Giving Up Control [Journee Entry 1]

So, here’s a thing I suspected about myself but didn’t know for sure until today. I am a complete control freak when it comes to holidays and booking them. In the 20+ years my husband and I have been together, he’s always been quite happy to leave the booking of holidays and associated shenanigans to me. Because I like it, I really do. I like picking flights, picking hotels, sorting car hire. I like checking and re-checking. I like printing off my itinerary and putting it in my borderline obsessive plastic wallet. I like fretting that I’ve forgotten something and then I enjoy the satisfaction of everything going 100% according to plan.

Well, today I’ve thrown caution to the winds. Today, I gave in to Himself’s encouragement and I booked a Journee trip.

tl;dr, I’ve given the reins to complete strangers. They’ve selected a destination for us based on a questionnaire we completed (no obligation – it’s worth doing just for the curiosity factor!). They will sort the flights, the accommodation and three specific excursions in the four day/three night stay. All they’ve given us at this stage is an early description and they’ll send more clues as we approach departure. (I think I’ve worked it out from the initial proposal, but that’s OK, because even if I’m right, I have never been to that place and it looks dead cool). They send you a pack right before you leave with a ‘reveal postcard’ that they encourage you to open only once you’re at the airport.

‘That sounds exciting,’ said Himself.

I didn’t reply. I was struggling with the idea of stepping one big toe out of my comfort zone. But in the end, the concept of the adventure of it all won through and we committed. So I figured I’d put some bits and pieces about it all in here – but not too much, because I’m acutely aware that other people may choose to book such a thing and I wouldn’t want to create inadvertent spoilers. I won’t share the clues they send or anything like that for the same reason. What I will do is report back as to how the entire process goes and feels.

First impression is a good one. I had a couple of questions both before and after booking and the team got back to me swiftly, with courtesy and good humour. I suspect they’ve already got me pegged as Mrs. Anxious from County Durham, but they’re super kind about it. I am a great believer in talking about good customer service when I get it and so far, these guys are outstandingly good.

I have a ‘Journee Passport’ on my phone home screen now: lots of it is locked, but things they will open up to us as we get closer include:

• Weather forecast
• Packing list
• Curated lists of suggested places to visit and good restaurants

It’s exciting and terrifying in equal measure – giving up control like this is alien to my mindset, but for the sake of Adventure[tm], I’m willing to give it a go. I also figured that it was a good reason to get back to posting on the blog, so there’s that, too.

Wish me luck, people, I’m going in.

Wastelanders: Star-Lord [Excerpt 3]

* * *

Kraven approached Warn slowly and deliberately, relishing the moment. He was ready to claim his victory. Every muscle in his body tensed.

There was a spluttering noise.

“The Second Dawn is…”

PuttputtputtPOPputtputt… and punctuating the sound came a long, loud shriek.

“What is this?” Best sat forward in his chair and stared at the drone footage as a speck appeared on the edges. The sound of failing engines and faint screaming became gradually louder. “I… I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking at here, folks, but it looks as though someone is flying towards our combatants…”

One of the boots gave out.

“…very badly. I don’t know what to tell you, folks. But this gatecrasher is out of control! He’s… yes! He’s collided with one of the canyon walls! Ouch, folks, that had to have hurt, but whoever that is refuses to quit. He’s hit the opposite canyon wall…”

A loud thump could be heard across the transmission and then a shot rang out.

“He’s armed! This interloper is armed with a gun and… yes! He’s firing on Kraven! A fellow insurrectionist, perhaps. One of Warn’s supporters. He’s powered by what appears to be rocket boots. Or boot, I should say since only one of them is working.”

For a few moments, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the newcomer crashing into canyon walls and swearing as he entirely failed to make an impressive entrance. He careened into the canyon floor, bounced back up and then off the wall again.

* * *

Excerpt from ‘Wastelanders: Star-Lord, reproduced here with kind permission of Aconyte Books and Marvel Entertainment.

US paperback/Kindle editions available now from this link.

UK paperback available September 2023

Wastelanders: Star-Lord [Excerpt 2]

* * *

When Rocket spoke, there was something achingly sad in his tone. “So that’s it? The world’s just… doomed?”

“That’s it. Sometimes, things have exactly the right name, y’know? Like… oranges. Or sloths. On that basis, Doom is perfect, wouldn’t you say? We’re all doomed. Or Doomed.” He somehow successfully pronounced the capital D. Rocket didn’t know how. Neither did he much care.

“Yeah,” he said, disconsolately. “I guess.”

“Doom is a feeling,” said Red, now clearly into his stride. “And Doom is a man and Doom – depending on whose opinion you get – is our president, or our dictator. He’s sometimes even a god, or occasionally our devil…” Red was interrupted by Quill’s snoring, a sound akin to a walrus being attacked with a buzzsaw. Rocket turned and delivered another swift kick to the man’s ribs. The walrus won a brief reprieve.

“How does someone like Doctor Doom end up running the country anyway?”

“Not the country. There is no country, least as far as I know. Doom runs the Wastelands. That’s what everyone now calls what used to be the Midwest and the Great Plains.”

“OK, so what’s on either side of the Wastelands?”

“Different places,” said Red, grimly. “With different troubles.”

* * *

Excerpt from ‘Wastelanders: Star-Lord, reproduced here with kind permission of Aconyte Books and Marvel Entertainment.

US paperback/Kindle editions available now from this link.

UK paperback available September 2023

Wastelanders: Star-Lord [Excerpt 1]

* * *

Rocket’s claws clattered on the console, his dark eyes fixed firmly on what he was doing, and he pushed a slider upwards. The background whine went from low to high and then a steady thrummmmm filled the room. Lights flickered on, revealing the ship for the mess that it had become beneath the onslaught of the Brood. “Oh yeah,” said Rocket. “Bow down before me, because I am a god among…”

“Raccoons?” the recorder interjected. The look Rocket shot her could have melted her circuits.

“No! I keep telling you all! I ain’t a…”

There was a sudden change in the background sound, an audiological stutter and then the pause of a heartbeat. Rocket’s look of triumph become one of panic. “Oh, no.”

“‘Oh no’ is never good,” said Quill, abandoning his position by the recorder and moving to the console. “Why are you saying ‘oh no’, Rocket? What did you do?”

“I didn’t…” There was a cessation of noise outside the door as the Brood simultaneously picked up on the same thing that everyone else did. The background noise ramped upwards to a pitch so high that it could possibly have attracted dogs from galaxies hitherto undiscovered. Rocket, who could pick up the ultra-high frequency of the sound, clamped his paws over his ears and said something in a language Quill did not know.

Then all the lights went out.

* * *

Excerpt from ‘Wastelanders: Star-Lord, reproduced here with kind permission of Aconyte Books and Marvel Entertainment.

US paperback/Kindle editions available now from this link.

UK paperback available September 2023

Holiday Time!

Over the weekend, I was talking to my friend about childhood holidays and it brought back a million memories. Throughout my childhood until I was about 13 or so, we always went to a Pontin’s holiday camp. We generally went to one of three places: North Wales, Somerset or just up the road in Sussex. I have vivid and strong memories of all of those places and the journeys to get there.

I wanted to capture some of those memories before they slide off back into the quagmire of my mind again so here is a non-exhaustive list.

• I used to get car sick. I still shudder at the flavour of Strawberry Chewits because I remember clearly that they taste much worse coming back up. To a degree, the same with the smell of freshly cut grass (not that I ate it, you understand: just the smell of it triggers memories of car sickness). I remember taking ‘Quells’ before each trip with varying degrees of success. To this day, I am a terrible passenger.
• Mum’s packed lunches that we’d eat sitting in a layby somewhere.
• Milk that came in bags and the blue jugs you used to put them in! I’d forgotten about these until recently when the hospital Costa Coffee had bags of milk and the memory surfaced like a wallowing hippo.
• Embassy (even number chalets) vs Castella (odd number chalets). We always invariably ended up in Castella and I still remember the one time we were in Embassy being like some kind of rare treat. Naturally, we were mortal enemies.
• The Dragon Club song to the tune of Glory, Glory, Hallelujah . (‘We’re all in the Dragon Club, our best we try to do… some of us are Embassy and there’s Castella too… we have a secret password of which we’re very proud but we won’t shout it out loud… fishfingers is our password, that’s the Dragon Club’s own password… fishfingers is our password, but we won’t shout it out loud!’) Note: ‘fishfingers’ should be whispered at each occurrence, because it’s secret. How the heck I remember that song the better part of 40 years later is anybody’s guess.
• My mum winning the jackpot on a fruit machine in 10p pieces and having to carry them back to the chalet in her handbag. I can remember sitting there counting it all up. It was like £100 or something, which at the time was a HUGE pile of cash. Still is, really. Note: £100 in 10p pieces is heavy.
• The ‘spot the new car registrations’ game.
• All the kids getting kicked out of the ballroom (which I can remember reeking of stale tobacco and beer in the way that pubs used to when you’d walk past them in the morning) at x o’clock so the adults could do adult things, whatever boring stuff that was. What could possibly be better than a group of pre-teen kids charging at top speed around the floor?
• Prize Bingo! Oh my god, that was so much fun.
• The year my mum, dad and brother left the camp site to go do a Thing (I think it was go to Cheddar Caves) and I stayed behind. I was 11 years old. Can you imagine leaving an 11 year old alone for a whole day now? I randomly entered a talent contest and came second. I still have the trophy somewhere.
• Making friends with a boy called Peter whose birthday was the same day as mine and us being friends all week. I still sometimes wonder if he remembers me too.
• The only time we had a two week holiday being the ultimate in excitement. If I recall correctly, the first week was sports week (and there were various sports celebrities of the time on-site – I became firm friends with Tony Gubba’s daughters) and the second week was arts and crafts.
• Locking everyone out of the car at Stonehenge.

They were simple holidays, but they were so special. My mum never travelled well and the idea of an overseas holiday just never came up. (I didn’t even go on a plane until I was 18 years old). My dad worked hard to make sure we were all looked after and these holidays, the kind of thing that people today turn their noses up at, were so wonderful. I still remember the many times I cried when we left on a Saturday to go home, wanting desperately to stay in this magical wonderland where nobody knew me. To this day, I will stoically defend those holidays against the snobbish reaction it seems to draw from people.

That’s it, really. I just wanted to get some of these memories down. My brother doubtless has many others he could add to this list!

Imposter!

The amazing Neil Kleid posted on Twitter recently about how finding it easier to deal with imposter syndrome as he gets older and it set me off thinking about my own experiences with this terrible thing. So I figured I’d try putting it down in writing.

Let’s start with the great news! My latest novel, a prose adaptation of Benjamin Percy’s amazing audio drama, was announced and the cover released over the last couple of weeks. Look at it. Look at how lucky I am to have been gifted the most incredible cover by the effortlessly awesome Steven McNiven. Look at how lucky I am to have been given the opportunity to write something for Marvel – whose comic imprints I have been reading since I was thirteen. Look at how lucky I am to have been given the opportunity to do this. And how lucky to have been involved with the scripting in Darktide. And how lucky I am to have written stories for Twilight Imperium, Wild West Exodus, Warhammer, World of Warcraft…

How lucky I am. Also, it’s here.

So I find myself thinking – and if you know me at all, you’ll understand how big a leap of faith this next statement is – that I’m not lucky at all. I’m capable. These people – Games Workshop, Warcradle, Marvel (freaking Marvel), all of them, have trusted me to represent their intellectual property and that’s not lucky – it’s an honour. I’ve always written stories for the same reason and that reason has been to entertain people. I have a very vivid memory of my first teacher – so I was 5 or 6 years old at the time – asking the class to write and draw their own version of a Mr. Men story. I chose to write a story about Mr. Happy planting an acorn and standing in the garden waiting for it to grow.

“He’ll be there a long time,” laughed Mrs. Chapman, delighted by the image I’d drawn (badly) on the page of Mr. Happy with his watering can and a huge, beaming smile on his face (he is Mr. Happy). “What a lovely idea!” From that moment, I wanted nothing more than to see people smile after they’d read something I’d written on the page. For me, it’s the single most rewarding thing about being a writer. I love to tell stories. It’s genuinely as simple as that. That all these people have given me the chance to build castles in their sandboxes is glorious and I adore it.

And yet…

And yet.

I’m not good enough, my brain tells me. There are people whose standards I’m never going to reach. What am I doing? How did I get here?

I had a lot of this writing the Star-Lord book. Not only was it writing for Marvel, which was a burden in and of itself to someone with a brain like mine, but it was handling a well-known character. I focused harder on writing this book that I think I’ve focused on anything else. I thought like Peter Quill for several weeks while writing it. I found little things: gestures and quirks that I dropped in. I heard his voice whenever I wrote one of his voice lines. It was a project of complete passion and devotion. The whole time, I was telling myself this is fine. This is all fine.

Then I sent the manuscript off to my wonderful editor. The second it left my mailbox, I went into a quiet anxiety meltdown. Would it be good enough? Will it be OK? Is the fact the first draft ended up nearly 10k words over the agreed total but I managed to edit it down to only 5k over be OK? Will she like it? Will she hate it? She’ll hate it. Oh my word, what am I doing?

Then Christmas happened. Then the manuscript came back to me with eloquent and thoughtful edits – none of which were huge and/or major and which all served only to make the story even better. So I did the edits within the allotted timeframe and sent them back. Everything was fine and then it was time to send the manuscript to Marvel.

To actual Marvel.

Well, given everything I’ve said here, you can imagine where my poor, overthinking brain went at this point. It packed a suitcase and took a long vacation in Paranoia City. From the moment it was sent to the moment it came back, I was certain that it’d be rejected. That the excitement bubble would not only burst, it would explode, sending shards of bitter shame and disappointment flying over a large area. I refreshed my inbox about twenty times an hour. When it did come back, it was on a Monday. I saw my editor’s name flash up on the email notification and I think my heart stopped for a good minute.

I opened the email.

I opened the attachment.

I looked through the edits back from the Marvel editor.

I emailed my Aconyte editor.

“Hi,” I wrote, because I’m a writer and I know how to start an email. “Just wanted to check that I’ve got the full thing back? Because there’s like… less than a dozen changes here and…”

It was the right thing. There were barely any changes and two of them were slight tweaks to stuff on my acknowledgement page.

My own imposter syndrome practically throttled me over writing this story and yet, everything was fine. Everything was more than fine. Everything was great. And for perhaps the first time ever I realised that I’m more capable of this writing thing than I give myself credit for. Imposter syndrome is a real thing when you’re writing stories, it absolutely is, and it’s a many-headed monster with a metric fucktonne of sharp, pointy teeth. But then you take a step back and it turns out to be a fluffy kitten. Sure, the claws can be sharp and they can lacerate you quite badly, but you know what? You get better.

And that’s lucky.

WWX: Lazarus [Extract 4]

And finally… Sergeant Irwin.

---

“Orders ma’am? The Indestructibles are ready to do their duty.” The voice was tinny and synthetic, like a scratchy gramophone recording being played through a loud hailer. Doc turned to find a hulking, armoured simulacrum of a man standing to attention. On one shoulder were painted sergeant’s chevrons and where its eyes should have been, was a softly glowing slit.

“What in the name of thunderation are you?” The words were out of the Lawman’s mouth before Willa could address the thing’s question. He’d seen GI bots before, of course he had, but he had been caught unawares and his tendency to distrust walking, talking engineering spilled out of him.

“We are Union UR-31E General Infantry Automata. Unit designation IR-1, sir!” It snapped off a startlingly smart salute. “You may call me Irwin.”

“Irwin?” Doc’s incredulity was comical, and Willa watched the exchange with a moment’s much-needed amusement.

“Correct, sir. Sergeant Irwin of the Indestructibles.”

“Irwin’s Indestructibles!” The unit of mechanised soldiers standing behind the unlikely sergeant all chorused at once in their synthetic voices.

“Sergeant Irwin and the other 31Es are a masterpiece,” Willa said, feeling that she needed to explain the automata’s remarkable manner. “His difference engine programming is extraordinary. Like all automata his speech is really just pre-recorded phrases played when needed. But he’s part of Tesla’s newer generation. Teslabots, they call them. These sergeant models have ten times as many phrases as the old GI-Bots did. I’m told they can even splice parts of the recordings to give more appropriate responses. The job of these Indestructibles…”

“Irwin’s Indestructibles!”

The GI-bots chorused again, and Willa tapped her finger against the side of her mouth thoughtfully.

“Did you order them to do that, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The teslabot sounded so pleased with itself that she let it go.

---

Book is here:

https://www.waylandgames.co.uk/wild-west-exodus-core-products/93894-lazarus?fbclid=IwAR38ubSQM9aqBgeEt9U9Ht7w7pn-UGK8VLObAA1POQJmlIbU1ZDTGaSRGyU

WWX: Lazarus [Extract 3]

Next up, we have the young Spirit Priest, Stone Fur – a quiet and reluctant hero to his people.

---

There was little alcohol consumed among this community. That was not, of course, to say that the occasional bottle of bourbon didn’t find its way in from the nearby settlement. One such bottle was being surreptitiously passed from young warrior to young warrior, each daring the other to pretend they liked the acrid taste of the alcohol. Stone Fur watched, something between amusement and longing in his expression.

Once, he had been able to engage in games like that. Now, though…

Now… he had responsibility.

The weight of it all briefly touched on his shoulders, and he felt the sheer oppression of the task he had to perform. As a Spirit Priest, he would be looked upon to perform rites for the dead, for the newborn, to bless and prepare hunting parties… to perform marriage ceremonies, to call forth the blessings of the Great Spirit when and if the People went to war… somewhere in there he would also be expected to continue the contributions he made to the community in the form of hunting and trapping game.

There was no lack of equality amongst Stone Fur’s people. The women and men hunted and fought alongside one another and often, marriage bondings came about as a result of two young people forced into hunting as partners who found their kindred spirits.

There will be no kindred spirit for me, mused
Stone Fur. Only the Great Spirit. That is all I will ever need.

Some of the People were now dancing before the fire, working out their grief for the loss of the old Priest with shameless abandon. Tears streaked the faces of many, and Stone Fur kept his head held high as he watched the outpouring of grief take on a new form.

The sorrow at Curved Bear Claw’s passing became unashamed joy at all he had been, and tears prickled behind the Priest’s eyes. Tears of affectionate pride. A zephyr kissed the bared skin of his neck, behind his ear and despite the comparative warmth of the April night and his proximity to the fire, the Priest shivered. A hand came up to scratch at the now itching spot and when he brought it away, it was covered in blood.

---

Book is here:

https://www.waylandgames.co.uk/wild-west-exodus-core-products/93894-lazarus?fbclid=IwAR38ubSQM9aqBgeEt9U9Ht7w7pn-UGK8VLObAA1POQJmlIbU1ZDTGaSRGyU

WWX: Lazarus [Extract 2]

Second extract from ‘Wild West Exodus: Lazarus’ (link in comments).

Next up, Mrs. Kelly, the indomitable undertaker from the town of Little Beam.

She’s amazing.

---

Mrs. Kelly was aiming for where its heart should have been, where any natural, living thing would have been vulnerable.

“Damn thing’s tougher than stewed boot leather,” said the old woman as every shot she fired passed cleanly through its flesh with no effect. “An’ my guns sure as hell ain’t powerful enough to put it down. Ain’t you got somethin’ bigger? Better? There’s gotta be somethin’ else we can try.”

Shaw’s eyes raked over the creature,assessing it, measuring it, taking in how big it was and how tiny the window of destructive opportunity actually was. The answers to those two questions were ‘goddamn huge’ and ‘ridiculously tiny’ respectively.

“We need those cannons back,” she said, simply and Mrs. Kelly nodded. Then the undertaker’s face split in a mostly toothless grin and she jumped from her mount. “Cover me,” she said, without affording any sort of explanation whatsoever.

Before Willa could so much as say a word, the woman peeled away from the group and began running directly at the rampaging monstrosity. It registered her with a strangely childlike curiosity, its lumpen head tipped to one side. Then it took a flailing swipe at her with one of its massive fists. The old woman smoothly dropped into a diving roll that seemed incongruous with her age and passed cleanly beneath it, coming out the other side. As distractions went, it was most certainly effective. Mrs. Kelly ran at full pelt toward one of the other abandoned ‘Horses.

“Fire at it!” Willa screamed the order at the
top of her lungs. “Keep it off her!” She glanced at the big man. “Is she completely out of her mind?”

“Don’t look at me,” said the man mildly, shrugging easily. “Mrs. Kelly is totally her own person. I ain’t gonna start questionin’ the whys an’ wherefores of what she does now. Besides, she’d take my head off if I tried.”

---

Book is here:

https://www.waylandgames.co.uk/wild-west-exodus-core-products/93894-lazarus?fbclid=IwAR38ubSQM9aqBgeEt9U9Ht7w7pn-UGK8VLObAA1POQJmlIbU1ZDTGaSRGyU

WWX: Lazarus [Extract 1]

First of a few little extracts from ‘Wild West Exodus: Lazarus’ – link in comments.

First up… the very impressive Loud Thunder of the Warrior Nation.

---

Bright, azure sparks began to stream from the warrior’s skin as he rode, leaving retina-scarring contrails in his wake until his flesh glowed with barely contained radiance. Then he opened his eyes, revealing smouldering pits of blue-white fire. Incredibly, impossibly, the big man leapt from his horse but continued to lead the charge, his huge stride pushing him ahead of the mounted host. Hamilton’s army raised their claws and blades to greet him.

There was a blinding flash at the point of impact and a dozen broken, ragged bodies were flung high into the air. Where the warrior had been was now a huge, spectral buffalo. It charged, ploughing through the shambling horde as though they were nothing more than toys. It crushed and rent, trampling everything in its path.

As it burst free of the first rank of creatures,
Willa realised that she and her companions were also in its path.

“Move,” she bellowed as the massive animal
bore down on them. “Move!”

The blue, ghostly form of the buffalo took more solid form as it passed and it lowered its head, great horns pointed at the shambling corpses that still advanced in the wake of the wild charge.

---

The book can be found here:

https://www.waylandgames.co.uk/wild-west-exodus-core-products/93894-lazarus?fbclid=IwAR38ubSQM9aqBgeEt9U9Ht7w7pn-UGK8VLObAA1POQJmlIbU1ZDTGaSRGyU