Dragon Rider – Part 31

Dragon Rider

Chapter Thirteen Continued

Fire and Water

Drake turned his attention to the map.  He could clearly see the exit Gizmo had been talking about; it was located two floors below, on the opposite side of the boat and, luckily for them, an elevator shaft, situated just above it, would lead them straight down to it.  He spun around, the map still superimposed on his vision and headed back to Willow and Pyro.

Willow looked even worse than he felt; her eyes were heavy and she was still cradling her head in her hands.  ‘Come on,’ said Drake pulling her to her feet, ’you’ll feel better once we get outta here.’

They left the steam room and entered the gym where the man in the Bermuda shorts had another towel in his hands to put in the dirty laundry.  His eyes were black, unseeing, so they left him to it and exited into the corridor.

‘We just need to get to an elevator shaft on the opposite side of the boat,’ said Drake leading them off down the corridor.  The elevator shaft was positioned exactly as the map had shown; in a hallway by one of the ship’s many kitchens.  It looked as if the shaft was used to transport food deliveries as it was small and had a single door that dropped from the ceiling.

They all piled in and Drake pressed the large green button on the wall.  The door clattered shut behind them, enclosing them in a small steel box lit only by one sickly yellow light on the ceiling.  The elevator ground down the two floors and spewed them out into a large storage area filled with stacks of wooden boxes stamped with the cargo’s contents and origins; there were fine wines from the New World and expensive champagnes from what used to be known as France.  In the corner, puffs of smoke escaped from the chugging machine which extracted the Lethe from the Lake of Forgetfulness.  The room smelled like Pyro; petrol and gas with the hint of sweat alongside the addition of wet dog and musty cardboard.

The large service exit was located straight opposite.  Drake scanned the shadows for the operating panel, still trying to work out exactly how he was going to get them all out of the cargo hold alive.  If only there was some kind of breathing apparatus or…

Brilliant white light flooded the cargo hold as the steel doors at the side of the room were thrown open.

‘Leaving so soon?’ came the voice of a man silhouetted against the light.

‘Morpheus?’ said Drake, unable to keep the bitter sound of frustration from his voice.  Once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness he could see Morpheus was flanked by a whole army of personal guards dressed from head-to-toe in black, holding AK-47s pumped for action.

‘Did you really think you could get away that easy?  And you,’ he said turning to face Willow, ‘are a sore disappointment.  Trying to leave without saying goodbye, where are your manners?’

‘I-’

Morpheus raised his hand, dripping in platinum, to his mouth to silence her.  ‘It is too late for apologies, my dear.’  Morpheus sighed.  ‘It gives me no great pleasure to do what I must but, as you have tried to leave without payment, I must take what is owed by force.  Your dreams are what is required, alive or dead, we can extract them either way.’  He shrugged and turned to one of his guards, ‘Let him lose, come back and check on them in half an hour.’  And with that, Morpheus was gone.

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Drake, as a guard was hauled in by a three-headed black dog on a thick iron chain, his tattooed arm bulging from beneath his short-sleeved tee-shirt.  Drake was vaguely aware of Willow letting out a little squeal beside him and the sound of Pyro hyperventilating.

‘Say hello to my little friend; Cerberus,’ said the guard with a toothy grin as he unhooked the iron chain from the dog’s studded leather collar and backed quickly out of the room, the steel doors clanging shut behind him.

The dog’s black hackles were raised, his black eyes bulging with excitement as he eyeballed Drake, Pyro and Willow.  The dog’s three heads snarled, great pools of drool dribbling from the corners of curled lips.

Drake stood his ground, his fists clenching and unclenching at the side of his body.  ‘Willow, Pyro,’ he whispered through clenched teeth, ‘back up slowly, get up high, on a stack of boxes, be quick!’

Willow and Pyro scrambled up the nearest pile of boxes just as the dog lunged forward.  ‘Come on you oversized mutt!’ yelled Drake, as he darted to the left, away from Willow and Pyro.  The snarling dog followed, its black eyes locked onto him.

Drake dived over an empty crate and headed for the Lethe extractor in the corner of the room.  Cerberus bounded after him; Drake could hear it advancing upon him, its claws scratching at the wooden floor, its tail smacking into the rows of wooden boxes.  When Drake could feel the warm acrid breath of the beast, he suddenly dived to the right.  Cerberus tried to follow but its body skidded as he tried to turn, its claws failing to find grip, and it collided with a wall of boxes, which exploded, sending bottles of wine crashing to the floor.

Concentrating on a thick steel chain hanging from the ceiling, Drake ran at the port-side wall and bounced off it, throwing himself backwards and upwards to grab the chain.  He caught it and clung on tight as he flew over Cerberus’ great black heads.  As soon as his feet touched the machine he forced himself back over Cerberus’ snapping jaws until he had enough momentum to land like a cat on top of the Lethe extractor.  He let the chain go and it smashed into the side of the boat with a loud clunk.

Cerberus lunged at the extractor, his middle head just about reaching the top of the machine, his six eyes blazing with madness and fury as it kept lunging at the extractor.  Its terrifying bark ripped through the hold like thunder echoing through a mountain pass and with every attack the machine crumpled further in on itself.

Drake steadied himself on top of the swaying and creaking extractor.  He couldn’t reach the chain from where he was perched and the only other way off the machine was down, and into the jaws of Cerberus.  He looked over to Willow and Pyro, and held out his hands in supplication, hoping that for once they’d come up with the goods and get him out of this.

He could see from Willow’s expression and the movement of her lips that she was trying to cast a spell, trouble was, she didn’t have a spellbook and whatever spell she was trying from memory didn’t seem to be working.  Pyro stood at the top of his pile of boxes looking as gormless as usual, his arms outstretched in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug.  He really was going to strangle the djinn with his bare hands, if they ever got out of here alive.

Think! shrieked the voice inside Drake’s head.  I would, if I could, he shouted back.  If only that stupid dog would stop barking for one millisecond.

He banged the heel of his hand on forehead.  Damn it!  Dragons, djinns, demons; no problem.  Oversized dogs?  The Zephyr was out; it would knock everyone out and he couldn’t drag everyone to safety.  He had to get down, he had to face Cerberus somehow, he had to defeat him.

The machine groaned as it scrunched even further into itself.  And then the answer flew at him.  Three bars of purple-covered chocolate floated in front of him.  He looked over to Willow who just shrugged at him and smiled weakly.

Without a second thought, he grabbed one of the bars, ripped the foil off it and threw it to the floor.  The middle head snarled as it laid its head protectively over the bar, the other two heads snarling back in reply.  Drake unwrapped the other bars and threw them down on the floor where they were devoured by the other two heads.

Once the chocolate had been devoured the dog sat down, his thick black tail sweeping excitedly along the dusty wooden floor.  He sniffed up at Drake, its huge mouths panting excitedly.

‘Got any more?’ asked Drake.

Pyro and Willow both shrugged in reply.

Drake took a deep breath and leapt from the top of the machine, landing lightly at the side of Cerberus.  The dog collapsed onto the floor and sighed happily before rolling over, each of its long, pink, slimy tongues lolling out from the corner of his mouths.  Drake shook his head; this couldn’t be happening, right?  Things were never that easy, were they?  He leaned forward and ran his hand over the dog’s tan coarse belly fur.  He could feel the thrum of the dog’s heart in his chest and hear the contented purr as Cerberus’s eyelids drooped shut.

‘I think you can come down now,’ whispered Drake, as Cerberus began to snore like a freight train.

‘I can’t believe it ate all the chocolate,’ sighed Willow, ‘oh, it smelt so good.’

Drake stared at her with a look of disbelief.

‘What?’ she asked, shrugging, ‘I eat when I’m stressed.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Pyro, ‘I’ll get you some tasty chocolate when we get out of here, great mounds of the best stuff you’ve ever tasted.  I know a guy, a shyster called Jack the Eye, he works for a guy, who knows a guy that drives for a guy who owns a chocolate factory.  He owes me-’

‘Pyro,’ snapped Drake, ‘not now, eh?’

‘Okay, okay.  I was just saying.’

‘We’re going to have to move him-’

‘Move him?’ asked Willow with disbelief.  ‘He probably weighs a ton, how‘re we going to do that?

‘Well, we can’t leave him to drown can we?’ snapped Drake back at her.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Pyro, grimacing as he lifted up one of the dog’s lips to reveal its yellowing, plaque encrusted teeth, ‘take him with you, set him free.’

‘What?’

Death’s Apprentice – Part 47

Joe paused.

What he got to lose? His life was pretty fucked up already. I mean, everyone hated him in the upper world. And here?

Well, no one hated him here. Yet. But what kind of loser ends up in the Underworld when they’re still alive? And, even though he was still alive, that could easily change and he could end up dead.

But then, he was in the right place for it.

And, his life had kind of been a waste up until this point.

The only thing he’d got going for him was Lola and sometimes he thought she’d be better off without him. He often thought of all the nice families she could’ve ended up with, with big gardens, nice comfy dog beds and a shitdad that didn’t hit her.

What kind of miserable person was he? He kept Lola because of his own selfishness. And he knew it. He was alone in the world and Lola made him feel that little bit less alone but was it worth her being mistreated?

Joe’s heart sank.

He really was a piece of shit, wasn’t he?

Joe pushed thoughts of Lola from his mind. He couldn’t help her down here so he had to forget her for a bit then, when he got back he’d….

No, he couldn’t think of that, not yet.

He climbed the steps and entered the cabin, with his heart feeling like it was in his feet.

Colour and smells seemed to assault him from every direction. His stomach groaned loudly again as he smelt the stew. Beef, he thought, with…carrots…and dumplings. God, he thought it smelled so good that he’d probably commit murder just to have some. His mouth began to water.

He looked over to the black cauldron bubbling in the hearth. Beside it, in the coals, sat a large black iron kettle. On the mantelpiece sat loads of knick-knacks – cat statues, a small crystal ball, a figurine of a naked woman, and some jars filled with what looked like black gloop and a strange clock with lots of dials and fingers and moons. A crooked broomstick leaned up the side of the brick fireplace.

The walls of the cabin were made from a silver-coloured wood that had been covered in colourful drapes and tapestries. And over at the far side of the single-roomed house sat the comfiest bed Joe had ever seen. It was covered with a thick layer of blankets and furs. He yawned. It sure did look inviting.

‘Here you re then,’ said Hel holding out a wooden bowl of steaming stew.

The saliva was beginning to pool at the corners of his mouth.

He took the bowl and began to shovel it into his mouth before he even sat down on the wooden chair placed next to the hearth.

Hades yawned and stretched out his front paws before he circled around in front of the fire several times. He crashed to the floor in a big dog-doughnut and before Joe had taken two mouthfuls of the stew, he was snoring loudly.

So, You Want to be a writer? Six tips to get you on your way.

So, you want to be a writer?

Here are six tips to help you on your way!

  1. Read. A lot!! I love reading so this isn’t a major issue for me. Reading will make you a better writer. You need to learn somewhere, right? So why not learn from those who came before you? It’s amazing what you can get from other writers. You’ll pick up writing techniques, grammar tips and vocabulary as you go. Learning by osmosis – what’s not to love? And, reading can mean comic books, newspapers, and online articles (like this one :)) so there’s no excuse!! Except, if you have no time, but everyone can make five minutes a day to read, can’t they?

    person holding book
    Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com
  2. Get yourself a notebook and a pen, go somewhere quiet and write! You don’t need any expensive gadgets to start. Just time, inspiration, and a notebook and pen (there are some gorgeous notebooks out there. And, have you seen some of the beautiful pens you can buy? My personal faves are the coloured biros by Bic, especially the purple ones). It doesn’t even matter if you think it’s bad. Write anyway!

    pencil on spiral notebook
    Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com
  3. Practice. And Practice. And practice… Once you begin writing, keep going. The only way to get better at anything is practice. Maybe take a writing course to hone your skills. Writing courses come in many shapes and sizes. Some are free and some are run by fabulous, well-established writers (Neil Gaiman, I’m looking at you!).
  4. Get feedback. This gives you an outsider’s perspective of your writing. People can tell you where your weak points are, but also when you’re doing something right. You could join a local writing group for this. I did and it improved my writing considerably.

    “Remember, you’re not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s okay!”

  5. Get a thick skin. You’re not always going to write fabulous prose. Sometimes your work will be utter crap. Don’t be afraid to face that fact. And even when your work is absolutely amazing and fabulous, people will tear it apart and make you feel like dirt. Unfortunately, this is something we, as writers, have to live with. Not everyone is going to love what you write and you need to learn to live with that. Write anyway! Remember, you’re not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s okay!
  6. Write! Make sure you write, even if it’s just a few words every day. Don’t just talk about it. Write! Write your first draft even if it’s utter rubbish. Don’t worry, everyone’s first draft is crap (I mean, have you read my first draft of Death’s Apprentice, written here on my blog as I go? Try reading it, you’ll see what I mean :)). But as they say, you can’t edit a blank page! You can edit your writing though. And edit. And edit. Rewrites will make your writing shine!

    wood light creative space
    Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.com

As Charles Buckowski said:

“There is no losing in writing, it will make your toes laugh as you sleep, it will make you stride like a tiger, it will fire the eye and put you face to face with death. You will die a fighter, you will be honored in hell. The luck of the word. Go with it.”

 

Death’s Apprentice – Part 46

Joe’s stomach groaned as he neared the cabin and smelled… His nose twitched as he sniffed the air. Stew. It was stew! His absolute favourite. Winner, winner, thought Joe, stew for dinner. Get in!

The log cabin looked well cared for and, if Joe was really honest, exactly what a cabin in the woods belonging to a witch should look like. It had a rocking chair on the porch with a patchwork quilt of browns and oranges and reds, carefully folded upon the seat. There were pots of plants on either side of the cabin door. Probably herbs, thought Joe, as this house belonged to a witch.

The garden was just as well kept. There was a well-tended pumpkin patch with pumpkins of various sizes and colours. There were rows of carrots, what looked like rhubarb, and potatoes. There was a small section of the garden fenced off with what looked like willow twigs that had been woven together. Behind the fence, were strange-looking plants with gnarled branches and bizarre flowers and plants that just looked like lots of twisted thorns.

‘Are you coming in or what?’ asked Hel, standing in the open doorway of the house.

‘I’m coming,’ he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he had an attack of conscience. It didn’t feel right just walking into someone else’s house. Having said that, he kind of hoped she wasn’t in there either. ‘Is…is she in there?’ He stepped onto the first step and stopped.

‘Who?’

‘The witch.’

‘No. At least…I don’t think she is.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Joe. Being hangry and anxious was not good for his mood.

‘Well, I can’t see her but she’s a witch isn’t she? So she could be a slug, or a frog, or anything, couldn’t she? So, I think you need to hurry up and eat already because if she catches you…’ Hel drew a small finger across her pale throat. ‘She might end up putting you in the stew…if you’re lucky…’

There was a pregnant pause interrupted by the sound of a frog croaking then Joe’s stomach groaning.

‘What?’ asked Joe.

Hel shrugged, turned, and went back into the cabin.

Dragon Rider – Part Twenty-Eight

Dragon Rider

Chapter Twelve Continued

Dreams

Drake glared at Pyro and grabbed his Zephyr before he climbed out of the carriage.  Pyro and Willow followed.

‘The Fortress is that way,’ said Charon pointing across the valley, ‘Goodbye.’

‘I’m going to complain, I am, only doing half a job, ‘shouted Pyro as Charon dashed around to the front of his carriage, ‘I ask you, what is the world coming to when even the ferryman of the Underworld won’t do his job!’

‘Good day,’ said Charon already seated at the front of his carriage.  He turned to his kelpies, shouted ‘YAH!’ and they were off, thundering back to where they had just come from, ready to collect more fresh souls.

Drake slung his guitar over his back and looked down the disintegrating bridge, a thin crooked finger pointing the way to the Fortress, its iron bulk veiled by the tangled wall of miles and miles of brambles and trees.  He inwardly sighed; they hadn’t even travelled half-way to the Fortress and they’d got so many more miles to travel.  The road before them looked never-ending.  How the hell were they going to get to the Fortress now?

‘Come on,’ he said, his voice a strange mixture of anger and misery, ‘be careful where you tread, I don’t fancy going for a swim-’

‘I need a break,’ said Pyro, plonking himself down, his stubby legs hanging off the side of the bridge.

‘Pyro!’ hissed Drake through clenched teeth.

‘What?’ asked Pyro, turning to look back at Drake, ‘I need some fresh air.  If you don’t mind me saying, it was getting a little smelly in there.’

Drake glared back at him, trying to count to a hundred in his head, quickly, before he exploded.

‘Hey,’ said Willow, placing her hand gently on Drake’s arm, ‘Let’s take a few minutes and we can check out the Scroll.’

‘Okay,’ replied Drake, his hands pumping at his side as he tried not to put his hands around Pyro’s neck.

‘Show me the way,’ asked Willow, holding the Scroll of the Dead up for Drake to see.  Black symbols began to burn brightly on the brown parchment in front of them.

PLOP!

‘What does it say?’ asked Drake.

PLOP!

‘It’s saying that-’

Drake spun on his heels.  ‘Pyro?’ he screeched, as Pyro threw another fragment of the crumbling bridge into the lake.

‘Yes?’

‘What do you think you are doing?’

‘Trying to see if I can skim the water with these bits of rubble,’ said Pyro, holding up a handful of jagged pieces of the bridge in his hand.  ‘It’s supposed to be good for relieving stress,’ he said, lobbing another bit of bridge into the water.  The large fragment disappeared into the grey water with a loud plop.  ‘Doesn’t seem to be working though.  Maybe it’s my technique. I should’ve listened to my Great Aunt Gazit, she was Champion Skimmer in our village for five years in a row when I was growing up.  Mind you, that could’ve had something to do with the fact that everyone was scared of her, she had-’

‘Pyro?’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up!’ screamed Drake.

‘Huh.  You asked me a question-’

Drake turned his back on Pyro.  ‘So what’ve you come up with?’ he asked Willow.

‘Well-’

‘Can you hear that?’ asked Pyro, his knobbly hand cupped to his ear.

‘Pyro, we’re a little busy at the moment,’ said Drake trying, for Willow’s sake, to keep his anger under control.

‘I can hear it,’ said Willow, looking up from the scroll, ‘it sounds like dance music.’

They all stood still, listening to the dull thump, thump of music coming from somewhere in front of them.

‘That can’t be right,’ said Drake, unsure of what he was hearing, ‘there’s nothing here, just the lake.’

‘Well, that’s definitely dance music,’ said Willow.

Drake looked out over the grey waters of the lake; something was stirring in its depths sending great bubbles of white water up to the surface and waves were beginning to lap against the bridge.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Pyro, jumping up from his perch on the edge of the bridge, the bottom of his brown chinos wet.

There was a huge explosion of water, about thirty metres in front of them, and a great white yacht emerged from the depths of the lake like a shark.  The vessel was enormous, probably around 100 metres in length, and great torrents of water gushed from its wooden decks as it surfaced.  Dance music blasted from the vessel as it sailed towards them.

‘Wow!  That is some boat,’ said Drake, as, within a matter of minutes, the yacht had drawn in alongside them.

‘Come aboard!’ shouted a man in a cream suit, peering from the deck as the gangway extended onto the bridge.

‘Blackthorn,’ said Pyro, tugging at Drake’s sleeve, ‘I don’t think we should.  I’ve got a bad feeling-’

Drake pulled his arm away from Pyro.  What was it with this guy?  ’Thanks, but we need to go to the Fortress,’ he shouted back to the man.

‘That’s okay, we’re heading that way.’

‘But you’re in a boat,’ said Willow, pointing from the boat to the Fortress, ‘and the Fortress is over there.  Behind a Forest.’

‘This is a special boat,’ replied the man with a huge flashy grin, beckoning for them to board, ’What harm can it do?’

‘Blackthorn, come on, let’s walk,’ said Pyro.

Pretend Pyro isn’t there before you explode, thought Drake.  He turned to Willow.  ‘Does it say anything on the Scroll?’

‘No,’ said Willow, taking a quick peek at the scroll.

‘Well then, it can’t be anything bad.  Let’s give it a go.’

‘I don’t know, maybe Pyro‘s right.’

‘Come on, surely it’s better than walking for miles across this bridge and then having to fight through that lot,’ said Drake, pointing to the Forest.  ‘It’ll be quicker.’

‘It’s a bad idea,’ said Pyro, stepping slowly backwards, away from the boat.

‘I could always knock you out with my music and drag you across,’ said Drake through clenched teeth.

‘No thanks.’

‘Come on,’ said Drake, grabbing Pyro by the collar and pushing him up the gangway, ‘you first. Oh, and Pyro, if you do one, I will personally kill you!’

‘Welcome aboard the Arcadia,’ said the man in the cream suit, as Pyro, Drake and Willow climbed aboard.

‘What is this?’ asked Willow, her mouth wide open as she marvelled at the heaving crowd, all dancing to the music being played by a DJ in baggy t-shirt and low-slung jeans, mixing it up on the decks behind the swimming pool.

‘This little thing,’ replied the man, pulling his Ray-Ban’s down his nose so that he could look over them with his pale blues eyes, that sparkled like sapphires next to his tanned skin, ‘is something I dreamt up as an alternative to that dreadful man, Charon.  So unrefined.’  He winked at Willow, ‘Just think of it as your last little bit of hedonism before you pass to the other side.’

‘Oh, we’re not dead,’ said Drake.

‘Really?’ said the man, flashing a gold tooth as a wide smile spread across his face.  ‘Let me introduce myself, I’m Morpheus’ he said, pointing to his smooth bare chest peeping out from under his suit, a chunky platinum chain sparkling against his orange-looking skin, ‘and that’s Hypno, our resident DJ.’  Morpheus looked at the platinum Daniel Roth watch on his wrist, ‘We will be ascending in a minute as we begin our journey to The Fortress, so why don’t you relax and enjoy the ride.’

‘Ascend?’ asked Pyro, holding his stomach with one hand, his mouth in the other.

‘Yes, how else did you think we were going to get there?’

Pyro turned to Drake.  ‘Did I ever mention that I’m not good with heights?’ he asked, his face had drained of colour, his skin taking on a green hue.

‘There’s everything you could desire aboard this vessel.  What’s mine is yours; the swimming pool, beauty salon for the lady, or you could try the sundeck or Jacuzzi on the upper floor,’ said Morpheus, gesturing at the deck with his jewel-encrusted hand, as the boat began to rise gently into the air like a Hover-copter.  The engine roared somewhere below deck before the boat turned smoothly in the air and began its journey south.

‘I really don’t like heights,’ said Pyro, grabbing tightly onto the nearest railing, his knuckles white.

‘We should be at our destination in about an hour, so enjoy yourselves.’

‘This is amazing,’ said Drake, smiling at a pretty dancer, dressed in a small pink top and white shorts, who had winked at him, ‘when I die I want to go like this.’

‘For sure,’ said Morpheus, grabbing a glass of clear liquid from a silver tray as a waiter, dressed head to toe in white, passed by.  ‘Madame.’ he said giving the glass to Willow.  He turned to Drake.  ‘Is this music to your liking?’

‘We’re more into alternative stuff, that kind of thing,’ said Drake.

‘No problem,’ said Morpheus.  ’Why don’t you come with me,’ he said, putting his long arm around Willow‘s shoulders, ’and we’ll sort that out.’

‘Okay,’ said Willow, after she had finished taking a sip of the clear liquid.

‘Don’t I know you?’ asked Pyro, still clinging tightly to the railing, before Morpheus could walk away.

‘I don’t think so, I don’t generally tend to hang around with demons,’ said Morpheus with a smirk.

So, you wanna be a writer? Theme.

Theme?

What is this theme you are talking about Angela, and why do I need it in my novel?

Very good question!

A theme is:

“an underlying….message to your story. This is an idea that runs through the whole of the novel. The message could be, for example, “crime doesn’t pay,” or “love conquers all”.

(Taken from my post So, you wanna be a writer? Five things you need to do in Act One of your story.)

But, why do I need a theme?

Because it will make your story flow and will bring cohesion to your narrative.

It’s the mission statement of your novel.

You don’t have to explicitly tell the reader your theme but it will inform your writing and thus be implied.

My first ever novel, Dragon Rider, had the message that Revenge is self-destructive.

From the beginning of the novel. I state my case;

“It is said that a man with revenge in his heart should dig two graves; one for his enemy and one for himself.  Perhaps this is true, but I’m not ready to take to my grave.  Not yet.

I ask you; what do you do if there is no justice?  If the law itself is rotten and corrupt.  What then?  Should we let those who do wrong get away with it, turn the other cheek to their crimes?”

And then, at the end of the novel, I state;

“All I know is that now I have my revenge. Fenrik is destroyed and for that I am grateful. But I will never be healed. The hatred, the need for revenge has kept me alive for far too long and now it pulses through my veins like my lifeblood.”

Revenge as a self-destructive force runs as a theme throughout the novel.

The theme is a universal idea that transcends cultural barriers.

If the Plot is the what of the story, and the characters of the novel are who, the theme of the story is why.

So, how do I create a theme?

It starts with you. You have to decide what message you want to convey in your story. Do you want to say something about love, for example? And what would that be? Love conquers all? Love makes us fools?

But, don’t preach!

Nothing will put a reader off more than preaching at them about something you believe in. The theme should be subtle and hidden within the lines of text but not too hidden that it isn’t conveyed to the reader. They should be able to detect the theme lying just below the surface.

If you’re a plotter, plot your novel (even if it’s just the bare bones), consider your character’s motivations, the conflict in your story and then brainstorm ideas for your theme.

If you’re a pantser, again, consider the conflict in your story, your character’s motivations and begin to piece together the message you are trying to convey. The skeleton of your theme will probably be in your writing already, waiting to be discovered. Once you find it, you can edit your work to make the theme and your writing more cohesive.

And remember, the theme can be conveyed through a character’s actions, speech and thoughts, and the symbolic use of the environment (In Bones, I use the weather as an indicator of the tone of the scene. Maybe a bit cliche but, I don’t care, I like it :)).

What themes can you think of? How have you conveyed these themes to the reader? What worked? What didn’t?

Let me know!

 

 

 

Death’s Apprentice – Part 44

‘A witch, hey?’ Joe was talking more to himself than to Hel.

‘Why? Is that a problem?’ Hel’s eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits.

‘No, of course not,’ he replied, ‘it’s just…well, I’ve never met a witch before, so…’ He shrugged.

‘You haven’t?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, well, there’s a first time for everything. Come on.’ Hel turned to leave.

‘It’s just…it’s a bit…you know…’

‘What?’ She asked twisting her head to look at him.

‘Well, fairy tale-y.’

‘What’s fairy tale-y?’

‘They’re stories adults tell to shut kids up. And they always have wicked witches lurking in forests.’

‘Well, not every witch is wicked, but every forest does have a witch.’

Joe very much doubted that.

‘Is this witch evil?’ he asked, suddenly worried about being turned into a frog or being burned alive in a cauldron. The way his luck was going at the moment, he knew anything was possible.’

‘I dunno…’ and with that, Hel skipped off into the trees.