Burden of Crystals

I have NO IDEA how to really write this sort of stuff, still want to possess an amusing narrative voice but don’t want it to appear odd/off-putting. This piece is basically the back-story of the world which my central character will find himself in once he crosses over…essentially a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. It’s not finished yet, but want to flick between the back-story and the protagonist’s experience as he encounters this world…so in many ways then the reader will be more aware of the conflicts and structure of the further world. Is it okay to do it like that? Is that the done thing?! Anyway, here we go – the creator Father Nature bestowing magical crystals on the unfortunate six:

My energies and wisdom will be divided between you all, as the most prominent and powerful races to be found in this world” spluttered the now decrepit and decaying God…his voice shaking with doubt and regret as he lay there surrounded by six of the most unusual-looking war generals you are ever likely to see. To your eyes they would be figures of dreams or nightmares (depending on your sensitivities), but in this world and at that time they were noble and trusted leaders that were being handed the fate of all they knew and held dear in their hearts. No pressure then, none at all – I mean granted, if they were to mess it up and power was to fall into the wretched hands of Typhon then the world would likely become an active volcano of death, darkness and destruction…a place where vile tyranny, mass-enslavement, and loud perpetual crying would become more commonplace than oxygen, water, or human’s aversion to Mondays. But each of the weary figures were doing all they could to forget such things, as it was the only way of coping with how monumental the task at hand actually was…

And so whilst sharing telling glances with one another each of the chieftains were handed glowing purple crystals, which they were told possessed the shared potential of the creator himself. Energies which would boost the capability of their race, making them worthy matches for a demi-God, rather than weak beings who would otherwise be thrown aside quicker than fruit at a toddler’s birthday party. With these stones they would be able to rise up as heroes in this grave time of need…combining their differing powers and weaknesses to create a sustained harmony wherever and whenever darkness threatened.

This all sounds rather bright and rosy, but it would prove to be no small task. In fact each and every facet of the plan was stacked up in a precarious line of dominoes where even the slightest knock would send things spiralling into a cataclysmic mess – it would have to be cooperation between all six, or sure defeat…let me try to explain this lunacy as best as I possibly can:

You see, The Satyrs are renowned for their vast intelligence and deep connection to the natural world (great!), but are hindered by their selfish and often vain personalities (not so great.). However this could possibly be softened by the wise nature of the enchanted Djinns – a warrior- mage race who were ardent scholars of sorcery. And yet wars and battles can’t be won with brain-power alone, so therefore a physical presence would be necessary…which is where the immense Berserkers come in, with their four hearts, six powerful arms, and a penchant for beating people senseless for next to nothing (what could possibly go wrong?!) Well a lot, clearly, and so to counteract these rather dense behemoths, the miniature race of Claurichauns were also selected…with the idea that their cunning, plotting, and resilient nature would be helpful when dealing with the grumbles of the Berserkers. Finally the lizard race known as The Glycons and the ferocious 9-Tails were summoned, largely because they both possessed sheer numbers which would prove pivotal in vanquishing the legions of vitriolic creatures Typhon was likely to enlist. These choices still raised a lot of eyebrows, especially the choice of the latter for one reason in particular; they possess a biological necessity to feast on people’s kidneys in order to return to their none bestial form. So not ideal house-guests then.

Naturally this was a humongous burden on every person in the room – after all it wouldn’t be right to say “no thank you” to such things as power crystals and the dying wishes of a God now would it? But that doesn’t mean that they weren’t wishing none of this had ever came to be in the first place. If only they could have stopped it all before it had gotten to this point…

All critique is good. Even if it makes me cry. Thank you! 

Simple Tips for Novel Planning (Video Request)

I’m currently working on a new novel…rather excited about it actually – I promise I’m going to come through with this one (motivation through “wooooo, you can do it!” calls would be greatly appreciated!) so it is rather bizarre that I got a wee video request asking for tips on planning out novels…

If you have any advice for myself or other writers then remember – sharing is caring! Would love to hear what has worked, and what hasn’t worked for you! 

Oh, and if you have a video request you can leave a comment, or send me an email – if it’s a cool/interesting idea then I will get to it as soon as I can!



Please buy my collection of stories! Get it in paperback here – or on Kindle here! ALL proceeds go towards Macmillan Cancer Support!

“Delusions of Grandeur” *(Excerpt I)*


You’re all lovely people, so I am sure you will be full of words of encouragement, and whatnot – which is nice, but I can’t see how I am going to fit all of these pieces together…I am at 12,000 words now…not bad, huh? But the problem is I keep seeing it like a MOVIE in my head, not a novel…as in, I am picturing the big twist/reveal, in a very visual way…but it will take true skill (which I am lacking I feel) to make this gradually apparent. Authors out there, how…SERIOUSLY…HOW….HOW THE HELL DO YOU DO THIS?! Maybe I shouldn’t be going with such a crazy plot, that would certainly help.

Complicated GIF

Anyway, here’s a short excerpt, where my central character is hoping to meet up with someone who will shed more light on what is happening to him…

“As I blindly wheel myself around the corner I squint at my watch: 12:07. My desperation to meet him, far surpasses my need for petty breaths; but my legs feel like they may not be able to carry me any further…they’re weakened by a mixture of exhaustion, and groggy perspiration – but I mustn’t stop, I have to keep going. So I flit through the crowds in a zigzag motion, feeling like a pin-ball as I continually barge from right to left, to left to right.

As I shove past the Jesus man a stitch creeps into my lower abdomen, stabbing away in a ferocious flurry, punishing me for my urgency, sending a piercing shock-wave through my stomach, forcing my footsteps to stutter as I clutch a lump of flab through my shirt. As I slow down, the pain eases slightly.

I am fighting for air, but I will myself on – forcing my body to push past the agony…but as I lumber into another street, I nearly crash with a mound of man. He stands there stationary without a care in the world, puffing on a cheap cigarette, and relaying a story to the voice in his ear. His immense shoulders create a blockade of which I see no way around. He laughs, something about his mate, and he “couldn’t fucking believe it.”

Errrr, erm, excuse me.”


I do not offer a reply, instead I simply barge past the opening he has now made, slipping out to my freedom, hoping he is not giving any form of chase to my frail, worn out body. 

Free from that monster I nip into a side street for the sake of a few precious seconds, but I’m greeted by a sea of shuffling bodies, aimlessly scuttling across the cobbles at a faltering speed, their dreary eyes fixed to the ankles in front of them. 12:09. I try to squirm my way free from this horrendous bottleneck but my efforts are in vain. I am reduced to one of the herd against my will, adopting the vacant stare and the half-arsed zombie walk of every other drone.

As I look down dejectedly I notice the odd socks of the man in front, as his slippers scuff the ground. Blue and green checks with yellow and red stripes? I wonder if it was on purpose, or maybe he’s colour blind, or…who knows? My mind wanders as I jar to another halt.

The monotonous crowd begins to wear on my sanity. My eyes flicker with rage as a hot wave flushes over me, overwhelming my entire body. I can’t take this much longer – I spy a small opening, and with impersonated athletic ability hop out in front of a mobility scooter, it’s far from graceful – and forces the lady to jam on the brakes, and curse my backside.. But I instinctively ignore her completely, avoiding eye contact, and skipping away as fast as I can possibly go. 

As I come into a clearing, a riotous stream of cars and buses whirs and whizzes in front of me, their driver’s demonic stares fixed unrelentingly on the road. I flash my watch once more: 12:13. I press the button, and pray to anything that I will still make it. Surely he would wait? No one is on time…wait fifteen minutes, that’s the rule. 

The red man is completely taking the piss, I mean…it certainly seems like forever as I stand here, just one of the masses, gawping with a blank stare at the light ahead, hypnotised by its uncompromising DON’T CROSS hue. I step out with impatience but a Land-Rover forces me off the road by way of a scream, and a shaking fist.

Oh, fuck you!” I whisper halfheartedly, hoping he didn’t actually hear me.

I see him brandish his middle finger boldly, for the whole world to see…scarred with public embarrassment, I sink into myself.

The man flicks to green.”

(The novel has/is going in a VERY weird direction…I don’t want to share too much, and spoil it – so this is a pretty light-hearted bit I felt wouldn’t hurt to release!)

Good luck to the other Nanowrimo writers out there! 

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