Have you ever felt the need to write? To inscribe the scenes playing behind your eyes like a film as the music swells around you like you’re at the pictures? Imagine … the room is darkened, with a huge silver screen that lights up as the story begins to unfold. The music is epic, majestic, stirring, amusing and light hearted, sorrowful and lonely – tugging at your heart as your characters speak their lines, tell their story, weave their magic over you.

I have that. The itch in my fingers. The ache in my wrists.

I have to listen to music – otherwise my thoughts grow to a roaring volume when I work, which makes me want to work harder, write harder, get it done faster. It’s almost like the sea, ebbing and flowing, rushing and whooshing as it goes. Sometimes it makes me doubt myself. But with music come the pictures, thoughts, feelings. I feel a tingle in my fingers, a tingle in my toes. The Rhythm of Life.

My scenes are not altogether soothing. They’re barren, cold. I’ve taken to wearing a jumper, not because the office I work in is chilly with the window open (it is, but I can bear it), but because I feel cold, feel a little frosty, with my mind running over the snow, flying along at the speed of a galloping horse, riding at Ifan’s side as he goes on with his story.

Background information is like gold dust, crafting the world about your characters. Except this time, it feels like I’ve been here before, written this tale in this land before. That’s probably because most of my stories stem from the time I wrote the Elements trilogy, and crafted a land of mountains and expansive forests – old England where magic is alive and well. This land stretches out to the sea, with extensive marshy lowland, bordered by tall mountains and a frozen plateau. I see stone towers, castles, fortresses, wooden long houses, men, women and children, dragons and horses and wolves with human eyes. And amongst it all, I see Ifan and Nyssa, holding out their unlinked hands in welcome, beckoning me in.

I let my imagination get away from me, but sometimes when my mind wanders, it takes me here.

I want to write a book that stirs the blood, makes my readers laugh and cry and hold on, swept up in my crafting, my word weaving.

Do you think I can do it?

Do you think I could make it, this time?

This time I’m plot lining, working on the actual heading, drawing myself a map that will lead me astray. I’m working on backgrounds, on motives, on dark deeds and twists and turns that will hopefully make you wonder and understand. And I want to say: Come, come meet my characters. Come in and sit yourself by the fire and come, come hear about the tales I have to tell – of the dragons, the magic, the men and women, the loves, the sorrows, the spectre of death.

That is what I want.

I want you to believe.

So come, settle yourself and I will spin you a tale. Just hold on a little longer.


This is my 99th post. So, tomorrow, we’ll do something extra special.