Happy New Year is a state of mind.

I love a good calendar and the smell of a brand new diary, but its not enough to make me want to hold hands with a stranger and sing Auld Lang Syne.

I find New Year, the celebration as opposed to the inevitable flow of days, problematic. I think there is something massively disingenuous about forcing myself into the party spirit simply because I’m getting a new calendar. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good calendar and the smell of a brand new diary, but its not enough to make me want to hold hands with a stranger and sing Auld Lang Syne. Aside from anything it makes visits to WHSmiths and the Calendar Shop really awkward.

Add to this personal experience. Usually, I seem to get hit by a double whammy of sickness and ridiculous work requests that makes January feel like the dumping ground for the previous year rather than start of a new adventure.

However, one of the great things about the human condition is our capacity to learn from experience and create change. Whilst a frustrating pattern has, for me, built up around New Year I still think having a period of reflection and renewal every so often is incredibly helpful. The changing of the calendar is a helpful prompt. So, over the past couple of years I have come to accept that the start of January isn’t my time for this and that’s okay. That it happens is far more important than when it happens. Consequently, my New Year is now late January to early February. In previous years, finding time to reflect on my previous 365 days on the planet and set some goals for the next 365 days has not only given me a sense of achievement, based on actual achievements, but also helped me get excited for the year ahead.

So, what about this year ahead? What’s going to get me through? This year is very much the year of the blog. Expect to see more of my brief thoughts I really want to share. And books, books will continue to be a big thing.

To be a bit more specific Christina Henry has two titles coming out this year. In early March (I want to say the 3rd) a dark fairy tale will appear in a short story collection called Cursed, alongside work from the likes of Neil Gaiman (I’m sure I know that name from somewhere) and Charlie Jane Anders. In April (21st apparently) we get the chance to return to Alice’s dark and disturbing world with the release of a novella collection called Looking Glass.

But because I believe you can get as excited about books you haven’t read as shiny new titles I’m also looking forward to:

  • Starting the final book of Andrew Caldecott’s Rotherwierd trilogy Lost Acre.
  • Having just finished Joe Abercrombie’s Half a King and started Half a World one of my goals is to get up to date with his work with Half a War and A Little Hatred.
  • I also have on order a “new to me” author Tamsyn Muir’s Gideon The Ninth.

So, whilst the first few days of this new year could be charitably described as a write off, one calmly reflective blog later and I feel confident I can finally say “Happy New Year”.  

Golden opportunity? You might think it sucks, but it might be best not to bite!

True Mina isn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Lara Croft…

There can be nothing more exciting for an author than having a movie made of your book. It must genuinely be one of the best feelings to think you have produced a story so compelling it’s worth transitioning into a completely different media (not to mention spending millions of dollars on doing so). I would certainly be excited. Admittedly, I am still to complete the first step in this process: writing a book! Despite the excitement for the author, there is an all too familiar concern raised by readers – what if the film isn’t any good?

Earlier this year I read Bram Stoker’s Dracula for the first time. It is, I admit, the first time I have read a book after watching the film, in this case the Francis Ford Coppola version. I remember loving the film, with its tagline of “Love never dies”. Oldman, Ryder, Hopkins and Reeves led the cast guaranteeing some fantastic acting. What grabbed me most about the film was the use of the Count’s origin story and his pursuit of Mina to create a character that was almost sympathetic. This complexity made this film much more than a simple good vs. bad vampire hunting flick.

However, as I read through Bram Stoker’s opus, excited to see this love story played out in its original state it became apparent that it wasn’t there. There was no great love story stretching across the ages. In fact, I would go as far as to say there were no redeeming features to the Count. He was simply a bloody beast of legend and superstition. However, the more I read the more I understood that this book was not simply a clash of good and evil. Far more than that, this is a tale about the confrontation of old and new, science against superstition. Mina’s role becomes far more interesting in the book than the film. Rather than playing the love interest, her relationship with Jonathon Harker is more of a partnership. Her engagement with, and enjoyment of, new technology marking her out as a modern woman. True she isn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Lara Croft, but her role in the book is central and multi-faceted. Its no surprise that at the end of the book it is Mina, the men of science, the lawyer and the former soldier turned businessman that stand triumphant whilst the Count and the Texan hunter fall; the modern world wins.

The book truly intrigued and excited me. I found myself wondering if I had been blinded by the shiny special effects of Hollywood and a few big names? I did the only thing I could do, watched the film again. It was still awesome. I have written about retellings of stories before, and now more than ever I stand by those thoughts. Using the same characters the storytellers have created very different stories, both of which are compelling, complex and well suited to the media they have been told in.

Yes, it’s easy to spot the difference between most films and the books they have been inspired by. What is difficult, particularly with books we love, is seeing the story told differently to what we expect. If I ever get around to writing that book, the one someone wants to turn into a film, I think I will be excited. However, when I turn up for the premiere, I will probably do my best to forget what I wrote. That way I can enjoy the film for what it is.

What exactly do you mean by that?


“…there is an important distinction between words and stories.”

There’s an inevitable range of opinions that crop up when the question gets raised about what a story is trying to say. Suggestions can range from nothing (it’s just an entertaining story), to deep analysis of each individual letter, not to mention the number of full stops used, to try and decipher the writer’s intention.

The more I’ve mulled over the best way to address this topic, the more an allegory seemed the right way to do it! So, without further ado…

Once upon a time there was a stick. A man picked up the stick and took it home. It was a dry stick that would be great for lighting a fire. When the man got home, he broke the stick up and set the fire in his hearth. He cooked his evening meal and enjoyed it in the fire’s warming glow. The man was so happy he had found the stick. He started to feel sleepy and eventually he dozed off. The fire was left untended and it was not long before a spark jumped into the room, landing on a chair. The chair caught fire. The man woke up just in time to escape from his burning house. As he stood outside watching the flames devour everything he owned, he wished he had never found the stick.

I am hoping you’ll have already guessed the stick represents words. I think there is an important distinction between words and stories. Words are tools we use to create stories and its these stories that are then released into the wild in the hope someone will read them.

Some stories, or indeed any piece of writing, contain clear and obvious messages. Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen and Heroes by Joe Abercrombie both talk starkly about the realities and waste of war, obscured by the pomp and pageantry of patriotism.

However, not every story offers such clear insights into writers’ intentions. There are undoubtedly those who set out purely to entertain, whilst others set out to deliver a message that is less obvious in its delivery (whether by intention or not). Even if you are writing to entertain its always worth considering the themes and tropes your work includes, because you never know who will read your work and pop a comment on social media!

Of course, if you’re not sure your message is as clear as you want it to be you could always take a leaf out of Shakespeare’s book and include a disclaimer:

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended,

That you have but slumber’d here,

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding than a dream,

Gentles, do not reprehend:

If you pardon, we will mend.

A tale better in the retelling?

We’ve all found a story we love brought to life by a fantastic writer. It’s great, engaging and somehow makes the world a better place for every minute spent lost in it. Then someone else decides to write their own version. Or, they decide the characters would be great in a completely different situation, or a completely different stage in their lives. How do you react?

Just to be clear, for the purposes of this post I’m using retelling to describe any time a writer has either rewritten a story in their own style, or taken key elements of a story (characters or events) and presented them in a very different light; not to mention anything and everything between these approaches.

There are a range of reactions, and it’s an understandably personal thing. From refusal to acknowledging the retelling has taken place, to giddy excitement about a new take on a story you love by an author you love (or could end up loving if they just get this right). I tend to err towards giddy excitement, even if it’s an author I don’t know, because I like the thought that it somehow keeps stories, and characters I love alive and relevant. Let’s face it, it’s also a natural part of story evolution, a practice that could be as old as the second story ever told!

Whilst a retelling is likely to get me reaching for the bookshop shelf, my enthusiasm can quickly wain if I can’t find that all important spark. The reason why the author thought it would be a good idea to tackle a retelling rather than work on something new. And this is the challenge of retelling, meeting readers’ expectations. Every version of a story that has gone before shapes readers’ views of what the story and characters should be.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that every retelling needs to be a fastidious, blow by blow, copy of the original. Equally there isn’t a requirement for a revolution; a trouncing of the old to justify the new. It’s simply a case of understanding those key elements of a story that readers expect and building the narrative around those.

So how much change justifies a retelling? For me the answer is simple, provided there’s a balance between meeting expectations and hearing the author’s own voice I don’t see how anyone can go wrong! Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology, Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber and Christina Henry’s Alice are great examples of retelling. Gaiman’s Norse Mythology is a straight retelling enhanced by his exquisite pros. Henry’s version of Alice is very much at the other end of the spectrum. The backdrop and characters have sizeable makeovers, yet through the turbulence and blood (a hallmark of many of her books) it is still unmistakably Alice.

What is this all about?

It’s not the right kind of fantasy fiction.

If someone had asked me a few years ago what a decent fantasy fiction book needed my answer would have called for an elf, a dwarf and some goblins. Not to mention a muscle bound, sword swinging hero with the medieval equivalent of a t-shirt bearing the legend “Good Guy” plastered over his armour defining chest. With such a narrow definition it’s no wonder I got bored and drifted away from the genre.

Recently I found myself browsing through one of the few remaining book shops on my local high street. Leafing through books in the Sci Fi and Fantasy section. I wanted something to read, but what? There were numerous titles that featured assassins, wizards, evil kings and noble knights, firm indicators they were my staple reading fodder of old. None of them appealed. Helped by a staff recommendation I paid my money and left with a copy of The Vorrh by Brian Catling, a book and author I had never heard of.

There were no goblins or elves in the book, but there were angels, cyclops and a living forest. A manageable variance in my eyes. Thankfully the book drew me in from the first page. It had me firmly in its grip thanks to Catling’s excellent wordsmithing and intriguing plot. But… it was set just after World War One and this, more than anything else, made me ask – is it really fantasy? For some reason, despite the abundance of clearly fictional creatures, and a touch of the magical, I had a problem getting past the era it was set in. However, I am a great believer of “in for a penny, in for a pound”.

I finished The Vorrh and then moved onto more books set in more modern times, forcing me out of my comfort zone. Books where swords have been replaced by guns, and noble steeds by cars or bicycles. With each title I read I found myself challenging the definition of fantasy fiction I had previously constructed for myself.

Frankly its been one of the best quests I have ever undertaken in the literary realms. Journeying far and wide through the minds of Pratchett, Abercrombie, Catling and Henry, has brought a wealth renewed enjoyment to a genre I had once seen as a bit stale. The most difficult question I face now is “What sort of books do you like to read?”. Its taken a while, but I think I’m getting closer to an answer, “Great books, with just the right amount of weird in them.”