2.5 stars out of 5.

And we plod on, inexorably forward, progress maintained by accepting any motion as positive. 

It is indeed beyond a truism that glaciers move quicker across continents than I progress towards becoming a published author. 

But drip, drip, drip, we perceiver. 

We carry the nervousness of the second album as the dead dog across our shoulders – maybe it’s just a slow burn, maybe it’s one of those read twice to appreciate kind of books? 

Or, indeed possibly, just maybe, it’s not just ahead of the readership curve, possibly, maybe, it’s just not any good? 

Can you throw so many ideas into a mix and expect them all to work? 

Does one idea detract and distract from the other? 

I’m not too sure.

Doubt sits on my shoulder.

Maybe it’s a misunderstood classic? 

Maybe indeed I should just let it go, move on, have confidence in what I’ve written, and stop looking for applause that’s just not going to come?

Do I need the echo chamber validation?

But standing in the arena, with dust on my shoes, I do look up into the sea of watching faces and focus on the direction of the pointing thumbs.

Standing at the top of the ten-meter board, looking across the sharp concrete edge, the water has never looked further away. 

Tempting, but terrifying.

Unperturbed we move Amy through additional adventures in the young city of New York.  We seek allies, and we vanquish enemies while trying desperately to save our friends.

Echoes from the chasing pack are growing louder, the Latimer siblings are moving to remove the embarrassing annoyance of the woman with red hair, and that woman is…  well you’ll have to read the book to find out just what she is doing.

But, it is a less complex intertwined story than Magic, a tale that sticks to the relative simplicity of the debut.

Album three continues like its predecessors as a no holds barred, unforgiving, harsh, and at times unbelievably cruel, venture into the dark underbelly of life. 

We have Pinkerton Agents, opiate smugglers and the whiff of requited love in the air for our heroine.   

As for the curtains, yeah they’re blue as an echo of the plight of the impoverished victims of global tyranny – shhsh it’s kinda obvious… 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well the first one is always the easiest, for debutants the critics are generally more sympathetic. Idiosyncratic structure accepted as ‘style’, unique phrasing lauded as refreshing, the darkness of the story enjoyed as something genuinely different, something challenging.

And then comes the sequel, the second album, the sophomore effort, the attempted follow on to the well-received debut.

You cannot simply regurgitate the first album, rephrase the same chords, you need to expand your sound, stretch your style – experiment a little.

Hmmmm

Reviews are kind, but the second album isn’t viewed in its own merit, it cannot be, it is the sibling to the successful and enjoyed older and established child. Some so loved the original that any variation is a betrayal, some uneasy with the continued violence, and some, a precious few, enjoying the continued ride.

It’s different… but Darks Side of the Moon, part two, it is not!

While Magic is a direct follow on to Thomas Payne, it is a development of the story, a growth of the character from events that have been. Thomas ends, it has a purpose which it delivers. Magic tidy’s up the deliberate lose ends, but then has to move on, has to travel both with Amy and the reader to somewhere new, to something else.

Magic; fairies; satanic ritual sacrifice; sadistic abuse and the loss of love – a romp through the flowers Magic is most definitely not, but then again neither was Thomas Payne.

I take the critique, accept the valued opinion which I purposely sought, and sit now elbows deep in Gotham, aware of what was loved, what was less enjoyed, and hopeful that this will deliver a blend that satisfies me, satisfies the story, and hopefully something that satisfies the reader.

We live in hope.

 

 

 

So, you write, you finish, you send for review and then you patiently wait for responses. 

But what do you do next? 

While the critiques are deliberating over your latest submission, what do you do?

Hmmm – I’ve opted to read, to research and to cogitate.

We have moved away from Amy and her plight, and stepped into being on the losing side during a civil war.

We’ve taken as our backdrop the Irish civil war, the chaos murder and vengeance that swirled around a country in the midst of painful change.

We are scribbling ideas around “The Big House”, and importantly we are enjoying it.

The changes that happened during this period of time in Ireland were profound, and arguably echo with us still. 

People moved from being highly respected members of society, some were honoured as heroes, yet in the near blink of an eye, they became pariahs subject to ostracization, boycott and murder.

Some used the overarching conflict between the two states to settle resentment that was a deep and dark as the bog and turf on which they stood, some fabricated grudges to pursue nothing more than spiteful resentment. 

And some just liked the chaos and the opportunity to be bad!

“The Big House” is a tale of a discovered past, of secrets that had been hidden for a long time, and the pain that their uncovering brings.

Oh, and the job, it’s still an open vacancy for the right candidate!

TellingTallTales.com are excited to offer the opportunity to appoint a suitably dynamic Literary Agent to represent a promising unpublished author. 

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And then it’s all over…

Just like that it ends.

No fanfare, no marching bands, not even a wee advert in the Times court announcements.

One moment you are knee deep in murder and mayhem, and then ‘poof’ you’re not!

All of sudden you’ve finished the latest instalment of Amy and her sufferings, the current narrative has run its course, a new chapter beckons.

Amy Grace Volume 2: Magic has been written.

300+ pages taking in revenge and retribution, the hollow yet compelling need for vengeance, and the mercy that is a second chance to right a previous callous (if understandable) wrong.

It all happens in this volume.

We have magic, we have mythical forest creatures seeking assistance to save themselves from the vicious fairies that are hunting them to extinction.

We have a mad man murdering women in a cave to summon a deity that refuses to answer.

We have his unbelievably cruel and sadistic sidekick, who hates women especially prostitutes…

We meet women trapped in prostitution, women (young girls) that Amy rescues.

We have a love that blossoms and we have its tragic loss.

We have evil folk, cruel and sadistic people who do as they want merely because they can – oh and because they enjoy it!

We have young Amy seeking to right innumerable wrongs, trying to take on a rich and powerful railway family of California and their two equally sadistic children.

Amy is doing all of this, and more, while trying to survive a ransom placed upon her head and the many mercenaries keen to collect it.

And running throughout the story we have magic, lightening that needs to be ridden and a lost love mourned.

Magic is a worthy successor to Thomas Payne, a rollercoaster ride taking Amy and Ariel across America and the length of California, new adventures taken, new friends made and old ones revisited.

When you read it, I hope you like it.

Bain sult as an turas!

What is the cross over moment, between people back-slapping enthusing your ambition, and then quietly, politely, disappointedly, lamenting your lack of success? 

Oh, your wring a book – awesome, follow your dreams dude, go for it!

Then…

Oh, not been published then – why, isn’t it any good???

Or the classic…

Let it go dude, it was a pipedream, you tired, you failed – FFS move on!!!

Ah, the joy that is scribbling tall tales from the depths of your imagination, and the struggle to have other people (paying people) read them!

It would be nice, really nice, for my enthusiasm to be rewarded, acknowledged even with a positive reply from an agent. But, until that fateful day we keep scribbling away, hitting the keyboard with the unrelenting enthusiasm of a steroid filled gym bunny – one more try, one more attempt…   

Amy Grace Volume 2: Magic is now close, very close to being finished. 

This tale discusses the futility of vengeance, the hollow nature that such an act brings, the morality of prostitution… 

This is a tale that takes you through an ancient wood, populated by a dying species, that seek the help from a passing warrior, the help that she gives, and the fairies that she kills.   

We dip our toes into murder mayhem and lost love, the empty desolate space that is a lost love… 

Oh, and through it all we delve into the realms of magic, the good stuff, and the very bad stuff. 

To paraphrase, volume 2 isn’t just your average ho-hum everyday fairy-tale – it is more, so very much more*.   

So, when its available, I hope you obtain a copy, and most of all I earnestly hope that you enjoy the ride!

 

*it helps if you’ve read volume #1 Thomas Payne.

Ah, the untold joy of the re-write! 

The endless task of correcting this, and clarifying ‘that’; a refuge taken when I should be writing a 500-word distilled synopsis of the 130,000-word tale of Amy Grace and Thomas Payne.  

I think I’m suffering from creative defensiveness.  

Every twist, every turn in the book, I wrote them because they add value depth and richness to the story, and trying to create a pithy synopsis, that sticks just to pertinent points, is harder than it sounds. 

What are the pertinent points?

What do you omit? 

Do you (as I fear) run the risk of summarising the plot in too simplistic a manner? 

Does the whole story just become “girl travels world to seek revenge”? 

Yeah, I know, first world problems and all that self-indulgent kinda thing. 

But, here I am happily taking ‘volume 2’ into San Francisco, yet painfully failing to create this one-page synopsis for ‘volume 1’. 

And why you ask do we need a synopsis?

Ah, that is because yet again we are touting our wares, pimping our creation, offering up for sale our labour, and trying very hard to meet the required criteria of a very crammed and competitive market place. 

It is the perennial struggle to convince busy people that my offering does indeed have (commercial) value, to provide what they want, what they need, in order to filter Amy from the chaff. 

She deserves the best opportunity for her tale to be told, and for such a justice to happen, I need to create this superb captivating synopsis that engages and captures the attention of the targeted agent. 

Bugger, I need an agent to talk to other agents on my behalf!

So, anyway, this red-haired young woman travels the world and kills some people…

Sisyphus, Greek fellow, the inspiration for my first foray into writing.  What created this scribbling frenzy was a programme on BBC Radio Four, where the panellists’ waxed lyrical about what they considered to be the best opening lines, and to be fair, what caught my ear wasn’t the books from which they were quoting (the usual suspects), which were by and large excellent books, but that the opening lines themselves, which in isolation, weren’t exactly all that inspiring.  And, therein a spark became a something, that in turn became my first attempt to write a story.

I started with an opening It wasn’t a cliché…

And then I kind of just meandered into a paragraph, and then a page, and well you can guess how the rest of it all develops.

The story itself evolved out of a reaction to the proliferation of ‘warrior porn’. You know, the memoirs of the pivotal killing machines, ALL snipers in Seal Team 6?!? These reluctant heroes, who despite their presence in theatre, neither Iraq, or indeed Afghanistan, were resounding successes for the coalition forces – with such killing machines on our side, who’d have guessed?

Oh, for the absolute avoidance of any possible doubt, I am NOT belittling any genuine heroic events – my total and unreserved respect goes out to those people who did heroic things.  My frustration, my objection is with the telling of the tales by those who somehow weren’t…

So, I thought to myself how about writing a self-confessed bit of honest fiction?  You know, a real and genuine tale of human failings, insecurity, and all that kind of stuff – and, so, I did, and my first sad story “Sisyphus’s Burden” was written.

I should have stopped there, I should have, but I didn’t, and from a Greek perpetually pushing a rock up a mountain in Afghanistan (Sisyphus’s Burden) we ended up with an angry vengeful woman flying around the world killing people (Amy Grace) – oh, and tales of unrequited love and yet more murder (The Big House) and loneliness and isolation (The Diary of a Nobody).

A happy puppy dog story, about finding a lost balloon, and drinking celebratory lemonade may follow – maybe, but until then, we’ll just keep plodding along with the above, and see how it all pans out.

You climb to the top, drag your body up the millions of vertigo inducing steps, to stand looking down at the tiny chlorine filled puddle of water – now what? 

You want to jump, you really do. 

Yet, fear of so many things keep you firmly away from the edge. 

You swing your arms back and forth, rocking from left foot to right, trying to create momentum to take you forward to the concrete edge, past it, and into the abyss of the known unknown.  

But, despite all the deep breathing, arm swinging, foot swapping, you are as far from the edge as you’ve ever been. 

Friends, confidants, little sayings on calendars, they all tell you to do it, that you’ll be okay – that you should jump.

Ignoring your passion is slow suicide!

Burying your talents in a field for fear of failure – you can recall a parable about that, you are sure you can…

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You ask for signs, look for totems of assurances from the gods, from karma, the cosmos; then you seek second opinions, validation of the first sign, and the second – maybe you should just make sure, to be sure, after all what if you are wrong, what if you fail?!?! 

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You know it’s not the critic that counts, that it is all about the doer of the deeds, you love that Roosevelt ‘Man in the Arena’ quote, yet…

If you never jump…  well you know how that plays out. 

Swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

You are currently living the foot hopping life – you’ve always been living the left right foot hop. 

So, why do you want to jump, what is it you are looking for, what are you trying to achieve?

It can’t be fame or fortune, they are transient whims so easily lost, if you are to gamble what is it you are trying to win? 

And, despite your lifelong love of words you cannot dig from your lexicon words to articulate the hunger, the need, the primal desire to jump. 

Yet fear is easy to describe; swinging arms, hopping feet, deep breathing…

And then…

You fall forward, legs almost buckling under your weight, the concrete disappears, and the air rushes past your body as you plummet downwards.

But, you are not falling, you are flying.  Flying down towards your fear, towards your dream.

Chlorine smells strong, the water warm, the splash painful, the joy exhilarating, the euphoria of jumping intoxicating.

You are climbing before the water has fallen from your body, jumping again and again, the thrill never diminishing, never changing from one jump to the next.

You don’t need validation, witnesses, scores held on cards above heads – your glory is personal, maybe shared with friends, but held next to a pumping heart, not a cold and timid soul who knows neither victory or defeat!