Continuing my series on inspiration and influences for my novels, in this post I am taking a look at the ideas behind my romantic drama Love vs Honour.

This book stands apart from the rest of my novels, as teenage romantic fiction is not a genre I generally dabble in. However, themes of religious oppression, deception and revenge are definitely mainstays in a lot of my other writing, and they are very much to the fore here. I have always been drawn to unusual love stories, and I wanted Love vs Honour to succeed on that level, as well as, given the potentially contentious subject matter, on the level of a thought provoking drama that would attract readers outside the teenage romance crowd.

Here are two key influences on Love vs Honour:

Romeo and Juliet (William Shakespeare) – The most obvious influence on the novel, purely because disapproving families have always been a staple as a blocking force in romantic fiction. Also, I think as protagonists Johnny and Sabina share some of Romeo and Juliet’s characteristics, although certainly they evolve in very different directions.

House of Sand and Fog (Andre Dubus III) – Pre-revolutionary Iran under the Shah hangs like a shadow over the character of Massoud in this novel, as it does over Sabina’s father Ahmed in Love vs Honour. I have always been fascinated by the appalling damage caused by the Iranian revolution to those whose beliefs were insufficiently radical for the new regime, and their subsequent exile in western nations.

I have to confess, I struggled to think of other writing or stories that were an influence on the novel, although I am hardly the first to try and tackle interfaith romance. Tonally, some of Peter Weir’s films (particularly Picnic at Hanging Rock, Dead Poets Society and Witness) were touchstones in their explorations of emergent teenage sexuality, loneliness, overbearing parents and clashing cultures.

The truth is the main inspiration came as the result of a long train of thought whilst stuck in traffic on a long and boring bus journey. The setting came to me later, once I moved to Devon and I was inspired by locations in that part of the world.

You can download or buy print copies of Love vs Honour from Amazon here.

So far, 2017 has been a very productive year for me. I have finished the first draft of The Spectre of Springwell Forest, and am awaiting feedback from a couple of willing guinea pigs, whose critical eyes are passing over said prose. In the meantime, I am working on my second novel of the year, tentatively titled A Statement of Disbelief. That project remains top secret for now, but here are a few more details regarding The Spectre of Springwell Forest.

1. It’s a ghost story for grown-ups.

2. Although it is bookended by sequences in the present, most of the story takes place in 1979. Many of my favourite horror films are from the 1970s, so this seems oddly appropriate.

3. Once again, my home turf is the setting, ie the South-West of England.

4. The plot involves a sinister painting, a disused railway tunnel, a potentially haunted forest, children who might be possessed, secret government research and suspiciously tight-lipped villagers who are obviously hiding a major secret.

5. Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black is a key inspiration.

6. I hope readers find the ending as bone-chilling as I did when I thought of it.

7. The Spectre of Springwell Forest is my fourth full-on horror story currently awaiting publication, along with The Wormcutter, The Irresistible Summons and The Thistlewood Curse. Or fifth, if you count The Faerie Gate, which is aimed at children.

Speaking of The Thistlewood Curse, I really am hoping to have news on that front soon. Sorry about the delays. With any luck, it will be downloadable sometime in April once I have finalised one or two final details.

I once read that “the first draft is you telling yourself the story”.

I’m not sure where to attribute that quote, but this is certainly true for me. Whilst I have a good outline of the story whenever I write a novel (including the ending, which is crucial), the precise details of that story are rendered fairly anxiously in a first draft. By anxiously I mean the story is over-explained, repetitious, states the obvious and character dialogue is merely functional at that stage, making sure I know what emotions need to be conveyed. I have to make sure the whole thing makes sense to me, before it can make sense to anyone else.

Should I expose readers to such a draft, they would no doubt feel horribly patronised. However, subsequent drafts eliminate over-explanation and repetition. In fact, the withholding of information, the adding of ambiguity to events, dialogue and so on is a hugely enjoyable process, once you as an author have made sense of the story for yourself. It is almost as though I say to myself “I know what I mean by this. Now I want the reader to add their own interpretation”.

Of course, some writers autocratically want to tell their readers what to think, but the older I get, the more I think this approach is a mistake. What is important to an author will be inherent in the text, but it is better for a reader to bring their own baggage and have wriggle room on interpretation, taking what is applicable to them.

In essence, telling the story to myself also encompasses telling myself how I respond to that story. The rewriting process removes the latter stage, stripping it down to the story only and leaving the interpretation to the reader. The final act in my novel Children of the Folded Valley is a prime example of this. I know what I meant to convey, but I removed the explicit stating of what that is. It is up to the reader to decide.

I have heard some storytelling gurus state that the use of coincidence in a story is a heinous crime and should be avoided at all costs. Obviously Charles Dickens didn’t get that particular memo, as many of his greatest novels, including Oliver Twist and Great Expectations, contain all manner of fortuitous coincidences, many of which are integral to their plots.

My personal opinion is that if coincidence is used in a story, it must be done deliberately with a well-thought through reason. In the case of the Dickens novels mentioned above, the moments of coincidence have fabulist feel, ie the reader feels that they are reading a fable. As such using chance meetings or the like to turn the plot doesn’t seem out of place but rather an organic part of the storytelling process. For example in Great Expectations, when Pip discovers the truth about the relationship between Abel Magwich and Estella, it underscores the entire point of the fable regarding Victorian hypocrisy, the folly of class prejudice and our common humanity.

Outside of such stories, coincidence can be used, but is best kept to the openings – a chance meeting between two characters who then become lovers, for example. However stories that use coincidence later, especially if used to turn the final act, can feel forced, phoney and unsatisfying. This is particularly true if said coincidence comes in the form of deus ex machina, a poncey term for coincidence-zilla whereby a seemingly unconnected act of God gets the protagonists out of their trouble. Pixar’s legendary storytelling rules include “Coincidences to get characters into trouble is great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating”.

One of my favourite Agatha Christie novels, Sleeping Murder, has a terrifically spooky opening that is entirely the result of coincidence. A young recently married couple on holiday in Devon just so happen to drive past a house for sale they rather like the look of. They decide to buy it, but as they go about various decorative renovations, a series of eerie discoveries sets the entire plot in motion, all as a result of the opening coincidence. But because it is the first major part of the story, the inciting incident if you will, what follows feels plausible rather than contrived, even though the odds of the couple coming across this particular house, which has ties to the woman’s past, must have been astronomical.

In conclusion, I think it is foolish to say coincidences (along with adverbs and – whisper it – passages that tell rather than show) are the work of the devil for writers. Instead, I see them as simply tools and techniques that should be used strategically and sparingly.

Continuing my series on inspiration and influences for my novels, in this post I am taking a look at the ideas behind my George Hughes science fiction adventure trilogy, which comprises (in reading order) George goes to Mars, George goes to Titan and George goes to Neptune.

The original idea for this series came from an article I once read online, about how various celebrities had bought plots of land on the moon to build homes there in case it was ever colonised. The person they bought the land from had made a claim with the US Land and Registry office on the entire surface of the moon, which apparently is legally binding (not sure how exactly, as I don’t see how this takes into account the laws of other nations).

The George Hughes series are mysterious, action-packed space stories aimed at the young and young at heart. Each story is a stand-alone adventure, but they do follow on from one another as well. They are not just for children either. Amid the excitement, humour and thrills, I touch on everything from murderous religious fundamentalism to sexual equality, civil rights, slavery as well as more metaphysical elements.

Here are five key influences on the stories:

The Alex Rider series (Anthony Horowitz) – Because so much science fiction literature is more grown-up and serious in nature, I wanted to write something that wasn’t Asimov or Herbert, but more of an unashamed thrill ride that could be enjoyed by all the family. The action packed tone in the George Hughes trilogy very much takes its cue from Horowitz’s brilliant teen spy series. The Alex Rider books particularly impress me because they are well researched and detailed, whilst also being completely non-patronising with adversaries as dangerous as anything in James Bond. In the George Hughes books, I have included a lot of accurate detail on the planets George visits, as well as some properly ruthless villains.

Flash Gordon (Alex Raymond) – The thrills of the original Alex Raymond Flash Gordon comics were another key influence. I wanted each novel to have perilous narrow escapes of the kind that occur so brilliantly in the panels of that seminal publication that later went on to become the Buster Crabbe Saturday matinee serials of the 1940s, the TV animated feature and series, and of course the glorious (if overly spoofy) 1980 film.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Roald Dahl) – The extreme poverty George and his adoptive parents find themselves in at the start of George goes to Mars is akin to the extreme poverty endured by Charlie Bucket and his multiple relatives at the start of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Despite the science fiction setting, I wanted to create a similar, rags-to-riches sense of fairy tale in the way George suddenly comes into his inheritance.

Artemis Fowl (Eoin Colfer) – The mysterious character of Giles, who acts as a protector of sorts for George, draws a certain inspiration from the character of Butler in the Artemis Fowl series. The relationship between Artemis and Butler is also not unlike the relationship between Giles and George, at least to begin with. But of course, over the course of the George Hughes novels, that relationship evolves in rather different ways.

Explorers on the Moon (Herge) – There is a sequence in this comic where Tintin, Captain Haddock and Snowy explore a cave on the moon, which directly inspired the cave exploration sequence in George goes to Mars. Obviously the situation and the outcome are very different, but on a purely visual level this inspired my imagination. The idea of exploring caves on another world is oddly thrilling, and I always wanted it to lead onto a more profound discovery. Of course, in George goes to Mars that is exactly what does happen, though I wouldn’t dream of spoiling that here…

You can download the George Hughes novels from Amazon Kindle here, or else buy printed copies of the first two novels from Lulu here and here, and the third one from Amazon Create here.

Whether writers care to admit it or not, much of what they pen is influenced – consciously or unconsciously – by other works. In my case, I am happy to acknowledge influences, but like any other writer hope my own work stands out in its own right.

With that in mind, I have decided to write a series of articles detailing influences and inspirations for my own books, starting with six key texts that influenced my mystery thriller The Birds Began to Sing.

Rebecca (Daphne Du Maurier) – An obvious gothic touchstone, given that my story contains a Danvers character of sorts. The central mystery is also very Du Maurier-esque. Indeed, one person who read my novel at one point forgot I had written it and thought she was reading Du Maurier. I take that as a very high compliment given that Du Maurier is certainly the strongest influence on The Birds Began to Sing.

Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) – Another obvious gothic influence, chiefly because of the mad wife in the attic angle, which my own novel pays homage to. Like Du Maurier’s Rebecca, Jane Eyre contains a climactic fire that also acts as a symbolic purging metaphor, as all good gothic mysteries should. The Birds Began to Sing continues this tradition.

The Hound of the Baskervilles (Arthur Conan Doyle) – Another obvious influence, and not just because of the Dartmoor setting. The structure of the novel – with the first act in London and the rest of the story in a remote and sinister setting – was a formula I definitely followed. Also the atmosphere of subtle, uncanny menace, particularly during Watson’s first night in Baskerville Hall, proved a huge influence.

Sleeping Murder (Agatha Christie) – The splendidly eerie opening of this story, with its hints of repressed memories, hauntings and insanity, was a definite tonal inspiration. A recently married young woman buys a house and decides she wants to make various decorative changes. As the renovations get underway, the very changes she requested to doors, steps, types of wallpaper and so on are discovered mysteriously hidden beneath the current décor.

The Woman in Black (Susan Hill) – The deeply unsettling spectral appearances throughout Susan Hill’s horror masterpiece proved a big influence on my story, though obviously in my case the ghostly apparitions have a rather different explanation.

Coma (Robin Cook) – Here I must confess the film as much as the novel was an influence. This absolutely nail-biting medical conspiracy thriller contains many elements that are found in my own story, chiefly the tropes of the imperilled heroine who may or may not be paranoid, and her is-he-or-isn’t-he-in-on-it love interest.

You can download The Birds Began to Sing from Amazon Kindle here, or else buy a print copy here.

On Valentine’s Day I normally favour a bit of counter-programming on this blog, rather than slavishly adhere to calendar observance. However, this year I think it is worth promoting fellow author DM Miller, who has written an unusual romantic trilogy. The Religion of the Heart, The Agony of the Heart and Secrets of the Heart are not the kinds of novels I would normally choose to read. However, because the novels centre around interfaith romance, I was interested purely because I have explored this territory a little myself (in my novel Love vs Honour).

DM Miller’s novels are radically different to Love vs Honour, but nonetheless raise many fascinating religious and political questions, in their fearless examination of the challenges faced by those in interfaith marriage.

The main plot appears simple enough, with Catherine and Abdul, Jewish and Arab respectively, meeting and falling desperately in love. In any love story there must be a blocking force, and here the blocking force is less religion but more culture, tradition and in some cases entrenched prejudice, most of which stems from relatives on both sides of their families. The third monotheistic religion, Christianity, is also cleverly woven into the mix, due to Catherine having been partly raised by her strict Christian adoptive father Dan. Incidentally Dan himself, for reasons too complicated to detail here, enters into an interfaith marriage of sorts in the course of the story.

Obviously the primary purpose of this kind of romantic novel is to provide an exhilarating emotional rollercoaster with dizzying highs and crushing lows, with a certain degree of escapism, and the trilogy contain these in spades. For example, Abdul’s rich family background is definitely a romantic escapist element popular in this kind of fiction. However, despite this escapism, intriguing religion based dilemmas are delved into throughout, and it is these that ground the novels, making them provoke thought as well as tug at heartstrings.

Whilst the first novel explores the considerable obstacles that stand in the way of Catherine and Abdul getting married, as well as some surprising family revelations, the second novel concerns complications that ensue post marriage once children enter the mix.  Catherine and Abdul are complex, fully rounded protagonists who elicit sympathy and occasionally irritation, thus making them more believable. The supporting characters are interesting too, particularly Dan.

Some might criticise the novels for being melodramatic, but since melodrama is a genre staple here to say that is to miss the point. Besides, melodrama is not necessarily a dirty word, as I have pointed out elsewhere on this blog. Again, I emphasise that whilst this kind of romantic fiction is not a genre I generally indulge in, DM Miller’s trilogy certainly goes to some interesting places. So far I have read the first two novels in the trilogy, and I look forward to reading the third.