Volume 2: almost finished

Finally! After many months of work, I've finished the 2nd draft of volume 2 in The Runaway series. There's been a lot of changes in the story; the main thrust has remained the same, but I wasn't happy with how it was going, so once I'd finished that first craft, it was back to the drawing board. Now my proof reader (aka my fiancee) is going to read through it and tell me what she thinks. Hopefully all good, though I realise it still needs work before it's even close to publishable.

I also now have a title in mind for volume 2: Hidden Depths.

Whilst I give volume 2 a bit of a rest, I'm going to go back to Serial Psyence. I have the rest of the flashbacks which run through the story to write, then that will be redrafted, and I can then integrate the flashbacks into the main story.

Volume 1 of The Runaway series will be going on sale in the next few months. I'll let you know when, as it will be in time for the publication of volume 2.

A little taste

Work is continuing on my latest novel. It's my most ambitious story so far, and the first time I've attempted a sci-fi thriller. Okay, I know that's not saying much, being my second novel, but I've never considered writing a thriller before.

Here's the premise:

Callisto, home to over a hundred thousand people, housed beneath a giant glass dome, is the farthest human colony. It's people are happy, no one goes hungry; an ideal place to live. But when people start committing suicide for no apparent reason, it seems that the colony isn't quite as idyllic as it first appears.

I'm quite pleased with how Serial Psyence is progressing. So pleased, in fact, that I thought I would give a little extract from the opening chapter.

Enjoy!

***

- Time.

This would be a test for now, but it was to be the first of many. He wasn’t going to stop here. There was no stopping this, not ever. He would never give in, never falter, until it all came crashing down.

He would be the architect of their destruction, their avenging angel. They had breathed life into him, with the pain and the suffering and the agony they had inflicted upon him. But no more. Now he would stop them.

Kirstie felt confused. He? But she was a girl, not a boy. This was very odd. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen -

- They wouldn’t know it yet, but this was only the beginning.

He followed the crowd through the exit and turned off to stand by the big glass wall, gazing over the occupants of the embarkation lounge. There were perhaps three hundred people in the lounge, some standing, others sitting on the chairs. They were all fools. Some might be innocent. But what was the sacrifice of a few innocent for the greater good? It had been done before - a lesson he’d learnt all to well on Earth - and would be done again. It made him no different from anyone else. Except, no one would know his actions. He would work, in secret, quietly, disrupting all they put together.

As he stood against the glass wall, a man walked in. He frowned at him. The man looked terrible. There was a slick sheen of sweat on his face, and he was unshaven, his hair greasy and unwashed. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, showing signs of having been worn continuously for days, and he was clutching his jacket tightly. His eyes darted about nervously. The man had developed a nervous twitch, causing his head to give a sharp flick every so often. Perhaps he’d gone too far with this one. He hadn’t been sure how well people like him would take to the conditioning, and he wanted to ensure that there was little sign of his presence when it did happen. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. Perhaps it had been a mistake. He would let the man continue - there was no point in stopping him now - but after this, he would be more decisive in the future. He knew how to remain unseen, and there was no point in letting the instructions fester. It seemed the brain eventually reacted to foreign thoughts, causing a psychosomatic reaction.

Concentrating, he brought his entire attention to the man.

The man’s steps faltered as he reached the centre of the room. He pawed at his ears, as if someone were buzzing next to them. He screamed something unintelligible. He ripped open his jacket and drew a submachine gun. He screamed again.

Kirstie screamed with him. She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that it was something bad, something terrible was going to happen. She tried to beat her fists against the glass, to get people’s attention. But nothing happened. Her hands remained by her side.

Get out! She screamed. Run!

But no one heard her. No one even looked at her. They were all -

- Looking at the man now. A few gasped in horror as he gestured wildly with the gun. A security man in a navy jumpsuit pushed his way through the crowd of petrified people. He drew a stunner, aiming it at the gunman. For a moment only, He considered making him stop and turn the stunner on himself, but decided not to. He wasn’t his target, and besides, he was content to see how this would play out.

Before the security officer could do more than point his stunner, the gunman opened fire. A spray of bullets cut a swathe through the crowd, cutting down the security officer and several people near him.

Kirstie cried out as she saw her mum hit by that first burst. She was crouching over Kirstie’s body, trying to shield it, when the bullets struck her in the back. She jerked and fell away, eyes unseeing. With a shocked realisation, Kirstie watched herself tumble with her. The bullets had pierced her mum and struck her too. There was blood on her own face as she was pulled, lifeless to the floor.

Was this what happens when you die? She wondered, horrified. Do you watch yourself from beyond your body, see the awful truth as it happens?

- The crowd, that had been motionless when the gunman pulled his weapon, suddenly erupted in a frenzy of terror. They fled from him, pushing and shoving and kicking their way to the exits. Some people fell and were trampled by the crowd. No one cared. All that mattered was the animal instinct to run.

He winced as the wave of terror hit him, and steeled himself against it, keeping his focus on the gunman. This would be over very soon.

The gunman fired another burst, killing more people. He ran across the lounge to the airlock doors. No one attempted to go near him or stop him as he punched a code into the door.

Emergency claxons sounded. With a great whoosh of escaping air, the airlock door blew open. A hurricane tore through the lounge as the air rushed out. Big, solid emergency doors began to close over the exits. People were still streaming through, fighting against the blast of escaping air, trying to reach safety.

There was never going to be enough time. A few more made it out before, finally, the doors slid shut. Those few who had escaped lay sobbing, relieved that they had made it out. But on the other side, those who had not been so lucky gasped for breath as the last air evacuated from the lounge.

It was a near total vacuum now. Their blood began to boil in their veins, erupting out through their skin. Their eyeballs, unprotected, exploded in their sockets. Mouths filled with blood.

Kirstie cried out as she lurched back into her body. Except she couldn’t. There was no air in her lungs to expel. She couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t move. She felt so very, very cold.

Her eyes had been closed, and that had been the only thing that protected them from vacuum boiling. She tried to open them. Her eyelids were freezing against the surface of her eyes. And as the intense cold froze the water in her cells, the fragile molecular structure snap-freezing, turning them into delicate ice-structures. Her vision was fractured, as if she were trying to look through a many-sided prism.

As the cold seeped even deeper, her thoughts became turgid. She no longer knew who she was. Then the blood inside her throat boiled, and filled her with liquid that quickly began to freeze, and her vision, finally, went dark.

- extract from Serial Psyence, by Phillip J. Johns

Happy New Year

Right, first resolution of this year: blog more.

I've been a little lax for the past few months. Blame it on the new job, or the writing, or the gaming. Or maybe, blame it on sheer laziness.

To be honest, I've not really felt like I've had much to talk about for a while now. At least, not in the realms that this blog was originally conceived for: that is, to talk about my writing. That has been a failure for the past year.

So let's recap. 2011 was a bit of a mixed bag.

At the start of the year, I began by sending samples of my recently finished book, Liberator's Ruin, to literary agencies, in the hope that I'd garner some interest. Steampunk Fantasy is not a well-explored genre, so I thought I might have something of an advantage. When the rejection letters started to come through, I realised I was bloody wrong. You see, the problem with writing Steampunk Fantasy is that it's not that marketable. Who wants to take on an author when you don't think their book is going to sell?

So in April, I decided to go it alone, and publish the book myself. I'd edited it to within an inch of it's life. Surely the book was error free and ready for publication? Oh, how wrong I was.

As the first few reviews started to come through, the editing was the biggest issue people had with the book. the story? Great. A fantastic adventure. Let down by sub-par editing.

With the help of some very nice people, my summer was spent re-editing Liberator's Ruin, and in September, I released a new edition. There are still a few niggles with it, though minor (I hope), and I'm quite satisfied with it now.

Self-publishing has been a bit of an eye opener for me. It's been a rough ride, and I've made a lot of mistakes, typical of a first timer, like thinking my book was ready, when it so clearly was not. But I'm learning. Not least of which is that if I'm going to do it again, I need an editor.

In October I started a new job at the University of Leicester, and at the same time, I also began writing my next book, Serial Psyence. Moving away from fantasy, I'm in the more comfortable grounds of Science Fiction (SF, sci fi - whatever floats your boat).

It's had a rocky start, I must admit. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on myself because it's my favourite genre, but I've found it hard to begin. Perhaps my biggest issue is that I've barely put word to screen in the past year. I finished the first draft of Liberator's Ruin in July 2010, and since then, I've been editing the book. I've not done any real writing since, and have even had a few bouts of writer's block.

But Serial Psyence is progressing well. As is typical, I find, the book is already starting to deviate from my plan, but that tends to be how it goes for me. A book is a living, breathing, organic thing, and it evolves, sometimes right before your eyes. I think I'll go into this in greater depth in a later post, but for now, as the saying goes: no battle plan ever survives the first contact intact. And the same is true for writing.

Here's to a good new year.

Long time no see

Wow, it's been a while since my last post. Almost a month, even.

I'd like to say it's because I've been uber busy, having started a new job, and getting a major publishing deal ... but that would be a lie.

Okay, the new job thing isn't a lie. Still no publishing deal though. Ah well, what matters is people like Liberator's Ruin.

So what have I been doing? The truth is, not a lot. I've played games (Batman, Dark Souls and MW3 - all brilliant), and worried about lack of money. Which, considering I've bought three games in the past month, you might consider a little odd, but I have lots of credit with Blockbusters at the moment, so no actual money was spent on their purchase.

I've also been getting on with Serial Psyence. Now that the plan is finished, I've started writing the flashbacks which run over the course of the main story. I'm not sure how well it's going at the moment. I'm almost 11,000 words in, and it feels like 11,000 words of utter rubbish - that's what I get for having hardly written a word in 6 months - and it's highly likely that the first 15,000 or so will be trashed, but we'll see how I feel once it's all finished. I'm quite looking forward to writing the main story. I've never written a crime thriller before, so it should be interesting.

Depending on how things go, I may post some sketches in the future, detailing the arcology the story takes place in.

Oh, and anyone waiting for the next part of that piece I started a few months ago, you may have to wait a while longer. I will finish it, I promise!

Once I work out where it's going.

No time like the present

Well! The final edition of Liberator's Ruin has finally been submitted to Amazon and Smashwords, and should now be live.


What's so different about this edition I hear you ask? It turns out my editing wasn't quite as good as I thought it was. Whilst the edit itself is fine, I missed an awful lot of typos. Far more than I thought I had. But with the help of some very kind people on Goodreads, I should have got them all now! I'm ashamed that I let such a shoddy copy get published, but at least that's one thing I can finally let go.

Mosey on over to Amazon or Smashwords to download a copy. Samples are free!

I'm working hard on the plan for Serial Psyence at the moment, so hoping to starting writing it by the end of October. It's going well. I think I finally passed the halfway mark today, so the main plot is starting to heat up (there are two plots running parallel in the story).

We've almost finished moving out now. After over a month since we first got the keys to the new flat. We're having to downsize from a 3-bed maisonette to a 2-bed flat, so some things are going to be stored in a parent's loft for a while. And here I was thinking I'd moved out of my mum's house. Ha!

Maybe one day.

What I'm listening to at the moment: Deus Ex: Human Revolution Soundtrack. Believe it or not, it's very good. Nice bit of music to listen to whilst planning Serial Psyence.

PS. Anyone waiting for the next update to We Should Have Run, it's coming. I just have to sit and write it ...

A short interlude

Well, turns out it wasn't as easy to get back into writing sci fi as I hoped. Not too impressed with my first go at the next scene, but hopefully I'll get it posted soon.

Doesn't help that I went on holiday to Centre Parcs, and we still haven't finished moving.

Right, no more excuses! I'm on holiday from work next week; a perfect time to do some writing. And that's what I'll do.

I hope.

Some other news though! I've just done my very first author interview.

Pop over to jeanzbookreadnreview for a look.

We should've run

Captain Lorenzo Sheldon was strapped in at his station when the Cat’s Eye reverted 10,000 kilometres above Sintra station. The indistinct blue glow of the shuntspace conduit abruptly disappeared, replaced by the harsh light reflected off Heathcliff’s thick atmosphere. There was no sign the tiny pinpricks of distant stars; the immense bulk of the gas giant stretched far beyond the edge of the bridge viewport, giving a fabulous view of streamers of blue and brown and red and cream clouds, tearing across the face of the planet at hundreds of miles per hour. Each one many times the size of the Cat’s Eye, and more than capable of tearing the transport apart were Lorenzo stupid enough to venture into the raging torrent.

           

Ridiculously, he was suddenly struck by the mad urge to hit full thrust and dive into the atmosphere, test his limits and the capabilities of his ship. He could already feel his fingers twitch toward the control pane, ready to input the command that would ignite the primary fusion motors, sending the ship hurtling down toward the planet.

Inevitably, it was the voice of his co-pilot, Katria Fey, which broke him out of the spell. ‘Shunt drive spinning down. Sensors coming online. You want me to open a channel to Sintra, Captain?’

‘Do it,’ Lorenzo said. He shook his head to clear the last few wisps of madness and tore his gaze away from the viewport, concentrating on the sensor data appearing on his panes. Infrared showed few heat sources around Sintra station, which was surprising in itself. There were normally hundreds flitting about the station, most the exhaust plumes from short range tugs and shuttles and the station’s fleet of atmo-miners, either returning from a successful dive into Heathcliff’s atmosphere, their tanks full of HE₃, or on their way out, the big, saucer-shaped craft with their force fields up and riding brilliant lances of plasma. Even more significant, there were no signatures for other ships in the local volume. Sintra was one of a dozen independent HE₃ stations, and made a big trade in fuel and goods. Sometimes, it was difficult to see the station’s heat signature amongst all the other emissions. Except, the sensor was having a hard time differentiating the few sources from Heathcliff.

Lorenzo frowned at the infrared display. A frown that deepened when the radar return matched the infrared. There were very few objects near Sintra station, none more than a hundred metres in length. That was wrong. Very wrong.

Feeling his guts twist, Lorenzo tapped a command into his pane. An alert sounded throughout the ship. Katria glanced at him.

‘Captain?’

‘Something’s not right. Better prepared than not, eh? Do you have that channel for me?’

Nodding, Katria’s fingers danced across her pane, then gave him a thumb’s up.

‘Sintra station, this is Cat’s Eye on approach. Requesting docking permission, over.’ Lorenzo waited a moment, but the only response he got was the low hiss of background static. ‘Repeat, Sintra Station, this is Cat’s Eye. Requesting docking permission. Please respond.’

Still nothing.

He shared a look with Katria. ‘Antenna trouble?’ he asked.

‘Ours is working fine.’

‘I meant with theirs.’

‘Oh. Maybe. They should have a backup array, or a communications laser.’

‘Are they shining anything our way?’

  

Katria shook her head. ‘Not even a dazzle.’

Leaning back in his acceleration couch, Lorenzo scratched his chin. Right now, they were far enough out that they could spool the shunt drive and be gone in ten minutes. If he took them down into the gas giant’s gravity well, then they would be committed. It would take at least three hours to either reverse course or divert onto a parabolic curve that would slingshot them out the other side of the planet.

At the back of the bridge, the hatch hissed open, and Yeven and Riko rushed in, dropping into their stations. The Cat’s Eye’s bridge was typical for its class, laid out in a horseshoe pattern, with pilot and co-pilot at the front, and the other two stations behind at the tips.

‘Tactical and sensors online,’ Yeven said.

‘Engineering up,’ said Riko. ‘What’s going on, Cap?’

‘Nothing good. Yeven, bring the defences up and warm up the pulse cannon.’

‘Aye aye.’

‘Katria, spool up the drive. I want to be ready to jump at a moment’s notice.’

‘Captain, if you’re about to do what I think you are, we can’t shunt in a grav-well.’

‘I know. But spool it anyway. We’re too far out to see what’s wrong with Sintra. And we have friends there. Unless anyone has a good reason why we shouldn’t take a closer look?’

‘Not one you’ll listen to,’ Katria muttered. Lorenzo pretended he hadn’t heard her.

Resting his arms on the edge of the control pane, he sent a series of commands to the ship’s nav.

The Cat’s Eye’s three fusion motors ignited, accelerating the ship in at a steady 6G. Three brilliant spears of fusion flame stabbed out. If no one at Sintra station had detected their arrival or transmission, they couldn’t miss the exhaust plumes. For anyone looking in their direction, it would seem as though a dim, moving star had flared to life.

The ship was an old Humpback transport, its name given for the way two of the three primary fusion motors bulged out of the wedge-shaped hull. Two engine nacelles rode low on either side of the hull, housing the twin shunt field generators. The transport was a venerable model, well respected for its durability. Some had been known to still function, despite damage to 60% of the hull structure. The design would never be considered pretty, festooned with unsightly bulges and protrusions as if it had some metallic fungal infection, but for most people who operated them, that didn’t matter. They were easily modified, and the protrusions often hid weapon systems. Plus the cargo holds were big enough to hold 300 metric tons. Whatever they couldn’t outrun, they could outshoot. The perfect craft for smugglers and mercenaries.    

At 4,000 kilometres, Lorenzo brought up the visible spectrum sensor telemetry on the main display. Sintra station was a blurry spec at first, until various filters kicked in and resolved the image.

‘Oh fuck me,’ Katria breathed. Both Yeven and Riko echoed her.

The main structure of the station was relatively intact, though despite the filters it remained slightly vague; there was nothing they could do about the cloud of debris and gases. Some of it appeared to be wreckage from the station’s complement of vessels, except for the obliterated wreckage of a GammaStar freighter. Its back had been broken by whatever explosion had destroyed the ship, the drive block now at right-angles to the rest of the ship.

Fiddling with the controls, Lorenzo refocused the display.  

Sintra station had picked up a slow spin, and as it rotated, a gaping hole blown into the side came into view. The edges were ragged and black. A few pinpricks of light flickered inside, and as they watched, there was a sudden outrush of pale gas as some compartment breached. Most of the station was dark, but for a few dimly flickering viewports at the base.

‘Who could’ve done this?’ Yeven asked.

‘Trenkarists, maybe? Or Sivian Templars? They both have a hard on for getting rid of the independents,’ Riko suggested.

‘Except the Order wouldn’t let them. The independents signed a peace-pact, remember?’

Riko scoffed. ‘Yeah, like that’d stop ‘em.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lorenzo said, turning to face his crew. ‘What matters is what we’re going to do now.’

‘Cap?’

‘Shouldn’t we get out of here? The drive’s all spooled up – all we have to do is alter course and we can slingshot out.’

‘There might be survivors. And these people were our friends. We owe it to them to find out what happened.’

An uncomfortable expression crossed Yeven’s face, but he schooled it quickly, rather than arguing with Lorenzo. ‘You’re right, Captain. We look after our own.’

Turning back to his console, Lorenzo entered a new sequence in to the flight computer.

Thrusters fired on the Cat’s Eye’s hull, altering their trajectory to take them to an interception point 3,000 kilometres further along the station’s orbit. The braking motors fired as they closed with their rendezvous, slowing the ship until they were travelling at a few kilometres a second. Ten minutes later, the Cat’s Eye caught up with Sintra station. It took another thirty minutes to match the station’s slow rotation.

Once they were 200 metres away, the exterior spotlights came on, playing across the ragged hole in the station’s side. At this distance, the hole was much larger than it had first appeared, easily 80 or 90 metres across. But then, Sintra station itself was a kilometre-tall tiered cylinder, with an array of thermal cooling towers at the base adding another 150 metres. Now that he was closer, Lorenzo muttered a curse under his breath. The hole was the result of a compressed muon warhead. The explosion had left it hot, radiating a lot of x-ray radiation. Their hardsuits would be able to protect them from it, but that wasn’t the problem. The missile had struck above the docking bays, and now they had been obliterated. They weren’t going to be able to dock with the station.

Taking a deep breath, Lorenzo made his decision. ‘Katria, stay here. You see any ships pop onto the sensors, and we’ll come running back.’

‘Yes captain.’

‘Yeven, Riko, with me.’

‘Where’re we going, Cap?’ Riko asked as they left the bridge.

‘We’re going for a walk.’

Something to do

I've not been writing much for the past few months. Well, truth is, I've not actually written anything since February, when my writer's block hit.

That finally cleared a month later, and since then, I've been planning Serial Psyence, which doesn't leave me much time to do any actual writing. I suppose I could start writing the bits I've already planned, but after having done that with Liberator's Ruin, and discovering continuity errors because of it, I want to finish the plan before I start writing.

Which leaves me in a bit of a quandary. then I came up with an idea.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it, and I'm not sure how long it's going to be, but as often as I can, I'll be putting up new scenes (chapters? sections?) on this blog over the next few weeks. If I like it, I may spin it out into another book.

We'll see

Moving on up, moving on out

Yes, I just quoted a song by M-People. Hey, it's on the radio, and seemed oddly appropriate.

Been really busy at the weekend. We got the keys to our new flat on Friday, and started moving all our stuff over. Fortunately had the help of two chaps with a van to move our big stuff (there's no way I'd get the washing machine up the stairs - I still have no idea how they managed it).

I think we're about two thirds in now, but there's still a lot of stuff still at our old place which has to be boxed up and moved over, including clothes and various bits of crap. Let's face it, most is mine, not Heather's. I hoard, I know.

Annoyingly though, we cant' take our two-seater sofa with us. The stairs up to the flat are far too narrow to get it in, which means a trip to Ikea for one of their nice flat pack sofas.

In writing related news, I've still a lot to do on Serial Psyence. I'm less than halfway through my plan, so I'm having my doubts about starting the actual writing bit by September.

I've never actually written a thriller before, so it'll be interesting to see how this turns out.

New car/old car

I like having a car. Both Heather and I drive, and technically, we do need them to get to work. Transport links being what they are in Leicester (read: crap), you need one to get around.

Unfortunately, my car, being Fiat, has decided, now it's ten years old, that it wanted to develop problems. Of the expensive kind. I think I understand why they're nicknamed fix-it-again-tomorrow.

Anyway, I've now got to decide whether to scrap it, fix it, or part-exchange it for a new one. Fix it is out of the question; I'm looking at almost a £1000 bill for repairs over the next year, which I can't afford. I'm loath to just scrap it, mainly because I've never been without a car since I turned 18, but also because I need it to get to work. So that leaves part-exchange. Ooh, the fun! On the plus side, I could get a nice nippy little Nissan Micra, so not all bad.

Writing-wise, the plan for Serial Psyence is progressing well. It's deviating a little from the outline, but I expected that. Besides, it'll probably alter again when I start writing it. I imagine it sounds like an odd way to do things, but the plan holds the story together, giving me a backbone on which to structure it, and the characters do have a tendency to go their own when once I'm writing.

In other news, since getting the review from A Tale of Many Reviews (who I shall be forever grateful to for giving me my very first review), I've got several more people interested in reviewing Liberator's Ruin. With luck, they'll all love it.

First impressions count

So yesterday’s trip to view a house was a complete waste of time. Again.

Originally, we were supposed to go for the viewing last week, but at the last minute, the agent changed the time to an earlier slot that neither me nor Heather could make. A message which we only got 20 minutes before the viewing.

Not impressed.

And to compound the issue, we arranged for the viewing to be rescheduled for yesterday at 4.45pm. And they didn’t show up. Upon phoning the estate agents, they didn’t have a record of the new viewing

Brilliant.

You would think that estate agents would want to let a property. So why are they cocking up our bookings?

Maybe it’s a conspiracy.

Never mind, we’ve got another viewing round the corner from our place tonight, and another on Thursday. Fingers crossed they go through okay!

Anyway, Spider-man Shattered Dimensions did arrive last night. It kinda reminds me of the old spidey game on the ps1, with individual levels rather than a sandbox environment. It’s good fun, and the voice actors for the various spider-men are brilliant. My favourite’s a toss-up between Neil Patrick Harris’ Amazing, and Josh Keaton’s Ultimate Spider-man. Josh Keaton is fantastic as Spidey, having voiced him in the criminally short-lived Spectacular Spider-man cartoon series. Well worth a look, plus the second season’s currently £3.99 on iTunes.

I think I shall spend some more time in the red and blues when I get home – metaphorically, of course. I really don’t think I could/should fit into those tights.