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Shift Cover
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Dec. 13th, 2006 @ 11:59 am
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The cover for Shift has just been released and here it is:
I don't who the artist is yet but I'll find out. I suspect it may be Alan Pollack - he did the artwork for Resonance.
For those wanting to see if the picture matches the blurb (and it does) take a look
here
For spoiler reasons, I won't reveal the significance of certain aspects of the cover - but they are there and if you read the book you'll notice them too:)
I'm really pleased. There's always a degree of apprehension when awaiting cover art. Will you get the infamous Men Gambolling in Pink Tights cover* or some strange concoction that bears no relation to the book you thought you wrote. I've had two covers from Baen now and both are great.
*Pink Tights Cover: I forget the title but the story was a sword and sorcery novel - lots of magic and sword play - and the cover had men, dressed in pink, skipping through the woods, arm in arm.
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Let me introduce myself...
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Jul. 22nd, 2006 @ 05:00 pm
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Well it's the weekend and after a hard morning ear-tagging lambs (I hate it, the sheep hate it but bureaucrats will chase after you with thumbscrews if you don't) I thought I'd write an informative post for all the new readers.
Who am I? No, not a 'senior moment' but a way of introducing myself. I'm an English author of SF, mystery and humour (sometimes all at the same time). My first novel, Resonance, was published last November by Baen and you can read all about it here: http://www.humor.me.uk/mambo/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=5&Itemid=26
I first hit the headlines in 1974 when I convinced the UK national media that Cornwall had declared independence. Yes, I was a teenage revolutionary freedom fighter. And, yes, I did form an army, lead them across the Tamar, block all the bridges and annex the country. But - and this is a note to all world leaders - it was a small country and I did give it back. You can read all about it here: http://www.humor.me.uk/mambo/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=27&Itemid=42
Or find the March 27th, 1974 issue of Punch which covered the event.
In, 1995, I moved to France with one wife, three cats, two horses and a large puppy. A decision so reckless that it ripped a hole in the space-time continuum - at least that's the only explanation that makes sense - for within ten minutes of us landing in France a gust of wind ripped the roof off our horse transport and left us sitting in a windswept convertible on a French cliff top. And within eight months I'd been impersonated, my identity stolen, our life savings seized, and abandoned by the police forces of four countries - who all insisted the crime was in someone else's jurisdiction. So, I had to solve the case myself. Which I did. But, unlike fictional detectives, I had an 80 year-old mother-in-law and an excitable puppy - both of whom insisted they couldn't be left behind if I was going anywhere interesting - like a stakeout.
I'm serialising the book - Nous Sommes Anglais - here on the blog. A book best described as A Year in Provence in the Pyrenees with Miss Marple and Gerald Durrell. The completed chapters are posted on my website here: http://www.humor.me.uk/mambo/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=37&Itemid=51
And, as a man with a new camera, I also post animal pictures.
Now, coming up in the next month we have:
1. More animals behaving badly - the completion of the horse ride from hell.
2. Three fetes and a football match - I drink too much at a French fete and accidentally sign professional forms for the local football team. I thought I'd said I'd had professional trials when I was 15. They're under the impression I'd been a professional footballer for 15 years. Language problems again.
3. More confessions of a French Film Extra - I'm type cast again and this time spend eight days as an imprisoned aristocrat in Daniel Auteuil's Sade.
4. Pictures of our Normandy smallholding - including the medieval quarry and maybe the dolmen.
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Animals Behaving Typically (i.e. Badly): Part Eight (A Gelding Too Far)
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Jul. 21st, 2006 @ 12:10 pm
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(to recap: Shelagh and her psychotic Arab mare, Rhiannon, had been invited to ride with Chantal and Veronique - the fools!)
It was a long ride to Chantal's. Made even longer by the appearance of seventeen assorted tractors, lorries and flapping fertiliser bags. The latter waving so menacingly from their roadside nests that Rhiannon was forced to tiptoe past on the far side of the road. Nothing could be more frightening than a fertiliser bag where a fertiliser bag shouldn't be.
I've often wondered how Rhiannon would have fared in the Wild West. And where cowboys found horses that could be left loosely tied outside saloons? Every horse I've ever come into contact with would have disappeared before the first foaming pint came sliding down the saloon bar. And as for riding through gunfire - none of our horses would have made it past the first oddly shaped haystack let alone ridden into danger.
But eventually Shelagh and Rhiannon arrived and trotted into Chantal's yard. Whereupon both were immediately besieged by a welcoming pack of assorted dogs.
Rhiannon did not like dogs - they were on page five of her list - especially those that ran between her legs. She liked to maintain a dignified distance between herself and other animals. A personal space that extended to the ground even where she didn't.
A few sly sideways kicks quickly punched the air but the dogs didn't even notice. They were too excited at Shelagh's arrival. They knew a horse in the yard meant a walk was imminent. And a walk meant adventure.
The fact that the ride was to be accompanied by three large excitable dogs was not the only surprise. Veronique, Chantal's young friend, had a gelding.
Rhiannon did not like geldings either. They were on pages one, two, four and six of her list. And the pull-out supplement.
And it was more than a dislike, it bordered on the pathological. Put her next to a stallion and she became a paragon of good behaviour - quiet, obedient, calm, a fluttering eyelash or two. But put her next to a gelding and she'd lunge at them with teeth snapping. Or failing that, turn and try to flatten them with her back legs.
Shelagh tried to explain the situation to Chantal as best she could but not surprisingly the intelligence was not immediately believed. That is until Chantal noticed Rhiannon, teeth bared and ears back, pulling strongly in the direction of Veronique's mount.
If ever a horse looked bent upon a course of dire deeds, this was that horse.
After a brief peace conference it was decided that perhaps the best plan was to keep as much distance between the two horses as possible. And not to tell Veronique, who was nervous enough without the added pressure of a psychotic quadruped with a gelding fixation.
So Shelagh was tasked to ride in front, Veronique at the back and Chantal would keep the peace in the middle - and give directions. There was a forêt domaniale a mile or two down the road. She hadn't explored it fully yet but from what she'd seen there were some good riding tracks there.
Off they set, down the short drive and onto the road.
And along came Chantal's dogs, tracing energetic circles around the horses and occasionally through their legs.
Naturally, this did not meet with Rhiannon's approval who, in between kicking out at the dogs as they ran between her legs and craning her neck around to keep an eye on the gelding, was becoming somewhat difficult to handle.
Half a mile down the road, the three dogs became four - the fourth recruited from a passing garden.
Persuading cars to slow down for horses on the road had been a recurrent headache for Shelagh. But not today. The sight of three horses being circled by a pack of bouncing dogs proved too much for even the most insistent motorist. They stopped. One driver wound his window down. Whether for a chat or to remonstrate about his journey being interrupted was never known. For as soon as his head moved towards the open window it found a large dog already in residence. It's muddy paws resting on the lip of the glass and tongue slobbering over the driver's face.
(next instalment: witches, bogeymen and the rabbits from Mars)
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