Second, to those of you who have stuck with me – checking periodically in hopes that I might’ve returned from the ether to drop some hints about the progress of Through Bended Grass – let me just say that I have little excuse other than laziness, maybe. Actually, maybe that’s not entirely true, and I’ll explain why.

Last October I hopped on a plane, with nothing but my backpack and my girlfriend, and hit the roads (or rather, traintracks) of Eastern and Central Europe for a few months. The journey was fantastic and opened my eyes up to so many things that I had little appreciation for in the past. I’ve spent some time in Western Europe before and had little idea what I would find when in the other, underappreciated side of the continent. All I can say is that I was utterly blown away by the generosity and beautry of the people, the timeless, tragic history of the land and the utter decadance of the food (and beer!).

The countries I visited were:

• Holland
• Czech Republic
• Slovakia
• Poland
• Hungary
• Croatia
• Slovenia
• Austria
• Italy
• France

Most importantly, however, were the plans that were to come after my travels, which included a several month hiatus in Ireland. For obvious reasons (my novel taking place in Ireland, for instance) this would be a big influence on bringing Through Bended Grass into the light. I’d spent a fair bit of time in Ireland a few years ago, but I was eager to get back and drop myself into some of the places that Rowan explores over the course of the novel.

Well, it didn’t turn out all as planned. The economy started collapsing almost as soon as I got to Europe and by the time I got to Ireland, getting a job and living there for a few months seemed like a tough task indeed. Plus I didn’t want to miss Christmas with the family! So, instead of a few months, we spent a few nights there and then headed back home, just in time for the holidays.

Being back in Ireland, and Dublin in particular, was a great way to re-immerse myself in the story and get another perspective of what the Irish way of life is like. Maybe it’s because I’m older, maybe it’s because I was in a different part of town, but I saw a harder edge to Dublin that I missed the first time I was there – drunk bums, drugs, dirty streets, stag parties – and I think that experience will enhance my story in a big way. Don’t get me wrong, all the wonderful things that first made me fall in love with Ireland were still there, but I was able to catch a glimpse at some of the seedier elements of city living that will help draw life into my version of Ireland in Through Bended Grass.

Enough about the travels, though, you probably want to know how the novel is coming along, eh? It’s coming along great and very slowly, all at once.

While overseas I had a lot of downtime, and that gave me a terrific opportunity to contemplate the story and how the final third (the unwritten portion) should unfold. To say that I had several epiphanies while there would be an understatement. Slowly, over the course of those two or so months, the entire story unfolded itself before me and by the time I was leaving Ireland I knew exactly how it should end.

Since returning I’ve outlined the story fully and now the real work begins in getting those final chapters down on paper so I can have a complete story to edit and, eventually, submit to publishers and agents. It’s crazy to think the finish line is finally in sight. Just the other day I sat down and began work on Chapter 19, and by golly did it feel bloody good to be back with Rowan after so many months of not being able to write.

The final break down is:

Prologue + 28 Chapters + 3 Interludes + Epilogue = Through Bended Grass

Of course, this could always change, but I feel very confident that I have the story laid out properly and the fun stuff is all about to begin. I can’t wait to share it all with you.

Oh, and I promise I’ll be back to updating Mightier than the Sword more frequently now that the dam has burst!

 Chapter 16 is done. I’ll write about it when I get a chance….

With so much information needing to be crammed into this chapter, it was a challenge for me to avoid long, heavy blocks of exposition and info-dumps (the bane of any Fantasy novel, it seems). The most obvious and effective way to relay information like this is dialogue and I took that concept and ran with it. In fact, the majority of this chapter simply consists of Rowan, Fitheal and another character sitting huddled in a room, deep in the bowels of a Cathedral, shooting the shit.

Of course, there’s a lot more to the chapter than that. Rowan’s now fully immersed in the Faerie world and her life is looking anything but stable. She’s also told, in no uncertain terms, that if she value’s her life she’ll drop the search for her son. But, as any self-respecting, spunky heroine would attest to, those just aren’t very compelling terms. Rowan doesn’t exactly put her Fey host in his place, but I was surprised by how well she was able to hold her own in the argument.

I expect that when I sit down to edit (a process I’ve started, actually) that this chapter will require quite a bit of revision. There’s a definite balancing act between revealing enough to hook the reader into the main story and not giving too much away, and that’s going to require a very close look when I go back to reread the chapter in the future. I’m confident that I’ve got a good solid skeleton for the chapter, all the pieces are there, I’ll just have to spend some time moving things around, add in some fat and try to get it looking more like a living, breathing thing than a stumbling zombie.

Through Bended Grass is split up into three parts – First, Second and Third Act, you know the deal – and Chapter Eight marks the end of the first part. The story’s been set up, the ball’s rolling and things start getting messy. From this point onward the Fey world, and it’s relationship to our own, opens wide and Rowan doesn’t look back as she’s shoved in head first. Her story flits back and forth between the Feylands and our world and each has its own sights to see for the reader.

On another note, the excerpt that I’ve constantly promised is done. It’s all edited, but still I dilly-dally about putting it up here for everyone to see. I suppose part of it is fear that I’ll get torn apart, but I need to be confident in the story I’m telling.

I’ve also put aside editing the first 8 chapters in lieu of getting on to Chapter Nine. The desire to tell the story is burning much too brightly for me to put it aside for editing. On top of this, my brother is currently travelling through Ireland and just visited a major Irish monument that plays an important role in Chapter Nine, so that has me all kinds of motivated!

Last night I opened up my RSS reader, ready to catch up on all the news for the day… and proceeded to fall out of my chair. You see, I stumbled, completely out of the blue, on the first review of one of my stories!

Aaron, the muse over at The Soulless Machine Review, a web site dedicated to reviewing the lost art of short fiction, stumbled across one of the pieces of short fiction, Ferry Traffic, I have posted as a free download on my main web site and seemed to have liked what he found!

I have to admit that I’m rather humbled at the thought that he enjoyed the piece enough to feel the urge to let others know about it. It gives me that little kick in the ass of confidence that’s so important to aspiring writers.

So, I just wanted to give a big shout out and a public thanks to Aaron (check out his blog!) for helping this aspiring writer out. God knows I need it!

For those interested, you can find Aaron’s review HERE and the free downloadable copy of Ferry Traffic HERE.

As such, I should probably spell out, at least a little bit, who I believe myself to be.

An important aspect in who I’ve become and where I yet have to go, perhaps the most important aspect, is that I grew up on a small, quiet island on the west coast of Canada and, as such, led a very free childhood, safe from many of the dangers of living in a city.

This freedom was integral in letting my imagination grow and flourish as a young child. I spent countless afternoons lost in the wild ravages of the forest that borders my backyard (much smaller now than I remember it, and occupied by several houses) – slaying monsters, being a cop… being a robber, piloting a spaceship (and let me tell you, it takes one heck on an imagination to turn a living forest into the cockpit of an interstellar cruiser!) and anything else that popped up in the novels I was reading.

And there it is, reading, the driving force behind much of my childhood. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a book in my hand. Usually fiction, sometimes not. Through the early years of my schooling I would often get in trouble for, get this… reading above my age level. I had one teacher in particular who contacted my parents with concerns that I wasn’t developing properly because I was reading “chapter books” instead of picture books like the rest of my classmates.

I’m still trying to figure out how this is a bad thing, but apparently it was. It didn’t stop me from reading, though.

Tom Swift. Jurassic Park. Congo. The Hardy Brothers. Encyclopedia Brown. Goosebumps.

Whatever I could get my hands on, I would read. Hell, in Grade 4, during class discussion on whatever novel we were supposed to be reading, I’d have one eye on Jurassic Park and the other on the class. My teachers didn’t like it, but I suppose there are worse sins in school than reading too much.

You’ll notice that the list of novels up there might seem a little odd for an aspiring fantasy novelist. There’s no fantasy. In fact, as a little kid I had a irrational dislike for the fantasy genre. I had made up my little mind that Fantasy was prissy. Nothing but Unicorns, princesses and Faeries. Not nearly as interesting as laser guns, dinosaurs and murders.

I was happily ignorant until about the age of 11 when I finally discovered The Hobbit and realized how much I was missing. I dove into Tolkien’s world and haven’t looked back since. I still feel like I haven’t explored even a smidgen of what the Fantasy (and really the speculative fiction genre as a whole) has to offer. But I’m damn determined to remedy that.

High School came and went and I could generally be found with my nose buried in a novel (in and out of class), but somehow still managed to avoid being typecast as a nerd. Writing had always been important to me throughout elementary school – I still remember writing my first story, it was about a caterpillar. Another one that sticks out in my mind is the story of a hedgehog who lived on Mt. Olympus… ahh, the mind and imagination child never fails to impress! – but it was in high school, and one teacher in particular, that really helped me discover that writing was what I wanted to do with my life.

Unlike many teachers in the school system, Mrs. Miller wanted me to succeed. She pushed me and encouraged me and helped me believe I really could be a writer. I learned a couple of years later that she often mentions me to her new classes, saying I was one of the best writers she’s ever taught.

Haughty words, and I’m not sure whether I believe them or not, but it shows that she believed in me and that, in my mind, is the most important thing in the world.

Belief in yourself as a writer and belief in the story your writing are, to my mind, the only essential tools a writer needs. The words will come, you just have to be confident enough to listen for them.

This lust for writing has continued to grow and that is where you find me now, writing and conceptualizing, meeting characters and dreaming, scratching out any piece of spare time in which to write. Is it time well spent? I dunno and probably won’t know until I’m a feeble old man, sitting at a desk, pen in hand, scribbling a story for the enjoyment of myself and, hopefully, a cadre of others.

All good questions and I’ll do my best to answer them.

A Dribble of Ink, my other blog, is something I’m extremely passionate about, something I’m very proud of. The problem, however, and the reason that this blog now exists, is that I decided early on in the life of A Dribble of Ink that I was going keep most of my personal life out of it. My readers, for the most part, are there to learn about the Fantasy and Science Fiction fields, not my own piddling writing career.

But, I like to write and I like to talk about my writing. That’s where Mightier than the Sword comes into play. Spurred on by my good friend, Shawn Speakman, I decided it was time to find an outlet for my musings on the craft of writing and a place where I could show those who care a little piece of my world. Mightier than the Sword will be a more personal blog than A Dribble of Ink and I hope you’ll enjoy learning more about me, the way I approach writing, and the stories that find themselves stuck in my head.

Most of all, though, Mightier than the Sword, is a place where I can think out loud; a place to let me throw ideas around and force myself to look at them in a coherent and sensible manner. I’ve alway found that discussing aspects of my writing, even just outloud to myself, is the best way to find the flaws and solve the problems I might be having.

Hopefully you’ll enjoy the ride with me and who knows, maybe, just maybe, I’ll actually finish this novel I’m writing…. But more on that later.