Tag Archives: inspiration

Plottin’ plottin’ plottin’

“OH! They’re the same world, just different time periods!”

Tudors or Civil War? I need guns, I think, but early. Tudors with Age of Enlightment could work.

If you’ve got the basis for a matriarchal society there all along, how is that going to change the society? Well, duh, it’s pretty much Chaucer. Just keep it at The Wife of Bath. (Possibly with less sex).

I’m still not entirely sure about the dragons.

“…oh god that means I’m thinking of writing four books. WHAT THE HELL, BRAIN?”

Victorian scientific discovery! Saving dragons! YES!

I need a revolution…

Ooh, a voice in a charm. And it’d last, so HE’D COME BACK! (Duh duh duuuuuuh).

“Three books. Ok, three books is do-able.”

Five hundred years, that’s a respectable amount of time for everything to turn to shit.

Railways on drove roads?

“….or I could add a sci-fi one, too? Nah. Trilogies work better. And it means I’m only writing three books instead of four.”

Who is she? I know the two from the first book inside-out, but the second set…she’s a puzzle. Hopefully I’ll figure her out before I come to write her.

“That’s still three books. And they’d have to be longer than my usual 70k. ARGH.”

They could dunk a dragon in a lake! (Poor thing).

I need to go do so much resesarch on the 1920s. And WW1. And the Tudors. And Victorian explorers.

THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST THING EVER!

I may be plotting for The Thief & The Seer, as well as my new yet-unnamed one…

Tangents and….Tangerines?

I’ve been going off on tangents today. If you had men wearing kilts, then it would be the socks that would be scandalous…or (whisper it) even a lack of them! Everyone knows that bare legs can inflame the sensibilities of even the most upstanding woman, and the Arran patterns are  just ridiculous, even if they do…ahem…emphasise the curve and length of said leg. Maybe waistcoats, too. I suspect they’d be stupendously fashionable.

Wars, in a different universe, but with similar effects on society…and soldiers who are so scarred they can’t talk about what’s happened. A war of mystery and secrets and magic.

Golems and necromancers, statues and robots. It’s strange how my mind works.

I am going grimdark, too. If you’re using a lifespan for something, surely a young life is better? Killing children for the greater good is the best kind of moral dilemma.

I may have three books in a series that was originally one and then became two.  Apparently I like giving myself more work.

There’s also a midnight-inspired title for a book that only has a start, and no other plot… “As old as my tongue”. I think. “Older than my teeth” could be a second one. I have no idea what universe this is going to end up in, but I like the titles.

And tangerines…just because. It makes me think of a Mediterranean village, orange-baked walls and dusty streets under the beating sun.

Snippet of an Idea

This one’s from a colleague at work – “I send my books out into the universe”.

On space-ships. Through portals. On the colony transporters carrying thousands of sleeping passengers. On the cargo freighters picking up minerals from the asteroid belts and ice from the far-out moons before beginning their run back. On the orbiting stations above alien planets, circling above long-dead surfaces. On tiny skimmers flitting across the planet’s surface, darting there and back again.

The paper has been well-thumbed – maybe enough that you now have to wear gloves, or use a tool to turn the pages, so that you don’t wear the print off for someone else. There’s a box, or a shelf, or an alcove on every vessel; crammed with the crew’s choices, their precious sheets. There’s always someone amongst the team who knows how to repair a binding, or can coax the printer to spit out new pages to paste between the worn plastic covers. They are treasured, patched and repaired, bound and bandaged, to be read and worn down again and again.

They read in their bunks. In the long hours between asteroids. In the silence of the stars. In the howling storms of alien worlds, the bright sunshine of the galaxies, the darkness of space. On new worlds, deep under the crust or in new settlements on the hills, high above the surface or somewhere on the endless ice-plains. They read between customers at the dive-bars on the docking-station, before starting the day fishing on the narrow seas, after crossing unimaginable distances and back again.

No matter where they travel, stories go with them, and the scraps of paper and plastic are a better dimension to other worlds than any they can imagine in their own.

Reminder: pub, reading & Peter Newman

Bristol Con FringeA reminder that I’ll be at the The Famous Royal Navy Volunteer (aka. The Volley) in Bristol on Monday, supporting Peter Newman. He’s reading from one of his short stories, and I’m reading an excerpt from the next GreenSky book, plus you get to ask random questions.

 

Hope to see you there!*

*My anxiety brain isn’t sure if lots of people or no people is the better scenario, so…come along anyway and help me fangirl.