AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Paul Fraser Collard

This is the first in what will hopefully become a regular author interview slot on my blog. In the interviews I hope to gain an insight into the motivations and inspirations of some brilliant writers. The interviews will follow a similar structure, with some longer questions, followed by a few quick-fire questions for a bit of a laugh.

Today I have the great pleasure to welcome the author of the popular Jack Lark series, Paul Fraser Collard. So, without further ado, sit back, put your feet up, and enjoy getting to know the man behind Jack Lark.

Hi Paul. When is your next release coming out? Tell us a little about it.

Next up is JACK LARK - RECRUIT, the second in the series of short stories set before THE SCARLET THIEF. This novella covers Jack’s first weeks in the British army, and I have to admit it was a blast to write, especially as Jack’s favourite sergeant, a certain Slater, returns to make sure that Jack understands who holds the power over the fledgling redcoats.

The fourth full novel comes out in November. This one is called THE LONE WARRIOR and sees Jack find his way to Delhi in the days just before the Indian mutiny erupts. Of all the novels this was the hardest to write as the events of the mutiny make for some disturbing reading. Both sides were guilty of dreadful atrocities and I have tried to capture something of the violence found in these early struggles between the two sides.

Tell us about the book you are writing at the moment.

Right now, I am working on the fifth Jack Lark novel, currently due to be released in July 2016. I seem to have hit my stride with writing Jack’s adventures and it really is hard to think of creating these stories as being any sort of work. Quite simply, I love writing them.

The fifth book will see Jack journey to Europe for the first time. A character from his past returns and sweeps Jack into the war between France and Austria that culminates in the huge battles of Magenta and Solferino. It has been fascinating to research these battles, as I can honestly say I had never heard of them, which is dreadful, especially as Solferino is one of the biggest battles fought in Europe prior to the First World War, and the resulting carnage played a key role in the creation of both the Red Cross and the Geneva Convention.

What writer or book has had the biggest influence on your work?

It really should come as no surprise that I have been hugely influenced by the work of Bernard Cornwell. He was the first writer of historical fiction that I read, and I think the Sharpe series is one of the main reasons why I became fascinated with the history of the British army. (Matthew: I expect that if I keep asking that question to historical fiction authors, I may keep getting the same answer!)

The day I found out that Bernard had agreed to supply a quote for THE SCARLET THIEF is pretty much the absolutely stand out highlight of my writing career.

There is one thing that I have wanted to ask you ever since I saw your name on your debut novel. Did you add the “Fraser” to your name as a nod to George MacDonald Fraser, or is it really your name?

It is really my middle name. We are descended from Frasers on my mother’s side and so many of us have Fraser as our middle name. When the time came to agree what name to write under, the publishers liked the Fraser part so much that they went with it.

I have to admit, I thought you'd added the name as some sort of affectation! I'm glad it is really your name. 

What are the best and worst things about being a writer?

The best thing about being a writer is hearing from a reader who has read and enjoyed your books. I really do see my job as being a storyteller, so reaching readers is what I am trying to do with everything I write.

I cannot think of any bad things about being a writer. I know how fortunate I am to have a publishing deal, and I try hard to never forget that. I suppose the worst thing about doing most of my writing on a train is looking on in envy at those writers who get to do it full-time, especially when I see their huge desks and enormous computer screen.

What is the best book you've read in the last twelve months?

Well, one of them happens to be THE SERPENT SWORD, but I won’t fluff your pillows too much.

You can fluff them all you like! I was delighted that you enjoyed it enough to endorse it. What else has stood out?

I just finished BURKE AT WATERLOO, by Tom Williams, which I also enjoyed a great deal. Generally I don’t read too much historical fiction, as I cannot help making comparisons! The last series I really devoured were the DUST books by Hugh Howey.

I have always enjoyed apocalyptic fiction and I am a sucker for stories like THE WALKING DEAD or THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

I remember reading somewhere (in another interview perhaps), that you had not written anything before you wrote the first Jack Lark novel, The Scarlet Thief. What made you take the plunge into writing novels and what has surprised you most about the industry?

For the last sixteen years I have commuted to work by train. When my kids were babies it was a great time for catching up on sleep, but as they got older I used the time to read anything I could get my hands on. One day I thought it would be a great idea to see if I could write my own book. It took ages, and was much harder work than I ever imagined, but I had caught the writing bug and I now write every day.

I believe you have lots of Jack Lark stories mapped out already, but have you got plans for any other novels in other eras perhaps? Could there be a new long-running series in the offing or would you like to write a standalone novel?

I seem to be able to write books at a pretty rapid pace, so in between the last two Jack Lark novels, I have written what could be the first book in a new series. It is currently with my agent having gone through a coupe of re-drafts and I have high hopes for it! It is set in World War II and the protagonist could not be more different than my Jack. If everything goes as I hope, then one day I will be writing two books a year, one for each series. Now, that really would be fun.

As a relative newcomer to the publishing scene, what is your opinion of the surge in independent publishing of recent years? How do you think the face of the publishing industry will change in the next five years? Are you tempted to go down the indie route, or perhaps become a so-called hybrid author, where you have both traditional and self-published work for sale?

Independent publishing is great. It really does give everyone the chance to see their own book in print and available for sale. The problem with that is that the market place is now congested, so it can be very hard to know what is worth buying. That is why reviews and bloggers are so important, and I now buy nearly all of my books on recommendation rather than from random browsing.
I am sure that traditional publishing will retain its place in the market, but I am equally sure it will need to adapt to make certain that it remains relevant. Although ebooks are great, and I certainly buy my fair share, I think that traditionally published hardbacks will retain a very important place. I still love to buy a beautiful hardback book, especially one signed by the author.

As for my future, well I certainly would not rule out self-publishing. I have looked at it, but I am not sure that I have the energy and the drive needed, as it seems to take all my time writing and promoting my books without also having to devote a vast amount of effort in editing, proofing, copy-editing and cover design. So for now I shall stick with trying to be a traditionally published author and see where that takes me.

And a few quick-fire questions:

Tea or coffee?

TEA

Burger or hot dog?

BURGER

Villain or hero?

HERO

Beer or wine?

BEER

Happy ending or tragedy? 

HAPPY ENDING

In the car, audio-book or music? 

MUSIC

Thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions, Paul, and best of luck for the release of JACK LARK - RECRUIT on June 4th and LONE WARRIOR in November, and of course, for all the other books you'll write in coming years!

Connect with Paul and find out about all about his writing here:

www.paulfrasercollard.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/PaulFraserCollard

Twitter: @pfcollard

Coming soon!

• More interviews with fabulous authors.
• Reveal of the title of Book 3 in the Bernicia Chronicles.
• Competitions.
• And lots more!

A bit of writing revisited - the power of editing

Way back in December 2012, when I was only halfway through the first draft of THE SERPENT SWORD, I posted a small sample of the novel here. Well, since then I completed the draft and then made quite a lot of changes in subsequent edits and I thought it might be interesting to compare the same passage in the version of the manuscript that is currently under consideration with publishers.

Have a look at the before and after if you like and let me know what you think. Anything surprise you about decisions I have taken? Are there any bits that you think are significantly better? Or worse? Any comments, don't be shy.

Before you get into reading the sample, just a quick mention about where I am at with the sequel and how the search for a publisher is going.

I am still waiting to hear back from some publishers, so fingers crossed and watch this space. Positive thoughts, everyone!

The sequel to THE SERPENT SWORD, working title, THE CROSS AND THE CURSE, is now at 104,000 words of the first draft. I can see the light at the end of the creative tunnel. I'm looking forward to completing it and then having a break before getting stuck into the edits.

Until then, enjoy the summer and I hope you enjoy this snippet from chapter 3 of THE SERPENT SWORD.

Comments welcome.

Extract from THE SERPENT SWORD

Bassus woke Beobrand the next day before dawn. Men were readying themselves all around them. Many were vomiting, leaving steaming puddles dotted throughout the encampment. Bassus handed him his spear and made sure he was holding his shield correctly. Bassus was wearing his full armour and in the dark he looked like a giant from a scop's tale.

"Here, take this." Bassus handed Beobrand a seax. It was short, not much more than a knife, with a simple bone handle. The single-edged blade shimmered with the patterns of finely-forged metal. "It doesn't look like much, but it is a good blade and holds its edge well. Once we are in close, you'll find it more use than the spear. Your brother gave it to me and it served me well. He would have wanted you to have it."

Beobrand thanked him and they walked together towards the edge of the camp. The shieldwall was forming there. Edwin had taken Bassus' advice and set up camp to the east of the Mercian and Waelisc host, so that when they attacked, the sun would be in the eyes of their enemies.

Nearing the centre of the line, Beobrand saw that Edwin and Osfrid were standing there, metal-garbed, battle-ready and proud, with their gesithas around them. They parted and allowed Bassus and Beobrand to take up places in their ranks.

Beobrand looked along the line. Spears bristled, held aloft, a deadly winter forest. Armour and weapons jingled. Somewhere a man laughed. A short, wiry man to his left drew a stone slowly along the length of his seax with a grinding rasp. Beobrand's whole body thrummed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Bassus said in a calm voice, "Easy now, Beobrand. This is your first battle and you will not be wanting to die in it, so listen to me." Bassus took off his helmet and Beobrand could just make out the scar running above his left eye. "Use what I have shown you. If you stick by me, you'll be all right. And remember, if I get one of their shields down, get in quick and skewer the bastard."

Beobrand nodded and turned his attention towards the enemy. Cadwallon's and Penda's hosts had seen the Northumbrians readying for battle and they were forming their own shieldwall. They stood in a ragged line at the top of a small rise, the sky behind them a dark purple. In between the land was flat and boggy. To the centre of the enemy line Beobrand made out a standard bearing a wolf's head and several wolves' tails. To the left of that he saw another banner, this one carried a human skull and a crossbeam from which dangled what appeared to be human scalps. The men below those standards were lifting up spears, and hefting shields. Preparing for battle. Preparing to kill.

Smoke billowed from the campfires behind them, mingling with the ground fog.

Would one of the men he could see in the dim pre-dawn light kill him soon? He felt sick all of a sudden and started breathing through his mouth in an effort to calm his stomach. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the ash haft of his spear.

Images from the last six months flooded his mind. Edita's tiny body, swaddled in a shroud being lowered into the ground. Rheda, sweet Rheda, her hollow eyes boring into his as he mopped her burning brow with a cool cloth. She tried to smile for him even then. His mother, shaking with fever, lying on the straw-stuffed mattress, soaked in sweat, reaching out to clench his hand in a grip that belied her frailty.

"Don't stay here, Beobrand!" she had hissed. "You have nothing to bind you here now. I know you wish to be gone, to seek out your brother. You were meant for greater things than tilling the land, my son." She had closed her eyes. Her breathing was so shallow he'd thought her spirit had left.

Then her eyes had opened again and she had spoken for the final time, summoning all her strength to say those last words.

"You...are...not...your...father's...son..."

What had she meant? He would never know. Her breath had left her with a sigh and his father's bones now lay in the charred remains of his house.

 "Wake up, boy!" Bassus' gruff voice brought Beobrand back to the present. To the battle. To kill or be killed.

All of his dreams with Octa and Selwyn had come to this. He had taken heed of his mother's words and left Hithe. His father had confronted him for the last time. He was a farm boy no longer. He was a warrior in Edwin of Northumbria's warband.

He cast a glance at Bassus and the huge warrior flashed his teeth in a grin.

#

The sun was just beginning to peak out over the trees, shedding a pale light over the battlefield. The Northumbrian warriors cast long shadows in front of them.

"Come, my countrymen!" shouted Edwin. "The moment of truth is now upon us. You have answered my call to the fyrd and stand here shield to shield with your kinsmen in defence of the land that is ours by right of blood.

"I am Edwin, son of Aella, direct descendant of Woden. The blood of the old gods flows in my veins and the new God, the Christ, is on our side. Paulinus has blessed us in His name and I have promised to build Him a great church when he grants us victory.

"We cannot be defeated this day. Together we will send these pagans to hell where they belong.

"I will quench my sword's thirst in the blood of these Waelisc and Seaxon Mercians."

He flourished his fine battle-blade above his head. It glinted in the dim sunlight.

"Take up your weapons with me. Guide them with cunning and might. 

"Kill them all! Attack them now and kill every one of them!"

"For Edwin!" came back the raucous response from the host, Beobrand's voice as loud as the next man's.

The shieldwall surged forward. Beobrand felt his shield bang against the man on his left as they ran. He tried to keep pace and to hold his shield in the right position. He could hardly believe what was happening; what had been a distant dream was now vivid reality. And then there was no more time for thinking. The men around him let fly their javelins with shouts of defiance. At the same time, the enemy threw theirs. Beobrand had no javelin but he watched as the light throwing spears were silhouetted against the sky. Those of each side mingled together at the apex of their flights, and then he could see the burnished point of one spear glinting as it fell straight towards him.

He raised his shield above his head and kept running. Something hit the rim of the shield, but he was not wounded. The man to his left screamed, tripped and fell. Beobrand caught a glimpse of a javelin piercing the man's right leg just above the knee. He looked away. The enemy were mere steps away.

The two shield lines crashed together like waves hitting a cliff. Beobrand's shield smashed against another. He pulled back, trying to get an opening at the warrior in front of him. As he did so, he realised it was a mistake. His opponent, a brutish, red-bearded Waelisc, wearing a leather helm, pushed hard as he stepped back. Beobrand lost his balance and fell sprawling to the muddy ground. The Waelisc warrior, smiling at how easily he had broken through the shieldwall, pulled back his spear for the killing blow. Beobrand tried to rise, but the Waelisc moved in too quickly for him to get to his feet.

But at the moment the spear point came hurtling towards Beobrand's exposed chest, Bassus turned and parried the blow with an over arm swing of his barbed spear. He swung with such force that the warrior lost his grip. The spear fell harmlessly to the ground next to Beobrand.

With practised skill and uncanny agility, Bassus thrust his spear into the Waelisc's wooden shield. The barbs caught, and Bassus leant on the spear shaft, using his weight to pull the shield down.

"Now, boy!" Bassus shouted, struggling to hold on to his spear and avoid the cleaver-like blade the Waelisc had unsheathed. Beobrand scrambled to his feet. He snatched up his spear and, letting out a roar that was lost in the tumult of battle, thrust his spear at the Waelisc's midriff. The man attempted to parry, but was hampered by his trapped shield. He only succeeded in deflecting the spear upwards towards his unprotected face. With all Beobrand's weight behind the thrust the point grazed over the man's right cheekbone and pierced his eye. He collapsed instantly and the sudden dead weight on his spear pulled Beobrand down. He stumbled, landing in a heap on the warrior's twitching corpse.

The anvil sound of metal on metal and the screams and grunts of warriors crashed around him. He struggled to free his spear from the eye socket of the warrior, but it was lodged fast. He pulled for a few heartbeats and then remembered the seax that Bassus had given him. He unsheathed it. It felt natural in his grip and with abandon, he threw himself into the rift in the shieldwall. He had killed an enemy and all his fear had vanished like morning dew in the light of the sun. The noise of battle subsided around him and an inner calm washed over him.

A snaggle-toothed man with blood-shot eyes, peeked over a shield in front of him. Beobrand's seax flicked out over the shield and rammed down the man's throat. Bassus was screaming beside Beobrand, hacking and slashing with his sword, splinters from the enemies' shields making a dusty cloud about him. The Northumbrian line was moving forward. A fallen warrior clawed at Beobrand's leg, whether friend or foe, Beobrand neither knew nor cared. Battle lust was upon him and he had no time for the wounded. He stamped on the man's fingers, feeling them snap under his foot and pushed his shield forward to meet the next enemy.

The enemy shieldwall parted and a grey-haired man wearing a fine suit of scale mail stood before him. He was wielding a blood-drenched sword and there was a pile of corpses at his feet. Beobrand thought not of the danger. He saw a gap in the line and walked forward to fill it. The old warrior looked surprised and almost saddened as Beobrand, with no armour and only a splintered shield and short seax for protection, walked towards him.

Something in the warrior's grim features penetrated through the red mist that had descended on Beobrand. He looked around to see where Bassus and the other Northumbrians were, searching for aid against this mighty warrior. Too late he saw that he had become cut off from his shieldwall. The tide of the battle had shifted and the Mercians and Waelisc had outflanked the Northumbrians. Edwin's host had fallen back towards the encampment, leaving Beobrand stranded and surrounded by enemies.

END OF EXTRACT

Mini review of The Pagan Lord by Bernard Cornwell

The Pagan Lord by Bernard Cornwell
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

More tales of Uthred from the master storyteller. This is not the best book in the series, and at times it felt a little like Cornwell was treading water, or trying to find a direction for the plot. However, the characters are strong as always and the final build up and grisly, gripping battle at the end provide the necessary and fulfilling pay off for the story.

View all my reviews

The Wild West of Dark Ages Britain

My novel, working title The Serpent Sword, is currently being edited and yesterday I started writing a historical note for the end, explaining some of the decisions I have made and liberties I have taken with the history. As I was writing, I started thinking about the way I have portrayed the land of Northumbria in 633 AD. 

The first half of the seventh century is situated deep in what is traditionally called The Dark Ages. The period is dark in many ways. It was a violent time, where races clashed and kingdoms were created and destroyed by the sword.

A lord with some of his gesithas

Men with ambition ruled kingdoms with small numbers of warriors - their gesithas, or retinue of companions. Although they professed kingship tracing back their claim through ancestors all the way to the gods themselves, I imagine them to be little more than gangsters, or the cattle barons of the American West of the nineteenth century. Each vied for dominance over the land, clashing with other kings in battles which were simply turf wars. They exacted payment in tribute from their ceorls, or churls - the peasants that lived on their land. This was basically protection money to keep the king and his retinue stocked up with weapons, food and luxuries, so that they would be at hand to defend the populace against the dangers of a largely lawless land.

A cowboy fights a native American

Throw into this mix racial tensions and the expansion of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes from the east of Britain, enslaving and subjugating the older inhabitants of the island - the Waelisc, as the continental invaders called all foreigners (and the word that spawned the modern name for Wales, Welsh and Cornwall), and you have a situation not unlike the American “Wild West”. Invaders from the east, with superior fighting power destroying a proud culture that inhabited the land long before they came. As the Saexons (the name that the Waelisc gave to the invaders) pushed further westward, there would inevitably have been a frontier where any semblance of control from the different power factions was weak at best and at worst totally absent. As in the Wild West of cowboys and Native Americans, men and women who wished to live outside of the laws laid down by their societies would have gravitated into these vacuums of power.

Woden - all-father of the Anglo-Saxon pantheon of gods

As if that wasn’t enough, there is also the clash at this time of several major religions. Many of the native Celts would worship the same gods they had believed in for centuries whilst many others worshipped Christ; the Angelfolc (the name used by Bede and adopted by me in the novel to describe the people who would eventually become known as English) were just beginning to be converted to Christianity, but many still worshipped the old pantheon of Woden and Thunnor (more commonly known by modern day readers with the Viking names of Odin and Thor). 

Anglo-Saxon Christian cross

Christianity itself was being evangelised from two main power bases: the island of Iona, where the Irish tradition had taken root, and Rome, from where Italian priests, such as Paulinus had been sent. Christianity would eventually sweep all other religions away before it, and the disagreements on the finer points of theology would later be settled at the Synod of Whitby (but that is for another book).

A page from Bede's "A History of the English Church and People"

Above all else, the Dark Ages is an apt name for this period, due to the lack of first-hand written accounts. Much of what we know comes from writings that were penned many years later. Two principal sources are Bede’s “A History of the English Church and People” and the “Anglo-Saxon Chronicle”, which was written by many nameless scribes over centuries. Earlier accounts of Germanic and Celtic tribes by Tacitus, a Roman historian are also useful for inferring what the early Anglo-Saxon cultures were like.

The fact that it is a time seen as "through a glass, darkly" makes it a perfect time to write about. An author does not have a free hand, but there are certainly more areas of uncertainty than with many other periods, allowing a level of flexibility to tell an exciting tale against a backdrop of turmoil and conflict.

Rugby: The Modern Shieldwall?

I've been quiet for the last couple of weeks, but I've kept busy with the writing. I've now written 79,495 words of the first draft and I have only got a couple of chapters left to write to get me to the finish line. So I'm  pretty much on track according to my plan. I'm getting quite excited now by the prospect of actually getting the draft complete and then starting to edit and clean it up a bit before the next stage.
I did my writing today just after watching England beat Ireland at rugby in the Six Nations and I couldn't help but wonder whether the men who today play professional rugby are similar in physique and temperament to the warriors who would have stood shield-to-shield in the shieldwalls of Dark Ages Britain.
They are strong and heavyset, seemingly oblivious to pain or intimidation, willing to throw themselves into the fray with little or no thought to their own well-being. They are purely driven by the goal to beat their opponents and to help their teammates.
Look at the scrums in rugby, with the mud, blood, screams, pushing, stamping and roars of exertion. It is not too difficult to imagine similar, if a lot more deadly scenes, over a thousand years ago as two war bands of opposing nations clashed in battle. They would have wielded seaxes, swords and spears. And they would have worn armour and borne shields of linden. But in essence there would have been two groups of savagely-competitive men vying over a small piece of muddy earth. Of course, there would be no physios for muscle strains and losing the game would mean death!

There is something almost gladiatorial about rugby, with the terraces of thousands of baying fans in Colosseum-like stadia, but if you removed the crowds and placed the men in a field somewhere, I think it would be reminiscent of those early battles of the past.