Tag Archives: Friendship

Grief, Loss, And Fantasy.

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One of the hardest things in life to lose, is someone so important, that your life falls into a void of pain and inability to understand a future without this all important person, in your life.

It is tragic and so difficult, as for years, you have had the joy of knowing this one special person that is always there to show you kindness and love… And suddenly… They are gone!

It happened to me, and I have spent many years trying to find a meaning within the pain I felt and the loss I feel. This is not an easy topic to write a book about, how can it be, it is sad, who would read that?

It is a question I have asked myself for some time, and a few years back, as I considered this topic, whilst up to my ears in HTTK, and outlining a few other things I wanted to write about, I had an idea… What if I could present this story, in a way that would enlighten a reader, express my feelings, and yet provide a smile, and a ray of hope to my character?

Han’s Cottage, by Robin and Rin Zara Morgan

I had no idea at that moment of the kind of book I was going to write, I felt I needed to write it, and I needed to write it simply because at that time no one really understood how I was feeling, and I wanted to express it, so that others understood. What began in that moment was the book I am about to publish, entitled, Han’s Cottage.

My problem was, that I was tired of being told, “You will get over it.” And “You have to move on, it will get better with time.” And not forgetting the old icon, “Time heals all wounds.” Honestly, it is patronising and it pissed me off, because they had no understanding of what this felt like for me. I still had the problem, that a book about the journey through grief, was a pretty heavy subject to wite about, and honestly, I needed a book that would at least gain enough interest to sell a few copies.

I sat back and pondered what should a good book really have to keep a reader enjoying the story, and turning the pages? I had written HTTK, so that was not that difficult to work out.

A good story in my opinion, needs, firstly a focal character in hopefully a difficult situation, well I had that, a villain or two, an element of fun and cheer, and a really good plot line to bind them all up in. because I love fantasy, and I needed to lighten the subject material, I introduced the secret element, and that all brought with it, some magic and mystery, and with all of that, I knew, I could write something worth reading.

For this particular story, I knew that the icing on the cake, was going to be experience, and I had that, I have lived it, and so shrouded some of my personal feelings, and mixed them around with others I have spoken to, and created the character of Emily Montgomery Duncan. Daughter of business tycoon, John Duncan, a man who was so destroyed by his grief, he forgot his daughter was a very important part, of the woman he lost.

I set the story up in the 20th year of Emily’s life, after a life of boarding school and University, and threw in her best friend and flat mate Shelly. I moved them both to another city, and gave Emily the job of working for an utter ass hat, and I sat down, and began to write the passing of her grandmother, who was the only real family she had ever really known, as her Grandma Han had raised her through every school holiday since age four, and I had the perfect start to a story.

I began with a story that would be the story of the journey that takes us through the process of grief, and also, that one question everyone wants an answer to, “What comes next?” No one really knows what the afterlife is all about, how could we, in order to know we must end our life here. Religion has a few variations, and other people have their personal spiritual views, as do I, but what I wanted, was something plausible, something that to a degree held a truth. As my readers know, within Heirs to the Kingdom, I took mythology and history, and blurred the lines a little to create something a little more believable, if not also a little bit romanticised.

I wanted to do the same thing here, my problem was, the topic I wanted to use was science. Enter the best friend, a paranormal investigator, and lover of folklore, who was terrified of ghosts… Well, you know, a smile helps break the tension?

The greatest thing about science, is it is theory, until it is disproven, it is considered fact, and once disproven, the theory changes. Talk about an invite to really blur the lines, which happens to be one of my favourite things to do, and it instantly occurred to me, one could use the same approach to spirits and mythology, it was like a eureka moment, as my brain spun out of control, as I realised, what is the one thing that baffles everyone, and drives scientist into melt down?

MAGIC!

They hate it, they constantly dismiss it, and the same goes for ghosts, spooks and all manner of the spirit world, they blatantly refuse to accept it, because there is no credible evidence, it felt like my invite to the game. I posed the question, what if there was another intelligent life form, what if it had learned from the humans and decided they were too dangerous to interact with?

Okay, so I spiralled for a while into conspiracy theories, but I still asked the questions, is Loch Ness really a myth, could a Yeti or big foot really exist and not be discovered? Scientist always tell us, “There is no credible evidence.” Well, if that is the case, why do so many people believe in them? So Okay, I am playing devils advocate, but hey, I am writer.

It appeared to me, conspiracy is a little like science theory, it is a fact, until it is disproved, sounds like magic to me. (Giggles) I knew I could take something wonderful, and work it into the story, and in doing so, I would return to what is one of my favourite aspects of reading and writing, I could throw in a lot of fantasy, and boy have I? Enter new characters Felix and Esme, and that is about as much as I am prepared to give away at this point before publication.

As I started to write, I knew I had something special, yes, it had sadness and a few moments that would make a reader take a breath and swallow hard. But, it also had joy, oh, such joy. Emily was made an ecologist, and staunch believer in science, and then I added the one thing she would never expect, the one thing she could never accept, and I rolled them up into the most wonderful and beautiful secret, and made it the life of her recently deceased Grandmother Han. I set it to a background of beautiful untouched wilderness, and then made Emily the soul owner, and person responsible for everything, and it was her task to discover the secret of her grandmothers beautiful and enchanting life, and all whilst having her terrified ghost hunting friend at her side. VCP have written the synopsis, which I will add below.

Han’s Cottage. (Violet Circle Publishing)

 Emily Montgomery Duncan lost her mother at age four, her father fell apart, Emily ended up at boarding school. In her holidays, she came home to her Grandma Hanna and the only real home she ever knew. Shortly before her 21st birthday, the call came, Han, had passed away and her whole world collapsed.

Shortly after the funeral, Emily discovers she has inherited the cottage and all the land around, not her aunt, as she expected, but the thought of living in the cottage without Han, is so unbearable, she spends a year, lost, alone, and torn into pieces, as her uncle constantly tries to push her into selling the cottage and all the land to him, driving her to breaking point.

In a moment of anger, supported by her best friend Shelly, Emily decides to return, and as she confronts her life without Han, she discovers, Han had a very secret life, one she could never imagine.

What follows, is an enchanting, magical fantasy story, of wonder and beauty, as Robin John Morgan, has created a delightful Fairy Story for Grownups, that looks at life, loss, and the magic that surrounds all of us, in a thrilling and captivating way that is a joy to read. An amazing book, from the Author of Heirs to the Kingdom, Rise of the Raven, and The Curio Chronicles.

My wife was, as always, the first to read it, and she absolutely has fallen in love with it, which was a massive relief to me. This is a special story for me, it is almost sacred, as I have given Emily a great deal of my own experience, not all, but a good measure. In many ways, I feel the book has a slight innocence to it, which just adds to the enchantment of the story.

I have only ever wanted to be taken seriously as a writer of stories, and I hope with this book, I can add more weight to that, and people start to understand, that this still relatively unknown writer, is really dedicated to the kinds of stories I want to share.

I like my stories to reflect the truth, HTTK did as it highlighted the truth of the immorality we see in the world. The Curio Chronicles, whilst really blatant and in your face at times, also highlighted the power of victimising and shaming. With this book, I want to highlight the power and depths of the human spirit, I want readers to see how powerful our feelings can be, and yet how fragile at times it can make all of us feel. I also want, as I have in everything I write, to show how powerful and important friendship is, and how it can shape our life in such wonderful ways.

Han’s Cottage, I hope will do all of the above, and I hope that yes, if it does choke you up at times, you will also smile, because the hope and optimism that runs through every page, is there to show every reader, that no matter what, we can still love, we can always remember, and we can cherish every second of our magical lives.

As always, I really do hope you enjoy this book, and I thank everyone of you who has played a part in supporting my writing life. Han’s Cottage will be out in September, I hope you will read it.

A Completely New Tale

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Whilst I have a moment, I thought I would jump on with a quick update. For quite some time, I have been working on a story, which I hope to be able to offer to all of you soon. The story focuses on two themes, which are Fantasy, and Grief, and I understand that to some that may appear an odd mix, but I think once you read it, that it will make more sense to you.

As much as I love and have really enjoyed working on the Curio Chronicle’s, which are more modern and based in a fictional setting, there is a part of me which wanted to return to fantasy, especially after many years of writing Heirs to the Kingdom, and the upcoming book, ‘Han’s Cottage’ will allow me to do that.

I do not want to give too much away at this point, but I think I am safe explaining the basics, and also some of my reason for wanting to write it. For me personally, that is actually a very important aspect of this story. I would like to think of this book as a gentle book, which although does have an intensity to it, I hope I have written it in such a way, that it draws in the reader and has mass appeal. To lay the groundwork, I will supply the following.

Emily Montgomery, is almost twenty two, and flat shares with her best friend and Uni pal, Shelly Parkinson. Emily suffered the loss of her mother when she was only aged four, and as a result. has grown up not really knowing who her mother was. Her father fell apart after her mother’s death, and threw himself into his work, shutting off his feelings, trying to deal with her death, and sent his daughter to boarding school, which left Emily a little isolated and alone.

In order to ease the pressure on Emily, her father turns to her grandmother Hanna, and Emily spends a great deal of her holidays from age four onward living with Grandma Han, who is her only connection to a mother she barely remembers. Through Han, Emily learns all she knows about her mother, and Han’s memories in a strange sense, become Emily’s memories, as she grows up. To Emily, Han is the only real family she knows, as her limited interactions with her father leave her questioning why her mother ever married him, because she feels, her father is cold and withdrawn.

Shortly before her twenty first birthday, she receives a phone call from a stranger named Randolph, who informs her that her grandmother has passed on, and Emily’s world falls apart. The book starts a few hours after Han’s funeral, where a very well tailored gent, who is Han’s solicitor, pays a visit to Emily to reveal the contents of her will, and much to Emily’s surprise, she finds that the house and land, which had been her only real home since age four, have not been left her aunt as she expected, but have indeed been left to Emily. The solicitor is adamant that Han was very precise in his execution of his duty, and he handles everything, to ensure Emily has an easy transition into the full ownership.

It is a big shock, but one Emily is not ready to face, because the thought of being in the cottage without Han is too much to bear, and so the story starts to unfold, and the story passes forward by almost a full year before it really begins. Shelly tries her hardest to convince her to go back to the cottage, but Emily who is living miles away in Exeter and hates her life and job, has given up on living, as she struggles to deal with the loss of Han, having strange and frightening dreams. Her uncle. is constantly pestering her, and making offer after offer for the land, to the point where he is driving Emily mad.

This story follows Emily, and her thoughts, feelings and memories, as Shelly confronts her, and tells her to visit her grandmothers grave, as it is almost a year. In a moment of anger at her uncle, she makes her first move to face the truth of her life, and in a twist of fate and anger, her return marks the start of a journey through her grief, and into recovery. Han had a big secret, one that was very well hidden, and it all involves the cottage and the land, and with the arrival of Emily at the cottage, a series of strange events adds to her uncertainty.

In many ways this story is a fairy story for adults, it has some moments of joy and humour, and others that will make you sit up and ponder life, it’s meaning, and its joys. For myself personally, this is my way of explaining a little of my own feelings, over the loss of someone deeply special to me, and I have encountered many of the sayings and comments Emily gets in this story. I hope through explaining Emily, in a way, I also explain many of the people I have spoken with in my life, who could identify with my own personal way of dealing with loss. I know the fantasy aspect of this story will appeal not only to a majority of HTTK readers, but I hope, also a lot of new readers.

The story has a good mix of opinions on a few things, of which one is the fantasy realm, and within that, Emily with her scepticism and Shelly with her absolute belief of the mystical, clash with some wonderful dialogue that will hopefully leave all of you thinking and questioning today’s reality. In today’s cold world, there are still so many questions about life and death, and what lies beyond, and many people live in fear of what happens at the end. This story raises some of these thoughts and feelings in a gentle way, and considers all aspects of how we deal with life, loss and grief, and how our own beliefs can be challenged.

There are some good funny moments between them, and also some really close caring moments, as the story takes on Emily’s experience, and her journey towards her future of a life after Han. I feel it is a really well rounded tale, and I hope you do too. In regard to the fantasy aspect of this story I will allow you to read the story and discover that yourself alone, and I will not give too much away.

At the time of writing this to update the blog, the only person who has read the manuscript is as always, my wife, and I was concerned people would think that the subject material would appear too heavy and oppressive, as it is themed to a degree around loss.

Her opinion is, this story follows a young sceptic through her struggle with the reality of her life currently, her grief, her loss and her difficulty dealing with her friend, who is a believer in all things mystical and magical, to some humorous effect. When my wife considered the fantasy aspect of this story, (She smiled) she felt like she had her childlike wonderment given back to her, as she found the characters adorable, and it is a really magical tale, that makes her want to believe in all the magic again. She has really enjoyed reading it, which is a bit of a relief for me.

I currently have no cover images as they are in the final stages of production, except to say, I have provided a much bigger contribution to this one than some of my previous covers, and have really enjoyed the process. I will get something up soon, but for now this blog post will remain image free.

This book will strictly be a one off, I have no intentions of returning to it for further additional stories, as I am already working on other new material, and have further Curio and HTTK stories ready to be put out when I am happy with them, of which the next book in the Curio series will land later in the year. It is my hope to have Han’s Cottage out around mid September, and with the Curio book planned for later this year, that will be three in one year, which is pretty good, although Han’s Cottage has been written over six years, and all the Curio stories were written in 2020, as I have been busy with other stories.

The third Curio Book will not be as explicit, as the gang are growing up and settling down, and that is part of their journey. Abigail will be another two years older in this book and finally starting to see her hard work pay off, but her and the Curio’s will be encountering some new foes and problems, which will add to the crazy chaos of the full story of the whole series. I am sure all of you who have read the first two will have a few good giggles as you experience their strange and bonkers life around Birch.

I am working on other things, I have started a brand new dystopian story, which I am still outlining, but I am happy with what is on the page so far, and enjoying putting it together as well as continuing Ariel and Branna’s story, of which one particular aspect of that has been great fun, as it involves writing some moments of Robbie and Runestone’s children, which are yet to hit the book market in a book set eighteen years after Kingdom. My wife has had a little peep, and she is already in love with some of the kids.

Closing submissions for new manuscripts from other writers to VCP, has really allowed me to work with a lot more freedom, as now, instead of spending months working with new writers, who then pull out for other platforms, I have had time to work on my own material, and I have really been enjoying it. It is much less stressful, and allows me my creative freedom back, so for a while, VCP will only be putting out RJM books, of which, I have quite a few manuscripts almost ready.

I have other ideas in the works, one of which may be some form of channel with discussions of the books and behind the scenes stuff. That involves a lot of extra work and tech, which I have been working at for a while, but I am still working out the logistics, and which platform to use at the moment. Looking at how puritan and moralistic platforms like You Tube have become, I need to find something that will not ban some of the themes of Kingdom or the Curio’s. It is something I have wanted to do for a long while, and I hope after the summer to start recording some things, and will maybe have a guest or two featured, to talk books, writing and a writers life, not just mine, but possibly a few others.

As always, I am grateful to all my readers, and love getting things organised and ready for you all, and so watch this space for all the new stuff, that is coming in the not too distant future. As always, comment, like, and share this stuff around, and get everyone talking about the books, so I can continue to battle social media’s biased and unfair algorithms, and keep the books coming.

My thanks to you all, talk again soon.

RJM.

Yuletide

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  On the late afternoon of December 21st, he had returned, and with Runestone, they led the vigil in the old stone circle above the stockade and celebrated the Winter Solstice, and the going down of the sun on the shortest day of the year.

  Rune had smiled with joy as they headed back to the Mere in the darkness, and placed a fat heavy log on the fire to banish the darkness and celebrated with wine and ale. It was a time of family, and together they decorated the house with fresh holly and mistletoe, and Rune laughed with delight as Robbie carried in a large potted pine, to decorate with small decorations made of woven straw, and biscuits hung on red ribbon.

  The tree was topped with an elaborately made five pointed star of silver, which was their first ever Yule gift as a couple, and made by Jade’s skilled hand.

   All round the house candles burned, casting a warm flickering glow across everything, as the house rang to the sound of Rune, as she giggled with happiness while she prepared the meal for all the family who would be arriving shortly.

            Taken from “The Queen of the Violet Isle, HTTK Book Four.”

Green Man Yule.

Yule for me is time of darkness and light. At this time of year I always yearn to be alone and reflect on my year and my past, something that is not as possible now as I have a family. Before 2008 when I worked alone, I would always close up my shop at the end of the day of selling Christmas trees and wreaths, and walk home in the cold crisp air. On many occasions, I would divert from the road, and walk along the dark silent canal pathway, my mind lost in thoughtful reflection of my year. I think it was on one of those long walks home that I formulated what was to become the opening passage of book four, a section of which is at the top of this article.

The above passage from HTTK BK four, is based on real life events, and something I was a part of in my teenage years with a wonderful group of hippies, who changed my life, and showed me a way of living that was more in tune with who I was, and less in tune with the expectations of my family at that time. We numbered eight, of which today only three of us still live spread across three different countries, and on this day more than ever, I remember them and miss them dearly.

One figure more than any stands out for me, for she was the oldest of all us, and in many ways she became the focus of the character Steph in my books. I shall not name her out of respect for her family, for she walked from this realm and into another many years ago, and yet such was the power of her kindness and wisdom, I have never forgotten her, an feel privileged that I had a part in her life .

With her husband she made jewellery, and bags from cloth, she even knitted all of us warm hats and scarves, which she usually presented us with on Yule. Her husband was a Druid, and it was from him I learned a great deal of tree lore and the rituals of a Celtic past. My Steph figure was indeed a mother figure to all of us, even though she was only five years older than us, but even so her wisdom for her young years was honest, open, and deeply insightful. She gave me a lot of good advice at a time when I was lost, insecure, and looking for direction, and it was through her wisdom, which has stayed with me always, I think I found my way back into my love of plant lore and eventually writing.

I remember one Yule celebration and telling her how one person in my family life referred to me as the Scarecrow, and she smiled and asked how I felt about that. I was pretty scruffy at the time with my long tatty hair, faded Led Zeppelin tee, afghan coat, and patched pants, I told her it felt insulting and unjustified, and she simply smiled and asked, “are you ill at ease with the way you dress?” No I protested, I love how I dress, and her reply was simple, “Then embrace the Scarecrow, if you embrace it, then it will no longer feel unjust or an insult, I would say, it could be a compliment.” She gave a sly giggle and it made sense.

One particular member of my family expected our whole family to conform to her standards, I had refused to, and as a result of my teenage rebellion, I had embraced my free living side and joined the throng of growing hippies across the UK. She was appalled at it and refused to entertain me until I cut my shoulder length hair and changed my attire. Scarecrow was meant to be an insult, a means to shame me into conforming to her will, and so I embraced it and became more extreme, and whenever the insult was fired at me by herself or one of her pillar of society friends, I simply stood still and lifted my arms out in a Scarecrow pose. (I smile as write this)

It worked wonderfully, and soon the comments stopped. Embracing the Scarecrow took away my insecurity, and gave me the courage for the first time in my life to actually make a stand for who I was, and who I wanted to be. It felt like a life changing moment in my life at the time, and today as I look back, I can see how much of a difference it has made to the person I have become.

Every year on December 21st and 22nd, we all made our way to her house, and as the light of the day faded, all the lights in the house were extinguished, and we would gather around the hearth of the old open grate fire. She would say a small blessing and thank the world around us for the gifts of life, and the bounty of the wilds, and then she would lean forward and light the kindling stacked in the chimney grate. Once the fire began to burn, she would take a large cut log out of a basket, and place it on the fire to burn slowly over the coming days. Candles were lit from the burning fire and placed all around the house, bringing light to every room.

Once the fire was burning, and the house filled with light, her husband would carry in the tree of scots pine, one year we even had a holly bush in a huge pot, and we would all take part in the decoration of the tree. There were few baubles, and only a short string of electric lights, all the rest of the decorations were small neatly wrapped packages bearing the names of each of us, and special cookies that hung on red ribbons. Even now I still find it to be one of the most magical parts of my life, which is why many years back when I wrote the above passage for the fourth book, I wanted to save that very important moment of my life within its pages.

Drink mead and hail the Ancestors.

Yule was a time of friends and feasting, and all of us stayed together for the two days and laughed, talked and got quite drunk as I remember, I almost danced once such was the power of the home brew.

It is a memory filled with light, but also for myself edged with darkness, for I miss those wonderful people deeply at this time of year. Heirs to the Kingdom is more than just a story, it is the combination of a life, of love for people, and the adventures that are woven through all of my life of experience. I realise for most people it is simply a tale of adventure and fantasy, but I can assure you it is so much more than that, it is filled to the core with a life as real as your own, carefully written from hidden truth of a time long since gone, when people cared about each other and love had a true meaning between not just lovers, but true friends. The world has changed so much since that time, which is why it was so important for this memory to be kept alive in print.

On this day I gather my family around my own fire, and light a candle to light the darkness and pay tribute to my friends, and those other important special people I have lost from my life. Alone later I will sit and toast them, and then for a sad while I shall sit alone and remember them.

Whether you follow Yuletide or not, I send out my blessings and goodwill to all of you, may you walk on green paths with the trees above you, to keep you all safe from the storms of life next year and beyond.

Yuletide blessings to you all.

December 22nd 2007.

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The Market Garden Shop December 2007

 

The picture on this post is possibly the last picture taken of the “Market Garden Shop” on Denton Market, it may even be the last picture of a trading shop on the market ever. It was taken on December 14th 2007, and within eight days of this moment, sadly the market and this little shop was closed forever bringing an end to 147 years of Market Trading Tradition in Denton, Greater Manchester in the UK.

Today 22nd of December 2017 is not such a great day for myself and a great friend, as today marks ten years since we lost our business to a council hell bent on ignoring the wishes of those who used the market, and their ambition to create a town plaza in Denton. It is yet another example of how local councils ride rough shot over ordinary people to achieve a pointless goal. The plaza that is now empty of life and has killed off a great deal of the surrounding business has been yet another very expensive nail in the coffin of local community.

For my good friend Pru and myself, we fought a long and hard campaign to try and save the market, but the odds were always against us, and for our efforts we paid a very high price. Our health suffered greatly and we lost the one thing we loved the most, we lost our market trading businesses. The people lost so much more, especially when you consider the impact that local communities have felt in the last eight years of austerity. Never before has there been a greater need for traders who work on smaller margins to keep prices low for the poorer members of our communities, never has there been a greater need for Market Traders.

We warned back in 2007 that all the local markets would be hit hard, and today we can see we were right and should have been listened to, but our warnings fell on deaf ears, and the cost that has been paid will be felt this Christmas by a lot of people, our markets stand shrunken, overpriced and almost empty.

It has taken me ten years to recover from that terrible time, it’s been a process that was long and hard and at great personal cost, and I have been asked many times if a regret the fight that cost me everything? I regret that I lost everything; I will never regret facing the overwhelming odds of a fight that took everything I had. I fought for what was right, and I still believe that it was the correct thing to do for the many people of Denton who needed a voice. I am sorry that Pru and myself could not bring the small victory our customers hoped for, and have always regretted that, but I think we can both say, we did our best in an impossible situation.

I have many happy memories of working on the market, and today as I look back, they will bring me some cheer. Markets were the life blood of our communities at one time, they were filled with so many different kinds of people, and I was always proud to be there to serve them. I have met many very kind people, many grumpy old souls, and some of the most bonkers people ever, I have not forgotten them, I never will, and so today I feel a little sadness.

All things end, and life no matter how bleak eventually brightens up. The light at the end of the tunnel was my decision to recover my health and change my career, and as a result I became a full time writer. My stories contain some of the struggle of those times, and some of the joys, life for me changed but the darkness of those times shaped the way I tell my stories, and that is the positive in my own personal story. This tiny little wooden shop meant so much to me at the time, and sat here ten years later it means even more. It is here in this little wooden building that the quiet moments of thought and talk with friends brought about the motivation that began another journey. On December 22nd 2007 I locked up my shop forever, and even though it has been demolished, and wiped from this earth, there on that cold empty plaza is a spot that will remain in my heart forever.

That spot to me is sacred, for it was there that I looked at my friend Louis, and told him of a story I had been working on for years, and I had begun to write it at last. In that little shop the very first draft of “The Bowman of Loxley” came into being, it was part one of a story that I had no idea would grow to a series of eight books, and bring pleasure to readers in many other countries from the one that I lived in. The Market Garden Shop, even though wiped from the face of the earth, is the birth place of Heirs to the Kingdom.

Let’s see the council try and take that away from me.

Merry Christmas Pru, and Louis, thanks for all your support and inspiration.

Blessed Yule Robbie, Runestone, and the Specialists.

 

The Bonds of the Specialists

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A couple of nights ago, I had the chance to meet up with people who in most cases I have not seen in thirty years. A very old friend of mine from my teenage years was fifty, and out of the blue I received an invite, which is something of a rarity these days as I have very much become quite the recluse over the last ten years.

For me personally, it was a chance to walk down a familiar lane into my past, and for the few hours that we assembled and laughed as we caught up on old times, it felt like I had travelled back through time to an era that was very precious to me. It was amazing how meeting these familiar faces and personalities gave me a strong sense of ease, as there was no awkwardness or long pauses, it was almost as if the assembled group just went from one way of being, straight into a past way of being as the years appeared to shed away, and we simply picked up where we left off.

Like many groups of people from the past, we all grew up together and hung out as teenagers, and with time we followed our career paths or settled down to start our own families, and as a result some of us lost touch. I for one headed off into the world of Horticulture, and my life became long hours of work, which did indeed take me away from the social scene. It was quite an eventful moment to walk into a room and meet those now much aged faces, which still bore the smiles and sparkles within the eyes of people who surprisingly, despite the difficulties of life and age, still wore that familiar air of youth and devilishness that I know so well.

The Dedication from Heirs to the Kingdom Book seven

I was very lucky in my youth to be a part of few social circles, and it is with these circles of very special people from my past that I draw the inspiration for my Specialists within Heirs to the Kingdom. It is these strong bonds from my youth, which have been the back bone of my writing of the group that unite as friends in the common purpose of fighting for freedom from repression. These people of my bygone era are my pool of characteristics and personality traits, which I have blended and shaped to form the strong personalities of my story. The feeling of comradery one feels within the pages of the book, are a very real aspect of my own life, and it has always been my hope to allow the reader to sense the strength of the bond, and hopefully identify with it, and relate it to their own lives and past memories and understand the importance of such connections.

I think it is more and more an important aspect of all our lives these days, especially in the modern times where it is so easy to become despondent with life and isolate ourselves. Modern technology does indeed take us from the group and give us the digital means to remain in contact, but it is also a very isolationist technology, and as my evening amongst old friends proved, it really is no substitute for the real thing of meeting in person. I have chosen a way of life that in itself is isolationist, as I am writer, and in order to focus on the task of assembling my stories, I lock myself away and use a combination of memory and imagination to work out my plots and characters. I am also and have been most of my life very much an introvert who feels like I am always on the edges of any social gathering. When placed in amongst those who I feel comfort around, then I feed off the energy of the moment and can interact with wit and laugh with ease, which probably does explain why these people of my past are so important, not only in fulfilling a part of my life as a human being who needs interaction, but also as the source of the deep bonds that binds us all.

In Modern life it is so easy to become distracted, and without realising it suddenly find the threads of our life are broken, I watch people sat in café’s and on the street as they look down at their phones, and go about their lives staring at their screens, without really noticing what is going on around them. These devices that enable us to communicate, I think most of the time work against the principle of their invention. It concerns me that in today’s modern world we consume small soundbites of friendship, and information as the guide to living, and it feels like we are missing the bigger picture of interaction on a personal level.

When I talk to those who read my books about the story, their comments are always centred around the interaction of the characters. It feels at times like what I see as the normal bond between friends, is fast becoming a major part of the fiction I write. It surprises me when I realise that people crave the same strong bonds and interaction, and yet to ask them to switch off their phone, is like asking them to walk through fire.

Meeting up with these very special people from my past, was such a wonderful experience, and in many ways it has fuelled yet more inspiration for my writing. The ability to sit and talk, share old stories and laugh with each other, was very much a deeply rewarding experience, and as I have remembered the way we once lived and the joy we had from our interactions, I have watched the youth of today and noticed a massive difference that maybe I had not really understood or connected with until now. Today’s modern teenagers do not talk in person, they sit in groups, but they do not face each other and smile, they all sit in rows with their heads down looking at the digital screen and tapping their keys at speed. Will they meet up in 30 years to talk of the fun and wildness of their youth? Will they even recognise each other? I am not certain they will, and I cannot help but feel some sadness.

Maybe the characters I write today will one day have a fictitious relationship that is seen as a snap shot of the past, and maybe the books of the future will be all about interaction via a digital appliance. It is somewhat of a sombre thought indeed, and does to a degree echo my thoughts throughout all of Heirs to the Kingdom, on walking away from the modern world to live a simpler way of life that is not as dependant on technology.

As with all things I will continue to watch the world and it will serve as inspiration for future works, but I think for now it does strike an interesting point, and one  I feel I will continue to discuss amongst friends (In person).

In Remembrance of my Furry Face Friend.

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Sparky the Cat, the inspiration for Furry Face, in HTTK.

Sparky the Cat, the inspiration for Furry Face, in HTTK.

When I was a young boy I was told by a Vicar that pets don’t go to Heaven. It was for myself a very profound moment, because in my mind at the time, I just could not accept that my rabbits, of which I had a few at the time, meant the world to me. I think it was a turning point for me, as the notion that living things such as animals were not like us, and therefore lesser in the eyes of the world of men, was so alien to me, I simply refused to accept the word of an adult for the very time in my life. Today my view has not changed, I see all living creatures as individual beings, and I do try very much to show them all the same courtesy and respect, as I would another human.

The case in point I think is very apparent when I think about my cat Sparky. Sparky passed away three days ago, at the grand old age of 16, which for a cat is pretty old, and today I feel like I have lost one of the most important people in my life. Its just a cat I hear a few of you scoff, and yes I can understand such lines of thought, but the reality is he was more than just a cat to me.

I came across Sparky when he was three years old, he was living in a house that was filled with Foster children, and to be honest they were brutal in the way they treated him. He was dirty, underfed, and would spend his days nervously sitting under the bushes in a friend of mines garden. To make matters worse, the layers of his left ear had separated, and filled with blood, which resulted in the ear swelling to twice the size of his head. It was so heavy he had to drag his face across the floor, and he actually walked backwards. He had no trust whatsoever of people, and he was very timid and afraid of everything.

I was appalled at the way he was being treated and I wanted to help him, but he was not an easy cat to get hold of, and I spent weeks as the huge ball on the side of his head grew larger trying to find ways I could capture him. I think the thing that motivated me, and made me try so hard to help him was simply the look in his eyes. I could see the sadness and the weariness from the burden of life in the foster home, and the mass growing out of his head. I really do not care what anyone may say, his eyes reflected back the horror of his life, and the deep overwhelming sadness he had as a result

When I eventually did capture him, and wrestled him into the cat carrier, he fought with everything he had, I could see the terror on his face and he scratched me and bit me as if his life depended upon it. Sweating and bleeding, I got him in the box and took him to the Vet. Now I will say at this point I had vowed never to have another pet, I do get attached and at that time I was working the markets and away a great deal of the day, but the vet told me quite clearly, it would be better for him if he was destroyed, and considering the quality of life he had at that time, I could not even think that way, in my mind he deserved to have a least some life free of the burden he had carried so long, so in the end I chose for him to be operated on and told the Vet to do everything he could to make him well again.

All I can say is that looking at his face, I could see the intelligence behind the eyes, and even though he was terrified of me, I think in some small way he knew I genuinely was trying to help. A week later I returned home with him, having had to do a quick shop and get all the things I would require for the nursing back to health of a cat, I will say at this point I had no intention of keeping him, I just wanted to make him better. The Cat hated me… I came home opened the cat carrier and with a head full of paw print covered bandage and large plastic cone, he bolted straight out of the carrier, and headed for the window, he bounced off the glass and hissed like a cat possessed, and then darted behind the sofa. I spent the next five hours trying to coax him out while he repeatedly fought with the cone to get it off his head, and if I even tried to get close to him, he would wail and scream at me as he hunched up ready to strike. I found myself to be the carer of one very pissed off cat, and so began the very long process of trying to show him I meant him no harm.

To begin with I placed his food in the centre of the room, and lifted my feet off the floor so he could see the food but not me, it worked and he slipped out and ate vigorously. I tried to ignore him and just went about my business as if he did not matter, which again did help calm him down, it was obvious he was very antisocial and wanted no contact with anyone, especially me. Life continued this way for a week, but the problem was I needed to check his dressing, his ear had been stitched back and I had been told to keep an eye on it, but there was no way he was going to allow me closer than six feet. The moment I tried to come closer to him, he would explode and hiss and then shoot off for the back of the sofa, it was really frustrating.

One evening shortly before he had to return to the Vet, it had gone very cold and I had lit the fire, I had been busy in the other room and as I came back to the main room I noticed him lay in front of it a look of sheer bliss on his face. I stopped and looked at him, and as had become the trend over the last week I spoke to him, trying to keep eye contact with him, he viewed me warily, but such was the joy of the heat, he stayed lay on the rug. I knelt down a good ten feet away and quietly asked if he liked that, I noticed he moved his paws, almost as if he was opening and clenching a hand. I know this is something kittens do when they are insecure, so I spread my hands out on the carpet and I mimicked his actions. I could see the surprise in his eyes, and watched as he copied my movements, and so began what was in a way our first moments of connection, and the first rung of the ladder of trust between us. I got within four feet of him as his dark eyes watched my hands and I copied his paw movements.

It was a start of the process, and over the next week became almost like a game between us, he would lie in front of the fire and watch me, and I would sit on the sofa carefully watching him out of the corner of my eye, each time he moved a paw, I copied, it was almost like we had some sort of secret sign language, until finally one evening he had his food, and then walked straight up to my leg, and rubbed his cone contained head on it before going back to the fire. Needless to say I got him to the Vet and with a little less fighting, and he had began to see that I meant him no harm, we had established the basics of trust between us. When the time came to hand him back to his rightful owners over nine weeks later, I knew I couldn’t, I know that technically I had for want of a better word stolen him, but I had done it for his sake not my own, but the thought of taking him back to that hell hole where children could kick and punch at him was simply too much for me to bare. It was a friend of mine at the time who made it clear I had saved his life, and he had shown some trust in me, and to hand him back would violate everything between us. Wrong as it was I kept him, and to be honest it is something I will never apologise for, or regret.

I named him Sparky, simply because when he hissed at me, he sounded like a fizzing light switch, it’s one a few quirks he had, and together we worked on our levels of trust and over time we became firm friends. It was a long slow process, but we did build up a huge amount of trust between each other, he still did not trust anyone else, and would bolt if I had visitors, and if they tried to stroke him, believe me he would take their hand off such was the power of his claws. Sparky put on weight and looked like a completely different cat, he was big for a cat, but not fat, if anything he was muscular and powerful, I was told he was a Scottish breed by the Vet who informed me he was now in tip top health, unlike my bank balance, and he was indeed surprised, as he then admitted he was sure that Sparky was not going to make it when he first saw him.

So began the years of togetherness, when I was home in the greenhouse, he sat at my feet and played with the twine hanging from the bench, if I was at my desk, he slept below my chair, and at night when I slept he lay across my feet, and would pounce on me if I moved too much. Sparky gave me another dimension to my life, I worked really long hours and would come home exhausted and collapse on the sofa. I would always wake to find him snuggled into me and I realised that he filled an empty void in me that I was not even aware was there. At that time I was in a relationship, which had become quite long term, but it had been made quite clear there was no chance of marriage or living together, and as I look back, I can see how in many ways how unfulfilled it was, don’t get me wrong there were obvious benefits to it, but it felt almost like it was just a surface relationship with no real depth, if I am really honest, it had reached a point where it did feel like Sparky had a closer bond with me than she did.

In 2005, I had stopped working the markets and taken up residence on the front of a local market in one of the market units. I have worked hard all my life, and finally my efforts had begun to pay off, in a fixed unit my business became quite successful, and for the first time in a long time, I was home more and was also saving money. My long term relationship finally had come to an end, and so I settled back into life with just me and Sparky. He was good company and loyal, our bond had grown and he trusted me implicitly, and it was at this time I returned back to writing as a way of passing my free time. Most nights I would sit in my office, with his bed at the side of me on the floor, and I would write away happily, stopping only to read back what I had written. I often caught him watching me as I read back my words, and it felt as though he was listening to my every word, it made me smile to think here was a cat who enjoyed literature, but at times just that look in his eyes felt as if he was taking in every word.

I would ask him what he thought, and he would nod his head almost as if saying “Yeah it’s not bad” and I would scratch his crinkled ear and then carry on writing again. Sparky was the first to ever hear the first complete drafts of Heirs to the Kingdom read out loud, and I would smile at him and ask, so how was that? He responded with a gesture or would stretch on his bed and stand up to rub his head on my leg, which I felt was his way of offering his approval, every now and again he clenched his paws and expanded them again, which I took as full approval. For a while a I settled back alone at home with my unexpected new found friend, who was in so many ways similar to myself and I would find myself enjoying my free moments at home more and more with just my rapidly growing cat as wonderful company. He gave me so much joy, it was hard to understand how it was possible, I would sit in the garden and look up at him sat high on the pergola cross beam, enjoying the sunshine and watching the world as I did, and it made me smile. We always played before bedtime, he loved cat nip, and I had a jug by the fire filled with his toys, it was often funny to hear a thumping downstairs, and when I went down there he would be with his head in the jug, lifting out his favourite toys to play with. I spent hours in the garden with him softly talking to him, he would lie in the sun and open one eye when I spoke, or wink at me, his eyes always filled with life and contentment, and deep down inside I knew how happy he was, and that gave me happiness as I know that I had done right by him.

Around this time the local council announced that they were going to demolish the market including my shop, and build a communal garden and market square, something that was a hugely unpopular proposal with the local people who used the markets, and I began a campaign with the local traders to save the market place and my business which was booming. What followed was to be two years of hell, as the traders clashed with the local council to try and save their businesses. We had no chance of winning from the offset as the councillors were hell bent on getting their own way, and to be honest were not too fussy about how they achieved their goal. The following two years were stressful as I watched their endless dirty tricks slowly bring about the collapse of the business. There were endless rule changes and new conditions imposed, the roads around our shops became no parking zones with a whole host of new traffic wardens, and finally after over a year of open letters crossing in the press came the threats, I was losing money and losing everything, my savings plummeted as I used up what I had to keep me afloat until the court fight was over, and I was starting to get sick from the fatigue of not sleeping and constant worry. Many nights I would return home exhausted and upset over yet another problem, rule change, or imposed fine for something I had allegedly done to breach market regulations, and I had finally reached the point where I had run out of money and was living on the edge of my nerves. Sparky always sat on my bin waiting, and as trudged in through the gate he would jump down with a meow and with his tail in the air come to greet me.

It felt as if no matter what else happened that was awful in the world, it didn’t matter, because he cared what happened to me, and he was always happy to see me, and at that time, I really needed a friend to sit and comfort me. I would sit at home at night on the edge of breaking, and he would jump up at my side and nuzzle into me, then curl up on my lap as I softly stroked his ears and relaxed a little. I think in a way it was almost as if he was finally returning the favour, for this was my darkest time and he made sure when I got home he was there for me as I had been for him. By the end of 2007 I was grabbed in the local supermarket car park and threatened by two very heavy guys that I needed to quit fighting the council before I got hurt, and to be honest that was enough and I ended the fight and gave the council the terms I would settle out of court for. It was enough to finally frighten me and by Christmas Eve 2007 I was off the market, and had lost my business and all my savings, I had nothing left and everything was gone, exhausted and alone, I came home bolted the door and slept through Christmas in an exhausted state, only waking for brief periods when Sparky would jump up on the bed and nuzzle into me, again it felt like he was just checking to make sure I was OK.

It was January 2008 when I finally got out of bed and had to work out what I was going to do for the rest of my life, I was still worried about the threats of violence, as I had caused the council some huge embarrassment with my endless writings of the facts in the press, so I decided to keep a low profile, and stayed home to write my book. It was a really cold January, but Sparky and me made ourselves comfortable in my office and I rewrote my book from scratch. Something in me had changed a great deal, I think it was a process of re-evaluation brought on by all that happened, I was heartbroken at losing my business, which I had slaved over for 12 years to build up, which had been demolished for nothing more than the vanity of a local Labour council, I took a long hard look at my life and was not sure I liked where I had ended up. It was a time of high emotion, as I felt broken and dejected and as it came to the surface and all bubbled over, I let it all flow out and into the books I was writing. It was a bleak time and Sparky sat beside me and would lift his head and watch me, just to ensure I was alright. He was my greatest companion and source of comfort at that time, and as mad as it sounds it was almost as if he knew and understood everything I was going through. There were many occasions when I broke down and would slump on the desk and weep, and every time he jumped up on the desk and nuzzled his head to mine to comfort me. They say that creatures are dumb and do not understand, well let me tell you, they are a lot smarter than we give them credit for, and Sparky especially was a very clever cat. I am not sure I would have made it through those times without him; his small little gestures would break through my sadness and pain, and help me get through the darkest moments of my life, and just the look in those incredibly intelligent eyes reassured me there was someone around who did care.

It was during that time as I talked to him sat in front of the PC, I told him all about my story, and I told him as my greatest supporter through the writing times, I would model a character on him. Sparky was a bard cat with beautiful black markings on hues of grey with and light brown, and he sat watching approvingly, I told I would write him in as a ferocious Tiger, who had the heart of a lion, but could show great kindness to those who deserved it, and so began the role of Furry Face, who Jade and Runestone would call “Big Baby Boy” a term I had often used in regard to him when scratching his chin as his eyes rolled in delight. He entered in book three for time, and then reappears later when I had the chance to define his role better, as the tiger who was neglected and mistreated by his keepers, and escaped to live with those who would love and care for him. I read him the first extracts as I wrote them, and he made me giggle when he suddenly sat up and looked rather smug and pleased with himself, I never doubted he understood every word I read out, and in a way I am happy knowing that through my writing, his spirit will live on.

The following years saw great changes to our life, I met my wife to be, and children came to the house as our family expanded, I must admit I was worried about how he would react, after all his greatest time of fear had been due to the persecution he suffered with children, and he was still very antisocial with everyone apart from me. Sparky took instantly to my wife Rin, she was actually more nervous of him at first, but with a toy and some string he played almost like a kitten with her, something I had never thought I would ever see. They became firm friends, even more so when she became pregnant with my daughter, it was almost as if he was aware of the life within her, and he stayed close to her at all times, choosing to sit by her side, or on the floor next to her feet. When Iona came along again I was worried at how he would react to two children in the house, Alfie who was four had at times teased him a little and he had scratched Alfie, but with Iona he was completely different.

Sparky took to her from day one, it was almost as if he felt it was his duty to guard her, there was one occasion when Iona was in her baby chair just inside the kitchen, when one of the neighbours cats peeped in through the open window, I have never forgotten the sight of how he leapt up in front of Iona and on to the unit and attacked the cat in a brutal manner, it was by far the most fierce I had ever seen him, and all I can put it down to is that he was protecting her in his own little way. He was always very different with Iona, he tolerated far more with her than he did Alfie, if she went to far he would knock her away with his paw, but he never brought his claws out. It was quite normal for him to walk up and nuzzle into her, which delighted her and it was very clear how attached to him she had grown, “Cat” was one of the first words Iona ever learned, and as she grew and she would sit and draw at the table, she always drew pictures of stick men that showed her family, one for Mummy, one for Daddy, one for Alfie, and herself, and at her side was always Sparky. I think it was the most simple and yet the most accurate definition of the family, because Sparky was never just a pet, he was without doubt a full and equal member of the family.

The whole Family, as seen by my daughter.

The whole Family, as seen by my daughter.

In spring of 2013 Sparky came home shot. All I can say is that it was the act of some cold evil and sadistic son of a bitch that would target a cat at point blank range. The bullet went right through him, but luckily it did not hit any major organs, nursing him back to health took quite some time, and for the first time in all the years we had been together I was seriously afraid for him. By now he had grown old, he was reaching his 16th year and had already started to turn grey in places. For most of the time as he recovered he would lie on the bed and watch me as I worked at the desk, a great deal of the time Iona would lie on the bed next to him and talk to him or sing him songs, something I think he took a great deal of enjoyment from. His recovery was slow but he finally made it back to full health over a long four months of constant care. I think it had a dramatic effect on him as he began to feel his age, he no longer jumped up on the unit to go in and out of the window, he sat by the back door and waited to be let out, and he began to sleep more and only go out if he needed to. I think in the back of my mind I knew his time with me was coming to an end, but like everything you love, you try to dismiss it and hope its not so.

In the first ten days of October 2013 he stayed in front of the fire on his bed and did not move, I could tell he was not feeling his best and sat with him most nights just stroking his ears and talking to him, his appetite dropped something I knew was not good, Sparky was a big cat, never that fat but very muscular. I tried to hand feed him and he did take it off my fingers, but I knew it was not enough to sustain him for long. As I sat beside him quietly talking, just after midnight on October 9th he had a seizure, it frightened the hell out of me, and brought home one of my biggest fears, as I knew then I was going to lose him. He appeared to recover a little and relax and in his way he thanked me for being there with him, and so began our final moments together.

I wrapped him up in his blanket and lifted him into my arms, and for the rest of the night I talked to him and stroked him, his eyes were fixed on me all night as I held him and told him how much he meant to us all. It was a painful difficult night, as I really was not ready to say goodbye to him, but at 7:40 am just as the sun rose on October 10th, he gave a small meow, and then started to purr, something Sparky had never done before, it had always been a joke with us that he was a cat that did not know how too, but as clear as day he purred as I tickled his ear and then gave one last huge sigh, the purr drained and he died in my arms and the wave of grief that washed over me was huge as I lost a wonderful friend whom I loved very deeply, I think he knew that and had the roles been reversed I think he too would have felt the same way.

I laid him out carefully and took great care to ensure he was groomed and presentable. He was wrapped up and his blanket with his favourite toys, and shown huge honour and respect as he truly deserved, and I laid him to rest with a prayer, as would be befitting of any human being, he deserved no less. Sparky was buried in his favourite part of the garden, below the confers he climbed, and where the sun always shone to warm him. Around his grave I made a circle of stones befitting any Celtic hero, and I lit incense to honour him and ensure his passage into other worlds.

If you honestly believe animals do not have souls, and are lesser than humans, I can honestly say I pity you, for my experience of Sparky proved to me beyond a doubt, that even though they cannot speak to us in our own words, animals have exactly the same feelings and emotions, the same insecurities and strengths, and the same loyalty and capacity to love as all of us. In his final hour Sparky knew I was with him, and he understood the depth of my feelings towards him, they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and looking into his, it was clear he had one, and as such he was laid to rest with honour and the respect befitting his status. I miss him, and will never fully get over losing him, for he impacted my life in ways I would never have thought possible, he brought me endless amounts of joy, and became more than just some creature to care for, for he became a companion of equal standing to any friend I have ever had, if not more. I loved and cared for him as deeply as I do my children, and I was glad to have been a huge part of his life. In the sadness I feel at his loss, I also feel some happiness, because I saw the change I made, when I lifted him out from under a bush as the tortured and victimised creature he had become. I take huge comfort in knowing that by helping him, I gave him a new life that was filled with happiness and love and was fully contented. He was happy and lived his life to the full in peace and safety, and as a result he grew to a grand old age for cat, and I also think it was a debut he repaid to me in return out of gratitude and love. We were friends, who started off with a lot of mistrust, but the bond that grew between us was unbreakable, and both of our lives benefited from knowing each other, and I will be forever grateful for the part he played in my darkest of moments, for he truly helped me through all of it.

I still look to the window in hope he will come through, or glance at the fire or bed expecting to see him, it is hard not seeing him around the place, especially when returning home from somewhere, I miss him on the path or by the gate waiting for me to welcome me home, yet I take some comfort from knowing that his spirit will be with me forever, as is the spirit of all who have passed through my life, and when my time in this world finally comes to an end, somehow I think it will be his spirit sat watching and waiting to greet me as I enter the new world, and we will wander together again as good friends through eternity.

In loving remembrance of a true and loyal friend, Sparky (Furry Face).