If they asked me I could write a book.

[Soldier_Of_The_White_Army]

I'm currently writing two - a fantasy novel called 'Shadow Board' and my autobiography (trust me, me life has been far from boring!)

The Mist of Clarity (the sequel the 'The Wanderer') is currently in mid publication and should be out in three months.

I'd encourage anyone to write a story of their choosing, as there really isn't any feeling like writing the final sentence to a novel.

He's the prologue to 'Shadow Board' just for interests sake (please forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes as it's still in the rough):


Shadow board
The game of the gods



Mark cox




Prologue

It would be with a degree of ignorance to think that our universe is both the beginning and end of all things. The truth of the matter is that there is only one universe. Though the endless span of planets, solar systems and galaxies is thought to be all and everything, it is in fact one of four.
Not four universes, but one universe, broken into four dimensions. Same planets yet containing very different atmospheres and natural compositions, and are home to endless hordes of life forms.
These dimensions, though it may seam the case, are not entirely left to their own devices. That is the job for ‘The Attentive’.
The Attentive are the caretakers of the universe; ever watchful, and always present. They are supreme beings, immortal and omnipotent. They see all; every action, decision, birth and death of every life form in existstance. Above all, they stop any chance of the dimensions ever merging. They are the balance of all things.
Yet there have been a few occasions since time began, when creatures break through their dimensional plane onto ours.
When a person reads about mythical creatures, such as the infamous ‘Bigfoot’, ‘the Loch Ness Monster’, and even the most mythical creature of all, ‘The Dragon’, they aren’t necessarily always a depiction of someone’s imagination.
Our planets four dimensions are each ruled by four of the Attentive:
Sera – who watches over planet Earth’s second dimension, a dimension dominated by creatures of the sea, due to what we may refer to as ‘evolution in reverse’
It has always been believed that we evolved from the sea into land animals, yet, millions of years ago in the second dimension, the land creatures, slowly took to the water.
While there were creatures that still remained as land dwellers, it was the seas that were dominant with life. From the ‘pitters’ tidy squid like fish, as small as plankton, to the kings of the oceans, the mighty ‘Mallorious’, huge whale like creatures, twice the size of our Blue whale. Though unlike the whale, the Mallorious is carnivorous; a near perfect ambush hunter that attacks from beneath, much like our Great White shark.
Demator – who watches over Earth’s third dimension, a dimension were the dinosaurs still rule the earth. Housing creatures from the ‘Dodo’ to the grand Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Vanery – the watcher of Earth fourth dimension, the dimension of the mythical; the creatures of legend. The likes of The Minotaur, Titan and the Dragon roam this world.
Korious watches our dimension, and thanks to mans insistence on self destruction of their planet, he had be judged and found guilty. One representative from human kind would now have to fight for mans right to exist against chosen creatures from the other dimentions.
The Shadow board was about to be played.

Great premise!

You may want to check the timelines for dinosaurs and Dodos, though.

The dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago, whereas Dodos wer around up until a century ago and therefore not dinosaurs.

I suppose you could say that, as it's an alternate world, the Dodo could have slipped through to ours and got trapped, though. Except it isn't a reptile.

I'm already confused

Demator – who watches over Earth’s third dimension, a dimension were the dinosaurs still rule the earth. Housing creatures from the ‘Dodo’ to the grand Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Ahhh but I simply said that dinosaurs 'ruled the earth' but continued to say that it housed 'creatures' like the 'Dodo'

[Montreal Wanderer]

I've written four books - all non-fiction and dull as ditch water - plus a fascinating novelette for TW lost somewhere low, low down in the forums. I'm the opposite of Raven - I can write well but lack imagination.

[Montreal Wanderer]

Second was a fantasy about the barriers of magic between our worlds and others breaking down, again had all the ideas but got stuck and lost enthusiasm

It was a bit unfortunate - mentioning it to Philip Pullman.

[KeeeeeeeBaaaaaaab]

Driver can keep giving the passengers glib remarks about the situation until he realises that the situation is actually quite bad, which is when he lashes out at everyone in an amazingly aggressive manner then goes on strike.

Not really pertinent to the story, but is very realistic.

Late evening train is perfect - get the complete diaspora of people, from late working businessmen to people out to the theatre to pissed up people who have had a long liquid lunch to tourists to students to hoodies. Late night train doesn't realistically give you this range. Divide them up into groups, but not too obvious that you've thought about which groups would mix well, and not too obvious tat you've put the obvious opposites in. Wouldn't want, say, the theatre goers and hoodies together, because that's just too obvious.

As for the guy in the backpack idea, he wouldn't last ten minutes.....

Actually, if you want to carry on this conversation in a less public, more secure intellectuall property wise environment, PM....

Aye, was being tongue in cheek with backpack guy...also, a bit obvious to put him on it.

I agree with the idea about late evening...it'd be interesting to think whether people would initially mix. For instance, if someone was in a carriage on their own would they even make an effort to explore the others...I mean, most of the time we're on the tube we are suspicious of who is around us. IDK. That could be boring.

I might actually start to write this over the summer to be honest. It'd be good to get a plan down and start writing.

I'd be happy to PM you, but to be honest I'd be unsure what we'd be doing...bouncing ideas around?

Yeah, if you wanna bounce an idea or two off me, feel free.

[FD]

I've had an interesting life in a short amount of time, watched 2 close family members die very slowly and painfully of cancer, conducted (not sure if that's the correct term) my fathers funeral myself, delivered my second child myself as the midwife was late...I'd probably write about those things I expect.

[William the White]

I've had an interesting life in a short amount of time, watched 2 close family members die very slowly and painfully of cancer, conducted (not sure if that's the correct term) my fathers funeral myself, delivered my second child myself as the midwife was late...I'd probably write about those things I expect.

Start now, FD... Keep a journal... Every writer I know has a notebook as his/her best friend... And in any case those events you describe have a profound meaning for you, and it's, at the very least, a kind of therapy to work it through...

[Dave Sutton's barnet]

I'm the opposite of Raven - I can write well but lack imagination.

I'm half like that myself. I'm working on the writing.

It would be a non-fiction book. Perhaps music criticism/theory, something like (but inevitably in the shadow of) Ian MacDonald's Revolution in the Head.

And yet strangely the songs I (co-)write are very rarely based in truth. Especially the one on the new album about the gumshoe and the red-light girl...

[TANGODANCER]

Just some observations from personal experience and a lifetime of reading that might help anybody contemplating a first attempt:

Fiction is really an excercise of the author using what he knows, what he is - or would like to be - and an excuse to parade personal likes and dislikes in story form: His/her tastes in food, drink, music..and yes, women/ men, all appear from the brain-cells, embellished, magnifed, glamourised or inadvertantly plaguerised from either public knowlege or the depths of the memory. Little or nothing is totally new or hasn't been done before. The search goes on remorselessly for something different in the way of plots, but everything links somewhere to the thirty-nine recognised scenarios in literary fiction and only the author's personal slant on things makes the real difference.

Fantasy is the one subject that gives free rein to the imagination because no one believes the story true so criticism of the content is much less fierce and based on opinion rather than a challenge to authenticity.

If you're going to refer to an historical period, or characters, much research is needed (much easier now than in days of yore due to the intrnet's vast resources of knowlege). Get it right or indicate an opinion or some doubt or you'll get slaughtered by critics. The same applies to geographical locations. If you use quotes you must nod in the direction of the originator or, at times, get permission from the copyright owners.

Writing needs imagination, patience and a decent knowlege of basic grammar (either that or a friendly grammatist who'll help you). I think SOTWA will readily agree on that point, and you need someone knowlegable to read your attempts and criticise honestly. Be prepared to to listen to, and accept what they say as valid comment.

Last but not least; read what a publisher wants to see in the way of writing format, spacings on the page, margins, spaces left between lines and the correct use of paragraphs etc. Without these you won't even get a reading. I'm sure Monty will back up these points and you need to be prepared to do much alteration, re-typing and, at times, re-writing chunks of it.

If you do get it into print (even via self publishing as I did) the feeling of satisfaction in seeing your book with your own name on the front is like no other. It's worth all the hard work.Don't be put off by any of this, go ahead and do it.

There you go; get writing.

[FD]

I've had an interesting life in a short amount of time, watched 2 close family members die very slowly and painfully of cancer, conducted (not sure if that's the correct term) my fathers funeral myself, delivered my second child myself as the midwife was late...I'd probably write about those things I expect.

Start now, FD... Keep a journal... Every writer I know has a notebook as his/her best friend... And in any case those events you describe have a profound meaning for you, and it's, at the very least, a kind of therapy to work it through...

My journal is in my head to be honest, I'll never forget those events, they kinda stay with you forever. I don't know that I could fashion them into a set of pages other people might want to read anyway.

[Bruce Rioja]

tunnel collapses. Train and people trapped. First ten days spent looking at the guy with the backpack who might want to blow you up too. Kick em while they're down, eh?

Or, or, or you could go down a Roald Dahl-ish route. None of the people trapped think anything of the young Asian lad sat quietly with his rucky until one passenger thinks, without basis, that his bag might be full of explosives. Rumour spreads throughout those trapped and by the time it's gone through sufficient heads the passengers are in no doubt that he's a suicide bomber. One of the passengers susses that they could possibly use the explosives to blast through into an adjoining tunnel and escape, but they're all too scared to approach him. Then, the young man produces and starts to read from his copy of The Koran. A Daily Mail reader type, trapped in the carriage, panics and start screaming at the other passengers that they're about to die. With this, a bunch of passengers set about the young chappie killing him dead. Then, when they come to open his ruckie they find inside nothing more than a cheese sandwich and a can of Rubicon Mango & Passion Fruit pop!

[TANGODANCER]

tunnel collapses. Train and people trapped. First ten days spent looking at the guy with the backpack who might want to blow you up too. Kick em while they're down, eh?

Or, or, or you could go down a Roald Dahl-ish route. None of the people trapped think anything of the young Asian lad sat quietly with his rucky until one passenger thinks, without basis, that his bag might be full of explosives. Rumour spreads throughout those trapped and by the time it's gone through sufficient heads the passengers are in no doubt that he's a suicide bomber. One of the passengers susses that they could possibly use the explosives to blast through into an adjoining tunnel and escape, but they're all too scared to approach him. Then, the young man produces and starts to read from his copy of The Koran. A Daily Mail reader type, trapped in the carriage, panics and start screaming at the other passengers that they're about to die. With this, a bunch of passengers set about the young chappie killing him dead. Then, when they come to open his ruckie they find inside nothing more than a cheese sandwich and a can of Rubicon Mango & Passion Fruit pop!

That would probably make a very good story indeed.

[ratbert]

I have dozens of ideas in my head and have been writing professionally in some capacity for 15 years but have never had enough confidence in my ability to write a novel, mainly due to concerns about getting in knots over structure and plotting.

Any advice from Mr Tango and Mr Soldier appreciated.

[Dave Sutton's barnet]

tunnel collapses. Train and people trapped. First ten days spent looking at the guy with the backpack who might want to blow you up too. Kick em while they're down, eh?

Or, or, or you could go down a Roald Dahl-ish route. None of the people trapped think anything of the young Asian lad sat quietly with his rucky until one passenger thinks, without basis, that his bag might be full of explosives. Rumour spreads throughout those trapped and by the time it's gone through sufficient heads the passengers are in no doubt that he's a suicide bomber. One of the passengers susses that they could possibly use the explosives to blast through into an adjoining tunnel and escape, but they're all too scared to approach him. Then, the young man produces and starts to read from his copy of The Koran. A Daily Mail reader type, trapped in the carriage, panics and start screaming at the other passengers that they're about to die. With this, a bunch of passengers set about the young chappie killing him dead. Then, when they come to open his ruckie they find inside nothing more than a cheese sandwich and a can of Rubicon Mango & Passion Fruit pop!

Might be a good twist if he's a rubble-clearance expert or similar, but then you'd have to work out why he hadn't already acted.

[blurred]

Don't think I could ever write fiction, it would have to be largely factual. Not that I'm up for doing my autobiography or anything, but any novel would have to be based around real events or semi-autobiographical or something.

Hopefully I'll tune up my writing skills in my new job and get into it a bit more. Would be interesting to write a book, I have to say.

[Dave Sutton's barnet]

I have quite a few friends in football journalism who've written books. Almost to a man they describe it as a complete pain in the arse with unwilling contributors/interviewees, penny-pinching editors and low reimbursement.

So I haven't bothered

[Raven]

Second was a fantasy about the barriers of magic between our worlds and others breaking down, again had all the ideas but got stuck and lost enthusiasm

It was a bit unfortunate - mentioning it to Philip Pullman.

LOL not like that, it was basically the other world(s) had got sick of what we were doing to this one and decided to take it back.

[Raven]

This was my first start....not all of it mind....and yes it was very rough (see it was so long ago Cov's new football ground was not even being built)

Billy the Flier

Billy was a typically happy cheeky little boy, short of trouser, big of scabs on knees, worms in his pocket and smudged mud on his cheeks. But beneath these normal trappings hid a deep longing. For some years now Billy had wanted to fly, perform twists and 'loop de loops' around the spires of Coventry's cathedrals. He had bought lots of balloons from that chap in the market but even 20 Scooby Doo balloons were not enough to take him cloudwards. He had even tried one of those big fancy kites but there never seemed enough wind to allow him to soar with the birds and now that all the playing fields had been built on, there wasn't anywhere to get a decent run at it. Except perhaps for the place they claimed Coventry City's new football ground was going to be built on, but that was too uneven and there maybe were security guards with big mean dogs lurking.

One boring hot summer day Billy took it upon himself to go kicking over the bins in the park (albeit a small park, the rest now being flats and suchlike). Anyway the park keeper soon took a disliking to the bin kicker and decided to give chase (the park keeper still thinking this was the good old days and cheeky small boys always needed a clip around the ear). Whilst on the run Billy nabbed an apple off a market stall, the stallholder took a disliking to this and joined in the chase. After upsetting a vegetable cart, some buckets full of flowers and showering some innocent bystanders (come on you have to have innocent bystanders) and then having the cartiers (or whatever it is you call these people) and the bystanders join in the chase, Billy decided to seek refuge. It was not long before the gang of chasers were joined by three small dogs, (no one knows why your small dog always joins in on a chase or why there is usually more than one, it must be something in their genes). Billy rounded the corner and spotted a dark foreboding doorway. Feeling he had no other choice he nipped in.

The room he entered was quiet…too quiet, he looked round and saw his pursuers carry on past the door. Billy decided to hide low for a bit, maybe wash off the mud smudges to disguise himself. He looked around the room and was surprised to see row upon row of bookcases full of books. That was all there was, and as there did not appear to be anyone about Billy started to walk silently around. He inspected some of the shelves, most of the books and shelving were covered in dust, it was as if no one else had been here for years. A clearing of the throat made Billy jump out of his skin (metaphorically, not actually, that would finish the story far too early).

Standing behind a desk was an elderly gentleman, wrinkled of face, white and wispy of hair (if anyone has ever had Weetos this chap looked a bit like the professor on the box). He also had those strange little half glasses delicately balanced on the end of his nose (I wonder if they only pay half for these?)

"Young man, I believe the book you are after is in the far left corner, under the Aviation section".

Billy looked quizzically at the man, "What……?."

He was hushed with a wave of the old fella's hand "Far left, far left… come on hurry up, I'm waiting to close and lock up"

Billy looked around confused "But….?." He questioned.

"NOW or get out, I am a very busy man"…. Intoned the harassed old chap

Billy trudged off muttering something about old folk lacking manners these days. When he reached the left hand corner (thankfully it was not a round room) he noticed one book was protruding over the edge of the shelf, a bigger fatter book than the others. Billy reached for it and could swear (which little boy can't) it jumped into his hand.

The book was called "Self Flight Made Easy - A plethora of ideas for soaring with the birds", by Ike Carus. Billy was astounded, there were diagrams of wings, feathered, leathered and suchlike, ingredients for sun repellent wax, pictures of gliders and balloons. Just the chap thought Billy, we'll be away with this and up in the sky with the eagles, (no one had had the decency to tell him that you didn't find eagles in Coventry…well not over the city anyway. Then again I have never looked, the bloody sky could be teaming with them plus if you have ever used Coventry's ring road your eyes would be on the road and not in the sky….but I digress).

Billy walked over to the man at the desk

"This book….?" Asked Billy

The man looked up (he was sitting down now)

"Yes, Yes you want to book it out. Here's the card, you have to return it in one week or else".

"Or else what?" replied Billy.

The librarian (for that is what the old fella was" looked up (again),

"You get fined you fool, everyone knows that. If you bring a library book back late you get fined, good grief, what do they teach the young today!"

Billy shook his head "Well I knew that, but I wondered if there was anything worse? You…well you seemed to indicate……never mind".

Billy walked toward the door. But before he left he turned and asked, "why am I the only one here, why is there dust everywhere?"……

But the librarian was nowhere to be seen, where on earth had he gone? Perhaps one of the bookcases was really a door, who could tell. Billy shrugged his shoulders, peered outside (to check that his pursuers were not waiting with pitchforks and burning torches (they still do that in Coventry……… Ok that's a lie). It appeared all clear so Billy once again braved the sunlight…

"There he is, the little swine!" Billy looked up urgently. A flower seller who was picking up knocked over buckets had espied him.

"Oh @!#$" said Billy (see told you small boys liked swearing) and did what any normal person would do i.e. "legged it" into the distance.

[Dave Sutton's barnet]

Having scooped Stephen King's On Writing from a charity shop for a quid, I would very strongly recommend it to anyone who wishes to pick up a pen or tap at a keyboard.

I'm no King completist; I think his novels often have weak cop-out endings, and after a while he drifted into the common novelist's schtick of writing about writers and writing (forgivable once, unforgivable thrice and over). However, I've no doubt of the man's talent with a story. And the book - interestingly, the first after his near-death accident when run over by a car - is a fascinating read, starting with a loose (and quick) 'autobiography' of his writing career - alcoholism, drug addiction and all - before moving on to some extremely sound, solid advice aimed squarely at writers of all abilities. Read it.

And obey George Orwell's rules of writing.