The nature of progress in climbing and writing

/ T W Iain / Leave a comment

This is the second part of my short series on lessons I’ve learnt from climbing, and how they relate to writing. For the first part (a brief introduction), click here.

This time, I want to consider progress. While I enjoy both climbing and writing as activities in themselves, I also want to improve‌—‌climb harder problems, master new techniques, write increasingly engaging stories, learn how use words and punctuation more effectively, and so on.

There’s a notion that doing an activity regularly leads to progress, and this is true. We also tend to assume that this progress will be a reflection of the hours spent on that activity‌—‌work for a certain length of time, and reap a relative amount of progress.

But this isn’t always the case. In my climbing I’ve had months when I haven’t seen much progress, when I feel like I’ve plateaued. There are weeks when I slip back, when for no clear reason I simply can’t climb as well as I did previously. There are times when I put in the hours and I can’t see any tangible benefit.

Then there are times when things seem to fall into place, and I suddenly find my climbing improving faster than I expected.

Progress isn’t a straight line. It’s closer to a series of peaks and troughs, or steps. The general trajectory is upward, but along the way there are those plateaus and dips.

Disregarding (for the moment) the notion of ‘good days’ and ‘bad days’, I think this comes down to something similar to ‘levelling up’ in video games. As I work on trickier problems or new techniques, every fresh attempt involves a tiny amount of learning‌—‌my mind figuring out what to do, my body accustoming itself to different movements. These tiny micro-steps don’t initially show themselves, but they have a cumulative effect. Eventually, my mind and body figure out the particular move or technique, and I find success. This has knock-on effects when I attempt other, similar routes, and after the ‘plateau’ of those invisible micro-steps I suddenly jump up.

I’ll give you an example from another activity. Back when I worked in outdoor activity centres I got into kayaking. As I grew more confident I wanted to learn how to roll (using my body and paddle to right myself after a capsize without having to come out of the kayak). I was fortunate in being around others who knew how to do this, and who were willing to help me.

It took ages. For a long while I could understand how to roll a kayak, and knew what my body needed to do, but every time I went over I ended up floundering. It became frustrating when those patient friends repeated their advice, because I already knew it‌—‌it simply didn’t work for me. I couldn’t convince my body to do the necessary movements.

Until I could. All that struggling paid off, and I righted myself. And once I’d rolled once, I could do it again, and again. Yes, I still had times when it didn’t work, but more often than not I was successful. It was only a short while later I managed a hand-roll (a more advanced technique involving righting a capsized kayak without using a paddle).

This type of progress also applies to my writing, although it’s harder to see. But I can give you one example.

In much of my fiction I use close third-person perspective. This means that I’m describing events in the third person (’he opened the door’, ‘she collapsed onto the chair’), but staying close to a particular character‌—‌the scene is experienced through that character’s perspective.

In my older books, especially in early drafts, I used phrases like ‘she saw’ or ‘he noticed’‌—‌‘she saw the dark clouds approaching and felt a twisting in her guts.’ It’s not necessarily wrong, but it’s clumsy. If I’m writing in close third, then I’m already describing things from that characters’ perspective‌—‌anything visual I describe is by default something they see, because if they didn’t see it I wouldn’t mention it. So that ‘she saw’ is redundant. Worse, it can be distancing. A better way of phrasing that sentence would be ‘the approaching dark clouds twisted her stomach.’ It’s tighter, and it’s more intimate.

I don’t know when I learnt about this, but even once I understood it I still used ‘she heard’ or ‘he saw’ or other variations. It took many hours (years?) of writing before that lesson had gone from something I ‘knew’ into something I ‘did’. And even now, especially in early drafts, I find those phrases slipping in. But I’m far more likely to spot them in the edit.

So I now understand that progress isn’t a straight line. But what about those times it seems to regress? What about those sessions at the climbing wall when I struggle with what should be easy routes? What about those times when the climbing doesn’t flow like it usually does?

This could be down to tiredness, especially after a hard shift at work. It could be down to illness‌—‌that cold I’ve been ignoring, or some other ache or pain. Maybe that niggling awkwardness in moving my shoulder is more serious than I realise.

Or maybe it’s the temperature or humidity at the climbing wall.

Climbing is as much mental as it is physical, so if I’ve got things on my mind (even if I’m not fully conscious of them), this can have an impact. Those unconscious thoughts distract me, and I can’t effectively concentrate on my climbing.

Or it’s something else. Who knows? As much as I’d like to be totally in control of everything that happens to me, I know there are so many known and unknown variables that there are always going to be ‘good days’ and ‘bad days’.

And I’ve learnt to not only accept this, but also to go with it. If I’m having a ‘bad’ climbing session, I don’t let it frustrate me. Instead, I stick to easier climbs, maybe working on ‘basic’ techniques. Or I take things slower, spend longer watching and talking to others, or extend the coffee break.

I had one of these sessions this week. I felt weaker than normal. A couple of problems involved high foot-placements, and I simply didn’t have the flexibility. I had done similar moves before, but not on this day.

So I did what I could (I still managed enough that I could class the session as a ‘success’). And those problems that I should’ve been able to get up but couldn’t? A large part of climbing is ‘reading the route’‌—‌mentally running through moves hold to hold. So when I come back to these problems next week, I’ll already have that mental preparation done.

It’s similar in writing. There are times when the words flow, when my fingers fly over the keyboard and the pages fill. There are days when the ideas for story improvements fall into place, or where the edits come together just so. And then there are the days when each sentence is a struggle. There are days when my mind too readily wanders, when it’s an effort to focus on the work.

The days of struggle are frustrating. But I can’t get annoyed at them. I have to accept that I’m not in the right frame of mind for writing or editing. Pushing through might get a few words on the page, but is that time well spent?

I usually have multiple ‘projects’ on the go at any one time. At the moment I have this space-opera series as well as the spin-off series. I also have other writing-related activities, such as these posts, or newsletters, or looking at different marketing options. I have back-cover copy to write, or I could revisit existing copy. I have podcasts I listen to. I have various courses I could go through again. I could spend some time trying to better understand advertising, or coming up with ad copy and images. Or maybe it’s time to ‘refill the well’, to read for inspiration, to see how other writers approach their stories.

There is always something I could be doing. So if the words aren’t coming, or if the editing is leaving my mind spinning, then I can turn to something else. It might not feel as if I’m making progress on a particular book, but I’m still working on my writing. And after taking things easier, I’ll feel fresher for my writing session tomorrow.

Sometimes, the most productive thing to do is to take a step back and rest.

So, there are times when that progress plateaus, and there are times when it feels like I’m not only failing to improve but am going backwards. But, overall, I’m improving.

Since starting to push my climbing, I’ve made progress. Two years ago I worked on ‘red’ climbs (the walls I use have different colours for different grades), and by the end of the year could usually manage to complete about half the ‘red’ routes. A year ago I was regularly completing most, if not all, of the ‘reds’, and could occasionally manage problems in the next level, the ‘purples’. This year I’ve set myself the target of regularly completing two-thirds of the ‘purples’, and to complete a few of the ‘yellows’. Half-way through the year, I have managed just over half the ‘purples’ on the last couple of sets, and have managed one ‘yellow’. Okay, that yellow was undoubtedly soft for the grade, but it still counts.

Is my writing progressing?

If I look at ‘books published’ as a benchmark, then no. Last year I brought out the last couple of books in my ShadowTech series, and started work on this new space-opera. But we’re half-way through 2025, and so far only put out a box-set of the complete ShadowTech series, which didn’t involve writing anything new. I have an upcoming Kickstarter for another collection of previously-written stories (if you’re interested, click here). But I haven’t published anything new.

But this series (and the spin-off series) are a step up. I’m focusing on many of the lessons I’ve learnt over the past few years. I’m determined that these books will contain better writing‌—‌more engaging, with stronger character voice in both dialogue and prose. My rate of production might’ve slipped, but that’s because I’m focusing on quality of writing.

It feels like I’ve made several jumps forward recently, and I now need to consolidate that in these new books‌—‌a plateau in progress where I can put those lessons into practice.

That doesn’t mean I’m taking things easy, though. I’m still pushing, still striving to improve. But I’ll go deeper into that next time, when I look at practice in both climbing and writing.

This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.

Tales of Dominions: Special Edition Copies Available Soon

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As I gear up for the Tales of Dominions Kickstarter, I now have proof copies of the special edition paperback and hardcover.

Paperback and hardcover special editions of 'Tales of Dominions'

I’m already looking forward to ordering copies for others‌—‌but that’ll only happen after the Kickstarter campaign. It all starts on 9th June. To ensure you don’t miss out, click here and have Kickstarter notify you when the campaign launches.

And please share this with anyone who might enjoy a collection of dark Dystopian novellas and short stories.

Get ready for the ‘Tales of Dominions’ Kickstarter

What climbing has taught me about writing – an introduction

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Over the next few posts I’m going to be diving into lessons I’ve learnt from climbing, and how they relate to writing. I’ve enjoyed climbing for a long time (roughly as long as I’ve enjoyed writing), but it’s only recently that I’ve become more serious (or maybe the word should be ‘intentional’) about both endeavours. Along the way I’ve noticed connections between the two activities. Lessons I’ve learnt at the climbing wall correlate to lessons I’ve learnt typing away on my laptop. And on reflection, these lessons could be seen as ‘life lessons’.

But let’s back up. I need to tell you a little about my climbing.

I’ve never been keen on sports. Never got into football. Didn’t play on any teams. I swam with the local swimming club, but I never pushed myself particularly hard. I think I was content simply ploughing up and down. Oh, and I did enjoy cross-country running at school. I wasn’t the fastest, but I could keep going. I’d settle into my own rhythm and enjoy a bit of alone-time.

Definitely introverted tendencies coming out here.

Then, in my twenties, I wound up working in an outdoor activity centre in North Wales. This introduced me to all kinds of new activities‌—‌canoeing, archery, hill-walking. And climbing.

And I enjoyed them.

In retrospect, I can understand why. These activities aren’t sports so much as physical pastimes. The aim isn’t to ‘win’, but to enjoy the activity itself. They had their social elements, but these weren’t too overt‌—‌going climbing with someone isn’t the same as going to a pub in a group. And, in all these activities, there’s a certain amount of time spent alone. In climbing, even when with others, there’s usually only one person actually climbing at any one time, the other belaying (’holding the rope’).

A quick note on the word ‘climbing’. It covers a wide range of activities, from mountaineering to bouldering. I started with multi-pitch rock climbing‌—‌using ropes and all kinds of metal-work, learning how to securely attach myself and others to the rock, often spending a whole day on a single route (usually with fairly long walks to and from the rock-face). Later I got into bouldering‌—‌climbing shorter routes that don’t require ropes. I now climb at an indoor bouldering wall‌—‌twelve feet high, lots of mats, short but tricky problems to solve.

Back to my climbing story. I enjoyed the activity, but I never particularly pushed myself. I was content on easier routes, enjoying the experience and the views. I never tried harder routes. I wasn’t interested in working on my technique.

Eventually I stopped working at outdoor centres, and life took various turns (as it does). I still had all my gear (ropes and so on) but didn’t go climbing.

Until, about a decade ago, I chanced upon an indoor bouldering wall close to where I was then working. And when a change of jobs made it convenient, I started going regularly. But I didn’t particularly try hard (I’m detecting a pattern here!) I was happy simply climbing. I might give a problem a couple of goes, but if I couldn’t manage it I’d move on to something else.

But, slowly, that attitude changed. I started watching others, and talking with them. I started picking up on different techniques.

And, over the last couple of years, I’ve been pushing. I now usually go twice a week. Rather than give up after a couple of goes on a route, I’ll ‘project’ it‌—‌trying different techniques and approaches, climbing different sections then trying to put it all together, and coming back to it over a few weeks.

I’m improving. I wouldn’t say I’m a good climber (I’m probably on the low end of average). And at my age I can’t expect fast improvements. I’m not as flexible as I used to be. If I injure myself it takes longer to recover. My day-job (lots of heavy lifting) helps keep me in shape, but I’m not in my twenties any more. I know I’ll reach a point where physical limitations mean I can’t push onto harder routes. At some point remaining at the same grade will be success. But until I reach that point, I want to keep improving. A few weeks ago I managed to get up a route graded v7 (I usually just about manage a few v6 climbs), and while I’m sure it was soft for the grade, this has spurred me on to try more climbs at this level. And to have any chance at completing them, I know I need to improve my technique as well as my ‘mental game’.

So that’s where I am with climbing. And there are clear parallels with my writing development.

I’ve always enjoyed reading, and loved writing stories at school. This was pushed out by guitar playing for a while, but one winter, around working shifts at a local flour mill, I wrote a draft of my very first novel. I wrote it in pencil, in exercise books.

And it was terrible. I’ve since typed it into a computer, and I still have the file somewhere, and that’s where it’s going to stay. An achievement to have finished a story of novel length, yes, but it’s not something I’d want to inflict on readers.

Fast-forward to about ten years ago, and work wasn’t going well. I think I turned to writing as an escape (and I may expand on this later). In 2015 I made the conscious decision to ‘get serious with writing’. I wrote (or edited) every day. I planned a series. In 2016 I released the first three books in that series.

As of last year, and I had around twenty titles out. I was coming to the end of my third series, and was planning a new project. That project is the subject of this collection of posts‌—‌my space-opera series and spin-off series.

And, as I’ve previously mentioned in these posts, I felt this was a gear-change. To pull this series off I needed to focus. I need (and want) to vastly improve my writing.

So, I’m currently striving to improve in both climbing and writing. And, as I mentioned earlier, I’m seeing more and more parallels between the two. Lessons I learn at the wall relate to writing, and vice versa.

One of these lessons is that it is hard to improve in supposedly solitary activities without other people.

The kind of climbing I now do, bouldering, requires no ropes. I don’t need a partner to tackle a route. Once I’m at the wall I choose a problem and climb.

And I can make progress on my own. But it’s slow. I don’t know what I don’t know, so when I’m stuck I can’t always see a way forward.

Climbing with others helps me overcome this.

There’s a wonderful camaraderie amongst climbers. The atmosphere in climbing walls is always friendly. There is always someone around who’ll offer advice or suggest a different approach to a particular climb. As I rest between climbs I can watch and talk to others, picking up new ideas and techniques.

This help doesn’t have to come from ‘better’ climbers either. There’s one particular climber I often see at the wall who doesn’t manage the higher grades I climb, but when he’s on the wall he moves with incredible control. Watching him reminds me that I need to focus on my technique rather than throwing myself at holds. And because he relies on technique rather than strength he’ll approach problems from different angles, showing me more efficient ways to climb.

The encouragement from others is important too. So is the opportunity to rest and talk‌—‌when climbing on my own there’s too much temptation to keep going rather than allowing my body the rest it needs between attempts.

And, even for an introvert like me, there is a certain pleasure in being around others who share common interests.

Other people are important in writing, too.

Yes, a large part of the appeal of writing is the solitary nature of it‌—‌shutting myself off from everything and diving into imaginary worlds. But if I want to improve, I need to learn from others. This can be at a remove‌—‌reading books or listening to podcasts. It can be more direct‌—‌taking courses or attending conferences. And it can be even more personal.

I’ll admit I struggle with this. I’m as introverted online as I am in real life. Interacting with others, even on social media, is something I find hard. But I’m realising more and more that I need the support of other writers. If I’m part of a group of writers I have others to bounce ideas off, others to ask for advice. Being in a community of writers would provide encouragement along with practical support. Also, in the same way that watching others climb and reflecting on what I see can improve my climbing, seeing how other writers do things (be that craft-related or in marketing and advertising) can offer me fresh perspectives and new ideas.

So, my first lesson‌—‌community is important. Even if it means pushing beyond my comfort zone, I need to reach out to others if I’m serious about improving.

Next time I’ll examine what climbing has taught me about the nature of progress, and how that relates to my writing.

This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.

‘Tales of Dominions’: special editions on Kickstarter

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As I work on a new series I’m also tying up loose ends on previous series. One of these involves the various Dominions stories I’ve published‌—‌those novellas and shorts that work as side-stories to the main nine-novel series. I’ve wanted to bundle them up in a single volume for a while, and I’ve finally got around to it.

Tales of Dominions will include all the published stories‌—‌Gatekeeper, Expedient, Errant, Animus and Impact‌—‌along with behind-the-scenes notes. It will also include Control, a novella previously only available through my newsletter.

Tales of Dominions will be available in ebook, paperback and hard-cover‌—‌but I’m not releasing it in the usual stores. Initially, Tales of Dominions will only be available through Kickstarter. And this will also include special exclusive print versions.

Image of 'Tales of Dominions' paperback, with message reading 'exclusive editions available only through Kickstarter'

This Kickstarter campaign starts in the middle of next month, running for about three weeks. But if it sounds interesting, you can visit the pre-launch page. Click on the ‘notify me on launch’ button, and Kickstarter will email you when the campaign goes live.

Check out the ‘Tales of Dominions’ Kickstarter pre-launch page

The trust involved in reading and writing

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Last week I read The Book Of Elsewhere, the collaboration between China Mieville and Keanu Reeves. I knew nothing about this book when I got it. I’ve read a couple of Mieville’s books, and I’ve enjoyed them, but apart from that, I came into The Book Of Elsewhere with no preconceptions.

I’m still not sure what I think of the ending, but I was definitely engrossed in the story after the first hundred pages.

Those first hundred pages, though, were tough. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe this was intentional, or perhaps I simply wasn’t reading with enough focus, but I was confused. I had to read slowly. After browsing reviews, it looks like quite a few reviewers had similar reactions and didn’t finish the book.

I persevered, in part because I don’t like giving up on any book, but also because I trusted Mieville. The previous books of his I’ve read were strange, and the writing leaned towards a literary style. He’s not easy-reading. But he’s good. He knows what he’s doing. I chose to believe that he’d pull the story together, that all this struggle would pay off. And that trust was paid off.

This got me thinking. With any book, the reader has to trust that the writer knows what they’re doing‌—‌that those fragments at the start will come together at the end, that the seemingly random references will be important as the story develops. But there’s also trust in the other direction. A writer has to trust the reader.

A comment I received on my earlier books was that I explained too much (that was the gist of the comment, at least). And it’s a valid complaint. I wanted readers to experience the story through the characters, so I naturally wanted readers to know how the characters were reacting emotionally. I felt I needed to let the reader into the characters’ inner monologues.

But I was over-explaining. A lot of the time, even when I showed the character’s reaction, I’d also tell the reader how they felt.

Telling, not showing. I was breaking that fundamental ‘rule’. Yes, there are times when it’s more efficient to tell the reader what’s happening, but usually (and especially in important scenes) it’s better to show. It’s better to let the reader experience the scene through the actions and words of the characters.

It’s the difference between telling the reader that a character is angry and showing that character becoming withdrawn, or having them snap back when asked a question. It comes back to Chekov’s advice‌—‌‘Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass’.

I can understand why I over-explained, and why I told the reader so much. It was down to trust. For one thing, I didn’t have enough experience to trust myself. But also, in not wanting the reader to miss anything, I didn’t trust them to pick up on subtle clues‌—‌like a character growing uncharacteristically quiet, or seeing light glinting on broken glass.

Readers are smart. Readers‌—‌and I’m talking about habitual readers here, those who always have a book on the go‌—‌have experience of story. They’ve devoured hundreds and thousands of character portrayals, scenes of emotional dialogue, well-crafted descriptions and so on. Reading is active (more active than watching visual media), so readers engage more of their intellect when reading.

And nobody likes to be beaten over the head. Nobody likes to be treated like an idiot. Dumb things down too much, and readers turn away.

But what if I’m too subtle? What if I don’t give the reader enough?

It’s a balancing act, and there are no perfect solutions. A big reason for this is that every reader is different. Some will pick up on those small clues, see them as obvious. Others will miss them entirely. But even readers who miss the clues consciously can pick up on them subconsciously.

I’m sure this has happened to you‌—‌you’re reading a book, and it should be good. It has everything you normally enjoy in a decent story, but something’s missing. It’s leaving you cold. You can’t quite put your finger on what’s wrong.

But your subconscious knows. It’s picked up on something, maybe in the writing, maybe in the story, possibly in the characters. It’s used all that experience, all those other books you’ve read, and it’s detected a problem in this one.

Then there are those ‘surprising but inevitable’ moments. A character does something unexpected, yet it feels right. Better than that‌—‌it’s good. Or the story develops in a way you could never have imagined, and even though you want to dismiss it as ridiculous, something about it makes total sense.

This is where those subtle clues come in. The writer has sprinkled them earlier in the story, passing moments that the reader hasn’t consciously noticed‌—‌but the subconscious has. And, when the twist comes, the reader can take a moment to reflect, and those clues become clearer.

A classic example of this is The Sixth Sense. Yes, some people saw the end coming, but for many the final revelation was a shock‌—‌but one that made sense when considering all those earlier scenes‌—‌the anniversary dinner where his wife doesn’t seem to register him being there, the scene where he’s sitting silently with someone else, no words spoken, no eye contact made.

If those clues had been too blatant, the shock of the revelation wouldn’t have been so effective.

So, in writing these new books, I need to be subtle. I need to trust the reader to pick up on those little character moments, those phrases dropped into the text, those references that on the surface appear to be nothing but world-building.

And getting this right won’t be easy. I won’t be able to succeed for every reader (because every reader is different). But I can try. Not in first-drafting, but in editing. Being aware of the issue is half the battle. Once I have the story working I will go back through it all, looking for places I’ve told too much, seeking moments I can drop those subtle hints.

Readers are smart. As a writer, it’s important that I remember this and trust them.

This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.

The state of play (what’s up with this ‘new’ project?)

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It’s time to take stock. I’ve been working on this new project for a while. Before continuing it feels right to take a moment and see how things stand.

First, this is taking far longer than I anticipated. I started writing seriously back in 2015, and since then I’ve published nineteen novels and various shorts and novellas. That equates to roughly two novels a year‌—‌not fast by some standards, but not too shoddy. But the last book I released was the final ShadowTech novel, back in June last year. This will mean over a year with no new book released. It might even be longer until the first book in my Unity series appears.

There are reasons for this. It’s long. At the moment it stands at over 200,000 words, twice as long as anything else I’ve written. It’s also the most complicated story I’ve worked on. The first book has three separate arcs, in effect three short novels. These arcs have some connections, but won’t intertwine fully until later in the series‌—‌yet I’ve got to write them in such a way that they don’t feel separate.

I’m not making things easy for myself.

And the first draft was a mess.

I’ve been editing. I’ve worked on two of those story-arcs so far, wrangling them both into stories that work. I’ve strengthened connections between them. I’ve deepened character development. I’m pleased with them now.

Although they still need work. And the third story-arc pretty much needs a complete re-write to connect it properly with the other two, as well as to set up the rest of the series.

Problems, problems.

But this is why I started that side-story, right? The side-story that is the start of another series (Chronicles Of Seraph). Because why write a single series when I can work on two at the same time?

Yes, I’m an idiot.

But there’s method in the madness. The Chronicles Of Seraph books are going to be far more straightforward, containing only a single narrative. They’re going to be my palate-cleansers, stories I can work on when I need a decent break from Unity.

I have a first draft of the first Chronicles Of Seraph book completed. No title yet, but I’m thinking of it as Kane’s Tale (because it focuses on a character called Kane, in case you’re reading this before the coffee kicks in). I’m currently diving into the first major edit of this story. I already know some sections need tightening, even cutting. There’s at least one superfluous character who will be delegated to the Trash folder in the Scrivener file (and I’ve only just realised I could rename this‌—‌‘recycle folder’, or ‘scraps’ maybe). There’s another character that needs to be more prominent in the first half of the book. And I’m sure there are many other issues with the first draft.

But working on this edit feels fun. The book isn’t as serious (I don’t mean it’s a comedy, just that it isn’t as intensive as the Unity book), so the work feels lighter. And I anticipate finishing this edit fairly fast. Then, I’ll deal with the last story-arc in Unity. And that’s the one that needs a total re-write.

And all this makes me think I should alter my release schedule expectations.

Originally, I’d planned on releasing Unity Book 1 and Kane’s Tale at roughly the same time, then repeating this with the second book in each series. But the two series are different beasts. Chronicles Of Seraph will very much be individual stories. Yes, each book will build on the previous (I’ll be introducing the eventual crew of Seraph one character at a time, so they each get a book to show their stuff), but each one will be a complete story. It won’t be vital that they’re read in order.

But Unity will effectively be a single story (combined of different story-arcs slowly being twisted together) over multiple books. I have plans, tentatively for either nine or twelve, but I’m dividing this into sub-stories. The first will probably be a trilogy. While each story-arc in each book will come to some kind of conclusion (hopefully satisfying), the overall story (or sub-story) will run over that trilogy.

I don’t want to leave readers waiting too long between each Unity book. Ideally, I want to release the first group of Unity books (the first sub-story, that potential trilogy) over a relatively tight time-frame. This will not only make it easier for readers to keep track of the story, but will also make it easier for me to ensure consistency across the books. I’ll be able to easier spot story arcs heading in the wrong direction. When I have plot twists in later books, I’ll be able to make sure everything’s seeded properly in earlier books.

In short, I’ll be working on the first block of Unity books pretty much at the same time.

And, if the coffee’s kicked in now, you can see where this is going.

A new release plan. I won’t bring out any of the Unity books until I have the full sub-story (the first three or so books) written and edited to a stage where I’m happy with the story (where I only have ‘cosmetic’ editing to go). I can’t see that happening until next year at least.

But I still want to put something out into the world. I don’t want to leave people hanging too long. This is where Chronicles Of Seraph comes in. I’ll release the first book when it’s ready (which should be before the end of the year‌—‌I already have my cover designer booked). Then I’ll work on the second book, which is going to be Reba’s Tale (working title, and no prizes for guessing which character this one’s going to focus on). And so on. While carefully moulding those first few Unity books. I imagine I’ll have three or four Seraph books out before I release Unity.

tl:dr version: Current project’s taking longer than I anticipated. Expect a Chronicles Of Seraph book out before the end of the year, probably a couple of others in that series. Unity series won’t come out until next year at the earliest, but I’ll publish the first few books close together.

Does that make sense? I hope it’s not too confusing.

Oh, and to add to my work-load, as I work on Unity and Chronicles Of Seraph, I’m also tying up a few loose ends with older projects. I recently published ShadowTech: The Complete Series (all seven novels in one ebook). And I’m also going to be running a Kickstarter campaign in June for a collection of the short stories and novellas in my Dominions series. This’ll be called Tales Of Dominions, and will be the first time these stories have been available in paperback. I’m also doing a special edition hard-cover.

If that sounds interesting, I have a pre-launch page set up, where you can click to be notified when the campaign goes live. The pre-launch page can be found at kickstarter.com/projects/twiain/tales-of-dominions. I’ll also send out a link to a page explaining what Kickstarter is and how it works, for anyone unfamiliar with it.

And now, I have editing to do. Until next time…

This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.

Learning what I dont like through reading

/ T W Iain / Leave a comment

I recently read Neal Asher’s World Walkers. I’ve read a few of Asher’s books before, and remember enjoying them, but World Walkers left me cold.

I’m not saying it’s a bad book. It simply wasn’t for me.

As I often do after finishing a book, I took a look at reviews, and it’s received quite a mix of opinions. It seems I’m not alone in being disappointed by World Walkers.

But, as a writer, I can still learn from this book. So I started analysing why it didn’t gel with me.

The first major problem was that I didn’t particularly care about any of the characters. One reason for this could’ve been the number of characters introduced in the early chapters, with each one following their own story arc, with only vague links to others. I trusted that these different threads would weave together as the book progressed, but it still felt disjointed. I didn’t have enough time with each character to get to know them.

This is relevant to the writing of my Unity series, as I’m juggling separate story-arcs that will only pull together in sequels. So I have to figure out how I can help readers care about my characters.

I tend to write fairly short chapters, usually between one and two thousand words (roughly five to ten pages). Initially, I thought it would make sense to rotate story arcs‌—‌have one chapter from arc A, the next from arc B, the one after from arc C, and so on. But that’s too much jumping about. I don’t see it working.
But I’ve come up with a different structure. I intend to bunch story-arc chapters together, so we’ll spend longer with each point-of-view character before moving to the next. In effect, these groups-of-chapters will work as semi-self-contained short stories (although the endings will be very open‌—‌not necessarily cliff-hangers, but if I close any loops I’ll be sure to open others in preparation for that character’s next group of chapters). It looks like these sections will be between 12,000 and 20,000 words‌—‌technically novelette length.

Hopefully, this will help readers engage with the characters without feeling thrown about.

The next problem I had with World Walkers was an aspect of the writing.

The main recurring character in the early chapters is referred to as the Fenris. This Fenris needs to solve all kinds of problems, and these are explained in some detail.

Problems are vital to most stories. Literary fiction might be able to survive without a character having any difficulties, but in the vast majority of stories we need characters to face challenges. We want our characters to struggle with problems both internal and external.

And these problems have to have stakes. Failing to overcome a problem should leave the character in a bad place. We want the hero to win because failure would hurt.

In World Walkers, this wasn’t the case. At least, not initially. Towards the end the stakes increased for the Fenris, but at the start the problems seemed impersonal. Reading the Fenris solving these problems felt like watching someone solve mathematical equations or brain-teasing puzzles‌—‌interesting to a degree, but not particularly engaging. It felt like extended world-building rather than a story.

Which some readers love. I’ll re-emphasise that these are problems I had with the book, and to others, such as hard sci-fi fans, the world-building problem-solving might be what they read for.

And these readers aren’t who I’m writing for. I want my characters to be engaging in a more personal way, so their challenges have to be more emotional than intellectual or physical. In fact, I’ve used character arcs (the growth or otherwise of characters) as the basis for my planning. While the overarching story concerns alien signals, I’m focusing how way this affects my characters, and telling the larger story through their struggles.

This isn’t the case with World Walkers. Like a lot of great sci-fi, it’s a book with big ideas. But it feels like, for Asher, these ideas are the driving force. While there are moments where characters struggle to do the right thing rather than what feels best, most of the time it feels as if the characters are avatars enabling the reader to see these big ideas.

Which isn’t what I want in Unity. Readers who love World Walkers probably won’t enjoy my book (once it’s finished).

And I’m fine with that. I have to write the book that suits my style, that suits the way I see story. I’m trying to write the kind of book I’d enjoy reading. And that means I need to remain focused on my characters — on the interplay between their external and internal struggles, and on the way their personalities influence their decisions.

Yes, I’m looking to have some big ideas in this series. But I want to show these ideas through the characters‌—‌through their actions and thoughts, but especially through their struggles.

And after all that, will I read more of Asher’s books? Yes. I get the impression he pushed himself to try something different with World Walkers, and I’d rather a writer do that than stick to what feels safe. I’ll most likely read his next book if only to see what he does next.

Was it a waste of my time reading World Walkers? Definitely not. While I didn’t necessarily enjoy the book, it was interesting. And what it taught me (and reinforced) about my own reading and writing has been very useful indeed.

Finally, would I recommend World Walkers? That depends on what you look for in sci-fi. If you like character-driven stories that are emotionally engaging, this might not be the book for you. But if you want big ideas, and don’t mind a more impersonal, less character-focused style, then you’re likely to get a lot out of Asher’s book.

This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.