised pagan philosophy, identity and most importantly be an engaging interesting and fun read.

It may also stab you in the guts and turn the blade. It may hurt. It may cause you to stop reading and stare into the void beyond the reading lamp and contemplate the nexus of your identity and how it may not be merely internal to yourself after all. That others have walked the same forests. The long vanished forests that still surround us. The dark pathless woods that lurk beyond our civilised islands of street lights and stone walls.

Or that may just be me…

Should you read it? Yes. because Nimue has a way of telling stories that hold truths, bound and woven within the surreal and the wondrous. truths that will echo your own, and strike cords of meaning. And she does so effortlessly, ( for a given quantity of effortless that takes twenty years to write…)

And finally, because the nexus of your identity may not be purely internal to you but a journey trod by other and there is community and hope within that revelation. We are not alone, we are not isolated islands of self cast in an inky black impassable ocean. There are bridges between us. We are each of us just one part of a great archipelago of share experience.

The nexus of my identity is not external to me, but I am not alone in this…

Ghost of The Lost Forrest by Nimue Brown is available in paperback on Amazon

It is also available in ebook on a ‘pay what you wish’ basis, and you can find details of how to get the book that way on Nimue blog https://druidlife.wordpress.com/ which you should visit anyway because it is wonderful

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