The Game Bird’s first month (and a bit)

Well, The Game Bird has now been out and about for a month and a half.

It’s been a pretty amazing time. The book has been selling better than I expected, and has even been getting some nice reviews on Amazon and goodreads – which is very pleasing! (Not that I was stressed of course. Haha, not at all. Definitely not).

Even better, The Game Bird has just picked up its first long form review and the review is incredibly generous.  You can read the entire thing on Mark Timmony’s site, but a nice snippet goes:

The Game Bird is a swashbuckling, stand-alone tale of high adventure and romance, set in a beautifully realised world. Walsh’s writing is rich in history and lore, which he uses to masterfully colour his world – never once letting the details overwhelm the story and to present us with vivid characters that leap off the page and into your heart.

To say I was incredibly pleased would be quite the understatement.

Mark has also subsequently interviewed me on the subjects of life and writing and things. If you’re interested, you can find the interview here. 

 

 

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The Game Bird’s prologue

Below is The Game Bird’s original prologue.

Wiser heads convinced me that prologues are now a sin against literature so I took this out of the final novel. I still quite like it though and thought I’d share. If you are old fashioned like me and still quite enjoy prologues, read on.

A few quick notes:

  • You can read The Game Bird without reading the prologue.
  • The prologue is spoiler free, so reading it won’t impact your reading of The Game Bird.
  • Because I took it out of the final novel it missed a few rounds of edits and is probably a little rough.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

Fedor Vasilev - After the Rain, Country Road.jpg

##

Just beyond Willow Farm, by the little stone bridge across the fast flowing Pemberley, the two creatures met. They approached each other warily, tense as foxes that had heard a hunting horn. In their heavy coats and broad farmer’s hats, a passerby would have mistaken them for men. They nodded to each other and the Scryer glanced back down the sodden, hedge-lined lane. ‘You weren’t followed were you?’

‘No, I came straight from the ship,’ the other creature replied, its voice muffled by the heavy bandages that covered the ruin of its face.

‘Are you sure? This is a dangerous place.’

‘I said I wasn’t followed.’

‘But even your accent is off, Tallowman. You should be more cautious here.’

‘I said I came straight here. I will have the accent within an hour of getting back to the city. Now, do you have the information I need?’

‘I do. But come off the road. A coach is coming.’ There was no sign or sound of this coach but the Tallowman trusted a Scryer’s cowardice. The Scryer motioned towards an ancient elm that crowned a low hill to the south. ‘That will do.’

The Tallowman stepped off the road and pushed through the ancient hedge, snapping braches that would have turned aside an ox as it went. The Scryer followed along in its wake, picking its way through the broken foliage. Once through and into the field they walked on without talking, their boots squelching in the damp clover. As they approached the elm, a murder of crows burst from the trees branches and fled squawking in terror, black against the leaden sky. Reaching the shelter afford by the branches of the tree, the Tallowman turned to the Scryer and held out its hand. ‘The information.’

The Scryer took a heavy book out from under its coat and handed it over. ‘It isn’t much. But it has been difficult even getting these scraps. I don’t like this country.’

The Tallowman could not have cared less what the Scryer liked. It snatched the book and began to read, muttering to itself as it flicked through page after page of notes written in a tiny spidery hand. It was almost halfway through the thick ledger when a coach and four appeared from the north. The coach splashed and sloshed its way down the muddy road, clattered over the stone bridge and disappeared into the rainy afternoon. The echoes of the coachman’s whip had long faded by the time the Tallowman looked up. ‘So you are sure? There are only two of them in all of Stormhaven?’

‘Oh yes. Only two.’

‘And the old man will hardly be worth the effort of the harvest.’

The Scryer took a step back. ‘I know, I know. But the girl should more than make up for that.’

‘All you have for me is the vaguest description of her appearance. And an even vaguer description of where she might live.’

‘I have done my best. You are lucky I found her trail at all. She uses her taint very rarely.’

The Tallowman began ripping the pages out of the book. It crumpled up each page in turn and then let it drop into the mud. ‘You had better to hope we locate her quickly. Our master expected that you would have already found her. All I was meant to do was carry out the harvest.’

‘There is no “we”. You will hunt alone, Tallowman. I have been told to head north.’

North? The Tallowman tilted its head to one side, snakelike. There was nothing of import to the North. A few miserable towns, some mines and then the endless, cold ocean. ‘They are worried I will be caught and want you safely squirreled away to be used later.’

The Scryer spread its hands. ‘Think of the Camar Shiem.’

The Tallowman grunted. It did not need to be reminded of the Camar Shiem. It ripped the last page out of the Scryer’s ledger and let it drift down to join its siblings. Then it took out its tinderbox and set the crumpled pile of parchment on fire. It watched the papers burn down to ash and then ground the remains down into the mud with its boot heel. ‘Have you at least hired any local help?’

‘They are only ruffians, but they have been adequate enough so far.’ The Scryer handed the Tallowman a scrap of paper. ‘Go to this address and tell them Mr. Wise sent you.’

‘Well then, Mr Wise, I shall get to my bloody work and leave you to your running and hiding.’ The Tallowman didn’t wait for a reply.

It walked down the hill, pushed back through the hole it had made in the hedge and then set off towards Stormhaven.

And its prey.

##

If you enjoyed this, you can read on here in e-bookand paperback.

The Game Bird sets sail…

I’m incredibly pleased that The Game Bird is finally released!

You can grab it here on Amazon.

A special thanks to the team at Damonza for such a beautiful cover and layout.

The Game Bird - 3D.png

The final blurb goes like this:

“…I loved it – The Game Bird is intricately constructed, intelligently written and just a fabulous page-turner.”

An evil is growing. The Realm is under attack. A leviathan has risen from the depths and is destroying the fleets that feed Stormhaven.

Stuck ashore and drowning in debt, Captain James Faulkner resolves to hunt the sea monster and claim the enormous bounty on the beast.

Sophia Blake’s life looks effortless. But she carries a secret, an occult curse that is capable of destroying both her and her nation. Sophia knows her time is running out.

The Tallowman is a slowly decaying melding of demon and man. This monstrous assassin is desperate to capture Sophia and will let nothing stand between it and its prey.

Since his wife died, the sober lawyer Uriah Blake has wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life and enjoy what time he has left with his daughter, Sophia. When he learns that the Tallowman is pursuing her, he is forced to cast aside his books and his ink and join a shadowy war against a terrible foe.

As these hunts build to their shattering conclusion, Faulkner, Sophia and Uriah will be thrown together and forced to confront malevolent forces beyond their imagining.

The Game Bird is a swashbuckling black powder fantasy, wrapped around a spine of darkness.

This superb debut will appeal to readers who like the idea of a novel that Georgette Heyer, Scott Lynch, Patrick O’Brian and George R R Martin might have come up with – if they were trapped in an open boat together.

Whose rocket?

< Edit. I’ve now conducted brief demographic studies on Best Novella, Best Novelette and Best Short Story. Main page for these little studies is here. >

On Twitter today I made a remark to the talented Mary Robinette Kowal about the demographics of the Hugos. On reflection I wasn’t confident that my conclusion was actually borne out by the numbers. I had no real idea (despite Sad Puppies and Bad Puppies and all the other fracas swallowing my feed) of what the demographics of the Hugo winners really looked like. I had a quick Google and couldn’t find anything helpful, so I thought I’d chuck some stuff together. Hope someone, somewhere is interested. Continue reading

A very belated Conflux post.

What seems like an age ago now, I headed down to Canberra for Conflux 9. This is my very quick wrap.

For the TL:DR crowd;

1. It was awesome. If you are even marginally interested in writing SFF, sell a kid and go next year.

2. I won the short story comp. Huge cheer. Even huger sigh of relief. My family, friends and writing groups haven’t just been humouring me!

Being serious for a moment, winning this was just a fantastic feeling, especially as Reunification is the first piece of writing I’ve liked enough to send off. It’s probably the thing I am most proud of professionally (ever!).

Here is a pic of me grinning like an idiot as I get my award:

Conflux

Now for a slightly longer breakdown.

Workshops.

I went along to three workshops. Writing to sell by Patty Jansen, Polishing your Turds by Ian McHugh and Vivid, Vital Characters by Karen Miller. Luckily, Mark Webb went to all the same workshops as me. Go read his blog here. It is much better than this and I’m feeling lazy!

Personally, I found Ian’s workshop especially useful. I already use a system similar to what he described, but I was particularly impressed by how methodical and structured his approach is. His style of turd polishing is definitely something I am going to steal! If you want to see his system in action, go and read Bitter Dreams – it is the best short I’ve read in years.

I also had a little workshop on pitching with the brilliant Rowena Cory Daniels. Long story short, it isn’t hard to see why this fantastic author has been so successful.  Her ability to really tease out the heart of a novel and then sell its essence was very,very impressive. To say that this session was helpful would be the understatement of the year. The only unfortunate thing was that it was after my first four pitches! Grrrrrr.

In summary, workshops were great. Thanks to everyone one who ran one, I came out of all of them having learnt a lot. My only complaint would be that the last two were on at 08:00! That hurt.

Pitches.

I had five pitches! Despite their being bloody nerve wracking, they went pretty well AND I got a few requests for the full manuscript of Game Bird (yay). This is pretty exciting and a massive honour, but ultimately only tells me that I can talk shit, which I already knew. Now I am nervously waiting for replies.

I’ll write a detailed post on what I learnt soon, but a  few quick thoughts.

1. I’d read hundreds of blogs in prep and a lot of them kept coming back to how nasty and aggressive agents and publishers can be. In my brief experience, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Everyone I pitched to was lovely and extremely professional.

2. Five pitches was tough and having them looming over me made it a little hard to enjoy the first three days. A big thank you to the lovely Lily Mulholland, who always had a kind word as I settled in to wait for my next pitch. I’m going to work on this calm for next time;

The Few

The tribe, the crew.

Were amazing. I only knew one person going to Conflux and I was interested to see how this interloper would be received. I had nothing to worry about, everyone was incredibly friendly and very, very welcoming. I don’t have a huge circle of friends interested in SFF and it was just great to sit down and chat with people who share my passion. Very, very cool. I can’t believe how many talented people there are in the Australian scene. Amazing stuff.

Even better, I met some people who I am already looking forward to catching up with again. I suppose you can’t hope for more than that!

And then it was back to the bedlam of project budget meetings and a metric shitload of overtime. Sigh.