It’s been a long journey to get here, and a long time between posts, but I’m thrilled THE SEVEN HILLS is available now. Here’s the cover and blurb!
Twilight has fallen.
A new god rises.
Olympus shall burn.
Aeneas has returned from the underworld as a twisted monster. Determined to seize the throne of heaven, he embarks upon a campaign to bring the might of Olympus crashing down. The fate of the world will be decided on the battlefields of Italia.
And yet Aeneas has not prepared for the rebellion of his son Julos, nor the courage of Lavinia, fiery princess of the Italians. Together they will stand against him and forge an empire that will change the fortunes of the Earth.
In the last battle, there can be no surrender and no retreat.
The Ashes of Olympus trilogy comes to a stunning conclusion in a tale of love, agony and redemption.
Writing The End on this series was the hardest thing I’ve done as a writer. It’s tough to let go of characters who are as real to me as anybody else. But I knew their journey from the very start. The tragedy, the triumph. It all comes full circle in the third book!
I’ve read too many trilogies where the experience was soured by a lackluster conclusion. I strove to fulfil the promises made for each character’s journey in Ashes of Olympus, and deliver an ending that was epic in the truest sense of the word.
I loathe the stereotype of the suffering artist, but honestly I was quite ill and in pain for much of The Seven Hills. Between this and the pandemic, my publisher Odyssey Books and I agreed it was best to delay the release by 12 months. But it’s done. It belongs to the readers now.
I’m grateful to all who made the trilogy a success. Everyone who has tweeted in support, reviewed the book and cheered me on, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I especially want to thank Mark Stay and the entire community around The Bestseller Experiment podcast for championing the series from its inception. And, um, thanks Mark for pointing out I use the word ‘ichor’ too much, and that ‘whelmed’ sounds kinda dumb.
Anyway, that’s about it for now. I hope I’ve done Virgil’s Aeneid justice through my adaptation. More, I hope readers enjoy the myth and the magic in an age of bronze swords and ox-hide shields. And if you have enjoyed the trilogy, please share your review!
Guess what? The first Tooth and Blade novella is now live world-wide on Kindle! To celebrate, I thought I would share the first chapter… More than that, I wanted to share an amazing illustration inspired by the story. It was created by my friend and former colleague, Dr Yvette Hunt. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Teeth
“They aren’t like our kind, Dóta. They are beasts.”
My mother’s warning echoed through my head, but it would not stop me. I tiptoed through our cave, my path lit by glowing mushrooms which clung to the walls. Módor’s wrath would be great if she caught me near her treasure hoard. She was afraid of what I would find there, the truth of what I was. I pressed my lips together and shook off my fear. No matter the risk, I had to know.
Points of rock jutted from the floor like razors as I edged along the passage. Icy droplets fell from the ceiling and ran down the back of my neck. I shuddered as they crawled down my spine and pulled my sheepskin tighter.
I’m not sure how old I was when I figured out I wasn’t like Módor. Perhaps it was the day I stumbled and cut my palm on a rock. My blood had run hot and dripped to the ground. Módor had stroked my face to comfort me and for the first time I realized her touch gave me shivers. Then she traced her long nail over the wound and licked it. For an instant her eyes glowed like coals. “There now,” she had said. “Nothing to fear, my girl.” And Módor had smiled with pointed teeth.
I pressed my way through the jagged gap in the wall which led to Módor’s treasure chamber. Módor had chosen a special chamber for her spoils, lit by a spear-shaft of sunlight from a hole in the ceiling far overhead. The light stabbed at my eyes and I squeezed them shut for a moment. When they had grown used to the light, I blinked and looked about. The piled gold shone bright and the gems winked like stars. I ignored the silver cauldrons, coins and fire-stones, for glittering trinkets could tell me nothing. In the corner of the chamber I spied what I was after. A pile of tarnished chain mail and bones, all that was left of the man foolish enough to challenge my mother. Time had picked the skeleton clean long ago; only a few slivers of decayed flesh remained. The dead warrior still clutched a great sword. A rusted helm protected his skull.
Hands trembling, I picked up the skull and held it up to the light. Flakes of rust fell away from the helmet to show boar-shapes etched into the metal. The head. It was the head I needed to see, not some rusted bit of iron. I pulled the helmet off and threw it aside. A thrill of fear passed through me as it clanked to the ground. My brother’s ears were delicate. Even the smallest noise would make Grethor bawl for Módor.
Moments passed, but nothing happened. Telling myself it was safe, I peered closer at the skull. The empty sockets stared back at me. I traced my thumb over the teeth and ran my tongue over my own. The warrior’s teeth were rounded.
Like mine.
My fears became truth. A beast, that’s what I was. A child of men.
I set the skull down upon the floor, bent to study the body. To judge by the length of the man’s leg-bones, he was taller than most, though he was a dwarf compared to Módor and Grethor. Would I grow to that height? At sixteen, I sensed my growing was done but couldn’t be sure. Another reason to learn more about my kind. The warrior’s mail was crusted with brown and rotted tatters of linen still clung to the skeleton. Clothing, I knew. Grethor had told me once how the creatures of the world above wore a kind of second hide as I wore my sheepskin.
The sunlight caught on something shiny beside the corpse. Without thinking I reached for it and held it up to the light. It was a small disc of polished amber hanging from a rotted leather cord, some kind of amulet. No mere trinket, this. Men must have crafted it in another age, so the gods would protect them. Some of the grime fell away as I rubbed the amulet between my fingers and light shot through veins of yellow in the amber. It was as though the amulet held the sun, waiting to escape. A pretty thing. Perhaps I should put it back? Some instinct told me no; it belonged to me. I slipped it inside my sheepskin. The amulet lay warm against my chest. The feeling was delicious in the coldness of the cave. It had lain hidden under the corpse so long, nobody would miss it. I hoped.
“Well. Hello, Dóta.”
I whirled to find Grethor’s yellow-green eyes staring down at me. His mottled skin flushed dark and his bitter smell filled the cavern. Under his arm Grethor carried his old leather sack. He hissed. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” The guilt pressed down upon my shoulders, but I forced myself to stand tall. Had he seen me take the amulet?
“Nothing, eh?” Big Brother’s forked tongue flicked from the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d peek at Módor’s hoard, I guess. Ought to be more careful. You know how fiercely Módor guards her gold.” He pointed at the scars on his cheek and smirked.
My eyes flicked to the skeleton. “Humans like it too.” The words spilled from my mouth without thought.
His pointed ears pricked up. “And what do you know of humans?”
I tried not to cringe, held my shoulders square. My brother could be cruel as Loki and rough as Thor when the mood took him, but I would not quake. “Nothing,” I said.
Smugness filled his face. “Tell Módor, I should. Not right to go poking through her things. One shout from me and she’ll peel the hide from your bones.” Grethor rasped with laughter. “She could sew me a new bag from it.” He thrust the sack at me.
I caught it. “No. Don’t tell her.”
“And what’ll you give me if I keep my tongue still?”
My hands curled into fists. “What do I have to give, Grethor?” The only thing I owned was my sheepskin—and now the amulet. And my brother wasn’t getting them.
He scratched his chin with one of his claws. “A song, sweet sister.”
I released a slow breath. “A song.”
“Just like when we were little.”
“You were never little.”
He shrugged. “Young, then. The bad dreams plague me now as they did then.”
I blinked. “Still?”
Grethor flinched. “Dreams of fire and flashing swords and the man who grips like iron. He comes to rip and tear. One of his kind.” He glanced at the warrior’s skeleton and shuddered. “Every night he comes, since you stopped singing me to sleep. Remember how we’d cuddle?”
I did remember. The earliest thing I could recall was Grethor curled up next to me in the night. It had been nice, when we were children. But as he grew and his muscles thickened, Grethor would squeeze me like a toy until my bones would crack. I would wake to find bruises and that was not so nice. “I can’t, Grethor. Not anymore. You need to learn to sleep on your own.”
Grethor lowered his head. “Such a pretty voice you have. Soft. And I don’t want you to get into trouble with Módor…”
Breath caught in my chest. It was hard to say no to Grethor. “All right. If you want.”
Grethor’s face split into a grin and his teeth were like needles. “Good. Walk with me, Dóta. My belly’s gurgling. I’m going above to get me some meat.” He pulled the sack from my hands. As we left the chamber, I glanced at the corpse one last time. The dead man’s smile was not so fearsome now.
In silence we wound through the passageways. Grethor twisted left and right to squeeze through the narrow gaps in the rock. He was massive as a frost giant, but could press himself through fine cracks. We made our way down to the chamber where he could enter the underground river. Big Brother leapt over the rocks while I stumbled. His eyes were made for the gloom.
The sound of rushing water filled my ears and the rock floor grew slick under my feet. Beneath the river’s surface I could just see the entrance to the underwater tunnel which would take Grethor to the world above.
He laid his clawed hands on my shoulders and they were clammy. “Be good to old Módor and I might bring you back a nice new hide to warm you. And more than that. I’ll bring you back more tales of the world above. Of the sky, trees, animals.” He leaned close, murmured in my ear. “Of humans, even.”
My heartbeat grew faster. “When will you be back?”
He shrugged. “When I’m back.” Grethor drew me to him and sniffed my hair. It was something he’d done ever since he was a child, though I’d never felt the urge to mimic him. Was it because we were not the same kind? Grethor slid into the river, treaded water for a moment. He opened his eyes wide and green fire kindled in them. The light on the water cast shimmers upon the roof of the hollow and then he dived and took the light with him.
***
Foundling, the first Tooth and Blade novella, is now available world-wide on Kindle!
$0.99 USD or free on Kindle Unlimited.
Step into a world of haunted meres, iron and magic.
Right now I’m thrilled that my first Tooth and Blade novella, Foundling, is going live on Amazon this week. Keep your eyes peeled as I will soon share Chapter 1!
Here is the blurb:
They call me Peace-weaver. Warmaker. Beast.
My name is Dóta, and I am alone among my clan. The blood runs hot through my veins, though my mother’s touch gives me shivers. The gods of Asgard whisper to me in the night. I am a child of men, a monster unto monsters.
Sixteen years I have dwelled in the shadows beneath the earth. To discover my heritage, I must take up my bone knife and step into the light above. Secrets await me there—beauty, terror, the truth of who I am. Soon I must make an impossible choice, or the nine worlds will be devoured in fire and war.
A monster sheds no tears.
I was first inspired to write Tooth and Blade when I encountered Beowulf as a teen, stepping into the world of heroes and demons, mead halls and monsters. Sharp-eyed readers will recognize many similarities between Tooth and Blade and the epic. I’d consider the villain Grethor a blood relative of Grendel, though my story stands apart as an original creation. I’ve always loved stories told from the viewpoint of an outsider and that appealed to me much more than the idea of a straightforward adaptation.
Though my education is much more in Greco-Roman history than that of medieval Scandinavia, I have done my best to capture the spirit of the age, language and culture, diving deep into the primary sources. In my choice of language, I tried to stick with words of Old English, Germanic or Old Norse roots as much as possible, though I have often used words from Romance languages for the sake of clarity. You may notice that Dóta spins the tale using kennings, one of the favorite tools of a skald.
Though I strive to be authentic in my depiction of the Norse world, I have sought to give Tooth and Blade the timeless quality of myth rather than confine it to any specific region or century. It is enough to know the adventure takes place in a world of haunted meres, iron and magic.
Looking forward to sharing more about Tooth and Blade soon!
As I’ve mentioned previously, this year I will release three short novellas in a fantasy series based on Norse mythology. I’m thrilled about this series, which is very different from anything I’ve written before. Three short, sharp novellas released in quick succession as a serial. It’s an idea I’ve toyed with for a long time, and it feels amazing to follow through with it.
Part One, Foundling, is now available to pre-order on Kindle for a mere $0.99 USD! It will be available April 17, 2019.
Here’s the cover and blurb!
They call me Peace-weaver. Warmaker. Beast.
My name is Dóta, and I am alone among my clan. The blood runs hot through my veins, though my mother’s touch gives me shivers. The gods of Asgard whisper to me in the night. I am a child of men, a monster unto monsters.
Sixteen years I have dwelled in the shadows beneath the earth. To discover my heritage, I must take up my bone knife and step into the light above. Secrets await me there—beauty, terror, the truth of who I am. Soon I must make an impossible choice, or the nine worlds will be devoured in fire and war.
A monster sheds no tears.
Norse mythology meets historical fantasy in the first novella of the TOOTH AND BLADE series. Step into a realm of haunted meres, iron and magic.
My debut novel The Way Home officially launches in just a few days. The pre-order also has found its way to Amazon early, both for the paperback and the e-book. It’s actually doing pretty well already, given that I haven’t officially announced that it is available! It is a little bit surreal, seeing it in the top ten of its little niche, alongside Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson books. It’ll be properly available next week, and you can bet I’ll let you know when it’s out. In the meantime, a few people have asked me where I got the idea to write the Ashes of Olympus trilogy, a YA adaptation of Virgil’s Aeneid.
Check out some of the amazing illustrations from Matt Wolf!
It started when I was an undergraduate in Latin class. My lecturer’s enthusiasm for the Aeneid was infectious, and I was not immune. Just about every lesson he would put a passage from Virgil on the board for us to decipher with the air of Santa Claus pulling a toy from his sack. Determined to know more of the story, I picked up a translation of the Aeneid and read it cover to cover. I had encountered Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey before, but the plight of the Trojan prince Aeneas spoke to me on a level I had not really expected. Perhaps the desire for a place to belong spoke to me in my late teens. On a more superficial level, I loved the sense of adventure. I had always been a reader of fantasy and historical thrillers, and here was a classic quest with monsters, gods, and epic battles. More than that, I adored the sensitivity of Virgil’s characterisation, particularly of Dido. Though I sometimes found the character Aeneas difficult, it helped me to understand that when we are reading classics we are dealing with the ideals of another age. Discovering the joys of Latin scansion helped me to find the music in Virgil and gave me an appreciation of poetic language which I had never really found before. Every time I returned to the poem, the same thought would occur to me: this would make such a great novel!
Later in my degree, when I came to translate the poem itself, I decided to translate it into the prose of an adventure novel whose language echoed the historical thrillers I had always enjoyed. Something along the lines of Valerio Massimo Manfredi, Conn Iggulden, or Bernard Cornwell. There was just one problem: the translation was awful! For some reason, dactylic hexameters didn’t gel with the direct language of a thriller or fantasy. I hated what I had written, and so would anybody with sense, so I shelved it and moved on.
Several years passed. I wrote a lot of terrible stories which will never see the light of day. I married and became a young dad. I did a postgrad research degree, worked for a museum, and immersed myself deeper into the classical world than is healthy. Eventually I went to present a paper at the Classical Association conference at the University of Reading. This was the first time I had travelled overseas on my own, and I felt very far from home. It was worth it though. One of the themes of the conference was the reception of Greek and Roman culture in children’s and young adult novels. There were a lot of great panels on Caroline Lawrence and Rosemary Sutcliffe. But the key moment didn’t come until I was on my way home.
At Heathrow I met a young woman who was struggling with her luggage. I offered to help, and we got chatting, and I casually asked where she was from. At this point she started crying—she was from Bosnia, but she was effectively homeless, a citizen of nowhere. Neither side of the civil war wanted anything to do with her. One side rejected her because of her heritage, and the other side because of her father’s religion. The war had been over for years, but she was still a refugee. She had endured horrors as a child which no human being should have to go through. I was sitting on the plane home, reflecting on what she had said. And that’s when it hit me: the Aeneid is in its essence a refugee’s tale from a world of gods and magic. It’s a tale for anybody who has felt there’s no place in this world for them. A theme which, two thousand years after the Aeneid was written, is still sadly relevant. And somehow this idea connected with the panels on YA literature I had seen. By the time I got off the plane, a plan was forming.
I wasn’t going to translate the Aeneid. I was going to adapt it, tell the story in my voice. I wasn’t going to put Virgil up on a pedestal. Instead, I would write an original work which captured something of what made the story significant to me. It would still be a rip-roaring adventure for young readers. Yet it would focus on the deeper theme of the refugee crisis. My goal was to make it a great story in its own right, not edutainment. And I would infuse it with something of my own experiences, make it personal. And you know what? This last part was actually really scary. But for the first time, I felt like the writing worked. It was real.
Five years and many drafts later, here we are. The book will be in readers’ hands very shortly. I’ve done all I can to make it the best story possible.
I hope you’ll join me for the journey.
Until next time,
Valete
PS. I’m offering a preview and a special short story exclusively to followers of my newsletter. Sign up here for your free copy to read on a Kindle or any other e-reader! Fear not, I won’t give away your email address and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Publication day for The Way Home, Book I of the Ashes of Olympus trilogy is just a few short weeks away. In the meantime, I’ve written a short prequel, which I’m giving away to newsletter subscribers for free!
Betrothal introduces the characters of Aeneas and Kreusa, whom we here meet as children. The story takes place ten years before the events of Ashes of Olympus. On the eve of the Trojan War, a young girl must find her voice to stand before the gods… As an added bonus, you’ll also get a first look at the first three chapters of The Way Home.
I’m offering the e-book exclusively to followers of my newsletter. Sign up here for your free copy to read on a Kindle or any other e-reader! Fear not, I won’t give away your email address and you can unsubscribe at any time.
This was an absolute blast to write and I’d love to hear your feedback!
As promised, I’m absolutely thrilled to unveil the cover and blurb for my upcoming novel, Ashes of Olympus: The Way Home, coming July 2018 from Odyssey Books.It’s a YA historical fantasy based upon Greek mythology, in which a band of refugees must face the wrath of the gods to find a way home.
I’m absolutely in love with the cover, and I am so grateful to my editor and the graphic designer for coming up with such a wonderful image. But what’s it all about? Read on for the blurb…
The gods betray you. The winds are hunting. Nowhere is safe. The journey begins…
The war of the gods has left Aeneas’s country in flames. Though he is little more than a youth, Aeneas must gather the survivors and lead them to a new homeland across the roaring waves. Confronted by twisted prophecies, Aeneas faces the wrath of the immortals to find his own path.
First in a trilogy based on Virgil’s epic poetry, ASHES OF OLYMPUS: THE WAY HOME is a tale of love and vengeance in an age of bronze swords and ox-hide shields.
The novel will be released both as an ebook and in print, July 2018.
Until next time,
Valete
P.S. Sign up to my free monthly newsletter for news and previews, as well as an exclusive prologue chapter to the Ashes of Olympus series! Over the next couple of months I’ll be giving readers an exclusive sneak preview of the amazing interior artwork in the book.
As publication day of Ashes of Olympus: The Way Home draws closer, I find myself reflecting on what I’m aiming for in terms of my career as an author. I’ve had a few folks tell me I’m going to be the next J.K. Rowling, and they are looking forward to the (hypothetical) movie of The Way Home. While I recognise and appreciate the compliment, it always makes me a little uncomfortable. I love the Harry Potter books and admire J.K. Rowling, but I don’t want to be her. It’s much better to be me. At this point in my career, I don’t think it’s realistic to aspire to be a bestseller like Rowling. Very few authors become superstars like that. And to be honest, I can’t think of anything worse than having that level of ubiquity.
So what am I striving for, at this point? Much simpler, more achievable things.
I want to reach a community of readers who find something to enjoy with my work. There is great satisfaction in cheering somebody up who is having a bad day, and I think novels are the perfect form of escapism. And if readers get something more out of it, I’m glad.
I want to be part of a community of writers. Acceptance by peers and being able to give back something in return means the world to me. I cherish my friendships with fellow writers, published and not. These people make me a better writer. Functional creative relationships are precious gems.
I strive to be professional. I want to develop a reputation in the industry as a versatile, disciplined author who meets deadlines and works well with others. Professionalism is an under-valued attribute among aspiring authors. Admittedly I’m still learning the ropes as an early-career author, but one day I’d like to reach a level of mastery where I can pass on what I’ve learned.
And finally, I’m working hard to make a living as an author. Yes, I know, this is going to be the toughest of the lot. However, I made the decision long ago to adopt the mindset of a small business owner rather than a hobbyist. Making the business profitable will be a multi-phase project which may take years. That’s okay. I’m in it for the long haul. For the time being, any money I make from The Way Home will be invested in the next book, growing the business until it becomes a reliable supplement to my day job. Then eventually my writing will become the main source of income. I still aim to be a hybrid author with a foot in both the indie and the trad camps.
If I can achieve these things, I’ll be satisfied. However, all of these goals are contingent upon me being prolific, so I’d better get back to it.
Oh, and big news! Next week I’m going to share the cover of Ashes of Olympus: The Way Home. I’m sharing it first with my newsletter subscribers. If you’d like a sneak peek, then please feel free to subscribe.
I’ve been in a very visual space this week. Along with my publisher, I’ve been looking at concepts for the cover of my upcoming novel, Ashes of Olympus: The Way Home. It should be finalised very shortly and I can’t wait to share it. All I can really tell you for now is that the cover will be red and gold, Gryffindor colours! Just as exciting, The Way Home will feature nine internal illustrations as well as an incredible map. I’ll share more on the internal illustrations as we get closer to release– here’s a teaser if you can’t wait! But for today’s blog post let’s focus on the map and the thinking that went into it.
I love maps in books. Done properly, they can evoke a sense of space and place, making the story that much more real to readers. It’s great fun to follow your heroes’ journey on the map, and sometimes it can enrich the experience of the author’s world. A map can convey a sense of politics far more effectively than mounds of exposition. The most effective maps, I think, are those which are created to be in-world, because they become a form of world-building. A good map draws you into the story before you’ve even read a word.
However, I’ve also read many fantasy novels where the map actually detracted from the experience of the story. I think if your reader can’t make sense of the story without the map, something has gone terribly wrong. And there are times when the map is included seemingly out of a sense of obligation. They’ve become a staple of fantasy. If you’ve got a map for the sake of having a map, it becomes grating. There are times also when they are nothing but a gigantic spoiler. If every place your characters visit is included on the map, it destroys a sense of discovery. Even worse, if they feel like something out of our world, maps can yank the reader out of the story before you’ve even started. Maps rendered on a computer are too painstakingly accurate for a medieval fantasy, for example. And having a scale in modern miles or kilometres is equally problematic– leaving aside the fact these measures might not exist in your world, the last thing you want is to take away a sense of wonder by having everything precisely quantified. The key is to create the map in a very deliberate way, keeping in mind that it’s a form of story-telling too.
It was very important for me that the Ashes of Olympus trilogy have a map, for a number of reasons. It’s an historical fantasy which uses ancient Greek place names, eg Sikilia for Sicily and Hesperia for Italy. It helps readers connect more if have that visual link between past and present. And to evoke the sense of the past, I wanted it in an antiquarian style, with ships and sea monsters in the water. I did make a couple of concessions to anachronism in drawing up the brief. It wasn’t entirely possible to have the map come from within the universe because the majority of my readers probably don’t read Greek. And I thought it would be confusing to present the slightly jumbled geography we find in Homer and Virgil. Artist Linc Morse rose to the occasion with an exquisitely crafted design. Check it out below!
I particularly love the little Scylla! Ashes of Olympus: The Way Home will be available in July 2018. Sign up to my free monthly newsletter for news and previews, as well as an exclusive prologue chapter to the Ashes of Olympus series!
It was another busy month in which I had to remind myself that reality is ultimately more important than fiction. I’ve had to deal with some health-related issues. They haven’t stopped me, though. I’ve been productive, but not as much as I’d like to be. No point wasting time berating myself about that. If you don’t look after your health and that of your family, then what’s the point?
That said, the work doesn’t stop. I’m about at the halfway mark on this children’s novel I’m co-writing with my seven-year-old. Given this project has to fit around my day job and looking after two sick kids, I’m happy with that. The manuscript is continually growing and developing, like him. He gets so excited at bedtime when I read to him from the book. A few nights ago, though, I had to tell him that I only had half a chapter to read him, and I thought he’d be upset. ‘It’s okay, Dad. I want to give you time to write more, so I’ll read to you from one of my books.’ What a great kid! I’m really proud of him. I’d like to do a blog post exploring the process of working together in greater depth.
What else? One of my close writer friends read over the draft of one of my earlier novels, and gave me some very encouraging feedback. It’ll be good to revisit that project, but for now it needs a little time to gestate. I in turn had the privilege of reading a manuscript for a member of my extended family. Being invited to read an unpublished manuscript is really special, isn’t it?
And finally, I made a couple of really important decisions about where I’m headed as a writer. More than anything, I want to write for a living. That doesn’t mean just sitting around waiting for the ‘right opportunity’ to come along like a kid with a band. It means making smart choices, forward planning and being willing to learn from mistakes. Over the last twelve months or so I’ve established a solid author platform. Now it’s time to start building on it. I’ll share more in the not too distant future.
