So, Where Are We

A comment by one of my readers about whether the Panylraeans — the aliens of the first book, Sorrow Mystica — return in later novels got me thinking about how I have arrived at a position where I know there will be at least seven novels (Nodes 0 and 2-6), and possibly eight if Node 1 (Operation Flashlight) ever gets finished. And possibly more. And that the Panylraeans may not (but then again, they might) return.

So – to begin at the beginning. The first of the Dereham Nodes to be written is the one recently published, Raven of Dispersion. As it was my first novel, there were things I wasn’t happy with, so several million rewrites occurred. Okay, so several million is an exaggeration. About twenty drafts.

During these travails I helped Kevin Goodman write his UFO Warminster: Cradle of Contact. After we finished that, Kevin suggested we write something else. Knowing of his interest in science fiction and UFOs, I suggested fiction with a sci fi bent. Of course, Kevin wanted aliens in there somewhere. I wanted to subvert such notions. So we kind of compromised on a Ruth Rendell-style sci fi involving aliens, contactees, relationships and… well… read it, and you’ll see how it all came together. But, because Raven already involved the paranormal and young people looking for flying saucers, I thought it might be fun if we set at least part of this new novel in Dereham, the ufological hotspot I had already invented for Raven. Thus the new novel, Sorrow Mystica,  was also set in Dereham, and the seeds for a series were thus sown.

After I’d finished writing Raven of Dispersion and was editing that and Kev’s book, I had an idea for a novel I thought of as “Band Novel”, that would move the characters of “Raven” to 1984 — older, possibly wiser, possibly madder in some cases, some of whom would be, yes, you guessed it, in a band. So I started making notes.

However, while I was making notes for “Band Novel”, I was looking at some of my old writing notes, and noticed one that involved a hitman. What, I thought, if a bunch of young Wiltshire hippies were confronted with somebody who claimed he was a hitman? Wouldn’t they just think him delusional? And what if they started following him around. What would happen? And so The Ethical Hitman – which will be the next novel published – took shape.

Meanwhile, Kevin had become interested in what had happened to some of the characters from Sorrow Mystica, and what they might get up to after that book finished. So he started sending me rough ideas for a kind of thriller spy-type book. Given that I’d already started working on The Ethical Hitman, and knew “Band Novel” would happen at some point in the future, I could see ways to tie all these together, and make fun interconnections between all the books.

Kevin wanted  what was to become Crossing the Line to be a spy-thriller-guns-explosions type of book. But I wanted to subvert that. So, we compromised on a Ruth Rendell-style spy-thriller-guns-explosions type book. Yes, we were mashing genres again. We wrote Crossing really quickly, enjoying ourselves immensely, finishing it and the drafts of Sorrow while I was still on draft 12 of Raven.

Sorrow Mystica and Crossing the Line are set in 1971/1972, while Raven of Dispersion is set in 1976. It made sense then that, when I decided to self-publish, the novels should be released in the same order as their timeline.

So next to be published will be The Ethical Hitman, Genial (both set in 1976), and then German Overalls (set in 1984).

Kevin and I are also working on Panlyrae: A Message for Mankind and Operation Flashlight, which would be nodes 0 and 1, and will be set in the 40s/50s/60s. These could be released at any point in the series.

And then, there might well be something set on the planet Panlyrae at some indeterminate point in the age of the universe. I have ideas…

There might also be something about a couple of characters from Dereham dithering about whether to take a trip on the Settle and Carlisle railway. This one will be a hoot. I might need Kevin to subvert the rather Ruth Rendell-ish, Anita Brookner-ish nature of it with guns, bombs, aliens and spies.


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A Year (and a bit) of Manic Editing

As I noted in an earlier post, things have been a bit slow on this blog for over a year now. This is because I have been editing books, preparing to send manuscripts to agents, sending them to agents, doing more editing, getting other books ready for self-publishing, and so on. And as I write every day for a living (I’m a technical author by trade), I’ve had no time to add blog-posting to the authorial mix. However, I’m hoping that I might temporarily find more time as I’ve just self-published a novel, so I’m not currently editing or writing … well, not for a couple of days, at least…

I talked about History of a Mystery: Fifty Years of the Warminster Thing in that earlier post. In addition to that book, I have published two other books over the last eighteen months.

The first of the books published was The Dead John Miscellany. Six years ago now, one of my best friends, and my co-author on In Alien Heat, died. He had made me executor of his estate, and I knew he wrote stories, poems and lyrics. I also knew he was reluctant to share them, as he could never finish editing them, and anyway thought they could never match the standard of his heroes. I also knew that though many of his friends knew he wrote, few had seen the results of that writing. I decided, therefore, to self-publish a book of his writing that I could give to the other beneficiaries, and also sell on Amazon. After all, should it by any chance sell a million, the beneficiaries would be even better off than John expected!

I finally got around to collating and editing the notebooks and scraps I had found in spring and summer last year. I worked out which were the best drafts, or, at least, which pages from various drafts made the best final draft to my eye and ear. My wife and I then typed them up, formatted them and prepared them for self-publishing. One decision I made early on was to not include in the poetry section the lyrics that John had written for a band we were both part of when we were young. A teenager of the 70s, John had long been an admirer of lyricists, starting with Marc Bolan, and then Pete Sinfield, Peter Hammill, Tom Waits, Mike Scott, Randy Newman, Bob Dylan, and so on. The lyrics were to have, then, their own section.

After about six months of editing, drafting, editing, and drafting again, I finally published the book. The beneficiaries were very happy to finally see his writing, and various of his friends bought a copy of the book. I think John would both hate me, and be secretly pleased, were he not an atheist who is utterly dead.

So what is John’s writing like? Odd and elliptical, full of symbolism and ritual, and making oblique references to the I Ching, religion, sirens and funerary rites. Everything has an air of elusive and illusive mystery. There is one particular obsession I will not reveal, preferring instead to leave the reader to discover.

After The Dead John Miscellany, I worked on the aforementioned History of a Mystery for six months.

Then, having chased a couple of novels around agents, and realising that I wasn’t getting any younger and that preparing and chasing manuscripts around agents was actually preventing me writing another novel, I decided to self-publish the first book in what has become a series of six (or seven) novels.

This first novel, Sorrow Mystica (Dereham Connections: Node 2) had already been drafted many times before being sent to agents. This did not, of course, prevent it being checked and edited twice more; and then, when I went through the process of publishing to CreateSpace, I checked and rechecked the proof about twenty times (and found ugliness on each occasion!). Finally, this week, I decided that I could check no more without going insane, so released it to the world. Sorrow Mystica is a tale of UFOs, human and alien relationships, deceit and obsession.

The imaginary town of Dereham in an imaginary corner of Wiltshire is one of the settings for Sorrow Mystica, and is the location for other books in the Dereham Connections series.

You can get the latest information on Sorrow Mystica and the rest of the Dereham Connections at the Come to Dereham blog.

A Poem is Never Finished…

…not, at least, until Faber have printed your collected works.

If you read the poem in the previous post, in the 30 minutes after I posted it, you will have seen the line:

Encourages green and gold across the downs

Yet ever since I wrote Spring Song, I’ve felt vaguely disappointed with the word Encourages. It felt weak, and it added an unwanted syllable to the line. But then I moved on, wrote some new things, and kind of forgot about this “problem”. However, whenever I saw the poem again, I would worry, and then worry that I was worrying too much – after all, other people had read the poem in various draft states, and in its completed state, and had never complained about that line.

But this evening, reading the poem a few times while I edited the photos around it, I could stand it no longer. My original thought, two years ago, was that the sun indeed encouraged nature, revivified it, gave life to it, forced energy through the green fuse, and so on, and hence remade the spring colours  So I began to think about synonyms for encourage, and check out thesauruses. Every word I looked at or thought about that had that burgeoning, fecundity vibe just didn’t seem right.

Instead, I went slantwise (like some of the rhymes) and decided to approach the problem from a different angle. What else, I thought, was the sun doing? After the mist had been burned away, the sun would illuminate the hills, paint them, drip colour on them… The idea of painting colours felt better to me — more in tune with what I could see in my mind as the mist melted. Still, painting, painted, paint also seemed weak, and perhaps too obvious. Eventually, I alighted on brush and brushing, thinking of the sun’s rays as the hairs of a paintbrush. The phrase Then brushing also had the advantage of being exactly three syllables – exactly what I needed to return the line to an iambic pentameter.

I will, though, undoubtedly edit them all, all my poems, all my lines, again, and again. A poem is never finished.