Sarah Michelle Lynch

I started writing novels with the thought that I was probably best at taking on romance and drama. Perhaps even chick-lit, or, a nice new brand called grit-lit. Oh dear… I know! I had all these ideas for magical things, strange happenings, wondrous events… I had been getting those trashy things free out of magazines since I was about fourteen, and may I add, quite happily enjoying them!

When I got going, it was so different putting it all into practise. I discovered I was much better at writing something entirely different. I have really no idea why I didn’t start out with a few short stories or something first (to test the water) but it seems three books were the minimum as my debut outing. I don’t know… this is how strangely my brain works.

So, back to the above… I actually remember myself saying to MYSELF, “you can’t write about guns and killing and blood and death and drugs and tests and dark and horrific stuff”. I really just did not feel comfortable with it. I didn’t. I hated it. It grated the insides of my mind. It was like scratching my nails across the blackboard, or being trapped in a bath of scratchy cotton wool, or trying to shred paper with a cheese grater. It just meant some hard tasking. It was like facing my enemy to free my imagination (not remotely Matrix-style though). I had to take myself into a dark headspace and for someone with such vivid imagination, that wasn’t easy. LOL. I didn’t like what my mind could conjure up quite freely. It’s a scary, rattling world inside my grey matter. Really, read the books…

I sat down to write something totally different recently. Not sci-fi. Not frothy romance. Well, perhaps a bit of froth… However, it’s all new, this writing and tweaking lark. I’m writing something for my own pleasure currently, quite a light relief after three walloping, slap-you-round-the chops “this may be our future and it sucks” action-adventures. Too many innuendos I know! I really enjoy trying out new things and the thing I am testing at the moment may well have more than just one person a-frothing. Don’t worry, it won’t be that cheap and tacky. All I am saying is, sometimes going over to the dark side works. It evidently did for me. I started writing romance and realised that I could do action and thriller much, much better. I might do a full thriller one day. I might write a proper chick-lit novel. I may well even just try to do what was suggested in The Guardian, and that is, actually try rewriting an erotic classic in prose style, set in modern-day, with psychological and contemporary elements thrown in…

The grey matter is a-frothing… just needed to get that out there. 🙂

I wrote a blog post last week and scrapped it a day later. I often do that. It just did not make sense the day after I took my fingers to the keys. That is how quickly things can degenerate. That is also how changeable a writer or indeed any human being can be. Something can seem feasible and workable one day, and totally the opposite only hours later. No word written down is wasted, however, for in having written it down in the first place you are allowing yourself to breathe and release. I suppose with that particular article, I was trying to reach some resolution – some understanding – but it did not come to me with absolute clarity that day. Don’t know why.

Second attempt:

I was trying to get my head around why I actually write in the first place. Sometimes, when looking at the royalty sheet for the previous quarter, one does wonder. Growing up, those of us with aspirations to become a writer perhaps see the “published” route as an amazing, far-off dream to aspire to. We imagine the ££££s, the fame, the distinguished accolades we might receive. What we do not see is the amount of work it takes to actually write a novel. In my former profession, I saw how many processes just a small box of thirty words went through. Nobody sees the real effort apart from those behind the scenes. Anyone can pull apart a novel or a film, that’s easy, but putting it together is fucking hard. In actual fact, the life of a writer is lonely, difficult, wrought and totally and utterly un-gla-mor-ous. Opposite of tote amazeballs and sometimes whack. There is no right or wrong. There are no strict guidelines. There will be people who just do not get you, but there might also be those for whom your work uplifts, inspires and encourages. Even changes their lives, perhaps. Maybe being so honest is a passion-killer, but this is what it is really like to be a writer. It hurts, it sucks, but hell… realising a vision is incredible. I still maintain that my vision of these books was so strong that I couldn’t not write. Somehow, 370,000 words did not end up in the bin. I really don’t know how they survived, honestly!! Sometimes, I don’t!!

Even now I sit back against the cushions of the sofa I’m sat typing on, revelling in the achievement of three books done, I still wonder why I write. Why, why, why? For in writing, you are putting yourself out there to be criticised, you are opening yourself up to hurt and yada yada yada…

I write because I truly love it. It really is a love/hate relationship I have with my work. I despise it one minute, crave it the next. You cannot be any good, I suppose, unless you can critique yourself first and foremost. You have to learn to love imperfection and realise sometimes, you can only do so much. Also, when I write, I live the book, see the book, feel the book in my heart, veins and lungs. As an eight-year-old teaching herself to read a book, I struggled. I battled my natural urge to disbelieve. I overcame that, and when I did, I saw the images, not the words. I interpreted the plots and characters in my own way and was terribly captured, and have been ever since. It is a dream to write fiction and be paid for it because it has only one source and that is, your imagination. It’s far too good to be true. The process is a whirlwind experience and now it is a privilege to be able to say, “I wrote a trilogy.” The actual emotions involved in that ‒ I may never be able to put into words.

What you do not realise is how much you will grow to love your work, how much you think of it as a member of the family almost. I firmly believe that for writing to be real or provocative, it has to come from that place inside you, deep down, where you really try to thrash out the fundamental questions of life, honestly. Taking yourself there and back is difficult. But as I have said to many a fellow writer or reader, it is the experience. It is always that. It is the experience I spent my energy on and invested in ‒ quite freely. It is what we all spend our real energies on – those moments we can look back on and get all shivery about; the hairs on the back of your neck stand up; the sickness in your stomach at what you had that is now lost or past. “All we have is time, if we are lucky enough.” (BTB). I say, I got up off my arse and wrote. It was hard, for someone who loathes attention of any kind, good or bad. So many writers I speak to always say, “I’d do it under a pseudonym”, possibly because of the fear of criticism or whatever. I was taken out of my comfort zone and forced to reassess. But when I look back, wow… I learnt so much. And then I come back to the heading of this article again and remember, There are never any solid answers, only questions, discussion and debate. Keep debating people. Never stop evolving. Write.

I noticed that many authors are compiling play lists that they think enhance or add something to their books, or might even accompany reading (try it via your iPads or Kindle Fires etc., so I’m told). So I thought I’d do the same. It has also helped me to let go of having written such a large volume in relatively little time!! It is hard to say goodbye to characters you’ve spent so many hours with, but also exhilarating to have given them the send-off they deserve. My music choices for you here are mostly tracks I did indeed listen to while writing. Others are chosen for their obvious significance to characters or themes in my books. Others just fit damn well with certain scenes.

BENEATH THE VEIL’S SUGGESTED PLAYLIST: CLICK HERE

For Beneath the Veil, it was hard to get the tone right. We start off with a woman who finds out her only living relative is dead. We move to more sinister scenes quite quickly and yet still, come back to the romance at the heart of this web of secrets and lies. I always particularly reference Hometown Glory to Eve. If she were alive today, she would be 30. It would be a song with particular resonance to her and I reckon it would be something she would want playing at her funeral. She is a home bird and delights in her surroundings. Clair de Lune signals sanctuary at the end of one very long chase… Never Let Me Go – Chapter 40 (cough, cough). Adagio for Strings would be for the high-octane motorcycle chase in the latter part of the book, while Take A Bow very much reminds me of Ryken’s action sequence in Chapter 48. Mozart: for a particularly sinister encounter in an office. I imagine Seraph watching the love of her life go into battle and Chicane’s Saltwater in the background, mirroring the bittersweet romance of him risking his life for her.

BENEATH THE BETRAYAL’S SUGGESTED PLAYLIST: CLICK HERE 

Betrayal involved listening to a lot of one particular album… (it’s a secret!!) This book is a mash of painfully raw lovemaking alongside violence, death and deceit. I veer from the adrenalin-inducing, throw-yourself-about tunes of Evanescence to classical here. The Man Comes Around, for me, says everything about Nathaniel Hardy. Satie’s ditty reminds me of looking out onto a still, Parisian street early in the morning, while Muse and Evanescence serve to remind us that danger lurks and foes must be fought. Fauré, for me, is Camille’s. As she sinks into despair midway through the book, we are reminded she is a delicate, artistic creature with a sideline in more dangerous deeds. She’s someone bred from people who sought similar adventure and yet she is not always at one with herself. She and Seraph are very similar in this manner; in being made ferocious by the world in which they live, but sensitive and loyal creatures at heart.

Beneath the Exile, I can’t talk about right now… just read it and weep. 🙂 The play list for that will follow very soon, but it will be gigantic, just like the book he-he.

N.B. these lists are subject to additions and amendments. That is the nature of a writer…

I am very excited to announce that all three parts of The Ravage Trilogy are now available to purchase in both paperback and e-book on Amazon, throughout Europe and the US and beyond. (click the image below).

This has been, for me, a journey of incredible ups and downs. It has been one of self-discovery and development. I am very much hanging up my pen and ink for the foreseeable, working on other projects for a little while. I have worked extremely hard but it’s always been worth it. Those who love these books make every tear shed absolutely worth it.

Those of you who have read and enjoyed my books, please review them so that others may enjoy them too. This is extremely important. I do have a limited number of copies of Beneath the Veil available to purchase from me, that I can sign and post out. Message me if you’re interested!

All that’s left is this… review, review, review.

Love began with a violent kiss.

The crimson paragon lacking virtue,

Stumbled on a vexing nuisance,

To propel her toward felicity in situ.

~

This fallen angel could not meet his stare,

But his Herculean wiles refused to dissipate

At what might be flickering to flare,

In an icy Byzantine prone to fluctuate.

~

The zealot could not bear to see her tears,

But fought to temper her fierce, stormy heart,

To share with him all his worries and fears,

And fastidiously dispel even a moment apart.

~

Fate came to take all sublime notions away,

Bringing with it flights of savage woes;

Forcing their entrancing fervour at bay;

Baiting their most romantic throes.

~

The impetuous beauty did vex once more,

Until the toilsome period sprang fruitfully,

Bringing celestial life to worship and adore,

And burgeoning renewal engaged so emphatically.

~

A messenger swept all that was fearsome away,

Taught the divine one to veer from contention

And embrace all that was heavenly –

Dismiss everything purporting to dissension.

~

They faced the onslaught and away they went

To higher heights, all gone and spent.

The intensity wore, the frenzy sent,

They were left with ardour and a gallant portent.

~

The deepest dark and the most horrific ghost

Were blazoned wide by fire and light,

But welcomed by the most unwelcoming host,

To ensure union betwixt irascible and bright.

~

Eternal exaltation resulted at the simplest of glories,

Embraced by the archangel and one so chivalric,

At the very, enamoured gates of Elysium,

And in so, to augment a life well spent.

The third in the trilogy has to be the best, right? I don’t know. I certainly knew that this third book had to be everything I had learnt so far… and more. I knew without a doubt I really had to throw everything at it, and eek out just that little bit more from my heart too. For, reader, do not doubt this is a read which will put you through the blender and question everything you previously held true.

How this book was born will not become clear until I have given it some distance, as I have done with the other two, but I needed to write this little article to mark the occasion: to remind myself of what I have accomplished. That people enjoy these books always seems mad, to me, because I have enjoyed writing them so much, that that is enough for me! I love challenging myself, taking my mind into the dark recesses of my skull and journeying through time and space! That people enjoy these stories too is amazing. So, here’s a few hints of what you have in store in Beneath the Exile…

I needed to answer three things again. a) How did a simple dressmaker really become a spymaster? b) What was the Ravage actually like? c) What other frightening legacy might Officium have left that we never could have imagined?

Now I am sitting on this 160,000-word conclusion to a journey that for me has been taxing, painstaking, life-changing, adrenalin-inducing, compulsive, developmental, inspiring, etc, the list of adjectives goes on… I feel an unbelievable sense of achievement. I can only liken it to when you get your exam results and you are so glad it is over, that the task is accomplished, that you got a couple of surprise results but it doesn’t really matter. It is like that. It is being glad you did it but still harking for it to not be over, in the deepest corner of your heart. For it not to hurt so much when you realise you may never feel so alive ever again. You admit to yourself that the challenge, the thrill of it that keeps you writing into the early hours, was everything to you and now it is over.

When reading Exile, you will lose all sense of time. You may feel like you have been to hell and back by the end of it. It jumps between decades, between continents and countries and several complicated, put-upon characters who have been placed – sometimes – in the most horrific, unpleasant of circumstances and situations. It is this depth and span of emotions, sprawling landscape, plus a whole load of twists and turns that makes me realise just what you can achieve if you set out with the thought, “I can do this.”

When I read the last chapter of Exile, I cannot help but get uncontrollably emotional. It is because… this trilogy is really one person’s story in particular. You may not have realised whose story, yet. When I read Chapter 77 of Beneath the Exile, I am reminded where I started. I am humbled. I look back to the beginning, immediately, and know I have come full circle. I realise the extent of the journey I have been on and I cannot believe what I have managed to do. So, all there is left for me to say is, watch this space… when the creative urge takes me again, we never know what else I might turn out. Until then, enjoy the Ravage. I think it might need re-reading to really absorb its entirety. You may well agree…

At the end of Beneath the Veil, we are left with some questions. I can’t really point them out in too detailed a manner otherwise some readers may have their experience spoilt. But, those who have read it know what I mean. I knew readers would want to know a) What happened at the top of Genevieve Tower? b) How in the heck did we get to the Epilogue so suddenly? c) Please explain that shock in Chapter 52 that nobody ever expected? I knew my readers would be asking these questions because I asked them myself.

This is why I had to write more. Beneath the Veil was simply the start of this body of work. There were still stories to be told, explanations to be gifted. I spoke to my readers and asked them what they wanted, and I gave them it. As a writer, the chance to explore a complex father-son relationship is the perfect chance to show off one’s writing skills. Somehow, I gifted myself this opportunity in Beneath the Betrayal rather subconsciously. Though I doubt I will ever mirror the likes of the great writers who have done this so well, so many times over.

I imagine in a lot of people’s families, fraught father-son relationships often do go back generations. When I speak to friends and family, I listen and file away titbits, I store little details like a squirrel its nuts, and keep them for those days when they need to be called upon. And so, I could see already how this father-son relationship would pan out even before it began. But as ever with my writing, we needed a twist. We needed a way of giving back one particular character some glory.

The Catacombs provided so much symbolism but ultimately, for me, represented the unknown. In the apocalyptic world I have painted, anything could be lurking down there in that filthy ossuary. Things might have taken place while cheeks were turned and ordinary citizens were busy struggling to survive. The historic underground networks beneath Paris have so much mystery, myth and menace attached to them. Some years ago, something must have crept into my subconscious and made me remember to use such a setting in a book one day, because I knew I had to use this in Beneath the Betrayal before I even started out writing Vol2.

I knew I had to throw a lot else into the mix, too. Such as, explaining characters’ backgrounds, Seraph’s development as she leaves her career behind, plus how the world is coping post-Genevieve. It wasn’t easy sewing all these strains of thought together but I somehow did it. This book took less than two months to write as opposed to the seven it took for Beneath the Veil to stew, because the first instalment is always the hardest as you lay the groundwork.

It was funny speaking to readers of BTB because they did not read certain characters in the same way. Some suspected one of being false, and others had found affinity with those that others found wanting… if that makes sense. It must mean I am doing something right, to have people questioning and reading, and making their own interpretations of various protagonists. In the same way, many have said they enjoyed this book more than Beneath the Veil, and vice versa. I love it that everything is open to interpretation – and that people have voiced their various opinions means I am getting discussions going, which is all I have ever wanted. Let’s talk about a book and dissect it if necessary, rather than leave it on a shelf straight after reading and never think of it again! This goes back to the reason why I self-published – because it gave me the perfect opportunity to play with what I could do and see where my forte lies. So in actual fact, when you’re reading the books, you are actually witnessing the development of a writer from acorn to tree (hopefully). You are on the journey with me and now this train is about to hit its last station…

As I said, there is not much I can say about Betrayal without giving too much away. You just have to read it. Where Beneath the Veil is a puzzle and a coming-of-age drama, Betrayal is a character analysis with love at its heart, but with deception as thick a vein as that leading to the left ventricle. It’s about portraying events and acts with ambiguity so as to confuse or distort the vision and impair the hearing. It’s about toying with the characters’ emotions to draw out their inner-most selves. At its centre, however, is a true story of love and how sometimes people fight it, deny it or even try to break it on purpose. I always termed my work “romance” before “sci-fi”, but it turns out, we all need a little romance added to any work of fiction. Secretly and disdainfully, it’s what we all yearn for!

I suppose the way I write is like this… An idea has to be burning its way out of me for me to want to sit down and dedicate my time and energy to something that may or may not make me any money; may or may not be liked by an audience; may or may not be liked by a future version of me in years to come.

When I tell people I wrote three books this year, they look at me as if there must be something terribly wrong with me. Or as if what I’ve churned out must be utter, utter codswallop. Ha ha. Perhaps it is! No, I don’t think so… A lot of fellow writers tell me they don’t get past the first few chapters of an idea. A lot of scribblers stick to short stories because they find the thought of a novel daunting or impossible – a challenge they are not at one with or fear they would never find time to complete. When I read A Moveable Feast earlier this year on a train journey to Paris, I found it incredible that Ernest Hemingway felt as if he could not attempt a novel without the notion that he was poised and experienced enough to. It was as though he felt it a desecration of his art to attempt something so huge unless he knew he could do it justice. I find that mindset incredibly interesting: that such a huge talent was initially loathe to move from short stories because he was so humble, so bound by his desire to do the best he could, that he did not immediately jump to novels. Maybe my leap from no/little creative writing experience to a full novel as my first work seems insanity… or arrogance, even.

As I sit here right now, this blog is burning its way out of me. It’s why I write. I see an idea in my mind, or something someone says draws a discussion from the recesses of my psyche, and I’m there… needing to explode my words onto the page. I have to have that appetite – no, indeed – that absolute and utter desperation to write for me to know it will be any good. I have to have that yearning – deep in the pit of my gut – for me to know it will be tangible, real or even just a little bit resonant. I’ve often told people that forcing yourself to write is not the way. But secretly, I’m just as guilty as anyone else. Nevertheless, though those “forced writes” have been scrapped on many an occasion, sometimes they have led to bigger and better things.

So, to the matter at hand… this here blog is my AGM with myself. My round-up of my year’s business, if you like. Here I sit, on my own, writing about me and my psyche’s journey. Even though I started The Ravage Trilogy in October 2011, I feel as though I didn’t really knuckle down to the business of creating a novel until January this year, so it really has been a white-knuckle, rollercoaster of a year. Twelve months. Three books. A developing fan base that loves my work and seems to live for the sequels. Oh god, let’s see if I can get this all to sink in after such a frenzied period of creativity…

There have been many nights when I’ve been unable to stop tapping away at the keyboard. Many times when I’ve thought to myself, “Bloody hell, Sarah, you will be up in five hours’ time with the baby…” I’ve sacrificed my formerly routine life to become a creature of abject, inconvenient compulsion! I simply know if I don’t ride the rollercoaster of a scene or an idea or a feeling, I might not be able to regain it in the morning. I said after writing Book One that I would give myself a rest. But I may as well have been trying to teach myself to suck eggs… Book Two was hot on its heels not only in terms of creativity, but also in terms of the sequential plot and a need to bring my characters forward from the previous instalment. I could already see the next journey I was going to take the protagonists on and I simply needed to get it down. Finding that time is and has been very difficult sometimes. Very. I have many commitments, both personally and professionally. But every day, I would look forward to the chance to finally sit down in the evening – with my laptop – and thrash out that idea or two that had been niggling and developing in my mind all day long. I’d sit on that sofa, computer on lap, wine or a cuppa or a beer by my side – happy as a pig in shit. I’d feel as though the day’s toil was done and that I could deservedly gift myself with the chance to write. For it is definitely a gift and something I am very lucky to have. As much as I give, it gives me back tenfold. A bit like a child does, really. I was taking myself off to the world that was living inside my mind. A world where you are never sure what might happen, where anything is possible and where you meet people you would love to meet in life; people just like us who are placed in extraordinary circumstances and because of this are able to demonstrate so many facets of their various personalities within such a small time period. Characters who are somewhat a part of me and who I am, but also parts of my circle of friends and family, and reminiscent of many other characters I have met over the years. They are the thing that makes my books: the people you grow to love and empathise with, the people who you could easily imagine being real and who react and perceive the world just like any of the rest of us.

So, it was during these long night sessions of writing, in those dark hours, that I wasn’t as seemingly alone as I thought. I had my characters driving me on, needed to be voiced and heard. Often the thought would creep into my mind, “This is a ridiculous idea that may seem good to you but won’t to anyone else…” “People will see right through this…” “God I hate this scene…” All these self-doubts are what defines the loneliness of a writer. Of feeling as though what you are doing is rubbish and having a crisis of faith. I would ask everyone to look back and think. Ask yourself, how much time do you spend writing an email to someone, or a letter, or a small article? How many times have you written a poem or a song or a love note and then scribbled it out or binned it the next day because you hate it when you look back? You may then realise that what I have done this year required extreme faith, in both myself, my writing, how it will be perceived and whether it will be enjoyed.

But this is the point:

This year, I discovered a true love. A real, deep, innate love for writing and the way it makes me feel. To complete a novel… god! One is amazing enough. But I did three because I absolutely, one hundred per cent, absolutely and truly love this. I love, love, love it. It’s in my veins, my bones, my DNA. I hear those people saying to me, “Oh, yeah, I’d love to write a novel but I never have the time, or the energy, or the confidence, or the inclination to write so many, many words…” I hear them talking and I think, well, I did it. I did it because to not do it would have made me ill. Keeping these stories internalised would have been criminal to my art, which is specific to me and my life, my personality and particular talents. I am fortunate in that because I have self-published, I can stay true to exactly who I am and what makes my writing mine. I will never regret the way my books have turned out, because they led to something… and life continues to lead to new discoveries, new pastures, new adventures and self-development. I wrote three books in such a relatively short period of time because they were breaking out of me. They had to be written. They have to be read.

In conclusion, as this AGM draws to a close, I would just like to tell myself… this has been a very productive year. I finished Book Three and felt as though I had already peaked. I felt as though I would never write anything as good ever again… for this is a story that beats the first two books hands down, but I had to write them to get to this one – Beneath the Exile. In Book Three, you will see me bring my characters to their lowest, to their basest even, and raise them up again. I took them by the throat, squeezed and choked them, shook them about and fed them to the lions afterward. I did it because I could – because I can write. If you can write, you should never deny yourself that. Never tell yourself that what you churn out is bound to be rubbish, because you never know what you might end up with. You just never know… I discovered a true, unbreakable, unfathomable, indestructible love… One that challenges and excites me, gives me the highest highs and the lowest lows… but one which is so undeniably rewarding and fulfilling. As to the future… or the unknown… watch this space 2013…