Signed, sealed and delivered.

This is the first blog post since something fantastic happened. The second part of the Morocco trip will come up in a few days.

Yesterday the signed contract appeared thanks to the postman. I’m now signed up with Inspired Quill, an excellent new publishing house in the UK. Established this year, they are providing a platform for new authors to establish themselves in the industry as well as training and information on other related areas, such as marketing and online commerce. I’ve been really impressed with them so far. They’re in regular contact via email and Skype, and I feel like I’m being handled with a great deal of attention. It’s all I could ask for from a publisher. As a side note; according to their Twitter account, they’re currently open for submissions and are looking for bloggers, so if you’re reading this and have a manuscript handy or feel like helping them with their online outlets, then give the website a look.

It all came about from a chance meeting on the website Litopia. Litopia has a weekly live radio show called Litopia After Dark, along with an accompanying chatroom. It was that chatroom where I got talking to Sara-Jayne, the owner of Inspired Quill. After an enjoyable conversation she encouraged me to send in a submission. After reading through their mission statement and some of the interviews done about the company, I was really hoping they’d like my work. Fast forward a couple of months and here we are, ready to progress on to next year and a planned summer release. I’m really excited about how it’s all going to unfold. Writing as a career is something I’ve always dreamed of, but it felt like something done by other people.

When the idea for Queen of the World came up it was around 2007. Before I ever considered trying to write the novel – huge and daunting as it was, with a potential word length which made me cringe – I took up a position in Cork, Ireland with Blizzard Entertainment, where I worked for the next two years. Writing was still a part of my life but only as shorter work and bits and pieces for my ‘portfolio’. Queen of the World rattled around in my head, and various scenes and characters fermented and grew. I didn't write them, though. I was too involved in my career as part of one of the biggest video game producers in the world. I actually went to the head of Blizzard Europe’s customer service department for a meeting about how to get involved with their Creative Development team. I wanted to write for them. I wanted to write quests, stories and flavour text. I wanted to help create for the world of Azeroth, with its richly detailed history and memorable characters.

“So do you have any of your work available? Have you been published? What can you present to showcase your work?”

I didn’t think the answer ‘I have a DeviantArt page and some poems!’ would be a great comeback. I listened as he explained that the company, as huge and successful as it is, gets to pick and choose who works for it creatively. He said it would be a good idea to build up a library of work and to become successful in the literary world on my own, and then come back to them later when I could properly present myself. So off I went back to my desk, carried on working, and wondered what to do. I worked forty hours a week. I didn’t have any publishing credits. And Queen of the World was just too big, too much effort along with all the other matters in my life which needed my attention.

I left Blizzard in 2010. My girlfriend and I went to Vietnam to live and work for six months. During the trip we bought a pair of Suzuki GN125’s and rode down from Hanoi to Hue. We worked and drank and lived in shitty little apartments and generally had a blast. One of the main reasons for me to leave my solid job and dick around in South East Asia was to write Queen of the World. Only it didn’t work out that way. I was now working six days a week, more than at Blizzard. I was dealing with culture shock and constant budget balancing for the trip. Over those six months I managed 62,000 words which I didn’t think were very good. I started to doubt whether I could even write the damned thing, let alone write something worth publishing.

On the way back to Europe we landed in Paris for a few days. I walked barefoot on a tour of the sights, due to my shoes being ruined in Bangkok (A story for another day). As we got out of a taxi taking us to the airport my rucksack was stolen. In it contained my walkman, some expensive headphones, my pet stuffed monkey and my laptop. The laptop containing the manuscript. All I had was an old backup on my Hotmail account. I was down to 38,000 words.

I came back to Norway after the journey was all done. My girlfriend, who along the way had suffered the misfortune of becoming my fiancée, took me to her family cabin on the coast. There was no TV, evening-only internet connection, and no towns within an hour’s boat journey. I had a seat by a window overlooking the great scenery. I had a borrowed laptop. And I had a lot of free time.

So I wrote. I wrote every morning for the next nine weeks. I wrote up to 4,000 words a day. And at the end of it all I finally had my first draft. I edited it and redrafted it and edited it again. I had some friends read it to give feedback. I changed the ending. I cut some scenes. And in the end I was finally ready to start looking into submissions.

And now here we are. I’m chuffed to bits, looking forward to the year ahead and ready to make Queen of the World the best book it can be with the help of Inspired Quill. Here’s to proving that with enough effort, you can do the things which seem to be done by other people.

Morocco. Pt.1

I spent the last week in Morocco. It was ace. I kept a journal of the trip, which I’m going to write here word for word, with no edits or amendments. I’m quite rubbish at writing long hand, since it’s too slow for my brain and my handwriting is terrible, so it might suck. At least it’ll be honest. (This post is pretty long - just sayin'.)

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The country is hot, dry and tan. The influence of the colonial power which once ruled is still plain to see. Amidst the palm trees and the castle forts are huge blocks of French architecture and western style models on French language billboards. Women wear beautifully varied throws, scarves and gowns while guys wear shirts and polo necks. Kids wear Messi t-shirts and Reebok hoodies. Cars range from sparkling new to rusted, battered wrecks on wheels. Taxis have ‘official’ labels hand-painted on doors.

The city of Fes feels like the desert encircling it. Buildings, roads and walls are mostly a creamy, sandy colour but a surprising amount of greenery prevails under the pale blue sky. The streets are clean and the construction work light. The people are polite, patient and welcoming, apparently eager to ensure that a positive experience is had.

As we drive further out of the city and the hills retreat to patchy forest, the tarmac trailing through dirt, you begin to get a feel for the scale of the area. In the distance mountains loom as shadows on the horizon, too far to make out in detail but too large to ignore.

The city of Ifram is like a Swiss village, picturesque and calm. Huge European villas line alongside smooth roads and small parks. Evergreen woodland covers the surrounding slopes, separated by acres of plains. As we drive away, soon Ifram looks like a miniature model replica of itsel, red rooftops over white walls.

Near the desert of the Sahara, while not quite reaching the sand dunes so famous, the the air is dry and still. The only like, apart from tinder-bush, is contained in farms or around dams – the latter huge pools of water deep within a canyon of sun-kissed rock. A concentration of date trees sits in a valley bowl, bordered by the homes of those who pick and sell them.

We stop for lunch in a place which looks like a Persian palace, appropriately named The Kasbah. The food is good but a tad expensive. We also attract a horde of flies, which dive bomb us as we eat, assailing our Coke bottles.

The landscape between towns is dotted with forts which seem synonymous with the Foreign Legion, all flat surfaces and right angles. Here and there we see a wall or barricade built for no obvious purpose. In the towns, the streets are full of small shops, eateries and cafes. Kids leaving school are like kids anywhere else; happy, yelling and waving at passers-by.

The Sahara itself is magnificent. We have all seen the TV shows and movies but when in the middle of it, surrounded by the immense dunes and nothing else, you start to understand the scope of it all. Sitting atop a huge peak of soft sand watching the sun creep over the horizon, after sleeping under the stars which are as clear as diamonds and riding camels through shadows cast by moonlight, you realise how trivial your problems are in the grand scheme of existence.

We found a snake on the ride back to base. After a fantastic stay in a desert camp, excellent food to eat and feed to kittens, topped off with traditional Moroccan drum music, we rode our camels like fucking sand pirates. Along the end of the trail we come across a baby sidewinder, which flees into a bush. The guides then burn the bush and hurl stones at the snake. Humans triumph.

Driven further west, we pass what look like termite mounds which act as an irrigation system to store water for the agriculture which sits within spitting distance of the sands. A stop on the road lets us get out and feed a group of monkeys who hang out in a small woodland cluster. We feed them peanuts. They seem quite chilled out, in contrast to the climate. Skar, one of our group, takes a ride on a donkey. A small time bandit with nothing to steal.

The Gorges are a stunning sight. A deep chasm road lets us walk between colossal rock faces, below which a stream meanders, water seeping up through the soil. Vendors line one side of the road, selling trinkets, silks, art and minerals. The natural colour of the scene is vibrant and lush.

We stop in a hotel in Ouarzazate with a pool and a great number of couches and pillows. The decor is both traditional and minimalist. The staff are friendly and polite. The food is a little more western which helps you appreciate the local cuisine by comparison. It’s a nice, peaceful atmosphere.

We leave the next morning refreshed and having slept properly for the first time in three nights. We go to a film studio which has been in use since the Sixties. It is a wonderful location which has served as Rome, Egypt and Jerusalem. We buy tickets to look around a Crusades-era castle. It is one of the most inspiring constructs I have ever had the fortune to explore.

The Atlas Mountains are next, driving up and up along cliff-side roads which fall away to greenland and dammed rivers. We stop for lunch at a cafe overlooking the other peaks in the range. The food here in Morocco is generally impeccable, with everything well cooked and deliciously spiced. We eat liver, heart and testicle on our way. Well, maybe that last one wasn’t so delicious.

Riding down and on to Marrakech we say goodbye to Jourad, our guide, a truly nice and affable man. Marrakech is a far cry from Fes and a startling change of pace. Scooters, horse carts and cars fight for space in cramped, spiderweb streets. The air is hotter and the sun seems brighter. Every building is made from the same sandstone and it feels like walking through a Pharaoh’s maze. Our Riad hostel is small but pleasant, with an open air terrace which we spend the evening enjoying.

The next day, after obligatory sunglass buying and deodorant saturation, we find ourselves in a herb and spice shop. The owner is laid back, charming and genuine. He brews some ‘Kings Tea’ from eight different ingredients. We buy plenty for when we get home, as well as some spices to give Moroccan cooking a try.

On the whole the trip was an unexpectedly overwhelming success. From the moment we landed and walked across the tarmac to a glorious sunset, each aspect has been incredible. The people were accommodating and tolerant, encouraging, defying all of our misguided preconceptions about Muslim countries. The scenery easily rivalled South East Asia for spectacle and wonder. The food – especially tajines – is almost worth the price of the flights alone. The hotels and Riads, the service, the aftertaste of colonial France, the reasonable cost of most things... I can say without question that this was the best short term holiday I’ve had. I will recommend that anyone with some free time and a few quid to spare investigates this marvellous place for themselves.

There's some more about the castle visit and how it relates to improving my writing, which I'll include in a second post in a couple of days. Until then, go find some tajine!