S is for Sky

April 22, 2013 by sharonsant

People seemed to like my Runners excerpt for R. So, because there’s nothing quite like milking the cow dry, I thought I’d treat you to another one. Sky is one of the teenage girls in Runners. She’s softly spoken, a gentle soul who sees and hears things that others don’t. She’s the quiet backbone of the group, the moral compass. This excerpt tells you a little more about her:

Elijah woke in the early hours of the next morning. He lay quietly, listening to the sounds of regular breathing and the occasional shuffle or cough of his companions as they continued to sleep. He couldn’t tell what time it was and remembered bitterly that he no longer had his dad’s old watch. A shaft of dazzling sunlight blazed across the ceiling from a gap in the boarding at the window, so he guessed it was after dawn. He also mused, staring lazily at that bright streak, that if it was too hot, he may not be able to get away after all – at least – not right away. Looking across at Rosa, who was curled in a sleeping bag with a hand tucked under her chin, her hair spread gloriously across the pillow, he didn’t feel entirely sorry about that. The others were all in sleeping bags too, making him the only one with a mattress. He wondered idly who usually took the mattress when he wasn’t there.

He felt at his head; the swelling had subsided and it didn’t ache so much now. Pushing himself up, he unlaced his boot and felt inside. Satisfied, he began to re-tie it when the morning peace was shattered by a piercing squeal. Sky bolted up, golden hair flying behind her and eyes wild. She stared at Elijah, panting heavily. Rosa groaned and half opened her eyes, and Elijah saw a tattered cushion fly from Xavier’s direction at Sky’s head. It missed and bounced across the floor. He mumbled, ‘not again’ before flipping over and closing his eyes. Oblivious, Sky continued to stare at Elijah with a terrified look, until he felt compelled to speak.

‘Are you ok?’

At this, she seemed to snap out of her trance. She nodded weakly, and then lay down again to stare at the same dazzling bolt of sunlight that Elijah had been watching all morning.

‘Looks hot today.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Still thinking of going?’

‘I should really.’

‘Why?’ She sat up and looked at him squarely. He shrugged. Then, without the least sense of absurdity or irony, Sky said: ‘I had a premonition.’

‘What?’

‘Just now.’

‘A premonition? Are you joking?’ Elijah could tell by the earnest look on her face that she wasn’t.

‘It was about you. You were floating face down in a river and we pulled you out.’

‘Cheers. Don’t tell me any more, eh? What makes you say it was a premonition? Couldn’t it be a dream? You were asleep… it could have been a dream…’ Elijah wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going. He had been there five minutes and already this weird girl was having visions of his imminent demise. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

Sky shrugged. ‘I just know. I have them all the time.’

‘Don’t listen to her,’ mumbled Xavier, half-asleep from across the room, ‘she’s mental.’

You can check out Runners on the Goodreads page or even add it to your shelf, y’know, if you wanted to…

R is for Runners… what else did you think it was going to be for?

April 20, 2013 by sharonsant

Yay! I’ve been desperate to get to R so that I could share an extract of Runners with you. Runners is a YA dystopian novel set in a near-future Britain (about 100 years, is that near-future?). Runners is the name given to kids who live on the streets, and the novel follows a gang of these kids as they battle to stay alive. As if that’s not bad enough, they stumble upon a secret guarded by a powerful man, a secret that will threaten their lives and the very existence of their entire world. Here we go…

Xavier leaned against the wall of the alleyway and folded his arms.

‘We’re not taking him with us.’

‘But, Xavier –’

‘There’s enough of us as it is.’ He cast an appraising eye over the unconscious boy. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘How can you say that? You don’t even know him.’ The speaker was a girl with long, blonde hair.

‘I don’t need to know him. He’s a Runner.’

‘We’re Runners!’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

‘It just is.’

The boy on the floor groaned.

‘He does look in a bad way,’ said a second boy. ‘He might die if we leave him here.’

‘Not my problem,’ Xavier said.

‘Jimmy’s right,’ the girl cut in. ‘What if you had said that about Rowan? Think of all the ways he’s helped us out since we met up with him. Maybe this kid could do the same, maybe he’d be good for us.’

Xavier nudged the boy with his foot, but he didn’t stir. ‘I doubt it. He looks as though he’d just eat everything we have and then scarper.’

The girl looked down at the injured boy with a pained expression. ‘Please, let’s just take him back to the cottage. I couldn’t bear it if I found out something had happened to him and we could have helped.’

Xavier sighed. ‘Alright then. But don’t blame me if he steals everything you own once he wakes up.’

‘I don’t own anything,’ the girl smiled.

‘You two can carry him if you’re so desperate to get him back.’ Xavier threw a last glance at the figure on the floor and then turned to leave.

***

When Elijah came to the second time he felt better, as if he had just woken from a good night’s sleep. His eyes remained closed while he savoured the sensation. Some instinct he couldn’t name told him he wasn’t in immediate danger. When his eyes finally opened, he could see that he had been taken indoors. Instead of concrete hardness beneath him, he was lying on something lumpy – but soft, at least. As he pushed himself up to investigate, his head reacted to the change in position and exploded with pain. He clapped his hands to it, holding himself until the pain subsided into a pounding throb. Gingerly, he felt the spot where the blow had struck. His hair was matted and sticky. Inspecting his fingers, he recognised what could only be his own congealed blood. As he dropped his hands to wipe them on his trousers, he looked up and found two faces near his, watching him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

‘D’you think he’s ok?’

‘Dunno, looks a bit rough still.’

‘You could check him.’

Elijah looked from one to the other. In a weak, hoarse voice that he hadn’t expected from his own mouth, he interrupted: ‘I am actually here, you know!’

The boy addressed Elijah uncertainly. ‘Sorry… um… how many fingers am I holding up?’

‘How many am I holding up?’ Elijah raised two fingers of his own in a dubious salute. The boy’s frown changed into a broad grin. It was such a disarming grin that, despite himself, Elijah couldn’t help a small smile in return.

The boy was about Elijah’s age, slim, taller than him, brown haired with a floppy fringe. It was a frank, honest face; the corners of the boy’s mouth had a natural upturn which gave the impression that he was constantly suppressing a grin, and lively brown eyes added to the air of mischief.

Elijah’s gaze flicked briefly to the girl. She was about his age too; blonde, blue eyes that spoke of summers past, with a melancholy to them that made Elijah wonder just how long she had been running. Judging by the way she was dressed, in jeans that looked far too large tucked into battered lace up boots, her wrists covered in coloured beads and fabric bracelets in varying states of decomposition, he figured it was quite a long time.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked Elijah.

Did he lie? He stared dumbly at her, not knowing what to say. She smiled patiently.

‘You’re ok here. Maybe you should just lie down again. D’you want some water?’ Elijah nodded. ‘I’m Sky,’ she continued. ‘And this,’ Sky gestured toward her companion as she crossed the small room for a plastic bottle of water, ‘is Jimmy.’

Jimmy grinned in acknowledgement and pushed a hand through his fringe.

Elijah took a chipped mug of water from her. It wasn’t cold, but it was clean and fresh. ‘How long have I been here for?’ Elijah sipped again, his eyes not moving from them.

‘Well,’ began Jimmy, ‘we found you yesterday afternoon…’

‘And it’s about four now,’ completed Sky, looking at a nurse’s fob watch pinned to her grubby jacket, ‘so about a day.’

Elijah was going to ask how they had found him, but Sky anticipated the question.

‘It’s a good job you’ve come round before Xavier got back.’ She glanced at Jimmy as she spoke. ‘We saw two guys at the precinct before you got there. We were out looking for stuff in this boarded up store and we saw them hanging around in that alleyway. They looked a bit dodgy, so we hid and waited for them to go. Next thing we see you come along with another boy and get clobbered.’ She looked suddenly pained. ‘They went through your pockets… and they took your rucksack. I’m sorry we couldn’t…’

Elijah stopped listening. He remembered that he had been running. He remembered what he had been running from…

Runners is due for publication 8th June by Immanion Press. You can check out the Goodreads page here.

Q is for Quirky

April 19, 2013 by sharonsant

Oxford Dictionary: having or characterized by peculiar or unexpected traits or aspects

Urban dictionary: something that is strange/not normal but cool

Quirky is a label you hear used a lot these days. Quirky singers, quirky actors, quirky writers. But what does it actually mean? I think I know what quirky looks like if I see it, but I couldn’t tell you what marks it out as such if you asked me. I’m actively drawn to quirky, both in art and in real life. I think I might be a little quirky, although to say so might be the equivalent of the most boring person in the office shouting ‘I’m mad, I am!’ And if I knew exactly what is quirky and what isn’t, I’d be able to say it more certainly.

So why are we suddenly so aware of quirkiness? I suspect we’re no more eccentric than we ever were before, only now eccentricity is greeted with an indulgent smile instead of being whispered about over the garden fence by the neighbours. The difference is, it’s cool to be quirky, in the same way it’s now cool to be a geek. It’s possible the two go hand in hand.

Ok, I admit it, this is another one of those posts where I’m losing my way. And is also a thinly veiled excuse to include a photo of The Mighty Boosh, because I love them. And they’re quirky. I think…

So, how do you define quirky?

P is for Physics

April 18, 2013 by sharonsant

I don’t understand physics really (though I do try), but the concepts and theories of it are beautiful. Take string theory, for example. A seemingly cold, scientific logic constructed this graceful aesthetic. Fractals, astrophysics and quantum theory: all gorgeous. These ideas produce images that could grace the walls of any gallery, art as beautiful and tactile as anything created in the name of art.

I love physics for the possibilities it presents for stories. I love time travel and wormholes and teleportation. They’re not real things, of course, but the fact is that they are plausible. These things are theoretically possible, but we don’t have, and are likely never to have, the resources to make them happen. Probably a good thing. Can you imagine the damage I could do if I could teleport?

Mostly, I love physics because it gives me the excuse to post this video, one of my favourite Doctor Who moments. Who says I don’t have depth?

O is for ‘On Readers and Writers’

April 17, 2013 by sharonsant

I recently met Liz Wilkins via Twitter and am quickly finding her to be funny, intelligent and lovely to chat to. I am also discovering that she has an immense passion for books. So when she said that she was thinking of writing a sort of essay to analyse the way she feels about the author/reader contract, and how she views the world of publishing from the point of view of someone who is a consumer, rather than a creator, I jumped at the chance to post it on my blog. When she sent the piece to me, I was blown away by just how much books mean to her, and how precious her relationships with her favourite authors are. It reminded me that sometimes I’m so wrapped up in my own writing that I forget the reason I started to write in the first place, which is to try to draw people into my worlds in the same way I have been drawn into others. Being absorbed into a book so wholly that it feels like nothing outside it exists is something I don’t do nearly enough these days. It seemed fitting that, as the piece is titled On Readers and Writers I should share it with you as my O:

Random Reading thoughts and the Authors that inspire them….

I have been pondering lately, the relationship I have with my favourite authors, and considering in a bit more depth, how I pick and choose which novels to read from the plethora of choices available to me. Am I too insular in my decisions? I most often go for the “easy” option of staying within my comfort zone, that of Crime Fiction and Stephen King novels – and once an author has captured my attention I will stick with them to the bitter end. And in some cases that end is indeed bitter…as I will come to.

Firstly, lets take a look at my “top 4” if you will – those authors who have burrowed their way into my heart so completely that the idea of letting one of their novels pass me by is inconceivable -perhaps if other readers ever see these blatherings, they will recognise the symptoms – any prolific reader will have their own list and their own reasons, as close to their heart as these are to mine.

At the very top of my list is Stephen King, as anyone that knows me well will be very aware of. My relationship with Mr King started when I was a mere teenager – “The Stand” uncut version was on offer in my local bookshop and the story seemed vaguely interesting so I bought it, went home and was not seen again for three days. Anything he had ever published soon followed and to this day he has never let me down. I cherish those times I spend with his stories, I create time no matter how busy when a new one arrives to immerse myself totally in his world without interruption. Not all of his books are of the same standard, but I love them all to one degree or another. “Lisey’s Story” quite literally saved my life during a time of life threatening illness and for that reason alone as long as he writes, I’ll read. I could write a whole book on what each of his novels has meant to me but perhaps another day…lets move on.

A fairly quick word on the other three, or you really will be here with me all day and I’m sure you have better things to do! Mr Roger Ellory writes Crime Fiction. But not really. He writes stories. The type of stories that creep into your subconscious without you noticing and end up staying there in your peripheral vision forever. The only other author perhaps for me, that does this as well as Mr King does but in a totally different context. “Candlemoth” still is, and will remain ever so, the first book to make me realise that the telling of a good story can touch your soul. Then there is one of my favourite people as well as one of my favourite authors, Mr Neil White. A few years ago my love of reading had faded somewhat – I was finding the new “Crime Fiction” jaded with nothing new to be found and no characters that lived with me during the time spent reading the book. I am thankful to this day that “Fallen Idols” was given to me as a gift – it turned out to be the best gift I had ever been given – that of faith. A rediscovery of my faith in the fact that a good book can make the worst day in the world seem like the best. “Jack” and “Laura” may not be real but they are realistic. And now for better or for worse (there hasn’t been a worse yet, even when Jack and Laura are absent) they are mine. Finally a new addition – Elizabeth Haynes. If you haven’t read “Into the Darkest Corner” then why not?! Go and do it. Ms Haynes writes people. Real people, with real situations, sometimes horrifying sometimes seemingly bland but always, always heart wrenching and unforgettable.

So there you have it. You find your people and you stick with them through thick and thin, a bit like a marriage really in a lot of ways. And like some marriages it can go horribly wrong. I used to have a top five. Sometimes however, a writer can seemingly begin to misjudge his/ her target audience and suddenly that series that was a must have, becomes a definitely won’t have even if it is free. Such was the case with my reading relationship with Patricia Cornwell. Ms Cornwell was a pioneer when it came to Crime Fiction and the creation of a strong, independent, successful female character who not only kept up with her male counterparts but was often superior to them. Along with Dr Scarpetta you also got interesting and involving mysteries and a real insight into how Pathology works. For many years one terrific novel followed another then something started happening. Slowly but surely Dr Scarpetta lost her edge. A downward spiral into suspicion and gloom started to invade every page. Every book had a “Conspiracy ” in play against our well loved protagonist and the previously intimate and well rounded supporting characters became cardboard cut outs of their former selves. Marino lost all his redeeming features, Lucy is still a petulant teenager and Dr Scarpetta herself became annoying in the extreme. Whether this was/is a reflection of things going on in the author’s own life was something that was concerning me more than the story I was reading. It was intrusive and no longer fun. I continued on in the hope that there was redemption in Scarpetta’s future but after “The Bone Bed” I can no longer justify the expense of continuing. And I cried at making that decision. Actual tears. I felt like I had lost a friend – such is the power of the writer to invade a readers life and to make them feel a real loss when things are not going well. I wish Ms Cornwell luck with all her future novels, but it is highly unlikely that I will be there for the ride. However it must be said, she wrote many AMAZING stories that have baffled, ruffled and tussled my mind, and for that I will forever be one grateful ex reader.

The love of a good book is one of the most amazing things you can pass on to your children. My eldest, now 21 years old, loves reading as much as I do. Her favourite author list would be many moons away from my own, but she loves hers as I love mine – with a passion and heartfelt gratitude that will never leave her, and something we will always be able to turn to in times of trouble to lessen the daily burden of life. My youngest children, 2 and 5 respectively, are being brought up on “Green Eggs and Ham” “The Gruffalo” and “Hairy Mclary” to name but a few and they are demanding more and more bedtime stories at times other than bedtime – So I know they are going to follow in the footsteps of their mother and sister. My Husband also is a great book lover so they have no choice really – but hey, isn’t that great? I love reading. I love the authors that provide for me that which I love. They are the unsung heroes of my generation and if reading this has inspired you to find your “people” and become part of their literary world then my job is done.

So there you have it. I’ve shown you mine, how about you show me yours? Whether it be one book that changed your world or one author your reading heart is married to, we want to know. Reading cannot ever be allowed to become a lost art…and as long as readers like us keep sharing our experiences, that will not be the case.

Follow Liz on Twitter @Lizzy11268 . If you’re a reader, writer, blogger, or just a plain interesting person, it’ll be worth your while.

Not Of Our Sky – Cover Reveal!

April 16, 2013 by sharonsant

Rebecca Bradley

On May 1st, author, Sharon Sant is releasing the third book in her Sky Song trilogy and she has kindly allowed us to have a peek at the cover and the book blurb.

I’ve been lucky enough to have read the book, and I loved it. I read a large chunk of it on a train journey and at one point had to try extremely hard not to cry in front of two young lads that were seated in front of me. I can only imagine the faces I was pulling as I tried to keep a stiff upper and lower lip! Sharon delivers the emotion effortlessly. It was a gripping and wonderful third book.

So, I’m pleased to show you Not of Our Sky!

Jacob fights for his life and Ellen faces her toughest decision yet: whether to finally reveal his true identity to his parents. For Jacob is…

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N is for Not of Our Sky

April 16, 2013 by sharonsant

This is a bit of a cheat and I’ll apologise right up front. I have a new book out 1st May, the third book of the Sky Song trilogy, Not of Our Sky, and today is the day of the cover reveal. It just happens to coincide with the letter N in the countdown. A happy accident… honest. So, if you don’t want to see, you can click away now and we’ll say no more about it 😉

Jacob fights for his life and Ellen faces her toughest decision yet: whether to finally reveal his true identity to his parents. For Jacob is one of the Watchers of Astrae, a race of beings with extraordinary powers, and sworn to protect the natural order of the universe. But Jacob has broken one of Astrae’s oldest laws and chaos threatens to cover the Earth.

Alex faces the fall into darkness that has long been prophesised. Her only ally is Makash, their bitter and twisted uncle, and Jacob has already succumbed to the shadows. Who will be there to catch her?

With the first part of the ancient prophecy already coming to pass, it seems their only hope lies in the second part – the riddle of the star that will bring them back to the light. But what does it mean? And why do Jacob, Alex and Ellen all dream of the same lighthouse, night after night?

M is for Murder and Mayhem

April 15, 2013 by sharonsant

I never used to read crime or thrillers, as a rule. It just wasn’t a genre that appealed to me. It just goes to show that, despite the fact that I consider myself to be fairly widely read and open-minded, I can still be quite dismissive when it comes to what I choose to read.

However, that changed last year when I became friends with fellow writer Mel Sherratt. We met for the first time over coffee (a sort of blind date, an odd and funny anecdote in itself as I spent ten minutes staring at a woman in the coffee shop and wondering whether to go and introduce myself, only to discover that it wasn’t her at all). Mel is fast becoming something of a local celebrity in my city. She writes gritty psychological thrillers and her debut self-published novel, Taunting the Dead, a police procedural, sold by the proverbial bucketload. She introduced me not only to the fun of self-publishing, but also to a genre that I never thought I’d find myself reading. Since then, I’ve read all her books and the books of other writers I’ve met through her and enjoyed them all. I was so wrong about this genre. I’d always assumed that all books in this genre were written without any sort of literary flair. In fact, way back when, I’d probably read a few like that and, perhaps, that’s why I had left the genre behind. But picking them up again, I’ve realised that there are some amazing writers working in this genre. I recently began Pariah by David Jackson and it contains one of the most stunning opening paragraphs I’ve ever read. I’ve even beta read a manuscript by a very good friend with one of the most gripping story lines and engaging protagonists that I’ve seen in a long time and I’m hoping that she’ll publish this very soon (you know who you are!).

I’ve made a lot of writer friends from this genre and discovered a whole new world. I’ve been exposed to new and exciting influences on my own writing, so much so that my NA WIP now contains a serial killer (yeah, don’t get too excited… we’ll see if that ever pans out!). But every new idea and direction can only help to diversify what I write and make it richer. Which has to be a good thing.

A little ‘Easter Egg’ treat from Afterlife Academy by Jaimie Admans

April 14, 2013 by sharonsant

I’ve got to know Jaimie well recently and have just started to read her books. She has the most engaging, quirky imagination and I’m chuffed to bits that she has written this extra scene with the characters of Afterlife Academy especially as a treat for you guys:

AFTERLIFE ACADEMY EXTRA SCENE:

Anthony wants to meet Charlie. I don’t see the attraction myself, he’s just a pumpkin. Albeit a growling, vicious pumpkin that hates everyone who enters the room. Charlie, that is. Not Anthony. Anthony is just a geeky boy who, okay, is maybe a little bit nicer than I have ever given him credit for.

My roommate Caydi is in class when Anthony follows me into the room. It’s weird to have Anthony standing in my bedroom with me. It should be Wade. Except it shouldn’t because that would mean Wade was dead too, and I don’t want Wade to be dead. It’s just that I’ve never had a boy who isn’t Wade in my bedroom before.

“It looks just like my room,” Anthony says as he looks around.

“Yeah, well, it’s like a prison, isn’t it? It’s not like they’re going to give us something different in each cell.”

“It’s just a dorm room,” he says. “I like it.”

“You would,” I mutter.

“This is the famous pumpkin?” Anthony points at Charlie where he is sitting on the desk.

I nod.

“It’s just a pumpkin,” he says incredulously.

“He’s a he, not an it. He doesn’t like being called it.”

Charlie growls as if to prove his point.

“Oh, wow.” Anthony crouches down in front of the desk and stares at Charlie.

The flame inside Charlie flickers angrily.

“Hi there, little man,” Anthony says.

Charlie’s growling amps up a notch.

Little man is probably worse than it. A lot worse.

Anthony reaches a hand out towards him slowly.

“Don’t put your fingers in his mouth. Apparently he bites.”

“He’s a pumpkin. How can he bite?”

“Well, feel free if you want to find out.”

Anthony laughs and it surprises me. His fingers touch Charlie’s orange side and he strokes it gently. I’m fully prepared for Charlie’s growling to go through the roof, but it actually quietens down.

“He grouches at me when I do that.”

Anthony glances up. “I wonder why.”

He continues stroking until Charlie is almost purring. I’d never imagined a purring pumpkin before, but there are a lot of things I’d never imagined before I came here. I find myself watching Anthony and wondering why I hated him so much. Why we all hated him. Narcissa was right when she asked if he’d ever done anything to make us hate him. I realise that he hadn’t. He was never rude or unkind. He just liked maths and was tall, skinny, and awkward. And the teachers told us to be nice to him when he came back to school after his parents died. We never did what the teachers told us.

“Does he eat?” Anthony’s question snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Caydi says he’s a vampire pumpkin. He’s probably into blood or rotting flesh or something nice like that.”

“Does he like jelly sweets?”

“Jelly sweets?” I ask like it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah, you know, Haribo. Or were you always on too much of a diet to eat plebeian things like Haribo.”

“I happen to love Haribo.”

“Good. Otherwise I’d think you really were the spawn of Satan. Shall I offer him one?”

“Where did you get Haribo from here?”

“I asked Narcissa in the canteen. Her horns reddened but she gave me a bag.”

Anthony rummages in his bag until he crinkles a packet of sweets. I think it’s really nice that he offers me one first. I take a fried egg and Anthony gets out a cola bottle and holds it out to Charlie.

“He can’t move,” I say. “You’ll have to put it in his mouth. Just watch your fingers in case he’d prefer those.”

Anthony laughs and places the cola bottle inside Charlie’s hole of a mouth. I half expect his jagged teeth to clamp down on Anthony’s fingers, but they don’t.

We stare at the cola bottle inside the hollowed out pumpkin.

“Does he chew?” Anthony asks.

“You ask me like I’ve ever fed him before,” I say.

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you.”

He certainly seems to like Anthony. He’s only been in here for five minutes and Charlie isn’t growling at him at all. I’ve been here for weeks and he still growls at me.

“He hasn’t spat it out yet. Caydi says he spits out what he doesn’t like.”

“Exactly. Everyone likes Haribo. Even ferocious vampiric pumpkins who purr like kittens when you stroke them the right way.”

If you’d like to know more about Jaimie and her books, you can hunt her down in the following places:

http://www.jaimieadmans.com

http://twitter.com/be_the_spark

http://facebook.com/jaimieadmansbooks

L is for Lovely Little Lies

April 13, 2013 by sharonsant

We all lie. Whether we think we do or not. According to some of the fascinating studies I’ve read before writing this post, most of us lie many times a day without even realising it. One study estimated that we tell two to three lies every ten minutes. We lie about small things and big things, we lie to spare the feelings of others or to spare our own. We lie to get ourselves out of trouble or to save others from trouble. We embelish stories, we leave awkward details out. That’s a pretty hefty chunk of porkies a day. Imagine how many we tell in our lifetimes. Many of them will never be found out.

But what if you’re a writer of fiction? People lie to us even more. My family and friends almost certainly lie when they hand back a manuscript with the words ‘It was good.’ and a look of abject terror that I’ll break down into unhinged sobbing as I figure out they didn’t like it at all. Writers of fiction lie too, every time we switch on the laptop or pick up a pen and construct a sentence. We lie for fun. We create whole worlds full of fabricated events and people that don’t exist, we use every tool at our disposal to convince you that we’re showing you truth, or at least make you believe us for a little while. We do it knowingly and with intent to manipulate. We tell you that we’re going to lie to you before we dish out our big, juicy platter of whoppers. Are we forgiven? Because lovely little lies are what makes the world go around.