April 2013

Just one year ago today I began writing fiction. I can't explain what took me so long to get started, but it wasn't until I stumbled across an interesting story idea that I found compelling that the bug finally bit.

It bit hard, though. In the last year I have written and published two books and three short stories in my fantasy series The Hounds of Annwn, and the third book is nearing the end. I've managed this “in my spare time” while working a regular job (lots of getting up early, seven days a week).

What does this mean? Total word count for the year is about 400,000 words. On the one hand, I find that almost impossible to believe. On the other, I have a very vivid understanding of just how much more I have to learn in my new profession, and I feel that I've barely scratched the surface.

The best part is getting feedback from readers who are enjoying the stories. Or not. The more I hear from you, the better I can make the books. Please don't be shy about comments or even reviews — I look forward to them.

Over the next year I plan to finish book three (King of the May) and possibly another volume, as well as several more short stories in the same world so that I can bring out a short story collection in print and ebook. I'll also begin a completely different fantasy series, The Affinities of Magic, about a world with an unusual biology, where all living things have magic in some form, and students of wizardry have much to learn.

Wish me luck!

Another short story from the world of The Hounds of Annwn.

Angharad hasn’t lived with anyone for hundreds of years, but now she is ready to tie the knot with George Talbot Traherne, the human who has entered the fae otherworld to serve as huntsman for the wild hunt. As soon as she can make up her mind, anyway.

This short story takes place between the events in To Carry the Horn and The Ways of Winter.

UNDER THE BOUGH

“I haven’t lived with anyone for hundreds of years,” Angharad said. “I’m much too set in my ways, too used to living alone.”

Her old friend Tegwen looked at her pointedly in recognition of the feebleness of these excuses.

“You’ll adapt,” she said.

But do I really want to, Angharad wondered.

“What do you think of George? Truly?” Tegwen prodded.

She couldn’t help it. Her face warmed and she smiled affectionately. She glanced around the morning room to see if Tegwen’s husband Eurig was in sight, but he must be outside seeing to the running of his estate. They were her oldest friends. They had come to the new world in exile together, when Gwyn ap Nudd, Prince of Annwn, had transferred his domain.

She owed her honesty. “He’s kind, bold, even… ardent.” She looked at the floor. “He makes my knees melt.”

And makes me laugh, too. But was that enough?

She voiced her deepest fear. “He must think me a dried out old lady,” she whispered. “He’s so young.”

“And his age bothers you?”

“Not by itself, no, but we hardly know each other.”

Tegwen asked directly, “Do you have any doubts of him?”