May 2012

I was just a writer with a book she thought was good.

In May last year, I was sitting on Beneath the Veil thinking “I’ll just press the publish button and see what happens.” Quite early on, I had already decided on self-publishing for a few reasons. 1) Because I knew this would be a trilogy and I wanted each instalment to be out there ASAP so I could just carry on writing. 2) Everyone else was doing it. 3) I cross genres and knew (perhaps) agents wouldn’t take. 4) I really didn’t know what I’ve got here. I really just needed to find out.

I remember receiving texts from friends and family who started reading and them saying, “Why have you done this to that character?” Or “No, this cannot be happening. No.” It amazed me they bought into it so much. And people who are not readers saying, “I have shelves full of unread stuff but I can’t put yours down.” It still amazes me that people love that book. It was my first and no other book will ever hold as much emotion and significance for me, because it represents so much progression. And yet, I’ve also learnt so, so much since then. An ordinate amount, in fact.

In the beginning, I got people saying, “What, you wrote a novel?” And me, in my belligerence, “Yeah, big deal!” Oh, I don’t know, maybe I just didn’t want people trying to get in on it. I don’t know. It has taken this full year to come to terms with everything I’ve achieved. It’s bizarre, I realise. Perhaps, it was simply that for me, writing a novel is such a pleasure and a privilege. It really is! There was never a stage where I didn’t really enjoy it. I relished it. (It’s what comes after that sucks!) I go back to my upbringing and I remember being told at eight years old that I could write. I remember burying myself in books at the little local library that is now shut down. Such a shame. I remember feeling that this was something I was always destined to do (I hoped it was anyway). My love of literature would see me put myself through university with jobs in cafes, bars and as a mentor to kids living in former mining communities who needed to know there was hope. There is always hope. I went on to work for the Press Association and lead a team of writers. I also managed to keep some very picky editors happy at a certain magazine I will not mention here. A feat in itself! And so, all these things, have led me here.

Sept 2012

I was just a writer who’d put out a second book she thought was good.

Beneath the Betrayal was different to the first. I decided I wanted a lot more blood and lust in this book and that is exactly what I gave people. A recent conversation with a “non-reader” reassured me that I was right to have a father/son scenario instead (to make a change) and I’m glad that worked out. Book Two was very easy to write. I had almost half of it done before I even put out Beneath the Veil because I needed to be confident I could keep carrying these through. That book out, I turned to the last.

Nov 2012

I was just a writer who had a trilogy to round off.

It was around this time that I realised, “Nobody cares as much about your work as you.” I was getting jaded, it was true. I was tired and felt like I had not much else to give. I quit my day job for a few reasons, but mostly to give me some time to reflect. (I have written all these books while looking after a baby too). I am lucky in that having worked as a journalist, I am trained to flip in and out of writing mode so when my daughter’s asleep, I can flick it on and off and dive right in. But, that’s not to say juggling hasn’t been hard. It really has. I’d gone from May 2012 (having about 3 twitter followers and no marketing plan whatsoever) to a lot more followers and some people seeming to show an interest in my work. But still, I really didn’t feel I was getting anything back for all my work. I felt there’s still a lot of negativity surrounding self-publishing but then reminded myself that even best-selling, critically-acclaimed writers still have their cynics.

I knew I had to end the trilogy to the best of my ability. Perhaps I ran wild (it’s 160,000 words long), but it had to be a journey that would satisfy Ravage fans. Somehow, BTB left me with loads of threads and I had plenty to play with. I really had the opportunity to see what else I could do and I tried to do it! I just went with my gut and pushed out another book like it was the birth of my third child. Not as hard work as the first but still a little difficult, because it was a big bleeder. I shook off my doubts, lethargy and exhaustion, and ploughed on. I had to. It’s what I’ve always done. There were so many points along the way when I could have given up. I really could have done. I almost didn’t go to university to study English because I had an opportunity to train as a Retail Manager (if I’d wanted to). I also nearly fucked up my A-levels because of one thing or another. However, I loved studying English and it led me here. I loved writing TV listings for seven years, because it led me here.

Feb 2013

I finished the trilogy.

December 2012 was when I finished writing. I left it there and had Christmas off. My hubby and a few other people read Beneath the Exile and were stunned. I went back in January, did a couple of edits, but felt like I really had nothing else to add at that point in time. I put it out and just thought, “I have to distance myself now.” I’d spent almost 16 months living and breathing those three books and I had to just let go. I needed perspective.

May 2013

I got some perspective and wrote an erotic novel with ease.

I know that The Ravage Trilogy deserves its due and it is now going to get it. There are lots of people who will get pleasure from these books.

I have just written a 100K-word erotic novel in two months. And I hope, I really hope, people who read that really see what I’m trying to do here. I really hope they do and are inspired. Words are an escape, but also an expression; a medium through which we can explore our lives and people around us without targeting anyone in particular.

There were so, so many times I could have given up. And I didn’t. Why? Because this is something I utterly, really and truly, adore. I do. Writing to me, is, life. I won’t ever stop now. A year ago, a seasoned writer told me he didn’t know of any phenoms but he was willing to be proven wrong. I will keep going until I prove him wrong. Perhaps, the greatest story we can ever tell is our own, but I’ve never been that keen on that…

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…

How do I start this? It’s really difficult because I didn’t sit down with a plan, nor did I write this book from beginning to end. I just had a few foundations and worked from there.

A few years ago, I had a dream… Oh that old cliché, yes… But it’s true. I dreamt a man and a woman in the future who loved one another (desperately) would have so many barriers between them that it simply wouldn’t happen. I had to find out what those barriers were. That dream, unlike so many others that fizzle and fade away, never left me. I soon joined this notion to another…

So, it was during a long period of maternity leave I was sat cogitating, brewing ideas… I was trying to harness a way of making something of an idea I’d had in my mind for a while… a bridal shop acting as a cover for something else. As a former journalist, I always keep my beady eye on developments around the world… Anyway, for some reason, I’d decided this bridal shop was one of a few and it stood for more than just marriage. It was outwardly obscure and eccentric, but inwardly much more purposeful and covert. I wanted to turn the whole ideal of a fairytale upside down and kind of just mangle it up a bit. Stick with me here…

In real life, I love to read a romance, a bit of chick-lit now and again, plus a load of other stuff in between. When I started out on this journey, I thought I was heading down the path of being more whimsical than anything. However, I quickly learnt that my talent lay in suspense, thriller, action and intrigue. If I showed you some of the early drafts, you would not believe how some of my stuff evolved. The development of Beneath the Veil was quite incredible. I’ll try to explain as best I can…   

At first, my debut novel was called The Dressmaker. This is the codename of a character who exists in the background of my book, but I thought if it caught on, it would be catchy (but some Booker winner had already written a book called this, lol). I had codenames for other characters and decided I could possibly write other books under their guises. But… stuff happened. As my book grew and sprawled out into some vast expanse of viral mess, I knew this title would not do. So, back to the drawing board. The world I was creating was hiding in the shadow of an event that took place some decades before and I needed a name for this catastrophe. From seemingly nowhere, out popped The Ravage. My editor husband suggested it and at first I said, “God, that’s terrible. Ugh, no.” I really hated it. But then, I grew to see how it could become effective. It’s not a word used invariably in everyday language. It’s a bit uncouth and sticks on the end of your tongue. It’s dislikeable and unattractive. But that is exactly how this terrible event needs to be portrayed; as something a little bit irritating, lingering, frightening and misunderstood – but totally feasible.        

The Ravage it was. But then, something else happened. I realised I had all this imagery, all this psychology, all these layers of meaning – and the title became something else again. I remember the day… I was wracking my brain. Nothing seemed to work. I was about to hop into the shower when I shouted downstairs to my husband, “Beneath the Veil!”

“Yes,” came the response. We knew. When you read the book, you’ll know why too. This title has a quadruple meaning. My main character Seraph/Seraphina wears a veil of fearsomeness everyday to get her job done. Meanwhile, there is a veil of fear cloaked over the world. There is also a literal meaning… from the very origin of the virus that spawned three volumes of work. A canopy to smoke out creatures undiscovered… Plus, of course, it also very much refers to the bridal shop…

The Veil. The wedding veil. Umm… conjure the images…? Why do brides wear a veil? Tradition? Ceremony? Pleasing aesthetics? What does it represent? Femininity, modesty and coming of age? Or… that on her wedding day, she becomes someone totally different after finally having that veil pulled back? Or is the veil really hiding something else? Is all the pomp and ceremony artificial and shallow in comparison to the symbolism of that small, relatively minor detail? It’s a discussion…

With my writing, I aimed to get discussions going. It’s why I vied away from pages and pages and oh so many pages of boring description that many authors add to their work(s) sometimes to clarify or justify themselves. I really empathise with that need, I really do. As an author, you’re often sat there thinking, “Jeez, people will see straight through me. God. This is shit.” But I had to just stick with it and believe in what I was doing, and hope that others could imagine what the future might be like alongside me. I just had to hope that people could see beyond their expectations and give themselves to something totally new and provocative – and BELIEVE. Throw away all your preconceptions and simply believe that anything is impossible. The mind can achieve anything. I wanted my audience to question things and think for themselves. I wanted families and friends and colleagues and spouses to be asking each other over their dinners, “Which bit are you at…? Oh my god, I can’t believe this happened. Why did they do that? How did they get here…?” I didn’t want everything to be straightforward and manifest itself easily.

Originally, the first half of BTV was whimsy; the second full-on action. I had to cut the entire front half of my book. I chopped it out and started again. How I would write is like this… I’d spend a whole day mulling. Whether I was nursing my daughter, washing the dishes, walking down the street, at the cinema or eating… I’d be seeing an action sequence in the back of my mind, twisting it and mutilating it until I knew I could squeeze no more out of it. I’d take the impossible and somehow make it possible. I’d reach for seemingly ridiculous and absurd ideas and make them believable. Then once my baby daughter was in bed at night, I’d furiously type it out with the energy burning out of my fingers. If I didn’t get it out, I’d not sleep that night. That was how it was. I saw everything in my mind, and then I relayed that. I sometimes wrote the dialogue first, then added the location description, then layered up further and further to add action, emotion and suspense in there. I always saw everything before my eyes but I had to drill it into myself, “The reader needs to see everything you can. They can’t without your help. You have to tell them every bit.” The adrenalin often took over and you’d forget that sometimes. And so, I’d go back over chapters again and again and again to ensure I had squeezed every ounce of my vision out onto those pages.       

Sometimes, I’d throw an idea in somewhere and have to go back through the whole book and ensure everything matched up. This was not an easy way of working. I had to have a photographic path through the maze in my mind, mental markers if you like, reminding me where everything was. But I was learning and developing and setting the foundations for something much bigger.

My first book was the hardest I will ever write, I know that for sure. Simply because, I was pretty much experimenting with what I could do. I was determining what kind of author I was going to be. I was evolving just as much as my characters and their fates were. I was living their journey and breathing it along with them. I soon knew I couldn’t leave it at one book. In my mind, these people had other stories, and so The Ravage became the trilogy title. It had to have some place in the whole thing. I saw the path that lay before me and had to take a deep breath and give myself to it. I felt like a medium telling a story that was not my own, that I was not in control of, and that would take me.   

I was a fledgling writer who started out with the notion that I simply wanted to write a book. I knew I could write, I always knew that. However, I never knew what it took until I gave it a bash. I never knew how sometimes, you can feel so sure of something, only to have all your ideals and beliefs blown to smithereens. That in the blink of an eye, a small idea can spawn a thousand others, and lead you to write a novel that has been described to me as “the first thing that has got a true sci-fi fan excited in ten years.” The learning of how to interpret the images came to me eventually and I realised not to force it. I would simply wait for the pieces to slot into place and then write what I saw. I did get writer’s block but I jumped over those bridges and told them, “I’m going to break you down.” I really pushed myself and never allowed myself to write something for writing’s sake. Everything in my books has to have a place and a purpose. My head hurt, and only then, did I realise I was doing something right. No pain, no gain.

It was a true labour of love, in more ways than one, but you need to read it to believe it. If I could ask one thing of my readers it would be this, “What do you see in the future? Really? Be honest and truthful and realistic.”

We all have our ideas, but I try to paint a realistic version, not some techno-world of androids and such like. I wanted it to be so believable, that it would be frightening, but not overtly so. I wanted to show the power of words. I wanted ultimately – to write a damn good rollicking ride that would provoke, challenge, endear, enamour and allow escapism.

More insights into my writing processes to follow soon…