It's been quite a feeling to look through a print interior again and know that soon the edits done on the new version of Rafen will no longer reside primarily in a word document: I will hold the book in my hands. In the meantime, Rafen - the slave boy who got out and saved a kingdom - has returned again, with the book now being available in e-format once more. If you're ready for a journey from a slave's cell to a palace in the land of the free (which is filled with mysterious traitors and often surrounded by the worst villains), feel free to click on this link to begin your adventure.
The print edition should be available soon.

Your name will change your life forever.

When Rafen was four, the Tarhians branded him with three little numbers: 237. King Talmon of Tarhia forced Rafen to work in the coal mine with his other slaves. Yet at twelve, Rafen is desperate to escape and find the phoenix feather he has dreamed about for so long. However, even if he does leave Tarhia, will he ever know true freedom? For Rafen’s name links him to a legendary figure in ancient prophecies, and the sorcerer the Lashki Mirah means to kill him for it.

We're a week out from the release of Rafen, so I thought I would share a fight scene. Who doesn't like a fight scene?
Not long until the Rafen, the ex-slave risen to become Fledgling of the Phoenix, returns to the fantasy market.

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​“But you’re dead.” Roger’s voice was tight.
“I don’t think so,” Rafen replied.
“How did you survive?” Roger whispered.
Rafen held his peace, Roger’s nervous twitching gratifying him.
“Answer me, two-three-seven!” Roger shouted.
“I’m not two-three-seven,” Rafen said.
“Then-then who are you?” Roger stammered, horrified.
A smile spread over Rafen’s face. “I am the Fledgling of the Phoenix,” he said, his phoenix feather comfortingly warm against his beating heart. “And I’m going to fight you.”
Roger twisted his face into a Tarhian leer. “Are you?”
The blood in Rafen’s veins felt like fire. Raising his sword, he directed it at Roger, who was rearranging himself into guarde, the sweat on his face glistening.
Now, something in Rafen hissed. He lunged toward Roger, thrusting at his abdomen. Roger leapt backward in alarm but recovered himself beautifully, swiping at Rafen’s shoulder with his glittering sword. Rafen jumped backward, parrying and aiming for Roger’s sternum. Finding his rhythm, Roger delivered a series of thrusts. Rafen backed into the right wall. He knew Roger’s sword was sharp, and his own was blunt. However, he had been thrown out a very high window and survived. Zion wasn’t about to kill him now.
He made a savage lunge and hit Roger’s thighs with the flat of his sword. With a cry, Roger stumbled back into the table against the left wall. His lips curled into a nasty smile when he glanced down and realized he was not bleeding. His attack was blinding now: a thrust for the head, heart, lungs, abdomen, head – Rafen had backed into the right wall again, and now Roger’s sword went for his eyes, and Rafen was not going to be fast enough to block it. He rushed sideways, his sword arm aching. Seizing the table Roger had stumbled against, he shoved it between himself and his attacker. Simultaneously, Roger darted toward him with a thrust aimed at Rafen’s abdomen. Roger’s sword tip hit the edge of the table; the sword bowed spectacularly and then sprang back, sending Roger staggering away briefly. Rafen made to edge along the wall past the table to attack Roger again. His opponent shot forward to meet him. The painting on the wall was above Rafen, and Roger flicked his rapier behind it and cut the cord holding it there.
The painting slid down, its frame hitting Rafen’s head with the impact of a hammer. Rafen found himself on his knees, still clutching his sword, the painting leaning against his right shoulder. Little white lights popped before his eyes. Groaning, he shuffled backward on the floor, allowing the painting to fall flat as Roger’s rapier flashed beneath it toward his heart. The painting swung onto the sword, and Roger cursed when his blade was knocked from his hand and obscured beneath the frame.
With a tremendous effort, Rafen rose. He had had enough of this. Roger hurled himself over the frame and landed bodily on him. Rafen crashed down, striking his throbbing head against the wall. His sight darkened, and a pair of long-fingered hands found his neck and started to squeeze. Rafen kicked wildly. Roger lay fully on top of him, pinning his legs and right arm, his demented face snarling in Rafen’s. Rafen could feel his eyes popping; he choked. Something like burning liquid rushed down his left arm, and with the last of his strength, Rafen lifted his sword and swung it into Roger’s back. Flames burst into visibility – Roger’s coat was on fire. Screeching, Roger turned to see the mini inferno that had exploded from Rafen’s sword, his grip slackening.
Footsteps pounded toward them.
“Rafen!” someone shouted.

I have spent ten minutes just now rewarding myself for writing 2000 words on my latest novel by visiting an old website of mine which bore the heading "yvilorsfantasyfiction: where terrible poetry and outrageously busy fantasy fiction wallops you in the eye". Visiting this website had made me eternally grateful that the book the releases on August 24th does not happen to contain any of my poetry. However, for old time's sake, I'll share some of my findings here:

Disturber of the Peace

Beneath emerald leaves
In grassy parks
In quiet places
A dog endlessly barks.
It barks and it barks until it becomes the whole world.
The sound grows and grows till colours are swirled.
Muddied, the sky turns a dismal grey.
I wish that dog would shut up today.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I find this amusing actually, because I am now a dog owner. Fortunately for me and for the dog, it does not bark (or hasn't begun yet). So far, so good. 

Inspiration, Buses, and Majorca



Waiting for inspiration
Is rather like waiting for a bus.
You stand under the shelter
(Which has a big crack in the glass
And almost no roof)
And it starts to pour.
The wind is howling at you.
Millions of cars flash by.
You wait for forty minutes.
Five buses show up.
You wave your hands frantically for them to slow down.
You think quickly:
“Which one will take me to Cambridge?”
The buses start to leave.
You jump on one in a hurry
And settle down.
The air pump is broken.
There are loads of loud, rude people
Who leave their gum on the sides of seats.
The bus takes you to Majorca.
Thanks so much.
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I actually sort of like this poem, because it rather like the inspiration process. It certainly sheds light on why my poetry is so truly awful. 

I Don't Want to Be



I don’t want to be alone forever.
I don’t want to have fifteen cats.
I don’t want to spend all my time writing
And buying fancy hats.
I don’t want to be alone forever.
I don’t want to sing myself to death.
I don’t want to teach until I’m
Over-caffeinated and completely out of breath.
I don’t want to be alone forever.
I don’t want to be rolling in cash.
I don’t want play piano till I lose fingers.
I won’t study literary trash.
I won’t give up praying for one second.
I’ll wait and I’ll work and I’ll write.
Maybe one day I’ll have someone to share it with
If that’s God’s will for my life.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Clearly, I wasn't happy being single. Anyhow, I'm married now. Interesting how much of this old website was constituted of morose, single thoughts. And now to finish with something truly awful.

The Pros and Cons of Deadlines


Deadlines are sort of like giant hammers.
They’re very unpleasant to be on the other end of.
Deadlines are like asteroids.
They can kill you at a blow.
Deadlines are like vampires.
They drain you of life and health
(And make you pale, skinny, and lethargic).
On the other hand,
Deadlines are a fantastic excuse to have coffee.
They make Facebook look one hundred percent more interesting.
YouTube turns into a magnet.
Chocolate becomes the staple of your diet.
When people start to write to you and ask you
“How far away are you from meeting this deadline?”
You turn into an ogre and want to yell at everything.
But you reply all nice and politely and try to act sane
Even though your brain is putrefying
And spilling out of your ears.
Once you have met your deadline,
You transform magically into a really nice person.
You feel all accomplished.
You go around drinking wine and spending time with people –
Until the next deadline comes around
And turns you into a raging hermit
Who eats unhealthy food and never exercises.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope all this inspires you to greater heights than I can ever achieve!
​

I used to always say to my siblings and parents that half the joy of something is looking forward to it. I now have a date to look forward to. Rafen is being released once again on August 24th. That makes it almost two years since it was first published on August 18th, 2015. Having had the book back in my hands for an interim of a few months has meant that I could edit it and fix up many of the mistakes that had remained after its initial publication. After all, the version that is still circulating in New Zealand libraries was, for the greater part, a book written by a seventeen year old. A few years on, hopefully it now reads better!

Following this, the next few books in the series will be released again about six weeks apart. The New Zealand release of the print version of this book is scheduled for February 2018. So we are all go! 


Your name will change your life forever.

When Rafen was four, the Tarhians branded him with three little numbers: 237. King Talmon of Tarhia forced Rafen to work in the coal mine with his other slaves. Yet at twelve, Rafen is desperate to escape and find the phoenix feather he has dreamed about for so long. However, even if he does leave Tarhia, will he ever know true freedom? For Rafen’s name links him to a legendary figure in ancient prophecies, and the sorcerer the Lashki Mirah means to kill him for it.

Returning August 24th, 2017.

I can't think of any authors who do not have a pet of some kind. Many have cats, and a few have dogs. I have in fact met authors who advocate for animals' rights more fiercely than their own. Unlike some in the profession, I'm not as much of a hermit as I could be. I teach regularly; I'm happily married; and I have a few friends and a great many members of the extended family here in Canterbury, meaning I can visit and catch up with them often. But our house still felt a little too quiet for my liking.

And so it is that a little Yorkshire Terrier came to join my husband and I. A teacher at one of the schools I work at told me she would be avoiding my house, as Yorkshire Terriers are "little yap dogs". We've had Peyton for nearly a week and she hasn't barked once, not even when music students have come to the house. She's fantastic for cuddling, and when I ask her to come, she is happy to respond and snuggle up next to me on the couch while I write and edit.

I never realised that dogs bear so many similarities to wolves - even tiny dogs, like our little three kilogram girl. When I wrote The Sianian Wolf, I did a decent amount of research on wolves. I remember, as young as twelve years old, writing a detailed report on their behaviours and mannerisms in particular situations. Dogs easily reflect this. Peyton responds best to routine and a confident Alpha in her new home. Despite her soft exterior and calm personality, Peyton has plenty of the wolf within her - more perhaps than the main character of my Fledgling Account series, Rafen. She gives fantastic company while I continue the sometimes lonely work of writing.

Recently, while I have been waiting for my first book to re-release, I have been filling time on my end by writing an entirely new novel - still fiction, but not fantasy fiction. Perhaps it is this novel or perhaps it is just the time of life that I am at, but I have discovered new things about both myself and the process of writing this time round.

Things No One Tells You About Writing a Novel

1. It doesn't matter if you get a world away from yourself - you will always be writing about yourself. This makes writing sound like a rather egotistical affair. It certainly sounds self-indulgent, to say the least. Nevertheless, when people tell you to "write what you know" they are unconsciously tapping into this thought - because your experience is all you know! Every single character will reflect you in some weird way. If you become eloquent when you're being nasty, chances are that a couple of your characters will too. Perhaps even your villain. If you can't stand a particular food or have never heard the turn of phrase "Bob's your uncle", you probably won't be including those things in your writing. Additionally, if you have never worked in an accounting or a law firm, you'll either need to expand your personal knowledge, write vaguely about such things, or not write about them at all.

2. Your experiences influence you more than you realize. There may be things you haven't thought about for years that somehow creep into your writing anyway. The way you felt about your immediate family growing up. A bullying experience that scarred you more deeply than you realize. A near crash on the road that still gives you paranoia, meaning you climaxed your latest book with a major accident in which one of your characters died. No matter how hard we try to be original, there will always be a "sameness" about what we write, because there are particular experiences and events that have shaped us and made us what we are. These same experiences and events become part of the fabric of your work. Which is why...

3. You must keep experiencing and growing as a person to be a good writer. This is difficult for most writers to hear, as we are mainly introverts and don't like to go out of our way to have human interactions. However, if you spend all day at home and interact with nobody, your characters won't be realistic. If you don't give yourself the opportunity to go on an outing and notice beauty around you, you won't be very good at describing things, and it will be difficult to become a rich world-builder. If you refuse to read, read only the same genre, or watch the same television programs night after night without enough variation, your work will be dull and un-inventive and risk falling prey to every trope you can imagine.

The conclusion to all this naturally is - be the best you can be. Know yourself, embrace all that makes you "you" but don't forget to broaden your experiences and increase your knowledge. Every writer is on a journey.

Nothing in the publishing world goes fast, but that said, the re-release for Rafen is rolling around slowly but surely. In the meantime, after exploring two of the main themes in the book, I thought I'd mention my influences.

I've been asked about my influences a lot, sometimes especially by those who disagree with the content of the book, saying it's too "fantastical" or too "violent". Interestingly, I read very little fantasy fiction myself, meaning that the vast majority of what I've written must either come from the few fantasy books I have read (and be extremely plagiarized) or it is highly original. Otherwise, perhaps, there is a third option, and one seldom considered: I've been inspired by life itself. There are events in life that sometimes feel so surreal that one supposes they might be fantasy: something incredibly wonderful or something unspeakably bad. I believe that the fantasy elements in my work derive from all three of these concepts, so some extent. I am hoping, of course, more is original than hackneyed. 

Admittedly, my tone of writing and my characterization have largely been inspired by classic works. Things like the following:

The Forsyte Saga
Jude the Obscure, The Major of Casterbridge
Hamlet, Macbeth
The Lord of the Rings
Katherine Mansfield's complete works
C. S. Lewis' brilliant theological works
And more recently A Severe Mercy


It would be careless of me to omit the Bible, which of course has been hugely influential, especially the Psalms. My main character Rafen was more or less inspired by the Biblical figure David. 
Certainly, one thing I was told as a child was to read plenty of fantasy and fairy tales, to ensure that I was well-versed in my genre and could write it proficiently. Increasingly, as I've watched the genre being overwhelmed by twenty-first century tropes, I've moved towards the second piece of advice I was given, which was: "Read widely, read everything." I don't read as widely as I should, but I do seek to read works of quality whatever genre they might be. As an author, be careful not to read too much of your genre. You will become merely a product of its age and miss authenticity altogether. Surround yourself with all sorts of literature, and don't limit it to that. Look long and hard at the beautiful and the illuminating, whether it be paintings, nature, music, or books.
​May your journey be a thrilling one.

At this stage, I'm fairly certain that the re-release of my first book Rafen will be happening in the near future (before August of this year - or as soon as possible, I believe). In the meantime, I've been working on two other projects, one of which I have finished. However, this does mean I have neglected my blog!

Whatever I write, I always love to explore big themes. Life itself is complex, and it inspires big questions. My writing has often been a subconscious effort to process some of the things I have struggled to understand about the world around me. One such thing has been freedom.
Freedom. It's the word that every child and teenager obsesses over to some extent. In our youth, we all fantasise about freedom from our teachers, our parents, the authorities above us, and so on. Teenagers get to an age where they feel life would be so much better if only they could make their own decisions without reference to anybody.

I certainly felt this way as a child and teenager. There were other questions I asked as well, however. Questions that related to me personally. Could one ever be free of the past? Of things and events one was ashamed of? Could one ever shed one's "history" and embrace the future without any such burdens?

As these questions were somewhat all-consuming for me at the time, they made their way into Rafen in some shape or form. Rafen is enslaved to the tyrant King Talmon in Tarhia. He has no personal freedom, and even his body is just a tool for somebody else's work. Talmon's ownership over Rafen is seen vividly in several ways.

1. Rafen has a number, not a name - 237. He was not even allowed to know his name.
2. Rafen is not allowed to learn the Tongue, the language of the free world beyond Tarhia. Tarhian ties him to a people in bondage and chains him to his master.
3. Rafen's basic living conditions are controlled. He is imprisoned in a cell in isolation and thus is fenced off from any other influences (or so Talmon thinks). His food and drink are rationed, as are his clothes. He has no control even over his own personal hygiene.

After King Talmon had killed his parents, Rafen had lived in a cell from age two upward, and at four they had branded 237 on his ankle and forced him to work in the coal mine... And so he had lived: a little underground animal who did as he was told. Yet he itched. He shouldn’t have expected more, but he did.


According to the three facets of Rafen's slavery above, Rafen's being free would consist of his having an identity, having knowledge of the outside world that would allow him to move about in it, and having control of his own living conditions. Rafen attains most of these things and yet still doesn't feel free. His past haunts him, and he cannot make peace with it. As a result, he feels threatened wherever he goes, certain that he will be hurt or dragged back into slavery some way. 

After all, the great cell was wider than four walls. It was seen in the ghostly spies lingering in the places of freedom, in the sidelong looks strangers gave him; its ceiling was the suspicion in his mind, the memories that wouldn’t die, the smiles that never quite reached his eyes and failed to warm his heart.
Tarhia would always win in the end.

Did I even answer my own questions with this book? Or did I remain forever a cynic? The above words certainly seem incredibly cynical.
It turns out within the space of half a night that Rafen's perspective has changed, because he has met the Phoenix Zion. The response to my deepest soul searching was this: we can't be free unless we are radically and powerfully redefined. Without a divine Creator to rename us and seal our identities, we remain forever enslaved and easily manipulated. 

He decided he wouldn’t be afraid. He raised his hand to the feather above his heart. He was the Fledgling.

Leading up to the mysterious re-release date of Rafen, I thought it would be fitting to write about a few of the themes that I intentionally put into my books. I know that sometimes my "themes" are misconstrued to be witchery. Today, I'd like to talk about what I actually intended to go into my novels - in particular, book one: Rafen. Doubtless when I was seventeen, writing the final draft of this book which would one day be published roughly in that state, I thought I was being very clever and political and deep. Perhaps I was. More likely not. Anyway, to find out, read on.

One of the main themes that I wrote about in this book was identity. Identity could be the watch word of modern day western society. Interestingly enough, it is often the invisible motivator for many fads, movements, and social revolutions. Being lesbian or gay is a way of affirming one's identity. Being transgender is yet another way. A climate change activist may, by defining themselves as such, find meaning and purpose in their life. What job we have and how successful we are is a further measure of identity (although it seems that nothing can trump sexuality, which to my mind remains the greatest factor by which western society appears to define themselves and their identities). 

The child Rafen begins the book with no identity. He dreams of running for a phoenix feather, which he wants although he doesn't know why. He wakes to the grim reality of the branded number on his ankle which brands him as two-three-seven, a slave, "a little underground animal who did as he was told. Yet he itched. He shouldn’t have expected more, but he did". Rafen's dream leads him to the conclusion that "he didn't belong here", with here being Tarhia, the land in which he is enslaved and imprisoned. 

The phoenix feather dream has given Rafen a sense of identity that he has never had. He was not the only contestant for a feather. Two other men ran with him, and he instinctively knew they were kings. Rafen, not long after this, rejects his identity as a slave. It is this rejection that leads him on a journey of pain, sorrow, struggle, and eventually to form of freedom in which he is still pursued by his previous captors. Throughout this journey, his tormentors work hard to force his previous identity onto him.

“I know what you think,” Talmon said in Tongue. “You think that Etana will somehow escape the hundreds of men I have after her. You think that she will call her father, and though she is heir to the Sianian throne, she will plead for a dirty Tarhian slave boy. You think the king of Siana will travel the three months’ journey in the week before your execution and then bring his ship into enemy territory to find you. You think you are important. You are not.
“Now come here, two-three-seven!”


​“I have heard of two-three-seven,” the officer went on. “He was socializing with a princess yesterday. That probably made him decide he was above working in the mine.”

When Rafen arrives in Siana, the land of freedom that he has escaped to, he begins the difficult internal battle of figuring out who he actually is. Those around him tell him that because he bears a sacred name that his mother gave to him, he must worship the Phoenix God that it refers to. Rafen fears he will lose his identity through worship, by succumbing to another master. All this is the reason that the tagline of the book reads: "Your name will change your life forever". Rafen's name is a vital clue to his final identity.

Rafen resists the Sianian culture of worshipping the Phoenix, although he is still obsessed with the idea of receiving a phoenix feather. In the meantime, his enemies who had previously enslaved him because of the name he possessed have caught up with him. Roger, the old Tarhian general, throws Rafen out of his own chamber window late one night - but not before once again hoping to seal Rafen's identity forever in death.

"His Grace [Talmon] says you can never be free."

Then he releases Rafen's ankle and lets him to drop to his apparent death. Rafen is miraculously saved by catching onto a wide window ledge. The miracle itself leads him to cry out to Zion, the Phoenix, for help. Guided by a voice speaking to him, he flees the Sianian palace and heads into the neighbouring woods, where he at last is offered a feather by the Phoenix himself.

With an effort, Rafen pulled back. He wanted it, but he would die if he took it... he stared at the feather, tears in his eyes.

Rafen fears that if he accepts the feather, his identity will forever be defined as a hero ordained by the Sianian Phoenix, meaning he will always be hunted. At this point, he would rather die than have an identity. He would rather remain the ex-slave than someone truly freed by who he is.

The hesitation passes and he takes the feather. Just hours after receiving it, he returns to the Sianian palace, where his own enemies are actually attacking the king of Siana, seeking to kill him. 

Rafen decided he wouldn’t be afraid. He raised his hand to the feather above his heart. He was the Fledgling.

Upon confronting Roger again - his would-be murderer, Rafen isn't afraid to introduce himself as the Fledgling of the Phoenix, the very translation of his name. His identity frees him to battle his enemies with new courage and send them fleeing.

What was I trying to do with this theme? A couple of things.
1. I believe personally that bearing a false identity or definition of yourself will enslave you, until at last you know who you really are. A false identity not only enslaves you... it effaces your true self.
2. I believe it's impossible to know who you really are on an individual basis. We are defined in relation to someone. I believe we are defined in relation to our Creator. True identity frees us from fear and enables us to overcome our personal battles. Until we find it, we are destined to be wandering in circles, confused.

All of this is - I hope - tastefully done throughout the book, as I desired to avoid a preachy style of writing and yet deliver a powerful message. Only my readers can tell me how successful I have been.

The above question is one that I've had to think through recently. Someone told me in person that there should be "no other name" for God used in literature, as this constitutes idolatry. 

Here are my thoughts on representations of God in literature.

1. If you personally are not being asked to worship the literary representation of God, it is not wrong. If the author is not setting up a god in the process of writing, but rather depicting a different world run by different rules, I believe there is no reason to be alarmed. Another world run by different rules? Clearly this book is not a religious handbook and does not have such specific relevance in the lives of its readers.

2. Literary representations of God usually do not (and simply cannot) capture His entire character - therefore, don't expect them to. When Jesus told the parable of unjust judge, He was representing a god-like character to His listeners. However - as is often the case in story - all facets of God cannot be accurately captured. The Bible says that fullness of God is best seen in Jesus Christ (not in a story). The parable of the unjust judge showed two facets of God - His authority to judge and His absolute power to do so. His grace is shown in a parable like the prodigal son. These are simply two examples of how stories typically only capture particular facets of God's character.

3. Look at Jesus. Jesus told parable after parable about the kingdom of heaven and frequently in these parables, god-like characters had other names - "the father of the prodigal son", "the sower", "the unjust judge", and so on. Jesus was not saying that these characters were God. Neither was He asking his listeners to worship storied figures. He was representing different parts of God's character.

4. Does it honour God? This is the number one question for readers and writers alike to ask once they have established that it is not wrong to represent God in literature - for it is only right if it brings glory to His name. If it's defamatory, by all means, don't read it.

If a story can't capture the entire essence of God, why write allegories at all? What is the point in trying to depict something of your Christian beliefs in story? Is it really useful? Some would argue in the case of fantasy that it is not. But I believe the very strength of representing something of the God we know and worship in literature is the weakness I mentioned above. An author can't capture all there is to God. Therefore, an author must simplify, honing in on one or two concepts and thus rendering these easier to understand. 

And so, little by little, piece by piece, stories from a Christian perspective help us to know the Creator of the universe better.