#werewolf parallel

[meaningfulandoriginalurl]

Fanarts inspired by @roy_gill amazing stories “The Prime of Deacon Brodie” in the Confessions of Dorian Gray and his parallel series!

[kelpiesedge]

Scottish Book Trust Young Writers’ Workshop with Roy Gill @ Bleachingfield

Scottish Book Trust brings a very special workshop for young writers to CoastWord. If you love to write and are aged between 14-18, this is a fantastic opportunity for you. Join Roy Gill, author of Daemon Parallel (Kelpies, 2012) and The Werewolf Parallel (Kelpies, 2014), for a very special creative writing workshop.  Places limited so book early to avoid disappointment.    Free but ticketed event.

roy-gill, he of #Wolf Month fame, is running a great FREE creative writing event for young writers this weekend as part of CoastWord. Join him from 2pm on Saturday 21st June, just book your free tickets from the link above!

[kelpiesedge]

Good characters have secrets and fears – there’s always something that informs their behaviour that the reader isn’t directly told. The longer I spent in their company, the more I learned. Their hidden histories all went into a separate document, and so the sequel grew...

Roy Gill has been talking to the good folks at Scottish Book Trust about the challenges of writing a sequel. Read his blog here.

[kelpiesedge]

April Book of the Month: EXCLUSIVE extended Parallel Prelude from Roy Gill

There's a Full Moon tonight, so we thought it was about time we shared an exclusive extended edition of Roy's Werewolf Parallel Prelude. Happy reading!

This story takes place immediately after the events of Daemon Parallel, and one year before Werewolf Parallel.

The snow had been falling heavily for days. Heavier than I’d ever seen it before.

My Dad used to say winters were for snow, and snowmen, and snowball fights, but back home we never seemed to get more than a couple of centimetres. Just enough to make things slick and slippy – not enough to have a laugh with.

Not like this year. This year it kept coming.

We had gone back to Gran’s house, halfway up Blackford Hill, and just camped-out, recovering. We were living off things we found hoarded in her freezer, in daft combinations. Cake and sausage rolls. Ice cream and oven chips. Meatballs and mascarpone.

It was the maddest Christmas dinner I’d ever had, that year. That was good in a way. It kept me distracted.

“I suppose we should talk about it,” I said to Morgan, as I picked over my random fruit salad. Eve had found a cache of tins at the back of a cupboard. The labels had got damp and curled off, so we’d taken turns to shake them and guess what was inside.

“Talk ’bout what?” Morgan said.

“You know. About what Gran did.”

Morgan paused mid-chew. “Seriously?”

“I dunno.” I stared down at my bowl. There were peaches, pineapples and plums floating about in the sugary water – but I was fairly sure the shrivelled grey things were cocktail sausages.

Random fruit salad fail.

“Hmm. Not really,” I said, picking out the sausages, one by one. “Maybe not just yet.”

“Thank Fat Moon for that.” Morgan reached for a chicken drumstick. “Because I’m rubbish at talking.”

Eve wrinkled her nose. “Eating’s more your style, isn’t it?”

“Always play to your strengths, yeah?” Morgan grinned. “Now gimme the streaky bacon. I’m famished.”

We kept eating, and we didn’t talk about it.

Some things are too big to put into words.

After our bizarre meal, we went out sledging. Sliding down the road, sitting on bin liners, shouting.

The neighbours didn’t like it one bit. They took it in turns to come out their snow-draped houses – bundled-up in their winter clothes – and stand at the garden gates, glowering at us, like a load of vengeful gnomes.

They’d never liked Gran, I knew that. And now she was gone, I could see they didn’t like me or my strange friends either.

“Why isn’t old Ms Ives taking you in hand? You’ve got an entire hillside to rumpus over!” Mr McWhelan waved his stick at us. “Must you cause a nuisance in the road? Think of the cars!”

He was talking rubbish. No one had dared drive their car up or down the frozen street in days. I started to say something, but Eve shot me a glance.

“Youthful high spirits. Pay no heed,” she said in her poshest voice to Mr McWhelan. “I’ll see it doesn’t happen again.”

She looked so grown-up and responsible, she had a way of convincing people to listen to her. I could see her charm working on Mr McWhelan already.

“So long as you do, young lady. So long as you do.” He tottered back into his house.

“Stupid old silly,” muttered Eve, sticking out her tongue.

I stifled a laugh.

“That – was – epic!’ Morgan came puffing up the hill, taking great loping strides. The snow lay so deep now, it was almost tipping over the top of his biker boots. He held out the tattered remains of a bin-liner. “I think I’ve worn this one out, though.”

“That’s ok,” I said. “I spotted some giant tea trays stashed in the kitchen. Gran must’ve had them in case the entire street ever called round for coffee. Like that was going to happen. I reckon they’d be great for sledging, though.”

“Yes!” Morgan threw back his head, and gave a great, whooping howl. “Tea tray sledging! Bring it on!”

“Always so noisy!” said Eve. “I think we should all go inside. It’s too cold and icy for much more fun.”

I started to protest, and she firmly took the remains of the bin bag from my hand.

“You must be sensible, Cameron. You’re still getting better, aren’t you? You’re still not entirely well.” She stuck out her long fingers, and touched me under the ribs. I flinched. Beneath my hoody, underneath three layers of t-shirts, lay a patch of dull-red scarred skin: a stab-wound from an ancient magical spearhead. It had sealed over almost instantly – but I could never forget how I got it.

I brushed her hand away, stepped back.

“It’s not bothering me,” I said. “I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt more. Considering.”

“Well, ok. If you’re sure. Maybe just one more go.” Eve plonked the bin bag down on the ground, and swiftly arranged herself on top.

“For me, that is!” She pushed off, slithering down the hill with increasing speed, and letting out a continuous high-pitched scream.

Morgan and I exchanged looks.

“One moment she’s all grown-up,” I said. “The next she’s a tiny kid.”

Morgan shrugged. “Makes a weird sort of sense.”

Eve looked like she was a good six or seven years older than me: around twenty, I reckon. But on the inside she was more like ten.

Growing up under the thrall of a daemon can do strange things to you. Particularly when that daemon decides to set up home inside your head…

Neither me nor Morgan had the foggiest idea if she could ever be put back, if she could be ‘de-aged’ to look like the girl she really was inside – the girl she had been before Mrs Ferguson dug her eight spooky claws in.

I suppose we should’ve been working on it. Going through my Gran’s old books day and night to see if we could find a clue what to do. Venturing out into the Parallel – that strange, twisted layer of reality that lies halfway between the human world and its daemon equivalent – to seek advice from the creatures that lurked there. But to tell you the truth, I had something else on my mind.

I had problems of my own…

  All day long, I didn’t have to think about it.

Every time it popped into my head, I’d just push it away. Not now, not now, I’d think. It’s not like I can do anything to stop it – so why torture yourself?

Instead I’d mess about on my guitar, practising chords. I’d get Morgan to listen to songs I liked and hoped he’d love too. Sometimes I played games with Eve; all the old classics like Monopoly, Twister, Jenga. She seemed thrilled by them. She claimed she’d never played any of them before.

“Why would I have? Those weren’t the sort of games Mrs Ferguson liked to play,” Eve said, drawing her knees up to her chin.

“But you didn’t always stay with old spider-face,” I said recklessly. “You must’ve played board games before you lived with her –”

I stopped. Eve’s eyes had gone large. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“I sort of remember ‘before’, but not much,” she said. “All this snow sitting round outside… I don’t know. It seems familiar. It’s making things come back.”

“Like you used to get major snow back home?”

“Maybe.” She got up quickly, almost knocking over the board. “Monopoly is dull with two. I’m going to get Morgan.”

 Morgan was nowhere to be found. It didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t said anything to Eve, but I’d caught him sneaking out the back door the other night. I’d grabbed his arm, and asked him where he was off to. He’d growled and shaken me off.

“You remember what happened last time, Shorty! I can’t be like that again. I’ve got to get my head together, if I’m gonna...”

“Keep control?”

He nodded. “So go get some shut-eye. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” I burst out. “You’ve had your whole life to be – this thing. To cope with it. It’s all new to me! I don’t know if I can–”

“Hey, we don’t know if you’re like me, not yet. There was a lot of strange old magic whizzing around that night.” He grinned his lopsided grin, exposing sharp white teeth. “You might be unlucky. You could still be totally human. Pure monkey!”

My hand went to my shoulder, the location of my other scar: a row of red teeth-marks sunk deep either side of the bone. It was taking its time to heal.

“When will I know? For sure?”

Morgan pointed up. Above the brown and green dome of the Observatory, between thick grey clouds, there was a hint of silver shining through. He whistled. “Soon enough. If she’s got you, she won’t ever let you forget.”

He pulled his army greatcoat around him, and stepped into the frosty garden. “Looks like it’s going to be another cold one… See you tomorrow, Shorty. Try and get some sleep.”

  Still the snow kept coming.

As it got further into the New Year, they even stopped the trains. I had to call my friend Amy, and beg off coming over to see her.

“Unless you send a helicopter, I’m stuck.”

“You’ve had a lucky escape,” she said. “Mum’s even madder than usual this year.”

“Not possible,” I dead-panned back. Even though I liked Amy’s mum, really.

 “Amy, I hear you! Every word. Don’t tell lies about me to lovely Cameron! Ask him when we’re going to see him!”

“Mum – butt out! Boundaries! When I’m on the phone, that’s private. We talked about that, remember?” Amy sighed. “So how was Christmas with spooky Grandma? Any top presents? Did you party like it was 1945?”

I paused, not wanting to lie to her. “She’s not here right now. It’s kind of a long story–”

“Are you on your own? You’re not, are you, Cam? Tell me honestly.”

I glanced at Morgan. Ice cream was dripping down his face, and he looked utterly outraged. Eve ran away from him, giggling. In response, he dug the wooden spoon he’d been eating off into the ice cream tub, and began to carve out a boulder. “Right. Just. You. Wait!”

“No, I’m with friends,” I said. “Pretty stupid loud friends.”

“Oh. Morgan.” Amy sniffed. “I can hear someone laughing. Is that a girl? Cameron, you smooth operator...”

“It’s Eve. She’s a friend–”

“That makes it worse!” Amy squealed. “I’ve been replaced–”

The handset flew out my hands and cracked to pieces on the floor. Morgan gaped at me dopily. The flex had tangled round his legs as he lurched after Amy.

I picked up the shattered phone. It was properly dead, and I just sort of snapped.

“That’s just awesome, isn’t it! Now we’re totally cut-off! No buses, no trains, no internet – and now no phone either!”

“Chill, Shorty. It’s just a bit of fun–”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? It’s just fun. That’s all there is, isn’t there?” I looked around. Gran would’ve had a fit if she could see the state her neat and tidy house had got into. Dirty dishes all over the kitchen. Crumpled clothes all over the floor. Ice cream running down the wall. “We hang about here, day after day, eating leftover food and doing nothing–”

“Yeah, I know. Great isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not! It stopped being great days ago!”

As I said the words, I knew they were true. It’s amazing how much fun you can have when there’s no one to tell you to stop, to mind the furniture, to go to bed, to do your homework, go to school... But after a bit, you get sick of it, you know? It’s like eating too much chocolate cake. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Eve popped out the hall cupboard, where she’d been hiding. “Cameron, we’re sorry! We didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“She’s right, mate. It was only a laugh–”

“Whatever. I don’t care,” I said. “You guys go crazy. Destroy the place. I’m going to bed.”

“Cameron–”

“Shorty– ”

I ignored them both.

Morgan and Eve.

The Wolf Boy and the Girl Who Grew Up in Her Sleep.

I hadn’t known them long, but they were both important to me. They didn’t half annoy me sometimes, though.

For such a long time, it was just me and Dad. And after Dad died, it was me and Gran.

I was used to my own space — time to myself.

Time to think...

In my room, as I got ready for bed, I couldn’t help lifting the curtains, and looking. Checking the progress of the moon.

It was growing all the time, turning from crescent to circle, sliver by sliver, getting bigger every night. I could feel my heart pounding as I looked, like it wanted to crack open my ribs and leap right out my chest. Was that the Fat Moon, taking hold? Making changes go on inside me, whether I wanted them or not?

I let the heavy curtains drop. Every night, the later it got, the more I thought about it.

As the red LEDs on the clock clicked unstoppably round, I’d start imagining… about what might happen, what it’d feel like, if I could stop it – if I really wanted to stop it – and my heart would thump so bad, like I’d drunk ten cups of Gran’s black coffee, and it would take hours to get to sleep.

I didn’t even know if that meant I was scared – or excited.

Daft, eh?

Maybe it was both.

  “How ya doin, Shorty?”

Shorty. Why does he call me that?

Morgan’s long ratty blond hair is sticking out all round his beanie hat. “How do you feel?” he says.

“Nervous. Excited. Both.” I shrug in an exaggerated way. “I don’t know.”

“You’ll be fine. Once it starts, it’s pretty much instinctual.”

He crunches on ahead of me, up the hill.

He has this weird sort of loping stride, like his bones don’t quite fit together, or he’s got growing pains or something. Which is odd, because when he runs, he runs fast. He’s a bit taller than me, but a lot broader. I used to think he was a couple of years older – but how do werewolves count their age? Are they like people – or are they like dogs, and every single human year ages them about seven?

And what does that mean for me?

Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? I’m a werewolf too.

Or I might be.

All because Morgan bit me. I asked him to, you see.

Hold up, it’s not as weird as it sounds...

When I came to live with her, Gran promised me things – stuff I should never have agreed to. She said she could bring my Dad back, she could return him from the dead, if only I’d help her. But she had darker ideas than that – ideas I don’t really want to think about.

And the only way out was for Morgan to bite me and let the wolf run through… 

Actually, that is every bit as weird as it sounds.

“Not long now, Shorty, eh?” Morgan looked back at me. ‘Til Fat Moon time. I can feel it calling.”

In the moonlight, Morgan’s face is angular and strange, like he’s already not quite human. He’s always been a werewolf – he was born to it. When he changes, he becomes a huge white wolf. But the shift and the call of the moon is all new to me – new and scary. Humans who’ve been bitten often don’t work out right. They don’t change all the way. It’s like they’re not quite wolfy enough, and instead they end up half way between human and dog – and just as mad, and messy, and angry, as that sounds.

Trust me, I know.

I’ve watched it happen.

But what will happen to me?

My hand fidgeted in my jacket pocket, twitching and itching. I drew it out, and scratched in irritation. My fingers met hair… proper, dense hair.

It’s starting.

I glanced at Morgan, tried to call out, but the sound that left my mouth was garbled – a sort of whining growl.

He spun to face me, and I saw he was changing too. His mouth and nose were elongating, as if the bone beneath the skin was growing, reshaping his features into a muzzle. His ears were lengthening, becoming pointed. The green of his iris pooled outward, and the whites of his eyes vanished.

I wondered: is that how I’m changing too?

I kept expecting it to hurt, for it to rip through me in an agony of shifting bone and tearing flesh, but it was more like stretching and working life back into muscles that were dormant after too long a rest. I felt cramped and fuzzy, as if I’d been shut up inside a box for months. Suddenly the door to the box was open, and I was filled with an energy that I hadn’t had before.

I fell forward, touching the ground.

Black paws on white snow.

Wolf-Morgan stared back me. Reflected in the green of his eyes, I saw myself. A huge dark wolf, strong and powerful and perfect. No hint of human-me at all.

I’m not a mixed-up monster… I changed! I changed completely!

I gave a yip of joy.

Morgan started to run, and I followed…

  That was how it started.

The first night of the wolf month. It felt so good, running through the snow with Morgan, discovering my new domain all mapped out in vivid scent and sound and sight.

I thought it would last forever. But it couldn’t.

This is the story of how my world fell apart.

And how I fought to put it all back together.

This is the story of the Werewolf Parallel.

[kelpiesedge]

April Book of the Month: A Parallel Prelude Audio Freebie!

Celebrating the Full Moon with a double post today. So first up, enjoy this amazing recording of Roy's Parallel Prelude from last month. And keep your eyes peeled for more Parallel Prelude goodness later today... #WolfMonth

Ps. Thanks to the good folks at What Noise Productions for recording this for us! Make sure to check out their Parallel series audio books.

[kelpiesedge]

April Book of the Month: Roy Gill's Parallel Playlists

It's Friday, and Friday means music! Especially during #WolfMonth

A wee while ago, Roy Gill put together 2 Parallel playlists for us: a great mix of tunes which influenced the books and songs for setting the scene. And because he's a top chap, Roy also wrote a blog for us to explain his choices for Daemon Parallel. So click on the playlists below to get listening, and scroll on to keep reading!

Chapter 1 – An Offer Over Coffee

Song: Graveyard, by Feist

Bring ‘em all back to life… A spooky song that becomes louder and more triumphant as it goes on. Makes me think of Grandma Ives’ offer to Cameron.

Chapter 2 - Night Time Stories and Chapter 3 - A Shop in Two Places

Song: Devil Town, by Bright Eyes

I was livin’ in a devil town, didn’t know it was a devil town…Things are about to get much weirder for Cameron: there’s another, stranger world running alongside this one.

Song: He's On The Beach, by Kirsty MacColl

I’m not sure where he is but he’s out of reach... Kirsty MacColl specialised in up-tempo songs with fairly downbeat, thoughtful lyrics. The chapter title is a definite tribute to her, even if the song connection is more tenuous.

Chapter 9 – How to build a Resurrection Spell

Song: Music Goes Round And Around, by Ella Fitzgerald

Music is important for both Cameron and his gran – she’s a jazz aficionado, he prefers indie and rock. This playful tune makes me think of Scott and Forceworthy’s Musical Emporium and its stacks of dusty old vinyl records…

Chapter 10 – The Edinburgh Parallel Inheritance

Song: The City, by Patrick Wolf

This is quite a triumphant song and I think round about now in the story, Cameron has control of his world-shift powers, he’s starting to feel quite good about where he is and what he’s trying to do…

Chapter 14 – The Daemon Drinks

Song: Demons, by The National

I stay down with my demons… In a hidden bar deep beneath the city streets, recovering from his skirmish with Temperatori, Cameron is definitely down with his daemons…

Chapter 15 – Morgan

Song: Boulevard Of Broken Dreamss, by Green Day

Where the city sleeps, And I'm the only one and I walk alone, I walk alone... This is Morgan’s theme tune. He’s a rocker and lone wolf, and not always to be trusted.

Chapter 16 - Werewolves of Edinburgh

Song: Werewolves of London, by Warren Zevon

I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, walking through Soho in the rain… I fell in love with this song the first time I heard it. It’s so playful and clever, mixing up the real world and fantasy (which is something I strive for in my own writing). Chapter 16 “Werewolves of Edinburgh”, where we first find out about the Alhambra Cinema and its furry occupants, is named in tribute.

Chapter 23 – Out of the Mouths of Daemons

Song: Run Boy Run, by Woodkid

This driving song feels like Cameron and Morgan’s flight from the Spider Daemon, Mrs Ferguson. (Go watch the video too – it’s amazing).

Chapter 24 – Going Home

Song: This Must Be The Place I Waited Years To Leave, by Pet Shop Boys

Cameron’s home-coming to the (imaginary) town of Cauldlockheart stirs up mixed feelings. He sees things from a new perspective…

Chapter 27 – The True Nature of Things

Song: Bitten, by Patrick Wolf

This song, by the excellent and excellently-named Patrick Wolf, is apt for the dramatic climax of the book.

Chapter 28 - Curtain Call

Song: Darkest Dreaming, by David Sylvian

The sky is breaking…This calm, meditative track fits the scene of Arthur’s Seat as morning light comes, and Cameron reflects on what has happened, and what his adventures have revealed to him.

Song: Curtain Call, by Tori Amos

There’s an unsettling, restless undercurrent to this song. I think it fits Cameron’s last dangerous quest, back to Mrs Ferguson’s house (in a chapter – entirely coincidentally – named the same).

[kelpiesedge]

Werewolf Parallel - Roy Gill

About a third of the way into Werewolf Parallel I figured out what the series reminded me of–a Scottish Neverwhere. The Parallel takes the familiar sights of the city and subverts them into fantastical versions. The series is at its best when its exploring whatever inventive new setting the author has dreamed up. 

Matt Cresswell, editor of Glitterwolf Magazine, dropped everything to read Werewolf Parallel - and boy, did he like it! Check out his review here.

And don't forget, we're giving away a signed copy of Werewolf Parallel and a shiny new audio book too! Just reblog or like to enter #WolfMonth

[kelpiesedge]

April Book of the Month: Roy Gill's Werewolf Parallel

Emma: Hi Roy, happy book birthday! First of all, can you tell us a bit about Werewolf Parallel?

Roy: The story takes place a year after the events of Daemon Parallel. It's a sequel, although I've worked hard to make the story accessible for new readers too. Cameron is running his business, trading between the Human and Daemon worlds, with the help of his friends Morgan and Eve. His new life comes under threat from the sinister Dr Black and Mr Grey, just as his own werewolf powers take a surprising and disturbing turn. What lengths will he go to, to stop his world being torn apart?

Emma: What was it like, returning to the Parallel and the Daemonic realm? Were there any surprises along the way?

Roy: It was great to return to an established world and characters. It felt like a story that needed to be told, actually - I'd been brewing ideas for quite a while! There were plenty surprises in the telling of the story too (see below...)

Emma: Werewolf Parallel is stuffed full of magic, monsters and myths. What sort of research did you have to do while you were writing it?

Roy: A fair amount - everything from wolf packs and steam engines, to dark matter and the Roman occupation of Edinburgh! I try to treat it lightly, and I'm not above bending the facts to suit the story (although I was grateful to an astronomer friend for checking that Dr Black's theories weren't ridiculously divorced from reality). Most research comes via the library or the web - the best part though is wandering round real-life locations, like Calton Hill or the Museum of Scotland, and planning out chase scenes or discovering unusual things to include...

Emma: What was your favourite thing about writing the book?

Roy: Anything that turned up unexpectedly! I plan the plot in some detail before starting, but I see that as something to improve on, not stick to doggedly. Sometimes I'm surprised what my subconscious is up to, working away in the background... For example, there's one character's voice told in the second person, directly addressing the reader. I had no idea why I was writing those sections like that until I got to almost the end of the novel, and it suddenly all clicked into place. Nearly all the jokes or funny lines (at least I hope they're funny...) emerge in writing too, and they're probably the most enjoyable part of the process. I've got used to being stared at, laughing to myself in coffeeshops...

Emma: What did you find most difficult?

Roy: The final chapter was a challenge. It's both sad and hopeful, and feels heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. I got a bit choked-up writing it. I think it's also the part I'm proudest of too.

Emma: Do you have any writing rituals/superstitions?

Roy: There's a certain time in the morning by which I need to get started, otherwise my brain never gets properly into gear and I might as well resign myself to a day wasted. The trick is to get email, Twitter and Facebook turned OFF before then! I'm still working on getting this right... If I'm up against a deadline, and energy levels are flagging, the Saint Etienne singles compilation 'too young to die' played loud is the ultimate restorative.

Emma: And finally... what's next?

Roy: I've been asked to submit stories to a couple of interesting anthologies, and I'm currently working on two scripts - one for a project yet to be announced, the other speculative and something entirely new for me. I hope there'll be a third novel too, but I'm swithering as to which idea to go for. Asides from that, I'm open to offers!