Category: Immanion Press


Book News

Immanion Press’s first blog hop is now over, bar selecting a winner of the competition. It was interesting to try this way to promote Para Kindred, and I’ll certainly do similar promotions for future Wraeththu anthologies. Thanks to Nerine Dorman and Shauna Knight for their help and advice on this procedure!

As far as the Wraeththu Mythos is concerned, my own current novel, ‘The Moonshawl’, is edging towards its climax. I’ve got to a part now where I really have to put myself inside Ysobi’s head and think, ‘ok, what would this character do next, credibly?’ He’s acquired a lot of needed information about the mystery he’s investigating; now he needs to take action. But as to which other characters are with him on this final stage I’ve yet to decide – or maybe I should let the character decide simply through the writing.

I’m happy to report that we have Wraeththu Mythos novels by other writers on the horizon, from Wendy Darling and anthology contributor E S Wynn. Wendy, of course, has been involved in the Mythos for many years, and was the co-author of ‘Breeding Discontent’ as well as co-editor on all the Mythos anthologies. Her novel ‘Angry City’ explores the early days of Wraeththu, as does Earl’s ‘Hollow Hills’. Both of these books will present gritty visions of the mythos, and I’m really looking forward to reading the completed manuscripts.

Para Kindred contributor Nerine Dorman is also working on ideas for a mythos novel set in South Africa. I loved the story she gave us for PK so again I’m really looking forward to what she’ll come up with for a novel. I’ll post news about that once she’s worked out a plot line for it.

Wendy and I are currently swapping ideas for the theme of the next Wraeththu Mythos anthology. So all in all, things are looking interesting for the future of Wraeththu.

Short Stories

Happy to say that my story ‘The Saint’s Well’ was accepted by editor David Barrett for his ‘Mammoth Book of Tales from the Vatican Vaults’. I believe this will be out next year, but will give more details when I know for sure. I really enjoyed writing this story and am glad to appear in the excellent line up David has secured for this satisfyingly fat collection!

A Storm Constantine ‘Imaginings’ short story collection is in the pipeline with Ian Whates’ Newcon Press. This is scheduled for mid 2015. The collection will include a few previously published but uncollected stories (none that have appeared in Newcon Press anthologies), and also a selection of new pieces.

Currently Reading…

I’m a fan of ghost stories and have been reading some of the Dark Terrors collections. I’m not a fan of gore, however, and am somewhat disappointed sometimes that well set-up stories then conclude with the cop-out, typical horror ending: ‘the protagonist is murdered in horrible detail by whatever supernatural thing is in the story’. Some of the best stories are brave enough to do something different. After reading Liz Hand’s ‘Near Zennor’, I had to order her own collection ‘Errantry’ that includes it. What I loved about Liz’s story is that it’s supernatural, eerie, but also credible. The supernatural part is just ‘off centre reality’ enough to be believable. Also beautifully written. I’ve just started reading ‘Gone Girl’ by Gillian Flynn, but Liz’s book is next on my reading list.

I’ve also got into Simon Kurt Unsworth’s work, firstly through his book ‘Quiet Houses’, which I got for my Kindle and then through other pieces of his in anthologies I’ve read. I loved ‘Quiet Houses’, not least because one of my greatest loves in supernatural fiction is haunted houses. The protagonist (a paranormal investigator) at one point investigates a haunted Victorian public toilet! I believe Simon has a new collection in store, which I’ll also be quick to order. Evocative writing, interesting new slants on the haunted house. I posted a link today on my FB page concerning creepy photos of abandoned buildings, such as hotels, amusements parks and asylums. They could well illustrate Simon’s ‘Quiet Houses’.

Cats… Well, There Has to be Cats

New girl Pashti has discovered a new pastime – net curtain climbing. To Pashti, I imagine the navigation of our half window net curtains in the living-room is the equivalent of some perilous jungle vine network. She swings herself around, generally in pursuit of moths, throwing herself onto the tiny ledge of the sash window’s ledge, wobbling precariously, sometimes falling, only to rescue herself with a timely grab of the nets, then to swing wildly as she scrambles to safety on the thin ledge again. From outside, our nets now appear full of rents and tears, lending the house a rather Steptoe ambience! I learned today from friend and neighbour Danielle Lainton, who lives opposite me, that several neighbours on the opposite side of the road have been observing Pashti’s antics with amusement. She provides street entertainment, it seems. Someone said to Danni: ‘Has your friend Storm got a new cat? A sort of mottled, weird looking animal?’ Yes, that must be Pashti, lol. People who aren’t familiar with orientals don’t quite understand her exquisite beauty. Our friend Bob Forse called round yesterday. Pashti’s greeting to him was to launch herself from the ground right onto his chest, all claws out, and cling there. He said, ‘you’ve been feeding her after midnight and got water on her, haven’t you?’ She is rather a little gremlin, bless her, but despite the injuries she inflicts on guests, everyone loves her. She’s clearly worked out that climbing people, or destroying parts of the home, if accompanied by ecstatic purring, means she doesn’t get chastised.

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This is the second of my two contributions to the blog hop, this time based on my story ‘Without Weakness’. Fernici’s story, of course, did not end with him going to Immanion; if anything that was just the start. Whether I’ll ever get time to explore his adventures as a Listener and an otherlane explorer, I don’t know, but here is just a short vignette, concerning what happens when Fernici comes face to face with Ashmael once more. That is certainly a tale that hasn’t yet ended!

A Social Incident
by Storm Constantine

Fernici stood at the edge of the gathering, not wanting to feel intimidated but unable to help himself. His companion, Reydis, had momentarily left him alone, and this was his first big social event in Immanion since he’d arrived. It was being held in a salon of the palace Phaonica, and Fernici didn’t know anyhar there. It wasn’t too grand a gathering because no Aralisians were there, but it was still overwhelming to Fernici. He had half hidden himself amid immense obsidian pillars at the edge of the room and hoped Reydis wouldn’t be long.

As if this nervous thought conjured a har into being, an apparition dressed in matte peacock blue silk manifested before Fernici. He’d glided up from the side. ‘You’re the newly incepted little har, who Ash found in the wilderness, aren’t you?’ this being drawled. His eyes were a cruel green.

‘That would be me,’ Fernici said,’ scanning the crowd, desperate to find Reydis’s face among them.

‘How are you finding Immanion?’ asked the apparition, and by that question, Fernici knew the har was really asking ‘How are you finding civilization?’

‘Very big. It will keep me occupied for a time simply exploring it.’

The har laughed. ‘Yes, you could say it is very big.’ He put his head to one side. ‘You’re something of an enigma, aren’t you?’

‘Am I? I’m not sure what you mean.’ Fernici braced himself for some slicing remark about a human being incepted so late upon the Wraeththu timeline.

‘I wonder what’s so interesting about you, that’s all.’ The har grimaced, but in a sly way. ‘Whenever any of us ask Ash for the story of what happened out there, he won’t speak. Was it all so terrible?’

‘I… no, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, you must be somehar of note, something interesting, to be here now. We wonder what the story is.’

‘There’s no story other than that I was incepted and brought here.’

‘Oh, I think you hide your light, tiahaar. I can smell a story.’

Fernici realised he was at the point where the only way he could extricate himself from this uncomfortable conversation was to say something rude. He looked at the har, this elegant and confident creation. Did he mean to be insulting or was it simply the way socializing was in Immanion? Fernici had no idea, but he did sense that it might not be advisable to offend this har.
‘Well, if it is a story, and I don’t think it is – much – when they tested my abilities after althaia, the results for one of them were good. They thought there could be work for me here.’

‘Which ability?’ asked the har, both his eyebrows raised in amusement.

‘Psychic ability. They thought perhaps the Listeners…’

‘Oh, how dull.’ The har grinned. ‘Never mind.’ He glanced around, perhaps looking for somehar else to bother, then clearly noticed the opportunity for sport. ‘Oh look, there is Ashmael.’ Before Fernici could do or say anything, the har had raised a hand and in a voice like a bell called, ‘Ash, over here.’

Fernici saw Ashmael raise his head, the blankness that came over his features. Ashmael hesitated, then crossed the few feet of floor between them. Fernici was shocked again at how tall he was, almost alien. ‘Good evening, tiahaar,’ he said and then nodded his head at Fernici. ‘Hello, Fernici, you have settled in well?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘I was just talking with your little protégé…’ said the peacock har.

Ashmael laughed politely. ‘No protégé of mine, I assure you.’ He smiled stiffly at Fernici. ‘No offence, tiahaar, but I consider you are your own creation, not mine.’

Fernici, for a moment, was flooded with the remorse of lost opportunities. He realised that Ashmael’s pride would never forgive him for what he’d done, and yet, it had been entirely the right thing to do at the time. Fernici had said no when Ashmael had offered himself after the althaia, and Ashmael Aldebaran Har Gelaming was not used to being refused. But what could Fernici say to mend this affront, especially in front of this gossipy other har, who would no doubt report any conversation across the entire gathering?

‘Well, thank you for your part in it,’ he said eventually, inclining his head, but wincing inside.

The peacock har laughed. ‘Oh, two corpses in a badly-written play,’ he declared. ‘And you say there is no story.’

There was a silence, and perhaps having decided he’d got enough gossiping meat to be going on with, the peacock har drifted away.

And now we are along together, Fernici thought, with a bottomless gulf between us.

‘They found you useful employment?’ Ashmael asked, but Fernici could tell he didn’t care.

‘I’m training for the Listeners,’ he said. ‘They said I could take it further one day.’

‘Makes sense.’ Ashmael looked around himself, perhaps hoping to spot an escape route, somehar he must go and speak to.

Fernici thought he might mention the invitation Ashmael had extended for Fernici to visit him, the last time they’d been together, but was afraid Ashmael would only look at him blankly and pretend he didn’t remember. If Ashmael wanted to see him, he could make that invitation again now, but Fernici knew it wouldn’t come.

‘Don’t stay on my account,’ he said, offering – rather mercifully, he felt – the escape route. ‘Reydis is here with me. He’ll be back shortly. I expect you’ve got lots of hara you need to talk to.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true.’ Ashmael smiled unconvincingly. ‘You look well, Fernici. I’m glad things have worked out for you. Until later, then…’ He inclined his head and walked away.

Fernici steadied his breathing. This encounter had had to come. He’d known he’d have to face it, yet knowing that hadn’t made it any easier. The reason he’d refused Ashmael was because he’d liked him too much. He’d wanted to be fully har, to understand his new self, before any meaningful closeness with another har could even be considered. But clearly Ashmael could not see past the word ‘no’. Now it was too late, yet perhaps for the best. Fernici could always tell himself it was for the best.

Reydis wandered up, carrying two drinks. ‘Sorry that took so long,’ he said, ‘but hara kept waylaying me! Were you all right on your own?’

‘Yes,’ Fernici said, taking the drink. ‘I’m all right on my own.’

Here we are on Day 3 of the Para Kindred blog hop and it’s my turn to post! For anyone reading this who doesn’t know what this venture is, here are the details as from the Immanion Press blog:

“Welcome to the Immanion Press blog hop for the new Wraeththu anthology, Para Kindred. Every day until 25th June the PK authors will be posting a blog post about their story in the collection. Read every contribution to the blog hop, answer all the secret questions about the posts, and you will be entered into a prize draw to win an item from the New section of our Café Press store.”

So without more ado, here is my contribution, inspired by my story in the anthology, Painted Skin. I have to confess it does have a major spoiler in it concerning the story, which if someone wants to read it to enter the competition, and also read the story in PK without knowing anything about it, it might be a tad difficult! My secret question, plus details of previous bloggers will appear at the end of this article.

From Out the Earth, Amid the Pines...

There was once a harling named Cherrah, who lived in the far north, where the mountains meet the sky. He knew, because his hostling had told him, that his tribe was not like other hara. They were creatures far older, who had lived hidden for a very long time, when humans had ruled the world. But when humanity had fallen, they had crept from the cracks in the earth and found other cracks to creep into; the minds of hara, their flesh.

One night, Cherrah was woken by the cries of an owl outside his window, and went to follow its ghost shadow on the soft snow. At length, he came to precipice over a chasm so deep there were stars trapped in its depths, which had fallen and could not get out. The owl spread its white wings on the night and said, for it was rather more than an owl and could speak, ‘Here is the pit where your heart will lie.’

Cherrah grew up and on the night before his feybraiha, the owl came again and, as before, the harling followed it out into the darkness of the high murmuring pines and the endless sky. The owl led him to the biggest pine in the forest and then swooped down upon him and opened up his back to the spine with its claws. ‘This is where your beauty lies,’ said the owl. Cherrah fell back against bark of the tallest pine, his body aflame with pain. And it seemed the tree pitied him, for Cherrah could feel it filling his empty back with parts of itself, so that from the front he looked like a har, but from the back was a hollow tree.

The harling went home to his tribe, where everyhar was gathered waiting to celebrate his feybraiha. They stood around a fire, all in clothes of russet and green. His father came over and put a cloak of dark green wool about his shoulders that hung all the way to the ground, and his hostling came forward and pulled the hood of the cloak so that it covered the top of Cherrah’s face. He could peer out beneath the edge of it, and as he did so, he saw his whole tribe turn their backs on him, as if he must be forgotten. But it was not this. It was merely to show him they were all like he was, kindred to the pine.

‘It is not always,’ said Cherrah’s hostling, ‘that you will show your true nature. As we crept from the earth so we brought its secrets with us. You will learn how to seal your flesh, and your face is enough like a har to fool any who might look, not of our tribe.’

‘But can’t I stay with the tribe, so nohar else might ever see or have to be fooled?’ said Cherrah.

‘No,’ said his hostling. ‘You will go out into the world and be part of it. Your father will take you to the cities of hara and you will learn his trade of clockmaker, and bring our arts to these cities, for we have a way with time. This is your duty to your tribe, to bring us riches.’ His hostling kissed him upon the brow. ‘But for tonight, you need think of nothing but he who waits for you. There he is, beyond the fire. Do you see?’

And then the har came to Cherrah, who would lead him to adulthood, and he went into a moss-roofed house a harling and came out in the morning a har.

On the night before he was to leave for the cities of hara, the owl came again to Cherrah. ‘I won’t follow you,’ he said. ‘You bring only bad to me.’

And the owl replied, ‘Truth is never bad. My task was to take you to the forest, which I did.’

‘But you opened my back with your claws, and now I will never be truly har but half tree, because of the pine’s pity.’

‘Rather my claws than any other kind,’ said the owl, ‘for what I did was with love, not fear or cruelty. And you were always half tree. Come, follow me now. This is the final thing I can teach you.’

So Cherrah followed the owl, expecting something he would not enjoy or that would make him sad. The owl led him high into the mountains where breath turns to frost upon the air and the sky fractures with cold like glass.

‘Do you feel the cold?’ asked the owl.

Cherrah drew his green wool cloak about him. ‘Of course. It’s always there.’

‘Does it pain you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does the cold bring pain to your body, discomfort?’

‘Of course not.’ Cherrah took off his cloak, folded it, and set it upon the ground so he could sit on it. He gazed out across the jagged peaks with their green cloaks of pines. Tomorrow, he would be gone from this land and didn’t know when he would be back.

‘You are more than har,’ said the owl, perching on a fallen tree nearby, ‘for as the cold does not blight your flesh, neither can water drown you, nor fire consume you. You cannot be crushed. You can walk inside the mountains and listen to them speak. Ordinary hara can die by the elements but you cannot, because you are their creature. And that is a reason to be happy not sad.’

‘But I will be lonely,’ Cherrah said, ‘I can already feel it, looking at this landscape to which I belong and which I must leave. Loneliness might crush, or burn or drown me. As could love, because you’ve already told me my heart lies in a pit from which it can’t get out.’

The owl lifted its wings wide upon the night. ‘Ah, but you are a creature that came from the secrets of the earth,’ it said. ‘Your hara do not obey the ordinary laws. You came from a fairy tale and everyhar knows that such tales can end in miracles. You must never give up hope, because a miracle might always be around the next corner.’

‘I suppose I must be content with that,’ Cherrah said, ‘and thank you for words that did not make me sad and no experiences with claws that hurt me.’

‘Goodbye, Cherrah,’ said the owl.

Cherrah returned to his tribe and the owl stayed behind in the white mountains. In the morning, as he readied himself to leave, Cherrah put into his bags a sprig of pine, an owl feather and a small cold rock to remind him of home. Then he followed his father out into the world, hoping to come upon a corner in a city that had something wondrous round it.

Secret Question:

What can Cherrah do in the mountains that ordinary hara cannot?

Previous blogs:
Monday 16th: Earl S Wynn – http://www.eswynn.com/2014/06/ghost-wolf.htm
Secret question: Who do the spirit wolves watch over, according to legend.

Tuesday 17th: Maria J Leel – https://ipmbblog.wordpress.com/2014/06/17/para-kindred-blog-hop-day-2/
Secret question: Where was Chenga’s servant Dolah planning to escape to?

I’ve been working on Para Kindred over the weekend, the forthcoming Wraeththu story collection. I’ve edited one of Wendy Darling’s stories for it, and another from Daniela Ritter. I’ve also attended to editorial corrections Wendy asked for my story, ‘Painted Skin’. After making this post I’ll take a look at my second story for the anthology and start work on it. So far it hasn’t got a title. The collection’s shaping up well and if the last couple of stories come in on time we’ll hit our desired March publication with no problem.

Short stories seem to be taking centre stage for me at the moment. I’ve just finished one to send off to an anthology, (superstition forbids me from revealing more until it’s taken or rejected!), and I’ve heard word of another couple of collections I’d like to submit to. After a long break from writing shorts, it’s great to get back to them over this past six months or so, and I’m really enjoying dabbling in them once more.

I have some news concerning the collection I mentioned in my last post that I was in talks about with another publisher. This was Ian Whates from Newcon Press. He’s going to bring out a collection of mine in 2015 for his ‘Imaginings’ series – which comprises limited edition, nicely-produced hardbacks from various authors across the science fiction, fantasy and horror genres. To date, this series has included authors like Tanith Lee, Liz Williams, Lisa Tuttle, Stephen Baxter and Stan Nicholls, so it’s a prestigious project to be part of. My anthology, yet unnamed, will include uncollected works and a few new stories. So these will be pieces not available in any of my Immanion Press collections. I’ll give more news of the book’s Contents once they’ve been finalized. Newcon Press’s full catalogue can be found here: http://newconpress.co.uk/

Work on my Wraeththu novel, ‘The Moonshawl’, is still going well too, and I’ll be spending a couple of days on that this week – two days seems to be about all I can manage at the moment, what with all the short story writing. But writing is writing, and what wants to come out has to be allowed to come out. I feel as if a creative dam has burst after years of drought!

My own writing aside, I want to let off steam about something that’s increasingly getting on my nerves: the poor standard of grammar, spelling, syntax and punctuation in so many of the published works I read, and also in magazines and newspapers, and even in broadcasting on the radio and television. Every editor, I’m sure, has pet hates. (I won’t go in Ian Whates’ long-standing war with the word ‘it’!). Mine include the wrong use of verb forms, in particular the now all too common ‘he was sat’, ‘she was stood’ etc, instead of the correct forms of either ‘she stood’ or ‘she was standing’. I’m reading a novel at the moment and am being tripped up and ejected from immersion in the story every few minutes by one of these appalling bloopers. Strangely, it’s not consistent, and the author gets the verbs right as often as she gets them wrong. I can only assume she doesn’t have a full knowledge of grammar and therefore lacks control of her prose. This particular, horrible corruption has crept into all aspects of the written and spoken word, and I really hate it. Whenever I see it I can’t help thinking the writer is just lazy and uneducated in their craft.

Another pet hate, and I think this has come over to the UK from America, is the use of ‘off of’ for ‘from’, such as ‘off of that programme on the telly’, instead of ‘from that programme on the telly’. It’s forgivable in toddlers, i.e. people learning to talk, but not in adults, and certainly not in writers. I see this horror all over the place, and the mere sight of it is enough to raise my blood pressure! Call me a grammar nazi if you like but I really detest the sloppiness it reveals.

Another annoyance is misuse of the word ‘that’, when ‘who’ should be used, i.e. ‘these are the people that were stood’… oops I mean, ‘these are the people who were standing’! It’s clear the writers concerned aren’t aware that when it’s a person or people we use ‘who’; when it’s an object or an animal, (and some writers might even contest the latter), we use ‘that’.

I often see weak punctuation, syntax and spelling, as if the books I’m reading haven’t been edited properly, if at all. I also see cases of endless repetitions of words and phrases close to each other on a page, (and not in a deliberate, poetic or dramatic way), which should be spotted by an editor, even if the writer is blind to them. (I know I make mistakes in my work all the time, which is why I ensure it’s read by several people and also edited thoroughly.) Not only ‘popular’ novels suffer in this way – I’ve seen it in allegedly literary works, whose covers have been crowded with unctuous praise from ‘names’ and whose authors have even won awards for their writing.

It worries me that we are heading into literary Dark Ages, where standards plummet to the quality of text speak and the construction of language – our basic tool of communication – dissolves. Even now, (and perhaps for a long time), students emerge from schools and colleges barely able to string a sentence together. Friends of mine who are teachers and lecturers constantly lament the illiterate state of their students, many at so-called university level. The most horrifying part is that people at the top, with the power to do something about this situation, don’t seem to care that much. Standards are lowered so that barely literate students can get degrees. I too see countless manuscripts from would be writers that are almost unreadable, so poor is their grasp of the tools of their trade. And yet they think they have the ability to produce novels and stories, patently not realizing they have to learn their trade – and most likely work hard to educate themselves in English language skills they were never taught at school – just like in any other profession. Perhaps this is a tide us old school writers cannot swim against and it’s the inevitable fate of literature in our modern society, a heart-breaking dumbing down. I really hope I’m wrong.

I thought that in the absence of any spectacular news – life is fairly uneventful apart from writing and dealing with Immanion Press – I could give a sneak preview of the novel I’m working on. Now under the working title of ‘The Moonshawl’ (which may change), this is the third book in my Wraeththu Alba Sulh sequence and, as I’ve already said, it will be a mystery/ghost story – rather different from its prequels. Whether I get the book finished this year is difficult to tell, but I’ll certainly get most of it done. This will free me up to explore other projects, and the mountains of notes, ideas, half written things and synopses I have on my computer.

But all that is in the future. For now, here is a scene from ‘The Moonshawl’, where Ysobi is doing some psychic investigating. It’s not the final draft so might be expanded, and certainly refined, before publication. Apologies for lack of first line indentation – can’t work out how to do it on here! Enjoy!

Excerpt from ‘The Moonshawl’ by Storm Constantine © 2013

As soon as the glade opened up before us, I could tell that Moonshawl Pool was an ancient sacred place, and perhaps was still regarded as such among the local hara and used for rites. The damp grass was vivid with new growth beneath our feet; Rinawne’s pony was eager to tear at it, devour it.
Rinawne led me to the edge of the clear water. I could see that the pool was maintained by a spring and that a quick stream gulped away from it, perhaps to join with the river. Opposite me was an immense mossy rock, from which it seemed ideal for harlings to jump into the water. Sunlight came down in rods through the unfurling leaf canopy above, but even so the glade was partially in shadow.
‘Eldritch place, isn’t it?’ Rinawne said carelessly. ‘You should drink the water. It’s supposed to be lucky.’ He knelt down and scooped a handful to his mouth.
I knelt beside him. ‘I’d like to meditate here for a few minutes, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. Do your hienemarly thing.’ Rinawne grinned. ‘There are usually mushrooms in the hedgerow to the next field. I’ll go gathering while you ponder the mysteries of life.’
Not until Rinawne had left me, his departure accompanied by a theatrical wave of his hand, did I stoop to drink the water. It was as cold as winter, and so pure as to be almost without taste. There was a faint sparkle to it that fizzed in my throat.
‘May the guardians of this site reveal to me it secrets,’ I said aloud, and then composed myself upon the grass, sitting cross-legged with my hands upon my thighs, palms uppermost and open.
I tried to concentrate on the story Rinawne had told me, visualising the har he had named Grass coming through the trees to the pool, his harling in his arms. The image wouldn’t stick in my mind, and on the brief occasions it did, I felt Grass was always looking behind him, as if pursued. I sensed urgency. But another image wanted to impose itself across that of Grass, and it was so strong, eventually I let it have its head.
In the mind picture, I was unsure whether it was day or night time. I caught brief glimpses of something pale through the trees, drawing haphazardly closer to the pool. Within the visualisation I got to my feet, cautiously approached whatever was weaving towards me. I saw a pale figure, its arms held out in front of it, touching the trunks of the trees, as if blind, and trying to feel its way forward. It wore a tattered white robe, and very long white hair fell over its face, obscuring its features completely, but it was not the white of human old age, more like the platinum white found rarely in hara. This must be a har. He was stumbling, disorientated, and now I could hear he was moaning softly, monotonously.
‘Tiahaar,’ I said softly, and the har paused. Then he began to grope his way in my direction.
‘Help… I need…’ The words were broken, ragged with the most awful despair, and shook me from my visualisation.
Opening my eyes, for a moment I too was utterly disorientated, unsure even of where I was, but then the sound of breaking undergrowth brought me to my feet. This was no visualisation. A har dressed in white – a torn robe, filthy to the knees – and with long white hair hanging over his face was trying to reach me. Pitifully, he patted the trees around him, turning in a circle, his robe catching on shrub branches, tearing further. All the while he uttered that relentless, frightened moan.
‘Tiahaar!’ I ran towards him. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll help you.’
As I reached him, the har fell heavily into my arms, and I staggered backwards beneath the burden. His hands clutched my arms, the fingers digging into my flesh, then withdrawing, then digging in again. He smelled… of sickness. ‘Wraeththu,’ he gasped, ‘help me, help me…’
And then… Then there was nothing in my arms, no sense, no physical memory even, of the weight against me. Nothing.
‘So this is your secret,’ I murmured shakily to the glade.
Around me was silence, no birds singing, no rustle of life in the bushes. Not even the soft gurgle of the water as it flowed away to brighter realms.
I sat down heavily where I stood, put my head in my hands, experiencing a strong desire to weep, yet no tears came. Something horrific had happened here once. There could be no mistake. It had left its mark, its imprint, and it was so strong it could feel like the physical weight of a har in my arms.
Ten minutes of deep breathing restored me almost to normality, yet I could still feel quivering anxiety within me, the gift of whatever apparition it was I’d seen.
I heard the sound of a har whistling and guessed this was Rinawne returning to me. For some reason, I knew I would not tell him what had happened; it was as if the har of my vision had begged me to silence.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Rinawne remarked cheerfully as he emerged from the trees.
I smiled, gestured with both arms. ‘Well, I went… quite deep into the landscape.’
Rinawne rolled his eyes. ‘By Aru, don’t end up like Rey and not come out again!’ He sat down beside me. ‘No mushrooms to pick today, sadly. Shall we go back to the Mynd? You can stay for dinner again if you like. And I can show you the whole house. Would you like that?’
I sensed he was speaking to me as if I were… well, perhaps slightly ill. Did I look that bad? I tried to pull myself together, put aside what I’d experienced.
‘I’d love to see the house. Not sure about dinner, though. I need to write up some notes, so I don’t forget things.’
Rinawne slapped my shoulder. ‘Oh, plenty of time for that. You can sit in the library for a while to do your writing. The day is young. Come on!’ He dragged me to my feet.

I’m happy to report that I’ve been able to work on my novel this week – I refused to write another blog post until I could say something positive about the book. I’ve also started another short story for a forthcoming collection. But the most important thing is that I’m able to get back to the full length work. One thing I find I need when working on a novel is immersion – I need to be on it every day, thinking about it, listening to music that inspires scenes, and so on. I can’t just do a bit and leave it for weeks, then go back to it and find it easy to write. If I’ve slipped out its world, I need to get back in.

I had a number of scenes for which I’d written notes and have spent time writing those up. I’m not sure yet where these scenes will go, but as they were there, determined to come out, they needed to be written. These scenes were ‘eerie happenings’, ideas that came to me for the Tower in the story. It’s not exactly haunted but its occupant is.

I wanted to finish off the Alba Sulh sequence of the Wraeththu books, begun with ‘The Hienama’ and ‘Student of Kyme’. In the second one, the story took a rather miserable turn. Unfortunately, that’s what wanted to be written, and few of the characters came out in a good light. For the third one, I wanted a departure and to leave all that angst behind. The main character is Ysobi, who ended up being rather a villain in the previous book. A little punch drunk from his experiences, and also contrite, if not confused as to his earlier behaviour, he takes on a commission to help a rural community establish a spiritual system based upon the landscape and local folklore. He finds a magical, almost surreal environment, where in some of the harish families their human roots are still very important. The family who have hired him still live in the ‘ancestral home’ and it quickly becomes obvious that – like any ancestral home family worth its salt – there are secrets in its past. It’s also clear something unusual happened to the hienama of the community, with hints he disappeared into the landscape, leaving his son in the care of the ruling family. But while it seems Wyva, his brothers, and his chesnari Rinawne are the benevolent leaders of the community, there is another mysterious family, the Whitemanes, who appear to wield more power, certainly in a magical way. The community holds them in awe. Ysobi is soon involved in ancient plots and a personal haunting, while trying to complete the job he was given to do, against a nebulous opposition that seeks to terrify him and drive him away. Ignorant of this undercurrent, the harish community simply sees him as a replacement for their vanished hienama, a job Ysobi really doesn’t want. He’s had his fill of such positions of responsibility and yearns only for the life of a scholar. But nohar else seems keen to take on the position, and Ysobi is shuffled into it, despite his misgivings. He also refuses to be intimidated by his shadowy enemies and resolves to fight back.

Anyway, that’s the idea and there’s a lot more to go into it, but I’m glad I’ve got back to it at last.

Immanion Press news:

We’ll be publishing some of Tanith Lee’s work in e-book, as well a new printed novel called ‘Turquoiselle, which is part of her ‘Colouring Books’ sequence. The e-books will be ‘Kill the Dead’, followed by the Flat Earth series: ‘Night’s Master’, ‘Death’s Master’, ‘Delusion’s Master’ and ‘Delirium’s Mistress’. ‘Kill the Dead’ should be on Kindle very soon, with the others following after.

I have Tanith fans writing to me all the time, bemoaning the fact her work isn’t available in e-book. This is because her work is tied up in rights, and a couple of years ago the UK publisher, Orion, bought up most of her back catalogue for e-book publication (but not all of it.) As I’ve said to those who’ve written to me about it, there’s no point going on Amazon and requesting e-book editions from the original publishers of her books. This is simply because that in most cases they do not hold the rights. The best option for those wishing to campaign on Tanith’s behalf is to contact Orion, who have the majority of her titles. A little nudging, and a clear fan interest, might help the books appear sooner rather than later.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, in that all the Immanion Press royalties have been sent out and the accounts are nearly done. The decks are almost cleared of outstanding bits of admin work, and I hope to have a fairly smooth run up to Christmas in which to do more of my own writing. I seem to say this in every blog post I make, I know, but in the near future I expect to report how much I’ve accomplished, and sooner rather than later if my intentions have anything to do with it!

My editing work is complete for the year apart from putting together a very limited and special edition of ‘Animate Objects’, which is a collection of short stories by Tanith Lee, to be published to coincide with her receiving a lifelong achievement award at Fantasycon in Brighton later this year. I can’t think of a more deserving writer for the award, and I’m having great fun thinking of ways to make this collection extra special, working closely with Tanith and her husband, John. The book will be on sale at the convention only.

In between working on the collection, I’m reading through the scanned-in version of ‘Kill the Dead’, one of Tanith’s most popular earlier novels, which we’ll be publishing as an ebook through Kindle. Her story collection takes precedence at the moment, because time is short to get it prepared, but ‘Kill the Dead’ will be available as soon as possible, hopefully by the end of September at the latest.

Even though I’ve questioned whether it’s actually worth bringing all my back catalogue novels back into print, because the ebooks far outsell the physical printed versions, I’m considering it a personal indulgence now! Having got the ‘Magravandias Chronicles’ out again, with marvellous new covers by Ruby, the only ones left to do are ‘Calenture’, and also a new edition of ‘Hermetech’. This is because I wasn’t very happy with the version we produced early in Immanion Press’s career, plus I want all the books to have Ruby covers on them, and ‘Hermetech’ didn’t have that. Ruby is working on the cover and the draft I’ve seen looks great, so I intend to release this new edition before the end of the year. ‘Calenture’ will be saved for 2014.

I hope in my next blog post I have something to report about new writing from me. Believe me, the ideas are bubbling furiously!

Still had at work on short stories, not least one I have to finish for a friend’s anthology, and also a couple for the new Wraeththu collection, ‘Para Kindred’. Wendy Darling, my co-editor, and I have announced it in a few places, but I’ll also do so here. The last two collections have been very successful, with great submissions.

Here’s the Call for Submissions text. Please feel free to circulate this.

Para Kindred: Call for Submissions

Following on from the Paragenesis and Para Imminence anthologies of Wraeththu Mythos stories, this new collection will focus upon the enigmas that might be found within the disparate tribes of this androgynous race – how Wraeththu might have – or will – develop in strange and unimagined ways.

We are calling for submissions to this anthology, of stories between 3,000 and 10,000 words. As with the former anthologies, we are mainly looking for pieces that do not involve characters from the original Wraeththu books, although such characters may have ‘cameo appearances’ if it suits the story. Writers who were included in the previous collections may also expand upon characters (or their descendants or ancestors) who they created for their earlier stories, if they so wish.

This collection gives writers a broad canvas for their ideas. Contributors can explore how the mutation from human to har might have unforeseen consequences; how new strains of hara might have come into being with unusual attributes; how tribes might have developed in hidden corners of the world that are vastly different to the mainstream population. Or even within ‘regular’ Wraeththu communities, harlings might be born who are different in some way, who might have additional mutations to their parents, thus taking them further away from their human progenitors.

Are hara as they exist within their world the ‘finished product’ or are they perhaps a stage on the way to further evolution? Or would some harlings born to hara be throwbacks to their earlier human roots? They are many avenues to explore, no matter how strange.

Please let us know if you are interested in contributing and provide a short synopsis of your idea, by mailing Storm at editorial (at) immanion-press (dot) com. The deadline for completed submissions is 31st August 2013. Contributors are welcome to submit more than one.

If you know of anyone who might like to contribute, please feel free to pass this document to them.

Other News:

I’m just putting the finished touches to the new cover for ‘The Way of Light’ the third book in my Magravandias trilogy. The books have been out of print for quite some time in the UK, and I’m glad to be able to republish them. I’ll be doing Kindle versions also in the near future. The printed copy will be available within the next couple of weeks.

I’ve had a story accepted for Allen Ashley’s ‘Astrologica: Stories of the Zodiac’ anthology. The story is called ‘The Order of the Scales’ and was inspired by the zodiac sign Libra. Allen’s anthology is being published by Alchemy Press on 1st November 2013.

Another story has been accepted, but at the moment I can’t say where as the editor is still making choices over final submissions.

I had an ‘attic tidying’ session on my computer over the weekend, looking at a lot of my half-finished stories, notes about ideas for stories, novel synopses and so on. There are several ideas for novels that I just never took up, or other ideas took over so I had no time, and these to me are just wasted lying about doing nothing. I think a lot of them could work simply as short stories, so that even if the full length books never get written, at least the work I have done won’t go to waste. I also have a number of half-finished Wraeththu stories. For Para Kindred, I’m working on a new one, but there are also a few that could be finished to fit the theme. As before, I’ll aim to get two stories into the collection.

Sharon Sant’s young adult novel, ‘Runners’, is now out through Immanion Press. This is the first YA title we’ve done, so I’m hoping it’s the first of many. Sharon is really good at promoting her book, and tirelessly working to make sure people know about it. I wish I had her energy! Anyway, hoping this will have a really good effect on sales. ‘Runners’ is a science fiction/dystopia story, and will appeal to any readers of good writing, not just young adults. Here’s a link to it: http://www.immanion-press.com/info/book.asp?id=448&referer=Hp

The other new novel due within the next few days is John Kaiine’s reprint of his novel ‘Fossil Circus’. This is a dark and strange, but beautifully written horror novel, set in a disused mental asylum, which has been inherited by a group of previous inmates. As its editor, I was astonished at how John made me care about characters who are really quite repulsive in a lot of ways. You really do find youself rooting for them! Again, here’s a link: http://www.immanion-press.com/info/book.asp?id=450&referer=Catalogue

Glad to say that ideas are coming thick and fast at the moment. As has become usual, my only impediment to writing is having to attend to other tasks. But I have a trusty notebook (paper one, not computer) to hand , so jot things down in that. I have also acquired a laptop computer for the purpose of working outside in the summer – assuming we have one, of course. My husband, Jim, and I share a workroom, and it’s one of his quirks that he chatters to himself constantly, which is a distraction to me, since I can’t stand any noise while I’m writing. This includes music as well, which is a shame, because I find it very inspiring. Still, to write I need Silence. I have my own little workroom in the spare room of the house, but it doesn’t get much sun and feels a bit subterranean, so I’m hoping we get enough decent weather to be able to sit in the garden this summer and write. Fingers crossed.

Ian Whates has asked me to write a story for his Newcon Press ‘future of agriculture’ anthology, to be launched at Bristolcon this year, where I am one of the guests of honour. I was a bit stumped to start with, because all the ideas that came to me were rather dark and not terribly positive about this aspect of the future, but now, after doing a bit of workshopping with my friend Lou Coquio, have come up with something that’s a bit brighter in tone. I felt that for this particular collection, it seemed appropriate to be upbeat rather than dreary and doomy.

I’ve managed to find time to write a few scenes for my third Alba Sulh Wraeththu novel. Again getting lots of ideas but things are just so hectic at the moment. I look back wistfully to the days when my workload when I got up in the morning was just writing. I squandered a lot of that time, because I had no idea how things would change. Writing time is a luxury for me nowadays. But that said I do savour it and look forward to immersing myself in it. It seems bizarre to me that for quite a few years I suffered writer’s block, yet now it’s not so much I can’t write because the words aren’t there, but just I have so many other things to do. But the positive side of this is that writing is now a pleasure to me rather than something to be feared, or dreaded. We all have our own ways round writer’s block!

Aside from my own writing, and working on Immanion Press titles, I have a delicious little job of typing up one of Tanith Lee’s stories for Ian Whates. I do the layout for Ian’s Newcon Press titles – one of my favourite things to do. I adore designing books. Tanith works on a typewriter rather than a computer, and hers died recently, so she’s been writing by hand. I’ve done quite a bit of typing and scanning for Tanith over the last year, which gives me the privilege of reading her new work – aside from the novels of hers Immanion Press is publishing. The tale I’m typing up now, which is a fairly long one, is ‘The Frost Watcher’, to go in Newcon Press’s new edition of Tanith’s short story collection ‘Cold Grey Stones’. Tanith’s husband John Kaiine did the cover art for the original edition, which I always thought was wondrously spooky and strange, and for the new edition Tanith has written the story to go with that illustration. Ian is launching this new edition in October, so check the Newcon Press web site for more details. http://newconpress.co.uk/

I’ve recently done the layout for another of Ian’s titles, the ‘part two’ of ‘Diary of a Witchcraft Shop’ by Liz Williams, and her partner, Trevor Jones. I just had to read parts of it as I was doing the layout – irresistible – and my favourite bits are the recounting of conversations with customers in the shop. A hoot. I loved the first book and can also recommend this one.

In respect of my own work, and reviewing what I have stored in my ‘ideas’ folder on the computer, I had a look at a novel I started some years ago, called ‘Shimbari Dreams’, which is sort of autobiographical in that it concerns a female writer who’s created a fantasy world where the characters have ambivalent sexuality. But primarily, it was my attempt to explore the possibilities – and dark shadows – of the internet. Looking again at the pages I wrote for it, I realise that social media have moved on so much I need to rewrite it quite a bit. I was interested in investigating how virtuality could leak into reality, and also about the more obsessive side of fandom. The ‘new’ fandom that evolves in the story grows beyond the regular fans, and is as much of a mystery and an absurdity to them as to the author. Then things take a sinister turn. I’m thinking at the moment, this might be the novel I return to after I’ve finished the last of the Alba Sulh sequence, but I do have several other stand alone novels started, either with a few chapters done, or just in note form, so I’ll leave it until later to decide which one I’ll actually work on next.

For now I need to finish the agriculture story and also the Alba Sulh novel. There is one part of this novel that I’m sort of reluctant to write, and might not include it ultimately. It’s something I find extremely gruesome and therefore uncomfortable to write about. It’s based on a real event that was reported in the news last year, and when I read about it, it affected me greatly. I need something quite shocking for the core of this novel, wrapped as it is in ghosts, but whether I can stomach actually writing that part remains to be seen. I might yet wuss out!

I’m still mulling over what should be the next Wraeththu anthology theme. I thought it might be nice to bring out a collection annually but I think bi-annually is more realistic.

So, lots going on, and feeling very positive about my work. Could just do with more time, or some kind of device that lets me stretch time. Now, that would be handy!

I’m still working on short stories at the moment – when I get the time! I had an idea for a new one last night to add to the list. And I’m still hoping to get back to the final Alba Sulh novel this year. Time just gets eaten away.

Immanion work continues to be fairly heavy. We’re still catching up on making ebooks of many of our titles, now concentrating mainly on the non fiction as the fiction is mostly done.

This week saw the release of two new fiction titles from us. The first is ‘The Poison Garden of Dorelia Jones’ by Valentine Williams. This is an excellent and evil little treasure, set in suburban England, concerning a very convincing witch. She’s not part of a coven, or any New Age modern pagan organisation. She works alone, in a distinctly old-fashioned way. And crossing her is a perilous endeavour. The thing I particularly liked about Valentine’s novel (I was its editor) was that you can’t help but root for Dorelia. She’s not nice, she’s not attractive, but she’s a survivor, dealing with the hand Fate threw on her cot blankets at birth. The people who invoke her wrath are worse than her because they hide behind conformity and conventional lives, which conceals, among other things, moral weakness, spite, selfishness and greed. True poison. The book is not just an entertaining novel but a parable about the modern world.

http://www.immanion-press.com/info/book.asp?id=443&referer=Hp

The other release is a re-issue of the first book in my Magravandias Chronicles, ‘Sea Dragon Heir’. I did virtually nothing to the text – and as many of you will know, I do have a tendency to tinker with my older titles. All that I felt was needed was grammatical and spelling corrections. Ruby has done a fabulous new cover for it, and the other two books ‘Crown of Silence’ and ‘The Way of Light’ will follow later this year.

http://www.immanion-press.com/info/book.asp?id=442&referer=Catalogue

Once the Magravandias Chronicles are published again, that only leaves ‘Calenture’ still remaining to get an Immanion Press edition. I might do that this year if I get the time, or wait until next year. What I really want to be doing is bringing out new material, but I want to get my back catalogue out in entirety, as much as is possible, too.

If anyone would like review copies of these books, or to interview either Valentine or myself, please get in touch. I prefer to send out PDFs for review nowadays, simply because of the cost of sending out printed copies. Plus we found that sending out endless review copies was a financial loss as quite often they didn’t even get reviewed.

On a completely different note, I’ve been contacted by a group formed to Support Stafford Hospital and prevent its closure. I don’t have many details yet, but I want to add my support to them. I can’t go out and march in the streets or protest outside buildings, or indeed go door to door with leaflets and so on, but I can talk on my blog and Facebook pages about it. Many people will already be aware of the terrible recent history of our local hospital, but a community the size of Stafford without one is rather frightening to contemplate. The nearest accident and emergency centres will be at least 15 miles away, which is a long way to go, even with lights and sirens blaring, if a person is in a grave condition. Anyway, will post more once I’ve spoken properly to the organisers.